"Hop? What are you doing here? Is everything alright?"

That's the greeting Jim receives as he stands on Joyce's front porch.

"Everything is fine, Joyce," he assures her, then further explains: "I'm on patrol tonight, but have a few minutes before I need to be at the station. Thought I'd stop by, see how everybody's doing. Where are the kids?" He peers around her.

"They were at the basketball game down at the high school. They should be home any minute now. Jonathan usually takes Will for a milkshake after games."

Jim grimaces. "So I'm interrupting the first alone-time you've had in weeks."

"More like saving me from it," Joyce says. "Come in." She beckons him inside by grasping his arm and pulling him across the threshold.

xxx

She puts a pot of coffee on, and they settle into the kitchen chairs, facing each other.

"How're you holding up?" Jim asks, then winces because he'd detested that question. After Sarah.

Joyce smiles sadly at him. Humors him. "You know."

Jim clears his throat. "You can talk about him, if you'd like. I'll listen."

It's awkward. This kind of conversation is always awkward. And it's a conversation they should have had sooner. But Bob's death took a little bit of a back burner to everything else. Will. El. Now Steve.

Joyce shakes her head, swallows hard. "The man that Bob was… his life… the way he died… it kind of speaks for itself, doesn't it?" she says thoughtfully, though her voice is pinched.

Jim nods. "He was a good man."

Jim hadn't wanted to admit it when he was alive - out of jealously more than anything else - but there was no denying it now. Bob Newby was a saint.

"The best," Joyce whispers. She reaches across to squeeze Jim's hand, is quick to change topics. "How's El?"

"She's good. She's real good," Jim tells her. "She's back."

Joyce smiles, shakes her head in bewilderment. "She's amazing."

"I hate that I have to keep her hidden away," Jim sighs.

"You're keeping her safe, Hop."

"I know, but—" He breaks off, an idea occurring to him then. "Hey, are you working this weekend?"

"No," Joyce answers. "Why?"

"What if we took the kids and went away for a few days? Get the hell out of Hawkins?"

Joyce raises her eyebrows, intrigued. "Where would we go?"

"My uncle has a cabin in Ohio. Hocking Hills area."

Joyce ponders it. "That could be really good, I think. For Will. For El. For Steve."

"For you," Jim adds knowingly.

"I'll talk it over with the kids," Joyce promises as she stands to pour the coffee.

xxx

As Jim starts his engine to his K4 Blazer, the kids pull into the drive beside him.

He gives them a honk and a wave, rolls down his window.

"How was the game?" he asks as the emerge from Steve's BMW.

"We won!" Will says happily.

"No kiddin'?" Jim asks. "You played Jefferson, didn't you?"

"Yeah, first time we've won in—"

Steve is cut off by Jim's police radio. "Chief, are you on your way to the station?"

Jim grabs for his mike, answers, "About to head there now."

"Well, don't. You're needed at 4427 Emery Road. There's been a domestic: altercation between father and son. Wife made the call. Ambulance was requested."

"Copy. En route." Jim puts the car in reverse. "Guess that's my cue," he tells the kids.

"Wait, Emery Road?" Steve repeats, grabbing onto the window frame before Jim can lift his foot off the brake. "That's Hargrove's street. Chief, let me come with you."

"What?" Jim frowns. "Harrington, I can't just take you on official police business."

"No, I have to come!" Steve practically shouts, panicked, tears pricking his eyes. "It's my fault! I shouldn't have let him leave with him. Billy was scared. I should've done something!"

"Steve—" Jonathan says gently, trying to talk him down, grabs ahold of his elbow. "Let Hopper handle it."

"It's okay, kid," Jim tells him. "He can come." Steve apparently has some insight into the situation that could be useful. "Hurry up, Harrington."

Steve releases his grip on the window, nods obediently, and rounds the car.

"Are you sure?" Jonathan asks Jim.

"I'm sure. You and Will get inside, fill your mom in."

Jonathan nods as Steve closes the door to the passenger seat. "Yessir."

xxx

Steve is tapping his fingers nervously on his knee during the drive.

"Kid, relax, and tell me what you know."

"I can't relax," Steve says. "Billy's dad beats him."

"He told you that?" Hopper asks.

Jim, of course, had suspected the very same thing every time he'd found Billy sleeping in his Camaro or when he'd him picked up for being drunk and disorderly. But Billy had never budged. Hadn't let Hopper help him. Always pegged the bruises on some schoolyard fight.

"He didn't have to tell me," Steve says solemnly. He bangs his head against the headrest and closes his eyes. "I knew he was in trouble tonight and I didn't do anything and now he's hurt."

Jim reaches out a hand to still Steve's shaking knee. "If Billy is hurt, that's his dad's fault, not yours. You understand me?"

He glances over as Steve breathes out shakily and nods.

"Almost there."

xxx

Susan and Max are sitting on the steps leading up to their house, arms wrapped around each other, when Jim and Steve arrive. The ambulance had beaten them there; a paramedic closes the doors and rounds to the front before driving off, siren blaring.

Jim and Steve kick open their doors.

"Steve!" Max immediately breaks away from her mother to give Steve a hug. "What are you doing here?"

Steve returns her hug, then drops to one knee so he can get a good look at her. From the dim illumination of the streetlight, Jim notices that she has a colored cheek and tear tracks on her face.

"Hopper was at the Byers' when the dispatcher called - I overheard. He let me ride along," Steve tells her as he cups her cheek. "Are you alright? Is Billy? Where's Neil?"

"I'm fine. Neil is the one on the ambulance," Max says. "We don't know where Billy is. He ran. After… he just ran."

Jim lets Max finish filling Steve in while he introduces himself to Susan. "Jim Hopper, Chief of Police," he greets, extending a hand.

Susan reaches out a trembling hand to shake his. "Thank you for coming, Chief."

"Can you fill me in on what happened here tonight?" Jim asks.

Susan nods, cuts to the chase. "My husband initiated a physical altercation with my step-son following a heated argument. He threw him on the floor and stomped on his hand that was already injured." Susan dabs at her eyes. "My daughter, Max, tried to get my husband to stop and he… he turned on her. Slapped her. Grabbed her. Billy acted to protect Max. He used a frying pan to knock my husband unconscious to keep him from hurting her any more."

A pit forms in Jim's stomach; he feels sick at the description.

"Where is Billy now?" Jim asks over the lump in his throat.

"We don't know. I don't think he knew how I was going to react to what he'd done. He was scared and ran."

Jim eyes the Camaro in the driveway. "He left his car."

"I'm going to go looking for him," Steve says entering the conversation as he steps closer to Susan and Jim. "I think I know where he is."

"Where's that?" Jim inquires.

"I gave him a key to my parents' house at the game tonight. I think he might've gone there. It's not too far. Less than a mile."

Jim nods, licks his lips. "Okay, Harrington. I'm going to let you do that while I get some more details from these ladies and investigate the scene. You call as soon as you get to the house - let us know if you found him. Figure out if he needs medical attention. We'll be here in case he comes back."

"Got it," Steve says as he backs away, already starting to jog in the direction of his neighborhood.

They watch him disappear out of sight. "Let's head in out of the cold," Jim says with a sigh, and ushers the shaken girls back into the house.