The drive back home was long and quiet, much longer than Billy remembered it being. Which seemed pretty damn petty of him. Given that they had just wandered in the woods for half the night, and the drive home — which was only about ten minutes — was the final, and shortest, stretch of the nightmare they had somehow managed to survive, he didn't think that he had much reason to complain. After outrunning a monster and barely escaping government workers, sitting in the safety and warmth of his Camero was the easiest thing he had done all night. Still, what should have felt like an easy ten minutes felt instead like an eternity.

Now that he thought about it, though, that was how the drive from California had been. The last twenty minutes to Hawkins had seemed like the longest part of the drive — just endless trees and fields, the horrible smell of cow shit, and the gnawing sensation that the next two years of his life were going to be the worst he had ever lived (and that was saying something). And hey, he hadn't been wrong. But at least back then he hadn't been looking forward to arriving. Now, tired, cold, and honestly quite unnerved, he couldn't wait to be home and in bed. The thought of his old man set ice in his stomach, sure, but even that wasn't enough to make him want to be back in the woods.

Billy shifted in his seat, resting his left elbow on the window and leaning his head against his hand as he watched the glowing yellow lines pass by one by one. Peters was eerily silent in her seat. He had half expected her to blabber on and on about the pumpkins and the lab and the monster, but he guessed she must have felt as exhausted as he did, because the moment she sat in the car she had slumped right down in her seat, cried "Finally!", and hadn't said a word since.

Which he was thankful for. He was just too damn tired to talk — or listen, for that matter. He really didn't want to hear another a word about anything that had happened. In fact, if he could forget the hellish nightmare entirely, it'd be great. A faceless monster and a corrupt government lab and a whole field of dead pumpkins? His Batshit Crazy scale had just reached its limit.

Peters definitely hadn't been wrong: Hawkins was a madhouse.

Glancing at her, he wondered if she had fallen asleep. She certainly hadn't moved, anyway, all huddled in her seat like she was worried something might grab her legs from underneath her chair. He had the heat blasted and Def Leppard's Too Late for Love drifted quietly over the radio, and every so often a streetlight would light up the car before they were bathed in darkness again. It was a perfect recipe for sleep.

Even beneath the tangled, frizzy mess that was her hair Billy could make out the edge of her jawline. Staring at it, he had the very sudden — and every intense — urge to reach over and touch her. It was unexpected, completely caught him of guard, and he found himself lifting his hand, reaching forward, and—

HOLY FUCK. NO.

He slammed both hands down onto the wheel and locked his fingers tight in panic. That was when he noticed he was veering off the road, and gave the car a jerk to bring it back into his lane with enough force to rock Peters in his seat.

She stirred, lifted her head from the window in alarm and looked around them as if expecting to see something chasing them.

"What was that?" she asked, voice hoarse from fatigue.

It took Billy a second to get a hold of himself. His hands were beginning to sweat and his heart was pounding again, just like when they had been stuck in the closet.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Nothing. Must've… dozed off."

She continued to stare around them for only a second longer, and then her head was back on the window. She was dead to the world once more.

What the hell? He screamed at himself, horrified. What. The. Hell?

Seriously, what had that been about? Wanting to touch Peters' jaw? And feeling attracted to her in the closet back at the lab?

What, in the everlasting fuck, was going on?

It was the Pine Sol, he reasoned. And exhaustion.

It had been a long night, and sniffing chemicals muddles everyone's brains, right? He just needed sleep — lots of sleep — and everything would be back in order. That was all.

He peeked at her again, but this time her hair covered her face. He nearly groaned. It all probably had to do with her. He wouldn't be surprised if her insanity had finally gotten to him, if he was finally beginning to break. Maybe their hellish night had been the final straw, and his brain was short-circuiting, imagining horrible and disgusting things in a sad attempt at coping.

Whether it was sleep deprivation and chemicals or the true beginnings of insanity, Billy didn't have time to dwell, because after what felt like an eternity their street finally came into view. He let out a long, relieved breath and turned sharply down it, happier than ever to kick Peters out and take a well-deserved break from her madness.

When he passed her house and started to turn into his driveway, he noticed a car parked in front of her sidewalk. He'd never seen it there before: a maroon BMW, sleek and shiny new, that looked like it belonged on a street like the Wheeler's, not theirs. It was out of place surrounded by the rusted beaters of their neighbors, nearly as out of place as his own. He was beginning to wonder if it belonged to Peters' parents when she suddenly shot forward in her seat with a horrified gasp.

"Oh no!" she squeaked. "What time is it?"

Billy glanced at the clock as she pressed her face against the window and said, "10:54. Why?"

She groaned a long, miserable groan and sunk low into her seat, covering her face with her hands.

"He's gonna kill me," she whispered.

"Who?" he asked.

There was a beat of silence, then,

"Steve," she muttered without removing her hands.

Billy's stomach twinged, then. It was a horrible twinge, one he had only ever felt when he thought about his mom living her happy, perfect life with her new husband and her new kids. He didn't know why he felt it. It was just Peters and Harrington, why'd it matter to him what the hell they did together?

"Well," he began, suddenly peevish as he shut the car off, "Guess you better go appease your boyfriend."

He earned a scowl at this.

"How many times do I have to tell you? He's not my boyfriend!"

Billy just shrugged and opened his door.

"Whatever you say," he muttered, stepping out into the cold night air.

On a normal day, she may have exploded. And on a normal day, he may have kept needling her. But considering they had just ran around the woods for over five hours, neither one of them had much fight left in them.

She climbed out of the car, too, slammed the door closed with maybe a little more force than he would have appreciated. He didn't say anything, though, just watched her tuck her hands into her pockets and stare at her house like she was gearing up to face another monster. And maybe she was. Because whether or not her and Harrington were dating, he had still seen her climb out of the Camero at almost eleven o'clock at night. Her and Billy weren't supposed to be seen together — period. And after Tommy's rumors, Billy was certain that Harrington's story was going to really add fuel to the fire, and it wasn't going to be pretty.

"Good luck," he said without meaning it, and turned to walk to his front door.

"Hey—" she called softly. He paused, glanced at her. "Um… about tonight…"

"Let's just not tell anyone about this, okay?" he cut her off.

For a second, hurt flashed across her face. Then, as quick as it had come, it vanished.

"Yeah." She nodded. "Right. Probably not a good idea."

"No," he agreed.

Silence.

He shifted, not used to feeling awkward around her, and then began to make his way up the porch steps. But again, she called out to him, and again, he couldn't stop himself from obeying.

It was irritating how delicate she looked in the faint glow of his porch light. He wasn't used to thinking nice things about girls other than what he wanted to do to them under the sheets, and he especially wasn't used to thinking nice things about Peters, but with her standing there, looking almost desperately up at him, he couldn't help it. She just looked… attractive. For once. And it was horrible.

"I um… I just wanted to say 'thanks'." She shrugged her shoulders uncomfortably, dragged her eyes away from his. "If you hadn't been there tonight, I would be dead. Or in prison. Maybe both."

The last part was a joke but he could tell she didn't really find it funny, and oddly enough, neither did he. But maybe he was just feeling sentimental because that damn Pine Sol was still screwing wit his head.

"Yeah," he responded after a minute, curt and emotionless. "No problem."

More silence.

"Guess I better defuse the bomb," she teased, motioning to her house.

Another twinge.

"Right," he muttered.

Then they parted ways. With the door half open and his foot stuck over the threshold, he fought the urge to look back at her, telling himself a good night of sleep would cure his increasingly nauseating thoughts.

Randy didn't know why, but watching him leave made her feel scared. After what they had just experienced, she supposed it was only natural that being left alone would freak her out, but still, clinging to him? He saved her life, sure, but they hated each other. Or , at least, he hated her.

To be honest, she wasn't sure what she felt for him anymore. It was like he was two different people sometimes, one that made her want to be around him more, the other making her want to push him off a sixty-foot bridge. It was irritating how much he messed with her head without even trying. Like tonight, he just seemed… different. Not in a bad way, but it was still weird. Or maybe it was because she felt weird about it. She wasn't used to him being so pleasant, or helpful, or whatever it was that made him okay — she had no idea how to handle it.

The sound of her footsteps seemed to carry across the neighborhood as she made her way to her house. She wished she hadn't forgotten to leave the front light on. The porch and sidewalk were dark, and without Hargrove with her she felt like something might pounce out at her at any moment.

Like Steve.

She glanced at his car, half-expecting him to jump out of the window and tackle her. She couldn't see anything inside, but it was really too dark to tell. It felt like someone was watching her, so she knew he was in there, staring.

Ugh, she thought, shivering. This is gonna suck.

Steeling herself for the verbal attack that was certainly going to come, she went to step onto the porch and—

"You're late."

She tried to muffle her scream, but it was still loud enough to make the neighbor's dog bark across the street. With her hands clamped over her mouth and her heart trying to jump out of her throat, she stared at the shadow by her feet, startled to see a lumpy figure sitting on the steps.

"S-Steve?!" she squeaked.

"What, are you blind?" he snapped, and stood so that she could just make out his face underneath his gravity-defying hair. "I've been sitting here for like three hours."

Lowering her shaky hands, she swallowed.

"Yeah, but you're sitting in the dark, I couldn't see you! And it's freezing out here — are you nuts?"

"I should be asking you the same thing," he said accusingly, and she knew she was in big trouble. "Getting out of Billy Hargrove's car at eleven at night? What the hell has gotten into you?"

"It was— it was actually 10:54," she reasoned like a kid about to be spanked.

"Oh? Oh?" And he smiled, and Randy knew he was finally cracking. "I'm sorry: 10:54. Because that makes everything better, doesn't it? You're right — I'm sorry for being upset. I guess because it wasn't actually eleven it doesn't matter, right? I mean, you were only just off doing God-knows-what in his car, right? No big deal."

He snorted and pushed past her, began to walk back to his car.

"Steve!" she called, bracing herself on the porch railing, too tired to chase him and not wanting to deal with his crap after running for almost five hours straight. "Can we just talk about this like to stable adults, please? Just skip over the whole high-school-teenage-drama twaddle?"

"And say what? Huh?" he retorted, spinning around so he was walking backwards. "That you guys are like mysteriously dating now, or some bullshit? I mean, c'mon Andy. Really?"

"No, because that's not what's going on."

"Oh yeah? Then why don't you tell me what's going on? Cause it looks pretty damn obvious to me."

"Just—" she broke off, huffed, then laid her head on top of her arms. She was way too tired for this. She lifted it again, scratched her forehead. "Okay, just come inside so I can explain, alright? I've spent five hours running around the freezing cold woods hunting a monster, and I would just really love to sit on the couch."

Oh no.

The words had just slipped out. She really didn't have any intention on telling him about what they were really doing (she was just going to BS her way through Steve's angry-dad routine), but deep exhaustion had resulted in no filter, and Steve was now staring at her with his mouth dropping open.

I've done a bad thing now…

Steve paced back and forth across Randy's living room, hands on his hips and hair flopping with every step. It was what she liked to call The Dad Pace™, and she knew she had a semi-truck of a lecture coming her way.

Telling him that her and Hargove had been out hunting for a monster probably wasn't the smartest thing she could have said. Actually, it was probably the dumbest. Considering he already thought she was nuts for taking a joy ride with Hargove, he was probably trying to figure out how to get her checked into a mental institution for talking about monsters. Or maybe he thought she was lying, and he was going to chew her out for making up stories like a desperate toddler. Either way, she really hated how that little receptor between her head and her mouth always seemed to malfunction when she needed it to work the most.

"Okay," he said at last, coming to a stop and holding his hands out as if he were trying to convince himself that everything was, indeed, okay. "Let's try this one more time."

"Are you going to flip out again?"

He made a bzzzt noise, cutting her quiet, and she stared at him.

"I'm the one interrogating here!" And he pointed a finger at her, which pretty much answered her question. "Now, I'm going to ask you one more time: What were you doing with Billy Hargrove?"

Good question.

She would really like to know the answer to that herself.

"It's a long story," she answered simply.

So Steve dropped onto the couch with enough force to rattle her. He lifted his hands as if to say, "oh well", then reclined back.

"I've got all night," he said.

She sighed. There was no getting of this, was there?

Beating around the bush wasn't going to do her any good at this point, not with The Dad Face™ he was sporting. And anyway, there really wasn't any point in hiding it, was there? A monster was roaming around Hawkins — he was going to find out about it sooner or later. Besides, he knew something about Barb's disappearance. There were too many silent "oopsies" when they talked about her. Every time he was supposed to say "disappeared" it would sound like he was going to say "dead", and that was just really darn suspicious. She'd always thought so, but the only answer she ever had fort it was that he might have had a hand in it. Murder, maybe, or something sketchy like that, even though she knew he didn't have it in him to murder or kidnap anyone. (Not mention he couldn't win a fight to save his life — Barb could have easily kicked the hoohaa out of him if it came down to it, no questions asked.)

No, Steve definitely knew something, and if Barb was really killed by the monster, then that meant he knew something about it, and possibly about the lab, too. And she was going to needle it out of him.

"Fine," she relented, sinking deeply into the couch but keeping eye contact, feeling more like the interrogator than him. "Fabio and I were out hunting a monster."

"Right, and I eat kittens for breakfast."

"Is that the secret to your hair?"

He ignored her.

"Are you sleeping with him?"

The question was so blindsiding and horrifying that she all but bellowed, "Gross, no!"

He seemed satisfied.

"So is he threatening you? Forcing you to do his homework for him?" he pressed. "Getting you into drugs? Or what?"

"No, no, and no."

"So you expect me to seriously believe you were 'monster hunting' with him?"

"Yes."

Steve was not particularly good at hiding his feelings, and the way his countenance was flickering told her that he was feeling distinctly uncomfortable with her answer. And not in a "you're a freak" sort of way, but more in a "how do you know about that" type of reaction.

He inhaled, paused, then released the breath loudly. Raking a hand through his gravity-defying hair, he rose from the couch and began to pace again.

"Okay," he began rather shakily, "Let's say that, hypothetically speaking, I believe you guys were actually out hunting a monster." A pause. He turned to look at her. "What kind of monster are we talkin' about?"

Now they were cooking with oil.

"Four legs, kinda leathery looking, and faceless. No, wait—" She grappled for an explanation. "Well, it's mouth is its face. When it opens its mouth, its whole head just…" She demonstrated a popping open motion, wiggling her hands.

Steve swallowed and his face turned a few shades paler.

"Right," he croaked.

A moment of silence.

"Right," he said again.

Then he grabbed the lamp on the side-table and began to fiddle with the top. She watched him throw the shade off, pop the bulb out, and mess around with it some more before letting out an aggravated noise and reaching down and unplugging it entirely. Then he unplugged the phone. Then the TV. Then the radio. Then the other two lamps. He shut off the ceiling light, closed the door to the kitchen, and only stopped when every cord around him had been ripped out from the wall and they were bathed in complete darkness.

"Okay, you're kinda freaking me out…" she muttered, suddenly beginning to panic. What if he really had murdered Barbra?

…And she was next?

But Steve just said with some paranoia, "Bugs — those dicks listen to everything we say if we're not careful."

"Okay, first of all, my house is not bugged." She pointed at him, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with the thought. "And second, who is listening in?"

"Um, hello? You're parents' work? The lab, idiot. And of course you're bugged — this whole town is under surveillance. Why do you think things got brushed under the rug last year? They control what goes on in Hawkins."

Now she was standing.

"You know about the lab? And last year— holy bananas, are you talking about Barb?"

Even in the dark she could see that he was staring.

"You know about that?" he asked, sounding incredulous. "What else do you know?"

"I know that the lab cooked up that monster. I know this isn't its first escape. I know Barb was taken by it. I know they're testing something right now, and I know that thing can't be killed."

"Well shit." It wasn't a reassuring reply. "You're in serious danger, you know that?"

"This whole town is in danger!" she hissed, gesturing to the front door. "There's a monster loose and—"

"Alright, alright," he waved his hands as if batting away a cloud of bugs. "Let's just… Just start from the beginning, okay? Tell me how you learned about this."

So Randy took a deep breath and launched into her story. She started with the night she first saw the monster, how Hargrove had hit it with his car and inadvertently saved her life. She told him about the rides to and from school, the night of the Halloween party, her discovery at the library, and her dad's strange call. Then she told him about their hunt, how they'd stocked up on weapons and then pelted the beast with bullets and bats; how they'd stumbled across the lab and managed to get inside; how they'd found her parents, had to outrun the workers, and then managed to get lost in the woods. She even told him about the pumpkin field, not really knowing how it was related to everything, but just feeling a thousand times lighter now that she finally had someone to confide everything in, someone who actually understood.

By the time she'd finished, the clock read 1:05 and her eyes were feeling exceedingly heavy. Steve, however, looked more awake than ever as he stared at the dead TV with his fingers drumming against his leg.

"Wow," was all he said.

It summarized it pretty well, in her opinion.

"So how did you find out about all of this?" she asked. "What happened last year?"

Now it was his turn to look exhausted. He threw himself into the couch and rubbed his forehead.

"What didn't happen last year?" He snorted. "Well, I guess you can say I got into things pretty late. As usual, Jonathan and Nancy were in on it long before I knew anything." This earned a moment of bitter silence. Then, "Well, Nancy and I had broken up, and I found out she was at his house one night. I was trying to win her back, so I showed up to talk to her — try and explain and all that shit — but instead I walked into some seriously weird shit. I mean, Christmas lights all over the inside of his house, furniture turned over, things broken, a huge hole in the wall— and there were freaking bear traps on the floor, and Nancy had a gun and Jonathan had a bat with nails. So of course I flipped a lid, tried to figure out what the hell was going on, when suddenly that thing showed up. The lights started going nuts—"

"The street lamps did that!"

"—and Nancy and Jonathan were suddenly pulling me away from it and into a room, and I can't really remember it all because it was insane, but we beat it up, I hit it with a bat, and then we got it to walk into the trap and Jonathan set it on fire—"

He broke off, gesturing madly.

"I mean, it was crazy!"

"Yeah," Randy said, "I know the feeling."

"Anyway, somehow the lab had managed to open up a portal to some alternate dimension or some crazy shit, that's where the monster came from." He glanced at her. "And that's where Will Byers went. He was stuck in there with that thing."

"So that's what Nancy was doing… " Randy murmured. She felt guilty for being so mad at her. "And what about Barb?"

"Well..." Steve nodded his head from side to side. "You guessed it. The thing took her. But… unlike Will, she never made it back."

A terrible hollowness overtook her stomach.

"Poor Nancy," Randy whispered. "She knew about this the whole time, but couldn't say anything..."

"She's been falling apart over it. Every time we met with Barbara's parents, she about lost it."

"I can imagine why… I felt like I was going nuts just thinking that's what happened to her. But actually knowing?" She cringed, looked down at her hands. "I feel like the worst friend."

"It's not like you knew," he consoled awkwardly. "I mean, before, anyway."

"But the lab… I mean, they did create the monster, right?"

"If you mean 'did they tear a hole through fucking time and space and release a monster on Hawkins'? Yes, yes they did."

Randy rubbed her face, feeling way more tired than she had before.

"Great. So mommy and daddy are killers," she whispered into her hands.

She had guessed it. And after what her and Hargrove went through, she knew it. But having cold confirmation of it was something else entirely — it was more than just a bitter daughter expecting the worst of her workaholic parents, it was the plain and simple truth.

"Sorry, Andy," Steve murmured, giving her a stiff pat on the shoulder. "I don't think your parents meant it, if that's any consolation."

She smiled wanly. It wasn't, but she was thankful that he cared enough to try.

He got up from the couch and plugged the lamp back in beside her. He kicked it on, and the dark living room burst with light. Whether unplugging it had solved their problem or not, she didn't know, but at least he seemed satisfied.

He lifted his watch and gave a quiet curse. From the clock hanging over the mantel, Randy could see that it was already well past one, and they hadn't accomplished any of what they had originally planned to do. She felt very guilty about that. She had promised to help him get Nancy back, and all she did was make him sit on her freezing porch for hours waiting for her, then make him listen to her nusto spiel about monsters and corrupt government labs.

Given everything that was going on, ex-girlfriend problems seemed like preschool drama. But Steve was her friend — a good friend — and at this point, basically her only. Getting Nancy back may be stupid in the face of an endangered Hawkins, but after everything he had done for her, she felt like she owed him to try.

"Listen," she began uncertainly, clearing her throat, "I know we were supposed to talk Nancy tonight, and I kinda—"

"Nah, don't worry about it," he interrupted, giving a halfhearted smile. "I mean, we've got bigger things on our plate, right?"

"No," she said flatly. "You love Nancy, that's a big deal. I promised I'd help you get her back, and that's what I'm going to do."

"Andy, we have a monster—"

"Which means it would be that much more tragic if you got eaten. You can't die an old spinster, Steve. That's sad. Really sad."

"Wow." He squinted at her. "Kinda rich coming from you, but okay."

She shrugged. "I've accepted it. But you have prospects, and tomorrow, we're going to go full Shakespeare on her. Flowers, apologies — the whole shabang."

"Are you suggesting that I go to her house and talk to her?"

"I'll be with you, of course," she promised.

"Uh, how about no? What would I even say to her? And in front of her family? I mean, c'mon. That's just batshit. She'll probably tell me to take a hike or something…"

But she could see the twinkle in his eye.

"It'll be fine. We'll go over a game plan tomorrow as we're driving there, we'll stop and get her some nice flowers, and then I'll stay in the car and let you do your thing, maybe let you two make out for a few minutes, and then viola. Full-proof."

That was a bit of an exaggeration. It wasn't full-proof… at all. In fact, if she was being honest with herself, she really didn't think that Nancy was interested in taking Steve back. Now or ever. It was obvious that something was going on between her and Jonathan, Randy had sensed it since last year, and it wasn't just monster hunting or searching for Will and Barbara together.

Either way, Steve seemed confident even though he kept telling her it wouldn't work. It was like he was trying not to smile, his chin was held up and he had that cocky swagger going as he made his way to her front door, all the while muttering, "it's a bad idea" and "she doesn't love me". But Randy just kept telling him to pick her up at eleven, not to be late, and that everything would be fine. Despite his disagreements, she could tell he believed it.

As soon as he was out the door, still muttering about how the plan was never going to work, Randy double locked it, tore off her jacket and her sopping shoes and socks, and headed straight for the shower with legs like jelly.

Billy stared up at his ceiling, exhausted yet wide awake. His whole body was screaming in agony — his knees ached, his feet throbbed, his lungs felt like deflated balloons, and his legs were more useless than rubber. No matter how he tried to lay, every position seemed to be more painful than the last. And just when he would finally get comfortable, just when his eyes would grow heavy and his mind quiet, he would see it — that thing — and his body would give a horrible jolt, his eyes would fly open, and he would find himself covered in sweat as he stared at the darkness of his room, chest heaving, wide awake once more.

About the fifth time it happened, he finally gave up. No matter how tired he was, sleep wasn't going to come. There was too much pain in his limbs and his mind was too plagued by a four-legged, faceless creature to let him get the reprieve that he needed. Which really sucked, because being awake gave him all the time in the world to think about the light that was pouring through his window from Peters' bedroom, the very last thing he wanted on his mind. Ever.

He kept telling his brain to let it go, damn it, but no matter how many times he screamed at himself, his eyes kept drifting to her curtains, visible through his window, and his mind kept wandering to the possible things occurring behind them. Whatever her and Harrington were doing, it must have been really interesting, because she was the kind of weirdo who was lights-out by nine and awake at the butt crack of dawn. Late nights with boys was far from her style. So really, what was Harrington doing with her that could persuade her to skip her goody-two-shoes bedtime?

Billy groaned and covered his face with his hands.

The question was rhetorical, of course. And stupid. He knew better than anyone what they were up to. He'd done it himself with dozens of girls. But the idea of Harrington and Peters together was nauseating on a thousand different levels, a few of which brought that awful twinge back every now and again.

From behind his hands he heard a car door slam, the rev of an engine, and the sound of tires crackling against pavement as a car pulled away. He sat up and peered out his window, straining his eyes to see if Harrington had finally left.

No maroon BMW.

Billy threw himself back down onto his bed, feeling a small weight lift from his gut. But he knew he still wouldn't be able to sleep. That stupid creature kept floating behind his eyelids, haunting his almost-asleep dreams. It made him feel like a kid again, being too scared to even close his eyes. The only thing that had ever gotten him this twisted up was his old man, and his reality was so much worse than his nightmares, dreaming about it had stopped bothering him a long time ago.

Ten minutes after the car pulled away, a shadow passed across the light coming through his window and he glanced up. After a second, the bedroom light shut off and the glow vanished. Peters was finally going to bed.

Billy laid there in silence, jaw working, hands fisted on his chest as he tried to force himself to relax. But after a second, the bedroom light kicked back on, and he glanced at his window again. There was no moon outside, it was far too cloudy now, but he could see the side of her house from the pale glow of her window, and her shadow flickered across the light.

Was she as restless as he was?

Couldn't she sleep?

Or was she too scared?

That's what Harrington is for, dumbass, his mind grumbled. She'll call him to come hold her or some shit.

But after a half hour of staring at the side of her house, no Harrington showed.

Billy sat up and peered out the window, taking in the white curtains across the lawn. A part of his brain kept screaming, It's just Peters, let her suffer! It's her own damn fault this all happened! and, Who cares if she's upset? It's not your job to worry about the dipshit. While another part kept arguing that after what they had been through, it was only natural that he would want to make sure she was alright. Not because he cared, of course, because he definitely didn't. But just because he was human, and he supposed being human meant, naturally, having some anxiety for other humans. Or some bullshit like that.

Fidgeting, irritated with himself, he finally slid out of bed. He pulled on a pair of jeans, shrugged on his leather jacket, slipped his feet into his boots, and then pushed his window open.

As he stared down at the shadowed grass between their houses, he shook his head.

"I can't believe I'm gonna do this," he muttered.

Then he heaved himself through.

Randy held her blanket tightly to her chest as she stared at her bedroom door. She had tried to turn off the light and sleep like a normal person, but like some ridiculous little kid, she just couldn't.

Before going to bed, she'd checked her closet, looked under her bed, and locked her room door. She'd double-checked her window and made sure the curtains were tightly drawn before crawling under her blankets. Then she'd sat there a moment, taking in the room around her, before finally reaching over and flicking off her light. Within seconds, she regretted doing it. In the new darkness she felt like there was something lurking in every corner: she stared at the crack under her door, expecting to hear something shuffling on the other side; she glanced at the hulking shadows of her desk and her dresser, at the small fish tank bubbling merrily away, which all suddenly looked like the creature; she waited for her closet to creak open, for something to growl inside it, to lunge out and grab her like the monster had done in the woods. The longer she laid there and imagined, the worse it got. When she couldn't take it anymore she kicked the light back on, blinked in the dazzling glow, and saw that everything was just as it always had been: no monster in sight.

The whole thing had lasted maybe five minutes, but it felt like she'd endured the darkness for hours. She hated that she was so scared. But given everything she'd been through, could she really blame herself? It wasn't like she was wigged out over Dracula or some made-up nonsense — she'd really seen the monster, had felt its leathery body and its claws against her. She'd see its face split open like some alien plant, had smelled its rotting breath. Was it really so stupid that she was afraid of the dark?

Curling her legs up, she couldn't help wishing that her parents were home. Or wishing that maybe she'd asked Steve to stay, made him up a bed on the couch or something. Being alone was the last thing she wanted.

A sudden tapping on her window made her yelp and fly out of her bed. She stumbled away until her back hit the closet door, staring at the curtains which had a shadow flickering behind them.

More tapping, this time more incessant.

She inhaled shakily, wondering if she should barricade herself in the bathroom, when a muffled voice made her shoulders droop.

Hargrove, she thought with a flood of relief.

She threw back her curtains and saw his tired but annoyingly handsome face on the other side, looking impatient as he motioned for her to open the window. Giving him a "what the heck?" look, she unlocked the pane and lifted it up.

"What are you doing?" she hissed at him, even though she was entirely alone.

"Freezing my ass off," he snapped. "Would you move and let me in before I turn into a popsicle?"

"What? No! You can't just—"

But he was already lifting himself up and wriggling through the window.

"Hey, don't—"

He pushed her aside and she watched in irritation as he very ungracefully fell head-first onto her floor, boots following in a wide arc that nearly took out her fish tank.

"Smooth," she deadpanned.

"Yeah, well," he grunted, lifting himself up and fixing his hair, "I'm not used to having to sneak through windows. I'm usually invited through the front door. You know, like a decent person."

"You could have just knocked. It's not like I have parents here," she pointed out.

"Wasn't sure if your boyfriend was still here. Thought I'd make a talented entrance and start a fight."

"And do you include waking up the whole neighborhood a part of this 'talented entrance'?"

For indeed, his sneaky fall had shook the whole house, making her thankful that her parents weren't home. If they'd caught a boy slipping through her window, what would they do?

Probably laugh in disbelief.

She watched the foreign specimen look around her room as he smoothed his leather jacket and shook out his legs to straighten his rumpled jeans. She'd never had a guy in her room before — ever. Not even Steve. He'd sat in her living room, feet away from her on the couch, sure, but even that had made her feel uncomfortable. Having one in her room was like inviting an alien in for a cup of tea — it simply didn't happen. Or it shouldn't, anyway. Aliens, that is. She'd never met one, but she supposed they wouldn't make great guests.

Which, in her sleep-hazed mind, made her wonder: Could aliens drink tea? Or would caffeine, a natural poison, slowly kill them? And if they could manage it, what kind would they prefer? Earl Grey? Jasmine? Macha? Or perhaps they were a decaf sort of species, and preferred chamomile, peppermint, or—

"I see you're falling asleep standing up."

The observation made her blink and realize she'd been sharing at him. There was something warm and wet dribbling down her chin, and she wiped at it.

Drool.

Smooth.

"I'm tired," she said simply. "And couldn't help wondering what kind of tea aliens would drink if they could."

"Please go to bed." It wasn't a suggestion, it wasn't a command. it was a genuine statement of concern.

"I was trying, but then you so rudely pushed your way through my window." She watched as he took off his leather jacket and threw it onto her desk chair. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

He shrugged, dropped lazily onto her bed and propped his arms behind his head. "Gettin' comfy."

She made a noise of disgust and attempted to prod him off her bed.

"You can do that in your own room. Ugh. You're making my pillows smell like your awful cologne — did you even take a shower?"

"Nope."

"Eew!" Now she really tried to push him off, nose wrinkled. "Go back to your own bed!"

But he batted her away, looking unimpressed by her feeble manpower.

"Your light was on. You weren't going to sleep, dipshit." He was obviously groggy, but his voice still had its bite. "Just admit you were scared and that you want the company. Now go the hell to sleep."

Randy stared at him, barely daring to breathe.

She couldn't believe it.

Was Hargrove… concerned for her?

His eyes were closed and he was kicking off his boots, showing a pair of socks that peeked over the edge of her small, full-sized mattress. There was no hint in his posture that he was planning on moving — in fact, he looked very much like he planned on staying there the whole night.

It would be a lie if she said she wasn't lonely. That she wasn't scared. That she didn't want him around. Because she was lonely and scared, and she did, oddly enough, want him there. His presence was strangely comforting, like the warm glow of a flashlight in a pitch black room. Kicking him out now would only make that horrible feeling of vulnerability even worse, and probably completely destroy her already slim chances of catching an hour or two of sleep. Was it worth the pride? Or should she let the night of abnormalities continue?

Chewing on her nail, she finally decided to let it be. The bed was big enough for the both of them so long as hands (cough, Hargrove, cough) didn't travel places they shouldn't, and legs were kept to themselves. Besides, she had a feeling he wasn't entirely opposed to the company, either.

"Alright," she relented. "But you stay over there. And don't try anything."

"In your dreams," he snorted tiredly. "I wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pole."

Rude, but reassuring.

Closing and locking her window, she pulled the curtains tightly shut once more and crawled under her blankets. She made sure to keep her back to the extra weight beside her, then reached over and tentatively clicked off the light.

Once again, they were bathed in darkness. But this time, the shadows were just her dresser, desk, and fish tank. This time, she wasn't waiting to hear something underneath her door. This time, her closet was still empty and under the bed was still packed with boxes of pictures, old school papers, and dusty socks.

This time, she felt safe.

And not for the first time that night, she was very thankful that Billy had stumbled into her life.