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Joyce Byers. That was one of the only things that ever seemed to be on Jim Hopper’s mind. The only thing that gave him hope. It was her alone that allowed him to continue on every single day in whatever the hell this place was.
And not only was that the only thing on Hopper’s mind, but fuck, he was fucking starving. As much as he hated the nasty gruel that they served him and the others, it was food nonetheless. At the very least they didn’t plan to starve them all to death.
But they certainly made care to not serve seconds of any kinds to the prisoners, let alone have them eat until they were content. They had barely given Hop enough to slither by this time around. No matter how much slop he had to chew through, it never did seem to be enough to fill.
It felt as though this particular time, they had given him way too little. There was no way there were enough nutrients in there to actually help them. It had to have been so that there was only enough in there to keep them going, nothing else.
Hop was not one to be seen being vulnerable. Especially in a place like this, where even a very hint of your weaknesses would allow others to exploit you. But Hopper’s alone, out of sight. He could care less that he was seen with his head curled into his knees, hunched against the wall. His stomach hurt from the lack of food. Even when he heard footsteps echo down the hallway, he stayed curled up against the wall, stomach rumbling angrily. Each step draws closer until they stop at his door.
There’s a slight chuckle, and Hop can’t help but look up at the familiar sound.
“Why so sad, American?” It’s Enzo. Dmitri, Hopper comes to learn eventually. The sneaky piece of shit always seemed to find a way around things, including any security around the place.
Hop decides to stay silent because no matter how much Dmitri goes out of his way, they are still sworn enemies. In the end, he too is just a part of the giant string of murders that happened at Hawkins. That will never change, no matter how kind he tries to make himself out to be.
Only when he bangs against the bars does Hop finally look up, lips forming an unamused frown. His voice is low and gravelly, annoyance clear in his tone. “What do you want?”
Dmitri chuckles slightly, squatting down next to the bars. He reaches for something in his coat pocket, and for a moment Hopper thinks he’s going to pull a gun out and kill him right then and there. But instead, he pulls something much lumpier than a gun, and much more pleasant.
Dmitri’s arm extends through the bars (which was awfully brave of him, all things considered) and his fingers unwrap from around a golden-brown roll of bread. Confused, Hop looks up at him. There’s a certain look of doubt in his eyes, making Dmitri snort.
“Relax. If I wanted you dead, I could have killed you long time ago.”
Hopper is still suspicious of his intentions, but it is true. The Russians had use for him yet, and that was the only reason that he was not dead. Soon they would learn that this was a mistake, but for now, it’s in their best interest.
Cautiously, Hopper takes the roll from his hand, putting it up to his nose. His nose twitches as he takes in a breath, as there is something rather unfamiliar about the bread. There’s a certain kick to the smell, something almost spicy. It makes him recoil a little, pulling away from his nose, brows furrowing together.
“What is this?” He asks, skeptical.
“Little bit of spice. Go on, try. You will like it.” He said, brushing him along with a hand.
Hopper’s features twist into that of pessimism, but he raises it to his mouth, taking a bite.
And he’s right. He does like it. Loves it, even. Granted he hadn’t any real food aside from the slime that they served to them on the daily, but it was still so fucking good, so delicious. The flavor is just as he remembered, only a little more piquant this time around. Whatever he put on there, it really was just the cherry on top.
“Thanks, Antonov.” He says just quietly enough for the other to hear.
“Just call me Dmitri, American.” Dmitri replies light-heartedly. He stands up just as another guard walks by, clearing his throat and yelling something in Russian. Hop rushes to hide away the bread between his legs, looking up at the other guard. He stares at Hopper with narrowed eyes before continuing to walk, Dmitri looking back at Hopper. He gives him a slight side smile, winking before stalking off into the darkness as well.
Waiting several moments for guards to make their rounds around the prison, Hopper reaches back for the bread roll and takes another bite, repeating Dmitri’s full name in his head.
Dmitri Antonov…Hopper smiles silently to himself, hiding his face in his knees. At least he had someone in here.