Chapter Text
Robin's POV
Memories have always been a problem for me—never knowledge or things I have learned, just my own personal experiences. I can remember my favourite food, but not how I got the scar on my neck. I can remember all four of the languages I speak, but not how I became so fluent in such a short period of time. I can remember the exact moment Steve and Nancy told me about the Upside Down, but not why this place looks so familiar, yet so off—and not just because it is a copy of Hawkins.
I do not even know how I got here. One moment I was sleeping; the next, I woke up face to face with something out of a horror movie. He was staring at me.
“I am happy you are safe, Seven. Come, I will protect you,” the man said, as though that were something normal to say to a teenage girl.
And why was he calling me Seven?
His smile was off, and I felt a cold, shivering dread climb up my spine.
“My name is Robin, not Seven,” I said, taking a step back, then another. He followed with every step.
“I know your name, Seven… I am the one who helped create you…” He smiled that same unsettling smile. “You look just like your mother.”
That was the line. I turned and bolted, running as fast as I could.
Running has never been my strong suit, but at this stage, I do not care. I do not know how I got here, but I am fairly certain this is the Upside Down. I do not know what I am doing or how I got here. All I know is that I need to run from who I assume is Henry—Vecna—One, whatever everyone is calling him now. Nancy will come for me. Steve will come. I just need to outrun him until they can reach me.
I spotted a bike lying in someone’s yard. Okay, maybe not the best option, but it means he definitely will not catch up, right? As I picked it up, it was covered in things I did not want to identify—and definitely did not want to touch—but beggars cannot be choosers. It still worked; nothing seemed damaged. I got on and looked behind me.
Nancy? That was fast.
I looked at her, but something was off—like a small glitch in her appearance. She started to walk toward me. I took her in slowly. That was when I realized the problem. She was taller. Noticeably taller.
Shit. Okay. Definitely not Nancy.
I kicked off, pedaling as fast as I could, away from Not Nancy.
I managed to make it to Steve’s house first. “STEVE!” I called out, stepping over the vines on the floor. “STEVE!” I yelled again, and then I heard footsteps.
I gulped and turned, seeing Steve—but again, something was off.
“It’s okay, I’m here,” he said, stepping closer.
He smelled wrong. Like rotting fruit.
“Steve?”
He smiled the same smile I had just run from.
I backed away. “What do you want from me?” I whispered.
Not Steve stared at me intensely. “I want to keep you safe, Seven. You. Eight. Eleven. We need to stay together. Just come with me.”
I started shaking. “My name is Robin Buckley, not Seven. I do not know who you think I am, but you have the wrong person.”
He reached for me, but I bolted back outside to the bike. My heart was pounding, and I could not slow it. My nose started bleeding as I pedaled faster—but, priorities.
Next, I went to my house, searching for the Buckley family’s hidden gun. Richard Buckley was never one for violence—still is not—but he always said that if they came looking, we were prepared. I never knew what he meant by that.
When I opened the safe, there it was: a gun that had never seen the light of day. Beside it lay a letter—neat, slightly damp.
Robin Buckley.
Written in elegant, looping handwriting.
I grabbed the note and slipped it into my jacket pocket. At least sleepwalking Robin had the sense to put clothes on first—and a jacket at that, because no one was exaggerating about the cold.
I looked at the gun.
M386 Hunter .357 six-shot revolver.
I slowly picked it up, along with the bullets. This would be my last resort. Using a gun is also something I do not remember being taught—but I know how it works. I know exactly what to do. I wish I could blame Nancy, but I know that knowledge was there long before Nancy Wheeler walked into my life, gun in hand.
I heard a noise.
I turned and saw Nancy standing in the doorway.
I stared at her, and she stared back.
“Why do you keep using her face?” I whispered, a tear rolling slowly down my cheek.
Not Nancy stepped forward. “You don’t run.”
My bottom lip trembled. “Why are you doing this to me?” I asked, my voice catching on the last word.
“I just want you safe, Seven. The only place you will be safe is with me. They cannot protect you like I can.”
I raised the gun, tears streaming down my face. Not Nancy smiled.
“I know you won’t, Seven. You love her. You know you love her. Can you really put a bullet in the woman you love?”
I was sobbing now, my hand shaking. I glanced behind me and saw that the back door was open. I did not look at Not Nancy again.
I ran.
I panted as I kept moving, my chest aching. Fear drove me forward. I did not know where I would be safe, but I knew one thing: I wanted Nancy. I wanted my Nancy—perfect hair, sharp eyes, somehow even sharper features. I wanted to be a cloud in her perfume and never leave her side.
How did I not realize I was in love with Nancy?
Not that it matters. Nancy is straight. Sure, she and Jonathan broke up, but that does not mean she would want me. I do not care if she never loves me—I still just want my Nancy.
I slowed slightly, barely noticing it, and realized my legs had carried me down the road to the Wheeler house.
This time, I made sure I was not being followed.
The front door was tangled with vines. I ducked under them as best I could and stepped inside. Step by step, I climbed the stairs until I reached the second floor.
Mike’s room. Holly’s room. Nancy’s room.
I opened Nancy’s door, checking carefully—making sure there was no Not Nancy, no Not Steve, no one but empty space.
I exhaled, my body sagging with relief when the room was empty.
I searched it thoroughly, just like I had the first time before going to Pennhurst. I stopped at the closet and threw the doors open. Nancy’s clothes were there—but it definitely lacked the gun I knew she kept inside.
I glanced around the room once more before stepping into the closet and pressing my back against the wall. My gun rested beside me.
I knew I would not be able to kill Not Nancy. Just the thought of Vecna—Henry—One wearing her face, even as he died, was enough to stop me.
I pulled out the letter, flipping it forward and backward, then back again. It was too dark to read, so I slipped it back into my jacket.
“Seven, you need to come with me,” I heard Not Steve call from somewhere in the house.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
“If you’re lost, you can look, and you will find me… time after time… If you fall, I will catch you, I’ll be waiting… time after time…”
I kept singing.
Memories surfaced—Nancy sitting in front of me, doing makeup I did not want, dressing me in clothes that once fit her perfectly. The small smile on her face as she finished my lip gloss. Her thumb brushing my bottom lip, removing the excess while completely shutting down my brain.
“If you’re lost, you can look, and you will find me… time after time… If you fall, I will catch you, I’ll be waiting… time after time…”
The knocking started, and I curled in tighter. I heard their voices, their footsteps—Nancy, Steve, even El—but I knew it was not them. It was never them. It would never be them, because it was always him.
I kept singing, because unless I could finally bring myself to shoot Not Nancy, it was the only thing I could do.
Not Steve, maybe. Not El, even.
But Nancy—or not—
I do not think I could ever pull the trigger.