Chapter Text
She wonders, sometimes, what Barbara would say now that she and Steve are together, like really, actually together. On the good days, she can see the way Barbara would roll her eyes, a half-formed grin. “About time. I knew the ‘just friends’ line was full of crap.” She can remember how her friend, exasperated, apprehensive, but always, always there, sat on her bed while Nancy pulled out top after top from her closet. “Do you think this makes me look… fat?” she’d mused quietly, more to herself really, before she remembered who was in the room with her. But Barbara always took those things in stride, always seemed to embrace herself, at least when they were alone. Nancy loves that about her… loved.
It’s those tense changes that get her every time. The change from present to past that snatches her by the arm, spins her around, and forces her to watch Barbara, standing at the foot of the stairs, angry, scared, and hurt.
Barbara, sitting on that diving board alone.
Barbara, being devoured—
She can’t.
She can’t, she can’t, she can’t.
It takes her probably less time than it should to forgive Steve. She feels guilty for it sometimes, how all it took was two weeks of soft looks and repeated apologies.
The first week after Will came back seems like a fever dream now. She shut down her emotions and shoved back the nightmares so she could take care of things. Mike, Jonathan’s burned up house, that she felt partially responsible for, all of these things to look after.
She throws herself into studying. She couldn’t let something like this destroy her life after all. She was stronger than that. Barb was stronger than that. The tears would well up, her chest would feel like it was on fire, but that would pass, right? And if she worked hard, it would go by quicker.
At first she’d check on Mike before bed, knocking on his door, asking him how things were. He wasn’t much up for talking then, and so she’d retreat back into her room, wishing that he’d be venerable with her so she could be the same with him.
Often in those first few days she thought about calling Jonathan, and asking him to come over. But she thought of his brother, how Jonathan hadn’t been at school because he was still too worried about Will, and she decided against it.
She would sleep alone.
One night Steve appeared at her window, concern bearing down on his shoulders, fear in his eyes. She wondered if he was afraid because of what they’d seen, or if he was afraid she was going to tell him to get lost.
She didn’t, of course. That night she let him hold her while she slept. She almost felt safe, but the nightmares still came, and she knew then there was no true escape. No one was going to be able to help her, not Steve, not Jonathan, and certainly not Barbara.
She hears things go bump, and her heart beat races. She closes her eyes, and she sees the grey and rotting world cozied up next to hers. When she dreams, she dreams of monster eating her, eating her friend.
And sometimes, she’ll dream of a little girl in an old pink dress, singing the Clash.
Maybe she should have given herself more time to get over Barbara, to really feel that gapping hole in her life that was her best friend. But when Steve keeps showing up at night, to hold her, to keep her as safe as he can, she lets herself sink into him.
He has his own life of course. An asshole dad, a disapproving mother. His own interests and hobbies.
She has those too, but he doesn’t like them very much, and being with him is so much better than being alone.
Sometimes she sees Jonathan Byers at school. It’s not like their paths crossed all that frequently before, so if she does see him it’s across the hallway or in the cafeteria. She’ll look around, with Steve’s arm draped across her shoulder, and catch his eyes, mournful and resigned. But he’ll smile at her, and she’ll smile at him. She wonders if he took her photo now, what he’d think she was saying.
Sometimes she’ll get up and talk to him, but the conversation is rarely anything special. From the way they speak, you’d think they were just casual acquaintances catching up, the way her mom will speak to people she meets in the supermarket.
Every once in a while he asks how she’s sleeping. How she’s doing with Barbara. She’ll swallow the truth and tell him she’s fine, because she knows he’s doing the same.
She feels drawn to him, like her chest is connected to him by a rope or a magnet. She sometimes closes her eyes and imagines what it would be like to be held by him. Would it be safe? Would she feel comfort?
Would it alleviate her guilt?
The worst of it is, she doesn’t have a clue what Barbara would think about it.
Her grades are suffering, and her parents think it’s either because of grief, or Steve. She knows so, because she hears them arguing about it in the kitchen.
“Well if she spent less time with that boy—“
“Steve seems like a good kid—“
“Oh come on Ted, you have to see that something is going on with them.”
“All I know is that the only time I’ve seen my little girl smile in the last few months is when she’s with him.”
She goes back up to her room as quietly as she can, ignoring the pounding in her ears. She feels trapped, and that feeling is all consuming. Her hand is shaking by the time she reaches for her doorknob, she can’t breathe—
“Nancy?”
She spins around: it’s Mike. He watches her suspiciously from the doorway to his own room, but it’s a concerned kind of suspicion. The kind that doesn’t believe you when you say you’re alright.
She tries anyway. “Yeah? What’s up?”
“You just… are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Okay… are you sure?”
“Yeah. Totally fine.”
He doesn’t move, like he’s stuck between two actions. He decides on one, comes over, and loops his skinny arms around her middle briefly before pulling away. “I’m sorry about Barbara."
She can’t help the tears that boil over, but she tries to control them, even a little. “Thanks Mike. I’m sorry about Eleven.”
He nods, the weight of the world back on his bony shoulders. It makes Nancy cry even more. “Do you—“ she tries, sniffling back the tears. “Do you miss her?”
Mike nods. “Yeah.”
She realizes that Mike loved Eleven, in the pure way that only belongs in childhood, the way she wishes she could love Steve, or Jonathan, or anybody really. But her heart is broken, and without her friend there to help her she wonders if she’ll ever feel love again.
But right now she loves her brother, so before he can turn around and retreat into his room she grabs his shoulders and hugs him as hard as she can.
That night Steve doesn’t make it, and so she closes her eyes reluctantly, knowing that she’s only going to get a few snatches of sleep anyway if the nightmares have anything to do with it.
But that night, for the first time in weeks, she doesn’t dream of monsters. She dreams of Eleven, sitting in the shadow world of their basement underneath the blanket fort Mike made for her weeks ago.
Her hair is growing out, and the dress she borrowed from Nancy is dirty, fraying. Eleven holds the walkie-talkie in her hands, crying and unmoving.
The light around them is cold, the world decaying and falling apart around them. She wonders how this little girl can stand being in such an evil place, but then she hears Eleven speaking to herself: “Friends...”
Without warning Eleven looks up, and Nancy knows without a doubt that this is not a dream.
“It’s okay. Friends protect each other.”
Nancy wakes up with her heart racing.