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Since Max had woken up from her coma, her life had never gone back to the way that it had been before. It was both a good thing, and a bad thing. Good because the forces of the Upside Down were now defeated for good, and because she knew now more than ever that she had people around her that loved and cared for her unconditionally, sticking by her through everything. And bad because… well, the aftermath of Vecna taking hold of her. It was a new reality where she was learning to accept that her vision would never return to just how it used to be, that her eyes and limbs and body now often hurt all over.
But things were slowly getting better. And sometimes she almost forgot all the bad things that had happened. On days when everything truly seemed to be developing for the better, when it felt like they could all move on and forget all the horrors they had gone through. Like tonight, when the party had been piled into Mike's basement for a movie night, and she'd had so much fun that she'd pushed herself to stay a bit too late. That had ended with her body deciding to yank her back to reality, pretty much shutting off on her as she tried to get up from the beanbag chair she'd shared with Lucas as the credits rolled for Temple of Doom, her eyes aching and straining against the basement lights as they were turned back on. She'd been annoyed at first, tired of feeling like she and her body were on opposing teams, fighting with each other. But this wasn't the first time this had happened, and probably wouldn't be the last. So she was trying to accept it, to recognize it as her body yelling at her to take care of herself. Telling her to be kinder to herself. So she was trying.
She was with Lucas in his room now, waiting for her mom to be done with work so she could come pick her up and drive her home. As they’d walked in, Lucas had turned off the lights to help with her eyestrain and it was nice, the faint glow of the streetlights lining Maple Street filtering softly through the window as they laid in bed, Max's head on his chest as she rested her eyes. His fingers were slowly carding through her hair in a way she knew he knew she absolutely loved, and she was about five seconds away from falling asleep, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.
"I'm sorry.”
His voice was so quiet as he said it that Max barely heard him.
“Hmm?” she voiced, wanting him to repeat. His fingers stilled in her hair.
“It's all my fault," Lucas said, his voice still quiet but a little louder now. Max shook her head, snuggling closer to him.
"It's not, you asked me if I wanted to head home after Raiders, but I was being stubborn and said I wanted to stay for the second one. It's been a good day, I wasn't expecting myself to crash this quick," she explained. It was fine, she just needed to rest up, she'd probably be spending all of tomorrow in bed. But it was a Sunday and it was supposed to be rainy out so it was the perfect plan, really.
"No, no, that's not what I mean," Lucas said and Max furrowed her brow.
"What is it then?" she asked. When he didn't reply, she lifted her head up, opening her eyes to look at him in the darkness of the room. She was able to make out the outline of his face, his eyes cast out the window, pensive, a million miles away.
"What is it, Lucas?" she repeated and he closed his eyes, shaking his head.
"Nothing, I shouldn't have brought it up, forget about it."
"Well you're starting to freak me out now so you'd better tell me, okay,” she said. He was genuinely worrying her now.
"You can tell me. Whatever it is.”
Lucas chewed on his lip, his eyes still cast out the window, clearly contemplating if he should speak or not. Max reached for his hand in the dark, gently grasping it in hers.
“Tell me.”
"It's just…" he started, his voice small and hopeless. He sighed, looking down.
"When you really think about it, like, actually take a good, logical look at everything that's happened…” he started.
“At the core of it… it's really all my fault in the end.”
"What do you mean?" Max asked, her brow furrowing, truly not understanding what he was talking about.
Lucas shrugged, sad resignation radiating off him.
"I was the one to tell you about all this. The one that roped you into all of this insanity."
"I forced you to swear that you understood the risks, but how could you do that, you had no idea what was going to happen. But I still made you and look at all that’s happened since! Everything that’s happened this past year. You— you died, Max.”
His words were heavy as bricks, the darkness of the room around them suddenly suffocating instead of comforting.
“And I caused it. It’s my fault.”
“No.”
“If I hadn’t told you, you would be safe from all this and—” he continued, his voice getting frantic with guilt, but Max wasn't having it.
“Lucas,” she pressed.
“And none of this would’ve happened to you! And everything would’ve been bet—”
“That’s bullshit!” Mac cut him off, her voice loud as she sat up, her hair whipping around as she quickly turned on the bed to properly look at him.
Her outburst finally managed to cut off Lucas’s panicked spiraling and his eyes snapped to meet hers for the first time. They were wide in surprise, the guilt that had filled them washed away for just a second. Max was a bit surprised too at her harsh words, but she couldn’t help it. She needed to do something, anything to stop him from drowning in his guilt. If it took her cursing him out to help pull him out of it, it was what she had to do.
“That’s not true, Lucas,” she continued, her voice less harsh now but no less determined.
“Don’t even start to say that my life would’ve been better, than I would be better off now if I hadn’t learned about all this, if you hadn’t told me. Because first of all, that would mean that I never would’ve really gotten to know you and obviously I never want to live in a world where I don’t.”
“And second, I was the one who made you tell me! I was the one who kept pestering you about it. If you hadn’t told me that day at the arcade, I would've kept bugging you until you finally cracked and told me. And even if I never did find out, everything would’ve still happened. Billy would’ve gotten flayed, Starcourt would’ve happened, Vecna would’ve targeted me. The only difference being that then I would’ve been completely alone and in the dark about it all, totally unprepared for what was going to happen."
"This time I knew. I knew and was able to fight back, to do something about it. And that’s thanks to you. For seeing me, the weird and prickly outsider I was, and taking a chance on me, making me feel like I belonged, like I was part of something.”
“Without all of you I wouldn’t be here today. I really wouldn’t.”
Max paused, squeezing her eyes shut, fighting the tears rising in them. She needed him to understand. She took a deep breath.
“So no. My life wouldn’t be better. Cause I wouldn’t even have one without you.”
“Okay?” she implored Lucas, looking right at him.
“But—”
“It's not your fault, Lucas," she cut him off, her hands reaching out to hold his face, turning him to look at her. She wanted him to look her right in the eye, to hear what she had to say. He needed to know how much she meant it.
"I never blamed you. Ever. This is not your fault."
The tears continued to rise into her eyes. It hurt, seeing him in pain, she hated it, absolutely hated it. If anyone should be feeling guilty, it should be her, for putting him through all this pain and heartache. He didn't deserve it.
"You've done everything right, okay," Max told him, fighting the quiver in her voice. He needed to hear this.
"You've always been there, even when I pushed you away. You've always been the better one out of the two of us. You've always been the more patient one, the kinder one, the more understanding one."
"None of this is on you. None of it. I need you to understand that."
"Because I can't stand to see you second guessing yourself and blaming yourself when I know you have done absolutely nothing wrong."
“Please tell me you understand,” she said, nearly pleading now, gently brushing her fingers along his cheek, trying to coach an answer, or any words really, out of him. He’d closed his eyes as she’d rambled on and he still hadn’t looked at her, or said anything to her. But she needed a reply from him. She needed to know he had heard her, that she had been able to get through to him, to make him understand that she would never, in a billion years blame him.
“Lucas,” Max said, the plea leaving her lips that were starting to quiver. She needed him to answer.
He finally moved, letting out a choppy breath into the dark air around them. He tilted his head, leaning into her touch on his face. He opened his eyes, slowly, and the sadness in them made Max want to crumble into pieces, to scream and curse at the world, at all the evil things that had caused him pain.
“Okay,” he breathed out, his voice barely above a whisper. It was fragile, like he wasn’t really sure if he believed what he was saying, but was holding onto the hope that maybe it was the truth. And she would do whatever it took to assure him of it.
"C'mere," she mumbled, knowing she couldn't trust her voice to stay steady for much longer. So she pulled him to her, fumbling a bit, his knee bumping against her side as he shifted where he was sitting. But she didn't care one bit, just needing to hold him close. His face fell into the crook of her neck and her arms folded around him as she pulled him in, held him in her arms. And he cried, quiet sobs against her, his hands clutching at the back of her sweatshirt and Max could feel that the tears were long overdue, having gathered over the years of him keeping this to himself, having silently carried this guilt he thought he deserved. She wasn't sure why tonight had brought it out of him, made him admit to it, to apologize for it. But it didn't matter. All that mattered was making sure he knew that he didn't have to carry that burden on his shoulders, that she would never blame him, absolutely no one would. He needed to know that. So Max held him close, dropping her face down, pressing a kiss to the side of his head as she quietly told him, her fingers holding onto the fabric of his shirt:
"It's never been your fault. Ever."