Chapter Text

The Crawl Cuddle

Robin was pulled out of sleep by a quiet whimper—close, right by her ear. She blinked into the pitch-black room, groggy and disoriented.

There were no windows in the bunker. No extra outlets to plug in something inessential like a night light. She couldn’t see Nancy’s silhouette, but it couldn’t be anyone else. The uneven puffs of breath at her neck gave her away, strained and restless, trapped in another nightmare.

“Nance,” Robin whispered, gentle, coaxing.

-----

Sleep came hard in the bunker. If it wasn’t the physical discomfort, it was the gnawing anxiety of impending doom.

When they first moved in, the adults divided into rooms on the main level, while everyone under forty got the "safest" rooms on the lowest level.

The place was bigger than anyone expected—an underground fever dream designed by a rich Hawkins recluse who had yet to show up to his own end-of-the-world party. Hopper helped install the plumbing back when it was still just a harmless eccentricity—back when it was more of a punchline than a contingency plan.

From the outside, it was nothing. A metal hatch swallowed up by overgrowth. But the inside was surprisingly impressive. Thick cement walls, pressure-sealed doors, backup generators, closets full of questionable canned goods.

And yet, for all its utility, the place felt unfinished. It looked as if the guy either ran out of motivation, or just miscalculated the arrival of the apocalypse.

The main bathroom had a gorgeous mosaic tile countertop that just stopped halfway across the sink, like the artist suddenly lost their passion. There were exposed wires in strange places, and a slew of empty rooms with doorframes but no actual doors.

The hallways were long and narrow, barely wide enough to pass someone without a shoulder check, and often just… pitch black without warning. For the life of her, Robin couldn’t figure out why the bunker’s architect, with all his apparent foresight and resources, had decided to wire every light to a single master switch. Hopper manned that switch like a Midwestern dad with a thermostat, rationing it to no more than seven hours a day. The result was either total darkness or blinding fluorescents that buzzed like old bees and made everyone look mildly haunted.

Robin couldn’t decide if the place felt more like a fortress or a tomb. Probably both. Either way, it kept them alive. Which was, in theory, the point.

The boys got the larger room, but the girls didn’t need much space. There weren’t many of them after all. Holly never seemed to detach herself from Karen’s leg, and Erica dragged her sleeping bag over to Lucas’s on the very first night. There weren’t any hard rules about keeping a divide. No one had the heart—or the energy—to enforce them even if there were.

Max was whisked away by Dr. Owens shortly before Lover’s Lake drained itself into another dimension. Before the cracks in the earth started bleeding an unmanageable stream of demo-dogs into every quiet cul-de-sac.

He promised he’d take care of her. He promised he had the resources to make her good as new. He promised he’d personally bring her right back as soon as he could.

He promised.

El barely used her sleeping pallet. Most nights, she lingered with the adults on the main level. Robin figured it was insomnia. Or maybe superhumans simply didn’t need sleep.

More likely, El was just staying close to the entrance—waiting, with silent conviction, for a particular set of promises to be fulfilled. It hadn’t even been a year since they last saw Max, but the crease between El’s brows aged like it’d been ten.

Robin’s only true roommate was Nancy, who barely took up any space. She only brought essentials: clothes, thick blankets, an unsettling variety of weapons.

Robin had felt silly unpacking on the first night. Her things looked absurd next to the others: a Patti Smith poster, thin tapestries, an impractical assortment of board games. Distractions. Bright scraps of a normal life that would likely never return.

-----

Observation Date:  Day 1

Coordinates: Approx. 2 mi. S of Hawkins city limits, Roane County

Ambient Temperature: 71 °F

Sky Conditions: 40% cloud coverage

Notable Changes: Multiple large fissures have appeared in the town’s roadways, extending across major intersections and residential streets. Several structures within the downtown perimeter actively burning; smoke plumes visible from a 15-mile radius.

“What?” Robin asked, defensive. She’d spent the better part of an hour decorating her corner of the room, only to find Erica and Nancy silently watching her. Their spaces were tidy—sleeping bags rolled out over mats, old crates turned into bedside tables like they’d been trained at the same military boot camp.

“Did you bring a sleeping bag?” Erica asked, with the weary tone of someone four times her age. “A pillow? Anything to sleep on?”

Robin nodded, eyes darting across her belongings. “Uh huh. Yeah. Of course.” She grabbed a tapestry and held it up, presenting the pattern like a proud merchant. It billowed—flimsy and sheer, like a delicate chiffon shawl. “To be fair, my understanding was that this was a fully furnished sort of situation.”

“My mom brought extra blankets,” Nancy offered, nodding for Robin to follow her.

“I’m going to brush my teeth,” Erica muttered, waving them off.

Robin froze. “Oh. Well... shit. A toothbrush. That definitely should’ve made the packing list.”

Erica gave a slow, exaggerated nod, then pointed to the stack of board games. “Correct. A toothbrush should’ve come before Monopoly and—” She picked one up. “—a second Monopoly?”

Robin raised her hands in surrender. “Yeah, okay, I panicked. I brought Monopoly twice. My bad. But when you’re all bored out of your minds in three weeks, you’ll be begging me for Park Place.”

“I managed to bring my own entertainment and basic necessities, thank you,” Erica shot back. “No one even likes monopoly.”

“Well, what’d you bring, oh wise one?” Robin nudged the open duffel near her feet with a small, petulant kick.

“That’s mine!” Nancy barked from the doorway.

Robin crouched down, fussing with the flap as if apologizing directly to the duffel. “Sorry, I thought it was—" She froze mid-adjustment, eyes catching on what was inside. “Oh wow. I definitely shouldn’t be touching this.”

Nancy crossed the room in two strides, nearly knocking Robin over as she grabbed the bag. “I was going to move it as soon as I found a good place.”

“Nancy, there are like seven guns in there!” Robin hissed, staggering to her feet. “And one child in here!”

Erica slapped her hand away before she could point.

“You’re being dramatic,” Nancy fired back. “None of them are loaded.”

Robin clapped her hands together. “Oh! Oh good! That’s fine, then. No need for a lockbox or—I don’t know—a gun case? Guns have cases, right? Nancy, I swear to god, I’m like eighty percent sure I saw a grenade—“

“I’m moving them now, okay?”

Nancy squared her shoulders, the muscles in her jaw flexing once like a warning. She stood her ground—chin lifted, spine straight—radiating clipped defiance even though Robin still had five inches on her, even slouched.

Robin’s mouth went dry. Her stomach gave a ridiculous lurch. It was a terrible time to notice the cut of Nancy’s cheekbones, the stubborn downturn of her pretty mouth, the tiny whirlpools of silver threaded through her irises.

Nancy stared her down. Stern. Unflinching. Dangerous in a silent: say one more word. It was a look that almost dragged a “yes ma’am” out of Robin’s throat.

Instead, she nodded, raising her palms in a call for peace. “I don’t love that you didn’t deny having a grenade.”

-----

Robin ultimately found a way to make use of her decorative tapestries. After a lengthy battle with a roll of duct tape, she managed to cordon off the girls’ room into four makeshift sections—just enough to offer the illusion of privacy.

But now, staring toward Nancy’s “room,” she found herself questioning the fabric wall’s utility.

The first time Nancy pushed aside the barrier, Robin had been reading by flashlight, trying to lull herself to sleep. They were friends at that point—officially—but still far from close. So, when Nancy crawled over her to reach the open space of the narrow sleeping pallet, Robin fumbled the flashlight, bouncing it right off her forehead.

It was, in her defense, a completely reasonable reaction to being suddenly, however briefly, straddled by Nancy Wheeler.

Nancy had mumbled something about “north-facing walls” being too cold, then slid under the covers and turned toward what she apparently considered the “east-facing wall”, without further explanation.

It was cold—unseasonably so—but Robin doubted the temperature fluctuated significantly between either side of the cement room.

It became routine. Nancy let herself in, curled away from Robin, fell asleep without a word, and was gone before Robin woke up the next morning.
The pattern held unchanged for a few weeks before Nancy finally broke the silence.

-----

Observation Date:  Day 37 

Coordinates: Approx. 2 mi. S of Hawkins city limits, Roane County 

Ambient Temperature: 62°F 

Sky Conditions: 85% cloud coverage 

Notable Changes: Increased sightings of unidentified wildlife; movement patterns inconsistent with known species.

“What’s it about?” Nancy asked, her back still to Robin. “The book.”

“The book?” Robin echoed. She tucked her elbows closer to her sides when Nancy rolled over to face her. “It’s about a young witch. Magic. Time travel. Standard nerd stuff.”

“Fantasy,” Nancy stated.

“Fantasy, yeah,” Robin agreed, her face warming under the unexpected attention.

“Any good?”

Robin gave a crooked smile. “Not really. I keep nodding off in the middle of big, dramatic stuff. I think I’ve read the same chase scene four times.”

“You brought other books. Why keep going if you don’t like it?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never given up on a book before.” Robin turned it over in her hands, inspecting the glossy cover. “Even the bad ones. I always keep going, hoping it’ll turn around. Hoping it’ll… surprise me.”

She trailed off as she looked at Nancy.

During the day, Nancy’s eyes were just as hard and unreadable as the cement walls. But in the soft glow of the flashlight, with her hand tucked beneath her cheek, they looked entirely different. They felt approachable. Inviting, even. Disarming in a way that made Robin want to stare too long. She looked sleepy, and—if Robin was being honest—pretty damn adorable.
But Robin tried very hard not to dwell on that honesty.

“… but this one’s too predictable,” Robin finished softly.

Nancy raised an eyebrow. “Predictable?”

“Yeah.” Robin shifted, suddenly restless. “Every page feels like I already know where it’s going. Monster shows up, people run, someone barely survives. And I’m just sitting here like—yeah, that’s just Tuesday, dude. Gimme something original, you know?”

Nancy smiled. It was muted, but strong enough to just barely reveal her dimples. Robin thought of walking through a forest, of finding skull rock, of speaking about something officially official.

“Maybe you’re just the wrong audience,” Nancy offered.

“Yeah, maybe.” Robin’s voice dipped. “I keep telling myself it’ll get better if I just push through. But maybe it won’t. Maybe some stories don’t.”

The words lingered between them, heavier than she meant, settling into the quiet like dust.

“Let me hear some of it,” Nancy said.

Robin blinked. “You want me to read out loud? Like a bedtime story?”

Nancy gave a tiny shrug. “You don’t have to.”

-----

It was a miracle they’d even finished one book, let alone their entire meager inventory— twice. Nancy rarely made it through more than a few pages. She always fell asleep first, but the nightmares leeched the quality from her head start.

Observation Date:  Day 207   

Coordinates: Approx. 2 mi. S of Hawkins city limits, Roane County 

Ambient Temperature: 51°F 

Sky Conditions: 100% cloud coverage 

Notable Changes: Increased military presence in periphery sectors.

“Nance,” Robin mumbled, still half asleep, while the breaths at her neck broke closer to whimpers.

She slid the book resting on her chest to the side.

“Nancy. Hey, you’re okay,” she slurred out tiredly, reaching up to touch Nancy’s shoulder. “We’re good. Everyone’s good.”

The faint sounds of distress stopped. Robin let her hand fall, more out of fatigue than intention—sliding down the length of Nancy’s arm until it came to rest on her hand. Smaller. Colder.

She still hadn’t fully registered how tightly Nancy was latched onto her—legs tangled with hers, an arm looped firmly around her waist. The alarm bells in her brain should have been blaring, but she was far too groggy.

They never started the night that close. But lately, this was how Robin woke up. It was both an improvement and a detriment.

If Nancy was curled into her, she didn’t have to worry about stray elbows, or a sleep-punch to the jaw. But every warm breath against her neck made it harder to believe she was just an unconscious source of comfort.
Just body heat.
Nothing more.

Unlike Nancy, Robin didn’t have nightmares. She had hazy fragments of a life that could never be. Swatches of normalcy, warm-toned with fuzzy edges. A table set for two under a kitchen window. A weight leaning into her side as she pours coffee into a pair of chipped mugs. Fantasy.

They weren’t of Nancy. Not obviously.

But the shape of her fit. The silhouette.

Even in her unconscious mind, Robin didn’t let herself look too closely. Because sometimes the dreams… turned.

A breathless whisper against her ear. Fingers lacing through her own to hold her down—hold her in place.

When she woke up, flushed and flustered, she didn’t have the luxury of dousing herself with an unscheduled cold shower. So she clambered towards the kitchen to chug at least one full glass of water.

And when breakfast came, when they were all gathered around a table, she’d watch the way Nancy wrapped her fingers around her cup or clean her spoon with a delicate swipe of her tongue, and try not to make a scene when she choked on her oatmeal.

A quiet sound slipped from Nancy’s throat as she shifted, the unmistakable murmur of someone beginning to wake. It was so close to her ear it snapped Robin out of her drowsy reverie like a gunshot.

Until now, she’d always managed to slither away before Nancy stirred. But this time there was no hope. Her legs were snared, her arm was pinned uselessly under Nancy’s weight.

Nancy shifted again, a subtle press of thigh against thigh, and for a dizzy second it seemed like she might roll away in her sleep. But she didn’t. Instead, she unhooked her arm from Robin’s waist only to resettle—her hand sliding to Robin’s stomach.

Robin’s shirt, rumpled from the night, had ridden up. Nancy’s hand landed on bare skin. Warm. Steady. The heel of her palm firm, her thumb idly twitching—each faint brush sparking like an ember across Robin’s nerves.

Nancy hummed softly, more conscious this time.

It was too late to fake sleep. Robin froze anyway.
Every muscle in her body locked into place like she was playing dead for a bear encounter, as if sheer stillness might trick Nancy into believing she wasn’t actually there.

If she didn’t move, maybe Nancy wouldn’t notice she was draped over her like a goddamn weighted blanket of temptation. A warm, impossibly soft blanket that smelled like Nancy’s shampoo, pressed so close Robin could feel the rise and fall of her breathing against her ribs.

“What time is it?” Nancy rasped out, shifting with a small, kitten-like stretch. A tight, tentative flex before she settled again.

The tiny movement sent blood rushing painfully back into Robin’s arm—and with it came the horrifying realization that her arm wasn’t just pinned. It was curled around Nancy. Tucked in. Protective. Her hand sat neatly at the dip of Nancy’s hip like it belonged there.

Robin considered doubling down on her statue routine, convince Nancy she simply didn’t breathe when she was asleep.

“Uh,” she said instead. Brilliant.

“It’s getting colder down here,” Nancy said.

“Is it?” Robin asked, distracted, too preoccupied with the logistical nightmare of removing her hand from Nancy’s waist. One clean move—that’s all it would take.
But it felt like trying to defuse a bomb.

“Winter is going to be hard.” It was an excuse, maybe, for how she was still wrapped around Robin. But she exhaled a soft, frustrated huff, shifting closer to better claim the pillow. Settling heavier. Relaxing. “Why are you awake?” she asked.

“I’m not—or—I wasn’t. I just woke up.” Robin tilted her head, straining to catch the angle of her watch without daring to move more than necessary. The effort lasted all of three seconds before she surrendered with a sigh. “It feels too early to get up.”

“It is,” Nancy decided.

Robin drew in a slow, deep breath as Nancy snuggled in even closer.

“I’m going back to sleep,” Nancy mumbled, her warm breath ghosting over Robin’s neck.

“Yes. Yeah. Me too.” Robin’s voice was crisp and alert. She closed her eyes anyway.

This was doable, she told herself. She could wait until Nancy fell asleep again, then shimmy away. Or maybe, if she went still enough, she’d fall asleep too. All she had to do was ignore the weight of Nancy’s leg on her thigh. Ignore the way their skin clung together—warm and slightly damp where Nancy’s palm pressed against her abdomen.

“You feeling okay?” Nancy asked.

“Yes—wait, why?” Robin’s laugh came out like a strange hiccup. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re breathing a little… heavy. And I think—” Nancy paused, her tone thoughtful, “—I think I can feel your pulse in your stomach.”

“Oh! That’s—huh. Probably normal. There’s a major artery there,” Robin said, well aware that Nancy was probably commenting on the speed of her pulse and not the location. “The aorta. It’s huge. Branches off. Supplies oxygen to our legs. And I’m like, ninety percent legs. Need all that oxygen, you know.”

“Common iliac arteries.”

Robin paused. “The what now?”

“The branches in our legs. Common iliac arteries,” Nancy murmured, yawning as she listed. “External iliac arteries. Then the femoral. Then the popliteal.”

Her voice was thick with sleep, huskier than usual, every word carrying a soft, velvety timbre. It crept across Robin’s neck like a low note plucked from a cello, resonant enough to raise goosebumps along her arms. She’d never realized how devastating Nancy Wheeler’s morning voice could be—half-slurred, a little raw, all warmth and intimate closeness.

“Do you know the difference between an artery and a vein?” Nancy asked.

Robin locked her eyes on the ceiling, determined to spot the hairline crack she knew was up there. Anything to keep her focus off the fact that every syllable out of Nancy’s mouth was more intoxicating than the last.

“Wait,” Nancy said, her tone sharper with surprise. “You don’t?”

“No, I do,” Robin said quickly. “I just didn’t expect you to have… so much vascular knowledge.”

“Impressed?” Nancy asked, faintly smug.

Robin let out a thin laugh. “Terrified.”

Nancy made a sound, insulted maybe, but there was amusement there too. “You’re like a walking encyclopedia. Why am I terrifying?”

“We’re very different people,” Robin said. “It’s fine when I spout off little anatomy facts. It’s like background noise. But when you do it, it feels vaguely threatening.”

Nancy hummed. “I disagree.”

“It’s a compliment,” Robin explained. “I know facts, but I can’t weaponize them. The difference between me and you is the potential application of said knowledge. Like, when I’m fighting a bat demon, I don’t have the wherewithal to visualize its femoral artery.”

“I would never aim for the femoral,” Nancy objected. “Aorta. One cut. Over in seconds.”

She tapped two fingers against Robin’s stomach. Tap… Tap… Light, absent-minded, but enough to make Robin flinch.

Robin breathed out a weak laugh. “Like I said. Terrifying.”

Nancy hummed again, low and critical, like she was grading a paper. “It doesn’t feel like a compliment.”

“It is though. You make it work. It’s like part of your whole thing." Robin motioned vaguely at Nancy. “You have a bunch of other qualities that balance it out.”

She couldn’t see Nancy’s eyes, but she could feel the look Nancy was giving her—flat, skeptical, and piercing enough to make her ears go hot.

“You’re resourceful,” Robin offered. “Driven. Loyal. Strong for your size. Freakishly punctual.”

Nancy smothered a small scoff of a laugh into Robin’s shoulder. The feeling of it warmed Robin right to her chest, and for one, reckless second, she forgot how to censor herself.

“You’re a lot of things. You just happen to also be terrifying,” she said. “But like, in a hot way.”

The second it left her mouth, she felt it: a shift. Not loud or obvious—just the subtle kind of pressure change that makes your ears perk up.

Nancy didn’t answer right away. She didn’t laugh. Didn’t offer Robin anything to grab onto.

She stayed exactly where she was.
Close. Quiet. Unmoving.
Like she was perfectly content to stretch out the moment Robin had set between them.

Robin puffed out her cheeks with a slow, deflating breath. “Boy. I sure am talking a lot. Pretty rude of me. You said you wanted to sleep, and I—“

She felt Nancy’s hand slip off her stomach.

That was it. The intimate bubble they were suspended in finally burst.

Robin braced for the distance—for the cold, inevitable space that was about to open between them.

But then—click.

A soft, mechanical sound.

Robin blinked.

A narrow beam of light spread across the ceiling. Nancy had switched on her flashlight, casting a faint glow over the room. And before Robin could fully calibrate, Nancy had returned—tucking herself right back into place. Her chin settled on Robin’s shoulder, her arm gliding across her stomach and coming to rest higher this time, the pressure softened by the bunched fabric of her shirt.

For a second, Robin felt something like relief at finally being able to see the familiar crack in the ceiling, at the barrier between their skin.

But that relief quickly vanished the moment she caught Nancy’s silhouette in her peripheral vision. Warm-toned with fuzzy edges.

She’d been acutely aware of their proximity before, but this was different.
This was proof.
Soft and certain, and undoubtedly real.

“So, um.” Robin’s hand twitched—the same one she’d spent the last few minutes trying to figure out how to remove from Nancy’s hip—hovering uselessly in the air behind Nancy like it had forgotten its purpose. Dropping it on the floor didn’t feel normal, so she set it back where it started—light, careful, like she might trip a landmine. “Do you… want to read?”

“No,” Nancy said, like that was a perfectly complete answer.

“Okay,” Robin nodded, pretending she could be just as mysterious, just as maddeningly concise. She held it for all of two seconds before cracking. “Then why’d you turn the light on?”

“I wanted to see you.”

Robin blinked up at the ceiling. Nancy’s face was practically pressed to hers. At best, she could see Robin’s jaw. Maybe an earlobe.

“You realize you're staring directly into my ear, right?” Robin finally said, her voice soft and low, like she was telling a secret. “Can’t be much of a view.”

“Do you have a favorite color?” Nancy asked.

The question came so far out of left field, Robin actually snorted. “A what?”

“A favorite color.”

“Why are you asking?”

Nancy didn’t respond. She just waited.

It felt like being thrown into a game of chess without any understanding of how any of the pieces could move.

“Green is nice,” Robin finally said, like she was giving something up.

Nancy hummed thoughtfully. “Hm, that’s not what I would’ve guessed,”

“Well, what’d you think it—“

“A favorite movie?” Nancy cut her off.

“Solaris—wait, no. Days of Heaven.”

“Favorite song?”

“Why are you—what’s happening here?” Robin sputtered. “I feel like I missed something.”

Nancy didn’t say anything for a beat. The silence stretched long enough to almost convince Robin to look at her, but she kept her eyes trained on the ceiling.

“We never talk about this kind of stuff,” Nancy finally said.

Robin frowned. “About what?”

“Ourselves,” Nancy said. “You talk about me like you know me, but I don’t think you really do. And I don’t think I know you either. We should fix that.”

Robin scoffed. “I would argue we know each other very well, actually. We’ve been to the literal ends of the earth together. We might have even been to a different dimension together.”

“Sure,” Nancy agreed. “You know me here. But you don’t know me—” she paused, “—outside of the end of the world.”

Robin went quiet. She thought about that—about how there might never be a better time for something like this. About how she might never get the version of Nancy that came after the chaos because there might not be an “after” for either of them. No clean break to normalcy. No future carved out of dull routines. No long afternoons wasted on things that only matter when you’re safe—favorite colors, movies, stupid little arguments that mean nothing until they’re gone.

The thought hurt.

Then another crept it. The possibility that, without this nightmare, their paths wouldn’t have crossed at all. Separate colleges. Separate states. Separate lives entirely.

That one hurt more.

She realized then, with a twist of guilt, that some part of her was grateful that the world had fallen apart, that she was given this opportunity.

It was a terrible thing to be thankful for. But it was true.

“I dunno,” Robin finally said. “I think I’ve picked up enough Nancy Wheeler trivia to qualify this as more than an acquaintanceship.”

“What’s my favorite color?” Nancy tested.

“Cerise,” Robin threw out on a whim.

Nancy started to argue, but her curiosity betrayed her. “I don’t—… what’s cerise?”

“It’s like a deep shade of pink.”

“It’s not pink.”

“Well, I didn’t say pink, did I? I said cerise,” Robin shot back, but was genuinely surprised the answer wasn’t pink. She flapped a hand in the air. “Okay, yeah. Whatever. I don’t know your favorite color. You’ve never filed the official paperwork with me. But I know other stuff. The stuff you actually care about.”

“Prove it.”

“I know you brush your teeth two times a day,” Robin said, smug.

Nancy's tone dropped with concern. “You should also be brushing your teeth twice a day.”

“Who has time for that?” Robin said, then cut Nancy off before she could argue. “Oh, wait! I know you like to cut the crust off your sandwiches, but still eat them like a weird little appetizer.”

She could tell Nancy’s eyes were burning into her temple even though she hadn’t worked up the nerve to look back.

“I know you love writing out to-do lists but always leave them behind because you don’t actually need them,” Robin continued, more confident now. “I know you can map out a full escape plan in three seconds flat. I know you regularly use duct tape as a bandage even though we have an entire first-aid cabinet. Like, a well-stocked one. It’s a miracle any of your wounds heal.”

Nancy pressed her face into the pillow to release a weary sigh.

It gave Robin just enough space and courage to finally look at her, and the sight stopped her cold.

Nancy’s face was half-buried in the pillow, eyes closed, hair spilling forward in lazy waves. She was smiling. Bashful, but real. Dimples on full display. She looked loose and unarmored, relaxed in a way Robin couldn’t remember ever seeing. Maybe she never had.

She tried to memorize it—every detail she could catch. The curve of her lips. The beginnings of lines at the corners of her mouth—shadows of a future Robin ached to believe in. The quiet glow of something unguarded.

Robin forced a breath into her lungs.

“Oh,” she added, softer now, waiting for Nancy to open her eyes before continuing, “and I know you do this thing with your feet when you’re falling asleep. I think it’s because they’re cold. You rub them together like a raccoon cleaning its paws. It looks like you’re plotting something with your toes. It’s… it’s cute.”

For a beat, Nancy just looked at her.

There was a flicker—like a storm of thoughts Robin couldn’t read, flashing behind her eyes faster than she could track.

A strange tightness pulled at Robin’s chest. A sting of déjà vu. She wondered if this was the actual moment she’d somehow crossed a line. Too honest. Too tender.

But then, Nancy leaned forward, slow and certain, and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Robin’s mouth—not on the lips, but not entirely on the cheek.

It was gentle. Quick. Harmless, technically.
But Robin’s thoughts scattered like confetti in a wind tunnel. They were loud, and fragmented, and swirled in every direction.
Every time she managed to catch hold of one, ten more went screaming past her.

She defaulted to smiling. Calm. Natural. Breezy.
The kind of smile that said, "I’m glad we’re friends. Talking to you has been really nice. We should do this more often.”

Nancy’s expression tightened with concern.

“What?” Robin asked, an octave too high.

“You look… a little horrified,” Nancy said. “You’re wincing.”

“Oh! I am? Wincing?” Robin nearly choked on the air. “No. I’m not. And I’m not horrified. Not in the least. Surprised? Yes.”

Nancy pursed her lips, unconvinced. “Surprised?”

This was absolutely some kind of mind game—feigned innocence weaponized through perfectly shaped eyebrows.

Or maybe Nancy was innocent. That was somehow worse.

“Well, I—I’m not sure why you… You’ve never…” Robin cleared her throat. She took a beat, composed a better version of the question in her mind, then promptly blurted out, “Why’d you do that?”

Nancy’s face softened for exactly one second before smoothing back into her classic, indecipherable neutrality.
Like she hadn’t just pulled the pin on a grenade and handed it over without blinking.

“You were sweet,” she said. “It felt warranted.”

Robin had never seen Nancy give anyone more than a brisk side-hug in the bunker. Not even her own mother. She took note of this because she was markedly on the other end of the tactile spectrum. Robin clung to her friends, tangled their hair through her fingers, draped herself across their shoulders. Touch was a language for her—an integral part of her ability to communicate.

Nancy’s answer was so plain. So Nancy. But Robin’s brain couldn’t process it.

It was like a dial had flipped in her head, and suddenly every thought turned to static.
Like she was caught between radio stations, picking up only fragments of what she was supposed to think. Feel. Say.
She couldn’t get a clear signal. Couldn’t tune in.
She just sat there, blinking through the noise.

And Nancy was just looking at her. No lifeline, no distraction. Just that maddening calm.

The smart thing—the normal thing—would be to let it go. Drop it. Robin could move on like a person who didn’t overanalyze basic human contact.

“So, was that like a... thank you?” she asked. “Or a—what, a pat on the head?”

“It felt like a pat on the head?” Nancy asked back.

No. No, it did not.
It felt dangerously close to a kiss on the mouth, actually.
And Robin was fairly certain that even with her very average-sized face, there was plenty of cheek to choose from. Nancy had options. She just… hadn’t taken them.

Robin released a laugh—if it could even be called that.
It was more like a string of sharp, unattractive scoffs that took turns escaping through her mouth and nose.

Nancy reached up, graceful and precise, and brushed a strand of hair out of Robin’s face.

The touch was featherlight. Barely there. But it silenced Robin like it tripped a circuit breaker.

“It wasn’t a pat on the head,” Nancy said, quiet but sure.

Robin didn’t know what to do with that. She just watched Nancy’s hand retreat back to its place on her stomach, wide-eyed, like she was tracking a ghost.

“Okay,” she said.

Nancy, again, said nothing.

“Nance, I don’t think you—“ Robin trailed off, stammering out a few unintelligible sounds.

There was nothing especially dramatic about the way Nancy was lying there. She wasn’t posed or performing. In fact, she looked less polished than usual. Her hair was tousled and frizzy at the ends. Her lips were slightly chapped. There was a little tear in the collar of her wrinkled shirt.

This version of Nancy—imperfect, honest—felt like something private. Like something sacred Robin hadn’t earned the right to witness.

“When you do something like that I…” Robin trailed off again. She watched Nancy wet her dry lips, and it snapped her out of her daze. “You know what? I think you were right earlier. About how we don’t really know each other. In fact, I’m fairly certain there’s a pretty major gap in your fundamental knowledge about me. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have done that.”

Robin gestured vaguely, her voice climbing as she continued. “It’s basically just one piece of trivia, but it’s a very important piece! One I’ve gone to great lengths to keep hidden. And I kind of can’t believe I’m about to do this again. I had a whole thing with Steve once. A confession, if you will, in the bathroom at Starcourt. Very different, mind you, but still categorically—“

Robin was working herself up, suddenly feeling a bit overheated. She sat up, but the abrupt shift caused Nancy’s hand to slide lower—much lower.

In all of the “close calls” the gang had experienced with various demo-creatures, this was the first time Robin ever felt her soul try to leave her body.

She fell back down to her pillow, grabbed Nancy’s hand with decisive urgency, and returned it to its previous resting place on her stomach.

She gave it a couple of polite, almost managerial pats, and cleared her throat. Her voice was raw when she spoke again.

“There’s a reason why me and Steve have never dated.”

“I know,” Nancy said, halting Robin’s inevitable muttering spiral. She said it with such certainty, such conviction, it didn’t give any room to doubt if they were on the same page.

Truthfully, Robin wasn’t completely surprised. Of course Nancy knew. She was clever and unsparingly analytical.

“Right,” Robin breathed out, finally turning her head to look at her again. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Nancy said back.

Robin lay there, feeling some relief. But tangled with it was the inherent vulnerability of being stripped bare in the aftermath of a confession. Despite the fact that nothing truly taxing had actually happened, she felt spent.

So, she watched Nancy watch her. Watched Nancy think. She didn’t try to guess at the thoughts going through Nancy’s head. She just waited for her next move like she was admiring a very, very pretty knife.

The ambient sounds of the bunker hummed low through the cement walls, but the silence that fell between them felt heavy with intention. Like the hush that settles over an audience just before a conductor lifts their baton.

She could feel her pulse in her stomach now, thrumming against Nancy’s palm. And Nancy looked stoic as ever. The only indication that she wasn’t made of stone was the subtle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, measured and even. Robin tried her best to mirror Nancy’s poise, to sit in the stillness.

Nancy’s eyes dropped. They drifted to her lips. Lingered there.

“You don’t treat me like you treat everyone else,” she said, her voice hushed.

Robin swallowed, startled by the precision of the observation. “What do you mean?”

Their eyes met again, and something strange happened. An impossible calm unfurled deep in her chest. She felt like she was standing on the edge of a crumbling cliff, yet at peace—exactly where she was supposed to be. Then Nancy’s gaze broke away, only to flick back a moment later, sharp and searching.

“You don’t talk to me the same way you talk to Steve, or Dustin, or… anyone. You treat me differently.”

Robin laughed, weak and uneven. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I didn’t say it was bad,” Nancy murmured. “I said it was different.”

Robin shifted, her hands too clammy now. “Well… you are different.”

Nancy didn’t push. Not directly. She just tilted her head slightly, searching Robin’s face like she was lining up pieces on a board.

“You always make space for me,” she said, “without asking if I need it.”

“Well, that’s… basic decency, isn’t it?” Robin muttered, trying to keep it light. “I’m considerate.”

“But you don’t do it for everyone,” Nancy countered. Not accusing—just noting.

She let the silence stretch again. Her hand still rested lightly on Robin’s stomach, and Robin was painfully aware of how warm it felt. How steady. She tried to think of something witty to say. Something that would pivot the conversation away from its dangerous trajectory.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” she admitted.

Nancy studied her for another long moment, then spoke—soft, almost too soft to hear.

“I’m not asking for an explanation.”

“Really?” Robin’s throat was dry. “It feels like you are.”

“No. I’m just—“ Nancy opened and closed her mouth like she was still trying to find the shape of what she wanted to say, “I just want you to know I don’t need the space.”

The words hung there, thick in the air. Robin’s heart gave a slow thud against her chest. “Oh,” she said.

Nancy’s chin dipped in a small nod, but when she spoke again her voice was firmer, heavier. “I don’t want the space. Not from you.”

“Oh,” Robin said again, weaker this time.

Nancy didn’t fill the gap right away. There was the faintest flush on her cheeks now. It was a relief to see—less marble, more human. Finally—soft, like a verdict—

“Yeah. Oh.”

Robin stared at her, everything in her body going weightless. Words lined up and fell apart in her head, none of them big enough to match the tectonic shift that was taking place.

“Are we… all clear now?” Nancy asked.

Robin spoke before her brain caught up. “Clear about what?”

Nancy didn’t answer. Her eyes lingered instead, steady, pinning her in place.

Robin knew that look. She’d seen it in dark hallways, in the silence before a door creaked open, in the moments when one wrong step could mean disaster. It was the look that tethered her, the look that kept her moving.

But now, watching her, Robin realized there was something else in it too. Something soft. Unsteady. Vulnerable.

And a terrible, wonderful thought crept in. Maybe it had always been there. Maybe she’d been looking at Robin like this the whole time, and Robin was only just learning how to see it.

Nancy’s lips parted, a quick flick of her tongue to wet them, and suddenly the gravity of the moment was unbearable.

So Robin closed the distance. She kissed her.

It was a soft, cautious press—barely anything at all—their mouths fitting together like two pieces that weren’t quite sure if they belonged. Their lips clung for a second longer than expected, warm and a little damp, then slipped apart with the faintest tack of moisture. Robin’s stomach flipped so violently, she thought she might be sick.

Nancy stayed still. Not frozen, exactly—her breath brushed against Robin’s cheek, shallow, quick—but she didn’t blink, didn’t give her anything.

And Robin thought, oh my god, I really might be sick.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Robin blurted out, her eyes looking everywhere but at Nancy’s. “I thought I knew what you were saying, but—“

Nancy kissed her back.

A brief, firm press. Then another. Then once more.

Each one less tentative than the last, erasing Robin’s doubt one kiss at a time.

Robin made a sound—the smallest squeak at the back of her throat, and that was all it took. Something ignited, like a match scraped too close to dry kindling. Nancy’s hand caught her face, fingers threading into her hair until Robin could feel her scalp prickle. She tugged her in, lunging closer like she’d discovered something rare and fragile and couldn’t let it go.

It was clumsy at first, but that didn’t matter. Robin’s lips parted too early. Nancy’s dipped too fast. Their noses bumped, and their breathing was erratic.

Each missed beat only hit harder when they finally synced, when mouths found rhythm, when warmth gave way to heat.

Nancy shifted, rising just enough to brace herself on one elbow, tilting the angle. It deepened everything. The kiss. The ache.

A low hum of tension rolled through Robin’s body. It unspooled, warm and relentless, lighting every nerve. Her stomach fluttered so hard it almost hurt. She felt her pulse in her hands, her neck, her stomach. Everywhere.

Nancy’s touch moved with the same escalation—slipping from Robin’s cheek, tracing down the line of her jaw, dragging over her throat and collarbone until her palm found her waist. Fingers curled there, pressing indents into soft skin—possessive.

A sound escaped Robin before she could stop it—raw and raspy. Something caught between a sigh and a hum, relishing the feeling like she craved it.

Nancy kept pushing forward—hungrier now, messier. Her leg slid over Robin’s waist, straddling her. Robin stiffened, just for a second, startled by the sudden weight, by the authority. But it didn’t take long for the pull of Nancy’s mouth to make her pliant again.

For a long moment, Robin couldn’t decide what to do with her hands. They hovered in the air, helpless and trembling, before landing on Nancy’s thighs. If she had her wits about her, she would have lingered on the sensation—the warmth of her smooth skin radiating into her palms. But she was literally and figuratively pinned. Flattened by the attention.

By the intent.

Nancy’s hand slipped higher under Robin’s shirt, her fingers skipping over a sensitive path along her ribs. It was a gentle touch, but scraped a gasp from Robin’s lungs that broke the kiss.

Nancy pulled away just half an inch. Their chests heaved in tandem, the air between them charged and thin, like they’d both narrowly made it across a wide chasm and landed there together.

“Jesus,” Robin said. Breathless. Dumb-struck. She looked up at Nancy with true wonderment in her eyes. “You’re very—um—agile. That’s another one of your qualities.”

Nancy puffed out a small laugh. Her eyes moved like she was just realizing the position she put herself in, but her thumb traced against the slight dips in Robin’s ribs like she was memorizing a map.

“You’re very—“ Nancy swallowed between breaths, her voice frayed around the edges. “Your lips are so soft.”

Robin’s brain was working at half-speed, but she still managed to muster up some cheeky bravado. “In a good way, right?”

“Yes,” Nancy said quickly, nodding. “Very good. Even better than I imagined.”

Robin would have to put a pin in that little confession. It was definitely not something she was prepared for. The idea that Nancy had thought about this, pictured a moment anywhere close to this? That was too much. She’d have to circle back.

“I use chapstick everyday,” Robin said. “Sometimes, I'll even use it twice a—"

Her words splintered and hitched into a breathless rasp when she felt it—Nancy’s thumb had drifted higher than intended, catching the curve of a soft swell of skin. Warm. Bare. Unmistakably intimate.

The sound that escaped Robin lit something raw in Nancy. Her eyes went dark in an instant. Her head dipped, fast, like she was going to devour her. But she stopped short. Held still.

She breathed slow and ragged through her nose, like holding back pained her. Like it was taking every ounce of effort to restrain herself.

Her hand retreated back down Robin’s ribs. Her other hand gripped the pillow, knuckles white, as if she needed something to destroy.

Robin could hear the fabric of the pillowcase twist and strain, feel it move under her head in Nancy’s clawing hold. She didn’t dare move. Every inch of her body was buzzing with the voltage of being wanted. It was the moment everything finally solidified in her head. Reality flickered on with blistering, almost embarrassing clarity as Nancy looked seconds away from baring her teeth.

Nancy Wheeler—unflinching, commanding, iron-willed—was practically trembling. This wasn’t an accident. She wasn’t lost.

Robin was cornered like prey who’d wandered into the wrong neck of the woods, and Nancy looked starved.

For how long, Robin wondered.

“I didn’t—” Nancy swallowed hard. “I didn’t realize you weren’t… wearing one.”

Robin wanted to say something clever, something about how she actually rarely ever wore bras even when she had the luxury of using a powered washing machine.

But she didn’t. She was too struck by the seismic shift in her understanding of the world. Nancy may have been looming over her, but the ground they stood was more level than she ever dared to imagine.

There were cracks in Nancy’s unbreakable resolve. Fault lines that Robin unknowingly caused by giving Nancy too much space.

It felt like static was crackling in the humid pocket of shared breath between them, the tension coiling tighter with every second Nancy didn’t move. And Robin was pretty sure it would only take the slightest tilt of her jaw to snap whatever fragile thread was keeping Nancy’s control intact.

“What are you—“ Nancy took in a shaky breath. “How are you feeling right now?”

She had always been a woman of few words. Nancy wasn’t the type to gab about… feelings. She dealt in observations, and angles, and truth.

Robin couldn’t help but feel endeared by the clinical delivery. Her hand drifted upward, tentative, until her fingertips found the edge of Nancy’s jaw.

For a second, she worried she’d startled her—broken whatever strange, heavy spell had wrapped around them. But Nancy didn’t flinch. She leaned in instead. Slowly. Just enough to let the weight of her cheek rest against Robin’s palm.

Robin closed her eyes. She let her thumb drift down to brush the curve of Nancy’s bottom lip. Plush and dewy. They were so close, she even grazed her own.

She kissed her again—soft and sweet.

Nancy sighed into it, tilting her head, already angling for something deeper. Wilder.

But a rare flash of boldness bloomed in Robin’s chest. She brought her other hand up to Nancy’s face, framing it between her palms. It gave her enough leverage to set the pace herself—a few stubborn beats behind Nancy’s.

Every time Nancy tried to deepen the kiss, Robin held her at bay a little more firmly.

Then, when she felt Nancy’s hand twitch—plotting its next move, she dipped her tongue into her mouth. Playful and teasing. Just a graze. Like slowly and carefully catching a drip of ice cream.

It made Nancy’s breathing stutter. She chased for a taste of her own, but Robin didn’t let her.

She moved with mischief, her tongue pressing against Nancy’s in soft, sliding brushes, then retreating again. When Nancy pushed down harder, Robin dodged her advances— tilting her head the opposite way, sinking into the pillow, parting her lips before closing them again.

She smiled into the kiss, sensing the tension build in Nancy’s jaw, in her breath.

Nancy pulled back with a short huff. “Stop.”

But she leaned in again almost instantly, chasing Robin’s mouth with renewed determination. Robin turned her head at the last second, letting Nancy’s lips catch the edge of her cheek before she slipped back out of reach.

Another frustrated huff only made Robin’s smile grow wider. She looked into Nancy’s dark eyes and felt her pulse trip. There was nothing measured about them now—they were consuming, predatory, like she was sizing Robin up in pieces. It sent a thrill straight down her spine.

“You look like you want to bite me,” Robin said, her voice low and dangerously smug. “It’s terrifying.”

She gave Nancy’s bottom lip the smallest little nip.

It was the final straw.

A low, guttural sound rumbled from the base of Nancy’s throat. In a flash, her hand slid behind Robin’s neck, fingers curling tight as she hauled her closer. Before Robin could even clock how the tables had turned, she was already yielding, her body surrendering to the grip.

She opened her mouth to Nancy without hesitation, and Nancy kissed her like she was trying to draw the air from her lungs. Slow. Hot. Almost punishing in its precision.

Robin’s hands fell from Nancy’s face, scrambling. She reached back until she found the hand cradled at the nape of her neck—not to pull it away, but to keep it there. To hold herself together.

Her other hand fisted into the fabric of Nancy’s shirt, desperately searching for more ways to ground herself.

Soft, broken noises caught on her breath, and Nancy devoured them—mouth opening wider, hotter, until there was no teasing left. Only want. Only heat.

Nancy was kissing her with such unyielding focus, such bone-deep intent, she thought she might unravel beyond repair.

Her mouth shifted, closing on Robin’s lower lip—soft for a heartbeat—before she bit down. Hard.

It wasn’t enough to do any real damage, but sharp enough to make Robin release a new noise, ragged and keening. Nancy dragged it from her chest like it belonged to her.

She settled into a rhythm Robin couldn’t fight—slow, firm pulls, then the sudden sting of teeth dragging over her lip, alternating until Robin’s breath hitched with every pass.

Robin’s legs shifted, restless, frantic, like her body was trying to burn off an energy she couldn’t contain. She chased the kiss anyway, fumbling to keep pace, but her mouth stuttered against Nancy’s, hopelessly off beat.

Nancy’s hand wandered again, traveling up her ribs but stopping short, careful. Too careful. Robin, drunk in her delirium, saw it as an opportunity to regain some control. She grabbed Nancy’s hand, pulled on it like a dare, then guided it under her shirt and over the swell of her chest like it was a grand, strategic move.

To her credit, Nancy did falter—a sharp gasp breaking loose when Robin’s nipple brushed against her palm.

Robin arched into the touch, a thin, broken sound escaping her throat before she could stop it, more whimper than moan. She bowed her spine involuntarily. She didn’t tip the scales. If anything, she plunged backwards into oblivion.

Nancy pressed her face into Robin’s neck. She didn’t kiss her. Not yet. She just breathed against her as they both adjusted to the newness of it—suspended in something that could certainly not be mistaken for innocent.

Then, muffled against her skin—

“Fuck.”

Nancy whispered it, confessed it, right against her pulse. It sounded like disbelief. Like reverence.

Robin felt the single syllable shudder through her, down to her toes. She felt dangerous for the first time in her life. This was Nancy. This was the girl who never wavered.

And now, because of Robin, she wasn’t composed. She wasn’t guarded. She was shaking.

Robin wanted to say something. Anything. She thought of a dozen bad jokes she could use to break the tension, but all she could do was feel the moment. She felt her own fingers still wrapped tightly around Nancy’s wrist. She felt Nancy’s hand still cupped against her chest. She felt—

Nancy kissed her neck. Once. Slow.

She said something to Robin, breathing it right below her ear.

Robin felt the vibration of it. The warmth of it. But she didn’t have the tools to comprehend it.

“What?” Robin panted.

“Is this okay?”

“Is what okay?” Robin asked, dumbly.

Nancy answered with her mouth, angling her head to kiss the sensitive junction where Robin’s jaw met her neck—hot, wet, possessive. She sucked on it like she wanted to leave a mark.

Robin bit back a whimper. “Yeah. Yes. This is okay. I’m having a great time,” she staggered out, drunk on her and stupidly sincere.

“Nancy. Robin.” Dustin’s voice cut through the air like a cold slap in the face.

Robin’s eyes flew wide. A muted cone of light swept across the tapestry that served as their wall—Dustin’s flashlight glowing just feet away.

“You guys,” he went on, sounding exasperated but oblivious. “We have a problem. Family meeting.”

Nancy was frozen, but not in panic.

“Okay, got it,” she said into Robin's neck, impressively casual. She didn’t move until she could hear his footsteps fade away. With a reluctant grumble, she pushed to sit up.

Robin felt the loss of heat like a blanket being ripped away in winter. Her body was on fire, her mind was absolute syrup.

“Wonder what it’s about,” Nancy said. “He sounded serious.”

“Probably one of the motion sensors misfiring,” Robin mumbled. “Or some other bullshit to prepare for the supply run.”

“You’re going, right?” Nancy asked. Her voice was light, but carried something significant.

Robin always went on supply runs. She’d never missed one. The question was absurd. But the asking, the tone of hope disguised as practicality—it made Robin’s chest tighten.

“No, I think I’ll just hang out today,” Robin said, aiming for flippant. “Catch up on some laundry. Alphabetize the dry goods.”

Nancy stared at her, assessing. And then, slowly, the fire returned to her eyes.

Robin nearly forgot where Nancy’s hands were, but Nancy was quick to remind her where one of them was. She dragged her thumb, slow and precise, just barely grazing the edge of Robin’s nipple.

Robin practically seized, arching with a helpless jolt. Her hands flew to Nancy’s hips instinctively.

“You think that’s a wise use of your time?” Nancy asked. Cautioned.

Robin let out a breathless laugh. Her head fell back against the pillow. “Jesus Christ, Nancy. You can’t just—“ she trailed off, hissing as Nancy’s thumb made another pass.

Nancy didn’t respond. She just watched her.

Not shy. Not questioning.

Just curious—taking note of each twitched response.

Robin stared up at her. She squirmed, strained, and hummed low in her throat as she bit down on her bottom lip to keep her volume in check.

Nancy looked downright ethereal. Even with the meager yellow wash of the flashlight, and the dingy cement walls as a backdrop, she looked otherworldly. She was as breathtaking as she was deadly. As lethal as the .38 she’d be strapping to her thigh in less than an hour.

“Girls, you awake?”

Hopper’s voice bounced down from somewhere down the hall—deep, and gruff, entirely unaware he’d just murdered a beautiful moment.

Robin flinched like she’d been shot, sobered by force. It was devastating.

Nancy exhaled slowly. She sat up, smoothed Robin’s shirt down, then pushed herself off the floor. “Yeah. On our way,” she called out.

The moment she rose to her feet, Robin saw it—graceful, yet unsteady. There was hesitation in her knees, a slight tremble in her fingers as she combed them through her hair. Small tells. Hairline cracks.

“Is your pack ready to go?” Nancy asked without looking at Robin, her voice clipped and thin.

Robin blinked up at the ceiling, trying to remember what the hell kind of bullshit typically went into a backpack. Textbooks, usually, but that didn’t seem right.

Nancy didn’t wait for a response. She proceeded to run through her standard checklist like a machine. “We’ll check the water tanks first. Then clean the filters, measure the fuel levels on the backup generator. If we’re going to go all the way to Sycamore, we might as well check that strip along the way in case there are any stores that still—“

“I need like…” Robin waved a hand in the air, her voice scraped raw. “I need, like… a minute. Please.”

Nancy moved to the corner of the room and switched on a lantern. She looked back over her shoulder. “Get dressed.”

Her eyes didn’t match her neutral tone. They lingered, quietly insistent, before she slipped through the curtain partition without another word.

Robin flopped back onto the pillow and scrubbed at her face with both hands.

“Holy shit.”