Chapter Text
Steve Harrington is doing perfectly fine. Nothing to see here. All quiet on the western front.
It is totally and completely normal for his eyes to be screwed shut this tightly, for his breath to be coming in short and uneven bursts, for his skin to feel both burning hot and ice cold all at once, sloughing off layer by layer leaving nothing but-
Okay, perfectly fine might be an exaggeration. There may be something to see here. A twig has snapped underfoot on the western front.
It's just absolutely humiliating is all. He should be afraid of the fifty foot tall flesh monster currently chasing them through the outskirts of Hawkins. The truth is he couldn't give a fuck. Oh, he'll absolutely be seeing it in his nightmares within the week, he's sure. But right now all of his fear is laser focused on the fact that he is in a car and not in the driver's seat.
It's just that- well- he knows it's irrational, alright? He's well aware. The first time he'd been in a car and not been in control of it since the summer that had brought him a dash of hope and a bucket of misery was last November. He'd been just as surprised as everyone else when he woke up and started flipping his shit. The kids had assumed it was because Max was driving, which sure that's a whole 'nother can of worms, but he'd boosted his first car when he was nine (and three quarters thank you very much), hell he might've been a little proud of her if they hadn't draped him across the back seat like a rag doll with his brain leakin' out his ears.
Point is, he'd had no idea this was even a Thing. Since then he'd avoided any situation that could involve him coming close to a passenger seat like the plague. One day in February he'd needed to get his alternator replaced and Nancy had offered to give him rides to school until it was fixed.
In his panic - at both interacting with Nancy and Avoidance of The Thing - he had shot a finger gun at her with one hand and given a thumbs up with the other before flashing her a rictus grin and saying, "Nahhhh Nance, all good in the hood!"
She looked at him like he had ripped his own face off and tried to hand it to her. He avoided eye contact with her for a full week in penance.
Robin had apparently seen the whole thing from her locker across the hall and even in her then hatred of him had given a full body sympathy cringe. She was nice enough not to use it against him until after they had finally started to become friends.
Speaking of Robin, her death grip on his hand, probably leaving bloody crescent marks on his knuckles, is currently his only anchor to reality. He peels one eye open just enough to look at her, and despite, again, the fifty foot tall monster made of people meat stomping down the road behind her head, she only has eyes for him.
As always, she may not know exactly what's going on with him, but she knows enough to help. Her face is paper white and she's shaking slightly and he has a feeling that keeping her focus on him is for her own well being just as much as it is for his. But that's what's so great about being her schmuck, they've developed this weird symbiosis where they can build each other up and up and up until even a soul sucking establishment like Scoops Ahoy becomes a den of laughter and warmth for just the two of them. It's nice to know that that symbiosis can even rise above the hell that is the upside down.
He's sure that going forward this is all leading to a very healthy and not at all codependent relationship... although he has just used the term symbiosis twice in the same thought-breath to refer to their relationship. Whatever, he hasn't had a healthy relationship since he was eight, he's not planning on starting now.
He's almost glad he can't date her (sue him, it's been like an hour and a half, give him a little more time to dig the thorn out of his heart) because it means there's no way he'll be able to fuck her up like Nancy or get her killed like Deb-
Nope. Absolutely not.
He can't do that right now. If he didn't derail that train of thought he might've actually tried to rip his own face off and he cannot fall apart like that here. Hyperventilating? Who isn't right now. Skin crawling? Practically a requirement for living in Hawkins at this point. Sobbing in the fetal position and trying to scratch his eyes out? Unacceptable. He's got a few hours yet and a monster to kill before that can happen.
He feels nails dig even further into his knuckles, sure they're bleeding now, and suddenly comes back to himself. He's been staring at a beauty mark tucked into the corner between Robin's eye and nose for probably a minute straight. He has no idea what his face has been doing in that time but it can't have been good because her eyes, boring into him searchingly, have widened considerably, from a look he knows means 'Are you okay?' to a very rare but still very genuine 'I WILL KILL EVERYONE IN THIS CAR AND THEN MYSELF IF IT WILL FIX WHATEVER IS HAPPENING TO YOU'.
Steve gives her hand a quick squeeze and self-consciously glances towards the front of the car to see if anyone else has noticed his totally not a mental breakdown when he's struck dumb by the sight in front of him.
He doesn't even know which part of the scene exactly triggers it, Jonathan and Nancy are pretty much the inverse of his Mama and Daddy, Jon honey-blond and soft spoken and Nance dark-haired and somehow always spitting fire even when she isn't speaking. Maybe it's the way everyone in the car but him and Robin seem to be arguing about something, he's not sure where to look between Jon's white knuckles on the steering wheel and Nancy's increasingly red face.
His vision tunnels to block out the tense figures of Lucas and Will, then Jonathan takes his eyes off the road to look at Nancy and suddenly Miles isn't in Hawkins anymore. He's on I-85 heading towards their tiny apartment in Mechanicsville, Mama had a big opportunity at the studio to sing for some important people and for some reason Daddy's real upset about it. Miles can't even tell what they're yelling about anymore, Mama turned the radio all the way up so he wouldn't have to hear them and he's pretty sure his ears are ringing. They take their eyes off the road at the same time to scream each other down and the car in front of them swerves out of the lane and even if Miles had the time to warn them it wouldn't have mattered. His throat was too closed up from crying to get a word out anyway. Then all of a sudden there's a big crunch and the ringing in his ears gets even louder and all he can see is red, red, red-
He comes back to himself with a strangled gasp this time and it's all Steve can do not to bring his fist up to meet the side of his head and make his concussion even worse. Instead he settles for grabbing a fistful of his hair and twisting until the pain brings him fully back to reality.
"Steve, Steve, Steve," he whispers, a quiet mantra, "Miles is dead, he died the day you watched your mama get turned into fucking paste."
And really it's true, for nearly two years after that day he was more Case No. 223501 than he ever was Miles. Until the day he'd decided he'd felt a belt across his back for the last time and left the foster system behind. Until he stole the wrong damn car at the wrong damn time and spent the next six years half as Steve and half as Baby. Until he was finally just Steve and had to figure out exactly what the hell that meant. Some days Steve begged a God he wasn't sure he believed in to be Miles again. To be able to hear his Mama sing him to sleep one more time. Most days he remembered why she sung to him in the first place, remembered her hovering over his bedside with a black eye as he tried not to lay on his stinging back, and thanked God that he was Steve now. The tape from that day at the studio was gone now anyway, stuck in the tape deck of that fucking Bronco with fucking Debor-
Still no.
Point was, he'd never hear his Mama sing again. Sometimes it was easier to remember the sound of her skull crunching than the sound of her voice. He'd have to learn to live with that. Steve takes a deep and shaky breath.
"Steve..." his eyes fly open as he realizes this time the name hadn't come from his own mouth. Robin's face is tear-tracked and he can tell she's trying not to break into body-wracking sobs from the way her chest heaves and little whimpers break from the corners of her pursed mouth.
And he realizes, Oh, he definitely said most, if not all, of that out loud. He sends an extremely cautious glance over his shoulder and this time breathes a heavy sigh of relief to see the rest of the car still hollering at each other, Robin the only one close enough to have heard his half-mad mumbling. And isn't that just a perfect metaphor, analogy, simile, what-the-fuck-ever, to their whole thing. Ever since they met and got over the fact that they were basically reflections of each other and how much they despised recognizing themselves in someone else, it's been them against the world. The two of them whispering in a dark corner and holding each other upright against the chaos of the world.
He'd worry she didn't feel just the same if he didn't look back and see that her eyes had somehow gotten wider, burrowed further into him, in a way he was halfway sure meant 'I'd burn the world for you.'
His face twisted up with emotion as he tried to find a way to return the sentiment, he brought the hand now dug firmly into his own up to his face and wasn't surprised when he felt dried tears on his own cheeks. She had probably started crying as soon as she saw he was. She had once told him she "Just felt for other people like that" and had been surprisingly bashful when he told her he found it really sweet. He had to spend five minutes counting the ceiling tiles in the break room when she had muttered under her breath as she walked away, "especially you though."
Steve brought the twin quartet of crescent moons he'd left on her hand to his lips and held her watery gaze as he gently kissed them. Trying to convey with everything he had that this wasn't another romantic overture, that he just wanted to care for her the way she cared for him.
A quiet sob broke through her as she nodded in understanding. He let her hand go and she let out a shaky breath at the loss of contact before he wrapped his arms around her and she buried her face in the crook of his neck and held him back.
They both knew it was much much too soon for "Always" and "I love you", especially for people like them who had been burned and abandoned enough times for those words to turn deadly. But they could both feel those words on the horizon and so just tried to get it across the best way they could.
"I got you, Buck," Steve whispered into her hair and Robin let out an ugly snort at the nickname.
"I got you back, Dingus," Robin mumbled into his shoulder and then because she couldn't handle being serious for more than five seconds at a time, pinched at a spot on his hip she had figured out a week ago was ticklish.
Steve yelped, laughed, and then immediately found his revenge by poking his nose, which she'd said more than once was pointy enough to cut glass, directly into her closed eyelid. She swayed back with a soft whiny, "Aaaaaaahahahaaa, no fair!" and then in a show of how truly exhausted she was, simply pouted, swayed back into him, and got back at him by starting to munch on his collarbone.
He could relate honestly. A quick mental inventory showed him as having had two panic attacks, a flashback, and maybe an identity crisis all within the last seven minutes or so. On top of his concussion. Two concussions. Double concussion? Was that a thing? Maybe he had brain-injuried himself into becoming a medical marvel. He didn't even know about the second one honestly, all he knew was his head had smacked the ToddFather's steering wheel hard enough to goddamn ache. He didn't really care to be honest, he had been more concerned with keeping his arm between Robin's head and the dashboard. His brain was already a scrambled egg, he could handle another smack or two, he wouldn't have been able to forgive himself if Robin forgot a language or something because he wasn't smart enough to leave her behind on Weathertop where she would've been safe.
Steve laid his cheek on top of her head and chuckled at the contented sigh that vibrated against his neck. He once again remembered where he was but didn't feel the panic overtake him this time. He felt safe like this, with her. Because of her. He remembered the crazed half-confession he'd given minutes ago about his past and daydreamed about telling her the full story as he stared vacantly out the rear window. About Doc locking him in a gilded cage, forcing him into a life of crime. About not really caring, because what the hell else was he ever gonna do? About Buddy and how his attempted bonding quickly turned into murderous rage. About Bats and how genuinely terrifying his unpredictability was. About how he really didn't feel bad about killing both of them. About Joe and how in three month increments over six years he was more of a father to him than any other he'd had before. He wondered if Robin knew sign language, if maybe she'd wanna learn from him. With his head injuries and how much his hearing had already been damaged it was certainly starting to look like a matter of 'when' rather than 'if' he'd go deaf. It'd be nice to have someone to talk to.
He thought about telling her about... about Debora. How she'd sauntered into his life with his name already on her lips and the kindest eyes he'd ever seen. How she was the first person to ever just truly be nice to him, to take an interest in what he had to say and think. How fucking gut-wrenchingly guilty he felt that he'd pulled her into his orbit, that he didn't just let her be a random waitress he'd had a conversation with one summer, that he didn't yank those keys from the ignition and throw them off the bridge the second he saw her eyes narrow. Because yeah he'd be in prison, sure, but she'd be alive. He wanted to tell Robin how different and yet so similar what he had with Deb was to what he had with her. How he never thought he'd find anything close to that ever again, that he didn't think he deserved it.
Considering he felt better just thinking about telling her, he already knew he was gonna do it. Soon. It was only fair, he thought, given what she'd told him in that bathroom earlier tonight. The way she couldn't even bring herself to say it out loud, instead leaving a concussed Steve to puzzle it out himself... she deserved to know there were worse things out there you could be than a girl who liked girls. He might wait a bit for all this upside down stuff to really sink in first, it was kinda a lot to get hit with all at once. Also, maybe it would be nice if the girl who was quickly becoming Steve's favorite person in the world went a little longer without knowing the person she was currently drooling on was a former criminal, current fugitive, and always murderer.
He allowed himself a little bittersweet smile at her as she dozed against him and wiped at his eyes before letting them refocus on the thing he should've been pissing himself over for the past fifteen minutes or so. He immediately seizes in shock at what he sees.
Earlier, when he'd glanced woodenly at the monster chasing after them, it had been inching ever closer, just slightly faster than Jonathan could push the Wheeler's station wagon to go. Now, he sees the creature lumbering at speed in the opposite direction. Back toward the mall.
Toward Mike, El, and Max.
The terror he had been feeling seeps back into him tenfold, this time for the kids left alone and wounded back at Starcourt, and it's only the warm slumbering presence of Robin that keeps him from screaming bloody murder.
He whips his head in the direction of the others and finds them still locked in the argument he'd long since tuned out. None of them have noticed.
Steve goes to warn them and he finds that he can't around the lump in his throat. He swallows, tastes blood, feels it burn on the way down and tries again, loud as he can manage, "We need to turn around."
It's immediately covered up by the din of voices shouting over each other and trying to find dominance. Steve turns around and sees the creature suddenly much less close than he ever thought he'd want it to be. He tries to clear his throat, immediately regrets it when it feels like he's swallowed gravel, throat wrecked from disuse and hours spent crying and screaming. Tries again louder and raspier this time, "Jon, you need to stop the car."
Again, nothing. Almost as if to spite him, Jonathan presses his foot harder onto the gas in anger and increases the speed with which they're abandoning their friends, kids, to a monster from the closest equivalent to hell Steve believes truly exists.
Steve could so easily fall back into that familiar nightmare, become Miles again. Watching in slow motion as the back of that tractor-trailer inches ever closer, unable to get out a warning through his closed throat and sobbing, the radio and the ringing drowning out everything else but the goddamn screaming. But Steve wasn't lying about Miles being dead. His ghost comes back to haunt him sometimes but Steve has moved on from him in most of the ways a person can move on from themselves. He has kept just a couple things though. Like his Mama's last words.
Now, Steve doesn't know her actual last words, again, radio, sobbing, ringing, etc. And his folks' last words to him specifically had been pretty mundane ("Shut up and get in the fuckin' car" and "You all buckled in, baby?" respectively). What Steve did know was that the last thing he knew for a fact his mama had said before the crash was that she would slit his daddy's throat if daddy "ever came near him with that fuckin' belt again." And Steve hung onto those words like a lifeline, long after Miles was dead and buried, because he knew what they really meant now. Because his mama wasn't a fighter, she was a protector. She didn't give as much as she got, she gave worse. And when someone threatened her kin she didn't promise retribution, she promised death. And in that regard, Steve was most certainly his mama's son.
That in mind, having been talked over by these four fuckin' idiots yet again, Steve takes a fear-stricken moment to imagine a world without Mike, El, and Max in it. Mike no longer in the corner of his eye, a scrunched look on his face that anyone else would read as disgust but Steve had come to learn meant Mike was trying his damndest not to laugh his ass off. El no longer begging him to come over to Hop's to watch the Cubs play the Braves, then shyly asking him to help her learn how to swing a bat because she wants to try out for softball when she finally gets to go to school. Max no longer spending hours in his driveway practicing tricks on her skateboard, then pretending she wasn't delighted whenever she finally landed one and Steve would rush in to scoop her up and swing her around in celebration.
And Steve sees red.
Literally, his vision goes red. He was slightly worried he'd gone and burst a blood vessel or something.
It almost brings Miles back out with the red, red, red, of the car crash at the forefront of his mind. But, Miles is dead. He repeats it like a prayer on the worst nights, when he almost can't breathe through the tears and the nightmares.
He's Steve Fucking Harrington.
And if there's one thing Steve Harrington has learned about himself over the last few years, it's that he'll do almost anything to protect the people he cares about.
Steve Harrington defeated a faceless monster with nothing but a nail-filled bat and sheer terror to guide him.
Steve Harrington defended a group of kids from 'rabid dogs' and an even more rabid teenager and got a plate cracked over his head for his troubles.
Steve Harrington just spent the past several hours being tortured by agents of a foreign superpower for the crime of being best friends with a toothless thirteen year old.
So, when Steve Harrington thinks to himself, in the depths of what is definitely not a full-blown panic attack, "If Jonathan doesn't stop this car right now, I'm going to climb over the backseat and strangle him to death with the stupid fucking ascot I've been forced to wear for the past two months." He means it.
Steve decides to give Jonathan one last chance, because even though Steve definitely doesn't like him (the miserable cheating fucking bastard) he still cares about him. He's near the bottom, but he still makes the list.
Steve brings a hand to the side of Robin's head, covering one ear and smashing the other one up against his shoulder. He goes through his mental rolodex to find his most attention grabbing, ear piercing whistle, then brings his fingers up to his mouth and lets it fly.
And finally, everyone in the car startles and shuts their mouths as they turn around to stare at him. Even Robin, who he had tried to spare, is glaring up at him from where she's tucked against his chest. He gives her head a quick pat in apology before pointing a finger at the back window, where the monster is growing ever smaller in the distance.
Everyone in the car gasps as one, he sees Jonathan's eyes widen in the rear view mirror, he barks out a quick, "Hold on!" and jerks the steering wheel sharply to the left. Suddenly Steve's head is smashed against the window and as he watches the car clip a mailbox and send it careening into the woods he feels a small pang of sympathy for every criminal who's ever worked a job with him, before thinking, actually, fuck those guys.
Then the car rights itself and they're heading back towards the mall. He'd give Jonathan a 4/10 on that turn, not bad for a beginner but real damn sloppy.
The fear slightly loosens its grip on his heart now that they're heading in the right direction. The night is nowhere near over but despite how stupid the others have been acting for the past few minutes, they've refocused on the task at hand, he knows how capable they really are, strong. They've handled this shit before, they can handle it again. They've got this. He allows himself a quiet sigh of relief and relaxes back into Robin.
Then he hears it. It's a miracle he does, halfway deaf even without the constant ringing in his ears.
Steve is aware he's not the sharpest tool in the shed, the best he could ever manage on a test was a C+, and that was on a good day. But if there's one thing he knows like the back of his hand it's cars. His Daddy was a mechanic, taught Miles everything he knew about maintaining a car. He used to joke that he was "the best mechanic in Mechanicsville" when he wasn't hitting the bottle or hitting Miles or on a few memorable occasions both at once. Some of Steve's best memories as Miles were of handing his Daddy tools while he was elbow deep in an engine bay, his Mama lounging nearby in a lawn chair and humming along to an ABBA song playing on the radio.
What he hears normally wouldn't concern him too badly, the serpentine belt has a tear, it's maybe a five minute fix depending on how quick he can find where it's fraying and a roll of duct tape. But he can tell the belt is on it's last legs, and if it snaps that five minute fix turns into hours. Hours they definitely cannot spare. It doesn't help that Jonathan has been probably been pushing the car to it's limit all damn day.
Steve Harrington has entered full panic mode. There is most definitely something to see here. It is Fourth of July on the western front.
Steve snaps his head up and says, "Jonathan stop the car."
Jonathan's incredulous eyes meet his in the rear view mirror, "Are you insane!? We have to keep moving!"
Steve hopes he's imagining it but he thinks he can almost hear the tear in the belt growing, he goes ramrod straight and spits out through clenched teeth, "Jonathan, stop the fuckin-"
*Snap*
Steve slams a fist against the window and leans back in defeat as the engine starts to rev, as if the car has been put into neutral. He hears several exclamations of confusion and disappointment as the car slowly coasts to a stop in the middle of the road, Jonathan leaning his entire weight into the gas pedal to no avail.
"Good God, just turn it off before you fuck up the engine even worse," Steve bites out while covering his eyes. Jonathan listens to him but looks anything but happy about having to do so, slapping a hand against the steering wheel before leaning back in his seat.
Nancy, ever resilient, starts, "Jonathan, pop the hood, maybe we can-"
Steve interrupts her with a hysterical little giggle, "Don't fuckin' bother, you threw the damn serpentine belt, it'll take hours to fix, hours we don't have, and that's assuming we had the tools to do it!" Steve is aware that he's slipping back into his native Georgian accent but he has no space within him to care at this point. He thinks given everything he's been through tonight he can forgive himself for the slip up.
Jonathan turns back and yells, "What the hell do you know about cars anyway, Harrington?"
Steve gives another slightly hysterical giggle and ignores Jonathan and the slowly returning urge to strangle him. Steve doesn't have time for this, as good as it would feel to verbally thrash Jonathan, every minute wasted arguing is another minute closer to Mike, El, and Max being killed. He kicks open the trunk of the station wagon and crawls out to get his bearings, and God but doesn't it feel heavenly not to be stuck in that backseat anymore. Robin follows right behind him, practically joined to his hip.
When he arrived in Indiana all those years ago, the first thing he did was start mapping out the entire area. Landmarks, shortcuts, escape routes, etc. He spent years familiarizing himself with the roads of Hawkins. Ever since he got his own car he's practiced until he was confident he could make a quick exit from anywhere in town.
He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and focuses past his concussion(s). They can't walk back to the mall, that would take at least thirty minutes, probably longer if they wanted to bring the fireworks along. They need a new car. They've driven far enough out of town to land in that weird middle ground between big cities where there's nothing much but farmland and crumbling abandoned houses, the type of place most people only ever drive past on a road trip and then never see again. Not good for finding a car to steal.
He feels the fear starting to rise in him again, pushes it down. He screws his eyes shut tighter and begs his bruised and broken brain to work for him again, promises he'll never show it another math problem for the rest of his likely very short life.
And by some miracle it does, they've gotten insanely lucky, his brain shows him an image of a dive bar that should be less than a tenth of a mile down the road and hopefully is busy enough for the Fourth of July holiday to have a wide selection of cars in the parking lot.
He huffs a quiet laugh of disbelief and turns back toward the car, blurting out, "I need a screwdriver!"
The others, who have followed him out of the car at this point, stare at him with varying levels of incredulity. Nancy begins, "Steve, we don't have time-"
Steve, well past the point of being able to tolerate being doubted, barks "SCREWDRIVER!"
Robin, because apparently she's the only one here who's good for anything, flings the station wagon's trunk back open and says, "Maybe there's one with the spare tire!"
Steve quickly joins her in finding the correct compartment and prying it open, finding the spare tire, some jumper cables, a tire iron, a jack, and... a tiny toolbox. He cracks it open and lays eyes on a set of tools that look like they haven't been touched since the day they were bought, he takes a moment to send up a thanks to fathers everywhere who think they're much handier than they actually are, before realizing he's found himself appreciating Ted Wheeler and he has to fight off a full body shiver.
He rips the Flathead out of the case with a sharp "AHA!" before turning to lay a big smacking kiss on Robin's forehead, "God bless you, you little genius. Let's go!" Then he's off and running full tilt down the road.
Will belts out as he passes, "Steve, where are you going!?"
Steve shouts over his shoulder, "Just get the fireworks off the roof and be ready!"
Steve is starting to think the universe enjoys laughing at him.
There are a lot less cars in the gravel parking lot of the bar than he'd been hoping. Only two, in fact. A shitty little VW Bug that looks about five miles away from falling apart in the middle of the road... and a Ford Bronco with the shield of the Hawkins Police Department painted across the side.
He lets out a weary sigh and glances at Robin where she's doubled over next to him with her hands on her knees. He allows himself a small grin and says, "You really do run weird."
She lets out a breathless laugh and says, "Okay, shut the hell up Jesse Owens. Not everyone can be blessed with your long legs and perfect form."
He very kindly doesn't point out the fact that her legs are even longer than his and gives her a moment to catch her breath. She straightens up and asks, "So, what are we doing?"
Steve gestures lamely toward the Bronco and nonchalantly says, "Stealin' a cop car."
She goes pale and lets out a tiny disbelieving laugh before turning to face him and joking, "Alrighty then Clyde, what can Bonnie do to help?"
Steve is once again struck by just how much he appreciates this girl. Not just for how she's going along with him but how there isn't a sliver of doubt in her eyes. The fact that she completely trusts him hits him like a train and it's all he can do not to burst into tears on the spot.
He clears his throat and says, "I need you to find me a palm sized rock with a bit of heft to it, then meet me over by the car." He doesn't exactly need it but it'll certainly help, and most importantly it gives Robin something to do.
She gives a two-fingered salute, says, "Aye-aye, Cap'n." And then she's off on her search.
Steve takes a moment to square himself up and come to terms with the fact that he's about to steal a car for the first time in two years, a cop car no less. It's easier than he thought it would be to let the persona of Baby fall back over him. Almost like putting on an old jacket and being surprised that it fits just the same as it always did. He bounces in place twice before taking off towards the Bronco.
He slams against the side of the door and takes a quick glance around, clear. He holds the screwdriver level against the window and slams the heel of his palm against the butt of it. The glass shatters easily and he uses the screwdriver to clear as much as he can from the edges of the window. He pulls up the lock, opens the door, and uses his ascot to brush the remaining glass out of the seat before whipping it over his shoulder and climbing in. He sees Robin sprinting across the parking lot in awkward strides and leans over to unlock and open the door for her. She climbs in, presses a rock into his hand, and slams her door shut. He quickly looks it over, perfect.
He gives her a nod in thanks before lining up the screwdriver with the ignition. He slams the rock against it once, twice, three times until he's sure it's jammed in tight, throws the rock out the window and then twists the screwdriver as hard as he can. The engine roars to life and Robin lets out an adrenaline filled whoop in celebration.
"I'm a little concerned that it's that easy to steal a car, especially a cop car, it feels like that should've taken way more time and effort." Robin nervously rambles at him.
Steve gives her a manic grin and tells her something Doc told him almost eight years ago, "All you need to boost a car is a screwdriver and a dream."
She answers with a manic grin of her own and he turns to start fiddling with the radio, looking for a song he can drive to. He's tried, really he has, but he still can't drive a car unless the right type of music is playing. Unfortunately, his Walkman is lying next to a bone saw 500 feet under Starcourt and his mountain of tapes is in the glove compartment of his Beamer, which he no longer has the keys to. So, radio it is.
94.3, Lynyrd Skynyrd - Simple Man, too slow.
"Uh, Steve?"
95.7, Classical music, Clair de lune he thinks, too slow.
At the edge of his awareness he thinks he hears a door slam against a wall. "Oh shit, Steve?"
96.5, Wham! - Everything She Wants, too slow.
"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing!" he hears a definitely drunk voice slur out.
"Steve!"
97.1, One Way or Another - Blondie, fuck it, he can make that work.
Steve throws the car into gear and stomps on the gas pedal, sending gravel flying back into the drunk cop's face as he peels out. He jerks the steering wheel towards the road and just like that they're quickly leaving the dive bar behind.
Robin lets out a hysterical laugh, grabs his hand, and shouts, "WOOOOO! Suck it Hawkins PD! Bonnie and Clyde, baby!"
Steve feels a smile light up his face as he squeezes her hand back and mutters under his breath, "Bonnie and Clyde, baby."
It takes less than half a minute for him and Robin to get back to the others. He stomps on the brakes and barely gives himself enough time to put the car in park before he's climbing out. He pops the trunk so they can put the fireworks in and shouts, "Lets go, let's go, let's go!"
Will, God bless him, has already stuffed a box in and is going back for a second one. The others however are just standing there slack-jawed. He claps his hands in front of their faces and once again shouts at them, "Move it, dickheads, we've gotta go!"
That gets Lucas moving, thankfully, but Jonathan continues to look at him like he's grown a second head and Nancy has snapped out of her daze and straight into journalist mode.
"You stole a cop car?" Nancy breathlessly asks him.
Steve grimaces and says with a deadpan tone, "Well, I definitely didn't buy it."
"Since when do you know how to steal a car!?" Nancy screeches.
"Since I was Nin- God, Nancy we don't have time for this right now, we've gotta move." Steve says tiredly.
"No, you-" Nancy starts, but Steve cuts her off before she has a chance to dive deeper down this rabbit hole.
"Nance! A fifty foot tall monster made of people is halfway to the mall your brother is currently hiding in! Is how I know how to steal a car more important than that right now?"
That snaps her out of it. Her shoulders hike up to her ears and she shakes her head. Her eyes promise him, 'this isn't over' but she turns to pick up a box and Jonathan, still dazed, goes to follow her lead.
Steve lets out a sigh of relief and then rushes to grab a box himself.
Once everyone is actually focused on the task at hand it takes practically no time at all to get the truck packed up and everyone in their seats, this time with Steve in the driver's seat. It's indescribable just how right it feels to be behind the wheel again.
He turns around in his seat and makes eye contact with everyone else in the car before saying, "Everyone buckle up and hold on."
The only ones who seem to take him seriously are Robin, who was already subjected to his driving in the ToddFather, and Will (again, God bless him), who is emotionally intelligent enough to recognize that Steve is dead serious. Jonathan and Lucas are looking at him like he's grown antlers and started braying at them, and Nancy is just staring daggers at the screwdriver jammed in the ignition like if she looks at it hard enough then suddenly everything about this will make sense.
Then Lucas says, "Steve, are you sure you should be driving, dude? You probably have a concussion and no offense, but you kinda drive like a grandma."
Steve is just about to retort when Robin beats him to it with a sharp, "Would you all just shut up and put your fucking seat belts on!? Steve's got this."
Properly chastised, Nancy, Lucas, and Jonathan buckle in. Steve is hit with another wave of appreciation for this girl who he's truly known for all of two months and has quickly become his strongest supporter. He gently smacks a closed fist against her shoulder and whispers, "Thanks, Buck." She gives him a stiff nod then crosses her arms and waits patiently for him to get going.
One Way or Another is fading out and the opening notes of Pat Benatar's Heartbreaker have just started to come through the speakers. He makes a mental note to remember this station just in case he ever needs to use it again and cranks the volume as high as it will go.
Steve takes a long deep breath, allows the ghost of Baby to fully settle over him, and just as the first verse begins he shifts the car into reverse and speeds off down the road backwards. One of the first things Baby learned when he'd started driving for Doc was how to do a J-Turn, it's been a hot minute since he's driven like this but the movements come to him automatically, burned into his muscle memory. He rips the steering wheel to the left and yanks the emergency brake before throwing the car into drive and continuing on in the same direction. He gives a small grin and thinks to himself, 'Yep, still got it.'
He hears several exclamations of shock as he assumes everyone is thrown around in their seats. The speedometer quickly climbs as he holds the gas pedal to the floor. They pass the bar and out of the corner of his eye he can see the cop from earlier red-faced and screaming into a handheld radio. They blow by him and the speedometer keeps rising, sixty, seventy, eighty.
Red and blue flashing lights appear on the horizon ahead of them, Baby thinks he hears several people yelling his name as he continues to speed down the road, ninety, ninety-five, one-hundred. The flashing lights grow ever closer and then shoot past them. He flicks his eyes up to the rear view mirror and waits. Sees the cop slam on his brakes. Baby waits. The cop begins his three point turn to follow them. Now.
Baby switches the headlights off, slams the brakes, pulls the emergency brake, and yanks the steering wheel to send them drifting onto the access road that leads through the woods and towards Lover's Lake. He waits until he sees the cop blaze past the turn-in before switching the headlights back on and continuing down the dirt road.
The dirt is loose and the Bronco's tires struggle to grip the road in front of it, but that's exactly how Baby likes it. The car slides all over the road as he swerves them around bends and tries to avoid the trees on either side of the road, spending more time at a hard 45 degree angle then facing straight ahead. He thinks he would've made a hell of a rally driver in another life.
Baby usually spends these types of drives dead silent, focused on the road in front of him. But when he glances over at Robin in the passenger seat, and sees her eyes blown wide, face split by a wild grin, and a fist twisted into the side of his shirt, he can't help but let a little bit of Steve shine through. He sings along to the song, piercingly high and painfully off-key, "You're the right kind of sinner, to release my inner fantasyyyy!"
Robin meets his eyes and, grin growing ever wider, continues without a missing a beat, "The invincible winner, and you know that you were born to beeeeee!"
Then together, screechy and terrible and wonderful all at once, "You're a heartbreaker, dream maker, love taker, don't you mess around with me, You're a..."
Robin takes over the vocals as Steve starts to make guitar noises with his mouth, drumming his hands on the steering wheel. Flying down the dirt road he can't help but think this might be the most fun he's ever had with another human being.
Robin lets out a delighted shriek as the car slides sideways out of the woods and onto the road that leads to the mall. The tires catch the asphalt and all of a sudden they're rocketing forward in a straight line again.
Just as the guitar solo fades out and the song ends, Baby slams on the brakes and they're sliding to a halt in front of the main entrance to the mall.
Steve turns to see Robin practically vibrating in her seat and gives her the warmest smile he's capable of giving at the moment. He turns further to look at the others and pauses for a moment. Will is bright green and likely seconds away from barfing all over the floorboards, Lucas has his eyes screwed shut and is mumbling Hail Marys under his breath, Jonathan has somehow ripped the 'oh shit' handle off the door and is holding it in a white knuckled grip, and Nancy...
He bites down on his lips to keep himself from laughing. The wind from his open window has turned her perm into a cotton ball and it's standing a full foot off of her head. He clears his throat and says, "Well..."
Four wide pairs of eyes snap up to meet his own and he gives them a sharp smirk.
"Let's go, Gang. We've got a monster to kill."