Chapter 85: The Quarry
Steve
Midnight came and went. 12:01. 12:02.
I sat on the hood of my BMW at the quarry's edge, watching moonlight reflect off dark water. My Supernatural Detector sat beside me, pulsing faintly toward the steel works miles away.
He's not coming. Too proud, too scared, too damaged to accept help from someone he barely tolerates.
Headlights cut through the darkness at 12:03. The Camaro's engine rumbled, aggressive even at idle.
Billy parked twenty feet away. Sat in his car for two full minutes before cutting the engine.
Another minute passed. Then he emerged, leather jacket and cigarette, defensive posture screaming this better be worth it.
"You came," I said.
"Yeah, well. Curiosity killed the cat." He climbed onto his hood, mirroring my position. "This better not be some weird intervention thing."
We sat in silence. Five minutes of water sounds and distant crickets. Neither speaking, both processing.
Billy
Steve Harrington was insane. Had to be. Meeting at midnight to discuss... what? My dad? Monsters? Impossible bullshit?
But he'd saved my life during last year. Absorbed mortal wounds that should have killed me. Shown abilities that made no sense.
And he'd mentioned Neil. Knew about the bruises, the rage, the trauma I kept buried under golden tan and aggressive charm.
How does he know? Who told him?
"Anger is just fear with its fists up," Steve said finally. "Someone told me that once. Took me years to understand it."
"Profound. Did you get that from a greeting card?"
"From experience. I used to be angry too. At different things, for different reasons. But the mechanism's the same—fear underneath, rage on top, mask covering both."
I wanted to mock him. To leave, to prove this was waste of time.
But his voice held recognition. Like he'd lived inside the same cage I occupied.
Steve
I pulled out the Supernatural Detector. Let Billy see it pulse toward the steel works.
"This measures dimensional activity. Supernatural threats, reality breaches, possession attempts." I held it toward him. "Watch."
The device spiked. Not massive, just noticeable. Indicating vulnerability, trauma signature, potential target.
"What the hell is that?" Billy's voice went tight.
"Confirmation. Something dangerous is building strength in Hawkins. It targets wounded people—physically, emotionally. Uses trauma as entry point for possession." I met his eyes. "You're prime candidate, Billy. Abusive father, buried rage, emotional isolation. Perfect host."
"You're saying something wants to possess me?"
"I'm saying something will try. In the next few days. And if it succeeds, you become puppet. Hurt people you love. Maybe die in the process."
Billy
Every instinct screamed run. This was crazy talk, impossible nonsense, paranoid delusion.
Except Steve's device was real. The spikes were real. His corruption scars—silver lines visible on his hands—were real.
"Why do you care?" I demanded. "After everything. The fights, the hostility, me nearly killing you multiple times. Why warn me?"
Steve's answer came quiet. "Because I know what happens to people who don't have anyone in their corner. Who carry trauma alone, think they're unworthy of help. They break. Or they die. Or they become the monster they're trying not to be."
"Speaking from experience?"
"Yeah. Except I had people who gave a shit despite my worst behavior. Robin. The kids. Chrissy. They saved me when I couldn't save myself." He pulled out a card with his number. "You need the same. Someone in your corner when things get bad."
I stared at the card. Accepting it meant admitting vulnerability, accepting help, trusting someone.
Everything Neil had beaten out of me.
Steve
Billy took the card. Didn't promise anything, didn't commit. Just pocketed it like maybe-decision.
"What happens if this thing tries possessing me?" he asked.
"You call me immediately. I have abilities—powers I can't fully explain. I can fight possession, disrupt the connection, save you before it's too late." I demonstrated Phase 3 speed, moving ten feet in blur of motion. "I'm not normal. Haven't been since this all started. But I'm strong enough to protect you if you let me."
"And if I don't call?"
"Then I'll try to save you anyway. But it's harder without cooperation. You'll fight me, thinking I'm the enemy while the real threat consumes you." My corruption scars pulsed. "I don't want that, Billy. Want you to survive this. To live long enough to become the good person Max sees buried under all that rage."
His hands clenched on the card. "Max thinks I'm good person?"
"She thinks you're trying to be. That counts for something."
Billy
I sat there processing. Steve Harrington—King Steve, golden boy, the guy I'd hated for being everything I pretended to be—was offering protection. Offering to fight literal monsters to save me.
"This is insane," I said finally.
"Yeah. But it's also true. And you'll know it when you feel the compulsion. The wrongness. The sense of something trying to get inside your head." Steve's voice held certainty. "When that happens—not if, when—you call me. Day or night. I'll come."
"Why are you so sure it'll happen?"
"Because I've seen how this plays out. And I'm changing the ending this time." He slid off his hood. "Go home, Billy. Be careful. Trust your instincts. And when things go wrong—" he tapped the card in my pocket "—use that."
I drove away at 12:47, more confused than when I'd arrived.
But the card stayed in my pocket.
And some part of me—small, terrified, desperate—believed him.
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