To @kittyphoenix12-xx for Harringrove for Turkey!! Thank you so much for donated and a big thank you for your endless patience!! 💗
~ read on ao3 ~
• • •
Steve Harrington smelled. That was Billy’s current problem.
Because Harrington smelled good. Like the gold and amber warmth in sunlight that has soaked into a slept-in, pine-green blanket sort of way.
Billy didn’t like thinking of smells in terms of colors, but here he sat. Smelling colors while being stuck on Steve Harrington because their last names were right next to each other. Hawkins was so small that even outside of school, Billy felt like he was playing bumper cars.
And he could always find Steve. That proved to be a boon and a curse at this very moment, because Billy swung wide between feeling deliciously warm and satiated on Steve’s lap, and absolutely furious and indignant at being on four legs instead of two.
“Ow! Jesus shit, I should’ve known you were a cat,” Steve griped after a claw sliced his palm open. The smell of salty blood was gratifying, at least. Billy yowled deep in his chest as Steve picked him up like a heavy towel, dumping him onto the passenger seat. “I’ll apologize to you later. For now, try not to piss on the upholstery.”
How in gods name a party in bum fuck Hawkins had turned into Billy riding in Steve Harrington’s car…more specifically, how a piss in the woods had turned into Billy writhing in the most itchy, burning, bone-piercing ache, and then staring up at Steve…who seemed weirdly larger than Billy remembered.
Steve wasn’t larger.
Billy had turned into a cat.
And his excursion to the woods had been too successful, because he would very much like to give Steve’s car exactly what it deserves.
“Are you still Billy in there? Because you’re not speaking English right now, dude,” Steve said as he drove through the winding suburban roads. Billy stood on his passenger seat with his front paws on the window ledge. He was vaguely aware that his voice—his fucking meow—was deeper than a standard cat’s whine, but he was too overwhelmed to give a shit.
Night vision was nothing like movies made it out to be. Instead of really being able to see through shadows, his eyes snatched onto every moving detail. Hawkins had a lot more rabbits than Billy had previously noticed. And deer. Why the hell were deer strolling around backyard pools and flowerbeds?
Sound moved differently around his ears than it did for a human head. But on top of it all was Steve. All of his car. Every variation of scent that one human teenager could saturate within the interior of his stupid BMW. Behind it all, Billy could distinguish what must have been the aromas left behind by the original driver, Harrington Senior, but Steve had long since moved into this vehicle.
Billy could smell the days he landed in the car after basketball practice. The mornings he drove after a fresh shower. He could smell the moist soil on Steve’s shoes now and the salty freshness of new sweat and outdoor air on his skin—
“Jesus Christ,” Steve groaned. “I always knew you got mouthy when you were full of yourself but this is something else. Someone’s going to think I cat-napped you.”
Billy cast a silent glare at him, willing Steve’s brain to blow a fuse as Billy fumed, Worse, you gave me paws, asshole!
Almost like he had heard this, Steve sighed, “I assume you didn’t know you were able to turn into a cat, huh? We’re here.”
Billy’s smaller body sagged with the car turning into a driveway and rocking with the brakes. In record speed and agility, Billy sleuthed out of the war when Steve stepped out on his side—
“Wait a second, Billy! ” Steve shouted, and to Billy’s acute annoyance, he paused. Steve took advantage of the moment and stretched his arms out before they fell to slap against this thighs. “Where are you gonna go? I know you don’t think much of it, but Hawkins is dangerous at night. Can you at least let me take you inside and explain?”
Billy hissed, ears pinned back against his skull. In the back of his mind, he felt his earring weighing down the thin pinna of his ear. You’re not carrying me like a fucking pet.
Steve huffed tiredly. “I know you understand me. At least let me help you get back on two legs.”
Billy growled again, but even he could hear the annoyed tolerance in his yowl. Relief infused Steve’s features when he realized Billy’s slow footfalls were in the direction of the house. He pressed his thumb against his house key as he teased, “I won’t make you eat cat food—Hey!”
Billy swiped at the back of his ankle, catalyzing Steve’s pace toward the front door. Despite being a witch, Steve used his key to unlock the house and toed his shoes off on the welcome mat. Billy didn’t have clothes to remove. They were bunched up under Steve’s elbow—after Billy had zapped into a smaller body and Steve used the clothes like a burrito to wrestle Billy into the BMW.
Billy’s ears swiveled toward the sound of Steve rubbing his hands together. For a long moment, Billy processed how Steve’s fidgeting meant nervous, alongside Billy’s own desire to claw his way up Steve’s body so he wasn’t standing below knee level anymore. Considering this would result in Steve carrying him, Billy grumbled a low growl and started walking down the length of the foyer towards what he presumed would be a living room—
“Here, we’re gonna need to burn something.” Billy froze, Steve’s jogged steps making the floor tremble on his way to the sliding glass door. As soon as he looked back at Billy, he realized this and winced. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
Billy yowled on his way past Harrington’s stupidly large feet. Steve followed him out but left the door open. The backyard was…too much. The landscaping was all fragrant herbs and then there was the pool. Thankfully the saltwater was not as pungent as a chlorine pool, but Billy found himself retreating back to the carpet just inside the door. From there, he observed Steve ripping leaves off of one plant, and then flowers form another.
When he noticed Billy sitting inside, he barked, “What? Get out here.”
Billy pawed at his nose. He and Steve stared at each other until Billy chirped at him and touched his nose again. Steve’s large eyes drifted down to the herbs in his hand, before he pivoted to look at all the criminals in his smelly yard. “Oh. Okay.”
He came inside and, to Billy’s relief, shut the door. Like he was wadding up a ball of paper, Steve crushed the leaves and flowers in his hands before sprinkling them over the carpet. To Billy’s surprise and fondness, he recognized the flowers.
No wonder Harrington’s never with the weed kids behind the bleachers. He grows his own stash.
Billy filed this away for later, under the caveat of how, if this went well enough, he might hit Steve up for some of this later. Preferably free, at the expense of Steve’s guilt for getting him in this situation in the first place.
Billy’s mind infused with the familiar sour fragrance, as well as the neutral bitterness of green things. His ear twitched, making him vaguely aware of Steve going to the kitchen. Not having a pair of eyes on him helped him relax after what felt like a long night. It had only been perhaps half an hour, but Billy lowered himself over the carpet all the same, sniffing at the leaves and petals, wondering distantly what kind of spell Steve could do. Didn’t witches need cauldrons or something? Steve had just dumped everything on the floor…
The kitchen began to smell like spaghetti sauce. The telltale oven door sounds before garlic bread infused the air. Billy let his back legs flop to the side as he blinked slowly, one side of his skull drifting on sour kush, and the other tickling with the promise of spaghetti and bread…
Perhaps the pain brought his mind into clarity. Or simple hunger. Either way, Billy distinctly thought, Why the shit is Harrington cooking dinner instead of helping me? the same time he found Steve watching him over the island counter.
What’s more, Steve grinned like a teenager after experiencing his first tequila sunrise. “That was easier than I thought.”
Out of some whim of annoyance, Billy stood up—
All the way up.
Blood rushed to his head and he teetered, heavy, human feet loud and clumsy underneath him. All of a sudden, Steve’s hands were around his ribs, holding him up like a child. In other circumstances, Billy would have knocked his hands off and shoved him to the ground, but he had never faced this kind of nausea before. It was like all of his limbs had gone numb and his blood was too slow getting back to his fingertips and toes.
“Come here, sit down. I’ll get you a soda. You’ll feel better in a few minutes. I hope.”
“You’re a ray of sunshine,” Billy groaned. He couldn’t say that Steve was wrong, since with every step toward the couch, he did feel more clarity. Clear enough to notice Steve jerking the throw blanket down to spare the couch from Billy’s naked ass. “I’ll try not to be insulted by that.”
“You can wrap up in it, asshole,” Steve remarked on his way to the fridge. When he came back, he poured the ginger ale into a glass. Billy huffed at the gallantry, causing Steve to warn, “Don’t make me prefer you as a cat. Do you want food or not?”
“Oh, I’d love some. Do I get a placemat too?”
“No, but I can get you a bib,” Steve smiled.
“The faster you feed me, the less likely I am to beat your ass…unless you’ve got other tricks up your sleeve that you’ve been holding out on me.”
Something behind Steve’s eyes lit up, visibly processing that as a compliment. Billy frowned a little, since his track record over Steve was still one to zero.
Instead of answering, Steve worked on getting two heaping piles of pasta to the coffee table, with half a baguette, each, slathered with garlic butter. Billy nursed his soda, taking one, wrapped up forkful at a time. His stomach had just shrunken to the size of a cat’s, after all. And now that he thought about it…
“After drinking at the party, why haven’t I thrown up yet? My stomach has just accordion shifted between sizes.”
Steve’s eyes went wide as he worked on chewing through the lump of food in his cheek. “Wishful thinking? Please don’t barf.”
Billy’s lashes fell to half-mast. “So you don’t know anything about turning into a cat even though you forced this on me?”
“I didn’t force anything! You can turn into a cat on your own.”
“I’ve never run on four paws, Harrington,” he argued tiredly. Billy resigned himself to beat his ass tomorrow. For now, he just wanted this meal and a heavy night’s sleep.
Steve sighed and set his pasta on the table. “I take it your dad and stepmom don’t go for moonlit runs in the woods?”
Billy grimaced at him. “The hell are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about how you don’t know anything about this. Which means your mom is a big freaking help—”
“Don’t talk about my mom,” Billy said quietly. Like one monotone warning.
Steve took it. “Okay. I’m sorry.”
Billy pursed his lips into an impertinent line as his nostrils flared with his inhalation. “If I can turn into a cat, why haven’t I? Plenty of nights behind me to have discovered that party trick.”
The air crunched with Steve’s bite into his bread. His cheek refilled as he shoved the bite to the side and enunciated, “Well, you’re not a werewolf. If no one prompted you to change, I guess, why would you?”
“Then what were you doing in the woods, Steve?” Billy accused. “You were awfully available to scoop me up as soon as I went down.”
Steve countered, “What were you doing so close to me?”
“Taking a piss. Regular woodland activities. Last I checked, Hawkins was way too Christian to have Wiccans.”
Steve shook his head. “What are those?”
“It’s like witch religion. California’s full of them. They own half the incense stores that front for weed sales.”
Steve’s brows lifted, absorbing that with a chirped, “Huh.”
Billy’s eyes widened. “Explain, already! Don’t make me leave you bloody on the floor again.”
“Christ, okay,” Steve cursed under his breath. He rubbed his hands over his face and took a deep breath. “I’m a witch but an atheist one, I guess. All the practice but none of the…pagan stuff. We don’t needs god mojo but we still need energy for spells. The party was like a power plant.”
Billy plunged his fork back into his food, feeling like this was even enough footing for his stomach accept nourishment. Even if Steve sounded like a crackpot. “What sort of spells? Trying to get Wheeler to take you back?”
“No, we’ve been over for months.”
“New girlfriend?”
“I’m too busy getting rejected from colleges and job applying to have one right now.”
“So, what, then? A spell for good fortune? What does a rich boy like you need help with?”
Steve exhaled heavily again. His large hands rubbed over his knees, making Billy glad his heightened ears and nose were gone. “Witches don’t need Satan or gods…but familiars are real.”
“What is that? Familiar what?”
“An animal familiar,” Steve reiterated, and the light bulb went on above Billy’s head.
“You cast a spell to get a dog?”
“I cast a spell to invite a willing animal to keep me company. That’s the whole shtick about witchcraft: consent. I can’t just go into a pet store and buy one. I can put out an invitation, but that’s about it. And then you showed up.”
“I’m not a damn animal, Harrington,” Billy growled.
“I know, but unfortunately for both of us, you’re the one who answered the invitation.”
“I didn’t answer shit, but you’d be damn lucky to have me.”
A laugh sputtered out of Steve. And then of all the questions to ask, “Do you even like me? Outside of all the bullshit you throw at me, do you actually have an interest me? If you can answer honestly, I’ll make you a stronger drink.”
Billy frowned at him, staring hard enough that Steve squirmed, “What? What? ”
“Who was the one who lied to my face?”
Steve cleared his throat, having the grace to look ashamed. “Me.”
“Who was the one trying to make you suck less at basketball?”
“Your coaching needs a lot of work. I can’t tell the difference between harassment and advice from you.”
“Tommy was right there, giving you shit about Wheeler and Byers. You were an easy target, but who tried to remind you that girls don’t matter?”
Steve’s face scrunched up until he licked his lips with a popping sound. “I can’t tell the difference between a guy who hates women and a guy who’s just gay. Especially when you’re both—is that what I’m supposed to get from that?”
“I didn’t say shit about being gay,” Billy fumed. “That’s like me assuming you wanted something disgusting from those animals.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being gay,” Steve recoiled. “Relax, jesus. I mean, I don’t know a lot about it, but realizing you were the one in the woods wasn’t the worst news I’d ever gotten.”
Something diffused in the air between them. Like a coiling wire had finally relaxed and unwound. Billy’s eyes narrowed at him as he processed that. “What exactly is a familiar supposed to do?”
Steve shrugged. “Nothing, really. Just keep me company. Maybe act as a lookout and an alarm bell while I’m distracted with spells.”
“And you’d…want me to keep you company.”
For the first time tonight…not the first time in a while, though, Billy noticed how tired Steve looked. His posture was bad, and he looked like he hadn’t had any wind in his sails for a long while. Frankly, he looked lonely. Billy knew what that looked like. Every time he saw it in the mirror, he smiled at whoever stared at him the most and got them in his bed.
Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. I guess I would. If you could get your head out of your ass long enough.”
“No, I’m gay, we can’t do that.”
“That’s impressive. You should put that flexibility to better use.”
Billy couldn’t help the smile warming his features. “Like what?”
“Like practicing being a cat. It’s as much a part of you as running or swimming. I’d love to hear you purr.”
“Over my dead body.”
“Or mine,” Steve huffed, and Billy grinned.
“Yeah, or that. What did you use to make me change back?”
Steve had to get another bite down before he answered, “Weed and catnip. I was trying to make you relax long enough for your body to do the rest.”
Billy shook his head. “You’re lucky I’m sore like a car wreck.”
“That’s why you should practice,” Steve chimed encouragingly.
“I’m not going to sit on your lap so you can pet my fur. Get over yourself.”
Steve shrugged, unbothered. “That’s a shame. You smell nice as a cat.”
Billy froze, and whatever grimace he wore made Steve clear a laugh out of his throat and say, “I didn’t know cats smell good. Like a clean, salty breeze. It suits you better than those awful colognes you use.”
“You know what? I’m not sore enough to hit you.”
They had a long night ahead of them. And against all odds, many nights to come.