Chapter Text
The fluorescent lights of WSQK hummed, a sound that had become as familiar to Robin as her own breathing. She sat cross-legged on the worn carpet of the radio station's main room, surrounded by maps of Hawkins that looked like they'd been through a war, because well, they had. Red circles marked gate locations, blue lines traced Crawl routes, and yellow highlighter indicated areas they'd already searched. The whole thing looked like a demented game of connect-the-dots designed by someone having a nervous breakdown. Which, honestly, wasn't far from the truth.
"The eastern quadrant near the old Benny's Burgers location," Nancy Wheeler said, her finger tracing a path on the map spread across the coffee table. Her voice was clipped and no-nonsense, snapped into that investigative journalist mode. "Hopper said the decay patterns were different there during the last Crawl. More... organic, somehow."
Jonathan leaned over her shoulder. "Could mean Vecna's been spending more time in that area. Or maybe it's just older corruption."
"Or it could be a decoy," Dustin Henderson chimed in from his position at the desk, where he'd commandeered the station's computer to pull up his own digital maps. His curls were more unruly than usual, and there were dark circles under his eyes that spoke of too many sleepless nights. "Vecna's smart. He knows we're tracking patterns. He could be deliberately leaving false trails."
Robin watched Steve from across the room. If someone had told her a few years ago that she would be helping to fight monsters from another dimension she might have believed you; but if they told her that she would be best friends with Steve “The Hair” Harrington, she would have laughed until she passed out. Except that’s exactly where she was now, watching her best friend fidget nervously with the sleeves of his sweatshirt.
He stood slightly apart from the group, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed loosely over his chest. He was listening, she could tell by the slight furrow between his brows, the way his eyes tracked whoever was speaking. But he wasn't contributing, not yet. Just taking it all in, processing.
She knew that look, knew what it meant. Steve sometimes needed a little more time to sort through information before he could articulate his thoughts, especially when everyone was talking rapid-fire like this. The TBI had slowed down his processing speed just enough that conversations like these, where everyone was throwing out theories and talking over each other, became a minefield of missed words and half-heard sentences.
"We should cross-reference with the seismic data," Nancy continued, shuffling through a stack of papers. "If there's increased activity in certain areas—"
"Already did that," Dustin interrupted, not looking up from his screen. "Nothing conclusive. The whole town's basically sitting on top of a dimensional fault line at this point."
Steve shifted his weight, uncrossing his arms. "What about the—" he started, but Nancy was already talking again.
"Jonathan, do you still have those photos from the perimeter check last week?"
"Yeah, in my bag. Let me—"
"Could we maybe look at the pattern from the Crawl before last?" Steve tried again, his voice a little louder this time. "Because I remember Hopper saying something about—"
"The one from two weeks ago?" Dustin cut in, finally looking up, face unimpressed. "That data's basically useless now. We need to focus on recent intel."
Steve's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and he nodded, falling silent again. Robin felt something hot and uncomfortable twist in her chest. That was the third time in ten minutes that Steve had been talked over or dismissed. She'd been counting.
"Robin, what was the timestamp on that last broadcast?" Nancy asked, turning to her. "The one where you played to signal the all-clear?"
"2:47 AM," Robin answered automatically, though her attention was still partially on Steve, who had moved to lean against the wall near the window. He was staring out at the empty parking lot, his expression distant. "Hopper was back through the MAC-Z gate by 5:15."
"That's a longer Crawl than usual," Jonathan observed. "Almost four hours in there."
"Which means he was covering more ground," Dustin said, his fingers flying over the keyboard. "Or he ran into resistance. Did he report any encounters?"
Nancy shook her head. "Nothing direct. Just said the atmosphere felt 'heavier' the further east he went."
All of them had been working at WSQK for months now, ever since the owner who'd evacuated to Indianapolis with her family, had given Robin the keys and told her to "keep the station alive" for when Hawkins recovered. If Hawkins recovered.
The Squawk had become their cover, their communication hub, their war room. Robin did the actual broadcasts mostly playing music and reading pre-written community updates approved by the military presence in town, but the real purpose was the coded messages. Steve had helped her set up the whole system, spending hours figuring out how to get all the sound effects she wanted, taping things to walls and attempting to MacGyver random things around the station. That was just who Steve was, but looking around the room now, Robin wondered more and more if anyone else actually saw that.
"Steve, you're doing the supply run after this, right." Dustin asked, still not looking away from his screen. It wasn't really a question, more of a demand.
"Yeah," Steve confirmed. "I've got a list started. Gas for the van, batteries, medical supplies—"
"Don't forget the coffee," Jonathan interjected. "We're almost out."
"And those protein bars Nancy likes," Dustin added. "The chocolate chip ones."
"Got it," Steve said, and Robin watched him pull a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, presumably to add those items to his list. Nancy stood up, stretching her back. "We should probably map out the next potential Crawl route before you go. Hopper wants to move on it by Tuesday if conditions are right."
The group migrated toward the large map pinned to the wall, and Robin found herself standing next to Steve as they all crowded around. She could feel the tension in him, the way he held himself just slightly rigid, like he was bracing for something.
They went back and forth, theories flying, and Robin watched Steve's eyes track the conversation like he was watching a tennis match. She could see him trying to follow, trying to piece together the rapid-fire exchange of ideas.
"The thing is," Nancy continued, "we need to consider the time factor. The longer Hopper's in there, the more risk—"
"What if we staggered it?" Steve interjected, his voice cutting through the chatter. "Like, what if—"
"Staggered how?" Dustin asked, but he was already shaking his head. "We can't send Hopper in multiple times in one day. That's way too dangerous."
"No, I meant—" Steve started, but Nancy was already moving on.
"We need to think about the watchtower positions too. Mike and Lucas need clear sightlines to the gate."
Robin felt her frustration mounting. Steve had been trying to contribute an idea, and they'd just... steamrolled right over him. Again. She opened her mouth to say something, to ask Steve to finish his thought, but he'd already retreated back into silence, his expression carefully neutral and when he met Robin's eyes, he just softly shook his head.
This had been happening more and more lately, Robin had noticed. The casual dismissiveness, the way people talked over Steve or didn't bother to wait for him to finish his sentences. It was like they'd all collectively decided that Steve's contributions weren't as valuable, weren't worth the extra few seconds it might take for him to articulate them. And the worst part? Steve just... accepted it. He didn't fight back, didn't demand to be heard. He just quietly withdrew, made himself smaller, less obtrusive.
It made Robin want to scream.
"Robin, you're zoning out," Dustin said, snapping his fingers in her direction. "I asked if you had the frequency codes written down somewhere."
"Yeah, in the booth," she replied, her tone sharper than intended. "I'll grab them."
As she walked toward the broadcast booth, she heard Dustin mutter, "Jesus, everyone's spacey today."
The irony wasn't lost on her. When Steve zoned out, which he did sometimes, a symptom of his TBI that he couldn't control, people got irritated, made comments, called him slow. But when anyone else lost focus for a second, it was just normal tiredness, stress, the weight of their impossible situation. The double standard was infuriating.
Robin found the frequency codes and returned to the group, handing the paper to Dustin. As she did, she caught Steve's eye. He gave her a small, tired smile, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes, and she felt her heart clench.
She'd known Steve for over two years now, had been through literal torture with him in that Russian bunker beneath Starcourt. They'd been dosed with truth serum together, beaten together, faced death together. And in the aftermath, when they were both broken and traumatized and trying to figure out how to exist in a world that had irrevocably changed, they'd found each other.
Not romantically—God, never romantically, rather he was like the twin she was separated from at birth. Steve had become the first person she'd ever come out to, sitting on that bathroom floor in the ruins of Starcourt, both of them bloody and exhausted and honest. What she and Steve had was something different, something deeper, in its own way. They were “Platonic Soulmates with a Capital P,” two halves of a barely functioning whole that had somehow found each other in the midst of chaos, survived the kind of trauma that either destroyed you or bound you to someone forever.
And she'd thought naively, that the others must see what she sees in him. The kindness, the loyalty, the way Steve would literally and had literally thrown himself in front of danger to protect the people he loved. She'd thought they understood that Steve Harrington wasn't the person he'd been in high school, that he'd grown and changed and become someone genuinely good. He wasn’t even that bad in high school, sure he was a complicit bystander but he never actually got physical with anyone—that was all Tommy; and, she had learned that Steve was a hell of a lot harder on himself then he ought to be about that. And lately, she had begun to realise that nobody else ever seemed to let that go.
They saw a convenient driver, someone to run errands, do supply runs and drive the van during a crawl. They saw a body to throw at problems, they saw King Steve, the reformed bully, the guy who'd been an asshole once upon a time and was now trying to make up for it by being useful.
They didn't see the Steve who sat up with Robin after her nightmares about the Russian bunker, who never once complained when she woke him at 3 AM because she couldn't breathe, couldn't stop seeing that interrogation room. Didn’t see the Steve that climbed into her bed in their shared room and held her until the fear dissipated. They didn't see the Steve who worked double shifts at the radio station doing equipment maintenance because he wanted to make sure Robin was safe, that their communication system wouldn't fail when it mattered most.
They didn't see the Steve who had panic attacks in the shower when the water hit his face wrong or got up his nose, reminding him of being waterboarded by Russian guards. They didn't see the Steve who sometimes forgot words mid-sentence, who got terrible migraines that left him nauseous and disoriented, who struggled to hear out of his left ear and had to constantly position himself so people were on his right side. They didn't see the Steve who'd lost everything, his parents, his home, his sense of self-worth, and yet he still always showed up every single day to help save a town that had never really thought of him as anything more than an entitled rich kid.
But Robin saw all of it, and she was starting to realize that she was the only one.
…
"Alright, I think we've got a preliminary route mapped out," Nancy announced, stepping back from the wall map. "We'll need to run it by Hopper, but this should work for the next Crawl."
"Assuming the gates stay stable," Jonathan added.
"Big assumption these days," Dustin muttered.
Steve pushed off from the wall, moving closer to the group again. Robin watched him study the map, his eyes tracing the route they'd outlined. She could practically see the wheels turning in his head, processing, analyzing.
"That's a lot of ground to cover," he said finally. "Hopper's gonna be in there for a while."
"Yeah, probably five or six hours," Nancy agreed. "Which is why we need to make sure the van's in perfect condition. Steve, when you're out, can you get it checked? Oil change, tire pressure, the works?"
"Sure," Steve said.
"We should also stock up on first aid supplies," Jonathan suggested. "We went through a lot of bandages last week."
"Already on the list," Steve confirmed, patting his pocket where he'd stashed the paper.
Dustin spun around in the desk chair, finally giving Steve his full attention. "You remember everything we need? Because last time you forgot the—"
"I didn't forget," Steve interrupted, his voice even. "They were out of stock. I checked three different stores."
"Oh." Dustin had the grace to look slightly abashed. "Right. Okay."
Never mind that Steve had been doing supply runs for months without issue. Never mind that he was meticulous about lists and inventory, that he kept detailed records of what they needed and where to find it. Never mind that he'd driven all over Hawkins and the surrounding areas, sometimes in dangerous conditions, to make sure they had everything necessary for their operations.
One perceived mistake—which hadn't even been a mistake—and suddenly his competence was being called in question. Robin bit her tongue, swallowing down the sharp retort that wanted to escape. This wasn't the time. But she filed it away, added it to the growing list of grievances she was keeping track of.
The thing was, Robin had been watching this new pattern develop for weeks now. Sure, everyone had always taken shots at Steve's intelligence, but he took it in stride, and it was always lighthearted, but then after Vecna things started to change. At first, she'd thought she was being oversensitive, reading too much into innocent interactions. But the more she paid attention, the more she realized it was real. There was a fundamental lack of respect for Steve in this group, a casual dismissiveness that had become so normalized that no one even seemed to notice it anymore.
Except Steve. He noticed. Robin could tell by the way his shoulders tensed when someone cut him off, the way his jaw tightened when Dustin made a snide comment about his intelligence, the way his eyes went distant and flat when he was being ignored. He noticed, and he said nothing. Just took it, absorbed it, internalized it.
And that, more than anything, was what scared Robin. Because she knew Steve now, probably, no—definitely better than anyone else in the room. She knew about his history now, knew about his parents and the way they'd treated him. Knew that Steve had grown up in a house where his worth was constantly questioned, where love was conditional and praise was nonexistent, where he was made to feel like a disappointment, a failure, a burden.
Steve had told her about his father, about the cutting remarks and the impossible standards. About how nothing Steve did was ever good enough, how every achievement was minimized and every mistake was magnified. About how his mother had been complicit in her silence, never defending Steve, never standing up for him, just letting his father tear him down piece by piece while she casually drank wine at the table.
And now, watching the way the group treated Steve, Robin was seeing the same pattern play out. Different people and different context, but at the core it was the same fundamental dynamic: Steve giving everything he had, and everyone around him taking it for granted, treating him like he was less than, like his contributions didn't matter. Steve didn't even seem to expect anything different. He'd been conditioned his whole life to accept this treatment, to believe that this was what he deserved. And so he just... took it. Kept showing up, kept helping, kept putting himself in danger for people who couldn't even be bothered to listen when he spoke.
Robin wanted to grab him and shake him and make him see that he deserved better. That he was worth more than this. That the way they treated him wasn't okay, wasn't normal, wasn't something he should just accept.
But she also knew that Steve wouldn't listen. Because deep down, in the parts of himself that had been shaped by years of emotional abuse and neglect, Steve believed that this was all he was good for. Being useful. Being convenient. Being the person who took the hits so others didn't have to. It made Robin furious. And sad. And fiercely, protectively determined.
…
"Alright, I think we've covered everything," Nancy said, gathering up her papers and organizing them into neat stacks. She had that satisfied look she got when a meeting had been productive, when all the pieces were falling into place.
"We should probably wrap this up soon anyway," she said, checking her watch. "It's already past noon, and Steve needs to get going if he's going to hit all the stores before they close."
Most businesses in Hawkins operated on reduced hours now, if they were open at all. The military-imposed curfew meant everything shut down by 6 PM, and the supply situation was precarious at best. You had to know where to look, which stores still had stock, which owners were willing to deal under the table and not ask questions. Steve had become an expert at navigating the new economy of Hawkins. He knew which store managers would let him buy in bulk off record, which ones would accept the cash that Hopper funneled to them from some mysterious government source. He knew which back roads to take to avoid military checkpoints, knew how to talk his way through the ones he couldn't avoid.
But did anyone acknowledge that? Did anyone appreciate the skill and effort that went into keeping them all supplied and operational? Robin doubted it.
Steve shrugged, pushing off from the wall. “Okay, I mean if we’re sure that this plan is good—
"Look,” Dustin cut in before Steve could even finish his sentence. “We've already decided on this approach," Dustin said, his voice taking on a finality that brooked no argument. "We just need you to understand where you need to be and what you need to do."
And there it was again. The implication that Steve was the weak link, the one who needed things explained to him, the one who might not understand the plan.
"I understand the plan," Steve said, his voice tight. "I'm questioning whether it's the right plan."
"Well, it is," Dustin snapped. "We've spent hours working this out. Just because you don't like it doesn't mean it's wrong."
"I didn't say it was wrong," Steve replied, his patience clearly wearing thin. "I said I had concerns."
"Concerns that we've already addressed," Nancy added, and Robin wanted to yell because couldn't they see what they were doing? Couldn't they see how they were ganging up on Steve, dismissing his legitimate worries, treating him like he was being difficult instead of trying to help?
"Have you, though?" Steve asked, and there was a challenge in his voice now. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you've created a plan that sounds good on paper but has some serious practical problems."
"Like what?" Dustin demanded.
"Like the fact that response time matters," Steve said, his voice rising slightly. "Like the fact that if Hopper gets hurt or if something goes wrong, every second counts. Like the fact that having the van—which has all our emergency equipment—parked half a mile away from the gate is a terrible idea."
"It's not half a mile," Dustin argued. "It's maybe a quarter mile, and we've accounted for that in our timing."
"Have you?" Steve challenged. "Have you actually timed how long it would take to get from that position to the gate? Have you factored in the terrain, the potential obstacles, the fact that if something's going wrong, conditions might not be ideal?"
There was a moment of silence, and Robin realized that no, they probably hadn't done that. They'd made assumptions, drawn lines on a map, but they hadn't actually tested the logistics in real-world conditions.
"We'll do a dry run before the actual Crawl," Nancy said, but she sounded less certain now. "We'll make sure the timing works."
"And if it doesn't?" Steve pressed. "What then? We're already committed to the southern approach, already have everyone positioned. Do we abort? Do we scramble to relocate? Or do we just hope for the best and pray nothing goes wrong?"
"Jesus Christ, Steve," Dustin exploded, his voice sharp with frustration. "Why are you being so difficult about this? We're trying to plan a Crawl, and you're poking holes in everything!"
"I'm not being difficult," Steve shot back. "I'm trying to make sure we don't get Hopper killed because we were too stubborn to acknowledge problems with the plan!"
"There are no problems with the plan!" Dustin insisted. "The only problem is you not understanding—"
"I understand just fine," Steve interrupted, his voice hard. "What I don't understand is why you're all so resistant to legitimate concerns!"
Robin could see this spiraling, could feel the tension in the room reaching a breaking point. She needed to intervene, needed to de-escalate before this turned into a full-blown fight.
"Okay, everyone take a breath," she said, her voice cutting through the argument. "We're all on the same side here. We all want to keep Hopper safe. Maybe we just need to—"
"Stay out of this, Robin," Dustin snapped, not even looking at her. "This is between me and Steve."
"No, it's not," Robin replied, her own temper flaring now. "This involves all of us. And Steve has valid points that you're refusing to consider."
"I'm not refusing to consider anything," Dustin said, but his tone suggested otherwise. "I'm trying to explain a simple plan to an idiot who apparently can't grasp basic strategy!"
The words hung in the air, sharp and cutting, and Robin saw Steve flinch a little.
"Dustin," Robin said, her voice carrying a warning. "That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" Dustin replied, and there was something wild in his eyes now, something desperate and angry and grief-stricken. "We've explained this plan multiple times. We've gone over every detail. And Steve still doesn't trust it, which means he doesn’t get it. At some point, we have to acknowledge that maybe the problem here isn't the plan."
"The problem isn't Steve," Robin said fiercely, moving to stand beside him. "The problem is that you're not listening to him."
"I'm listening," Dustin insisted, his teeth grit. "I'm just not agreeing. There's a difference."
"Is there?" Robin challenged. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you've already made up your mind and you're just expecting Steve to fall in line."
"That's not—" Dustin started, but Steve cut him off.
"It's fine," Steve said, his voice flat and emotionless in a way that scared Robin more than anger would have. "I'll position the van wherever you want it. I'll follow the plan. It's fine."
"Steve—" Robin began, but he shook his head.
"No, it's fine, Rob."
The defeat in his voice was crushing, and Robin wanted just a little, to turn around and slap Dustin across the face—not like super hard or anything but just, ya know. A little slap. But before she could say anything else, Dustin was talking again.
"Look, I'm sorry if I'm being harsh," he said, but he didn't sound sorry. He sounded frustrated and exhausted and like he was barely holding himself together. "But we don't have time for this. We need to finalize the plan and move forward. Steve, you're doing the supply run. Just focus on that, okay? Get what we need, and we'll handle the strategic planning."
Robin watched Steve's face carefully, saw the way he shut down, the way his expression went carefully blank. This was a defense mechanism she'd seen before, a way of protecting himself from hurt by simply not feeling anything at all.
"Sure," Steve said quietly. "Whatever you need."
He turned to leave, and Robin moved to follow him, but Dustin's voice stopped them both as he held out a piece of paper. “Here’s the list."
Steve turned back slowly, and Robin could see the tension in every line of his body. "I have the list. I know what to get."
"Just take mine too," he said, waving the paper impatiently at Steve. He wasn’t even looking at him, instead zoned in on the computer.
"I don’t need it," Steve said.
"Just take it—”
"Dustin, I know what to get," Steve said, louder now. "I have the list. I've been doing this for months. I know what we need."
“Okay fine,” Dustin said, turning in his chair as he started to passive-aggressively read off his own list. “So you know we need medical supplies, specifically bandages, antiseptic, pain medication—"
"I know," Steve repeated, his voice strained.
"—and coffee, the good kind, not the cheap stuff—"
“Dustin—I know.”
"I'm just making sure," Dustin insisted. "Because we can't afford to be missing anything."
"I won't forget anything," Steve said through gritted teeth.
"Okay, but—"
"But, what?" Steve demanded finally. "What are you trying to say! That you don't trust me? That you think I'm incompetent? That you need to micromanage every single thing I do because you don't think I can handle a simple supply run? Because it really seems like you think I'm too stupid to even follow a list!"
But instead of backing down, instead of apologizing, Dustin doubled down.
"I'm saying that everyone needs to be on top of their game right now," his voice rising. "I'm saying that we can't afford mistakes! I'm saying that if you're going to zone out and stare into space and ask people to repeat things every five seconds, then yeah. Maybe we do need to be extra careful about making sure you understand what needs to be done."
Robin felt like she'd been punched in the gut. She saw Steve go very still, and saw the color drain from his face.
"Dustin," she said, her voice low and dangerous. A warning. "Stop. Right now."
But Dustin wasn't stopping. He was on a roll now, months of grief and frustration and fear pouring out in a torrent of words he couldn't take back, targeted at the easiest shot in the room.
"I'm tired of having to repeat everything!" he continued. "I'm tired of having to explain things multiple times because you can't keep up! I'm tired of worrying that you're going to forget something important or miss something crucial because you're too busy spacing out!"
"Dustin! That's enough—" Robin said, her voice sharp.
But it wasn't enough. Not for Dustin. Not yet.
"We're fighting a war here," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "We're trying to save the world, and we need everyone to be at their best! And if you can't do that, if you're too retarded to follow simple instructions, then maybe you need to step back and let someone else handle things.”
His voice was low and cold. “And maybe, just maybe if you had swapped places with Eddie, we’d all be better off for it."
The silence that followed was… deafening. Robin stared at Dustin in horror, unable to believe what she'd just heard. Nancy and Jonathan looked equally shocked, frozen in place. And Steve... Steve looked like someone had ripped his heart out and shattered it on the floor.
"Okay," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "Okay."
Steve turned to leave but paused at the door, his hand on the handle. For a moment, Robin thought he might turn around, might finally defend himself, might finally tell Dustin exactly where he could shove his attitude. But he didn't. He just stood there, his shoulders slumped, his head bowed. And then he left, the door closing softly behind him.
The silence in the radio station after Steve left was oppressive, thick with tension. Robin stood frozen, staring at the closed door, her mind struggling to process what had just happened. Beside her, Nancy and Jonathan exchanged uncomfortable glances, and Dustin had turned back to the computer, his shoulders rigid. Everyone knew he had gone too far, way too far, and Robin's body was almost vibrating with anger.
"That was..." Jonathan started, then trailed off, apparently unable to find the right words.
"Necessary," Dustin finished, his voice tight. "Someone needed to say it."
Robin's head snapped toward him, her eyes blazing. "Necessary? You think that was necessary?"
"Yes," Dustin said, not looking at her. "We can't keep coddling him. This is too important."
"Coddling him?" Robin repeated, her voice rising. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?"
"Robin—" Nancy began, but Robin cut her off.
"No. No, we're not moving past this, I’m finally fucking done with you all." She turned her full attention to Dustin, who was still stubbornly facing the computer screen. "Don’t be a child. Turn around and look at me."
Dustin sighed but complied, spinning the chair to face her. His expression was defiant, but Robin could see the guilt lurking beneath it, the knowledge that he'd crossed a line.
"What you just did was beyond cruel," Robin said, her voice shaking with barely contained rage. "It was cruel and unfair and completely out of line."
"I was just being honest!" Dustin argued. "Look, we all appreciate the work and the driving and stuff but, no one’s asking him to be here exactly. He just kinda shows up. And if he can’t focus then he probably shouldn’t be here, and Steve needed to know the truth."
"The truth?" Robin laughed, but there was no humor in it. She hadn’t known someone she knew and cared about could be so cruel, and so wrong. "The truth is that you just verbally eviscerated someone who's been nothing but loyal to you. Someone who's saved your life multiple times! Someone who's been there for you through everything!"
"I know Steve's been here," Dustin said, his voice defensive. "But that doesn't mean he gets a free pass when he's not pulling his weight."
"Not pulling his weight?" Robin's voice had gone dangerously quiet. "Steve does more for this group than anyone—he's the one doing supply runs in a town that's falling apart. Every time he leaves he’s risking a violation of his NDA. He's the one maintaining the van, making sure all our equipment works, making sure that all you ungrateful motherfuckers eat food and drink water and actually sleep! And you have the audacity to say he's not pulling his weight?"
"That's not what I meant," Dustin backpedaled. "I just meant that he needs to be more focused. More present."
"He is present," Robin snapped. "He's always present. Just because he processes information differently than you doesn't mean he's not paying attention."
Dustin's jaw tightened. "But he’s slow! He zones out, asks people to repeat things constantly. He—"
"It’s because he has a fucking traumatic brain injury you goddamn asshole!" Robin yelled, so loud it actually bounced off the walls a little. She was seething now, and as much as she knows she’ll have to keep working with these people, she doesn’t care about how many bridges she burned right now.
The words hung in the air, and Robin watched as comprehension slowly dawned on Nancy's and Jonathan's faces. Dustin, however, just looked confused.
"What?" he said.
"Steve has a crack, in his fucking, skull." Robin repeated, slower this time, "You know, from getting beaten up while protecting people, while protecting you. When Billy smashed a plate over his head it cracked his skull, and was left untreated for sometime because even after everything, Steve refused to let you all go into the tunnels alone! If Hopper hadn’t noticed the spinal fluid leaking from his ears and forced him to go to the hospital, the pressure in his head would have killed him!"
Dustin's face had gone pale. "I... I didn't know that."
"Of course you didn't know," Robin said bitterly. "Because you never noticed! None of you did. You just assumed that Steve was being slow or stupid or difficult—because that’s what you’ve always assumed!"
"Robin, we didn't mean—" Nancy started, but Robin whirled on her.
"Didn't mean what? Didn't mean to constantly treat him like he was incompetent? Didn't mean to talk over him and dismiss his ideas and always make him feel like his contributions don't matter?"
Nancy flinched. "We weren't trying to—"
"But you did," Robin insisted. "You have been, for weeks now. Months, maybe. And Steve just takes it, because that's what he does! He takes it and he doesn't complain and he keeps showing up because all he cares about is that all of you go home safely!!"
"That's not true," Dustin said, but his voice lacked conviction.
"Isn't it?" Robin challenged. "When was the last time any of you thanked him, for anything? When was the last time you treated him like he was actually part of this team instead of just the guy who drives the van and runs errands?"
Silence. No one had an answer.
"That's what I thought," Robin said, and her voice cracked. It felt like someone was squeezing her heart These were the people that knew Steve before she did, the people he cared for and spoke so highly of, who he talked about with so much genuine care in his voice, and they couldn’t even bother to thank him. She could feel tears burning behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Not yet. Not until she'd said everything that needed to be said.
"He's had multiple major concussions within a few years," she continued, her voice shaky now. “He goaded the Russians into beating him up on purpose, just so that they wouldn’t hurt me. He crashed a car to save you guys.” Her voice wavered and her lip trembled, but she can’t stop, she can’t stop the words and feelings that have been simmering for months now.
"He has trouble processing information quickly sometimes. He has major hearing loss in his left ear, he gets headaches that are so debilitating he can barely see. He has trouble with his balance sometimes. And you know what? He's still here. He's still showing up every single day, still putting himself in danger, still doing everything he can to help."
"Robin I—I didn't know," Dustin repeated, and he sounded genuinely shaken now. "Steve never said anything."
"Why would he?" Robin asked. "You all treat him like a burden, why would he willingly tell you something he thinks would make it worse? Or you would pity him, sideline him completely because he no longer has anything meaningful to contribute. He didn’t tell you because you already make him feel worthless!”
"I don't think he's worthless," Dustin protested.
"Then why do you treat him like he is!?" Robin shot back. "Why do you constantly question his competence? Why do you constantly take shots at his intelligence?“
Dustin opened his mouth, then closed it again. He had no answer.
Robin turned to Nancy and Jonathan. "And you two. You just stand there and let it happen. You don't say anything when Dustin tears into Steve. You don't defend him. You just... let it happen, or worse you tack on more. You go along with it."
"We didn't realize it was that bad," Jonathan said quietly.
"Well, it is," Robin said, her voice thick. "It's that bad. And it's been that bad for a while now."
She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. But the anger was still there, simmering just beneath the surface, fueled by months of watching Steve be mistreated and dismissed.
"Do any of you actually know what Steve’s life is outside of the planning and this stupid radio station? Do any of you even know that we live together because his house got swallowed by a gate?”
No one answered, but Robin continued anyway.
“Everything he had was gone in a second.”
“But don’t his parents have—”
Robin cut Dustin off before he could continue. “Steve hasn’t spoken to his parents in over two years.”
She saw Nancy's hand move to her mouth, saw the horror in Jonathan's eyes.
"Robin, we didn't know," Nancy said, her voice thick with emotion.
"I know you didn't know," Robin replied. "Because none of you ever bothered to find out what was going on in Steve's life, when he was always asking you about yours. You just assumed he was fine because he always shows up with a good attitude and acts like nothing's wrong."
"But he's not," Jonathan said quietly.
"No," Robin agreed. "He's not fine. He’s in pain and he's dealing with a brain injury that affects every aspect of his life. And on top of all that, he has to deal with people who are supposed to be his friends treating him like he's stupid."
Dustin had gone very quiet, his face ashen. "I didn't mean to—"
"But you did," Robin interrupted, fully turning her focus to him. "You did mean to. Maybe not consciously, but you've been taking your grief and your anger and your frustration out on Steve for months now. Ever since Eddie died."
The name hung in the air, and Robin saw Dustin flinch.
"I know you're hurting," Robin said, her voice gentler now. "I know you miss Eddie. We all do. But that doesn't give you the right to treat Steve like shit."
"I know," Dustin whispered.
"Do you?" Robin challenged. "Because it doesn't seem like you know. It seems like you've decided that Steve is an acceptable target for all your pain and anger. Like he's someone you can lash out at without consequences because he always comes back, and now you’ve finally done it. You finally went too fucking far."
"That's not—I didn’t mean to—" Dustin started, but Robin cut him off again.
"Then why did you say all those things?" Robin demanded. "Why did you tell him he couldn't keep up, make him feel like he was a liability? Dustin, you called him retarted, and you know how he feels about that word. You used it specifically because you knew it would hurt him."
Dustin's face crumpled. "I don't know—I didn’t mean it I swear, I never would I—I just... I'm so angry all the time. And I miss Eddie so much. And it's easier to be angry at Steve than to deal with the fact that Eddie's gone and he's never coming back."
"That's not fair to Steve," Robin said firmly. "He's not your emotional punching bag. He's a person. A person who's been through hell and is still trying his best to help everyone else."
"I know," Dustin said, and he had tears in his eyes now too. "I know. I fucked up. I really fucked up."
"You know what the worst part is?" she said, as hot tears finally spilled over her lids. "Steve thinks you’re right! He thinks he deserves this. He thinks that because he wasn't smart enough or good enough or whatever enough, he deserves to be treated like he's less than. And every time you dismiss him or talk over him or make him feel stupid, you're confirming what his parents spent sixteen years telling him."
She heard Nancy make a small, pained sound.
"Steve is here everyday, working himself to the bone, putting himself in danger, because he thinks that's all he's good for," Robin continued. "He thinks that if he can just be useful enough even if it kills him, if he can just help enough, that if he can ensure that at the end of all of this that you get to go home to your families and loved ones, then maybe he'll be worth something. Maybe he’ll matter."
"He does matter," Nancy said quietly.
"Then maybe you should tell him that," Robin choked out. "Because right now, I'm not sure he believes it."
She turned then and stormed towards the door, her fists clenched at her sides. She couldn’t remember a time in her life she had been this mad. She grabbed her jacket from the back of a chair as well as Steves, which was still hanging next to it. She was suddenly desperate to get out of this room, away from these people who'd hurt her best friend. She made it to the door, hand resting on the handle, then paused one more time. Robin shook her head, but she didn’t turn around to look at them fully, speaking over her shoulder.
"Here's the thing about Steve—he'll forgive you. All of you. He'll come back here, and he'll pretend like nothing happened, and he'll keep helping with the plan, keep risking his life to keep you all safe. Because that's who he is. That's what he does."
She paused, her eyes hard.
"But I won't forgive you," she said quietly. "I won't forget this. I won’t forget what you said. I won't forget that when Steve needed you to defend him, to stand up for him, to show him that he mattered—you all just sat there. You let Dustin tear him apart, and you didn't say a word."
"Robin—" Dustin started.
"No," she said firmly. "You don't get to make this okay with an apology, I’m not the one you need to apologize to. You don't get to tell me you're sorry, and that you didn’t mean it and expect everything to go back to normal. Because it's not normal, Dustin."
Her voice broke again, and she had to stop, and had to breathe.
"You told him you wished he was dead," she finished, barely above a whisper. "You told him you wished Eddie was here instead. And Steve—god, Steve probably agrees with you. Probably thinks Eddie would be better, more useful, more worthy of being saved."
"I didn't mean it, I promise," Dustin sobbed. "Robin, please, I didn't mean it. I was angry, and I—"
"You hurt him," Robin said simply. "You hurt him in a way that I don't know if he'll recover from. Because it's one thing when his parents tell him he's worthless. It's another thing entirely when the people he considers his actual family say it too."
The room fell silent except for the sound of Dustin's crying. Nancy had her arms wrapped around herself, rocking slightly. Jonathan looked like he might be sick.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"To find Steve," Robin said. "To make sure he's okay. To remind him that at least one person in this godforsaken town actually gives a shit about him."
"Robin, wait—" Dustin stood up, his face blotchy and red from crying. "Please. Let me—let me come with you. Let me apologize. I need to tell him—"
"No," Robin said flatly. "You've done enough damage for one day. Stay here. Plan your mission. Figure out how to save the world. And maybe, while you're at it, figure out how to be a better friend to someone who's never been anything but good to you."
"Robin, please—"
But she was already out the door, letting it slam shut behind her.
…
The van was still there, parked in its usual spot near the edge of the lot. The engine was running—she could hear the low rumble from where she stood—but Steve wasn't moving. He was just sitting there in the driver's seat, staring straight ahead at nothing.
Robin's heart clenched. She knew that look, had seen it before, in the aftermath of a nightmare, when Steve would sit in their apartment and stare at the wall for hours, lost in his own head, drowning in thoughts he wouldn't share.
She approached the van slowly, not wanting to startle him. When she reached the passenger side, she could see his face more clearly. His eyes were red-rimmed, but there were no tears. Steve rarely cried, she'd learned. He'd been conditioned too well by his parents to hide his emotions, to swallow down his pain and present a brave face to the world. But Robin could see the hurt anyway. It was there in the tight set of his jaw, the way his hands gripped the steering wheel, the hollow look in his eyes.
She opened the passenger door and climbed in, closing it softly behind her. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The radio was off, leaving only the sound of the engine and their breathing.
"You didn't have to come out here," Steve said finally, his voice flat and emotionless.
"Yes, I did," Robin replied.
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not."
Steve's jaw tightened. "I'm fine, Robin. I just need a minute, and then I'll go do the supply run."
"Fuck the supply run," Robin said vehemently. "We're not going anywhere until we talk about what just happened in there."
"There's nothing to talk about," Steve said, still not looking at her. "Dustin's right. I need to be more focused. I need to—"
"Steve, stop," Robin interrupted. "Just stop. Dustin's not right. He's so far from right that it’s jarring."
Steve finally turned to look at her, pulling his hands off the wheel and settling them in his lap. The pain in his eyes nearly broke her. "He's not wrong, though. I do zone out. I do ask people to repeat things. I do—"
"You have a traumatic brain injury," Robin said firmly, reaching out to grasp his hand. "Those are symptoms, not character flaws."
"It doesn't matter," Steve said, looking back to stare out the windshield. "Even before I was still stupid, so the end result is the same. If I can't keep up, then I'm just a liability."
"You're not a liability," Robin insisted, her voice firm. "You're one of the most capable people in this entire operation."
Steve laughed, but it was a bitter, hollow sound. "Right. That's why Dustin just spent ten minutes telling me how I can't keep up."
"Dustin's an asshole who's taking his grief out on you," Robin said bluntly. "That doesn't make what he said true."
"Doesn't make it false either," Steve muttered.
Robin wanted to cry. This was what she'd been afraid of—that Steve would internalize Dustin's words and take them as confirmation of everything his parents had ever told him about himself, destroying all the progress Robin had made in trying to get him to see what she saw. She never would have guessed that the guy who once ruled Hawkins High, would turn out to have the lowest self-esteem of anyone she had ever met.
"Steve, look at me," she said, her voice gentle but firm.
He didn't move.
"Steve," she repeated, squeezing his hand. "Please."
Slowly, reluctantly, he turned to face her again.
"You are not stupid," Robin said, holding his gaze. "You are not a liability. You are not worthless. Do you hear me?"
Steve's expression didn't change. "You have to say that. You're my best friend."
"I'm saying it because it's true," Robin insisted. "Steve, you're one of the smartest people I know. You're strategic and quick-thinking and you've saved all our asses more times than I can count."
"I'm the guy who drives the van and runs errands and gets the shit beat out of him," Steve said flatly. "That's my role. That's all I'm good for now."
"That's bullshit," Robin said vehemently. "You do so much more than that. You maintain all our equipment. You help plan routes and backup plans, even when no one gives you the time of day. You're the only one who makes sure everyone is actually taking care of themselves. You're the one who modified the van to carry all our gear efficiently. You're the one who—"
"Robin, stop," Steve interrupted, his voice tired. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but we both know the truth. I'm not the smart one. I'm not the strategic one. I'm just... I'm the muscle. The guy who takes the hits so other people don't have to, and I mean that's okay right? Someone's gotta do it."
"Is that really what you think?" Robin asked, her voice breaking slightly.
Steve shrugged. "It's what I know. It's what I've always been."
"No," Robin said fiercely. "No, that's what your parents told you. That's what your dad drilled into your head for almost seventeen years. But it's not, true. Your dad was an abusive piece of shit who didn't deserve you," Robin snapped. "Nothing he said about you was true."
Steve flinched at the vehemence in her voice. "He wasn't wrong about everything though."
"Yes, he was," Robin insisted. "Steve, your dad was so wrong about you. Your parents were wrong about you. And Dustin is wrong about you too."
"Then why does everyone keep saying the same things?" Steve asked, and there was such raw pain in his voice that Robin felt fresh tears well up in her eyes. "If they're all wrong, why do they all see me the same way?"
"Because everyone is an asshole, and you let them treat you like you're less than because you think that's what you deserve. But it's not, Steve. You deserve so much better than this. You are so much more." She squeezed his hands tighter, she needed him to understand.
"I see the bravest person I know," Robin said, her voice thick with emotion. "I see someone who's been through hell and keeps getting back up. I see someone who puts everyone else first, even when it costs him everything. I see someone who's kind and genuine and loyal to a fault."
Steve's eyes were shining now, but he still wasn't crying.
"I see my best friend," Robin continued, and she was crying now too. "My other half, my long lost secret twin. The person who knows me better than anyone else in the world. The person who saved my life, who protected me, who's been there for me through everything."
"Robin—" Steve started, but she cut him off.
"I see someone who deserves to be loved," she said firmly. "Not for what he can do or how useful he is, but just for who he is. And I'm so angry that no one else seems to see that."
A few tears rolled down Steve's cheek, and he quickly wiped them away. "I don't know how to believe that."
"I know," Robin said softly. "But I'm going to keep telling you until you do."
They sat in silence for a moment, and Robin reached over to take Steve's other hand, clasping them both in hers as they rested over the center console. He squeezed back, holding on like she was the only thing keeping him anchored.
"What Dustin said in there," Steve said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "About wishing Eddie was here instead of me. About how it should have been me who died…"
"He didn't mean that," Robin said quickly. “He’s a fucking ass, but you know he wouldn’t mean it. I’m not defending him, that little shit can figure it out for himself, but I’m telling you it’s wrong, because no one would ever mean that.”
"Didn't he though?" Steve asked. "Because it sounded like he meant it."
"Dustin's grieving," Robin said finally. "He's lashing out. He's saying things he doesn't mean because he's in pain."
"That doesn't make it hurt less," Steve said.
"I know," Robin replied. "I know it doesn't."
Steve took a shaky breath. "The thing is, I get it. Eddie was... Eddie was special. He was funny and brave and creative, he was someone Dustin could look up to, someone he could relate to. He was a good person. And me? I'm just... I'm just Steve. The guy who peaked in high school, who was an ass."
"Stop," Robin said firmly. "Steve, you aren’t an ass, and you are so much harder on yourself than anyone should be. You're the most amazing person I've ever met."
"You're biased," Steve said, but there was a hint of a smile on his face now.
"Damn right I'm biased," Robin agreed. "I'm biased because I know you. Really know you. And I know that you're amazing."
Steve squeezed her hand again. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Good thing you'll never have to find out," Robin said. "Because I'm not going anywhere. It's you and me, Steve. Always."
"You and me," Steve repeated, and some of the tension seemed to leave his shoulders, and she leaned forward slightly, gently knocking their foreheads together.
They sat there for a moment, just holding hands and existing in each other's presence. Robin knew the others were probably watching from the window, knew that they'd have to go back eventually, have to face the others and deal with the fallout of what had happened. But for now, this was enough.
"We should probably do that supply run," Steve said eventually.
Robin's grip on his hand tightened. "No."
Steve pulled back to look at her, confused. "What?"
"No," Robin repeated, more firmly this time. "We're not doing anything until you're actually okay. And don't give me that 'I'm fine' bullshit again."
"Robin, we need supplies. The group is counting on—"
"Fuck the group," Robin said, and the vehemence in her voice made Steve's eyes widen. "Seriously. Fuck them. They can wait."
"They need—"
"They need to learn that you're not their personal servant," Robin interrupted. "They need to learn that you're a person with feelings who deserves to be treated with basic human decency. They need to learn a lot of things, apparently."
Steve was quiet for a moment, his thumb absently rubbing circles into her palm. "You're really mad at them."
"I'm furious at them," Robin confirmed. "I'm so angry I could spit. Do you have any idea how hard it's been, watching them treat you like that? Watching them dismiss you and talk over you and make you feel like you're not good enough?"
"They don't—"
"They do," Robin insisted. She turned in her seat to face him fully, pulling her hand from his so she could grab both his shoulders. "Steve Harrington, you listen to me. You have been there for me through everything—through coming out, through the nightmares, through all the trauma and fear and pain. You are my best friend, my other half, my soulmate in every way that matters."
Steve's eyes were shining again, and this time he didn't try to hide it.
"You are not what your parents said you were," Robin continued, her voice fierce. "You are not stupid or worthless or a disappointment. You are brilliant in ways that matter—in ways that actually count. You see people, Steve. You understand them. You know how to make people feel safe and valued and important. That's a gift. That's something special."
"Robin—" Steve's voice cracked.
"I'm not done," Robin said. "You need to hear this. All of it."
She took a shaky breath, trying to organize the torrent of emotions flooding through her. There was so much she needed to say, so much she needed him to understand.
"When we were in that bunker," she said, her voice softer now, "when the Russians had us, I was so scared. I've never been that scared in my life. And you know what you did? You made jokes. You kept me talking and laughing. You distracted me from the fear. And when they were going to hurt me, you offered yourself up instead."
"Anyone would have—"
"No," Robin cut him off. "No, Steve. Not anyone. In fact most people would have been too terrified to think straight. But you? You saw what was happening and you made a choice. You chose to protect me, even though it meant taking a beating that could have killed you."
Steve looked away, uncomfortable with the praise, but Robin gently turned his face back toward her.
"That's who you are," she said. "That's the real Steve Harrington. Not the guy your dad tried to make you believe you were. Not the King Steve persona you wore in high school. The real you—the person who would rather die than let someone he loves get hurt."
"I couldn't let them hurt you," Steve said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I dragged you into this mess and…you're my best friend. You're my family."
"And you're mine," Robin said, tears streaming freely down her face now. "You're my family, Steve. You're my brother, and it kills me that you can't see what I see when I look at you."
"I'm so tired of watching people take advantage of your kindness," Robin said, her voice hardening again. "I'm so tired of watching them treat you like you're disposable."
"That's my job," Steve said weakly.
"No," Robin said firmly. "That's not your job. That's not anyone's job. You're not a human shield, Steve. You're a person. A person who deserves to be valued for who you are, not what you can do for other people."
Steve was crying now, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. "I don't know how to be anything else."
"Then let me teach you," Robin said. "Let me show you that you're worth more than this. That you deserve more than this."
She pulled him into a hug, wrapping her arms around him as tightly as she could. Steve hesitated for just a moment before hugging her back, burying his face in her shoulder.
"I've got you," Robin whispered. "I've got you, and I'm not letting go."
Steve's shoulders shook, and Robin realized he was sobbing—really sobbing, the kind of deep, wrenching cries that came from a place of profound pain. She held him tighter, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head, and she could feel the scar on his head even through the thick hair. She tightened her hold.
"It's okay," she murmured. "Let it out. I've got you."
They stayed like that for a long time, Steve crying into her shoulder while Robin held him and whispered reassurances. She didn't care that her shirt was getting soaked with tears. She didn't care that they were sitting in a van in a parking lot where anyone could see them. All she cared about was Steve, her best friend, her brother, her other half, was finally letting himself feel the pain he'd been holding in for so long.
When Steve's sobs finally subsided into hiccupping breaths, Robin pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were red and swollen, his face blotchy, and he looked absolutely wrecked. He also looked lighter somehow, like crying had released some of the weight he'd been carrying.
"Sorry," Steve mumbled, wiping at his face with his sleeve. "I didn't mean to—"
"Don't apologize," Robin said firmly. "Don't ever apologize for having feelings. You're allowed to be hurt. You're allowed to be angry. You're allowed to fall apart sometimes."
"I'm supposed to be the strong one," Steve said.
"Says who?" Robin challenged. "Who decided that? Because it sure as hell wasn't me."
Steve gave her a watery smile. "You're pretty fierce when you want to be, you know that?"
"Only when it comes to protecting the people I love," Robin said. "And I love you, Steve. So much. More than I can even put into words."
"I love you too," Steve said, and his voice was steadier now. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
Robin settled back into her seat, but she kept one hand on Steve's arm, maintaining that physical connection. She needed him to know she was there, that she wasn't leaving, that he wasn't alone.
"You know what the really fucked up part is?" Robin said after a moment. "Even after everything that just happened, I know you're going to forgive them. Dustin, Nancy, Jonathan—you're going to forgive all of them."
Steve was quiet for a moment. "Probably," he admitted. "I mean, Dustin's grieving. He's hurting. He didn't mean—"
"It shouldn't go at you," Robin insisted.
"I know," Steve said again. "But I also know that holding grudges doesn't help anyone. Eddie wouldn't want Dustin to lose another person he cares about because of something said in anger."
Robin felt her heart clench. That was so Steve—always thinking about other people, always trying to see their perspective, always willing to forgive even when he was the one who'd been hurt. It was one of the things she loved most about him. It was also one of the things that scared her most.
"You're too good for them," she said quietly. "You're too good for all of them."
"I'm not—"
"You are," Robin insisted. "And if they can't see that, if they can't appreciate what they have in you, then fuck them. Seriously. They can all go fuck themselves."
Steve huffed a little laugh out at that.
"Okay," Steve said finally, straightening up in his seat. "But we should actually do that supply run now. Before the stores close."
"If we go, we're doing it together," Robin said firmly. "I'm not letting you go alone."
"Robin, you don't have to—"
"I want to," Robin interrupted. "Besides, if I go back in there right now, I think I might spill someone's blood."
Steve laughed again, and Robin felt a surge of affection so strong it almost hurt. And she knew she would protect him with everything she had, even if that meant protecting him from people who were supposed to care about him.
"Alright," Steve said, putting the van in gear. "Let's go get some supplies."
As they pulled out of the parking lot, Robin glanced back at the radio station. She could see figures moving behind the windows, still processing what had happened. She wondered if they had been watching them in the van the whole time. Good, she thought viciously. Let them sit with it. Let them think about what they've done.
She turned back to face forward, watching Steve as he navigated the empty streets of Hawkins. His jaw was still tight, his eyes still red-rimmed, but there was something different about him now. Something a little bit stronger.
Maybe he didn't believe everything she'd said. Maybe he still thought he was worthless, still thought he deserved to be treated like garbage. But at least now he knew that someone saw him differently. At least now he knew that someone thought he was worth fighting for. And Robin would keep fighting. She would keep reminding him of his worth, keep standing up for him, keep being the person who saw him for who he really was.
Because that's what you did for the people you loved.