Author's Note: Sorry everyone for the weird formatting issue, but I got it fixed! Enjoy!
He thought that he was hallucinating the first time he heard it. It fell so seamlessly from her lips, like an unimpeded secret. He was just reading her a book—The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, to be exact—and she just said it, without prelude and without cadence. It just slipped out.
It caught him off-guard, to the point that he was still stumbling halfway through a sentence for several more seconds before it actually registered. And when it did, he had choked hard on his words, could physically feel each letter catch in his throat. For a moment, he was paralyzed, unsure of how to react or feel. It's not like he didn't deserve the title, hell, he's got the paperwork to prove it. But, still, when that seemingly miniscule four letter word effortlessly filled up the whole room, he couldn't help but take pause.
Sure, they'd been together for nearly a year and a half now, and he feeds her, buys clothes for her, and disciplines her when necessary, but when she said that word, his heart had almost stopped. He thinks part of it is because of Sara. Truthfully, that's the first thing that came to mind when he heard it, except Sara gave him a slightly different moniker, though, both meant the same thing.
It doesn't quite feel like a betrayal, but it does feel like some fraternal twin of it. He knows it's okay to accept another child into his heart and that it isn't doing a disservice to Sara. And he's done that. He's taking care of El, adopted her, and even loves her. And he'd never sacrifice that to perpetuate the ghost of his first child. He can love the two in tandem.
But it wasn't until he'd looked over at the little girl that he realized what was truly bothering him. El was sound asleep, eyes shut and breathing relaxed, but her face was contorted into something the made his chest tighten and his teeth clench. She was afraid of that word, terrified even, and it broke his heart to watch her lie there in anguish over a word.
He'd realized, without even meaning to, that he hated that word, hated it to its core. But he also knew that it was misplaced, because truthfully, he just hated the person that the title belonged to. Because that person, that vile, evil, horrible person didn't deserve to be called that. You earn that title, you don't just get it.
He'd told her that that man was gone now and that she didn't have to worry anymore, that he was just a bad man and nothing more. And though he knew she couldn't hear him, he'd hoped that somewhere deep down she heard and she listened. That man wasn't papa anymore.
•••
The second time he heard it, he could not mistake it. That was mostly because she was screaming it. He'd been in depths of sleep when he was harshly wrenched out of it by the sharp screeches bellowing from her bedroom. His body sat upright reflexively and unconsciously peeled itself from the couch, running toward the heinous sound.
He found her thrashing around in her sheets, tossing this way and that, and just screaming in a tone that made his blood turn to ice. Thankfully, he'd been able to wake her. It had taken a good couple of shakes and hollering over her screams, but eventually he'd coaxed her away from her nightmare and back to a mildly less scary reality.
When she'd woken she was startled. Despite everything that had happened in the past two years, he'd never quite seen fear like he'd seen in her eyes that night. It had wounded him in an indescribable way. He couldn't shake it for days, weeks even. He kept seeing that manic look in her eyes, haunting him like a ghost, and no matter how hard he tried to get rid of it, it stuck to him like glue, unrelenting.
And that's how his anger began to fester, as he held Eleven close while she sobbed in despair, clutching so tightly to him, that he was sure she was going to leave marks.
•••
But that had been a few weeks ago, now. She's had another episode since then, another nightmare that had him viciously ripped from his slumber. This time someone was getting hurt, and it had to have been someone she cared about because she was crying and pleading in her sleep for them to let go!, and for whomever was the villain in her dream to take her instead. Like her last episode he'd woken her and gave her some water and got her to calm down. But before he could ask about the dream, she'd gone back to sleep. And in the following days when he'd try to ask her about it, she'd dismiss it, or pretend as if she had no idea what he was talking about.
And it's been that way ever since. They just don't talk about it.
Usually, he'd be fine with it because he wants to respect her space, and not invade her privacy, but it irks him because he thought they were making some headway, and he wants for them to have an honest relationship, especially after everything, with the lying about her mama and Mike. But, he just doesn't know how to broach the subject with her and get her to confess.
Naturally, of course, he goes to Joyce for advice. But, surprisingly, the typically neurotic Joyce Byers is actually calm and dismissive this time. She just laughs at him, tells him, "Welcome to being the parent of a teenager, Hop," with a patronizing pat on the back. And for awhile he thinks that maybe she's right, maybe she's just being a teenager and he just needs to suck it up, and talk to her about whatever is bothering her.
And he tries that for yet another week with no results to show for it by the end.
He's all but given up on it, until they're back to their nightly book reading routine.
She's the one reading now. He figures, if he's ever going to put her in school, she should be able to actually read and not just be read to. So, he's letting her read while he sits in her small bed next to her and listens, fighting sleep the best he can.
But, his eyelids persistently droop as she reads through a rather droll paragraph from The Secret Garden. It isn't until she huffs and tosses the book lightly into her lap that he realizes he was falling asleep.
Now, he's awake, though, and acutely aware of her frustration.
"Hey," he murmurs softly, mouth a little dry from letting it hang open, "what did we talk about? We don't get mad, we sound the words out, remember?"
But El says nothing, and instead, sits there with her mouth fixed in a perplexed pout.
Hopper just sighs humorlessly and drags the book to the middle of their laps. "Look, kid, you're never gonna learn if you don't try. Can you—can you just try?"
Again, she says nothing, and this time he's annoyed. Teenager or not, she's got rules to follow just like everyone else. He tugs the book again, completely into his lap now, and closes it. But just as he goes to threaten taking away reading time and letting her go to school next year, he realizes why she isn't speaking.
He sees the glint of tears sparkle in her eyes as it catches the light, and he immediately expels any reprimand he was preparing. Worry washes over him easily and he gives into it, concernedly asking her what's wrong.
When she doesn't say anything again, he lets some of that fizzling ire propel him to pushing her just a little. "Hey," he says, lightly grabbing the underside of her chin and tipping her face in his direction, "what the hell is going on with you?"
Eleven's bottom lip trembles pitifully. She opens her mouth, but words don't come out and Jim can tell she's really upset. Still, he waits her out, lets her find her own voice.
It's nearly inaudible when she finally gets it out. "I don't want you to die," she whispers through tears, shattering his heart into a million pieces.
It hits him like a ton of bricks and then he finally gets it. The nightmares, the whispering, the weird behavior. It had been about him, it had always been about him. She wasn't running to or from her old papa, she wasn't fighting to save her old papa, she'd been fighting to save him, Jim Hopper.
He supposes that this line of thinking was likely to come up at some point, given the way things have been for the past two years but they're safe now and he's going to make sure they stay out of harm's way. Before he can assure her of his safety, though, she adds, "They don't have papas."
Hopper frowns and furrows his brows, "Who doesn't have papas?"
She points to the book in his lap, and says matter-of-factly, "Mary. And Anne. And Dorothy. And Sophie. None of them had papas."
Oh.
To be honest, he hadn't even noticed there had been a recurring theme in their reading material, and now he feels like a bit of a jackass for it. Perhaps, it had been a subconscious selection, knowing that El would be able to relate to the heroines of a lot of these novels, and now he sees why he might've thought that way.
Well, shit.
"Ah, kid," he mutters apologetically under his breath, "I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking. It was just a coincidence."
"Coincidence?" she asks tearfully.
"Yeah, it's like an accident of chance, like you didn't mean for it to happen, it just did."
When El says nothing he puts an arm around her and pulls her gently to his side. "Not all characters in books have no papa. Some of them do, like Fern from Charlotte's Web, you remember?" he asks and she nods.
"Hey, listen," he says softly, tipping her chin in his direction one more time, "You are not Mary or Anne or Dorothy or any of them any more, you got it? You're safe now, kid, and like it or not, I'm not going anywhere, okay? You are stuck with me, for good."
He leans in just a little closer and looks El right in the eyes to make sure that his next statement is heard loud and clear, "I am never ever ever going to leave you, I promise you that."
"Promise?" she asks, voice still wet and shaky.
"Promise," he affirms with a nod and a smile.
El returns the smile and hugs his side, burying her face into his t-shirt. He sits there with her quietly for awhile, nearly dozing again a few times. He doesn't even realize how much time has passed until he looks over at the girl and sees her curled up into his side, sound asleep. His lips tip up into a gentle smile and he begins to carefully extricate his tingling arm from beneath the dead weight of Eleven's body. When he's free he silently shifts from the bed, trying his hardest not to wake her. He tucks her in, pulling the covers right up to her chin, then bends down to press a soft kiss into her hair.
"Goodnight, kid," he whispers, then departs, heading for the door.
But just as he reaches the door frame, he hears that word feebly uttered into the space once more. "Papa?"
Except, this time, when he turns around, he doesn't find an asleep and angst ridden girl, fitful from another nightmare, but instead, just an innocent, sweet teenager, peering over at him imploringly, trying to gauge whether or not it's okay to call him that.
"Yeah?" he asks, hopefully giving her the permission she seeks.
"Not Anne anymore?" she queries softly, repeating what he'd said earlier.
Hopper shakes his head, "No, not Anne anymore."
"Good," she says with a grin.
He nods this time and mirrors her grin. "Get some sleep, kid. I'll see you in the morning."
Eleven, still grinning, rolls over and pulls the covers back up to her chin, doing as she's told.
He waits a minute, makes sure that she's actually going back to sleep, then tugs on the door knob to pull the door to. But just as he goes to close it, he hears it, that whispered secret he'd heard all those weeks ago. But now, it's accompanied by another word, another meaning, another intention and he realizes that he no longer hates that word after all. Because, it's meant for him and only for him.
"Goodnight, papa," she whispers behind him and then he closes the door with a smile, leaving his daughter to sleep.