Archive of Our Own

“Hey Nance, can’t wait to see your movie!” Reed shouted from the car as it drove by, both Nancy and Jonathan watching it pass in confusion. 

“What the hell was that?” Jonathan asked. 

“I don’t know,” Nancy responded, frowning. An uneasy feeling started to grow in her stomach as she turned around to look into the direction of the Hawk, their local cinema, where the car had come from.

“What?” Jonathan asked again, but Nancy was already running. “Hey, where are you going?”

He ran after her, but Nancy was already crossing the street, staring at the Hawk’s marquee in disbelief.

Jonathan followed her gaze upward. The marquee advertised All the Right Moves, but the white plastic had been defaced with thick, dripping red spray paint right underneath the movie title. 

STARRING NANCY THE SLUT WHEELER

The world seemed to tilt.

For a moment Nancy couldn’t breathe. The letters pulsed under the lights, huge and undeniable, her name warped into something ugly and public and permanent. It wasn’t just cruel - it was degradation. Like someone had peeled her open and nailed their version of her to the center of town.

Heat crawled up her throat. Her chest tightened with a sharp, familiar shame she couldn’t push away. Before she could even speak, a metallic clatter sounded above them.

Someone was already up there.

A tall, lanky girl was perched precariously on the edge of the marquee, knees hooked over the frame, sleeves shoved to her elbows. She was frantically scrubbing at the red paint with a soaked rag, muttering to herself with fierce concentration. A dented metal bucket of cloudy water balanced beside her.

Nancy blinked.

The girl worked like she was trying to erase something that personally offended her, dragging the rag over the plastic again and again, jaw set, dark blonde hair falling into her face.

A woman passing on the sidewalk slowed, staring up.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she called, laughing.

The girl didn’t even look down. “Fixing something that shouldn’t be here,” she shot back, blowing a strand of hair out of her face.

She snorted. “Why? That Wheeler girl deserves it.”

The girl finally turned, eyes flashing. “Yeah? Well maybe she’s a priss, yeah, I’ll give you that, but she sure as hell doesn’t deserve this.”

Nancy froze.

The girl turned back to the sign, scrubbing harder, like the words had personally insulted her.

The woman rolled her eyes, stared at Nancy in disgust and then finally kept walking.

And something inside Nancy - something tight and aching - shifted.

She didn’t know this girl. Not really. But there was something strangely familiar about the angle of her shoulders, the sharpness of her voice. A flicker of recognition tugged at Nancy’s memory - passing glimpses in school hallways, a girl leaning against lockers with headphones on, always a little apart from everyone else.

A face she knew without knowing.

“I-” Nancy started, voice small.

The girl glanced down. Their eyes met.

Her face drained of color.

“Oh-!” She startled so violently she nearly slipped, hands scrambling for purchase as the bucket tipped and sloshed red water down the sign. “Jesus!”

Nancy instinctively stepped forward. “Careful!”

“I’m okay! I’m okay,” the girl rushed, clinging to the metal frame. She stared at Nancy like she’d seen a ghost. “I- I’m sorry. I didn’t- I mean, I wasn’t- I just saw it and I couldn’t leave it like that and actually I was just here for a job interview and-”

Her words spilled out in a panicked torrent.

Nancy found herself moving closer to the sign. The humiliation from moments before hadn’t vanished, but it had softened into something else - confusion, gratitude, disbelief that someone had cared enough to try to fix it.

“Can you help me up?” Nancy asked.

The girl blinked. “What?”

“So I can help you,” Nancy said quietly.

For a moment the girl just stared, clearly thrown. Then she scrambled to reposition herself and leaned down, offering a long, paint-streaked arm.

“Uh- yeah. Yeah, okay. Just- watch your footing.”

Her grip was surprisingly strong as she hauled Nancy onto the narrow ledge beside her. The metal was cold beneath Nancy’s hands, the drop below dizzying.

Up close, the red paint looked worse. Thick. Intentional. Each letter shaped with care.

Nancy picked up the spare rag.

“Can you wait in the car?” she asked Jonathan, who looked up at the unusual pair on top of the vandalized marquee. 

He sighed, hesitating. “Yeah. Be careful, okay?” 

Nancy nodded. “Always.” 

Together, the two girls began to scrub.

The quiet around them filled with the harsh squeak of fabric against plastic, the slosh of dirty water, their uneven breathing. Red dye bled into the bucket, swirling like diluted blood.

Nancy’s arms trembled with effort, but she kept going. There was something strangely grounding about the work - destroying the lie one stroke at a time.

After a moment, she risked a glance at the girl beside her.

Yes. Definitely familiar. Same grade, she realized. She’d seen her in English once, always slouched in the back row, speaking only when called on but answering with unsettling precision. A girl who didn’t quite belong to any group.

“What’s your name?” Nancy asked.

The girl hesitated. “Uh- I- I’m Robin.” The name clicked into place. Nancy nodded. “Right. You’re in Mrs. Click’s class.”

Robin’s eyes widened slightly. “You noticed?”

Nancy almost laughed at the surprise in her voice. “You sit behind me.”

Robin ducked her head, suddenly focused on a stubborn streak of paint.

Nancy felt something soften in her chest. “Thank you, Robin,” she said quietly. “I’m Nancy. But I guess you already figured that one out.”

Robin let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. The sign was kind of a clue.”

They worked in silence for a while, shoulders occasionally brushing as they leaned forward. The hateful words slowly dissolved into pink smears.

After a long moment, Robin spoke, voice more hesitant now. “So… what’s this even about?”

Nancy’s hands stilled.

The question hung between them, heavy with everything the red letters suggested. Her instinct was to deflect, to pretend she didn’t care, to bury the humiliation where no one could see it.

But Robin had been up here alone, fighting for her name.

“You don’t have to answer, of course. I just- I’m nosy, sorry. Fuck- just… forget I asked,” Robin stammered and bit her lip.

Nancy swallowed. “It’s just a rumor,” she said carefully. “About who people think you’re involved with. Who they think you… choose.”

Robin frowned slightly, listening.

Nancy gave a hollow laugh. “Just- be careful about the guy you decide to get close to.”

Robin’s scrubbing halted completely. “Oh- I’m not- like… I mean-”

Her ears flushed red as she stumbled over the words.

Nancy looked at her, really looked this time - the panic, the awkwardness, the way the explanation tangled before it even formed.

Understanding came quickly.

“Oh,” Nancy said gently.

Robin froze, clearly bracing for judgment.

Nancy just shrugged, turning back to the sign. “Well. Same advice applies. Be careful who you give your heart to, even if they’re pretty and soft and taste like strawberry lipgloss.”

The tension in Robin’s shoulders eased, just slightly.

They scrubbed side by side again, the silence between them no longer strained but tentative, fragile.

After a while the words began to spill out of Nancy before she could stop them. “I was with Steve,” she said quietly. “Everyone thinks I still am.”

Robin glanced at her but didn’t interrupt.

“I cared about him. I think I did.” Nancy’s hands moved automatically, rubbing at a fading streak. “But something changed. And now he thinks I cheated on him. He thinks there’s something going on with Jonathan.”

Her voice wavered.

“There isn’t,” she continued quickly. “I mean- I don’t even know what I feel. I don’t know what I want. Everything just keeps getting more complicated and everyone already decided who I am.”

Her throat tightened.

“I’m trying so hard to be a good person,” she whispered. “To do the right thing. And somehow I just make everything worse.”

The confession left her breathless, startled at herself. She didn’t talk like this, not to strangers, not to anyone.

But Robin didn’t laugh. She didn’t judge. She just listened, scrubbing quietly beside her.

“That sounds exhausting,” Robin said after a moment.

Nancy let out a fragile laugh. “It is.”

They worked until the red letters were nothing more than faint ghosts beneath the bright bulbs. The marquee finally read simply:

ALL THE RIGHT MOVES

Robin leaned back, breathing hard, paint smudged across her cheek and hands. Nancy sat beside her, equally stained, equally exhausted. For a moment neither spoke.

Below them, the empty parking lot stretched silent and wide, the town of Hawkins sleeping as if nothing had shifted.

Nancy looked at Robin - really looked.

A girl she’d passed in hallways for years. A stranger who had climbed into the night to defend her name. Someone who had listened when Nancy hadn’t even known she needed to speak.

“Thank you,” Nancy said softly.

Robin smiled - awkward, relieved, a little crooked.

“Yeah,” she said. “Anytime, Wheeler.”

They climbed down from the marquee slowly, hands raw and trembling, shoes scraping against the metal frame. Robin jumped the last few feet, landing in an awkward crouch and nearly tipping the bucket again.

Nancy followed more carefully. The ground felt strangely unsteady beneath her feet after the narrow ledge.

For a moment they stood under the flickering cinema lights, paint-stained, breathless.

Then they heard it. A metallic sound echoed from the alley beside the building.

A spray paint can rolled out from the shadows, spinning across the pavement before stopping near Nancy’s shoe. A thin ribbon of red trailed behind it.

Her stomach dropped. Nancy turned toward the alley.

Robin saw the shift in her face - the sudden anger, the hurt - and followed without hesitation.

Three figures stood there. Steve Harrington. Tommy Hagan. Carol Perkins.

The red paint still gleamed wet on Tommy’s fingers.

Something inside Nancy snapped. “What is wrong with you?” she demanded.

Steve turned, startled. “Nancy-”

“You think this is funny?” she said, voice shaking. “You think you get to write things about me like that?”

Tommy snorted. Carol smirked.

Steve’s expression hardened. “I didn’t write it.”

“But you let it happen.”

His jaw tightened. “You don’t get to act innocent. Everyone knows what you’ve been doing. Running around with that freak-”

The slap of Nancy’s hand across his face split the alley. Silence fell. Steve stared at her, stunned.

“Don’t,” Nancy said, voice low and trembling.

A step sounded behind her. Robin Buckley moved forward, taking in the scene - the paint, the tension, the cruel satisfaction on Tommy’s face.

“So this is the big plan?” Robin said sharply. “Public humiliation? Real impressive.”

Tommy frowned. “Who the hell are you?”

“Someone who knows this is pathetic,” Robin shot back, frowning.

Carol scoffed. “Mind your business.”

Robin stepped forward anyway, placing herself slightly in front of Nancy. “You don’t get to treat people like this.”

Steve’s humiliation turned into anger. “Stay out of it,” he warned.

Robin didn’t move. “No.”

Steve shoved her. Hard.

But Robin didn’t just stumble back. Her body reacted automatically - she caught her balance against the wall, twisted, and shoved him right back with surprising force. Steve staggered a step, clearly not expecting resistance.

Tommy lunged forward. “You little-” He grabbed her arm.

Robin moved fast, faster than Nancy expected. She wrenched her arm free, drove her elbow back into Tommy’s ribs, and when he doubled over she kicked his shin sharply. He cursed, stumbling.

“Touch me again,” she snapped, breath quick but voice steady.

Years of tension lived in that stance - shoulders tight, eyes alert, ready. Not practiced like a fighter, but practiced like someone who had needed to survive.

Steve recovered, fury igniting. He grabbed her jacket and swung.

Robin ducked the first punch. The second grazed her cheek, snapping her head sideways, but she answered immediately, shoving him hard into the brick wall. His shoulder hit with a dull thud.

Nancy stared, shocked. The alley erupted into chaos.

Tommy rushed her again. Robin blocked him with her forearm, then drove her knee upward into his stomach. He folded with a strangled grunt, wheezing.

But there were two of them against her on her own.

Steve caught her from the side, stronger, heavier. His fist connected with her ribs, driving the air from her lungs. She gasped, vision flashing white, but still shoved herself between him and Nancy.

“Stop it!” Nancy cried. Carol grabbed Nancy’s arm, holding her back.

Robin wiped blood from her lip, chest heaving. Fear flickered across her face - real fear - but she planted her feet. She swung first this time.

Her fist connected solidly with Steve’s jaw. The impact snapped his head back, sending him stumbling. Shock crossed his face as much as pain.

For a moment he just stared at her. Then the fight turned brutal.

Tommy recovered and grabbed her from behind. She slammed her heel down on his foot and threw her head back into his nose. A sickening crunch followed. He yelped, releasing her, blood streaming down his face.

But Steve tackled her before she could recover, driving her into the wall. She clawed, shoved, kicked, refusing to yield an inch toward Nancy. Every movement screamed protect, protect, protect.

Steve’s strength eventually overwhelmed her. A punch split her lip. Another struck her side. She staggered but answered with a wild swing that caught his cheek, leaving a bright red mark.

Tommy, nose bleeding, struck her across the face.

Robin collapsed to one knee, coughing, shaking. Still she pushed herself upright again.

Nancy finally tore free from Carol and rushed forward. “Enough!” The word echoed.

Something in the scene - the blood, the shaking fury, the fact that Robin kept standing - broke the momentum. Steve stepped back, breathing hard, jaw bruised, cheek reddening. Tommy clutched his nose, swearing.

A heavy silence settled.

Robin leaned against the wall, battered but still glaring at them through split lips and swelling eyes.

Nancy dropped beside her. “Oh my god, why would you do that?”

Robin blinked up at her, dazed, trying to focus on the girl in front of her. “Because,” she rasped, voice rough but steady, “they don’t get to hurt you. Not on my watch, I promise.”

Nancy’s chest tightened painfully.

She helped Robin to her feet, supporting her weight. Robin’s hands trembled but still curled protectively at Nancy’s back, like she expected the fight to start again at any second.

Behind them, Steve stood frozen, the reality of what had happened settling slowly over his expression - Nancy’s slap, Robin’s blood, the damage they’d both done.

Nancy didn’t look back.

She guided Robin out of the alley, arm firm around her shoulders, leaving Steve’s bruised jaw and Tommy’s broken nose behind in the red-stained shadows. 

Robin leaned heavily against her, breathing unevenly, one arm draped over Nancy’s shoulders. Each step seemed to cost her.

“I’m okay,” Robin muttered, though her voice was thin and strained.

Nancy tightened her grip. “You’re bleeding.”

“Minor detail.”

“You can barely stand.”

Robin tried to laugh but it came out as a weak cough.

The streets of Hawkins were quiet at this hour, the night starting to press in around them. Nancy’s heart still hammered against her ribs, replaying the sound of fists, the sickening crack of impact, the way Robin had kept getting back up.

For her.

She swallowed hard.

“Jonathan,” she said suddenly. “He’s waiting.”

Robin blinked. “Waiting?”

“His car is parked a few streets over,” Nancy said. “I mean I told him to go wait in the car. He should still be there… I hope.”

Robin huffed softly. “Let’s find out.”

They moved slowly down the block. Nancy could feel the heat radiating from Robin’s bruised side through the thin fabric of her jacket, could hear the shallow hitch in her breathing. Every so often Robin’s fingers tightened reflexively against Nancy’s shoulder, like she was grounding herself.

When they reached the quiet residential street where Jonathan’s car was still parked, Nancy nearly sagged with relief.

Jonathan spotted them immediately and rushed from the driver’s seat. “Oh my god,” he said, eyes widening as he took in Robin’s condition. “What happened?”

“Steve,” Nancy said simply, the word heavy.

Jonathan’s expression darkened instantly. He moved to Robin’s other side, helping support her weight. “Easy,” he said gently. “I’ve got you.”

Robin squinted at him, clearly struggling to focus. “You’re… the photographer.”

Jonathan blinked. “Yeah.”

“Cool,” she murmured, as if that explained everything.

They helped her into the back seat. Robin hissed as she settled, clutching her ribs.

Nancy climbed in beside her, refusing to let go of her hand. Jonathan slid behind the wheel and started the engine without another question.

The drive to Nancy’s house was quiet.

Streetlights passed in slow intervals, casting bands of gold across Robin’s bruised face. Without her usual restless energy, she seemed smaller somehow - vulnerable in a way Nancy hadn’t expected from someone who had thrown herself into a fight without hesitation.

Nancy kept staring at the swelling along Robin’s cheekbone, the split lip, the darkening bruise blooming beneath her eye.

A fierce, protective anger coiled inside her chest. “You shouldn’t have done that,” Nancy whispered.

Robin turned her head slightly toward her. “Would do it all over again if it meant you would be able to walk away unharmed.”

The certainty in her voice made Nancy’s throat tighten.

Jonathan pulled into the Wheeler driveway and cut the engine. The house was dark, her parents asleep, the world blissfully unaware of what had happened tonight.

“Can you walk?” Jonathan asked.

Robin nodded stubbornly, immediately proving otherwise when she tried to stand.

Between them, Nancy and Jonathan guided her to the front door, careful and quiet. “Thanks,” Nancy told Jonathan as she unlocked the door. “For everything.” 

Jonathan understood. He nodded. “Of course. Let me know if you need anything, yeah?”

Nancy smiled. “I will. See you at school.” 

She guided Robin upstairs to the bathroom, arms wrapped around her protectively.

The bright light made everything worse. Bruises already deepened across Robin’s face. Dried blood marked her chin and collar. Her knuckles were scraped raw, her hands shaking faintly from shock and exhaustion.

Nancy’s chest ached at the sight. “Sit,” she said gently, guiding Robin to the edge of the tub.

Nancy sighed softly and carefully reached for her face. “Is this okay?”

Robin nodded, eyes fixed on her.

Nancy soaked a cloth in warm water and began cleaning the blood from her lip, movements careful and precise. Robin flinched slightly at the sting but didn’t pull away.

Up close, Nancy could see freckles scattered across Robin’s nose, the faint tremor in her lashes, the stubborn set of her jaw even through the pain.

“You didn’t have to fight them,” Nancy said quietly.

Robin’s voice was rough. “Yeah, I did.”

Nancy paused. “Why?”

Robin hesitated. Then, very softly, she mumbled: “Because people like them… they don’t stop unless someone makes them.”

The words carried years of quiet experience. Nancy heard something unspoken inside them, something about surviving, about learning early how the world could turn cruel.

Silence settled between them - not uncomfortable, just heavy with everything they had shared that night.

After a moment, Robin spoke. “You didn’t freak out,” she said carefully. “Earlier. When I- when you figured out I wasn’t into guys.”

Nancy met her gaze. “No,” she said simply.

Robin searched her face, as if bracing for judgment that never came.

Nancy dabbed ointment over a cut on her brow. “I meant what I said. Choose wisely who you trust with your heart.”

Robin swallowed. “You really don’t care?”

Nancy shook her head. “Why would I?”

Something in Robin’s expression softened - relief so profound it almost looked like pain.

Nancy finished cleaning her injuries, bandaging the worse ones - and hesitated before speaking again.

“I told you I was confused,” she said quietly. “About Steve. About Jonathan. About everything.”

Robin listened, silent and attentive.

“I thought I knew what my life was supposed to look like,” Nancy continued. “Who I was supposed to love. What I was supposed to want. And now nothing feels certain anymore.”

Her voice trembled. “I just know how it feels when people decide who you are before you even understand it yourself.”

Robin watched her with something gentle in her eyes. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I get that.”

Nancy lowered her hands, realizing how close they were - how long she’d been touching her face, her hands, her hair.

Neither moved away.

“Thank you,” Nancy whispered.

Robin smiled faintly, lip split but eyes warm. “You already said that.”

“I know.”

Nancy helped her stand and led her carefully to her bedroom, insisting she stay the night. Robin was too exhausted to argue.

As Robin settled beneath the blankets, Nancy slipped under the blanket beside her, watching until her breathing slowed.

She should have been exhausted.

The house was silent, the fight long over, the adrenaline finally fading from her veins - and yet sleep wouldn’t come.

She lay rigid beneath the covers, staring at the faint patterns of light drifting across her bedroom ceiling. The digital clock beside her bed glowed a steady, accusing red.

2:17 AM.

Beside her, Robin slept. Or at least she seemed to. Her breathing was slow but uneven, occasionally catching when pain stirred in her ribs. Even in sleep her brow was faintly furrowed, like her body refused to fully trust the quiet.

Nancy turned her head slightly.

In the dim light she could make out the swelling along Robin’s cheek, the faint shadow of bruises forming beneath her skin, the careful bandage above her eyebrow. One arm rested across her stomach, fingers curled loosely in the fabric of Nancy’s sheets.

The sight made Nancy’s chest tighten.

She shouldn’t be here.

Robin should be at her own house, in her own bed, untouched by everything that had happened tonight. Untouched by her mess.

But Robin had climbed a cinema marquee to scrub Nancy’s name from a lie.

Robin had stood between her and raised fists.

Robin had bled for her.

Nancy swallowed hard.

Her heart would not settle - racing, fluttering, stumbling over itself every time she looked at the girl beside her. It beat too fast, too loud, like it was trying to tell her something she wasn’t ready to hear.

Carefully, she shifted onto her side.

Robin lay facing her now, close enough that Nancy could see the delicate scatter of freckles across her nose, the faint tremor of her lashes, the shallow rise and fall of her chest. A strand of wavy hair had fallen across her face.

Without thinking, Nancy reached out and gently brushed it away.

Robin stirred.

Nancy froze, breath caught in her throat, but Robin only exhaled softly and settled again, shifting a little closer in her sleep. Their knees brushed beneath the blankets. A shock of warmth shot through Nancy’s body.

Her heart lurched so violently she pressed a hand to her chest, afraid the sound alone might wake her.

What is happening to me?

The question echoed in her mind, heavy and terrifying.

This wasn’t like what she’d felt with Steve - not the careful, expected affection, not the version of love everyone had always told her she should want. This was something sharper, stranger, deeper. Something that made her feel unsteady in her own skin.

She thought of the alley - Robin standing, bloodied but defiant, refusing to step aside.

She thought of the fierce certainty in her voice.

They don’t get to hurt you.

No one had ever chosen her like that before.

Nancy squeezed her eyes shut, but the feeling only grew stronger - a restless ache, a warmth spreading through her chest that was equal parts comfort and fear.

What did it mean that Robin’s presence made her feel safer than anything had in weeks?

What did it mean that she wanted to stay this close?

Robin shifted again, wincing slightly even in sleep. A soft, pained sound escaped her.

Nancy’s eyes flew open.

Without hesitation she moved closer, carefully sliding an arm around Robin’s shoulders, trying not to jar her injured ribs. Robin relaxed almost immediately, her breathing evening out as she unconsciously leaned into the contact.

The simple trust of it made Nancy’s throat tighten.

She lay there, holding her, listening to the quiet rhythm of Robin’s breath against her collarbone. Her own heartbeat thundered wildly in contrast, chaotic and confused.

She didn’t know what this feeling was.

She didn’t know what it meant.

She didn’t know what she wanted.

But she knew she didn’t want to let go.

Nancy stared into the darkness, heart racing, terrified and comforted all at once, and realized she had crossed into something she did not yet have words for.

And beside her, Robin slept - safe, for now - while Nancy tried desperately to understand the storm growing inside her chest.

Morning came slowly. 

A thin band of pale light slipped through Nancy’s curtains, creeping across the bedroom floor, climbing the walls, settling gently over tangled blankets and quiet breathing.

Nancy must have slept eventually - shallow, restless fragments of dreams - because the first thing she noticed was warmth.

Warmth, and weight.

And a steady breath against her throat.

Her eyes opened. For a long moment she didn’t move.

Robin was tucked against her, one arm loosely draped across Nancy’s waist, face half-buried against her shoulder. Sometime during the night they had shifted closer, bodies fitting together in an easy, unconscious way that felt both startling and impossibly natural.

Nancy’s heart immediately began its frantic rhythm again.

Careful. Don’t panic. Don’t move too fast.

She studied Robin’s sleeping face in the soft morning light. The swelling had deepened overnight, dark shadows blooming beneath her eye, but her expression was peaceful now - younger somehow, softer without the guarded sharpness she wore while awake.

Nancy became painfully aware of every point of contact between them - their legs tangled beneath the blankets, Robin’s breath warm against her skin, the steady rise and fall of her chest.

This is too close.

And yet Nancy didn’t want to pull away. As if sensing the shift in her breathing, Robin stirred.

A quiet groan escaped her as she blinked awake, immediately tensing when pain flared through her ribs. Her eyes focused slowly - confusion, then sudden realization as she became aware of where she was.

Of how close they were.

“Oh-” she whispered hoarsely.

She pulled back quickly, wincing as the movement tugged at her injuries. “Sorry. I- sorry.”

Nancy pushed herself up on one elbow. “Don’t apologize. You’re hurt.”

Robin sat carefully, pressing a hand to her side. She glanced down at the borrowed sleep shirt Nancy had given her, then at the unfamiliar room, then back at Nancy.

Memory settled over her expression. “Ugh, yeah,” she murmured. “Right.”

“How do you feel?” Nancy asked.

“Like I lost a fight with a moving truck,” Robin said dryly, touching her bruised cheek. “But alive.”

Nancy almost smiled.

Sunlight now illuminated the evidence of the night fully - the bandages, the swelling, the faint stiffness in every movement Robin made. Guilt stirred again in Nancy’s chest.

Robin swung her legs carefully over the side of the bed and paused, steadying herself. “I should go home,” she said after a moment, voice quieter now. “Before school. I need my stuff. Clothes. Books. And my mom will… ask questions.”

Nancy’s chest tightened unexpectedly at the thought of her leaving. “Oh,” she said softly.

Robin looked at her quickly, as if worried she’d said something wrong. “I mean- not because of- I just-”

“No, of course,” Nancy said, forcing a small smile. “That makes sense.”

A brief, awkward silence settled between them, heavy with everything neither quite knew how to name.

Robin rubbed the back of her neck, clearly uncertain. “Thank you. For… all of this. The bandages. Letting me stay. Not freaking out.”

Nancy watched her quietly. “Thank you for protecting me.”

Robin shrugged, embarrassed. “Anyone would’ve.” Nancy knew that wasn’t true, but she knew better than to argue.

They moved downstairs carefully, the house still quiet. Nancy found clean clothes for Robin, an oversized, pale pink sweater and jeans slightly too small but manageable. Robin changed in the bathroom, emerging a few minutes later looking different but still unmistakably herself, bruises and all.

Nancy’s parents wouldn’t wake for another hour, but the risk of being seen added a strange urgency to everything.

“I can walk,” Robin insisted when Nancy reached for her arm. Nancy ignored her and supported her anyway.

Outside, the morning air was sharp and cold. Frost clung to the grass, and the world looked deceptively peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos of the night before.

They paused at the end of the driveway. Robin shifted her bag higher on her shoulder, wincing slightly. “I’ll see you at school.”

The words were simple, casual, but something in her tone suggested uncertainty, like she wasn’t sure what this new connection meant in daylight.

Nancy hesitated. Last night had been intense, intimate even. But what were they now? Classmates? Strangers? Something else entirely?

She stepped forward before she could overthink it. “Wait.”

Robin turned.

Nancy reached up and gently adjusted the bandage above Robin’s eyebrow, smoothing the edge where it had begun to lift.

“You should keep some light pressure on your ribs if they start hurting,” Nancy said quietly. “And take breaks between classes, yeah?”

Robin blinked at her, surprised by the careful attention. “Okay,” she said softly.

Another pause.

Then Robin gave a small, crooked smile. “Try not to get into any more fights before third period, Wheeler.”

Nancy huffed a quiet laugh. “I’ll do my best.”

Robin started down the street, moving stiffly but determined. After a few steps she glanced back, meeting Nancy’s eyes.

Something unspoken passed between them - fragile, electric, full of possibility.

Then she turned the corner and disappeared.

Nancy remained in the driveway long after she was gone, the cold air stinging her lungs, her heart still behaving in ways she didn’t yet understand.

Hawkins High felt louder than usual. Or maybe Nancy just noticed it more.

The hallways pulsed with noise - lockers slamming, shoes squeaking against polished floors, low voices weaving through the air like static. But underneath it all ran something sharper.

Whispers.

Nancy could feel them before she even understood them, the subtle shifts in conversation when she passed, the sideways glances, the barely concealed curiosity.

Then she saw Robin.

She stood at her locker down the hall, shoulders stiff, movements careful as she adjusted her books. The bruising along her cheek had deepened even further, the dark shadow beneath her left eye, the cut on her lip still red despite Nancy’s careful work.

She was still wearing Nancy’s sweater.

The sleeves hung a little long over her hands, the soft fabric unmistakably out of place against her otherwise practical clothes. The baggy jeans she wore now actually fit her, though - worn, comfortable, familiar. The contrast made something twist in Nancy’s chest.

Students circled around her at a careful distance. Not openly staring, but watching. Judging.

Nancy slowed, listening despite herself as she passed a cluster of students nearby.

“…heard she mouthed off to Harrington…”

“…finally got what she deserved…”

“…freak thinks she’s tough…”

A quieter voice, sharp with disgust: “Dyke.”

The word landed like a physical blow. Nancy stopped walking.

Across the hall, Robin pretended not to hear. Her posture remained casual, but Nancy noticed the tension in her jaw, the way her fingers tightened around her locker door until her knuckles whitened.

She’d heard. Of course she had. And she was facing it alone.

Nancy’s heart began to pound - not with fear, but with something heavier. A memory flashed in her mind: Robin standing in the alley, bruised and shaking but refusing to move aside.

They don’t get to hurt you.

Robin had been brave for her. The realization settled with quiet certainty.

Nancy straightened her shoulders. She kept walking - not past Robin, not away - but toward her.

Robin closed her locker and turned, clearly intending to slip into the crowd unnoticed. She froze when she found Nancy standing directly in front of her. Surprise flickered across her face.

“Hey,” Robin said carefully, voice low. “You, uh… need the sweater back?”

Nancy shook her head. “Keep it.”

A small pause.

Robin shifted her weight, uncertain, clearly aware of the watching eyes around them. “You don’t have to- I mean, people are already talking and-”

“I know,” Nancy said.

The bell rang, shrill and echoing through the hallways. Students began flooding toward their classrooms.

Nancy and Robin walked the same direction without discussing it, an awkward awareness settling between them. Their shoulders brushed once, twice, neither pulling away.

The whispers followed.

Nancy heard every one.

But she kept walking.

The classroom buzzed with pre-lesson chatter when they entered. Desks scraped, papers shuffled, voices carried across the room. Robin moved automatically toward her usual seat in the back, the place where she could disappear.

Nancy hesitated at the front of the room. Her assigned seat waited for her, predictable and safe.

She thought of the alley.

Of blood on pavement.

Of arms wrapped around her in the dark.

Of a heart that refused to be quiet.

She turned.

Robin had already slid behind her desk when Nancy spoke. “Is this seat taken?”

The room seemed to go silent. Robin blinked, staring at the empty chair beside her like it had personally betrayed her. “What?”

Nancy gestured to the desk next to Robin’s. “Here.”

Robin’s eyes widened. “No. No, of course not. I mean- it’s just a chair.”

A few nearby students openly stared now, confusion rippling through the room.

Nancy pulled out the chair and sat down. Just like that.

A murmur spread - whispers rising, shifting, electric with shock.

Robin still looked stunned, watching Nancy settle her books calmly onto the desk like this was the most ordinary thing in the world.

“You don’t have to do this,” Robin whispered urgently. “People will-”

“I know,” Nancy said quietly.

She met Robin’s eyes. Something steady and unafraid lived in her expression.

Robin swallowed, clearly unsure what to say.

The teacher entered, calling for quiet, but the tension in the room lingered - a charged awareness that something had shifted in the invisible hierarchy of Hawkins High.

Nancy could feel the stares. The judgment. The questions. Her pulse raced.

But beside her, Robin sat very still - and for the first time that morning, she didn’t look alone.

After a moment, Robin leaned slightly closer. “Wheeler,” she murmured, voice soft with disbelief, “you’re going to ruin your reputation.”

Nancy allowed herself the smallest smile. “Maybe,” she said. But she didn’t move her desk. And she didn’t regret it.

Robin Buckley had perfected the art of disappearing. Sit in the back. Don’t draw attention. Laugh things off before they become weapons. Never - ever - give people more reasons to talk.

It had kept her safe for years.

So when Nancy Wheeler chose the desk beside her and stayed there, Robin knew exactly what it meant.

And she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

By fifth period the entire school knew.

Whispers followed them through the hallways like a shadow. Students glanced openly now, no longer pretending discretion. Conversations hushed when Nancy passed, then resumed with sharpened interest once she was gone.

Robin had expected Nancy to retreat. To quietly return to her usual seat. To distance herself once the reality of Hawkins High set in.

She didn’t.

Nancy walked beside her between classes - not clinging, not performative, just present. Calm. Unapologetic.

It was terrifying, and confusing.

Nancy had always believed life was something you could solve.

You followed the rules. You studied hard. You made the right choices. You dated the right boy. You built the right future. Everything fell into place if you just tried hard enough.

There had always been a shape to her world: clean edges, clear expectations, a path stretching forward like a straight line. Now it felt like the ground had quietly shifted beneath her feet.

She stared down at her open textbook, but the words dissolved into meaningless shapes. Her attention kept drifting, dragged sideways toward the girl sitting beside her.

Robin.

Nancy could still feel the weight of her name like something physical.

It made no sense. Nothing about this made sense.

Robin wasn’t supposed to matter this much.

She wasn’t part of Nancy’s world - not really. She was just a girl Nancy recognized from the same hallways, the same classrooms, someone who hovered at the edges of things. Someone different. Someone people whispered about. Someone Nancy had never allowed herself to think about for longer than a passing moment.

And yet, now Nancy couldn’t stop.

Her mind replayed everything in relentless fragments.

Robin crouching on top of the marquee, scrubbing at Nancy’s name like it meant something to her.

Robin stepping between her and Steve without hesitation.

Robin’s blood on her own hands as she cleaned the cuts.

Robin sleeping beside her, vulnerable and quiet and unbearably close.

Each memory made Nancy’s chest tighten until breathing felt difficult.

This wasn’t just gratitude. She knew what gratitude felt like.

This was heat under her skin. A restless electricity in her stomach. A pull that frightened her with its intensity.

She risked another glance.

Robin sat beside her in Nancy’s oversized sweater - sleeves too long, shoulders too broad, drowning slightly in soft fabric. The sight made something twist painfully in Nancy’s chest.

She looks right in it. The thought came uninvited, and Nancy felt her face grow warm.

Her gaze dropped quickly back to her book, heart racing. That thought alone felt like crossing a line she didn’t even know existed until now.

What was wrong with her? This wasn’t how she was supposed to think. Not about another girl. Not about Robin.

Her whole life had pointed in one direction - toward boys, toward marriage, toward the kind of future her parents understood and approved of. Toward something safe and predictable.

Toward Steve. Steve had been simple. Expected. Easy to explain.

What Nancy felt now was none of those things. Her stomach churned.

She tried to tell herself it was just because Robin had protected her. Anyone would feel attached after something like that. Anyone would feel shaken, grateful, emotional.

But that explanation fell apart every time Nancy remembered the feeling of lying awake beside her.

The awareness of Robin’s breathing. The warmth of her body inches away. The strange, overwhelming urge to reach out and touch her, just to be certain she was still there.

Nancy pressed her palms together under the desk, trying to steady herself.

That wasn’t normal. That wasn’t gratitude. That was something else entirely.

Something she didn’t have a name for.

Her eyes drifted again to Robin’s bruised knuckles, the faint swelling along her jaw. Robin had fought for her - fiercely, instinctively, without asking what it might cost her.

Nancy’s throat tightened. No one had ever done that for her before. Not like that. Not with that kind of raw, reckless loyalty.

It made her feel seen in a way she had never been seen before. And it terrified her how much she wanted more of that feeling.

Because wanting it meant questioning everything.

Who she was. What she wanted. What her future was supposed to look like.

The whispers in the hallway echoed in her mind - cruel laughter, slurs spoken like facts, the certainty with which the world rejected girls like Robin. Girls like her?

If Nancy stepped toward her, she would be stepping into that storm.

She would lose things. Her reputation. Her place. The life she had carefully built. She knew that. She understood that.

And yet, the thought of pretending nothing had changed felt unbearable. The thought of walking away from Robin felt worse than the fear.

Nancy realized, with a sudden dizzy clarity, that this was what truly frightened her: not that the world might reject her, but that she might already want something the world would never accept.

Her heart hammered in her chest.

What does that make me?

She had no answer.

She only knew that when Robin shifted beside her, wincing slightly from pain, Nancy’s first instinct was to move closer. To protect her. To comfort her. To stay.

The feeling was immediate. Instinctive. Fierce.

And it felt right in a way nothing else had for a very long time.

The realization settled heavily in her chest.

Maybe this wasn’t confusion she could think her way out of.

Maybe this wasn’t a mistake she could correct.

Maybe something fundamental inside her was changing.

Or maybe it had always been there, waiting.

Nancy swallowed, her hands trembling in her lap.

She didn’t understand what she wanted.

She didn’t understand what this meant.

She didn’t understand who she was becoming.

But she understood one thing with painful certainty:

The possibility of losing Robin - of never knowing what this feeling meant - hurt more than the risk of finding out.

Her gaze slowly lifted to the girl beside her. Fear coiled tight in her chest.

But beneath it, something else burned brighter.

Curiosity.

Hope.

And a fragile, reckless kind of courage.

By lunch, Robin couldn’t take it anymore.

She found Nancy alone near the edge of the courtyard, sitting beneath a bare tree with a textbook open in her lap. She looked composed on the surface, but Robin noticed the tightness in her shoulders, the way her fingers held the page too firmly.

Robin approached slowly. “You know,” she said carefully, dropping her tray beside Nancy’s, “there are easier ways to destroy your social life.”

Nancy looked up, surprised, then gave a small smile. “Is that what I’m doing?”

Robin sat down across from her, wincing slightly at the pull in her ribs. The pain grounded her, kept her from retreating into humor like she usually would.

“Yes,” she said simply.

Nancy closed her book. For a moment neither spoke. The courtyard buzzed around them - laughter, gossip, normalcy - all of it feeling strangely distant.

Robin studied her. Perfect Nancy Wheeler. Honor student. Good family. Safe future. The kind of girl who didn’t sit next to people like Robin. The kind of girl who definitely didn’t risk being associated with her.

“You don’t get it,” Robin said quietly. “They already think things about me. They always have. That doesn’t change.”

Nancy listened.

“But you,” Robin continued, voice tightening, “you have something to lose. Reputation. Friends. The version of your life everyone expects you to have.”

She gestured vaguely toward the watching students. “They’ll turn on you. Fast.”

Nancy didn’t deny it. Instead she asked softly, “Does it bother you?”

The question caught Robin off guard. “What?”

“That I sat with you.”

Robin opened her mouth automatically - ready with a deflection, a joke, something dismissive.

Nothing came out. Because the truth was complicated. It terrified her. It confused her.

And it mattered more than she wanted to admit.

“Yes,” Robin said finally, voice barely above a whisper. “It does.”

Nancy’s expression softened, a small flicker of hurt crossing her face. “Why?”

Robin let out a shaky breath. “Because no one ever chooses this,” she said. “No one ever chooses to stand next to me when they know what it costs.”

The admission hung heavy between them.

Nancy’s gaze didn’t waver. “I did.”

Robin swallowed hard. Something in her chest twisted painfully - a mix of gratitude, fear, and a fragile hope she didn’t dare name.

“You shouldn’t,” Robin said, almost pleading now. “You don’t even know me.”

Nancy leaned forward slightly. “I know you climbed a cinema marquee to defend my name,” she said. “I know you stood between me and people who wanted to hurt me. I know you could have walked away, and you didn’t.” Her voice softened. “That’s enough for me.”

Robin felt something inside her chest crack open. She had spent years preparing for rejection, bracing for disgust, mockery, avoidance. She knew how to survive cruelty. She had never learned how to live with kindness.

Her voice wavered. “You don’t understand what it means here. What they’ll say about you now.”

Nancy held her gaze steadily. “They already decided who I am,” she said quietly. “At least this time it’s my choice.”

The words settled deep inside Robin.

Choice.

Nancy wasn’t being reckless. She wasn’t confused. She was choosing.

Choosing to sit beside her.

Choosing to be seen with her.

Choosing her.

The realization made Robin’s hands tremble slightly beneath the table. For years she had believed she existed at the edges of other people’s worlds - tolerated, mocked, ignored, but never chosen.

And now Nancy Wheeler had placed herself beside her in full view of everyone.

Robin looked down at the borrowed sweater she still wore - soft, warm, smelling faintly of Nancy’s detergent. A quiet, protective gesture made public without explanation.

Her throat tightened. “Why?” Robin asked softly.

Nancy hesitated. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I just know that leaving you alone felt wrong.”

The simplicity of it made Robin’s chest ache. Around them, students still whispered. Still watched. For the first time in years, Robin didn’t shrink from it. Instead, she sat a little straighter.

“Okay,” she said after a moment, voice steadier. “If you’re sure then I’m glad you’re here with me.”

They sat together in quiet understanding, the noise of Hawkins High swirling around them, no longer quite as isolating as before.

And for the first time, Robin allowed herself to imagine the possibility that this - whatever it was - might not disappear when the whispers faded.

That Nancy Wheeler had chosen her. And that she might choose Nancy in return.

“Hey,” Nancy said softly after a while. Robin looked up. Their eyes met, and for a moment the noise seemed to fade.

Robin gave her a small, cautious smile. “Yeah?”

Nancy swallowed. “So… I was wondering if you’d want to… you know… meet up tonight.” She hesitated, then blurted it out. “At the quarry. Eight o’clock.”

Robin just blinked.

“Like… for real. Like…,” Nancy stammered, heart racing. If she did this now, there was no way back. 

She closed her eyes, forcing her shaky breathing to slow. 

“I’m asking you out on a date,” Nancy clarified, voice trembling, words tumbling out of her mouth in a rush. Her heart thudded in her chest. She had asked. She had said it out loud.

Robin’s lips curved faintly. “Flattered,” she said, tilting her head. Her voice was careful, guarded, but the corners of her mouth betrayed a hint of something else - amusement, maybe, or affection.

Nancy’s pulse jumped. “So… yes?”

Robin shook her head gently. “No. Actually… no, I’m sorry.”

Nancy’s stomach dropped.

Robin leaned back, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “Look… you’re amazing. And, uh… I know you’re probably… well… you know…” She gestured vaguely, awkwardly, at everything that had happened - the bravery, the fight, the whispers. “You’ve got a life, Nancy. A normal one. Maybe you really should consider dating Jonathan. He seems like a good guy. Go do what people expect. Live your life.”

Nancy opened her mouth, but no words came.

“I… I’m not really… someone you should waste time on,” Robin continued. Her voice wavered slightly, betraying the careful armor she had built over years. “I’m… complicated. I make life messy for anyone who gets too close. So just… forget I exist, okay? You don’t know what you’d be getting into, being with me. think this was a colossal mistake.”

Nancy felt the heat of hurt rise in her chest. She wanted to argue. To tell Robin she didn’t care about messy, that she wanted her anyway. But Robin’s words hit too hard, cut too deep.

Robin’s gaze lingered for a moment - faintly apologetic, faintly wistful - then she straightened, stood up, slung her bag over her shoulder. “You’re confused, and I get it. But you don’t want me, not like that. I promise you that, Nancy.” Then she walked away.

Nancy remained frozen, staring at the hallway behind her that Robin had just disappeared into.

Her throat felt tight, her chest heavy. The words she wanted to say stuck somewhere between her heart and her lips.

She swallowed, shaking slightly as she stood. The yard seemed emptier now, the shadows longer, and the absence of Robin beside her made every step toward her own locker feel unbearably hollow.

Nancy stood in the hallway a long while, heart hammering, hurt, and aching in a way she hadn’t felt before. She had taken the risk. She had been brave, like Robin had been for her. And now… she was left alone. The hallway felt impossibly quiet.

The road up to the quarry was dark, the sky a deep velvet sprinkled with stars. Nancy parked at the edge of the overlook, the car angled toward the still, cold water below. The world felt suspended, quiet except for the wind tugging at the trees and the distant hum of crickets.

She got out and climbed onto the hood of her car, cigarette trembling between her fingers. She didn’t smoke, not really, but maybe the nicotine could mend her bruised heart just a little tonight. 

The smoke curled lazily into the dark. Her thoughts were a tangled mess of hurt, hope, confusion, and desire - all twisted together, impossible to sort.

A soft, familiar voice broke the silence. 

“Smoking will kill you, you know.”

Nancy startled, nearly dropping the cigarette. She turned and saw Robin stepping off her bike, dark jeans and the sweater Nancy had lent her still hanging loosely on her frame. The moonlight made the bruises on her face look softer, almost ethereal.

Nancy managed a small, wry smile. “You came.”

Robin hesitated a moment before walking over, brushing a hand across the hood and sitting down beside her. She glanced at the cigarette in Nancy’s hand, and without waiting for permission, snatched it and flicked it into the gravel.

Nancy exhaled slowly, a little laugh escaping her despite the ache in her chest.

“I was scared,” Robin said quietly, her voice barely above the whisper of the wind. She stared down at her hands, then up at Nancy. “Scared because… if you’re serious about me, that would mean you’d have to deal with all of it. Gossip. Judgement. The way people in this town treat people like me. Like.. us, I guess.” She shook her head. “I don’t want that for you.”

Nancy’s chest tightened. She wanted to reach for Robin, to pull her closer, to tell her it would be okay. But Robin wasn’t done.

“And I can’t… I can’t change how you feel. I can’t stop you from liking me if you really do. And…” She took a breath, voice softening. “…maybe we could be something beautiful together. If we’re brave enough to try. Because I want to, so goddamn much. You drive me crazy, Nancy Wheeler, and if you really like me back-” A laugh escaped her lips as she shook her head. “You’re so far out of my league it’s almost pathetic.”

Nancy felt her heart surge so suddenly it was dizzying. She reached for Robin’s hand without thinking. Robin turned her palm up, letting Nancy lace their fingers together.

The quiet stretched between them, heavy with everything unsaid.

Robin looked at Nancy, eyes shimmering. “You have no idea what this will mean and I’m so fucking scared for you. But I- I’m in love with you. Have been for so long. It would kill me if I didn't try, with you.”

Nancy just smiled at her. “I don’t care what’s going to happen as long as it will happen with you by my side, you know?” she whispered, cupping Robin’s bruised cheek. “I know you’ll keep me safe. I’ll try to do the same for you.” 

Robin closed her eyes, leaning into the touch. 

“Would it be okay if I- I mean…” Nancy stammered, blushing. “I would really like to kiss you.” 

Robin opened her eyes and chuckled softly. “I think I might just spontaneously combust if you don’t kiss me soon.” 

That was all the permission Nancy needed. She leaned in, capturing Robin’s soft lips in a hesitant kiss. 

It was gentle - cautious, testing. But as the night held them in its quiet embrace, the kiss deepened. The air was cool, crisp, and the moonlight reflected off the water, painting them in silver.

Nancy’s heart felt chaotic, unstoppable, as if it were both terrified and exhilarated at the same time. Robin’s hands rested lightly on her waist, steadying, grounding, yet full of intent.

For a moment, there was nothing else. No school, no rumors, no fights, no expectations. Just them.

And maybe - just maybe - something new, something real, something beautiful.

The kiss lingered, tender and urgent, under the pale moonlight, and the world seemed to fall away.

They pulled back slightly, foreheads touching, breaths mingling. Robin’s lips curved into a soft, relieved smile.

“Does that… I- what does that mean? For us?” Robin whispered, uncertain.

Nancy’s pulse was still racing. “Well, I just figured out that I really do like girls,” she said simply, and Robin laughed quietly. “And I’m thinking that… that this beautiful girl in front of me…,” she bit her lip, eyes darting to Robin’s lips once again. “That I would love to call her my girlfriend, if she would like that.” 

Robin smiled. “Yeah, I think she would like that very much.” 

Their lips met for another kiss, steadier this time. 

The night stretched on, calm and infinite, as they sat together on the hood, holding hands, the moon above them and the water below, for the first time fully unafraid.