Archive of Our Own

“Hey.”

Something prodded at Dmitri’s shoulder. At first, he tried to ignore it. Lulled into a sense of peace he desperately craved. Then it happened again. Sluggishly, he blinked. His gaze came into focus, a small pain at the base of his neck. Like he had let it fall to an odd angle. Rubbing it, he turned his eyes upwards. 

Hopper stared down at him with a sorry look. “We’re all heading to our rooms,” he explained apologetically. “I figured you would want to sleep in an actual bed.”

Dmitri hummed. A bed did sound nice. He hadn’t minded the chair though. Something about having the others in the room was…peaceful. He couldn’t think of another way to describe it. And at the moment, he was too tired to think about it. His body was running on fumes. 

“Better than a cold slab,” Dmitri replied with a tired smile. Hopper chuckled, patting him on the shoulder. Dmitri tried not to flinch from the small shock of pain. His smile turned tight, stepping away from the other man. “Good night, American.”

“It’s Hopper.”

Scoffing, Dmitri turned away with a wave. They could talk in the morning. Now, he needed rest. His eyelids kept drooping as he walked down the hall to his room. He shook his head, trying to keep himself awake. No need for someone to find him slumped over, asleep in the hallway. 

Passing through the bedroom door, he made sure to close it. The bed had a few articles of clothing on it that he tossed aside. As he pulled his hoodie over his head, he hissed. The skin around his shoulder was sensitive. Looking at it, he frowned. 

Предатель. Traitor. 

The word was branded into his skin, leaving the area around it red. There was some dried blood, some parts not completely scabbed over. He would have to find time to clean it. 

Climbing into the bed and under the covers felt like being on a cloud. Dmitri’s mattress back at his “home” (it had never felt like it) couldn’t compare. With a content sigh, he nuzzled into the pillow. It had only been a few days in that cell, but he’d never take the comforts of a bed for granted again. 

Laying for a few minutes, Dmitri opened his eyes partially. His mind kept racing. Trying to process everything he had seen. He frowned, trying to shake those thoughts away. He could think about it another time. All he wanted to do was sleep. Why had it been so easy out in the living room?

Dmitri closed his eyes again. Taking a deep breath, he tried to put himself back into that space. It had been warm, almost comforting. And then there were their voices. Hopper, Joyce, and Murray, talking amongst themselves. The bond between the trio was natural. Easy-going, lighthearted and caring. That was what relaxed him. Listening to them tell stories of places that Dmitri had never heard before. He let himself slide back into that warm feeling. Slowly slipping away into familiar darkness. 

*******

The cold cut into his skin like daggers. Fingers curled around the handle, the ax held protectively in front of him. Palms sweating, holding onto the weapon like his life depended on it. It was only Dmitri in the pit. No help from the other prisoners, from Hopper. He didn’t have time to question where they had been dragged to. The dark, heavy doors in front of him groaned. Air hissing around them as they slowly open. 

Dmitri squeezed the handle, preparing himself. He knew what hide within the darkness. The roars had revibrated in his head every night they were trapped in their frozen cells. Keeping him on edge. 

Insults and snarls were coming from above. He allowed himself to glance up, taking in the number of guards. Ivan was easy to pick out from the crowd, flicking that incessant lighter open and shut. Dmitri frowned. Hadn’t the American taken that? All of this seemed…wrong. Like a nightmare disguised as a memory. 

“Traitor! Traitor!” 

The word echoed around the pit as they threw it at him again and again. It stung. He tried to ignore it, knew there was nothing he could do, but it still hurt. Hadn’t he given everything for his country? The years he wasted away in the army? And for them to throw him aside like nothing when he didn’t follow an order? 

“You are weak-willed…this is why you will always fail.”

Dmitri squeezed his eyes shut, willing the phantom words away. No. That had been years ago. He had to focus on…whatever this was. A low growl from the darkness pulled him back. Opening his eyes, they widened, his mouth going dry. The grip on his ax loosened. 

Mikhail stood between him and the door. The young man hadn’t changed since the last time they saw each other. Light brown hair swept over to the side, stern blue eyes staring back at him. Dmitri swallowed roughly, heart stuck in his throat. What was he doing here? He couldn’t be. It had to be some trick. He had to move him, the monster would come out any minut-

“You’re not only a traitor,” Mikhail snarled, slowly approaching him. Pointing his finger at Dmitri accusingly, hatred flooding his eyes, “But you abandoned me and Mama! Left us to rot! And for what?!"

Dmitri stood frozen to his spot. His breathing picked up, heart pounding against his chest. Like it was about to explode. That wasn’t true. Everything, everything he had done was for Mikhail. The money was supposed to go to him. Dmitri had prayed that they could use it to escape. He didn’t know where and he didn’t know how, but it would be better than Mila and Mikhail staying in Russia. Because, eventually, he would have been found out. Allowing a high-risk prisoner like the American to escape would not go unnoticed. They always found out who or what was the cause. And when they did, he knew that this time it wouldn’t be a demotion. 

But he couldn’t bring himself to open his mouth. Pressed firmly into a frown, he tried to block out all the noise. The accusations, the voices, coming from all sides. Overwhelming and consuming him. The ax slipped from his hands, clattering loudly to the ground. He pressed his palms to his ears, eyes screwed shut. Nothing stopped the onslaught, no matter how much he wished it would stop. 

Then everything fell silent. Dmitri blinked, looking up to the guards. Gone. His head turned, trying to find his son. But the boy had vanished, as quickly as he appeared. Where had they gone? They couldn’t just disappear, there was no way… 

A chill raced down his spine, every nerve in his body on edge. A low, animal-like growl echoed behind him. The smell of the monster almost made Dmitri gag but he pushed it down. He stood as still as possible, knowing that it would do no good. Within seconds, he was launched into the air, pain bursting from his back. His shoulder slammed into the ground, rolling over a few times. Laying, dazed, Dmitri only had a few moments before the monster charged him, roaring, teeth sinking into him and it hurt, everything HURT-

*******

Dmitri gasped, bolting up in the bed. Shaking, hands tangled in the blankets, he looked around feverishly. His heart was pounding in his ears as he took in the area. The bedroom. He was in the safe house. Not in Russia. Alaska? Yes, Alaska. With the Americans. Chest heaving, he took a deep breath. It wasn’t real. Just a dream. The monster was gone. The guards were dead. His son…Dmitri buried his face in his hands, pushing the painful thought away. Those awful words echoed in his mind.  

Calm. He needed to be calm. He had been in worse situations than this. Dmitri thought back to his days in the army, and what he would do after a particularly hard mission. It had been years since he needed to do it but the words flooded back to him like it was yesterday. 

“Standing, birch is yearning. Silent, sleepy spire, ” he whispered in Russian, dragging his hands down his face. Taking a deep breath, eyes closed, he sat back against the headboard. “Falling snow is burning. In its golden fire.” 

Licking his lips, he let out another breath. The pounding had slowed into a steady rhythm. His hands still trembled, digging into the fabric, but his grip on the blanket had loosened. “Lazy dawn in wrinkles, circling all around,” the whisper was steadier. Each word easier to recite than the last. “Now its branches sprinkles – Newly silver-crowned.”

Sasha had taught him that trick. There had been times after training or missions when Dmitri would seclude himself. Needing to collect his thoughts away from prying eyes. Yet somehow, Sasha always found him. The first few times, the older man didn’t say anything. Just sitting silently beside Dmitri hs he processed everything, willing his body to stop shaking. When he brought up the idea of reciting something, a song, poem, anything that struck a chord with him, Dmitri thought it foolish. What could a few words do? 

Dmitri chuckled with a huff, his lips quirking up. How foolish of him to doubt his friend. Even now, after all these years, it worked. Most of the tension had faded, a dull ache taking its place. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he could feel a headache forming behind his eyes. Great. Just what he didn’t need. 

His eyes flickered around the room, landing on the blinking clock on the nightstand beside him. 2:00 am. He frowned. Had it only been two hours? Letting out a frustrated sigh, his gaze moved to the ceiling. It would be impossible for him to fall back asleep. Every time he closed his eyes, it was something different but no less terrifying. What he wouldn’t give to fade into a dreamless sleep. The infinite darkness was better than the thousands of razor-sharp teeth ripping into him. 

Untangling himself from the blankets, Dmitri climbed out of bed. His world turned slightly and he grabbed the nightstand, squeezing his eyes shut. Pain gathered around his temples. Taking a minute to gather himself, he slowly made his way to the bathroom. He didn’t dare turn on the light. The headache had all the signs of turning into a migraine and that wasn’t what he felt like dealing with at the moment. Digging through the draws of the vanity, he was able to find something that looked like a pain killer. He read over the bottle briefly, checking it, and popped two pills into his mouth, chasing them with water. 

Walking back into the room, he grabbed his hoodie from the ground and pulled it over his head. Then he grabbed the worn, blue prison jacket, boots, and a pack of smokes. Cigarettes always calmed his nerves. Plus, the room felt too stuffy. He needed fresh air, anything to clear his mind. 

He found a side door easily, quietly pulling it open and stepping out into the night air. For the most part, it was pitch black. There was light off to the left of him, around the group of black SUVs owned by the agents watching them. But other than that, darkness reigned and Dmitri didn’t mind. He pulled a cigarette from the box he had in his jacket pocket, working the lighter he had snatched from Yuri’s church hideout. Inhaling the smoke, Dmitri let himself lean back onto the house and relax. He watched the smoke blow gently into the air, mingling with the snowflakes that twisted and turned down into the ground beneath him. 

It was just a nightmare, he told himself. None of it was real. But that wasn’t true. The pit had been real. The monster was very much real and from what he understood, there could be more of them. That alone was terrifying. He folded his arms over his chest, tucking his hands underneath his arms. The cold biting into his fingertips. 

Mikhail. Or what appeared to be Mikhail. Was that what his son would truly think of him? A sharp pang of regret burned in his chest. Dmitri had told himself that it would be better this way. If he had stayed in Russia, the KGB and who knows who else would be after him. And by extension, his family. It was safer for him to be out of reach. That didn’t make it hurt any less. Taking another drag, he tried to rid himself of that hate-filled gaze that was branded into his mind. Being called a traitor by others was one thing. But to “hear” his son repeat those words…

“Dammit,” he growled under his breath. He pressed the palms of his hands into his closed eyes. The painkillers weren’t doing anything. If anything, he felt worse. How the hell did that happen? 

A mingling of voices off in the distance caught his attention. He sighed, rubbed his wearing eyes, and turned his head. A few of the agents were still up, seemingly taking the night shift. One of them was moving away from the group by the porch towards the SUVs. And he seemed to catch sight of Dmitri, the man pausing briefly. Dmitri frowned. He recognized that one from earlier. Glaring at him from across the room as another agent debriefed them on how the next few days would go. Dmitri hadn’t had time for him then and he didn’t have time for him now. 

Flicking the cigarette onto the ground, he rubbed the rest of the ashes with his boot heel into the snow. Coffee would keep him up. Maybe he could lounge in the living room, mess with the television he saw or grab a book off the bookshelf. Though with his growing headache, he wasn’t sure if either of those would be a good option. 

The kitchen lights made him squint, irritating his eyes. Was it necessary for them to be so bright? He opened up a few cabinets, finding them empty. Clicking his tongue, he continued his search. There was a coffee machine on the counter. That meant there had to be coffee somewhere. The steady throbbing in his head started to build up as he squatted down. Pulling open the door, he let out a small “ah-ha!”. He turned the red canister over in his hands, checking to see if it was still good. At this point, he wouldn’t care if it had expired. 

Standing, he turned his head at the sound of a door closing. Had he woken up one of the others? He kept his eyes on the hallway, watching for any movement. Nothing came. With a small shrug, he went back to his main focus. The caffeine would help him. Something had to. The painkillers weren’t working. Every joint in his body was sore, run-down from the constant need to keep moving. The last time he had felt this exhausted was in the army. And that had been when he was a younger man. 

“Hey, you commie pig.”

Dmitri froze. He hadn’t heard anyone coming down the hallway. From the tone of the voice, he figured it was the glairing agent. Of all the times for this asshole to bother him. He debated acknowledging the man. Dmitri didn’t feel like wasting his breath. He could almost hear the familiar insults thrown his way and right now he was too tired to do anything about it. Better to ignore him. 

His back to the agent, Dmitri went through the motions of pouring the coffee grounds into the coffee maker. Flicking a switch, the machine churned to life.

“You bastard, I’m talking to you.”

Dmitri rolled his eyes. His head swam a bit, the throbbing becoming more pronounced. Couldn’t the younger man take a hint? With a small huff, he turned his head partially, looking over the agent. Military-type haircut, some stubble lining his jaw. Looking like he just walked out of training and was thrown into something way above his pay grade. A hot head, that much Dmitri was sure of. 

“Your idiotic friends aren’t here to protect you,” the agent growled, rounding the counter. “The fact that even trust you at all…”

Frowning, Dmitri turned away. Nothing good would come out of him retaliating. And there was no need to. Just some stuck-up kid trying to be a “big man”. He had seen his type a hundred times before. Better to ignore them than to engage. 

“Don’t you ignore me you son of a bitc-”

The second he felt the hand on his shoulder, Dmitri turned around, smacking it away. It stunned the young agent for a moment before he snarled, shoving him out of the kitchen. Dmitri stumbled, catching himself before he fell. His vision blurred momentarily. The back of his legs hit something, he assumed it was one of the chairs and he dodged out of the way as the agent tried to grab at him again. As he moved off to the side, still unbalanced, the agent turned, and his fist slammed into Dmitri's nose. He heard a crunching sound, a white-hot pain exploding through his head. Darkness crept at the side of his vision, the world around him spinning. An oozing sensation slid down the front of his face, the taste of iron taking over his mouth.

Ignoring the screams of his body, Dmitri launched himself at the younger agent. He caught him flat-footed, landing a solid punch into the side of his head and then sweeping his legs out from under him. The agent was on the ground for a moment before Dmitri had him in a headlock. He could feel the other man’s heart racing as he tried to escape but Dmitri wouldn’t let him. Sliding back into his army training, he tightened his hold and waited for the agent to pass out. It was a maneuver he had done a hundred times. And even with his pain-riddled brain, he knew the exact moment to let go. 

The young agent’s body went limp. Slowly, Dmitri untangled himself. He checked the other man’s pulse, a steady rhythm beating against his fingers. Dmitri’s heart was racing, his world tilted when he stood up. Squeezing his eyes shut, fighting back the bile that burned his throat, he could barely form a thought. His head felt like it had been split in two. If the painkillers hadn’t worked before, they sure as hell wouldn’t work now. 

He stood over the young man. A snarl curled on his lips. “Idiot.” 

Everything blurred as he made his way back to his room. He steadied himself with his hand along the wall. Gripping the door frame, he almost tripped over his own feet as he walked in. Too tired to make it to the bed, Dmitri all but fell at the foot of it. His knees hit the floor heavily and he winced, trying to compose himself.  Black specks danced over his eyes, threatening to drag him back to nightmares he’d do anything to avoid. 

At the foot of the bed, Dmitri sat with his knees bent, arms over them, his hands curling and uncurling into fists. His head was down, a few stray hairs sweeping into his vision. Head throbbing, heart pounding, every part of him crying for rest, pleading for him to let himself heal. The brand on his shoulder throbbed and he feared that the wound may have reopened. It was too much for him to take in. He kept trying to recite the poem, looking to center himself. To calm his mind. But memories kept bursting through, leaving him helpless. 

“Under my own win- ” The phantom feeling of boots kicking and digging into his side took over.  Hands grabbed him, shoving him into the steel bars. Taunts and jeers yelled at him as he was beaten, forcing him to the ground. The snarls of the guards in his ears. Traitor. Traitor. 

His fingers dug into the palms of his hands. “White is birch’s hu-” An aggressive voice shouted in his ear, demanding he take the shot. Take the damn shot, Antonov! His trigger finger had frozen, Sasha in his line of fire, the crosshairs over his head. How could they ask that of him? They couldn't, he wouldn’t do it. And they didn’t. Helplessly, he watched his friend’s head jolt to the side, red seeping into the snow around him. Dead. 

It was like he was being dragged down, swallowed in a storm of immense pain. No lifeline to save him. Maybe it was what he deserved. For all the choices that he made in his life. Each one brought him here and he felt like he was drowning. “Snowy blanket-shadow,” he whispered, the words slurred. He bit the inside of his cheek, the dried blood on his teeth and lips making him nauseous. “Silver patterned too.” 

“Holy shit.”

Dmitri’s head snapped up, regretting the fast movement immediately. Murray stared back at him, worry with a small hint of confusion on his face. His hands were up like he was trying to show Dmitri he came in peace. There were a few feet of space between them, which was smart. It was safer to be cautious. 

Dmitri let his shoulders slump, relaxing. Murray was someone he could trust. At least he thought so, in the short time he knew him. 

Murray approached him cautiously. He took in the Russian’s disheveled appearance. Disheveled was putting it kindly. He looked like absolute shit. Stopping a few paces away, he mentally made a list of things he would need. Playing nurse to a former Russian prison guard hadn’t been on his agenda, but life threw him enough curve balls that he could go along with it. 

“Stay here,” Murray instructed, leaving the room quickly.

Dmitri’s gaze lingered at the door. The words rolled over in his mind. A small chuckle escaped him, though it quickly turned into a groan. Was there any place for him to go? 

His fingers gently skimmed the side of his nose and he winced, cursing. It was broken for sure. What he needed was a better look at it. Gathering up what strength he had, Dmitri used the bed to assist him to stand. He planted his feet, closing his eyes to let the spinning feeling pass. With measured steps, he made his way to the bathroom. There was a small amount of light but not enough the assess the damage. Against his better judgment, he flicked on the light. The brightness made him squint, the pain building up behind his eyes. 

The reflection staring back at him wasn’t pretty. His nose was crooked. Not as bad as he thought, but still not great. There was a smattering of dried blood from his nostrils, the red liquid also on his lips and stuck to his front teeth. Turning his face, he could tell that his nose was starting to bruise. That would take some time to heal. 

A wave of dizziness crashed over him and Dmitri cursed, grabbing onto the counter for dear life. He didn’t need Murray to find him passed out on the bathroom floor.

He leaned against the door frame, exhausted. What a sorry sight he had to be. 

“I thought I told you to stay put.”

Dmitri sluggishly opened his eyes, watching as Murray placed whatever was in his hands down. The bespectacled man muttered to himself, something about Russians not listening to his very clear instructions. He allowed himself to be pulled from the wall, Murray gently guiding him back to his spot at the foot of the bed. Dmitri blinked, fighting back the fogginess creeping into his mind. The headache pain had become dull. He settled into the same position as before, eyes slowly trailing Murray as he moved around the room. 

Gathering up his supplies, Murray first grabbed the mug from the table. He held it out for Dmitri, blue eyes looking over the cup warily. “It’s Chamomile tea,” he explained like it was obvious. The Russian stared at him blankly, the words meaning nothing. Murray shook his head. Did no one have any taste? “It’ll help with the headache I assume you have.” 

Dmitri stared at him for a beat and then took the mug. His fingers curled around it, the warmth soothing his calloused and worn-out hands. Testing it, a small bit of iron flooded his mouth. He chalked that up to the dried blood. Once that passed, Dmitri found himself enjoying it. A soothing sensation flowed through him as he drank the tea slowly and he savored the feeling. 

Murray worked to arrange the rest of the items he had gathered. He settled himself down next to Dmitri, folding over a damp hand towel. The movement caught Dmitri’s eye and he frowned, moving slightly away from the other man. 

“We need to at least clean the blood away,” Murray explained softly. He held his hands up again, showing that he only had the small towel. “That way we can figure out how bad it actually is.”

Silence stretched between them for a minute. Dmitri relented, too tired to put up a fight. Murray went to work, his free hand turning Dmitri’s head toward him. Wiping away most of the blood below the nose was easy enough. His gaze moved upwards, taking in the small amount of bruising and swelling that was already forming around the bridge. Dmitri let out a small hiss when Murray’s hand bumped into it. He whispered a small apology as he continued to work.

They settled into an off but comfortable silence. Murray hated it. “So I take it you had some trouble sleeping,” he quipped, arching an eyebrow. Their eyes met and Dmitri let out a huffed breath, almost sounding like a laugh. “I was tossing and turning myself. Time zone change you know? I figured I’d have the living room to myself, maybe even make something for when everyone else got up.

“And then I walked into the living room,” Murray pulled back, tossing the blood-soaked hand towel on the ground. “Obviously, I wasn’t the only one awake. Left a bit of a mess out there. Do you do that often?”

Dmitri hummed, finishing off his tea. Murray was teasing, of course, but the comment struck him as funny. “Only to people I don’t like,” he replied evenly in Russian. He was too tired for English. 

“Then I’ll be sure to stay on your good side,” Murray said, slipping into Russian as well. Turning to the side, he dug through the small first aid box he found in the kitchen. There were some gauzes, a few band-aids, and other miscellaneous items. Much to his amazement, and relief, there was enough for him to throw together a makeshift split for Dmitri’s nose. How lucky could a guy get?

Turning Dmitri’s head back and forth, the Russian grumbling under his breath, Murray nodded to himself. “It seems broken. We’ll have to set it back into place. Luckily for you, we have enough stuff here to make a sp-“

Without missing a beat, Dmitri brought his hands up to his nose. He had figured it was broken. Taking a deep breath, setting his thumbs on each side, he cracked the bone back into place. Pain exploded behind his eyes, made only worse by Murray yelling out in shock. Fresh blood trickled from his nose as he curled into himself, groaning. 

“Why the fuck did you do that!? Holy shit, you-“

Dmitri tuned him out, ears ringing. He wiped the blood away, a few droplets getting on the carpet beneath him. Letting out a soft breath, he tried to focus on anything but the pain that rippled through him. None of his usual tricks were working. Maybe he had reached his breaking point. 

Murray cursed to himself, trying not to panic. Russians. What the hell was he going to do with these people? They never seemed to listen to him. He dashed over to the bathroom, grabbing another towel and wetting it. More blood for him to clean up. Lovely. 

Crossing back into the bedroom, Murray froze. At the door were Hopper and Joyce, haphazardly dressed. He had to hold himself off from commenting, though he couldn’t fight the knowing smile growing over his face. Now wasn’t the time but he wouldn’t lie to say he wasn’t happy to see them together. 

Hopper’s head snapped in his direction, finally noticing Murray. “What the hell happened?” He asked loudly. 

Murray shushed him, waving his hand in Dmitri’s direction. Joyce’s eyes bounced from him to Dmitri, eyebrows raising with a hint of realization. She grabbed Hopper’s arm, pulling him down so she could whisper in his ear. The anger changed into concern on his face, focus turning to the Russian. 

The new voices registered in Dmitri’s head after a minute. Slowly, he lifted his head, taking in the added company to the room. He gave a small, tired wave to Hopper as he approached. “American,” the greeting was slurred but he didn’t have the energy to care. 

Hopper knelt next to Dmitri, giving him a once over. He clicked his tongue, eyebrow raised slightly when their eyes met. “I thought you said you were ‘fine’?” He asked patiently.

Dmitri titled his head, amused at the worry on the other man's face. How a few days and time in a frozen prison could change things. “I am fine,” Dmitri refuted, smiling when Hopper’s eyebrows furrowed together. 

Hopper turned to Murray, who knelt next to him, “What did he say?”

“You were in a Russian prison for 8 months and you didn’t pick anything up?” Murray asked, trying to lighten the mood. He regretted his choice of words when Hopper leveled a glare at him. “He said he’s fine.”

Hopper turned his attention back to Dmitri. There was a small smirk at the corner of the ex- guard's lips, which looked ridiculous with all the dried blood. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth,” Hopper retorted, leaning closer to get a better look at the injuries. “And you talked a lot.”

Dmitri stared at him for a minute then scoffed, shaking his head slightly. “Fuck you,” he muttered, the smirk still on his face. 

“Seems like every time you get out of my sight, you get beat up,” Hopper ribbed, steering Dmitri’s head to look at him. He took account of the new injury, his gaze darting up to the cuts still around his eyebrow. Those looked red, like some of Hopper’s wounds. They needed to get checked out by someone. “Can’t have that becoming a trend.”

Dmitri rolled his eyes, letting out a huff. “My American savior,” he muttered, pulling away from the other man’s hand and leaning back into bed behind him. “What would I do without you?”

Joyce, who was kneeling on the other side of Murray, leaned towards him. “What happened?” 

Finishing his translation for Hopper, Murray turned his attention to the brunette. “I’m not 100% sure, but I think Dmitri got into it with that agent from earlier,” he explained, “at least it looked like him when I passed by.”

Leaning his head back, Dmitri closed his eyes for a minute. His eyelids were starting to feel like weights and he knew better than to keep fighting it. He forced himself not to fall asleep. The darkness only brought memories and monsters he didn’t have the energy to face. Just resting. Listening. He caught the three Americans murmuring to themselves, though he wasn’t sure about what. And then he heard heavy footsteps walking away. Hopper’s gruff voice muttering about kicking someone’s ass. That almost made him laugh. What an overprotective man. 

Murray & Joyce's became clearer to him over time. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to interrupt their conversation. 

“And when I went to tell him about the splint, he just…goes ahead and cracks his nose!”

“Maybe he’s done it before?”

“Yes, but Joyce, you don’t just casually do that.”

“Well, clearly he did.”

“Just pass me that medical tape, I can’t believe we’re arguing about this.”

“I think it’s more you arguing with yourself and me just stating that Dmitri seems to have needed to crack his nose once or twice before.”

“No wonder you and Jim get along so well, you sound just like him…”

Dmitri let out a breathy laugh, slowly opening his eyes. The room was still too bright, head throbbing, but at this point, he could work through it. He looked between the two Americans, who were staring back at him, Murray in annoyance and Joyce with a glint of amusement. “I have had to crack it once or twice, yes,” Dmitri advised, smiling when Murray groaned. 

Joyce looked between the two in confusion. Their eyes met and Dmitri gestured to the bruised body part. The brunette let out a small “ah”, a triumphant smile spreading on her lips. 

Putting the splint on took longer than any of them expected. It had been too tight at first, then too loose. Dmitri almost wished he’d pass out during the whole thing. The two Americans muttered to each other, arguing briefly about its placement before they finally settled on a spot.

“You’ll probably want to get that checked out by a real doctor,” Joyce remarked. She watched him cautiously, worried that the whole thing would fall apart. “Though I’m not sure…do you know someone who would look at him?” Her attention turned to Murray, who shrugged. 

“I could poke around but I’m not sure. Doesn’t Owens have anyone you could ask?”

“Murray, one of the agents the is working with Owens just beat Dmitri up!”

“He only got a punch in,” Dmitri muttered defensively, wincing when he touched the top of the split.

Joyce shot him a confused look. “What?”

“He resents that you think the agent beat him up,” Murray shrugged, “That was basically the gist anyway.”

“I mean, how could I not? Look at all this blood!” Joyce said, trying to keep her voice down. She waved her hand over to Dmitri, the hoodie he was wearing splattered with blood.“Does he have another shirt? I know they gave us all a few options…”

Searching around the room quickly, Joyce found another shirt and tossed it over to Murray. He passed it to Dmitri, who eyed the article of clothing with amusement. The blood hadn't bothered him too much. Pulling the hoodie over his head, Dmitri went to put the shirt on before a hand stopped him. He looked up, Joyce’s eyes wide brown eyes focused on his shoulder. Oh. He had almost forgotten about that.

“What is this?” She asked, looking up at him and then Murray. The other man came over, a deep frown on his lips. “This looks…”

“Fresh,” Murray finished, going back over to the first aid kit. Some of the scabs over the letters had reopened. He brought back the wet towel and gauze, dabbing away the blood.

“What does it mean?” Joyce questioned, a knot in the pit of her stomach. 

“Traitor,” Dmitri replied before Murray could open his mouth. He shrugged, “They make sure you do not forget.”

Murray finished wrapping up the area, the three of them falling into silence. Dmitri bit the inside of his cheek. He hadn’t meant for them to see that. There was nothing they could do about it. Why make them worry? He could see it bothered Joyce. Her gaze was fixed on the ground, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. After he pulled the shirt over his head, he reached out and touched her arm gently. 

“Do not worry about it,” he told quietly, trying to reassure her. 

“Do they have some…do they enjoy hurting people?” She whispered. A fire burned in her brown eyes. A protectiveness that he had seen in Hopper’s as well. “They…Hopper’s back…and you…”

“It is better to leave it behind.”

Heavy footsteps alerted the trio to someone coming down the hallway. A proud Hopper passed through the door, a gleam shining in his eyes “They won’t be bothering you again,” he declared, settling down on the floor. His gaze bounced between the three of them, taking in the tense atmosphere. Hopper frowned. “What?”

“Nothing Hop,” Joyce deflected, shooting Dmitri a look before turning her focus away. She patted his arm, a strained smile on her lips, “Did you give the agent a piece of your mind?”

“Him? No, that asshole still wasn’t up. Actually kind of impressive,” Hopper winked at Dmitri who rolled his eyes. “I talked to his boss. Told him that any of his little goons messed with any of us that they’d have to deal with me.”

“American savior,” Dmitri muttered, making Murray laugh. The two looked at each other, grinning. 

Hopper pointed his finger at both of them. “No secret Russian conversations here.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it Jim,” Murray reassured. 

Hopper rolled his eyes, turning his focus to Dmitri. “You really should try and get some sleep. You look like absolute shit.”

“Charming,” Dmitri frowned, looking down at his bloody knuckles. They shook slightly. Sleep would bring him nothing. “But no.” His tone was firm. He looked back up at Hopper, hoping he would understand. 

It took a moment but Hopper seemed to get the message. He had seen that look too many times before. Hell, he had it himself from time to time. Fear of the unknown. Sleeping could be a blessing or a curse, depending on the dreams. And he could tell, for Dmitri, they were a curse for now. “You can’t stay awake forever.”

“It is not forever…,” he paused, licking his bloodied lips. The iron stung his mouth. “Just not now.”

“Fine…well,” Hopper leaned back on his hands, looking to Joyce and Murray, “I guess we’re all staying up then?”

Dmitri frowned, shaking his head. “No, you do no-”

“Did I ask you?” Hopper questioned, tilting his head. The Russian glared at him. He looked ridiculous with that nose splint. Hopper laughed lightly. “If you’re going to stay up, we may as well stay up too.”

“I was already up,” Murray conceded with a shrug. “I was even thinking of making breakfast.”

“At two in the morning?” Joyce asked with an eyebrow raised skeptically.

“Do you not have breakfast at two in the morning?” Murray asked sarcastically, earning a frown from Joyce. “No, I was going to do it later, but I mean I could probably do it now if we all stay up.”

Dmitri watched the trio bounce ideas back and forth. He envied the ease they talked to each other with. It seemed…special. Only on rare occasions did he have that ease. Sasha. Mila. Mikhail. There weren’t many people he let get close. Closeness and companionship only brought pain. 

“Hey, don’t be the silent Clint Eastwood type,” Murray’s voice pulled Dmitri from his musings. He blinked away the dark spots in his vision. “What do you want to do?”

Dmitri felt their eyes on him. Patiently waiting. Not glaring or mocking like so many others did in the past. A warm knot settled in his chest. “Tea,” he replied simply. 

“I told you he liked it,” Murray elbowed Hopper, who grumbled something under his breath. “Russians always like things I recommend to them.”

“That seems a little overstated,” Joyce thought outloud, grinning when Murray glared at her.

They all stood up, Hopper coming over and taking Dmitri’s hand to assist him. The world spun a bit when he got to his feet. His grip on the American’s hand tightened, fighting back the wave of dizziness.

“You good?” Hopper questioned, concern on his face.

Dmitri clicked his tongue, looking at him. “You wouldn’t believe me if I said ‘yes’.” 

They stayed up until the sun slowly started to peek out from the darkness. The aching in his bones hadn’t faded but the tea had helped more than he expected. As his headache faded away, creeping at the edges of his mind, Dmitri allowed himself to process everything that led up to this. It had snowballed faster than he had expected. 

He took another sip from his mug, gaze moving from Murray in the kitchen to Joyce and Hopper sitting with him at the table. Their hands entwined, eyes lit up as they spoke to each other in hushed tones. 

A small smile quirked at his lips. Even if he wasn’t able to go home, he was happy to be here. Amongst people who cared about each other. And maybe even cared about him.