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Robin’s got to wonder if Steve will appreciate the irony of it, all of this.
She’s got plenty of time to think, these few ugly and unsleeping days of nonstop running and trying to prolong the inevitable for Max… these frightening hours of not being sure if she’s going to live or die. Now she wonders if he will. She thinks he will— but she should know better since Steve Harrington is just too damn stubborn to die— but those bats took a toll on him, practically ripping him apart, and she shudders at the thought of her and Nancy arriving too late.
The damage was done, though, and he passed out on her lap much to her and everyone else’s dismay.
If not for Dustin and Max’s quick thinking to lift him out of there and disinfect the wounds post-haste, Steve would probably be dead. She’s never seen Dustin so determined to do anything as much as he was then, witnessing him barking orders to her, Lucas, and Eddie to lift Steve’s unconscious dead weight (with great effort) into Eddie’s bedroom and Max along with Erica coaching Nancy on what to apply onto him to make sure it doesn’t infect and he doesn’t go into septic shock, made her wonder just how much Steve meant to them. When it was all said and done she hugged Dustin’s shaking frame and told him to wait with the rest of the group, her and Eddie volunteering in his stead to watch over him. Dustin reluctantly agreed, before a blood curdling scream was heard, he and Erica came in screeching and clamoring because Nancy was overtaken by Vecna.
Without a second thought they clamored for music, unable to find a right track but by time they got to her with practically all of Eddie’s tapes in hand, she was on the floor. Thankfully still breathing, just unconscious.
Now it’s just her watching over Steve.
Eddie, Dustin, Lucas, Erica and Max watching over Nancy whilst Robin and Dustin routinely swapped places, both reluctantly leaving whenever their hour was up.
Steve’s breath changes, hitches. At once, her focus snaps back. It’s the fifth or sixth time in the last hour. And each time, she’s afraid it’s the last… but he’s just sleeping— dreaming, more like, looking at the flinching pucker of his eyes. Robin thinks of the sucking darkness of her own dreams— nightmares— that plagued her for the past year and puts a quieting hand on his forehead, some strands of his hair matted to his dampened skin.
Dimly, she remembers her own mom doing much the same whenever she became sick when she was younger and less of a disappointment in both her parents eyes. She imagines what Steve would do if the roles were reversed, how worried he would’ve been if it had been her or anyone else passed out from blood loss.
At her touch, Steve’s eyes flutter open, and his hand starts to come up for the grab, pausing only when shredded muscle and flesh protests. He goes a little white and his teeth shut hard— scream or whimper, she’s not sure— and he blinks stupidly up at her. “Robs?…”
She smiles, nothing like the wildfire relief that crackles through her. “Hey,” she says, casual like. “Good to have you back.”
“Was I dead?” Steve’s eyes clear and she watches his whole body when he takes in the room. Grungy, poster-adorned, clothes lying around, cozy.
“Eddie’s room,” she offers to his unspoken question. “It’s the most convenient place we could find on short notice.”
“Makes sense. Smells like… heavy metal and weed in here,” Steve drawled, running his eyes over his much more actual put-together bandages. Blood still seeped through, far too much, but that would have to do. He’s still alive, that counts for something. “What’d I miss?” Steve tenderly lifts his hand to touch the gauze and looks worriedly while Robin looks aside and swallows a smile.
“Well as soon as you passed out, me, Eddie and Dustin had to find a way to get you here. You’re heavier than you look, you know.”
Steve gives her a look.
“Yeah, thanks.” His sarcasm is apparent but the look he gives her after is genuine.
“What about Nancy?”
She must’ve been silent for too long because he sits up even more with an intense stare that could burn through a wall. She visibly stiffens and Steve notices. He sits up in a sitting position, grunting at the movement, “Robin what happened?”
“Vecna had her— but! —“ She cuts him off with a hand to his arm before he could launch out of bed. “She’s not hurt, she passed out… she’s fine. Just shaken.”
Steve is defiant and rigid under her now shaky hands that laid on his clement chest.
“Steve…”
He locks eyes with her, wide brown meeting wide blue. They hold one another’s stare, and after a while he exhales reluctantly, cautiously calm that everyone is okay, lying back again. Neither one of them comments on their shaking hands nor the glitter of sweat on his skin, but Robin gets up to fetch him a coke that she brought him from Eddie’s dresser.
At the dresser, with her back safely to him, Robin’s eyes close. Deal with the problem in front of you, she thinks. He’s alive. Awake. Anything else can come later. Deal with what’s in front of you.
“It was cold, but it’s a little warm. You were out for a while.”
She snags the can and takes it back to him. He nods appreciatively, quickly downing the beverage.
“Thanks,” he says when he is done. Robin plops tiredly back into her chair next to him and wonders if now she’ll be able to sleep for more than fifteen minutes at a time. Probably not. Plenty of problems piling up behind this one.
She knows from his tone he means more than just the water.
“Don’t mention it.”
He doesn’t miss a beat.
“Did you even sleep?”
Robin smiles tiredly, even now, barely bandaged together he’s ever the babysitter. “No. Everyone around me is either about to die or teetering dangerously close to death. Apparently, hanging out with you doofuses meant rest and relaxation is out of the question,”
Steve smiles, his thumb mindlessly caressing the can of coke before placing it on a small dresser by Eddie’s bed. “Yeah, took me a while to adjust too. You’ll get used to it. Now come and lay down,” he stiffly shifts over closer to the wall and pats the now vacant spot next to him.
She’s too damn tired to refuse and sighs, standing up to crack her aching back bones leaning on Eddie’s large amp. Steve winces at the sound of her bones popping, and Robin gives him a smug smile.
“What? Is that supposed to impress me?”
Robin gestures for him to scooch over some more, “You’re not?” She shoots back and Steve rolls his eyes whilst she moves to lay beside him.
“Hardy-har-har, get some sleep dipshit.”
She lays on her side to face him, her arms tucked under Eddie’s deceptively fluffy pillow, not thinking too much of the stench of hairspray and weed.
“Seriously,” Robin yawns. “I would’ve never signed up for this if I knew I wasn’t gonna be sleeping for 2 days.”
“Don’t you think you’re being a little over dramatic? C’mon we’ve slept,”
“Fifteen minutes, Steve! Minutes!”
“Cry me a river, bears hibernate fully in less.”
Robin laughs, playfully reaching up to jab him in his arm, Steve half heartedly swats it away. “Goes to show how much you paid attention in Mr. Thedradore’s class,” She shifts to look up at him.
Steve’s brows furrowed, “I thought Mrs. Clicks taught biology.”
“History, Harrington, History!” Robin pokes him in his forehead.
“You sure those bats didn’t knock a few screws loose?” Her finger stayed on his forehead, wiping away dried blood— or what she thought was blood.
Steve smiles and leans into her touch a bit, his hair tickling her knuckles.
“Nah, I think I’m good now…” he looks at her, uncrossing his arms and thumbing his finger across her forehead, wiping away the thin slimy gunk from the upside down, “What about you?” His soft voice vibrates through her from his touch.
There’s a bruise on his right cheek.
“I’m good.” Her voice sounds distant, too occupied with feeling whatever this feeling was. Steve’s hand moves to wipe her cheek now, gently, as if he was too scared to press too hard or she would shatter.
I’m not porcelain. She wants to say, but the only thing she does is wordlessly lean into his touch, feeling his warmth envelop her, suppressing a shiver.
He’s smiling at her, soft and very Steve. It’s the kind of smile he wears after he says something that gets a reaction out of her, like it’s a personal victory for him or something. Maybe it’s because she’s smiling right now and can’t seem to stop.
Or it’s the relief that both of them are alive and able to just… sit and comfortably touch each other.
Alive. A prospect she thought was lost forever when he closed his eyes while laying on her lap. A thought she hasn’t had since the Russians, a thought she dreads every night, seeing the same few moments of him heaving and grunting— screaming because of the torture they put him through… she hates that that’s how she remembers him behind her eyelids… bloodied and beaten. She hates how this is becoming a habit of his.
He’s alive and warm under her fingertips… why does she feel so scared still?
Thankfully, his lips aren’t blue from the blood-loss anymore, instead pinked from the warmness of Eddie’s home and room temperature soda. The corners of his lips lopsided in a stupidly charming grin, dimples stark against his tempered skin. His soft smile somehow rivals the brilliance of his shimmering dark eyes— which honestly is kind of ridiculous because she’s never seen such a vibrant and intense gaze that holds is warmth and softness—
Robin’s breath catches in her throat.
Shit.
"Robs?…”
She regains herself in a slow blink, and she runs her fingers across the soft stubble growing on his jaw. “You know you've got a birthmark here?" She hears herself say suddenly.
"I… didn't, no." Goosebumps rise on his skin, just above the curve of his neck, right under his ear. She notes how warm his skin is, she should take her hands off of him. Right now.
"What does it look like?"
His words are just above a whisper. She lowers her voice to match it, afraid to break whatever delicate frame this became.
"Like a birthmark."
She feels his laugh through the touch on his jaw, low and quiet and genuine. She presses her smile together.
"Describe it to me?”
"Uh, well." The reservations from before burn away like ash in the wind. Completely irrelevant now. "It's just a tiny spot. It's got these little, spikes? Tentacles, sort of—“
"Like little arms?" His smile is audible in his voice.
"Yeah, you could say that. Like some sort of splat." Despite herself and this very dangerous moment, her fingers gingerly resume their trailing, tracing the outline of his newly discovered birthmark. As if her touch was fire, his body jumps at her touch. "Or I dunno, an inkblot."
Steve huffs a mix between an endearing laugh and a scoff. “Oh. Okay." Brown strands brush against her knuckles again.
His hair is soft as she reaches out to pull it behind his ear, swiping his locks. He doesn't smell so much of that expensive cologne anymore— only faint lake water and pine, with a little bit of weed thanks to Eddie’s bed.
He doesn't meet her eyes, his lips softly pressing against the inner part of her wrist, small and weirdly refreshing, like cool water's been splashed over her, making her pulse quicken and her throat tighten. “Thank you. For everything.” He murmurs against her skin, breath warm and shiver-inducing.
Robin can only stare at him.
The goddamned red marks on his neck still hadn't healed.
Deep brown peers down at her. The line of his lips holds a gentle curve, just out of reach of one of those bright cocky smiles she knows him for. Usually, Robin has no trouble in deciphering the expressions Steve wears, but he’s showing nothing right now, completely unreadable.
For one overwhelming moment, her fingers ache to brush the edges all over his face.
She should stop staring.
"Robs, you sure you’re okay?"
She should really stop staring.
“M’ fine,”
His brows scrunch together, thumb softly tracing the spots under her eyes.
“Mhm. Right. Say that again, but try to sound more convincing. I mean like… really sell it. Because either something is bothering you, or you’re a horrible liar.” He smiles again, but worry is apparent in his features.
“Steve it’s…”
“C’mon, spill. You know I’m here for you,” he pressed her hand against his skin more before removing himself from her touch, scooting down to her level, laying with her.
There’s a cut just above his brow.
“Are you?”
Dark brows knit together. “Am I..?”
“Here?”
Steve looks around the room, down at himself, at his hands, then back at her with a humorous smile. “I’d like to think I am.”
Robin lets out a weak laugh, and tears she had no idea accumulated fell. When she looks up, he’s staring at her. His eyes hold the warmth she’d become so familiar with, but it’s not right. His eyes linger too long, trail across her face one too many times— he’s worried.
“Robin? Hey— hey I’m sorry I…”
“No, I’m fine, I’m just… God…”
She wipes her eyes. “It never feels like it.”
“Never feels like… I’m so lost here-“
“You say you’re fine but look at you.”
“I—“ he trails off when her hand leaves him to squeeze her fingers nervously, or irritably.
“You throw yourself into these situations, not even thinking twice— not even once about how you would be affected… you only care about others too much sometimes and it’s so infuriating!”
He scoffs but doesn’t deny it.
“You always put yourself in harm's way, even from the stories I’ve heard from the kids you’ve always protected them, always gotten hurt for them,” Robin makes a weak and watery noise again, this time, a mix between a laugh and a cry. She feels so stupid for being so emotional over him. She wants to chalk it up to the stress of the day finally catching up to her, but a part of her feels that this has been a long time coming.
“And of course at first I didn’t believe it. Steve Harrington, King of Hawkins High, being selfless— of all things… until I actually see with my own eyes the way you throw yourself into harm's way for us…” She trails off, the silence in the room grew thick with a mixture of everything; worry, guilt, anger, sadness, relief. Her heart gives a painful lurch, her eyes are burning. Her stomach feels as though she’s swallowed a handful of baby snakes. She wants to throw up, or scream, or just walk out of the room but she couldn’t. She squeezes her eyes shut tight— tight enough that tears squeeze out at the corners, gumming in her eyelashes and running down over her cheeks to meet just under her chin.
“Robin…” his voice is hoarse. He doesn’t look up at her, he hadn’t the whole time, only fidgeting with the coarse material of Eddie’s vest.
She looks up at him, only for a second, “You know it’s hard to look at you sometimes.” He then frowns ever so slightly, cocking his head sideways, looking up at her finally. Mild hurt and confusion swirling in his eyes, her gaze was more focused on his bandages, and the blood that had managed to seep through. “Sometimes when I see you, I see you back in that bunker… bloodied, beaten. I hear your screams,” she holds back a painful noise at the back of her throat, choosing to bite her bottom lip instead, “Every night, sometimes.”
His gaze doesn’t leave her face, and somewhere along the line he seems to pull her eyes to his with his will alone, and he sees that hers are glossy. “It’s hard to really not see it, not when you go and get yourself beaten up like this.”
“In my defense, I didn’t go looking for this,” he gestures to himself in one sweeping motion.
“Doesn’t matter, Steve… It matters that people give a shit about you. And I’m— we’re scared that one of these days, you won’t make it because of this… innate need to protect others… why?”
Steve swallows, breaking eye contact and looks at anywhere but her. He opens his mouth and huffs a humorless laugh, dropping and shaking his head.
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t bullshit me.”
“Maybe I’m just self centered that way.”
“Steve…”
“Robin, seriously, I don’t know.” Running his hands over his face he realizes that he’s trembling. Steve stares at his palms, his fingers twitching every few seconds due to nerves. “Maybe,” he exhales heavily and runs a hand through his hair, brushing it away from his eyes, “Maybe this is the first time I ever felt like… y’know… I had an actual family to fight for… maybe I want to protect that… if not myself, then them.” Steve’s eyes stared ahead of them, his eyes scanning a poster of a band he’s never heard of, his arms now crossed defensively.
“I’ve spent a majority of my life worried about nobody but me… my superficial, meaningless, High School reputation that got turned into utter shit. I got people hurt, I’ve hurt people. Maybe I’m trying to make amends… maybe… you guys are the only people who ever genuinely gave a shit about me.” He says it in a tone that she’s never heard from him, this soft and painfully vulnerable side that made her heart ache for him. From the sounds of his voice he seems irritated that he is being this vulnerable with her, or irritated in himself for his past actions.
“At first it was just to get on Nance’s good side, y’know, to try to win her back…” He breathes, looking into her eyes for a heartbeat, then looking away again. “Somewhere along the line I must’ve actually gotten to care for those doofuses, to love ‘em.”
He scratches his neck thoughtfully, rubbing the livid red marks that had imprinted on his skin, “It’s stupid, y’know… I’ve always wanted a family of my own. I mean, of course I have a family but who am I shitting… it was never a family.” he finishes solemnly.
Her first thought was that she wanted to carefully brush back the hair from his forehead. Have her fingers tenderly caress his scalp, comforting him the best she could, but It feels too intimate to ask for. Too couple-y, or whatever the exact word is, that would shatter the illusion she’d built up for herself to describe whatever her relationship with Steve has now blossomed into. She used to think it was pure friendship between them, and the insults and affection were ever so surface level.
Platonic with a capital P, that was her idea.
Her idea because she couldn’t exactly figure out where her liking him ended and their genuine friendship began. The foundation for their friendship was built with an undertone of… something, something more than purely friendship. She’d just been too scared to explore it, comfortable in the knowledge that she likes women and only women. Proud of that fact.
And though those feelings towards women never changed, and never will, she knows that her feelings for Steve branched beyond what she could comprehend. She likes girls… and him? That seemed so stupid— so— scary.
How? After years of not once finding the opposite sex attractive, and coming to terms with that, this dingus comes along and ruins it with just being… him? How and why was he able to easily integrate and become such an integral piece of her life in a span of two years? To the point where she would jump into dark water without question with mediocre swimming skills into an alternate hellish dimension with no sure-fire way to get back because she couldn’t picture nor would want to be on an earth without him? Her heart drops to her stomach, the thought makes her slightly queasy— a sensation for which she immediately chastises herself for.
"I'm not going anywhere, by the way." Steve cut in, as if sensing the troubled storms brewing in her mind, she looked up in surprise at that. “You sound so sure.”
He’s silent for a moment, choosing to shift so they’re shoulder to shoulder, bumping against her playfully which she’s grateful for, taking her hand in his, interweaving their fingers. He’s here. He’s okay. There’s no reason her heart should be bruising her chest.
“I have to be,” he murmurs into the air finally, voice tender and raw. There’s things he’s purposely leaving to be unsaid, and she’s not sure if she’s ready to hear it. Thankfully he doesn’t continue, letting the unspoken thing between them linger. She holds his larger hand tighter, dropping her head to his warm shoulder. His thumb softly swipes over her knuckles, hoping to wipe away the redness from where she’d stressed her skin.
Steve places a real, firm kiss on the warm skin of her forehead and she closes her eyes, letting a breath out through her nose. “I’m fine,” he says confidently.
Robin doesn’t answer, only moving her face until her lips meet his neck and she presses in closer, seeking only to be drowned by the presence of him. The familiarity of his skin, his scent, just him, him, him. Here, breathing, alive. He brings a hand up to cup the side of her face, soothing his thumb upon her damp cheek and pressing a searing kiss to her hair.
“I’m fine,” he whispered quietly, so quietly, only for her to hear.
“I know,” she mumbles, not quite believing her own words.
Steve rubs her arm with a firmness that grounds her, “We’ll figure this… us out, when this is done. Yeah?”
She smiles. She’ll give herself this moment to savor it, a promise of a future where they won, he’s still breathing, and they sort out whatever this between them now had grown into. With drowsy eyes and a new part of her heart open to him, she lets herself have this, him, for just a little while longer.
“Yeah.”