Chapter 4: Hard Time Losin' Man

Oh sometimes skies are cloudy
And sometimes skies are blue
And sometimes they say that you eat the bear
But sometimes the bear eats you
And sometimes I feel like I should go
Far far away and hide
'Cause I keep a waitin' for my ship to come in
And all that ever comes is the tide

Sometimes it's hard to cope with everything. And also, sometimes, there's dancing.

Hopper hesitated at El's bedroom door, uncertain whether to wake her. Usually she emerged from her room within minutes of his own getting up, and they ate breakfast together nearly every day. He liked to see her before going to work in the morning, and he thought she probably felt the same. Today, though, he'd eaten alone, and now he stood debating whether he should let her sleep or wake her to say goodbye before leaving.

Maybe she really did need the extra sleep. Things had been hectic the last few weeks, with El's first real holiday season and all her friends out of school for Christmas vacation. But he hated to leave her without saying anything, even though she would know where he had gone. If nothing else, he decided, he could at least wake her up enough to let her know he was heading to work, and then let her go right back to sleep.

She didn't answer when he knocked on the door. "Hey, kid?" he called. "You awake?"

When he still didn't hear anything he opened the door softly and peaked in. She was curled on her side, facing away from him. For a moment he thought she was still asleep, but then he realized that she looked too tense for that—she held herself stiffly, her shoulders hunched inward.

"You alright?" he asked, concerned. He ran through all the possible explanations in his mind as he stepped fully into the room. There hadn't been a fight recently, so he couldn't think of any reason she would be angry with him, and she'd shown no signs of coming down with something.

Then he remembered, suddenly: it was January seventh, which meant that her friends were all back at school today. After a long break during which El been almost like a regular kid, able to see them almost every day either here or at Joyce's, now she was back to being on the outside again—shut away here while the rest of them were together without her. He cursed silently to himself. He should have anticipated that she'd be upset. He could have taken the day off work or something, so he could be around to help take her mind off of it.

He sighed and walked around to the other side of the bed, sitting down on the edge. He ducked his head so he could see her face, expecting to find her pouting or maybe even in tears. Instead, he was alarmed to see that she was staring straight ahead at the wall, her eyes looking almost glazed over, completely expressionless. The blankness in her face made his blood run cold. "El?" He put a hand on her shoulder. "What's goin' on?" He tried to keep the worry out of his voice, but he wasn't sure he succeeded.

She still didn't react.

"El, hey." He brushed the back of his hand against his forehead, instinctively checking for a fever, even though he knew that wasn't what was wrong. "You're scaring me, kid. Can you tell me what's wrong?"

She didn't speak, but he did finally see a flicker of something like recognition in her eyes. It was enough to calm Hopper's nerves a bit, though she kept staring straight ahead with that terrifyingly empty expression.

But now that he had had a moment to think more rationally, he realized that he wasn't entirely unfamiliar with that look. He hadn't seen it on her, or on anyone really, but it was an expression he imagined he'd worn countless times himself on all those days when the world was too much to face and he couldn't bring himself to get out of bed, much less move or speak. And really, now that he thought about it, he was only surprised that this hadn't come up with her sooner.

And he had absolutely no idea how to handle it.

She'd been depressed before, of course. Months cooped up without any connection to the outside world would do that to anyone. But this catatonic level of despair was new for her, at least as far as Hopper was aware. New, but hardly shocking, given all the kid had been through.

He ran his hand gently through her hair. "I'll be right back," he murmured.

In the kitchen, he picked up his radio to call Flo. "Hey, it's me," he said, doing his best to make his voice sound realistically scratchy and tired. "I'm not gonna make it in today."

"Sick or drunk?" asked Flo, sounding bored.

"Sick." He contemplated forcing a cough and then decided it would be overkill.

"Alright," sighed Flo, "I'll call someone else in."

"You're the best."

Then he filled a glass of water for El and brought it into her room. She still hadn't moved when he settled again on the edge of her bed. He started stroking her hair again, feeling that it was grossly inadequate, but not knowing what else he could do to help. "You don't have to say anything," he said eventually, without breaking his hand's gentle rhythm. "But can you just give me some sign that you can hear me? Just nod for me?"

There was a long pause and Hopper felt his heart rate pick up, certain that she either couldn't understand what he was saying or couldn't make herself react. But then, finally, she gave the tiniest nod.

He let out a deep sigh of relief. "Good, that's good," he said, as much to himself as to her.

He tried to think what had helped him when he used to get like this, in the first few years after Sara's death. Nothing came to mind. He'd had no one around to take care of him, and usually he'd just lain like that until he either fell back asleep or eventually regained the necessary motor skills to go in search of alcohol. The latter was clearly not an option here—and really had never been a good option for himself, either—but he was loathe to just leave her alone in hopes that she fell asleep at some point.

He glanced over at the bedside table, where the book they had been reading together lay. It was worth a try, he figured, and it beat just sitting here and anxiously watching her. "You want me to read to you?" he asked, already reaching over to pick the book up.

She didn't answer him, unsurprisingly, but he went ahead and flipped it open to where they had left off the previous night. He settled his hand on her shoulder again, hoping the contact might somehow bring her back to herself, and began to read, awkwardly fumbling the pages with his one free hand.

"After another week of rain the high arch of blue sky appeared again and the sun which poured down was quite hot. Though there had been no chance to see either the secret garden or Dickon, Mistress Mary had enjoyed herself very much. The week had not seemed long. She had spent hours of every day with Colin in his room…"

He read for what felt to him like forever, even as his throat grew sore and his voice raspy. Every couple of pages he glanced up at El, and he felt as if a pit was sinking further and further into his stomach as he saw no change.

But then, after what must have been close to an hour, he heard a tiny sniffling noise from her. Startled, he looked up at her to see tears standing out on her pale face. She was blinking rapidly, her lower lip trembling.

Any other time, the sight of her crying would have worried him. Now he was so relieved that he felt almost dizzy with it. "Hey, kid," he murmured, closing the book and setting it aside. He wiped some of her tears away with the pad of his thumb and then left his hand there cradled against the side of her head, stroking her temple lightly.

She blinked up at him and a few more tears slipped out. She opened her mouth as if to speak but no sound came out. She swallowed hard and tried again. "Hop," she managed, barely audible.

Hopper had to blink back sudden tears of his own at the pain and grief in her voice. "I'm right here," he murmured.

"Hurts," she whispered.

He took one of her hands in his. "Where does it hurt?"

She seemed at a loss for words and he realized her breath was starting to come a little more loudly, too quick and too shallow for his comfort.

"Just breathe with me, okay?" he said, keeping his voice as calm as he could manage. "In…and out. In…and out. That's it." He took exaggerated breaths of his own to help her keep the rhythm.

She was shaking and the tears were coming faster. "My chest," she gasped out. "I—it feels—"

"Shh, honey, I know." He moved a hand to her back, rubbing up and down in time with the breathing pattern he wanted her to follow. "It's okay. You're okay."

Suddenly she sat upright, throwing off his hand, and then swayed a little at the sudden change in position. She was gasping loudly, breathing pattern entirely lost, and she leaned forward to clutch her head in her hands.

"Woah, hey." Hopper backed up a little, giving her space, but still held out a hand toward her as if trying to calm a frightened animal. "Breathe, breathe breathe breathe. In…and out. You can do it."

He breathed deeply with her and after a few minutes she had stopped hyperventilating. She looked up at him, eyes clouded with pain, and it broke his heart. Slowly, so that she would have time to pull away if she didn't want to be touched, he reached out and put a hand on her knee.

"That's better," he whispered. Then, after a little hesitation, he asked, "Do you wanna tell me what happened there?"

She shrugged, and then reached for the hand on her knee. He thought she was going to push it away, but instead she slid hers into it, holding it tightly. Hopper clutched her hand back, rubbing his thumb back and forth against her knuckles.

He tried again. "Have you felt like that before?"

"No," she said, and then paused. "Not…here," she amended. "But—in the lab…"

Hopper could picture it all too easily, his little girl lying on her hard hospital bed, immobilized by depression and without anyone to help her through it. He imagined her hyperventilating alone, not understanding why it was happening. He clutched her hand a little harder. There was a sudden, irrational guilt coursing through him, because he was powerless to take those painful memories away from her, and because it had happened again, with him, when he was supposed to be taking care of her. When he should have known that she would be upset today, but had failed to realize until it was too late.

"Was it because of school?" he asked.

She looked a little surprised that he had guessed, and nodded. But then she seemed to change her mind and shook her head. "Not just school."

"What else then?" he said patiently.

She seemed to be struggling with herself, searching for the words. "I want to be there," she said finally. "With my friends. But I…I'm scared."

He waited a moment for her to elaborate, and then prompted her when she didn't. "Why are you scared?"

"What if it isn't good?" she whispered, sounding broken. "What if…I go to school, and it's bad, because there's mouthbreathers, and I'm not smart enough, and…" She swallowed hard, struggling to continue without crying. "What if I'm too messed up and I can never be normal?"

"Oh, kid," sighed Hopper, not knowing what to say, because he had the exact same fears. He was so terrified that even when she went to school—which would probably happen in the fall, thanks to the fake birth certificate that was now framed above the TV—she would be unable to adjust to a regular life. He didn't really know much about how trauma worked in children, but he did know that over a decade of being treated like a lab rat had left some deep scars that would probably never fully heal. "It's gonna be okay."

"You don't know that."

She was too smart for her own good, he thought, and wished briefly that she was younger, so that his reassurances might have more weight. "We'll make it okay," he said firmly.

She didn't look reassured by this. Instead, her face crumpled. "I'm just scared," she choked out. "And I…" She let out a sob, and then tried to speak through it, her words barely audible. "I don't want to be scared anymore."

Hopper had felt his heart break already a few times that morning. At that, though, he felt it pang sharply again. "C'mere," he said, and opened his arms to her. She fell against him and pressed her face into his shoulder, shaking with sobs. "I've got you," he whispered, holding her tightly and rocking her back and forth. "I've got you."

Eventually her sobs subsided and she fell still against him, breathing deeply in his arms. He could feel a damp patch in his uniform, saturated with tears and probably snot, but he didn't care in the slightest.

"You should eat something," he murmured after awhile. "You up for some Eggos?"

She pulled back a little and nodded, wiping her streaming nose on her sleeve. Then she seemed to notice for the first time that he was dressed for work. "Are you late?" she asked, sounding concerned.

He smiled at her, his heart warmed by how much she seemed to care. "Don't worry about it, kid, I'm staying home today." He ruffled her hair, gently, and then stood and held out a hand to help her up. When she was standing, he wound an arm around her shoulders, and led her into the kitchen.

She sat down at the table while he put the Eggs in the toaster, looking exhausted and still miserable, though it was still infinitely better than the chillingly empty stare. While he waited for them to toast, he drummed his fingers on the counter and then had an idea. "How about some happy music?" he suggested.

She just shrugged, not looking too enthusiastic, which he supposed was fair. It was silly to think she'd cheer right up just because he'd put on a record she liked. But he nonetheless went to the record player and turned it on. The record he'd been going to play was already on the turntable.

She did seem to perk up a little as she ate, even managing a tiny smile when Hopper started snapping his fingers and humming along to the music. Just as he was standing up to take her plate to the sink, the song changed, and, struck by a sudden inspiration, he set the plate back down and held out his hand to her. She just looked at it, uncomprehending, until he shook it at her and she hesitantly reached out to take it.

He pulled her up and took her other hand in his, and started to shake his hips in time with the music, swaying his arms a little. She looked up at him, startled, and stood stiffly as he tried to dance with her.

"An' you think you seen trouble," he sang, quietly and horribly off key, and it finally coaxed a full smile out of her. She loosened up, not dancing herself yet, but allowing Hopper to swing her arms with his. "Well you're lookin' at the man, uh-huh. Oh the world's own original hard luck story, and a hard time losin' man."

She laughed a little, and Hopper thought it was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. He laughed himself, when she started swaying her own hips, trying to match his movements. For a few blissful minutes, they just danced together, throwing out increasingly erratic moves, and it was if nothing had ever been wrong.

But when the song started to fade out, some of the light in El's eyes died away. As the next song started playing—a slower, sadder one—she sank back into her chair, looking weary.

Hopper sighed, and went to turn off the music. He crouched in front of her. "I know it's tough, kid," he said quietly. "But we're gonna work it out. Whatever happens, we'll get through it. Together."

She looked down at her hands, tightly knotted in her lap. "Okay," she whispered.

He smiled at her. "That's my girl." He stood to take her plate, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head before bringing it to the sink.