Chapter Text
Once a month is ambitious, even for Nancy, but she makes it a point to haul herself out to Philly every fifth weekend. One blessing of dropping out of school— experiencing the real world, she reminds herself— is not being beholden to classes and lectures and the labs that come along with general education requirements.
She’s working full time, and while she does have to go into the office every day, she can leave early once in a while. Sometimes. Like once a month, so she can drive five hours to Philly, like an insane woman.
She is an insane woman.
But she does it.
Sometimes Robin joins her and they drive together. Sometimes they stop in Jersey to pick up Jonathan. Sometimes the latter two make their own way to Philly because of school or events or extracurriculars. Sometimes they don’t come at all.
Nancy loves those weekends best.
He never misses a weekend.
It’s a ten hour drive for him and he’s a mad man. She knows this because she knows him, generally, but she also knows that he takes off every fifth Friday so he can spend all day Saturday with them. He stretches out Sundays as long as he can before giving in to time and physics and the need to be at work the next morning.
Steve looks exhausted every time he has to leave. Nancy feels just as miserable.
She doesn’t want to acknowledge why. She doesn’t have the strength. Fighting demogorgons and demobats and demodogs and Vecna and the Mindflayer and traveling into two non-Earth dimensions is all well and good, but she’s always been terrible at sharing her emotions with Steve.
But the only way to get better at something is to practice, she tells herself. She can start small. So, one Sunday morning, eight months into their weekend reunions, Nancy broaches the subject.
It’s snowing outside. They generally try not to hike up Robin’s uncle’s utility bill, so while the heater’s on, it’s not warming the place up enough. She stares at Steve’s sweater-clad back as he makes some tea.
Nancy doesn’t like tea and Steve hadn’t until March of 1989, when he’d started dating Kristen. She’d gotten him into the habit, apparently, so now Nancy gets to deal with Steve in a thick white cable-knit sweater, humming Free Fallin’ by Tom Petty.
She hadn’t realized he likes Tom Petty now, either. Probably another souvenir from the Kristen era.
“Steve,” she says, forcing herself to focus as he turns around finally and places a mug of Earl Grey on the kitchen island.
“Nance,” he says, matching her tone.
“Aren’t you exhausted?” she asks quietly.
He looks like it. Not that he looks bad, since Steve can never look bad. She’s seen him freshly awake, immediately after a basketball game, in the fanciest outfit he has, and without a stitch on him. Hair styled or not, gorgeous white sweater or not, he’s always been difficult not to focus on.
“Oh I look that bad?” he asks, raising the mug to his lips. He raises a singular eyebrow, and that, paired with the look in his eyes, conveys what his mouth won’t. It’s worth it.
Her heart skips a beat.
“It’s a ten hour drive each way,” she reminds him.
“I know that,” he says flatly. “Considering I’m the one that makes the drive.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
Steve squints at her. “Nance, c’mon.”
“I’m worried about you,” she says. “I am worried about how much this is taking a toll on you, physically, and I don’t want to be the reason you run yourself ragged.”
A heavy pause. They both let the words sit there for a moment, processing what she’s just said, what it’ll mean when he doesn’t deny it.
Steve lets out a deep breath. “I like these weekends.”
“I do too,” she says. “It’s not like I want them to stop.”
“But you want to do them less often?” he asks, looking wounded.
“It might be better for your schedule,” she says.
He doesn’t deny that, since he can’t.
“Probably,” he says.
“It sucks,” she admits. “I don’t like it.”
Steve smiles half-heartedly before staring into his mug of tea. “It does suck,” he agrees.
They fall into a not-uncomfortable silence. She stares at him and he stares at his mug and neither of him move for a few moments. Maybe she can go to Hawkins more often, Nancy thinks. She doesn’t want to, but she will. If Steve wants her to.
He scratches his eyebrow. “I mean— okay—“ he starts. “Okay, okay, there’s— there’s a plan here. Right, so what if, what if we do fewer weekends, but we do, like, longer trips? Like maybe we do every other month. But then we do one big trip in the summer or something?”
Winnebago, she remembers. Yellowstone, the Rockies, all of the Harringtons taking a trip together as a family. That’s a very specific dream, and she’s not sure if she’s ready for that. She’s not sure she wants to be looking over the Grand Canyon, watching Steve as he looks out over a beautiful thing nature’s created, thinking about whether they want the same things. Whether they’ll ever go back there with their children someday.
Greed beats rationality: she wants his time and consequences be damned.
“International,” she proposes. “Maybe an international trip?” Different enough from The Dream, she hopes.
His eyebrows rise at this. “You know Robin doesn’t have the cash for that,” he tells her. “And, really, Byers?”
“He probably doesn’t either,” she allows, “so maybe we go without them.”
Steve’s eyes lock onto hers. “We go without them?” he repeats calmly.
“Yes,” she says, trying not to sound breathless. “You know, Mike’s not doing well.”
Steve squints again, trying to keep up with the change of subject. “Yeah,” he said, “I know. We have dinner together. Every Tuesday.”
Her heart jumps into her throat. “Really?” she asks. “He didn’t tell me.”
“He asked me not to. Doesn’t want you worrying.”
“I worry anyway.” In the fall, she’d called Mike once a day, every day. He’d been annoyed, but he’d constantly reassured her he wasn’t, well, suicidal. Eventually he’d gotten annoyed that she was so worried about it, though, and that she didn’t really believe him. She guesses that’s why Mike hadn’t wanted Steve to tell her about their weekly dinners. Too bad, since the joke’s on her brother. She believes him even less now that she knows he and Steve each drive over an hour to see each other every week. “You go to South Bend?”
“We meet in Kokomo,” Steve says. “At the Waffle and Steak.”
She stares at him. “You drive four hours every Tuesday to have dinner with my brother.”
“Nance—“ he says uncomfortably.
Nancy feels so hot in her skin she thinks the only solution is stepping out into the snow. Letting the flakes hiss as they melt against her skin.
“Mike could use a trip,” she says, standing in place instead. “He— he has this story about three waterfalls—“
“Yeah,” Steve says eagerly. “Yeah, he told me. We’ve talked about it. There’s a few. Places with at least three waterfalls, I mean. South America. Iceland. Niagara Falls. Probably somewhere in India, too.”
“Are there that many?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” he says, shrugging. “Do we have to know right now?”
Which is a good point. They don’t need to know everything right now, so they don’t try to figure it out. Instead, she questions Steve about what’s going on in Mike’s life that he won’t tell her and Steve tells her Holly and Josh and Debbie and Mary come to all of Derek’s games. She stares at him during that conversation, awed by his knowledge of her sister’s life.
Robin and Jonathan wake up eventually and amble into the kitchen, and they spend the rest of the weekend arguing over Scrabble and poker. If Robin wiggles her eyebrows at Nancy when Steve’s hand lands on top of hers during a game of Uno, Nancy ignores it.
“You’re dragging your brother into a very awkward situation.”
The coffee shop is busy around them, enough that Nancy has unsuccessfully sought a refill for her coffee twice. “No I’m not,” she says, looking away from the table in an effort to catch the waitress’ eye for the third time.
Robin huffs and rolls her eyes— Nancy sees this from her peripheral vision— and raises her own hand.
“Excuse me,” Robin says loudly. A waitress looks at her immediately. “So sorry, could we get refills over here, please? Thank you.”
Now Nancy rolls her eyes. “She was going to get to us eventually.”
“Your problem—“ Robin leans forward, elbows on the table and fingers interlocking under her chin. “Is that you don’t let yourself ask for what you want. You think it’ll just happen eventually?”
“It’s just coffee.”
“It’s not just about coffee.”
“Sometimes coffee is just coffee. Everything doesn’t have to be a metaphor or an analogy. We don’t have to overexplain things to people anymore.”
Beyond the worry for the physical safety of everyone she loved and cared for, the Upside Down era of their lives had included so much explaining. Keeping up with each of the creatures that existed and their powers and what controlled them and what their motives were and who knew what and how to explain things in one go to an entire group of people who understood things differently.
Robin ignores this, since it’s not germane to the issue she wants to talk about. “You’re repressed.”
“I am not repressed,” Nancy snaps.
“When was the last time you had sex?”
“Three months ago,” Nancy says honestly.
“When, exactly?” Robin asks suspiciously.
“Mid-January.”
Immediately after the weekend she and Steve decided to take a trip, to be specific. She’d gotten a little imaginative during the drive home from Philly, convincing herself he was still in love with her and would wait for her to figure out her shit and maybe uproot his whole life and his job and everything he held dear just to move to Boston to live with her in a shoebox apartment. She’d gone to a bar with coworkers three days later and fucked some guy in a bathroom just to snap herself out of it.
It hadn’t worked.
“Steve?” Robin guesses.
“No,” Nancy says. “Steve and I are just friends.”
“You’re traveling together. Internationally.”
“With my brother.”
“That kind of makes it worse, honestly. You think you need a chaperone?”
“I’m just worried about Mike,” Nancy insists.
“I know that. Everyone knows that. We’re all worried about Mike; no one more than you, of course. But there’s really no way this makes sense for two friends. If you’re really worried about Mike and this is a trip that you’re taking for him, why is Steve going? You’re worried and you want to do something good for your brother and your ex-boyfriend slash current good friend is so close to your brother that you want him to come with you guys— that’s not platonic. And if it’s not about Mike, then it’s about Steve; and if it’s about Steve— why is Mike coming?”
“It’s about both of them and it just worked out this way. They’re close to each other and I’m close to both of them. Steve and I wanted to take a trip and it makes us both feel better to take care of Mike.”
“Fine,” Robin relents. She sits back in her seat as the waitress finally, finally graces them with her presence. “I don’t believe you, just so you know, but we can table this. For now.”
Telling Jonathan is embarrassing more than anything else. He isn’t upset. He’s not even judging her. It’s worse: he’s vindicated.
“It was never like that, huh?” he asks.
“I meant that. At the time.”
“Did you?”
“I didn’t— I didn’t stay back that spring break for Steve,” Nancy says firmly. “It was never like that. Nothing ever happened when you and I were together.”
Maybe she’s more honest with him because there are no consequences now. He doesn’t judge her; he doesn’t care.
“I don’t think it matters anymore.” Jonathan sighs.
“It matters to me,” Nancy says forcefully. “Because I need you to know that I tried my best when it came to us.”
“I— I do know that, Nancy,” Jonathan says slowly. Measured. “I don’t even hate Steve anymore, you know? I just don’t want to be something that stands in the way of your happiness.”
“Steve and I are just friends,” she says.
Jonathan ignores this. “Bring me back a postcard.”
And that’s the end of that.
Steve plans the trip. His job requires him to manage logistics for plans involving multiple people. Also, his family has a regular travel agent.
Still, he asks for input. There’s scheduling in general, managing the flights and hotels and tour guides and drivers and visas. He builds out an itinerary and hands it to her one weekend before he starts his ten hour drive back.
“Let me know if you want to change anything,” he tells her as he hefts his duffel bag onto the passenger seat of his truck.
Nancy almost snorts at this. She doesn’t have the time or the capacity to plan a full trip and she doesn’t know how Steve does. She’s the last person who has any right to change anything on this carefully-curated schedule. Rather than saying this, she touches his arm and smiles up at him, reassures him she’ll tell him all of her thoughts, and sends him on his way.
What he’s done is impressive.
Five days in South America: a trip to Iguazu Falls that allows them enough time to see the Argentine side and the Brazilian side. He’s figured out their airfare, the lodges, nature walks, guided tours, restaurants, local bars. For one of those nights he’s even written ‘Dancing- optional.’ He’s included suggestions for packing, too, down to the shoes.
Their budget ends up being more than Nancy had initially anticipated, courtesy of the Harrington family’s longstanding relationship with their travel agent and her mother nagging her father to fund a trip for Mike.
Ted Wheeler doesn’t even complain much, which is how Nancy knows that, despite how busy he is at Notre Dame, Mike’s misery is bone-deep and clearly visible.
Her heart aches for him. She starts calling him every day again, this time under the guise of talking about the trip. He sees through her, she knows, but he indulges her.
“You know,” Nancy starts.
It’s the beginning of June, and Mike’s home for the summer. There are only six weeks left until their trip and his friends are all home now. Still, he makes time in his day to talk to her.
“No, I don’t,” Mike says, “because you stopped in the middle of your sentence.”
“I’m thinking, Mike,” she says. “Can you let me think?”
“Sure,” he says, “Think away. Should I stay on for that, or—?”
“I had a really hard time after Barb died,” Nancy says quietly, “and I didn’t like talking about it. Steve tried, sometimes. I got mad at him for it. When he didn’t try, I got mad at him for it. Mom tried, too. I just didn’t— it hurt to talk about it and it hurt not to.”
Mike falls silent.
Nancy, bravely, pushes forward. “It’s not the same kind of grief,” she tells him softly. “But I’ve almost drowned in that feeling before. So if you need a hand or a rope or a ladder or whatever— something to pull you back onto the boat— I’m here.”
Mike sniffles. Clears his breath. “Thanks, Nance,” he says.
They both fall silent.
The discomfort of it is palpable in the same way Boston’s summer heat is. It’s a college town that empties in the summer when half the undergraduates that live here filter out. Boston’s so big that when it empties out, the heat is more glaring. There’s more space for it.
Between her and Mike— there’s more space for discomfort than she can define.
“The Herald is giving me a stipend.” She changes the subject after ten seconds have passed without him breaking the silence. She injects cheeriness into her tone. “So I have to write an article while I’m there. I’ve never done the travel beat.”
“Think of it like an investigation,” Mike says. He sounds relieved. “Like, figuring out what makes Argentina Argentina.”
“I was thinking about a different angle,” she says, “what it’s like to travel with my baby brother.”
“And be guilted by your baby sister,” he points out. “If you leave Holly out again she’ll kill us both.”
“God.” Nancy groans. Holly is upset about being excluded, which Nancy understands. She just doesn’t have the capacity to explain why Holly can’t come.
“She’s been bitching about it constantly, like, every night at dinner. To Mom. To Dad. To Max and Dustin—” that Holly’s ‘baby sister’ behaviors never work on Lucas, whose tolerance for such things has been forged in the fires of Erica’s personality, goes unsaid— “To her friends. Yesterday, Mary was here— the one with the glasses— and she looked me in the eye and said it was cruel of us to abandon Holly like this. Us, abandon Holly. I mean, that’s crazy, Nance, we went into two different dimensions to save her. To save all of them.”
He doesn’t say that it had cost him the love of his life. Mike will never say that, since it’s not the kids’ fault. She’s stinging over it, though, and makes a mental note to slap Mary across the face the next time she sees the girl.
“Brats,” Nancy says.
“I know. They sit there in my basement—“
“Our basement,” Nancy cuts in.
“My basement,” Mike continues, “using my D&D tokens and my old campaigns and all of the Party’s D&D stuff and then tell me I’m the cruel one. I made them.”
“That’s—“
“I’m allowed to be insulted.”
“Yes. Absolutely. I said they’re all brats and they need to be told that.”
“Exactly.”
“I’ll yell at all of them when I come home next.”
“Eh.” Mike deflates. “Derek’s okay.”
“What about Holly?”
Mike pauses. “Derek’s okay.”
Nancy smiles at that. “He’s a sweet kid,” she agrees. “Apparently he still calls Robin ‘Miss Robin’, and she hates that.”
“Yeah. He thinks we’re second best friends.”
“Second best friends?”
“Coach is his first best friend,” Mike says.
“Coach?”
“Coach,” Mike confirms. “Steve.”
“Oh of course, how could I forget?”
“You didn’t,” he says knowingly.
“Mike—“
“You guys aren’t going to make it super awkward for me on this trip, right? I’m not going to feel like a third wheel?”
“You’re not a third wheel. There are no wheels. Steve and I are just friends.”
“Oh are we lying to each other again?”
“Bye, Mike.” Nancy hangs up unceremoniously, which she’s sure Mike will use against her later. A problem for another day, she decides, pulling her typewriter closer to her. She has a deadline to make.
She makes the deadline and, true to her word, Mike doesn’t third-wheel.
What happens is this:
Mike falls asleep pretty quickly once they board the plane, resting his head against the window. She, in the middle seat, reads a travel book about Argentina. Steve tackles his next homework assignment from Dustin: the Hobbit. He doesn’t make much headway, and neither does she once he decides that reading over her shoulder is more interesting than whatever’s happening in the Shire.
“Is Iguazu Falls singular,” Steve asks, “or plural? Because Henderson’s gonna bring it up forever if I get it wrong.”
“I’m actually not sure,” Nancy says. “I think it depends on how you describe it.”
“Great,” Steve says, sighing as he settles back into his seat. “Just perfect. Ambiguity.”
“You’ll live,” she teases.
“I might not,” he grumbles, “If I hear Henderson call me ‘Steven’ one more time…”
“I thought he only saves that for when he’s really upset?”
“No, now that he doesn’t get upset with me anymore, it comes out when he’s teasing me.”
“Have you told him it bothers you?”
“It doesn’t bother me.”
“It’s bothering you right now.”
Steve glares at her, so she shuts up and goes back to her book. Eventually she falls asleep and doesn’t wake up until Steve softly nudges her awake to disembark the plane. Baggage claim is a hassle. She hangs back as Mike and Steve thread through the crowd to get their bags and links arms with her brother as they head out to find a taxi.
She and Mike slide into the back, Steve sits shotgun, and off they go. She falls asleep again, waking when they’re at their Buenos Aires hotel. Steve’s booked two rooms, one for himself and one for her to share with Mike.
Maybe Mike doesn’t need that level of watching over, but it makes her feel better.
Of course, her brother doesn’t care about how she feels.
“I’m not sharing a room with Nancy,” Mike says to Steve.
“Yes you are,” Nancy interjects. “You’re definitely not getting your own room.”
“I’m not a child.”
“It’s for my peace of mind.”
Mike stares between them, as if he thinks Steve’s going to back him up. He’s actually taller than Steve now, so when her brother stands up straight and squares his shoulders and looks Steve in the eye, Nancy admits it’s a little intimidating.
Steve, however, is unfazed. He looks a little bored, actually. It’s always been easier for him to deal with people’s emotions, and he’s more seasoned now, after three years of Max using her ‘I was in a coma’ get out of jail free card.
Mike whining doesn’t get to him. At all.
“You’re not getting your own room, dude,” Steve says flatly. “So you can share with me or you can share with her.”
“That’s so unfair,” Mike says, almost whiny. “You guys have, like, the same number of hair products.”
Steve’s lips twitch. “Me or her.”
“Fine.” Mike sighs. “You.”
“That’s really rude, Mike,” she says, “considering the trip was my idea. Bringing you was my idea.”
“Thank you,” her brother deadpans. “For the amazing opportunity to third-wheel you two freaks.”
“Mike—“ Steve starts.
“Whatever.” Mike shakes his head, takes a key from Steve, and starts rolling his bag towards the elevator. “Lamest vacation ever.”
Steve sighs and takes his own bag before following after Mike, spurring Nancy into action. Her brother’s already gone, so they have to take a different elevator. She and Steve ride up to their floor in silence. The doors eventually open on the fifth floor and reveal her sulking brother.
“I have the wrong key,” he says. He doesn’t apologize. He doesn’t meet her gaze, or Steve’s. He’s just thrown a tantrum and they all know it, and the trip’s just begun.
It’s awkward. It’s so awkward, and even though Mike is her baby brother and this trip was her idea, her discomfort takes over again: prickling just under the skin, breaths shallower than she’d like, a pit in her stomach sinking lower than she ever thought a pit could go.
“I know,” Steve says easily. “Let’s go, idiot.”
Mike silently hands her the key he’s holding before following Steve down the hallway. He looks back at her, expression contrite.
Nancy rolls her eyes.
Mike scoffs.
Steve stops in front of one of the rooms to Nancy’s right, pulls out the correct key, and shoves it into the lock. The door opens easily. “Nance,” he says, “yours is right across from us.”
Their rooms face each other. She won’t even be able to put her ear to the wall and try to eavesdrop.
“Nothing next to each other?” she asks disappointedly as Mike pushes past Steve and into their hotel room.
“This is what they had.”
“And thank God,” Mike says over Steve’s shoulder. “Otherwise you’d have a cup glued to that wall and try to spy on me the whole time.”
“It’s not spying!”
“Yes it is!”
“Guys, guys,” Steve says irritably, putting a hand up. “Let’s just all take naps, okay?”
“Fine,” she and Mike grumble in unison.
Mike retreats into the hotel room, but Steve stays at the door until she’s got hers open. He leans against the doorway and watches as she rolls her bag inside. He’s smiling when she looks up at him.
Her stomach flips.
Nancy smiles back. “Thank you.”
“You owe me,” he says. “I’m really taking one for the team here.”
“Isn’t that what a coach is supposed to do?”
“I’m not Mike’s coach.”
“You’re his vacation coach,” she offers. “You’re gonna teach him how to be on vacation.”
Steve shrugs. He straightens, covers his mouth with a fist, and yawns. “First lesson, then. Napping is serious.”
“It’s a good idea,” she agrees, stepping back and letting the door start to close. “See you at dinner.”
“Dinner,” Steve agrees.
Nancy naps. She doesn’t know if the boys do, but she figures they probably don’t sleep the whole time. When they all surface and head out to sightsee and discover all that Buenos Aires have to offer, Mike is in a better mood. Clearly he and Steve had had a conversation during the afternoon.
He and Steve hang back nearly the entire time they’re out. She’s irritated, walking around alone. The whole point of being on a trip with people is to be on the trip with people. Still, she can feel Steve’s gaze on the back of her neck. His spatial awareness is a little insane, so she knows he’s never going to lose sight of her.
Eventually, she relaxes into it and stops turning around to double check where they are.
At some point, Steve takes the lead and guides them to the restaurant on the itinerary. Dinner is unsurprisingly delicious, since Steve’s travel agent recommended the restaurant.
“Serena’s got fantastic taste,” he tells them as they dig into their dessert. “It’s crazy, because she only recently got into the business. She’s working with her uncle now, and that’s the guy my dad knows, obviously, because my mom wouldn’t want him having any interactions with a woman who knows his travel schedule like that. But anyway, Serena’s young, she’s got great taste, she really knew the kind of trip I wanted to plan. I’m excited.”
He doesn’t mention Serena after that, but Nancy is, if nothing else, an overachiever. She only needs one offhand mention of another woman to shrivel inside. She stares at her dulce de leche as it disappears, bite by bite, until it’s gone. Looking up means seeing Steve (no thank you) or Mike (who sees her not wanting to look at Steve).
The three of them walk around after dinner to see as much of Buenos Aires as they can. They stop at shops so Mike can buy postcards and keychains and she can pick up magnets. Steve, after spending five minutes deciding on a souvenir, picks up a shot glass.
“Just one?” Nancy asks, raising an eyebrow. “You’re going to drink alone?”
“It’s not for drinking,” he says. “It’s nice to collect something like you guys are. They sell these things everywhere, so I can get one from each place we visit.”
The implication that this is the first of many trips together warms her from the inside out. Steve’s traveled before with his parents. He’s gone places and done things she hasn’t and probably never will. But he’ll never be in Buenos Aires for the first time ever again, and his memories of this place will always include her.
That thought keeps her warm as they continue walking aimlessly through the city, turning onto different streets without rhyme or reason. They stop when they come across a cobblestone square. Live music floats through the air. A string quarter sits on the steps of a very old, very majestic looking building. A small crowd has gathered at the edges to watch couples dance and laugh and kiss.
Mike’s face falls. His shoulders hunch. The dim light that has crept into his eyes over the last few hours dies immediately.
She and Steve move at the same time.
He throws an arm over Mike’s shoulders as she takes her brother’s hand.
“Jesus,” Mike says. “Why are you both touching me?”
“We should dance.” Nancy tugs on his hand. “Steve, let go.”
Steve, dutifully, does just that. “You’re gonna dance, Nance? In public?”
“I’ve danced in public.”
“This isn’t about you. I don’t wanna dance,” Mike cuts in. “So no.”
“Too bad,” Nancy says firmly. “We are on vacation. We are in Argentina. We have to.”
“That doesn’t make any sense, Nancy,” Mike says, squinting at her. It’s not a glare, exactly, nor is it derision. It’s more like he thinks she’s incredibly stupid and he’s genuinely hurt by it.
“Just one dance,” she tries.
“I don’t like dancing. I don’t dance. You know this.”
What he means is, he doesn’t dance with anyone who isn’t El, and he definitely doesn’t want to start now, during the trip they’ve taken to help him process his grief over her.
They stand there staring at each other for a few beats as Nancy considers his point— a valid one, she begrudgingly admits. “Just one dance? A small one? Mom’ll love hearing about it.”
“Sí, baila!” an unfamiliar voice says, grabbing her attention. A beautiful woman in a red dress holds her arms out to them and gestures for them to come closer, to join her. Nancy tracks the lady’s gaze to her hand— holding Mike’s— then to Steve, who is now a few feet in front of them, closer to the musicians. He stands alone, hands in the pockets of his jacket until the woman catches his eye.
Naturally, she reaches for Steve.
Naturally, Steve takes the woman up on her offer.
“I changed my mind,” Mike says from above her and to the right somewhere. She’s not looking at him, but she can hear the smirk in his voice. “Let’s dance. What the hell. We’re in Argentina.”
So, because they are on vacation, because they are in Argentina, because Mike is smiling at the thought of her suffering with jealousy, they dance.
It’s fun. Mike’s not coordinated, and she doesn’t know what they’re supposed to be doing. They don’t have any choreography. It’s more fun like this, though, moving however she wants without caring who sees her or what they think. The only thing she cares about is her brother’s expression: she loves the way Mike laughs when she raises their joined hands and twirls herself before trying to twirl him, too.
Couples sway around them. People twirl their dance partners. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Steve lower the Red Dress Lady into a dip. He pulls her back up, and Nancy, distracted, missteps. When she trips over Mike’s foot this time, it’s fully her fault.
“You should tell him, you know,” Mike says seriously.
“There’s nothing to tell him.” She focuses on Mike’s shoulder now. It’s an inch or two above her eyeline.
“Nance, I’m serious.”
“So am I,” she says.
“You don’t know what it’s like,” her brother says hoarsely. “To not have any hope. Any chance. He’s right there. He’s annoying, yeah, but he’s here. You have him right here. I don’t get why you’re wasting that.”
“Mike.” Nancy stares up at her brother, meets his gaze head-on. “I’m not wasting anything.”
“I just don’t get it.” Mike shakes his head. “I don’t understand how you can be so passive about this.”
“Steve told me how he feels. Felt. Four years ago. He has this vision for his life. He has plans. He had them then and he’s following through on them now. He likes being a teacher and a coach. He’s eyeing a house in Forest Hills. He wants six kids and family road trips across the country. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know if I want those things and I can’t toy with his feelings until I figure it out.”
They’re still moving. Their steps match, at least. Maybe he’s doing the same thing she is– focusing on the dance instead of the weight of this conversation.
“Wow,” Mike says slowly.
Nancy holds her breath as her brother thinks. He furrows his brows and searches her gaze as he decides on what to say. Or how to say it. The Mike of the late eighties may as well be a brand new person. She hates this version of her brother, the sixteen-year-old widower with the wisdom of someone with a long, well-lived life. She hates that his adventures have cursed him with enough pain for a lifetime without rewarding him with equal amounts of joy. It is bitterly ironic, this series of events that have befallen her brother. Everything he’s gone through in the fight against Vecna has made him, this version of him, the perfect target for that monster.
He doesn’t follow through, though. Nancy pinpoints the moment he drops the conversation.
Mike chooses to break the heavy silence by pissing her off. “So that’s why he’s been dating so much.”
Nancy tries not to flinch and fails at it. “Julie and Margaret and Dawn,” she says.
“And Kristen. And then Kate. I liked Kate.”
She hasn’t heard about Kate. This new information almost stops her in her tracks, but her brother nudges her foot with his to keep her moving. “Who is Kate?” she asks.
“He didn’t tell you?” Mike asks innocently, raising his eyebrows.
“No!”
“Wild. Maybe you guys aren’t as close as you thought.”
“Really, Mike?” she asks, tilting her head.
“You just said you didn’t want him,” her brother says innocently. “He’s my friend. I can’t have opinions?”
“Not bad ones, no,” Nancy snaps. She wants to kick him, but she can’t. The days of her chasing him around the house to get her piggybank money back are over. She’s a grown woman.
“How can I have a bad opinion about someone who doesn’t exist?” Her brother asks. The widower has disappeared, and in his place stands the epitome of rationality. Mike schools his features into something bland, save for a hint of what someone less perceptive than Nancy would assume is genuine curiosity.
“Doesn’t exi-” Nancy starts, shaking her head in confusion. “Mike, what?”
“Hey, the song’s over.”
That’s his only warning before he drops her hands and walks over to Steve, clapping both hands on the older man’s shoulders.
“Damn, Harrington,” Mike says, “you have two left feet or what?”
Steve elbows Mike. “Shut up, dude.”
“I get to say whatever I want. I did what you wanted, I danced.”
“That wasn’t dancing,” Steve says. He doesn’t point out that the dancing was Nancy’s idea. “You thought that was dancing?”
“Um, yeah,” Mike says. “I tried really hard and I barely survived considering how many times Nancy stepped on my feet.”
“I did not!” Nancy steps closer and joins their conversation.
“I’m going to have swollen toes.”
“I believe him,” Steve says solemnly. “He’s going to have swollen toes, Nance.”
“Thanks, Harrington. See– Nancy, you should be more like Steve. Steve believes me. You never believe me, Nancy. What the hell is that about?”
She locks elbows with her brother and rests her head against his shoulder. “You’re just not trustworthy,” she tells him.
“You’re bad at dancing.”
“You’re a klutz.”
“You’re tiny and your strides are really small,” Mike points out. “That’s your fault and now my feet hurt.”
“You didn’t move fast enough!” Nancy throws back.
“Nancy, seriously— what the hell. You have to stop—“
They bicker like this, like they’re children, like Mike’s twelve again and making fun of her at the breakfast table and stealing from her piggyback, all the way back to the hotel.
Their flight to the Falls the next morning takes off at a totally reasonable hour for locals and a completely awful one for three jet-lagged Americans. They rush out of their hotel rooms and into a taxi and eventually stumble through airport security. Nancy doesn’t actually breathe properly until she’s crammed into a seat with no legroom on what she thinks might be the smallest plane ever.
Steve takes the seat next to her, letting Mike have the single seat across the very, very narrow aisle. The three of them could talk, if they want, but Mike deserves the illusion of privacy.
She’s grateful for it, that he has that time to brace himself. It’s necessary— Puerto Iguazu is overwhelming from the moment they get there. Gorgeous, absolutely stunning with lush greenery everywhere, but it’s packed from the moment they arrive. The shuttle from the airport to the hotel is full of people.
She stares out the window the entire time, taking in how loud and colorful and busy this town is. Trees peek through the gaps in the building, each painted a different bright color. She turns to get Steve’s attention only to find him leaning over her and looking out her window, too.
Nancy’s brain stutters. They pass hotels and restaurants and bars and little stalls where merchants sell artisanal goods, and rather than note which ones she wants to visit later, all she can focus on is the scent of his cologne and how close his cheek is to hers.
“This place is crazy,” Steve murmurs.
Goosebumps erupt on her neck.
“Are you having a good time?” she asks, turning her head just so.
“I don’t know,” he admits. “I’m glad we’re doing this. And it is amazing. It’s just—“
“Sad. Painful.”
“Yeah. Like, when we were in high school but worse.”
After Will had come back and El had disappeared that first time, lost into the ether, Mike’s misery had been too much for her to handle. Steve, though— he’d been the one to suggest talking to Mike about Will. Focus on something other than his pain as a way to connect with him.
“I hate that he’s going through this again.”
Steve readjusts his seat and faces forward. He nudges her shoulder with his. “This is nothing, he has to share a room with me for the next four days. And a bathroom.”
Mike seems to accept that sharing a room is the status quo for this trip. He doesn’t even fight them when Steve gives him his key. That might also have something to do with their hotel, though. It's the fanciest place either of them have stayed in her entire life: Hotel Internacional Iguazú.
“Did you rob a bank?” Mike demands, rounding on Steve the moment he’s done examining the lobby.
“Yes,” Steve deadpans. “Just for you.”
Mike only rolls his eyes at this. He never looks Steve-shaped gift horses in the mouth. Sometimes Nancy forgets that Mike had earned the right to ask Steve for unlimited car rides (and ice cream, and access to the movies, and video rentals) right around the time she had lost it.
He starts chattering on about some bird sanctuary he wants to visit, which Steve, apparently, has planned for the day after–
“When we tackle Brazil,” Steve explains before launching into the full plan for their time in Argentina.
They’re visiting the town today, exploring the shops and restaurants and a couple of small museums and historical sights. Mike perks up at the mention of a wine tasting. He’s over the legal drinking age here, which is probably why Steve felt comfortable putting it on the list.
Nancy’s a big enough person to admit– at least to herself– that it’s a pretty good plan. Culture and history for her, lots of conversations with strangers for Steve, and some quiet walks in nature for Mike. Each activity leads into the next; no two places offer the same experience. By the time they get back to the hotel to get a good night’s rest, they’re all a little tired and happy-drunk. Mike is even laughing as they head to their rooms clutching various souvenirs. Matching t-shirts for the gang, another shot glass, more post cards and magnets.
“We went to this biker bar–” her brother hiccups– “Because Max wanted to prove how badass she was. It was terrible. Dustin and Lucas go–oh–” another hiccup– “got so drunk that night.”
Steve doesn’t sound amused. “I know,” he says, sighing. “I had to come get you guys at, like, one in the morning and then Sinclair puked in my truck.”
“We cleaned up!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Steve grumbles. He fumbles with his keys before getting their hotel room open. Mike disappears inside without a fuss, leaving Steve and Nancy alone in the hallway.
“Big day tomorrow,” Nancy says, pushing her own hotel room door open.
“There are, like, two hundred waterfalls or something,” Steve replies. “Way more than three.”
“He’ll be okay. It’ll be good for him.”
“What if it’s not?” Steve asks.
“Why… wouldn’t it be?” Nancy asks slowly.
“It’s stupid–” he starts. He rubs his nose, fidgets with his keys, looks everywhere but at her. “I’m about to admit something really stupid.”
Her heart pounds. She stays very, very still, as if breathing too loud, or blinking, or leaning back against the open door will spook him away from whatever he’s about to admit.
“I kind of feel like it’s better if we don’t go,” Steve finally admits. “Like, maybe it ruins the– the whole story, you know, that she’s happy out there somewhere and looking at a place that has more than three waterfalls or whatever.”
“Steve.” Nancy looks up at him, meets his gaze and searches his eyes. She can’t identify the emotion she sees in them. She can’t even identify the emotions she’s feeling herself. “It’s better this way. To accept it.”
“Is it?” he asks seriously. “What’s wrong with having some hope?”
That prickly discomfort shows up again, pesky emotion that it is. All those months ago, when she’d first brought up how tired he looked during their Philly weekends, she’d promised herself she’d practice being more emotionally open. If not with everyone, at least with him. It’s so hard, though, when he looks so soft, so hurt.
Nancy forces herself to speak anyway. She always has to force herself to speak. “Hope can be really dangerous,” she points out softly. “Remember Barb’s parents?”
His eyes narrow. “Yes.”
“Hope is– hope can be really good sometimes. It got Will back, and Holly. But when you know that someone’s gone–”
“We don’t know,” Steve points out. “And Barb’s parents had no way of knowing, either. It’s not– it’s not rational. We haven’t really dealt with, like, normal shit that happens to normal people, Nance.”
“I just don’t want Mike to end up mortgaging his house one day trying to afford a detective to find her,” Nancy says helplessly. “Why is that so bad?”
Steve opens his mouth.
“No–” Nancy cuts him off, voice cracking. She sniffles as the tears begin to fall. “I can’t, okay, I can’t deal with it. Not knowing where Barb was and whether she was okay was horrifying, but that week between realizing she was gone and finding her was– it wasn’t hope, Steve, it wasn’t something good to hold on to. It was pure dread, eating me up from the inside. I don’t want that for him for the rest of his life.”
Steve closes the distance between them in seconds, wrapping his arms around her and crushing her to his chest. She’s sobbing against his shirt in a hallway of this fancy hotel where anyone can see them but she doesn’t care. She’s so tired of acting like she doesn’t need support. Focusing on Mike is easier than processing her own pain, but her grief isn’t as dormant as she likes to think.
“You were there,” she mumbles against his chest. “When he lost her the first time. He sat in that fort all day long. He slept with his walkie talkie on. He only perked up if a lightbulb flickered or a fuse blew. The rest of the time he barely talked. I can’t do that again. I cannot see him like that for the rest of my life, Steve, I refuse.”
“I’m sorry,” he tells her. He kisses her hair. She presses closer to him and tightens her hold around his waist.
“You’re a really good hugger,” Nancy tells him. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you that.”
When he laughs, his chest rumbles against her cheek. “You’ve never wanted to admit how much you like my biceps before. I’m glad you like them.”
She laughs a little as her sobbing slows down. She pulls herself away from him, reluctantly dropping her hands and stepping back. Once there’s a reasonable distance between them, the temptation to do something stupid will die.
Or so she thinks.
Part of her hopes he’ll take a step forward, then another, and follow her into her room. She hopes his hands will skim up her sides and along her arms until they cup her face and he pulls her into a kiss.
Nancy hopes loudly. She stares at him, wide-eyed, pleading.
He stares back.
A second goes by.
Her heart pounds. Pounds again. Again.
The silence threatens to stifle her, she’s so close to breaking it when—
Steve steps back. Swallows thickly. “I’m gonna—“ He throws a thumb over his shoulder and tilts his head towards his door. “Sleep tight, Nance.”
Steve’s silent rejection is nothing compared to the torture of the next day. The loss of his warmth and the comforting sound of his heartbeat is easier to bear than this:
Her ex-boyfriend is sweaty and shirtless and in swim shorts after a nice, hour-long trek along the Macuco Trail. He had carried a hefty backpack with snacks and drinks and a couple of towels for them to use in the promised land, the purpose of this mini-adventure: the swimming hole at the base of the Salta Arrechea waterfall.
Mike is already in the water, dark hair plastered to his forehead. He’s grinning. “The water’s nice,” he calls out. “Come on.”
“Yeah, Nance,” Steve says, looking at her over his shoulder. He’s crouching on one of the rocks— too smart to stand and risk slipping— trying to examine the depth. “Mike, C’mere— how deep is it here?”
Mike swims until he’s in front of Steve. He takes in a deep breath, holds his nose shut, and disappears under water. Nancy holds her breath while he’s under.
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six—
Mike emerges, wiping his face. “Deep enough to jump,” he tells Steve.
Steve gingerly rises to his feet, curling his toes to grip the rock he’s standing on. He looks sideways, catches her eye, lifts his chin— you good?
She nods.
And watches as he dives smoothly into the water with perfect form.
Hawkins High Swim Co-Captain, Nancy thinks. It’s fine this time. There is no more Upside Down. No Watergate in Lover’s Lake. Nothing’s coming to grab Steve, pull him under, and spit him out somewhere she can’t reach him.
As if to punctuate the thought, Steve surfaces, treading water like he was born to.
“Come on, Nance,” he says, sending waves in her direction.
The water laps at her bare feet, hanging over the edge of the low rock she’s sitting on. “I’m going to sit here and write,” she says. “I have an article to finish.”
“To start,” Steve corrects. “You have to start it first.”
“I have to start it first,” Nancy concedes. She checks her watch. “We have an hour before we have to head out to the boat tour.”
“Relax,” Steve tells her. “It’s vacation.”
So it is, she reminds herself. She looks around and tries to settle into the moment. The sun is shining and the air is warm. The atmosphere should be all she needs, but twenty minutes pass and all she has to show for them is a sentence about the sweet air of an Argentine summer. She has no words. They’ve abandoned her.
Nancy looks at her notepad. Then she looks at the water.
Someone starts singing nearby, and she decides that’s a sign from the universe. She can write later. She stuffs her pen and notepad and watch into a side pocket of Steve’s backpack before pulling off her dress to reveal the one piece swimsuit underneath. Then she slides off her low rock and into the water.
Mike realizes what’s happening before Steve does. He disappears under the water before he gets to her and she knows he’s coming for her. She barely makes it to truly deep waters before her brother grabs her shin and tugs. Nancy shrieks involuntarily, mouth open as Mike forces her under water. By the time she surfaces, fuming and sputtering, he’s at least five feet away.
“Brat!” She calls after him once she can breathe.
“Would you believe me if I told you he used you as an excuse?” Steve asks.
“He doesn’t need an excuse to be a pain in my ass,” Nancy says.
“You were pretty emotional about that pain in the ass ten hours ago,” Steve points out.
It’s harder for her to tread water at this depth than it is for him. This is the rationale she uses to wade closer to him and rest her hands on his shoulders. “That was ten hours ago. Things have changed.”
He tilts his head and squints. “Nah,” he says.
“Uh, yeah,” she says.
“Some girl was flirting with him. He froze. Mumbled something about needing to check on his sister. That’s why he was already heading to you when you got in.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
They both scan the pool for Mike. He’s swimming laps. In a waterfall.
“Maybe he’ll channel his emotions into swimming,” Nancy muses. “Develop some athleticism.”
“Did you get water in your brain?” Steve asks, shifting to face her. “Let me see your ears, are there giant holes there?”
His hands are on her shoulders now.
“Don’t,” she warns, trying to brace herself by tightening her grip on his shoulders.
“Don’t what?” he asks, grinning.
“Don’t— seriously, Steve, don’t—“
“I don’t know what you’re talki—“
“Steve, I swear to God, if you dunk me—“
“I’m not gonna dunk you—“
“You look like you’re going to dunk me!”
“I thought you said not to judge a book by its cover?”
“I’m judging this book by what’s inside.”
“Oh?” Steve asks interestedly. He lowers his voice and heat pools in her lower belly. “What’s inside, Nance?”
She presses closer to him and drapes her arms around his neck. He rests his hands on her hips and she realizes he’s treading water with his legs. His thigh presses against hers every few seconds as he moves. “Co-Captain of the Hawkins High School Swim Team,” she answers obviously. “Go Tigers.”
“You are so—“
“What the fuck,” Mike interrupts loudly.
She and Steve pull apart. Nancy flushes red, like she’s a teenager whose been caught sneaking a boy into her room instead of a grown woman on vacation with her—
Well. Her friend, she supposes.
And also her grieving brother, who continues before either of them can say anything. He’s miserable and on the verge of tears. There’s no way she and Steve caused that.
“I want to go,” Mike says. “I’m done. It’s an hour long hike back and I don’t want to miss the boat ride.”
“Sure,” Steve says. “Whatever you want.”
They follow Mike back to their starting point, the rocks. He speeds through the process: haphazardly runs the towel through his hair and over his body before slipping his tee-shirt back on, then socks, then shoes. The swim shorts will dry as they walk.
Steve moves slower. He rummages through their belongings and hands Nancy her watch. He pulls out a water bottle and shoves it at Mike. He folds the towels he collects from the two of them and pulls out a plastic bag from the backpack to stuff them in. “So they don’t get wet,” he explains.
“Yeah, I know how to pack for the beach.”
“Then you should have done it,” Nancy tells her brother.
“He planned everything!”
“You could say thank you, Mike, you could offer to help. You could be nice, maybe. Just a thought.”
Mike’s face shutters. “Sorry my emotions are inconvenient to you.”
“Mike—“
“Whatever,” her brother says. “I’m going to start walking.”
“All good, man,” Steve says. He’s almost done re-packing the backpack. By the time he finishes and slides his arms through the bag’s straps, Mike is on dry land.
“What is his problem?” Nancy asks.
“Probably that girl again,” Steve says. “Or some other girl. Look—“
Sure enough, when Nancy follows Steve’s gaze, she sees some blonde trying to talk to a stone-faced Mike Wheeler.
“Oh," Nancy winces.
Steve very carefully climbs down from the rocks before offering her his hand to help her down, too. He lets go almost immediately after she puts both feet on the ground.
“You are, like, so bad at being emotionally supportive.”
“Oh.” She sounds stupid to her own ears.
“I’m not saying I’m great or anything,” Steve says as they start their trek. “It’s just— Mike’s going through what Dustin went through, which is, you know, what you went through. It’s different on this side of it.”
“Oh,” she says again. She doesn’t know what else to say.
“Yeah.” Steve falls silent as they reach Mike and the blonde girl he hasn’t been able to ditch. He doesn’t stop for Mike. He keeps walking, instead, and calls back after a few steps. “Mike, c’mon. Let’s go.”
Mike practically runs to catch up to them. He doesn’t offer up information about the girl and Nancy doesn’t ask.
“Dude, have you just been holding that bottle this whole time?” Steve asks. “You’re supposed to drink it. Stay hydrated, man.”
Mike proceeds to down what looks like half the bottle as they keep walking.
“If you have to pee in the woods,” Nancy tells him, “I’m not stopping for you.”
“You’d be so bored without me. It’s a whole hour of a trek—“
“I think you mean peaceful.”
“Neither of you are peaceful,” Steve cuts in.
“Shut up, Steve!” The Wheelers chorus.
“I’m just saying.”
The hour-long trek and snacks in Steve’s bag go a long way to ease the tension. By the time they reach the pier for their boat, Mike has loosened up. He even bounces on his feet as boarding starts and claims an outside seat immediately. All Nancy and Steve have to do is file into the row of seats he’s chosen.
The first five minutes of the boat tour are uneventful. The water is calm, the scenery is stunning, and the complicated life jackets with fifteen different buckles feel like overkill. Mist from the waterfall floats over them softly and pleasantly, so Nancy closes her eyes and lifts her face up to the sun. The boat rocks gently until it doesn’t.
When Nancy opens her eyes, the waterfalls are a lot closer to the boat than she’s expecting. Also, she’s on a roller coaster.
“Is this white water rafting?” she yells in Steve’s direction as the boat rocks violently. He runs his hands through his hair and pushes it back. He’s also taken off his sunglasses. Now they hang from his vee neck; some of his chest hair peeks through.
Nancy tries to focus.
“Yes!”
“I thought this was a boat tour!”
“We’re on a boat,” he says loudly. He grins at her. His hair shines gold in the sunlight. “And we’re touring the waterfalls. And the kid’s having a great time!”
Mike cheers loudly on her other side, all earlier malaise forgotten. He clutches the handle on the seat in front of him so hard his knuckles look white, but he smiles widely and woot-woots constantly, reminding her of his younger self.
Nancy relaxes into the wild ride they’re on and takes off her own sunglasses.
Steve rests his arm over the back of her seat and his hand on Mike’s shoulder. He shakes her brother and, when Mike looks at him, they cheer in unison. She leans in to Steve for a moment. A quick one.
She looks up at him.
He tilts his face to her.
Her eyes flick to his lips.
His lips part.
The boat rocks as they go directly under the Devil’s Throat; its torrential downpour soaks them to the bone, breaking whatever moment they were about to have.
Still, the adrenaline knocks into her, new and familiar all at once. She misses these feelings— invincibility and a sense of purpose. Saving the world has been such a big mission that everything after that has seemed a little… lame.
She has never considered the different human experiences she can try or the ways she can live in the world she’s worked to save. Life doesn’t have to be boring now that they’re not fighting for their lives. She probably won’t go white water rafting often, but she won’t say no to it, either.
Steve isn’t expecting this attitude from her. She can tell, because his mouth drops open when they disembark and she asks, “What’s next?”
“Nothing exciting,” he tells her. “Just the walk along the Upper Circuit.”
This is the part that terrifies her. Shopping, food, wine tastings, dancing, swimming, the damn boat ride— all of those are fun distractions. She’s not sure what Mike hopes to find on the observation trail, but she doesn’t think she’s ready for it.
“I don’t want to change,” Mike says. He is soaking wet, but this doesn’t seem to bother him. “I want to see. I want to show her.”
Neither of them have anything to say to that. They follow signs to lead them to the Upper Circuit trail in silence. Something somber takes over the three of them. She feels like she’s heading to a funeral.
Nancy doesn’t like to think about El. She can’t stop herself, of course, since she spends so much time thinking about Mike these days and how much El meant to him. She just doesn’t like thinking about what El meant to her, Nancy, without Mike.
They had been friends. They had been family. El had loved Nancy’s room. She had loved that it was pink and full of frills. Years before Robin had found the ballerina music box, El had sat in front of it, enraptured. El loved bright colors and pop music, Eggos and bacon and candy. She devoured Nancy’s magazines, especially the ones featuring Ralph Macchio. She never missed Who’s the Boss or All My Children.
In Nancy’s mind, El is still that little girl with big brown eyes and an expression too fierce for a twelve year old drowning in the pink fabric of a dress two sizes too big.
“We should talk about her,” Nancy says eventually. They have climbed enough stairs to lose feeling in her legs, though Steve hasn’t broken a sweat.
Mike is furiously wiping at his eyes. “Sure,” he says. His voice is so fragile. Hollow. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Whatever you want to tell us, man,” Steve says as they reach a deserted section of the walkway. The waterfalls stretch out endlessly ahead of them. “Maybe what she’d love about this place?”
“Everything,” Mike says quietly. “It’s so peaceful here. Full of people who want to see something beautiful and enjoy it without fucking it up.”
Steve stops next to Mike and leans against the railing. They’re not looking at each other, but the situation reminds her of a conversation between the three of them in the fall of 1983. They’ve gotten her brother out of the fort this time, Nancy tells herself. That’s the hardest part.
“How did you two decide on waterfalls, Mike?” Nancy asks. She steps forward, too, and ends up on Mike’s other side.
“That day, before the last crawl,” Mike starts, “she asked me what happens at the end of my campaigns. How the Party leaves its village because too much has happened and goes somewhere to start a new life. I thought the most satisfying ending for us would be the Party leaving Hawkins behind. Going somewhere else for a fresh start. Somewhere really beautiful, with at least— at least three waterfalls.”
“That’s beautiful, Mike,” Nancy tells him. “And I think that’s right.”
“She told me I didn’t get to write the ending this time.” His voice breaks. “And I was so stupid, Nancy, I thought everything was going to be fine. I thought we’d just drive out of the Upside Down and go home and, I don’t know, eat a full meal and sleep in actual beds—“
“Mike,” she says gently. “That wasn’t stupid. You’re not stupid.”
“I think– I thought she’d be here,” Mike admits shakily. “Like my story was true. She is alive and she’s here. She’s waiting for me to find her because she knows I’ll never give up on her.”
“I don’t think letting someone go is giving up on them,” Steve says. He clears his throat. “I just— I don’t think it’s possible to give up on someone you love. You just love them. And that feeling exists. It’s a part of you forever. You just can’t hurt yourself in the name of that love. You can’t wreck yourself.”
“But what if I am wrecked?” Mike asks.
In a normal circumstance, Nancy figures she would probably dismiss that question as crazy. In this world, however, she can’t brush it away. Tears cling to the lashes framing his bloodshot eyes. Her brother definitely looks wrecked.
“Then I’ll put you back together,” she says instead. “Me. Holly. Lucas and Dustin, Will and Max, Steve and Robin. Jonathan. Erica, probably. Now I’m just naming people, I don’t know—“
“Derek,” Steve chimes in. “Can’t forget your second best friend.”
Mike chokes out a laugh.
“I have some memories of her, too,” Steve says. “We went through a bunch of music together at the station. I don’t think I’m allowed to share this, but—“ he looks around, as if El is going to appear out of the mist and beat him up for breaking her secrecy. “She fucking hated Never Surrender, dude.”
Mike looks at Steve for a second. “She told you that?”
Steve holds up three fingers. “Scout’s Honor.”
“I kept singing it around her. She told me I’m a terrible singer.”
“You are,” Nancy says.
“Probably,” Mike says. He stares out over the water again. “Can I have a couple minutes to myself?”
She and Steve share a glance.
“Mike,” Nancy says. Here she is, pressing forward and trying to be brave. Again. “I have to ask—“
“I’m gonna be okay, Nance,” Mike tells her. “I have to be. I’m gonna see the world for her.”
For the first time in two and a half years, Nancy actually believes him.