CHAPTER SIXTEEN
XVI. the battle of two kings
[ season 2, episode 9 ]
The adults left about an hour ago. Hopper, travelling to the lab with Eleven and Veronica in hopes of closing the gate and putting an end to the monsters reign for good. Joyce, with Jonathan and Nancy, working together to burn the Mind Flayer out of Will in some secluded place the shadow monster could not seek out.
That ultimately abandoned Steph and Steve with the responsibility to babysit the children. Although, the band of overly-smart middle schoolers loathed being referred to as children, so Steph settled on nicknaming each and every one of them as dweebs ── which also didn't go down too well in all consideration. That didn't deter her, though.
It was around midnight. Steph was sitting on the sofa, tongue poking between her teeth as she wrapped duct tape around the wooden broom Lucia had accidentally snapped in half whilst launching an attack on a moth clinging to the wall. Much to her surprise, Lucas approached, shuffling through the doorway apprehensively. He looked displeased about something, but also afraid to approach Stephanie, who all the children thought to be particularly frightening. Well . . . apart from Dustin and Lucia.
"Uh," Lucas scratched his forehead. "Dustin said he and Steve require your assistance in the kitchen." the boy muttered.
Steph glanced over at the Sinclair and rolled her cobalt eyes, "Tell them it can wait."
"Steve said it can't."
"Why?"
A shrug, "I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"Fine. They're trying to stuff a Demodog into the fridge." Lucas elaborated in one, short breath. He winced, as if this information was supposed to be kept top-secret until Steph witnessed it for herself. Steve said she would get mad before they had a chance to explain themselves ── and her agitated expression was evidence enough to that. "They're doing a really terrible job."
Steph groaned in annoyance and placed the butchered broom on the coffee table. Much to her displeasure, the object flopped over one side of the wooden surface, dismantling the tape she had secured around the centre. Both halves toppled to the floor. Back to square one. She sighed and looked to Lucas, "Can you fix that? I'm going to end up throwing it out the window if it breaks again."
"Uh, sure."
She left Lucas to his own devices. He managed to reseal the broom together in a matter of seconds, and handed it back to Lucia, who began swinging it around in the middle of the hallway as practice for a potential Demodog ambush. When she almost knocked Mike out with the third swing, however, Lucas snatched the 'weapon' back out of her hands and shoved it into the cleaning-equipment cupboard. Taking their safety into consideration, Lucia was given something a little smaller to defend herself with; less dangerous. A wooden spoon.
Steph heard the kids squabbling as she passed through the hallway and into the kitchen foyer. Lucia's voice was the most prominent amongst them all.
"What in God's name is a spoon supposed to do against those freaky dogs ── turn them into soup!?"
"It's a precaution. You were going to knock someone out with the broom!" Mike bellowed. His voice dropped from reprimanding to a tone laced with sarcasm. "Oh, wait, you almost did. Me!"
"Guys, calm down. My brain feels like mush." Max interjected.
"Just take the spoon and deal with the consequences of your actions." Mike said sharply. Steph heard the sound of something clattering against the floor ── many somethings. It sounded as though the cleaning-equipment cupboard had burst open, showering the array of utensils across the ground.
"Lucas!" Max barked. She sounded like a mother scolding their misbehaving child. "And you guys said Lucia was clumsy. Pick them up!"
"Wait." Lucia said. There was a shuffle of shoes. "Can I use the mop? It's soft at the end ──"
"No!" Lucas and Mike yelled in unison.
The conversation was amusing. Steph snickered as she stepped into the kitchen, pushing aside the door, the children's voices ebbing away into distant muffles. They had moved onto discussing the infested laboratory, including Lucia's account. She included every detail.
Before Steph could hear the gory tale of Bob's demise again, she walked into the kitchen area. The creak of the overworked hinges pulled Steve and Dustin's attention away from the wide open freezer, both zoning in on the infuriated-looking blonde. Nervously, they watched her approach ── looking reminiscent to two children waiting to be scolded for their misdemeanours.
A dead Demodog was hanging limp over Steve's folded arms. Meanwhile, Dustin was pulling every single object out of the freezer storage, tossing a plethora of packaged food, and a loaf of frozen bread, onto the floor without much consideration for the Byers future meal plans.
Steph frowned. She fixed Dustin with a censured stare, "Explain."
"We're storing it . . . for scientific purposes." he blurted, unable to hide from her intimidation act, the vigorous stare, that seemingly cornered him like a predator hunting it's prey.
"I didn't agree to it. He forced my hand." Steve added, clearly annoyed.
Steph narrowed her eyes. She edged around the chaotic duo and scooped up the frozen food scattered across the floor, placing them on the countertop as she spoke, "He's a kid, Harrington. Give him a lollipop or something. I'm sure he'll shut up."
"Actually, lady, I don't like lollipops ── for your information. And I'm not five. I am beyond the point of accepting candy in exchange for silence." Dustin countered in a snarky tone, scrunching his nose up with distaste.
"Hey." Steve warned. "Watch your tone, man."
"Yeah, Henderson. Listen to the Mother Hen." Steph mused.
She poked the Demodog's mutilated face with the tip of a teaspoon. It's bruise-toned skin and array of reptilian scales ── marred by dried blood ── were surprisingly stiff, unmoving when prodded. The creature was more resemblant to a plastic toy than something capable of killing so brutally. But that was what happened in death; innocence spread like the plague. Sleeping soundly, awaiting eternal darkness, leaving behind the carnage caused at your hand.
"We should just bury it. There's already enough ugliness in this world." Steph said. Dustin immediately whipped his head around, seemingly aghast by that idea.
"You're proposing that we bury it like some common mammal!" he protested, deeply disturbed by Steph's proposition. "It's not a dog. This is a ground-breaking scientific discovery."
"Alright!" Steph held her hands up in surrender. Her shoulder throbbed with pain at the over-exaggerated movement. "Jeez. Take a chill pill, kid. You can keep your freaky toy."
Dustin pinched the bridge of his nose. Steph could have sworn plumes of steam erupted from his ears. "It's. Not. A. Toy!"
"Henderson, do you want me to put this in the freezer or not?" Steve asked impatiently. He was struggling to keep the heavy Demodog aloft. It's un-blossomed head dangled precariously close to Steph's shoes, and she edged backward to avoid the droplet of saliva that slipped from the creature's tongue, pooling on the floor. "Can you help? I'm struggling here."
Steph rolled her eyes. "Fine."
She and Steve both stuffed the deceased creature into the emptied fridge. In their laboured efforts, they smeared slime and blood up the white shelves. Steph's hand clamped the Demodog's mouth-folds together to avoid accidentally plunging her hand down it's throat. Meanwhile, Dustin stood back and watched.
"Get the door, man!" Steve demanded.
"Okay, fine."
Dustin held the freezer door open. It didn't do much to actually help, but Steve and Steph managed to work the Demodog into the small space provided regardless. They both jerked back in unison and slammed the door into place, sealing the monster inside.
Steph wiped her grime-covered hands on the back of Steve's jacket. "Gross."
"Oh, man! Are you kidding me? This is my best jacket!" Steve cried, twisting around a number of times to try and catch a better glimpse of the stain that was now marring his light-blue bomber jacket ── courtesy of Stephanie. "You could've done it to Dustin instead! Christ."
She shrugged indifferently, "Now where's the fun in that?"
While Steve scowled, Steph and Dustin connected hands in a vexing high-five. It took all of Steve's willpower not to throttle the both of them.
✧.｡. *.
"We need a plan! We can't just keep sitting here with our asses hanging out!" Lucia argued adamantly.
From the other side of the sitting room, Steve pointed a warning finger in her direction, taking on the 'babysitter' title with all seriousness, "Language."
"Sorry, Mom." Lucia grumbled.
All attention turned back to Mike, who had been pacing the sitting room for the last half hour. It was beginning to drive everyone insane ── the ceaseless clunk of his shoes thumping against the floorboards. Not only was it annoying, but the sound was riling everyone up for a fight that they had been warned against. Hopper told them to stay put. It was becoming a harder obligation to fulfil with every thump of Mike's shoes. Max crossed her arms, Lucia leaned against the bookshelf as she gnawed on her tongue, Steph watched the clock-hands jerk toward midnight, and Lucas heaved a sigh, pinning Mike with an irritated glare.
He finally cracked, "Mike! Would you just stop already?"
Mike thankfully halted his pacing, but for who knows how long. He immediately defended the nervous habit, "You weren't in there, Lucas. That lab is swarming with hundreds of those dogs."
"Demodogs!" Dustin corrected indignantly. He meandered into the sitting room with Steve storming along behind.
"Veronica and the chief will take care of her." Lucas assured valiantly.
"Like she needs protection." Max scoffed. Which was, somewhat, right ── Eleven had more power surging through her little finger than the entire group had together as one. The only issue, the only flaw, was using too much power and succumbing to a burnt-out induced fever. When the energy was sapped from her body completely, Eleven was no different than Lucia, or Max. Just a girl. Powerless. That was why they had taken Veronica with them as a backup option. Assistance.
Steve implemented himself into the conversation at hand. Everyone rolled their eyes simultaneously as they prepared for more useless advice, "Listen, dude, a coach calls a play in a game, bottom line, you execute it. All right?"
"Okay, first of all," Mike countered. "this isn't some stupid sports game. And second, we're not even in the game. We're on the bench."
"Right, so my point is . . ."
The entire room went silent. Steve must have realised he was wrong ── his point lingering in the abyss with nowhere to land ── because his expression crumpled to defeat. He gave Steph an apprehensive glance, as if urging her to help him out, but she had nothing in mind, either.
"Okay, yeah, we're on the bench. There's nothing we can do." he admitted sheepishly.
Poor Steve Harrington. He was always being outsmarted by the children.
"That's not entirely true." Dustin said, further proving the point of Steve being . . . less academically inclined. Surely his theories didn't include meaningless sport-terms, but knowledgeable negotiations instead. "I mean, these Demodogs, they have a hive mind. When they ran away from the bus, they were called away."
Lucas was swiftly on board with Dustin's bold assumptions, "So, if we get their attention . . ."
"Maybe we can draw them from the lab." Max theorised.
"Clear a path to the gate." Mike added.
"Give Eleven a chance to seal said gate ── done and dusted. Bosh: victory is ours. We win." Lucia concluded, perching her hands on her hips. She looked insanely proud of herself.
Steve, however, had an entirely different visualisation about the outcome of this precarious idea, "No, no, no, we don't win. We all die!" he objected hastily.
"That's one point of view." Dustin claimed.
"No, man, that's not a point of view, that's a fact."
"I got it!" Mike exclaimed, all of a sudden. He tore through the crowd, making his way into the kitchen ── which was decorated with thousands of odd drawings depicting tubes?Everyone followed the Wheeler, congregating around the dining table. He bent down, placed his hands on the section of drawings stuck to the fridge. "This is where the chief dug his hole. This is our way into the tunnel. Here, right here," they followed him back into the sitting room, where the sketches connected into one giant blur of cerulean, "Here, this is like a hub. You got all the tunnels feeding in here. Maybe if we set this on fire ──"
"Oh, yeah? That's a no." Steve interjected.
Dustin pretended not to hear Steve, "The Mind Flayer would call away his army."
"They'd all come to stop us!" Lucas rushed to add.
"We circle back to the exit." Mike said. It seemed the Mind Flayer's army were the not the only species with a Hive Mind ── the kids intelligence was connected. "By the time they realise we're gone ──"
"Eleven would be at the gate." Lucia mumbled in agreement, deep in thought.
"Hey, hey, hey!" Steve boomed. He clapped his hands together to garner the attention of everyone gathered around. "This is not happening."
"But──"
"Hey, no buts." Steph piped up, striding into the open space beside Steve. She snatched the tea-towel out of Steve's hands and twisted it into a fairly-deadly weapon. "We promised to keep you little dweebs safe, and that's exactly what we plan on doing. That means no fire, no tunnels, no cave-hunting for Demodogs ──"
"We're staying here. On the bench!" Steve interrupted. "And we're waiting for the starting team to do their job. Does everybody understand?"
"This isn't a stupid sports game──" Mike seethed, but was unceremoniously cut off by Steph.
She clapped her hands together vigorously, "Wheeler! I don't wanna give any of you time-outs, but I'm growing dangerously close to considering it. Okay? Good. Now," she pointed around at the entire clan of middle schoolers. For once, they looked perturbed. "Do we understand?"
"Yes." they all mumbled in unison.
"Excellent. I'm glad we're all on the same page."
Lucia scoffed quietly, turning to Max with a remark that Steph was able to hear, much to Lucia's misfortune, "We're not even on the same book──"
"What did I say, Delgado?" the Miller scolded, whipping the dishcloth through the air tantalisingly, narrowly missing Steve's face. "Do you want a timeout?"
"I'm not five!"
Steph arched a brow, challenging the opposition, "Then stop acting like it."
"Hey! Enough bickering. Everyone just settle down." Steve ordered exasperatedly. "Let's just ──"
Before he could tell them all to take a deep breath and relax, the sound of an engine revving alerted the group to a presence outside. The indistinct thrum of rock music pulsated through the pressing silence encapsulating the night, and gleaming headlights parted the thick blanket of fog smothering the Byers' front porch. Steph and Steve exchanged a wary glance, both dashing toward the window to scrutinise the unwanted arrival. Max and the other children were already kneeling below the frame, drawing back the curtains to reveal a black Camaro accelerating up the driveway.
Lucia recognised the vehicle almost instantaneously. She turned to Max, "Is that. . .?"
"My stepbrother." the redhead declared balefully. Her expression was halfway between frightened and furious, panic-stricken. She gave Lucia a sharp nod, "It's Billy. He can't know I'm here. He'll kill me. He'll kill us."
"Oh, no he doesn't." Steph sneered. Her anger was volcanic, spewing into her bloodstream like tendrils of molten lava.
Steve tried to hold her back, "Steph ──"
But she had already disappeared through the front door, slamming it in her wake. Steve fumbled with the handle, ordered the rebellious clan of kids to stay quiet and stay down, before slipping out onto the porch in tow with the infuriated blonde.
At the end of the driveway stood Billy Hargrove, shrouded by a distending plume of smoke. He pried the charred cigarette from his lips, trapping it between two fingers, his attention fully captivated by the two familiar figures that had materialised on the porch.
He smirked. "Am I dreaming, or is that you, Harrington?"
"Yeah, it's me. Don't cream your pants." Steve quipped, bringing both hands up to rest on his hips.
Billy's gaze jolted toward Steph.
"What the hell are you doing here?" she seethed.
"Miller!" the Hargrove cried with a sarcastic type of enthusiasm that indefinitely tipped Steph's patience dangerously close to the edge. She was bound to explode at the slightest provocation. "Funny seeing you here. How's the nose? Healing good, right? Took quite a hit."
"Oh, yeah. Real good. Thank you for the concern."
He clicked his tongue, amused. Shedding the leather jacket, Billy gestured to the Byers house, "There, uh, a little redhead with you by any chance? Small. Bit of a bitch."
"No." Steph crossed her arms defiantly. "Although, if there was, I wouldn't tell you."
Billy lowered his head, snickering so faintly Steph strained to hear him clearly. The chortle held no humour. Only internalised irritation that seeped through to his remark, "Damn, Harrington. You've really downgraded from bad to worse. I'm beginning to think this King everyone told me about doesn't exist."
Steve lurched forward, but Stephanie latched onto the sleeve of his jacket, before he tried anything stupid. She gave him a sharp tug back to his designated spot ── a silent, foreboding warning to remain composed. Calm.
This was just the beginning. Billy hadn't even warmed up yet. Not entirely.
"Go home, Billy." Steph demanded. "Unless you have a warrant, you can't be here. You're trespassing on the Byers' private property."
He shrugged in a childish manner. "It's a free country."
"That's news to me."
"Just turn around, man." Steve piped up. A muscle in his jaw ticked.
Billy sighed, feigning confusion and exasperation. He dropped the burning cigarette and smushed it beneath his shoe ── showing the frustration beginning to blossom as a result of their inconspicuous behaviour. His shoulders raised into a shrug, "You know, this . . . this whole situation, Harrington, I don't know. It's giving me the heebie-jeebies."
"Oh, yeah? Why's that?"
Steve and Billy met in the middle of the driveway, looking like two wrestlers prepared to battle it out for a gleaming gold crown. Steph lingered back on the porch, acting as the security guard, prepared to defend the children against Billy Hargrove ── the big, bad bully.
"My thirteen-year-old sister goes missing all day," Billy explained grimly. "And then I find her with you and Miller ── of all people ── in a stranger's house. Then you both lie to me about it."
Steve chuckled drily, "Man, were you dropped too much as a child, or what? I don't know what you don't understand about what I just said. She's not here."
An awful sensation overwhelmed Steph's senses as the scene contained to unfold at a pace she struggled to keep up with. Billy pointed at the front window, and the words that pushed past his lips were hissed venomously, as if dripping from the tongue of a poisonous snake, "Then who is that?"
Max. It was Max.
She, Dustin, Mike and Lucia were staring through the window. Did they have a death wish? Was their soul ambition to be caught?Apparently. Steph's heart plummeted down to her stomach, muscles tensing, at the exact moment the children dropped below the window-sill, dissipating from view.
And suddenly Billy was charging toward the house like a heaving bull, and Steve was sprawled out on the floor, groaning in pain.
It was up to Steph now. Injured or not, she had to protect the children.
Bearing this in mind, she swerved in front of the door. Billy was inches away from her now, his brooding eyes, darkened by a lust for violence, boring into her own, "Back off, Hargrove. You're not coming in."
"Listen," He leaned closer. Wisps of his smoky breath grazed Steph's cheeks, invading her senses like poisonous gas. He reached for Steph's wrist, pressing his fingers into her flesh with little mercy, sure to leave a bruise. "That basketball game was a one off. Don't get in my way again, or it'll be much worse than a bloody nose."
She tried to snatch her wrist from his vice-like grasp ── thankfully on the arm that hadn't been injured by the Demodog ── but he was too strong. Too overbearing. He tossed her aside as if she weighed nothing, and violently planted a kick to the front door, striding inside of the Byers' house with only one thing in mind.
To hurt someone.
Steph quickly scrambled up from the ground. She could see Steve, coughing and hacking away the searing pain engulfing his ribs, unable to provide any assistance as of right now. There was nothing he could do, and nothing she could do, either. Ultimately, Steph decided to move inside.
"Well, well, well," Billy drawled. He slammed the door mere seconds after Steph managed to wriggle her way in. "Lucas Sinclair. What a surprise."
He hadn't noticed Steph. Not yet, at least. That meant there was an opening ── a chance for her to locate a weapon. The one she had in mind wouldn't do much, but maybe it would be enough to stun Billy, frighten him back the way he came.
As Billy approached Max, he warped into the exact embodiment of someone with a heart as black and cold as the roads outside. No compassion. There was nothing but hatred and bloodlust in Billy's eyes ── scorching him from the inside out, turning him into someone he was always destined to be. This was an opportunity for him to finally quench his undying thirst for violence. No matter how, he would do it.
"You know what happens when you disobey me." he said to Max, in a deadly voice that barely raised an octave. Max stumbled backward. "I break things."
Within a flash, Billy snatched the collar of Lucas's jacket between two hands and pinned him to the kitchen cabinets. Steph's fingers latched around the tennis racket.
"Lucas!" Lucia yelped.
She picked up the first thing she could find. An orange, rolling around on the floor. It had dropped from the fruit basket that had been disturbed during the altercation.
Without hesitation, she thrust the orange in Billy's direction. It bounced off the back of his head, the impact enough to momentarily distract him from harming Lucas. He glared over his shoulder, and a flash of recognition overwhelmed his menacing expression. "You. You're next, Delgado."
"Oh, eat shit!" she riposted.
Billy opened his mouth to say something, but Lucas had taken matters into his own hands. Knee to the groin ── an audible crunch of flesh. The bully groaned agonisingly, a vein bulging in his forehead as he hobbled back, trying to regain his composure.
When he came back to his senses, Billy growled and made a beeline for Lucas Sinclair once again. The boy remained defenceless. Fortunately enough, something else beckoned for a distraction. Someone whistled, calling for Billy Hargrove's undivided attention. He simply couldn't ignore it.
A shock of white-blonde hair swayed into his line of sight, "This is for almost breaking my nose, jerk wad!"
Smash!
Stephanie thrust the tennis racket directly into Billy's snarling face. The plastic edge of the sporting-equipment caught him in the nose, and a stream of crimson began to gush ferociously, trickling over his lips and staining his clothes. He didn't bother wiping the blood away. This was victory to him. Finally, an excuse to break free from the hinges keeping him moderately intact.
His lips peeled back like a rabid dog's to reveal an acrimonious grin, his teeth stained red, "You're dead, Miller. You're so dead!"
"No. You are."
Someone swooped in superhero-style to save the day. Steph had been preparing herself to take the full brunt of Billy's aggression, but the time never came. Thankfully.
Why? Steve was back. And he was determined to win this fight.
He threw a punch at Billy's jaw. The crack of knuckles meeting flesh was nauseating.
"Wow!" the Hargrove bellowed. Cackles of menacing laughter erupted from the darkened pit in his chest, seeping into the air that was thick with a veil of unwavering tension. Steve flexed his fingers, hissing quietly at the pain the inconsequential movement caused. "Looks like you got some fire in you after all, huh? I've been waiting to meet this King Steve everybody's been telling me so much about."
Steve levelled Billy with a glare. He pushed him back using two fingers, his voice deadly calm ── similar to the stillness before a storm ── as he uttered a simple demand, "Get out."
A beat. Two.
Then, the fight commenced.
It was successful in Steve's favour. He knocked Billy into the side of the kitchen sink, pummelling his fist into the vicious boy's already bruising jaw. Everyone cheered, chanting for Steve to destroy the opposition, the youngest of the bunch shielded by Steph ── who held both arms out like an eagle taking flight. Her shoulder was absolutely killing her, but the adrenaline coursing through her blood was so overpowering that it had mitigated to a mere throb.
Lucia's chants would have been amusing if not for the seriousness of the unfolding altercation, "Come on, Steve! Roundhouse his ass! Put him down!"
Dustin screeched, "Murder that son of a bitch!"
But it all came crashing back down in the formation of a dinner plate. Billy smashed it against the side of Steve's face, and the ceramic shattered into several large fragments, the force of such a severe blow drawing a frightening amount of blood from their saving grace's head.
Steph's jaw slackened on it's own accord, and her lungs burned as a shriek of horror tore through her throat.
"Steve!"
Billy's kicked him, forcing Steve to the ground. He looked like a helpless rag doll, unfolding and doubling over. "Nobody tells me what to do!"
Steph reached for the racket again. Approaching, she watched as Billy kneeled over Steve's unconscious frame, throwing punch after punch after punch . . . tossing the Harrington's head from side to side, neck bending precariously. More blood. So much blood.
"Stop it!" she cried. Her eyes were brimming with tears, obscuring her vision. Red on grey. King on king. "You're killing him!"
She brought the racket down against Billy's shoulder. He yelped in pain, finally coaxing himself away from Steve Harrington. Lying helpless on the ground, bruised and bloody ── a jolt of despair pierced Steph's heart. Steve. Her mask had slipped completely now, but she didn't care. Tears were pouring from her eyes like falling stars.
"I told you, Miller," Billy murmured dangerously. He snatched the tennis racket from her hand and flung it in the opposite direction. "don't get in my way again. But you've done it. You've gotten in my goddamn way!"
He slammed her against the wall. Every ounce of oxygen escaped her lungs, and she gasped urgently.
The children shrieked, yelling desperate pleas for Billy to cease the cruelty. Put a stop to his rampage. But he didn't; of course he wouldn't. Those blood stained teeth made an appearance again, revealing the darkest side of him ── just how merciless he truly was. Just how unhinged. Hungry for blood, hungry for violence. A kid born and bred to reciprocate brutish behaviour.
Steph gritted her teeth. Revenge had tasted sweet for a while. But now, the bitterness coating her tongue was repugnant. And the pain . . . God, the pain. Billy's hand was pressing against her wounded shoulder, and she couldn't wriggle herself free.
"Get the hell off me!" she seethed. "Get off!"
Billy cackled humourlessly. "Oh, come on. Look at King Steve down there! We're having such a fun time, right?!"
He turned to the kids, a droplet of blood slithering down his chin, folded arm pressed to Steph's throat. Their expressions were swimming with terror, eyes dilated and flaring. Steph's stomach clenched with fear.
"We're having fun! Right?" When they didn't answer him, Billy raised his voice to a sharp, echoing yell, "Right──"
He didn't see it.
Max crept up behind him and thrust a clear syringe into his neck. His grip on Steph slackened considerably, and she was able to worm herself free.
Disoriented, Billy stepped away from the wall. Max kept her distance as he approached. He swayed, clenching a bloody fist around the syringe protruding from his neck, yanking it out of his flesh. Billy's eyes widened when he realised what it was. His entire body succumbed to defeat within seconds. This was something he couldn't fight against. Powerless. He was utterly powerless.
"What did you do?" he murmured. "You little shit, what did you do?"
No answers were provided. He collapsed. Although, still half-conscious, because Steph was fairly certain an unconscious person could not chortle in a dazed, almost psychotic manner.
"From here on out, you leave me and my friends alone." Max demanded. She had snatched Steve's bat, and was holding it above Billy's sprawled out frame threateningly. "Do you understand?"
"Screw you."
Wrong answer.
Max slammed the spiked-end of the baseball bat down against the floorboards, embedding nails into the wood mere inches from Billy's crotch. Her step-brother looked up in shock, eyes bulging wide with panic for just a moment.
"Say you understand!" Max shouted. Years of pent up rage seeped into her commands. "Say it! SAY IT!"
Billy was still hesitant to oblige, but seemed to think better of it, "I understand."
"What?"
"I understand."
He slipped into a sedative state. Thank God.
Max wasted no time in snatching the car keys from his pocket, and looked to the stunned group. Their agape mouths seemed to snap back together simultaneously, wanting to appear as collected as she. But Max rolled her eyes and gestured to the front door, "Let's get outta here."
Steph sputtered incredulously, "What about Steve? And ── and who's driving? I can't."
The redhead pointed to herself, "Me. I'll drive."
"You?"
"Yes. Me."
Steph considered this for a second. Firstly, she didn't have her license, or even the first idea of how to drive a vehicle. Secondly, her shoulder would hinder any chances of her steering the wheel efficiently, therefore increasingly the chances of crashing. And thirdly, someone needed to check on Steve consistently to ensure he didn't die.
So . . . it seemed the designated driver of the night was a position awarded to Max Mayfield.
"Okay. Fine." Steph agreed with much reluctance. She twisted around and pointed to Steve. "But we take him."
"Deal."
Max threw her hand out. Hesitantly, Steph closed her fingers around the redhead's clammy ones, and gave a small shake.
"Deal."
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
steph is superior,
sorry billy <3