Welcome back guys!

This was a tricky but fun part to write. I feel like I've gotten better with writing these characters, particularly Max and Mike and their unique (yet similar) voices. Hopefully you all feel the same once you finish.

I suggest reading Part 3 before diving in. These stories can stand on their own but there are hints to older parts in new releases that you won't catch. I'd also listen to Placebo's cover of Runnin' Up That Hill while you read. Such a good version!

TW: elements and references to domestic/gun violence, post traumatic stress disorder, and panic attacks (first chapter) are present. Please tread carefully and enjoy!

One-shot Title:

If I Only Could... I'd Be Runnin' Up That Road

Characters/Ships:

Mike Wheeler, Eleven Hopper, Max Mayfield, Lucas Sinclair, the Wheeler clan/Lumax

Alternate Summary:

Lucas, Dustin, and everyone else wanted to pretend like everything was fine with Max. Like she wasn't forced to live with a raging asswipe of a stepfather and a blind fool for a mother. But Mike couldn't, no matter how many times she pushed his buttons.

He knew too much about abuse to keep his mouth shut.

Hawkins, Indiana

July 4, 1986

Large, yet delicate fingers glided across the fretboard, the tips caressing each cord like a knitter weaving her thread. Each strum sparked a chorus of notes. Deep, euphonious cries, calling out to Mike. They fueled the embers of his desire to find the lyrics. That perfect blend of words capable of not only complementing his melody, but also possessing enough power to stand on its own two feet. Something that could reach through even the strongest walls of the heart and pull, no matter which emotion it unearthed.

Whether the blast radius was of resurgence or devastation, both were better alternatives than feeling nothing at all.

Mike had been numb once upon a time, and it wasn't a pretty sight. The bullet didn't shatter his spine that night after he and El had slipped through the defenses of one of the Soviets' gulags, yet he felt paralyzed. He felt numb after the piercing burn struck his nerves, when his hand was crushed between concrete and the back of the girl he loved. Even when he could hear the tears in her cries without having to rely on his darkening vision.

Out of all the insane shit he'd experienced in the last three years, his brush with death was the thing to push him over that edge. All it took was one last, sharp prick for his heart to be reduced to stone. A cold, unmoving mass that had only seemed to twitch around El. It was a good thing for a while, the mere thought of seeing her smile just enough to get him out of bed every morning. However, it became evident that she would be his only ambition if left alone, which sparked a well overdue intervention.

His parents - well really his mother, she was the staple in his recovery while his father was more concerned with the hospital bills - led the charge along with the support of his sister and friends. It wasn't the quickest transition, as they were up against Mike's natural obstinacy and the boost of his juvenile hormones. He went from dismissing every invitation to leave his house to dodging any rule he deemed too strict once he finally yearned for a change in scenery. There wasn't common ground for weeks until he returned home from school one day. He had been a slumped mess when he stepped into his room, but the exhaustion dissipated from his bones as soon as he found the guitar case.

The guitar looked exactly like the four-string Gibson Victory Bass he saw through the window of a shop he had strolled past the weekend before Spring Break. The very sight of its glossy, midnight blue base galvanized a pipe dream of playing like John Lennon or Jimi Hendrix. It was out of his reach, as he couldn't afford the guitar or its lessons. Plus, it was protected by the same foundation of the shop's former moniker - Radio Shack - and reopening an old wound was the last thing he had wanted. But then it was right before his eyes, propped up against his bed instead of collecting dust on a display.

Suddenly, he could feel the warmth rush to his soul in all its intensity. He'd sense it every time he played his first chord of the day, even if it was a poor start to a tune he couldn't shake. He felt revived, truly alive for the first time in… months. Even before his accident.

He still had his demons, sure, but he also had a new and improved way to exercise them.

"I was lost in the void, no way out..."

Mike's dark ringlets careened over his shoulder as he shook his head, his fingers halting over the fretboard. They hovered there for a moment before flexing back to their assigned notes, his left hand guiding the first strain of the same chorus.

"I was lost in the void, no way out.

Then the light came in, bigger than I've ever seen."

His sonorous bellowing concluded with a ponderous exhale as he loosened his grip around the neck of his guitar. In the same beat, he grasped at the pen tucked behind his ear and dipped to the side, right over the fresh page of his spiral notebook.

"Better than nothing, I guess."

"It's certainly a good start."

Mike whirled to the door, his wide eyes softening at the sight of his mother.

"But there's always room to improve," she hinted, her tone reeking of that familiar, reposeful tone. "Light can be big, yes. But it's always bright, no matter the size."

He gaped at her, his narrowed eyes flitting between the suggestive glimmer in her irises and the sneaky curve of her mouth. Then, the flickering light bulb inside his head irradiated a steady glow, his gaze darting to his notes.

"Oh… That does sound better, thanks."

Mike made quick work of the correction, scratching out the word 'bigger' with a sloppy, disproportionate 'X' mark before scrawling its replacement over the blue line. When he was finished, he turned to face his mother again, blinking at the smile gracing her lips.

Before he could question her… mom-like behavior, she beat him to the punch, her frame still lingering between his bedroom and the hall.

"I didn't mean to interrupt. It's just… it's nice to hear you play. You're making me wish I still had my Steel String, but that's a story for another day."

Karen finally took her steps through the threshold, her strides halting at the foot of her son's bed. "Right now, I think we should have a talk."

Somehow, Mike's pale complexion only lightened, it's shade nearly a twin to a blank sheet of paper.

"No, not that talk. Your father was hoping to avoid it, and that's why we made you take that sex education class," she said, biting back a chuckle at his theatrical deflation. "You haven't been to the parade since you were Holly's age, and I still don't like the idea of leaving you at home by yourself, so I thought you could go with Nancy when she heads to the school."

The eldest of the Wheeler siblings had spent a chunk of her senior year reporting for the Hawkins High-ly News, so it was only right that she would have a front row seat at the sports exhibition. It was an annual event, celebrating the men and women in uniform and showcasing the athletic abilities of the students. Since last year had been in the spotlight of the softball field in Riverview Park, it was time for the basketball court in the school's new and improved gymnasium to shine. As well as Lucas' renewed skills, namely his iron strength and lightning-fast speed.

His work over the last year had granted him a spot on one of the opposing teams, and Max was his cheerleader (contrary to her burning distaste for pep, pom-poms, and pleated skirts) so it was a no-brainer she would be there. If she was there, El would show up too, as well as the rest of the Party. Mike, however, was still on a tight leash. He could only go so far, which wasn't much despite some of the freedoms he had earned along his path of finding some normalcy.

At least, that was his impression a couple minutes ago, when he was still deep within the symphony of his reverie.

"But the game doesn't start until four. That, plus the tribute speech, and Nancy… she's gonna wanna go over her notes for her article..."

Mike hesitated, his round eyebrows soaring beneath the curtains of his bangs.

"I'd miss curfew!"

"I can overlook one night, as long you're home by ten," was Karen's swift reply, her stance firm against the bed frame.

"OK, but El's gonna be there, and she hasn't exactly been on your guest list for family dinners. Not since, well, y'know…" His words hit a roadblock on the ride up his throat.

Rather than attempting to pass it, he stayed quiet, letting the silence permeate through the air. It grew in thickness the longer he avoided eye contact, but he could still feel the weight of his mother's gaze. He tried to shoulder it when he shrugged off the strap of his guitar, but it might as well have slapped him across the face, because his shoulder protested at the movement. He hissed out a breath, easing through the sharp pinch. But he couldn't let the offense go without shooting an equally piercing glare at the spot below his clavicle.

The mattress dipped at his left, drawing his gaze to a duo of denim limbs as they draped over the edge before settling on his own legs.

"No, I don't think what you two have will last when you go off to college. And I still don't like how reckless you can get whenever she's caught in some problem."

Mike bit back a scoff, the sound departing from his lips in a hushed exhale. His mother had heard it from him enough to know his intent. Nevertheless, it was her turn to take a breath - allowing the fresh air to cool the rising, hot flames of her pique.

"-But I know she has a good heart, just like someone else I know. So, she can't be all that bad." She bumped his shoulder with a gentle jab, but it was her words that finally called to Mike's full attention.

His eyes stretched to her warm yet dark irises, their width paling in comparison to his mouth. His surprise melted under the heat of his mother's beaming smile. He found himself attempting to match her features, his mouth curling into a shadow of a smile.

"Thanks Mom."

...

Later…

...

"So, the goal is to score the biggest number by shooting a ball into that net… thing? And the winner… Do they get the same trophies, like in football and softball?

Mike shrugged a shoulder, his space shifting once again from the booming gymnasium to the serene air of his bubble with El.

"Well it depends, I guess. This is just a laid back version, so whoever wins won't get a big prize, like a championship trophy, but they do get a good popularity boost."

"Oh," she breathed, her features lax in a flat expression before pinching around her eyes. "Well, the blue team would have had the highest number already if Lucas was playing."

He scanned along the sidelines and stopped at the end of the bench, his gaze finding the back of his best friend's jersey. He glanced to the net, then the backboard, his eyes taking in the vermillion numbers of the scoreboard.

"We've still got time left. And Max's fuse will blow before then. Hard to see anyone argue with her after that."

"Shit, it probably already blew when she left to go get the snacks. That's why it's taking so long," Dustin chimed in, jutting his head past Will's shoulder so they could catch his shit-eating grin.

Blaring, wild cheering flooded back to the drums of Mike's ears, ripping him back into the chaos of the game. He barely had time to read the dwindling seconds of the clock, or focus on anything for more than a minute.

"She was sad though, even before the game. She doesn't talk about it, but I know she misses Billy."

El's light yet lucid voice brought him back to her. But a troublesome cloud had darkened their space, and Mike could no longer feel the tranquil warmth. Still, he met her gaze, her warm, honey irises burning with all the worries she didn't verbalize. She didn't have to, her look had been enough to compel his attention to the seat at the end of their row - its gaping vacancy nagging at the small pit in his stomach.

Max had offered to go get them something to munch on about a full hour into the game. That was thirty-minutes ago, almost two quarters into the match. Too long of a time to be standing in front of a vending machine. Even if the thing was cursed, he would still manage to at least retrieve a bag of Doritos and leave in five minutes. Or he would just leave with his dignity and a half-baked apology once he was certain it wouldn't budge.

He had quite a short fuse too, so he knew she wasn't hunting for the nearest, working junk food dispenser. However, before he could even think of where she would go, a high-pitched hiss shook him out of his thoughts. He recovered just in time to greet Lucas as he waved him over, and he rose from his seat, giving a gentle squeeze to El's hand in a promise of his return before leaping down the stairwell.

The boys met at the last two steps, Mike's elbow digging into cold steel as he leaned into the railing.

"I'd say you were on fire out there, but we both know you've just been keeping the bench warm."

"Is it bad that I'm wishing the guy in my place jukes a little too hard on the next play?" Lucas jested, his spirits high even at the quick decline of his grin. "But seriously, at this rate, I'm just glad Max dipped before she could see this show get ten times shittier."

Mike peeped a glance at his feet, noting the way his knotted laces swept over the insignia of his sneakers. "And miss the chance to rip Coach Scott a new one? Nah, she just needed a break."

Lucas nodded, his soft, brown eyes overshadowed by the frown deforming his lips. Yet, their gleam remained, even when the whistle blew, forcing him to return to the bench while the remainder of the quarter resumed. In fact, they burned brighter in the seconds preceding his eventual turn, just as they did when Max had gone missing last winter.

The mere memory of its heat was enough to get Mike moving again, his stomps detaching from the steps of the bleachers and treading around to the door. It clicked shut behind him as he entered the hall, his steps slowing to a stop before resumed his walk.

He didn't have an exact idea of where she could be. There were many possibilities, and a handful of them had all fallen along the same straight line, so he followed that path. His stare zigzagged across each side, scanning through the glass panes of the classrooms. He didn't stop until his feet rounded the corner, turning right into the next hall.

Three more rooms made up one side, while lockers lined the other wall. She stood across from one, the lights stapled into the ceiling highlighting a crinkled hood and a fraction of her auburn tresses. However, once he resumed his pace, his gaze was more attentive to the figure behind her shield. The very sight of his bleached spikes and cocksure smirk sparked the embers of Mike's core, his treads once again gaining more speed.

"Well look what the cat dragged in! I just ran out of grass, Wheelman, so you're gonna have to come back on Monday."

Max cursed under her breath, her teeth grinding against each other. Luckily, they were guarded by the tight exterior of her mouth, her pressed lips holding firm even as she spun around to face the rude interruption.

"I'm not here for a smoke, Dennis. Even if I was, it wouldn't be from you," Mike scoffed, turning his attention to the task at hand. "I don't know what you heard, but I'm pretty sure Dustin asked for Reese's. Not a botched batch of coke."

Refusing to entertain him with the slur of sharp words edging off the tip of her tongue, she scoffed and returned her attention to her purchase. But she moved with more haste than before, swapping her cash for a small bottle of booze and a bag of green. Just as fast, she stashed both into the gap between the crevice of her right arm and chest before charging around Mike.

Her high-tops gained momentum across the smooth tiled flooring, only slowing when she whirled around a corner. Finally, they screeched to a stop in front of her locker, and she worked on twirling the dial. However, because she was too focused on recalling the combination, she had left her possessions bare under his radar. Hell, she had almost forgotten he was right on her tail if it hadn't been for the jolt of his theft. The air washed into the cluttered space of her locker, but not before she could swipe them back.

And certainly not without retaliating with a cutting jab of her own.

"That look like ice to you? I thought you were shot in the back, not the blinkers."

Mike's grip around the eight ounces of marijuana went slack upon her words, allowing her to swipe the bag from his clutches as if another second granted him the chance to crush its precious contents. She had struck a nerve, but it wasn't her first time.

Max grimaced, her pointed glare melting from her features as she avoided his gaze. Yet, she covered up the lapse in resolve by sticking her face into the darkness of her locker.

It was a decent cover, cloaking her from his indisputable anger while she stuffed her backpack. However, she made the mistake of thinking she was quick enough, slamming the door and turning to the path leading toward the game. Before she could storm away, a rangy hand had caught her arm.

His grip wasn't strong enough to mark her, yet she was struck with the cold sensation of Neil's rough skin.

She saw him.

She heard his filthy words.

She smelled his hot, rancid breath.

She could never escape, no matter how hard she fought.

Even as she whirled around and ripped herself free from Mike's hand, the damage had already been done. She pulled at the azure sleeve, brushing a hand underneath the cuff and over her hair tie before kneading slow strokes into the base of her wrist.

The tips of her fingers smoothed up without a care, rubbing away the invisible mark while also exposing her real ones to the light.

He caught them faster than she did. Yet, it was the blistering red dots etched into her arm that had stoked his flames. The thin, yet lengthy brims of his nails stabbing into his palm.

"When did he do that?"

Max went still, ceasing her scraping around the scabbed edge of the burn.

"Doesn't matter. I'm not talking about this with you."

Again, she made a move to leave. But Mike had charged into her space before she made an advance, his burst of speed uncanny and somehow rivaling her role as their Party's Zoomer.

"Lucas is too nice to say this to you, so I will," he sneered, heat flaring from his nostrils. "You need help - not from drugs, not from him or anyone else that can't arrest or off that asswipe. If you don't get it, the next place you'll be is dead in some ditch."

"Why the hell do you care?! I'm not your girlfriend, I barely even see you as my friend!"

He faltered, his words failing him once again despite their glaring appearance in his thoughts.

Max, however, retained her seething stare. "That's what I thought. So save us both the migraine and stay out of my business."

At last, she pushed past him, practically jogging back to the gymnasium. She didn't care to check if he was on her trail, or stop by Billy's locker to see all the flowers and "Rest In Peace" notes written by complete strangers. She just ran, each pounding step sharp enough to bruise the undersides of her feet.

Her strides only slowed when she charged through the gym door, and her throbbing heart didn't decelerate until she had slumped onto the bench.

She closed her eyes, the chorus of voices mixed with Dustin's loud dismay about her returning empty handed fading with the light.

"... Holy shit, they're actually letting him play!"

The sound of Will's voice cut through the haze of her mind, the surprise of hearing him curse for the first time forcing her vision to resurface. Her gaze found a navy jersey rushing under the cover of whoever's head had taken up her view of the court. Still, she could make out the vivid, gold digits. Together, they spelled out the number forty-two, and she bolted onto her feet upon the realization.

She watched his march to the side in preparation for the opening tip and his race to catch the ball at the left end. She even bore witness to him stepping behind the three-point line and hopping into the crisp air. Her gaping gaze only wandered to the rubber sphere while it soared, eyeing the trail to the hoop with baited breath. The ball ricocheted off the backboard, swirling around the rim for longer than she could function without oxygen. Finally, it fell through the net, and the air crackled with thundering applause.

Before Max could join the chorus of uproarious voices, Lucas had found her among the crowd. Out of all the faces he could have searched for, he chose hers. He beamed at her, his whole face lighting up like the sun. He was her daylight, gracing her with a brilliance so warm, as if the heat had spread to her nerves like wildfire. Yet the warmth was a salve for her wounds, soothing her worries while the rest of the game commenced.

Of course, they lingered at the rear of her mind, fighting to gain control of the forefront. She could feel every prowl, every guttural whisper slicing at her armored skin. Still, the thick exterior held firm, and she retained enough strength for one more battle. One more bone deep scar or blood drawing bruise - just as long as it didn't steal any more light from her friends.

From Lucas, her constant burning star.

The final seconds dwindled down to ten, but it only took him one to shoot the ball, his fingers curling around the ball as he hoisted it into the hoop. The net jostled to accommodate the passage as the clock reached zero, signaling the whirs of the buzzer. The bleachers roared to life, and this time Max tested the limits of her vocal cords. For once - and one time only - she was his cheerleader.

And he never let her hear the end of it, even as the day drifted to dusk, and most of the students had flocked to the courtyard.

"It was amazing, Max! I felt unstoppable, like… like Magic Johnson when he mopped the floor with Gerald Henderson in the NBA Finals!"

She arched a thick, angled brow. "But the Celtics won that round. So by your logic, it'd be the other way around."

"You wouldn't know since you dozed off during overtime." Lucas deflected the tip of her elbow when it lunged at his side, the glow of his grin dimming with his next words.

"I'm just happy you stayed conscious for the real thing, even though you disappeared for a little bit... I almost went looking for you myself."

Her focus fell to the table, her sleeves protecting her arms from the cold and the chipped wood as she crossed her arms.

"I just needed to stretch my legs. Those benches aren't too comfy, y'know," she beamed, though her smirk wasn't relaxed enough to pass his vibe check.

He recaptured her attention with his hand, his soft touch coaxing the merge of their fingers. "You don't have to explain, I get it. I know today was hard for you, I just wish I could have done more."

"Nope, hell no. I know where this is going and we are not going there."

She softened her heated gaze, her eyes twinkling with more light than her shadow of a smile.

"You have done - you are doing more than enough by just being here. I'm not sure anyone has told you this, Stalker, but you're pretty hard to ghost."

"Or you've just lost your magic touch, Mad Max," Lucas parried, readying himself for a jab at yet another sliver of his tender, unguarded skin.

To his surprise, however, the blow never came. He only faced the wrath of her signature glare, which honestly wasn't all that intimidating with the blush setting her cheeks ablaze. They were so red, hot enough to reinforce the steel of his confidence.

"I could go pro one day, you know. Get drafted after I finish school. I'll go to the Lakers, and once I become a household name, we'll get a beach house in Malibu or something."

Max stiffened, the heat in her complexion cooling to a raw, more frigid hue than her natural tone.

His assertion, the way he just outright assumed she would still be in his life at that point shook her to the core. It was a good surprise, like when she moved to Indiana thinking her life was over when she still drew breath. It scared her, yet filled her heart with hope. The two sensations came hand in hand, and it was hard to discern which would prevail when the time came. But right now, in the present, it was easy to mourn or celebrate over a future that was premature.

Too easy.

For both their sakes, she opted from a verbal reply. Instead, she settled on a nod, her fingers tugging his hand closer as she rested against his shoulder. A soft breath left her when Lucas slipped an arm around the small of her back. She almost allowed herself to succumb to his warmth, until a handful of his teammates approached their table, sparking the swift rise of her head.

Ryan, the team captain of the school's official basketball team (and the coach's nephew, unironically) was the first to speak.

"Hey, Lucas right? Your jumpshot could use some tweaking, but nice job on scoring us some points. We would've lost that game otherwise."

Max leered his way, a sharp retort about her boyfriend's form being just fine right on the crest of her tongue. Luckily, Lucas sensed her raging storm before it could wreak havoc.

"Thanks. It was cool to see all my practice be put to good use out there. Hopefully it'll be just as smooth when I try out next semester."

"Oh yeah, I was actually gonna ask if you were interested in joining the team." Ryan curled his mouth in a pasted smile.

"Speaking of… we were just about to head off to the after party, celebrate our hard work and all. My place has everything: booze, babes, and bowling. You in?"

He directed a glance at Max, the size of his grin remaining the same size - at least under the lens of the naked eye. "Unless you want to stay with this one, which is totally understandable. I'd ditch these airheads in a heartbeat if she was my girl!"

Laughter erupted from his mouth, then from the two boys - his teammates and supposed friends - he had just insulted. Lucas joined them near the grand finale, shaking off his displeasure to force a chuckle through the back of his throat.

"That sounds awesome, but I can't make it. Her stepdad is uh… a wet blanket. So she's gotta be home soon, and I'm her ride."

Max had known better than to fight the fluttering inside of her chest, but she could at least make sure he didn't miss out on a golden opportunity.

Sure, it was sweet he wanted to uphold his promise to her. And she'd be lying if she claimed she didn't find Ryan repulsive. Hell, the mere thought of the meathead ever thinking he could even maintain a friendship with some poor girl even remotely similar to her made her skin crawl. But she couldn't ignore his winning deck: a whole mansion's worth of his father's money and a library shelved with countless connections.

If Lucas was really serious about basketball, he needed all the advantages he could get. And she was going to make sure he got them.

"Actually, you should go. Take the night off."

His wide, russet irises swiveled her way, gawking at her as if she had shapeshifted into a demo-dog.

"Really? Your place isn't just a few blocks away. You'd freeze even if I gave you my jacket."

"I'll be just fine, Drama King," Max insisted, holding in her urge to shiver through a whistling current of the brisk wind. "I can ask El for a ride, or catch the bus if all else fails. Go have fun, make some new friends."

It took a solid moment to convince him, but the edge in her narrowed gaze helped sell her point. Or, at the very minimum, had quelled the waves of his endearingly saccharine worry.

"Yeah, alright," he finally agreed, nodding. "But I'll have to call my parents first, let them know I'll be home a little later."

Ryan waved him off.

"Just meet us there, you know Loch Nora? It's the big, brick house with the gnarly Lambo in the front, can't miss it."

Without waiting on a reply from Lucas, he backed away and turned to the other side of the courtyard. His friends trailed a step behind, leaving the table to its previous guests.

"I could ask my dad if he could give you a ride instead. I mean, I don't think he'd mind. I actually think he likes your humor-"

Lucas relented, the rest of his words dying at the sight of those gleaming, ocean blue daggers.

"Alright, fine. But I'm walking you out. Chivalry is not dying on my watch."

Somehow, he had mustered up enough gall to square her with a pointed look of his own. The sight was so rare that she didn't know whether to be impressed by his courage, agitated by his audacity, or bewildered about just how susceptible he could be to her fire. So much so that she could have sworn he was sponge.

After a minute, Max sheathed her glare, her mouth twitching in spite of the clockwise spin of her eyes. He stole a kiss from her as she rose to match his height, his peck igniting the embers beneath her cool cheek. Despite her swat across his arm, her shadow of a smile stretched a few inches wider instead of melting away like usual.

Beside her boyfriend and the cozy calm he never ceased to radiate, the rest of the world didn't matter. The whispers fell flat upon reaching her ears, and if people were staring at them, she wouldn't have noticed nor cared. Soaking up the security of her safety net was far more important. As long as whatever clock they followed continued to tick, the shorter the time she had left of her safe haven.

A breath of fresh, ingestible air, far away from that shell of a grave her mother wouldn't stop calling their home.

She felt the goosebumps wash over her arms when they reached the parking lot, her pace slowing to a stop at the bike racks.

Lucas picked up on her unease, his own panic seeping through the cracks.

"I won't stay out for too long, but if anything happens before I can leave-" He choked on the unspoken words, but her vice-like grip tightened around his fingers, revitalizing his resolve to finish.

"Don't touch your walkie or your phone, OK? Go straight to my house and knock, just like we practiced."

"Three times, three pauses. Easy on the memory, just like my name," Max teased, breathing a heavy chortle. "I'm starting to see the charm."

He attempted to match her laughter, but his chuckle heaved from his lungs in a quiet puff. It was weak, just as his desire to leave her. However, he knew she could take care of herself, so he swallowed his pride and allowed his loud thoughts to recite a mantra. A string of short, but straight words, renewing his strength as he gave her hand one final squeeze before hopping on his bike.

Watching him leave only seemed to make her blood run colder, but she couldn't look away. Not until he was out of her sight, far and safe from the range of her crash site. He would see her crumble and rush to pick up the pieces, but that would just make things worse. His care would erode the armor she needed to endure another ear-splitting, volatile night.

Max sniveled into her palms, her hot breath washing over her skin. The warmth spread to the backs of her bare hands as she rubbed them together, and she cupped her hands over her face again to give her body another boost of heat. However, she barely felt the second wave of warmth, her stare wandering to something - or really someone - she didn't want to see.

Her glance fleeted from his, but that didn't stop him from seeing her, his thumb flicking at the wheel of his lighter.

"Damn, must've been one hell of an offer to get Lucas to leave you behind."

She should have just ignored him, or kicked a cloud of dirt in her wake before she stomped off. But she did neither, falling right into the same old trap he laid out for her every time they clashed.

"Shouldn't you be sucking the life out of El in the back of your sister's car or something?"

Mike snorted, his back rising against the driver's seat door of Nancy's Toyota. "You should ask Hopper, he's the one that whisked her back to the castle."

Max scowled and reeled a poor kick at the wreck, the tip of her shoe clanking against the empty shell of stainless steel. Fire still fueled her core, and she needed another way to fan its flames. Heaving a sigh, she stepped down from the sidewalk and trudged across the parking lot. Three vacant spaces later, she stopped just behind the thick white line, the only barrier standing between them.

"Lucas didn't want to leave me." She leveled him with her flared pupils, which melted as soon as she regained her voice.

"Some jockstraps from the basketball team invited him to a party, and I convinced him to go."

"Ah. So he finally went full jock, huh?" He dipped his head, his smirk fading along with the rest of his amusement.

An itch surfaced in her throat, and she would have relieved it with a short, yet fervent snicker. In most cases, at least. But for some strange and frustrating reason, she couldn't bring the noise to life. Not while Mike assumed a look she had deemed the "kicked-puppy" guise. His eyes were the crown jewel, sullen with a hint of tamed fury as they stared at anything but her.

Damn brown eyes and their deceptive innocence.

"Why the long face, Wheeler? It's not like he's off at some boot camp, training to ward off another Soviet invasion."

Mike's head shot up from its bend, his sight a flickering mess.

"No, that's… much worse! Fucking hell, thanks for the image," he huffed out a chuckle, his hot breath clouding over the twitch of her mouth.

A stillness settled between them, but it was calmer. Cool as the wisps of air rustling around them, free of the flammable tension that had always seemed to spark. For once, they were just two incandescent flickers of light, kindling the darkness without setting it and everything else aflame. Only time would tell how long their unspoken respite would last, or if it would even survive at all.

Mike mulled over this fact during the last few beats of silence before shattering it with his words. His deep but soft voice filling the air as if he was freeing himself from a heavy burden.

"I love El, Lucas is like my brother, and they both care about you."

Max snapped to him with narrowed eyes, her arms looping around each other as she listened to him continue.

"That's what I wanted to say when you asked why I cared," he clarified, ghosting a finger over the cool iron of the lighter as he shoved it into his denim pocket. "But I didn't because it was only a part of the truth, and I didn't know the rest then."

He didn't match the fire in her eyes until her lips parted, giving away her attempt to argue. When she sighed and sealed them back together, his gaze cooled to its former temperature.

"Lucas likes you - like really likes you. That's why I stopped fighting it when you wanted to join our party, but I still have to watch his back. So... if you feel the same way he does, don't make him fight a battle he can't win."

His voice lingered in an echo, but Max wasn't sure if it came from the air they were breathing or if it was just in her head. Either way, receiving the sound had sucked her into her whirlpool of a mind. A hush fell over them, allowing her time to settle not just her blustering thoughts, but the dreadful sinkhole in the pit of her belly.

Love was still a foreign concept for her, even though she had people who cared about her. Receiving that intimacy had been tough, and she was still struggling with reciprocating certain efforts. Especially in regards to her fondness for Lucas, which hadn't stopped blooming since that night at the junkyard. And to think their shared affection would grow into something real - something worth all the blood, sweat, and tears - was a step in fantasyland.

One step too many.

The click of a door latching back into place cut the link with her rumination, her head turning to Nancy.

"Please just douse me with ice water the next time I think writing and editing an article for three hours straight is a good idea."

She descended from the steps, her big breath of a sigh sweeping a thick curl into her eyes.

"Why can't your boyfriend do it? I thought that was a perk of dating on the job," Mike shot back, a triumphant grin on his lips.

Nancy made a face, mumbling a slur of words to match his retort. Along the way, she caught a flash of blazing red hair as its proprietress had turned to leave.

"Did I just walk in on a round of Battle of the Wits, or did you two actually have your first heart-to-heart?"

It was his turn to glance at Max, though his peek had shifted into a full-on scan. His stare swept over her empty expression before ricocheting to her ghost white fingers. All five appendages clung to the straps of her bag as if her very life depended on the strength of her grip.

"Actually, I was just getting ready to-"

"-Answer my question," Mike intercepted, his Adam's apple bobbing along with his swallow as the spotlight loomed over his head. "I figured we'd all be hungry after the game, so I asked Max if she wanted to go get a burger or something."

"AndI was going to thank him for the invite. But I can't, I need to catch the bus before it leaves. It's my only ride home and I have to be there before nine," she said, her reply clear and perceptible despite the clenching of her jaw.

Nancy's features softened. "I could give you a lift, save you some money and at least another hour to do… whatever you want."

Max blinked, her mouth twisting to subject the cracked rind of her bottom lip to her teeth. She had spent all her cash on drugs. Besides, if there were some left to spend on a fare, the city bus usually ran routes according to the alphabet. Her house would be the last stop, whether the seats were filled to the brim or halfway empty.

Still, her nagging insecurities of being a burden kept her from outright accepting the offer.

"I honestly don't mind the extra stop, but I get it. I prefer to do things on my own too." Nancy nodded, the light from her kind smile extending to her eyes.

"Though it does feel good to rely on someone every once in a while, especially when food's involved."

The walls of Max's stomach trembled, its grumbles smashing through the cracks of her concrete resolve.

"In that case… yeah. I could eat."

The rest of the evening progressed in a favorable manner, starting with the awaited arrival of a belated meal. Greta's Griddle had been a ghost town, but the food was better than Max had expected. She ordered a regular steak-burger, yet the flavor exceeded far beyond anything she had ever eaten from a diner. Even the strawberry milkshake tasted like pure heaven, contrary to Mike's belief of it just being a reaction to her hunger. She was more than willing to test his theory, though he didn't approve of her method - a blatant but rapid pillaging of his chicken strip basket.

She was the first to clean her plate, so she passed the time with a tour of the little restaurant. The displays were telling of the Midwest's obsession with farm culture, and a few of the photos had a refreshing change of scenery from horses. The jukebox, on the other hand, stood out like a sore thumb. Its oddball of a color scheme didn't match with the theme at all, despite the upbeat riffs of a banjo squawking through the speaker.

The lady behind the counter had her back turned, too preoccupied with serving up another cup of coffee to stop her. She pressed a button among the several that made up the panel, triggering the switch to a more rampant guitar solo. The flicks, coupled with guttural, resonant vocals, took her back to her last summer in California. She could smell the salted waters of the Pacific, feel the warm embrace of the sun, even hear Nate's voice as he quoted one of his God-awful puns. However, just like a shook up soda can, his jokes didn't stop pouring from that chapter of her life.

Max was able to control their reach, at least until the bill was paid and she had followed the Wheeler siblings back to the car. She was asked about her song choice, and she found herself revisiting those pages. It wasn't easy at first, even though she had trusted Lucas with some of those memories. But then Nancy slid a disc into her music player, filling the car with a track she could recall from Stevie Nicks' newest album, and the words flowed from her without another thought.

Bringing her hometown to life coaxed a smile from her as she spoke, but her joy ran by the hourglass of the ride. Soon, every grain of sand had filled the flipped end, and the door of her house came into view. The layer of paint was weathered, just like her armor. Yet she powered through, freeing her wrist from the band and securing her hair in a taut ponytail. Somehow, her feet guided her from the backseat of the car and across the stone path. She rushed up the steps to her porch, channeling a strength she would have never been able to find under watchful, pitiful eyes.

Unfortunately, Mike wasn't the one to spare her that courtesy. Her safety took a higher precedence, and it was compromised. He didn't want to shove it under the rug like Max could, or Dustin and Lucas and anyone else trusted with the knowledge of her pain. He couldn't just wait until they had finished high school when it was years away, and the abuse was happening rightnow.

If it had been El in Max's shoes, he would curse all the repercussions to hell and beat Neil to a pulp. Not wasting away in his seat trying to will away his fury: a deep, seething fire growing with the distance between him and Old Cherry Road. The flames were so hot, the scorching heat oozed into the very air he exhaled, the same air he had shared with his sister.

Nancy shot a glance his way, though she was met with a cold shoulder rather than a face. However, the air was thick with so much tension, it didn't matter whether there was a scowl or narrowed eyes.

She could feel the raging storm looming over their heads.

"I don't like leaving her either, Mike. But we're doing everything we can."

"Yeah, I doubt that. But I guess it's more than her mom will ever do."

He would have spent another minute burning lasers into the window if the car hadn't jerked to a stop, forcing his whole slender frame to lurch against the seatbelt. The clash extorted a vulgar imprecation from his throat, but its volume was muted behind a winded grunt.

With the aid of the overhead light casting a glow upon their seats, he veered a heated look at Nancy. Although, he lost his edge upon meeting her daggers, which were sharp enough to slice him in two.

"You don't have a clue what it's like to be treated so… barbarically by someone who's supposed to love you. The only thing she can control is how she copes, on her terms, and we don't get to say what that is."

She sighed, her hand falling from the ignition as the engine's steady whirring died to one last murmur.

"I'm not saying you can't have an opinion at all, you just have to think before you speak. You can't control where your words go when they leave you, or who it reaches - who it hurts…"

Not even a minute after challenging her with his gaze, he evaded any and all eye contact. Sure, it made him look like a coward caught with his tail between his legs. Though nothing would really change if he had held on. He would still look like a brain dead halfwit if he threw in an attempt to articulate his words without face planting over them.

Like an average person.

But Mike was tongue-tied as if all his retorts had been wiped from memory. Max was good, even more intimidating than he led her to believe, yet she wasn't strong enough to strip away his confidence. She couldn't belittle him with no filter or dismiss his passions like they were blobs of gum on the bottom of her shoes. Only his father had that power, and he hadn't been his sole victim.

It began with his mother, little remarks about her cooking or how she had missed a wrinkle in his clothing after a day's work. They were subtle and less likely to fuel whatever fire had started an argument. His observations shifted to Mike once he grew a few inches and the bass became more distinguished in his voice. His comments were harsher, bred with some twisted idea of manhood. A day wouldn't go by without him being drilled on which was the right career path or how he needed to have more control over his emotions. And yet, no matter how much energy it drained from his core, he'd hear his father drone without pause if it meant he could erase Nancy's guilt.

Of course she had felt responsible for his trauma. She was his big sister, making sure he was safe was a top priority. But the extremity of her shame had waned with his recovery, and he didn't have to look her in the eye without feeling the throbbing ache of her regret. At least before that day she got her letter from Columbia - an expensive, out of state college miles away from Indiana.

States away from their father and his poor faith in her decisions, stemmed right from her biggest oversight.

"Hey, I don't care what Dad says," Mike said after a while, his words wisping from his mouth. "And I don't care how many times you've blamed yourself for what happened Nance, because I don't. It's not your fault."

A loud boom rang out, piercing through his walls and everything that mattered. His train of thought, his eardrums, his skin. He was back in Russia; still, breathless, and freezing cold. Not from the frosted domain, but from the frigid lead tearing into bone and bundles of nerves. The ice unsettled his core, leaving him frozen as it came and went like a tidal wave. The next surge was a whole other level, like he had been submerged in a sweltering pool of lava.

Touch just made the burning that much worse, but the grip around his shoulders cleared his vision, his eyes flying open to Nancy. For a moment, all he could hear was buzzing, not the words falling from her moving lips. The longer he fought to keep his eyes open, the faster the static in his ears faded.

"... That's it, control your breath. Just like Hop said, yeah?"

With her help, Mike regained control over his breathing, his lungs forcing out one last measured puff.

"That was a g-gunshot… who the hell goes hunting at this time of night?"

"I don't know. But whatever it is, we're not sticking around to find out." She huffed into the steering wheel, her fingers twisting the key back into its sweet spot.

The engine roared to life, its balanced growls striking his spine with a bone-chilling shudder. His blood ran cold again, but he wasn't rendered completely motionless like the last time. He could crane his head to the window, scan along the road back to Max's house, and pivot back to his sister within the same beat.

"Nancy… Neil owns a gun."

His revelation filled the air with a hefty thickness, strong enough to freeze the car before it could take flight.