#Once again Steve Harrington has an intense emotional moment in a bathroom

[aryanightshade]

The Levee Breaks

-

“No, no, no! Chrissy! Chrissy?” Panic bleeds into Eddie’s voice, and he lets go of the ladder, staggering backwards, face going slack with horror as he stares up at the tear between worlds. At their friends who are just out of reach on the other side, screaming as they shake Chrissy’s fragile shoulders, trying desperately to snap her out of her trance.

Steve grabs Eddie, spinning him around and pulling him against his chest, both their wounds forgotten. Eddie can’t see another person die like this. He can’t see her die. Not after everything they’ve been through together. He tangles his hand in Eddie’s curls, pinning his head in the crook of Steve’s shoulder as he writhes in panic, trying to block his vision. He won’t allow Eddie to witness this again, he won’t. He can’t.

He can’t do anything to save her, but he can save Eddie from this.

Steve hates that they’re trapped here, on the other side of the gate, too far away to do anything, even though he knows that there’s nothing to be done. Chrissy is as good as dead without a Walkman. Steve clings to Eddie, breathing in the sour sink of the Upside Down as he waits for the inevitable snap of bone. For Chrissy to shatter to pieces and traumatize Max and Robin and Dustin forever as they watch her get torn apart from the inside out.

Then Eddie jerks back, ripping himself from of Steve’s arms, and lunges for the base of the ladder.

“Eddie!”

“Lucas!” he screeches. “Lucas, I have a tape! I have a tape in my locker. Metallica!” His words spill out fast and tangled, voice crackling with terror.

Lucas steps back from Chrissy, peering up at the gate in desperation. “Where?”

“Number 113, in the hall by Mrs. Click’s room! It’s unlocked, go, go, go!”

Lucas takes off like a shot, dipping out of view.

“Chrissy, please,” Robin sobs.

Read on Ao3

[hartigays]

81 for Harringrove please?

81. “Here’s my number, call me some time.”

steve is really fucking drunk.

he probably should’ve planned better, considering he drove here. but hey, hindsight is 20/20, or whatever the fuck they say.

tommy’s having one last blowout before everyone takes off for college. everyone except for steve, that is. he’ll still be moseying around this nightmare of a town come august, working for his father.

if that’s part of the reason why steve has downed half a bottle of whiskey in the last hour and a half, well. no one needs to know other than himself.

the other reason - the somehow bigger reason - is rather basic, really.

being in love is a bitch. plain and simple.

and quite frankly, calls for a night of a heavy drinking every now and then. or every other night, which has been steve’s philosophy as of late.

because honestly, watching billy shove his tongue down another girl’s throat right here in the middle of tommy’s living room is less than ideal. it’s even less than ideal when he does it in the middle of family video, like he knows that steve is there, knows that steve’s eyes will always be on him anytime he’s around.

like it’s some kind of fucking test, constantly gauging steve’s reaction.

which, realistically, is a little ridiculous. billy hargrove has made it very clear what his feelings are towards steve.

steve just so happens to be the unbelievable dumbass who somehow fell for him anyway.

it’s not like billy has ever even been like, remotely nice to him. maybe he’d stuck up for steve once or twice, when tommy stooped a little too low in his effort to pick on him as often as possible, but other than that? billy might as well just write i hate you across steve’s forehead in permanent marker.

that wouldn’t be such a bad thing, if steve really thinks about it. maybe then he’d be constantly reminded to forget this strange obsession he’s developed for hawkins’ resident bad boy.

steve really doesn’t know how, or why, his attraction to billy even came to be. nor does he really even remember when. he’d just looked over one day, towards the end of the school year, and found himself looking at billy right as he tossed his head back, laughing loud and boisterous at something someone had said.

and it was just like, there he was. there this whole time, but steve had never really seen him. not until then.

a small thing, really. but it was enough.

steve’s affections grew, day by day, with every passing glance, every accidental touch during basketball, in every insult tossed his way that slowly started to become softer around the edges.

or maybe steve himself just became soft around the edges. soft and mushy emotions filling him up every time billy speaks to him, even when it’s words that are meant to hurt him.

steve takes another long swig from the bottle. feels the room tilt a little, feels that familiar burn in his gut.

he’s really fucking thankful that the bathroom happened to be free at this precise moment.

he unloads the contents of his stomach immediately after stumbling inside, shutting the door behind him clumsily.

steve recognizes that he probably should’ve eaten more today. but again, hindsight.

a pitiful groan escapes his lips as another round of wretching begins. his stomach rejects all the alcohol that steve has forced into it, until he’s just dry heaving over the toilet bowl.

hawkins high school’s former king. if they could only see him now, broken-hearted and dangerously intoxicated, his cheek resting on tommy h.’s fucking toilet seat as his stomach makes it its personal mission to destroy him.

“jesus, harrington. think you’ve had enough?”

every hair on steve’s body stands on end. he lifts his head, looking up at billy through wet lashes. his eyes must’ve been watering, but it hadn’t really registered in his mind until he looked at something other than the inside of the toilet bowl.

steve can’t keep his head up for long. just long enough to see billy eyeing the now mostly empty bottle of whiskey on the bathroom counter, before glancing back at him.

“fuck off. can’t you see i’m busy?”

billy snorts. steve squeezes his eyes shut, willing billy away with his mind.

it doesn’t work.

there’s a long stretch of silence, and for a moment steve thinks billy might’ve actually left. but then he hears the sink turn on, and the sound of billy rummaging through the cabinet beneath the sink.

then, steve nearly leaps out of his own skin in surprise. because billy places something ice cold and wet on the back of his neck without so much as a warning.

“hey, hey. it’s just a wet rag,” billy tells him. steve feels his other hand resting on his bicep, warm and heavy. “don’t shit your pants. if you haven’t already.”

“fuck you,” steve groans again, but doesn’t make any move to shove billy away.

truth is, the cold actually feels pretty damn good once steve gets used to it. or maybe it’s just the grounding weight of billy’s skin resting against his.

“here, sit up,” billy says, his voice gentler than steve has ever heard it. “come on, harrington, we don’t got all day here.”

steve makes a soft noise of protest when billy tugs at him until he’s sitting upright. his stomach churns, still queasy and full of alcohol.

billy puts a glass of water up to his lips, coaxing him to drink. watches him carefully, his brows furrowed and his blue eyes full of, what - concern?

he must be imagining things. again.

“ugh.” steve bats away the water glass, his face screwing up in displeasure once his stomach begins to turn unpleasantly.

billy just snorts out a laugh, shaking his head. puts the glass back up to his lips, gesturing for him to drink again. “nuh-uh. all of it, come on.”

steve glares at him. wants to tell him to fuck off again, to let him vomit up the contents of his stomach in peace.

he complies anyway.

“i’ll take you home,” billy offers once steve polishes off the water, setting the cup on the edge of the bathtub. “think you can walk?”

steve tries, he really does. but billy ends up nearly carrying him halfway to the camaro, supporting most of his weight.

the camaro feels cozy and warm once steve is tucked safely inside. but it smells overwhelmingly like billy - something like cigarettes and cologne and hairspray, with an undercurrent of something so uniquely billy that steve is pretty sure he won’t be able to live without after this moment.

the drive is mostly silent, until they pull up to steve’s parents’ big, empty house. until billy practically carries him inside again, up the stairs and into his room, where he then deposits him onto the bed.

“roll onto your side,” billy orders. huffs out a laugh when steve just rolls onto his stomach, smushing his face into his pillow. “you’re a fuckin’ pain in the ass, you know that?”

steve finally rolls onto his side, peering up at billy. “i might’ve been told once or twice.”

billy rolls his eyes. if he’s trying to come off as annoyed, it doesn’t work. it just looks endearing.

something warm and fuzzy blossoms in the pit of steve’s stomach.

“if i leave you here, do you promise not to choke on your own puke?” billy asks, arching a brow.

steve shrugs. “maybe.”

“that’s not very promising,” billy points out. shakes his head a little, like he’s had it up to here with steve’s antics.

steve just watches him through lidded eyes. billy looks like he’s about to turn to leave, before he pauses. he looks back down at him, chewing on his lip.

then, he leans down, pulling the covers over steve, taking his sweet time tucking him carefully into bed. when he’s finished, he hesitates again. before moving to tuck a lock of steve’s hair behind his ear, his cheeks tinged pink.

“i ever catch you drinking like that again, i’m gonna kick your ass.”

steve rolls his eyes, but cracks a small smile. it turns sad rather quickly, when he remembers why he’d been drinking like a monster in the first place.

“you wouldn’t stop kissing her,” steve says, before he can stop himself.

billy freezes. looks down at him with wide eyes, before hesitantly sitting on the edge of his bed.

“what?”

steve takes a deep breath, his cheeks burning. but the alcohol is still coursing through him, effectively skewing his judgment.

but he’s also just kind of fucking tired of all the bullshit.

“annie walker,” steve clarifies. “you were kissing her all night. you’re always kissing someone. but it’s - it’s never me.”

billy gives him this look, like he’s not sure if steve fully knows what he’s saying. “i think you’re just drunk, harrington.”

“i think that’s just a stupid excuse. i’m tired of excuses. i want it to be me. i want to be the one you want.”

a long stretch of silence, blue eyes burning into his with a scorching intensity. and then, “who says you’re not?”

“you say i’m not, every time you’re around me. you’ve always got some dumb girl’s tongue down your throat,” steve says, bitter.

“that’s - it’s not what you think.”

“oh yeah? then what? what’s that all about?” he asks, impatient. wanting billy to just fucking break it down for him already.

billy sighs, glancing up at the ceiling. looks back at him a moment later, tentatively reaching out and combing steve’s hair from his forehead. then says, simple and soft, “keeping up appearances.”

steve’s mind goes completely blank.

because, okay. it makes a lot more sense than steve was hoping it would. he kind of just wants to be mad, but. he gets it. and he’s not quite sure what to do with that.

“oh,” is all steve can come up with.

“yeah, oh.” billy gives him a goofy smile, a look steve has never seen on him but now that he has, he’s pretty sure he’ll need to see that look every day for the rest of his life just to feel happy.

billy stays silent for a beat, before standing up and crossing the room. grabs a piece of paper from steve’s desk, scribbling something onto it before walking back over. puts the paper on steve’s nightstand, right next to the bed.

“let’s talk about this tomorrow, yeah? you need to sleep this off,” billy suggests, his voice soft and small, even in the quiet of steve’s bedroom. “here’s the number to my new place. call me sometime? i’m, uh. i’m free all day.”

steve looks up at him with big eyes, before giving him a hopeful smile. “yeah?”

billy, only hesitating a moment, leans down and brushes his lips across steve’s forehead.

“yeah. get some sleep. i’ll - um. i’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

steve just nods, then watches billy walk across the room. he gives steve one last long look before disappearing out the door. steve hears the front door open and shut a moment later.

the next day, he buzzes around the house, occupying his body and mind with an endless list of chores. doing anything he can to avoid looking at the phone.

because he’d woken up feeling like death warmed over, remembering the night’s events with startling clarity. and the more he remembers, the more he worries that billy himself had just been drunk off his ass, making spur of the moment decisions in his impaired state.

when steve finally nuts up and picks up the phone, his stomach churns unpleasantly. he tries to blame it on the hangover, rather than his anxiety over billy potentially not picking up the phone. but in the end, all his worrying was for nothing.

because billy picks up on the third ring, his voice laced with excitement when he speaks.

“thought you’d never call, pretty boy.”

send me a number + a pairing!

[annanooo]

whumptober: “wake up”

Bloom (Steve has powers AU for Whumptober 2019) — Harringrove

Three days later, they moved Steve in with Billy.

It was a new room, but more of the same: two beds with rough sheets, a bathroom hidden enough to give the notion of privacy without the actual privacy, and the blinking red light watching from the corner. At least this one had a rug in the middle of the floor.

Billy was here already, sitting up in bed looking a hell of a lot more lucid than he did the other day. He was still bent half over with an arm resting around his middle, and his face was mostly a grimace, but Steve could feel his surprise and wariness the moment the door opened. He eyed them and the open hallway behind them without moving, probably still rooted to the spot by pain. He had basically been gutted, after all.

“There,” Rines said after walking him in, almost smug. Like Steve had been begging for a roommate and not his freedom. He shot him an indignant stare.

Rines was just about the only person he was permitted to have a conversation with in this place, for some reason, and they hated each other’s guts. Well, the guy kept his feelings guarded whenever he was around Steve, but it couldn’t be more obvious. It was a back and forth strategy game between them where pieces never moved. At least not on Steve’s end.

As expected, Rines only ignored him and turned on his heel for the door. They’d come so infuriatingly far from those first days when everyone seemed afraid of him.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Billy asked as soon as the door slammed shut.

“You don’t look too hot,” he said. Not the most pertinent thing to say, but goddamn, he could have kissed him. It was such a relief to talk to a normal person, to someone from the outside, even if it was Billy Hargrove.

“Fuck off,” Billy huffed. “Answer the question.”

“I have superpowers, apparently.”

Billy narrowed his eyes. “Get out of here.”

“Yeah, don’t I wish.” Steve sat on the empty bed opposite him. It could have been a dorm room in some other universe, minus a few comforts like a closet and a window.

Billy took in a breath and let it out very deliberately, the most measured sigh Steve had ever seen. His arm stayed tight around his middle.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked.

“Do I fucking look okay?” he snapped. “My body got ripped apart by a fucking monster, I’m stuck in this fucking— government prison with you, apparently, and I keep— seeing—” He gestured with his other hand, senseless motions in the air. “And what the fuck do you mean, superpowers?”

He didn’t think telling Billy about his powers was the best idea. Saying that he could feel everything that Billy felt, including the constant undercurrent of irritation, wouldn’t have gone over well. Probably.

But he did say, “They think I can make heads explode. Something like that.” Which wasn’t a complete lie.

“Bullshit,” Billy said. But then he squinted at him, the anger ebbing away into something close to curiosity. He must have really been through the wringer in the past couple weeks, because he said, “Can you?”

Being alone in a room for days on end had been terrible. But, like. Being in the same room as someone else all the time was a fresh type of nightmare.

Either his emotion-reading powers were getting stronger, or Billy was really, unexpectedly sensitive. Steve could practically read his direct thoughts sometimes with how intensely he was feeling shit. He couldn’t feel Billy’s physical pain, per se, but he could feel how much pain he was in like a tightness in his middle, a phantom sensation.

The other thing that kept him awake: Billy liked to keep the lights on. All the time. Even when they both gave up on being awake and tried to go to sleep. And ever since Steve had gotten fed up, head pounding, and stomped across the room to turn them off, Billy had been ignoring him. That asshole was pouting.

But he hadn’t figured out how to turn his powers off and it was like they were tied together by a rope. Every time it so much as twitched, Steve felt it. He missed his solitude already.

Then one night, or day, or whenever they both decided to sleep, the rope gave a sudden yank. Steve gasped awake and looked around frantically to see Billy already sitting up in his bed, staring at him— no, past him, at the wall. He looked around, his heart in his throat, but there was nothing else in the room with them. Everything was quiet.

“What?” he said, voice strained.

Billy didn’t respond. His eyes were wide in the dark. They didn’t even flicker away from where he was staring at the wall, like he couldn’t see or hear Steve there at all. And he was holding himself really still, like a rabbit who’d caught the movement of something bigger.

There were rare times his dad talked about how his grandpa got stuck in memories of the war, what he called flashbacks, triggered by seemingly the most random shit. He’d never actually seen that happen, but he didn’t picture flashbacks like this, being blind and deaf to reality.

At the same time, the sharp, jagged fear melting into Steve froze him up too. He broke out in goosebumps. There was something about the wall behind him — walls were not walls, walls could twist and break apart and grotesque monsters could come out of them. He kept learning that lesson every year. The walls between this world and the other world were fucking paper-thin in some places.

He looked behind him one more time. Slowly let his breath out. It was hard not to match Billy’s erratic forced-quiet breathing.

“Hey,” he tried again. Billy had snapped his eyes to the door now. Steve looked where the sliver of light from the hallway crept in but his own heartbeat covered up any noise, and he couldn’t sense anyone else over the blaring fear. “No one’s out there.” In case Billy could hear it. In case it would become certain once it was spoken.

Nothing. He swallowed and forced himself to slide, stiff and terrified, off the bed and onto suddenly shaky legs. He hadn’t been this scared since he was a kid. It felt like a monster was coming. Was he really reading thoughts now, or was the feeling alone that visceral?

Steve moved forward, crossing the space between their beds by inches. “Come on, man.” His voice was a pathetic whisper and his fucking hand was shaking when he reached out to touch Billy’s shoulder. “Wake up.”

He woke up alright. With a startled yelp he jerked away from Steve’s hand and fell right off the other side of the bed, then scrambled until his back hit the wall. It was so sudden that Steve almost screamed. His breath came in bursts, the exact same as Billy’s.

But Billy was looking directly at him now.

“Can you see me?” he asked, sounding like a maniac to his own ears.

Billy sagged against the wall. “Fuck, Harrington.”

Steve nearly collapsed from the relief. “Jesus Christ, man. Scared the shit out of me. What happened?”

“Turn the light on,” was all he managed.

Steve got up and did what he said for once, then sat back down on his own bed before his knees gave out. It didn’t do Billy any favors, either; his eyes looked worse under fluorescents. He was covered in a sheen of sweat. And he was shaking in a way Steve had hardly ever seen from anyone. Not fear anymore, but adrenaline.

Billy swallowed. “It’s gonna sound crazy. But there’s this cold, dead place.”