#lucas postín tonight babey

[elekinetic]

lucas is ten years old, and he has made a mortal enemy. there is an owl living in the tree just outside his bedroom window and he freaking hates it, okay? it’s so loud and annoying and smug and it won’t stop “hoooing” all night long — or however you spell it. whatever. and look, lucas has never been one for violence, but there is a reason he asked his parents for a wrist rocket last christmas, and no, he hasn’t hit the stupid bird yet but one of these days he’s gonna get it, and he’s gonna take the fucker down, right between it’s freaky yellow eyes, and he’ll finally get a good night’s sleep. just you wait.

lucas is twelve years old, and he’s wide awake. and yeah, the owl is still freaking hooting even though he DEFINITELY hit its foot like, four weeks ago. but that’s not why he’s up. will’s missing, and mike’s mad at him, and that weird bald girl is messing everything up and…well. lucas isn’t crying, okay? lucas is fine, and if you tell erica anything otherwise he’s gonna hit you with his wrist rocket which is a serious threat because he’s gotten so much better. even if the owl hasn’t left yet. even if he asked his parents to call animal control because it’s been three years, you guys and it’s still yelling into his bedroom window. HOOT, HOOT, even right now. it’s fine. he’ll get it eventually, he just needs a plan. he’ll come up for a plan to get rid of the owl, just like he’ll come up with a plan to save will. if mike and dustin won’t help him, he’ll do it himself.

lucas is fourteen years old, and oh my god, he GOT IT. HE FINALLY FREAKING GOT IT. it took him half a decade, but he borrowed a teammate’s BB gun and managed to knock down its nest. and lucas doesn’t get why that was what got it to leave because it’s the most stubborn motherfucker he’s ever met, and he’s friends with dustin, but maybe it’s some kind of animal thing where you leave when your house gets wrecked and you’re too scared to build a new one. honestly, lucas doesn’t give a shit. the bird is gone, and that’s what matters. five freaking years of obnoxious hooting at 2am, over! peace at last! SILENCE at last! he wants to get up and jump on the bed, but maybe that’s immature of him. maybe he’s too excited about this. maybe he was right to tell his teammate it was to show off for a girl (which, he would’ve, gladly, if she’d come over or return any of his calls). maybe… maybe… maybe lucas should go to bed.

lucas is sixteen years old, and his bedroom is quiet. max is alive—thank god—and okay and healing and kind of happy, and vecna is dead and his friends and his family are safe and….god. they won. they won months ago, and it’s almost been a year, but lucas still has a hard time believing it. (his bedroom is quiet.) they tried so hard for so long and came so close to losing, and lucas hasn’t quite shaken that constant paranoia. “stay alert, stay alive,” is what they’d say when they went on patrols. (quiet.) he held max’s hand today and it was warm and she smiled at him, and it almost made him forget how cold her hands used to be. he remembers the hospital. he remembers the first days, when max had bloody bandages around her eyes. (quiet.) when she didn’t have the bandages, when it was just blood. he remembers holding her when she said she didn’t want to die (quiet.) and he said she wouldn’t and she needed to hold on cause the paramedics were almost there (quiet.) he remembers her dying and yeah she came back but she died. she died she died she died, and lucas’ room is so fucking quiet.

it’s ridiculous, really. the world ended, and they all lived. this is happily ever after. they saved the day.

he misses the stupid owl.