lilo :)

“Hey, Soldier.”

Dmitri looks back from where he’s perched on the edge of the patio, eyeing the tree line warily.

“American.” He nods before turning back, letting Hopper come sit beside him.

“How you liking the backwoods of the US? Everything you dreamed of?”

“Better than the walls of Kamchatka.” He murmurs broodingly.

“Pfft. Ain’t that the truth.” Hopper huffs under his breath, reaching for his pack of cigars.

He pulls one out and lights it, taking a drag and sighing before reaching back to offer one to Dmitri.

Dmitri eyes the packet for a moment before remembering your deal. He shakes his head and offers no explanation, simply looking back to the trees. It’s been a week and a half since you two agreed to quit the habit. Week and a half of some sort of fusion of fiery hell and icy pain squashed into the awkward and already painful experience of being alive.

Hopper hums, raising an eyebrow. “Trying to quit?”

He just shrugs, still looking out into the woods.

“Escaping Russia give you a new will to live?”

Dmitri huffs and shrugs again. “Maybe.”

“And what brought this on?” Hopper treads carefully.

“I made a deal.”

“A deal? With who? Mikhail?”

Dmitri looks over at him for a brief moment, his gaze dropping before looking away, just barely masking the grief he carries every damn day, leaving his family behind.

He exhales deeply, his gaze blank. “No… Your niece.”

Hopper’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Really?”

He huffs with a nod. “Mm.”

“Well, shit, alright then.” Hopper murmurs, turning away to also look into the abyss of the forest.

After a small pause. “Why are you surprised?”

“Hm? Oh- um… I don't know. I just didn't think she’d ever thought about quitting.” Hopper mutters under his breath.

Dmitri raises an eyebrow. “How come?”

Hopper exhales a puff of smoke. “She was pretty damn addicted when she first got here. Managed to wean her off a box a day to maybe a couple. It wasn't easy.”

Dmitri pauses, absorbing the information thoughtfully. “Son of a bitch. A whole box?”

Hopper glances over at him before nodding. “I can't blame her. She went through a hell of a lot ending up back here.”

“Back here?”

Hopper kisses his teeth and sighs, nodding. “My brother had her here. Couple years after Sara was born… They figured out she was real bright. She got a scholarship to one of the top middle schools in New York, so they left this place behind and lived right next to us for a good while… till I came back here.”

Dmitri looks over at him, silent. Then, “You did a good job.”

“What?”

“Taking care of her.”

Hopper almost laughs at the sentimentality the Russian is displaying. “Yeah- thanks. Basically excommunicated my brother over it once I heard what happened.”

Dmitri huffs and nods. “Good. Piece of shit.”

They leave it at that, not willing to venture deeper into things that they wouldn’t utter to themselves in the mirror anymore.

— - -

A whole season has passed since you got Hopper back. Though it’s hard to tell, now that the government’s involved in every part of your lives and there’s no way to get out of Hawkins and everything looks like something out of a nuclear fallout game.

Hiding out in Hopper’s has been… packed. Four (five, if you count Joyce more often than not) people living in a cabin designed for two, max? Awful. It’s hard to function like a normal person when everyone is in your way. So to avoid it, you spend almost all your time at the SQWK. You seem to follow Steve and Robin around job hunting like you wouldn’t be able to function without each other.

You three just work. But now, things are a bit more complicated than three full grown adult idiots barely holding on to a job purposed for kids in middle school. Robin is always lovesick over Vick and Steve is usually going on and on about how Dustin keeps hanging out with Eddie and not sparing him a glance like a mother of a teenage boy… Oh wait. That’s what he is.

Between all of this sometimes you feel like they’re going to do your head in, but you really wouldn’t have it any other way.

You’ve tried talking to Steve about Dustin, but he’s just distraught over this minor thing, even though he’s in heavy, heavy denial about the fact that he is.

And Robin… she’s a lost cause. You can’t bear to speak to her for more than 2 minutes about Vicky because it’s really just… disgusting.

You keep your thoughts to yourself, or it seems like you do because you basically have none. Your brain is simply focused on the present, knowing that if it thinks about anything else for a second, you’re going to drop the ball, and with all the crawls and government surveillance, that is something you cannot afford.

You usually leave the cabin before 8AM, and return just before 7PM if you three aren’t fucking around after the last air at 6:30. That’s when you get to kick your feet up and relax with the rest of your burrow, which is the only apt description for what you’re living in.

You guys usually hunker down in front of the TV, Joyce and Hopper snuggling in the corner of the couch, El curled up next to you on the other side of it, and Dmitri on the chair next to you guys or on the floor in front of you. Sometimes Murray and Alexei invite themselves over, and you’ve been hearing talk about Dmitri moving in to Murray’s house because he insists he’s burdening Hopper, despite your uncle’s protests. You doubt it’ll happen any time soon, though. It’s too risky now for change when everything works as it is.

It’s been quiet for days, now. But you can feel it coming. Another crawl, a big one. El’s been training nonstop and with Dmitri’s help? She’s fucking unstoppable.

It’s just that Hopper will not let her go, for some reason. Obviously he’s protective, but, even you know her talents are being wasted. Dmitri, Joyce, and Murray have tried to talk him into it, even Alexei’s had a go, which Hopper was much less than pleased about. You’re all just wondering what he has up his sleeve, because he is not this stupid.

The one day you’re not at the SQWK is when you hear it. When you’re shopping around for clothes for El and Hop since they’re technically wanted and dead, respectfully. ‘Upside Down - Diana Ross’ blasting through the speakers of the store you’re in, and Rockin’ Robin’s voice overlayed on top of it.

You practically drop the clothes you’re holding in your hand and rush out of the store, stepping on the gas and driving to Murray’s “secret spot” which is just some backroad in the forest next to a lake where the three Russian speaking men get hammered when Murray brings in a drink delivery.

It’s a drive, but it’s how you work when the signals come through. Murray and Alexei in one car, you and Dmitri in the other. It’s too risky otherwise, to have Murray Bauman and two unidentified men in one car. At least this way, Alexei’s just a friend who’s helping deliver goods with Murray, and you and Dmitri can pretend he’s either a very distant relative or your companion who got trapped here when the government caged you all in. Either works, but one is much easier to sell.

You push the limit through the town roads but as soon as you reach the suburbs, you step on the gas and tear through the backroads of Hawkins. When you can finally see the dead end that means “secret spot” and the random car Murray seems to acquire whenever he’s here, you can hear a lot of laughter and a lot of Slavic dialect. Thank god it’s you and not the government, otherwise they’d all be arrested.

You get out of the car and— oh lord do you wish you didn’t. You never knew seeing Murray with almost all his shirt buttons unbuttoned was a sight that you’d see in your nightmares, but now you do. He’s so… hairy. God.

You throw up a little in your mouth before you remember what you’re here for and clear your throat. “Hey Soviets! Get your asses over here. We’ve got a malfunction at the SQWK!” Your new code for whenever you have a crawl.

They all turn towards you. Oh, they’re all half shirtless. Taking advantage of the luxuries that the USSR couldn’t offer, perhaps.

Their light, happy expressions immediately fall. They drop their beer bottles in the cooler which Dmitri swipes up and they all trudge towards you in a line.

Murray and Alexei quickly run into his car, and Dmitri waits for you to unlock yours, putting the cooler in the backseat before sliding into the driver’s seat before you can think twice about it.

“Hey- No!” You exclaim, opening the door as he buckles himself in, which he never does. “Come on, Antonov!” You groan, catching his smirk as you slam the door and walk around.

When you get into the passenger seat, you don’t even spare him a glance as you toss the keys at him.

“So mad for what?” He murmurs, and you hate how you can hear the grin in his voice. You just want to smack it right off.

“It’s my car.” You huff.

“That makes me your chauffeur, what’s to be mad?” He purrs, starting the ignition.

You side eye him, huffing as he pulls off. He’s obviously very pleased with himself.

“You don't like my driving, is that it?” He calls out over the sound of the radio.

“No. Your driving’s… fine.” You murmur.

“Only fine?” He turns his entire head towards you, a bewildered look on his face.

“Oh my god! Keep your eyes on the road, dipshit!” You hiss as he nearly misses a roundabout.

“Son of a bitch—” He groans as he turns the wheel like it has endless give. It’s an uncomfortable amount of G-force for an eternity before he squares the car off again.

“Now I really don't like your driving.” You comment as you roll your eyes.

He clacks his teeth in annoyance, glancing over at you.

“Don’t look at me like that, Dmitri Antonov. You nearly crashed my goddamn car!” Your hands gesture wildly.

He doesn’t say anything else, but you can see the muscle in his jaw ticking ever so slightly out of the corner of your eye.

The rest of the drive is more or less in silence. When you get to the SQWK, you hold out your hand expectantly, to which he actually obliges and hands over the key.

You pocket it and make your way down to the basement of the building.

“Hey, stranger. What happened to your day off?” Steve greets you with a smirk, giving you a small nod.

“I know you did this cause you missed me, Harrington.” You sneer playfully, squeezing his side gently.

He chuckles, glancing down at you with an eyebrow. “Oh yeah, I broadcasted a crawl signal just to get you here on the one day I finally get a break from you, Little Hop.”

You scowl, your nose scrunching up at the disgusting nickname you were given the second you arrived here. “Do not call me that.”

“Oh, come on. You know it’s cute.” He teases.

“No I do not.”

He chuckles, nodding playfully. “Yeah, it’s cute and fuzzy— holy— shit, man. Didn’t see you there.” He almost jumps, and you turn to see Dmitri standing in the shadows of the corner of the room, and it nearly scares you shitless too. The way he’s just leaning back with his eyes hooded and his expression cold cut.

Eddie has the same reaction, except he’s unfortunately coming down the stairs. Goddamn, it is like watching a comedy unfold in slow motion.

You see the moment the fear strikes his face and he falls flat on his ass on the metal stairs. The devastating clang resounding off all the walls, mixing with his shrill scream and threatening to burst all your eardrums.

“Holy fuck, Eddie!” Robin squeals, and you turn to see her covering her ears and wincing.

“Oh my god, Munson.” Dustin coughs out, laughing. “That was insane!” He almost looks inspired, and you kind of get what Steve means.

“Shit— My ass. Jeez, dude— why’re you standing there all Vecna style?” Eddie groans, eyeing Dmitri who looks mildly surprised, but not fazed at all.

“I’m not doing it consciously.” He offers halfheartedly, except his warm smile comes out as an amused smirk.

Eddie picks himself up off the floor, rubbing his back, still wincing. “That’s even worse.” He murmurs, before you glance at him with an apologetic look.

“Why don’t you sit down, Ed?”

“Yeah, yeah. I think I will. Wow, I’ll never fall down stairs again.” He huffs dejectedly, before limping over to a seat.

You glance over your shoulder at Dmitri long enough to register the smirk still on his face before deciding you’ve had enough of his bullshit and make your way to Hopper, Mike, Joyce and Murray, who are examining the incredibly comprehensive maps they’ve drawn out.

“Hey, Crick.” Hopper murmurs, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pressing a kiss to the top of your head, which you receive with a contented hum and an arm on his back.

“Hi, Uncle Jim.” You mumble into his arm.

Joyce looks over at the two of you, cooing so hard she’s practically melting on the spot, and you have to admit, you can kind of see why Hopper’s into her. She’s real pretty.

“Hey, Lil’ Hop.” Mike murmurs with a smirk, and upon your ever so subtly violent reaction, lurches back with raised hands.

“Wheeler.” You snap gruffly. Expectantly.

“Sorry. Won’t happen again.” He murmurs as he ducks his head meekly.

“Alright, if we’re done nearly killing each other over here, why don’t we focus on killing the monsters and —I don’t know— the giant monster man who controls all of them?” Murray hollers with feigned excitement, cocking his head way too far to the side.

You all clear your throats and nod, having gotten admittedly sidetracked, and make your way to the centre of the room, watching the blank wall as Mike and Will work the projector. You take a seat on the couch next to Eddie, leaning your head on his elbow, and you feel someone join you and curl up against your side. You reach your hand out and feel El’s soft curls, and you smile to yourself.

Hopper leads the discussion, explaining out the plan. He and Dmitri are on the first truck. You, Steve, Eddie and Nancy are on patrol and recon on the last two trucks, but you guys go down to the tunnels first.

You have a day and a half to prepare, and you cannot afford to make mistakes.

— - -

“Again.”

“What do you mean again?! That was perfect!” Your muscles are burning and your lungs are weak. You swear your trachea is swelling up and your digestive system is ready to regurgitate everything it’s eaten in the last three hours back out.

“Beginner’s luck.” Dmitri shrugs, but you can see that stupid smug expression on his face as he leans back on the tree doing jackshit, whilst you’re running your ass off doing target and camo training.

“Oh my god, Dmitri! This is the sixth round. I know what I am doing!” You groan, waving your rifle haphazardly.

“What’s your best time?” He nods.

“I don’t know. four minutes? Maybe four ten.” You shrug.

He practically scoffs in your face. “You think that’s knowing what you’re doing?” He walks up to you and hands you the stopwatch, pulling it off of his neck.

You don’t even want to look at him in the eye, let alone take anything from him, but you reluctantly accept the stopwatch, handing him your rifle and moving to his position as he takes yours.

You nod to him and he’s off. Holy shit. You wonder if your eyes are deceiving you for a moment the way this man is moving. He’s ducking and rolling through things that were never meant to be permeated by the human body. Every target is hit with pinpoint accuracy and suddenly you have first hand experience with why this man made it to sergeant back in the good old US of SR.

What’s more? He doesn’t make a sound. If you were blindfolded, you’d think it was just the wind moving around you.

He makes his way over the ramp and jumps to the roof of the truck that they use for Eleven’s training. Granted, this does make a sound, but that jump is made for Eleven with supernatural powers. He just did it like it was a morning activity he does on the daily.

You don’t even realise your jaw is on the ground when he jumps off the bus, aims his gun and hits the last target twice square in the bullseye. He notices, with a smile on his face.

An actual smile for the first time today, not one of his godawful cocky smirks that drives you up the walls. His hair is a mess, sticking up slightly and his chest is heaving, his breaths deeper and harsher. His jaw is clenched and you can see it in the way that the muscle there is bulged slightly, accentuating his sharp features. His eyes are alert and alive, and you can see the exhilaration in the way that they’re flitting with excitement across your face.

“So? What’s my time?” He nods, his smile only widening as you check the stopwatch around your neck.

“Three twenty-four.” You huff in slight disbelief, your own heart is racing slightly for him. Watching him throw himself at shit without a second thought and with perfect execution was like watching an MMA fight close up.

You glance back up at him, your eyes wide and your mouth still slightly agape, to see his smile soften at your expression, his eyebrows lulling and his eyes simmering back down, but not any less enthralled.

“You’re insane.” You laugh softly, shaking your head.

He huffs and holds the gun out to you. “Here, I’ll show you how.”

You look between him and the gun for a second, your chest tight and your demeanour apprehensive for a moment. It’s not that you don’t want to. As much as you hate to admit it, you’re slightly intimidated… and maybe a little scared. Not for any particular reason, but just thinking about it— you could mess up, you might hurt him, or someone else, or just look like a complete idiot amongst a hundred and one other things.

“Hey.” He murmurs, catching you out. You’re almost shocked at his tone. It’s soft, and calm, and strangely understanding. “Don’t worry. You’re very good already, I was just giving you a hard time. But we’ll try make it better, yes?” Not the time, but you’ve noticed that his Russian accent is a lot more prevalent when he speaks softly, like he’s not trying to hide it in the moment.

You swallow, looking down at the gun and back up at him. It’s not like you to be this nervous, or nervous at all. But something about actually seeing the soldier in action did something to you.

“Okay.” You nod against your better judgment.

He nods encouragingly, patting your arm firmly and guiding you to the course that you thought you knew like the back of your hand till you saw him take steps you didn’t know were possible on it.

“Here. Hold the gun like this.” He shows you, tucking it into his side whilst maintaining a rigidly straight posture before relaxing and handing it to you.

You stick the gun against your side like he did, and try push yourself as straight up as possible.

He hums before moving to guide your shoulders back, his hands sending shivers of warmth through you. “Don’t push your chest out, keep your shoulders back. And straighten your spine.” He mutters, stepping back to examine you before nodding. “Da. Like that.”

You nod, and look at the course ahead of you, which is so much more daunting than it was before, each component a whole new endeavour.

“Don’t overthink it, do the start exactly how you usually do.” He speaks smoothly, calmly, his deep voice hypnotising you into the security of your focused mind.

You take the first few steps of the sequence like they’re second nature to you, and it feels so much lighter now with the new posture. You want to glance over at him, but you resist, knowing whatever look he has on his face will be ten times better if you do this right.

“Alright, rather than stepping into the next tyre, step on the rim of it. That will let you have a good position to shoot into the next target and duck into the next space. Understand?”

You get the gist of it, but you don’t know how you’re going to apply it to the next unit. You do as he says, stepping on the rim and shooting, but upon trying to spin to duck into the hiding space you’ve never thought to consider before, you fall flat on your back on the wooden platform.

You’re immediately winded, and breathing is a task. Your whole world is slightly blurred and your head kind of hurts. “Ow.”

Dmitri hurries over to you, gripping your shoulders and side of your neck firmly. “You okay? Does it hurt anywhere?”

You think for a moment, trying to assess your own body which is a weirdly alienating task. “I… don’t think so.”

He nods, his eyes flitting over your body before returning to your face. He holds up his hand a couple of inches from your face. “Look at my fingers.”

You try to track his movements as best as you can, but it does make your head spin a little.

He sighs, bringing his hand to your head, brushing his thumb over your temple. “Okay. You need to go inside. Concussion. Mild. Come.”

He holds you steady as you sit up, grasping both your arms as you try to stand up. “There. Steady.”

You try walking by yourself. It’s a bit of a challenge, but only because walking by yourself isn’t possible when Dmitri is not letting go.

“I’ve got it, you know?” You huff amusedly.

“I know.” He hums, but it’s clear he’s just humouring you.

“You’re so… megh.” You mumble.

His eyebrows shoot up with a grin on his face. “I’m what?”

“I dunno… megh.” You don’t even know what you’re talking about, but might as well commit to the bit.

“Is this some American word I do not know?” He chuckles, his head bobbing near yours as he opens the door to the cabin.

“No… It’s just a thing. You have to just know it.” You argue.

“Ah. Definitely concussed.” He hums as he guides you to the couch.

You don’t say anything, plopping down where he leaves you before he’s swiftly moving to the kitchen.

You hear a lot of clanking and gushing of taps as you’re left with your throbbing head. You expect he’s filling you a couple hundred glasses of water.

What you don’t expect is that he’s filled up a glass of water with lemon and a bowl with a washcloth that he’s left on the coffee table. ”I’m gonna put this on your head, yes? Stop worst of the pain.” He explains gently, looking at you for confirmation.

Something in your chest very reluctantly loosens, against all notion of want, letting yourself be gentle with him.

“You don’t have to do all this. It’ll be gone in a couple of days, you know?” You try, but he’s already wringing out the cloth and dabbing it against the back of his hand to check it.

“Couple of days is not good enough when we have a mission tomorrow. But maybe you shouldn’t go.” He muses as he presses the cloth to your head. The icy sensation on your skin is dull and somehow prickly, maybe painful if you were any more sensitive.

You almost let slip what he just said. “What— no. I’m going.” You try to sit up but he keeps you steady, looking into your eyes with such severity it grounds your shaken mind.

“Still. There will be no way you can go if you do not relax now.” He says sternly, his voice low.

You can’t even argue with that. Maybe you could, but only if you weren’t losing your grip on consciousness with every thought you think.

Your body begins to tense as you realise you’re not in control of it. That everything feels distant and out of reach. You don’t like not being in control of what you’re doing. You need to be on it. Otherwise it just doesn’t… work. You can’t trust others around you, and it stresses you out.

He seems to sense your worry, and you feel his hand on your arm, squeezing gently, protectively. “Don’t worry. I’m here.”

You manage a smile as your eyelids begin to get weighed down with sleep. “Is that a threat?”

He chuckles, and you feel the warm huff of his breath on your skin, you can smell faint mint and alcohol on his breath. “Not this time. Sleep.”

And you do. Not because he told you to, but it helped that he was there. As much as you hate to admit it, it usually does now.

— - -

You wake up to the feeling of a warm, small hand wrapped around your waist, and small breaths against your side. You’re a lot cosier than you were when you fell asleep, and it may have something to do with the fact that you’re in your bed, and El is cuddled up with you.

Your vision is slightly blurry, but slowly coming into focus. Your headache is dull, but there.

You barely have time to look around before the door opens, and you see the face of a very tentative Robin, and just behind her, Steve.

They haven’t noticed you’re awake yet, whispering at each other things you can’t quite hear from where you are.

“Is she gonna be okay? In the crawl?” Robin asks warily, tugging on Steve’s sleeve.

Steve chuckles, and you can tell he’s trying to sound sure of himself but it’s not working. “Yeah, course. This is Lil’ Hop we’re talking about. She’s gonna get up and bust all those government asses.” As he keeps talking, he begins to sound more confident and sure in his words, and it fills your chest with a warmth and happiness you haven’t felt in a while. To know you have people in your corner that actually believe in you.

Just after his spiel, there’s a thud just behind them, to which you jerk your head up at, protectively covering El’s head.

Your heart rate has spiked and El stirs a little, but you coax her back down when Robin groans.

“Munson! You woke her up! Dipshit!” She hisses at the mop of brown waves peeking in through the door.

The world is still askew, and your voice feels a little garbled, but you manage to speak coherently. “I was already up.”

Eddie huffs and points at you whilst looking at Robin expectantly. “You think I can wake her up if she doesn’t wanna wake up, Buckeroo?”

The sentiment makes you laugh a little, your arms wrapping around the bundle of warmth in your arms tighter.

You feel the bed dip next to your head, and a mildly calloused hand on your shoulder, warmth seeping through your skin as Steve’s thumb glides over it. “You feeling okay? Soldier told us that you were trying to be badass and it failed miserably.”

He what. That little bastard made you do this exercise and pinned your fall on you?! No fucking way.

“That is not what happened— that— little fucker.” You groan, leaning your head over to see the backlit silhouette of Steve’s hair.

“Looks like that’s exactly what happened, Lil’ Hop.” Eddie muses from behind Robin, very thankful you’re too incapacitated to hit him.

“No— I mean— yeah. Yes. But— It’s his fault!” You groan, squinting and turning back to hug El.

“Mhm. His fault you fell.” Robin chuckles. “Don’t worry, I’m sure your commie crush didn’t mind.”

That makes your brain stop. “What— Excuse me? Commie what?”

Eddie practically snorts, moving to snake his hand around Steve’s shoulder. “Look at her, gaining self awareness. They grow up so fast.” He teases.

You startle up, your head spinning but thoughts clear enough to know you have to dispute this. You must.

“Ow- What- This is not true! What the fuck, you guys?!” You hiss at the three of them who are simply just grinning, your hand still buried in El’s curls. She’s woken up now too.

“Hey. Easy.” Steve huffs, steadying you gently.

“What’s wrong?” She murmurs through sleepy eyes, stretching out and laying her hand on your knee.

“No- nothing El. Nothing. They’re just being annoying.” You huff, shrugging Steve’s hand off of your shoulder.

“Uh uh uh.” Robin tuts with a cocked eyebrow. “We’re being honest. There’s a difference.”

“Honest about what?” El yowls as she stretches.

“Nothing. Because it’s a lie.” You state shortly, defending your honour. Your mind, however, is racing against your will to try comprehend why and how they reached this conclusion.

“You know I can read your mind, right?” She huffs expectantly up at you and you wonder how you missed that very obvious little thing.

“I- shit.” You groan. “Could you just not, this time?” You flash your teeth at her in a very poor attempt at a smile to appease her.

“Depends. What do I get?” This little shit. You widen your eyebrows at her just to be met with a smirk.

“You’re such a little-”

“Hey, hey, hey. Let’s not say anything we’ll regret.” Steve rushes to stop your sentence.

“Or that will result in consequences involving being held at gunpoint by the chief.” Eddie mutters, his gaze drifting whilst he zones out as if he’s reliving a memory. He probably is.

You take a deep breath. Why do you even care? It’s not like they’re telling the truth. “You know what, you can read my mind because you’re not gonna find anything!”

El props herself up, squinting hard at you. Her eyes shift between yours, examining almost clinically. You don’t know what she’s thinking, but she’s not in your head, you know that much.

You manage to tear your eyes away from her strangely commanding glare, faceplanting into Steve’s shoulder, whose arms instinctively wrap around you. “I hate you.” You murmur, voice muffled.

“Yeah, alright. We got you.” He murmurs, softly, and you can feel a hand snake into your hair in a position that means it’s not his, but Eddie’s.

You just relax into their touch, like you’ve done so many times before. Your friends are your home, even when they’re annoying as shit. And as much as you hate to admit it, they are your lifeline as much as you’re theirs.

You feel Eddie’s hand untangle itself from your hair, followed by a dull weight atop your scalp, acknowledging it as Steve’s cheek. Soon enough, the warmth of his body and his shallow breaths on your hair leave you letting yourself be lulled back into sleep.

— - -

When you next wake up, it’s noticeably darker in your room. Kind of hard not to notice when it wasn’t pitch black and now it is.

Your thoughts are slow to be recalled, and they still haven’t painted the full picture of why you can’t remember a whole day until after you’re out of your bed and your hand is warm against the icy doorknob.

Stepping out into the darkness of the cabin is strangely harrowing, making your heart race. You wouldn’t be out here at this time if your throat wasn’t begging for the reprieve that water would bring it. You never used to be so scared. The last two years have changed that.

You manage to grab a glass and start the tap without much trouble, occasionally warding off the effects of small dizzy spells. As you’re watching the glass fill up with water, the bubbles swirling and being swashed around, you hear a series of creaking floorboards coming in some direction.

Your heart begins to race again and you flick the tap off as fast as you can, leaning close up against the cupboards, making yourself as small as possible.

You know that no one else is awake, it’s too late for that, and you didn’t hear a door open. It has to be something you are much too weak to fight off in your current state.

You hold your breath as the footsteps get louder and closer, your heartbeat beginning to resound in your head.

It’s only when you hear the distinctive, soft spoken accent of Dmitri that your entire body releases itself from the enclosure of your mental battle, “Little American?”

“C-ommie?” You croak, your voice hoarse and most unflattering. If you had heard it in the middle of the night, you would have turned tail and run.

You catch a glimpse of his features as his silhouette comes into view, peeking past the counter. “Yes, it’s me. Are you okay?”

You sigh, your arms pressed backwards against the counter. “Define ‘okay’.”

“Okay enough to walk around?” He suggests with a small, coy smile, walking around the counter and towards you. Each of his steps leaving you in more anticipation than the last.

You huff at him, reaching for your water glass. “Please. I could walk around the whole time.”

His features become clearer as your eyes adjust to the darkness, his nose illuminated by some stray moonlight and his eyes as sharp as ever, despite the protruding bags of skin that are prevalent beneath them.

“You look like shit.” You murmur, before he can even reply to your last (very untrue) statement, and he barely flinches, simply shrugging.

“What’s new?” He hums, glancing around.

You cock your head slightly. The self deprecation is not unusual, per se, for Dmitri, but it’s usually in jest. This time he said it with an unmistakeable conviction, despite it being buried under a small, twisted smile.

“Nothing,” you confirm with a playful nudge to his arm with your knuckles. The contact seems to bring him back from whatever he’s caught up in, but the air is still and heavy, despite the small murmur of a laugh he offers you.

“You okay?” You hum noncommittally, not wanting to spook him into silence.

This earns another melancholy huff from him. “You’re not the one who is meant to be asking that.”

You shrug, leaning further back onto the counter, now resting on your elbows.

He swallows, almost unnoticeable in the shadows if not for the bob of his Adam’s apple highlighted against the dark, hesitant before deciding, “I’m fine.”

Your expression sours slightly, you can feel that he’s hiding something. What’s worse, you can feel what it is from here. You felt it from the moment you were covered in leaves and his hands were holding you steady, but his muscles were tense with terror.

“Kind of stupid of me this morning, huh?” You feign an expression of amused disappointment, knowing that he won’t admit it without being coaxed.

This gets his attention, his stature immediately perking up. “You? No, that wasn’t stupid.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Did you not watch me fall flat on my ass?”

He huffs, his head cocking up defensively. “It wasn’t stupid. You were good.”

“If I was good, I wouldn’t have fallen.” You challenge, still maintaining a lighthearted facade.

He shakes his head sharply, his eyebrows screwed. “No. You’re good. If I wasn’t being an ass and if I didn’t push you, you would’ve been fine… It was my fault. Not yours.”

There it is. You think to yourself. There’s a silence that’s palpable as he realises what you’ve done.

You sigh and set your glass down, reaching for his hands. “Dmitri, it’s not your fault. Don’t be stupid.”

Once you grasp onto his hands, you feel them stiffen under your palms. It’s not just his arms, his whole body is tense, and when you look back up into his eyes, you see something you’re not meant to see. His fear.

“You know it’s not true, either.” You probe, squeezing his hands gently.

He swallows again and sighs, and you get a faint whiff of mint from his breath. “It’s hard to say it’s not true when it was... how do you say- cause and effect?”

You smile softly, slightly melancholic, shrugging. “Yeah, stuff like that happens, but you didn’t mean for it to happen. It was training, this is what happens. Don’t feel bad. That only makes things worse.”

He sighs, and you observe his guard lowering, his hands softening under yours and grasping back as his thumbs graze over the backs of yours. His eyes soften, accentuating the darkness under his eyes and the tiredness within them, making your heart tense for a moment.

You stand in his presence for a moment, wanting nothing more than to be closer to him but knowing that you’re not thinking straight at all.

“Get some sleep, Dmitri.” You murmur, blaming every stray thought on your own fatigue having caught up with you.

He huffs and nods, stepping back and releasing your hands. You don’t see it, but it hurts him to do it.

He can’t explain why. He can’t explain a lot right now. For starters, he doesn’t usually care about people getting hurt in training — he’s so used to mild concussions, he’s learned to function optimally with them. He can’t explain why his chest tenses whenever he sees you, when he gets to talk to you. He can’t explain why he’s scared to be near you, but scared to be too far.

He can’t explain why he’s holding himself back from something even he doesn’t know when you press your lips to his cheek, softly, before retreating back to your room.

Dmitri Antonov can’t explain why he feels how he did once upon time during a summer 17 years ago, and he’s entirely too afraid to want to.

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