So what if the Kids get Steve and Jonathan to play DnD with them? And Robin DMs?
Hawkins didn’t feel real anymore. It felt staged.
Military trucks idled at intersections like unmoving miniatures. Helicopters traced the same loops across the sky every afternoon. The cracks in the earth had stopped widening, but no one trusted that they were finished. There were no monsters visible.
Just waiting. WSQK became common ground.
Robin was broadcast every morning — voice bright, sarcasm sharpened just enough to pass inspection — but by late afternoon the station belonged to them. Folding tables. Plastic chairs. Static humming softly from unused equipment.
Dustin dropped the bag of dice onto the table like a declaration. “We’re starting a campaign.
Lucas didn’t even look up from where he was sharpening a pencil. “Now?”
“What else are we doing?” Dustin snapped. “Counting helicopters?”
Mike leaned forward automatically. “I’ll DM. no surprise he wanted. He always did. Dustin nodded. “Yeah. Mike DMs.”
Robin, who had been reclined in a chair with her boots on the desk, tilted her head. “Absolutely not.” The room stilled.
Mike blinked. “What?” Robin swung her feet down and stood up slowly, theatrically. “You,” she pointed at Mike, “are playing.” Mike frowned. “Why?”
“Because you haven’t played in forever. You’re always behind the screen. It’s unhealthy. Control issues. Very on-brand for you, but we’re branching out.”
“I don’t have control issues.” Mike's words stumbled out of his mouth Robin raised both eyebrows. Lucas coughed. Dustin squinted. “So who’s DMing?”
Robin stepped around the table and placed both hands on it like she was claiming territory. “I am.”
There was a beat of silence. Then Dustin laughed. “You’ve never DMed.”
“And?” she shot back. “You’ve never survived Russian torture. Growth happens.” Mike crossed his arms. “You don’t even know the rules.”
Robin leaned in slightly. “I know stories.” Dustin frowned. “You don’t even own any books.”
Robin pointed toward the back storage room of WSQK. “We’re a radio station,” she said. “People donate weird stuff.”
Will perked up immediately. “Wait.”
Robin disappeared through the door and came back with a cardboard box. Inside were worn rulebooks.
A DM guide with the spine taped together.
Mike leaned forward slowly. “Where did you get those?” Robin shrugged. “Storage room. Probably donated.” Dustin flipped one open and froze. “This was Eddie’s.” Lucas blinked. “How do you know?”
Dustin pointed to the inside cover. In messy Sharpie handwriting:
There was a second note beneath it.
IF LOST RETURN TO EDDIE MUNSON
No one said anything for a moment. Robin cleared her throat. “Well,” she said gently. “Guess they needed a new dungeon master.”
That landed. Will, who had been quietly sketching in his notebook, looked up. “She’d be good,” he said. Robin glanced at him, surprised.
“She listens,” Will added. Mike hesitated. Dustin was already tearing up again. Eddie’s Uncle probably donated the things after Dustin had refused to take them. Grieve had still been too deep and too present to take Eddie's most loved belongings.
Now Robin held them softly, like a treasure she didn't realize she had.
The truth also was: they needed something different. Different rules. Different control. Something that wasn't about Vecna. “Fine,” Dustin muttered. “But I get to make a new character.”
Robin beamed. “Congratulations. You’re free.”
Jonathan, leaning against a wall near the record shelves, gave a small, reluctant smile. He came to the station to not be around Nancy every minute in the Wheeler house. Since they have ended their relationship the air between them was tense. Not in a bad way but strange. Will glanced over at him. “You should play too.” Jonathan blinked. “Me?”
“You used to,” Will said. “With me.” Jonathan’s expression softened in a way that hurt to look at. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “I did.” Dustin shrugged. “Sure. Six-person party.”
Lucas counted automatically. “That’s five.” Dustin frowned. “No, that’s—” Mike ticked them off on his fingers. “Me. Lucas. Dustin. Will. Jonathan.”
They all looked, almost in unison, toward the soundbooth from which Steve submerged. He was re-coiling cables with unnecessary precision. He didn’t look up. “I’m not playing,” he said immediately. Robin didn’t even miss a beat. “You are.”
“Nope.” Steve shook his heat. “We need six.” Dustin claimed. “You literally just counted five.” Steve rolled his eyes. “Exactly.” Dustin looked at him, almost pleading. Steve glanced over his shoulder. “You don’t need me.”
There it was. The thing under the thing.
Lucas shifted in his chair. “We need a balanced party.” Steve huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, well. I don’t even know how it works.”
“We’ll teach you,” Mike said. “That’s not reassuring,” Steve muttered. Jonathan was watching him now. Carefully. Outside, a helicopter passed low enough to rattle the windows. No one flinched anymore at it.
They were all tired of flinching.
Lucas leaned back. “We’re bored, man.” It wasn’t boredom. It was restlessness. It was the kind of silence that followed a boss fight when you weren’t sure if the campaign was actually over or not. When you have won but the price paid has been too high.
Robin slid a blank character sheet across the table toward Steve. “You don’t have to be good at it,” she said. “You just have to sit.”
Steve stared at the paper. Columns. Boxes. Numbers. Armor. Class. Hit Points. Saving Throws.
He looked up at them. Six faces. Waiting.
“How many hit points do I get?” he asked lightly. Dustin answered automatically. “Depends on your class.” Steve hesitated. “What class am I?”
The room went quiet. Robin didn’t answer for him. She just tilted her head and said, gently this time, “What kind of hero do you want to be?”
The military siren wailed once in the distance. Long. Low. Ominous. Steve pulled out a chair. And sat down.
Robin didn’t let them build characters on the spot. “Absolutely not,” she said after a moment, snapping the big spiral notebook shut. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. You all go home, you design new characters, you bring back backstories. Trauma optional but encouraged.”
Dustin lit up. “Oh, I already have—” “Of course you do,” Robin muttered.
She pointed at Mike. “No tragic martyr nonsense.” She pointed at Lucas. “No lone wolf edge lord.” She pointed at Will gently. “You can do whatever you want.” Then she turned to Jonathan. “You too.” Jonathan nodded, already thinking. Finally, she looked at Steve. “You’re staying.”
The others made noises of protest. “Not like that,” Robin said quickly. “He needs help.” “I don’t need help,” Steve said automatically. She gave him a look. “You absolutely do.”
The kids left in clusters, already arguing about optimal builds and subclasses. Jonathan lingered for a moment, eyes flicking toward Steve, but Will tugged him toward the door. “We’ll see you tomorrow,” Jonathan said quietly.
When they were alone, Robin dragged a chair next to him and opened the D&D Player’s Handbook like it was sacred text. “Okay,” she said. “back to the first question: What kind of hero do you want to be?” “I don’t know,” Steve muttered.
“That’s fine. We’ll reverse engineer it.” Robin announced.
