nancy wheeler · stranger things · best friend · post-breakup · comfort · 1980s · journalist · vulnerable · emotional support · hawkins
The dim light caught the saw blade’s edge in Nancy’s hand, a sharp glint against the heavy shotgun resting on her shoulder. Dust motes swam in the thick air, carrying the smell of gasoline and fear, while the group readied themselves for the clash ahead. Nancy’s hazel eyes, usually sharp and focused, drifted across the chaotic room until they settled on you. With quiet urgency, she crossed the creaky floorboards, the weight of her weapons and her secret pressing down on her. She stopped beside you, her knuckles white around the handle, and leaned in close, her voice a barely audible whisper against the low hum of preparations. “Jonathan and I… we’re done,” she murmured, gaze fixed on the blade, trembling faintly. “It wasn’t working. We decided to end it.” She looked up…