Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“This is over,” Hopper barked, slamming a fist on the table.

“Sir,” the man with the stupid hair protested, standing.

“No, no– shut up! You– sit down. You–” He turned to Steve, who stared blearily up at him, his good eye wide. “Come on. We’re leaving. Right now.”

“We’re not finished here Jim,” the second man at the table (slightly better hair) said coldly, rising to meet Hopper’s fury. “Steven was in custody of a foreign government for nearly 12 hours and he’s not speaking to us. Until we can the bottom of all of this, he remains a threat to national security–”

“National security?”

“--And under United States law we are legally allowed to detain–”

“I’m going to punch your lights out,” Hopper said, sounding dazed and dangerous. Like he was a hair away from losing control. Like he couldn’t actually believe what he was hearing. To be fair, Steve hadn’t believed it either, for the first 10 minutes.

Immediately post-mall collapse, with smoke still billowing black into the air, ashes flickering against his skin, Steve had been remanded into custody of the U.S. military. He’d thought they were taking him to the hospital, at first, considering the speed and efficiency with which he’d been bundled into the ambulance. His eye had been dripping blood and his teeth ached and his fucking fingers felt like they were about to fall off and all he could remember thinking was how relieved he was to finally get medical attention, even if he didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to Robin.

Because that’s what was happening right? Right? Literally why else would he be in a god damn ambulance? Most of the others had left; Nancy and Mike with the Wheeler family, Lucas and Erica with the Sinclairs. The injured were being taken to the hospitals and what was Steve if not monumentally-fucking-injured?

And there had been medical professionals inside, concerned medical professionals, who had made him recite dates and follow their fingers, flashing lights in his eyes. Professionals who had made him lift up his shirt so they could look at his fucked up torso and palpate his ribs. And the consensus was that he, Steve Harrington, was super fucked up. That had been their professional opinion, with okay, some added doctor terminology, because again, they had seemed like professionals–

Until they rolled up to the police department, dragged him out (mostly because he could barely walk but okay thanks) and thrown him into an empty interrogation cell.

And that had been his rude awakening.

Because he wasn’t going to the hospital. And he wasn’t going home, was he? He’d only understood exactly what was going on when Stupid Hair and Slightly Better Hair had slipped into the room, folders tucked under their arms, tape recorders out.

He was being interrogated.

Again.

And Steve… well, Steve didn’t cry, as a rule. Mostly because his dad had smacked that shit out of him when he was a kid. But Jesus, he couldn’t help but tear up a little at the sight of the two suits because it was happening again and he couldn’t stop them again and he was at the mercy of grown adults who wouldn’t let him out or stop demanding answers and there was nothing he could do about it.

Again.

So yeah. There might have been a tear. Or maybe two. Sue him.

Four hours later, Steve was this close to passing the fuck out because again, monumentally fucked up body here, when Hopper burst in.

Which brings them to now.

“You have kidnapped a fucking child, an injured fucking child, and if you don’t let me take him out of this freezing cold hell room right now, I am going to kill you.” Hopper stared down the two suits, chest heaving, eyes sharpening into something vicious and dangerous and horrible. “I am going to kill you both.”

Bad Hair opened his mouth to argue.

“Don’t.”

And then they were out in the hall, Steve blinking around them, totally bewildered. Because how did they get here so fast? He realized abruptly that he was shivering, hard, and clutched his arms across his chest. Someone was next to him, who…?

Something draped across his shoulders and he grasped at it, confused.

“Oh Jesus, what happened in there?”

“I don’t know Joyce. But he’s completely out of it and I think he might–”

Steve’s knees buckled and there was a loud gasp.

“Shit!”

“Aw hell, he’s so fucked up–”

“You have him?”

“Yeah just– shit, get the door for me. We’re taking him to the hospital.”

“They should have taken him to the hospital right away! I cannot believe such cruelty, such fucking– callous bullshit–!”

“I know Joyce.”

“He’s just a child!”

“I know…”

And that was pretty much the last thing he remembered for a while, his eyes falling shut, his body aching, the bright overhead lights of the police department fading away to nothing but comforting blackness.

He woke up in the hospital sometime later.

Robin was sitting up in the bed next to him, wide-awake.

“Oh thank god.”

Chapter Text

“Robin?” He choked out– or at least he tried. It came out more as a reedy whisper, almost unintelligible, and he realized his throat felt utterly shredded from the inside out. He raised  shaking hand to touch his neck and across the room Robin winced in sympathy, watching.

“You were intubated,” she answered his unasked question. “Like, for a while. Because apparently you were catching pneumonia? Somehow? I guess spending four hours in a freezing cold, dirty room, with open wounds and soaked in blood, is not super good for you, plus the internal damage–”

“Wait wait–” he whispered, waving his hand tremblingly in her direction. There was an IV taped to the back of it, he realized vaguely, and a button thing on his finger. “Four hours? Robin, I’m so c– uhn- c-confused.” 

“Oh, they said that you might have some, um. Memory issues. Because of the concussion.”

Steve croaked out a questioning sound.

“No yeah, it was unfortunately very obvious because apparently when someone punches you until you black out, it’s like, automatic. Plus you have an occipital fracture, sorry, and damage to your optic nerve in your eye and yeah, apparently it’s really hard to not have a concussion with symptoms like that, so they all just knew right away.”

Steve stared at her.

She bit her lip. “Sorry. Um. Yeah. That’s the run down of things. You also have a few rib contusions and one of them is cracked and you have a partially dislocated kneecap and a hairline fracture in your collarbone–”

“Robin–”

“--and they had to stitch up your lower lip a little and–”

“ Robin.”

“Sorry.” She bit her lip again, harder, and wrung her hands in front of her. “I’ve just been– Steve I’ve been so worried about you. I thought you might actually die or something.”

“Not dead,” he wheezed reassuringly. Or he hoped it sounded reassuring. Judging by the pained wince on Robin’s face, and the way his breaths sounded like air squeezed from a dirty exhaust pipe, it probably wasn’t as helpful as he’d hoped. “How are you?”

“ Me? Jesus Steve, in comparison I’m– I’m totally fine. ”

He gave her a look over. The overhead lights were on but dimmed, shading the room in soft, muted shadows. Even in the low light Steve could see that Robin did not look ‘totally fine.’ In fact, he would say that she looked distinctly Not Good.

She was sitting up in the bed adjacent to his, wearing a hugely oversized sweater, her hair scraped out of her face. Her very bruised face. Steve could recognize the markings of a backhand on her cheek and she had some pretty severe looking splotches of bluish green and yellow on the side of her forehead. And as she fiddled with her hands, he realized that her knuckles were scraped and raw, and there were bruises around her wrists.

He looked down. He had the same bruises. Tight anxiety automatically unfurled in his stomach, and he shoved the feelings down with brutal practice. He wasn’t with Them anymore. It was all fine now. He asked instead, “What happened to your face?”

“‘S’from when we T-boned Billy. I hit my head on the side of the door a bit.” She smiled weakly. “You look way worse though dude, trust me.”

“Your brain’s okay though?”

“Yeah, no concussion for me, thankfully. The doctor’s were a bit surprised. But I do have some whiplash in my neck so I guess it evens out.”

She smiled at him then, that little sardonic Robin smile that was so familiar, and Steve had to swallow back a lump in his throat that was decidedly not from his intubation. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair and he was so sorry that Robin had gotten involved and had gotten tortured and hurt and bruised and would probably have nightmares and panic attacks and fucking neuroses now, just like the rest of them, but also Jesus Christ was he glad that she was here with him now.

“When are you getting released?” He asked. “Wait– how long have we been here anyway?”

“Oh, um. Yeah no, they said I can go whenever, actually. We’ve both been here for about 24 hours. I guess a little bit more. My parents had enough time to come and go. They left us some stuff by the way.”

“ What?”

“Yeah, my dad dropped you off a giant sweater too because he knows they always make me feel better, and some of his old clothes that may fit you, although he’s a lot bigger than you so they may not fit super well–”

“Wait wait, Robin, what?” He waved his hand weakly, almost snagging the wire of the little finger button thing. “Your parents came by? Why haven’t you left then?”

Now she was staring at him like he was insane. “Dingus, did you really think I was just going to leave you here alone? Especially after those US government men-in-black assholes messed you up even more? Hopper busted me out of the interrogation room across from yours by the way–”

“WHAT!”

Robin stopped to explain. She’d also been high-jacked by the stupid-hair military men in her own ambulance, shortly after Steve had been bundled away. They had both been taken to the police station, which had apparently been momentarily retained by the United States Department of Defense. Or at least they’d said they were D.O.D. Robin had her doubts. Anyway, she continued, she had been interrogated by them as well, in an interrogation room just down the hall from where Steve had been, fielding questions largely about the Gate.

“I was pretty bewildered by everything and apparently they didn’t have a file on me, which I guess meant they knew I was never involved in this demonic craziness in the past? So they were a lot calmer with me than it sounds like they were with you. Anyway, my parents had run into Jonathan’s mom at the hospital and it became evident that you and I were just totally missing. Jonathan’s mom told Chief Hopper and they both came and tracked us down to the police station. And then we got taken to the hospital for real.”

“What the fuck…”

“No yeah, it’s really messed up. I don’t even know how the U.S. government knew we’d been held hostage at all, but obviously someone overhead something. I just… did not expect the Interrogation 2.0. Zero out of five stars, could have done without.”

Steve grimaced his agreement, in too much pain to nod. He admitted, “They just didn’t believe me that I hadn’t told, uh, those other guys anything about Eleven, or the tunnel situation from last year.”

There was a strong, pregnant pause in the room.

“What?”

“Steve… you didn’t tell the Russians… anything?”

“Of course not,” he defended, hurt bubbling in his chest. “I wasn’t going to rat out a little girl. I mean, I know I told them about Dustin but I swear to god that was only because I was literally drugged with some freaky truth serum at the time.”

“Oh my god, Steve, this is in no way an attack on your character.” Her eyes were huge and incredulous. “I just mean you were being tortured , like, actually tortured for what was apparently nearly 10 hours. How did you not tell them anything?”

“Again. Eleven is a child. ”

“Oh my god.”

“Robin.”

“Oh my god. How… I mean… What exactly has happened to you in life? We need to have some serious discussions because Steve. What the fuck.”

“I’m just very stubborn.”

“But you’re not though. I’ve seen you get worn down by 10 year olds whining about the sizes of their ice cream scoops.”

“Well, that’s a different case, isn’t it. That didn’t really matter. And anyway, you didn’t tell them anything either.”

She scoffed. “I barely knew anything.”

“We gave you the rundown. You knew.”

“It was a shitty rundown.”

“It was an excellent rundown, especially given the locale.”

“Well… They hardly asked me anything anyway.”

“Robin.” Steve stared straight at her through the dark room. 

“They didn’t. What happened to me was nothing like what happened to you. They basically left me alone.”

“ Robin.”

“They did!” She insisted, and they both heard the way her voice cracked painfully. “I – I mean, I was scared, and they made comments, and they hit me once or twice, but Steve, I had to sit there and listen while you were screaming. They were killing you. That’s nothing like what happened to me. I got off easy.”

“What happened to you in life, Buckley? Does that sound like getting off easy?” He shook his head harshly and then immediately regretted it as white hot pain stabbed into the backs of his eyes like icicles. He shoved the pain down and pressed on. “You stayed there with me, down in that basement when you could have gotten away. And you were tortured too. You were drugged too. And you think that’s not psychologically fucked up? Having you sit there and listen? And I see where That Man hit you, Robin. I can literally see it on your face right now. It was bad Robin. What happened to you was really really bad. Don’t just– just– pretend it’s all fine because I was hurt worse physically. What happened to us was even. Okay?”

Robin didn’t answer.

“Okay?” He persisted. 

“Okay, yeah, fine.” Her voiced sounded choked and she sniffed sharply once, then twice. “God, you’re going to make me cry like a weenie.”

“I mean… you can if you want to. I promise I won’t judge. It’s healthy to cry, or whatever.” He felt like a total fucking fraud for saying it. The back of his neck literally prickled with shame at even the thought of the tears he’d let slide down his cheeks in the police department earlier. Double standards and all that shit, he guessed.

“You sound like my dad.”

“ Uh, I do?”

“Yeah, he’s a child psychologist and he says crap like that all. The. Time. He brought you a sweater by the way. Did I tell you that?”

“You did. Um. Why though?”

“Because he’s a nice guy. And you’re my friend. And I was kind of losing my mind over your unconscious body earlier and I basically told him the truth about a lot of what happened and he was really horrified and now wants to adopt you.” Steve gaped at her. She grimaced and continued. “Also. Um. No one could get in contact with your parents and that made him kind of upset.”

“You told him the truth? ”

“Some of it! Not all. Kind of a doctored version. I told him about the Russian military enclave using the mall as a base of operations and how we accidentally found them out. I did not say anything about the demon shit.”

“They’re not demons…”

“Yeah? Looked kind of demonic to me, Steve-o.”

“Do you even believe in demons?”

“Well, not, like, Biblical demons, no. But that freaky giant flesh monster? If anything’s a demon it’s that. Even though I guess technically it’s probably just an average animal species in that dimension, and it just evolved differently in an alien environment that we as humans have not had a chance to fully explore yet–”

“ Yet?”

“It’s possible that the Gate will be like the Moon.”

“Okay.” Steve nodded slowly, absorbing the frankly insane implications. “So would that make Will Byers Neil Armstrong? Because I think he may have been one of the first humans down there.”

“Technically, yeah, I think so.”

“Oh my god. Nancy went in there too a couple of times. So she could be Buzz Aldrin in this hypothetical metaphor…”

“She would be a great Buzz Aldrin.”

“She would. She’d see an alien coming at her and just start blasting.”

“Blasting?”

“In this situation she would have her gun, of course.”

“Her gun?”

“Yeah, Nancy is kind of, like… intense. Really cool, honestly. She and Jonathan were hunting down this giant monster two years ago with a revolver, my nail bat, some bear traps, and a fuck ton of gasoline.”

“The demongorgeous?”

Steve cracked up. “Demon gorgeous?”

“Shut up! I don’t know this nerd shit!”

“Demon gorgeous!”

Robin snort-giggled at the way Steve nearly choked the words out, which made Steve laugh even harder, and soon the two of them were nearly howling, stuffing their faces into their pillows and their hands to try to drown out the maniacal cackling. 

Eventually, they settled down, grins still twitching at their lips. And although Steve could tell his pain meds were wearing off by the way his chest was utterly throbbing and his knee felt like it’d been hit with a hammer and the brutal pounding in his temples– he was really fucking happy.

“I’m really glad you’re here with me, Robin,” he told her once he could breathe again. It felt important to say– out loud. “I’m sorry you’re involved, but I think you might be my best friend and I love you very much.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

“I um. I don’t mean to sound awkward when I say it, but I hope you know that I think I love you too. In a friend way, of course.”

He snorted. “Obviously.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I remember what you told me, in the bathroom.” Across the room, Robin tensed, and he continued carefully. “I remember and it’s okay, and it’s cool, even, and I promise I will never ever tell anyone. Even under threat of death.”

“Cool?”

“I mean… it obviously sucks, you know, to like girls in this place,” he lowered his voice, even though they were alone in the room and the only sounds were the low hum of the lights and the water in the adjoining toilet swirling in the pipes. “But like– that’s what makes you Robin? And you’re just great as you are. And now we can talk about girls we both think are hot!”

“You’d want to?”

“You don’t even know how much I would want that. Like, Dustin is great, but he’s also 14 so, you know. Boundaries.”

“No, right. Probably fair.” She was grinning, utterly cheerful. “We’ll have much to discuss.”

“Much,” he agreed. “Although right now, um, I kind of realized my flesh feels like it’s been rubbed with a cheese grater and also there’s a floating spot in my eye, so I’ve gotta ask– how do I get more pain meds?”

“Oh shit, right, I was supposed to tell you– hit the button behind you and a nurse will come and– well, I was supposed to call them as soon as you woke up, so my bad–”

Robin chattered on.

Steve was healing already.

Chapter Text

“And how about that? ”

“That’s perfect.”

“Okay but maybe this is better?”

“Oh my god Daaad,” Robin moaned, sticking her head out the window. “If Steve says it’s fine, it’s fine!”

“If we get into a car accident and he hits his head, you’ll want it to be more than fine,” Ron Buckley insisted, cranking the car seat back another inch. Steve, who was sitting on the aforementioned car seat, winced at the jolt, squinting behind his dark glasses. “How about that Steve?” 

“Ron,” Tamara Buckley said sharply, leaning across Robin in the back seat to glower at her husband. “If we don’t leave this wretched institute in the next 30 seconds I am going to kill someone.”

“Now hold on a second Tammy–”

“It might be you, Ronald.”

Mr. Buckley huffed, straightening to his full height and dusting his hands on his jeans in a display of performative affront. “Very well then. If you all insist upon this. Steven, as you will. But if you feel even slightly uncomfortable–”

“I promise I will let you know,” Steve replied eagerly, ready to get the hell out of there. He reached up to put on his seatbelt and Ron pushed his hand down gently, giving him a light-hearted glare.

“Oh absolutely not young man, you will be moving as little as possible.” Mr. Buckley clicked his seatbelt in for him, either ignoring or somehow not noticing the bright flush of self-conscious embarrassment on Steve’s face. “You just hang tight and let us take care of you.”

“I’m really fine, Mr. Buckley–”

“Steve, sweetie,” Tamara interrupted with a huff. “You are absolutely not fine. We all got the run-down from those awful doctors. As much as my husband does tend to overdo things sometimes, he’s certainly right that you should not be moving. To be quite honest, you probably shouldn’t even be speaking, what with your lip.”

He opened his mouth to protest that it had been a week and a half already and the stitches had mostly dissolved, but he caught Robin’s eyes in the rearview movie. No! She mouthed frantically, shaking her head. Do not! No!

He shut his mouth with a click. “Yes ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

They all waited a moment for Ron to slam Steve’s door and then jog around to the other side of the car, sliding into the driver’s seat. He put on his own seatbelt and beamed at them all, twisting his head around to look at his wife and daughter in the backseat. “Ready to rock and roll?”

What had happened was this:

The nurse had come, yelling at Steve and Robin for not letting her know right away that her patient had woken up. She’d shot Steve full of painkillers and then, 5 hours later, she’d come back to explain in detail exactly what was wrong with him. 

And it was all as Robin said, meaning– it was a fucking lot. 

To be honest, the hours spent down in that basement with Those Men were hazy one moment, then crystal clear the next, bursting into his head so sharply that he thought he might throw up. (Then again, that might just be the concussion.) He wasn’t sure exactly when his knee had popped out of place or when his collarbone had fractured. He was mostly trying not to think about the time Down There at all. He knew that he and Robin would have to talk about it all, eventually, but in a pristine hospital, surrounded by strangers coming in and out and squeaking down the halls, just was not the right time.

So he was setting all of that aside for Later.

Eleven had stayed the night in the hospital, but had left early the next morning. She had popped in with Hopper to say goodbye, giving Steve and Robin a tight, but earnest smile. 

“We should ‘hang out’ sometime.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Robin stammered, blushing, and Steve gave a shaky thumbs up. “That would be cool, uh– Eleven? El? Um–”

“El is good,” the girl reassured. “I am Jane though when I am out with Hopper.”

“Oh cool, yeah, that makes sense. Because you’re like, hiding from the government.”

“Yes. Although I think the government now knows that I am here.”

“And if they try anything I’ll start putting bullets in people,” Hopper interrupted strongly, putting a hand on Eleven’s shoulder, face tightening. He was wearing casual clothes and looked more at ease than Steve had seen him in a while, despite, well, everything. Which made sense in an odd way, now that Steve knew he had been apparently hiding out with a super-powered teenager in the fucking woods? For like a year or something? With the cat out of the metaphorical bag, Steve assumed that Eleven was going to get a lot more time out in the open air than previously before. 

Hopper pointed between Steve and Robin in their separate beds, glaring down at them darkly. “You two. You tell me. Immediately, if anything at all even feels remotely out of place. If you see someone lurking too long on your street, or someone new comes up to you in the supermarket. You tell me. ASAP. You got that? You know what that means?”

“As soon as possible?” Robin ventured.

“As soon as fucking possible.”

“I think that would be ASAFP,” Steve muttered, and Hopper whipped his glower around to him.

“I mean it, Harrington. It’s fucked up what happened to you, and it’s fucked up what our guys did to you after. I’m not going to let anything like that happen again, but that means that you both have to be honest. Do you understand?”

“Got it.”

“We understand.”

“Good. Now Buckley, your parents are out in the lobby, and I don’t have to remind you to keep the extra bits out of any stories. Do I?”

She shook her head frantically and physically crossed her heart with a scraped up finger. “Nope. No sir. No bits.”

“Alright then.” And then Hopper leaned back on his heels, staring at them in the room, eyes narrowed. His gaze darted from Steve to Robin to El and then back again. “And you’re coming for dinner once a month,” he said finally, shocking them both. Eleven’s eyes lit up and a grin split open her face. “Both of you.”

He rapped his knuckles on the doorframe in a dismissive goodbye and left, Eleven waving enthusiastically as she limped beside him on her crutches.

“Whoa,” Steve said, stunned. “Is Hopper, like, our buddy now?”

“Can you even be ‘buddies’ with adults?”

“Uh, yes? You don’t have adult friends?”

“Steve, I don’t even have teenage friends.”

“What am I, ground beef?” Steve said crankily, and a laugh slipped out of Robin’s mouth.

“I think you mean, chopped liver.”

He squinted at her. “That’s not it.”

“No, it really is.”

“What?”

But before they could really get into it, Robin’s parents bustled into the room.

Steve straightened up like he’d been electrocuted, barely feeling the sharp punch from jostling his cracked ribs. 

In the past, he’d cared a lot what adults thought of him. Like, a lot. He’d always wanted Mr. and Mrs. Hagan to think fondly of him, and once Carol’s mom had patted him on the shoulder and he’d felt like he was going to die. Teachers, coaches, grocery store cashiers– it was some sort of pathological need to have them all smile at him and give him attention.

Meeting Nancy’s parents had been near torture. Nancy hadn’t understood, considering this was a character trait Steve hid quite well. You couldn’t be cool at school if you also cared about the teachers’ opinions, right? But no, Steve had hyped himself up in his bathroom for nearly 30 minutes before meeting them. Because he’d felt like the hole in his chest was going to collapse inward if Mr. Wheeler didn’t shake his hand firmly but gently and if Mrs. Wheeler didn’t laugh at his jokes and welcome him into her house. 

And then… the fight at Tina’s party. Billy and the tunnels and, more importantly, Dustin. And somehow, some-fucking-how, the burning, painful, scalding desire to be liked or else had been doused like buckets of water drenching a wildfire.

He hadn’t really cared all that much about it, after. Because Dustin liked him and the other kids did too, and Dustin’s mom thought he was the best thing since sliced bread. And more importantly, he wasn’t afraid that those feelings were going to go away. Because it wasn’t possible for him and Dustin to grow apart, and he respected and trusted the younger boy enough to feel, for one of the first times in his entire life, secure in where he stood with someone else.

So yeah, in a shocking bout of psychological health, he’d kind of just… smoothed out the lifelong compulsion. Claudia Henderson was amazing and lovely and had never once yelled at him or raised her hands or locked him in the bathroom or made him feel small and weak and scared. She listened to what he had to say and taught him how to crochet and made him brownies, just because she wanted to.

The hole inside him was filled now– really! Totally filled and totally fine.

So it was a total shock to feel like his stomach was going to fall out when the Buckley’s stormed the room.

“Robbie!” Ron Buckley practically shouted. “Chief Hopper said that Steve was awake. How are you both?”

“A grade three concussion,” Tamara tsked, taking a seat at Steve’s bedside. “Such harm to your developing brain…”

“Um.” Steve said.

“Well?” Tamara raised an eyebrow at her daughter. “Introduce us please?”

“I’ve told you about Steve!”

“I didn’t say tell us about him, I said introduce us. But never mind then. I’m Tamara. This is Ron. I heard you were abused by Russian soldiers under the Starcourt Mall. I am very sorry that happened to you and I am very sorry that your parents haven’t been able to visit you. Any friend of Robin’s is family to the Buckley’s, so you’ll be coming home with us and we’re going to take care of you.”

She stated this all matter of factly, with the tone of someone who was not used to being argued with, nor someone who would accept it. Dressed in thin sweatpants and a short-sleeved shirt with a woodland animal print, Steve didn’t think she should be an intimidating figure. Her hair was piled on top of her head and she had the same freckled features of his best friend. And yet…

Steve continued to gape.

“Oh sweetie, break it to him easy, will you?” Ron tutted, staying near Robin. He had his arm around her shoulder. He was much taller and broader, with a huge bushy mustache and kind eyes. “He has a concussion! Oh my goodness.” Ron Buckley peered at Steve from under equally bushy eyebrows. “Steve,” he whispered. “Is it too much to have us here? How’s your head? Should we leave for a bit?”

“Oh Ron,” Tamara rolled her eyes. “I don’t think that’s it.” She turned to Steve. “Robin didn’t tell you that you were coming home with us, did she?” She paused. “But… is it too much for your head?”

“No no,” Steve stammered, looking between the three Buckley’s in total bewilderment. “I mean– no, my head is fine, it’s not too much. And also no, Robin did not tell me that…” He shot her a look and she shrugged back sheepishly.

“Well, like I said.” Tamara patted the bed by his side gently, not touching him at all. “You’re coming home with us. We’re going to feed you and make sure your concussion doesn’t get worse and that you have someone to change your bandages.”

“But– Mrs. Buckley, you do not have to do that–”

“Sweetie, we don’t have to do anything. But you’re Robin’s best friend, and therefore our son by divine spiritual connection.”

Now that made him pause. Uhhh what? He looked at her uncertainly, and she took this as an indication to begin imparting upon him the most batshit insane explanation he had ever heard.

“The essence of your spirit, and of Robin’s spirit, have intertwined through the laws of supernatural entanglement, split into the aether through a trial of immense pain and suffering–”

“Mooooom,” Robin moaned. “You said you wouldn’t–”

“What Tamara means is that we’d love to have you,” Ron interjected smoothly, stoically ignoring the absolute stunned expression that had made its home on Steve’s face. Because again. What?? “And that we’re so sorry nobody has been able to get in contact with your mother and father. We’re going to keep trying to track them down, but you’re family now, and you can stay as long as you like.”

“But…”

“No buts.” Tamara patted the space by his side again. It suddenly occurred to Steve that this was because the woman did not want to hurt him, and there wasn’t much space on Steve’s body that wasn’t presently injured. And she may be, uhhh... a little more peculiar than he’d previously thought, but she was also caring and gentle and here. He bit his lip.

To be honest… there wasn’t really anywhere else for him to go. I mean sure, he knew that Ms. Henderson wouldn’t hesitate to take him in, but he also… didn’t want to ask. Because even though he had faith that Claudia cared for him, he also knew that he didn’t want to burden her. And if Mr. and Mrs. Buckley were just going to offer… surely he should just accept?

“Well, if you’re sure,” he allowed.

“Oh, we’re very sure. Now–”

Tamara was cut off by a loud clatter and a shriek from the door, and suddenly Dustin Henderson was falling into the room, closely followed by Erica and Lucas Sinclair.

“Steve!” Dusting shouted, eyes wild. “You’re alive!”

“Dude,” he winced, hand coming up to his head. “Not for long if you keep shouting like that!”

Erica turned and socked Dustin in the arm, hard. She had a a cute beret on and a smoothie in her right hand. To Steve’s relief, she looked healthy and relaxed and not at all injured. “Idiot!” She hissed at Dustin. “He has a concussion! Did you listen to anything at all?”

“Hey,” Dustin protested. “Don’t hit me! Just because I have a passion for my friend–”

“Your friend looks like he’s going to throw up!”

“He does not!” Dustin whipped around to look at Steve. “Oh god, you do. Is your head really that bad?”

“Dude, he looks like ground beef,” Lucas broke in, not unsympathetically. “Of course it’s that bad.”

Steve snapped his fingers as the kids shuffled hurriedly over to his bedside, side-eying the Buckleys as they went. “Ground beef! Robin, see?”

“Not the same, Dingus.”

“Sorry, who is this again?” Lucas asked Steve, looking over at Robin. 

“Also who are they?” Erica waved a hand distrustingly at Mr. and Mrs. Buckley, who both stared back at the three kids, looking somewhat bemused by the burst of chaos in the previously calm room.

“Just by context clues, I’m assuming Robin’s parents,” Dustin said impatiently, practically clambering onto the bed next to Steve to peer into his eyes. “You’re good, right? Like, not going to die or anything? Here, follow my finger.”

“Not dying dude,” Steve said, following Dustin’s finger obligingly and trying his hardest to ignore the deep throbbing that was starting to build up behind his left eye. “Also, the nurses already did this.”

“Nurses,” Dustin scoffed, as if he’d heard nothing more ridiculous. “Just look up while I shine this in your eyes.” He whipped out a thin pen-light from one of the innumerable pockets on his vest, clicking on the beam and Steve leaned back, alarmed.

“Okay kids,” Ron Buckley broke in, chuckling nervously. “How about we not do that, yeah? Steve has had a long day already and all this commotion may not be the best for him. Kiddo, why don’t you turn off that light, okay?”

“Yeah, kiddo,” Robin chimed smugly.

“Oh come on! I just want to make sure that my comrade here is okay!” Both Steve and Robin winced noticeably, and Dustin paused. “Sorry,” he said guiltily. “Too soon?” This interaction made both Ron and Tamara sit up straight, and Tamara said sharply, “Hang on, you’re Dustin?”

Dustin straightened as well, narrowing his eyes at her warily. “Yes? Why? Who told you about me?”

“With context clues, I’m assuming Robin,” Erica muttered, taking a sip of her smoothie, and Steve swallowed a snicker. 

“No no,” Tamara held up her hand, stalling any bitchy response from Dustin. “Stop this. You’re Dustin. The young child who rescued my daughter from abusive Russian soldiers.”

Erica choked on her smoothie and both Dustin and Lucas gaped at her, eyes bulging. “You told her?” Dustin shrieked, whipping around to Robin. “What the shit?”

“Hey, language,” Ron objected weakly.

“You can’t do that!” Lucas said to Robin in a hush. “You signed papers–”

“Our daughter is a minor and while it is not illegal for her to sign a non-disclosure agreement, they are not technically enforceable. Additionally, she was physically assaulted and therefore we are obligated to be informed by medical professionals what caused her injuries.”

“Whoa. Is your mom a lawyer?” Lucas asked, impressed and a little bit alarmed. 

Tamara preened, but shook her head. ”Just a concerned parent. But my husband often does legal work with children. Now speaking of… am I right then to assume that you have not informed your parents about what happened at the mall?”

Lucas and Erica exchanged looks. “I mean… no?” Lucas responded tentatively. “Like, they’ve asked, and we’ve kind of told them basics in the past, but–”

“Lucas!” Dustin interrupted sharply, and Lucas fell silently abruptly, eyes widening. Steve felt himself turn pale. It had been absolutely beaten into him years ago that you don’t tell anyone about the demonic bits of their world. And the Russian shit was maybe fine, maybe , but the creatures? And the possessions? And the things that came out of the walls and killed cats and killed kids? Nope. 

Ron plowed on determinedly in the tense silence, jumping in, “I think that you should all remember that your parents love you and care for you. And you’re not getting the care you deserve if you can’t be honest with them about the things that are hurting you. It’s a heavy burden to bear, to keep secrets from those who are in charge of your health and safety– both physical and emotional.”

“Um.” Lucas swallowed. “I mean… maybe?”

Ron nodded gently. “Just think about it, okay kiddo? No piece of paper should ever stand in the way of you leaning on your parents about something like this. And you can always– always– come to Mrs. Buckley and I if you need anything. Okay? All three of you.”

“Four,” Tamara corrected, nodding at Steve. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Ron agreed, smiling at Steve, who smiled back, stunned.

“I guess we’ll think about it,” Lucas allowed, exchanging uneasy glances with Dustin and his sister. Steve understood. Keeping these secrets had been part of their lives– all of their lives– for the longest time. What were you supposed to do when someone pushed back on this, and maybe had a point?

Well. Had a point for Dustin and the Sinclairs. Steve knew that his parents didn’t give a shit and wouldn’t care to listen to what he had to say on the matter. But still, he got the general vibe of it all. 

The energy in the room massively shifted after that. Dustin gave Steve the run-down on what was happening with the rest of the party. Erica and Lucas chimed in where they could (all obviously omitting the demon side of the stories). 

Apparently Max was not doing well, emotionally at least, but had been released from the hospital to spend time with her family. Nobody could get in touch with her over the phone or over the walkies, but Eleven and Hopper were stopping by daily, and they assured that they were doing everything they could for her.

They also said that the mall was completely toast– completely. It shouldn’t have burned down all the way, but somehow, mysteriously, it had (Erica muttered about spook bastards and freak-show men in black). Even the parking structures had been roasted. Hopper had managed to find Steve’s car though, with a little help from Dustin, and it had been driven back to Steve’s house to sit parked on his driveway until he came home to look it over.

They’d chatted for the longest time, until visiting hours were over and everyone had to say goodbye. Lucas and Erica both waved, and Dustin gave Steve the most careful hug in the world.

“We’ll be back tomorrow as well,” Tamara promised. “Your aura is clearing up immensely, and it’s surely from the company.”

“Right,” Steve agreed, not understanding even in the slightest what the hell she was talking about. Robin was groaning into her hands, so probably he would have to ask her when they were alone. 

A week later, Steve was cleared to leave. He now knew three basic things:

1. He was going to be in constant agonizing pain for the next month or so
2. His parents didn’t care
3. Robin loved him very much

And now here he was. 

Squinting out the window, dressed in an oversized sweater that he didn’t own. A little nervous, but mostly excited.

Chapter Text

“I want mine to be a basketball.”

“No,” Erica scoffed, dipping her paintbrush daintily into a swirl of white.

“Okay fine. A poison dart gun.”

Robin looked at him incredulously. “Dude, what? A what?”

“Yeah, they’re like… cool? I don’t know, dude. And Erica said no to a basketball for whatever reason–”

“They are ponies Steve, they don’t play basketball.” The you idiot went unsaid, but Steve could read it in the roll of her eyes. Erica put the finishing touches on the eyes of the miniature horse figurine in front of her with an exaggerated flourish. The four of them were sitting at the dining room table, newspapers splayed out and paints squirted onto paper plates. Robin was somehow already covered in paint, although she had barely even begun to decorate her little dollar store plastic horse.

“And,” Erica continued, “a poison dart gun is nothing more than an overdramatic stand-in for people who can’t use real guns, and resort to goofy cartoon violence.”

“I mean, a poison dart gun is kind of cool,” Dustin defended loyally, if not a tinge doubtfully. “Although probably ponies also can’t use guns.”

Steve threw up his hands. “You all hate creativity.”

“No, you just need to choose something that represents you. That’s what a cutie mark is. When have you ever used a poison dart gun?”

“Okay, when have you ever been able to hypnotize people?” He gestured at her pony, a cute pink and green striped animal with a darker purple swirl on its flank. It was still tacky with paint, and the twinkles on the animals eyes were a little splotchy. And yet it looked kind of amazing.

Erica covered it with her hand protectively, glaring. “It’s metaphorical. It symbolizes my strong mental prowess and persuasive abilities.”

“Well, maybe my poison dart gun is metaphorical,” Steve muttered rebelliously. She had a bit of a point though. Shit. “What should I even choose then?” He looked around the room mournfully. “Quick, someone tell me something about myself.”

“If you were an animal you’d be a cat.”

“Your favorite mythical creature is a vampire.”

“You’re very friendly and laid-back.”

“You’re learning to knit.”

“You like sports!”

“And yet, no basketball,” Steve scowled overdramatically.

“I mean, it is kind of boring,” Robin admitted. “Like, it’s just an orange circle, dude. At least do a cat. Come on, you know I’m right…”

In the end, Steve painted the cat, despite Erica’s complaints about an animal being another animal’s cutie mark. Truthfully, Steve didn’t think that Erica really cared one way or another if he painted a basketball, or a cat, or whatever. He thought it more likely that she just liked being in charge and was pleased that people were listening to her.

She was a gregarious, adventurous little girl, but– she was a little girl with an older brother, and if Steve knew anything about that (which he thought he thought he did, after being friends with Carol for so long) he understood that a little control now and then probably felt nice.

Erica had guided Dustin into painting a walkie-talkie, which Steve thought was actually really cute, and Robin had begun to paint… well… the less said about that, the better.

“You know, you’re not so bad at this,” Dustin commented, impressed, 15 minutes later. His walkie talkie cutie mark was nothing more than a grey blob with yellow dots around it (they were supposed to be electrical sparks) and the red for the inside of the figurine’s mouth made it look a bit like it was drooling blood.

“Well no need to sound so surprised.” Steve carefully painted a shadow under his horse’s shoulder. Elbow? Whatever. Honestly, his little horse guy was looking pretty cool and he kind of got why Erica enjoyed this shit. It was soothing or whatever, and also kind of fun to do arts and crafts again. He hadn’t made something like this since middle school art class.

He just wished he didn’t hurt so much. It had been about a week since he’d left the hospital and gone home with Robin’s family, and somehow, he just felt worse. He couldn’t lift his arms above his head, breathing too deeply was excruciating, and his right eye was just now opening back up. It had swollen shut in a puffy, green and yellow seal, only cracking back open on the fifth day laying in bed.

Showering hurt, because apparently he had little cuts on his scalp, he couldn’t walk without crutches, and the marks around his wrists and arms had turned a deep black, matching with Robin’s.

And even now, enjoying a soothing little painting night-in at the Buckley’s, he had a headache.

His attention was dragged back into the present as Dustin continued, “Well, you’re just good at more physical things – sports and stuff. Art seems like the total opposite.”

“Art is a physical thing, dude.”

“I mean, I guess Steve has a point,” Robin mused, taking his side. “Like, sports teaches you patience and fine motor skills, both of which are used in art.”

“How does sports teach you patience?” Dust scoffed.

“What, you think I just woke up one day and was great at basketball? No. That shit takes practice, man. Working out every day, watching what you eat. Practicing. And teamwork! Do you know how much patience you have to have for all that teamwork? Bobby Durst once blew the easiest play in the whole world because he was distracted by his girlfriend on the bleachers, and I had to pat him on the back and say ‘No sweat dude. It happens to the best of us,’ and then trust him to throw me the ball in the next half when he was supposed to. Do you know how much trust and patience that takes? A lot!”

He shook his head, still dismayed by the memory, and Robin snapped her fingers. “I think I actually remember that,” she said. “The other guys were literally screaming at him, and Frank C. was on his knees, clutching his hair like some sort of defeated action hero. It was hilarious.”

“Not for me.”

“It’s kind of like D&D,” Erica interrupted, making Dustin snap his head to her in horror, eyes wide.

“Um, no it’s not!”

“Yes it is, dipshit.” She pointed her paintbrush at him threateningly, ignoring as a bright purple blob dropped to the newspaper covered counter. “You work together, you have strategy, you spend a bunch of hours on it –”

“Hey, since when do you like D&D anyway? You always make fun of Lucas when we’re playing!”

“That’s because it’s Lucas. It’s quite literally my job to make fun of him.”

“It’s only a job if you’re getting paid,” Robin pointed out, and Erica scoffed.

“I’m paid in satisfaction. And anyway, listening in on those idiots made me realize that they make a bunch of stupid decisions that I would never make.”

“Which makes you want to play,” Robin translated.

“Exactly.”

Steve wasn’t sure this was precisely the truth, but he knew an opportunity when he saw one. “I’ll play D&D with you if you and Dustin play a game of pick-up basketball with me and Robin,” he offered.

This, predictably, caused an uproar.

The absolute horror and disgust on Dustin’s face, paired with the loud shouting of Robin and Erica, made him laugh, although the throbbing in his head was unfortunately increasing like the ever-building steam in a tea kettle.

“Are you crazy?” Dusting shrieked. “Me, playing basketball? Who do you take me for?”

“The last time I played a sport I broke a girl’s arm Steve, do you really want me included in this?”

“Baskets are very high, Harrington. Very high–”

The arguing was interrupted by the echo of the doorbell, although the shouting didn’t dissipate, if anything growing louder. From the kitchen came a loud clang and clatter, and Ron Buckley bustled out into the hallway, calling over his shoulder, “I’ve got it!” He peeked through the glass next to the door and then, beaming, threw it open.

“Sue! Charles! And Lucas! Please, come in.” He stepped aside and ushered in Mr. And Mrs. Sinclair, with Lucas tagging along at their elbow. “Despite any shouting you may hear, they seem to be having a good time,” Mr. Buckley was saying, voice elevated to be heard over the continued arguing in the room.

“Why are you guys yelling?” Lucas asked, coming over to the table while his parents broke off to talk with Ron. “Dude, you’re making them paint My Little Ponies with you?”

“Shut up nerd,” Erica snapped. “We’re having a good time and they like painting with me.”

She had thrown her shoulders back and jutted out her jaw defensively against her brother’s perceived ridicule, and Robin immediately jumped to Erica’s defense. “I’m actually having a blast. I’m feeling very relaxed!”

“Really? And the shouting is because…?”

“Because Steve is extorting us!” Dustin thumped a fist on the table, making his pony wobble. “Plain extortion! He’ll play D&D with us–”

“Wait, really?!”

“-- but only if we play basketball with him!”

“Basketball?” Lucas stared, and Steve waggled a finger at them all.

“Basketball is fun and good for your health, and if you gave it a shot, you might like it!”

“I mean… Basketball does seem kind of fun…”

“Traitor!” Dustin shrieked at Lucas, while Robin burst out laughing.

Eventually, it was agreed. Once Steve had healed up a little more, they would head out to the basketball courts in the woods. In the meantime, Dustin, Erica, and Lucas (who appeared much more enthused about the whole thing than any of them had predicted) would set up a one-shot and help Robin and Steve with their characters.

While the group was polishing off the details of the plan, Robin slipped away quietly, ignoring Steve’s questioning look. She came back with a glass of water, setting it in front of Steve. “Drink up,” she ordered. “You’re wilting like a sunflower in the winter.”

“Yes Mom,” he grumbled, pretending that her care didn’t make his insides squirm with happiness.

“Our parents are in the kitchen arguing about Steve, by the way,” Robin continued. “And about where he should stay.” She sounded amused, but Steve nearly sprayed his mouth of water in horror, the happiness in his stomach immediately turning to lead. Oh shit. He’d overstayed his welcome. Mr. Buckley was just too polite to say anything. He knew this was going to happen eventually. “Yeah,” she continued, before Steve could get worked up any further. “Erica and Lucas’s parents want to take him home, but my dad is not budging.”

The frantic scrambling in his brain came to a screeching halt. “Um. What?”

“My parents kind of love you man,” Lucas said, embarrassed. “I keep telling them to chill, but, you know.”

“Dude, I haven’t even met your parents. Why would they like me?”

“Probably because you beat up a 200 pound racist for Lucas,” Erica said, sounding bored. “They basically want to adopt you now.”

“I vaguely remember that happening differently. ‘Vaguely’ because the plate to the head did not help with memory retention.”

Next to him, Robin cringed and muttered, “Jesus…” Dustin, however, was more hung up on a different part of the conversation. “Hey, my mom also wants to adopt you Steve. You can’t let yourself be adopted by Lucas’s parents, okay?”

“This is very strange to me.”

“Look, all I’m saying is, we were friends first.”

Ron and Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair came into the dining room, and Steve sat up straight, watching them all approach with wide eyes. Mr. Sinclair marched over to him like a man on a mission, eyes trained firmly on Steve, and Steve felt himself stiffen. He suddenly remembered Lucas mentioning once that his father had served in the Vietnam War. In that moment, Mr. Sinclair bearing down on him, fire in his eyes, it could not be more evident. Oh shit.

Lucas said that his parents liked him, but he did help drag their 11 year old daughter into an underground lair where she almost died. So. Maybe some mixed feelings? Mr. Sinclair came to a stop in front of him, arm raising quickly, and–

Steve flinched. He flinched like it was second nature.

Mr. Sinclair’s eyes widened, and the man cleared his throat. He finished his motion by holding out a hand to Steve, much slower. “Hi Steve. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person.” Embarrassed and shaken, Steve took his hand quickly and returned Mr. Sinclair’s firm, solid handshake. “I’ve heard a lot about you from my children.”

“Good things,” Sue Sinclair added quickly, looking at Steve worriedly. “And we just wanted to mention that if you ever wanted a change in scenery, you are always welcome in our home.”

“Thank you,” Steve responded, overwhelmed. “That’s really kind of you.”

“We mean it, son,” Mr. Sinclair firmly added. “Any time.” He turned to Robin next. “And you must be Robin. My daughter has told me a lot about you as well.”

Erica, who had carefully scooped up her drying figurine and was standing next to her mother, hopped up and down and moaned, “Mooom!”

Robin, grinning sheepishly and suddenly looking as overwhelmed as Steve felt, shook Mr. Sinclair’s hand next. “Um. Erica’s great. We’re going to play basketball together.”

Mr. Sinclair’s eyebrows shot up. “Really.”

“As long as these dorks hold up their end,” Erica interrupted quickly, pointing threateningly between Steve and Robin. “And they’d better!”

“Erica! It’s not nice to threaten your friends!”

“Yeah, Erica.”

Erica shook a fist at her brother, and Mrs. Sinclair huffed, looking fond and amused. “Okay, that’s enough of that then. We’ll see you all later, okay? Goodbye Robin and Steve. Thank you for hosting Ron.”

“Of course Sue.”

With a few last waves (and violent gestures between the siblings) the Sinclairs were out the door.

Dusting immediately turned to Steve, eager. “So what type of character do you want to be for our one-shot?”

Steve smirked evilly. He had just the idea.

Chapter Text

“I really need you to slow down,” Steve groaned, hobbling after Dustin as best he could. “Like, I am begging you dude.”

“They’re going to be sold out!” Dustin shrieked. “Because of your weak will–”

“My weak will? Dude! My weak patella! Give me a break!”

“Dusty,” his mother chided, hovering along next to Steve, poised to lunge for him in case he fell. Which, okay, was a little much, but the action was so sweet and motherly and thoughtful, that it could only make him feel warm inside. “Your friend is injured.”

“Sorry! Sorry Steve. It’s just, this manual is crucial for our elevated gameplay and if we don’t get it, Mike is going to kill me!”

“We put it on hold sweetie. It’s going to be there.”

“Well what if someone steals it?!”

Steve and Claudia exchanged amused, commiserating looks.

“You guys can just go ahead,” Steve said. “I’m really fine.”

“How about Dustin goes ahead, and you and I take our time and window shop as we go,” Claudia suggested lightly. “Go on Dusty. Just be careful!”

“Totally careful!” Dustin yelped and dashed away down the block, dodging pedestrians with shocking ease, eventually lunging into a store on the corner.

“That boy,” Claudia said, mopping her forehead with a handkerchief. “So passionate!”

The three of them were in Indianapolis. Dustin and his mother needed to pick up a Dungeons and Dragons gameplay handbook that Dustin and his friends had been (not so) patiently awaiting the release of. Steve had tagged along as a way to give Robin and her family space, and also to try to find a Birthday present for Robin, who was turning 18 at the end of the month.

July in Indianapolis was hot and crowded and fun. Steve loved big cities. Hawkins was such a small, miserable town in comparison, and he was always reminded of the fact whenever he left. It was thrilling to see all the different types of people, and the weird stores, and all the dogs being walked. He’d never see so many dogs before.

He just… felt bad about holding the Henderson’s back. They’d been happy loading him and his crutches in their car, packing his medications in a big ziplock bag and lugging dozens of water bottles into the trunk. Mrs. Henderson had even tucked away two different pairs of sunglasses for Steve, just in case. It was very clear that they knew what they were getting into, taking Steve along with them, while he was still healing.

Still, he thought, struggling to contain his gasps and huffs as he hobbled along in the bright, searing heat, he was obviously making things worse, and the others must know that, too. 

“Let’s slow down a little, Steve,” Claudia said gently, purposefully shortening her strides. “We’re in no rush.”

“Maybe just a little slower,” he gritted out, trying to avoid putting any more weight on his knee. The doctors had popped everything back in place at the hospital, but even now, three weeks in, it still throbbed like a heartbeat, pulsing in time with the sharp pains in his ribs and collarbone and face. Sometimes it felt like he was never going to get better, and was just going to stay upright as a blackened corpse that breathed and stumbled and hurt.

He tried to keep those feelings shoved deep, deep down, but at times like this, where he was obviously ruining everything, it all kind of felt miserable and hopeless.

“Sweetie,” Claudia took ahold of his uninjured shoulder softly, pulling him to a halt. “Let’s take an actual break, okay? Come here, come here.” She ushered him onto a nearby bench, and pressed him gently down, before rummaging hurriedly in her gigantic purse. She pulled out a plastic bottle and broke the seal on the cap, passing the bottle into his shaking hands. “Drink some water.”

It was tepid and tasted cloying, but he gulped it down like a dying man.

“I'm sorry if we asked too much of you,” Claudia said, taking a seat next to him with a quiet oof. “Bringing you here. We just thought – the both of us – that it would be nice to spend some time together.”

“No no! It’s nice! I’m just… really sorry that I’m blowing it for us. I didn’t think it was going to be this hard to just – just move.” He huffed out an irritated breath, looking down and twisting the bottle around in his hands. “Even after last year, it wasn’t like this. And last year was, um. Yeah, it was pretty bad.”

He kept things vague. Ms. Henderson was gentle, attentive, and loving. And still, somehow, incredibly clueless. He didn’t quite understand how Ms. Henderson didn’t suspect something after all the years of demonic shenanigans that had been going on, but… she just didn’t. 

He realized that maybe the cluelessness came from a deep well of trust – trust in her son and trust in the police and the government. And that was hard to fault.

He had used to have trust in the government, himself. It was only after he’d been threatened with a bullet in the head by a man with a badge that he had realized exactly how corrupt and vile shit could be.

Claudia, he supposed, just wasn’t there yet. She was a busy, single mother to a teen boy with an expensive medical condition. That alone was enough to take up her attention, anyway.

“That was when that boy from school got violent with Lucas?” Claudia asked, rubbing his arm gently. “I don’t think I saw the worst of things, but Dusty told me all about it. I’m sorry that happened.”

“It was fine!” He said quickly. “Really. I guess I’m just frustrated or something. I’m kind of useless like this.”

“Useless? Don’t use words like that about yourself, okay? You’re just injured. And you’ll get better.”

“I know… it’s just…”

It really hurts, he wanted to scream. Everything hurts all the time and my head sometimes feels like it’s going to explode and I have ugly scars on my face and I get winded going up the stairs and I can’t wash my own hair correctly and the vision in my left eye is still completely blurry and people keep staring at me –

“I’m just tired,” he finished lamely, smiling weakly over at his friend’s mom. “Sorry for making this into a big thing,”

“Oh,” she tsked, leaning over and giving him a soft, one armed side hug. “Now don’t you apologize Steve Harrington. You are no trouble at all.”

“Thank you. Uh. Is it okay if I just hang out here for a bit though? I think I need to just drink a bit of water and rest my leg for a while and then I’ll be ready to go again.”

“Of course!” She settled herself more comfortably on the bench, and he blushed.

“Oh! No, you don’t have to wait with me, Ms. Henderson. You should go check on Dustin and find that book. He might literally lose his mind if he doesn’t get his hands on it in the next 10 minutes.”

He saw her wavering.

“I’d also really like to enjoy the fresh air for a bit more,” he coaxed. “I think it’s good for my lungs.”

“Well… if you’re sure,” she relented. “I’ll just pop into the store and check on things.”

“Please. And I’ll head right over! See you soon.”

He watched her hurry down the sidewalk, giving people cheerful nods as she passed, and he breathed a sigh of relief, tilting his head back and closing his eyes behind his sunglasses. He wished Robin was here. Nowadays, he kind of always wished Robin was around. 

He took a few more minutes to himself, watching behind his sunglasses at all the people walking by, chatting and laughing and bickering and yelling. It was nice to just sit for a change. It was hard to imagine giant corpse monsters bursting out of the ground in a place like this.

Eventually, he thought he’d sat enough, and downed the rest of his water. He tossed the empty bottle in the garbage next to the bench and struggled back to his feet. Making his way down the street was a little easier this time, now that he’d had a bit of a break, and he was halfway to the Game Store when something caught his eye.

He turned.

The glossy window to his right was painted with a big sun and moon and also Madonna, blonde hair flowing, a flirty smile on her face. The name of the store was The Rose Triangle. Which… okay. He was new to this stuff but he was pretty sure… 

Steve glanced behind him and, not seeing Claudia or Dustin, hobbled quickly into the store, immediately plunging into a cool, brightly lit setting. Bookshelves rose up the sides of the walls and little tables were scattered here and there with pamphlets. The low-light interior was an absolute blessing, and he slipped off his sunglasses, relieved by the reprieve.

The employee behind the counter was a young looking man with hair dyed black and a nose piercing. He only did a bit of a double take at Steve’s battered appearance, which Steve was thankful for. Steve returned his nod of greeting with an awkward smile and shuffled himself further into the store, taking it all in.

Steve didn’t hate reading, but it wasn’t exactly his favorite pastime. He didn’t think he’d ever just sat down to read a chapter book for pleasure, not since he was eight and he’d stayed up all night to finish Ribsy by Beverly Cleary. Reading just wasn’t as fun as drawing, or doing cartwheels, or climbing trees. Even now, he’d rather go for a run or something than read.

But, you know, Robin liked to read. In fact, Robin loved to read. And Robin, also liked, well…

He clamped a crutch under his arm and picked up one of the pamphlets on the table. It folded out into three sections, and he realized it was more like a comic. He squinted at it, ignoring the dark spots floating in the vision of his left eye. 

Girls. 

Girls in bikinis.

Girls in bikinis sitting on each other's laps at the beach.  

This is definitely the right place, he thought to himself, almost in shock. He didn’t know you could find things like this in public. It wasn’t sexy or salacious, was the thing. Sure, they were in bikinis, but they weren’t posed weird, and they were smiling widely, and they were holding hands. They looked… happy.

He put the pamphlet down and picked up one from the other stack. He unfolded it, and, like a blow, the air rushed from his lungs. 

He stared. 

He stared for a long, long time. It was… different from the pamphlet with the women. Largely because this one showed joyful, content men, but also because… well… because…  

Something clicked inside him, the world shifting just to the right.

It was only when the bell jingled behind him and he glanced up automatically that he realized he was crying.

He blinked the teary blur out of his good eye and made direct contact with Claudia Henderson. She was standing, frozen, just in front of the door. Her eyes were locked on the pamphlet in Steve’s hands.

He dropped it like it was on fire.

“It’s – Ms. Claudia,” he stammered, turning ghost white. “Um. It was hot out and I was just browsing –”

“Steve.” She was almost as pale as he was, and he could physically see that her grip on the door handle was like a vice. “Are you–” Her breath stuttered and she visibly swallowed. “You are . I would never have known.”

“Please don’t tell,” he blurted, horrified by what was unfolding. And now he was crying for real. “I’m sorry, but please–”

“No sweetie, I won’t.” She hurried closer to him, still white in the face and shocked, but her expression was softening now, into something less frightening. “Oh Steve. It’s… It’s okay, baby.” She reached out, past his flinch, and folded him into a firm hug.

He started to sob.

“It’s okay sweetie,” she murmured soothingly, stroking his hair. “It’s all okay.” 

The tears flowed from him like he was a leaking faucet, and he clung to Ms. Henderson fiercely, face buried in her shoulder as he sobbed. “There there,” Claudia soothed. “Just let it out. You’re okay.”

She shuffled them both further into the bookstore, easing into an alcove away from the front and any potential prying eyes. She cradled him gently, like he’d always wished his own mother would, and let the sobs peter off into choked gulps.

Steve pulled back and sniffled wetly, staring at the patterned carpet of the floor. “I’m sorry,” he uttered softly, feeling like his heart had been wrenched out his chest. He didn’t even know what he was apologizing for, exactly. All of it, he supposed.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Claudia said firmly, holding both his hands in her own. “I’m sorry I found this out without your permission. Do… Do your parents know?”

He blanched, eyes shooting up to her face. “No! They would kill me. Literally. He would… he would kill me.”

Ms. Henderson’s lips pressed together tightly. “Well, they won’t hear it from me. I just… Steve. Sweetheart. I had no idea you were… like this.”

He sniffled again. “I’m sorry,” he repeated miserably, trying to pull his hands away, feeling dirty and awful and ashamed.

“Oh no – I don’t mean it like that. I’m not… I’m not doing this very well, am I?” Claudia chuckled, embarrassed and awkward. Still, she did not let go of his hands, and held on, tight and firm. “You’re still my Steven, okay? Dusty’s best friend. And I know you’d never do anything to hurt him, or make him feel uncomfortable. Even if you are different to how I thought you were. It’s okay, alright? I guess it goes to show that I shouldn’t be so quick to make assumptions. I’ll process this, I promise, and we can have another conversation later. A better one, okay?”

“We really don’t have to –”

“Yes, we do,” she interrupted, grip tightening. “Look at me, sweetie. I’m not saying what I mean to say to you, alright? You’ve been there for my Dusty in ways I can never repay you for, and I want you to know that we love you and support you. And you deserve happiness and safety. And I’m sorry for saying things all wrong. I’m just surprised, is all. But once I sit with this a little, we should talk again. Because I want to be there for you, and I want you to know that although the world can be cruel, the Henderson family will not be.”

The tears started coming again. “Okay,” he choked out, and Ms. Henderson pulled him in again for a tight, fierce hug. And even though it set his shoulder on fire, it felt better than he could have imagined.

After a time, Ms. Henderson handed him a packet of tissues from her never-ending bag, and they both mopped up their faces, chuckling embarrassingly at each other. Steve hobbled out to the front of the store, face blotchy, Ms. Henderson behind him. He couldn’t help glancing at the table that held the comic that had started all of this.

Claudia looked between him and the table, then marched over and snatched up the comic, chin held up firmly.

“What-?”

“We’re buying it, of course,” she said loftily, although Steve could see that her ears were bright red. She was, however, doing an admirable job at ignoring her own embarrassment. Truthfully, Steve didn’t know if he himself would have had the courage to buy the pamphlet, and he stared at her in awe. “Just this, please,” she told the cashier, smacking it down on the counter with the gravitas of a scorned woman serving her husband divorce papers. 

The cashier looked from the pamphlet, to Claudia, to Steve, then back to the pamphlet. “Of course.” He rang it up and placed it in a bag for them. 

“I’ll hold onto this for you until we get home,” Ms. Henderson told him, tucking the small plastic bag into her purse. 

The cashier leaned over the counter and whispered to Steve in a faux undertone. “Your mom is pretty cool.” Claudia blushed, pleased, and her spine straightened even more. Steve blushed as well, although for a different reason. 

When they finally hobbled into the Game store down the block, Dustin beelined to their side, hat askew, eyes sparkling. “What took you guys so long!” He shouted, waving the book in Steve’s face. “Look! I got it! Look! Isn’t it beautiful?”

“I have never in my life called a book beautiful, you dork,” Steve responded, throat still a bit clogged, and Dustin lowered the book slightly, squinting at him. Luckily, with his sunglasses back on, nobody could see how red his eyes were.

“Why do you sound like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you just watched the NeverEnding Story for the first time and saw Artax die?”

“Artax – wait – the horse dies?!” 

They’re half-way back to Hawkins when they have to pull over to get gas.

“Dusty dear,” Ms. Henderson said, pulling up to the last pump and twisting off the car’s engine with a flick of the keys. “Can you go and put $10 on Pump 4?”

“Yup!” He snatched the money from his mom and hopped out of the car, cocking an eyebrow at Steve when he landed. “You coming?”

“Sweetie, I think Steve needs to rest –”

“No no, I’m fine!” Steve said hastily, pulling himself and his crutches out of the car as well. It’s not that he didn’t want to be alone with Ms. Henderson exactly. It was just that he felt he needed a bit of space. He hadn’t even begun to process what had happened in the bookstore, with Claudia, let alone with what had happened with himself. 

He’d always… well.

When he was younger…

Even approaching those thoughts exploded a hot flush of horror all throughout his body, and he was not ready to approach any of it. Not without Robin, at least.

Plus, okay, the gas station was a bit seedy, and he wouldn’t want Dustin to get kidnapped. Again…

“We should get some candy too, I have $2 on me. We should get a Hershey’s bar for sure,” Dustin chattered as they entered the gas station building, bell dingling above the door as they pushed their way in. Steven’s nose wrinkled as he looked around. What a dump! There were stains on the floor, everything smelled weird, and there was a massive water stain on the ceiling. 

The air conditioner spluttered overhead like a dying washing machine, drowning out all other sounds.

“Let’s be quick in here, man,” Steve said to Dustin in a loud undertone as they browsed the candy aisle. “This place is literally disgusting.”

“So judgmental,” Dustin tutted, taking his leisurely time poking through the M&M’s. “It’s not that bad.”

“Uh, it’s bad. It smells like a garbage compactor full of rotting corpses in here.”

“That’s disgusting, and descriptive, and I hope you never say anything like that again.”

“It’s just the truth.” Steve held up a bag of Skittles. “If you buy me this I’ll pay you back.”

“You don’t have money?”

“I spent it all on those cards at the Game shop. And anyway, I don’t have a job anymore, so I need to save up.”

“Ugh, fine, hand it here.”

The counter is empty when they walk up to it, and Dustin frowns, looking around. “Um, hellooo?” He tap-tapped the bell on the counter vigorously. Steve hid a wince at the grating sound.

There was a rattling as the pink and blue bead curtain behind the counter parted and a tall, broad Caucasian man shouldered his way through, a frown on his face. His nose had obviously been broken in the past and he was, inexplicably, wearing a cowboy hat indoors.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” He grit out, glaring at them. He had the eyes of a snake and angry, slanting eyebrows.

Suddenly, Steve could feel himself sweating.

“Ummm,” Dustin said cautiously, shoulders rising. He clearly also felt whatever it was that had sent goosebumps prickling over Steve’s neck. “Can we get these two and then also $10 on Pump Four?”

The man (Sam, according to his name tag) reached out and snatched the $10 from Dustin’s hand, ignoring the way Steve flinched back, throwing his arm across Dustin’s chest protectively.

“Do you want your receipt?”

“We’re fine,” Steve answered quickly, blushing furiously as he lowered his arm. He grabbed the candies from the counter hastily and began to tug Dustin away, ignoring the weird look Dustin was side-eying at him. “Thanks.”

Just as they reached the door, Steve heard something over the rattle of the air conditioner. Something faint and soft, but desperate. He paused. Listened. It sounded like… meowing? He cocked his head, straining to hear better.

“You need something?” Gas Station Sam called over, and when Steve looked back at him, he was watching them, reptile eyes narrowed.

“Nope!” He dragged Dustin out the door.

Chapter Text

The Conversation About Things did not happen the first night at the Buckley house. After Robin’s dad drove them back from the hospital, to his own relief, Steve fell asleep almost immediately, likely due to the heavy cocktail of drugs in his body.

No, The Conversation About Things happened the next night, when Mr. and Mrs. Buckley were fast asleep, and Steve and Robin were crowded together against Robin’s headboard, both wrapped up in overly large sweaters and hugging stuffed animals.

Steve was sitting up very stiffly, as that was the only position that didn’t stretch his ribs or his collarbone. He had to speak out of the right side of his mouth still, because somehow speaking with his whole mouth hurt his face bone – the occipital ridge or whatever. The one that was currently shattered in little bits under his skin. Well okay, maybe not shattered but Jesus something was wrong in there.

The overhead lights were off and just a little glowing frog nightlight pulsed in the room.

“So,” Steve continued his story, fingers brushing self-soothingly over the fur of the purple hippo on his lap. “I ran out the door since I thought that Nancy might literally shoot me. And I just sprinted to my car, terrified. But then there were these, like, sounds from inside. And the lights started flashing – those Christmas lights .

And I just knew that something bad was happening inside. Something really bad. So I ran back onto the porch and then there was screaming from the house and some gunshots.”

“Oh,” Robin gasped, leaning forward. Her eyes were wide and she was clutching a furry stuffed turtle in her arms.  “Nancy was shooting?”

“Yeah. At the thing. I didn’t know that from outside though. I honestly kind of… well.” He cringed, somewhat embarrassed. “I thought maybe something was going on between Nancy and Jonathan? I mean, obviously I knew that something weird was going on, but I didn’t think it was demonic weird, you know? I thought maybe… I don’t know, they’d had mental breakdowns or something? Or maybe Jonathan had, and he’d pulled Nancy into things? Or maybe she was into a cult thing? I mean, I didn’t really think any of this, for real, but my mind was going crazy. Just… really, really crazy.”

“No, that makes sense. And you’d already seen that Nancy was hurt, and Jonathan had taken those weirdo pictures. So I can see why you’d wonder.”

“Right. But then, uh, yeah, I opened the door and it was the fucking thing. And it was big, Robin. Tall and big and it just looked all weird. Texturally, I mean.”

“Texturally?”

“Yeah. I don’t really know how to describe it, but it wasn’t human skin, although it was still fleshy? And it looked like a person, but it didn’t have a face. And its legs and arms were all long and- and honestly it was just the worst thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Ever worse than the giant corpse spider?”

“Honestly? Yeah. I guess maybe because it was the first really awful thing I’d seen. But also maybe because it looked almost human. Something about that, just… I don’t know. I haven’t been super worried about the corpse spider showing up again, mostly because I feel like we might see it? Considering the size –”

“It was really big,” Robin agreed and Steve huffed a half-heartedly amused laugh.

“Right. But that thing. Jesus. It could come through the bedroom wall right now and we’d never fucking know. We could open the door and it would be on the other side. We could go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and it could just be there, in the hallway.” He grew silent, thinking. Robin’s face was pale. 

“Whenever I look into the woods, I think I see it. And I do a double take, and it’s just shadows, or branches, or even just fucking nothing. But I always think it’s there. And what would I do if I did see it, and it started walking towards me? The way it did that night, with Nancy and Jonathan? How would I defend myself? What could I grab to hurt it? Could I be fast enough? How could I tell everyone else that it was back?” He sighed deeply, playing with the sleeves of his borrowed sweater. ”I just… think about these things now. All the time. And it’s really exhausting, Robin.”

“Yeah, I kind of uh, get it now.” She laughed rather grimly, petting absentmindedly at her stuffed turtle. “Like, I’ve kind of been thinking about the corpse spider non-stop. And what would happen if it poked its nasty little arm into my window.”

They both looked over at Robin’s window. It was shuttered and the curtains were pulled, and Steve grimaced at the thought of the blinds rattling, a goopy tentacle pushing its way through.

“Yeah, that would suck.”

“It would. And I’ve only been in on this for a few weeks and I’m already feeling the effects, and you’ve been dealing with all of this for years. And I never would have imagined.”

“That was kind of the point.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Robin quieted for a moment, lost in thought, before shaking herself out of it and nudging him onward. “So anyway, What happened next? After you ran back in and saw the thing? What was it doing? It had attacked Nancy and Jonathan?”

Steve continued with his explanation of his first experience with monsters, all the while gripping his purple hippo tightly.

Now, a month later, Steve was laying on Robin’s bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to galvanize himself for another Conversation, this time of a different type.

“And I just think, that if you are going to make such a big deal out of the fabric, does it really matter? Like, cotton is not the end all be all of the textile world, and honestly? It can be kind of expensive,” Robin chattered passionately to Steve as she got ready for bed. They always did their night-time ritual together. “Steve? Hello, are you listening? What do you think about this?”

“I think that linen is the way to go,” Steve said. “Also, something happened today with Ms. Henderson.”

The clattering in the bathroom stopped. Robin popped her head out, frowning at him. Her hair was still wet from the shower. She was wearing an oversized Mental Health Awareness Starts at Home t-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms that were almost too big. Steve resolutely ignored her gaze, his own remaining firmly glued to the glow in the dark stars glued to the plaster overhead. He had already taken his own shower, his mind spinning all the while. Mr. and Mrs. Buckley were out for the weekend, and it was just him and Robin in the house, alone.

“What do you mean, something happened? Something bad?”

“Sort of. Or maybe it was really good.”

“What does that mean?” Robin padded over to the bed and sat beside him. Her hand was still clutching her hairbrush and her eyebrows were beginning to draw together in worry. “How was it both? What happened?”

“Um. Well.”

He sat up and faced Robin. Or at least, he tried. He wasn’t sure when he’d started, but he was sweating. He was sweating and he felt overheated and shaky and as he raised a hand to swipe at his face, he realized also that his hands were trembling. It felt, horribly, like he was back at Jonathan’s house, trying to jam his key into his car door while a monster crawled out of the ceiling inside.

He couldn’t even make eye contact.

“Steve?” 

“Um. I need to….” It felt like there was a rock in his throat. He couldn’t even say the fucking words.

“Hey, Steve. Are you alright? What happened with Ms. Henderson?” Robin leaned forward, looking, he could tell from the corner of his eyes, incredibly concerned. “Can you tell me?”

“I am trying,” he managed to grit out. “ Shit.”

“Oh shit,” Robin echoed. “Um. Okay. Do you want to like, write it down? Or should I guess? I mean, there’s like, no way of me getting it right probably, but I can try? Did Ms. Henderson figure out something about the demons? Or – did… did they come back –?”

And the rising fear in Robin’s voice was too much and he finally managed to force the words, cutting her off abruptly. “I came out to Ms. Henderson.”

Robin dropped her hairbrush and it fell to the floor with a clatter. “You what?!”

“I came out to Dustin’s mom.” Now, the words came easier. Like just saying the first few had broken the dam and it could all leak out now, along with all the fear and the relief and the dread.

“But – but why? You’re not –”

“I found something for you for your Birthday. And she saw me holding it. And she assumed. And I didn’t correct her.”

“Oh my God, Steve.” She reached out and grabbed his shaking hands. Hers felt almost as clammy as his own. “That’s… that’s crazy. You didn’t tell her it was a misunderstanding? I mean, she would have believed you right? Oh my god.” Her face was white. “I’m so sorry!”

“No, Robin, I’m –” He forced another swallow, throat still tight. “I like boys.”

“What?”

“I do. Shit! You’re the first person I’m actually saying this to. Ms. Henderson assumed, but she was right. Robin, I like boys.” He stared at her anxiously, feeling sick to his stomach. Robin looked back, gobsmacked.

“You like boys?!” She hissed, leaning forward, eyes wide. “Like, for real? Actually? Like, romantically?”

He nodded, somewhat miserably.

“Oh my god. Oh my god! You just figured this out? Are you serious? You really like boys?”

“I do. But… I’ve known since I was 12.”

“Since you were 12? But – when I came out to you, you didn’t say anything. And, I mean, you’ve had a month now to bring it up. Did you think I wouldn’t believe you or something?” She looked wounded, gutted really, at the thought that Steve might not have trusted her enough to share this. He hurried to correct her.

“I’ve known since I was 12 but I haven’t thought about it since.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means my dad would have kicked the absolute shit out of me if he had known, and I didn’t want anyone to throw rocks at me at school, and I was 12 and really scared. So I just… didn’t think about it. And then it wasn’t real and it didn’t exist, and I was normal until today and then I feel like something cracked? Inside of me? And I couldn’t not think about it anymore, and even though I feel like I’m kind of dying right now, I just couldn’t do it anymore. Or, not do it anymore, I guess.”

“That’s… that’s a lot.” She squeezed his hands harder. “I believe you, obviously, and I’m, like, very sympathetic to your plight because basically I’ve been going through the exact same thing, which sucks, of course, but also I’m so, so happy and overjoyed and I kind of want to run through the streets shrieking with exuberant glee. But that’s not appropriate and I’m assuming you probably feel like your life is falling apart right now?”

“I feel like I’m falling apart right now,” he admitted. 

“God, do I get that.” She chuckled wetly. “I mean, I really, really get that. But you know… I’m here for you, right? And you can talk to me about anything. And I mean anything, okay? And if your dad tries to beat you up, I’ll get my dad to beat him up.”

This startled a laugh out of him. “What?”

“Yeah man, my dad could totally beat your dad up. And he’d do it, too.”

“Even if it was because I like boys?”

Robin shook her head. “It’s weird, because I’m like, painfully frightened at the thought of coming out to my parents. Like, desperately horrified at the thought. But they’re also super open-minded and I think they would probably be fine with it…? I mean, obviously their perception of me would change forever and I would never again be their same little girl and our relationship would be forever altered in ways in which I would loathe… But yeah, no, my dad would be down to beat up a homophobe, for sure.”

Now it was Steve’s turn to stare at her. “Um. That’s a lot from you Robin.”

She grinned sheepishly. “I’ve had basically my entire life to daydream about the ways I would ruin my relationship with my parents. What can I say?”

“Damn.” He shook his head. “Hardcore. Not great.”

“No, not great,” she agreed. “But we’re talking about you now, right? So… like… are you gay then?”

“Um. No. I do like boys but I still like girls, too.”

“Ohhh.”

“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. He was no longer sweating buckets, but now he just felt tight all over. “Bisexuality. You’ve heard of it then?”

“I have. Wow!” She laughed, and sounded almost giddy, but like she was trying to stifle it for his sake. “You’re the first bisexual person I’ve met.”

“Maybe not, right? Obviously there aren’t a ton of people like us out there, but, you know, statistically, someone at school has to be gay, or bisexual, or a lesbian.” It was something he’d thought about. A lot. And then of course immediately dismissed because why would he care about that? Right?

“Yeah. I mean, there are people I’ve suspected, or I guess maybe hoped? It’s hard to tell the difference sometimes. But you’re the first person I’ve ever actually known for sure. And I did not suspect you by the way. Like, at all.”

“ Good. Jesus. I can think of nothing worse or more frightening than having people know. Real people, I mean.”

Robin nodded, not at all put off by the fact that Steve was not considering her a ‘real person.’ She understood very clearly what he meant. “I used to have actual nightmares about it as a kid,” she confided. “It was the only recurring dream I’ve ever had in my life. It always started out with me being in the community pool. I’m swimming around, and I get to the shallow end and I’m sitting on the steps, and someone in a bikini comes and sits next to me. 

And all of a sudden she’s gasping and shouting and everyone in the pool swims over to the shallow end and there are like 20 people crowding around the two of us, just staring at me and whispering and I realize that they all know, somehow. That I’m a lesbian. And they think I was looking at this woman in her bikini and I can’t tell them I wasn’t because they don’t ever believe me. In some versions of the dream, I was looking at her. But in some of them, I wasn’t. They could just tell by looking at me that there was something wrong with me.”

Hearing this story made Steve want to curl into a ball. Or scream. Or maybe hit something. There were tears in the corner of Robin’s eyes and he hated it. 

“That’s fucked up,” he told her. It felt weak and paltry, but it was just the truth. It was fucked up. “You shouldn’t have to feel that way.”

“If only, huh? But I mean. You get it though. That’s just the way it’s going to be. For a long time. And it makes me feel absolutely insane, because there is nothing wrong with me. I know it! I’m not a pervert or a creep or a pedophile, now matter what anyone says, but none of them out there will ever believe it. And they’ll go on thinking all these horrible thoughts and they won’t leave Hawkins and their views won’t be challenged and they’ll be bigots until they die.”

“Not all of them,” Steve said. “Ms. Henderson was weirdly cool with it.”

“Was she? What did she say?”

He explained in detail then, the whole awkward affair of it all, cringing in horror at even the memory. “But I mean, I did get a free gay booklet out of it,” he concluded. “And it made me be honest with myself and with you. So I guess in the end, I can’t complain.”

“I mean, you could complain. You were outed to someone before you were ready. You could definitely complain.”

“Free booklet though.” He made a gesture as if weighing the two and Robin laughed.

They continued to talk for hours and hours, and the more they talked, the lighter Steve felt. It was like… he’d had on layers and layers of clothing for his whole life, and only now was he able to take those layers off, finally freeing himself up to feel the breeze on his skin and the warmth of the sun. 

It was maybe three in the morning, after getting juice and Oreos from the kitchen, Robin said, “So, um. Is it too soon for the yearbook? Because I’d love to do some yearbook action with you, unless it’s too soon.”

Steve blushed. “I guess I’d be down for the yearbook,” he said as nonchalantly as he could. Judging by the wide grin on Robin’s face, he hadn’t been too successful.

There had been quite a few sleepless nights at the Buckley residence, especially early on. A lot of nightmares, and getting used to each other, and staying up late watching movies together. One such sleepless night, after tossing and turning for what felt like hours, Steve had demanded Robin scrounge up her Sophomore yearbook and the two of them had huddled together against Robin’s headboard, flipping through pages and gossiping. Specifically, gossiping about girls.

Now, they scrambled to pull it back out and sat next to each other, shoulder pressed against shoulder, focused on a different demographic.  

“So, on this page, which guy do you find most attractive? And then second place and third place. And why?”

“Michael Cox is number one, John Crowhurst is number two, and Elliott Dunn is three.”

“Really, Michael number one? You sure?”

“Absolutely. I actually really liked Michael, back in school. He was on the basketball team and he could get everyone’s attention like that.” He snapped. “Just like, so commanding and leaderly and shit.”

“ Really.”

“ And he was also nice. Pat you on the back and tell you practice was great today. Stuff like that.”

“Interesting, okay. Taking notes. And what about John and Elliott?”

They continued like this for a while, sometimes agreeing, mostly not, before they got to a page near the end that caused what could only be considered A Disruption.

“What? No no. Steve, you are lying. There’s no way.”

“What?”

“You think he is the most attractive? This guy, here. That I’m pointing my finger at.”

“Yeah?”

“There’s no way.”

“What, you think he’s not?”

“Objectively, he is average to unattractive.”

“ What? No no. Come on. You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” She laughed incredulously. “You seriously think Eddie Munson is cute?”

“Hot,” he corrected and she practically brayed in shock.

“You think he is hot?”

“He is! I’m right! And I like guys, so I think I am the authority here.”

“No, you are clearly biased. As someone with no skin in the game, I can be objective. And this guy – this guy –” She tap-tap-taps her finger against Eddie’s picture, adding a little smudge to the gloss of the paper. “Is not it.”

Steve squints at her, suspicious. “Okay, is there some backstory here? That I don’t know about?” Because sure, maybe Eddie Munson wasn’t as hot as, say, Michael C., but he was good looking, in a scary, kind of weird way. (Okay, a very scary, weird way, but maybe Steve was kind of into that – so what?)

“I just think he’s kind of a dick. What with the yelling and the taunting and the making fun of people who aren’t exactly like him. It’s just… unattractive. I don’t like guys, but even if I did, there’s no way I would like Eddie of all people.” She scrunched her nose in disgust.

“You know,” he said coaxingly, “he brings a knife to school every day.”

“What? Wait. Is that a positive for you?!”

“Well, it’s hot! You don’t think it’s hot?”

“No! That’s absolute school shooter behavior, Steve. I just can’t believe you’re serious. Can you actually think people who suck are that attractive?”

“You think Tammy Thompson is attractive and she sucks,” Steve pointed out, and Robin scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“She doesn’t suck. Like, she’s kind of oblivious and goofy, but she’s nice and earnest and brave enough to follow her dreams. She doesn’t insinuate that everyone in band is a loser.”

“Ohhhh. Okay. I get it now.”

“I’m just saying!” Robin pouted. “Eddie is literally in a band himself and yet he’s like ‘The brain dead jock masses are crushing the lifeblood of the lowly commoner band folk beneath their sweaty feet’ or whatever. Like, okay, maybe you are a lowly commoner band guy or something, but I am normal.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” Robin reached over and smacked his uninjured leg in reproach, making him laugh. “Sorry, sorry.”

“But seriously. You were a high school jock, if we are going by stereotypes. Didn’t you think he was an asshole?”

“Well, not really. He was kind of annoying at times, but like, he wasn’t Billy- level awful. Um. Not to speak ill of the dead.”

“We’re not speaking ill, we’re just speaking,” Robin assured. “Wait. Did you think Billy was attractive?”

“Well, just physical feature wise, yeah, I guess.” Robin nearly spit in disgust, and Steve hurried on quickly, feeling like a frightened zoo keeper dodging the powerful spray of the world’s most angry camel. “ But I didn’t actually find him attractive personally. You know?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, like, he was fucking awful and racist and tried to beat up children and smacked girls asses in the hallways and shit. Wacko stuff.”

“Absolute wacko,” Robin agreed. 

“Right. So based on that, he was disgusting to me and I had a real, negative, physical reaction to him. After he tried to knock Lucas around I mean.”

“Also he beat you up with kitchenware,” Robin added. As if he could forget.

“Okay, that too. So anyway, yeah. Like, physical feature-wise, from a completely removed standpoint, he was attractive. Objectively speaking.” It felt awful to even say the words out loud. But this was Robin, so he pushed on, hoping to redeem himself. “ But I could never in my life be attracted to him. Because all I could think about was how sometimes Max would hang out and she’d have bruises on her arm.”

“Right. Okay. So you’re talking about being physically attractive versus attraction to.”

“Oh. Am I? I feel like there’s a third one though.” He listed them off on his fingers. “You find someone attractive, you are attracted to them, and then they are objectively attractive but you personally don’t find them attractive.”

“Hmm.” Robin rubbed her chin and thought about it. “That third one is a little nebulous. But let’s back up here. If you couldn’t find Billy attractive because of his personality, how do you find Eddie attractive?”

“Billy was an abusive racist. Eddie could be kind of a dick, it’s true, but after he made Sandy cry in my sophomore year he really eased up in a lot of ways. Billy would have never.”

“He made Sandy cry? Sandy Woods?”

“Yeah, he kind of insinuated that cheerleaders like, sleep around a bunch and stuff. And Sandy was seriously going through some shit for sure because she was totally crying in the bathroom later.”

“ Jesus. He is a dick.”

“Well, like I said. He really eased up. Stopped being mean to the girls, at least. I never heard him say anything like that again, and I’m pretty sure he apologized to Sandy because she was totally fine with him a week later. I don’t think he really thought things through before he said them sometimes. He was mostly trying to protect the unpopular kids from being bullied. Or at least, I think he was…”

“No, he was. I remember once in Econ when someone made a snarky joke during a kid’s presentation and Eddie like, physically lunged at the dude and the guy nearly fell out of his seat and Eddie was all, ‘Not so smooth yourself, are ya buddy?’ And then Eddie chuckled evilly like a little demented scientist or something and started sketching a picture of the guy getting eaten by wolves.”

This prompted a memory and Steve admitted, ears blushing, “I was whispering during a presentation once and he growled at me.”

Robin burst out laughing. “He what?” 

“Yeah, like growled literally, like a dog or something. And then just hissed, ‘Harrington,’ and gave me an ominous look. Like this.” He brushed his hair in front of his face, tilted his head down slightly and pursed his lips, copying as best he could the darkness that had emanated from Eddie in the moment

It only made Robin laugh even harder. “Shut up, that can’t even be close. And also he called you Harrington? What is he, in the ROTC?”

“What?”

“Calling everyone by their last name. Like, that’s so weird. Who does that?”

“Uh, me?”

“Yeah, but you play sports. All sports people do that. When I played soccer I was Buckley. Often just Buck, which I admit I found so-so.”

“That’s… a good point. I never thought about that.”

“Exactly. Eddie is just a weirdo. And I respect that he defends the losers of the world, but oh my god. I just can’t believe that you think he is hot! You have got to be the only one in the whole school.”

He must have made some sort of face at that, because Robin narrowed her eyes, leaning forward sharply. “What was that look?”

“What? Nothing.”

“Uhhh, no Steve. You had a look. What, do you know someone that has a crush on Eddie too?”

“Okay first, I don’t have a crush on Eddie, I just think he’s attractive. And secondly, no, but I know a couple of people who hooked up with him.”

“A couple?! What, like more than one?”

“Yeah, a couple. Like three.”

“You know three people who slept with Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson,” Robin repeated, gobsmacked. “You’re lying to me again.”

“I’m seriously not. Apparently he’s like, really good to the girls he gets with and he has. Well. You know.”

“I literally do not know. Do I want to?”

Even though they were alone in the house, Steve leaned forward and whispered his next words, “He has a big dick.”

“EW!” Robin shouted, pushing him away. “Don’t talk about a guy's dick to me!”

“What? Is this not the whole point of this? You want me to stay repressed and shit?”

Robin groaned loudly. “You’re so manipulative. It’s unfair. I forgot that you could turn that shit on.”

“I’m not manipulative, I’m just honest. He carries a knife, he’s got a big dick, and he’s kinky. The holy trifecta, pretty much.”

“Kinky? Seriously? Steve, how do you even know that?”

“So – okay. Do not tell anyone this, okay? But Charlotte Tillerson, who was one year ahead of me and two ahead of you – you remember her? Well, I hooked up with her a couple times and she told me that she had hooked up with Eddie – and that Eddie liked to be called Daddy during sex.”

Robin gasped, properly scandalized and delighted in equal parts. “What?! No way!”

“Yes! I’m serious! And she wanted to try calling me Daddy, but it was kind of weird, so instead–” His jaw clamped shut abruptly, stumbling over himself as he realized what he was about to reveal. 

“Wait, instead what?” She leaned forward eagerly.

And. 

Okay.

Normally he wouldn’t have told anyone this, not even under torture (something he was now well-qualified to talk about). But this was Robin, so…

“She had me call her Mommy for a bit,” he admitted, blushing furiously. 

“ What?! Oh my god!”

“I know it’s weird, okay? I know. But she asked so sincerely and was really nice, so I did.”

“And?”

“And… it was really hot, I guess.” He blushed harder.

“No shit? I’ve heard about the Daddy thing, but not the Mommy thing.”

“Me neither, until then. But. Yeah. Charlotte was… yeah, Charlotte was super cool.”

“Because she was Mommy,” Robin clarified, and Steve felt like he would never not be red.

“Well, it wasn’t just calling her Mommy, alright? Charlotte was a volleyball player, you know, and bigger and taller than me, and also older? And she just… took charge, and I found it very relaxing.”

“This is awesome. I’m learning so much about you Steve Harrington.” And from anyone else, said to him in that gleeful, delighted tone, Steve might have felt that he was being made fun of. But again, this was Robin, his supernatural entanglement, and he realized that he only felt seen and happy and content.

“You know me the best of anyone I know,” he admitted, and she smiled at him.

He could tell in that smile that Robin felt just the same.

“Anyway,” she said, bumping his good knee with her own leg. “Enough about Eddie Munson and all that. Who on this page do you find most attractive…”