Hello, everybody! It is good to be back! So when the second season of Stranger Things was released in October, my family and I started watching the full thing. It's safe to say that I sold my soul to the Upside-Down. I love every one of those characters to pieces, they're all so unique! So yes, Stranger Things is my life now. Haters can hate (those mouthbreathers). Seriously though, that insult needs to become a thing. ANYWAY. I wasn't all that keen on writing fanfiction on the show yet for the simple fact that we still have a lot to learn about the characters, and I would've preferred to wait until the end of the show (yeah, the like, 4-5 years) to start writing with a full knowledge of the show. However, both seasons never showed us something that I was DYING to see: El's Christmas! So I figured, hey. The Duffer Bros missed their chance twice. Maybe they'll redeem themselves in Season 3, maybe not. But for now, with Christmas approaching fast, I'll do the job for them. Now, onto the first chapter of my first Stranger Things story!
**IN THIS STORY, THE SNOWBALL WAS HELD IN EARLY DECEMBER, AS TO COMFORTABLY ACCOMMODATE CERTAIN EVENTS THAT OCCUR IN THIS STORY**
It was a peaceful winter morning, in the earlier part of December. The urban parts of Hawkins, Indiana were painted with snow, and the mountains and rural outskirts of the town were layered feet deep in it. The sun had already begun its venture upwards towards the center of the sky, though it seemed to give little resistance against the freezing cold temperatures resting over Hawkins. It smelled of fresh powdered snow, a sharp musty-moist smell that, mixed with the low temperature, made one's nose burn. Christmas was in the air, further advertised by the lights and decorations resting on many of the Hawkins residents' homes and stores full of holiday wares.
The schools' winter breaks had begun a week early due to more snow than anticipated, and the only two snow movers in the town, old decrepit machines, were in no such shape to clear the thick streets. Because of this, children had already taken over the frozen streets, despite the early hours they usually dreaded. Snowmen, snow angels, snowball fights — it was a pure winter wonderland, both for the children and the adults, most of whom were taking the rare opportunity to sleep late underneath heated blankets. Even those who grumpily had gotten out of bed with the sun couldn't help but smile at the sight of the overjoyed children taking advantage of the seasonal delightment.
Far out in the barren, snow-coated forests of Hawkins rested a small wooden cabin, its roof slightly bending beneath the weight of the thick powder atop it. The planks that made up the exterior of the cabin were grayed from old age mixed with the years of harsh weather conditions they had endured. They still held strong, though, and the strange coloring gave the little home an eerie-yet-rustic appearance. Old Adirondack chairs furnished the porch; cigarette butts and brown leaves coated the plank flooring. The cabin consisted of few windows, meant to retain more warmth when it was built decades before, but there were enough panes of glass to offer plentiful light and view.
The interior of the cabin, however, was a stark contrast to its dreary exterior appearance. While most of the furnishings were at least ten years old, it still felt homely and pleasant. Framed pictures adorned nearly every wall; some were Polaroids of family, most were paintings of nature. Lamps with carved wooden stands rested upon cedar coffee tables, offering a warm ambiance. Books lined several bookshelves as well as wall-mounted shelves, creating a small library of scrapbooks, guides, atlases, western novels, encyclopedias, and everything between. No curtains hung over the windows, but instead patterned cloths rested over them, some pulled away to allow the natural light inside.
Resting against the back wall of the family room and directly opposite an old matching sofa and chair sat a television, several years old. It wasn't in the greatest condition, like most everything in the cabin, but it had a color display, and it worked fine—most of the time. The little television was playing an episode of a black and white western, but it was being utterly ignored by the holey sofa's snoring occupant. The man, somewhere in his forties, wore nothing but a torn, stained undershirt and a set of boxers that hadn't been washed in four days. He reeked of cheap liquor, and several empty bottles of generic beer littered the floor around him. A number of empty candy wrappings were strewn about the cabin, marking the path the sleeping man had wandered before his eventual collapse. To top the scene off, a half-empty bottle of pain medication was clenched tightly in the man's left hand.
The sun's subdued rays eventually began to beam strategically into the man's face, causing a pleasant warmth and an unwelcome awakening. He groaned and attempted to roll away from the light, but the tiny sofa didn't offer that much room and he fell to the cluttered floor, miraculously avoiding all of the glass bottles. For several moments he laid there, blinking his tired eyes and recalling his last memories.
Late at night. Stress. Relentless flashes of red and blue. Gunshots.
Death.
At last he let out another groan and slowly pushed himself to his knees with the help of the sofa and looked around, slowly taking in the pigsty that surrounded him. And then it all finally came back to him. The situation from the night before that had kept him and over half of the Hawkins Police Department up until nearly three in the morning. It was finally over, but it hasn't ended well. It never ended well when an innocent life was lost. Especially when it was a kid that got caught up in it all.
At last, Hawkins Chief of Police Jim Hopper rose groggily to his feet and glanced blearily at the wall-mounted clock. Just after 8:15, which meant—unsurprisingly, to Hopper—that he'd only gotten a few hours of sleep, and most certainly not enough. Ah, well. At least he had the full day off, unless something urgent came up or someone asked for him specifically. Luckily he'd been able to make it home before collapsing with his booze and meds, instead of on the dirt road that led up to the decrepit cabin. A major relief, for he'd been in such a state of shock and exhaustion that he hadn't been sure if he'd be able to make the drive home or not.
Roughly shaking his head to clear it from both the grogginess and the trauma, he made his way to the small bathroom. It was nice enough, having been renovated only two months ago by him and his newly-adopted daughter Jane, or, as she often went by, El. It had been an . . . interesting project, for sure, but it had also been quite enjoyable. The kid could always get him to smile, though it wasn't always on purpose.
Now Hopper stood behind the stone counter, bracing himself with both arms while he examined his face. His hair was greasy, and in dire need of a washing and combing. Dirt clung to every bit of exposed skin, glued on by stale sweat. Mud was caked between his fingernails, most of which were uneven and cracked. He desperately needed a shower, he thought as he frowned at his reflection's bloodshot eyes, accented by the dark bags hanging beneath them. With no better ideas in his head, Hopper stumbled into his bedroom and selected a pair of shorts and a gray polo to wear. He then went back to the bathroom, frustratedly cleared away the makeup supplies cluttering the countertop, and cranked up the shower's water temperature.
Jeez Louise, that's just what I needed, he thought absentmindedly a few seconds after his bare skin adjusted to the heat of the water. Technically he was required to return to the police station first thing after an event to document a crime that had occurred, but the officers had grown to never expect the chief for at least a day after a big crime, usually longer if one of Hawkins' residents were harmed. It was just part of his mourning ritual: sleeping late after staying up even later, drinking booze, and popping his pain meds. That was the important stuff, and the important stuff came first; always, no exceptions.
Twenty minutes later he padded into the kitchen in his holey-yet-clean socks and got a pot of coffee brewing. Then, noticing his growling stomach for the first time in nearly twenty-four hours, he went in search of breakfast food. The dozen boxes of Eggos taking up the entire freezer were off-limits, mostly reserved for El or the rare occasion they sounded appealing to Hopper. He began to reach for the bag of mini donuts in the cupboard, but paused and glanced down at his slightly-bulging belly. Reminded of his secretary's daily nagging to take better care of himself, he opened the fridge and, after a few moments, began pulling out eggs, mushrooms, spinach, shredded cheese, and various other ingredients. Over a medium bowl he cracked nearly a dozen eggs, then whisked in the other items and poured the mixture into a baking pan. He then topped it with cheese and set the concoction into the oven that had been preheating for the past few minutes.
It felt good to cook. It took his mind off of everything else, though of course, it had been only a short distraction. To kill time he wandered around the living room, tidying up his mess as not to cause El to worry. Hopper wasn't sure how much she knew about his bad habits, but he felt better keeping them under wraps. She didn't need any more stress in her childhood, like her biological father Dr. Brenner had caused. It always disturbed Hopper to think about the man, and it disturbed him even then as he gathered the bottles and garbage from the floor. It was both relieving and unnerving, being unsure of Dr. Brenner's whereabouts. Most people doubted he was still in Hawkins, considering he hadn't been spotted by anyone for months, despite the town's urgency they placed upon finding him.
Hopper shivered. Then he realized he already had been shivering. It was freezing inside the cabin, probably in the low fifties. Thinking of how cold El probably was he hurried over to the thermostat and cranked it up to 85. Call him overly protective, but the poor kid grew to be quite miserable when she was down with a cold, like she had been the past half-dozen times in the three preceding months. She hardly knew what to do with herself, being tired and weak all the time and dealing with an aching head and sinus. Hopper always felt so miserable for her.
After checking on the breakfast baking in the oven, Hopper noticed that the cabin was unusually bright, more so than on usual December mornings. Typically it was as dark as dawn, but today it was almost bright enough to pass for a spring afternoon. Curious, he approached the main window and pulled the curtains open. He discovered that, remarkably, it was a gorgeous day out in the forest, quite unlike the gray, depressing nature of a usual snow day. Strange. He hadn't seen a pretty winter day in years, despite his entire life spent in the little town. He approached the front door and opened it, slipping on his boots and stepping outside to admire the beautiful scenery surrounding his home. Obviously it was freezing, but it was almost pleasant to stand in the rays of the December sun, allowing the warmth of it to—
Slam.
The cabin's front door slammed shut with an incredible force. Hopper stared at it in shock from his position several yards away from the old wooden door. There was little wind, and it was on an even surface, so what could have caused it to shut itself so harshly? Suddenly he had a good idea of what was going on. Grinning, he pushed his way through the snow back to the porch, stomped the snow from his boots, and opened the door again. Less than ten seconds later it quickly shut again, this time at such a speed it made every window on the same wall quiver.
Hopper removed his boots and went back inside, angling himself towards El's bedroom. The door was wide open and the light was on, as it usually was at night. El couldn't stand it if her door was closed for a long period of time, especially in the dark. Hopper assumed her fear came from the laboratory in which she'd been raised, considering how deathly paranoid she became if either her light or door weren't as she preferred.
He knocked on the bedroom door in a strategic pattern of short and long knocks. "Hey, kid. Rise and shine." He waited for a response from the mass underneath the thick comforter blanket that rested atop the steel-framed twin bed. "Come on, wakey wakey. It's past eight-thirty." This only managed to elicit a slurred grumble. Usually El got up at sunrise, sometimes even before then—unless she had stayed up later than allowed, reading or doodling on a sketch pad she'd gotten from Mike Wheeler. In such instances, Hopper showed little mercy. "Hey, El," he enticed in a slightly sarcastic tone. "You oughta look out the window. It's a snow day . . ."
The thirteen-year-old let out a loud sigh and threw the thick blanket over her head. Hopper chuckled to himself. El hated snow, most likely because she'd endured through it all on her own for several months the year before. On the run from Hawkins Lab, the police, and goodness knows who or what else, she'd spent part of autumn and most of winter alone in the forest, until she'd been found and taken in by Hopper. It was a little weird, seeing her disgust towards the snow while most every other child in Indiana practically prayed for it all year long. It was sure humorous, though, no doubt about it.
"Oh well, I guess I'll just have to eat this special breakfast I made all by myself, while I watch cartoons." The police chief winced as he heard the pain he was hiding start to splinter through the mask. Dear goodness gracious, how he hoped he wouldn't spontaneously break down crying, as he'd known himself to do on the rare occasion of extreme anxiety. Fortunately El didn't seem to notice in her sleepy state. All she did was mutter under her breath and toss and turn underneath the sheets. Time to break out the big guns. "I suppose I'll just crack into that stash of Eggos, then."
Finally he heard the deep sigh of resignation, and he pulled the door closed most of the way to give the girl some privacy. She didn't seem to understand the importance of changing clothes in the bathroom no matter how much Hopper tried to explain, so they'd settled for changing behind a mostly-closed door. It was those little victories that made him feel like he was doing a semi-decent job of parenting. However, he never felt like he knew her well enough to be able to make decisions and rules based around her personality. He never knew how much slack he should give her, or where he should draw the line—especially considering how differently she'd been raised than normal children. Did other parents with adopted older kids ever feel that way, uncertain where boundaries should be set and what privileges should be allowed? It was a mental battle where Hopper never knew which side to take.
While he waited for El, he went back into the living room and made sure he'd cleaned up all of last night's mess. Satisfied, he stepped inside the kitchen to find plates and cutlery for breakfast, setting them on the creaky table that rested against the wall. It was small, but it perfectly accommodated two—all that they needed.
El dragged herself into the room just as Hopper was pulling breakfast from the oven. He glanced over his shoulder. "Look who actually managed to get herself out of bed," he greeted.
He received a dirty look in return, though curiosity quickly overcame El's annoyance. "What's that?" she sleepily inquired. She'd picked jeans and a male's white tee-shirt that went halfway down to her knees and bore a fast food logo on the front. Her hair made it obvious she'd just awoken.
"This," Hopper explained, pulling a knife from the drawer, "is quiche."
"Queesh?"
"Quiche. It's kinda like a pie but without the crust, and instead of filling there's eggs and cheese and stuff." He began to cut the quiche into slices. "It's good."
El pondered this. "Egg . . . pie? Yuck."
Hopper snorted. Kids. "It doesn't actually taste like pie. It tastes like—like an omelette. Think of it like it's a giant omelette. Trust me, you'll like it."
He crossed over to the table and set a slice on both plates, then set the dish in the center of the table. Finally he took a few napkins from the counter and sat down in his usual seat. He looked expectantly at El, who finally relented and sat down across from him. She picked up her fork and poked the yellow-and-green slice. Despite the slightly disgusted face she made, she did eventually take a tiny bite. She slowly chewed, then cut a bigger piece with her fork and stuck it in her mouth. It wasn't long before she was shovelling the quiche down and going for seconds.
Hopper watched amusedly, and then finally asked the question he'd been waiting to ask for half an hour. "I guess you like it, then?" El nodded, too busy chowing down on a third piece. "You want to know what that green stuff is?" There was no response this time, only a quick meeting of the eyes. Hopper grinned. "It's spinach."
Right away El spat the chewed substance out, fortunately landing it all on the plate. "Spinach?" A horrified look came across her face.
"Spinach," Hopper confirmed. Every kid had a food they resented with all their soul. It was the one food they would avoid under any circumstance, even pass up dessert for. In El's case, that food was spinach. She liked salad, coleslaw, carrots; she didn't even mind peas or broccoli. But spinach was an absolute no-no.
El sat back in her chair, looking defeated. For a few moments Hopper thought he had her, but she shocked him when she suddenly began eating the quiche again.
"So what's this? You like spinach now?"
El shook her head, picking out a mushroom. "Still hate spinach. I just like quiche."
Hopper thought that was a darn good comeback. And, now he had a way to get her to eat spinach. It made him wonder if she would fall for broccoli-laced brownies . . .
Author's Note:
There it is! The first chapter, finally complete! I'm having a total blast writing this story, let me just say. These characters, as difficult as they are for me to expand upon, are my new babies. Move over, Harrington, those kids are MINE. Now, I want to apologize for two things: first, this chapter isn't all that Christmasy, I know. I just had to build some background up, introduce the center of the story (El's and Hopper's relationship), that stuff. Next chapter, which is due in Tuesday, is way more Christmas-themes, I promise. Second thing, I only got to actually writing this story a few days ago, because of school and trying to plan out the story when I had no real idea as to what I wanted to do with it, and a few other things that stole some precious time away from me. So I'm sorry if anything feels a little rushed, I'm just trying to get this finished before Christmas! I personally feel like I wrote the characters well, they act pretty canon in my opinion. Let me know what you guys think! And if any of you have any great Stranger Things story ideas, let me hear them! If I hear something that sounds really good, then I might just write it. If not, it'll probably be awhile until I write another Stranger Things story. A few other stories are in progress, but they're obviously on hold for now, and it'll take awhile with school and work (when I get a job again). I hope you all enjoyed this story, and I'll be back real soon! Tuesday! Mark it on your calendars, 'cause it's happening, baby!