A/N: Not beta'd.

When Billy first gets to fucking Hawkins, Indiana, his first impression is that it is barely even a town. It's small, it smells like shit, and it oozes boredom. The people are boring, the school is boring, and the town is small enough that he won't be able to get away with raising hell to tackle the boredom, because it will eventually get back to his dad. If Neil is punishing him by moving here, he couldn't have picked a better place.

So seriously, fuck Hawkins.

California hadn't been perfect either, but it had been home, and he'd at least had friends – not people to braid his hair with, exactly, but people to hang with. Have fun with, mess around with; people he could feel comfortable around. He misses them. The people in this new school don't even compare.

He is angry and frustrated and fed up for the first few days, while he climbs to the top of the school hierarchy without any real resistance, and when he gets there he looks down on the people around him with a disdainful frown and thinks Really? That easy?

His classmates on the whole are pale and dull and stupid, and many of them are all too willing to accommodate him just because he's loud and pushy. Pathetic, the lot of them. No challenge at all.

Some people seem more interesting than others. There are girls who scowl and turn away when he smiles at them, and there are guys who meet his eyes with a silent dare. He makes a mental note about who the girls are for future reference, if he ever feels like working for it a little, and goes out of his way to let the guys know just who is in charge now. They either fold or back off when confronted; honestly, this town is so boring.

After little over a week, the bigger part of the school population go out of their way to avoid bumping into Billy in the hallways, which is exactly how he likes it. They look at him with a mix of ill-hidden curiosity and caution, but they are always aware of him.

A few people, though, ignore him completely. And, well, Billy has never been good at being ignored.

One of those who try to pretend that Billy isn't even there, is Steve Harrington, whose place he has supposedly taken. Billy barely notices him at first, too busy placing himself on top, but when he has settled and inevitably finds himself bored out of his mind, he's starting to pay attention. To how Harrington never seeks him out, but not actively avoids him either; like he simply can't be bothered to acknowledge Billy's existence.

And it bothers him, for reasons unknown.

Like, Harrington hadn't even been the resident king when Billy got there – he had already left the position, willingly. Does that explain why it was so easy to just sweep in and take over? Billy can't help but contemplate how it would have been if Harrington had been there to defend his throne. It probably would have been more interesting, that's for sure. Steve's old friends has some stories to tell about him; stories that Billy honestly can't see applied to the boy with the big hair and the dark eyes. So Harrington was wild, once? A badass? Billy can't see it.

Harrington never seems to care about his old friends nowadays, or the school hierarchy, or even Billy himself. He walks through the school days like nothing can touch him, and it rubs Billy the wrong way. Because no one is untouchable, and everything is a fucking challenge.

So Billy starts challenging him, just to get a reaction out of him.

At first, it's only small things, like meeting his eyes and not looking away (Harrington always looks away first, but not like he gives up, more like he doesn't care enough to keep it up). When that won't get the results he wants, Billy steps it up – starts shoulder-checking him between classes and pushing him down when they play basketball; even if they are on the same team. A comment here, a biting remark there, and finally even the unflappable Steve Harrington starts losing his cool.

"Fuck, man, what's your problem?!"

"No problems here, King Steve."

"Shut up, Hargrove, you're such an ass."

"Aw, did I hurt your feelings, Harrington?"

A huff of breath, a twitch of an eye, a clenched jaw, maybe a tensing of the shoulders – every reaction is a success. The few times when Harrington comments or pushes back are victories in Billy's book, because it's a response that he is the cause of. It gives him a sense of satisfaction to know that he has made an impact on Steve Harrington's perfect little life, however small it might be. Every reaction is a good reaction, because Billy caused it. I did that.

Then comes the night when everything goes to hell; the night at the Byers' house.

His nerves had been frayed all evening, after an altercation with Neil, and he had been angry and keyed-up before he even got there. And when he gets there, Steve Harrington is there, too, which – well, it's not ideal, because Billy needs to let out some steam at this point.

"Am I dreaming, or is that you, Harrington?"

"Yeah it's me. Don't cream your pants."

Well, it's a reaction at least, even though Harrington looks like he'd rather be anywhere else at the moment. Or that he wishes Billy was anywhere else. Well, Billy's wishing for the same thing, and if he doesn't get his wish, why the fuck should Harrington?

"What are you doing here, amigo?"

Because this is the Byers' brother's house, and judging from the rumors circling around school the older Byers actually kicked Harrington's ass last year, so what is he doing here with a bunch of kids – that he can clearly see peeking through the window – at this time of night?

Walking closer, sizing Billy up, Harrington drawls:

"I could ask you the same thing. Amigo."

Harrington definitely wants him gone, and it rubs Billy the wrong way. Something's off with this whole situation, but he's here to get Max so he's willing to let it slide for now. But when he asks for his step-sister and the other boy lies to his face while looking unapologetic and cool about it, Billy snaps. Fuck it, no.

He shoves Harrington to the ground and kicks him on the way inside, because he doesn't have the patience for this shit – it's been an exhausting evening and he just wants to get Max and go home. And then, when he gets inside, he sees her standing there with her pathetic little friends – next to Sinclair, whom Billy has warned her to stay away from.

Stupid fucking kids. Why can't she just do as she's told? Children. They don't know anything, they don't know how the world works.

I'll show them.

The rage is boiling under his skin, and he backs Sinclair up against a wall.

"You stay away from her. Stay away from her, you hear me?"

Sinclair is fighting to get away, and yelling for him to let him go, but he's just a kid and no match for Billy's strength. But then the little shit knees him in the groin and tears himself out of his grip. He did not expect that move, and for a second he's stunned at the audacity of this kid. When he recovers enough to stand up straight, he pins Sinclair under a murderous glare and growls:

"So dead, Sinclair! You're dead."

And maybe he would have actually attacked the kid for real, if he'd had another few moments. He'll never know, though, because suddenly Steve fucking Harrington is there, throwing the first punch – and the second.

And despite the sudden pain in his face, he laughs, because that was a reaction he only ever dreamt of. If he'd known he had to go through the brats to get to see the mighty King Steve in action, he would have done it long ago, because Harrington's eyes are positively flaming and it is such a thrill to see that look on his face and know that it is because of Billy.

And then, just as Billy's getting ready for a proper showdown, Harrington put two fingers to his chest and firmly pushes him back.

"Get out."

His voice is cold.

A dismissal. Unruffled, untouchable Steve Harrington, dismissing him as if what he's done doesn't matter. As if Billy doesn't matter.

The flames under his skin burns hot, licks his insides like a wildfire, and there is something in the back of his throat that tastes almost like embarrassment. He doesn't like it.

He will not be dismissed, he will not be ignored.

And the anger boils over and he explodes. He ignores the kids shouting, he ignores the sounds of pain Harrington makes when his punches makes impact – sounds that he would have craved in any other situation – he ignores everything but the feeling of his fists against Harrington's face. He distantly recognizes that he should stop, that he has fucked up bad – but he can't stop, he is so angry, he–

There's a sharp pain in his neck, which pulls him out of the red mist. He turns around, slowly, and hears Harrington groan on the floor behind him. There is a syringe stuck in his neck, and as he pulls it out, the world tilts.

"… the hell is this?"

Max stands in front of her friends, and they are all staring at him. He knows that whatever this is, she did it.

"You little shit, what did you do?"

The world is spinning around him and he is helpless to fight against it, so he falls. Hits the floor hard, but barely even feels it. The red mist is back, or maybe that's just Max.

Small. Redhead. Bit of a bitch.

He is suddenly a little grateful that she stopped him, because he wouldn't have stopped in time. Like this, he didn't have to make the choice to stop, to give up; she made the choice for him. But the fleeting feeling of gratitude is swept away and forgotten when he blinks and sees her standing over him with a bat full of nails. She's warning him to stay away from her and her friends, and he almost snorts at that. Does she think she's threatening? She's pathetic. He's faced down way worse than a little girl with a bat.

"Screw you."

He flinches involuntarily when she swings the bat down between his legs. For a split second he expects an impact, and his heart skips a beat–

"Say you understand! Say it!"

–and it is suddenly Neil standing over him with a bat full of nails, but it is Max too; like two images blending together. Neil won't hesitate to use it, though, Neil won't miss.

"I understand."

The room flickers before his eyes, like all the lights are dying, but he hears Max's voice ("What?") and Neil's voice ("I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you"), and he tries again to form words, to repeat himself before it's too late:

"I understand."

Then darkness swallows him whole.

After all that, he stays in his room the whole weekend.

Partly because of the beating Neil gave him when he finally stumbled home in the middle of the night, without Max and without his car, and partly because he doesn't want to see anyone, least of all Max (who was home the next morning, eating cereal in front of the TV as if nothing had happened; his car back in the driveway as if it was never gone). He feels … small, and humiliated, and angry and ashamed, and he doesn't want to deal with any of it.

He knows that he let things go too far with Harrington, no matter what weird things he was up to with those kids. Billy could have killed him, though, and isn't that a sobering thought? He's pretty sure he didn't, because when he woke up he was alone in that creepy house and there weren't any bodies there with him. Besides, if he had killed Harrington, surely he'd have been arrested by now.

He tells himself he doesn't care. Harrington was asking for it, trying to stop Billy from taking Max home like a responsible big brother. Getting in between Billy and Sinclair when Billy needed to impart an important lesson upon the kid. And Harrington threw the first punch, after all. So he had it coming.

Still, when Billy's lying awake at night because he's hurting from Neil's beating his mind wanders, and he imagines Harrington experiencing the same kind of pain from the beating Billy gave him, and–

He doesn't sleep very well.

Harrington isn't in school come Monday, and he tries not to let it get to him. He goes through the day like he always does, and tells those who dare point out his swollen lip that he got in a fight, and grins:

"You should see the other guy."

Neil usually avoids his face nowadays, except for slaps or the occasional backhand, but when Billy got home from the Byers' with a bloody nose he didn't have to be as careful. It's easy, covering up one beating with another, and Billy's almost glad that he doesn't have to make up a story to explain it away this time.

The first time Billy sees Harrington after the fight is on Wednesday. He spots him in the hallway and doesn't recognize him at first, because he's wearing a god-awful sweater and his face is–

Billy freezes and stares. Harrington's face is swollen, and bruised, and it reminds Billy of the way his own face looked in the mirror when Neil got to him, a couple of months before they moved here – the time when it occurred to him for the first time that Neil might actually kill him – and he is unable to tear his eyes away. Then someone comes up behind him and nudges him, and he sees a grin in the corner of his eye and hears someone say:

"So that's the other guy, huh? Shit, Hargrove."

And in that same moment Harrington turns and spots Billy standing there, and honest-to-god recoils – like a full-body flinch – before he turns away and hurries around a corner.

Billy feels like he's made of ice; he's cold and close to shattering. If this had been a few days ago, he'd have relished in causing that kind of reaction, but now all he can feel is a weight in his stomach because he himself has been flinching like that for years, and he realizes suddenly that he has never actually wanted to be the cause of that kind of a reaction in another person.

He did that.

He feels sick.