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It’s 1987 and the world is ending.
Again.
They’d had a plan, this time. El, Will, Joyce, Jonathan, Murray and Hopper had gone off together so El and Will could fight whatever bullshit was occurring this time— Vecna, the Mind Flayer, something else entirely new, he has no idea. Meanwhile, he, Nancy, Robin, Jonathan and the rest of the kids—the party, he corrects, since he can’t really call them kids anymore, not when they’re all fifteen, sixteen, besides Erica—are elsewhere in the Upside-Down, providing fire support and distraction to try and throw the big bad, as Dustin put it, off the trail.
The thing about being the distraction is that, well, they cause distractions. So when the pack of demodogs had been spotted in the distance, heading straight for their group, Steve hadn’t even thought about it. He’d just run towards them.
In hindsight, it hadn’t been his wisest plan. He has his nail bat, but he doesn’t have a flamethrower like Jonathan does, nor a gun like Nancy. It’s almost laughable how they’d thought they were prepared. Jonathan needs his flamethrower to use on any vines that try to snatch them, so they couldn’t afford him to waste it. They’d only brought one with them. Steve doesn’t even have a secondary weapon.
He runs, the demodogs charging after him. He’s not sure how many there are. Enough to be a problem. Maybe five or six. Maybe more.
The junkyard’s up ahead. He’d laugh at the irony if he wasn’t focused so hard on racing towards it. If he can get into the bus again, maybe he’ll have enough time to prepare before they find a way in.
At least the others will be safe. It doesn’t matter what happens to him. As long as the demodogs are after him, they’re not after the rest of the group; they should be able to get to safety. How hard can it be to fight off a pack of petal-faced creatures almost the same size as him, anyway?
He barrels into the door of the schoolbus, shoving it desperately in a bid to get inside. They’re nearly upon him, snapping in anticipation. Do they know he’s easy prey? Maybe they can smell it.
At least everyone else will be—
“Steve!” The shout is distant, but unmistakably his name.
He whips around, looking past the advancing demodogs, to see—
Robin’s running towards him (or the demodogs, he can’t tell), clutching a machete at her waist, her other hand on her holster where he knows Nancy’s pistol rests.
His heart seems to stop. No. No. Robin’s meant to be safe with the rest of the group. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t have come after him.
The first of the demodogs reaches him, lunging towards him, and he swings at it with the bat, gaze rapidly flicking between the creature and Robin’s swiftly approaching figure, barely managing to hit it in the head.
“Steve!” Robin’s voice cuts clear through the air this time. Two more of the demodogs run at the bus, but the rest of them slow, heads turning in Robin’s direction. He swings the bat again before the nearest one can jump at him again, knocking it backwards, and the ones furthest from him begin bounding in Robin’s direction.
“No!” Steve shouts, swinging again, more wildly, catching the demodog hard somewhere in its face, or mouth, he has no idea. It drops to the floor and the other two close in. Ahead of him, he sees Robin swing the machete as the creature nearest to her leaps at her.
He pushes out of the bus again, narrowly evading the other two, and tries to run towards her, but a third demodog blocks him, forcing him backwards, around the corner of the bus. He desperately tries to look for Robin again, unable to see her as from his position, and his distracted state is taken advantage of as the nearest demodog swipes at his chest, catching him with razor-sharp claws and causing him to cry out in pain.
He hears Robin again, more high-pitched now, panicked. “Steve! Where’d you go?”
Then, to his horror, a shout of pain, quickly followed by a gunshot.
“By the bus!” he shouts back, one hand flying to the four new gashes in his stomach, the other brandishing the bat at the remaining demodogs. Robin must’ve reached the bus, the other side, because it rocks slightly as something hits it. He hopes it’s a demodog and not her.
Another gunshot. Then another. Another gasp of pain. He’s barely paying attention to his own skin being shredded, repeating the motion of swinging the bat, hitting the demodogs, pulling the bat away. Swing, hit, pull. Swing, hit, pull. He can’t see Robin, but he can hear her, panting heavily, then another gunshot, closer this time.
He’s suddenly pinned against the metal of the bus, the demodog snarling in his face, talons embedded in his skin. He kicks at it, raising his bat over his head, and swings at it again, and again, hitting it until it crumples onto the floor. One remaining, his side. There’s a loud noise from Robin’s side, something heavily smacking into the bus, and he prays it’s a demodog and not Robin; the whine of pain that follows it sounds alarmingly human.
He’s panting, the surge of adrenaline keeping him upright, as he flies at the last demodog. From the other side of the bus, he can hear another gunshot. How many has it been? Five, six? How many bullets does she have? How many demodogs are there? Another gunshot. Too many gunshots to have many bullets left.
As if confirming his theory, Robin swears, and there’s another crash. He forces himself to focus on the last one on his side: once it’s dead, he can move to Robin’s side, he can help her out.
His arm feels weaker as he swings the bat again. The demodog lunges at his legs, scratching through his jeans, causing him to yell out, half-collapsing against the bus and narrowly avoiding having his head bitten off. He hits again, and again, and again, until the demodog drops down, backing off, and then he swings again, catching its head until it’s motionless.
The bus is no longer being jostled. He can hear Robin’s heavy breathing.
There’s a strangled noise from somewhere behind him, then silence.
“Rob?” Her name comes out more pained than he intends. He slides down the side of the bus, suddenly aware of the searing pain across his skin, the chunks taken from his flesh. He tries to push himself back upwards, but more pain surges through him and he drops straight back down.
“I’m here,” Robin says, her voice sounding strained. He relaxes almost instantly. She’s alive. “Are you okay?”
He lets out a weak laugh. There’s a dark stain spreading through his t-shirt. They were stupid not to armour up this time. “I took a bit of damage. Nothing I’m not used to.” Lying through his teeth, because the pain is not dulling. Blood is ebbing out of him.
Since it’s Robin, he knows she sees straight through him. And since it’s Robin, he knows she won’t press it.
“I can’t move,” he adds. “Can you?”
There’s a pause. He hears her grunt then immediately yelp in pain. “No.”
“Shit.” He leans his head back against the bus. Now that the adrenaline’s leaving his body, he’s hyper-aware of just how hurt he feels. His stomach burns.
Robin coughs, snapping his attention back to her. The fear that spikes through him is almost as intense as the pain.
“Robin?” His voice sounds hesitant. He swallows hard, tasting copper on his tongue, and tries again, forcing his voice to be steady. “Are you okay?”
She’s still coughing, her breaths in-between sounding ragged. His heart’s beginning to race. He can’t distinguish his body’s reactions to his own injuries and his heart’s reaction to Robin’s.
There’s a retching noise and he sits up suddenly, biting back a whimper of pain, craning his neck to try and see her. He’s in such a stupid position. He’s not close enough to see around the corner of the bus. He doesn’t even know where she is. Alarm bells are ringing in his head— or maybe it’s just his ears ringing? He can’t tell. Everything is smothered by quickly-growing panic.
“Sorry,” Robin rasps, quietening to soft wheezes. The panic only slightly subsides. “I’m…” She trails off. A beat passes. “It’s nothing a little nap won’t fix.”
The panic immediately flares up again.
“Don’t sleep.” It comes out as a plea. “You’ve got to stay awake for now, okay? We’ll nap when we get home.”
“I know, I know.” He hears her let out a long exhale; there’s a soft rattling sound as she does so, and she coughs again. “I’m just resting. I won’t close my eyes.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
He nods, satisfied, even though she can’t see it. He can breathe again. As well as he can when there’s blood in his throat, anyway. He spits out a mouthful, feeling the tang on his tongue and grimacing.
“I’m sure they’ll find us soon,” he says, craning his head as best as he can to look in the direction they’d both come from. There’s nothing there, no people, no creatures. The others must be well away from the two of them now, continuing their mission of torching vines and diverting attention from El and Will. There’s no way of knowing if they’re winning or losing. “Besides, we’ve walked off worse, right? The Russians, the vines in the Creel house, this is nothing on those.”
“No being restrained this time,” Robin agrees, voice light despite the wheezing. “And no bone saws. Always a plus.”
“I bet Nancy’s already on her way.” He’s not sure any force on Earth could keep Nancy away from Robin for long. He half-expects her to materialise next to them, scolding them for being so reckless, fussing over Robin while he pretends not to be paying attention.
“Oh, for sure. She’s probably just finished kicking the ass of everything in here.” There’s a fondness in her voice. He can hear the smile on her face.
He lets out a feeble laugh. “I bet she’s bringing nine guns and a flamethrower.”
Robin laughs softly, quickly devolving into another coughing fit. Her breathing sounds laboured in-between coughs. He leans his head back against the cold metal of the bus, balling his hands into fists. The pain’s dulled to the occasional wave when he moves.
“Steve?” It comes out more like a croak than a word.
“Yeah?”
“My chest doesn’t hurt anymore.”
Something in his gut spasms uncomfortably. “That’s good, right?”
There’s a pause. “I think—” She stops. He imagines her tipping her head upwards, trying to take a deep breath. “Mmm. I think my ribs are broken.”
Broken ribs don’t cause coughing. Not as far as he knows, anyway. Maybe they do? They must do, because Robin’s coughing.
“That all?” he jokes, but his voice wobbles. Fuck. He doesn’t want to imagine her in pain.
Another pause. “I think the broken ribs punctured my lung.” Something cold runs through his spine, but Robin continues on. “Only I would be clumsy enough to injure myself on my own bones, huh?”
“But— But you don’t feel hurt, so—”
“Steve. I don’t feel anything.”
Something’s twisting his intestines into a knot, again and again and again. It feels like he’s been drenched in ice-cold water, so much that he automatically feels the fabric of his shirt, expecting to find it soaked. It’s only wet around his injuries, sticky from where it’s absorbing his blood.
“Oh.” He wants to say something else, anything else, but the words keep dying in his throat, as if smothered by the blood.
“Are you—” Robin hesitates. “What injuries do you have?”
For a second, he considers lying to her, considers telling her he’s fine, just a little injured. He can still feel the pain, just about, so clearly she’s in the worst position of the two of them. Even as he thinks it, though, he knows there’s no point. She’s always been able to see straight through him.
“I think my leg is broken, maybe?” Start with the least worrying. He digs his fingernails into his jeans, wincing. Still able to feel pain. Still alive. “My stomach’s bleeding a lot. Bastards scratched through me.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
Robin’s wheezing sounds worse by the minute. His own blood is still leaking out of him, not at an alarming rate, but enough to be a cause for concern. He vaguely remembers being told once that bleeding should try and be staunched, that wounds should stop bleeding if they’re not severe.
“I’m sorry,” Robin says suddenly.
He furrows his brow, confused. “What are you sorry for?”
“I was meant to help you.” She sounds wistful. “I was meant to stop you getting hurt.”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“No, I was. I told Dustin I’d keep you safe.” Her tone has changed now, more bitter. A pang goes through him at the mention of the younger boy. “He tried to run after you. I wouldn’t let him. I didn’t… I didn’t want him to be in danger. I didn’t want you to be in danger. I thought if I went after you I could’ve— You would’ve—” She cuts herself off, sucking in a breath and then clearing her throat immediately afterwards.
“Hey, hey, it’s not your fault.” He’s quick to assure her, can’t stand the thought of her blaming herself for his injuries, especially not when she’s only injured because of him. He was meant to keep them all safe. He was meant to keep her safe. “I was the one who ran off. You stopped me getting ripped apart by a pack of demodogs, so as far as things go, I’d say you were successful. Thanks for that, by the way.”
She huffs out a laugh at that. He hears the pained noise she makes immediately afterwards, the quiet way she tries to clear her throat again, and imagines her face screwing up. It’s easy to picture; he thinks, maybe, he could perfectly imagine her every expression, that he has her face committed to memory.
As if reading his mind, she says, “I wish I could see you.”
His lips pull into a weak smile. “It’s not a pretty sight.”
“Steve Harrington, not pretty? I guess the world really is ending.”
It feels so right, joking around with Robin, even if he’s bleeding out. He wishes he could be next to her. He wishes he could hold her hand.
She deserves better than this. She deserves a long and happy life with Nancy by her side. Regret lingers on his tongue, coating it. It tastes metallic.
“Nance is gonna be so mad when she finds our sorry asses drenched in our own blood,” he says, instead of I’m sorry I took you away from her.
“Mmm. She’ll be dragging us up by our ears. Dustin’s gonna bitch us out for the entire car ride,” she replies, and it sounds like I’m sorry I couldn’t bring you back to him.
He closes his eyes. It’s all too easy to imagine the car ride to the hospital. He can almost hear Dustin shouting at them already.
“That’s the real reason we’ll end up in the hospital, their combined forces are going to kick our asses so hard we’ll need emergency surgery.”
“Reckon we’ll have hospital beds opposite each other?”
“No, but that won’t stop me crawling onto yours.” Matching hospital gowns, beds in different rooms. He’d drag himself to her room regardless of his injuries. He’d lay down next to her and they’d both be okay.
Robin lets out a soft laugh. “Nancy might have something to say about that.”
“Nancy can wait for her turn. I’m clingy, I’ll be lonely in my own bed.”
He hears her snort. “Oh, please. Your bed’s gonna be surrounded by the kids. I’ll be the poor sap trying to come see you and having to muscle past them.”
There’s a soft rattling noise when she breathes.
“We’ll have to request notices asking not to separate us. Like a bonded pair of puppies.” He lets out a quiet laugh. He feels a little faint, so he clenches his fists, forcing his eyes to widen. “The hospital food’s going to be disgusting.”
“Think Ms. Henderson will bring us one of her meals? I dream of her bolognese sometimes,” she says, voice sounding almost dreamy at the thought. He can’t blame her. Ms. Henderson’s food is amazingly good.
“God, yes. I bet she will, she adores us.”
“Dustin’s going to eat her food in front of us as our punishment,” Robin complains. “I can already hear him. ‘If you wanted to eat good food, you shouldn’t have gotten yourselves into the hospital, idiots’,” she says, in a surprisingly good Dustin impression, considering— Stop it.
“He’ll share it with the rest of the little shits too, they’re gonna stick around us eating it. Mike is going to chew extra loudly just to spite us. Will’s gonna sit there and politely decline it until Dustin insists, and then he’s going to shield it from view whenever he takes a bite out of respect. El’s gonna eat normally. Max is going to sit as close as she can to my head and eat with loud mmms and other exaggerated reactions. Lucas will start off polite, but then he’ll start trying to outdo Max, and they’re gonna start smearing food on each other. Erica’s gonna eat it normally too, but she’s going to toss in the occasional comment about how we’re massive morons and we could be eating good cooking at that moment if we were less stupid.” It’s comforting to think of them, the scene already forming in his head. “Ms. Byers is going to try and tell them to tone it down, saying we’re being punished enough, but Nancy’s going to jump in and tell her we’re not being punished enough, and both Jonathan and Hop are going to agree.”
“Maybe El will take pity on us and levitate some meatballs towards us.” Her voice sounds hoarse. Was it always this hoarse? He can’t remember. His head hurts.
“Lucas would knock them out of the air. Prob’ly shoot ‘em into a basket,” he says. He mimics the action, even though she can’t see it.
“Touchdown.” Robin gives a tired cheer. He wonders if she’s raising her fists in the air. She probably is. He smiles.
“Wrong game, moron.”
She huffs. “Not all of us can be captain of the basketball team.”
“Robs, you were in the marching band. You must’ve been at every game for years.”
“Yeah, the band, Stevie. I only started paying attention to the games when Lucas joined the team.” She’s probably rolling her eyes. Still, the thought of Robin trying to support Lucas at the games makes him soften.
She coughs again, which turns into another coughing fit. He counts the seconds waiting for her to stop. Ten, then twenty. At twenty-five, concern begins to settle into his bones again. At thirty, it’s flaring up into worry.
“Rob?”
There’s a spitting sound. “Sorry.”
“You okay?” he asks, tentatively. He already knows her answer won’t be truthful.
“Yeah. You?”
When he touches his stomach, wincing, his hand comes back wet with blood. He’s no expert, but still-bleeding wounds probably aren’t a good thing. “Yeah.”
“I hope Nancy comes soon. I miss her.” It translates roughly to I wish I could’ve said goodbye.
“Yeah. Me too.” I’m sorry.
It’s quiet again. He doesn’t like the quiet. It’s never usually quiet between the two of them. He doesn’t like how the only sounds are Robin’s slight wheezing and his own heavy breathing.
“This is going to sound really shitty, but I’m glad you’re with me.” It’s not a vulnerable statement, but he feels vulnerable. He shouldn’t be glad she’s here. She should be far, far away and he should be happy about it. “I’d hate to be by myself in this place.”
Another soft rattle of her breath. “I’m glad I’m here, too,” she says. He aches with how desperately he wants to see her face right now, to take her hand and interlock their fingers. He hears her shuddering breath and the resulting hiss of pain. “I wish I could say I never thought we’d end up here, but it’s pretty standard for us, I think.”
“At least there’s no Russian drugs this time,” he replies. His spine prickles, as if searching for Robin’s comforting warmth, asking for her weight to be pressed against it. He still remembers the feel of her hair tickling the base of his neck. Still remembers them on the floor with him promising they were going to get out of there.
He opens his mouth again, but the reassurances die on his tongue. He’s never broken a promise to Robin before. He doesn’t feel like starting now.
“I dunno, maybe they’d enhance the experience.”
He wonders if she’s sitting up or lying down. If he closes his eyes, he can pretend they’re still in the Starcourt toilets, like it’s a toilet stall stopping him from seeing her and not their own inability to move. He does, resting his head back against the metal of the bus and pretending it’s the cold wall.
Back then, he’d confessed his love to her, but he’d gotten it wrong. He’d thought it was romantic love, slotted her into his life the only real way he knew how to, desperately wanting to keep her in his future and jumping to make it work. He’d never experienced true friendship with someone his own age back then, hadn’t known she could’ve been in his future in any other context, had rushed to identify the way he felt about her as true love. In a way, it is; Robin’s always understood him in a way nobody else could ever replicate. The difference is now he knows how to identify the feeling. Soulmate, twin flame, the other half of his entire being. He’d once heard some myth about people being born with two heads and twice the amount of limbs only to be split into two separate people, destined to walk the Earth to find their missing half. He thinks that’s what had happened with the two of them, born with one half of the other’s soul.
He’d gotten lucky, with Robin. He’d only walked the Earth for nineteen years before finding her.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he admits, opening his eyes again. “I think— I think I spent most of my life waiting for you. Sometimes it feels like a joke to think that you sat behind me for a year and I had no idea. I wish I’d turned around. I wish I’d seen you.” He takes a deep breath, ignoring the sharp pain that shoots through him as he does. “And— And I know this sounds stupid and cliché, but I feel like you’re the only person who’s ever known me. Really known me. I wish I could tell everyone and have them understand without them thinking we’re dating because always saying we’re just friends— just friends doesn’t feel like enough, you know? Like we’re only friends. I hate that. You’re— You’re such an important person, Robin, and you deserve better than to bleed out in this shithole. You deserve so much better. I want us to travel Europe together with Nancy and eat those pastries you’re always talking about.” He pauses for her to interject, but she doesn’t. He wishes he could see her face. “I want to do so many stupid things with you. I want us to get an apartment together and pretend to be annoyed when the kids invade it every other day. I want to watch shitty horrors with you and pretend I’m not hiding my face in your shoulder while you’re laughing at the awful effects. And— And—” Fury’s building up inside him, smothering the pain, the ache. “God, I just want us to be able to live our fucking lives without this shit all the time! I want us to be able to have a break for once in our goddamn lives!” He shouts the last part, panting, and slumps down back against the bus, drained. “I’m sorry. I’m just so… tired.”
It’s quiet. The only sound he can hear is his own frantic breathing, nothing—
He can’t hear the soft rattling anymore.
His chest goes tight, his windpipe constricting. “Robin?” His voice cracks on the word.
Silence.
He closes his eyes again, visualising the toilet stall, imagining her in the cubicle next to his. She’s mulling over his words, like when she had been digesting the love profession he’d thrown at her. That’s why she’s not responding. They’re at Starcourt all over again, swapping confessions, and any minute now they’re going to start making muppet jokes, and he’ll hear her laugh again and it won’t matter that he’s bleeding out because Robin will be laughing and they’ll be together and it’ll all be okay. He’ll ask her if she’s okay again, but this time when he frames it as a joke— because yeah, they’d just been held hostage together, but it had felt too vulnerable to fully express concern for her back then, it might’ve made him look weak— it’s because it’ll be an inside joke, not a genuine query. He doesn’t need to ask if Robin’s okay, because she is okay, and she’ll respond just like she had back in that summer, she’ll say no, I am still alive, and he’ll crawl over to her, and they’ll laugh together, and then they’ll be rescued, and everything will work out just fine.
“Robin? Did you just OD over there?” Despite this knowledge, his voice trembles. Why’s his voice trembling? Everything is fine.
Everything is fine.
It has to be fine. It has to be, because that’s how this works. Robin’s last words can’t have been a stupid joke about Russian drugs. It’s Robin. They’d be profound and meaningful and important and not about stupid fucking Russian drugs. That’s not how things go. Every film he’s watched with her, the main characters have important last words, like how in that one Star Wars film the last exchange between Han and Leia is I love you and I know, memorable and emotional and hard-hitting and not— it’s not— that’s not allowed, that’s not how things play out, that’s not what’s meant to happen and she still isn’t responding. Why isn’t she responding? That’s— Robin isn’t quiet, not around him. This is all wrong. It’s wrong, it’s wrong, it’s wrong, it’s—
He opens his eyes. His heart’s pounding, beating so hard in his chest it feels like any second now it’s going to beat with too much force, bursting out of him and landing in the grimy dirt around him. His head’s hurting, too, like someone has put their hands on either side of his skull and is slowly pressing inwards, squeezing him. His stomach… Well, the slight burning feeling is still there, so nothing new.
He grits his teeth, pushing himself forward into a sitting position, biting down hard as fresh pain ricochets through his entire body. He forces himself to ignore it, dragging himself forwards. Robin’s somewhere on the other side of the bus. He needs to see her, needs to see what’s taking her so long to respond. Because— Because it doesn’t make sense. Robin shouldn’t be quiet. Robin isn’t ever quiet around him.
His body protests as he continues to push it, every cell screaming out whenever he moves. It’s slow progress, hindered by his broken leg, but he keeps at it, determined to get to her. He needs to get to her. When he rounds the corner of the bus, he accidentally brushes against an abandoned tyre and the pain is so bad his vision swims.
He blinks several times, trying to lose the stars in his vision, and his gaze lands on Robin, five dead demodogs scattered around her. She’s leaning back against the bus door, head tipped back, staring skywards. There are several tears in her jeans, the fabric stained dark around the edges. Her t-shirt, too, has gashes in it, almost black in the darkness. His mouth dries as he takes in her appearance, the smears of blood at the corners of her mouth and in her hair from where she’d clearly ran her bloodied hands through it.
Her blue eyes are glassy, staring into a sky she cannot see.
Robin always keeps her promises.
He bites down on his lip so hard he thinks he’s drawn blood, dropping down heavily next to her. As his shoulder bumps into hers, she slowly begins to slump sideways. It’s almost instinctive with how he reaches out, wrapping one arm around her shoulder to pull her into his side. She’s always fit perfectly tucked under his arm; this time is no different.
Gently, he reaches out and touches her cheek, following her line of sight to the dark clouds above them. There should’ve been stars. Robin loved— loves looking at the stars, talking him through the constellations. This sight isn’t so bad, though; it’s pretty, in an almost haunting way. He hopes she’d thought so, too.
He moves his hand up, shaking, and closes her eyes. She looks… peaceful. Had she still been in pain? She didn’t deserve to go in pain. She doesn’t look like she had been in pain.
The grief hits him unexpectedly, all at once, and he chokes back a sob, pulling her into his arms, burying his face into her hair, even as his body whines in protest and another wave of pain crashes over him.
“I’m sorry.” His voice is muffled, lips pressed into her hair. He squeezes his eyes closed for a second, feeling tears leaking out of them. “I’m so sorry, Robin, I’m so fucking sorry.”
She’s still warm against him. He can’t tell if the blood soaking into his clothes is his or hers.
She looks like she’s sleeping. If he closes his eyes, he can pretend that it’s just that: Robin, asleep against him, safe in his arms. If he closes his eyes, he can pretend that they’re napping together, that the reason the edges of his vision are darkening is because he’s stayed awake for her to fall asleep first, like always, so he knows she’s protected, so he knows nothing’s going to burst in and attack them while they’re curled up on his couch, his bed, the floor.
He plants a light kiss onto the top of her head, reaching out and taking her nearest hand with his. He squeezes it, automatically expecting the squeeze back, and his heart pangs painfully when it doesn’t come.
“It’s going to be okay,” he says softly, interlocking their fingers. His eyelids feel heavier than they had a moment ago. He must’ve worsened his own injuries when he’d crawled over here, but that’s okay. He’s not really alive, anyway; he died the minute Robin did. His body just hasn’t realised it yet.
“We’re going to be okay,” he amends, resting his chin atop her head. His eyelids are drooping, but it’s alright. Robin’s already asleep. Nothing’s coming to hurt them; he can rest now, too. “See you in the morning, Rob.”
He can barely even feel the aching anymore.
He closes his eyes.
It’s over. They’ve won.
The Mind Flayer is gone, reduced to dust by El, confirmed by Will. Joyce had radioed over to tell them, letting them know El is going to hold the gates open for as long as she can, so they should hurry and get out. Hopper had come to assist them, checking for anyone injured.
It’s Dustin who speaks. “We need to find Steve and Robin, they need to know it’s safe now.”
“Where are they?” Hopper looks back at the group, eyes travelling over each head before he frowns. “You weren’t meant to split up.”
“Steve ran off,” Jonathan interjects as Dustin opens his mouth. “There was a pack of demodogs coming towards us, so Steve went to head them off, keep them off the rest of us. Robin went after him.”
“They ran in the direction of the junkyard,” Dustin adds. He looks at Hopper pleadingly. “Please, they don’t have radios on them! They could be hurt!”
“I’ll go,” Hopper tells him. “The rest of you, head back towards the gate.”
“I’m coming too!” he argues, standing straighter, as if that’ll help his case at all. His mind’s already whirring into overdrive. Steve and Robin don’t know it’s safe. They could get trapped here. The last time the two of them were separated from everyone else, they were tortured by evil Russians together, and he’d had to rescue them with Erica; they might need him again.
“Me too,” Erica adds, glaring at Hopper. “We’re the scoops troop. We don’t abandon each other.”
“No. No.” Hopper puts his hands on his hips. “Henderson, you can come with me, just in case they need help. The rest of you, to the gates. Keep your radio on, I’ll let you know when we find them.”
“But—” Nancy starts, but Hopper’s standing firm.
“No. No buts. We’re wasting time. Come on, kid, show me the way.” Hopper’s already surging forwards. He hurries along beside him, slightly ahead to lead the way. Steve had been heading in the direction of the junkyard, so they must be holed up there, like how Steve had protected them there all those years ago. And Robin’s smart, too, so she’s probably found a place for them to hide, away from danger.
Still, his heart is in his throat as he begins to run the same way they’d gone. The last time someone had run off alone—
No. He won’t think of Eddie.
Instead, he thinks of Robin, of the way she’d shoved him backwards when he’d tried to run after Steve, desperate not to lose someone else. She’d pushed him towards Nancy and he’d yelled at her, shouted that he couldn’t let Steve be alone, shouted that she was being selfish, and she’d just kept hold of his shoulders.
I’m not letting Steve be alone, she’d said. I’ll keep him safe. You trust me, right? Right. Stay where it’s safe.
She’d turned away and Nancy had grabbed her hand, pulling her backwards, looking at her with a desperate expression.
Come back, Nancy had pleaded. Come back to me.
He’d watched as Robin had cupped Nancy’s face in her hands, pulling her into a gentle kiss; he’d felt like he’d intruded on them, even though it had happened in front of him.
Stay alive, Wheeler, Robin had said, and Nancy had given her a two-finger salute, bottom lip trembling.
Then she’d gone, turning and running off in the direction Steve had. He’d watched her disappear into the distance. He’d watched Nancy subtly wipe her eyes before taking charge of the group again.
He picks up speed. It’s not long before they’re nearing the junkyard.
“Steve!” he calls, his voice desperate in the still air. “Robin!”
Hopper pushes ahead of him, outrunning him, and suddenly halts, causing Dustin to almost run straight into him.
“Shit,” Hopper murmurs, so quietly that he almost misses it.
“What? What is it?” Dustin tries to push past him but Hopper steps into his way, blocking him.
“Go back to the others.” Hopper’s voice has a low urgency to it.
“What? Why?” The alarm is immediate. He steps to the side, waiting as Hopper steps to block him again, and then dives past his other side, too fast for Hopper to stop him.
“Kid, wait—”
There are demodog carcasses littering the area, leading up to the abandoned bus. And against the bus—
His breath catches as he sees them. Steve’s slumped against the doors of the bus, one arm over Robin’s shoulders, Robin’s head resting against his chest. She’s almost tucked under his shoulder.
Without thinking, his feet pick up speed again, and he’s racing towards them.
“Steve?” His voice breaks. “Robin? Steve!”
Both of them have their eyes closed. When he looks down at them to assess their injuries, he sees that they’re holding hands.
He chokes back a sob, trying to feel Steve’s neck for a pulse. His skin is still warm to the touch.
“Steve, c’mon, wake up,” he begs, moving his fingers further up his neck. He’s forgotten the spot where he should be feeling it, that’s why he’s not feeling anything. It’s his own lack of knowledge, even though he’s known for years how to check a pulse, even though he learnt basic medical things when all this shit started happening.
He switches to Robin instead, feeling her neck, ignoring the brush of her hair against his fingers. “Robin? Robin, this isn’t funny, please.” The sobs are building inside him, climbing up his throat, threatening to escape. He can already feel tears threatening to spill.
He feels a hand on his shoulder and whips his head to look at it, but of course it’s just Hopper.
“Kid,” Hopper starts, voice gentle.
“I can’t— I can’t find where I’m meant to be checking,” he says desperately. He wants to check their wrists but he doesn’t want to move them. He grabs for Robin’s free hand, finding it bloodstained, sticky. A soft sob breaks out of him. “Hopper, tell me where to check. Please. Please tell me. I can’t do it. I can’t find their pulses.”
“Dustin.”
He carefully sets Robin’s hand back down in her lap, wiping his eyes as the tears start spurting down his cheeks. “I can’t— Please, can you check their pulses, I— You’d have experience—”
He’s pulled away from them and into Hopper’s strong arms. He gasps out another sob as Hopper holds him tightly. He can’t breathe. All the air has been sucked from his lungs. He needs to find their pulses. If— If they’re dying, then he needs to say goodbye. He needs to tell them he loves them. Like he did with Eddie. So he needs to find their pulses, he needs to wake them up, because they can’t have gone yet.
Above his head, he can hear Hopper speaking into the radio, but it sounds distant. There’s a ringing in his ears. He thinks Hopper’s asking for help.
He hears Nancy’s voice, clear as day, crackling through the radio. “Where are you? Over.”
“No,” he chokes out. “No, not Nancy. Don’t let Nancy come here. Don’t— Hopper, don’t let her, please.”
Hopper hesitates, looking down at him. “We’re at the junkyard. Over.”
“Lucas and I will be there in ten, over.”
“Hopper,” Dustin begs.
“Can you—” Hopper falters. “Send someone else. Jonathan, maybe? Jonathan and Lucas can help. Over.”
“Jonathan’s with Will, El and Joyce. Lucas and I hung back in case you needed help. What’s happening? Over.” She sounds breathless, like she’s already running.
Hopper looks at Dustin helplessly. “Nevermind. Just get here. Over and out.”
Dustin lets out a wail, sliding to his knees. Nancy’s going to get here and see them both, she’s going to realise Robin isn’t coming back to her, she’s going to realise it’s his fault. Steve is dead; Robin threw her life away for nothing.
“Oh, God,” he sobs, trying in vain to wipe away the tears that are spilling down his face. “It’s my fault. I killed them.”
“What? No, no, kid—Dustin—you couldn’t have done anything, you—”
“I should’ve known Steve would’ve gone off alone! I should’ve ran after him before Robin stopped me, but I didn’t, and I let Robin go after him, and now they’re both dead!” He lets out another loud gasp, his breaths coming quick and heavy. “I said she was selfish, I said that Steve shouldn’t be alone and she— and they— I could’ve done something—”
“Hey, hey, hey.” Hopper’s arms envelop him again, pulling him into another bone-crushing hug. “There’s nothing you could’ve done. There’s no world in which either of them would’ve let you put yourself in danger for them.”
Through his position in Hopper’s arms, he can still see them, even as Hopper’s trying to shield him. Steve’s head is resting atop of Robin’s. They look peaceful.
He wonders which one of them went first. He doesn't know which scenario is worse: Steve losing Robin, or Robin losing Steve.
He starts crying anew.
He’s not sure how long they stay there like that, Hopper cradling him in his arms like a baby, but the sound of distant, quick footsteps draws his attention. Hopper straightens up, keeping one arm protectively around Dustin, and Dustin sees Nancy sprinting towards them, Lucas hot on her heels.
His lip begins quivering again.
Hopper lets him go, walking forward to meet Nancy as she finally reaches them, his hands up in a calming motion, but Nancy’s already trying to duck past him.
“Where’s— Where are—” She sounds breathless, dodging Hopper and running forward, only to immediately halt in her tracks. Dustin knows that she’s seen them.
Lucas stumbles to a stop, almost colliding with him. “What’s—” He falters, following Nancy’s line of sight, his face dropping.
Nancy’s mouth is moving but no words are coming out. She takes a step forward, then stops again. Dustin sees her swallow hard and then she’s rushing towards them, dropping down at Robin’s side, her hands already reaching for Robin’s neck, her wrist, the same motions Dustin’s already tried.
Lucas grabs Dustin’s shoulder, blinking rapidly. “What— What happened—? Are—”
Dustin doesn’t respond, pulling him into a hug wordlessly. Lucas immediately buries his face into his neck, shoulders already beginning to heave. Dustin watches as Hopper takes a step toward Nancy.
“Nancy,” Hopper says, voice gentler than he’s ever heard it.
“No.” Nancy presses her fingers back to Robin’s neck again, trying different points, her other hand grasping Robin’s shoulder. “No, no no no no no NO—”
She shakes Robin’s shoulder roughly, a loud sob emitting from her. Robin’s head droops to the side, Steve’s head dropping from the top of her head to come to rest against the side of it instead. Dustin’s stomach flips; they’re disturbing them, they’re moving them from where they were peaceful, they’re—
“NO!” Nancy shrieks, collapsing onto Robin, sobbing so hard that it sounds like she’s choking. “NO!”
Hopper tentatively puts a hand on her shoulder but Nancy immediately pushes it away, draping herself over Robin’s front, her own shirt getting smeared with blood. He backs off, watching helplessly as Nancy buries her face into Robin’s neck. She’s clinging to her like she’s her lifeline.
“You said you’d come home to me,” Nancy wails, words barely decipherable through her cries.
Dustin’s stomach drops. Robin hadn’t actually answered when Nancy had asked her to come back. Distantly, he remembers Steve telling him, once, that Robin’s a stickler for promises, that she refuses to make promises she doesn’t think she’ll be able to keep.
She hadn’t promised to keep Steve safe, either. He pushes his face into Lucas’ shoulder and howls.
“Nancy,” Hopper says, again, quieter. Dustin strains his ears to hear; he can’t quite make out the rest of the words, only pieces like leave and gate and bodies. The last one stings.
Lucas lets him go, moving forward towards Robin, but Nancy clings to her, shaking her head. Hopper’s carefully scooping Steve up into his arms. Dustin watches as Steve’s hand starts to pull from Robin’s and his insides twist again. They’re disturbing them. They’re— They’re holding hands, and Hopper’s separating them.
“Don’t,” he mumbles, his mouth feeling like sandpaper. He swallows, tries again, louder. “Don’t. Don’t separate them.”
Hopper turns to look at him, expression pained. “Dustin—”
“They’re holding hands.” Another tear spurts down his face. “They wanted to be holding hands.”
Nancy makes a strangled noise at Robin’s side.
“Once we’re out of here, we can—” Hopper starts, but Dustin’s already interrupting him.
“No. No, they’ll— Rigor mortis sets in after a few hours and then they— Their hands won’t fit together anymore.” His voice is strained, desperate.
“Dustin,” Lucas says quietly. “Dustin, we have to leave. We— We can’t hang around. It’s not safe.”
Nancy’s struggling to pick up Robin. It’s all wrong. He moves towards her, raising a hand to help.
“I’ve got her,” Nancy snaps at him, harshly, and he backs off, swallowing again. He knows it’s not deliberate. It’s a similar fury he felt when Hopper moved Steve, taking him away from Robin. Her voice becomes tender as she turns back to Robin, gently brushing her hair from her face. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, baby.”
With some effort, she manages to stand, holding Robin bridal-style in her arms. Robin’s head lolls back against her chest, one of her arms dangling down, hand bloody; it’s the hand that had been holding Steve’s.
He turns to look at Steve in Hopper’s arms, seeing light imprints of blood on Steve’s hand. The thought of it makes him want to curl up and start crying all over again.
Nancy’s still mumbling quiet assurances into Robin’s hair, cheeks wet with tears. Lucas rubs at his eyes, sniffling, before beginning to trudge after Hopper and Nancy.
Dustin pauses, turning to look at the scene one last time. A short distance away, discarded on the ground, is Steve’s nail bat. Quickly, he walks over to it, grabbing it off the floor before hurrying after the rest of them.
It only takes them ten, maybe fifteen minutes to reach the nearest gate, and one by one they walk through. Dustin watches as everyone else’s faces change from relieved to various degrees of shock.
It’s over. They’ve won.
It doesn’t feel like a victory.