Chapter Text
On the ever-expanding list of terrifying shit that happened to him in the last few hours, Steve is definitely adding the Russian doctor coming towards him with pliers in his hand. Next to that are the first beating he’s taken here, and the syringe piercing the skin of his neck, the mysterious blue drug infiltrating his blood flow.
He doesn’t know exactly what kind of high he is on, or what the blue drug is supposed to be doing, but he feels like words are jumping out of his mouth, depriving him of the little control he usually has over them. Seconds later, he is talking about Dustin, Hopper, the US cavalry, despite Robin’s attempts to stop him, and is eventually saved by the sound of a sudden alarm.
Dustin and Erica probably managed to call for help, and help has arrived. Steve doesn’t know how long they’ve spent in this hellhole, but he is more than ready for it to be over. His finger is released and he immediately slides it back under his palm. When his head turns to the door, it has closed, leaving them alone again, the Russians gone investigating.
***
It is the need to puke something up that wakes him, and makes him realize that he’s fallen asleep in the first place. With his empty stomach, he doesn’t manage to do more than retch, bile dripping on the tiles to his right. From the sounds of it, Robin is in a similar state right behind him.
“You okay?” He asks. The fuzzy, anesthetic effect of the drugs has faded, leaving him with a once again pounding head. The hits he’s taken were brutal. His tongue feels heavy, though, and his lips are tired. He doesn’t know what’s to blame: the drugs, the beating, or both.
“I think so.” Robin answers. “D’you think they got out?”
He tries shrugging but it’s made difficult by the way they are tied up, together and back to back, his hands secured between his thighs. He can’t see Robin but he guesses her position mirrors his.
“Henderson’s smart. Probably called for help already.” Steve knows that in most drastic situations, he can count on Dustin doing the right thing. He might be a pain in the ass most of the time, but he is smart. Steve may have asked Robin to let him think earlier, when their chairs fell on the side and the hope of getting to the scissors died with the fall, but the truth is that he isn’t the one to usually figure things out or make plans. Dustin is more than capable. Their fate is in his and Erica’s hands, and Steve trusts them.
His tongue runs across his teeth, finding once again the place from where blood keeps coming out. It hurts like hell, and one tooth is moving under his tongue, but things could be a lot worse, he muses. Robin doesn’t seem hurt, and they are both alive, which are two very good things.
The helplessness of his situation is starting to get to him though. He’s so used to defending himself with whatever ends up being closest to him, his weapon of choice having become a bat since his first fight against a demogorgon. Right here, tied up like he is, Steve is weaponless and at the mercy of their captors.
He tries telling himself that if they are being left alone all this time, it means that the Russians have a lot on their plate. This lot maybe being Hopper, or the army, or whoever’s been called to rescue them. This whole shit has lasted long enough, he is ready to go home now. There was an alarm earlier, which must’ve stopped while he was sleeping out the drugs. This probably means that someone is coming for them, right?
His head turns to the table where they saw the scissors earlier. Gone now. The doctor took everything with him when he left. The room is empty and their chance at escaping’s definitely gone with the men.
Steve is getting restless, despite trying to keep his cool. And it seems like Robin feels the same way, her movements pulling on the binds. Steve tries turning his head to see what she is doing, feeling her elbow dig into his back.
“St—Stop. Robin, stop it, what are you doing?” He groans between his teeth as she keeps moving her arm back and forth.
“Trying to get out of these.” Maybe she’s found a way to free her hands, or she’s just pulling and hoping. Probably the second option, and Steve’s eyebrows lift with judgement.
“Yeah, no, that’s probably not gonna work.” It’s almost sarcastic. He tries to be patient, really. It doesn’t stop her and she keeps fidgeting.
“Why wouldn’t it work, maybe it will, I’m just—trying to do something—” There’s the obvious frustration in her voice, and Steve doesn’t know her that well, but she seems scared and he gets that. He doesn’t want her to panic, though, and this sounds a lot like panicking to him.
“It’s not working, Robin. Stop this, you’re digging a hole into my ribs for literally no reason—”
“Like, if you want to wait here for help that’s fine, but I think we should try to get out as fast as we can.” He has this image of a wild animal’s foot getting stuck in a trap, and the beast pulling and pulling to free itself, even if it hurts even worse.
“This shit’s tight as fuck, we’re not slipping out anytime soon, Rob.” Steve tries.
“I mean you can stay here if you want but I’m getting a lil’ bit sick of this!”
“These restraints are not—”
The door opens, cutting short their bickering and Robin’s attempts to get out of the binds. They’re back, both of them. The Colonel who questioned Steve before and the doctor with his little suitcase. Steve’s heard the doctor’s name, called in the middle of a conversation by the other soldiers, but he can’t remember. The Colonel is called Ozerov, and Steve’s scared enough to know that he probably won’t forget it anytime soon. What matters now though is that none of the men look like they’re coming out of a fight against the US Army. They’re not hurt or disheveled, they look completely unbothered. Steve doesn’t feel so good.
He has a weird taste in his mouth, something between vomit and blood. And fear, too, probably. The Russian Colonel makes a show of walking towards him, slowly, of stopping right in front of Steve, looking down at him with his signature smile that doesn’t promise anything good. His hand finds Steve’s hair, lifting his head to look at his bruised face. Steve wants to close his eyes and be forgotten.
“Hopper.” The man says. “Is that who you’re working for?”
It takes Steve some time to remember, to think back on what he said when he was fully under the influence of the drugs. He talked about the Chief, briefly, only mentioned his name, if he remembers correctly. Steve shakes his head.
“No. I told you. We work for Scoops Ahoy, at the mall, we sell ice cream.”
He holds Ozerov’s gaze, until the man signals for the doctor. The pliers are back in his hand, on Steve’s finger. He can only blink, and from one simple question, in a second or two, he’s back in the nightmare. They can’t do that, right? They must give him another chance.
“Wait. No. W-wait—”
His own scream cuts him off, tearing its way out of his throat, the pain causing him to white out for a few seconds. He manages to catch his breath, refusing to look at his own finger. The men are still there, right in front of his face, not giving him much room to breathe. His brain takes some time to catch up, to add up the elements, to push over the shock, realizing that this really happened. So he blinks, but they are bringing the pliers back, and there is Robin’s voice in his ears.
“Steve?!” He doesn’t find the energy to make sense of her screaming. He can’t—They’ve torn off his fingernail and they are about to do it again. Steve doesn’t find his voice in time, doesn’t manage to scream or ask or beg. If they repeat the question, he does not hear it.
Steve screams again when he feels the second fingernail get pulled off. And there, for a second or maybe longer than that, there is nothing in his brain other than the pain and the terror. The first nail had surprised him, going too quickly from simple threats to extreme violence. The second time, he knows what to expect, he can see it happening in slow motion, and it is a thousand times worse.
A surprisingly delicate hand brushes his hair away from his forehead. “We’ll give you some time to think about why you’re here. Try to have your answers ready when we come back.”
They leave, and the teenagers are alone again.
“Steve? You okay?” Her voice is hesitant, wet sounding, fear transpiring through her tone. Like she’s scared of what she’s going to find, because the last thing she’s heard from him probably was his scream of pain. She might expect him to have passed out, or died.
Steve doesn’t really trust himself to speak right then, but he owes her at least that much. “Yeah, I’m… I’m okay.” He doesn’t sound okay at all, and he knows that Robin is too smart to believe him, but she doesn’t say anything more. He can feel her breathe behind him, the subtle movements of her body against his help him calm down.
His mangled left hand is shaking against his thigh, and Steve ends up looking down against his best judgement. His Scoops Ahoy shorts are stained with blood, and his hand is a total mess. When he sees what the tips of his fingers look like, he quickly looks away. He isn’t ready for that.
“How bad is it?” Robin asks, as though she’s guessed what he was doing seconds earlier.
Steve doesn’t exactly know. He doesn’t want to analyze the situation.
“They ripped off my fingernails.” He says, as though it answers the question. Steve doesn’t think he sounds much like himself. To his own ears, it feels like a kid version of himself asking for help. He tries to clear his throat, then swallows. He’s got nothing to say, so there’s a second-long latency.
“The fuck.” It isn’t her most eloquent come back, but it really is on point. ‘The fuck’ is pretty much the only thing Steve himself can think. At least, they are on the same page. Because despite the pain and the shock, Steve has a hard time believing it himself. So easily, so quickly, they pulled off two of his fingernails and left the room.
“I think I’m still kinda drugged.” He ends up saying, because that is the only logical conclusion to all that, and the only reason why he isn’t going completely crazy right now. And maybe, he thinks, it should hurt more. Don’t get it wrong, it’s awful and painful, but Steve doesn’t feel completely connected to what just happened, to what’s still happening. He thinks of it and can’t fully comprehend that this is him, and not someone else he is watching from afar.
She confirms the sensation with a short nod. “I still feel a bit… fuzzy? Mmh ask me something?”
Steve lets his head fall back, meeting Robin’s neck and the back of her shoulder. It isn’t so bad like this. “Okay. Uh. When was the last time you… peed your pants?”
She laughs, and it is honestly the most comforting thing Steve’s heard in the last few hours. Just for that reason, he is ready to keep going with this little conversation, buying them a moment of respite. If he could hear her laugh a bit more, he’d probably start feeling a lot better soon. So they talk, about being in love, and he loses his mind for a minute, because he is confused and he’s never been very good at not loving people fully. He doesn’t expect what she reveals, but Robin liking girls makes sense in a way.
“Oh.” He says, when he understands what she means. God, he really is kind of slow, sometimes. Now that she’s said it, a lot of things start clicking into place. So he jumps back on track, commenting on her taste in women. Tammy Thompson. Really?
Their laughter dies out a minute or two later, and Steve wonders if this is still the drugs making him overshare the way he just did, when he tried to give Robin the most half-cooked declaration he’s ever thought of. He probably should’ve shut up, this is not the time nor the place, and he’s pretty sure this is all because of the drugs, anyway. There’s a closeness he longs for with Robin, after the weeks in Scoops Ahoy, and the hours in here. Maybe love isn’t about dates and romance, maybe it’s more than that, and there’s a whole new universe left to explore for him. He likes that idea.
The priority though is getting out, surviving this nightmare. But the pain in Steve’s face isn’t helping him focus, and he can’t possibly think of a way to get out of this mess. Hopefully, Dustin and Erica will be sending help soon. Steve can’t wait to see Hopper burst through the door.
When it eventually opens, it isn’t the Chief making his way into the room but the Russian Colonel, again. Steve’s hands tighten on the fabric of his shorts, a mistake that sends a sharp pain in his bloodied fingers. He quickly lets go, wincing.
The man’s shoes make a disgustingly wet sound on the tiles as he walks to stand in front of Steve. A part of him is still hoping that they’ll realize that he is telling the truth, that they are not spies and that keeping them prisoners is pointless. Another part is aware that a group of Russian soldiers hiding under Hawkins would probably not give anyone the chance to go tell the authorities about what is going on in here, whether or not they were spies.
Steve chooses to be hopeful and to focus on the first part. And if that’s more about being in denial than being hopeful, he decides not to think about it too much. The silence is suddenly heavy, now that the black boots have stopped right in front of him. He feels scrutinized, and when he lifts his head up, his stare crosses the man’s. Steve can’t look away now, despite feeling the moment stretch out beyond comfort. The soldier is analyzing him, looking for the way to get what he is searching for. Steve can almost see the cogs turning in his head.
Steve’s tongue goes to lick his dry lips. Colonel Ozerov smiles in a small, hungry deformation of his face. It’s terrifying.
“We have many other ways to make you talk.” The man threatens. Steve doesn’t say anything. What is there to say to that? He is scared that if he opens his mouth, he’s gonna puke right there on the guy’s shoes. “This is only a tiny sample, but you have more nails, and other things we can tear off or break.”
Steve’s wounded hand hasn’t stopped trembling since they pulled off his nails, the pain taking away his control on the fingers. But there, under the stare of the soldier, he can feel his other hand shaking as well, despite his determination to keep it closed around the fabric, a tight ball of flesh and bones that suddenly seems a lot more fragile than he’s ever thought it to be.
The Colonel calls his subordinates, who start untying Steve. What is going on now, why are they doing this, where are they taking him? Is he going to die. Steve doesn’t have much time to think, because they are lifting him from the chair, separating him from the comfort of Robin’s back against his. He’s thrown against a wall and his hands are tied again. Handcuffs replace the leather, and it is only when they step away that he understands that he’s been tied to a metal ring that sticks out of the wall. If this wasn’t built exactly for this, for keeping prisoners, Steve doesn’t know the reason this ring exists in the first place.
It’s a new form of dread that pushes down his lungs. Like it suddenly hits him that this room was built specifically for holding people, it was thought and planned for this. The realization shouldn’t be anything groundbreaking, since this is a Russian base full of soldiers and spies, but still, it strikes him. He’s surrounded by people who trained and planned for this, and they’re just two teenagers, here by accident. Mostly.
He hears a commotion, Robin’s voice, and it pulls him out of his thoughts. His head shoots up just in time to see a man throw his booted foot in her stomach. Robin's now tied up just like him to a bit of metal sticking out of the wall. “Hey!” He shouts, as if there is anything he can do, any authority he can have on them. “You okay?” Steve asks with worry in his voice, looking at his friend’s face as the soldiers take the two chairs out of the room. It’s mostly empty now, with only the creepy reclining chair abandoned in a corner, the one that looks like it was stolen from a dentist’s office.
“I’m great.” She wheezes out, deprived of oxygen, leaning forward as much as the cuffs allow. Her sarcasm is still intact, which Steve is thankful for. He isn’t very confident about his own abilities to be snarky. Not when the doctor is making his way back into the room, pliers in hand, and walking straight to Steve.
“WAIT!” He screams, but it’s useless, they’ve already decided that he needs more incentive. He tries to move, do something, scramble away. It all happens so fast, and Steve thinks they should ask more questions, like, logically. He painfully understands that they’re gonna hurt him if they want to, they’re not going to wait or give him chances to open his mouth.
He missed his window and this is what he gets, another sample of what they’ve got in store. When the doctor leaves, a few minutes later, Steve’s thumbnail is the only one remaining on his left hand.
He struggles to pull air into his lungs, lips parted, eyes wide. There isn’t enough oxygen in the room, not enough room in his body. He doesn’t know whether it is the absolute terror or the horrifying pain, but something is making him lose all control on his body, cutting off the communication between his brain and his organs.
Slowly, he comes back to the real world, blinks, manages to breathe in and lick his lips. He sends a quick look towards Robin, but he doesn’t want to face her stare, for whatever reason. He feels so fucking exposed. One of the soldiers approaches with a bottle of water. Steve’s not sure. He’s watched movies before. This shit could be poisoned or something. “We don’t want you to die of dehydration before you tell us everything about who you work for. Drink.” The Colonel orders. And in another situation, Steve might’ve refused simply to spite the man, but he is thirsty as hell, and water looks like the only thing that can save his life in this moment.
The bottle is brought to Robin after Steve gets five big mouthfuls of water. She drinks just as eagerly. The man with the bottle leaves after that, and they’re alone with Ozerov and another soldier. “When you tell me about your employers, you might even get food.” The Colonel taunts them. The water has soothed Steve’s screaming throat, and he suddenly feels like opening his big mouth. He doesn’t think, motivated by the pain and the way they’ve hit Robin just minutes earlier. Steve is so fucking done with this shit, so done being polite.
“Let us go, we sell fucking ice cream at the mall, we’re not spies, we’re teenagers, what the fuck is wrong with you.” This earns him a fist in his face, hard enough to make him shut up. Maybe not enough to make him regret it.
When they’re alone again, Steve tries to find a way to sit, a position that makes things easier. The cuffs are keeping his hands just above his head, and there’s not much he can do. He eventually gives up. Everything feels so heavy, anyway. His hands are the worst, but the hits he took to the face and stomach were brutal as well. He wishes he could just sleep it off. Wake up out of here, preferably in his own bed.
His eyes find Robin, and he discreetly looks at her for a moment. He hopes the kick wasn’t too hard, that she isn’t hiding a deeper pain behind her closed eyes. She’s sitting on the same side of the room as he is, only a few feet away, and he rests his head against the wall, watching her. Maybe if he stretches his leg, he could bump into her calf with his foot. He doesn’t try. The only thing he manages to do is to fall asleep.
***
One thing Steve knows for sure is that he’d trade evil Russians for inter-dimensional monsters any day. Despite the horror of it, there’s been something exciting about fighting beasts from another world alongside his friends, and keeping them safe. Following the kids in their crazy obsessions and jumping in to help when he could had a fun dimension to it. He hadn’t been looking for it, didn’t ask to be caught in this, but he followed willingly, happy to be part of this strange group of people.
But here, there is no excitement and no thrill. The only thing Steve can expect from this is pain and questions he can’t answer. Human cruelty is something he can’t fight back against. So he stares at the wall in silence.
He doesn’t know how long he slept, but Robin is snoring and she deserves to be left in peace. It was a mistake to come here. American heroes. That’s what Dustin said, the motivation Steve was given when they started trying to translate the code. It sounds like pure bullshit now. He doesn’t really feel like a hero, handcuffed in an underground Russian base and hoping that two literal children have escaped the place and are sending help.
Steve looks at Robin, who doesn’t even really know Dustin, who lived a perfectly normal life until this summer. Who also stayed behind with him, held the door with him so that the kids could escape. Who put her trust in him when she had no real reason to. When they get out of here, he’s going to spend his entire life making sure she has friends to support her and to keep her safe. He’ll never let Robin Buckley go, he will keep her by his side and make sure she has everything she has ever wanted.
He closes his eyes, just a minute or two. Noise on the other side of the door forces him to focus again on reality. It apparently pulls Robin out of her sleep, as she straightens and opens her eyes right when the men enter the room. It is the same Colonel, again, probably back with more questions. This time though, his hand holds a sleeve filled with sheets of paper. He walks in, followed by three other soldiers and the doctor who hurt Steve before. The door closes behind them.
“Steve Harrington, right?” He gave his full name when they first beat him, doesn’t know if that was a mistake. Too late now to take it back. “You have a nice house, with a great pool. You must have a lot of money, so why do you work in a mall? We tried asking your parents about that but they weren’t home. That’s okay, though, they should be easy to find.” Steve’s heart jumps up in his throat, the barely concealed threat choking the air out of him.
“They’re not in Hawkins right now.” He answers, trying to stay calm. Staying calm means keeping this conversation going, it means speaking instead of being hurt, it seems safer.
“We could bring them here to clear up the situation, I’m sure they have a lot to say.” It is said with a grin, like it is nothing, like he isn’t talking about abducting Steve’s parents and hurting them the way they’ve hurt him. Steve doesn’t have the best relationship with his mom and dad, but he still loves them and doesn’t want them to get mixed up in this shit. “I have a lot of information on your mother, here.” He takes a sheet out of the sleeve. Then another. “And all this about your father.” These are pictures of his parents, with names and locations. Steve doesn’t get the chance to read or see more than that, but he feels like the floor has vanished under him.
“Stay away from them, they know nothing about this.” After the demogorgons and the NDAs and everything, Steve has always managed to keep his parents away from the ugliness going on in Hawkins. They’d never been mixed up in it, had always conveniently been away when shit was going down. Steve wants to keep things that way, he wants to preserve them and their ignorance. Please please please, let them be safe and worried only about the simple, everyday life things, like their jobs and that dinner party next Saturday. No Upside Down and no Russians.
But the Colonel keeps digging, trying to read between the lines. “About this? What ‘this’?” He asks, thinking that there is something there. Colonel Ozerov’s probably used to doing this, he’s probably worked for his country his whole life and interrogated dozens of spies. He doesn’t miss anything and Steve’s terrified that he’ll let something slip, even something useless that means nothing. He’s scared it’ll be misinterpreted and bring more trouble.
“About me, about my life, okay? We’re not close, they’re always traveling, we don’t talk much.” Steve barely manages to keep his cool. He doesn’t like talking about this, admitting that adolescence has dug a ditch between his parents and himself, that they never spend much time together anymore and don’t feel like sharing anything. And then, when monsters first showed up in town, he distanced himself from them a little more. At that same time, they decided that he was an adult and that they would spend more time out of town, on trips for business or leisure. It’s okay, though, really. It’s no big deal, it’s just the way things are.
“Where are they?” Ozerov asks, clearly losing his patience. Steve already knows that the answer will not be enough and that soon, things will get ugly again. He sends a nervous look to Robin and licks his lower lip. “I—I don’t know. They didn’t say.” It’s the truth, but it’s not what the man wants, and it feels like choosing the hard way. It seems like the hard way is the only road available since they first got locked up in this room, and Steve is tired and so fucking scared.
The Russian Colonel stares at him, then turns to the doctor, and looks down at Steve again. “Lies.” It sounds like a cleaver hitting wood. The Colonel steps back to let the others come forward, one of them opening the handcuffs to free Steve’s left hand and cuffing the right one back to the ring on the wall.
Steve doesn’t know what to expect, but when they press his already wounded hand to the floor, he tries pulling. “What are you—” It’s not a real question, he doesn’t want to know what they are about to do, he wants to be left alone. His hand is held flat against the floor, his palm on the cold tiles. Steve only sees the small hammer when the man raises it.
He tries moving, fighting back, kicking, he shouts “No!” but the word gets tainted with the worst pain he’s ever felt and the scream that comes with it. Once, and twice, right over the delicate bones linking his fingers to his wrist. The men let him go, and Steve can only pull his hand towards himself in a protective move, as he cowers away from the threat. He can barely breathe through the pain, can’t hear anything anymore, and realizes a few seconds later that he is screaming and sobbing, both at the same time. That this noise is coming from him, and that this is the reason he can’t get air into his lungs. There is no stopping it though, the pain is too much.
He manages to calm down after a few minutes—what he thinks is a few minutes, it could be anything, it could be years—, to focus on what is going on around him and not just his hand. It’s a bloody mess. A disgusting piece of broken flesh. He sees Robin, just a few feet to his left. Her face is covered in tears, her eyes wide. Steve’s gaze finds the Colonel, and he manages to pull some strength from deep inside of himself to open his mouth and get his voice working. “I’m not a spy. I don’t know what you want. I don’t know what to tell you.” Steve’s voice has grown tired, breathy. Each word is a razor on his vocal cords, but he needs to be believed before despair devours him whole.
It doesn’t work. All he gets is a flippant piece of advice. “It would be best to have someone take care of that hand soon, if you want to be able to scoop ice cream again. I’m sure you Americans have talented surgeons who could fix it for you.” The rest of it remains unsaid, because it’s obvious that as long as they are here, no surgery will be happening. Steve has always lived in the moment without giving much thought to the future or worrying about consequences. So it only hits him then, that his hand might be hurt beyond repair, that it may never be the way it was before. That he could lose the use of his left hand if he doesn’t get to a hospital.
“We don’t work for anyone, just let us go, we won’t tell anyone that you’re here, we just wanna go home.” He tries to make them understand. “Please.” Honestly, Steve could start crying right now, but he hears Robin sniffle and it fuels him with a new surge of courage.
“You talked about a ‘Hopper’. Who is it? Is he the man who sent you here?” Steve is about to start screaming again because they are not listening to him, they are not. And fuck this, they would know about Hopper sooner or later, if they were able to dig up all that shit about his parents so quickly. And Hopper is out of here, and can defend himself, so why keep quiet?
“He’s just the Chief of Police, okay? Nothing else. That’s who we wanted to call for help. There’s nothing more. He didn’t send us and doesn’t know we’re here.” Steve eventually admits, and the Colonel stares at him for a long moment. Clearly, he was not expecting an answer and is probably trying to decide if it is good enough. Steve fucking hopes it is.
“Okay.” Ozerov seems to accept. “Who sent you down here, then?” And no, Steve’s really done with all this. Every step forward brings him back to square one, every hope ends up getting crushed. There’s no way out and Steve’s about to lose it.
“No one! I told you.” It might be a bit more forceful than he intended, led by fear and despair. The Russian Colonel walks towards him, making Steve flinch in the process, and grabs his hair to pull, lifting his head so that he can look him in the eyes.
“Your left hand is destroyed, but you still have the right one, and two feet that we can hurt, and then the rest of your body. You should start talking.” Most of what the Colonel says is usually accompanied by a grin, a sardonic tone, but this is a dry threat. The violence in his eyes, as he crouches in front of Steve and gets close to him, promises a world of nightmares. He barely manages to hold the Colonel’s gaze.
Steve is a trembling leaf when the men leave the room. His hope and bravery have seeped out of him along with his blood now coating the tiled floor. It is so quiet, suddenly. Only his heavy breathing disturbs the peace, as he tries to find a way to sit that won’t be so painful. He lifts his head to look at Robin.
“Steve…” She whimpers, when their eyes meet. She is still stuck in the state of shock the violent attack threw her into. And now, she is looking at him like they are both made of glass and waiting to see who would break first.
“I’m… okay.” He says, unsure, but confident that he could and would be okay again. He is terribly hurt, but he will be okay. It isn’t a lie, he is not pretending or deflecting, or trying to make her feel better. He just needs to rest, get out of here, go to the hospital. They didn’t tie his hand back after breaking it, probably because it is completely useless now. At least, he can let it rest on the floor. Having it hang from the handcuff would’ve been awful, but this, given the situation, isn’t so bad.
Robin tries to dry her tears by rubbing her cheeks on her shoulders. She wasn’t hurt too much, a few hits and kicks but nothing too terrible, and Steve is grateful for this small mercy. Grateful, but still wondering why. Do they think he has all the answers they are looking for? Or does he look more breakable? Steve feels pretty breakable, for sure.
Steve chooses not to spend too much time thinking about this, and lets his mind wander. But nothing is satisfying, and no topic is really safe. Thinking of Dustin is not helping his anxiety, and imagining his parents coming back to an empty house and looking for him everywhere makes him fucking sad.
When the door opens, his full body tenses. What new horror are they bringing in now? It is only one man, a doctor, but not the one who hurt him. This one’s younger, and a soldier stands at the door with a gun, looking at them, probably making sure that they don’t attack the doctor or try to escape. He goes to Steve’s side, looks at his hand. When he leaves, a few minutes later, the hand is bandaged. It’s still gross and bloody, and Steve’s fingertips hang out of the gauze in a weird way, but it feels better around the break. They are given food (a piece of bread) and water, and then, they’re alone again. Everything to keep them alive.
“How long d’you think we’ve been here?” Robin asks after a few minutes. Steve has no idea. It feels like it’s been days, with their messed up sleeping schedule. But Steve probably would be a lot more hungry if it had been more than twenty-four hours. He doesn’t know how much time is needed to get people down here to rescue them
“Maybe a day?” Steve shrugs, unsure. “It definitely feels like more, but also, probably, less.”
“Yeah. It does.” She confirms, and it’s surprising that his weird feeling is shared. Thinking about it now, it makes sense that help would need time to be called, to organize, to come down here and find them. It was so unrealistic to think that their little trip would go without consequences, especially once they found themselves facing Russian guns and angry soldiers. But help will come, and Steve just has to hold out until then. Hopefully, help will come.
He tries not to think about anything bad happening to Dustin and Erica. A part of Steve knows that, if the kids make it out, that’s good. That’s one good thing, and, in the worst case, it’s at least that. He thinks that yeah, at least they managed to escape and they will be okay, and if he has to be stuck here for days—if that’s the price to pay—it’s okay, he’s fine with that. And he hates that Robin’s here too, but they’re the two grown-ups in this situation, and they did their best. So if the kids make it out, it’s good.
He still doesn’t know how he’ll do with more of this, though. If the men come back, and ask more questions, and hurt him more, or hurt Robin, he doesn’t know how he’ll be able to handle it. But he tries not to stay too long with that thought.
The thumb on his left hand, the only part of it that’s not completely killing him, goes up to his hair in an attempt to reorganize the sweaty mess that’s up there. “How do I look?” He asks Robin, who’s looking very unimpressed right now.
“Ravishing.” Her dry sarcasm is probably Steve’s favorite thing about her, which he would never admit. “You should try charming those Russians into letting us go.”
“They haven’t been very receptive to my charming personality so far, so I don’t know.” He lets his head fall back against the wall, sending her a smile. It’s probably all bloody and weird. Steve doesn’t add anything, he can’t think of another joke and is fucking tired, anyway. He just watches Robin, and after some time, she looks at him too and she smiles a bit.
The wordless conversation that goes on says ‘I’m sorry we’re here but also grateful that I’m with you’ and ‘This is a new kind of mess for us, but we’ll be ok’ and ‘I trust you’. Steve feels like it could be worse, all things considered.
It doesn’t erase everything else, like the fear and the fact that at any moment, someone could come in to hurt them. Apparently, the same dark thoughts go through Robin’s head, because she looks away and tries to move, and Steve sees her go through various emotions—fear, doubt, determination—, like she’s working and trying to put on a brave face.
He knows she’s the smart one, so she’s probably thinking something very smart right now. But he’s the hopeful, positive kind, so he wants to open his mouth and provide jokes and reassurances. “Robin—”
“If they realize that we really don’t know anything, I think they’ll kill us.” She says, her voice low, looking down at her lap. That shuts him up. When he says nothing, she looks up at him, and her face is harder than before, like the tragic meaning of her words just hit her.
Steve can see that she’s been thinking it for a while, it’s been bothering her but she probably didn’t want to let it out. He also thinks that it makes sense, now that she’s said it, and that it’s probably true.
“Yeah.” He says, and it’s pretty lame, but he’s got nothing else. Steve’s gaze is lost on the wall facing him. It makes sense that they will not let them go, not after everything they’ve done already. At first, Steve hoped that they would talk their way out of this, but he is done being delusional. These Russian soldiers are not going to let them go, and if they have no reason to keep them alive, they’re probably not above shooting them both and getting rid of their corpses. At least, Dustin and Erica will be able to let people know that they were here, and maybe someone will be sent to… bring back their bodies. It’s a whole horror movie going on in Steve’s head right now. He should try to think positive thoughts, instead of this.
“If it’s really been a day, my parents will flip their shit for sure. I didn’t come home last night, which is unusual, and if they don’t see me today, yeah… They’re gonna know something’s wrong.” Robin says, and that makes sense too. It’s hope, and it might not be much but at least it means that someone is worried and looking for them. Steve’s parents are currently away—that was not a lie—so he can’t expect much worrying coming from them. They always call on Mondays, but until then, Steve and Robin will be dead.
He needs to trust Dustin and Erica. Really, they’re their best hope right now.
The truth is, Steve is so fucking scared. Terrified. There is nowhere to go, nothing to do, no way to fight or run. He can only stay here and wait and hope. His future is in the hands of these people, and in those of two literal children, and there is no way out. Steve has no control over anything that is happening to him. His left hand is a mess, and when the men come back, he’s expecting more pain. They will probably start somewhere else. Maybe he should just lie, make something up, tell them that he’s some kind of spy so that they’d stop. Though, would it really help? Or would it only bring more questions and pain, until they bleed him dry?
The door opens and it’s the Colonel, with a grin on his face and pure joy in his eyes. It’s nothing good, and Steve sits straighter, his breathing picking up immediately. The wall is warm against his back, and he tries to move back, away, but he can’t. He’s going to be hurt again.
The man takes a step to the side and something—someone—is pushed inside the room. It’s a small body, with colorful clothing, and curls on its head. The last time Steve’s seen this mess of hair, it was topped with a hat.
The Russians don’t say anything, they don’t even stay. The door closes and Dustin stands there, in the middle of the room. Steve turns to the side just in time to avoid puking on his shorts.