Chapter Text
This ‘Hopper’ got to the small house in the woods quicker than Steven could sense his arrival.
He had been watching the tv, although the words spoken through it didn’t quite make sense to Steven. He was more listening to the distant hum of static it produced, because that was a familiar sound and, the hiss from the mechanical box felt grounding. Like his routine, which had been ruined the moment Steven blew a man’s brain out.
As the door banged a thudding knock, Steve gasped quickly and spun around in his seat, staring at the door and fearing what lay before it.
Joyce reassured him quickly as she rushed to the door, unlocking it with nimble fingers and throwing the door open in haste.
There, outside the door, stood a tall man with a hat atop his head. He was taller than Steve, much bigger than him too. His face had hair, and his eyes weren’t friendly and warm like kind Joyce’s seemed. He looked to Joyce first, listened to her quick words Steven strained to understand, and let his eyes roam the room until they landed right on Steve.
He froze, gripping his wrist where the tattoo inked and pinched his skin with weak nails. He did not like this tall man.
“Right.” Hopper responded to Joyce’s fast-talking. Steve hadn’t understood a word of it. This Hopper came walking into the house with large, loud steps. Steve’s chest thumped in time to the tallest man coming closer, and closer, until he seemed to tower over Steve still sat curled into himself on the armchair. Steve felt frozen to move, wide eyes staring up at the man as he gripped his wrist painfully.
He watched this ‘Hopper’ closely, waiting to break both his arms before he could reach them out to grab Steven.
“Now, Hop.” Joyce said as she came closer, coming up behind Steve to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. Steve felt his body grow warmer, unfreezing under the large man’s glare. He curled into her a little, afraid a quick movement would set the large man charging after him. “He’s a little fragile, doesn’t speak much. Just, be nice. Like I said on the phone, he said his parents hurt him, and-”
“I deserve it.” Steve filled in for Joyce, and Hopper snapped his head to the teen curling up in the sofa. He sighed, and Steven watched with a furrowed brow as the man knelt down before him, taking off his hat and holding it in his hands. Steve’s brain flooded with images of the man hurting him from the lower angle, but he stayed confused with his brow still furrowed. He didn’t speak again, in fear of punishment, of pain.
“Do you have a name?” Hopper said, and that made the boy confused for a moment.
He nodded, knowing not to lie, but knowing not to be naive and trust this large man so easily.
“Steven.” He said, still gripping his tattoo. “Steve, sometimes.” He shouldn’t let him know. He shouldn’t show him the mark on his arm.
“Right.” Hopper turned to Joyce, and Steve looked up at her too to find her fretting her nails between her teeth.
“He has a /tattoo/, Hop. Of…” She shook her head, eyes dark. Steve’s heart sunk. She turned to Steve with a forced smile. Steve didn’t like that. “Honey, do you mind showing Hopper the tattoo? He’s just here to help, sweetie. I promise.”
Steve trusted her, though. Maybe not Hopper, but maybe he could grow too. If Joyce wanted…
He very slowly pulled his now-cramping hand away from his wrist, and very tentatively pushed his arm outwards for Hopper to peer. As Hopper leaned in, to get a closer look at the 007 itched ink into his skin, Steve couldn’t help the involuntary flinch his body gave, pulling his arm back before Hopper could grab it, and drag him away. He leaned back for Joyce’s comfort, and found her hand squeeze his shoulder tightly.
Hopper groaned, and Joyce gripped his shoulder a little tighter.
“Okay. Um… who’d- what’s the numbers mean?” Hopper asked, stumbling over his sentences like Steven did. Still, there was certainty behind this Hopper’s words, whilst Steve’s were jumbled and didn’t make as much sense.
Instead of speaking, Steve brought his palm up to his chest slowly. He pointed to the numbers, and back to his chest again.
“I was Seven.” He whispered, and was unsure if either heard.
Steve watched as Hopper pulled a face, as if his throat constricted from the inside. Steve reached for his top lip, not finding any blood.
“Who did that to you?” Hopper’s voice turned very low, like he was suddenly more serious. Steve didn’t feel spooked as much, at least not by the large man. This ‘Hopper’ man with the silly hat was no fear against Steven’s memories.
The memory of hot scratching and wet cheeks had him flinching back again. His neck turned away, his eyes closed as he felt the phantom pain on the needle that scratched and stained his tender skin. It burnt, it scratched, and Steve remembered a distinct cackle at his pain.
“Bad man.” He mumbled, and Hopper seemed to groan again.
“Your dad?” Hopper offered, and Steve’s head turned to the knelt man. “Joyce said your ‘papa’ hurt you?” He explained, although it sounded like a question still.
Steven nodded.
“Okay, kid. We’re getting somewhere. You’re doing great.” Steven felt his chest flip at the words. He didn’t know how to feel about the words, a large feeling he’d never felt before. “Could you describe your dad to me? What does he look like?”
“Why?” The word shocked even Steve, who had never questioned anything in his controlled life. At the lab, Papa forbid it, and Steven was always too afraid to ask why. Now, this Hopper and kind Joyce might get just as mad for Steve’s loose tongue.
He braced himself for a hit, his body going tense, but all that hit him was the sound of a sigh.
“Because, Steve, what happened to you was bad.” Hopper’s lips pierced, as if shocked or annoyed he had to explain this to Steven. As if he should know these things. “Joyce found you in the street, in the dark, with no shoes on. And you said you were running away from ‘bad men’ and your papa. I need to know what these ‘bad men’ are doing so I can stop it and protect you, get it?” Hopper said with a stern tone, and Steven shuffled further back into the sofa crease and Joyce’s comfort. He nodded, although he didn’t fully understand, and pinched at the skin of his arm until the little spot bled.
“Oh, honey. Don’t do that. Let’s clean that up.” Joyce smiled, and pat his shoulder before she left the two, rushing around the kitchen.
Leaving Hopper and Steve alone. The boy couldn’t meet the big man’s eyes.
“Steven, please.” Hopper’s voice changed, and Steve’s ears pricked. “I just want to help.”
Steve looked up at Hopper’s large face, gotten closer and more sincere as the two had spoken.
Hopper wanted to help.
But… he couldn’t risk it. Steven would feel so upset to see either of these people hurt because of his escape, or Jonathan or Will. Seven wasn’t deserving of their sacrifice.
But, Steve couldn’t put it into words, so instead he brought his two first fingers and his thumb pointing upwards to Hopper’s forehead. Mimicking a gun. Hopper went still.
Steve turned the ‘gun’ back onto himself. He made a flicking motion with his hands, the gun going off. Shooting them both.
Hopper sighed.
“Jesus Christ…” Hopper groaned.
Joyce came back with a little band-aid, and caught Hopper’s eyes.
“Might be better if I take him in for a while.” Hopper offered, and Joyce’s lips went thin.
<~>
Steve sat in front of the tv, still curled up on the couch, and tuned the volume down with his mind, to listen closer to the adults whisper-yelling in the kitchen behind him.
“-can’t stay here. Not when it’s just you and the boys”.
“We’ve been fine this long-“
“How long, Joyce? Two days now, barely? No. He can’t stay here if what he’s told us is true. I’ll protect him, and Jane needs the company.”
“So you’d put her in danger?”
“That’s not what I’m saying-“
“That’s exactly what you’re saying!” Joyce yelled, and Steven snapped his head around to face the two in the kitchen. He brought fingers up to his cropped hair, grabbing at the short locks and tangling his fingers as deep as they could go. “He’s safe here, as safe as he’d be with you and Jane.”
Steven watched Hopper groan, wiping both large palms across his face. Joyce stood by the cooker, face red, and Hopper sat at the table with a mug and smoking stick between his fingers. Steven’s brow furrowed as he watched the two argue.
“Look. I’ll take him in for the night, tell Jane not to tell her friends about him, and then tomorrow morning I’ll call around, ask if anyone knows of a danger, or missing kid from a rough background.”
‘Call’… ‘call around’… Steve mouthed the words, sounding them on his lips with the slightest whisper. He turned to the phone. Phone-call.
No.
Steven stood, neither adult noticing him coming up from the couch.
“‘Call around’? Call who, Hop? I don’t know anyone in Hawkins who would hurt a child like that. He could not even be from here. Did you hear his speech, Hopper? I doubt he’s been to school, let alone any other human interaction outside of these ‘bad men’.”
Hopper groaned again.
Steven stepped closer, coming out of the light from the tv and into the flickering light above the dining table. Joyce sighed, and caught sight of Steve coming towards them.
“Steven?” Joyce stepped closer, her fretting hands itching to reach closer and hold Steve’s frail frame. “Are you alright?”
“No.” Steve shook his head, looking to Hopper. “No calls.” He elaborated. “No more phone calls.”
The adults glanced to each other, Hopper went to stand, and Steve flinched back a little. The large man stayed sat.
“Why not, honey?” Joyce’s voice was kind. He couldn’t have her hurt because of him.
“They’re listening.” Steve shuddered, memories flashing of hearing conversations he wasn’t involved in through large speakers and wired attached to his head. Earpieces stuck in his ears, a wired helmet atop his shaved head. Repeating the words for Papa, words Steve wasn’t taught and didn’t understand.
He pointed to the phone, then rested his pointing finger to his lips.
Hopper stood with a screeching scrape of the chair, and Steve flinched back a jump as Hopper grabbed at the phone, and slammed it against the wall.
It crumbled to pieces, and Steve locked shocked eyes with Hopper as he turned around with a huff.
“You’re coming with me.”