runtowardsomething | (no subject)

It isn't a birthday party.

Beverly has been adamant about that. She's never actually had one before, more inclined to let the occasion pass as little fanfare as possible, and she doesn't intend to change that now. Still, she can't turn eighteen and not do something. It's a big milestone. A huge one, really, and fucking terrifying at that. There's so much she's still clueless about, so much it feels like she's running out of time to make up her mind about.

Tonight, though, she doesn't want to think about that. She just wants to enjoy not being a kid — a little girl — anymore.

Having settled on a good destination for the night — a bar near her house, the sort of relaxed place that lets anyone in and only requires ID from anyone ordering drinks, so those under eighteen can still freely get in and those of age, herself now included, can reap the benefits that come with that — she texts some friends, inviting them to come meet her if they want. For her part, she finds a reasonably sized table to claim, then heads over to the bar. There's something painfully refreshing about not having to aim for a bartender who looks like he won't bother to card her if she looks at him just right. It's even better when she presents her ID as asked, and the bartender, seeing that it's her eighteenth birthday, tells her the drink is on the house.

It's not much of a sign, exactly, and wouldn't be even if she were to believe in such things, ultimately pretty meaningless. Still, there's a tiny little sprout of something that might be optimism inside her. Maybe, just maybe, it will be an okay year.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Beverly knows what Hopper is like — that he's more likely to be gruff than openly affectionate, that earnest shows of emotion aren't all that common. She also knows that he means what he says and then some, and that he loves her as if she were his own, the way that parents are supposed to love their kids. Emotionally speaking, if not physically, she'd been on her own for a long time before she got here, and she would have been fine if that had continued to be the case.

She's a hell of a lot better off, though, for having him.

The smile she gives him, soft and knowing, is meant to say as much without making either of them awkwardly dwell on it. "Crazy to think about how long we've both been here now, huh?"

"Shit, yeah," he says with a laugh. "Over four years now for me."

And it's been four good years. They haven't been perfect, he's lost some people, done some dumb shit, and not a day goes by that he doesn't miss Joyce, but he doesn't talk about these things.

"Feels more like home now than Hawkins did," he says. "And New York never really felt like home, especially after Sara was gone. Darrow, though... yeah, it feels like home."

"For me, too," Beverly says, nodding in agreement. Both things are true for her, really. She doesn't keep track of the exact timing or anything, but she knows it has to be more than four years, her fourteenth birthday coming not very long after her arrival. They've been a strange few years, but good, too. No matter what fucked up things happen here, it always has been and, she thinks, always will be better than Derry was. Dangerous things go on all the time, but she's still far safer than she ever was back there, in all the ways that count.

Sipping her drink, she shrugs as she sets her glass back down. "I spent my whole life in Derry before I got here, and I don't think it ever felt like home. I didn't even know what that would feel like."

It isn't all because of him, Hopper knows that, Beverly has a lot of really good things going for her here. He is part of it, though, and he thinks he can be really proud of that. Or he can try to, at least, feeling pride in much of anything he does isn't something he's very good at.

"I'm glad you know now," he says. "You deserve that."

She deserved it long before now, deserved parents who gave a shit, who made her feel safe, a world where she wasn't threatened. She deserved it for her whole life, but at least she has it now.

There are times it's still difficult for Beverly to believe that, the voice in the back of her head telling her she's worthless not so easily silenced. He's always treated her like she does, though, and maybe that's enough — to know that he believes it, even if she doesn't always. Maybe, too, that's what family is supposed to be, people who know and love each other even when someone feels unlovable, even when it isn't always easy. She had no idea that was even possible until the Losers and then Hopper came into her life, or at least that it could be possible for her.

The thought of that brings her back to something that's been increasingly on her mind, put aside for a while but more recently returned to again. Now seems like as good a time as any to bring it up, though she takes another sip of her drink first — liquid courage, even if she wouldn't want to say that outright.

"I've actually sort of been thinking," she starts as she sets her glass down again, trying to keep her tone as casual as possible. "Now that I'm officially a grownup, or whatever, and with graduation coming up soon... If it's alright with you — and, I guess, with El —" She glances over toward the table where Eleven seems to be engaged in conversation with someone else. "I think I want to change my last name. I know," she adds, this part a bit more rushed, "that we don't need the same name to be family, just like we don't need to be blood related, but I'd like to. If you're cool with it."

Something inside Hopper lurches at that in an entirely unexpected and unfamiliar way. He had no idea she'd been thinking about this at all, not the slightest hint this was something she might want, and he feels his mouth dry up and his chest get tight and his stomach sort of feels like its turned over.

And these are all good things, he realizes. These are all signs of some intense emotion he's not sure he's felt since before Sara died.

"Shit, kid," he says, trying not to sound choked up. "I'd be honoured."

As far as Beverly is concerned, she's the one who should be honored. He took her in when he had no obligation to do so, made her his family, gave her that for the first real time in her life. Just having someone like him in her life — someone to turn to, someone whose name makes sense for her to use — means the world to her. Now doesn't seem like the time to debate it, though. She just nods, her smile wavering a little with relief and emotion.

"Awesome," she says, which is probably stupid, but the first thing that pops into her head. "I'll talk to El, too, but... If I can, I wanna do it before I graduate. So the right name is on my diploma."

Eleven, as much as she had been jealous at first, is as in need of family as Beverly is. Hopper can't imagine she'll have a problem with it, but he both understands and respects Bev's decision to talk to her first. He's pretty sure El will appreciate it, too, even if she can't explain it.

"I like that plan," he says honestly. "I think it sounds like a good one."

"Good," Beverly says, finding that she feels a little more shy about it than she expected. It's a strange juxtaposition with sitting here drinking her first legal drink, celebrating a birthday that means she's finally, actually an adult, but while they've had years together now, all of this is still new to her. She never had a real family before this. That's all the more reason, though, to actively choose it, to make it a part of her in a way that no one could miss.

"Thanks," she adds a moment later. "For being a really great dad."