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The ride home was rough.
Far rougher than Lucas remembered.
He'd made this drive hundreds of times over the past months, riding back and forth between Hawkins General and home whenever visiting hours ended. The route was burned into his memory by now.
Today, though, he wasn't behind the wheel.
He couldn't have been.
His chest felt too full.
There was pride, of course. So much pride.
Excitement, too.
But buried underneath it all was something heavier. Something Lucas couldn't quite shake.
Fear.
Because Max was doing better. She really was.
She had fought harder than anyone. She'd proven every doctor wrong, every pessimistic prediction, every whispered concern.
She could walk now.
Not far, and not without her cane, but she could walk.
The cane itself barely looked medical anymore. Jane had spent an entire afternoon decorating it with stickers, paint, and little bits of red and black until it looked unmistakably Max. She'd done the same thing to Max's wheelchair, transforming it from sterile hospital equipment into something that actually belonged to her.
The wheelchair was mostly for longer distances now.
The night terrors had become less frequent.
The feeding tube was gone.
Physical therapy was finally starting to pay off.
Max was coming home.
Well...
Not her home.
The home that mattered.
Lucas's.
Charles Sinclair sat behind the wheel while Sue occupied the passenger seat. In the backseat sat Erica, Lucas, and Max.
Lucas was wedged between the two girls.
Max leaned heavily against his shoulder, her head tucked beneath his chin while his arm rested securely around her.
Even Erica was unusually quiet.
No sarcastic remarks.
No teasing.
No complaints.
She understood.
This wasn't just a car ride.
This was the end of something.
Months of hospital rooms.
Months of physical therapy.
Months of pain medication.
Months of tutors bringing schoolwork to Max's bedside.
Months of wondering if she'd ever come back.
And now she was.
Lucas's parents had agreed to let Max stay with them indefinitely, and Lucas had thrown himself into preparing for it.
Anything he'd managed to salvage from the Mayfield trailer after the “earthquake” had found its way into his room.
A stack of Max's favorite books sat on his desk.
Her battered cassette collection occupied an entire shelf.
A faded skateboard leaned against the wall.
Little pieces of Max were everywhere.
The room no longer felt like his.
It felt like theirs.
He'd even bought a rolling three-tier cart that sat beside the bed, stocked with everything she might need.
Medications.
Heating pads.
Ice packs.
Tissues.
Crackers.
Sports drinks.
Vomit bags.
Extra blankets.
Anything he could think of.
Anything that might make things easier.
Erica had already informed Max that a shopping trip was mandatory as soon as she was up for it.
Apparently, living out of borrowed clothes was unacceptable.
Lucas glanced down as the car hit another pothole.
His grip around Max tightened instinctively.
She didn't flinch, but he worried anyway.
Was she hurting?
Was she exhausted?
Was she pushing herself too hard?
He opened his mouth before immediately closing it again.
The last thing he wanted was to make her feel fragile.
As if sensing exactly where his thoughts had gone, Max tilted her head slightly.
"I'm fine, Lucas," she murmured softly.
Only loud enough for him to hear.
His fingers were absentmindedly twisting the end of one of her braids.
Caught.
Again.
A faint smile tugged at Max's lips.
Lucas simply nodded.
Then he pressed a kiss to her forehead.
The smile widened.
Truthfully, Max was looking forward to things most people never thought about.
A real bed.
A real shower.
A room that didn't smell like disinfectant.
Sue had spent weeks researching shower chairs after the doctors recommended one, eventually buying a sturdy one that now sat in the upstairs bathroom shared by Lucas, Erica, and—now—Max.
For the first time in months, life felt almost normal.
Almost.
The Sinclair driveway finally came into view.
Everyone climbed out first.
Sue.
Charles.
Erica.
Then Lucas slipped out through Erica's side of the car and hurried around to Max's door.
He opened it before she could even touch the handle.
Max immediately rolled her eyes.
"Seriously?"
Lucas offered his hand.
Max accepted it anyway.
Using her cane, she carefully climbed out of the car.
Once she was steady, she looked up at him.
A smirk appeared.
"What a gentleman."
Lucas couldn't help smiling back.
"Shut up."
But he didn't let go of her hand.
Not even for a second.
The first thing Lucas did after getting Max through the front door was immediately regret allowing her to walk inside.
Not because she couldn't do it.
Because she insisted on doing all of it.
The stairs.
The hallway.
The trip to his bedroom.
Every step was taken with stubborn determination and a white-knuckled grip on her cane.
By the time they reached his room, Max was breathing harder than she'd been willing to admit.
Lucas noticed immediately.
Of course he did.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine."
"You sound tired."
"I walked up one flight of stairs, not Everest."
"You don't have to—"
"Lucas."
He stopped talking.
Max pointed at him.
"You're doing the thing."
"What thing?"
"The thing where you look at me like I'm made of glass."
Lucas looked genuinely offended.
"I do not."
"You absolutely do."
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
Max smirked.
"Thought so."
Despite her teasing, she squeezed his hand.
Because she knew exactly why he was fussing.
For months he'd sat beside hospital beds.
Watched monitors.
Held buckets while she threw up.
Helped her learn how to stand again.
He'd spent so long being terrified of losing her that now he didn't know how to stop worrying.
Max couldn't really blame him.
Even if he was annoying.
His room looked very different since her last visit
The skateboard she'd thought was lost forever sat against the wall.
Her cassette tapes occupied a shelf beside his books.
A faded flannel she'd left behind months ago hung from the back of a chair.
Little pieces of herself.
Everywhere.
For a moment, emotion caught her off guard.
Lucas noticed that too.
Because of course he did.
"Hey."
She blinked.
"You okay?"
Her throat tightened.
"Yeah."
A pause.
Then:
"Thank you."
Lucas looked confused.
"For what?"
Max gestured vaguely around the room.
"For all this."
Understanding immediately softened his expression.
"Max..."
She looked away.
Because crying about bedroom decorations would be embarrassing.
---
The shower felt incredible.
Not because it was exciting.
Because it wasn't.
It was normal.
Normal was exciting now.
The shower chair sat waiting.
Sue had stocked the bathroom with everything Max needed.
Fresh towels.
Extra washcloths.
Non-slip mats.
Even the shampoo Max liked.
By the time she emerged nearly forty minutes later, her hair damp and hanging around her shoulders, she felt more human than she had in months.
Lucas looked up from where he'd been pretending not to wait outside the bathroom.
His eyes immediately scanned her.
Checking.
Assessing.
Making sure she wasn't dizzy.
Or pale.
Or in pain.
Max sighed.
"There it is again."
"What?"
"The worried face."
"I don't have a worried face."
"You absolutely have a worried face."
Lucas frowned.
Which somehow made the worried face worse.
That night felt strange.
Good strange.
Max settled into bed while Lucas finished brushing his teeth.
The room was dark except for a small lamp.
When Lucas finally emerged from the bathroom, he was shirtless.
Max immediately looked away.
Then immediately looked back.
Purely for scientific reasons.
Obviously.
Months of hospitals had not made her any less sixteen.
The scar stretched across part of his chest—a reminder of injuries he'd suffered during the MAC-Z battle.
She'd seen it before.
But somehow it looked different now.
Softer.
More real.
Because they weren't fighting monsters anymore.
They were just...
Here.
Together.
Lucas caught her staring.
A grin tugged at his mouth.
"You okay there?"
Max immediately buried her face in a pillow.
"Shut up."
His laugh filled the room.
The night terrors hit around three in the morning.
Max woke first.
Gasping.
Heart racing.
The nightmare had been familiar.
Red lightning.
Cracking bones.
Vecna.
Hospital monitors.
The awful certainty that she'd never wake up.
She sat upright, breathing hard.
Trying to remind herself where she was.
Lucas's room.
Safe.
Home.
Then she heard it.
A whimper.
Beside her.
Max turned.
Lucas was asleep.
But only technically.
His face twisted with distress.
Hands clenched in the blankets.
"Max..."
His voice sounded broken.
The realization hit immediately.
Nightmare.
She'd seen them before.
Just not recently.
Not since she'd gotten better.
Carefully, she reached over.
"Lucas."
Nothing.
His breathing quickened.
"Lucas."
Still nothing.
Then she grabbed his shoulder.
"Lucas."
His eyes flew open.
For one awful second he looked terrified.
Then he saw her.
Saw where they were.
And immediately grabbed her hand.
Like he needed proof she existed.
Max squeezed back.
Neither mentioned what they'd been dreaming about.
Neither needed to.
Eventually they fell asleep again.
Holding hands.
The next morning brought a visit from the entire Party.
Or rather an invasion.
Mike.
Will.
Dustin.
Jane.
Apparently everyone wanted to see Max.
Which was sweet.
And exhausting.
By afternoon they'd all migrated to Mike's house.
The gathering was loud.
Comfortable.
Normal.
Board games appeared.
Arguments started.
Dustin got dramatically accused of cheating.
Again.
Everything felt almost like before.
Almost.
Lucas noticed the change first.
Because he always did.
Max laughed less.
Started leaning more heavily on her cane.
Became quieter.
The dark circles beneath her eyes grew more obvious.
Nobody else seemed to notice.
Lucas did.
He always would.
Eventually Mike was in the middle of telling a story when Lucas stood.
"We should head home."
Max looked up.
Relieved.
Not annoyed.
Relieved.
Which told him everything.
"Already?" Dustin asked.
"It's only four."
"We've got stuff to do," Lucas lied.
Everyone immediately knew he was lying.
Will looked at Max.
Saw the exhaustion.
Understanding dawned.
"Oh."
Mike noticed too.
His expression softened.
"Yeah."
No one argued after that.
The drive home was quiet.
Max rested her head against the window.
"You knew."
Lucas glanced over.
"Knew what?"
"That I was done."
A small shrug.
"You get this look."
"What look?"
"The Max look."
She laughed.
"That's not a thing."
"It is."
"No."
"Yep."
She rolled her eyes.
But she couldn't stop smiling.
Because after everything—
After Vecna.
After hospitals.
After wheelchairs.
After feeding tubes.
Someone still knew her that well.
Maybe better than she knew herself.
That night, as they settled into bed, Lucas once again abandoned his shirt somewhere on the floor.
Max tried very hard not to stare.
She failed.
Spectacularly.
Lucas caught her.
Again.
"You know," he said sleepily, "you're really bad at being subtle."
Max threw a pillow at his face.
His laughter followed her all the way into sleep.
And for the first time in a very long time—
Both of them slept through the night.