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The Beemer’s been idle in the Hawkins General Hospital parking lot for at least five minutes now, but Steve’s still having trouble getting out of the car.
He’s being stupid. Really, he’s one of the lucky ones, only paralysed by guilt and fear instead of something far worse. Steve’s always been lucky like that.
Lucky that he made it to the Byers house - the right place at the wrong time. Lucky that Billy didn’t give him permanent brain damage. Lucky that Robin had to go with her second-choice summer job. Lucky that he’s come up to bat against more monsters than he could fit under one bed now, and he’s still gotten to walk away with most of his internal organs intact.
Not everyone is that lucky. He can’t stop thinking that Max must hate him for it.
The thought leaves a bitter, ugly taste in his mouth and makes his eyes sting. He’s being stupid, because Max is so very, very lucky to be alive. Okay, so maybe luck had nothing to do with it, and it was more a goddamn miracle in the form of a tiny teenage girl with a shaved head. But she’s alive, and as of three weeks ago, awake – exactly what Steve silently prayed for every day to no one in particular. Anyone who might be listening.
So he’s being stupid. He should be taking the stairs two at a time by now just to make sure she’s got enough pillows and that she’s staying hydrated and that the painkillers are working overtime. But even as the dust has settled on their most recent apocalypse, he’s been playing that last day over and over and over again in his head, like he’s permanently jammed in the Family Video tape rewinder. In last night’s nightmare, he’d stood in the Creel House, unable to move, as all of Max’s bones snapped and Lucas screamed that it was all Steve’s fault. Even in the light of day, he has to admit that Dream-Lucas had a point. How can Max even look at him the same way now that he’s failed her so badly?
The answer, of course, is that she can’t. Max might not see anything ever again.
Steve takes a deep breath, grabs the plastic bag on the passenger seat, and steps out of the car.
It’s uncomfortably humid and far too bright, the lazy summer sun stretching out behind him and casting long shadows in his wake. He gives a polite nod to the receptionist who knows his face a little too well now and drags himself up the stairs. He needs to get over this stupid heavy feeling – this isn’t about him. It’s about being there for Max, like he’s always tried to be. The tiny Robin that lives in his head tells him to stop being a moron and get a grip. Resolute, he slowly pushes open the door to room 303.
Both Max and Lucas look up when he enters, Max apparently finding it a hard habit to break. He waves awkwardly and then remembers, but his “Hey guys” comes out stilted and way too loud. Jesus, he really is a moron.
At least Max smiles at the sound of his voice. “Hi, Steve.”
“Hey,” Lucas says, clearly bothered that his uninterrupted Max time is done for the day, but otherwise not unhappy to see him. He’s sitting cross-legged at the end of Max’s bed, gently holding her hand. “Steve’s wearing his blue jeans and…a Metallica t-shirt?” Lucas wrinkles his nose. “Since when do you listen to metal?”
Steve feels a blush creeping up his neck and crosses his arms, defensive. “I happen to have a wide and expansive taste in music that would blow your tiny Top 40 mind, Sinclair.”
“Really. So this has nothing to do with Ed-“
“-This has absolutely nothing to do with Eddie,” Steve says, his brows pinched, trying not to make it obvious that he’s wearing Eddie’s t-shirt. At least he had the foresight not to pick the Hellfire tee when he left the trailer in a hurry earlier, or he may as well have been wearing a label that said ‘Property of Eddie Munson’ around his neck. Eddie probably would have loved that. Change the subject, Steve.
“Why are we talking about what I’m wearing, anyway? Are you objectizing me?”
Lucas rolls his eyes. “I’m trying to describe stuff for Max, so she can picture what’s going on.”
“Yeah, I’m getting like, vague shapes and colours now, but everything’s still pretty blurry. It kinda helps, so we’re trying it.” Max purses her lips, turning to Lucas. “Is the Metallica t-shirt tight?”
“Weirdly tight. The jeans too. Seriously, dude, are you having an identity crisis?”
Steve huffs out a weird, semi-strangled laugh, because Lucas doesn’t know the half of it. It’s a sweet idea, though, so he wills his panic and frustration away and turns on parenting mode. “Okay, okay, enough insulting my clothes. Sinclair, you know the drill. Your ride’s outside and your mom will kill me if you miss dinner again.”
Lucas opens his mouth to protest, but Max stops him. “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. Go home and eat and sleep, loser. Then come back tomorrow and read to me some more, okay?”
“Okay.” Lucas says softly, and Steve pointedly pretends to find a spot on the linoleum floor particularly interesting so the two can have their moment. He really, really wishes it was in better circumstances, but he’s glad they’re on good terms again. He’s always going to be rooting for them.
Lucas slings his backpack over his shoulder and nods at Steve. “Don’t forget you’re-“
“-picking you and Mike up tomorrow, I know. Tell Wheeler he better be ready this time or I’m leaving without him.”
“You know he’s just gonna be late on purpose if I tell him that, right?”
Steve knows. He heaves a long-suffering sigh. Lucas smiles half-sympathetically and calls goodbye to Max as the door shuts after him.
And then it’s just him and Max, alone for the first time since before either of them knew Vecna existed. A surge of guilt crashes over him as he hovers awkwardly by the foot of her bed. He wants to reach out, wants to be a friend and a big brother and the adult in the room all at once, but it just leaves him feeling awkward and completely useless at being any of those things.
“Hey, Max.”
“Hi, Steve.”
“How are you feeling? Do you need anything? I can get you more water. Or snacks. Or some of that, uh, premium Jell-O stuff.”
Max’s fingers are twitching – it’s unbearably noticeable because the rest of her body is so eerily still, swathed in stifling plaster casts. “I’m fine.”
“You sure? It’s the really good stuff. They’ve got a new flavour in. I don’t know what it is yet but it’s this acid-green colour, so it could be-“
“Steve. I don’t need Jell-O.” She sounds annoyed. He knows Max can’t actually see him, but he still withers under her piercing gaze. “I just…can you just sit down? Please?”
“Yeah. Sure. Of course.” Steve drags up a chair next to her bedside, wincing at the harsh way the legs scrape across the floor. He puts the plastic bag he’s been gripping tightly down beside the chair, feeling impossibly small.
Max is looking right through him. “You’re being weird.”
“No I’m not.”
“Yeah, you are.” Max clenches her jaw. “It’s okay. I get it. This is pretty fucked up.”
“Yeah.” It comes out all strangled and hoarse and just, wrong, because he’s always had shitty bedside manner, hasn’t he, and he’s dangerously close to crying because as hard this is, it feels like a miracle that Max is even still alive. Well, not a miracle. El. Maybe they’re the same thing.
Steve tries again, flexing his fist until his nails make tiny crescent idents into his palm. “None of this is easy. But that’s not- I don’t. I don’t want to be weird around you.”
“Too bad. You’re always weird, dummy.”
“I- I’m sorry.”
Max gets a hard look on her face then, and she really is annoyed, nostrils flaring and brow furrowed. Steve braces himself for impact – she’s going to tell him that it’s his fault, that he should never have let her offer herself to Vecna, that no apology will ever fix her broken limbs and her damaged sight, and that she’ll never trust him again. Even if she doesn’t say it directly, that’s what she’ll mean, and he’ll have to live with that.
“Steve. You know it’s not your fault, right?”
He feels a phantom vine strike and constrict around his neck, making it suddenly very hard to breathe. “W-What?”
“Any of it. I know you think if any of us ever get hurt on your watch, you’ve failed or something, but we know the risks. I knew the risks, and I volunteered anyway. It was my choice. This isn’t your fault.”
He has to disagree. “It’s my responsibility to keep you guys safe. Lucas got his face beaten in, Dustin broke his ankle, and you…God, Max, you actually died for a minute there. If El hadn’t been there…we would have lost you. So I did fail, pretty spectacularly, at the one thing I’m supposed to be good at.”
“Bullshit. You couldn’t have stayed with all of us. You couldn’t have known that Jason was going to show up at the house. You helped Robin, Nancy and El make that slimy fucker pay and saved the world doing it. You did everything you could, Steve. It’s enough.”
This isn’t right. Why is Max the one comforting him? “But-“
“No. No buts, or apologies. You did enough.”
She reaches out then, and it’s a lifeline, because Steve’s not sure he can actually speak right now around the huge painful lump in his throat. He takes her hand gratefully and squeezes tight, willing the warmth from his clammy hands to spread to her cold, trembling fingers.
“Look. I know you have this weird parental thing going on with Dustin, and I truly do not want anything to do with that. But everything with my actual family is so fucked up and confusing and painful, and you’re just…not that. You saved my life before you even knew my name. You fix my skateboard, and give me rides, and let me rent R-rated movies even though Keith gives you shit for it. You’re more of a brother to me than Billy ever was,” Max swallows hard, her face stony, “and I never thank you for it. No one ever thanks you for it, the monster-killing stuff, or the other stuff.”
“Jesus, Max, you don’t need to-“
“-No. We do. I’ve had a lot of time lately to think about it. And Billy – I still don’t know how to feel about him. But I know how I feel about you. You’re good, Steve. You’re good for all of us. So stop feeling guilty, asshole, because this isn’t your fault.”
Steve isn’t sure when he started crying, only really registers it when his vision blurs and he has to hastily wipe at his eyes with his sleeve. If Max, of all people, can forgive him, can thank him, then maybe he can start to think about forgiving himself.
“Steve?” Max asks tentatively, quiet, and unsure, all of these things that Max Mayfield never is and never should have to be again. Right, shit, going silent and spacey isn’t an option anymore, for a whole host of trauma-inducing reasons.
“I’m here. Sorry. Using my words. I just…Shit, you’re something else, Max.”
“Yeah, well, dying really put things into perspective.” Max tightens her grip, her voice finally starting to falter. “Don’t try it, okay? Just trust me on this one.”
They take a moment. Max is still gripping his hand tightly, and Steve is the dumbest person on Earth for still being afraid that the people he loves won’t love him back, won’t forgive his mistakes, won’t let him rest. He has undeniable, tangible proof of the life and love of Max Mayfield in the palm of his hand, a gift so precious Steve will carry it with him forever.
Here is a not well-kept secret, for her; “When I was a kid, I used to beg my parents for a little sister or brother. It’s not – I get, why they didn’t. It’s probably for the best, actually, because my parents are…”
“Assholes?” Max offers helpfully, and Steve snorts. She’s not wrong.
“Yeah. But anyway. Now, I kinda have what I always really wanted. And sure, a life without all this fucked Upside-Down shit in it would be great, but I got all you guys out of it. And that’s – I’d make that trade, every time, okay? I’ll do anything to keep you guys safe. I’m sorry I didn’t do a great job this time. But I’ll do whatever I can to make this easier for you, or at least bearable. Because you gotta stick around. You have to stick around, Max, okay? Because we love you.”
“Okay. Okay." Max says, and it's as good as any promise she could make.
“Good. Because lucky for you, you’re stuck with me now.” Steve smiles. “Especially now you said all those nice things about me.”
“Ugh, I knew that was a mistake.”
“Thank you, Max. I mean it. I…needed to hear it. And hey, I know you’ve got Lucas, and El, and about a dozen people who would be better at this than I am, but you know you can talk to me, right? About anything. Promise I’ll work on my shit if you work on letting people take care of you.”
“I don’t exactly have any other option right now, Steve. But yeah, I know.” She snarks, but there’s no real bite behind it. He recognises it from watching Mike and Nancy – it’s the way you talk to a sibling.
Steve wipes at his eyes again, overwhelmed, relieved and slightly desperate to get back to normal territory. “God, I can’t believe you made me cry. This is so embarrassing.”
Max smiles, then, a fragile but wonderful thing. “No, it isn’t. What’s embarrassing is you wearing Eddie’s stuff and thinking that no one will notice.”
“Oh God.” Steve says blandly, feeling his entire face burn red, but he can’t help but laugh at the shit-eating grin on Max’s face.
“Oh my God, I knew it! I knew he was flirting with you. You’re not wearing the vest as well, are you?”
“…No.”
“But you still have it, right?”
“I- That’s none of your business, Mayfield.”
She’s positively gleeful, poking at his arm. “Oh, come on. I just said all those nice things about you. You’ve got to give me something.”
He makes a weak noise of protest like a kicked puppy, burying his face in his hands. Max is right – this is more embarrassing. He hasn’t been so pitifully obvious about his feelings since Nancy.
Max’s expression shifts for a moment, as if it’s just occurred to her that talking about Eddie might be hard for more than one reason. “Steve, you know it’s okay, right? If you like Eddie. If you like guys.”
“Yeah. I do now. It’s always nice to hear it, though.” Steve smiles, remembering the way that Robin had squeezed his hand tight as he’d released a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “It’s been an eventful couple of weeks.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
“Maybe later. Hey, wait, I almost forgot. I brought you something – hold on a second.”
Steve reaches for the bag and pulls out the gift, clumsy wrapping paper thankfully absent. He gently presses it into her hand.
Max lets her fingers run over the chunky buttons. “My Walkman?”
“Ah, no, yours was definitely swallowed up by the Upside Down,” Steve winces apologetically. “But I knew I had one around somewhere and I finally found it buried at the back of my closet. It’s yours, if you want it. I brought some tapes too – Kate Bush, obviously, but I don’t know if…well, she’s there if you need her, but there are others too.”
“You’re giving me your Walkman?”
“Yeah, of course. It’s the least I can do. Jesus, I’d give you my kidney if you needed one.”
Max smiles genuinely, gratefully. “Thank you, Steve.”
Steve grins back, pleased, and rifles through the rest of the bag. “Hey, I got Robin to donate some of her tapes, too, so there’s probably some weird shit like DEVO in there. Eddie made you a mixtape, but I’m pretty sure it’s nearly all metal so listen to that if you want a headache, I guess.”
“Says the guy wearing a Metallica t-shirt.”
“Allegedly. I am allegedly wearing a Metallica t-shirt, but you can’t technically prove it. And just because I have a pathetic crush on Eddie Munson does not mean I have to start liking metal. It’s just…noise.”
Max raises an eyebrow. “That’s all music, dumbass. And hey, at least he definitely has a pathetic crush on you too. I bet he’s listening to ABBA for you right now.”
Two mornings ago, Eddie Munson was dancing to Gimme Gimme Gimme in Steve’s kitchen, wearing nothing but his boxers and one of Steve’s old t-shirts. Max absolutely does not need to know this, but the memory of it warms him from the inside out and makes him want to believe in love.
“Yeah, well, I heard Lucas is working on a mixtape for a certain redhead monster slayer. You need any romance advice?”
To Steve’s delight, Max’s pale face regains a hint of colour. “Jesus Christ, you are such a loser.”
Usually he’d protest that, but today he just laughs. “You got that right. As someone who is actually cool, how does it feel to be constantly surrounded by dorks?”
“It’s a nightmare,” Max says in a way that actually means it’s not so bad, “but I’ll live.”
She will. And Steve will. He’ll live with all of it, the guilt and the regret and the love too. With dusk warm and bright outside the window, and the love of a sister he always wanted, Steve feels very, very lucky to be so alive.