potrix-the-queerschlaeger:
A Harringrove fic from Steve’s dad’s POV where he finds out about Steve and Billy after he gets a call about his car being stolen, but actually Steve just sent Billy out to get groceries or sth, and lent him his dad’s keys.
You know what? I am writing the thing.
Well, I did it. You can read it here, or head over and check it out on AO3">potrix-the-queerschlaeger:
potrix-the-queerschlaeger:
A Harringrove fic from Steve’s dad’s POV where he finds out about Steve and Billy after he gets a call about his car being stolen, but actually Steve just sent Billy out to get groceries or sth, and lent him his dad’s keys.
You know what? I am writing the thing.
Well, I did it. You can read it here, or head over and check it out on AO3 .
* * *
selfish to selfless
◦ a son can change his father from being selfish to selfless ◦
Richard had only meant to quickly stop by the office for some files on the way home from the airport, tired from the long and turbulent flight back from Berlin, but as soon as he’d stepped into the lobby, his secretary had informed him that the police were trying to reach him about his stolen car.
One slightly confusing phone call later, and Richard is in another cab, headed towards the grocery store downtown instead of his house. He’d tried calling his son, to find out just what, exactly, was going on, before remembering that Steve was working afternoons at the video store, now, and probably wouldn’t be home for another hour or so.
Which means Richard is still clueless when the cab pulls into the store’s parking lot, where two police officers are standing by what is definitely his car, talking sternly to two people Richard doesn’t recognise. He quickly pays the fare, absently thanking the driver, and pushes open the cab door.
That gets one of the officers to glance over, and he waves Richard closer, then offers his hand in greeting. “Mr Harrington, thank you for coming by so quickly. We’ve got a bit of a situation here.”
They shake hands, but most of Richard’s attention is on who he now sees is a boy, probably somewhere around Steve’s age, standing between the second officer and a man Richard assumes must be the boy’s father. He’s got his eyes lowered, his shoulders are up around his ears, and he’s white as a sheet, trembling ever so slightly.
“We found Billy here,” the second officer says, nodding at the boy, “about to drive off in this very expensive car. When we asked for documentation, he wasn’t able to provide any, so we ran the plates, and your name popped up.”
If possible, the boy—Billy, apparently, shrinks in on himself even more.
“I’m assuming you didn’t lend your car to Billy?” the first officer speaks up again, the question mostly rhetorical.
“No, I did not,” Richard answers nonetheless, looking away from the boy to check over his car. It’s in pristine condition, with no visible bumps or scratches, and none of the windows are broken. Frowning, Richard turns back to Billy. “Which makes me wonder how you came to be driving it around town.”
(watch out for the break)
Billy doesn’t look up, or say anything. He merely shrugs, then winces when his father’s hand shoots out to squeeze the back of his neck, fingers digging in hard. “Billy, what have I told you about—”
“I don’t think we’ve met before?” Richard interrupts, shifting his frown to the man. “You’re Billy’s father, I assume?”
The man looks Richard up and down with a badly disguised sneer on his face, but after a moment, he nods curtly. “Neil Hargrove. Will you be pressing charges?”
Richard takes in Mr Hargrove’s face, his bloodshot eyes and splotchy cheeks, before looking at Billy again, who’s still silent, not meeting anyone’s eyes. Then he cranes his neck to glance behind the two, at the only other non-police car parked in the lot, a rundown thing at least a decade old.
The Hargrove family isn’t well-off, that much is obvious, and it wouldn’t be too surprising if the boy had decided to upgrade vehicles in an illegal manner. Something about the whole situation doesn’t sit right with Richard, though.
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” he says, eventually, and watches as Billy slumps in relief. “There was no harm done, after all.”
Mr Hargrove nods again. “That is very generous of you. Isn’t it, Billy?” he asks, giving his son a shake.
“Yes, sir,” Billy mumbles. He lifts his eyes for the briefest moments to look at Richard, adding an equally quiet, “Thank you, sir.”
Seemingly satisfied, Mr Hargrove bids them farewell, and steers his son away towards their car, hissing furiously at the boy. The two officers shake Richard’s hand again, and tell him to come down to the station should he change his mind about those charges, before getting back into their cruiser.
Still as in the dark as half an hour ago, Richard gets into his own car. There’s a bag of groceries in the passenger seat. The keys in the ignition are Steve’s set.
When he finally arrives at home, Steve’s BMW is in the driveway. Richard parks his car behind it, then, after a moment of consideration, grabs the groceries, and makes his way inside.
“Hey!” Steve calls from somewhere deeper in the house, apparently having heard the door. “Did you get grape juice? I forgot to put it on the list, but—dad?”
Steve skids to a halt in the entryway, mouth opening and closing uselessly a few times, before he manages to ask, “What are you doing here?”
Richard has to chuckle at that. “It’s good to see you, too, son.”
Steve doesn’t quip back as expected, though, moving past Richard to glance out the front window. He’s worrying his bottom lip when he turns back around. “Where’s Billy?”
“Steven,” Richard says, a little annoyed now that the pieces are starting to click together, “did you tell your friend he could borrow my car?”
“It’s not like you were using it!” Steve throws his hands up in the air, then puts them on his hips, glaring at Richard with surprising heat in his eyes. “What happened, dad? Where’s Billy?”
“The police called me, they assumed your friend had stolen the car. Don’t worry, I didn’t press charges. His father took him home—”
That’s as far as Richard gets before Steve curses, eyes widening, and rushes to grab his jacket, trying to pull it on while simultaneously shouldering open the door. He’s jittery, frantic, and Richard is still very, very confused.
“Where are you—”
“Look, dad, I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to—”
“Steve—”
“Dad, please—”
“Steven, stop it!”
It comes out sharper than intended, but it finally makes Steve slow down enough for Richard to get a proper look at him. He’s scared, Richard realises, and immediately feels guilty for snapping at him.
“Talk to me,” Richard says, putting a hand on Steve’s arm. “What’s going on?”
Steve takes a deep, shaky breath, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “I need to go and get Billy. It’s—he can’t be there. At that house.”
Richard frowns. “He can’t be at his parents’ house?”
“You don’t understand!” Steve shakes off Richard’s hand, and runs his hands through his hair, tugging at it sharply. “It’s not—he can’t—”
His voice breaks, and he groans, his eyes wet with unshed tears. He keeps looking at Richard, desperate and pleading, and Richard doesn’t understand what Steve’s gotten himself into, but he knows what he has to do.
“Get in the car,” he says, putting the groceries down on the floor, and nudges Steve into motion. “Where does your friend live?”
“What are you doing?” Steve follows him out of the house, confused. When Richard opens the passenger door of his car, Steve only stares at it blankly. “Dad?”
“You’re not driving like this, Steve,” Richard tells him, patting him on the back to get him to move again. “Get in, and put on your seatbelt.”
He closes the door, and walks around the car to slip into the driver’s seat. “Now,” he turns to Steve, raising an eyebrow, “where are we headed?”
For a moment, Steve looks like he’s about to protest. But then he falls back into his seat, as if his strings have been cut, all the fight going out of him with a shaky sigh. “Old Cherry Road.”
They drive in silence. Richard has questions, but Steve’s fidgeting next to him, twitchy and nervous, and Richard knows he won’t get any coherent answers out of him right now. The situation reminds him of the time Steve had gotten his first failing grade, back in middle school, and had been trying to hide it from him, acting squirrely and strange for days.
Only now, Steve doesn’t have that air of guilt surrounding him, the one born out of the knowledge that he should’ve studied more instead of goofing off with his friends. This time around, he seems worried.
Richard shares the sentiment.
Steve only speaks up again to direct him to a small house at the end of Old Cherry Road, then throws the door open before the car has even come to a full stop. They’re immediately assaulted by loud, furious yelling.
Steve leaps out of the car with a strangled, “Shit,” and takes off, running towards the house. Richard climbs out as well, approaching more slowly. One of the curtains in the street-facing windows twitches, showing the face of a young girl for a second, before it slides into place again.
A moment later, the front door bangs open, and Billy stumbles out onto the porch. His eyes dart around wildly before they land on Richard, and his steps falter.
He’s not wearing shoes. His nose is bleeding. His bottom lip is split.
“Steve,” Richard says, calm but stern, making it clear that he won’t be allowing any arguments, “go back to the car. Both of you. Right now.”
Billy looks unsure, wary, but Steve doesn’t need to be told twice. He grabs Billy’s wrist, and tugs him down the steps in the front yard, murmuring softly to the other boy as they pass Richard.
“Where the hell do you think you’re—” Mr Hargrove appears in the door, his face flushed in anger. He cuts himself off when he spots Richard, mouth twisting. “This is a family matter, Mr Harrington.”
“I’d argue that it’s a police matter,” Richard challenges, and watches Mr Hargrove swallow hard, hands clenching tightly at his sides. “Though I suppose you wouldn’t agree, would you?”
“Listen here,” Mr Hargrove grinds out, temper flaring again. He takes a step closer, but Richard refuses to back up, which brings them uncomfortably close. Richard stands his ground, waiting. “How I discipline my children is none of your business. Now, I appreciate you letting my son off with a warning, but how I decide to punish him for his misbehaviour is up to me.”
Richard ignores him, fishing his wallet out of his jacket pocket instead. “I think I might like to make it my business, Mr Hargrove,” he says, and talks right over Mr Hargrove’s noise of outrage, “and I think it would be best if Billy stayed with a friend tonight.”
He offers Mr Hargrove a business card, and it’s easy to see the exact moment the man reads the words Criminal Prosecutor printed underneath Richard’s name.
Richard decides not to mention the fact that he’s mostly teaching, these days.
“Well, now,” he claps his hands together, making Mr Hargrove startle, “I’ve had a long day of travelling, so I’d really like to wrap this up. We won’t be having any more trouble here, will we, Mr Hargrove?”
Mr Hargrove works his jaw, eyes blazing. But he nods, and grunts out, “Sure, whatever,” before stepping back, and slamming the door in Richard’s face.
It opens again almost immediately, revealing the girl from the window. She looks Richard up and down assessingly, then holds out a bag of frozen peas. “For Billy’s face.”
“Thank you.” Richard takes them from her, examining her in turn. She doesn’t seem hurt, but Richard nonetheless feels the need to ask, “Will you be all right…?”
“Maxine. Max,” the girl says. She shrugs, and smiles sadly. “And yeah, sure. He only ever—you know. It’s always Billy.”
It’s not as reassuring as she probably means it to be, but it will have to do for now.
Steve and Billy are both in the backseat when Richard gets back in the car. Steve is dabbing at the blood under Billy’s nose with a tissue, wincing along in sympathy when it makes Billy hiss.
“Here.” Richard leans around the headrest, offering the bag of peas to Billy, who doesn’t make any move to take them, only watches Richard with a sort of passive resignation on his bloodied face. Richard waggles the bag at Steve, who takes it with a quick, “Thanks, dad.”
The drive home is silent again, although infinitely more tense, somehow. Richard checks the rearview mirror from time to time, relieved to see that Billy’s finally got the peas pressed against the worst of the swelling around his nose. He’s looking out of the window, but Richard doubts he’s taking anything in, his gaze vacant and far away.
Steve is still holding onto Billy’s wrist.
They boys vanish upstairs when they get to the house, Steve mumbling about getting Billy patched up. Richard leaves them to it, sure that Billy will appreciate a moment of relative privacy, and goes to unpack the groceries they’d abandoned earlier.
The bag reveals an assortment of junk food, which isn’t all that surprising, considering Steve’s sweet tooth. It also contains a range of fresh fruits and vegetables, though, which Richard knows Steve would never buy for himself. There’s some pasta, a carton of eggs, and then, at the very bottom, two cartons of Steve’s favourite grape juice.
Richard’s been in Germany for the past two months, lecturing at different colleges around the country. He’s starting to wonder how many of those eight weeks Billy Hargrove has been living in his house.
Food put away, Richard isn’t entirely sure how to proceed. In the end, he puts on some water for instant hot cocoa. Munching on the mini marshmallows always used to cheer Steve up when he was younger, and Richard figures both Steve and Billy can use the comfort right now.
With that done, though, Richard’s worry grows again, and he decides it’s time to check in on the boys. He follows the faint murmur of voices to Steve’s room, finding the door slightly ajar. He gives it a courteous knock anyway, before pushing it open.
Billy, sitting on the edge of Steve’s bed, goes tense as soon as Richard steps inside, which Richard can’t really fault him for, even if it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Steve has one knee up on the bed as well, between Billy’s spread legs, and is carefully applying butterfly bandages to the cut below Billy’s lip, tongue poking out as he concentrates.
He seems oddly practiced at it. Richard doesn’t particularly like the implications of that.
“Billy,” Richard says, as gently as he can, though being addressed directly makes him twitch anyway, “why don’t you go take a shower, get cleaned up? I’d like to talk to Steve alone for a minute.”
Steve doesn’t look enthusiastic about it, but he nods, and gets up off the bed. “I’ll be right down, okay?”
His hand, no longer busy with the bandages, has landed on Billy’s knee. He doesn’t seem to have noticed, but Billy clearly sees Richard notice.
He hastily bats Steve’s hand away, clearing his throat awkwardly. “It’s fine, Steve. I’m fine.”
Richard isn’t the only one who knows that’s a lie, but he leaves them to it for another moment, heading back downstairs. The water’s boiling, so he gets out three cups to fix them all some cocoa. It’s been a long day, he figures he deserves some sugar as well.
It isn’t long before Steve joins him, dragging his feet, and fidgeting with the strings on his sweatshirt. He can’t quite look Richard in the eye, and it’s a little too much for Richard, after everything.
“Come here,” he offers, and holds out an arm. Steve is hesitant, still, so Richard pulls him in close, and wraps his arms around him, holding him close. After a few seconds, Steve’s arms come up to hold him back, and he melts against Richard with a hiccuping little breath. Steve might be eighteen, an adult according to the law, but Richard can still tuck him under his chin like he used to, and press a lingering kiss to the crown of his head. “I know I don’t say it enough, but I love you, kiddo. You know that, right?”
Steve nods into his neck, fingers curling into the back of Richard’s dress shirt. “Love you, too, dad.”
When they pull back, Steve’s eyes look a little misty, and Richard knows his must be the same. He ushers Steve into a chair, grabs the cocoa, and sits down opposite his son with a long, drawn-out sigh.
“This wasn’t the first time, was it,” Richard says after a while, more of a statement than a question. Steve grimaces, which is answer enough. Richard stares into his cocoa. He wants to ask why Steve didn’t say anything, didn’t come to him, but if he’s honest with himself, he knows that he is the reason. So he settles on, “We’ll figure it out, Steve. I promise, okay?”
Steve dunks one of his marshmallows. “He turns eighteen in, like, five weeks. And his senior year is almost over, and he’s smart, dad, you know? Like, really smart. He got accepted into half a dozen colleges, so. We just have to hold out a little longer, and then we can leave.”
Richard’s eyebrows shoot up at that. “We?”
“Uh, I mean.” Steve flushes, but he also smiles. “He wants to go back to California, and I thought—I think I want to go with him? It’s not like I’d planned on working at the video store forever.”
“And what is it you’re planning on doing all the way out in California?” Richard questions, which earns him a small, mischievous smirk from his son.
“Well, you said it yourself. We’ll figure it out.”
Richard kicks at his feet under the table, biting back a laugh. “Don’t get smart with me, mister.”
Steve does laugh, but he sobers up again quickly. “Is it okay, though? With you? And mom? If I want to leave?”
And they haven’t been close, lately, as a family, not in a while, but Richard doesn’t have to think about it before he says, “We want you to be happy, Steve. Whatever that might entail.”
“Okay.” Steve ducks his head, but not before Richard can see him smile again. “Okay, dad.”
They both look up when Billy shuffles into the kitchen, making him stop in his tracks. He looks a little better after his shower, in a clean pair of shorts, and what Richard is fairly sure is one of Steve’s old basketball shirts.
Richard drains the last of his cocoa, and gets up, grabbing the third mug from the counter. He sets it down in front of the chair next to Steve’s with an apologetic, “It’s probably only lukewarm by now.”
Billy watches him, chewing the inside of his cheek. Then he slips onto the chair, pressed close to Steve, and curls his fingers around the mug. “Thank you, sir.”
“Call me Richard,” Richard offers, as he carries his empty mug over to the sink. He carefully considers his words, taking his time rinsing out the mug. There’s a lot he wants to say, several things he thinks he needs to say, but he’s afraid Billy will spook and run off if he voices any of them. He goes the safe route, in the end. “Why don’t you boys order in tonight? I’ve been up for the last thirty hours, I absolutely do not want to bother with cooking. Steve, you know where my wallet is.”
Steve smiles up at him, small but grateful. “Thanks, dad.”
“And Billy,” Richard adds, hating the way Billy stiffens again, but pushing on nonetheless, “feel free to stay as long as you need.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer, doesn’t want to force one from Billy. He only smiles at the two of them, kisses the top of Steve’s head again, and heads up to bed.
They’ll figure it out. Tomorrow.
![veronica-lodge:YENNEFER MEME
[2/2] TRAITS • determined: having made a firm decision and being resolved not to change it. #the witcher#yennefer #yennefer of vengerberg #queue tastic](https://64.media.tumblr.com/20eb53df748326f01261df1da42ad7b4/2b9d5d64824c0866-a7/s500x750/4c2c67a0164477853ac900003040c7e31102bf49.gif)
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