Billy is nearly asleep, sagged back in the chair, limp, when Steve returns to the kitchen.

Steve pauses for a second at the doorway.

He realizes that Billy looks beat.

As in beaten.

His face is muddled with discolored bruises. Ones that Steve swears weren't there the day before.

There are dark circles under his eyes.

He looks more exhausted than Steve feels.

Steve tries not to venture why.

xxx

"Hey," Steve shakes Billy's shoulder. "You can't sleep here."

Billy opens his eyes, realization dawning on his features as he looks around at his surroundings. "Yeah. Fuck. Got'a get h'me."

"That's not what I meant," Steve amends. "You just can't sleep here. At the kitchen table. You can take the couch."

Billy stands. "No. Got'a get h'me," he repeats, and almost stumbles backwards.

Steve steadies him with a hand behind his back. "Yeah-no," he says. "That's not happening. You're staying here until you can walk in a straight line again. C'mon." He nudges him to the couch.

xxx

"Max. Come in, Max. You there?"

Steve feels ridiculous as he sits at the Byers' kitchen table with his Realistic walkie-talkie in his hand. He's not even sure if he's on the right channel.

But then… "Steve?" Max's voice cuts in over the static.

"Yeah, it's me," Steve answers. "Listen, I found Billy."

"You did? Aren't you guys at the movies?"

"Didn't make it to the movies. I'm sure you'll get an earful from Mike about that."

"Great." Steve can practically feel the eye roll.

"Kids decided to go the arcade. I noticed Billy's Camaro parked outside the pub across the street."

Max is quiet on the other end for a while.

"Is he okay?"

Steve doesn't know how to answer her question, but settles with: "He punched the window out to his car. He wouldn't let me take him to the hospital, so we're at the Byers. I think his arm will be okay, but Max… I don't think he is."

Max curses under her breath. Then she curses again. "Shit, Steve. My mom just got home, so I gotta go. Listen, I'll cover for Billy, alright? Can you…?"

"Yeah. I've got him. I'll get him home by nine."

"Thank you," Max says. "Thank you for finding him."

Then she's out.

xxx

"What are you doing?" Steve demands when he returns from the kitchen to the TV room to find Billy fumbling with the locks at the front door. He expected Billy to be passed out on the couch by now.

"Leaving."

"No you're not. Billy." Steve approaches him. He dares to take ahold of Billy's good arm to pull him a way from the door.

But Billy's not having it. He whips his arm away and turns to face Steve. "Fuck off, Harrington. I'm fine. I'm going home."

"Hargrove, look. I talked to your sister—"

"She's not my sister," he interrupts with a growl, like it's a reflex.

Steve takes a deep breath. "Okay. I talked to Max. She said she'd cover for you. So just... Come sit down."

"I don't want to sit down." He turns back around and continues fiddling with the locks. "I want out of this place. I-I hate this fucking house." Then without warning, he punches the doorframe with his good arm. "Why are there so many locks on this goddamn door?"

"To keep the monsters out," Steve deadpans.

Billy doesn't seem to notice. He's leaning with his forehead resting against the door, chest heaving. Steve's never seen him look so defeated.

Steve scratches his head, doesn't know what to do. "Hargrove. Hey. How about we go for a drive, yeah?"

Billy doesn't answer, but he doesn't protest either when Steve pulls him back from the door to unlock it himself.

"C'mon."

xxx

"Will you tell me what's going on with you?" Steve asks, breaking the prolonged silence. They've driven twenty miles out of town and not a single word has been uttered.

Billy remains silent.

Steve chances a glance over at him. He's leaning his head against the passenger window, eyes vacant, tears on his cheeks.

Fuck.

Steve pulls the car over to the side of the road and puts it in park. They're on a back country road, farmland surrounding them in all directions.

"What are you doing?" Billy croaks.

"I don't know how to help you," Steve admits, pulling the keys from the ignition and dropping his hands heavily. "I'm at a loss here, man."

"I don't need help," Billy says dully.

"That's the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard," Steve tells him bluntly, and turns the rearview mirror toward him, so he has to face his reflection.

Billy straightens up and harshly rubs at his eyes, effectively wiping the tears from his face. "Well, why do you care if I need help or not?" He shoves the mirror back toward Steve. There's spite in his tone again; he's starting to sound more like himself.

"I don't fucking know," Steve tells him honestly, because he's been trying to figure that out too. "I just do."

Billy stares at him a little longer, not believing, not trusting.

"Do you always do this?" he asks.

Steve frowns. "Do what?"

"This white knight routine."

Steve closes his eyes, takes a moment to breathe before reopening them. "I know what you're doing, Hargrove, and it's not going to work. You beat the hell out of me three weeks ago, yet here I am. You still think you can push me away?"

Billy recoils. Bangs the back of his head against the headrest out of frustration. "You're fucking impossible."

Steve snorts softly. "Yeah. That makes two of us."

"I don't know what you want me to say," Billy says.

"Tell me about your mom."

"She's dead." Billy answers promptly, his words hollow. Void of emotion. But he reaches up to hold the pendant around his neck; the chain is already fixed.

Steve swallows hard. "How?"

"Hanged herself in the basement. Two weeks after my little sister died from leukemia. I found her. I was eleven."

Steve freezes. He feels sick. The heated she's not my sister from earlier making all too much sense now.

"Is that what you wanted to hear, Steve?" Billy asks hoarsely, but with the cusps of a sneer. "Does that sob story make up for how much of a douchebag I am? It does, doesn't it?"

Steve bites down on his lip. Thinks carefully about what to say next.

"No, that's not what I wanted to hear," he tells him softly. "And no, I don't think anything you tell me will make up for how much of a douchebag you are."

Billy lets out a startled laugh at that, then pinches the bridge of his nose with a grimace. "F-Fuck."

"…You okay?"

"Yeah. Just… headache."

"Yeah, well, blood loss post-bender will do that to you." Steve puts a hand on his knee, worried now, because Billy hasn't dropped his hand yet. "Seriously, you alright?"

"I'm fine," Billy answers, and lowers his hand, the grimace disappearing from his features.

"Okay." Steve draws back. Licks his lips. Dares to ask another question. "Hey, Hargrove," he says as gently as he can manage. "How'd you get those bruises on your face?"

For an answer, Billy raises his eyebrows and says knowingly, "How'd you get those cuts on your arms?"

Steve feels himself nodding his understanding, eyes brimming with fresh tears, the pit in his stomach growing bigger. Confirmation for something he already knew.

"Should I take you home now?" he asks, reaching up to wipe a rogue tear from his cheek.

Billy nods. "Yeah."

So Steve does.