Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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TRACK 1: Should I Stay or Should I Go?

***

STEVE: Welcome back to the next hour of commercial-free, non-stops tunes to jam to in the apocalypse! Sorry for the silence on the air for so long given the, you know, apocalypse. Anyways, it’s me, your loyal host, Steve “The Hair” Harrington and my newly-appointed but ever-trusty sidekick–

ROBIN: This was all my idea, again, actually. Which I’m now saying for, what, the fifth time?

STEVE: It’s only hour two of broadcasting, and you have mentioned it five times, yes.

ROBIN: So, I’m not your sidekick. This is an equal opportunity program.

STEVE: Well, anyway, Robin and I are both here, ready to guide you along on a tune-tastic journey–

ROBIN: [snorting with laughter] Tune-tastic?

STEVE: Yes, tune-tastic, Robin. This is radio. We use our own lingo.

ROBIN: You know what, Steve? I can respect that.

STEVE: Awesome, because there’s not much else you can do when the sun’s disappeared and the world is opening up at our feet!

[They both laugh. It sounds less like they’re laughing at a joke and more like they’re staving off hysteria.]

ROBIN: Well, anyway, to help brighten what is, undoubtedly, another gloomy day in a long string of gloomy days for this town, we’re excited to bring you a– [she hesitates, clicks her tongue] eclectic mix of music, chosen by yours truly and Dingus here.

STEVE: So, you’re not a sidekick, but I have to be Dingus?

ROBIN: [deep sigh] Anyway, here’s The Clash with “Should I Stay or Should I Go.”

[the music begins]

***

They take off their headphones as the opening chords of the song blast through. The signal sounds a bit crackley, but at least it works! Now she and Steve have something to do during all the empty hours of the day when they’re not needed, a task they can focus on and plan for, a small corner of the world that gives them some illusion of control. It helps that Steve also seems all too thrilled to be preoccupied with something other than the Upside Down, to go through the motions of the one job he’s had that, maybe, seemed to be working out for him.

“I’ll admit, Robin, I was a bit skeptical about this scheme of yours, but I do think this was the right call.”

Robin brushes a chunk of bangs out of her eyes and smiles, her fingers still. She feels no urge to start pressing random buttons or to pick at her skin now that there’s a task at hand, a list to order, a show to plan. “I am right a lot of the time, you know.”

“Except in your music taste,” Steve sighs, glancing at the paper between them. “How are you and Jonathan not best friends? You basically have the same taste in music.”

“Which is?”

“Bands that make songs for, like, exactly three people on earth.”

Robin scrunches her face up. “You think the internationally-renowned band The Clash makes music for three people?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Whatever. You can leave all matters of music snobbery to Jonathan, okay? I’m a man of the people: I like my Duran Duran and Bruce Springsteen, things like that.”

Which would explain why “Born in the USA” was up next. Steve probably doesn’t even know it’s an anti-war song, just likes the vibes.

Robin swallows down the critiques that, sure, are probably very Jonathan Byers-esque in nature, and instead, she nods her head, a tight smile at the corners of her mouth. “Well, I guess that’s why we’re sharing the job of planning the songs, right?”

Steve winces as the drums grow louder from the headphones. “Mm, right.”

Their tastes in music might be from two completely different worlds, but Robin couldn’t care less at this point. She just needs something orderly and fun to help cut through all the gloom and despair and notable absence of the love of her life in, well, her life, and for the first time since the ground started rumbling with Vecna’s presence again, she doesn’t feel like everything is doomed.

That is, until the door to the broadcasting room slams open, revealing the hunched posture of one Jonathan Byers, eyes bugged out in anger.

The song plays from Steve and Robin’s headphones, but they can also hear it drifting faintly down the hallway: Should I stay or should I go now?

“Jonathan!” Steve tries, voice airy with politeness. “I take it you’ve tuned in to our show? You, uh, liking this song so far? I think I remember you liking it–”

“Turn it off,” Jonathan grits out from between clenched teeth.

Robin’s stomach clenches with anxiety. She looks between Jonathan, Steve, and the run time showing on the CD player, and her nails begin to dig into the desk’s laminate. “Oh, hey, Jonathan! Um, the song’s almost over–it’s got, like a minute left–and then it will–”

“Turn it off,” Jonathan repeats, stomping into the room. “Somebody said the station was back up again, and the first thing Will and I hear is this damn song–”

Steve holds up his hands. “Woah, man, hey, it’s just a song.”

“Nothing’s just a song anymore, Steve,” Jonathan spits back, arms crossed over his chest, eyes roving over the desk.

Robin realizes what he’s looking for and stands up, blocking his line of vision to the sound panel and CD player and offering a sheepish grin. “We won’t play it again, okay? Just–if you could just please let us have this–I picked the song, and–and I won’t do it again, scout’s honor–”

Some of the tension drains out of Jonathan, but he still looks disgruntled. “Just–please don’t play it. It makes Will upset.”

“It does?”

Jonathan, Robin, and Steve’s heads all snap to the doorway, where Will fills in its empty space. His nose is slightly scrunched up, and he looks at his older brother like he just caught him trying to sneak out after curfew.

Jonathan sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “I mean, we haven’t really listened to it since…”

“But I like the song,” Will says matter-of-factly.

“See!” Steve says, hand thrown out to Will. “It’s not a problem with him, so–”

“Shut up, Steve,” Jonathan and Robin say in unison.

Will rolls his eyes. “God, it isn’t a problem.”

And before another word can be said, he melts back into the hallway, hooking a left to the door that leads to the back lot. It creaks open and then summarily cracks back into place.

Robin’s stomach twists, and her hands instinctively pull in front of her, her fingers wringing against each other. Will said it wasn’t a problem, but Jonathan’s acting like it is, so either Will’s lying, or Jonathan is just doing the whole protective brother thing, which is annoying Will, and either way, it means Will’s mad, which makes Robin anxious, because this was supposed to be fun–

The CD spins to a stop, its light flashing. Static buzzes through their headphones and down the hall.

“Shit,” Steve mutters. He throws his headphones on and clicks the microphone to life, giving some kind of half-assed intro to “Born in the USA,” but Robin can’t hear anything except the tight thrum of her heart in her eardrums.

“I’m sorry, Jonathan,” she whispers, praying he understands how dead-set sincere she is. She hasn’t been the closest to the Byers siblings, but who couldn’t have a soft spot for them, after all they’ve gone through? And Jonathan’s always been a weirdo, like her, and Will–well, Will, she just–

“It’s fine.” Jonathan pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. “It’s not your fault. I was just being stupid.”

“I think you were trying to be a good brother,” she suggests.

Jonathan does one of his trademark self-deprecating scoffs. “Sure doesn’t feel like it.” With a grimace, he pulls away from the desk. “Sorry, I should go get him. You can just,” he waves his hands at the room, “ignore everything that happened here.”

“Or,” she offers, hands still wringing in front of her, “I could go get him.”

The opening chords to “Born in the USA” play from Robin’s headphones. Steve pulls his off, and, at the same time, he and Jonathan say, “What?”

Robin huffs, eyes scrunched closed. “I–I can go get him, okay? I was the one who picked the song, and you two,” she points between Jonathan and the hallway, an implicit Will unspoken but understood, “don’t seem to be getting along. He might react better to someone else.”

“Um, Robin?” She turns, and Steve’s looking intently at her, finger tapping their list. “You’re up next. ‘Just Like Heaven,’ whatever that is?”

“You don’t know ‘Just Like Heaven,’” Jonathan deadpans.

Steve sighs. “Robin needs to introduce it, because she picked it–”

“Have Jonathan guest DJ!” Robin claps her hands together, looking between the two guys.

“With Steve?” Jonathan spits at the same time Steve says, “With Jonathan?”

But Robin’s already out the door, calling a perfunctory Have fun! over her shoulder.

Regardless of either’s trepidations, she hears her empty chair slide out and Jonthan throw himself into it with much grumbling.

She swallows the knot of nerves that’s worked its way up her throat, making her question why she’s chosen to do this. When she pushes open the back door, she’s met with a faceful of cool night air.

***

“Jonathan, I don’t want to–”

The words die in Will’s mouth as Robin stands before him, her hands shoved in her vest’s pockets. She tries to get her forefinger to quit picking at the skin of her thumb, but with this much anxious energy coursing through her–well, she has to make compromises somewhere.

“Hi,” Robin tries, then grimaces.

“Oh. Hi, Robin.” Will says it politely, like he’s greeting a teacher or an old family friend from church.

Which, to be fair, Robin’s interactions with Will have been limited, but hey, she’s not the weird one who hangs around kids several years younger than her, like Steve. He and Dustin may be best friends, but Robin has a reputation to uphold. She got pulled into this whole mess by accident two years after it all began, and, ultimately, she knew of Will Byers as more of a concept than a person, the inciting incident for the hideous drama that had overtaken their lives for the remaining years of this decade. And, apart from some of her own suspicions that probably have more to do with personal biases than anything else, she hasn’t really thought about him much.

It’s neither of their faults and both their faults, and maybe it’s nobody’s fault at all. It simply just is.

Robin clears her throat, tilts her head to the side. She’s thankful for the chunk of bangs that falls across her vision. “So…you enjoying the weather?”

Will hesitates before finally saying, “What?”

“You’re right–not the best way to start this conversation.” She sighs, holds out her hand for a shake. “Hi, Will Byers, I’m Robin Buckley. What unparalleled levels of psychic trauma seem to be troubling you today?”

“If you ask Jonathan?” Will tilts his head against the brick wall, eyes boring into the dark blanket of night. “Enough for a lifetime.”

“And if you ask Will?”

He shrugs, sliding his hands into his jacket. “I don’t know. Not enough to still be treated like I’m a little kid.”

As she pulls her hand back into her own pocket, sympathy pinches Robin’s heart for both of the Byers boys. There’s Jonathan, trying his best to keep his family together and safe and constantly feeling like he can’t, and then there’s Will, seemingly always in danger and at the forefront of everyone’s attention, wanting to prove himself and being treated like a porcelain doll regardless.

“I’m sorry,” is all she can say. Her hands are now fisted in her pockets, her nails digging crescents into the palms of her hands. “That just–that sucks, Will. This all sucks. I’m so, so sorry.”

Will shakes his head, a sympathetic smile pushing up the corners of his mouth. “Nah, it’s okay. It’s not your fault, or Jonathan’s. Or anybody’s, really.”

“Except Vecna’s,” Robin adds.

Will lets out a small chuckle. “Yeah, except his, I guess.”

A few beats pass. If Robin had to guess, “Born in the USA” must have ended, and they’ve either moved on to her far-more sensible song choice, or Jonathan’s gone rogue and is giving Steve a veritable lesson in the finer points of punk culture.

Will’s eyes remain stuck on the sky, and hers follow up.

“It’s just like it was there,” Will finally says, half-under his breath.

Robin’s pretty sure she knows what there means, but she still says, “And there is…?”

“The Upside Down.” His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, and the line of his jaw grows more tense. She remembers how young he looked in his missing posters from six years ago and wonders where all the time went, how someone can grow up so fast. How they all grew up so fast. “It looked like this. There were no stars, and there were clouds all over the sky.”

“Oh, yeah.” Slowly, as if he’s a small animal that might scurry off if she makes the wrong move, Robin turns, backs up to the wall of the station. She leans her head back to keep an eye on the sky, too. “Yeah, I kind of remember that from my time down there. Not that it was as bad as yours, of course,” she rushes to add, feeling like an idiot, and now she’s rambling, her words turning into a stream-of-consciousness soup. “I mean, obviously a few hours is nothing compared to a week, plus, we had fire! We had, like, actual light, so I guess it really wasn’t the same as you being down there. So it was kind of easy, actually–”

“It’s okay!” Will says with a soft laugh. “It’s not a competition for who’s had it worst.”

“But if it was, you would win,” Robin points out.

Will rolls his eyes. “Obviously.”

They share a quick laugh, and before silence can overtake them again, Robin clears her throat. “So, the song I was playing…Does it actually bother you, or was Jonathan really just overreacting?”

Will opens and shuts his mouth. His eyebrows knit together, and his gaze turns distant, as if he has to dig through the drawers of his mind for the correct answer.

“Or you don’t have to answer it, of course,” Robin adds.

“No, it’s…” Will sighs, shoulders slumping against the building. His eyes briefly flicker to Robin. “It’s complicated, I guess? It still means a lot to me because of Jonathan, but it was also one of the few things I remember from being down there. I just sang it to myself, over and over again, like it would save me, or something. And it did, kind of, because that’s how El and the rest of my friends found me.”

Robin nods slowly. She remembers this part in the run-down she got from Steve and Dustin a few years ago after battling the giant ball of flesh formerly known as the Mind Flayer in Starcourt, but there was no mention of music and The Clash and Will Byers all alone, singing a song that reminded him of his brother as he faced certain death.

“Do you listen to it much now?”

Will shakes his head. “No, not really. Partially because Jonathan got rid of the tape after everything, which is stupid.”

“But if you had a tape of it…?”

His shoulders pull up closer to his ears. “I’d probably get rid of it, too.”

A grin pokes up the corners of Robin’s mouth. “So, you were being contrarian?”

“You would too if you had a brother react like that over a song.” Will rolls his eyes. “I get it, but also, I’m not twelve anymore.”

Robin nods solemnly. Nobody’s right and nobody’s wrong: they’re all having to live in that awful grey space that Robin is quickly realizing occupies most of adulthood. “I think you both make good points.”

Will shrugs, the closest thing to a concession she’ll get in this conversation, she suspects.

Silence falls over them again. It’s peaceful outside, despite the chaos they know is roiling beneath them. It’s how Hawkins has always been, a serene facade wrapped over a core of rot and decay.

Neither of them make any efforts to move, an implicit understanding that the stillness of this moment is preferable to the churning waters of the station. Just because there’s a lot of space inside doesn’t mean it’s meant to house over a dozen people, and despite Robin’s blossoming love for manning the airwaves, she doesn’t quite want to walk into the middle of whatever spat Steve and Jonathan are bound to be in.

Worry creeps in through the silence, though: over the state of the world, over where Vecna is, over if Vickie is safe or not. She can admire Vickie’s drive and desire to help others, but it doesn’t mean it makes Robin feel any better. At least at the radio station, everybody’s together.

“Is there,” Will starts, “like, a reason you and Steve started broadcasting on the station again?”

Robin tilts her head back and forth, considering. “We were both going insane, me more-so than him. I accidentally kicked a cabinet open that had all the CDs in it, and since Dingus has worked here the past few months, we decided we could do something fun to fill the time, even if nobody listens.”

“People are,” Will says. “Once one person turned the radio on and heard music, a whole bunch of people started tuning in.”

Something shifts in Robin’s chest. It feels deeply unfamiliar yet strangely affirming–could it be, perhaps, pride?

“Really?” she asks.

Will nods. “Really.”

“Huh.” It feels like there’s a small flame alight near Robin’s heart; she wants to cup her hands around it, stoke it, make sure it never goes out. “This is so strange. I feel, like, actual hope for the first time in months.”

“Do you think your–”

Will bites his sentence off immediately, his cheekbones burning red.

Robin eyes him, confused. The flame’s still alive, but wavering. “Do I think my…?”

“It’s nothing.”

Robin sniffs. “It doesn’t quite feel like nothing, Byers.”

“I was just…” He clears his throat, slumps against the wall. His eyes stay glued to the sky. “I just didn’t know…”

Robin also doesn’t know. She can’t, not with only having fragmented sentences and indecipherable body language to go off of, seeing as Will has fully morphed into Jonathan in the span of a single social blunder.

“You can say it, whatever it is,” Robin assures. She’s heard enough from Steve and Dustin to know that Will can have a bit of a smartass streak, so she’s fully expecting to be dragged through the mud for her mussed hair or penchant for long-winded tangents. That, or if her suspicions about Will are wrong, maybe he’ll be like all of his other friends that think she and Steve are secretly dating. Just yesterday, Dustin had pulled her aside and asked why she and Steve didn’t just announce their ongoing torrid love affair in front of their friends and family already, just to clear the air for everyone involved.

Will hesitates. He catches her eyes and studies her face.

His tone is tentative, nervous. It sounds like hers from a few years ago, echoing in the men’s restroom at Starcourt’s movie theatre.

“I just didn’t know if you were playing the music for your–ah…your friend? Your…Vickie?” He cringes after the last sentence clunks out of his mouth, his hands sliding out of his jacket pockets and onto his knees. “Wait, no, sorry, I meant, like–”

Robin grins. “My Vickie?”

“Or whatever,” Will says from between his hunched shoulders. Even in the dark of the night, she can see red coloring his ears. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it in any way–”

Robin shakes her head. “Will. It’s fine. Vickie is…We’re…” The memories that once brought her comfort make barbs of fear spring to life in her chest. All the teasing and flirting and covert hand holding of the past just remind her that Vickie is across town, holed up in the hospital. It taunts her, reminds her that they’ve only had one quick, hurried kiss that she couldn’t even properly enjoy, because Robin had been so thoroughly stuck in the middle of a ramble trying to explain herself and her feelings that Vickie had grabbed her cheeks, pulled her close, and jammed their mouths together. Which, yes, did get the point across quite nicely, but also, it managed to stun Robin into oblivion.

And it was all right before Vickie had left for her shift in the ICU. The shift that had now stretched from twelve hours to three weeks and counting.

“I miss her,” Robin finally says. Her heart clenches, and her gaze focuses on the dead trees a few yards away. “I don’t know if she’ll ever turn the radio on. The station’s been silent for weeks, of course, but a part of me hopes that if Steve and I keep it up, maybe one day, she’ll turn it on and hear my voice, and she’ll know I’m okay.”

And maybe I can find a way to hear her voice again, too.

Will’s fingers curl against his thighs. “I’m so sorry, Robin.”

Robin waves him off. “I trust you, Byers. I would just appreciate some discretion in not blabbing to all your little friends. I’ve already sworn Steve to secrecy, and I don’t want to have to repeat the ritual with you.”

“No, not that. I mean, thank you for telling me, of course. But I meant…” Will looks over and shrugs. “It hurts being apart like that. I’m sorry you’re going through it.”

So, the pinching in Robin’s heart intensifies to a full on twist that nearly makes her slide against the wall and burst into tears, but it’s fine, really. She manages with a single sniff and a forearm swiped across her nose before she decides, what the hell, he’s already clocked me–what’s one more secret between maybe-friends?

“Thank you, Byers,” she says. Then, before she can stop her twitchy, nervous hands, she reaches out and awkwardly pats his shoulder. “Um, just based on how you were talking, do you, maybe, have anyone like that?”

Will immediately stiffens under her hand. She can feel the fear make his bones ram-rod straight, his muscles tense, his eyes go wide.

Robin’s non-specific pronoun was very intentional.

“Anyone like…?”

“Like Vickie?” Robin pins him with her gaze. “Like ‘your Vickie?’”

Eyes blown wide, Will watches her.

Robin realizes she’s still patting his arm in a mechanical rhythm. She pulls it away, wincing in apology.

“You don’t have to, of course–”

“Can you–” Will starts at the same time. He clears his throat once Robin stops talking, like he has something he can’t quite swallow past.

“Can I…?” Robin trails off.

Will’s eyes dart to hers again and lock onto her gaze. “Can you tell?” he asks in a still, quiet whisper.

He looks afraid.

Now, the thing is, Robin has had her suspicions. She’s not exactly been in the position to test whether gaydar is a real thing or not, but in her few interactions with Will, and with the snippets of him she’s gleaned from friends and family, she had thought that there was, perhaps, something there. There were plenty of students in the Hawkins school system in 1983 that were obscenely comfortable throwing around slurs to describe the missing twelve-year old and his loner older brother, but Robin couldn’t lend credence to those, of course. People just called anybody they didn’t like a queer and moved on.

But she remembers, after Starcourt, Dustin complaining that Will still wasn’t interested in dating like the rest of them. Their group could be going on quadruple dates, but nooo, Will was single, and no matter how many hot girls from their class Dustin pointed out as potential dates, Will declined. He wasn’t interested.

Which, yeah, is a big one. But after he, Mike, El, and Jonathan rolled into town in a pizza van a few years ago, Robin began to notice when his gaze would linger on others for too long, when he turned away, and who those looks were directed towards. A few months after that, Dustin was still complaining that Will wasn’t interested in dating, which was a weird fucking thing to be worried about after the world almost ended, but that was Dustin for you.

Robin’s never probed, though, because, quite frankly, it’s none of her business.

Until tonight, that is. Him asking about Vickie has made her feel like two conversations have been happening at once: the one at surface-level and the implicit one where he’s asking is it the same for you, too?

At a loss for words, Robin simply shrugs. She offers her most sincere, solace-offering smile. “I think it’s more of a like recognizes like thing, if it makes you feel any better. I mean, Dustin still thinks Steve and I are secretly dating. Actually,” she tilts her head to the side, “come to think of it, a lot of people think he and I are dating.”

“It’s so obvious you’re not, though,” Will counters.

Robin shoots him a knowing look, like: bingo.

Some of the tension slips out of Will’s posture. He scrubs a hand over his face. “Oh, thank God it’s only you and Jonathan.”

“Well, Jonathan makes sense.” Robin’s hands are in her pockets again, but she’s stopped picking at her thumb’s skin. “You know, not to rehash the whole he cares about you a lot because you’re his little brother thing.”

“Right.”

Unless something truly awful has occurred between the two manchildren she left in charge, Robin imagines they must be past several songs now.

“So,” she tries again, “since we both have a, uh, mutual understanding and plan to be as discrete as possible about such matters–”

Will quickly draws a cross over his heart. Cross my heart, hope to die.

“–do you care to share your answer to my question?”

Red rushes into Will’s face again. “If I have anyone? Like Vickie?”

Robin nods, studying his face. Now that they’ve all but said hello, fellow homosexual, her curiosity has turned into something more playful between friends. It’s that feeling she and Will haven’t gotten at the usual lunchroom talks: right now, there’s no having to make up a name for a crush and trying your best not to think about who you actually mean. Plus, she’s feeling that spark of hope! She feels a little fun and silly, and what’s one secret between two gay kids in the apocalypse?

Besides, he knows about Vickie. It’s only fair, she thinks, that she gets to know his crush-slash-maybe-boyfriend.

“Yeah. Like Vickie,” Robin repeats, a shit-eating grin pulling up the corners of her mouth.

Will hesitates, clearly stuck between two warring impulses. In all fairness, it’s how Robin felt the first time she came to Steve to tell him about an actual crush; there’s the fear of not deserving this for what it is and not wanting to be more open than you already are, but also, when does it get to be your turn, dammit?

“There is. Someone.” Will screws his jaw back up again as soon as the words leave his mouth,.

“O-kay,” Robin says, excitement making her heart pitter-patter in her chest like a puppy’s paws on hardwood floors. Before she can stop herself, her hands are back out of her pockets, and she’s rubbing them together, like she’s some big, evil, gay matchmaker. “And is this someone we both know?”

Will’s voice is so, so small when he says, “Yes.”

Robin leans in closer, looking up through her eyelashes, trying to catch Will’s gaze as he keeps it, decidedly, stuck on the toes of his sneakers. “I see.”

Will’s fingers drum on his knees. He opens his mouth, closes it again.

“So, you’re just gonna leave me hanging?” she teases.

“It’s not important.”

“I think it is! Besides, you know about Vickie.”

Will says nothing.

“If you don’t tell me, I’m going to start saying names until I land on the right one,” she threatens.

This causes Will to snap his eyes back up to hers. “Robin, I really don’t think–”

“Lucas,” she tries.

Will hesitates but doesn’t give much else. Robin decidedly translates it as would, if his interests didn’t lie elsewhere.

“Dustin,” she tries again.

“Robin–”

“Steve.”

“Ew.”

“Mike?”

Bingo.

Will opens and closes his mouth, and his face is beet red, and suddenly, it all makes so much sense. Robin runs through the rolodex of memories in her mind, all the moments she saw Will’s gaze resting on Mike, earnest and loving and loyal. How he tore it away whenever Mike turned to El, grabbed her hand, kissed her forehead.

But they’re broken up now. And Mike is single. And Will is single. And–

“Robin, no–”

“Ohmygod,” Robin breathes out. She puts a hand to her cheek, mouth gaping. “It makes so much sense.”

“Please please please don’t be weird about this,” Will begs. He’s now turned to face her. His hands curl up to his stomach just like hers do when she gets nervous, and he begins fidgeting, messing with his fingers. “It’s just a stupid crush, and it’ll go away–”

“A years-long crush? That’s just gonna go away like that?” She snaps for emphasis.

Will looks almost physically pained. “It’s bound to, right?”

The memories blow through her mind again with full force. She tries to remember how Mike acted with El, if he ever screamed I’m secretly attracted to men at all with his actions. She’d never concerned herself much with the younger Wheelers, though, and the most she can come up with for whatever Mike Wheeler feels towards the same sex is a big, burning question mark.

“But–but what if he feels the same?” Robin counters. “I mean, I thought Vickie was straight for like, the longest time, and it took her literally kissing me to realize she wasn’t, and what if Mike just needs that? Just a little push?” “A push?” Will stammers.

“The radio!” Robin bursts out. She turns to face Will, hands held out. “The radio, Byers!”

Will looks like he’s stuck between two states, one of confusion and horror, one of excitement and curiosity.

But mostly, his features just scream: HELP.

“We use the radio,” Robin explains, the words finally catching up with the thoughts in her brain. “I can be your wingman! The music’s already affecting everybody’s mood, like you said, so if I can play the right songs on the air, and you get Mike to listen to them, then maybe you’ll have, like, a moment–”

Will swallows. “But what if he doesn’t…”

Mike’s been glued to Will since all this supernatural nonsense started up again, that much Robin knows is true. She’s going to begin her monitoring of the middle Wheeler immediately following this conversation, just to observe him in the wild.

Plus, looking at Will, she wants this poor kid to be happy, to have one thing go right for him for once.

“You don’t know if you don’t try,” Robin says. She shrugs, a smile stretching across her face. “I mean, regardless, he’s always by your side, so as long as you have the radio on, he’ll hear it.”

Will rolls his eyes at that, but he seems to have calmed down and loosened up a bit. He rubs a hand over his face again before he lets out a short, “Fine.”

“Yes!” Robin squeals, clapping her hands together. Once she stops bouncing up and down, she holds her pinkie out. “C’mon, swear on it.”

“What is there to even swear on?”

“Just do it.”

With a great sigh that lets her know that, yes, this is a big inconvenience for him, actually, Will holds his own pinkie out, and they hook their fingers together.

“I solemnly swear,” Robin begins, “that I will never play ‘Should I Stay or Should I Go’ again, lest I incur the wrath of Jonathan Byers upon myself.”

Will lets out a snort.

“Instead of playing that song, I will strive to use my new disc jockey skills to bring about romantic bliss for the one person left in this town who really deserves a happy ending.”

Will clears his throat. He looks like he’s ready to cry. “And, um, what am I swearing?”

“You, younger Byers,” Robin says, “are swearing that you will be your truest self and not neglect your hard-won feelings, and that you will try to believe in a world where the boy you love loves you back. In the gay way, of course,” she adds.

“Of course,” Will sighs. “Well, then, I swear.”

Robin shakes their pinkies together, and it’s not a moment too soon as the back door swings open to reveal Jonathan, a stern look on his face.

“Are you guys done yet?” he grouses. “Because I’m going to kill Steve if I have to hear about the merits of Bruce Springsteen one more time.”

Robin and Will break their pinkies apart, and they both burst into laughter.