WHO:The Hoppers WHAT: Hopper tries to keep Eleven's spirits up after losing too many friends by making Thanksgiving dinner together WHEN: Thanksgiving WARNINGS: None STATUS: Complete
Thanksgiving was going to be quiet this year, just like the rest of the house.
Eleven didn’t want to get used to it. She loved the loudness. She loved bickering. She loved seeing everyone, even if there were a few key people missing. Most of her people were here, with her, until they weren’t. Until Vallo plucked them each out of their world, one by one.
And for what?
To go back to Hawkins? They could play house here all they want; go to school, chase down monsters like heroes, see glimpses of a future that could be but was never guaranteed. It didn’t change the fact that their home was being torn apart. Eddie was dead, and Max’s fate was up in the air, and it wasn’t okay.
But they had turkey.
El guessed that was important. There were spices out, and bacon, and things to put – inside the turkey, she guessed. “This turkey is too big for this house,” she sighed, whipping her hair up into a ponytail. She wanted it out of her face if she was helping. “I guess it will be nice to have leftovers.”
Hopper knew a Thanksgiving dinner wasn't going to fix anything. The house would still be too empty. People they cared about would still be back in a shit world or worse, gone for good. But they were still here and he loved his kid so he would be damned if he didn't try to give her some semblance of a family dinner.
"Turkey sandwiches for days is one of the best parts about Thanksgiving," he said firmly. "If you haven't eaten enough turkey to start hating it by the next Thursday, you're really not doing it right." He pulled a few more ingredients out of a paper bag and added them to the pile. He had almost no idea what he was doing, but there was a printed out recipe on the counter and he could read goddamn it.
"Alright, what do you want to be in charge of? Vegetables? Potatoes? The turkey?"
“Turkey,” El decided. Vegetables and potatoes were pretty easy, she thought. She was not an expert in the kitchen but she had been taught a decent amount of skill to keep herself fed beyond those macaroni and cheese cups and peanut butter jelly sandwiches (or frozen waffles, they were also fine unthawed but that was weird to literally everyone else).
A Thanksgiving Turkey was its own beast.
“It is…” she peeked into the open cavity of the turkey, all hollow and – gross. But that was all raw meat, though. “Interesting. I read that you can wrap it in some bacon, too. Because then it soaks up the bacon flavor. Do we have bacon?”
Hopper wasn't surprised El picked the biggest, grossest job. Her stubbornness and bravery were never a shock. But he was still proud, like the first time she'd ever chosen the hard option and didn't let the risk of it get in her way.
"Not that much bacon." It was a small turkey but still. "Remind me of that one next year." Hopefully next year they'd have more of her friends around or be back home and figuring out how to stop the upside down from destroying the whole world. He shoved that thought - and thoughts of Joyce - to the back of his mind. "The recipe over there is basically a lot of salt and spices, inside and out, plus filling it up with onions, celery, and herbs. You remember what we learned about chopping onions, right? You only got to quarter them I think and then stuff everything inside."
Next year. Vallo better keep him here for next year. The thought made her anxiety spike, and she did her best to swallow it down.
El rolled up the sleeves of her flannel shirt, nodding along. “Onions will make me cry and I should not wipe my eyes while cutting them,” she said, since that was what she remembered most about them. And she learned the last part the hard way too.
She grabbed a kitchen knife to get started. “I remember my first Thanksgiving here,” she reminisced, smiling a little. “I was living in the woods. Katou brought me cookies even though I tossed him across the forest the night before. It was fun.”
"You would think that's fun," Hopper snorted. "I'm glad you weren't alone." Katou was a strange one. Volatile and crass. But he knew they connected in a way you couldn't force or break. He hoped Vallo didn't take him from her.
"You gonna invite him over? We can make enough to feed him. I'm sure the Barns has a load of food too, but still." He wanted her to have more than just her sorry old dad around for the holidays. He started filling up a large pot with water and eyeballed the potatoes that needed peeling. It was really too bad Oona hadn't stuck around longer. She'd have brightened up the space and helped out. "You can invite anyone you want, you know?"
“I can ask,” El hummed, working on the celery after a quick wash under the sink. “He would probably say yes. Katou is soft.” Something he hated to admit and something she had no problem throwing in his face. His niceness didn’t make him weak, but she knew him well enough that he struggled with that kind of thing. If he wasn’t a good person beneath all of it, then–
He wouldn’t have pestered her in the forest the way he did when they first met, would he?”
“I think I am okay with it being a small gathering,” she added after a moment of chopping. “This holiday is about being thankful about what you have, right? And I have you. Mike, and Nancy. What if this is – the last time? That we’re together here like this?”
"It might be," Hopper admitted. "But that might be because we're back with more off them. Change isn't always bad." It was hard to say as much when he still missed Joyce too much for words. But he had to try for his kid's sake. He started scrubbing and peeling potatoes to boil. "I'm sorry this one isn't better though. I really want you to have the big family and all your friends around, the way you deserve. This…"
He looked around behind them, to the too empty house that had been full of too much noise for months and now felt a little eerie at times. They had said it was probably haunted though.
"It's too quiet. We'll eat some food and play a loud game. Pictionary or something. What do you think?" he asked.
“If you want a loud game, we will have to play a video game,” challenged Eleven, working on the onions next. She had to be careful with these; they could be weapons of torture with how it made eyes burn. “I would like to see you try to learn how to play something like Mario Party.”
That was always when things were craziest in this household. Dustin shouting in the background, Eddie in deep concentration, Steve having no idea what was even happening.
They’d all been happy here. Alive.
“I can see you picking Bowser as a character.”
Video games were one of those things that made Hopper feel deeply old. He wrinkled his nose. "Is that one of them fighting ones? Or the one that makes you all yell about turtle shells?" He might not have known much about video games, but he paid attention to the kids. It was hard not to when they'd been loud and wild and ridiculous.
"Wait." He finished peeling another potato and decided the bowl had enough to throw into the boiling water. "What's wrong with this Bowser guy?"
“Nothing,” El answered innocently. In a suspicious way. She wasn’t trying to hide her lie very well; the knowing smile she wore was a testament to that. After using her forearm to wipe across her eyes (she felt the stinging of a burn, but it wasn’t the worst), she gathered up all the chopped onion and shoved it into the turkey.
Unfortunately, she realized she had to spread it all around in there and – yeah, she was almost elbow deep in it. It was not a fun experience, but she was trucking through. “It is the game where we yell about turtle shells, and we race! On the rainbow bridge. We have exactly four players now and that is the max.”
Hopper laughed at her suspicious face. Nothing like getting trolled by his kid, he supposed. While he waited for the potatoes to cook, he wandered over to lean a hip against the counter next to her turkey adventure.
"Four with me or four with Katou? I'll tag in if you're not worried about your old man slowing you down. I could use some race practice before the big day anyway." He managed not to grimace at her digging around inside the turkey, which he was personally proud of, thanks. Had he made her wash her hands? He couldn't remember and it was too late to do anything about it. "You're doing great, kid. Got a regular five star chef over here." He popped open the oven. "It's going to take a long time to cook, but it's small, so not all day. We can finish up all the side stuff and warm it back up when we're ready to chow down. How's that sound?"
Eleven thankfully had a lot of exposure to weird gross meaty things, and she had to appreciate that this was a less gory experience than, say, a flesh monster made of melted people. The whole thing was kind of cool to do anyway. She liked to think that something like this could be tradition some day – because families usually had a lot of those, but theirs was still something fresh and new.
All the stuff she’d chopped up was spread throughout, and she gave the outside of it a generous pat down with seasoning. “Good idea,” she hummed, her smile growing into a grin that dimpled her cheek. “And as for Mario Kart,” El continued, moving over to the sink to wash the yuck from her hands and forearms, “you would be the fourth in this house. Katou can be too, sometimes, but he is a very sore loser. I like to mess with his controller with my powers when he is being rude. I only do that to him, though! Cheating is bad. I do not cheat at Mario Kart.”
That grimace she had could make someone believe otherwise.
“At least - not usually.”
"Uh huh," Hopper said dryly, smiling eyes watching her expressive face. "Sounds like maybe he deserves it anyway if he's being rude." Was this the best parenting advice? Probably not. But he'd watched his kid survive a government bent on using her as a weapon and there were a lot worse things she could do than cheat at a game with a friend who was a feisty little punk anyway.
"All right, hand it over, Martha Stewart." He grabbed a roasting tray from the cabinet and scooped the turkey into it for some final touches. Honestly, he only had half an idea what he was doing. His ex-wife had done all of this when they were married and he'd avoided family holidays after Sara. He slid the turkey into the preheated oven and shut the door. There was probably more he was supposed to do but it seemed fine. It was just poultry, right? Like cooking a big ass chicken.
"I think we got this in the bag," he smirked, hooking an arm around her head for a hug. "Shit, set a timer," he added as he remembered. "Then we'll talk about my favorite." He rubbed his hands together with glee. "Sweet potato casserole."
Eleven’s mood was already improving. Being productive weirdly helped, and at the mention of the timer, all she had to do was tilt her head one side to pick the time – and then tilt her head the other side to set it.
The convenience of mind powers.
“Fine, but it better be the kind that has the marshmallows on top and doubles as dessert,” she pointed out, grinning up at it.