Time After Time (a Stranger Things fanfiction)

What Becomes of the Broken Hearted

"What Becomes of the Broken-Hearted"

The roots of love grow all around

But for me they come a-tumblin' down

Every day heartaches grow a little stronger

I can't stand this pain much longer

- Jimmy Ruffin

Hopper had been back in Hawkins about three weeks when he saw her for the first time. She was behind the counter at Melvald's—which was pretty damn funny, considering how much they'd shoplifted from the place back in high school, Hopper thought.

Her head snapped up as soon as the bell rang above the door, and her big brown eyes got wide when she recognized him. God, she was thin. Too thin. She'd never been heavy, but now her face was practically all eyes. And she looked so scared, like she was ready for whatever came in to take another shot at her. Damn Lonnie Byers, anyway, if he could take someone so pretty and funny and full of life and suck it all out of her. Hopper had heard that Lonnie ran out on her a couple of years ago, leaving her with two boys to take care of on her own. He couldn't help envying her anyway—at least she had her kids.

"Hopper," she said, her throaty voice unchanged and full of wonder.

"Hey, Joyce. How've you been?"

"Oh, you know. You?" That she had heard about him was obvious from the way her hand flew up to cover her mouth as soon as the words came out, and he wanted to tell her, to lean on the counter and bum a smoke and tell her about Sara, about how funny she'd been and how much she'd made him laugh and how she was the best thing that had ever happened to him, until losing her was the worst thing that had ever happened ...

But he didn't know this stranger behind the counter, this Joyce Byers, not at all, and he couldn't tell her things, not the way he used to be able to talk to Joyce Horowitz.

He didn't know what to say into the silence, so he settled for, "Yeah."

"I was surprised you came back."

Hopper shrugged. "They had an opening, I needed a job. So here I am."

"Welcome back?"

With a bitter chuckle, he mimed cheerleading with pom-poms. "Rah rah." They looked at each other, silence hanging heavy between them. "I heard about Lonnie."

"Come to gloat? Yeah, you were right. Happy now?" For all the residual anger in her voice, at least she sounded like the Joyce he used to know. He remembered the fight they'd had about Lonnie—the fights, really—and how he had predicted an unhappy end to the relationship. So had everyone, but he had been the loudest because it had hurt him the most.

"Not so much, no."

Her face softened. "Hop. I really am sorry. About—well, about a lot of things."

"Yeah, me, too." He cleared his throat and gestured toward the pharmacy. "Hey, the doc around back there?"

She nodded, and he tipped his hat to her before heading back to get his prescription refilled.

Joyce watched him go, her heart aching for him. She wished there was something she could do, something she could say, to ease the pain she saw burning in the back of those blue eyes she had once known so well. Thinking of Jonathan and Will, she tried to imagine what it would be like to lose one of them, and couldn't see straight for the pain of it. And when you had such a big heart, the way Hopper did, and you put so much of it into anything you could love, and then you lost it—it must feel like having your heart ripped out of your chest.

But what could she say? Words wouldn't bring his daughter back, or fix his marriage, any more than words made Jonathan feel better every time his father missed a weekend, or made Will understand why Lonnie only liked him when they were doing things that Lonnie wanted to do. She did her best, tried to be everything to them, father and mother, but boys needed a father. They at least needed a mother who didn't work all the time, who was home when they got home from school, who knew how to cook and wasn't afraid of her shadow and didn't lose her keys all the time and ... and had her act together. And that wasn't Joyce. Not now, and maybe it never had been. Lonnie said so, that she'd never been all there, that she'd never been good enough. Maybe he was right.

Watching Hopper's broad back—she'd forgotten how tall he was, the way he filled up a room—Joyce remembered that Hopper had thought she was good enough. How he had listened when she talked, and encouraged her to study harder and get better grades and get out of Hawkins, even go to college. But it had been easier to believe when Lonnie told her she didn't need to worry, that he'd take care of her.

Joyce shook her head. What a load of hooey that had been. What an idiot she'd been to believe it.

As she so often did, she resolved to do better, to be more of what Jonathan and Will needed. She was lucky to have them, and she never wanted to forget how lucky or take them for granted. Will had a birthday coming up, and somehow it felt like if she could get him just the right thing—not something too expensive, of course, but something he would really love—then maybe she could get back on track. And then if she could save up enough for the camera Jonathan wanted—

Hopper turned around, tucking a bottle of pills into his pocket, and ambled back toward the front of the store. "Joyce."

"Hopper. Have a nice day!" she called after him, the words too much of an ingrained habit to forget. He paused a moment at the door, as if he wanted to respond, and she braced for the sarcasm. But then he went through the door, silently, leaving the bell ringing above him as though he'd been just another customer.

Joyce would have preferred the sarcasm.