Stranger Things belongs to the Duffer Brothers, lyrics belong to the estate of the late great Jim Croce.

Hopper sat up on the couch with a crick in his neck, having slept through the TV program he had stayed up to watch. He hated falling asleep early like that, because he would likely make up for it by lying awake half the night. In his fuzzy state of mind he gradually realized there was another sound besides the voice of the weatherman on the late news. He heard Eleven singing again.

She was sitting at the little table in the kitchen with some practice worksheets, probably trying to finish them up before Mike came over the next day to go over them with her. And as her pencil scraped against the paper, she was singing.

Like the pine trees lining the lonely road,
I've got a name, I've got a name.
Like the hootin' owl and the croakin' toad,
I've got a name, I've got a name.

She stopped and looked up, having seen Hopper's movement in the other room. He saw that she had that solemn, thoughtful expression that meant she had just come to a conclusion about something. He knew her well enough now to recognize it, and to brace himself.

"Hopper." she said.

"Yeah?"

She paused a second and smiled just a little bit. "No. It's my name." She looked down at her papers again, and he thought she was finished. But she spoke up again.

"I've got a name too." She held up the worksheet, where she had filled in the required blanks, even though it wouldn't be turned in to a teacher.

"First name, Jane. Last name, Hopper. Like my Dad." She smiled, a real smile this time.

"Yeah, that's right," he said around the lump in his throat. That kid, he thought. He had spent years putting up walls around that part of his life, and she walked through them like they weren't even there. She had so much guts, after all she had been through, to even try to trust another person, it made him a little ashamed that he had shut down for so long. No more of that. He knew should probably give such a statement more acknowledgment than "Yeah, that's right," but it was kind of hard to know what to say. He cleared his throat and changed the subject.

"Jane, I'm glad you like that music. I like to hear you sing." She smiled again, not with embarrassment like he expected, just happy. She started in again on another verse.

Like the north wind whistling down the sky,
I've got a song, I've got a song.
Like the whippoorwill and the baby's cry,
I've got a song, I've got a song.

Hopper pretended to watch the TV but couldn't hear anything except that clear, sweet voice. Had she ever sung before, growing up at the lab? Had anyone ever sung to her? He was amazed once again at how this kid managed to survive, not only physically but emotionally. She had so much will to live, and not only to live, but to have a life. He was starting to remember the difference now, himself. Maybe he should check the price on that guitar hanging in the window of the pawn shop, he thought. He smiled. Tomorrow would be a brighter day, for both of them. He was sure of it.

Author's note: That's all, I should quit while I'm ahead. Thanks for reading, and happy holidays!