Chapter Text
Steve Harrington used to be king.
And he hated it.
Not at first, obviously. At first, it was easy, natural, even. People laughed at his jokes, followed him around, looked at him like he mattered. Like he was something. And yeah, okay, he’d been an asshole about it. A big one.
But then there was Nancy Wheeler.
Nancy, who didn’t care about his hair or his car or the way people moved when he walked into a room. Nancy, who called him out without flinching and knocked him down a few pegs like it was nothing. It should’ve pissed him off.
Instead, it made him better.
Even after the breakup, that part stuck.
So Steve tried. Actually tried.
He started babysitting. Not exactly the career path his father had in mind, though, to be fair, his father mostly communicated expectations through passive-aggressive notes left on the kitchen counter or the occasional lecture when he happened to be home long enough to deliver one.
If you’re not going to college, Steven, you could at least pretend to have direction.
Steve had learned early on that “direction” didn’t necessarily include being around.
So yeah. Babysitting.
It took a while for people to trust him. The Harrington name still carried weight, but not the kind that got you hired to watch someone’s kids. Still, Steve was stubborn. And eventually, it paid off.
That’s how he met Dustin Henderson.
Dustin didn’t trust him at all.
“You’re Nancy Wheeler’s ex-boyfriend,” Dustin had said, peering at him through the barely-open door. “Mike says you’re a douche.”
Steve sighed. “Yeah, well… Mike Wheeler isn’t exactly writing my biography anytime soon.”
Dustin squinted. “So why should I trust you?”
Steve opened his mouth, but before he could say one more thing the screaming started.
“Mews!”
Dustin bolted.
Steve followed, heart already kicking into overdrive. By the time he hit the back porch, Dustin had stopped dead in his tracks.
The dog was massive. Wild. Snarling.
Mews...
Steve didn’t let himself finish that thought.
“Hey! HEY!” Steve shouted, backing slightly. “Stay there, don’t move!”
“I can’t!” Dustin choked. “I can’t, Steve, I can’t-”
“Yes, you can,” Steve snapped. “Just stay behind me, okay? Don’t try anything stupid.”
“That’s your thing!” Dustin shot back weakly.
“…Yeah, well, I’m working on it.”
Steve sprinted for his car, yanked open the trunk, and grabbed the nail bat.
When he came back, Dustin was shaking.
“Okay,” Steve said, stepping in front of him. “New plan. You stay alive, I handle Cujo.”
“That thing ate my cat!” Dustin shouted.
“I’m aware!” Steve swung as the dog lunged, the bat connecting with a crack. The dog yelped and bolted, disappearing through the gate.
Silence.
Dustin’s breathing was uneven behind him.
“…You just fought that thing,” Dustin said.
Steve let out a breath. “Yeah. Guess I did.”
“…You have a bat with nails in it. In your car.”
Steve winced. “Long story.”
“…That was the coolest shit I’ve ever seen.”
And just like that, Steve had a best friend.
Scoops Ahoy wasn’t exactly glamorous, but it was a job.
Which meant Steve’s dad finally stopped leaving notes about “financial responsibility” and “not raising a freeloader.” Not that he said anything directly. That would require actually being home long enough to have a conversation.
Still, the uniform was humiliating, the pay was terrible.
And Robin Buckley worked there.
“Your hair is doing… a lot,” she’d said on his first day, eyeing him like a science experiment.
“That’s just how it is,” Steve replied.
“Right. Naturally aerodynamic.”
“Are you always like this?”
“Only when I’m awake.”
It took a few weeks. A lot of failed flirting on Steve’s part. The You Rule / You Suck board making a daily appearance.
But eventually, they clicked.
It happened near closing.
The bell chimed.
Three men walked in.
Steve clocked it immediately, the way they moved, the way they looked around.
Then the gun came out.
“Empty the register.”
Robin froze for half a second, then moved.
“Yep, okay, doing that,” she said quickly, hands already working.
Steve caught her eye.
She blinked once.
That was enough.
He moved.
The first guy dropped instantly.
“Steve,” Robin hissed.
“Call it in.”
“I am!” she shot back, grabbing the phone. “Hi-yes-robbery-no, I’m not fucking kidding-yes, I’m sure-”
Steve slammed the second guy into the floor, grunting.
“Stay down!”
“I wasn’t planning on getting off the floor anyway!” Robin snapped.
The third guy fumbled with his gun.
Steve saw it.
Too late.
The second guy surged up and swung. Steve staggered.
“Steve, behind you!” Robin called.
“I see him!” Steve grabbed the nearest thing, an empty ice cream glass, and smashed it across the guy’s face.
The guy dropped.
The glass didn’t even break.
“…Huh,” Steve muttered.
The third guy bolted.
“Of course he did,” Robin muttered into the phone. “Yes, one escaped, no, I didn’t get his life story-”
“Back room,” Steve said.
“Already moving.”
They slammed the door, locked it, and slid down against it.
Silence.
Then.
“You do that for all your female co-workers?” Robin asked, breathless but smirking.
Steve let out a short laugh. “Only the ones who insult my hair.”
“Good. Keeps that ego in check.”
They stayed there until the police arrived.
The glass?
Sat in Steve’s bathroom now.
Holding his toothbrush.
Slightly crooked. Definitely not meant for it. But somehow, it worked.
Scoops didn’t last much longer after that.
A few weeks, maybe.
Then the mall burned down.
Electrical fire, they said.
Steve didn’t ask too many questions.
So that’s how Steve Harrington ended up on his bed, high off his ass, with Robin Buckley hanging upside down beside him.
The house was quiet.
Too quiet.
His Dad “out of town” again. No note this time. Just an empty driveway and a credit card on the counter like that was supposed to count as supervision.
Steve didn’t think about it.
The walkman wirred onto the next track.
🎵 Out of Touch – Daryl Hall & John Oates 🎵
Steve hummed along, staring at the ceiling.
Robin listened.
She always did.
She’d noticed before, car rides, random moments, the way he’d hum under his breath. He had a good voice. She knew that.
But this.
“🎵 You’re out of touch… I’m out of time… 🎵”
Robin sat up.
Really listened.
Oh.
Oh, that was new.
“Steve,” she said slowly.
He blinked. “What?”
“…Okay, no, I knew you could sing. That was established.”
Steve frowned. “What?”
“But that?” she pointed at him. “That was… something else.”
He snorted. “That’s the weed talking.”
“No,” she said immediately. “That’s me having ears dingus.”
Steve laughed, shaking his head.
“You’ve been holding out,” she added.
“I have not.”
“You have,” she insisted. “That was, like… annoyingly good.”
Steve groaned. “Okay, you’re definitely high.”
Robin ignored him.
Then.
“Oh my god.”
Steve sat up. “No.”
“Yes.”
“Robin-”
“We start a band.”
Steve stared at her. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?” she shot back. “You sing, like that, and I play drums.”
Steve blinked. “You play drums?”
“Yes, Steve, keep up,” she said. “This is my big reveal moment.”
Robin waved her hands in a poor attempt of Jazz Hands.
“…You’re kidding.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
“…Constantly.”
“Rude,” she said. “Focus. You sing, I drum, we get a guitarist and a bassist, and boom. Band.”
Steve dragged a hand through his hair. “Robin, I work at an ice cream shop that doesn’t even exist anymore.”
“Exactly,” she said. “You’re free.”
“That’s not how that works.”
“You don’t know how anything works,” she shot back. “That’s never stopped you before.”
Steve huffed. “This is a terrible idea.”
“This is a brilliant idea.”
“This is the weed.”
“This is destiny,” she countered.
Steve stared at her.
“…I’m not good enough for that,” he said finally.
Robin didn’t even hesitate.
“Yeah,” she said. “You are.”
Steve looked away.
“…This is a bad idea.”
Robin grinned.
“So you’re thinking about it.”
Steve groaned, dropping back onto the bed.
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t,” she said easily.
And yeah.
Maybe she was right.