Jailbird || Stranger Things

four ➵ family matters

"We should talk."

    Teresa hated those words. Hated them since the first time she'd heard them leave Jim Hopper's mouth, and had hated them every time since. Often, they brought bad news. She expected this time to be no different.

    She had an idea what Jim needed to talk about, too.

    Routine was a loose term in Teresa's vocabulary. In New York, her time had been dictated by the hospital trips Sarah needed, and she'd never complained. She just understood it was the way things had to be.

    In Huntington Beach, it was ruled by her mother's routine. Teresa would make any plan, as impulsively and last minute as possible, in order to get out of the house. If she was dragged to the other side of the country, she needed some type of control, and she just knew she didn't want to be home in the evenings, or even the nights, sometimes, and waltz around her mother and their problems.

    It was how she'd been swept up in trouble in the first place. That had also ended with a 'we should talk' conversation.

    The thing is, Jim had a routine. He had a start time at work, and even though Teresa had no school due to winter break, she knew she could rely on Jim to definitely be gone by a certain time in the morning. Even if he overslept, which was less and less as time went on. Then after work, he'd come home, put on an act about being shocked by her cooking ability, and then he would disappear after dinner with some extra food for an hour. She wasn't entirely sure what he did, but she knew he took a walk, because his boots would be covered in snow, and dirt when he returned. She never questioned it, incase it would disrupt their routine.

    She thought they were doing well. She thought she was doing fine.

    "Am I not supposed to be out here?" she asked, not looking up from her sketchpad as she sat on the deck overlooking the lake.

    The best part about the trailer for Teresa was undoubtedly that deck. Early in the morning, after a night of restless sleep, she often found herself craving the air of the dawn, and she sat bundled up in a blanket, feet resting on the lower bar of the wooden railing.

    She'd forgotten just how different Hawkins was. Having grown up in city environments for the past decade, first New York, then greater Los Angeles, she'd forgotten what is was like to be able to breathe fresh air without driving for hours. She hadn't been able to just step outside for it in years.

    When Jim woke up that specific morning, she was still sat on a chair outside, feet resting on the balustrade as she drew in a worn sketchbook. He'd leaned against the doorframe, but was aware that moment would be appropriate to have the conversation he'd been putting off during Christmas.

    "Be out here all you want," he chuckled lightly, approaching the edge of the deck and offered one of the cups of coffee to her.

    "Thanks," she looked up, giving him a small smile, as he put down his own cup and pulled on his jacket. "I'm looking for a job, I swear—"

    "No," Jim shot her an odd look, looking over to her as her words registered in his brain. "You're looking for a job?"

    "Yeah," she stopped pretending like the cup of coffee was so interesting. "I had a job in California. I just— I thought you'd want me to—"

    "No, keep looking for one, that's— I appreciate the effort," he nodded, having to rethink how to bring up what was on his mind. After another too drawn out moment, he let out a sigh. "You want to eat out?"

    "Please."

    So they ended up having the conversation in his car, parked by the woods, where she'd been more than confused to find documents in the back. Between an assortment of waffles, bacon, eggs, and better coffee, Jim explained the circumstances of Will's disappearance. That the lab—still functioning, but led by a new team—was conducting experiments until the experiment escaped the month before.