Chapter Text
Hawkins looked smaller than Robin remembered.
Or maybe she had just changed in ways that made it feel that way.
“Stop staring at it like it’s going to blow up any second,” Steve said, leaning back against the hood of his car. “It’s just a house.”
Robin squinted at the slip of paper in her hand. The ink had smudged where her thumb kept worrying the corner.
“It’s not just a house,” she muttered. “It’s Nancy Wheeler’s house. That’s… complicated. It’s scary.”
Steve snorted. “You fought monsters from another dimension.”
“Yes, and I was brave about that because I didn’t have time to think. This?” She gestured vaguely down the long gravel driveway. “This is thinking.”
The farmhouse sat far back from the road, framed by tall grass and uneven fencing. A barn leaned slightly to one side. Wind chimes clinked softly near the porch. It didn’t look like the Nancy she remembered - all pressed sweaters and sharpened pencils and quiet intensity.
This looked like dirt and sun and something stubbornly rooted.
“You didn’t have to tell me she moved back,” Robin said quietly.
Steve’s voice softened. “Figured you’d want to know.”
Robin swallowed. “Does she know I’m here?”
“Nope.”
“Fantastic. Love an ambush. Very mature of me.”
“You’ll be fine,” he said. “She’s still Nancy.”
Robin wasn’t sure that was comforting.
Steve squeezed her shoulder once, then slid into the driver’s seat. “Call me if she shoots you.”
“She won’t shoot me.”
He gave her a look. “Call me if she has a dog.”
Robin let out a nervous laugh. “Nancy Wheeler does not have a dog.”
Steve only raised his eyebrows before driving off. The sound of gravel under his tires faded too quickly, leaving Robin alone in the quiet.
A tall steel gate blocked the driveway. A small sign was wired to it:
CLOSE THE GATE. DOGS AT WORK.
Robin stared at it. “Oh no,” she whispered.
There was no barking. No movement. Just wind moving through the trees. Maybe it was exaggerated.
She reached for the latch. The instant the metal shifted, something massive slammed against the other side of the gate.
The impact rattled through her arms. A German shepherd launched itself at the bars, teeth bared, barking with such force it felt violent. Its paws scraped metal as it jumped again, snarling, eyes locked onto her.
Robin screamed - sharp and unfiltered - stumbling backward so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet. “Oh my god!”
“Heel!” The command cut through the air in an instant. The dog froze. It dropped to all fours immediately, though its body remained tense, eyes still fixed on Robin.
Boots thudded against wooden steps. The farmhouse door swung open.
Robin’s heart was still trying to escape her chest, as she recognised Nancy Wheeler standing a few yards away.
Her hair was longer now, curling loosely around her shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold... or from work. Mud streaked her denim overalls, and there was a smear of dirt along her forearm. She looked sun-warmed. Solid. Different.
The shepherd pressed against her leg, panting softly, gaze tilted up in quiet devotion.
Nancy looked toward the road first. Then her eyes landed on Robin. She went completely still. Not just surprised. Stunned.
Her hand tightened slightly in the dog’s fur. For a moment, something raw crossed her face - something unguarded and sharp - before she swallowed it down. “Robin?”
It wasn’t warm. It wasn’t cold. It was disbelieving.
Robin felt suddenly eighteen years old and wildly unprepared. “Uh- yeah. Hi.”
Silence stretched.
The wind chimes rang faintly behind Nancy.
“I didn’t know you had a dog,” Robin added, because the quiet was unbearable. “That was… genuinely terrifying.”
Nancy blinked once, as if remembering where she was. “Sorry,” she said automatically. Her voice sounded steadier now. Controlled. “She’s just doing her job.”
Robin gestured vaguely at the shepherd. “You have guns. Why get another weapon?”
Nancy’s mouth twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “Weapon?” she said softly. “This is Asta.”
She rested her hand more firmly on the dog’s neck, almost reflexively. “She’s just a baby. Right, girl?”
Asta leaned into her, eyes bright and loyal.
Robin tried not to focus on the size of the baby.
Nancy was still staring at her. “You’re back,” she said finally. There it was again, something tight beneath the words.
Robin nodded. “Yeah.”
Another pause.
Nancy’s gaze flicked briefly past her, toward the empty road, as if expecting someone else. Or confirming no one else had come.
“You moved?” Nancy asked.
“Recently.”
“You didn’t-” Nancy stopped herself.
Robin felt it like a door shutting. “I didn’t what?” she asked lightly.
Nancy shook her head once. “Nothing.”
The air between them felt heavier than it had any right to. A goat bleated somewhere near the barn.
Robin cleared her throat. “So. This is very rustic of you. I’m impressed. Kinda concerned. But impressed.”
For a split second, Nancy looked like she might laugh. Instead, she just stepped closer to the gate. “Do you need something?” she asked.
And that hurt more than the shock from nearly getting mauled to death by the dog at her side.
Robin forced a small smile. “I was hoping to say hi.”
Nancy’s expression shifted again - conflicted, guarded.
After a beat too long, she reached for the latch. “You can come in,” she said.
It didn’t sound like an invitation. It sounded like a decision.
Nancy unlatched the gate without breaking eye contact.
“Stay,” she told Asta quietly.
The dog sat immediately, though her entire body remained coiled, gaze tracking Robin with open suspicion.
Robin eyed her right back. “If she eats me,” Robin said, stepping cautiously forward, “I will haunt you. Specifically. Not the farm. Just you.”
“She won’t,” Nancy replied. It wasn’t defensive. It wasn’t reassuring either. Just factual.
Robin slipped through the gate like she was crossing a border checkpoint. Nancy closed it behind her with a metallic clang that echoed a little too loudly.
For a second, they just stood there. Closer now.
Nancy smelled like cold air, hay, and something faintly like coffee. There was dirt under her fingernails. A thin silver chain rested against her collarbone - unfamiliar.
Robin fought the urge to just wrap her arms around her and never let go again.
Asta shifted.
Robin flinched.
Nancy’s hand moved automatically to the dog’s neck. “Easy.”
The shepherd huffed once but didn’t move.
“She doesn’t like strangers,” Nancy said.
Robin forced a crooked smile. “That makes two of us.”
Something flickered in Nancy’s eyes at that - something that might have been almost a smile, if it hadn’t faded so quickly.
They started up the gravel driveway together.
It felt surreal, walking beside Nancy again. Not like this. Not after-
Robin shoved the thought down.
“So,” she said brightly, gesturing toward the barn. “You went full rural gothic. When did that happen? Did I miss a memo? Is there a newsletter?”
Nancy kept her gaze forward. “About a year ago.”
“That’s fast.”
“I didn’t want to stay in town.”
That was loaded. Robin could feel it.
“Oh,” she said, softer.
The porch steps creaked under their weight. The wind chimes brushed together above them.
Nancy paused at the door. For a split second, Robin thought she might change her mind. Instead, Nancy pushed it open.
Warm air spilled out - wood smoke, old books, something simmering on the stove.
Inside, the house felt alive. Worn hardwood floors. A couch with a blanket thrown over the back. Stacks of books on the coffee table - some familiar titles, some not. A pair of muddy boots by the door. A leash hanging from a hook.
It was nothing like the Wheeler house. It was everything the Wheeler house wasn’t. Robin thought that maybe that was a good thing.
“You can sit,” Nancy said.
Robin stepped inside cautiously, glancing over her shoulder as Asta followed at Nancy’s heel.
“She’s coming in?” Robin whispered.
“Yes.”
“Great.”
Asta settled immediately beside Nancy, pressed against her leg like an anchor. Robin perched on the edge of the couch, hands clasped between her knees.
Nancy stayed standing for a moment. That felt deliberate. Finally, she crossed the room and leaned back against the kitchen counter instead of sitting across from her.
Distance.
“So,” Nancy said.
It hung there.
Robin looked up at her.
Nancy’s expression was composed, but not neutral. There was tension in her shoulders. A carefulness around her mouth.
“You disappeared,” Nancy said.
It wasn’t accusatory. It was worse than that.
Robin swallowed. “I didn’t disappear.”
“You stopped answering.”
The words landed softly but firmly.
Robin’s pulse ticked up in her throat. “That’s not-” She stopped. Because it was.
Asta’s ears twitched, picking up the shift in tone.
Nancy’s jaw tightened slightly. “Massachusetts wasn’t that long ago, come on.”
There it was. Not explained. Not expanded. Just placed between them like something fragile and sharp.
Robin looked down at her hands. “I didn’t know what to say.”
Nancy let out a quiet breath through her nose. Not quite a laugh. Not quite frustration. “You could’ve said anything.”
Silence pressed in. The house creaked softly around them.
Robin risked looking up again. Nancy looked… hurt. Not angry. Not anymore. Just hurt.
Robin’s voice came out smaller than she meant it to. “I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.”
That made Nancy finally move. She pushed off the counter and took a few slow steps closer. “Why would you think that?”
And that - that was the first crack in the armor.
Asta shifted with her, eyes flicking between them, confused but attentive.
Robin’s throat tightened. Because she could answer that. She just wasn’t sure she was brave enough to.
Nancy stood close enough now that Robin could see the faint freckles across her nose - new from the sun, maybe.
“Why would you think that?” Nancy asked again.
Robin let out a shaky breath. “Because I ruin things.”
Nancy blinked. “Excuse me?”
“In Massachusetts,” Robin rushed on, words tumbling out before she could stop them, “it was getting- it was getting real. And you dropped out and started working at the Herald and you had this whole plan and I just- I didn’t want to be the thing that messed that up.”
Nancy stared at her. “You think you would’ve messed up my career?” she asked slowly.
Robin laughed, brittle. “No, not like that. I just- you get intense, Nancy. When you care about something, you go all in. And I didn’t want you going all in on me. I wasn't worth it.”
Something in Nancy’s face shifted. Cold. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”
Robin flinched. “I was trying to protect you.”
“From what?” Nancy demanded.
“From me!” The words burst out louder than Robin intended.
She stepped forward without thinking, hands flying up as she gestured wildly. “From the fact that I don’t know how to stay! From the fact that I panic when things get serious and then I bolt and then I pretend I had a good reason for it!”
Asta lunged.
It happened fast - a blur of muscle and fur and instinct. A deep bark tore through the room as the dog launched forward, teeth flashing, body slamming toward Robin.
Robin froze.
Nancy’s hand shot out and caught Asta by the collar mid-lunge. “No.” The command cracked through the air.
Asta stopped instantly, though her body strained forward, a low protective growl rumbling in her chest.
Nancy held firm, fingers twisted securely in the thick leather collar. “It’s okay,” she said sharply. “Stand down.”
The growl faded, though the dog stayed rigid, positioned squarely between them now.
Robin’s heart was hammering so loudly she could barely hear. “I wasn’t going to-” she started, breathless.
“I know,” Nancy said. Her eyes never left Robin’s.
“She would never hurt me,” Nancy told Asta firmly, voice low and certain.
Not defensive.
Certain.
Asta hesitated, then slowly sat back on her haunches, though her gaze stayed locked on Robin like she was still being evaluated.
The room felt electric.
Robin’s hands were still half-raised, shaking slightly. “I wouldn’t,” she said, softer. “I would never.”
Nancy’s grip on the collar loosened, but she didn’t let go completely. “I know,” she repeated.
And that somehow made it worse.
Nancy’s eyes were bright now - not with tears, but with anger sharpened by hurt. “You didn’t protect me,” she said. “You decided I couldn’t handle loving you.”
Robin swallowed hard. “That’s not what I-”
“You kissed me,” Nancy continued, voice tight. “You told me you loved me. And then two weeks later you acted like it was a mistake.”
Robin’s stomach dropped. “I was scared.”
“So was I!” That landed like a slap.
Nancy took a step forward - close enough now that Asta had to shift with her.
“I was terrified,” Nancy said. “But I was still there. I was still choosing you.”
Robin’s eyes burned. “I didn’t want to drag you into my mess.”
Nancy let out a humorless laugh. “Robin. We fought monsters together. You think I’m afraid of your mess?”
Silence.
Robin’s voice cracked. “I didn’t want to be the thing that ruined your life.”
Nancy’s jaw tightened. “You don’t get to call loving you ruining my life.”
That one broke something open.
Robin’s breath stuttered. “You were going places. Journalism, Boston, bigger cities. I’m- I’m me. I’m chaos and panic and too much.”
Nancy’s expression softened just a fraction, but the hurt didn’t leave. “I loved you,” she said quietly.
Past tense. Robin felt it like a physical blow.
Asta, sensing the shift, stopped staring at Robin and instead leaned subtly back against Nancy’s leg - protective, grounding.
Robin’s voice was barely audible. “Do you still?”
Nancy didn’t answer right away.
The house creaked. Wind brushed against the windows.
Finally, Nancy said, “You don’t get to disappear for years and then walk back in here and ask me that.”
Fair.
Painfully fair.
Robin nodded once, eyes glassy. “Okay.”
She took a small step back this time - slow, deliberate, hands visible.
“I’m not here to mess you up,” she said quietly. “I just… I missed you.”
Nancy’s grip on Asta’s collar finally loosened completely. The dog stayed seated but alert.
“I missed you too,” Nancy admitted.
And it hung there, fragile and dangerous.
Nancy stared down at her feet, shaking her head with a sigh. “You think I came back to Hawkins because you would’ve held me back?” she asked.
Robin faltered. “I-”
“I came back because journalism chewed me up and spat me out,” Nancy snapped. “Because chasing the next big story didn’t feel like saving anyone anymore. Because I was tired.”
Robin’s mouth parted.
“And because every time something good started to happen in Massachusetts,” Nancy added, voice quieter now but shaking, “you were supposed to be there.”
Silence flooded the room. Robin’s chest felt like it was collapsing inward.
“I thought if I loved you hard enough,” Nancy said, “you’d stop running.”
That did it.
Robin stepped forward again without thinking — not aggressive this time, just desperate, hands lifting like she needed to reach for something.
Asta surged between them.
A sharp bark split the air as the dog lunged forward, body blocking Robin from closing the gap.
Robin stumbled back instinctively.
Nancy caught Asta by the collar again, firm and immediate.
“No.” Asta strained, low growl rumbling. Nancy’s voice didn’t waver. “She’s not going to hurt me.”
The certainty in it broke something open in Robin’s face.
Nancy crouched slightly, hand steady on the collar. “Stand down.”
Asta hesitated. Then slowly, reluctantly, she stepped back to Nancy’s side - still alert, but no longer lunging.
Robin’s hands hovered uselessly in the air before dropping.
“I wouldn’t,” she said hoarsely. “God, Nance. I wouldn’t.”
Nancy rose slowly.
“I know,” she said.
And the anger drained out of her all at once, leaving exhaustion behind.
“You’re the only person I’ve ever not been afraid of loving,” Nancy admitted quietly.
Robin inhaled sharply.
“And you were afraid of loving me,” Nancy finished.
Robin’s eyes were wet now, openly. “I wasn’t afraid of loving you.”
“Then what were you afraid of?”
Robin swallowed. “That you’d wake up one day and realize I wasn’t worth rearranging your life for.”
The house went very still. Nancy stepped forward. Asta didn’t move this time.
Nancy stopped an arm’s length away. “I already did rearrange my life,” she said softly.
Robin blinked. “What?”
Nancy held her gaze. “You think Hawkins was random?”
“Oh,” Robin breathed.
Nancy’s voice shook for the first time. “I didn’t move back because you left. I moved back because I couldn’t stand pretending I didn’t want the kind of life we talked about.”
Robin’s brain scrambled. “We talked about the big cities.”
“We also talked about space. About quiet. About helping people in smaller ways.” Nancy gestured around them. “This is that.”
Robin looked around the farmhouse like she was seeing it for the first time. “You built this,” she said faintly.
“Yes.”
“And I wasn’t here.”
“No.”
The word wasn’t sharp. It was just true.
Robin’s shoulders slumped. “I thought I was setting you free.”
Nancy shook her head slowly. “You don’t get to decide what freedom looks like for me.”
Robin let out a broken laugh. “You’re really intense when you’re mad.”
“I’m not mad anymore.” That was worse. “I’m tired of loving someone who runs.”
Robin’s breath hitched.
Asta shifted, then - cautiously, curiously - stepped forward.
Robin froze as the shepherd approached. Nancy didn’t stop her. Asta sniffed once, twice, then sat down directly in front of Robin. Watching. Waiting.
Robin looked down at the dog, then back at Nancy. “She still thinks I’m a threat,” Robin murmured.
Nancy’s gaze softened. “No,” she said. “She understands you’re important to me.”
And that-
That might have been the most dangerous thing Nancy had said all day.
Asta sat between them, steady and watchful.
Robin’s hands hovered awkwardly at her sides, like she didn’t know where to put them anymore.
The words lingered.
Robin swallowed. “Nancy-”
Nancy stepped back. Just one step. But it felt like distance opening. “Don’t,” she said quietly.
Robin froze.
Nancy folded her arms across her chest - not defensive, exactly. Contained. “I can’t do this like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like you just get to show up and pull everything back open.”
Robin flinched. “I’m not trying to-”
“I know you’re not trying to hurt me,” Nancy cut in. Her voice wasn’t sharp anymore. It was tired. “That’s almost worse.”
Silence stretched between them again. The farmhouse felt smaller now.
“I built something here,” Nancy said, gesturing faintly around them. “It’s not flashy. It’s not what I thought my life would look like when I was twenty. But it’s stable. It’s mine.”
Robin nodded slowly.
“And it doesn’t depend on someone deciding whether they can handle loving me.” That one landed softly. Precisely.
Robin’s mouth opened - closed - opened again. “I can handle it now,” she said. It sounded fragile. Like hope held together with thread.
Nancy’s expression shifted at that. “Can you?” she asked.
Robin hesitated. And that hesitation was answer enough.
Nancy exhaled slowly through her nose. “I can’t be the thing you practice on,” she said.
Robin’s eyes burned. “You’re not.”
“I was.” That hurt more than anger.
Asta stood and leaned back against Nancy’s leg, grounding her. Nancy rested a hand absently in the dog’s fur, fingers curling slightly.
“I loved you,” Nancy said, steady now. “And you panicked. And I spent months wondering what I did wrong.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know that now.” Nancy’s jaw tightened. “But I didn’t then.”
Robin’s breathing grew uneven. “I never meant for you to-”
“I know.” Nancy’s voice softened. “But you did.” The words weren’t accusatory. They were honest.
Robin wiped at her face, frustrated. “I came back because I didn’t want to be that person anymore.”
Nancy looked at her for a long moment. “You might not be,” she said gently. “But I don’t know that yet.”
That was the core of it. Not anger. Lack of trust.
“I can’t risk tearing this open again,” Nancy continued. “Not unless I’m sure you’re staying.”
“I am staying,” Robin said quickly.
“In Hawkins,” Nancy replied. “Or with me?”
Robin went still.
Nancy gave a small, sad nod. “See?”
The quiet that followed wasn’t explosive. It was heavy.
Finally, Nancy stepped back again - creating space deliberately this time.
“I think you should go,” she said.
Robin stared at her like she hadn’t heard correctly. “What?”
“For now,” Nancy clarified, though her voice trembled just slightly. “I’m not saying never. I’m saying I need time.”
Robin’s throat tightened. “Nancy-”
“I can’t let you walk in here and undo all the work I did to finally be okay,” Nancy said. “I just can’t.”
Asta shifted subtly in front of her, not aggressive - just present. Protective. Of Nancy.
Robin nodded once. It looked like it physically hurt. “Okay,” she whispered.
She didn’t argue this time. That might have been worse.
Nancy walked her to the door. They didn’t touch. The porch felt colder now. At the top of the steps, Robin paused. She turned back.
“I never stopped,” she said quietly.
Nancy’s breath caught. “Stopped what?” she asked, even though she knew.
“Loving you.”
Nancy closed her eyes for half a second. When she opened them, they were steady. “That’s not the same as staying and proving it,” she said.
Robin nodded. Then she walked down the steps, across the gravel, toward the gate. Asta watched her go.
Nancy stood in the doorway long after the gate creaked shut behind her.
Only when Robin reached the road did Nancy finally let herself sag back against the frame.
Asta pressed fully against her leg.
“I know,” Nancy murmured, stroking the dog’s neck. Not to Asta. To herself.