A/N: They put a parent/child adoptive relationship into this show, so that means I can't not write something for it.

He knew they'd have to lie low. Hell, after all that had happened, how could they afford not to? He'd told her they'd keep to their rules and take it slow, and she'd been so exhausted, she'd agreed to it. With the Gate closed just a month ago - and what a month - and the DoE descending, she hadn't wanted to leave the house, opting for sleep and TV most days.

But a year?

Light and muffled sounds of the TV filtered through the front windows, still boarded up from their big fight. "A year," he tested the words out on the freezing night air, his breath hanging in the moonlight before drifting away, as unimpressed as she was sure to be. "A year," he said again, trying to sound more casual this time. Like they'd done this already, like it hadn't ended in tears and shattered windows and punk makeup. "Just to be safe, you know." He sighed. "No, no.. just one year, to be on the safe side… shit, no."

Maybe if he shrugged while he said it, it would be easier? "A year," he waggled his shoulders at an imaginary audience. "Just a year, to keep you safe. Three hundred and sixty five days."

She hadn't even lasted that long before running away. He sighed again and hung his head. "Christ," he paused at the bottom of the stairs and gripped the bridge of his nose. The motion crinkled something in his chest pocket - an envelope, folded in two. He pulled it out and smoothed the creases against his leg.

Three hundred and sixty four days, really. Would one day - one night - really give him enough currency for this buyout? Or would he be handing out Eggo bribes until Halloween? He really should've gone to the store and picked some up before he came home. He glanced back at his truck.

Bradley's was open until 8. He had enough in his pocket for a box of Eggos and some smokes.

He considered it. God, it was tempting.

But he'd already signaled. Six three zero, just like he'd promised. Promised with those big brown eyes staring through his soul, curls soft and unkempt, hand petite under his and entirely capable of throwing him across the house if he made himself a liar.

He tapped the envelope against his knee until he'd found the resolve to jog up the steps. He gave his special knock and she undid all four locks in an instant. She must not've moved to do it, because when he stepped inside, she was planted on the couch with her sweater - one of his old ones, actually - pulled over her knees, bare toes curled at the hem. Not tearing her eyes away from the screen, she wiped her nose on her sleeve.

"Heya, kiddo," he kicked the door closed and hung up his coat. He tousled her hair, which made her smile, and then pulled her arm closer to look at her bloodstained sleeve. "What we'd talk about, huh?" he tugged on the cuff. "No blood on sleeves."

"It will wash out," she insisted.

Had she just spoken in a complete sentence? His heart swelled with pride, but then he realized she'd rolled her eyes at him and the chip on his shoulder returned. "Yeah, if I scrub at it all day," truth be told, he'd never tried to scrub out the bloodstains she left on her shirts. But if she was going to live a normal life… he made a mental note to ask Joyce which soaps worked best. "Which I'm not gonna do. No blood on sleeves."

He went to the kitchen and cracked open a beer, drinking it quickly and hoping it'd give him courage. "Hey, turn that off a minute, would you? I have something for you."

She didn't turn the TV off, but she did look at him, unabashed hope shining in her face. "Eggos?" she asked. He grunted a laugh.

"Not exactly, no. Now turn that off and come here a minute." Hesitantly, she shut off the set and shuffled over to her chair at the table. He pulled out the envelope and waved it.

"I saw Doc Owens today."

"Bad man," she said.

But who wasn't, these days? "I don't think he's that bad," he said. "It's… complicated."

"Com-complicated?"

He sighed. Hadn't he already given her a new word today? Surely with all the TV she watched, she should've learned more words by now. "We'll look that one up after this, alright?"

She nodded solemnly, and he knew that the dictionary would be their bedtime story again. Hopefully he wouldn't fall asleep before she did.

"Anyway, he uh… he gave me this." He handed the envelope to her. "A gift. Kinda… making up for some of the bad stuff he's done."

As soon as he envelope was out of his hands, he felt inexplicably nervous. He fidgeted. "I know you didn't really have a say in it, and I'm really sorry about that. I didn't know he was going to do it either." He laughed. "Frankly, I didn't know he had it I him."

She'd pulled the paper from the envelope. "Birth…" she knew that word. "Cer…certificate?"

"Certificate, a document to certify something. In this case, that someone was born."

She read on. "Jane Hopper." She paused, and he held his breath. "Who is Jane Hopper?"

He chuckled. "You are, kid."

She frowned at him. "Jane," she pointed to herself. She then pointed to him, finger hovering over his chest. "Hopper."

"Hopper is my family name. Like how Mike is Mike Wheeler, Nancy is Nancy Wheeler. I'm Jim Hopper." She was frowning intensely, working to understand. She looked back down at the birth certificate.

Child of: Teresa Ives…

"Mama," she pointed at the name.

…and James Hopper.

She pointed, and frowned at it. She looked up at him. "Papa?"

"No," he rubbed a hand over his face, hoping she'd never, ever call him that. "No, your dad never had one of these made, when you were born. He didn't want anyone knowing about you." He tapped the paper where his seldom-seen legal name fell beside her mother's. "That's me. Doc Owens had it made up this way so you can…" he found himself choking on a lump. "So you can legally be my daughter. So you can lead a normal life." He watched her face as the revelation spread.

"You," she pointed, hesitantly approaching understanding. "My… father?"

"Legally, yes."

"Family?" Her eyes were wide. He made sure his didn't waver.

"Yes."

"No papa?" she whispered, as if afraid to wish for it any louder. He leaned over the table, planting one hand firmly on the table beside hers.

"Never again."

She stared at the paper, eyes wide in wonder.

"You got me now. And sorry kid, but," he flicked the paper, "you're kinda stuck with me."

"Stuck?"

So many new words today. "Stuck. Like you can't get rid of something, and it can't leave you."

She looked up at him. Birth certificate still in hand, she got from her seat and ran around the table to hug his neck. It was the first time she'd ever initiated contact, and for a moment he was frozen in place. Hesitantly, he turned in his chair so he could hug her back. He looked over her shoulder at the cabin, with its boarded up windows, his creaky sofa, his freezer full of junk food, and wondered what kind of life he could possibly give her.

"You can still see your mom, you know. And your aunt Becky."

"Home," she said, muffled against his shirt.

Was she talking about Hawkins? Or the cabin? Or was she remembering the Ives'? She pulled away and looked up at him, and damn, just seeing those big brown eyes welling with tears nearly made him cry. "Stuck with me," she poked him hard in the chest. "Stuck." She poked.

He caught her hand before she could poke him a third time. "Yeah, kid, we're stuck with each other for good, now."

"Stuck means no leaving."

"That's right."

She stared him down, refusing to let the tears fall. "Promise?" She asked.

He stared back just as hard and pressed her hand to his chest again. "I promise."

Her smile could've lit up a black hole.

A year could wait for tomorrow. For now, they were stuck, and they were happy.