Steve's entire body aches as he stands beneath the warm spray of the shower, and he revels at the warmth and gentle massage the water flowing over his skin brings.
As the water rushes over him, he peels away the bandages on his arms and winces slightly as the water connects with his exposed flesh.
Steve closes his eyes and tries to forget how he got those cuts in the first place; waits for the pain to go away.
(He's starting to think it never will.)
He feels his throat get tight with emotion and he wills himself not to start crying again.
Crying wouldn't do any favors for the pounding headache he'd woken with.
He's not worth your tears anyway.
Instead, Steve busies his mind by reading the back of the generic shampoo bottle the Byers' have for him to use. They don't even have conditioner.
It shouldn't surprise him. Both Jonathan and Will have thin, flat hair that they wear in a bowl cut. Clearly, upscale hair products are not an essential.
When twenty minutes have passed Steve forces himself to get out of the shower because he doesn't want to jack up the Byers' water bill and use up all of their hot water.
But he would've stayed in that shower all day long if he could.
He slips a towel around his waist and takes a seat on the closed lid of the toilet. He takes a moment just to breathe.
Then he reaches down into his duffle and pulls out some old jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that Hopper had brought him. All the clothes that Jim grabbed are rarely ever worn, but Steve hadn't done any laundry while his parents were gone, so he was left with the clothes he wore during his freshman year of high school.
He pulls his boxers on, then his jeans, but he holds off a moment on the shirt. He wipes the fogged mirror clean above the sink with his towel and leans forward over the counter to get a good look at his reflection.
The bruises on his face are almost cleared up, with the exception of some faded black around his right eye. Steve bites down on his lip and holds his breath as he turns his bare back against the mirror and cranes his neck to get a look.
He audibly gasps at the purple, blue, and black discoloration there.
"Oh, God," he mumbles and subconsciously reaches a hand to lightly touch the atrocity. He flinches with pain at the contact and his vision starts to fade. He clambers back to the toilet and sits down heavily.
He's avoided looking at the damage until now.
"Jesus," he breathes and buries his face in his hands. "Fuck."
How had his life gone downhill so fast?
He doesn't even recognize it anymore; he doesn't recognize himself.
He doesn't feel like Steve Harrington. It's like he's a stranger in his own skin and everything that's been happening doesn't belong to him. A year ago, Steve thought his entire life was figured out. He had plans for college, a future with Nancy, friends his own age...
How in the world did he wind up with a dead (abusive) father and none of the things he was so content with last year?
How?
Not to mention that the whole concept of the Upside Down is still looming, and Steve is having a hard time believing that it's really over. Gate closed aside.
He hates that he's crying again.
xxx
A knock on the door startles him.
"Steve?" Little Byers' voice carries timidly through the door.
"Uh, yeah, just a sec," Steve calls back as he hastily threads his arms through the shirt and wipes his eyes on his sleeve.
Shit, he needs to pull himself together because Will had been possessed by a fucking shadow monster from another dimension and doesn't need to witness Steve having a meltdown. If anyone deserves to have meltdown, it's Will Byers.
Not Steve.
He runs his hands through his damp hair, stands, and pulls the door open. Will is pressed up against the hallway wall, waiting.
"Hey, sorry, kid," Steve says. "Did you need in here?"
Will shakes his head. "No, I was just…" he takes a deep breath. "My mom told me we needed to look after each other today, a-and you've been in there awhile, so I was just checking…"
He trails off softly, emulating nervousness like his brother.
Steve practically melts at the kid's earnest concern. "Oh, well I'm good, man," he says, and surprises himself at how nonchalant he sounds. "Nice to know you have my back."
Will smiles shyly. "Are you hungry?" he asks. "We have cereal."
Steve figures cereal is harmless enough. "Sure, that sounds alright."
"Good, because Jonathan told me to make you eat even if you said you weren't hungry."
"Oh, did he now?" Steve says as he follows Will into the kitchen.
"Yeah." Will pulls some bowls down from the cabinet while Steve takes a seat at the kitchen table. "And I'm supposed to call Dustin when school's out later today and give him a full report." He grabs some spoons from the drawer and the milk from the fridge. The Frosted Flakes are already sitting on the table. "So I'm not the only one who has your back," he says with a soft smile as he sinks into the chair across from Steve.
He shakes some cereal into Steve's bowl and then his own. Steve pours the milk.
"Are you cold, kid?" Steve asks, because he notices that Will is wearing a hooded sweatshirt and sweatpants, but also a bathrobe.
"Not really. I just like to be warm," Will answers quietly with shrug. "T-The shadow monster liked it cold, so when I feel warm, I know he's really gone." He looks down at his bowl. "I know it's stupid, but it helps me remember that it's over. That I'm me again."
Steve is impressed by Will's ability to talk so openly about the shadow monster. He's sure Joyce, Jonathan, and the kids have all encouraged him to do just that. "I don't think that's stupid," Steve tells him. "I think it's smart."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I think we all have moments where we feel like we're sucked back into it. It's good to have ways to keep yourself grounded, you know?"
Will nods as he takes a bite of his cereal. "So what do you do?"
Steve blanches, because to be honest, he doesn't really have a coping mechanism. "I'll be real with you, kid. Mostly I'm just paranoid. I still sleep with my bat of nails."
I'm gonna have to go back to get that, Steve thinks to himself. And my hairspray.
"It must've been hard getting sleep when you were all by yourself in that house," Will says thoughtfully. "I don't know how you did it."
Steve gives him a shrug. "The concussion helped," he says with a quirk of the lips.
Will smiles back, but it fades quickly. "I still need Jonathan to sleep with me. Sometimes Mom does too."
"Nothing wrong with that, kid," Steve assures him. He wouldn't mind having someone nearby at night himself.
"Yeah." Will brushes him off softly. He looks around the kitchen and sighs. "I'm getting tired of being holed up in here."
Steve's heart sinks for the kid. It must be hard staying home while all of his friends are at school. "I need to get my car back," he tells Will. "Then I could take you wherever you want to go. I'll ask Jonathan to drive me over there tonight. Maybe we can catch a flick tomorrow or something."
"That would be cool," Will says, a smile creeping onto his face. "Thanks."
Steve winks at him and looks down at his bowl. He takes his first bite of cereal.
It tastes like ash.
He almost gags on it, but doesn't.
The rest of the bites taste like ash, too. But Steve eats it. All of it.
It wouldn't be polite to waste the Byers' cereal.
xxx
Will is a quiet kid. They spend the morning side-by-side on the couch watching daytime television. They don't talk much, and Steve is grateful.
They both nod in and out of sleep.
It's kind of exactly what Steve needs.
Some time to just… not think.
Yes, sign him up for this.
xxx
It doesn't last.
A little after noon, there's a knock on the front door.
Both Will and Steve perk up and turn to look at each other.
"You expecting someone?" Steve asks with his eyebrows raised.
"I don't think so…" Will answers. "But sometimes Hopper stops by on his lunch break."
Steve relaxes a little. That had to be it. Or maybe, he thinks with an embarrassing amount of hope, maybe it's my mom.
"I'll get it," he tells Will, who's bundled up under a blanket and looks way too comfortable to get up.
"'Kay," Will allows with a yawn and settles back into the couch.
Steve winces as he stands; his back and head doing him no favors. Then he crosses the short distance to the door and swings it open.
The wind gets knocked out of him as he processes the person standing on the stoop.
It is not his mother. Nor is it Jim Hopper.
It's Billy fucking Hargrove.
xxx
A couple of moments pass with the two of them just staring at each other.
Billy stands on the stoop in his signature attire; a jean jacket complementing a a tucked in, deep-colored shirt unbuttoned halfway. It's his posture that makes him look disheveled; hunched shoulders, bruises on his face.
Fresh bruises covering old bruises.
Steve wonders how many fights Hargrove had been in the past two weeks because Steve knows he hadn't been the one to color Billy's face like that.
Just the sight of him makes Steve's gut churn. "Why are you here?" Steve asks when he finds his voice, and hates how timid he sounds.
"Heard you were here," Billy answers back, then reaches up to scratch the back of his head. "I, uh…"
He looks uncomfortable, Steve realizes as Billy shifts on his feet. He decides to use that to his advantage.
Steve puffs his chest out and rolls up his sleeves. He makes his voice as threatening as possible. "For the love of… Did you come here to apologize?" He takes a step closer. "Or go for round two, huh? What?"
Billy actually takes a step back at the tone of his voice, but says, "No, I'm not here to fucking apologize. I'm just here to get something that belongs to me."
By this time, Will has appeared by Steve's side to figure out what all the ruckus is about. "What's going on?" he asks Steve, hovering close.
"Kid, maybe you've seen it," Billy says to Will, ignoring Steve's minatory nature completely. "I-I lost a necklace. An iron necklace with an oval pendant." Billy's hand is pressed against his chest where Steve remembers seeing it hang. He always wears that necklace.
"We have it," Will says quietly. He looks up at Steve. "My mom found it a couple a days ago in the kitchen."
Steve says, "Go get it," to Will, just as Billy says, "Look, it was my m-mom's and I just need it back, okay?" His voice is reaching an edge of panic; he sounds frantic.
"Hargrove, relax, I told the kid to go get it," Steve placates. Steve squeezes Will's shoulder and nods in the direction of the kitchen.
"Oh," Billy breathes and eases up a little. He had assumed that Steve wouldn't let him have it back out of revenge or spite. But Steve just wanted Billy gone, and he knew giving the pendant back would accomplish that. "Okay."
Billy jams his hands in his pockets while they wait for Will to return. He looks Steve up and down. Steve can actually see him trying to decide if he should offer condolences or what-the-fuck-ever. He never thought he'd see sympathy - or maybe even empathy? - on Billy Hargrove's face.
"What the hell happened to your arms?" Billy growls instead.
Steve doesn't dignify him with an answer. Just pulls his sleeves back down and crosses his arms across his chest. "What the hell happened to your face?" he returns.
Billy just shakes his head, no plans of giving Steve an answer.
"Here," Will says as he returns, holding the necklace out to Billy. "I-I think the chain might be broken."
"Doesn't matter," Billy says, taking it from the kid and squeezing it gently in the palm of his hand. "Uh… thanks," he adds eyeing Will and Steve nervously. It sounds all wrong. Steve wonders if words of gratitude have ever crossed his lips.
He expects him to leave, now that Billy got what he came for, but he lingers on the step.
Steve's about to tell him to shove off — why is he still here? — when Billy says, "Where's your BMW, pretty boy?"
Steve swallows. "Why do you care?" he challenges.
Billy shrugs, shuffles his feet. "It still at your place?"
"Yeah." Where else would it be, asshole?
"You want a ride to pick it up?"
Steve stares, not entirely comprehending what's going on here. "You offering?"
Hargrove runs a hand through his hair, then blows out a huff of air like Steve's inconveniencing him. "Yeah. You can take it or leave it. I don't give a damn."
"Why?" Steve wonders, unable to wrap his mind around this seemingly civil gesture from the guy who beat his face in two weeks ago.
"I don't have anything better to do," Billy states, matter-of-fact. "Do you want your fucking car back or not?"
Steve looks down at Will. "I was just going to ask Byers…" he says, mulling it over, startled that he's even considering it. But he remembers what Will said earlier about being holed up in the house. "What do you say, kid? You wanna get outta here for a bit?"
"Yeah," Will says carefully. "Yeah, I'd really like that. But…" he sizes Hargrove up, not really trusting. "I-It's up to you."
Billy raises his eyebrows, to all appearances uncaring one way or the other.
"Okay," Steve says, because he's going a little stir-crazy too, and knowing full well he might regret it later. "Yeah, we'll take a ride."
Hargrove smirks and turns on his heel.
"Haul ass, then."