LAURENS, your timing is a dream, I just finished the first part of that.  It’s going to be a longer thing, because of course it is, and I’m going to post it piecemeal under the tag “Stranger Labyrinth AU” because if people can portmanteau character names into increasingly worrying sexual diseases, I can do that.

It was the girl’s smile that drew Nancy’s eye, the first time.  There was something about it, something off-kilter and a little familiar—it was the smile of someone laughing at a joke no one else understood.  Harder than pure humor, somehow, as if looking out at the world and saying you poor oblivious bastards all the while.

There were days where Nancy lived that smile.  She hadn’t gone a day without seeing it on a face since she was in high school.  Her brother had it, sometimes, her boyfriend, often, she could feel it curve her lips every time someone suggested a horror movie. They sort of lost their thrill, when you’d lived one.

So when she saw the girl sitting alone at a table in the quad, long dark hair swinging loose and her lovely face turned up toward the sun, Nancy walked over.

“Hi,” she said, settling her bag on the table across from the girl.  The girl didn’t look startled, opening her eyes to look at Nancy and tilting her head back down from basking in the light.  Her eyes were a startlingly pale color, the green of lost glass tumbled smooth in the sea, and they pierced Nancy as effectively as any she’d ever encountered—and given her exposure to a telepathic middle schooler, that was quite a statement.  There was something like Eleven in the girl’s face, that steady gaze and firm-set mouth, as if evaluating the target by some criteria no one else could understand. “I’m Nancy,” she said after she’d given the girl a few moments to study her.  “We’re in Germanic Folklore and Legends together.  Do you mind if I sit?”

“No,” the girl decided after a moment, appearing to decide that Nancy was all right and offering a bright smile.  The too-solemn expression fell away and she gestured to the table expansively.  “Make yourself right at home.  I’m Sarah. You asked about whether it was possible that archaic concepts of faerielands could have been a rudimentary understanding of other dimensions.”

“You quoted the Erlkonig in the original German,” Nancy returned with a grin, and Sarah shuffled a little.

“Bit of a pet interest,” she said with that wry, secret smile again.  Interesting, Nancy thought to herself, and filed it away.

“So, how did you swing admission to a three hundred level class?” Nancy asked, and Sarah grinned.

“You’re quick.  How’d you know I was a freshman?”

“Well, I’ve never seen you and it’s a pretty small campus, so either you’re a freshie or you’re a transfer, and pretty transfers always get noticed.”  Nancy waited, but noticed that Sarah didn’t even blush, taking the compliment with perfect ease—or at least a good facsimile.  “So freshman it is.”

“Very quick,” Sarah said, toying with something on her left hand.  Her long fingers hid it from view, and she seemed a bit sheepish for the first time.  “I actually stole an old syllabus for the underclassman folklore class, and stormed into the teacher’s office the day before classes started with an essay. She read it and bumped me up.”

“Just like that?”

“Like I said,” Sarah said, dry again.  “It’s a bit of a pet interest.  I mean, I came here because they have a folklore major, I’m not going to sit through How Not To Piss Off The Fair Folk 101 just because I’m eighteen.  I can figure that out for myself.”  She laughed, as if she’d told a joke, and Nancy caught a glimpse of something shiny between her fingers—a ring, maybe.  “What about you, Nance?”

“Oh, me too,” she said absently.  “That I came for the folklore major, I mean, not that I skipped the intro classes.  Are you—is this Machiavelli?”  She snatched Sarah’s book and flipped it over, peering at the cover, and Sarah grimaced.

“Um,” she said, looking down at her hands.  “Figured it’d be useful,” she muttered, and raked both hands back through her hair, rueful.  “I’m double-majoring.”

“In what, world conquering?”

Sarah made a noise that was a lot like a laugh, if a laugh strangled somewhere just below the soft palette and came out as a half-cough instead.  “Nah, I did world conquering already, I’m majoring in World Folklore and Poli Sci.” She dropped her hands and grinned, wicked, now.  “Are you going to ask me what I’m thinking?”

“I’m not in the habit of questioning girls who read Machiavelli about their life choices,” Nancy said, feeling a giggle bubble through her lips—genuine, somewhat to her surprise.  “Besides, at least you can get a real job in Poli Sci.  My parents almost disowned me when I declared my major, pretty sure the only reason they didn’t was because my little brother would’ve packed up and left if they tried.”

“I have a little brother too,” Sarah said, smiling fondly. “His name’s Toby, he’s only five. I miss the rug rat.”

“Mike’s fifteen,” Nancy said.  “He’s a brilliant kid, a little too smart for his own good, you know?”

“Oh yeah,” Sarah said with feeling.  “Fifteen.  Very dangerous age.  Tell him to watch his mouth before it writes a check his butt can’t cash.”

“He’s got his buddy Dustin for that,” Nancy said, grinning. “I’m ‘a bad influence.’  I like your ring, by the way,” she added casually, and Sarah looked down, as if surprised to find that she’d been toying with it again.  She gave a jerk of her shoulders, looking shy for the first time, and offered her hand to Nancy.  “Holy shit,” Nancy blurted, snatching her hand and staring at the ring.  It was silver, a silken nest of metal threads woven like vines, with a perfectly clear stone like carved ice at its center, surrounded by tiny pale green stones set into the coils.  She didn’t need to look up to know that the green stones would match Sarah’s eyes perfectly.  The diamond gleamed even when the sun was behind a cloud, as if it held captured moonlight inside.  “I really like your ring, what the hell kind of carat is that?”

“Many,” Sarah said, and her voice was dry as sand.  

“You’re engaged?” Nancy asked, looking up, and Sarah’s face did something odd, a sort of wry twist that passed through exasperation and landed on affection.  “You’re young for it,” Nancy said, no judgement in her tone.

“Mmmyeah,” Sarah muttered.  “That’s what I said, but we’re doing a long engagement.  Besides,” she added, “I didn’t have anything to do with the ring, I didn’t really realize what I’d agreed to when I said he could get me one. You’d think I’d have learned, but.” She shrugged expressively.

“Probably helps with getting hit on,” Nancy mused, watching the snake-eye glitter of the green stones around the diamond.  “Maybe I should try it.”

“Ah, yeah,” Sarah said.  “And the guy attached to the ring really helps.”

“Bit possessive?”

“Yeah,” Sarah said.  This time, her smile was slow and dangerous, like a predator showing far more teeth than it should have, and she said, “It’s in his nature, of course. And in mine.”  Nancy, still holding Sarah’s long, strong fingers in hers, eyed her warily.  It was possible she’d made an error of judgement, the calm, cool part of her brain informed her.  It was possible she’d ended up on the wrong side of that predator’s smile again, that Sarah’s lost-glass-green eyes were about to go dark and hungry, that her pretty face would turn into something wicked.  Her knife was in her pocket, she could get to it quickly, for all the good it might do her.  Adrenaline had just started to glimmer through Nancy’s veins when Sarah blinked, and the wild, fey look vanished like it had been wiped away, nothing but breath on a window.  “You have a boyfriend, Nancy?” she asked, and she was the same friendly, slightly distracted girl Nancy had seen before.

“Yeah,” Nancy said, letting go of Sarah’s hand and retreating across the table, shaken.  “Jonathan. He’s not a student here, he’s at the trade school.  Mechanic, he can fix anything.  And let’s just say I don’t get a lot of unwanted attention when he’s around.” Nancy could feel the stupid smile on her face, tiny and a little lovesick even after four years of properly dating Jonathan Byers.  He handled her so gently, like she might shatter, or like her sharp edges might cut him, but he was always ready to trust her to handle herself.  It was glorious, addictive—and it helped that he had shot up and filled out, and could silently menace even the most determined guy away from them.

“You love him,” Sarah observed.

“Yeah,” Nancy said, half a sigh.  “What, don’t you love Many Carat Man?”

“Him,” Sarah said, looking down at the ring, and she sighed too.  “I don’t know, it’s—it’s a little complicated, I mean—oh my God, my class started five minutes ago,” she yelped, and scrambled to her feet, grabbing her books up.  “Look, Nancy, um, here,” she said, patting herself down frantically until she came up with a pen.  She scrawled a phone number on a page of a notebook and shoved it in Nancy’s direction. “We can go get coffee or something. You’re cool.”

Nancy took the page automatically and Sarah whirled away in a cloud of sleek dark hair.  When she was gone, Nancy glanced down at the paper.  There was the phone number, in crisp, curving handwriting, signed with Sarah and a symbol that Nancy didn’t recognize, like an arrowhead with arching sides.

“Hm,” Nancy said, tracing the sigil absently and frowning after Sarah.  “You’re not what you seem at all, are you,” she mused, and pocketed the phone number.