fairyland will have its due, regardless of the timing

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/42263334.

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: Gen
Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Relationship: Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington
Character: Robin Buckley, Steve Harrington
Additional Tags: Whumptober 2022, Day 8: Head Trauma, Headaches & Migraines,
Steve Harrington Has Migraines, Hard of Hearing Steve Harrington
(hinted at), POV Robin Buckley, Season/Series 03, During Canon,
Developing Friendships, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Steve
Harrington Needs a Hug, he doesn't get one but he does get help
attention and care!, Hurt/Comfort, Tags Are Hard
Language: English
Series: Part 2 of hunting stranger things, Part 8 of Huntress' Whumptober 2022
Stats: Published: 2022-10-09 Words: 1005

fairyland will have its due, regardless of the timing

by Mighty_Huntress

Summary

When they first started out as co-workers, having Steve walk in wearing sunglasses and
wincing at the lights wouldn’t have been a surprise. She’d have assumed a hangover and
fumed internally and probably bitten his head off a little bit for it. But while that image
matches up perfectly with Steve Harrington, Keg King, her co-worker Steve? Not so much.

And yet, this morning... sunglasses.

Notes

Those of you who read my whumptober day 2 fill may notice a familiar conversation! :3

Many thanks to mdr_24601 for being a major inspiration for my characterization of Robin!

See the end of the work for more notes

Inspired by Hidden Depth by mdr_24601

Robin would rather die than admit it, but working with Steve Harrington is.. not that bad.
He complains pretty much constantly and he flirts with every girl that enters the shop and he gets
so stuck in his own head sometimes that she has to basically yell to get his attention, but he’s..
weirdly sweet? He’s got this pack of kids that pretty much bully him into doing whatever they
want him to, and while he grouses and grumbles the whole time, everyone involved knows he’s
going to give in. He laughs when she teases him, even when she knows she’s being a bit mean, a
bit unfair. He took their shift alone when her period hit unexpectedly, hustled her into the break
room and didn’t make a single peep about it later.

If she wouldn’t melt away with horror, she might actually call him a friend.

Well... friend adjacent. Friend-ish?

(What do you call a relationship with someone who you’d gladly eviscerate last month and now
you kind of enjoy their company even if you’re still a little green with envy and bitter about it?)

Whatever, doesn’t really matter. Robin of last month would slap her silly for even considering it
either way, but Robin of last month hadn’t had Steve Harrington set her up with a water bottle, a
chocolate bar from his own lunch bag, a bottle of painkillers for some killer cramps, and the book
she’d been reading on breaks, so Robin of last month could suck it.

Robin of this month is- confused.

See, when they first started out as co-workers, having Steve walk in wearing sunglasses and
wincing at the lights wouldn’t have been a surprise. She’d have assumed a hangover and fumed
internally and probably bitten his head off a little bit for it. But while that image matches up
perfectly with Steve Harrington, Keg King, her co-worker Steve? Not so much.

And yet, this morning... sunglasses.

She ribs him a little as they open, but gets at most half a smirk back, so she eases off, deciding to
keep an eye on him. Her confusion shifts and grows some little alarm bells when he hides a wince
with every loud noise or unexpected flash of light nearby. Alarm bells that abruptly spike in
volume when he barely makes a token effort at putting off his mooching pack of weird child
friends. Alarm bells that spike harder when, after a particularly annoying customer repeatedly
dings the service bell several times in a row right in his face, he wobbles into the back.

She puts the “Sorry for the wait, we’ll be right back!” sign on the counter, and follows quietly.

He’s sitting with his elbows propped up on the table, palms pressing into his temple, eyes squeezed
shut, and face a little grey. When she calls his name, close enough she could hold his shoulder
with no real effort, he twitches and.. droops, almost. “I know, Buckley. Not on break. Gimme-
gimme min’,” he says—almost slurs, to be honest, and she’s really worried now.

“Harrington?” she says again, softer this time. “What’s wrong?”

“Jus’- headache,” he grits out, and sways in place like he’s a bit dizzy or sick.

She hums softly. “Any other symptoms? Nausea, sensitivity to light or sound, dizziness, visual
distortion-”

“Vis- wha’?” He wobbles again, plants his hands on the table like he’s about to push off them to
stand up- and immediately clamps one over his mouth instead, breathing heavily. Her eyes go wide
and she grabs him a bucket, but the green tinge slowly fades from his face instead. He swallows
carefully and mumbles something that takes her a moment to understand as a “What was the
question?”
 She decides to keep it simple. “Headache, sick to stomach. Anything else?”

“Mng... Light hurts. ‘N’ sound. Dizzy. I’ll- be fine.”

That.. sounds a lot like one of the migraines Dad’s had before. One of the bad ones, by the look of
Steve right now. Tapping her fingers against her thigh, she thinks about an unexpected period.
Thinks about even more unexpected kindness. Thinks about two different bottles, chocolate, and a
book. “Do you have any medicine?”

He makes a vaguely affirmative noise and gestures at.. his lunch bag?

Decided now, she gets him a dose and water to take it with and fusses until he lies down,
bewildered and dazed and still flinching at most noises. The little “customers at any moment”
alarm in her head is flashing in warning, louder with each passing moment, but she soaks a
washcloth in cool water and starts wringing it out anyway.

The little “Why?” from him startles her.

She drapes the cloth over his eyes, getting a noise of sheer relief. “Why what?”

“Why do you care?”

The question is honest and confused, wary and quiet, stripped of any defenses and a little defeated,
and it aches. What’s left of her long-held bitterness and disdain breaks apart like a sheet of ice,
evaporating even faster than before and leaving frost marks as the only reminders it was ever
there. She grabs her jacket from her bag and drapes it over him as an impromptu blanket. “That’s
a conversation for when your brain isn’t melting, dingus,” she says, pitching her voice low and
soft, just like Mom taught her when she asked how she could help when Dad was hurting. “Go to
sleep; I’ll cover for you.”

A startled “Oh-” A long pause, like he might argue. Finally, he says, “...Okay. Thank you.”

She flicks the light off on the way out and (Steve doesn’t like the dark) leaves the door wedged
open a crack. A sniffle follows her; she makes a note to bring some extra water when she swings
back to check on him, and doesn’t look. If he’s crying, she can at least give him the privacy to do
so. If he’s not, well... dehydration sucks ass, so extra water wouldn’t hurt regardless.

For now, she goes into the breach once more.

End Notes

Yes Robin has a jacket in her bag in the middle of summer. She works in an ice cream shop,
in short sleeves and shorts.

Title is from the song “Not The Villain” by S. J. Tucker. Thanks for reading! -Huntress

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