Archive of Our Own

Will Byers had played a lot of Dungeons & Dragons in his life.

He had played through fear and boredom, through missing people and missing pieces of himself. He had played as a way to survive, to imagine worlds where the rules were written down and monsters could be named and defeated.

And even he had to admit it.

Holly Wheeler was a great Dungeon Master.

Not good. Not impressive for her age. Great.

She had the books memorized. All of them. Advanced Dungeons & Dragons, Second Edition. The tables, the footnotes, the obscure spells nobody ever used. She knew monster stats off the top of her head and corrected Dustin without even looking down.

“No,” Holly said, tapping her pencil once for emphasis. “A manticore’s tail spikes regenerate in three days, not two. And you’re still at minus four hit points, so you’re unconscious.”

Dustin stared at her. “Who are you.”

“Your god,” Holly replied calmly.

Will bit his lip to keep from smiling.

They were gathered around the table in the Wheeler basement, character sheets spread everywhere, dice clicking constantly. Mike sat across from Will, unusually relaxed, actually enjoying himself. Lucas leaned back in his chair, focused but amused. Max sat off to the side at first, reluctant and pretending not to care, but slowly inching closer as the story pulled her in.

Derek sat straight-backed, paying careful attention, paladin mini carefully placed. Erica, energetic as ever, bounced in her seat, already planning her next move.

Will loved this.

The only thing he didn’t love was that Holly kept turning the campaign into a forbidden romance story.

“Before you,” Holly narrated, voice steady and dramatic, “stands the princess of Eldhallow, bound by duty and expectation. She looks at the humble blacksmith who has slain the dragon and sees not a servant, but a hero.”

Mike groaned. “Oh come on.”

Will glanced at him, surprised.

Mike just shrugged. “It’s… fine.”

Will nearly laughed out loud. Growth, apparently, came in strange forms.

Max and Erica were already losing it.

“Then,” Holly continued, eyes sharp, “the blacksmith reaches for her hand—”

“Wait,” Dustin interrupted. “Is this required for the quest?”

“Yes,” Holly said firmly. “Emotionally.”

Erica wiped tears from her eyes. “I love this girl.”

Things took a turn when Derek’s paladin needed information.

“The bartender,” Holly said, “is blonde. Pretty. Smiling.”

Derek hesitated. “I… flirt?”

Holly’s head snapped up. “Derek. What do we do with blonde girls.”

The table went silent.

Derek smiled easily. “Get away and tell them we’re taken.”

Holly nodded, proud. “Correct. Not even fictional blondes are okay.”

Max and Erica laughed so hard they nearly fell out of their chairs. Will covered his face, shoulders shaking.

As the dice rolled and the story unfolded, Will leaned back and watched Holly run the table with confidence and precision.

She was brilliant. Focused. Fearless.

One day, he thought, she was going to be a doctor. Or a scientist. Or something that saved lives in ways the world hadn’t even imagined yet.

For now, though, she was their Dungeon Master.

And the realm was in very good hands.

-------------------------------

Steve Harrington knew holiday training wasn’t for everybody.

He stood at the edge of the diamond, hands on his hips, watching his team run drills under a pale winter sun that never quite warmed you, no matter how hard you moved. Some kids hated it. Some kids needed it. Most pretended they didn’t care either way.

Last year, they’d taken third place. Respectable. Surprising, even.

This year, with the players he had, Steve could feel it in his bones.

State championship.

He was already thinking ahead. Basketball season after this. Schedules. Tryouts. Who needed encouragement and who needed discipline. Coaching wasn’t just yelling and whistles. It was reading people. Knowing when to push and when to listen.

And listening mattered.

Steve liked kids. That still surprised him sometimes. But he liked them in the way that mattered. He liked watching them figure themselves out. He liked giving them something solid to hold onto when everything else felt like it was falling apart.

What he didn’t like was bullies.

Zero tolerance. Always.

Some kids got it right away. Others made it their life’s mission to test it. For those kids, sports were an outlet. A place to burn off anger without hurting anyone. He listened to them. Gave them chances. More than one, usually.

But if they crossed the line, they were done.

No second speeches. No dramatic exits.

Out.

“Again,” Steve called, clapping his hands. “And don’t get lazy on the turn.”

They groaned, but they listened.

Derek caught his eye from second base and grinned, a little too confident, a little too eager to please. Steve shook his head, smiling despite himself.

He liked Derek. A lot.

After everything with Vecna, after Joyce had left town with Hopper, the kid had drifted toward him naturally. Not clingy. Just… present. Asking questions. Hanging around after practice. Helping with equipment without being asked.

Steve recognized it for what it was.

A new Dustin.

Everything had been fine until Derek asked for advice about Holly Wheeler.

That had been an interesting conversation.

Steve had leaned back against the dugout, arms crossed, and listened quietly. Let the kid talk himself into knots. Then he’d calmly explained boundaries. Respect. Consequences.

Very calmly.

With just enough edge to make the point.

“If you ever cross a line,” Steve had said, voice low, “I will personally make sure baseball becomes a distant memory for you.”

Derek had nodded so fast Steve thought he might get whiplash.

Then Steve had sighed, softened, and added, “Now. If you want to do it right, I’ve got some tips.”

The Harrington charm, movie-style. Clean. Earned.

Back on the field, Steve blew the whistle and motioned for a water break. The boys collapsed onto the benches, laughing, shoving each other, complaining loudly.

That was when he saw her.

Nancy stood just outside the fence, coat buttoned, hair pulled back, holding a paper bag and a coffee cup like she belonged there. Like she always had.

Steve’s chest did something stupid.

She caught his eye and smiled.

“Oh no,” one of the boys said immediately. “Coach’s girlfriend is here.”

“It’s not—” Steve started.

Too late.

“Is that lunch?” another kid called. “Wow, must be nice.”

Nancy stepped closer, handing him the bag and the coffee. “You forgot to eat.”

He took it, grinning. “You’re a lifesaver.”

The boys erupted.

“Ooooooh.”

“Coach is whipped.”

“Thought you said you weren’t together!”

Steve shot them a look. “Run laps.”

They groaned louder this time, but they ran.

Nancy laughed quietly. “You know they all know, right?”

Steve took a sip of coffee, watching the team circle the field. “Yeah,” he said. “I think they’ve known longer than we have.”

She leaned against the fence beside him, close enough that he could feel her warmth even in the cold.

They stood there together, easy and unhidden, while the team ran and the future waited.

For once, Steve felt ready for all of it.

-------------------------------------

The apartment was quiet in the good way.

Late morning light filtered through thin curtains, warming the small kitchen just enough to take the edge off the November chill. A radio murmured softly from the counter, some college station Robin liked because it played music that sounded like it had been recorded in a basement on purpose.

Vickie stood at the stove, wooden spoon in hand, moving with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly what she was doing. Robin sat at the small table, legs pulled up under her, banned from the stove since the pasta disaster of last May. That rule had been written in stone. Possibly engraved.

“Do not touch anything hot,” Vickie had said then, very calmly, while opening every window in the apartment.

Robin obeyed. Mostly.

They were roommates. That was the word they used. That was the word the landlord used. The one the neighbors used with raised eyebrows and polite smiles. Hawkins wasn’t blind, but it wasn’t always kind either. Acceptance existed. So did idiots. In the past, now, and always.

They weren’t ready to invite the whole town into this yet.

And that was okay.

Robin watched Vickie cook, heart doing that quiet, steady thing it only did when she let herself slow down.

“I need to say something,” Robin said suddenly.

Vickie hummed but didn’t turn around. “Okay.”

“I was a fool,” Robin continued. “Ending things last time. I mean. There was so much change, and I panicked.”

The spoon paused for just a second.

“I’ll always be grateful,” Robin went on, voice softer now, “to Jonathan. And Nancy. And Steve. They kind of… made me understand that you’re it. And I will thank Steve forever for driving to California like some kind of romantic idiot to win you back.”

Vickie smiled, still facing the stove. “He does that.”

She stirred again, unhurried. “What’s this about, Robin?”

Robin winced. “If this is about your nurse-doctor fantasy, the answer is still maybe. On your birthday.”

Robin laughed, relief bubbling out of her. “No, no. Not that.”

She hesitated. Picked at the edge of the table.

“I was just thinking,” she said carefully, “have you ever thought about kids?”

That made Vickie stop.

She turned then, leaning back against the counter, studying Robin’s face. “Of course I have,” she said gently. “But it would be… complicated for us. You know that, love.”

Robin nodded immediately. “Yeah. I do.”

She swallowed. “But it’s the ’90s. There are miracles of science. Options.”

Vickie blinked. Then sighed, fond and exasperated all at once.

“You watched the insemination segment on the news last night, didn’t you.”

Robin tried to look innocent and failed.

“I love you,” Vickie said, walking over and setting the spoon down. “But if you think Nancy Wheeler wouldn’t kill you and bury you in the forest if you asked for her blessing to use Steve’s sperm, you are an idiot.”

Robin burst out laughing, folding forward onto the table. “Okay, first of all, rude. Second, I am not crazy. And I am definitely not suicidal.”

She looked up, serious now. “I just wanted to know how you feel.”

Vickie considered her for a moment. Then nodded toward the stove. “Let’s eat lunch first.”

Robin straightened. “And then?”

“Then we really talk,” Vickie said. “No lies. No holding back.”

Robin nodded, heart full and a little terrified in the best way.

“Okay, love.”

--------------------------------

Lucas and Max were on a date that involved fries getting cold and hands brushing on purpose, which meant Erica Sinclair had the house to herself.

Well. Mostly.

She considered this one of the many perks of being a senior in high school. That, and the fact that nobody questioned her authority anymore. Not really. She’d earned it. Through patience. Through brilliance. Through sheer force of personality.

The D&D club was in good hands now. Erica knew that.

Holly Wheeler was terrifyingly competent, the kind of Dungeon Master who memorized rulebooks for fun. Peter, the skinny junior with the nervous laugh and the encyclopedic memory for stats, was stepping up too. The next generation was fine.

So tonight, Erica was indulging.

The Sinclair garage had been transformed the way it always was on game nights. Folding table dragged into the center. Old chairs pulled in from the house. A space heater humming uselessly in the corner. Character sheets spread out like sacred texts.

Erica stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

Dungeon Master. Obviously.

Mary sat to her left, rolling dice with cautious excitement. Derek was across from her, posture straight, taking notes like this was an exam. Debbie leaned back in her chair, confident and smug as always. Joshua fidgeted with his pencil. Holly sat very still, suspicious in the way only someone used to being in charge could be.

“Tonight,” Erica said, “you are playing characters you have never played before.”

Groans immediately.

“This is how you learn,” Erica continued. “By suffering.”

Derek nodded like this made perfect sense.

“And,” Erica added, eyes flicking to Holly, “this is how we stop every campaign from becoming an epic forbidden romance.”

Holly opened her mouth.

“No,” Erica said flatly. “Those dove eyes work on your family and your big sister, Wheeler. Not on me.”

The table erupted in laughter.

“You,” Erica pointed, “are an assassin. No feelings. No longing glances. You kill things and move on.”

Holly sighed dramatically. “That’s so limiting.”

“Life is limiting,” Erica replied. “Roll your stats.”

They played for hours.

There were bad decisions. Heroic saves. Derek accidentally choosing the worst possible spell at the worst possible moment. Debbie making a deal with a demon purely out of spite. Joshua discovering he loved playing a chaotic neutral bard way too much.

Holly tried exactly once to give her assassin a tragic love interest.

Erica shut it down in under ten seconds.

As the night wound down, dice slowed, voices dropped, laughter turned soft and tired. Erica leaned back in her chair and looked at them. Really looked.

They were younger than she was. Not by much, but enough. They were figuring things out. Who they were. What they liked. What they were brave enough to try.

She cleared her throat.

“Never change, guys,” she said.

They all looked up.

“I leave for college in at least eight months,” Erica continued, voice steady. “And I expect this club to live on. With you. And with the people who come after you.”

Holly swallowed. Derek nodded. Mary sat up straighter.

“So make me proud,” Erica finished.

For once, no one joked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Debbie said quietly.

Erica smiled, just a little.

Lucas and Max could keep their romantic date.

She had built something that would last.

-------------------------------

The coffee shop smelled like burned espresso and cinnamon, the kind of place that hadn’t changed its decor since the late seventies and saw no reason to start now. Nancy liked it for that reason alone.

She sat across from Jonathan at a small, scratched table, hands wrapped around her mug, watching him talk with the same quiet intensity he always had when something mattered to him. Outside, Hawkins moved slowly, autumn settling in like it planned to stay.

“So the magazine’s letting me pitch more,” Jonathan said. “Real assignments. Not just filler shots.”

“That’s huge,” Nancy said immediately. “Jonathan, that’s huge.”

He shrugged, but she could see the pride flicker through anyway. “I keep thinking about New York,” he admitted. “Opening a studio someday. Portraits. Editorial work. The kind where you actually get time with people.”

Nancy smiled, warm and certain. “It’s expensive. Ridiculously expensive. But it’s a good dream.”

He looked at her then, really looked. “You don’t think it’s unrealistic?”

“No,” she said without hesitation. “I think it’s you.”

She leaned forward slightly. “And don’t even think you’re getting out of taking pictures for me and my future family. Any chance I get, I’m putting a camera in your hands.”

Jonathan laughed. “I wouldn’t dare refuse.”

He took a sip of his coffee, then grinned. “I still can’t believe Steve charmed you into wanting his nuggets.”

Nancy nearly choked. “Wow.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Jonathan, I saw Steve’s hair. I was doomed from the start. There was no resisting him forever.”

Jonathan laughed with her, the sound easy and genuine.

“I’m really happy for you,” he said after a moment. “For both of you.”

She met his eyes. “That means a lot.”

“I know,” he added, softer now, “that he’s going to want me involved. Wedding stuff. Pictures.”

Nancy’s smile turned fond. “Of course he is.”

Jonathan’s expression warmed at the thought. “I can’t wait to take those photos. That day.”

They sat there quietly for a moment, coffee cooling, the future stretching out ahead of them in ways that felt hopeful instead of frightening.

For the first time in a long while, both of them could see it clearly.

-----------------------------

The house on Forest Hills Drive was too big to feel empty, but quiet enough that it could sneak up on you if you weren’t paying attention.

Nancy sat curled into one corner of the living room couch, feet tucked beneath her, a paperback balanced against her knees. Outside, the late afternoon light filtered through the tall windows, catching on framed photos and the edges of furniture Steve had collected slowly, piece by piece, after he bought the place. Two stories. Five bedrooms. Two and a half baths. A house meant for noise that hadn’t arrived yet.

She was waiting for him to come home from practice.

The book in her hands was not, strictly speaking, hers.

It was one of her mother’s. One of the bodice rippers Karen Wheeler claimed to read “for the historical details.” Nancy had borrowed it for a very specific reason. Mostly to hide it from Holly.

That plan had failed spectacularly.

Nancy still cringed when she thought about it. Karen coming into the kitchen, cheerful and unsuspecting, only to freeze mid-step. The book. Open on the counter. Margins filled with notes in unmistakably teenage handwriting.

Heroic Holly.
Lightbringer Derek.

Karen’s face had gone crimson in under a second.

She hadn’t said a word. Just closed the book, stared at her daughter, then opened it again and saw the annotations. All of them. She’d inhaled sharply, grabbed every romance novel in the house, shoved them into a cardboard box, and driven straight to Steve’s.

“This is not your house,” Karen had said, setting the box down like it was evidence. “But it is now their problem.”

Then, softer, more desperate: “Do not let Holly anywhere near these.”

Nancy had nodded, mortified, and thanked every higher power she could think of for Max. Holly would never, ever go to her with those kinds of questions. That was a small mercy.

Now the books lived at Steve’s, hidden on the top shelf of the guest room closet, where Holly would never think to look.

Nancy turned the page, sinking back into the story despite herself. Proper English lady. Scottish shepherd. Windswept hills. Long looks that meant too much. She was just getting to the part where everything finally tipped into something hopeful when her eyelids grew heavy.

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

The quiet did it. The comfort. The way the house felt like it was holding its breath.

She dreamed of a future that came all at once. A table too small for the number of chairs around it. Shoes by the door. Laughter echoing off the walls. Steve’s voice somewhere in the middle of it all, warm and steady.

Too many small faces. Too many hands reaching.

She woke with a sharp gasp, heart racing, the book slipping from her fingers to the floor.

“Eight kids,” she murmured, half-asleep, horrified. “I need to refill my birth control pills prescription.”

The room was still quiet. No Steve yet. Just the house, amused and patient.

Nancy pressed a hand to her forehead and laughed softly at herself.

Some dreams, she decided, were warnings.

Others were just reminders of how full life could get if you let it.

She picked up the book, closed it firmly, and waited for the sound of the front door.

---------------------------------------

Nancy hadn’t expected domesticity to feel like this.

She stood at Steve’s kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up, chopping garlic while he worked the stove beside her. The radio played low in the background, some classic rock station that Steve never changed because it reminded him of riding in his dad’s car before things got complicated. The windows fogged slightly from the heat, the house settling around them like it approved.

It felt good. Comfortable. Earned.

Steve bumped her hip lightly with his own. “You’re gonna lose a finger if you keep drifting like that.”

“I’m multitasking,” Nancy said, not looking up. “It’s a skill.”

He smiled, stirring the sauce. “You say that every time.”

They moved around each other without thinking, passing ingredients, stealing tastes, laughing when something went wrong and fixing it together. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t dramatic. It was real, and that surprised her most of all.

“So,” Steve said, “tell me again about the Post.”

Nancy leaned against the counter, serious now. “It’s going to be hard. Getting it fully up and running again. Funding, staff, credibility. But it’s worth it.”

He nodded, listening like he always did.

“I was asked to talk to the high school paper,” she added. “Help them out. Teach them some basics.”

Steve grinned. “You’re gonna scare them.”

“Absolutely,” she said. “But in a productive way.”

She hesitated, then smiled. “And… yeah. It’s probably a good idea to admit we’re together after Thanksgiving.”

Steve laughed. “After?”

“Well,” Nancy said dryly, “even though I’m pretty sure people in China know by now.”

“Hawkins is a small town,” Steve said, resigned but fond. “It was a nice fantasy while it lasted.”

He glanced at her. “Beer or wine?”

“Beer sounds perfect,” she said.

Dinner was good. Really good. They ate at the kitchen table, knees brushing, plates slowly emptying as conversation drifted from work to nothing at all. After, they ended up on the couch, feet tangled, television murmuring something forgettable in the background.

Nancy rested her head against his shoulder, comfortable and content in a way that felt almost dangerous.

“Hey,” she said suddenly.

“Yeah?”

“On a scale of one to ten,” she asked casually, “how big do you think our wedding would be?”

Steve blinked, then laughed softly. “I was thinking small. Just the gang. But if you want something bigger, I’m in.”

She smiled, eyes on the TV but not really seeing it. “We’ll figure it out when the time comes.”

A beat.

“Oh,” she added, like it had just occurred to her. “By the way.”

Steve looked down at her.

“I’m a ring size six.”

He froze.

Nancy smiled into his shoulder, feeling his heartbeat pick up beneath her cheek.

------------------------------

There were nights that felt like they folded time in half.

Will knew this was one of them the moment the dice hit the table and that familiar sound filled the Wheeler basement. The lamp was too dim, the chairs mismatched, the air warm with dust and old carpet. It felt right in a way that made his chest ache a little.

He, Lucas, and Dustin loved Mike. Truly. Even when he was exhausting. Especially when he was exhausting.

A good D&D session helped. It always had.

Mike sat at the head of the table, Dungeon Master again, notes spread out, brow furrowed in concentration. Will watched him with quiet affection. This was where Mike felt like himself. Confident. In control. Safe.

The problem was Holly.

She lay stretched out on the couch behind them, feet kicked up, bowl of popcorn balanced on her stomach like she was settling in for a show. Which, in a way, she was.

“You know,” Holly said casually, tossing popcorn into her mouth, “your campaigns would be better with some romance.”

Mike didn’t look up. “No.”

“Just a little,” she pressed. “Some longing. Some love. A true love’s kiss.”

Mike’s head snapped up. “Absolutely not. D&D is about fighting. And dragons. And quests. Not… kissing.”

Holly scoffed. “Wow. Boring.”

Dustin leaned back in his chair, grinning. “She’s got a point, man.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Mike said, voice already climbing. “Romance is not the point of the game.”

“It can be,” Holly said sweetly. “It’s fun.”

Mike’s eye twitched.

Will glanced at Lucas. Lucas smirked.

“Oh my god,” Mike said, standing now. “I am not adding romance to my campaign.”

“You should embrace it,” Holly said. “It adds depth.”

“I add depth,” Mike snapped. “With lore.”

Dustin stood up quickly. “Okay, time out.”

“For Mike’s health,” he added, lowering his voice, “because I am ninety percent sure a vein is about to explode in his neck.”

Mike took a breath, glaring at his sister.

Holly just smiled, victorious.

That was when the doorbell rang.

Holly sat up instantly. “That’s Derek.”

Sure enough, Derek rolled up outside a second later, bike skidding slightly as he stopped. He leaned it against the railing, helmet under his arm, smiling like he always did.

Holly grabbed her jacket. “I’m meeting Josh, Debbie, and Mary. Movie night.”

Mike opened his mouth.

“Don’t,” Holly warned.

She blew them all a kiss and headed upstairs, Derek following close behind.

The basement felt quieter without her.

Mike sank back into his chair, rubbing his temples. “She’s evil.”

Will smiled softly. “She’s just… passionate.”

Lucas chuckled. “Ready to continue, Dungeon Master?”

Mike nodded, rolling the dice with renewed determination.

For a little while longer, the world stayed exactly as it was.

------------------------------------------

Thanksgiving break didn’t fix everything.

Mary liked to think it helped. A pause. A breath. Five whole days where nobody asked her to explain her best friend’s life like it was a group project they’d missed. Five days without hallway whispers or raised eyebrows or the same questions wrapped in different voices.

But the first Monday back made it clear. Hawkins High had not forgotten a thing.

Mary stood at her locker with Debbie beside her, books balanced against her hip, watching the hallway fill the way it always did after a break. Loud. Crowded. Familiar. New kids mixed with old ones. The ones who’d moved away after Vecna and come back now, a little taller, a little quieter, eyes sharper than before.

“Here we go,” Debbie muttered.

Mary didn’t ask what she meant. She already knew.

“Hey,” someone said, stopping too close. A boy Mary recognized vaguely. One of the ones who’d left for Indianapolis and come back like Hawkins had been on pause while he was gone. “So… is it true?”

Mary sighed. Debbie smiled. The practiced kind.

“Yes,” Mary said calmly. “Holly is dating Derek.”

The boy blinked. “But I thought—”

“Josh,” Debbie supplied. “That was years ago.”

“Oh.” He hesitated. “So they’re, like, serious?”

Mary shut her locker. “As serious as two fifteen-year-olds can be without a mortgage.”

The boy laughed awkwardly and walked away.

Debbie leaned in. “That was only question one.”

They moved down the hall together, slipping into their usual rhythm. Mary loved Holly. Loved her fiercely, the way you loved someone who’d held your hand when the world ended and then showed up the next day with color-coded notes and a plan. But loving Holly sometimes meant translating her existence for other people.

Yes, she’s dating Derek.

No, it’s not weird.

Yes, they play Dungeons and Dragons.

No, that doesn’t mean we’re antisocial.

Yes, the club is open to everyone.

No, you don’t get to join if you’re just there to mock people.

Yes, Debbie is in theater.

Yes, Mary is a cheerleader.

No, high school is not a movie.

Mary stopped short when another group blocked the hallway. A girl she knew from math class, flanked by two friends, eyes curious in that way that meant questions were coming.

“So,” the girl said, drawing the word out. “You guys really play D&D?”

Debbie nodded. “Advanced Dungeons and Dragons. Second Edition.”

The girl frowned. “But… you’re a cheerleader.”

Mary smiled sweetly. “And?”

“That’s—” The girl gestured helplessly. “That’s not very… you know.”

“Cheer?” Debbie offered.

“Normal?”

Mary crossed her arms. “Normal is subjective.”

Debbie leaned in. “Also, our elf sorcerer once took out a beholder using nothing but timing, strategy, and pure spite. So I’d rethink your assumptions.”

The girl stared.

Mary grabbed Debbie’s arm and steered them away before things escalated. “You scare them on purpose.”

Debbie grinned. “Only a little.”

They passed the trophy case, the banners for the baseball team hanging proudly above it. Mary glanced up automatically. She always did now. The team had been good last year. Third place. Coach Harrington had made it a whole thing. Respect. Discipline. Zero tolerance for bullies.

It showed.

The whispers still happened, but quieter now. Kids learned quickly when being cruel meant laps until you threw up.

At lunch, the questions came again.

“So you guys just… let anyone join the D&D club?” someone asked from across the table.

Debbie shrugged. “As long as they respect the rules.”

“And Derek’s okay with it?” another voice added.

Mary set her fork down. “Derek doesn’t own Holly.”

Silence.

Then Debbie laughed. “Also, Derek’s character is a paladin with terrible charisma stats. He needs the help.”

That earned a few laughs, the tension easing.

Someone else tried. “Isn’t it weird, though? Cheerleaders and jocks playing D&D?”

Mary leaned back in her chair. “Is it weird that we cheer at baseball games?”

“No.”

“That we eat hot dogs?”

“No.”

“That we do our homework?”

Debbie chimed in, “Or that some of us like theater and some of us like fantasy and some of us like both?”

Mary shrugged. “High school isn’t a movie. Pick one. Or don’t. No one’s stopping you.”

By the end of the day, Mary’s voice was hoarse and Debbie’s patience thin. They met Holly by the front steps, Derek waiting with his bike, helmet hooked over the handlebar.

“You okay?” Holly asked immediately, eyes sharp.

Mary smiled. “We’re fine.”

Debbie nudged Holly’s shoulder. “But if I have to explain one more time that cheerleaders can, in fact, be deadly elf sorceresses, I’m going to start charging.”

Holly laughed, bright and unapologetic. “Let them ask.”

Derek smiled at her like the world made sense. Like Hawkins hadn’t tried to break them all.

Mary watched them for a second, then looked back at the school. The banners. The doors. The town that kept changing and stayed the same all at once.

Thanksgiving break was over. The questions would keep coming.

But so would they.

-----------------------------------------

Dustin loved Steve Harrington.

Not in a weird way. Not in a complicated way. Just in the way you loved someone who had shown up when it mattered and then never really left. Steve was his brother. Simple as that.

Which was why Dustin was standing in Steve’s kitchen at seven in the damn morning during Thanksgiving break, drinking black coffee he’d learned to tolerate in college, while Steve paced like a man awaiting trial.

Suzie was still asleep in Dustin’s bed.

That was the real crime here.

“You left her,” Dustin said flatly, leaning against the counter. “You physically got out of a warm bed with a woman who chose you and came here to spiral.”

Steve dragged a hand through his hair. “This is different.”

“It’s seven a.m.”

“I found a ring.”

Dustin closed his eyes. Took a breath. Drank his coffee.

Black. No sugar. No cream. College had ruined him.

“And, I was there when you found it, remember?” Dustin said.

“And Nancy knows,” Steve said, voice cracking slightly. “She knows, Dustin. She told me her ring size. Like—casually. Just dropped it. Like it was nothing.”

Dustin opened one eye. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Steve repeated. “How does she know? How does she know what I’m thinking before I even say it?”

Dustin sighed and set his mug down. “Dude. It’s Nancy.”

“That’s not an explanation.”

“It is, though,” Dustin said. “You both read each other’s minds. Same way you and Robin do, just… with more kissing and less yelling.”

Steve stopped pacing. “You think so?”

“Yes,” Dustin said immediately. “Matter of fact, I’m jealous. I should learn that skill so I can communicate with Suzie without accidentally starting a three-hour discussion about tone.”

Steve laughed weakly.

“And,” Dustin continued, “she basically handed you permission. Ring size is not subtle. That’s a green light. That’s a billboard.”

Steve stared at him.

“Yay,” Dustin added. “Victory.”

Steve exhaled, long and shaky, sinking into a chair. “You really think I should?”

“Yes,” Dustin said, grabbing a plate and sliding eggs onto it. “Now drink your coffee. Eat your eggs. Shut up.”

Steve did, obediently.

“I’m going back to bed,” Dustin went on, already turning toward the door. “With my girlfriend. Like a person who values his life.”

He paused, hand on the knob. “Just tell me what you need for the big proposal.”

Steve looked up, eyes soft. “You’d help?”

“Obviously,” Dustin said. “And I want Jonathan there to take pictures.”

“Of the proposal?”

“No,” Dustin grinned. “Of Robin’s face when you announce your relationship at Thanksgiving and she realizes she lost the betting pool she started.”

Steve laughed, really laughed this time, the panic finally easing.

Dustin nodded, satisfied. “See? Everything’s under control.”

Then he went back to bed.

------------------------------------------

The thing about Jonathan and Robin was that it snuck up on everyone.

Including them.

It started with the monthly meetings at Robin’s aunt’s house. Neutral ground. Safe ground. A place where nobody was expected to be anything other than tired, honest, and slightly overwhelmed by the fact that they’d survived things no one else would ever fully understand. They talked at first because it felt polite. Then because it felt familiar. Then because it felt necessary.

Music came first. That was always how it went.

Jonathan brought cassettes. Robin brought opinions. They discovered a shared love for bands nobody else in Hawkins cared about, movies that didn’t make sense until the third watch, and the kind of art that made people uncomfortable on purpose. They liked things that didn’t fit neatly. They liked things that made you think.

It helped that neither of them tried to fix the other.

Now they sat in the small living room of Robin and Vickie’s apartment, the late afternoon light slanting through the blinds, dust hanging lazily in the air. Vickie moved around the kitchen, cooking something that smelled warm and grounding. Robin was curled sideways in a chair, feet hooked over the arm, gesturing wildly as she talked.

Jonathan leaned back on the couch, a small joint balanced between his fingers.

Vickie shot him a look. “Nancy would kill you.”

“And Steve,” Robin added. “Steve would give you a whole lecture about lung capacity.”

Jonathan smiled faintly and took another careful drag. “Good thing neither of them are here.”

He exhaled slowly, smoke curling toward the ceiling.

“You know,” he said, voice thoughtful, “when Nancy and I broke up for good… she told me something.”

Robin went still. Vickie paused her chopping but didn’t turn around.

Jonathan stared at the ceiling. “She said she and Steve were different people. That he wanted six little nuggets and that she didn’t.”

Robin snorted. “Classic Steve.”

“I believed her at the time,” Jonathan said quietly. “I really did.”

He glanced toward Robin. “But then I watched them grow up. Both of them. And now? Only a fool would bet against them.”

Robin smiled, soft and knowing.

“I mean,” Jonathan went on, “I can picture it. Seven kids. A dog. Chaos. Steve teaching them how to throw a baseball while Nancy’s yelling from the porch about homework.”

Vickie laughed outright now. “Seven?”

“Minimum,” Jonathan said seriously.

Robin shook her head, laughing too. “I’ll take the over.”

There was a pause, comfortable and easy.

Then Robin leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “You know what Nancy never told you?”

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid.”

“March ’86,” Robin said. “When we were trying to save Max. You were in California.”

Jonathan nodded slowly.

“They were giving each other love eyes,” Robin said. “Constantly. Like, end-of-the-world, monsters-everywhere, and still finding time to stare at each other like idiots.”

Jonathan smiled, unsurprised. “That tracks.”

“And,” Robin added, grinning, “Nancy was jealous.”

He blinked. “Of who?”

“Me.”

Jonathan burst out laughing. “No offense,” he said, wiping his eyes, “but—”

“I know,” Robin said, waving him off. “Obviously playing for the other team.”

Vickie leaned against the counter, laughing too. “For anyone with eyes.”

Robin gestured to herself. “My fashion sense alone screams ‘I love girls, not boys.’”

Jonathan laughed harder, the tension melting away completely.

The joint burned down between his fingers. Outside, the world kept turning. Hawkins kept being Hawkins. And inside this small apartment, surrounded by people who understood, the past finally felt settled.

They’d all grown.

And somehow, that felt like the biggest miracle of all.

They were three beers in when Robin decided to tell the story.

Not because anyone asked. Not because it needed telling. But because time had softened the edges of it into something warm and ridiculous and unmistakably romantic, and Robin Buckley was physically incapable of sitting on a good story.

“So,” she said, stretching the word like a warning, “since we’re enjoying ourselves and no one is actively being chased by interdimensional horrors, I would like to formally revisit the moment Nancy Wheeler and Steve Harrington accidentally fell back in love while the world was ending.”

Jonathan laughed immediately. “Accidentally?”

Vickie leaned forward, interested. “Oh, this I want to hear.”

Robin grinned. “Sorry, Jonathan.”

Jonathan lifted his bottle. “All is good. I’ve made peace with it.”

“Great,” Robin said. “Because this was cinematic.”

She cleared her throat dramatically.

“Let’s start with the lake.”

Jonathan groaned. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” Robin said. “We’re at Lover's Lake. Tension everywhere. Gate at the bottom of the lake. Steve, being Steve, decides he’s the one who’s gonna dive down into literal hell.”

Vickie nodded. “Of course he does.”

“He takes off his shirt,” Robin continued. “Very dramatic. Very unnecessary. And everyone reacts how you’d expect. Eddie makes a comment. I roll my eyes. But Nancy?”

Jonathan already knew. He smiled anyway.

“Nancy Wheeler,” Robin said, “checks him out. Not subtle. Not quick. A full, adult woman appreciation moment.”

Jonathan laughed into his beer. “She always did have terrible poker face.”

“And then,” Robin went on, warming to it, “Steve dives in. Gets grabbed by demo-bats. Screaming. Chaos. And who do you think is the first person to jump in after him?”

“Nancy,” Vickie said softly.

“Nancy,” Robin confirmed. “Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t ask. Just went.”

Jonathan nodded. “That tracks.”

“When they get him back,” Robin said, voice quieter now, “he’s hurt. Bleeding. And Nancy patches him up.”

She mimed wrapping a bandage. “Hands shaking just a little. Lingering looks. The kind of silence that says everything without saying a word.”

Vickie smiled. “Oh.”

“Oh,” Robin echoed. “And then comes my personal favorite.”

She straightened, grinning again. “We’re talking plans. Nancy says she has two guns in her bedroom. Steve, still shirtless because apparently shirts are optional now, goes, ‘You almost shot me with one of those.’”

Jonathan laughed. “I remember that.”

“And Nancy,” Robin said, eyes shining, “without missing a beat, goes, ‘You almost deserved it.’”

Vickie laughed out loud.

“And Eddie,” Robin finished, “throws Steve a shirt and yells, ‘For your modesty, dude.’”

Jonathan wiped his eyes. “God, Eddie would’ve loved this.”

Robin nodded, a flicker of something sad passing through her before she shook it off.

“And then,” she said more softly, “the nuggets.”

Vickie tilted her head. “The nuggets?”

“The dream,” Robin said. “We’re resting. Exhausted. Half-dead. Steve starts talking about this future. RV. Traveling. Big family. Six little nuggets.”

Jonathan smiled, remembering.

“And he says,” Robin continued, “‘I always picture Nancy there.’ Just… says it. Like it’s obvious.”

The room went quiet.

Jonathan leaned back, thoughtful. “I don’t think he ever stopped loving her.”

“No,” Robin said gently. “I don’t think either of them did.”

Vickie reached for Robin’s hand, squeezing it. “You really watched it happen.”

“Yeah,” Robin said. “All of us did. We just didn’t have the energy to deal with it at the time.”

Jonathan laughed softly. “End of the world does that.”

They sat there for a moment, the past settled between them like an old photograph. Faded at the edges, but still clear where it mattered.

Robin lifted her bottle. “To accidental love stories.”

Jonathan clinked his against hers. “To people growing up.”

Vickie smiled. “And to Thanksgiving,” she said, knowing more than she let on.

Robin grinned. “Oh, it’s going to be beautiful.”

---------------------------------------

The house was quiet in the way only late nights managed.

Steve’s bedroom was dim, lit mostly by the soft glow of the lamp on the nightstand and the moonlight slipping through the curtains. The world outside Forest Hills felt far away, reduced to distant crickets and the occasional hum of a passing car. Nancy lay half on her side, head resting on Steve’s chest, listening to his heartbeat slow into something steady and calm.

This was her favorite version of quiet. Earned quiet.

Steve’s fingers traced lazy patterns along her arm, absentminded, thoughtful. He’d been doing that a lot lately. Thinking out loud after the day was done, when the panic and expectations couldn’t reach him.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Mm?” Nancy murmured.

“Serious question.”

She smiled slightly. “Those are dangerous words.”

He hesitated, then asked, “Should I shave my chest hair?”

Nancy lifted her head just enough to look at him. Her expression was flat. Unamused. Final.

“Don’t you dare,” she said.

Steve blinked. “Wow.”

“You would get in trouble,” she added calmly, settling back against him like the matter was closed.

Steve laughed, chest shaking beneath her cheek. “Got it. Loud and clear.”

They lay like that for a moment before Steve spoke again, clearly emboldened by surviving the first question.

“Okay, hypothetical,” he said. “Would you get jealous enough to pull your pistol if some mom flirted with me?”

Nancy snorted. “Steve.”

“I’m asking.”

She thought about it for a second, then answered honestly. “I wouldn’t be happy. But if it happens once, I won’t be angry.”

“And if it happens more than once?” he asked carefully.

“I’d have words,” Nancy said. “With the woman. Not the gun.”

Steve smiled. “Good to know.”

She shifted slightly, fingers idly pressing against his ribs. “Speaking of guns,” she said, more serious now, “I keep one for reasons that could present themselves in the future. That’s it.”

He nodded, listening.

“It was a tool,” she continued. “To face nightmares. I don’t want any future gifts that are weapon-related. I’m done living like that.”

Steve’s voice was quiet. “Yeah. It’s time to live.”

He paused, then added, teasing, “Still kind of a shame.”

Nancy tilted her head up. “Oh?”

“I liked you looking all Rambo,” he said, grinning.

She laughed, lifting herself just enough to smack his chest lightly. “You have issues, Mr. Harrington.”

“Documented,” he said.

Nancy climbed over him then, the moment turning warm and playful as she leaned down and kissed him. Slow. Certain. Full of promise.

Outside, Hawkins slept.

Inside, they stayed awake a little longer, choosing the future together.

------------------------------------------

Holly Wheeler was excited about Thanksgiving.

She really was.

Derek was coming. Sitting at the table. Eating too much food. Laughing too loud with the boys. Being there. It mattered to her more than she said out loud.

But excitement didn’t cancel worry.

She’d tried not to think too hard about how easily Derek’s parents had left him alone while they and his sister went to New York for the holiday. Tried not to compare it to her own loud, crowded house. Tried not to imagine what it felt like to be waved off with a promise and a packed fridge.

So she grabbed her bike.

The ride to Forest Hills was brisk, the air sharp with late autumn. Steve’s house came into view like it always did, solid and warm-looking even when it was quiet. Holly knocked, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

Nancy opened the door.

Happy Nancy. Soft sweater, hair loose, smiling like the world had finally eased up on her.

“Holly,” Nancy said, surprised and pleased. “Come in.”

The house smelled like breakfast. Eggs. Hash browns. Something comforting.

“Stay,” Steve called from the kitchen. “We made too much.”

Holly hesitated, then stepped inside.

They sat together at the table, Nancy and Steve moving in that easy way they had now, passing plates, finishing each other’s sentences. Holly ate slowly, soaking it in.

“Can I have coffee?” she asked hopefully.

Nancy didn’t even look at Steve. “No.”

Steve nodded. “Milk?”

Holly sighed. “Milk.”

She drank it anyway, then glanced up at Steve, serious. “How can I help Derek… with his parents?”

The room shifted. Just slightly.

Nancy and Steve exchanged a look, quiet and heavy with understanding.

Nancy reached across the table, touching Holly’s hand. “You’re already doing enough.”

Holly frowned. “But—”

“Being there matters,” Nancy said gently. “You’re a great person. A great friend. A great girlfriend.”

Steve nodded. “You don’t have to fix it. Just wait until he wants to talk.”

Holly swallowed, then nodded. “Okay.”

Breakfast finished. Jackets pulled on. Bike helmet grabbed.

“Thank you,” Holly said, sincere and a little shy.

Nancy walked her to the door, then leaned in, voice low. “Next time you want to read something… mature, don’t let Mom see.”

She slipped two paperback novels into Holly’s backpack.

Holly’s face went red instantly. “Nancy!”

Nancy smiled. “Be careful.”

Holly bolted.

Steve watched her pedal away, then turned to Nancy. “What was that about?”

Nancy shrugged, amused. “Just helping Holly a little.”

Steve laughed, shaking his head, and pulled Nancy close.

Thanksgiving was coming.

------------------------------------

Nancy wasn’t snooping.

She told herself that firmly as she stood in the hallway of Steve’s house, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back, a box at her feet labeled DONATE in her neat handwriting. This was cleaning. Practical. Necessary. If she was going to be moving in sooner or later, it made sense to take stock. Decide what stayed, what went, what belonged to a past Steve and what fit the life they were building now.

She worked slowly, respectfully. Old magazines stacked and sorted. A cracked lamp set aside. A box of mismatched trophies she refused to touch without him there.

And then she found the guitar case.

It was tucked into the back of a closet, half-hidden behind coats that hadn’t fit Steve in years. The case itself was worn but cared for, black leather scuffed at the corners. On the top, in faded gold lettering, was a single word.

Atkin.

Nancy frowned slightly.

She wiped dust from the lid with the hem of her sweater, fingers lingering longer than necessary. Steve hadn’t mentioned a guitar. Not once. She hesitated, then reminded herself again: not snooping. Cleaning.

She opened it.

Inside lay a guitar that stole her breath a little. The body held a gradient of color, a warm, glowing center that faded outward into darker edges. It looked like a sunrise or a sunset, caught mid-bloom. The wood was polished, well-loved. Not neglected. Not forgotten.

Nancy closed the case gently.

Questions formed and stayed with her all afternoon, humming under her skin while she finished tidying and started dinner. Steve came home smelling like cold air and effort, cheeks flushed from practice, hair a mess. They ate together at the kitchen table, drank a little wine, talked about his players and her plans and nothing at all.

Later, Steve stood at the sink washing dishes, sleeves pushed up, humming absentmindedly.

Nancy watched him for a moment, then rose from the couch.

She went to the closet, retrieved the case, and carried it out carefully. When Steve turned, drying his hands, he froze.

She set the case down in front of the sofa.

“So,” Nancy said lightly, sitting. “When were you planning on playing something for me?”

Steve’s ears went red immediately. “You found that.”

“I did.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “I mean… I’m not good.”

She tilted her head. “I didn’t ask if you were good.”

He sighed, then sat beside her and opened the case. Lifted the guitar like it was fragile. Precious.

“I only know, like, four chords,” he warned.

“Steve.”

“There’s really nothing—”

He stopped arguing and started playing.

The sound was simple. Soft. Honest. His fingers hesitated once, then found their place. He looked down at the strings, cheeks still pink, and began to sing, voice low and unguarded.

“Just one more tear to cry
One teardrop from my eye…”

Nancy didn’t breathe.

The house felt suddenly full of something fragile and beautiful. Steve didn’t look at her as he sang. He didn’t need to. She saw him anyway. All of him. The parts he hid. The parts he thought didn’t matter.

When he finished, he cleared his throat and laughed awkwardly. “See? Nothing.”

Nancy leaned over and kissed him, slow and certain.

“Play again,” she said.

And Steve did.

----------------------------

Nancy liked Vickie.

She’d realized it slowly, in the same way she realized most true things. Not in a flash, but in the quiet spaces. In the way conversations didn’t feel like work. In the way silences weren’t awkward. In the way Vickie listened without waiting for her turn to speak.

They sat together at a small coffee shop just off Main Street, the kind of place that smelled like burnt espresso and cinnamon and never quite figured out how to be modern. It was late morning, sunlight pouring through the windows, mugs warming their hands.

Robin wasn’t there.

Which, Nancy suspected, was part of why this worked so well.

Vickie stirred her coffee, thoughtful. “Can I ask you something?”

Nancy nodded. “Of course.”

“How do you deal with it?” Vickie asked. “Steve working with one of his exes.”

Nancy knew exactly who she meant.

“The cheer squad trainer,” Vickie continued. “The blonde one. The… flirty one.”

“Samantha,” Nancy said calmly.

“Right,” Vickie said. “I mean, if Steve hadn’t chased you again, there’s a decent chance he would’ve dated her.”

Nancy took a sip of her coffee. Considered. Then smiled.

“I trust Steve with every part of my being,” she said simply.

Vickie watched her carefully.

“And,” Nancy added, setting her mug down, “if that blonde bimbo crosses a line, I will murder the bitch with my bare hands.”

Vickie choked on her coffee.

“Oh my god,” she said, laughing, eyes watering.

Nancy smiled sweetly. “Hypothetically.”

Vickie shook her head, still laughing. “You know what? Max is right.”

“About?”

“The Wheeler girls having a personal war against blonde women.”

Nancy laughed too. “It’s not personal. It’s pattern recognition.”

They shifted to safer topics after that.

“Max and Lucas,” Vickie said warmly. “They’re so cute together.”

“They really are,” Nancy agreed.

“And Dustin and Suzie,” Vickie added. “Also adorable. I can’t wait for the weddings.”

Nancy raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that a little fast? They’re young.”

Vickie gave her a look. A long, pointed look.

“Really,” she said. “The woman who is this close to marrying her high school sweetheart is going to say that?”

Nancy laughed, hands up. “Touché.”

Vickie leaned in. “So,” she said lightly, “how’s the child-number negotiation going?”

Nancy groaned. “I had a nightmare we had eight.”

Vickie laughed. “Eight?”

“So it’ll be less than that,” Nancy said. “Probably four. Or five. We still have a lot to figure out first.”

Vickie smiled softly. “You’re going to be really happy.”

Nancy looked out the window, sunlight catching in her coffee, and for once, she didn’t doubt it.

-----------------------------------

Thanksgiving was close enough that Robin could practically taste Vickie’s ham.

She said this out loud while leaning against the grocery cart in the Hawkins Market parking lot, eyes half-lidded, dramatic hand over her heart.

“I can feel it in my soul,” she said. “Brown sugar. Honey glaze. Possibly cloves. Definitely love.”

Vickie pushed the cart forward with a sigh. “You’re impossible.”

“But correct,” Robin replied cheerfully.

Inside the store, chaos reigned in that very specific, pre-Thanksgiving way. Carts collided. People argued over turkeys. Someone was already out of canned cranberry sauce and visibly spiraling about it near aisle four. The air smelled like spices, cold meat, and stress.

The Wheelers were hosting.

Which meant everything.

Nancy stood near the front, clipboard in hand, calm as a general before battle. She wore a sweater tucked neatly into her jeans, hair pulled back, expression focused but not tense. She checked off items as people returned with armfuls of groceries.

Steve followed behind her like a very devoted pack mule, carrying whatever didn’t fit in the cart. Bags of potatoes. Extra rolls. A suspiciously large sack of onions.

“Careful,” Nancy said without looking up. “Those are for stuffing and gravy.”

Steve adjusted his grip. “I would never betray the stuffing.”

Robin snorted.

The guest list alone had taken two pages of Nancy’s notebook.

Ted and Karen, obviously. Holly and Derek, inseparable and trying very hard not to be obnoxiously cute about it. Nancy and Steve. Robin and Vickie, since both their parents were off somewhere warm and expensive. Dustin, Suzie, and Mrs. Henderson, who had already called Karen twice to offer help and once to apologize for Dustin’s appetite in advance.

Max and Lucas would be doing a separate Thanksgiving with Max’s mom, Lucas’s parents, and Erica, who had reportedly demanded to bring her own dessert “so people don’t embarrass themselves.”

Will and Jonathan were coming later.

With a surprise.

Only Robin and Vickie knew about that part, and Robin was vibrating with the effort of keeping it secret.

Joyce and Hopper. Back in Hawkins. Moving back, actually.

Robin glanced at Vickie, who was carefully comparing labels on two jars of nutmeg.

“You okay?” Vickie asked quietly.

Robin nodded, grinning. “This is going to be the best Thanksgiving ever.”

They moved through the store like a well-oiled machine. Nancy called out items. Steve lifted, stacked, carried. Robin provided commentary. Vickie made sure they didn’t forget anything important.

“Do we really need three kinds of potatoes?” Steve asked at one point.

“Yes,” Nancy said immediately.

Robin leaned in. “You don’t argue with a Wheeler during holiday prep. It’s a survival instinct.”

By the time they reached the meat section, the cart was already dangerously full.

Nancy scanned her list. “Turkey. Ham.”

Vickie smiled. “Ham’s on me.”

Robin sighed dreamily.

Steve grabbed the turkey like it weighed nothing. “This thing’s huge.”

Ted appeared suddenly at Nancy’s side, squinting at the bird. “You sure that’s big enough?”

Nancy stared at him. “Dad.”

Karen was arguing with another shopper over sage.

Holly and Derek appeared with marshmallows and sweet potatoes, proud like they’d accomplished something monumental.

Dustin waved from the end of the aisle with Suzie, already holding three pies.

“This is going to be a lot,” Steve said quietly to Nancy as they headed for checkout.

Nancy smiled, tired but happy. “It’s worth it.”

Tomorrow would be nonstop cooking. Chopping. Roasting. Baking. Coordinating ovens and people and personalities. The house would be loud and crowded and full.

And the day after, everything would change just a little.

Nancy squeezed Steve’s arm as he shifted the bags. “Thanks for carrying everything.”

He grinned. “I’m excellent at heavy lifting.”

Robin watched them from behind the cart, smirking.

Thanksgiving was almost here.

-----------------------------------

Thanksgiving arrived wrapped in noise, warmth, and the smell of too much food.

Nancy stood at the head of the dining room for a moment, watching it all like a photograph come to life. The table was crowded. Plates overlapped. Elbows bumped. Someone laughed too loud near the cranberry sauce. Steve sat beside her, relaxed in that way he only got when the people he loved were close and fed.

It felt unreal. In the best way.

After everything, things were… good.

Really good.

And Nancy knew exactly what she was about to do.

Sorry, Vickie, she thought, smiling to herself. But this has to happen.

Conversation was starting to drift. Chairs shifted. People leaned back, full and happy. This was the moment. If she waited any longer, Robin would escape unscathed.

Nancy stood.

The scrape of her chair cut through the room just enough to draw attention.

Steve looked up at her, curious. Holly froze mid-bite. Robin narrowed her eyes immediately.

Nancy cleared her throat.

“Before anyone leaves the table,” she said, calm but bright, “I just wanted to say thank you.”

A few confused looks.

“Thank you,” Nancy continued, “for pretending to be blind for the past several months.”

Robin’s mouth fell open.

“And,” Nancy finished, fingers brushing Steve’s arm, “Steve and I are together.”

Silence.

Then—

“Oh COME ON,” Robin shouted. “You couldn’t wait until Christmas?”

Laughter exploded around the table.

Mike, already grinning, raised a camera. Click.

Robin whipped toward him. “WHAT WAS THAT?”

Mike shrugged innocently. “We wanted pictures of your face at this exact moment, Robin.”

Dustin laughed so hard he nearly choked.

“And,” Mike added, “I promised Jonathan I’d do it. He let me use his camera.”

The table lost it.

Robin dropped her head into her hands. “This is a betrayal of epic proportions.”

Steve grinned, unapologetic. “You started a betting pool.”

Holly stood suddenly. “PAY UP.”

Robin looked at her in horror. “You were my favorite student.”

“Not anymore,” Holly said proudly. “I won.”

Vickie slid more ham onto Robin’s plate. “Here. Comfort meat.”

Robin accepted it miserably. “I hope you all know this hurts deeply.”

Nancy laughed, heart light, shoulders loose. For once, she didn’t feel like she was waiting for something bad to happen.

Then Karen cleared her throat.

“Nancy,” she said carefully, “your father and I would like a word with Steve.”

Nancy cringed. “Mom, I’m a grown woman.”

“Still,” Karen said, already standing. “A word.”

Steve shot Nancy a look somewhere between amused and terrified and followed Karen and Ted into the living room.

The room buzzed without them.

“Should we place bets on how long he survives?” Dustin asked.

“Ten minutes,” Lucas said.

“Five,” Max countered.

Nancy exhaled slowly and stood again.

“No,” she said firmly. “This is not the 1800s.”

Everyone looked at her.

She walked into the living room and shut the door behind her.

Karen and Ted stood near the couch. Steve stood stiffly across from them.

“Nancy,” Karen said, surprised.

“Whatever this conversation is,” Nancy said, crossing her arms, “I’m part of it.”

There was a beat.

Ted nodded. “Fair.”

Karen sighed, softer now. “We just want to know the plan.”

Steve glanced at Nancy before speaking. “The plan is… us.”

Karen studied him. Really studied him. This wasn’t the Steve Harrington of years ago. This was a man with calloused hands, responsibility in his posture, care in his eyes.

“You’re living together,” Karen said gently.

“Yes,” Nancy replied.

Karen nodded slowly. “Then I expect,” she said, looking pointedly at Steve, “a ring on my daughter’s finger sooner rather than later. Or there will be words.”

Steve swallowed. “Understood.”

Nancy rolled her eyes. “I am not being traded for cows.”

Ted cleared his throat. “We just want you happy.”

“And,” Karen added, “a wedding before babies.”

Nancy opened her mouth—

A knock interrupted them.

Three sharp raps at the door.

Everyone froze.

Steve opened it.

Joyce Byers stood there, smiling through tears.

“Hopper?” someone gasped behind her.

“Surprise,” Hopper said gruffly.

Jonathan and Will stepped in—and then—

“El?” Nancy whispered.

Eleven smiled.

The house exploded.

Laughter. Tears. Arms wrapping tight.

Nancy felt it then, deep in her chest. The sense that after everything they’d lost, after every nightmare, this—this chaos, this love—was the future.

Thanksgiving, indeed.

------------------------------------------

For a second, Mike Wheeler forgot how to breathe.

The room blurred. Sound dropped out. The world narrowed until there was only her.

El.

Standing in the doorway like she’d never left. Like time had folded in on itself and handed him the one thing he’d never stopped hoping for and never fully believed he’d get back. His heart left his body entirely, abandoned ship, sprinted across the room before his brain could catch up.

Mike didn’t think.

He ran.

He crossed the living room in three uneven steps and crashed into her arms, wrapping himself around her like he was afraid she might disappear if he loosened his grip even a little. His forehead pressed into her shoulder. He was shaking. He didn’t care.

“El,” he breathed, voice breaking.

She held him just as tight, fingers curling into the back of his sweater, tears already spilling down her face. “Mike,” she said, and it sounded like home.

The room filled with noise again. Gasps. Soft cries. Someone swearing under their breath. Karen had a hand over her mouth. Dustin looked like he might pass out. Lucas stood frozen, smiling so hard it hurt. Max wiped her eyes quickly, pretending she wasn’t crying.

Will watched them, heart full and aching and relieved all at once.

Questions tumbled out the moment they finally pulled apart just enough to look at each other.

“How is this possible?”

“Are you okay?”

“The government—”

“Are they going to come back for her?”

“El, are you really—”

Hopper lifted his hand.

“Okay,” he said loudly, his voice cutting through the chaos the way it always did. “Everybody take a breath. I will not repeat this”

The room quieted, eyes turning to him.

“As you all know,” Hopper went on, “after Vecna, I took a job in Montauk. Joyce came with me.”

Joyce smiled, squeezing Will’s shoulder.

“And,” Hopper said, shifting his weight, “this time, when we saved the world—again—we asked for payment.”

He looked at El, pride plain on his face.

“No more pain. No more running.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “So let me introduce you to Jane Hopper.”

A beat.

“Previously known as Eleven.”

The room went still.

Then Dustin let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. Karen rushed forward, pulling El into a careful hug. Ted nodded solemnly like this made perfect sense. Steve smiled softly from where he stood beside Nancy, arm around her waist.

Hopper cleared his throat. “Now,” he said, already moving toward the kitchen, “can we eat something? It was a long drive.”

Laughter broke out, shaky and relieved and real.

Mike took El’s hand again, like he was afraid to let go.

Thanksgiving, it turned out, still had miracles left.

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Pumpkin pie had never tasted like this.

Nancy sat tucked into Steve’s side at the long Wheeler dining table, her plate balanced on her knees now that most people had migrated wherever there was space, noise, or emotional overflow. The house hummed with life in a way that felt almost unreal—too full, too warm, too safe to be something she’d once believed possible.

She leaned back slightly, letting her shoulder rest against Steve’s chest, and took it all in.

El—Jane—was back. Really back. Sitting on the floor with Mike, their hands so tightly intertwined it was like they were afraid the universe might change its mind if they let go. Mike kept glancing at her like he needed to confirm she was still real, still solid. El smiled every time, soft and certain, her thumb tracing small circles over his knuckles.

Max was crying openly now, no longer pretending she wasn’t. Lucas sat beside her, arm around her shoulders, whispering something that made her laugh through the tears. Will was crying too, quieter, the kind of tears that came from relief so deep it hurt. Joyce hovered between her sons, her hand never leaving Will’s back, her eyes shining every time she looked at El.

Hopper and Ted were eating together at the table, shoulder to shoulder like two men whose primary job was chewing and making sure nobody burned the house down. Hopper ate like he’d been personally insulted by the concept of moderation. Ted nodded along to something Hopper said about turkey being “underrated,” as if this were the most serious conversation of his life.

Jonathan moved around the edges of the room, camera always up, always ready. He caught Mike and El’s foreheads pressed together. Joyce laughing with Karen. Steve mid-sentence, hands flying as he told some exaggerated story to Dustin. He knew these pictures would matter. He took them anyway, even when his hands shook a little.

Lucas and Erica had shown up strictly for dessert. Erica had made that very clear. She was already on her second slice of pie and had no intention of staying longer than necessary. “I showed up,” she said, mouth full. “I supported family unity. That’s enough.”

Holly and Derek, meanwhile, had absolutely taken advantage of the general distraction. They slipped down the hallway hand in hand, moving with the confidence of teenagers who knew exactly how invisible they were in moments like this. Nancy noticed—of course she did—and immediately decided she did not, in fact, notice. That was a problem for Future Nancy. Preferably a much older, much calmer Future Nancy.

It was, without question, the best Thanksgiving she’d ever had.

Steve shifted beside her, his arm tightening just a little around her waist. He leaned down, lips brushing her ear.

“You know,” he murmured, voice low, “what could make this day even better?”

Nancy smiled, already knowing, her heart kicking hard against her ribs. “What?”

Instead of answering, Steve reached into his pocket.

Her breath caught—not in surprise, not really, but in recognition. Weeks ago, in a quiet jewelry store with Dustin rambling beside him, he’d found it. The ring that had felt like it was talking to him. The one he’d known belonged on her finger long before she ever said the words out loud.

He held it between them now, simple and perfect and terrifying in the best way.

Nancy didn’t gasp. She didn’t cry.

She nodded.

Her eyes shone as she leaned in, kissed him softly—once, twice—and then took the ring from his hand and slid it onto her finger like it had always lived there.

“More pie, Mr. Harrington,” she said lightly, because if she didn’t joke she might lose it entirely.

Steve grinned, eyes bright. “Of course, Mrs. Harrington. Nothing would make me happier.”

She laughed, shaking her head, and slipped out of her chair before he could pull her back. Her legs felt a little unsteady as she walked into the kitchen, the weight on her left hand new and wonderful and very real.

She didn’t make it three steps inside before she heard it.

A scream.

Robin’s scream.

“What—WAIT—IS THAT A RING?”

Vickie turned, followed Robin’s line of sight, and her jaw dropped. “Oh my god.”

Nancy barely had time to lift her hand before Robin was in front of her, eyes wide, mouth hanging open like she’d just witnessed a crime against humanity.

“Really?” Robin yelled. “Really, dingus? You propose to Nancy Wheeler in the WHEELER LIVING ROOM? On THANKSGIVING?”

Chaos erupted instantly.

Dustin choked on laughter and kissed Suzie. Mike looked up, confused, then saw the ring and nearly fell over. Karen gasped, hands flying to her chest. Ted blinked. Hopper barked out a laugh. Jonathan snapped three pictures in rapid succession.

Holly yelled from down the hall, “I KNEW IT!”

Nancy just stood there, smiling, hand raised, heart full to the point of bursting.

Yeah.

It was a great Thanksgiving.