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Lucas looked up when the door opened and greeted Dustin with a tired smile. Dustin thought his might look just as tired – none of them had been sleeping well, after their loss to Vecna and the Upside-Down spilling into Hawkins.
Well, someone was definitely getting enough sleep, he remarked to himself as his gaze fell onto Max's unmoving form in the bed. Though the thought had barely crossed his mind as he shoved it far away, guilt welling up at the callousness it displayed. She was in a coma. You could hardly call that restful sleep.
He was glad that Lucas couldn't read minds, in that moment.
He limped his way over to the chairs next to the bed and thankfully fell into the free one. His foot was still aching abominably, so he lifted it to the edge of the bed and sighed as the elevation helped dull the pain. “Hey man,” he said, turning towards Lucas.
“Hey,” Lucas replied. He sounded almost normal, and his face had finally healed enough that, if Dustin was trying really hard, this could just be them meeting up again after some classes they didn't have together, or Lucas joining them again after his basketball training. At least as long as he didn't look at the girl in the bed, her legs and arms in casts and a heart monitor beeping monotonously next to her.
“How're you?” he asked quietly.
Lucas shrugged. “I'm fine.”
Dustin sighed. “No, you're not.”
“No, I'm not,” the other boy acknowledged, his shoulders slumping. Dustin placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze.
They returned to silence then, both of them just staring into space and not at the still figure on the bed. There was a terrible routine to it. All of them came to the hospital as often as they could, except for Lucas who barely left, only when his mother and Erica bullied him into a dinner, a shower and a night at home. But outside the hospital walls, life went on, in some fashion. School was cancelled but there was still plenty to do. There was volunteering at the shelter in the Hawkins Middle gym, repairing what they could of everything that had been destroyed by the “earthquake”, and there were strategy sessions to discuss with El and the miraculously revived Hopper how to prepare for Vecna's next attack.
Though in the end, it all felt the same as sitting here with Lucas. They were all waiting. Waiting for Max to wake up, waiting for Vecna to show up again, waiting for the world to end.
Dustin sighed explosively and shifted, knocking his shoulder into Lucas's. “It's fine, you know?” he said, breaking the silence.
Lucas startled and turned towards him slightly. “What?”
“To not be okay,” Dustin clarified. He wasn't sure why he had brought it up. They had talked about it before, maybe not the two of them, but pretty much everyone of the older members of their group had given him the same talk – which he had turned around on Steve immediately because seriously, way to be a hypocritical dick – and he was very sure that they had done the same for Lucas. And Erica. And El. And Mike. And Will. And actually Steve wasn't the only one of the older teens – perhaps not even the only adult – who needed to hear that talk himself.
Lucas rolled his eyes, though there was a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “´Tell me something I haven't heard a dozen times – and that was only yesterday,” he said.
“Fair enough,” Dustin replied with a grin. “Still true, though.”
Lucas nodded in acknowledgement. “I just … I need her to be okay,” he whispered, his gaze straying back to Max's face, the delicate fan of her light lashes against her pale cheeks, even paler in the sterile lighting of the hospital room.
“She's Mad Max,” Dustin said, trying to put all of the conviction he could muster into his voice. “She's going to be okay.”
His friend nodded, straightening his back, and for some time, the silence falling over them did not feel as stifling and hopeless as it had before.
Dustin was startled from his reverie when Lucas knocked gently into his side. “Hey,” he said, “I haven't even asked – how are you?”
Dustin dredged a smile onto his face and opened his mouth to say: “I'm--” 'fine' died on his tongue, though, as he met Lucas's gaze. He had raised one eyebrow at him as if he had known what was going to come out of Dustin's mouth.
His smile turned sheepish, and he shrugged apologetically. “My stupid foot still hurts like hell,” he said instead. “The doctor said I was lucky it's not broken but I didn't know a sprain could be that bad.”
Lucas nodded emphatically. “I sprained my wrist once, when I was six, I think? I was crying so hard Mom and Dad were convinced it was broken but the doctor said that's normal, sprains can totally hurt just as bad or even worse than a broken bone.”
“Sucks,” Dustin said succinctly and was gratified to hear Lucas snort a short laugh.
“And … other than that?” Lucas asked, some slight hesitation to his tone.
Dustin shrugged. “I mean, all of this sucks. With the gates, and everyone leaving, and Max, and ...” He made a gesture that he hoped encompassed everything about their current situation.
Lucas just looked at him for a long moment, and Dustin forced himself not to start fidgeting.
“... and Eddie?” he finally asked.
It felt as if he had punched him in the gut, and it didn't help that Dustin had seen it coming. “What... what do you mean?” he asked, his throat and mouth suddenly desert-dry. Eddie's torn and bloody clothes, how his breath had stuttered in his chest, his eyes, open and sightless … Dustin's own chest seized, his breath loud in his ears.
“C'mon, Dustin,” Lucas said. “I want to know how you're holding up. I mean--” he trailed off, and moments later, he filled Dustin's vision as he crouched in front of him, grabbing his hands and squeezing. “Hey, hey, Dustin. Breathe. Come on, breathe.”
It took a few moments until Dustin felt his lungs relax and no longer sit stiff and unresponsive in his chest, and he sagged forward, against Lucas's shoulder. “Fuck,” he whispered.
Lucas slung an arm around him and pulled him closer. “Sorry,” he apologised, “sorry, sorry, I shouldn't have asked.”
Dustin shook his head against his shoulder. “No,” he forced himself to say. “No, don't apologise.”
They stayed in that position for a while longer until Dustin pushed himself up and away from Lucas, dragging an arm over his face and sniffing. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“If I can't apologise, you don't get to either,” Lucas told him as he got up and retook his seat. His shoulder pressed into Dustin's, a warm weight that had no business being as comforting as it was.
Dustin laughed a bit, a quiet, broken sound. “Okay.”
“Guess that answered my question, though,” Lucas remarked unhappily, and Dustin sniffed again.
“Yeah, not doing so great;” he admitted quietly. “Just... I'm sad all of the time, which is normal, but I'm also … I don't know, I'm also angry a lot.”
Lucas didn't speak, just gave his hand, which Dustin was surprised to notice he was still holding, another squeeze.
“I'm angry at him for going back, and playing the hero, and for cutting the rope, and at Steve and Nancy and Robin for not getting back to us faster, and at motherfucking Vecna and his fucking bats. And at everyone in this town who still thinks he's a murderer. And I'm angry because he should be here,” he burst out, pointing at Max's bed. At the indrawn breath he heard from Lucas, he hurried to continue: “Not instead of her! No, never that, but he should be here, too. Even-even if he was in a coma.”
Lower, more quietly, he finished: “It's not fair that he's gone.”
“Yeah, I know,” Lucas agreed, just as quietly.
Later, much later, after the silence had run its course and they had finally started talking about other things, trying hard to keep things light, the door opened, and Dustin's mother looked into the room. “Hello boys,” she greeted them, then came inside for a moment and stepped up to the bed. “Hi Max,” she added, stroking the girl's flame-red hair, and Dustin had to smile at that.
“Dusty, are you ready?” she then asked, and he climbed to his feet wearily, picking up his backpack.
“Yeah, I guess so,” he said, turning to Lucas and exchanging a fistbump with him. “See you soon, Sinclair.”
“See you, Henderson. Good night, Mrs Henderson,” Lucas replied.
Dustin limped towards the door but stopped at the bed, taking Max's cold fingers in his and squeezing. “Bye, Max,” he murmured. “I really wanna see you soon again, too – for real, though, you hear me?”
There was no sarcastic reply, not even the slightest movement from the girl, and he released her hand with difficulty.
Trailing after his mom towards the parking lot, he took a deep breath and pushed aside the guilt that he hadn't told Lucas the whole truth.
He was angry that Eddie was gone, and he wished that he was still here, even if he had been injured and in the hospital, even if he had been in a coma.
But on some days, after sitting in that hospital room with the silent figure in the bed that was so unlike the Max Mayfield he had known …
On some days, he was glad that Eddie was gone for good instead of there-not-there like that.