here's part two!

MONDAY 11/15. 19:36 EST

Metroburg.

When he wakes up, Max is in a hospital.

It takes a minute for his vision to adjust to the bright lights. He's lying on white linen sheets, surrounded by blank walls and the smell of antiseptic, and the beeping of a heart rate monitor fills his ears.

Suddenly, panic rushes through him and he jolts upright, only to have pain sear through his chest. A small cry escapes his lips-Hospital, he can't be in a hospital-

And then there are gentle hands on his shoulders, pushing him back down even as he struggles against them. "Max, Max! It's okay!"

He blinks, the figure in front of him slowly coming into focus. "Phoebe?" he rasps, and his voice is slightly slurred and sounds like tires over gravel. "Why're we 'n a hospital?"

"We're at the superhero hospital," she explains, her hands still on his shoulders. "In Metroburg. How do you feel?"

Blearily, Max lifts a hand to rub his head and finds himself surprised at the sight of his wrist wrapped in a black cast. "Like I got...ugh, hit by a truck," he groans, trying to ignore the pounding in his skull. "What-what happened?"

She hesitates for a moment and tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear. "What do you remember?"

He tries to think back to everything that happened before he'd blacked out. Lightning in the room, his dad's hand around his neck-no, not his dad, he thinks, and then it all comes rushing back. "Where's Dad?" he says abruptly, voice rising and sliced with harsh coughs as he starts to sit up. "Is he still-"

"He's fine," Phoebe cuts him off immediately. "They found Mastermind and put him back in prison, along with the other escapees. They're in the waiting room, I should-"

"Mom? Billy? Nora? Chloe?"

She gives a small laugh, without any real humor behind it, and pats his hand gently. "Everyone's fine, Max. We were all just worried about you."

He pauses for a moment, letting that sink in. He lifts his uninjured hand to touch the bandage on his head, the stitches on his cheek, the bruises along his jaw. His ribs twinge at even that small movement, and he winces. "How long...was I out?" he asks slowly.

"Almost three days." Her brow is creased slightly, the way it gets when she's worried, and he notices for the first time that her eyes are red and wet. "You scared the hell out of us Max, I thought-I thought-"

"M'okay, Pheebs."

"You almost weren't, though," she says shakily. "A few more seconds and he would've-" her voice breaks slightly, "and I would've just been stuck under that stupid couch, where I couldn't even move."

"It's not your fault," Max says quickly, recognizing the guilt and shame in her tone. It's characteristic of his twin, and he knows that nothing he says will make her blame herself any less, but that doesn't mean he won't try.

Phoebe shakes her head and shuts her eyes, then reaches for his unbroken hand. Her fingers tighten around his. "I'm just...I'm really glad you're okay," she breathes softly.

He squeezes her hand gently and shoots her a grin. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

She gives a small laugh and sniffs, blinking the water from her eyes. "You're right. You're way to stubborn for that." She reaches for something leaning against the table-crutches, he realizes abruptly-and pushes herself up out of her chair. Max notices the cast around her leg for the first time.

"Are you okay?"

Phoebe looks down at her foot and then back up at him, shaking her head slightly. "Yeah, this-this is nothing. The couch kind of crushed my leg but, it should be back to normal in a few weeks." Max nods, and she says, "I'm gonna go tell the others you're awake, okay?"

"Yeah," he says, watching as she limps out of the room and leaves him alone in the silence.

His ears ring uncomfortably, and he settles a little deeper into the hospital bed. Absently, he plays back the memory of the fight; the books and vases hurtling around the room, Nora pounding on the door of the closet, Phoebe struggling underneath the couch and his dad, his...not his dad, the hand around his neck, slowly squeezing, cutting off his air supply and-

"Max!"

He snaps out of the memory as a tiny pair of arms latches around his body, knocking the wind out of him. But he can't bring himself to care about the pain that shoots up his chest, not when Chloe is hugging him like he's the world. "Hey, kiddo," he says with a soft laugh, wrapping his arms around her.

Billy comes speeding into the room then, joining Chloe in crushing Max's already-mangled ribs. "You're alive!" he exclaims.

"Yeah," Max wheezes, "but I'm not sure how long I'll stay that way."

"What do you-oh," Billy scrambles off of him quickly, giving him a sheepish smile as Chloe does the same.

As they do, his parents and Nora come rushing into the room, Phoebe hopping close behind them, and Max tries-tries, and fails, not to flinch at the sight of his father. His mom cups his face in her hands, eyes wide with concern as she kisses his forehead.

"Ouch-Mom," he protests, although he doesn't actually mind it all that much, and finds himself a little pleased when she pulls back but doesn't move her hands from his cheeks.

"You scared us all to death, Maximus Octavius Thunderman!" she scolds him, her voice hoarse and her eyes red. Had everyone been crying?

He gives a small laugh that quickly dissolves into a cough and lets the corner of his mouth quirk upwards. "I'm fine, Mom. Really."

Gently, she smooths back his hair and smiles warmly at him, and then he hears a soft sniffle. Nora looks up at him, tear tracks glistening on her cheeks, and he notices abruptly that she's taken her bow off, fiddling with it in her hands. "Nora, hey," he says softly. "I'm okay."

She shakes her head, hastily swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "You were-you were-I was stuck in that closet, and I came out and you were just lying there, you looked like-you looked like you were dead-"

"I'm not," he says, his voice strained, and he really hopes she's not adopting Phoebe's trait of putting the world's weight on her shoulders because Nora is far too young for that. "Nora, it's okay. I'm okay."

She just sort of collapses into him, burying her head into his shoulder, and he pats her back with his unbroken hand and finds himself wondering suddenly if they've all always cared this much or if it just took him until now to notice.

The shaking of her body against his eases a little, and there's tension heavy in the silence so he says, "Almost get strangled to death and suddenly you're everyone's favorite Thunderman, huh?" and Nora gives a watery sort of laugh, but maybe it's not the best thing to say because Phoebe's hand squeezes his fingers just a little tighter and he thinks he sees his dad flinch.

He still hasn't said anything.

There's this-this look on his face, though; guilt and worry and just...anguish, and he's never felt this much concern come from his father before. Towards Phoebe, maybe, but-never towards him. He won't really meet Max's eyes, focusing instead on the IV bag or the heart monitor, the soft blue paisley-patterned curtains.

And then Max feels a sudden flash of irrational anger, because it should be him that's avoiding his dad's eyes, not the other way around, because it's him that looks at those eyes and can feel the kicks landing on his chest, can feel the blood, hot and sticky, running down his face, can feel the hand around his neck slowly tightening-

His breath hitches and then his mom's hand is on his shoulder. "Max?" she's saying, and his ears are ringing again. "Max, are you okay? You're shaking."

"Fine, I'm-" he shakes his head and sinks back into the pillows. "Fine. Just tired."

"Maybe we should leave you to rest." She puts a cool hand against his forehead. "The doctor said he'd be in to check up on you in a little bit."

Max nods slowly, and his mom starts to usher Billy and Chloe out of the room, but his dad pauses beside the bed. "Actually, er, Max, can we talk?" he says slowly.

And maybe Phoebe catches his shoulders tense, because she stops by the door to give him a look that very plainly asks if she should stay. Max gives the tiniest shake of his head. He's not entirely keen on being alone with his dad right now, but the rational part of his brain reminds him that it's not like he has anything to be afraid of. It's not like it was really his dad that put him in this hospital bed.

That doesn't stop the dread from pooling in his stomach when Phoebe limps out of the room, though.

His dad's eyes train on him. There's a few beats of silence, and then, "Max," he says, at the same time that Max says, "Dad-"

"You first," they both say together, and then his dad shakes his head. "Max, I'm so sorry."

"It wasn't your fault. That-that was Mastermind, right? That wasn't you." And he hates the way he sounds so unsure, hates that he feels unsure, because he knows his dad would never, but the things his mind-controlled voice had said have wormed their way into his mind, have dragged his insecurities up to the surface and left him feeling both vulnerable and very, very afraid.

"It wasn't me," his dad agrees, and winces. "But I was watching him do it. I felt him using my powers, using me, to-to hurt you."

Max isn't sure what to say to that, so he just looks away from his father, one hand fiddling with the cast around his wrist, his fingers curling in the sheets. Finally, he asks, "Was he lying?" His dad blinks at him, silently urging an explanation. Max swallows tightly. "He said-he said I was your biggest failure." His voice is hollow. "He said y-you-that you wanted to get rid of me."

His dad doesn't say anything, just stares at him open-mouthed, and something in Max's chest plummets. He feels like he can't breathe, sure he's being strangled again-but there's no hand this time, just his father's eyes and the beeping of the heart monitor beside him and his worst fears confirmed. "I didn't-I never-" and then his voice breaks, and the tears come so suddenly he doesn't get the chance to hold them back. "I'm sorry I wasn't perfect like Phoebe," he says, half-shouts, even as the pain in his chest and his bruised throat flares. "I'm sorry I was never good enough, no matter what I did...and I know I wanted to be a villain but I never-I never wanted you to hate me-"

"Max...Max," He's not sure when his dad started calling his name, just that there are hands on his shoulders and he wants to flinch away, but they're careful, and gentle, and when Max looks up, the eyes he meets are glassy with tears. "I could never hate you," his dad says softly. "I never wanted to get rid of you...everything he said, everything he did to you...that wasn't me."

Max takes a shuddering breath, hating the way his shoulders shake as the words catch in his throat. "He said...he said you'd thank him for it," he breathes quietly.

And then his dad pulls him against his chest, arms tight but secure and safe and warm, and this time, Max doesn't wince or pull away. He lets himself be held like that, lets the tears flow and he can't remember the last time he's cried like this, because villains don't cry and heroes are too strong for that, but right now, he can't bring himself to care.

"I'm sorry, Max. I'm so sorry." His dad's hands run through his hair and Max clings to him a little tighter, sixteen years of missing his father's affection besting the one day of fear.

His dad is still holding him when his sobs fade, when the shaking of his shoulders starts to ease a little and the tears begin to slow. "If I ever-" he begins, and then swallows tightly. "Max, if I ever made you feel like you didn't matter to me...like you were worth anything less-I-I'm sorry."

Max nods wordlessly against his chest.

"And I...when you were going to join Dark Mayhem, I told you that you wouldn't be my son anymore."

His whole body tenses. "Yeah," he breathes quietly. "I remember."

"I never should have said that to you." Max pulls away for a moment to look up at his dad, whose eyes are filled with guilt, voice hard but shaky. "I was betrayed and angry and...I never should have said that. Max, you will always be my son. No matter what happens between us...you'll always be my son. I'll always love you."

Max feels his heart skip over a beat at those words, feels himself suck in a sharp breath as his eyes widen. Slowly, he lets a smile pass over his face and tucks himself close to his dad. "I love you too, Dad."

And just maybe, Max thinks, he's gonna be okay.

so yeah, this kind of turned into a bit of a fix-it fic because i found myself unhappy with the relationship max and hank had in the show and i wanted to explore it a little more. i hope i did them justice. let me know what you thought in the comments, and thanks to everyone for reading!