Not The Plan
relationships: hopper!reader x dmitri antonov
summary: You never planned to end up back in this corner of Indiana; you were never meant to stay. Between all the fighting and planning, you've just forgotten to make your way back to where you were... You're not sure you want to. It was always the plan, but when your uncle comes back from the dead, he brings back home someone you shouldn't want to stay for. You just can't help that you do.
tags: age difference (12 years); slow burn; friends to lovers; secret relationship; self indulgent fic tbh; a lot of character building; alexei is alive; plot with no porn LOL; background byler; jopper 4ever
a/n: hey guyss, honestly wrote this purely as a self indulgent thing. I wanted it to be a oneshot but had wayyy too much fun exploring this so i fear it will be a lot longer than that. obviously don't expect much traction from this so even if a couple of people like this i'll be really happy :))
w/c: 7.5K
Being Jim Hopper’s niece means you inherited the same genes.
Even though you never properly hung out with him till you were 19— when your parents shipped you off to the outskirts of Nowhere, Indiana— you two were more similar than you could have ever imagined. You both like football, Eggos, doing donuts in his police car, and scaring little kids shitless on Halloween.
But most of all, you like plans.
You make damn good plans, and you’ll be damned if you don’t stick to them. They’ve saved everyone’s asses multiple times. The only time a plan of yours has ever ended badly is when people didn’t follow it.
It’s been two and a half years since you landed yourself in this tiny little town in the middle of fuckall. It’s been almost a year since you’ve seen your uncle.
He was dead. You thought he was.
Turns out that son of a bitch got kidnapped by mother fucking Russians and left you to pick up the mess. The nerve.
There’s no point in lying. You grieved. All the days bled into one at one point with no end in sight. You never thought you’d be so sad, but after the man all but took you in after a summer holiday turned apocalyptic-monster-fighting-session-which-meant-you-ended-up-wanting-to-stay-in-this-shit-hole, you don’t think you’d have grieved that much for your own mother.
You have a little cousin now, a new one. You don’t talk about the old one, you know it hurts too much. But sometimes, you wonder if she came back in the form of this tiny thing, El. She’s real cute, even though you’ve always hated kids, although you’ve never come across a supernatural one.
When Hopper “died”, she became your responsibility. The Byers tried to move to California or some shit like that and they wanted to take her, but you didn’t let them— you didn’t let them do either, actually. They kept the house and they stayed after you had one real solid go at Mrs. Byers for just running away from this and giving up on your uncle- for turning her back on it all.
It wasn’t fair to her, you’ll admit, but it worked out.
It worked out because your uncle is coming back tonight.
You’ve been waiting for this for the last two weeks, and it feels like it’s been so much longer than the first two weeks of hell after he left. When you got that radio from the weird bald man your uncle picked up last year, your whole world turned right-side up again.
You haven’t told El and you’re thankful to whatever God that’s there she hasn’t tried to read your mind— so you sent her to the Party’s daily meet up, where she is no doubt going to be running around with that Wheeler boy you really don’t like, and the two adult men with wack ass hair who act younger than the actual 13 year olds.
You’ve been picking at your nails and pacing the entire length of the cabin waiting for Joyce to come get you. You can’t remember if you’ve eaten breakfast but you had a couple of crackers for lunch. You’ve been playing vinyls from his favourites that he keeps under his bed for the last two hours, surprised that there’s somehow a song by Etta James that you’ve missed this whole year. Huh, you think to yourself.
The sun has been dipping for the last twenty minutes and you have been checking the clock obsessively. God, when they get here…
The obsessive everything gets to you and you start to lose yourself to the gentle hold of the worn couch in the cabin, the clock’s ticking a soft background rhythm to the songs on the LPs as you begin to doze off. In your hazy state, you think about the old life you had, the one before all this— you went to Yale, you had a nice boyfriend and career prospects. You were ready to settle down.
When you think about it like this, it’s easier to forget that everything went wrong— that your boyfriend got caught dealing, and that they accused you of being complicit in the crime which your parents had to pay a fortune to get you out of— and that’s why your parents sent you to live with your military uncle.
Do you miss your boyfriend? Sometimes. Not really though. You thought you’d marry him, thought he was the one. “The one” stopped being real when he was willing to drag you to prison with him. There’s been a handful of guys in Hawkins who’ve tried their hand with you, Eddie included, but you’ve turned them all down. Most of them, at least. There was that one dude you hooked up with, but that was just cause you were bored, and high— you wouldn’t remember him if he ran up to you with flowers in hand.
You didn’t come here to build a new life or get knocked up, you came here for Hopper to “straighten you out” as your parents put it. Turns out he’s a hell of a lot nicer than they could ever be. But either way, you didn’t come here looking for anything, so you’re not going to leave here with anything. If you ever leave.
Lord above, when you hear the sounds of gravel crunching you damn near throw yourself off of the couch at lightning speeds. This— this moment, it’s what you’ve been waiting for since that godforsaken signal a whole month ago.
You scramble to the door, just as this janky, camouflaged jeep crunches over the foliage and the gravel. You see the distinctive outline of Murray’s bald head and Alexei’s tufts of curls bobbing at the front, the two of them very obviously rejoicing. You nearly trip over your feet as you fly down the porch stairs and clobber onto the mushy carpet of wet leaves that’ve fallen onto the floor.
You’re desperately peeking on your tiptoes through the tinted glass, and you feel like you can see him, but not really. It feels like it’s been minutes since they’ve parked, but Murray hasn’t even taken the keys out yet.
When Murray does eventually step out, you’re surprised, but you lunge onto him. You hug him so damn tight, like he’s solid ground.
To everyone else’s surprise, he wraps one very uncertain arm around you too, the other one resting on the back of your neck. Nothing crazy, just holding, but that’s more than Murray ever learned to do.
“He’s- he’s here, right?” You murmur, almost inaudibly into his chest. Of course he’s here, you can practically feel it. But you need to hear it for it to be true.
Murray just laughs into your ear, and for a split second, your heart drops before he murmurs back. “Of course. We got him, kid. You think we were just gonna let the Soviets keep him?”
“It was like they were fighting for a prized pig.” That voice. You know that damn voice.
You don’t even look, you know he’s right behind you. Your head snaps up and whips around and when your eyes latch on to his face, your heart shatters.
He’s so thin. He’s bald. His moustache is gone. You can see bruises hiding just beneath the neckline of his clothes.
“Uncle Jim.” You barely breath out before you’re practically climbing on to him. You don’t care he’s been beat nine ways to Sunday, you just need to hold him.
“Hey, Cricket.” He whispers in the shakiest voice you’ve ever heard him speak in. The nickname is a long story, but it’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. It opens all the floodgates and before you know it, you’re sobbing into his clothes.
He just holds you tighter. The hug is bone-crushing but you’d let every bone in your body be broken for it to last.
Your whole world is blurry and dizzying as you step out of the hug, sniffling and wiping copious amounts of snot away with your sleeves.
You look up at him and you can see the tears in his eyes too. For Jim Hopper, that’s saying something.
The whole world seems to stand still for a moment, everyone just watching the two of you. Joyce is definitely crying, and Alexei is watching with his head turned so far to the side it looks like it’s been snapped off.
That’s when you notice a figure you haven’t accounted for standing near the jeep, almost sheepishly. You can barely bring yourself to tug your eyes away from your uncle, but when you do, you see a man dressed in the same clothes as Hopper: thick navy pants with black puffer jackets that go to mid-thigh length.
He’s still got his hair, for some reason, and a moustache too. You can see he’s been a bit more roughhoused than your uncle, with gashes and bruises on his face.
You peer over to the side, raising your eyebrow directly at him and looking around for an explanation from someone, anyone.
“Oh- yeah- picked up another one of these.” Murray announces oddly cheerfully, patting Alexei on the back. “Soon we’ll have enough to make our own Red Scare.” He mutters under his breath, a distinctively morbid Murray thought.
“His name’s Dmitri.” Your uncle murmurs, nodding at the man who is standing in a very brooding manner against the jeep. Simply observing everything with something you think is a smile, but you can’t tell from this distance.
“Enzo.” Alexei nods to you, knowing you understand the significance of the name. The one who got your uncle out. He’s the one you owe this to.
Your head snaps around to Joyce and Murray, who just nod at you, and you look back to Enzo— or Dmitri, rather— and beam like the sun itself shines out of your ass.
Joyce nods the man over with a small smile, and he slowly approaches, his expression stone cold but his strides betraying his uncertainty.
As he approaches, you get a good look at him. You’d say he’s about mid to late thirties, although the being stuck in Russian prison thing might affect your judgement. He has a gash across his face, crossing through his very striking features. Mental note: sort that out later. His moustache suits him in a very different way to how Hopper’s suited him, it accentuates his features rather than hiding them.
Your head whips around when you hear your name, you weren’t sure how long you were zoned out staring at this man— that’s not good.
“-she’s my niece.”
“Ah- niece- your…?” His speech is heavily accented, but slightly more coherent than Alexei’s to the average American.
“Brother’s daughter.” Hopper explains patiently.
Dmitri nods in recognition before turning to face you.
“Hi.” You get out, still dumbstruck that this is Enzo in the flesh.
“Hello.” He hums back.
“Um… Thank you. For, you know— saving my uncle’s ass out there.” You chuckle slightly breathlessly, which he receives with a large smile that you were not expecting from his stern stature.
“Yes- your uncle’s ass was very hard to save when he was being the ass.” He laughs, looking over to Hopper, and there’s a fondness in his eyes that makes you realise your uncle was in good hands from the moment they met.
“Yeah, I can imagine. He tends to be one more often than not.” You offer, earning a large huff from your uncle beside you.
“Loving this wholesome recollection for the heartfelt reunion, guys.” He mumbles under his breath.
You look back up at him with a giddy smile and wrap your arm around his side. He does the same to you, leaning down to press his lips to your hair. When you glance back at the new Soviet addition, he’s watching the both of you with an unreadable expression.
— -
You’ve learned that Enzo is actually here to stay for a while. Something about whether he wants to go back to Russia or not, so Hopper’s offered him a place to hunker down in.
They’re finally settling in when El gets here. She somehow doesn't notice the collective whispering as she walks through the door, but maybe she just doesn't care. She walks into her room and you all look to Hopper, who looks like he’s just seen a vision.
“Go. She’s missed you so much.” You murmur, just loud enough for him to hear.
He looks down at you with slight uncertainty before nodding, making his way over.
You don't know what he says, but you all watch as El breaks down crying in his arms, fighting your own tears back.
When you reach for a tissue from the box, you find it already near your lap, Dmitri’s holding it out to you, with an understanding expression on his face.
You’re bittersweet as you take a tissue from the box, sniffling. “Thanks… I swear you’ve seen me cry more than my own mother now.”
He chuckles— and you can practically feel the vibrations of his vocal cords given the deepness of his voice— leaning in conspiratorially. “Don't worry. I won't tell.”
You sniffle with a smile, looking down, but when you look back, he’s back in his seat two feet away from you.
You try not to notice the weird tug in your chest that’s strangely… disappointed at that. It makes it easier when Hopper and El walk back out, arm in arm, with tears and smiles abundant.
El sees you and beams, squinting at you. “You lied.”
You laugh and shake your head. “You never asked.”
— -
“Ow- Hey! No!” The new bald eagle in your clan is twitching like he’s never had his wounds cleaned before.
“Uncle Jim.” You huff, expression stern. You’ve been trying to get this open wound on his shoulder clean for the last three minutes.
You hear a chuckle from behind you as Dmitri walks up to the two of you, eyebrow raised at Hopper. “We did not rough you up good enough, American?”
Hopper all but kills the man with the glare he shoots him, earning another huff of laughter from him. “I take that as a yes.” He murmurs, beer in hand as he walks away.
“Commie bastard.” Your uncle grumbles under his breath.
“Well you are wincing like a little kid right now, and it’s just rubbing alcohol.” You hum amusedly.
“Hey- you try being beat up by Soviets!”
You chuckle. “I’m good thanks.”
“Mmm. I’m sure.” He huffs indignantly.
“Don’t worry, I’m gonna get him too and we can see how he handles it.” You nod over to Dmitri who’s sitting with Alexei and Murray, all chatting in Russian.
Hopper mumbles something that you don’t quite catch, but he seems satisfied.
Once you finally get his wounds dressed, he whistles over at the three men and beckons Dmitri over with his two forefingers.
Dmitri looks between Murray and Alexei, who just shrug, before he saunters over with a smug smile. “The torture’s over, little Americanietzche?”
Hopper’s eyes narrow as he gestures to the chair he was just sitting in, and Dmitri raises an eyebrow. “Me?”
It’s Hopper’s turn to grin as he nods, moving away. “Yes you, princess.”
You shoot Hopper a look that’s strangely accusatory given the comment, which he receives with another huff and a bewildered look.
As Dmitri sits in the chair in front of you, you get a good look at his face, his sharp cheekbones and jawline, his bushy moustache and strong eyebrows. His eyes. They’re probably the most striking pair you’ve ever seen. Crisp and sharp and blue, but more inviting than anything.
When you reach for the large gash just by his eye, you see him flinch slightly. “Don’t worry. It won’t hurt as much as he acted like it did.” You offer with a small smile.
He registers the comment and smiles, relaxing into the brush of your fingertips. “He is a big baby.”
You laugh softly, dipping the cotton ball in the ethanol and bringing it up to the battered and bruised skin, your hand steadying his head gently. “That he is.”
“Ah— Blyat’.” He hisses under his breath when you make contact with the open wound just near his eyebrow, his head curling inwards slightly.
You hear Hopper snicker from his post behind you. “Not so tough, hm, commie?”
Dmitri’s gaze tilts upwards, glaring at Hopper through his lashes— oh wow. They really are something. You swallow slightly before going back to dip the cotton.
“Here. Just hold still, yeah?” You murmur, shifting your grip on the side of his face to just under his jaw, tilting his head away from you.
You don’t hear another hiss, but you feel his entire body stiffen under your hands before you let go of him. “There. Hard part’s over.” You murmur soothingly, reaching for the antiseptic cream, gauze and medical tape.
He turns his head back and watches what you’re doing with the utmost interest. You dab a little bit of the cream on the wound and around the area, then fan it with your hand to dry most of it off.
He smiles slightly, watching you fan his face frantically with the concentrated expression screwed on your features.
When you’re done, you rip a shred of gauze off and gently press it to the area. “Here, can you hold this for me?” You nod softly to where your hands are.
He nods and his hands fly up to hold where you’re holding, his warm, calloused fingers brushing against yours before you move them. You try not to react, and it’s harder than it should be, because you really shouldn’t be needing to try at all.
You tear pieces of the tape and secure the dressing to his skin, patting his knee briefly with a smile. “Done. You’ll be good as new soon. I’ll change it tomorrow morning, yeah?”
He takes a moment to respond, then just nods before gesturing to his head. “Da. Thank you.”
You smile and stand up. “No problem.”
— -
When you wake up, with El curled next to you, you’re pleasantly surprised with the smell of food cooking this early in the morning.
You creep out of your bedroom shrugging on a sweater as you step out in your linen pyjama pants and shirt.
When you turn the corner, you see Joyce at the stove, cooking scrambled eggs with piles of bacon already set aside.
“Hey, Mrs. B.”
Her head snaps around with a warm smile. “Good morning, you.”
You return the gesture before sitting down at table near the kitchen. “You sleep here last night?”
She turns off the stove and plates the eggs before turning to you. “Nope. Just got here real early.”
You glance at the clock. 7:20. “Early indeed.”
There’s a moment of silence before you glance back at her. “Everything okay?”
She pauses, the tap running over her hands. “Yeah… Yeah. I mean, he’s back. That’s- all I’ve been asking for. Forever.”
You feel a pang of guilt for everything you said to her that day. All the bitter words. “I- Joyce. I’m really sorry about-”
She almost laughs, her body spinning around. “No. Don’t be. If you weren’t there and if you didn’t set me straight… I wouldn’t have this.”
You two look at each other with a newfound sense of understanding, like real understanding. You haven’t known her for long, but your uncle sees something in her, and that’s enough for you to trust her.
The moment is put on hold when Hopper practically stumbles out of his room in a pair of shorts and no shirt, showing off a plethora of more gashes that he hid from you yesterday.
He stops dead in his tracks when he sees Joyce, you don’t think he even registers your presence. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Joyce cocks her head and raises an eyebrow, giving him a hell of a lot of sass for such a little lady. “God forbid I make you breakfast? I guess?”
Jim’s jaw hangs slightly slack at that comment before he shakes his head almost in disbelief. “God, woman.”
She returns his laugh and shrugs. “What?”
He shakes his head and walks right past you, without sparing you so much as a glance before moving to stand next to her, and suddenly you feel very, very uncomfortable because the two of them are making eyes at each other and you do not want to be witnessing this at this early hour.
“For the love of everything good in this world, can you guys wait till I’m not here to start eye-fucking each other?” You groan, pinching your temples.
This snaps them right out of their trance and they jump back from each other like they’ve been electrocuted, looking at you in pure bewilderment.
“Hey! Language!” Hopper barks at you, but you both know that it’s only making you laugh harder.
Joyce has gone completely red, her hands only now sliding off of her face. “That too! But- It’s not like that!”
You snicker with the biggest smirk on your face, watching the two of them look at you and then each other and back again. But you decide to be merciful, your uncle’s already been subject to psychological torture, so you lift your hands in surrender and stand up.
“Relax, relax. I’m leaving. You two can eat each other’s faces off for all I care. But one thing— do not think you’re slick. Everybody knows.”
You see both of them physically gulp.
“Everybody?” Joyce croaks.
“Everybody.”
You’ve always hated smoking, hated the taste of it and the way it makes you feel like you’re suffocating— but everybody does it. That, and it keeps you warm in moments like this, when you’re in half a millimetre of clothing and sitting outside to try ignore the very obnoxious clattering of furniture from inside the cabin.
It’s been two weeks since Hopper and Dmitri escaped, and two horrendously long weeks filled with disgusting amounts of— practically geriatric— sexual tension for Hopper and Joyce to get over it and, to be frank, bang.
You’re also incredibly thankful they had some shred of awareness and tried to make sure no one would be there. Except Keith said he had enough people to cover your shift at the store, so you thought you might as well get a few extra hours of sleep in. Big mistake.
They didn’t hear you or see you when you took one large regret of a step into the cabin, but you sure saw them.
You’re sitting on the steps outside now, cigarette in hand, trying to blow rings with the smoke in your mouth. Anything to keep your mind off of it.
You don’t know how long you’re just sat absentmindedly for till you hear the shuffle of foliage as someone approaches.
Your head snaps up, and you see Dmitri walking towards you with a shockingly raised eyebrow.
“I thought you know how to pick locks?” He chuckles at you, his accent becoming more natural to decipher after the last two weeks of exposure.
You laugh softly, crossing your arms around your knees. “Oh, I have the key.”
His expression falters slightly, mostly in confusion. “So, what is the problem?”
You raise an eyebrow at him and nod with a small, tired smirk. “Just… listen.”
After a moment, there is a concerningly large thud that resounds from within the depths of the wooden lodge, which seems to convey the wrong message to Dmitri, who drops his bag of snacks that Murray’s been supplying him with and looks like he’s ready to fight whoever walks through the door with his fists curling at his sides.
You quickly stand up, holding your arms out placatingly. “No! No! It’s not what you think!”
He looks at you with an expression that almost gives you chills. It’s stone, unmoving. That’s the look you imagine he had when he did what he had to do to climb the ranks of the Soviet military.
But the soldier fades as quickly as it came on when you stand up, his features instantly softening.
He stutters, looking between you and the cabin. “I don’t underst—”
A loud gasp makes him understand. God, this cabin needs to be soundproofed.
Your face screws up in a desperate attempt not to laugh, and he quickly follows suit as his entire body begins to shake with silent fits of laughter.
“Shh!” You hiss through gritted teeth, slowly trying to lower yourself back down onto the steps gracefully and failing miserable.
He shakes his head, biting his lips to keep his giggles inside as he braces himself on the rails of the stairs.
Eventually, the large fits of laughter subside into breathlessness and occasional chuckles.
“How long has it been like this?” He whispers.
You groan and rolls your eyes. “I do not know. Too long. I got let off at twelve forty-five, so I got here at about one fifteen. Since then. And probably before that, too.”
Dmitri’s eyes widen marginally as he checks his watch. “It is two o’three now.”
You nearly spit in surprise. “What the hell did they do to you guys in Kamchatka?”
Dmitri goes silent for a moment, the smile still on his face but his gaze distant before he huffs with some level of amusement. “Enough to make a man do this for forty-five minutes.”
You groan, shaking your head that’s buried in your hands. “They don’t even sound halfway done.”
Dmitri chuckles with a smug smirk on his face, nodding. “American.”
You sigh a very long winded sigh before looking up at him, then shuffling over on your stair, gesturing to it. “Sit. We’re going to be here for a very long time.”
He hums, processing the request before obliging, sitting down next to you before deciding that sitting on the step below you and kicking his feet up to sit on it cross-legged whilst facing your direction is more comfortable and less compromising.
You observe for a moment before mimicking him, the both of you on opposite ends of the stairs, looking at each other, small grins still on your faces.
You hold out your cigarette to him, which he takes and inhales like it’s a lifeline.
You chuckle, earning an eyebrow raise from him. “What?”
“You look like you actually enjoy that.” You explain.
His confusion is evident as he tries to hold it back to you, an offer you decline with a raise of your hand. “You do not?”
“No. I didn’t think anyone actually liked it.”
“What is not to like? Breathing fire, no? Keeps you warm.” He shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, taking another long drag.
You hum as you consider his explanation, and it makes sense, in Russia these must be godsends.
“Well, I guess it makes sense for you to like it. Given the breezy conditions in the USSR. But here? It just tastes shit and smells shit and I feel like I’m dying when I get a whiff of it.”
He laughs slightly, bowing his head. “Well yes, no one likes how it tastes or smells. Like I say, breathing fire. It’s about how it makes you feel.”
You raise an eyebrow at him.
“It gives you peace of mind. Keeps you warm. You feel safe, no? S’what gets you through the day.” He nods, trying to offer his best explanation.
You cock your head slightly. Goddamn this man is hardcore. “If that’s what helps you sleep at night.”
He huffs with a smile, shaking his head. “You may be right. About it not having the same effect here.”
You shrug with a lighthearted smile. “I have no experience smoking in the Soviet Union. My opinion is of no good.”
The comment earns a snort from him before he takes a good look at the cigarette and drops it onto the floor, moving his leg to squash it with the underside of his boot.
“I want to quit.” He murmurs, still staring at the embers on the dirt.
“Then do it.”
He chuckles bitterly. “You say it like it is easy. I have tried.”
Your smile waivers slightly. “I know.”
He glances over at you for a split second before looking back down. “Then you know it is pointless.”
You pause for a moment, a long exhale leaving your lips. “We can quit together.” You offer, your voice a lot smaller than you wanted it to be.
His eyebrow shoots up like he’s sure he’s misheard you. “What?”
“We’ll quit together.” You repeat, your resolve firmer. “Keep each other in check.”
He shifts back to his original position to look you in the eye. “Are you serious?”
You shrug and nod. “Yeah. Why not? Not like I actually like it anyways.”
He laughs to himself. “Americans.”
You’re not sure what that has to do with it, but okay then. “Deal?”
He looks out to the side before looking back at you with the same intensity in his eyes that had left you in freeze mode. “Deal.”
He reaches out and you lean forward, your hand fitting into the large, calloused warmth of his own. His grip is firm, but not painful, and you make sure to hold his hand with the same force.
He nods approvingly as your hands unclasp. “Strong handshake. Very good.”
You’re not sure how to react. You don’t know if it’s a compliment or an observation.
The two of you return to looking around in the forest in the silence, trying not to burst into tears every time a sound so vulgar it belongs in a Playboy movie resonates.
You don’t know what possesses you, but you just begin talking. “Enz- Dmitri, sorry.”
“Hm?” His head snaps back to you.
“Don’t you… want to go back to Russia?” You ask slightly timidly.
You see a muscle in his jaw tick from the corner of his face, and for a second you’re worried but then he… smiles?
“You are tired of me already, I see.”
Your eyes widen as you make jazz hands at him. “Nonono! I was just wondering because Hopper mentioned you had a family and I was wondering if they wouldn’t like to see you or if you don’t want to be with them but I overstepped so I’m really-”
Dmitri is watching you spin yourself into a web with a highly amused smile on his lips.
“-really sorry and I shouldn’t have asked and—”
“Hey. Stop. Ay- you talk more than Yuri.” He chuckles, watching you go redder by the second with the same smirk.
You don’t even respond, too embarrassed by your courage now.
Fortunately, he does the talking for you, sobering as he goes. “To answer your question… I don’t want to go back to Russia. Short answer, they will kill me, and there is nothing for me there. Long answer… My son, Mikhail, he thinks I have fled as a traitor, and I cannot fix that until he will be ready to accept the truth. That day may never come, and interfering will only delay it or put him in danger. As for my wife…”
He looks down at the wedding band still on his finger, twisting it around and taking it off. “I received news she has already found another lover. Although I wonder if ‘found’ is the right word when he was in my bed while I was at work for the last two years. So, it is pointless and too dangerous for me to go back there. Instead, I will grow fat and weak in America. Payment for my traitorous sins.”
Your mouth is strangely dry after that. You don’t know what to say.
“I’m- so sorry.”
“Don’t be. I have helped your family, and that has been the one good thing that has come of it.”
“Was it worth it?”
He seems to think about it for a moment. “For me? As a father? No. As a person? Yes. I will miss my son and I wish for nothing more than to be with him and see the man he grows up to be, maybe even meet my grandchildren. But there was no honour in what I was doing, even for my country. I can see that now, and I saw it then. It is a hopeless life you live, and that is the most deadly thing. Selfish, but I am glad I am here. I can help you all save the world my son is living in.”
You nod very slowly, trying to absorb everything he’s said. You swear you’ll never complain about anything in your life again.
“Don’t look so sad for me, even I am not so sad. This is the land of dreams, no?” He chuckles, tucking his wedding band into his pocket now.
You huff dejectedly. “Depends on what your dreams are.”
He hums, shifting slightly as if considering whether to say it. “To be a good man.”
Your gaze snaps up to his and you shake your head slightly. “You don’t need to dream for that. You’re already there.”
He laughs, the sound bitter. “You do not know what I’ve done. You would not say that.”
You consider this and shrug. “For someone so pragmatic, you should know that I don’t need to know what you’ve done or who you were. I need to know what you’re doing and who you are.”
The words seem to strike something within him, because for the first time, you see uncertainty flash across his features, deep within his gaze. He blinks slightly, glancing around before looking at you with a schooled expression and a rehearsed smile.
“You Americans say a lot of philosophy bullshit, huh?”
You snort and nod. “All part of the red, white and blue propaganda.”
“Well, you should know that there is no propaganda like ours.” He comments.
“Oh, I’m sure.”
The two of you watch each other for a moment that feels like an eternity but far too short at the same time. It makes your heart speed up in a way that makes you know what it means is totally out of the question.
You can’t catch feelings for this man. It’s not the age, really. There have been worse things than twelve years. But he has a wife and a son. And he’s your uncle’s friend and his dependent. That all makes it so weirdly convoluted.
On top of that, even if the situation was less abstract, the problem would be that he’s… a gentleman. You’re 101% sure that you’re just a perv and attracted to some weird fantasy of this Winter Soldier you’ve painted him to be in your mind, but he’s not. He’s just a good man. You know that Hopper gets oddly jealous whenever he and Joyce are speaking, but you can’t for the life of you understand why. Because it’s clear as daylight this man is not willing to forsake his morals. Not again.
He clears his throat, clearly sheepish about something he’s thinking to ask you.
“Go on. Ask” You nod.
He looks mildly surprised but cocks his head and speaks composedly. “I hope I’m not overstepping if I ask. How did you end up living with your uncle?”
You take a deep breath a sigh, a wistful smile on your face. “Short answer, my parents wanted me to get straightened out by the military man of the family.”
His expression screws slightly, his eyebrows furrowing. “Long answer?”
You swallow and look at him with a hollow look in your eyes. “Long answer… My boyfriend ruined my life. It was a good one too, I mean, I was at Yale. First one in my family to go to an Ivy. I wanted to go to Harvard Law. Shit, I nearly got there…”
He shifts in his seat slightly, head craning forwards as he listens intently.
“He was doing illegal shit, dealing weed. I didn’t know about it… But then, they caught him. They caught him and my life was over too, because he was willing to get me thrown in jail with him. Said it would be the ‘ultimate act of love’.” You snort bitterly. “And just like that. All gone. Parents spent a fortune in legal fees and bail. Didn’t believe me when I said I had nothing to do with it. Got shipped to this hellhole for the summer, and I never left. That was two years ago now.”
You haven’t dared to make eye contact with him, scared of what you’ll see when you look back at him.
“He’s a son of a bitch.” He says the words with such disdain and you wonder if you ever felt so bitter towards someone you’ve never met.
You look back at him and the only word to describe how he looks is dangerous.
You chuckle and shrug. “Yeah. Son of a bitch.”
“I- I’m sorry.” He offers, cooling down slightly.
You shake your head, mimicking him. “Don’t be. I’m glad I’m here in this… nowhere. Everything was too high stakes back there. That life isn’t for me anymore, and sometimes I wonder if it ever was, or if I just didn’t know any other way than to run myself into the ground chasing such textbook, meaningless measures of success.”
He’s dead silent, just watching you with an ache in his chest for you that he doesn’t know how to get rid of.
“Sorry. Went all philosophical on you again.” You offer.
He smiles, but this one doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
The two of you sit in prolonged silence this time, just listening to the birds and the breeze brushing against the leaves of the trees. The cabin is silent now, too, but neither of you want to move.
Your head droops slightly, the nap you wanted to take beginning to set in. Dmitri sees it through the corner of his eye and immediately sits up straighter. “You want to go inside?”
You snap up straight and shake your head. “Huh- oh- no. I’d rather not go in there before they decide it’s fit for the outside world to see.”
He snorts a small laugh before shaking his head. “But you are falling asleep.”
You shrug with a smile, leaning your head back on the railings. “I’ll manage.”
He squints slightly at you. “If you say so.”
“I do.”
After that, you slowly drift off, your neck in possibly the most uncomfortable position it’s ever been in, but now you’ve practically hedged your bets of endurance against the Russian you will not move. You’ll regret that later, not now.
— -
Your neck does not hurt. You are not in the same position that you were in when you went to sleep. Dmitri isn’t either. You actually can’t see him now, but you’re pretty sure he wasn’t a figment of your imagination.
Your head isn’t leaned back, it’s leaning on something soft to your side. You shuffle slightly and see a pillow. But there’s no way for there to be a pillow floating on the stairs… unless Eleven’s here now.
You slowly sit up straight, but it’s not levitating. It’s balanced on a chair on the step below you where Dmitri’s legs used to be.
“Good sleep?” You hear him but you can’t see him. Your head snaps around every which way till your gaze lands on him sat in the corner of the porch on another chair, positioned like he’s keeping watch.
He would look a lot scarier if his lips weren’t stained purple from the slushie packet he was meant to freeze, but drank whilst you were asleep.
You try to suppress your laugh, but your lips betray a sliver of it, making his face screw up. “What.”
You shake your head with a giant grin on your pursed lips, not sure why this normally very unfunny thing is so amusing to you.
“I stop you from developing neck pain and you laugh at me?” He huffs slightly indignantly.
You shake your head, still trying to stop laughing, but you point at your lips. “No! Your…”
He looks down as if he can see his lips before bringing his fingers to the purple stain. “Ot’yebis.” He mutters under his breath, then looking up to glare at you as if you’re the one who’s done this to him.
You raise your hands in surrender, sleepily smiling. “What does that mean?”
He huffs amusedly, forgetting about the revenge he’s obviously planning to take on someone. “What, ot’yebis? You say it here like… fuck off.”
You raise your eyebrows with a chuckle. “Ah. You’d better watch your mouth, my uncle has pretty strict language rules in his house.”
Dmitri cocks his head with an expectant expression. “You think after today he can tell me to watch my mouth?”
You sputter slightly. “Well, I guess we do have the upper hand here.”
He hums satisfactorily. “Yes.”
You two settle into a comfortable pause of conversation now, occasionally glancing at each other and smiling.
“Thanks, by the way.” You murmur.
“For what?”
“Stopping me from developing neck pain.”
The both of you laugh quietly for a moment, but before he can open his mouth to answer, the door opens with two figures nearly stumbling out of the door as their eyes land on you on the stairs.
Joyce and Hopper are both met with unforgiving smirks and a painstakingly sharp whistle from Dmitri.
“Hello, you two.” You croon with a sly grin. “I would say lovebirds, but it’s not really accurate, the way you were bopping like bunnies.”
This earns a strangled choke from the both of them and a bark of laughter from Dmitri, who raises his empty slushie packet to you.
“You- you are meant to be at work!” Your uncle hisses at you, his ears bright red as he turns to Dmitri. “And you- you are meant to be— anywhere else!”
You scoff and raise your hands. “I got the day off! God forbid I wanna come home!”
Dmitri takes over from here, still chuckling. “It’s not our fault you two were—”
“Hup! Huphuphuphuphup.” Hopper groans, holding a finger up. “I don’t want any descriptions.”
Dmitri smirks, shifting in his seat. “Shame.”
Joyce looks between the two of you frantically, and you almost feel bad because she looks so nervous, but you’d actually feel bad if she wasn’t fooling around with your uncle. That’s just funny.
“How- how long have you guys been here for…?” She manages to get out, her voice raspy, either from the shock or the two hours of intensive cardio.
Dmitri checks his watch once again and lets out another whistle. “An hour since I got here. Two hours since she did.”
“Holy—” Hopper coughs out, leaning his arm awkwardly against the door frame.
“It’s okay, I had time to take a nap too.” You smile sweetly, although the sentiment behind your words is much less polite.
“Oh my god.” Joyce winces, her entire face screwing up in embarrassment. “I am so sorry.”
You shrug and purse your lips, still showcasing a small smirk.
“At least we know that Kamchatka did not… compromise you, hm, American?” Dmitri sneers, watching delightedly as Hopper’s expression becomes sheer rage.
“I swear to—” He begins, pushing off of the doorframe.
He’s stopped by Joyce’s hand on his chest. It almost makes you gag. “Alright, Hop, maybe I should leave. Like right now.”
Your uncle looks like he’s forgotten that words exist as he looks down at Joyce with slight despair written all over his expression. “Uh- yeah. Yeah. Okay.”
You and Dmitri share a smirk at this, one that says ‘get a load of this loser’. Luckily, the charging bull doesn’t catch it.
It’s painful, but too good to look away, watching Hopper look like he’s been kicked in the shins as Joyce walks away from him, past you, and into her car.
Once she pulls off, he’s left to the wolves.
“Nope. I don’t wanna hear it. This is my house. I don’t wanna hear it.” He states plainly.
“But we had to—” You begin with a small grin.
He spins on his heel towards you, fire in his eyes. “Hey! I said nothing! Nada! Zip!”
Dmitri springs up from his seat and is next to Hopper within two strides, placing his hand on his arm firmly. “Alright, alright, American. We won’t talk about what you were doing with your pretty woman.” He coaxes, only to sneer and step back a foot split seconds before he said the last term of endearment, narrowly dodging Hopper’s grasp.
Dmitri holds his arms up, surrendering with a small smirk, and Hopper simply huffs at him, turning back on his heel and stomping inside the cabin.
You look to the soldier with a raised eyebrow. “Pretty woman?”
He chuckles. “Long-running joke. He doesn’t think it’s funny.”
You hum in amusement. “Clearly not.”
next part
