Warnings: Spoilers for the show and references to Runaway Max

This is the end, my friends...

I am very pleased with Sadie Sink's message that Max will definitely be working through problems because of what happened in season 3. The show will not ignore how much fallout would be happening for that poor character and as much as that means that she's going to be tortured with more angst, it's a very necessary result for her.

A big thanks to all my readers and especially my reviewers! This was the first multi-chap I started, and finished, and you all made it a wonderful experience.

Chapter title comes from an Alan Parsons Project song with the same name- fun fact is that Don't Let It Show was re-released as a cassette in 1984 along with the rest of I Robot, the year before season 3 is set

"Turn around

Look at what you seeeeeeee!"

Lucas and Max shared the same grin as they sung.

"In her face

The mirror of your dreeeeaaaaams!"

Dustin's response was flipping them off and yet they remained undeterred. Mocking him was far more amusing than it should have been. They were laughing, grinning at his expression. From an outside view, they weren't currently mourning the loss of the Byers and El.

The redhead doubled over until her head was on the floor next to Lucas' knee as she laughed.

Max lay on her bed thinking late that night. The memory of her duet and Dustin's reactions kept making her smile. His girlfriend from Utah had forced him to forever lose his reputation when she made him sing that.

I wonder...

If 'Suzi' hadn't made him do that, would they have had their code, their planck constant or whatever it was, earlier? Early enough that the monster had died before..?

What a stupid, stupid, waste of time. Valuable time. Time spent with losses lost that left Max feeling so empty now.

If they ever met in person, Max would hit the kid-

If they ever met in person, Max would smile and stay back with her friends and make fun of Dustin and look every part the 'Max' they expected.

Not for the first time she slid off the bed into a crouch, bundled up with her hands gripping the sides of her head.

Skating down sidewalks under the falling orange leaves should have been more satisfying. Skating had never failed her before. It was her go to therapy just as much as it was her go to entertainment. She loved the activity. But she didn't feel much love for it right now. She didn't feel much of anything.

A month ago, El could've found her as she slid her way around town. The other girl would've just stood there and gave her that rather blank stare and then both wouldn't be able to keep their grins from growing or giggles from escaping.

El couldn't do that anymore. Not unless she was visiting this stupid town. This stupid, stupid, town that took so much.

Hawkins gave her a lot more than she thought it would. A great forest, an arcade, friends. Lucas. El. The party. Many good opportunities to keep away from her step family. Her stepdad couldn't keep track of her and wasn't aware that almost all her friends were still, despite parental attempts, boys. Billy hadn't bothered her since November. Billy would never bother her again.

Billy would never drive her to school; miserable experiences with miserable music and threats or words that hurt her deeper than she wished they did.

He would never work out disruptively in the living room or sass her mom when Neil was gone.

He would never be tossed around or emotionally manipulated by Neil again.

Maybe he was happier now. Maybe he was nothing at all.

Max had never thought really hard about death before. Well, no; she thought about death plenty. She wondered if she was going to be killed on accident or in a fit of rage (or by demon dogs). She wondered if her friend in CA escaped easily with a broken arm instead of neck that fateful day Billy had shown her just what he was capable of. What Max hadn't really thought too hard on before was what death involved or led to.

Now she did. She didn't want to. But the thoughts chased her down anyways.

Just like the thoughts that encapsulated every 'never again' that arrived after the Fourth of July.

During the years with the Hargrove's Max had discovered one thing- she hated them. But during the summer she discovered another- in no way did she ever want them dead.

She knew that when it became evident to all but her own denial that Billy was a host of the Mindflayer. That night in the sauna had broke her heart. It hurt.

She knew that when Nancy had held the gun out ready and she had asked.

"You're going to kill him, aren't you."

Yes. The answer would be yes. It was them against the monster. The Party against the Mindflayer. All efforts went to protecting them first.

If it was one of them being possessed, would they act differently? If it was Mike, would Nancy still prep that gun no matter what pragmatism said to do?

But Mike and Nancy were close. They were real family. They loved each other.

Max and Billy were a different category altogether. She didn't know what they were. With him dead, she didn't think she ever would.

El would know how to help her. But El was gone. No one was going to pick up her skateboard and offer her a hand when she stumbled on a rough patch of cement and fell.

Before, Max assumed a few things about her relationship with her family.

She wanted her dad back.

She wanted her mom happy but she wanted to leave her.

She wanted to leave Neil behind forever.

She wanted to leave Billy behind forever.

During the week over the forth of July, her assumptions shifted.

Back after Billy had laid off of her and her friends as per her threat, Max determined that she would make it to adulthood without more grief. The two may run into each other ever so often but they would keep it cool. It was impossible to always avoid people forever. Maybe, in years to come, they'd work some sort of arrangement out. She'd get some form of closure on the entire matter that was her abusive step-brother.

There would be no closure now.

That made it all the worse.

She was left like a song unfinished- broken, cut off, waiting for an ending that couldn't possibly arrive. No last conversation, no answers to work through, nothing. Left unsatisfied. Left frustrated. Left longing for closure and grieving its impossibility.

"It wasn't me" "Max!" "He made me do it" "It wasn't me"

Why had that mattered so much to her? Why had it mattered to him? Why, why, why after all they'd gone through would he care to tell her a thing?

Next thing was that shard breaking through the glass and missing her too close position. It had been a lure. There was spittle flying and threats and violence- had it been all a lure? Had It been the one crying and begging her to understand that it 'wasn't' me'? She couldn't ask him now to confirm either way. The dead can't be asked questions.

Why had he been such an asshole to her? She had never tried to hurt him. At first, she had idolized him a bit. She had tried to be his sister. Then she had caved to his manipulations when they began. Why had they began? Was it because at his core Billy was a rotten person? Was it because his dad? What was it? Why had she been hurt over and over again? The dirt on his grave wouldn't answer her.

"Waste."

A waste.

It was like a blow. It stole Max's breath and made her tear up. People thought he was a waste. Her mother had no idea that Billy had died to save Max's life. His father, his own father damn it all, just frowned and said-and said- he was a waste. A waste? If he hadn't stood up in front of them all and been slaughtered then El would be gone. And Max had been on the bottom floor; she would be gone too most likely.

The entire thing had been covered up. The mall fire. The deaths. The truth.

The truth was that Billy had been stabbed to death by a vindictive monster that he was trying to keep away from humanity's best hope. El had broke through to them and proved to Max that somewhere inside that mess of a man was still a functioning heart instead of a sociopath. In the last moments, it was his death that filled the stall of time they needed to survive.

Max had to keep that truth a secret. Had to force it to stay inside while she listened to the lies. And she had to watch as the lies were reacted to. As Susan never learned the truth. As his family never did.

Because of that, no one treated him with a hero's funeral of any sorts.

Because of that, Max couldn't go to her mom with her pain.

Because of that, people like Neil called him a waste.

It fractured a bit more of her soul away to hear it.

Lucas was one of the few she could talk to. One of the few that knew the truth. But he couldn't quite grasp why she was hurting. His experiences with Billy involved violence, terror and rage. He really tried to understand for her, but Max herself couldn't understand what she was feeling and why. In some ways it didn't feel like she was feeling at all.

The song was desperately waiting to be finished while the composer lay dead.

She didn't talk with him very often about it all but went to him more than she went to her mom. Because she couldn't tell Susan about her pain, she couldn't. With the cover story in place, her mom wouldn't understand why she was breaking the ways she was. The divide between mother and daughter grew wider.

It grew worse. Shouldn't the pain and numb go down with time? It didn't. It festered.

She visited his grave. It was as bland and uniform as many of the other graves. She buried his favorite jacket there. The rest of his stuff from his room was being sold for money the family really could use. His house was on the market as well. The jacket was one of the few things Max didn't put in the box of stuff to sell. A few days later and she unburied it. When no one was around, she'd sling the too big thing onto herself. She had no idea why she was compelled to do so.

Lucas went to the grave with her when he found out she was going. Even if he really didn't like who the tombstone belonged to, the teen would grip her hand and stand strong for her to lean on. They'd go back to the park or to his place after and he'd try to get her to talk to him; tell him how she was feeling, what he could do. Max hoped he knew how much she appreciated it. Other times when they'd see each other she would act completely normal. Normal old Max. Giving off no sign that inner Max was too spread all over the place to feel alright and like herself. When they hung out with the gang, Max was as lively as they were. None of them could tell that she went home at night and hugged herself on the floor by the bed as her dull, empty, confused head kept sleep away.

As those nights and questions grew worse and school kept making her feel dissociative with its damn normality, Max missed El more and more.

One of the few conversations she got to have about it with El had the psychic telling her about what she had seen. El wanted to know if there was a way to contact the woman in Billy's mind and tell her that her son was gone. She was so focused and persistent about the whole matter. Max felt guilty having to explain that some mothers didn't care enough for their kids. As far as she could see from El's explanation of the various memories, the lady had left Max's step-brother when he was young and never said another thing to him. Had she taken him with her, Max wouldn't have ever had to deal with him. She'd still be in CA and wouldn't know about the pain of emotional manipulation and rage. Billy wouldn't be six feet under. So no, in that moment Max did not want to try and put the work in to find the lady and give her a call. She said so very plainly.

El understood bad papas. Bad mamas took explaining and it left dark brown eyes downcast while green ones stared on guiltily.

There was a little cardboard box of his doodads in her room. When his house had been cleared out, El, Lucas, Steve, Robin and Dustin had helped her find things and organize them. It was appreciated help. Her stepdad refused to touch a hair inside the little building his son had gotten for himself after independence, and emptying a house was hard work without adults. Hopper's place was being emptied and El mostly helped over there but she came to Max's aid when needed. The Byers' house was cleared by everyone, but only a few came to clear Billy's. They weren't there for his sake. They were there for Max. And while she pretended to be fine, she appreciated it. She really did.

The box lay under her bed with her own stuff. She didn't know why she kept it. No one answered that question for her; the box of posters, CD's, hairspray, perfume and some old watch that could only fit a child's wrist remained where it was in her room.

On the anniversary of the day that she had discovered the existence of monsters and stood up to, threatened, the personal monster of her life, Max cried.

Just like other nights that came at random, sleep evaded her. Pain bloomed up and with it the confusion over...everything. If she was sad. If she was glad. If she was frustrated. Billy had been the one to twist her into a kid with anger and control issues; then he died and she was left with them and without closure.

Her knees were tucked to her forehead as she sat on the floor. The bed lay steady behind her back. Red hair spilled over her hands and covered the view from her face. It was okay. She hadn't been really staring at anything anyways.

Max hated to cry. More often than not it was her stepbrother (was, was, was) that made her, whether by quiet, horrible words or physical grip on her wrists. Then the tears would not stay back and no amount of shame or trying stopped them from building up and dripping down. He hadn't made her cry since this day last year. Because he had been quiet on the drives after that. Had behaved. Had ignored her at home. Had listened to her threat. Close to graduation and he'd even seemed to behave civilly to her. When he moved out they still ignored each other but when he stared her way she didn't see the danger that used to be there. The hate was distracted by other things maybe? She didn't know. But the bastard was making her cry again. Beyond the grave and he still held power over her. The tears built up and stung but did not fall. She gripped her legs tighter.

El wasn't around to feel her mind breaking into little fragments her desperate hands could not hold together. They clutched her head over the messy hair. No amount of tight pressing made the pain go away.

It upset her that she was hurt at all. But the idea of not grieving at all upset her as well. Lose lose.

One year ago and Max had freed herself. One year ago and she had screamed at the sight of a maw of teeth, told a boy her emotions and thoughts, stood up to the person that controlled her life for her. She had stood then. She was crouched now.

As time went on, it grew worse and worse. A weight she couldn't lift on her own crushed her. She wished so much she had a family to go to that would help lift that weight. But her dad was miles away. Her mom couldn't know. Her brother was dead. The outside world couldn't even see that she was hurting.

It stung when the tears began to stream.

AN- Again, a big thank you for your time!

Now, as mentioned before, I'll ask which of the five oneshot AU pathways you would like to see continued. I won't limit possible continuations to just one- after all, where this goes depends on my free time, my muse and you, and so saying only one could be expanded on wouldn't be accurate.

If anyone would like to give a prompt out for any of these, I would likely take that as well :)

For now I'm already considering a continuation of No. 1 but I'd love to hear what others might want.

I hope you enjoyed! Please drop a review c: