Chapter Text
A lot could change in about seven months, give or take.
After that night at the Byers’ Billy figured he’d pretty securely shot to shit any chance of ever being in Steve’s good graces, and Steve was about ready to file for a restraining order if Billy so much as looked in his general direction again.
Funny how things end up going the exact opposite of what you expect.
It started completely by accident; they had run into each other in an empty hallway after school sometime in February, both looking panicked, Steve looking more than a little pissed. He was about to take off without a word when suddenly something took over Billy’s body - overwhelming guilt, maybe - and had him blurting out an apology. It hadn’t been enough to convince Steve at the time, though he accepted it anyway. But then the strangest thing happened…
They’d actually started talking to each other whenever they ended up occupying the same space. Not much, at first. Sometimes just a simple head nod in acknowledgement, but. Turns out Steve was getting kind of sick of only having 13 year olds, his ex, and his ex’s new boyfriend to hang out with, and Billy, to Steve’s surprise, really didn’t have anyone, so.
March, April, and May passed by in a flurry of movie nights and smoke sessions out by Steve’s pool. The occasional late night knock came at Steve’s door bringing a quiet, withdrawn Billy that he never liked to talk about, would only ask to crash on Steve’s couch, which eventually led to them sharing Steve’s bed. Over the covers. An ocean of space between them. Until that, too, turned into something more.
By the beginning of June they were well passed being just friends, though neither of them would voice anything stronger. They just… were. Too wrapped up in the feeling of just existing. Enjoying each other’s company in whatever form that took. It was nice. Easy. To both of their surprise.
Come end of June, they’re drunk after having gone to some old classmate’s going away party to mooch off their liquor (not that there wasn’t more than enough at Steve’s house, but. Sometimes mingling with other people was nice, especially with everyone leaving soon.) And when that got boring they stole a bottle for themselves and hit the road.
There hadn’t been any set destination in mind. Steve had figured they’d probably just end up back at his place to fuck, but as they rounded up toward the quarry Billy took a swig of whiskey and simply yelled “SKINNY DIPPING!” before shoving the bottle into Steve’s chest and taking off.
Steve stumbles back a little on impact. “What the f-” he slurs, drunk brain lagging a few seconds behind before catching up to what Billy’s doing.
He’s halfway to the water, stripping his clothes off as he sprints, leaving a trail behind for Steve to follow. And he does.
Steve takes a final pull from the bottle before tossing it aside so he can get rid himself of his shirt.
“Hurry the fuck up, Harrington!” Billy yells. He’s already naked, golden tan dimmed in the moonlight.
He looks over his shoulder to find Steve hopping on one leg to get out of his jeans, mumbling “I’m coming, I’m coming! Hold your horses!” It makes Billy laugh. Has him pausing for a few seconds to admire the clumsy mess of a boy behind him while he’s too preoccupied to notice.
Billy’s made a dive for the water by the time Steve’s securely out of his pants, but with the mixture of alcohol, darkness, and his general lack of coordination, he steps onto a pant leg as he goes to throw them aside, and the motion throws him off kilter. He stumbles forward, losing his footing, and ends up face first in the dirt.
It hurts for about a second before he groans and rolls over, and suddenly the ground seems like the best place in the world to be. He forgets what he’s even supposed to be doing, laying there out in the open in just his underwear now. Sleep sounds like a good idea. Yeah. He’ll just take a quick little nap, since he’s already laying down and all. A few minutes, and then he can get back to whatever he was supposed to be doing…
Billy comes up from under the water with a howl and shakes out his hair. Despite the scorching temperatures of summer, the quarry water remains relatively cool. Not cold, per se, but a welcome reprieve from the warmer weather.
He listens out for Steve, but can’t really hear anything beyond the rippling water and chirping of crickets. He’s more annoyed than he is worried. Steve’s always a little slow on his best days. Add alcohol and a night of partying to the equation and it takes longer for his brain and his body to sync up. He’s wasting valuable groping time, is the problem.
Billy tilts back and lets himself float in the water, arms splayed out at his sides as he looks up at the stars. There’s a moment he can almost pretend he’s back in California, the nights he snuck away from Neil to hang down at the beach with his buddies. Drink a little too much. Smoke a little too much. Kiss boys he wasn’t supposed to under the watchful eye of a bright big moon. It’s close, but… no cigar. The water’s too calm and there’s a distinct lack of salt in the air. It’s not home. It’ll never be home.
And the one person who makes living in this shithole even remotely bearable still hasn’t found his way into the water yet. Billy huffs out a breath as he rights himself in the water, wading in place as he looks out to shore. “Yo! Harrington! If you’re not over here in thirty seconds I’m gonna start jerking myself off!”
It’s a joke. Kind of. One that even a drunk Steve would have a quick quip ready for. Instead, Billy gets silence. A little niggling of something like concern starts creeping up his spine.
“Pretty boy, you okay out there?” he calls out, swimming a little closer to shore in the hopes of hearing better. Pauses to let the water quiet down. Still no response.
Concern starts to grow into fear. Maybe Steve got sick. Alcohol poisoning, though Billy doesn’t think he drank that much. Or. Maybe he fell. Hit his head on a rock on the way down. Fuck. He could be unconscious right now. Concussed. Fucking. Dying.
“Steve!” Billy yells for him again, this time more urgent, all notion of kidding thrown aside in favor of something more panicked. He tries not to think worst case scenario as he starts swimming towards the shore. He’s just being dramatic. The night does that to people. Fucks with their heads.
He’s thinking about how he’s gonna beat Harrington’s ass when he gets on dry land and finds him tangled up in his jeans or something equally stupid, getting Billy all worked up for nothing, when his foot suddenly snags on something, briefly pulling him under the water. Years of swimming in the pacific has him trained to immediately suspect seaweed as he sputters up out of the water, a little shaken, though he wouldn’t have admitted to it.
But. Then he remembers he’s not in the pacific. He’s in fucking Hawkins. There’s no seaweed in a goddamn quarry. He doesn’t know what is in a goddamn quarry. Are these things supposed to have animals? Maybe there’s some type of weed growing. Fuck if he knows.
He’s not gonna think about it. He’s fine. Both his feet are free, and if he starts swimming a little faster and his heart beats a little harder, that’s his business, and no one needs to know.
It feels harder to swim. Something that usually comes so naturally now feeling like an obstacle. He has to fight against the liquor in his bloodstream to control his limbs, putting in more effort to this act than he ever has.
A steady thrumming in his ears, heartbeat racing, and the splashing of water has him missing how eerily silent his surroundings have become. The crickets have stopped chirping. There’s no rustling in nearby trees. Not even so much as a warm summer breeze passes through.
He’s a man on a mission, eyes focused on one fixed point. He’s so close. Almost there-
His foot snags again, pulling him under. Except, this time there’s a sharp pain accompanying it. Has Billy crying out, mouth filling up with water as he’s pulled under.
He spits out the water, eyes wide and frantic as he breaches the surface, spinning around searching for what the hell just caught him. “Shit. Shit, shit,” he mumbles, only finding black nothing around him. It’s too dark to see under the water. He might as well be swimming in a void.
He’s not about to wait around for round three. Puts all his strength into pushing himself forward and cutting through the water as fast as he’s ever managed. Could probably break a damn Olympic record with the speed he’s building up.
It’s still not fast enough. He’s grabbed again, this time high on his calf. Is pulled down further and he fights to break the surface.
“STEVE!” he yells. And whatever the fuck has his leg in a stronghold isn’t letting go. He fights and he kicks and he swims and nothing is working. Can’t get himself free.
He’s pulled down under again. Lungs burning from lack of air as he stays down deeper, longer. And still, all he can see is black. Not even the light of the moon seemingly being able to penetrate the water’s surface. It’s like he’s floating in empty space. Trapped with some unseeable force that he knows intrinsically wants to harm. Harm him.
The next time he comes up for air he feels like he’s slipped further from shore, has even further to swim than before. The thought could make him cry if he wasn’t too busy fighting for his goddamn life. “STEVE!” he screams again, voice raspy and rough, his throat like sandpaper. “ANYONE! FUCKING GET HELP! HELP M-”
He’s silenced with a gargling of water as he slips under once more. The pain digging in his leg grows sharper, more intense. He’s sure he’d see blood coloring the water around him if he could see anything at all. He always knew this shithole town would kill him. He just hadn’t expected it to be like this; fucking naked in the quarry with the boy of his dreams just out of reach of salvation. Fucking figures this is his life, if he actually thinks about it. But he loses breath before he can.
Steve awakens the next morning, groggy as shit, body sore and aching from sleeping on the goddamn ground.
The sun’s up, but he has no clue what time it is. Sitting up, he rubs the sleep from his eyes and the dirt from his face, his arms, fucking, everywhere. “‘m never drinking again,” he mumbles to himself, voice thick with sleep.
The previous night comes back to him in bits and pieces. He was supposed to go skinny-dipping, which explained his mostly naked state. And Billy was with him. Shit. Where was Billy?
He stumbles to get his clothes on while simultaneously searching around for any trace of his-
They’re not boyfriends. He stops that thought dead in its tracks. They’re just two friends, he guesses, who like to fool around. There’s nothing deeper there, which is made extra evident by the apparent fact that Billy just left Steve at some point all vulnerable to the elements out in the open last night. Couldn’t even bother to wake him up before ditching him.
“Fuckin’ dickhole,” Steve mutters to himself, kicking up a cloud of dirt. He glances at his watch, finally checking the time. He’s gonna be late for work.
--
Steve had gone into work in a pissy mood, still mad about Billy just ditching him like he did. Who does that? Billy Hargrove, apparently. Which, Steve doesn’t even know why he’s surprised. Maybe it’s because he thought they’d made some leeway over the past few months. They weren’t spilling their guts out to each other and braiding each other’s hair at weekly sleepovers or anything, but. Steve had thought he had started chipping away at Billy’s walls. Had been offering up some of himself in return.
Apparently Steve’s an idiot. Surprise, surprise. As if Billy fucking Hargrove would be anything other than the selfish prick he’s always been.
“Will you cheer up, buttercup? You’re driving away customers,” Robin says, coming up behind where Steve’s slouched over the front counter. He’s three hours into his shift and maybe 5 people have come into the shop today regardless of who was upfront.
“Leave me alone.” Normally Steve had no problem engaging in some light banter with his coworker, but he’s just not feeling it today.
“Damn. Who peed in your Cheerios?”
He sends her an unimpressed, but equally annoyed look before standing upright. He’s got a good few inches on her, but with the way she glares at him with her take-no-shit attitude it hardly even matters. Steve’s not intimidating anybody these days.
“No one, alright? Just leave it!” He throws his stupid Scoops Ahoy hat down in frustration, because he suddenly feels ridiculous (moreso than usual) trying to be pissed off with that stupid thing on his head.
And it’s not like he can tell Robin what’s got him so worked up. He may not be the brightest bulb in the bunch, but he knows enough not to go running his mouth about his recent gay awakening with a certain blond asshole. Can’t go mouthing off about how he passed out on the way to probably some great drunken sex only to be left naked for anyone to find him at the quarry. Can’t talk about how he thought maybe he and Billy could’ve been working up to something more concrete, eventually, but that thought seems pretty shot to shit now because apparently Steve’s just a disposable piece of trash Billy can toss out on the side of the road, literally. So.
Robin raises a single eyebrow at him, looking him over before shaking her head. “Whatever. I’m taking my break.”
She marches on past him to the break room. Steve figures he can at least have some alone time to wallow in his anger, but as soon as Robin disappears behind the door, he catches a storm of red hair coming through the entrance of the ice cream shop, and Steve wonders why he can’t catch a single break.
But he straightens up, putting on his best customer service smile because really, it’s not Max’s fault she’s related to such a shithead.
He starts moving before she even approaches the counter, getting ready to put two scoops of strawberry ice cream into a waffle cone. “Hey, Max. The usual?”
“Um. No, actually.” Something about her seems off. Like she’s nervous? Maybe? On edge?
Steve pauses where he has the lid to the display freezer open, cone in his other hand. “Everything okay?” He doesn’t want to get himself worked up, but given recent history he can’t help but worry about monsters and secret government agencies, even if things have been silent on that front since November. The kids don’t bother him with anything else. Anything else serious, anyway.
She must sense his nerves because she’s quick to assure him with “Yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine. With that. Just, um. When you see Billy tell him to come home? His dad’s been in a mood all morning because his room was empty when he got up so-”
“Wait wait wait. Billy didn’t come home this morning?” This new knowledge shifts something uncomfortable in Steve’s chest. He had just naturally assumed Billy had left him at the quarry to go home and sleep it off. He knows Billy has a shift at the pool today, too. And if Max is here, that must mean he’s not there, either…
“Steve?” Max asks, breaking him from his thoughts. “Is something wrong? Billy was with you last night, right?”
Her eyes have gone big. She and Billy had started fixing their relationship right before Billy and Steve had started fixing theirs, so Billy told him. They’ve come a long way from being at each other’s throats, and Steve doesn’t want Max running around worrying if she doesn’t have to. There’s no need to jump to conclusions yet. Plenty of time for Billy to be found just hanging around town or something casual. There’s no reason to think the worst right now.
“Yeah. No. He was. Yeah. Um. He probably just crashed at Tommy’s or something.” It’s a bold faced lie. Billy hasn’t talked to Tommy since graduation. Never would’ve crashed at his place anyway. “I’ll give him a call on my next break and tell him.”
Max nods, though she doesn’t seem too convinced, so Steve puts on his best reassuring smile and waits until she’s out of sight before deflating on top of the counter.
There’s something not right about this situation, he can feel it in his gut. He doesn’t know if he’s developed some sixth sense since this whole Upside Down thing or if it’s just good ol’ fashioned paranoia. But the thought of Billy drunk, unequipped, and wandering around town by himself makes Steve feel sick. He shouldn’t have left him alone. He should’ve fought harder to stay awake. He should’ve just taken them back to his house. He should’ve-
He rushes into the breakroom, startling Robin at her place at the table they have set up back there for lunch and dinner breaks where she’s in the middle of some thick book. “I need you to cover the rest of my shift.”
She snorts and returns her attention back to the pages before her. “No thanks. I have a strict policy of not staying later at work than I have to.”
“Robin, please.” Because he’s really not above begging. “It’s a family emergency.”
She looks up at him then, like she’s ready to call his bluff, but he must look as desperate as he feels because suddenly her features are softening, though she still rolls her eyes and tosses her book down. “Fine, dingus. It better be life or death.”
“I hope not,” he mumbles under his breath. “Thanks, Rob! I owe you one!”
He hears her muttering a yeah, yeah as he books it out the door, running as fast as he can through the mall to get to the parking lot.
He figures he should stop by Tommy’s house, just in case. Even though it feels like a longshot, but. He has to remind himself he doesn’t actually know Billy, even if it feels like he does. A few months of tentative friendship and secretive sex doesn’t mean shit, in the grand scheme of things. Hell, Steve’s still got a whole secret life Billy doesn’t even know about. Though he might know now, a traiterous voice in his head supplies.
The beamer roars into Tommy’s driveway. Steve does a half-assed parking job, his car half hanging on the lawn as he barrels out and up to the front door of the house. Tommy’s car is in the driveway, too, so Steve knows he’s home. Incessantly bangs his palm flat against the door yelling out “Tommy! Open up!” until the other teen finally does.
Tommy stands in the doorway still in his pajamas in the middle of the afternoon, casual as hell as he’s sucking on a rocket pop. It’s pissing Steve off, watching his former best friend be so nonchalant while he’s in an obvious panic.
“Stevie!” Tommy grins, though it’s none too pleasant. “Long time no see.” His eyes seem to catch on to Steve’s wardrobe at that moment, lighting up as he takes in the full picture and snorts. “Nice outfit.”
“Shut the fuck up, Tommy.” Steve doesn’t have time for this. “You haven’t seen Billy around today have you?”
“Why? You looking to get your ass kicked again?” Tommy laughs at his own joke, completely oblivious to how out of the loop he is, and shoves the popsicle back into his mouth.
Steve sighs and rolls his eyes. He knew he shouldn’t have bothered coming here. He’s just wasting time. “Man, whatever. Can’t believe I was ever friends with you” he says and turns to head back to his car.
“Yeah, well have fun slinging icecream for the rest of your life, loser!” Tommy yells back, a nerve clearly having been struck. Steve hears the front door slamming behind him before he makes it to his car. Doesn’t stop him from throwing up a middle finger in that direction.
He drives to the sheriff’s station like a madman. Speeds through every stop sign and light to waste as little time as possible. He briefly considers the possibility that Billy’s actually fine and he’s getting all worked up for nothing. Then about a millisecond later he’s envisioning Billy’s body being pulled out of the quarry like Will’s fake one was two years ago and he’s gotta resist the urge to throw up all over his steering wheel.
The beamer comes screeching to a halt in the parking lot, much in the same fashion it did at Tommy’s, and Steve’s hightailing it through the building, completely bypassing Hopper’s receptionist or whatever, despite her complaints about not being allowed back there, to barge straight into his office.
Hopper’s sitting at his desk, leaning back in his chair with his legs propped up, hat over his face like he was mid nap, when Steve comes in. He jostles from his position, hat falling to the floor as he tries keeping himself from falling out of the chair. “Harrington,” he says, voice all rough with sleep before clearing it. “What’re you doing here?”
“I think Billy’s in trouble.” Steve gets right to the point. The faster they get out of here the fast they can find Billy.
Hopper’s brow scrunches in confusion. “The Hargrove kid? The one who-” he gestures to his face, and Steve sighs.
“Yes. Him. We were hanging out at the quarry last night-”
“When’d you two get so close?”
“-and he- What? A few months ago. I don’t know. Why does that matter? Hop-”
Hopper puts his hands out in a calm down gesture that makes Steve want to scream. It’s like he doesn’t even care. “Why do you think Billy’s in trouble?”
“Because Max said he didn’t come home last night, and he wasn’t with me when I woke up this morning-”
“You two having sleepovers now?”
“What? No!” Steve feels his cheeks getting red, tugs at his hair in frustration. And, okay, yeah he and Billy are having sleepovers, but it’s not like Steve’s about to tell Hopper that. It’s not necessary information. And this wasn’t supposed to be a sleepover anyway, technically, so. “I told you, we were at the quarry last night and, and, I was kinda too drunk and I passed out and when I woke up this morning Billy was gone, and then Max found me and said he never came home-”
Hopper sighs, leaning back in his seat like there isn’t a giant issue of an entire missing person at hand. “From what I know about the Hargrove kid, he’s always getting into trouble and screwing around. How do you know he’s not just having a ditch day or with a girl-”
Steve slams his hands down on Hopper’s desk. “HE’S IN TROUBLE, OKAY?!” he yells. Startles the shit out of Hopper, and a little out of himself, even. But at least he fucking finally got Hopper’s attention. The older man doesn’t say anything, just stares intently at Steve while he fixes himself up, swiping back the hair that’s fallen over his eyes during his outburst.
“Look,” he starts, gentler, now, but still fraught with nerves. “I know this maybe doesn’t make any sense and sounds like I’m being overdramatic or whatever, but. You have to trust me. Please. Something’s not right, I- I can feel it.”
Steve’s two seconds away from getting on his knees and begging, honest to God.
Fortunately, he doesn’t have to. Hopper regards him for a moment in silence before pushing himself out of his seat, placing his hat atop his head. “Alright, kid. Show me where you last saw him.”
Steve feels like he could cry, honestly. From being heard, from the stress of this whole damn day that isn’t even close to being over. Instead, he leads Hopper out of the station, and, in their respective cars, they head to the quarry.
It’s the same as Steve left it that morning. The quarry’s not exactly a hotspot, especially in the summer when the whole town takes to staying at the community pool. Makes the place feel eerie, though maybe that’s just because of what Steve knows. What he’s looking for but prays to God he doesn’t find.
“Alright. Run it by me again what you two were doing here and how you left this morning,” Hopper asks, his voice taking on a more professional tone now.
Steve takes a deep breath, wringing his wrists out of nervous habit. “Okay, um. We went to a party last night and maybe, uh, had too much to drink.” He blushes when Hopper gives him a stern look. It’s not like Hopper’ll arrest him for underage drinking, but the guy’s still intimidating as all hell.
“Anyway, we uh, we were walking back to my place when we came up over here, and Billy got all excited about wanting to ski- swim. He wanted to swim. So he took off ahead of me and was throwing his clothes off, right? Because you don’t want to swim with your clothes on and be all wet after.” Steve can’t read the expression on Hopper’s face. Not when he’s got those giant aviators on blocking his eyes. And Steve’s not really staring too long at his face, anyway. Too embarrassed. This is officially the most uncomfortable he’s ever been, though, which is saying a fucking ton.
“So, uh, he’s way ahead of me. And I was taking off my p-pants, and, um. Tripped. And didn’t get back up. And. And that’s the last I remember before waking up alone.”
Now that Steve’s finished with his version of events, Hopper removes his sunglasses. Rubs his eyes with the back of his hand before settling it on his hip, looking out at the water. “Did you see him actually go in?”
“Um. No? Does that matter?”
“It might.” Hopper starts walking further out onto the little beach. Steve trails behind him. “We’ll look around. See if we can find anything here before I get a few guys looking around town for him.
Steve nods. Doesn’t really know how to tell Hopper that he plans on searching for Billy right alongside them. He feels responsible, somehow. Telling Billy about the otherworldly dangers of this town wasn’t really an option (not like Billy’d believe him anyway, probably), but Steve should’ve known better than to let him go wandering off by himself out here in the middle of the night. He should’ve taken Billy back to his place and called it a night, but no. He had to go and get drunk off his ass and lose any semblance of common sense he had.
If anything happened to Billy- He can’t even think about it. How would he be able to look Max in the face again? They were finally getting to a good place in their relationship, and if that was taken away from her, the both of them…
That nauseous feeling is rising up in Steve’s throat again. “You better be alive, asshole,” he whispers to himself as he continues searching the earth for any sign of said asshole.
He stops dead in his tracks as he rounds on a large rock. Billy’s scuffed up Converse lie there in the dirt, untouched from when they were half-hazardly kicked from his feet. Steve’s blood runs cold. It’s the first sign of Billy he’s seen all day. That anyone’s seen, probably. And it’s just a pair of dirty old shoes. No clothes. No Billy. “Hey, H-Hop!” Steve yells out, eyes never leaving the shoes in front of him.
Hopper comes racing over, stopping just behind Steve’s shoulder. “Those his?” Steve nods. “You sure?”
“Yes.” Truth is, there’s no identifying feature that screams these are specifically Billy Hargrove’s black Chucks. They could belong to anyone, in theory. But Steve knows. Knows those are what Billy was wearing last night with his denim shorts frayed mid thigh and his grey Everlast crop top.
“And are you sure he didn’t have his clothes when he went into the water?” Hopper asks like the question makes him uncomfortable. Steve can sense it without even looking at him.
And, truthfully, Steve’s not sure. At least not as far as trusting his own memory is concerned. But he knows Billy would’ve chucked those things long before reaching the shoreline. It’s just how the guy is. So it doesn’t really feel like lying when he tells Hopper “Yes.”
Which begs the question: Where the hell are Billy’s clothes?
Steve’s never been good at school, but he thinks it’s safe to assume, from a logical standpoint, that if Billy’s shoes are right there in front of him, his clothes shouldn’t be far off. And yet, after searching high and low, Steve and Hopper come up empty handed.
“I don’t get it,” Steve says, glancing around him once more just in case he missed something. “Billy wouldn’t just walk off without his shoes.”
“Drunk people do strange things all the time.” Steve doesn’t think Hopper even buys that as a viable explanation for this. “I’m gonna call in Powell and Callahan. Get them looking around town and in the area. See if we can find anything.”
“I wanna help.”
Hopper laughs humorlessly. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Hop, come on-”
“No!” Hopper bellows. Has Steve flinching back a little. Hopper deflates just a hair before stepping closer. Rubs a hand down his face before staring Steve straight in the eye. “Look. Right now this is just a typical missing person’s case. If I pick up anything… different… I’ll let you know, alright?”
Steve doesn’t like it, but what else is he supposed to do? Hopper’s way bigger than him. Can have him restrained in an instant. Given recent history, Steve’s learned to pick his battles.
“Alright?” Hopper repeats, harsher, when Steve hasn’t responded. Stares right into the younger boy’s eyes to make sure he’s hearing him.
Steve stares back defiantly, nodding his head. “Yeah. Alright.”
He drives home. Robin already said she’d cover his shift, and it’s not like Steve would be any use to her or anyone if he was there anyway. He’d just be thinking about Billy the whole time, whether he’s dead or alive. Or. Fuck. He doesn’t even know. Could be bleeding out in the woods or stuck in the upside down. Jane closed the gate, but what does that even mean? He feels like these days anything is possible, and it scares the ever living shit out of him. He wants to go back to when life was simple. When his biggest worry was getting puke stains out of the living room carpet from a rager before his parents came home. Now everything’s just… chaos. And he never feels like he can rest.
The Camaro is parked a little further down from Steve’s house where they left it last night, something he had missed in his rush to get ready this morning. It kills any plan Steve might have had to go driving around town to find it parked somewhere, Billy along with it. His stomach sinks further when he pulls up beside it. No Billy. The Camaro sitting untouched. The hits just keep coming.
He throws his stupid Scoops hat onto the little table by the front door with his keys when he finally steps foot into his house. Makes sure to lock the door behind him. Heads to the living room to check the message machine. It blinks a red 1 at him, and Steve’s heart starts racing wondering if it could possibly be-
It isn’t. Just a telemarketer calling in with a scam that he easily deletes.
His shoulders slump, tears prickling at the back of his eyes that he refuses to let fall. He’s not gonna cry because there’s nothing to cry about. Not yet, anyway, he reminds himself.
He is, however, going to go sulk about today in the kitchen with some store-bought pie he keeps in the fridge. Warm apple pie could probably fix him right now. At least distract him.
He’s got a plate and the container set out on the counter, getting ready to cut himself a slice when he hears a thud upstairs. Immediately, he freezes. No one’s home. His parents are in Chicago for the week. And he definitely doesn’t have any pets. He knows every creak and groan his house makes. God knows he’s spent enough quiet time in it to become too familiar with its sounds. This isn’t one of them.
He sets the cake knife down with precision. Doesn’t let it make any noise against the granite countertop, even as his palms are starting to sweat.
His bat’s in the trunk of his car, which, he realizes, doesn’t do him any good. He could run out, though, and just. Not come back in. It seems like a pretty viable option. But then what if the noise is nothing? Maybe something just fell off a shelf, and he’s scaring himself half to death over gravity. Hopper’s too preoccupied with actual serious shit to come investigate a noise, and he’s not about to call up Nancy, and Dustin’s away at camp. Not that he’d call him anyway. He’s just a child.
The less people in danger the better. He can take one for the team.
There’s also a chance it could be- His breath catches at the thought.
Steve’s not a gambling man. So he reaches for a knife, one of the big ones he never actually uses, just in case, never tearing his eyes away from the kitchen’s entrance. He keeps his footsteps deliberate as he pads through the house, grateful, for once, for the thick carpeting of the living room and stairs that muffles any noise.
There’s more rustling the closer he gets, and it’s with deep dread he realizes the thud from before came from his room.
He takes a deep breath as he reaches the top of the stairs, clenches the knife harder in his fist and readies his hand for use as he stares down the hallway, sees the light from his bedroom peaking out onto the floor in front of it.
Every step closer has his heart beating faster, because now the threat is actually real, and he should’ve just ran out the house like he wanted to initially. This is exactly why people die in all those horror movies Billy used to make him watch.
He raises the knife up higher, takes another step closer, and-
His back hits the wall, knife dropping from his grasp like the air being knocked out of him. Raw fear runs through his veins, has his vision going blurry and all he knows is to start yelling and flailing his arms, trying to maim and hurt whatever, whoever has him pinned. He’s not gonna fucking die like this, being ambushed in his own goddamn house.
He feels like he’s putting up a good fight; has his feet kicking out at the guy’s shins, his fists pulling and grabbing and punching at whatever they make contact with. He gets a hand in blond curls and, freezes.
It’s the first time he registers who he’s been fighting. And it’s- what the fuck?
Billy starts laughing, head tilted back from Steve pulling on his hair. He looks up at him, tongue sliding across his teeth in a grin that can only be described as feral. Says “Oh, Stevie baby, you know how I like it rough.”
Something in Steve comes back to life then. Has him shoving Billy, who’s still laughing, away from him with force. “What the fuck, Hargrove?” he spits, because honestly, what the fuck? It’s the only thought he can seem to form right now.
Billy’s here. In his house. Going through his room? In the same clothes as he was in last night…
“Where the hell have you been?” Steve asks. “You just ditched me at the quarry, asshole!”
“Aw.” Billy pouts. Comes closer, reaches a hand out cup Steve’s jaw, rubs his thumb across Steve’s bottom lip. “Did someone wake up feeling a little cheap?”
Steve slaps his hand away. Something doesn’t feel right. Sure, Billy’s always a dick, even still as he and Steve have gotten… closer. But. There’s something wrong about the way Billy’s acting that Steve can’t put a finger on. Feels mean, when Billy’s been his own version of nice as of late. And Steve keeps wondering what the hell happened to him between the time they last saw each other. “Why are you still in last night’s clothes? Have you been home at all?”
“Why does it matter where I’ve been?” Billy says, stepping closer to Steve, sliding his hands around Steve’s waist. “Isn’t it more important that I’m here now?” He dips his head to the crook of Steve’s neck, flicking his tongue out to swipe at the skin there.
Steve’s hands go up to Billy’s biceps, not sure whether to push him away or hold onto him. His nails dig into them, instead, as an involuntary shiver wracks his body. His eyes flutter shut for a moment before he regains control of himself, trying to push the younger boy away. “Max came by the mall,” Steve says. “Said your dad was in a mood.”
Something dark flashes in Billy’s eyes as he suddenly jerks up to look at Steve then, the way they usually do when his dad is mentioned. Only, it feels harsher, than normal. Like there’s something sinister, is the only word Steve can think to use. Doesn’t help ease Steve’s concerns when Billy mumbles “He’ll be taken care of soon enough,” all ominous and foreboding.
“Taken care of? What does that even- holy shit.” It feels like all the blood drains out of Steve’s head as he takes in the sight before him. Billy, with the black veins suddenly filling out his eyeballs, pupils blown wide. His hands reach for Billy’s face, to inspect, see what the hell it is he’s looking at. “Billy… what’s wrong with your eyes…”
Billy shoves him back, hard, before any contact can be made. Steve’s back hits the wall, again, but this time so much harder. Like Billy was aiming to maim.
Steve gasps out as his head bounces off the wall, knees going weak as he starts sliding to the floor. His vision blurring for a moment before Billy comes back into focus. And Steve sees it then, Billy’s legs no right in front of him. There’s a, bitemark, or something, on Billy’s right leg. Black and gnarly and growing right before him just like the veins in Billy’s eyes. And it’s not. Normal. Biology was never Steve’s strong suit, but even he’s pretty sure human beings aren’t supposed to produce anything black like that.
“Billy. What the fuck is going on! What happened to-” His airway’s cut off by the sudden grip of Billy’s hand around his throat, pulling him back up to his feet and pushing down so hard all Steve can do is let out these pitiful noises as he reaches out to try and get Billy off of him.
None of it’s making any sense. Billy isn’t this guy anymore. Not with him, at least. Hasn’t been since he apologized for that night at the Byers’. Since he started sleeping in Steve’s bed and letting Steve spoon him after showing up on his doorstep with red puffy eyes and a bruised ego.
And then it hits him. Like a fucking freight train. Remembers Will Byers having to be tied down in a shed. Having no control over his mind, his body, because- Because.
“You ask too many questions, you know that?” Billy snarls in his face, spit flying out of mouth and hitting Steve’s cheek.
And it’s not Billy, Steve realizes too late. Those eyes no longer belonging to the boy who throws popcorn at him during movie nights just to watch Steve aggravatedly pluck it out of his hair. Who sings offkey to the rock station while sunbathing in Steve’s backyard. Who looks at Steve sometimes like he hung the goddamn moon in the sky when Steve’s on top of him, between his legs.
“Billy, please,” he manages to croak out. But it’s not Billy doing it to him, when he pulls Steve forward by the throat and slams him back so hard he blacks out.