Chapter Text
Refeeding, like malnutrition, carries side effects that you only notice when they happen: fever, hot flashes, stomach pain... Time has to pass until the body gets used to it, apparently three weeks isn't enough. The veins swollen with new blood protrude under the skin, short-sleeved t-shirts and his summer shirts gather dust at the back of the closet, although part of him wants to wear them because Hawkins' hot spring has started earlier that year. In contrast to the apocalyptic atmosphere they found upon arriving from Russia, with the city split into four parts, black and red smoke coming out of the cracks, and all plants dying beneath their feet, Hopper breathes deeply and when he looks out the window he can see the radiant sun, the pollen descending from the trees and the plants that Joy has insisted on putting on his window sill to make the cabin even cozier than it already seems to Hop. Normal, right? How could it not seem cozy, warm and familiar to him, when on the other end of the comparison is that cold and horrible cell in Kamchatka with which, even after twenty-one days, he still has nightmares.
"Breakfast is ready!" shouts from the kitchen the voice that brought him back home, pulling him from his thoughts. All he can do is let out a long sigh, put on his winter jacket because lately he's been very cold, and get out of bed with great difficulty, complaining in a whisper about how much his ribs still hurt.
****
As soon as he sits down in the creaky chair at the living room table, which is now the one Joyce had in Lenora so it's big enough for everyone, he receives a kiss on the forehead from Joyce. Or maybe it's on his head, it's taking quite a while for his hair to grow. At least that's not a problem, because his daughter is the same. El appears from her room just as Hop thinks about her, and he can't help but smile. They haven't talked much about what happened to them those months, but something tells Jim that his daughter and his girlfriend have made a silent pact or something not to mention anything so that he can recover as soon as possible. He heard a couple of days ago at the radio station, which apparently is now the new base of operations, that they need everyone at one hundred percent. Apparently, neither Hopper nor El fall within the quota of people who are in full faculties within the group, and besides, it seems it's going to take him longer to recover than her.
Jim has been noticing it for a few weeks, while his daughter rests and looks better every morning, he rests and has nightmares that make it cost him his life to get out of bed during the day. That day, what has been stated is confirmed when Joyce puts a plate of scrambled eggs in front of them, and while El starts eating, Hop can only feel something unpleasant rising up his throat as he pushes the plate away and the vomit goes back down. Somehow, there are foods that produce that sensation in him, it depends on the day: the smell puts him off and he can't even bring it to his mouth, even if it's just simple scrambled eggs, or even some burgers from Benny's. Besides, both Joyce and he have noticed that the more quantity there is, the harder it is for him to start eating.
"Half is enough for me, honey." He can't help but let out a shy smile as he looks at the plate, from which unfortunately not a bit of food has disappeared. Oh, he still has to get used to it. Those days have passed slowly, but it's still strange to have Joyce only for himself. Joyce, who curls up at night with him in bed despite being able to feel his bones, who warms him when he starts to shiver or endures seeing those horrible scars all over his chest, his back and his arms. Those times seem like a lie, almost a year ago now, when they said they hated each other and couldn't stop fighting... there are many times that Hopper has wondered what would have happened if that had been the right moment, would they have already had that date? Would they have made it official? Would Joyce's family have also become his family? At least Jim has an answer to those questions, something inside him tells him yes.
Obviously they would have had to face a different kind of relationship than the one they have now, because it's true that it's complicated to talk about fears with someone who has seen so much... in fact, if he stops to think about it, now Hopper is afraid of many things. He's terrified of the night, his hearing has become acute and he hears every step taken in the cabin and even outside; it's ridiculous, but obviously the snow and cold don't please him either, so he's afraid of what the next winter could be. He also fears losing Joyce, and he regrets every day having put her in danger, but it's a bittersweet feeling because he's also too grateful to be alive and, above all, at home. And, although it may seem incredible, he feels the same fear of gaining too much weight.
After finishing the plate of scrambled eggs with great difficulty, he walks to the bathroom with a little food in his mouth and manages to spit it into the toilet as soon as he closes the door. Yes, it's an open secret that the old Jim Hopper (the one from before Russia) hated his body although deep down he never did anything to change it, he saw himself as fat but continued eating a couple of donuts every morning at the station, had junk food for dinner almost every night and the truth was that a large part of his belly came from all the alcohol he drank at night. Now, after so long without drinking, alcohol makes him sick and he knows it because he tried to have a beer to celebrate being alive and realized it was horrible. He couldn't finish a burger, he vomited it in the sink on the second bite.
He usually avoids his reflection in the mirror, but that morning he feels like looking at it and even undresses his upper body to treat his wounds. He's not so thin anymore, the scale shows half a kilo more than a week ago and Jim just wants the weight to go to his face. He has no problem with the body, he looks strong and it reminds him somewhat of his teenage body when he played sports, but it's the face that disturbs him. He avoids looking himself in the eyes because there's something in his gaze and paleness that reminds him of the person he was after Vietnam. It's as if all the Hoppers meet in the body of who he is now.
When two sharp knocks sound on the door, Jim casts a quick, panic-filled glance at the latch. It's locked. Having doors in the cabin has become a new routine, with his arrival, it was Joyce who suggested installing a couple to gain some more privacy, and Hopper was bothered that she didn't refer to the privacy of any couple, but to that other kind: healing wounds without spectators and avoiding any child ending up traumatized.
"Everything okay, Hop?" Joyce's voice sounds, worried, on the other side, seeing that he doesn't open the door for her. Hopper nods not very convinced, but soon appears on the other side of the bathroom with a weak smile that shows the dark circles and how badly he slept. "Jonathan and Will are about to arrive. They called to ask if you needed anything, they're going to bring some food and then we've arranged to meet everyone at the radio station because Robin and Steve have something to tell."
Great, more food. That's the first thing Hopper thinks, ironically. The second thing that comes to mind is: the damn tunnels are super long and the only time they went to the radio station he had to make a half-hour stop in the middle because he couldn't take the pain in his foot anymore. At least, with luck, that long walk will burn the calories from the eggs.
Since they're going to see people, he decides to fix himself up a bit and put on looser clothes that will keep him away from indiscreet teenage looks. All the kids are happy he's back, of course, and although they don't really know what happened to him, it's obvious that Hopper isn't the man he was when he supposedly died. With Joyce following closely, he stands in front of the closet that now only half belongs to him. As soon as he arrived he wanted to organize some clothes himself, the ones the kids bought him from what little was left in Hawkins and the ones Joyce kept in Lenora, but it was hard for him to stand. A few weeks ago his legs wouldn't hold him up. Now at least he can stand for a couple of minutes deciding what to wear, and he opts for one of the old shirts that's too big for him, and some medium-sized jeans that Jonathan bought him. And to think that before he wore a large size and even an extra large... He hopes never to take them out of the back of the closet again.
They dress in silence. Hopper moves carefully, but has already managed to get fully dressed. Joyce, still in her bra, watches him as she thinks whether to put on one of her boyfriend's shirts or one of her basic t-shirts that now occupies the closet. Before she can decide, Hop kneels on the bed, wraps her in a hug from behind and she lets herself be pulled back, making her back hit the mattress. She doesn't know at what moment enough trust has formed to do that, but the thing is that it's there. Joyce thinks what would be strange is if there wasn't such trust, when she went to the other side of the world to save him from death.
"Will you be able to walk to the radio station?" Joyce asks, with a thread of worry in her voice. Hopper sighs softly, trying to calm her: "Yes... we'll go slowly. And I don't have as much problem with my foot anymore, it's almost healed."
Joyce pulls away a little, looking at him with eyes full of care and reproach at the same time: "You have to try to eat a little more, Jim... You can't go on like this, you're still too thin and it's been almost a month."
He nods, weak but firm, aware that every warning from Joyce comes from the same place as her hugs: sincere concern. "I'm trying, Joy, really. But I don't know, food is like it makes me..." He doesn't finish the sentence because he can't figure out what's really happening to him. Except that he does know.
Joyce has been saying since they arrived, both to him and to her new family (Will, Jonathan and El) that the priority is to get him to eat properly again. Having become malnourished in the labor camp, the body began to experience the sensation of hunger less and less. According to some government doctors who only came to see him the first few days and then forgot about them, inside his body the muscles no longer do their job, the brain stops receiving nourishment and maybe that's why he forgets so many things during the day.
They don't manage to finish the conversation, because some tires are heard outside and soon Jonathan crosses the front door greeting them. Joyce hurries to get dressed and as soon as she has one of Hopper's shirts on, he opens the door to greet the kids. He's never been one for hugs, and now with that bony body he's even less so, so he gives them each a small paternal pat on the shoulder.
"How's everything? Leave the bags on the counter and then I'll entertain myself putting everything away." Jonathan smiles and does the first thing, but starts taking things out and putting them in their respective places. Apparently, according to El, their mother gave them a big talk as soon as they returned about how they should do everything possible to help and understand Hopper, who had been through a lot in Russia. Although the kids now lived at the Wheelers' house, they spent almost every weekend at the cabin where they watched movies until late and ate popcorn that Hopper barely tried.
"There was little to buy at Melvald's, you should have seen it... almost all the shelves are empty. Either someone comes to restock soon or this town is going to be chaos, much more than it already is."
Hopper makes sure to let him know that, none other than Murray Bauman, is who will be in charge of bringing supplies to Hawkins: "Very soon we'll be able to have what we need. In fact, at today's meeting I'll ask the kids to make their lists to send them to him."
Will laughs along with El from the kitchen table: "Just like Santa Claus."
Jim agrees with them, and can't help but smile as he notices that Will is painting her nails. Well, at least his daughter does have some normalcy.
That's when Joyce comes out of the bathroom, and Hopper seems to be the only one to notice the black line that makes her eyes sharper and the shine of her lips. "For once that we're going out..." She justifies herself, with a shy smile as soon as she reaches Hop. "What did you bring, honey?" She immediately changes her gaze to her son, who continues taking things out of the plastic bags.
"Oh, those protein shakes you asked for were sold out... but Karen had some at her house so, well, I borrowed them." Joyce takes a couple of those chocolate and strawberry shakes while Jonathan continues dealing with the bags. She can't help but scold him half joking, half serious: "Jonathan, you can't go around taking things without asking permission!"
Her son raises his hands, surprised: "Hey! Well... you emphasized on the phone that they were very important, so..."
Joyce looks at him with narrowed eyes, sighs and puts them away. Yes, they're important for Hopper, they give him a high caloric content and have little volume, but for now she keeps that secret: "I'm going to take a couple for the road." She announces while Hopper blushes, uncomfortable.
He knows what it means that Joyce is taking those shakes; his pride isn't used to depending on anyone, much less having it show. He looks at Jonathan, who remains busy, completely oblivious to the importance of the shakes, and sighs softly, letting Joyce take care of him without saying anything.
"Let's go..." Joyce murmurs, taking Hopper's hand. "We have to get going."
They head toward the back exit of the cabin, where the tunnels under Hawkins await. Each step is careful; Joyce stays slightly ahead, ready to hold him if he stumbles like it used to happen to him the first few weeks. At least he doesn't move as slowly as he did at the beginning.
The tunnels, humid and dark, give them a strange feeling of anguish. Despite the sun, the spring and the apparent normalcy in the cabin far from everything, they remind them that whatever they're fighting against hasn't ended.
****
Hopper tries not to stop at any point during the journey, but his body betrays him when they've barely covered two kilometers, of the almost four that separate the cabin from the radio station; so they're falling behind while El moves forward wanting to see her friends and have human contact for the first time in a week.
When he leans on his knees, he sighs with anger seeing Joyce shaking that damn shake in the air. Fuck, in the end he's going to have to drink it. But well, if it gives him energy maybe he can burn them if they walk faster... He decides to drink half of the strawberry one, which must be somewhat better than the chocolate one, and can't help but respond badly to Joyce when she says: "Hey, finish it, I'm not going to carry it half full. Besides, this is nothing. Come on Hop."
Fuck, is she determined to make him gain weight? Now that he's finally doing so well? Part of him thinks that Joyce doesn't like him that way because, in those three weeks, they still haven't had time to be a normal couple and be together in bed. But certainly, now he's much stronger and much more attractive. If only his face would gain a little more weight and he could grow a mustache... oh, he'd look like Paul Newman in that mafia movie from '73, The Sting. He's sure Joy would like that a lot, he knows how much she likes Paul Newman.
He ends up drinking the entire shake, grumbling in between and rolling his eyes. Joyce watches him finish it with a mixture of relief and concern she tries to hide. Each sip seems to cost him a monumental effort, and she can see how he clenches his jaw between gulps. She knows Hopper hates this, that he still sees food as an enemy instead of what it really is: his salvation, his way back.
Three weeks are nothing after months in that frozen hell, surviving on moldy black bread and watery soup that barely deserved that name. Although at first his appetite opened up, for some reason it's been closing as the days go by.
"Well done," she says softly when he finishes, putting the empty container in the backpack. She wants to say more, wants to tell him she's proud of him, that every day he eats is a victory, but she knows Hopper doesn't want to hear it. Not yet. They're still learning to navigate this together, this new reality where he's come back but not completely, where his body is still a battlefield.
They do the rest of the way in silence. El goes several meters ahead, almost bouncing with excitement to see her friends. Hopper walks more firmly now, as if the shake really had given him some energy, although Joyce suspects it's pure pride, because he doesn't want to arrive at the station staggering.
When they finally spot the dilapidated radio building as soon as they exit the tunnel, they can already hear the commotion from outside. Overlapping voices, laughter, the unmistakable sound of Dustin arguing with someone about radio frequencies.
Steve opens the door before they get to knock. "Finally! We thought you'd gotten lost or something."
Inside, the station is controlled chaos. The kids are everywhere: Dustin next to the radio equipment with his headphones on, adjusting dials; Mike and Lucas bent over maps spread out on the floor, and Will helping Robin tape notes on the walls. El lets out a scream of joy and runs toward them. The hugs and greetings overlap, everyone talking at once.
Hopper stays at the threshold, watching the scene. Joyce notices how he goes pale, how his shoulders tense. Too many people, too much noise, too much of everything after weeks of silence and isolation in the cabin. Maybe it's the second or third time the whole group has coincided, including the adults.
"Come," Joyce says softly, touching his elbow. "Sit down for a moment."
She guides him toward the shabby sofa in the corner, away from the center of chaos but from where he'll be able to hear whatever they want to say, and she hopes it's valuable because he hasn't walked those kilometers for nothing. Hopper lets himself fall onto it with a sigh he tries to hide, but that Joyce hears perfectly. He has that grayish look she's learned to recognize, the one that means he's pushed his body too hard.
"I'm cold," he murmurs, and Joyce feels a pang in her chest. He's always cold lately. Even on mild days like today, his body can't maintain heat as it should.
Without saying anything, Joyce grabs the jacket he had left by the door and returns to put it over his shoulders. Hopper immediately wraps himself in it, with a gesture that has already become automatic.
"Thanks," he says quietly.
Robin approaches them, carrying a pile of papers and maps, they don't know her much yet but she has that frenetic energy that means she's been working on this for hours. "Okay, chief, I know you're probably exhausted, but I need you to see this," Like every town inhabitant who hasn't dealt with him enough, she addresses him by his position although her tone is softer than usual. Everyone knows what he's been through, although no one talks about it directly.
She sits on the floor in front of the sofa and starts unfolding the maps on the coffee table full of cup stains. "The military is making incursions into the Upside Down almost every week," she explains, pointing to a series of red marks concentrated in the center of the cracks, where the public library used to be. "Sometimes twice a week. Dustin has been monitoring their communications."
Hopper thinks it's a pain that the damn Vecna, One, Henry or whoever, has decided that the center of his chaos is the public library. How will they entertain themselves the months they have left locked up if they can't even acquire new books? What shit, it's like that guy knows exactly where to dig.
Dustin looks up from the radio equipment, taking off his headphones. "They use codes, obviously, but the pattern is clear. They go in, take samples, map the territory. And each time they go deeper," he says, also approaching. "It's like they're looking for something specific."
Steve Harrington joins the group, crossing his arms with a serious expression. "That's why we need Robin's communication system. We can't use phones or normal radios, the military could be listening."
The blonde nods enthusiastically. "I'm going to create a radio program. Something that sounds completely normal, innocent. Musical requests, dedications, that kind of thing. But we're going to use keywords, secret signals based on old songs."
She's very talkative, has too much energy but for some reason doesn't exhaust Hopper. Not like the other younger kids. "For example, if someone requests 'Every Breath You Take' by The Police, I'll tell the story in detail, emphasizing words or something like that."
Mike approaches, bringing more notes to the table that's already overflowing. With the fact that he's not hanging around the cabin, because everyone knows Hopper is exhausted and besides, the last time he locked himself in the room with El it didn't go well, Jim thinks he's starting to tolerate him. "Robin has created a whole code. Combinations of songs, broadcast order, even the tone of voice she uses can mean different things. It's brilliant, really."
"No one will suspect a radio program of eighties music in a town like Hawkins. It's the most normal thing in the world. But we'll know exactly what each song means."
Hopper has been listening in silence, processing all the information. Despite the exhaustion consuming him, the cold that chills his bones, he can see the logic in the plan. It's smart. Just the kind of thing they need.
"Schedules?" he asks, his voice hoarse but recovering some of its old authority.
Robin consults her notes. "I'll broadcast twice a day. One hour in the morning at eight, another at night at ten. Enough to keep the people who need to know informed, but not so much as to raise suspicions. Plus that way I can cover all the information."
Joyce, who has been standing next to the sofa, puts a hand on Hopper's shoulder. She can feel how tense he is, the effort it costs him to maintain concentration.
"Do you have any idea what they're looking for in there?" she asks, studying the marks on the maps.
Robin and Dustin exchange an uncomfortable look. There's a tense silence that makes all the kids stop talking and turn toward them.
"We're not sure what they're looking for exactly," Robin admits slowly. "But... we've intercepted some communications. And there's something else." She bites her lip, looking at El with concern. "They're looking for you, El. The military thinks you're responsible for all of this. For the cracks, the Upside Down, all the chaos. They think you created it."
El goes pale. Mike immediately positions himself at her side, protective. Well, Hopper doesn't even have the strength to hate that. All he does is tense on the sofa, Joyce can feel how his entire body becomes rigid, how anger starts to replace the exhaustion in his eyes.
"That's why they've been making incursions," Dustin continues. "They're looking for evidence. Anything they can use to officially blame her. And they probably want to capture her."
"That's not going to happen," Hopper's voice resonates from the depths of his being, and although it sounds weak, the determination is palpable.
Steve rubs the back of his neck, thoughtful. "I've been thinking about something. The military trucks they use for the incursions... they have pretty predictable schedules. If we could sneak into one, we could enter the Upside Down without being detected. See what they're really doing in there. It would be dangerous, but we'd have firsthand information."
"We'd need someone with military experience," says Robin, looking at her notes. "Someone who knows how to move in that type of operation, who knows the protocols..."
Everyone, instinctively, looks at Hopper. Obviously no one is in physical condition to sneak into a place like that, but at least he knows how to move without being seen, shoot, and that kind of thing. But when they look at him, most realize that the Hopper who's sunken into the sofa isn't the same one they knew. The current Hop is sunken into the sofa, wrapped in his jacket, trembling slightly. It's been three weeks since he left a Russian prison camp. It's been three weeks since he could eat without vomiting. It's been three weeks since he stopped weighing less than sixty kilos.
"No," Joyce says immediately, with a firmness that admits no discussion. "No way. Forget it. Not for now."
"Mrs. Byers, it's just an idea..." Steve starts.
"I said no."
Hopper should protest. The Hopper from before would have jumped up, would have insisted he can do it, would have elaborated a plan in thirty seconds. But now he's just sitting there, with a lost look, and all he can think about is how much he feels like being in bed. In the warmth of the blankets and the silence of the cabin. He doesn't have the strength even to complain.
A shiver runs through Hopper, and he wraps the jacket tighter around himself. Joyce sits next to him on the sofa, close, protective. She can see he's at his limit, that every minute he spends here costs him more.
Robin, trying to relieve the tension and noticing Hopper's exhausted appearance, rummages in a bag she has next to the radio equipment. "Hey, Hopper, I have Cheetos here. Murray brought us supplies this morning and told us that half the bags were for you, and half the Gatorade was for El. Want some? They could give you some energy for the walk back."
She extends the bag toward him, smiling with that nervous energy she has.
Hopper looks at it, and for a moment seems to consider the offer. But then he shakes his head, looking away. "No, thanks."
Joyce freezes. The Cheetos. The damn orange Cheetos that Hopper could eat a whole bag of while watching any bad movie on TV. The ones he always had hidden in his desk drawer at the station. The ones he had bought by the dozens when El came to live with him because he discovered she loved them too.
And now he rejects them without thinking twice.
Robin lowers the bag, confused, while Joyce feels a lump forming in her throat. It's another reminder of how much everything has changed, of how broken he still is.
"That's why the radio program is so important," Robin insists quickly, putting away the Cheetos. "We need to know when they're approaching, we need to be able to move before they arrive. Keep you all safe."
A shiver runs through Hopper, and he wraps the jacket tighter around himself. Joyce sits next to him on the sofa, close, protective. She can see he's at his limit, that every minute he spends here costs him more.
"When do you start?" she asks, trying to redirect the conversation.
"Tomorrow morning," Robin responds. "First test broadcast. Just normal music, so the townspeople get used to it. We start with the signals next week."
El moves away from the group and sits on the other side of her father, looking at him with that serious expression she has when she's scared but trying not to show it. "Are you okay?" she asks quietly.
Hopper nods, trying to sketch a smile that doesn't quite come out and seems less warm than it really is with his shaved head and thick eyebrows. He raises a trembling arm and wraps it around her. "Yes, kiddo. Just tired. But I'm not going to let anything happen to you, okay? Never."
El nods against his shoulder, but Joyce can see the tears she's holding back, trying to get him out of the bind she says: "We should go back home."
When Hopper tries to get up, his legs barely respond. He has to lean heavily on the arm of the sofa, and even then he staggers. Joyce jumps up to hold him.
Dustin, who has never known how to read a room, blurts out without thinking: "Fuck, Hopper, at this rate we're going to have to put you in the trunk to get you home."
The silence that follows is glacial. Jim Hopper, who always complains and loves to argue with everyone, doesn't even have the energy to grumble or shoot him one of his characteristic killer looks. He just stays there, pale and trembling, clinging to the arm of the sofa as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.
"Shut up, Dustin," says El with a voice so cold and cutting it makes everyone in the room shudder.
Steve smacks Dustin on the back of the head, and immediately says: "Learn to shut your mouth, Henderson."
When they go out into the fresh afternoon air, Jim breathes deeply, as if he had been holding his breath all this time. He can only think about the bed, about closing his eyes, about everything stopping for a while.
****
The way back to the cabin is silent and exhausting, with Hopper barely able to keep one foot in front of the other as he leans heavily on Joyce, and El walking several meters ahead, turning every few steps to check that they're still there, that they haven't fallen behind.
When they finally arrive, Hopper lets himself fall on the sofa without even taking off his boots, closing his eyes and breathing with difficulty, as if he had run a marathon instead of walking four kilometers through the forest.
"I'm going to prepare dinner," Joyce announces, although she knows perfectly well it's going to be a battle, because it always is, every night since they returned.
Hopper grunts something unintelligible, completely sunken into the sofa cushions.
Joyce prepares along with El, who is learning to cook, something simple: grilled chicken, white rice and steamed vegetables; bland and easy to digest food, without spices that could irritate his still too sensitive stomach.
When she puts the plate in front of him at the table, Hopper looks at it as if she were asking him to swallow broken glass.
"I'm not hungry," he says automatically, with that tone that has already become his default response.
"You've had two shakes today, you need solid food."
"The shakes are food."
"Hopper."
"Joyce."
El, sitting on the other side of the table, eats in silence while her eyes go from one to the other, that night she's also too tired to give her opinion. She can't stop thinking about the fact that she has more problems behind her than she thought.
"Just... eat half," Joyce negotiates, softening her tone and trying to be reasonable. "Half the chicken and a little rice, please."
Jim sighs, defeated, and picks up the fork with hands that tremble slightly. Each bite seems to require a conscious and deliberate effort, chewing mechanically, without tasting anything, with that tense expression on his face that means he's mentally counting every damn calorie entering his body.
He manages to eat a third of the plate before leaving the fork on the table with a sharp blow. "I can't anymore."
Joyce wants to insist, wants to force him to finish at least half as they had agreed, but she knows that look in his eyes, knows that if she pushes too hard now, he'll end up vomiting it all in half an hour.
"Okay," she says, although it's not okay at all, although it's killing her to see him like this.
After dinner, while Hopper showers and El prepares to sleep in her room, Joyce starts to clean up the kitchen, putting away the dishes and cleaning the surfaces. She finds Murray's bag, the one Robin gave them at the station, still on the counter full of bags of Cheetos and Gatorade, and something makes her look inside again, rummaging through the packages of protein powder and bottles of vitamin supplements that fill the bottom.
Among all those common foods, there's a small jar, hidden underneath everything, without an official label, just a note stuck with adhesive tape in Murray's careless and irregular handwriting: "Two a day."
Joyce unscrews the lid with hands that tremble so much she almost drops the jar. Black pills, small and oval, unmistakable to anyone who read magazines, especially of thin women on covers, and knew the diet culture of that era.
Black beauties. Amphetamines. Diet pills.
Her heart sinks and for a moment she can't breathe, the air gets stuck in her throat. Is Murray giving Hopper diet pills? A man who just got out of a Russian prison camp weighing less than sixty kilos, with his ribs marking against his skin?
But then she understands, and it's much worse, infinitely worse. Murray didn't give him this on his own initiative, it wasn't his perverse idea of helping.
Jim asked for it.
The tears burn her eyes as she squeezes the jar in her hand so hard her knuckles turn white. She can hear the shower water still running in the bathroom, the sound of the current hitting against the tiles.
She breathes deeply, trying to calm down, trying to find the right words, but the fury and pain are too big, too overwhelming.
She waits and sits on the sofa with the jar in her lap, the tears already falling down her cheeks without being able to stop them. She waits until she hears the shower close, until she hears Hopper moving around the bedroom, opening drawers and walking barefoot on the wooden floor.
She gives him a few more minutes, listening as El moves in her room on the other side of the hallway, preparing to sleep with the radio on at low volume, releasing soft background music. She just hopes she doesn't come out of her room for a good while, because they have a good long conversation ahead if that's what Joyce thinks it is.
Finally, she gets up and walks toward the bedroom with slow and deliberate steps. She knocks softly on the door with her knuckles before pushing it, giving him a second of warning.
Hopper is standing in front of the small mirror over the dresser, dressed only in pajama pants and no shirt, drying his wet hair with a white towel. When he sees her come in with the jar in hand, he freezes completely, like a deer caught in a car's headlights.
For a second, their eyes meet in the mirror's reflection, and Joyce can see the instant recognition, the fear, the guilt. Then Hopper turns abruptly, grabbing a wrinkled t-shirt from the bed and covering his torso with it in an almost violent movement, desperate to cover himself.
Joyce closes the door slowly behind her, careful not to make noise. "What is this?" Her voice is low, controlled, but it trembles in a way she can't hide. She has to keep her voice low, constantly remind herself that her daughter is in the room next door and can hear everything through these thin walls.
Hopper doesn't respond, he just stands there, clutching the t-shirt against his bare chest, with his jaw so tight Joyce can see the muscles tensing.
"Hopper, I'm asking you a question. What the fuck is this?"
"Give it back to me." His voice is tense, dangerously calm, with that low tone he uses when he's trying to control his temper.
"No."
"It's none of your business, Joyce."
"What do you mean it's not...?" Joyce has to stop, has to breathe deeply, has to remind herself she can't yell. That would call her daughter's attention and Hopper would shut down completely. "Of course it's my business, for God's sake, Hopper..."
"Give them back to me, Joyce, I'm telling you seriously."
There's anger now in his voice, but he also whispers, fiercely aware of the thin walls and the ears that could be listening.
"I'm not going to give them back to you."
"It's not your damn decision."
"You're taking amphetamines to not eat!" The words come out in a furious and broken whisper. "You just got out of that hell, you barely weigh sixty kilos, and you're taking diet pills!"
"You don't understand, you have no idea!" The words come out louder than he expects. More aggressive and sharp than he wants, but in the moment he doesn't regret it. Why does Joyce have to meddle so much in his business?
"Then explain it to me! What exactly are you doing with this, huh?"
Hopper runs a hand over his wet face, still covering his torso with the other, and with the pause Joyce notices he's trembling, his whole body shakes lightly, and she doesn't know if it's from anger, from cold, or from something completely different and more terrifying.
"I need to maintain control," he says finally, each word coming out with visible effort, as if it costs him to pull them from his throat. "It's the only thing I can control now, okay? My weight, my body, what I eat or stop eating. If I can stay thin and strong..."
"Strong?" Joyce lets out a bitter and choked laugh, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Hop, you can barely walk four kilometers without almost fainting, your hands tremble all the time, you're cold and you can't..."
"That's temporary! If I keep working, if I keep exercising, if I stay like this without letting it happen again, I can-"
"Can what? Die? Is that what you want? If I had known I saved you so you could die a month later, well I wouldn't have saved you!"
The words fall between them like a cement slab, heavy and irrevocable. Hopper closes his eyes tightly, as if it hurts to look at her.
He lets himself fall on the edge of the bed, still clutching the t-shirt against his chest as if it were a shield that could protect him from this conversation, from the truth.
Joyce approaches slowly, the tears run freely down her face without even trying to stop them now. She kneels in front of him on the cold wooden floor, putting her hands on his knees.
"Talk to me," she whispers, her voice broken but soft. "Please, Hop, just talk to me."
There's a long silence that stretches between them like an abyss. Hopper looks at the floor, his jaw still clenched shows he's visibly struggling against the words he wants to say, against the truth he doesn't want to admit out loud.
"I don't want to be the fat guy from before again, it was horrible. But I don't know why I keep hating my body, as if I could never like myself. I hate my body," he says finally, and his voice breaks completely on the last word. It's barely a hoarse and destroyed whisper. "I hate every damn part of it, Joyce. The scars that cross my skin remind me of everything they did to me. The weakness I feel in every muscle. How fragile everything is now, as if it's going to break if someone touches me too hard. How I tremble all the time without being able to control it. How I can't do even half the things I used to do without getting tired."
He runs a trembling hand over his face, and Joyce can see the tears falling, shining in the dim light of the nightstand lamp. "And yes, eating hurts, it physically hurts my stomach every time I swallow something, as if my body had forgotten how to process normal food. But it's not just that, it's not just the physical pain. It's that when I eat, when I see myself in the mirror and notice I'm gaining weight back, all I see is that fat and pathetic man I was before all this. The one who was useless for anything important. The one who couldn't chase a suspect without running out of breath after thirty meters. The one you never looked at twice, I'm sure you thought I was horrible four years ago and..."
"That's not true, Hop, I…"
"And at least now, at least if I'm thin, if I maintain this body even if it's broken and full of scars, I have something that's mine. I have control over something. It's the only thing I can control after... after months and months where I controlled absolutely nothing in my life. Not when I ate, not when I slept, not when they beat me, not if I was going to live or die the next day. This is mine, this decision is mine. My body is the only thing I can decide now."
Joyce takes his hands, squeezing them between hers so hard she can feel how they tremble. "Hop, this isn't control, honey. This is... this is destroying you from the inside, it's killing you slowly."
"It's not killing me, it's keeping me sane."
"It's hurting you, physically and mentally, and you know it."
Hopper shakes his head, tears fall down his cheeks without any control, soaking the t-shirt he still presses against his chest. "You don't understand, Joyce, you can't understand. I can't... I can't be that again, I can't look in the mirror and see that man again, the one I was before. At least now, when I see myself, when I look in the mirror even though I hate what I see, I see someone who has discipline, who has willpower. Who has control over himself, even if he's broken into a thousand pieces inside. Who is strong in some way, even if everything else is destroyed."
"But you're not strong," Joyce says softly, with infinite tenderness, running a hand over his wet cheek. "Not in the way that matters, honey. You're sick, your body is sick, and I know it's difficult, I know it hurts you in ways you can't even explain, but taking these pills isn't going to help with anything. It's only going to make everything worse, it's only going to hurt you more."
Hopper closes his eyes tightly, leaning into her touch as if it were the only thing keeping him anchored to reality and now breathing in short gasps. "I don't know how to do this any other way, Joyce. I don't know how... how to stop feeling what I feel."
"We'll do it together," Joyce whispers, her voice broken but full of determination. "I'll call a doctor tomorrow, someone who understands what you're really going through. Someone who can help us with all this, with the physical pain and with... with the other thing too."
"I don't want more doctors poking at me, asking me things. I don't want to talk about what happened to me with anyone, it scares me."
"A good doctor, I promise you. One who won't judge you for any of this, one who really understands. One who can really help."
Joyce climbs onto the bed and hugs him, wrapping her arms around him and letting him lean against her with all his weight. Hopper resists for a moment, his body is tense and rigid, but then he surrenders completely, hiding his face in her shoulder and letting the tears flow without trying to stop them.
"We'll fix it," she whispers against his wet hair, rocking him gently. "Together, okay? You don't have to do this alone, you don't have to control everything yourself, you don't have to carry this without help."
Hopper doesn't respond with words, but he doesn't pull away either, he just stays there trembling against her.
They stay like that embraced in the penumbra of the bedroom, with only the dim light of the lamp illuminating the shadows, while both their tears soak the fabric of their t-shirts and mix between them.
"Give me the pills," he murmurs eventually, but his voice has no strength, no vigor to convince her.
"No."
"Joyce..."
"I'm not going to help you hurt yourself, Hop. But I'm going to help you for real, I'm going to find a way to help you for real. I promise you."
Hopper closes his eyes, completely exhausted, physically and emotionally defeated. "I hate this with all my being. I hate feeling like this, I hate my body, I hate that I can't control it the way I want."
"Your body doesn't need to be controlled with pills and hunger, honey. It needs to be healed, it needs time and care and love. And we're going to heal it together, both of us together, step by step."
They stay like that until Hopper's breathing gradually calms, until the violent trembling ceases and becomes just a slight occasional shiver. The jar of black pills is forgotten on the floor where Joyce dropped it when she hugged him.
Tonight, they simply hold each other in the warm and silent darkness, and compared to a few months ago, said warmth is enough.