Work Text:
Robin had always known that Steve was strong.
It was a reluctant kind of realization. The kind made with a barely bitten snarl and unavoidable eye roll before it got shoved so far back into the darkest corners of her mind, never to be considered again.
After all, what did it matter if he had muscles? Everyone did; it was a scientific fact, so what if some stupid jock just so happened to use his a bit more than other people. It wasn’t like he ever used his brain along with it, so why did it matter if he had saved the day that one time during her freshman year when a pep rally took a particularly screwy turn? Cheerleaders were prone to tumbling. Robin was a grand ninety percent sure that was part of their entire shtick, so it was hardly surprising when their rather wobbly-looking pyramid came tumbling down, bringing the top three girls down with it.
What had been surprising was the great Steve Harrington flinging himself across the floor in his too tiny shorts and slightly faded jersey like he was some kind of hero. Before Robin could even blink, he had thrown himself into the chaos of it all, hands grabbing frantically at falling girls as he used his own body to soften their landing against the hard gymnasium floor. He hadn’t even complained when the basketball team and coaches had rushed forward to help them all up.
Every girl in Hawkins swooned about the gentleman Steve Harrington and his strong, strong arms for nearly three weeks afterward. No one could believe he had taken such a hit for someone else without so much as a second thought. Robin hardly could either, at least not until she remembered seeing him with one — or was it two? — of those same cheerleaders, a week before, and felt all the confusion and mystery melt away.
Some guys were just too dedicated to the foolish art of making a lasting impression to get a date.
Some guys just really enjoyed working out and pulling random stunts to show off just how strong they were to feel better about themselves and appease their fragile little egos.
Again, it was all just facts. So, Steve Harrington was strong. Cool. The sky was blue, and the grass was green. Life moved on, and Robin with it. She had forgotten all about Steve Harrington’s incredible show of strength by the end of the month.
And she had stayed that way for several years. The thought of Steve Harrington being strong had been tucked so far away in the back of her mind that it was practically gathering dust until he stumbled into Scoops Ahoy, looking very much like the picture of a neglected puppy and hunting for a job.
Robin had been pissed at first. Livid in every sense of the word. She had spent so many years underneath the great King Steve's shadow that it physically hurt looking at him. By some miracle, he had graduated and was meant to be long gone from her life, yet there he was, threatening to invade her already the soul-sucking job of slinging ice cream.
But as it turned out, gallons upon gallons of ice cream were kind of heavy and slinging scoops really had a way of putting your arm through the wringer, so if Steve Harrington, who was strong, desperate, and at least somewhat willing, was up for the job, then so be it. Robin knew she didn’t have to like it; she just had to tolerate it, and lucky for her, a year behind him in Mrs. Click’s class had left her just enough patience to make it work.
For weeks Steve had been her punching bag, her disgruntled co-worker, her schmuck. He lifted so many of the deliveries that she couldn’t find herself to be bothered with and trekked so many supplies across the store floor that she managed to forget that he was strong in the first place all over again. Simple fact or not.
It had become an essential everyday feat, nothing more than a background character note that just happened to look encouraging on a resume. Robin still didn’t get the big deal about it, and she wasn’t sure that she ever would… at least not until she was thrown back to that day of freshman year when life came crashing down again.
Only this time, it wasn’t Hawkins cheerleaders with their impractical pyramid and perfect ponytails heading for the dirty, cold floor of the high school gym. Instead, it was him and her and two kids she hardly knew, stuck inside a secret underground Russian elevator and plummeting to their death in a manner that would have made Stanley Kubrick’s stomach churn. Despite the difference, Steve was strong again as he slid and dove, knocked out Russian soldiers, and ensured everyone else got out before him again, like he was some kind of hero.
Mental exhaustion, a high dose of anxiety, and a curiosity screaming far too loud to be ignored had made it seem smaller than it was at the time. Trivial and far less noticeable, like another background character note, not entirely worth mentioning unless it helped you to get a raise somehow.
It hadn’t seemed real — hadn’t seemed worthy — until the moment he was forcibly hauled away instead of her all because he had flung himself in front of her and insisted they take him first. She had seen it then, his strength in all its glory. She had seen it when he put all his strength into protecting her, shielding her, even in those final moments where everything looked grim and horrifying as Russian soldiers with very large guns circled in on them. And again, when he had lain behind her on the floor, more of a beaten and bloody pulp than a man and in more pain than Robin was willing to imagine, and yet was still trying to comfort her the very moment he thought she was upset.
It was startling; seventeen years of life, and Robin couldn’t think of anyone who had ever worked so hard to protect her. Not even her parents. Yet here was Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington, working harder in forty-eight hours for her than others had in an entire lifetime, like it was his job and his alone. As if he hadn’t only come to know her over the past few weeks, after years of being unaware of her existence. As if she hadn’t made his life at Scoops Ahoy a living hell in exchange for the agony she had felt underneath his looming shadow in high school.
As if she meant something to him. As if she were accepted.
It made her realize how wrong she had been about his motives before. He wasn’t just a guy who was too dedicated to the foolish art of making a lasting impression to get a date. He didn’t just really enjoy working out and pulling random stunts to show off just how strong he was, to feel better about himself, and appease his fragile little ego. He wasn’t just a simple, dumb jock acting on a quick instinct. He was never trying to be some kind of hero.
He was just… Steve.
He was Steve being Steve. He was a protector. A fighter. A friend. He was strong.
It made her feel safe, even as anxiety crept up her back and made her ability to shut up fly away.
It made her feel warm, even as they sat on the floor in that cold underground room in their stupid little sailor suits.
It made her feel like she had finally found something she had been searching for all her life, even though she didn’t know what it was until then.
She found comfort in his strength— in the strong planes of his back as it rested against hers, in the warmth of his body heat that rolled off him in soothing waves, in the slope of his neck where her head leaned back to rest against him like two missing puzzle pieces finally snapping together. And she let herself get lost in all of it to the point that she was perpetually cold from the very moment Dustin released their binds and pulled them apart.
Even when the cold came biting, the fresh memory of his strength was enough to make her strong. It helped her bring her true self to the surface and give life to the secrets she had only ever shared in a whispered voice in front of the mirror late at night. It helped her find a part of herself that wasn’t just a band geek or an anxious loser but someone who faced off against fleshy monsters with nothing but a handful of fireworks and tiny children by her side.
Steve being strong made her strong; it was a feeling she knew she could get used to the moment he had given her that stupid little Muppet voice to make her laugh instead of shoving her away with disgust.
Months later and she had done just that. Not only had she gotten used to the feeling, but she had also mastered the skill of keeping the cold at bay by holding Steve near. And in doing so, she soon had learned that his strength was much more than physical.
Instead, it seemed to run layers deep, straight to his very core. Emotional, mental, and physical. It was all the same… another fact that Robin could no longer choose to ignore.
She had learned just how deep it ran on the bathroom floor in some shitty motel after they tried to get as far away from the town of Hawkins as they could one night when the nightmares got just a touch too bad. He told her about Nancy and Tina’s party. He told her about Jonathan and the fallout shared in a dirty alley. He talked plainly, simply... His voice never faltered, even when his hands began to shake as he recounted spray paint stains and underground tunnels that had run on for miles.
He had said it was all okay with a smile. Said it was fine as he offered her the sleeve of his sweatshirt to wipe her tears. He didn’t think it mattered and didn’t want her to think it did either. He was Steve, and he was nothing if not strong. He had promised as much as he told her that he would get by one way or another.
But even as he said it, Robin’s chest had ached. He had called himself strong the same way the girls in Hawkins did. He had called himself strong like it was all he had to offer, like he thought it was the only word in the English dictionary that suited him. Robin didn’t think that was correct.
And as he had wrapped those strong arms around her like he was trying to fight off her body’s shaking, she had decided that a better-suited word for him was unwavering. Stubbornly so.
He was strong because he forgot how to be anything else. He never stumbled because he didn’t think he was allowed to. He forgets he’s hurting to take care of those around him.
He’d stumble into punches meant for others to spare them the split lip and do it with a smile. He’d throw himself at Russian guards even if it meant he might never make it out alive so long as the others did. He’d fight off flowered-faced monsters with too many teeth with only a baseball bat spiked with nails and replace cameras he’s broken and let her crawl into his bed like it was her own every night because she couldn’t handle being alone, and he would never say a word of complaint.
Maybe that’s why it hadn’t surprised her when he biked eight miles in an alternate dimension hellscape with oozing bites on his sides and didn’t whimper once despite the pain and blood loss.
Because he was Steve, and he was a fighter. He was a protector. A best friend. He was strong.
He was strong, and all he had ever been was strong, even before Robin had gotten to know him. Long before, she had gotten swept up in the idea of thinking that Steve Harrington was somehow invincible, like everyone else thought, even though she should have known better.
She’s taken every history course required by the state of Indiana. She had a particular interest in Greek mythology when she was twelve. She reads comics for fun on her breaks at work. She should have known that sooner or later, the conqueror always got vanquished. That Hercules got poisoned, and Icarus fell from the sky. That Wolverine sacrifices himself, and the Speed Force consumes Barry Allen.
She should have known, and then maybe it wouldn’t have been so shocking when Steve Harrington came crashing down like all the heroes before him—but it had been. The bloodcurdling scream that left her mouth had proven it as she had collapsed beside him, not caring about the mysterious stains on Eddie’s mattress or the uncharacteristic panic in Nancy’s voice as she asked what was wrong.
All that had mattered at that moment had been Steve. Steve, who was bleeding again and making the worst noises Robin’s ever heard in her life, and not quite moving even though Dustin and Max were begging him to tell them that he was okay because he had to be okay because he was their rock and unwavering protector.
It had taken everything Eddie and Robin had in them to get him wrangled upright. Dustin had raided the Munson’s trailer while Max and Erica did the same to the Mayfield’s. Nancy had stripped away Eddie’s now blood-stained battle vest and peeled off the makeshift bandages while Eddie had sterilized a needle, and all Robin had done was cry.
She cried when Max clung to her side like a lifeline, her own silent tears flowing. She cried as Dustin begged Steve to hang in there. She cried as Eddie cursed, as Erica hid her face in Lucas’ chest, and as Nancy commanded her hands to stop trembling long enough to let her fix him.
I aced home ec, okay. I can do this, Robin. I need to do this.
Nancy had pierced the skin, Steve had cried out, and Robin had sobbed. And sobbed. And sobbed.
Twenty-three stitches and an hour and a half later, she still hadn’t stopped, even as Steve came to.
She felt too hollow, too weak, and broken. She felt like a part of her was drifting away and taking with it everything she had in her as she sat watching the strongest person she’s ever known crumble right before her eyes. She hadn’t even been able to help move him the last time after Steve had insisted he was ‘okay’ and could handle a little clean-up before they tried to head out to somewhere safer.
Instead, she had hovered idly as Eddie and Lucas had all but carried him into the Munsons’ tiny bathroom and lingered in the doorway as Nancy wiped off what she could of the dirt, blood, and grimy Upside Down waste. It wasn’t until Nancy had finished and left Steve resting on the floor, propped up against the side of the tub to catch his bearings, that Robin’s brain finally decided to switch on and start working, leaving her feet moving before she had even realized what she was doing.
Now she was positioned beside him, tucked rather awkwardly in the tight space of the trailer's bathroom, gaping like the stupidest little fish as she tried and failed to get words out.
“Don’t tell me you’re speechless.” Steve’s voice startles her, making her jump more than she wishes it did when the reality is, it’s such a beautiful sound. It means he’s alive and well—even if he’s slightly hoarse from all the screaming and possibly toxic air he’s ingested. Robin didn’t want to think about it anymore.
Yet she can’t seem to stop.
“I’m—” The word breaks off in her mouth, feeling hot and sour. It makes her stomach churn, and when she closes her eyes to try and push the thoughts away, all she can see behind closed lids is the sight of Steve laying on that mattress, pale and unmoving.
“Rob?” Steve realizes what’s happening before she even does.
Robin doesn’t get to answer before he pulls her against him, wrapping those strong arms around her like he had so many times before. It should not be as comforting as it is, especially when she knows he’s fighting back a groan, but she can’t help but melt into him all the same as her throat begins to close up.
“Robin, c’mon, you gotta breathe.”
Her fingers curl into his chest at the same time that his hand finds her hair. The touch is gentle but steady, and it’s then that she realizes he’s trying his hardest to ground her despite being the one who nearly died right there in Eddie’s living room. She’s shaking, she notes, probably too much for him to be holding her. It can’t be comfortable. It’s probably even painful, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He doesn’t even say a word to tell her otherwise; he just tightens his arms around her as he whispers that it’s okay and begs her to match her breathing with his.
It's almost unreal. She was having a panic attack after he nearly bled to death for the second time in one day, yet he was the one comforting her. Shamefully, Robin couldn’t find it in herself to be mad about the turn of events the way she probably should have been. She had been too scared, terrified in a way that had chilled her down to her soul, and for the first time since Steve had disappeared under the dark water of Lover’s Lake, she finally felt safe again.
So rather than be embarrassed, she embraces it. Slinking closer, she lets her head find the crook of his neck, once more like two puzzle pieces locking together, and takes comfort in feeling whole again.
Robin doesn’t know how long they stay like that or how long it takes for her to get her breathing in sync with his, finally. She doesn’t know how long he held her or how much pain he fought off to do it. All she knows is that he was here— alive and marginally okay by some miracle and still fighting so hard to keep her safe as if it was his job and his job alone all over again.
Robin’s mumble of “You can’t do that” is muffled by a mouthful of Steve’s shoulder and her ragged breath. She clings tighter to drive the point home and hopes he’s coherent enough to make sense of what she really means. “Please, Steve.”
He does, of course. He always does. He knows her inside and out and probably better than she knows herself, she realizes then. “Rob, I’m okay,” Steve says as his hand continues to brush its way through her hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Just like that, he’s back to being strong, and like every time before it, she can draw her strength from him. It’s more than enough to leave her feeling brave enough to pull back and look at him, really look at him, even though it’s easier trying to pull her teeth than it is for her to hold eye contact. Even though the back of her boots are cutting into her thighs some kind of painfully, and the smell coming off of him is enough to make her nauseous.
“Steve,” Robin begs. Her hands never leave his shoulders, and she doesn’t have to touch her face to feel the wetness of the tears that are leaking out. “I thought we lost you. I thought I was going to lose you.” Her voice is steady despite every part of her shaking. It’s low and serious as she tries her hardest to drive her point home and make him see. “I can’t do that. You don’t get to do that. I won’t let you. I won’t!”
“I know, I know.” Steve nods, his face wrinkled and bunched in all the wrong places. Robin doesn’t think it has anything to do with physical pain at the moment. She’s nearly certain of it. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
“Steve.”
“I’m right here, Robin, and I’m not going anywhere.” He squeezes the arm he still has slung around her to emphasize his point, and she falls into the touch eagerly. “But are you okay?”
“Am I okay? Are you?” Her tone is slightly harsher than she intends for it to be, and she has to fight back a wince as it echoes off the bathroom walls. “I’m fine, Steve. I’m not the one who almost had my insides on the outside. You were used as the demonic bat chew toy. Not me.”
Steve doesn’t say anything for a moment. His eyes bore into the side of her face as he looked at her with such an expression of concern that it made Robin want to jump out of her skin. “Rob… you literally just had a panic attack. I may not be a super-genius like the rest of you, but even I know that’s not a good sign. Are you okay?”
She opens her mouth, and then she closes it.
She doesn’t tell him that it’s not the first one she’s had since they made it back to their world. She doesn’t mention the way that Eddie and Erica had to practically sedate her to get her to calm down, or how she threw up in the kitchen sink as Max held her hair back and tried to reassure her that he would be okay. She doesn’t say any of it because if she did, he would only keep looking at her like that, and she’s not sure she can handle being cared for so carefully right now after she had come so close to losing the one and only true friend she’s ever had.
“Like you said… had. Past tense. Totally okay now.” The words are flimsier than they should be, and she can tell he doesn’t exactly believe her, but he doesn’t push. He never pushes. He just kisses her head and mumbles another apology as she says, “As long as you’re okay, I’m okay.”
And as she sits there, dabbing delicately at his worn-out features with a wet rag to try and clear off some of the dirt and gore that Nancy missed, she can’t help but wonder if all their confessions will come in the midst of life and death situations. If bathrooms are just made to be their sacred little space, even if only for a moment.
Steve’s strong, and Robin knows it. She no longer doubts it or rolls her eyes when some doe-eyed girl brings it up. She’s seen the Steve Harrington strength in all its beauty first-hand. She’s felt it pumping through her veins after he’s chipped away at himself to keep her going. She’s had it keep her warm even in their darkest hours and fight off everything that went bump in the night just to keep her safe.
Steve’s strong, but now Robin can’t help but worry that he’ll falter more one day.
She isn’t sure she can handle the image of him so pale and weak and yet stained so crimson again and doesn’t know what she’ll do if that thought ever comes to pass.
It’s a thought haunting enough that a decision is made before she even has time to process it because if Steve is so hellbent and determined on being strong, she’d just have to find a way to get stronger in any way that she can.
She’d face her own demons if she had to. Finally, agree to let him teach her how to throw a proper punch. Learn how to drive a getaway car or shoot a gun. Whatever she had to do, she’d do it. She’d do it for him.
Because sitting here on Eddie Munson’s bathroom floor, covered in Christ knows what and exhausted down to her bones, holding an even more exhausted Steve in her arms— Robin knows without a doubt that Steve will take every hit he can until he physically cannot get up anymore, and then— she’ll be there.
She will be there, be it with the final winning blow or her ragged last breath; she won’t let him fall.
Because he never let her.