The Long Game━ (l. sinclair)

they're burning all the witches even if you aren't one

"Well, hey," Sam shrugged, wiping underneath her eyes and trying to send Max a playful grin, "what's a little shared trauma, right?"

A laugh startled out of Max, and she quickly clapped a hand over her mouth before she woke anyone. Quietly amused, Max joked, "A testament of true friendship."

True friendship, she said, and Sam couldn't even remember what she was upset over.

A sharp snore sounded over where the TV in the basement was. Startled, both girls whipped their heads over to the noise. Although, they found that it was just Lucas snoring against Mike's box television down in the basement.

Sam and Max looked back at each other, sharing fond and amused grins.

"A state champ buzzer-beater, right there," Sam snorted, teasing Lucas even if he was unconscious.

Max's grin was light and close-lipped but still genuine. "So I heard," she said. "Awesome commentary, by the way. My favorite part was hearing you and the Satan-reincarnate broke up. I'm really proud of you for that."

Sam leaned back, entirely surprised. Her chest felt light, for some reason, and she blinked at Max rapidly in shock.

"You listened to me? On the radio?"

"Every game."

Sam's brows rose, and she was totally nonchalant about this. It wasn't like Max just confessed she'd been listening to Sam's voice for months, even when they weren't talking. Not a big deal at all. Sam didn't care.

"Oh," Sam's voice cracked, trying to remain calm. "That's... cool."

Max grinned, because she knew Sam wanted to squeal.

Then, Max's tape deck clicked, signifying that her mixtape was done rewinding. She would start listening to Kate Bush again and the conversation would be over.

"Do you want to come to the kitchen with me?" Max asked, now that the moon was thoroughly down, and a tint of orange illuminated the back of Sam like a halo. "I want to see if Holly has any crayons."

"Cra? — What?" Sam questioned, confused. "Why do you want to talk to Mike's six-year-old sister?"

Max got up from the sofa, yanking Sam up off it with her.

"Just come on," she exhaled exasperatedly. Before Sam could question her further, Max was putting the headphones back over her head and playing Running Up That Hill.

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Sam had fallen asleep on the Wheelers' kitchen table.

Sue her, all right? She had pulled, like, the third all-nighter in a row. Not even any pity hour-long sleeps that get awoken by night-terrors. She'd just been fueled by pure fear and anxiety since Friday.

It was now Tuesday, and Sam was asleep on the Wheelers' kitchen table.

Max was letting her sleep, because, frankly, she could see it in Sam's eyes. That girl was hanging on by a threat and she needed sleep more than Max did.

Which was saying a lot.

Both girls had been in the kitchen for about an hour now; Karen, Ted, and Holly had woken up, and the kind mother was making breakfast for all the occupants of the house. Holly just sat before Max in the dining room, playing with her Lite Brite, while Karen and Ted dwindled in the kitchen. Sam was right next to Max, head in her crossed arms, and her back rose and fell with the deep breaths from her chest. Kate Bush played in Max's ears while she focused on pages of red, scribbled sketches.