Hopper first properly meets Steve Harrington when he was only 12 years old. Hopper was patrolling in the afternoon, like he does every afternoon, every morning and every night because you know, he didn’t have anything else to do after moving back to Hawkins after his daughter died. He drowned himself with work, cigarettes and alcohol.
When first sees Steve, he doesn’t even know he was the Harrington’s sole heir. He’s just a kid, a kid too small for his age, and Hopper has to reassure himself that maybe this kid just doesn’t eat enough, it doesn’t mean he’s sick. The kid was carrying planks of woods, too long and too heavy for his frame, hauling it on the side of the street.
Hopper takes pity at the kid and slows down beside him, opening his passenger window.
“Hey, kid. Need help?” The kid looks at him apprehensively. Like no ones ever offered to help him, like he’s actually been alone his whole life.
“I don’t need help.” The kid scoffs back, panting a bit as he carries the wood with struggle.
“Okay? You sure about that?” He hums, nodding, not even sparing him a glance.
“You should bring a wagon with you.” The kid stops on his tracks, realizing that he could have bought a wagon to ease his struggle.
“Thank you, Sir.” He courtly answers before marching to his destination.
