Chapter Text
At 4:45 a.m. Billy Hargrove woke with a shout, and just barely missed knocking the alarm off his nightstand when he blindly reached for the lamp. He was panting and sweating like he’d just run a marathon, and his heart rate was going just as fast too. It took a couple seconds to re-orient himself, and when he finally got the last cobwebs shaken from his mind, he realized he’d been blankly staring into the corner of his room clutching the bedsheets with his good hand. It was still too early to be awake, but he knew it wouldn’t be possible getting sleep now.
It still took a couple minutes for his heartbeat to slow, and when it finally did, he was able to slump back into his bed, leaving the light on as he stared up at the ceiling. Panic ebbing into a blankness, like coming down from an adrenaline rush. Always felt like he’d run a marathon whenever he woke up like this. The nightmare, if you could call it that, was still clinging onto the tendrils of his thoughts. It wasn’t surprising to wake up in a cold sweat these days; Billy had had more nightmares in the past two weeks than in the last seventeen years of his life. Does it really count as a nightmare if it’s actually just a memory, he always wondered, and what does it say about me that I wish it were just a nightmare?
Today was supposed to be his first day at the dinky high school in Hawkins, but he was already doubting whether he would actually attend or not. The more he laid there and thought about it the more the prospect of driving around and getting stoned seemed to call to him, especially since he knew he’d be half asleep all day anyway. Still, the idea of Neil somehow finding out he’d skipped his first day was enough to get his heart racing again, so he figured he’d at least wait to skip until tomorrow.
A creak in the hallway had him shooting up in his bed, already bracing for whatever Neil shaped situation lay ahead, but relaxed when he saw his door crack open slowly and Max appeared from the other side. She hovered there for a second, until Billy jerked her in with a nod, not bothering to sit back up.
“I thought I heard you shout,” she said before Billy could ask why she was up, “are you in pain? I can try to sneak some meds for you.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face, resisting the urge to sigh and really resisting the urge to tell Max exactly where to shove her concern. It was still weird how things were between them over the last couple of weeks. He didn’t actually want to let go of their tentative camaraderie, even though it would be so easy to at times. “No. I’m fine. Just had a bad dream.”
She still stood there, shifting from foot to foot. “Do you want any water? Or—or maybe a cigarette?”
Her concern and pity left a sour taste in his mouth; and the bitter thought of oh how the mighty have fallen crossed his mind. At the same time, though, he appreciated the offer, even if a cigarette before five a.m. sounded downright depressing. “I’m fine, Max. Just can’t get back to sleep.”
She stared him down with canny eyes, like she was trying to read for lies through his pupils and didn’t say or do anything until Billy sighed and pointed towards the corner of the bed.
Max took the offered spot and sat down gingerly, not looking at Billy but instead facing the wall opposite. “You’ve been having a lot of bad dreams lately.”
He shrugged, knowing that she could see out of the corner of her eye even though she was studiously refusing to look his way. He didn’t have anything clever to say to that, seeing as she was right. If anyone would have noticed it would have been Max since her room was perpetually next to his. “Not that many, and they’re not that bad. This one was just… intense.”
She just shrugged at that, acknowledging what they both knew was a lie, and started picking at one of the loose threads on his blanket. “Sometimes I can’t sleep either. I keep… thinking about it.”
"Oh yeah?" he fought to keep his tone normal.
"Yeah." hers was anything but.
“Max,” he leaned forward and ducked so he could see her face, and this time she looked back at him, “You know you can’t tell anyone, right?”
She looked away again, this time with a hard set to the line of her mouth. “I know that, you rockhead. Doesn’t mean it still doesn’t fucking suck that it happened.”
“Yeah, well, at least I’ll be off the hook for a while.” Billy offered, trying to get the furrow between her brows to smooth a little bit. He thought for a moment. “Did you really hear me and wake up, or were you already awake?”
Max shifted her body a little so he could only see her side and back. “I was already up. I don’t wanna go to this stupid new school.”
“Can’t really blame you there, I’m not excited either. At least you’ll be the cool kid from California, though. That should give you some points.”
“Oh yeah?” she turned to look at him. “What about you? Cool California kid points won’t work in high school?”
“Nah, they probably will, I’ve just gotta work it overtime because of this baby,” he lifted up his arm, where the dark blue cast took up most of his forearm and hand. When the nurse had asked what color he preferred he was too blasted out of his mind on the good stuff they gave him through his I.V. to choose, so she went with blue “because of your eyes!”. At least it wasn’t green. There was only one signature on it, and it was Max’s name printed in block letters in the middle of a badly drawn skateboard.
She tracked the movement of his arm with his eyes, before settling on his face. “You could probably sell it, though. Make it sound like some manly accident.”
“Yeah, could say it was a shark attack. Think they’d believe me?”
Her mouth twisted into a smirk. “Sure, just show them your surfboard and I’m sure they’ll buy it.” The second the words left her mouth her face soured, erasing the previous good mood he had got her into. She was probably remembering the fact that Neil sold his surfboard, or maybe just the general fact that Billy wouldn’t be surfing for a while.
They both sat there in silence for a couple minutes, both thinking about how much they were dreading school in the next couple of hours. “I hate this place.” Max spoke up without looking up from where she was glaring at his dresser. “It’s not fucking fair that we had to move here. I hate that we moved to the asscrack of the Midwest.”
Billy didn’t respond, aware of the fact that it was his fault they were there. Not only did he fuck his own life up, but he ended up fucking up Max’s too. That was some feat to pull off without even trying.
Max took pity on him though, must have been reading his thoughts, because she just deflated after a bit; like her strings had been cut. “Your dad sucks,” she told him, “I know you already know that, but he really fucking sucks. And not just for moving us out here.”
Amen to that, sister, he thought glumly. Max knowing about his dad was shitty for a multitude of reasons, but one of the silver linings was at least having an ally in someone who could see right through Neil’s shit. Having someone verbally acknowledge how much of a piece of shit Neil was felt like a sweet relief.
“You should go to sleep, Max,” he told her after a couple seconds of stewing on that, “I’m not dragging your ass out of bed with one hand.”
She huffed at that and tossed him a look that said she knew what he was really trying to do, but she didn’t comment on the obvious deflection. Instead, she stood up and cracked her back and went to leave. She hesitated a little at Billy’s door, tossing him one last look over her shoulder, but she didn’t say anything else and closed the door shut softly behind her.
A month ago Billy wouldn’t have been comforting his little stepsister before her first day at a new school. Then again, a month ago Max wouldn’t have given too much of a shit if she heard him shouting in his sleep after a nightmare. A month ago he would’ve had no nightmares, no broken arms, no stitches in the back of his head, and no newfound terror towards Neil that somehow was greater than the last. A lot could change in a month, though.
The only good thing out of it was him and Max finally being able to get along. Not that they’d always been hostile; after all, the reason why she had been in Billy’s room that afternoon in the first place was because he was teaching her how to play Spider. She had been there for every second of Neil going berserk, had been the first at his side when he woke up on the ground, and had held his good hand as they both cried on the way to the hospital. The sight of Max’s red face with tears and snot running down her cheeks as she tried to comfort Billy when she couldn’t even stop blubbering through her own words was something that stuck around in his mind just as much as the feeling of falling did.
She was also the first person he saw when he woke in the hospital, and she held his hand there too when he woke up and started freaking at first. Compared to the last two times he’d been in the hospital because of Neil related incidents and had woken up alone and scared, it felt like more than he ever thought he could have. Any lingering animosity she’d held toward him was quickly transferred onto Neil, evident by the way she narrowed her eyes and tensed up whenever he first came into the room to see Billy. Since then they had reached a tentative peace, with Max acting as Billy’s protector, and Billy hating every moment of it but unwilling to have things revert back to how they used to be. There was no point trying to keep the rough image up for her now, not when she had seen him groaning and whining in pain and clutching her hand roughly, dazedly asking for his mom.
Maybe part of it was the residual guilt from uprooting Max’s life along with his own, but at least every time she brought it up her blame seemed to be directed towards Neil. They still hadn’t talked about why Neil was ready to throttle Billy that day, why he had come up to his room in such a spitting rage he didn’t care that Max was seeing it all, the pointed names and slurs he had been calling Billy the whole time he had been trying to fight his dad off. He knew it was a matter of time before she asked, or drew her own conclusions, but at least it was still too early to talk about it. She was already lucky enough he talked to her about the nightmares.
He turned the lamp off but laid awake, didn’t wanna risk a lecture from Neil about wasting electricity. God knows he would be able to see the light under his door and hear the click of the lamp and be able to see right through Billy. At least I don’t have to wake up early and do my hair, he thought resentfully, running his hand through the curls. When he first found out they were moving to Hawkins he made an appointment at Floyd’s Barbershop immediately, determined to get his mullet as one last act of rebellion. He’d been wanting one for a while but had wanted to save up for a legit hair cut so it didn’t look busted. Then the accident happened, and they had to shave part of the underside of his hair just to do the stitches. The longer curls from the top and middle helped cover up the shaved spot, so he had to make the depressing decision to skip the appointment and shelve the idea for another day. Just another thing that Neil could somehow ruin.
The more minutes passed the more he began to feel nauseated, sick at the prospect of going to a new school. Maybe if things were normal, he’d be able to thrive easily, throw on the mask that seemed to fit like a second skin and show these hicks just how cool he was. But this time already felt different, tainted in a way that scared him a little. Somehow the accident had shaken his confidence more than anything else had, made him feel shaky and too big for his skin when that wasn’t something he was used to expressing easily. Normally school was an easy place to escape the stress of home, gave him something to focus on and conquer. Now, it felt like there wasn’t any safe space for him to go where Neil wouldn’t be able to hurt him. Felt like Neil was even more hypervigilant than before, if that was even possible.
He'd just have to try extra hard at this new place, just throw himself into the role of Cool Douchebag that seemed to fit him the best, and make sure everyone bought whatever bullshit he came up with to explain his arm. He wouldn’t even mention the stitches on the back of his head to anyone, knew that’d be harder to explain away and he was about to get them taken out soon anyways. All he had to do was bide his time for the rest of the school year, which was really basically just a semester at this point, and then he’d get the fuck out of dodge the day after graduation. Before, this was something he used to fantasize about in California, now it was the only thing keeping him going. The first thought in the morning and the last thought at night: Get the fuck out of dodge and get away from Neil.
~
He gets out of driving Max to school because he has to be at the high school earlier than usual. Neil informs him over breakfast, not even looking at Billy as he reads the morning paper. He doesn’t seem to notice the holes Max is glaring into the newsprint across the table. Billy just says his usual, “Yes, sir,” and keeps his head down, scarfing down the bacon Susan put on his plate. Neil hasn’t said anything about lunch money this morning, and there’s no way Billy’s about to bring it up himself.
It’s a relief to finally get excused from the table and be able to escape to his car. Not that the prospect of going to school is much better, but it sure beats the awkwardness of eating breakfast with Neil and Max. These days the meals are worse than they were before; with Max glaring daggers at Neil and Neil staring hatefully at Billy for turning his new daughter against him. Billy usually just keeps his head down now, all too aware of how easy it is to put Neil in a bad mood first thing in the morning.
By the time Billy pulls up to the bland Hawkins High he’s already smoked two cigarettes and is fiending for his third. It wouldn’t do too good to completely reek of nicotine in front of the guidance counselor, so he holds off and rolls his windows down a little so the smell will clear. He’s a mess of nerves and stress when he pulls into the student parking lot and the nicotine buzz doesn’t do much to help. He doesn’t know why he’s so goddamn nervous for an appointment with the guidance counselor of all things, already knows his transcript from front to back.
Here’s the thing: Billy is good at school. Like… better at school than a lot of other things, embarrassingly enough. He never started off as a whiz kid or anything, but sooner or later the place where he spends eight hours away from home every day becomes a sort of solace. Enough that he starts finding reasons to stay later, put off the inevitable return to the place he dreads most. He’s always been pretty good at games, so it starts with the chess club first. In junior high the extracurriculars change from academic to athletic; partly because it’s any easy way to fight his aggression, and partly because sports are always easier to explain bruises than any chess club could.
By the time he went into high school he had the option to become the burnout wastoid he’s expected to be, but at that point it was too ingrained in his system to keep his head down and in the books in class, and it was something he’s never learned to break. Grades are the one thing that Neil can’t ever get on his case about, so it’s easy to maintain that for just any extra slice of peace he can manage. So it comes as no surprise that the guidance counselor in this crummy Indiana high school is a little taken aback by his rap sheet.
“Your scores are very impressive; it looks like you’re a really good test taker!” she gushes at him. “You tested very well in all of the subjects too, there wasn’t any specific one I could say was a weak point for you.”
He rolls a shoulder. He’s never been that good at taking praise for his academics, no matter how much he knows he deserves it, on paper. “Thanks,” he offers, when it looks like she’s waiting for some acknowledgement.
Her smile dims a little but brightens up again when she looks through the manila folder. “You’re GPA is at extremely good standing because of the additional points from your advanced placement classes. You know, we have an Academic Decathlon team that I know would be so pleased to—”
“That’s okay.” he interrupts before she gets any ideas. Academic Decathlon is the quickest way to social suicide, even back in Cali. She waits to see if he’ll say anything else, but he remains stubbornly silent. There’s no way she’s gonna be able to guilt him into joining that shit.
She recovers quickly, at least. “From what your school faxed me I can also see that you’re quite the athlete! You just missed basketball season, but you wouldn’t have been able to play anyway with that,” she nods to the dark blue cast, “I know that Coach Wilson will definitely be glad to have you in athletics, though, I’m sure there’s some stuff you can do in there, especially once you get the cast taken off..”
Ms. Claiborne is nice, nicer than the guidance counselor he had back home. She’s young, though, and probably still has that ingenue-attitude that fresh educators adopt whenever they first start teaching. Then they realize that no amount of concern over Billy’s home life will actually do anything unless he says something, or they catch Neil giving it to him red-handed. Then they lose a little bit of that hopeful touch. Ms. Claiborne has obviously not gotten the memo yet, judging by the excited way she pours over his file, and is practically brimming with glee over his potential.
“You know, you’ve really got a good future ahead of you,” she tells him like it’s a secret she’s divulging, like Billy hasn’t gotten the same lecture from every well to-do teacher since he was ten, “The only thing that I would worry about is your… peer relations, if you will.”
Her eyes dart nervously to the cast and back to his face in a second. That means she’s already read the part of his file that probably goes on and on about the various fights he’s gotten in trouble for over the years. Half of them are true, caught on school property with him pummeling some poor bastard. The other half are probably nervous inquiries from days he would show up with the usual bruises.
Billy shrugs again because he’s not really sure what to say. He’s not really sure what she would want him to say, other than Sorry ma’am! It’ll never happen again; you’ve really opened my eyes on this one. It sounds laughable even in his head. He doesn’t try saying it out loud.
Her eyes are still nervously darting towards his cast, though, so he knows he has to give a little something.
“Tackle football with a little too much tackle,” he says, raising his cast. The grin he’s got on is one of his most charming yet. “I’m not looking to make big waves here, ma’am, just trying to coast through the rest of senior year.”
She smiles, convinced. It’s always easy to convince when you’ve got a grin as charming as his. “Of course,” she says, like it’s their little secret, “I’m sure you won’t be that much of a handful.”
He barely suppresses a laugh.
With a freshly hot schedule and a newly throbbing headache, Billy makes his way to his first class. In that one and the three others that follow, he declines to do any introduction. Part of it is because he knows everyone likes a mystery. The biggest reason is because his headache only gets worse with each passing period, and not even he feels up to doing some inane small talk.
No one talks to him in his classes, but they sure do stare a lot. Seems like Billy must be the flashiest, newest thing in the school because it seems like there’s always at least three different sets of eyes attached to him. It makes him feel even more under a microscope, hating the fact that he can’t be at school or home without having his every move watched. By the time lunch time rolls around the foul mood has already set in. That third cigarette is calling his name.
He smokes that one and another, hidden under the metal bleachers on the side that’s not filled with the stoners. It’s brisk as fuck, November in Indiana is no joke. The chill wouldn’t start setting in in California until at least the end of January. There’s only a couple weeks until winter break and he’s already dreading what the weather will be like. They were supposed to move back in October, but then… everything happened and shifted the plans a little. Suddenly they had to wait out Billy’s hospital stay and then wait for the bruising on his face to heal. It was one thing to show up with a cast and stitches, and another to add a black and blue face on top of that. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if someone were able to connect the dots and question what was really going on in the Hargrove household.
Billy debates for about half the lunch period on whether he should skip the rest of the day or not and decides to just play it safe and not risk a phone call home. Susan may not rat him out, but he could never be completely sure. It takes all of his willpower to walk towards the school instead of his car when lunch ends.
When he sits down in his fifth period class, however, he’s grateful that he decided not to skip.
See, he has a type. He knows he has a type. And the tall glass of water that just walked in with the thickest head of hair and chocolate brown eyes fits exactly that. The second the other guy steps into the room, Billy’s eyes are locked on him. It feels like the air has been punched out of his chest. The pastel polo and preppy bomber jacket are like a beacon to him; something about preps and jocks always got his blood running a little hot for whatever reason. Maybe it was because Billy was already so rough around the edges that it made him crave a little goody-two-shoes, but there was no denying this guy practically walked right out of his deepest fantasies, right down to the tan chinos and expensive tennis shoes.
Billy only stared at him for about a minute, but that was already a minute too long. He folded himself even further into his chair, finally breaking his gaze and fixating on the pattern of wood grain on the desk instead while his mind worked in overdrive. This was dangerous. This was not a part of the plan. He could already feel his face heating and his heart racing a little bit and felt like a complete chump for getting so worked up over a fucking guy who unironically wore striped polos to school.
He didn’t even tune in to the rest of the class filing in, just kept his head down while he tried to will his blush away and calm his pounding heart. People were staring at him in this class too, and he could hear a couple of whispers and low talking voices carry through the room as they watched him. Nothing from the brunette with the fluffy hair and long limbs, though. When Billy stole another glance at him, he wasn’t even rewarded with the sight of that pretty face, could only see the back of his head buried into the arms folded in front of him. It took an abundance of effort to rip his eyes away from the broad shoulders. Was he a swimmer? Fuck. He needed to get his head on straight.
Billy skipped the introductions for this class as well, wondering why every goddamn teacher had to ask the same three rotating questions about California. He kept his eyes trained towards the front, but was searching through his peripherals to see if the mystery guy reacted at all. The guy didn’t pick up his head from his hands until Ms. Applebaum began the lecture. Billy was already plotting his new seat the next day, completely willing to brain someone with his bulky cast if it meant that he’d get a seat next to the brown-haired boy he couldn’t keep his eyes off of.
Sixth period wasn’t anything special, not when it didn’t have the guy from his last class in it, but he was a little breathless and more than a little pleased to see him in his last period gym. The counselor had still signed him up for athletics even though his arm was busted, said it would have been “wasting your abilities!” but at least basketball season was over by now. It would have been way too depressing to watch everyone around him dunking in the net while he just had to watch from the sidelines. Apparently, she had talked to Coach Wilson about Billy earlier in the day, because before he could slink off into the corner the Coach had already wrapped a big paw around his shoulder and was dragging him to the front of the gym.
“Boys, look alive!” he called. “We’ve got a new kid from California, name’s Billy. Give him a good Hawkins welcome.”
He tried not to flinch too badly when Coach slapped him on the back and determinedly didn’t look in the direction of the brown-eyed guy from his English class. The class gave out their greetings casually, but a hot pricking of his skin told him that someone was staring at him. Instead of it being the person he wanted staring at him, it was the guy to the left of him. His face was covered in freckles and his eyes were appraising. He greeted Billy just the same as everyone else, but Billy knew when a gaze wasn’t friendly, but opportunistic. It was only a matter of time; he’d been expecting some of the bottom-feeders to look his way once they realized he was from someplace New and Cool and Fresh.
Coach let him sit out for the class, since they were doing dodgeball and that wasn’t exactly a broken arm friendly sport. Not that it was really a stitches in the back of the head sport either, but no one had to know that he was also dealing with that. Since basketball season was over but they still had a month and a half of school left, Coach was just taking them though the basic athletics lesson plans and trying to gear them up for the second semester where soccer and baseball would begin. It was a major fucking bummer that there was no lacrosse here, and he didn’t quite appreciate the are you crazy? look from Coach whenever he asked whether they’d be playing that or not. Just add that to the list of things Indiana was sorely lacking in.
When Coach dismissed them, he got the fuck out of there without a backwards glace. The whole period the lights had been buzzing relentlessly and bearing down on him, and the combination of that plus an hours’ worth of guys yelling made the pounding in his head nearly unbearable. He had to sit in his car for a minute afterwards, waiting for his vision to be less shaky and stabilize. Max didn’t say anything when he pulled up to her school, just eyed him the entire ride home like she was trying to figure out what was wrong with him. Too much, kid, he thought miserably as his hands shook on the steering wheel, way too much.
He skipped dinner by his own choice for once, instead chose to go to his room and turn all the lights off while sticking a pillow over his head. The cool fabric felt good, and it helped block out the sounds of everyone’s silverware clinking around on the plates. He knew he’d probably have to do the dishes in the morning as penance, but it was completely worth it to be left alone in the dark bog of his room. He studiously tried to think of anything other than fluffy hair and brown eyes.
~
The next day Billy was determined to make up for the depressing display he had made of himself the day prior. The headache was gone in the morning, and to preempt any possible future pain he popped one of the last three pain pills he still had stashed from when Susan took pity on him.
At first after the accident his dad had outright forbidden Billy from using any of the prescription meds they gave him, saying that the pain was a good learning curve for Billy. The morning they were supposed to make the drive to Indiana he had been suffused with dread, picturing two straight days of driving stuck in a car with his dad while his arm and head ached relentlessly. He had been surprised that morning to find that he was actually driving with Susan and Max, something that almost made him weak in the knees with relief at the time. When they had all piled into the car, Susan had waited until Billy was situated in the backseats before she took a Ziploc baggie out of her purse and took out two thick white pills, handing them to Billy. Max had wordlessly passed him a water bottle, and when he thanked them both it felt just as desperate and pathetic as he thought it would.
The shame of relying on Susan and Max was much better than the stifling silence of what would have been the car ride with his dad, though, and he was more grateful than he’d ever been in his life to be able to stretch out on the backseats and pass out for a majority of the ride. He woke up a couple times, vision hazy, to see Max staring at him from the passenger seat, but his mouth and brain felt too heavy, so he’d always fall back asleep within seconds. The next day was the same, only this time he was able to pass out in his new bedroom instead of a shitty motel bed.
Neil obviously didn’t know Susan had given him the pills, or she would have had the whole bottle in her purse, and he wasn’t a shitty enough person to rat her out or somehow slip up so Neil would find out that he’d gotten some, so he just kept the rest of the handful Susan gave him in the bag and figured he’d dole it out only when necessary. Max almost always offered to steal some for him, but the thought of her getting caught as well was way too much of a risk. Most of the time he really didn’t mind the aching, but the migraine yesterday had been almost unbearable towards the end.
The buzz from his morning cigarette combined with the blanket of warm feeling from the meds made him feel nice and relaxed, so much closer to his old self than how he’d been acting yesterday. Today was going to be different. Yesterday he’d been uncomfortable, in pain, and disconcerted. Now, he barely remembered the drive from home to school and felt better than he had in the past couple of weeks.
This time he didn’t bother to duck his head or weave as unobtrusively as possible in the hallways; choosing instead to leisurely strut in like he owned the place and had bought it for cheap. It was pretty easy to do since his limbs felt loose and light. The complete lack of pain in his head and arm was almost a high in and of itself, and within ten minutes of walking in he was already giving some salacious smiles to a couple of random girls he caught staring his way. When they blushed and tittered and turned their heads away quickly, he knew it worked. It always did, whether he actually wanted it to or not.
The first four periods were a million times different than yesterday. Where yesterday he had been subsumed with pain and felt like he was barely hanging on in class, today he felt like he was riding high and time was passing quickly. When lunch time came around, he was pleasantly surprised to realize half the day had already gone by.
Billy had been planning on skipping lunch in favor of smoking again, stomach rolling at the thought of actually eating food on the medication. He was already digging into his jacket pocket and was making a beeline for the double doors when he heard someone call out, “Hargrove!”
He stopped in his tracks, turning around to see who exactly felt confident enough to address him, seeing as he hadn’t spoken to practically anyone the day before. He was greeted with the sight of a guy with way too many freckles coming his way, the one who’d been staring at him in gym yesterday.
“Hey man!” he was huffing a little bit from the jog. Billy still hadn’t moved from where his hand was hovering near the handles. “You’re Billy, right? You’re from California?”
“Yep,” he said, fingers twitching toward the Luckies in his pocket, “That would be me.”
The guy stuck his hand out. “Tommy Hagan, I think we have gym together.”
Billy ignored the proffered handshake in favor of finally shaking out a cigarette and digging in his jean pockets for a lighter. He was itching for a smoke.
He was correct in his mental placement of Tommy as a bottom-feeder because the guy just laughed at Billy’s rudeness and ran a hand through his hair. “Come sit with us at lunch, I can give you the low down on the school.”
Even though that was probably the last thing he wanted to do, he still found himself reluctantly putting away the cigarette and agreeing. Tommy was the first one who actually had the balls to talk to him, and that kind of confidence coming from a plain Midwesterner like him spoke of some sort of inflated position in the school. That, and the fact that Billy could clock that his shoes were probably five times more expensive than anything Billy would be able to get. It seemed like the way to popularity here was having money, and since he really had none, he figured it would be good to at least rub elbows with those who did.
Everyone at Tommy’s table looked like they came from the same Sears catalogue, and it was just another one of those weird eye-opening moments that let him know he really wasn’t in California anymore; was instead surrounded by cashmere sweaters and Wonderbread sandwiches with extra helpings of mayo. Tommy steered him towards the end of the table after making quick introductions, and Billy tried not to bristle at the feelings of his hands on his shoulders, way too close to his back. Even the pain meds couldn’t cut through the anxiety of the reminder of that feeling.
“This is Carol,” Tommy said, gesturing to the strawberry blonde at the end who was snapping a bright pink bubble of gum loudly.
“Billy, right?” she leaned forward, “Please tell me you didn’t actually ditch California for this hellhole.”
It’s enough to make him ease a little, thankful that she’s at least faking familiarity compared to the rest of Tommy’s goons who just sit there and watch. “Dragged out here against my will.”
“Figures.” She tilts her head. “Well, if you wanna catch some waves I’m sorry to say there’s no beaches here. It’s a seven-hour drive if you wanna try your luck at Lake Michigan, though.”
“Isn’t the water cold as fuck out there?”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t gonna tell you that.” The mischievous twinkle in her eye reminds him of the girls from back home, and it’s a little comforting.
Whatever Tommy’s gearing up to say next is interrupted by a guy dropping in the seat right next to him. All at once, Billy can feel the breath whoosh! right out of his chest. It’s the guy from his fifth period, the one he couldn’t stop glancing at in English.
“Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove. Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington.” Tommy introduces, when it looks like no one was gonna say anything.
He’s grateful for it, because his mouth is so dry for a couple seconds that he’s afraid he won’t even respond. Before he can try to say something, though, Steve just gives a disinterested nod and starts in on his food, barely paying Billy any attention. The clear dismissal feels like a slap in the face, cuts through the good mood he had going for him for almost the entire day.
Tommy rolls his eyes at Steve’s lack of manners. “Ignore Harrington. He’s been real pissy the last month. Isn’t that right, Stevie?” he goes in to pull Steve in a noogie, but Steve shoves him before he can make the headlock. He goes back to eating his meal, like this is just some regular shit.
Carol clears her throat, gets Billy’s attention from where he realized he’d been just staring at the top of Steve’s ducked head. When he turns to her there’s a different look in her eyes this time, and he’s thankful when he can actually almost see her shelving it and putting it aside in her mind in favor of asking him something else. “Hey, so, don’t take this the wrong way…” she trails off.
“What?” he asks, hackles raising.
“Are you on something right now? Your pupils are super dilated.”
“Oh, uh, yeah,” he admits, raising his cast. “Arm and head hurt like a bitch yesterday, so I took some meds.”
“How’d you break it?” Tommy nods toward the arm.
“Touch football, got blindsided and tackled by some motherfucker,” he says easily. It was the only cover story that Billy had considered. Sports were always a believable explanation for injuries and gave the added benefit of pr.
“Isn’t that against the rules?” Steve’s looking up now, regarding Billy with narrowed eyes.
He’s so fixated on hearing the first sound of Steve’s voice that he barely catches what he actually said. “Huh?”
Steve looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Touch football. Isn’t the whole point of it not to tackle the players?”
Fuck. Fuck, he forgot. It was supposed to be tackle football, not fucking touch. Why are there about 30 different goddamn variations of the same game, anyway? It’s just asking for a mix up. Figures he’d get it right with the counselor and wrong with everyone else. Must be the pain medication, throwing him off his game a little. Or maybe it’s just Steve Harrington in general throwing him off. Either way, it’s a fuck up he needs to fix.
If there’s one thing that Billy’s good at, though, it’s making up lies on the spot. It only take two seconds for him to quip, “Guess I play with a bunch of assholes then, huh?”
Steve cracks his mouth open, eyes narrowing even more. Before he can say anything, though, his eyes shift to the right of Billy and harden a little. He balls up this napkin and tosses it onto the tray before picking it up. “Lost my appetite,” is all he mutters before he’s just gone.
It’s such whiplash that he almost wonders if maybe he’s the one acting crazy here, but a scoff from Tommy and an eye roll from Carol tell him otherwise. She looks over Billy’s shoulder and tsks a little bit, nudging Tommy. “Looks like Raggedy Ann and Andy just sat down, probably why he dipped.”
“Seriously, ignore Steve.” Tommy tells him, taking his eyes off the people behind Billy and instead facing him. “He just broke up with his priss of a girlfriend and still has yet to get over it.”
“Oh yeah?” he says casually, like he’s not hunting for details and this close to getting an interrogation lamp out. “What happened?”
“She got super drunk at a party and yelled at him in front of everyone,” Carol butted in, eyes still fixed on Billy. “Then she cheated on him with this total weirdo.”
He raises his brows in disbelief. Can’t imagine anyone sane cheating on a guy who looks like Steve. “Shit, really?”
“Yep, and he’s still mooning over her.” Tommy heaves a sigh. “He’s lucky we started talking again or he’d probably be sitting under the bleachers at lunch.” Billy doesn’t mention that that’s where he spent his first day.
Carol punches him in the arm. “Oh, shut up, don’t act like you’re so giving. Wasn’t it you whining in my ear all summer about how much you wanted to hang out at Steve’s?”
Tommy just takes the punch, levels Billy with a see what I have to deal with here? look that only gets Carol socking him in the arm again. It makes him snort a bit, seeing Tommy play Carol’s bitch so well. “Whatever. At least he finally came to his senses. Wheeler made him half as fun as he used to be, God knows what would’ve happened if they actually stayed together.”
“Hm.” Is all he says, drumming his fingers on the table. He’s a little bit antsy to get the lunch period over with already so he can see Steve again in class. If anything, just to get an actual acknowledgement that isn’t an unbothered nod.
The rest of lunch passes easily; Tommy and Carol are more entertaining than the sycophants they sit with, who all hover to the side a bit like they’re afraid to engage in conversation. Tommy tells him about their recent basketball season, and even looks genuinely interested when Billy talks about lacrosse. He’s probably 75% brownnoser and 25% a dick, which is an alright combination for Billy to befriend. Carol, on the other hand, is about 100% a bitch, which also suits him just fine. It’s suffocating being surrounded by these happy Midwesterners, heads empty like they’re all some kind of pod-people, so Tommy and Carol’s general negative dispositions are a welcomed breath of fresh air.
He's sorely disappointed when he gets to English and Harrington doesn’t even spare him a second glance, head folded up into his hands until the bell rings to start class. He ignores Billy when he sends a nod his way. It irks Billy more and more with each passing second. He’s not used to getting sidelined like this, not when he actually wants the attention. Fucking figures that the only person Billy wanted to impress in this po-dunk town was apparently unimpressible. That’s fine, though, because after a lifetime of taking shit and getting hit Billy’s pretty good at withstanding anything. Even if that means crushes on snobby preps with bad attitudes.
Sixth period and he’s already plotting on what to do in gym. He knows Tommy and Steve are in class with him, so it’s the perfect opportunity to show Steve Harrington exactly why it’s a bad idea to ignore Billy Hargrove.
They’re running on the track today, taking care of the mile they’re supposed to fulfill for the athletic requirement of the school. Tommy’s sticking by his side, already like a barnacle, but he keeps pretty good pace with Billy. Up ahead, Steve’s pulling ahead of about most of the guys just because of his long legs alone.
Tommy sees him watching and rolls his eyes. “Don’t even bother. He’s impossible to catch up with.”
It’s good that Tommy misreads his interest as jealousy over Steve’s athletic ability, much more preferable to the truth. Billy casually looks behind him, where he can see Coach by the bleachers with his nose buried in the clipboard. Perfect opportunity for a little fun.
He pushes himself until he’s pulling ahead of the others, ignoring Tommy’s squawks behind him. It takes a bit of effort, Tommy really wasn’t lying about Steve being fast, but then he’s finally gaining on him.
It feels like winning when he shoulder checks Steve and sends the guy pinwheeling, trying to right his balance. Billy pulls ahead but turns back to look at Steve, whose face twists from something like disbelief into determination. Impossibly, it somehow makes him even more attractive. “Sorry, pretty boy! Guess I’m too fast for you!”
He turns around before the heat can hit his cheeks. Pretty boy rolled off his tongue so easily he hadn’t even had a second to think the words through, stop them before he actually said them. The rest of the guys on the track are laughing, though, so at least he knows he didn’t actually show his cards.
Billy’s in the lead for maybe five minutes, pushing past the rest of the guys in the front, before he feels Harrington shoulder check him from behind. It’s not as rough as Billy’s was, and he doesn’t go flailing like Steve probably thought he would. Instead he lets himself move with it and runs towards the side a little bit, not losing any momentum, and then crosses back to slam into Steve’s shoulder again.
Harrington is ready for it this time and pushes back with his shoulder to ward Billy off. He’s no match for Billy though, not when Billy’s practically a tank, and is only able to secure himself a couple seconds of peace before Billy’s coming his way again.
This time when they collide Steve shoves him back with a hand. “What—the fuck—is your problem—man?” he pants, brow furrowing angrily as he tries to blink the sweat from his eyes.
Billy ignores his own breathless feeling at the sound of Harrington’s hoarse, worn out voice. “Not my fault you just can’t keep up.”
Steve’s eyes narrow, but before he can say anything back Billy’s already pushing ahead one last time, ignoring the screaming in his thighs and calves in favor of crossing the finish line first. It’s a lot of effort for the mile, especially since there are still stragglers at the back of the field choosing to just walk it, but it’s still a victory all the same. Part of it is because he was able to prove his physicality to the rest of their class, not bad for a cripple, huh, he thinks to himself. The real reason, though, is because he was able to have Steve’s attention on him, as hostile as it may have been. If Steve wants to try and ignore Billy, that’s fine. But Billy’s not one to be ignored.
He waves to Coach and heads back towards the gym, thankful that he’s gonna be first to the showers. He’s still got some pretty bad bruising on his back and ribs from the accident, and even though the marks healed up on his face right before they moved to Hawkins, the ones on his back are worse. Contusions, is what the doctor told him in the hospital, it’ll probably take a couple weeks before your back is back to normal. Contusions are a bitch, they hurt more than bruises and last twice as long. His back still looks fucking gnarly, mottled green and brown patterns just all over the place. Apparently, he’d been lucky to not break any ribs. He doesn’t feel very lucky every time he twists wrong in bed and feels the tender muscles throb in pain in time with his pulse, sending him into a cold sweat.
He didn’t predict how long it would take to wrap his cast, though, and whatever time advantage he had before is dashed when he gets into the showers and hears other voices already start pouring into the locker room. He’s shortly joined by Tommy, who looks like he’s biting his lip to hold back laughter, and Steve, who looks pissed as fuck. He barely has the time to appreciate the expression on Harrington’s face before he’s being shoved back into the cool tile. The pain is almost blinding for a moment, and his mouth doesn’t even make a sound when he opens it involuntarily.
“What’s your damage, man?” Steve demands, apparently not bothered about the fact that they’re having this out fully naked in the showers. “What? Got nothing to say now?”
And Billy really doesn’t have anything to say, can barely get the dots out of his vision from the collision with the shower walls. His back feels like it’s on fire, and it takes all of his self-control not to make any wounded animal noises.
“Woah, holy shit, what’s wrong with your back?” Tommy’s voice echoes off the walls, sharply bringing him back to the moment. Now’s not the time to show weakness, no matter the fact that Harrington really fucking shoved him hard.
“Touch football,” he grits out, committing to the mistake from earlier, “Told you I got tackled by some assholes.”
Tommy lets out a low whistle in commiseration. Steve seems torn between looking justified for shoving Billy in retaliation, and also a little grossed out by the scene on his back. Billy doesn’t blame him; he tries not to look at it in the mirror any time he gets out of the shower.
“Well,” Harrington starts unsteadily before picking up speed again, “Maybe if you weren’t such a dick on the field, I wouldn’t have shoved you.”
“God, Harrington, can’t deal with a little roughhousing?” he asks, still trying to blink past the spots lingering at the edges of his vision. “Worried a little competition’s gonna take you down?”
Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m not worried about anything, dipshit. Just get off my case, alright?”
He doesn’t know it, but the words fuel Billy to act out even more. If challenging his status and a little horseplay is enough to get under Steve’s skin like this, then that means he’s only gonna do it tenfold. Billy’s always been the one to pull pigtails on the playground.
All he gives is a smarmy wink and an even smarmier smile, before shutting off his shower and snapping the handle on Steve’s for good measure, too. Tommy’s laughs ring through the locker room as he exits the stalls, feeling satisfied for more than one reason.
Max notices the complete 180 from his mood yesterday picking her up compared to the one today. Where yesterday he had opted to drive the car in complete silence, today he’s already singing falsetto to Black Dog when he picks her up from the middle school.
She raises a brow when she settles into the passenger seat. He cranks the volume up, makes sure his voice goes extra high. She just rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “You must be in a good mood.”
“Oh yeah?” he yells over the radio, “And why’s that?”
“You only get the Led out when you’re either super depressed or super happy,” she comments. He turns the dial down a couple of times.
He knows they’re both thinking back to a week before they left for Hawkins, when he played IV on repeat over and over again, like the music was supposed to be a balm to his physical and emotional pain. He almost wants to snap at her for bringing that up, but he knows she probably didn’t mean to make him think of that specifically. So instead he just takes a steady breath and decides to be a little honest.
“Made some friends today,” he doesn’t admit that one of the three friends he made technically seems to hate his guts, “what about you?”
Max shrugs a little and just looks out of the window stonily. I’ll take that as a no, I guess, he thinks when she doesn’t say anything. It’s not really any big surprise, both him and Max were perpetual loners it seemed, no matter how many random acquaintances they were able to make. For Billy, it was because of his dad and the fact that secrets were always harder to hide from those who really knew you. For Max, it was the right combination of pre-teen angst, a natural bad temper inherited by her own father, and the fact that she can’t let any sarcastic comment go through her head without saying it out loud.
Even though they had been at each other’s throats half the time growing up, the other half of the time was filled with a sense of camaraderie. Max knew all about fucked up dads and had had the displeasure of switching from a drunk for a father to a fucking psychopath of a stepfather. It was also easy to find solidarity with a person when you both seemed to negatively repel people the other way with a single look.
Billy had been the first person to teach her skateboarding. At the time it was more to get her off his back, thirteen and annoyed as hell with the nine-year-old little orphan Annie who would follow him everywhere. But then it was also kinda nice to always have someone with you, especially in the summers when Neil and Susan would be working all day and they were left up to their own devices. They didn’t have a television set for the longest time, so it was really up to them to provide their own entertainment.
Most of the time they’d walk to the pier, and Billy would scare off the little assholes that always hogged the machines and tried to tell Max girls can’t play video games. She never liked surfing, got a taste for skating and never came back, but sometimes she’d sit for two or three hours in the sand while Billy would catch some waves. Most of the time when they hung out on the pier, they’d people watch and make up horrible background stories, Billy always cackling a little when he realized how dark Max’s humor was.
Then he hit fifteen, and suddenly all he could think about was boys boys boys, and not in any macho or manly way that would have been accepted by Neil. No, only the unacceptable ways. His dad had always told him growing up that he could see into Billy’s mind, could always tell when he was lying. Deep down Billy knew it was a crock of shit, knew the only reason why Neil even found out he was lying half the time was by making shots in the dark, but it still didn’t stop him from locking that secret up in a mental fortress that was heavily guarded. He felt like he was constantly on the defense, trying to plan for a preemptive strike before he got attacked. Max seemed like a liability, an eleven-year-old girl who wouldn’t be able to keep her mouth shut if she got interrogated too hard by Neil, so he took care of that problem by acting like a major asshole.
It had worked until it didn’t, until he could see that it was fruitless to have constant animosity with probably the only person in the house who gave even a quarter of a shit about him. He didn’t stop being a jerk, but he at least stopped directing all of his anger towards her. In the last year they had really begun to bridge that gap; when Max didn’t talk much for weeks before admitting that some guys were messing with her at school Billy rectified the situation immediately, didn’t even feel bad about giving a couple of snot-nosed brats some swirlies in the arcade bathroom.
The weeks leading up to the accident had been pretty good, with fewer fights and more lighthearted eye rolls. He’d been relaxed in those last weeks. He'd been happy. That was probably why he slipped up, didn’t even realize Neil had a clue until he was slamming Billy’s door open and was ready to throttle his neck.
He knew it was hard enough for her to make friends, let alone in a place where almost everyone had the same cardboard personality. Billy also felt bad about the fact that it was his fault they were uprooted in the first place, felt bad that not only had Max seen his dad like that but had also been forced to watch the entire thing unfold, every gritty detail.
“Listen,” he started, a little uncomfortable but determined to get it out, “you’ll make friends, alright? They’re probably all intimidated because you’re the cool new kid. No one spoke an entire fuckin’ word to me yesterday, okay? Just give it time.”
“Yeah. Okay. I guess you’re right.” she messed with the strap of the backpack at her feet. “Wish there was a skate park here.”
“Yeah, that blows,” he agreed. “They got an arcade?”
“Yeah, but it’s in the middle of town, and they only have one.” Max whined.
He rolled his eyes. “Suck it up, buttercup, you’re lucky they have one in the first place. Why don’t you go there and blow off some steam? Nothing like beating a bunch of nerds high scores to make yourself feel better.”
She rolled her eyes. “Hello, it’s in the middle of town. Way too cold to skate all the way there.”
Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. “Hello, I’ll fucking drive you there and drop you off. You forget what we’re riding in right now?”
Max didn’t rise to the bait, though, just sat up straighter. “Really? You would?”
He gave her a side eye, turning back to the road. “No need to get so excited, I’m just dropping you off. I’m not stepping foot into that fuckin’ cesspool.”
“Fuck yeah!” Max pumped a fist in the air, problems about not fitting in seemingly forgotten at the prospect of crushing some dweebs at their own game. “They won’t know what hit ‘em.”
His good mood carried all the way into dinner, where he had to tamp it down a little bit so Neil wouldn’t cause any ruckus. He hated when Billy was in a bad mood and hated it even worse when Billy was in a good mood. Billy tried not to notice the fact that Max also put a little stoic face on during the entirety of the meal, but that was probably more to do with the fact that she was committed to hating Neil’s guts and letting him thoroughly know it. He kicked her foot under the table when she responded a little too snappily at some point and was relieved when she softened the glare and instead chose to moodily push the food around her plate. She was sure to mention at the end of dinner how Billy had promised to take her to the arcade, not laying the Grateful Sister schtick on too thick in case Neil might think it was a slight directed towards him. Neil seemed torn between approving of Billy being a good older brother and resentful that Max seemed to get along with Billy much more now.
He was thankful for Max being the one to broach the subject, knew if he brought it up it would look suspicious no matter which way he framed it. This was at least giving him an out to be out of the house for a couple hours over the weekend, whether he would actually have plans or not. He knew it probably wouldn’t be difficult to convince Tommy, at least, since the guy seemed pretty eager to attach himself to Billy’s side.
Sure enough when he asked the next day at lunch Tommy was completely down, and Billy invited Carol too since it seemed like it wouldn’t be a bad time. The plan was to get high at the quarry, maybe see a movie. Absolutely plain and boring by Billy’s standards in California, but it was the best he was working with.
Steve, meanwhile, completely ignored his invitation and only bothered to answer when Billy actually prodded him in the middle of the forehead. He smacked Billy’s hand away and told him he had other plans, wouldn’t even want to hang with Billy if he didn’t. Billy covered up the disappointment with an easy, “Your loss,” while pretending it didn’t feel like Steve had actually just slapped him in the face. It was easier to focus on the part of his hand that was still tingling from Harrington’s warm touch.
He continued his antics in gym for the rest of the week, picking on Steve enough to get him irritated but not enough for another shove in the showers, Billy wasn’t that much of a masochist. It was so easy to keep the game going, especially when Steve got riled up so easily. The guy was obviously an only chid, if the way he got worked up was any indication.
Tommy made it sound like Steve used to be Top Dog of the school, but Billy figured he probably never had anyone challenge him during his reign, if his reaction to Billy’s pestering was anything to go by. It was obvious that Tommy was used to being the punching bag because he seemed to find it especially funny every time Billy was able to get Steve in a tizzy--which seemed to be nine times out of ten.
“It’s just so fuckin’ funny,” he told Billy that Saturday at the quarry, “King Steve isn’t used to the new jester.”
Billy snatched the joint from Tommy’s hands, taking two big hits before passing it to Carol on his left. “Fuck off. I’m no jester. If anything, I’m the next fuckin’ emperor.”
Carol cackled at that and blew out a plume of smoke at the same time, making Tommy start laughing and Billy snort a little. “Yeah, I guess Steve’s really not King Steve anymore.” Carol ashed the joint a little before reaching back to hand it to Tommy. “He’s not nearly as fun as he used to be. I’m still surprised he didn’t come out today, if anyone needs a toke sesh it’s him.”
Tommy nudged Billy’s shoulder with his own, taking another draw. “Yeah, but Billy invited us, that’s why.”
He rolled his eyes, acting like Steve’s active dislike didn’t still get to him a little. “Don’t know why he takes it so personally. I wouldn’t be such a dick if he’d actually look at me.”
The second the words were out of his mouth he regretted them instantly. Fuck, he was too high to talk about this shit, always ran his mouth way too much whenever he got too stoned. Desperately, he took another hit to keep his traitorous mouth busy and hoped that Carol or Tommy didn’t pay too close attention to what he said. When he went to pass the joint to Carol, though, her eyes were sparkling with that mischief she seemed to always be able to tap into. She didn’t say anything, thank God, just took the joint and cashed the rest of it. Billy didn’t know whether to be relieved or even more anxious that Carol hadn’t commented on it.
Tommy rolled another joint for them, one that was good by Billy’s standards even though the weed was total shit here compared to what he brought from Encinitas. That shit was gonna be doled out sparingly, though, not wasted on some joints out by the quarry. By the time they were finished he had reached a pretty good high and felt loose and agreeable enough to tell Tommy and Carol some stuff about back home. They ate up every word, wide eyes fixated on him as he described the beach, the pier, the food, everything. It felt good talking about California, the opposite of what he thought it’d be like. Ever since they had left, he’d felt like he’d shoved California into some boxes in the back of his mind, like he was afraid if he touched them that the grief of leaving would unfold ten times worse. But talking about what used to be home, talking about the shit he used to get up to felt like he was solidifying himself. Like it wasn’t some fever dream he concocted, exactly how he’d been feeling since they moved here.
“So why did you leave?” Carol asked after a bit.
“My dad’s job,” he said easily, like it wasn’t one of the biggest bald faced lies he’d made since coming here, “had to relocate. Was supposed to be back out here in October, but then I broke my arm.”
Tommy nodded, “Well, good thing you came now. If you thought Steve was being a dick now, you should’ve seen him about a month ago when Wheeler was putting him through the ringer.”
Carol laughed, like she could picture exactly what Tommy was talking about. “Oh, absolutely. He would’ve been downright insufferable then.”
“Not my fault he can’t take the heat,” Billy says, like that’s the only reason why he’s been so antagonistic. Like it’s just as simple as that. “Once he gets the stick out of his ass I’ll lay off.”
Both Carol and Tommy laugh at that. “Don’t hold your breath, hotshot,” Carol laughs, “Steve hasn’t loosened up in almost a year straight.”
“Besides,” Tommy chimes in, “even if he did lose the stick up his ass, I think he’s pretty dead-set on giving you the silent treatment for the rest of the year.”
Billy raises a brow; it sounds like a challenge that he’s completely willing to take on. He's always been good for a little competition, especially when the stakes involve Steve Harrington's fleeting and hard-won attention. “Trust me, I’ll get him to break.”