Work Text:
"Ten minutes," Max says, one eyebrow arching briefly at the sight of them before the door slams back shut—and, yeah, okay, Steve has to give her that. He knows what it looks like, him, with his shirt yanked up, the rolled hem of it between his teeth; Robin, crouched and eye-to-eye with his right side.
But it's been a good twenty hours since they took a look at the state of his demobat bites, Robin reminds him. Her nose wrinkles at the smell once Nancy's makeshift tourniquet falls away.
"Ooh la la. You know, Steve, this could be your new signature scent: eau de Lover's Lake, with just a hint of wet rust."
Her accent's not half-bad; Steve keeps forgetting she can speak french. When he rolls his eyes, she smirks. Then she gives the bites her full attention, and her smirk slowly fades away.
"Shit," Doctor Buckley declares.
That's not good. That can't be good at all.
Robin exhales, breath stuttering like she's chuckling without actually making the noise. She looks up.
Steve shoots her a look he hopes is enough to get his question across: Give it to me straight. How bad is it?
It's Robin; of course she gets it right away. She even manages a wobbly smile, for his sake. "Well, the good news is, if the rabies won't get you, the infection just might," Robin says.
Great, just great. "Miss Glass Half-Full, ladies and gentlemen," he says.
The joke lands flatter than usual; Robin doesn't seem to hear it at all. She's already five steps ahead of him, like always, brow furrowed, thinking hard.
"Okay. Okay, we can fix this. Remind me, is it clean first, or disinfect first?"
Steve gives it a moment's thought. "I think it's stop the bleeding first."
"Yeah," Robin lets out a shrill rasp, "I think it's a little too late for that."
Sarcasm, always a good sign; hell, with Robin, it's practically a sign of endearment. But the way her voice wavers at the end? For a second, Steve thinks she sounds scared.
"Shit, Steve."
Okay, maybe she actually is. Personally, Steve's finding it harder than usual to keep track of where everyone's at, what with everything going on, and the thought nearly makes him laugh. Yeah, that's an understatement for sure. But he'd thought Robin was doing fairly okay for her first jump into the more supernatural side of all things Upside Down—you know, just the right amount of false cheer caked on top of frayed nerves. Now, though, she's a blur: tearing cabinets open, muttering to herself at a breakneck speed.
"Rob," Steve says. "Robin," but she ignores him in favor of digging deeper and deeper into drawers, tossing their contents over her shoulder. Steve narrowly avoids a rolled up pair of socks before promptly getting hit in the face by the next item of clothing. He grabs it with one hand and drops it onto the tiny laminate dinette. "Robin—"
"Aha!" Robin laughs breathily, whirling around. She's gathered a bounty in her arms: a kitchen towel, a bottle of antiseptic, a single roll of gauze, some duct tape. "It'll work, I promise," she says, reading the look of alarm he's sure is plastered across his face. "Just trust me, okay?"
Honestly, does she even have to ask? Demobat bites from hell aside, Steve pretty much trusts Robin Buckley with his life.
"Yeah, okay," he says.
Disinfecting the bites makes him feel like someone's taken one of their Molotov cocktails to him, lighting his entire midsection on fire. Robin assures him it's a good thing. Tries to, at least.
"Be glad it's not your face," she says.
Steve nearly snorts.
But then she dabs the last bite with antiseptic, and a sharp pain shoots right up his spine. His knees buckle and he curls forward, one hand coming to Robin's shoulder for support, nails digging in. Robin grunts under his weight, but carries on.
"Almost done," she promises, working steadily with her tongue between her teeth.
Almost lasts somewhere between a minute and forever, but then she's done—finally done. Robin blows gently on his wound, then stands up, taking scissors to the kitchen towel. She cuts it in half, hands trembling, causing both halves to fall to the ground.
Robin ducks down to pick them up.
The motion triggers something in the back of Steve's head, like a flip being switched. As he begins counting back: Thursday, Wednesday, Tuesday, his jaw goes slack and the hem of his rolled up shirt falls out of his mouth. "Rob?" he says.
"Yeah?"
"It's Thursday."
Robin simply looks at him, mildly concerned. Then, in a flash, the back of her hand slaps against his forehead.
"What—" Steve swats her away, "Robin, what the hell?"
"One of the sure fire signs of an infection is a rise in body temperature," Robin says, hand coming up again, "I need to check if you have a fever, Steve."
They go back and forth a bit, slapping and swatting, all while Steve tries to explain: "No, no. Robin, come on. Jesus—listen to me for a second, will you? It's Thursday."
This time, when Robin looks at him, she's clearly annoyed. Steve shows her empty hands. "Thursday," she repeats, mouthing the word, and Steve can see the exact moment it clicks when she begins counting back as well: Monday, Sunday, Saturday—
"Oh," Robin says. "Oh, no."
She falls back against the edge of the sink right next to him, hands clenched around her kitchen towel halves. Steve draws circles on her back with the palm of his hand, hoping it conveys the level of comfort she needs.
"Hey, I mean, in the face of the world ending..."
Robin snorts. She elbows him in the ribs, just narrowly missing his bites. Then she goes back to work, bandaging him up.
Steve holds the kitchen towel in place; Robin rips up a length of duct tape, the sound bouncing off the walls.
"I just," she says finally. Her mouth twitches: "I actually liked working at Family Video."
Steve sighs. "Yeah, me too."
"I really needed that job."
Steve lifts his arms. The RV is cramped, but they manage. Robin wraps a layer of gauze around him. On her second time around, he says: "We'll figure it out. Once this is over, I promise, we'll find another job."
Robin smiles, less wobbly this time. "Mr. Glass Half-Full, ladies and gentlemen."
"I'm serious. Think about it. Summer's coming up, plenty of jobs by then. My mom says the Rotary Club's thinking of bringing the Fun Fair back, you know, to raise town morale. We could manage one of the rides."
"You mean scoop puke?" Robin says.
Yeah, that's fair. "What about the Hawk? That'd kinda be like working at Family Video again, yeah?"
Robin rolls her eyes. "Like Adam Perkins and Stacy Callahan are ever gonna quit."
Steve grimaces; also fair. Adam Perkins and Stacy Callahan had been working at the Hawk since he was a freshman. Carol used to even say they worked there because they liked to make out in the projection room during screenings.
The gauze comes round one more time before Robin runs out. Steve holds it in place while she rips another length of duct tape.
"Steve, I can literally hear you thinking," Robin complains.
"Yeah, I—we'll find something, that's all I'm saying," Steve says. "Job hunt, first things first, once we get back. Deal?"
He even holds his hand out for her to shake, but Robin just makes a face. For good measure, she slaps his hand away.
"Uh, no deal, dingus," Robin says. But there's no fire to her words. In its place is a certain softness, instead. Warmth and sincerity rolled into one. "First things first, once we get back, we're taking you to a hospital. The duct tape should hold for one last hurrah, but you probably need stitches and a tetanus shot."
Right; yeah, okay, seeking proper medical attention should be the top of all their lists. And while he's never been a fan of hospitals, Steve smiles despite himself, heart oddly full.
In the face of the world ending, it feels good to make solid plans.
"First things first," he agrees.
He rolls his shirt down, and that's when he sees it, that piece of clothing Robin hit him in the face with while turning the RV inside out, sitting on the table where he left it. It's a beret, a fucking beret of all things, but that's besides the point. The color is what gets him, a deep red that reminds him vaguely of his own first jump, a time when he'd landed flat on his feet in those godforsaken tunnels, a mad fool with a pair of a goggles, a red bandanna, and the barest sliver of hope.
That was—what, a year and a half ago, plus change? Christ.
When did this become his life?
He looks at Robin and Robin looks at him. And then he grabs the beret and plops it on her head, tugging down.
"For luck," he says.