You blink at her – not unlike a frog, if she’s being completely honest, one eye closing before the other – with furrowed brows before your eyes flit towards the stark whiteness of your surroundings.

“Hospital.” She explains at your confused expression. “You fell. Big time. We thought you were dead at first. Steve was hysterical and wouldn’t let anyone touch you until Nancy called an ambulance. He’s going to be so pissed that you woke up while he was gone.” Robin recounts with a nervous chuckle. You really did scare the shit out of her; out of all of them.

“Steve?” 

Robin misinterprets the confusion in your tone as she shifts her chair closer to you. “Yeah, he’s been here the whole time; the nurses were not impressed, but he wouldn’t leave. Dustin finally managed to convince him to leave long enough to shower and change at least. We had to tell him he was starting to smell bad. He didn’t, mind you, but don’t tell him that.”

You blink at her again, this one less amphibian in nature. “Steve?”

“Yes…Steve,” she parrots, wondering how long the two of you might sit here volleying the man's name back and forth. 

“As in Harrington?” 

“No, as in Steve Guttenburg from Police Academy,” she deadpans. “Yes, Steve Harrington.”

“Why on Earth would Steve Harrington care if I was in the hospital?” And Robin can’t even take the time to be proud of you for getting all of those words out together in a row when reality crashes down on her. 

Now, Robin will admit that it’s a little shameful how long it takes her to realize something isn’t quite right. She probably could have – should have – assumed, seeing as you are currently laying in a hospital bed; nothing is quite right about a person hooked up to a heart monitor.

Of course, of course Steve leaves you under Robin’s supervision for maybe twenty-seven-and-a-half minutes only for you to wake up in your severely concussed state unable to recall that you’re dating the biggest dingus from high school, and have been for a while.

Why did Robin insist Steve leave? Why would she tell him she could handle this? Why does anyone ever trust her with anything ever?

Fortunately, she’s saved from needing to find answers to those burning questions at Dustin and Steve’s return. Unfortunately, she has no time to answer your burning question (or warn a certain Steve of the current predicament) either. 

“The coconut ruins it,” Robin hears Steve argue with his mouth full as the two boys materialize in the doorway, both too wrapped up in whatever argument they’re having to see the two occupants staring at them in bemusement and horror. 

“The coconut rui- the coconut ruins it!? Steve, the bar is coconut. Coconut is the fundamental component of it,” Dustin sputters. 

“I just think it’d be better if it was, like, peanut butter or something.” 

Dustin scoffs incredulously. “Then you buy Reese’s or a Bopper! Why would you buy an Almond Joy if you don’t like coconut?”

“I didn’t say I don’t like coconut,” Steve argues, looking at the teen as though he was an idiot. “I just meant it would be better if it wasn’t coconut.”

“You’re insane.” 

Robin’s inclined to agree.

She clears her throat. “Hey, so-”

“Whoa! Look who’s up!” Dustin interrupts with a smile, Steve’s head whipping to the side to see you staring at them with wide eyes.

“Whoa, hey! Hey, hey hey hey, wow. Holy shit, hi baby. How long have you been up?”

“Uh, not long,” Robin interjects, voice steadily rising in both volume and pitch. “Listen, we-”

“How are you feeling?” Steve continues as he abandons his coconut monstrosity on a rolling table and makes for your bedside, ignoring Robin and the pointed looks she’s shooting at him. “Are you hurting? Are you thirsty?”

You go to respond but Robin beats you to it. “Steve, I-”

“Have you had any water yet? Robin, where’s her water?” Steve continues, fussing with the blankets that have been untucked from your legs as his eyes flit around the room for the bottle of water he’d set aside for when you needed it. “Why haven’t you given her water yet?”

“We haven’t exactly had time, Steve. Listen-” 

“Have you called the nurse?” Steve asks, shaking his head before even waiting for a response. “Dustin, go get a nurse.”

Dustin doesn’t hesitate before he’s jogging out of the room in search of a nurse. 

“What’s Robin doin’ to ya, huh?” Steve coos at you as he perches on the edge of your bed and presses a careful kiss to your temple, flagrantly ignoring the way Robin is frantically waving at him and mentally screaming Earth to dingus!! “She’s got terrible bedside manners, can’t even take care of my girl properly.” 

You turn your horrified gaze to Robin as though you dating Steve the Hair Harrington is somehow her fault (it is a little bit; she’s the one who re-introduced you two, insisting he was a changed man since high school). 

“Steve!” Robin finally shrieks, missing the way you wince at the volume as Steve turns to look at her like she’s grown three heads. 

“Well, it’s true! You didn’t even get her water, never flagged a nurse-”

“We didn’t exactly have a lot of time before you two showed up,” Robin counters as Dustin returns. 

“The nurses are just doing a shift change, said someone will be with her shortly.” Dustin reports as he hands Steve a new, cold bottle of water for you. 

“Okay, alright. That’s alright, yeah?” Steve confirms with you as he cracks it open. “Are you in pain? If you’re in pain, I can go tell them you need help now.”

Robin watches as you take stock of yourself before side-eyeing her. “I…don’t think so.”

“You don’t think you’re in any pain?” Steve asks gently, bending over slightly in an attempt to regain your attention. Robin finds her heart squeezing at how soft he’s being with you.

Your heart seems to do the same, eyes flooding with tears as all three occupants in the room tense at the sight.

“Hey, hey hey hey, what’s the matter, huh? What’s with the tears?” 

Robin stands. “Steve, I really-”

“Are you in pain? What hurts?”

“Steve-”

“What, Robin?” Steve finally snaps, turning towards her like she’s a fly that finally landed on a lampshade after spending the entire afternoon bothering the shit out of him. 

“She woke up a little…” Robin pauses, looking towards your teary form as she considers how to explain this gently, “confused.”

“Confused?” Steve parrots before turning back to you. “Confused how?”

“Confused as in she didn’t understand why Steve Harrington has been haunting her hospital room.”

Steve’s brows furrow as he considers you before realization dawns on his face. 

“Awe, sweetheart,” he sighs. “Okay, I’m sorry you’re confused, baby. You’ll feel better soon, alright?”

The sound that escapes you in response borders a sob. Robin feels a little bit like doing the same. 

“Don’t cry, honey,” Steve all but begs as he scooches closer towards you on the bed, one hand grasping yours and leaning his weight on the other as he rests it against the bed by your opposite hip. “Hey, did Robin tell you about the wicked burn Max delivered to Mike earlier?”

Dustin perks up. “Oh man, he got so red; worse when El started repeating it afterwards.”

“Mike accused Max of purposefully turning El against him.” Steve agrees. 

“Again. Hey, when they get here, make sure to call Mike a-”

“I don’t want anyone else in here,” you interrupt Dustin quickly, wiping roughly at your face with the hand not currently occupied by Steve’s. “I don’t- it’s…they’re too loud.”

Robin laughs. “Yeah, they are too loud. You comin’ around?”

You suck in a deep, shuddering breath and let out a noncommittal hum in response. 

“Okay, no one else will come in here,” Steve agrees, gaze locked onto your face as he rubs his thumb along the back of your knuckles, cautious of the IV taped to the back of your hand. “Do you want any of us to leave?”

The question is innocent enough, though Robin knows he’s mostly asking you if you’d like him to leave.

You shake your head no, though, and give his hand a gentle squeeze. 

“Okay,” he whispers, leaning forward to press another kiss to your head and humming at you in question when you lift your chin, obviously asking for a real one.

Steve hesitates, clearly concerned he’s not reading your queues right and wondering if you’re feeling at all more cognizant. Apparently, though, rushing your unconscious girlfriend to the hospital and being without kisses for nearly sixteen hours makes a man a little desperate, finding him ultimately pressing a cautious kiss to your lips anyways.

“You’re okay, hm?” Steve murmurs into the corner of your mouth, dotting a few more kisses to your face before sitting up. “Scared the shit out of me.” 

“M’sorry,” your whisper back. 

“Yeah, you should be. He’s been insufferable,” Dustin comments, earning him a glare from Steve and a half-smile from you. 

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, that’s enough out of you, wise guy. What the hell are you two still doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t you guys go alert the others that she’s awake?” 

“Alright, dingus. Say less,” Robin sighs as she stands, Dustin playfully muttering about how he knows when he’s not wanted. 

You pay them no mind, looking up at Steve shyly; it reminds Robin of when the two of you first started hanging out. Awkward, tentative, careful. Steve looks like he’s shielding you from the entire world with the way he’s leaning over your form, you’re looking at him like he might disappear if you blink for too long.

The two of you are disgusting; she loves you both so much. 

Robin pauses at the door to take one last look at two of her favourite people, you bite your lip as you ask Steve a question that Robin can’t hear, he chuckles before replying, a little louder, “’course, sweetheart. You can have as many kisses as you want.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” the older woman says gently. “Try not to worry about that right now.”

You shake your head, breath hitching. “No, you don’t understand. He’s—fuck—he’s going to lose it.”

Because not even twenty minutes ago, you’d been driving just fine. Careful and hyper-aware, even, because it was Steve’s car. His stupid, perfect red BMW that he loved more than most people, the one he washed by hand and showed off whenever he got the chance to.

The road had been clear, that’s until a cat darted into your headlights, and your body reacted before your mind could, wrenching the wheel to avoid it—sending the car headfirst into the tree instead.

If it weren’t for the passing car that saw the whole thing, for the woman and her daughter pulling over without hesitation, you don’t know what you would’ve done.

Steve’s car, though, was completely fucked. And that thought keeps looping in your head, loud and relentless, drowning out everything else around you.

The woman sighs and gives your shoulder a careful squeeze before stepping away. “I’m going to call for help, all right? My daughter’s a nurse. She’ll look at you.”

She hurries across the road toward the phone box, sensible shoes crunching against gravel.

You’re still trying to slow your breathing when the car door opens again.

“I need a number,” she says gently, already leaning across the seat. “Who owns the car?”

Steve’s name sticks in your throat, except you can’t even pull the words out. You point instead. “Glove compartment.”

She finds it quickly — a worn little address book, containing numbers and details— and flips until she nods. “Got him.”

“Hey,” a voice says nearby. “I’m Vickie.”

You look up to find a girl. She can’t be much older than you, short hair pulled back, a canvas bag slung over one shoulder. There’s something steady about her, practiced, and it almost makes your chest cave in.

“Can I take a look at you?”

“I’m fine,” you say immediately, the lie automatic. Then your mouth trembles. “I mean—I’m not fine. But I don’t think I’m that injured.”

Vickie gives a small, understanding huff of a smile. “Okay,” she says gently. “Still gonna check you.”

She guides you toward the back seat of the car—which is much less damaged than the front, one hand hovering near your elbow like she’s afraid to startle you. The air smells like antiseptic and gasoline, sharp and overwhelming your senses.

“I swear I wasn’t speeding,” you blurt, words tumbling over each other. “The road was clear, and then there was a cat, it just ran out in front of me and I didn’t even think, I just—”

“Hey,” Vickie says softly, crouching in front of you. “Pause. Breathe first. Then talk, alright?”

You try. The breath stutters anyway.

“That’s okay,” she murmurs, already pulling gloves on. “We’ll take it slow.”

She tilts your chin carefully, eyes scanning your face. “You’ve got a split lip and a cut on your temple.” Her voice stays calm. “Any dizziness? Nausea?”

“I feel sick,” you admit. “But I think that’s just because of… everything.”

“That makes sense.” She presses gauze gently to your forehead.

You hiss despite yourself, tears spilling hot and fast. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she says quickly. “Glass scratches bleed a lot. It always looks worse than it is.”

“It is worse,” you choke. “Steve’s going to see this and he’s going to lose it. God—the car—”

She stills, eyes lifting to meet yours. “Steve’s your boyfriend?”

You nod, but it only makes the lump in your throat worse. The words spill out before you can stop them. “It’s his car. His brand new BMW—which he, by the way, saved up forever for it. He literally washes it by hand, like it’s some sacred thing, and shows it off every chance he gets.”

A laugh slips out despite the fear and guilt coursing through you, and you hate it. “I’m dead. I’m actually so dead.”

Vickie gives a small, incredulous smile. “I don’t know your boyfriend, hon,” she says, smoothing the tape down with careful fingers, “but cars can be fixed. People can’t. I really don’t think he’s going to care about the car when he sees you like this.”

“He will,” you say immediately, shaking your head. “He’s gonna take one look at it and just—God. I shouldn’t have borrowed it. I shouldn’t have touched it at all. I should’ve just walked, I—fuck.”

“Well, my mom already called him,” Vickie says softly, not stopping her work. “And she called your friends too. He’s already on his way.”

Your chest tightens at that, panic blooming fresh and hot. “No. Oh my God.” You drag a hand under your nose, trying to breathe around the pressure. “You should go, both of you. You’ve done more than enough, and I really don’t want you here when he—when he sees it.”

The image won’t leave you alone: Steve’s face hardening, his jaw tight, disappointment cutting deeper than anger ever could. Your stomach twists, nausea rolling up hard enough to make you swallow.

Vickie shakes her head before you’ve even finished. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

From across the road, her mom’s voice carries over, firm and unmistakable. “None of that, honey!”

Mrs. Dunne walks back toward you, arms folding like she means business. “We are not leaving you stranded and scared on the side of the road. Not for a second.” She softens just a touch as she looks at you. “We’ll stay right here until your boyfriend or one of your friends gets here. That’s that.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Dunne.” you smile warmly at her despite the worry churning in your guts.

Time stretches thin and horrible. Every passing car makes your heart jump. Your thoughts spiral tighter and tighter, replaying Steve handing you the keys earlier, the grin on his face, the way he’d said, Be careful, okay? like it was a joke, like nothing bad could ever happen to you—

A sharp screech of tires cuts through the air.

You flinch hard, breath catching painfully in your throat as a truck skids to a stop on the side of the road, door flying open before it’s even fully parked. Steve steps out, and the look on his face steals the air from your lungs completely.

You’ve never seen him look like that. Not angry, smug, or teasing.

Terrified.

His eyes scan the wrecked car, the tree, the road, wild and frantic, until they land on you. His face goes slack with shock and then he’s moving, fast, running like the ground is on fire beneath his feet.

Vickie and her mom both straighten. “Well,” Mrs. Dunne says softly, already reaching for you. “That’ll be him.”

They each pull you into quick, careful hugs, murmuring reassurances you barely register. Then they step back, giving you space, watching until Steve reaches the door and drops to his knees in front of you like his legs have given out.

“Oh my God,” he breathes, voice breaking. “Hey. Hey—look at me. Fuck—are you okay?”

The Dunnes’ car pulls away slowly, tires crunching over gravel, taillights glowing red before disappearing down the road. The quiet that follows is almost worse as you try to register Steve’s frantic words.

He keeps saying your name, softly at first, then a little louder, but it barely reaches you through the ringing in your ears.

“Hey. Hey—look at me, okay? Baby, c’mon.”

You can’t.

Your eyes stay glued to your shaking hands, to the dark flecks of blood dried beneath your nails. Your chest heaves in sharp, ugly bursts as the sobs finally tear loose, choking and uncontrollable.

“I’m sorry,” you manage, words tripping over each other. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to, I swear, it just happened so fast and I tried to stop and—and I know how much you love it and I shouldn’t have taken it and—”

“Hey.” His voice cuts through, “Hey. Stop.”

Your voice cracks completely. You hiccup on a breath as the words choke out, panic spiraling tighter.

“I know it was stupid,” you ramble, tears blurring everything. “I know it’s your car and it’s new and you worked so hard for it and I ruined it and I didn’t mean to, Steve, I swear it was an accident—”

“—look at me,” he says, low and steady. “Hey. Look at me.”

Steve’s hands come up suddenly, firm and warm, cupping your face on both sides. His thumbs press just under your cheekbones, forcing your head up despite your instinct to pull away.

Your eyes flicker up at last, red and glassy, breath stuttering.

“Breathe, baby,” he says immediately, softer now. “Just breathe with me. In and out. Come on.”

You suck in a shaky breath.

“Good. Out. Yeah, that’s it. Again.”

You follow him, lungs burning as you inhale and exhale in uneven pulls, his thumbs brushing lightly under your eyes, grounding you.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “You’re okay. You’re here.”

Your body trembles again as he studies your face, eyes moving fast, cataloging every mark and every scrape.

“Now,” he says, voice firmer, sharper, like he’s trying to anchor you to reality. “Are you hurt?”

You swallow hard, your throat tight, and the words come out all wrong, tripping over themselves. “No—but your car, it’s—”

Steve’s jaw snaps tight, his hands gripping your face just tight enough to make your skin tingle.

“Did I ask about the goddamn car?” His voice cuts through the trembling air, sharp enough to make your heart drop.

You freeze, the panic climbing higher, and he steps closer, pressing just slightly, like he’s trying to pin you in place—but it’s not dominance, it’s urgency.

“I asked if you’re hurt,” he says again, softer but no less intense. “not the car.”

You look up at him, and it hits you as your stomach drops. The expression on his face, the tension coiled in his body, the raw, frantic light in his eyes—it isn’t anger. It’s terror. Pure, unfiltered, all-consuming fear of losing you. 

His hands tremble as they cup your face, thumbs brushing away the tracks of your tears, and for a second, you see the world mirrored in his eyes—a world where nothing matters but you, and every fierce, frantic care he holds is yours alone.

You shake your head slowly, trembling. “No,” you whisper, voice barely audible over your racing heartbeat. “M’not.”

He exhales hard through his nose, “Does your head hurt? Your temple?” he says gently now.

You sniff, shaking your head again. “No. It stings, but—there was an old woman and her daughter. They stopped. The daughter’s a nurse. She helped me.”

Steve nods. “I know. She called me.”

Before you can say anything else, he pulls you into his chest suddenly. His arms wrap around you in a bone-crushing hug, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other pressing you so tight to his chest it knocks the air from your lungs.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathes into your hair. You cling to him, fingers twisting into his jacket as the last of the sobs shake out of you.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” he murmurs, voice thick. “You hear me? Don’t scare me like that. I thought something much worse happened to you.”

In truth, the moment he’d gotten that phone call, his heart had dropped straight through the floor. He hadn’t thought about the car. Not even for a second. He’d pictured you bleeding, broken, not breathing. He’d borrowed a truck, hands shaking so badly he could barely turn the key, every worst-case scenario slamming into him one after another.

He pulls back just enough to look at you again, forehead pressing briefly to yours. Then he kisses you, quick and desperate, like he needs to feel you over and over again.

You blink up at him, voice small. “So… you’re not mad about your car?”

His expression softens instantly, the tension melting out of his features. “Mad?” he echoes. “No. God, no.”

He shakes his head, a small, breathless laugh escaping him. “I don’t give a damn about the car. I can replace it, sweetheart—hell, I can buy another one tomorrow if I wanted.”

You laugh against his chest, still sniffling. “I don’t think you’re that rich, Steve.”

He snorts, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “Oh, come on. I might not have a Scrooge McDuck vault full of coins, but I can definitely scrape together a replacement BMW. You? Not so lucky.”

You pull back a little, squinting at him through your tears. “Are you seriously laughing right now? I just totaled your baby!”

“I’m laughing at the ridiculousness of you panicking like this,” he says, voice shaking with relief and amusement. “You looked like someone had just told you the world was ending.” His hand slides to your cheek, thumb warm against your skin. “Besides. You’re my baby. Not that damn thing.”

Your throat tightens all over again, heart warming up at his sweet words.

“Now, come on,” he murmurs, shifting closer, careful as he helps you to your feet. “Let’s get you checked out at the hospital.”

You hesitate, glancing down at the gauze. “But Vickie already wrapped me up—”

“I know,” he says softly, squeezing your hand like he needs the contact as much as you do. “I just need to hear it from a doctor, alright? Humor me.”