Chapter 29

Me 🤝 angst

Maggie hesitates outside the bathroom door, the sound of muffled sobs barely audible under the bass thudding through the walls. She knocks once, softly.

“Nance?”

No answer.

She waits, biting her lip, then tries again, “Nancy, it’s me.”

Still nothing, just the scrape of the towel against the counter and the sound of uneven breathing.

Maggie sighs and gently pushes the door open.

Nancy’s sitting on the closed toilet lid, towel bunched in her lap, her shirt still streaked with punch. Her eyeliner has smudged beneath her eyes, making her look half raccoon, half heartbreak.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” Nancy says without looking up.

Maggie leans against the doorframe, “Yeah, well, I’m not great at doing what I should.”

Nancy laughs bitterly, “No kidding.”

Maggie exhales slowly, stepping further into the room, “Steve looked like he got hit by a truck.”

“Good,” Nancy mutters.

Maggie sits down on the edge of the bathtub across from her, careful not to crowd her, “You wanna tell me what that was about?”

Nancy’s fingers twist the towel tighter, “No.”

“Okay,” Maggie says simply, “Then I’ll just sit here.”

The silence stretches, broken only by the sound of a partygoer yelling “SHOTGUN!” from somewhere down the hall.

Finally, Nancy lifts her head, “You’re supposed to be having fun.”

“I was,” Maggie admits, “Until you looked like you wanted to disappear.”

Nancy swallows, eyes glassy again, “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” Maggie interrupts softly, “But I want to.”

That lands heavy between them. Nancy looks down again, her voice breaking around the words, “You kissed him.”

Maggie blinks, startled, “Who?”

“The guy in the mask,” Nancy says, her tone sharp but shaky, “The devil. You were laughing, and then you just—” She cuts herself off, pressing her hand over her mouth like she can shove the words back in.

Maggie studies her for a moment, realization dawning.

“Nance,” she says quietly, “are you… jealous?”

Nancy’s head snaps up, “What? No. God, no.”

Maggie raises an eyebrow, “Because it kinda sounds like you are.”

“I’m not,” Nancy insists, but her voice cracks halfway through. She wipes her face quickly, angry at herself, “I just—everything’s messed up. Barb’s gone, and my mom’s pretending she’s fine, and Steve—Steve’s—”

“Trying too hard,” Maggie finishes for her.

Nancy lets out a shaky laugh, “Yeah. And you’re…”

Maggie tilts her head, “What am I?”

Nancy meets her eyes then, “You’re too easy to like.”

The words hang there, heavy and quiet. Maggie’s breath catches. For once, she doesn’t have a joke ready, no smart comeback or flirtatious grin.

“Nance,” she says finally, voice low, “You’re drunk. You don’t—”

“I know what I said,” Nancy cuts in, though her tone is softer now.

Maggie studies her for a long moment, then sighs and stands. She grabs a clean towel from the rack and crouches in front of her.

“Here,” she says gently, dabbing at the red stains on Nancy’s shirt, “Let’s get this off before it dries.”

Nancy doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe. The closeness between them feels electric. Maggie’s hand brushing her collarbone, the faint smell of vanilla shampoo and punch mixing in the air.

When Maggie looks up, Nancy’s already looking at her.

Maggie forces herself to smile, light and easy, “There. Still a little sticky, but hey, that’s what laundry’s for.”

Nancy gives a weak laugh, eyes softening, “Thanks.”

Maggie stands, pretending her heart isn’t pounding, “Anytime. But I think you should let me take you home, okay?”

Nancy hesitates, then nods, “Yeah.”

Maggie offers her a hand, “Come on, Wheeler. Let’s ditch this place before someone starts breakdancing.”

Nancy takes it. Her fingers linger in Maggie’s a moment too long.

As they walk out of the bathroom, the noise of the party swells again but it feels distant. The two of them move quietly through the chaos, side by side.

And though neither of them says it out loud, both know something has changed.

The drive home from Tina’s feels endless. The party fades behind them, replaced by the low hum of Jonathan’s car engine and the whir of the heater that doesn’t quite work.

Nancy’s slumped in the backseat, head against the window, the condensation fogging where her breath hits the glass.

Maggie glances back every few minutes, worry creasing her brow, “She’s out cold.”

Jonathan nods, eyes fixed on the road, “She’s gonna feel like death in the morning.”

“Yeah, well,” Maggie mutters, pulling her jacket tighter around herself, “Guess that’s the price of heartbreak and cheap booze.”

He shoots her a sideways glance, “You saw that?”

“Everyone saw that,” she says quietly, “Hard to miss when the bathroom door slams and the whole house goes silent.”

Jonathan sighs, turning down Maple Street. The world outside is still. Hawkins after dark feels almost too quiet.

When they pull up to the Wheeler house, the porch light is still on. Jonathan parks at the curb and turns to look at Nancy. She’s barely stirring. Maggie twists around, giving her a soft shake.

“Nance,” she says, her voice gentler than usual, “Hey, Sleeping Beauty. We’re home.”

Nancy mumbles something incoherent and blinks at her through heavy lids. Maggie and Jonathan exchange a look, the kind siblings share when no words are needed.

“Come on,” Jonathan says quietly, getting out of the car.

Maggie opens the back door, and together they help Nancy out. Her legs wobble, and she leans most of her weight into Maggie’s side. The girl doesn’t complain, just loops an arm around Nancy’s waist and starts guiding her up the walk while Jonathan fishes the spare key from under the doormat.

The Wheeler house is dark and still when they step inside, except for the faint glow of the hallway lamp.

They half-carry, half-drag Nancy up the steps, trying not to wake anyone. She’s murmuring something under her breath, but the words come out slurred, fragments of apologies, laughter, and names that Maggie can’t quite make out.

When they reach her room, Maggie pulls back the covers and helps her sit on the edge of the bed. Nancy sways a little, eyes glassy and unfocused.

“Hey, easy,” Maggie says softly, kneeling down to take off Nancy’s shoes, “You’re good. Just sleep, okay?”

Nancy blinks down at her, frowning faintly as if trying to remember something.

Then her expression softens, and she mumbles, “You’re nice.”

Maggie freezes, then huffs a quiet laugh, “Don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation.”

Jonathan hands her a glass of water from the nightstand, and together they get Nancy under the blanket. She’s out within seconds.

Maggie tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear and steps back. For a moment, she looks at her, the freckles across her nose, the faint furrow in her brow even in sleep.

Jonathan whispers from the doorway, “You ready?”

Maggie nods, following him out and closing the door quietly behind her.

They tiptoe back down the stairs, slipping out into the cold night. The door clicks shut, muffling the sound of the heater humming inside.

Jonathan exhales once they’re back on the porch.

“Man,” he mutters, “that was… rough.”

Maggie gives a small, tired laugh, “Yeah. You can say that again.”

They start driving toward home together. The street is empty except for the faint whistle of wind and the rustle of leaves.

After a while, Jonathan glances over, “You think she’s gonna be okay?”

“Eventually,” Maggie says, “She’s strong. Just… lost tonight.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “Aren’t we all.”

By the time Maggie and Jonathan get home, the house is quiet. Only the faint hum of the refrigerator and the flicker of the TV fill the air. Joyce and Bob are asleep on the couch, tangled up under a blanket, an old monster movie still playing.

Jonathan slips his keys onto the table and whispers, “You good?”

Maggie nods, kicking off her shoes, “Yeah. Just… tired.”

He studies her for a second, then just nods and disappears down the hall, “Night, Mags.”

She murmurs a quiet “night” back and stands there for a moment, feeling the weight of it all settle on her shoulders. Maggie swallows it down and starts toward her room.

The phone rings.

She freezes mid-step. Joyce stirs a little on the couch but doesn’t wake. Maggie hesitates, then sighs and snatches the receiver before the sound can wake anyone.

“Byers residence,” she whispers, “It’s late, so if this is a prank call, I’m legally allowed to haunt you.”

“Maggie?” Hopper’s gravel-thick voice crackles through the line.

Her face brightens, “Chief! What’s up? Please tell me you’re calling to confess your undying love or a triple homicide. I’m bored enough for either.”

“Funny,” he mutters, “Listen, I need a favor.”

“Oh boy,” she says, smirking, “That’s never a good opener.”

“This one’s important,” he says, quieter now, the usual gruffness giving way to something closer to worry.

Maggie straightens, tone softening, “Is it about El?”

There’s a pause, “Yeah.”

She exhales slowly, twisting the phone cord around her fingers, “What happened?”

“I got caught up at the station,” he says, frustration seeping through the line, “Supposed to be home at five-fifteen, but it’s pushing nine-thirty and she’s alone out there. I don’t want her stewing or… you know, moving things with her mind again.”

Maggie grins faintly at that, “Telekinetic temper tantrum, got it. You think she’s gonna blow up the cabin?”

“Wouldn’t put it past her,” Hopper grumbles, “Look, she’ll listen to you. You two get along, and I trust you to keep her calm until I get back.”

Maggie nods, though he can’t see her, “Yeah, of course. She’s probably pacing a hole through the floor by now.”

“Yeah,” Hopper agrees, weary amusement creeping into his voice, “Kid’s got a stubborn streak a mile wide. You sure you’re up for this?”

“Chief, please,” she says, pretending to sound offended, “Handling emotionally volatile children is my specialty. I live with Jonathan.”

That earns the faintest huff of laughter, “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”

“Part of my charm.”

“Just—keep her company. Maybe make her something to eat if she hasn’t already raided the fridge. She likes Eggos.”

“Yeah, I know,” Maggie says with a fond smile, “She eats them like she’s in a cult.”

“You’re telling me,” Hopper mutters, “I’ll be home as soon as I can. Don’t mention this to your mom or your brother, alright? They don’t need to know.”

“Scout’s honor,” she says automatically, grabbing her jacket off the back of a chair.

“You were never a scout.”

“Details.”

“Be careful, alright? Road’s rough out there.”

“Always am.”

She hangs up before he can argue and grabs her denim jacket from the hook by the door.

Joyce stirs again, blinking awake as Maggie moves toward the exit, “Mags? Where are you going, honey?”

“Just checking on a friend,” she says easily, tugging on her sleeves, “He’s kind of a mess without supervision.”

Joyce smiles sleepily.

“You and your friends,” she murmurs, “Don’t stay out long.”

“I won’t.”

Maggie slips outside into the cool autumn air. The night is silent except for crickets and the distant rush of wind through the trees. She mounts her bike and pedals down the street, the cool air biting her cheeks.

By the time she reaches the edge of the woods, Hawkins feels far away. The dirt road beyond it looks like something from a nightmare, but Maggie doesn’t hesitate.

Her tires crunch over gravel as the forest swallows her up. Eventually, a faint glow appears through the trees: a cabin, lights still on, the outline warm and familiar against the night.

She props her bike against a tree and jogs up the steps, breath puffing in the cold air. For a second, she hesitates, hearing faint movement inside. Then she knocks twice.

“El? It’s me.”

There’s a pause. Then the door creaks open an inch, and a cautious brown eye peers out.

When she sees Maggie, El’s whole face softens. Without a word she swings the door open and tightly hugs the teen.

“Hey, kid. Weird seeing me outside of dreams again, huh?” Maggie says gently, smiling, “You look like you’re about two minutes away from burning this place down.”

El frowns but steps back to let her in, “He said he’d be home.”

Maggie closes the door behind her, setting her jacket on the chair, “I know, I know. He got caught up at work. Told me to check on you. He’s sorry.”

El crosses her arms, pouting slightly, “He lies.”

“Sometimes,” Maggie admits, hands sliding into her pockets, “But not this time. He’ll be back soon. Promise.”

The girl doesn’t answer right away, just studies her, testing the truth in her face. Finally, she nods once, quiet but trusting.

Maggie grins, trying to lighten the air, “Alright, Miss Telekinesis. What do we do while we wait? You up for a snack or you already cleaned out the freezer?”

“Eggos,” El says immediately.

Maggie laughs, “Of course. I walked right into that one.”

She moves toward the kitchen, flicking on the weak overhead light. The cabin feels small but cozy, piles of books, mismatched furniture, an old blanket on the couch. It’s messy, but there’s something warm about it.

As she pulls the waffles from the freezer, El hovers near the counter.

“You came,” El says after a moment.

Maggie glances over her shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“He’s late,” El says simply, “You came.”

Warmth flickers in Maggie’s chest, “Yeah. Somebody’s gotta make sure you’re not out here starting a telekinetic uprising.”

That earns a small, crooked smile from Ell.

“Don’t worry,” Maggie adds, dropping two waffles into the toaster, “I’m not scared of you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“You don’t scare easy,” El says, almost like it’s a question.

“Kid,” Maggie laughs, leaning on the counter, “after living through Hawkins last year? It takes a lot to scare me. You’re practically normal compared to half the stuff I’ve seen. Plus, I know what it’s like being a weirdo with powers.”

The toaster pops. Maggie plucks the waffles out, tossing one onto a chipped plate and sliding it across the table.

“Voilà. Breakfast-for-dinner, gourmet edition.”

El sits down, picking at the waffle before deciding syrup wasn’t optional and getting up to grab it from the counter. Maggie joins her, resting her chin on her hand and watching as El devours her snack.

The quiet stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. The wind whistles faintly outside. Somewhere in the woods, an owl calls.

“You know,” Maggie says after a bit, “I used to hate being alone at night, too.”

El looks up, “What did you do?”

Maggie smiles, eyes distant, “Found people who made it better.”

El chews thoughtfully, then nods once, the corners of her mouth lifting just a little.

The fire has burned low by the time Maggie hears the crunch of tires on the dirt road.

She glances toward the window, headlights cutting through the trees, a familiar rumble beneath them. She doesn’t even have to look to know it’s Hopper.

“El,” she says softly, pushing up from her chair, “Hop’s home.”

El stiffens where she’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, the empty Eggo plate balanced on the armrest. Her shoulders tense, jaw tightening. Then, without a word, she stands up, stalks down the short hall, and shuts the door to her room with a solid, final click.

Maggie sighs, “So that’s how it’s gonna be.”

By the time Hopper steps through the door, hair mussed, jacket half-zipped, face lined with exhaustion, Maggie’s already leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching him.

“Evening, Chief,” she says, “How was your scenic detour through whatever crisis you decided was more important than your kid?”

He looks up, half startled to see her there, half relieved, “Hey. You made it.”

“Sure did,” she says, “Because someone had to make sure she didn’t use telekinesis to build a battering ram.”

Hopper rubs a hand over his face, “Great. She’s mad, huh?”

“Mad? No, no,” Maggie says, straight-faced, “She’s very calmly locked herself in her room and is probably silently judging your entire moral character.”

He groans, kicking off his boots, “I told her I’d be back by five-fifteen.”

“And it’s—” Maggie glances at the clock, “Nine-thirty. Nailed it.”

“Work got in the way,” he mutters.

“Sure,” she says lightly, “but maybe next time call the telepathic girl who’s still learning emotional regulation before she thinks you’ve been eaten by the forest.”

He gives her a look, but there’s no real anger in it.

“You always this mouthy, or is it just with me?”

“Depends on the amount of caffeine in my system,” she says, smirking, “Right now? Dangerously low.”

Hopper lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head, then nods toward the hallway, “She say anything?”

“She said you lie,” Maggie says bluntly.

He winces, “Yeah. Figures.”

“But she also waited,” she adds, softer now, “Didn’t panic, didn’t run off. That’s progress.”

He nods again, rubbing the back of his neck, “Guess I should go talk to her.”

“Guess you should,” Maggie agrees, though she doesn’t move to follow him.

Hopper hesitates in the doorway to the hall, “Thanks for staying with her.”

Maggie shrugs, “You don’t have to thank me. She’s… good company. Quiet, but intense. Kinda reminds me of myself, actually.”

He gives her a skeptical look, “You?”

“What? I can be quiet,” she says defensively.

“Sure,” Hopper says dryly, and starts down the hall.

Maggie smothers a grin.

From the kitchen, she can hear the soft knock of Hopper’s knuckles against El’s door. “Hey, kid. It’s me.”

Silence.

“El? You awake?”

Nothing.

He exhales heavily, the sound rough around the edges, “Look, I know I’m late. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t— I couldn’t just leave—” He stops himself, mutters something under his breath, then tries again, “I should’ve called. That one’s on me.”

Still no answer.

Maggie leans on the counter, listening. The way the cabin carries sound makes the moment feel too intimate, like she’s eavesdropping on something private.

Hopper’s voice lowers, “I just wanted to make sure you were safe. That’s all. You can be mad at me if you need to. Just… don’t shut me out completely, okay?”

For a long moment, there’s silence again. Then the floorboards creak: the sound of her moving closer, maybe just to listen, but not enough to answer.

He sighs, defeated, and steps back, “Goodnight, kid.”

When he comes back into the kitchen, he looks ten years older. Maggie’s leaning against the counter, a mug of tea in her hands. She offers it to him wordlessly.

He takes it, grunts a “thanks,” and drops into the chair across from her.

“She’s not talking,” he says.

“Yeah,” Maggie replies, “but she’s listening. That’s something.”

“You’re good with her,” he says after a minute.

Maggie shrugs, “She just needs someone who shows up when they say they will.”

That hits him harder than she intends it to. His eyes flick down, jaw tightening.

“Hey,” she says softly, “you’re doing your best. You just gotta remember she’s a kid. A powerful, freaky, sometimes terrifying kid, sure. But still a kid.”

He lets out a small laugh at that, “You sound like me.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she says, standing and stretching, “Now, I’m gonna crash before your coffee table turns into my spine’s worst enemy.”

“You can take the couch,” Hopper says automatically.

“Already planning on it,” She grabs her jacket, tosses him a grin, “Night, Chief. Try not to screw it up again tomorrow.”

He snorts, “No promises.”

As she settles on the couch under one of the old blankets, the cabin quiets again.