The Paper Knight and The Killing Tree
Chapter One: A Head Start
Steve's shaking grip waggled the bat like he might actually swing it.
He wouldn't swing it though because per usual Steve 'Paper Knight' Harrington was too little, too late.
Panic tightened his throat and for once it wasn't because of some stupid, vivid nightmare, or a caffeine overdose in combination with sleep deprivation. The copper taste of adrenaline lined the floor of his mouth as he blew out the last, pathetic wisp of cheap cigarette smoke.
It was barely past dawn on a Monday, and the Upside-Down was back.
Hopper's police issued flashlight had landed on the oozing, breathing (god did the Upside-Down actually breathe?!) gate in the center of the old Killing Tree. Yeah, Killing Tree. Back in the day at least like one in five people were in the KKK in Indiana, and Hawkins was no exception. They even had a dedicated tree for it. Sick shit.
So Steve supposed it somewhat ironic (but he knew that wasn't the right word, but he knew Nancy would know the right one for this) that the gate opened in this tree. Oh and ironic for the chewed open man (well now body) not even six feet in front of him.
Neil Hargrove's half devoured body lay in twisted, beaten angles in front of the Killing Tree. Steve didn't know if he was more infuriated that it wasn't himself who killed Neil, or terrified because the Upside-Down was back. His body buzzed in jumble of nerves and adrenaline.
That bastard Neil lay presented front of the shrinking, slurping gate like a goddamn welcome mat.
Next to what was left of Mr. Hargrove, spooled two crudely made, nooses. Jesus, is it screwed up I know they're badly made?The sight of them still dragged a knife of ice up his spine.
If it wasn't for the gate… maybe he would have seen him up there with her just like in his history textbook. Was it fucked up the gate saved and doomed them both at the same time?
Steve just barely managed to fight another wave of nausea at the thought of him dead and hanging. He was too…alive for that. He stamped out his cigarette into the damp dirt. Not damp like regular mud, but dirt wet from Neil's pooled blood and monster goop.
Next to his freshly dead body, along with the half-assed nooses, were flung two bloody, cardboard signs strung with yellow knitting yarn. The yarn had to be Susan's because she was in his mother's knitting club. His mother never actually knit, she had their made do it, but that was besides the point.
One of the signs read "Faggot"
One had scrawled across it "Nigger" and below it, almost as if added on later, was "Bitch".
Steve threw up sour, half digested pizza. He knew Hop wouldn't make fun of him for it, because it wasn't the metallic smell of blood and the stink of shit that caused it. He didn't ralph pepperoni because of that utter piece of shit Neil's corpse and his milky, slack-jawed stare. He threw up because of the two the nooses and signs were meant for.
There had been a real struggle here. Dead leaves and dirt had been kicked up or…dragged around everywhere.
No. Not again.
Steve came out here prepared to butcher Neil Hargrove. He was really NOT prepared for this.
A dirty pink scrunchie. A scrap of blue denim. Beads from a girl's friendship bracelet. A silver pendant that had always bounced over his bare chest when he ran.
All the trinkets and tracks led into the Killing Tree. Well, into the gate.
Steve's whole body was about to shut down because the two least likely people to ever be in the same room together, were fucking trapped in the Upside-Down:
Erica Sinclair and Billy Hargrove.
And it was all his fault.
Hopper rushed haphazardly to the closing gate. Steve, stuck frozen, didn't move an inch. He knew Hop wouldn't make it in time.
Steve's gaze was just locked on the blood sodden sign that read "Faggot". His grip on his bat tightened as the gate shrunk, puckered, and closed like a rancid kiss. Steve heard Hopper's hoarse voice spew out a string of crude curses into the quiet morning sky. He could tell Hopper wished that El was here to make the gate open up again.
They didn't bring El because it was just Neil's Chevy pickup truck that Steve had spotted and walkied in on the side of the road in the middle of cow country. No reason to think the Upside-Down was back, they didn't hear a Demodog or a see a black tree.
Though, Steve was actually impressed the walkie had the range it did.
"He's been dead at least six hours. At least. Goddamn it." Hopper had boomeranged back from his meltdown and was inspecting Neil's corpse again.
With a bowed head, Steve knew he couldn't meet Hopper's eyes, yet. He had let this happen. He should have listened. He had told himself it wasn't karma or whatever that stupid life philosophy was called. What goes around comes around? Bullshit. Life wasn't fair.
He refused to let his lungs freeze and seize here, though. He willed the tears back into his ducts. He had no right to break down when it was his responsibility to be strong.
"Kid. Steve. If it opened here it will open again somewhere else. We can get her back. Them. Them back. We did it before, and we can do it again." Hopper's gravelly voice failed to ground him like it typically would. It didn't calm him because even Hopper noticed his slip up and recovered a heartbeat too late.
Her. Yeah. Sounded about right.
Out of the two people who were missing (well, now revealed to be stuck in the Upside-Down) the only person everyone in Hawkins was really worried about was Erica Sinclair. Which made sense. Obviously. Duh Harrington, fucking duh. Erica Sinclair was ten years old. She was taken from her front yard skipping damn rope on the sidewalk by a racist child abuser. She was Lucas' little sister for crying out loud!
She was the poster child of 'victim'. His stomach bottomed out into a crater. He wanted to smash something to bits, but he had to keep his cool.
Billy had warned him, but just didn't get it in time. Too little, too late Paper Knight.
"There is monster goo all over. They put up a fight. And we know Billy is a hell of a scrapper… We gotta move, now Harrington, now." Hop shoved Steve a little, but Steve had planted his feet.
'Plant your feet, Harrington' He heard Billy's voice in his head echoing around. He couldn't be dead. He'd kill him if he was.
"Yeah, I get it…and Hopper; I'm in. No bullshit." Steve took a deep breath and finally met Hopper's tired face.
"Thought you'd say that. Buck up buttercup, I have to call this in, then we have to go talk to Vivian Sinclair and Susan Hargrove. If Susan is back from Indianapolis by now, that is." Hopper grimaced, finally slapping his back and moving past him back to his Police Blazer.
Steve, however, wouldn't admit to anyone his secret. Well, he couldn't admit it to anyone! Why would he if it didn't even make any sense to him!
He wanted Billy Hargrove back just as much Erica. Maybe even a little bit more. He bent down and picked up Billy's silver pendant and pocketed it. Screw evidence.
God he was so fucked up.
Two days earlier. Friday night.
Steve, against basic common sense, accepted what was most likely a pity invite to a quarry gathering. It was Friday, sleep usually evaded him, and fuck it. It might be nice to get some distance, physically and mentally, from Nance and Jonathan. It was probably also their date night. So yeah, that definitely was a reason why he opted for a quarry bash with people who he couldn't really connect with anymore.
It was all bullshit anyway right? He was bullshit, so let's just heap it all together. Fucking party! At least his hair looked fantastic. He smelled fantastic. He could fake feeling fantastic.
Steve had mingled with some girls who he knew he probably wouldn't sleep with (but whatever at least it was interaction right?), and shotgunned a few beers just to show he still could. As people trickled out, and the absolute frigid cold trickled into his veins, he lingered at the quarry anyway. He just pulled his expensive green coat in closer.
It had to be real late. Like….well past four am late. But who cared, right? It's not his parents were in town. Sarasota. Two weeks. It's not like he had anywhere to be tomorrow until he had to pick up Dustin at two in afternoon for the arcade. Babysitting. Woo. God, he was such a fucking joke. Such fucking bullshit. Nance, per usual, had deadly aim. Bullseye.
Steve took another deep, greedy swing from his cheap tallboy when he heard a rumble of an all-too familiar engine.
Big V8. Throaty. Gotta be Hargrove's Camaro. Fuck. Despite popular opinion of Steve's intelligence, he sorta knew a little bit about cars. He had to. His stupid e23, which his father insisted he'd drive for appearances, always had the weirdest fucking stuff go wrong with it. He took to tinkering around with it to save him a trip to the mechanic every couple weeks.
He also would just know the sound of Hargrove's Camaro from anywhere, especially tonight since he was conspicuously absent from the over-hyped quarry bash.
Even fucking Tommy asked him where Hargrove was. Like he was fucking friends with Hargrove. Or his secretary. Or whatever.
"He's always like, up in your business, Harrington. Don't get your balls in a twist, it was just a question." Tommy rolled his eyes and Carol giggled. Tommy wasn't wrong, but he was just being a pain in the ass.
God, why did Hargrove have to show up now when Steve knew he was just a shade too drunk to drive home? It had been two months since that maniac that radiated spitfire and mayhem made a tie-dye shirt of his face.
Two months of Hargrove's wild blue eyes harpooning him at every corner, but never reeling him in for any real conversation.
"Get lost, Harrington." Hallway, three and a half weeks ago. (Oh if he only knew)
"You play like dog shit, Harrington." Basketball practice, same team, three weeks ago. (At least he didn't play like Demodog shit. Ha)
"You'll never get over Princess Wheeler with an attitude like that, King Steve." Trigonometry, two and a half weeks ago. (He barely had enough energy to pretend to be awake, much less an attitude)
"Plant your feet, Harrington." Basketball, opposing teams, one week and two days ago. (Oh, like this hadn't gotten old)
"If you're going to keep looking at my dick, might as well blow it, King Steve." Locker room, this past Monday. (He, for the record, was not trying to look at his dick. Hargrove just…commanded attention everywhere, including the shower.)
Keep away from me, your majesty, or I'll really re-work that pretty face of yours." Yesterday, lunchroom, he bumped into him on accident. (Pretty?!)
Hargrove had actually been keeping his distance, to which Steve was eternally grateful because he had way more important shit on his mind. Sure, he'd hear the roaring of the z28 Camaro that would remind him of that night. He'd also sneak glimpses of his curling, blond hair and the cherry of his cigarette when he'd pick up a fiery Max from the Byers', but Hargrove never engaged him. He just watched him. He gauged him from afar, like a vigilant vulture circling for the right time to claim the dead carcass he really was.
Steve had a creaking feeling deep in his lungs that he was just as rotten as those black trees were all those months ago. He just kept trying to keep it at bay knowing he was the best line of defense those kids had against the Demodogs if El wasn't there in time.
He had to keep his head in the game, even if he couldn't usually sleep well. Hell, when he did he either had nightmares or sleepwalked to the pool, sitting the same pool chair he shotgunned that beer to impress Nance eons ago.
The Camaro, blaring Motley Crue, skidded on gravel with a short scratch. The driver's side door flung open before the ignition was fully killed.
"Harrington." Hargrove launched out of the Camaro like a man on a mission.
Damnit.
Steve sighed through his nose and put his beer down on the gravel next to his car, willing himself to find that itch, that ember in his blood for a fight.
"What could you possibly want now, Hargrove?" Steve was proud of himself that he sounded righteously pissed and indignant. The tone Hargrove's voice sounded like he expected something out of Steve, and Steve was far from a giving mood. The headlights of the Camaro had silhouetted Hargrove when he approached. But now, with the near full moon and Steve squinting in anger, he could see Hargrove's face was a muddle of purple, red, and rage.
"Jesus man, what happene—"
"Cut the fake concern and tell me the fucking truth for once, you soft, pretty preppy shit!" Hargrove closed the gap with long strides of his legs, but even Steve could tell his natural cadence was touch off. A limp maybe? Or a rolled ankle? Who had Hargrove even fought when everyone was here at the bash? Did he like, skip down to deck some outsiders? It looked like he lost the fight anyway. Karma…that was something he—
Hargrove grabbed Steve, clenched his polo collar roughly, and slammed him into the passenger side door of his own car.
He must have been really drunk to not see that coming. Good job Steve, way to read your opponent.
"Fuck. Off! You're demanding shit of me?!" Steve countered by punching a sloppy right hook to Hargrove's ribs under his harsh hold. To his infinite surprise, Hargrove let go and buckled like a twig, coughing and wheezing. It was like Hargrove didn't even think it would hurt that bad. Steve, sober enough to know that his punch alone couldn't hurt him that bad, knew that Hargrove finally picked a fight that he couldn't win. Hargrove took a step back, and when the moonlight caught his hands Steve noticed that his hands and knuckles were fine, like…basketball game good.
Had Hargrove not fought back against this guy? Maybe he was jumped. Again that karma thing that Mrs. Willow went over once in English class, what goes around comes around.
Hargrove darkly chuckled, wheezed, then chuckled again.
"You. Owe. Me. Harrington." Hargrove finally straightened up, swaying like he was weathering a wind storm. He said what now? In what fucking universe did he owe Hargrove? His wide open shirt, and the inkblot of bruises there distracted Steve, but not too much.
"You're delusional. Who beat whose face to a pulp? You're so fucking gone." Steve got hot, that ember he had failed to find earlier just got kindled. How dare this fuck-up try to tell him what he owed and who he owed it to?
"You LIED to me. You!" Hargrove reared up like a stallion, nostrils flared. His curly blond hair even matted with dark blood, caught the pale moonlight. "You said Max wasn't there, but she was. With Sinclair! You were all doing FUCK ALL in that freak's house with the paper veve drawings. I don't know what sort of wannabe Bayou voodoo rituals you geeks were doing, especially with that mutant sacrifice in the freezer, but I need answers! I swear to God, Amigo I will BEAT them out of you if I have to." Hargrove got into Steve's space again and jerked back his fist and connected with Steve's ribs. Steve didn't try block the punch because what Hargrove said surprised him. This time Steve hinged forward, only for Billy to catch him in mid-flare of pain. Hargrove then threw him again against the passenger side of his e23. Mutant. Freezer. The Demodog….did Hargrove….?
Hargrove must have seen the realization flit across Steve's pained face because Hargrove's smirk lit up like a shark that caught the smell of blood.
From this close distance he could see his full bottom lip had been busted open. Steve could smell his breath. No alcohol. Hargrove was actually sober.
"Yeah Harrington. I saw that radioactive mutant dog…flower thing in the freezer when I went for ice. I read about that fucking lab and the chemicals that killed that one broad at our school, Brandy or something. You guys had a fucking Three-Mile-Island experimental mutated creature in that Freak's house! But you know what?...Oh fucking god do you know what? I don't even care about what Jonathan Byers gets his rocks off to in his cult shack of a house. I don't care if you slum it with them! I don't care you if pine like a little bitch over the slut you lost to the freak she is fucking now." Hargrove like a slow moving, but brakeless freight train, kept gaining momentum. Steve just dug his fingers into the tendons in Hargrove's wrists and twisted his face into a snarl to mask his astonishment.
One, he had no idea Hargrove had found the frozen Demodog. When they came back to the Byers' Hargrove was gone and everything was as they left it. Demodog-sicle included.
Two, he had no idea Hargrove would actually reason out what a Demodog was (well what it could be), and just…not say anything about it for so long. Steve knew Hargrove was smart, smarter than he was, but not this….thorough or reserved.
"Don't call Nancy that." Steve finally seethed and Hargrove laughed like it was the funniest joke he'd ever heard.
"Is that really all you got to say? This is King Steve?! Fine." Hargrove's eyes flashed and drilled his intense blue gaze into Steve. He pushed away from Steve a little, as if to get air. Billy clicked his tongue.
"Maybe I went a little crazy, a bit…manic. Keyed up. Maybe I shouldn't have beaten you that bad, but whatever. It's done and you're still pretty so I can't care but so fucking much. What I do care about is what my shithead of a stepsister has gotten herself into with Sinclair and those radioactive creatures. That. Impacts. Me. Directly. King Steve." Hargrove punctuated each word like there was something Steve was supposed to read in between the lines. Hargrove wound up his left fist back like he was about to deck Steve again. His ice blue eyes, jagged with rage, zeroed in on what Steve projected to be his cheekbone.
But Hargrove's anger didn't hold a match to the sudden fury as Steve had roiling inside him. Steve had a little height on Hargrove, which meant he had a little bit of a reach. Steve quickly swiped again at the same spot that had broken Hargrove before. Hargrove though, knowing his weakness, protected it and only received a glancing blow from Steve's punch. It still earned Steve the reward of Hargrove backing off, nursing his side instead of following through with the left hook.
"Jesus Hargrove then what?! What are you getting at? What do you want?!" Steve's voice echoed a bit through the quarry which satisfied him. He may be bullshit, but he wasn't a pushover.
Hargrove stood, looking around and…gathered himself? Did Hargrove even have a point to this?
"I need to know where Sinclair is going to be this weekend." Hargrove's eyes, an almost impossible blue, carved into his. He wanted what?
"Let me get this straight. You want to know where the kid, child, who you almost beat bloody for being black, is going to be for the next few days? You racis—" Steve was cut off by an almost shriek from Hargrove. It sounded like a something like a horror movie. It was all frenzied, and a hair desperate.
"I'm not the racist!" Hargrove tongued his bottom lip out and Steve swore Hargrove's voice cracked a little. He had his hands on his hips like he didn't know what else to do with them. The entire time Hargrove kept his hard eyes locked on Steve's, pinning him.
Steve paused. He didn't know exactly where the conversation was going from here, but if Hargrove was implying he, Steve, was the racist in this whole scenario, he was whacked out of his goddamn mind.
"Sure. Yeah, tell that to the black kid you, whose name is Lucas by the way, want Max to stay away from so bad. Fuck off, Hargrove." Steve shoved his hand into his coat pocket for his car keys. He was alert enough now that he could probably drive ten times the distance back to his house and not slip up at all. Steve could enter his car from the passenger side door and just slide over the stick and get the fuck out of here. He turned quickly to face the passenger side door to do just that.
"Wait." Billy sounded almost a hair….quiet? "Harrington, wait." Now that. That. Wasn't a demand.
Steve, against his better nature, paused. He turned around to see Hargrove lick his lips and stare out across the quarry. God he looked rough. The moonlight had shown now just how wrecked his left cheek was. Billy turned and for a minute Steve was taken aback at just how…human Billy looked. Billy was always a force to be reckoned with. Nothing could knock this guy off his keel. Nothing could make him kneel. He always carried himself taller than he actually was, larger than his muscles really flexed, and harder than his skin actually was….
But, now he just…looked beaten. Who…who did this to him? How badly did he fuck up to get himself to be this messed up? Steve didn't know if he should be smug or disturbed by it.
And since when did Hargrove even talk this much?
"Harrington, just listen to me. Max…no. Just tell me, Sinclair. I know…I know tomorrow Sinclair will be at that damn arcade, but Sunday. Where will he be Sunday?" Hargrove never said please, and as far as Steve could tell didn't make a practice of saying sorry either. In fact, earlier, that was probably the most of an apology he would ever get from Hargrove from going as unhinged as a screen door in a tornado at him in Jonathan's living room. Hargrove arced his leg back kicked up a piece of gravel and it hit the windshield of his e23 with a crack. Steve knew Billy probably didn't mean to do it (because it was actually impressive he could kick something up that high) but it just was the final straw. He'd probably have to replace the whole damn windshield.
"Harr—"
"Shut up. Even if I knew, I sure as hell wouldn't tell you. Go die in a fire, Hargrove, and leave Max, Lucas, and the rest of us alone. That's my last warning." Steve surprised himself with how stony his voice sounded. How callous and grey he could be when he wanted to be. He had faced greater horrors than Hargrove could ever be, and he was not about to let any more monsters, including the cowed one in front of him, mess with him or his. He also knew he still had the bat with the nails in the backseat of his car under an old blanket in case Hargrove got testy again.
Steve, this time with absolute confidence in his stride, made his way around the front of his car to the drivers' side, keys ready to jam it in the lock.
He heard a soft, muffled sigh, then the snick of a lighter. Had Billy just...given up?
"Yeah…might just happen that way. You know Harrington, you're a shitty listener. Maybe that's why Wheeler left you for that friendless, voyeur freak-show. You just don't listen, and maybe that's all Byer's is good for. Fuck though no one ever listens to me anyway, so whatever. Don't say I didn't warn you. Tell Max I warned you; I already warned her! Christ, fuck me, and fuck this shitty, chemical wasted, backwards town." Billy wasn't facing him anymore when he exhaled a plume of smoke into the air. Even though the cold had finally begun to prickle Steve's skin, he didn't turn the key and open his door quite yet. The words didn't slap Steve like Billy probably intended. Nance was with Jonathan and they fit. Yeah it was weird, but Steve had already sort of owned up to being a fuck-up of a boyfriend. Steve furrowed his eyebrows anyway because….since when did Billy care if he listened to him?
Distantly, weirdly, he knew this was some sort of defining moment between them both.
"I can't do it Billy. I won't. I've faced worse than you and came up on top believe it or not. You don't scare me, and I won't let you scare Lucas." Steve noticed his slip up of calling Billy by his first name but double downed on his stern tone. Billy's head whipped around like a deer who just heard a puma nearby.
"Fear me?! Christ, this is exactly what I'm talking about, Steve." Billy spat his own first name back at him like a curse, but his eyes gazed flat, lifeless. "You don't fucking listen, you're such a fake-out, and to think for an LA second you would actually hear me out. Fuck that. You really want to babysit or protect those kids? Suck me. You're a Paper Knight, zhilaohu-" What was that last part? "A useless Paper Knight, and you know what? I take it back! I'm so glad I pounded your face black and blue. You're a shit in a fight, and a shit babysitter if you let kids fake voodoo sacrifices with chemical waste animals." Billy rambled high and crashed out manic. He finished by flicking his half burned cigarette onto the faceplate of Steve's BMW and just sank to the ground into a squat, chuckling lowly.
If Billy hadn't said the last part he would have gone over to Billy and seen if he was actually Ok.
But Hargrove had. And Steve was done. Steve wasn't that nice.
Steve got in his car, cranked the ignition, threw the shift into reverse, and peeled out evenly. He didn't listen to any music when he drove at night anymore, just in case he heard those screeches.
When he left the quarry, he swore he heard something scream. Probably Hargrove being Hargrove.
Saturday morning and afternoon came and went. It was normal, and Steve had actually managed to sleep more than four hours. Maybe he was slowly getting better, or maybe finally having that blow up at Hargrove and letting it all out of his system really was cathartic (or was that word catharsis?) Same thing. He slept better after actually confronting that jackass than he had for the past two months.
He didn't even dream or sleepwalk.
Steve, however, was purposefully seven minutes late picking up Lucas, Will, and Dustin from the arcade. He told himself it wasn't to avoid Hargrove picking up Max, but to avoid seeing Nance pick up Mike. Jonathan was off taking photos of some fields or something equally dull.
"Steve, Oh my god, Steven! You won't guess what that asshole Billy said!" Dustin floundered about in his passenger seat before buckling up.
"Dustin. Shut. Up." Lucas in the back had his arms crossed and kicked the back of Dustin's seat. Steve bit his lip. Oh, what the hell did Hargrove do now!?
"Billy said SORRY to Lucas. SORRY! Max was even surprised, and nothing surprises her! And he was all like messed up! Did you beat him up?! I knew you had it in ya." Dustin cheekily spouted out a mile a minute and a probably a half dozen emotions flashed through Steve's face, the most prominent one being confusion. Lucas kicked Dustin's seat again.
"What?! Uh, no. Dustin I didn't, and don't curse. Lucas don't kick the seats or my dad will make me take it in to get detailed again." Steve swatted at them both half-heartedly while he tried to wrack his brain to process exactly what he just heard. Hargrove apologized to Lucas, and Max didn't make him do it? Or…expect him to do it?
Was it because of what they talked about last night? He eyed the star-shaped chip in his windshield.
"Told you so Dustin. That loser probably fought a…drunk guy or something. Besides, I don't care if he said sorry. I still hate him. My dad says he's a scumbag." Lucas grumbled from the backseat defensively. Steve didn't blame him. It wasn't like he forgave Hargrove. But still, something about this just didn't seem…to click. Why did Hargrove all of the sudden go soft?
"Billy is always bruised up." Will murmured from behind Steve. Huh? How did he know that? But…yeah. Come to think of it….Hargrove had been playing shirts instead of skins at basketball practice, and shiners weren't uncommon. Last night was definitely the worst he had seen him. But aside from Tommy, and maybe Jonathan, Steve didn't know of anyone else in Hawkins who could scrap with Hargrove and do that sort of damage. Tommy never looked roughed up (besides he and Hargrove were still sort of chummy) and If Jonathan got into it with Hargrove he would definitely know (Oh god would Nance chew his ear off about it).
Who does beat the shit out of Hargrove regularly?
"Cuz he fights people Will! He's like a Barbarian class…" and Dustin and the others swerved off topic about their Dungeons and Dragons stuff. Steve tried to get into it. Really, it could be kinda fun. He played sometimes. When he didn't Dustin would blow his stack and he'd have to make it up to him by buying him milkshakes. He even had a character, it was ironically a knight, a Paladin.
'Useless Paper Knight'
"Hey, Lucas, Hargrove didn't ask you anything, did he?" Steve cut them all off from their ramblings and the car got weirdly quiet.
"Um…not really…he didn't even tell me to stay away from Max or anything. He just said to do whatever us 'geeks' do on Sunday together. I told him to shove off because we aren't geeks and he turned into a jackass—" Lucas began.
"Lucas, not you too with the cursing, you mom especially will really lay into me." Steve snapped annoyed. He did not want to get on Mrs. Sinclair's bad side.
"Fine. He turned into a jerk and just ordered Max into the car. I didn't even really say goodbye." Lucas scowled, and Will's smile was a small thing.
"Lover boy couldn't say goodbye…" Will led and three boys in the car burst out laughing. Lucas just yelled back.
After Steve dropped off Lucas, then Dustin, and finally Will, he had a cigarette outside with Joyce. They didn't say much but just existed together, two 'mother hens' slowly bonding. He took what he could get.
He got in his BMW and drove back to his empty house. He got a bottle of scotch he had already gotten halfway through last week and his bat. He sat by the heated, lit pool in case that thing came back. Steve could picture its grey, bony back hunched over the diving board. He imagined its blooming mouth and the rows of jagged teeth shifting and thirsting.
After he finished the bottle of Johnny Walker Gold he threw the empty bottle with the rest into the pool. An offering to Barb. Drinks she'd never get to have. He'd have plenty of time to dive down there and get the bottles before his parents got back from their trip.
He slept on the sofa, bat on the floor. He dreamt of Billy fucking Hargrove standing at the quarry with fire all around him. He was laughing and the fire was just dancing around him. Billy was naked, and smiling, like he set the quarry ablaze himself. His blue eyes cut through the smoke of the fire like a lighthouse.
Steve woke up with a rare hard-on and a stomach ache Sunday morning. He blamed it on the scotch, but he knew his hangovers usually hit him as headaches. He dealt with his stiffy unenthusiastically and showered and did his hair.
An itching in the back of his throat, a tingle in the base of his spine, he just had a bad feeling about today.
He reached for the phone to call Nancy but… What was he going to say?
'..pine like a little bitch over the slut you lost to the freak she is fucking now.'
"Damnit." Steve was getting just a little sick of how Billy wormed his way into his head.
His phone rang and Steve jumped out of his skin.
"Harrington residence, Steve speaking." Steve recited, memorized.
"It's just me Steve. You gotta come to Will's today, we got a new campaign and we need a Paladin to…. Ow. No, you shut up! Steve is cool! Come by Ste… shut up Mike. Gosh! STEVE!" Dustin was clearly trying to defend his honor, and Steve couldn't help but smile.
"Yeah, sure. I'll swing by." Steve sighed into the phone, wincing a little because he didn't know if he wanted to see Nancy and Jonathan today for whatever reason. He was tired or something.
"Yes! Score! And don't worry Nancy made Jonathan take her to like a… boring old person thing. Something with artsy movies. He's whipped." Dustin read Steve's mind and he wondered if something in his voice gave him away.
They said their goodbyes and after a cup of coffee Steve was out the door, bat looping in his hand idly.
He was cruising, listening to Springsteen when he caught a shock of red hair over a cresting hill. Max. She turned her head, and he knew she recognized him. He slowed down beside her when he caught up to her on her skateboard.
"Wanna lift? I don't usually pick up hitchikers, but you seem cool enough." Steve offered and even though he knew they weren't related by blood, her eyes reminded him of Billy. Max stopped skating and Steve stopped driving. She wordlessly got into the car, board clutched in her hands.
"Cooler than you." She finally quipped back, a half-minute too late.
"Something happen?" Steve pried a little. Why wasn't Billy driving her? Why did he care?
"Leave it, Steve." Max, tight lipped as ever, just stared out the window, pointedly ignoring him.
Great. Hargrove probably went off on some bender or whatever he did in his spare time.
"Buckle up. I mean it." And for once Max didn't fight him on it. He didn't drive Max much, but when he did she always pitched a fucking fit about the seatbelt.
They rolled up to the Byers' around 10 am and predictably the Pinto and LTD were long gone. He was the man of the house. Their guardian, just like that night, only with Will this time.
Max bailed out of the car before Steve turned it off, but bent down to the window. She hesitated, looking at the front door.
"Did you talk to Billy?" Max asked. It caught him off guard. They never talked about him, especially with her bringing him up.
"Had the distinct pleasure of doing so Friday night." Steve answered wryly and Max's face twisted in confusion and she muttered something under her breath. It sounded like 'Can't be right'.
She didn't say anything else as the all the little shits rushed out the front door. Max was acting weird and it wasn't helping that he already had an uneasy feeling about today this morning.
He shelved it for later, hopefully for good as Dustin ran up to him, all bounces and exuberance.
If there was an Olympic gold medal for babysitting Steve would have won it. He survived their dungeon campaign and for better or worse was actually sorta getting the hang of it. His Paladin didn't die, or get like hexed even once. And even though he didn't kill the Changling Wraith, he did distract it so Max's character could banish it. He even found himself smiling that he could help since Lucas' character had been polymporphed, and the others had been silenced by a wizard or…something. He was still learning.
It was a little after eight, an hour before he'd do Max and the rest a favor and drop them all off, when the phone rang. He was closest to it and rose from Dustin's explanation of how cool He-Man was.
"Byers' residence, Steve Harrington speaking." He recited. It was probably Joyce saying she was stuck late doing inventory. He sighed inwardly. If that was the case he'd have to take Will with him to all the drop-offs. His BMW would be so crowded.
"Steven, hello, this is Vivian Sinclair." He knew her distinct voice even though he had never spoken to her over the phone. He always struck him as a no-nonsense, direct woman so the waver in her voice caught him off guard.
"Hi Mrs. Sinclair, do you need me to bring Lucas by early?" Steve asked, but the waver in her voice told Steve that was not why she was calling.
"Is Erica there?" The question was straight and to the point, but completely out of place. Steve reeled a bit, the itch returned to his throat along with that tingle to the base of his spine from earlier that morning.
Erica never joined them. She mocked Lucas and the rest of them relentlessly for being nerds. Steve thought it was secretly hilarious.
"No, Mrs. Sinclair, I can ask Luc—" Mrs. Sinclair cut him off.
"No. Don't do that. That girl is going to get a whooping…just bring Lucas by at quarter past nine like usual. If I'm out, my husband, Howard, will be home. Thank you, Steven. Bye." Mrs. Sinclair signed off, sounding exasperated. She didn't even give him the courtesy of saying bye.
The kids were still watching He-Man on TV, uninterested in the call. Steve carded his hands through his hair. If Mrs. Sinclair called the Byers, she probably tried everyone else who Erica would actually play with. Something was wrong. It was weirdly the same feeling he got when he saw the lights flicker in this house when Nancy pulled a fucking gun on him. But the gate was closed. Closed.
It wasn't even twenty minutes later when the phone rang again.
"Byers' residence, Steve Harrington speaking." Steve repeated thickly. This second call got Will's attention and he pattered almost silently up next to him, eyes big.
"Kid. It's Hopper." Shit. "Is Joyce home?" Steve tried to read Hopper's voice but it wasn't a skill he was particularly good at.
"No, just me, Will, and the kids. Jonathan's off somewhere with Nancy at an artsy film thing." Steve led with a lot of information to see if any of it would make Hopper spill.
"Max is there?" It was a statement that held the hope of a question.
"Yeah. Yeah she's here I picked her up when she was skating…" Will was a shadow to his right and Steve really wanted to ask him what was going on but didn't know how without tipping off Will that something was up. Maybe he already smelled trouble. Ever since the Mind-Flayer Steve swore he had a sixth sense like Eleven did.
Even though it went against logic, he had a bad feeling about Billy. Did Billy finally go off the rails?
"Good, OK. Stay there. I'll be there in six minutes. We will talk then. See you." Not a word about Demodogs. Hopper would tell him over the phone to prepare for that, he was pretty certain.
"OK Hop, see you." Fuck. He said his name. Well it wasn't like Will wasn't going to see Hopper in a few minutes anyway.
"What did Hopper want?" Will asked in that shy way of his.
"I honestly don't know. He didn't say anything about the… you know. Upside-Down. I don't think it's that." Steve answered truthfully. By then the rest of them had filtered into the kitchen, curious and bickering.
Hopper's blazer, flashing blue and red, growled to the driveway besides his e23 in four minutes. Just how fast did he drive?
Steve walked out the door to meet him, heart pounding faster than he knew was really necessary. Hopper, pale and stilted pointed to two of the rugrats behind him. Steve turned, he pointed to Max and Lucas. Fuck. His heart rate ratcheted up again.
"Red and Lucas, Steve, with me. The rest of you, back inside. Joyce is on her way." Hopper commanded with a 'try me' edge. He didn't have El with him, which Steve thought would calm him, but actually didn't.
"Hop is it El? Is it th—" Mike protested and Hopper's hackles were raised. Hopper usually placated or was at least more patient with Mike, but it seemed that was in short supply today.
"No. She's fine she's in the cabin. It's not that. Back inside. Now." Hopper ordered and Will whispered something in Mike's ear. Mike scrunched his face up and Dustin lingered a bit before the three of them reluctantly went back in the house. Steve saw them in under two seconds press their faces to the smudged front window.
"What's going on Hop? If it's not the Upside-Down, what has you so rattled?" Steve asked, a storm brewed in his lungs. That moldy, rotten feeling that he was useless crept in him again.
"Yeah, what gives?" Lucas parroted, crossing his arms in front of him.
Hopper sighed deeply and his fingers twitched.
"Son, your little sister has gone missing. She isn't at any of her friend's houses and we've checked her playground and school. Your mother is out looking for her while your father is at home in case she comes back. Do you know where Erica likes to go? Hide? Was she acting unusual this morning?" Hopper began and Steve swallowed. Sinclair. He knew Mrs. Sinclair was downplaying him on the phone. He knew this call was her last resort.
'Where will he be Sunday?' Billy had meant Lucas. There was no way Billy would… no. Billy was an asshole and a prick with impressive anger management issues, but he wouldn't mess with a random ten year old girl. He wouldn't.
"Erica?! No she never talks to me about anything except barbie stuff. This morning she was being a brat like usual, she ate my bacon! Wait, Hop you don't think a Demodog. You don't think they're back or she's in the Upside-Down. She's ten and only likes girly stuff!" Lucas began to understandably freak out and Max grabbed his hand with hers. Did Hopper have her stay out here just to help with Lucas? If so, good call. Maybe Billy had nothing to do with this and he was just drunk with Tommy at Tonya's.
"No, we sealed the gate Lucas. There weren't any 'electrical issues' at your house. None of your neighbors or your parents heard or saw anything out of the ordinary, and there was no blood. The only thing was her jump rope on the sidewalk." Hopper reassured, voice calm. Calmer than Steve thought he actually felt. Lucas stiffened and gestured wildly with his free hand. Steve knew though, that this couldn't be a coincidence. This was Hawkins, no crime happened here. Kidnappings didn't happen, how was Hop so reassured she wasn't in the Upside-Down?
"Erica never leaves her stuff out. She's a neat freak, and mom would take away her dolls if she left anything out she could trip over. Something's wrong. Do you have any clues?" Lucas began to huff and he looked like he wanted to ask Max to drive him somewhere. Not again.
"Well, your sister isn't the only one missing." Hopper exhaled, finally submitting to lighting a cigarette. The snick of his lighter sounded just like Billy's at the quarry, but Steve knew they smoked different brands. Hopper even rolled his own. Hopper's eyes landed on Max. She pursed her lips, like she knew something.
Billy.
"Max, we can't find your brother." Hopper adjusted his weight and took a long, hearty drag.
"Step Brother, and so? He always drives off to who-knows-where and does weird, shady stuff. He sometimes doesn't come back for days. It's his thing and I don't care. Ask one of his dipshit friends." Max corrected like a whip. Steve would say almost a little too defensively.
"Right. We got a noise complaint a half hour ago at your house, Max. We found Billy's Camaro still running, with the driver's side door open blasting some terrible music. There was some blood splatter on the dash and blond hair in the driver's seat." Hopper exhaled his cigarette smoke far away from Lucas and Max.
Max shifted and Lucas looked over at her.
The air in Steve's lungs froze.
There was no one in Hawkins who could pull Billy from his precious z28. After Max dented and scratched up his car, Billy had somehow scraped the money together to get the cosmetically damaged chassis fixed in the body shop a town over. He knew because his fucking e23 had to go there for some stupid expensive imported fuel pump and he saw the Camaro. Billy pampered that flashy car.
"Now, I don't know much about your step brother," Hopper's voice turned grave "But I can muster a guess that car is his baby and he'd never just leave it running with its door open. Everything else about the car, except the blood and hair, was immaculate, even the title was hidden under the seat, under a Marcus Kabore..don't know anything about that." Hopper raised an eyebrow at Max who stiffened up straight as an arrow.
Steve had never seen Max bolt to attention like that.
"Car's not Neil's, but he makes Billy keep it clean anyway, to teach him respect and responsibility." Max muttered, eyes locking onto Steve's. What was that supposed to mean? Why was she looking at him?
"Definitely looks like the lessons worked. Anyway, no one answered when we knocked on your front door. We flashed lights though the windows and unless he was holed up in the bathroom, no one was home. Any ideas what might have happened?" Hopper inhaled another long drag, almost charring half the whole hand rolled cigarette. Steve couldn't get a read if he thought Billy had been taken, or Billy had done the taking. Steve hoped the former. There was just no way Steve could believe that Billy would kidnap Erica Sinclair.
Maybe Billy owed money to someone and they found him, and Erica was just…at a movie. Steve licked his lips.
"Billy was pretty messed up Friday when I saw him. Someone worked him over that night, it was fresh." Steve found himself saying instead. He felt stupid for answering a question clearly meant for Max and drawing attention to himself. He wasn't sure when or if he was supposed to mention the conversation with Billy.
"I figured as much, Steve. Max, do you know where your mother and… step father are?" Hopper glanced knowingly towards Steve. 'Yeah Hopper, I know the guy who bashed my face in and harasses me in school pretty well unfortunately.'
"Mom's in Indianapolis visiting my Uncle Ted. She'll be back tomorrow. Neil… he was home this morning when I left, but Billy wasn't. He didn't come home last night after dropping me off." Max bit her lip. Was that why she asked me if I had talked to Billy and got confused? Did she think I saw him last night instead of Friday? Why would she ask me that this morning if Billy really did disappear a lot? Nothing about this was adding up at all, and Steve had a feeling that he wasn't the only one hiding something about Billy.
"Whose blood is it? What does this have to do with my sister?" Lucas piped up, worked up. "Did that racist psycho take my sister?!" Lucas lunged at Hopper pushing the solid man to no effect.
"Lucas." Max's voice sounded a hair angry as she grabbed Lucas. "Billy is an asshole, and I hate him, but he wouldn't do that. He isn't a racist and…. I don't even think he knows you have a sister."
"Then why does he only hate me? Huh?!" Lucas countered.
"He knows you like-like me!" Max shouted in Lucas' face the only way a girl saying something obvious could. "He doesn't like that I'm happy here with you, and he isn't and doesn't have anyone. 'sides he mostly had black friends back in LA. Latinos and Asian ones too. It's sort of why Neil made us... Billy might be a total shithead, but he wouldn't take Erica." Max responded urgently, clearly hiding key details. If Steve could pick up on it, he knew Hopper could too. All of this made his skin Steve's skin crawl.
'I'm not the racist!'
"That guy had real friends? Sure Max, when pigs fly. I thought you had my back! I guess blood is really thicker than water!" Lucas ripped his arm away from Max and her face got pink.
"We're not even related by blood, dumbshit! Lucas, why would he apologize to you, then take your sister he probably doesn't know you have? That makes no sense. I told him to apologize like a month ago, and he finally did it! Stop making me defend him. I hate it, and it's not helping us find her!" Max yelled back at Lucas with equal ferocity. She made good points. He didn't even tell Billy to apologize, because hell, he never thought he would.
Billy consistently surprised him; Steve never knew what he was going to do next. It was frustrating because Billy had a good habit of knowing what other people would do…
Other people. Billy knew someone was going after Lucas, and was warning Steve to protect him or to allow him to do so. But who…who would want to hurt Lucas or Erica Sinclair? Who was Billy that afraid of to track him down and ask for his help?
Then, 'Snick'. Like a lighter, it all clicked.
Hopper stood between Lucas and Max like a wall, saying something to try to calm them down, but all Steve heard in his head was white noise.
'I need to know where Sinclair is going to be this weekend.'
'No one ever listens to me anyway.'
'Don't say I didn't warn you. Tell Max I warned you, I already warned her!'
'Fear me? Christ this is exactly what I'm talking about, Steve, You don't fucking listen.'
'You really want to babysit or protect these kids? Suck me.'
'You're a Paper Knight, Harrington.'
'Neil makes Billy keeps it clean, to teach respect and responsibility.'
'He mostly had black friends back in LA. Latinos and Asian ones too. It's sort of why Neil made us…'
It hit Steve like a sucker punch. He really was so fucking stupid.
Neil Hargrove was a child beating, racist, piece of shit.
It added up. Neil terrified Billy, his monster. and he now was Erica's monster too. Billy sounded so urgent, and cared so much because he knew how much of a shitstain his father was. The real reason he picked on Lucas was probably because he knew all this would eventually happen. It was a time-bomb.
Holy fuck. If only he had listened or bothered to give a damn. Billy had wanted to trust him. Billy risked everything to trust him.
'to think for an LA second you would actually hear me out.' Steve fisted his hair and wanted to scream. All of it made sense. Why Billy's body and sometimes his face was always so bruised up but his knuckles weren't. Billy thought no one would ever believe him that his own father beat the piss out of him regularly. How long had Neil beat him? How much did Max really know? It was textbook. It didn't excuse anything Billy did…but the anger, the…pent up rage.
Steve got where it all came from. He'd seen the effects of awful dads before, a while back with Davie.
No, not thinking of Davie right now.
Maybe even got a sliver of an idea how Billy felt when Neil made him and the rest of his family pack up and move to the nowhere Midwest. It was so obvious and clear to him now he didn't see how others didn't see it.
Well, it was Billy after all. Steve still considered Billy barely human, he was more like an uncontrollable tornado. Who would have thought he could be the victim of anything except his own fuck-ups? Who would have thought anyone could make him this afraid all the time? It still didn't hit Steve it seemed possible, but it was.
Did he beat Max too? It didn't look like it, but he Steve couldn't tell. He'd would ask Billy when he found him.
Yeah, that's what he'd do, find Billy, and Erica.
"We are treating them as separate disappearances until we can find a link. OK?" He heard Hopper's voice boom, but it still sounded like he was underwater. The squabbling between Max and Lucas caused all the others to run outside and now they were all clamoring around them like a pack of ankle biting dogs.
'It's Neil. It's Neil. All of it. It's him.' Steve thought to himself. He had to fix this. He had to get Billy and Erica back. Before it had been the kids' campaign, this was his to sort out. He'd prove Billy wrong, and bash Neil's skull in.
The itch, the ember of a fight broke out in Steve like an inferno. He squared up against Demigorgons and Demodogs, and Neil had nothing on them. He was going to rip his life apart. He was going to murder Neil Hargrove, and he hoped Erica wouldn't have to watch. Steve needed a distraction though, because Dustin was tugging on his arm, pleading for an explanation he couldn't give.
If he told Hopper what he knew, he would make him stay behind and that just wasn't an option.
It was about that time the green Pinto squealed down the road. Joyce needed to tighten the serpentine belt, but he couldn't be more happy to hear that high whine. He could kiss Joyce Byers for having the perfect timing for a distraction. Joyce pulled up beside his e23 and got out, frantic and her eyes swarmed the children like bees to count them.
"Hopper what is it? Is it back? Is it?" Joyce swooped up to him and the black plastic box in Will's hand caught Steve's eye. The walkie!
Steve shrugged Dustin off and snagged the walkie talkie from a distracted Will.
"Hey! Steve!" He heard Dustin protest, but he had already held the BMW's driver's door handle in his hand, twisting the key in the lock. His hands didn't tremble, that mold in his lungs had vaporized, the bat was in his backseat. He was ready.
"Kid you can't just—" He heard Hopper and jutted his clenched jaw up. Hopper would figure it all out soon enough, Steve just needed a head start.
"Try me. When I find them, I'll call it in." Steve didn't even recognize the sound of his own voice, it sounded that sure. He hadn't been this sure about anything in a long, long time and it felt fucking terrific. Hopper raised a finger, but by that time Steve had already ducked inside his car and slammed the door. He cranked the ignition and doing his best impression of Billy Hargrove he could, he peeled out of the driveway leaving a smoking, stinking burnout.
Time for the Steve 'Paper knight' Harrington to slay a monster, and prove himself.
Well, this ship struck me by surprise and this story came to me like a lightning bolt. Please let me know if you like it. this is going to be my first work in this fandom :)
Next chapter is Billy's POV. They will switch.