The Neighbor's Cat (Billy Hargrove x OC // Stranger Things)

21. An Unpleasant Turn of Events

In all the romance movies she'd ever watched, when the I-hate-you-but-I'm-stuck-sharing-a-room-with-you protagonists ended up having to share a bed, there was usually a brief but intimate cuddle moment that occurred sometime in their peaceful slumber. Usually they would wake up, awkwardly untangle themselves, and then shuffle off pretending they hated it.

Randy wasn't accustomed to sharing beds with her enemies — or any man in general — and could only base her reality of bed-sharing on said romance movies. So when she woke up with the sun poking through her curtains the next morning, she wasn't quite sure what to expect. But apparently the movies were liars, because there was no entanglement of limbs, no refusal to meet eyes, and no butterflies in her stomach. In fact, the space that Hargrove had occupied when she had finally managed to drift off was now empty and cold.

She'd been ditched.

Her window was closed, which meant that he had either slipped out her front door or kindly slid the window shut behind him. When, she couldn't say. With how exhausted her mind and body had been, she doubted that even an air raid would have woken her up. But for some reason, she found an itching sense of disappointment in him not being there.

The realization made her want to slap herself. Sure, it was nice of him to keep her company after a terrifying, death-defying night. And sure, it felt strangely good to have him that close, to feel his body beside hers and to hear his rhythmic breathing as she drifted off. But to feel disappointed in him not being there when she woke up was just... wrong. Unnatural. And quite frankly, unfair.

Groggy and annoyed with herself, she glanced at the alarm clock on her nightstand and almost screeched.

10:30.

Steve was supposed to pick her up at eleven, and she was still in her pajamas, her hair a bird's nest, and her breath probably equal to Godzilla's.

Forcing her screaming body out of the comfort of bed, she hobbled her way to the bathroom to do the barest minimum possible. All the while she kept telling herself that she didn't care that Hargrove had left without saying goodbye, that sleeping beside him wasn't nice, and that she hoped his hair looked as bad as hers.

She kept repeating this little mantra to herself until a honk at exactly eleven o'clock told her that Steve was waiting for her in her driveway. Groaning, she eased her coat over her aching arms and pulled her sneakers onto her throbbing feet, two things that proved to be more of a science than they should. But it was more difficult getting back up than it had been getting down — her legs were so stiff, it felt like someone had switched them out for toothpicks, and if she pushed them too hard they might just snap in two. Thankfully, with lots of support from the couch, she managed to lift herself up with only minimal cracks and pops, and no snapping of bones.

With a cringe, she stumbled out of the house and slowly made her way down the rickety porch steps. When Steve saw her, he laid on the horn again, just to be obnoxious.

"I'm coming, you jerk," she bit out, hobbling towards his humming BMW. "Keep your pants on."

Popping the door open, she finagled her unhappy body inside.

"You look like shit," Steve said as he watched her struggle.

"Please shoot me," was all she said in return. "It would be less painful."

"Do you ever workout?" he asked, spinning the car around. "Like, ever?"

"Of course I do."

"Gym class doesn't count."

A pause.

Well, she'd tried it once or twice in her life. Mostly because it had been a gym grade, yes, but also because every young teenage girl wants to be fit and fabulous. That was before discovering, of course, the work and pain that comes with fit and fabulous. But what she'd felt that next day was normal: a little stiffness, a little ache. Unpleasant? Certainly. But after trying to outrun monsters and government workers for five hours? That pain was on a whole other scale.

"You know what, Meat Head? Last night wasn't exactly working out — it was a life or death situation. Or life or jail. Take your pick. I don't think a gym will prepare anyone for hours of outrunning the forces of evil."

"But if you did stay in shape, think of how much better you'd feel now."

"Are you seriously lecturing me about my health choices?"

He lifted his hands, keeping his palms on the wheel.

"You're right," he relented. "We should be talking Nancy. I'll lecture you later."

"Or we could postpone that lecture for never?"

"Nope." A pause as he kicked on his signal and turned left. "So... how'd you sleep?"

She shrugged and turned to stare out her window.

"Alright, I suppose. Given what happened."

It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth, either. She'd been trying really hard not to think too much about her and Hargrove's little tête-à-tête the night before. Mostly because it was embarrassing. Partly because she was still confused. And a tad bit because if Steve found out, he'd spontaneously combust. Even though nothing had happened between them and she didn't really have any reason to feel awkward, guilty, or embarrassed about it, somehow it felt like having him in her bed — or in her room at all — was like breaking some sort of silent law. Like she was a criminal to high school society.

On the flip side, she'd slept great.

She glanced at Steve, suddenly suspicious.

"Why?" she asked shrewdly.

He just lifted a shoulder, finger tapping on the wheel.

"Ah, it's just that after I saw that thing for the first time, up close and stuff, I didn't sleep that night." He bobbed his head. "Or... a few nights after that, I guess."


She almost wanted to tease him, but then she remembered how shaken she had been before Hargrove had arrived and her humor turned to humility.

"Yeah, sleeping is going to be difficult," she admitted. "It just keeps... I dunno. It just keeps appearing. Every time I close my eyes, I feel it. There. In my head, in my room. It's awful. How did you get over it?"

He looked thoughtful. "Not sure, actually. After a while it sort of just... stopped. But then again, I thought that kid had killed it, so my head just kinda got comfortable, I guess. It's a little different now that it's back."

"Kid?" Randy asked. "What kid?"

"Ah— yeah, long story. I'll tell you about her another time."

Gosh, last year must have been a party. She wasn't sure if she was glad she missed it or a little sorry. Then again, if she had been there, where would she be with her parents right now? And Hargrove?

"Well, I suppose it's time to commence Operation Get Nancy Back," she said, not wanting to dwell on topics that made her stomach sick. Turning to him, she surveyed his profile with calculating scrutiny. "Alright, buddy. What's step numero uno?"

"Er... apologize?" he guessed.

She made a buzzer noise.

"Wrong. First we stop and buy her flowers. Then what?"

"We... drive... to her house?"

"Ding, ding, ding. And then?"

"And then I apologize."

She made a buzzer noise again.

"No — you give her the flowers then tell her you're sorry. Next?"

"I... kiss... her?"

Randy buzzed once more.

"No! If you do that, it seems way too forceful. You don't want to come on too strong or she'll pull away from you again. No, then you tell her you love her — truly — and wait for her reaction."

She had hoped that a game plan would get Steve more confident, but his expression quickly turned to one of dread.

"Randy, that's the worst!" he bellowed, turning to look at her. "Waiting for a reaction is like... is like... waiting for a doctor to tell me how long I have left to live — I can't do it!"

"You're going to have to," she replied coolly, sitting back and crossing her arms. "If you really want Nancy back, you'll just have to take the process like a man."

"It's not a process," he grumbled, turning back to the road. "It's torture."

"Fine," she said loftily. "If that's how you feel, take me home and deal with it yourself."

A long pause filled the BMW, broken only by the occasional rattle when they hit a bump in the road.

"Fine," he finally muttered, tightening his fingers on the wheel. "Fine. We'll do it your way. But if it fails, your ass is grass. Got it?" He pointed at her threateningly.

Randy almost agreed with him, but then remembered that the plan wasn't actually going to work and her ass was totally grass, and she stayed silent. Nancy was one hundred percent about Jonathan now — Steve had lost his place beside her the night he ditched her at the party. She felt guilty for getting his hopes up, but what was she supposed to say? "Nancy is in love with Jonathan and you have no chance?"

Yes, her brain said. That's actually what you should say.

It would be like ripping off a band-aid — Satan's touch for a bit, but eventually it would feel better in the end, wouldn't it?

But she couldn't bring herself to flat-out crush his heart. If she did, she would look like the bad guy, Steve would resent her, and she would regret it for the rest of her lonely life. If she dragged it out, at least she could appear to be genuinely uncertain of Nancy's feelings. Sure it was like telling a kid that the Easter Bunny was real only to let them discover that it wasn't, or pretending to throw a ball for a dog only to reveal it was still in your hand. But wasn't it better to play the clueless good guy than the wise jerk?

Ugh, he's going to run me out of town.

For as much as he hated her plan, however, Steve followed it without any more complaints. They stopped and grabbed a bouquet — she made him choose, just to make sure he knew what Nancy's favorite flower was — and then drove to the Wheeler house. Along the way, Randy gave him non-cheesy, genuine lines to use, coached him on not saying anything stupid, and made a very detailed plan on how to react if things went sour (because they would, and she didn't need him going all Chen Zhen on Jonathan and getting arrested).

By the time they pulled to the curb in front of Nancy's, he was rolling his shoulders like he was about to plow into a boxing ring, his hair looking more gravity-defying than usual.

"You got this," she said encouragingly, offering him a double thumbs up.

He took in a deep breath, held up the flowers, and nodded.

"Wish me luck," he muttered, shoving his door open and sliding out of the car, bouquet clamped in his hand.

Randy watched calmly as he muttered to himself and made his way towards the house, but inside her brain was screaming "You're dead, Randy! You're so dead!" and "You should have just ripped off the band-aid!"

But her internal combustion proved to be unnecessary, because barely half-way through the yard Steve was suddenly blindsided by a very grouchy looking Dustin Henderson (a face she recognized well from her time at the Wheeler's), who waltzed up to him, said something, and then ripped the flowers from his hands.

Steve floundered and said something she couldn't hear as Dustin made his way to the car. More muffled words and then Dustin opened the back door as he replied, "You still have that bat?"

"Bat? What bat?" Steve asked.

"The one with the nails," Dustin said as if the answer was obvious.

"Why?"

"I'll explain on the way."

Dustin slid into the back seat, and Steve pointed at him in confusion.

"What, now?" he asked.

"Now," Dustin clarified in obvious aggravation, and Steve jogged towards the BMW with his hair flopping and his expression bewildered.

As soon as he had regained his seat and started the engine, Steve shot Randy a look.

"Uh, I guess Nancy isn't home," he said, "and I guess that means I'm babysitting?"

But Dustin didn't seem to take offense to this comment. He leaned around her seat and said with gravity, "Sorry Randy, hate to cut your time with Steve short."

She looked back at the dimpled face in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Whatever crazy shit you have for me Henderson, Randy is a part of it, too," Steve interjected.

"You don't understand Steve, she can't be. Think last year, okay?"

"I get it, but Randy knows about everything — she's seen things."

"What are you talking about?" Dustin demanded. "Do you even hear what I'm saying?"

"Cool your jets, Curly, I hear you loud and clear. I'm telling you that Randy already knows about the lab and the monster and all that fun shit. Whatever trouble you're dragging me into now, there's no point in hiding it from her."

A heavy silence filled the car as Dustin stared at her.

"Holy shit," he murmured. "How do you know? I mean, that's all a huge secret — not even my mom knows."

Randy bobbed her head back and forth as she said, "I may or may not have had a lovely little run-in with your lizard friend a few times."

She couldn't tell if he was horrified or awestruck.


                                             -      -      -      -     -      -


"So... what exactly is happening?" Randy asked sometime later.

The sun had descended since their journey to the Wheeler's and outside the fogged windows she could make out the lighted porches of passing houses. She wasn't quite sure where they were going or why, but she had a nasty feeling it had something to do with her and Hargrove's scaly encounter the night before.

It wasn't only her that was uneasy. The car was tense and silent aside from Queen's "Hammer to Fall" filling the void, totally uncharacteristic of Steve and what she knew of Dustin. And considering she was clueless as to what she was being dragged into, this new side of them wasn't very comforting. 

"We're going to my cellar," Dustin said bluntly.

"Riiiiight," Randy said, making a face at Steve that said, "yeah, that's totally normal and not weird."

"I caught something that I think you guys should see," he continued, unbothered. "I don't think it's from here— our world, I mean. It grew way too fast to be a normal animal."

"What does that mean?"

"It means it could be from the Upside Down."

A pause. Steve looked distinctively pale in the yellow glow of the BMW's headlights.

"What does... that mean?" she asked again, looking from Steve beside her to Dustin behind her. "What's the Upside Down?"

Dustin sighed. "It's a—"

"Wait a sec," Steve interrupted, "how big?"

"First it was like that—" Dustin showed the scale using his two fingers about four inches apart, "Now he's like this—" and he spread his hands to show about the length of a cat.

Steve shook his head, looking unconvinced. "I swear to God, man, it's just some little lizard, okay?"

"It's not a lizard!"

"How do you know?"

"How do I know it's not a lizard?" Dustin asked, astounded.

"Yeah, how do you know if it's not just a lizard?" Steve demanded.

"Because his face opened up and he ate my cat," Dustin stated matter-of-fact.

Silence.

"Excuse me, it what?" Randy exclaimed from the passenger seat.

But they had already pulled into Dustin's driveway, and she watched them throw their doors open and clamber out, leaving her to wonder what the heck she was getting herself into. Again.