( Steve doesn't even bother to answer. what is there to say? Billy is geared up enough, at some point it is only a fire hazard to keep throwing kindling on the fire. or, pure kerosene, as seems more apt in this particular situation. he has no doubt that Billy would genuinely fuck him up, given the opportunity — it's just that he has to secure the Camaro first. which Steve is banking on, actually. that the worst of the fire will burn out looking for something the guy is never gonna find.
since it isn't on a shoulder by the woods in the first place.
it's a bit of a gamble, deciding exactly how long it'll take Billy to clear out on his wild goose chase. it would figure Steve's math was off, he's failing that class right now. Hurricane Billy is rushing in, in full hungover force. turns out Steve's math on him wearing himself out was wrong, too — though, in his defense on that one, he wasn't intending to be present when Billy found his car in his own driveway.
Steve doesn't run, though. he distinctly doesn't have the home field advantage, here, but strangely that makes him feel a little safer. there's no way Billy can pulverize him into the cement without the entire neighborhood noticing. there's more than just preteen children here to witness, this isn't a night of shadows and monsters that nobody can ever know about. it's just your average Saturday. and being a good guy and returning a premium set of wheels after a rager doesn't merit getting his face caved in, now does it. )
Asshole? ( Steve says, expression perfect painted on confusion. maybe he's in the home field after all — because as much as Billy hates Hawkins, Steve Harrington is practically an installation here. he knows this place and he knows every family on this street. knows that's Mr. Wellford eyeing them from the other side of his hedge. the suspicious looking mailman a couple doors down has been sneaking Steve peppermint candies when he hands over the bills since Steve was about seven years old. Steve knows these people, and who they expect him to be. and he can be that guy just fine, even if it's been awhile. ) You really do gotta work on your gratitude, buddy. Maybe lay off the sauce, you can drive your own car home after a party.
( there's something a bit defiant about the ring of the keys through the air as he tosses them in Billy's direction. arming him with a murder weapon, if they were somewhere else. Steve is clearly quite confident that Billy is muzzled in his own driveway, though, and is apparently willing to risk it. )
[ Steve’s easy cadence stops Billy in his tracks. He’s ready to throw down. He’s ready to eat Steve alive. Then he looks around and sees what Steve sees. It may not be Steve’s homefield, but — isn't it. Sort of? Hawkins is Steve Harrington’s, isn’t it? Billy gets the high school and empty houses filled with spooked children. There’s a neighbor trimming a tree. A mail man. Some kids are piling out of a house with hockey sticks and a rubber ball.
And Billy wants to pound Steve’s face into the cement. He jumps, which he regrets, when the keys get close and he snatches them out the air without his usual grace. Steve’s talking too loud, mirroring Billy’s animal growl, but now his voice goes lower, hissed out as he gets closer, like maybe he can get close enough to wring Steve’s neck without Mrs. Cross noticing. She’s taking out the trash. ]
Which one are you now? Thing 1 or Thing 2? Thought you didn’t fuck with Hagan.
[ And they’re awfully buddy-buddy aren’t they? Last night was a blunder. ]
( Billy is getting too close and it's familiar in a not so welcome sort of way. Steve's posture doesn't yield much but his expression shifts, for half a moment. maybe Steve learned something from getting his ass kicked at the Byers, after all. he leans back against the Camaro and crosses his arms, feet somewhat planted, anyway. it would at least be harder to shove him straight over this way, is the idea. though, it's not like he's got a good exit strategy, with Hargrove pinning in too close for comfort. same sort of unhinged look on him as the last time Steve decided to lie to the guy's face. )
What? ( of all the questions he anticipated, what's up with you and Tommy really wasn't it. he even huffs an incredulous laugh. ) One night thing. He's all yours, buddy. ( it's even paired with the worlds most sarcastic friendly slap to the shoulder. the hubris of human nature, to push a limit the second it is presented. this is not the morning to test the length of Billy's chain and yet here he is, rattling it anyway.
in a strange way it feels like this moment is in sharper focus, than sleepwalking through school and pretending he doesn't see Nancy and Jonathan eating lunch together every day. he might be seconds away from Billy knocking his teeth out, and yet toeing the line of something dangerous almost feels more normal than sitting through home room and pretending he'll actually sleep when he turns the light off at night. ) C'mon, Hargrove. A little thank you wouldn't kill you.
[ What a stupid, lousy thing to say. Steve's "what" feels like a nail in a coffin. Billy's surprised him, but not in any way he wants to. Who gives a shit if Hagan is off Billy's leash? He doesn't. Not really. Except of course he does, because having control over Tommy lets Billy have some control over HHS. What a stupid lousy thing to say.
The slap on his shoulder is a second, echoing nail, and it doesn't bode well with Billy's hissed out, "Keep him, that stupid son of a bitch." Because Tommy's gotten way too familiar if he thinks he can wrap his sweaty fingers around Billy's keys when he's drunk and high to hell. ]
You want me to thank you? You're going to be thanking me if you make it out of here alive.
[ And for a wild moment, he believes it. Really believes he's going to rip Steve Harrington to shreds. He almost makes it, steps the final step into Steve's space, hand on his shoulder and ready to press him backwards, hard against the car, bend him backward until his spine snaps and Billy can wring his neck in peace, in front of Mrs. Cross and the mailman and God, but —
The front door opens and the hand on Steve's shoulder twitches before both arms drop like cut marionette strings. Neil Hargrove and his son are of a similar height. That's where most of the similarities end. Dark haired and eyed, Billy's father strolls out of his home like he owns the place, which he does. The Harrington's might own Hawkins in a spiritual, generational sort of way, but Neil Hargrove is master of his domain.
He looks at Billy, looks at Steve, looks at the pretty blue Camaro. And when he approaches, Billy is quiet for a beat too long.
“Well? Introduce me to your friend.”
Friend. Friend. Like Steve Harrington’s his friend. Billy’s mouth parts, maybe to say he’d rather gut himself than say they’re friendly, but his mouth shuts with a tiny click. Self preservation is a bitch — and Billy woke up at home with no car. Now there’s a car. Weird isn’t it? ]
Yes. [ An uncomfortable beat when Neil looks at him, not Steve. ] …Sir. This is Steve Harrington. We’re [ not friends. ] on the basketball team. Together.
[ “Harrington.” Neil recognizes the name, but his expression remains cool. That — is rather like Billy isn’t it? Cold, expressionless, until he’s tipped into flirtation or icy, cruel fury. Neil sticks out his hand to shake, and he hasn’t looked at Billy since he prompted the ‘sir.’
( if there's a more awkward way to meet the dad of a guy who nearly beat your face in, Steve doesn't know it. 2 seconds away from tasting his own teeth wasn't exactly how he would have wanted it to go. it is impossible to know if it is obvious to an outsider that they were about to scrap like feral cats, though the energy of Billy's dad showing up really does suck the air out of the room. and they're standing outside, so, that's saying something.
Steve straightens, evaluating the situation he's found himself in. on one hand, parents love him. even Barb's parents goddamn loved him. which sort of felt bad, all things considered. on the other, Billy's dad presents like he's never liked anyone ever, so maybe being parent catnip isn't going to work out for him for once.
and all of this is. weird. Steve actually relates to an old man that talks around him like he's not fucking there. feels a little crooked and uncomfortable, to be the one that's intentionally seen for once. he takes the handshake because is it an option not to? but it's a brusk, hit the brief sort of maneuver. ) Nice to meet you, Mr. Hargrove. ( is he supposed to be following the 'sir' thing? hopefully not. Steve doesn't even call his own father sir.
it's a really good question, why he has the Camaro. and Billy has provided exactly no backup on the situation. Steve stalls, glancing to stare at it like he just remembered it was there. ) It was a favor. Girls aren't impressed by a classic, anymore. Thought I'd see if I liked something flashier, but I'm still not sure.
( it's not anything Billy hasn't figured out about Steve, really, but he's a fucking solid liar. he can lie straight to someone's face, complete and utter bullshit. most of the time it lands because he's just so convincing about it. he's a bullshit artist. bullshit is his second language! he's fucking fluent, even though he's not particularly proud of the fact. and that's what it all is, bullshit. Billy can meet him in the middle, agree that he meant it. or he can cough up that he was too wasted to do anything about somebody stealing his keys. it's not like there's not risk for both parties. it's some kind of illegal to take a joyride in somebody else's car, even if Steve isn't the one that personally stole the keys. Billy could call him out if he wanted to, just not without shooting himself in the foot to do it. )
[ Steve's a fucking liar. Billy wasn't unaware that he's a shitass, grade-A liar. No one can rise to the top of the shark tank that is high school without being the one who can spin a lie to their parents, who can sweet talk adults into looking the other way. It's not a surprise that Steve's lying, it's that — Steve is lying for him. Sure, it might be for himself too, but it's also for Billy, isn't it? But Billy can lie too. Steve has to know that Billy's all smoke and mirrors curling around a pair of fists and snarling teeth. But —
Billy's not really good at lying to his old man. He's not sure why, he's just dog shit at it. Maybe because half the time it doesn't really matter to Neil whether he's telling the truth or not. Those sorts of things don't really tend to matter to Neil. It's not that Billy would have gone belly up and confessed, but he would have evaded. Little white lies, little basic ones, it's hard to keep the big ones going for Neil. Usually, Billy just takes the punishment if it's doled out.
He doesn't really know what to make of it. Part of him wants to scream. A big part of him is angry, angry that Steve thinks he can come here and lie and then probably ask Billy for some sort of favor afterwards, after the absolute bullshit he and Tommy pulled. Honestly, lending his car out for such a stupid reason in Neil's eyes might mean he gets cuffed anyway, so maybe none of this matters. Billy's expression is still stoic, but his eyes are cold. He's pissed, it's probably obvious to Steve. To Neil — well, when have they ever understood one another? So what's all this matter? When it's his turn to speak, to confirm it, he nearly starts to shout. Maybe he'll just spit it out: I got trashed on whiskey, took some sort of pill. All of me feels trashed, and this fucker stole my car. But all that's still my fault, sir.
He doesn't say that. ]
He drives a beemer. 733i.
[ What does Neil Hargrove think of Steve Harrington cruising for pussy in his son's car? Billy can't tell. It depends on the day and Neil's mood whether his son's a 'hot blooded American man' or if he's trash, rolling around with a gaggle of whores. At least for now, Neil seems hotblooded. He nods. Says to Steve: "If you're not going to buy American, at least you're buying German." And then he makes small talk. About cars. With Steven Harrington. And Billy watches, seething. ]
Edited (oops, subject line) Date: 2023-01-29 01:00 am (UTC)
( oh, trust Steve is aware Billy is pissed. he was there when the guy was this close to taking a second crack at making his face minced meat. it's plenty obvious. he's sure as hell not helping sell anything. it's one man show out here. it's goddamn uncomfortable. like Steve got caught in the middle of something somehow, and doesn't that just keep happening to him lately? he really should have left the Camaro by the side of the road.
while Billy never bothers to back him up, he doesn't call him out either. Steve doesn't particularly want to talk about cars with Neil Hargrove, especially with Billy standing just to the side like a livewire ready to electrocute somebody to death if they make the mistake of getting too close. Billy is not a part of the conversation. Steve can't decide if that's because he's too busy thinking up novel ways to murder him and it's too difficult to chat at the same time, or if it's something else.
Steve wanted to get out of here about as soon as Neil showed up, if not around when Billy was making active threats of violence. still, he slogs through as much of an excruciating conversation as he can stand before he makes a point of checking his watch, and sighing. ) Shit. Sorry, Mr. Hargrove. I gotta go, I'm supposed to babysit tonight. ( also bullshit, but that's probably a good enough of an excuse to beat it. he could go through his prolonged midwest goodbye and be walking to Roccos in less than five minutes, Billy chained to his own driveway to be a problem later.
he's not really sure why he does it. if it's a life line, or curiosity, or if he has a death with. whatever inspires it, Steve looks at Billy intently and prompts, ) You gonna give me a ride or what, asshole? ( hopefully that hit something resembling friendly banter, because calling Billy an asshole is the most genuine he's been in the past give minutes. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
otherbitches.
Date: 2022-11-27 02:08 am (UTC)( Steve doesn't even bother to answer. what is there to say? Billy is geared up enough, at some point it is only a fire hazard to keep throwing kindling on the fire. or, pure kerosene, as seems more apt in this particular situation. he has no doubt that Billy would genuinely fuck him up, given the opportunity — it's just that he has to secure the Camaro first. which Steve is banking on, actually. that the worst of the fire will burn out looking for something the guy is never gonna find.
since it isn't on a shoulder by the woods in the first place.
it's a bit of a gamble, deciding exactly how long it'll take Billy to clear out on his wild goose chase. it would figure Steve's math was off, he's failing that class right now. Hurricane Billy is rushing in, in full hungover force. turns out Steve's math on him wearing himself out was wrong, too — though, in his defense on that one, he wasn't intending to be present when Billy found his car in his own driveway.
Steve doesn't run, though. he distinctly doesn't have the home field advantage, here, but strangely that makes him feel a little safer. there's no way Billy can pulverize him into the cement without the entire neighborhood noticing. there's more than just preteen children here to witness, this isn't a night of shadows and monsters that nobody can ever know about. it's just your average Saturday. and being a good guy and returning a premium set of wheels after a rager doesn't merit getting his face caved in, now does it. )
Asshole? ( Steve says, expression perfect painted on confusion. maybe he's in the home field after all — because as much as Billy hates Hawkins, Steve Harrington is practically an installation here. he knows this place and he knows every family on this street. knows that's Mr. Wellford eyeing them from the other side of his hedge. the suspicious looking mailman a couple doors down has been sneaking Steve peppermint candies when he hands over the bills since Steve was about seven years old. Steve knows these people, and who they expect him to be. and he can be that guy just fine, even if it's been awhile. ) You really do gotta work on your gratitude, buddy. Maybe lay off the sauce, you can drive your own car home after a party.
( there's something a bit defiant about the ring of the keys through the air as he tosses them in Billy's direction. arming him with a murder weapon, if they were somewhere else. Steve is clearly quite confident that Billy is muzzled in his own driveway, though, and is apparently willing to risk it. )
no subject
Date: 2022-12-04 03:56 pm (UTC)And Billy wants to pound Steve’s face into the cement. He jumps, which he regrets, when the keys get close and he snatches them out the air without his usual grace. Steve’s talking too loud, mirroring Billy’s animal growl, but now his voice goes lower, hissed out as he gets closer, like maybe he can get close enough to wring Steve’s neck without Mrs. Cross noticing. She’s taking out the trash. ]
Which one are you now? Thing 1 or Thing 2? Thought you didn’t fuck with Hagan.
[ And they’re awfully buddy-buddy aren’t they? Last night was a blunder. ]
no subject
Date: 2022-12-28 12:29 am (UTC)What? ( of all the questions he anticipated, what's up with you and Tommy really wasn't it. he even huffs an incredulous laugh. ) One night thing. He's all yours, buddy. ( it's even paired with the worlds most sarcastic friendly slap to the shoulder. the hubris of human nature, to push a limit the second it is presented. this is not the morning to test the length of Billy's chain and yet here he is, rattling it anyway.
in a strange way it feels like this moment is in sharper focus, than sleepwalking through school and pretending he doesn't see Nancy and Jonathan eating lunch together every day. he might be seconds away from Billy knocking his teeth out, and yet toeing the line of something dangerous almost feels more normal than sitting through home room and pretending he'll actually sleep when he turns the light off at night. ) C'mon, Hargrove. A little thank you wouldn't kill you.
jfc this is long, sry
Date: 2022-12-29 04:44 am (UTC)The slap on his shoulder is a second, echoing nail, and it doesn't bode well with Billy's hissed out, "Keep him, that stupid son of a bitch." Because Tommy's gotten way too familiar if he thinks he can wrap his sweaty fingers around Billy's keys when he's drunk and high to hell. ]
You want me to thank you? You're going to be thanking me if you make it out of here alive.
[ And for a wild moment, he believes it. Really believes he's going to rip Steve Harrington to shreds. He almost makes it, steps the final step into Steve's space, hand on his shoulder and ready to press him backwards, hard against the car, bend him backward until his spine snaps and Billy can wring his neck in peace, in front of Mrs. Cross and the mailman and God, but —
The front door opens and the hand on Steve's shoulder twitches before both arms drop like cut marionette strings. Neil Hargrove and his son are of a similar height. That's where most of the similarities end. Dark haired and eyed, Billy's father strolls out of his home like he owns the place, which he does. The Harrington's might own Hawkins in a spiritual, generational sort of way, but Neil Hargrove is master of his domain.
He looks at Billy, looks at Steve, looks at the pretty blue Camaro. And when he approaches, Billy is quiet for a beat too long.
“Well? Introduce me to your friend.”
Friend. Friend. Like Steve Harrington’s his friend. Billy’s mouth parts, maybe to say he’d rather gut himself than say they’re friendly, but his mouth shuts with a tiny click. Self preservation is a bitch — and Billy woke up at home with no car. Now there’s a car. Weird isn’t it? ]
Yes. [ An uncomfortable beat when Neil looks at him, not Steve. ] …Sir. This is Steve Harrington. We’re [ not friends. ] on the basketball team. Together.
[ “Harrington.” Neil recognizes the name, but his expression remains cool. That — is rather like Billy isn’t it? Cold, expressionless, until he’s tipped into flirtation or icy, cruel fury. Neil sticks out his hand to shake, and he hasn’t looked at Billy since he prompted the ‘sir.’
“Does my son lend out his car then?” ]
its ok i m sure i have done worse to u without apologies
Date: 2023-01-08 01:20 am (UTC)Steve straightens, evaluating the situation he's found himself in. on one hand, parents love him. even Barb's parents goddamn loved him. which sort of felt bad, all things considered. on the other, Billy's dad presents like he's never liked anyone ever, so maybe being parent catnip isn't going to work out for him for once.
and all of this is. weird. Steve actually relates to an old man that talks around him like he's not fucking there. feels a little crooked and uncomfortable, to be the one that's intentionally seen for once. he takes the handshake because is it an option not to? but it's a brusk, hit the brief sort of maneuver. ) Nice to meet you, Mr. Hargrove. ( is he supposed to be following the 'sir' thing? hopefully not. Steve doesn't even call his own father sir.
it's a really good question, why he has the Camaro. and Billy has provided exactly no backup on the situation. Steve stalls, glancing to stare at it like he just remembered it was there. ) It was a favor. Girls aren't impressed by a classic, anymore. Thought I'd see if I liked something flashier, but I'm still not sure.
( it's not anything Billy hasn't figured out about Steve, really, but he's a fucking solid liar. he can lie straight to someone's face, complete and utter bullshit. most of the time it lands because he's just so convincing about it. he's a bullshit artist. bullshit is his second language! he's fucking fluent, even though he's not particularly proud of the fact. and that's what it all is, bullshit. Billy can meet him in the middle, agree that he meant it. or he can cough up that he was too wasted to do anything about somebody stealing his keys. it's not like there's not risk for both parties. it's some kind of illegal to take a joyride in somebody else's car, even if Steve isn't the one that personally stole the keys. Billy could call him out if he wanted to, just not without shooting himself in the foot to do it. )
crawls out of a pit
Date: 2023-01-29 01:00 am (UTC)Billy's not really good at lying to his old man. He's not sure why, he's just dog shit at it. Maybe because half the time it doesn't really matter to Neil whether he's telling the truth or not. Those sorts of things don't really tend to matter to Neil. It's not that Billy would have gone belly up and confessed, but he would have evaded. Little white lies, little basic ones, it's hard to keep the big ones going for Neil. Usually, Billy just takes the punishment if it's doled out.
He doesn't really know what to make of it. Part of him wants to scream. A big part of him is angry, angry that Steve thinks he can come here and lie and then probably ask Billy for some sort of favor afterwards, after the absolute bullshit he and Tommy pulled. Honestly, lending his car out for such a stupid reason in Neil's eyes might mean he gets cuffed anyway, so maybe none of this matters. Billy's expression is still stoic, but his eyes are cold. He's pissed, it's probably obvious to Steve. To Neil — well, when have they ever understood one another? So what's all this matter? When it's his turn to speak, to confirm it, he nearly starts to shout. Maybe he'll just spit it out: I got trashed on whiskey, took some sort of pill. All of me feels trashed, and this fucker stole my car. But all that's still my fault, sir.
He doesn't say that. ]
He drives a beemer. 733i.
[ What does Neil Hargrove think of Steve Harrington cruising for pussy in his son's car? Billy can't tell. It depends on the day and Neil's mood whether his son's a 'hot blooded American man' or if he's trash, rolling around with a gaggle of whores. At least for now, Neil seems hotblooded. He nods. Says to Steve: "If you're not going to buy American, at least you're buying German." And then he makes small talk. About cars. With Steven Harrington. And Billy watches, seething. ]
no subject
Date: 2023-01-30 01:13 am (UTC)while Billy never bothers to back him up, he doesn't call him out either. Steve doesn't particularly want to talk about cars with Neil Hargrove, especially with Billy standing just to the side like a livewire ready to electrocute somebody to death if they make the mistake of getting too close. Billy is not a part of the conversation. Steve can't decide if that's because he's too busy thinking up novel ways to murder him and it's too difficult to chat at the same time, or if it's something else.
Steve wanted to get out of here about as soon as Neil showed up, if not around when Billy was making active threats of violence. still, he slogs through as much of an excruciating conversation as he can stand before he makes a point of checking his watch, and sighing. ) Shit. Sorry, Mr. Hargrove. I gotta go, I'm supposed to babysit tonight. ( also bullshit, but that's probably a good enough of an excuse to beat it. he could go through his prolonged midwest goodbye and be walking to Roccos in less than five minutes, Billy chained to his own driveway to be a problem later.
he's not really sure why he does it. if it's a life line, or curiosity, or if he has a death with. whatever inspires it, Steve looks at Billy intently and prompts, ) You gonna give me a ride or what, asshole? ( hopefully that hit something resembling friendly banter, because calling Billy an asshole is the most genuine he's been in the past give minutes. )