Hopper stood on the porch of his trailer for almost a full minute before he was able to gather the strength to reach into his pocket and pull out his keyring. He never used to keep the trailer locked (it was in the middle of nowhere and honestly, there was nothing of any true value inside), but after finding that government bug in his house not even three months ago, Hopper had felt more of an inclination to lock his door than he ever had before.

Inside the trailer, the living area was just as messy as Hopper had left it. Every few weeks Hopper would tear apart every single one of his belongings to look for any sort of recording device, find nothing, and then waste hours putting his things back together. Eventually he just stopped before the final step, and now pieces of what was once intact belongings littered Hopper's floor.

He stepped over the shards of a shattered telephone on his way in, then pushed an entire disassembled fan off the couch so he could sit on a sliced up cushion. He set the plastic grocery bag from Melvald's on the floor at his feet, not caring about the ice cream inside. It had probably already melted.

"I need a drink," he said to the empty air. In truth, the idea of Hawkins Lab listening in didn't make him nearly afraid as it might; Hopper knew that the chain of command was in total disarray after the death of Brenner and there was no way those sickos were organized enough to plant a bug in his home and actively listen to it in the midst of all that chaos.

Hopper stretched out his legs and groaned, ignoring the subtle ache that always set into his hip towards the end of winter.

"Boys, boys, boys," Hopper muttered to himself, eyes set on the Melvald's bag. "Take a break from the trouble for once in your life, why don't you?"

He had thought those idiots had been out of trouble, for good. "Those idiots" being Lucas Sinclair, Dustin Henderson, Mike Wheeler, and Will Byers, or "the party," or "the gang," or whatever they called their little friend group.

It was mid January, over two months after the fiasco with the missing Byers boy and the bald girl in Mike Wheeler's basement and the Upside Down, and Hopper had thought everything was back to calm and boring Hawkins, Indiana. Will had been cleared by the hospital for home in early December, and soon after the four friends were back in the Wheeler's basement playing board games and bothering the neighbors. Hopper worried about them, yes, but marginally less than he had in November or hell, even in December.

He had been wrong to. He should have worried more. He should have been more watchful. He should have…

"What do you mean, 'are the boys going over to Mike's house tonight?'" Joyce repeated incredulously, a harsher response than Hopper had been expecting from some light small talk while Joyce was bagging his purchases at Melvald's. "Have you seen Mike around recently?"

Yes, of course I have, Hopper started to say, mouth already moving to form the words, but he stopped dead when he took a moment to actually consider the question. He had seen Mike Wheeler around town, racing on bikes with the other three hooligans or shouting about comic books outside of the movie theater, but in each memory, as Hopper tried to hone in on it, he realized that Mike was slightly off, slightly blurred. He hadn't taken the time to really look at Mike, sometimes sparing a vague wave in his direction but mostly just continuing on his way as if Mike hadn't caught his eye at all.

"No," Hopper answered, realizing Joyce was waiting for a response. "I guess I haven't."

"Oh," said Joyce, eyebrows raised and looking slightly taken aback. "Well… He hasn't been sleeping well. Since the whole thing with-" She paused, gave him a pointed look and said, "You know. Karen's been taking him to a therapist for a while now, and but it got so bad she took him to the hospital last Friday."

"Last Friday?" Hopper repeated in a low voice, fist tightening at his side. "Why didn't anyone think to tell me?"

Joyce frowned at him, clearly put off by his sudden show of rage. "Hopper," she said, "why would anyone tell you?"

She said it gently, but her tone didn't stop Hopper's heart from sinking in his chest. Joyce was right. There was no reason for Hopper to be notified. He couldn't exactly be called present in Mike's life, given he hadn't even looked in the boy's eyes since November.

"What's wrong with him?" Hopper asked, sighing.

Joyce bit on her lip, obviously considering whether or not Hopper was someone who needed to know the details of Mike's situation.

"Joyce," Hopper said gruffly, then reached out and put his hand on hers. "Please."

Joyce huffed and pulled her hand away, but her eyes stayed on Hopper. "Fine," she said. "Mike's been having nightmares for a while now. It's- It's gotten so bad he can barely sleep at all. I'm not supposed to know any of this, but I was dropping Will off and heard Karen and Ted talking to a doctor- they're talking about sending him to a children's psychiatric hospital."

"A children's psychiatric hospital?" Hopper took a step back from the counter, then stepped up again. "Why- A children's psychiatric hospital, for nightmares?"

Joyce looked down at the register and picked at some peeling paint. "It's not just that," she said. "Will was telling me about it- Mike thinks… Mike told Will, at least… He's been having these nightmares, and now… Mike thinks he can feel-" Joyce paused abruptly, then continued, "the girl. Sometimes- Sometimes he hallucinates that she's in the room."

Hopper paused, taking in this new information. "I know this sounds crazy but- Is there any way…" He trailed off, leaving the end of the question in the air.

Joyce shook her head. "No," she said. "It's hard, but- She's dead. Even if she somehow survived- the school- There's no way she made it through the winter in the other place. There's just no way."

"Yeah," Hopper agreed, gazing out of the storefront windows. "I'm, uh… I'm gonna go," he said, grabbing the plastic bag from Joyce and passing her a bill. "Keep- Keep it," he added, already halfway out the door and heading towards the Chevy. He tossed his groceries into the passenger's seat, and started up the car, radio coming to life with the engine. China Girl played too loud, but Hopper's arms felt glued to the steering wheel.

I stumble into town/Just like a sacred cow

Visions of swastikas in my head/Plans for everyone

It's in the white of my eyes

When Hopper thought back to it, he would have sworn the car ride to the hospital was finished before the song, although the drive had to have been much longer. In his head though, it was just China Girl, over and over, Hopper humming along absentmindedly at some points but mostly just clenching his jaw and focusing on the road.

"Mike Wheeler," Hopper said to the woman behind the desk the second he walked through the entrance. The couple she was helping scowled at him for cutting in, but Hopper just pulled out his badge and said, "Chief Jim Hopper. What room is Mike Wheeler in?" and the nurse sent him on his way.

Hopper set towards the children's ward with intent, with a mission. He was going to go in that room and he was going to speak to Karen and Ted, ask them what the hell they were thinking, and then he was going to speak to whatever scumbag doctor was nearest, ask them what the hell they were doing, and then he was going to speak to Mike and ask him what was wrong because god knows not enough people speak to that child like an adult, which he deserves (on occasion) after everything he's been through. Hopper made his way up the stairs to the children's ward and down the hall like a warrior with a quest to complete, but he stopped dead in his tracks outside Mike's room.

Inside, it was like a renaissance painting. Complete focus was on Mike. Karen was standing at his bedside, leaning over a mountain of pillows behind his head and running her fingers through his hair. Holly was on the ground, toys forgotten as she stared up at her older brother. Nancy sat at the foot of the bed, arms crossed over a purple sweater like she was angry, but her eyes were red with tears. Even Ted, sitting in a wooden chair at the side of the room, wasn't looking at the newspaper in his lap but instead his eyes were fixed on his son.

There was a doctor in the room speaking to them, but even he was gazing at Mike, shoulders shrugged in an expression that was equal parts confused and apologetic.

At last, Hopper's eyes fell to the boy in the bed, fell to Mike. The already pale and thin kid was somehow paler and thinner than Hopper remembered him being, so much so that the white sheets almost swallowed him both in color and size. There were deep bags under his eyes, once sharp and observing but now seemed almost blurred. By his side, Mike was gripping the sheet so hard his knuckles were shaking and stark white. All attention in the room was on Mike, but as Hopper watched, Mike turned his head to the window and looked directly at Hop.

In a flash, Hopper was transported years back to the same ward in the same hospital, reading Anne of Green Gables to Sara and patting her smooth head. In an instant, the months Hopper spent, holding Sara like Karen was holding Mike, gazing at her like Nancy was gazing at her brother, listening to doctors apologize and apologize and watching as Sara grew weaker and weaker, all came rushing back. He was there again, back then, and it was all coming back in an instant.

"Mike, honey," Karen said inside the room, stroking his cheek with a finger. "What are you looking at?"

Mike blinked and turned his focus back inside the room. "Nothing," he said, and when Karen turned around to look there was no one there.

Hopper ran out of the hospital and sped back to his trailer in silence.

And now he was slumped in a shredded couch, surrounded by broken furniture and belongings. Broken man in a broken home, he thought to himself, and laughed out loud dryly.

There was a noise from the other room that could have been a pile crumbling or an intruder. Hopper didn't react, just got off the couch to bring the bag from Melvald's into the kitchen. He tossed the pint of melted ice cream straight into the trash, the toothpaste onto the counter, and the cigarette carton into his pocket, and that's when he heard footsteps in the hallway coming towards him.

"Eleven," he said as the girl stepped out of the shadows and into the scarce light. She was still in that dirty dress with one of his shirts thrown over as a massive jacket, face smeared in dirt even though he had told her she could shower. She looked up at him with a face so obviously full of need and fear it made his heart pang, but he still had to say what needed to be said.

"Are you trying to contact Mike?"

A/N: PLEASE review! It's what makes writing and publishing fanfics worthwhile. All reviews are rewarded with an incredibly adorable picture of my dog, Kirk. Just specify in your review if you want one!

Shoutout to those who reviewed the last chapter, an anonymous reviewer, ILoveStydia (and I love your username), and CosmicChic97. Thanks a million!

I can be found on ao3 as fillmoredawn, twitter fillmoredawn, and tumblr save-will-byers, if you're interested!