A/N: Once again, if anyone is even still reading this, I'm sorry for the six-month delay. Or seven, I think? This chapter has been mostly complete for a couple months now, I just put off the editing process because I couldn't focus on it. I could list all the reasons but what does that matter. You're here for Nancy's story not mine.

I just realized I published my first fic in December 2014. Hopefully I can finish this before my 10th anniversary.

Sending my deepest appreciation and love to those few loyal readers, hanging in there for so many years. You always keep me going.

Chapter 13: Hope

There was nothing Tina Grey wouldn't do for a cup of coffee the next morning. Rip off her own fingernails, pull her hair out, bash her forehead into the cold steel bars. She settled for a slap on the cheek. The sting got her blood pumping for a few seconds, but she soon sank back down into her hands.

That zombified freak in the next cell was still watching her. Tina hadn't seen the girl move a muscle since that wave, although she was trying her best not to look.

"Authorities responded to another brutal attack late last night outside the Crave Inn Diner." Tina glanced up. A beautiful, strong-jawed woman in shoulder pads and pearl earrings sat at a desk, grainy behind the thick glass of the television. "Three people were killed and at least seven are injured," she continued. "The suspect was recently released from Westin Hills Psychiatric Hospital with a clean bill of health, sparking outrage from the community and the families of the victims."

"Please don't be Glen," Tina whispered to herself, eyes glued to the screen, heart racing. "Please."

"The Springwood Sheriff's Department is asking for any information on the whereabouts of the attacker, sixteen-year-old Kevin Murdock, who was last seen heading east on Main Street in a stolen silver Toyota Camry."

She didn't mean to laugh. Maybe the sleep deprivation was killing her brain cells, but in the flood of relief, before Tina could stop herself, she was doubled over and cackling.

"Murdock is considered armed with a knife and extremely danger–"

The screen went black in a fizzle of static. She looked up. The guard shot her a disgusted glare and dropped the remote back down onto his desk.

xxxxxx

The keys jingled on their iron ring like alarm bells in Nancy's small, sweaty hands. If Freddy hadn't looked up from his worktable and noticed that they were missing yet, he would soon. She glanced over her shoulder for the fifth time.

"Come on, please, Jesus Christ," Daniel cried, shaking the bars on the other side of the door. The meager light fell across his face and betrayed the terror in his wide green eyes.

Nancy turned back to the lock, jamming the next key in and working it back and forth. No luck.

"Hurry, Nancy."

His voice cracked. She flipped to the next key and tried again, her heart beating in her ears like a hammer.

"It's gonna be okay," she assured him. Or was she assuring herself?

She struggled to steady her grip. With only two keys left to try, the boy would be free in seconds. At least, relatively free. They were still trapped in his world, but there were places to hide. There had to be. As the screams of Freddy's victims echoed in her skull, she knew she'd accept any fate–anything–over skipping rope in the blood-flooded streets of someone's last nightmare.

"Oh my god, Nancy." Daniel's voice hit a new pitch. It jarred her as she fought the rusted lock. "Nancy–"

"Well isn't that sweet?" Freddy rasped behind her. The keys fell to the floor with a sound like broken china as she turned. He stood just outside the circle of light, his face blacked out by harsh shadows. One curved finger-blade gleamed as he tapped it against his trousers, itching to slice. "You made a friend."

Nancy's hope deflated but she wouldn't dare show it. She lifted her chin and furrowed her brows. "Leave him alone, Kruger."

He stalked towards her, one shoulder dipped low like a gunslinger about to draw. She wanted to stand her ground, but as he closed in, blocking out the light and towering above her, she stumbled back against the door. He crouched to pick up the keys, flashing a sick smile.

"Of course," he growled. He stroked her cheek with the side of his index blade. "You have my undivided attention, you sneaky little bitch."

There was no chance to run, and nowhere to run to if she could. Without another word, he dragged her into the dark, leaving Daniel to sob alone in his prison cell.

Upstairs, the boiler was raging and hotter than ever, like the bowels of her own personal hell. Fire spewed from the slats in the furnace door, and the pipes answered with a chorus of frenzied shrieks, leaking steam at every joint. A deep red glow bathed the walls. Sweat trickled under her dress, across her forehead and down her arms and legs like blood in the harsh crimson light. She would have melted into the floor if Freddy hadn't kept her upright and moving with a knotted, calloused hand on the back of her neck.

She didn't start fighting until she realized he was steering her towards the tattered mattress in the corner under the stairs.

"Get the fuck off me," she screamed, twisting against his grip. She dug her heels into the cement but it was pointless. She was too small in this body. Too weak.

He marched her forward and threw her down. She curled up on impact, bruising her arm and hip through the meager padding. She knew what came next. She kept her head down as he stepped closer, his scuffed black boots only inches from her face. The roaring flames and her pounding heart both went silent when she heard the zipper.

The terror she felt seconds ago evaporated, leaving her hollow. Like a doll. She stared past his legs into the fire. Maybe it was time to give up. Maybe the only way to fight him was not to fight, not to keep playing along with his sadistic games and feeding his ego. If she turned her mind off and left her body, then he couldn't really hurt her.

The springs were worn flat, but they creaked under his weight as he crawled on top of her. His pants sagged around his knees.

"What?" Freddy sneered, pinching her chin to make her look at him. "No biting? No scratching? No pathetic little slaps from your pathetic little fucking hands?"

She closed her eyes. He needed her to be afraid, she realized. Not wanted–needed.

His mouth split into a slimy grin. The smoke of his breath filled her ear. "Or maybe you've been waiting to finish what we started in that desert. Is that it?"

She didn't answer. He slid a rough hand up her thigh and squeezed hard, watching for a reaction.

"You useless slut," he said. Her face was a mask of utter detachment. He needed to crack it. With a grunt, he hammered a fist into her cheek, her lip, her nose. A river of blood ran down over her mouth but she didn't cry out, no matter how much it hurt. "Look at me."

When she opened her eyes again, they were an icier shade of blue. "Your daughter would be ashamed of you."

"What did you say?" Freddy growled, going soft against her leg.

"That's who that little girl was, right? The one from the garden, when you were human," she said. "If you were ever human."

"Say one more word, bitch," he whispered, "and I will gut you right here and leave you hanging by your entrails for a month."

"Go ahead," Nancy whispered back. "What does it matter to me?"

The flames curled in his eyes. She'd never seen him so angry, so out of control. It reignited a tiny spark of hope somewhere deep inside her, knowing that he was not invincible. But with hope, again, came pain. He climbed off the mattress and staggered to his feet in front of her, lifting his claw. It flickered red as he slashed it through the air on either side of him. He panted, spreading his arms wide. Two windows into reality split open, and Nancy's stomach dropped. On the left, a bruised and ragged Tina Grey lay curled up behind the bars of a small jail cell, yawning. On the right, Glen sat wrapped in a straight jacket, banging the back of his head against a padded white wall over and over.

What had she done?

"You seem gloomy," he said, pulling his lips down in a grotesque pout. "Maybe visiting an old friend will cheer you up. Neither of them will be awake much longer."

"No," Nancy said under her breath.

"Pick one. We'll gut the lucky winner tonight."

Tears stung her eyes. "I can't."

"Suit yourself," he said. "We'll do both of them."

Her head was spinning. This couldn't be real. "Wait," she said, putting her hands up as if she could pause this nightmare by sheer force of will. He raised the burnt knot of flesh that used to be his eyebrow.

For a long moment she held her breath, staring into the world she'd been stolen from. At Glen's sweet, tan baby face, exactly how she remembered except for the deep purple bags under his empty eyes. At Tina, her best friend, covered in blue and green welts. They littered her skin, making Nancy ache with worry. What had happened to her? She cringed at each fist-sized lump, all the way down the girl's arm.

And then she saw it. The purple string tied around her bruised wrist, peeking out from under her cheek as she clutched the pillow. Nancy stared with wonder at the white block letters.

T-I-N-A.

If hope was a spark before, now it was a fire, bigger and hungrier than anything Freddy could conjure in this boiler room. Their friendship bracelet had escaped the nightmare.

And Nancy could, too.

Her gaze flicked back and forth between them. Tina would help her, without a doubt, but could she survive another encounter with Freddy in such a battered state? Maybe. Maybe not. She couldn't risk it.

Nancy took a deep, shuttering breath and prayed that this was the right decision.

"Glen. I pick Glen."

xxxxxx

The kitchen curtains billowed in the fresh spring breeze. Last night's dinner plates, clean and dry, filled the dish rack, and the coffee maker dripped a rich dark stream into the glass carafe on the counter. Glen shook out the morning newspaper and leaned back into his seat.

"Did you sleep well, honey?"

He looked up and smiled as Nancy sat beside him at the table. She did up a few more buttons on the oversized white dress shirt she wore, Glen's shirt, and put her bare feet on the edge of his chair. Her thick dark locks spilled down around her shoulders, wild and messy the way he liked it.

"Best sleep of my life," he said, and he meant it. He hadn't felt this rested in a long, long time.

She leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Coffee's ready."

Hopping up, she grabbed the pot and two mugs from the rack and set them down in front of her husband. Steam billowed up as she filled both to the brim. "Careful, it's hot."

Glen nodded and lifted the cup to his nose. "Thank you," he said.

"Of course," Nancy replied, eyes softening. "You do so much for me. For us." She placed a hand on her stomach.

Did he know she was pregnant? Somehow he felt like he knew, but he couldn't remember when she had told him. He shook the confusion from his head and blinked a few times. Maybe he was still waking up.

He sipped the rim of his mug and jolted, spilling the searing coffee down his chin and onto his nice ironed suit.

"Oops!" Nancy said, giggling. "Let me clean you up."

"I'm sorry," Glen said, dumbfounded. He wasn't usually such a klutz. But damn, it was like lava. He blew into the steaming drink while Nancy pranced back to the counter for a napkin and began dabbing at his shirt.

He was taking another, more cautious, sip when he glanced down and saw red. His clothes, the napkins, Nancy's fingers. Everything was covered in dark red. It looked almost like—

He gagged at the strong copper flavor on his tongue and checked inside the mug. It was filled with blood. It hit the floor between his shiny black shoes and cracked in half, spreading the contents across the tiles toward Nancy.

"Watch out," Glen said. She didn't move. Her feet were quickly surrounded, like twin islands in a lake of gore. A few thick drops rolled down her legs and he looked up, expecting to see her own cup spilling. He wasn't ready to see the gaping cuts running down her forearms.

To remember everything.

The chair flipped backwards and he almost fell back with it, but he caught himself on the edge of the table. Dark blood bubbled out of her, pouring from her open wrists, covering the floor in an ever-expanding pool. He couldn't bear to look at her eyes. He knew they'd be lifeless. Her body collapsed, splattering red across his face.

This wasn't his home. He ran, throwing open the front door and stumbling out into the sunlight. It swung shut in the breeze. With frazzled hair and sweat beading his brow, he was the only thing in the neighborhood that looked out of place. The mailman was halfway down the street, sliding envelopes through the slot in someone's door. A woman he thought he knew was walking her dog. Cars, slow and courteous, weaved around a group of boys on bikes. And on the sidewalk in front of him, three little girls were jumping rope and singing.

He watched them. The one in the middle jumped up and down in perfect rhythm, her knobby knees peeking out from under the flying white ruffles of her dress. The world slowed down.

One, two, Freddy's coming for you…

Her tiny white shoes echoed off the chalk-painted sidewalk. Her dark brown ponytail bounced behind her. He stared at her for a long time, trying to solve the puzzle of her face. When those shocking blue eyes locked onto his and swelled with tears, he recognized her.

"Nancy?" He whispered. Like a broken spell, time sped back up and she stopped jumping. He almost gasped. She was so little. A memory from kindergarten flashed through his mind–bright crayons scattered across a table, Nancy scribbling onto a piece of paper, focused hard, biting her lip and furrowing her thick dark eyebrows. They made no sense on a face so soft and round. He had loved them. He thought then that she looked so mature. So different from the trembling, teary-eyed child before him.

She opened her mouth to respond, but something caught her eye and she screamed. "Glen! Behind you!"

He spun around just as an arm, long and striped with red and green, shot through the frosted window. Glass exploded into his face, scattering like crystals across the welcome mat and lawn. A claw, flashing in the sunlight, wrapped around his neck and dragged him screaming into the darkness on the other side.

Nancy's heart stopped. That was too quick, she thought. Not in sync with his usual theatrical timing. The stalking. The taunting. Something was wrong. At this rate, Glen had no time and no chance. Maybe he was dead already.

She was going to miss her shot at escaping.

She was going to be the reason he died.

The busted door creaked on its hinges. Inside was only darkness and the monstrous sound of dry, smokey laughter. She ran in.

The voices faded off in the direction of the cellar and she followed them down, one small, shaking hand braced against the wall. A weak lightbulb buzzed below. "Glen?" she called.

As she reached the last groaning step, she almost didn't believe it. He was still alive. Bleeding from the cuts on his neck, but alive and alone. He sank panting against a shelf of wine bottles with a palm pressed to his wounds. She started to run to him, but he put up his hand, coated in red. His eyes flashed with suspicion. "Stay away."

"It's me," she said. "I know I look different, but Freddy changed me."

"I don't know what kind of sick freak you are, or why you look like her, but if you get any closer–" he grabbed a bottle and smashed it into a weapon, letting the conclusion hang in the stale air.

"Listen, Glen, it is me. I didn't kill myself–"

"Yes you did. I saw…" his gaze drifted for a moment, pulled away from the present by a vivid, agonizing memory. Her face had been colorless and stiff, her hair in carefully-set waves over the satin pillow, her body wreathed with flowers–as beautiful and as dead as the girl in the open casket. "I saw the body. This is a dream."

"It is. He always gets you in your dreams. Glen, I know what you think you saw, and there is some truth to it, but it's not the whole story." She tried to keep her voice calm. Every shadow in every corner looked like danger. "Please. I will tell you everything later. Right now I need you to trust me and help me get out of here."

He looked at her, silent. Bewildered.

She edged closer. "If you'll just hold my hand when you wake up, you can–"

He covered his eyes and shook his head, groaning. "No, no, no, this isn't real."

"You mean you and little Nancy don't get to live happily ever after?" Freddy asked, appearing beside him with mockingly wide eyes. He folded his arms and frowned. "I want a refund."

Glen darted for the stairs. The tips of Freddy's claws swiped after him and sliced straight through his sleeve. He screamed but kept running. It took a few seconds for him to realize that the stairs were looping like a down escalator.

Freddy roared with laughter as Glen tumbled back into the dusty cement floor. Maybe it was the collision of his head on the bottom step, or maybe his nerves had reached max capacity, but Nancy caught the flicker of his form. He was waking up.

She rushed towards him, arms open, swelling with anticipation. Would she fade into a white light, into Heaven or Nirvana or wherever people went? Would it simply be the end of consciousness? She swallowed, daring to think her next thought. Would she get her old life back? A second chance?

"I said," Glen whispered, bracing his hands on the stairs behind him, "get the fuck away from me."

He kicked her backwards.

xxxxxx

Smoke and cinders filled the air as Sheriff Thompson navigated the streets of Springwood in his cruiser. At least, what was left of it. Flames lashed out, tall and angry, from the hoods of abandoned cars. The glass storefronts on Main Street were smashed open like a row of broken teeth. Screams floated on the smoke from somewhere just out of sight. He stared through the dusty, cracked windshield, a trickle of blood from his temple crawling down the hard angles of his dirty face.

In the distance, a pair of blood-splattered teenagers dragged a man—unconscious or dead—down the sidewalk, an ankle in each hand, arms trailing behind him. Thompson hit the brakes.

"Hey," he shouted, rolling down the window and choking on the ashes of his town. "Hey you kids! Let him go!"

He drew his sidearm but they disappeared around a corner.

"Shit."

He whipped the car around, gun pressed against the steering wheel. They were headed toward Westin Hills. He could cut them off if he took Orange Avenue, if—

"Help! Help me!"

A woman shrieked somewhere behind him. He twisted around to see out the back windshield but it was blacked out with soot.

"Someone, please," she cried.

He got out of the car, weapon firm in his grip and pointed into the haze of smoke. "Sheriff's department. Where are you?"

"Over here!" She yelled back, but her pleas were drowned out by a chorus of agonized cries all around him. He spun in circles, searching.

There were too many of them. He needed backup.

"Come in, Deputy Peterson. Do you read me?" Static. "Peterson?"

Jumping back in the car, he flicked on the wipers and floored the gas pedal all the way back to the station.

The town had fallen into chaos almost between breaths, like a leaking dam exploding into a flood. He hadn't seen the station since the night before, and he still held it in his mind as a fortress of law and order. Untouchable. The last safe place.

He was mistaken.

The windows were glass that shattered just like any other building. The doors, dented and forced. He walked inside in a daze, gun limp at his side. At the desk, his bald deputy hung halfway out of a rolling chair, throat open in a bloody grin. The radio in his hand hissed. Papers littered the floor, some burnt, some burning still.

Both cells were empty.

xxxxxx

Nancy staggered up from the ground. Her head swam from the impact but she pushed through the pain and disorientation. She had no time.

"Your favorite food is taco salad. Your favorite color is purple but you tell everyone it's red so they don't make fun of you," she blurted out.

Glen's eyebrows quirked but he still watched her with suspicion.

"In sixth grade English class," she continued, tears streaking her cheeks, "you, me and Tina hid that VHS tape of Romeo and Juliet from Mr. Sanders so he couldn't play it. But we were too scared to return it so we buried it in her backyard."

Something flickered behind his eyes.

She dug deeper through her memories, breathless. "At your seventh birthday party, you broke a mirror and I told your mother it was me."

He looked at her then, doubt melting even before she finished.

"Because I knew she was going to hit you."

"Oh god," he said, dropping to his knees. "Nancy. Nancy. I never thought I'd see you again."

She ran into his arms, expecting to feel Freddy's grip on her ponytail but he only stood there, watching them with a smirk.

"Nancy, Nancy, Nancy, so rude of you to try and leave now," he said as their edges began to fade. "After I went through all the trouble of getting a new playmate to keep you company."

She turned around. The cellar melted away into the boiler room, the room behind the curtain of every dream, the only room in the universe. He held Tina by the arm, a single blade pressed against her throat. "Selfish little piggy."

"Don't let go of him, Nancy," she shouted, wincing as he twisted her arm higher.

The blade teased a red line from her sweaty flesh. Nancy looked at Glen, down at his hand clasped firmly in hers, and back up into his pleading eyes. It wasn't even an option anymore.

She let go.

.

.

.

To be continued…

A/N: I'm going to do my best to keep some momentum and get the next chapter up as soon as possible. There should only be two more chapters unless things get too long and need to be broken up into more manageable chunks. I've said it before and I meant it: I am not quitting on Wake. No matter how much time passes, it's always on my mind. Even if I publish the ending into an empty void because everybody moved to fricking Archive of Our Own, and nobody reads it, I'm still finishing it. For my own satisfaction.