Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mike’s hands shook as he ripped open the letter. He sat in the basement of his home, trying not to look at the desk at which Max had written and sealed this paper he held in his trembling hands. He didn’t know what to expect of it—he and Max had a complicated dynamic.

They were friends, of course, but they could easily fight like siblings. The first time he’d met her, Mike had been cruel to her. Looking back on it, he knows he was grieving the loss of Eleven, but he can’t help the guilt that rises in his chest remembering the way he’d treated Max.

He thought maybe Max was going to insult him in the letter. Maybe she would try to argue with him through the words on paper. But, Mike knew deep down, he was going to find kindness in the words hidden in this letter.

He took a breath and unfolded the paper.

Dear Mike,

I wish I could hand this letter to you myself, but my time’s running out, and I need to tell you these things. Please, bear with me. I’m not good with words like you are.

When I first came to Hawkins, you hated me. I probably would’ve hated me too, though. My brother tried to run you over with his car. I was mean to not only you, but also your friends. I beat your high score on Frogger. I came into your friend group unannounced. I didn’t understand.

Sometimes I think back to looking for D'Artagnan, when I fell off my skateboard and you helped me back up even though you’d called me annoying not a moment ago. That’s when I understood you—you may be distrusting, but you have heart. A heart that cares no matter how callous you try to be.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, please don’t stop caring about the people around you. If I die, and Vecna gets what he wants, please care not only for your friends, but for everyone. There are so many people out here in Hawkins like Eddie and Chrissy who desperately need someone to care.
I think one reason we bicker is because we’re so alike. It’s easier to pretend to hate another person than it is to admit you hate yourself. I can’t speak for you, but I know, I’ve never been a fan of myself. I get angry, and I push people away, and I isolate myself until it’s too late.

But there’s so much I admire about you, Mike. There are qualities we share that I can appreciate from you but not from myself. It’s sad, because I truly hope you see yourself the way I do. I’m sure it’s vice-versa for you. I can’t bear the thought that you might hate yourself the way I hate myself.

You deserve love, you deserve to trust yourself, Mike. You aren’t a bad person, you’re learning. We all are. Don’t let anyone get it in your head that you aren’t worth what you are. Please love yourself the way you love your friends. There’s too much we have in common to pretend that one deserves less than the other. Don’t be hard on yourself. It breaks my heart.

—Max.

Mike wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and cry. Cry because of how mean he was to Max, cry because he didn’t deserve her forgiveness, cry because she might not ever wake up, cry because he hated the idea that she hated herself. Instead, he took to the desk in which she had written the letter at.

He picked up his own pen, and he began writing his own.

Chapter Text

Steve rested his head in his palms, wishing to open his eyes to not see a letter in his passenger’s seat but rather a frustrated Max giving him directions to the nearest Burger King, with Dustin, Lucas, and Mike in the backseat fighting over the result of their latest Hellfire campaign, Madonna playing on the local radio.

But he was alone in his car. Nobody was in the backseat. No music was playing. The passenger seat held a note with his name on it. He was parked on a quiet road, one he’d driven down too many times, wether it was to go to school with Nancy, or to work at Starcourt, or to carpool Dustin to the Snowball, or to go to a basketball game with Robin. Max once drove down this road while Steve was unconscious.

But now she was the unconscious one, and Steve felt like crying. Instead of letting tears fall, he reached for the letter.

Dear Steve,

Sometimes I pretend you’re Billy. Sometimes I pretend he was a kind person like you are. Sometimes I pretend he cared about me and my friends like you do. It’s horrible, and I’m guilt-ridden. You aren’t Billy. You’re you, and today I realized that. I realized Billy wouldn’t have watched over me like you do. I realized that you could never be Billy, and that isn’t a bad thing. Yes, I miss him, but to compare you two, even just in my mind, is awful. I’m sorry about that.

I know you never chose to be in charge of us. I know you might’ve been annoyed whenever we came into Scoops for a secret passage to the theater. But for what it’s worth, I’m glad it was you who became the babysitter. You were the one who treated me like family. I appreciate you so much. We all do. Dustin does. Lucas does. Mike and Will do. And even if El never got to know you super well, I can promise you she does too.

Because you were the one who protected us from Billy, even if it meant getting beaten to a pulp. I’m sorry about that too, letting you get beat unconscious and then going against your will to drive Billy's car. I had never once driven before that night, but I lied to make Mike shut up about my abilities. I scuffed the car and ran into a mailbox, all while you were bleeding from your face in the backseat.

I took you for granted. I think we all did. And I think we still do. Because Nancy and Robin are at Pennhurst, on an undercover mission to get information from Victor Creel, and you’re stuck in this musty basement watching over us even though you wanted to go along with them. You’re selfless, Steve, and I wish you could’ve been my brother.

—Max.

Steve leaned his head back on his carseat, placing the letter gently back down in the passenger seat. He took a breath—he had forgotten people are supposed to do that. He tried to distract himself, turning on the radio for noise to cloud his brain. But when Kate Bush came on, he couldn’t help but hold down on the steering wheel until his car horn was the only noise he could hear.

Chapter Text

Will was sitting in the forest, in a rebuilt Castle Byers. After returning from California, all Will had wanted was for things to feel like they used to, when he was only ten and could hide in Castle Byers and draw in his journal, thinking up the next story for Will the Wise and his party for the next campaign. Jonathan craved a sense of normalcy. Together, they rebuilt the fort.

But it didn’t feel the same. It felt grim. Castle Byers had never felt the same after Will had sought refuge there in the Upside Down. There were no longer photos of him and his friends littered about the leaves. He had ripped them all up after that fight with Mike.

Now what laid in the leaves was a letter with his name written on top. Will held his hands to his mouth, closing his eyes and trying to muster the courage to open the letter. It had to be done sooner or later, and Will wishes he could do it later. But this was important. He needed to know what it was Max wanted him to hear before she…

Wind cracked through the fort, removing Will from his spiral of thoughts. He took a breath and opened the letter.

Dear Will,

I wish I knew you better. I wish I had cared to get to know you better. I had almost a whole year with you, and then when you left, I realized I wasn’t a very good friend for you. None of us were. I think I speak for everyone when I say we deserve you an apology.

I always thought about being your friend, I really did. I could tell you were creative, and kind, and had so much to say but no one to listen. I wanted to listen to you, I just didn’t know how. I didn’t know where the line was and if I should dare cross it. Mike probably would have killed me if I did.

When I moved to Hawkins it was everywhere I looked, Zombie Boy and Barbara Holland. I think it was probably the most interesting thing that had ever happened here, in the whole state of Indiana. I should’ve asked you myself. I shouldn’t have listened to rumors. But when you’re new somewhere, rumors are all you have. To be honest, I knew you didn’t get lost in the woods. I knew something was off. I knew it from the moment Mike defended you at Halloween.

I believed Lucas immediately, about everything that happened that last year, but I refused to seem stupid, on the off chance it was a joke. I was so desperate for friends, and had too much pride to be tricked. But something about the fear in your eyes at Halloween told me everything I needed to know. That you were scared, but strong. That you were sensitive, but smart. Embarrassed but emboldened.

Will, even if I didn’t cultivate our friendship the way I wish I had, I still believe I know you. You love so loudly, just like your mom. I hope you’re loving El the way I would if I was there in California with you. I think you deserve the world, Will. Someday I hope you will believe that too.

—Max.

Will was crying. He did that a lot. Over the years, he would come home from school and curl up in Castle Byers and cry about what Troy had said about him. He would curl up and cry about his parents fighting so loudly in the house. He would cry because Mike was ignoring him. He would cry because his childhood was gone.
This time, he cried because Max was braindead, and might not ever return.

Chapter Text

Dustin was sitting on his bed, Tews entangling himself between Dustin's legs, flicking his tail. Dustin was wearing his torn up Hellfire shirt. He was rarely seen wearing anything else.

He remembers trying to ask Max to join Hellfire. She practically mocked him, and he was hurt at the time. But now knowing what she was really grappling with at the time, Dustin feels nothing but regret for how focused he'd been on himself. And Eddie.

He missed Eddie. He thinks Max would have liked him. They were both opinionated, and could sometimes be intimidating, but still fiercely loyal. Surely they'd talked once or twice, living across from each other in the trailer park. Dustin wishes he could've seen them, two of his best friends, talk to each other. Before they both had to die.

Dustin gnawed at the side of his thumb, drawing blood, hesitating to even touch the letter. It wasn't until Tews jumped up in his lap that he decided it was time. Tews curled up on his lap, providing comfort in the cold and loneliness of reading a letter from his comatose friend.

Dear Dustin,

You were my first ever friend in Hawkins. I think you might've just been my first friend. I was a loner in California, I'd get teased at the skate park, and I'd get written up by teachers. No one wanted to be friends with me and I didn't want to be friends with them either.

You were the first person to want to be friends with me. I tried to deflect, pretend I wasn't elated to have someone actually try to talk to me. I made fun of your Stantz costume, but it was pretty fucking cool, I have to admit. Much cooler than some random black jumpsuit and a Michael Meyers mask. But you still thought I was cool, and it made me feel like Hawkins wouldn't be too bad of a place.

Even when Mike clearly wasn't happy I was around, I knew you still liked having me there, and that's why I stuck around. Because you were kind, and smart, and just a great person. Thank you for being my first friend. You came into my life when I needed you most.

I know you liked me back then, but I also knew it would pass. And I'm so glad I did, because Suzie is perfect for you. It brightens my day just to see you happy talking about her. Whenever I would chat with her with Cerebro, I never understood a word she was saying. But I listened, and I talked to her, because you were happy for us to meet. And I was happy to make you happy.

Your smile is infectious, even if you have no teeth. Your humor is unmatched, even though you don't quite understand sarcasm. Your intelligence is incredible, even if sometimes it makes you insufferable. I think you're the best friend I could have asked for. Thank you for being there for me when no one else was.

—Max.

Tews purred in Dustin's lap as he shook with sobs. He set down the letter and held the cat close to his chest. He hadn't known how important he was to Max. He didn't know how much she'd needed him. But now she didn't, and she might not ever again. He wasn't there for her when her bones were ripped from their sockets, when her eyes were bleeding, when all the life drained from her body. He failed her for the first time. And he'd never let it go.

Chapter Text

El entered her old room in Hopper’s cabin quietly, holding Max’s letter to her close to her chest. She almost wanted to never open the letter—to count on Max waking up and telling her whatever it is she wanted to say to her face.

She sat down on her floor, where her and Max had once laughed together. Her heart thundered with dread.

But, El knew this is what Max wanted. She wouldn’t have written these letters if she didn’t want them to be read. So El opened the letter, for Max.

Dear El,

If only you could be here. If only you could know and kick this guy’s ass for me. I’ve been missing you every goddamn minute since you left. I’m upset with myself for not reaching out. You seemed to hate me, so I never tried. I wanted to respect your space. But if I had only known how special you would become to me.

I feel so lost without you. Without another girl by my side. You are the most empathetic, wisest, strongest person I know, El. I miss having your strength and empathy standing next to me, singing with me, laughing with me, reading magazines together.

You looked out for me. You look out for everyone. You deserve freedom more than anyone, you deserve to be carefree and happy in California. From what Mike has said, that seems like that's the case, and I’m so happy for you.

But if I’m being honest, I’m miserable without you. I broke up with Lucas after he joined the basketball clique, who shove him into cute cheerleaders and drag him to no-good parties full of bad-news seniors. I thought he might’ve been changing, but he’s sitting behind me while I write this staring into the back of my skull. I knew he cared, I knew he wanted me back, but I’m starting to think maybe I was way too in my head.

If you had been here, I could’ve had someone other than my deadbeat counselor to talk to. You would’ve knocked some sense into me, told me to get my shit together and talk to Lucas. Because I’m going to die today, and all I want is to hug him. But I think it’s too late.

I wish I could see your smile one more time, hear your laugh. Dance to Madonna using your radio. For once, you made me feel like a girl. A real girl. Not an outcast, not a tomboy, not the token girl of the Party, but a girl. A strong one. A brave one. Wonder Woman.

I hope you’ve kept up with those comics, because everytime I read about Princess Diana, I see remember your messy bedhead and your sick ass clothes, or as you call them, bitchin’. You make me think of Wonder Woman, not because of your powers, but because of your strength, and your determination, and the way you feel things so deeply, deep enough to drive you to help people you don’t even know.

I’ll always miss you, El.

—Max.

El broke down, curling up in a ball and clinging the paper close and near. The wooden floor squeaked underneath her shifting weight.

Hopper opened the door, and she choked on tears as he embraced her, brushing a hand over her hair which was just beginning to grow again. El hugged him back, her tears staining his flannel. When she opened her eyes over his shoulder, she smiled fondly at the radio.

Chapter Text

Lucas patted his hands on his thighs, wiping sweat from his shaking hands. He took a deep breath, inhaling the stale and humid scent of Max’s hospital room. She laid there quietly, arms at her sides and eyes closed peacefully as though she was resting peacefully. Lucas placed his hand on her cold arm, wishing he could swap places with her. She never deserved this.

Her letter to him was on her bedside table, collecting dust. He’d sat in here for hours on end for weeks now, wether it was with Erica, or the party, or by himself reading a book to her. He’d play music for her, or turn on the radio to recap baseball games (she was a fan of the Dodgers), or even just sat there quietly in the middle of the night, flipping through her favorite comics as he drifted off to sleep in the stiff hospital chair.

The one thing he never did was touch the letter. He’d stared at it, telling himself that would be the day he opened it. The day never came. He doesn’t know if it’s fear, or grief, or the permanence of accepting her saying goodbye.

Just a bit ago, Nancy had come in to brush Max’s hair and replace her flowers. Ever since she left, Lucas had been staring at the letter, paralyzed. His eyes flickered upwards to the small notepad drawing of him and Max at the movies together, a date they never got to have. That drawing was what pushed him to opening the letter.

Dear Lucas,

I can feel my heart break while I’m writing these letters. I’m writing yours last because, well, I honestly don’t want to write it. Not because I have nothing to say to you, but because I have everything to say to you, and I’ve not given myself enough time. But it’s easier to write a letter when I’m about to die than it is to sit you down and have a serious talk. I know you probably want me to just talk to you, but there’s too much in my head right now. But I can’t go without telling you these things.

I pushed you away and now all I want is to have never let you go. Because now I realize I really needed you, and I was the only one who couldn’t see it. I was convinced you wouldn’t understand, that being around you would only remind me of Billy. Of how he died, of how he treated you, of how it’s really stupid for me to grieve him so badly. But now I’m grieving you, too.

When you first told me about the Upside Down and all the creepy shit that had happened before I arrived here, I believed you immediately. I believed you because of the fear I’d seen on Will’s face on Halloween. I wrote that in his letter too, but what I didn’t say in his is that I felt scared too. I wondered if I had escaped one nightmare in California and come right into the next one.

But you made me feel like I wasn’t in a nightmare, but I was in a dream instead. A really happy and beautiful dream I never wanted to wake up from. One where even the darkness in the world isn’t enough to hurt me, because you were there. I was so afraid of waking up. I wanted to live in that dream for the rest of my life. But like all dreams, I did wake up. And the darkness consumed me. And you weren’t there, because I wouldn’t let you. I wish I could’ve just stayed in the dream and kept you close.

I fell for you on the bus roof, the fall of eighth grade, waiting on Dart to get lured to the junkyard. I fell harder for you when you showed that you really cared for me, always apologizing when I was angry at the dumbest shit.

I know I can be angry, too angry. Angry to an unnecessary amount. But I know that if it’s safe for me to be angry around anyone, it’s safe to be angry around you. You’ve seen the ugly parts of my personality, the unpolished bits of my life, my fears and my sadness. My pain. I’ve let you seen it all, and I don’t regret it. Because I trust you more than anyone, Lucas. I’m sorry if I’ve been a burden. I know I can be a lot sometimes. Temperamental, bitchy, judgy, sad, furious. You’ve seen it all, and you’ve stayed. That’s something no one had ever done for me before.

These are the reasons I trust you. Because you know me better than I know myself, you can read my emotions better than I can feel them. There’s nothing I regret about us, nothing except pushing you away. I’m sorry. I miss you. Please forgive me. I love you.

—Max.

Lucas cried harder than he’d ever cried in his life. Like a young, broken child. He was six years old again, with a bloody knee crying out for his mom after falling off his bike. He felt weak, and sick, and shattered. His heart was breaking, bit by bit, wishing Max would just come back to him.

He sniffled like a little kid, taking both his hands and placing them on top of Max’s, cold and still. He laid his head where their hands connected, crying. “God, Max…” he cried, “please, I know you’re there.” His voice was weak and tired, cracking at every syllable. “Please come back to me.”

His ears were ringing, his heart pounding. The ringing came in short beeping waves, seeming to overwhelm his mind, coming from every direction, infiltrating his skull and tingling through his body. He opened his eyes only to realize it wasn’t in his head. The beeping of the heart monitor connected to Max was getting louder, faster, shooting up. Her blood pressure was rising, and he felt the slightest bit of warmth return to her hand.

He shot up out of his chair, practically punching the call-for-help button with enough force to crack the wall. Tears streamed down his face as he brushed a hand through her hair, the beeping rising, warmth slowly rushing back to her hand which he remained holding. Her cheeks flushed, color coming back to her face. Her chest rose and fell faster than it had in weeks. Her arms and legs twitched. Lucas’ heart pounded.

He prayed he wasn’t imagining this. “Max?” He choked out, trembling.

That was when she opened her eyes.