Chapter Text
“Okay, why are you heading to the Disney section right now?”
Max, who is already halfway to the opposite end of Family Video, turns around mid-walk. “Take a wild guess. I get one more, don’t I?”
It must’ve been a rhetoric question, because Max doesn’t wait for his affirmative but strolls on ahead to the kiddie section where all the Disney movies are stacked up. Billy remains with his feet firmly planted in the horror section. He’s already carrying two boxes of Max’s choosing (Raiders of the Lost Ark and The Shining, both choices he can sign off on).
“But why Disney? What about, uh-” Billy grabs a random video off the shelf next to him, “Here, Poltergeist. We could re-watch Poltergeist. You liked that one.”
Max is shaking her head. “It’s for Saturday, I promised El,” she calls over through the mostly deserted store. “I’m catching her up on Disney movies. She never got to watch any as a kid, which is, like, super sad bullshit. But we can’t do it with the boys around. Apparently they’re too cool for Disney.”
She makes distracted air-quotes around the word cool while already browsing her options.
“I’m too cool for Disney!” Billy blurts out way too loudly, earning unimpressed looks from some kids two shelves over.
Max spares him a heavy glance over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised skeptically. It says you sure ‘bout that, big guy? as clearly as if she’d said it out loud.
Billy chooses this exact moment to give up for today and obediently hands over his wallet when Max snaps her fingers for it on her way to the counter.
It’s Wednesday, going on 6 p.m. now, and Billy’s spent most of the past hour in his car with his sister, arguing and haggling over a truly terrible deal.
You see, Max had AV club after school today, went home with Lucas after and was supposed to have dinner with his family. Instead, she called Billy to come get her at five, after she and Lucas had gotten into a fight over – of all the stupid things – homework. Which is also what Max and Billy ended up fighting about, because, as it turns out, there is a deadline on an English lit essay that Max has conveniently forgotten to mention. She’s also been putting off writing said essay on a book they’ve been reading in class – not because Max is in any way bad at English lit or essay writing, but because she doesn’t like to be told what to read. And while Billy kind of respects that, it is also infinitely frustrating, because being in charge of Max also means being in charge of her doing her homework. Usually she’s doing just fine on her own, but now she has less than two days left for an essay that is worth 15% of her grade, and who has to fix that?
Billy.
Billy has to fix it and Billy is not good at fixing stuff.
Except for cars.
Unfortunately, Max very much agrees with him on that front and tried very hard to decline his help, no matter how much she definitely needs it. Which is why Billy ended up making what will go down in history as possibly the worst deal ever.
At this point it is important to know that Susan won’t be coming home this weekend – she is taking part in a 10-day in-service training retreat or something, which will hopefully (eventually) grant her another promotion and more salary. This means that Max’s weekend plans were both very open and also very much up to Billy’s approval. And after losing his patience in the Camaro while Max was bickering away in front of the Sinclair house, Billy has agreed to the following: Max gets to have a sleepover with the nerd-squad at the Wheelers' house on Friday, and then another sleepover with El at their house on Saturday that Billy will have to chaperone (probably in lockdown and armed to the teeth if the chief has any say in it, which he obviously will have, and that’s just another headache coming Billy’s way).
And Max has bullied him into renting three goddamn movies – one for each of her sleepovers and another for tonight, which is how they ended up at Family Video 15 minutes ‘till closing.
In return for all of that shit, Max has kindly agreed to spend her oh so valuable Thursday afternoon at home with Billy, writing her “stupid goddamn shit-fuck of an essay” (her words, not Billy’s).
The more Billy thinks about it, the more deeply he has to breathe to keep from shoving over some of these shelves. Maybe one would land on Max and crush some fucking sense into her. How in the world did she manage to, essentially, get rewarded for something other children would be grounded for? Billy was there, but he honestly can’t explain it.
The little devil has finished checking out her carefully selected videos and strides past Billy towards the car. She sticks her tongue out at him.
Worst. Deal. Ever.
---
That night, Billy gleefully watches Max alternately screaming her head off and hiding behind her pillow in fear as they watch The Shining. Helping her choose back at Family Video, he might’ve told her it was a lot less scary than it actually is.
It makes him feel a lot better about his shitty, literally-no-upsides-for-Billy-deal, but in retrospective he was probably just collecting a helluva lot of bad karma.
---
The next day after lunch finds Billy and Max exactly where they said they would be, and it sucks just as much as both of them knew it would.
Billy is sitting at the kitchen table, head bent over the instruction sheet for Max’s essay, preemptively drinking his third cup of coffee. Max hasn’t even sat down yet, but is pacing up and down the hallway beyond the kitchen doorway, angrily waving the book in question around and insulting her teacher.
“Mrs. Branson thinks she’s so funny, choosing Treasure Island,” she complains for the umpteenth time, “Oh, children, our protagonist’s name is Jim Hawkins, and we live in Hawkins - what a lovely coincidence! As though she hasn’t been choosing that same book and making that same joke for fucking decades.”
Billy gives a non-committal grunt in response. If he speaks now, the words coming out of his mouth probably would not be very nice. Max has obviously read the fucking book (has to have read it with how much she’s complaining about it) and she is way too smart for this to be such a big deal. She’s being stubborn and stupid on purpose and Billy wants nothing more than to smack some goddamn sense into her.
But he can’t.
And he won’t.
Another verbal fight about how dumb Max is being won’t help either, as experience has taught him, because it would just steel her resolve to be stubborn. So, if he wants to get anywhere today, he’ll have to be smart about it and trick Max into turning her useless brain on.
“Maxine, come here and sit your ass down,” Billy calls in a voice that he hopes bodes no argument (ha).
Max childishly stomps into the kitchen, bangs the book onto the table and crosses her arms in front of her chest like a petulant toddler.
“I don’t wanna do this,” she whines.
Billy is questioning all of his life choices right now. All of them.
“I don’t fucking care,” he grits out, “Quit being a bitch about it and let me help you.”
They end up arguing. Big surprise.
But, because Billy is way smarter than most people give him credit for, they argue about the book itself. (Never mind that he barely remembers reading it back in middle school; he can spew out enough vague plot lines to make some points. The important part is that it gets Max thinking about the story, because if she wants to hold her own against Billy’s book-talk, she’s gonna have to come up with some actual viewpoints herself.)
“Sure, okay, but in the end, what’s the message?” Max questions, still with the negativity, after Billy tried to go meta-level, “A bunch of greedy men look for their personal pot o’ gold. Some find it, a lot of them die. What’s the lesson this book is trying to teach me?”
“What do you think it wants to teach you?”
Max shrugs listlessly. “Probably something about greed not always getting you what you need, but I don’t think that’s working.”
Billy snaps his fingers and points at her. “See - that, right there, that’s a hypothesis.”
“What?” She pulls a face. “No, that’s me saying I don’t like the book.”
“It’s critique, kiddo.” Well, at least if you squint, but Billy’s gotta go with something, here. He leans forward and taps the instruction sheet. “Nobody said your essay had to be a purely positive take on the book, right? No, it specifically says discuss part of the book that stood out to you.”
“So?” Max gripes, clearly not catching on. “That’s just a fancy way of saying she wants me to talk about which part I liked best.”
It’s Billy’s turn to shrug. “That might be what your teacher expects you to do. And what most people would do. Does that sound like Mad Max to you? ‘Cause it really doesn’t, to me.”
Now he’s got her hooked. He can see it in the way her brows unfurrow from Fuck everything and re-furrow to Wait, I’m thinking.
Billy’s choosing his next words carefully, drops them faux-carelessly as he spins a pen around his fingers. “We can just take the instructions literally… The part that stood out to you could be a bad part. Discuss means to look at both sides. In this case, what the author was maybe trying to say and then how that worked out for you as the reader.”
“Which, in this case, it didn’t,” Max adds, mirroring Billy’s pen-twirling as she looks down at the paper in front of her.
“Sure,” Billy agrees nonchalantly, as though he isn’t having an internal fucking party at this breakthrough. “Your interpretation, your opinion. Totally legit, as long as you prove your point with some actual passages from the book.”
“Oh, I know just the one,” Max murmurs immediately and mostly to herself. She snatches up her book and begins to thumb through it determinedly. “Wait, just let me find the page…”
Billy almost wants to cry with relief. Instead, he slumps backwards and closes his eyes for a brief moment, before they spend the next hours building an argumentative essay around something he just pulled from thin air.
They finish around eleven.
It’s no master piece, but Billy figures it will at least get her a passing grade.
Max has dozed off with her head on the kitchen table during his last cigarette break, so Billy is picking up all the loose sheets of paper for her. One sticks to Max’s cheek, but she barely stirs when Billy’s lifts her head and pulls it away. He brings them in order and stuffs everything into Max’s folder.
Then, with a lot of uncoordinated shuffling on his part and useless sleepy whines on her part, Billy scoops up Max and carries her to her room over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
She groans when unceremoniously dumped onto her bed, weakly wiggles her arm at Billy like he’s an annoying bug. Billy slaps it away. She sluggishly mumbles something into her pillow that might translate to “I think you broke my brain.”
“You can’t break something that’s not there,” Billy states solemnly.
The insult seems to give her a last bit of energy. Blue eyes open to slits and glare at Billy as Max wraps herself up in her comforter.
“Asshole,” she huffs. “How about: ‘Good job writing a really great essay in just one day, Max.’”
Billy snorts. “Yeah? How about: ‘Thank you so much for helping me write a last minute essay that might just get me a passing grade, Billy.’”
“Hm. How about: ‘I’m sorry I put so much pressure on you and forced you to write--”
“Ha! How about, ‘I’m sorry you had to waste your whole day with something that was literally none of your business!’”
Max flips him the bird. “HOW ABOUT: ‘But I know you didn’t ask me to and could’ve done it on your own, Max.’”
Billy laughs out loud and drops one of her many spare pillows on her annoying face. “Yeah, you wish, pumpkin. How about: ‘You’re the greatest, most intelligent brother ever, Billy, and I’m so lucky to have you.’”
“Ew, how about NO?!”
Still chuckling Billy turns to leave. “Go to sleep, you menace.”
“I’m fucking trying,” Max grumbles and throws the pillow after him.
---
In a surprise twist, the Worst Deal Ever actually does have one upside for Billy.
Because if Max spends the night at the Wheelers’ and Susan won’t be home for another week... and Neil is kept away by an honest-to-god restraining order… that means Billy has the house to himself. He could do whatever he wanted – nobody would notice or care.
The mere concept is so foreign to Billy that he has trouble realizing what that really means. Until he goes to basketball practice on Friday and sees Steve bouncing around shirtless and sweaty. (He gets so distracted standing there staring, that he gets a basketball to the head. Worth it.)
So, for the first time since they got together (for the first time ever), Billy’s having his boyfriend over to his house.
Everyone’s gone, Steve is incredibly hot, Billy is so very gay and they are having date night at his house and no one can stop them.
It’s like he’s on a fucking trip.
*
Steve, as it turns out when they cook dinner for themselves, is an even worse sous-chef than Max. While he is infinitely less quarrelsome, he’s also a lot more easily distracted (a feat of which Billy takes no advantage of at all).
They make out against the kitchen counter, against the fridge, on top of the kitchen table (Max would throw a fit if she knew) and halfway into the pantry. The chicken is only a little burned, so Billy’s cool with it. Judging by the looks he throws Billy while they eat, Steve’s cool too.
In all honesty, Billy and Steve have long since gotten over trying to conceal how horny they are for each other. It saves them a lot of time, so as soon as they're done washing up (because Steve is still too responsible for his own good), they head right on over to the sofa.
Billy’s lying on top of Steve now, kissing and biting and teasing his way up the other boy’s chest and neck – they’ve both lost their shirts first thing and Billy’s about to lose his pants, too – when his half-closed eyes accidentally land on the recliner.
It just stands there like it always does, to the left of the coffee table, with the old stripy afghan and ugly throw pillow on it. It’s turned slightly towards them, as if somebody scooted it around just a little, to watch the show.
Billy stills.
After some confused shuffling, Steve looks up and follows his eyes. Still staring at the stupid chair, Billy feels Steve’s hands slide from his abs to his face.
“Look, we don’t have to do anything you don’t feel comfortable doing here,” he says lowly, raking his fingers through Billy’s messy hair. “We can go to your room. Or just watch a movie.”
Billy lifts himself up on his arms a little further, so he can properly look at Steve’s face. He smirks down at him. “Trust me, pretty boy, I’m very comfortable.”
Steve raises an eyebrow and significantly looks from Billy to the recliner and back again. “You sure?”
Damn Steve and his… his thing where he always just knows shit Billy’s trying to keep from him.
He takes a breath and forces himself to be honest.
“It’s just-- He always used to sit there. It’s stupid, but I kinda feel like he’s watching me.”
There’s no question about who he is. Steve just lies there all pretty, stroking Billy’s cheek with a single finger and listening. As corny and pathetic all of this is – Billy can’t remember the last time he felt heard like this. Safe like this.
Billy clears his throat, tries to explain himself. “I never thought I’d get to do any of this in his house. Feels like any minute, he’s gonna bust through that door and beat both of us to a pulp. And then I’m gonna regret being this reckless.”
Steve looks on for a couple more seconds, as if to make sure Billy’s done speaking. It’s quite insane.
“I don’t think that’s stupid at all,” he says eventually. “And you’re not being reckless. If anything, you’re brave.”
Scratch that, Steve’s insane. If Billy looks a little lovesick right now, staring down at this incredible human being between his arms – who could possibly blame him?
Steve smirks a little, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to Billy right now.
“Anyway,” he continues, moving his hand from Billy’s face to his biceps, which is starting to strain a little, the longer he hovers over Steve. “I think you’ve been plenty brave for one night. Wanna stop and watch that movie now?”
Nothing would sound more foreign and undesirable than stopping right now.
“Well,” Billy says slowly. “I’m just thinking… That’s not actually his chair anymore, is it?”
“It is not,” Steve agrees solemnly, eyes sparkling.
“And… this is not his house anymore.”
Steve nods, faux-astonished. “That is true.”
“Chances are pretty low anyone’s gonna come busting through that door, aren’t they?”
“Very low.” Steve’s hands are roaming freely again and start making their way down south.
Billy chuckles, before pulling an apologetic grimace. “But I’m afraid we’re still gonna have to move this to my bedroom.”
“What? Why?” Steve pouts at once, “I don’t wanna move.”
“Because, I could have sex with you right here right now and not give a fuck about whose fucking chair is watching us, but my little sister still lives here and she sits on this sofa every single night and I really don’t think we should-“
“Alright, okay, alright” Steve yelps, abruptly rolling out from under Billy and getting to his feet. “You had me at little sister, Jesus Christ. Uh-huh, yeah, we’re definitely moving.”
Billy, having faceplanted into the sofa cushions, muffles his laughter into them. But then Steve slaps his ass and laughing is suddenly the last thing on Billy’s mind.
“Well, watcha waiting for, Hargrove? We’ve got places to be, things to do! Get a move on.”
Billy manages to get his feet under him in record speed. “So bossy.”
“Aw, babe, you telling me you don’t like it?” Steve suggests with a big ass grin. Damn, Billy lucked out with this one.
“I’m telling you to stop dawdling.”
“Me?”
They pretty much race each other to the bedroom and spend hours doing things that would’ve literally made Neil Hargrove’s head explode. Billy has never felt more empowered before.
---
Saturday after lunch (which consists of French toast for Billy and Steve, because they skipped breakfast in favor of, uh, sleeping in), Billy drops Steve off at his house and swings by Maple Street to relieve the Wheelers of Max.
He then spends the afternoon alternatively studying and working out in his room, while Max does some sort of crafty school project on the kitchen table that involves a lot of angry swearing. Billy couldn’t care less about what she’s working on exactly, but he thinks it’s got to be a model of the planetary system, because every time she comes bitching to him about frayed paintbrushes or un-sticky glue, she throws Styrofoam balls at him. If that’s not enough of a clue: when Billy holds one little sphere hostage under his butt, Max screams at him to return her Neptune or else. (Else, Billy finds out soon after, basically means her turning into a rabid attack dog and barreling Billy over with everything she’s got in her little body.)
They get their shit together in time for Chief Hopper to pull up in their driveway and deliver his daughter, approximately in the same manner one would deliver highly confidential contraband in a spy movie.
El hasn’t been allowed on any of the nerd-patrol sleepovers at the Wheelers’ house, on principle. The chief insists on that year-long lockdown for her safety, but everyone knows he just doesn’t want his daughter to spend the night at her boyfriend’s house, no matter how many other smelly nerds are there to ruin the romance.
So after a lot of pouting and puppy-dog-eyes on El’s part and a lot of relentless debating and guilt-tripping on Max’s part, the chief has finally caved: El gets to have one heavily supervised sleepover with Max.
Only Max.
Billy has strict instructions to shoot anyone who gets any closer to the house than the sidewalk, and he is pretty sure anyone specifically includes Mike. He neglects to mention that he doesn’t own a gun, wouldn’t know how to use it even if he did, and just nods along dutifully to whatever the chief says while the girls roll their eyes in the background.
So that is how Billy eventually finds himself in the middle of his sofa with Max on one side and El on the other, watching The Fox and the Hound on a Saturday night.
Max is lounging sideways with her back against the armrest, legs thrown casually across Billy’s lap, and seems more interested in her customary bowl of popcorn than the movie. El, on the other hand, has been absolutely entranced since the first minute. She is also leaning against Billy’s left arm with her cheek smushed against his shoulder, so there is no way he can excuse himself and escape what can only be described as his own personal twilight zone.
Seriously, he’s not even being dramatic – this situation is just plain weird.
Billy's gotten mostly accustomed to Max being comfortable around him in a, you know, being a constant nuisance kind of way. El, with her equally innocent and badass nature, has been inexplicably fond of him since day one. But the fact that Jim Hopper, Chief of Police and paranoid bastard extraordinaire, trusts him to take care of his precious little girl is honestly mind-boggling. The chief had specifically used the words “I’m trusting you, here, kid.” Sure, they’d been immediately followed by “So you’d better not screw up,” but still.
Susan trusting him with Max, now Hopper trusting him with El… people seem to have forgotten who he is. In all honesty, Billy seems to have forgotten himself, because he knows for a fact that there’s no way in hell he’d let anything bad happen to either of these girls.
When did that happen? When did Billy become someone who genuinely cares about other people’s safety and worries about disappointing random adults? And most importantly – when did he become someone who voluntarily (more or less) sacrifices his weekend in favor of The Fox and the Hound??
They’re about two thirds through the movie and Max painfully digs her heels into Billy’s thigh.
“Shut up,” she says.
Excuse her?
“I didn’t fucking say anything.”
“I can literally hear your identity crisis right now. So you’re watching a Disney movie. Get over it.”
In response, Billy blows his cheeks up and exhales deeply. Max begins to chuck kernel at him.
Ruthlessly, Billy rips the bowl away from her, but for poor El’s sake (she probably didn’t really know what she signed up for when she agreed to this, either) Billy postpones all further retribution until after the credits have rolled.
Half an hour later, there’s popcorn all over the floor and feathers stuck in Max’s hair from Billy trying to beat her up with a throw pillow (he regrets nothing).
They’re currently prowling on opposite ends of the coffee table like boxers in the ring, throwing continuously more ridiculous verbal abuse at each other. El remains cross-legged on the sofa, eyes swiveling back and forth between them like she’s watching a tennis match at least as interesting as The Fox and the Hound.
“You look like an angry bull!” Max is taunting with malicious glee, “Is it my red hair? Does it make you angry, big guy?”
“Constantly. You look like a plucked chicken with all those feathers. You’re tiny and annoying enough to be one, too.”
Max laughs. “Oh, oh, you know what else is tiny? Your ego! It’s gotta be positively nonexistent at this point, if you get embarrassed by watching a kids’ movie.”
“That makes no fucking sense!” Billy hurls back, because it really doesn’t, and she is having way too much fun.
“Totally does, you’re just dumb.”
Billy bites back the no you’re dumb, but barely. “You… you have a weird obsession with food! Especially with throwing it at other people! Especially fucking popcorn!”
“Yeah, well, you have a weird obsession with your stupid hair! I could mix a Molotov cocktail out of all the hair products on your dresser. We could probably pay next month’s rent with how much you spent on that shit!”
“Rent? Pumpkin, you know nothing about money. In fact, I think you should head to bed now, you’re clearly starting to lose it.”
“Oh yeah? I distinctly remember you promising the chief you’d get up in time to make us a nutritious and healthy breakfast tomorrow, so maybe you’re the one who should head to bed, eh?”
That… is unfortunately true.
Billy has no comeback.
Max face splits into a wide grin that she’s clearly been holding in for a while. She turns to El and mockingly curtsies.
“And that’s how you win a fight with a guy. I hope you took notes for when Mike starts acting up one day. C’mon now, I got a new Wonder Woman comic you gotta see.”
With that, she pulls a bemusedly smiling El up of the sofa and out of the room.
---
Steve, like the caring and considerate boyfriend he is, calls in the morning to see if Billy is still alive.
“How’d it go?” he asks before Billy is even done saying good morning, “Any casualties? Collateral damage? Strange, uh, occurrences?”
God, he is so dramatic.
“We lost a pillow,” Billy reports drily.
Steve chuckles nervously. “Oh yeah? How’d that happen? Did it… go flying?”
“No,” Billy says slowly, wondering if Steve has had his coffee yet, “Max was being a nag ‘n I felt like beating her up. But because I’m a nice guy now, I used a pillow instead of my first choice of weapon. Pillow didn’t make it. Max is fine, unfortunately.”
Steve’s laugh sounds more sincere now. “Thrilling tale. Just out of curiosity, your first choice of weapon was…?”
“Big empty bottle of coke.”
“Ah,” Steve laughs some more, “She must’ve really been riling you up, then. El got a real show.”
“You bet she did. I swear, sometimes it feels like Max genuinely enjoys fighting. ‘S like she has a real blast torturing me.”
“Aw, babe,” Steve coos, “That’s really melodramatic.”
Says he.
“Harrington, I’m telling you, it’s real fucking work keeping up with her insults and shit. I told you, it is constant and I’m honestly getting tired of it.”
“I must sound like a broken record, but have you tried talking to her?"
“I am talking! So is she, talking back. And then poof, we’re fighting.”
“What you’re doing is not talking, babe. It’s not even fighting, really. It’s bickering. Squabbling. Arguing for the sake of being right. And maybe that is fun for Max. Like… a battle of wits, kinda. And I know for a fact that sometimes you think it’s fun, too. Like when you’re calling her all these ridiculous pet names that drive her nuts… what was it you called her, Monday at the arcade?”
“Uh, carrot cake,” Billy recalls, grinning to himself. Max threw quite an impressive tantrum, especially after her friends overheard and started referring to her as our little carrot cake, themselves.
“Mh-hmm. So you can’t really blame it all on her. Sadly, bickering is just how you guys communicate.”
“So you’re telling me to suck it up?”
“No. Man, sometimes I feel like you have selective hearing. Look - you’ve reached a point where it’s too much bickering. It bothers you, and that is what you need to talk to Max about. Tell her you want things to be a little less…”
“Exhausting?”
“Hostile.”
“So I’m supposed to let her win. Admit defeat.”
Steve seems lost for words for a couple of beats. “Win what?? How would you be admitting defeat, here?”
“You said it was a battle!”
“Oh, my god. I give up.”
*
Around half nine, Max and El emerge for the first time that morning. Billy makes them pancakes with bananas and blueberries, for which he gets an adorable smile from El and the finger from Max. She hates blueberries. Oops.
The chief’s not coming to get El for another couple hours, she the girls retreat right back into Max’s room after breakfast.
Billy gets some time to himself, which is nice, until it isn’t.
By half past eleven, they’ve been suspiciously quiet for way too long, and Billy gets antsy.
They could’ve made a run for it, out through the window, and be god knows where by now. It’s not like Max hasn’t done it before. Sure, they don’t really have a reason to leave, and wanting some private girl time to gossip at length is probably legit. But, he’s supposed to take care of them. Protect them. Surely that includes knowing what they’re doing at all times, right?
Billy walks up to Max’s room and stands in front of the door for a minute. He hears no music, no gossiping, no giggling like the night before.
He puts his ear against the wood. There’s a weird, muffled buzzing sound, like white noise from the TV. Except Max doesn’t have a TV in her room. What on earth is she up to now?
Billy knocks, hard and urgent.
“Hey, shitbird, what the hell are you doing?!”
There’s a stifled yelp, the sound of something solid falling to the floor, and Max cursing heavily.
That is not reassuring. Billy rattles the doorknob, but it’s locked.
“What the fuck is going on in there?? Maxine, open the door!”
“Go away, Billy!” Max shrieks, accompanied by hurried shuffling, frantic whispering from El and more cursing.
Billy blinks twice. He doesn’t know what’s going on in there, but if he knows Max, she won’t open this door anytime soon. They’re probably just being idiots, but one of them could be hurt. Bottom line, he needs to get in there, asap.
Three long, determined strides and Billy’s in the bathroom. He grabs one of the many hairpins that Max loves to leave flying around on the faucet and all but sprints back. One practiced twist and the flimsy privacy lock clicks open. Billy bursts into the room like he’s on fire and sees—
Nothing much, to be honest.
The girls are sitting cross-legged on opposite ends of the bed, Max’s radio between them. The room looks like it always does. The only thing out of order is that El, who gazes up at him in astonishment, seems to have a nosebleed.
"What the hell are you doing?" he asks flatly.
Max is quickly getting over her surprise.
"Us? What the hell are you doing?" she exclaims, furiously gesturing towards her door.
Acting without thinking it through, a little voice that sounds a lot like Steve promptly provides in Billy's mind. It's not helpful.
"I told you a hundred times that I don't want you locking this door."
"Well I've told you a hundred times to go to hell, but you never do that, either!"
"Well, yours is just a suggestion. Mine's a rule. No locked doors."
Before the little devil can clap back, El jumps in with an innocent smile and says, "Max says we make our own rules."
"Yeah, and here's what that leads to," Billy comments dryly, while stepping closer to inspect the damage on her nose. "C'mon, kid, lets get you cleaned up. Chief's gonna have my head if there's even a hair out of place on yours."
Giggling, El obediently follows him to the kitchen, while Max remains quietly facepalming on her bed.
As El wipes her nose with a wet tissue by the sink, Billy digs through the freezer for some ice to put on her nose, just in case she hit it somehow. He ends up with a pack of frozen peas and wraps them in a kitchen towel.
El, now free of blood, is looking at him expectantly.
He vaguely gestures to her face. "That happen a lot?"
"Sometimes. Do you have a lot of rules?"
"Is that what Max says?"
"Max says you like routines."
"Bullshit. I just think Max and I need some rules when Susan's not here. So no one gets hurt," he explains vaguely.
It must have sounded ominous as hell but El doesn't seem bothered. Just curious. Billy rolls his eyes.
"Look, you live with the chief, for Christ’s sake. Doesn't he have rules for you, too?"
El shrugs. "We had some rules. They were stupid. Now we just have one."
"Oh yeah? What's that?"
"Truth and trust."
Huh.
Billy clears his throat awkwardly.
"Alright." He hands over the wrapped up peas and roughly pats the girl's curly head. "Go on back now, before Max accuses me of kidnapping you or some shit..."
El blinks at the cold package in her hands, before obediently leaving the room.
Truth and trust. That's funny.
As Billy hovers just beyond the doorway, listening to El's receding footsteps, he wonders if he might still be stuck on respect and responsibility. In that case, fuck Neil. But there's probably nothing much to be done about it.
Billy wanders into the hallway.
"Alright?" Max's voice is asking as the door to her room closes behind El.
"Yes. Billy is nice."
What a compliment. Nice Billy feels touched as he sneaks closer to eavesdrop some more.
"Yeah, to you. What's that he gave you?"
"Kitchen towel and frozen peas," El says truthfully.
"Oh."
"But I don't think we should eat them."
"...because they're still frozen or because you really don't like peas?"
A moment of silence.
"The second."
---
Over the next couple of days, Billy and Max begin to notice the downside of a Susan-free weekend: they get virtually no break from each other in between weekdays.
Billy is stressed beyond words because he has a shitload of tests coming up at school that even he can’t possibly wing all of. Max, on the other hand, is just plain cranky. She won’t come home after school, go to bed at night or get up in the morning without at least half an hour of useless arguing. She’s also still decidedly pissed about him breaking into her room with one of her own hairpins (that part specifically sets her off), no matter how many times Billy tells her it was a one-time thing.
He also runs out of edible things to cook, so they have pizza for dinner three days in a row. One would think that’s every teenager’s dream, but Max gets so sick of it by the third night, she takes a whole pizza pie and throws it against the fridge.
Their ensuing screaming match ends with next door’s old Mrs. Bancroft knocking on their door in horror, demanding whether Neil has returned. That shuts them up pretty quickly.
Billy makes Max clean the fridge and the floor and cooks buttered noodles with broccoli from scratch. They sort-of make up over the fact that neither of them would’ve thought there’d ever come a day they prefer broccoli over pizza. Also, Mrs. Bancroft came armed with a half-opened can of cat food and her left slipper, which was honestly hilarious despite the unfortunate situation.
*
Wednesday afternoon after AV club, Max gets to go to El’s house for two hours and comes back in a rather good mood. Billy has used the quiet to catch up on homework and even made the extra effort to come up with a new chicken and rice recipe. He gets an appreciative nod for it and is about to file the day under successful, when Max goes and ruins it.
Billy’s just getting the chicken out of the fridge to get dinner started when she squeezes under his arm and digs a tub of strawberry ice cream out of the freezer.
“Hey, shitbird,” he says mildly as she weasels away, “Maybe don’t eat ice cream half an hour before dinner? You’ll just ruin your appetite, or get sick.”
Max sits the tub down on the counter with a heavy bang. She rounds on Billy and goes off so unexpectedly, Billy actually backs away in surprise.
“Don’t lock your door, Max! Be home by seven, Max! Do all the dishes, Max!” she bellows in a venomous, slightly-too-high-pitched and entirely unfair imitation of Billy. “Go to bed at ten p.m., Max! Don’t be late for school, don’t skip class, don’t miss homework, don’t get detention! Don’t leave your skateboard in the hallway because I tripped over it that one time! You – you – keep telling me all of that shit as though you ever bothered to stick to any of it when you were my age! And now you’re going after my ice-cream? Fuck off!”
Okay.
That outburst was really, really uncalled for. Billy was just trying to be considerate, for fuck's sake. He slams the fridge shut a little louder than necessary.
“What the hell, Max! I’m not going after your ice-cream – which I bought, by the way – I was just… speaking! What is wrong with you and those goddamn mood swings—are you on your fucking period or something?”
“That is an asshole question and you know it!” Max snaps, “But guess what – I am! And let me tell you something else: I started my day covered in my own blood. Is that how you want me to end yours?”
It takes Billy a second of mild disgust and confusion before detecting the death-threat.
“Jeez, kid, homicidal much?!”
Max takes a second to get a serving spoon out of the drawer and points it at him as though it’s a knife.
“Very much. So I’m advising you to leave me and my ice cream the fuck alone!”
She bangs the drawer shut with her hip and storms from the room.
They later have a very frosty, completely silent dinner, which mainly consists of the following: a perfectly good meal wasted on a not-that-successful-after-all day, Max picking her food apart while steadily turning greener in the face until she pushes her plate away, and Billy stubbornly shoveling down both of their lukewarm dinners while almost busting a vein holding back the I told you so.
Only when Max all but runs from the kitchen, clutching her stomach, does he start to feel a little bad for her. This is only, like, the fourth time ever she’s having her period. Billy’s no expert - far from it, really - but he supposes the bleeding and pain and whatnot is bad enough without being stuck in a house with exactly one other, male, gay, unempathetic human being.
Doing what few dishes they used is normally Max’s job, but Billy’s not going to die on that hill tonight. While cleaning up, he can hear Max leaving the bathroom and then locking herself into her room. Chances are she’s not coming out again anytime soon, and will likely try to hurt Billy if he disturbs her.
Still.
Somebody should probably do something to make her feel better. Just so she doesn’t actually go on a killing spree tonight. Billy washes his hands and sighs.
That somebody is going to end up being him, no matter how much he wishes Susan or Mrs. Byers or even Nancy would pop into existence right next to him and take over. Might as well get it over with right now, Billy decides unenthusiastically, and considers his options. Usually, he would just pile up some Mars Bars and Reese’s Pieces in front of her door, knock, and run for it. But since she was obviously feeling queasy already, more candy probably won’t help. He really only has one other idea.
Ten minutes later, he’s knocking a steady rhythm on his sister’s door.
“Hey, dipshit. Brat. Shitbird. Maxine.”
To Billy’s surprise, Max rips the door open on his fifth knock.
“What?” she demands.
Billy furrows his eyes. He was fully prepared to walk into the lioness’s den, but Max now sounds less homicidal and more whiny. He holds up his peace offering.
“Hot-water bottle?”
He can almost see Max’s brain trying to recalibrate – she obviously wasn’t expecting him to do something nice after her outburst from earlier.
“Thanks, asshole,” she mutters and listlessly takes it from him.
She looks sad.
“You okay? You seem…” Billy gestures vaguely at her, trying to convey that her switch from homicidal rage to dejected sadness is worrying him, without having to say it.
“Hormones, Billy. And cramps. I’m fine.”
“Hm. You got some pain killers in there?"
“Of course I do,” she says, like it’s obvious and Billy’s stupid.
So her usual tone, basically.
“You know, earlier you could have told me you felt shitty and wanted to be left alone without ripping my head off in the process, right?”
He had to say it, he can’t help himself.
Max closes her eyes. “Okay, goodbye, asshole.”
She closes the door in his face.
Billy rolls his eyes. “Brat!” he calls succinctly and retreats to the living room.
*
For reasons he doesn’t really remember (he might’ve been distracted by big doe eyes and bitten lips and… other stuff), Billy promised Steve not to get wasted during the week anymore. There was some lengthy talk about how he needs to keep his wits together if he wants to both graduate and keep a 14-year-old alive. They get extra wasted on the weekends instead, but today is Wednesday, so Billy is stress-eating his way through a sharing-size bag of M&Ms.
Cheers is playing on low volume on ABC, but Billy’s not really watching it. His thoughts are randomly wandering around – jumping from how much he wants a beer, to wondering what Steve is up to, to wondering what his dad is up to (bad idea), to that stupid algebra test coming up tomorrow, to worrying about that goddamn trial next month (worse idea), to thinking about whether anyone would be able to stop Max from throwing punches if it goes badly.
Speaking of Max – Billy wasn’t expecting to see or hear from her again until she’d come crawling out of her room tomorrow morning, but around half ten he can hear her wandering into the kitchen. The unmistakable sounds of their electric kettle tell him she’s probably re-heating her hot-water bottle.
Billy slumps further into the cushions and prays she’s not already back to homicidal rage and looking for a fight.
A minute later, Max appears in the doorway, the comforter from her bed wrapped around her shoulders like a cape. She inches into the room, eyes purposefully trained on the TV. Her face does some weird grimacing – Billy honestly can’t tell if she is appalled or delighted by the program, or if it’s still cramps – before she slouches over and drops onto the sofa, a distinct three-foot space between them.
“It’s 30 minutes past. You should be in bed,” Billy notes, because he’s stupid like that.
“Fuck off,” Max snaps, pointedly pressing the hot-water bottle to her stomach and glaring deadly daggers at him.
Alrighty. Billy decides to give her a free pass just this once.
He draws the line at his M&M’s, though, which she makes grabby hands for almost instantaneously, and holds them out of reach despite her growling.
By the next commercial break, Max has settled down, almost vanishing in a comforter-cocoon. A curly-haired women on the screen is advertising some sort of hair product. Billy is pondering how to tell Max to get to bed without making her mad.
To his right, the little devil mumbles something unintelligible.
“Come again?”
Max’s head emerges from the blankets like a turtle from its shell. “I said, I miss my mum,” she repeats.
Oh.
Well.
Billy forcefully swallows down a whole lot of uncomfortable feelings those words stir up inside of him. “She’ll be back in two days.”
“I know, I can count,” Max lets him know in a would-be venomous voice, but he’s not quite feeling it.
Carefully (because the chances of being punched, scratched or even bitten are never quite 0% with Max), Billy reaches out to tug on a strand of fiery-red hair.
“Fuck off,” Max repeats.
“You fuck off,” Billy tells her, but of course she doesn’t. Instead, she starts to lay down on the sofa, which means that she’ll fall asleep here and Billy will end up having to carry her to bed, again.
On the upside, she doesn’t kick her feet into his lap like she usually does. She doesn’t put her head on his lap either – thank the lord – but it ends up on a throw pillow right next to his thigh.
Billy breathes out heavily through pursed lips and wishes someone would explain this to him. He wishes someone would put subtitles on Max’s forehead, translating everything she says and does into a language Billy can understand.
He doesn’t know where to put his right arm without somehow touching Max, so he goes back to inhaling M&Ms. Occasionally he drops a red one right in front of Max’s nose, watches her snatch it up and pretends not to notice her tiny sniffles.
The bag did say sharing size, after all.
---
Billy doesn’t know what it is exactly, that makes him decide to ask for help.
Maybe it’s the realization that no one is going to put subtitles on Max’s forehead. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s clearly not wising up on his own any time soon, while also getting steadily more tired of everything around him. Maybe it’s the way Max, in her sleep, ever so slightly turned her face into his shoulder when he hauled her to bed last night.
He only knows that he’s gonna do what he’s gonna do, dignity be damned.
Billy corners Nancy in the library, where she spends a free period sifting frantically through the Shakespeare section.
“Hey there, Wheeler,” Billy greets, leaning against the bookshelf next to her in a motion that he hopes conveys nonchalance.
“Hey,” she answers distractedly, before stepping back and throwing her arms up. “Where the hell is it?”
“What are you looking for?” Billy asks, trying to sound helpful.
“The Merchant of Venice,” she says with disdain, “Mrs. Mallone said that no one checked it out, it has to be here!”
Billy eyes the row of books she’s been perusing. Macbeth to Much Ado About Nothing, it’s all there, but no Merchant. He pushes off the shelf and crouches a little to see the lower rows.
“Have you checked the V’s?”
Nancy looks down at him. “Why would I do that?”
“Mrs. Mallone is weirdly italophile. She likes to think the Venice part is more important than the Merchant part.” Billy pulls the book in question free from in between Twelfth Night and Winter’s Tale. “Dumb, but it happens all the time.”
Billy straightens up and Nancy blinks her wide eyes at him as she takes the book.
“Thanks,” she says, surprised. Billy doesn’t know if she’s surprised that he knows personal information about the school’s librarian, or that Billy’s actually been helpful.
“You read a lot of Shakespeare?” Nancy asks next, and oh yeah, that’s also something people tend to be surprised by.
“Yes,” Billy says. He’s got no time to be embarrassed about it right now. “But I came here to find you, actually. I was hoping I could talk to you for a minute.”
Finding her book must’ve softened Nancy significantly, because her eyes do narrow in suspicion, but only very slightly. She gives him a nod.
“Right, well, it’s about Max,” Billy jumps right in. No point beating around the bush and making things worse with small talk. “You know how her mom lives in Chicago during the week, because of her new job? We’re on our own and we’re this close to murdering each other. I dunno what happened. Puberty. Hormones. Max is fighting me constantly. It’s driving me crazy.”
“And you’re telling me this because..?”
“Well you were once a fourteen year old girl in full-on puberty murder-mode, weren’t you? I was hoping for some… I thought you could give me some… you know.”
“Some what?” Nancy presses, but there’s something smug and playful in the way she raises her eyebrows, so Billy figures she already knows what he wants.
“Some advice,” he sighs, “On how to handle her.”
Suddenly, the playfulness is gone from Nancy’s face. She eyes him seriously. “First of all: Max doesn’t need to be handled. She’s not a feral animal, she’s a person. Got it?”
Billy suppresses the urge to answer Yes, ma’am! Instead, he grins sheepishly.
“Sorry. Poor choice of words. Got it.”
Nancy sighs a little, too. “Okay then. Rule number one.” She turns on her heels and starts walking.
Billy hurries after her. “Rule number one? There are rules? Should I have known about this?”
He’s not sure more rules are gonna fix the Max-problem, since they kind of caused it in the first place.
Nancy barely glances back at him as she purposefully strides through the shelves. “Of course not. I’m just going to tell you what I wish my family had known when I was fourteen.”
That actually makes a whole lot of sense. “Okay, shoot.”
“Rule number one,” Nancy repeats, “Max can blame her actions on her hormones, but you can’t ever do that, especially not to her face.”
“Why? That sounds really unfair. She could use it as an excuse to get away with a whole lotta shit I don’t want her getting away with.”
They arrive at a library table near the back, where Jonathan is sitting with a bunch of books. His head turns a little red when he hears his girlfriend talk about hormones. He nods at Billy in hello and then excuses himself to the toilets. Nancy just keeps talking.
“Because for one thing, it’s insulting. Women are more than their hormones, but men tend to forget that. But mostly because Max knows when she does things for a reason, and when it actually is the hormones. And even if she ever does use it as an excuse – she gets to, because she’s the one who has to deal with the whole shitshow.”
Nancy takes a seat and Billy follows suit, wondering if he should be taking notes.
“Rule number two: If she says something, like, actually bad to you, don’t take it personally. Impulse control is just shit at that age, as you should know. She probably doesn’t mean it, and will probably feel bad about it ten minutes later. Unless you deserved it.”
Great, thanks. Billy rubs the bridge of his nose. Nancy plows on.
“Rule number three: Don’t rile her up on purpose. Some people seem to find it awfully funny to bait and provoke girls until they actually reach the hysterics everybody already attributes to them anyways.”
Billy balks at that. “Rile her up on purpose? I’m not fucking suicidal. I’m already walking on eggshells around her and it does jack shit. She gets mad at everything.”
Well, okay, that first part may not be 100 percent true. But he could definitely be way more annoying, and Max really does get mad no matter what he does, so where’s the difference, really.
Nancy doesn’t look sympathetic, or gullible. “That actually leads me to a final peace of advice: You should not be talking to me about this.”
“Well I’m sorry,” Billy bristles, “’S not like there are a lot of other people I could ask.”
“You just need to ask one person, and that’s Max. Look,” Nancy leans closer and for the first time, there’s a small smile on her face. “I think it’s sweet that you want to get along with your sister. And I get that this is hard on you – not just fighting with Max, but the whole situation with your dad. It sucks. But you and Max are in it together and the only person who really knows what Max thinks – and feels and needs – is Max. So talk to her. She’s not shy, she’ll tell you.”
“That’s what Steve says,” Billy complains and ignores how Nancy’s eyebrow twitches knowingly at the mention of her ex-boyfriend (on that front, ignorance is fucking bliss, people). “But what am I supposed to tell her? ‘Please stop arguing with me on everything, it’s driving me mad?’”
“I think you mean sad, not mad,” Nancy whispers irritatingly and ignores how Billy’s jaw drops in affront. This is why he hates talking to Nancy. “But yeah, basically. That’s how communication works. Judging by how you came to me, you got something that seems to seriously bother you. So that’s what you tell Max, but instead of telling her what she has to do and getting into another fight, you keep in mind everything I just told you. Then maybe you can figure out a solution that works for both of you. Together.”
She’s talking extra slow now, either because she’s making sure Billy understands or because she’s making fun of him. (Who is he kidding – she’s definitely making fun of him. But oddly enough, it still makes sense.)
Billy rubs the back of his neck. “Really think that could work?”
“Of course,” Nancy says, more sincerely. “I’m sure you can at least try.”
With a final smile, she flips open the Merchant of Venice, and Billy considers himself dismissed.
On the way out, he runs into Jonathan again, who’s trudging back from the toilets, looking wary. They share another nod.
“Your girl’s a menace, Byers,” Billy grumbles and the other boy grins.
“Trust me, I know.”
*
That afternoon, Billy and Steve are waiting in front of the arcade for their respective rugrats to be done playing. They’re leaning against the Beemer’s hood, sharing a smoke, and Billy’s just explained his Nancy-approved plan of action (or his communication strategy? His last-ditch effort to save his sanity?). Against all expectations, Steve doesn’t look all that thrilled.
“No, okay, but basically—basically Nancy said to talk to Max, and do it respectfully. That is what I have been saying!”
“So? Now you can gloat about being right.”
“I’m more interested in why it took Nancy for you to finally agree with me.”
“Harrington, you’re the one who told me to talk to Nancy in the first place, remember?”
“Well, I’m regretting it now,” Steve grumbles.
It is absolutely unfair how cute he is, really. How is Billy expected to keep his wits together like this?
“Aw, pretty boy, don’t be jealous.” He almost pulls Steve in for a kiss before remembering that they’re in public. “You’re still my favorite smart person.”
“I’d better be. But you know, Nancy is way, way smarter than me. In fact, so are you--“
“Steve.”
“What?”
“Shuddup.”
Before Steve can continue his outrageous self-depreciation, the kids come spilling out of the arcade, jostling and shoving each other. Dustin specifically looks discontent under his curly hair and ridiculous hat.
“What’s up, dude?” Steve asks, as three rugrats trudge over, while Mike and Lucas stop to unlock their bikes.
Magnificently, he sounds like he cares, and by now Billy knows he actually does.
“Don’t mind him,” Max answers with a devious grin, “He’s just being a sore loser, ‘cause he still hasn’t managed to reclaim first place on Dig Dug. In fact, I just broke my own record.”
Billy nods appreciatively and raises his hand for a high-five (ain’t nobody gonna say he’s not being supportive or whatever).
Max gives him a vaguely disgusted look and ignores the hand.
Oh well. Points for trying.
Steve is visibly torn between congratulating Max and consoling Dustin. He ends up roughly patting both of their heads at the same time. (Dork.)
Then he points to where Mike and Lucas are about to drive off on their bikes. “You dipshits stick to traffic rules, got it? Looking at you, Mike.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Lucas says boredly.
“You’re not my mother!” Mike shouts and off they go, purposefully zigzagging down the access road.
Now both grumbling in annoyance, Steve and Dustin climb into the Beemer. Will, who has rapidly become Billy’s favorite nerd, shares an exasperated look with him before climbing in after them.
“Later, losers!” Max calls obnoxiously and jogs over to the Camaro. “Hey, specific loser who is also my ride – get a move on?”
Billy rolls his eyes so hard he can almost see his brain, knocks on Steve’s window in goodbye and strolls after the specific loser who is also his sister.
That talk he was planning might have to wait another day. Billy definitely needs more time to mentally prepare for it.
---
On Friday afternoon, after writing a truly terrible algebra test and handing in a less terrible paper on Sylvia Plath in school, Billy falls asleep on the sofa. Max fucking sits on his back, trying to watch TV while eating Froot Loops for lunch, and promptly spills milk all over them when Billy inevitably jerks awake.
They avoid each other after that.
By the time he’s making spaghetti for dinner, Billy still hasn’t had his talk with Max.
Susan’s (finally) coming back tomorrow morning, so now is probably Billy’s last chance.
Just ‘cause, you know, he’s got very low expectations on how this is going to go, so he thinks it’s probably better to get whatever pow-wow’s coming his way over with before Susan’s here to witness it all. Of course, there really would be no harm in waiting until next week, but Billy doesn’t like to sit on things. It’s better to get the bad stuff over with instead of being scared for days on end. Which, by the way, Billy is not. He’s just going to have a civil conversation with his sister. So, he’s skeptical. Apprehensive, maybe. Nervous at the very most. But definitely not scared.
Which is why he doesn’t say anything all through dinner, just wolfs down his spaghetti in a way that causes Max to give him a grossed-out look.
Only when she eventually gets up to put her plate into the sink does Billy finally speak up.
“Hey, Maxie?”
Max pauses for one second to glare at him, before going back to rinsing the dishes. Billy sighs.
“Hey, Max?” he tries again.
“Yes, please?” she answers at once, smiling sweetly.
Billy sighs again. He picks up his plate and comes to stand next to her at the sink, watches as she scrubs away at a pot with quick efficiency.
“I was hoping we could… talk.”
Max puts the pot on the draining board and grabs Billy’s plate from him next. “’Bout what?”
“You know, just… stuff. Important stuff?"
“Is this a Code Red?”
“Is this… what?”
“Are you or anyone else in immediate danger of getting killed, kidnapped, tortured or otherwise seriously harmed?” she clarifies without looking up even once.
Billy blinks. “Um, no?”
Then sorry, I can’t tonight. I’m going over to Lucas’s in a minute.”
“What? Since when?”
Max put the last dish to the side and starts drying her hands. “Since today. We can talk about whatever it is you wanna talk about tomorrow, okay? But remember you said you’d take me to El’s at noon.”
“Whoa, hey, back up,” Billy exclaims, raising his hands to keep her from walking away. “What makes you think it’s okay for you to go see Lucas tonight?”
Max stills. She looks at him with a neutral expression, but Billy can tell that she’s already starting to boil underneath. This going south much faster than anticipated.
“The fact that he asked me and the fact that I want to,” she says, not quite managing to keep the snippiness out of her voice. “Why? Do you have a problem with that?”
There is both a threat and a challenge in the way she asks that, but Billy is not yet ready to be that easily intimidated by his little sister.
“Not if his parents are there and know you’re coming. Do they?”
“Of course,” Max says, but she says it way too quickly.
Billy knows she’s lying the second she opens her mouth, and he also knows that Max knows he knows she’s lying. He levels her with an unimpressed look. Max huffs and crosses her arms over her chest defensively.
“Lucas’s parents are taking his sister to some show in Indianapolis,” she says, quickly again, like ripping off a band-aid. “It was kinda last minute so Lucas invited me over. It’s not a big deal.”
“Alright well if you think I’ll let you go to your boyfriend’s house in the middle of the night when his parents aren’t home, you’re off your rocker. Sorry, pumpkin, there’s no way that’s happening.”
Billy is putting his foot down, here, because Max has apparently lost her mind, while at the same time privately hoping that he’s amassed enough authority to pull it off.
Max’s jaw drops with affront, her eyebrows raise. Billy makes himself as tall as he can and looks down his nose at her, but it doesn’t look like she’s backing down. Quite on the contrary – she closes her mouth with a snap, gets all up in his face and pokes a finger into his chest, ready to go off on a rant. Honestly, Billy is not even surprised.
“Okay, first off, it’s half past seven, not the middle of the night, you over-dramatic git. Secondly, it’s not like we’re gonna do anything! All we want is to watch a movie without Dustin constantly picking apart every scientifically unrealistic detail. Thirdly, and I don’t know how many times I’ve told you this already – you cannot tell me what to do. I do not need your fucking permission. Got it?! And - and last but not least, you are a fucking hypocrite!”
Great, Billy thinks, there’s that word again.
“Back in Cali, how many times did you sneak out in the actual middle of the night to meet some girl on the beach, or at her place? I bet her parents weren’t at home either, were they? And you definitely weren’t much older than me when that all started, were you?”
“Well that’s fucking irrelevant right now, isn’t it, because this is not about me! It’s about you! Let me tell you a few things about yourself that you just don’t seem to understand, Maxine: You’re barely fourteen years old and there is no way in hell you’re gonna spend the night at your boyfriend’s house getting up to god knows what with no parental supervision!”
Max grabs the dish towel from beside her on the counter and chucks it at Billy’s chest like a whip. “Are you even listening to a word I’m saying? I’m not spending the night! We’re only going to watch a movie, you godfucking dickhead! I’ll be home by ten! Get a fucking grip, Jesus!”
“There won’t be a need for you to be home by ten, cause you are not going to Lucas’s house tonight, do you understand me?” Billy bellows, “You’re not going anywhere tonight. In fact, you can stop causing a scene and go to your fucking room!”
Max’s eyebrows climb ever higher on her forehead, and for one moment Billy thinks she’s going to explode.
But to his complete and utter surprise, she turns on the spot and marches out the door. He can hear her stomp down the hallway and the unmistakable sound of her door being ripped open and slammed shut again.
Billy blinks at the empty room. Wonders may never cease.
He gets maybe three and a half seconds to breathe and estimate the further damage their relationship has just acquired, but then the door goes again. Next thing, Max is storming past the kitchen doorway, with a bag over her shoulder and visibly fuming, and she’s headed for the front door.
She’s leaving.
Billy’s left eyelid twitches. With long, determined strides he goes after her and catches her on the front porch with a hand around her elbow. He can feel himself losing it and it takes all the good intentions he’s got in him to keep himself from physically yanking Max back into the house.
“Maxine,” he says, a low growl in the back of his throat. “I am about to lose my cool with you. Get back inside right this second or I swear to go I’ll ground you for the rest of the month.”
Max is completely still as she regards him with a glare so full of furious fire, Billy can almost feel it scorching his very soul. He expects her to scream the whole neighborhood into oblivion, but her voice is eerily calm when she looks down to where Billy is gripping her arm and says, “Let. Go. Of. Me.”
She sounds a little like she did back in November, when she still hated him. When she was still afraid of him.
Billy lets her go.
Max kicks up her skateboard and runs down the front lawn to the street. She stops for a second, one foot on the board, and looks to where Billy’s still standing on the porch like an idiot.
“Fuck you, Billy Hargrove,” she says. It carries in the silent evening air.
And then Billy watches his little sister skate down the street on her way to her boyfriend’s empty house.
Shit.
*
Billy is pacing up and down the kitchen floor as far as the telephone cord will let him, repeatedly clenching and unclenching his jaw. His feelings are stuck somewhere between panic, regret and fury – it’s chaos, so he’s calling the only person who could possibly help with that.
“My parents are here,” Steve whispers when he finally answers, “Give me two minutes, I’ll call you back from my room.”
The line goes dead and it takes all of Billy’s control not to rip the whole phone off the wall. When it dutifully rings again two minutes later, he picks up right away.
“Sorry ‘bout that, babe. What’s up?”
“Max just ran out on me.”
“…Come again?”
It takes Billy about three sentences, which he grits out through his teeth, to sum up the situation. His plea for advice goes unsaid.
Steve seems to sense that Billy’s at the end of his patience. He skips all the sensible feelings-talk and cuts right to the chase.
“Whatever you do, don’t go after her and try to drag her back home. Billy, do you hear me? That is just going to make it worse. You both need to cool off. Try to talk to her again tomorrow.”
“You don’t understand, I can’t just sit around here while she… while she-“
While she nothing, Billy! She’ll be fine. What are you gonna do? You can’t drag her out of the Sinclair house. You can’t stand guard and watch her through the window. You definitely cannot call Hopper on her because she’s not doing anything illegal and the mess would be infinitely bigger than it already is. The only thing you could do is call the Sinclairs’ place and ask her to come back so you can sort it out, but I doubt she’d agree to that. I know it’s hard on you, but you need to let her be. Billy, are you listening to me? Let her be. Try again tomorrow.”
Billy is listening. He’s in fact listing very intently, and he doesn’t like what he’s hearing at all. Except for one bit. Steve’s just given him an idea.
He clears his throat. “Thanks, Harrington. I gotta go.”
“What?” Steve blurts, “Go where? Billy, for the love of god, don’t go after her, don’t-“
Billy hangs up.
He grabs his keys and leaves the house.
Ten minutes later he pulls up across from the Sinclair house and kills the engine. The left window on the ground floor is ignited by the flickering light of a TV, showing the silhouette of the back of a sofa with two heads sticking out on top.
Billy breathes through his nose. He’s not going to go in, even though he wants nothing more than to drag Max out by her ear. Instead, he trains his eyes on the silhouette of her head and leans back to wait.
They don’t move from the sofa except for the occasional trip to the kitchen. There’s always two feet of space between the silhouettes of the two heads, even while they seem to be talking 90% of the time. It’s not hard to guess what, or rather who, they’re so animatedly discussing. Whatever movie they’re semi-watching flickers on while Billy sits in his car listening to the radio and chain-smoking.
Around 9:45 they start moving again. Billy’s fallen into a boredom-induced stupor and forcibly shakes himself out of it when the front door opens across the street. Max and Lucas hug goodbye on the patio, before Max skips down the front lawn to the street. She waves with one foot already on her skateboard, ready to go and be home by ten. Lucas waves back like a dork and shuts his front door.
Across the street, Billy takes a deep drag of his current cigarette to brace himself and turns the key in the ignition. Over on the side walk, Max looks up, startled by the Camaro’s motor rumbling to life in the silent street.
It’s too far and too dark for Billy too read her expression, but she stops in her tracks, goes still with one foot on the skateboard. She just looks over for a few beats.
Billy watches her back, equally unmoving, watches as she tips her head back slowly to look up to the sky. Billy thinks she’s breathing as deeply as he is. He thinks she’s fighting the urge to either just drive off on her skateboard, or throw said board through his windshield.
Then, in sudden movements, she kicks up the board and strides over. She doesn’t head for the passenger door, but raps her knuckles against Billy’s window.
He rolls it down slowly. Now that Max is close, her expression is easily discernible.
She’s furious.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” she hisses.
Billy takes one last pull of his cigarette and drops it out the window at Max’s feet.
“I’m picking you up,” he says, calmly, but he can feel himself boiling underneath (at her tone, at the look in her eyes, at her audacity) and knows that Max can feel it too.
“How long have you been out here?” she asks next, through gritted teeth.
Billy stays silent and that seems to be answer enough. Max’s jaw drops in slow-motion.
“Are you fucking serious?” she exclaims, voice climbing high at the end in her dismay.
“Get in.”
“Wha- no. Hell no!”
“I’m not discussing this with you right now, Maxine. Get in the car.”
“I don’t fucking think so,” Max says scathingly. She drops her skateboard to the floor, prepared to drive off. Billy can’t take it anymore.
“Max,” he says quietly, “please.”
Eyes still narrowed in anger, Max contemplates him for a moment.
Billy can tell the exact moment she gives in, because her shoulders drop just a little and her nose scrunches up, probably in disgust at herself for caving. She makes a point of stomping around the car and slamming the door. Billy drives off, tires screeching, the second her seatbelt clicks.
They don’t talk for several minutes, each of them stewing in their anger, tension rising ever higher between them. Billy can feel it crackling between them, like high voltage electricity about to electrocute them.
Sure enough, just when they turn onto Old Cherry, Max breaks. Slaps her hand against the dashboard and rounds on him in her seat.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!”
“No, what the hell is wrong with you, Max,” Billy retorts immediately, “You can’t just run away like you did and then expect me to be fine with it!”
“Oh my - I did not run away, you overdramatic asshole! I went out. I went to watch a movie with my boyfriend! You’re the one who followed me there and sat out front in his car for two hours like a goddamn guard dog or some shit! What did you think was going to happen? Did you think we’d set the house on fire? Throw a party and take drugs? Have sex?”
“Jesus! No!” Billy parks the car haphazardly in their driveway and strides after Max, who barely waited for the car to come to a halt before climbing out and hurrying towards the house.
“Then what?” Max hisses, as she fumbles to unlock the door with her trembling hands. “What? Did you think I wasn’t going to come back? Do you really trust me that little?”
She finally succeeds in throwing the front door open and thunders inside, chucking her bag and skateboard to the side.
“Shut up, Max, this is not about trust!”
Billy slams the door shut behind them and Max gets loud at once.
“Of course it is!”
“No, no, see, this is about you being a disobedient little brat!”
“WELL I DON’T HAVE TO OBEY YOU!” Max screams, hair flying as she whips her head around to get in Billy’s face. “How many times, Billy?! When are you going to fucking understand that you’re not the boss of me?!”
Billy throws caution into the wind and screams right back. “When are YOU going to understand that you can’t always do what you want to do?! When are you going to understand that there are consequences to your actions?!”
Max actually laughs at that. “Consequences? You wanna talk to me about consequences? I don’t know anyone who thinks less about consequences than you do! Especially not when it’s other people, or their feelings, at stake. And why is that? Oh right, ‘cause you’re an egoistic, self-centered asshole. You - are - an - asshole,” she repeats forcefully.
She calls him an asshole at least three times a day, but it rarely stings like this.
It must be nice to still be able to forget things so easily, to cling to the comfort of old realities that don’t yet involve abusive parents. Billy wonders what Max would say if he told her exactly what kind of consequences he would’ve faced, had he pulled what she just did at her age, with his dad. He feels his anger grow cold, feels the remnants of his former fury, of the Neil-shaped, psychotic monster stir under his skin. It scares the living daylights out of him.
“Oh yeah?” he goes, fighting to keep his voice steady, “Well I got some news for you, kiddo. So are you. You’re an asshole, too, Max.”
“Great,” Max snaps, but her voice is bruised. “I guess that’s the only thing we’ll ever have in common, huh?”
With that, she turns on her heel and storms off to her room. The door slams hard enough to make Billy flinch.
If anyone on their street hasn’t heard their screaming, they’ve definitely heard that.
Sure enough, the phone goes off seven minutes later, most of which Billy has spent on a kitchen chair with his head in his hands. He waits a little to see if the ringing will coax Max out of her room, but it doesn’t. He picks up and is not at all surprised to hear Hopper’s gruff voice on the other end.
“Hey, Chief.”
“What’s going on over there, Bill? Do you need me to come down?”
“No, Chief. We’re okay.”
The line is silent for a beat, and Billy knows Hopper doesn’t believe him.
“We got a call from a neighbor of yours,” he explains slowly, “Said that there was some sort of loud fighting going on at your place just now. Apparently she’s been on high alert since Christmas and was worried that your father was back.”
“He’s not.”
The chief is quiet for another few seconds. “So everything’s alright? You guys doing good?”
Billy almost smiles at that question, because he hears it for what it is. “Max is fine. She just locked herself into her room. I didn’t hurt her, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“It’s not.”
Billy rubs a tired hand over his face. “We just got into a fight, Hop. It got loud. It’s not great, but we’ll manage. You never got into a screaming match with El before?”
Hopper’s answering chuckle is weary. “Sure did. Alright, kid, try to keep it down for the rest of the night. I don’t wanna have to file a noise complaint against you. And, Billy?”
“Chief?”
“Call if it ever gets too bad.”
The line goes dead, but Billy keeps standing there with the phone in his hand and the annoying beeping in his ear. The kitchen is dark and quiet around him. After a moment of thought (or lack thereof), he dials Steve’s number for the second time that evening.
Steve picks up, but he doesn’t say anything. Billy can hear him breathing through the line.
“Hey,” he tries.
“Did you go after her?” Steve asks evenly, right away, and Billy flushes with shame.
“Not… exactly.”
Steve doesn’t say anything while Billy recounts the details of their second fight. The longer he talks, the more he realizes how ridiculous his words sound to his own ears.
After he’s done, Steve sighs deeply.
“So let me get this straight – instead of giving Max time to cool down and trying again tomorrow, you went after her and sat outside Lucas’ house for hours, while she did pretty much exactly what she said she was going to do. Then you forced her to let you take her home, got into a huge and very predictable fight in which she rightfully called you out on your bullshit, and then you called her an asshole. Does that sum it up?”
Billy is pacing up and down the counter, tugging on his hair, not replying. Everything is fucked up and Steve is right again and Billy just wants to be done.
He also kind of wants to point out that asshole is basically Max’s petname for him, so it really shouldn’t be that big of a deal.
Steve sighs again. “Babe, I say this with the utmost affection, but you really need to stop making this worse for yourself.”
At that, Billy loses it a little – approximately for the third time tonight.
“You just – Jesus fuck, you just don’t get it! Do you have any idea what it’s like to constantly be around someone who always fights you on everything? Max never stops complaining and bickering and being a huge pain in my ass. It’s like it’s her goal in life to annoy the living hell out of me – and she’s getting there! I don’t have a second of peace! She’s always on me about something, she takes her every bad mood out on me, and even if she’s not here, I constantly worry about what idiotic things she’s up to with her friends this time! I just got rid of my dad! Things were supposed to be better! She is a goddamn nuisance and I’m fucking tired of being around her!”
There’s silence on the other end of the line once more.
The sound of a floorboard creaking quietly behind him makes Billy turn his head. He freezes with the receiver pressed to his ear.
Max is standing in the doorway. And she doesn’t look like she just got there.
Shit.
“Are you done?” Steve says finally, sounding pissed. “’Cause with all that complaining, you conveniently forgot the part where you really do want Max around – just not this specific version of her. You just want Sweet Max – you know, like how I prefer Cute Billy to Asshole Billy every now and then? But that’s not how people work. They have layers… Like onions… which you have to peel off -- okay, alright, at this point you should’ve long since cut me off, are you even listening to me?”
Oh, sure, Billy’s listening. Something about onions. Theoretically, Billy has heard every word of Steve’s lecture, but he is honestly not comprehending a single one of them. He’s way to busy panicking.
“Billy?” Steve says in his ear. “Are you still there?”
He makes a small, undefinable sound in reply.
Max is looking at him, pale-faced and wide-eyed, and he’s looking right back and it feels like there is a divide the size of Grand Canyon opening up between them. There’s no denying it – she must’ve heard almost everything he just said, or she wouldn’t look so… rejected.
On the line, Steve is beginning to sound worried. “What’s going on? Is… is she there? Is Max there?”
“Yeah,” Billy croaks out.
“Did she hear you?”
“Yeah.”
“Ah, fuck,” Steve breathes out, accurately summing up how Billy’s feeling right now.
He and Max are still staring at each other. Billy has no way to describe the atmosphere in the kitchen right now. He doesn’t understand the communication that’s going on between them, has no idea what’s going on in her head. All he can do is stare at her eyes, which are slowly filling up with tears. He’s lost for words.
“Billy,” Steve says, forcibly calm. “Give her the phone. If you can’t talk to her, let me.”
In slow motion, Billy obeys. He holds the receiver out to Max, who looks at it incomprehensively.
“Steve,” Billy explains quietly, “Wants to talk to you.”
Max starts moving again. She swallows heavily, shakes her head minusculely and reaches for the receiver.
As Max listens to whatever excuse or explanation Steve is coming up with to talk her down, vaguely nodding along and rubbing her face, Billy remains frozen by the counter. He thinks about walking out on her and going for a drive in the Camaro, preferably all the way back to California. Thinks about breaking into Neil’s old liquor cabinet, getting black-out drunk and skipping school tomorrow. Thinks about curling up in a ball and pretending like tonight never happened.
He thinks about apologizing.
Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, Max clears her throat, says, “’Kay, bye, Steve,” and hangs up the phone.
She wraps her arms around herself before turning to Billy. It’s impossible to tell what she’s thinking, but at least she doesn’t look mad or like she’s about to cry. Billy wills himself to speak.
“Listen, Maxie--“
“I’m fine,” she interrupts at once, but she’s not too harsh about it. “It’s fine. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”
She waits for the slight inclination of his head, all the while looking at a place above his right shoulder.
“I’m going to bed. So are you. You’re not going to do anything stupid, got it?”
It does not sound like a question. Billy nods again.
“Okay. Night.”
“Night,” Billy replies automatically. His voice gives out halfway through.
With one last jerky nod of her own, Max turns away and walks out, leaving Billy alone in the dark kitchen once more.
*