#danny in the back seat: My mommy can beat up your daddy >:3

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Danny wasn't sure what to do. Was this legal? He knew the bats were part of the Justice League and whatnot but surely they can't just pick him up off the street after he got into a brawl with some creeps trying to mug him!

Sure, Nightwing had jumped down to help and Danny, still in his living form with its crappy human vision, thought he was another mugger because of the dark and attacked him too.

Now he's sitting in the back seat of the batmobile with his hands in wierd bat handcuffs.

Was everything these guys owned bat themed? Yeah his parents put there last name in all the titles of their inventions but they had a brand to sell so it was excusable. Batman however, is clearly living out his bat shaped dreams. Usually Danny was all for the furrys doing thier thing, one of his best friends was a proud furry and Danny 100% supported him, but there was a line you don't cross and tall dark and fuzzy crossed it when he kidnaped one 14 year old Danny Fenton.

He couldn't Go Ghost right in front of Batman and Nightwing but he could use the one thing his mom made him take with him everywhere since he was a little boy.

His panic button.

It was powered by ectoplasm and could get through signal jammer with no problem. If he pressed the button his parents would drop everything to come save him. They made sure to put little sirens and flashing lights in thier own hazmat suits to make sure they didn't accidentally miss it. Sure they looked hilarious the few times he had seen it go off in his life but it was highly effective.

So he pushed the button and his parents were charging torward them in record time, the GAV playing chicken with the freaking batmobile. Suddenly his mothers voice came from the panic button, "Are you in the front of back, sweetie?"

"I, uh." He stuttered, looking up at the shocked face of Nightwing before answering, "The back."

"Perfect." He mother said darkly.

A trio of high mechanical whines filled the air and Danny didn't need to look through the windshield to know the buzz saws were out.

----

Bruce just wanted to know why Danny Fenton, youngest of the Fenton Family and son of Jack Fenton and Madeline Walker, two people whose marriage brokered peace between thier prospective mafia syndicate families, was doing in Gotham beating up low level thugs.

He was not expecting overprotective mad scientist parents.

[sunny-flower-girl-01]

Ohana- A Hawaii Five-0 Fanfic Chapter Six

First, I just have to say I'm SO SO SO SO SORRY for how long it took to get this chapter up. I had work, Halloween, 3 birthdays (including my own) and I had to move classrooms, which I am just now settling into. I've always had time to write at work and at home, but this past month just hasn't been cooperating with me. I know this one is short, but I've been dying to make an update, so you guys don't think I've completely abandoned you, because I didn't!

I know this chapter is short a maybe a little boring, but the next chapter is underway, and I hope to have it up by next weekend before I go on my trip.

Thank you guys so much again!

Following Day

Steve McGarrett's House

Steve’s POV:

I dropped my keys on the table as I walked through the front door. Shutting and locking the door behind me, I went into the kitchen to see Danny drinking coffee and making pancakes. I saw his car in the driveway when I pulled in, so I knew he was here.

“Whatcha doin’ here, Danno? I thought you and Kari would be having breakfast this morning. Not that I’m complaining, pancakes look good.” I said as I poured myself a cup of coffee and pulled the butter out of the fridge.

“Yeah well you aren’t going to get any if you keep putting butter in your damn coffee.” He said. I could tell he was pissed off. I stayed silent for a moment to see if he’d continue.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.

He sighed and flipped a pancake. “I broke up with Kari.”

“Oh... I’m sorry man.” I leaned back against the counter and watched him work. “Again, not that I’m complaining, but why are you here and not at your place?”

“Better question, why weren’t you here when I got here?” He shot me a look. I rolled my eyes. Truth was, after Thea got off the phone with Nora, she and I fell asleep on her couch. We stayed up for a while and talked about nothing in particular. She told me some stories from her childhood, and I told her about my time in the Navy, whatever I was able to tell her. We agreed last night that we need to take this thing between us at a slow pace. We’re about to become parents so we need to be careful with how we do this. I shrugged my shoulders.

“I was with Thea last night.” I said simply and took a drink of my coffee. I moved to grab some pancakes when Danny lifted the plate and moved it out of arm's reach for me.

“You were where?”

“I was with Thea, okay? She got some bad news and needed someone to talk to so I went over and we fell asleep on the couch. Now give me a damn pancake.”

“All you did was sleep?” He asked.

“Yes, dammit. Give me the plate.” I said, leaning over the kitchen island to grab the plate from him.

He shook his head and set the plate down. He turned back to the stove to put more batter in the pan. “Don’t eat all of them. Rachel is dropping Grace off here in a bit when they get done looking at apartments with Thea.”

I nodded and made myself a plate. “Rachel’s been pretty generous with your time with Grace recently. Anything up with that?”

He shrugged and flipped the pancakes. “I don’t know. She hasn’t been fighting with me at all recently. I’m starting to think her and Stan are planning on moving again. They acted just like this before she told me she was moving my daughter across a whole country.”

“She can’t move her again. This is Grace’s home and your home, no matter how much you hate it here.” I said. Despite Danny’s feelings about the state of Hawaii, I knew he could never leave the family that he has found here with Five-0. It would never be the same without Danny or Grace.

Danny turned around and opened his mouth to say something. I knew exactly what he was about to say, so I beat him to it.

“I know, Danno. You don’t have to explain it to me.”

About an hour later, after I had gone on my swim and my run, Grace was dropped off and was trying to convince me and Danny we needed to go to Kamekona’s.

“Monkey, you just had breakfast an hour ago, let’s wait a little bit.” Danny explained. He and I were sitting on the couch watching a football game. Mostly it was me trying to pay attention to the game while Danny made comments and yelled at the tv the whole time. Grace was up at the table coloring. This was a normal Saturday routine for us. Sometimes Grace was here, sometimes she wasn’t. Other times the rest of the team joined us. After the crazy week we’ve had a work with the murder case we’re been on for a while, it’s nice to be able to sit down and relax.

“Thea asked me about Ty’s case. I feel bad not being able to tell her anything.” I said, taking a swig of my beer.

“Well you’ve got to know something to be able to tell her.” Danny said, glancing up at Grace who was in her own little world coloring. “This is the 3rd drowning victim found at that dock. All showing the same signs of a struggle, once we’re able to pinpoint where the bodies came before they washed up, it’ll narrow down the search. We’ll find them Steve.”

I nodded, turning back to the TV. “Yeah, yeah I know. I just don’t want there to be another body before we're able to get a lead.”

Danny’s phone started to ring from the kitchen. Grace got up and dashed to the other room. “I got it, I got it!”

Danny rolled his eyes. We both knew it wasn’t going to be work, they would have called me first. “I swear if it’s Rachel telling me she’s gonna pick her up soon, I might actually throw myself into the ocean.”

“You realize most people would actually enjoy that right?”

“Shut up.”

“Danno, it’s Auntie Thea.” Grace said, coming into the living room and holding the phone out to Danny. Danny and I gave each other a weird look. Why would she be calling Danny?

“Any arguments I need to know about?” Danny asked as he took the phone from Grace. I rolled my eyes and swatted his arm, trying to leave a mark.

“Answer the damn phone.” I said.

Thea’s POV:

“Why do we have to move?” Nora asked me for the 10th time this morning. I’ve had this conversation with her about 5 times in the last week. She doesn’t want to move from our little apartment, the only home she’s ever had. I’ve lived there since I left my mother’s house when I was 18. When Nora was born, she lived with my mother for about 3 weeks, then I moved her in with me. Since I was the only one taking care of her, it made more sense to have her with me instead of me traveling back and forth every day. Julia, my mother, never objected to it. She had Nora’s things packed up and waiting for me when I told her I was coming to get her. The next time I saw her was at her funeral a few months later.

“Because sweetie, our place is too small for two more babies, so we need to find a bigger place to fit everyone.” I said, glancing back at her in the rearview mirror. She was leaning back in her booster seat, staring out the window. She turned her head and looked at me in the mirror.

“Is Steve going to live with us?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but quickly closed it when I didn’t have anything to say. Steve and I had never really talked about what was going to happen after I had the twins. He would want to be close to them, right? Where would they stay? You couldn’t move newborn's back and forth like that could you? Why did it take my 7-year-old to make me realize these things?

“Uhm, I don’t know babe. I’ll have to talk to Steve about it.” I left it at that. I really did need to have a conversation with Steve about it. After last night, I feel better about sitting down and having this conversation with him. It was obvious that we both wanted to spend more time together, so finding a schedule that worked for all of us wouldn’t be too difficult.

“Since he’s going to be the new baby's daddy, does that mean he’s going to be-” She was cut off by my cell phone ringing. I quickly answered it, knowing full well what Nora’s question was about to be, but I didn’t have it in me to answer it right now.

I glanced down quickly to see it was Rachel before I held it up to my ear.

“Hey Rach, what’s up?” There was no response on the other end of the line, just some shuffling around and a loud banging sound. “Hello, Rachel? Can you hear me?” I asked again. This time, I heard what sounded like Stan off in the distance on the other end of the line.

“Open the fucking door Rachel, before I break it down?”

My eyes widened and I quickly tried to get Rachel’s attention. “Rachel! Hello! Can you hear me? Rachel, answer the phone!”

I heard Rachel call out and scream before the line went dead. Thankfully, I was at a red light and quickly calledDanny.

“Mommy, what’s wrong?” Nora asked. Me yelling at the phone probably scared her.

I looked back at her. “It’s fine baby, I just got to call Danny okay?” I turned down another street when I finally heard him answer.

“Hey Thea, what’s up? You know I think you hurt Steve’s feelings calling me instead of him.” He joked.

“Danny, something’s wrong over at Rachel’s house. I think Stan hurt her.”

Danny was silent for a moment. “What do you mean?” The joking tone in his voice was gone.

“She called me, I don’t know if it was on accident or on purpose. I could hear a lot of noise and Stan telling her he was going to break a door down. She was screaming but the phone hung up before I could get her to hear me.” I remembered suddenly that Rachel hadn’t told him about the divorce or the reason she was divorcing him. I knew Stan was angry, but I never thought that he would act like this towards her.

“Thea, where are you?” He asked. I could hear Steve asking him in the background what was going on. “Nora and I were on our way to Kamekona’s.” I was trying to pay attention to the road and talk on the phone.

“How close are you to Steve’s place? I have Grace over here and I don’t want to bring her.” I pulled up to the next light and made a U-turn.

“I’m just a few blocks away.” I said. He hung up and I put my phone down on the passenger seat.

“Nora, we’re going to go hang out with Grace at Steve’s for a while. Maybe I can call Kamekona and have him bring us some food. How about that?” I asked her. The nervous look on her face broke my heart.

“But is Auntie Rachel going to be okay?”

I tried my best to give her a small smile in the rear-view mirror.

“I hope so sweet pea, I hope so.”

[platypanthewriter]

Strangest 1: Pandora’s Trunk

Strangest takes place the same night as the climax of season two, after Steve and Billy’s fight and Joyce Byer’s BF died.  (Did Tumblr eat chapters 1-3?  Did I never post them?  I do not know!  I couldn’t find them, so here’s the first!)

It totally made sense that Max would stay with Lucas and Dustin in the blanket fort that was taking over the living area of the Byers house. And of course El and Mike had laid claim to the table, where it looked like they were assembling crowns and helmets, of Will’s design.

Mrs. Byers and Hopper had taken over Adulting, which was a relief, and Steve had ducked out amidst a general explosion of affectionate profanity and hair ruffling. Through the window, he could see them tearing hot chocolate packets open--he watched Mrs. Byers teasing the kids with different mismatched mugs, and cocked his head. He didn’t really fit in there, he thought, in the blanket fort, or in the tense kitchen after the kids retreated to their realm. He definitely didn’t belong wherever Jonathan and Nancy had disappeared to. It made sense for him to leave.

The fog had lifted, and he willed his shoulders to unclench, all the while trying to figure out the closest place to his bed to hide his bat. An evening project to keep him from thinking about his completely empty house. His house was also fine, since he was not injured, or twelve years old, and had working light switches. Logically, it was over. His brain just wasn’t catching up to breaking news.

He sat more heavily against the Camaro, and it thumped back, which provoked an, again, entirely logical windmilling tumble as Steve tried to keep the bat and both eyes pointed at it all the while scrambling away on three limbs. After a moment of eye-burning terror, he recognized the pattern of sound as kicking and a lot of things Max’ brother probably didn’t need to be calling her, and he stood with a nervous spin, yanking his jacket straight.

He took a breath and held it, rolling his shoulders as he looked back at the cheerily lit Byer’s house with every light on, and back to the car bouncing with the booted feet slamming against the inside of the trunk. After several paced circuits of the car, Billy’s voice had stopped threatening. He was laughing, slamming himself around in there, his voice getting higher. Steve scrabbled at his hair, sliding his hands down to cover his face. He really wasn’t sure any kind of logic applied to Billy Hargrove.

If he let Billy out here, he might just run in there and Hopper would have to shoot him, in front of a ton of little shitheads who had barely escaped being eaten by monsters today. If he just...drove him to his house, somebody would eventually let him out, and...would Max let him out?! Steve groaned to himself, long and slow, because if they were anything like Steve’s parents, Billy Hargrove’d be no trouble to anyone ever again, after he died because nobody looked for him and Steve Harrington knowingly left a human being in the trunk of a car. 

Steve took a few deep breaths, idly walking back around to regard the open car window, and the keys on the seat. He looked back at the house for one long hopeful moment, to see Hopper patting Joyce on the back as she threw weak punches into his shoulders, flailing before he caught her against his jacket. They swayed there in silhouette, their shoulders shaking. Steve sighed. He kicked the trunk. The thumping stopped, then exploded again, and Steve banged again.

“Listen,” he started, and the banging stopped, for long enough that Steve thought it would have been better if he had something to say. “I didn’t leave you in there, and I can’t let you out--” the banging started again in earnest, along with a lot of “fuck”s, “bitch”s, and demands about Max--it was a good thing Hopper’d put music on in the house. “Max is fine! She’s inside--I’ll let you out somewhere else, do you want me to take you home, or--” the thumping stopped.

“Where the fuck is that freak, I’ll kill her, I’ll kill you, you fucking--” Steve banged the trunk again, and Billy pounded back, screaming incoherently.

“Mrs. Byers called your house, Max is staying over!” he tried, on the off-chance this could just suddenly turn into a normal, post-monster, partially kidnapped conversation. “I’LL TAKE YOU HOME, THEN,” he said loudly into the seam of the trunk, and Billy started struggling again.

“Max has to go home,” the muffled, furious voice yelled back, pounding and scraping at the inside of the trunk loudly enough that he was probably injuring himself, and Steve thought it was completely unfair the death threats were still audible. “I’ll be back here the second you open this fucking trunk, Harrington, I’ll drag her back by the fucking hair, I’ll tie it to my car, I’ll run over her corpse, I’ll drive through their fucking house--”

Peaceful options exhausted, Steve climbed in the car, leaning his face on the steering wheel as the car shook with Billy’s screaming fury, and took another deep breath. Count on Steve Harrington to forget how to breathe, he thought, only been doing it for sixteen years. Only Steve Harrington wouldn’t have figured it out enough to let it run in the background. By the time they were halfway to Steve’s house, Billy’d stopped yelling. Occasionally there’d be another kick.

By the time Steve pulled in the garage, he was worried enough about exhaust fumes as a new method of involuntary manslaughter he ran right around and banged on the trunk about six times. “Hargrove! William Whatever Hargrove, you answer me, say you’re alive.” He leaned against it, panting, feeling like he’d aged sixty years in body and vocabulary. The trunk thumped back, and Steve slid down to sit against it, reminding himself to breathe, which was apparently something he did now. He’d probably fail his remaining classes, trying to study while remembering to breathe. How would he hold down a job? He’d show up for the interview and have to say “I’m Steve Harrington, and sometimes I forget to breathe.”

The trunk was silent again, and after a while getting his lungs some breathing practice again--maybe they’d take to it--Steve thumped it again. “We’re at my place. If I let you out and call for pizza will you please not kill anyone.” It came out tiredly even.

“What the fuck,” came from the trunk. “Gonna get the police here, tell ‘em I attacked you like a psycho, have your mommy and daddy hold yo--”

Steve banged the heel of his hand on the trunk again. “Nobody else is here. Look, it’s pizza or trunk. We can figure this out in the morning. Promise you won’t do anything to Max.”

The banging in the trunk was taking on a rhythm, and Steve banged over it. “Fucker. Tell me you won’t rat Max out, I’ll let you out.”

Billy began screaming lyrics to his beat, and Steve groaned, letting his head thunk against the trunk, before doing the math on how long Billy’d been in there, and how little he knew about the random syringe Max had shot him up with, and he opened the trunk. Billy’s ankles and wrists were duct-taped together, wedged in, and he swore roundly as he tried to cover his face. “Come on,” Steve sighed, standing to the side where he hoped he was out of range, but reaching over to rip the duct tape off Billy’s ankles. Billy was laughing, inexplicably, holding his arms over his face.

Steve sighed. “Can you walk.”

“Anyway you want, Princess,” Billy giggled.

“Come on,” Steve stood over by the door, arms crossed as he watched Billy kick a bit out the side of the trunk, then get himself rolled sideways. He scrabbled before landing on the cement with a thud, and lay there, laughing harder. It was starting to sound growly again, and Steve rethought his impulse to offer help. “I’m getting pepperoni. With olives.”

When Billy finally staggered in from the garage, Steve had called for the pizza. He turned to see the door slam shut, and Billy slide down it, gnawing at the duct tape around his wrists. His hands were purple.

Steve slammed a few kitchen drawers and stalked over with the carving knife, and Billy went very still, watching him crouch, and allowing him to pull the duct tape close enough to slide the knife up.

When Steve finished slicing, he tossed the knife behind him at random, grabbing one purple hand and rubbing it until it felt like a hand again and not a dissection frog. “Jesus. Max thought you were gonna kill me. And Lucas. Don’t sell her out.”

Billy drew a shaky breath. “And you’re not gonna tell your fancy lawyer dad I broke your face.”

“...my dad’s not a lawyer,” Steve frowned at him, --“Hopper’d probably have locked you up.” He placed the warmed hand on Billy’s knee, and moved on to rub life back into the other one.

“So I behave,” Billy sneered. “Be a good little cunt.”

“Wish the fucking pizza would get here,” Steve muttered, sinking down against the arm of the couch that let him see the whole living room, kitchen, and stairs. When the pizzas arrived, his kidnapping victim shoved by him to drop into that favoured spot on the couch, and Steve sighed.

When morning came, Steve called Max, and she agreed to Billy picking her up for a ride home. After he left, Steve stood in his silent house, getting a little more breathing practise in as his vision started to haze around the edges, thinking of all the things Billy Hargrove wasn’t, like an underground tunneler, or a demogorgon. Billy Hargrove was from Risky Business, not Alien. He was the sweaty “enhanced human” Khan.

Steve forgot about his breathing regimen entirely as he imagined Billy Hargrove in the cast from Grease, and laughed ‘til he choked. Shaking his head, he leaned back against the door, and rubbed his face. All day at school when his brain started to remind him of the previous week, he’d imagine Billy Hargrove as Danny Zuko, shimmying down his Camaro with Tommy behind him trying to carry a tune.

Hopper called that day, to tell him that Mr. Hargrove had called the cops the last two nights on Billy driving around at night, and they’d escorted him home from close to Steve’s house. “In case he ran somebody over drunk. I hear stuff, kid.” The doubt came clearly through his voice. “I don’t know that he’s headin’ for you, but I don’t know that he’s not.” Steve took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, completing the line for himself--maybe keep that bat handy.

“Thanks, Hopper,” he tried the nickname aloud.

Hopper huffed a laugh and hung up.

Billy Hargrove was back at Steve’s house three nights later, serenading under his window. Steve looked longingly at his ski boots, but lifted the sash without projectiles in hand. “What the hell,” he shouted back.

“Lemme in or I’ll tell my dad you offer rides to Max all the time!” Billy yelled up. “Alone!”

Steve, who had gone to an in-class-only new sleeping schedule, suddenly wished his vocal cords could produce the earsplitting rage screeches from Ghostbusters, but let his head thud against the glass in surrender before he went down and unlocked the door. “The fuck do you want, Hargrove,” he squinted up at the moon. “Are you a werewolf, is this where I die.” Later, he’d think, that moment would have been the time to call Hopper.

Billy shouldered him aside as he opened the door, cigarette in hand and reeking of sweat, cologne, beer, and...cooking sherry? It was both reminiscent of and an improvement on Steve’s great-aunt, who usually smelled like baby powder, cat pee, and creme de menthe. Steve’s lungs apparently appreciated it, because they decided to do their job for once without his constantly reminding them. He scrabbled angrily at his hair, before tromping into the kitchen to start making some Folger’s. When the microwave beeped, he stirred in about half the remaining jar of crystals, and went to see why there was no noise happening anywhere.

The couch was covered in Violent Highschool Stranger, under a blanket. Steve dropped into a chair, watching the knee-lumps and elbow-lump stay very still. He wondered whether he’d sleep better upstairs with an unpredictable problem on the couch, and whether suggesting a movie would get his face beaten in--with admirable calm, he thought.

He also thought of not living alone--having a mom like Mrs. Byers, or a sister like Nancy, and imagined what they'd do if they came in and saw he'd brought Billy Hargrove, the guy who almost beat him to death, into his house twice. They'd probably murder him, he thought, and then murder Billy. And then him again--this had to be at least a three-murder event on the Stupidity Scale. Hopper would probably have even more to say. It was a strangely comforting thought, except they weren’t here, and Billy Hargrove was. He didn’t seem to want to break Steve’s nose again, but then he hadn’t given that much warning the first time, either.

Between Steve’s new not-sleeping regime and thinking about the Byer’s ceiling, map taped everywhere, Billy’s fists hitting his face, the world had just started to tilt a bit when the blanket said “Take a picture, Princess, you can jack off to it at night,” and Steve lifted his coffee stew and breathed in the smell.

“What didja think I did with that blanket,” he tried, and watched it get flung as Billy scrambled as far from it as possible, thudding onto his back off the side of the couch, and Steve realized he was laughing again, wheezing with his hand against his face. When he finally looked up, Billy was brushing himself off, straightening his jacket, and Steve imagined the look on his own face after his trunk had thumped back. “Nah, I didn’t.” He patted his lip where the grin had stretched it, glancing down to check for blood. “Much.” When Billy’s hackles raised further, Steve shouted over his rising glower. “How about Star Wars?”

“Hell is wrong with you,” Billy muttered, but settled in the corner of the couch, apparently waiting for Steve to set up the movie. By the time C-3P0 was trying to get to Obi-Wan, Billy’d passed out against the arm, his boots tucked up between the cushions. The smell of cooking sherry intensified, and the glint Steve noticed against the black leather and laces proved to be a hunk of broken glass. There was more in the boot treads, and he could see a couple very small pieces caught in Billy’s shirt and hair. It was hard not to imagine the bank-robbing explosion Billy Hargrove would be walking away from, but his car was parked right out front, hard to miss, if the cops were looking for him. Steve had never seen a SWAT team. Count on them to miss out on actual monsters and chase Billy Hargrove to his house, he thought, indignantly sleepy, and shivered awake hours later, to fogging breath and the white noise of the TV. He groaned, leaning forward to flap one arm at the remote, and switched off the TV. In the dark, he realized the slight rasp of Billy’s breathing had stopped.

“...don’t die on my couch,” he mumbled, frowning into the darkness, which remained dark, but the normal, fridge-humming kind of dark, not the strange blue fluttering darkness where Dustin had screamed. He breathed in stale cigarette smoke and cooking sherry.

Billy snorted. “Just for you.”

He was back in the safer kind of movie, again, Steve thought muzzily, kids having sleepovers. There were movies where killers interrupted sleepovers, but they were humans, not monsters, and anyway he was not actually having a slumber party with Billy Hargrove: Probable Bank Robber. He felt around next to the couch for the blanket, and pulled it clumsily over them. It occurred to him he hadn’t actually asked. “Sooooo...you rob a bank?” he tried, keeping it casual.

“Sure did,” Billy scoffed, “--shot four guys, too. And there’s a stolen police car out there.”

“Oh, it’s that kind of movie.” Steve squirmed down against the back of the couch, letting his head fall against his arms in the safe darkness. The blanket fell over his face.

“You’re not going to call the cops and tell them you’ve got a bank robber?” Billy kicked him, and Steve batted weakly at his foot, eyes sliding shut again.

“Watch it, you--broken glass...shoe.”

He woke to the fading smell of cooking sherry, and blinked slowly at the ceiling, the sudden deep sleep disorienting after he’d thought he’d never sleep again outside of Biology class. “...wha--um,” he muttered, scrambling to look around. There was no sign of his home invader. He wondered how many murders “falling asleep with Billy ‘bank punching’ Hargrove a foot away” rated on the Idiot Scale, he had to be up to, oh, at least four. He felt a weird temptation to ask Nancy before first period. He fiddled with his locker, considering it. The line between her brows deepened, and probably became downright thunderous as he grinned awkwardly at she and Jonathan, turned on his heel, and walked off.

That day after basketball, in the showers, Tommy guffawed at the hand-shaped bruises on Billy’s upper arms. “Where were you last night? All night long, huh?” He leered, shifted to making long groans and grunting noises, and before Steve could catch himself, words fell out of his mouth.

“Those are huge, though, is your girlfriend Sylvester Stallone or--” he yelped as Billy shoved him against the wall, grin manic.

“What you trying to say, pretty boy King Steve?”

“I think he’s calling you a--” Tommy smacked the wall and showerhead on his way to the floor as Billy shoved his face. “A fucking faggot,” he yelled triumphantly, from the floor, as Steve wondered why he was allowed to open his mouth, ever, at all, and Billy tried to swing around and punch him and almost fell on his ass.

“It was my fucking dad, okay, it’s no big deal. My dad,” Billy was screaming between them, as they both dodged around, until the teacher and half the class shoved their way in and pulled him away. Steve fled. He dressed wondering how many more deserved Stupidity Murders he’d earned, getting in the communal shower with the guy who’d beaten his face in, and then opening his dumb fuckhead mouth and suggesting he’d had sex with Rambo. Nancy was in the hall listening to Billy yelling inside, when Steve ducked out of the locker room with his pants on but half his head still soapy, and she helped him rinse his hair in the drinking fountain.

“I think you and Hopper and Jonathan’s mom need to murder me about eleven times,” he told her, laughing, as he wiped water from his eyes. “I think I just asked Hargrove if he was gay, in the shower.” Her mouth fell open.

“Uh,” her eyebrows drew together as she looked at the locker room, but her mouth quirked, “--should we be running, then?”

“I probably should carry my bat,” he laughed, feeling around his ears one more time for soap, then grimacing and digging around in his bag for a sweaty gym shirt to rub on his head. When he pulled it out, she looked even more disgusted than he felt.

“I’ve got dry clothes in my locker. You can at least use a clean shirt.” She stuck her tongue out, trotting confidently off. “Bleah.”

Steve’s unfriendly neighborhood home invader didn’t reappear for over a week, but falling asleep to movies apparently worked, so he re-watched the beginnings of Rambo, Tron, and The Last Unicorn, discovered he could not fall asleep to Monty Python, and bought a much larger jar of Folger’s for mornings when even the dulcet tones of Winnie the Pooh hadn’t let his lungs work through the night without reminder.

The next time Billy showed up he just banged on the door, startling Steve out of the haze he’d fallen into during a Secret of NIMH song. Steve groaned, flapped unproductively at the remote to stop the animated mice, and then stumbled to his feet to make the door-abuse stop. The pounding continued through his shouted “I’m coming! I’m coming! ” until Billy Hargrove nearly fell in on top of him, half naked, and began hopping into the other half of his jeans.

“...what the hell.” Steve stared.

“What is that noise.” Billy scrambled to pull his jacket on, shivering, and nearly elbowed Steve in the face.

“...uh, it’s, um, mice?” Steve blinked at Billy’s face, which looked like it needed some frozen peas. “Uh. Lemme get you some frozen peas.” Billy tried to slam by him as usual, but Steve wasn’t good at basketball for nothing, and slid by the predictable motion on the way to the freezer. He tossed over the peas, proudly not adding to his Stupidity Gauge by getting within five feet of the half-naked feral in his kitchen. It seemed unlikely Billy had accused anyone of having sex with Sylvester Stallone in a communal shower, but the parallels to his Eleven On The Stupidity Murder Scale day were hard to discount. The shiner he was sporting looked exactly like Steve would have gotten if he hadn't escaped to the hallway. Focus, he thought.

“Make me some of that coffee,” Billy was shivering, glaring at the peas. If he’d been anyone else, Steve would have teasingly explained how to press frozen peas against a black eye, but given their last interaction, he just let his lips thin.

“Hot chocolate? I’ve got marshmallows.”

The furious disbelief Billy had focused on the peas turned to Steve’s face, amplified. “Did you just offer me marshmallows.”

“I have some,” Steve sighed, taking down his blue mug, and one that said Happy Anniversary. After a pause, he returned the anniversary mug to the cupboard, and grabbed one with a robin on it, filled them both with water, and stuck the robin in the microwave.

“Marshmallows.”

“Look, if you don’t like marshmallows, don’t eat any.” He pulled out the bag, the Swiss Miss, and the instant coffee.

“Rainbow marshmallows,” Billy observed scornfully. “You’re girlier than Max.”

“Everyone’s girlier than Max, except Hopper and Mrs. Byers,” Steve sighed. “Coffee or chocolate. I mix them sometimes.”

“You rebel,” Billy snorted. “Gimme some marshmallows. You call the Sheriff ‘Hopper’?” He held out a hand, finally lifting the other to his face, and wincing as he placed the peas against the swelling bruise. Steve had seen enough marshmallow bags absconded with to just drop some in the outstretched hand, the bag protectively at his side. He watched Billy start to drop the whole handful in his mouth, wince as he tried to open his mouth wide, and begin eating one at a time. “...kinda got to know him. Me and El and the, y’know,” he held his hand at waist level, picturing Dustin’s indignant protest, “Muppet babies.”

“Yeah, how’d that happen?”

Steve reminded himself to breathe. “Barb died. Bob died. You should be careful, you’ve got half the ‘b’s in your name.” He turned away as the microwave beeped.

“What.” Billy’s eyes narrowed.

“Is it raining?” Steve asked. “Why are you all wet?”

“Fuck off,” Billy said around his mouthful of marshmallows, and Steve shrugged, presenting the steaming mug, a spoon, the box of chocolate mix, and the Folger’s.

“I give you the bird,” he said grandly, tossing his mug in the microwave. Billy snorted, dumping three chocolate packets in the mug, and making grabby hands for the marshmallows.

Steve surrendered the bag, leaning against the counter by the microwave. He watched Billy wipe the water away that was trickling down his neck, and try to pretend he wasn’t shaking, dripping wet, in November. Steve stomped off for a towel, returning to throw it to Billy just before the microwave beeped. “Gimme back those girly marshmallows,” Steve began dumping powders in his mug, stirring industriously, before topping it with a pile of rainbow.

Billy stalked off to take Steve’s spot on the couch, before sliding off to flip through the laserdiscs. “Gonna punch these mice,” he muttered, lifting one, and flipped it to read the back. "You have movies for grownups? Whaddaya do when there aren't, like, singing frogs, you just fall asleep or--?"

"Oh no, not that one," Steve breathed, horrified. "That's Nancy's, it gave me nightmares."

"...IRA bombers?" Billy frowned up incredulously.

"No! It's a romance, it's awful, the guy falls in love with the girl and she has a dick and she thought he KNEW--"

"What," Billy's voice had gone flat.

"That night I dreamt I was in bed with Nancy for the first time and she took my clothes off and I was dickless with a secret pussy--"

"Everyone knows that, Harrington--"

"Shut your face, it was horrible, she just kept patting my hand sadly and she's a problem solver, you know, she kept going to the kitchen and getting, like, a banana, and the pepper grinder--"

The laserdisc sleeve drummed softly at Billy's head as he shook with laughter.

"And she just looked more and more disappointed and finally she said she had to leave, she couldn't cope with a relationship where she had to satisfy herself with a garlic press, and she was sure I'd be happier moving on--" Steve had been laughing too, at the image of Nancy earnestly presenting him with carnally unsatisfactory kitchen gadgets, but he sighed, rubbing his face. "Usually when I dreamed she'd dump me it was because I was invisible, or she was the president and she caught me setting up a kegstand in the--"

"I'm gonna call you 'Secret Pussy' forever," Billy interrupted.

"You will the hell not--"

"What?!" Billy laughed harder.

"I'm not a secret pussy, I'm secretly Kurt Russell, all my..." he slid further down in the couch, curling around his snickers, "--ten out of ten trick-or-treaters agree."

"You telling me you're half-blind, because it'd explain--" The doorbell rang, over and over, like a blaring red alert, along with voices and the thump of bicycles against the side of the house, and Steve scrambled up to reach the entryway before Dustin, Mike, and Will all fell in at once. "We need hot chocolate," Dustin said confidently, and Steve grimaced, thinking fast, before inwardly throwing his hands up and outwardly yelling "BILLY! Put on the kettle for hot chocolate!"

Silence fell, all three kids going still, but after a few seconds the couch creaked, and Billy walked into the kitchen, and the sink turned on.

“Is he holding you hostage,” Dustin whispered, eyes wide as he leaned around Steve’s shoulders.

“He’s probably eating marshmallows.” Steve raised his eyebrows at them, wondering whether it was stupid or just evil to allow the kids around Billy, who’d settled in, in a weird way, but also probably bit occasionally. Unprompted. He didn’t want any of his stupidity murders to be because someone got actually murdered.

“Will came for a sleepover,” Mike reported, glancing into the kitchen warily. “And we were gaming, and it was fine, but then there was a short in the kitchen and sparks and--”

Will sniffled, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve. “I can’t call my mom,” he rolled his thin shoulders back, firming his chin as he looked up at Steve, “--she’ll never let me out again--”

“He started crying all crazy,” Dustin put in, ever helpful, to a general elbowing, “--and I said, Steve has hot chocolate, and a bat.”

“...ah,” Steve glanced at the kitchen. “Did you guys let her know you were coming here? So she doesn’t call and find you guys--”

“We called,” Mike laughed apologetically. “We said you invited us over.”

Billy tromped back out to the living room, presumably to sneer at singing mice, as Steve herded the tiny assholes towards hot chocolate.

“Why is he here,” Dustin whispered, very loudly, with his usual degree of subtlety. Mike and Will nodded, and Steve laughed, rubbing his face.

“It’s fine, we have classes together, he’s not going to do anything,” he tried weakly, and Will’s eyes narrowed.

“Do you need a distraction while we phone Hopper?” he asked softly under the noise of Steve getting more mugs and batting Dustin away from stress-eating all the marshmallows.

“Dustin could get your bat,” Mike suggested.

“Thanks, man, send Dustin out there,” Dustin sighed loudly.

“Dustin, get more marshmallows out of the garage,” Steve pointed, trying to channel Nancy’s no-nonsense tones. He flipped off the stove, opting for the hot chocolate prep that kept them all in the kitchen for a longer time. “Will, fill these up and microwave them one by one for two and a half minutes. Mike--” he glanced around, “--get spoons and see if there’s still whipped cream in the fridge.”

They slowly moved to obey, watching him closely as he began rifling the cupboard for candy canes. Steve vindictively didn’t point out the spoon drawer to Mike. It was one thing, he thought, expecting his stupidity assessments from Hopper or Nancy, but he was not having it from children that did things like try to raise demodogs in turtle cages.

Billy had settled in Steve's spot on the couch, as always--Steve rolled his eyes--and Steve headed for the other end, before noticing the kids standing in strained poses like awkward chainsaw art. "Ugh," Steve sighed, before dropping next to Billy, whose shoulders hunched around his hot chocolate.

"Okay, Will, you pick," he pointed.

"Pick this, Will," Dustin held up the animated Lord of the Rings.

"Shut up, Dustin," Mike threw a pillow at him, and Will yelped, dodging aside, before grabbing it and swiping Dustin.

Steve grinned. “I found the candy canes,” he told Billy, who turned another disbelieving look on him, as Will smacked Mike with a pillow, and it turned into a free-for-all between the three of them until Dustin crawled under the melee and put on The Hobbit. As soon as it loaded up, he plonked himself down next to Steve. Will sat cautiously next to him, and Mike dropped at the end, the quieter two studying their chocolate as Dustin elbowed Steve.

“Man, I been wanting to watch these without Lucas, he hates Return of the King--”

Mike grimaced over towards Billy at the sound of Lucas’ name. “Well, it is kinda silly. It’s for little kids.”

“It’s for Steve. He has to have the singing in there,” Billy put in, and Dustin leaned around to stare at him.

“You’re another reason I’m glad Lucas ain’t here, man, you a Nazi or what?”

“Neo Nazi,” Mike corrected quietly. “They’re called Neo Nazis, it’s not 1945--”

“Look, it’s Hobbiton,” Steve sighed into his mug.

“Or the Ku Klux Klan,” Will put in, “Like in the South.”

"No," Billy said finally, and after several seconds Dustin laughed.

"No?! No, you just slammed him into a wall? No, you just told Max to stay away from his kind?"

"I didn't say that."

Steve could feel Billy's entire body going tense, and shut his eyes, breathing in the blended chocolate, coffee, and candy cane smells from his mug. Twelve murders worth of stupidity, today, he thought, wondering whether he'd make it to the phone, and whether one of the kids would save him with the bat, and whether any of his Idiocy Tally would hit them, in a permanent sense.

"Why'd you beat him up, then?" Mike asked pointedly. Eleven's boyfriend felt no physical fear, apparently. Reasonable, if Eleven were actually present.

“Okay,” Steve tried to think of what Mrs. Byers would say, “--uh, whatever reasons he had, they weren’t good enough, can we all say ‘aye’ on that one?”

“Aye! ” proclaimed Dustin and Mike in a shout, Will firmly, and, thankfully, Billy, sounding a little rough.

“And unless he does it again, it’s between he, Lucas, and Max?” Steve continued, pushing his luck.

“Aaaaye,” came the sullen chorus from Steve’s right, and a fervent “Aye,” in low tones from Billy.

Steve sat back, wide-eyed, as his heart slowly stopped pounding. An hour later, his head was draped back over the couch as he snored softly, and Mike had quietly left and returned to drop the bat full of nails across the coffee table. Dustin pointed at it, speaking in his louder-than-speech stage whisper.

“That’s Steve’s bat. Look, it’s got blood on it. That’s bully blood.” He grabbed it and pointed it at Billy, who slammed his elbow into Steve.

“Harrington. Harrington. Is that blood on that bat.” Steve tried to roll sideways, growling, but Billy elbowed him in his chest, this time. “Harrington. Did you kill someone.” He glared around. “Did you guys cover up a murder?”

(I think Tumblr ate my posts for chapters 1-3, so I’m reposting them!)

Strangest chapter 1/chapter 2/chapter 3/chapter 4/chapter 5/chapter 6/chapter 7/chapter 8/chapter 9/chapter 10/  But really I’d recommend reading it on Ao3 under peterqpan, scrolling through it on Tumblr sounds crazymaking