AFTER HOURS || s.h.
PAIRING: Steve Harrington x fem!reader
SUMMARY: Where a late-night closing shift turns into a nightmare, Billy Hargrove turns into more than just an annoying coworker, and Steve sweeps in to save the day.
WHAT TO EXPECT: violence, flayed Billy Hargrove, choking/strangulation, panic/anxiety, hurt/comfort, mention of cuts, fluff, not cannon, use of Y/n
A/N: yay, third post! thank you for all the support! if you saw this posted yesterday - no, you didn’t. i had a few more edits to make, so here is the finished version lol! side note - i wish my college offered a BA in fanfiction.
WORD COUNT: 4.0k (wowza! sorry)
“Hey, Billy,” you glanced over your shoulder to the blond-headed boy rummaging through the supplies closet. Notes written haphazardly were scribbled on a legal pad on the check in desk, passive aggressively reminding all employees to search the lockers for forgotten food or else we’d get rats. “Did you check the men’s locker room for food? I don’t want Darrell to get mad at us.”
Billy’s frantic search for a mop skidded to a halt as he turned around slowly to look at you directly in the eyes. His perfectly curled mullet clung to his sweat-drenched and pale skin. You didn’t want to say anything to your coworkers, but Billy had been looking sickly for the past couple of days. It surprised you that he still showed up to work. Dark and angry veins stretched below the surface of his skin and a feverish sheen clung to him, even in the air-conditioned break room. His eyes were the worst part, though. They were glassy and unfocused, pupils blown wide like he’d been staring straight through your soul, like he knew you were already insignificant to him.
His jaw kept tightening and unclenching, the muscles ticking as if he was grinding his teeth down to nothing. One hand flexed at his side, fingers twitching like they didn’t quite obey his mind anymore. You watched as a faint tremor ran through him, like he was trying to hold himself back.
Your instincts were screaming when nothing was technically wrong. Billy scared the shit out of you when he looked normal, even more so when he glared at you like you were his next prey. Your best guesses were a bad case of the cold, sun poisoning, or maybe even a messy breakup.
Despite your judgemental assumptions, part of you hoped your coworker and classmate was all right. “Billy? Are you okay?” You ask, watching his broad back muscles fill the red lifeguard longsleeve. You weren’t sure if your eyes were playing tricks on you, but it looked like he had grown a few inches taller. Or maybe it was just your fear of him growing. “I have some advil in the back if you need something,” your voice suddenly small and meek.
He slammed the supply closet door with a thwack and stomped out of the check in office, completely ignoring your olive branch. “I’ll check the lockers after I shower,” he said, voice flat with a tinge of aggression.
You told yourself it was nothing, just another weird mood swing of his to shove down and ignore. You’re exhausted, and overthinking it wouldn’t make the double shift any shorter. Steve was coming to pick you up soon, and the thought of him waiting outside grounded you more than anything else. He would be leaning against his signature red BMW, his jean-clad legs crossed, hands tucked in his front pockets, and an easy smile on his face as he saw you walking up. Time really couldn’t move any slower as you banished the thought and focused on finishing up.
You wiped down counters, straightened the pool chairs, and put the money from the snack bar in the safe. Your body ached in that dull, heavy way that only came after too many hours on your feet.
The mop bucket sloshed quietly as you pushed it across the tile when you heard glass shatter then a gnarly crash echoing from down the hallway. The sound made your heart drop because it didn’t sound like an accident. It sounded like something being thrown.
The crash came louder this time. It was the sound of something slamming into tile with bone-jarring force, causing the lockers to shudder in their frames. The echo ricocheted down again, sharp enough to make your ears ring, followed by the wet, hollow thud of something heavy hitting the ground.
Voices started up, high-pitched and panicked, which made you panic even more. No one was supposed to be here, it was after hours. It sure didn’t sound like kids trying to trespass and jump in the pool.
You heard shouting, overlapped and frantic, the words blurred together. Someone was crying, another yelled the number ‘eleven’, and then the distinct sound of choking. Your chest tightened and adrenaline flooded your veins so fast it made you dizzy. Your heart pounded, each beat loud in your ears as fear snapped your body awake, every nerve on edge. The rational part of your brain tells you this can’t be real, but your instincts don’t care.
You drop the mop as the lights flicker. It clatters against the tile, the sound exploding in the sudden quiet between screams. Your pulse hammers and your hands shake, breath coming quick and shallow as you brace yourself for something terrible.
You don’t even have it in you to meekly peek through the crack in the door. Instead, you shoved it open completely until it slammed against the wall. The men’s locker room assaulted you all at once as you took in the sharp tang of metal and sweat, the echo of shouting bouncing off concrete walls. Your Reeboks skidded slightly on the tile as you stumbled inside, heart slamming against your ribs.
The noise was coming from the weight room. You turned the corner and froze.
Billy had a girl lifted clear off the ground, one massive hand wrapped around her throat. She’s brown-haired, small, her legs kicking uselessly a feet above the floor. His arm was locked straight like she weighed nothing at all.
In the corner, four kids were huddled together, backs pressed to the wall, eyes wide and shining with terror. You didn’t even get a good look at them, too focused on the girl Billy was choking. You didn’t know Billy was capable of this. But then again, this didn’t look like Billy. His shoulders were hunched, spine curved in a way that looked painfully unnatural. The muscles in his back rippled and twitched beneath his skin like something was moving underneath it. The black veins you noticed from before were even more pronounced and now covered his whole body. He wasn’t even yelling or speaking, he just looked so focused and sure of his actions.
The girl’s eyes flicked to you, wild with fear, then her eyes rolled back into her head. Something in you snapped and you didn’t think or hesitate. You grabbed the heaviest weight you could lift, fingers slipping on cold metal, and swung with everything you have.
The impact was brutal. The weight connected with the side of his head in a sickening crunch, the sound echoing through the room as Billy staggered forward, grip finally loosening. The girl collapsed to the floor in a heap, gasping and coughing.
Billy began to rise. You lifted the weight over your head, muscles screaming as adrenaline carried you. You swung again, desperate and reckless, determined to finish it before he could get back up. But he caught it in his palm, making your heart stutter. His hand clamped around the metal bar of the weight like it was nothing. No strain or hesitation was in his face. The impact didn’t even make him flinch.
Slowly, Billy straightened to his full height, still gripping the weight, his gaze never leaving yours. His eyes were dark, pupils now blown wide until there was barely any color left, like something was staring out from behind them. He threw the weight aside, crashing into the rack with a deafening clang as it skidded across the floor, but Billy didn’t look away. His attention was locked on you, sharp and suffocating like you're pinned under it.
A slow smile pulled at his mouth. This wasn’t the smile he gave the older women who lounged near his tower. There was no charm or arrogance in it, just hunger.
“You really shouldn’t have done that,” he said softly, not matching the weight of the situation. He stalked you like prey. Each step was deliberate and unhurried. “You think you’re brave for doing that? You think that was enough, as if you could hurt me?” He talks as he moves, words slicing into you, calm and cruel. You felt weak under his scrutiny.
You retreat without realizing it, feet scurrying backward across the floor, heart hammering so hard it hurts. The brick pressed into your spine all too soon, stealing the last of your space from him. Billy stopped inches from you. He leaned in just enough that you could feel his breath, hot and uneven against your cheek. Like he could smell the fear radiating off you, he clamped a hand over your throat and began to drag you up the wall. Your back scraped against the brick as he lifted you, toes barely brushing the floor. The pressure around your throat tightened, crushing and merciless. His grip was iron and you choked on a broken sob as instinct took over.
You clawed at his hand. Your nails scraped uselessly against his skin, fingers slipping as panic made you clumsy. You tried to pull his wrist away, try to kick, try anything, but he didn’t even react. It was like fighting a wall. Tears blurred your vision.
“Please—” The word barely made it out, strangled and weak, swallowed by the crushing force around your throat. Your lungs burned, desperate for air that wouldn’t come. Each breath grew shorter and thinner, until all you could hear was the roaring of blood in your ears. Black spots crept in at the edges of your vision, closing in no matter how hard you fought them back.
You thought of your boyfriend. You thought of Steve waiting outside right now, leaning against his car, checking his watch, wondering why you’re taking so long. You imagined the crease between his brows when he got worried, the way he always asked if you’re okay, slinging an arm around your shoulders.
You should’ve been out there by now. Your hands weakened, scratches slowing, your heart stuttered as your body started to give up on you. The room tilted. Billy’s face blurred, twisting into something inhuman as his expression read satisfied.
Your heartbeat slowed. The last thing you hear, cutting through the ringing in your ears like a lifeline, was Steve’s voice.
“Hey, dickhead, get your hands off of my girl!”
You hit the floor hard, crumpling where Billy dropped you, your body folding in on itself as air tore back into your lungs in painful, ragged gasps. Your vision swam, edges blurring, brick and fluorescent light smearing together as you curled instinctively, hands still clawing at your own throat. You could still feel his hands around it.
You heard the sound of fists connecting with flesh over and over again. You blinked, trying to focus, and through the haze you saw Steve, wild and furious, swinging with everything he had. He didn’t hesitate or hold back. Every hit was fueled by pure panic and rage, like the sight of Billy’s hands on you flipped some irreversible switch.
You watched from the floor, dazed, as Steve beat Billy to a pulp, only He only stopped when something Billy lifted off the ground. Just…rose. Your breath caught. Your head swam harder, nausea rolling through you as your brain scrambled for logic. This couldn’t be real. You had to be completely out of it. Oxygen deprivation, shock, or something.
The brown-haired girl, the one Billy had been choking, stood now, eyes blazing, her face twisted in fury as her hands shook in the air. She was screaming, raw and animal, and Billy hung there like a broken marionette, suspended by nothing at all.
God, you must’ve been so out of it.
The scream crescendoed, and with a violent flick of her hands, Billy was hurled sideways with impossible force. He slammed through the wall like it was made of paper, bricks exploding outward as his body disappeared into the darkness beyond.
Silence crashed down around you. Your ears rang. Your head lolled back against the floor, vision still hazy, chest aching with every breath.
Steve was suddenly right in front of you. He dropped behind you and placed you in between his legs, your back pressed against his heaving chest. “Hey,” he whispered immediately, voice low and shaking, like he was holding himself together just for you. “Hey, I’ve got you. I’ve got you, okay?”
He pulled his arms firmly around your torso, one hand fidgeting with the strap of your lifeguard swimsuit. You could feel his heart racing behind your back, fast and frantic, like it was still catching up to everything that had happened. “You’re safe,” he murmured, over and over, pressing his chin gently into your shoulder. “You’re so safe. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” His grip tightened just a little, protective rather than panicked. “I should’ve been here sooner,” he whispered, words thick with guilt. “I’m so sorry. I swear…I swear I won’t let Billy near you ever again. Won’t let him even think about you.”
“Steve…” you barely manage to whisper, feeling your throat close up all over again. “W-what just happened?”
“Shh, hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.” Steve rocked you in his arms, knowing that the gentle motion lulled you. He kissed the top of your head, lips lingering in your hair. “Don’t worry about it, just breathe with me,” he said softly. “That’s it, good girl. Slow. You’re doing so good.”
“Thank you,” you wheeze, “for saving me.”
He chuckled, already knowing you were going to make a quick recovery with that fight still in you. “You were so brave,” he whispered. “You hear me?” You nod, finally slumping all of your dead weight into him. “So so brave. My brave girl.”
Steve adjusted his grip on you automatically when footsteps approached, tightening his hold just enough to keep you steady without jostling your breathing. He didn’t look away from you at first, eyes scanning your face like he was memorizing proof that you were still here and all right.
He looked up to see the kids were hovering a few feet away. Lucas, Will, Mike, Max, and the girl that just single-handedly launched flayed Billy through the wall. However, they looked small now. Shell-shocked and covered in grime, sweat, and fear. Steve exhaled sharply.
“You little shits okay?” he asked, voice rough.
They nodded. Hesitant. Max crossed her arms as a self defense mechanism, like didn’t just watch her stepbrother get beat up. Part of her believed he deserved it in away, the other found him redeemable.
Will’s hands were still shaking and Lucas swallowed hard before answering. “Yeah,” Lucas said. “I think so.”
Steve let out a breath he had been holding for some time now, his shoulders loosened just a fraction. “Good,” he said, then immediately scowled. “Because that was insane. Absolutely crazy. All of you could’ve been lying here dead.”
“But, El—El, she—” Mike started to argue with the older boy until he cut the kid off.
“El this, El that,” Steve emphasized his words to get his message across. “As the only fully conscious and responsible adult here, it would’ve been my fault if something went south. Consider yourselves lucky I came to pick up my girlfriend.”
Steve looked down to you, nearly passed out in his arms. Max bristled. “We didn’t have a choice.”
Steve huffed a humorless laugh. “Yeah? Billy…something’s wrong with him.”
His jaw tightened. “Doesn’t mean you go sneaking into places like this. You don’t face off with psychopaths on your own. You don’t—” He stopped himself, rubbing a hand over his face. “God. You don’t do this without backup.”
El stepped forward, eyes flicking to you. “He was going to kill her.”
Steve met her gaze, something serious and unflinching passing between them.
“I know,” he said quietly.
For a moment, the room was still. Then he straightened, squaring his shoulders. “But you fought him,” he added, grudging respect threading through his tone. “You didn’t run. You protected each other.” Lucas nodded once. Will looked relieved. Max lifted her chin just a little. “That matters,” Steve said. “That counts…for now.” Steve stood with you against his chest, hiking you higher into his hold, already turning towards the makeshift exit in the bricks. “But next time,” he added over his shoulder, “throw him out the door or something. This is going to be a bitch to explain.”
A bea passed. “Deal,” Max said.
Steve snorted. “Yeah. We’ll see. C’mon,” Steve said, already moving. “Let’s go before Billy decides to come back for round two.”
He adjusted his grip on you and stepped through the rubble without hesitation, Nikes crunching over debris as he carried you straight through what used to be a brick wall. Warm summer night air rushed in and behind him, the kids followed, adrenaline finally bleeding into chatter.
“Did you see how far she threw him?” Lucas said, awe creeping into his voice.
“He went through the goddamn wall,” Max added, slinging an arm around El’s shoulders. “Like, through it.”
Will let out a shaky laugh. “That was kind of awesome.”
Steve shot them a look over his shoulder. “Hey! Hey—keep it down.” They quieted instantly. “As far as anyone knows,” Steve continued, nodding toward the gaping hole, “this was a structural failure. Old building. Bad foundation. Boom! Tragic, but not Miss Supernatural over here.”
Max snorted. “Sure.”
Steve didn’t slow. “I’m serious. Pool management asks? Earthquake. Gas leak. Anything but a telekinetic ten year old. Y/n is not getting in trouble for this.”
“We’re not ten!” The kids complained in unison.
You tried to breathe in, but it came out as a cough instead, sharp and rattling as you felt it through your burning chest.
“Hey, hey,” he said, breaking into a jog, arms tightening instinctively around you. “Easy. I’ve got you. Just hang on.”
The parking lot lights blurred as he moved faster, the night cool against your overheated skin. He got to his car, yanked the door open, and didn’t even think about putting you down.
“Alright,” he said, turning back to the kids. “Go. Get home. Lock your doors and stay out of trouble. Call me if you need to.”
El lingered, watching you closely. Steve nodded at her, an understanding passing through them. “Thank you.”
She nodded once, satisfied, and followed the others to another side of the parking lot where their discarded bikes were..
Steve slid into the driver’s seat and shut the door, finally letting out a breath, but he still didn’t move you. Instead, he shifted so you were cradled in his lap, one arm solid around your back, the other braced protectively across your waist.
He rested his forehead briefly against yours, grounding himself as much as you.
“Not letting you go yet,” he muttered. “You’re stuck with me for a minute.” The next twenty minutes to his house, he kept you in his lap, driving with one hand as you slowly but surely recovered.
+
You were cocooned in Steve’s bed, swallowed by soft navy sheets and one of his old Hawkins High gym t-shirts that you drowned in. His pajama pants were rolled around your hips, warm and familiar, smelling faintly like detergent and his expensive cologne.
He’d carried you inside earlier despite your protests. “I can walk, Steve,” you’d said, voice hoarse.
“I know,” he’d replied, already tightening his hold. “Humor me.”
He’d hovered the entire time you showered, sitting on the closed toilet lid, head in his hands and back hunched over. You could hear his cautious and worried breathing, like a very good boyfriend trying not to unravel in front of you.
Now you lay on your back, staring at the fan circling on the ceiling as he sat beside you on the mattress, leaning over you just slightly.
“Cold,” he warned softly, before the cream touched your skin. You hissed anyway. “I’m sorry,” he said immediately, even though his hands were impossibly gentle. He dabbed carefully along the bruises blooming dark against your throat, jaw tight as he worked. His touch was reverent, like he was afraid you might break if he pressed too hard.
He didn’t say much, but something was brewing deep down. When he finished your neck, he moved to the small cuts along your hairline, cleaning them with painstaking care. You flinched once, and he froze instantly.
“Hey,” he murmured. “Tell me if it hurts. I mean it.”
“It’s okay,” you said. “I promise.”
He didn’t look convinced. “Okay,” he said anyway, voice low. “Can you flip on your stomach for me, pretty girl?” Steve helped you roll over carefully, one hand braced at your hip, the other at your shoulder. You settled onto your stomach, cheek pressed into his pillow. “Just for a second,” he said, almost apologetically.
With his fingertips, Steve gently dragged his shirt up along your spine, exposing your mottled back to him. The scrapes there were angry and red, tracking where the brick had bitten into your skin. Steve inhaled sharply through his nose when he saw them.
You felt the way his hands hesitated, the way something in him twisted at the sight. “Steve,” your voice firm. “J-just get it over with.”
“I should’ve—” he started, then stopped himself. Instead, he dipped the cloth again and began to clean the scrapes, careful and methodical. You winced despite yourself, fingers curling into his sheets like a vice. “I know,” he whispered, immediately. “I know. I’m sorry, baby.”
“It’s not you,” you said, muffled into the pillow.
“I know,” he repeated, like he was trying to convince himself.
Each time you flinched, his jaw tightened. It clearly and visibly hurt him to be the one causing you even the smallest bit of pain, even when he was helping.
When Steve finished, he gingerly pulled his shirt back down and caressed your ruddy cheek with his knuckles.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “All done.”
He didn’t move away right away and neither did you.
The room was quiet, safe, and for the first time all night, you didn’t feel threatened.
You shifted closer, the sheets rustling softly as you climbed right into his space, settling on top of him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Steve adjusted instantly, one arm coming around the small of your back, where the cuts didn’t reach. The other slid up to cradle your head against his chest.
His heartbeat was steady and strong now. You felt it rise and fall beneath your cheek, anchoring you there. He ran his fingers through your hair slowly, absentmindedly, the way he always did when he wanted you to sleep. Your head lifted and fell with his breathing, the motion soothing in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.
“Call me crazy,” you murmured, voice soft and tired, “but… did that girl in the sauna with the brown hair start levitating?”
Steve’s fingers stilled for half a second. Then they resumed, gentle and rhythmic, like you didn’t just stump him. He let out a quiet huff, a small, almost fond chuckle. “Yeah,” he said lightly. “I think you scared yourself pretty good back there.”
You tilted your head just enough to hear him better. “I mean, yeah, but I thought I saw her and Billy’s feet just above the ground.”
“You lost a lot of oxygen,” he continued, tone easy, reasonable. “Adrenaline, shock, all that stuff messes with you. People see weird things.” His hand smoothed over your hair again, slower now.
He was probably right. Everything he was saying was true. You most likely just started hallucinating from the lack of oxygen. Plus, that would literally be impossible. “Yeah, okay.”
You hummed softly, eyelids heavy. “Get some rest,” Steve murmured, thumb tracing a slow line along your scalp. “We’ll talk about it in the morning. Right now you just need to sleep.” He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, voice dropping even lower. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”
And with the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you, and his hand still moving through your hair, you finally rested after the fever dream of whatever happened after hours.
