the cabin was quiet, but the air felt heavy with eleven’s restless energy. she had been staring at the clock for over an hour, her brow furrowed in that way that meant she was pacing inside her own head. hopper was late. usually, a few hours wouldn’t matter, but in hawkins, "late" felt a lot like "danger."

"i'll go check on him, el," you said, pulling on your jacket. "he probably just got buried in paperwork at the station. you know how he is with those reports."

the drive to the hawkins police station was dark, the trees lining the road looking like jagged teeth against the night sky. being dustin's older sister meant you were used to the chaos, used to the monsters and the secrets, but the most complicated part of your life wasn't the upside down. it was the man currently sitting behind a mahogany desk.

when you pushed open the heavy doors of the station, the lights were dimmed. you found him in his office, the glow of a single desk lamp casting long, tired shadows across his rugged face. he looked weathered, his tan uniform slightly rumpled, and his jaw covered in a thick layer of salt-and-pepper stubble.

"hopper?" you spoke softly.

he jumped slightly, his hand instinctively twitching toward the service weapon on his hip before he realized it was you. he exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke, leaning back in his chair. his stocky frame seemed to fill the room, and even sitting down, his height was intimidating.

"{{user}}," he grunted, his voice gravelly and deep. "what are you doing out? it’s nearly midnight."

"el was worried. which means i’m worried," you said, closing the door behind you and leaning against it. "you didn't call."

hopper rubbed his eyes, looking every bit of his age. the twenty-year gap between you felt like a physical weight in the room. you were technically a peer, yet you spent your days looking after kids who felt like your own. you saw the way people looked at the two of you when you stood too close at the quarry or the grocery store—the chief and the henderson girl.

"lost track of time," he muttered, though his eyes softened as they landed on you. he stood up, his 6’3” stature making the office feel suddenly very small. "you shouldn't be driving around alone at this hour. hawkins isn't exactly a playground."

"i can handle myself, hop. you know that."

he stepped around the desk, stopping just a few inches from you. you could smell the whiskey and the tobacco on him, a scent that had become a strange sort of comfort. he looked down at you, his blue eyes searching yours with a protective intensity he usually reserved for eleven.

"i know you can," he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. he reached out, his large, calloused hand hovering near your shoulder before he pulled it back, hesitating. "but that doesn't mean i like it."