Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Robin woke to warmth. And something tickling her nose.

For half a second, she thought she was still dreaming. For another half second, she thought she was dead, because the bed was soft in a way her own mattress had never been, and the air smelled clean, like detergent and something faintly citrusy.

Then a strand of hair slid into her mouth.

Robin sputtered and jerked back on instinct, immediately regretting it. Pain detonated through her torso, sharp and blinding. A small, pathetic sound tore out of her.

“Easy,” a voice said, very close. “You’re gonna pop a rib or something.”

Robin cracked one eye open.

Max was sprawled halfway across her arm, face smushed against Robin’s shoulder, red hair everywhere. Her arms were looped around Robin’s middle like she’d decided sometime in the night that Robin was a human life raft and she was not letting go.

Robin froze.

Her brain stuttered, gears grinding as it tried to catch up. The last two days rushed at her all at once—too fast, out of order. Fire. Sirens. Screaming. Russians. A needle. Bright white light. Steve yelling her name. The smell of burning plastic and ozone and—

She swallowed hard and slowly, carefully shifted her arm. Max stirred, eyes fluttering open. Then leaned back to look at Robin like she was ready to dissect her.

“Oh good,” Max muttered. “You’re fully conscious again.”

“Again?” Robin croaked. Her throat like sandpaper. “Cool. Love that for me.”

She tried to sit up and failed miserably, nearly collapsing back into the pillows with another hiss. That’s when she noticed the third presence in the room.

Steve Harrington was asleep on his stomach on the other side of the bed, sprawled diagonally like he’d been dumped there. His face was turned towards them, one cheek smushed into the pillows, lips parted. His hair, normally perfect, gravity-defying thanks to huge amounts of hair spray, was a disaster, sticking up at odd angles. Purple and yellow bruising ringed one eye, creeping along his jaw. He snored softly, steadily. Like a bear.

Robin stared at him.

Alive, her brain supplied, unhelpfully. Breathing. Real as her hand involuntarily reached out and touched his ankle. Warm.

Something in her chest loosened, just a fraction.

She shifted again, trying to disentangle herself from the bed without waking Steve, and that was when the pain flared hard enough to steal the air from her lungs.

“You should ice them,” Max piped up again, observing her.

Robin turned her head an inch. “Ice… what?”

Max rolled her eyes. “Your ribs. You sound like a dying animal every time you move. The paramedics said you should.”

Paramedics?

“Ah, right. The ribs.” She pushed herself up more slowly this time, gritting her teeth. The room tilted. She closed her eyes until it stopped.

“The concussion is probably not helping,” Max added, like she was recounting the weather. “So you’re not supposed to do anything stupid. Which, you know. Good luck if you hang around him.”

“Concussion.” Robin repeated.

A flash slammed into her head, latex gloves, a bright syringe, the burn of something sliding into her vein. Her stomach lurched.

“I’m gonna be sick,” she muttered.

Max quickly slid off the bed and grabbed her elbow. “Bathroom’s down the hall. Or the trash can. Your call.”

Robin waved her off weakly. Swallowing the excessive saliva in her mouth. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m—” She took one step and nearly face-planted. “—mostly fine.”

She glanced back at the bed. Steve hadn’t stirred. His back rose and fell, steady.

“I’ll…food,” Robin decided abruptly. “Are you hungry?”

Max shrugged. “Always.”

“Cool.” Robin gestured vaguely toward the door. “Let Sleeping Beauty there keep snoring.”

She paused in the doorway, glancing back just one more time, just to be sure Steve was still breathing. He was. She nodded to herself and then turned into the unfamiliar hallway.

The Harrington house was quiet, too quiet. Big. Everything looked expensive in a way Robin didn’t have the words for. Like it was taken out right of a catalogue. It didn't even seem lived in. She padded into the kitchen barefoot, noted the clothing which wasn't hers but she guessed it was better than still being in her Scoops Ahoy uniform. Max trailed behind her like a shadow.

Her brain scrambled, trying to stitch memories together. Russians. Monsters. Her summer break turned even more nightmarish and not because she was working together with the former King of Hawkins or wearing a goddamn sailor uniform every day.

Honestly, she wasn’t sure what was more unbelievable: getting tortured by Russians in Hawkins, Indiana, a whole other dimension existing or standing in King Steve’s kitchen wearing his sweatpants.

“Whole other dimension existing is still weirder,” Max hopped up onto the counter.

Robin blinked. “What?”

“You were thinking aloud. Also, Russians in Hawkins kind of tracks. This town sucks.”

Robin snorted despite herself and opened the fridge. The kid was right about that.

It was packed. Pre-made meals, plastic containers, leftovers of take out. No fruit. No vegetables. One lonely carton of eggs.

She grabbed it and turned to find Max watching her.

“You can cook?” Max asked skeptically.

Robin blinked. “Otherwise I don’t eat.” Like her mother would waste time on her.

She found a pan, some still good toast behind some stone hard bread-rolls, and started moving on autopilot. Her hands shook a little, but focusing on cracking eggs was easier than thinking about-

“I hope you like scrambled eggs. Because that’s all I can scavenge.”

Max didn’t answer. Robin glanced over and found Max staring at the wall, arms crossed, legs swinging.

Yesterday, her brother had died. Or had it been earlier today?

Robin swallowed and looked back down at the pan. What did you say to someone whose brother had been possessed by a monster and then sacrificed himself to the same monster? His body now crushed under falling debris?

Sorry definitely didn’t cover that.

Her shoulder blade twinged as she reached for the spatula. She hissed and braced herself on the counter as her ribs screamed.

And suddenly she was back there.

Concrete floor. Hands tied. The crack of boots into her side. Her breath gone, lungs useless. A scalpel cutting into her flesh. Being hauled and thrown into a room.

Steve beside her, unmoving. She hadn’t been able to hear him breathe over her own gasping panic. His dead weight tied to her. Like a corpse.

“Here.”

Robin flinched so hard she nearly dropped the pan.

Max stood in front of her, having raised her shirt and pressing a bag of frozen something right to the blooming black bruise adorning her side. The cold bit immediately, shocking and painful and relieving all at once.

“You helped me get dressed,” Robin said without thinking.

Flashes followed: red and blue lights. Max standing frozen by an ambulance, staring at the flames. Robin sitting beside her on a gurney. Max’s small hand gripping hers while a paramedic shined a light into her eyes.

“No shit. You’re bruised to hell.”

Robin nodded and clutched the ice to her side, focusing on breathing. She finished the eggs before they burned, split them onto three plates.

Right on cue, Steve stumbled into the kitchen, one hand clamped to his head. He squinted at Robin, then Max, then the food.

“…Is this real,” he mumbled, “or am I hallucinating?”

“You look like shit, Harrington." Robin offered without thinking, wincing because tact and her mouth had as always moved too fast.

Steve blinked and then laughed, wincing immediately. “Don't you think the ladies are gonna be into the ‘almost died’ look?”

“Your chances couldn’t get worse,” Robin shot back. “Not with your flirting.”

Steve collapsed into a chair, after grabbing frozen peas from the freezer —because apparently every freezer on earth had them exclusively for injuries.

“It’s the hat,” Steve said defensively. “It hides my best feature.”

“If hair is all you’ve got,” Robin put a plate in front of him sweetly, “I regret to inform you that eighty percent of the population also has hair.”

Max snorted into her eggs.

Steve clutched his chest dramatically before running a hand through his hair. “This is one of the wonders of the world like the pyramids of Rome.”

“Those pyramids don't count to the seven world wonders, dingus.” Robin corrected. “Also, you’re not a bird. You shouldn't need a crest to attract girls. Not that it hurts more than your Ahoy, ladies! Didn’t see you there. Would you guys like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I’ll be your captain.”

Max nearly choked on her toast. "You are not serious. He didn't say that."

"It was perfectly charming!"

"Stevie here definitely can't talk to girls. I needed an entire white board with a "you suck you rule" column to preserve the evidence of how bad his flirting is."

"Ouch!" Steve leaned back in his seat, mouth open as he chewed and Robin was quick to chide him with a kick to the shin and a "close your god damn mouth when you eat" while scrutinizing him to see if her teasing was fine and not actually poking at a wound. "And how do you pull gir-" Steve stopped himself in time, looking at her wide eyed then at Max.

Unsubtle as fuck. Panic rose in Robin's chest for a moment before she took a forceful breath, giving Steve another kick.

"I don't flirt at my workplace for starters." Not that it stopped people from trying to flirt with her, not just teenage boys but men at least double her age whose eyes lingered too long on the short shorts, her legs. Called her sweetheart with a condescending smile and a ring on their finger.

"And I think she uses her head for more than a place to have hair." Max added and Robin gave her a grin.

"Ha ha. So funny. Here I am in my own home and get insulted while you people eat my food-"

"I cooked Dingus, it's like my reward."

"Sleep in my bed-"

"The only girls you had in your bed in ages-"

"-stealing my clothes. Wait, that's so not true. I just had Linda here like last week. Leonie totally stayed over and I had to kick her out in a very gentleman-like manner because she didn't want to leave all this." Steve waved over himself.

Robin rolled her eyes, an answer not even necessary because Steve was a shitty liar. They sunk back in their chairs finishing their food.

Max finished first and stood. “You two have each other so I’m heading home. No meds for another day. Especially not Advil. Or you’ll probably die.”

“Love the care,” Robin shot Steve a look which he read right.

"I can drive you home-"

"Definitely not with your brain like damaged. I'll see you." Max grabbed her skateboard and left without another word.

Robin barely got out a thanks before the front door slammed behind Max. Fiery.

Silence settled again.

“You can call your parents to let them know you are here and shower,” Steve offered after a moment. “You can take the guest bathroom.”

Robin nodded and escaped before he could ask about her parents. They probably hadn't even realised she was gone.

The hot water helped. Getting the blood and grime off herself. Hoped the memories would go down the drain just the same.

She dried off, pulled on the basketball shorts Steve left and paused before putting on the shirt. Finally daring to look in the mirror.

Bruises bloomed across her skin—purple, blue, yellow. One shaped unmistakably like a boot. Some scrapes, the deliberate cuts along her arms.

She almost overlooked them.

Handwriting. Words.

Neat. Stark black against her skin.

I’m sorry, who are you?

On her right hip bone, almost lost beneath bruises

Robin stared. Then did the only thing she could do. She screamed.

The door flew open before she started computing again.

“Robin—!” Steve in the bathroom.

"What the fuck dingus! I'm half naked!" Robin hissed, clutching the shirt tighter to herself.

Steve sputtered and still gave her a once over which nearly made Robin kick him before catching himself.

"You screamed, I thought -"

"You thought wrong, stop looking, Dingus! I definitely don't want a boy to see this, I thought we had the conversation yesterday, I'm a lesbian, not for male consumption-"

"I thought being a lesbian meant you don't want to look at boys." Steve scrunched up his face only to grimace in obvious pain at the movement.

"Yes, but I also don't want them to look at me." Robin shuddered, remembered the General commanding to not hit her in the face because he didn't want to mess up the pretty which made her think of the words on her skin, words she didn't remember spoken to her. The words her soulmate must have spoken to her or otherwise they wouldn't be engraved on her skin or was it a hallucination? A hangover from the Russian drugs?

"You see them?" Robin asked a bit desperate, showing Steve her hip, the words only to see his eyes or rather the unbruised eye widen.

Steve peeked, then gasped. “Holy shit. You have a soulmate.”

She rubbed at the words. They didn’t move. “I don’t remember this. You don’t have words, right?”

Steve lifted his shirt, also bruised badly looking down at himself before turning on the spot attempting to see his back, twirling like a puppy trying to find the perfect spot to lay on and eww was he hairy but she only saw bruises and hair; no writing.

“I met my soulmate,” Robin whispered.

Steve dropped his shirt and reached to hug her-

She yelped. “I'm still half naked!”

He retreated immediately, turning around so she could put on a shirt. "So who is it? What cute girl gets to have you as a soulmate? After the shit show yesterday we deserve some good news."

Robin swallowed. “I don’t know.”

His smile faded. “You don’t know.”

“Steve, the last few days are a blur. Like I don’t remember half of yesterday.”

"Well, hopefully your soulmate will just contact you? Like they have to know, right?"

"And if they don't? If it's a girl who didn't know she liked girls she might just ignore it and disappear or no-" Robin scrunched up her nose, attempting to fit the blurry images in her mind together. "What if it's a Russian. Like an evil Russian lady. Oh my god, my soulmate might be an evil Russian lady. I think I might throw up-"

He blinked. “Wouldn’t it be in Russian then?”

“The General spoke English!”

“…With an accent?”

Robin stared at him. “How do you think a soulmark would note an accent? The words are written on me or do you think they'd be in italics to note an accent or there'd be a stage direction like in a play, like evil Russian accent starts here?"

He hesitated. “Maybe?”

Robin rubbed a hand over her face. "This is a nightmare. Maybe I just became a monster snack and this is hell."

“Okay. No need to panic. We’ll figure it out.”

Robin grasped the bridge of her nose. Feeling like screaming again.

This was just her luck. Finally a person who could actually love her and still the universe sent her a last fuck you by screwing with her.

*

Cemeteries were creepy. There was a reason she only went there once.

Robin stood near the back, hands shoved into the pockets of her black jeans, shoulders hunched like she could make herself smaller by sheer will. The black dress-shirt Steve had lent her hung a little too loose on her frame, and she had rolled up the sleeves to her elbow because of the heat.

It smelled faintly like his detergent and somehow his hairspray, a scent which was growing familiar. She shifted her weight and immediately regretted it. Her ribs protested, a sharp, familiar sting that had settled in over the past week like an unwanted roommate. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to stay still.

Steve stood beside her, hands folded awkwardly in front of him, jaw tight. He’d insisted they come together. Gently, but unbending. Said it mattered to the kids. Said it mattered to him.

And Robin had followed, because the last week had taught her that when Steve Harrington asked something quietly, it usually meant it mattered more than he let on.

She hadn’t known Jim Hopper.

Not really.

She’d spoken to him exactly twice. Once when he’d found her wandering alone in the cold, suspicious as hell, clearly convinced she was sneaking around with some idiot boy. And once when he’d chased her through the halls of Hawkins High for reasons she still maintained were bullshit. Like a girl couldn't even accidentally hit a few cars and sneak into Prom without the police being after her.

Which made being here feel… wrong. Intrusive. Like she’d wandered into someone else’s room by accident.

Robin stared at the ground and focused on breathing.

She risked a glance forward, scanning the familiar cluster of kids. Dustin stood with his shoulders squared like he was holding himself together by force alone. Erica hovered near him, chin lifted, expression sharp but eyes glassy. Lucas next to her was shooting glances at Max. Supergirl—El, her brain supplied—was tucked into Mrs. Byers’ side, small and heartbreakingly still. Her hand in those of little Byers. Mike stood hunched behind them both.

Robin swallowed. She didn’t belong here. She knew that. But she caught Will’s eye first, and offered a small nod. Then El’s. Something twisted in her chest. She awkwardly squeezed the girl's shoulder.

Mrs. Byers squeezed her hand, eyes red but kind. “Thank you for coming,”

“Of course,” Robin replied, voice hoarse. “I’m… I’m really sorry.”

Jonathan stood farther off, shoulders slumped. Robin nodded at him, unsure whether to say anything at all. He nodded back, distant but polite. Beside him—

Nancy Wheeler.

Robin’s steps faltered.

Nancy was staring at her.

Not just looking. Staring. Like she was trying to burn a hole straight through Robin’s skull with her eyes. Her jaw was set, lips pressed thin.

Nancy was staring at her like she wanted to set something on fire. Or her.

Not sad. Focused. Sharp. Furious, almost.

Robin’s stomach dropped.

Okay, her brain noted frantically. Cool. Great. So she hates you. Awesome start, Buckley.

Nancy looked away the moment their eyes met, jaw tightening, before her attention snapped back to Jonathan.

Robin frowned but didn’t have time to dwell on it before Dustin spotted them.

“Robin, Steve!” Dustin barreled into him, arms wrapping around his middle. Erica followed, arms crossed but leaning into Robin's side all the same.

The Scoops Troop, reunited. Robin let herself be pulled into it, Dustin nearly squeezing the life out of her only stopping as Steve pulled him back, shooting her a look to see if she was alright – her ribs would definitely not forgive that. For a moment, the world narrowed to the familiar, Steve’s stupidly comforting presence, Dustin’s muffled rambling, Erica pretending she was above it all.

Steve murmured something to Dustin, then gently steered him a few steps away, their heads close together. Erica after a quick squeeze, bounced back to her parents.

That left Robin standing alone.

She scanned the crowd again and found Max.

Max stood near El, hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket, gaze fixed somewhere far away. Robin hesitated, then approached slowly, like she might spook her.

“Hey,” Robin started and wanted to take it back the moment it left her tongue. Great conversation starter.

Max glanced up. “Hey.”

“How are you holding up?”

Max shrugged, face carefully blank. “The funeral for Billy already happened.”

Robin inhaled and then exhaled. “Right.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and awkward. Robin shifted her weight again and clenched her jaw against the ache.

She fumbled for something else to say and came up empty. But there was something she wanted to say. No matter how awkward.

“Steve and I are… uh. We’re leaving Hawkins for a bit. Going to his grandfather’s lake house. Until school starts.”

Max finally looked at her. Her eyes flicked over Robin’s face, searching. Measuring. “Oh.”

Robin rushed on, suddenly aware of how it might sound. “Just—temporarily. Like a change of scenery. Less… Hawkins.” She grimaced. “Which, frankly, feels medically advisable.”

Max pressed her lips together and nodded once. Robin almost wanted to ask her to come along. But Max was a kid and she didn't know what her parents would say if two strangers wanted to take her out of town.

Robin reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded slip of paper. “This is the landline number. The lake house is… kind of in the middle of nowhere, so this is the only way to reach me, us. If you want to call.” She hesitated, then added quickly, “Not like, because you need to. Or anything. Because Steve will absolutely drive me insane and I need someone to remind me that I’m not the problem.”

That earned her the faintest twitch of Max’s mouth. “Yeah? You think you can handle him without reinforcements?”

“Absolutely not,” Robin answered solemnly. “That’s why I’m outsourcing.” She held out the paper.

“I’ll call,” Max took the number, staring down at it for a moment.

“I’d like that,” Robin meant it. If she just became friends with one kid she could still make fun of Steve right?

They stood there for a beat. Then Robin nodded, stepped back.

As she turned, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye.

Nancy had been watching them with how quick she jerked her head forward when Robin caught her. Her expression was tight, eyes dark with something unreadable. Like she was trying to understand a puzzle that refused to make sense. Like what the fuck Robin was doing here for example.

Robin’s heart gave an uncomfortable little jolt.

Steve reappeared at her side a moment later, keys already in his hand. “Ready?”

“Very."

They walked back to the car together, gravel crunching underfoot. Robin didn’t look back as they pulled away from the cemetery, the rows of headstones shrinking in the rear-view mirror.

As Hawkins faded behind them, she leaned her head against the window and let out a slow breath.

*

The lake house didn’t have the decency to greet them with lights.

Steve stood just inside the front door, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, staring at the dark interior like it had personally betrayed him. He flicked a switch on the wall. Nothing happened. He frowned and tried again. Still nothing.

“Huh,” he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Dingus, you do know lights only work with electricity, right?”

Steve scoffed. “That’s not-, I know how lights work.”

“Uh-huh.” She shoved her bag into his chest. “Hold this, Captain Privilege.”

She stepped past him and started scanning the walls, muttering under her breath. “Okay, lake house, you’re old, you’re moody, you probably have a breaker box somewhere stupid like—”

“The cellar?” Steve offered.

Robin paused. Looked at him. Narrowed her eyes. “You know what a breaker box is?”

Steve shrugged. “I’ve seen my dad yell at one.”

“Wow. Growth.”

She found the cellar door behind the kitchen, pried it open, and descended into the dim, musty space below, grumbling the whole way. Steve hovered at the top of the stairs, holding both their bags and looking vaguely anxious.

“Don’t die down there."

“If I do,” she called back, “tell people I went bravely. Looking for the light.” She snickered at her own joke.

She flipped the breaker, the lights upstairs flickered on, and she emerged victorious ten seconds later.

Steve blinked, impressed. “Wow.”

Robin brushed dust off her clothes. “Yes, I made light. Worship me.”

After they settled in Steve insisted he was hungry and insisted on pancakes. Robin had not stopped him, which in hindsight was a mistake.

“Okay,” he offered confidently, cracking an egg with enough force to suggest unresolved feelings as it spattered everywhere but the bowl. “I’ve seen this done.”

“You’ve eaten them,” Robin corrected. “That’s not the same thing.”

He poured the batter straight into an unbuttered pan.

Robin stared. “Steve.”

“What?”

“You’re gonna weld it to the surface.”

“It’ll be fine.”

It was not fine. Smoke curled. The pancake stuck. Steve panicked, spatula scraping violently while Robin lunged for the stove knob.

“Why is it smoking?”

“Because you didn’t butter the pan!”

“Nobody said butter was mandatory!”

Robin regretted letting him near the kitchen. "I told you. Do you just… not cook?”

“I can use the microwave,” Steve corrected.

Robin sent him away from the stove, telling him to cut up some fruit.

Steve moved on to cutting fruit and nearly took his own fingers off. Robin turned down the stove.

“Jesus – give me that,” Robin snapped, grabbing the knife. Then she paused, looked at his sheepish expression, and sighed. “Okay. No. It’s fine. Here. Like this. Fingers tucked.”

He watched her like she was performing advanced magic. “I want to learn,” he mumbled, as if to pacify her. “I’m trying.”

The irritation drained out of her faster than she expected. “Okay, then pay attention.”

He listened. Every time she corrected him, he nodded seriously, tried again, asked questions like he actually cared about getting it right. When she showed him how to flip a pancake properly, his face lit up like he’d just been handed state secrets.

“Did you see that?” he asked, amazed as he did the same. “I didn’t ruin it.”

“I’m so proud,” Robin deadpanned but softened seeing his expression.

He bumped her shoulder, grinning, and somehow she ended up with flour smeared across her cheek.

“Oh, absolutely not,” she scooped up a handful of flour.

They wrestled in the kitchen, slipping and laughing, flour coating everything – countertops, clothes, hair. Steve grabbed her around the waist; Robin squeaked and elbowed him; he went down dramatically. They froze when the smell hit them both.

“PANCAKE,” they yelled in unison.

They saved it. Barely.

Later after eating and cleaning, they collapsed onto the couch, a movie playing forgotten in the background. Steve nursed a beer, rolling the label between his fingers. "We are friends, right? You are not just-" He trailed off, sinking further into the cushions.

Robin turned to him. “What? Was sharing our deepest darkest feelings high on drugs in a bathroom not friendship confirming enough?”

Steve shrugged, eyes fixed on the TV. “I mean. I had people. But-, no one was really interested in knowing me. Not like that.”

Robin stared at him, disbelief flickering across her face. “You were King Steve.”

“Yeah,” he shrugged, uncomfortable. “Exactly. People liked the idea of me. Not… me.” He stared at the bottle. “Why would they make the effort? My parents didn’t.”

The words landed wrong. Too heavy. Too real.

Robin swallowed and forced a chuckle. “Honestly? Might be overrated. My mom knows me and hates everything about it. Tells me to talk less, dress differently. Be quieter.”

Steve looked at her then. They shared a look. Not pity. Recognition.

"So, yeah I think if death didn't do us part, we might be friends." Robin punched his shoulder lightly, trying to ignore how her throat closed at his openly elated expression.

The way he settled into her side, silently asking to be held.

The next day, they sat on the dock, feet dangling into the water, passing knots back and forth, arguing over colors for their friendship bracelets. A joke Robin had made to cement their friendship only for Steve to take it seriously, never having had one and turning the house upside down, to find some thread.

Another night, she woke to Steve whimpering.

Robin rolled over immediately, heart kicking hard against her ribs. He was twisted in the sheets, breathing fast, mumbling words that barely made sense.

“No— no, not the saw—Scoops Ahoy.”

She reached for him without thinking, shaking his shoulder gently. “Steve. Steve, hey. You’re okay.”

His eyes fluttered open, unfocused. “— bone saw—”

“Shh,” she whispered, squeezing his hand. “You’re safe. You’re at the lake house not down there. It’s just you and me here. I got you, you are safe.”

He clutched her hand like a lifeline, fingers tight and shaking. She stayed still, murmuring nonsense until his grip loosened and his breathing evened out again.

She didn’t let go until he was fully asleep.

He repaid the favour the next morning when she bumped awkwardly into the kitchen counter, causing the bruise to throb and pull her back into the bunker. Breathed with her until she was back in his grandfather's lake house with him.

On the dock, days later, they sat side by side, tipsy, the water lapping softly below them.

“How did this all start?” Robin asked quietly. “The monsters. For you.”

Steve went silent for a long moment.

“Barb,” he said after a while when she was sure he wouldn't answer.

Robin flinched.

He told her everything. The party. Drinking. The pool. Jumping on the chance to go the next step with Nancy. Barb's disappearance. His words. The truth while no one else could know. Him trying to move on, ignoring what happened. The Halloween party. Nancy’s words. Telling him they killed Barb. How their relationship was bullshit. How it was their fault. Barb torn apart by a monster in his backyard.

Robin listened like she was underwater.

Barb. Gone. Not escaped. Not living her dreams. Torn apart. She had known after the story about the chemicals hit but not like this.

Steve broke. Leaned into her, sobbing. Robin held him, cried too, silently for her first friend.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she cleared her throat, stomach twisting violently but she believed it. She did. At least for Barb. Not the way he handled the aftermath. “Barb. You couldn't have known.”

Steve just continued crying and Robin let him.

Barb was gone. Monsters were real.

But they were still here.

*

“I can’t believe school starts tomorrow.” Robin said it like the universe had personally betrayed her.

She was sprawled across Steve's couch with all the boneless energy of someone who had been running on fumes and denial. So, she might be holding on to her alertness with the skin of her teeth, eyes burning and the ceiling bursting with colorful spots despite being white. But she was awake which meant no bone saws or Russians.

Steve groaned from where he sat at the table, elbow deep in the Family Video schedules Keith had given them, comparing when they were both on shift. “I can believe that you’re making me work shifts with Keith. You should just drop out of high school. Work forever with me. Die behind the counter either of old age or boredom.”

She lifted her head an inch. “Stevie. Are you telling me you’re gonna miss me? Because that’s so clingy dude.”

“I’m clingy?” He looked up at her, offended. “Who’s still here, vibrating like a feral squirrel?”

“Unclear what you’re referring to. And squirrels can't be feral because only domesticated animals can become feral otherwise you are just talking about a wild animal. Like those are two different things.”

He squinted at her. “How do you still have this much energy?”

“That,” Robin cleared her throat solemnly, rolling off the couch, “is the exhaustion delirium. Come on. Let’s take a walk.”

Steve glanced at the window. Rain streaked down the glass, the sky already dimming toward dusk. “It’s raining.”

“And?” Robin shoved her shoes on, hopping once to settle her heel. “It’s water. Are you afraid you’ll melt? Or that your hair will frizz?”

She reached up and messed with his hair deliberately.

Steve shrieked. “What did I say about the hair? God, you are so weird.”

Robin grinned, backing toward the door. “Weirdest girl in Hawkins just to match you." She gave him a wink. "Have you ever played in the rain? Like not just walked in it – really played?”

Steve hesitated. “You’re gonna get sick and miss school before it even starts.”

“My mother never let me,” Robin barreled on, undeterred. “I did it once, tracked mud through the house, and she banned it forever. It’s still warm out. We said we were going to do stupid shit our parents wouldn’t approve of. We can jump in puddles. Even if they’re breeding grounds for bacteria which, by the way, you better not think about drinking from one, because Dingus—”

“Let’s go,” Steve pushed her to the side, rolling his eyes as he grabbed his jacket.

They made it to the end of the street and the next. Rain soaked through their clothes, hair plastered to skin, hands shoved into pockets. They walked in silence, shoulders tight, the kind of silence that felt coiled and wrong.

Robin bumped her shoulder into Steve.

Nothing.

She did it again.

Still nothing.

Okay. Rude.

She rammed into him harder – and Steve sidestepped her at the last second.

Robin yelped as she splashed straight into a deep puddle, water flooding her converse instantly. Cold seeped into her socks.

“Steve!” She shot him a glare.

He looked apologetic for approximately half a second then he burst out laughing.

“Oh, you are dead,” Robin snarled, grabbing his jacket and hauling him forward. He yelped as they both went down into the puddle, water splashing everywhere.

“Buckley!” Steve shrieked, slipping as they wrestled briefly. Robin knew she was losing, Steve was stronger but she bit lightly into his wrist causing him to withdraw in shock. Used the chance to bolt, laughter tearing out of her chest.

She jumped into every puddle she could find, cackling as Steve cursed when water hit him. She glanced over her shoulder, breathless, to see Steve right behind her.

Not slowing.

“What—” she started.

He tackled her from behind.

They crashed together, Steve’s arms looping around her shoulders, momentum nearly taking them both down. Robin stumbled, instinct kicking in as she caught him, somehow staying upright. Steve clung to her, arms tight around her neck, laughing into her ear, as she was practically giving him a piggyback ride.

“What the hell, Dingus!” she yelped.

“I just wanted to crash into you!” Steve protested. “You’re the one holding onto me! Dude – I can’t believe you can actually lift me.”

“Band equipment is heavy!” she shot back. “That doesn’t mean you aren’t. Get off!”

“I thought you weren't into that,” Steve giggled, resting his head on her shoulder, hair soaked and clinging to his forehead.

Ew. “You are such a boy,” Robin groaned. “I’m gonna drop you into the next puddle.” She jumped, shaking him, but he only laughed harder and held on tighter.

“I could get used to this,” he muttered softly into her shoulder.

She froze for half a second. His expression was too open. Too gentle.

“Well, I can’t,” she gasped dramatically. “You are too heavy, I’m gonna die.”

Steve squeezed her once and then slid down, landing on his own two feet. They stood there, drenched and breathless, staring at each other before breaking into laughter again. Steve leaned heavily on her shoulder, nearly collapsing.

It felt good. Laughing. Being here.

Robin covered his hand on her shoulder, fingers intertwining with his. “We should dance,” she turned to face him.

Steve snorted. “Dance?”

“Yeah. Like in those black-and-white movies.” She placed a hand on his waist and guided him into a simple three-step. He stumbled immediately.

“Why are you leading? I’m the guy.”

“I’m the one with a brain,” she offered cheerfully. “Also, do you even know the steps?”

“They can’t be that hard!”

Headlights flared, briefly blinding them. Robin kept them on the sidewalk, twirling Steve only for him to lose his balance and nearly drag them both down.

“No more dancing!” Steve laughed, throwing an arm around her shoulders again as he shivered.

The headlights came back. They had to cover their eyes for a moment until the light vanished.

“What are you two doing?” And there she was, Nancy Wheeler. She had rolled down the car window, perfect brows drawn together, lips pinched as she stared at them. “You’re going to catch your death.”

Steve opened and closed his mouth. Robin snorted.

“What does it look like, Wheeler?” Robin quipped, heart kicking up a notch as Nancy’s gaze sharpened on her.

“Like you’re being stupid.”

“Being gloriously alive,” Robin crowed, slinging her arm around Steve.

Nancy’s jaw tightened. “Get in.”

“Oh, no thanks, Nance,” Steve denied quickly, tucking Robin closer. “We’ll manage. No need to get the seats wet.”

“I’m not letting you sit on them,” Nancy snapped. “Get in the back. Now.”

Steve looked at Robin, silently asking even if he was already twitching to obey.

Robin widened her eyes and gestured at Nancy, thinking such a priss and Steve barely suppressed a laugh catching the thought.

Nancy glared like she had heard it too.

They climbed into the back. As the car pulled away, Robin stared out the window, Nancy still drove like there was a monster after them. Or maybe escaping the memory of Dustin's singing.

She snorted. Steve caught her eye and hummed The Never Ending Story under his breath. She cracked up.

Nancy cleared her throat sharply, looking back to them through the rear-view mirror. “To yours?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Nance.”

“Yeah, thanks, Nance,” Robin sing-songed, earning herself a glare from the girl and an elbow from Steve.

The drive was quick. A Beatles song played softly on the radio. When they arrived, Nancy didn’t pull away right away after they exited the vehicle. Robin glanced back and caught her staring at them.

She gave a cheeky two-finger salute and closed Steve's front door before she caught Nancy's reaction.

“Oh my god,” Robin burst into laughter again. “That was so awkward.”

“You are telling me? She’s my ex-girlfriend,” Steve hissed.

“She was looking at me like she wanted to hit me with the car. She hates me.”

“That’s not true—” Steve paused. “Okay, she wouldn’t hit you with a car.”

“Wow. Comforting.” Robin rubbed her arms. “God, she’s such a priss.”

Steve snorted. “Play nice, Rob. After all there is no need for vehicular manslaughter if you have guns.”

Robin squeaked and smacked his shoulder. “Dingus! I forgot about that. She’s totally gonna shoot me.”

Steve laughed. Robin headed for the bathroom, shaking her head, warmth still buzzing under her skin from the rain and the laughter and the almost-normal feeling of it all.

*

Steve had one hand on the wheel and the other was aggressively gesturing like he was conducting an invisible orchestra. Perhaps he missed his calling in not joining the marching band. Just imagining him next to her, his ridiculous hair hidden under the giant hat trying to march in formation-

Perhaps he was meant to be a jock.

“You cannot seriously think this is a good idea,” Robin reiterated, feet on the dashboard, backpack wedged between the seat and the door, voice sharp with exhaustion.

Steve gripped the steering wheel harder. “It’s the only solid idea we have.”

They were stuck at a red light, early autumn sun cutting through the windshield, dust motes floating in the air. Hawkins High loomed in the distance like a monster laying in wait. Just no longer the most pressing threat in her life.

“We are not interrogating girls in my age range about a traumatic mall fire over the counter of Family Video,” Robin shot back. “That’s insane behavior. That’s serial killer energy.”

“We are not interrogating them,” Steve protested. “We'll ask politely. Like normal human beings. ‘Hey, were you at Starcourt the day of the fire?’ No? Name crossed off. Boom. Done.”

“Steve,” Robin said slowly, like she was explaining gravity to a toddler, “some people found that ‘fire’ traumatic. Hopper died. People got injured. Families lost their jobs. And you want to ambush them while they’re renting The Goonies?”

“That’s not ambushing!”

“That is absolutely ambushing.”

He glanced at her. “So what? We do nothing?”

“Yes,” Robin offered, glancing at the mirror to see if her mascara was only tastefully smudged and not in raccoon territory. “We do nothing. Because—one—not everyone even goes to Family Video. Two—my soulmate has to know who I am and hasn't reached out meaning they don't want me. And three—statistically speaking, the odds of finding her through VHS rentals is laughable.”

Steve winced. “Okay, rude to yourself.”

Robin frowned. “Or option four.”

“Here we go.”

“Evil Russian lady.” They said at the same time, Steve with a sigh and she with a sharpness.

She pointed at him. “Exactly. You get it.”

“An evil Russian wouldn’t have been that polite.”

Robin twisted toward him. “Those words weren’t polite. They sound like ‘who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you doing here.’ That’s not courtesy, that’s hostility.”

“You curse too much,” Steve admonished instinctively.

“Oh, I’m sorry, mom,” she shot back. “I'm not one of your kids, I'm not censoring myself."

He slapped her arm. "They'll think they are allowed to cuss if you do it in front of them.”

She slapped him back. "They are in high school."

"Menace."

“Babysitter,” she hissed.

They were still slapping at each other when Steve screeched into the school parking lot, brakes squealing just a little too dramatically.

“Out,” he said, fake-annoyed. “Get out of my car.”

Robin swung the door open but stayed half-turned, one foot still inside. She leaned in, blew him a kiss, and grinned. “Don’t miss me too much, Stevie.”

He flipped her off without hesitation and peeled out of the parking lot.

Robin laughed to herself, adjusting her backpack and heading toward the front doors still smiling, still riding the warmth of routine, of bickering, of something stable and familiar—

—and nearly collided with someone.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” she blurted, stepping back.

Robin blinked.

Nancy Wheeler stood in front of her, books clutched to her chest, hair perfect, posture stiff, eyes fixed on Robin like she’d been rehearsing this moment and still hadn’t figured out the choreography.

“Hey,” Nancy offered a tight smile.

Robin looked over her shoulder, half-expecting Steve or someone else to be there.

She looked back at Nancy, confused. “Hey – me?”

“Yes,” Nancy answered, brows scrunched, her grip tightened on her books, knuckles whitening. “Who else?”

Robin shifted her weight. “Oh. I didn’t think-, I mean, after Starcourt, you didn’t really seem like you wanted to talk? To me. Or at all.”

Seemed to hate me, she didn’t add.

Nancy’s mouth tightened. She exhaled slowly. “I know,” she tucked a lock behind her ear. “I could have handled that better. But – with everything that happened, and Jonathan leaving, us breaking up, it was… a bit much.” She hesitated, then added, quieter, “I’m sorry.”

Her face twisted like the apology physically hurt. Nose scrunched up. Lips pressed thin. Still prissy. Still controlled. But there was something uncertain about it.

Robin’ instinctively softened. “It’s okay,” she assured quickly. “No need to apologize. None of it could have been easy. I'm sorry about Jonathan and you." She really thought they were an unstoppable power couple, Steve had said they had plans to go to college together. But long distance was hard so perhaps it was better to end it. "I’m just – yeah. I’m glad you wanna talk now.”

Nancy’s shoulders eased a fraction. “I wanted to,” she ducked her head, avoiding Robin's eyes for a moment before looking up at her through her eyelashes. “And… under the circumstances, I thought it would be prudent.”

Robin snorted. “Wow. Practical emotional vulnerability. Love that for you.”

Nancy blinked, then huffed a reluctant half-smile.

“Yeah, well,” Robin added, “I really don’t want to end up like Steve with only children as friends. And it’d be mildly awkward if we only talked when another monster showdown or Russian invasion happened.”

“A bit,” Nancy admitted.

They stood there for a second, the noise of the school moving around them, lockers slamming, voices rising, life happening.

“So,” Nancy turned to face the doors, beginning to walk, expecting Robin to follow which she did. “What’s your first class?”

“Spanish,” Robin replied. “You?”

“Same hallway.” Nancy didn't offer more, just walked Robin to her classroom.

At Robin’s classroom door, Nancy stopped. “This is you.”

Robin nodded but was so confused. “Yeah.”

There was a pause. A weird, unspoken thing.

“I’ll see you later,” Nancy offered a tense smile, and didn't even wait for an answer before she was gone.

“Yeah, see you?" Robin stood there for a second, bewildered.

*

Having Spanish and French back to back should’ve been illegal.

Robin sat through it bored out of her mind, half the students weren't even trying to learn the language and their French teacher had clearly given up on being a good teacher years prior. She loved learning languages, listening to language tapes, sounding out the words and then starting to read in her target language. Not like this, conjugating verbs in sentences she'd never use in a conversation repeatedly. Grammar rules she could recite in her sleep. Pronunciation drills that made her want to gently bang her forehead against the desk because even the teacher sounded wrong.

She took both for the easy marks. GPA padding. Proof on paper of fluency.

By the time the bell rang, her head hurt.

She packed up fast, slipping into the hallway with the rest of the crowd, shoulders tense, brain fried, already second guessing if she really needed to be here. Who needed an education, right?

“Robin!”

She paused at the sound of her name, turning just as someone hurried to catch up.

“Hey, Robin.” Chrissy Cunningham.

Robin blinked once, surprised. “Hey Chrissy.”

“Hey,” Chrissy smiled, bright and open, cheeks flushed, ponytail bouncing as she fell into step beside her.

Their elbows brushed. Chrissy smelled like flowers and something light, the kind of perfume that lingered. Robin shifted instinctively, suddenly hyper-aware of her form, their proximity and the fact that the most popular girl in school was walking next to her like it was normal.

“So, how was your summer?” Chrissy asked, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I feel like I barely saw anyone.”

It shouldn’t have been weird. Chrissy had always been… nice. Not mean-girl popular. Not cruel. Soft-spoken, bright, genuinely kind. But this still felt unexpected.

“Uh, good,” Robin said. “Working. Hanging out. You know. enjoying not being imprisoned here.”

Hanging out seemed like a good euphemism for being tied to your coworker and being tortured for decoding a secret Russian message.

Chrissy laughed softly. “I’m really glad nothing happened to you at Scoops,” Chrissy added. “You were there that night, right? Me and some girls were at Starcourt too, watching a movie. I still can’t believe what happened. The fire.”

Robin almost laughed.

Chrissy trying to wrap her head around a “fire” while Robin was wrapping her head around Russian torture, bone saws, and monsters from another dimension.

But—

Chrissy was there that night.

The thought hit weirdly.

Chrissy had known she worked at Scoops. Or maybe recognized her afterwards. Or maybe someone told her. After she inquired. Perhaps she had something to ask about.

“Yeah,” Robin slowed her steps just a little. “Lucky us that nothing more happened.” She gave a small, awkward laugh.

Why had Chrissy sought her out?

Chrissy watched her closely, fingers tapping against the books in her arms. There was a hesitation there. A nervous energy.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Chrissy glanced at her from the corner of her eye. “I know you’re the best in class, and I really need to keep my GPA up. The girls don’t take French seriously enough, and I was hoping—if you don’t already have a partner—we could work together on the project?”

Robin blinked. “Oh, uh, yeah. No, that’d be great. Mrs. Miller did say we couldn’t work alone.”

She immediately cringed, hopefully only internally. Jesus, she sounded like such a loser.

It wasn’t even that she had no one to work with. Kate was in her class. She could’ve asked her easily. But Robin liked working alone, liked the control, liked not having to adjust to someone else’s pace.

Chrissy bit her lip. “Maybe we could work on it after school? Here?”

There was something careful in the question.

Robin tilted her head. “We could do it at mine. More space. More quiet.”

For a split second, Chrissy’s face flickered—relief, unmistakable.

Then she smiled, bright and open. “That’d be amazing. How does tomorrow at six sound?”

Robin mentally calculated hers and Steve’s shift schedule and silently prayed he wouldn’t kill her for leaving a bit early. “Sure.”

They reached the door to AP English Lit. Robin paused, dug into her bag, found a scrap of paper, and scribbled her address down.

“That’s mine,” she handed it to her. “See you tomorrow?”

Chrissy squeezed her hand when she took it. “Can’t wait!” she beamed and then literally skipped toward the front row, joining another cheerleader.

Robin stared after her for a second, disoriented. Then she turned to her seat and froze.

Nancy Wheeler was sitting at her table.

Not in her usual seat. Not next to the scrawny newspaper kid. Next to Robin’s chair.

Watching her. She hadn't thought Nancy meant to actually see her later. Or even if, so soonish.

Robin stood there like an idiot until the bell rang, jolting her into motion. She rushed forward, tipping the chair as she dropped into her seat with haste, nearly causing Nancy and her to fall. Nancy steadied them and for a far too long moment she was entirely pressed into Nancy’s side.

“Sorry,” she hissed, scooting away, wincing as the chair screeched loudly against the floor.

Nancy shot her a tight smile, back to facing the front, completely composed. She couldn't stop embarrassing herself in front of the girl, could she? Even as she concentrated on not moving a muscle, her leg wouldn't obey. Just be normal. That couldn't be so hard-

Nancy’s hand slid over on the desk. Squeezed Robin’s once. Then pulled away.

Robin stared straight ahead, brain blank, heart doing something stupid and entirely unhelpful.

Why were girls touching her today? Why was everyone in her space?

She didn’t absorb a single word of the lesson. Lucky that she couldn't stand the teacher anyway. He was no Mr. Hauser.

The bell startled her when it rang. She hesitated, unsure if she should wait. She did.

Nancy stood. “Do you want to sit outside for lunch?” she asked casually like it was already decided. No question that Robin would eat lunch with Nancy just where.

“Yeah,” Robin gave a nod. “Sure.”

They made it halfway down the hall before Max skated right into her path on her skateboard, headphones around her neck. Robin was sure Max had been already reprimanded twice for driving her skateboard in the hallways.

Max didn't say anything, just held out her hand. Bad day then.

Robin dug into her bag, pulled out the Tupperware, and handed it over.

Max grabbed it, squeezed her hand once which Robin read as thank you before turning away.

“I’ll be at Steve’s,” Robin called after her.

Max lifted two fingers in a lazy wave without looking back.

Nancy stared after her. “What was—”

“Sometimes she doesn't want to go to the cafeteria, and then she just won’t eat. So I’ll make sure she has something to eat.”

Nancy lifted a brow.

Robin shrugged. “She’s stubborn. This is the easiest way to ensure she eats something before dinner.”

There was a pause.

“You can come too,” Robin added. “I’m cooking at Steve’s tonight.”

Nancy’s expression shifted—something conflicted. But shook her head. "Raincheck?"

Robin took a moment to understand why. Either because Steve was her ex or because of Barb. Perhaps even both.

“Next time, then. You can come when I cook at my place.”

Nancy looked relieved when Robin didn’t press. “I’d like that.”

They ended up sitting on the bleachers, autumn sun warm on their faces, leaves drifting lazily across the concrete. Conversation came easier than Robin thought. Perhaps it was because Nancy was a born journalist, asking leading questions or Robin's mouth ran away from her as always. The older girl didn't look fed up with her yet so perhaps she wasn't rambling as much as she thought.

After a lull in the conversation after they made fun of the chemistry teacher's weird shorts, Nancy glanced sideways at her.

“So,” she started casually, “you and Steve?”

Robin blinked. “What?”

Nancy nodded toward the bracelet on her arm, the one that matched Steve's and did Nancy miss anything? “You two seem happy.”

It clicked. Well besides this.

“Oh—oh!” Robin laughed. “Me and Steve? No. No, no, no. We’re just friends. Not just as in oh sad just friendship because friendship is awesome but in best friends. Completely, totally platonic with a capital P.” Then, unsure why Nancy was asking until she remembered Steve and Nancy had history duh, and Nancy was single now, she gave a crooked grin, “All yours.” And then she playfully winked.

Nancy froze. Blinked. Then blushed. Actually blushed. A bright pink hue complimenting her high cheekbones as she ducked her head. Suddenly fascinated by her sandwich.

Robin gawked. Nancy was flustered. Something warm and soft spread from her chest to her fingertips, almost making her reach out and push the wayward curl behind Nancy's ear. Caught herself and instead twirled one of her rings.

Perhaps she now knew why Steve was so in awe of Nancy.

*

The basement was chaos.

Dice clattering. Kids yelling. Dustin and Mike arguing over rules. Lucas shouting about hit points. Steve somehow got involved despite knowing nothing about D&D and Max heckled them in between pages of her comic.

Her head was pounding.

The noise had that sharp, drilling quality that crawled behind her eyes, mixing with the dry heat of too many bodies in one room. Her throat felt raw, her temples tight, the beginnings of a headache blooming fast.

She leaned toward Steve. “If I stay down here any longer, I’m either going to lose my hearing or commit murder.”

Steve glanced at her, then at the kids, then back at her. “Fair.”

“I’m getting water. And oxygen. And maybe search for a shred of sanity.”

He saluted her but added. “You wouldn't know what to do with sanity.”

Robin flipped him off as he grinned, slipping up the basement stairs as quietly as possible, closing the door behind her. The sudden quiet felt like a blessing.

The Wheeler house upstairs was calm, warm. Soft light. The smell of cooking. A low hum of something simmering on the stove.

She padded into the kitchen, quickly clocking that something was… not right.

A pot on the stove was hissing a little too aggressively.

“Shit,” she muttered, hurrying over and grabbing a spoon. She stirred quickly, lowering the heat before anything could burn. Steam puffed up into her face, garlicky and far too hot.

Then she noticed the counter.

Vegetables laid out neatly. Carrots. Celery. Peppers. A cutting board. A knife.

Robin hesitated. She should take a glass of water, hurry back downstairs. But she wasn't keen on the noise. And Mrs. Wheeler wasn't there so if she occupied herself a little, made herself useful nobody would be mad, right?

She glanced toward the hallway. Empty. She looked back at the stove, then the counter.

Her brain did that impulsive thing where it connected zero dots and made a decision anyway. She was just helping. That was alright, right?

She washed her hand then grabbed the knife and started chopping.

Fast. Efficient. She didn't have to concentrate much, her hands were occupied, slipping into rhythm, headache easing just a little with the focus.

She was halfway through the carrots when—

“Oh!”

Robin froze. Knife mid-air.

Mrs. Wheeler stood in the doorway. Holly was with her, clutching a crayon and a piece of paper. They both stared at Robin.

Robin’s soul left her body. “I—hi—Mrs. Wheeler—I’m so sorry—I just—something was about to burn and I thought I could help and I needed water and I didn’t mean to just—” she blurted, hands lifting, knife still in one of them. “I swear I’m not stealing vegetables or breaking in or trying to take over your kitchen—”

“Robin,” Mrs. Wheeler interrupted gently, a thin smile quirking her lips.

Robin stopped talking.

“Holly needed me for a moment,” Mrs. Wheeler continued. “Which turned out to be more than a moment. Thank you for helping.”

“Oh, no problem, I just, yeah, noise—basement—children—volume—” Robin gestured vaguely toward her ears. “I think my brain was dissolving.”

Mrs. Wheeler laughed softly. “I won't make you help but you can stay.”

“Thank you,” Robin said quickly. “But if I'm already here I might just as well, right?"

That got a real laugh. “Well, you don’t have to but if you want to… you can keep chopping.”

Robin’s shoulders dropped in relief. “Thank you.”

Mrs. Wheeler moved around the kitchen, pulling more things from the fridge. She glanced over at Robin’s work.

“You’re fast,” she noted. "Do you cook?"

“The basics,” Robin added. “And I’m very good at following orders.” Which was, objectively, a lie far too prone to arguing. Still she gave an awkward little salute.

Mrs. Wheeler laughed again. Perhaps she could actually converse like a human being. Take that mom.

They worked side by side easily in comfortable silence. Holly sat at the table, humming to herself, coloring.

Robin passed by and leaned down. “Wow, what an amazing pink dinosaur” she told her seriously. “Definitely museum-worthy.” The only time Robin interacted with younger kids before Steve turned out to be a babysitter was at Hippy Christmas.

But it worked, Holly beamed.

A minute later, Max came up from the basement, brow lifting. “How do you just disappear into kitchens? How many houses do you want to cook in?”

Robin grinned, ruffling Max's hair with her free hand, causing Max to duck and bat at her hand. “A lady can never have too many kitchens to choose from.”

Max snorted. “You’re not a lady. Not a bad cook but also no lady.”

Robin didn’t miss a beat. She pinched Max’s cheek. “Mean, and that after you clearly came up here looking for me.”

Max slapped her hand away. “I only came up because the boys are unbearable.”

Mr. Wheeler came in through the front door then, looking tired and grumpy. He stopped short when he saw the kitchen full.

The yelling from the basement carried faintly upstairs.

He frowned deeper. “What is this, a hostel?” He grumbled loud enough to be heard. He huffed and disappeared into the living room. The TV turned on.

Robin felt the shift immediately. The way Mrs. Wheeler’s posture changed. Smaller. More contained. Max and her shared a look and Robin nodded for her to go back downstairs.

Guilt prickled at her. Robin lowered her voice. “I can pay for the groceries,” she offered. “Or we can leave or something. Steve and I both work. We make decent money.”

Mrs. Wheeler immediately shook her head and reached for her hand. “You don’t need to pay for anything. Any friend of my kids is always welcome here."

When the food preparation was done, Mrs. Wheeler sat down at the table with a glass of wine while Holly wandered off to her dad. Robin hesitated, gaze flicking to the basement but Mrs. Wheeler almost looked a bit lost? So she sat down at the table too, surprised when Mrs. Wheeler started talking. And talking. And talking.

About the hairdresser having an affair with the grocery store cashier. About Mrs. Klein losing her cat again. About the firefighters rescuing it from a tree. About PTA meetings. Neighborhood politics.

Robin made comments or noises to show that she was still listening. Dimly she remembered one of the times she had met the woman at the store doing small talk with the cashier. Drawing it out. Robin tilted her head, considered and kept asking questions, encouraging details, even as she could have cared less about affair rumours or whatever.

The front door opened followed by thundering footsteps.

Nancy stormed into the kitchen, annoyed, ready to rant. “Mom, you will not believe what happened with the paper—” Her eyes locked on Robin and stopped dead. “What are you doing here?” she asked sharply.

“Nancy,” her mother admonished but Nancy didn't even blink, a muscle in her jaw twitching.

Robin shot to her feet, hands raised placatingly even if she wasn't sure why Nancy was displeased at her presence? They had parted amicably in school after another shared lunch like it had become routine. “D&D night, Dustin invited me—Steve and I drove them after work, I didn’t—”

Mrs. Wheeler cut in smoothly. “Robin helped me cook. Didn’t even burn anything either, and didn't whine about cleaning up.” She gave Nancy a teasing look.

Nancy flushed. “I—I need to put my stuff down,” she muttered, leaving.

“Dinner in fifteen,” her mom called.

Nancy nodded, then suddenly returned, grabbed Robin by the wrist, and dragged her upstairs.

Robin barely had time to process before she was standing in Nancy Wheeler’s bedroom.

The door shut. Silence. Her eyes rushed to take everything in. All the pink and pastel colours and paused on the poster.

“You have a Tom Cruise poster,” she said in disbelief. Then, delighted: “You have a Tom Cruise poster!”

Nancy groaned. “That’s old-”

Robin was already looking at everything and by looking she might have meant touching. “Oh my god, your tapes ABBA, Blondie—”

“Robin!”

She found a jewelry box. Opened it. “Oh my god, there’s a tiny ballerina in this!” Thrilled. She was utterly thrilled as the box played a little melody and the ballerina twirled.

"Can you please not touch anything?"

She lifted the jewelry box, mesmerized, almost bouncing on her feet as she presented it to Nancy as if she’d never seen it before.

“Robin!” Nancy grabbed it back. “What are you doing here?” Nancy demanded, glaring.

Robin blinked. “You dragged me up here?”

Nancy exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “My parents don’t know. Not even my mom.”

Know what? Robin tilted her head, Nancy seemed nervous? Chewing on her bottom lip, avoiding her gaze suddenly, pacing. She stopped. “You didn’t say anything, right?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Robin repeated honestly, confused. About the Upside Down? But hadn't they basically sworn and signed NDA's not to talk about that? But then Robin seemed to be the problem. Nancy had seen her in her house and-

Oh? Was Nancy embarrassed to be seen with her? But they talked at school. Ate lunch together. Perhaps they were only the kind of friends who talked at school and Robin was crossing Nancy's boundaries? Or she was ashamed to be friends with her and didn't want her family to know? Was it a class thing?

“Good,” Nancy exhaled, tension leaking out of her. “I will. I just—need time. I will tell them.”

“Okay.” She hesitated. “I can go. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Nancy’s glare faltered. “No. I’m sorry. I-, it's alright. ”

“Oh. Okay.”

“So… just don’t talk about it.”

“Sure.” Silence. Awkward. Thick. Heavy. “I should help with dinner,” Robin blurted out.

She fled. Back downstairs. Nearly killed herself by missing a step.

Dinner was loud and crowded. The table packed. Voices overlapping. Robin squeezed between Steve and Max, Nancy opposite her, observing.

Robin thanked Mrs. Wheeler for the food. Complimented it. The kids followed suit.

When it was over, she and Steve shared a look.

“We’re heading out,” Robin spoke up. “Any of you nerds need a ride?”

Sleepover plans immediately erupted.

Max refused. “I’m not staying with these dweebs. I'm coming with.”

Steve helped Robin into her jacket.

They waved goodbye. Then just as she followed behind Steve and Max—

“Robin!” Nancy called from the doorway.

“Yes?” Robin went back to her.

“Next time,” Nancy started hesitantly, “Maybe next time… you won’t be here to visit my brother?”

“Oh,” Robin said softly, deflating. Maybe they weren't friends. Nancy clearly was uncomfortable and didn't want her here. At least she told her, and didn't leave Robin guessing. “Yeah, okay. I won’t come again.” She turned around, hopefully hiding her wince.

“No, wait—” Nancy blurted. “I meant—”

Robin turned back.

Nancy took a breath. “Maybe next time… you come to hang out with me.”

Robin’s brain lagged for exactly one second. Then her face lit up. “Yes,” she agreed. Too fast. Too bright. No hesitation at all. “Yeah—yes. Obviously. Absolutely. One hundred percent yes.”

Nancy blinked, clearly not expecting that level of enthusiasm. “Good,” she bit her lip. “I just, I mean—Great tomorrow then?”

“What do you want to do?” Robin asked, rocking back on her heels, already mentally rearranging her life around this theoretical hangout. “Movies? Studying? A walk?”

Nancy opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Then stopped.

Her expression shifted—uncertain, searching. Visibly lost in a way that didn’t match her usual controlled, put-together composure. The confidence slipped for a second, and something younger showed through. Something lonelier.

Robin clocked it instantly. Oh.

Nancy had lost Barb. And then Jonathan moved away. Had Robin seen her hang out with anyone else?

Robin realized, all at once, that Nancy Wheeler might actually not know how to …do this.

So she tried to make it easy. “Okay,” Robin tilted her head. “What if you gave me a tour of the newspaper room?”

Nancy looked up. “The… newspaper room?”

“Yeah,” Robin grinned playfully. Trying to put Nancy at ease, “I want to see where you reign. Your little queendom. Your domain. The sacred land of ink and typewriters and journalistic integrity.”

Nancy flushed. “That’s not, I don’t reign—”

“You absolutely reign,” Robin interrupted. “I've seen you boss around your little newspaper minions. Like a tiny tyrant which I totally respect, woman in power and all that and the school paper definitely improved. So, show me where the Nancy Wheeler reigns supreme? Pretty please?”

Color rose up Nancy's cheeks and into her ears. “You’re an idiot.”

“Correct,” Robin offered cheerfully. “But tell me, am I wrong?”

Nancy hesitated then, quieter. “You really want to see it?”

Robin nodded immediately. “Yeah. I do. The newspaper matters to you.”

That landed. Nancy’s shoulders relaxed a fraction, her mouth curved into a small, shy smile. “Tomorrow,” she gave in. “After your band practice?”

Robin’s face split into a grin. “Perfect. Where do I report for duty, your Majesty?”

Nancy rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself. “The newspaper room.”

They stood there for a second longer than necessary.

Smiles mirrored and Robin was ready to bounce out of her skin.

HONK.

Steve. Robin startled, flinching hard enough she nearly fell from the porch. Nancy laughed quietly, not intimidated at all as Robin shot her a glare. “Oh, that’s my ride.” She backed up a step, smiling again. “Tomorrow. Newspaper queendom.”

Nancy nodded. “Tomorrow.”

Robin gave a little wave, turned, and jogged down the driveway toward Steve’s car, heart buzzing, brain loud, thoughts spiraling in directions she didn't dissect.

She yanked the passenger door open and climbed in.

Steve glanced at her. “What was that about?”

Robin stared out the window. “Steve,” her grin refused to leave her face as she buckled herself in, “I think I’m making friends like a functional human being.”

Steve squinted at her. “Am I not enough for you, Rob?” He placed a hand dramatically over his heart.

She flipped him off fondly as she saw no real worry in him.

She gave the Wheeler house a last parting glance and-

Nancy was still standing in the doorway.

*

Robin hesitated in front of the newspaper room door. The glass panel showed blurred shapes moving inside.

She shook out her shoulders, adjusted the strap of her trumpet case, told herself to be cool, to not be weird. Considered knocking but she was invited and those were her age mates in an after school club not class with an adult waiting inside. So she just opened the door and stepped inside.

Almost died immediately.

The stairs were right there. She stumbled forward, windmilling, barely catching herself on the railing with a muttered, “Jesus—” before managing to stay upright.

A couple kids glanced over only to blink and go back to their tasks. Great entrance.

The room itself was bigger than she expected. Open. Crowded. Desks everywhere. Students moving between them with papers and folders. Two whiteboards were crammed with scribbled headlines, arrows, circled phrases, half-erased notes. Someone was arguing about column inches. Someone else was trying to fix a jammed typewriter.

And in the middle of it—

Nancy.

She stood at the center of the room with a stack of papers in her hands, posture straight, eyes sharp and focused. People clustered around her, waiting. Listening. Her voice cut through the noise easily, calm and precise. She directed, leaving no room for hesitation.

It was weirdly magnetic.

Robin froze like an idiot. Nancy looked up like she had an alert whenever Robin did something stupid in her vicinity.

Robin gave a small wave that almost took out the corner of a desk with her trumpet case.

Nancy’s entire expression shifted. Her brows smoothed. Her mouth softened. Her intensity shifting to a new target in a way Robin certainly wasn't braced for.

“Robin!” Nancy handed the papers to the nearest student without looking, crossed the room in three quick steps, and hugged her.

Brief. Casual. Completely normal. Friends hugged. Friends smoothed down your collar, fingers brushing against your throat, sending shivers down your spine.

Robin didn’t even react in time to hug back—just stood there, one arm trapped by the trumpet case, the other half-raised uselessly, while Nancy pulled back.

Lavender. It always hit her around Nancy. Shampoo? Perfume? Something else? No idea. But it was always lavender.

Robin hesitated. “So,” she blurted, because silence made her feral, “reporting for action, your Majesty.” She dropped her case and backpack and gave a dramatic salute.

Nancy rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth lifted. “C’mon. I’ll show you around. This is where-"

"The magic happens?"

"Shush." Nancy slapped her arm lightly. "This is the main room and we have a dark room in the back. I’ll show you later. Everyone has their own place and we separate in groups. Our editors are here, closest to the dark room are our photographers, then we have our journalists." She pointed at different clusters of people sitting or surrounding their desks, some typing, some conversing.

Robin turned in a slow circle, taking it in. “You forgot to introduce me to the Editor-in-Chief since junior year.”

Nancy arched her brow. “Stalking me, Buckley?”

Robin grinned. “I just noticed the paper got better when I needed something to read between customers.”

That earned her a pleased smile. Nancy tucked a curl behind her ear.

Before she could respond, a scrawny boy appeared at Nancy’s shoulder with papers. “We’ve got two sports layouts depending on the game result, and the pull quote options.”

Nancy took the pages, scanning quickly. "The headline if they lose doesn't sound very objective, Fred." Then, remembering Robin, she waved between them. “Robin, this is Fred. Senior photographer.”

Fred pushed his glasses up and held out his hand. “Only because your dear boyfriend Jonathan left.” He held out his hand for Robin which she briefly took, ignoring how clammy his grip was. He shot Nancy a somewhat teasing smile as he added, sounding far too serious. "Otherwise I fear our Editor-in-Chief might not have been so objective in assigning roles."

He was wearing a vest and tie, he was really scrawny like a gust of wind could blow him away. Pale. A scar on his face. Dark rings under his eyes. And he wouldn't meet her eyes.

Weird.

Nancy closed her eyes for half a second. Exhaled. “Fix the headline, Fred.” She handed the papers back, then took Robin’s wrist and pulled her gently toward a side door. “This is the dark room.”

They squeezed inside. Red light. Dim. Close.

Nancy didn’t let go of her wrist. Robin chose not to draw attention to that.

Nancy leaned against the counter, rubbing her face, shoulders dropping.

"Long day?" Robin had asked to hang out here because she had hoped Nancy would be more comfortable in her own territory besides her interest in Nancy's interests. But if the older girl was tired or didn't want her here-

"Fred." Nancy offered, not meeting her gaze. "He's been hovering." Her gaze flicked briefly to Robin then away.

"Hovering how?" Did he want to be Chief editor? Was he making Nancy's job harder? Robin was sure she could-

Nancy hesitated, giving her another searching look before sighing. “Flirting. I think. Or trying to. He won’t stop bringing up Jonathan. Asking how he is in California. Last week he talked about how long distance never works out. Yesterday he called me the most beautiful girl in Hawkins and how he's not sure what I see in Jonathan and just ugh. I thought the worst thing to deal with was the sexism and not someone trying to-" She made a frustrated gesture with her free hand. “It’s exhausting.”

Robin tilted her head. Fred flirting with Nancy? Something about that didn't sit right with her. Probably the way Nancy was stressed out about it. Robin bumped her shoulder gently with her own. “For what it’s worth, he’s right about you being the most beautiful girl in Hawkins.”

Friends could compliment friends, right? Steve and her hyped each other up all the time. Robin considered the photos hanging from a line in front of her. "Is that why you haven't told him you broke up with Jonathan?"

"Yes. I thought it would discourage him and I didn't have to be harsh for him to get the idea? He just lost his best friend in a car crash a few months back." A muscle in her jaw twitched as she glanced at Robin again. "Normally knowing I'm in a relationship keeps most advances away but I don't want this to be public knowledge yet. This is my personal life. It's bullshit that I would have to tell anyone about it just so they might leave me alone."

"You don't owe anyone anything, Nance." Robin turned her hand so Nancy was no longer holding her wrist but they were palm to palm. Nancy looked down at their hands before simply intertwining them. "How is Jonathan? Have you heard from him?"

Silence. Robin looked away from the picture of a bakery and turned to Nancy who studied her face for a beat before answering. "Yes. We call each other once a week. He's still my friend." Nancy paused as if she was waiting for Robin to judge. "You have nothing against that, do you?"

Robin tilted her head, why would she? "No? I mean I'm all about the happiness of my friends? Jonathan from what I remember was always a loner so he probably needs all the friends he can get?" They were all sorta friends or friends adjacent like Max was her friend and El's friend and El was Jonathan's friend? "How's El? Max calls and writes to her and I think they help each other with their grief but this is the first time she's been in school, right?"

Tension leaked out of Nancy and only then Robin realised how tense Nancy had been, braced, though for what? "He does. He found a friend, they work together at surfer boys and go to the same school. He doesn't say much about El only that she's working through it. El has been through so much already and now she's away from the others-, it must be hard."

"Yeah."

"You said the happiness of your friends, so does that make us friends? As in officially?" Nancy gave her a searching glance and Robin faltered, unsure what the right answer was.

She wanted to be friends. She thought they were friends. Did Nancy not want that? "Yeah, I-, I mean right?"

"Right." Nancy ducked her head, but Robin caught the flicker of a soft smile. They remained silent for a moment. "Let me show you what I've been working on."

They stepped back into the newsroom.

Fred immediately appeared, handed Nancy the reworked papers for approval, then glanced toward the dark room.

Not Nancy. His throat bopped.

He wasn't looking at Nancy. But at the dark room. Lost in thought. A thought which made him blush. He wouldn't stop mentioning Jonathan. He shook off his daydream or whatever it was to catch her gaze and flinched when he realised her focus on him. Hiding. Scampering off to his desk with a word about some photos. Away from her and Nancy.

Fred was familiar to her. He photographed the sports events, which the band was often in attendance for. And now that Nancy mentioned it she remembered the tall boy in a letterman jacket wandering the halls with him. His best friend. Robin tried to think about seeing them together, Fred being smaller, the way his friend smiled down at him. Yet even with a jock as friend Fred cowered away from any other jocks.

He hadn't even looked at Nancy. How could anyone not look at Nancy? He said long distance didn't work. Seemingly not wanting Jonathan and Nancy together. It felt like when it clicked for her. And then Mr. Hauser. Could he? She looked at him and caught another of his paranoid glances at her only to hasten to leave the room.

Robin noticed. The way he avoided eye contact. The stiffness. The fear.

Recognition sparked.

“Give me a sec,” Robin muttered to Nancy.

She followed Fred into the hallway. “Fred.”

He jumped.

Robin closed the distance between them, excitement bubbling in her chest. He was like her. She was almost sure. There was another one like her in this godforsaken town.

"Jonathan, huh?" She blurted out before she could think and Fred paled.

"I-, I don't know-"

"Not that I see it. If you are into artsy loners I guess." She tilted her head, considered. No, she always liked confidence, passion. Preppy girls. Jonathan wasn't a girl and the exact opposite from what she knew she liked personality wise.

Fred sputtered, fingering the buttons on his vest. "I-, you-"

"You should try to be more subtle." Robin offered with a grin, adding. "Wouldn't want Nancy to catch on, right?" She gave a chuckle like Steve had thought her anger with him was about him not noticing her in Mrs. Clicks class and not about Tammy only noticing him, Nancy thought Fred was interested in her. Funny.

Fred looked frozen and perhaps she had come on too strong. He had known he was into Jonathan, right? She stared at him a moment longer. Well, perhaps he needed to process. They could talk about this another time especially because Nancy was waiting for her.

"Think about what I said. Toodles, Fred." She clapped him on the back and went back into the newspaper room.

Finding Nancy standing in front of a whiteboard, tapping a pen against her lips. "Let me guess, corruption, the mayor kidnapped by aliens, the dropping quality of the cafeteria food."

Nancy shot her a look, mirth glinting in her eyes. "Aliens?"

"You never know."

Nancy's gaze dipped for a moment, lids hooding, and then blue eyes blazed up at her through her lashes and Robin burned. "Hmmm. C'mon let's go for milkshakes. I want your opinion on something."

Nancy grabbed her bag, waiting for Robin to do the same and when she passed Robin, their fingers brushed again, fingertips tracing up her palm before they settled around her wrist. Once more urging her to follow.

"My opinion? Wanted? Nance, you might start something you can't finish." Robin sing-songed following Nancy to the parking lot.

"Oh, I promise you I can." Nancy sent her a look, brow arched before disappearing into the driver seat while Robin stumbled on air.

*

Robin shoved her hands in the pockets of her jacket and stared at the fence like it had personally offended her.

“You know,” she watched Nancy step closer to the wrought iron fence like she was about to scale Mount Everest, which seeing how it towered over Nancy could have been true, “when I agreed to be ‘officially friends,’ I really thought the worst thing that might happen to me was, like, rom-com marathons. Or shopping. Or you trying to give me a makeover. Maybe at the absolute most having to go to the shooting range and watch you go full Rambo.”

Nancy flicked her flashlight on, the beam cutting across the dumpsters to the back door. Focused. Unbothered.

“I did not consider,” Robin continued, gesturing vaguely at their surroundings, “ending up behind Bradley’s Big Buy to commit a felony.”

Nancy glanced over her shoulder, lips twitching. “I don’t think this counts as a felony, we are not stealing something, we are investigating, so I think it’s a misdemeanor at most.”

“You still can go to prison for a misdemeanor, Nance and between the both of us I’d go crazy in jail and probably accidentally piss someone off so they’d stab me with their toothbrush turned shiv.”

“Well, not if I stab them with my shiv first.” Robin stared at Nancy who was still considering the fence. “But if you really want I could dress you up,” Nancy added casually, like she was talking about grabbing coffee. “And we can’t go to the gun range. Technically none of my firearms are mine. But I could take you to the woods and we could practice—”

“Hard no, princess,” Robin cut in instantly. “I am extremely committed to not being shot by a gun, especially not by myself. Also, I cannot believe Nancy ‘the Priss’ Wheeler is in possession of illegal firearms.” She bit her tongue, wait she hadn’t meant for this to sound mean, she enjoyed the dichotomy.

Nancy’s brow lifted as she turned to face Robin. “Yesterday I was a majesty. Today I’m only a princess?”

“Daughter of a queen,” Robin explained, giving Nancy a crooked grin. “Which makes you logically a princess.”

Nancy gave her a look. “You are saying my mom is a queen? Should I worry about your intentions towards my mother?”

“Excuse you, are you saying she isn’t? Your mom hid a whole plate of chocolate chip cookies from the tweens just for me,” Robin shot back. “That’s like queen type of shit.”

Nancy snorted softly, then looked back toward the building. “You know you don’t have to entertain my mother when we hang out.”

Robin blinked. “Entertain? She’s smart. She’s interesting. She actually listens. That’s… not common.” A beat. Softer. “But I can stop if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Nancy turned fully toward her, head tilted. The flashlight beam dipped. “No,” she lightly knocked her right foot into Robin’s. “I just wanted you to know you don’t have to indulge her. She likes you. She thinks we’re… well matched.” A pause. “She asks about you.” Her fingers tapped against the flashlight handle. Not meeting her gaze.

Robin clocked it. The vulnerability. The weird, quiet tension. Her brain immediately panicked and yanked the wheel. “So,” she beamed brightly, “are you sure about this?”

Nancy stiffened. It was subtle, but Robin already watching caught it. Shoulders squared. Spine straightened. Like armour snapping into place.

“Mrs. Good swore she saw a mouse in the produce section,” Nancy explained coolly, Robin didn’t even know her tone could be so emotionless. “Just because she’s old doesn’t mean she hallucinated it. Or that she just wants attention. My mom even mentioned a quality drop in the fruit she bought. I also found more than one chewed carton in the aisles. Like in the corners of them, holes bigger than a thumb. This isn’t nothing.” She crossed her arms. Oh, she wasn’t emotionless, she sounded like she was trying to be, suppressing what? Anger? “But you don’t have to be here. I can drive you home.”

It was a retreat. A dismissal?

Robin stepped forward immediately. “Whoa. No. Be kind, Rewind.” Hands up. “I don’t really have a filter or a strong grasp on social cues, so if I do something that annoys you, just know that I know it’s a flaw. Believe me, my mother reminds me daily.” She couldn’t help shifting on her feet. “What I meant is not like disbelief or questioning your investigative instinct, if you tell me there are mice, I believe you. If you told me there was a ghost, I’d believe you. Because you don’t jump to conclusions. You— you rule things out first. Like systematically. You are methodical. Which is hot—cool, I mean, impressive. Definitely impressive.” Robin stuttered quickly, added. “Max said you’re a bloodhound with this stuff. You connected rats to the Upside Down. You don’t miss things and I trust your gut. I trust you.”

Nancy’s expression flickered—confusion, then something soft trying not to show itself.

“When I asked if you were sure,” Robin added, softer, “I meant the breaking-and-entering part. The fence. The maybe-getting-arrested part. The ‘my college applications die in prison’ part.”

“Oh.” Nancy’s brows knit, then smoothed. Her chin lifted a fraction, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “We won’t get caught. No cameras. No alarms on the back door. And the fence—”

Robin was already moving. She dropped to one knee in front of it and laced her fingers together, bracing her thigh like a human step stool.

“Your chariot awaits, your Highness.”

Nancy stared at her, then stepped closer. One hand settled on Robin’s shoulder. Her fingers slid upward—adjusting Robin’s collar, the back of them brushing the hollow of her throat. Robin shivered.

“Are you sure?” Nancy asked quietly, worrying her bottom lip.

“Dead serious,” Robin swallowed. “Though I’d really prefer if no interdimensional monsters showed up to prove it.”

Nancy nodded once, stepping onto Robin’s hands. Robin remained steadfast, letting Nancy climb her like a ladder, following, hands firm at her calves, guiding her up as she stood. Nancy climbed the fence smoothly, dropped on the other side without a sound, and turned back.

“What about you?”

Robin eyed the fence then her converse. “This is going to suck.”

“Wait.” Nancy stopped her and then rolled one of the dumpsters over on the other side. At least getting down from the fence would be easier.

She got over the fence with significantly less grace than the other girl. Hauled herself over with too much force, hands slipped and she smacked into the dumpster, rolled over it and somehow landed upright like a drunk baby deer.

Nancy looked at her wide eyed, before her lips twitched and she tried to cover it with her hand but she laughed. Giggles turning into laughter.

Robin wheezed from the impact surely, not because how adorably Nancy’s giggles sounded or the way the corner of her eyes crinkled. Fuck what pretty girls made her do. “Oh, ha ha. Comedy gold. Truly.”

“You looked like Bambi on ice.”

“Disney reference? Really? I thought you had higher cinematic standards.”

“My sister loves Bambi. It’s a good movie.”

Robin was just about to rant about Disney and how deeply traumatic their movies were. Parents, especially mothers always dead or dying or even worse about the Fox and the Hound which scarred her for life only to watch Nancy tug at the lock on the back door and as it didn’t budge, nonchalantly reach into her purse and pull out a revolver.

Robin froze. “Why do you have that in your purse? Who has a gun in their color coordinated with their outfit, purse?”

“I like to match and I never go anywhere without a gun,” Nancy pointed at the lock matter-of-factly. “Not anymore at least and we don’t have a key.”

Nancy raised the gun and without even thinking Robin’s hand settled on the gun, brushing against Nancy’s. “You are not shooting a lock in the middle of downtown at two in the morning and think we won’t get caught.”

“Robin, this is Hawkins, Indiana. If someone hears it, they’ll assume it’s hunting season or someone being an idiot.” But she didn’t shrug off Robin's hand.

“That’s the most dystopian sentence I’ve ever heard.” Robin scrubbed her face, then lit up. “Hairpin. You got one?”

Nancy rummaged through her purse. Robin waited for a moment then she gently took the pin glinting in between Nancy’s locks, tucking the freshly freed curl back behind her ear. Her hair was so soft. Her fingers lingered half a second too long at Nancy’s jaw.

She only noted that when she felt Nancy swallow, jaw untensing underneath her fingertips. Robin’s brain short-circuited.

Abort. Do crime not be gay.

She turned to the lock, hands moving on instinct and movie logic. A minute of quiet cursing. Click. The lock popped.

Robin opened the door with a dramatic flourish and bowed. “After you, Princess.”

Inside, the storage room was cold and cavernous. Shelves loomed in the dark. The air smelled like cardboard, dust, and food.

Robin hesitated at the threshold, heart jumping for reasons that had nothing to do with monsters and everything to do with enclosed dark spaces. Of seeing shelves packed with packages and fearing the floor would drop under her.

“Beware,” Robin murmured as she stepped into the storage room, trying to sound braver than she felt, “for I am fearless, and therefore powerful.”

Nancy paused mid-scan, flashlight hovering over a shelf. Slowly, she turned her head. “Did you just quote Frankenstein?” she asked, one eyebrow lifting, amusement tugging at her mouth.

Robin shrugged, pretending she wasn’t losing cool points at the second. “What? You got something better to offer the atmosphere, Wheeler?”

They split directions, both scanning shelves, flashlights cutting through dust and shadows.

Nancy hummed thoughtfully. “Well, we are searching for the truth so ‘Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth.’ might be more fitting.”

“Of course,” Robin said, unfamiliar with the quote. “Because you’re apparently a terrifying hybrid of investigative journalist, philosopher and teenage criminal. Honestly though, being a journalist of your caliber probably will make you famous and therefore rich and who wouldn't be into that?"

Nancy hid a smile, ducking her head which was becoming a familiar reaction like she was bracing for the world to steal any moment of happiness if she didn’t guard it.

“Also,” Robin added, “truth can be subjective. As Wilde said, ‘The truth is rarely pure and never simple.”

Nancy stopped again. “He wrote that?”

“In The Importance of Being Earnest, which, frankly, sounds like it should be a self-help book with that title and isn’t. My mother always says I sound perpetually insincere.”

Nancy shook her head, digging deeper into a box. “I think you are painfully earnest and it’s so unexpected that people don’t believe it.” Nancy slid a carton out, inspecting it. “Still— I’d rather have the truth, even if it’s bad. ‘It was better to know the worst than to wonder.’”

Robin drifted closer without meaning to, watching the way Nancy’s jaw tightened, the way her fingers clenched around the carton. Whatever she was thinking about, it wasn’t mice.

“Wow,” Robin nudged her shoulder lightly. “We’re breaking into a grocery store and yet are ruining any street cred by quoting classic literature. I think we might be nerds.”

Nancy shot her a look. “You’re the one who opened with Frankenstein.”

“Assigned reading,” Robin defended. “Freshman year. But also— books are easier to understand than people.” A beat. “Definitely cheaper than therapy.”

Nancy snorted.

“So,” Robin added, softer, playful, “nerd. What’s your favorite book?”

Nancy hesitated, then answered in a hush. “Anna Karenina.”

Robin blinked. “You choose Tolstoy but not War and Peace?”

“Being anti war should be a no brainer,” Nancy’s voice was thoughtful. “But his idea that men in power don’t have free will because they’re controlled by the masses? That’s bullshit. People in power do what they want and either hide it or dress it up to look publicly acceptable. Anna Karenina is more honest about freedom versus duty. About women. About their social constraints. About the lack of choice.” A pause. “Even if Tolstoy himself isn’t objective.”

Robin stared at her for half a second too long. “Not objective?” she echoed. “Tolstoy’s a chauvinistic pig like most classical literature writers."

Nancy glanced at her, smirking. “And modern men are different?”

“Fair,” Robin conceded.

“So not a fan?”

“I didn’t say that. Mr. Hauser gave me an original Russian edition. I liked it. I just don’t worship it.” A beat. “Steve says I just like being contrary.”

“I’m not surprised, Steve is straightforward.”

“Uhhh straightforward? Princess are you trying to politely trash talk dear Stevie?”

“It can be a good quality! Maybe I just like being difficult.”

Robin sent her a slow grin. “Oh, you don’t say? How could I have missed that?” She shot an obvious look at their surroundings.

Nancy laughed, head tipping back, unguarded and Robin felt it in her chest like a physical impact.

Her heart definitely needed to calm the fuck down, making a pretty girl laugh couldn’t cause a near system failure.

“Okay,” Nancy was still smiling. “Your turn. Favorite quote.”

Robin hesitated a beat. Not because she didn’t know one but because it was personal. She could joke but this was Nancy. Nancy was safe. They were friends. Officially. “It’s a corrupting thing to live one’s real life in secret. One should live with the stream of life, not against it.”

Nancy went still, before she reached out and squeezed Robin’s wrist gently. Understanding. Handed deliberately but without fanfare. “Orwell.”

“Burmese Days,” Robin confirmed.

A beat.

“Well,” Nancy brushed her thumb over Robin’s wrist before releasing it. Robin’s pulse did something unhelpful. “I liked Animal Farm better.”

“All animals are equal but some animals are more equal than others.”

“Exactly,” Nancy sighed, shining along the corners of the room with her flashlight. “It’s obvious and people still miss the point.”

Robin snorted. “Yeah, definitely above the Hicks around here.”

Then—

The flashlight beam caught movement.

Brown. Small. Fast.

“Mouse!” they said at the same time.

They both lunged. Chaos, scrambling, a crate tipping—

And suddenly Robin was holding something warm, squirming, very alive.

She froze. “…Okay,” she offered weakly, hoping this mouse didn’t have rabies or would like a taste of her. “That is definitely a mouse.” It looked quite adorable.

Nancy pulled out the camera.

“Mr. or Mrs. future celebrity,” Robin muttered, hoping to be soothing as the little animal struggled, “would you like to be in the newspaper? Sorry, rhetorical question, you don’t actually have a choice.” The mouse wriggled, but she held firm long enough for Nancy to get the shot.

They checked the crate: droppings, chewed packaging, cornflakes, signs of contamination. And another mouse which disappeared the moment the light caught it.

Evidence. Watertight evidence. Nancy smiled, satisfied.

Robin released the mouse, recoiling immediately and looking at her hands which hopefully hadn’t caught a million diseases.

Nancy shoved hand sanitizer into her hands. Robin could have kissed her but- “How do you fit this much stuff in that purse?”

“Efficient packing,” Nancy answered as she gave the store room a last once over.

They were back over the fence minutes later, the only sign of their break in the locket which they just threw into a dumpster. Perhaps they’d simply believe someone had lost the lock until Nancy published her story. They climbed into Nancy’s car, giddy, smiling. Accomplished.

The dashboard clock glowed 2:46 and a ABBA song filled the darkness of the car..

Robin stared at it for a second too long.

They were both quiet as Nancy pulled up in front of her house, the engine idling. Music still murmuring low through the speakers. Robin worried at the hem of her shirt, nerves buzzing now that the adrenaline had worn off.

Nancy yawned, soft and unguarded. Robin mirrored it involuntarily.

“Hey,” she cleared her throat, sinking deeper into the seat. “You wanna just… crash here? I mean, you’re exhausted, and I really don’t love the idea of you driving home half-asleep. And we have to get ready for school in like four hours max. So impromptu sleepover? Still very rebellious but I guess the stakes are lower than B&E if you can live with that.”

Nancy’s fingers tapped against the steering wheel. Once. Twice. “I should write the article,” she said, but there wasn’t much conviction in it. “The faster it’s out, the less time they have to cover it up.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” Robin argued softly. “And you’re running on fumes. You can write it in chemistry or English tomorrow. It’s not like Mr. Gunning has ever contributed anything meaningful to society.”

Nancy huffed, then reached over and poked Robin lightly in the ribs. “You’re incredibly persuasive even when you’re being annoying,” she said, hiding a smile.

Robin brightened like she’d just been handed a trophy. “I think you meant when I’m being charming.”

Nancy hesitated a second longer then nodded. “Fine. You win.” A beat. “Don’t get used to it.” She teased.

Relief flickered through Robin’s chest. “Never, but okay, small logistical issue,” they got out of the car, and Robin led them to her window. “I don’t think sneaking in through the door will work without waking my parents, so… window entry it is.”

Nancy tilted her head, eyes glinting. “Well,” she started sweetly, “will you get on your knees for me again?”

Robin tripped over absolutely nothing. “Nancy!” She spluttered, attempting to sound scandalized and not weak in the knees.

Nancy’s innocent expression lasted exactly half a second before she broke into a grin and laughed, soft, warm, real.

Robin shot her a look. “You’re evil.”

“You don’t hate it,” Nancy said lightly.

Causing Robin’s heart to do stupid things it had absolutely no business doing, so she rather thought about how to get them both through the window without her mother noticing—definitely not wanting Nancy to have to meet her. Trying not to think how they’d be sleeping in her tiny bed together in a few moments.

This was certainly not how she imagined being Nancy’s friend would be.

*

Bed made. Desk neat. Papers stacked. Posters straight. Everything had a place, and everything stayed there. It felt like a room of someone who needed to be able to control something.

Robin perched on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, fingers absently picking at a loose thread in the blanket. Nancy sat by her desk, flipping through a notebook. The faint smell of clean laundry and sweet perfume lulled her into a daze almost.

“We could start studying together for the chemistry test tomorrow,” Nancy broke the comfortable silence. “You’re done with work at eight, right?”

Robin blinked. “What day is tomorrow? Wait—what day is—”

“Wednesday.”

“Right, Wednesday, so tomorrow’s Thursday which means no band and the evening shift and then—” Robin paused, brain catching up to itself. “Wait. It’s game night.”

Nancy frowned slightly. “Game night?”

“Yeah,” Robin brightened immediately. “The dweebs do D&D, so Steve and I started board game night so we’re not just sitting around feeling sorry for ourselves and we both aren't from boardgames families so we wanted to try. Max joins a lot. You would not believe how competitive she gets. Like trash talking, psychological warfare, no mercy.” She chuckled. “You should come. We start after our shift, so after eight.”

Nancy opened her mouth. “I don’t think—” she started, then stopped. “I don’t really—”

Robin felt her chest drop, just a little. But then she noticed Nancy’s hands. Wringing together. Fingers twisting. Knuckles whitening.

“Oh,” Robin recognized quietly. “Sorry,” she added immediately. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

Their eyes met.

Nancy looked startled, like she hadn’t expected understanding like she’d expected pressure or disappointment. Her brows snapped together and she must have seen something on Robin's face because her expression darkened.

“He told you?” Nancy asked, voice sharp yet brittle and raw all at once.

Robin stiffened. “Told me what?”

Nancy let out a short, bitter laugh, pushed out of the chair, and started to pace. “Of course he did. God, of course he did.” Her voice was tight. Controlled. But there was something cracking underneath it.

“He told me to just try,” Nancy crossed her arms, pacing the length of her room. “To pretend. To play at being carefree teenagers. Like nothing happened. Like she didn’t exist.” Her voice broke on the last word. “He didn’t want to talk about it. About her. He wanted to forget.”

She laughed again, sharp and humorless.

“But he talked to you about it,” Nancy repeated, disbelief cutting through her words. “I’m really glad he felt comfortable telling you,” she added bitterly, her voice cracked. “After what—working together for a few weeks?”

Robin’s throat tightened.

Steve’s voice echoed in her memory, hollow, shaking when he talked about Barb. The guilt. The way he’d folded into her side like he didn’t know how to carry it.

Robin’s chest spasmed. Nancy couldn't even say her name.

Steve had told her about being a bad boyfriend. About being selfish. About not being ready. About being scared. He hadn’t told her about this.

“Nance—” Robin started.

“No,” Nancy's shoulders were shaking now. “We killed her. I killed her.”

So sure, so certain. Had this been what Nancy believed all this time? “That’s not—”

“I asked her to go with me,” Words spilled fast now. “I begged her. I needed her there because I didn’t trust myself. And the second I had Steve’s attention, I sent her away. I sent her home so I could—” Her voice broke. “So I could stay.” She pressed a hand over her mouth, breath hitching. “It’s my fault. She's dead because of me”

Silence filled the room, thick and heavy. Robin felt it press against her ribs.

“Nancy,” she started, standing and reaching for Nancy.

“No,” Nancy repeated, turning, tears streaking her face. “Don’t.”

Images flashed unbidden—Barb running, screaming, hunted, the Demogorgon’s shadow in her nightmares, blood and darkness and fear.

“We killed her,” she said again, like a mantra. “I killed her.”

"Maybe." Robin rolled the words around in her mouth. “Maybe you weren’t… a good friend that night.”

Nancy stared at her in shock.

Robin held her gaze. “You dragged Barb to a party she didn’t want to be at. You ditched her for your boyfriend. That’s—yeah, that’s shitty. That’s teenage-level selfishness." She looked at Nancy, needing the girl to hear her. “But that didn’t kill her.”

Nancy shook her head. “You don’t know—”

“Did you know there was a monster in the woods when you told her to go home?” Robin cut in.

“No, but—”

“Then you didn’t kill her.” Robin’s voice was steady. Firm. “A monster killed her. A thing from another dimension. In a town where the biggest crime is drunk dads and kids stealing beer. Hawkins was safe. Barb should’ve been safe.”

Nancy’s breath hitched.

“She should’ve been annoyed,” Robin continued quietly. “Mad. Hurt. Ready to yell at you the next day at school. Already halfway to forgiving you when you apologized. She didn’t die because you were a bad friend for one night.”

Silence.

Nancy’s eyes were red, swollen, desperate. “She was my best friend,” Nancy let out a broken sound. “You don’t understand.”

“I might,” Robin argued softly.

Nancy looked at her, searching her face. “You don’t.”

Robin hesitated. Then said it. Not able to look at Nancy, her heart cavernous. “Barb and I were friends.”

Nancy froze.

“Kindergarten up to eighth grade,” Robin continued. “We shared grape juice boxes. Drew stupid cartoons of teachers. Tried to make each other laugh in class so the other would get into trouble. Went to summer camp together.”

Nancy stared like the floor had shifted. “She never told me.” And the words weren’t accusatory. They were small. “She never—” Nancy started, hesitating, nibbling on her bottom lip. “We became friends in eighth grade.”

Robin gave a small shrug. “We drifted. It happens. I thought you stole her at first.” A crooked smile. “Turns out we just grew apart. Different interests. We just changed. And then she had you. And I was glad she did." Her voice wavered. “When she disappeared, I thought she ran away. Thought she got out. Jesus Christ, I was jealous she left this hellhole behind. I didn’t think to search for her, fight for her. You did. You didn’t let her disappear. Or be just forgotten.”

Nancy’s face crumpled. “It wasn’t enough. I wasn't enough.”

“You were sixteen,” Robin dissuaded such thoughts firmly. "You didn’t know about monsters. You didn’t know about other dimensions. You were just a kid trying to figure yourself out.” She stepped closer. “Barb is dead because of a monster. Not because you wanted to spend time with your boyfriend. You’re allowed to have wanted him. You are allowed to want things. How long are you planning to do this? Like—how long are you going to keep punishing yourself for something you didn’t even know could happen? You were sixteen, Nance. You didn’t know monsters were real. You thought the worst thing that could happen was getting grounded. It was not your fault.”

“You don’t know that.” Nancy was gripping her arms tightly, knuckles turning white, trembling. "You weren’t there. You didn’t see her.”

“Yeah, and you didn’t see a monster coming either.”

Nancy’s knees buckled. Robin caught her.

Nancy clawed at her like she was drowning, fingers digging into her back, face buried against her neck, sobbing hard and broken and messy.

Robin held her. Didn’t shush her. Didn’t rush her. Just stayed. Hoping if she just held on long enough, Nancy would bleed it all out and finally be able to breathe.

Robin swallowed hard. Her throat burned. She hadn’t cried when Steve told her about Barb. She hadn't when they found Barb’s car. She hadn’t cried at Barb's funeral. But now she couldn't help it.

Eventually, they sank back onto the bed together, tangled. Nancy half on top of her, face buried against Robin’s neck. Robin’s hand came up, slow and careful, fingers threading through Nancy’s hair waiting to speak until her sobs softened into quiet breaths.

“And you know trying to forgive yourself is not forgetting her. She’s not gone as long as we talk about her. That’s— I read that somewhere. I don’t remember where. But it’s true. So you-, we remember her, right?" Robin cleared her throat, eyes hushing over the ceiling as if it had an answer to this. "I'm not sure if she grew out of it but Barb used to put things in her mouth when she was thinking like pens or hoodie drawstrings.” Robin chuckled. “She'd run around with blue lips or teeth because of it."

Nancy let out a shaky laugh. “She did that with me too.”

“She couldn't stand porcelain figurines,” Robin added. “Her dad had a huge collection in his office. Some were so creepy looking. We broke one once and tried to glue it back together. Her mother caught us, grounded Barb for weeks and I was banned from the house for months."

Eventually, Nancy spoke, voice hoarse. "I think the only time Barb and I got into trouble was when we "burrowed" my mother's make-up and managed to ruin her eyeshadow trying to combine colours."

They started trading stories. Small ones. Barb not how she died but how she lived.

It didn't take long for Nancy’s breathing to slow. Her grip loosened. Her body relaxed against Robin’s like she finally felt safe enough to rest. Robin allowed herself to hold her, cry silently for Barb and Nancy both until she succumbed too.

*

Kate caught her at her locker, breathless and mid-thought. “—and if we don’t restructure the opening argument, the judges are going to eat us alive at the meet, because apparently logic isn’t persuasive enough anymore, you need theatrics—”

“Mm,” Robin hummed, twisting the dial, the metal clunk of lockers echoing down the hallway. Kate pivoted seamlessly to homecoming like it was a natural conversational evolution.

“And don’t roll your eyes, Robin, I know you think you’re above it, but everyone’s going—”

“Need I remind you of the one time I went to Prom?” Robin asked dryly. “I hit three cars trying to park, snuck in and then had to run away from the Sheriff. I don't think homecoming can top that or I’d need more space on my criminal record. So no sequel needed.”

Kate laughed, still mildly cajoling as she kept talking.

Robin wasn’t listening anymore. She’d opened her locker, shoved her books into her bag, while her eyes had already started scanning the hallway on instinct.

For Nancy.

They shared most of their classes. And when they didn’t, Nancy always seemed to find her anyway. It had become a ritual. Walk to class. Walk to lunch. Quiet conversation. Sometimes silence. Not even awkward anymore. At least Robin thought so.

It was comforting, safe.

Robin spotted her immediately — the familiar mane of brown curls, the purposeful stride. Nancy had a presence that didn’t need volume.

Robin gave a small wave.

Nancy didn’t look. Didn’t slow. Didn’t even flick her eyes in Robin’s direction. She walked straight past her.

Robin’s hand stalled mid-air. Her brows furrowed. What—?

Her attention snagged on Nancy’s posture. The way her shoulders were squared too tightly. Chin lifted a little too high. That rigid, marching-straight-forward walk.

Something wasn't right.

Robin turned, tracking her path until she disappeared around a corner.

Then she heard it.

“There’s a reason they call her Nancy the Slut Wheeler.” The words cut through the hallway noise. Loud. Jocks.

“Wouldn’t mind finding out why.”

“Won’t be hard. She's with that Byers weirdo so she’s got no standards.” Laughter in face of such casual cruelty.

“I’m sure she wouldn’t run her mouth so much if I gave her something else to do with it.”

Robin felt dizzy with the sudden sharp, electric spike humming through her blood. The world narrowed to the three boys standing by their lockers in their letterman jackets, laughing. She froze. Heart thundering in her chest. She looked where Nancy had disappeared.

Nancy must have heard, hadn’t turned. She hadn’t confronted them. She hadn’t said anything. She had just kept walking. Head high. Shoulders back. Like it didn't matter. Like it didn't touch her.

But the way she held herself-

That had been an admission in itself. A flinch from the girl who fought monsters, stood unbowed in front of a car speeding towards her. Because of those-

Something in her broke. She moved.

“Maybe you should shut the fuck up.” Her voice cut clean through the hallway noise.

The three basketball players turned. Surprise turning into amusement.

The ringleader stepped into her space immediately, towering, smug. “What did you say, freak?” he sneered. “Jealous? Not even Wheeler would be desperate enough to touch you.” Laughter behind him.

Robin’s hands clenched at her side. They were shaking. She tried to focus on the cool metal of her rings. She could not be the one to escalate this.

“Well,” she smiled, voice bright and sharp, “she definitely wouldn’t touch you.” Her eyes dropped deliberately — slow, obvious — to his crotch, then back up, eyebrow lifting. “Not that there’s much to touch.”

Good, this always got them. Always needing to compensate for something. Robin could have pat herself on the back if she wasn't straining to hold back her anger a little longer.

He shoved her hard into the lockers. Metal slammed into her spine. Air punched out of her lungs.

His forearm jammed across her chest, pinning her, breath hot and sour in her face. “You think you’re funny?” He shoved her. Harder this time.

Robin’s head cracked against the lockers. Her teeth clicked together. For a second the world flashed white. Something flared inside of Robin. Hot, scorching.

He had escalated. It was permission.

Her knee drove up. Hard.

She caught him high in the thigh. Not perfect. Not the groin. But enough. He grunted and loosened his grip for half a second. That was all she needed.

Robin didn’t aim. She clawed. Her nails raked square through his face. He swore and jerked back, hands flying up.

She twisted sideways and drove her elbow back blindly. It connected with something solid. Someone cursed.

Hands grabbed her from behind. Wrenched her arms back. Her stomach dropped.

For one split, sickening second her brain wasn’t in the hallway anymore. It was concrete floors and foreign shouting, not understanding what was being said as she was dragged away.

No.

She snapped back into her body like it burned. She threw her head backward as hard as she could. There was a crack and a howl. The grip loosened. She stomped down — heel grinding into a foot.

Someone punched her in the ribs. Air left her lungs in a brutal rush. She folded, coughing — and then bit. She bit the arm that reached for her again. The boy shrieked and recoiled. Robin tasted skin and sweat and something coppery. Disgust flared sharp but it didn't stop her from blindly kicking the boy away from her.

One of them lunged. She ducked badly — too slow — and a fist glanced off her cheek instead of her jaw. Stars burst across her vision. Eyes watering as her head snapped to the side with the force.

Still, she swung back wild and fast. Her knuckles caught against teeth. But the second punch begot a sickening crunch of bone. Blood sprayed. He screamed, clutching his nose.

The one she’d headbutted swung at her again. She kicked the back of his knee. He went down with a yelp. Robin was panting now, chest heaving, ears ringing. Vision tunneling. Hands shaking.

Then—

The first one, red-faced, tackled her. They hit the ground.

Her head smacked against the floor. Pain exploded behind her eyes. For a second she couldn’t hear anything but ringing.

He climbed over her, trying to pin her wrists.

She bucked hard, twisting, not thinking — just thrashing. Her knee came up again. This time she didn’t miss.

The sound he made was small and broken. He folded forward instinctively — and she rolled on top of him and started swinging. Not aiming. Just hitting.

Once. Twice.

Mind screaming. They didn’t get to say her name, didn’t get to talk about Nancy like that-

He tried to swing at her again, half-blind, and caught her across the mouth.

Warmth flooded her lips. Robin didn’t feel it. Just kept hitting. Over and over.

Someone tried to grab her shoulders — she twisted and kicked backward without looking. A body crashed into lockers.

She spat blood onto the floor.

“Buckley!” The voice barely cut through. Hands seized her arms. She thrashed.

“Keep Nancy’s name out of your fucking mouths!” Her voice cracked raw only to feel herself lifted in the air.

"Buckley!"

Robin blinked. Teacher. School. Lockers. Students frozen, watching. Robin stopped struggling. Only for her eyes to snag on Max. Eyes wide, stunned, probably horrified. Fuck. Robin’s hands were trembling violently. Whole-body tremors wreaking through her. Breath coming in sharp, broken pulls.

“Buckley,” the teacher snapped as if he had been trying to get her attention, hand firmly around her shoulder. “Principal. Now.”

She shot a look at the basketball players. The three of them were no longer laughing. One was curled in on himself. One had blood pouring from his nose. The third looked at her like she’d grown teeth. They didn’t look cocky anymore.

Robin’s chest heaved. Her knuckles were shredded.

But she met their eyes. Deliberately. Dared them. They looked away first.

Grim satisfaction filled her. Nancy was off limits. This should be enough to get the point across. If Nancy wouldn't or couldn't fight for herself, Robin would.

*

Robin was released ten minutes after the last bell.

The principal had sighed more than he’d yelled.

One against three. Witnesses backing her. The boys had thrown the first punch. “Let’s not make this a habit, Miss Buckley.”

Translation: you’re lucky.

Her lip had dried stiff with blood. Her cheek was throbbing, as were numerous other parts of her body. Still her anger hadn't waned and regret hadn't come.

The hallway outside was nearly empty.

Except for Max. Max leaned against the lockers waiting while trying to appear as if she hadn't been, arms crossed over her skateboard, her foot tapping too nervously to sell it.

“You look like crap,” Max pushed off the metal.

“Thanks,” Robin muttered.

Max stepped closer, squinting at her face. “You didn't get into trouble, did you?”

“No, I'm on notice but nothing more.”

Max frowned. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Robin snorted. “Yeah? And let them keep saying stuff like that?”

Max hesitated, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “No,” she admitted. Then quieter, “But still.”

Robin waved her off. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

Max gave her a look that told her how full of shit Max thought she was. They’d just reached the exit doors when Max added, almost casually—

“You think Steve is gonna let this go?”

Robin blinked. Steve.

Robin stepped through the front doors with Max beside her and there he was.

Steve leaned casually against the hood of his BMW, sunglasses on, arms folded. Relaxed. Waiting.

He had looked up when the doors opened and smiled automatically as he saw them—

Then froze. The smile dropped. The shift in his face was immediate.

"Rob?" He crossed the lot fast. “What happened?”

He stopped short in front of her, eyes scanning. The cut lip. The swelling cheek. Her knuckles.

His voice changed. Lower. Tight. “Who did this?”

“It’s nothing,” Robin licked her lips, tasting copper.

His hand came up to her jaw, careful, turning her face toward him. She flinched.

His expression hardened. “Someone hit you.”

“I hit back.”

“That’s not the point.” His thumb hovered near the bruise. “Are you hurt anywhere else? Did you hit your head?”

The care split something inside her. This was Steve, the friend she knew.

Because it was real. Because he meant it. And because a part of her brain whispered—

This was his fault. He didn't get to act shocked, get to be protective, he gave them the words used to hurt Nancy. He painted them for the whole town to see.

He hadn’t thought of the consequences. She knew that.

But Nancy had been walking with those words hanging above her seemingly for months.

Robin hadn’t realised that part until today. She gently removed his hand. “I handled it.”

Steve followed her line of sight across the lot. A cluster of letterman jackets gathered near a dark sports car.

At the center—

Jason Carver, Hawkins new wannabe King.

Steve’s jaw tightened. He didn’t know the details. He didn’t need to. He started walking.

“Steve—” Too late. "Max stay with the car." She hurried after him.

Steve stopped in front of Jason. “What the hell did you do?”

Jason looked amused, leaning back against the hood of his car, surrounded by his teammates. “Afternoon, Harrington.”

"What was that?"

Jason’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “What was what?”

“My friend walks out of school looking like she went twelve rounds. You wanna explain?”

Jason’s expression shifted — annoyance. “They got suspended,” he said flatly. “We’re down three starters because of your psycho girlfriend.”

Robin stepped up beside Steve. “They got suspended because they are assholes.”

Jason’s eyes snapped to her. “Which is really unfortunate considering we’ve got a game Friday.”

“Not my fault your players can’t keep their mouths shut.”

Steve moved slightly in front of her. Protective without thinking. Robin grasped his sleeve to hold him back.

Jason caught it. Smirked. “Your days as king are over, Harrington,” he stated. "And you better hope we win the next game or else I will make it your problem."

“That’s not my problem.”

“No,” Jason agreed. “It’s Wheeler’s.”

Steve frowned and Robin side stepped him. “What does Nancy have to do with this?”

Jason’s smile sharpened. "Of course you don't know. But from what I heard? The boys didn’t say anything that wasn’t already common knowledge.”

Robin let go of Steve's sleeve. “You want to repeat that?” she asked quietly, pulse hammering, fingers curling into fists.

Jason leaned closer. “All I’m saying is if she didn’t want people talking, maybe she shouldn’t—”

“Don’t,” she warned.

But Jason leaned in, nose almost touching hers. “What are you gonna do, Buckley?”

Steve shoved him away from her. Not hard. But enough. Enough that the gathered basketball players immediately stepped forward.

Blood rushed in her ears. Gaze flicking over the group. Eight against two.

The basketball players moved instantly.

Robin stepped to meet them. She didn’t even feel the ache in her ribs anymore over the thundering of her heart.

“Don’t,” Steve warned her, trying to keep her behind him.

Jason grinned. “Your girl went feral in the hallway. Seems to be sore spot, Wheeler-”

She didn’t care that her lip was split. Didn’t care that her knuckles throbbed. “If I hear one more word about Nancy—”

“What?” Jason challenged, spreading his arms. “You gonna start another brawl?”

She might have.

“Stop that.” The voice cut through sharp without a hint of its usual sweetness.

Chrissy stepped between them with the kind of grace that made people make space. Cheerleaders flanked her.

Jason’s posture shifted instantly. Arm looping around her waist. “Chrissy, it’s fine—”

She looked at him, shrugged off his arm. It was enough to silence him.

Jason straightened instantly. “Chrissy—”

She didn’t look at him. She looked at Robin. Soft. Assessing. Then back to Jason.

“I heard what happened,” she said calmly. “About what was said.” She turned her attention to Robin. “And I also heard how you stepped in.”

Robin didn’t know what to do with that.

Chrissy looked back at Jason. “If someone talked about me like that,” she asked, calmly, deadly, “would you have let it happen?”

Jason stiffened. “That’s different.”

“Is it?”

The cheerleaders murmured agreement.

“I’m very disappointed that any of your players would think it’s acceptable to talk about women like that.” A pause. “Or hit one.” The drawing of a line, the side chosen, public, clear. The cheerleaders nodded immediately. “And Robin is my friend,” she added smoothly.

Robin blinked. Excuse me? Were they?

Jason forced a laugh. “It was just talk.”

Chrissy tilted her head. “Then it should be very easy to make sure it never happens again. Otherwise the cheer squad might find itself with prior commitments and unable to attend any future games." Sweet as sugar. “And I imagine the band might consider the same.” She shot Robin a quick smile.

The implication hung there. No cheer squad. No band. No adoring crowd.

Jason looked cornered for the first time. Image mattered more than ego. He forced a tight smile. “I'll have a word with the team. Something like that won’t happen again.”

“It better not,” Chrissy shot Jason a last look. "Robin, are we still on for Friday?"

Robin nodded which seemed good enough for Chrissy. "We are late for practice, let's get going." Chrissy clapped her hands together and the cheerleaders departed to the gym.

Silence settled. Robin watched Chrissy walk away like she’d just ended a war with a handful of words. Effortless, graceful.

Steve turned back to Robin. “Car. Now.” He guided her away, hand firm at her back, giving the jocks no attention. Steve exhaled slowly, still simmering. Robin’s hands were still shaking.

As they reached the BMW, Robin scanned the parking lot a last time.

Just at the edge of the lot, near her station wagon—Nancy.

Still as a drawn bow. Robin couldn’t read her expression. Just something sharp in her eyes that made Robin’s pulse jump.

Had she seen it?

The almost-second-fight? God, what if she hated Robin for drawing even more attention to her? Regretted being Robin's friend? What if Robin had stirred up bad memories? Or just shown she wasn't reliable. Trustworthy? Or Nancy was angry because she thought Robin thought she needed protecting when she didn't-

Steve opened the door for her, "Get in." She let him guide her.

But she looked back once more. Nancy hadn’t moved. But she was watching the jocks now. Robin had the distinct impression that if one of them so much as blinked wrong, Nancy would do something drastic.

Their eyes locked again. There was something palpable about Nancy's gaze as it roved over her in a way that made Robin's stomach flip.

Robin looked away first. Feeling raw and exposed. Still not ashamed.

She didn’t know what Nancy saw in her. Didn’t know if it had been too much.

Steve started the engine, muttering darkly about Carver. Max had her headphones over her ears but shot Robin a look through the rear-view mirror.

Robin leaned back carefully against the seat, closing her eyes, letting the Duran Duran song crackling through the radio sweep her away.

*

The house settled uncomfortably around her like it hadn't for weeks. Since the beginning of their friendship. It had become the sort of home she sometimes imagined she'd only get once she finally escaped Hawkins.

She knew Max was sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, textbooks spread around her, twirling a pen over her knuckles. The TV on low — some mindless sitcom laugh track bleeding faintly into the hallway.

Steve either hovering close to Max or to her, making idle conversation or talking about the customers terrorizing him today or Keith while Robin could be found in the kitchen.

Domestic. Calming. And yet it was a strange caricature now. A stifling heaviness settling on her chest.

Still she chopped. Onions. Bell peppers. Carrots.

Normally, cooking steadied her. The rhythm. The repetition. It gave her brain and hands something to clutch on together.

Tonight it didn’t work. Her ribs protested every twist of her torso. Her knuckles were red and swollen. Her cheek throbbed in time with her pulse.

And under her skin —

An itch. Like energy which hadn’t been released yet. Simmering, close to boiling to the surface.

Like a part of her was still in that hallway. Still ready to swing. The knife hit the board harder than necessary.

“Easy, you'll aggravate your wounds,” Steve said quietly. "You really should let me help."

She hadn’t heard him come in. He leaned against the wall, watching.

Yet his mere presence made her tense. It was just Steve. Just Steve who rummaged through the freezer until he held an ice pack in one hand. “Put this on,” he said gently.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” He stepped closer anyway.

Robin kept chopping.

He reached out and pressed the ice pack lightly against her cheek. The cold made her inhale sharply.

“Does that hurt?”

She almost laughed. Does that hurt? The question scraped something raw. Because here he was. Steve “The Hair” Harrington. Former King of Hawkins. Her best friend.

The boy who’d driven across town in the middle of the night numerous times for her. Who’d fought Russians. Who had been a steadfast friend, maybe the best she ever had.

And also—

The boy who had painted Nancy the Slut Wheeler in bright red letters for the whole town to see.

The images didn’t align.

She shoved his hand away. “If you really want to know what happened,” she said, voice too sharp, “I’ll tell you.”

Steve stilled. The ice pack lowered slowly. “Of course I want to know.”

He looked apprehensive. Worried. But also like he was bracing for a blow. Used to figuring out moods by the tone of voice.

Robin set the knife down. “They were talking about Nancy.”

Steve blinked. “What?”

“In the hallway. Loud. Laughing about it. Repeating it.”

His jaw tightened. “Repeating what?”

She looked at him directly. She didn't want to speak the words but he looked so worried for her, so understanding- "Nancy the Slut Wheeler." Robin spat.

The silence dropped heavy between them.

Steve’s expression shifted. Not confusion. Recognition. His gaze fell to the floor. His grip tightened around the ice pack until it crinkled. He didn't say anything which infuriated Robin more.

It twisted inside her. “How could you do that?” she asked.

He swallowed. “Robin—”

“No.” Her voice trembled. That made it worse. “Hawkins is small. You know that. Nothing dies here. Nothing gets forgotten. You wrote that about her. While you claimed you loved her.”

“I did love her.” Steve dragged a hand down his face. “I was an idiot.”

“That’s not an explanation.”

“I was jealous. And pissed. And my friends—”

“Don’t.” Her eyes flashed. “There is no combination of words that makes it okay.”

He flinched. “I know,” he didn't look at her, arms wrapping around himself.

The quiet took some of the heat out of her anger — but not the hurt, not the protective urge to claw and bite at him, to hurt him the way he hurt Nancy. Was hurting Nancy.

“I scrubbed it off,” he added. “I went back and cleaned it.”

Robin stared at him. “That was the least-, how the fuck does that help Nancy?”

He didn’t answer.

“How does that erase the fact that everyone saw it?” she pressed. “How does that erase people using it to torment her? To make up rumors about her?"

Steve’s shoulders sank. “I apologized or I mean-, I tried to-”

She narrowed her eyes. “Tried?”

He hesitated. And that was enough.

“You never apologized to her?” Robin was gonna be sick. And she was gonna scream. Or cry.

He looked miserable. “I was going to. I swear. And then— everything happened. The Demogorgon. Jonathan. The Byers’ house. We were trying not to die.” He let out a hollow breath. “And then we were back together and she never brought it up and I thought— I don’t know. I thought if I just… showed her I was better—”

“You thought if you were decent long enough it would cancel it out.”

He didn’t argue, his thumb worrying the edge of the ice pack.

Robin felt sick. Nancy walking past those boys today. Spine straight. Chin lifted. Acting like she couldn’t hear it. How often did she have to do that? Had just pushed it down and away like it didn't affect her?

Had she decided it wasn’t worth fighting? It fit. Nancy fought monsters. Fought for others. But for herself?

She swallowed. “You need to apologize."

“I know.”

“No. Not ‘hey, sorry about that.’ You need to actually apologize. You need to own it. You need to beg if you have to and understand if she doesn't forgive you.”

Steve nodded slowly. “You’re right.” He looked smaller than she’d ever seen him.

Not a King. Not a protector. Just an eighteen-year-old boy who had done something cruel and regretted it.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

Robin’s jaw tightened. “I’m not the one you need to apologize to.”

“I know,” he repeated. He looked wrecked.

And she hated that she loved him in this moment. Hated that he was her person. Hated that she could see the growth in him and still feel disgust coil under her ribs.

He wasn’t that boy anymore. But Nancy had still paid for that boy. Was still paying.

Robin exhaled shakily. “God, Steve.”

He looked up at her. She stepped forward and took his hand. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t forgiving. It was complicated.

He intertwined their hands, their bracelets pressed against each other.

“I didn’t know,” he murmured into her hair.

“I know,” she muttered.

That was the worst part. He hadn’t known. He hadn’t thought. He had been stupid and ignorant.

And Nancy had carried it.

Robin pulled back first. “Go,” she nudged him toward the doorway. “Before I might hit you with a pan.”

Steve managed a faint, humorless smile. “Okay.” He paused at the threshold. “I’ll talk to her.”

“You better.”

He nodded and left.

Robin stood alone in the kitchen. The vegetables waited on the cutting board. The knife lay where she’d dropped it. Her body ached. Her cheek throbbed. Her heart felt split clean down the center.

She loved Steve. She loved Nancy. A part of her almost wanted to climb through Nancy's window and curl around the smaller girl. Like a barrier, a protective shield against the world. Give her space to breathe or break. Maybe she would have if she wasn't aching and afraid of Nancy's reaction to what happened.

To what Robin had done.

From the living room, Max called, “Is the food burning?”

Robin blinked. Right. Hungry small teenager. She picked up the knife again.

Her hands were still shaking