» Daft Pretty Boys, by Bad Suns«
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"𝑔𝒾𝓇𝓁, 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝓃 𝒹𝒶𝒻𝓉 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓉𝓎 𝒷𝑜𝓎𝓈."
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When Eleven showed up, everything suddenly made a lot more sense. Why my powers went haywire, why the Demodogs didn't make it inside. All the pieces fell into place in that moment. I felt deep in my bones that she was alive and watching us. She has always been here, watching us without our knowledge.
Until now.
Now Steve and I are stuck on babysitting duty. Alone.
Nancy, Jonathan, and Joyce went to an undisclosed location to keep Will somewhere the Mind Flayer didn't know. Hopper and Eleven went back to the lab.
Max hands me an ice pack to put on my pounding head. I take it and thank her, huffing as I lay back down on the couch.
"Push it in there; come on!" Dustin instructs from the kitchen.
"Is this necessary?" Steve groans. I roll my eyes. I can't see them, but I know they are up to no good.
"It's for science!" Dustin retorts.
"You're explaining this to Mrs. Byers," Steve finally says. I hear the fridge door slam shut. Steve lingers in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. He leans against the frame, folding his arms across his chest.
I look up at the spiky popcorn ceiling but watch him through my peripherals.
"How are you feeling?" he finally asks.
I let out a bunch of hot air I was holding in. "My powers are killing me. Monsters are taking over the world, and I'm pretty sure you just stored one in the fridge,"
He graces me with a breathy laugh, stepping closer. He digs in his back pocket for something.
"Well, I can't do much about those, but..." he whips out a cardboard box. "how about a smoke?"
My neck snaps to look at him all the way. "No fucking way, you still have those?" I laugh.
Steve shrugs. "I save them for special occasions. I'd say this falls into that category,"
I giggle, carefully getting off the couch. I take the ice pack with me when we go out to the front porch.
Steve opens the door and ushers me out first. I step outside, and he's right on my tail, so close that his torso brushes my back as he shuts the door behind us.
I sit cross-legged on the concrete porch. Steve sits across from me.
He flicks the pack open, pulling out a cigarette and a bright blue lighter. Pinching the cigarette between his lips, he shields it from the breeze with one hand and lights the end with the other. Breathing in the nicotine, he seems to be contemplating something. Smoke drifts through the air, surrounding us in a cloud. He slips the cigarette between his fingers, passing it my way. Our fingertips accidentally brush as I snatch the cigarette from his hands, setting my hand ablaze. I cringe, squinting my eyes and bringing the cigarette to my lips.
"We are the world's worst babysitters," I joke.
"You think so?" Steve humors me.
I wave the cigarette around. "I mean, yeah. We're horrible influences, and there's a dead monster in the fridge,"
We share a laugh.
"Hey, I've got a question for you," Steve says lazily.
I take a drag of the coffin nail before flicking some of the ashes onto the stone beneath us. "What's that?" I muse. Smoking makes holding a conversation with him much less stressful.
"If we get out of this alive, would you..." he puffs out his cheeks in thought. "sorry, this is kind of embarrassing; you have to promise not to laugh," his face goes red as he rubs the back of his neck.
I shrug. "I don't know, Steve. You're a weirdo. I might have to laugh," I say sarcastically. Steve gives me a disgruntled look. "I'm joking. Go on,"
"I uh... do seriously need a tutor. So if you were serious about earlier--"
I do my best to hold in a laugh but ultimately fail. I giggle uncontrollably, like a little kid who just heard a butt joke for the first time.
"You said you wouldn't laugh!"
"I'm sorry, it's just--" I clutch my cramping stomach. "what do you need to be smarter for? You've already got it made. You're rich,"
"I'm failing three classes," Steve informs me.
"Since when do you care about your grades?" I quip.
"Since Mr. Wells said I can't graduate this year if I don't pass,"
"Oh, shit," I mumble. I hand him the cigarette back. He takes it gratefully.
"Oh shit, indeed," he murmurs, taking a drag.
I lose myself in the cool autumn. Fireworks of red and gold leaves drift about the admiral sky; firey stars glimmer alongside the waning moon. I weigh my options carefully. Tutoring Steve would be an utter nightmare, but it could have its benefits. An eye for an eye, if you will.
It was a tactic I picked up quickly at Home—a favor for a favor, a gift for a debt. Nothing ever comes for free, nothing good anyway.
Steve and his family practically run this town. Getting in good with the Harrington's by tutoring their son could be my ticket to making it in Hawkins. The possibilities are endless: money, favors, beer. Hell, I'd even consider putting Mr. Harrington as a personal reference on job applications. That would guarantee any position I wanted in this shithole town because, for reasons unbeknownst to me, everyone loves the Harringtons.
Everyone but me.
"Tell you what. If we don't die tonight, I'll help you," I agree to his proposition. "but you're gonna owe me big, Pretty Boy," I make myself clear, plucking the roach from his hand.
"You're giving me nicknames now?" He simpers, shaking his head. I swear I can almost make out a blush on his golden skin in the darkness.
"Don't be daft. It'll go straight to that big head of yours," I remind him. I finish the last of the cigarette and stub it out on the porch.
The purr of an engine pulling into the driveway cuts our banter short.
A Camero Z-28 skirts into view, throwing gravel in all directions. The headlights shine directly into my eyes, forcing me to blink rapidly and regain my vision before I can see who it is. The headlights shut off suddenly, allowing me to recollect myself. Steve is already on his feet, standing at the foot of the porch.
"Am I dreaming, or is that you, Harrington?" Billy's voice calls. This prompts me to scramble to my feet.
"Yeah, it's me, don't cream your pants," Steve grumbles, hands resting on his hips.
"And Y/N, it's good to see you, Princess. Been looking for you," Billy swoons, sucking on the cigarette in his mouth. I give him the middle finger and he chuckles, stripping himself of his leather jacket. Steve steps closer to Billy, probably to keep the peace. If given a chance alone with Billy, I'd probably pop his head right off his stupid body. "What're you doing here, Amigo?" Billy asks Steve.
"I could ask you the same thing... Amigo," Steve growls.
I internally groan at the unhealthy level of testosterone clouding the air.
"Looking for my stepsister. A little birdie told me she'd be here," Billy says, cigarette hanging on by an inch from his mouth.
"Huh. That's weird. I don't know her," Steve lies calmly. I'm impressed by his ease in lying straight to Billy's face.
"Small, red hair," Billy begins describing Max. "Kind of a bitch,"
This makes my stomach boil in anger.
"Doesn't ring a bell. Sorry buddy," Steve dismisses.
"You know... I don't know this... this whole situation Harrington, I don't know. It's giving me the heebie-jeebies,"
"Oh yeah, why's that?" Steve taunts.
"My thirteen-year-old sister goes missing all day. And then I find her with you, of all people, in a stranger's house, with my girl back there too," he gestures. I roll my eyes and bite my tongue. Choosing to have an attitude with Billy right now could get Steve knocked right on his ass if I'm not careful, so I stay quiet. "And you lie to me about it," Billy looks over Steve's shoulder. "How about I get you out of here after I get Max, Doll?"
I gag theatrically. "Hard pass, asswipe."
"Oh c'mon, don't be like that," Billy says coyly.
"Man, were you dropped too much as a child, or what?" Steve fires back. "She's not here. Y/N doesn't want to go with you,"
Billy smirks, licking his lips. "Don't lie to me, Harrington," he warns.
"I don't know what you don't understand about what I just said. Y/N's not going with you. And your sister isn't here,"
Billy points at a window to the living room with his cigarette. "Then who is that?"
I crane my neck to look at the window. All the kids are huddled together, watching us in plain view.
Oh shit.
"Oh shit. Listen--" Steve doesn't get a chance to finish his sentence before Billy shoves him to the ground.
He hovers over Steve and mercilessly kicks him in the gut. "I told you to plant your feet,"
"Steve!" I shout. He groans incoherently.
I plant myself in front of the door. Billy strides toward me fiercely, stopping inches from my face. He presses me into the door until my bones grind against the old splintered wood.
"Step aside, Sweetheart," he coos.
"Over my dead body," I sneer.
He cocks his head to the side. "Y/N. Please, don't make me hurt you," his voice is soft like velvet that's hemmed with lace made of razor blades. Sweet and delicate at first, but always bound to hurt.
I don't budge. Billy makes a swift punch to my abdomen, forcing me to tumble to the floor in agony. He steps over me like I'm nothing, pushing the door open.
"Well, well, well. Lucas Sinclair, what a surprise. I thought I told you to stay away from him," Billy scolds Max. I writhe in pain, trying to force myself to get up and help the kids.
"Billy go away," Max mutters fearfully.
"You disobeyed me. And you know what happens when you disobey me. I break things." He lunges at Lucas, throwing him into a nearby cabinet.
I crawl into the room and force myself to stand. I hobble over them as fast as I can and grab Billy by his shirt. I yank him off of Lucas and push him back.
"Get out of here!" I shout.
"You don't know when to give up, do you? Usually, I like girls with a little fire in 'em,'" Billy hisses, grabbing me by the shoulders aggressively. "But you're just a bitch, aren't you?" I struggle against his grasp. "You're dead," Billy promises.
Before he can hit me, someone pulls him off of me. It's Steve.
"No, you are," Steve proclaims, landing a hard punch to Billy's jaw.
Billy flies back a bit, rubbing his jaw and cackling. "Looks like you've got some fire in you after all, huh? I've been waiting to meet this King Steve everyone's been telling me so much about!"
Steve pushes hard on Billy's chest. "Get out." he bites.
A long pause follows. During the uncomfortable silence, I huddle the kids behind me. Billy finally swings at Steve, but Steve dodges it, hitting Billy again. Steve lands a few good punches, knocking Billy about. I find it amusing, and I wish I had a camcorder. That is until Billy smashes a plate over Steve's head. The impact has thrown Steve completely off-kilter, clutching his head and groaning. Billy takes the opportunity to headbutt Steve to the ground. "No one tells me what to do," Billy reminds him. Pinning Steve down, he swings at him repeatedly, landing harsh blows to his face.
"He's gonna kill him," Dustin whines to me. I react with emotion I can't quite put my finger on. Maybe it's caring for Dustin or the fact that I don't want Billy to win at anything. Perhaps I'll have to admit that I want to help Steve.
I push the kids back with my left arm, using my right to reach out to Billy. He lifts off of Steve. My body burns, and hot tears stream down my face. I've never felt pain as intense as this; my body feels like it is being separated molecule by molecule.
I let out a guttural scream and threw Billy into the front door. He hits his head hard on the doorframe, causing him to bleed slightly.
Not enough, I think to myself.
Billy moves to get back up, but Max beats him to it. She injects him with a syringe of a mystery substance, the same one Joyce had been using to sedate Will. Billy seems to lose all feeling the moment the medication enters his bloodstream. I walk to his side and crouch beside him, a bonfire of rage inside me.
"H-How did you... what... are you?" Billy manages to stammer out. His eyelids are half shut, and the color drains from his face.
"If you ever tell anyone what you saw here," I stare him down, never taking my endless glance from his terrified eyes. "If you ever touch any of these kids again," I taunt him by brushing my hand against his face as he did mine at the Halloween party not long ago. "I'll kill you. Do you understand?"
Billy falls unconscious. Max digs into his pockets for the keys to his Camero. I go to Steve to check on him, and he's barely hanging on to the waking world. I sit next to him and put his head in my lap. I wipe some of the blood pooling around his mouth and eyes with the sleeve of my sweater, effectively ruining it. It doesn't matter to me, though, not now.
"You're okay," Steve mumbles, squinting at me through swollen eyes.
I nod. "And you... well, you didn't die," I laugh. "He kicked your ass, though,"
"Kids..?" he looks around the best he can.
"They're good,"
"Y/N?"
"Yeah?"
"I think we're the world's best babysitters."
He doesn't give me time to come up with a quippy comeback before he dozes off from exhaustion. I fight the urge to push his head off of my lap, allowing him to fall into a sleepy daze.