Chapter Text
“Watch it!” Hissed a teacher as he flung open a door onto Steve, sending his mop flying and tipping the bucket of now murky water over onto the freshly clean hallway floor.
“Sorry,” Steve murmured, but the teacher had already turned his back on Steve and was striding down the hallway, his wet shoes leaving a long line of footprints. Sighing, Steve righted his bucket and glanced mournfully at the large section of floor he would now have to re-clean. A moment later the bell rang, shrilly signaling the end of class, meaning he would now have to wait for the mass exodus of children to end before he could mop again. Steve scrubbed a frustrated hand over his face as he realized he wouldn’t have time to eat now before his shift at the diner started at 4pm.
The same door that had caused Steve’s problems opened again, but he was quick to drag his bucket away this time. Mr Munson leaned against the door frame and he gave a little bow to the students, ushering them out of the classroom. Steve tried to avert his gaze but couldn’t completely tear it away – Mr Munson had always intrigued him a bit. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw the man glance in his direction and then hold up a hand, blocking the doorway.
“Oh, hey, hang on,” the teacher stopped a girl right before she stepped in the puddle by Steve’s feet. “Bit of a spill out here, everyone watch where they walk, ok? Don’t spread the water any further.”
Steve waited as the children filed out, most of them staying away from the mess. However, one boy stamped in the puddle, sneering as it splashed up against Steve’s leg, his friends joining in on his laughter until Mr Munson sternly interrupted them.
“Troy! Quit it, unless you want to be scrubbing the whole hallway?” He eyed the boy who turned away and muttered something inaudibly. “And apologize to Mr Harrington.”
Steve was surprised at that – Mr Munson knew his name? Not many of the staff at Hawkins School seemed to know his name, or if they did they didn’t usually use it to address him.
“Sorry,” Troy said with barely a glance at Steve. Mr Munson shooed them away, and before long Steve was alone in the hallway again, aside from Mr Munson still leaning in the doorway.
“Um, thanks,” Steve told him quietly, picking up his mop again.
“No problem, between the two of us, Troy’s an ass,” Mr Munson let out an amused huff. When Steve didn’t say anything, the teacher stuck out his hand. Steve looked at it for a few seconds, noticing the large rings adorning several of his fingers. “I’m Eddie,” the other man prompted. “Eddie Munson.”
“Oh, um, yeah I k-know who you are, I’ve heard your name m-mentioned,” Steve said quietly, stammering a little. He tentatively took Eddie’s outstretched hand and shook it briefly. His hand was soft, Steve noticed, apart from the callouses on his fingers. Eddie grinned at him.
“Only heard good things, I hope?”
No. Not entirely. Steve spent a lot of time at this school and because no one really spoke to him he blended in well into the background, consequently overhearing many conversations between students and staff. The students seemed to like the music teacher, he’d heard students saying he was much more relaxed than other teachers. But when he overheard staff talking in the hallways and offices, Eddie Munson’s name usually went hand in hand with words like “unconventional” “bad influence”, and, on a couple of occasions that had made Steve wince, “queer.”
“Um, sure,” Steve answered lamely. He kept his eyes trained on the wet floor in front of him. Eddie was only being polite, he knew, but the sooner he finished talking and started mopping the sooner he could race to the diner and open it up for the evening shift.
“Your son’s a student here, right? Dustin Harrington?” Eddie tilted his head, trying to catch Steve’s eye.
“Yes, he’s a year b-below your students though.” Steve picked up his mop, hoping it wouldn’t seem too rude if he started to mop.
“Well, maybe I’ll get to teach him next year,” Eddie smiled at him. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to it, I’ve got band practice soon.”
Steve nodded, biting back several questions. He’s in a band? What sort of band? Where do they play? He didn’t want to annoy Eddie. And he really needed to get that floor mopped.
“See you around, Steve,” Eddie flashed him one last smile before he left.
Steve sighed as he resumed mopping, unable to help glancing up a couple of times to watch Eddie amble down the hallway.
*****
At 4.06pm, a puffed Steve managed to open up the diner. Since there were no customers waiting, he used the restaurant phone to dial the Byers residence.
“Hello?” Joyce’s voice greeted him on the other end of the line.
“Oh, hi Joyce.”
“Steve! What can I do for you?”
“I just wanted t-to check in on Dustin?” Steve asked.
“Oh sure honey, let me go get him.”
“Thank you. And t-thanks for having him again Joyce, I really -”
“I’m always happy to have him, Steve, you know that,” Joyce interrupted him gently. “Here he is.” There was a brief scuffling noise as the phone was handed over, and then his son’s loud voice came down the phone.
“Hi daddy.”
“Hey Dusty,” Steve couldn’t help but smile at hearing his voice. “Are you and Will having fun?”
“Yeah, we’ve been drawing!” Dustin exclaimed. “And Mrs Byers said we could have ice cream later.”
“Wow, lucky you!” Steve grinned. “You be good for Joyce, ok? And I’ll pick you up later on.” After saying goodbye, the phone was handed back to Joyce.
“Same time, Steve?” She asked.
“Yeah, I’ll be there just after e-eight. Is that ok? Sorry, I know you’re always having to take him after school, I’m sorry -”
“Steve,” Joyce interrupted him again, this time more firmly. “It’s always ok. Dustin’s a wonderful boy and Will loves having him here too. Don’t you worry about that.”
“Thanks Joyce.”
The evening at the diner went relatively quickly, and by the time Steve’s shift was about to finish the guests had emptied out. Benny the cook was tidying up in the kitchen and Steve was wiping tables when the bell above the door dinged, signaling a customer coming in. Without turning around, Steve stammered out an apology.
“Oh, sorry, we c-close earlier on Mondays, if you come back -”
“Sign says you close at eight.”
Steve’s stomach plummeted and he froze, clenching the cloth in his hand. It couldn’t be. Not here, it had been years, how did he find him? Slowly, Steve turned around, walking to the other side of the table as he did, unconsciously putting it between himself and the customer.
Billy Hargrove looked exaggeratedly at his watch.
“Looks like its 7.53 to me, Steve.” He grinned at Steve, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Steve was frozen again as he stared at his ex partner, raking his eyes over that broad chest and thick arms. Steve knew what those arms could do, how they could hit and choke and squeeze. He quickly ran through his options – Benny was the only other person here, and what would Steve do? Go running to him and ask him to remove a customer who, to Benny’s knowledge, hadn’t really done anything wrong? No one in this town really knew about Steve’s history, and he preferred to keep it that way. He couldn’t just leave the diner either, not with Billy by the doorway, and he still had to close up anyway.
“B-Billy,” Steve said shakily. “What – ah – what can I get you?” His heart thudded. He hated that he was stuttering, he hated that he was offering anything to this man, but he didn’t see another option. Billy grinned even wider; he had Steve right where he wanted him.
“Coffee. You know how I like it, babe,” he drawled, dragging a chair loudly back from a table and sprawling out on it.
“Ok,” Steve all but whispered, retreating behind the counter to make it. He watched as Billy rolled a cigarette on the table. “You – you can’t – sm-smoke in here,” Steve stuttered. Billy’s eyes shot to his and he paused.
“What was that?” Billy raised an eyebrow, his grin gone, and Steve’s hands shook around the jug of hot coffee.
“Nothing,” Steve whispered.
“Thought so.” Billy finished rolling his cigarette and lit it as Steve returned with the coffee, pouring it as quickly as he could. When he was almost finished, Billy reached out and nudged his cup, causing Steve to slosh some of the hot liquid onto the table.
“S-sorry,” Steve went to jump backwards but Billy shot out a hand, lightening quick, and wrapped it tightly around Steve’s wrist. He tugged Steve forward so their faces were only a few inches apart. Billy exhaled a mouthful of smoke at Steve’s face, causing him to cough and try and tug himself away. The familiar scent of those cigarettes filled his nose, and suddenly Steve was seventeen years old again, crumpled on the kitchen floor while Billy raged above him, smashing plates on the wall next to Steve’s head. He could almost hear baby Dustin screaming in the background.
“Clean that up,” Billy snarled into his ear. Steve swallowed back tears and nodded.
“Everything ok here?” Benny stepped into the room from the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel. Billy immediately let go of Steve and gave the diner owner an easy smile.
“Just a wee spill,” he said with a chuckle. “Steve’s gonna clean it up.”
Benny looked at Steve, noticing his waiter frozen in place, red in the face with a white knuckle grip on the coffee jug.
“I’ll clean it up,” Benny said after a moment. “Steve, you finish up. Sorry buddy but kitchen’s closed, and we’re closing once you’ve finished your coffee. And put the cigarette out, please.”
“No problem, got what I came for,” Billy sipped at his coffee. “I’ve had better, though.” He threw Steve a loaded glance, but Steve was already striding back to the counter where he washed the jug in record time.
“Thanks Benny,” he managed to say as he grabbed his bag and headed for the door, not pausing to look back at Billy. The tears in his eyes were already threatening to spill as he raced to his car, sucking in a breath as he saw Billy’s camaro parked hard up close to his car. Steve had to squeeze into the driver’s seat, and once inside he crumpled, unable to stop the whine that came out of his mouth as he began to sob.
Three years. He’d been free of Billy for three years. How had he found him?
Steve knew he had to get himself together – he had to get out of that parking lot, away from Billy, he had to get to Dustin, had to get home. He hastily scrubbed a hand over his wet face and started up the car, taking several deep breaths as he left Benny’s Diner. Despite his mind and heart racing, he tried to calm down on the way to the Byers’ house – he didn’t want Dustin or Joyce seeing him in this state. He glanced in the rear view mirror several times, convinced Billy could be following him. Every headlight he saw could belong to a blue camaro.
When he reached the Byers’ house, Steve used his sleeve to wipe his eyes hastily.
You’re ok, he doesn’t know where you are, Dustin’s safe. Steve tried to soothe himself. After a minute or two of that, he convinced himself to knock on Joyce’s door, schooling his features into a friendly smile when she opened it.
“Steve, hello!” Joyce’s welcoming grin dropped quickly when she took in Steve’s red rimmed eyes and pale face. “Honey, are you ok?”
“Hi Joyce, yes, just a…b-bad day at work,” Steve waved a hand dismissively. “Dustin all ready?” He asked, steering the conversation away from himself.
“Yes, he’s all packed up, I’ve got some leftover lasagne for you too, I thought you might not have had time for dinner again.” Joyce pressed a container into his hands and called over her shoulder for Dustin. “Are you sure you’re alright, Steve?” She asked quietly.
Steve hesitated for a moment. Joyce had been one of the first people to be kind to him in Hawkins – she’d seen him after school finished one day, shivering in the rain trying to jack his car up to change the flat tyre, his rain jacket wrapped tightly around a five year old Dustin. Joyce had approached him and offered to wait while he changed the tyre, letting Dustin sit in the warmth of her car with her own kids. Dustin had formed a fast friendship with Will Byers and Joyce would often pick up Dustin after school to allow Steve to work his evening shifts at the diner. Joyce had been nothing but kind and good to him. He could trust Joyce, maybe she could help - her husband was the police chief, maybe he could –
“Daddy!” Dustin interrupted his thoughts, slipping past Joyce to wrap his arms around Steve’s skinny waist.
“Hey kid,” Steve smiled and ruffled his hair. “Ready for home?” Dustin yawned and nodded. ‘Alright, let’s go, thanks again Joyce!”
“Anytime, Steve. And if you need anything else, you’ll let me know?” She patted him on the shoulder and Steve nodded, not really trusting himself to speak, and headed back to the car with Dustin.
The car ride home was filled with Dustin chattering about his day at school, about what he had drawn with Will that evening – “I drew a dragon, Will told me it looked like a bird, but he said it was a good bird, so that’s ok”– Steve nodded and asked questions in all the right places, but his mind was still back at the diner, frozen in place under the dangerous gaze of Billy Hargrove, a man he thought he’d escaped for good.