in the dead of summer

by makemelovely

Summary:

It's the summer of 1988, and Max Mayfield's nightmare about becoming a camp counsellor is coming true.

//

alternatively, what if max mayfield was a final girl in a slasher movie?

Notes:

hey just wanted to add a quick warning that this is a horror au so characters will die! i do describe some of their wounds and their deaths, but I wouldn't say it's excessive. hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

“I really do think this’ll be good for you, Max.” Susan murmurs as she slows to a stop in front of an old wooden sign. In bold letters it reads: CAMP SHALLOW LAKE. Max frowns at it, her eyebrows pinching together. Pointedly, she refuses to respond to her mother. “I wish you would trust me on this. Besides, it’s not like you won’t know anybody. Billy’s going to be here any minute now as the groundskeeper’s apprentice.” She reaches out to touch Max’s hair, the tips of her fingers barely brushing the ends before Max jerks away like she’s been burned, flinging the car door open and vaulting out as if her life depends on it.

 

“That makes it worse.” She mutters viciously, slamming the door behind her as she heads towards the trunk. Susan doesn’t even bother getting out, instead unlocking the trunk from the driver’s seat and letting Max haul it open herself. Grunting, Max manages to pry it open after a few minutes of trying, the latch caught on what she assumes is her suitcase. Her arms shake slightly, muscles straining until she finally gets the trunk to pop open.

 

They had left her suitcase a little too close to the edge, and the fabric had snagged and hadn’t been able to get free. She drags it out with a huff before grabbing her bag, a yellow hiking backpack her dad had insisted on buying her when she moved to Indiana. As if there were any cool places to hike there. As if Max would hike with anyone but him. 

 

Without him, there wasn’t much point to doing anything she used to do. Hiking, skateboarding, rock climbing. Her mom didn’t get the outdoors; not like her dad did. He’d taught her to appreciate it, to love the wild and all of its fascinating, complex parts. 

 

As she stalks beyond the wooden sign, she thinks to herself that this path better lead to the main house or cabin or whatever these people will call it. Behind her, she hears her mother call out. “I’ll miss you lots, Max! Don’t forget to write. I love you!” Fury rises in the back of Max’s throat, sour and hot. 

 

If you really missed me, Max thinks bitterly, you wouldn’t send me off to be some lame-ass camp counselor.

 

A few minutes of walking along the trail leads her to an open campground, a fire pit in the center of it all. Three cabins to the left, and three to the right. Beyond the campfire and directly sandwiched between the cabins is a bigger cabin, about two stories and extending a little farther. It’s a heavily wooded area, but there are three clear paths. One towards the left, one towards the right, and one behind the bigger cabin. It’s smaller, more secluded. Max squints at it, her curiosity building the longer she looks at it.

 

“Are you new?” A voice to her left says.

 

Max jumps at the sudden interruption, her heart hammering in her chest. “What the fuck!” She gasps out, resisting the urge to press her hand to her heart. She can feel her pulse in her throat, the startled, rapid ticks in the beat that she can feel slowing in real time if she focuses on it hard enough. Instead, she clenches her hands into fists, digging her nails into the soft skin of her palms. The sting comes as her heart rate slows. She’s broken skin, but she doesn’t really care.

 

It’s a boy, grinning sheepishly at her. He’s missing a few teeth, and he has a baby face. His cheeks are puffy like a squirrel, but his smile is wide and it makes his warm brown eyes go kind of squinty. He looks friendly, and gullible, and kind of like a loser, but Max tries not to judge people when she first meets them. She glances down at his Star Wars shirt, and decides that, yeah, he’s totally a loser.

 

“Sorry, sorry!” He says immediately, raising his hands. His palms are out, a show of surrender or a lack of harmful intent. “That was totally my bad. I guess I just thought you’d see me while you were surveying the camp.”

 

“Jesus, why would I?” Max snaps harshly. She should feel bad, but she looks down at her palms, pale and smeared with thin streaks of blood, she decides that she doesn’t care enough to feel bad.

 

He has the nerve to quirk his eyebrow at her slightly before letting it drop, nonchalantly shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe because I was standing, like, right there?” Max frowns at him, angling herself away from him. She knows she’s being rude, okay? She’s well aware of that, but his puppy dog demeanor isn’t going to soften her up. “I’m Dustin. In case you were wondering. What’s your name?” He waits a beat for her answer, winding his hands together and rocking back and forth on his heels. 

 

He’s an inch shorter than her, Max notices. He stands at five foot five probably. Max has never felt better about her six inches. He must realize she’s not willing to give an answer because he continues on, his lips quirking up slightly. He looks playful, humorous. She kind of hates it; she’s kind of endeared by it. “I was asking because I wanted to know your name. In case you couldn’t tell or something.” His tone is purposefully light, as if she’s a spooked horse and might take off for the hills if he thinks he might offend her.

 

She really doesn’t want to be stuck in this conversation any longer than she has to. She inhales deeply and says, “Max. My name is Max, and I’m not sorry for the–well, whatever that whole thing was. Um, but I am new. To, uh, Camp Shallow Lake. Which, by the way, terrible fucking name.” She thinks she says it caustically, but Dustin laughs, loud and clear like bells.

 

Jesus, his head even tips all the way back when he laughs, his curls brushing the nape of his neck before springing back into place as he jerks back upright at a lightning quick pace. Max wonders how he didn’t break his neck or get, like, serious whiplash. His laughter eases off, replaced with a bright expression. His eyes are like miniature sun beams and his smile is widening like an energetic river. “That was funny. You’re funny, you know that?”

 

Nobody’s ever really said that Max was a funny person before, but Max shrugs breezily even though she knows she’s flushing red. “I’ve been told that a couple of times.”

 

“Well, so have I.” Dustin replies. “So maybe we’ll get along here.”

 

“Maybe.” Max answers reluctantly, looking ahead to the big cabin.

 

“Ah, you probably have to get checked in, yeah? That’s the Main Cabin, obviously. And these are all the other cabins. It’ll just be counselors for the first week because we’ve got a bunch of stuff to set up, but the kids’ll be here shortly so don’t even worry.” He explains as he walks with her towards the Main Cabin. He sounds like he’s trying to be reassuring, but Max’s nose automatically wrinkles at the thought of interacting long-term with children.

 

“Ew.” She murmurs.

 

Dustin laughs again, a quieter sound than the other one. “You’ll learn to love them, I swear! The kids here grow on you like mold or–or fungus!”

 

Max side-eyes him, her eyebrows pinching together and her lips pursing. “Is that supposed to be reassuring? ‘Cause that totally just grossed me out even more.”

 

Dustin looks sheepish, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I guess it would if you’re not into science.”

 

Max smirks at him. “You don’t get to use the science geek excuse here, man. That would gross out anyone.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Dustin dips his head slightly, but Max can see a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. Fuck, he’d totally gotten her. She’d thought he was serious. 

 

He pushes the door open, letting her step in before him. “First door to the right is the infirmary. First door to the left is Joyce’s office which is where we’re going for check in. Upstairs, though, is Joyce’s room. She owns the camp, in case you didn’t pick up on that. The room behind that door is the dining hall so it’s really big. There’s a smaller room to the right in the dining hall that serves as the kitchen.” He informs her before nudging her gently in the side with his elbow. “Lucky for us, counselors get to split dish duty.”

 

Max rolls her eyes, tossing her hair slightly. “Yeah, lucky us.” She drawls sarcastically. 

 

“At least we don’t have to cook! Joyce does that.” 

 

“Great, let me go throw a parade.” She mutters.

 

Dustin, for the first time, frowns at her. “Hey,” He admonishes her, his tone gently chiding. “Joyce has done a lot for us, and for this camp. So just–” he shakes his head slightly, his weary voice and the seriousness etched across his face causing guilt to swirl in Max’s stomach despite her best attempts to mash it down. “Don’t make light of all the things she does for us. And maybe steer clear of dissing the camp when Joyce is around, yeah?” He smiles at her, one that’s small and probably fake considering Max has been nothing but negative this entire conversation. She doesn’t need him to tell her that she’s being a surly bitch; she’s acutely aware of that all on her own.

 

Max chews the inside of one cheek for a moment before dropping her head and nodding. “Yeah, I can do that. I will, I swear.”

 

Dustin’s eyes gleam like he’s proud or something, but that would totally be weird. They just met, after all. There hasn’t been enough time to get attached to each other. “Let’s see if that’s true.” Dustin tells her before grabbing her by the wrist and barging into Joyce’s office, offering an obligatory knock before he immediately barrels through the door. “Ms. Byers, I’ve got the new counselor here!” 

 

Max rips her arm away from Dustin, scowling fiercely at him for a moment. She mouths traitor at him, and ignores his cajoling grin in favor of studying the woman in front of her as she spins around fully in her desk chair.

 

Joyce Byers is a frazzled woman, her dark brown hair frizzing in the summer heat. The air conditioning is out in the entire building, and Max can see the slight sheen of sweat on Joyce’s skin. It makes her look pale and clammy, wrung out on the world. Max can smell cigarette smoke lingering in the air, the scent swirling faintly in Max’s lungs like dust and still air. She’s dressed casually, at least from her torso up. She’s still seated behind the desk so Max can’t tell if she’s as scattered fashionably as she seems to be mentally, chewing absently on her lips as she drums her bitten to the quick nails on her desk at a frenetic pace. 

 

“Hi, I’m Joyce Byers. I oversee the camp as I’m sure you know. You must be Maxine!” Joyce’s smile is kind, but tired. Her brown eyes are genuine, sincerity shining through. She holds her hand out expectantly, waiting patiently for an introductory handshake.

 

Max squints at her for a long moment, taking in her threadbare tank top and her slightly sunburned and freckled shoulders. She’s almost too pale to be a believable summer camp operator, but it’s not like Max has any room to judge somebody based on how white they are in the summer. Hell, she burns just thinking about the sun sometimes. Content with her observations, Max takes her hand. “It’s Max.” She says gruffly, her grip firm. Her nails skim the lines along Joyce’s palm, absently wondering which is her lifeline. 

 

Joyce lets her hand slip, leaning back in her chair. For a moment, she looks every bit the boss she is, a true authority figure scrutinizing her help. She must have a lot of practice with alley cat kids. Kids who are on the wrong side of barely tolerable, something acidic and rotten apparent to everyone else. 

 

Kids who are barely worth anyone’s time.

 

“Max it is then! I’m really sorry about this,” Joyce says, her voice warm and friendly. Max rolls her shoulders back, aiming for nonchalant, but her spine is too stiff to truly sell it. “But I have a lot of paperwork I have to do here for our prep week. Dustin, do you think you can handle introductions?”

 

“Can do, Ms. B!” Dustin chirps cheerfully, his answer swift and immediate.

 

Joyce grins, relief flooding her face momentarily. “Great! Max, I’d love to pull you aside later today to give you a proper introduction, but for now I’ll let Dustin handle it.” 

 

Max bites her tongue, letting her body language mirror Joyce’s. She lets her shoulders slump, immediately drooping like a marionette with its strings cut off. She lets the sticky summer heat settle over her skin, warming her straight to her core. She inhales quietly, the taste of ash on her tongue. It makes her feel better, more at ease. 

 

It reminds her of the summer after her parents got divorced and a few months before her mother got remarried to Neil. She’d pack herself into her mother’s old, beat up van where the entire world would cloud over with hazy smoke. She likes to focus on the good moments of that summer. Otherwise, she’d crawl into bed and wouldn’t come back out again. She tries to remind herself of the world waved away in a sheet of gray instead of the stifling heat because the windows were rolled up and the air conditioning wasn’t running quite yet. She tries not to think of the way the smoke had settled over her chest, and the way it stifled the air in her lungs. She remembers flicking the lighter on over and over again, the flame searing against her skin until she couldn’t bear it and switched it off. She remembers every carelessly cruel world falling from her mother’s tongue during these car rides; Susan drunk on the grief of a failed marriage and high off the euphoric feeling nicotine gave her.

 

Max musters up a smile, small and nearly invisible as it pulls the corners of her mouth taut. “Cool. I’ll be ready whenever.” She raises one hand as a way of saying goodbye, turning on her heel and slipping out the open door. She can hear Dustin rushing through his own goodbye as he scrambles to follow after her. She hears the door click shut behind her so she quickens her pace, eager to lose her appointed tour guide. 

 

She’s got no luck in that regard as Dustin appears at her heels almost instantly, energized by his newfound status as assistant. “You’re going to love the Party, I promise. You’re almost as big of a buzzkill as Mike is.” He babbles excitedly at her.

 

“Gee, thanks.” She snorts, folding her arms in front of her chest.

 

Dustin blushes, but laughter falls from his mouth like champagne bubbles. This laugh is more airy, floating on the slight breeze that slinks through camp with its head down. It’s fizzier, too; a cool stream pouring out onto warm rocks. “I’d say sorry, but you don’t look too offended.” Dustin tells her, grinning faintly in her direction.

 

Max looks away, shrugging her shoulders and folding her arms loosely across her chest. “Whatever. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.” She tries to squash her apprehension, her walls slowly crumbling against the open sincerity on Dustin’s face. He’s earnest and genuine in his efforts to get to know her. He hasn’t taken her attitude personally, and that earns a begrudgingly miniscule amount of respect on Max’s end. 

 

“Come on,” Dustin reaches out and takes her by the arm, pulling her towards the crafts tent. “Let’s go meet everyone.”

Everyone turns out to be three other guys and a girl, all crowded onto a picnic table. They’re all angled towards a kid in the middle, a boy with a bowl cut who is furiously sketching something. His intensity is almost admirable. To his left is a black boy with a bandana on his head who watches the boy sketch over his shoulder, chatting happily with a smile stretching across his face. There’s joy etched in the lines of his face and the carefree width of his grin. 

 

Across the table is a girl with her brown hair cut above her shoulders, intently painting her nails alternating strokes of dark lavender and seafoam green. A band-aid begins to fall off, its corner detaching and hanging lopsided for a second until she absently reached down and smoothed it over again. The last boy has a mess of dark hair and a smattering of freckles on his face. There’s a sunburn on his face, across the bridge of his nose and sweeping over his cheekbones as if he’s put blush on. He’s watching the bowl cut kid, leaning back on his elbows. He’s lounging, really, his head lolling despite his attentive gaze. 

 

Max watches them, their sunkissed image searing itself into her brain. After everything, this is how she’ll remember them: smiling and lazy, warm and content. The entire world at their fingertips, spanning endlessly and stretching beyond time. A single frame of life where nothing bad could happen to you. A second where life was good and always would be. This moment spans ages beyond Max’s eyes, time falling away in the glowing yellow haze. The dust made gold in the light, the mundane coming off special and wondrous, a thing made of spun-glass and fascination. Max blinks, her mind stutter-stepping as everyone’s gaze snaps to hers.

 

“Uh, hey. I’m Max.” She lifts one hand tentatively, an awkward grimace on her face that she means as a smile.

 

Dustin stares at her, mouth hanging open. “What are you doing with your face?” He asks, poking at the side of her mouth.

 

Max squeaks, slapping his hand away. “Stop that! What’s wrong with you?” She blushes furiously, her face burning red.

 

“What isn’t wrong with Dustin?” The black boy snickers, bumping his shoulder against the bowl cut kid’s shoulder. He’s gentle about it, fondness gleaming openly on his face while he does it. He lingers too long, their shoulders merely touching. Max recognizes that move: the safety in plausible deniability. Something sparks to life in Max’s chest, recognition pinging in her muscles. 

 

Dustin frowns, opening his mouth for a quick rebuttal, but the girl interrupts him. She leaps to her feet instantly, tripping over herself in her rush to greet Max. She grasps Max’s hand eagerly, shaking with an intensity that is, quite frankly, unwarranted. Her hands are small, even compared to Max’s, but they’re cool and her skin is soft. Her fingertips graze the inside of Max’s wrist, the pads of her fingertips smooth as they glide against her skin, a phantom touch and nothing more.

 

“Hi, I’m El! It’s so nice to meet you. I’ve been begging Joyce for another girl around here for ages.” She babbles, her voice warm and sweet like honey. There’s an underlying thickness, as if the words are sticking to the back of her throat, nervous to leap off the tip of her tongue and be experienced by the world. Her big brown eyes are bright with enthusiasm, her excitement curving her mouth into a wide grin. 

 

Max should be overwhelmed. She should be swept under by the torrential force of El’s enthusiasm, the girl absolutely thrilled to be here at all times. She’s a wildfire girl, a campfire burning ferociously at night under a blanket of stars and kept watch over by the moon. Instead, Max’s tension melts away, her spine straightening and her metaphorical hackles falling away. Max squeezes her hand, smiling hesitantly at her. “Happy to be here.” She mutters shyly, tucking her hair behind her shoulder.

 

“Oh, are you now?” Dustin squawks indignantly at her side.

 

Max elbows him, shooting him a sharp look as El lets out little bubbles of laughter, light as air and drifting precariously away in the breeze. “Well, I’m glad. This is gonna be such a fun summer, you know?” El spins away from Max, meandering back to her seat. “It’s our first year as head counselors. We’re running the camp! Well, not really running the camp.” She shoots the bowl cut boy a worried look. “Don’t tell Joyce I said that, Will.”

 

Will flicks his eyes up, squinting at her. “Do I ever?”

 

El must kick him under the table judging by the affronted grunt he makes, his knees jerking up automatically and hitting the underside of the table. “You totally do.” El drolly informs him, faintly smirking.

 

“You are such a brat.” He hisses, but he bumps his foot against her ankle instead of kicking her. 

 

Max watches them for a moment longer, Will’s rigid bones and frantic drawing a direct contrast to El’s languid figure and her leisurely nail painting. When she pulls her eyes away, she finds the boy to the right of El staring at her, a haughty expression on his face. A storm brews behind his dark eyes, thunder rumbling ominously in the back of Max’s brain. His full pink lips are pursed, a deep dislike festering beneath the surface. The swiftness of it astounds Max. How easily he could distrust her and how deep it could burn. She takes a step back, her breath caught in her throat as her chest thuds painfully in her chest. She’s all too aware of her body, the way her lungs are shallowly expanding and her throat is closing. Her heartbeat a drum in her ears, her pulse throbbing in her throat. Heat traces itself around the notches of her spine, buzzing like livewire against the bone. It sears itself into her, burning her. Leaving its mark on her.

 

“Max? You can sit now. Max? Max?” Dustin’s voice breaks her out of her thoughts, her body shuddering a little as she comes back to herself. She’s not stepping back into her body, per say, but she’s not stepping out of it either. It’s more like she’s buttoning herself up again, the intense physicality of existing inside of her body an adrenaline response. She freezes inside of herself, and now she’s unthawing. 

 

“Yeah? Sorry, just stuck inside my head.” She shakes her head, avoiding the boy’s gaze. 

 

Will stares at her curiously, his attention momentarily peaked by something other than his drawing. “Well, you didn’t miss anything important. That’s Lucas,” Dustin points at the black boy. “And that’s Mike.” She doesn’t look at him, her jaw clenching momentarily as she thinks of his swift dislike. 

 

He’s already a thorn beneath her skin, pricking and pricking. Whatever, Max so doesn’t need this weird bullshit. Resolutely, she refuses to spare him a glance, but she can feel the heat of his glare regardless. “Nice to meet you guys.”

 

Lucas gives her his full attention, smiling pleasantly at her. “It’s nice to meet you too, Max. What are you thinking of camp so far?” 

 

Max shrugs her shoulders, glancing out towards the lake. She can sort of see the boathouse from here. “It’s fine for, like, a summer camp, I guess.” She murmurs distractedly, squinting slightly. She can almost swear she saw the shadows shift in the window, as if someone was inside. Max watches the stillness, waiting with baited breath for something to break it. For someone to appear in the window, maybe, or slip out the front door. Instead, she notices the group staring at her with matching stunned expressions. “What?” She asks.

 

“I’ve never heard anyone hate on camp like that before.” Lucas chuckles, but his eyebrows are pinched together.

 

Dustin shakes his head, frowning. Max’s shoulders bunch up to her ears, sufficiently chastened.

 

“Do you really not want to be here?” El asks, her wide eyes shiny and wet. 

 

Max swallows roughly, her eyes dipping downwards. “I mean, I didn’t really want to come here. My mom just sent me because she wanted me out of the house. I’ve never even been to a camp before, let alone be a counselor. I think kids cry too much, and I’m not very good with people.” She admits, picking at a scab on her knee. When there’s nothing left to pick at, she presses her thumb to a brown-black bruise and watches the colors shift the harder she presses down. 

 

“I can teach you!” El offers, drawing Max’s gaze upwards to hers. “If you want to take a shot at not having a totally miserable summer.” She teases.

 

I can’t have a miserable anything with you around, Max thinks. “I’d like that.” She says instead, offering a quick smile to El. She should offer more. She should offer the sun and the stars, the moon and the earth. All of the planets and constellations. All of this galaxy, and all of the others too. Looking at El makes her eyes burn, though, so she can never look long enough to offer these things. 

 

“First lesson is now, okay?” Max nods. “Repeat after me: we are going to have a kickass summer.”

 

Max levels her a look dripping with disbelief. “Are you kidding me?”

 

El shakes her head viciously, her hair whipping around in the air. “I’m being one hundred percent serious, I swear. Repeat after me: we are going to have a kickass summer!”

 

Max ducks her head, a begrudging smile titling her mouth to the side with the weight of her embarrassment. “We’re going to have a kickass summer.” She repeats, albeit with less enthusiasm and more mumbling. 

 

El cheers, swinging her arms in the air victoriously. Her euphoria is a heady drug that spreads to the rest of the group, Lucas and Will chortling while Dustin whoops. Mike says nothing, but his silence cannot damper the smile breaking out on Max’s face. 

 

This is how Max likes to remember them: golden and perpetually young, free of blood and guilt and sin.

Max goes back to meet with Joyce, her afternoon spent crowded around a table offering minimal input as the group swapped stories and playful jabs. Dustin, for instance, has a long distance girlfriend named Suzy that the rest of the group pretend doesn’t exist because they’ve never met her. Dustin takes it all in good fun, but Max changes the topic as soon as she gets the chance, subtly nodding her head at Dustin so he’d understand the gesture. If he picked up on it, great. If he didn’t, well, that doesn’t really change anything.

 

Joyce ushers her back inside her office, a friendly smile on her face and her hands perpetually shaking. She looks as if she’s had a hundred cups of coffee, her energy a little frantic and unhinged. Max watches her hover her hands over her desk, rearranging the knickknacks and ultimately returning everything to its original place before she finally takes her seat.  “Now, this meeting is really more of an informal introduction to camp values and expectations. Normally, we’d have a little more paperwork to deal with, but we were able to get everything we needed from the files your mom sent over.”

 

Max bites down until she tastes blood, swallowing the scoff that wants to spill off the tip of her tongue. The taste of iron floods her mouth, but she’s miraculously able to ignore it in favor of the fire burning inside of her chest, searing and red-hot inside of her ribcage. The flames lick along her bone, seeking to burn right into the marrow. “Right. The files.” Max repeats bitterly, spitting the words like acid. They splatter to the floor in front of them, limp and useless as it sinks into the floor with a hiss and a release of faint looking vapor. 

 

Joyce watches her for a second, her brow furrowed with concern. Max can tell she’s a mother from the protective streak flashing in her eyes, a mama bear to her core. She can tell even without knowing Will, without hearing about him. It’s intrinsically wound around the length of her spine. It’s the force holding her head up, her shoulders high. Motherhood is keeping Joyce Byers afloat. When Max was little, she used to dream about having a mother like that. A mother who stepped in front of her at the first sign of trouble instead of throwing her to the wolves. “Yes, the files. Is there anything you’d like to add?” Joyce waits, the silence thick and suffocating. “No? Okay, I’ll just move ahead then.” She pauses again, her face open and kind.

 

Joyce discusses camp policy and first aid training. They go over mealtimes, and counselor expectations. It’s brief, more of an overview than anything else. Max thanks her for her time when the meeting is over, carefully getting to her feet and heading towards the door. “Oh, Max, can I ask a favor?”

 

Max rocks back on her heels, mouth twisting to the side against her will. “Oh, yeah, I guess.”

 

“Would you stop by the groundskeeper’s shed and tell Jim Hopper I’d like a word with him whenever he has a minute? Tell him not to rush, please.” Joyce asks.

 

Max nods, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “It’s no trouble, Mrs. Byers.” Max reluctantly flashes her a reassuring smile, ready for the conversation to be over.

 

“If you need anything at all, Max,” Joyce says, her tone heavier all of a sudden. “Don’t ever hesitate to ask.”

 

Max recognizes this feeling, the smallness she feels and the prickle in her eyes. There’s a lump the size of Manhattan in her throat, blocking her airway and storing all of her tears for when she needs them most. Max turns around, blinking quickly to clear the stab of grief blooming in her abdomen. The pain lessens, the sharpness growing dull and fading to a buzzy background sort of pain. “Thanks.” Max rasps out, clearing her throat and leaving once the words have tumbled out of her mouth, clumsily splayed on the floor for Joyce to examine.

 

She’d rather leave the words than take them with her.

She finds Hopper’s shed after walking for about twenty minutes. For a long couple of minutes, she’d thought she’d somehow strayed from the path. The grass is higher here, thicker and scraggly against her calves as she hesitantly continues forward. It’s old and rickety, the wood half-haphazardly nailed together to form an outhouse looking building. She thinks maybe the insides have caved together because of the weird angle of the ceiling, the pointed slope that doesn’t make any practical sense.

 

The door swings open easily which is expected considering it’s almost literally hanging off the hinges. Max glances inside, sunlight pouring through the wide open door to reveal the absence of Jim Hopper. Instead, there’s a single chain hanging from the ceiling that Max would bet is dangling from an old lightbulb and a bunch of tools and equipment that she can’t name. At least she can identify the rake, thank you very much!

 

“This place is such a shitshow.” She curses under her breath, turning to leave and swinging the door shut behind her. Out of the corner of her eye, Max spots a gleam of color. It reflects a beam of light back at her as it weaves in and out of the trees. “Hello?” She wonders aloud, something pricking in the back of her brain as if she’s recognized something. Whatever reflective material she’s seen disappears from sight the minute she speaks, but the rustle of leaves and the crack of sticks cuts through the air. “Hey. Hey!” She shouts after it, rolling her eyes and reluctantly giving chase.

 

She sprints through the woods after it, ducking wildy under low hanging branches and weaving through the trees. Her heart races in her chest, adrenaline pumping through her veins. There’s a thrumming in her body that she almost can’t recognize, but she’s climbed without proper safety gear enough times to know the feeling: excitement. She’s thrilled to be seeking this reflective object. It’s given her a purpose besides being angry. Besides resenting how easily her parents seem to be able to leave her behind.

 

It’s a distraction, and it’s one Max wants to take. 

 

Unfortunately for Max, her distraction vanishes from eyesight pretty early into her mad dash for entertainment. She’s not far from the path and she can easily find her way back, but her attention has been peaked. Before her stands a cabin, old but not dilapidated. She stumbles forward a few steps, taking shallow breaths as she attempts to get her heart rate under control. The back of her t-shirt sticks to her sweaty skin as she glances around the area curiously. Nobody is peering at her through the trees, and the sounds of the woods are normal again. Birds calling, the wind ruffling the leaves overhead. There’s no mysterious object to be found and no sounds that would indicate something is hiding nearby.

 

Max does spot a name on the mailbox, clumsily written in capital letters as if by a child. HOPPER is scrawled in white paint on the side of a dusty, metal mailbox. “Oh.” She says out loud. “You must live here too.” She traces the letters absently, staring at the places where the paint has dried unevenly.

 

She knows she shouldn’t, but she’d really rather not venture back out here again and Joyce did ask her to deliver a message. Against her better judgment, Max creeps up the stairs and crosses the porch, knocking quietly on the door. The wood is thick and sturdy as she raps her knuckles against it. She waits a few moments before she knocks again. This time, she presses her ear to the wood and listens carefully to see if there’s any noise inside the cabin.

 

There isn’t so after a few minutes and an aborted doorbell attempt, she grabs the knob and twists. She’s not expecting it to turn so easily beneath her grip, but there’s no resistance as she pushes the door open.

 

The inside of Hopper’s cabin isn’t quite what she expected. She thought it would be more like a bachelor man-cave kind of thing, but it’s not quite that. It’s certainly a masculine space judging by the dark colors and lack of interior decorating, but that’s fine. Not everybody can have taste , Max thinks as she spots a stained lampshade. Especially older guys living on their own. There’s a bookshelf packed with books, though, and a shitty tape player on the coffee table. She carefully picks her way through the living room, taking great care to avoid bumping into or touching anything.

 

There’s nothing out of the ordinary until she gets to the kitchen. It looks as if there’s been a struggle of some sort. The tablecloth has been pulled off the kitchen table, and she can see the broken pieces of plate that have shattered there and been left to sit. Max tentatively steps around the mess, her gaze locked on the backdoor that isn’t shut all the way. She moves forward as if she’s in slow motion or trudging through waist-deep water. She gingerly wraps her hand around the knob, pulling the door open with a creak that echoes in her brain. She steps into the doorway, resting her palm against the door jam as she surveys the backyard.

 

There’s nothing besides the trees that encircle the cabin, and a little vegetable garden still in the beginning stages. Relief sinks through Max like a stone, grounding her to reality. Hopper probably got called to town on police business, Max rationalizes. If something really did happen, it’d look a lot worse, wouldn’t it?

 

“Max? What are you doing out here?” Dustin asks from behind her.

 

“Holy shit!” Max shrieks, whipping around in the doorway. Dustin blinks innocently at her, raising his palms in a show of surrender. “Dustin, what the fuck is wrong with you?” She spits out shakily, swallowing harshly. There’s a lump in her throat that won’t go away. It just sits there like that tar pit that traps animals–hot and sticky and solid once the prey is knee-deep in its burning grasp.

 

“Me?” Dustin stares at her incredulously. “You’re the one wandering around in Chief Hopper’s cabin.”

 

Max pushes past him into the kitchen, letting Dustin shut the door behind her. “It was unlocked.” She points out feebly.

 

Dustin snorts, pointedly locking the backdoor. “Well, now it’s not.” 

 

She winces at the sound of crunching glass, remembering a beat too late about the tablecloth and the dishes on the ground. “Dustin,” She says, tension bleeding through her voice. She needs him to understand how weird this is, how there’s something unsaid or unknown lingering in the air that makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “The backdoor was open when I got here.”

 

Something slackens in Dustin’s face, the color draining a little. He glances around as if seeing the room for the first time, his eyes lingering on the mess at her feet. “I’m sure everything is fine. Just ask El about it tonight.” He shakes his head as if he’s clearing all of the negative thoughts out.

 

Max wishes it were that simple for her. “What’s tonight? And why would El know about this shit anyways?” 

 

“Oh, we didn’t tell you? El is Hopper’s daughter. He adopted her when she was, like, super young. Like, four or five. And we are having a little party tonight in the woods. A counselor type of thing.” He explains, beginning to leave the cabin.

 

She reluctantly glances back at the scene in front of her, but follows him despite the urgent desire to investigate, to dwell here and discover exactly what has occurred. “There’s six of us. That doesn’t exactly constitute a party.” She points out.

 

Dustin just shakes his head. “Oh, you haven’t partied with us yet.” He winks at her, grinning at the way she rolls her eyes and brushes ahead of him. He locks the front door for Hopper and consequently has to jog to catch up with her again. “You never said why you were in there.” He states, but Max can hear the unspoken question mark at the end of his sentence.

 

“Joyce wanted me to tell him that she needed something. She didn’t say what so I don’t really know more than that.” She opts to leave out her chase for whatever had caught her eye. Odds are it wasn’t that important to begin with.

 

Dustin hums in reply before going off on a little tangent about directions for where she should meet them that night. “Why can’t you just come get me?” She asks.

 

“That would ruin all the fun.” Dustin answers with a teasing grin.

 

Max rolls her eyes and almost flips him off when she notices something. There’s a streak of red across her palm, drying along her lifeline. It’s the same hand that had been pressed to the doorframe of Hopper’s cabin. If it’s almost dry now, it would have to have been wet when she first touched it. She imagines the doorway now, slick and shiny with some kind of red substance that she hopes isn’t blood. She shivers, goosebumps prickling along her skin. Could she really have seen something earlier? Had it been a person she chased through the woods?

 

As Dustin prattles on about the group’s epic party skills, Max feels the stone inside the pit of her stomach dislodge a little. The mess inside Hopper’s cabin spells trouble, and Max doesn’t want to be around when it boils to the surface.

Joyce is understanding when Max explains that she couldn’t find him. She waves the redhead off with a warm smile and a sincerity tinged in her voice when she thanks her for trying. She spends the rest of her afternoon unpacking and cleaning her cabin, attempting to get it ready for the kids later that week. God, she doesn’t even want to think about sharing her space with a bunch of preteen dorks. 

 

She finds herself missing her father more and more. His laugh and his five o’clock shadow. How he liked his coffee black, but he always put a little bit of cream and sugar in his cup at breakfast because he knew Max liked to steal sips when he wasn’t looking. His sense of adventure and his willingness to do anything. 

 

Anything but stay with her mom; anything but fight for custody.

 

The sky grows darker, steadily dragging the stars from their hiding spot and revealing them to the world. Half an hour before midnight, Max finally starts the trek into the woods. Dustin had told her to come at midnight and that the group would probably be there once she got there. Every single one of them had years of experience since they all grew up coming here. Hell, Dustin had said that Will was an expert at navigating the woods. Apparently they used to play hide and seek when they were kids, and he’d spent seven hours hiding once. He’d come out when he got too hungry to hide anymore, showing up in the dining hall right as the kids were going to confess their game to Joyce. They’d finally told her years after the fact, and they were promptly banned from playing hide and seek in the woods ever again.

 

Of course, by then they’d left behind their days of hide and seek and instead had taken to sneaking beer from Hopper’s cabin and drinking in the woods which is exactly what Max is doing now.

 

She’s ten minutes later than they’d estimated she’d be. She’d gotten turned around in the dark, but she’d heard laughter in the distance and followed the sounds of their cheers and joyful hollers. She finds them around a blazing campfire, embers floating off to vanish in the inky blue night. They’ve already cracked a few beers; there’s a cooler a few feet away that one of the boys must have lugged up to the clearing. Max squints at them for a second before realizing that it’s a joint they’re passing around. 

 

El is in the middle of taking a hit when she spots Max. Her face lights up around the joint as she inhales deeply, her brown eyes glowing in the light of the fire. Shadows play across her face, flickering unsteadily as the others notice Max’s arrival.

 

Dustin is the one to leap to his feet, meandering towards her on unsteady legs. “I knew you’d make it! Here, sit next to El and me.” He grabs her by the wrist and drags her over to the log that he and El are seated on, settling her between them.

 

“Took you long enough.” Mike mutters, bringing a beer to his lips.

 

Max frowns at him, but she’s distracted by El passing her the joint. “Oh, thanks.” She smiles at the brunette, enjoying the way her throat bobs as she exhales. The stream of smoke dissipates in the chilly night air. She’s grateful for the fire they’ve made, the heat washing over her again and again. Her face burns in the warmth of the fire, but the darkness bites at her arms and back with chilly teeth. She brings the joint to her mouth, inhaling and exhaling a few times before passing it to Dustin. It’s not as good as the weed in California, but she hadn’t thought she’d be able to find any in bumfuck Indiana.

 

“Have you smoked before?” El asks, gazing at Max with rapt attention.

 

She shrugs as Dustin inhales. “I’m from California.” She says as if that’s an answer. To her it is, but El just wrinkles her brow and waits for an elaboration. “Yes. Yeah, I’ve smoked before.” Max laughs.

 

“I could totally tell.” El tells her. “Your inhale was just, like, so smooth.” Now that Max is looking closer, she can see the cloudy look in her eyes. She’s clearly already buzzed, her face flushing pink the longer Max stares at her.

 

Mike snorts from his spot besides Will. “Oh, I bet it was.” There’s no malice in his voice when he speaks to El, unlike when he deigns to speak to Max. 

 

There’s a teasing note in the undercurrent of his tone, one that El picks up on. “Shut up.” She reaches down and throws a handful of leaves at him. Some of them falter midair and fall into the fire. They crackle and pop for a minute before settling down, smoke spiraling up to the stars in a thicker stream than before. “So where is the grass greener? California or Hawkins?” She prompts coyly, dark eyes flicking down to indicate the joint and back up again.

 

“California, definitely. Hawkins isn’t bad, but you guys have got nothing on California.” She says.

 

“Shit, don’t tell Jonathan that.” Lucas–sitting on the opposite side of Will–nudges Will in the ribs, giggling as the joint finally reaches him again. He takes a few hits before stubbing it out.

 

Max frowns as the rest of the group laughs. Even Mike, that perpetually sullen bastard, lets out a few chuckles. “Who is Jonathan?” She asks.

 

Will grins at her. “My brother. He works with a guy who smokes a bunch and he lets me have some whenever he buys.” He explains.

 

“Oh. That’s really cool of him. It’s not like it’s bad product or anything!” Max hastens to explain. “It’s just–”

 

“Not California.” The group chime in to finish, exchanging knowing looks around the fire.

 

Mike stares at her, annoyance reflected in the pools of his eyes. “Is there anything Hawkins has that California doesn’t?” He murmurs bitingly.

 

Max answers without thinking. “Cute girls.” After a beat of silence, she raises her head. The group is watching her, eyes collectively wide. “Oh.” She utters when her brain finally catches up to the stupid words she just let fall out of her mouth.

 

Her head is a little fuzzy from the weed, warm and soft. She can pull her thoughts apart like warm bread, doughy and hot beneath her hands. Steam rises from her fingertips as she scrambles to piece her thoughts back together into some coherent shape so she can reverse the words she’s just said.

 

“Cute boys, too.” Will adds, his tone softer. He’s being gentle with her, she realizes. The rest of the group don’t look stunned or dismayed. He’s out to them, and he’s letting her know that she can be out with them too.

 

She can feel her heart beating in her chest as if she’s just come to life, or maybe as if she’s just realizing she’s alive. Before the silence can swallow them whole, El continues with what she had been talking about before Max arrived late. “Anyways, he was supposed to meet me for lunch, but he didn’t show. I was even going to grill him about Joyce!” She pouts, glumly reaching down and finding a twig to fling into the fire. 

 

“Who are we talking about?” Max asks. Her stomach had knotted the moment El began talking about meeting some guy for lunch, but the twist lessens the second El mentions Joyce.

 

“Hopper.” Lucas informs her.

 

“That’s your dad, right?” Max asks her.

 

El nods. “Yeah. It’s not the first time he’s had to miss lunch with me, though. He gets called into town an awful lot, especially during the summer. So many noise complaints–mostly about fireworks.” She says sagely, sounding awfully familiar with the inner workings of the Hawkins Police Department during the summer months. 

 

“Oh. So he usually just disappears without a trace?” Max asks.

 

El looks at her oddly. “Uh, no? He usually goes to work. He has a job. Chief of Police, you know?” Dustin shoots her a look as if to say see, nothing is wrong here! except Max can’t forget the shattered dishware and the red smear on her palm. 

 

“Sorry, it’s just that I went by the cabin earlier. Joyce wanted me to get him for her. The back door was open, and the kitchen was kind of messy.” Max informs her. 

 

She waits for the look of panic to flash across El’s face, for fright or surprise or shock to set in. Instead, El shrugs. “He probably just didn’t get the door shut all the way. Plus, he’s an older guy with no dating prospects except for Will’s mom so the mess is just part of his deal.” Max opens her mouth to argue, but she deflates instead. If El says it’s fine, then it must be. But she doesn’t know about the tablecloth, a voice whispers in the back of Max’s mind.

 

“I don’t know, El.” Max mutters, glancing down. “There were broken plates on the ground, and the tablecloth was, like, pulled clean off the table.”

 

El frowns at that, a little worry line etched in the creases of her forehead, but her expression smooths out. “I’m sure he’s fine, but we’ll go check the docks just to be safe, okay?” She offers as a compromise even though that makes no fucking sense to Max.

 

“The docks?” She frowns. “What do the docks have to do with anything?”

 

“Oh, right! Of course you wouldn’t know, duh. You haven’t been out on the water yet.” El laughs a little, as if she should have thought of that before. “One of our boats has been broken so he’s been trying to fix it. He’s probably working on it now.”

 

Max darts her eyes towards the sky where the moon hangs low over the trees. It’s almost one in the morning now. Who works on a boat that late at night? “I think he’s trying to impress Joyce with how handy he is; he’s been staying out late fixing anything he can get his hands on just so she’ll compliment him on his hard work and dedication.” El answers when Max repeats this sentiment out loud.

 

“That’s… cute and kind of lame, if I’m being honest.” Max comments.

 

El shoots her a conspiratorial look. “Tell me about it.” She remarks drily before reaching out and grabbing Max’s hand. “Come on, let’s go check out the docks.”

 

She pulls Max to her feet, leading her away from the blazing fire and her friends. “Anyone coming with?” She glances over her shoulder, making brief eye contact with Dustin.

 

“Nope!” El sing-songs, throwing a challenging look over her shoulder. “This is a girls only trip, got it?” She mimics slapping Mike on the back of his head when he coughs something that sounds a lot like obvious into his closed fist. 

 

Max grins a little, but she manages to hide it under the cover of darkness. As El weaves down a path that will surely lead to the docks, Max vaguely remembers potentially seeing someone down there earlier. “You said Hopper has been working at the docks, yeah?”

 

“Mhm.” El hums, swinging her arms. “Why do you ask?”

 

Her knuckles brush against Max’s. The brief touch sends sparks of electricity running up and down the length of her spine. El’s touch burns in the best way possible. “I might’ve seen someone down there earlier. While we were all in the arts and crafts tent.” She explains, staring intently at the ground so she doesn’t trip.

 

She didn’t grow up in these woods; she doesn’t know the paths yet. She has to watch her footing carefully or else she’ll trip and fall which will lead to a bruised body part or a bruised ego. Max isn’t really itching for either of those options, and those are the best possible outcomes in the case of a fall. “It probably was Hopper then. Nobody else should be there.” There’s a note of finality in El’s voice, as if the matter is settled before they even get down there.

 

Something inside of Max says that it isn’t that simple.

 

There’s a lull in the conversation, a pause that does nothing to halt Max’s increasing anxiety. “What if–” She starts to say, but El cuts her off.

 

“Max, stop.” She says sternly, her voice firm and unyielding. Max’s voice dies in her throat, submitting to her command. “I’m sure he’s fine, okay? And if he’s not then I don’t want to think about what comes after. So please just stop for my sake.” She pleads.

 

Max finally looks up. There’s a gap in the trees overhead, moonlight pooling on El’s skin. She’s chewing on her bottom look, unease shining in her eyes like a beacon. Max inhales sharply, an apology on her lips, but she doesn’t think that’s what El needs right now. “I’m scared I’m going to trip and fall and probably die, either from the fall itself or from embarrassment afterwards.” She admits.

 

El stares at her, bewilderment flashing across her face before it melts into a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “So take my hand.” She says, and holds her hand out.

 

She looks at it for a moment, the invitation beyond clear. She’s choosing to offer me this, Max realizes. She knows what I said earlier. Who I am. She’s still choosing me. “Okay.” Max says simply, refusing to let on the brief deliberation that had crossed her mind. She reaches out, grasping El’s hand in hers. El’s skin is warmer than it had been earlier in the day–maybe the fire had warmed her up? She squeezes once, exhaling quietly when El squeezes back.

 

They walk the rest of the way in silence. It’s only until they reach the docks that El speaks again. “I met Hopper when I was five. The home I was in before I met him was being investigated by CPS. They didn’t do so hot, especially when they heard what our names were.” She begins, unprompted.

 

Max swings their arms, holding El’s hand a little tighter. She’s not sure if it’s to let the other girl know she’s listening or if there’s still a bit of fear creeping around in her head. Maybe it’s both.

 

“My foster dad was named Martin Brenner. He called me Eleven. I was just a–just a number to him.” El’s voice shakes with emotion, resentment with an undercurrent of despair. “I was so little, you know? And I had no sense of myself as an individual. I was part of a collection, and he treated us like that too. He used to make us compete all the time for food or clothes or toys. If you were first, you were rewarded. If you weren’t, you suffered.”

 

Max runs her thumb along El’s knuckles, the pads of her fingers unbelievably gentle. “That’s horrible.” She remarks, her voice low. 

 

“Yeah, it was. CPS took us away pretty soon after checking in with us. I’m still not sure how they found out. I think one of the other kids managed to let someone know.” 

“Good.” Max murmurs fiercely, a surge of protectiveness crashing over her like a wave.

 

El cracks a small smile. “Yeah. That’s how I met Hopper. He was one of the police officers I met during the whole thing. He got attached pretty quickly despite his best efforts.” There’s a faraway gleam in her eyes when she speaks again. “He always said I was too special to leave behind; that something inside of him told him to take me home so he did. He said it was his daughter’s voice. She saw how lonely he was and sent him to me.” There’s a wistfulness clinging to her now as if her memories have swept her away to better times.

 

Maybe not better, maybe just softer times. “He must be pretty special then.” Max muses.

 

The dreaminess fades from El’s face when Max speaks. She almost feels bad for ruining the moment, but there’s a warmth in the depths of El’s eyes that compels her to forget her sorrows. “He’s the best person I know.” She says earnestly. “He’s good. He says he’s not, but that’s because he’s stupid sometimes. Max, I know you’re really worried because of whatever it is that you’ve seen, but he’s gotta be okay. He has to be.” She blinks tears away, the door to the boathouse a few feet away.

 

Max wants to cup her cheek. She wants to brush her tears away. She can feel her heart straining under the sudden intensity of her admiration. El’s vulnerability has stunned some dark, cynical part of herself into silence. “I’m sure he’s okay.” She tells El. She says it because she wants it to be true. She says it because El needs it to be true. She weighs her next words carefully, but ultimately decides to make a promise that she’s not entirely sure she’ll be able to keep. “We’ll find him.”

 

They don’t. They search the boathouse, but there’s no six foot three Chief of Police hiding behind any corners. Max can see how demoralizing it is for El, her shoulders slumping and her grip slackening. They begin the walk back in apprehensive silence: El wondering where her father is and Max wondering about the red streak that very well could have been blood.

 

The silence is thick and suffocating, an oppressive cloud hanging over the two of them as they begin to walk back towards the clearing. It’s been almost an hour since they left, and the buzz from the few hits of the joint she’d had have faded completely by now. “My mom sent me here because she wants to get rid of me.” Max blurts out, the silence spurring her to share her own story.

 

“What?” El blinks away her thoughts, turning to look at Max as they walk.

 

“She doesn’t really want me around her new family. She thinks I’m antagonistic towards them.” Max mutters bitterly.

 

El just raises an eyebrow at her, her lips quirking knowingly. “Are you?” She prompts.

 

Max snorts out a short laugh. “I don’t try to be. Most of the time, anyway. I’m just–” Max pauses for a second before continuing with her confession. “I guess I’m just angry all the time. At her for not loving my dad anymore. At him for not loving me enough to fight for custody. At stupid fucking Neil and stupid fucking Billy for ruining my family. We were good before them, but they came along and ruined it all.”

 

“I’m sorry.” El offers.

 

Max glances at her, confusion flashing in her eyes. “Why?” She asks simply. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

 

El stops in her tracks, twisting so she’s fully facing Max. She reaches out, placing her hand over Max’s heart. She splays her fingers against Max’s sternum. Surely she can feel my racing heart, Max thinks. A swell of affection blooms inside of her chest, her heart aching with the force of it. She’s overflowing internally, completely lost in the moment. For a second, El doesn’t speak. She just stands there, feeling Max’s heart beat beneath her palm. It’s intimate; the most intimate Max has ever been with anyone before. The intimacy comes not solely from El’s touch, but the vulnerability Max has displayed. She’s confessed the meaning behind all her biting bluster and El is still here by her side. “I’m sorry they hurt your heart.” She says. She almost pulls away, but Max raises her hand and covers hers for a moment. 

 

“She sent me to a therapist after we moved. I didn’t want to go, but she made me. He suggested I come here to get back to my roots so my mom made me. I was really upset, but I think I’m over it now.” Max continues, her voice soft.

 

“How? How did you get over it?” El asks, inching closer. Her face is so open, so hopeful. It makes Max’s teeth ache in the best possible way.

 

Max cups her face, her thumb tender as it sweeps along the curve of El’s cheek. “I met you.” She answers, her eyes fluttering shut as El leans in.

 

Before their lips meet, a shriek splits the air, horrendous and desperate. Max jerks away, her eyes flying open. “What the fuck?” Max breathes, another shriek beginning to ring out before it gets cut short.

 

If anything, that just makes the dread crawling up Max’s spine worse. “What was that?” El’s voice trembles in the dark.

 

“I don’t know. I don’t know, but we have to go find the boys.” Max’s voice is low, but tinged with intensity. There’s a buzzing in her ears, she realizes, but more importantly there are screams in the trees and the Chief of Police is missing. There are screams in the trees, and Max is pretty sure that it was actually blood she found earlier. 

 

There are screams in the trees. El reaches out, taking her hand as they sprint towards the noise. They are running headfirst into a dangerous nightmare and they don’t even know it yet.

Max can hear her heartbeat thudding in time with her steps: wild and frantic. She hears the crunch of sticks beneath her feet and the mushy dampness of fallen leaves as they slide wetly against the bottom of her sneakers. El is pulling her along, her grip like iron as she clutches Max’s hand in her own. She’s grateful she’s being dragged. Max isn’t sure she’d be able to find her way back if she had been alone. 

 

Part of her wants to run in the opposite direction. It’s the rational part of her; her logical brain screaming at her to flee while she has the chance. You can’t! Her heart cries out. The pulsing beat inside of her chest is crying out to the rhythm of Dustin’s name, her heart thump-thumping alongside the two syllables of his name. Dust-in, Dust-in, Dustin-in. Her heart insists.

 

He’d been so kind to her when all she’d been to him was a bitch. She was a sad, sullen girl, but he’d seen through that. He’d smiled at her and joked with her and invited her to a party in the middle of the fucking woods where they were probably all going to die.

 

Before her brain can freeze on that one thought, El propels them into the clearing, a wretched sob tearing through her throat at the seeming emptiness of the clearing.

 

Max sees him before El does. “El,” She says very slowly. “Don’t look at me. Don’t look in my direction or anything, okay?” She commands, unwilling to let El see the gruesome sight before them.

 

El sniffles, obediently turning away from Max. The redhead stumbles forward, dropping to her knees beside Mike’s limp body. There’s a terrible wound in his chest that almost looks like it was caused by an ax. The protective barrier of his ribs is obliterated, a chest cavity exposed to the starry sky. There’s a dullness in his eyes, a blankness as he watches the still night air, forever unseeing.

 

She reaches out, stroking his hair and closing his eyelids with gentle hands. “I’m sorry.” She whispers to him, and hopes that he can hear it wherever he is now. “I’m so sorry.” Max climbs to her feet, brushing at the soil clinging to her bare knees.

 

She makes it a few feet away before she vomits, bile burning its way up her throat. She manages to cough it out, sputtering desperately as her stomach turns and turns. She can’t forget the gleam of his blood in the light, how wet and soft his chest had been. His shirt had been soaked through entirely, and splatters of red could be found everywhere on his body: his face, his hands, his neck. He had been decimated so compactly that he could only crumble inwardly, his own blood staining his pale skin and pooling wetly on his cold, cold body.

 

El is behind her instantly, pulling her hair back for her and rubbing soothing circles on her back, her palm firm against Max’s spine. “Thanks.” Max utters when she’s done, her mouth twisting at the sour taste coating her tongue. Normally, she’d be so embarrassed her entire body would flush as red as a tomato, but horror cuts through her sense of normalcy and leaves her lacking, desperately trying to clutch onto some emotion that isn’t pure terror.

 

“Who was it?” She asks quietly, letting go of Max’s hair, but keeping her hand pressed gingerly between Max’s shoulder blades.

 

Max glances over her shoulder, an apology written on her face. “It was Mike. I don’t know what happened, but it wasn’t an accident.” 

 

El nods, her gaze distant. There’s a serious set to her face, her expression sombers as she regards the woods she’s grown up in. The woods that are unrecognizable now in the wake of her fear. “We have to go.” She announces, swallowing once before setting her jaw. There’s a jagged edge inside of El now. Max can see it. She can feel her own edges straining, tugging ferociously within her. She wants to slot themselves together, seal off the edges and heal the cuts caused.

 

“Where?” Max asks, hating the tremble in her voice. She pulls herself to her feet, her body achingly empty as her dinner stares mockingly at her from the grass. 

 

When El speaks next, it’s in a low, urgent tone. “Joyce has a phone in her office that’ll always be able to reach people.” She whispers rapidly, her breath hot against Max’s ear. “I’ll go find it while you try and find the rest of the boys.”

 

“What if they’re–” 

 

“Dead?” El asks grimly. “We’ll find out sooner or later, won’t we?” There’s a pessimistic undertone to her words, but there’s grit and determination flowing through her voice fiercely.

 

“Okay, but what about you? How will I know you’re okay?” She asks, grabbing El’s hands. She interlaces their fingers, squeezing steadily.

 

El reaches up and tucks part of Max’s hair behind her ear before she cups her jaw, tenderly holding Max’s face. She brushes the pad of her thumb over a smattering of freckles clustered towards her right eye, her gaze lingering long after she’s pulled away. Max appreciates the weight of her eyes, the warmth and affection living in the other girl’s body. It dwells inside of her, adoration at home in her bones. “I’ll find you. No matter what, Max, I will find you.”

 

Max can’t help herself; she ducks her head forward and crushes her mouth against El’s. It’s not smooth or soft in the slightest. Their kiss is a collision, teeth clashing and mouths bruising as they each let adrenaline guide them. Max surges closer, her forehead bumping against the brunette’s with a complete lack of care. She pulls away, squeezing El’s shoulders in a way that must hurt, but El doesn’t protest. “You better.” She breathes harshly, the words more of a wheeze than anything else.

 

El presses a quick kiss to Max’s knuckles before she disappears into the woods, presumably taking a shorter path to get to the Main Cabin. Max isn’t sure where to go, but she knows she needs to get out of the clothes she’s in. There’s blood smeared against the rough material of her denim shorts, and she can feel it drying. 

The walk back to her cabin is torturous. She weaves through the trees with her heart in her throat, beating against the roof of her mouth with every step she takes. There’s an alarm bell going off in her head, triggered every five seconds by the crunch of a leaf or the snap of a twig. Wooded areas always have a distinct sound, and that sound doubles at nighttime. The wildlife is awake and active, and it’s not the only thing active.

 

The tension Max is carrying with her doesn’t disappear the second she steps into her cabin, silently slipping the door shut behind her. Moonlight streams in through the windows, lighting her way as she reaches her bed. She pulls on a pair of black aerobic pants, the material stretchy but snug against her shaky legs. She’d needed something to wear during activities, after all. She changes to a black t-shirt, wadding up her blood stained clothes and flinging them into a corner, balled up and out of sight. 

 

If she never thinks about them again, it’ll be too soon. If she never thinks about this disastrous night again, it’ll be too soon.

 

As she’s passing by one of the bunkbeds on her way out the door, a hand shoots out, grabbing her by the ankle. Fright seizes Max’s vocal chords, rendering them useless. Instead of screaming, Max’s body kicks into action. She jerks her foot back and uses all of the power she possesses to kick out, connecting with something solid.

 

“Ow! Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck!” Dustin’s voice comes from beneath the bed. 

 

Max reaches down quickly, grabbing him by the shoulder and jerking him out from beneath. He claws at her fingers, his nails surprisingly sharp and thick. “Shit, Dustin, what the fuck are you doing?” She hisses, reeling backwards in surprise. 

 

Dustin stops struggling the second he registers the sound of her voice, familiarity swiftly killing his struggle. “Max? I thought you were the killer, holy shit.” He exhales heavily, placing one hand over his heart.

 

“I thought you were the killer!” She responds, her voice raising slightly in her fervor. “You were fucking hiding under the bed like a psycho.”

 

“Or was I hiding under the bed like a smart person?” Dustin retorts.

 

Max snorts. “No, it was definitely stupid. What were you going to do if I was the killer, huh? Fight me?” She asks incredulously. 

 

He has the nerve to look sheepish. “Yeah, duh. Why else would I be hiding in an enclosed space with only one exit?” He laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

 

“You are the dumbest person I’ve ever met.” Max tells him, fondness welling up inside of her. She reaches out, grasping the cotton material of his shirt and holding him in place. “And I’ve never wanted to see someone more. Well, other than El.”

 

Dustin looks behind her, his eyebrows linking together. “Where is El?” He asks, his voice laced with concern.

 

“She’s looking for the phone in Joyce’s office.” Max says, wondering if she’s found it yet. She wonders if she’s even back at camp yet or if she’s hiding in the woods, inches away from the murderer. It’s a fear that she doesn’t want to dwell on, but her brain keeps flashing the image of Mike’s bloody body at her except she sees El’s face superimposed over Mike’s. She sees El’s lifeless eyes and El’s blood splattered against her pale, cold skin. She takes a shuddering breath, wrenching her eyes open and forcing herself to stay in the present with Dustin instead of getting swept away by the worst bits of her imagination.

 

“That’s where Lucas went. We split off around the Oak Trail.” Dustin snaps his fingers as if he’s had an eureka moment. 

 

“What about Will?” Max asks after a moment’s hesitation.

 

Dustin frowns, shaking his head slowly. “I’m not sure.” He admits. “Lucas and I ran together for a bit after–” Mike. He doesn’t say it, but Max obviously knows what he means. “But Will didn’t. He went the other way. I don't know where the killer went.” He admits, shame coloring his voice. Max wants to tell him that nobody would expect him to keep tabs on the person actively murdering his friends, but a question rises to the surface of her mind before she can offer any reassurance.

 

“Did you see what the killer looked like? Did you recognize him?” Max asks eagerly. Hope rises in her chest, a brightness casting light on all the shadows accumulating inside of Max’s brain. Maybe they can avoid the killer until they escape and give his name to the police. Maybe they won’t have to confront him at all!

 

Dustin shakes his head, crushing Max’s newfound brightspot. “No, I didn’t. He was wearing a sack over his head so I couldn’t see what he looked like at all.” 

 

“Fuck.” Max mutters. Dustin nods glumly, wrapping his arms around his middle. He curves in on himself, protecting the soft parts of himself from harm. “So what do we do?” Max wonders aloud. 

 

“We find Will.” Dustin answers, finality ringing through his tone. “And then we find the others.”

 

Max nods, willingly accepting the plan. “Okay, but where would Will go? If the world was ending, where would he want to spend his last few moments?” She asks, wondering about these people she never got a chance to know. Mike and his sullen stare, his impossibly sharp cheekbones. Lucas, the kindness in his eyes and the genuine excitement in his voice. Will, his friendly smile and the frantic energy he imbued in his art. His art.

 

“The arts and crafts tent!” They say at the same time, high fiving each other before wincing.

 

“That was so tone deaf.” Dustin says, rubbing his palm against his shorts as if that’ll erase the high five.

 

Max jerks her elbow into his ribs, rolling her eyes at the protest he lets out. “Whatever, let’s go.”

 

The journey to the arts and crafts tent is brief, but it doesn’t stop either of them from glancing over their shoulders every few seconds. “Let’s hope he’s here.” Dustin whispers as they brush the tent flap aside, ducking inside. Max can hear crickets chirping beyond the walls of the tent, but there’s another sound too. It sounds like somebody breathing, weakly and fitfully, but breathing nonetheless. Max follows the sound, Dustin trailing behind her.

 

They find him half-tucked under one of the benches, his skin practically translucent in the dark. Max fumbles for Dustin’s hand behind her, squeezing tightly. “Oh, Will.” Max breathes. He’s got an abdomen wound that might not be fatal if they had any sort of medical equipment around. They don’t even have anything to stop the bleeding.

 

Dustin drops down beside Will, yanking Max down with him. “Hi, buddy.” Dustin whispers soothingly, shooting Max a pleading look as he carefully pulls Will into his lap. He cradles him so gently, holds him so tenderly that it sends a flood of emotion directly to Max’s chest. Grief and terror collide in her chest to form a tidal wave, battering the protective barrier of her ribs. She’s not sure how much longer her ribs will hold up, but she fears there’s nothing to stop the inevitable cave in that will crush her heart.

 

Will swallows shakily, his eyes unfocused. “Dustin?” He breathes raggedly, small rivulets of blood dribbling from his lower lip. It glides down from his mouth, his teeth stained red. “Dustin?” He twitches, his hands shaking with effort as he attempts to raise them. He’s too weak from the blood loss, though; his hands fall to his sides, limp. 

 

“I’m here.” Dustin strokes his hair, tears streaming down his face.

 

“My mom–” Will gurgles out, light fading from his eyes right before Max’s own. “My mom? Is she–” His head lulls backwards, his body boneless. His lips move sluggishly, but he can’t muster up the strength to make his vocal cords work.

“She’s fine.” Max cuts in smoothly when Dustin opens his mouth to speak and no sound comes out. Dustin is alight with grief, his cheeks tearstained and his mouth hopelessly disconnected from his brain, from his heart. “She’s getting help right now, but until they get here, we’re going to sit with you.” She promises him, touching his hand.

 

He doesn’t react to her touch at all, but his mouth twitches. “Stay.” He breathes reverently. “I don’t–” he coughs wetly, tears streaming down his pale cheeks and blood dribbling from his lips. “I don’t want to be alone.” He confesses, red spittle bubbling in the corners of his mouth. She smooths his hair back from his sweaty forehead. The summer heat lingers on his skin even as the night breeze seeks to ease the feverish way warmth clings to the skin, a sticky, oppressive trap all of its own.

 

“You won’t be.” Max promises him, squeezing his hand as he gazes at her with mournful brown eyes. “We’re going to be right here with you. I promise.” Tears slide hotly down her cheeks, thick and unmanageable. 

 

“I thought–” Will rasps before he goes still, his eyes finding some fixed point overhead and staying there. She hopes whatever sight he sees is pretty enough to sketch forever.

 

Max waits a minute before she pulls her hand away, unable to look away from the emptiness in Will’s gaze. She can see the stain of tear tracks on his cheeks, and his dark eyelashes glimmer like a spider’s web, diamond-shaped tears clinging to the ends of his eyelashes as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.

 

She gives Dustin a few minutes to gather himself and say goodbye, but after five he remains seated, his body curled protectively around Will’s. “Dustin,” She says as softly as she possibly can. “We have to go now.”

 

“I know.” He responds numbly, tucking his chin against the top of Will’s head.

 

“We can’t do anything more for him.” She tells him because it’s important that he checks back into reality. There’s still a murderer on the loose, and they’re sitting ducks in this tent. Dustin bleakly shrugs his shoulders. Max sighs, bending over slightly. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She mutters as she grabs Will by the shoulders and jerks. Dustin clings to his body as long as he can, but Max delivers a swift kick to his hip that he recoils from.

 

Dustin rubs his palms against his shorts, smearing red against the material. It gleams wetly in the low lighting, contrasting visibly against his shorts. “If we had gotten here sooner–” He starts to say, but Max cuts him off.

 

“If we’d gotten here soon, we’d have watched him die for a lot longer than we actually did. Dustin, come on. You know we couldn’t do anything. It’s okay that you couldn’t help. There was no way we could have saved him.” Max tells him patiently.

 

She can tell that he instinctively wants to protest, but she knows that deep down he realizes exactly what she has: not everybody is going to make it out of this alive. In fact, she’s starting to doubt that any of them will.

 

“We have to end this.” Max murmurs, staring at her shoes. 

 

When she glances up, Dustin has gotten to his feet and is crossing towards the entrance to the tent. “So let’s end this.” He declares coolly.

They head for the Main Cabin, darting through the shadows and hurriedly sneaking in through the kitchen door. “We find the phone, we make the necessary calls, and then we get out. We hide somewhere safe and we wait this shit out until the cops get here.” Max reminds him quietly, cautiously moving through the darkness towards Joyce’s office.

 

“That’d be easier if we had some light, don’t you think?” Dustin grumbles, somewhere behind her. He made it clear that he’d be sticking to the walls instead of risking bumping into anything and knocking it over. If the killer is nearby, then that would surely alert him to their presence. 

 

“Are you going to complain about everything?” Max asks, shooting a glare in the vicinity of his direction.

 

Dustin’s retort is tense. “Gee, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll stop when life gives me something I can’t complain about.” He hisses furiously at her, heat ripping through his voice like thunder during a rainstorm.

 

Max is still inching along at a steady pace when she bumps into something, the tip of her toe meeting some sort of unyielding wall. She reaches her hands out in front of her, expecting to feel the door or maybe one of the actual walls. Instead, her hands cut through the air with ease, a complete lack of a barrier sending a flood of confusion through her.

 

She prods at the blockage with her toe and meets little resistance. She leans down, trailing her fingers over the floor until she finds the barrier preventing her from moving forwards. She pauses as her fingertips brush over something that feels oddly like skin, especially when she moves her hand lower and discovers the shape of a hand. She traces the outline before she realizes what it is. Or, more accurately, who it is.

 

“Dustin?” She whispers.

 

“Yeah?”

 

Max swallows roughly, apprehension lighting her nerves on fire. “I think I just found Lucas.” She reveals, her throat bobbing as she wrings her hands together.

 

Dustin’s quiet yet emphatic shit! is one that Max can relate to. She had still been hoping that one of them had managed to phone the police, but it seems unlikely the more people die and the longer El remains out of sight. “Do you–” Dustin starts to say. Max can hear him swallow, most likely a nervous habit. “Do you see him?” He asks. She glances at him from the corner of her eye and wishes she hadn’t. Something inside of him has crumbled, shattered, deflated. It’s as if he’s shattered a bone and the doctor’s have managed to get it almost right again, but he’ll always walk with a limp. Like maybe he’s almost one hundred percent, but anytime it rains, he reverts back to that same fractured boy. Something inside of him crumples, and Max doesn’t know if it’ll ever sit right inside of him again. Sometimes people break so bad they can’t be fixed; Max wonders if that’s what this is. 

 

“I–what? Do I see him? How the fuck do you think I can see anything right now?” She maneuvers herself around the body–around Lucas carefully. 

 

“I don’t do well under pressure!” Dustin whines, his voice unintentionally loud.

 

There’s a creaking sound, the heavy doors to Joyce’s private quarters creaking upstairs. Dustin flashes her a petrified look, his eyes shiny and wide. Max swallows, her throat as dry as sandpaper. It scrapes against her vocal chords, grinding them down bit by bit. “He’s here.” She whispers, her voice shaking despite her best efforts. “Dustin, he’s here.” She hisses, panic setting her veins alight with a sensation akin to what she imagines flowing lava feels like. 

 

“I know!” He hisses right back at her, closing his eyes tightly as heavy footsteps begin meandering the floor above them. They can hear the wood settling with every step he takes. Max can’t help but think of an hourglass with the last granules of sand getting ready to slip away into oblivion. “Okay,” He exhales harshly. When he opens his eyes, there’s an apology nestled in his iris. “I’m going to go call the police.”

 

“Dustin, no–” Max reaches out, trying to grab his arm to no avail. He dodges away from her searching hands. She wants to chase after him, to crash head first into him and keep him forever. She wants him to stay this way: warm and vividly alive. He has so much life housed inside of his bones, wrapped in the muscle that makes his heart what it is. 

 

“I’m going to call the police.” He repeats, already going for the door. “And you’re going to leave the way we came. Try the boathouse, okay? Across the lake, there’s a town about ten miles out. Try and find it. If I find El–” He pauses, wetting his lips as grief clings to him like a shroud. “I’ll find El.” He says instead. “And then I’ll come find you.” It’s a promise that he might not be able to keep, but Max wants to believe it. If she believes it, she gives the idea power. She gives him power.

 

Still, she has a choice to make. The footsteps are getting quicker overhead, as if he’s pacing back and forth. She pictures a tiger waiting for its prey. She thinks of Mike in the woods, and Will in the tent, and Lucas here splayed at her feet like a prize, like a cat bringing home a dead carcass expecting praise for its good hunt. She could go with Dustin to call the police, but she’s scared. She doesn’t want to die. 

 

She wants to see El again, and hold her hand, and kiss her in the moonlight. She wants to live.

 

Max takes a shaky step back, hating herself for the choice she knows she’s making. “You better. You’re starting to grow on me, you know.”

 

“Like mold?” Dustin asks hopefully, a beam splitting his face open. Light pours through his grin, blinding brightness gleaming between the gaps in his teeth.

 

“Nah, more like a fungus.” Max grins wetly, her heart twisting painfully in her chest. She watches him for a moment longer, his figure hunkering through the dark like a mouse. She wants to watch over him for a minute or two longer, but he’s easing the door open. Why does she get the feeling that this is the last time she’ll ever see him again? It settles into her, settling between her bones and cooling there. It congeals; this morbidity lingering in her gut like an omen, an ominous warning. A terrible prediction of the future that she doesn’t want to come true. Light spills across the floor through the gap in the door, revealing the cracked planks of the wooden floor. He pushes the door open farther now, light seeping into the room. Two more seconds, and she’ll see Lucas’s body on the floor, his eyes as vacant as Mike’s and his blood as red as Will’s. She stares at Dustin’s stiff spine for a moment, her eyes tracing over his mess of curls and the brazen surety in his steps. She tries to commit him to memory, certain that this is the turning point in the night. Everything that can go wrong, Max thinks, willing herself not to finish that thought as she turns away.

 

If there’s one thing Max knows it’s when it’s time to go.

She leaves him behind, her stomach turning over and over again even as she sprints away from the Main Cabin towards the lake, her feet thudding loudly on the uneven ground. Dust gently wafts along her ankles as she runs, accidentally overturning rocks and kicking piles of accumulated leaves out of the way.

 

By the time she’s arrived at the lake, she’s panting, desperately trying to suck in as much air as she possibly can. Her chest heaves as she inhales wildly, a stitch in her side and her ribcage burning with exertion. Exhaustion is beginning to wear on her, dragging her shoulders down and making her legs ache. 

 

She’s so eager to catch her breath that she almost misses the boat at the end of the dock. Beside the dock, there’s a shape bobbing limply in the water. Max’s heart stops in her chest, her lungs shriveling up instead of blooming with necessary air. She throws herself into the water without a second thought, surging through the water to get towards the end of the dock. She can feel the tears pouring from her eyes like a broken faucet as well as the lake water splashing up. She’s probably getting water in her mouth that a fish has pissed in, but she can’t think of anything but the body lying in the bleak gray light.

 

The sun is beginning to wake up, casting dim, pale light over the lake. Her entire world is grayscale except for the brunette bobbing in the water. She wraps her fingers around a thin, cold wrist. Max flips the body with ease, the curve of her spine becoming the still chest of El Hopper, her lips blue and her face a ghastly shade of white.

 

The world has been stolen of color, and so has El.

 

She presses her fingers to her pulse, but she’s shaking too badly to get a pulse. She refuses to think the alternative. “You’re freezing.” Max murmurs, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her towards shore at the base of the wooden dock. Grunting, Max takes her underneath her armpits and attempts to drag her there, cleanly cutting through the water and pulling her onto the shore. 

 

Max’s fear is a hummingbird in her chest, wings beating fiercely against her ribcage. There’s a swirl of emotions storming inside of her heart, anxiety and terror warring with each other. She locks her fingers together and starts chest compressions, tears streaking down her cheeks as she desperately plays the beat of Stayin’ Alive in her head.

 

She dips her head down, sealing her mouth against El’s and exhaling. She tries to give her all the air she possibly can, desperately thinking Please just stay with me!

 

She pulls away slightly to inhale again, a shorter breath as her anxiety flares wild and hot inside her skin, churning in the pit of her stomach. She begins chest compressions again, the sun beginning to rise. 

 

As light begins to spill out through the overhead mist, El Hopper’s heart starts beating; her lungs start expanding. She manages to twist her head as empties the contents of her stomach and lungs, bile and dirty lake water pooling on the ground as she retches.

 

Max scrambles to her side, rubbing her hands along El’s cool skin to raise her body temperature and generate friction. El shakes in her arms, shivering violently. “You’re okay,” Max whispers fiercely, relief undercutting her conviction. “You’re okay.”

 

“Not for long, you stupid bitches.” A cold voice grunts from behind her.

 

Before Max can turn around, the man grabs her by the back of her hair and drags her away from El, the redhead shrieking the entire time. Max jerks furiously in his grip, her limbs alternating between digging into the ground to stay put and flailing about wildly. She digs her heels into the dirt, scratching at the hands gripping her hair firmly.

 

The man shakes her for a second before tossing her away. She lands on her hands and knees at the base of the dock; her palms on old, splintered wood and her knees on worn dirt. She twists to the side, landing on her ass and scrabbling backwards on the dock. She’s boxing herself in, she realizes, but it comes a moment too late.

 

“Hi, Max. Mom says hello.” Billy sneers, a hardened glint in his eyes.

 

Max’s jaw drops at the sight of her step-brother, betrayal ripping through her like a wild animal. It tears at her heart, her lungs, the center of her chest where her soul lives. They’ve never gotten along, but this?

 

She thinks of Lucas, the dim outline of his body in the dark. That deep, unnerving stillness. Will, his rattling wheezes and the cold grip of his hand. Mike, his eyes blank and glassy. Forever transfixed on something just out of sight. And Dustin—Dustin, the shape of his back and the set of his shoulders as he walked away from her. 

 

She never blamed him for ruining her life. She never once resented his empty bowl once full of cereal in the sink next to hers, his gift for her mother under the christmas tree right next to hers. She knew he was stuck with her just the same as she was stuck with him. But this?

 

This was her future. Her future friends, her future happiness. Her future sense of normalcy. It was hers, and it was unfolding right in front of her very eyes before he took it all away. Before he stole her life just like he claimed she stole his.

 

She’ll never forgive him for this, but that doesn’t really matter because he’s stalking forward, his footsteps heavy, predatory. He grins at her wolfishly, something reckless and unhinged in his crooked mouth. That awful twist of his lips, as much of a smirk as a smile.

 

“Billy, you—“ Max breathes, walking backwards on her hands as he stalks towards her. “Why did you do all this? Hopper, Joyce, my friends? Why—“ did you do this to me? She refuses to let the question wriggle free. She clamps her mouth shut, but he must sense the words pounding against her teeth, desperately reaching through the gaps.

 

There’s a fire buried in his eyes, one that burns so bright that Max can see it, raging in his iris. She bites back a whimper, shaking slightly as grins at her, all teeth. “Why did I do this?” He mocks her, pitching his voice higher. His tone drips with condescension. “Because you’re a shit fucking sister, Max.” He snarls, advancing on her with a predatory gleam in his eyes. 

 

Max crawls until she can’t anymore, her fingertips dangling over empty air. There are no more planks to walk. “Me? I didn’t do anything to you!” She protests.

 

“Are you kidding me?” He freezes in place, staring at her incredulously. “You ruined my fucking life.” He grinds out, his gaze flinty.

 

“How?”

 

He pounds his fist in his hand, shaking his head fiercely. “I was supposed to get out of this one-pony town. I’d been saving up for my car for months. I practically had the keys in the fucking palm of my hand until my dad made me give it to Susan. Every last cent.” He hissed, resentment burning in his eyes. His voice is poisonous, laden with hate. It festers there.

 

Max digs her fingers into the boards, ignoring the splinters digging into her skin. The pain grounds her, keeps the exhaustion from carrying her away. “So why take it out on me and not my mom?” She asks, perplexed.

 

He laughs at her, shaking his head as if she’s being stupid. As if she’s just a silly teenage girl who doesn’t understand the punchline. “She took the money for you, you stupid bitch.” He cackles. “For your bullshit therapy sessions.”

 

Realization crashes into Max like a truck. After her parents separated and her mother remarried, she’d started acting out. She would sneak out in the middle of the night, start fights at school, let her grades slip. She was moody and irritable, and she didn’t want to do any of the stuff she used to. The idea of hiking or camping or skateboarding without her dad made her stomach turn so she’d quit. Her mother thought therapy was the solution, and her therapist thought working as a camp counselor for the summer would invigorate her spirit. What a great fucking idea that turned out to be.

 

 “So you killed my friends because you didn’t get the car you wanted?” Max spits out incredulously.

 

Billy glowers at her, his jaw clenching. “No, you don’t understand what it’s like.” He exhales harshly through his mouth, aggravation apparent in his expression. “That wasn’t just a car, it was my ticket out of this train wreck of a town and out of that fucking haunted house. Drifting along the halls, always staying out of sight because the minute you show your miserable face– wham! That’s when they get you.” 

 

There’s a nasty smirk playing on the corners of his mouth now, twisting his lips into a vicious caricature of satisfaction. “Nah, I wasn’t going back to that house without a few ghosts of my own.” He shrugs. “What can I say, Maxine? Payback is a motherfucker.” He lunges for her, but Max sweeps her leg out. She connects with his shins with a solid thwack ! Billy tumbles forward over her legs, curses falling from his vile tongue like raindrops during a thunderstorm.

 

Max rolls out of the way, clambering to her feet and darting for the base of the dock. She can see El stirring, the other girl weakly attempting to sit up. Max opens her mouth to call out to her, maybe to tell her to run, when Billy collides with her. He rolls with her towards the end of the dock, grunting as their combined momentum propels them forward. Max drives her elbow into his ribs, dipping her head forward to avoid smacking it on the ground. He jabs at her eyes with her fingers, presumably trying to catch her eyes. Max slides further into the ground, ignoring the early morning dew on the grass that causes the blades to cling to the material of her shirt. She ignores the dirt rubbing into her skin and the uncomfortable scratch of splintered wood through the material of her pants. 

 

She manages to catch his fingers in her mouth, and she bites down hard before he can pull away. He howls in pain, ripping his hand out from her mouth. Her jaw had locked down, clamping determinedly onto the digits she had managed to capture. “You little bitch!” He half-shrieks, half-seethes.

 

He falls backwards, holding his bloody hand to his chest. She can taste the iron on her tongue, on her teeth. She runs her tongue over the ridges of her teeth just to savor the taste, to fuel her rage simmering in her gut like bolts of lightning. “My name is Max.” She says ferociously, spitting his blood out onto the dirt.

 

“You’re so fucking dead.” Billy promises her darkly, blue eyes glowing with hatred. It makes her skin crawl just seeing the expression on his face: the pure loathing reflected plainly back at her. It sets her teeth on edge and makes the hair on her arms stand up.

 

It dismantles her heart bit by bloody bit; it terrifies her.

 

Max takes a few wobbling steps, horror accumulating like weights in her stomach, pressing against her kidneys and her spleen and the spot where her appendix would be if it hadn’t ruptured when she was, like, eight. She can feel it polluting her body; the way it pools in her veins and sits like lead over her heart, her lungs, her brain, anywhere it can accumulate it does. She wants to run, she really does, but her legs are weak and shaking. 

 

It feels like she’s hit a dead end on a maze, and she knows she will die if she doesn’t start moving.

 

She never understood why deers freeze in the face of headlights, but her heart is practically floating above her body right now, that's how light it is. How light everything feels when you know without a shadow of a doubt that death is reaching its cold, skeletal hands out towards you. Billy rises to his feet, unsteady and cradling his bitten hand as if it’s something precious.

 

Max never understood how terror could root your feet to the earth, how it could plant you so firmly that even your own mind couldn’t move you. She wonders about the statistics of car accidents involving deer in some way. Dustin would probably know, she thinks, and that thought is enough to dislodge her feet. She’s jolted back into her body by the reminder of Dustin. His sacrifice, his death.

 

He was taken too soon. Not just from life, but from Max. She has to live for him. She has to live for El, for the things they have both sacrificed tonight. Dustin gave his life, and El nearly gave hers too. They lost their best friends, and they still kept moving. They were still willing to die to save her.

 

Max watches Billy’s festering, hateful eyes for a split second longer before she’s able to move again. She runs towards the woods, pumping her legs and swinging her arms, but she can tell it’s not enough. Her legs are exhausted and aching, the soles of her feet crying out in protest with every brutal smack against the ground as Max tries to find some sort of life-saving burst of energy from deep within her own soul. She searches her body endlessly, peering into the depths of her heart and asking for guidance.

 

Nothing comes.

 

There’s no swell of energy burning through her body or propelling her onwards. Instead, she trips against a root and hits the ground with a light thud. A startled gasp slips from her mouth, surprise giving way to bone-tired weariness. Before she can get to her feet, she feels Billy throw himself against her back.

 

He grabs her by the shoulders, his grip iron clad as she screams. He flips her over, slamming her shoulders against the ground. Max’s mouth falls open in a silent cry of pain, her mouth slamming closed the second she sees his expression. It’s as if he’s in a frenzy; his expression wild and untamed. His face glows red, his mouth twisted bitterly. He glares at her with undisguised disdain. “You ruin everything, you know that? You and your fucking camp with your fucking friends and your fucking mother. You should have stayed in California with your dad.” He seethes, flecks of spittle gathering near the corners of his mouth where they stay, equally incensed.

 

He relaxes his grip on her shoulders, but Max’s relief is short-lived as Billy immediately closes his hands around her throat. Max jerks against his grasp, but he presses his fingers deeper, his hold on her windpipe tightening. Billy’s eyes are lit with malicious glee. She wants nothing more than to snuff it out. “I didn’t–” She breathes out hoarsely, the words choked and bitten off as they fall from her mouth. Her jaw works soundlessly as she tries to get her sentence. “Want to leave.” She manages to say, struggling to breath. It’s a futile mission, but one she attempts regardless.

 

“Should have fought harder to stay.” Billy spits dismissively.

 

Max tries to protest, to say anything, really, but her mouth moves silently. She has no words left to say, or at least no air to say them with. She can feel the darkness at the edge of her vision encroaching, growing bigger. She feels heavy and hot, like her skin is made of those hot coals people like to walk across as a trial by fire or whatever it is they call it. She’s not sure why people do it, but her mind is blissfully empty. She’s not registering fear or grief or desperation. Maybe that’s why. Maybe people are so desperate to feel anything but awful that they’d do anything to escape that sensation. If she hadn’t reached this reprieve of emptiness by literal asphyxiation, she might appreciate the escape it’s offered her. As it is, it only serves as a stark reminder of her situation, one that compels her to push forward. Mindlessly, she reaches around, searching for anything to help her move Billy’s oppressive weight off the center of her chest. 

 

Dizziness swims around in Max’s head, her vision blurring. Billy’s face disappears into a swirl of color above her, blues and tans and browns melting together. Her left hand fists itself into a clump of grass, her knuckles digging into the dirt and leaving imprints behind. Her right hand closes around a rock, her fingers instinctively curling around it. She can feel the heft of it, the weight against her palm.

 

She raises her arm, muscles straining and her arm shaking helplessly. She can’t do it. She has the rock in her hand, but she’s too weak to do anything. She lets her arm relax, her mind a mess of static and blurs of color that all melt into one big headache that she just can’t shake.

 

Her eyelids flutter shut, darkness sealing her away from the world and that god awful headache too.  She’s still alive, she can tell that much. She can hear her pulse and the steady drum of her heartbeat. Encased in darkness, the sounds of her body are far away and barely noticeable. They fade into the background, fuzzy and incomplete. She wants to wander into the darkness, but she’s too warm for that. She can feel herself burning up, all of her warmth coursing through her only to disappear from her body like she’s radiating heat waves or something. 

 

She wants to rest. She’s so tired.

 

“You can’t rest yet, Max.”

 

She turns her head, hair falling limply around her face. “Dustin?” She whispers. She reaches out to touch him, to take his hand in hers maybe, but he pulls away before she can make contact. “Dustin, come back.” She pleads. She feels like a little kid again writing letters to a man who will return them unopened. Return to sender, she thinks.

 

Just like her father, Dustin shakes his head. A polite refusal, kind but firm. “I can’t. I can’t leave, but Max, you can. You need to. You’re all she has left.”

 

El! Max’s brain cries, her heart straining to get to the other girl. It’s a physical ache right in the center of Max’s chest. This desire to run straight back to danger just for this girl that Max has known for less than a day, but more than forever.

 

If she belongs anywhere, it’s at El Hopper’s side.

 

“I’m sorry.” Max confesses, light beginning to chase away the darkness. Somehow, she knows that as soon as the darkness fades, Dustin will too. “I wish–”

 

“Wishes don’t do anything for anyone.” He refutes her softly, his eyes bright with encouragement. 

 

“It’s the thought that counts.” She counters weakly, her eyes glinting with unshed tears.

 

Dustin grins at her, the edges of his mouth faint. “Yeah.” He laughs, and she thinks maybe she sees tears gleaming in his eyes too.

 

Max jolts as if lightning is being injected straight into her veins, energy buzzing through her at an almost ungodly rate. Her eyes fly open, color flooding her vision as she jerks her arm up. The rock in her hand collides with the side of Billy’s skull, his mouth dropping into an almost comical O-shape.

 

“What the fuck?” Billy murmurs dazedly, gaze sliding to the left as he stares at the now-bloody rock.

 

She stares at him stupidly, her face blank in the wake of her stunningly spur-of-the-moment defense. She glances at his face, then the rock, then back at his face, and then she swings the rock back up. It catches him just above his right eye, and the next blow slams unapologetically against his right ear. She swings and swings until she can’t move her arm anymore and Billy’s face is–well, nothing but a memory.

 

Max stares at his face, split open and streaked with blood. There’s a small pool of it at his temple that trickles down as she pushes his body away. He falls away easily, the life draining out of him at a speed that surprises her. After all that, he was still just a guy that bled like the rest of them.

 

“I hope you rot.” She tells him sincerely. “You motherfucker.” With those parting words, Max stumbles off to the side, weakly falling to her knees beside El’s prone body.

 

She’s unconscious again, but she’s breathing deeper than she was before. El’s chest rises and falls swiftly, a bird soaring in her heart. Max holds her a little closer, sniffling into her hair as she rests for a moment.

 

The night has been long and hard, an endless journey finally screeching to a halt. It’s like the world has started turning again. A mess of orange and pink spreads across the sky, welcoming daylight with open arms. Max savors the weight of El in her arms, the warmth pooling between the two acting as a security blanket that Max wraps around herself. 

 

All rest must come to an end, though, and that’s exactly what happens. After letting herself rest for a few long, unhurried minutes, Max gets to her feet and retrieves rope from the boating shed. She drags Billy’s body to the edge of the dock. She doubts he’ll even live, let alone wake up, but she’s not going to take precautions. Not after the night she’s survived. Not after the night a lot of her friends haven’t survived.

 

Once he’s secure, she finds her way back to El. She wraps the other girl’s arms around her neck before she picks her up, settling the brunette against her in a piggyback. It makes the walk a little easier on Max, especially since the other option was to carry El bridal style, and she’s not sure she has the strength remaining for that. Instead, she gets familiar with El’s front curving against her spine, and the way El’s breath hits the back of her neck with a steady puff of air each and every time. She feels it, the coolness of her breath as it fans against her skin.

 

El’s weight against her back is a relief. It’s a constant reminder of why she’s still pushing forward even as her muscles strain and beg her to stop. This is for her, for El. Why would she give up? Why would she stop when El is almost safe?

 

She’s almost made it to the Main Cabin to phone the police when they arrive. Sirens wail, red and blue lights flash, and it almost feels like being home with her mom and Neil again.

 

It’s not a feeling she’s missed.

 

She stares, wide-eyed, as an ambulance tears in behind them. It screeches to a halt right next to her, and within seconds there’s an EMT hopping out and lobbing questions at her while another pulls the stretcher out of the back and snags El from Max’s grasp in one fluid motion. They transfer the brunette to the stretcher and begin taking vital signs all while the story flies out of Max’s mouth in broken, grief-stricken bits. She’s sure it’s jumbled and doesn’t make any sense, but they’re nodding like it does and two of the police officers are heading down towards the docks so Max assumes she’s told them something that seems credible and believable.

 

“Is she going to be okay?” Max asks, her arms folded protectively over her stomach. She’s half folded in on herself, as if that’ll keep her safe forever. She strokes her fingers delicately along El’s cheeks, her mouth quirking into a fond smile as El sighs in her sleep and shuffles closer.

 

“Better than ever.” One of the paramedics promises her, strapping the stretcher into the ambulance. He hops into the back with El, leaning towards the front window to communicate with his partner and give her the all clear to go. The paramedic talking to Max glances at her curiously. “You coming?” He gestures at the emptiness in the back of the ambulance. “It’s not like we haven’t got the room.” He says wryly.

 

“I don’t know.” Max answers tentatively, glancing at the police officers. Should she give her statement now? She ponders. Or later?

 

In the end, it’s El’s fluttering eyelids that have her deciding to give her statement later. She clambers to sit beside El in the back of the ambulance, grasping her cool hands in her own. She slots their fingers together, palm to palm. Max squeezes her hand, trying not to feel discouraged when she doesn’t squeeze back. Wake up, Max thinks forcefully. She wonders if the intensity of her desires will make them any more likely to happen. Wake up now, El. 

 

The paramedic takes Max’s vitals too, and examines her throat for her. “The bruising is pretty severe,” he notes as he examines her skin. The ring of fingerprints around her throat are a variety of shades ranging from smokey purple to sickly purple. He gently brushes his pinky against a midnight blue bruise, humming when she winces at the slightest pressure against it. “Yeah, it’ll take awhile before the swelling goes down. I’d say you’re looking at a few weeks of intense bruising, but it doesn’t look like anything was damaged too badly. I’d say you’re pretty lucky, but I doubt you want anybody telling you that right now.” He informs her.

 

“You kind of just did.” Max says sourly, shying away from any further examinations. He drops it, silently sitting across from her and fiddling with an unsolved crossword. She watches him twirl his pencil, lost in the simplistic movement. She’s so lost in her exhaustion-fueled dedication to his pencil twirling that she misses the moment El wakes up.

 

“Max?” El’s voice is hoarse, thick with a lack of use and scratchy from a night of screaming and, well, drowning. 

 

Max whips her head to the side, relief crashing into her like an out of control bus. “El, you’re awake.” She can immediately hear the way her voice relaxes, the tension draining out of her as if it was never there to begin with. She strokes her thumbs against the soft skin of El’s hands, ignoring the slight prune of her fingertips as El grasps at her. 

 

El clings to her, catching hold of any loose clothing and holding on as tight as possible. “You’re real.” El breathes, reaching one hand up and cupping Max’s face. She touches every freckle she sees, amazement evident in her voice. 

 

Max presses one hand to El’s left hand, gently cradling her jaw. She uses her other hand to stroke El’s cheek, mirroring her position. “I’m real.” She turns her face inwards for a brief second, twisting to press a kiss to the palm of El’s hand. She offers the brunette a brilliant smile, one that is only mildly streaked with tears. Her cheeks are pink and wet, her mouth crinkling into a messy grin. She feels her heart in her chest, and she draws her hand away from El’s face to feel her heartbeat, too. El’s heart soars beneath her palm, the rhythmic pounding soothing Max and offering her a sense of contentment. They are here, together. They are alive and safe and breathing. That’s really all she could ask for. “You found me.” Max realizes, affection causing the words to come out of her mouth as soft as putty, as flimsy as string.

 

She’s overflowing with love and light, overdosing on vitality.

 

El’s eyes are wet and shiny, tears pooling in her warm brown eyes. “I found you.” El confirms, pulling her hand away from Max’s face. She releases her grip on Max’s clothing. Instead, she takes Max’s hands in hers, squeezing firmly. “I told you I would, didn’t I?” She says, half-teasing and half-sincere. She had made the promise at the time, but she hadn’t thought she’d actually live to see it through. It had been a hopeful promise, one she strived to keep, but she had known the chances of having this moment here with Max was slim. 

 

“You did.” Max smiles around the lump in her throat, sorrow descending on her suddenly. “And then I’ll come find you.” Dustin had said, but he hadn’t.

 

She remembers, then, that encroaching darkness and Dustin’s voice in her ear. Maybe he did find me, Max muses. Maybe he saved me again.

 

El notices her shift in mood, her pink mouth trembling into a frown. “Max? Where is–” Her voice catches a little, her voice wobbling precariously. “Did everyone–” She cuts herself off, biting down the words that desperately want to climb off the tip of her tongue.

 

She doesn’t need to ask. Max can see the question swimming in her eyes, that murky confusion treading surface water while the devastating realization lurks below the surface. “No. I’m sorry, El. I’m so sorry.” She apologizes, shamefully looking away. She doesn’t want to watch the ripple effects of her words, the awful realization cutting through the other girl. She doesn’t want to see another person splinter apart like Dustin had earlier that night. She might not ever recover from watching El be hollowed out by grief.

 

El stares at the ground numbly, the world fading into a dull roar that lingers vaguely in the background. “Who?” She manages to whisper, her lips barely even moving to form the words.

 

“It’s just us.” Max wants to reach out and touch her shoulder, offer her some sort of comfort. Instinctively, Max reaches out to do just that, but she falters, her hand hovering awkwardly over El’s shoulder. She wants to help, but she doesn’t know if she can stand to get rejected. It would sting too much to not be able to provide some sort of emotional relief for El. It would be like rubbing salt in the wound: emphasizing how incapable she is at saving her friends physically and emotionally.

 

“I wanted to save them.” El admits tearfully, her whispered confession hanging in the air between them.

 

Max wants so badly to bridge the gap between them, but she refrains. She swallows roughly, her heart constricting in her chest at the tears spilling down El’s cheeks. “I know you did.” She hesitates a moment longer. “You still saved me.” She offers as a condolence, as a second rate prize.

 

El reaches out, grabbing Max’s hand and placing it on her shoulder. It’s a choice, a declarative act. I still want you right here by my side, it seems to say. “Will you stay with me? At the hospital, I mean.” She asks sheepishly. Then, in a lower voice, she says “I don’t want to be alone.” She looks up at Max through her eyelashes, her voice low and her eyes earnest.

 

There’s a sense of vulnerability in El’s words, her unabashed sincerity throwing Max for a loop. She’s not sure what to do with this emotional honesty, this willing truthfulness without needing it to be ripped out of you. Everything in her family is a fight, a ruthless battle for some sort of moral victory that she cannot even begin to comprehend. She wants to cradle El’s vulnerability and her implicit trust in her hands, cupped away from the world and out of sight for as long as its authenticity is shining through, pulsing in the palm of her hand.

 

There will be no prying eyes or scummy witnesses who will use anything as an opportunity. Max will safely hide this tenderness away until El deems it fit to be seen. “Of course I will.” Max tells her firmly, leaving no room for doubts. Without giving herself time to overthink, Max promises her that “I will be there for as long as you want me. Whenever, wherever.” 

 

El grins at her, relief gleaming like a prized jewel, opulent and apparent. She’s brilliant, sunlight peering through her as if she’s a conduit for light. “I’ll hold you to that.”

 

“I’ll see that you do.” She answers.

 

Max watches the apprehension drain from El’s shoulders, the tension leaving her body in a rush. It’s as if she’s a marionette, and all of her strings have been cut. It’s an immediate physical reaction, exhaustion overtaking her now that she’s allowing herself to feel safe with another person again. She drifts off to sleep, her expression peaceful as she slips further and further into sleep’s gentle embrace. She watches for a few moments longer, transfixed by El’s wrinkleless brow and the easy rise and fall of her chest. For now, El is unencumbered by nightmares. “Do you think we’re going to be okay?” She finally asks.

 

The paramedic is silent; when Max lifts her head, she realizes he’s staring at her. “When this is all over.” She clarifies. She lifts a pinky finger and traces a cut above El’s eyebrow, pausing when the other girl stirs for the briefest of seconds before falling still once more.

 

“It is over.” He says. Max opens her mouth to protest, but he continues. “Now you just have to deal with the aftermath.”

 

The aftermath, she thinks. He means the trauma. The nightmares, the paranoia, the fear, the anxiety. We have the whole rest of our lives to continue living with this–this thing. This tragic, terrible event that’ll shape who we become after this. Who we are. She’s not sure she’s ready for that.

 

The ambulance comes to a slow stop at the hospital, easing into a crawl. “Hey,” He says, pulling Max’s attention back onto him. She notices for the first time that there’s a nametag pinned to his chest that says Brian. “You’re going to be fine. You have each other, right? That’s better than nothing.”

 

Brian holds the ambulance doors open for her as she climbs out. She waits until they pull El’s stretcher out and then she walks alongside them, her hand in El’s. She matches their stride, moving twice as fast to evenly pace herself besides their long legs. She waits by her side attentively as the doctors see her, waving away her own medical needs for the moment. She finally allows them to take her aside and examine her while they put a tube into El’s lungs to drain the excess fluid that still remains. They focus more on the strangulation than anything else, hissing sympathetically at the ring of black and blue bruises wrapped around her throat.

 

She’s back at El’s bedside within the hour, crammed into one of the hospital’s uncomfortable visiting chairs while she waits for a nurse to wheel a cot in for her. Normally, Max would feel embarrassed to be such a stubborn patient, especially as she actively hinders their attempts to care for her. Fresh off her summer camp from hell experience, though, she can’t bring herself to care. It doesn’t hurt that her lack of care has led her exactly where she needs to be: right by El’s side.

 

“We’re going to be okay.” She whispers out loud. She lets the words linger on her tongue, on her lips. They feel right, they ring true. Sure, she’s got the worst rainbow pattern in the world decorating her neck like a piece of jewelry and El’s got a concussion and also died, but she savors them. She says them slowly so even in the grasp of exhaustion and pain medication, El will still hear the words. She’ll still be able to feel them. “We’re going to be fine, okay, because we’ve got each other.” Brian was wrong. It’s not just better than nothing–it’s something. It’s everything.

 

It’s all Max needs.

Notes:

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