Billy
Steve's kitchen at 3 AM felt wrong. Too normal. Coffee maker gurgling, clean counters, ordinary suburban house.
I'd just been kidnapped, used as bait, nearly possessed by interdinsional monster. And now I was drinking coffee like nothing happened.
"You did good today," Steve said, sliding a mug toward . "Headbutting a possessed person takes serious guts."
"I was bait. Put everyone at risk."
"You survived. That's what matters." He leaned against the counter, corruption scars visible on his hands. "And you fought back. That counts for sothing."
Max sat beside , silent but present. She'd been there when they extracted , seen actually terrified for first ti in years.
"It wanted ," I said finally. "Specifically. Said my pain made 'compatible.'"
"Trauma creates cracks. The Mind Flayer exploits them." Steve's voice held understanding. "That's why it targeted you first. Neil's abuse made you vulnerable."
"So I'm broken. Perfect host material."
"You were wounded. Past tense. You're healing now—fighting Neil, building relationship with Max, accepting help. That healing is protection." He touched his scars. "The fact you resisted today proves it. You're not the sa person it tried to claim."
Max
Watched Billy process. Really process—not deflecting with anger or jokes, just sitting with the fear.
"Why do you care?" he asked Steve quietly. "Really. We've been nothing but hostile. I nearly killed you multiple tis sophomore year."
Steve set down his coffee. Looked at Billy with those corruption-marked eyes.
"In another version of events, you beca a host. The Mind Flayer used you to hunt a twelve-year-old girl—Eleven. But at the end, you fought back. Regained control for just long enough to sacrifice yourself. You died a hero, saving her life."
Silence. Heavy, crushing silence.
"I died?"
"Yeah. And it was beautiful and tragic and completely unnecessary if I can prevent it." Steve's voice cracked. "I'm giving you chance to be that hero without dying. To have the redemption arc and the life after. You deserve both."
Billy's hands shook. "You've been protecting because of sothing I did in a tiline that doesn't exist?"
"I've been protecting you because you're worth protecting. The heroic death just proved what I already knew—under all the rage and fear, you're good person trying to break free of monster who raised you."
Steve
Eddie and Chrissy arrived at 3:30 with food from the 24-hour diner. Found us in the kitchen—Billy rattled, Max protective, exhausted.
"Heard you fought monsters today," Eddie said, setting down burgers.
"Heard you've been fighting them for years," Billy replied.
"Technically three years. But who's counting?" Eddie sat across from him. "Welco to the club. We have trauma, terrible odds, and occasionally we survive."
"Inspiring recruitnt pitch."
"I don't do inspiring. I do honest." Eddie unwrapped his food. "You almost got possessed. Steve pulled your ass out. Now you're one of us—whether you like it or not."
Unexpected camaraderie ford. The talhead and the jock, both outcasts in different ways, both fighting things that shouldn't exist.
Chrissy
Watched Steve watch them. He looked like he might cry from relief—Billy integrating, the hostility fading, the team solidifying.
"You okay?" I asked quietly.
"Yeah. Just... he's safe. Actually safe. Not just surviving but healing." His corruption scars pulsed faint red. "One save down. Dozens more to go."
"You can't save everyone—"
"Watch try." He squeezed my hand. "Tomorrow night, Russian infiltration begins. Phase One. If it goes wrong—"
"It won't."
"If it does, Protocol Oga—"
"Steve. Stop planning your death for five minutes. Just be here. Now. With people who love you."
He exhaled slowly. Nodded. Stayed present instead of catastrophizing.
Billy
Hopper called at 4 AM. Steve answered on speaker.
"Russian infiltration begins tomorrow night. You good for Protection Team?"
"Yeah," I said before Steve could answer for . "I'm in. Whatever you need."
"Good. Keep Max and the other kids safe while Steve does his crazy infiltration shit."
"Copy that."
The call ended. I looked at Steve. "Protection Team. That's my role?"
"If you're comfortable with it. Guard the safe house, protect vulnerable targets, backup extraction if things go wrong." He t my eyes. "It's critical work. Not frontline, but essential."
"I can do essential."
"I know you can."
Max
That night, everyone crashed at Steve's house. Too exhausted to go ho, too wired to sleep properly.
I found Steve on the back porch at 5 AM, watching dawn break over Hawkins.
"Thank you," I said. "For saving Billy. Again."
"That's the job."
"No. Saving Billy once was the job. Twice was commitnt. Three tis is obsession." I sat beside him. "Why is he so important to you?"
Steve thought for a long ti. "Because he deserved better than the hand he was dealt. Because I saw what he could beco—hero, protector, good person—and refused to let that potential die. Because everyone deserves soone who won't give up on them."
"Even when they're an asshole?"
"Especially then. Assholes need saving too."
Billy appeared in the doorway. Raised his beer in silent toast. Steve nodded back.
One save down. Dozens more to go. But Billy Hargrove—hostile outsider turned reluctant ally turned genuine friend—was proof impossible saves were possible.
Worth every exhausting preparation.
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