Work Text:
Max Mayfield hated Neil Hargrove.
It was a fact of life that had been true from the moment her mother first brought him home and tried to smile like she’d won something. Like she’d finally found the steady hand that was going to keep them from drifting. Max had stared at him from the hallway, fingers curled around the banister, and felt her stomach tighten.
Neil’s smile never quite reached his eyes.
Her mom had said things like He’s good for us, and He’s going to help, and Max had nodded because she wanted things to get better. She was tired of seeing her mom work herself ragged and always look exhausted.
But Neil didn’t make anything lighter. He made the air in the house heavier. He made the walls feel closer.
And Billy was... well—
When their families had first merged, Max had been excited, almost embarrassingly so. She’d always wanted an older brother. Someone who would teach her cool stuff, who would come home with stories, who would roll his eyes and still save her a seat somewhere. Someone who would protect her.
Instead, she’d gotten Billy Hargrove: all sharp edges and rage, a sneer that seemed permanently carved into his face. Billy didn’t just ignore her; he made sure she knew she was in his way, like her existence was an inconvenience. He was cruel in the casual, practiced way some people were cruel—like it was a language he’d been raised speaking.
Max tried, at first. She tried to joke. She tried to impress him. She tried to pretend she didn’t care when he got a little too rough. She tried to give him space. And tried to be invisible.
None of it worked.
Still, even back then, she’d understood something about him that she didn’t have the words for yet. Because in the time Neil had been in her life, Max had started to feel it too—that simmering anger that built up inside her. Suddenly, Billy’s attitudes made more sense. Because he’d been dealing with Neil for a lot longer than Max had.
Not that any of that mattered in the end.
Billy had been an asshole, and then he’d done one noble thing, and then he’d died.
And now it was just Max and her mom and Neil in a house that had never felt like a home. A house that made Max keep her shoes on even in her bedroom, so she could run out at any moment.
Without Billy to take the brunt of Neil’s temper, Neil had turned his focus on her mom.
Max had watched it happen the way you watched a storm roll in: slow at first, then all at once. Little comments that were easy to dismiss. A slammed cabinet. A quiet argument that turned sharp. The way her mother’s smile got smaller. The way she flinched when the phone rang. The way she started wearing long sleeves even when it wasn’t cold.
Max hated herself for noticing all of it and doing nothing.
She wished she could be brave. She wished she could step between them and be something solid. But every time she imagined it, all she could see was Neil’s hand—hard and heavy—on Billy’s shoulder, yanking him into place. All she could hear was the crack of Neil’s voice.
It wasn’t just fear of being hit. It was fear of making it worse. Fear of lighting the fuse and not being able to stop what came after. So instead she did nothing.
Things had been getting steadily worse ever since everything went down at Starcourt.
Tonight was one of those really bad nights.
Max knew before anything even happened. She could feel it in the air the moment Neil got home.
A low voice—Neil’s—muffled through the living room. Her mom answering, too soft. A pause. The clink of glass against the counter.
Max’s fingers tightened on her skateboard.
Then Neil’s voice rose—one sharp word, then another—and her mother’s voice fractured, like she was trying to soothe a wild animal. Max’s heart started beating in her throat. Her brain did what it always did: Where can you go? What can you do?
She took one step toward her bedroom door, then froze when she heard the sound she hated most.
That dull, ugly impact.
Max flinched like she’d been hit herself. Her mouth went dry. She waited for her mother to say something—anything. She waited for Neil to stop. She waited for her own feet to move.
They didn’t.
Max backed up quietly, like if she moved too fast the whole house would turn its eyes on her. She grabbed her skateboard, and climbed out her window before she even knew what she was doing.
The cold air slapped her awake.
It was well past dark. Hawkins at night was a different town—quiet streets and porch lights, distant dogs barking, the occasional car humming by. But mostly it felt like a ghost town. Max walked anyway, aimless, skateboard tucked under her arm, the wheels bumping gently against her hip with each step.
The road felt safer than her house, which was a stupid thought considering everything she knew about this town.
And yet.
Maybe monsters were easier because you could see them. You could fight them. You could run and scream and nobody looked at you like you were crazy.
Neil was the kind of monster nobody could see.
Max kept walking until the streetlights thinned and the shadows got longer. The wind tugged at her hair. Her breath came out in little clouds. She told herself she was just going for a walk. She told herself she didn’t care what happened. She told herself she wasn’t scared.
A pair of headlights crested the road behind her, washing the pavement in pale light.
Max stiffened instantly. Every muscle in her body went tight, her stomach dropping like she’d missed a step. She turned her head just enough to see a car slowing down, the lights bright in her eyes. For one horrible second, her brain offered her the worst possibility.
Then a familiar voice cut through the dark.
“Mayfield?” It called, incredulous and irritated in that specific tone she was so used to hearing. “What the hell are you doing out here in the middle of the night?”
Max let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She rolled her eyes automatically, because that was easier than admitting anything else, and stepped closer to the passenger side as the car came to a stop.
Steve Harrington leaned across the center console, elbow propped, face half-lit by the dashboard glow. He looked tired, like they all seemed to look nowadays. But his eyes were alert, fixed on her like he’d been searching.
“Just going for a walk,” Max shot back, because sarcasm was really the only thing she could manage. “What are you doing driving around at this time?”
Steve’s mouth twitched. “I like to check up on you shitheads sometimes,” he said, like that was a totally normal thing for him to be doing. He really was such a mom. “Get in the car.”
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure you are.” He jerked his chin toward the passenger door. “Get in.”
Max hesitated. The road was cold. The dark felt too big. And Steve was—Steve was Steve. Annoying and loud and impossible and safe in a way she didn’t want to admit.
With a frustrated sigh that was mostly for show, she opened the door and climbed in. The car smelled faintly like fast food and cheap cologne and something warm. Max shoved her skateboard into the back with more force than necessary, and Steve waited until she’d buckled her seatbelt before pulling back onto the road.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The hum of the engine filled the silence. The heater blew air that wasn’t quite warm yet. Outside, the trees blurred past, dark shapes against darker sky.
Max stared out the window and tried not to think about what was happening back home. Tried not to picture her mom on the kitchen floor. Tried not to imagine Neil’s face.
Steve kept glancing at her, quick looks like he was checking if she was still there. Finally, he cleared his throat, and his voice softened just a fraction. “Are you okay?”
Max’s jaw clenched. She hated that question. It was all any of her friends seemed to be asking her, nowadays.
“I’m fine,” she said gruffly, because she’d been practicing that lie for months.
Steve didn’t argue or push right away. He just drove. Max swallowed hard. The words felt stuck behind her teeth, sharp and painful. She didn’t want to say it. She didn’t want to make it real. But the silence was making her chest hurt, and she was tired of hiding.
“I—” Her voice cracked, and she hated herself for that too. She tried again, forcing the words out. “I just don’t want to be home right now.”
Steve’s grip tightened slightly on the wheel. “That’s fine,” he said, like he’d already decided something. “You’re staying with me tonight. It’s late anyway.”
Max’s stomach twisted. A pang of fear shot through her so fast it made her dizzy. If she wasn’t there, who was watching? Who was listening? Who could help if—
“No,” she said quickly, too sharp. “I can’t.”
Steve’s brows drew together. “Why not, Max?”
She stared at the dashboard, at the way the radio light blinked, at the little dust particles caught in the glow. Her hands were clenched in her lap so hard her nails left crescents in her palms.
Because if she said it, it would be real. Because if she said it, Steve would do something. Because if Steve did something and got hurt, it would be her fault.
Max tried to shrug, but the panic had already started crawling up her throat, making it hard to breathe. She had been pushing people away for weeks, too tired of their worry, too sick of being looked at like she was fragile. But she was tired now, and scared, and Steve’s voice had that knowing quality that made lying feel pointless.
“I have to make sure my mom’s okay,” she whispered.
Steve’s face changed. The calmness drained away, replaced by something colder. Focused. Like a switch had flipped.
“Is Neil hurting her?” he asked, not wasting time with euphemisms.
Max stared at her hands.
She remembered Steve asking before—weeks ago—cornering her gently in the Byers’ kitchen with that look in his eyes. She’d denied it then. She’d snapped at him, told him to mind his business, told him he didn’t know anything. She’d watched him swallow his frustration and back off because he didn’t want to push her away.
But he’d never stopped paying attention.
Max nodded once, barely perceptible.
Steve exhaled, slow and controlled. His knuckles were white against the steering wheel.
“Okay,” he said, voice low. “I’m going to drop you off at my house, and then I’m going back to help your mom.”
Max’s head snapped up. “No.” The word came out too fast, too loud, like it was the only thing holding her together. “No! He’s dangerous, Steve. He’ll hurt you.”
Steve’s eyes flicked to her, and something in his expression softened—not pity, not condescension, but understanding.
“I’ll be careful,” he said. “I promise.” He looked back at the road. “You don’t worry about it. I’ll deal with it.”
The confidence in his voice should’ve annoyed her.
Instead, it made her throat burn.
Max didn’t trust easily. She didn’t trust adults. She didn’t trust promises. But Steve wasn’t a real adult. Steve was… Steve. Stupid and stubborn and brave in a way that made no sense. He’d run headfirst into horrors that should’ve killed him, and somehow he was still here, driving them around and worrying about all of them.
Max stared at him for a long moment, then looked away before he could see the wetness gathering in her eyes.
“Okay,” she said softly, even though she hated it.
He pulled into his driveway not long after, parking with more care than usual. Max climbed out slowly, her legs stiff from tension. The Harrington house loomed, too big and too quiet. She had been intimidated when she’d first come here, but over time that had changed. It couldn’t be that scary when Steve lived in it. Instead it had started feeling like a weird kind of refuge.
Steve killed the engine and looked at her. “Go inside,” he said. “Lock the door behind you. Don’t open it for anyone but me.”
Max made a face, because she couldn’t not. “Bossy,” she muttered.
Steve snorted. “Yeah, well. That’s kind of my thing.”
Max hesitated in the doorway. The porch light buzzed faintly above her. She wanted to say something—Be careful, or Don’t be stupid, or Please come back. The words sat heavy in her chest.
Instead, she just waved once and went inside.
The house smelled like candles and dust and the lingering trace of whatever Steve had eaten for dinner. Max kicked off her shoes and stood in the foyer, suddenly unsure what to do with herself. The quiet was different here. Not the tense kind. Just empty.
She tried not to imagine Neil when she closed her eyes.
She tried to distract herself the way Steve always did—by doing something, anything. She wandered into the living room and stared at Steve’s stack of VHS tapes, thumb running over the titles. A whole shelf of worlds where problems were solvable in ninety minutes and heroes always made it out alive.
Max picked one at random, shoved it into the VCR, and dropped onto the couch with a blanket pulled up to her chin even though the house was warm.
The movie played. She watched it without really seeing it, her mind running in circles.
Time stretched. The clock on the wall ticked too loudly. Max kept glancing at the window, half-expecting headlights to sweep across the curtains. Half-expecting the door to slam open and Steve to stumble in, bleeding. Half-expecting Neil’s face in the glass.
After what felt like forever, the tape ended with a burst of static. Max blinked and realized she hadn’t moved. She rewound it and put in another one. Anything to drown out the quiet.
By the time she heard a car pull into the driveway, the second movie was already halfway through.
Max sat up so fast the blanket slid off her shoulders. She rushed to the window, peeking through the curtain.
It was Steve’s BMW.
Relief hit her so hard it made her knees weak.
The front door opened, and Steve stepped inside, shutting it behind him quietly like he didn’t want to startle her. Max took one look at his face and felt her stomach drop again.
There were new bruises blooming along his cheekbone, darker against his skin. A split at the corner of his mouth. He’d only just recovered from the beating the Russians had given him and here he was, once again hurt all because of her.
“Are you okay?” she asked, voice thin.
Steve shook his head like it was no big deal, like he hadn’t just walked through something dangerous for her. “I’m fine,” he said automatically, then winced like his mouth hurt. He adjusted the duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “You’re staying with me for a few days.”
Max stared at the bag. “W—what happened?”
Steve’s gaze flicked away for a second. He set the duffel down carefully on the floor, like he was choosing his words. “Your stepdad skipped town,” he said finally. “He’s not coming back.”
Max’s brain didn’t process it right away. The sentence didn’t fit with the world she lived in.
She stared at Steve like he’d just told her the sky had changed color. “How—” she started, then stopped because she wasn’t sure what she was even asking. How did you make a man like Neil disappear? How did you do that without getting yourself killed?
Steve’s jaw tightened. But instead of explaining, he reassured her, like he knew she was worried, “Your mom’s okay. A little bruised, but she’ll be fine.”
The relief that slammed into Max was dizzying and sharp, like she’d been underwater and finally broke the surface. Her throat tightened. She blinked hard, trying to keep her face neutral.
“I’m sorry,” she said, because she couldn’t stop staring at his bruises. Couldn’t stand the idea that Neil had hurt him too. All because of her.
Steve’s expression softened immediately, like he hated that she was apologizing at all. He took a step closer, careful, slow. “Hey.” His voice was gentle, but firm. “You didn’t do anything wrong, okay?”
Max swallowed hard. Her eyes burned.
Steve hesitated, then exhaled deeply. “I’m sorry I didn’t help you sooner,” he said quietly. “I knew he was an asshole. I should’ve stepped in ages ago.”
Max shook her head violently. “No.” Her voice came out rough. “I—I didn’t want any of you to know.” She laughed once, sharp and humorless, because it was either that or cry. “I feel so pathetic. I mean… we’ve literally fought monsters, Steve. We’ve fought—like, real monsters.” Her hands curled into fists. “But I was scared of my stepdad.”
Steve frowned like the word pathetic physically hurt him.
“That’s not pathetic,” he said. “Max, listen to me.” He stepped closer, lowering himself onto the edge of the coffee table so he wasn’t towering over her. His knees bounced once, nervous energy he couldn’t get rid of. “Fear doesn’t work like that.”
Max looked away, jaw clenched.
Steve’s voice softened. “My dad’s kind of a jerk too,” he admitted, and Max’s gaze snapped back to him, surprised. Steve shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he hadn’t just offered her a piece of himself. “Maybe not as bad as Neil. But he sucks. And I hate being around him.” He let out a short breath. “That doesn’t stop being true just because I’ve fought monsters.”
Max stared at him.
Something shifted in her chest—something small but important. Suddenly, Steve’s knowing look when he’d asked her about Neil felt different. It wasn’t just suspicion. It was recognition.
“Oh,” Max said, quieter now.
Steve watched her carefully, like he was waiting for her to bolt, to shut down. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. The words had already started spilling out, pulled loose by exhaustion and relief and the fact that someone had finally dragged the monster out of her house.
“I used to wish I was your sister instead of Billy’s,” Max admitted, barely above a whisper, as she watched him carefully.
Steve blinked, caught off guard. For a second, his face went painfully open—like he didn’t know what to do with the fact that she trusted him enough to say that.
Then his mouth curved into a sad, crooked smile. “I always did want siblings,” he said, almost like he was surprised by his own honesty. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, then looked at her again, eyes steady. “And, look… I don’t think family is always what we’re given in life.”
Max’s chest tightened.
Steve gestured vaguely, like he meant everything—the house, Hawkins, all of it. “Both our families suck,” he said with blunt certainty. “So screw them.” His voice softened again, warmer. “We can be family because we choose to be.”
Max stared at him, the words hitting her in places she didn’t usually let anything reach.
“You think so?” she asked, and she hated how small her voice sounded.
“Yeah,” Steve said immediately. “I do.” He stood up, rolling his shoulders like he was trying to shake off the weight of the night. “Now come on.” He pointed toward the couch and the scattered tapes. “Pick a movie. I’m gonna make us some hot chocolate, and we can camp out down here tonight.”
Max blinked, because her eyes were still burning, and she didn’t want him to see.
She grabbed the blanket again and shoved it into her lap with unnecessary force. “Yeah, alright,” she muttered, pretending to be annoyed, even as she felt stupidly grateful that he wasn’t leaving her alone.
Steve huffed a laugh and headed toward the kitchen.
Max stared at the TV and let herself breathe for the first time in what felt like months.
She didn’t know what came next—what would happen to her and her mom, or how they were supposed to manage any of it.
There were still a million things to worry about.
But here, in Steve’s house, wrapped in a blanket that smelled faintly like laundry detergent, she felt safe. Because somehow she knew he wouldn’t let her face any of it alone.