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Hopper wakes up to the pitter-pat of bare feet coming down the hall. He lazily opens his eyes, finding a shadow growing in size as it approaches the door. Seven-year-old Jonathan stands by the doorway, rubbing his eyes.
"Mom?" he calls out, sotto voce.
Hopper rolls out of bed with a grunt, walking to the kid. "What's wrong?" His voice comes out slurred and raspy and Jonathan walks back tentatively.
"Mom," he insists.
Hopper is a big man, and even if he's his mother's boyfriend (or whatever it is that they are), he's still looks intimidating. Besides, Jonathan doesn't see him that often at their house, so looking at Hopper in his underwear and undershirt makes him, usually shy and anxious, a little more apprehensive.
"Let ya mother sleep, kid." Hopper meets Jonathan in the hallway, leaving the bedroom's door ajar behind him. "Bad dream?"
Jonathan shakes his head. Then he takes his hands to his stomach, clutching the fabric of his T-shirt.
"I feel sick."
Hopper heaves a sigh. "Let's see what's on the bathroom's cabinet." He puts a hand on Jonathan's bony shoulder, gently nudging him toward the bathroom.
Jonathan sits on the edge of the tub while Hopper rummages through the cabinet, reading medicine's labels and trying to find out if they are suitable for children.
"What is it that you're feelin'? Headache? Stoma -"
"'m gonna throw up," Jonathan mumbles.
Hopper looks back, gauging Jonathan's reaction for a second, before swiftly pushing him towards the toilet bowl. He keeps a big, warm hand on Jonathan's back, and the other one rests on the kid's forehead, holding back his wispy bangs.
"That’s it, get it all out."
After Jonathan is done vomiting, Hopper flushes the toilet and helps him pull himself up on his feet.
"Brush your teeth," he tells him as he's leaving the bathroom.
Jonathan looks up from the toothpaste he's carefully squirting onto his toothbrush. "Where ya goin'?"
"Get dressed. I need to go to the convenience store and get some medicine. And maybe some tea."
Joyce runs on coffee, and the kids on juice and milk, so he's not expecting to find any kind of tea in the kitchen cabinets.
Hopper is pulling up his pants when Joyce turns in bed. Unsurprisingly, she continues to sleep, undisturbed – she has to upbring her two young kids and work two jobs to make ends meet, so Hopper has no doubts that she could possible sleep through the end of the world. Well, he also wore her out earlier that night, Hopper cockily thinks to himself.
While still pushing his feet into his boots, Hopper is already digging in his pockets for his packet of cigarettes and his lighter, hoping to have a smoke on his way to the store. He almost bumps into a droopy-eyed Jonathan standing by the doorway.
"Get in bed," he jerks his thumb over his shoulder. "I'll be right back."
Jonathan nods and shivers. He sees Hopper’s plaid shirt at the feet of the bed and puts it on before crawling under the covers next to his mother and curl himself into a fetal position.
Hopper grabs Joyce's keys from the kitchen's countertop and tries not to let the front door slam shut too loudly on his way out. Joyce wakes up when she hears the engine of Hopper's Blazer roaring.
"Hop –" she mumbles sleepily, struggling to open her eyes. "Jonathan?" she immediately pushes herself up into a sitting position, adrenaline coursing through her veins. "What are you doing here? Where's Hopper?"
"Convenience store to buy me medicine."
"Oh, sweetie," Joyce presses her hand against her son's forehead. "You feel warm. I need to check your temperature."
Jonathan whimpers when his mother lifts up his T-shirt to put the thermometer in his armpit.
"Tell me what's hurting," she asks, running her fingers through his hair.
"Head. Belly. And my throat is feeling scratchy."
"I think you're coming down with the flu." They fall silent for a while until Joyce has to ask, "Why didn't you wake me up?"
"I was gonna, but Jim said to let you sleep."
Joyce looks down when she feels her lips curving into a small smile. She has a straight face again once she looks up at Jonathan. "For the next days, try not to be too close to Will, ok? It's best if you don't pass it onto him as well."
"Ok."
Joyce turns the bedside lamp on to read the thermometer's temperature, "Hundred. It's not too high. The meds will help," she reassures, leaning down to put a kiss on his cheek.
The two of them lie back down in bed again, waiting for Hopper to return from the convenience store. Jonathan crawls closer into Joyce's embrace as she strokes his hair.
"He's nice," Jonathan whispers.
His words ring in Joyce's head for a while. "Do you like having him around?"
"He's nice to me and Will. Better than Lonnie." He inhales sharply and looks up at his mother. "Sorry."
"You have nothing to apologize for, Jonathan. You feel the way you feel."
"Do you still like him?"
"No."
"Do you like Jim?"
The front door opens. Joyce scrambles out of bed to meet Hopper.
"You could have awaked me up, Hop."
"You seemed too tired at dinner. 'sides, this was nothing. All I did was be with him when he threw up which wasn't a nice sight, by the way. Here,” he tosses a box of green tea at her, “got him some tea. I think it’ll help.”
She grabs the kettle to fill it with water and boil it. “Think you can make him take that while I make the tea?”
“How hard can it be?”
Hopper pours the proper amount of Triaminic syrup into the plastic measuring cup and then takes it to Joyce's bedroom. Jonathan is nothing but a lump under the covers.
“Come out, kid. I got your medicine.” Hopper frowns and looks around when Jonathan sits up. “Is that my shirt?” Jonathan hunches his shoulders, looks down at the shirt and starts stripping it off – Hopper stops him. “Keep it. It suits you.”
“It’s too big,” Jonathan claims, waving his hands that have been swallowed up by shirt’s sleeves.
“You’ll grow it into.” He hands him the little plastic cup. “Here, have this.” Jonathan looks reluctant even with the idea of just holding the cup. “Jus’ hold your nose and swallow it all at once. You won't even feel the taste.”
He trusts Hopper’s word and does as he was told – by the time he felt grossed out, the medicine had already glided down his throat.
Joyce shows up bringing a cup of steamy tea with honey and sets it on the bedside table next to Jonathan. “Jonathan, baby,” she takes a seat next to him, “do you think you can handle staying home alone? I can try to –”
“I can take him to the station with me.”
“Ah, Hop, no – you – you have a lot to do.”
“You’ll be busier at the store than I’ll be at the station.” Joyce shoots him a glare. “I mean it,” he chuckles. “This is Hawkins. The worst occurrences I have to deal with are kids graffitiing the walls or chickens being stolen.”
“Can I go?” Jonathan pipes up – Joyce feels cornered.
She looks at Hopper who nods. She sighs. “I mean, if Hopper doesn’t mind.”
“It’s settled.” He pats Jonathan’s leg, “But just so you know, we’re leaving early so you better drink that tea and go to sleep ‘cause if you get sleepy and grumpy, I’ll lock ya in one of the cells.”
Jonathan giggles and grabs the mug, blowing the steam away just so that he can drink it faster.
“I’m gonna crash on the couch, ok?” he tells Joyce.
“Ok. And thanks.”
Hopper offers a smile. He presses a kiss onto Joyce’s hair, and one onto Jonathan’s hair. “G’ night.”
“Night,” Joyce and Jonathan reply back in unison.
Sometime later, Joyce is watching her son sleeping and can’t help but to think how cute he looks in Hopper’s shirt.