Nancy

Ask forgiveness, not permission. 18+

[cluesncurls]

Hi. Nancy Wheeler here. I’m fine answering questions—about journalism, books, school, or anything that’s not… weird. Please don’t make it weird.

I check this when I have time between classes, deadlines, and whatever mystery my life is currently throwing at me. So if I don’t answer right away, I promise it’s not personal.

Ask away. I like people who are curious! — 🗞️

[ask-the-wheeler]

@cluesncurls should I shave my head?

[cluesncurls]

Absolutely not. I am not explaining to Mom why you look like you lost a bet. Put the razor down.

[ask-the-wheeler]

Are you saying I would look bad? Seriously, Nance?

[cluesncurls]

Mike. No. I’m saying you’d look like a startled egg.

Exhibit A:

[ask-the-wheeler]

I look handsome. I always look flawless. You're just jealous I got mom's good genes and you look like dad's left ballsack.

[cluesncurls]

Wow. You practiced that one in the mirror, didn’t you?

[billy-hargrove-offical-deactiva]

I’m your favorite, huh?

— Nancy ( @cluesncurls ) 🗞️

Definitely, my favourite wheels

[cluesncurls]

You sure have a funny way of showing it… But, the feeling is mutual.

[cluesncurls]

hiii Nancy!!!!!

Hi, Cami!

[ask-the-wheeler]

@cluesncurls should I shave my head?

[cluesncurls]

Absolutely not. I am not explaining to Mom why you look like you lost a bet. Put the razor down.

[ask-the-wheeler]

Are you saying I would look bad? Seriously, Nance?

[cluesncurls]

Mike. No. I’m saying you’d look like a startled egg.

Exhibit A:

[ask-the-wheeler]

@cluesncurls should I shave my head?

[cluesncurls]

Absolutely not. I am not explaining to Mom why you look like you lost a bet. Put the razor down.

[billy-hargrove-offical-deactiva]

You should make out with Nancy

I'll let her know and tell you if she does kiss me

@cluesncurls, this person thinks we should kiss

[cluesncurls]

I think it’s funny you think I’d go along with that. But… I guess stranger things have happened.

[billy-hargrove-offical-deactiva]

Sooo...we can kiss?

[cluesncurls]

Wow. You really heard what you wanted to hear there. I’ll consider it…

[billy-hargrove-offical-deactiva]

You should make out with Nancy

I'll let her know and tell you if she does kiss me

@cluesncurls, this person thinks we should kiss

[cluesncurls]

I think it’s funny you think I’d go along with that. But… I guess stranger things have happened.

[staticinmystereo]

What’s Left After

“Boys Don’t Cry,” at least as The Cure tells it, was the first song that ever made sense to him as a kid. The first time he realized music had the power to him, for him, when he didn’t yet have the words himself. Over the years it became more than a song; it was a refuge, a quiet salvation, his personal anthem. Now, the lyrics land differently, because they’re no longer about trying to laugh about it, or covering up the tears, it’s about losing love. And after the events from today, all he wants to do is cry.

He can’t retreat into his bedroom because their house isn’t their house anymore, they’re been crashing at the Wheelers, and ever since the attack and vanishing of Holly, no one has stepped foot inside the house. Instead they’re at the SQUAQK and he’d like nothing more than to sneak off into supply closet or bathroom and let the walls finally give way. Just like back in ’83, when Hopper showed up with news that shattered their world, confirming that Will’s body had been found. He had fled into his bedroom, and folded in on himself, clutching his own body as the grief tore through him.

The instinct is the same now. To disappear. To curl inward, arms wrapped tight around himself, holding on as if that might keep him together, and let everything he’s been carrying finally spill to the surface. Every time he thinks he’s found an opening to slip away, something yanks him right back in. Another weight added to the pile already crushing his chest. So he does what he always does forces himself to shoulder it, to stay locked in, to keep his focus on the mission. They’re just finishing loading the weapons and supplies into the truck, and for a brief moment he’s convinced this is it. This will be his chance to peel off, disappear into the background the way he’s learned to do best. But then Mike steps outside, rallying the troops and saying how Will needs to talk to them, all of them.

And just like that, he’s seated in the chair, watching his brother do something impossibly brave, and he’s never felt prouder in his life. His gaze stays locked on the scene unfolding in front of him as Will edges closer, preparing to take the leap but his movements are careful, unhurried like he’s not quite ready to land on the other side yet. Every so often, Will’s eyes flick toward him, searching and Jonathan holds his gaze each time, hoping that when his brother looks back, he can see it there, steadiness, encouragement, and love. Something solid to anchor himself to.

The rest of the group shifts and listens, trying to piece together what this moment means, but he already knows. He’s always known. And it doesn’t change a damn thing. Tears begin to well in his eyes, and he doesn’t bother to fight them off, because he’s so proud of his brother and beneath those tears of pride are those of heartbreak, the one he’s been holding back since Steve broke Nancy and him out of that room back in the lab.

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.

Shit, shit he staggers back, shoulder hitting the wall hard enough to rattle the weapons mounted there. The clatter makes him grimace and he hopes the noise doesn’t travel upstairs. He can’t handle himself being found like this. Dizziness hits him hard, his skin growing clammy and he can feel sweat breaking across his neck and forehead. He presses his back flat to the wall, and slowly begins to slide down until he’s half-crouched, what happens next is instinct. Wrapping his arms around himself, the same way he did all those years ago, trying to survive emotions too big for his body. His breaths come are almost sobs, each one stealing the next. He squeezes his eyes shut, forehead tipping forward as he fights the overwhelming urge to disappear entirely, to curl up, to vanish, to stop feeling anything at all.

[cluesncurls]

Nancy doesn’t notice him leave right away. Or maybe she does, but her brain refuses to acknowledge it. Like when you catch something in your peripheral vision and convince yourself it was just a trick of the light. She’s standing there with Steve and Robin and Dustin, nodding at the right moments and answering when spoken to, her mind sharp and clicking into place the way it always does when there’s a plan to be made.

But something is off. It’s subtle. It always is with Jonathan. His absence is never loud. But, Nancy can feel it. The way the room is just a little less anchored, like something essential quietly slipped away. She realizes she hasn’t seen him in a few minutes. Not lingering near Joyce and Will, not leaning against the wall pretending not to listen. He isn’t lingering on the outskirts the way he usually does.

She thinks of his face during Will’s speech, the way pride and grief had merged inside him, leaving him unguarded. The way tears had come without warning. She thinks of how he’d held his brother like he was trying to memorize him.

Nancy has always known when Jonathan was about to break. Over the years, she’s learned it the same way she learned how to reload a gun, through repetition, through paying attention to details when others didn’t. He doesn’t announce it. He just… fades out. Slips out of the moment when the weight gets too heavy, when there’s no more room left inside him to hold everything. She knows that feeling well.

Her pulse picks up. She tries to keep listening, tries to tell herself he’s fine, that he just needed air, that she’s projecting. But her feet move without her permission, turning her toward the stairwell. “I’ll be right back,” she says absently, not waiting for a response.

The bunker feels different when she’s alone in it, quieter, heavier. Each step downward heightens the anxiety building in her chest, a familiar sense of dread coiling tight. She thinks of all the times she’s found him like this before, all the moments he’s tried to fracture silently so no one would have to hear it.

Then she hears the sound of metal rattling. She rounds the corner slowly, heart pounding now, and there he is. Pressed against the wall, folded inward, arms locked tight around himself, trying to keep himself from falling apart. His breathing is wrong. Too fast and too shallow. His face slick with sweat, eyes squeezed shut like if he opens them the world might cave in on him.

For a second, she just watches. Not because she doesn’t care. God, because she cares too much. Because seeing him like this hurts in a way she doesn’t have the energy to feel. Because this is the part of Jonathan that has always terrified her the most. Not his anger, or his stubbornness, but the way he punishes himself by isolating himself and enduring alone.

Her throat tightens. Seeing him like this only adds to the weight sitting heavy on her chest, the weight of Holly being within her grasp for mere seconds, only to be pulled away again. And now this… Jonathan, breaking in front of her, needing her when she barely knows how to keep herself upright.

“Jonathan,” she says, gently.

Not loud. Just enough to let him know she’s here without startling him. She takes a few slow steps closer, careful, deliberate, as if approaching a wounded animal. He doesn’t look at her right away, and that hurts too, the way he’s curled so deeply inward he can’t even register her presence yet.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs, even though she knows nothing about this is okay. “You don’t have to get up. I’m not going to rush you.”

She lowers herself to a crouch a short distance away, grounding herself before she tries to ground him. The concrete is cold beneath her palm when she presses her hand to it, a deliberate choice. Something solid. Something real.

“You’re here,” she says quietly. “You’re in the armory. It’s okay. Everything is okay.”

Her voice softens further. “This isn’t weakness. This is your body telling you it’s had enough.”

She watches his shoulders tremble, the way his breath keeps hitching like it can’t quite make the journey all the way in or out. Nancy feels helpless in a way she hates. Not because she doesn’t know what to do, but because she knows she can’t fix this for him. She can only stay.

[cluesncurls]

Am I your favourite?

I don’t really do favorites, Billy… But you do keep me on my toes.

[billy-hargrove-offical-deactiva]

Is that a yes?

[cluesncurls]

It’s not a no.

[billy-hargrove-offical-deactiva]

Soo..?

[ask-the-wheeler]

I'm her brother, I clearly am her favorite.

[billy-hargrove-offical-deactiva]

But I brought her the build a bear!

[ask-the-wheeler]

She said I'm cute. Did she ever say that about you?

[billy-hargrove-offical-deactiva]

She named the bear after me!

[ask-the-wheeler]

She helped name me.

[billy-hargrove-offical-deactiva]

We have secret sleepovers, and tea parties with our build a bears

[ask-the-wheeler]

What are you? Four? Who has tea parties?

[billy-hargrove-offical-deactiva]

ME AND NANCY

[ask-the-wheeler]

Woahh. You and Nancy? Isn't that just incorrect? Shouldn't it be Nancy and you?

[billy-hargrove-offical-deactiva]

Just for that I'm going to seduce your mother now

[ask-the-wheeler]

Keep your piss pipe away from my mommy.

[billy-hargrove-offical-deactiva]

Mommy? What are you? Four?

[ask-the-wheeler]

I love my mom! Is that a crime?

[billy-hargrove-offical-deactiva]

I love her too

[ask-the-wheeler]

SHE'S MARRIED!

[billy-hargrove-offical-deactiva]

So?

[ask-the-wheeler]

You're not even her type.

[billy-hargrove-offical-deactiva]

Soo?

[ask-the-wheeler]

LEAVE MY MOM ALONE!

[billy-hargrove-offical-deactiva]

NO

[ask-the-wheeler]

🖕🏻

[cluesncurls]

Mike is right. Absolutely not. Stay away from my mother.

[cluesncurls]

Am I your favourite?

I don’t really do favorites, Billy… But you do keep me on my toes.

[billy-hargrove-offical-deactiva]

Is that a yes?

[cluesncurls]

It’s not a no.

[billy-hargrove-offical-deactiva]

Soo..?

[ask-the-wheeler]

I'm her brother, I clearly am her favorite.

[billy-hargrove-offical-deactiva]

But I brought her the build a bear!

[ask-the-wheeler]

She said I'm cute. Did she ever say that about you?

[billy-hargrove-offical-deactiva]

She named the bear after me!

[ask-the-wheeler]

She helped name me.

[billy-hargrove-offical-deactiva]

We have secret sleepovers, and tea parties with our build a bears

[cluesncurls]

Mike, knock it off… And Billy, you don’t get to turn this into a competition. This is ridiculous.

[cluesncurls]

Am I your favourite?

I don’t really do favorites, Billy… But you do keep me on my toes.

[billy-hargrove-offical-deactiva]

Is that a yes?

[cluesncurls]

It’s not a no.

[cluesncurls]

Am I your favourite?

I don’t really do favorites, Billy… But you do keep me on my toes.

[ask-the-wheeler]

*knock, knock*

@cluesncurls Nance? Can I come in?

[cluesncurls]

That depends. Are you coming in to talk… or cause trouble?

[ask-the-wheeler]

I wouldn't knock if I came to get on your nerves. Would I?

[cluesncurls]

You don’t knock unless you’re nervous… So, what is it?

[ask-the-wheeler]

Right...

No more secrets, remember? We promised we won't keep secrets from one another anymore... but there's something I've been hiding. From everyone. From myself.

[cluesncurls]

Hey… Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together. You can talk to me, Mike.

[ask-the-wheeler]

It's not that bad, except it is the metaphorical end of the world. Probably worse than any inter-dimensional monster— Shit, I am nervous.

Okay, okay. Okay!

Nance. Nancy. I'm — I —

I can't... I can't... I'm sorry I can't...

[cluesncurls]

Hey, stop. You don’t need to apologize… Take your time, i’m not going anywhere.

[ask-the-wheeler]

I don't want to take my time, Nance. I want to stop being so god damn scared... I'm supposed to be brave. Mike the brave... I'm nothing but a scared little freak.

I'm a freak, not normal... not what I'm supposed to be.

[cluesncurls]

Mike… Listen to me. You are brave. You’re one of the strongest people I know. Now, you don’t have to tell me anything you’re not ready to…. but whenever you are, i’m here to listen.

[ask-the-wheeler]

I am ready to tell— but, what if you aren't ready to hear... that... that your little brother doesn't like girls?

[cluesncurls]

Mike… I know. I’ve seen the way you look at Will. That doesn’t change who you are, and it doesn’t change us. You’re still my brother, that was never up for debate. I don’t care who you like… as long as you’re happy.

[ask-the-wheeler]

I— You— WHAT? What do you mean, you know? Since when? That's a joke right? You knew? Why didn't you tell me? Oh my god—

No, no, no— don't tell me this is also why Jonathan has been looking at me all weird. Oh my god. OH MY GOD.

[cluesncurls]

Mike. Breathe. I didn’t bring it up because it wasn’t my place to say anything. Nothing’s changed. Jonathan looking at you ‘weird’ is not what you think.

[cluesncurls]

So...Mike told me you made this meme of me

Mike talks too much... And no, I don’t regret it.

[raffyfish]

I hope they survive this last season 🙏🏽

[cluesncurls]

What snacks do you want for game night?

Chips and soda are fine… and maybe some Reese’s Cups. Just don’t overdo it this time. I’m still trying to get melted skittles out of my rug.