crossed all the lines and broke all the rules

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/43884990.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: F/F
Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Relationships: Robin Buckley/Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington,
Robin Buckley/Tammy Thompson
Characters: Robin Buckley, Kate (Stranger Things: Rebel Robin), Dash Montague,
Milton (Stranger Things), Steve Harrington, Nancy Wheeler, Robin
Buckley's Mother, Robin Buckley's Father, Robin Buckley's Family, Mr.
Hauser (Stranger Things)
Additional Tags: Coming Out, POV Robin Buckley, Lesbian Robin Buckley, Background
Relationships, Background Tammy Thompson, Nancy Wheeler Loves
Robin Buckley, Pre-Stranger Things 3, Character Study, Self-Hatred,
Internalized Homophobia, Stranger Things Book: Rebel Robin, No
Lesbians Die, No beta we die like barb (sorry), Timeline What Timeline,
Continuity What Continuity, i literally have no idea how old these
characters are and i'm not joking, Shoes, how has nobody written this
yet, Anxiety Attacks, Scoops Ahoy (Stranger Things), and all the lovely
things that come with the concept of scoops, Period-Typical
Homophobia, operation croissant definitely gets referenced, i have no
clue how rebel robin compliant this is actually going to be i'll be honest
with you, Starcourt Mall (Stranger Things), Song: Edge of Seventeen
(Stevie Nicks), stevie nicks lover robin buckley, Autistic Robin Buckley,
kind of, sorry that steve's a jerk early on, He gets better
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2022-12-27 Updated: 2023-07-23 Words: 8,887 Chapters: 4/?
 crossed all the lines and broke all the rules
by reysromanova

Summary

robin buckley's parents gave her shoes and called it an olive branch. and she thought, okay. i
can work with this.

or, the origin story of robin's famed red converse, told through the moments in which she
decorated them.

Notes
See the end of the work for notes
 "robin"

Robin’s parents handed her a wrapped shoebox and called it an olive branch. She wasn’t
impressed. They take away her only form of transportation—her beloved bike, which she
mourns more with every passing day—and expect her to be happy when they replace it with a
pair of shoes? If they won’t let her ride her bike anywhere, they certainly won’t let her walk.
Besides, she’s far too attached to her old, beat-up pair of boots to ever want different shoes.
Those old things had been with her for as long as she could remember. She wasn’t going to
replace them with these, even if they were new and shiny. If they truly wanted her
forgiveness, her parents would have gotten her new language tapes or something of the sort.
There were only so many times she could listen to her “teacher” drone on in Italian before
she started to think she had an absolute mastery of the language. Not that it mattered. She
didn’t have a bike to ride around and listen to them on anymore anyway, nor did she have any
practical usage for her skills. Europe looked less likely with every passing day, and she feared
this was the final nail in the coffin.

But clearly, her parents felt at least a little remorse for their decision, and for the fight that
followed (though, she hated to admit it, they did have a bit of a point. With Hawkins High
students disappearing left and right, they thought it was worth doing anything possible to
keep Robin from being out late at night and potentially being the next one seized. It didn’t
change the fact that she had lost the only source of freedom she had in this stifling town, but
it made at least a little bit of sense.).

Now, with her mother and father sitting in front of her waiting for her to open the box like it
was the gift she’d been asking for all year that they swore they wouldn’t get her but did
anyway, sympathy tugged at Robin’s chest. They were trying. That was what mattered. Even
if it was a massive inconvenience to her.

She tugged at one end of the ribbon knotted on top of the box until the bow unraveled in her
hand. She set it aside. Her mother might want it for later—to reuse it for Christmas or a
birthday or something like that. And she hated to see such a lovely thing go to waste in such a
dark time. She had always been one to collect things she thought were nice—her parents used
to joke that they should’ve called her Magpie rather than Robin, the way she flocked toward
shiny trinkets. Now, her collector’s habit tended more toward silver chain jewelry and chunky
black bracelets, but their point still held firm. There had to be some use for that ribbon, even
if just as a reminder that life was okay, once. That beautiful things were still real, and still
part of her life, despite how everything crumbled to pieces in her hands.

Her parents watched anxiously as she tore into the wrapping paper, rolling it into a bulky ball
and tossing it toward the trash can. She missed. Her father silently reached down, picked it
up, and put it in the garbage. A brightly colored star stared up at her from within the flower-
printed paper.

Robin’s sour mood brightened a little. She recognized that icon. She had been eyeing her
friend Kate’s Converse for the past few weeks, though she couldn’t remember ever
mentioning them to her mother and father. Huh. They paid more attention than she gave them
credit for. She opened the top of the box like it contained the answer to every prayer she’d
ever sent toward the heavens. Sure enough, a pair of cherry red low top Converse rested amid
the nest of tissue paper within the box.

She pulled one out, turning it over in her hands and running her thumb over the soft canvas.
Yeah. These would work. They may not ever replace her beloved boots, but they could
certainly be a solid substitute for days when her boots felt particularly close to falling apart
and leaving her barefoot in a crowd.

Robin grinned at her parents. “Wow.” It was all she knew to say. How do you thank the very
people who ruined your life not two days prior?

Her mother smiled back. “You’re welcome, sweetie. We feel awful about how much of your
freedom you’ve had to give up because of this whole situation with the Byers boy, and we
thought this might make up for it. A method of self-expression, since you claim you’ve lost
the only place you’ve ever felt truly yourself. Perhaps your clothes will help you find your
way back to who you are.”

Robin considered this. Self-expression. Did she really need help with that? She’d always been
a fairly untraditional girl, at least in her own opinion—characterized by a staunch refusal to
stand in the mold Hawkins High tried to stuff her into, flying under the radar by choice rather
than by sheer unluckiness in the treacherous social world. If there was anyone she knew who
needed help with expressing themselves, it wasn’t her. Not unless there was some part of her
buried deep that she refused to acknowledge, but she laughed at that thought. No, Robin had
always taken pride in being unapologetically herself any time she felt comfortable enough to.

But sometimes, though she’d never admit it to anyone, not even Kate, she worried that there
was so much of her that she was going to overflow and drown not only herself, but everyone
she ever loved. There were days when there were so many thoughts in her head that if she
didn’t get them out, she was going to burst, but she could never bring herself to subject
someone to that many of her words. She didn’t want to run the risk of the only people who
she tolerated getting tired of her and walking out of her life, leaving her to weather her storms
alone. Better to pretend there were only clear skies in her mind than let someone know that
she was on the verge of being thrown overboard.

Maybe, wearing these shoes, she could be a step closer to who she wanted to be. Her mind
leapt into a daydream—wearing them as she wandered down the streets of Paris, hand in
hand with Tammy Thompson, her chosen companion for her most daring of rebellions yet.
Perhaps she’d get Tam a pair (in a different color, so they didn’t get mixed up) and they could
forever have a way to commemorate their little adventure. The idea made her heart race. Just
another way for them to get to know each other more, and though she hated to admit it, she
longed for that more than she’d longed for anything else.

She ran her pointer finger along the side of one of the shoes. She could make these a part of
her, just as her boots were. People weren’t made up of only one thing. And she could always
use another facet to her identity. Something else to keep her tethered to reality in the face of
the nightmare that was Hawkins High.
“Yeah. Thank you so much.” Robin tucked the shoe back into its little paper nest, smoothing
the covering over it like she was putting a child to bed. With that, she gathered the box into
her arms and got to her feet. “I’ve got to go get started on some homework.” Her parents
gave her an approving nod, and she took that as her opportunity to flee to the solace of her
own bedroom.

The minute she was back in her own space, Robin snatched her Walkman off her desk and
popped the brilliant silver headphones over her ears. The warm piano tunes of “Bella Donna”
by Stevie Nicks flooded her brain. She curled up at her desk and pulled a notebook out of her
backpack. She clicked her favorite pen (the only one she could write with without hating the
scratch of it against the paper) and got to work on the outline for a particularly daunting essay
for Mr. Hauser’s class. It wasn’t going to be a big deal. She’d already read the short stories
she was assigned a thousand times over simply because she had found them fascinating
before she was forced to read them by the gods of Hawkins High.

Her eyes kept darting to a Sharpie she kept with her pens. She rarely used it—it was more for
school projects than anything else, line art and bold words on trifold posterboards for the
much-dreaded science fairs—but today, it called out her name far louder than it ever had. The
word rebellion danced through her mind before she thought of it consciously.

She had wanted to act out more. Make herself known, feel like a person rather than another
casualty of Hawkins and its mediocrity. Self-expression and all that stuff her mother droned
on about. Avoid being a victim of normalcy at all costs.

She reached for it before she could convince herself it was a bad idea.

And before she was fully aware of what she was doing, she pulled the cap off and grabbed
her shoe, printing her name in capital letters beneath the white stitching on the inside. It was
small, but the thrill of doing something that would surely make her mother frown in confused
disappointment raced through her veins.

Followed closely by mild terror. How would she explain it if her family saw this? What
would she do if her parents took the shoes away, too?

She told herself it was okay. It was on the side that faced her other foot—bold and black, but
easily hidden if necessary. If they asked, she could tell them that some other girls in band had
the same shoes, and she didn’t want to get them mixed up when she had to change into her
marching shoes. No, she’d always been a shoddy liar—she had too many tells and stumbled
over her words too often for anyone to ever consider taking her half-truths as fact. They’d see
right through her. If her parents disapproved, it was all over.

She shook her head, clearing her thoughts in the process. It didn’t matter. The only person
whose opinion she had to value was herself.

And as she slipped the newly marked shoes onto her feet, wiggling her feet to make sure they
were comfortable, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was stepping into a new version of
herself. One who she already liked more than the old one.
 ii. "don't trip!"
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

There was a time when band practice was the only solace Robin got from the nightmarish
normalcy of Hawkins High. It used to be the moment when she got to spend time with her
three dearest friends, affectionately nicknamed the Odd Squad, and she could be as close as
possible to truly, unapologetically, Robin Buckley. Sure, she always felt like a bit of an
outsider alongside Kate, Dash, and Milton (being the only non-trumpet player and therefore
unable to relate to anything they’re saying tends to do that to a person, even if that quirk
wouldn’t matter in any other context), but they were the people who cared the most about her,
and sometimes, that was the only thing that mattered. And it wasn’t like she didn’t get along
well with her friends. They would still be there for her if it really came down to the wire.

She was just far enough on the outskirts for it to sting a little, that’s all. The ways in
which she was different from them were minute and bearable. They were good friends most
of the time, and she did genuinely enjoy being around them. She could deal with feeling a
little awkward for the sake of not having to face the world alone.

At least, for most of the year she could.

But that was before Kate and Dash started dating (and before Dash tried to come onto
her at Kate’s house, which still made her feel very sick to her stomach whenever she thought
about it). That was before Milton told her that she was getting in the way of his attempts to
pursue Wendy DeWan—though she had to admit she took a small, twisted comfort in the
knowledge that he had no romantic feelings toward her. The last thing she wanted was to lose
another friend because he couldn’t see her being in his life as anything other than a girlfriend,
especially when the idea of dating any man who went to that school felt less appealing than
being in a medieval torture chamber.

Now, band practice is just yet another thing she suffers through for the sake of
normalcy.

There’s only one upside to any of this nonsense anymore (other than the fact the end
of the semester is approaching, and then she’ll get to spend six months without wearing a
shako that, quite frankly, makes her feel more like a show horse than a human being)—and
that’s the fact that at the last game, the Hawkins High marching band always deviates from
tradition and plays a pop song.

And they’re choosing it today.

Robin settles into her seat in the band room. Nobody else from her squad is there
quite yet, and she basks in the comforting white noise of the other students getting ready for
practice. It’s the first time she’s had a moment even remotely to herself all day, seeing as the
school day has been full of group projects that she’s taken on all the work for and classmates
who couldn’t really care less about anything she had to say.
 In the space between thoughts, her mind drifts to Tammy Thompson. With Milton
gone and her two other friends not thinking about anyone but each other (and with Dash’s
constantly voiced disapproval of her plan to disappear off to Europe for a period of self-
discovery), it’s not like she has too much else to think about. Something about the other girl
enchants her, though she can’t put her finger on what it is. Maybe it’s her confidence that
Robin admires, the way she’s not afraid to chase her dreams even though Hawkins is one of
the most dream-killing places an inspired young artist could have the misfortune to live in.
Maybe it’s the way her laugh sounds like everything in the world is falling into place, or the
way Robin would do anything to know the right words to say to make her sound like that. Or
maybe it’s how she’s not afraid of her emotions—she’d say anything to anyone without being
ashamed, and she’d listen to what anybody (even Robin) had to say.

Robin’s face flushes hot. She shakes her head to clear her mind. Why is she spending
so much time thinking about Tam anyway? It’s not like they’re friends or anything, though
she wishes they were, she’d do anything for them to be, if only she could find the courage to
talk to her without tripping over her words or being afraid of saying the wrong thing and
losing the only person who she thinks might ever understand her—

She barely gets the chance to be alone before Kate bustles in, flopping down in the
seat next to her and opening her trumpet case. Robin manages a wave rather than a grimace,
her mind still far away and confused. She hopes her face doesn’t betray where her mind was.

Not that Kate notices. She immediately starts talking about her relationship with
Dash, and Robin immediately relegates herself to well-placed nods that would come across as
stilted if Kate was paying any sort of attention to her. But she isn’t, so Robin’s in the clear to
think about literally anything else.

The situation only worsens when Dash strolls in like he’s the most incredible person
in the world, and Kate greets him as such. Robin sighs, running her fingers across the valves
of her instrument, pretending like she’s making sure they’re not sticking. If she wasn’t
isolated before, she sure is now.

It isn’t that she doesn’t like Kate—or even that Kate doesn’t like her, though it can
seem that way sometimes. Deep down, she knows that they’re still friends, even if she
doesn’t always feel like she can confide in her. It’s just that their lives are on such different
paths, and sometimes Kate seems farther away than usual. She’s swimming fine, while Robin
struggles to stay afloat without someone to stay by her side. And it’s Kate’s prerogative to go
off by herself. Robin knows that, too. Kate has no obligation to be there for anyone, including
her. No matter how much that hurts.

A few minutes later, her band director, Miss Genovese, blows into the room like a
tempest, scattered and slightly disastrous. The band doesn’t react, but rather keeps talking
like nothing had changed. They quiet when Miss Genovese taps her baton against her
podium, the grating sound of fiberglass on wood the surest way to make everyone go silent.
Kate rolls her eyes and picks up her instrument.

“As you know, the last game of the season is approaching,” Miss Genovese begins. A
few scattered boos and even more scattered applause. “And you all know what that means…”
One of the drummers starts a legitimate drumroll, which earns him a disappointed glance
from the rest of his section. “It’s time to choose the one pop song we get to play this year! So
if anyone has any suggestions, please let me know.”

Robin’s heart leaps into her chest. She isn’t sure why. Her music taste this year has
been entirely defined by what Milton wants her to listen to. It’s not like she has any
suggestions that he wouldn’t—

Oh.

Another song pops into her mind—an amateur’s cover of “Total Eclipse of the Heart”
that she gets the great pleasure of hearing every morning. She decides this is it. This is how
she gets Tam to think about her as often as Robin thinks about her.

And her hand shoots up.

Miss Genovese points at her. Robin’s mouth goes dry. Why would she say that? Why
would she volunteer herself for what is certain to be abject mortification? But it’s too late
now. She’s committed to it, and it’s never really been her style to run away. Maybe the old
Robin would’ve given up. But she’s a new girl now, a new girl with new goals and a
willingness to run headfirst into the things that used to terrify her. And this new girl doesn’t
back down.

So she clears her throat and suggests “Total Eclipse of the Heart” in front of the whole
band. Her voice quivers, but she gets the words out, and that’s all that really matters. A few
people laugh (as is to be expected), but even more react positively. She grins. Maybe this
time she’s gotten it right. Maybe this is her chance to talk to Tam, really talk to her, and kick
off the friendship (or whatever else it could be).

“Anyone have any better ideas?” Miss Genovese asks, exhausted. Nobody suggests
anything. Robin’s smile just gets wider. This is it. This is her one shot. All she has to do is not
blow it.

For the fifth time in the past thirty minutes, Robin trips over her feet. She resists the
urge to let out a furious sound of frustration. It shouldn’t be that difficult. She’s been doing
box drills for as long as she’s been in band. She knows how to slide march better than she
knows most things about herself. And she’s always been a good marcher, picking up on the
shapes the drills were modeled after and knowing exactly where to go to achieve them. She’s
always known just where she fits. But, as seems to be the common theme in her life, she’s not
really sure where she’s supposed to be right now.

And she can’t seem to stop stepping on her own toes, or her shoelace, or her heel, or
an inconveniently placed clump of grass, and she’s rapidly approaching her breaking point.
She never claims to not be clumsy. She knows she is—after all, it took her six months longer
to walk than all the other babies. But band has always been the one thing she could count on
herself not to mess up. Can’t she have that?
 There’s something about this song that makes things all the more complicated. She
can’t stop playing the moment right after she gets off the field in her mind, when she’ll run to
Tammy Thompson and admit that she was the one who proposed that song, that she did it
because of her and the fact she sang every morning, and it’ll be the thing that finally cements
the two of them as friends, really friends rather than two people who happen to be in the
same class.

And something about that scenario flusters her so badly she can’t remember where to
put her feet.

Miss Genovese glares at her in disappointment every time she stumbles. She can’t
bring herself to meet anybody else’s eyes, she’s so embarrassed about her own shortcomings.
And she gets even more frustrated with every passing moment. Isn’t she supposed to be good
at this? Nothing has ever gotten in the way of her performance before, certainly not the
opinion of a girl she isn’t even friends with.

Band practice ends, and with it comes her director pulling her aside to let her know
that she needs to figure out what’s going on or risk making a fool not only of herself, but of
everybody on the field at the game. Robin gulps. Embarrassing herself is one thing. But
messing things up for everybody else is an entirely different beast.

She beats herself up the whole trip home, trying to figure out what she could possibly
do differently to be better for everyone around her. Robin pictures the disappointment on her
friend’s faces, the way Kate will look at her with irritated sympathy and the way Dash will
hold this over her head for as long as she can even fathom. She tries to use these as a
motivator, to let them push her to be her best self, but instead, they just make her a little bit
sad. The last thing she wants to do is to ruin this for the people she cares about most.

As soon as she’s alone in her room, she reaches for her trusty Sharpie before she’s
even truly conscious of what she’s doing. She pulls her brilliant red Converse off her feet,
setting them in front of her so they’re staring back at her. Robin takes a deep breath. This
isn’t like the last bit of writing she put on them. If she does this, there’s no going back.
Everyone’s going to know she’s the odd, awkward girl who likes to draw on her shoes.

But they’ll have a better sense of who she is.

More importantly, she’ll have a better sense of who she is.

She pulls the cap off the Sharpie.

The tip bites into the canvas of the shoe, etching an open parenthesis right above the
toe. In sprawling capital letters, she writes “don’t trip!,” the words spread across both shoes.
She scrutinizes her handiwork. It’s not the neatest in the world (her handwriting never has
been, to tell the truth), but it gets the job done. The message is clear, a tongue in cheek
warning to not make the same mistake for what has to be the hundredth time.

She pops the cap back on and drops the Sharpie back into a cup on her desk. Robin
blows on the spot where she just wrote, then runs her finger over the ink to make sure it isn’t
going to smear.
 Then, she places her shoes by the door so she’ll remember that she wants to wear that
pair tomorrow. And at band practice, she’ll glance down at her shoes—leading her to know
where she’s placing her feet rather than guessing and stepping on her own toes.

She will not be the reason something goes wrong. Not in front of the whole school,
and certainly not in front of Tammy Thompson.

Robin Buckley will survive this football game without incident.

Chapter End Notes

Y'ALL I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG TO WRITE college has simply

been Colleging this semester, and for that reason, all writing has taken a backseat to
literally everything else going on. anyway. here's this!! i hope you like it :) i'm putting
update dates in my calendar now, so here's hoping i'll stick to them rather than fighting
for my life to remember the last time i posted anything
 iii. unless.
Chapter Notes

major tw: internalized homophobia. seriously.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Robin likes to pretend she’s okay with this whole…thing, for lack of a better term.
The Tam thing.

The “being a girl who likes girls” thing.

The very “thing” nobody is supposed to be okay with, let alone someone who really
can’t afford one more reason to be different from everybody else.

She thought it would be an earth-shattering revelation. Overhearing Jessica reading

the letter containing all her silent thoughts, the ones that she barely let herself think and
would never in a thousand years let anyone else read…she once imagined it would ruin her
life if something like this ever happened. That the course of her entire world would shift, and
she’d never be the same afterward. That she would spend the rest of her life dying of shame,
hiding one of the biggest parts of herself out of fear of what everyone else was going to think
of her. That she would never have the courage to show her sorry face in public again, and
she’d have to move to a different country out of necessity rather than just because she wanted
to.

Instead, it was more like everything in her world that had felt like it didn’t make sense
suddenly clicked into place.

The realization itself was easy. The fact she wasn’t ashamed when Tam read the
words she wrote, but rather her heart raced at the idea that somehow she would understand
that they were meant for her, that she would know they were from Robin and not some silly
boy (certainly not that infernal, infuriating Steve Harrington), coupled with the amount of
daydreams she had of wandering through Paris with their hands intertwined or collapsing into
the same bed at the end of the day…she really should have figured it out a little sooner, if
she’s being honest.

She tries not to blame herself for taking so long to determine what was really going
on. After all, she’s never really met anyone else like her. She never really had a guide or
anyone she could confide in about what she’s feeling. Hell, Robin barely understands that
loving girls is something that another girl can do, let alone that it’s something that she could
(and deeply, desperately wants) to do.

But on the other side of the same coin, isn’t she supposed to be smart? She’s never
been great with reading anyone else’s feelings or social cues or anything else in that vein
(though she likes to pretend she is for the sake of being perceive as normal, which, as she’s
now realizing, might be little more than a faraway dream now), but she takes great pride in at
least knowing what’s going on in her own mind. And if it’s taken her this long to realize that
she has a crush on Tam, there’s no telling what else she has yet to discover about herself.
What other parts of her identity lie latent like snakes in the grass, waiting for the perfect
moment to strike and throw her life off-kilter?

And she wants to believe there’s nothing wrong with her. Deep down, she knows
there isn’t. The love she holds in her heart for Tam is so pure, so simple, so beautiful that it
could never be morally wrong, not really.

But it’s hard when the whole world disagrees with her.

Everywhere she turns, there’s someone trying to hide the truth of her life from her
children, claiming Robin’s committing some great sin just by living and loving. Everywhere
she turns, someone is talking about “the homosexuals” on the news, about how they are
sneaking into suburbia and corrupting what was supposed to be a safe place to raise a family.

Everywhere she turns, there’s someone condemning people like her.

Which is how she ended up sitting on her floor questioning her life over winter break
instead of doing something fun like she was supposed to—not that there’s any fun in
Hawkins, not anymore. Not with everything awful going on.

Her mind wanders to Tammy Thompson far more often than she wants it to,
wondering what she would have to say about Robin’s little crisis. Robin wants more than
anything to believe that if Tam saw her, she would wrap her arms around her and kiss the top
of her head and tell her that everything was going to be alright. And they’d stay like that for
as long as it took Robin to feel okay again. Once she did, they would go for a walk together,
recounting the little beautiful parts of their days (even though none of them would ever be as
beautiful as the girl she was walking with).

But there’s a stronger, more rational part of her that knows there’s no way that could
ever be the case. She can’t argue with the facts of the only real conversation she’s ever had
with Tam (though she’s spent hour after hour overanalyzing every tiny movement the other
girl made.). She had a crush on Steve Harrington. Enough of one to be reduced to tears by the
idea of him sleeping with another girl—with Nancy Wheeler, of all people. And the kind of
girls who have crushes on Steve Harrington don’t fall for other girls, let alone girls who their
friends hate and who don’t really know how to talk to anybody at all unless it’s about
something they care about. It doesn’t matter how they let Robin comfort them, or invite her
to see the school play, or stand up for her when their friends are assholes to her.

Girls who like Steve Harrington would never give girls like Robin the time of day.

God, girls who like Steve Harrington would probably be the first to ridicule her, to
treat her like even more of a social outcast, to have the courage to say whatever they want
about her out loud rather than in whispers as she passes. After all, the boy they’re all so
hopelessly in love with would do all those things and more just for the sake of getting his
most recent girlfriend to laugh. They’d probably do it just for the chance to orbit the same
sun as him, let alone to get him to smile.

Robin would be doomed if Tam ever found out the truth.

And it gets her wondering, if everyone believes there’s something inherently flawed
about her—what if there is?

She tries to shake off the thought, but it just keeps springing back into her mind like a
hydra—cut off one head and two more grow back. Figure out one way she’s perfectly normal,
and two things that make her broken rear their ugly heads instead. They keep coming, like
she’s opened a floodgate and was washed away before she could close it again.

Of all the terrible things in her mind, the most inescapable is that she’s doing
something morally wrong simply by breathing, by thinking, and by loving. Robin’s never
been religious—her hippie parents never truly bothered to raise her in the church—but
something about the idea of damnation still terrifies her. She likes to think she does her best
to be a good person, and the thought that everything she has done can be canceled out by
simply desiring to kiss another woman rather than a man makes her feel a little sick.

She’s always loathed mob mentality. The idea of just following blindly when someone
else tells you what to think contradicts everything she stands for. But when it feels like the
whole world believes something about you without even considering an alternative, it’s hard
not to think they might be right. And maybe they are. She’s never met another queer person,
let alone another queer woman. How is she ever supposed to know which of other people’s
beliefs about her are true and which ones aren’t? There’s no real distinction for her to draw
there, not when she’s heard countless stories about predatory queer people staring at
unassuming younger men and women whispered through the grapevine and shared through
pointed looks at people who just look like everybody else.

The fear creeps up on her like a leopard, stealthy at first before it pounces. And once
it hits, she nearly collapses with the realization.

What if this little crush, which she previously imagined to be so innocent, is the exact
kind of thing parents warn each other about?

Robin’s never been one to cry, especially not about any sort of pain, internal or
external. Her parents used to joke that she fell and hurt herself so often that she barely felt it
anymore—hence why she never burst into sobs when she skinned her knee or tumbled off a
jungle gym.

Still, when this terrible, life-altering thought crosses her mind, tears stab at her eyes. She tries
to swipe them away. Come on, Robin, she thinks, you’re stronger than this. But she isn’t sure
of that anymore. If she was stronger than whatever terrible self-hatred she feels, it wouldn’t
have any power over her in the first place.

Questions spiral into her head and push her deeper into her own despair. What if
someone finds the letter and, in reading it, figures out exactly who I am and what I meant
when I wrote it? What if they tell someone else? And what if that person tells someone, and
 someone else, until everyone in Hawkins knows exactly what I am? And as soon as one
person knows, they have enough power to ruin my life. To make it impossible for me to go
anywhere. I’ll lose any sense of normalcy I have. And though Robin never valued normalcy
(she never felt normal in the first place), she’d like to keep the ability to masquerade at it. To
stay as far under the radar as possible, pretending she’s an average high school student with
average feelings attending an average institution. She’s odd enough as it is. She doesn’t need
anything else inhibiting her social abilities.

Robin’s about to give up, bury her head in her knees, and let herself feel every single
feeling rushing through her when she catches sight of her favorite Sharpie on her desk. It
calls out to her like a heroic knight at the base of a princess’s tower. It promises a way to
immortalize her thoughts—to remind her to keep her mouth closed on pain of death.

She reaches for it like some greater power is moving her arms. Pulls off the cap with
no true awareness of what’s going on. Its bitter scent brings her a sick sense of comfort with
its familiarity.

Then, before the dangerous ideas can flee her mind, she folds her legs over each other
so she can access the brilliant red canvas on her shoes. Robin runs her finger over the white
thread outlining the laces. The area right beneath it is blank and beautiful. The perfect spot to
place a great reminder to her inherent flaws. In bold, black capital letters, she prints “God
likes you, of course.”

For a second, she smiles. She could leave it there. Give herself a bit of hope rather
than yanking it away.

But she can’t. She knows better than to cling to a fool’s hope in Hawkins, Indiana.

So, she flips her leg over. And in the same spot on the other side of the shoe, in even
bigger letters, she simply prints the world “UNLESS.”

It stares up at her with the same courage and hatred she imagines a mother who just
saw a girl kiss another girl in front of her young children would have. It fills Robin with the
same shame, at least. She can’t look at it for long.

After a moment, she rips her shoes off and throws them across the room. That’s
enough wallowing for the day. There has to be something more productive she can do with
her time. Though she knows this isn’t going to be her last fight with this demon, she’s not
letting it take up any more of today.

She reaches for her Walkman and slides the metallic gray headphones over her ears.
When she presses play, “Edge of Seventeen” screeches into her ears, drowning out any
attempts at both rational and irrational thought. It’s not much, but it’s enough. She’s won this
battle.

Chapter End Notes

teehee. hi guys. remember how i promised a more regular update schedule? i TOTALLY
lied. not intentionally, of course! but i went out of town for a weekend, meaning that my
other fic got delayed, and everything went just a little bit south from there. lemme tell
you, writer's block is no joke. BUT i'm almost done with st4 for the third time, so i'm
seriously hoping that i'm going to have a few more ideas about robin's character (ones i
can turn into actual writing, at least).

anyway, i hope you all enjoyed this chapter (even if it's just a little bit of a nightmare
mentally for our beloved heroine)! if you did, please leave me a fun little comment or a
nice kudos!! i love you all, and i hope you're taking care of yourselves <3
 iv. milk duds :)
Chapter Summary

Robin's movie theater job proves to be a bit more irritating than she bargained for.

Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Robin doesn’t hate working at the movie theater. Truly, she doesn’t. It’s a more than
adequate way to pass time, and certainly better than sitting at home with nothing but her own
thoughts to keep her company, since that never ends well for anybody. Of course, the theater
doesn’t play the kind of movies that interest her, arthouse classics that nobody else has ever
heard of (the kind she has to admit she’s daydreamed about watching with Tam for hours on
end), and the floors are sticky and she’s starting to hate the smell and taste of popcorn, but as
far as jobs go, she could’ve picked a far worse establishment to randomly walk into.

Her coworkers are kind, if a bit dull, but being surrounded by movie magic more than makes
up for the lack of conversation. She relishes in the opportunity to catch a flick when she gets
off work after a weekend shift, and the discounted concessions are nothing to sneeze at,
especially as prices keep increasing. She finds solace in the monotony of the work, of tearing
tickets, of shoveling popcorn into bags that give more than their fair share of paper cuts, of
sweeping the lobby or refilling the soda machines. It’s not the most intellectually stimulating
thing in the world, but the great goal of Operation Croissant hangs in the balance, and that
makes it all worth it. All in all, there’s really not much to complain about.

That is, other than the general population of Hawkins, Indiana.

Not all of them, of course. Most of the time, she has perfectly passable interactions
with the people who visit the theater. Some of them even border on pleasant, and a rare few
even dare to ask her their opinion on whatever it is they’re seeing that day (those are her
favorite, even if she gives them a bit more information than they bargained for). She greets
them with a smile on her face, gets them whatever they need without complaining, and hopes
they’re kind to her in return.

Generally, they are.

However, there are a select few who seem to come into the theater with the express
intent of making Robin’s life miserable. They run the gamut from middle-aged moms trying
to corral three kids with only two hands (though those are the women who tend to buy the
most concessions, which always reflects well on Robin) to elderly men she’s convinced
predate even the first Lumiere films and who always think she’s doing things wrong, even
though they certainly don’t know the workings of this place better than she does. They’re
conjured up by the universe simply to ruin her day.

And, unfortunately, most of the time they succeed. She doesn’t like to admit it, but she’s
fussed at her parents more than once when they come to pick her up from work on days when
the customers are particularly vexing. She always feels bad afterwards, but still. Sometimes
you say things you can’t really take back.

But today, as she strides through the back door, she vows she isn’t going to let
anything ruin her good mood. She worked up the courage to talk to Tam earlier, Dash and
Kate weren’t showing off their perfect little relationship every time they got the chance
(though it’s not like Robin enjoys being around them much after everything that happened
between her and Dash), and Milton talked to her—honest-to-God talked to her—for what
feels like the first time since he told her he’d like to take a step back from their friendship on
Wendy’s behalf.

So, to recap, the score going into today is Robin: one, Hawkins: zero. And she’s
feeling pretty damn great about it.

She drops her backpack on top of a stack of popcorn boxes, punches in, and breezes
through the swinging door to the concession counter. As usual for a Tuesday afternoon,
there’s not a single patron in sight. Keri sits with her legs dangling over the snack counter, a
new Redbook in one hand and a paper cup of soda in the other as her feet thud against the
wood. She brightens and sets aside the magazine when she sees Robin, then turns so they’re
facing each other. “Hey, Robin.”

Robin tilts her head in what she thinks passes for a greeting. “Keri.”

Keri takes a sip of her drink. She’s almost out, and Robin does her best not to flinch
away from the sound of the straw in the empty cup. Keri shakes it like she can’t believe she’s
already blown through the whole soda. Ice scrapes against the side. She sighs and puts it
down again. “Pretty slow day today. Think I’ve seen maybe ten people all day.”

“So, a normal Tuesday?” Robin’s tone suggests they should never expect anything
different in the middle of the week. Keri nods. “Might get busier now that school’s out.”

Keri shakes her head. “Doubt it. Usually nothing but old people until Thursday
night.” She lights up like she’s just had a major realization. “On the note of old people—”

Robin groans. “That’s always what you want to hear when you get to work.”

“We’re out of Milk Duds,” Keri says like it’s not something that’ll alter the entire
course of Robin’s afternoon.

“Wonderful.” Robin cringes. Last time they ran out of a favored candy of the elderly,
an old man ripped her a new one over Junior Mints. She still shudders whenever she looks
back on that memory.
 “Should get more tomorrow, so do your best to run damage control until that shipment
comes in, okay? Recommend they get M&Ms or something else they can mix into their
popcorn. Found that’s the best way to keep them off your tail.”

Robin shoots her an awkward thumbs up right as the door opens. An elderly couple
walks in. She assumes her place behind the cash register and tries her best to put on a smile,
though she’s never been great at concealing her true emotions behind a grin. Still, she tries,
and it’s a worthwhile effort. The customers beam back at her as they approach the register.

She takes a deep breath, preparing to launch into her usual welcome-how-can-I-help-
you spiel, when the man cuts her off instead. “We need two for The Big Chill.”

Robin short-circuits for a moment. It’s a common mistake. You don’t order tickets at
the concession booth, there’s a separate ticket counter—why is she stumbling over her words
so much? She eventually manages to squeak out, “You actually don’t buy tickets here—but
there’s someone over there who would love to get you what you’re looking for.” They look
around, confused, and Robin points in the direction of the counter. In the time they’ve been
talking, Keri’s hopped over to her spot. She waves at the couple, effortlessly slipping into her
customer service mask in a way Robin has yet to master. The man lets out an angry sounding
huff as he stomps over to Keri, and his wife gives her a venomous side-eye as she follows
him.

After a moment, they turn back to her. This time, they don’t look nearly as excited to
be there. Keri flashes her a look that suggests she is in for an utter treat with these two. Robin
steels her resolve. Come on. She’s had a great day. She’s not going to let them ruin it. And
she’s got five more hours of this, anyway. She can’t let the first transaction of her shift be the
one to set the tone, especially if it’s this bad.

“What can I get for you?” she asks, injecting as much cheer into her voice as she can.

“A hot, buttered popcorn,” the man replies.

His wife peers over the counter, eyeing the popcorn kettle. Robin tries to move so she
can’t see it, but it’s too late. The damage is done. “And we’ll wait until you make some fresh.
That looks like it’s been sitting out for a while.”

Robin sighs. She’s used to this, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating. Keri told
her not to let it bother her, that of course the customers don’t know when the popcorn was
popped and it’s a perfectly reasonable request that can be explained away, but she still has to
resist the urge to say something passive-aggressive every time it happens. “We just made this
about five minutes before you came in, and it’s in the warmer so it’s not going to be cold—”

The woman shakes her head. “We’ll wait.” As if that wasn’t bad enough, she shooes
Robin toward the kettle and folds her arms. Robin grimaced as she scooped the kernels and
measured out the salt. She slid the lid down and poured the oil, listening to the hiss as it
started to boil in the hot metal.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” Robin continues like the first part of their
exchange never happened. She can still turn this around. Right?
 “Some Milk Duds,” the man answers. Robin grimaces just a little. “Is there a
problem?”

She chooses her next words carefully (which is far more of an effort than she wants to
admit). “We’re actually out of Milk Duds right now, can I offer you some M&Ms?”

He frowns. “How can a movie theater be out of Milk Duds?” There’s something
accusatory in his tone that she doesn’t really like, but she doesn’t have the energy to start a
fight with him right now.

Robin invents an answer she’s not sure is true, but it’s not like she has a better idea or
even knows the truth. “We just ran out a few hours ago. There was, uh, a huge group of kids
who came in for Return of the Jedi, and they cleaned us out. Must’ve been a field trip or
something.” The man raises his eyebrow like he doesn’t quite believe her but doesn’t bother
to argue.

“M&Ms it is, I suppose.” He says it like she’s suggested he get something ridiculous
that would taste positively awful in popcorn, like Sour Patch Kids or Skittles, but she can’t
complain. At least he didn’t shout at her. Robin opens the candy drawer and takes out a box
of milk chocolate M&Ms, sliding it over to the man, just in time for—

“Is something burning?” the woman asks. She tries to sound innocent, but there’s an
air of know-it-all-ness to her words, like she’s trying to imply something. Robin’s eyes bug
out of her head. Shit. Amidst this whole mess, she forgot completely about the popcorn. She
whirls around and pulls the lever, revealing a puff of smoke so large she forgets how to
breathe and blackened, disgusting kernels that she wouldn’t dare give to anybody.

Robin darts to the corner and wheels over the huge trash can that’s usually reserved
for throwing away all the leftover popcorn at the end of the day. She shovels in scoop after
scoop, apologizing profusely after each one. The couple just looks at her, eyebrows raised in
great disappointment. She rolls the trash can back to the corner. When she returns, she begins
another batch, making a mental note not to forget about this one.

“Alright, your total is 2.75,” Robin says. “And I’ll get that popcorn to you as soon as
it’s ready, I am so sorry for the delay—”

“Is it your first day or something?” the man remarks as he hands her a wad of dollar
bills clearly not impressed with her customer service skills.

Robin shakes her head. “I’ve been here for about two weeks, I’ve just had a bit of a
rough day and got a little frazzled, that’s all.” It’s not the whole truth, but sometimes you
have to fudge a little bit to save face in front of the customers.

The disappointment on their faces only grows more pronounced. “Then there’s no
reason for you to make these simple mistakes, is there?”

Robin stammers for a moment before she’s able to choke out, “No sir, there’s not. I’m
sorry.” She reaches behind her and dumps the popcorn out. This time, she’s a little early, and
as if to personally spite her, a kernel jumps up as she’s shoving it toward the warmer and
pops on her shoulder. She winces. Because that’s what she really needed right now. Another
demonstration of her apparent incompetency.

She flicks one of the popcorn bags back to open it—only for it to rip right down the
seam. It takes every ounce of power left in her body not to yell out loud as she sets it aside.
The second one takes, and she fills it a little more than she usually would as a pitiful attempt
to make them feel better for the time they’ve wasted with her. Robin offers the bag to the
man. He snatches it out of her hands and pops a piece in his mouth. He immediately frowns.
“There’s no butter on this,” he says, offering it back to her. A few pieces fall off and land on
the floor.

“Right. My bad.” She holds it under the butter pump, letting the hot, suspiciously
artificial yellow liquid run over it until it’s effectively slippery. Robin offers it back to him,
sending up a silent prayer that she’s hasn’t done anything else wrong.

Luckily, when he takes this test bite, he reacts with a smile and heads off in the
direction of the theater, his wife in tow. “Enjoy your movie!” Robin shouts after them, but as
soon as they’re out of earshot, she lets out a long, guttural scream that’s distinctly
inappropriate for customers to hear.

Keri laughs from the ticket counter. “Take a moment, Robin. I’ll get you if anyone comes in.”

“Thank you,” Robin barely has time to huff before she shoves through the swinging metal
doors and collapses on a pile of kernel bags. She stares up at the ceiling, taking in every stain
and trying not to consider their origins. Why? Why today, of all days, when I was finally
feeling more good than bad? Why did it have to be now? Why can’t I have one good day?
Why is Hawkins destined to suck all the life out of me—why can’t I be in Europe right now,
with Tam and with breakfast pastries and no stodgy old people who exist just to make my life
miserable?

But that’s what it’s all for, she reminds herself. Days like today, they’re going to be so worth
it when you’ve finally gotten out of here. For every person who drains you, there’s going to
be a new memory to replace any space they take up in your mind. All you’ve got to do is fight
through this, and you’re going to be so much happier.

She sits straight up. There’s got to be a marker somewhere around here, right? Come on, it’s a
movie theater. There are pens all over the place if you know where to look. Robin vaults to
her feet, prowling like an animal on the hunt.

Eventually, she finds a Sharpie laying on the folding table where the crew eats their nightly
dinner of popcorn, nachos, and soda. She flops down on the floor, not caring how gross it is
(it can’t be that bad, she’s the one to mop it every night) and folds herself so she can get to
the outside of her foot, right under where she wrote “UNLESS” not that long ago (and tries
not to think about the feelings that inspired that one, they certainly won’t be productive). She
uncaps the Sharpie, holding the top in her mouth. Right along the bottom, barely above the
white sole, she writes “Milk Duds.” Next to that, she draws a passive aggressive little smiley
face—a tongue-in-cheek reminder of the hands down worst experience of her career so far, as
well as the joy that’s going to result from it once she gets out of here.
 With that, she heads back out to the service counter. Nothing can sway her now. She
remembers what she’s doing it all for. It’s going to be worth it. She just knows it.

Chapter End Notes

Y'ALL i had the best time writing this chapter. i worked at a movie theater last summer,
and it was the most fun job possibly ever--except when things like this happened. fun
fact: most of what happened to robin in this chapter actually Did happen to me, so it was
super entertaining to tap back into everything happening then and then apply the
existential despair of it all to robin. anyway. sorry again for how long it took me to write
this one, i promise it's not going to happen again (but it probably will).

also!! i've got a couple of star wars fics planned out right now, so if that's something
you're interested in, watch this space. there's going to be some super fun stuff on its way.

as always, if you liked this chapter, please leave a comment or kudos or something
because i positively thrive on external validation. i love you all and hope you're doing
well!!
End Notes

okay so HI this is a far cry from what i usually write and my first foray into the world of
stranger things, but i love robin and i've been sitting on this idea for a little while, so. here it
is! i really hope you like it.

also, any reference to relationships in the tags is definitely not going to be until the last
chapter if at all (trying to decide if i want to give myself closure since the duffers never will).
except for tammy thompson. she's kind of an important fixture.

no promises we're going to remain compliant with rebel robin. i read it. and i don't remember
the timeline all too well, nor do i really want to structure my imagination around it. so. yeah!!
hope you liked the first chapter and i'll see you soon for the next one <3

xoxo, anna

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