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Robin had been pacing Steve’s living room for ten minutes straight, wearing grooves into the carpet like she was preparing for a courtroom trial instead of… giving a very small, very ordinary amount of blood. Steve eventually tossed a couch pillow at her, “Can you stop? You’re freaking me out.”
“I’m fine,” Robin said immediately, voice too high, hands too loose at her sides. “I am calm. I am composed. I am—”
“—a terrible liar,” Steve finished. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
“Yes, I do,” Robin snapped, and then, realizing her volume, lowered her voice. “I want to help Vickie.”
He gave her a long, pointed look. Robin kicked his foot, “Shut up.”
Nancy and Jonathan appeared in the doorway, buttoning coats and in Robin’s opinion, looking far too serene for people willingly walking into a building full of needles.
“You guys ready?” Nancy asked.
“No,” Robin said. “Yes,” she corrected. “Let’s just go.”
Steve clapped her on the back. “Atta girl.”
⸻
Hawkins General was already buzzing with people when they arrived; nurses bustling, volunteers organizing clipboards, and the steady background hum of fluorescent lights that made everything feel entirely too bright and vaguely surreal. Posters on the wall read GIVE BLOOD, SAVE A LIFE in cheerful red letters.
Though it’s important to note that at Hawkin’s General, Robin usually only saw one thing, well…one person.
Vickie was behind one of the check-in tables, wearing her candy striper dress and a white cardigan, her hair a little messy with a pen tucked behind her ear. She was talking to an older man about his paperwork, calm and gentle in a way that made Robin’s chest go warm.
Almost immediately Vickie glanced up and caught sight of her, her expression softening as a smile spread across her face.
Robin stopped walking. Steve slowed a step behind her, already reading the signs. “Oh boy,” he muttered, just low enough to keep it between them. “I’m fine,” Robin said quickly, not turning around.
“Sure you are,” Steve replied, deadpan.
Jonathan snorted before he could stop himself. Nancy shot him a look, then glanced back at Robin, curiosity gracing her features.
Vickie finished with the man and jogged over, eyes bright. “Hey! You came.”
“Of course we came,” Robin said, attempting a casual lean against the table and misjudging the distance by just enough to make it obvious.
“You know. Supporting the community. Being responsible citizens.”
Nancy pressed her lips together, shoulders tight with the effort not to smile.
Vickie’s hand brushed Robin’s arm, lightly, and Robin felt her entire train of thought derail.
“Thank you,” Vickie said quietly, the words meant for Robin more than anyone else. “It really does mean a lot.”
Robin swallowed. “Yeah. I mean. Happy to help. I’m a big fan of, uh…blood,” she paused. “Donating. Donating blood. I mean. Obviously.”
Steve made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan, covering his face with both hands. But Vickie just laughed, quiet and warm, “It doesn’t hurt as much as you think.”
“Oh, I’m not worried,” Robin lied, even though every instinct she had was telling her that was profoundly untrue. “Well,” Vickie said, “I’ll be at station three when you’re ready. Come find me.” She walked back to her table, and Steve leaned into Robin’s ear.
“Ready for the needle, Buckley?”
“I hate you.”
⸻
Nancy and Jonathan checked in first. Then Steve, giving Robin an encouraging nod as they headed toward the queue. Robin stood there with the clipboard clutched to her chest, pen hovering uselessly above the paper. She hadn’t moved in several seconds.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Nancy asked, lowering her voice. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
Robin shook her head. “No. I do. I’m just—” She stopped, exhaled, then tried again. “I just need a second.”
Nancy studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Okay,” she replied softly before turning to return to Johnathan in the waiting area.
Steve shifted behind her. “Take all the seconds you need., the shot will be waiting.”
Robin shot him a look over her shoulder. “Not helping, dingus.”
Smirking, Steve joined Nancy and Johnathan at the waiting area, leaving Robin alone with her spiraling thoughts and the sterile scent of rubbing alcohol.
She took a breath to steady herself. Then another. Then she looked toward station three. Vickie was there, rolling up a woman’s sleeve, laughing softly at something the patient had said. Everything about her felt steady; her hands, her voice, the easy rhythm of what she was doing.
Robin focused on that steadiness. Let it settle. Then she forced her feet to move, turning in her paperwork and joining everyone else to wait.
⸻
By the time it’s Robin’s turn, the room has thinned out. Nancy and Jonathan are already at the refreshment table, paper cups of juice in hand, Johnathan carefully unwrapping a cookie, nodding along as he listened to Nancy talk.
Steve stays close at her side as she approaches the chair, matching her pace without making a thing of it. His hands are shoved into his jacket pockets, shoulders loose, entirely too casual for a man who just got stabbed by a giant needle.
“You’re fine, Robin” he says quietly, not looking at her. “You’ve already survived things much worse than this.”
“That’s not comforting,” Robin mutters, but she steps forward all the same.
Vickie is a few feet away, turned slightly toward the supply tray, focused on preparing the next set of instruments for the phlebotomist. Her movements are practiced and steady, Robin watches her for just a moment longer than necessary.
Then she sits.
She’s stiff at first, back straight, hands folded too neatly in her lap. After a beat, she forces her shoulders to drop. Her foot bounces once before she catches it and presses her heel flat to the floor.
She holds onto that as the phlebotomist arrives, movements smooth and familiar, no rush to them at all. Steve shifts closer, close enough that Robin can feel the heat of him there, a solid presence at her side.
Then Vickie steps over.
She doesn’t make a big deal of it. Just comes to stand on Robin’s other side, clipboard tucked under one arm. When she speaks, her voice is pitched low, meant only for Robin.
“Hey,” she says. “You’re okay.”
Robin nods a little too quickly, gaze drifting anywhere but the needle being prepped beside her. Vickie reaches out and rests her hand lightly on Robin’s forearm, to anyone else it looks like a nurse reassuring a nervous donor. To Robin, it feels like an anchor.
“Okay,” the phlebotomist says, voice easy and practiced as she snaps on a pair of gloves. “You’re going to feel a little pressure. Just keep your arm relaxed for me.”
Robin nods a little too quickly, eyes fixed somewhere over Vickie’s shoulder as she settles back into the chair. She forces herself to unclench her jaw.
“Hey,” Vickie murmurs, her voice low and even, meant only for Robin. “Just breathe with me.” Robin does, focusing on that instead, pulling air in through her nose and letting it out carefully. Her fingers curl once against the edge of the chair before she catches herself and makes them relax.
Steve, standing at her other side, fixes his gaze on the ceiling with intense concentration, as if the tiles might suddenly become fascinating.
“All right,” the phlebotomist says. “Little pinch.”
The needle goes in.
Robin doesn’t make a sound. She grips the chair, breath steady now, eyes open and stubbornly focused ahead. Vickie’s thumb shifts against her arm, a small, grounding pressure that never wavers.
“You’re doing great,” Vickie says quietly, not trying to soothe so much as stating a fact.
And then, almost before Robin fully registers what’s happening, the phlebotomist is taping the cotton in place.
“All done.”
She lets out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding and slumps back against the chair, exhausted and vaguely proud. Steve grins. “See? Alive.” Robin shoots him a look, but it lacks any real heat.
Vickie’s hand lingers for a second longer than necessary, her smile warm and reassuring, and then walks away, disappearing into the flow of the room.
Robin watches her for a second, then lets out a slow breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. From across the room, Nancy lifts her juice in a small, approving salute.
⸻
So, in the end, Robin survives, but that certainly didn’t doesn’t mean she was thriving.
She’s pale and a little unsteady as she stands, Steve immediately sliding in at her side. He doesn’t say anything, just tips his shoulder toward the refreshment table.
Robin lets herself be guided, her knees feel weak in that delayed, unpleasant way, and she’s very aware of every step she takes.
“Still with us?” Steve murmurs, low enough that no one else hears.
“Barely,” Robin mutters back. “If I pass out, avenge me.”
Steve snorts and keeps walking, pointedly giving her space. Robin barely makes it two steps before she feels it, that familiar, unavoidable pull at her back. She turns her head slightly, and there’s Vickie.
Vickie slows just enough to fall into step with Robin, clipboard tucked under one arm.
“You did really well,” she says softly.
Robin turns her head, startled by how close she is. “I did not.”
Vickie’s mouth curves, small and fond. “You did.” She reaches into the pocket of her apron and produces another juice box, pressing it into Robin’s free hand with a gentle, purposeful motion.
Robin glances down.
There’s a small sticky note stuck to the side, folded once over the straw, the handwriting unmistakably Vickie’s.
Proud of you.
You were very brave.
—V ♡
Her face goes warm all at once. Heat rushes up her neck, into her cheeks, down her arms. She stares at the note for a beat too long, like if she looks away it might disappear.
When she finally lifts her head, Vickie is already gone. Robin blinks, a little stunned, then folds the note carefully and slips it into her jacket pocket like it might dissolve if she looks at it too long.
Steve is a few steps ahead, so Robin speeds up to catch him, her cheeks still burning. He slows when she reaches him, glancing over with a knowing, almost gentle smile. “C’mon,” he says casually. “You earned a cookie.”