A/N: Surprise! I put it at the top this time. I've made a playlist for this story, which is available on the fic's tumblr, insideoutstory. If you're interested in rereading any of the scenes with the corresponding music, the playlist has the chapter for each song. Track 15 goes with this chapter. ;)
Christine spent the whole ride back to the Byers' house kicking herself for leaving Billy alone inside. If he wasn't awake, they'd probably have to take him to the hospital, and that meant they'd have to explain what happened, and she and Steve could get arrested for assault or battery or even attempted murder. She wasn't sure which part would be worse: her dad finding out she was going to prison, or Hopper being the one to take her there.
And that would be the best case scenario, because if Billy was awake….they all knew what he was capable of when he was pissed.
By the time they arrived, Christine was nauseous with worry, prepared to find a house that had been looted and destroyed, or else an angry Billy was waiting for them, armed with weapons from the shed.
Thankfully, the house was still standing and the driveway was empty, no blue Camaro in sight. Christine relaxed the tiniest fraction; they weren't out of the woods yet, not when they were still waiting for news on Will and Eleven, but at least the living room was free of abusive stepbrothers. They'd gotten off the bench, helped Eleven, and all gotten out alive. She counted that as a win.
Still, their brawl with Billy had done some serious damage. The living room was a disaster, covered in flecks of blood and shards of plastic from the video camera, which lay mangled in the corner. The kitchen was worse; between the broken table, the shattered dish, and the array of food Dustin had chucked out of the fridge, it was a miracle any of the floor was still visible.
Christine bit back a sigh. "Hey, Mike? Do you know if Joyce has a broom around here?"
"Yeah," he answered dismissively. "In the kitchen closet."
He was barely paying attention to her, already kneeling on the floor and digging through his bag. The others gathered curiously around him.
"What are you looking for?" Max asked.
Mike didn't answer her. He pulled out his walkie, but Christine snatched it out of his hand before he could fully extend the antenna.
"No."
"Hey, give it back! We need to check on Eleven! If she's using her powers—"
"If she's using her powers, then she's at the lab," said Christine, "and if she's at the lab, there's a chance she's still surrounded by Demodogs."
"But the Demodogs should be dead, right?" asked Lucas.
"Only if El closed the gate," Dustin reminded him. "If she didn't—"
"She closed it," Mike said stubbornly. "I know it."
"But we don't know for sure," Christine said firmly. "They need to call to confirm that. Until then, we assume the mission is still in progress and it's radio silence. Got it?"
She offered the walkie back to Mike with a pointed look. He countered it with a surly look of his own before pulling the radio from her hands and holding it protectively against his chest.
"Fine. What channel—"
"Channel ten. And crank the volume. If it goes off, I want to hear it too."
In the end, Mike didn't need to crank the volume because Christine never left the room. She knew the house was a disaster, knew they should be cleaning up the wreckage or at least cleaning up themselves, but no one wanted to stray more than a few feet from the radio. Even Steve was getting antsy, perched on the edge of the couch with his knee bouncing wildly. All of them sat in a circle with the walkie in the middle, humming with gentle static for what felt like hours, until it finally crackled with its first sign of life.
"Walcott, you copy?"
Christine lunged, but Mike got to the radio first.
"We copy!" he shouted into the radio. "Is El okay?"
There was a horrible pause. For a looming moment, no one breathed.
"She's fine," Hopper answered, sounded exhausted. "And she did it. Gate's closed."
Words couldn't describe the relief that flowed through Christine's chest. She sagged forward and practically melted into the floor as the party cheered around her. Steve leapt to his feet and whooped like he'd made the winning shot in a basketball game, and Dustin tackled Lucas to the ground in a hug. It made it almost impossible to hear Mike, who was still shouting into the walkie.
"What about Will? Is he back? Did he make it?"
"Far as I know, yeah. They should be on their way back now."
It wasn't the iron-clad reassurance they'd been looking for, but it was enough to get them moving. Once the shock of euphoria faded away, Christine got to her feet and wrangled everyone into order. The Byers family had been through enough, and they were not coming home to a wrecked house, not on her watch. While the boys straightened up the living room, Christine worked on clearing the debris in the kitchen and Max helped Steve carry the broken table out into the backyard. If they couldn't fix it, they could at least relocate it.
There was also a brief discussion about what to do with the drawings on the walls. Much as they wanted to erase all evidence of the weekend, the party decided it was safer to leave them up for now. Even if the Mind Flayer was gone, there was still a network of tunnels spread out beneath Hawkins; a map would come in handy.
The moment they heard the sound of gravel crunching in the driveway, everyone dropped what they were doing and sprinted out to the front porch. Jonathan's Ford rumbled forward, pulling as close to the house as it could manage. Nancy got out first, then Jonathan, who opened the back door for his mother. It took a few seconds, with everyone being as careful as they could, but eventually two small, bare feet touched down to the ground. Joyce was carrying half of his weight, and he looked paler than ever, but Will was upright and alive.
Christine only got a glimpse of him before he disappeared in a tangle of arms and screaming children. The party smothered him in hugs, too excited to heed Joyce's frantic warnings about being gentle, but Will didn't seem to mind. He laughed hoarsely as the boys backed up to give him spaces, holding onto Mike for support.
"Dude," said Lucas with a teasing grin. "What are you wearing?"
"Huh?" Will looked down at the puffy white coat that had been zipped over his hospital gown. "Uh, I don't know. Jonathan gave it to me."
Jonathan immediately held up his hands. "It's Christine's."
"Oh, come on," she said, rolling her eyes. "It's the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man!"
The reference didn't get the appreciation it deserved.
"Chris, what—oh my God!" Nancy clapped her hands over her mouth in horror. "Steve! What happened to you guys?"
"Oh, this?" Steve gestured to his face and scoffed, which quickly turned to a wince. "This is—it's fine."
"Did those dogs come back?" Joyce asked in concern.
"No, no! This was a—a totally normal, totally human interaction. Max's brother is a real dick, but uh…she took care of it."
He clapped a hand on Max's shoulder, which she promptly brushed off, her nose wrinkled to hide her smirk.
"Well, don't—don't worry," Joyce reassured them. "We'll get you both cleaned up and—and then we can drive you wherever you need to go. The hospital, the doctor, or—or wherever. Just let me—come on, Will, sweetie. Let's get you to bed."
"No, Mom!" he whined, trying to slip out of her grasp.
"Honey, you need to rest. You need sleep, you need—"
"I was asleep like all day!"
"No, you were sedated. That is different! That is—that is very different!"
She tried to usher him toward the house, but this time, Will stood his ground. Drained as he was, he pulled his arm away from her and took a step back.
"Mom, I wanna stay. I want to meet Eleven. For real, this time."
Joyce's face softened. She stole a glance at the road, still dark and empty of any oncoming cars or police trucks, then back at the house, warm and safe. She looked to Jonathan for support, but he only tipped his head in assent.
"Let him stay, Mom. At least until they get back."
Will smiled and gravitated toward his brother. Mike, Lucas, and Dustin closed ranks around them, each of them fixing Joyce with wide, hopeful puppy dog eyes until, at last, she relented.
"Fine. But just for a little while! And I'm getting you water and some toast and—and I want to take your temperature—"
"Okay!" Will agreed eagerly. "Thanks, Mom. I promise I'll come in right after."
He beamed as he rejoined the party, all of the boys rambling over each other as they hurried to explain what Will had missed, just as they had in the hospital room the year before. Joyce watched them for a moment, torn, but when she finally turned to walk away, she was wearing an uneasy smile. She walked straight up to Christine and cradled her face in both hands, turning her head back and forth to thoroughly inspect her injuries, ignoring her sheepish reassurances.
"I'm fine, Joyce. Seriously—"
"Are you sure? This bruise is—it's already pretty dark, and if it gets worse—"
"I promise it's not as bad as it looks."
Joyce dropped her hands, but gave Christine a disapproving look that clearly said she didn't believe her. To her credit, it was a lie, but Christine wasn't about to give Joyce anything else to worry about. Will had just been baked alive to cure him from possession; Christine could handle a few bruises.
"Well," Joyce sighed, "I know you can handle yourself in a fight, but I'm going to get you some ice anyway. And—it's Steve, right?"
Steve blinked in surprise as Joyce turned her concern to him. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, but I'm—"
"Much worse off than Christine," Joyce finished, peering closely at his injuries. "It looks like you took the brunt of it. I don't think I can do much for your nose, but we can clean those cuts and get you some ice for…everything else."
"Oh. Well, uh…thanks, Mrs. Byers."
"I know I have a first aid kit—uh, somewhere—and I think there's some antibiotic cream in the fridge. Just hang tight."
Joyce gave him a bracing smile and patted him on the arm before walking into the house. Steve bobbed his head, still looking pleasantly surprised…right up until the words processed in his head.
"Wait! No! The fridge—don't go in the fridge! Mrs. Byers?!"
He darted into the house after her, leaving Christine and Max to snicker on the stoop.
"Max!" Lucas was waving her over, his smile blinding. "You gotta tell Will what you did with the shotgun. It was awesome!"
"Tubular!" Dustin added for emphasis, and the boys broke into laughter.
Max rolled her eyes, mumbling about how no one in California actually talked like that, but she seemed happy enough to join the others. Nancy countered her, leaving Jonathan's side to meet Christine up on the step.
"Shotgun?" she repeated in a low whisper. "Like, she shot someone?"
"She threatened to shoot her brother," Christine clarified, "and I promise you, he would've deserved it."
Nancy laughed uneasily. "Ouch. Who's her brother? Tommy H?"
"Well, Max just moved to Hawkins, so…I'll give you one guess."
"No…" Nancy's jaw dropped. "Seriously? Billy?"
"Uh-huh. Turns out he's an abusive, racist fuck. I sure know how to pick 'em, huh?"
She smiled bitterly as Nancy fixed her with a pitying look.
"Chrissy, I—I'm so sorry."
"Eh, it's fine," Christine dismissed. "I never really got used to the idea anyway. Besides, a guy that's actually interested in me? Not really my type."
She was prepared for the stern look of disapproval that Nancy sent her at the self-deprecating joke, but then Nancy's lips pulled into a thoughtful pout.
"Well, you know, now—"
"Oh my God, stop."
"What?" Nancy asked, so innocently that Christine had to laugh.
"Nancy, it's been a long day. I've fought off bullies and Demodogs, but I don't think I can survive another one of your pitiful attempts to set me up."
"It's not pitiful," Nancy gasped, elbowing Christine in the ribs. "I just…wanna see you happy. Is that so bad?"
"I am happy," Christine insisted, which was the truth. "Will survived; we got Eleven back; we're not enslaved to an interdimensional monster with psionic powers. I'd say that's a win."
Nancy grinned and shook her head. "God, our lives are weird."
"So weird."
The night had gotten colder, but no one seemed ready to go inside. Everyone congregated on the stoop, sitting on the steps, leaning against the house, conversing in low voices as they waited. Steve returned with two ice packs, one for himself and another for Christine, and Joyce hovered in the doorway, her eyes fixed on the far end of the road. It was barely ten minutes, but after waiting for the past year, Christine felt like that was an eternity.
The rumble of the engine reached them first, halting all conversation, and the moment the truck appeared through the trees, everyone was on their feet. It was a miracle Hopper didn't run them all over, the way the boys dashed into the driveway to greet them. Christine dropped her ice pack into Steve's waiting hand before bolting after them, ushering them back a safe distance from the car while subtly elbowing her way to the front so she could open the passenger door.
It was a good thing that Hopper had called in advance; El was so pale that without the chief's reassurance, Christine might've thought she was dead. Blood was smeared across the lower half of her face and small, black veins were still visible around her eyes and hairline—a sure sign that her powers were draining her. Last year, all it had taken for those lines to show up was Eleven listening in the Upside Down for too long, when she'd set the Heathkit radio on fire. Christine couldn't imagine the strain of closing the gate.
El's eyes fluttered open and she gave Christine a tired smile. "Hi."
"Hi," whispered Christine. It took all her energy to stop herself from crying again. "You okay?"
"I'm okay. Are you? Your face—"
"I'm fine," Christine assured her.
"Promise?"
"I promise."
El still looked concerned, but she shifted in her seat, allowing Christine to wrap an arm around her waist and help her out of the car. To no one's surprise, Mike was waiting impatiently to pull her into a hug.
"Are you sure you're okay?" he demanded, squeezing her too tightly. "That was amazing! I mean, I wasn't there, but I know it was amazing! We could see the lights flickering all the way from the field!"
"Uh, we—we would've been able to," Dustin corrected as Hopper walked around the front of the truck. "We would've been able to see it from the field if that was where we were, but we were here and not there, so like…we would have."
"Shut the hell up, man," Lucas hissed, elbowing him in the ribs.
"We're just glad you're okay," said Max.
"Thanks," Eleven replied. Her voice was still stiff, but she smiled over Mike's shoulder. "Are…?"
Her eyes widened as they landed on Will, and the question died in her throat. It was hard to say which one of them looked worse after the night they'd been through. Will was just as pale and had the same black veins around his jaw; the only difference was that he was covered with sweat instead of blood. Even so, he mustered up a smile.
"Hi, Eleven," he said timidly. "I'm—"
"Will."
Eleven pushed past Mike so she could seize Will in a hug. Will stumbled, bewildered, but hugged her back at once. After a moment, he buried his forehead into her shoulder, which made his mumbled thanks and apologies harder for Christine to hear. Within seconds, both of them were crying.
"Okay, come on," Joyce urged, summoned at once by their tears. "Let's get all of you inside. Everyone, now, come on."
Christine helped her herd the kids toward the house, all of them wiping their eyes and giggling with excitement and relief. El had one arm around Will and another around Mike. They were reluctant to let go even just to make it through the door. Christine tried to follow close behind, only for Hopper to grab her by the shoulder.
"Woah, hey! Hang on." He dragged her back a few steps and glowered at her. "What the hell happened?"
"What are you talking about?" Christine snapped. "You wanted us to stay here, so we stay—"
"Your face, Christine. Who did that? The dumb jock?"
"No!" She pulled out of his grip and gave him a reproachful look. "It was just some guy from school. Max's brother came looking for her."
"Her brother was looking for her, so he hit you?"
Hopper looked absolutely furious, which Christine found extremely peculiar and endlessly amusing; her lips crept up into a smirk.
"Pretty much. Which wouldn't have happened if you let me come to the lab."
The jab was enough to snap him out of it. Hopper grumbled, adjusting his grip on her shoulder so he could steer her inside ahead of him.
"Yeah, keep laughing, Slim."
It was nice to have everyone together in the kitchen. Even with just one extra person, it felt much more crowded in the best way possible. El sat at the table between Mike and Will, listening with rapturous attention as Lucas and Dustin recounted Billy's attack for the second time. Max seemed happy to let them have the limelight, but she jumped in now and again to reel in the boys' wild exaggerations. Jonathan was trying to scrounge together some dinner with Nancy's help while Joyce put on a pot of coffee for Hopper. It was only a one-person job, but Steve insisted on following her around to help. He was still apologizing about the fridge, even as Joyce begged him to sit down so he didn't aggravate his injuries.
Christine hung back and watched it all with a smile. She really was happy, and it had been a while since she'd truly felt that way.
"And then wham!" Lucas cheered as he came to the end of his story. "He just passed out in the middle of the floor, and all of us looked around like, 'WHAT?' And then Chrissy was like, 'Well, fu—'"
"Lucas," Christine cut him off. "They get it."
He grinned sheepishly, looking around at his audience. Everyone had settled down by then, either with a plate of eggs or a bowl of cereal scavenged from the cabinet. Hopper leaned back against the counter as he drank his coffee.
"Then what happened?" he asked coolly.
"Huh?" Dustin frowned at him. "Then he passed out. That's it."
"Well, he's not there now. What happened to him?"
"He woke up and he left," said Max with a shrug.
"He woke up and he left. Huh." Hopper took another long sip of coffee. "So your brother tears the town apart looking for you, beats up two of his classmates, gets drugged, threatened, and passes out, and then he just…got up and left. No questions asked."
The question was directed at Max, but Hopper raised his eyebrows at Christine. She knew what he was getting at—it was obvious they hadn't stayed at the house, the way he'd explicitly instructed them to—but seeing as they'd all made it back alive, Christine wasn't about to sit through another one of his lectures.
"Yup," Christine agreed brightly. "Turns out having his balls almost shot off was a turning point for him. Anyway, what happened with you?"
A collective giggle went around the room. Hopper wasn't as amused, but he did let her off the hook. If she wasn't mistaken, he was even hiding his own smirk as he took his next sip.
"Pretty cut and dried. We went to the lab, found the pit—oh, we did find Owens."
"Owens?" Nancy asked, just as Joyce gasped.
"Was he okay?"
"He saw you both?" Mike demanded.
"Yeah, he saw us both," Hopper said gruffly. "The dogs tore up his leg pretty good, but he was hanging on. Plus, now he knows that Eleven saved us all…maybe it'll be a turning point for him too."
Mike didn't seem very reassured by that, and shifted his chair closer to El.
"What about the Demodogs?" Dustin asked Hopper. "Did you have to fight them off?"
"Not until we were down in the hole. There were a bunch topside, but they just freaked out and ran away. Almost like something called them, you know?"
He shot Christine another look and Steve cleared his throat.
"Wow, that's—that is so weird. Lucky, though!"
Jonathan snorted into his plate of eggs while Nancy gracefully hid her face behind a hand to disguise her exasperation. Quite the opposite, Eleven turned to Steve with a wide smile.
"Really lucky," she agreed with a giggle.
Steve almost looked proud.
Will stifled a yawn and rubbed blearily at his bloodshot eyes. Joyce leapt into action as if she'd been waiting for her cue.
"Alright, I think that's enough for one night. Will needs to rest and—and El, sweetie, you make sure you get some sleep too."
"Yeah, about that." Hopper walked over to Joyce and lowered his voice, but his rumbling tone still carried across the room. "You mind if she and I stay here for the night? Just to keep an eye on things. If any of those dogs are still kicking—"
"Oh, of course! Sure, I—I can fix the couch and—"
"We're staying too," Mike said adamantly.
Hopper gave him a look of the deepest loathing.
"No, you're not," he said through clenched teeth. "We are staying for protection. You are going home, because you're a normal kid with school tomorrow."
"Fuck school!"
"Mike!" Nancy scolded, which he ignored.
"Besides, you've been lying about Eleven all year! For all we know you're just gonna take off with her and we'll never see her again!"
"Kid, I swear I'm not—"
"She needs us! And we need her! And I'm not going anywhere until I know she's okay! Both of them!"
"Mike—"
"Can he, Mom?" Will asked hopefully. "Just tonight?"
Joyce hesitated, wringing her hands together, her motherly instincts at war. She didn't openly admit defeat, but when she dropped her hands and sighed, it read clearly as surrender.
"Then we're staying too!" said Dustin, pounding a fist on the table.
"Absolutely not!"
Everyone turned to Steve in surprise.
"Dustin, you haven't spoken to your mom once today and she's already on edge because Mews is MIA. We know Max's parents are looking for her, and we're not gonna sit around here waiting for Billy to take another crack at Lucas. I'm driving you all home. End of discussion."
He folded his arms over his chest in finality. There were several seconds of silence as everyone else exchanged bemused looks. Christine was the first to start giggling, followed quickly by Eleven and Dustin. Soon the whole room was laughing at Steve's expense, and he looked about ready to curl up in a ball of embarrassment.
"Look, Mr. Mom's right," Hopper announced, once things had calmed down. "You've all got your radios or whatever, so if something happens, we'll let you know. Best thing you can do right now is head home before anyone starts asking questions."
It wasn't the answer any of the kids wanted to hear, but even after arguing for another twenty minutes, they hadn't gained any ground. Christine had kept mostly silent, praying that she might be allowed to stay with Eleven too; after all, she didn't have anyone waiting for her at home. But in the end, at the risk of Lucas, Dustin, and Max organizing another mutiny to overthrow Steve, she decided it would be best for her to go along.
Goodbyes took another half an hour. Christine hugged Eleven, then Mike, then Will, then Joyce, then Eleven again. Her goodbye with Jonathan was stunted and awkward, made more so by Nancy sheepishly admitting that she'd either stay with Mike or wait for Jonathan to finish eating so he could drive her home. It was a feeble excuse, and Christine was certain what the outcome would be, but there was no point calling her on it. She just squeezed Nancy tight and reminded her to be careful in every sense of the word, prompting Nancy to pinch her hard on the back.
Christine wasn't sure she even wanted to say goodbye to Hopper, but he made the decision for her.
"Make sure you ice that," he advised her, nodding to her face. "Your dad comes home to another medical emergency and both of us are gonna be in trouble."
"Good point. I'll make sure to tell him it's your fault."
Hopper nodded, eyes and lips closed tight in resignation. "Uh huh. Yup, I'm sure he'll believe that."
"Hey, he can call the station and everything. I left a message with Flo. It's not my fault you didn't call back."
"Excuse me?" Hopper raised an eyebrow. "You called the station?"
"You missed your Saturday matinee," she replied flatly. "I knew something was up. I'm not an idiot."
"No, just incredibly annoying."
Christine narrowed her eyes at his wry smile. It was jarring for Hopper to be joking with her, when just a few hours ago he'd still been lying through his teeth about Eleven. It was as if, now that everyone knew El was alive, he felt everything should be fine. Christine, on the other hand, was still itching to punch him.
"I still want answers," she reminded him. "Just because the gate is closed doesn't mean this is over."
Hopper's smile fell away as he sighed. "I know. All I'm asking is that, tonight, you get these kids home, ice your face, and try to get some sleep. You might not trust me to keep an eye on her, but…the kid will."
He nodded over her shoulder, and Christine turned back to look at the table. Will was barely clinging to consciousness, smiling sleepily as he and Eleven spoke in soft voices. Mike sat between them, looking happier than he had all year. He jumped into the conversation, enthusiastically explaining something to Will while his hand slipped into Eleven's, holding on to her as if he were afraid she might disappear through his fingers; that was a feeling Christine could trust.
After another round of uneasy goodbyes, Christine and Steve finally managed to herd the kids into the Beemer. Dustin and Lucas sat despondent in the backseat, still grumpy they weren't allowed to stay, but Max seemed relieved. Christine couldn't blame her; today had been far longer than any of them had bargained for.
"Alright," Steve announced, kicking the car into gear. "Max, you're up first. You live around—"
"Wait." Christine held up a hand to stall him, then twisted around in her seat to look at Max. "Are you sure you want to go home?"
Again, she had to marvel at Max's poker face. Her flicker of dread was swept under a stiff smile and a confident nod, and she slouched in her seat looking perfectly at ease.
"Yeah, it's fine," she said dismissively. "Steve's right. I should probably talk to my mom."
"Are you sure?" Christine asked again. "My dad's not home, so if you wanna stay over and call them from my place, that's totally fine. I can take the rap if they're mad, and I don't want Billy to—"
"Billy won't come home," Max assured her. "Not with his face busted up. His dad will flip if he finds out he got in another fight, so…he'll probably lay low for a couple days."
Christine bit her lip. "Okay…are you—"
"Yes, I'm sure," Max groaned. "Seriously, I'll be fine. But thank you."
She smiled, and Christine wished she could believe it. She wanted to believe that she'd hit Billy hard enough to make a difference, that he wouldn't bother Max anymore and no one would have to worry about him ever again. At the same time, she knew that wasn't the case. Billy had laughed maniacally while Steve kicked the crap out of him; punches didn't matter to someone like that. They might be free of Billy for a few days, but it would be impossible for Max to keep her distance when they lived under the same roof.
Christine wished she could protect her from that, but the reality was that they'd only known each other for a few hours. It would take time to earn Max's trust—real trust—and until then, the best she could do was support Max when she asked.
Knowing that didn't make it any easier to let Max out of the car when they reached her house. The responsible part of Christine wanted to walk her up to the front door so she could explain the situation to her parents and get a good look at Max's shitty stepdad. Unfortunately, since she and Steve were both covered in bruises, she knew it would probably just make things worse. Dustin was the only one Max allowed to come with her. He gave her parents a long excuse about how they'd spent the day at the arcade, then gone back to the his house when Billy never showed to pick up Max. His mother would have driven them home, but she was having car trouble, so then they had to wait for Christine to get home from work so she could call her friend who had a car so that when he finally got home, they could drop Max off, and somehow they'd all forgotten to call Max's parents. It was a wonder that Max's mom believed him, but it looked like she was too relieved to have her daughter home to question the story.
After that, they dropped off Lucas, though no one offered to walk him up to the door; he would just have to come up with his own cover story. Finally, the car turned onto Dover Avenue and rolled to a stop on the curb. The Hendersons' living room light was still on, probably Claudia waiting up for Dustin, but no one made an immediate move to leave. Steve's fingers drummed on the steering wheel, Christine picked at the straps of her backpack, and Dustin swung his legs idly in the backseat.
"You know," he mused, "this was fun. Like, in a weird kinda way. We should do this again sometime. Obviously not the whole other dimension, punch a racist in the face, almost dying part, but just like—hanging out. The three of us. I feel like we make a good team, you know? We could go to the arcade, or the movies, or you guys could show—"
"Get out of my car, Henderson."
"Yup, you got it, buddy. Talk to you tomorrow."
Dustin gave Steve a salute and hurried out of the car. Christine watched in the mirror as he lolloped up the driveway, bag thumping against his back, and hopped up the front steps. Even once she was sure he was safely inside, her eyes stayed glued to the door. She wasn't sure if she was waiting for him to come back out or just looking for an excuse to stay in the car a little while longer.
"So," Steve sighed. "Um…long day, huh?"
"Yeah," said Christine, cracking a grin. "Yeah, long day."
They both chuckled quietly. Christine scratched at the inside of her wrists and Steve began fiddling with the volume on the stereo, quietly humming along with some song on the radio. She wondered if he was stalling for himself or if he was politely waiting for her to spit out the words she'd been rehearsing in her head for the last twenty minutes.
"Hey, um…can I ask you a question?"
Steve's head popped up. "Yeah. Sure, yeah, of course."
"Earlier, when Billy showed up…he said you took his advice and—"
"I didn't," Steve said immediately. "I—I would never take advice from that guy. Ever. I mean—he—he's an asshole. He's the worst kind of asshole. He's a piece of shit, and his advice was shit, and it wasn't really advice anyway—"
"So he said something to you?" Christine asked.
Steve choked on the rest of his defense. He fumbled for a few more seconds, wincing with every stuttered syllable, then deflated.
"I—yeah, he…okay, he tried to talk to me, but I—I would never—Christine, whatever he implied, I would never. Okay? You're—you're my best friend, and I would never even consider—not like that, because—I know I used to be a real—"
"Steve," she said softly. "It's okay. I trust you."
"You—yeah, uh…yeah, right, you…right."
Christine looked at him expectantly. "So…what did he say?"
Steve hesitated. His eyes looked dark, though Christine couldn't tell if that was emotion, shadows, or bruising. After a few seconds of deliberation, he turned the music down and slouched in his seat.
"It really wasn't advice," he began quietly. "He was just…talking shit on Friday. Guy can't keep his mouth shut during a game. Tommy was going on about Nancy and how she probably ran off with Jonathan to screw me over, and then Billy chimed in with this—I don't know, like this creepy pep talk. He acted like it was some mind-blowing, life-altering lesson he was teaching me, which was pretty much just that if I wanted to get over Nancy, all I had to do was…you know…find somebody else to—to like—"
"To sleep with," Christine finished for him.
"Well…yeah. And then he—well, there—there was some other stuff, but—he brought you up, and whatever bullshit Tommy was feeding him, and basically said that if you really…you know, like I wouldn't even need to…I could just take advantage of that. And then he said that…if I didn't, uh…he would."
Steve nodded to himself, glaring a hole in the center of the steering wheel. Christine was glad he was averting his eyes; she didn't have the energy to hide her expression as her stomach soured, her heart sinking with her bitter realization.
"Oh." She bit her lip, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "So…I guess you were right."
Steve looked up with a frown. "About what?"
"Billy," she offered. "He was just using me to get to you."
"No," he said at once, shaking his head vehemently. "No, I wasn't right. I'm an asshole and I wasn't right about anything. Look, Billy—he was hitting on you at school, and hitting on you at Tina's, and that—that was before Tommy said any of that shit to him. He might be an asshole, but he's not an idiot."
"Steve, what are you talking—?"
"I mean he likes you because he has eyes! Okay? You—Chrissy, you're crazy smart, and you're hot, and you're funny. He likes you because you don't take his shit the way everyone else does, and—and in some twisted way, that makes it better when you do, because you're a badass who knows what you're worth, and if you're giving him the time of day, that means he has—that he's worth—you know what I mean! He likes you because you challenged him. And maybe that's fucked up, because he's fucked up—I mean, for sure—but that doesn't mean it's not real. It's not like he was faking it, okay? He's into you, and I—I was just another challenge, because he figured that seeing you with him would piss me off. And he was right, because seeing you with Billy, that…would really, really piss me off…"
He closed his eyes, his jaw clenched so tight that he made himself wince.
Christine could only stare at him. The words had passed through her brain like a sieve, and there had been so many more words than she'd been prepared for. Everything after "he likes you because he has eyes" was kind of fuzzy. But even though she wouldn't be able to repeat it back for the life of her, the speech left her afraid to move, afraid to breathe. She didn't know what he meant, but her heart still felt ready to beat its way out of her chest cavity.
"Okay," she whispered after a few seconds of silence. "I'm not positive, but…that sounded like a compliment?"
Steve laughed. "Yeah, that—it was a compliment."
He lifted his head to look at her, and what little breath she had caught in her throat. Maybe it was the head injury talking, but she wasn't sure Steve had ever looked at her like that before.
Christine swallowed hard and lowered her gaze to her lap.
"I don't know. You sure you're not trying to take advantage of me, Harrington?"
"Psh, no way. If anyone's taking advantage of anyone here, it's you."
Her head snapped up to gape at him. "Excuse me?"
"Totally," he said with a smirk. "Yeah, you know, you—you wait until I'm emotionally vulnerable after my breakup, and then you move in for the kill."
"Oh, really?" Christine raised her eyebrows. "Or maybe your pride is wounded, so you're using me to make yourself feel better. How does that make you any better than Billy?"
"Ouch." He clapped a hand over his chest with a performative grimace. "No, seriously—ouch. Don't make me laugh. It hurts a lot."
Christine giggled and quickly ducked her head again. There was already so much blood in her cheeks from the bruises that she wasn't sure if she was physically capable of blushing, but she didn't want to risk finding out the wrong way. Steve was hurt, and she was hurt, and they were both lucky to be alive. She could take a second to enjoy a peaceful moment in the car with her best friend.
Steve's hand crept into her field of vision. He was tapping his fingers idly, first against his leg, then against the gearshift between their seats. He hovered for a moment, a few of his fingers stretching toward her as if he was going reach over, but then his fingers curled up again and he bounced his closed first on the center console.
The moment she brushed the back of his hand, Christine almost stopped. She hadn't made the deliberate decision to reach out to him; it was like her hand had moved on its own. Before she could retract it, Steve flipped his hand over and slid his fingers between hers. His thumb brushed along her skin, steady and confident where her muscles felt frozen. It took her a few seconds to remember how to work them so she could gently squeeze his hand in reply.
"So…" Steve's voice was almost a croak as he tried to push out the words. "What I'm hearing is that…we're both pretty fucked up right now, and you…don't…want me to kiss you."
"…I didn't say that…"
His eyes flicked up to meet hers and, this time, she was sure he'd never looked at her like that before. There was a spark somewhere behind all the bruising and broken blood vessels, but he almost looked scared. God—and if Steve was freaking out, what chance did she have?
Steve's fingers tightened around hers as he shifted in his seat.
"But," Christine blurted—if it was possible to blurt something in a quiet, broken voice—"I…I don't think you should."
She wished her eyes hadn't been glued to his face. The spark in his eye flickered, and the way he sagged in his seat, she might as well have punched him again. He tried to pull his hand away, but Christine didn't let him. This time, her fingers were the confident ones, holding him tight and squeezing her apology into his palm. She did her best to smile and, eventually, Steve did the same.
"Like I said," he offered half-heartedly, "you're definitely the smart one."
He eased his hand out of her grip, his thumb lightly caressing the inside of her wrist before he pulled away. Christine swallowed thickly.
"Are you going home?" she asked.
"Eventually," Steve sighed. "My parents are probably asleep anyway, but uh…I might swing by the hospital. Make sure none of this damage is permanent."
"Gotta protect that pretty face."
She regretted the words instantly, but they made Steve's smile widen.
"Yeah," he chuckled, "my hair can only pull so much weight."
Christine grinned. "I'll talk to you tomorrow?"
"Yeah. Talk to you tomorrow."
It wasn't a painless goodbye, but it was less awkward than it could have been. Christine collected her things—her bag, her radio, her shotgun—moving more slowly than was necessary. She half-hoped Steve might stop her; it didn't matter why. He could kiss her or scream at her or ask her to drive him to the hospital and she would have agreed without a second thought. But Steve didn't say anything. He smiled and waved as she backed away from the car, and it took everything in her power not to look back at him with every other step. She fumbled with her keys, ducked inside, and then leaned back against the front door.
Christine blinked in the darkness of her living room. What the fuck was she thinking?
She dropped her belongings on the floor and buried her face in her hands. Fuck. Just—fuck! Steve had just blatantly asked if he could kiss her, and after years and years of pining, she'd patted him on the hand and said no. She knew it had been the right thing to do, but being right had never felt so appalling. Fuck being the smart one. Fuck being reasonable and playing it safe and being appropriate. She just wanted one, goddamn thing to go right.
Knock, knock.
She nearly yelped as the door vibrated behind her. Christine jumped to attention, whirling around and staring at it in wonder. It shook again, even more insistently, and her face split into a grin. She yanked the door back open and—
"Are you kidding me?! Christine! Are you freaking kidding me?! What kind of bullshit is this?! I leave you alone for the perfect moment, the perfect opportunity, and all you two assholes do is hold hands!"
"Dustin—"
He'd already shoved his way past her, marching into the house without invitation. Christine gawked at him as he made himself at home—kicking off his shoes and dropping his bag on the couch. It was only a breeze from outside that reminded her to close the door again.
"Hold on," she growled, rounding on Dustin. "Were you spying on us?!"
"Of course I was spying on you!" he shouted back. "And you didn't deliver! Christ! Why the hell didn't you kiss him?!"
"Because it wouldn't have—no, you know what? No! I don't have to justify myself to you! You're like nine!"
"Real mature, Chrissy. I'm thirteen and even I know you should have kissed him."
"You don't know shit."
"Yes! I do know shit!"
"No, you don't, you little shit!" Dustin promptly flipped her off, and Christine had to squeeze her hands into fists at her sides to stop herself from throttling him. "Dustin, what are you even doing here? Shouldn't you be at home?"
"I told Mom I was worried about you," he said dismissively. "I said you got into a fight with someone from school—which is technically true—and I wanted to keep you company. We just saved the world, so screw me if I don't want you to die in your sleep from a concussion."
"Wow," Christine scoffed. "Well, thanks, Dad."
"Don't sass me, Walcott." He shoved a finger in her face in outrage. "I can't believe you didn't kiss him. I'm making popcorn."
Dustin stormed off into the kitchen, grumbling all the while about teens and their stupidity. Christine was still longing to smother him, yet she couldn't help but smile. She supposed that was the downside to saving the world: she still had to deal with shit from her little brother.