Chapter Text
Hatchetfield High School was never the same after that night at the Waylon Place. Nerds who had never known a day of peace walked the halls stress-free. It was the most peaceful two weeks of their lives, and no one knew why. Even Kyle Clauger and Jason Jepson, Max's best friends, had no idea why he suddenly decided to stop bullying the nerds altogether—and strictly forbade them from bullying as well.
Kyle wasn't complaining, like at all, since Max finally allowed him to date Brenda. He and Jason were just concerned for Max. It had felt like his entire personality changed overnight. But no matter how much Kyle and Jason pressed him, Max wouldn't tell them what had happened that night. Years ago, Max had confessed to Kyle about his relationship with his dad. They were in middle school. Max swore Kyle to secrecy, and regretfully, he kept the secret. He felt like Max would never trust him again if he reported the abuse to the school counselor, but the thought of what might happen to Max one day still plagued him. So, he did his best to support Max in any way he could. This took form in lots of late night hangouts and sleepovers so that Max wouldn't have to be at home during the evenings when his father was drinking, especially on nights like tonight.
Max sat beside Kyle on the couch in his basement, watching a football match. Max was tense, an adjective Kyle never would have guessed could be used to describe Max Jägerman until two weeks ago. Eventually, Max noticed Kyle staring at him and flinched. He fucking flinched. Something was up.
"Jeez, sorry Max," Kyle muttered. "What's got you so on edge tonight?"
"Nothin'," said Max, his voice cracking. He coughed a little.
Kyle patted his back. "You coming down with something?"
"No." Max's voice was firm, clearly intending to shut down the conversation.
Kyle decided to press him anyway. "Hey man, I know you said you don't wanna talk about it, but—"
Max glared at him menacingly, but there was a strange weakness in his eyes that prompted Kyle to continue.
"You owe me an explanation. None of this is making any sense, and I- I have to admit that I'm losing my mind over it," Kyle explained. "I'm worried about you, man," he added gently.
Max looked away. "It's not my dad."
"Well, thank god," Kyle breathed, "but that's still not an explanation. What happened that night?"
"This doesn't leave this room, okay?" Max's eyes were glassy.
Kyle nodded silently.
"Steph Lauter invited me to the old Waylon Place," Max began hesitantly.
"No way, that old haunted-ass house?"
"Well, when I got there, there was this ghost, but it turned out to be Peter Spankoffski. And there was a skele'un, but that was Ruth Fleming."
"The nerds?" Kyle asked incredulously.
Max nodded. "Steph, Grace Chasity, and Shit-Lips—" Max cleared his throat uncomfortably, "or, Richie, were there too. But then, the floor I was standing on just…gave way. I could've died, but," he trailed off.
"But?"
"Richie pushed me out of the way. It was like, this sick move. He saved my life, and I don't know why."
After a few tense moments of silence, Kyle asked, "I mean, why not?" It was Max's turn to look confused. Kyle continued, "Richie seems like a nice guy. Any nice person would step in if someone's life was in danger."
"But I was such an asshole to him. He had every right to let me die." Max buried his head in his hands.
"But he didn't," Kyle said. "So I guess that's why you stopped picking on the nerds."
Max nodded, head still in his hands. Kyle placed his hand on Max's shoulder, causing him to look back up at him, tears streaming down his face. "I was so scared, man," he sobbed. "And Richie, he just…hugged me. After everything I did to hurt him, he hugged me."
Kyle wrapped his arms around Max as he cried, Max melting into the touch. But the tears soon turned into a coughing fit. "Dude, seriously, are you sick?" Kyle asked between Max's coughs.
Max shook his head violently. "Water," he croaked. Kyle ran upstairs to get him some.
The temporary privacy gave Max the chance to catch his breath, panting heavily. From his breath floated a tiny petal, almost small enough to wave off as a trick of the light. It landed pitifully in Max's lap, purple against the washed-out grey denim.
Max knew it was coming. He knew from the moment his chest tightened as Richie hugged him. Richie may have saved his life, but he condemned him to a fate much worse than a quick death. And even Richie's shockingly quick reflexes were useless now.