ADMIN NOTE: warning for drinking and language for those who might need it.
also i apologize in advance if there are any grammatical errors or anything , i really really wanted to post this before s4 premieres tomorrow as a surprise to y'all ! ! once the initial excitement is over and we all have binged , i will be sure to return to this if there is anything i need to fix.
i am posting this so late but i wanted to go ahead and give it to yall . much love xx
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Heather was having a New Year's Eve party.
In the end, he supposed she would have dragged him over whether he had wanted to come or not. Though not by stomping through his front door and pulling him by the arm, no. Not by pleading or getting upset over it. She had a way of coaxing people into agreeing to things without begging, without being obvious, as if she didn't care either way and was satisfied with whichever.
That was the thing; Heather came off as someone who went with the flow so much that it was hard to tell with her. She was never immediately vocal about whether she preferred to do this or do that because more often than none she didn't mind either. No one would look at her and call her opinionated, bossy . . . but she could be. That was the other thing. Many people knew her, but few knew her well enough. Heather was subtle when she wanted her way, and by the time anyone realized it β if they ever did β she had already won them over. It was as if it had never even been her idea, rather theirs the whole time.
Steve had known this about her for years, and he still fell for it like a sucker.
Steve had known her for years, and it was why β after a month and a half β he still wondered what she saw in Billy. Analyzed the shit out of it . . because it was that confusing to him that they were dating now.
He was still faintly convinced that Billy pulled on a different persona around her, that he did some one-eighty when she was with him, flashing smiles and honing in on the supposed charm that left a number of the girls in school gawking. A number of moms, he uncomfortably reminded himself. But when it was him . . . when it was people like Jonathan or Samantha or Nancy, that smile fell under the weight of a scowl or something otherwise unpleasant used to keep people from bothering him.
To make them scared.
He had scared Rowen. Out of all the reasons he had, Steve decided to hate him for that. Something about watching the whole thing unfold firsthand unsettled him, resonated deeply without a reason as to why, just that it felt wrong.
He knew he was ignorant when it came to siblings; he had none, how could he have any idea as to what those relationships should be like, how they should act around each other or treat each other? He didn't know . . . but he knew there was no way they should be like that. Siblings were supposed to be like what he saw of Rowen with Max. What he saw of Nancy and Mike, Jonathan and Will, Lucas and his little sister; sometimes they liked each other and sometimes they didn't; sometimes they would argue. But screaming at each other? They wouldn't do that. They wouldn't throw each other around front yards.
But Billy had . . . so why did Heather like him again?
Because she didn't know he had done that, that was why.
Heather wasn't a pushover. She wouldn't let someone bully her into a corner . . . but she wasn't aware of everything, either. It irked Steve to no end, but not so much that he was about to spill everything. He wasn't about to reveal every little secret that he had promised to keep for the sake of his life just so she would be aware of how much of a douchebag her new boyfriend was. Just so she would be angry in the same way Steve was angry.
She didn't deserve that. She deserved to remain naΓ―ve, remain unaware.
And Rowen, frankly, deserved to have her privacy. The look on her face when he said that someone had to stop him and someone had to stand up to the douchebag made him regret ever having one bad, irritable feeling towards her, because what she bit back at him made it clear that she had tried that already. She had tried and failed, and he felt like an idiot for assuming she had never had that thought before.
He knew he was ignorant, but he could at least see that the topic was touchy, and filed that away as another reason not to act on his petty feelings towards Billy. To keep his mouth shut instead of starting a whole chain of problems. He would let Heather remain oblivious.
She was certainly oblivious to the mile-long gap between the siblings; because while Billy was already expected to come to her impromptu party, no invitation needed, she had supposedly invited Rowen to come over too, all smiles and charm that was not something pulled on, but utterly, genuinely Heather.
Because she liked everybody. Or . . sort of. She didn't like everybody, but she liked most people. Even the band geeks had made that list, despite the fact that most said band geeks refused to show to her end-of-year celebration. He recalled how she sighed after realizing it mere minutes ago, though the disappointment never quite reached her eyes. Instead, she said, "Oh well. More for us!" and moved on to the next thing.
She lifted two bottles of her mother's wine like it was candy and Steve had felt some unbidden pang in his stomach, as if alcohol no longer reminded him of strictly good times but pulling and pushing and stains on shirts. Drunken messes, arguments, bullshit β
He stopped himself before he could drown in those thoughts, drown in Heather's mom's wine amongst other things she had found. It was New Year's Eve, it wasn't as if he didn't have a right to . . . but, for reasons unknown to himself, he didn't want to. Didn't feel like it.
He hadn't felt like doing a lot of things lately β sleep being one, former coping mechanisms being another. Pretending like everything was okay, ignoring the shadows on his walls that seemed a little too long, feeling exposed when he was alone in the house . . . sleep.
About a week ago, Dustin had thought he had seen one of Dart's friends and Steve had come roaring down the road with his bat at ten o'clock at night, ready to knock the shit out of another one of those things because . . . well, shit, that kid was starting to grow on him. He wanted Dustin to sleep at night and be his gossiping, happy-go-lucky self and . . . and he wanted him to succeed and all that shit, you know? Demogorgons be damned, this kid wasn't going to end up like him, not if he could help it.
He deserved a goodnight's sleep. And so Steve had raced over there, ready as ever . . . but it wasn't a demodog. It wasn't anything at all.
And somehow Steve had completely understood, the same way he understood when Rowen started rolling her shoulders and said she hadn't been sleeping well β at all.
He was beginning to wonder if she had done what the band geeks did and gave Heather the cold shoulder because of it, though he never felt pulled enough to ask. Not after Heather mentioned her, nor when the minutes began to slip away.
Steve swallowed his share of alcohol and did his share of talking and pretended like everything was okay in the best way he knew how. He laughed at shit that was utterly stupid and let himself be pulled through the house from one group to the next, talking about Christmas break and how everyone was dreading going back to school when snowstorm upon snowstorm was preparing to slam down on them in the next few weeks. He sulked over college applications and exams that were months away; he dreaded driving in inches of snow; he wondered if the kids would pack into his backseat and make him their designated chauffeur without so much as a please, never mind a thank you.4
An hour or more passed by, maybe two, maybe three. His concept of time blurred.
Heather had come back from who knows where and suddenly, it was as if their final semester and what colleges they hoped to go to were the biggest thing on his mind once more. His head was swirling with the intensity of the Christmas lights her parents had left up and the after-effects of pre-break finals that still lingered, not flashes of nightmares and post-traumatic stress.
"Hey, have you seen Rowen?"
But her name made everything come raging back.
Steve couldn't help but associate her with anything but that night; though, despite that, despite the sudden reminder of anxiety and borderline insomnia and . . and all that, what stood out to him was that he had, in fact, not seen her at all.
His forehead creased. "I didn't even know she showed up."
"Yeah, she came about an hour ago or something," Heather told him, then smiled as if she was unsure how to feel about what she said next, "She gave me a hug."
Steve squinted at that, but Heather had already moved on to the next thing, talking about how she planned to go out of state for school, how she couldn't wait for summer, things they had talked about plenty of times already yet always went back to. He had zoned out a little. The former Christmas music had been long since replaced by a singer he didn't know the name of though had heard enough to decide his taste was different from the hostess's. Or whoever had switched the music in the background.
"You think something's up?"
Steve felt something poking at his arm. He realized it was Heather's finger and shook himself out of the daze he had fallen into. "What?"
Heather leveled a look at him. "With her and Billy," she said as if it was obvious.
He felt a little bad for tuning her out and tried racking his brain for scraps of what she had been saying to him. Rowen had been mentioned again, somewhere in the midst of college and aspirations and Tina having a bad habit of gossiping, but he hadn't been paying enough attention to realize what Heather was talking about.
"He really talked her up after Halloween, you know? Everyone so was interested that it was almost like she was actually at school β but, you know, she obviously wasn't. She's at ISU or something. They used to stick with each other all the time β or every time I saw her. Now, it's like they just . . . don't anymore. Billy doesn't even mention her."
And Steve knew exactly why that was . . though he couldn't let Heather know that. He shrugged. "So . . what? They had a fight or something?"
Heather hesitated. "I don't know. He won't tell me . . ." she trailed off in thought. Steve opted to keep his mouth closed. Heather's brow creased in worry, and after a moment, she asked, "Do you think something happened? Like, something bad, and she just ditched him or something?"
Steve couldn't stop himself from saying what he said next, couldn't hold back his scoff.
"I don't see why she wouldn't." It had come out bitter.
Heather's expression turned at that. "Do I sense some hidden resentment?" she questioned, and he faltered.
Heather already knew to some extent the dislike Steve held for Billy, that the latter had handed the former's ass to him on one Sunday night β in a broad sense, as all gossip spread, without the details. Steve couldn't exactly hide the bandaids and bruises when he came back to school, and Billy wasn't exactly one to hold in the urge to brag, even if the truth of the whole thing was that his thirteen-year-old stepsister had knocked his own ass to the ground when it was all said and done.
No one had to know that last part. No one could know that last part. Except for him, except for the kids. Except for Rowen.
He had been too unconscious to know this at the time, but Dustin had told him she was shaking after it all; shaking well before she climbed down into a bluish hell. She was shaking, but she did it anyway. Meanwhile, he was still feeling a little self-conscious about the remnants of bruises all over his face, long-since faded into ghostly blotches.
Steve scowled at the people around them but avoided giving Heather a direct answer. "I'm just saying, I don't blame her for wanting to hang out with someone other than her brother."
Heather didn't look like she fully believed him, but she gave him a look and settled with, "Alright, I'll just let you brood over that by yourself."
"Heather!"
Speak of the devil.
He surprised himself with the way he picked out her voice without a thought. Without even trying.
They both turned to see Rowen caught between jackets and colorful sweaters, between swaying couples and some flamboyant solo dancers; she was desperately trying to push through, though failing, to get to them with a big smile on her face.
It made Steve think; he had heard her complain about the closeness of everyone in the car when they were packed in with all the headgear and backpacks, trying to get back to the Byers; there was no way she could be willingly happy about this.
He had his faint hunches, but he said nothing, and watched as Heather jumped to Rowen's rescue.
"Hey!" Rowen exclaimed, once free.
Heather smiled. "Hey! I was starting to get worried about you. Where've you been?"
A hand went over Rowen's chest, and her grin melted into something that quite obviously conveyed she was touched.
It was then that realization slapped Steve in the face. Heather had laid an array of her parents' drinks on the kitchen counters like it was some kind of spread, left for anyone and everyone to do with as they pleased; as if her parents wouldn't notice when half a dozen of their bottles were gone.
They wouldn't notice, Heather had said. The Holloways had a stash so profound that they couldn't even count, never mind keep track of them all. Other people had brought their own supply tonight, too . . . so the counters were overflowing. And Rowen, against his assumptions, didn't seem shy about taking advantage of that.
She was swaying . . . she was drunk. Shit. Now that he really looked at her, she was massively drunk.
"Awww, that's so sweet," she drawled. "It's so nice to have someone worry about you. So nice. So so nice. I love that drink that you left out in a punch bowl, by the way. Who made that? Was it Tina again?"
The rapidity of her words made Heather pause, made her smile fade a little. "I'm not sure," she told her, then asked, a hesitant laugh woven into her voice, "How much have you had?"
He could see the way she was giving Rowen a once-over, taking in her appearance and keeping her hands outstretched as if she was prepared to catch her.
He didn't blame her; though it wasn't as if Rowen looked completely trashed; she wore bellbottoms and a fitted shirt and a cardigan that swallowed her, but none of it was torn or messy or stained. She looked fine . . she looked nice. She wore a lot of rings and one long, tiny necklace in the shape of a heart, and somehow Steve hadn't noticed that until now. She looked normal. But she didn't sound normal, and he knew Heather had probably been hit by the smell of her breath.
She looked slightly worried by the swaying.
Rowen batted a hand at the question. "Oh, you know . . a lot."
"Well, do you feel okay? Do you want to sit with us? Or do you need the bathroom?"
Rowen batted another hand. "Pfft, no. I feel fine. I feel good . ." she paused, then laughed. "I feel really good. You know what I mean?"
Heather's smile came back with a knowing look. "Yeah . . yeah, I do."
Rowen threw her hands up then. "So why don't you do it!" she exclaimed, though there was no interrogative tone in her voice. It was carefree and untroubled and . . . and not at all like she had sounded when he talked to her last. When she was sober.
What was she doing?
"I will," Heather told her, then hastily moved to continue as Rowen opened her mouth, "I will, I promise. We can get drinks together! But maybe we should relax first, hm? Just for a minute. That way we'll be able to dance longer, right?"
All the while Heather had been telling her this, she slowly coaxed Rowen away from the swell of the crowd and closer to the couches she and Steve were hovering next to. Rowen was none the wiser about it, and by the time she began to nod, they were already there. They were sitting on one of the couches now.
Steve was smiling at it. He didn't care what anyone else said, Heather could talk her way out of a life or death situation if she wanted to; she could probably make friends with the Mind Flayer and have the thing exchanging phone numbers, never mind coax those who were utterly buzzed.
A look of sudden realization washed over Rowen's face. "Steve!" she gasped, and he was at immediate attention. "I didn't even see you, party-pooper. When'd you come in?"
Heather threw a perplexed, albeit amused, look between the two of them. "Party-pooper?"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, that's what he was on Halloween, you know? I came up with it!"
Steve ignored the sting the word Halloween brought and rolled his eyes at the nickname. "Okay, we get it," he said, gesturing to himself. "I'm a party-pooper for spilling punch all over Tina's floor, yeah. I'm a real downer."
He wasn't, and Rowen hadn't come up with the nickname; per her own words, other people had called him that long before her. But he didn't exactly feel like diving into the reasons as to why he was one right now, in the middle of another holiday and another party. He didn't feel like diving into it at all . . . ever.
"I didn't know you two were friends," Heather voiced after a moment, an intrigued glance thrown his way. He caught the glint in her eye that said she had made an assumption and wanted to figure out if she was right by looking at him. He squashed it with a look of his own.
"No, not β not like that," he said before flinging a hand in Rowen's direction. "We've just . . already met and stuff."
It was a lame excuse, and he knew Heather knew that by the way she raised her brow at him. "Already met and stuff?"
He wanted to roll his eyes again, frustration bubbling up in his chest. This used to be so easy for him . . . used to. But now that another dimension had smacked the shit out of him, now that the topic of him and Rowen and how in hell they knew each other was in the spotlight, words failed him.
All he could think about were demodogs and vines, a temperamental brother and his fuming attitude, defending her, getting stuck in the tunnels . . . and shit, they had nearly died down there β
"Yeah." It was one word; it was final.
Heather took the hint and let it go, though it wasn't comforting.
He hoped, oh, he hoped she wouldn't say anything. Billy as he had been was more than enough for Steve to handle; he didn't need him stomping back into his personal space with another threat, another fist ready to swing. He didn't need Tommy or Carol or Tina, or even Samantha coming up to him with smirks and smiles, frowns and questioning looks and . . .
He just didn't need that right now.
Heather was his friend, but she wasn't the person he trusted most to stay silent, however little she knew about the situation. She knew nothing. So why was she smirking at him like she knew every detail? She didn't, and she never would. She couldn't possibly . . . but she was keeping Rowen steady and eyeing him at the same time, and it wasn't until he exchanged his casual expression for a stern one that she finally dropped it and moved to change the subject; because silence was too awkward. Because silence wasn't an option.
"Have you seen Billy anywhere?" she asked Rowen. "I've been looking for him too."
Rowen's expression turned sour. "Oh, who cares about him."
At those words, Heather's forehead creased. "I . . I heard you guys had a bit of a falling out," she tried tentatively.
"Oh, yeah. Yeah, we fell," Rowen drawled, then squinted as if she had forgotten what had happened. "Or, I fell . . then he fell . . then I fell . ." She shook her head eventually and flung her hands up, leaving Heather to jerk her head out of the way before Rowen could smack her in the face. "Don't know, but I don' like him anymore."
She was slurring more and more with every word.
"Why not?" Heather tried again, though Steve wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because she liked him, maybe it was because she was a little too curious, just like everyone else. Heather wasn't a fawner like some, nor did she get a kick out of throwing gossip around whether it was true or not. Steve would be lying, though, if he said she wasn't pulled in by it.
"'Cause he's a big, dumb liar," Rowen said without a thought. "Making me go to stupid parties and pretend I'm in stupid college . ."
He blinked at that. Heather did too.
"You're not in college?" she asked.
Rowen laughed. "Duh! What, you think I can actually make the drive from here all the way to Curly County or some shit every day? Hellll no. You know what I do? IβI work at a police station and cart thirteen-year-olds around . . I'm a total deadbeat!" she exclaimed, flinging her hands up again. "But hey, I heard you talkin' 'bout going off to school and stuff, and I gotta tell you . . itβit's great! I didn't want to but, you know, you do what you wanna do. IβI got dragged across the country and shit, so I didn't get to, you know? I'm stuck here. But you . . you can be free."
If Heather had attempted to reply after all that Rowen had said to her, Steve would have been impressed . . . but she hadn't. She had paled a little; and he could do nothing about it, because he had been as open-mouthed and lost for words as she was.
Rowen, on the other hand, didn't look phased at all. She gave them a smile, then scanned the swarm of people next to them. "You know, I think Billy is over there or somethin' . ."
That was Heather's cue to leave. Warily, she stood, looking between him and Rowen. He didn't know what to tell her β couldn't think of anything, really.
"Um . . okay. I'll just go look for him then. You stay there, okay? Hang out."
Heather passed him with an uneasy look that was both confused and pleading with him to keep an eye on her. To make sure she didn't ramble like that to other people.
Steve never gave her any indication that he would, but he might as well have promised it, because he didn't want Rowen to unload on anyone else either. Her tongue was a little too loose. If she was willing to admit all she had just admitted, no telling what else she would blurt out . . . what secrets, what nightmares, what monsters β
He felt a little panic begin to rise.
He felt like another responsibility was being thrust into his hands, tearing his chance to enjoy himself away from him.
He completely missed how Rowen hadn't stayed as Heather told her to. She had left the couch and began to walk around.
"I don't know why she won't just dump him," she said to him. "He's a grade-A asshole, I thought everyone knew that. You know that."
Despite the way he utterly agreed, Steve gawked at her a little.
"What are you doing?" he asked her quietly.
A smile crept onto her face. "What do you mean 'what am I doing'? I'm having fun, that's what I'm doing!"
She turned and whooped at the crowds in the house, receiving quite a few enthusiastic ones in return.
He was beginning to worry.
Steve stared at her back as she began to walk away, presumably ending the conversation and forgetting him. There was a nagging in the back of his head that said to follow her, drag her back . . . something. Before she blurted out something serious.
He hesitated. His history with drunk people was not the best . . . though, after a moment, Steve decided to set that hesitation aside. He shook the memory out of his mind and pushed himself off of the wall he had been leaning against, went after Rowen.
"Hey, hey . ." he began to reach out for her arm, gently tugging at it. She noticed it and turned, presenting him with a very lopsided, goofy smile. Steve eyed it with concern. "I think you're having a little too much fun."
"There's no such thing," she stated, punching at his arm playfully. "C'mon, party-pooper, a little more partying, a little less pooping." A beat passed before she snorted, amused by her own words. ". . Pooping."
And just like that, before he could even blink, she was off again. She weaved through the maze of couples and groups as if she had never been drunk, pushing by them without difficulty. She was headed towards the kitchen, and Steve didn't have to see them to know she was going for the drinks. He followed once more, pushed by some people and dodged some others.
"Shit β"
"Hey, watch it!"
He didn't like the scene that awaited him once he reached her. Rowen was already pouring something else for herself; another shot, another mix of whatever it was that littered Heather's countertops. He wished she hadn't had so much to offer them.
"Hey, Rowen, c'mon, you need to cut back on that," he said, grasping for the cup she filled only to come up with an empty hand. Rowen had seen him coming; she kept moving it away from him, over and over and over until she began to twirl. She started laughing.
"This is fun," she said, locks of gold swirling around her head.
At some point, she was going to get dizzy, Steve knew that; it was why he kept trying to grab for the cup . . . though she had already begun to slosh it. A bit of it splashed on someone's leg and earned a gasp. On unsteady feet, Rowen stopped her spinning and gaped down at the spillage.
"Whoops," she said simply, lifting her cup to her face. She eyed it quizzically, then set it down on the counter. "Better put this here . ." She looked at the person leaning against it and pointed at him. "That's mine."
He smiled in amusement, Rowen turned away.
Steve sighed and followed her again. She was beginning to make him feel exasperated. "Rowen, seriously . ."
She had found her way back to the living room and started twirling again, quicker than before. The lights made her necklace tangle; the rings on her fingers glittered as if she was some kind of mirrorball, shining here, shining there.
He was waiting for her to stop, waiting for her to fall.
At some point, she did. She lost her balance, and Steve bolted toward her in an attempt to prevent a crash and burn.
"Woah β hey, okay, you need to sit back down or something," he decided, trying to help her right herself.
He barely caught her waist and was a little jarred by the memory of them being in the tunnels, in a similar position. She had been incredibly tense then, rigid in his grip, with a heart pounding as hard as his.
He had been unable to loosen his hold on her in the tunnels until she said something . . though now it felt like she might just slip through his fingers. She was relaxed, loose and swaying β and he abruptly reminded himself why that was.
Once she was upright again, no longer dizzy, he let go of her.
She smiled at him. "Aww, are you worried about me, Stevie?"
Someone laughed near them. "Yeah, Stevie-boy, are you worried about her?"
Steve didn't need to look to know it was Tommy who was sneering at him. He did so anyway, turned to a couple he had barely seen in months, never mind talked to.
Carol greeted him from Tommy's lap with a smirk as equally wide and catlike as her boyfriend's. They were grinning like idiots behind their red cups, lounging on Heather's furniture.
"Butt out, Freckles," Rowen threw at the jock, a wobbly glare accompanying it.
It caught Tommy off guard, made a confused smile appear on his face. "What'd I do?"
"I don't lllike you," she said, leaning a little too forward. Steve had to keep a hand on her arm just to steady her.
"Geez, tough crowd tonight, huh?" Tommy said, sharing a look with Carol. "Maybe when she's sober, she'll have a different opinion."
"Yβyeah, I'll like you even less," Rowen slurred. "Big-mouth jock who eyes eveβryone but his girlfriend."
The smile on Tommy's face disappeared. He scoffed. "Figures . ."
Steve threw a quizzical look, though Rowen was the one to voice her confusion, "What?"
"Figures he'd tell you some made-up shit to make me look bad," Tommy explained. "You know, your brother's got some nerve ditching us like that. Out of nowhere."
"Why don't you tell him that yourself?" she drawled, a very exaggerated, albeit suspicious, look on her face.
He looked at her as if she had said something outlandish. "Why should I?" He was bitter if anything. Steve could hear the spite in his voice as plain as the music that filled the room.
"Why not?"
It was a simple question, two words that ought to be innocent . . . though Tommy took offense to it anyway.
"He shouldn't have to," Carol answered for him with a pretentious raise of her chin.
Steve wanted to roll his eyes at it. Rowen did roll her eyes at it.
"The guy's a dick," Tommy bit at her silent response. "If you don't know that already, then it's time you woke up. Thinking he can take over the whole school and then drop us as if it wouldn't get his ass kicked. The hell does he think he is?"
"He thinks he's the crown jewel, that's what," Carol snickered.
"Did he get his ass kicked for doing that?" Rowen inquired. "IβI didn't even know that happened. Or, wait, did you try to kick his ass an β and all that? 'Cause that would explain some things."
Again, it was simple . . . sort of. Though a flush began to rise in Tommy's face as if she was poking all the wrong buttons.
"Why don't you put a lid on it, huh? Quit drinking."
If she had heard him, she didn't acknowledge it.
"You know, he's pretty mad at you too," she continued, now focused on a particular part of Steve's shirt.
Tommy scoffed again. "The hell's he got to be pissed off at?"
Rowen shrugged. "Dunno . . won't tell me. You wanna tell me?"
"You want to mind your own business?"
His tone didn't phase her. She shrugged again.
"Why don't you just stay out of it, huh, Princess?" Tommy added, "You should be paying more attention to your brother and his attitude instead of poking your nose into things."
"Hey, c'mon man, lay off. She was just asking a question," Steve told him.
"How about you butt out, Harrington, alright?" Tommy snapped back. That old hatred was still raging in his eyes. Steve glanced at Carol and saw it was still there in hers too.
"Oh, c'mon," Rowen drawled, "He's not doin' anythin'."
Tommy's ill expression landed on her. "Why don't you just run along then? Pass out in the backyard or some shit."
"Why?" Rowen almost whined, though the irony of it was that she was smiling. She scrunched her nose. "You don't like me?"
He gave her a once-over, thought. "Depends," he mused, then turned his gaze back towards Steve. "You got a new lover-boy here? Or is this just another show you're putting on?"
"Oh, c'mon, Tommy, she's completely trashed," Carol told him, a bit of a laugh in her voice. "She couldn't fake it even if she wanted to."
Tommy considered this and smiled at his girlfriend. "Good point . ." he said, letting that smile turn sly and stretch wide. "Looks like we got a new couple on our hands."
"We're not together," Steve bit without a thought.
"Ooh, touchy," Tommy cooed. "Still recovering from Little Miss Priss, hm? I didn't take you for much of a rebounder, Harrington . . though I wouldn't blame you for trying it with this one."
That had earned him a slap in the chest from his girlfriend, though it didn't seem as genuine as it should have been. Steve had had his assumptions about his former friends.
"I still can't believe Nancy ended up with the freak, after all this time," Carol said, switching to the next thing as if Tommy had never made that comment.
"I still can't believe she busted out on Tina's dance floor on Halloween. Maybe Rowen could take her place, huh? All we got to do is get her over there and let her do her thing."
God, Steve wanted to punch him. He wanted to throw all restraint out the window and prove everyone wrong; that he could win a fight β beating up someone who deserved it, no less. But Rowen was in between them, and the urge to act on his anger was a lot less prominent than the panic he was feeling about her loose tongue.
And admittedly . . . as much as he wanted to, he knew it wouldn't be worth it. It wouldn't make him feel better, as tempting as it was.
The irritation was pushed down with a scoff. "Figures you would say some shit like that," he said.
Tommy's sly grin fell into a look that would have cut right through him if it could. "The hell did you say?"
Though Steve didn't feel at all phased by it. He shrugged. "I'm just saying it seems you haven't changed one bit, buddy."
"Seems you have, buddy," he threw back. "Not for the better, by the looks of it."
"Well, at least I'm not eyeing other girls in front of my girlfriend."
Tommy smirked. "No . . you're just losing them."
"Maybe Carol should lose you," Rowen commented with a thoughtful tilt of her head.
The smirk fell, and the annoyance grew. He was all but glaring at her. "You know, I'm starting to think you got a little more nerve than that dick of a brother of yours."
"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I'm all nerve, man. Allll nerve. It's in my blood . . You know, like my dad," Rowen paused to blow a raspberry as if she was directing it towards her dad, despite his obvious absence. "You wanna know why?"
He looked like he wanted to roll his eyes this time. "Why?"
"'Cause IβI'm not afraid to kick all that high school shit to the curb . ."
She only confused him. "What?"
Though Steve, knowing a little more about her than he did, was starting to catch on to what she was saying . . what she might say.
"Rowen, c'mon, let's just go," he tried.
Rowen pointed a finger up at him. "No, no, I have to tell them, 's very important . ." she paused in her slurring to avert her attention back to Tommy and Carol. "'Cause you know, he did the right thing," Rowen told them, poking Steve in the chest. "Forgetting popularity . . 'cause pop β popularity, you know, it's . . you know, it's not important. The sooner you realize that the sooner you're free."
"She's fucking wasted," Carol observed, a little haughty, very amused.
"Yeah, I'm fucking wasted, but at least I'm not an ass-kisser," Rowen bit.
"Hey, you watch your mouth!" Tommy barked.
"What are you gonna do?" she challenged. "You gonna punch me, Tommy-boy? Gonna manhandle me?"
Steve was beginning to feel a little uneasy. He needed to get Rowen away from them.
Tommy was starting to seethe. "Say one more word and I might."
A grin stretched wide on Rowen's face. "Ooh," she cooed. "Fiery, very fiery. Don't believe you though."
The fact that Tommy made Carol get off of his lap so he could stand told Steve his composure was teetering the line between thin and ready to snap.
He stalked towards them with slow steps. "You sure about that?"
"Oh, I'm very sure . . very very," she said. "'Cause you're all talk now, aren't you?"
Tommy scoffed, a touch more amused than pissed off by her. "Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that, sweetheart."
"I will," she said with an odd certainty. ". . 'Cause you wouldn' be sayin' any of this if Billy was here, would you?"
Though as she uttered those last words, the oddness of it was no longer. It was as if she had slapped the smirk right off of Tommy's face. For once . . for once, Steve realized with some burst of satisfaction, that he was out of words. His anger sobered quickly, cooling down to a low simmer.
Rowen's face settled into a knowing look as if she knew she was right the whole time. "Don't have the guts . ."
She began to laugh a high-pitched giggle then, and that sharp glare, the ire that was starting to turn hot on Tommy's face suddenly dissipated into something much less intimidating; it was meek, Steve observed, as if Rowen knew something he hadn't wanted her to and he was suddenly realizing it. All it took to temper his anger were those four words. Because she was Billy's sister . . because she knew.
Tommy couldn't touch her.
She may have been wasted, but her grin was slick and clever like a kid who knew everyone's secrets. Like the people with lab might have smiled . . . Like her brother. Had it been directed at Steve, he might have paled.
But she was clutching onto his sweater.
"Hey, c'mon, let's go," he muttered low to her. The grip on her arms moved her more than the words.
"Yeah . . yeah that's right, Harrington, you just take her along with you to your little corner. Keep her the fuck away from us!"
"Shut the hell up, Tommy!" Steve shouted over his shoulder, over the music and the crowd that didn't even seem to register his words. No one seemed to have noticed the exchange at all.
A part of him had been ready to push Rowen to the nearest couch before Tommy could come over and take a swing at him for saying that . . . though he never came. He didn't even say anything β anything that Steve could catch, anyway.
Maybe she was right.
Something in Steve had always anticipated Tommy's blows, even if he had never seen them happen. Anticipation had settled over him ever since he had slammed him against his car. He had done that for Carol, for someone who wouldn't shut her damn mouth like she should have a long time ago and probably never would. It had pocked a nerve in Tommy, Steve saying that; though . . . though that was all it had done. Tommy hadn't punched him, hit him, anything; he piled up threats and Steve, at the time, had been too jarred to notice that that was all they were . . . threats. He hadn't realized that, ran away instead.
Though Rowen wasn't him. She didn't back down when Tommy got testy, she saw through the threats; and, from what he saw, was a little more confident than he was in the belief that he wouldn't act on them.
She knew acknowledging who she was related to β indirectly or not β would stir something cowardly in Tommy. He had clung to Billy's side and talked him up like the sycophant Steve supposed he always was, spoke words of affirmation into his ear, and sauntered at his side with the rest of the cronies. He had claimed a spot in the midst of the new King's court before anyone could blink and unapologetically kissed Billy's ass, as Rowen had said Carol did . . . because she did. She did it too.
And it seemed to have failed them. Billy didn't care about them anymore β or maybe he never did. Maybe he had accepted that they came with the territory and only let his true feelings show once he had secured his spot at the top.
Regardless, it was clear he wasn't afraid to abandon the jock, who was to say he would be afraid to leave bruises, leave him bloody if he deserved it? He wouldn't, and Steve had a feeling Tommy knew that deep down.
He wasn't sure if Rowen would do the same, but if the anger wasn't shared, then there had to be something. Aside from looks.
Her smile was sickly sweet and told Tommy without telling to try, just try and hit her, drag her, anything. Just try it . . . She dared him. The same way Billy dared Steve to keep him from getting to Max. He had tried keeping him from getting to her, but not before Billy took a swing at his jaw and came at him with a plethora of punches.
Rowen might have clawed Tommy's eyes out if he tried anything of the sort, scratched him, kicked him. And then Billy would have come because, sooner or later, he would hear the commotion from wherever in Heather's house he had disappeared to and knock Tommy right off of his self-made pedestal.
Nerve, Steve realized . . she had that same nerve.
"Okay, c'mon," he breathed once they broke from the masses. "Take a breather."
He had finally found an open spot in the house, a place to stand without people crowding around them. It was a small room that extended from the hall that led to the main, tucked away from the noise and the sensory overload. Maybe she could breathe better here, get a few deep inhales of air that wasn't utterly filled with fumes of drinks and other things. There were pictures of the Holloways in here. There were candles . . . It wasn't that much better.
Maybe he should have taken her outside . . . No. No, he didn't feel like dragging her again.
"But why?" she whined once they reached this spot. "I tβtold you not to be a party-pooper. You're sucking the fun out of everythin'."
There was a lamp in this room, a fluffy rug, and a chair on the other side. There was a loveseat right behind him, though he had a feeling she wasn't going to sit in it. He collapsed on the arm.
Steve sighed. "That's not what I'm trying to do β"
"But you are . ."
"No β I'm not, Rowen. I'm not."
"You are!"
"I'm not!" he snapped, frustrated. "Jesus . ."
Rowen fell quiet at his tone, suddenly straight-mouthed and puppy-eyed. She stepped away from him, began to sulk. "You're mad at me . ."
That frustration got caught in his throat, faded from his face. "No β no . ." The look on her own made him deflate. He tried holding up his hands in surrender. "Listen, I'm sorry. I just . . I don't want you to do anything stupid."
She looked like she was pondering his words. ". . Sssstupid," she tried, glancing at the end of the hall. They couldn't see the party from here, but they could hear it. "Too late. I'm allll stupid right now."
"You're not. You're just drunk," Steve told her, a bit of amusement in his voice. ". . and freaking ballsy."
She threw him a questioning look. "Why aren't you drunk?"
He didn't know what to say at first. To be honest? He didn't really want to get drunk right now. His nightmares were obscene and tore him from sleep every single night, his coping mechanisms were absolute shit. He should have wanted to get drunk, to get completely wasted like she was . . . but the urge wasn't there.
He shrugged lamely and told her, "I don't feel like it."
Rowen tilted her head. "No?" she said, and it was then that a smile slowly began to stretch onto her face. It would have been endearing if she wasn't utterly out of it. She started walking up to him. "Well . . do you β feel like dancing?"
The thing was, he knew he shouldn't have been affected by that. People acted so unlike themselves when they drank, and Rowen was, as Carol said, completely wasted. Not like herself . . not at all. The reservedness, the sass, the personal space. Her usual mannerisms might as well have been thrown back with all the alcohol, drowned out. She was very close to him, she had her hand on his arm.
She was . . . was she flirting?
She wouldn't act like this without alcohol, he told himself. She wouldn't . . . She wouldn't. But her smile was small and soft and . . . shit. He was starting to panic for an entirely different reason. He was glad he wasn't as drunk as she was.
Steve had to steel himself so he wouldn't look utterly flushed; though it was probably too late for that.
"Not if you're going to fall over," he eventually got out.
She looked insulted by that. "I'm not, geez! . ." she exclaimed. "I'll have you know I'm still a damn good dancer when I'm drunk."
A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. Steve decided to appease her. "I don't doubt it."
She smiled back, wider. "Then why won't you come with me?"
His own smile disappeared. "I just β I can't. It's not a good time, okay?"
Her's fell this time.
"Just wait for Heather to come back, okay?" he tried. "Maybe she'll want to dance."
Rowen rolled her eyes at his words, groaned under her breath, and pushed away from him. "Why are you bossing me around so much?"
Steve refrained from gaping, reminded himself of the situation, and said gently, "I'm not, I promise."
Her face scrunched up. "Yes, you are. You sound like him."
That one left him grasping for answers. "Who, Billy?"
Rowen was staring at the floor. "No . ." she mumbled.
His brow furrowed. Who else could it be but Billy? "Then who?"
But Rowen did not answer; all she did was frown at the floor, shake her head, and wave a dismissive hand at him.
Many beats of silence passed them by before anything else was said.
"You sure you don't wanna dance?" she tried, already swaying to whatever song had started playing in the living room.
For a moment, when she was quiet, Steve had felt his frustration begin to fade. He felt a little more motivated to deal with a drunk person once getting her in one spot . . though now he could feel the exasperation come running back. She didn't want to stay put, and if he couldn't get her to sit still somewhere, then this was going to be a long night. He might as well throw celebrating a new year out the window.
He sighed again. "No . ."
Now Rowen looked exasperated. "C'mon!" she tried, flinging her hands down like a child. "Why not?"
"Rowen, I told you, I just can't. You don't β"
He had meant to say more, though when those few had registered in her brain she had pouted and decided to walk back up to him, stand a little too close, once more.
"Please?" she tried, hands grasping for his. "Please, please, please . . ."
"I can't," he told her again. But he let her take his hands. Steve gripped hers and tried leading her to the loveseat, a place to sit, one final time. "C'mon, you should sit β"
That only made her yank her hands back. "No, I don't wanna sit β I wanna dance, an β and if you're not gonna come with me then fine! . ." she barked. Rowen paused, brought her face so close to his that their noses could have touched. "I'll just do it by my β self."
The heavy scent of alcohol on her breath lingered well after she had disappeared down the hall, and Steve was left standing there, a little dumbstruck. He had very little alcohol in his own system; he still had a firm grip on his senses . . but something about that smell, that closeness made him think of Halloween and, for a moment, he couldn't move his legs.
He thought he would have gotten over it by now. That stab of pain, that bitter realization, those words, that look. Steve breathed in through his nose, out. He stuffed those memories back down, down, down . . . He had told Nancy it was okay, that he was a shitty boyfriend and he would just have to accept it. That was the end of it.
It was the end. It was done with, gone . . . It was.
Rowen wasn't Nancy.
This wasn't that.
He needed to keep an eye on her.
Steve found his legs and moved.
He would be lying if he said he was entirely sure where he was going. Escaping the stuffiness of the supposed sitting room and the heavy scent of candles was a relief in and of itself that he didn't even recognize until he was out of it, breathing in a more open β albeit reeking of beer β part of the house. It made his head clear a little, rattled his eardrums with music as he got closer to the hub of the party.
He didn't know where he was going, he just knew he was looking for long hair and shiny rings and bellbottoms. None of these things caught his eye, and after a few minutes of failure, he started to panic again.
He wasn't sure why he was. Keeping an eye on Rowen had never been his responsibility in the first place, even if Heather had given him a pleading look and asked without asking for him to do so. He didn't have to . . . but β
"Shit β get off me!"
"Oh, c'mon β"
Steve had heard her before he saw her . . . before he saw him. His eyes scanned the sea of heads and the array of clothes, faces, but he had no idea of where to look or which direction to turn until someone jerked around and caused a domino effect.
He was near enough to notice the small parting and hear a few murmurs of interest. The commotion wasn't huge, though it had been enough to allow him to catch Rowen's silhoutte . . to catch the way she was moving away from someone else.
When Steve finally got close enough, he felt an entirely new ire begin to bubble up. Tyler Hayes wasn't someone he knew personally, but when he had spent day and night with Carol and Tommy at his side, his was a face he saw often. He was on the basketball team, he was in honors classes . . . He was nice enough; but, according to previous history, he was one of the last people who could hold his alcohol well.
Alcohol, as far as Steve could recall, made him much more forward, and right now that forwardness was being directed at Rowen.
"No β"
"Get off of her, Tyler!" Heather's voice snapped Steve out of his glare.
Rowen pushed at Tyler's chest roughly, made him take a few stumbling steps backward.
"What? Sβshe said she wanted to dance, so tha's what I'm doin'!" he slurred.
God, he was even worse than she was, and Rowen probably had way more to drink than him. He tried grabbing for her again. Rowen yanked her arms out of his reach.
"C'mon!"
"No," she bit again, though he didn't seem to listen.
It was all happening too fast for Steve to really register what was going on. One second Tyler was reaching for her, the next she was snapping at him and stepping further away. It seemed harmless at first; he wasn't doing anything but grasping at air, missing her. Heather tried leading Rowen away . . . though she had been too slow.
Suddenly, Tyler's hand snatched out and clamped down on Rowen's forearm as if he had been one of those demodogs, and yanked her back to him.
She hissed, and Steve felt himself bolting towards them.
Screw however Tyler would have acted when he was sober. Screw the guy's opinion of him. If Steve couldn't punch Tommy in the face, couldn't punch Billy, he was going to punch him.
Though, again, it all happened too quickly.
"Hey!"
Heather began shouting and other people stood alert, watching as it all unfolded. Steve all but pushed a few people to the floor, and by the time he had his fist clenched, by the time he was ready to swing and shout himself, letting all restraint loose . . .
"Get the fuck off her β"
It had been Billy who had shouted, Billy who cut through the same time as he did. It was Billy β
It wasn't Billy. Tyler was on the floor, but it wasn't Billy who had punched him. By the time they both reached her, Rowen had already yanked her arm out of the guy's grip. She had scowled, and with a clenched fist of her own, took one, definite swing at his jaw that sent him barreling.
He was on the floor, sprawled. He wasn't quite knocked out, but with the expression on his face, and the blood coming from his nose, it looked like he was headed in that direction.
Even with Rowen's state, her glare was unmistakable. "Princess my ass . ." she muttered, then began to teeter.
Both he and Heather had moved to catch her before she could fall herself, though it had been the latter who caught her under her arms. The rest of them stared at Rowen open-mouthed as she regained something of her senses, and began to shake her hand.
"Ow . . ." she hissed, inspecting it. It was red, though there were no cuts, no bleeding.
Some people gawked, a lot of people laughed in delight.
Steve, well . . . he couldn't quite remember why he had marched over there. He was one of the gawking.
And Billy . . well, Billy was hard to read. He looked like he had been ready to get into yet another fight but had it ripped from him before he could start it. He looked like he was waiting for an excuse.
"Hβhey, Heather?" Rowen's voice broke him out of his reverie. Heather was still keeping her upright.
"Yeah?"
"Y'know what you said 'bout the bathroom?"
". . . Yeah?"
"Bathroom."
It was one word, but the look that appeared on Heather's face was evidence enough that she knew what that meant. She hoisted Rowen up, and the two disappeared through the crowds. Steve noted the way Billy watched them as they left, the way he then looked at Tyler's passed-out form.
"All he had was two shots, and his sense goes to shit." Someone else had said this, though Steve didn't bother to figure out who. Billy didn't even acknowledge it.
"Jesus, that's pathetic," he mumbled, nudging at Tyler's leg with his boot. The latter didn't register it. He didn't look like he was getting up at all. His nose was probably broken.
"You think you can drag my sister around like that, huh?" he barked down at Tyler. All the guy did was moan in pain, though it was enough for Billy to squat down and yank him up by his shirt. "Hey, ass-hat, I'm talking to you."
"Hargrove," Steve attempted, not liking where this was going.
Nothing. Billy jerked Tyler forward, shirt balled between his fists. Drops of blood were falling on his hands.
"Billy . ." Still, he gained no response. Steve groaned. "Jesus, man, c'mon. He's had enough β"
Steve grabbed for Billy's shoulder; though as soon as he had, he immediately wished he hadn't.
All it took to garner a reaction out of him was that. Billy let go of Tyler (who fell back down with a plop), reached out and grabbed for the collar of his own shirt without even looking, without even realizing it was Steve. But once he turned his way, saw . . . he paused.
A ghost of a smirk rested on his face as if he wasn't sure whether to give it or not. He didn't look so sure this time.
He breathed out a very short, very hollow laugh. "King Steve here to save the day, again, huh?"
Steve said nothing, he didn't even move to get out of Billy's grasp. He just let him hold on to his shirt until he decided he didn't want to do it anymore. Billy released him with a light shove at the collar.
"Didn't think so . ."
It was three words; it was one less . . . but it had worked just as well. Just as quickly. Steve had been angry, and Billy tempered it. Just as Rowen tempered Tommy's.
. . .
ππ:
Heather had offered to help him get her to the car once she came out of the bathroom with his sister in tow. It probably would have been the nice thing to accept it; the decent-boyfriend thing or whatever the hell people liked to call it. Billy told her no. He didn't feel like living up to relational standards right now. Dealing with a sister who was completely wasted and completely idiotic was enough as it is.
What the hell was she thinking? She wasn't thinking at all, he told himself. Dancing and twirling and making a mess of things; embarrassing the absolute shit out of him. The last time he checked, he had already dealt with plenty of embarrassment to last a lifetime. Two lifetimes. An eternity, and what had Rowen gone and done? . . . She decided to bring more of her mess to the table.
She decided to be the absolute worst at walking when they got outside.
Maybe he should have let Heather help him, drunk Rowen seemed to like her more.
"I don' need your help." He rolled his eyes at it. Sure, they took fifteen minutes just to get out the front door, and she didn't need his help. "Why are you helpin' anyway?"
"In case it hasn't crossed that completely wasted brain of yours, Ro, you can't even put one foot in front of the other."
He could feel her hair brush back and forth on his shoulder as she looked from him, to the ground, to him, to the ground again. "Oh . ."
"Shit, would you stop?!"
"I'm not doin' nothin'!" she whined. He was about to retort, though swallowed it. Eventually, she stopped swinging her feet around. "Don' think this means all's good because it's not. IβI'm still mad at you."
Billy scoffed. "Oh, you're mad at me, huh?"
"Obviously! Yβyou yelled at me, aβand threw my across thee yard an' shit . ."
He ignored the small pang in his chest as if his life depended on it. "I didn't throw you."
Though she didn't seem to have heard him. "And you scared Max, too! Tβthat was mean. Mean Billy, you . . you're not supposed to . . You're supposed to be nice an' stuff . ."
Billy took one, long sigh as they continued their precarious journey to the car. She was quite literally taking it one step at a time, and he didn't want her blabbing in his ear the entire way. "Ro, just give it a rest, alright?"
"And you're supposed to be my brother!" she blurted. "You β you know? You're supposed to look out for me like I look out for yβyou . . ."
He was really trying not to let his annoyance determine what he did right now. "Whatever you say, Ro."
"Yeah, whatever I freaking say!" she exclaimed in his ear. It made him flinch.
"Jesus," he hissed. "Quit doing that."
"Nβno," she stated. "I won't. Why are you bossing me around all the time?"
Billy was starting to feel his patience wear thin. "Okay," he breathed, swinging her arm off his shoulder with just enough force to make her wobble a little. "You want to be like that, you walk yourself to the car."
He felt like he was talking to a child, making a deal with a really moody, unstable one. Rowen was pouting.
"Why d'you hate me?" she asked, her voice quiet.
Billy blinked at that. He knew she was hammered, knew she was delirious and tipsy and bound to go crossed-eyed at some point. He was shocked she was even standing for this long . . but that question still made him pause. It could have been another drunken question. It could have, but it still hit enough for him to give her that look; like she had grown two heads.
He scoffed a little. "I don't hate you."
"Yes you do," she said, the words coming out all slurred together. "Yβyou said you don' have a sister anymore . . but I'm right here!" The way she threw her hands up in ignorant exasperation almost made him laugh. Rowen had known what he meant when he had said it initially; he saw the hurt in her eyes then and basked in the temporary satisfaction it brought him because finally, she felt something of what he felt. But all the alcohol in her system made those words literal to her brain now, and none of it made any sense to her anymore.
The sense would come back with a raging hangover in the morning. But for now . . .
"You hate me so much you forgot you had one."
Rowen wasn't exactly equipped for forming intellectual sentences at the moment. She wasn't equipped for walking on her own either. She just stood in the grass, swaying slightly and looking utterly pathetic.
Why did she have to get so drunk? What the hell made her want to do that in the first place? The hell made her want to do it here, on New Years, at Heather's of all places when he was supposed to be giving his attention to other things. She was embarrassing him β had embarrassed him. Begrudgingly, he reminded himself that it was done now.
She had chugged down more alcohol than two people, twirled around the house, punched a guy in the face β though that last one was pretty funny and sure as hell deserved. He caught her clinging to Steve Harrington like he was something irresistible and it left him with steam billowing out of his ears . . . but it was done. She would be a social pariah to the Hawkins High population, perhaps, but it was done.
Somehow, Billy had found enough restraint to keep himself from beating up Harrington a second time. A part of him excused it as mercy, that once was plenty and twice was a waste of his time. That Harrington should be grateful that he could contain himself.
But still. He didn't like the way she had held onto him before. He didn't like that her drunken state made him think someone might have taken advantage of her if he had left her to herself, to wander, however "independent" she was. Being older didn't mean shit when you couldn't walk in a straight line.
She didn't deserve his concern after all the shit she pulled . . . but β
Pain in the ass or not, he wasn't going to ignore the fact that she didn't look good. There wasn't quite enough anger in him to make him want to leave her on her own like this.
"I didn't forget you, dip-shit," he said, the insult not so insulting.
"I know that dummy," she replied. "I mean yβyou forgot you had me . ." she attempted to walk over to him, but wasn't doing a very good job. Begrudgingly, Billy stepped closer so she wouldn't trip over her own feet. Rowen's eyes were droopy and tired, and she looked like she was ready to pass out . . but she opened her mouth again, seemingly not finished speaking. "You will always have a sister," she said, poking his chest repeatedly. Rowen paused to stare at him in a way that, though she was utterly gone, was serious in some way. She jabbed at his chest one more time and finished, ". . 'Sss long as I'm here."
Billy said nothing. Her slurs and her poking were aggravating and made him want to break that composure he had built up when he decided it was time for her to go . . but he didn't. He just glared at her.
She was starting to fade. The finger she had jabbed at his chest with remained there, and her eyelids were beginning to droop. She had fallen silent, was starting to fall period. Her legs were wobbly.
Billy grabbed hold of her arm just before she could fall on her ass and slung it back over his shoulder.
The walk to the Camaro was painstakingly slow, one wobbly step at a time, and opening the door was worse. Though, for once, Billy swallowed his grievances and had some semblance of patience with her, because when he stopped and thought about it, she really didn't know any better right now.
She should.
Rowen plopped ungracefully into her usual seat, hands folded over her stomach as if she was just relaxing where she was. She wasn't. She was about to pass out. God, getting her home was going to be a pain.
He shut the door a little calmer than usual, without much force.
Billy stared at it, shook his head at the silhouette of his now dozing sister. "Idiot," he mumbled . . though there was no bite.
. . .
ADMIN NOTE:
TOMORROW !