Chapter Text
The first time Robin’s dad gets mentioned, it’s barely a mention at all.
Steve comes back from his break to find Robin has her back to him, serving a customer. This would be normal, given that they’ve been working together at Scoops Ahoy for nearly three weeks now, but what catches his attention is how stiffly she’s standing.
He’s not sure why he notices. It’s no secret that she’s bored here, and it’s already been a long shift. It’s just—He’s never seen her be so still.
He shouldn’t care. He’s gotten the impression that Robin dislikes him, which, whatever, they’re coworkers, they don’t have to be friends. He doesn't even like this stupid job. Neither of them do. They’re both just trying to make it through the summer until they can be shot of this place.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” he hears a voice say, and, oh, that’s why she’s tense. Funny. Maybe Robin can have a strike on the You Suck side of the board for once.
Steve busies himself behind her, pretending to stock the plastic sample spoons, and takes the opportunity to sneak a glance at the customer. It’s some guy he vaguely recognises from school, but not anyone he knows. He’s pretty sure this guy had been in the year below, in Robin’s year.
The guy’s leaning on the counter, a smirk on his face. It doesn’t suit him. He’s a pretty greasy sort of guy overall, now that Steve’s looking. His hair is limp, unstyled, and could do with a wash. Or at least a combing. Honestly, the state of some people. How hard is it to clean yourself up a little before you try and score a date? Whatever happened to a bit of effort?
“Let me show you a good time,” the guy continues, and honest-to-god leers at Robin. Steve’s lip curls in disgust, and he hurriedly turns his head back to the spoons to avoid being caught eavesdropping. He’s starting to feel bad for her. This is what happens when he graduates; the small fry start thinking they can shoot at the hoop.
Like, come on. Sure, Robin’s a band kid and does drama, and she’s kinda weird and geeky and a little bit mean, but she’s also surprisingly attractive, even condemned to the stupid Scoops Ahoy uniform. She’s miles out of this guy’s league. She’s, like, somewhere up between a seven and a nine, and this guy is down simmering with the threes.
“I've gotta get home,” Robin says flatly. “Sorry.”
Maybe he should intervene. It doesn’t feel so funny anymore; she seems genuinely uncomfortable, trapped in the interaction.
Steve turns, preparing to think of some excuse to interrupt, just in time to see the guy lean in closer, looking cocky, and say, “Oh, we can be quick, sweet thing. I’ll have you home before Daddy can say a word.”
He almost gags. Jesus Christ. He’s got to get rid of this guy. Later, maybe they can have a laugh over him and his piss-poor attempts at flirting—
Robin goes rigid. Her fingers, which had already been clenching the handle of her scooper, are turning bone-white.
Okay, yeah, he’s intervening.
Steve takes a handful of sample spoons and smoothly slides next to her, leaning over to place them in the pot that holds them, and casually, acting as if it’s just occurred to him says, “Hey, Buckley. Isn’t it your break?”
She starts, whipping her head around so fast that for a second he’s concerned for her neck. She looks at him with a mixture of relief and suspicion—she’d taken her break just before his, and they both know it—and then seems to realise the out he’s offering. “Oh! Oh, uh, yeah, it is.”
“She’s with a customer,” the guy interrupts, shooting him an annoyed look.
“Company policy, I’m afraid,” Steve says, all charm and smiles. Robin doesn’t need to be told twice. She bolts into the break room before the guy can say another word. “What can I get you?”
The interaction barely lasts a minute now that Steve’s taken over. There’s a mumble of “Vanilla” and then the guy stands, sulking, as he scoops it.
As Steve hands over the ice cream cone, the guy tries to peer over his shoulder, as if he could see through the opaque glass windows. “How long’s her break?”
Steve’s eye twitches. Some people, he swears. With any luck, Robin will stay in the break room until this guy’s fucked off. “Long.”
The guy seems to take the hint, scowling as he dumps a handful of coins on the counter before finally sloping off.
Steve watches him for long enough to lose sight of him before he sags in relief and goes to find Robin.
He’s expecting to find her sitting at the table, so he’s surprised to find the break room seemingly empty. There’s an abandoned hat and scooper on the table, which obviously must be hers, but no sign of Robin herself.
“Buckley?” He glances around, though it’s not like there are many places for her to hide and he doubts she’s waiting to jump out at him. “Robin?”
The other door bangs open loudly, startling him, revealing Robin at last. She avoids his gaze as she enters, determinedly looking down at the floor, but he can see her eyes are red, and there are faint streaks of mascara down her cheeks, as if she’s been crying.
“Sorry,” she mutters, still resolutely not looking at him as she moves to collect her things. Her hands are clenched into fists, and as she reaches for her hat he has a second to see that tiny red crescent moons mark her palm.
“Wh—Don’t be sorry, there’s nothing to be sorry about.” Steve shakes his head, bewildered. “I’m not—Are you okay? Was that guy bothering you?”
“It’s fine.” Her voice is sharp, curt. It’s probably not personal—this time, at least—but it wounds all the same.
For a second, they’re at a standstill, frozen players in a game they weren’t aware they were playing. Words rise and die on his tongue as he shifts his weight, unsure what to do.
He’s not used to this. He’s never been great at comforting people, but he’s never had someone around who so clearly doesn’t want his comfort, either.
Robin sucks in a breath. “Sorry,” she repeats, quieter this time. Then, “Thank you. For, um. For dealing with that guy.”
He blinks. “Uh, no problem.” She gives a short nod, and he feels wrong-footed, still. “Hey, I can walk you to your,” he catches himself, abruptly remembering that she cycles to work, not drives, “bike, when we finish. If you want. In, in case that asshole’s hanging around.”
Robin stares at him for a moment, as if trying to work out his intentions. Finally, she nods again, slower this time.
Nothing further happens for the rest of their shift. When they finish, he walks her to her bike, true to his word, and she mumbles a quiet thanks in response. He offers to give her a lift home, just to be sure, but she politely declines, and then she’s gone.
*
He gets an answer—or, at least, half an answer—their next shift.
It’s drizzling outside, so it’s a particularly slow shift. Turns out, not many people want ice cream in wet weather.
Robin’s a little warmer towards him. Still makes fun of him, obviously, and still making snarky comments at any given opportunity, but overall her demeanor feels… less hostile, maybe.
They’re talking more, too. Not just, like, making quips, but actually talking, which is where Steve missteps.
He’s talking about his dad, kinda ranting about what a dick he is. When he makes an offhand comment about wishing his dad doesn’t come home from his next business trip, he sees Robin freeze out of the corner of his eye.
Before he can say anything—not that he knows what he’d even say—Robin forces out a laugh, hurriedly returning to her ‘task’ of stocking spoons.
And, like, Steve knows he can be stupid at times, but he’s not that stupid.
Robin’s touchy about the subject of fathers.
*
It’s not until weeks later, when they’re trapped in an elevator far, far underneath Starcourt Mall, that the topic actually comes up.
Dustin and Erica have long since fallen asleep. Erica’s tucked against Robin’s leg, using her thigh as a pillow, and Dustin’s curled into Steve’s side, his head resting against his shoulder.
They’d given up trying to force the doors open a while ago, sometime when Erica had first started drifting off. According to his watch, it’s been maybe two hours since then. Probably about five hours since they’d first fallen, though he hadn’t exactly been looking at his watch at the time.
Five hours of trying to find a way out and nothing.
There’s no way out. Steve knows this, and from the way she stares off hollowly into the distance, Robin knows it, too.
He’d tried to convince her to get some sleep, too, but she’d refused. Selfishly, he’s grateful that she did. The silence down here is haunting enough; at least this way, he has a way to fill it.
He clears his throat. Robin's eyes flick to his, a questioning look on her face.
It strikes him, suddenly, just how bizarre this must be to her. It’s a bizarre situation anyway, but he, at the least, has had some experience with Dustin’s insane ventures.
Robin’s looking at him. Waiting, expectant.
Steve forces a tight smile. “Don’t suppose there’d be a keycard in one of these boxes of weird green shit?”
“Maybe.” Robin shrugs. Her voice sounds raspier than usual. “If one of the evil Russians is, like, super clumsy, sure. Could be.”
“Maybe one of them is locked out of some top-secret room right now.” He tips his head back against one of the boxes, then puts on a poor imitation of a Russian accent. “Ah, yes, Oleg, if you could just open ze door to ze room where we store our top secret veapon, then ve shall commence taking over ze world! … Oleg? Vhat is ze hold up?”
Robin huffs out a laugh, which seems to surprise even her. ”Is that meant to be Russian?”
He raises an eyebrow at her, lips quirking up. “Uh, yeah, couldn’t you tell?”
“Thought you might’ve been trying out some variation of French Dracula,” she says dryly, a small grin appearing on her face when he snorts. “With a head cold.”
He nudges her lightly, careful not to disturb either of the kids. “Oh, sorry, drama girl, not all of us are good at languages.”
“You were speaking English,” she retorts, clearly trying to hide her amusement.
“Oleg is new to country,” Steve says defensively, making her snicker. “Is Oleg’s first day of job. And is worst day! Oleg has lost keycard.”
“Oh my god, please stop,” Robin says, but she’s laughing.
“Oleg think drama girl say hurtful things.” Steve continues, grinning as his voice wobbles. “Oleg going to get fired and drama girl laughing.”
She goes quiet for a moment. “We might get fired. We’re scheduled to work tomorrow.”
He drops the accent. “I think they might forgive us for being trapped underground, Robin.”
“That’s if they find us at all.” She squeezes her eyes shut, just for a few seconds, and then opens them again, meeting his gaze. “Sorry. That’s not helping.”
“Yeah, well, nothing down here is, so… You’re fine.” Robin doesn’t respond, and when he looks over at her again he sees that she’s twisting her ring around her finger. He bumps his shoulder gently against hers. “Hey, we’re gonna be okay, alright? There’s probably already people looking for us.”
He dreads to think how Dustin’s mom and Erica’s parents reacted to their kids not coming home. The silver lining, he supposes, is that with Will Byers disappearing a couple of years ago, they’re more likely to go searching earlier. And if their parents don’t, the rest of the kids will, surely. He doubts Joyce Byers’ protective streak ends at her son.
His own parents aren’t home. Or, at least, they aren’t due home. That could've changed; it’s not like he’d have any way of knowing.
“You think?” Robin asks quietly.
It occurs to him that he doesn’t know anything about Robin’s family. She’s never brought them up.
“Yeah,” he says, hoping he sounds confident. “Wait until you meet Ms Henderson. She’s probably digging her way down as we speak.”
Robin snorts, sounding tired. “My mom probably hasn’t even noticed.”
“You never talk about your mom.”
She just shrugs. “Not a lot to say. My mom works a lot, we’re not close.”
It’s been several hours since he last ate or drank anything, which is probably why his brain doesn’t think as he asks, “What about your dad?”
She stiffens, her face screwing up. When she speaks, her voice is flat. “He’s dead.”
Fuck. Nice one, Steve. “I’m sorry.”
“You weren’t to know.”
“Still, I’m sorry.”
Robin only shrugs again. It’s clear she doesn’t want to talk about it, so he decides to drop it, feeling like an asshole.
Neither of them say anything for a moment. Robin stares off into space again, toying with her hair, and Steve watches her out of the corner of his eye, trying to think of a way to lighten the mood.
“Oleg think ice cream boy dumb.” He puts the accent back on, making it sound even rougher. The tiniest of smiles appears on Robin’s face, and he continues, “Oleg think drama girl should get new coworker. Like Oleg. Oleg looking for new job for no specific reason.”
She huffs out a soft noise of amusement. It’s not quite a laugh, but it’s enough to ease the tension, and that’s good enough for him.
*
It’s always something with Hawkins. Steve knows this, and yet this, somehow, is what takes the cake.
A secret Russian bunker underneath Starcourt. He and Robin being held as prisoners, interrogated and fucking tortured all night. Being beaten unconscious should be like a new low, he feels, but that’s the one bit that feels par for the course. At least this time it’s not someone from school.
Though there’s still time for Robin to beat the shit out of him, he supposes. Especially now that they’ve fucked up their one possible means of escaping and stuck lying on the floor, still tied to these stupid chairs.
Against his back, he can feel Robin’s shoulders heaving, and dread fills him. He’s trying to reassure her, desperately trying to twist to see her, when it registers that she’s laughing.
She’s cracked. She hasn’t even experienced the alternate dimension shit yet and she’s cracked.
“I’m sorry!” Robin splutters, and laughs out loud. She sounds like she’s trying to regain control of herself, and then she gasps out, “Sorry, it’s just—I can’t believe I’m going to die in a secret Russian base with Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington. It’s just too trippy, man!”
“We’re not gonna die,” he starts, but she keeps on talking like she hasn’t heard him.
“My mom was right. She was right! Hawkins is cursed!”
That stops him short. By official accounts, a boy got lost in the woods and Barb’s death was due to a chemical leak. Like, yeah, Hawkins probably is cursed with all the bullshit that’s been happening, but the general public shouldn’t know that. “Wait, why does your mom think Hawkins is cursed?”
Robin’s giggling fades. She’s quiet, then, “My dad killed himself after moving here.”
He blinks, stricken.
She’s still talking, though, faster now. “It wasn’t—Like, it wasn’t because we moved here. My parents were… They argued a lot when they were together. Then my grandma died and my dad inherited the family business, so we ended up moving here so he could run it. They argued a lot more after that and my mom filed for divorce.”
“And that’s when he…?”
He feels her shake her head. “No. I mean, he’d been divorced before, from what my mom said, and I still saw him nearly every weekend.” She sucks in a breath. “It was a few years later that he shot himself. So.”
Not for the first time, Steve mentally curses the restraints binding them. He tips his head back against hers, wishing he could comfort her properly. “Shit, Robin, I’m so sorry.”
“I think it was my fault.” Her voice comes out small, softer now, barely above a whisper.
“It isn’t,” he says firmly.
She laughs again, but there’s no humour in it this time; it just sounds sad, bitter. “You don’t even know what happened.”
“I don’t need to.” He strains his neck to turn in her direction as best as he can, feeling her hair tickle his skin.
“The last time I saw him was the Sunday before I turned sixteen. I was—I didn’t want to spend the weekend of my birthday at home. Either home. There was this—this stupid band party I’d been invited to, and I wanted to go to that.” Robin sucks in a breath, continuing raggedly, “So Monday morning I begged my mom to let me stay with her that weekend. It would’ve been easier to sneak out of her house. So my mom… my mom called him and told him.”
He hears her take a deep breath.
When she speaks, her voice cracks. “He shot himself Monday night.”
“Oh, Robin.” His heart breaks for her. “That’s not your fault.”
“My mom—She said Hawkins is cursed,” Robin continues in a rush. “Because he’d never—She said that she’d never thought he’d do that. The man she’d known, he wouldn’t do that, so it must’ve been—It must’ve been Hawkins. It’s how she rationalised it, but—If he thought I didn’t want to see him anymore—”
“You were just being a typical teenager,” Steve interrupts gently. “You were, what, fifteen? That wouldn’t have been the reason, I promise you.”
He swears he hears a quiet sniffle. Robin’s voice is suspiciously watery when she says, “You’re not so bad, Harrington. I suppose if I had to get kidnapped by evil Russians with someone… I’m glad it’s with you.”
Steve tries to ignore how his heart skips a beat at that. “I wouldn’t wanna get made fun of by anyone else.”
She huffs quietly at that, and he can perfectly visualise the curl of her lips as she tries not to smile. Then she’s talking about Mrs Click’s history class, and his world crumbles, because—All this time, Robin was right behind him, and he never knew. He forces himself to think back to that class, to try and turn his head and see Robin sitting behind him, glaring at the back of his head, but there’s nothing.
If he’d turned around, he hadn’t cared enough to retain the memory of her. The thought makes him want to curl up and die, a little. To think that he could’ve had Robin in his life so much earlier, that he could’ve—that maybe they could’ve—
“Mr Funny,” she’s saying, unaware of how his heart is shattering, a kaleidoscope of broken pieces, “Mr Cool. The king of Hawkins High himself.” A beat passes between them, and then, “Do you even remember me from that class?”
No. He doesn’t. Self-hatred rises in his throat like bile.
Robin makes another soft huff, this one sounding scornful, and he hates it, he hates himself, he hates everything about this. “Of course you don’t. You were a real asshole, you know that?”
His voice is barely more than a croak when he responds. “Yeah, I know.”
“But it didn’t even matter. It didn’t matter that you were an ass because I was still obsessed with you. Even though all of us losers pretend to be above it all we still just… want to be popular. Accepted. Normal.” She sighs. “And then my dad died, and… I knew I was never going to get to be any of that. Now I wasn’t just a loser with no friends, I was a loser with no friends and a dead dad.”
“If it helps, having any of that isn’t all that great,” Steve says quietly. He thinks of Tommy hanging onto Hargrove’s every word, of Carol’s sneer when he’d accidentally make eye contact in the hallway. All the endless empty relationships with people who averted their eyes when he came to school cut and bruised. “In high school everything seems so important and it’s all just… bullshit. The ‘friends’ I had back then… They didn’t give a shit about me. I don’t think anyone ever has.”
“I do,” she says softly, making his heart flutter again. “Those kids definitely do. Dustin was prepared to die with you, dude.”
He smiles at that, immediately regretting it as pain shoots through his cut lips. “That’s true. I think they’re always that intense, though. You should watch out, they’ll be laying down their lives for you too now.”
“You make it sound like this is something that regularly happens.”
“You’d be surprised,” he says wryly. “Though the Russians are new.”
“Do I want to know what’s the usual?” Robin shakes her head thoroughly. “Actually, nevermind, I don’t want to know.”
“Probably for the best.” A loud rumble sounds at the end of his sentence. His cheeks go hot as he realises it’s his stomach.
When was the last time he’d eaten? That any of them had eaten? It’s definitely been over twenty-four hours by now. God only knows when they’ll next get to eat.
The thought makes his skin crawl. Instead of voicing any of this, he tries to keep his tone light. “I wish you hadn’t brought up the breakfast bagel. I’m starving.”
“Ugh, me too.” She groans. “You know, one time I made my dad make me that stupid breakfast bagel because of you.”
He perks up. “Really?”
“I had to know what the big deal was! Come on, every class? Twice a week every week?”
“And…?”
“It was pretty good,” she admits, then hurriedly adds, “but, but, my dad was a great cook, so I’m not convinced the bagel wins there.”
Steve knocks his head gently into hers, the small smile tugging at his lips worth the stinging pain. “Admit it, Buckley, it’s good.”
“Ehh, I could be convinced, maybe.”
“When we get out of here, I’ll make a hundred breakfast bagels,” he promises. “I’m going to make so many that I can bury myself in them.”
“Death by bagel?”
It beats death by evil Russians, he thinks, but doesn’t say aloud. “It’s how I’d want to go.”
They briefly lapse into quiet again. Steve wonders if Robin’s thinking the same thing. It’s hanging in the air above them, the quiet threat of dying here. He can promise to get them out of here until he’s blue in the face, but the fact of the matter is that they’re trapped here.
His stomach drops. Robin could’ve been beaten, too; he can’t see her face from this angle and he hasn’t asked. If he’s gotten her hurt…
“You’d have gotten on with my dad,” Robin says suddenly, interrupting his stream of thoughts before they can go further.
“What was he like?”
“He was amazing.” Her voice is soft, but fond, as she speaks. For a second, a flicker of jealousy flares up in his chest. He’s pretty sure there’s never been a time where he’s thought of his own father as anything beyond an asshole. “Like, I know most kids think their dad is great, but I really thought mine was the best guy in the world.”
It’s unfair, surely, that it’s good people who die. That Robin’s father is dead while his own is alive and well, likely cheating on his wife at this very moment.
He feels immediately bad for even thinking it. Robin’s dad killed himself and he’s here moping about his own dad being a dick.
“He was so… kind,” Robin continues, oblivious to the guilt settling into his stomach. Steve forces himself to push any other thoughts away. “He’d pretend to be this big, tough guy, all gruff, but he was like a giant teddy bear. He’d cry watching Dumbo. Y’know the scene where the mom rocks Dumbo with her trunk? He’d bawl like a baby. I used to look forward to my weekends with him every week.”
Curiously, Steve asks, “How come you lived with your mom and not him?”
“My mom worked better hours. My dad, he was always working late, and once he inherited the diner his hours got even worse.”
Something about that stops him short. “Wait, his family business was a diner?”
“Yeah,” she says. “My mom hated it. I think she still blames the diner for ruining all our lives.”
Steve furrows his brow, thinking. Something is starting to sound eerily familiar, but he can’t quite put his finger on it.
“Here?” he asks, straining his mind in a bid to figure out why this information doesn’t feel new.
“You might’ve known it, it was pretty popular,” she says, and that’s when his blood runs cold.
He knows exactly why it sounds familiar.
Robin, unaware of the way his heart drops in his chest, keeps talking. “Benny’s Burgers? That was him. Benny, I mean. My dad.”