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Maroon in the shape of thin thunders doesn't stain Max's face anymore, her cheeks clear and dry as she lies on the bed. In Lucas' midnight horror haze he tries to wipe the stains, gentle fingers placed on her face, thumb caressing dried gore. He fails, in every scenario. Instead, his eyes leak too, water droplets that slide all the way down. A taste of salt hits him when his tongue flicks over his lips.
Now, he sits in front of her. The room is filled with white and gray or any other color that barely counts as one. Still, the dying boredom gets broken by her, the colors of sunrise placed on her head, igniting like fire. A soft glow of light falls on her face, her hair matching warmness inside Lucas when he remembers his hope.
“Did you miss me too or am I still annoying?” he asks. “Probably both. Never mind, I still wait. Don't worry. Ready when you are.”
From the radio placed by her bed, a soft melody drifts around, soothing the atmosphere like it soothed the sleepy girl in front of him. Lullabies to keep her here, just in case.
“Everyone asks about you all the time. The group is not the same without you, it's not full,” continues Lucas. “No one tells Dustin to shut up like you do, not even Erica. Oh, by the way, Steve's car got crushed, so maybe he'll get a new one eventually, and you can try out that one.”
It goes without his notice that her hand is already grasped in his. He unglues it and reaches out to touch the ending of her ochre hair where it falls on her shoulder. Brushing the silky strands with his fingers, splitting it into three. There's something calm about the simple task, the brain going on autopilot, nothing but Max's soft hair. Color like those tiny firework sprinklers you hold in your hand when the clock strikes next year. Or the spring afternoon when the sun chooses to turn into honey and drip on the world. Everything good flows in Lucas' brain when he is with her. One strand below the other until it hits the middle. All the way to her shoulder. Carefully tying it. Another side too. Prefect.
“You’re pretty anyway, no matter what. I'm doing it for me, you know, wanted to show you what I've learned. Everyday, just in case.”
Once the words are out, a smile forms on his lips, for whatever reason. “It's easy saying all this honest stuff to you now,” he adds, thinking about the twisted irony. He wishes it was hard. “I hate it.”
I miss you again. Don't worry about me. Or anyone. When you come back we'll do anything you want, no one can stop us. Just don't give it to it, don't leave me memories, come back and take new ones. With or without me.
Sometimes when he sleeps, the red on her face isn't the only thing he sees. Sometimes he's not even sure he's in a dream when it happens.
An ugly rotten body, face as a skeleton, covered in slimy branches and veins, big claws instead of hands. When he speaks, a deep voice flies straight to Lucas' blood, drawing out the word. His name.
Max is back in his arms. Struggling. Dying. Until there's no more.
“Pretending it's not your fault?” Lucas tries shielding the limp body in his arms, clutches to Max tightly, getting her covered as much as he can. “Still?” He is standing in front of him, and Lucas gets terrified at the sudden emptiness in his hands. She's not there anymore, she can't be safe, she can't be saved.
“Maybe she doesn't want to wake up until you admit it to yourself. To everyone. Maybe she's the one waiting on you. What would she do if she comes back after so much time only to learn you let her down again?”
Lucas' mind starts swirling. The words he said to her pass by, digging into flesh. Stupid, meaningless now. Something about how it was never her. How he should've tried harder instead. So why didn't he?
What point is that she has him now, when she can't hear or see or feel him. “As good as dead,” says Vecna. “The only time she can get you.”
He's getting closer, eyes boring into Lucas. “And what you also failed to see is that the whole time the thing you are sitting next to, reading to, braiding hair to, is nothing but a corpse.”
The room shifts. It's too late now. All of his friends know. They're standing in the hospital room with him. Their fingers pointing at him, like he is the magnet pulling at the north needle. And what hurts the most is El’s stare. Crying and angry. Hatred.
He would give everything to hear Max's voice again, even if it yells angry words again. And maybe he can. Maybe he will. There's only one way to find out.
Reaching out to touch her hand, her bed pulling away, the walls of the room extending, like a long hallway, keeping Max far from him.
The light dimmers, like the dying flame of a candle, until there's nothing but darkness. A figure lies somewhere ahead, lonely and oblivious to the world.
“You failed,” says Lucas to whoever's listening. “You're the one who failed. Weaker than Max, weaker than El.”
So he starts sprinting to her, to a place where she died, where she waits on him. Not to die with her, but for her to live with him.
***
“Why are you reading her that nerd shit?”
Lucas' sister’s annoying voice breaks through the bubble that was wrapped around Max and him. It's how Lucas finds out they're not alone anymore, and the room gets filled with more colors and light.
Dustin’s face underneath his thick hair gets hit with a frown, like he can't believe the words he hears. His voice is high pitched when he says “You are the biggest nerd out of all of us, and we're like the nerds all star here, who are you kidding?”
Erica shrugs her shoulders. “Still.”
A hand gets placed on Lucas' shoulder and he looks up. Mike's eyes are riddled with unexplainable sadness, like a fog has fallen over every time he looks at Lucas. Don't go there, don't go to a place when you're ten years old and Mike's voice is muffled through the walkie-talkie. “You’re spending more time here than at your house. When are you coming home?” asks Mike.
“When she comes too, you know that.” Turning his gaze away.
“Lucas… She can't leave this place yet. You can. Please.”
Lucas lets a moment pass. Then he turns and says, voice quiet, “What if it was her sitting here?” he nods at El, who looks mournful as always. “You wouldn't be saying any of that.”
Dark locks fall on Mike's face when he lowers his head. Then he looks straight at Lucas' eyes. “What if it were you in her place? Do you think she'd be here all the time?”
Something poisonous stirs through Lucas' body when he thinks about how after all, and unlike himself, Mike has a hand to hold. Sadness he and El feel can be cured, or forgotten for a moment. They will always walk out of this room, together.
He doesn't let anger take him as he looks at his friend. Poison is the last thing they need. “That doesn't matter. I'm not doing it so she can repay me one day.”
Another voice speaks before Mike has a chance to answer. “Did you read the letter?” asks Steve.
“Not yet. You?”
“Yeah.”
“What does it say?”
“‘I’m sorry I almost killed you driving Billy's car.’”
Dustin lets out a chuckle. “Yeah it's a miracle Steve isn't the one lying in this bed.”
Hands hit him and eyes get rolled. Someone adds “This is why Max picked Lucas, buddy.”
The clamour and murmurs soon disappear, leaving Lucas clues that Max and him are alone again. He can't tell hours again, but time has surely passed, since he can hear them again.
“Come to my place. Your basketball team needs you. Let's leave and we'll come back together.”
But none of them knows what it's like to have the most precious person in the world die in your arms.
Max's mom is different situation. She's quiet, so he can't tell when she is here or not. Her hand caresses Max’s face, like a mother touching her child to check for the fever. Like Max is sick with some child virus and has to skip school. When it's too quiet Lucas finds her on the chair, eyes closed, drifting away.
Sometimes the slumber gets him too, and he pretends that this is nothing but a nap session.
***
At times, dreams are sweet. Sun glistens, making Max look like she has a fire on her head. She talks, listens, feels. Sings. Drives her skate. Lucas sits on the curb, a thick baseball ball in between his legs. He watches as her hair flows through the air when she skates like a pro, putting him in a trance. The sky is perfectly cerulean, and not red and black. They're in the right universe.
Max whooshes by and says “You’re staring.”
“I am.”
“You're owning it. Nice,” she replies. Gets close to him. Yanks the ball out of his hands. Lucas feels those new year's sprinkles when he feels her skin on his as she pulls him up. “I can use it as an advantage. You can't defend when you don't look at the ball.”
A chuckle escapes him. “Fine, you already won.”
“You don't want to play?”
“I don't if you're going to beat my ass.”
“Then, I'll let you in on a secret,” she says. Lucas has to try real hard to register the words because the sky is in her eyes and the sun is in her hair. “I can't take my eyes off you whenever you're on the court.”
A gulp. “We should play something else then.”
“Yeah? What?”
All the games he ever played leave his brain. “You pick.”
“I don't feel like playing anymore. I want to lie down and rest.”
The grass tickles and strands stick to their clothes. But this time Max grasps his hand back, fingers intertwined, and Lucas wishes they could somehow lock them. It’s important to never let go of her again, as if she has come back from somewhere.
And when she kisses him, he feels that smile on her face, the wide one she can't wipe away no matter how hard she tries to keep the annoyed facade. The sun rays she holds pour into him, warm and lovely, and he stays there longer after he remembers that there's no sun in the waiting room.
***
Lucas is on the street with Robin when he gets the news about the hospital being under attack. Dread fills his chests, like it's water he can't swim out of, until there's nothing but it.
His feet start running, and he knows Robin is behind him, trying to get to their goal. The main door spills a large amount of people, a chaos he should be used to by now. They mix with them, two figures going in the wrong direction, voices screaming in his ears. The mass trying to get outside, towards the sun, while he tries to get his head out of water, towards air.
An alarm is blasting aggravatingly, but it doesn't wake Max when he reaches her room.
Sleepy again. Peaceful in the midst of black and gray nightmare and chaos.
“Lucas, I'm all for dying with your loved one in one of this bullshit that's been following me for years now… Or maybe I am the one following it… Nevermind… Shit, do you think Vicky heard me saying she's my loved one?”
“Robin…”
“I'm saying I don't think we can stay here. What's the plan?”
Simple sentences form on his mind. Max can't defend herself. Max needs protection because Max is alive. No one can hurt the dandelion in the winter blizzard.
Moments later, they're in the hallways, the lamps overhead blinking in and out, leaving them in total darkness for a split of a second, before lights engulf them, just as shortly. Stuck in the big trap, Robin and Vicky hold each other's hands, Lucas holds Max. Sudden silence.
His brain works in simple, short answers when in danger. Now it's yelling him to find shelter.
The hallway is filled with cupboards and trolleys and boxes. Once they sit behind the biggest thing they can find, all that is left to do is wait and listen to the familiar distorted breathing. One step, two steps. Getting closer. Total darkness. Artificial lights showing the surroundings. Limp body is back in his arms, not knowing it should fight for survival.
An obsessive thought nags Lucas in the background, about how she is never safe enough. He can't tell if it's real or not, but he is sure no matter how close he holds her, her body is peeking out, revealed to the monsters.
It's the most important task in his life, so he puts all his strength and power into it. Inhale, his mouth letting out a quiet “shhhh” as he pulls her closer to himself, further from the danger, against his fluttering heart. Trying to comfort her, trying not to wake her from her slumber, not to scare her.
Just hold on a little longer, he thinks, just a little longer. Should she wake up or not? Just start breathing again, just let your heart beat against mine.
He is nothing but a little boy with a slingshot again, standing in front of a painful death. As long as Max is behind him, he will fight against it with his empty hands, with his childhood toy, anything.
No one will touch you while I'm here. Because he will be her eyes and ears and legs. If it means carrying her to the end of the world, he will do it. It's his own world that he's holding. What will it take is just holding on a little longer, lingering a little more, for the both of them.