Chapter Text
I’m sorry.
The words run circles in her mind, round and round and round. She bites nervously at her fingernails as she watches the streets pass by in the small window at the back of the ambulance, her eyes glazing over as she hears Billy’s voice replay again and again.
I’m sorry.
Sorry for fucking what, exactly? For being a terror? For being annoying? For getting possessed and sacrificing himself for a group of people he barely knew?
I’m sorry.
Sorry for not being the brother she wanted him to be? Sorry for not giving them a chance when they had one?
“He’s not waking up,” the medic beside her says to the other across from them, his voice trying for calm but she can hear the worry and acute panic.
She can’t bring herself to turn around and look at Billy, knowing his chest is probably wide open and he’s covered in blood. She can smell it in the air; metallic and bitter. It stains her hands, where she, El, and Steve had pulled Billy out of the building into the arms of the firefighters. She couldn’t leave him there on the floor, alone and dying.
Seeing him like that, even once, is more than she ever wanted.
“We’re almost there, Max,” the other medic says, but she ignores him. Her heart is in her throat and her skin feels too tight - she wants out. She wants to breathe air that isn’t tainted by possible death, like it’s some illness she can catch.
I’m sorry.
Is it too late for apologies? Is it even enough to fix what had been done? Watching him stand in front of that monster, seeing the fear in his eyes that was so much worse than she’d ever seen it - and she’d seen his fear before, when it had been caused by Neil, who was a monster in his own right - yet she wasn’t sure if she had wanted to run and help. To fight with him, or for him. She had been scared, too. Scared of everything and anything.
The way his eyes had gone glassy and the sound of his voice as he choked on blood to deliver his last words haunted her, and he hadn’t even died yet. Not in any way that truly mattered, at least. Thanks to El.
I’m sorry.
The ambulance stops outside the hospital and the doors are ripped open, and she’s quick to jump down onto the asphalt to take a deep breath of humid Midwest air. She takes a few steps forward, giving them room to pull Billy out and onto a stretcher, and she still can’t look back.
What if he’s already dead?
I’m sorry.
When he’s wheeled into the ER by medics and nurses and she’s left outside, clutching his bloody necklace tightly in her palm, she looks down at her trembling fist and whispers as her eyes fill with tears, “I’m sorry, too.”
☀
It’s been almost two weeks and it passes by in a slow blur. Hospital visits and laying low, listening to her mom and Neil fight in the kitchen while she locks herself away in her room. Now that Billy’s not here to take the brunt of Neil’s anger, her stepdad puts it all towards her and her mom. And she’s not surprised, Neil showed his true colours long ago and Max hated his guts for what he did to his only son, but she couldn’t do anything about it. When she had, she’d been tossed aside, like she was nothing.
She spends a lot of time in her own head, thinking. Remembering. Envisioning different realities, wondering how different her life would’ve been if they hadn’t moved out here. She thinks about Billy and about the way he’s alone again, whenever she’s not there.
The worst part is that she still can’t decide if she’s happy or not that he actually survived – even though she had sighed in utter relief when the doctor had told her that Billy had stabilized and would be in the ICU for a couple more days.
But, despite the complexity of her emotions and feelings, she knows one thing: she wants to be there for him. He was shitty to her and she was shitty in return, but he didn’t deserve what had happened to him.
Maybe.
The way he’d begged and sobbed in that hot sauna still haunts her. She’d wanted to help but she had no idea how to, not when the Mindflayer had its claws sunk so deep into him. She hadn’t thought it possible to get him back, until she’d seen it herself when El had pulled him out of the Mindflayer’s hold, but even then it was too late when he fell to the floor at the Starcourt mall in a bloody heap. She couldn’t make her body move. She hadn’t wanted to, frozen to the spot in fear as she watched it unfold. In the end, all she could do was cry over his body, wanting so desperately for him to get up, because he was strong . He worked out every day, he could do it, it should’ve been so easy—
“Hey – we’re here.”
Blinking out of her thoughts, Max glances out of the window to see the familiar building of the Hawkins hospital before looking back over at her driver.
Steve is, as usual, biting the inside of his cheek and looking at her a little funny. Like he’s trying to figure her out. He drops her off every time her mom can’t and she figures that maybe he feels guilty, because he never says ‘no’.
But he’s not guilty enough to come up and see Billy.
“Oh,” she clears her throat with a nod, “Yeah, thanks. My mom can pick me up after her shift, so…”
“So you don’t need a ride back. Got it.”
Their relationship isn’t much. They’ve been through things together, yeah, but they’re not close. Not like he and Dustin were, at least. But they’re close enough for Steve to understand that these visits to the hospital are important to her.
She offers him a nod in thanks before climbing out, shutting the door and giving a wave as she makes her way inside, shouldering her backpack as she pushes the front doors open.
The sterile scent is always a little nauseating. Clean, sharp, invading. But it’s familiar now, and she takes the stairs up to that same room she frequents, listening to the sound of her shoes gently squeak in the quiet hallways.
Room 211.
The beeping of the heart monitor greets her first as she pushes on the door, leaving it wide open behind her as she goes into the room and sees Billy there, still asleep and still breathing thanks to the machines around and in him.
“Hey,” she says softly as she goes over to her usual spot: the brown chair beside his bed that keeps her back to the window. She shoulders off her bag and sits, placing the bag between her legs as she takes a moment to look at him, searching for any minute differences.
But there’s nothing. His eyelashes are still long. His blond hair is the same, maybe needs a wash. His skin is still a little pale, even with his summer tan. His lips are dry. His jaw is rough with stubble. He has dark circles under his eyes. His arms are losing a bit of muscle.
He’s still Billy, even with the tube through the front of his neck and under his nose and the wounds healing under thick gauze.
“I, um…brought some music,” she says as she unzips her bag and pulls out her Walkman, along with a few of his favourite tapes, “Don’t be mad, but I did go into your room to get these…” she mutters as she pulls out the tape from the Black Sabbath case and shoves it into her Walkman. She places the headphones carefully next to his head on the pillow and presses ‘play’, turning the volume up just enough for the music to flow out through the soft spongy speakers.
Ensuring the Walkman is settled on the bed next to Billy’s hand, she digs into her backpack again, pulling out her homework this time. It’s easier to get it done here than at home, and sometimes she likes to ask Billy if he knows the answer to some of her math equations - it makes her giggle, in a slightly twisted way. She’s sure he would appreciate the joke, because she likes to pretend that this is quality time with her brother – that they’re bonding. And it’s fucking pathetic and sad as hell, but it’s better than nothing.
Better than what they had before.
The thought makes her pause, her hands gripping her notebook tight as her bottom lip quivers. Her eyes prick with tears. Her cheeks warm. The lump forms in her throat.
Here it comes.
She can’t help it and she doesn’t bother to, not anymore. She shoves her notebook and papers aside to bury her face in the starchy hospital sheets, her sobs muffled as she grips the blanket in her hands and cries for her brother, for herself. For what she’s sorry for and what she wishes she could tell him if he were awake. For the way he’s barely made it through the hell he was put through alone, without anyone to notice. If she had been a better sister and not such a little asshole, maybe he would’ve gone to her or she would’ve noticed the change in him sooner.
She cries so hard her body shakes with it and she doesn’t hear the first time someone clears their throat.
When she hears it the second time, she looks up at Billy, her face wet and hot and full of hope until she sees him still asleep and unmoved. She glances over at the door and feels shame wash over her, making her immediately tense as she spots those familiar brown eyes.
Steve looks just as embarrassed and uncomfortable, his expression twisted to show it, and he mumbles, “Sorry…”
“It’s fine,” she mutters even though it’s not, her hot face still wet with tears.
“Should…” he makes an almost funny attempt to step back and forth, totally and clearly unsure of how to proceed, “Should I go?”
And she wants to say ‘yes’. She wants to tell Steve to leave, to get out, because this is her time with her brother and she’s clearly grieving something bigger than them – but then she realizes that Steve is here . In Billy’s hospital room. He had to sign in as a visitor downstairs, under Billy Hargrove.
Billy’s first non-familial visitor in the almost two weeks he’s been here.
So, she shakes her head ‘no’ and watches him step further into the room, those big eyes peeking at Billy and widening as he sees the machines her brother is hooked up to.
“Oh,” he blinks, his lips parting in shock, and she wants to laugh at him but she doesn’t.
Instead, she wipes the tears from her cheeks and sniffles wetly, resting her chin on top of her hands as she eyes her brother with Steve, watching Billy’s damaged chest slowly move up and down with the ventilator.
“Sometimes I just sit here and, um,” she wipes at her nose, pausing as she furrows her brows, “I read somewhere that sleep…heals your body. It wipes away all the ‘bad’ stuff in it. So, when I’m here, like this, I just…imagine his blood cells cleaning up his lungs and heart and stomach and wherever they need to.”
She glances over at Steve, who has this unreadable expression on his face, and she laughs wryly, “I know it’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid,” he mutters quietly, not convincing at all.
“It is,” she smirks, but there’s nothing behind it - no malice, no amusement, no sarcasm, nothing. She learned that from Billy. “But, it helps. I like to think he’s getting better, rather than just…wasting away on this bed with tubes stuck in him.”
They fall into silence again, the sounds of the machines doing little to swallow up the sound of Black Sabbath playing through the headphones, which Steve notices.
“You play music? For him?” He asks curiously, hovering at the foot of Billy’s bed now, his eyes trained on the Walkman.
She nods and wipes at her face as she straightens in her seat, “Yeah. I don’t know if he hears it or not, but if I were to be in his place, I’d want someone to play me something. Talk to me. Be with me. Y’know?”
Steve nods in agreement or understanding, maybe both, and she can’t help but to stare at him. He notices and gives her a tight smile.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” She finally asks.
The way his smile falls makes her feel bad, but only a little. No one gave a shit about Billy, and Steve didn’t have a good relationship with him to begin with, so to see him standing here is…strange.
And maybe Steve doesn’t know why, either, because he shoves his hands into his vest pockets with a small shrug before eyeing Billy again. “I, um,” he starts, brows furrowing, “I guess I’m just…curious.”
“Curious?”
“Yeah.”
“About..?”
Steve looks at her again, chewing his bottom lip as he thinks. Max knows Steve isn’t stupid. He may have his moments, sure, but he’s smart in his own way.
“I guess I’m curious about how you…go about forgiveness…and understanding–” he tilts his head towards Billy, “– him .”
Maybe she’d given him too much credit.
Her face twists a little, both in disbelief and confusion as she reiterates, “You’re standing at the foot of my unconscious brother’s hospital bed because you’re curious as to how I, his sister , forgive and understand him?”
Steve purses his lips a little and he shifts his weight foot to foot, eyeing the ceiling with a soft sigh because she’s hit the nail on the head, so to speak.
But the question now is why ?
“Why?” She asks.
Steve’s eyes widen again, a little in a disbelief, and he pulls out a hand from his pocket to gesture weakly at Billy with it, staring right into her eyes, “Because he fucking sacrificed himself for us and I’ve spent the last two weeks wondering what the hell for?” He quasi-explains, although he does sound a bit frantic and unsure.
Max sighs and sits back in her chair, arms crossing over her chest as she looks to Billy. “That makes two of us,” she mumbles, flicking her gaze back to Steve when he goes over to the other chair by the door and pulls it over to the bed, so he’s sitting across from Max with Billy between them.
And then they stare at each other, for a moment. Max wonders what he might be thinking about - if he has questions or if he wants to know more about Billy, or how to move on from here, because he did mention forgiveness and understanding. And those two things are hard to get with Billy. Always have been and probably always will be.
But, there’s no harm in trying.
Steve settles in his chair, deeper, like he’s getting ready to stay a while, and sighs, “So…what do you usually talk to him about?”
And she wonders how Billy will react, when he finally wakes up and she tells him that Steve Harrington was the first to visit him.
Maybe he’ll laugh. Maybe he’ll be shocked. Maybe he won’t care.
They’ll just have to wait and see.
☀
A few days later, after another visit to Billy from the two of them, Steve drops her off at home on Cherry Lane and she makes her way up the walk quietly, eyeing the front door as she strains her hearing.
There’s no yelling, which is a first. After Billy had stabilized, Neil had snapped and was in a horrible mood all the time - which she hadn’t thought possible.
Curious, she lets herself in the front door and peeks inside, immediately spotting her mom sitting at the kitchen table while smoking a cigarette and nursing a bottle of beer. But, she’s not really there – she has a far-away look in her eyes that only clears when she looks up to see Max shutting the front door behind her.
Something is…off.
Susan smiles softly and snubs the cigarette out, motioning for her to come over as she croaks out, “Oh - hi, baby. C’mere.”
Max makes her way over to the table and notices the redness in her mom’s eyes, like she’s been crying. Glancing down, she spots a handwritten note beside the ashtray. Her mom slides it over to her wordlessly and she picks it up, reading the messy scrawl in blue ink.
If it comes down to it, pull the plug.
She feels a certain emotion bloom in her heart; bitter on her tongue and it makes her face go hot.
Hate.
Hate for the man who had single-handedly ruined Billy’s life and now got the final say after making a break for it. He’s probably across the state line by now, running away from what he’s done for the last 18 years, effectively abandoning the three of them.
She hopes that Billy makes it, even just to spite him.
“I got home from work and found it right here,” her mom whispers, grabbing the neck of her beer bottle and tipping it up against her lips, muttering around it, “His clothes and car are gone. He’s gone, baby.”
Max can’t help it when she mutters sarcastically, “Is it too early to celebrate?”
Susan gives her a look, something disapproving that says ‘watch your mouth’, but she doesn’t actually say anything. Instead, she takes another sip of beer and burps quietly, looking off to the wall as she whispers, “We’re alone again, Max.”
The urge to hug her mom is strong and she doesn’t fight it, she doesn’t have a reason to, and she holds Susan against her tightly. Her mom doesn’t hug her back, but puts a hand on her forearm. She says with as much conviction as she can into her mother’s red hair, “We have each other.” She pauses, hesitates, and adds, “And Billy, once he’s out.”
That doesn’t soothe her mother any and Susan huffs softly, reaching for the bottle again as she probably thinks about him. Maybe thinks about how Billy will come home to a house without his father and how that will feel. “Yeah,” she mutters quietly, reaching for the pack of Marlboro Reds next. Billy’s pack.
Max quietly leaves her alone to smoke and drink her heartache away, heading down the hall to Billy’s room for more of his tapes. She pushes the door open and glances around the room, untouched by the blond for weeks, and she feels her bottom lip quiver. Her vision swims with tears as she goes over to his stereo and eyes the remaining tapes, stuff he probably hasn’t listened to in a while, before her eyes wander over to the closet.
Going over, she touches the fabric of a thin brown jacket before pulling it from its hanger and putting it on. It smells like him - like cigarettes and cologne, and she’s quick to muffle her hiccupping sob with the sleeve. Billy’s gonna be pissed once he finds out that she’s stolen it, but she doesn’t care. She wants to feel close to her brother.
Swallowing around the lump in her throat and the guilt in her chest, she grabs the remaining tapes and goes to her room in search of her Walkman, thinking that maybe Kate Bush’s crooning voice will make her feel better.
It usually does, after all.