Archive of Our Own ^beta

As it turns out, the War Zone isn't all that bad of a place, even if the name is a little on the nose, in Robin's opinion. It's a prime place for some supply scavenging™ (as she likes to call it), since they really have no idea what they're doing right now or what to do in the future.

Visiting this store again is a little odd. The last time she was here, she was gearing up to kill the reason for why the past four years have been happening, and then…well, getting confronted with how her love life pales in comparison to the end of the world.

But ignoring that last part, because she really doesn’t want to think about that, she instead thinks about how they’re here again.

It’s just a bit…macabre, maybe. Dystopian, definitely.

Robin's exhausting her AP English language knowledge right now, but there's no time like the horrifying present of what's basically the end of the world induced by some interdimensional being who has the power to rip their loved ones away from them in the blink of an eye, right?

Right.

She steps in and avoids making puns about how fan-taser-tastic—hah—this place is.

The shelves are lined with weaponry. Guns, knives, some sharp objects she should probably stay away from, the odd tank of gasoline, and is that an axe? Seriously? How cliché can you get?

(And, well, if that voice in her ear is whispering mine, that's nobody's business but hers and the hunger in her chest.)

Robin quietly rubs her right shoulder, feeling the faint buzz of something thrumming beneath in the wounded scar she had gotten just weeks before.

Looking around, she takes in how everyone is already on the move, scavenging and going through the store with no stop or pause.

Steve has a glaring red bucket in hand, filled with ammo, and a can of gas in another. He also has a familiar bat and axe on his back, ready to be grabbed at a moment’s notice. There’s a tension in her best friend’s shoulders, one that’s been there for a while now, and one she wants to help ease.

Jonathan is holding a gun in his hands and shifting it into place like it's an old enemy, his face twisting into a grimace. He uses his other hand to go through the various weapons and equipment they might need, dumping them into the cart he had grabbed when they got here, positioned right next to him.

Will and Mike—well. She doesn't quite know why they're here, but there was something about Mike insisting he came and Will insisting he followed, despite everyone else’s protests. Hence here they were, with Mike grabbing more bullets with a familiar stubbornness in his eyes, and Will is by his side, helping him carry another bucket.

It feels like grocery shopping, and Robin wonders when exactly her life became this—running, fighting, surviving—before she reaches for the steel-sharp knife out of the corner of her eye. Girl's gotta eat.

She reaches for another, an odd feeling—want want want—within driving her hands, and—

Clink.

That's all the warning they get before the windows are shattered to pieces, glass bursting on her cheek. They're all forced to back up against the counter, and this might just be her weird spider-sense-thing but she can taste the unease in the air in waves.

There are five silhouettes standing right in the dust of the destroyed store entrance. Robin doesn’t even have to think to know who they were.

"Well, well, well…" The middle silhouette takes a step forward and out of the fog, revealing Nancy Wheeler.

Except it’s not Nancy right now, she heartachingly knows.

Not with familiar and unfamiliar scars painting her skin. Not with the changed and different sized pupils in her eyes. Not with the color of terrifying gray-black instead of the familiar light blue. Not with the menacing smirk that forms on her face at the sight of them.

It’s not Nancy. The girl Robin sees in this very moment hasn’t been Nancy for a while now.

Na—Nancy chuckles lowly, purring like some sort of sunday-morning-cartoon villain. "Look at what the cat dragged in."

Robin’s fists tighten at the sound of her mocking voice, and Mike squeezes his eyes closed next to her, so Robin subtly nods at his gun—Nancy's gun, really—and makes sure to gesture to him, be ready.

She straightens, determined to be the Chimes’ pain in the ass for as long as she can.

They're in this triangle formation, with Nancy at the front, Max by her right and Chrissy by her left, Patrick and Fred hanging in the back ominously.

They stand casually in place, in the same outfits they had when they died or disappeared. They hold nothing in their hands, but that’s not fooling anyone here.

Robin clenches her jaw, before trying for a grin. "You see, that’s not the right phrase, since no one actually dragged us in—"

Nancy glares, cutting in without hesitation, "do you want to die?"

"Okay, sensitive.” Robin raises her hands as she feels Steve shift right next to her, his favorite bat held tightly in his hands. The one that came from Nancy herself. He had grabbed it in a flash when the Chimes burst in. “Usually, you guys resort to death threats, like, three quips later. Jeez, is your boss mad at you or something?"

Nancy, oddly enough, winces involuntarily, hackles rising. A flash of pain runs through her face in terrifying familiarity, starting at the corner of her downturned mouth and ending at the wrinkle by her eye.

She rearranges her face into indifference so quickly Robin wonders if she'd imagined it in the first place. "No more games. You will be coming with us," she states coldly, voice hardened. "Or else you’ll suffer even worse than what One already has planned."

"Like I said. Sensitive," Robin lightly replies, feeling Nancy’s gaze burn right through her. Desperately trying to keep her facade up, her own gaze turns to look at Mike for a moment.

He cocks the gun at Nancy, heaving like he can't get oxygen in his lungs quick enough. He ends up teetering between the delicate curve of her temple and just beneath her collarbones.

Your enemy's head or your sister's heart?

She concludes there's no right answer, so they cover all the places he can't bear to aim at.

Nancy crosses her arms, scoffing. "We have you surrounded. Resistance is—"

Robin raises an eyebrow. "Futile? You guys are so predictable."

"—unwise.” Nancy’s scowl darkens even more at her quip. “One is convinced you're stronger than you seem, so we're treating you like it," she notes simply, the calm in her voice like an iced-over lake. "We are prepared to use more...violent measures, if need be."

Robin swallows a little, but still stands her ground. She can feel the rest tense up, preparing themselves for the inevitable fight coming.

There was no easy way out now. Not with the Chimes blocking the way out.

Steve continues to grip his bat tight to the point where he might leave a mark on the handle, eyes snapping from one chime to another. Jonathan is keeping a steady aim towards one of the Chimes with his gun, knuckles white but unwavering. Will holds his staff like a professional despite only trying it out recently, taking a deep, slow breath. Mike continues watching Nancy, her gun in his hands still trained at her, even as his hands shake in pain and despair for his lost, lost sister.

All of the Chimes just watch them impassively and yet sharply, hands still empty, but Robin knows they have weapons. Ones they could bring out in a blink of an eye.

Max in particular was staring at them all hard, but was switching her gaze from them to Nancy at times, eyes somehow softening, just a little.

Someone they also failed to save, in the end of it all.

Robin clenches her fists even tighter.

Nancy’s stare towards them is cold and fiery and calculating, something that's familiar, something that was always directed to anything Upside Down related…

…but now…it's used against them.

She grits her teeth. Shit. Shit.

She desperately pushes away those thoughts and grabs hold tight of her fake confidence and her desire to be the biggest pain of all for them.

Steve shifts beside her, just a subtle movement, and yet, even with her weak grasp of social cues, Robin understands.

“Oh yeah?” Robin grins at them, baring teeth. “Come on and bring it then.”

She sees the way Nancy’s eyes spark from the challenge, but before she can even try to reply, she hears Steve scream out, “NOW!”

Then it all becomes a blur: the quick jolt of weapons, a shift in the air, the dark feel of power on her skin, and her world explodes in a white-hot bang.

Robin blinks.

Time has slowed to the slow drip of blood from her nose, the slow blooming of gunpowder and smoke next to her, and Conquest—

—Nancy, sawed-off shotgun in hand and what can only be rage in her eyes, stares at her murderously, and yet her eyebrows are furrowed in concentration. Robin watches as her hands move in practiced ease, her body moving with a fluid grace; there’s nothing else that should be done, really, when the unstoppable force of stolen life that is Vecna’s Fifth Chime bursts into metaphorical and almost literal flames.

From the barrel of her gun, a loud bang comes and a spray of bullets inches its way towards Robin. With a yelp, she dives down to the floor as it all goes past her head, ringing out behind her.

None of them connect.

Time comes rushing back, the pace of it frenetic and desperate, noise howling in her ears, and she pushes herself up and jumps away before Max’s balisong makes a home in her shoulder.

Her hands are oven-hot and there’s a wide splay of throwing knives around the Chimes before flying towards them, glinting and deadly. She thinks—knows it’s Chrissy.

Unwittingly, her finger runs itself over the paper-thin edge of the knife she had grabbed in her hands. It draws a small bead of blood that just barely shocks her back into—

(now, you’re fighting people who you care about more than life itself and they’re so, so determined to hurt you it’s sparking a bonfire in your chest and tears in your eyes—)

She watches the Chimes stalk towards them, eyes glowing and so changed from who they used to be—

(something that's horrifyingly you is in control right now, and you’re losing the debate of life and death, you’re losing and you don’t know if you can come back—)

She throws recklessly, her hand faltering, and the knife barely misses Max. She feels her hands shaking.

Robin would usually come up with some sort of joke now, except it’s not really funny and her throat is thick with a frightening anger she’s grown familiar with.

She stumbles back. Her face is wet. She doesn’t know if it’s tears or blood.

She vaguely sees Nancy and Max in front of her, standing side by side, staring and observing.

Robin feels something lurch inside and her breath hitches.

There’s a familiar and unfamiliar feeling rushing through her veins.

She reaches out blindly, finding contact, and tugs on someone’s sleeve as a warning.

I'm not myself.

A hand clasps on her own. “Rob—” Steve.

She turns to look at him, vaguely finding her sight hazy and—green.

“Rob, you’re—“ Steve stops the moment he takes her in, his face blanching at a rate she would make fun of if she could. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit shit shit— no, Rob, stay with me—"

“I can’t—” she barely rasps out, her voice trembling. “I’m not—” Her knuckles whiten at her tight grip on her best friend’s jacket. “I—I can't control it.”

I can’t control myself.

A low laugh causes Robin to whip her head towards the source.

“Having some trouble there, Buckley?” Nancy grins, eyes shining, and Robin knows even this slowly transforming version of her couldn’t lay a finger on that version of Nancy. “It's scary, isn’t it?”

Even in the sea of hazy, chaotic green in her eyes right now—

hunger and anger roaring and blaring so loudly that all her senses just suddenly go die and thrive and evolve

—she stares at her surely, all of her attention focusing right on Nancy, who just continues to grin with that shiny glint in her changed eyes.

Eyes full of mocking amusement and pure loathing.

Robin lets out a shuddering breath, only able to vaguely tell where everyone else is then.

Steve is by her side, staring at her with horror. Max, in a parallel, is by Nancy's, pale eyes boring right into her with a fascination and frustration that Robin can't help but be intimately familiar with by now.

Somewhere to the side of them, in another aisle of the War Zone, Jonathan and Mike are desperately trying to protect Will from Chrissy, Fred, and Patrick, who had started surrounding them the moment they knew one of their three main targets was here and easy to take.

Ever since she didn’t lose herself to the infection, Robin knows she’s one of those three, too.

Except she’s losing herself now—

She feels something lurch within her again, and her breath almost gets knocked out of her.

"Robin!" her best friend cries out to her, placing a hand on her shoulder to keep her steady. It brings her back for a moment, a burst of gratefulness for Steve, for her soulmate who's always there for her and always willing to fight for her.

But then the infection roars relentlessly within, causing her to let out a whimper and scream all at once.

Unable to continue comprehending Steve's pleas and whispers, desperate and becoming increasingly distant once more, she can feel herself shaking and trembling hard in her place.

Her own will is just barely able to keep herself from disappearing into the hunger anger rage scourge feeling threatening to consume all that she is and was and could be.

Robin can somehow tell, from Max's irked and troubled expression, that this feeling in her chest was not the Chime's doing, even if the infection within her came from the poisoned tipped arrow she shot her with.

And yet the infection that sank beneath her skin and bones and mind and heart continues to violently writhe within, as if trying to change and form into something she doesn't understand—

A chuckle echoes loudly once more, and somehow, somehow breaks her out of her own head again.

Robin's eyes snap back up, meeting Nancy's. She can never seem to really look away.

Something primal and dangerous burns in Robin and it wants out.

"You don't know what to do now, huh, Buckley?" She tilts her head, swinging her shotgun lightly at her side.

She can barely process what she’s saying, not when her head is full of outoutoutoutoutOUT—

Nancy grins. "Why don't you just give up?"

Robin—

Robin doesn't comprehend what happens next.

In her haze, she scrambles for something. Anything.

And—

This is what she knows: she's pushed Nancy up against a wall, a new knife at the fragile skin of her throat. Her vision is clouded over with green and her lungs are heaving with the weight of her rage.

There's a palpable shift in the air, condemning as the click of a gun as it loads—the rest of the Chimes have their weapons and power on full display, and she can't see Steve or Jonathan or Will or Mike anymore, but she can feel the absence of their breaths in the room, tensed and waiting.

This is what she knows: Nancy's eyes are a dark, dark gray-onyx, clear as night and missing something Robin can never forget. Her eyes are wide and surprised, like she didn't think Robin had it in her. No blood has been drawn yet. Suddenly, a smile tugs Nancy’s lips.

You don't have control, the satisfaction in her smile says. You're done for.

This is what she knows: Nancy isn't Nancy right now. She hasn't been since she was taken. Robin thinks it was before that, even, but there's no use in mourning a girl who isn't dead and isn't hers. Their breaths tangle together.

Nancy is alive and real and just beneath her fingertips, and she's not Nancy, not really.

This is what she knows: the cloying feel of something raw and visceral is driving her hands into action and the knife into Nancy's neck, teetering on the edge of hurt her and save her and the fine line in-between.

Robin isn't herself right now either, she thinks distantly. They kind of match. Monstrous creatures that once were humans roaming free and hungry and out for blood. How fitting.

This is what she knows: Vecna loves to play games.

This is what she knows: she's lost.

And this is what happens next: she—

Ba-bump.

(Robin is sitting next to Nancy. They're in the library. There's no one here other than them. They've found Vecna's mistake, and she can see from the look in Nancy's eyes that it will be his last. They’re gathering all the evidence: a newspaper clipping, a story of a man driven to madness and pinned by murder, the books they’d left haphazardly on the ground.

Her heart pumps like it’s never going to stop. There's something intimately unknown in her chest. Her head buzzes with triumph and a golden array of happiness she would feel bad about in front of any other stranger, but uptight, prissy Nancy Wheeler from her history class in high school proves to be different.

Nancy mutters a quiet, awkward thanks, and says she can call her Nance, if you want. Robin beams and shuts up and lets her heart burst with that very same unknown within.)

Ba-bump.

(They're at Pennhurst, and every tightly-wound line of Nancy's body is screaming help me even in her silence, so Robin does. She's good at acting, good at lying, good at making her voice crack with emotion and letting tears wet the corners of her eyes, and the stuffy, academic head of a place that cannot be humane buys it. They book it out of his office, adrenaline flowing free in their bodies, and share a quiet low-five.

When Robin nudges Nancy's elbow, she bumps her shoulder back. Nance, she says, just for the hell of it, and Nancy's eyes shine with an irreplicable mirth as she tells her to shut up.)

Ba-bump.

(They're running out of Pennhurst, now. Nancy is somehow doing it in high heels, which looks a little painful and also a little hot and she held Robin’s hand for a moment to pull her forward and oh wow now she adamantly tries not to think about it. Robin has kicked off hers, in favor of running away from the fucking police in scratchy stockings and feeling wet grass under her feet. Nancy laughs when Robin says her coordination is seriously awful then looks like she regrets it terribly when she almost falls.

In a split-second, Nancy takes her hand again and drags her in the direction of her car, thrill in their veins, and Robin knows this isn't usually what teenage rebellion is but she's never been so keen on following what things usually are. She thinks of otherworldly dimensions and guns held in two steady, steady hands, and concludes that Nancy isn't either, so she holds her hand tighter and doesn't let go until she has to.)

Ba-bump.

(The house is dusty and decrepit, and there’s something cold about it that makes Robin’s hair stand up on edge – maybe it’s just the knowledge of what cruel deaths took place in this house, right where they stand, but there’s a kind of evil about it that makes Robin kind of want to run away and curl up into a ball. She’s standing in front of a clock, a clock that seems relatively normal, all things considered, but Max looks paler just staring at it, so she steps forwards not just to alleviate her own fears and prove it’s just normal, but to help Max, too. Steve makes a dumb comment and Dustin snarks at him, but Robin’s focusing on Nancy.

She’s looking around, an analytical gleam in those sharp, intelligent eyes. Everyone stay in groups of two, she tells them, voice firm and commanding, like a leader, and her eyes glide seamlessly to Robin’s as she speaks: Robin, upstairs. She gestures, and when Robin gives her a little salute and Nancy nods at her, there’s a hint of a smile twitching in the side of her mouth before she hardens as she goes upstairs.

Robin, for all her supposed casualness in the moment, blinks for a single second. She knew they started bonding since the library, but she’s still a little surprised that Nancy had called for her out of everyone here. And yet, even with those thoughts circling in her head, she finds no hesitation within as she follows her upstairs.)

Ba-bump.

(Nancy puts up a front, and Robin can see this. Robin knows this—she knows full well what it’s like to wear a mask, to not let anyone see what you really feel. But with Robin, it’s always been more about the fear of rejection, of getting made fun of or even worse. With Nancy, she has a feeling the mask has always been for other people more than for herself. Not that she knows that for certain, they’ve known each other for like, less than a week, but it’s just a feeling.

So when she sees the worry tugging at Nancy’s brow, she doesn’t hesitate to prod it, ask what’s wrong. She knows it’s probably way too personal to ask about relationship issues, so she accepts Nancy’s answers of we’re good without a second thought. But then Nancy looks down, starts talking about her and Jonathan, letting it all spill out, and Robin feels honored because Nancy clearly trusts her enough to talk to her about this. She talks about her and Jonathan until she doesn’t, until there’s a small, sweet smile on her face.

You said ‘the happiness of your friends’, she mumbles out, a little slowly and hesitantly, and Robin’s face warms because she’d just assumed, and hadn’t even realized that she’d said that. So, does that make us friends? Robin looks back at her and her eyes are blue and she knows from art class that blue is supposed to be a cold color, but with that soft, cautious glow in her eyes, she can’t help but think it’s the warmest color she’s ever seen. As in, officially?

When Robin replies with a stammer of Uh… yeah. I… I-I mean, right? and Nancy’s grin and Right. is like a sunbeam on her face, nurturing and feeling like home.)

Ba-bump.

(The scream rips itself out of Robin’s throat the moment Nancy hits the water and vanishes beneath its murky depths. She doesn’t resurface, knows she won’t because it’s not in Nancy’s nature to just leave someone behind to die, not after everything.

She lets out a shaky breath and, with a slow beat, turns around from the water. Despite the fear that’s thrumming through her veins, blurring her vision, slowing her movements, her mind’s already made up. Robin’s best friend was pulled into the depths, Nancy followed him down to save him, and she’s not one to leave her friends to go into danger alone.

Eddie sees what she’s doing and scrambles to stop her, clearly saying something, but she can’t really process until anything that he says until she hears the words, She’s in charge.

Are you kidding? Her own voice is hoarse as she pushes herself further to the edge of the boat. I made that shit up. She doesn’t give him the chance to do anything else as she holds her nose close and falls backwards, right into the dark depths of the unknown.)

Ba-bump.

(Nancy is trembling, and she's terrible at hiding it. She chokes on air and slurs her words and runs on sentences. She whispers about Vecna, he's here he sees me I have to stop him from getting what he wants, I know I'm being stupid about this but— and Robin doesn't leave room for anyone other than them in this hug. Nancy hitches dry sobs into her neck.

It—It doesn't even matter, you don't have to, she says later as she leans on Robin, chasing heat. They're quiet until the shattering of dawn, and Robin tells her she would do anything for her with far fewer words and far less honesty. You're my friend, Nance, she whispers. Of course I do. Nancy’s small smile in response makes it all worth it.)

Ba-bump.

(Robin watches as Nancy is putting down the backpack slung on her shoulders, preparing as she’s about to climb the rope back into the Upside Down. Robin doesn’t know what compels her to do what she does next, but all she knows is that she does it: she kneels on one knee, not breaking her gaze away from Nancy.

Nancy stares back, and a split second moment passes between them. No words are spoken right then, but Robin thinks that there is still a hint of something that passes between them. She sees Nancy nod subtly and starts to move again, silently accepting what Robin, as little as it might be in the long run, offers her.

Robin digs her foot to the ground and grips her leg tight, making sure to stay steady and unfaltering as Nancy starts to climb. Even with her quiet and pained grunts, Robin knows she’d do this for her, again and again.)

Ba-bump.

(They're standing at the lawn in front of the Creel house, colder and terrifying in the Upside Down like how just about everything is a worse version of everything else in the Upside Down. Nancy swallows. Robin's learned, by now, what her nervous tells are. These tells—heaving chest, shaking hands, uncertain eyes—are something else. Fear. After all, nervousness doesn’t really scratch that deep.

She can't fix it, doesn't even pretend she knows what Nancy feels, looking into the house of the monster that stole a bit of her away. She tries, though. Robin's learned, by now, that Nancy feels safest behind the trigger of a gun, knows and loves the security of an undeniable weapon.

She reminds her, you've got this—you're good with those, you know. Nancy straightens and tilts her head to the side. I know, she responds, a small smile forming on her face, and Robin almost can pretend they're normal teenagers, and that all she has with Nancy is a crush and nothing more, and that they’re probably trespassing but the police here are seriously slacking off anyway.

The sky darkens in response. Almost, it reminds her. Almost.)

Ba-bump.

(A little later, standing right in front of the door of the house that will end it all, just before they reach the point of no return, Robin finds her hand searching for Nancy’s, unable to stop and keep her own fear to herself. Their fingers slip and slip and slip until they finally catch and hold, fingerprints fitting like grooves. Nancy doesn’t push her away. Instead, she tightens her grip on Robin’s hand and whispers, delicate as spun sugar: It’s okay, you’ve got this. Robin stares at her with wide eyes, then.

Nancy smiles at her bewilderment. Her lips—chapped because she hates the feel of lip balm, red with a distinct vivacity—part as she says, and I got you.

And— oh.

You’ve got me, Robin repeats, so very softly so their quiet reprieve isn’t broken, and it sounds like the truth.

Nancy smiles a little wider, then straightens her face into hard iron; the face of a girl who has too much to lose. As they walk into the house, elbows knocking against each other, Robin holds her torchlight with a grip that could break it and thinks, I’ve got you, too.)

I got you.

Robin blinks.

Her vision has cleared.

And right then and there, she suddenly takes in everything all at once.

Her tight grip on the knife nicking Nancy's neck. (t-too close, too close—)

Nancy's eyes widening in shock. (she's still lost—)

The dangerous feeling that was overtaking her subsiding. (but Robin isn't—?)

She notices the way the infection in her body, mind, and soul calms.

She feels more herself than she was a few moments ago.

She—She didn't disappear.

Robin feels her breath hitch, but then immediately takes in the way Nancy's eyes narrow in pure bewilderment and fury.

In a single moment, something smacks the hand holding the knife away, causing her to lose her grip and send it flying with a yelp. Before she can even try to recover herself, a hard hit to the chest sends her backward, harshly knocking the breath out of her.

Robin clutches her stomach, wheezing in pain as she hears her friends call out to her in panic and distress.

“ROB!” Steve's voice resonates loudest, reaching out to her like familiar warmth seeping into the unforgiving cold.

But before she could even try to even reassure them in some capacity, or even try to say or do anything—

"How?" A familiar but cold voice reaches her ears, causing Robin to meet Nancy's stormy and frustrated eyes. "How are you in control?"

With blooming tears in her eyes, Robin knows exactly why.

You brought me back.

Nancy growls, before pursing her lips and gives Max a look. "Can't you—"

Max makes a very Max-like face as she grips her bow tight. "We've been over this. I can't do shit when it comes to her, for whatever the fuck reason," she hisses, glaring daggers at Robin.

The Chimes had stopped their non-stop assault on the rest of her friends when she held Nancy by knifepoint, and they haven’t continued it as they stare between her and their leader, who is still staring at Robin with murder in her eyes.

Fuck.

Fred and Patrick exchange looks from where they are. Out of the corner of her eye, Chrissy is the only one still grinning, her eyes flicking between Robin and the knife on the floor and Nancy’s shaking form.

“Conquest, we shouldn’t—this isn’t how One wanted it to go,” Fred warns, tightening his grip on his scythe as he stares at something out of Robin’s vision with narrowed eyes. Hearing ragged breathing, she thinks it’s one of the others being held at scythe-point. “You know what He can do.”

“It doesn't matter.” Nancy takes one step, then two, then three, like she can’t keep herself away. Blood drips from the thin slit in her neck.

In this light, she is Conquest; her cheekbones are harsh and angular, eyebrows a dark stroke of anger on her face, eyes obscured by a fog of power and control.

Robin doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe. She supposes she can’t keep herself away either.

Robin can hear Steve yell again, before being abruptly cut off by a sound of a sword swing and a cold “Oh no you don’t.” Patrick.

Chrissy just continues to grin, impossibly. “You must really like her, huh? What d’ya think One’ll say about this?”

A small shock goes through Conquest, and Robin can see Nancy underneath it. She feels her heart skip a beat.

Nancy rubs at her temple for a moment, before gritting her teeth. “He will say nothing. You—” she mutters, fists tightening “—will say nothing.”

Chrissy stiffens, scowling subtly. “Of course.”

Robin lets out a shuddering breath as Nancy comes closer, closer than she should, closer than is wise. Max purses her lips behind her, looking conflicted, but doesn’t say a word.

The moment is almost quiet besides the sound of Steve’s barely contained growls and the sound of Nancy's footsteps.

She reaches her, her coat shifting as she kneels to Robin’s eye level, the quirk of her mouth that tells Robin she’s hurt, somewhere, but there’s not a scratch on her.

It’s the squeezing of her heart in her ribcage, her stomach screaming protests as she gravitates (and isn’t that the crux of her issues—Nancy demanding an inch and Robin pulling her in for twelve—) to the figure who she can barely recognize.

It’s the slow, honey-like drawl of Nancy's voice as she hisses:

“You might have control, but I can't wait to be the one to break it.”

Robin's eyes widen in fear at the same moment Steve, somewhere behind her, has had enough and screams out, “NO—!”

There are suddenly loud steps, loud bangs, loud yells, and just pure chaos, as if a spell has been shattered and all hell is breaking loose.

She sees the way Nancy’s jaw clenches and her head nods once before suddenly, the rest of the Chimes burst and disperse from where they were in a flurry of pale colors, continuing their assault on everyone else.

There’s a couple yelps and loud curses behind her, Steve's being particularly loud because she knows he wants to get to her.

She wants to get to him too, wants to help them against the Chimes, but—

But then Nancy suddenly and roughly grabs her jacket and pulls until they’re face to face. Her hands fly up to the Chime’s wrists, but the grip on her jacket is tight and unforgiving.

“And now…” Nancy hisses, glaring as she leans forward to the point where Robin can feel her breath hit her face. “…I can deal with you.”

Robin's breath hitches for a moment, seeing the fiery fury so familiar in her eyes.

A familiar fury being used against them.

One that’s taken and changed, but not gone.

Not with what she saw.

And that’s when she grits her teeth, glaring right back.

Robin feels the infection within her flare up again, but this time—

This time is different.

She’s in control.

And she’s going to get Nancy back.

Robin grins wildly, her eyes glowing. “Try me, princess.”

And she rips the hand from her jacket and forcefully pushes Nancy away, causing her to stumble back.

Robin immediately gets up, her eyes still on Nancy as she reorients and centers herself in her place.

The Chime recovers herself faster than Robin does, sliding smoothly to stop her pace and immediately stands up.

“You—” Nancy’s head snaps up, her eyes blazing as she summons her gun once again. “—are a rather prickly nuisance to deal with, Buckley.”

Robin knows she should be nervous.

For one, she can’t fight. Not really. She fucking sucks at it.

Two, her coordination is absolutely not going to help her here. She doesn’t even know how she’s been holding out all this time.

And third, this is Nancy she’s facing. with an imitation of the very same gun she holds dearly, the one in Mike's hands right now.

She should be nervous.

And she is.

And yet, she takes a deep breath.

Robin tries to take a fighting stance, keeping herself focused on Nancy but still grinning all the same. “I guess you can say I’m a rebel then, Conquest.”

Nancy snarls viciously, eyes glowing dangerously. “Fuck off.”

Robin digs her feet into the ground. It is rebellion at its finest. Conquests make for good conflicts, and revolutions make for better ones. They both know it.

“Make me,” she retorts, spitting at Nancy’s feet. Her throat works through the hesitation until her arm is loaded with the spark of gunpowder and a throwing knife. It’s wrong in her hands, but she doesn’t have a choice in it right now.

In a flash, Nancy points the barrel of her gun at her. Her face is twisted as she shoots and Robin just barely dodges the spray of bullets.

This is all wrong, Robin thinks. Her infection spurs her legs and her hands and her shoes scrabble against the ground for purchase. She lands backed up against a metal aisle, throwing knives and whatever thing she picks up along the way, hoping for some kind of miracle and hurling more and more weapons when she doesn’t find it.

All wrong, she thinks, as Nancy sends one of Max’s arrows from the determined line of her arm when her gun doesn’t work, desperate and sure at the same time. The arrow whistles past her ear. The ground is slippery as she backs away from the glowing poison that’s already in her veins. Nancy makes a dissatisfied, growling sound.

All wrong, she thinks, as Nancy lands a blow from her fist in the edges of her face, blood leaking out of Robin’s nose and Nancy’s neck. She reaches up to do something—anything—and kicks her stomach.

It’s wrong and it’s thrilling and Robin hasn’t felt so alive and impassioned and resolute in months. They’re both breathing heavily. There's hair in Nancy’s face.

Come back to me, Robin prays, constant in her wanting.

All's fair in love and war. Robin doesn't know the difference, at this point, but there's no room for pleas either.

Nancy goes for a punch again. She ducks in response.

You're coming back, Robin whispers to herself, I'll make sure of it.

Her knuckles are white and her lungs can’t get enough air at the speed she’s running with and she knows—knows she’s nearing her limit, knows she can’t win the fight at this distance, not with Nancy’s aim, so Robin gathers the white-hot melting of anger and injustice in her chest and lunges, punching her face.

The Chime stumbles back, her head snapping to the side, but not a sound escapes her. Shit.

Nancy wipes her face of sweat and blood that proves she’s still human. Her lips are bitten red and chapped. Her expression is cold.

This is the face of someone who has won a thousand battles, Robin thinks. Someone who has conquered kingdoms and more. Someone who will take this one by force and smile while doing it.

Nancy stares at Robin, eyes smooth as stone. “That’s the best you can do?”

“Oh, trust me,” she exhales, panting slightly. “I'm just getting started.”

In a speed that surprises even herself, Robin wildly, almost clumsily, punches Nancy hard in the hollow of her throat, causing her to make a choked noise.

She jumps back slightly, away from a staggering Nancy. She clenches her fist. “It wouldn't be good to just let you win, after all.”

Nancy, as expected, recovers just as quickly as before, her eyes blazing. “No more games,” she snarls, snapping and visibly losing patience. “Let's end this.”

She reaches for the axe-looking thing to her left, the one she saw earlier, and in a flash, Nancy throws smoothly. Her hand drags with the speed of it. The axe rushes through the air like an army of soldiers at their commander’s call.

Subconsciously, her hands reach out. Her spine zings with intuition.

And—

She catches it. She doesn’t know how, but she catches it.

The handle is rough and the metal cuts through her palm like butter, but she catches it, swings it over her shoulder, grins at the drip of impassioned blood on the floor.

Nancy’s eyes widen in shock.

Robin grins, before throwing familiar words right back, “that's the best you can do?”

Nancy swallows. Robin watches the dried blood on her throat. “You—“

“What? Surprised?” She chuckles, silently hiding the fact that she’s surprised by her reckless action herself.

“Yes,” Nancy says, truthful.

Robin squints at her honesty, before deciding to be honest herself. More than she has been, with Nancy. “You shouldn’t be.” She takes a deep breath.

“It’s—” she laughs, because this definitely isn’t the place for what she’s about to say. “—you brought me back, you know. It's you. It’s always been you.”

Nancy's breath hitches at her admission. "W-What?"

Robin nods, taking a moment to breathe as the Chime gapes at her.

Almost like she's never seen her before.

Her grin widens and softens all at the same time, looking at Nancy as if she really is just her new precious friend, Nancy and not the Fifth Chime of Catastrophe, Conquest.

"You brought me back,” she breathes out. “You’ve got me.” She feels tears build up in her eyes at those words. “You're the reason why I'm still here, Nance."

Robin sees the way Conquest's breath hitches again, sees the way she freezes, sees for a moment a hint of Nancy swirling in those gray-black eyes that are supposed to be blue, that were blue. Blue as a tidal push of water in endless sea, blue as she drowns, blue blue blue until it isn’t anymore.

(Blue, Robin’s learned, from lessons that never seem to end, has connotations of calmness, tranquility. Blue is the mist of early dawn. Blue is the press of blood-warm fingertips on ice, vasoconstriction and pinching nerves. Blue is cold and blue is calculated and blue is the color of Nancy’s eyes, and Nancy isn’t half as detached as what Robin has learned blue is.

Blue, she corrects after, is passion, even if red loves that label. Blue is still calculated because everything about Nancy is calculated, but it’s sharp with quick wit and a surgeon-like precision. Blue is determination and responsibility and bravery.

And beneath all those heavy, heavy obligations, blue is love.)

And yet, where blue should be, gray remains.

It doesn’t really matter what gray is, since Robin will never get to know.

Because when there was a hint of her for a single moment, she disappears.

Nancy grits her teeth and snarls.

Robin’s heart sinks.

The Chime wildly brings up her gun and points directly at her again (and again and again), and Robin doesn’t hesitate to throw herself to the side as soon as the trigger is pulled and another loud bang comes through.

She clumsily but still safely rolls on the ground, away from where the bullets landed, hastily getting back up to see what Nancy would do next.

But what she sees is Nancy holding her head as if she's in pain, and there is an immediate urge for Robin to reach out to her, to hold her hand and squeeze it tight and never let go.

But Robin knows she can't do that.

Not today.

But she will fight and rebel with all her will and might to make that day exist.

At the corner of her eye, she sees another axe on the floor, essentially right next to her and completely identical to the one in her hand right now.

Robin reaches out and holds it in her free hand, quickly observing and taking in all its details: the bright silver shine of the axe; the pure black handle, textured and polished; the sharp, honed blade glinting in the harsh light, and her own reflection in the weapon itself, a mix of familiar blue and infection green eyes, staring right back at her.

She now holds these weird axes in both hands.

Dual wielding, she thinks.

She never thought she'd ever hold a proper weapon to use for fights, but maybe she should have seen it coming in the middle of a time when conquests and rebellions transpire almost every day.

Robin hears Nancy scream in a mix of pain and frustration, causing her head to snap up and see the Chime looking at her again with an expression that Robin can't completely identify but feels her heart ache for all the same.

And then Nancy lunges right at her, not even trying to shoot as she instead uses her sawed-off shotgun as a makeshift melee weapon. Robin, even in the anxiety that she's been pushing down this entire encounter, meets her head-on.

Like a rebel fighting back against a conquest.

Fitting.

And so they exchange blows endlessly. Nancy just goes for relentless strikes and shots that both knew would be deadly. Robin responds by parrying every strike and dodging every shot, able to get a few non-lethal hits in, being able to do all of this through the infection in her veins.

Robin has never wielded these axes, or any axes for that matter, in her entire life.

And yet, as she fights, these weapons—tomahawks, she's able to catch for a moment the printed $38.99 price tag still attached to the end of the handles, because of course—somehow feel like home in Robin's hands.

They feel like home, and she's using them to bring Nancy home.

By what feels like an hour but must be a few minutes, they’re out of breath and blood has started drying on the linoleum floor.

They should already be down and out if they were truly human.

Maybe they’re both just monsters in their own right.

Still, the fight continues regardless, and it feels like a slap in the face.

You’re not getting her back, Nancy’s ruthlessness says, cutting a precarious line of red into the length of Robin’s arm, so she listens to the blood rushing in her ears instead.

You don’t have a choice, she thinks, to the beat of Nancy’s heart, synced to hers as they destroy each other.

She doesn’t know who it refers to but thinks, again, that it’s true either way: Robin doesn’t have a choice in getting Nancy back, and Nancy doesn’t have a choice when Robin succeeds.

It’s a test of will; they’re too tired for anything else. Time after time, Robin brings the dull end of a tomahawk to Nancy’s ribs and feels the bruising it will leave.

In a sort of push and pull, conqueror and rebel and their kingdom in-between, Nancy aims for her neck with an iron-tipped arrow and grazes her heartbeat beneath.

She avoids the softer parts of Nancy she knows she should hit, and Nancy doesn’t extend that same courtesy to her.

Robin does it all the same though, because Nancy’s not Nancy right now, but Robin is Robin, and she knows three constant truths: conquests will always bring conflict, revolutions will always bring change, and Robin, unfitting rebel that she is, will never hurt Nancy in a way that matters.

Robin swallows the honesty down her stomach. It feels heavy and daunting.

Knowing just how much distractions can be the end of her, she smirks at the Chime, plastic-fake. “You tired, Conquest?”

“In your dreams,” Nancy snipes, foot swiping beneath hers. Robin dodges, just barely.

“Sounds like it.”

“Fuck off.”

“Rude. You really should be nicer to the person with two tomahawks. Have you seen these things?”

“Seeing as I threw them at you—” She dashes forward and pushes Robin against a counter, knife hitched at her throat. “—you’d think so.”

Robin breathes around it. “Easy there.”

“Give up, rebel,” Nancy spits out, and all Robin can think about is how ironic this all is.

“Nice, we’re switched now. Vecna a fan of symmetry?”

Nancy flinches violently. Abruptly, Robin realizes there are new, matching scars on her arms. Fuck.

Despite her shock, Nancy still answers with a strangely quiet voice, “Yes.”

No, no— “What did he—“

“Shut up,” Nancy snarls, voice louder as she draws a well of blood at her collarbone.

Robin tries to swallow. Her mouth is dry with anticipation; the air has shifted again, sparkling with static and apprehension. She thinks she sees shadows cast on the ground.

They’re here, she knows, and she smiles. Nancy clicks her tongue, eyes narrowing at her grin.

Robin’s smile just widens a little more, even in the depths of her pain. “Close your eyes, princess.”

Nancy’s frown deepens. “Why—“

And with a loud boom of explosion, the world closes itself from them in a wall of fire and smoke.

Robin instantly feels Nancy flinch again as her head whips around, only to meet gray smoke taking over their surroundings.

She immediately uses this chance to drop her tomahawks for a moment, hitting the floor with loud clangs, right before she grabs the hands right around her jacket and the knife to her neck— and Robin's holding her hand but it's not the way she wants to—

Another violent jolt courses through Nancy as Robin yells and pulls the rough but small hands off of her once again, right before pushing her away even when all Robin wants is to hold her close and never let go.

The action causes Nancy to stumble back, completely looking out of depth and lost.

Robin's heart aches as she drops down, her hands immediately finding the two weapons she had let go of and feeling a weird comfort in them. She vaguely wonders how they hadn't accidentally hit either of their legs in its descent, but she just pushes the thought away with a gratitude that the descent didn’t cause any damage to either of them.

Then, Robin suddenly hears Nancy's incomprehensible snarl, and through the smoke, meets her eyes again, now slightly recovered and holding a fury even worse than ever before.

She meets the stare right back with a heartache that's buried deep into her soul ever since this all started.

But before either of them could do anything, another smoke bomb is thrown between them and explodes. She shields her eyes from the sudden smoke, clumsily standing up and coughing out from the building-up heat around them.

Shit, what the fuck, she knows it’s the point, but this is way too much smoke—!

Something suddenly clasps around her arm, and Robin's heart spikes erratically.

Wildly, she swings her free arm towards whatever grabbed her to stop whatever it was—

"Robin—!"

Her hand somehow immediately stops its motion as her head snaps towards a familiar, comforting voice.

She can feel tears springing in her eyes.

"Steve..." Robin's voice wobbles as she stares at her best friend.

Bruised, bloodied, hurt, but alive.

"Hey." Steve tries to smile reassuringly at her, but it all comes out as a grimace. "We both look like hell, huh?"

She can't help but laugh lightly. He’s always been good at making her laugh in any situation.

"Jonathan called for backup." He pulls her closer to him, allowing her to lean on him even when he's injured himself, the idiot. "Everyone came just in time."

And that's when she actually, properly hears it. It's pure chaos all around them, with several voices of the new found family that she cares for so, so much sounding through.

Somewhere in the smoke all around them, they’re here for them.

Thank god.

Robin nods shakily, keeping her tomahawks tight in her grip, but leans on Steve.

They're not going to die just yet.

She lets out a trembling breath.

She still has a chance to get her back.

She doesn't know how long the chaos goes for as she and Steve make their way through the War Zone, both in name and literally, with the smoke too thick and not receding, and the voices too loud and muddled together.

She doesn’t really know what’s going on right now.

But then—

"BUCKLEY!"

Robin feels herself and her best friend flinch at the loud scream, the chaos muting as she hyper focuses on that voice.

Her voice.

Nancy.

"I—" Heavy, ragged breathing through the smoke, rage boiling and a new bitterness building. "—you better watch your goddamn back, because I'm not—"

Robin can feel herself tremble in the same way she hears—was this just her imagination?— Nancy's voice shake right then and there.

"—I'm not done with you, you fucking renegade!"

And before she can even do anything or say something, everything goes silent.

The smoke dissipates quicker than expected, revealing the calvary, their found family all around them, looking at their surroundings warily.

And yet there’s no Chime in sight.

They’re gone.

Nancy’s gone.

Fuck, Robin thinks as she wobbles on her feet, stumbling as Steve brings her arm over his shoulder. Fuck.

Her ears are ringing and her mouth is dry. Her throat burns, inside and out, with bitter regret. Her thoughts are careless, damning, we have matching wounds now, Vecna’s a fan of symmetry, and did you see those scars on her arm and her face and—

“Hey,” Steve murmurs, bringing her back for a moment. She blinks, realizing just how much she zoned out, because they’re not in the War Zone anymore, but rather outside and walking.

She’s really out of it.

Beyond the silence between them, their feet crunch the dead leaves on the ground as they walk back to their temporary camp for the day, their friends walking a little ways in front of them to give them space, even as they glance back worriedly.

Still, in the sea of their concern and care and love, she resists the urge to run—from them or to them, she doesn’t know—and looks up instead. The sky is rumbling gray in its sea of mishmash red and darkening clouds.

…Robin still doesn’t know what gray is.

Even in her best attempts, she can’t help but feel her best friend’s gaze on her. Another moment of silence, before— “You okay?”

The question hangs heavily between them, dead and butchered. You okay? she thinks incredulously.

She thinks about her available responses:

I’m fine in a way that suggests the opposite because those two words could never be sincere in most cases anyway.

I’m scared shitless of who I’ve become because she never asked for this power and yet here she carries the burden regardless.

I think I’m in love with your ex who’s also kind of Evil right now, capital E, but that was really long ago so you don’t mind, right?

Robin settles with a snort and: “Not really.”

Steve laughs, impossibly. She resists the urge to ask him if he’s high again. “Yeah, that’s—that’s what I thought.”

Another few steps forward, before they stumble in sync.

“I just—” The words stumble out of her without meaning to. “—oh my god. Oh my god.”

“Yeah,” he grunts, taking more of her weight. Robin can see their makeshift camp a couple hundred meters away. Or more. She doesn’t really know. Her sense of distance is awful.

And, sure, her revelation is a bit late, but it’s not stopping anytime soon. “She’s totally fucking—”

“Yeah.”

“Are you only capable of saying that?”

“Well,” Steve says, unimpressed, “when I’m basically carrying you, my word choices—”

“Diction, you mean. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten AP English, it’s the only AP class you made,” she quips, grinning. Her throat burns less.

“—my diction may be a bit limited. And shut up, I don’t remember you being a straight-A student or anything.”

“I totally was.”

“Don’t lie.”

“In ninth grade.”

“Shut up.”

Another silence encompasses them after that.

They walk—more like hobble—in silence for all of five minutes before Robin decides she doesn’t like the thoughts swimming around in her head. “Do you think I—do you think we’ll win?”

Do you think I’ll get her back? is what she’s really asking. Do you think I can?

Steve stops, so she’s forced to stop too, and the loose dirt underneath them gets kicked into the air. His mouth quirks downwards, a sign of uncertainty. “We always do.”

“You know what I mean. It’s…different, this time.” She licks her lips fruitlessly.

Nothing’s the same. They already lost once. The same group who’s been here to defend and protect and sacrifice isn’t complete.

Not when two were taken from them.

Steve bites the inside of his cheek and starts walking again, painfully slow. “I know.”

“So…” she swallows, her mouth dry. “...will we?”

“We have to.”

And Robin agrees with that, of course. They have to win.

It’s just the matter of whether they will or not.

But there’s really no way to answer that right now.

All she does know is that they have to stop Vecna, and get those they lost back.

She has to get Nancy back. All’s fair in love and war and Robin’s in a bit of both.

…oh, who is she kidding—she's knee-deep and sinking faster by the second, and Nancy is coming back whether she likes it or not.

Instead of saying any of that though, she hums as an answer.

They reach the camp by nightfall. There’s a lot of questions she doesn’t want to answer and a lot of worry she doesn’t want to acknowledge unless she wants the lump in her throat to choke her silent.

There’s a dinner of canned beans and meager sausages. And yet, she doesn’t eat. She thinks instead.

She’s going to kill Vecna herself, Robin vows. She wants earthquakes and eruptions and floods to realize the extent of her rage. She wants the world overturned like a bowl of eggs, smashed at her feet. She wants to hold Vecna’s chilling corpse in her hands and then—she wants to send it straight to hell.

She wants Max back.

She wants Nancy back.

When everyone’s already in their respective tents, Robin takes the tomahawks with her and zips her tent back up. She heads towards the woods, near enough to be able to run back and far enough to have some privacy for what she wants to do.

There are no crickets chirping, no hints of wind shuffling the canvas tents. There is only the sound of a crackling fire and the thudding of metal-on-wood, love-beneath-grief, anger-tainting-pain.

She hits her mark nine times out of ten. The last time, her foot slips, and her chin almost meets the ground before she rights herself.

Robin kneels for a moment, breathing out.

This is all wrong.

Her grip on her new weapons tightens.

Can I win?

She stands up, and raises her arm.

I have to.

Robin strikes and throws until she doesn’t miss.