Time After Time (a Stranger Things fanfiction)

Little Lies

"Little Lies"

If I could turn the page

In time then I'd rearrange

Just a day or two

- Fleetwood Mac

Back at home, Hopper sat with Eleven over a pair of gooey, chocolatey, Eggo ice cream extravaganzas. He wasn't sure he understood her obsession with the frozen waffles, but it made it easy to indulge her.

She had been happy to see him return, and her smile had warmed him all through. He'd be willing to do a lot more than build Eggo and ice cream towers for her in order to see that smile. He wondered if she knew that.

They laughed over something she'd seen on TV while he was gone, and Hopper told her about Chicago, the streets and the people and some of the crazy outfits he'd seen. Things he never would have noticed before but he paid attention to now so he could tell her about them.

Then her laughter faded, and she looked up at him, her eyes big and serious. "How is Will?"

He didn't want to tell her.

She understood his silence too well. "Oh. I'm ... sorry."

"Yeah, me, too. Now we have to tell the lab people about him, and ... Well, we'd rather not." She knew why, better than anyone.

They were silent, the Eggos cloying and sticky in his mouth now instead of gooey and delicious.

"How is Will's mom?" Eleven asked.

"Worried. Scared. About the same." He thought of mentioning Bob, but he really didn't want to get into any of that. Dating, or Bob the Brain, or high school, or Joyce, or ... any of it. Nope.

"She's brave," Eleven said after giving the matter some serious thought.

Hopper got up and took the mostly empty plates to the sink. "She is. But she's lucky, too. She got Will back."

He thought of Sara, tears springing to his eyes suddenly the way they did sometimes when he was least expecting it. Turning on the tap, he hoped the running water would cover any telltale sounds while he fought the pain back.

But Eleven wasn't paying attention to him; her thoughts were moving in an entirely different direction. "Do you—do you think I had a mother?"

Hopper nearly dropped the plate, the question was so out of the blue. He could have kicked himself for not having expected it—of course she would wonder about herself, where she'd come from. If he'd thought about it beforehand, he could have planned what to say, what to tell her. Because telling her about Terry Ives, about the way her mother sat all day watching TV because her brain had been locked against her by the very people who had taken her child from her, was unthinkable. It would hurt Eleven, it would anger her ... and it would make her want to go and find her mother, which Hopper didn't think she was ready for.

For that matter, he knew perfectly well that he wasn't ready for it.

"Everyone has a mother, kid," he told her gruffly.

"But ..." She frowned, not able to put the question into words.

"But you were raised in the lab, and you think maybe you're different?"

"Yes."

"I doubt it." He drained the water from the sink, picking up a towel to dry the plates.

"Do you think ... maybe I could find her?"

The question stabbed at him. Find her? No. He couldn't let her do that. He couldn't have her see what had happened to her mother. "I ... No. You can't," he said before he could think better of it. "She's ... she's dead."

There was silence, and then a very small "Oh."

God, he was a heel. But better to hurt her now and make it a clean cut than the heart-tearing truth. Terry Ives was never going to get better—she might as well be dead. It would have been kinder if the lab had killed her.

"Did ... did Papa ..." Eleven couldn't finish the sentence. Her entire life had been lived under the guidance of Brenner. No matter how angry she was, how much she had seen to convince her that he was a heartless bastard, her first instinct would be to trust him.

"I don't know, kid. I wish I could tell you more." He hoped to hell she wouldn't ask him how he knew, because he didn't have a good lie handy, and any part of the truth might lead her to check up on the story someday.

Putting the dishes away, he went to the TV. "You want to watch something?"

Eleven shook her head, very slowly.

"I'm sorry. I wish ... I wish things were different." That, at least, was true.

"Me, too." She gave him an attempt at a smile. "I ... think I'll go to bed."

"All right, kid. Sleep well."

She nodded, closing her bedroom door behind her, leaving him to stare bleakly at the TV screen. He hoped she would be able to get a good night's sleep, because he certainly wouldn't.