3. What are your top three most commonly used tags on AO3?
I'd say "consensual but not safe or sane", "Internalized homophobia", and "knifeplay"
28. What's the angstiest idea you've ever come up with?
Probably hcs about what would happen if only one of them survived.
Stu's situation is relatively more stable. He's just more emotionally resilient and he's better at connecting with other people, so while he'd be destroyed he wouldn't be quite so completely alone and he'd be motivated to carry out Billy's last wishes to kill Sid. But he'd have to do it right, it needs to be cinematic the way Billy would like it, so he'd kind of have to take the time, not let himself fall apart so he could focus and pull it off.
I did also write a version of sole survivor Stu with my ghost Billy/Alive Stu fic, it's pretty damn angsty lmao. But it's not really telling a revenge story, it's more about Stu trying to reach across to the other side so he can get his man back. It's just that his man is sort of fucked up and poltergeisty after being alone in the empty Macher mansion for over 2 decades.
If Billy's the one left alive though I think he would just be a total mess. Like deeply lost and self-destructive, spiralling. He's so repressed that if he had to suddenly confront a world without Stu it would all hit at once. Unlike Stu he would be alone, because he'd absolutely push away his mom to isolate himself and there's no one else.
I don't think he'd last super long, he'd become reckless in his pursuit of revenge and he's not good at taking care of himself. As long as he can eliminate Sid he doesn't care if the cops kill him.
So yeah I think that's probably my angstiest stuff
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WARNING FOR ANIMAL DEATH AND SACRIFICE OF ANIMAL IN A RITUAL.
It’s not overly graphic or detailed, but there is blood and a mention of the animal in pain.
There is also a mention of an already dead animal and an injured animal. Feel free to message me for more detail or let me know if I need to reword or add anything else to this warning.
Additional warnings for- grief/mourning, dead Billy (for now...), Satanic rituals (done badly), blood, swearing.
Please be careful. It’s not super dark but it’s definitely not fluffy.
****
“Shit, shit, shit,” Max kicked at the ground with her foot, her skateboard flying down the hills towards home. She was late. Super late.
To say Max was having a bad time would be an understatement, she’d just had her fourth detention in as many weeks, and Neil was starting to get annoyed. He’d been surprisingly patient at first; had told her that he understood that she was missing her brother, that she felt the need to act out, parroting phrases from the grief pamphlet as he told her that her anger was valid and expected.
But Max knew that his goodwill had to run out soon, knew that she was already on very thin ice.
And now she was late.
And it was getting dark.
Shit.
Max weighed up her options. She could fake an accident and wander in very late but with a limp and a bloody knee hoping for sympathy. It would probably get her out of too much serious trouble, Susan would be more concerned with mopping her up than scolding her, but she ran the risk of getting her board confiscated and having to be driven to and from school like a little kid. And that would not work well for her already limited popularity at school.
Or she could take a short cut.
Through the graveyard.
She’d still be a little late home, but she’d probably just make it back in time for dinner and avoid the worst consequences.
It was just that, well, the graveyard had dark shadowy corners and weird imposing crypts and…graves. It had a certain grave. Billy’s grave.
Max had been to visit it a few times, had sat down beside it and talked to Billy when things were tough. She even brought flowers, cheap bouquets from the store because it seemed the right thing to do, but one time when she got there she found that someone had already left a large bunch of sunflowers in a pretty blue pot. Bright and yellow and exactly right. It shouldn't have been such a surprise to see them, Billy's grave had received its fair share of visitors in the early days, sobbing girls who claimed he was their first love; teammates who left tributes of beer bottles and a jacket; his lackeys and followers who just as quickly hitched their wagon to the next bright star of Hawkins High.
But the sun flowers had appeared after all of that, when the fuss had died down and the novelty had worn off. And they kept appearing, wilted blooms being replaced by fresh ones every week. No notes, no words, just the bright yellow flowers.
All Max knew was that it definitely wasn't Neil or Susan. She knew they hadn't even stepped foot in the cemetery since the funeral. The sunflowers had looked so bright, so vivid, so much more Billy than her own shabby offerings, and she felt a little guilty for not doing more.
She hadn't been for a while, hadn’t been able to face it on top of high school, hadn’t wanted to tell Billy how much she was struggling, even if he wasn’t actually there to hear her. And it was hard for her to have to suddenly get used to the fact that she wasn’t going to run into him at school, that she wouldn’t get to experience him denying all knowledge of her and their relationship but then sticking up for her when she needed it; because he was the only one allowed to be an asshole to her and god help anyone else who dared to try.
Max steeled herself.
Pushed open the metal gates with a creak.
She could do this.
Max recognised the group huddled around Billy’s grave; two boys- one tall, with his teased black hair adding a good extra foot to his height, dressed in black with silver jewellery covered in a variety of occult looking symbols. The other boy had a similar look- plenty of jewellery, and his eyes and lips thickly painted with black. There was a girl kneeling in front of Billy's headstone, all in black like the others but much less showy, a simple silver pentagram bracelet on her wrist and a sweep of dark liner on her eyes. She’d seen the three of them around school, hard to miss them with their particular fashion sense, and had heard the rumours of what they got up to- seances and ouija boards and things with candles and blood and chanting- but they were a few years older than her so she hadn’t really paid much attention, hadn’t really had anything to do with them.
She was, however, pretty sure they had never had anything to do with Billy.
Max’s suspicion grew when she saw what the girl was kneeling next to; a little grey cat, unmoving. It’s grey fur stiff with darkened blood. Max’s stomach churned and she felt a fury rise up in her.
“Hey!” Max shouted, dropping her board and running over to them, “Hey! Get off there, you assholes, that’s my brother’s grave.
"Yo Sasha," the taller boy tapped the girl on the shoulder, "we got a little brat incoming."
Sasha turned around, looked back at the cat and then up at Max standing in front of the group.
The taller boy cocked his head at Max, gave her a sneering look,
"This really your brother, Carrot Top? Hero Hargrove- The Saviour of Starcourt?"
Before Max could answer, the shorter boy piped up, "Oh shit Ash, he did have a sister. She's one of the ones he 'saved'," he made air quotes around the word and then looked at Max, "Were you there? You see what happened? It wasn’t a fire, right? It doesn’t add up.”
The girl, Sasha, stood up, wiping something dark and sticky off her hands, "Leave her alone Marco, she's just a kid."
Sasha moved a little closer to Max, her voice warm, "I'm sorry about your brother, he did a brave thing and we were just...just paying our respects."
"Yeah right," Max crossed her arms, glaring at Sasha,
“Uh, guys?”
The cat twitched, and Max gasped, echoed by the teens. They all watched in horror as the flattened little body started to convulse and it tried to stand up on broken legs. Max could hear the crack of bone as the body started to repair itself, each move becoming stronger and less jerky. Sasha leaned forward, her face calm but interested, studying the cat with scientific interest. Ash and Marco were grinning wildly, and Max was frozen in shock. Then there was a sudden, horrendous yowl as the cat jolted upright, before it shivered once more and limped back down, lifeless.
Sasha knelt back down, “Well that was better-”
“What did you do?” Max’s eyes were wide, her arms wrapping around herself, “That was dead. How did it…?
Ash’s grin grew wider, giving him an almost manic air, “Nothing Little Red, nothing you need to worry about. Just a little bit of a magic trick that’s all.”
“Yeah we’re, uh, practising magicians,” Marco stifled a laugh, “Rabbits out of hats, card tricks, bringing poor little pussies back to life…”
“I’d run along home now pipsqueak,” Ash gave Max’s shoulder a firm push, “This place can get pretty spooky at night,”
“I’m not scared of you,” Max stood her ground, planted her feet and placed her hands on her hips.
“You sure about that?” Ash leered at her, his face inches away from hers, Marco moved to stand beside him.
“Go on kid, don’t want your mommy and daddy worried about you.”
Max took one more look at the cat, now being poked and prodded by Sasha.
She looked at Ash and Marco, their eerie grins in the darkness.
Thought about Neil’s face if she was late again.
Knew which one she found scariest.
Max grabbed her board and ran.
*****
Max arrived at school the next day with a plan.
She needed answers.
And luckily, the trio weren’t hard to spot.
"Hey! Sasha!" she ran up to them, her backpack banging against her back, "I need to talk to you,"
"No you don't"
Ash moved in front of her, blocked her way. Max shoved past him, pushed him away easily. Despite his amulets and trinkets and tattoos, Max knew that Ash wasn't the one with any real knowledge. Having grown up with Billy, she knew posturing when she saw it. No, Ash and Marco were all image, all intimidating pendants and a look designed to shock and get attention. Sasha was the one who actually walked the walk, the one Max needed to talk to.
"Nope," Marco made a grab for Max's arm, but Sasha stopped him,
"You OK?" she asked, eyes full of concern.
Max let it all out, let out all the questions she’d been churning over in her mind, “I saw what you did with that cat. It was dead, it was definitely dead, and then you...you brought it back. And I know what people say about you, that you do...stuff, magic. Was that it? Real magic? Was that a ritual?”
Ash smirked down at her,
“Oh is that what you want? A little love spell? You mooning over some floppy haired kid in Algebra who just won’t look your way? Oh Red, my heart is bleeding for you.”
“Ash!” Sasha shoved him out of the way, put a gentle hand on Max’s arm, "Look kid, I'm sorry if we scared you, but it was just a trick- I promise."
“I wasn’t scared,” Max hardened her eyes, “I’ve seen weirder things than that in this town.”
“So there is something going on here,” Marco piped up, “We knew it.”
Max crossed her arms and glared at him, “Oh yeah, there’s monsters. Real ones. So I know what can happen. I know it wasn’t a trick. And I want...I want to know how to do it.”
“Why? Little Red got a puppy that needs perking up?” Ash pulled an exaggerated pouty face, and Max scowled back she looked back at Sasha,
“Can it work on a person? Could you bring someone back?”
Sasha’s expression changed suddenly, and she grabbed Max’s arm again, tighter this time.
“That’s dangerous,” she hissed, “Don’t go talking about that.”
Max tried to shake her off, but Sasha held firm, her dark purple nails digging into Max’s jacket.
“So you can’t,” Max said, “Ok.”
“We didn’t say can’t.” Marco’s grin was wide, but there was no humour in his eyes,
“It’s messy,” Sasha loosened her grip and Max took a step back, “And it’s not easy. It only really works with a personal connection.”
“Who were you thinking of bringing back?” Ash asked, his eyes flicking to Sasha with a calculating look, “someone close to you perhaps?”
Max nodded. She suddenly felt cold and wrapped her arms around herself. “Billy,” she mumbled.
Sasha, Ash and Marco exchanged looks, Sasha gave a little shake of her head, and beckoned Ash and Marco aside. Max listened in, heard them whispering about safety, about her being just a kid. Ash repeating ‘personal connection’ and insisting that they give it a try. Marco nodded along, backing up Ash’s points.
“I can hear you y’know,” Max was getting angry, could feel the fury building up in her, the little prickle of tears that always heralded an outburst, “And I want to try. I don’t care if it’s messy or scary or whatever. Billy’s my brother and he shouldn’t have died and it wasn’t right, it’s not right. And I didn’t try hard enough to save him before, so I need to try now. I need to help him.”
Sasha looked her over, seemed impressed, “Ok kid, ok. You can help. But it’s not nice, OK? It’s not going to be pretty. This stuff can get dark, can get ugly. You need to be ready for that.”
“I’ve seen dark,” Max said, her voice low, “I’m ready.”
*****
The plan was simple.
Max waited until half eleven, made sure that Neil and Susan were sound asleep, and snuck out of her bedroom window and made her way to the graveyard.
Easy.
The trio were already there, gathered around Billy’s grave as before, a circle of flickering candles lighting their faces and a cardboard box placed at their feet.
“What’s that?” Max eyed it up suspiciously, as it seemed to twitch. She flinched when the box, or whatever was in the box, let out a piercing shriek.
“Oh this is an integral part of the ritual. Did we not...did we not mention this? Oh dear.” Ash’s gleeful face betrayed his words, “You get to do the honours, of course, as it’s your personal connection that brings us here.’
Ash reached hesitantly into the box, withdrawing his fingers quickly with a yelp. “Motherf-” he growled, and then plunged his hand in again, firmly this time. There was another high pitched squeal from the box, and Ash pulled out a rooster, black feathers shining in the candlelight. It’s head was whirling round frantically, trying to peck at Ash’s hands holding it tightly. The cockerel’s legs flailed as it lashed out with everything it could.
“Nasty fucking thing,” Ash grumbled. He thrust it at Max, who simply looked down at it and shook her head, wide-eyed.
“Give it here,” Sasha walked over and tucked the cockerel under one arm, cooing a little and stroking its feathers, “It’s OK Max, I’ll hold him, but you are going to have to make the sacrifice.” She held out a large knife, its silver blade reflecting the flickering candles, and pressed the handle of it into Max’s hand. “I’m sorry, but we did say it would be messy.”
Max shook her head again, her eyes watery, “I don’t wanna…” she mumbled, biting her lip, “I didn’t know you meant...this.”
“It’s tradition,” Marco chimed in, “And c’mon, you eat nuggets right? Just think of it as one big, feathery nugget.”
“I can’t!” Max backed away, stumbling over the grass, “I can’t kill it.”
“Thought you wanted to help Billy,” Ash cocked his head to one side, “Thought you were gonna save him this time. But it’s OK if you’re too scared,” his voice took on a mocking tone, “I’m sure Billy won’t mind you leaving him all alone again.”
“I…I…” Max looked around wildly, her eyes filling with tears. She thought of Billy, remembered him crying out for her, remembered the terror in his eyes and he was forced to do all of those horrible things, remembered his apology as he lay on the mall floor, bleeding and dying in front of her.
“Ok,” Max stepped forward and grabbed the knife from Sasha with shaking hands, “How should I...?”
Sasha shuffled the cockerel around in her arms, holding it tightly, “Just here, stab here. It’ll be quick, I promise, it won’t feel a thing.”
Max nodded and squeezed her hand around the knife’s handle.
She could do this.
She had to do this.
For Billy.
Max raised the knife. Aimed for the spot Sasha had indicated and then closed her eyes.
She stabbed.
Something warm and wet splattered into her face, and there was a chilling shriek from the bird.
It kept on shrieking.
Max stabbed again and again, desperate to do anything to stop the noise. She stabbed until her next thrust met only empty air, and Max dropped the knife before opening her eyes to see that Sasha had moved away, the body of the cockerel dangling from her hands.
Max stood there, forgotten.
She could feel more of the wetness dripping down her arms, felt the chill of the air drying it on her face, and she looked down to see her arms slick with blood. As she breathed, the metallic scent of it clogged her nostrils, stuck in her throat and she gagged, tears pouring down her face. She couldn’t focus on anything else, her ears so full of the cockerel’s scream that it almost blocked out the trio's chanting; a garbled, muffled mess in a language she couldn’t understand, Sasha’s voice low and ominous.
“HEY!”
A shout cut through the night, a voice that Max knew, a voice she was suddenly so so relieved to hear.
“Steve!” Max breathed out, she tried to turn to him, to run to him, but the sudden movement caused her head to spin and she fell to the ground.
“Max?” Steve was shouting again, closer this time, and Max could hear the pound of footsteps as he raced towards her, “Max, oh my god, Max, what’s going on, are you…” she could tell the moment Steve noticed the blood, he crashed to his knees beside her, his hands lightly probing over her body, trying to find the source of her injury, “Oh God Max, are you OK? Oh shit, oh shit,”
Max pushed herself up, “I’m OK, it’s not my blood...I’m not hurt,” but her voice was still small, still shaky, and she knew that Steve wasn’t convinced.
“Who were those guys? Did they hurt you?” Steve’s hands were warm on her shoulders, holding her securely, “they’re gone, don’t worry, they started running as soon as they saw me. Think I scared them off.”
Max looked up, looked around. Sasha and the boys were gone. Max was surprised that they fled so quickly, until she looked down to see Steve’s nail bat thrown down there, next to a bouquet of bright sunflowers.
Oh.
“We were trying to...they were... oh Steve-” Max suddenly felt ashamed and she ducked her head as more tears started to fall. Steve held her closer, let her lean on his shoulder and sob into his jacket, “They said they could get Billy back, they had a spell.”
“Oh Max,” Steve ran a comforting hand through her hair.
“I’m sorry,” Max choked out, “I just wanted to help him, I thought I could help him. I’m so sorry Steve,”
“Shh, shh it’s OK, you’re OK.” Steve murmured, and Max stayed there a little longer ,soaking in his solid warmth, his comforting presence. She could hear him sniffing too, could feel a few tears drop into her hair.
Max thought about the sunflowers.
Thought about how Billy had been a lot happier before the summer, about the times she’d seen him and Steve leaning against the Camaro and chatting while they waited for the Party to finish up in the arcade, sharing a cigarette and standing so close that their fingers were practically touching. She thought about the nights that Billy couldn’t stay in the house, the nights when Neil snatched his car keys and slammed the door in his face. Thought about how he used to turn up in the mornings freshly showered and with hair smelling a lot like Steve’s shampoo.
It made sense.
Max pulled back from Steve, scooting away and wiping her eyes.
“Sorry,” she said again. Steve gave her a watery smile.
“It’s OK Max, I get it.”
“I just wanted him back.” Max whispered, “I didn’t think…I just miss him.”
Steve’s face flashed with pain, “I know,” he whispered back, “Me too.”
Max looked pointedly at the sunflowers and Steve nodded,
“We got...closer. Before summer.” Max smiled and reached for the bouquet, handing it over to Steve. He took them to Billy’s grave, stepping over the candle circle. Steve spent a while removing the old flowers from the little blue pot and then carefully arranging the new ones, whispering something as he did so. Max turned away to give him some space.
When Steve was done, sunflowers arranged to his liking, he came to sit back down with Max, shrugging off his jacket and passing it over to her.
“I’m not cold,” Max gave him a puzzled look.
“No, it’s for the-uh- for the…” Steve gestured at Max’s face, at her arms, and Max felt a rush of nausea.
“I’ll ruin it,” she said.
“Come here,” Steve mopped her up as best he could with the jacket. It was hard and scratchy, and was probably smearing more than it was cleaning, but the gesture made Max feel a little better.
“He would’ve been impressed, y’know,” Steve said, tossing the now stained jacket into his backpack, “You doing all this. He always said you were a badass.”
“No, this wasn’t badass. This was dumb.” Max bit her lip, “I just thought it might work. I saw them do something and I just...I was stupid. It didn’t work.”
“You were trying to help,” Steve smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s more than I ever did for him.” Steve lowered his head, talking to the ground, words stilted and hushed. “We had a fight, before...everything. He was always flirting at the pool, chatting up the women. I know it was all for show but it..it got to me. I guess I was paranoid... I got angry and he...stopped coming around.” Steve took a deep breath and scrubbed a hand over his eyes, “And I was stubborn. Acted like an asshole. Didn’t go and check on him or anything. If I had, I coulda helped..coulda seen what was going on and got that thing out of him, but I didn’t even-”
A sudden thump stopped Steve with a jolt. He and Max looked around, Steve jumping up to grab the nail bat and push Max behind him.
“What was-” Max started, but another thump sounded before she could finish.
“I don’t know..” Steve whirled around, eyes scanning across the graveyard.
Another thump. Then another. Quicker and louder.
Steve and Max looked at each other in horror, then looked at their feet. Looked down at Billy’s grave.
He watched mutely, as the pallbearers began carrying each and every member of his family. It was a closed-casket kind of thing so none of the (nosy) mourners got to see the state that each Thunderman was in. He heard some displeased whispers before the ceremony even began but he was just so damn exhausted that he ignored them.
Those sorts of people were the absolute worst and he already feels bad enough without causing a public scene for the tabloids to have a field day about. He knew there were some photographers and journalists in the (quite huge) crowd (it was one of the reasons why he wanted to have a small, private, funeral but his family was practically celebrities around here so he really had no choice in the matter-) and there was absolutely no need for him to feed them headlines for their next big scoop.
Disgusting.
He marched behind the pallbearers dead-eyed and watched them carefully weave through the twists and turns of the streets. He had wanted to participate in bearing the caskets but considering that five people had died, he felt that it wouldn't have been fair of him to help carry one of the caskets and not all.
When they reached the cemetery, it felt like time itself started slowing down. Things began to get clearer and it was as though reality came crashing down on him because (suddenly-) the grief became that much more palpable and holding back tears started to feel more and more difficult.
Max's chest ached with loss and grief as he watched the people lower down the five caskets 6 feet into the ground. It felt like the universe was hammering in the fact that his family was not coming back. He blinked rapidly as tears streaked their way down his pale cheeks and took a shaky breath. He wanted to look away, he really did, but he felt like he owed it to his family that he sees this through to the end.
He wouldn't be a coward now. Not when it truly counts.
-0-
People giving you their condolences after the burial of a loved one (or multiple loved ones in this case) felt… awkward.
At this point, he wanted nothing more than to disappear off the face of Earth. He didn't want anything to do with those people (especially since so many have come-) and it showed in the way he stared at every single one of them through hollow eyes. It felt painfully awkward for all those involved but, soon enough, it was over.
Many people rushed out of the cemetery as the sky darkened ominously and the clouds started packing together. The day had been sunny so far, and the weather forecast declared it a perfectly sunny day, so no one had the foresight to bring along an umbrella and they'd all rather not get wet.
Max didn't care much about that. He simply stood, rooted to his spot, in front of the five graves and stared at them with the intensity of someone who wanted nothing more for them than to disappear. He felt something spark in his chest, but he wasn't sure what it was (nor did he want to know).
Thunder blared loudly, its sound bouncing off the graves in the cemetery. At this point, there was almost no one in the vicinity to hear nature's warning. Only the dead and the boy who was as good as dead.
Eventually, some point after the rain started pouring, Max heard the footsteps of someone approaching. They were light (so obviously; not Blobbin-) and measured in a way that made him know that whoever was approaching him wanted him to know that they were coming.
Eventually, the footsteps slowed to a stop (next to him). Max felt his curiosity rise (unbidden) from the depths of his body but didn't make a single move to satisfy it.
"Hello, Max." The mystery person spoke.
Max's eyes widened slightly. That voice…
"President Kickbutt." He stated quietly; sneaking a glance at her from the corner of his eyes.
The woman simply inclined her head in his direction, not taking her eyes off of the graves.
Max blinked emotionlessly (not really, but he was too damn tired to even think about it-) and turned his gaze towards his family's final resting place, "What brings you here?" He asked quietly.
The woman gave a mirthless puff of laughter, not paying any mind to the rain drenching her, "I never left." She drawled out; enunciating every syllable.
Max felt his brows furrow in confusion, "You didn't…? Why?" He asked, perplexed.
He didn't see the action, but he was about 70% sure that Kickbutt shrugged her shoulders.
"I wanted to talk to you," The President of the Hero League replied easily.
Max pursed his lips as a stab of irrational irritation traveled through his body. He shoved his soaking hands into his equally wet pockets and fully faced her.
The Superheroine was dressed in a simple black skirt and a formal suit jacket. Her coat, which stopped at her knees just a few inches below her skirt, was also black. And thick. Way too thick for July.
She, for all intents and purposes, looked like she was going to attend a business meeting rather than go to a funeral. He mentally shrugged his shoulders and decided that it didn't matter.
"You wanted to talk to me?" Max snapped in disbelief; a sneer curling on his lip.
"Yes," The woman replied evenly, "I wanted to talk to you." She turned her gaze to him.
Max barked out a humorless laugh and covered his eyes, "Okay…" He bit his lip slightly and nodded to himself, "Okay," He smirked, though his eyes were devoid of joy, and tilted his head, "Let me do you a better one." His smile dropped and he took a step closer to the unflinching woman.
"Why here?" He hissed angrily, "Why now?" He felt his hands, which he had ripped out of his pockets a while ago, curl into fists. He wasn't even sure why he was this irritated. This… angry.
President Kickbutt tilted her head lightly to the side, as she regarded him with something akin to wariness, "This is the only place that you and I can visit at the same time," She replied calmly, "Also, I only have an hour of free time remaining today before I have to go back to my duties and, even then, I probably won't catch a break in a very long time."
Max clenched his jaw and tried his best to calm down. He knew he was being irrational, he knew he shouldn't direct his anger at her, he knew. That didn't stop him from being angry though.
"Fine," He finally gritted out, "Let us talk. What did you want to say?" He took a few steps back and promptly focused his gaze on the set of five graves that lay in front of him.
President Kickbutt remained silent, and Max felt his irritation spike again. She wanted to talk, didn't she? Why wasn't she talking then?
"I wanted to discuss your options for the future," The woman finally spoke; carefully dragging out her syllables, "And inform you of… a few things about the incident."
Max clenched his eyes briefly as his nostrils flared. Five minutes. Can't he go for five minutes without someone reminding him that he was basically both alone and homeless? That he had no one left for him? That he had nothing?
President Kickbutt, taking his lack of response for what it was, continued, "Blobbin offered you a space with him, didn't he?"
Max frowned despondently, "Yes." He mumbled, his voice barely heard above the rain.
"And did you reply?" Kickbutt asked curiously.
Max pursed his lips, "No. Not yet." He muttered, scuffing his shoe lightly on the muddy ground.
Kickbutt hummed, "Okay. Are you going to accept?"
Max shrugged non-committedly, "Maybe, maybe not."
Kickbutt remained silent.
For a moment, the only sound in the cemetery was the sound of rain hitting the ground and the graves rhythmically. For a moment, Max closed his eyes and imagined a scenario where none of this happened. For a moment, everything was okay. Even if it wasn't.
"...You do realize that you don't have many options beyond that, right?" Kickbutt breathed out, her voice barely reaching Max.
Jarred out of the tantalizing fantasy his mind composed, Max sighed heavily, "Yes. I know."
Kickbutt went silent again.
Max felt a small smile creep on his face as he remembered Dr. Colosso's nickname for the President ('Villains don't respect heroes Maxie!') but, just as quickly as the smile appeared, it fell off his face. Dr. Colosso...
"Hey…" Max gasped out, panic clawing viciously on his guts, and whipped his head towards the (surprised) superheroine, "Dr. Colosso! What happened to him?"
President Kickbutt pursed her lips and turned away from him and that alone was answer enough.
Max felt a fresh wave of grief and loss move through his body and tried to brace himself against the onslaught. Even Colosso hadn't been safe from the attack. Colosso… Colosso was a villain.
Max clenched his eyes shut as his emotions warred in his chest. The grief that had dulled somewhat in the last few minutes (President Kickbutt unknowingly served as a distraction) returned with a vicious vengeance. His best friend… How did he not think to ask about his one and only friend?
Colosso- Colosso was the one person who had been there for him through thick and thin. When he was being bullied by the other supe-kids (as his dad had dubbed them.) in school, Colosso was the one to give him advice about dealing with them. When he declared his desire to become a supervillain, Colosso was the only one to not laugh at him. When he first started out as an inventor, Colosso was the first to congratulate him on his inventions (and even gave Max pointers on how to improve them!).
The 15-year-old pressed a shaking hand to his mouth. He had not asked after his (only) friend- he had not searched for his (only) friend- he forgot about his only friend.
Hot tears contrasted heavily with the cold rain as they mixed together on Max's face. Guilt, sadness, grief, horror, loss all swirled around in his being. How could he- how could he-
"Max," He felt someone lay a hand on his shoulder. Max opened his eyes, but did not move his gaze from the ground, nor did he move his hand.
"I wanted to inform you earlier about… the 'doctor's' status," The lady grumbled; her tone turning a bit strange as she pronounced the word 'doctor', "I'm sorry you had to know now, but there was no helping it. Not with the league's condition."
Max nodded slightly and attempted to swallow around the sudden lump that formed in his throat.
"We buried him in the villain cemetery, in case you wanted to know." She said awkwardly.
Max nodded once more as a pang went through his chest. He didn't even attend Colosso's funeral. His best friend must be rolling in his grave by now.
Max carefully removed his hand from his mouth and took a deep, shaky, breath, "Is there… is there anything else that I- That I need to- to know?" He stuttered slightly; his voice cracking in multiple places.
Unfortunately, Kickbutt nodded. The woman was starting to look more and more uncomfortable and it was obvious that whatever news she had left wouldn't be good, "We have evidence that suggests that Dark Mayhem was involved."
Max felt his eyes widen. His grief forgotten for a moment, he turned towards the superheroine, "W-what?"
The lady looked at him with pity, but Max was too shocked to even feel angry about it, "He- They left a letter. We found it in your room in the basement."
Max felt all blood drain from his face as a violent sense of vertigo threatened to make him keel over. He did stumble, but Kickbutt wasn't a superheroine for nothing.
"A- A letter?" Max mumbled numbly, "They left a letter?" He rasped in disbelief.
President Kickbutt looked at him with concern, but nodded nonetheless, "Yes. We already read it to make sure it didn't have any… dangerous content, and," The woman paused for a moment and took a deep breath, "It strongly suggested that Dark Mayhem was the one to command the attack on your house."
It was truly a testament to Max's strength that he didn't keel over right then and there. As it is, his head was spinning and it was only Kickbutt's hand gripping his arm that kept him from kissing the muddy ground.
As it is, the 15-year-old blinked heavily and attempted to fight off the dizziness that threatened to steal his senses, "Can I," He began hesitantly as Kickbutt slowly released his arm, "Can I have that letter?" He asked, voice wavering slightly.
The woman considered for a moment... before she nodded, "I don't see why not," She replied honestly, "I'll see to it."
Max nodded slowly, "Thanks." He said with relative sincerity even though his voice sounded as hollow as he felt.
President Kickbutt patted his shoulder.
No other words were exchanged between them after that.
[A/N: This chapter deals with the aftermath of Chapter 1 and so, it will be more heavy than its predecessor! I hope you like it!]
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TRIGGER WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH AND SUBSEQUENT FUNERAL, SHOCK, ANXIETY ATTACK, AND MENTAL BREAKDOWNS! IF ALL OF THIS TRIGGERS YOU THEN DON'T READ!
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The Hero League didn't take long to arrive. 15 minutes had barely passed since he had called them but, soon enough, the door was being broken down and heroes were swarming into the house like ants on a piece of candy.
Max didn't react to any of that, far too lost in grief and shock to respond to anything. He was sure that President Kickbutt was trying to talk to him, but he couldn't discern anything she was saying from the buzz of static in his ears.
He wasn't sure what was actually happening outside of his consciousness. His hands felt clammy but that's about all he can currently, consciously, feel. His mind was suddenly having trouble processing everything and anything, and he felt like he was floating on some unknown planet.
Images of his family kept replaying in his mind like a twisted version of one of those stupid PowerPoint Presentations that the teachers in Hiddenville (Metroburg uses holograms) use. The images kept flashing between past and present. Phoebe laughing with Cherry, Phoebe dead on the floor of her room, Mom and Dad joking and teasing each other, Mom and Dad dead in the living room, Billy and Nora running around the house playing, Billy and Nora broken and bleeding behind Phoebe.
He wasn't sure what he was even feeling anymore. Sometimes the fog clears up and he feels vestiges of something- something that hurts and burns and leaves him breathless with its intensity, but most of the time it's simply nothing but a blurred perception of everything and flashing images of his loved ones.
He wasn't sure where he even was anymore. At times, he gets moments of clarity where he's in a bare room with nothing but white everywhere (why is it all white though? It was dark in his house and the walls weren't that white so where was he-), but soon enough they all blend back into the blur of static and confusion that he unwittingly found himself in.
He just felt so heavy and so weightless at the same time, and his head felt like it was full of cotton wool. Then as suddenly as that sensation developed, he abruptly felt his surroundings sharpen and his sense of perception clear up. It was as though a switch had been flipped, and it was so disorienting, he felt like his very soul was being jarred from its place.
Feeling his heart rate increasing as his breathing got faster and faster, Max took quick stock of his surroundings. Heart monitor, I.V. drip, soft white sheets, and an overbearing smell of antiseptic- oh shoot he was in a hospital room (which explained all the whiteness).
Suddenly, doctors and nurses swarmed into the room, increasing his anxiety and making him panic even more. He was in a hospital- he couldn't be in a hospital- what about their secret, it'll all be revealed and his parents would be so mad and disappointed-
His chest burned with the lack of oxygen and he felt his heart hammering in his chest. He tried to take deep, even, breaths (just like Dr. Colosso always said-) and calm down enough to think the situation through. It didn't work. Panic had already consumed him in its powerful dark grip, and his throat was beginning to feel clogged and he couldn't breathe properly-
A sensation of cool calmness invaded his frenzied senses and calmed his frazzled nerves as he felt his eyes droop in sudden exhaustion. Soon after, his vision went black and all thoughts of the material world fled his head.
-0-
President Kickbutt was not having a good week. Between the endless mountains of paperwork and Max's call, the Hero League was at an all-time worst. There wasn't a hero in Metroburg that hasn't heard of the Thunderman tragedy and most were shocked, frightened even, that such a prominent superhero family was so easily killed.
Hank Thunderman was known for his abnormal strength and his ability to conquer even the toughest of opponents (as his fight with the Green Ghoul 20 years prior proved-) and his death had brought about a sudden instability that hadn't been in the hero community since before his debut as a hero.
His son, Max, was another can of worms entirely. Ever since he was in Middle School, the boy wanted nothing more than to be a supervillain. He kept telling everyone and anyone that would listen to him that he's going to be the 'greatest supervillain' and surpass even Dark Mayhem. He always punctuated his statements with outrageous pranks and remarks and (according to his teachers) he was an absolute terror with abysmal marks. From what she had seen though, Max Thunderman was nothing if not confident and witty, and when she found him at what remained of the Thunderman home in Hiddenville, she was shaken to her core.
He looked so lost, and he wouldn't respond to anyone or anything. He just kept staring into thin air with glazed over eyes and ragged breathing, looking for all the world like someone who had died on the inside. Remembering the look in his eyes, as he was carted away by the Metroburg ambulance team, made her cringe and shudder every time. Poor boy didn't deserve what was happening to him.
A week had passed since the incident and yet Max wasn't showing any sign of recovery. Blobbin had already requested that the boy be transferred into his care immediately but she wanted to give Max a chance to choose his new guardian. She wouldn't take his right to choose, he had lost too much already and (by the look of things) Blobbin agreed.
It was all a big mess and Kickbutt was in the process of drinking some afternoon coffee (trying to unwind a bit-) when the Metroburg City Hospital called. Apparently, Max had responded to something but-
"We had to sedate him," Said the Doctor over the phone.
"What?" Kickbutt gritted out as she rubbed the bridge of her nose. Gosh, the kid just woke up why-
"He was showing signs of an Anxiety Attack," The doctor, whose name she can't remember for the life of her, responded, "It could've set back his recovery, and we had to act quickly."
Kickbutt exhaled through her nostrils and set down the phone for a moment. This was all such a royal mess, wasn't it?
"President Kickbutt?" A hesitant voice sounded from the speaker of her phone.
Kickbutt felt her eye twitch as she bit her lip in frustration. Yup, it was a huge mess.
-0-
When Max came to, almost 12 hours later, the first thing he noticed was the stark white ceiling. Strange, that wasn't how his ceiling looked. He blinked again as his memories started to trickle in slowly. He was in… a hospital. He closed his eyes a bit in frustration. Why was he in a hospital- where was his family? Just- what happened???
A soft knock sounded on the door. Max just had the time to incline his head towards it when a nurse invited herself in. She looked… plain, to say the least. Her brown hair, dark eyes, and peachy complexion did not make her stand out much.
The lady was holding something in her hand, something sharp and pointy- oh God that was a syringe-. He took a sharp intake of breath and fought the urge to scream. He felt his body tense involuntarily and, apparently, he inhaled too loudly because the nurse suddenly noticed him.
"Oh! You're awake!" She crowed and immediately started buzzing a strange button by his bed.
Max didn't reply though, too focused on the object in her hand to really consider talking. She turned to him, brandishing the syringe in her hand (the urge to scream strengthened), and smiled sweetly, "The doctor will be here shortly." She said and then raised the syringe.
Max eyed the thing with slight fear, but as the nurse stabbed the I.V. drip next to his bed with it, he felt the tension bleed from his shoulders and relief settle in his bones. Thank Goodness that thing wasn't being stabbed into his arm instead!
His thought process was interrupted when three polite knocks sounded on the door. This time, a man with salt and pepper hair and a rather friendly face invited himself into the room. He smiled serenely at Max as the boy pushed himself upright. The 15-year-old staunchly ignored the slight (almost unnoticeable) weakness in his arms, and began to wonder just how long was he asleep for?
"Good evening, Max. I'm Doctor Kevin," The doctor said as he adjusted the file in his hands, "How are you feeling today?" He asked with a friendly smile.
Max blinked at the harmless question (that the doctor was probably hoping would put him at ease) and licked his chapped lips. He tried to talk but his throat protested the action vehemently. Wincing, he pointed at his throat and hoped that the doctor would get the memo.
The doctor (now known as Dr. Kevin) nodded sheepishly and turned to the plain nurse, "Please, pour him a cup of water."
The nurse nodded (looking more dignified than she had when she barged into the room) and proceeded to fiddle with a closed bottle of water that had been sitting on the table next to him. Max blinked and turned back to the doctor.
Doctor Kevin smiled evenly, "I'm sure you have a lot of questions right now," He said kindly as the nurse handed Max the cup of water. The 15-year-old nodded a bit absently as he stared at the paper cup in his hand.p
The doctor nodded patiently and pointed at him with a pen that he got from… somewhere, "We'll answer them all in due time, but for now, you should probably drink some water."
Max nodded, still not entirely there, and took a slow sip before he gulped the whole thing down. Gosh, he didn't know he was so thirsty until now. He nodded at the nurse gratefully and handed her the paper cup.
Looking at the doctor, Max tilted his head, "What-" He paused, cleared his throat (his voice sounded so scratchy-), and then tried again, "What happened? Why am I here?" He, despite his best efforts, rasped out.
The doctor looked at him critically for a few moments, "You truly don't remember, do you?"
Max wrinkled his nose in frustration, "Remember what? The last thing I remember was being stuck in detention," -and feeling an acute sense of danger.
"...I see," Murmured the doctor looking suddenly uncomfortable.
"You didn't answer me though," Max deadpanned, fisting his sheets, "What happened- why am I here- I- Where's my family?"
The doctor ceased all action before he gently closed the file. He peered at Max through sad eyes full of pity, and Max found himself growing angry. He hated pity.
"Don't just stand there!" Max snarled, "Tell me what's wrong- what happened?! Where is everyone?!" He could feel his breathing elevate as his anxiety skyrocketed all of a sudden. He had a feeling he won't like the answer.
The doctor looked at him with a strange look, "Max," The man said slowly, "I need you to calm down."
"Calm down?!" Max laughed a bit hysterically, hating the way his voice cracked, "How do you want me to calm down when you won't tell me what the hell is going on?!?" He wasn't shouting- not quite at least.
The doctor looked the epitome of calmness as he cautiously approached his bedside, "I understand," He replied evenly, "I just need you to calm down before you launch yourself into an anxiety attack."
"But-"
"Calm down, breathe evenly," The doctor paused, looking like he was considering his options, "And I'll tell you everything. Does that sound good?"
Max glared at the man but jerkily nodded as he averted his gaze to his fisted hands. He tried his best to even out his breathing through the breathing exercises that Colosso had taught him. It was a lot of work, but he managed a semi-calm state.
The doctor, who at some point pulled up a chair to his bedside, studied him critically, "Are you feeling better?"
Max bit his lip at the surge of irrational anger that flooded his veins and sighed in frustration, "Less angry, I guess," He mumbled out, his brows furrowed slightly.
"Good," The doctor nodded, "Now, I need you to focus with me because what I'm about to say isn't going to be easy to hear."
Max looked at him as slight anxiety prickled at his chest, "Something bad happened." He stated anxiously.
The doctor pursed his lips, "Unfortunately, yes."
"And I can't remember...?"
"Not at the moment, no."
Max clenched his eyes briefly and fought the urge to yell again, "Why?" He gritted out instead, fisting the sheets of his hospital bed.
The doctor barely reacted to his tone, "I can only assume it's a defense mechanism that your brain activated," The man said, his tone even, "It is not unheard of for victims of trauma to block out unpleasant memories, especially if said memories cause them grief."
Max licked his lips as slow, venomous, panic clawed at his very heart, "What-" He swallowed and cleared his throat as his voice broke slightly, "What… what happened?" He asked hesitantly.
Doctor Kevin looked at him with a pained expression, "Brace yourself," He said quietly.
Just then, with that one little statement, all of Max's alarm bells blared to life.
"Are you ready?" The man inquired gently, and Max could literally feel his heart plummet.
The truth is, he really didn't want to hear this because- what could have possibly been so traumatic and horrifying that his brain had to block it out as a defense mechanism?
(he already had a few ideas but none that he particularly wanted to entertain.)
Max closed his eyes and worried his lip. He really needed to know, but he didn't want to.
Coming to a decision, Max nodded jerkily and braced himself mentally (preparing for the worst.)
"Today is Thursday, June 16th, 2015" The doctor started heavily; carefully avoiding Max's confused gaze, "About a week ago, the Thunderman house in Hiddenville received an attack by a villain not yet identified,"
Max felt his eyes widen as memories began to trickle in. Mom, Dad, Phoebe, Billy, and Nora- all- all-
"The unknown villain has succeeded in…" The doctor paused to collect his words, noticing the slowly growing look of horrified realization on Max's face, "assassinating," The man tactfully ignored the choked noise that escaped Max's lips, "almost the entire family. Only one person remains now, and.." Here, the doctor hesitated.
Max, who had gone so pale his complexion almost matched the hospital sheets, carefully looked at the doctor, "And what?" He murmured hoarsely, barely keeping it together.
"You're the only person that survived the attack, Max. I'm so sorry."
Max didn't respond after that. He felt a familiar sting behind his eyes and the stupid lump in his throat that could only be the result of incoming tears. He tried to rub his eyes to ward off the stupid burning sensation behind his retinas though judging by slight wetness he felt on his cheeks, he wasn't quite successful.
The doctor gently patted his shoulder and stood up, "I'm so sorry for your loss," The man stated quite sadly, "I'll give you a moment alone." And with that, the man left the room.
It was only when he was truly, finally, alone that Max allowed his sobs to escape him in the form of heartwrenching wails of anguish and sorrow.
-0-
It feels surreal, Max thought idly not really paying attention to his surroundings. He was dressed in all black and while that normally wouldn't have made a difference, it seemed especially prominent on the day of his family's funeral.
A lot of.. people actually came. He had known that his family was prominent (his father was one of the most celebrated superheroes in the country for God's sake-) but it still felt… unnatural.
Many people had come to him before the beginning of the service to wish him condolences. Some were sympathetic, others looked like they didn't particularly care as long as they made themselves look good.
Personally, he just wanted to be done with it and just go… somewhere (Blobbin was hovering nearby maybe he'd actually take him up on his offer-). The whole thing felt out of place.
The ceremony itself passed in a blur and he didn't pay attention (too lost in his own dark thoughts and grief) until it was time for his eulogy. He hadn't come with a pre-prepared speech like most of the others did, so he had to come up with something on the fly.
He wasn't known for his quick wit for nothing, though. Quickly and in less than 5 minutes, Max successfully composed a 25-minute eulogy celebrating the lives of Hank, Barb, Phoebe, Billy, and Nora Thunderman. He told stories of the family chilling under the sun and basking in the summer heat on the many picnics they used to hold. He told the mourners of the achievements of each and every one of them, he celebrated his kin for the little things that made them, well, them, and he made sure that every member of his late family would be remembered for who they were and not what they were thought to be.
By the end of his speech, he was left feeling exhausted and raw. He hated crying in public and, considering who had just died and his state of affairs, he shed quite a few tears, but (he kept reminding himself over and over) this was for Mom and Dad and Phoebe and Billy and Nora. They deserved this and he would give nothing less.
Even if he felt disconnected from himself. Even if it hurt him and his heart felt like it was being ripped to little pieces. It didn't matter. It was for them.
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