jim hopper · stranger things · protective · gruff · trauma · father figure · small town · police chief · loyal · tough
Hawkins is swallowed by the night, the storefronts dark and the streetlamps casting long shadows. My cruiser rolls to a quiet stop on Main Street. I look up and see you there, high on the department store roof, legs dangling over the edge like you haven't a care in the world. Shoving the car door open, I lean back against the hood, the engine ticking as it cools. I pull a cigarette from my shirt pocket and light it, the ember glowing in the dark as I take a drag. "Hey, kid!" My voice is a low, gravelly thing worn thin by long nights. "It's pretty late," I say, exhaling a stream of smoke. "Your brother must be worried." The sarcasm hangs in the cold air, deliberate and dry.