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timeinabottle · 5 years

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Stranger Things AU | Jopper

William Byers disappears into thin air in 1883. His distraught mother, Joyce must put aside her differences with the only man that can help her now. In their desperate search for her son, they uncover the dark world of the occult, a terrible haunting and something the Witch’s daughter calls… the Other Side.

Stranger things have happened…

Read Chapter One: The Vanishing of William Byers on AO3 {X}

Read Chapter Two: It’s Happening Again (Part I) on AO3 {X}

Listen to the soundtrack on spotify {X}

Chapter Two: It’s Happening Again

Part I

The rustle of leaves underfoot was her soundtrack on the long march home from the center of town. Joyce had finally started to become numb to it all and was trying her best to just enjoy the walk for what it was, without dwelling on the situation at hand. Off in the distance, the noon train to Indianapolis sounded it’s whistle while birdsong carried lightly on the breeze. A rooster crowed from a nearby cottage. Each sound was comforting to her; pure white noise and a blank canvas to paint her thoughts.

The sky had begun to clear up, and a blue sky threatened to break through. The maple corridor, which lined her path home, glowed a ruby red in the sun as the broad leaves danced around the hem of her skirts. It was turning into a crisp autumn day, beautiful in all its glory; a stark contrast to the bleakness she felt in her heart.

The familiarity of the scene made her yearn for the quiet and simple life she had only one week prior. All the mornings she spent walking her boys to school when they were younger played in her memory. Jonathan walking ahead with Will puttering behind, stopping every few yards to jump in another gully full of leaves. Joyce would have to pause and wait, chirping at him to hurry up (he’d be late for school, again!) even though she loved to see him so excited by the season’s offerings.

Her sweet baby boy, eyes full of wonder and light. He was all she could see when she looked around her now. Everything reminded her of Will. There was the tree he loved to climb, and that was the pond where he caught his first frog when he was three. Over there was the bench they would stop and sit on when she walked him home from school. Happy memories came flooding back at once, and she smiled. But it didn’t last long before her thoughts quickly turned dark again, as she vividly recalled the reality that she had been at this exact spot two days ago, crying out his name over and over into the forest, as Jonathan searched every nook and cranny of the woods.

It was then and there that she finally allowed herself the indulgence to cry.

At first, it was a whimper — small and hidden behind a delicate lace glove. A stifled sob followed, and Joyce tried to steady herself, suddenly unable to breathe; it was as if someone sucked all the air out of the sky above. She was gasping when the tears came. With each step closer to home, Joyce allowed the tears to wrack her body. She became unabashed and unwavering in her cries, shed of the worry that someone might witness her coming-undone.

She rounded the corner down the winding path to her home, and her only relief was the sight of the smoke drifting out of the chimney indicating that Jonathan was home from Indianapolis.

The old house had once been a neglected two-story gothic revival, but after Lonnie’s insurance paid out, Joyce wasted no time and spared no cost in fixing it up to its original grandeur. She even had it painted her favorite shade of green, just because she could.

Soon after she began renovations, a man had stopped by from a new company in town, Hawkins Power and Light. It seemed they had gotten their hands on Edison’s patents and electricity was making its way to sleepy little Hawkins much sooner than the rest of the country. This man, called himself Owens, had heard she was renovating from one of the builders she hired. He wondered if she would be willing to allow his company to install an electric light system throughout her house, as a trial, for free.

All she had to do was let them set it up, no questions asked, and answer a few surveys by telephone occasionally for the next year. Owens explained that they were government funded and they wanted three things: One, to see if it was possible. Two, to use her as an experiment to examine the total costs involved, and three, to study how the ordinary American family adapted. Joyce asked him if he knew she was a widow and that her family was anything but ‘Ordinary.’ The man had a kind way about him though and insisted that just meant she needed it more than anyone. He promised she wouldn’t regret it.

And he was right. There was something about not having to light every goddamn candle in the house, or fuss with the gas lanterns, that she didn’t think she could ever go back to what her and the boys jokingly called “the Dark Ages.” Sure, she had gone a bit overboard with all the upgrades, and money was running low now, but she didn’t regret anything if it meant her sons were more comfortable. Everything was for them.

She drew a shaky breath and hastily wiped at her tear stained face as she neared the house, pointless as it was. She could feel the rawness in her cheeks, and there was no way she could hide that evidence from her oldest son. The best thing she could do was to put on a brave face for him as she walked through the door.

A new fire danced wildly in the hearth, struggling to stay lit. Ingredients for a stew were spread out across the counters in the kitchen, and a pot was steaming on the stove, filling the house with the smell of Will’s favorite dish.

The tiniest grin touched her lips at the thought of the last time she had made it for him, only a few weeks earlier. The memory was fresh, yet so far removed from her. It already felt like a lifetime ago.

"What's in it?" Will's nose wrinkled as he looked over the lip of the pot boiling on top of the woodfired stove. Joyce tutted him away so she could stir their dinner one more time and make sure it didn't need anything else. Will settled in at the kitchen table, picking up his pencil and getting back to his sketchpad.

“Don’t worry, It has everything you like,” she reassured him, meeting his look of concern, though his attention was on his drawing - a wizard and a fiery dragon dueling on a rocky cliff. “Although, now that you mention it, I think it might be missing something…" she pursed her lips, tapping her chin as she thought, trying to regain his attention. "Something special. Magical, even."

That got him. Will watched with a grin as his mother searched the kitchen for her exceptional ingredient, her dainty fingers waving over spices and herbs as if casting a spell on the savories. She slowly turned her focus to her youngest son with a wicked grin.

“What are little boys made of, again?” She counted off the ingredients on her fingers, creeping toward him. “Snakes, snails…”

“Puppy dog tails?” Will perked up, but not before returning to his sketch.

She pointed at him, “Yes! In that case, you’ll do just fine!” She cackled and lunged for him, but he didn’t flinch. Waving her fingers around him for good measure, she added, ”Double double, toil, and trouble. Fire burn and William bubbles!” The reaction she got was tepid.

”I know you're not a witch like everyone says. You can't scare me with that anymore, you know,” Will rolled his eyes and went back to his drawing.

Joyce’s heart dropped. He was growing up so fast… but not if she had anything to do with it!

She grabbed the leftover carrots and stuck them between her fingers as if they were long, crooked old hag’s fingers instead. Ever so quietly, she snuck up behind her son and gently ran the roots across his cheek, letting out a sinister cackle when he jumped out of his seat. He fell into a fit of giggles when he realized what she had done.

Joyce reached for him with her other hand, through her own laughter, finding the ticklish spot between his ribs that made him laugh and squirm and shriek in delight.

He jumped back from her wiggling fingers, his face lighting up with laughter, “Mom… you’re home.”

“What do you mean, baby?” she asked him, her cheeks aching from smiling so hard. She turned away from Will and back to the stew bubbling away on the stove behind her.

“You're home,” Jonathan repeated when she didn’t respond. He touched her arm, stirring her from her daydream, pulling her back into her waking nightmare. His eyes met hers, and that's when she noticed the deep frown lines etched upon his face. It made him look so much older than his sixteen years, and that made her heart break even more. He was far too young to be this haggard with worry.

She touched her son’s cheek and pulled him into a hug, and throwing herself into it, letting him hold her up for a moment.

“What did the police chief say?” Jonathan’s voice hitched, the worry seeping through.

Joyce pulled back and allowed herself to collapse into the chair at the kitchen table before answering him, loosening her bodice to allow herself more air. She was beginning to feel faint again. “Chief Hopper took the case, and he’s gathering volunteers to form a search party. He sent me home to rest… for now. I have to go back to the printer’s by half-past three to pick up the posters with Will’s information,” her voice wobbled with emotion when she spoke. She was trying her best to hold it together. “Did you see your great aunt in the city?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

Her eldest frowned, “Only for a moment. She hadn’t seen Will… but she wasn’t really making much sense either.”

Joyce nodded sullenly, she knew Aunt Darlene would be difficult to get a straight answer from. “And your father’s sister?”

“She moved to Chicago last spring,” Jonathan place his hand on her shoulder, knowing this wasn’t the news his mother wanted to hear. “Her landlord gave me her card, but the operator said no one was answering when I tried to call on her.”

Joyce drew a deep breath and covered her face in her hands. Will was missing, and they had nothing to go on. Was this all really happening?

Jonathan rubbed her back, “You’re shaking. I’m going to draw you a bath, and then I'm going out to join the search party. Don’t worry about the posters, I’ll get them.” He began rummaging through her coin purse, grabbing what he hoped was enough and pocketing it, not even wanting to worry her about counting it out right now; she didn’t need the added stress of worrying about the money, or the lack thereof. He knew the accommodations she had made for him and his brother had cost more than she let on and she was struggling to keep up with household expenses again. His poor mother could never seem to catch a break.

Jonathan turned back to the meal he had cooked up for her, “Will you please eat something?” Scolding her over his shoulder, he served up a bowl of stew. “I know you haven't since I left yesterday.” He placed it in front of her, an expectant look on his face.

She sighed, there was no way she could possibly eat right now, her appetite was just as missing as her son was. Jonathan looked sternly at his mother, and she could tell he wasn't going to take no for an answer. Where did he get that stubbornness from?

She smiled meekly at him and took the spoon, pushing the steaming stew around the bowl and blowing on it.

Jonathan nodded at the sight of this, taking that as good enough sign she would eat if he left her alone for a few moments while he prepared the bath for her. Leaning down, he kissed her on the forehead and left her to her meal.

She continued pushing the stew around the bowl as it cooled and listened to the noises of the pump squeaking and the water hitting the hammered tin of the bathtub. The rushing sounds from the other room were soothing; another familiar background noise. Something to remind her of how things used to be, not so long ago. She sighed once more and slowly brought a spoonful of stew to her lips. Hungrier than she realized, Joyce polished off the entire bowl before Jonathan had returned for the hot water bubbling over the fire.

He filled the bucket with the hot water and carried it off to the next room repeating this task several times while Joyce cleaned up the mess her son had made while making her dinner.

The sun had shifted, and everything was suddenly cast in shadows. Joyce turned on a light in the kitchen and began to wander the old home; it felt even more empty now than ever before. Down the hall, she stopped at the portrait of her two boys, wrapped up in gold foil framing and convex glass, the fanciest frame she could get for her only picture of her sons together. Without a thought, Joyce grabbed it off the wall and marched it to the parlor where the sun still shone through the windows in the mid-afternoon sun. She examined the grey image, the sight of Will calming her somewhat. Her boys were so handsome. They looked like little princes in the photograph, dressed in their Sunday finest.

It was a blessing she was able to afford such luxuries. She had heard of families only being able to afford the photography after a person had died as a memento mori, and she was thankful that was not her case. Heaven forbid they couldn’t find the body… her tears dripped on the glass as she banished the thought from her mind.

Jonathan came back to let her know, “The bath should be ready for you now. I’ll be home later tonight, I promise. Try to get some sleep?” He squeezed her shoulders to say goodbye, and she nodded, putting the picture up against the piano, following her orders once more. Bath. Then sleep. It was all she could do right now so why bother fighting.

It was just what she needed, after all, it seemed. She hadn’t realized how tense she was until she dipped below the surface of the hot water and her muscles began to relax. She let herself sink to the bottom of the tub, the water coming up over her head. When she finally came up for air, she was renewed, the water soothing her anxious mind. She combed her hair out and lathered up in the special French lavender soap Will gave her for her birthday (he saved up all his allowance for months just to buy it for her.) Her eyes became heavy as she rinsed off, so she leaned back against the tub, drifting off in the warmth that enveloped her.

She didn’t know how much time had passed when she opened her eyes again. The water was cold, and the sun was low in the sky, casting the house into shadows. She must have fallen asleep.

The house shifted and creaked, and she heard the piano tinkle, catching her attention. A loud thump came through the walls, startling her. Was someone in the house? Joyce stepped out of the bath, quickly getting dressed, the fabric of her nightgown clinging to her wet skin. She didn’t bother to tie up her robe. “Hello? Who’s there?” she poked her head around the corner and listened.

No one.

She tip-toed her way to the kitchen and then to the front of the house. “Hello?” she asked one more time, just to be sure. She was met with silence.

Joyce collapsed into the chaise behind her in relief. She spent a long moment there listening to the fire crackle and the wind beginning to pick up outside. She listened to her quiet house, with her true fears finally realized: a mother missing her child. She wouldn’t wish this on her worst enemy. When she couldn’t stand the silence anymore, she grabbed the pack of cigarettes she kept hidden in rolltop for special occasions. She lit one, the tobacco sweet on her tongue.

The memory of her first taste of nicotine came rushing back. She was thirteen. Hop - though she called him Jim back then - had stolen a pouch of tobacco and papers from his brother one hot summer night. She was curious; He wanted her to try. It was her first cigarette, and her first kiss as they watched his friends shooting off fireworks down by the riverside that fourth of July. She drifted in the fleeting memory and inhaled deeply, meditating on the smoke.

The last beams of sunlight hit the cloud on her exhale, turning the parlor into a hazy dream. She was finally starting to relax, just a little, and she sank back into the cushions. Words couldn’t express how relieved Joyce was that Hopper didn’t hold a grudge with her. Or if he did, it would seem he was putting it aside for Will’s sake now. She would be eternally grateful for the kindness of an old friend, and the relief he brought her, knowing she wouldn’t have to face this on her own.

A loud crash interrupted her reverie, and she looked over to see the picture of her boys on its face across the room, glass shattered around the pretty frame. Joyce frowned, it didn’t feel drafty in the house. That glass shouldn’t have smashed so violently unless…

A chill came over her. She listened, but there was silence. Nothing but her heart beating and the fire dying.

She was alone.

A/N: Part II coming soon...

#stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #jopper #joyce x hopper #au #joyce byers #jim hopper #victorian pulp #cheap melodrama #danse macabre

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