Chapter Text
Steve leaned against his car and rolled his head back, watching as tendrils of cigarette smoke curled through the air.
Not his. His step-brother had recently talked him out of the habit, if only because he threatened to tell Claudia. And if Dustin told Claudia, next thing you knew, she’d be complaining to Steve’s dad. And it wouldn’t matter if he’d literally just hit the road; old David Harrington would turn right back around to put the fear of God into his son, if only for inconveniencing his wife. Next thing you know, he’d use it as an example of Steve’s “irresponsibility,” and Steve would be stuck working for him as punishment. Insurance and benefits and all that adult stuff.
Once the smoke went up high enough, Steve noticed, you could pretend that they were just a dark strain of clouds. High away, all their problems hidden. Steve wished he could hide his problems so easily.
He tried so hard to pretend that everything was normal. That his step-brother’s best friend hadn’t come back from the dead a year ago. That Steve didn’t have nightmares every night about what lay behind that tree, what had shrieked as it burned in the Wheelers’ house. That one of his best friends was dead. And it wasn’t Steve’s fault.
Steve squeezed his eyes shut. And once again, he sent out an apology.
I shouldn’t have had that party. I shouldn’t have left you there.
He hoped that, wherever Tommy was--be it heaven, hell, or stuck in the Upside-Down with that goddamn monster--he heard it. Made Steve feel a little better about everything.
Well, he pretended it did. And, like they did with everything else, the lies fell flat. Hollow.
Steve wondered if the lies that Hawkins Lab fed to the Hagans were any better.
Then he remembered their faces last time he and Billy had gone over for dinner with him. Drooping, hushed voices. Fake smiles.
Yeah, right. No point kidding himself. It’d be less pain for everyone. Especially tonight.
Steve heard Billy quietly swear to his right. Steve opened his eyes, turning to see Billy tossing his cigarette to the parking-lot concrete. The fair-haired senior winced--a small, barely noticeable twitch in the face--and rolled his shoulder.
The words came out of Steve’s mouth unbidden, automatically, despite knowing the response: “You okay?”
Billy waved a hand at him, leaning back on the hood of Steve’s car. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, Harrington.”
Billy crossed his arms, locking his gaze on the students, middle and high school alike, mingling, talking, and, in more boring cases, heading straight into the school buildings. His gaze followed four kids--or, more specifically, a certain raven-haired boy. One who laughed along with his friends, but kept his head down low. Like he was waiting for something to attack, and was trying to hide.
Steve could see twinges of pain in Billy’s eyes. The senior probably thought it was well-hidden, and it was. However, it was hard to be someone’s best friend from childhood without picking up a few of their cues.
Like Steve had used to do with Tommy.
Steve knew what was going on. Despite having the best care that the Hawkins Hospital had to offer a year ago, Billy could still feel the pain from time to time. Still feel the claws digging into his shoulder. The vines in his throat. The blood pouring down his arm.
The doctors over at the Lab said it was some psychology shit. They called it phantom pain, something a ton of amputees from the war apparently went through. A subset of post-traumatic stress disorder, Steve was pretty sure. The same thing they said every time Mike had his visions.
Steve thought that was bullshit. Then again, every time there was a bump in the night, you wouldn’t find him asleep in bed.
You’d find him at the door, gun in hand, loaded and cocked, praying that whatever it was hadn’t gotten to his little brother.
Billy was all Steve had left. After Tommy had “disappeared,” Carol had split off and joined whatever clique held the most popular girls. When they passed in the halls, she didn’t even look in his direction. Steve had always thought that she had only stayed his friend because of Tommy, but the truth still hurt.
But Steve couldn’t talk to Billy about the nightmares. About the psychology shit. Whatever Steve knew of Billy, he learned through quiet watching and making connections. Billy refused to acknowledge that last year had ever happened. That he hadn’t been pulled in, running after the screams of his friend. That he’d failed to save that friend, and had instead tried to keep a twelve-year-old-kid alive. That he paid the price, and was hardly able to even play basketball anymore. That he was dying on the inside, and still had to deal with his bastard dad every morning.
Steve didn’t know who else to talk to. Barb, he guessed; she’d been just as shell-shocked by the entire thing as he had. But something about her just rubbed him wrong.
And, of course, there was Nancy. But Steve… he didn’t know. The anniversary of Mike’s disappearance was coming up, and stress had to be high in the Wheeler family. He didn’t want to bother her, especially during this time of year. And besides, what would he even say? “So, hey, want to talk about that super traumatic thing that happened that we haven’t even mentioned for, like, a year?”
Really, aside from the whole “Upside-Down” thing and the shared NDAs, the only things they had in common were… well, they both had shit-faced little brothers. They were both good shots with a gun. But other than that, nada.
She was a junior, he was a senior. She was poor, he was rich. She was a good sister, and half the time, Steve forgot to even pick Dustin up from school. He knew for a fact that her grades were far better than his.
In a flash, Steve remembered the papers, shoved into his backpack. His college application. His slapdash hope that maybe, he could avoid working for his bitch of a dad.
It was stupid. He’d worked on it all night, trying to get the words to come out and to organize the letters so they didn’t look like shit, but he knew it sucked major ass. He’d lost his train of thought halfway through, and--he think he wrote about his grandpa and the Nazis or something? He tried to list his accomplishments, but the best things he’d ever done, he couldn’t tell anyone about under the penalty of lawsuits so expensive that even David Harrington would sweat. Which only left basketball and swimming, but, honestly, no one bothered to care about the teams who didn’t win. Not that it was ever Steve’s fault; but, again, no one bothered to care.
He wondered what Nancy would think about it.
“Would you look at that,” Billy said blandly, shaking Steve out of his thoughts. He nodded his head, staring at something over Steve’s shoulder. “There’s a new kid on the block.”
Steve turned around to see a Ford Galaxie pulling into the school parking lot. Its yellow-green paint was chipped, and, frankly, ugly; it looked like it was on the brink of giving up on life; and it seemed to be approximately thirteen years old. As it slid to a halt, Steve could see the license plate.
California. Huh.
When it slid to a halt, two kids clambered out of it; some kid Dustin’s age and a junior, who shared the same unfortunate haircut. The junior was shouting at the kid, who bowed his head and hopped onto a skateboard-- of all things--and wheeled away. The junior sighed and opened the trunk, scavenging through his backpack.
Billy’s eyes followed the kid, narrowed. Suspicious. His lips stretched into a devilish grin. “Why don’t I go say hello?”
Steve sighed. “Billy--”
“Rip that stick out of your ass, Harrington,” Billy shot back. “I’m not going to hurt him. I just need to…” He thought for a moment before smiling. “Establish myself.”
Of course. Of course, even the Upside-Down wouldn’t change him. He’d always just be the same jackass, intent on keeping his crown as King of Hawkins High and on beating on those smaller than him, wouldn’t he?
Steve fumed, searching for a response. Some sort of retort, to get Billy to drop it and leave it be. He was thrown off-guard, though; after Billy’d been let out of the hospital and into the school, he’d kept to himself. Always quiet. Constantly wearing long-sleeved shirts or jackets, hiding his scars. Eventually, Steve had watched as Billy pulled together some scraps of his previous popularity, establishing a shaky position as top-dog, but even then, he hadn’t gone after some of his old methods of… entertainment. The same had lasted into their senior year.
And now, here Billy was. Back to normal. Like nothing had ever changed.
Steve threw his hands into the air. “You know what, fine. Have at it! It’s not like I can stop you.”
Billy smirked at him, giving him a pat on the shoulder that Steve had to lean into to avoid staggering. “Good boy, Harrington.”
Steve glowered at him, but said nothing as Billy tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans, rolled his shoulders one last time--stifling the pain that washed across his face--and strode across the parking lot.
Steve sighed, rolling his head back to stare at the sky. At the clouds, weaving, mixing, dissipating, but slowly moving forever forward across the endless sky.
Nothing ever changed.
But bit by bit, everything moved on.
And Steve was the only one who couldn’t keep up.