WHO: Eleven & Jim Hopper WHAT: After the bully showdown, there's a father and daughter showdown (and eventually a healthy talk) WHEN: February 15th WARNINGS: none STATUS: complete
When she came home, Eleven was still running high off the mantra for the day: Fuck Tristan.
In Regular World Standards, the fight had been brutal for a high school brawl. Tristan had been poking and prodding and harassing, covering his intentions up with excuses like it was an accident and how do you know it was me, maybe they’re clumsy! This time he had tripped Mike, and Mike had landed face-first on the cafeteria floor too hard.
That had been enough for El to cut loose and throw the first telekinetic hit.
A lot of things had broken. Tables, chairs, windows. That level of destruction would have taken weeks to repair, but in Vallo it was fixed up by the utterance of a spell. Most wounds were handled by a nurse that gave them the option of either quick magic healing, or regular medical attention (for the ones that were too skittish around the former alternative, or for whatever reason had some condition that would reject it). Hers were a cut lip, a slightly bruised eye - and she’d been a little too argumentative to get it all fixed up right then and there, still trying to finish a fight that she started.
That was normal for Vallo students, though. The staff was used to it. They handled it normally, and in the scheme of things it wasn’t a big deal - property damage and overpowered teenagers weren’t uncommon. The consequences had been detention starting that very day, and Mike had stayed behind to walk her home. It cooled her down a little.
But she knew the day wasn’t over. Parents had been called and she knew Hopper might have a thing or two to say. It was why when they came home, Eleven went straight to her room and threw her backpack onto the bed with a frustrated sigh.
Still, fuck Tristan.
Eleven had no regrets.
Hopper's heart had done some dangerous backflips when the lady on the phone had said she was calling from Eleven's school. He'd immediately thought of a half-dozen awful things that could've happened to his kid even when monsters weren't trying to kill her specifically. Hearing it was a fight that prompted the call had eased his fears but it had spiked his temper. They'd talked about this.
And okay, maybe the stress of getting called by the school still left his blood pressure high, but he was really not okay with Eleven stomping through the house straight to her room without even noticing him at the kitchen table.
"Hey!" The chair scraped loudly across the floor and then he followed her to her room, taking up space in the doorway before she could close it. His tone was sharp but not yet loud. "We talked about this, Eleven. You do remember when we talked about fighting people at school, right?"
“I,” Eleven began, yanking her jacket off her shoulders, “don’t,” she went on, punctuating each word as she went on, and she tossed the jacket over her backpack, “care.”
Maybe her temper wasn’t as cooled as she had thought. Her bedroom lights flickered once, and she looked up at Hopper with stubborn, defiant eyes. A physical fight had already happened; she didn’t want to get into a verbal one but she wanted to try and make a point. “Tristan deserved it. He has been an asshole for weeks and he tripped Mike. Mike got hurt. I am not letting that happen again.”
Then, she crossed her arms, and stuck her nose up in the air.
“I should have done it sooner.”
“Oh you don’t care,” Hopper snapped back. He didn’t want to start this conversation this way but he was still an old man with old habits and his temper flared whether he liked it or not. “That’s great, that’s so good to hear.” Blowing out a breath, he put his hands on his hips and did a slow turn, trying to calm himself back down, but then she was saying she should have done it sooner and something snapped like a twig.
“So this is who you want to be, huh? The weapon that solves all your problems with violence? And sooner rather than later? Risking that you’ll cause more problems for you and your friends? Put bystanders in danger? Risking your education? Risking your freedom? Over some stupid bully? But you don’t care about any of that, huh?”
“I am protecting my friends,” Eleven shot back, miraculously able to keep some volume control on her voice for the time being, but that would be a short-lived victory the more she went on. “And my freedom is fine, this is–this is not Hawkins, or America! I do not have to hide! I did not get arrested this time!”
The consequences in Vallo weren’t as bad; that was how she was justifying it.
“And, and,” she let out a breath, crossing her arms over her chest and cocking her hips, like she was a sassy teenager, “Tristan has powers too!” El had her eyes narrowed at him in a way that absolutely screamed ‘duh, DAD.’ “It was a fair fight!”
She would have finished it by winning, too, if the teachers hadn’t intervened. Maybe it would have taken breaking a bone but that wouldn’t be the worst thing, right? People here could heal that, right?
"You haven't been arrested yet, Eleven. Yet!" Hopper started a very short pacing path from one side of her room to the other. If he were a cartoon, there would be steam coming out of his ears. "And you won't be arrested over this, because I've got your back, but what about the next guy who says something dumb to someone you love? What if he's someone with connections that I can't get around? What if you go too far and someone gets really hurt? What if they end up dead?"
He knew her control was much better these days but accidents happened in any fight. He'd seen more than his share in the military. His fierce, but soft-hearted daughter had taken lives before, of course. But those had been armed adults trying to capture or kill her, not some weasley teenager. Hopper exhaled loudly and put his hands on his hips.
"I'm just…I'm scared for you, kid."
It’s like all the gears in her head stopped working when he said what if you go too far and someone really gets hurt? That stung. But Hopper wasn’t wrong, and she knew her powers weren’t child’s play despite her age–she could open gates, close them, push back an entity of darkness with raised hands and the sheer will of her mind. Eleven could snap necks and make someone’s brain bleed out of their ears. Easily.
She was a weapon.
“You do not trust me not to kill people,” she bit out, voice tight and jaw muscles tensing. This time, her voice wasn’t raised. “I wouldn’t. I won’t. Should I punch someone in the face next time? Because talking to stupid bullies does not always work, and they are just mean to be mean and I am going to defend my friends.”
"It's not that, Eleven. I trust you wouldn't mean to kill anyone. I trust your heart means well, always. I just know accidents happen, and that other people having powers to throw back at you is going to increase the chances of that." Hopper dropped his hands and took a deep breath. Her tension, the look on her face. He didn't like her thinking he didn't trust her. It hurt to realize he'd hurt her.
"You're who I care about here, okay? Not some dumb kid mouthing off at your friends." He moved over to sit on her bed, too tall and too tired to do it gracefully. "Look I'm sorry I came in here hot," he said softly. "But I need you to work on walking away. Grab your friends and go somewhere the bully won't go. Then talk to me, talk to a counselor, a teacher. Don't just hold it all in until you explode one day when you've had enough."
The lights in her room buzzed a bit. Nothing flashy, no bulbs breaking; just a hum of electricity going in and out, and then they stopped. Part of El wanted to stay mad just because. It was bratty, and petty, and she still did not regret how she handled the situation. She felt justified.
What she did regret was making Hopper worry for her, and seeing the fight in him go up in smoke as he sat down cemented that. They’ve fought plenty before. It was often heated. But she was learning to accept that it usually came from a place of love, and that softened all the sharp edges of her mood.
“Am I allowed to fight back if someone throws the first hit?” she asked, genuinely seeking an answer, and she moved her backpack to plop next to him. “I started the fight today. But if someone starts one with me, am I going to be in trouble if I fight back?”
The lights didn't get a reaction out of Hopper; he recognized they were a fraction of the energy she could use if she was still fully worked up. It was kind of like stomping your feet one last time when you were a teenager who just happened to have mind powers. And he was more focused on the question anyway. His answer was immediate, with the only pause being the result of him turning more fully towards her.
"You are always allowed to protect yourself in a real fight. Always. I can't promise you won't get in trouble with the school or the law, but I'll defend you with everything I've got." He'd hidden her from the government once, he'd do it again. He'd do worse to protect her. "What we need to work on is recognizing what's a real fight, where you or your friends are in real danger, and what's something you can walk away from. Bullies are looking for that reaction, you know. Makes them feel powerful."
“I’m stronger,” Eleven pointed out, firm in that stance, wanting to still back her point even if that really wasn’t the point, either. Tristan was powerful. He reminded her of some of the subjects back in the laboratory, and he’d gotten a few good blows that she hadn’t expected.
But she was still sure she would have won. She knew she would have (maybe), although that was not the point. El also knew that, deep down. She tried to bristle less. Arguing with Hopper was not her favorite pastime. There were better ways to spend time with him.
Squaring her shoulders, she took a deep, deep breath, and when she exhaled–it was like she was letting all that fight inside of her go. She was trying to, anyway. “Fine. I do not like this, by the way. I like my way better. But…”
Eleven sighed, glaring over at her window just to glare at something.
“Fine.”
Hopper didn’t say yeah, you are, that’s why they went after your wimpy boyfriend, but he thought it. In all fairness, he was fond of Mike and didn’t want him getting hurt either. These kids could find trouble in an empty field, though. And he had to hope Eleven was really listening. If she even paused to think it over next time, maybe that would be enough to let her hotheaded nature cool down.
“Thank you,” he said, sincerely. “Are you okay?” That really should’ve been his first question, but she slammed into her room and his temper had taken care of the rest. He gave her look over. “What's the full damage?” He held up a placating hand. “I know, you’re a badass. But you can still get hurt. And Mike, how’s he doing?”
Aside from the little slice in her lip and the mild coloring around her eye (all of it from lunch trays telekinetically flying through the air), there wasn’t any other glaring wound–and she kind of thought her face looked kinda cool a little beat up, anyway. “I am fine,” Eleven insisted, looking at Hopper with a softened face. “Mike is fine, too. The cafeteria was more hurt than any of us. The school fixed it… very quickly.”
It was a nice change of pace, she thought, going from a school that didn’t have powered kids or magic to a school that did and knew how to handle them. That did not, and would not, exist back at home. “I have detention for a week, and me and Tristan have to write apology letters to each other. It is stupid.”
Maybe she could pay someone to write it for her. El had some cash.
"Hm. That is pretty stupid," Hopper agreed, eyebrows furrowing. He was giving her face injuries a careful look even though he believed her. Dad habits died hard. A part of him wanted to track the bully down himself and break his little nose but that would be counterproductive to this whole conversation.
"Still gotta do it." He knew about the detention and figured that was better than suspension. At least she wouldn't be out of school and have to catch up. "Be glad you just got detention though. They also said they're sending me a bill for damages. Half to us, half to the bully's parents." He dipped his head to make direct eye contact. "Me and you are going to have to work out a plan to earn the money. Extra chores and stuff. Okay?"
A bill for damages? Eleven’s mouth dropped a little. “But they…” Fixed it. With magic! She saw it! But maybe it wasn’t fair to assume that there wouldn’t be something to keep deterring them away from repeating the offense. Detention was easy, and writing a letter was dumb but it was easy too.
Charging them was–woops. Now she felt bad, and her cheeks burned with shame.
“I could break an ATM,” she suggested meekly, but that was a joke. Mostly. “Please don’t make me clean the boy’s bathroom. Eddie and Steve shed too much.”
Hopper snorted a laugh and elbowed her in the side gently. “No ATM. And no boy’s bathroom.” That seemed more cruel than necessary. He didn’t want to punish her for standing up for what she believed in. He just wanted to her to walk away from this situation with a healthy understanding that it wasn’t easier to fight than it was to work it out some other way.
“We’ll see how much it is and if I don’t think it’s a reasonable, I’ll argue it with the school. I have a meeting scheduled to talk to them anyway about what they’re going to do to make sure the bully doesn’t pull this crap again.” Hopper looped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a side hug. “We’re a team, ok, kid? We’ll work it all out.”
He stood up and flashed her an unapologetic smile. “Not gonna help you write your dumb letter though,” he joked. “Sorry.”
Eleven was eyeing him almost warily, like she was iffy on his promise or still wasn’t pleased with how the conversation went. But it was a herring, a joke–she slowly broke into a smile when he side-hugged her, and she side-hugged him right back.
“Mike loves me, he will write it for me,” she told him flippantly, but the smile reinforced the whole I’m still joking vibe. “Thank you. That… was a good parenting moment, I think. We did good. We did not slam doors or break anything.”
They had this father-daughter relationship down.
“Ooh, okay, brat,” Hopper laughed. He was still learning how to be a dad to a teenager and wasn’t exactly proud of how he started this talk, but it helped to hear her call it a good moment. That was really all that mattered. How she felt at the end of the day would always be all that really mattered. He reached out and ruffled her hair.
“Yeah, we did good. And from what I hear you broke enough stuff today for the both of us,” he teased. Smirking, he gestured towards the door. “Come on. Let’s figure out dinner together. Since you spent lunch in a brawl, you’re probably hungry.”