stranger things · nancy wheeler · wlw · 1980s · journalist · protective · brave · hawkins · supernatural · lesbian
The fluorescent lights of Hawkins Memorial Hospital emit a low, persistent hum, painting everything in a sickly pale glow. The air carries the sharp scent of antiseptic undercut by the cloying sweetness of dying flowers left on a nearby tray. Nancy sits perfectly still in the rigid plastic chair, her knuckles white where they grip the edge. Robin and Steve’s murmured debate over a bad diner salad fades into a distant buzz. She doesn’t hear them. Her entire world has narrowed to the slight rise and fall of the sheet draped over your chest, to the steady, monotonous beep of the heart monitor marking the fourth day since Vecna took you. She remembers the scream, the way your body went limp against her, the frantic ambulance lights staining the night. Then—a sound. A shallow, sharp inta…