Jailbird || Stranger Things

ten ➵ clues

Nights were especially cold in the cabin. Jim and Teresa had invested in a few extra blankets, but as the weather started to warm up into spring, they were less and less needed.

Although the cold was never the reason for Teresa's inability to sleep.

Jim had noticed the way she would toss and turn in the middle of the night. He himself had similar issues after Sarah and the November of 1983. He hadn't exactly had a proper goodnight's rest since Will disappeared.

"It's three in the morning, what are you doing?"

Reese didn't move, just tightened her hold on her cup that she'd been using to warm her hands. With a short sigh, Jim reluctantly lowered himself to the ground, leaning against the cabinets beside his daughter.

"You were right, I just didn't want to worry you," she practically whispered, her fingertips white from how strong she was holding onto the ceramic.

"This is not the moment for an 'I told you so'," he replied, turning his head towards her. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She shook her head, one of her hands letting go of the cup and raising to the neckline of her oversized t-shirt and sweater. He'd noticed her fingers go there whenever he asked about California, but he never got an answer.

"I didn't mean to do it, dad."

Her voice was choked up, and Jim couldn't help but be reminded of the last time he'd seen her cry. At least this time, he was pretty sure nobody died. Nobody she knew, anyway.

"I know," Jim pulled her into his side, hand running up and down her arm as she lay her head on his shoulder. "I know."

Teresa hated crying. Not only because of the red, painful eyes it left her with, or the heavy chest, but she hated the fact that she had to resort to such a weird way of releasing her emotions. She always thought it made her seem weak. Understandably, especially when her little sister passed away. But unnecessarily weak.

People preyed on that kind of shit.

"I couldn't breathe," she finally said once she felt the knot in her throat leave. "He just wouldn't let go."

"Who?" he whispered, letting her pull her knees up.

"Hargrove. He just kept— Kept pressing until I passed out."

Jim listened, never having wanted to need to listen to something like she was talking about. Even though he'd heard women and girls go through plenty of horrible things during his time in NYC, he never thought his daughter would be a victim.

"Is that why you did it?"

"Yeah," she mumbled, staring into her cup of cocoa. "I had to do something before he'd do it again."

"All right."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't," he pulled her closer. "You're okay," he looked down at her, though she was still refusing to look up. "I'm still proud of you."

"I really fucked up."

"Yeah," he nodded, getting a soft, breathy chuckle from his daughter. "But you're doing well here."

Teresa pulled herself away, though she was quite reluctant to do so. She leaned back against the cabinet beside her father and lifted the by-then-cold cup of cocoa. "Thank you for not turning me around. In December," she raised her head to look over at him.

"I didn't have a lot of say in Diane taking you either. I wasn't fit to take care of you. But I'm glad you're here now," he smiled gently, finally noticing so much of the same girl he knew before she became a criminal. "You're my daughter. No matter what."