AN: Recently I started rewatching this show and realised I didn't actually finish it when it was airing. And now I have marathoned through it all and…well you can see where this is going. hEllO fAndOM
The show was pretty good BUT I think Disney took a really solid idea and wasted it on a kid's channel with that infuriating laugh track…and they even added background music on some of the episodes? Like bro, if you're gonna add music, you shouldn't have made it multi-camera. But that rant is for another day.
As much as I love all the characters, I've always had a soft spot for Max and felt peeved every time he was brushed off and side-lined. The writers never gave him a chance and it's such a shame because he had potential to be a great character.
Also, there is a major lacking of Max!whump on this site and I am disappointed in my fellow Waverlies.
So, it starts off as Max-centric but I actually have a plan with all the characters. I'm splitting this piece of fanfiction into many arcs, like you would in a TV show. I already have my arcs lined up for me to write. That's if I get that far lol
SPECIAL THANKS TO MY EDITOR AND DEAR FRIEND MEGALEGU! This story would not have gotten this far or even published if not for you.
I nattered enough, on with the story!
Summary: Things were so much simpler when they were children. But eventually, they all had to grow up and face the world; especially when it went after them. Magic, conflict, and the paranormal never rest.
Disclaimer: If I did, it wouldn't be on a kid's channel, I'll tell you that much.
Max's Departure: Part I
Max Russo stuffed everything he needed into his duffle bag. It helped that he didn't attach a lot of sentiment to his things, with the exception of his dead pet lizard that his ex never returned, (though it was a moot point, since where he was ultimately heading he'd doubt they'd allow him to keep it).
Having fit his entire life into one bag made his decision easier to follow. After the final blow-out with his dad that evening, he no longer felt welcome to stick around this place he once called home. He couldn't recall when it had gotten so bad. If he could trace it back, he would say things started to slowly spiral downward after the Wizard Competition. He didn't hold a grudge against his siblings, and in a way, a small part of Max felt relief at not having to worry about accidentally blurting out that he was a wizard; having said that, Max no longer felt the need to let his oddities and random balderdash take the lead as often as it used to. He still had fun doing it from time to time though, if not for the amusing reactions from the people around him.
No, what it really simmered down to was the dispute over the way he wanted to run things at the sub-shop. It wasn't the first time his father dismissed all his ideas, but at that point he was practically handing the shop over to his son, and it wasn't like Max had anything else going on, so everything was riding on this plan. Yet his father insisted on not letting him take control of anything, even when his ideas made more sense financially. (This was where Max cursed himself for acting so good at being incompetent all these years; his reputation had preceded him). His father didn't trust him. And if he didn't trust him, he wouldn't give Max the chance to prove himself.
From then on every little argument between them piled on over the years until his high school graduation. Now it was all about college. Max didn't want to waste a good portion of his life and drown in debt just to end up running the family business anyway. His parents disagreed. At some point, it was decided that at least one of their children should be out there experiencing the life of a University student. Justin's clone had done his four years without anyone knowing, Alex took an internship at a gallery in the city straight out of high school, and Max…Max just wasn't interested.
"Of course you should be interested," his parents had told him. "They'll be some of the best years of your life."
Still, Max had insisted that he just wanted to run the family business. And they all said the same thing, what if it doesn't work out?
As if he'll run it to the ground, as if he'll screw it up like he did everything else. It didn't used to bother him, their lack of faith. He had to admit it was mostly his fault for letting his childlike wonder run amok all these years. He made his bed and now he had to lie in it.
But that was okay, he was better off on his own anyway. Being the third kid, he had grown to rely on getting things done for himself. (This was partly why when his parents suddenly shown an interest in his future, it threw him off).
In his defence, Max had actually come up with another plan. About a month into his senior year of high school, he went on a field trip to learn about a Marine JROTC program. It lasted for a week and to his surprise, he found it quite thrilling. He also found it entertaining, though he doubted the corporal would agree; he didn't crack a smile at a single witticism Max had made. His jokes were hilarious, thank you very much. He even made the privates laugh, and at that moment, Max pictured himself fitting in quite well there.
On his tip-toes, the youngest Russo passed every room in the apartment, recoiling at the sound of creaking from the wooden floors that should've been refined by now. Sometimes he wished his father wasn't so cheap, one of the many roots of their arguments.
He quickly snagged his helmet and keys by the front door and made his way outside to his Bonneville motorcycle, another topic that made its guest appearance into the most irrelevant conversations. Max referred to it as his pride and joy, his parents referred to it as death on two wheels.
With one final glance behind him, his duffle bag hanging by his shoulder, his figure disappeared into the night.
"So that's it? You're just gonna take off?" Startled, Max whipped his head towards the voice. There sat his sister on a nearby stoop, waiting for him. How the hell-?
"Alex, what're you doing out here in the middle of the night?"
"What am I doing?" She stood her full height. "What're you doing-" she pointed an accusing finger at him in an eerily similar manner to their mother every time one of them broke her lamp, "-taking off at one in the morning?"
Max set his bag down. "There's nothing left here for me, Alex."
"Wow, doesn't that make me feel better."
"I didn't mean it like that."
"And what, we're not even worth a goodbye?"
Max looked at her sadly. "I'm not doing this to be a bad brother. It's just easier this way."
"Easier for who?" There was that accusing tone.
"Okay, fine. It's easier for me. I don't do goodbyes." Despite how deep his voice had gotten, it still managed to crack when he got upset.
Alex walked up to him, standing almost a head shorter. It seemed every day Max was growing another inch, and it didn't look like it would be stopping anytime soon.
"Where are you going to go? Have you even thought this through?"
"As a matter of fact I have!" his voice rose, causing Alex to slightly jump in surprise. After Max visibly calmed himself, he continued, "I'm not that little kid who shoves jellybeans into his ears anymore. The world didn't stop when you moved out, Alex."
Max felt a pang of guilt when he began to see tears pooling in his sister's eyes. There was a moment of silence between them.
"What're you gonna do?" Alex said.
"Maybe do some travelling first, see the world. And then head to the Marines."
Alex's eyes widened. She punched her brother in the bicep. "Are you shitting me, you egghead?"
"Stop calling me egghead. And ow!"
"The Marines? Have you lost your freaking mind? You don't know what you're doing. And to think you almost had me convinced you had a plan-"
"Alex." Max's soft tone put a halt in his sister's ranting. "It's happening."
The tears have now tipped over her eyes and she launched her arms over to hug her little brother tightly before he saw them stream down her cheeks. Her arms wrapped around his torso. He followed suit and rested his cheek by her hair.
"Be careful out there," Alex cried. "And I don't know if you're aware when you signed up but some soldiers don't make it back home. So don't let them send you into combat."
Max chuckled sadly. "I'm aware…and it's not up to me." They pulled apart.
"Fine, just promise me that you'll come back in one piece."
She did not like the look that crossed her brother's face. "Alex, you know I can't make that promise."
Alex felt a twinge in her stomach. Something about the way Max had said it, how his expression twisted into a form she had never before glimpsed on him. He was older, he held himself differently...all those years she had spent teasing and taunting her sibling, she had never considered the possibility that he would grow up. Now she was supposed to picture him in fatigues, carrying a gun? She almost recoiled at the idea.
Slowly, she stepped away, turning her back towards him, unable to fully process everything running through her mind. Unconsciously, her hand gripped the necklace her mother passed down to her - a family heirloom. It was a simple black chord with a silver, Mexican peso coin dangling from it. The emblem depicted an eagle biting a snake in the centre, with Estados Unidos Mexicanos written around it.
She couldn't do this, let Max go off on his own. She was his big sister, she was always told to watch out for him since the day he was born. Alex couldn't let Max leave, especially in such a vulnerable state, having no magical powers anymore.
Wait. Magical powers...
Quickly, Alex gripped the necklace tighter, whispering a protection spell she had memorised. The medallion emitted a faint golden glow as she finished reciting the words. Max may not have his powers anymore but she still did and she'd be damned if she didn't at least give him some level of protection while he was away.
"Max, wait." Her brother turned to face her, having already sat down on his bike, engine roaring.
Alex unclasped the chain and carefully placed it around her brother's neck, leaning in close as she secured it.
Max looked down at the medallion, a hint of wonderment in his eyes. Alex remembered how, in childhood, he had always had that look when she offered to play with him or let him borrow one of her things. The words, "Really, Alex?" echoed in her memory.
She offered him a wobbly smile. "I want you to have it."
"No, Alex. Mom gave this to you." He reached up to detach it but she placed her hand over his.
"It's a loan. So you have to come back and give it to me, got it?"
Max opened his mouth to protest but paused at the determined look on his sister's face. He knew he wouldn't be able to stop her. He nodded, finally, giving her a small smile in return.
Alex removed her hand, wiping at the corner of her eye. "And look at it this way, it'll match your dog tags."
Max gave her one of his mischievous, lopsided grins and she enveloped her arms around him, detecting a whiff of cologne. Since when had Max deviated from his usual overindulgent Axe regimen? Somehow, her brother had gotten caught in something, had changed ever-so-slightly in so many ways that it was impossible to know about until it was staring her in the face.
Privately, Alex wondered if that was purposeful on his part.
Max grazed the top of her hairline with a kiss, an uncharacteristic gesture that caused Alex's eyes to well with tears once more.
"Take care of yourself, sis." He twisted the handle on his bike and took off with a roar.
Alex stepped off the sidewalk and into the street, watching the distance between herself and her brother grow longer.
xXx
Two years later…
Straightening up in his seat, Max peered out the window of the taxi as it slowly inched down the traffic-laden street. His flight back to New York City had felt like it would never end and he couldn't suppress his yawns.
Despite the late hour, the city was bustling, especially in downtown Waverly. Max felt an anticipatory jolt run up through him, coursing along his arms and legs until goosebumps appeared. Reflexively, he reached up to grip the medallion around his neck, the coin still depicting its ferocious image and somehow remaining unscratched and untarnished from the chaos.
After two years of service in the Marines, Max had to admit, he was a little anxious to see how home had changed since he'd been gone. He had been emailing and receiving replies from Alex, but she no longer lived above the sub-shop. Although he hadn't heard anything back from his brother, Alex had sent Justin's wishes in all her emails. With a twinge of sadness, Max had a suspicion his older brother was still angry at him for leaving and not saying a word. As for his parents, every so often he sent postcards with the words I'm okay. Every day he suppressed the guilt weighing on his chest at the thought of his mother's constant worry for him.
The decision to come back to Waverly hadn't been an easy one. When reenlisting time came along, he would have simply signed on to do yet another year of service. However, something had been gnawing at him for a while now. He'd been experiencing strange symptoms, headaches that persisted for days, abnormal aches in his arms and back, dizzy spells…he didn't want to push his luck and end up getting sent home in a body bag. He doubted it was that serious but he didn't want to take any chances, especially in another country. So with a promise to return to his fellow bulldogs soon, Max packed his minimal belongings and booked a flight home.
Home. He rolled the word around in his mouth for a moment, contemplating its strangeness. He supposed Waverly was home. He'd grown up there, he'd learned to drive and went to prom there. He argued and laughed with his siblings there. Anyone else would call that home. But would he? Max couldn't think of the answer as the taxi pulled to a stop in front of Waverly Sub-Station.
"This is it," he muttered to himself.
"I know it is!" the taxi driver retorted from the driver's seat. "This is the address you gave me. Now get the hell out!"
It's good to be back in New York, Max thought, grimacing and paying the man before stepping out onto the sidewalk. The sub-shop always closed by ten o'clock and it was already half past. His mother and father would be cleaning up about now. With any luck, his dad would have forgotten to lock the door, like he usually did and he could just walk in.
He could have called or at least given advance notice that he was coming but he was pretty sure he'd have no idea what to say. Hey Mom, hey Dad. Sorry I went off to the Marines for two years and never spoke to any of you. I learned how to shoot a gun, isn't that cool?
Maybe some part of him long ago would have relished this moment, arriving home like a purported badass, sporting some well-defined arms and torso, a tattoo snaking out from under the sleeve of his shirt (his mom was not gonna be happy about that) but – no. All Max felt was a sense of foreboding as he stood in front of the sub-shop. He doubted that anyone would want to run up and embrace him, let alone inquire about his muscle mass.
However – as he'd mentioned – he wasn't feeling normal at the moment. People returned to the place they felt comfortable when they didn't feel right…right?
Shaking his head, Max took a deep breath and opened the door.
"We're closed," his father's voice immediately travelled across the shop.
Max's lip twitched, a faint of a smile. "Oh, yeah? What's it take for a guy to get a sandwich around here?"
Jerry, his father, bent over a table and wiping it clean with a rag, straightened up and turned around, most likely ready to chew out another rude New Yorker but he stopped short when he recognised his son.
"Max?" he breathed out, rag dropping onto the floor.
Max shifted his weight from one foot to the other, still holding the duffel bag by his shoulder. "Hey, Dad," he said, his voice coming out low. For a while he didn't know what his father's reactions were going to be – was he gonna yell at him? Lecture him about his departure? Punch him? But then…
"Jesus," Jerry said, striding across the room and reaching his son in moments. He grasped him in a hug and Max tentatively embraced him back.
"Jerry, where did you put the-" Theresa walked into the dining area and paused, evaluating the scene and realising immediately who her husband was hugging. "Max!" she shouted, half-running, half-walking in her high heels. She joined the hug, peppering her son with kisses on his cheeks.
"Geez, Mom," Max finally let a grin settle on his expression.
"Oh dios mio." Theresa then gave him a swat on the shoulder. "Where have you been? Do you know how long I've – we've – been wondering where you were? Alex said some business about the Marines and we just couldn't believe…" her voice trailed off as Max's fingers pulled the chain out from under his shirt, on which two dog tags dangled.
"Uh…yeah…Private Russo, at your service," Max attempted to joke but his mother simply looked horrified.
"Private…I…I don't understand…" Theresa still grasped the dog tags with her hand, looking from Jerry to Max and then back at the tags which clearly stated they belonged to:
RUSSO
MAX, A. E. A POS
986 46 2707
USMC M
ROMAN CATHOLIC
"You're here, though," Jerry interrupted, attempting to console Theresa. "So you must be done with it then."
Max adjusted the strap on his duffel bag, feeling uncomfortable to place it down while his mother was still so close to him. It had been a while since anyone had approached him so quickly and personally. It was unnerving.
"I…I can't say for sure whether or not I'm done with…" Max paused. "My service."
Once more, Theresa clasped her arms tighter around Max and said, "I can't believe you're here! Your father and I…we had no idea, mijo, that…" she gave a quick squeeze at her son's bicep, blatantly gawking. She missed the imperceptible twitch near Max's eye when she squeezed.
Jerry took a hold of Max's bag. "Here, let's take this upstairs. You must be tired. Theresa, would you mind closing up?"
Theresa, who was still in state of surprise at her son's unexpected appearance, absently nodded.
On the way up the spiral steps, Max offered to help with his bag but his father waved him off and insisted on doing it himself. Fondly, he smiled at his old man's never-changing stubborn ways.
They reached his room and Max was hit with a wave of nostalgia. He hadn't stepped into this room in two years, and it hadn't changed one bit. The night he left he had cleaned and sorted everything in it. He threw away shit he didn't need, and took the necessities with him; he was surprised at how big the room was after. His bed remained untouched, his desk tidied, and his floor clear of any food stains. Although he was surprised to find the smell of antiseptic roaming.
Hearing his son get a whiff of the air, Jerry answered, "Your mom is always in here cleaning. She wanted to make sure the room was ready for you when you came back."
Guilt and sadness built in Max's chest. "Listen, Dad-"
"No, me first," Jerry interrupted. "I was wrong."
Max's brow rose upwards. Of all the things he imagined his father would say to him the day he'd come back, that wasn't even in the top ten. Then he remembered the man hugged him to the point of suffocation only five minutes ago and any regrets of coming home were squashed.
Jerry continued, "When I woke up that morning and Alex told me you were gone. I-" he cleared his throat. "I honestly didn't know what to do.
"At first I was mad, furious even. I figured once you realised how much work actually goes into the military you'd be heading straight back home, tail between your legs."
And just like that they fell right back into that familiar rhythm. "Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad."
"Kid, just let me finish-"
"I really don't have the energy for this right now-"
"Please, Max."
Max was surprised to hear the pleading in his father's voice.
Jerry took this as a sign to continue. "In the first few days, I assumed you were coming back in that damn motorcycle of yours. But then more days pass, then weeks," he repressed the sting he felt in his heart, "then years. The more time went by, the more scared I got."
This was unfamiliar territory for Max. "What do you mean?"
"For one thing, you were gone for so long I thought you were de-" he paused, collecting himself. It surprised Max, seeing him like this. The only time his father ever displayed that much emotion was for Alex. "And that meant I had jeopardised my relationship with my son forever."
"Dad-"
"Just listen." Jerry placed his hands on his son's shoulders and slightly shook him with affection. "If I had lost you…I didn't want that stupid fight to be my last words to you."
Max swallowed the lump in his throat.
"I'm sorry. I am so…sorry."
There they were, those words. Max had pictured this moment a hundred times in his head, but he never thought it'd actually happen. Maybe he was dreaming, maybe he didn't pack his bag and flew back, maybe he was still laying on his uncomfortable mattress back at camp. Jerry, his massively pig-headed father who had never believed that he'd amount to anything, had just apologised. This was a historical landmark in their relationship.
"Can you forgive me?"
After a long pause, Jerry was sure that he blew it and Max was going to kick him out, but then his son let out a long sigh and said, "Of course I can forgive you, Dad."
A surge of relief washed over Jerry and they hugged once more, pulling apart when Theresa entered the room a few seconds later. "There's some leftover lasagne in the fridge for you, Max. I'll heat it up."
"As much as I missed your cooking terribly, Mom, I just really wanna crash for the night."
"Of course, mijo." She smiled tenderly. Her husband walked passed her, glancing a final smile at his son and then leaving. Theresa walked up to Max and cupped his face lovingly. He'd grown taller over the past two years, and her heart ached at the realisation that she missed it. She pulled him down to kiss his forehead. "Goodnight, cariño."
"Goodnight, Mom." Theresa was at the door when her son said, "I love you."
She felt her heart swell. "To the moon and back, Maxie."
When his tearful mother closed the door behind her, Max took a deep breath and sat on his old bed. He processed everything that happened; the moment the cab stopped in front of his family's sub-station, seeing his parents again, his father damn well apologising. Sure, the damage between them still needed some repair, their relationship was far from 'normal', let alone perfect...however, Max had a feeling that things were looking up and, thinking that, he felt a rush of warmth within him. Earlier, he'd wondered if this was the place he could call home. This feeling, right now...if it wasn't 'home' it was pretty damn close.
Max smiled genuinely for the first time in a long time. It felt good to be back.
TBC
AN: I'd give you a link to what the heirloom looks like but ff keeps screwing it up. So I urge you to google "mexican necklace men" and the second result should be a six-sided, silver coin with a black cord, and voila!
To add another thing to my list of disappointment, WoWP never focused on the relationship between the other siblings. Don't get me wrong, I love some good bro-sis banter between Justin and Alex, but I think it was adorable how Alex sometimes hugged her tiny brother in the background and it's a shame they didn't explore that more. Even Justin and Max got more scenes.
Oh, and dear readers, don't get too comfortable. It only goes downhill from here.
Review, please? Writers need feedback!
Seriously we gobble that stuff up.
