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Max refused to let them take Billy away without her. Once Dr. Owens and his men came, and they loaded Billy up on a stretcher and started rushing him outside, Max had stayed hot on their heels, restless energy and a new bout of adrenaline overpowering the sheer exhaustion she could still feel weighing her down below the surface. She’d rushed after them, and she’d climbed into the helicopter that would take them to the hospital without asking, and she doubts they’d noticed her until then, until she was finding a corner to curl up in while staring at her brother’s lifeless form.
They must’ve all seen something on her face and realised there was no use wasting precious time with arguing and telling her to climb back out and they’d let her be. Had let her run after them into the hospital, pressed tight against the wall of the lifts and hurrying down the corridors, until they reached a set of double doors and one of the women stayed and blocked Max from entering. She could wait outside, she’d told her, but she couldn’t come in.
So that’s what Max’ been doing. She’s been pacing back and forth down the corridor, trying to keep her gaze away from the red drops on the floor. Billy’s blood, having dripped down the gurney they’d put him on as they rushed through the hospital, from the mangled skin of his palms.
She’s been walking, her heart racing and a ringing in her ears, and trying not to replay the last couple of days’ events, the way Billy had begged her for help in the sauna, the way El had slammed him into the wall, the way he’d hit her in the mall, the way El had screamed when Jonathan tried to cut that piece of the Mindflayer out, the way she’d been sure they’d all die so many times tonight, the way Billy had looked when it stabbed him, the way he’d sounded before he lost consciousness on the floor of the mall in a pool of his own blood-
But then Billy starts screaming, and Max freezes on the spot. His voice reverberates down the hall from the room they’d wheeled him into, the room they wouldn’t let Max follow into, almost worse than when he stood up to the Mindflayer and saved El, saved all of them. The screams get cut off in the middle several times, and Max wonders if that’s the blood gurgling up his throat, stealing his voice. But he doesn’t stop screaming.
She can feel herself start to hyperventilate, her own breaths escaping too quickly and coming back too sudden.
What the hell are they doing to him?
Appearing out of nowhere - or maybe that’s just a testament as to how out of it she is, her mind replaying the Mindflayer stabbing Billy while her ears can take in nothing but his continued screaming - comes two pairs of hands. One of them pulls her into a soft chest, her face pressed against a navy blue sailor’s uniform and soaking it in her tears, while the other pair wraps them both into a hug.
She’s holding on to Steve’s coworker for dear life, Max realises, her hands fisted in the older girl’s clothes, and it’s Steve behind her, holding both of them, keeping her together.
And still Billy is screaming.
“You’re okay, Max, you’re okay,” Steve says, but his voice sounds oddly muted.
It’s because his coworker - Robin. Robin, her name is Robin - has puts her hands over Max’ ears, is probably trying to keep her from hearing Billy screaming. But she has to. She has to, she has to know he’s still there.
Because there’s a small, morbidly optimistic, part of her that notes that if he’s screaming, then he’s still alive. Even if he’s in more pain than Max can imagine. He’s alive.
He’s alive, and he’s going to be okay. Max has to believe that. Her last memory of her brother can’t be him all bloody and broken and half dead.
Not when he saved El. Not when he stood up to a monster he didn’t know anything about, when he broke through being fucking possessed just to save them, save Max, save her friends, save all of Hawkins. Not when they barely did the bare minimum to save him, not when their relationship was just starting to get better. Not now. Not ever.
Max reaches up with a shaking hand, trying to remove one of Robin’s. She manages to do it, but Robin just turns Max head so the uncovered ear is pressed against her chest and her face is turned toward the wall. She keeps her other hand covering Max’ ear.
But it’s okay like this. It’s easier to breathe like this, she can still hear like this, it’s okay.
“It’ll be okay,” Robin says. Not ‘you’, not ‘he’, but ‘it’. What’s ‘it’? The whole damn situation? There’s only one possible outcome where anything will be any semblance of ‘okay’ and that’s if Billy survives.
Steve holds them both tighter. Sandwiched between these two teenagers, Max is sure they’re the only thing keeping her from completely falling apart.
They move to the floor when their legs start trembling from the effort to keep standing, still holding on to each other even as they, after what must’ve been hours, succumb to exhaustion.
When Max wakes up, it’s quiet. Steve and Robin are still on either side of her, holding her hands and also each other, their legs touching as they curl protectively around her.
There’s a nurse, a little older than middle age, crouching in front of them with her hand outstretched as though she’s just shaken them awake. “They’re still working on him,” she tells them, voice kind and sympathetic. “Let’s get you off the floor and into some real beds. Owens’ shut off the whole wing.”
She asks for their names, offers to call their families, their parents, and Max panics because she knows if Neil or her mum get here they’ll insist on taking her home, taking her away, and she doesn’t know what to tell them but she knows she needs to be here. Needs to be here to hear if Billy survived, or if he didn’t, or if he’s barely hanging on and Max will get one last chance to say goodbye.
The nurse tells them she’ll have to call them in the morning, but she doesn’t insist on doing it right now, and for that Max is eternally grateful.
She takes them to a room down the hall, with three beds placed in a row, and leaves them there. As soon as the door closes behind her they all move on instinct, ignoring two of the beds in favour of climbing into third together, Steve hugging Robin from behind and Robin hugging Max, sharing one blanket. It’s a tight squeeze but none of them can take being alone right now.
Steve and Robin tell her how they saw her climb into the helicopter after her brother, how they were taken in another one a few minutes later to be checked out after their time with the Russians, their blood being drawn to check whatever drugs they were injected with. Their words shake and tremble when they speak of it, and Max knows they’re as traumatised as she is, and they still went looking for her after the doctors and nurses were done with them, and she’s so grateful for that, too.
The sky outside is just starting to brighten when Max wakes up to Robin calling her name. “There’s a nurse here,” she says, when Max blinks bleary eyes up at her. “She said you can go see him now.”
“He’s alive?” Max breathes.
Robin’s eyes start to fill with tears as she nods. She doesn’t know Billy, probably doesn’t know him as anything other than a popular jock asshole, but she’s seen Max break down and she smiles at her as she goes scrambling out of the bed.
The nurse from before waits by the door for her. She leaves Steve and Robin behind and follows her out down the corridor.
Billy’s room is down a different halfway. It’s less than a two minute walk but Max can barely keep herself from running.
The nurse stops outside the door, tells her Dr. Owens will be by to talk to her, and then they’re going to call their parents.
But for now, Max will get a few minutes alone with Billy.
The nurse holds the door open for her, and doesn’t follow her in.
The first thing Max notices is the sun.
Billy’s room must be turned toward the east, because she can see the sunlight streaming in through the window, painting golden rays over the blanket that covers his legs.
There’s a tube down his throat, his chest rising and falling steadily. They’ve put him in a hospital gown so she can’t see his torso, although she knows it must be completely covered in bandages. There are bandages around his hands, and IV lines. A monitor displays his heartbeat and pulse, a steady beep filling the room. His eyes are closed.
Max grabs a chair from where it’s been placed along the wall and pulls it close to his bed. She sinks into it, the tension melting out of her. She’s almost afraid to touch him, but she has to, to make sure she’s not just seeing things.
She avoids the bandaged hand, her hand instead coming to rest on his arm. His skin’s warm. Alive.
Max stares up at the heart monitor, transfixed by the sound it emits.
Alive.