"You did so good, sweetie," Joyce tells him once he hangs up the phone. "Come on. Come sit down." She pulls him over to the couch and wraps a blanket around his shoulders.
He feels numb all over.
His mom had been… quiet. Steve gets that she's probably grief-stricken and in a lot of pain from her injuries, but it was almost like Steve was inconveniencing her by calling.
His mom had always been kind of distant, always busy with something else to pay any attention to him.
Steve just thought that this would be different.
It was strictly business over the phone with her. Very shortly came the "I'm fine," when Steve asked how she was recovering.
When Steve said, "I wish I could be there with you," he was expecting, I wish you could be, too, but got a "yeah" instead.
When Steve started crying and said, "I'm so sorry about Dad," she said nothing for a long while. And then, "Neil gave Mr. Thompson instructions for the arrangements. Your father is to be cremated. We'll have a service when I get home."
That had been it.
She hadn't asked how he was doing with all of this.
And it stings that Joyce Byers, who has her arm wrapped around his shoulders and is rubbing his right arm up and down, is more in tune to how he is feeling than his own mother.
"Thanks, Mrs. Byers," Steve tells her and tries to sober his voice that is thick with emotion. "I mean… Joyce." He gives her a half-hearted smile and wipes his eyes on his sleeve. "D-Don't you need to get to work?"
Jonathan had already left for school. Will is still asleep.
Joyce brushes the hair out of his eyes and sighs. "Yes," she admits as she stands. "I do."
"And you're sure it's okay for me to take Will with the guys to the movies later?"
"Yes. It should be fine. Just… watch out for him."
Steve nods. "Of course."
"And no more escapades with Billy Hargrove," she adds warningly.
Steve looks down at his hands with a soft smile on his lips. "Yes, ma'am."
xxx
Steve wakes with a start, drool slipping down his chin. He must've fallen asleep on the couch after Joyce left. He wipes his eyes and glances at his watch. It's a little after ten o'clock.
He makes his way into the kitchen, where Will is seated at the table, an array of crayons in front of him. But he's not drawing. He's just staring at them.
"Hey kid. You're up."
"Yeah, hey," Will answers, but doesn't lift his head.
"You okay?" Steve asks carefully.
"Will nods, but then shrugs. He looks up at Steve then. "Bob got me these crayons."
Steve's throat works. "Oh."
"Yeah."
"You should draw him," Steve suggests. "Bob. It'd be a good way to honor his memory."
Will bites down on his lip, thinking. "Yeah!" he says excitedly, an idea brewing. "I know what to do."
He gets to work.
"Did you eat, kid?"
"Mmhmm. Cereal." Will shakes the box of Frosted Flakes that are still in front of him with his free hand.
Steve gets a bowl from the cabinet to help himself to some as well. "Do you like, live off of this stuff?"
"Pretty much."
Steve grabs the milk from the fridge, sits down across from Will, prepares a bowl, and takes a bite.
"Can't say I blame you."
xxx
When Will finishes his drawing (Bob Newby, Superhero, complete with a cape), he spends the rest of the day teaching Steve how to play Space Invaders on the Atari. Steve had only played once before, at Tommy's place.
It's more fun with Will.
And it swallows up the rest of their day.
xxx
"What's up?" Steve asks through the passenger side window to Mike, who approaches the car when they pull up next to the school. Dustin and Lucas are sitting on the curb, huddled around a flustered-looking Max.
"Max is being a drama queen," Mike sighs. "Because Billy's late. He must've ditched school again. You guys are late, too," he adds pointedly.
It's true… they are over 20 minutes late.
"Sorry, we lost track of time," Will tells him innocently.
"Yeah, Will was kicking my ass in Space Invaders."
Mike snorts softly and folds his arms. "Doesn't matter," he says dully. "The guys want to wait with her so we won't make it to the The Terminator anyway."
"Well, what's going on?" Steve asks. "What has her so upset?"
"Who knows?" Mike mumbles, scowling in her direction.
Steve kills the engine and kicks open his door. Will does the same.
xxx
Max tries to play it off like she's annoyed Billy is late, but Steve is pretty sure she's actually worried.
"He knows if i'm late getting home I'll be grounded for another week," she complains.
"Then you should've started walking twenty minutes ago," Mike quips under his breath, and gets a swift kick in the shin from Steve.
"It's no sweat, Max. I'll drive you home. We're just gonna have to cram."
She bites down on her lip, unsure.
"If he shows and you're not here, the first place he'll check is back home," Steve reasons. "C'mon." He holds a hand out and pulls her up and they all pile back into the car.
xxx
"Well, we missed the movie," Mike says, once Max disappears into the house, no trace of Billy's car anywhere.
"Would you shut up about the movie?" Lucas groans. "It's not the end of the world."
"Yeah, kid, we'll catch it on another day," Steve says. "Besides, I'll make it up to you. How does the arcade sound? Or sundaes at the diner? On me."
Steve doesn't want to just go back to the Byers' house. He wants a distraction.
"How about both?" Dustin says with a toothy grin from the backseat.
"Sure," Steve says easily. "Will?"
"Okay!"
"Lucas?"
"You know I'm game."
"Mike?"
Wheeler doesn't answer and Steve catches him with his arms folded in the rearview mirror. Both Lucas and Dustin start jabbing him in the ribs. "Miiikkkeeee."
He gives his signature eye roll but can't help his lips quirking into a smile.
"Fine," he relents with a sigh.
xxx
Steve doesn't make it inside the arcade, though.
He drops the kids off, making some bullshit excuse about needing to pick up a new prescription (and given his two recent hospital visits, the kids buy it). He tosses them some coins and tells him he'll join them in a few. "We'll get sundaes after."
"Okay. Thanks, Steve!"
Steve watches them disappear into the arcade then crosses the street to the local pub.
Hargrove's Camaro is parked outside.
xxx
He's sitting alone at a corner booth, head resting against the wall, eyes closed. He has an empty pint in front of him.
Steve wastes no time sitting heavily into the booth across from Hargrove, effectively waking him.
"What the hell are you doing?" Steve asks him bluntly as Billy blinks to look at him.
"Harrington?" he croaks.
"The one and only," Steve replies dully. He repeats, "What the hell are you doing?"
"What, are you my keeper now?" Billy snarls, rubbing his forehead with his thumb and forefinger.
"No, but I'm apparently Max's," he throws back. "Just dropped her off at home."
Billy's head snaps up then. "What?" He looks panicked. "What time is it?"
"It's going on 5 o'clock, man—"
Steve can't even finish his sentence. Billy throws some bills down on the table and then he's making a beeline for the door, his movements uncoordinated and sloppy.
Steve follows him because he recognizes that there is no way Billy should be behind the wheel of a car right now. Once outside, Steve grabs his arm and is immediately knocked down - hard - on his ass.
It hurts. It knocks the air out of him as the pain in his lower back is exacerbated with the contact of his tailbone hitting concrete. There's no stopping Billy now. Steve feels paralyzed.
He watches hopelessly as Billy gets in and slams the door shut.
Only, Billy doesn't make a getaway. The car sputters but doesn't start.
Steve hears Billy yell a series of curses, hears him bang against the steering wheel, hears the glass to the driver-side window shatter.
And then it's just… quiet.
Steve scrambles to his feet on adrenaline only, because he's pretty sure there's only one way that glass could have shattered. The pain in his back is forgotten in the moment.
Billy had fucking punched out the window and he is bleeding fucking everywhere, Steve realizes as he rushes to open the door. It's unlocked - thank God - and Billy is just sitting there numbly, looking down at his left arm with wide eyes.
"Hargrove - Jesus - what the hell did you do?" Steve stutters out. "Holy shit."
Billy doesn't answer - Steve figures he must be in shock. Without even thinking about it, he shrugs off his windbreaker and wraps it around Billy's injured arm.
There's so much blood.
"Keep pressure on that," he says firmly, eyeing the dashboard. "And get out. Your car's out of fucking gas and you need a hospital. What the hell, Hargrove?"
Billy allows Steve to pull him out of the car. "No 'ospital," he slurs on wobbly legs. "M'okay. This's nothing."
"It's not nothing, asshole. Move your feet."
Hargrove is heavy, and barely conscious, and Steve's back hurts as he practically drags him to his BMW.
"Steve. No hospital," Billy says again once Steve has him in the passenger seat. "Please." He can barely keep his eyes open, but his voice is pleading. Emphatic.
Steve snaps his fingers in his face. "Stay awake, shithead." He shuts Billy's door and rounds the car.
"You can't…" Billy tries as Steve starts the engine. "M'dad'll kill me."
Something in Steve's gut twists because Billy isn't saying it like a hypothetical. Slurred or not, Steve hears the certainty behind it.
He decides to take it at face-value.
"Okay," he relents as he peels out of the parking lot. "No hospital. But if you pass out on me, Hargrove…"
"I won't," Billy growls back, leaving the I've had worse in the air between them.
xxx
Steve takes him back to the Byers' place.
It's empty. Both Jonathan and Joyce are at work.
Steve deposits Hargrove in a kitchen chair and hunts down the first aid kit; it's still in Jonathan's room from the night his dad died.
Steve holds his breath. He doesn't want to think about that right now. Or ever.
He returns to Billy.
xxx
"Why are you doing this?" Billy asks suddenly, as Steve finishes wrapping his wrist.
Hargrove's injuries ended up not being as bad as they first appeared. Yes, there had been a lot of blood, but the cuts on his knuckles and wrist aren't deep enough to warrant stitches.
Billy has sobered some now. His curly hair is matted down with sweat, face still pale from the blood loss. There's a colored bruise on left cheek that Steve is 99% sure wasn't there yesterday.
"Because I'm not an asshole," Steve answers. It's really as simple as that. He starts putting the supplies back in the kit.
"You're going through enough shit on your own," Billy says, like Steve doesn't get it. He's not crying, but it's close and it makes the pit in Steve's stomach grow. "So why the hell are you bothering with me?"
"Hargrove, look around," Steve says. "Who else is gonna?"
Billy's face darkens at that and, immediately, Steve wishes he hadn't said it.
He backpedals. "Look, that's… not what I meant. I just… yeah. You're right. I'm going through a lot of shit right now. And you don't even know the half of it." Billy's head snaps up to look at him then, curious. He doesn't know about the Upside Down or Demodogs or the Shadow Monster; Steve almost thinks it's funny that all that has taken a back-burner to everything else. He clears his throat, looks Billy in the eyes. "But I think… I think you're going through some shit too."
Billy doesn't say anything to that. He just leans forward and rests his elbows on the table, head in his hands.
Steve glances at the clock and decides to put a pause on the conversation. There's so much that still needs to be said, but it's getting late and he needs to get ahold of someone to go pick up the kids. He stands to fill a glass of water and sets it in front of Hargrove. "Drink that," he says. "I need to make a phone call."
He leaves Billy sitting at the kitchen table and heads for the phone.
He prays that Nancy is home.