Chapter 44

i feel like this chapter is so short 😭 but i wanted to give yall some nancy before i fully delve into angst and russians. seeing as there was an overwhelming concensus of wanting maggie in scoops troop that is what i will be doing 🙂 which can set up some GREAT jealous nancy and worried nancy (cuz maggie is getting cooked by the russians) in a couple chapters and season 4. i promise the next chapter will be longer lmao

The next day, Maggie Byers decides the mall is calling her name again. Not because she needs anything, but she’s heard through the Hawkins grapevine that Dustin Henderson is somewhere in Starcourt, and she hasn’t seen him in a few days. Guilt still nips at her heels over the whole Cerebro incident. Also, Scoops Ahoy exists, which means Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley exist, and annoying them is practically community service.

She weaves through the crowd with ease, the mall humming around her. Pop music bleeds from storefronts. Kids dart past clutching pretzels. She’s just about to turn toward Scoops when something… weird catches her eye.

Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson are crouched behind a fake palm plant.

With binoculars.

At first, her brain politely refuses to process this. She keeps walking. Then she stops, takes a few steps backward, leans her upper body back at an alarming angle until she can fully see them again. Yep. Still there. Still crouched. Still idiots.

Her eyebrows knit together as she watches Steve whisper furiously while Dustin squints through the binoculars like a deranged birdwatcher.

Maggie grins.She creeps up behind them, lowering herself into a crouch.

Then, right between their heads, she shouts at full volume, “What the hell are you doing?”

Steve yelps and goes straight onto his ass and Dustin shrieks like he’s being abducted. Maggie nearly folds in half laughing.

“Jesus Christ, Maggie!” Steve shouts, clutching his chest, “Was that in any way necessary?”

“I couldn’t resist,” she says between laughs, “Seriously, what are you guys doing?”

Steve groans, scrambles back into position, and lifts the binoculars again like this is completely normal behavior, “Spying.”

“On what?” Maggie presses, peering over his shoulder.

“Russians,” Dustin says, wiggling his eyebrows.

She gapes, “You—huh? What?”

“We found a secret Russian communication coming from the mall,” Dustin explains, deadly serious, “so now we’re looking for the Russians.”

Maggie opens her mouth, closes it, and opens it again, “Okay. Sure. Naturally.”

Dustin snatches the binoculars from Steve and scans the crowd, “Target acquired.”

“Where?” Steve asks.

“Ten o’clock. Sam Goody’s.”

Steve grabs the binoculars, “Gimme that.”

He peers through them, posture snapping, “Shit. Duffel bag.”

“Oh wait, let me see,” Maggie says, practically vibrating as she steals the binoculars, “Oh yeah. Definitely giving evil Russian vibes.”

“We’ve gotta follow him,” Dustin says immediately, “Maggie, come with.”

“Oh yippee,” she replies dryly, “Another adventure.”

They spring to their feet and trail after the tall blond man in dark sunglasses. They hustle up the escalator, trying desperately to look casual while very clearly not doing that.

“Slow down,” Dustin huffs.

“We’re losing him,” Steve snaps.

“You’re getting too close,” Dustin counters.

The man suddenly starts to turn around. Dustin lunges for a payphone and begins speaking into it in the flattest, most suspicious tone imaginable. Steve freezes and pretends to examine a storefront window. Maggie’s brain short-circuits and she does the only thing that comes to mind.

She throws her arms out and starts waving them wildly, pretending to be blind, “Oh no! Where did my seeing-eye dog go?”

The man pauses and then turns back around and keeps walking.

Steve slaps Maggie lightly on the shoulder as they resume pursuit, “Real smooth there.”

She lifts her hands, “It was the only thing I could think of!”

They duck behind a wall just in time to watch the man enter the Jazzercise studio. He drops his duffel bag, removes his sunglasses, and claps his hands together.

“Alright, ladies, listen up! I just have one question for you. Who is ready to sweat?”

Inside, women start warming up, hips circling in unison.

Maggie grins, nodding appreciatively, “Hell yeah. Now this is what I’m talking about.”

Steve stares, stunned, “So… not a Russian.”

“Wonder how you figured that out, genius,” Dustin mutters.

They leave, bickering the entire walk back to Scoops Ahoy.

The second they step inside, Steve throws Dustin under the bus with Olympic-level enthusiasm, “Hey, Robin. You’re not gonna believe who Dustin thought was a Russian.”

“You did too!”

“Did not!”

As they argue, Maggie notices Robin suddenly bolt out of the parlor, eyes wide.

Maggie points to her quickly retreating figure, “Hey. Idiots. I have a feeling that may be important.”

They jog after Robin, finding her pacing, muttering to herself like she’s trying to outrun her own thoughts.

“Robin,” Steve says, “What are you doing?”

“I cracked it,” she breathes.

“Cracked what?” he asks.

“What do you think, Einstein?” Maggie throws her arms up.

Robin looks at them, a smile spreading slowly across her face, “I cracked the code.”

“The recording. It’s not random. It’s a message. A map,” she explains.

Dustin’s eyes practically light on fire, “I knew it.”

“No, you suspected,” Robin snaps without looking at him, “I proved it.”

Maggie leans against the railing, arms crossed, watching Robin pace.

“Please tell me this is the part where you explain instead of spiraling.”

Robin inhales sharply, “The phrases. They correspond to stores. The song? The order? It lines up with the mall layout.”

Steve’s brow furrows, “Wait. You mean—”

“Yes,” Robin cuts in, “Starcourt. They’re using Starcourt.”

There’s a moment of silence as everyone takes in the information.

Dustin breaks the silence first, “So the Russians are real.”

Steve groans, scrubbing his face, “I hate that sentence.”

Maggie straightens, interest fully hooked now, “Okay, cool, terrifying, love that for us. What do we do?”

Robin looks between them, “We follow the map.”

Steve opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, “We absolutely do not—”

“We do,” Dustin says, “All of us.”

Steve points at him, “You are fourteen.”

“And you’re bad at lying and still came anyway,” Dustin shoots back.

Maggie snorts, “He’s got you there, sailor boy.”

Steve exhales, defeated, “I hate my life.”

Robin grins. Maggie’s grin matches it.

“Guess we’re going Russian hunting tonight,” Maggie says, “Again. Try not to follow any aerobics instructors this time.”

They exchange looks. The familiar pull of something bigger and worse than them waits just under the surface.

That night, they’re back at the mall. They trail Robin up onto the rooftop, the door slamming shut behind them as rain immediately starts coming down. Maggie regrets every decision that led to her not grabbing a jacket. The cold sinks straight through her clothes, rain plastering her hair to her face and pouring directly into her eyes. She blinks hard, vision blurring.

“This is miserable,” she mutters, wiping her face with the heel of her hand and somehow making it worse.

“Focus,” Robin says, already crouched near the ledge, “Look for Imperial Panda and Kauffman Shoes.”

Dustin, gripping the binoculars with both hands, inches forward and scans the scene below. Maggie squints uselessly through the rain, hugging her arms to her chest.

They all watch as a massive tractor trailer pulls up behind the mall. Its headlights slice through the rain. The back doors swing open and boxes begin getting unloaded into a rear service unit. Men in dark coats step out around it, weapons visible even from this distance.

“They’re with that whistling guy. Ten o’clock,” Dustin whispers, pointing at a man wheeling crates.

Steve leans in, rain dripping off his nose, “What do you think’s in there?”

“Guns? Bombs?” Dustin suggests, voice tight.

“Chemical weapons?” Robin adds.

“Whatever it is,” Dustin says, “they’re armed to the teeth.”

Steve scrubs water from his eyes, “Great. That’s great.”

One of the guards lifts a keycard and runs it across the lock. There’s a beep and a heavy click as the doors open.

“Hey,” Robin whispers, leaning forward, “What’s in there?”

Dustin adjusts the binoculars, “It’s just… more boxes.”

“Let me see,” Steve says, reaching for them.

“No, I’m still looking,” Dustin snaps, pulling them back.

They whisper-fight, hands tugging, the binoculars caught between them. Maggie opens her mouth to tell them to knock it off and then they slip.

The binoculars fly out of Steve’s grasp, spin once in the air, and slam down onto the metal roof with a loud clang.

Below them, several guards snap their heads up.

“Oh shit,” Maggie breathes.

They drop instantly, flattening themselves against the slick roof as boots shuffle and voices murmur beneath them. Rain drums down, unbearably loud, masking nothing and everything at once.

“I think it’s time we get out of here,” Maggie whisper-shouts, heart hammering against her ribs.

They crawl, staying low, skidding slightly on the wet surface as they scramble for the door. Steve reaches it first, yanking it open and shoving everyone inside as fast as humanly possible before slamming it shut.

They stand there in the dim back hallway, soaked, shaking, breathing too loud.

“Well,” Robin says finally, voice thin but triumphant, “I think we found your Russians.”

Maggie doesn’t even bother drying off afterwards.

She bikes through the rain like she’s being chased, water stinging her face, shoes squelching with every pedal. By the time she skids to a stop outside the Wheeler house, she’s drenched straight through, hair plastered to her cheeks, shirt clinging uncomfortably to her skin.

She pounds on the door.

Nancy opens it in pajama shorts and a sweater, eyes already sharpening in concern the second she takes Maggie in, “What happened?”

Maggie steps inside, rain dripping onto the welcome mat, “I need a towel. And maybe a restraining order against the Soviet Union.”

Nancy stares at her. Then she grabs a towel and yanks Maggie inside by the wrist.

They end up in Nancy’s room, Maggie perched on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a towel. Water drips onto the carpet and her knee bounces uncontrollably.

“Okay,” Nancy says, shutting the door, “Start talking.”

Maggie drags a hand down her face, “There are Russians. Like, real ones. Armed. In the mall.”

Maggie launches into it. The code. Robin. The rooftop. The boxes. The guns. The service hallway. The suspicious locked room they couldn’t get into without getting shot. Her words tumble over each other, fast and frantic.

“They’re using Starcourt as a front,” Maggie finishes, “We know there’s something big behind that door. We just don’t know how to get in without dying.”

Nancy’s jaw tightens as she listens.

When Maggie finally stops, breathless, Nancy exhales slowly, “Okay.”

That’s it. Just okay.

“You’re taking this really well,” Maggie says weakly.

“Because,” Nancy says carefully, “this actually explains a lot.”

She crosses the room, grabs a notebook from her desk, and flips it open. It’s filled with pages of frantic handwriting, dates, and underlines. Maggie leans forward, immediately hooked.

“There’s something wrong in Hawkins,” Nancy says, “Again.”

Maggie’s stomach sinks.

“Rats,” Nancy continues, “They’ve been acting… rabid. Aggressive. Eating fertilizer.”

“That’s comforting,” Maggie mutters.

“And Mrs. Driscoll,” Nancy adds.

Maggie looks up sharply, “The old lady?”

“She’s been acting strange. Paranoid. Saying she hears things in the walls. We found her eating fertilizer. And then she ended up in the hospital.”

Maggie feels cold all over again, “That doesn’t sound normal.”

“No,” Nancy agrees, “It sounds like something is poisoning the town. Or changing it.”

Maggie exhales, “So you’ve got mutant rats, and I’ve got mall Russians.”

Nancy meets her eyes, “Which means it’s connected.”

“Because nothing horrible ever happens in isolation here,” Maggie says flatly.

Nancy gives a humorless smile, “Exactly.”

Maggie slaps her hands on her knees, “Well please don’t get rabies. Although I wouldn’t complain about you trying to bite me.”

The girl wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. Nancy rolls her eyes with a smile.

“And you better not get shot dead by Russians because you try to break into a top secret room,” the teen lectures, “I’m serious.”

“I know,” Maggie says, “You’re always serious when you’re worried about me.”

Nancy huffs, crossing her arms, “Someone has to be. You treat imminent danger like it’s a walk in the park.”

Maggie leans back against the bed, hands braced behind her, towel slipping off one shoulder.

“And you treat it like a research paper.”

Nancy sighs and sits beside her, shoulder brushing Maggie’s, “You scare me sometimes.”

Maggie turns her head, expression gentler than it’s been all night, “Yeah. Same.”

They sit there for a second, rain tapping against the window, the world temporarily not ending. Maggie nudges Nancy’s knee with hers.

“Hey,” she says, “I promise I’ll try really hard not to die horribly.”

Nancy snorts, “Wow. Comforting.”

“And you,” Maggie continues, “promise not to go poking rabid rats alone like you’re in a horror movie.”

Nancy bumps her shoulder back, “Deal.”

Maggie smiles, slow, stupid, and completely in love, “Look at us. Making responsible agreements.”

Nancy glances at her, “Don’t let it go to your head.”

They lapse into silence again. Maggie reaches out, fingers curling around Nancy’s sleeve, tentative for half a second before Nancy laces their fingers together.

“You know,” Maggie murmurs, “for a town full of monsters and Russians and whatever nightmare fuel you just described… this part’s pretty nice.”

Nancy squeezes her hand, “Yeah.”

She leans her head against Maggie’s shoulder, just barely. Maggie tilts her head so it rests against Nancy’s.

“Stay tonight,” Nancy says quietly.

Maggie doesn’t hesitate, “Obviously.”

Outside, thunder rolls and rain pours. Inside, they sit tangled together on the bed, damp hair and exchanging whispered jokes.