Nancy

He listens as Will explains that he isn’t different from his friends, that he likes the same things they do, his voice growing stronger, the truth rushing to the surface, until he finally says it, he doesn’t like girls. He doesn’t even realize he’s been holding his breath until he finally exhales.

The truth is finally out. His brother has come out. Will talks about his fears, about losing people, about being judged for who he is. His gaze flicks briefly toward the group gathered in the room, reading faces, searching for their reactions. Some of them he knows intimately, others barely at all. But if even one of them makes his little brother regret stepping out of that prison, he swears he’ll beat the shit out of them, whether it’s by fists or fury.

Tears spill freely down his face, and the moment his mom reassures Will that he’ll never lose her, he is already moving. Rising to his feet, he crosses the room and pulls his brother into his arms, holding on like his life depends on it. Like letting go might undo everything. Seconds pass, then more, and soon the rest of them fold in too, surrounding Will with warmth reassurance. He lets it sink in, really sink in that his little brother is no longer ashamed of who he is. That he’s accepted himself fully. And that he’s goddamn beautiful because of it. As the group slowly eases back, he doesn’t miss the chance to press a gentle kiss to Will’s cheek. He wants to linger, to hold onto this closeness just a little longer because it feels like it’s been months since he’s had his brother like this but he forces himself to let go and he listen. Listens as Will tells them he needs to be there tonight. That he’s ready to face Vecna. That he isn’t afraid anymore. Whatever tricks Vecna thinks he can use against him won’t work not now. Not when his truth is finally out in the open.

From the nods and quiet murmurs of agreement, the truth settles in his little brother will be joining them on the mission tonight. He knows Will isn’t a kid anymore. He knows that. And still, every time he looks at him, he sees the boy. The one who looked up at him while they built Castle Byers together. The one whose eyes lit up every time he talked about a new D&D campaign. The one who asked if he was okay the night after waking up in the hospital and noticed the bandage wrapped around his palm. The one who convulsed in front of him as they tore the Mind Flayer out of his body. That’s who he keeps seeing. And that’s who is going to face Vecna tonight, but he’s not that boy anymore, he’s stronger.

The realization makes something in his chest seize tight. He lingers at the edge of the room, silent, watching as the group falls back into planning. He watches his mom pull Will into her arms, and immediately he can see the difference how his brother looks calmer. Like the weight he’s been carrying has finally shifted, if only a little. Will is free now. Free from the chains he’s been dragging around for years and he can’t help but wonder what that must feel like. Because for most of his life, he’s been bound to responsibility. When Lonnie walked out, he didn’t just step up, he became the parent, the provider and the protector. Weekends weren’t for rest or friends the way they were for Will. They were for extra shifts, for stocking shelves, for doing whatever it took to keep them afloat, even if he missed out on his own chance of normal.

His purpose has always been taking care of his family. And now he’s standing here, watching them both, the quiet observer who suddenly feels like he’s being edged out of the role he’s lived inside for years. Will isn’t a kid anymore. He’s growing into a man, growing into himself and, apparently, he’s a Sorcerer now, that little detail dropped into his lap like it’s nothing. And his mom, she can take care of herself. She’s stronger than she’s ever been, and if she needs someone to lean on, she has Hopper. He has caught the way Hop looks at her more times than he can count, the kind of look that doesn’t waver, that promises staying and is one hundred percent long term. They don’t need him anymore. The realization hits hard, knocking the breath from his lungs.

Without that role, without that responsibility, he doesn’t know who he’s supposed to be. When he stepped into those shoes, he quietly said goodbye to dreaming to NYU, to the life he might’ve had because they couldn’t afford it, because someone had to stay grounded while everything else fell apart. His entire world has always revolved around his mom and Will. And now? Now he doesn’t even know who or what he’s living for. It’s never been about him. Not once.

If they make it through this, if they actually win this war what will he even have left? His gaze drifts to Nancy, deep in conversation with Steve, Robin, and Dustin. The sight of her still hits the same. He lost her. They let each other go in that room, hovering on the brink of death, finally saying the things they’d been too afraid to voice before. Truths laid bare and when she accepted his un-proposal, he threw that ring into the goo without hesitation. In that moment, he’d been okay with dying because at least he would’ve died beside the person he loves.

But they didn’t die. They were freed. In more ways than one. They’d been suffocating inside their relationship, a painful realization but only because both of them had been holding themselves back. Afraid to admit what they wanted, afraid of what it would cost. Even so, deep down, that’s not what he wanted at all. Letting her go hadn’t been easy it had been an act of love. Loving her enough to choose her future over his wants. Now, though now he’s going to have to watch her move on. Watch her eventually fall into someone else’s arms. Maybe even Steve’s. Sure, she’d told him it had never been like that but one drawback of being the observer is that you see everything. And he’s seen the small things. The glances. The timing. The way history never really stays buried.

He’ll watch her pack up her life, get the hell out of dodge, and build the future she’s always dreamed of. Over the years, he’ll follow her career from a distance because he knows he’s always known she’ll make it. She’ll become a journalist with a name people recognize, and he’ll be there quietly, off to the side, cutting out every article she writes and tucking them away somewhere no one else will ever look. Eventually, she’ll end up back in Hawkins. Maybe for the holidays. A wedding. Or something darker and grim like a funeral. Their eyes will meet across a crowded room, nostalgia hitting him all at once, a thousand things he never said clawing at his throat, he’ll almost tell her everything but then he’ll see it, her hand in someone else’s or worse, a ring on her finger. So he’ll swallow it all down. He’ll put on the mask. Smile while she tells him about her life, tell her how proud he is, how happy he is for her, and mean it because he’s always wanted that for her, even if it never included him.

And because he’s a masochist, he’ll linger. His eyes will follow her until she disappears from view, and only then will he retreat into some quiet room. He’ll look down at his palm, trace the faint scar still there, and for a fleeting moment he might even consider reopening it just to prove it was real. That they were tethered together and loved one another. That once, he was capable of loving someone that deeply because he’s already accepted that love isn’t in the cards for him anymore. Because how could it be? How could he ever love anyone the way he loves Nancy Wheeler?

He’ll cry. He’ll grieve the life he lost, the person he lost, and then he’ll hate himself for playing the what-if game because that’s where the real damage lives. What if he’d just told her the truth about Emerson? That it wasn’t about fear or lack of ambition or wanting to be with her, but about money. About not being able to leave his mom and brother behind. What if, just once, he’d chosen himself and told her that Emerson was never his dream school that it was NYU and they could’ve adjusted the plan, found a way to still leave together? What if he hadn’t faded her out, hadn’t let the distance grow quiet and heavy, but called her every day until she came to Lenora for spring break or he went back to Hawkins? What if he had made a god damn effort to show her he had left his heart in Hawkins and he wouldn’t be whole again until she was back in his arms? And then he’ll stop himself. Tell himself it doesn’t matter because she’s already gone.

He sees it all anyway, every version, every alternate ending playing out in his head like a film. So vivid, so painfully clear, that for a moment he wonders if Vecna has slipped into his mind. But he hasn’t. This isn’t a curse. It isn’t a trick. It hits him all at once, without warning. His chest tightens first, breathing becomes work too shallow and way too fast. His heart starts pounding, each beat echoing in his ears until it’s all he can hear. His hands tremble at his sides, fingers tingling, numb and too aware all at once. The room feels wrong, too small, like the walls are closing in. A cold sweat breaks across his skin, his jaw clenches, teeth grinding as he fights the urge to curl inward, to fold in on himself the way he used to as a kid. He forces his feet to stay planted, forces his shoulders to stay squared, because he refuses to fall apart in front of everyone. God, that would be pathetic.

Vecna is going to move worlds tonight, and he just needs a minute one goddamn minute to himself. No one is looking at him. No ever really is. So he takes a step back, then another, easing toward the doorway and then slips out. Sometimes it pays to be invisible. Somehow he manages to let his feet guide him down the wall, careful as he takes the steps down into the bunker and straight into the armory. The second he realizes he’s alone, truly alone, his chest seizes that he has to gasp, hands flying to the edge of the table. He’s freaking out because the air keeps catching in his throat, each breath feeling like it’s too big for his lungs. He’s here alone, and yet everything feels so loud. His vision begins to blur, his fingers curl, nails digging into his palms, but even the sting doesn’t anchor him the way it should.