𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 — don't cream your pants

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 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 of utter despair, and the underlying trace of fear that had alighted Max Mayfield's when she had breathed her brother's name; Billy Hargrove was not a good man. The girl had practically recoiled, almost rolling off the couch, had it not been for Lucas who steadied her with a reassuring hand on her back.

 The other children had scrambled to vault atop the seat, wide eyes peering through the curtains only to squint as the glaring light from Billy's headlights streamed into their faces. One had been by Max's side in an instant; the look on her freckled face was one she knew all too well.

 One's brows had creased, a frustrated divot appearing between them as she pushed herself away from the kids, her hands itched at her side, almost begging for a fight; perhaps she had gotten far too used to her life with Kali and the others or maybe their lust for harrowing revenge had simply made her rage look like a sky full of shimmering rainbows.

 Steve had been quick to approach her, watching as her hands balled by her side. He knew that if he so much as blinked, there'd be a crimson limelight steadily flowing from her fingertips. Billy Hargrove was his fight. Demogorgons, Demo-dogs, the Mind Flayer... those were all things he couldn't fight and have a fragment of a chance at beating. He might not be able to defeat the mullet-wearing asshole approaching the home either, but at least he had some familiarity with throwing a punch to a nose.

 "Don't," Steve rushed out, his hand hastily closing around One's steadily glowing palm. The light faded into nothing, dousing them all in a dull yellow sheen from the lamplight, "Just... He can't see your powers."

 He almost laughed at the somewhat affronted look on her face as she spoke, "I can throw a punch, Steve."

 His eyes wandered over her, catching the pearly scars slashed across her hands, "Yeah, I bet... But this guy's been a real asshole since he got here, so just — just let me deal with him, alright?"

 One stared at him a moment longer, lips quirking as he hurriedly snatched his hand back from her own as though she'd burnt him. Maybe she had, his cheeks were dark. There was a bout of underlying anger within those brown eyes of his; it was obvious that he and Max's brother had an unsavoury history.

 She'd missed a lot, and he'd been here for it all; it was only right that the one who'd already experienced Billy's rage, his irritable demeanour and his less than favourable words was the one to take care of him.

 One's response was reluctant; but revenge was something she knew well enough, and she knew how much it meant to Steve to keep the kids safe, "Alright." She murmured, unfurling her hand before sliding it into her pocket.

 Steve waited almost expectantly; he thought she'd still storm forth with a blazing bubble of red coddled in her hands. When she cocked a brow, he sucked in a breath and his hair bobbed in time with his nod.

 One watched him wrench the door open, grimacing at the shrill squeak that came from the deteriorating hinges. He stepped out and onto the porch, leaving the door open just enough for One to stroll onwards and plant her back against the door frame, watching with folded arms as Steve stood atop the chipped wooden stairs.

 She was never somebody to make assumptions about a person before she'd even met them, but One knew this Billy was just a classmate of Steves, Max's step-brother; he might have been an asshole, but just how bad could he really be?

 The headlights bursting through the twilight flickered off, and the car door was pushed open. Billy took an agonisingly slow step from the car, gravel crunching beneath his boot. One, within a moment, took everything back; she did judge people without knowing who they were because Billy Hargrove — and that sweat-slicked mullet falling around his shoulders — looked like a dickhead.

 He curled his fingers around the car door, blistering red knuckles on full display as he grinned while a lit cigarette dangled between his parted lips. Ash flitted to the ground, a stray ember lighting the night like a little firefly... until it fizzled to the ground and faded from sight.

 He pinched the cigarette between his fingers, pulling it away as smoke poured from his lips and curled towards the starlit sky, "Am I dreaming, or is that you, Harrington?" His dark gaze slid from Steve, narrowing on One who stood leisurely against the door. His brows climbed his forehead, creases forming around his mouth, "Oh ho! You have company, huh Harrington? Done crying over Nancy?"

 One could almost feel Steve's eyes rolling to the very depth of his head. He hardly acknowledged Billy's words as he stood there, teetering on the edge of the steps with his hands comfortably nesting atop his hips, "Yeah, it's me. Don't cream your pants."

 One snorted at his dry retort, and Billy had clearly noticed, for his lit cigarette was pointing her way, though not before he took another hearty drag. Smoke blew with every word, "Something funny, sweetheart?"

 One felt her lips stretch wider, watching as the teenager puffed out his chest and squeezed his cigarette in an iron grip, "Mm?" She hummed lightly, sounding like a fly on the wall, "Oh no, don't mind me... You two can carry on with your domestic."

 Billy's eyes narrowed to slits, his fingers tightening around the car door, sure to leave a dent. He plied himself away, swiftly tearing the leather jacket from his body. It was tossed into his car, the entire thing jolting when Billy slammed the door shut. He stood there, eyes remaining on Steve who finally made his move.

 His right foot found the second step, his left the third, carrying on until his sneakers collided with the gravel. Each crunch had Billy's mouth curling; he looked almost... elated. Like he knew a fight was to come and he'd been itching for it all evening. Though looking at him and the way he held himself, that was likely only a hair from the truth.

 Steve and Billy were just an arm's length away from one another, yet Steve didn't falter and One considered herself impressed. Even Billy's eyes darting to and fro had been enough for a goosebump or ten to erupt down her arms.

 "What are you doing here, amigo?" Billy asked, his voice as low as the rumble from his car engine.

 Steve tilted his chin just that smidgen higher, "I could ask the same thing. Amigo."

 "Looking for my stepsister. A little birdie told me she was here."

 "Huh, that's weird. I don't know her."

 "Small? Redhead?" Billy grinned, "Bit of a bitch."

 One slid her eyes towards the cracked open door, wondering if Maxine had heard what he'd said... or if she'd simply gotten deja-vu. From the amused lilt in his tone, Billy Hargrove often directed such words at his fiery little sister.

 Steve cocked his head to one side, eyes narrowed in mock thought before he tossed a stay look over his shoulder, eyes colliding with One's as she peered down at them both, "Doesn't ring a bell, does it?"

 "'Fraid not, pal."

 "Yeah... Sorry, bud."

 Billy's head bobbed, and One knew there was absolutely no chance that he believed them. The mullet-wearing asshole took another long, deep drag of his cigarette, eyes squinting as smoke billowed from his lips, "You know... I don't know, this..." He clicked his tongue, "This whole situation, Harrington... It's giving me the heebie-jeebies."

 "Oh yeah? Why's that?"

 "My thirteen-year-old sister goes missing all day," he blew a steady stream of smoke Steves way, lips curling when Steve scowled, "Then I find her with you and some chick I've never seen before in a stranger's house... and you lie to me about it."

 The desperation hit Steve like a tonne of bricks and he had to force himself to keep eye contact, when in reality he wanted to toss all caution to the wind and dart inside the house. He'd drag the kids out of the damned back door and stuff them into some old-ass hole in the ground if he had to.

 He remained rooted to the spot, a tight chuckle sliding off his tongue, "Man, were you dropped too much as a child, or what? I don't know what you don't understand about what I just said." He shouldn't have stepped closer, but he did, "She's. Not. Here."

 "Yeah?" Billy's tongue swiped across his teeth, warm air fanning over Steve who restrained from taking a step back; he merely grimaced. Billy's voice lowered a fraction further, dipping into the pits of hell itself as he pointed the lit end of his cigarette over Steve's shoulder, and towards the Byers' window, "Then who is that?"

 In a snap, both One and Steve followed Billy's line of sight; One wanted to storm inside the house and douse the kids in cold water, or perhaps smack them all upside the head; each and every one of them had been peering out the window, not even making an attempt at hiding themselves.

 They ducked down one by one but the damage was done, and Max had already been spotted.

 "Shit —" One mumbled, the sound getting lost in the chill of the night. Her palm planted against the door, pushing it wider as she glared at the kids, "Guys! What the —"

 She hadn't the time to finish before Billy had already shoved Steve to the ground. Her head whipped around, raven hair fanning around her like a dark halo; there Steve was, his back planted atop the frigid gravel.

 His hands had reached out to lessen the impact, each finger digging into the ground beneath him while his knuckles turned a stark white, almost glowing like the cresent moon hanging above them.

 The was already blood oozing from the scrapes and cuts against his flesh, his back contorting as rocks dug closer and close to his spine. The air had been plucked from his lungs, chest stuttering to try and grasp even the most measly sliver of oxygen.

 One moved, hopping from the porch with the ease and grace of a dancer, her face, however, remained thunderous. Billy stared back at her, his heavy boot hovering just above Steve's middle. He waited, a warm breath intertwined with smoke peeping into the air, appearing white as it climbed... then he slammed his foot down, hard. Steve choked.

 There was a manic grin on Billy's face, one that threatened to split his skin, and the wheezing gasps echoing from Steve only spurred it wider, "You better stay there, princess."

 The pet name that weasled through his grinning lips made her stomach twist and curl; she felt sick as his eyes glinted with mania — the thirst for a fight. One could see his hands shaking, but he wasn't scared nor afraid to strike out... It was adrenaline already rushing through his veins and acting as a catalyst.

 But One knew that if worse came to worse, Billy Hargrove would find himself reliving whatever nightmares resided in his skull.

 "Princess?" One repeated, hands twisted behind her back as she offed a honied smile; lips curling at the edges, pushing her cheeks higher and higher until creases appeared by her eyes like cracks in a pavement.

 She met him in the middle; her soft steps scarcely making a sound, while his heavy shoes crushed into the gravel with each threatening stomp. They grew closer, and closer... Until One could smell his invasive cologne and spy the beads of sweat  gathering atop his forehead, threatening to tumble down. They were chest to chest.

 He moved to open his mouth, lips still crooked — yet whatever words he'd wanted to voice, came out as a gurgled groan. One had jolted, her stubborn head colliding with Billy's nose. He stumbled backwards, barely catching himself as his hand flew to his throbbing nose, checking for blood.

 He spat on the dirt, a bundle of saliva landing by her foot, "You fucking bitch!"

 "Bitch? Yeah, that's more like it."

 Billy stormed forwards like a bull seeing red; he was much taller and broader than her, so it wasn't a surprise that she tumbled to the ground the moment he'd barrelled his entire body weight against her.

 She hissed, feeling the gravel and pebbles beneath her palms carve at her hands like sculptors to clay. Droplets of metallic blood seeped from the grazes, mingling with the earth as her palms became slick and sticky.

Billy hadn't a care in the world, for he merely stepped over her and trudged towards the house, no doubt to continue his onslaught of aggression.

 One forced herself up, willing herself to ignore the burning upon her palms or the way her fingers slipped against one another as blood trickled down them. She wiped her hands on her jeans, cringing at the pain before she made for Steve.

 He'd managed to get himself up, a hand planted against the very back of his skull; you'd think with a frock of hair such as his, it would have at least cushioned his fall, yet from the redness that came away on the tips of his fingers, it had not.

 One's fingers curled around his wrist, leaving behind a smear of blood in the shape of her hand as she tugged him along. He stumbled and struggled to move his feet against the uneven paving, yet they made it inside just in time to see a petrified Lucas Sinclair within Billy's grasp.

 "You are so dead, Sinclair!" Billy screamed in the boy's face, spittle landing on Lucas' cheeks. The poor boy had his eyes clamped shut, his feet dangling above the ground while Billy kept him hoisted against the wall. His friends cried out, yet Billy's iron grip never faltered, "You're dead!"

 It was Steve Harrington who spurred into action first; he couldn't have properly explained it, but after months of torment from Billy, after hearing from Dustin that he'd almost been left as nothing but roadkill... And now seeing Little Lucas Sinclair — the boy who always looked out for his friends — slammed against the wall all the while he choked and begged for help. How could Steve sit idle?

 He trudged onwards, bypassing One and skirting around the other kids who screamed and yelled and tugged at Billy's shirt. Steve managed to wrench Billy away, his fingers swiftly falling from the sweat-sodden shirt on Billy's back.

 He met Billy's furious gaze, "No. You are." Steve pummeled his first forth and watched with satisfaction as Billy stumbled back.

 One corralled the children; a hand tugging at Max's jacket, fingers pulling at Dustin's arm, wrenching Mike back by the collar. They all stumbled, knocking into her, and yet she continued on. Lucas was pulled away and forced to join his friends, all standing behind her.

 She acted as a shield.

 Watching Billy had been nothing new to One; Papa had done his fair share of yelling and screaming. He'd done far more than have her planted against a wall; the collar she'd be forced to wear, body writhing as sparks of electricity swam over her skin. Bruises on her left rib from batons... Billy Hargrove couldn't do anything to her that hadn't been done by somebody ten times scarier.

 She had promised Eleven that her friends would be safe, that when she came back from saving the entirety of Hawkins once again, she'd have people to go home to.

 Billy recovered from Steve's hit quickly and laughter tumbled from his split lip as though he was a maniac from a horror movie — ready and waiting to make his final strike, "Looks like you've got some fire in you after all, huh?" Billy took a step, "I've been waiting to meet this King Steve everybody's been telling me so much about."

 Steve rolled his eyes, he'd had enough of the relentless mocking, the constant looks he'd receive from the boy in front of him; he wasn't King Steve anymore, he hadn't been for some time... But hell, he'd happily take the crown back if it wiped that smug look off Billy's face.

 Steve planted two fingers at Billy's shoulder, pushing him back. His voice was stagnant, with no trace of anger, just the faint aftermath of a heavy breath, "Get out."

 It was still for a moment; just the lingering sound of the children's heavy pants, of Billy's harsh huffs. Then, Billy reeled his hand back and threw it Steve's way with all the force he could muster.

 One had expected the punch to land, she'd expected to watch as Steve's nose crunched and spouted blood... Only, Billy's hand didn't connect with Steve. Steve had dropped, ducking from the assault as he hardly felt the punch brush him by. He sprang back up, his own fist connecting with Billy's cheek.

 The back and forth continued for what felt like an age; Steve would strike, and Billy would duck only for the two to swap places and go at it again. One kept the children behind her, hastily shoving them back whenever the fight drew near, or whenever one of the kids — particularly Dustin — decided to peer around her.

 One would have intervened sooner, she would have happily grasped ahold of the bat in the corner and swung it right across Billy's face. She would have easily been agreeable to using her own abilities to send the boy into the wall... Yet with every step she'd take, there was Steve Harrington mutely shaking his head.

 He was infuriating — stubborn.

 But his own stubbornness to fight alone, to keep the children safe just as he'd promised, inevitably caused his own downfall. Steve — just as he'd stepped back to take a breath through his bloodied nose — felt the harsh smack from one of Joyce's dinner plates as Billy slammed it against his skull.

 His hair was littered with splinters of china, and some of the smaller, sharper pieces cut into the skin of his cheek. Steve stumbled back, finally falling to his knees as blood dribbled from his nose and the cuts on his face. There was a long gash over his left cheek, one dusting just beneath his chin. Bruises had already begun to sprout; some littered with blood from Billy's knuckles.

 It was then — when One could see Steve's eyes hastily blinking away the spots in his vision — she joined the fight. Her blazing eyes turned to the children, a dark shade of bitter coffee narrowing upon them. They all shrunk back and nodded their heads rapidly when she told them to stay put.

 Her steps thundered across the Byers' floor, an unimaginable burst of rage alighting her chest; Steve Harrington had dived into a fight that he likely knew he'd never win. Billy was taller, broader and like a damn stone statue, and while Steve could hold his own, it was no match. But he tried; he took punches to the face, to the gut all so that Billy's rage wouldn't be targeted upon the kids cheering for him on the other side of the room.

 One had never experienced that before. She never had somebody who stepped between herself and Papa. Nobody to redirect her pain and anguish.

 But she wasn't that little girl anymore; she might have promised Steve that Billy wouldn't see even a glimpse of her powers, but she never promised that she wouldn't hit him in that smug face of his.

 Billy turned with frightening speed, proceeding to stalk towards One. His hair was in shambles, each frizzy and limp curl either sprouting into the air or slick against his face. Blood had dribbled from his lip to his chest, creating a long red line down his neck as though a nosse had been tangled around him. His knuckles were raw, each and every single one was split and grazed. His fingers were stained with blood, both his own and Steve's. He looked ready to add One's to the concoction.

 He swung and once more expected his hit to land but One knew that Billy Hargrove, the boy who abused his sister with words and likely pushed her around with a little too much force, the boy who called her princess in that condescending tone of his... There was absolutely no chance he expected a girl, least of all her, to avoid his hit.

 He was wrong.

 Funshine might have been the cuddliest man alive, with a dulcet tone akin to a sliver of velvet... But he was their protector for a reason. He could throw a mean swing, and take multiple in turn. She'd learnt how to throw a punch, even a kick. She'd learnt to duck and roll; she had learnt how to protect herself if he wasn't around and if she couldn't call out to the bundle of crimson energy that swam through her body.

 She nearly smiled, even without him there by her side, he was still protecting her.

 One had ducked and Billy's arm merely sailed through thin air. When he stumbled, having expected to collide with her pretty face, she made her own move. She shot up, a slight bounce to her movement as she threw her arm upwards with all the strength she could find.

 The sound of his nose cracking split through the air. Dustin shuddered, Max gaped and Lucas grinned. Each of them, even sour little Mike, threw their arms into the air whilst they hooted and cheered, watching as Billy grabbed ahold of his nose. Blood crawled between his fingers, dripping to the floor in little splatters.

 Billy was pulled away by Steve who'd managed to clear the haze in his vision. Spots still danced and he wavered slightly on his feet, but he was up and he was pissed off. The thing is, his anger at Billy, his selfless need to protect the kids... it wasn't enough to bypass that smog in his eyes, nor the way Billy seemed to teeter before him. His head was spinning... and before he could throw another punch, his cheek erupted with a burning spark of pain.

 Then his stomach, then his other cheek... Billy threw punch after punch, backing Steve into the next room all while blood splattered over the pair of them like a shoddy paint-job. The floor was slick with metallic blood, the walls now dotted here and there — what the hell would they tell Joyce?

 Then, as Steve's vision finally began to give way, he flelt a hand curl around the front of his shirt. He could barely see Billy, nor the sneer surely painted over his bloodied features, but he felt spittle land on his pained cheeks.

 "No one tells me what to do!" Billy reeled his head back before planting his forehead against Steve's. Steve buckled, legs finally giving way as he crumbled to the ground. He hadn't the energy to cradle his nose or soothe the bruises on his cheeks. He couldn't even see clearly. Billy only cheered, hooting as though he was a perky cheerleader cheering for the Hawkins Tigers, "Woo! Get up!"

 "Billy!" One called out, ignoring the protests of the kids as Billy continued to slam punch after punch in Steve's face; they didn't want to watch her get beaten to a pulp too. Billy's head popped up, slowly craning to send a look over his shoulder. His eyes had grown impossibly dark; light blue like the colour of ocean water had rippled into crashing tidal waves that threatened to swallow people whole, that threatened to slam them against the craggy coasts.

 He turned her way, ready to make some sly remark, she was certain. Only, as Billy's torn lips that were marred with cuts parted, One planted her hands upon his shoulders, a sweet smile lips like a coating of sweet gloss as she heaved her leg up. Her knee jolted high, slamming right between his legs.

 Their roles had reversed. Billy groaned, eyes clamping together as his knees shook beneath him... all while One laughed right into his face. A high and sweet sound, like a bell ready to wake up a town. It drove her forth and her hands grabbed his cheeks, pulling his face down and into the very knee she'd already assaulted him with. A further crack sounded out, splintering the air.

 Adrenaline flooded her veins, swimming through like some magnificent poison that would soon turn against her and sap her will. She buried a hand in his hair, digits digging into his skull and almost tearing at the flesh beneath them. She reeled a hand back, ready to throw a final punch...

 Billy caught it. Even through the water that had gathered in his eyes and glazed them with a foggy film, Billy had managed to bypass the pain and Curl his fingers tight around her wrist. He squeezed and squeezed until her arm grew red, and her hand became a ghastly white as blood struggled to weasle past his grip.

 She could already feel the bruise he'd leave behind. Another brand upon her flesh.

 He wrenched her forwards and left just a hairs width between the two of them, "Sorry, Princess," He croned, swiping a finger down her cheek, blood gathering on the pad of his fingertip. But then his eyes flashed and his fist soared, planting harshly against her abdomen. He watched with lifeless eyes as she choked on the air stuttering from her lungs, "But I'm here for the King."

 To finish his aggression, he mirrored her earlier actions and slammed his own head into hers. Pain exploded behind her eyes, each of them streaming with tears that trailed down her cheeks. As they went, they scooped up blood and dirt, each crystalline tear becoming murky; a deep shade of dirtied wine.

 Her legs gave way, hands scrambling to capture her throbbing nose. She continued to choke, hardly taking in any air while her chest pounded and her nose felt as though a fire had been lit beneath it. Her vision was distorted; it looked as though Billy had multiplied; each version as blurry as the next. Everything was tilted, teetering on an axis — it made her want to vomit.

 Her fingers slackened, and slowly but surely, her head found its place on the cold ground once more while her chest rose and fell, threatening to tear in two. She could hear the sounds of Billy punching Steve repeatedly; his fist hitting his nose, his cheek even his temple. Only for Billy to pause, huff out a laugh while admiring his work, to then resume what he was doing.

 She could almost smell the blood around her. Hear the squelch of it as it slid over skin.

 The kids were screaming, eyes wide and filled with terror and tears. Dustin, who had grown exceptionally close to Steve over the previous few days and weeks had screamed his throat raw, hands balled as he angrily swiped away the tears on his cheeks. Not that he'd ever tell Steve, of course.

 Their voices mingled together, slowly and steadily drowning her. Steve's grunts and groans with every strike that pummelled him made her eyes blink. Once, twice, three times. The spots were hardly clearing, the haze like a fog swept city refused to leave... but as she lifted herself up, using all remaining strength in her arms to sit with a coiled back, her eyes had cleared just enough to spy a needle sat atop the old wooden table.

 From what she could recall from whatever Hopper had spilled; the needle had been used to sedate Will, and ensure they weren't found by the Mind Flayer.

 It was full to the brim — ready to be used, and so One slumped forwards, "Max?" Her hoarse voice croaked, blood toppling from her lips while each of them ached.

 The girl hurried over, sliding to her knees and she lay a hesitant hand upon One's back, her face contorting into a grimace as she surveyed the damage Billy had done. She'd seen the fights he'd get into, the blood he'd spill and the bones he'd break... But this was something else. Every raw cut on One's face, every blue bruise already sprouting on her skin... It made something bubble within Max's gut.

 Billy's back was to them, his entire being focused upon Steve. He still threw punches, only to rise to his feet and slam his boot into Steve's stomach. Without his attention on her, One wiggled her fingers and willed her powers to come to life. A sheen of red caressed her fingers, almost coddling the wounds like a doting mother, then they short firth with a single burst.

 The needle was smothered with smoke-like wisps, and One pulled it closer with the smallest of tugs. It sailed through the air, creating a small whistle that Billy was far too busy to notice. It landed within her slippery fingers.

 One grabbed ahold of Max's hand, planting it on her palm before nodding to the maniac towering above Steve, "Go ahead."

 Max stared at it, gears twisting and turning within her head. One could see the small smile curling at her lips before they hardened into thin lines; she'd made up her mind. It was time for her to stand up to her brother.

 The young girl marched towards him, her hand high in the air whilst the pointed tip of the needle glinted beneath the lamplight. She made no sound. No words came from her lips as she slammed the needle into her step-brother's neck. She pushed her thumb on the syringe without even a beat of guilt. She squeezed it down until every last drop had been injected into his sweat-soaked neck.

 Billy's laughter stopped, his breath hitching in his throat as his hand slapped at his neck as though a bug had bitten his flesh. He pinched the needle, ripping it away as he turned to Maxine. His face was an angry red; blood had fallen to his mouth, tinting his teeth a vile crimson.

 He snarled, crawling to his feet as the room began to spin. He felt as though he'd chugged a few too many beers at Carol's, or smoked too much with Tommy H. He tipped forwards, almost toppling before righting himself.

 He tossed the needle at Max's feet, and while he grew closer with each heavy step, Max never backed away. Her nose was pointed high into the air, dark blue eyes staring down like a snobby old woman scolding a child atop her porch. But Max deserved that. She watched as Billy crumbled to the floor, eyes in line with her mud-caked sneakers.

 One, with the help of Dustin who had hastily, grabbed her arm and heaved her higher as he huffed and puffed, managed to stand. Her hands cupped her nose and while every breath caused it to flare in pain, she still swallowed a giant breath.

 She was as sluggish as Billy, as though the syringe had been pushed into her own skin but she persevered. She had to get to Steve and make sure he was conscious... hell, even alive. Each step was like walking through honey, as though thick goop tugged her back to the ground, begging for her to give up and slump into an unmoving heap.

 She made it to Steve, legs quaking all the way before finally, she allowed herself the solace of falling to the ground beside him. He was completely knocked out. His eye was swollen, all red and utterly raw. Blood trailed from his nose and lips where there were splits everywhere. His cheeks were covered with blue bruises. Even his hands looked completely ruined; each knuckle torn with angry red skin, fingers marred with blood that was sure to stain.

 Billy continued to yell at Max but each of his words slurred together and he was still on his knees, snarling up at her. Max had paid him no mind, for she had easily darted to the side when he'd swiped for her. Zoomer, she'd mentioned once or twice.

 When avoiding his attack, she'd managed to bump into the old nail-riddled bat covered in Demo-Dog guts and flesh. She curled her hands around the hilt, tightening until her knuckles were as white as the moon gleaming through the window.

 The nails embedded within the bat glinted menacingly down at Billy all while Max readied herself for a hearty swing. Max Mayfield was finally going to put her asshole of a brother into his place. She was sick of how he treated her, sick of how he treated her friends... Especially regarding the things he'd happily scream and shout about Lucas, "From here on out, you leave me and my friends alone. Do you understand?"

 Billy merely dribbled, the syringe full of liquid taking effect. His saliva trailed down his chin, each bit tainted by his blood, "Screw you."

 Max swung and the nails clawing their way from the wooden bat dug themselves into Joyce's floorboards... right Between Billy's legs. The boy swallowed, eyes following the bat until he heaved and slumped back, his spine flat against the floor.

 "Say you understand!" Her voice grew louder, echoing off the walls as she rose the bat once more, shifting on her feet as though she was prepared to give him a better swing, "Say it. Say it!"

 "I understand."

 There was a hint of a smile on Max's lips as she leaned closer, ready to hear his voice meeker than she ever had before, "What?"

 "I understand."

 His eyes slipped shut, and Max finally let herself breathe. Her arm fell limp and the tips of the nails within the bat scraped against the floor.

 One couldn't help but grin, even if her cheeks ached, even if her nose throbbed. It was hard to stand up to somebody who had already treated you with nothing but disrespect; someone who made you doubt yourself. But once the dam was finally broken, there was nothing else that could stand in your way.

 Max looked nothing short of relieved, perhaps even a flicker of pride pushed her reddened cheeks higher. Her cerulean-blue eyes fell upon One.

 "Good job." One breathed. Her heart still shuddered within her chest, banging painfully against her own ribcage but even despite the pain shooting through her body and caressing her face, she smiled at Max, "You were great."

 "Are you kidding?" Max scoffed, dropping the bat with a heavy thud as she, tailed by the other kids, skidded to a stop before her. Max crouched down, denim-cloaked knees sliding against the floor as she grimaced, "Jeez, you took a beating."

 "Maybe," She opened her mouth, testing her jaw. Her eyes watered at the pain that erupted behind one of her many bruises. But just being able to look over and see Billy Hargrove's smug face covered in cuts and scrapes was enough for it to be worth it, "But so did he."

 Max scoffed, "He deserved it."

 "Oh, I know." One couldn't find even a sliver of herself that wanted to disagree. Billy had gotten exactly what he deserved. After chasing kids down with his car, spitting harsh insults at Max, and beating both One and Steve to utter pulps... He got exactly what was coming to him.

 A light sparked behind One's eyes, peeking through the hazy film of pain-spurred tears. It was about time that they enacted their plan to help her little sister. Her lips tugged higher, blood-soaked teeth on full display, "Keys?"

 Max echoed her expression, her skin littered with splatters of haphazard freckles, while One's was dusted with speckles of blood. The girl leapt to her feet, striding with newfound confidence — as if she needed it — and dipped her hand into Billy's pocket. She dangled the keys in front of her face, "Let's get out of here."

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21-12-2019

edited version: 24-06-2022

nah sorry, the plans i have for One and Max though. absolute sisters i SWEAR.