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Steve and Robin's Guide to Finding a Partner in Ten (not so) Easy Steps
find the fic on AO3 here!
super excited to share my first ever stranger things bang fic! i wrote a post s3 au for the @stobinminibang 2026 event. what started as a small exploration of the trauma steve and robin endure quickly turned into much more than that. their story demanded to be told. and i'm happy i was able to tell it! the fic is 10 chapters, all of which will be posted in the next couple of days! the pov alternates primarily between steve and robin, with some guest appearances sprinkled in. chapters will all be uploaded in the next couple of days. they will also be sprinkled out on tumblr too :) find chapter 1 and chapter 2 on tumblr!
art:
i was so lucky to work with the brilliant Tomb Fiends on this! her art is STUNNING. her socials are linked here, so please go give her a follow and show some appreciation for her GORGEOUS art! socials: @ TombFiends bskytwitterinstagram
literally so in love with them :')))
Steve and Robin's Guide to Finding a Partner in Ten (not so) Easy Steps
AO3 | @stobinminibang 2026 event | rating: t | wc: 7.4k | cw: panic attacks | tags: post s3 au; mentions of injuries; the bmw serving its purpose in life; panic attacks; steve and robin becoming friends | gen masterlist
an: check out the artist for this fic! Tomb Fiends on bsky, twitter, and instagram :D
fic masterpost | ch: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 <3
Chapter 1: There's Always Somethin' on the Drive
Steve Harrington has never felt peace.
There’s always something happening – something he has to stay on edge for, stay alert for. Especially over the last couple of years.
Which is why Steve can’t sleep.
Well, he can, but it’s incredibly fitful and chaotic and sweaty and–
Point is, he hasn’t been able to sleep well since limping out of Starcourt a week ago.
If he’s being honest, he hasn’t been able to sleep well since Barb was taken from his backyard. He swears he’s going to fill that pool in with concrete the first chance he gets. Get rid of any evidence it ever existed. Not like his parents are ever home to use it anyway. They probably wouldn’t even notice.
Come to think of it, he doesn’t even remember the last time they were home. Maybe Christmas? No, they were in Paris then. Thanksgiving? No, they were in Rome.
He scratches his head, eyes pinched in concentration. It’s had to have been over a year at this point since he’s actually seen them.
Huh.
His chest constricts with the pain of that realization, but he just threads his fingers through his hair and tugs. Not a worry for tonight. (Not a worry he ever wants to actually confront, so it goes tucked on a shelf in the corner of his mind.)
No, tonight his only worry is getting some goddamn sleep. Except all he can keep picturing every time he shuts his eyes is Robin bleeding out on the ground in a bunker beneath Starcourt, an angry doctor coming after her with a saw the length of his arm. The meat monster pulling Max apart instead of Billy. Demogorgons dragging Jonathan and Nancy through the Byers’ walls. Dustin and Lucas and Max getting mauled by demodogs in the junkyard.
In the blink of an eye, he’s from his bed to keeled over his toilet, chest heaving, muscles straining from effort. Coughing and sputtering, but nothing will come up. Nothing ever comes up. Nothing except the ache of his muscles, the burn in his throat. The twisted part of it all being that it makes him feel alive.
He sits there on the cool tile, back pressed against the tub, willing the nausea to dissipate in the slightest, to let him move. After a few minutes, he drags himself to the cabinet, pulls out the bottle of nausea pills the medics gave him, and manages to choke one down, face turning at the sour taste of bile at the back of his throat.
Somehow, he manages to stand, slowly brush his teeth, rinse his mouth out one too many times with mouthwash, until his tongue and throat burn with the cloying taste of mint. Splashes cold water on his face. Tries to pull together the desperately frayed edges of his being.
His reflection glares back at him, his skin a sickly shade of yellow-purple-blue-gray-green, the bruises still claiming more than half of his face. What looks a hell of a lot like a scar calls out to him from the deep bags that have set up residence under his eyes. He pokes the cut on his lip, winces at the raw skin there, already seeing the way it will never heal quite right. The sight of his bruises makes the pit in his stomach start to bubble again, so he looks away, washes his hands, much more thoroughly than he needs to, as if he can scrub away every inch of his body that made contact with that bunker.
Sleep is off the table for now, his body too wound up, too twisted, too stuck.
The clock blinks, angry red lines distorted in the mirror. 2:17 AM.
Steve groans, pads back into his dimly lit room, hands scrubbing down his face – “Son of a–” Pain zaps through his eye, clouding his vision. The doorway serves to steady his trembling frame until the world clears again, for the most part.
A yawn rips through him, but not one built out of tiredness – one built from the general exhaustion of life, of having to keep fucking moving when his brain and body can’t seem to agree on anything, of having to keep fucking fighting for this god awful fucked up town when all he wants is to leave and never look back.
But, he can’t.
Well, he can, technically. Now that he’s done with high school, he could just…leave. An option that he probably would’ve taken no hesitation two years ago. Now, though?
Now, he has a job to do. Even if he keeps failing at it. At least he can serve as a punching bag between the kids and whatever otherworldly bullshit busts through.
A deep itch is settled into his bones, like there’s millions of fire ants skittering beneath his skin, trying to burn him from the inside out. Every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is his own failure.
His failure to protect, protect, protect.
The only fucking thing he’s ever been good at it turned to something else he can’t do. Just another way he’s completely and utterly useless.
His eyes flick to the half-empty bottle of whiskey on his bedside table. He’s half-tempted to just finish it off. Let the weight of alcohol pull him back to sleep like it has almost every night for the last week. And, honestly, more nights than not for the last year. It’s a miracle he hasn’t fully depleted his father’s collection.
He knows, though, that it won’t help the nausea. Will probably just lead to him back on the bathroom floor.
It’s not like sleep is an option, though. Not without something to force him under.
No. Because his brain is loud, keeps telling him that everyone is gone – dead, hurt, injured. It’s all the same in his brain. Someone getting a bruised elbow when he could’ve prevented it makes him want to scream.
The battle wars in his brain. He knows that everyone is fine. But, the what if. The need to check, to know for certain–
The walkie glares at him from his bedside table. But he knows that waking anyone up just to make sure they’re alive without probable reason otherwise, even in their ragtag group of apocalypse survivors, would just get him cursed out. Especially if any of the kids’ parents heard.
He also knows that the itch won’t go away until he knows they’re all safe.
So, he does the only thing he can do. Grabs his keys and heads out the door.
He tells himself he doesn’t really know why he’s doing this – except that he really, really does.
He needs to be able to see it. To see that nothing has swallowed their houses. That nothing has broken through their walls. That no one is sobbing on the lawn. That no one is passed out or dead or being dragged into the woods.
He has to fucking see it.
So, he drives. To each and every house. Everyone in their muddled group of post-apocalyptic fuck-ups.
Nancy and Mike. Dustin. Lucas and Erica. Max. Robin. Will and El and Jonathan.
Drives to all of their houses. Twice.
Drives out to Starcourt just to make sure it’s actually gone. That the Russian bunker is fucking buried for good. That he didn’t just dream it.
By the time he’s done, it’s nearly 5 AM.
He falls face first on his bed and sleeps somewhat peacefully for the first time in a week.
It becomes a routine, then, the drives. Something to calm him down, to assure him everything is okay. That everyone is okay.
Steve never tells anyone about them. Never lets anyone know about the nightmares. About how every time he closes his eyes, he sees one of them dying and he’s helpless to save them.
It’s not theirs to be concerned about. It’s his. His responsibility. His burden. His fucked up brain.
He’ll deal with it.
Besides, he doesn’t even really know who he’d even talk to about it. In terms of their group, he’s kind of the outcast. Which has been a very weird feeling to reckon with. Everyone clearly has someone.
And he has no one.
Something that should taste bitter on his tongue, but simply tastes normal. Standard. Par for the fucking course.
Steve’s fine with it, honestly. Used to it. And this way, he can keep being their protector. Kind of like a nighttime security guard. Making his rounds. Making sure everyone is locked up safe and sound for the night.
Just doing his job to keep everyone safe and let them have some semblance of normalcy return to their lives.
And it works.
At least, the first few times.
The first few times are quiet. Peaceful, even. Not a soul to be seen, apart from the occasional bedroom light or shadow behind the curtains.
He doesn’t actually see anyone on his drives.
Until he does.
Until one night, Steve rounds on Robin’s house and the light in her room is on, her window open, curtains fluttering in the late summer breeze. Steve checks the time. 1:27 AM. He scrunches his nose, looks back up at the window, sees a flicker of movement to the side.
Registers Robin sitting on the roof.
Waving at him.
He stops the car. Waves back. Unsure if she can even see.
But, next thing he knows, she’s sliding down from the roof to the ground— in the most coordinated feat he has ever seen of her, what the fuck—and walking over to his car, sliding into the passenger seat.
Buckles herself in.
Hugs her knees to her chest.
Stares straight ahead.
And says nothing.
As if this is normal.
As if they do this all the time.
Steve just looks at her. Sees the faint splotches of blue-gray-purple fading to sickly yellow across her cheekbone. The jagged line matching his across her throat. The unkempt frizz of her hair. The way her body is shaking.
He grabs a jacket from the backseat and drapes it over her wordlessly.
Then, he drives.
He doesn’t really know why he does it, but he settles back into his routine, takes her through his normal route. Twice. Even though he’s been through it once already tonight. He wants her to see. That everyone is okay. Feels like that’s important to know for maybe more than just him tonight.
Even takes her by Starcourt. Parks for a minute. Stares at the wreckage with her.
After a moment, she nods.
So, he takes her home.
She gets out of the car and slips back into her house, Steve’s jacket still draped across her shoulders.
Steve doesn't leave until he sees her wave from her window as she pulls it shut.
It becomes their routine then.
They don’t say anything about the drives during the day. Really, they don’t even see each other much in the light of day. It’s still the burning edges of summer and there’s nowhere really for them to be other than home.
Steve knows the drill by now. The few weeks following the yet again thwarted end of the world are always murky. People huddling close to home, soaking up time with their families, the kids forming sleepovers after sleepovers. The older of the group…well. He’s sure Jonathan and Nancy are spending time together. A thought that should make him feel some kind of anger or sadness or something, but instead just leaves him feeling nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
And now, there’s Robin.
He doesn’t really know what to do there. He doesn’t want her to feel alone in this. The thought that she might not have anyone to talk to about this didn’t even cross his mind. Now, he makes it his personal mission to give her a space, even if she’s not ready to take it, or she doesn’t need it. Maybe she’s coping just fine and Steve’s the crazy one.
They end up wordlessly sitting in his car together more nights than not.
Let the silence blanket them, uneasily coating the tension forever lurking in the background.
They don’t talk on the drives.
Not until the fourth one.
It’s nothing big, either.
They’re at the end of the first round of checks, the clock blinking 12:54 AM in the quiet of the car as they stare at the wreckage of Starcourt.
“I can still feel it.” Robin whispers, the sound spooking Steve out of his thoughts. “The needle.”
He looks at her, sees her swallow down a shudder as her fingers rub against the side of her neck, the jagged scar taunting him in its vibrancy.
“Yeah?” His throat clicks, voice cracked from disuse and, honestly, general lack of hydration.
A few stray locks tumble from her lopsided bun as she nods. Steve reaches out tentatively, slides them behind her ear, his fingers resting atop hers. Her eyes find his, the moon casting them both in pale gray.
“Me too.” Their fingers clumsily link together, the pads of his fingers pressing warmth against her chilled skin. “Fuckin’ drives me nuts.”
Robin snorts, the sound reverberating through his fingers, drawing a small smile from deep within his chest — from a box slowly being built, labelled “just for Robin.” He doesn’t fucking know what to do with that knowledge, has only ever really had shit friends before now.
Wait.
Are they—are they friends?
Is it possible to call someone a friend when you never even talk, just sit together in your trauma in the middle of the fucking night?
”I, like—I can’t even look myself in the mirror anymore most days.”
“That explains the hair.” Steve tugs softly at a loose strand, amusement tinging the edges of his rasped voice.
Robin scoffs. “Shut up, asshole. Like yours is any better.”
“Hey, I’ll have you know my hair has won awards.”
Robin looks at him, eyes crinkling at the edges. “Yeah, seriously doubting that the way your hair looks right now is what won you those awards, dingus.”
Her hand reaches out, pulls at a tuft of hair sticking straight up.
He huffs, feigned annoyance. “It might have. You don’t know.”
“Sure. Keep telling yourself that, hotshot.”
Fondness fills his chest, threatens to consume him whole with how softly Robin is staring at him, their fingers still loosely linked together where he’s mindlessly soothing her skin.
He doesn’t quite understand the feelings swarming in his chest. The ache to protect and hold and love, but also to sit with, to laugh with, to share morning coffee and late night drives with. He can’t recall ever having someone that he wanted to share so much with, to be so close with. The intensity of it hitting him like a truck.
This is nothing like how he felt when he was with Nancy. No, none of those feelings are even remotely in the same realm of whatever is bubbling inside of him for Robin. The thought of it being anything like that just feels incredibly wrong in a way he can’t quite put a finger on, just knows that he definitely never wants to date Robin, no matter how truly brilliant of a person she seems to be.
So, maybe…friends? No, that doesn’t feel like…enough. Not enough to truly quantify this.
Even when he was friends with Tommy and Carol, it was never…like this. Never this easy. Never this honest. There were always multiple arms lengths between them — no room for sincerity. No emotions. All jagged edges and sharp words.
Robin is none of that. So achingly sincere. So wonderfully soft and unabashedly herself. Hopelessly endearing.
Which doesn’t make sense to him, why he feels this way. They’ve barely spoken since the battle, and before then, only really spoke out of necessity, or when she wanted to remind him of how spectacularly he failed at everything.
Now, though?
Now it feels…different. Like something beautiful and fragile is being built from the ashes of their combined past.
He knows, though, that he always feels too much too fast too too too –
Robin squeezes his hand, eyes searching his, questioning.
Steve feels like he could maybe, potentially, let Robin in. Let her see the loudest parts of his soul that he’s pushed down, wholly ignored, for eons. Feels that she might slot right in without a second thought.
Maybe.
Just not tonight.
Steve smiles, impossibly warm and soft, squeezes her fingers in return. “C’mon. Gotta finish our rounds.”
A week later, they’re parked in an alcove, tucked away in the edges of the forest, at the crest of a hill overlooking Hawkins.
“I’m not gonna drive off the cliff. Just calm down.” Steve had sniped, eyes rolling as he edged his car through the thicket.
“That’s exactly what someone who was about to drive off a cliff would say.” Robin had deadpanned, hands gripped tightly to the seat.
“What would I gain from driving us off this admittedly very small cliff?”
“I don’t know! Maybe you’ve been infected with Upside Down bullshit and you’re planning to kill us all in our sleep.”
“You’re not asleep, Robin.”
“Yeah, well,” she had thrown her arms up, exasperation lacing her voice. “Who’s fault is that?”
Steve had parked, and threw her a withered glare. “Hey, don’t blame me for not being able to sleep.”
“I absolutely will blame you.”
That’s how they find themselves on the hill in the middle of a random Thursday night slash Friday morning, the town of Hawkins sleeping peacefully beneath them, the clock on the dash shining 3:24 AM at their exhausted faces.
Late summer breeze shifts through the trees, the sound whispering through the quiet between them.
Wordlessly, Robin opens her door, walks up to the edge of the cliff.
“Rob–wait.” Steve tumbles out after her, extra jacket in hand.
She sits, arms hugged around herself, staring out at the city. Steve plops down next to her, drapes his jacket across her shoulders.
“Thanks.”
“I’m beginning to think you purposefully forget your jacket so you can keep stealing mine.”
Robin’s mouth quirks up, the tiniest hint of a smile, eyes gleaming as she glances over at him. “And yet you always seem to have an extra jacket on hand.”
“I–uh–” His cheeks redden, mouth helplessly forming around nothing.
Robin laughs, the sound warming something deep inside his chest. She nudges her shoulder against his. “Easy there. I’m kidding.”
“Right. Yeah.” He scoff-laughs, eyes darting between hers before shifting out to the city. He scoots a bit closer to the edge, crosses his legs, plants his palms flat on the ground behind him. “Looks so normal from up here.”
Robin scoots up beside him, her legs tangled awkwardly in the grass, spurts of wildflowers spilling between her fingers. She hums, eyes trained in the distant space before her.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Robin twists her fingers through the wildflowers, rips a handful free, unceremoniously dumps them in Steve’s lap.
“Hey!” Steve jumps a bit, swipes the broken strands of grass and wilted flower petals off his lap.
Robin smiles. “Never been given flowers before?”
“Wouldn’t exactly call these flowers.”
“Too bad, that’s what they are.”
“You’re deflecting.”
“And?”
He looks at her pointedly as he dusts the last bits of grass off his lap. Her eyes glisten with pain, something deep and sharp that he recognizes all too well. His voice softens a bit as he bumps their shoulders together. “You can talk if you want. I’m not that great at advice, but, uh,” he shrugs. “I’m here.”
She blinks. Eyes quietly shifting across his face. Finally settling back on his, a soft smile to accompany it. “I know.”
Steve nods, then turns back to looking at the city, lets the late night sounds of summer swell through his brain, cover his skin in warm promises. He closes his eyes and lets out a sigh. A moment of actual peace coursing through him.
“I, just–” Robin’s voice is quiet. Laced with frustration. “I can’t believe I lived all that time not knowing about the literal hell dimension beneath my feet with the fucked up meat monsters and magic powers and, and–” She groans, rips another clump of grass.
“Yeah, I know what you mean.”
She scoffs. “Please, you’ve been there since day numero uno.”
Steve hesitates, cracks one eye open to peer at her, finds her staring back all too smugly.
“Don’t even try to deny it Mr. I-Fought-A-Demogorgon-With-A-Studded-Baseball-Bat.”
He laughs, the sound more like panic than joy. “Well, it was–”
“Heard you did big numbers there.”
“I mean, we’re still–”
She snorts a laugh. “Could’ve really used that bat at Starcourt.”
Steve stops, fully glances at Robin. Her face a mask of emotions – confusion, fear, panic, anger, Steve’s not really entirely sure, but he feels like he’s getting pretty okay at trying to figure it out, and right now, it seems like fear might be winning.
His brain searches for something to say. Some way to respond that doesn’t clog his throat, make him feel like he’s going to pass out. “I’ll keep it in mind for next time.”
Robin chokes on a laugh. “Next time?”
Steve blanches. “I mean – oh, fuck.” His hands cover his face, body hunched over. “That came out so, so wrong.”
“You tryin’ to get me kidnapped by Russians again, Harrington?”
“Uh, well, um.” He straightens a bit. “No. No, ‘course not. No.”
"I just - fuck," Robin’s gaze is a bit wild, fixed on the ground between them. “Literally hearing ‘who do you work for’ in my brain on loop. God.”
“Mhm.” Is it hot? It feels hot. Steve feels hot. When did it get hot?
Laughter trickles between them, sounding a bit like it’s underwater. “God, I don’t think I can ever even go to a dentist again. I just keep…”
Steve zones out, eyes staring out over the city, at the hundreds upon thousands of people bustling about, wholly unaware of the world beneath their feet, of the fact demons and meat monsters and magic powers and actual evil Russians exist here in Hawkins. He swallows down the lump in his throat, chokes a bit around it, mind blaring with how a group of kids has had to save the world three fucking times. How he’s stepped in to protect various parts of their group every single time, how he would do it all again, protect them, no questions asked. Take every hit so they don’t have to hurt.
He sits there and he thinks and lingers and aches.
The feeling of it all consuming him, making his head throb. The lingering edges of bruising hands fading across his face. Nausea rolls through his stomach and he groans, falls flat on his back. He swallows around nothing, his throat still feeling full all the same, clogged tight with emotion and unspoken words. The cavern of his chest feels like it cracks open. Splays his ribs apart, leaving him fully exposed to the starless sky.
“Steve?”
“Hm?”
“You good?”
“Ye–” he coughs, tears pricking his eyes. “Yeah, ‘m good.”
God.
His face throbs. The bruises deeper than just skin. The muscles angry and torn and taut. The cut on his lip bursts apart, fresh blood trickling down his lips, spilling out the edges of his mouth. Faintly, he smiles, thinks of how he must look like a vampire, the blood staining his lips, reminiscent of some childhood Halloween before he outgrew it.
Robin stares down at him, brows scrunched together. She bites her bottom lip, the skin there chapped beyond repair. Watches as his chest rises and falls, as his eyes start to take on a glassy quality, unblinking, unyielding. She leans down next to him, slowly, quietly.
“Steve?”
Steve’s chest feels like it’s caving in, folding in on itself repeatedly, like a fucked up paper airplane made by the clumsy hands of toddler. Everything is suddenly too loud, too open, too closed, too prickly, too – where did those Russians come from nonononono, I swear –
“Hey, Steve, can you –”
Hands grabbing twisting pulling pain pain pain bruised needles god so many needles –
His head fills with crackling static, the sound crowding his ears, drowning out everything and nothing and it’s too much too loud –
“St– I c— pl—”
When did his eyes get –? He tries to blink, his eyelids suddenly feeling weighed down, tied to cinderblocks crushing his brain. Everything is dark, too dark, swallowing him whole. The grand expanse of nothing crashing through him.
“ –I–y—!! S–p– er—!”
Bright, when did it bright? No god no, bunker, chairs, tables, Robin Robin Robin.
Crying, sobbing, bleeding, hurting, dying always dying why always dying please–
Please no, no, no, pain, protect, protect--
Water clogs his brain – or at least, it feels like it does. Feels like when he would swim laps practicing for a meet, his head staying underwater, blocking out the noise, the lights, the everything, feeling the burn in his chest from lack of oxygen, staying longer underwater each time, pushing until the edges of his vision would black out, chasing that feeling to the edge of the pool and back, over and over and ov–
“Steve!”
Steve gasps, sputters and chokes around the cool night air, the feeling of it burning his throat and lungs. He coughs around it, the taste acrid on his tongue. Vision swimming, spots everywhere. Blurry shapes twisting above him. He groans, flinches when something soft and clammy grabs his cheek, just this side of too rough.
“Steve Harrington, I swear to whatever fucking higher power exists, if you die on me up on this hill, I will kill you.”
Robin.
That’s Robin.
He blinks, over and over and over, her blurry face coming into view in fractals. Her hands frantically soothe over his cheeks, run through his hair. Unable to remain in one spot for more than 3 seconds. Her eyes, damp and wild and so, so blue. A kind, earnest blue. Soft and pure. Safe.
“Rob–” He coughs, his mouth suddenly feeling so dry. Why is it so dry? And why can’t he make any saliva coat his tongue?
“Oh, thank fuck.” She heaves, falls full bodily on top of him, eliciting a groan from deep in his chest.
Immediately, her warmth seeps into his bones, swarms around him, a comforting blanket to his aching soul. The feeling of clarity prickles at the edges of his mind.
“Shit, sorry, I–” She starts to pull away.
Steve’s hands find their way around her, squeezing her tighter to him. Possessively splayed across her back, gripping tight to her (his) jacket. He whispers into the meld of their bodies. “No.”
“Oh. Okay.” Robin relaxes, tucks her head under his chin, and rests.
They lay there for what could be minutes, hours, eons. Steve’s not sure. But, he holds tight to Robin, like she’s something fragile and precious, because she is. She’s alive. So fucking sweet and kind and wild and so incredibly dear to his lonely fucking soul and alive. She is alive. The thought blares across his mind, near suffocating him with its intensity.
Because, when the fuck did that happen?
When did this person become so important to him?
Trying to trace that moment back to its origin hurts too much, because somehow he knows it started well before the end of their relative innocence.
Instead, Steve clings tight to Robin, lets her weight soothe him, her warmth give him a space to relax into, to feel safe and warm and comforted.
Loved.
Eventually, he loosens his grip, squeezes her tight once more, then drops his hands to the ground. Robin rolls off him with a grunt, knocks their shoulders together as she shimmies next to him. Their fingers find each other in the mix of grass and wildflowers and they tangle together.
The silence stretches around them, a bit comforting in the clarity. “Sor’y.” Steve whispers, his voice cracking through the dryness of his throat, but still fearful of being too much, too loud, too everything. He coughs. “F’ck, god, d’yu ha–?”
“Here.”
A half drunk Dr. Pepper bottle lands in his hand. He immediately chugs it, ignoring how his lungs feel like they’re drowning since he refuses to sit up just yet.
He sighs, drops the bottle between them. “Thanks. My throat felt like a desert.”
“Why?”
His brows furrow. “Why what?”
“Why are you sorry?”
“Oh.” His thumb traces the back of her hand. He shrugs. “For whatever just happened.”
“Steve.” Robin’s voice is soft – so, so soft. Why soft? He feels her eyes on him, burning into the side of his skull. He turns to look at her, feels breathless at her rawness – how full of care and pain her eyes are. “Do you know what just happened?”
He opens his mouth, shuts it again, a formless slew of sounds tumbling from his lips.
“Steve. I think you had a panic attack.”
At that, he seizes up, whole body going rigid, fingers stalling in her own. He shakes his head. “No. No, I didn’t. You’re wrong.”
Her expression is full of pain. “Steve–”
He sits up, pulls his arms around himself, starts shaking his head violently. “No, you’re wrong.”
Robin pulls herself up beside him, warm hand smoothing down his back, even as he instinctively flinches away before melting back into it.
“That’s not – panic attacks aren’t like that. They’re, they’re big and loud and hyperventilating and – no, it just, I just spaced out. That’s it.”
“Panic attacks don’t have to look like that.”
“How do you–” He shakes his head, bites his lip. “No.”
“My mom’s a therapist. Trust me when I say I have learned far too much about the human brain over family dinner.” She chuckles, the sound warm and sure. “You try eating lasagna while she not-so-secretly tries to teach me and dad about the inner workings of the human mind. I swear, she once tried to use garlic bread as a metaphor for how anxiety can bake into our bodies.”
“Jesus, what?” Steve laughs, eyes trained on Robin’s now.
She nods, all serious. “Oh, yes. It’s very educational. Mandatory education in the Buckley household. Just don’t let her bribe you with apple pie. That’s her secret weapon.”
“What does she need a secret weapon for?”
“Pray you never find out.”
Steve shakes his head, the last dregs of panic bleeding out of him into the cool, damp earth. “You’re ridiculous.”
She shrugs. “Maybe. But it worked.”
He scrunches his brows. “What worked?”
“Distraction. Talking. Regaling you a bit of lore of my life.”
He scoffs, unable to hold back the smile that cracks through. “Did you just refer to your life as lore?”
“I 100% did, yes.”
“Isn’t lore reserved for, like, storytelling?”
“Isn’t life a story to be told?”
Steve just freezes. Watches the calm surety of Robin’s expression. The curiosity and pain in her eyes. Feels the desperation pulled taut in the fibers of his being. Sees the soft yellow glows dotting the sea of darkness below them. People walking, existing, living.
If life is a story to be told, then his has got to be written by some masochistic bastard.
“Yeah. I guess it is.”
The early weeks of August bring a new challenge to their nightly ritual.
“So, we need jobs.”
Robin snorts. “Yes, I am well aware.”
“I’ve been looking around and, like, everything is…”
“Awful?”
Steve shrugs. “Yeah. Basically.”
“Nothing can be as bad as slinging ice cream for overly hyper children and the idiotic slugs of Hawkins High.”
“Did you just call them slugs?”
“Yes. Yes, I did.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Take...Tommy Hagan, for example.”
Steve feels a hot flare on the edges of his mind. Locked away dormant moments of hot and touch and take and test and everything he’s ever tried to obscure. He looks out the windshield. “What about him?”
“Well, you’re telling me that you don’t see it? Like, he just waltzes around, leaving behind this trail of utter disgust in his wake. Tripping people and pushing them down–”
“I don’t think slugs can push people.”
“The slime trail they leave could absolutely trip a person.”
“I think you’re making this up.”
“I think you need a better imagination.”
He shakes his head as he laughs. “Fine, fine.”
“Thank you.” Robin looks thoroughly pleased with herself. “So, I don’t know what kind of jobs you were looking for, but, I think I might’ve found some leads.”
She leans down and digs through her bag, a rare accompaniment. Out comes a notebook – along with, like, several receipts and hair ties.
“Jesus, Rob. Do you ever clean that thing?”
“Don’t you even start with me, Steve Marie."
“Not my name.”
“I know where you live.”
Steve blinks. Stares at her. “I know where you live.”
“Irrelevant.”
“What–”
“So!” Robin smacks her notebook, making Steve flinch back slightly, though if she notices, she doesn’t comment. “We have options.”
“We…do?”
“Mhm.” She flips open the notebook and starts reading.
There’s a moment where Steve panics. Because what he hasn’t said, what he’s hoarding close to his chest, is that he honestly really wants to get another job with Robin. He’s enjoyed the time they’ve spent not in a Russian bunker and he doesn’t want to have to work with anyone else, really. He’s exhausted. And mostly just really –
“I think we should consider…” Her voice drifts through his brain, a comforting line of sound.
He feels the pain of too much too fast through his veins. Feels too scared to even ask. Maybe she’s tired of him. Maybe she doesn’t really like him. Maybe she just needs someone to vent to in the middle of the night. It’s not like they ever hang out during the day. No, just these nightly escapades where sometimes they talk and sometimes they don’t. Maybe she’s just being nice. She probably wants to work with anyone but him. Especially after he’s the reason she ever got dragged into this mess. She–
“I see you spiraling out over there.”
Steve looks over, sees Robin staring back at him. Her expression one of concern, mostly. “I’m not spiraling.”
“You are so spiraling. You made that face.”
“What face?”
“You know, the face.” Robin says with a tone conveying this should be wholly, completely obvious.
It’s not.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Jesus.” She huffs out a sigh, the movement making her bangs flutter softly. “Your eyes get all squinty and your nose ticks up and to the right a bit and you kind of curl your lips or you bite them, like, a lot, actually, you know, you should really use some chapstick, and–”
The rest of what she’s saying kind of falls into the void as Steve realizes something in utter clarity.
Robin…pays attention.
To him.
What the fuck?
“And there you go drifting off again.” Robin looks incredibly displeased.
“Uh.” Steve blinks. Shakes his head a bit. “Sorry.”
“No sorries. You’re good.” Her eyes are sharp as she cuts them back down to her notepad. “Now, pay attention, please, so we can figure this out.”
“What–” Steve clears his throat. “What are we figuring out exactly?”
“The job situation.”
“Oh.” He blinks. Stares at Robin’s notepad like it’s an alien predator.
Robin just barrels on.
“Okay, so, I heard that there’s a few openings on Main Street. They’ve got the arcade. Which, like, the sound of kids screaming at machines and having to clean icees out of the carpet sounds so much worse than Scoops.” She shivers, marks something off in her notebook. The edge of her pen finds a home between her teeth as she hums thoughtfully.
“There’s the salon. You might be able to get in there, buuuut they would never take me.” She laughs, marks it off the list too. “My hair is practically a national security risk. I think they’d burn me alive.”
“Oh!” She taps her notebook aggressively. “There’s Melvald’s. If you want to stock shelves and stand behind a counter all day. Though, shit,” her shoulders drop slightly. “They probably won’t put us both on at the same time.” She cocks her head slightly. “They’d pair us with Ms. Byers at least. So, that wouldn’t be the worst option. Uh, what else.”
She flips the page and starts reading through what appears to be an aggressively long list. Steve didn’t even think there were this many places to work in Hawkins.
“Yeah. Said that. Mm. Oh, okay.” Robin taps the page. “There’s the bank? We could be tellers. Pretty quiet and chill. But…ugh, do you think they’d hire me? Being still in high school?” She glances at him and shakes her head once before turning back to the list. “Maybe they don’t think I’m competent enough to handle money. How old do you have to be to be considered competent to handle money?”
As Robin rattles through the list, Steve is hit with an overwhelming wave of…confusion? Happiness? Fear? It’s something. Something big. That just washed over him, kind of altered the fabric of his being a fraction.
Robin is choosing to get some shitty, dead-end job with him. She’s choosing to get some shitty job with him because she wants to be around him. She’s choosing something that would have them together in the light of day.
Robin is choosing him.
“You aren’t ashamed to be seen with me?” Steve’s voice is quiet, but it still cuts Robin completely short.
She looks at him with complete and utter confusion. “Why would I be ashamed to be seen with you?”
Steve stutters. Starts tapping his leg in the footwell. “Well, uh. I just figured since, you know, we, uh – well, because – fuck.” He sighs, long and deep and hard and aching painful pain pain pain –
“Hey.” Robin rests her hand on his shoulder. Her warmth bleeds deep into his skin immediately. “It’s okay.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” He shakes his head. “Fuck. I feel stupid.”
“You’re not stupid.”
Steve laughs. “There’s at least, like, six to ten people we both know who would wholly disagree with you.”
“That’s not–”
“Yes, it is.” He stares at her. Not unkindly. But, a stare full of raw self-loathing. Full of acceptance to the fact he’s never going to be considered the smart one in the room. “We both know it is.”
The look Robin gives him is pained. Completely and utterly wrecked. “Steve.”
He looks away, the weight of her gaze too much to hold. His fingers scratch at a spot on the steering wheel. “Anyway, jobs.”
She groans. “Stop doing that.”
“Stop doing what?”
“That.”
“Gee, Robs, you’re very descriptive tonight.”
She full on turns in her seat, pulls one leg up on the chair, wraps her arms around it. “Look at me?”
“Why?”
“Please?”
And Steve is helpless to that voice. So, he turns, mimics her position. “Alright. What?”
“Why do you always deflect like that?”
“Like…what?”
“Whenever shit gets real. Like, whenever things get to what might be on your mind, or what might be bothering you, or whatever. You always deflect.”
“That’s not…entirely true.”
“Steve.” Robin stares at him, eyes piercing through the cracks in his armor.
He shrugs, voice dropping to barely a whisper. “I don’t really know what you want me to say to that.”
“The truth, Steve. I want you to say the truth.”
And, like, fuck. What does that even mean?
He sighs. “Okay. What do you wanna know?”
Robin looks at him. Seems to study his entire body. Eyes raking up and down. Head tilted slightly. “What’s your favorite color?”
“My–” he laughs. “My favorite color?”
“Yeah. Figure we start small. Work our way up the ladder. So. Favorite color.”
“Uh…” Steve leans his head against the headrest and closes his eyes. He honestly isn’t sure the last time he even thought about this. The concept of having a favorite color isn’t, like, foreign to him, but it’s definitely odd enough that it makes him realize– “I don’t think I have one.”
“What?” Robin shrieks, making Steve flinch back. “Sorry, sorry! I just…what do you mean?”
“...I mean that I don’t have one.”
“Everyone has a favorite color, Steve.”
He shrugs. “Not me.”
“Not true.”
“What?”
“You have to have one!”
“Says who?”
“Wha–” Robin scoffs, leans back against the door. “How can you not have a favorite color?”
Steve bristles at that. “It just never seemed important?”
“Well, it is!” She says with far too much indignation. “It’s, like, one of the first things kids latch onto. You’re telling me you never just fell in love with, I don’t know, red or something, and made your parents buy you red everything when you were a kid?”
Steve snorts and shakes his head. “No? They wouldn’t’ve anyway.”
“Oh, come on. My parents literally could not escape me begging for, like, every single orange thing I saw.”
“ Your favorite color is orange?”
“Well, yeah, as a kid at least.” She tilts her head slightly. “Still kind of now. It’s cozy and warm.”
“Huh.”
She squints at him. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, spill.”
“No, really!” He laughs. “It just, uh, it, ya know,” he gestures helplessly in the space between them, near-knocking over the empty fry carton from their late night second dinner. “It fits.”
Her face drops completely neutral. “It…fits?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I mean, you’re, ya know, you.
“Gee, now who’s the descriptive one?”
“Fine, fine. You’re, I don’t know, Robin. You just put off this kind of,” he gestures vaguely between them before shrugging and saying, “warmth, I guess? This, like, safeness, or whatever. Just.” Steve sighs. “Just really nice.”
“Oh.” Robin stares at him wide-eyed.
Steve nods. “So, yeah. Orange makes sense. Cozy. Like a hug.”
Robin’s entire expression softens, her bright blue eyes shimmering in the moonlight. Steve’s not sure he’s ever seen someone more beautiful.
The moment lasts approximately 8 seconds before Robin narrows her eyes at him. “This doesn’t get you out of having a favorite color.”
“What, you’re going to force me to pick one?” Steve barely bites back a smile.
“You can’t force it. The color chooses you.”
“Ugh.” Steve groans. “What are you, some inspirational speaker?”
“I am formally taking on the role of helping you discover your favorite color.” She cocks her head, purses her lips a bit. “And whatever other bullshit you were deprived of.”
That…is not what Steve was expecting. He sits there a few moments, completely stunned into silence. There’s a part of him, a very loud, insistent, angry part, that keeps screaming that these things aren’t important, that it’s a waste of time, that he needs to man up and focus on things that actually matter, Steven. But sitting here next to Robin is helping him realize that that loud, angry, cruel part of him sounds a hell of a lot like his father and not very much like him anymore.
Maybe it never did.
But, all of that feels a bit too raw and honest to spit out in the middle of the night overlooking a sleeping Hawkins. So, instead, he just smiles and says, “Good luck with that.”
“Don’t underestimate me, Stephano.”
He chuckles something loud and bright. “That’s so not my name.”
“Could be.”
“But it isn’t.”
Robin shrugs. “Made you laugh, though, didn’t it?”
And, well, fuck. She’s got him there.
She knows it, too, if her conniving smile is anything to go by.
“Alright, well, now that we’ve got that outta the way.” Robin readjusts and opens her notebook across her lap. “What slice of retail hell should we subject to our war-hardened people skills?”
Steve looks over her shoulder at the page full of listings, eyes scanning down the rows, stopping on one and smiling crookedly. “You know what would be really funny?”
And that’s how the next day they walk into Family Video, arm in arm, resumes neatly printed, and proceed to bully Keith into giving them jobs.
taglist (open):@sunshine-daydreams0809@saramelaniemoon@probablyin-bed@bookworm0690@watermelonmite@sanctumdemunson@5-fievel@nicememerino
divider credit:@saradika-graphics
thank you for reading :)
chapter title inspired by "Something Drive" by Post Animal :)
an: this fic...phew. it got away from me. i had ideas for a post s3 au to see how steve and robin process the trauma they went through there. because, let's face it, it get wholly glossed over. these are teenagers. they are traumatized after being tortured. so, i wanted to explore how they navigate that while still trying to be people just attempting to live life. i had a blast with it. :) buckle up!
Steve and Robin's Guide to Finding a Partner in Ten (not so) Easy Steps
AO3 | @stobinminibang 2026 event | rating: t | wc: 8k | cw: scars; tattoos; weed | tags: post s3 au; mentions of injuries; tattoos; eddie is an amateur tattoo artist; robin and eddie besties; they will smoke a lot of weed in this story; steddie crumbs | gen masterlist
an: check out the artist for this fic! Tomb Fiends on bsky, twitter, and instagram :)
fic masterpost | ch: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 <3
Chapter 3: Now We're Just Blood Brothers
“Don’t think I’m crazy.”
Steve snorts, sticks another tape in the rewind machine. “Too late for that, Robs.”
She throws an M&M at his head, watches it bounce off the swoop of his bangs, then drop unceremoniously to the floor. She makes a point to stare at it, then directly at Steve as she pops another M&M in her mouth. “As I was saying–”
“You just wasted perfectly good chocolate. You’re insane.”
“As I was saying–” Robin glares, arm poised, fingers loaded with another M&M.
“Fine, fine.” Steve laughs, leans back against the counter, palms braced against the glass display. “As you were saying.”
“We should get tattoos.”
“We should wha–”
Robin pelts him with the M&M, making him yelp as it bounces off his cheekbone. “Hey, you almost hit me in the eye, asshole.”
“Then don’t make me have to throw things at you, dingus.”
Steve rubs his cheek, glares back at her. “I’m gonna have to start charging you a ‘wasted perfectly good food’ tax if you keep this up.”
“Sure you are.”
“I’ll stop buying you lunch.”
“Mhm.” Robin nods, eyes wide, mouth smirking around each piece of candy she continues to eat.
“I will!”
“Sure.” Her voice clearly conveying she does not believe him in the slightest.
Steve grumbles to himself, something about rude and right and questioning his life choices. Then, sighs something heavy as he looks back up at her. “Alright. Why exactly should we get tattoos?”
At that, Robin hesitates, an action that is entirely impressive to Steve as that means she’s processing her thoughts before spewing them into the stale, cool air of Family Video like usual. He waits a few moments before he lifts a brow, gestures vaguely through the air with his hand.
“I have it on good authority that they can be…therapeutic.”
“Therapeutic.” Steve deadpans, brows slightly scrunched.
Robin nods vehemently. “Yes. Very.”
Steve waits for her to continue, but is only met with anxious, Robin-shaped silence. Another deep, agonizing sigh escapes him. “What do we need therapeutic tattoos for, Robin?”
She grins, her toothy, megawatt smile – a sight that never fails to shoot straight to Steve’s heart in a wave of emotion he hasn’t really been able to decipher, apart from calling it “the Robin emotion.”
Not that he has any fucking clue what to do with that.
“Well, Steve-o, my good pal–”
“Ugh, don’t call me that.”
“In case you have forgotten,” Robin glances around, leans forward into Steve’s bubble, drops her voice to a semi-whisper even though they are wholly and completely alone in the store and have been for the last hour. “We were turned into lab rats by some very angry, very idiotic Russians.”
Steve flinches, the sight of the sterile bunker painting the inside of his eyelids. “Geez, Robs, what the–”
She waves her hands. “I know, I know. Just bear with me.” She takes a deep breath. “So, I have a friend who has…told me through no uncertain means that tattoos can help people process…trauma?” Her brow quirks on the last word, lip twitching in an anxious smile.
“Nope, nuh uh, not doing this.” Steve pushes off the counter, shaking his head violently as he walks away from Robin, paces over to the ill-lit comedy section.
Robin barrels after him, because of fucking course she does, never one to leave anything the fuck alone, fucking hell.
“Steve, please–”
“No, Robin.”
“Look, you just have to hear–”
“I don’t have to hear anything besides the shelving of these tapes.” He pulls a random tape off the cart and shakes it before shoving it blindly on the shelf a bit more harshly than he intended.
“I promise it’s–”
Steve turns abruptly, finger shakily pointing back at her. “Robin. You can’t.”
She stops, a full five paces between them. Her hands shake where she’s wringing them across her middle. Her eyes keep darting between Steve’s, lips opening and closing, a myriad of half-broken words spilling into the air between them, too much like a muddled soup for Steve to understand.
He swallows, emotion thick in his voice. “We don’t talk about that. That’s the rule.”
At least that makes Robin shut her mouth, her eyes painfully glassy as they stare back at him.
Because, right.
The rule.
The words they scribbled together on the back of a barely-used fast food napkin in the dim light of the late-evening moon spilling into the car on one of their first drives.
No talking about what happened in the bunker. Not to each other, and especially not to anyone else.
A rule they had been dutifully following without hiccup.
Until today.
“We don’t have to talk about it to get the tattoos.” Robin ventures, voice shaky, fragile as it slips through the air, scratching hard against Steve’s willpower.
“I can’t–” Thickness swells in Steve’s chest, bubbles up his throat, swallowed down in the queasiness of his stomach. “Robin. Please.”
The pain is etched across her face, carved deep in the scrunch of her brows, in the quiver of her lip. She tucks loose hair behind her ears. Her eyes damp as they pierce into his soul.
Fuck.
“I know you hate it as much as I do, Steve. I know you… Don’t think I haven’t noticed the–”
“Robin.” His voice breaks, tears pricking the edges, threatening to slip through, to flood the air between them, hot and heavy and wracked with immeasurable guilt.
She reaches forward, grabs his shaking hands in her own. “I think it could be good. I think it might help.”
Her eyes are heartbreakingly honest, glassy with tears they’ve both refused to shed for months now. Steve can’t look at them, forces himself to look at her hands instead, how her bony fingers form a too-small cocoon around his larger ones. He flexes his fingers, balls them tighter, lets hers encase him more, protect him from the world, from himself.
“Steve, it–”
“But–” Steve lets out a shaky breath. “The needle, Robs. I–I can’t.”
She squeezes their hands, quiet whispers flowing in the heat between their trembling bodies. “Okay. Okay, I’ll drop it.”
The relief spills from his chest in a broken sob. “Thank y–”
“For now.” Robin stresses, pulls his eyes to hers. “Just–just think about it some more, yeah?” And because she’s a devil with bangs and a radiant smile, she adds, “For me?”
“Fuck–” Steve groans. “Fine, I’ll think about it. Just don’t hold out hope.”
“All I ask.” She squeezes their hands once more, then quickly drops them, saunters back over to keep eating M&Ms and rewinding tapes, as if she hadn’t just brought up every single thought Steve’s been anxiously avoiding for the last few months.
Steve pulls the sheet down, steels himself, willpower shaking through the core of his being as he forces himself to lift his eyes.
Every time he looks in a mirror, all he can see is how wrecked he looked after the bunker.
How swollen his eye was. How red and angry and puffy, caked in blood and spit and grime. How bruised his cheek was. How his lip was split, leaving behind a perpetual tear ready to bleed at any moment.
As if on cue, his tongue gently prods the scar, the familiar ache zinging through his nerves as he licks at it, metallic tang coating his tongue.
Steve grips the counter tight, forces himself to stare back at his tensed expression. “You can do this. Just.” His voice shakes, hands gripping tighter to the counter. “Just look. That’s it.”
So, he does.
Looks at the eyes of someone who’s seen far too fucking much for his mere 18 years stuck in this fucked up excuse of a world. Sees the pain etched across his scrunched brows. Sees the anxiety bubbling up his throat. Sees the fear and guilt across every line of his face.
The split in his lip.
The scar by his eye.
His neck–
He shakily reaches his hand up, runs his trembling fingers across his neck, bumping over the raised scar. The point that should have faded into nothingness, but is clinging on to mock him endlessly, show him how much he fucked up, how much pain he caused, how–
“Shit.” Steve flinches, jumps back from the counter, hands shaking in front of him. “Fuck.”
He falls to the floor, sprawled at an awkward angle across the cool, dirty tile, shoulders pressing against the edge of the tub. He wraps his hands around his middle. Stares at the door, slightly ajar, doorstop wedged hard, forming its own sticky connection with the door and tile. And he rocks in place. Counts out his breaths. Tries to rationalize the irrational bullshit soup of his life.
As he lays there, hastily packing away all of the emotions and trauma of his own reflection, he can’t help but think of the last time he was on a bathroom floor doing something eerily similar. Thinks of the nausea and staleness of the air. The muddied taste of old popcorn and his own blood. Of the way Robin spoke to him like he mattered. Like his opinions were worth hearing.
And there’s a part of him – a small, loud, vicious part – that thinks the only reason she’s in his life, the only reason that she gave him the time of day, the only reason that she’s even stuck around is because of that goddamn fucking truth serum bullshit that was aggressively injected into their veins. Without that…Steve doesn’t think they would’ve ever been more than just coworkers.
If that’s true, then what’s stopping her from waking up one day and realizing that she doesn’t even need him anymore?
Fuck if that isn’t the most terrifying thought.
His eyes drift through the door, land on the edge of his bed, the nail bat tucked safely beside it. The sight does something to comfort him, keep him from full on spiraling.
Well. Spiraling any more than he already has.
His fingers snake up to his neck again, thumb over the sensitive bump. His eyes shut, a shudder passing through him as he tugs at his hair, much longer now than he’s ever had it before, and twists it in a way to curl over the scar like he has too many times to count. He half-considers pulling out the makeup he swiped from his mom’s bathroom. It’s worked pretty okay so far, provides a bit more coverage than his hair.
Even then, there’s only so much that makeup and long hair and even high-necked shirts can do. They’re all just impermanent solutions to what is proving to be a pretty permanent problem.
“Fuck.” He leans his head back against the tub and makes himself take slow, deliberate breaths.
Can’t believe he’s even considering this.
He slowly crawls his way to his bed. Grabs the bat in one hand. The phone with the other. Two deafening rings sound before hearing, “Buckley residence.”
Instantly, Steve feels something loosen in his chest. Feels a breath he didn’t know he was holding slip from his lips. Tension bleeding out in sticky sharp drops, edges clinging to him.
“Hey.”
Robin’s voice softens immediately. “Hey yourself, dingus. What’s up?”
He swallows, stares at his bedside table, at the tiny polaroid of the two of them in his car one night, empty fry basket and used napkins littered across their laps. Thinks about all the drives they’ve been on. The panic attacks she’s pulled him through. The dreams they’ve shared as they looked over the city.
The way she’s shown up for him almost every day the last couple of months.
How no one else in his life has ever shown him that kind of consistent love.
How he’s just as close to losing it as he is to keeping it, and if this is the thing that she wants, that will keep her around longer, then, well –
“I’m in.”
“You’re–wait, are you serious?” Her voice lilts at the edges.
“Yeah.” He smiles. Can almost convince himself that he’s not making the world’s stupidest fucking decision. “Fuck it. Let’s do it.”
Three days later, with the late afternoon sun still casting warmth across the changing of the seasons, Steve finds himself back at Eddie Munson’s trailer.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite symbiotic duo.”
Steve wrinkles his nose. Looks at Robin. “What does that mean?”
“He’s saying we’re basically the same person.”
“Oh.”
“Ready to be inked by yours truly?” Eddie grins, playful twinkle to his eye.
Since the day Eddie came to apologize, things between him and Steve have been…different. Friendly, even. Eddie’d helped Steve to clean up the remnants of his very long, drunk weekend. And hasn’t brought it up since. Steve’s not even sure if he told Robin. But, considering Robin hasn’t tried to accost him, he has a pretty good feeling that Eddie just kept it to himself. Which brings Steve an immense sense of relief.
And now, Eddie has just effortlessly folded into Steve’s life. Always there to offer some kind of reprieve that isn’t strictly alcohol oriented. Meaning, lots of smoking weed, watching bad movies, and eating their weight in popcorn. It’s been a mildly odd adjustment considering the last guy his age he’d been “friends” with was always actually a giant fucking asshole.
Not that Eddie isn’t an asshole. But, he’s at least, like, not a cruel asshole.
He’s an asshole in, like, the right way.
So, Robin and Steve and Eddie have since been hanging out more nights than not. Eddie always seems to linger a bit closer. Seems to show up at just the right time with weed and some random tape to listen to.
And Steve has to admit that being high is a lot better than being drunk. He doesn’t mind the company that comes with it either. A realization that settles softly somewhere behind his ribs one night and refuses to fade away.
So, he’s more than a little relieved to learn that the “friend” Robin was referring to when it came to the tattoos was actually Eddie.
If anyone was to bring a needle to his neck, he feels the least anxious about it being Eddie. Still completely and utterly fucking terrified. But, like, less so than if it had been anything else.
“You sure you’re up for it, Munson?” Steve banters as he ambles up the steps.
“Oh, Stevie. You really think I’d miss the chance to leave my mark on the former King Steve Harrington?” Eddie’s voice drops an octave, his head cocked to the side, eyes tracing slowly up and down Steve’s body.
Steve suddenly feels like he’s walking into some point of no return. But, he’s played this game before, was king for a reason, so Steve swallows down the bubbling anxiety, looks Eddie up and down, tries not to linger on how Eddie’s jeans hug him just right, how his cropped shirt shows off dark hair trailing down–
Steve leans in, his voice low enough that Robin can’t hear him. “Tell me – I’ve heard musician’s hands are strong and steady. Think you’re strong enough for me?”
Eddie’s eyes go wide, his lips parted on a soft gasp. Steve just chuckles and steps into the trailer, brain racing with questions about why that short exchange made him feel the most alive he’s felt in years.
“Wait, neck tattoos?” Eddie’s brows are high behind his bangs. “You two want neck tattoos?”
“Yep.” Robin perches on the counter, feet swinging beneath her. A bag of pretzels sits in her lap. “Nice, big ‘ol neck tats.”
“Jesus– they’re not that big, Robs.”
“Aw, bet you say that to all the girls, Stevie.”
“Ew.” Steve scrunches his nose, flicks her on the arm. “You’re disgusting.”
“You love me.” Robin just laughs, the sound settling soft in the warmth of the trailer.
“Unfortunately.”
“Why on earth do you want neck tattoos?”
They both turn to Eddie, his legs spread wide as he leans back in his chair. His foot taps a rhythmic beat as he sways back and forth.
“Reasons.” Robin chimes before stuffing approximately 7 pretzels in her mouth.
Eddie snorts. “Gonna need more than that, Buck.”
She shrugs. Eyes darting over to Steve as she chews. Great.
Steve instinctively rubs a finger over the scar on his neck. “Scars.”
“What?” The legs of Eddie’s chair creak as he pushes back.
“To cover up scars.” Steve says, a bit more surety to his tone.
Eddie looks between the two of them, unable to tamper his response as his brows raise high behind his bangs. “You have neck scars?”
“...we don’t not have them.”
“Matching neck scars?” Eddie’s stare is hard. Confused.
“Uh. I mean. Yes?”
“Why do you have–”
Robin pelts Eddie with a pretzel.
“Hey!”
“Jesus. Have you always had a habit of just hitting people with food?” Steve looks between them, half considering snatching the bag of pretzels from her.
“Yes. She has.”
“No, I haven’t.”
Eddie and Robin glare at each other, stick their tongues out at the exact time, and then bust into laughter.
Steve stares. Feels a tick out of place as Eddie and Robin delve into some story about food and summer and he doesn’t really know. Just politely nods and laughs and ignores the rushing sound of water clouding his brain.
“Alright. Look. I’m not going to give you neck tattoos.”
“Wha– Eddie!” Robin jumps off the counter. “You promised!”
“Buck, I promised I’d talk to you and consider tattoos.”
She glares at him. “Eddie.”
“‘Sides, if I give you a fucking neck tattoo, your mom is never gonna let me come over for dinner again, and I simply cannot run that risk.”
“She wouldn’t be that mad.”
“Buck.” He arches a brow and sighs. “She barely likes the tattoos that I already have.”
“Well, she just doesn’t understand artistry. True artistry. Like, she’s just been exposed to all that farmhouse decor and soft living stuff and–”
“The answer is no.” Eddie’s gaze is firm as he stares back at her.
She groans, stomps over to the couch, and falls sideways onto it.
Eddie flicks his gaze to Steve. “Answer is no for you too. I definitely don’t need your parents comin’ after me for markin’ up their pretty boy son’s neck.”
“Uh–” Steve’s brain nearly short-circuits as it processes all the words and potential responses he could give. Until eventually, his brain just sticks on pretty boy pretty boy pretty boy pretty boy pretty boy pretty b–
“Earth to Harrington.” Eddie snaps his fingers, suddenly right the fuck in front of Steve, jesus christ when–
Steve stumbles a half step back. Blinks rapidly. “Fuck. Sorry. Just, uh.” He shakes his head, lets the thoughts sort of rumble around and sort themselves onto their designated shelves. “You wouldn’t really have much to worry.”
“What?”
“My parents. You wouldn’t have to worry. About them finding out.”
Eddie raises a brow. “Pretty sure even your charm couldn’t make Daddy Harrington okay with neck tats.”
“Well, he’d have to be home to see it in the first fucking place, wouldn’t he?” Steve’s voice comes out harder than he intended.
That makes Eddie pause. His brow quirks ever so softly, eyes scanning Steve’s face closely, before softening, flicker of understanding dancing in the air between them, a bit too thick for Steve to swallow. “Okay. Daddy Harrington’s absence aside, neck tattoos are a fucking bitch to heal and super painful. So, no.”
Which makes Steve laugh a bit. “I don’t think the pain’ll be an issue. Well. Not for me, at least.”
Robin points vaguely in his direction without lifting her head off the couch. “That’s misogynistic!”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, huh.”
“How?”
“Ugh.” She props up slightly and glares at him. “Saying the pain will be an issue for me and not you is misogynistic.”
“Jesus.” Steve chuckles. “I said the pain wouldn’t be an issue for me. Because I’ve had much worse than a tattoo needle try to take me apart.”
Robin squints at him before nodding and muttering, “Fair.”
“Hey, uh, real quick.” Eddie interjects. Locks eyes with Steve. “What the fuck?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Robin and Steve say in perfect unison.
Eddie groans. “Hate when you two do that.”
To which Steve says, “You and Robin do it all the time.”
“Irrelevant.”
“Feels pretty relevant, actually.”
“Aw, pretty boy jealous?” Eddie croons, smile wide and blinding.
Steve feels like his entire body reboots in that moment. He manages a shake of his head, a quiet, “You wish.”
But if the look Eddie gives in response is anything to go by, then, well, Steve doesn’t actually know what to do with that.
“So, uh,” Steve clears his throat. “We need…help? Just. I don’t know, man. Just want this fuckin’ thing to disappear.”
Eddie takes a few steps forward, stops just this side of too close to Steve. He raises his hand hesitantly, flicking his eyes to Steve’s. “Can I…?”
Steve instantly flinches back half a step, but it’s enough for Eddie to drop his hand immediately, to take half a step away. Steve swallows hard and shakes his head. “Sorry. Just. It’s – it’s hard to explain.”
“Hey, your body, man. I will say, though, if you want a coverup,” Eddie hesitates, looks genuinely remorseful. “I’m gonna have to touch you.”
Which, like, fuck. Yeah. Of course. Steve knows that. His brain just apparently decides to obliterate all common sense when Eddie gets close.
“Okay, yeah, uh.” Steve sighs. “You can look. Just…” His voice drops to a rasped whisper, eyes quietly pleading with Eddie. “Can you not touch it? Just for now?”
The expression on Eddie’s face turns so soft and he nods. “‘Course.”
Then, Eddie is back in Steve’s orbit, hand slowly raising up toward his face, giving him every chance in the world to step away again. Eddie tucks loose curls behind Steve’s ear, fingers leaving a burning path across his skin. Eyes trailing down his neck. And, Steve can see the moment that Eddie sees the scar. Because Eddie’s face goes pale, his eyes wide, and his jaw tight.
“The fuck happened?” Eddie whispers.
“Uh.” Steve frantically glances at Robin who looks equally helpless. “Accident?”
With raised brows and a frown, Eddie meets Steve’s gaze. “An accident?”
“...yeah.”
“An accident that got both of you?” He gestures at Robin. “Because I got a feeling I’m gonna see the same thing on her neck as yours.”
“Unfortunately.” Robin groans out.
“Right. So. Again.” Eddie looks between the two of them, his face hardened, anger clearly simmering beneath the surface. “What the fuck happened?”
There’s tense silence. A silence in which Steve and Robin are frantically searching each other’s eyes trying to find some kind of story that will make Eddie leave well enough alone. How the fuck do you explain rough, jagged scars on the side of your neck? Scars that shouldn’t even exist at all. But, because the Russians lacked any amount of care when torturing them, there’s a swollen bump and a small jagged cut where the needle had ripped through skin. The accident story is probably even more unbelievable paired with the gash in Steve’s lip and rough scar under his eye.
“Something…bad.”
“Rob.” Steve’s glare is hot and panicked.
“I know, I know. But. We have to give him something.” She bargains.
“We literally can’t.”
“Steve.”
“Robin.”
“Do you really think those assholes are gonna check in on us?”
Steve throws his head back with a groan. “I don’t know! For all I fucking know, they’re watching or listening or whatever.”
“They can’t even be bothered to follow through on the payouts. They are not checking on us.”
At this point, Eddie waves a hand between them, a strangled, “Stop” falling from his lips. He looks between them, expression a mixture of worry and anger and utter confusion. “The fuck did you get yourselves involved in?”
Robin gives Steve one last pleading look, to which he sighs, throws his hands up in defeat, and paces deeper into the living room.
“Starcourt. They happened at Starcourt.” Robin spits out hurriedly, as if the words themselves are threatening to run away.
Eddie just looks at her like she’s insane. “The fire? How did a fire do this?”
“Well. It –”
“It wasn’t just a fire.” Steve grits out. He paces back over to them, jaw locked tight. “Bad shit happened. Shit that’s my fault and–”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Rob, we’re not doing this right now.”
“Yes! We are!” She stands and steps closer to him. Her eyes darken, like the high tide threatening to crash across the shore. “You didn’t make this happen.”
“But, I should’ve – fuck.” Steve takes a deep, steadying breath. “Shit happened. That I could have prevented.” He holds a hand up to stop Robin’s retort. “And some of that shit involved me and Robin getting…hurt.”
“Hurt?” Eddie parrots back.
“Yeah.”
The next minute passes in utter silence. Eddie keeps pinging his gaze between them, his eyes scanning up and down their bodies, as if he can see through the layers, zero in on the litany of scars adorning Steve’s body, read their minds to find the truth.
“And this so called bad shit – it results in a payout?”
Robin and Steve scoff together, both their faces pictures of anger and exhaustion. Steve shakes his head and says, “It’s supposed to. But, yet to see any of it.”
Something like recognition suddenly crosses Eddie’s face. “You – please tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you didn’t sign NDAs.”
“Do you want me to lie?” Robin whispers.
Which just results in Eddie shaking his head and laughing in complete disbelief. “Holy shit. Fuck.”
The air in the trailer grows thick with tension. Robin shifts uneasily on her feet, her arms folded across her chest, eyes frantically stuck on Eddie. Steve is…well, he’s not fine. But, he feels kind of used to this. Like, this has been his life for two years. And, he grew up with a lawyer of a dad. So, he’s very well aware and numb to all the legal bullshit that they’ve had to deal with.
“Eddie, I’m sorry. I wanted–”
“You’re fine. Just. Fuck, man. Always knew there was somethin’ shady ‘bout this fuckin’ town.”
Steve snorts and shakes his head. “You have no idea.”
“Well,” Eddie sighs. “A lot of shit makes sense now. Like, a lot.”
“Glad it makes sense for you. It’s a clusterfuck for us.”
“I think I developed a fear of malls.” Robin says, apropos of nothing.
Steve and Eddie blink at each other. Slowly turn towards Robin, who is looking incredibly serious, and also like she is trying not to smile.
“Is that even a thing?” Steve questions.
“It is now. No more malls. Malls are dead to me.”
“The Queen hath spoken.” Eddie does a half bow. “No more malls.”
Robin looks entirely too pleased with herself. “Good.”
“So,” Steve hedges. Gently nudges Eddie’s elbow with his own. “You down to do some coverups now?”
The expression on Eddie’s face finally cracks, the jagged pieces settling into something warm and soft. Fierce, even. Steve feels like he just might choke on it if he rests here too long.
“Depends on what kind of coverup you’re talkin’ about.”
Steve rolls his eyes. “Tattoo coverups, smartass.”
Eddie just grins something wild and brilliant and perhaps even the most beautiful smile Steve has ever seen.
Fuck.
“I won’t give you neck tattoos. If you wanted to consider an arm one or leg or something on the body that is easily covered, cover up any other scars,” Eddie gestures between them as he talks. “Maybe somethin’ like that’d work. Heavy emphasis on maybe. But, I’m not puttin’ anything on your necks. Least not anything permanent.”
“Well…what do you have that’s not permanent?” Steve leans further into Eddie’s space, turns on his best sad boy pleading eyes.
“‘Scuse me?” Eddie just blinks back at him.
“Yeah, I mean. You said you wouldn’t do anything permanent. Which, okay, sure. I get it. But, what about something not permanent?” Steve’s eyes are a bit wider than usual, the faint flickerings of hope speckled through the honey-glow around his irises. “Do you have anything like that?”
“Uh…” Eddie looks at Steve, then over to Robin, who suddenly is much more invested in this conversation if her giddy smile is anything to go by. “Well. I s’pose I could cook somethin’ up.”
Which is how Eddie spends the rest of his afternoon sketching out designs in his notebook with input from Steve and Robin. Change a line here. Add a curve here. Make this more open. Take this off.
And, much to Steve’s surprise, the afternoon is…fun. It’s easy. Relaxed. Which is kind of overwhelming in its own right. By the time Eddie has finished his sketches, evening has rolled around, they’re a couple of joints deep, and Steve –
“Pizza’s ordered.” Steve says as he drops back onto the couch.
“Why, thank you, Sir Steve.” Eddie grins as he hands off the fresh joint.
Steve takes it, fingertips brushing against Eddie’s, lingering there a second too long, before taking a long hit, letting the smoke warm him from the inside out, the remnants bleeding out thick in the already existing haze in the trailer.
Robin plucks the joint from his hand, thankfully, because all Steve can focus on right now is how the smoke frames Eddie in a brilliant sort of glow, the sight of which is making him warmer than the weed. Eddie looks up and catches Steve’s gaze, fucking winks at him? Is that – did that happen?
As soon as it maybe happens, it’s over, and Robin is breaking the tension. “Dude, this design is sick! It’s gonna look so good. Steve, didn’t I tell you Eddie was amazing?”
Steve is still staring at Eddie, who now has looked back up at him, caught his eye again, a soft twinkle there. A sketchbook is clumsily thrust into his arms by Robin, demanding he look at the finished sketches. Steve blinks, watches Eddie’s cheeks burn red, before he tilts his eyes down to his lap, to the open sketchbook.
He’s been watching Eddie sketch all afternoon, so he’s not expecting to be surprised. But, maybe it’s from the weed, or from being able to rest for the last few hours, or the way Eddie is staring at him, lip worried between his teeth and brows creased, but all the breath is knocked from his lungs as he looks at the fully finished sketches. His fingers gently trace the lines with reverence and his vision goes cloudy.
A warm hand grasps his arm gently. “You okay, Steve?”
On instinct, Steve nods. “Yeah. Yeah, Rob. I’m good. Just…wow.”
“It’s okay if you, uh, if you don’t like it. I can do something new or different or, uh.” Eddie’s leg is bouncing rapidly, his hands clasped over his knees as he leans forward, eyes darting between Steve and Robin. “Just. I know sometimes things turn out different than you thought and, uh, yeah, I–”
Which makes Steve look back up and catch Eddie’s eye. “Eds, this is…this is gorgeous.”
“Yeah?” Eddie’s whole body goes still, soft smile tugging at his lips. Maybe even the softest one Steve has ever seen from him.
“Yeah! The details. I just…wow.”
Eddie’s entire face sparks red and he ducks his head. That image burns into Steve’s brain and he’s suddenly hit with the urge to make Eddie look like that, like, all the time. Why what, that doesn’t, what, why, why, oh god, oh–
Clearly not one to let the quiet sit, Robin grabs the sketchbook from him. “So, what’s the plan, tattoo man?”
Which prompts Eddie to clear his throat and nod. “Right, tattoos, yeah, one sec.” He pulls a cart over from the corner and starts prepping…something. The shelves are full of various bottles of different colors, boxes of gloves, clean hand towels, cleaning solutions, and a variety of other things that quickly overwhelm Steve’s mind.
“So, I’ve got this dye.” Eddie holds up a container with a small amount of brown mixture in it. “It’s called henna. It’s natural, literally from a plant. Comes as a powder and you mix it up when you’re ready to use it.” He takes a small bit and swirls it on the back of his hand. “It’ll do a stain on your skin that’ll last for a bit, but importantly, it isn’t permanent. Eventually, it’ll wash off. It sits for a bit and then we take it off and the stain underneath remains.”
“Hell yeah. I’m in.” Robin is grinning so fucking wide as she leans across Steve, eyes scanning the cart.
Eddie just laughs at her eagerness. “Figured. What about you, sir pretty boy?”
Hey, what?
“Uh.” Steve blinks, his eyes going wide as he stares back at Eddie, which must come off as nervousness over getting tattooed, albeit an impermanent one.
“Hey, you don’t have to.” Robin pulls back a bit to look at him fully. “Totally don’t. No pressure.”
“Yeah, man. Your body. It’s up to you how you wish to decorate it.” Eddie’s smile is completely soft, slipping easily into Steve’s veins.
And, like, Steve does want to, is the thing. The art really is beautiful, and it would be really fucking nice to be able to look into a mirror just a bit easier. But the part that keeps tripping him up is still the needle. Even though he knew what he was getting into, the thought of a needle coming anywhere close to him, the fact he can see them in Eddie’s cart right now, is enough to make him want to bolt.
“I…I don’t know.”
“Well, that’s a no, then.” Eddie says with an air of finality. Steve immediately moves to protest, but Eddie stops him with a small wave of his hand. “Anything less than enthusiastic consent is a no.”
“Oh.”
That shuts Steve up real quick.
Logically, that makes sense in his brain. And, obviously, he would never even think about making someone do anything they weren’t wholly into or on board with. But, he’d never really applied that own logic to…himself?
“You can watch me do Buck’s and think about it for the future, yeah?”
Which seems like the best option he has right now, so Steve agrees. He sits back and watches as Eddie sets up. Eddie drags the small breakfast table over to the couch and starts setting his supplies up on it. When Steve gives him a funny look and asks why, Eddie just smiles and says, “Want you to be comfy for the show, pretty boy.”
Jesus christ, Eddie’s gonna kill him with that.
Steve watches Eddie and Robin both wash their hands. A clean cloth is laid across the table, along with some extra clean, dry hand towels. The container of what Steve presumes to be the henna powder, along with a few other ingredients he can’t quite parse, and…bags? Cones? Eddie pulls on a pair of gloves and grabs a clean towel, wets it with a bit of alcohol, then turns to Robin.
“Alright, you’ll need to put your hair up. I’m gonna clean the skin first. Then, I’ll work on placing the design. Once that’s done, I’ll mix up your henna and we’ll get this show on the road.”
Robin nods and twists her hair up, clamps it out of the way. Exposes her neck to Eddie with utter and complete trust. Steve’s not really sure how she does that – envies her a bit for it, really. His fingers brush across his own scar almost absentmindedly. Only Robin, and, well, now Eddie, have seen it. He’s made a point to let his hair grow long, to wear higher necked sweaters and shirts, even makeup if he has to. Anything to keep people from seeing the somehow jagged scratch of a scar the Russians left behind.
Not like he expects any of them to have gone to fucking medical school, but, still.
The faintest of flickers of pain, or maybe anger, or both, etch across Eddie’s face as he looks at Robin’s neck. Eddie locks eyes with Steve, and there’s something about the look that Eddie gives him that hits Steve square in the chest, makes him realize just how much Eddie cares.
“You ready, Buck?” Eddie’s voice has the faintest hints of a tremor to it that he quickly swallows down, replaces with an easy smile.
“Ready.” Robin looks over at Steve and slides her hand into his, linking their fingers together.
When the stencil is placed and Eddie is ready to start, Steve expects a needle to come out.
Except, that’s the thing.
Maybe Steve should’ve paid closer attention or asked more questions, but…there’s no needle. Like, at all. Not even a tiny one.
Steve can’t stop the confused noise he lets out when Eddie starts tracing the stencil with the henna. “What – what’re you doing?”
“...the henna?” Eddie pauses in his movements to flick his eyes to Steve’s, who is just wholly confused. “What’s wrong?”
“Uh, nothing, just–” Steve clears his throat. “What about, uh, needle?”
He leans back, lets Robin’s neck go for a moment. “Oh, there’s no needles for henna. It’s not permanent.”
Steve furrows his brow and stares at the cart. “But…”
Eddie stares for about three seconds before realization dawns across his face. “The ink isn’t breaking the skin barrier as deeply as traditional tattoos. You just essentially draw the design on top of the skin with the henna. And once you’re done, you let it sit for a while, then wash it off and it leaves a stain behind. Kind of like permanent marker, but it stays longer, generally.”
“Oh.”
Steve’s entire posture relaxes and Eddie’s face goes guilty immediately.
“Shit, did I not – fuck, sorry, I shoulda been more clear to y’all. No needles. None whatsoever.”
As if on cue, Robin and Steve both say, hopeful lilt to their voices, “No needles?”
“Okay, stop doing that.”
“Never.” They parrot back.
And before Eddie can respond, there’s a knock at the door, “Pizza delivery!”
The pizza boxes rest on the coffee table, one of them wholly closed and to the side, saved for Wayne. Eddie kept saying he didn’t have to, but Steve insisted. Feels some kind of need to do it.
Steve thumbs through the record collection, a joint hanging from his lips. He wasn’t expecting to find anything he recognized here, fully aware of how different his and Eddie’s tastes are. But, lo and behold, there’s a lot here. More than just metal. Like, mostly not metal, actually. His thumb pauses on one cover and he pulls it out, slots the record in the player with a soft grin, before returning to his warm spot on the couch.
Barely a line is sung before Eddie is smiling something soft and laughing to himself. “Chicago fan, huh?”
Steve shrugs, tendrils of smoke spilling from his lips. “They’ve got some good shit.”
“That they do, Stevie. That they do.”
And that’s how Steve spends the next hour of his life. Sitting on Eddie Munson’s couch, lazily smoking, listening to records, talking about nothing – just enjoying life. Robin holds tight to Steve’s hand the whole time, squeezing ever so slightly each time Eddie touches the scar or the space around it. It’s mesmerizing, really, how effortlessly Eddie is able to create such intricate and beautiful art with such a steady hand. That’s probably the most impressive part to Steve – Eddie’s steadiness. His hands never shake, even a couple joints deep.
Which, Eddie did inform them to never get real tattoos under the influence. There was a whole monologue on how it is critical to be fully aware and research your artist and how to care for your body and so on. Steve found it admirable, really, how passionate and adamant Eddie is about safety. Hell, the only reason Eddie’s even doing this right now is because he’s not piercing the skin and it isn’t permanent. It’s like drawing with a very particular marker, he said.
Suddenly, Robin groans, making Eddie’s hands retreat immediately. “You good, Buck? Need a minute?”
“No, sorry, just,” she sighs. “Just remembering how cute Vickie looked today.”
Eddie’s entire body goes still. His eyes blow wide as they frantically snap between Steve and Robin.
“Did you tell her?” Steve presses, though he’s fairly certain he already knows the answer.
“What do you think?”
“I think that you need to just ask her out.”
“Gee, thanks.” She throws a pretzel at him and he laughs. “What a great way to get me a role as the town pariah.”
“That’s not gonna happen.”
“Uh, sorry, run that back – what?”
Robin and Steve both turn toward Eddie then. Find him looking incredibly fucking terrified, actually.
“You okay?’ Robin furrows her brow.
“Wha– you just? And he? But–” Eddie lets out a mirthless chuckle. “What the fuck?”
Recognition dawns across her face then. “Oh! Oh, Steve’s cool. He knows.”
“He…knows?”
“Yep.”
Eddie blinks. Looks between them again. “Something doesn’t make sense.”
“I promise. He’s safe.” Robin gently wraps a hand over Eddie’s arm and squeezes softly.
“Oh. Oh, yeah, man. We’re all good here. No big deal.” Steve says in the most calm, supportive voice he can. Kind of forgot this was something people normally don’t say out loud with how much time he’s spent around Robin lately.
Which still isn’t enough. Because Eddie wholly sets down his equipment and takes a deep breath. “I’m gonna need you to spell this out for me.”
Steve immediately says, “Starcourt.”
Robin says, “Bathroom.”
“Starcourt…bathroom?”
“Yep.” Robin pops the p with far too much enthusiasm.
Eddie sighs, something long and agonizing. “Am I really gonna have to pull every detail out of you or can you just tell me what the hell is going on? What world am I in where this is just normal?”
“What do you mean?” Steve leans forward, props an elbow on the table.
“I know you’re, like, cool now and stuff. But. Just.” Eddie sighs.
“You don’t know if I’m that kind of cool.” Steve supplies in a soft voice.
At that, Eddie winces a bit, but nods. And really, Steve gets it. He never really put off the persona of gay ally or what have you in high school. He grimaces as he remembers quite a few times he and his friends may have done quite the exact opposite of showing that kind of support.
Specifically to Eddie and his friends.
Shit.
“I told you. He’s cool now.” Robin stresses. Steve is a bit grateful for her standing up for him. But, he knows this goes a bit deeper.
“Eddie.”
Eddie looks up, face betraying the anxiety coursing through him.
“I’m sorry.”
“What are you–”
“Rob. Just, give us a sec, yeah?”
Robin grumbles, but pushes back from the table. “Fine. Two minutes. Bathroom break.” And then she’s gone.
“Did you say you’re sorry?” Eddie whispers.
“Yeah. I did.” Steve sighs. “I was a huge dumbass asshole in high school.”
“Steve–”
“No, just –”
“We already talked it out. We’re fine.”
“But, we’re not.”
“We’re not?”
“No. Not – just. Fuck.” Steve drags a hand through his hair and groans. “Why do we always end up in these when I’m not sober?”
At that, Eddie laughs. He shucks his gloves and flexes his hands before grabbing his cigarettes. “Because the tongue flows easier when uninhibited.”
Steve blinks back at him. “Totally.”
“Smoke break?” Eddie gestures at the door.
“Fuck, yeah, please.”
They situate themselves on the small couch outside the trailer. Night is taking the park now, streaks of pale gray moonlight glinting off the hood of Steve’s car. The sounds of families winding down carry through the park – kids laughing, conversations trailing in broken snippets, clotheslines whipping in the wind.
Steve’s eyes land across the way on Max’s trailer, all the lights inside off. Feels a twinge in his gut at how he feels like he failed her. Didn’t protect her as much as he could’ve.
“She been out lately?” Steve asks.
Eddie sighs and shakes his head. “Not much. Brought her lunch yesterday.”
“Thanks man.”
“‘Course. We look out for each other.” Eddie glances up at her trailer. “And I know shit ain’t as clear cut as it seems, what with you and Buck in there with your fucked up matching shit. I’m guessin’...she’s not far off?”
Steve grits his teeth. “Not…quite as bad as us. But, uh, she was…there. She saw…things.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
Eddie lights his cigarette, and Steve is expecting him to just hand over the pack, but he goes stock still as Eddie hands him the one he’d just lit. Steve takes it. Takes a drag. And then, Eddie takes it back.
So, they’re sharing. Which shouldn’t feel weird considering that they share joints fairly regularly. But, something about sharing a cigarette feels more…intimate.
Steve refuses to read into it anymore than his brain already has decided to.
“Alright, Stevie.” Eddie lets out a breath of smoke. “Why’re you apologizing?”
“For high school. Just…I know I was a big asshole. And that doesn’t begin to cover it. I know that…I know that we were cruel.” He takes a deep breath, eyes trained on Eddie’s shoes. “I know we were cruel to you.”
Eddie tenses immediately and Steve wants nothing more than to go back in time and deck his younger self for ever even considering being half of the asshole he was.
“I know we were cruel to you and your friends and – fuck, man. We said horrible things. I said horrible things. I let horrible things happen. And, god, that shit eats at me. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Huh.” Eddie ashes the cigarette before offering it to Steve, which feels like a monumental win at the moment. “Y’know, you keep on surprising me.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not right now.” Steve takes a deep drag, tries to calm the frayed edges of his nerves.
“I’m not gonna spare your feelings, here.” Eddie claps his hands together and Steve winces at the sound. “I’m not gonna lie and say you weren’t awful. ‘Cause you were. You and those dickheads you hung out with. Y’all said some pretty fuckin’ awful shit, did some pretty awful shit.”
Steve shrinks in on himself and nods. “I know.”
“But.” Eddie leans against Steve slightly, grins as he points at him. “But. What I will say is that everyone deserves the space to grow. To try’n become better. Like, shit. I’ve done some fucked up shit in my past that I ain’t proud of at all. I can’t change it. All I can do now is just…move forward. Try’n be better than I was.”
Eddie sighs, the sound filled with a thousand unspoken stories, the feeling of which Steve knows the weight of all too well. He presses his knee against Eddie’s gently, trying to offer some semblance of comfort.
“So, you, sittin’ here, apologizing to me for being a homophobic prick in high school, so that I know you’re safe for Buck to be ‘round?” Eddie cocks his head and smiles softly at Steve. “That’s somethin’.”
“Something…good?”
Somewhere in the trailer park, a dog barks. The sound of crunching gravel and a screen door creaking shut carry through the warm wind. A light flicks on in Max’s trailer, the faint shadow of someone walking inside.
All of it floods through Steve, filling him with the signs of life carrying on that he desperately clings to these days.
The door behind them swings open and Robin pops her head out. “Hey, dorks. We finishing this thing or what?”
Eddie laughs, the sound light and twinkling, like a balm to Steve’s aching heart. “Yeah, yeah. We’re comin’.”
Robin grumbles something as she shuts the door.
Then, Eddie turns back to Steve, smile bright as anything, and says, “Yeah, Stevie.” He grabs the cigarette back, fingers stilling for a few seconds too long in the exchange. “Somethin’ real damn good.”
taglist (open):@sunshine-daydreams0809@saramelaniemoon@probablyin-bed@bookworm0690@watermelonmite@sanctumdemunson@5-fievel@nicememerino @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx
divider credit:@saradika-graphics
thank you for reading :)
chapter title inspired by "Blood Bros" by Hayley Williams :)
an: btw steve does, in fact, get the matching tattoo
also, i want to note that i did a ton of research on henna for this section. i wanted to ensure that i was representing it properly and respecting the origins of it. i hope that i was able to convey that clearly here.
thanks for reading :)
Steve and Robin's Guide to Finding a Partner in Ten (not so) Easy Steps
AO3 | @stobinminibang 2026 event | rating: t | wc: 8.1k | cw: weed; alcoholism | tags: unhealthy coping mechanisms; steve drinks a LOT of alcohol; depression; miscommunication; eddie being judgemental (briefly); steddie interaction; steve is having Thoughts | gen masterlist
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fic masterpost | ch: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 <3
Chapter 2: Young, Drunk, and Alone
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t good ‘ol King Steve Harrington?” Eddie kicks open the screen door and leans in the frame. “To what pleasure does His Highness deign to grace me with?”
Steve wrinkles his nose, ducks his head down.
“Eddie, you promised.” Robin’s voice is sharp, her eyes staring directly into Eddie’s (nonexistent) soul.
Eddie holds his hands up placatingly. “Hey, I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re so doing the thing.”
“I plead innocent.”
“‘’Innocent’ has never been and never will be a word I use to describe you.”
He grabs at his chest. “I’m wounded, Buck.” A thick southern drawl slips into his voice. “I’m nothin’ but a sweet, lil’, innocent young farm boy.”
Robin scrunches her face in disgust, sticks her tongue out. “Ugh, if you’re going to do this, can we at least be high first? It’s been a shit month.”
To his credit, Eddie laughs, eyes twinkling as he stares at Robin, gestures her into the trailer. “The palace awaits its queen.”
Robin barrels past him, leaving Steve awkwardly on the makeshift porch. He stands there, hands stuffed in his pockets, feeling all the part of a child along for the ride to a lunch with his mom’s friend.
And the mom has walked away, leaving the friend to watch after her kid.
So, like. He feels super out of place. Considers even slowly backing away and sliding into his car. Driving away from somewhere he’s never once been particularly welcome beyond a quick exchange in the middle of the night.
Steve finally looks up, catches Eddie’s questioning gaze.
So, Eddie gestures again. “Mi casa es su casa, Harrington.”
Steve furrows his brow, brain slowly working through the last years of Spanish he’d taken.
That is Spanish, right?
He’s like, 83% certain it is. Even more certain that “mi” means “my” and “es” is, well, “is.” He just can’t –
He grumbles to himself in frustration as the feeling of packed cotton twists through his head. Everything feels half-dampened, and his eye still throbs, and apparently, the knowledge of Spanish was knocked out somewhere along the last however many head injuries.
“Hey.” Eddie leans forward slightly, steps down out of the doorway, the chaotic, jester visage melted away to something calmer, warmer, softer. “You good, man? I promise I’m not gonna, like, fuck with your shit or anything. All clean product here.”
“Ye–” Steve chokes on the word, throat suddenly achingly dry and tight. He clears his throat several times, averting his eyes from Eddie’s worried expression. Fixes them to a scuffed point on the doorframe. “Yeah, I know. I didn’t – I don’t – fuck – yeah, like, I know, I – it’s, you know –”
“Hey, dingus, breathe.” Robin is suddenly leaned against the doorframe, soft eyes locked on his panicked ones.
“Right.” Steve nods. “Breathe. Yeah. I can do that.”
“Hey, if it helps, I don’t bite.” Eddie half-laughs.
“Yeah, yeah I know.”
“C’mon.” Robin holds out her hand.
Steve stares for a moment.
Looks between her hand and Eddie.
His body does something…funny as he looks at Eddie.
Because Eddie is staring back at him, not as loud, exuberant Eddie Munson usually does – no, Eddie’s expression is…soft? Worried? Honest?
Something small blooms in the center of Steve’s chest. A spot of softness and warmth in the sea of jagged pain swirling through his bloodstream.
He has no fucking idea what to do with that.
So instead, against his better judgement, he forces himself to grab Robin’s hand, lets her pull him into the trailer – deeper into Eddie Munson’s orbit.
Steve drinks it all in. The rows of mugs and hats adorning the peeling wallpaper. The mishmash of rugs lining the hallway. The pictures scattered on shelves. The chunk missing from the counter by the sink. The smattering of pillows and blankets strewn about the living room. The smell of cigarette and weed smoke baked into the stagnant air.
The feeling of life everywhere.
Because, yeah, this place feels like people actually live here. And Steve isn’t really sure the last time he spent more than 5 minutes in a place that felt lived in.
Well.
He kind of does.
But, he’s doing everything he can to cut loose those parts of his life.
“I know it’s not exactly Harrington-mansion-esque, so you’ll have to forgive me.” Eddie half bows in front of him.
“Jesus –” Steve laughs, gently pushes Eddie’s shoulder. “Knock it off, man.”
Eddie grins up at him. Something in his smile like he just won something precious.
Then, the sound of a slamming cabinet door ricochets through the air.
“Shit – sorry!” Robin cringes, eyes wide as she looks at Eddie. “I swear I didn’t –”
“Buck, how many times –” Eddie shakes his head as he walks into the kitchen.
“Hey, I swear, it has a mind of its own!”
“Yeah, sure it does.”
Eddie pulls himself up on the counter in one smooth motion, the edge of his fraying shirt lifting high enough to expose an inch of skin above his waistband. An inch that’s far too inviting. Black ink swirls across it, and suddenly Steve’s entire life goal is to see what the map of that ink is.
What the fuck?
“Hand me the –”
“Here.” Robin plops a screwdriver in Eddie’s hand. Where she got it from, Steve has no fucking idea.
“‘Preciate it.” Eddie holds the cabinet door in one hand, the screwdriver between his teeth, while his other hand works to line things back up.
“I’m so sorry, Eddie, I reall–”
“‘S fine, Buck.”
“No, you’re always saying ‘Hey, don’t slam the cabinets, Buck, they’re hanging on with nothing but sheer spite’ and then I always manage to –”
“Thing ‘s already busted, promise.”
“I just – “
“Buck.”
Eddie is looking down at Robin now, his eyes wide and earnest. He props the door between his shoulder and the frame so he can reach his other hand down to Robin, ruffle her hair, much to her annoyance as she squirms away.
Steve feels more than hears the laughter that spills out of her – the kind of laughter without any harbored weight to it, without any exceptions or guards or clear ‘we’re trying to forget that we live above a hell dimension’ vibes. It knocks whatever dregs of confusion and panic he had clear out of his head for approximately 10 seconds.
10 beautiful, blissful, Robin-shaped seconds.
Something about that adds on to the Robin-shaped blob living deep in his chest – somewhere closer to his heart, more protected than whatever Eddie just created moments ago.
The squeaking of hinges shakes him free.
“See, we’re all good. Nothing to even worry ‘bout.” Eddie slides off the counter, grin plastered wide on his face.
Robin throws her head back in a groan. “Thank fucking god. I don’t wanna have to tell Wayne I broke something else.”
Eddie snorts. “He wouldn’t even be mad. He just expects it at this point.”
Robin smacks him on the arm. “Okay, rude.”
“I speak nothing but the truth, madam.”
“Yeah, well, still rude.” But there’s no heat to her voice as she says it. Just a soft smile.
Eddie slings an arm around her shoulders, pulls her to his side, presses a loud kiss to the crown of her skull – an action that makes her squeal and laugh in a way Steve has never heard from her.
It sounds…light. Unbothered. Free.
It makes his entire body ache.
God, he has no clue the last time he heard a laugh like that from anyone he knows, from himself. He’s not even sure he’s capable of making a sound like that anymore. Feels like his brain has written over its laugh signals, replaced them with nothing but dead static. An excruciating numbness that bleeds dark into every part of his body.
Steve suddenly feels very awkward – like he’s stumbled into the middle of a story he has no business being a part of. A side character who has stayed on the page just a touch too long, clearly devoid of any meaning or purpose. A feeling he knows all too well at this point.
Like, hey, Steve is good for a fun time. He knows how to throw the perfect parties. What to do at what time to fill the role of King. Knows exactly what moves to make and when to make them in order to glide his way through life.
But, he’s never had this kind of connection with anyone. This kind of soft, unbothered warmth where the goal is to just be with each other. Not to prove anything or show off how cool you are. No, it’s different. Something he’s never had. Not even with Tommy or Carol. He never felt this…safe around them.
Fuck. That’s a thought.
A cold chill zaps through his body as he watches Robin and Eddie wind down from their laughing, now in an equally animated conversation, Eddie’s arm still slung across Robin’s shoulders, casually touching in the softest of ways, which sparks the mildest of confusions in his brain because he knows Robin’s gay. Eddie is a guy. So, why is Robin letting this happen? Isn’t this just going to send Eddie the wrong idea? Or…no, there’s no way people can just do this…platonically.
Right?
Steve shakes that thought free, watches as Robin and Eddie turn away from him, move deeper into the kitchen, fluidly moving around each other, opening cabinets and pouring drinks. It’s in that moment that he makes a choice. He swallows down the ache at watching these few, short seconds of some level of friendship he thinks he’s wholly undeserving of.
He steps sideways, eyes trained on the door, barely three seconds into his escape when bony arms slip around his middle.
He blinks. Looks down. Traces the arms back to Robin.
She just grins up at him – that brilliant, dazzling, megawatt Robin smile.
The smile that Steve thinks he fell a little bit (a lot) in love with.
Can you fall in love with someone non-romantically?
He’s never put much thought into that. He’s never really had anyone to love stick around long enough for it to matter.
He thinks he might–
“Earth to dingus.” Robin snaps her fingers in front of his face.
Steve blinks. Looks at Robin. Looks at Eddie. “What?”
“You good?” Eddie’s propped against the counter. He raises a brow, eyes squinting slightly as they study Steve.
“Oh.” Steve nods. “Yeah. All good. Just, uh. Had a moment. Zoned out. Ya know, no big deal.”
“Riiiiight.” Eddie pushes off the counter, steps past them to the living room. “Well, if you’re gonna smoke, I’m gonna need you to keep your zones in and not out.”
“What does – how do you zone in?” Steve tries following Eddie only to stumble half a step with a Robin-shaped lump still attached to him. He glares down at her. “Can I help you?”
“You can stop being a grumpus.” Robin says. She squeezes his chest – much tighter than Steve expected her to be capable of.
“Jesus –” He coughs and tries to pry her off, but her arms are like vice grips around his chest.
“No. Grumpus. Allowed.” Robin emphasizes each word.
Just because he wants to tease her, and maybe because he’s still a bit (a lot) of an asshole, Steve puts on his best bitchy face. “Bite me.”
Robin quirks a brow. “You know I will.”
“Wouldn’t be the worst thing to bite me.”
“Wouldn’t be – Jesus, what the fuck, Harrington?” Eddie laughs from his perch on the couch.
A smirk tugs at Steve’s lips. “Long story.”
“Very long.” Robin supplies.
“Like, longer than long.”
“Majorly long.”
“So long.”
Eddie looks between them. “Uh, wh–”
“Now!” Robin squeezes Steve again before letting go. “Stop it.”
“Stop what exactly?”
“You know.” She waves her hand. “Your whole brain thinky thing. Stop.”
Steve blinks. “I’m not doing –”
“Steven Sondheim–”
“Ugh, that’s not my name–”
“--you just–”
“--why do you always–”
“--and don’t you–”
“--it’s never–”
“--you have to ju–”
“--literally can’t even–”
“OI!” Eddie claps his hands, causing Robin and Steve to jump, to stop babbling over each other. He fixes Robin with a tired glare. “Please. Don’t tell me there’s two of you, Buck.”
Robin flicks Eddie’s arm. “Hush.”
Eddie rubs his arm. “Okay, ow. I feel like hanging out with King Steve over –”
“Not my name.”
“--is making you more violent.”
“Uh–” Robin blinks. Looks between Eddie and Steve. Eyes pleading with Steve, for some goddamn reason, he doesn’t really know, because how do they explain to Eddie that, yeah, Robin has become more violent since hanging out with him. But, it’s more out of necessity than anything else.
Robin would never have been caught in a gym before this summer – okay, except maybe for band performances or whatever. She wouldn’t willingly go. Especially not to work out.
But, then you get captured and tortured by Russians and suddenly it’s like your body wants to learn how to protect itself or something. Which is how Steve has spent the last few weeks helping train Robin. Nothing crazy. Just some walks, stretching, some strength building. He desperately wants to believe it’s all really over this time, but he can’t ignore the prickling feeling in his brain that it might not be.
They can tell Eddie literally none of that, though, so Robin settles for rolling her eyes and sighing as heavily as she can manage. “I think you’re imagining things, Edwina."
“Not my name.”
“Now, you owe us a smoke.”
“Do you even listen to me?”
“Do you even have the stuff to smoke us out or do I need to go visit –”
“Buck,” Eddie steps forward, holds a finger to her lips. “Don’t you dare say what I think you’re about to say.”
Robin grins, boops Eddie on the nose. “Then smoke me out, cowboy.”
Getting high with Eddie Munson was never something Steve imagined doing. Buying from him, sure. Being at the same party as him, yeah.
But, smoking with him? Deliberately? Because his friend – or, well, she’s more than that. Like, friend doesn’t feel like it’s big enough to talk about Robin, but also nothing else feels right, so –
It just never registered as a possibility to Steve. To be sitting in Eddie Munson’s living room, watching him prep a few joints for them to smoke together. Not that he’s opposed to doing stuff with Eddie. He doesn’t even really know the guy. Never really ran in the same circles. Quite the opposite, actually. So, he’s just surprised is all.
Though, this certainly doesn’t even register as one of the most surprising things about Steve’s life the last couple of years. Which really isn’t a train of thought he wants to follow right now. His brain already feels overloaded.
Instead, Steve tries to focus back in on the conversation. Something about some movie he’s never heard of and some people he doesn’t know, or at least doesn’t think he knows, but after realizing Robin existed a foot behind him for like 9 months straight and he never even fucking noticed her – well, let’s just say he doesn’t fully trust his judgement on if he’s seen or met someone before as much as he used to.
“He did not.” Robin shakes her head. “There’s no way.”
“Would I lie to you?” Eddie glances up at her.
“Yes. You would.” Her voice is deadpan, fingers pausing in their twirling of the grinder. “You have and you would.”
“Hey, I’ll have you know –”
Their voices blend together with the record playing in the corner as Steve watches them prep the weed, nearly hypnotized by the fluidity of their movements. Eddie pulling out fresh bud, the smell of it hitting Steve immediately as Eddie opens the bag. The scent, earthy and strong, promising a sense of peace he can never find alone, lulls him even deeper into this trance.
He watches how Eddie breaks up the bud. How Robin opens the grinder for him. How she grinds the bud while Eddie lays out the papers. How she offers him the freshly ground weed. How he starts rolling joints with a quick deftness.
Steve watches how this all happens without them even once looking at each other. Just two people, moving completely in sync.
He watches how easily the two of them fit together – how they fill out the gaps in each other with such ease. The sparkling edges of Robin’s energy melt so perfectly into the jagged spaces carved in Eddie’s being. They just…make sense. Their entire beings twisting around each other so beautifully and easily and it makes Steve ache.
Steve sits there and he watches as Robin throws her head back in laughter, approximately 2 seconds from knocking her head on the wall when Eddie pulls her forward slightly, guides her head back against his shoulder in one fluid motion. Without even looking at her while he does it. Like his arm goes out on instinct, and she folds into him just as easily.
The way they read each other, intuit the next movement –
The aching in Steve’s chest mounts. The fringes of it dipped in what feels weirdly like jealousy. Definitely feels like desperation. Feels like whatever it is might just consume him whole if he lets it.
Instead, he blinks away, sips his drink, and waits for them to be done.
“This doesn’t exactly seem…safe.” Steve is standing outside the trailer, shielding his eyes as he stares up where the ladder just reaches the eaves. The last dregs of sunlight are spilling across the horizon, coating everything in a honey-warm glow.
Steve thought they’d just sit inside. Smoke. Maybe watch a movie. Eat some pizza.
But, no.
Apparently, smoking with the Chaos Duo is a Whole Experience. One that involves –
“What’s life without a little risk, Harrington?” Eddie grins as he steadies the ladder for Robin to climb up.
“My life has had more than enough risk.” Steve stresses, eyes trained on Robin as she starts climbing. “Rob, please–”
“We do this, like, all the time. It’s fine.”
“That doesn’t exactly fill me with the confidence you think it does.”
She flips him the bird. Eddie laughs.
“Besides, you have as much coordination as a newborn deer, so you climbing this –”
“Oh, stop worrying. We’re fine.”
Robin reaches the top and effortlessly pulls herself up onto the roof.
“How the –” Steve blinks up at her grinning face. “She trips over her own feet at least 3 times a day.”
“She’s got a lot of practice.” Eddie leans against the ladder.
“Oh?"
“We’ve been gettin’ on the roof for years.”
“Yeah, well, she’s been walking for longer than that.”
Eddie chuckles. “Ya got me there, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart?
Steve blinks. The Warm Eddie Spot in his chest fizzing a bit.
“Now, you can take my word for it. This roof has stayed in place despite mother nature’s best efforts.”
“That does not make me feel any better about this.”
Eddie shakes the bag holding what Steve presumes to be whatever the hell they’re smoking. He realizes briefly that he never really questioned. Like, yeah, he watched them grind it up and roll it out, so he knows it’s weed. But, like –
“This’ll make ya feel better.” Eddie beckons at him. “Now, c’mon. Not getting any younger.”
Steve shakes his head, starts muttering to himself as he climbs the ladder, decidedly trying to ignore the memory of the last time he was on the roof of something.
Once they’re up on the roof, Eddie lights up, launches into the middle of some story Steve can't even begin to remember. Eddie passes the joint on, Robin laughing around the billow of smoke pouring from her lungs. It finally makes it to Steve and he just – he holds it for a second. Stares down at it. Down the roof, across the summer grasses swaying in the breeze. The sprouts of wildflowers dotting the landscape, folding into the dense thicket of the forest. A sight that makes his stomach twist.
“You need an instruction manual over there, sweetheart?”
Steve jumps slightly, eyes going wide. “What?”
“Acting like you’ve never seen a joint before.” Robin jokes.
“Oh. Uh." He turns it between his fingers before shakily bringing it to his lips. "No, I have.”
Eddie snorts. “‘Course you have. Your little crew’ve been keeping the lights on in this trailer for a while now.”
“Yeah, I–” Steve pauses with the joint at his lips, eyes wide as he looks over at Eddie. “Wait, what?”
“Eddie. Don’t.” Robin’s voice is tense. Steve can’t read her expression where she’s turned toward Eddie, but he imagines it to be her best attempt at anger. Frustration.
“Buck, c’mon–"
“I told you to be nice.”
“I am!” Eddie exclaims, arms thrown out in front of him. “Jesus. I let him in. And brought him on the roof. And I’m giving him free weed, might I add. Going against every instinct. Doing everything you asked me to. So. See! Nice!”
Steve feels his stomach curdle a bit. The wave of anxiety shouting at him that he doesn’t belong is loud in his ears. He knew this was a bad idea. Knew that coming here, trying to shoehorn himself into someone’s life who by all rights should fucking hate him, honestly, was just the worst of ideas.
But, Robin insisted. Kept claiming that Eddie was chill. Eddie would be accepting. Would be fine housing the disgraced former king of Hawkins High in his house because it’s not like Steve is still that guy.
He’s not that guy…right?
He blinks back tears as he nods. Sets the joint in the ashtray and wordlessly moves to the edge of the roof, about a foot from the ladder when –
“Steve, wait!”
And – that’s not Robin’s voice.
Steve pauses, his ankle hanging over the edge.
“Just – come hang out, man.”
Steve snorts. Shakes his head. “You don’t mean that.”
Hears Robin angry-whisper – “Eddie, I swear to Ozzy, you better fucking fix this shit.”
“What am I supposed to do? Sing kumbaya in a circle and hold his hand?”
Steve nods. The warm Eddie spot in his chest doused with ice cold water. Then, in one movement, pushes himself off the roof, landing in a crouch in the high grass behind the trailer.
He ignores the sound of Robin’s voice as he gets in his car and drives away from Forest Hills.
Steve is staring down the barrel of another handle of whiskey swiped from his father’s collection in the basement. He’s sure his father won’t even miss that it’s gone. He doesn’t even remember the last time his father even went in the basement. If the bastard even remembers there is a basement to go into.
Would probably help if he was actually home, like, ever.
Steve’s fairly certain most days that he’s just been straight up left behind.
Especially since a few weeks ago one of his father’s assistants came by and packed up his parents’ whole closet and left with it with absolutely no answers to give Steve.
Just a new credit card and a key to his dad’s safety deposit box.
So, there’s that at least.
Steve pops the bottle open and takes a long chug.
First of the day, but, like, who knows how many this weekend.
The empty row of bottles sit on the table just glaring at him. Wine and whiskey and beer and cider and anything he could pull from the forgotten stores of people who barely even know who he is anymore.
Someone knocks at the door. A sound which Steve ignores in favor of taking another chug. Figures it’s probably the post or something leaving a package that he’ll get later.
And then the knocking sounds again.
Followed shortly by several pings of the doorbell.
“Ugh.” Steve pulls himself up and sets the whiskey handle on the table.
His brain is slightly foggy with sleep and the sharp edges of an almost hangover as he pads into the foyer. The knocking continues at a rate that has him already pissed off as he swings the door open.
“What–”
And Eddie Munson stumbles into him.
“Jesus–” Steve pushes him off and steps back. “The fuck are you doing, man?”
“Sorry, fuck, I – look, I didn’t mean to,” Eddie sighs. “Shit. Sorry.” He pauses, lifts his hands briefly before seemingly deciding better and stuffing them in his pockets. “I’m sorry."
“You said that.”
Eddie nods. “Yeah. Yep.”
Steve watches him for a moment, sees him ever-so-slightly vibrating in place, stillness clearly a concept that he’s never been acquainted with. “You know, most people only knock once and then wait.”
Eddie cringes. “Yeah, I just, uh, wanted to make sure you heard me?”
That at least earns a snort from Steve. “Pretty sure the whole damn neighborhood could.”
“Sorry.”
“Why are you here?”
“I, uh, need to talk to you?”
Steve cocks a brow. “You need to talk to me?”
Eddie nods. “Yeah. Like. Uh. Is this a bad time?”
Steve watches the way that line registers to Eddie approximately 2.4 seconds after it crosses his lips. Watches Eddie sigh and shake his head.
So, against his better judgement, which is apparently fucked off to who knows where, Steve snorts and waves him in. “If you’re gonna talk, do it inside. Sunlight’s killing me.”
“Right, yeah, totally.” Eddie tumbles in a little more gracefully this time and then stops in the middle of the foyer.
Steve walks right past him, or more like stumbles honestly, to the living room without even pausing. Hears Eddie slip off his boots and follow him.
“Why are you here, Eddie?” Steve’s voice is clipped. He’s not even sure why he let Eddie in, honestly. Tells himself it was mostly to get him to stop fucking pounding the door.
“Right, yeah, so,” Eddie makes it three paces into the living room and then stops. “Jesus, Steve.”
“What?”
“What do you mean ‘what’?”
Steve just cocks a brow, stare challenging. Slumps down onto the couch.
“Did you – fuck, man.” Eddie’s voice is sad. Maybe even concerned.
Yeah. Right.
Steve ignores it and grabs the bottle of whiskey again, takes a big swig.
Which has Eddie lunging forward and ripping it out of his hands, stray splashes of whiskey splattering them and the table.
“What the fuck, Eddie?”
“You can’t – Jesus, Steve, you could – fuck. This,” Eddie shakes the bottle slightly. “This is how people fucking die, man.”
“Yeah, and?”
Eddie’s eyes go wide. “What? What the fuck do you mean ‘and’? Are you trying to–” His voice cuts off in a series of wordless stammers as he stares back at Steve.
“Why do you even care?” Steve glares at him, wipes his mouth with the edge of his sweater. Feels all his emotion bubbling hot beneath the surface. The entire weekend of wallowing building to a peak. All the conflicting thoughts and ideas about Eddie fucking Munson. Everything about his parents and the new key like a cinderblock on his keychain. The faces of the kids as they battled for their lives in Starcourt. All the shit he tries to ignore.
All of it.
“What do you mean ‘why do I care’?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“No, sweetheart, I don’t think I do.”
Anger flares hot and deep inside Steve. “You don’t get to call me that.” He stands, his fists clenched at his sides.
Eddie cocks a brow. Slowly looks at Steve’s fists. Then up to his face. “You’re gonna punch me? Really?”
And, no.
Steve knows he won’t.
That he doesn’t really want to.
Or doesn’t think he does.
“Go ahead, then.” Eddie’s gaze is slightly sharp, his lips turned down at the edges.
Steve’s voice is quiet when he asks again, “Why are you here, Eddie?”
Eddie at least falters slightly. His thumb glides over the dampened label on the bottle. “I came to apologize.”
Steve can’t help it.
He laughs.
Hard.
Eddie furrows his brow, looks the slightest bit upset. “Why’s that funny?”
Steve shakes his head for approximately two seconds before stopping and falling back down onto the couch, his head thunking against the back, right between two cushions, because of fucking course he did. “Ugh, fuck.”
He keeps his eyes firmly shut. Takes slow, deep breaths. Wills the room to stop spinning across the inside of his eyelids.
Three seconds pass, or maybe it’s hours, or days, or maybe this has all already happened, been written in stone, and Steve is merely here as the puppet to live out a shitty as fuck story that’s been decided for him.
Three seconds pass before he feels warmth radiating against him. Feels the carpet give ever so slightly beneath his feet. Hears the rustling of denim and leather.
“What do you need?”
Not “are you okay?” Or “what’s wrong?”
What do you need?
Jesus.
When was the last time someone even asked him a question like that?
Faint thoughts of sitting in the back of an ambulance in the ashy afterglow of a fallen Starcourt threaten to spill out between them before Steve swallows down the jagged edges of it.
“I don’t even know anymore.” Steve whispers. Something raw bleeding out between them, too big and jagged to contain.
Eddie’s voice is soft when he speaks again, all the usual bravado gone. “How ‘bout we start with some water, swe– Steve?”
There are a million responses Steve thinks he could give in that moment. Ones that he should give. How he could tell Eddie to leave, get the fuck out of his house, leave him alone to wallow in his own fucked up choices, in the path he destroyed before he even tried to walk on it.
Instead, he just nods. “Okay.”
Steve misses Eddie’s warmth immediately. Tries to fight off that feeling. Hold onto the anger. Remember why he’s so upset. But it all feels too slippery in his mind, and his hands lack grip, and his heart looks the other way.
He hears Eddie rummaging in the kitchen, cabinet doors opening and closing.
His eyes flick to the table.
To where Eddie set the bottle of whiskey.
He leans forward and swipes it as the faucet cuts on, chugs down a quarter of the bottle, ignores the way it lights his throat on fire. Focuses more on the heaviness coating his veins, dulling the perpetual ache beneath his ribs. Making the sharp edges of reality a bit smoother and easier to handle.
The faucet shuts off and Steve releases the bottle, his chest heaving with burning oxygen. He sets the bottle down a bit too hard, the clinking of it against the hard surface ringing through the quiet of the house. “Shit.”
“Alright, Sir Steve, I’ve got fresh hydration for–”
Eddie freezes in the doorway. His eyes look at the coffee table, where the whiskey bottle is decidedly not where he left it, over to where it now rests approximately two feet closer to Steve, what little liquid left inside still swirling around. He drags his gaze slowly to Steve.
Steve’s sure his expression isn’t even one of remorse at this point. He feels a weird regret in his chest and promptly breaks it apart before it can latch hold inside the softness of his heart. Because like hell is he going to feel or show anything close to remorse when it comes to the guy still standing frozen in the doorway.
Instead, Steve lifts his chin and locks his jaw. Tries to steel his expression. Eyes challenging Eddie’s.
Eddie sighs as he crosses the room and sets the water down, just this side of too hard, before he turns heel back to the kitchen.
“What – where are you going?” Steve chokes slightly around the words, the burning of liquor still coating his vocal cords.
“I’m calling Robin.” Eddie monotones.
And at that –
Panic immediately seizes his chest. Fear and pain and despair wrestle for control. “Wait!” Steve jumps up, his legs shaking under his weight.
Eddie turns. Eyes full of some unreadable emotion. “What?”
“Don’t. Please, just…” Steve struggles to find his words, his mouth opening and closing around half-formed thoughts and syllables.
For the briefest of seconds, Steve thinks he sees something resembling pain crossing Eddie’s face. But as quick as it’s there, it’s gone, replaced with the faintest hint of sadness. “Steve. You can’t…you can’t keep–”
“I know.” Steve whispers, but it cuts through the air as if he yelled. He drops down to the couch, dips his head into his hands. His fingers grip tight at the roots of his hair. Tug and pull and twist and pain pain pain always pain why always pain —
“Son of a…”
The couch dips beside him. The bleeding edges of warmth staining his skin. Woodsmoke and leather and a heavy aura of cigarette smoke blanket over him.
The cold condensation of a glass presses against his arm. “Here. Fresh water for Sir Steve.”
Steve can’t help it. He snorts. “Sir?”
“Yeah. I mean, I figure ‘King Steve’ isn’t really the vibe anymore, so we gotta find another place for you in the royal court.”
“...and you picked ‘sir’?”
“Indeed.”
“Is that even a rank?”
“Are you questioning my knowledge of medieval titles?”
“I mean, maybe?” Steve finally drops his hands. He blinks, spots clouding his vision as he reorients. “Shit.”
The glass presses more firmly against him. “Drink.”
Steve glances down at it. Up at Eddie. Back at the glass. Sighs. “I…I don’t think I trust my hands right now honestly.”
“Oh.” Eddie’s voice is soft, way too soft. Too soft for what Steve deserves.
“Don’t.” Steve whispers. Wants to shake his head, but the room is already spinning behind his eyelids as he shuts them.
“Don’t what?”
“Do that.”
“‘Fraid you’re gonna have to give me more than that.”
Steve groans. Words that lace the map of his nervous system branching to the surface as the whiskey settles somewhere deep inside of him. “Be…nice.”
“You…wait, you’re telling me not to be nice to you?” Eddie’s voice is just this side of incredulous.
Steve stares down. Squishes his toes in the soft fibers of the rug. “Yeah.”
Eddie lets out a noise that’s mostly a scoff, maybe a bit of a laugh, the whole of it confused and soft. “You know, I don’t get you, Harrington.”
Steve laughs at that. “Yeah, well, join the club.”
“Well, I’ll join the club after you drink some water.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“I’m good at that.”
“At what?”
“Not making sense.”
“That…” Steve’s voice trails off. He can practically feel the grin on Eddie’s face without even looking. “Jesus.”
“Nah, just Eddie.”
“Ugh, dude. That joke is so old.”
“Well, you can teach me some new ones after you drink some goddamn water.”
Steve snorts. And maybe because the cavern in his chest is cracked wide open. Maybe because the whiskey has claimed a permanent home in his bloodstream. Maybe because his parents haven’t deigned to speak to him in months. Maybe because the very fabric of his life feels one short tug from unravelling completely.
Maybe because Eddie Munson is sitting on his couch looking at him with warm eyes, with a soft smile, with soft lips no what no no–
Maybe for any of those reasons, or none of those at all, Steve says, “Okay.”
Eddie looks at him expectantly, glass beading condensation between them.
Steve blinks. Looks between Eddie and the glass. “Oh, I was serious ‘bout the, uh,” wiggles his fingers. “Ya know.”
And to Steve’s delight – wait no not what – Eddie snorts. “Did you just spirit fingers at me?”
“What,” Steve furrows his brows, “are spirit fingers?”
Eddie’s eyes go wide. “No. You’re kidding, right?”
“Uhhh….no?”
“How do you not know what spirit fingers are?”
And that makes Steve’s skin prickle, his walls tighten. “I dunno.”
“Oh, shit, no, I just – I mean, like, you were Mr. All-American Athlete. Captain of a billion sportsball teams–”
“Hey, they did not all contain balls.”
“Okay, we are not going to talk about that.”
“What?” The edges of Steve’s lips start to curl despite his better judgement.
“Nope.” Eddie shakes his head. “I will tell you what spirit fingers are after you drink water.”
“Ya know,” Steve looks between Eddie and the glass, world feeling syrupy warm around him. “You’re makin’ a long list’a stuff to do after I drink water.”
“That I am.”
“Why?”
Eddie shrugs. “Bribery.”
“Seems easier to just not.”
“To just…not what?”
Steve shrugs then, his voice quiet and solid. “Care.”
The way Eddie looks at him then settles something sharp in a dusty corner of Steve’s chest. “Man, Steve. Do you know how fucked up that is?”
He just shrugs again. “‘S life.”
“And I thought I was the cynical one. Damn.”
“Just honest, really.”
For approximately twelve seconds, Eddie looks at him. Eyes carefully searching his face. For what, Steve isn’t entirely sure, but feels all the same that Eddie won’t find it.
“Alright, I need you to sit up a bit straighter.”
“Why?”
“So I can at least get a little bit of water in you before your Olympic training marathon of bad choices destroys your body.”
And for a reason he doesn’t fully comprehend, Steve straightens up, his back pressing against the back of the couch. “‘Kay. Here.”
Eddie holds the glass up to his lips. “Alright, I’m gonna tilt this slightly and you drink. And when you’re done, uh,” he looks down, grabs one of Steve’s hands, fuck what why what the fuck wh–, and sets it on his own knee. “Squeeze. Then I’ll take it back. Sound good?”
And because Steve is more than definitely feeling the warmth of some top shelf whiskey like honey in his veins, he just agrees with a quick squeeze of his hand.
Sure to his word, Eddie gently presses the cool glass to Steve’s lips, which easily part, greedily accept the slow trickle of cold water down his aching throat. The feeling of which makes Steve close his eyes, a groan threatening to rumble from deep within his chest, barely held back by the lingering dredges of willpower, and, more clearly, the desire not to choke on water in the process.
“That’s it. ‘S good.” Eddie whispers, the words carrying a sense of calmness and relief, and settling wholly in Steve’s chest, in a place he does not care to examine in the slightest, actually, so he pretends to ignore them, just drinks down a few more gulps of water before squeezing Eddie’s knee. Eddie pulls back instantly, letting the stale air flood back into Steve’s lungs.
Faintly, he hears Eddie set the glass on the table, feels the couch shift slightly, warmth radiating along his body, his hand still firmly grasped to Eddie’s knee. He wonders how long he can keep it there. If Eddie will let him stay there forever, actually.
Wait, what what oh fuck uh–
“So, uh. What’s the verdict, doc’?” Steve blinks his eyes open, throat now feeling substantially less like it’s going to burn into ash at the slightest movement.
“Well, you’re going to need a hell of a lot more water, and some painkillers, and something solid in your stomach. But, uh,” Eddie catches his eye and smiles softly. “I think you’ll be alright.”
Steve feels the need to whisper his next words, too afraid of rupturing whatever calm, sweet moment he’s found himself in. “Y’think so?”
“Yeah, Stevie.” Eddie presses his knee firmly against Steve’s hand. “I do.”
Suddenly, Steve’s throat feels clogged again, thick with emotion, with want, and he has no fucking idea what to do with that feeling, but his body is feeling warm and loose, and he figures fuck it, so he just presses his leg more firmly against Eddie’s, squeezes Eddie’s knee tighter. And Steve’s probably imagining things, but he swears he feels Eddie make the slightest gasping noise, feels Eddie move closer, their bodies now forming one warm, impenetrable line against the couch.
The moments that stretch out then feel so warm and comforting and natural that Steve almost forgets the reason he’s spent an entire weekend challenging his liver in battle.
But then, Eddie sighs, something deep and heavy, and Steve knows what follows won’t be nearly as peaceful.
“Look, I am sorry. Really.”
“It’s alright.” Steve waves him off.
“No, it’s not.”
“It is, though.” Steve shrugs. “Not like I didn’t deserve it.”
Eddie stares. His eyes squinting slightly at the edges, like he’s trying to build the inside of a puzzle he lost the picture to. “What makes you say that?”
Steve levels him with a condescending glare. “Really?”
“Yeah, really.” Eddie doesn’t so much as bristle. Holds firm in his soft, but neutral expression.
“Because, man,” Steve fixes his eyes on a point on Eddie’s shirt. Feels like looking at soft eyes will make him lose track of his already muddy thoughts. “I was a massive dick in high school.”
“So was I.”
Steve flicks his gaze up to Eddie’s briefly. “You’re still in high school.”
“Semantics.”
That at least makes Steve laugh a bit, which Eddie lightens at.
“Seriously, though, just ‘cause you were a dick in high school doesn’t mean I shoulda been an asshole to you the other night. Robin says you’re cool and I trust her.”
Steve stares at Eddie. At Eddie who looks genuinely remorseful. Which is just…not computing for Steve. Literal years of Steve’s dumbass old friends terrorizing Eddie and he just…moves on? Steve narrows his eyes. “Did Robin make you do this?”
“No.” Eddie hesitates. “Okay, well, she didn’t not make me.”
Steve nods, then groans as the spinning ricochets through his skull again.
“Careful, there, Stevie. You don’t wanna be movin’ too much for a while.”
“What do you know?” He grumbles.
Eddie laughs. Steve bristles slightly, but mostly just feels surprised, because Eddie’s laugh isn’t condescending or cruel like Steve’s used to. No, Eddie’s laugh is soft and warm and inviting, pulling Steve in on the joke, wrapping him in a silky cocoon.
Against his better judgement, Steve smiles. The faintest uptick of the corners of his mouth.
“Sorry, sorry.” Eddie catches his breath. Massive grin still stretched across his face. “Just funny to me that you’re askin’ Hawkins’ resident drug dealer what he knows ‘bout being under the influence. Oh, the irony baked into this.”
Steve snorts. “Huh. Guess I am.”
“I’d say I know a thing or two about being not sober. And based on what seems like,” he gestures at the row of empty bottles, “a weekend full of bad decisions, your body is gonna be fucked to hell and back for a while.”
Steve slumps deeper into the couch. “Not all bad decisions. Some of ‘em were neutral.”
“Really?”
He looks at Eddie for approximately 3 seconds before whispering, “No.”
“Right. So. Given I have no clue how much you’ve drunk today, we’re gonna do some best guess safety cure.”
“I haven’t had that much today.”
Eddie quirks a brow at him.
“Honestly. That,” Steve points at the half empty handle of whiskey, “is my first of the day. Swear.”
Eddie stares at him for several very excruciatingly long seconds.
“I’d say, like, scout’s honor, or whatever, but I was never a fuckin’ scout.”
At least that makes Eddie laugh a bit. “Alright.”
“So. See. Not that much if you think about it.”
“Steve.”
“What?”
Eddie gestures at the row of empty bottles on the table. “And when did you drink these?”
Steve blinks, brows furrowing. “Uhhh…what day is it?”
“Fuckin’ – god, honestly, I’m just impressed by your liver.”
Steve snorts. “Well, I’ve had years of practice.”
“Oh.”
Steve immediately looks away. Ignores the burning relief that letting that out gave. Ignores the itching beneath his skin to move hold touch hug hug hug.
Ignores the way his hand is still clasped to Eddie’s knee.
Which he mourns approximately two seconds later as Eddie shifts next to him, pulls the leg Steve had apparently claimed up onto the couch, folds it beneath him, still pressed against Steve’s leg. Eddie’s eyes dart down to where Steve’s hand now rests palm up on the couch between them. Then, carefully, slowly, giving Steve all the time in the world to pull away, he grabs Steve’s hand and places it back across his leg, squeezes his arm once, before he props an elbow on the back of the couch and eyes Steve carefully.
“Listen.”
Steve snorts. Feels a bit incredulous as he stares down at where his arm rests across Eddie’s leg. His heart wholly overwhelmed and brain confused.
“Seriously, man.”
“Look, if you’re gonna give me the whole ‘drinking is bad for me’ spiel, you can save the breath.”
“No, I just…I’ve seen one too many benders, alright? ‘S real easy to lose track and let this shit pile up.”
“‘M not on a bender.” Steve grouches as he slumps deeper into the couch (and maybe presses a bit more against Eddie).
“Stevie, yes, you are. You very much are on a bender.”
Steve huffs a breath, eyes firmly trained on the half empty bottle of whiskey on the table. Thinks about how easy it’d be to just drink the rest of it, grab another from the basement, and another, and another –
He thinks about how Eddie is sitting here right next to him, looking at him with something like compassion and concern, which feels wholly foreign and unreal.
Thinks about how he still hasn’t been to check whatever it is his dad left in the fucking safety deposit box because he can’t bear the thought of what he is almost certain he’ll find there.
Thinks of how broken his body feels from years of fighting off a fucking hell dimension.
Thinks about how utterly and completely exhausted he is.
“Look, it’s nothin’ you need to worry ‘bout.” Steve flexes his fingers across Eddie’s thigh, focuses on the way his joints ache and pop, how the palms of his hands have grown rough.
“‘Fraid that’s not up to you.”
Steve looks up at him. “What?”
“You don’t really get to decide who worries about you and for what reason.” Eddie lets out a breathy chuckle. “Believe me. Learned that shit the hard way too.”
There’s something broken in Eddie’s expression – something hard and hollow that Steve recognizes, has seen in the mirror too many times to count.
Something he doesn’t really have the courage or strength to acknowledge right now.
“It just…I dunno.” Steve shrugs. “I don’t want people to waste their time.”
“Is it really a waste of time to care about someone?”
“When that someone’s me? Yeah.”
“Fuckin’ hell, man.” Eddie sighs and shakes his head. “There you go sayin’ the most heartbreaking shit again.”
Doesn’t really feel all that heartbreaking to Steve, honestly, but he figures he might be a bit jaded after everything, maybe not entirely the best judge after facing one too many bouts of jagged pain.
But, he doesn’t particularly feel like unpacking that right now, or ever, really, so he just picks at a frayed thread on Eddie’s jeans and clears his throat. “So, uh, what’s your magic cure?”
“Well,” Eddie hedges as he slouches further into the couch, body even firmly pressed against Steve’s, shoulder to hip to knee, to – “Usually, I’d suggest pot. But, given how much shit you’ve had, don’t really think it’s the best answer.”
Steve chuckles slightly. “Yeah, probably not.”
“So, next would be water. Lots of water.”
“Water isn’t first?”
“What is weed but the water of the plant world?”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“That’s because you’re drunk.”
“No, ‘m pretty sure it just don’t make sense.”
Eddie laughs at that, the sound bright and happy and melting something hard in Steve’s chest.
“So, weed and water? That’s it?”
“Oh, ye of little faith.” Eddie croons, head lolled to the side, eyes sparkling soft and syrupy as they lock with Steve’s.
“Uh–” Steve blinks, feels trapped beneath that gaze, the weight of the warmth too heavy to hold, his brain and heart flaring.
“Food. Greasy food. Think burgers and fries and pizza type’a vibe.”
“Isn’t that just part of a hangover cure?”
“Stevie, you are somehow hungover and drunk.” Eddie loosely links his hand with Steve’s and squeezes once. “We’re gonna take care of it all.”
Steve laughs a bit. “‘Right then."
“Also, talking.”
“Eddie.”
“Hey, in this case, I think it necessary.”
The sun streaking through the curtains casts a soft glow around Eddie’s face. He smiles, all soft edges and crinkling eyes. The collar of Eddie’s shirt is worn, the whole of it looking unreasonably soft, some spiky logo emblazoned across the chest. His hair rests soft and frizzy around his shoulders and Steve wants nothing more than to get his hands in it, to show Eddie how to take care of it properly.
“And, I really do mean it. I’m sorry.”
Eddie holds his gaze and Steve thinks with an uneasy amount of anxious clarity that no one has ever looked this beautiful.
Oh, fuck.
taglist (open):@sunshine-daydreams0809@saramelaniemoon@probablyin-bed@bookworm0690@watermelonmite@sanctumdemunson@5-fievel@nicememerino
divider credit:@saradika-graphics
thank you for reading :)
chapter title inspired by "Stick Season" by Noah Kahan :)
an: steve is in pain and doesn't really know healthy coping mechanisms and has access to a seemingly endless supply of liquor. he's gonna get there. he just needs some support to help him get back on his feet. <3
Stobin Mini Bang 2026 Masterpost!
Steve and Robin's Guide to Finding a Partner in Ten (not so) Easy Steps
AO3 | @stobinminibang 2026 event | rating: t | total wc: 77k | gen masterlist
ch: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 <3
check out the artist for this fic! Tomb Fiends on bsky, twitter, and instagram :D
Chapter 1: There's Always Somethin' on the Drive
AO3 | wc: 7.4k | cw: panic attacks | tags: post s3 au; mentions of injuries; the bmw serving its purpose in life; panic attacks; steve and robin becoming friends
chapter title from "Something Drive" by Post Animal :)
Chapter 2: Young, Drunk, and Alone
AO3 | wc: 8.1k | cw: weed; alcoholism | tags: unhealthy coping mechanisms; steve drinks a LOT of alcohol; depression; miscommunication; eddie being judgemental (briefly); steddie interaction; steve is having Thoughts
chapter title from "Stick Season" by Noah Kahan
Chapter 3: Now We're Just Blood Brothers
AO3 | wc: 8k | cw: scars; tattoos; weed | tags: post s3 au; mentions of injuries; tattoos; eddie is an amateur tattoo artist; robin and eddie besties; they will smoke a lot of weed in this story; steddie crumbs
chapter title inspired by "Blood Bros" by Hayley Williams :)
Chapter 4: Birds of a Feather
AO3 | wc: 5.4k | cw: none | tags: post s3 au; steve is having a Crisis; robin is here to help; serious convos in the bathroom bc of course
chapter title from "Birds of a Feather" by Billie Eilish :)
Chapter 5: What if I Got What I Wanted?
AO3 | wc: 5.5k | cw: none | tags: post s3 au; lunch with the hellfire boys; vickie enters the chat; robin is Freaking Out; the Boobies Talk; steve hyping up robin
chapter title from "Love of My Life" by Maya Hawke :)
Chapter 6: They All Say That It Gets Better, But What If I Don't?
AO3 | wc: 8.5k | cw: panic attacks; vivid recollection of russian torture | tags: post s3 au; robin has a panic attack; vivid torture discussion; blacking out; vickie and eddie finally get Some answers; not exactly nancy and jonathan friendly; oh and keith sucks
chapter title from "teenage dream" by olivia rodrigo :)
Chapter 7: I Always Had A Vision Of Us Standing Like This
AO3 | wc: 5.8k | cw: none | tags: post s3 au; the gang has scary movie night; (accidental) double date; steve doesn't like scary movies; slight angst, steve is a very sad guy; steddie + rockie enter the chat
chapter title from "drop dead" by olivia rodrigo :)
Chapter 8: I Told You That Our Friendship Couldn't Handle Much More
AO3 | wc: 8.6k | cw: stobin fight | tags: post s3 au; miscommunication; fighting; steve and robin fight; they both say hurtful things; vickie and eddie want to help; oh and keith sucks
chapter title from "gloom" by djo :)
Chapter 9: I Still Trust In Love, I Find That Trust In You
AO3 | wc: 7.9k | cw: some discussion of canon trauma; abandonment issues | tags: post s3 au; steve and robin make up; discussion of their trauma and fears; heart to heart
chapter title from "golden line" by djo :)
check out the artist for this fic! Tomb Fiends on bsky, twitter, and instagram :D
Chapter 10: I Could Disappear With You
AO3 | wc: 11.8k | cw: weed; vandalism | tags: post s3 au; vandalism (for good reason); a sweet scene; good uncle wayne munson; vickie and steve meet wayne!; one last lil heart to heart
chapter title from "i could disappear with you" by javier reyes :)
Steve and Robin's Guide to Finding a Partner in Ten (not so) Easy Steps
AO3 | @stobinminibang 2026 event | rating: t | wc: 5.4k | cw: none | tags: post s3 au; steve is having a Crisis; robin is here to help; serious convos in the bathroom bc of course | gen masterlist
an: check out the artist for this fic! Tomb Fiends on bsky, twitter, and instagram :D
fic masterpost | ch: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 <3
Chapter 4: Birds of a Feather
It’s been approximately 49 hours 25 minutes and 17 seconds since the last time Robin laid eyes on Steve.
Not that she’s counting or anything.
Except she wholly and totally is. Started the second she received the call two days ago.
He called off work sick and told her it was “really bad, no, don’t come over, please.”
Robin begrudgingly let that slide.
But, day two passed, and no updates. Steve hasn’t answered the phone.
And he always answers the phone for Robin.
He hasn’t been by for their regular late night drives either.
So, she’s maybe more than a little worried. Paranoid. Terrified, even.
After everything, she feels a bit entitled to be a bit (okay, a lot) terrified.
So, after the eighth call today that goes to voicemail, Robin sighs, grabs her bag, and whips her dusty bike out of the garage.
She half considers calling Eddie for a ride, but feels like whatever she’s about to walk into might be something that she can’t quite explain to him, and, honestly, that she doesn’t want to have to drag him into. As much as she would love to not have to hide shit from Eddie, the logical part of her knows that he is much better off not knowing.
There are days where she questions the “what ifs” of it all. What if she had never gotten involved? What if she never got a job at Scoops? What if she never offered to crack the Russian code? What if she had never shoehorned herself into the chaos Steve and Dustin were planning? What if she never got stuck in the Russian elevator? What if she never got kidnapped and tortured by literal evil scientist Russians?
What if she never did any of that at all?
Would she still be living life, completely oblivious to the utter chaos that exists right beneath their feet?
Would she be happy?
As she rounds the corner to Steve’s neighborhood and sees his car parked at a haphazard angle in the driveway, she starts to panic – starts to pedal faster, cutting through the neighboring yards, heart pounding in her ears. That car – Robin doesn’t really get why it’s so important to Steve, but it is. One of the few things she’s seen him truly care about. So, seeing it out of its normal, carefully parked state, with the front tires cutting into the side of one of the overly manicured flowerbeds, curdles something hot inside of her chest.
It’s in that moment where her heart pounds faster, her breath catches, her entire body devolves into panic, that Robin knows she would do everything again for Steve.
Because somehow, a large part of her has been sectioned off, labelled Steve – and that part of her is frantically aching as she stumbles to a stop in his driveway, barely catching herself on his car, dropping her bike with a clattering thud.
One of his neighbors is yelling at her, something about her flower beds and garden gnomes, and Robin is hearing none of it as she sprints to Steve’s front door, immediately pounding her fist into it. “Steve! Open up!”
She rings the doorbell, keeps yelling, knocking, being a general nuisance. Much to the dismay of his next door neighbor who is still yelling at her about her fucking stupid ass flower beds. Robin sticks her tongue out at her, thinks about telling her exactly where she can shove her stupid ass garden gnomes.
Instead, Robin turns back to the door, fishes the spare key out from the hidden brick compartment, and slams her way into the too-quiet house.
“Steve!” She locks the door behind her, pokes her head into the living room, ears straining for any sign of life, nausea bubbling hotter with every continued second of silence. This house already creeps her out too much, but when it’s quiet? Yeah, no thanks.
“Okay, it’s fine.” She whispers, starts muttering as she paces. “He’s probably just asleep. Definitely. Not – yeah, no, he’s fine. Totally.”
She grabs the bat Steve keeps propped at the front door, starts making her way upstairs. Tries to throw out every panicked vision she cooked up on the ride over here. Keeps calling his name as she climbs the stairs.
The door to his bedroom is propped open, the faint sounds of a…Black Sabbath record? Is it? No, yeah, definitely Sabbath. Which is enough to make her pause because she didn’t think Steve even owned any Black Sabbath. Would never picture him playing it.
“Steve?” Robin creeps forward, grip firm around the bat. Kinda wishes it was one of the nail ones as she pushes into his room, until – “Oh, thank fuck.”
It’s been approximately 49 hours 38 minutes and 7 seconds since Robin has seen or heard from Steve.
She finds him on his bathroom floor, face covered by a damp towel, back pressed against the tub. The sigh Robin lets out is strong enough to knock a grown man over, honestly. Would knock Steve over if he wasn’t already half-contorted like a pretzel on the floor.
Steve groans. “Go ‘way.”
“Oh, no.” Robin laughs, the sound a bit manic. “You don’t get to go radio silent on me for – 49 hours 38 minutes and 12 seconds and expect me to leave.”
“Jesus– you timed it?” He peeks out from under the towel, scowl present in his eyes. “Why do you have a bat?”
“Of course I timed it, you dingus.” She points at him with the bat. “And I didn’t know what the hell I was walking into.”
“Robin, have you ever even swung a bat?” He bitches at her, voice weak and crackling at the edges.
“Irrelevant. Now,” Robin slides down the cabinets across from him, knocks their knees together. “Spill.”
Steve drops the towel over his face again, mumbles out, “‘M sick.”
“Nuh uh. Not buying it, hotshot.”
“Yeah huh.” He coughs, the venture sounding incredibly hollow and put upon. “See?”
“3/10.”
“What?”
“3/10. Weak cough. Try again.”
“Try a–” He pulls off the towel, eyes wide. “The fuck?”
Robin grins. “You heard me. You can cough better.”
“Fucking– alright, fine.” Steve chucks the towel at her, smacking her against the temple.
“Uncalled for.” She bumps their knees. “Now, talk. What’s got you holing up away from the world, oh Stevie, oh pal?”
Steve groans, drops his head to his knees. “Don’t wanna.”
“‘Fraid that isn’t gonna cut it.”
“I said I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Too bad.”
“Fuck you.” He growls, but there’s no heat behind it. Just a weak sputter that sounds just this side of sad.
“I’m good. You’re not exactly my type.” Robin’s voice is laced with that syrupy sweetness she reserves for all the moms coming in to rent movies for their kids while telling Steve and Robin what an abomination it is to have fucking Rocky Horror stocked on the shelf.
Steve looks at her, worries his lip between his teeth. Which immediately causes his scar to crack open. Blood pricks his tongue, seeps into the cracks in his lips.
“Oh, god, ew.” Robin opens the cabinet, pulls out a box of tissues. “Here.”
Steve catches them, stares back at her, dumbfounded. “How did you–”
“I’ve spent more time here than at my own house the last 4 months, dingus. I know how you organize your towels, for fuck’s sake.”
Steve’s expression goes impossibly fond, eyes soft around the edges. She swears she sees him blink back tears, can practically feel him shaking with emotion.
“Don’t get all sappy on me. You gotta tell me what’s wrong first.” Robin points at him, a smile tinging her cheeks.
Steve fiddles with the tissues, dabs at his sore lips. Thinks for a moment. “Can you close the door?”
Robin quirks a brow, but reaches out with the bat, pushes the door closed. “We’re the only ones home, right?”
“Yeah.” He nods. “Just. Easier.”
“Sure thing.” She lays the bat on the floor, absentmindedly rolls it back and forth, (not so) patiently waiting to see who or what has Steve so fucked up. She considers walking out the front door with the bat in hand, ready to swing on whoever or whatever did this – made him feel like he had to hole up away from the world, away from her, for the past two days.
Steve sighs, the tissue sticking to his blood-soaked lips. He scrubs, winces as he tries to pull it off.
“Stop that.” Robin stands, wets a bit of tissue, then crouches back down, grabs his chin in one hand, starts dabbing his lips with the other.
Steve blinks, mouth parted slightly as he stares up at her focused expression. His eyes crinkle at the edges, warm honey bubbling through the hazel streaks.
“Don’t make it weird.” She chastises, eyes flicking briefly to his.
“‘M not.” He mumbles. Bits of wet tissue speckle his tongue. “Ew, gross.”
“Then keep your mouth shut, weirdo.”
He hmmphs, folds his arms across his chest.
“Oh, very mature.”
After a moment, Robin leans back, bounces on the balls of her feet. “Alright.” She chucks the used tissue in the trash. “How’s that feel?”
Steve locks eyes with her, fidgets his fingers, before taking the deepest of breaths. “I have to ask you something.”
She quirks a brow. “Oh?”
He nods, straightens out his legs, then brings them back up to his chest, forearms propped on his knees. “You, uh, you remember the last bathroom?”
“The –” She scoffs, eyes pinging across his face. “Are you seriously asking me about the last time I went to the bathroom, Steve?”
“No! Jesus, ugh, wait–” He scrubs his hands down his face, groans loudly. “That came out so wrong.”
Robin snorts, arms dangling in front of her as she continues bouncing. “Thought we were about to hit layer number 712 of our relationship, there.”
“I mean–” He swallows, looks determinedly at her converse as they squeak across the tile. “You remember the last time we—the bathroom–” His voice tapers off into a formless grumble.
“Steve?”
Steve drops his hands, looks her dead in the eye, and rushes out in a single breath, “You remember the last time we were in a bathroom together?”
Robin stills, her brows nearly colliding with her hairline with how fast they raise. “Do I–” She scoffs, nervous smile on her face. “Yeah, I remember.”
He nods, eyes back to studying his fingers as they pick at the waistband of his pajamas. “Yeah. Okay. Um. You remember what we, uh,” he lets out a big breath, voice growing small, “what we talked about? In the bathroom?”
Robin drops down to sitting, hugs her knees to her chest, props her chin on one. Her voice is shaky, almost fragile. “Yes, I remember.”
Steve’s eyes go wide as he jumps forward, arms stretched toward her, which makes her instinctively flinch back. “No! Wait, no, Robin.” He sighs, hand tentatively grabbing her own. “Please, I’m not – fuck, this is coming out all wrong. I’m not, like, going to be a dick, okay? I promise.”
She stares at him, tears pricking her eyes, but her chest feeling that same soft warmth it usually does around Steve now. She nods, feels like the bigger part of her believes him, but still feels ready to bolt if it goes off track.
He squeezes her hand, loosely links their fingers together. “Right, yeah. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”
She scoffs, her voice shaky but tinged with laughter. “You already did that by going off the grid for over two days, dumbass.”
Steve smiles, thumb soothing circles against her palm. “Yeah, okay, fair. Not my best work.”
“You ignored all my calls.”
“I know–”
“Your machine is full.”
“I figured.”
“I was ready to bust down that door.”
“I heard you.”
“Ms. Harris yelled at me.”
“Oh, god.” Steve laughs, the sound alleviating a deep ache in Robin’s chest. “I’m so sorry.”
“I considered riding my bike through her flower beds.” Robin nods, face schooled in a serious expression. “May have done it just a little bit.” She pauses. “And I may have semi-yelled at her where she can shove her garden gnomes.”
Steve blinks, then doubles over, laughter spilling out of him with such ferocity that Robin thinks he might stop breathing. Tears are spilling down his cheeks, his hand firmly gripping hers. Robin starts laughing too, pulls him closer until their heads are knocked together, the vibrations of their laughter spilling into each other from every point of contact.
Robin feels the warmth of Steve’s laugh shaking through her brain. A weird feeling, but a feeling she desperately missed. Every single cell in her body seems to rejoice at it.
“I missed your laugh, dingus."
Steve swallows, eyes finding hers as he leans back a bit. “Yeah, me too.”
She squeezes his hand, eyes holding firm to his, hoping to all that might still be good in this world that she is conveying “please, talk to me, you can trust me” and not “I am going to kill you and steal your lunch money.”
“So. Bathroom.” She prompts.
“Bathroom.” He nods. “We…talked.”
“We did.”
“You…trusted me.”
Robin hesitates. “I did.”
Steve nods. “Yeah. Yeah, you did. You really fucking did.”
“Steve,” she prods, anxiety creeping into her voice. “What’s going on?”
“Okay. Um.” He sighs, drops his eyes to their joined hands. His fingers start tracing mindless patterns across her palm. “How did you…ya know, know?”
“How did I–oh.” Robin’s eyes widen, staring at the top of Steve’s head as he looks down between them.
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
Holy shit.
Of all the things Robin expected when bursting into Steve’s house today, this wasn’t even remotely on the list.
This is so far removed from the list that she’s never even considered it an option.
What the fuck.
Robin genuinely never thought she’d be on the receiving end of this conversation – at least not while in Hawkins. She has no idea what to even say. Hasn’t exactly been trained for this. But, she takes a moment to breathe, to think about what she wants, how she wants someone she cares about to respond to her. Thinks about how Steve was there for her, exactly zero judgement or ridiculous from him, and nothing but endless amounts of immense support ever since.
If she can be even half of what he’s been for her, then, well, she’ll feel like she’s actually got some use in this world.
“Right. Okay.” Robin squeezes Steve’s hand, lets out a deep breath. “Well, uh, it was a journey to say the least. A long one. Very long. But, also, really short when I think about it.”
He hums.
“I spent, like, a long time thinking I was just really broken. I was always so confused at sleepovers.” She cocks her head, eyes rolling. “Well, whenever I got invited, I would be so confused. I didn’t get invited much looking back on it. Not as much as everyone else. Enough to, like, be kind of friends with some people. But, everyone was always kind of on a different wavelength, and I was always kind of weird, I guess. I mean –”
“Rob.” Steve’s eyes are tired and warm as they stare back at her. “I love you, but does this have a point?”
Robin cringes slightly. “Right. Yeah. Sorry. Not important right now. Okay, so, sleepovers. I would be so confused. Because, like, everyone’d be sat in their sleeping bags and giggling about whoever cute guy there was, or some movie star, and I was just there like…not getting it.”
Her free hand pulls on the ends of her hair. “I was…so confused about what they were saying. It didn’t make any sense to me. I didn’t get all giggly around who they considered to be cute guys. I didn’t get all these flutters in my stomach. I didn’t want Shaun Cassidy to come whisk my little pre-teen self away.”
“You didn’t?” Steve whispers, a look of genuine confusion on his face.
Fuck.
The ache has spread through her chest, slipping deep into the cracks of her heart.
“No.” She whispers back. “I didn’t.”
“I thought…” His face slowly melts from confusion to fear and back again before her very eyes. “So, everyone didn’t want that?”
“Believe it or not, some of us are immune to the charms of teen heartthrob Shaun Cassidy.”
“Oh.”
Robin pauses, wistful smile taking her face. “But, I did feel that about Veronica Rogers. God.”
“Wait–Veronica?” Steve lifts his head, brow quirked. Robin pointedly ignores the damp on his cheeks.
“Yep.” She pops the p. “Veronica Rogers.”
“Huh.” He nods. “She was cute.”
Robin tosses her head back and groans. “God, she was so cute. It drove me bonkers.”
“She was your first crush?”
“The first real one I remember, yeah.” She hums, blinks up at the speckled ceiling. “Like, real life person. Not, ya know, Shelley Duvall or something.”
He nods, fidgets with her hand, tracing his initials across her palm. “And, like, how did you know?”
“Well,” Robin rolls her head against the cabinet. “I felt all the nervous giggliness that everyone had been describing about, like, Shaun Cassidy and, ugh,” she gags, “you.”
“Oh, fuck off.” Steve pushes her, her knees swaying to the side as she laughs.
“I’m serious!” She lifts her head and gestures at him. “You were, like, my straight un-awakening.”
Steve groans, leans back against the tub. “Can you not.”
“I was wholly immune to the Harrington charm. Every other girl I knew was decidedly not.” She pauses, watches him shift in on himself. “There were other guys, obviously, but, c’mon. My best friend, former ladies man of Hawkins High, is sitting here having the ‘how did you know you were gay’ conversation with me. I’m entitled to rib him a bit. I mean—what, why are you staring at me like that?”
Steve blinks, mouth slightly parted, voice shaky. “I’m–I’m your best friend?”
“Oh.” Robin stops, her own eyes wide, the revelation hitting her square in the chest. “Huh. Yeah. Yeah, I guess you are.”
“I–” Fresh tears spill over his waterline. “Shit.”
“Hey, whoa, like, I know being my best friend seems like a death sentence, but you don’t have to cry ove–oof.”
Steve is pressed tight against her, arms clumsily wrapped around her shoulders, his face tucked to her neck. Robin cautiously lifts her arms, wraps them around his shaking shoulders.
“You’re my best friend too, Robs.” He whispers, the sound vibrating through the core of her entire being.
“Oh.”
Everything feels shifted, one notch toward the way it should be. Like something firmly clicking into place, settling a deep ache inside of her she didn’t even know was there. Robin blinks back her own tears, feels warmth and love for this chaotic, beautiful, dork of a man currently crushing her with his full body weight.
They stay there, awkwardly twisted together, tears staining each other’s clothes, arms hugging tight, fully cocooned from the bullshit of the world that lies behind the bathroom door.
A few minutes later, Robin laughs, the sound making Steve lean back, look at her with red-rimmed eyes. “‘S funny?”
“Sorry, just,” she shakes her head. “Guess we’re two for two on bathroom coming out moments, huh?”
Steve blinks. Looks at her. Looks around the room. Then back to her. “Huh.”
“Least this one is a helluva lot nicer than the last one. Less…ya know,” she gestures wildly, “weird shit involved.”
At that, Steve chuckles, something deep and crackling that sparks warmth in her chest. “I’d fuckin’ hope so.”
She squeezes his hand and offers the warmest smile she can manage. “Thank you.”
He quirks a brow. “For what?”
“Trusting me.”
“Oh. I mean.” He shrugs, averts his eyes, lets out a deep sigh. “It’s nothing.”
“No, it isn’t. Don’t go making this smaller than it is.”
“Rob–”
“Nuh uh. No. This? Big deal. Trusting me? Big deal. Important.”
“Okay, why are you talking like that?”
“Because. Big moment.”
“It’s not that–”
“Steve.” Robin levels him with an earnest gaze. “This is a big moment. It deserves to be one. You deserve to have these kind of big moments. Okay?”
The tears on his face are unmistakable at this point. She lifts her free hand and wipes some of them away, palm coming to cradle his cheek briefly. “I’m proud of you.”
“Fuck.” Steve sobs.
Like, actually sobs.
The hardest she has ever seen him cry.
Briefly, she’s stunned by it. She wraps him in another tight hug and just whispers reassurances into the mess of his hair. Her heart aching for him, for whatever and whoever hurt him in the past, made him feel like he doesn’t deserve to be cared for, to be celebrated. She figures a large part of it is his parents, and she’s honestly considering waging a personal hand-to-hand combat with the both of them should she ever meet them. But, she knows there’s more there too. More that he hasn’t talked about, hasn’t really acknowledged.
Honestly, she’s just itching for a fight. Really, just to dismantle anything and anyone that has ever hurt him.
And, fuck, if that isn’t a thought to contend with.
Because, yeah.
She would fight for this man. This person who, some handful of months ago, was firmly on her Mortal Enemies list, but now sits pretty solidly at the top of her Best Friends list.
Eventually, Steve breaks the hug, leans back against the tub again. Robin nudges the box of tissues back over to him, which he gratefully accepts.
“You know.” Robin hedges, eyes carefully tracing the valleys of Steve’s face. “You don’t have to have your gay revelation all at once. It took me years to get to where I felt more comfortable in it.”
Steve snorts, cleans his face with the tissues. “Very comforting, Robs.”
“Well, I mean, I’m not gonna just lie. You could have a very different experience than I did, too. “
“Yeah?”
“Different for everyone.”
He tosses the used tissues away and drags a hand through his messed hair, a deep and heavy sigh falling from his lips. “When you say different…do you really mean it?”
“Uh, I mean…yes?”
“Like. Liking different people?”
Robin cocks her head slightly. “I wanna say yes, but I think I’m confused.”
Steve sighs again. “Okay. Uh. You like girls?”
“Yes…?”
“...only girls?”
She snorts a laugh.
He glares at her. “Rob. I’m serious.”
“Sorry, sorry. Yes. Only girls.”
“Like. No guys at all? None? Just, absolutely, all girls, all the time?”
She blinks at him. Processes that for a few seconds. Completely confused as to where this conversation is going. “No guys at all. That is correct.”
Which apparently was the wrong answer as Steve kind of deflates. “Well, shit.”
“What’s goin’ on?”
“I’m just – I don’t know.” He groans. “Fuck. ‘M just so confused.”
“Alright.” She leans forward, links their hands together again. “Walk me through it.”
The room fills with the thick tension of silence. She waits. Rubs soothing patterns across the back of his hand. Tries to give him whatever space he needs to work through whatever it is.
“So, there’s straight. There’s gay. There’s lesbian. Yeah?”
Robin nods. “Yeah?”
“Is there anything…else?”
“Oh. Uh.” She wracks her brain, through the different bookstores she’s been in, the zines she’s read, the conversations she’s had with Eddie. “Probably.”
“Probably?”
“I mean, I don’t know everything there is to know about being gay, but, yeah, there’s probably more than just gay, straight, and lesbian. There has to be, ya know?”
Steve sighs, and she feels like she’s let him down somehow, which is just heart-wrenching.
“I’m not like gay jesus or whatever, but like,” she shrugs. “You can like whoever you wanna like, man. Don’t gotta label it unless you wanna.”
He blinks at her, brows scrunched. “I…can?”
“Why not? Who says you gotta put yourself in one box labelled straight or one box labelled gay? Just, I dunno, make your own box. Or break the boxes. Fuck the boxes – not, like, actually. Please don’t actually fuck a box. Figuratively. Figuratively fuck what the boxes stand for and get rid of them. Fuck the box system.”
Steve chuckles. “You’ve been spending too much time with Eddie.”
“I’m right, though.”
He hesitates. “Are you, though? Like, I know sexuality isn’t a choice. I get that. But, like, is it okay to like more than one gender?”
“Uh.” Robin chews her lip, cocks her head. “Yeah. Yeah, it is. And if anyone says it isn’t, then they can get fucked.” She pauses. “Well, not by you. They don’t deserve you if they think that. So, don’t fuck them. Just. Push them off a bridge or whatever.”
“Jesus–” Steve chokes on a laugh, radiant smile taking over his face. Robin beams back at him.
“I'll drive the car and everything.”
“Like hell you will.” Steve shakes his head, laughter still bubbling out of him. “You are never allowed to drive.”
“Hey, I take offense to that.”
“Good. You're a shit driver.”
“Wha–” Robin screeches, eyes wide. “You've never even seen me drive.”
“Yes, I have.”
“When?” Robin's brows crease, her brain rapidly trying to figure out when the fuck she drove when–
“Yeah. You drive me crazy.” Steve smirks.
“Oh, you absolute ass.” Robin pushes him, watches him slide down the tub a bit, smile too big for his tired face.
Might just be one of the most beautiful smiles she’s seen from him, honestly.
After two days of not seeing him, not hearing his laughter, seeing his smile, feeling his warmth, Robin is just basking in this moment, relishing it for all that it is – proof that Steve is alive and safe and here.
“So, do I get to know who your gay crisis is about?”
Steve closes his eyes. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know who it’s about? Or, you don’t know if you wanna tell me?”
The quiet stretches between them a few beats too long.
“...I don’t know.”
“Steeeeeeeve.” Robin whines with all the grace of a tantrum-throwing toddler.
“It’s…complicated.”
She glares, her voice deadpan. “We live above a hell dimension. Nothing is more complicated than that.”
“That’s not complicated. That’s just batshit insane.”
“So is not telling me who your first gay crush is on.”
“I never said he was my first–” Steve’s eyes go wide.
Robin arches a brow. “Oh?”
“Nope. No.” Steve shakes his head, waves his arms between them. “Forget I said anything.”
“Oh, no. Tell me!!” Robin gets on her knees and grabs him by the shoulders, starts shaking him excitedly. “Who was your first gay crush?”
Steve groans. He hides his face in his hands, his voice coming out muffled. “I’d really rather not have to relive that.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
“It is.”
“Look, I told you about my unfortunate crush on Tammy Muppet Thompson.”
Steve chuckles. His eyes slowly peek out from behind his hands.
“I’m sure nothing could be worse than me having a crush on the girl who thinks she’s going to be the world’s next…I don’t know, Loretta Lynn, or whatever. Who literally nearly failed English because she couldn’t stop staring at you. Who once–”
“Tommy.” Steve whispers.
But, Robin is so attuned to his voice now that it reaches her with ease. She looks back at him wide-eyed. “You’re joking.”
“I wish I was.”
“Oh my god.”
“Please don’t.”
“Oh my god.”
Steve groans, hides his face in his hands again.
“Wow.”
He shakes his head weakly.
“This is…shit.”
Muffled sounds spill from his half-crunched cocoon.
“Everything makes so much sense now. Holy shit.”
At that, he looks up at her. “What does that mean?”
Robin’s face is completely unimpressed as she stares back at him. “You can’t be serious.”
“God, why do people keep saying that to me.”
“Steve.”
“What?”
Robin drops back down on the cold tile, leans against Steve’s knees. “It makes sense now why you were friends with Tommy Dickwad Hagan for so long.”
Steve shrugs. “I guess.”
“Like, I always wondered why. Because it didn’t really make sense since you didn’t seem to even really like him most days. Tommy followed you around like a lost fucking puppy.”
“Ugh, do we have to do this?”
“A bit, yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because, you got to roast me for Tammy, now I get to roast you for Tommy.”
“This doesn’t feel fair.”
“Oh, but it is.”
“This is cruel.”
“This is friendship.”
His face goes so incredibly soft then, and Robin feels completely overwhelmed by it. Wants to do literally anything she can to protect that look, to keep it safe and hidden from the world, let it grow in the cavern of her chest and warm her for the rest of her life.
“We really have shit taste in crushes, huh?”
He snorts, eyes barely twinkling as he looks at her. “Yeah.”
She sits up straight and holds a hand out between them, palm up.
Steve looks at it then up at her. “What?”
“We’re making a pact.”
His eyes squint. “What kind of pact?”
“A ‘no more crushing on people with T names’ pact.”
“You’re joking.”
“I am so not joking.”
“Alright, fine.” Steve laughs as he slides his hand in hers and shakes it.
Robin leans forward. “This new guy…doesn’t start with a T, right?”
“No.” He answers immediately, then hesitates. “At least, I don’t think so.”
"What do you me–? Do you not know his name?”
“No! I know his name. Obviously. I just…I don’t know if it’s short for, like, Th–” Steve stops himself, face immediately flushing red. “I don’t know.”
“Steve. Steve, what were you going to say?” Robin’s grin is so blinding.
“I’m not doing this.”
“Oh, come on, pleaseeeee. I’ve told you mine!”
“You told me about Tammy, who is very much in the past. I told you about Tommy. Also past.”
“You also know about Vickie, who is very much a present crush.”
“...shit.”
“And, best friend code states you have to tell me. So. Spill.”
“You’re insufferable, you know that?”
“One of my best qualities. Stop deflecting.” She pokes him in the chest.
“Ugh.” He drops his head back against the tub, his voice barely a whisper. “You already know.”
She has an inkling, if the Sabbath record still spinning in his room is anything to go by.
“Maybe.” Her voice is softer now, still vibrant, but gentler as it swirls around him. “Maybe not. But, you’re the one who has to say it. I can’t do it for you.”
“It’s…” He sighs. “It’s Eddie.”
“Yeah?” She smiles, something like anxious hope bubbling in her chest.
“Yeah.”
“You like him a lot?”
“God, too much.” He groans as he drags his hands down his face. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Well…you could always try.”
Steve lifts his head, eyes wide as they stare back at Robin. “And get my ass beat? Yeah, no thanks.”
“He would not beat your ass.”
“He might not, but if anyone else found out, anyone in this town definitely would.”
“Oh, really?” Robin says with all too much vindication.
Steve sighs. “Don’t.”
And, because she feels he’s already been through hell the last couple of days, Robin puts that particular conversation on the back burner for now.
“Look, all I’m saying is just…feel it out.”
Steve narrows his eyes at her, something like hope flickering deep inside of them. “What do you know?”
“I neither confirm nor deny knowing anything.” Robin smirks.
“Oh, you so know something.”
She shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not. But, what I do know is that nobody is worth wallowing like this on the bathroom floor. Not even Eddie.”
“But, Robs, he’s…he’s so cute.”
“Yuck. Gross. Stand up and never say that to me again.”
“He is, though!”
“Alright.” Robin stands, pulls a laughing Steve up behind her. “Put on some clothes. You owe me a drive. And emotional support milkshakes.”
“I just spent two days wallowing on my bathroom floor and you’re demanding I drive you places?”
“I mean, I could dr–”
“Nope! Nuh uh.” He speedwalks over to his closet, immediately yanking a sweater over his head. “Getting dressed now.”
Robin laughs as she slips out into the hall, the weight on her chest fully evaporated now that she knows he’s okay. She’s halfway down the stairs when Steve steps out into the hall and yells, “He’s better than Tommy!”
“Low bar!” She yells back, though she can’t keep the giddy smile off her face.
taglist (open):@sunshine-daydreams0809@saramelaniemoon@probablyin-bed@bookworm0690@watermelonmite@sanctumdemunson@5-fievel@nicememerino @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx
divider credit:@saradika-graphics
thank you for reading :)
chapter title from "Birds of a Feather" by Billie Eilish :)
an: yet another bathroom coming out scene for your consideration <3 what does robin know? wouldn't you like to know, weather boy?
thanks for reading :)
Steve and Robin's Guide to Finding a Partner in Ten (not so) Easy Steps
AO3 | @stobinminibang 2026 event | rating: t | wc: 7.9k | cw: some discussion of canon trauma; abandonment issues | tags: post s3 au; steve and robin make up; discussion of their trauma and fears; heart to heart | gen masterlist
an: check out the artist for this fic! Tomb Fiends on bsky, twitter, and instagram :D
fic masterpost | ch: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 <3
Chapter 9: I Still Trust In Love, I Find That Trust In You
Eddie slams the door shut, keys flying across the hall, clanking to a stop at Vickie’s feet, as he stomps through. She looks down at them, then back up.
“I take it–”
“Nothing.”
“Right.” She nods slowly, dragging the word out.
Eddie slumps down the wall, brings his knees to his chest. The strain in his jaw is giving him a migraine, but he physically can’t seem to unclench his teeth, the grinding reverberating through his skull. He picks at the rips in his jeans, his body unable to stay still, just locked in this state of pure adrenaline and panic.
Vickie scoops up the keys, slides down the wall across from him, clean sneakers peeking forward to touch solidly against his scuffed boots. He presses his boots firmer against her sneakers. The most he can physically seem to offer at the moment, but Vickie gets it. He knows she does. She’s got the heart of a fucking angel and has effortlessly melded into their little hodgepodge with ease.
“I just–” Eddie sighs, twists the stray thread tight around his finger. “I don’t get it. Why wouldn’t he tell me?” Tears prick his eyes, hot and loathing. Threaten to scorch hot down his quivering jaw. His voice is several octaves quieter when he speaks again. “Does he not trust me?”
“Eddie, we both know that’s not true.” Vickie’s voice is soft as it wraps around Eddie’s shaking figure.
But, the pain in his chest still threatens to swallow him whole.
Eddie knows.
He knows it isn’t his fault.
But, isn’t it, though?
Because, if Steve had trusted him enough to talk to him more, to tell him what else was going on, to let Eddie help him –
If Steve had trusted Eddie, then he would’ve at least said something before disappearing off the face of the earth for the last 24 hours.
So, clearly, Eddie must be doing something to make Steve not trust him.
“We’ll find him.” Vickie whispers.
“Yeah.” Eddie nods, then groans into his hands, voice coming out muffled. “I fuckin’ hope so.”
“What do you mean, Steve’s missing?” Dustin’s voice pitches high as it comes over the walkie, immediately followed by the din of too many teens trying to talk at once.
“Shut up!” Robin screams into the speaker.
She basks in the few glorious seconds of silence before pressing the button again. “Look. He – I just need to know if this is a code red or whatever, just, any code red shenanigans?”
“No.” El’s voice comes through quiet and strong, over the whispers of Max and Lucas in the background, and what sounds like maybe Hopper? “I don’t sense or see anything code red related.”
“Okay. Good. That’s good.” Robin nods, keeps pacing across Steve’s room, eyes still frantically searching for any sign of where he might be, but everything is still exactly where it always is, nothing even missing. “Then, okay, have you guys heard anything from him? Or seen him?”
The quiet that stretches after is not nearly as glorious.
Jonathan is the one to break the silence, for some fucking reason, god–
“He – I, uh– well…”
“Fucking – out with it, cam boy.” Robin snipes.
Jonathan’s voice drops even further in confidence somehow. “I saw his car driving out of town? Like, a couple hours ago.”
“You what?” Robin immediately turns toward the door. “Which – where?”
“Past, uh, toward Forest Hills? Like, passing by. I thought–”
She stops.
Because, of course.
God, she’s an idiot.
“No code red. Not for now. I know where he is.” She’s out the door and down the stairs, nearly tripping over Eddie’s hunched figure, wildly gesturing for him and Vickie to follow her. “Jesus – Congrats, cam boy. You’re actually useful for once.”
She hears nothing else as she runs out the front door and into the passenger side of Eddie’s van, Eddie and Vickie stumbling after her.
“Hey, dingus.”
Steve’s sitting on the roof of his car, staring up at the evening sky. Robin sees his shoulders tense at her approach, so, she slows a bit, moves carefully until she’s at the trunk of the car. She looks at the edge of the hill, sees the faint lights of the town below. Despite the snaps of winter starting to settle around them, this spot remains nearly untouched, still green and grown, but softer around the edges somehow.
“It’s, uh. It’s a bit cold tonight, huh?” Robin tries, her smile wavering.
Several moments pass.
Long, excruciating moments in which she thinks that she’s actually lost him.
But then, she sees his shoulders drop, hears him sigh, watches him drop down and open the trunk, only briefly hesitating before tossing her his letterman.
Her favorite jacket.
Not that she wants him to know that.
(He so knows.)
“Thanks.”
He shrugs. Kicks a tire. Pointedly does not look back at her as she shrugs the jacket on. But she hears him sniffle, which would have broken her heart had it not already been completely shattered by the last 24 hours.
“So, uh,” she claps her hands together, “you having trouble sleeping?”
He scoffs and shakes his head.
“Right, yeah, that’s probably, like, a really bad line right? I don’t – fuck, okay, I’m not really sure what the right line is here, if I’m being honest. Which I am! Being honest, I mean.”
Steve nods. Still refuses to look at her as he pulls himself up on the roof. Refuses to look anywhere but up at the dark, cloudy sky.
He does, however, leave enough empty space beside him for her to sit. The closest thing Robin thinks she’s getting to an invitation. So, she climbs up beside him. The dim edges of Eddie’s headlights cast shadows across them.
The silence stretches taut between them. Robin feels the hammering of her heart in every inch of her body. Her thoughts tumbling over each other trying to escape from her brain. Trying to find any place to start that doesn’t sound completely fucking awful, that doesn’t push Steve even further away.
And from here, she can see the city more clearly. See the outlines of the buildings, the faint glow of too many lights strung across storefronts, the pinpricks of cars bustling through the streets.
When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet. “You know, I still remember the first time you drove me out here.”
Steve freezes. If someone who was already so still could freeze, he does. Somehow.
The ache in Robin’s chest spreads, throbbing beneath her skin. Her eyes already damp as she summons every last ounce of courage.
“I was so scared. Not of you! Or of this. Just.” Robin shakes her head. “Let me–” she takes a deep breath, flexes her hands on her lap. “God, it was so fucked. Everything. Scoops. The mall. The…” she waves her hands between them, “stuff. I didn’t know how to handle it.”
Steve is completely still beside her, but he at least isn’t bolting, so she’ll take it.
“I kept having nightmares. Just awful, terrifying nightmares. I’d –” She swallows, her voice starting to shake at the edges. Her body is fighting against her, nausea violent in how it wracks through her, her head spinning with the images of something she’s been pushing down for months. Things she’s refused to acknowledge to anyone, let alone herself. Things that she has felt stabbing at the edges of her ribcage, pressing hard, threatening to crack her open with the weight of it.
The only thing holding it all back being pure willpower and their rule.
No talking about what happened in the bunker. Not to each other, and especially not to anyone else.
But then, Robin looks at Steve, sees how drawn tight his body is, how he seems to be shaking, his teeth biting hard into the scar on his lip, and she decides fuck it.
Rules are made to be broken.
“I’d see that room. I’d see the doctors and, and needles and blood. God, so much blood.” Her voice drops even quieter. “And you. I’d see you.”
At that, Steve turns his head, unable to suppress the way his eyes widen, how his brows shoot up beneath the tired flop of his hair, how his mouth parts slightly, a small noise of confusion slipping out between them.
“I’d see you just fucked up. You standing between me and the guards. You antagonizing them and, and taking all the hits and– and… god, I really didn’t know what to do with that.” She scoffs something like a laugh, tears streaming hot down her cheeks. “I didn’t even really know you, and here I was, terrified of watching you die. Of watching you get torn apart by these horrible things. It was just so fucked.”
Steve hums, something like agreement, or the start of something else, but Robin barrels forward, can’t stop the flow of it now that she’s popped the lid.
“Oh, and, god, don’t even get me started on the weird meat spider thing, which, by the way, how the fuck did no one else in this dumbass town see it?”
Steve laughs at that, too quick to stop himself, and Robin counts it as a monumental win.
“Like, seriously, I have so many questions on that one, because it was fucking massive. Genuinely, what the fuck?” She shakes her head, sees him do the same.
“But, yeah. I was just so tired and scared. And I had, like, no one, to talk to.” Robin sighs, fingers fiddling with the buttons of his jacket. “All of you guys…you had each other. But, I was just…alone with it. And it was so fucking scary. I couldn’t tell my parents why I was suddenly so terrified of bright lights or why Back to the Future made me have to puke. I mean, I could blame it all mostly on the mall fire bullshit story, but,” she shakes her head, looks down where her feet are dangling over the side of the car. “I just needed to let it out. I needed to feel like I wasn’t crazy. Like I didn’t just dream it all up.”
Steve slightly turns his body toward her, props one leg beneath him. Robin is the one now pointedly avoiding eye contact because the mere thought of seeing the way his eyes so carefully seem to consider her feels way too heavy to bear at the moment. Not when she’s splayed open like this, emotions spilling hot and raw between them.
“And so, the first time I saw you outside my house, I thought I had dreamt it. Or made it up, I guess. But, no. You were back again the next night, and the next. And so, one night after failing to sleep, after just seeing all of that on loop, the bunker and torture and,” she swallows hard, “just, all of it. I just waited outside on the roof. And sure enough, there you were. Pulling up to a slow stop at my house like you belonged. And so I waved and jumped down and got in your car.”
She glances up, and feels a bit knocked back by the way Steve is looking at her. His eyes are wide, the hazel in them swirling like a galaxy pulling Robin into orbit, sparkling in the moonlight, or maybe from the dampness collecting there, or maybe a bit of everything good and pure and warm. The way the corner of his mouth turns down ever so slightly feels wrong in a fundamental way. Her heart aches to fold into his chest and squeeze all the love from her heart into him if that meant he’d smile again.
But, she doesn’t, and she won’t, not yet, because she knows there’s more to say, to get out, and she feels like it might just break them both completely if they don’t (just as easily bound to break them if they do).
“At the time, I didn’t really know why I did it, why I just so forcefully and willingly got in your car. I just knew I was so tired of being alone in my thoughts. Of feeling like I’d dreamed it all up, or that the scars on my body were somehow fake, or – I don’t know. I just…you were there. You were there and you kept showing up. And so I figured, why not?” Robin chuckles, the sound wholly wet with tears.
“And without saying anything, you just…fuck, you let me in. You gave me your jacket. And you just drove. I didn’t know where we were going. I didn’t know where I wanted to go. I didn’t really know why I trusted you then, but it’s so obvious now. You just,” Robin sighs, emotion clogging her throat, her entire body aching and raw. “You showed up for me. Nobody else bothered to check, and you just, you did. And, god, even though it was a terrible idea, you protected me from goddamn Russians. You put your body between angry guards and fucking tiny ass Erica Sinclair. Who, honestly, probably could’ve leveled them if we’re being honest.”
Steve snorts a laugh, the sound equally wet. It quickly burrows into Robin’s chest, sparking something warm that she’s been desperately missing.
“You put yourself between us. Just over and over again. You didn’t even hesitate to do it either. And that was part of what scared me so bad. Was seeing you so willing to give up your life for people you barely knew.” Robin shakes her head, bits of anger falling out in the shape of a laugh.
“For a girl who spent the whole summer openly plotting your failures for you to see. For a kid who ate her weight in free samples and has enough sass in her body to run a fleet. For another kid who has some kind of self-sacrificial bullshit about him too. I just – it didn’t make sense. None of it makes sense, I know, but this…this was what I kept getting stuck on at night when I couldn’t sleep. I just couldn’t understand why.”
Robin takes a breath then, eyes blurry as she stares down at her hands, where she pulls the sleeves down, cocoons herself in the warmth that is Steve. Something she’s only now realizing has become a safe place – a place that she yearns for like a missing limb.
No.
Like a missing half.
Like half of her heart, her soul, her entire being has been cut off and separated from her. And the only way she feels at peace is when she’s with Steve.
And this floors her.
“Even after we got out, you still…you put yourself in front of us. You drove a car full speed into fucking Billy Hargrove’s speeding ass car, Steve. Do you not know how insane that was?”
Robin finally looks at him, really looks, her face red and splotchy and wet with tears, her lips quivering, her eyes just wide. Steve blinks. Stammers out some wordless slew of noises as tears streak his face.
“Like, out of everything, that’s one of the things I keep thinking about. It was just… God, it was so insane. To be sitting there and do that. It was so weird, because as we were speeding there, I just…I knew. I felt it. I knew in that moment we were going to hit him. And I knew it was a choice I would’ve made, even though I have no fucking idea how to drive. I knew that somehow we decided to make that choice together. And then it worked. I don’t get how, but it did.”
Her gaze drops to her lap again.
“But, yeah. I was just so desperate to talk to anyone about it. To know that it wasn’t some fucked up bullshit my brain dreamed up. And so when you showed up, I just… I knew. And then you kept showing up. And I kept going. And…yeah.” She shrugs.
Robin sighs, something long and deep, then looks down at Hawkins. “And then we came here. I remember just how painfully normal everything looked from this far away. How the whole city looked like it could fit in the palm of my hand. How life was just happening and none of those people fucking knew the truth of anything. It was insane. It still is insane.”
She laughs a bit and looks back at Eddie’s van, sees two silhouettes clearly outlined there, just watching, waiting. Something that makes her heart throb.
“Now we have them.”
Steve follows her gaze, seemingly registering for the first time that there’s other people here. The gasp he lets out sounds more like a choked sob than anything. Without even thinking, Robin looks back at him, scoots closer, lets their legs gently touch where they’re propped between them. She’s not even sure she’s allowed to touch him anymore, but her heart is aching, and he’s falling apart, and the city beneath them is still so painfully and utterly normal, and – and she’s exhausted.
“We have them and we can’t…can’t really tell them anything.” She scoffs and shakes her head. “It’s so dumb. They deserve to know. The whole town does. It’s so completely fucked, honestly.”
Robin waits a beat. Looks back at Eddie and Vickie again, feels fresh tears prick her eyes. “I’ve been like this close to telling them so many times. When Eddie, the whole tattoo thing? I just wanted to scream that we needed to cover these fucked up scars, and, and I just couldn’t. Because the fucking government made me sign some dumbass NDAs.”
“Though,” she cocks her head, “the tattoo thing was kinda fun. Calming in a way.” Her fingers instinctively reach for the scar on her neck. “In a fucked up way, this feels like a soul brand or some shit. Just tying us together.”
Steve laughs and nods.
“Like some Shakespearean tragedy fated soulmate bullshit we’d read in Mr. Anderson’s class. Have to do the whole,” she waves her hands in some semblance of a square, or maybe a blob, “plot diagram and analysis and explain the significance of the door being red and how that reflected the main character or whatever.”
“I never understood those.” Steve’s voice is a quiet rasp between them, but the sound of it hits something hard in Robin’s chest, makes her want to sob even harder. “Like, sometimes the door is just red. Why does it always have to be about barely repressed anger or the atrocities of their past?”
Robin blinks at him. Just watches him for a moment. How he shakes his head when he finishes talking. How he finally meets her eyes. And then, she laughs. A wet, incredulous laugh.
“What?”
“I just did not expect you to be pulling out literary themes in the middle of the night.”
“Oh.” His brow furrows, and she can see him start to shrink in on himself.
“No, I’m just – you just keep surprising me. In the best ways.”
“I do?”
“Yeah. I mean, I never thought I’d be friends with you, or want to be, but, like, honestly? You…you became the person I want to see most every day. The person I wanted to call when I got first chair in band. The person I wanted to eat cold french fries and watch cheesy movies with. The person I wanted to just, like, be with. All the time.”
“Sure that’s not Vickie?” His voice is just this side of bitter and Robin’s heart aches knowing she contributed to that.
“Vickie’s great, don’t get me wrong. But,” Robin pauses, hoping to hell her eyes convey every single ounce of emotion she’s feeling, “she’s not you.”
Steve furrows his brows, lips pursed. “I don’t – what?”
“Look, I –,” she sighs. “I handled this all so poorly. I’ve never really been in a relationship before, and didn’t think I’d even get the chance here. Fucking miracle I did, really.”
“I mean, you deserve it. A relationship.” Steve says with the utmost sincerity, and Robin thinks she might pass out from it.
“But I shouldn’t’ve hurt you in the process.”
“It’s fi–"
“No,” Robin sighs. “I’m sorry, but, it’s not fine.”
She can clearly see the way Steve is swallowing down his own emotions, fully turning on his Supportive Friend mask, and she wants nothing more in this moment than to hold him close and fix all the things she’s broken.
“I think I just got so excited to have someone. To be able to date here. And to have it be Vickie, who I thought was wholly unattainable. And I just wanted to be around her all the time. I wanted to just attach myself to her and never walk away. And I know that isn’t fair because….” she breathes in deep, looks up at Steve’s glossy eyes. “Well, because that’s how I feel about you too. And…I don’t think my brain understood that I could have that kind of friendship outside of the relationship.”
“Rob.” Steve’s voice breaks.
“It was like my brain couldn’t understand both things could exist at the same time. And that…that made me hurt you. It’s not an excuse, because, god, I said some fucking awful things to you, and I am so, so fucking sorry, Steve.” Her eyes plead with him, tears just streaming freely down her cheeks. “And it really fucking sucked. Because I missed you. I ached. I still do. I hated cancelling on you or letting you down. But, I just kept ignoring it like a fucking shit person just to hang out with Vickie. Who, by the way, consistently asked about my schedule and who I kept lying to about it because I just…I don’t know. Fuck, I don’t get how you dated so much. It’s so hard.”
“It’s alright, though. I–”
“No, you – fuck, okay, I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean that I had to beg Eddie to date you.” Somewhere behind her, she hears a gasp, and knows that she’s gonna have hell to pay later, but she can’t stop, not now. “I was just, just mad and scared and stressed and, and–”
“Rob. It’s alright. I get it.” Steve’s voice is somehow so calm and reassuring that she almost lets herself get folded up in the warmth of it.
But, instead, she digs her heels in. “It’s not alright. It’s not true. I didn’t beg him to date you.” She takes a deep breath, eyes staring firmly at the crook of Steve’s knee where it rests on the roof of the car. “I asked him to give you a chance. I asked him to talk to you, to apologize for what he said that one night. I asked him to just take five minutes to look and see all the fucking beautiful things about you that I had started seeing myself. I didn’t have to beg him to date you at all. The second he actually talked to you, he –” she feels herself smile. “He could see it. He could see just how fucking amazing you are. And I never heard the end of it it.”
Unmistakably, leather and chains shuffle in the distance, followed by the shushing of Vickie’s voice as she holds him back.
Steve looks at the shadows of their partners, then back to Robin, and laughs. “Guess that’s a conversation for later.”
“I kinda deserve it.” Robin shrugs.
Steve sighs. “I guess I kinda did the same to you with Eddie. It’s been a really weird few months.” He cocks his head, rolls his eyes a bit. “Okay, well, excluding Upside Down bullshit, just focusing on the last handful of months – shit’s been…weird.”
He drags a hand through his hair, shakes his head a bit. “Things that I always kind of knew about myself but never, ever talked about suddenly becoming these real, tangible things. Things I was allowed to say, to feel. And I was so scared. Not because it’s Eddie. But, because it was anybody.”
The wind whips through the trees, carries the scent of winter pine and woodsmoke past them. Steve shuffles ever so slightly closer to Robin, slides a bit more in front of the flow of the wind, guarding her from it, and that gesture alone makes her cry a bit harder.
“I, just,” he swallows a sigh. “Every time, I always just jump too hard, too fast. Give too much to someone who is already a foot and a half out the door. Every time, I get hurt doing it. And…fuck, I was scared. So fucking scared.” He pauses briefly, his fingers prodding the sleeve of his sweater. “Still am. Scared. I put so much into trying to make everything with him perfect that I, uh, I think I neglected you a bit.”
“Steve.” Robin croaks, her leg pressing firmer against his, trying to offer any semblance of comfort she can in this limbo state they’re in.
“And then it just compounded because, like –” He just shakes his head, a wet laugh tumbling from his blood-stained lips. “Okay, I’ve never really had good friendships. Or, like, any friendships at all, really.”
At that, Robin’s face scrunches in confusion. “But–”
“No, I know what you’re gonna say.” Steve looks at her, smiles so fucking sadly that it somehow rebuilds her heart only to shatter it completely again. “None of those people were ever really friends. I don’t think I knew what friendship really is, what it should be, until I met you.”
And if that doesn’t firmly split Robin in two. She lets out a shuddering sob, decides fuck it, and laces their fingers together before she can think herself out of it. Steve lets out a hitch of breath that sounds eerily like a sob, too, before squeezing her hand back in earnest.
“I know I had all those,” he waves his free hand flippantly, “people who followed me around. And for a while, I thought that was what friendship was, ya know? Being on top. People following you. Listening to your every word. Doing whatever you said. Never being challenged or questioned or anything. Just, blindly followed without hesitation. And it felt good, ya know, or I thought it did…for a while.”
Robin focuses on tracing the back of Steve’s hand softly with her thumb, drawing soft shapes, drinking up the connection after what feels like eons of being apart. She can see the way this conversation is ripping at him, how it’s pulling something raw from deep within him, unearthing something crucial, and she wants nothing more in this moment than to protect him from every single bad thing that has ever dared to threaten him.
“It eventually got kinda boring and, just, numb, I guess. It was all just for show. Because I would go home and I would sit alone. Unless there was some party or sports thing, I was just there. Like someone had set me to Waiting Mode and dropped me down in a room like a fuckin’ doll. Waiting until the next time someone needed Steve Harrington to show up for something.”
Fuck.
Steve lets out the most sardonic, mirthless chuckle, the sound broken and jagged, wholly wet with tears and the weight of eighteen fucking years of unreachable expectations.
“Everyone always wants something from me. Like I’m this product to show off. Parade around on their arm. Which is honestly how I grew up, ya know? My parents only ever had me around as this, like, trophy. This thing they could show their friends and business partners and shit. Always just pushing me forward, like, ‘Look at what Steven does. Look at how handsome he is. Look at his trophies for whatever sport. Look how obedient.’ And if I didn’t fit that box, fit into this, like, thing they could sell, then I wasn’t worth being around for. So the second I stopped,” he shrugs, “so did they.”
“Fuck, Steve. I didn’t–fuck.” Robin sobs hard. Genuinely wants to track down his parents and destroy them for this. Because, who the fuck does this to their kid? Makes them think they have to earn the right to be loved?
Steve wipes his face with the sleeve of his sweater, takes a deep, steadying breath. “I tried. Like, really hard, all the time. To be this Perfect version of myself. And the closer I got to whatever this Perfect Steve was, the less I felt…real. I just felt so disconnected from the world. From myself. Like I was a stranger in this body that people loved, or pretended to. Everything in my life felt so fake that I couldn’t even begin to tell what was real anymore, and, honestly, I started not to care.”
Fucking hell. Robin doesn’t even know what to do, what to say, in response to that. She knew that shit was bad for him. She knew his parents were awful, made him feel awful, and all that. But…she never really realized just how truly fucking atrocious they were, are. Because she sincerely doubts they are any better to him now than they were when he was a child.
“The only way I could really get through all the shit was just…turning off my emotions. Refusing to feel, to show any real, raw emotion to anyone. Or, well, trying. Because, shit, I just kept getting hurt. I would think someone actually cared, Tommy, or Nancy, ya know, and think that maybe I could try to be real with them, and just – well, we know the end to that.” Steve chuckles and the sound is hollow and broken.
“So, I – fuck, okay, just, I was struggling, okay?” Steve’s eyes plead with her, betraying something broken and jagged and absolutely terrifying for him to let out. “I was trying to be this Perfect Steve, and so I was finding ways to keep my emotions hidden, keep them in check, ya know, bury them. And so I started…drinking. Like, a lot.”
“Steve–”
“Just, let me get through it?” He pleads.
And Robin feels so much sadness and anger and frustration and wants to wage a war on the world, but just nods.
“My parents were never home. I started partying. Started taking my dad’s liquor. And then…the Upside Down happened.” He takes a shaky breath. “Barb happened. All the stuff with Nancy and Jonathan and, and – I just, life hadn’t felt real for me for such a long time that all of this stuff happening didn’t even feel unreal. Just felt like another reason to drink. Because now I had images in my brain I needed to forget, sensations I needed to wipe from my memory, because feeling those, everything that happened – I didn’t even know how to handle it anymore after so long of not feeling. Guess it was a double edged sword kind of moment. Drink to forget, drink not to feel, drink because you can’t feel, drink because you feel too much.”
“Fuck. That’s – god, I’m so fucking sorry you had to deal with that.” Robin turns more toward him, tugs on their joined hands. Steve looks up at her, face completely slick with tears, chest slightly heaving from the jagged truths spilling from his very being.
“And I know that none of it is really an excuse for how much of a fucking dick I was in high school. I regret all of it. Every day.” Steve’s gaze is so immensely earnest as he stares at her. Robin reaches out and brushes the disheveled flop of his hair behind his ear, fingers lingering soft on his cheek, pressing warmth to his damp skin.
And because Robin knows that nothing she says right now can eradicate all those years of pain, and because she knows that platitudes will only serve to make this moment somehow weigh less than it’s worth, she just softly squeezes his cheek and whispers, “I know you do.”
“Ya know,” Steve’s voice drops lower, near a whisper. “I really did think Nancy was gonna be it for me. It was the first time I’d felt something good in years. And so, that exploding and her going to Jonathan just really made me realize that–” he sighs, drags a shaky hand through his hair, tugs on the roots until his hair spikes up even as his hand falls away. “That I was never going to be this person that people wanted to stick around for.” He shakes his head, voice dropping even lower, barely perceptible. “Not even in the end of the world.”
“Steve.” Robin’s face is slick with tears, her eyes so pained as she stares at him. “That’s not–”
“No, it’s true. God. I literally spent my entire life. My entire goddamn life, Rob. All of it. Trying to be what my parents wanted. What fuckin’ Tommy Hagan wanted. What Hawkins High wanted. What Nancy wanted. Not once did I ever even try to be who I wanted.” Steve scoffs something hot and angry. “And no matter what, all of that effort, every version of me – I still ended up alone.”
Robin wipes at her face, the sleeve of Steve’s jacket coming back hot and wet with tears. She hiccups a broken sob and aches to pull him tight to her chest, but she sees the way he’s still wound tight, like there’s just the slightest bit coiled inside of him still, and with the way he looks back at her, eyes wide and full of fire and pain, she just squeezes his hand tight and waits.
What feels like an eternity passes, but is more like half a minute, before Steve sighs, letting loose some of that coiled anger. “And then, I start working at Scoops. And so I go, okay, time to do the thing. I gotta be what this Robin girl wants so she can at least tolerate working with me. But, man. I could not fucking figure you out for shit.”
Robin laughs, the sound just exploding out of her, landing awkward and ragged between them, but somehow making the tiniest quirk of Steve’s lips happen.
“I kept trying and literally striking out. I know with that board you were just, I don’t know, trying to show me how much of a loser I was when it came to dating. But, honestly, I just,” he shrugs, eyes trained on the chipped polish on her nails. “I really wanted to make you like me. I wanted to figure out what you wanted. And…I don’t know what it was, but it was just impossible for me. Nothing I did worked. Nothing I had practiced for my entire life worked. It was like you looked directly through me, which was honestly kind of fucking terrifying. For the literal first time in my entire fucking life, I met someone who didn’t take the persona I crafted for them.”
At that, Robin just quirks a brow. “But, I – I was just being a dick.”
“You weren’t taking my shit.” Steve corrects with a soft smile. “Not for a second.”
“Oh.”
“And then we were getting fucking kidnappend and tortured and I felt this, like, last fragile attempt to prove myself. But it’s not like those assholes believed we were being honest for a second.” He swallows hard. “I just knew I had to do whatever it took to keep them away from you.”
“Steve, no–”
“I was not about to let you get fucking tortured if there was anything I could do about it.” He says with the steadiest voice she’s heard from him all night.
Robin stares at him. At the bleeding cut on his lip. At the raised scar under his eye. At the lump of a scar on his neck, matching her own. And, god, she fucking aches. He knowingly put himself in front of her, over and over again, just trying to protect and prove he was worth something.
God.
She really wants to fucking destroy his parents.
“It wasn’t until we were out of Starcourt, until we weren’t, ya know, fucking bleeding out or fighting for our lives. Until I started all these drives. Until you joined me and we came out here and stuff.” He sighs something sad. “You…you were the first person in my entire life who asked me to be myself. To be who I wanted to be. And that terrified the ever-living shit out of me. I had spent my whole life being who other people wanted or needed that I had no fucking idea who I was anymore.”
“I was scared and tired and broken. And I can’t even fully blame that on the Russians. I was broken before I even walked into that bunker.” Steve lets out a broken sob, scrubs hard at his face, the sleeve of his sweater coming back flecked with blood.
“You asking that, those questions, just scared me. Like, a lot. Because here I was with someone who is so loudly and unabashedly herself at every turn asking me who I am. Asking me what movies I like and what radio station I listen to and what my favorite type of cookie is and – god, I just didn’t know how to handle any of it. I didn’t know how to answer those questions because,” he sighs as he catches her pained gaze. “Because I didn’t have answers to them.”
“You asked me things that no one had ever even bothered with before. So many people just assumed shit for me. And then I just stopped correcting them because it was easier to go along with it. Less exhausting.” He lets out a deep sigh before smiling – a nearly-full smile. “But you? God, you made me fucking talk about everything.”
“Well, yeah.” Robin chuckles something wet and raw. “That’s what friends do.”
Steve nods, eyes glistening as he meets hers. “Yeah. I guess it is.”
“Well, fuck, Steve. God. It makes me so fucking angry that you’ve just, fuck, been pushed down so fucking hard at every angle.”
“Yeah.” He nods. “Me too, actually.”
“C’mere.” Robin squeezes Steve’s hand tight and pulls him in for a hug, burying her face in the crook of his neck, swallowing down her own sobs and squeezing him tighter when she feels his chest shake. She drags her hand up and down his back in the most soothing pattern she can manage, trying to coax all the pain out of his body, at least for now, while she vows to herself to stand between him and the entire goddamn world if she has to.
After a minute, Steve pulls back with a shaky smile, wipes the tears from his face, takes a deep breath. Robin presses up against him, their hands firmly linked once more.
“Yellow.”
Robin looks up at him. “What?”
“Yellow.” Steve repeats with a soft smile. “My favorite color. Yellow.”
“Oh.” Robin blinks. Takes a deep breath. Lets out a wet chuckle. “Yeah?”
Steve nods. “Yeah.”
“It fits.”
“Yeah?”
Robin nods. “Yeah. All sunshine and sweet honey and growth. Happiness. Protection.”
“Protection?” Steve furrows his brow. “How?”
“Well, like. Yellow. It has this sort of caution association. Think of like yield signs and stuff. So, that’s kind of like you. Because caution and protection are just,” she links her hands together and pulls, “a bonded pair. You know when something is dangerous, so you know how to keep us safe.”
He scoffs. “Not too well.”
“You do, though. You–”
Steve’s crying harder now and shaking his head. “If it weren’t for me–”
“Hey.” She squeezes his hand. “No. I chose to get involved.”
“No, you didn’t.” He laughs, the sound wet and throaty.
“Yes, I did. I butted my big head in to crack that code. I chose to take my time listening to that recording with Dustin and break down every last syllable. Hell, if it weren’t for me, who knows what those dumbass Russians would’ve done.”
“They wouldn’t have ever tortured you.” Steve chokes out a whisper.
Robin swallows hard. Feels the familiar pang in her neck at that. “Okay. Yeah. You’ve got me there.”
“And Erica wouldn’t’ve–”
“Steve–”
“God, she’s a child. They all are.” He shakes his head. “And I just stood by and let them get involved and–”
“Steve. None of that is your fault.”
“Yes, it is!” Steve exclaims, hands shooting up to rub aggressively at his face. “God, fuck. It’s all my fault.”
“Steve–”
“No, Robin. No. Listen, okay?” He shakes his head. “I just – I keep getting people hurt. Everyone that gets close to me gets hurt. It, it happened with Nancy. If it weren’t for dating me, then she never would’ve lost Barb. If it weren’t–”
“And if it weren’t for you, Nancy and Jonathan probably would’ve fucking died that night at his house. If it weren’t for you running back in and attacking the demogorgon, at least one of them wouldn’t’ve made it.”
“They would’ve been fine.”
Robin sighs. “As much as it pains me to say it, you going back in that night…was a good thing to do. You saved them.”
He scoffs, shakes his head. “You don’t even like them.”
“Yeah. I don’t. But, that doesn’t mean that I think they deserve a gruesome death via hell-dimension monsters.”
Steve laughs, and Robin feels the tiniest of weights lift from her chest.
“And, you know what, I’d go through all that again if it meant having you in my life.”
“Robin–”
“Hey, no, I’m serious.” Robin huffs a breath, the force of which makes her bangs flutter out a bit. “Ugh. Okay. Look. I thought that there was no one in Hawkins that was worth my time, or that would even want to be around me. And because I know he’d kill me if I didn’t say it, that excludes Eddie and Wayne.”
Steve chuckles and Robin thinks she hears a familiar scoff some yards behind her.
“But. I didn’t think there was anyone new. And I thought I was fine with that. I thought that the thing that would make me happy would be to get a girlfriend. And to do that, I thought I had to move out of Hawkins, go off to college somewhere out west or something. So, when Vickie happened, I…” She looks down at their hands and smiles. “I got caught up in it. I was just so shocked, so happy that I found someone. And she’s amazing.”
“You deserve it, Rob.”
“She’s amazing, but she isn’t you.”
“What?”
“I thought that getting a girlfriend would be what made me happy. That it would, like, fill in all the gaps in my life. And it did. It filled some of them. But you?” She looks up, catches Steve’s eye, the faint yellow of Eddie’s lights shrouding them in something warm. “You filled everything.”
“I don’t…” Steve swallows hard. “What do you mean?”
“Like, I thought I needed a girlfriend. But, what I needed, what I was missing, was a partner. A soulmate. And, even though I know I’ve been such a fucking bitch to you lately and have maybe ruined it forever, that soulmate partner bond? I think I found it in you, Steve.”
Steve stares. His eyes grow impossibly wide. Tears spill freely, and Robin is hit with the stark realization that she’s never actually seen him cry before tonight. She’s seen the way damp will crease his eyes, but always soaks itself up before spilling over. And that – she knows, then, that there’s this part of Steve, this part he’s been hiding away, been holding close, and she realizes he’s opened the door, thinks that hopefully, maybe, just maybe, to let her in.
“And, god, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” Robin chokes out a sob. “I wish I could take back what I said. You didn’t, you don’t, deserve that. I’m so sorry. I think I was just overwhelmed and scared and, and, I–” She’s shaking now, her hands trembling in his, her head viciously going back and forth.
“Rob, Robbie, hey, it’s okay.” Steve wraps an arm around her and squeezes her shoulder. “It’s okay.”
“No.” She shakes her head, pushes away from him slightly. “No, it’s not. It’s not.”
“Rob, it’s–”
“No!”
Steve jumps slightly. His arm falls away from her. His brow creases as he anxiously searches her face.
“Steve, it’s not okay. I was awful to you. I said shit I didn’t mean because I was frustrated and – and maybe I’m not really perfect or whatever. I just keep thinking back to the bunker. How I almost lost you. And now I have you. And I told you to your face to leave me alone? And – and I didn’t mean it. I should’ve just talked to you. Told you how I was confused and overwhelmed and scared too. And – fuck, I’m sorry.”
“Hey, Rob. I’m here. Okay? I’m sorry too.”
And then, Steve pulls her into a hug. One of his hands softly combs through her hair while the other traces gently up and down her back. He just keeps whispering assurances, that he’s here, that they’re okay, that everything is okay. And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, Robin is starting to think that it might be true – that things might actually be okay. Because she feels lighter than she has in eons, since well before Starcourt.
She pulls back, a shaky smile on her face. Steve gently wipes her tears away, stares back at her with nothing but pure warmth.
“You with me?” He whispers.
Robin nods. “Yeah.”
“Good. Because, I need you to hear this.” He takes a deep breath, and Robin can see the raw emotion in his eyes. “You just, you said something that kind of made something click for me.”
“I did?”
“Yeah, Rob. Because, I think you’re right. I think you’re my soulmate, too.”
Oh.
“Yeah?” Robin grins. She grins so fucking wide, disbelieving laugh falling from her lips.
“Yeah.” Steve grins back just as wide.
The wind picks up again, prompting them to turn back toward the cliffside, toward the city below. Steve pulls Robin in close, her head on his shoulder, and they just sit there for a moment. Watching, listening, feeling. The soft bustle of life carrying on below them, haloed in a soft yellow-orange glow, the edges of both of their vision speckling with it, lighting the world around them in a brilliant smattering of their favorite colors.
In this moment, as they look out over the city, then back at each other, they smile, the same soft, broken, fully unrestrained smile, both feeling with a certainty that something brilliant and necessary has just clicked into place.
It’s only a few moments later, when the shadows of their partners start walking closer, that Steve and Robin realize, “They heard everything, didn’t they?”
“Oh, yeah.” Vickie answers.
“Hey, again I say,” Eddie looks at the both of them. “What the fuck happened to you two?”
So, Steve and Robin share a glance, look back at an unaware Hawkins, and back at each other before deciding, “Yeah, fuck it.”
“Alright, it all started back…”
taglist (open):@sunshine-daydreams0809@saramelaniemoon@probablyin-bed@bookworm0690@watermelonmite@sanctumdemunson@5-fievel@nicememerino @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx
divider credit:@saradika-graphics
thank you for reading :)
chapter title from "golden line" by djo :)
an: hopefully this makes up for the fighting in chapter 8 :)
PLUS you finally get to see where the BEAUTIFUL art by Tomb Fiends comes into play !!!!!! go support her rn !!!!!
