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Harrington’s palm is clammy against Billy’s own. He’s talking California-in-the-summer levels of sweat. It’s like holding onto a dead fish.
“Stop fuckin’ sweating,” he gripes.
Harrington turns those Bambi eyes on him. “Let go of my hand, then.” He tries to pull it out of Billy’s grasp.
Billy tightens his grip. “No.”
“Then don’t complain about my sweat.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Actually, that’s-” Billy knows the rest of the spiel by heart. That’s your job, actually; you work for me. My father pays you to do what I ask of you.
Your father pays me to babysit you, princess.
Billy slaps a hand against Steve’s mouth, muffling the rest of his monologue. Steve makes an affronted noise, and Billy hisses, “Someone’s coming.”
That shuts him up, but Billy doesn’t take his hand away. It’s got a lot more to do with Steve’s lips than he’d like to admit.
“Where are those rats?” a familiar female voice asks. Billy’s blood runs cold.
“They gotta be in here somewhere,” someone replies. “They can’t have gotten far.”
“Find them. And bring them to me alive.” Her grin is audible when she says, “You know I like to play with my food.”
“Yes, boss.”
The staccato clack of her heels fades away, and Billy finally removes his hand. Steve doesn’t wait a second to spit, “Your hand is sweatier than mine!”
Billy can’t believe he’s going to die for this man.
(He’d like even less to admit he’d do so willingly.)
💎
CASA DI HARRINGTON
MARCH 16TH, 1977
8:12 PM
It all starts with Robin.
(If you go just a couple steps beyond that, it all starts with Harrington begging Billy to take him rollerblading and Billy’s answer being a resounding, “No.” But Billy likes to think of himself as having saved Harrington from the embarrassment of hanging around a bunch of fourteen-year-olds on their first dates. Steve’s dad doesn’t pay him enough, really.)
More accurately, it starts with Robin coming back after a phone call all blushy and starry-eyed, and Steve Harrington sticking his big nose in it.
“Who’s got you all twitterpated?” Steve asks, like he’s seventy. He’d fit right in with the grannies at the roller rink.
“Is it Heather?” Billy draws out her name; sings the ‘e’ sound, rolls the ‘r’ on his tongue.
“Who’s Heather?” Steve ‘the Nose’ Harrington asks immediately, and Robin glowers at Billy. He beams back.
“Buckley’s lady love,” he drawls. Robin looks like she’s trying to make Billy crumble to dust with her glare. “Her little fluffy muffin.”
“That’s what she calls her?” Steve is practically vibrating with delight.
“No, I don’t,” Robin snaps, before Billy can do further damage (as if he’s not going to spin Steve a sickly-sweet, grossly sentimental tale the minute he gets an opening). “Hargrove, you’re a twat.”
Billy makes a kissy face, and she grimaces.
“How come I’ve never heard of Heather before?” Steve asks.
“’Cause we met, like, a week ago. She works at that diner near the carwash- you wouldn’t know, rich boy- and I didn’t dare hope she was into chicks until I caught her staring at my tits.”
“What tits?” Billy quips, and is rewarded with Robin’s shoe on his face. “You know I’m not giving this back, right?”
“Keep it; I stepped in dog shit today morning.”
“What’s she like?” Steve asks impatiently. “Tall, short, white, black-”
“Heather’s, like, the whitest fucking name ever, Harrington.”
Steve flips him off. “How old is she? Does she have siblings?”
“She’s my age. Goes to Indiana Tech. A little taller than me. No, she doesn’t have siblings, and-” Robin sighs. “Yes, she’s white.”
“Told ya.”
“Does she like dogs or cats? Or maybe neither?” Steve’s face clouds over. “Don’t date someone who doesn’t like animals, Rob. That’s, like, the first red flag.”
“I’m not particularly fond of dogs or cats,” Billy pipes up.
Steve gives him a baleful look. “Billy, you are the red flag.”
“We haven’t gone out yet. Our first date’s next week.” Robin bites her lip. “I’m kinda nervous. I really like her, you guys.”
Steve coos. “What’re you going to do?”
“I was thinking we could go out for some coffee, get to know each other better…” Robin trails off dreamily. “Unless she doesn’t like coffee.”
“Who doesn’t like coffee?”
“I don’t,” Billy says.
Steve’s face sours. “No wonder you’re single.”
“Hey, I got people linin’ up for a taste of this.” Billy gestures to his body. “Just ’cause you haven’t seen ’em doesn’t mean they aren’t there, Harrington.”
“Oh, yeah?” Steve snorts. “When’s the last time you got laid, Casanova?”
“Last night.” Billy winks at him. “Send your mom my regards.”
It’s a stupid thought, but Billy can’t help thinking Steve is real pretty when he’s mad.
(It’s even stupider to think that maybe that’s why Billy likes riling him up so much.)
“No wonder I’m a lesbian.” Robin sighs. “I’m gonna go to bed. You two sort out your lovers’ tiff. Just don’t kill him, Billy; I like the pay.”
“You don’t think I could take him?” Steve snaps, and, yeah, this is a bad time to think about that double entendre, Hargrove.
“Hargrove’s built like a brick shithouse. You’re-” Robin clams up. “Good night, guys.”
She skedaddles. “Coward,” Steve calls after her.
When he turns back around, Billy flexes his arm. Steve rolls his eyes. “Dickhead.”
“You wound me, Harrington.”
Steve rolls his eyes again. Keep rollin’ those eyes, mister, and they’ll roll right outta your head, Billy’s momma used to say. He pictures Steve’s eyeballs falling out of the sockets. Billy’d pick them up and put them in his pocket. Awful pretty eyes, those are. Like- amber, or something. Topaz. Whatever, he’s not a poet.
“So, what are we gonna do about Robin and Heather?” Steve asks.
Billy stares at him. “The hell are you talking about?”
“Robin and Heather,” Steve says patiently. “Our friend Robin and her new beau Heather. Robin Buckley and Heather Idon’tknowwhatherlastnameis-”
“Smartass.” Steve grins like a goon. “What do you mean, what are we gonna do? We ain’t doing shit. What, you’re all of a sudden a love expert, Harrington?”
“No. But neither is Robin.”
Billy scoffs. “She’s literally the only one of us seeing someone at the moment, so I’m not too sure your point holds up, pretty boy.”
“So you’re not getting laid.” Billy wants to punch Steve’s face. Or kiss it. He’s still trying to sort that out. “She’s not going to be seeing Heather much longer if she doesn’t step up her game, though.”
“Sure, Aphrodite.”
“Is that the sexy one?”
Billy definitely wants to punch Steve now (and then he’ll kiss it better). “Yeah. That’s the sexy one.”
“Knew it.” Steve grins like the cat that got the canary. “We gotta help Robin.”
“I don’t remember agreeing to this.”
“I need you, Billy,” Steve says, and it sounds a lot more different from the way he’d said it in that dream Billy had a couple nights ago, but he’s going to take what he can get, goddammit- “You’re the one who can drive.”
Billy narrows his eyes. “Drive? Where?”
Steve grins again.
Dammit. Billy should’ve just taken him rollerblading.
💎
BENNY’S DINER
MARCH 17TH, 1977
4:26 PM
Harrington had walked out of the house looking like he was going for the opera. Billy, in his old jeans and older shirt, looks a schlub.
Steve’s fur coat (faux fur, because of the guy’s bleeding heart) billows around him on the red leather seats. He prods his cheeseburger with his fork. “Is it just me, or does this look like it might sprout legs?”
Billy chomps down on his own burger. “Yeah, the food here is shit.”
Steve looks up, betrayed. “Why the hell do you guys come here, then?”
“It’s cheap. There’s a TV. Hot staff. Take your pick.”
“Fucker.” Steve takes a bite of his burger, wincing on every chew. “Speaking of hot staff, where’s Heather?”
“Her shift starts at four.”
“It’s half past.”
“She’s extremely punctual. Real hardworking gal. Couldn’t ask for better service.”
On cue, a girl bursts through the doors just then. She’s wearing her shirt inside-out, and her hair looks like she experimented with a fork and an electrical socket. “Sorry I’m late!” she gasps.
Billy grins. “There she is.”
Heather wheels around at the sound of his voice, and her face splits into a blinding grin. No wonder Robin’s gone for her.
“Fred!” she exclaims happily.
Steve chokes on his burger. “Fr-” Billy kicks him underneath the table.
“Hey, Heather.” Billy turns on the charm. Force of habit. Plus, Heather’s a brunette with big brown eyes, and if Billy squints really hard, he can make her look a bit closer to his type.
His type stretches an arm across the table, grinning from ear to ear. “Pleasure to meet you, Heather.”
Heather accepts the outstretched hand in both of hers. “Pleasure’s all mine. Sorry, I didn’t get your name?”
“Daphne.” Billy steadfastly avoids Steve’s glare. “It’s Italian,” he tells a curious Heather. “Y’know, like Bernini, Giovanni. Daphne.”
“That’s so cool!” Heather gushes.
“Sì,” Steve replies through clenched teeth.
“It was nice meeting you, Daphne.” She sounds so genuine, even Steve’s glare melts off his face. “I gotta get to work, now, though.” She mimes shooting herself in the head. Billy’s got a gun with him if she’s willing to commit. “Let me know if you need anything!”
“Actually, yeah.” Steve smiles prettily. Billy’s heart skips a beat. “Can we get two coffees?”
💎
CASA DI HARRINGTON
9:17 PM
On the bright side, Harrington’s preoccupation with meddling in Robin’s love life means…
… Billy’s still trying to think of that bright side.
“She’s sweet,” Steve declares. “A bit naïve, but we can work with that.”
Billy snorts. “A bit? Rob could whip a gun out in front of her and she’d believe it if we told her it was a bowling ball.”
“She’s got a good heart,” Steve says diplomatically. “She’s good for Robin. Or, well,” Steve winces, “Wilhelmina.”
“Willie for short,” Billy adds helpfully.
Steve groans. “Why don’t either of you pick cooler names for yourselves? You could call yourself anything in the world and people would be none the wiser.”
“Easy to remember. Easier to forget. A weird name’s gonna stick in someone’s head for a while.”
“I’m just saying. You could be James, but only you’ll know it stands for James Dean.”
Billy can’t resist a smarmy grin. “I remind you of James Dean, Harrington?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Too late. Already flattered.”
Steve chucks a pen at him. Billy catches it between two fingers, and sticks it in his mouth like a cigar. “Guess who.”
Steve’s eyes light up. “You gotta do the accent.”
The corners of Billy’s mouth twitch up, and it ruins the effect, kinda, but Steve doesn’t seem to mind. “Ey, you know who I am?”
Steve chokes on a giggle. “’Fraid not.”
“What was that?” Billy pulls the pen out and pretends to blow smoke in Steve’s face. “You don’t know me, ey? The most powerful guy in the Cosa Nostra? You’ll wish you didn’t know me when I’m done with you.”
Steve snorts. A little piggish, but cute nonetheless. “You actually sound like my dad. It’s kinda creepy.”
“Call me ‘daddy’, then.” He’s only half-joking.
“In your dreams, Hargrove.”
(Funnily enough, in his dreams, Steve does call him ‘daddy’ quite often. Billy keeps that to himself.)
“What Robin needs to do is a grand gesture.” Steve demonstrates exactly how grand it is by spreading his arms wide. “Something that will knock Heather off her feet.”
“I find a good right hook usually does the trick.”
“You’re going to die alone.”
“Working this job?” Billy smirks. “You’re gonna get me killed sooner or later.”
“You know you’d die for me.”
“Because of you,” Billy says out loud. In his head, he adds, In a heartbeat.
💎
BENNY’S DINER
MARCH 20TH, 1977
11:27 AM
Harrington’s idea of a grand gesture turns out to be a hell of a lot bigger than his armspan.
Billy spews chunks of burnt pancake all over the table. “You want to what?”
“Look at her, Billy.” Steve jerks his chin towards Robin (Wilhelmina), who is flirting (quote, unquote) with Heather. “She needs help.”
“Yeah, with how to act around pretty girls, not-” Billy lowers his voice, “- a fucking diamond.”
“It’s romantic,” Harrington insists. The effect is somewhat dampened by his milk moustache. “Diamonds are in. And this one is, like, super in.”
Billy scoffs. “Super in a goddamn vault.”
“Actually, it’s on display in their parlor. Glass case, velvet pillow. Tiny light above it like it’s the world’s most reflective opera singer. And the most expensive one, too. It’s the Wheelers’ most prized possession.” Steve leans over the table. “Nancy used to say, in the case of an emergency, Mrs. Wheeler came first, Great-Nana’s diamond next, and then the rest of the family.”
“Which is exactly why this is a suicide mission.” Billy groans, dropping his head into his hands. “Why can’t we just go to Tiffany’s, like normal people?”
“Because nothing in Tiffany’s holds a candle to the Wheeler Diamond.” Steve says this like Billy is being the unreasonable one. Which is quite fucking golden. “Robin’s coming back- quick, pretend we’re having a normal conversation!”
Billy waits until Robin is well within earshot to say, “Harrington, you’re a dumbass.”
Steve looks affronted. Even more so when Robin snorts, and says, “I have no context, but I agree.”
Bet Harrington regrets vowing to get her that diamond now.
💎
CASA DI HARRINGTON
MARCH 24TH, 1977
2:49 AM
He doesn’t.
In fact, the plan grows limbs over the days. Huge ungainly legs and arms and paws and claws; great taloned wings like a bird of prey. And Billy is the poor rabbit about to become its supper.
It’s all Steve’s been able to talk about, and it’s coming close to driving Billy veritably insane. Every moment they spend without Robin is an emergency meeting to discuss The Plan.
“You think they’ll give our bodies back?” Billy asks once, during a rare lull in Steve’s monologue. “Or are we sleeping with the fishes?”
“You’re such a pessimist,” Steve chides.
“Glug, glug,” Billy says under his breath.
The few moments of bliss Billy gets is when he’s in bed, but Steve’s taken to cropping up in his thoughts even when he’s not there. So that’s fucking delightful.
His dreams have gotten especially wilder.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Billy asks his dick, waking up to find it standing at full attention. Vestiges of his dream linger in his mind, playing back like the highlight reel of a movie. Harrington is the shining star. “You’re unbelievable.”
His dick says nothing back. It’s not exactly the most consummate of conversationalists.
Billy gets a hand around himself, and thinks about boobs. Then he gives her a face; doe eyes, a heart-shaped mouth, and a wild mane of hair. Names her Steve.
Fuck.
“Fuck!” he shouts, then, because his door slams open.
“Oh, good; you’re up.” Harrington shuffles inside. “I need to talk to you.”
“What time is it?” Billy sits up on his elbows and squints at Harrington’s gangly silhouette, backlit by the hallway light.
“A little past two AM,” Steve says, which means it’s closer to three. “It’s about the plan.”
Billy groans. “And this can’t wait till morning?”
“Nope.” Harrington shuffles inside. “We should take the Beamer.”
Billy groans again. “That definitely could’ve waited till the morning, Harrington, what the fuck-”
“Not mine. My dad’s.” There’s no hiding the excitement in Steve’s voice. “I know where the keys are. We should go before he wakes up.”
Great. So if the Wheelers don’t make a rug out of Billy, Don Harrington most certainly will.
“Don’t worry, you won’t get into any trouble,” Steve says, like he’s read Billy’s mind. “I’ll tell Dad it was my idea.”
“Before or after he pulls my teeth out?” Maybe the Don will be kind enough to send Max a box of Billy’s teeth, strung into a necklace. It would go with her hair.
“He won’t pull them out. Dad prefers to have them crushed while they’re still attached to the gums.”
“That makes me feel so much better.”
“You’re welcome.” Billy can’t make out his face, but he knows Harrington is smiling. “We’ll leave at six. I’m gonna go get some shut-eye. You can get back to jerking off.”
Billy’s dick is into humiliation, apparently.
💎
A LONELY STRETCH OF HIGHWAY EN ROUTE TO THE WHEELERS’
7:25 AM
Steve’s playlist is titled Diamond in the Rough (“Real subtle, Harrington.”), and Billy is this close to chucking it- and Steve- out of the car.
“Would you shut the fuck up?” Billy grits through his teeth, not for the first time.
Steve looks Billy dead straight in the eye, takes a deep breath, and bellows, “Get that ice, or else no dice.”
Fuck’s sake.
Billy can’t believe he’s saying this, but, “Run me through The Plan once again, Harrington.”
Steve’s singing (for lack of a better word) cuts off abruptly. “Which part?”
The opening chords of a Cher song filter through the speakers. “From the top,” Billy says quickly.
“Okay. So. The Wheelers think we’re dropping by to talk business. Little do they know, our business is elsewhere.” How many times did Harrington rehearse this speech in front of the mirror? “I distract them with my good looks and charm-”
Billy covers up a snort with a cough.
“- and you sneak into the parlor, nab the diamond, and we’ll book it out of there.”
“Excellent.” Cher is still warbling in the background. “And this isn’t some elaborate plan to get back at Nancy?”
Harrington looks genuinely confused. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Robin told me you used to go out,” Billy says carefully. “And then she broke your heart for some guy who worked for the Wheelers.”
“Robin needs to mind her own goddamn business,” says Steve, the hypocrite, “but, yeah. She broke up with me and started going out with Jonathan a couple days later.”
“That’s bound to make someone resentful.”
“Yeah, well.” Steve shrugs. “I got over it. They’re better for each other than we ever were. I mean, between you and me,” He leans over, like he’s telling him a secret, like they’re not the only two people in the car and perhaps a fifty mile radius, “I used to be kind of a dick before I met Nancy.”
“Well, I’ll be.”
“I’m serious!” Steve insists. “She changed me for the better. I can’t hate her after that. You should consider yourself lucky you met the new and improved Steve Harrington, instead of the one I was before.”
“Ah, I dunno.” Billy flicks his eyes over and gives Steve a once-over. “Figure you could still improve in some departments.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
“Time and place, princess?”
Billy expects a snarky retort, for Steve to reach over the console and shove him and send them both careening to their deaths. What he doesn’t expect is the way Harrington goes a little pink.
He decides he likes it.
💎
THE WHEELER MANSION
9:03 AM
Steve might not hate Nancy Wheeler, but Billy sure does.
She’s a tiny, birdlike slip of a girl; nothing like the woman Billy had expected to have stomped all over Harrington’s heart. Her boyfriend is even worse; Jonathan Byers looks like the result of a wild night between a sewer rat and a waterlogged corpse, and it’s frankly astounding that anyone in their right mind would choose him over Steve Harrington.
Billy comes to the conclusion that Nancy is a moron. Nancy doesn’t seem to hold him in much higher regards, either.
Her mother, on the other hand, has not stopped giving Billy sultry looks since they walked through the doors. It’s been an uncomfortable half an hour.
“You haven’t touched your coffee, Billy,” Karen says all of a sudden.
All heads turn to look at him. Billy hides a grimace behind a smile. “It’s hot,” he lies.
“Is it?” Karen’s smile is predatory. “I would’ve thought you liked it that way.”
Billy gets the feeling that the conversation has veered far away from the topic of coffee.
“Mom,” Nancy interrupts. “You were telling Steve about New York.”
“Oh, yes.” Karen gives her daughter a tight-lipped smile. “I was.”
Billy tunes out the rest of the conversation, and focuses instead on Steve’s thigh, which he’s jiggling hard enough to register on the Richter scale. It’s doubtful that Steve is paying attention, either.
They’d passed by the parlor earlier, on their way to the dining room. Billy had given it a cursory glance as they’d walked by, but that had been enough; the diamond had a place of pride as the centerpiece of the room- the most glamorous sitting duck in history.
He’s trying to figure out a way to slip away to the parlor unnoticed, but then Karen announces breakfast. “You’ll have some, won’t you?” she asks, looking straight at Billy. “I bet you boys are hungry.”
“Sure, thanks,” Harrington says brightly, but the moment she’s out of the room (Nancy trailing behind her to help, Jonathan tailing Nancy like her shadow), he hisses into Billy’s ear, “Change of plans. You distract Mrs. Wheeler, I’ll grab the diamond.”
He’s given no time to protest, because the Wheelers (and their ugly shadow) bustle back in. Karen makes sure to give Billy another suggestive smile when she says, “It’ll be just a moment. I hope you like lots of sugar.”
If they make it out of here alive, Billy is going to kill Steve.
💎
1:21 PM
The light at the end of the tunnel seems grows dimmer and dimmer the longer Billy spends in Karen Wheeler’s presence.
It’s not that she’s repulsive. She’s actually a hell of a lot better-looking than her daughter (whichever poor bastard fathered Nancy must’ve been one ugly fucker, Billy reckons. Makes sense he’s not around anymore). And Billy would’ve welcomed her advances any other day, when he didn’t have a sword of Damocles hanging above his head. The horsehair is wearing thinner and thinner by the minute.
“So, Billy, tell me.” Karen swirls half an inch of wine around her glass. They’ve progressed from the table to the couch, and they’re well on their way to the bed if things keep going as they are. Steve made an excuse of needing to go to the bathroom, and Nancy and Jonathan fucked off somewhere too; Billy pictures them having gross awkward sex together, and wants to throw up. “What’s a man like you doing, working for Don Harrington? Surely you can do better?”
Is this a trap? It feels like a trap. “I can?” he settles for asking, pitching his voice low.
It has the desired effect. Karen leans closer, her eyes hooded and not at all hiding her intentions. “If you open your eyes and see what’s in front of you.”
Worse: it’s a line. “What are you saying?”
“You know what I’m saying.”
Billy doesn’t believe in a god or any higher power, but Harrington’s sudden appearance in the doorway is surely heaven-sent. “Billy? I wanna go now.”
Billy stands up, giving Karen a smile that is way more relieved than he’s letting on. “Duty calls.”
“Think about what I said, Billy,” she calls after him. “You’re a smart young man.”
“I will.” I won’t.
“What’d she tell you?” Harrington barely waits for them to be out of earshot. “Did she invite you to have hot, rough sex on the couch? Oh, Billy, you’re so big and strong and handsome-”
“Shut the fuck up.” Billy’s ears burn. “Did you get it?”
“Duh.” Steve pats his pocket. “Safe and sound.”
“You put a priceless heirloom in your jeans?” Billy hisses.
“They’re Levi’s.”
“Fuck’s sake.”
“Look, this is better. No one will suspect a-”
“They stole Great-Nana’s diamond!”
There’d been a reason Billy hadn’t liked Nancy Wheeler from the get-go.
“Run,” he mutters. He doesn’t wait for Harrington’s two brain cells to muster up a response before he yanks him along.
The Wheeler Mansion is a labyrinth of hallways and staircases. Billy is running blindly at this point, dodging the guards who’d materialized at Nancy’s shout.
He pulls Harrington in front of him. “Run! I’ll cover you!”
Harrington doesn’t dawdle. He puts those long legs to good use and runs down one winding staircase and up another. Billy has no idea where he’s heading, but he hopes to god that Steve does.
They end up in an area of the house cordoned off from the rest; the Harringtons have an entire wing not unlike it. Billy’s seen Steve’s father order the death of many men- and watched those orders be executed- all in that particular area. No doubt the Wheelers have an equally as nefarious use for theirs.
“Harrington, what the f-”
“It’s where they keep their stores.” Harrington stops outside a door. Billy strains his ears, but he doesn’t hear the ominous sound of footsteps over their heavy breaths. “Come on; we can hide inside.”
Naturally, the follow-up question would be, ‘stores of what?’, but that question is quite promptly answered. The fine white powder coating the room certainly isn’t all-purpose flour. Grandma bakes some of this into her cookies, and you’ll be seeing Jesus.
“C’mon.” Billy pulls Steve down behind a pile of sacks and tries not to inhale too much of the dust. Holding Steve’s hand is doing a good enough job of disorienting him, anyway. Faggot, Neil says from ten years ago.
Hell yeah, Billy replies. Have you seen Steve Harrington?
Steve gives it exactly twelve seconds before he starts fidgeting. Billy has half a mind to shove his nose into a sack- and then Karen Wheeler walks in.
Shit.
“So, here’s the plan,” Billy hisses into Steve’s ear, once he’s sure she’s gone. “I’ll distract them. You take my gun and run to the car. Whatever you do, don’t look back. And remind Robin to take some breath mints with her tonight.”
Steve’s pretty face contorts into a frown. “But what about you?”
“Don’t you worry about me.” Steve looks like he’s going to do exactly that, and worse, be loud about it. Billy hurriedly clamps a hand over his mouth again. “I’ll live, pretty boy. Swear on my life.” He grins.
Steve rolls his pretty, pretty eyes. “Idiot.” If it’s the last memory Billy’s gonna have of him, it’s a damn good one.
And then it gets even better, because Steve dives in and kisses him.
He pulls back before Billy gets to fully process that, holy shit, Steve Harrington just kissed him, and, holy shit, Billy’s probably going to pull the trigger on himself now, because he just got everything he ever wanted in life and more- “Now you have to keep your promise.” Steve’s eyes are bright and wide, shinier than any diamond. “Because you need to know what’s gonna happen next, right? You can’t let it end like this, can you?”
Billy swallows. “I- I can’t.”
“Good.” Steve smiles. “Don’t.”
And then he leaves.
It’s bonkers of him to expect Billy to be a fully functioning human being after all that, but, whatever. Billy’s always been more of a brawns over brain sort of guy anyway.
He counts to three hundred, and then steps out from his hiding place. “Hey, Karen!” he bellows. “That job offer still on the table?”
He gets a gun in his face for all his trouble. “I’ll take that as a no.”
That gets him a bag over his head.
He’s forced to trudge an eternity and a little longer, and then the barrel of a gun digs into his back. “Oh, thank God. I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me.”
“On your knees.” Karen’s voice sounds a hell of a lot different when she’s not trying to get Billy to sleep with her.
“Yes, ma’am.” Billy drops to his knees, and someone pulls the bag over his head. “Ah, thanks. Any chance you could get these wrist ties off, too?” He’s answered with silence. “Damn, tough crowd.”
“Billy Hargrove.” Karen is draped over a hefty wooden chair, a wine glance held delicately between her fingers. She circles the rim with a nail painted the color of blood. “Born in San Diego, California. Lived there until your dad got into some trouble with the mob, and you had to relocate to Hawkins. But trouble has a way of finding where you go, doesn’t it? It wasn’t long before Don Harrington had a gun to your father’s head, and an order for his son.” The fingernail halts its motion, and lips painted the exact same shade of red- Christ, was she going through a wardrobe change while Steve and I were running for our lives? – pull up into a grin. “You.”
Billy shouldn’t be surprised that she knows all of this. It’s still unnerving. “Me.”
“Did he put up a fight when the Don called for you?” The grin stretches wider. More, and you’d see her fangs. “Did he cry, did he protest, did he beg for another chance?”
It’s an old wound, but hell, if it doesn’t sting. “You already know the answer to that.”
And there are her fangs. “Yes, but I want to hear you say it.”
Billy swallows. “He didn’t.”
“Oh, you poor thing.” She pouts. “But you got yourself a cushy little job, working for the Harringtons. Things worked out for you, didn’t they? Unfortunately, not too well.” Her lips curl. “It really is a shame, Billy. If only you’d taken the chance while you had it.”
Billy runs his tongue over his teeth while he still has them. “You sure about that, Karen?” She shivers a little when he says her name, and a twinge of hope flickers to life in his chest. “Let me out of these ties, and I’ll show you a good time. Or keep ’em on, I don’t mind; we can have some fun that way, too.”
Her eyes glitter, and the twinge is a flame that glows brighter and brighter- “It’s a shame, but I’ll have to say no,” – and it’s extinguished, just like that. But she’s still smiling, except Billy doesn’t think he’s going to like her next words very much- “But I can go, ah, easy on you, if you’d be a little more transparent. Tell me where your master is,” – and whaddaya know, he was right.
Billy bares his teeth. “Oh my God, he’s growling; he really is Steve’s guard dog-” Nancy says, except- that’s not him. That doesn’t even sound like a dog. Actually, it sounds like-
Don Harrington’s Beamer crashes through the doors. Steve Harrington is at the wheel.
If this were a movie, this would be the moment where Billy says, “You came back for me?”, and Steve says, “Always will.” Except this isn’t a movie, and Billy’s got a split second before everyone else comes to their senses- including Steve, who looks like he’s gearing up for a heroic speech.
Instead, he says, “I was actually trying to park at the door and sneak in- I haven’t passed my driver’s test yet. Parallel parking escapes me-”
It buys Billy just enough time to make it to the car. He’s got a bullet in his arm and another shatters the windshield as he screams, “You know how to reverse, don’t you, pretty boy?”
Steve’s two brain cells don’t fail him now.
💎
A LONELY STRETCH OF HIGHWAY EN ROUTE FROM THE WHEELERS’
5:56 PM
Steve’s driving (for lack of a better word) gets them a couple of miles before Billy comes to the decision that he didn’t survive a mob boss with a grudge and a gunshot wound to die in a car crash.
“But- you’re bleeding out-” Steve protests.
“Ain’t the first time, princess. Sure as hell ain’t gonna be the last.” Billy runs his tongue over his teeth (all of them! They’re still there! Except for that cavity he got when he was thirteen, but eh, you win some, you lose some). “Now get your sweet ass over here.”
Did he lose a lot of blood, or has Steve always looked like an angel when he’s blushing?
They get out to swap seats, and Billy finally gets a good look at what driving through oak double doors does to a BMW. He whistles. “Forget about me, Harrington; daddy’s gonna have your skin in front of the fireplace.”
“My hair doesn’t go with the paneling,” Steve brushes it off. “Ebony and blond, on the other hand-”
He reaches out to muss up Billy’s hair. Billy grabs his wrist before he can. With his good hand, he curls a lock of Steve’s hair around his finger. “Thoughts on blond and brunet?”
Steve swallows. Blinks those pretty, pretty doe eyes. Forget putting them in his pocket; Billy’d get a display case rivalling the one for the Wheeler Diamond. Except he wouldn’t keep it out for the whole world to see; he’d hide it way jealously in his room, for his eyes only-
“You’re bleeding all over the place,” Steve observes. “We need to get you to a doctor.”
“Or Robin and a pair of tweezers,” Billy says under his breath, but follows Steve back to the car anyway.
Fortunately, Steve’s abandoned Diamond in the Rough. Unfortunately, he fiddles with the dial until he finds a frequency playing-
“So let them say your hair’s too long!” Steve belts. “’Cause I don’t care; with you, I can’t go wrong!”
It’s almost sundown, Billy’s tearing down a highway in his boss’s dinged-up car, with the steering wheel in one hand and a bullet in the other, and Steve Harrington’s pitchy voice is screeching in his ear.
Billy takes a breath, and bursts into a grin. “I got you, babe!”
💎
CASA DI HARRINGTON
6:26 PM
They make it back in one piece. Mostly. A solid third of Billy’s blood is on the Don’s seats. He’ll probably get another third wrung out when the Don finds out.
It’s a little hard to care when he’s got a lapful of Steve Harrington, though.
Ideally, it should be romantic. They should have each other’s dicks in their hands, and Billy should be waxing poetic about Steve’s, stopping long enough just so Steve can wax poetic about his. A scene right out of Shakespeare. Romantic Shakespeare, though; not the depressing-ass ones where there’s a bunch of misunderstandings and everyone fucking dies-
“Stop fucking squirming-”
“I would if you’d stop prodding me-”
“I’m gonna poke another hole through your arm-”
“Sure feels like you already did- it’s in my arm, Harrington, not my fucking bone marrow-”
“Found it!” Steve holds up a piece of bloody shrapnel between his tweezers. “You were saying?”
Billy smiles sweetly. “Thank you, Nurse Steve.”
Steve beams back. “That’s more like it.”
Robin walks in just as Steve’s trying to swipe the blood on Billy’s face and Billy is doing his level best to dodge it. “Do I even want to know?”
“Probably not,” Steve says pleasantly.
“Definitely not,” Billy corrects.
“Cool beans.” Robin gives them a wan smile. “Do you know you’re bleeding, by the way? Like, all over the place.”
Billy scowls. “We were getting to that, geez.”
“Right, right. So it just happened to slip your mind that you’ve got a gunshot wound in your arm?”
“I lost a lot of blood.”
“I have a fair idea where it went.” She looks pointedly at his crotch.
Billy looks down, too, just to be safe- but no, it’s just Robin being an asshat as usual. “Fuck you.”
“If things go according to plan, that’ll be Heather’s job.” Robin’s smile falters. “T-minus ten minutes. Do I look okay?”
“Actually, no. You’re missing something.” Thankfully, Steve puts her out of her misery before Robin keels over then and there. “A diamond!”
“A… what?”
“Lucky for you, I have just the one!” Steve lifts his ass off Billy’s thighs and juts it out towards Robin. It’s not the weirdest position they’ve been in. Doesn’t even scratch the top ten. “It’s in my back pocket.”
You’ve got to be kidding me. “You kept it in your jeans this whole time?”
“They’re Levi’s.”
The Wheeler Diamond is no less impressive in Robin’s hands than it is in a glass case. She stares at it for a whole minute, and then she whispers, “Do I even want to know?”
“Probably not,” Billy says.
“Definitely not,” Steve corrects.
Robin looks up, mouth agape. “Guys, I don’t know how to-”
“Then don’t.” Steve wiggles around until he’s sitting sideways in Billy’s lap. Billy feels like a pony. “Go. Get the girl. Diamonds might be her best friend, but she’ll never find a lover as good as you.”
Billy narrows his eyes. “How long have you been working on that line, Harrington?”
“Three whole days,” Steve says proudly. Billy doesn’t doubt it one bit. “At first, I was gonna say, ‘diamonds, blah blah blah, you’ll always be her lover’, but that feels a bit incomplete, don’t you think, and also vaguely threatening. And then-”
Robin cuts off his monologue (hallelujah!) by sweeping them into a tight hug. “You guys are the best-”
“Robin, my arm-” Billy whimpers.
“Shit, sorry.” She steps back, sniffling. “You should get that bandaged. And, uh, get some rest. Both of you. I don’t know what you went through to get this, and you keep telling me I don’t wanna know- but I want you guys to know that I love you, and I don’t say it enough, and I probably won’t say it again-”
“Please don’t; it’s sickening,” Billy interrupts.
“I’d throw my shoe in your face, but you’re bleeding, and these are Louboutins.” She sniffles again. “Is my makeup ruined?”
“Nah.” Steve smiles. “You look gorgeous. Now go get the girl. Diamonds might be her best friend, but-”
“Alright, alright, I’m going.”
Steve watches her leave like a fond parent. “They grow up so fast.”
“So do weeds.”
Steve, much to Billy’s amazement, responds to this with nothing but a small, secretive smile and a shake of his head. “Let’s get you cleaned up, before you bleed through the floorboards.”
“Red goes with ebony, though. But hey…” Billy waits for Steve to look up, which he only does after making sure that the bandage his tight. Then he checks it twice. When he goes for a third time, Billy taps his chin with his good hand. “You never told me what you thought about blond and brunet.”
Steve blinks real slow. “Figured I made my thoughts on that pretty clear.”
And, well, shit. “I… didn’t know if you meant it, or if it was in the heat of the moment.”
“It wasn’t.” Goddamn, his eyes. “So what’re you gonna do about it?”
“Well, for starters, as much as I love having you like this, you’re fuckin’ heavy.” Billy pretends to wince.
Steve rolls his eyes. “Deal with it.”
And Steve Harrington weighs a ton, and he’s got dried blood crusting his hands, but his mouth is on Billy’s, and holy fucking shit.
Am I glad I didn’t take him rollerblading.