Chapter Text
Three months into the Post-Dingus Era of Robin’s life, Maxine Mayfield storms into Family Video.
(Robin can practically see Astrid, face twisted in a scowl, ragging on her for naming a turning point in her life after a man. Which, fine, but Post-Discovery-of-an-Alternate-Dimension-and-Mind-Controlling-Flesh-Monsters Era doesn’t roll off the tongue that easy. So. Post-Dingus Era it is.)
It’s a frigid October afternoon everywhere else in Hawkins. Keith’s torture dungeon is a sauna. An ancient fan mounted on a pedestal wheezes out weak bursts of cold air, groaning on every oscillation. It’s still heaven compared to the stifling heat prevalent throughout the rest of the shop. Robin’s been fighting Steve for the best vantage point for the greater part of their shift.
The door slams open, and Steve takes advantage of Robin’s distraction to elbow her out of the way.
Max is wearing an expression that Robin has come to associate with Imminent Doom. It wipes Steve’s triumphant grin off his face. “Hey, Max. What’s up?”
Max throws her weight against the counter, which rattles threateningly. “My stupid mom has to go to her stupid job because her stupid boss is a jackass.”
If this were a cartoon, Max would have steam coming out of her nostrils, face gone the same shade of red as her hair.
It’s a delightful image.
“That is a whole lot of stupid,” Robin observes.
Max rolls her eyes. Robin pictures a thundercloud floating over her head. “It’s bullshit.”
Steve tosses Max a Twix, dropping a handful of change into the register. When Robin pouts at him, he throws his head back, sighs, and gets her one as well. Keeping the Dingus around has its perks. “Where are the other terrors?”
Max chomps down on her candy like it’s personally offended her. “Not talking to them.”
“Did Dustin tell you about his foot fungus, too?” Steve asks knowledgeably. “I keep telling him that it’s gross and I really don’t need to hear about it, especially not over lunch-”
“No, what the hell?” Max wrinkles her nose. “Ew.”
“So, it’s just me, then,” Steve says darkly.
“An honor that befits thee,” Robin says. Steve flips her off in an equally befitting reaction.
Max crumples up the wrapper. “‘Billy’s not gonna die if you don’t visit him once’.”
- Max does a startlingly accurate impression of Dustin.
- Talk about awkward.
“Max, that’s…” Steve winces. “I’m sure he didn’t mean-”
“It’s still a shitty thing to say,” Robin interjects. “And the rest of the guys took his side?”
Max nods dully. “They didn’t say anything out loud, but it’s obvious they were all thinking it.” She kicks the counter. It rattles again. Strike three, and the thing will disintegrate. “I wish El was here. She’d get it.”
“Your stepdad can’t take you?”
“Neil? I’d sooner go with a Demodog.” Quietly, she adds, “Billy doesn’t like it when he comes, anyway.” She leans over the counter. “Man, it’s really hot in here. You got anything funny?”
“Check over there.” Max drags her feet to the shelf Steve points out, mouth an inverted ‘U’. “Poor kid.”
“Poor Billy,” Robin says. “I can’t imagine he’s having the time of his life over there.”
They’d gone to visit Billy once, a couple days after the surgery that essentially brought him back to life. Her, Steve, Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers, crammed into Steve’s Beamer with an arsenal of Even-If-You-Almost-Killed-Us-All-While-You-Were-Possessed-By-An-Interdimensional-Mind-Controlling-Flesh-Monster-We’re-Glad-You-Came-Through care packages. The ride to the government facility had been awkward enough; coming back worse, because they hadn’t been allowed in at all.
“I’m afraid only family members are allowed for another week,” a rotund doctor had informed them. “We’ll let Mr. Hargrove know you dropped by. I’m sure he’ll be touched.”
Robin tries to picture ‘Billy Hargrove’ and ‘touched’ together, and her brain comes up with an error message.
A week passed, and none of the others had brought the subject back up again. Robin had filed away Billy’s name along with the rest of the events of the Fourth of July. Occasionally revisited, often with sympathy, but never for longer than five minutes.
With a jolt of surprise, Robin recognizes the uneasy feeling in her stomach: guilt. And like the stellar friend she is, she decides she must share it with Steve.
“Dingus?” Steve turns to her; she’s trained him well. “You have a car.”
Steve looks so lost, bless his soul. “Yeah?”
“And Max is in dire need of a car.”
Steve looks marginally less lost. “… Yeah?”
“Come on. Work with me here.”
Steve hangs his head. “Yeah.” He taps his fingers on the counter. Runs a hand through his hair. Clears his throat. “Hey, Max?”
October 13th, 1985
Astrid, my beloved,
Ciao! (Lost my taste for Russian, so I’m re-acclimating myself with Italian instead. Tried to get the Dingus to help, seeing as he’s, you know, ACTUALLY ITALIAN, but he’s worse than I am. Ugh.)
I hope you’re in bitchin’ health and a bitchin’ state of mind. How’s LA? Did you sell your soul for dreams of stardom? Will I ever see you alongside Molly Ringwald?
(Just kidding. I know you prefer Sigourney Weaver.)
It’s been a weird couple of days. Not Fourth of July weird, but it’s kind of related to that.
There was this guy in our grade- he used to be SUCH a DOUCHEBAG; worse than Steve, if you’ll believe it. I feel kind of bad talking about him like that, though, because he got hurt really bad when the mall burned down. He’s still in the hospital, and we visited him last week.
I didn’t think he even knew I EXISTED- you’ll probably find it hard to believe, but I wasn’t that popular in high school. Weird, right- considering how charismatic and personable I am? He’s from Cali- actually, you’ve probably seen the type already- remember everything I told you about Steve? Amplify that by, like, a thousand, and you get this guy.
But he actually knew who I am? And he even knew I worked at Scoops! Well, he called me ‘Weird Chick Who Works with Harrington’, but that counts, right?
I thought it would be super weird and awkward, but I guess getting caught in a burning building improves your personality. Not that it WASN’T super weird and awkward, because it was! Just in a not-that-bad way! We (the Dingus and I) are gonna drop by today afternoon too. I guess both of us feel weird we didn’t go after that first time.
Arrivederci, la mia amica!
Rob xx
Billy Hargrove post-Starcourt is a hell of a lot different from the Billy Hargrove of before.
Aside from the obvious- he’s confined within the four walls of a discreet government facility somewhere between Hawkins and the gates of hell, and he can make as much use of his legs as Robin can of her uterus- he’s a lot more subdued. Diluted essence of Billy Hargrove.
He looks surprised to see them again. Robin can hardly blame him; Max had more or less carried the first visit on her own, and while it hadn’t been the shitshow Robin had expected, it wouldn’t rush to the top of her list of best days, either.
“Harrington?” Billy frowns. “Buckteeth?”
It’s a leg up from ‘Weird Chick’, though, so. She’ll take it.
“Fuck you doin’ here?” he continues, like the ever so charming gentleman he is. Diluted Billy still leaves much to be desired.
Steve shrugs. “Had time to kill.”
“So you came to see me?” Billy sounds genuinely baffled. “Why?”
“For your sweet disposition and sparkling personality, obviously,” says Robin.
“We could go, if you want.” Steve shrugs again. “Just thought you’d appreciate the company. Didn’t think you were palling up with the nurses.”
Billy snorts. “Don’t think you can pal up with someone who has to wipe your ass for you.”
“Makes for a solid icebreaker, though,” Robin says, and Steve nods along seriously. “Like: Mr. Hargrove, please don’t have beans for dinner again.”
“Or: I think it’s high time you took a pair of hedge clippers to this thicket, Mr. Hargrove.”
“I knew you weren’t a natural blond!”
Steve giggles. “Gee, what shapely buttocks you have!”
“You think I have a nice butt, Harrington?”
Steve falters. Billy smirks, a relic of the one he’d worn in the past, but there’s something strangely hopeful in his eyes.
Robin looks between the two and thinks, huh.
November 8th, 1985
Astrid, conqueror of beasts and men (and women),
I’m so jealous, ugh, Cali sounds AMAZING! Send more photos, please- I need more material to froth with envy over. You look GREAT, by the way- and is that the beginnings of a tan I spy with my little eye? Did someone go to the beach? (Imagine me winking salaciously right now.)
Between college essays and bi-weekly trips to the hospital, I’ve barely had time to write to you. Yes, you read that right, BI-weekly. The Dingus is dead set on befriending one Billy Hargrove, and I am a mere passenger on his ship.
Honestly… Billy isn’t that bad, once you get to know him. He’s actually kind of funny. He really knows how to make Steve squirm, so he’s already on his way to being a winner in my book. It’s hard to believe now that they got into this huuuge fight last year- the Dingus was dinged up for weeks. Ugh, Tammy wouldn’t SHUT UP about it.
We went to the hospital on Hallowe’en, too. I thought Steve would want to go to a party or something, but he called me up and said, “Hey, so you got any plans?” Apparently, ‘no’ meant going to the hospital.
We watched a bunch of scary movies the Dingus and I nicked from work- crossing my fingers that Keith won’t notice! (Although I bet I can talk him into letting us off easy if he does. I think he has a crush on me. It’s just about as fun as you’d think it is.)
We watched Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Nightmare on Elm Street, but the Dingus vetoed My Bloody Valentine. Pity, because I really wanted to watch it. I thought Billy’d been enjoying himself, but he sided with the Dingus. Which is SO UNFAIR.
Still, Steve and I brought a bunch of candy we were supposed to give trick-or-treaters, and all of us stuffed ourselves silly. It turns out Billy has a MASSIVE sweet tooth, which I did not expect from a guy like him (he looks like he survives on a diet of steroids and the souls of puppies).
The Dingus had the bright idea to ferry videos to him when we visit, because the poor guy’s been watching Jeopardy day in and out and I don’t think that’s good for you? The Dingus chose ones like Indiana Jones and Star Wars. Little does he know that I slipped Sixteen Candles in there.
Love and other indoor sports,
Rob xx
Billy asks about the Camaro.
Robin looks at anything except his face- the wilting azaleas in the vase next to his bed, the stunning view of the barren landscape right outside Billy’s window, Steve’s lip trapped between his teeth.
Steve releases his lip. He’s bitten it red and raw. “It’s… there.”
Billy’s jaw tightens. “How bad?”
“Do you remember anything from… then?” Robin asks quietly.
Billy looks away. Robin doesn’t have to try too hard to remember the same set in his jaw that night, the grim determination, tearing down the asphalt of Starcourt’s parking lot, headed straight towards Mrs. Wheeler’s station wagon. If she tries really hard, she bets she could imagine the wind in her hair, face stinging with dust and dirt and smoke, Steve’s muttered swears as they get closer, closer, closer to impact-
Billy’s head bouncing off the car door, falling limp in his seat. The Camaro going up in flames.
And then that- thing- had come after them, and they’d left him there. Left him there to die.
He tried to kill Nancy and Jonathan and Lucas and Will and El, she reminds herself. He did kill a bunch of other people.
But that wasn’t him, was it?
“Nothing.” Robin jerks back to reality when Billy speaks. He’s not looking at either of them. “Nothing concrete, at least. I remember heat, and lights-” Robin swallows. Steve looks at his feet. “Pain. That’s the overarching sensation.”
“How much do you know?” Steve ventures.
“Only the parts Max told me.” Billy finally looks up. “She said I came to Starcourt in my car. So. How bad is it?”
The look on their faces must be answer enough. Billy looks away again. “Fuckin’ knew that’s why that little shit wouldn’t tell me,” he mutters, and he sounds on the verge of tears. “‘There’s no need to worry’, my ass.”
“It’s not non-salvageable,” Steve tries. “You’ll probably need a new set of doors, and you’ve definitely got to get the windshield repaired. A bumper, maybe… the hood’s pretty battered-”
“Forget about it.” Billy laughs; a low, nasty thing. “There’s no way my old man’s gonna cough up that kinda money.”
He doesn’t talk much for the rest of the visit. Steve ruminates. Robin soliloquys about a book they’re doing for English and feels like an idiot.
It’s a silent car ride back to Hawkins. Steve drops Robin off, burning rubber when he leaves. She stares at the Beamer until it becomes a speck in the distance.
November 29th, 1985
Asterisk,
Happy Thanksgiving! Hope you stuffed yourself on turkey and pumpkin pie and my own personal nightmare- cranberry sauce (Mom’s convinced that it’s my favorite food. I don’t know why).
Thanksgiving at the Buckleys’ was a quiet affair, as usual. Mom and Dad had a lot to say about the boyfriend-shaped hole in my life, so that was delightful. When the Dingus came by, Mom gave me this huge wink. Steve thinks it’s hilarious. Of course he would, shitbird he is. I think my parents are both so overjoyed to see me with a boy that they’d let me do ANYTHING with Steve. Which, first of all, yuck. Second of all, YUCK.
We bumped into Billy’s family at the hospital. Billy’s dad didn’t look too happy when Steve signed in, and somehow, I don’t think it’s because Steve spelled our names wrong. Billy’s step-sister introduced us as ‘Billy’s friend’ and ‘Billy’s friend’s girlfriend’, which was weird because Max KNOWS there’s nothing going on between us. Maybe it was Steve’s pet Dustin giving her ideas. Anyway, it made Mr. Hargrove smile at long last, but it was just about as terrifying as his frown. It’s a good thing Billy must take after his mother.
We watched the Macy’s Parade on Billy’s TV. Steve brought so much food, and it didn’t seem like leftovers. I bet his shitty parents ditched him for Thanksgiving. Again. Maybe that’s why he likes visiting Billy so much- the Harringtons’ place is huge, and gorgeous, and always empty.
I was stuffed after lunch, so all I had was the pumpkin pie. Billy’s got the appetite of a lion, though, because he helped the Dingus finish ALL the food. And I mean, ALL of it. Even after the huge lunch the Hargroves had brought over (I saw all the turkey ribs in the trash). It’s weird that a guy who’s so concerned with how he looks would eat with such little abandon. It’s the Dingus’s cooking, though, so maybe Billy thought he would throw it all up. Worst of all, he didn’t even touch the cranberry sauce I brought along. Ugh. It’s been fermenting in my backpack since yesterday; I should probably throw it out before it goes bad. Or, well, worse.
Rob xx