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stevebabey · 5 months

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steve harrington but it's that jeff winger moment from community. if u have seen community, u will know... my first stobin-centric piece <3 tw for parental neglect and a prior act of self-harm. this is absolutely on the steve harrington has bad parents train <3

“Steven, this is ridiculous.”

Robin freezes in place. Her hand hovers over the remote she's just placed back down, her limbs locking up one by one at the sound of the voice at the door.

It is not a familiar voice. She knows who it is all the same.

She fights not to move, knowing the couch springs, old and rusted, threaten to reveal her hiding place, even if it is her house. Robin is very much allowed to be here. Expected, even.

But Steve? Steve is not.

It’s why there’s one Christine Harrington on the dingy porch steps.

It’s an unwelcome surprise — even after all the fuss of the 4th of July, a thousand police sirens, endless NDAs, and too much blood on his uniform, Steve’s parents hadn’t shown.

Out of town, Steve had said, his bashed in face making it impossible to read his expression. His eyes were haunted and misty but Robin couldn’t tell if it was from the horror of the night or… a loneliness far older.

So Robin had done the fussing. Had dragged him home with her, shooed away her rightfully nosy parents, and mended him up on her bathroom counter.

Steve had been silent, a little wide-eyed as she worked on each cut, each bruise — but with her gentle touch, he had been helpless to do anything but melt beneath it.

He’d called her Robbie for the first time that night. They’d fallen asleep with their hands intertwined, her arm hanging off the bed to reach out to him on her bedroom floor.

Robin still hasn’t met Steve’s parents, even though it’s been more than a couple months since that night.

She’s been to his house countless times too. She knows where the spare key is, if she ever loses her own copy, that is. Knows which stair squeaks on the way up to the second floor and how the lock on the downstairs bathroom gets jammed too easily.

She’s eaten the best grilled cheese of her life in their kitchen, sitting on the counter.

She’s laughed so hard she’s cried on their couch, getting the throw pillows wet with her happy tears.

She’s still never met Steve’s parents. Til right now.

Christine Harrington has her arms wrapped tight around her frame and Robin has no doubt that on her face is a frown that could make babies cry.

She can’t see her face though. Can only just see a glimpse of her tense body from where she sits. Steve blocks part of her view, his own tense frame in the doorway.

He’d answered the door instead of Robin only because he had the foresight to glance at the front window after the first rap at the door. It was late. Robin’s parents certainly wouldn’t knock at their own home and neither of them were expecting visitors.

The expensive car in the drive, a sore thumb along Robin’s street, had given away the identity of just who was knocking so late in the evening. So, Steve had opened it.

“Mom—”

“I mean utterly ridiculous.” Steve gets cut off without second thought, Christine continuing on as if she hasn’t heard him at all.

“Did you expect us to spend all evening chasing you around? Figuring out where you were tonight from the Carlton’s across the road?”

She’s got this snippy tone that Robin’s heard a thousand times from teachers. Patronising. Too cold for it to seem like a genuinely concerned parent.

“The Carlton’s?” Steve echoes, a bit meek. His shoulders have rolled forward, sinking down a bit and Robin can see his tight grip on the door. Still, she stays frozen, rooted to the couch.

“Yes, Steven.” Christine says his full name again, all bite. “Imagine the shame your father and I felt hearing that. Hearing who you had been associating with.”

“Don’t say that.” Steve grits out immediately, anger bleeding into his tone.

The muscles in his back ripple as he forces his shoulders back, as if he had remembered how to stand up straight at the mention of his friend.

Robin aches; at the reminder of the stark differences of their upbringings and at Steve’s unquestionable loyalty. She finally unfreezes, sitting up a little straighter and leaning forward more— ready to spring up from her seat.

She’s not sure what for exactly. She sorta really wants to go slam the door on Steve’s mom’s face and go back to being bundled up on the couch with him. The urge is strong enough to make her fingers twitch.

“Why are you here, Mom?”

There’s a strain to Steve’s question, even though he doesn’t falter in appearance. Robin can’t see his face either though. She hopes it’s got the bitchiest expression Steve can muster.

“Don’t be smart, Steven.” Christine reprimands coldly. “I know that we may have taken a larger absence than intended but that’s not any excuse to parade yourself around with the strays of this town.”

Strays. Robin feels the word pelt into her and burn into her skin, sinking all the way down. It feels like cold water has tipped down the back of her neck. An unwelcome pit forms in her stomach.

She had known, of course, the reputation of a family like the Harrington's. She hadn’t quite known the extent they would go to protect it. Policing your child's friends over a matter of image is absurd.

Somehow, Robin can see how Steve grows even tenser at his mom’s words— hackles raising like that on a dog. His knuckles turn white. But before he speaks, Christine is barreling on like she hasn’t just slandered every one of Steve’s new friends.

“And to leave the house in such a state?”

Robin hears her sigh heavily, as though this really is the biggest problem in her life — which she can’t fathom in the slightest.

There was nothing wrong with Steve’s house. No mess beyond the usual evidence that someone, you know, lived there.

“Mom, I—” Steve starts again.

“Well, I’m sure you have your reasons. You always do.” She says it so pointedly, like Steve was known for peddling lies to weasel his way out of trouble.

It’s so un-Steve it makes Robin blink hard, wondering if she had heard right.

Steve was honest. He owned his mistakes and he took things on the chin. It was something she had liked most about him in the beginning.

Back when it was all snark and Robin told herself she was never going to be his friend, in this universe or anything other. That even then, reluctant co-worker and nothing more, Steve was honest and decent to her always.

“Now, come on now.” Christine Harrington huffs out her demand. “Your father is waiting in the car and there no use winding him up more than you already have.”

Robin’s stomach turns at her words. It had been a topic of discussion between them, one night weeks ago, lips loosened by the dark. I feel like a dog to them, Steve had admitted quietly, his breath against her pillow and his warmth under her sheets. Like they just leave alone most of the time but expect me to perk up and come running the moment they call. I hate it.

“I’m not coming with you.”

The words stammer on their way out like he had forced them out— and Robin wants to sing she’s so proud of her best friend.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not coming with you.” Steve repeats himself, the words a little firmer this time. “I’m… I’m spending the night here, with my friend Robin.”

He trails off, the words weaker, losing steam. Robin rises to her feet, the tell-tale squeak of the couch springs letting Steve know she was still here. Still right behind him.

It makes him stand a little straighter.

“I— I’ll come home in the morning.”

Christine Harrington makes a little scoffing noise, a high pitched faux laugh as if Steve’s said something amusing.

“Tell me when did I raise such an ungrateful brat?” She muses meanly and Robin doesn’t miss the way Steve flinches lightly. “We give you free rein of the house, apt time by yourself, and yet when we request you to spend a single evening with us—”

“You’re not asking, you’re demanding.” Steve cuts in, his voice more heated now.

“Oh hush, Steven. You act as if we’re so awful.”

It’s all dismissal. Everything, every word, a dismissal.

“I just can’t win with you, can I?” Christine sighs again, disappointment dripping from the sound. “Either we’re not here enough or we’re here but you can’t find time to have dinner with your family. Which is it, Steven?”

In the doorway, Steve begins to bristle. Robin really, really wants to slam the door now — if only to stop this conversation that seems to keep cutting deeper and deeper into her best friend.

She steps closer to him, moving as silently as she can, and makes sure to stay out of sight as she places a hand gently on the small of his back.

He’s shaking, she realises.

Her heart twists painfully in her chest.

Then, deathly calm, Steve says, “Did you know in 7th grade, I lied and I told everyone in my class that I got appendicitis?”

Robin blinks at the change in subject, the strangeness of Steve’s comment. She does remember that, vaguely. A boy in the year above— it had been a wildfire rumour that had turned out to be true.

Or so she thought. Staring hard at the planes of Steve’s back, the pit in her stomach yawns with an anticipation of devastation. Her hand on his back curls up a bit.

“You and Dad were gone for the whole month to Washington. It was the first time you had ever gone for that long and you didn’t even tell me until the day before you left.”

“Steven—”

“I just wanted someone to worry about me.” He steamrolls on, tone too casual for the story he was telling. “And it worked."

A beat.

"But then Cassie Lange asked about the scar.”

Robin’s hand on Steve's back twists up tighter. She feels like she knows what’s coming— but wishes it to be not true.

She doesn’t want to think of Steve, little twelve year old Steve, doing all that he can for a scrap of attention he was supposed to be getting from his parents.

“And rather than admit I’d lied…” The words come out too tight. “I went and found your sewing scissors and I made one.”

There’s this icy bite to Steve’s voice, his shoulders tensed back up. Christine still hasn’t said anything.

“I hurt like a bitch but it was worth it. I got a card from every single person in my class.”

“You wanna see the scar?” He asks— then he’s moving, his hand rucking up his sweater and shirt and exposing the skin of his stomach. Christine makes a noise like a muffled gasp. Robin feels a bit sick. Steve drops his shirt.

“And I kept all of those cards I got —all 17 of them stashed them under my bed in a box that I still have til this day.” He exhales through his nose. “Because it was proof that, at some point, somebody actually gave a shit about me. Because you didn’t. You didn’t then and you don’t get to now.”

His words hang in the air. There’s a long stretch of silence where Steve stares down the woman on the porch— someone closer to a stranger than a friend.

“So, I will see you at home, tomorrow.”

And then he slams the door to Robin’s house shut with a finality that shakes the air. Robin tenses up at the loud noise. Steve doesn't move, just stays staring at the closed door.

Behind them both, one of the noisy pipes in the house makes a loud noise. It sounds worse than usual as it breaks the silence.

Outside, Robin hears the click of heels on the pavement as they quieten, moving further away.

The pit in her stomach tightens immeasurably, a faint bile taste in her mouth. She finally remembers to smooth out her hand, pressing it flat against Steven’s back— another reminder that she was there.

If he wanted to talk or he didn’t, she was there.

Suddenly Steve sighs, an exhale so large that he shrinks down a couple inches, his shoulders dropping. It sounds exhausted.

He finally turns away from the door, to Robin, and she can only hope her face conveys every ounce of love, of support, she feels within her chest.

“Steve…” She breathes softly.

He wasn’t crying but just the sound of his name, spoken so delicately, seems to inspire tears. Robin catches the tremble of his lip and moves without thought— throwing both her arms around his neck and wrestling him into a hug.

Steve goes easy, his arms snaking around her middle and holding her back so tightly it nearly makes her squeak. She doesn’t though— just lets him bury his face in her neck, taking these big shuddering breaths, these half-formed sobs that break her heart clean in half.

She doesn’t know how long they stand there. Car engines drone as they pass by the street. The streetlights seem to get brighter. Steve presses himself so close to her, as close as he can, and Robin hugs back just as tight. She gives him all the time he needs.

She wonders if there’s an indent of him on her when he finally pulls back — a Steve Harrington shaped outline imprinted on her soul. It feels like there is.

If she could trace it, she thinks, it would be whatever shape love takes.

“Thanks Robbie.” He croaks out. He’s started scrubbing furiously at his face and she can see the wet sheen of tears as he wipes them away.

Robin doesn’t move far, just unwinds her arms a bit and lets them fall back to her sides. There’s an ache between her brows from how long she’s been frowning in concern. Steve looks more disheveled than usual, his usually perfect hair looking flatter — but he looks lighter too, somehow.

“No need to thank me, dingus.” She says, voice soft. She faux punches his chest and then regrets it when his lips don’t even twitch upward. It’s weird to see Steve all undone.

Robin thinks back to that conversation and the callousness of Steve’s mom. Her uncaring tone, the use of his full name like an insult.

She thinks of what Steve had said.

“I’m sorry you felt—” The words get stuck in her throat which grows thicker as she thinks about it. About a self-made scar on Steve’s abdomen, made by a twelve year old boy who just wanted someone to worry.

“—That you felt like you had to do something like that to yourself. I’m sorry no one noticed what you really needed.”

Steve nods slowly, his eyes glazed with a far away look as he stares somewhere over Robin’s shoulder. He gives this little shrug, a little huff through his nose.

“It’s okay.” He says, voice a bit distant. “I mean, it’s not but… even if I hadn’t meant to tell you, I’m glad someone knows now.”

It takes another second before he finally seems to shake himself from his thoughts, turning to properly look at Robin. His eyes are red-rimmed and the tip of his nose is pink. Tell tale signs of tears.

“I’ve never told anyone that before.”

Robin swallows thickly and it takes effort to choke down the urge to cry.

“Well,” She starts. It comes out too high pitched and tight and she clears her throat. “Thank you for telling me.

Some kind of smile plays on Steve’s lips, as if he can tell that she’s fighting off her sniffling and it’s sorta funny to him. It is, a little.

Because instead of being embarrassed or feeling pitied, he feels… delightfully surprised to have her care so much. To be so upset on his behalf.

“Oh, c’mon Robbie,” He gives her that same faux-punch in the shoulder she did earlier and it actually succeeds in making her lips pull up at the edges. “None of that.”

“You’re such a dingus.” Robin says. It comes out a bit wobbly still. Sue her— she doesn’t have Steve’s insane ability to bounce from one emotion to another in a single second.

Steve grins. He wanders back to the couch and flops down onto it. Robin follows and when she sits down, it’s a fraction closer to him this time. He gives one last scrub of his face, wiping the last of his tears away.

She nudges him with her thigh. She has to check just one more time.

“You alright?”

Steve smiles, crooked in that way that lets her know it’s completely sincere. He reaches forward and presses unmute on the remote, the film they’re watching starting up again with a buzz.

Steve presses his thigh back against Robin’s and in the dim lighting of her living room, his eyes glitter with an emotion that threatens to make her want to cry once more.

“Course.” He says. “I got someone checking up on me now,”

Another pointed nudge of his thigh against hers. “I’m better than ever.”

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accioharrington · 1 month

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ashes to ashes, kaz brekker

pairing: kaz brekker x inferni!reader

synopsis: you lose your powers, in an accident. you distance yourself from the crows, so kaz comes to confront you.

warning: hurt, comfort, angst.

word count: 1.3k

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ THE FLICKERING FLAMES HAD always been a comfort, a reminder of the power that surged through your veins. The control over fire was more than a talent; it was your identity, your weapon, your shield. But now, staring at your trembling hands, you saw nothing but the stark absence of what once defined you.

Kaz Brekker's lair was as cold as the man himself, a labyrinth of shadows and secrets. You found solace in the corners of the Crow Club, avoiding the pitying glances of the Dregs. Losing your abilities had turned you into something you despised—a liability.

Days had turned into weeks since the accident. A heist gone wrong, a trap set by an enemy too clever and too cruel. The poison they used had severed your connection to your Grisha powers, leaving you as ordinary as the common folk you once scorned.

You felt like a shadow of your former self, a specter haunting the halls of the Crow Club. The looks of pity from the other members of the Dregs were almost unbearable, and the whispers behind your back cut deeper than any blade.

One evening, after another day of feeling utterly useless, you found yourself sitting alone in the dimly lit room Kaz had given you. The silence was suffocating, pressing down on you like a physical force. You couldn't escape the gnawing feeling that you were a burden, a weak link in the chain.

A knock on the door jolted you from your thoughts. Before you could respond, the door opened and Kaz stepped inside. His presence was imposing, his eyes scanning the room before settling on you.

"We need to talk," he said, his voice devoid of the usual edge.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your trembling hands. "About what?"

Kaz closed the door behind him, leaning on his cane. "About you. About what's been going on."

You looked away, unable to meet his piercing gaze. "There's nothing to talk about."

Kaz's eyes narrowed. "Don't lie to me. You've been distant, avoiding everyone. You're not yourself."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips. "Not myself? Of course I'm not myself. I'm nothing without my powers."

Kaz took a step closer, his expression unreadable. "Is that what you really think?"

You stood up, anger and frustration boiling over. "What else am I supposed to think, Kaz? I was useful. I had a purpose. Now I'm just...I'm nothing. A liability."

Kaz's eyes flashed with something you couldn't quite place. "You're not a liability."

"Yes, I am!" you shouted, your voice breaking. "I can't fight, I can't defend myself, I can't do anything! I'm useless to the team, useless to you."

Kaz's eyes, dark and calculating, bore into yours. "Feeling sorry for yourself won't change anything."

You clenched your fists, the nails digging into your palms. "Easy for you to say. You haven't lost what makes you...you."

Kaz's face remained impassive, a mask of calm authority. He limped closer, each step deliberate, measured. "You're more than just your powers," he said, his voice steady.

"Am I?" You turned away, unable to meet his gaze. "I don't feel like it."

Kaz was silent for a moment, the air thick with unspoken words. "You think hiding away is going to help you feel better? You think isolating yourself will change what's happened?"

His words cut through the fog of your despair. Kaz Brekker, the Bastard of the Barrel, pushes you to face the harsh reality. It was almost unthinkable. You turned back to him, searching his face for any sign of insincerity, but found none.

"How do you expect me to face everyone?" you asked, your voice barely audible. "How do I keep going like this?"

Kaz's jaw tightened, his expression unwavering. "You find a way. You adapt. You survive. Hiding doesn't solve anything."

The simplicity of his words stung, but they also resonated. You had always admired Kaz's resilience, his ability to turn every disadvantage into an opportunity. If anyone knew how to rebuild from ashes, it was him.

"I don't know if I can," you admitted, the vulnerability in your voice unfamiliar and uncomfortable.

Kaz's expression remained cold, a mask of indifference. "You can. You're still you, with or without your powers. Your mind, your courage, your loyalty—those are what make you valuable."

A lump formed in your throat, and you struggled to speak past it. "It doesn't feel that way. I feel...lost."

Kaz took another step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "You're not lost. You're just finding a new path. And you don't have to do it alone."

His words were a lifeline, grounding you in a way you hadn't felt since the accident. Kaz, in his own way, was offering you more than just comfort; he was offering you hope.

"You saved my life many times," Kaz said quietly. "And most of the time, it wasn't because of your powers."

You looked up, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Do you remember Pekka Rollins' ambush?" Kaz's voice was steady, but there was an edge of intensity. "You got me out before they closed in. You had no time to use your powers, just your quick thinking and courage."

Your mind flashed back to that day, the chaos, the desperation. "That was different. I was still useful then."

"And the Ice Court?" Kaz continued, his eyes never leaving yours. "You navigated us through that labyrinth. No fire, just your wits."

"Anyone could have done that," you muttered.

Kaz's voice grew firmer. "What about the Heartrender at the Little Palace? When we had to kidnap the Sun Summoner? You shielded me from her attack, with no time to conjure a flame. You saved my life."

Tears welled up in your eyes. "But that was then, Kaz. Now, I can't even—"

Kaz cut you off. "Your value isn't just in your powers. It's in your loyalty, your intelligence, your determination—those are things that can't be taken away."

You sank back onto the bed, burying your face in your hands. "It doesn't feel that way."

Kaz moved closer, his cane tapping lightly against the floor. "Feelings can be deceiving. You need to see yourself the way I see you."

You looked up, meeting his gaze. "And how do you see me, Kaz?"

He held your gaze, his voice unwavering. "I see someone who's strong, even when they don't feel like it. Someone who's valuable, even without their powers. Someone who has the potential to adapt and overcome."

The intensity of his words struck a chord deep within you. For the first time since the accident, you felt a glimmer of hope.

"But what if I can't?" you whispered. "What if I can't adapt?"

Kaz's eyes never left yours. "Then I'll help you. We'll find a way, together."

The sincerity in his voice was undeniable. Despite his cold exterior, Kaz Brekker was offering you something you desperately needed—belief in yourself.

"Why do you care so much?" you asked, your voice barely audible.

Kaz's expression hardened slightly, but his eyes remained steady. "Because you're one of us. And we take care of our own."

The simplicity of his words brought fresh tears to your eyes, but this time, they were tears of gratitude. Kaz wasn't known for his kindness, but in his own way, he was showing you that you mattered.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion.

Kaz nodded, his demeanor as composed as ever. "Don't thank me yet. We still have a lot of work to do."

You managed a small smile, the first in what felt like an eternity. "I guess we do."

Kaz turned to leave, pausing at the door. "Remember, you're not alone. We'll figure this out."

As he closed the door behind him, you took a deep breath, the weight on your chest feeling just a little lighter. Kaz was right—you weren't alone. And with his support, maybe, just maybe, you could find a way to rise from the ashes.

#kaz brekker #kaz dirtyhands brekker #kaz brekker fanfic #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker x reader #six of crows #shadow and bone #angst #hurt/comfort #kaz brekker angst

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