Paper Cuts Deep | Flashback | Stranger Things

SEASON

'84–'85

GO TIGERS!

HAWKINS HIGH SCHOOL PRESENTS

PAPER CUTS DEEP

Friends don't tease you about keepsakes. Friends also don't ignore your warnings... A stupid joke in a locker room turns sharp when Tommy Hagan gets his hands on something Billy never lets anyone see. It’s nothing more than an old piece of paper — until Tommy goes too far.

PLACE

HAWKINS HIGH SCHOOL LOCKER ROOM

DATE

MAY 1985

TIME

10:32 AM

CLASS

HHS '84

FEATURED

HIGH SCHOOL P.E. LESSON

PROGRAM

BASKETBALL

STATUS

FINISHED

TOMMY HAGAN WAS A PIECE OF SHIT. ALWAYS HAD BEEN.

And whatever this thing between him and Billy was, it had never been a friendship. Not really.

For all he cared, Tommy and his good-for-nothing girlfriend Carol Perkins could rot and starve somewhere. Preferably under a bridge. Billy only kept them around because he hated being alone more than he hated them. Surely better than being at home where every little mishap could turn real ugly real fast.

Besides, they were entertaining in their own pathetic way. Fighting, breaking up twice a month, getting back together like nothing ever happened. Like they weren't completely toxic. Not that Billy knew anything about healthy relationships. Or good friendships, for that matter.

Usually, there comes a point where bad friendships come to an end. And when they do, it is never pretty.

It happened after PE in May 1985, just a couple of weeks before their graduation.

The locker room was loud with voices echoing, lockers slamming, damp air clinging to everything. The boys had just gotten out of the shower to dry off and get dressed. 

Billy pulled on his underpants and shirt before grabbing his jeans. The whole thing was inside out, clinging from earlier, when the heat had made them stick to his skin. He hadn't bothered fixing them right away. So when Billy reached his arm through the first pant leg to pull it straight, something slipped out of the back pocket.

A folded piece of paper hovered to the ugly tile floor like a feather. It looked old, crumpled, torn in a few places. Like it had been in that pocket for ages. Billy didn't notice.

"You dropped something," Tommy said, bent to pick it up, and held it out to him.

Billy turned — and froze. It was brief. Just for a second, maybe.

A second too many. He moved to grab it, but Tommy suddenly pulled his hand back, a shit-eating grin already spreading across his face. 

"Oooh... Why so serious?" Tommy sang like he had been waiting for this moment, for something personal to pick apart. Instead of giving it back, he held the paper up high. Around them, their classmates started paying attention. Locker doors hung open, conversations dying mid-sentence. Everyone waited.

Billy stood still. Stared at him. The frozen expression had shifted into an expectant glare. 

"Give it back," he said. Calmly. Tommy didn't back down. Instead, his grin only widened. "Or what?"

Billy rolled his eyes. Licked his lips. "Don't start your bullshit games with me, Tommy. Just give it back. Come on."

He stepped forward, reaching out his hand. He didn't try to grab it out of his hand, didn't try to fight him for it. Just waited. But nothing.

"Tommy," he warned, his stiff lips curling into a murderous smile. "I'm waiting."

"Yeah, I can see that," Tommy snorted. "Why don't we take a look first?"

 That was when Billy faltered, just enough. He reached. Tommy shoved him back and started unfolding the paper.

"HEY! Tommy, you piece of shit— Give it back!" he yelled. 

But Tommy just laughed, loud and delighted, like this was the best thing that had happened all week. The shoving turned into a brief scuffle, but something about Billy's fight was not as desperate as it could be. Like something held him back.

The others laughed. Some shouted. Neither of them listened.

"Woooah! Would you look at that!" Tommy laughed. He held the treasure up high again, except that it wasn't just a piece of paper. 

It was a photograph. 

Old, faded, worn down by time and too many hands. The image barely held on to the surface anymore, crumpled and flaking off. The edges had been fastened with tape several times, and the fold lines were so deep that careless handling could rip the entire thing apart. Smudged fingerprints traced along the colors, almost hiding the blonde woman's face underneath.

It was a pretty face. Soft features. Caught mid-thought, like she hadn't known the picture was being taken.

"Who the fuck's this? Your girlfriend from Caaaaaliiii?" Tommy taunted. "Honestly, you talk so much about San Diego, it's fucking annoying. Must be because of this bitch, huh?"

He tilted the photo, inspecting it from all angles.

"She's not even hot."
"I don't want to hurt you, Hagan," Billy said, low and steady. "Give it back and shut the fuck up."

He breathed sharply through his flared nostrils, holding back whatever fire was about to ignite. 

"This is your last god damn warning."

Tommy ignored him.

"Wait, what does it say in the bottom? Propperty — double P, by the way — of Billy Hargrove? Awwww..."

He dragged the last word out, syrupy and loud enough for everyone to hear. A couple of the guys snorted. Someone wolf-whistled. 

"Y'know, it's spelled P-R-O-P-E-R-T-Y," he went on, giggling. "Man, what are you, six? You carry around a little girlfriend picture and label it so nobody steals it? That's so sad... and pathetic."

He pinched the corner between two fingers. It was small. Barely anything. Just a careless little tug that split the already worn edge, a soft, papery rip that most people wouldn't even notice.

Billy did.

He didn't hear the taunting words, the laughs, or the echoes of the showers. 

He only heard the sound of tearing.

"... Whoops."

Tommy grinned, lifting the photo higher, turning it so the others could see the damage. "Man, this thing's already falling apart. Guess it couldn't handle—"

He didn’t get to finish.

Billy moved before the thought even fully formed. No hesitation this time. No restraint. His fist connected with Tommy's face so hard it snapped his head to the side. The laughter died instantly. Someone swore under their breath.

Tommy staggered, but Billy didn't give him space to recover. He grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt, yanked him forward, and slammed his back against the lockers hard enough to make the metal rattle.

"I GAVE YOU THREE WARNINGS! THREE, HAGAN!" he roared, voice breaking raw and loud, the words tearing out of his lungs. His fire broke free without obstacles.

"You get to be a fucking dick to everyone else if you must," Billy snarled right in his face, "but not to me... NOT TO ME, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

The world around them blurred away. Billy let go. Not to leave, but to swing another punch, messier this time. Angrier. It landed somewhere along Tommy's cheekbone, and Billy felt the impact shoot up his arm.

Tommy tried to shove him off, tried to get a hit in, but Billy was already on him again, shoving, striking, not even aiming properly anymore. It wasn't a fight — it was an explosion.

"You don't touch my shit!" he shouted, voice cracking, eyes wild in a way that didn’t match the usual smug, controlled fury he wore like a second skin. Someone grabbed at his shoulders. Another voice yelled his name. It barely registered. And then—

"Hey hey hey! What's going on?!"

Steve Harrington pushed through the crowd, still dripping from the shower, only dressed with a towel around his waist.

"Cut it out, both of you! Billy— Stop! STOP IT! LET HIM GO!"

Steve shoved between them, trying to pull Billy away. The sharp sound of tearing threads cracked through the air. Billy turned and pushed Steve off of him.

"Don't fucking touch me," he growled. "Stay out of it, pretty boy. I don't want to hurt you too."

Harrington steadied himself, nearly slipping on the wet floor, and raised his hands in an effort for truce.

"You're done!" he snapped. "You're done, Billy! Look at him!"

Tommy stood leaning against the locker, pressing his hand to his bleeding nose, coughing through a laugh. His painful groans echoed through the locker room. Someone tried to help him, but got pushed away with a sharp "Fuck off, weirdo". 

Billy did not look at him. 

"I told you to stay out of it," he warned Steve instead.
"I am," Steve said quickly. "I'm staying right here. I'm not getting in your face, okay? Just... Just calm down, man."
"You don't tell me what to do! We've been through that before, remember?"

Steve did not let the reminder get to him. "Billy, we got it! I don't even know what the fuck this is about, but I know that Tommy's an asshole. He's not worth it!"

Tommy pushed towards him. "Watch your damn mouth, Harrington—"

"HEY!" 

Billy shoved him back with his forearm to keep him away from Steve. He stared him down like he was only seconds away from another explosion. 

"Don't you fucking dare, Hagan. I swear to god."

And somehow... Tommy caved. Backed away, in spite of his nasty expression.

"Whatever, you're just a psycho," he cursed.
"Do you ever shut up, man?" Steve fired back.

Billy jerked forward again, but Steve held him this time — and actually stopped him.

Not that he was calm. Just... contained. Barely. Billy's glaring eyes followed Tommy as he left.

The room slowly emptied. Most of them didn't dare looking at him as they walked past, but Steve remained.

"Jesus Christ... What the hell was this even about?" Steve complained. He put his hands to his waist, shaking his head at Billy like an appalled grandmother.

But Billy didn't respond, only halted, his entire expression falling flat from his face. The photo. His gaze snapped down, frantic, searching. It must have slipped from Tommy's hand in the first hit. Now it lay on the tile floor, half-folded and damp from the water tracked in from the showers. The tiny tear at the corner glared up at Billy like something obscene.

He dropped to one knee, hands not quite steady as he carefully peeled the wet photograph off the floor. His thumb brushed over the tear, like he could smooth it out. Like that would fix it... 

Steve watched him from above.

"You'll get in trouble with the principal. Tommy's absolutely gonna tell."
"Don't care," Billy grumbled.

He just stared at the photo, jaw clenched so tight it ached, chest still rising too fast as the rage still burned under his skin. But now, it twisted into something sharper. Quieter. A kind of panic he couldn't punch his way out of. 

His dad... will not be happy.

"Come on, man," Steve said, softer this time. He didn't ask about the photo, didn't make a snide comment, didn't scold him. Just remained steady like an anchor. 
"Get dressed. You'll feel better after lunch, I'm sure."
"Leave me the hell alone."

And then, despite everything that had just happened, Billy marched up to the trash can and dropped the soggy photograph inside. Like it meant nothing more than a used tissue. Useless. Disgusting. Disposable.

Like it wasn't the only photo he had left of her. 

HHS

'85