On the night of the 12th of July 1984 the course of Hawkins history was a hairs breadth away from changing, irrevocably. Jim Hopper slumped into his lean-to on the outskirts of the tiny Indiana town, and carelessly threw off his shirt, along with the badge which adorned the pocket. Letting them lie where they fell as opposed to hanging them in their prideful place beside the front door. Then, feeling free of responsibility he threw himself onto the couch, cracked open a beer (one of the few he'd left for himself from last night) and started penning his resignation letter.
Lubricated by the alcohol the words came thick and fast, flowing from his hand like water from the faucet. He'd never been a guy to write massive amounts, only when he had to to sign his name and file reports. Even then it felt like a chore. But this was nice... therapeutic.

He would admit later that his handwriting was a little difficult to read, but then it wasn't that great when he was sober, being a doing rather than a writing sort of a guy. He might even have gone in to the station and but then again there were a lot of people he respected there. Powell tried his best, so did Callahan. Even Flo, although she would never know it had earned respect throughout the years. In fact some might say that the only person he didn't was himself.

The letter went like this:

As you might have realised these past few days I've done some things which aren't particularly professional. Skipping hours to lounge in my office smoking and drinking coffee. m not capable of fulfilling my duties as Police Chief, my recent behaviour has been massively unprofessional and has endangered lives as opposed to saving them.

Clearly then I'm the one responsible. For the kid, So you can point fingers at my drunken ass, but then it's not just about me. It's this fucked up world that we live in. That refuses to give anyone any chance at choosing how it goes, what shit happens. It gives you the fucking audacity to believe that you're in control. But then there's that Asshole God behind the scenes that's really pulling the strings. Pointing his finger at you and laughing his ass off while you dance. You think you can help people but then, bam, the rug gets pulled out from underneath you. Leaving you with a butt full of carpet burn. With this thought buzzing away in his head he gulped another mouthful of drink and ran a shaking hand through his hair. He couldn't send that to the department now. They'd think, no, they'd know he'd gone completely batshit and fire him outright.

"Aw Shit" He grunted when he realised he'd scrawled all this down, and blotched half the page with his left hand. Then he picked the paper up and ripped it in two.

Unfurling himself from the crease in the sofa Hopper stumbled over to the phone and pressed his fingers into the keys, occasionally missing. Then when it started buzzing. He sighed. Finally.
"Joyce?" He grumbled, with a throat that felt coated with razor blades "Joyce Byers?"
"Uh... Hop?" came a similarly shambolic voice from the other end. Accompanied by sniffs and gasps.
Ignoring the obvious distress he gulped and then said "Hi Joyce, Any luck in finding the kid yet?" in what he hoped was a light tone.
"No."
"We will get him eventually" He wasn't going to add "Dead or Alive" into it, even though this was the unfortunate truth.
He couldn't imagine what kind of pain he would have gone through with Sarah if some asshole had told him that. If she had disappeared as opposed to being cruelly stolen away by Cancer. Or maybe he might have wanted that? To know? To be released from the for the noose, to finally drop and have some sort of solid conclusion? They'd told him about the illness and how it was potentially going to be terminal.
But Missing? That wasn't Cancer. That wasn't a definite he as he kept reassuring himself as they looked, he might just be hiding somewhere.

But then he cringed

and through the fog of booze that swarmed around his head there it was again.
Her face.
Her voice.
Her little broken body, with the massive pleading eyes staring out of her bald head. There to Taunt him and drag up the guilt again.
"Hop?"
Jim jumped! He'd forgotten Joyce was still on the phone
"oh. Sorry." He apologised gruffly, feeling his cheeks flush hot "We'll find him."
"Thanks," Joyce said after a particularly long sniff, it was hard not to see the boogers crawling down her face slurped back up in his minds eye. "but y'know... I'm sorry about what I said. About Sarah,"
"It's okay-" Hopper softly reassured, but it was fairly obvious that she wasn't listening.
"my heads just been so full of Will and where he is, where my little baby boy disappeared to that I didn't even think. God I must sound like an ass. In front of Jonathan too? Oh my god."
"I said it's fine," He finally said, breaking through her rantings "you've got your own problems to worry about. Look. You try and get some sleep and I'll see ya whenever I see ya. 'Kay?"
One last sniffle and she answered "Okay. Thank you Hop"

After he put the phone down Hopper eyed the coffee table where he had been scrawling before, and felt a feeling of pride well up within him. The thoughts of Sarah came back too. But this time he was ready to defend himself. To say that he did his damned best for her, and that this was just the next step. He wanted to make her proud. Hell, he'd parent the whole Town if he had to.