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It starts, as most things do when Steve Harrington is upset, with a drive.
Dustin is off at his Middle School Dance, ready to pounce on any girl that would have him and Steve is proud of him, right? He’s proud and amused and he thinks that nothing could dampen that moment of brotherly ( when the fuck did that happen ) pride.
But then of course, he sees Nancy. And it hurts. It hurts so fucking much because while their relationship might have been bullshit to her, it wasn’t for him. He adored Nancy with every fiber of himself and he tried so fucking hard to become everything she could want in a boyfriend.
It’s just a shame the one thing she wanted in a boyfriend was for him to be Jonathan Byers.
He turns away from Nancy’s distant form and drives off into the night. There’s a place hidden away by woods that overlooks Hawkins. He used to take Nancy there sometimes; when she missed Barb too much or when Steve felt suffocated by his father. He may not have Nancy now, but that doesn’t mean this place of escape no longer calls to him.
He lies on the hood of his car, staring up at the stars and wondering how his life would have been different if he’d never gotten involved with Nancy. Would he have been content, living in ignorance? Without the never ending threat of government conspiracies and fucking a liens ? He never would have gotten his ass kicked, that’s for damn sure.
Steve brings a hand up to trace the faded bruise on the corner of his jaw. And when his fingertips meet skin-
He hears it. The obnoxious sound of a car going way too fast, angry rock music blaring from the rolled down windows.
Motherfucker.
Steve groans, sitting up from the hood, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
A dark blue Camaro skids to a stop, kicking up dust and rocks and debris, feet away from Steve’s parked car.
There is silence for a moment and Steve thinks that perhaps fucking Billy Hargrove will turn his ass around and ignore Steve.
But alas.
The passenger side window rolls down and Steve has just enough time to curse again before Billy’s face pokes out, “Harrington. What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Fuck off. I was here first.” Steve snaps and Billy throws up a middle finger in response, turning his car off.
“Licking your wounds, then?” Billy traces his bottom lip with a thumb and sneers, “I did see The Princess when I dropped my sister off at the stupid fucking dance tonight. She looked great on Jonathan Byers’s arm.”
He wasn’t wrong and then knowledge killed Steve a little bit. She had done her hair up nice and curly and he hopes Byers complimented her on it. He hopes Byers told her she was beautiful. He hopes Byers is smart enough not to fuck it up with her like Steve did.
He didn’t have it in him to fight Billy so he just laid back down on his hood, “Fuck. Off.”
“Touchy.”
Steve closed his eyes, forcing out a puff of air through his nose. Vaguely, he hears the Camaro door open and slam shut. He had a second of peace before the hood of his own car was shaking.
Steve cracks open an eye in time to see Billy climb up onto the hood next to him. “The fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Billy rolls his eyes and lights up a cigarette. When the flames close in on the filter and the glow illuminates the pale expanse of Billy’s neck, Steve sees a flash of unmistakable purple just below Billy’s windpipe. Then the flame flickers out and Steve thinks he might have imagined it.
But maybe not.
He chuckles, “Sister beat your ass again, Hargrove?”
Billy grits his teeth, and takes another drag of his cigarette. “Do I need to beat yours again?”
“You can try.” Though Steve was still fucking healing from the last beat down.
They faded off into silence. It wasn’t comfortable by any means, but it also didn’t quite fade into awkward and hostile territory.
“Nancy Wheeler.” Billy muses out loud after a while.
Steve tenses, “Stay away from her. And her brother and his friends.”
“Calm down, Sweetheart. I have no interest in your girlfriend or her merry band of twelve year olds. She’s not my type.”
Steve turned his head to study Billy, before turning back to the stars, “Nancy is everyone’s type.” Billy laughs and the sound is brittle. Steve sits up, “Alright then, Psycho. What is your type? Homicidal and fresh off the funny farm?”
Billy cuts a sharp glance and meets Steve’s gaze. When he’s sure he has his attention, Billy drags his gaze up Steve’s form slowly, licking his lips. It takes Steve a second to catch on, but when he does he raises an eyebrow, “No wonder you’re so obsessed with me.”
Billy snorts and flicks his cigarette butt to the dirt below, before immediately digging out another. When he lights the second one, Steve focuses again on the bruise at his neck. It was bigger than what he first thought, and distinctly handprint-shaped.
Oh, Steve thinks.
He gets it, in some subliminal way. His dad may never have raised a hand to him, but Steve has long since lived in the shadow of his father’s imposing form. He’s been treading the water of expectations and fear of pissing him off for years now.
Nancy had been a balm, even as he added more and more pressure onto himself to be good enough for her. Good enough, smart enough. It hadn’t worked, but that’s okay. He’d been good enough for the kids and that was just about as good.
Steve reaches over and plucks the cigarette out of Billy’s lips, before taking a long pull himself. Billy flips him off, but lights another, and chucks the package into the window of his Camero.
“This town is shit.” Billy shakes his head, “Fucking shit. And everyone in it is fucking shit.”
Steve lifts his cigarette in agreement, “Feel free to leave. Really, I’ll help you pack.”
“I wish.” And it wasn’t snark, the other boy almost sounded genuinely wistful. “Whatever, two more years and I’ll never see this place or anyone in it again.”
“The dream.”
Silence reigned once again. Steve let himself relax, even as every now and then he cracked an eye open to make sure Billy wasn’t about to pull a fucking switchblade on him. Steve took one last inhale of his cigarette and tossed it.
“So Harrington, why the fuck do you have a bat full of nails?”
Easy, Steve thinks, to defend myself and the merry band of twelve year olds from parasitic, flesh-eating monster dogs.
He almost says it. Just like that. For the hell of it, but then he just sighs loudly, “Oh my God, do you ever shut the fuck up? Christ.”
“Bitch,” Billy shoots back. “It’s weird, is all I’m saying.”
“Welcome to Hawkins. Fucking weird is the normal.” Steve heaves himself up from the hood and motions for Billy to do the same, “I’m leaving. Get the fuck off my car.”
He does, but not before shoulder-checking Steve in the process. “See you on the court, Harrington. I’ll try to let you save you a little dignity.”
“No need,” Steve points to his temple, “The only thing I need is the memory of you on the ground about to piss your pants with your little sister standing over you.”
Billy laughs loudly, opening his car door. Steve leans against the side of his own as Billy slams his door shut and blares his music and leaves in a chorus of screeching and debris.
“Fucker,” Steve says, shaking his head, but weirdly finds that his mood has greatly improved since starting the night.
He checks his watch and heads towards town to pick up Dustin.