There are a lot of other thoughts going on in his head. He’s thinking about how cold he is, the way the wind seems to whistle through his thin clothes, the way he can’t stop his teeth from chattering. He’s thinking about how dry his mouth is, how much he’d appreciate a goddamn cheeseburger right now. His head is pounding so much that he’s seeing stars. His ankles hurt where the rope has cut into his flesh, and his nose is itching.
But mostly what he’s thinking about is the absolute flood of utter relief rushing through his entire body now that Billy is here.
He can hear other voices - Dustin, and some of the other kids, and is that Hopper’s growl in the background? - but it’s Billy he’s focused on. Billy touches his face, and Steve falls forward as much as the ropes binding him will allow and lets his forehead drop onto Billy’s shoulder. He’s trying very hard not to cry.
Hopper shuts the door behind Billy and Max with all the finality of a prison cell being locked. Billy hates it. He hates the way the Chief is standing in between him and the only exit. He hates how dark the cabin is, the way all the curtains are drawn and only a couple of lamps illuminate the room so that he can’t make a proper inventory of everything around him. He hates the fear swirling inside him, the stupid useless fear that has nothing to do with what’s actually important here and everything to do with the fact that Hopper reminds him of his dad.
Hopper has his hands on his hips. He glares from Billy to Max. And then he says: “Why don’t the two of you tell me exactlywhat you think you’re doing here?”
He’s still using that voice, the one that’s deceptively calm, the one that Billy knows could flare into fury at any moment. He licks his lips nervously, glancing at Max - but he’s not about to let her take the fall for this.
“Steve is missing,” he says, working to keep his voice calm. “I went to his place and the door was open. I need your kid to find him.”
“My kid,” Hopper repeats. His eyes narrow, and Billy tenses - because here it comes. This is the danger. “And just what do youknow about my kid?”
Apparently unsatisfied with the level of angst provided by Rotten, I wrote a follow-up piece. Once again, it’s very angsty and contains triggers, so please read the tags carefully and proceed with caution.
Marks
Hopper takes a step back. Because that’s not - things aren’t going the way he was expecting them to. If he even had expectations, Christ - but this…
He doesn’t know what to do with this.
When he’d walked in and found the kid asleep on his couch, drawing his weapon had been an automatic reaction. Nobody is supposed to know about this place. This is where he hides Eleven, his supernatural, persecuted daughter - this is supposed to be the place he can keep her safe.
But there was someone there, and immediately every internal warning siren that Hopper possessed was blaring in his head, and so his hand went to his belt and drew out the handgun without him thinking twice about it.
It was the way the kid was breathing. Too even, too quiet - and Hopper knew he was faking it. He pushed the gun up against the kid’s back - he hadn’t knownit was a kid then, although he can be honest enough with himself to say that it wouldn’t have changed anything if he hadknown - and demanded answers.
Keptdemanding answers. Because Hargrove wasn’t talking. Didn’t say a goddamn word.
Hopper’s no fool. He could see the kid’s brain whirring, thoughts dancing behind his eyes as he faced Hopper the best he could from his somewhat pathetic position on the floor. It’s just - Hopper thought he was trying to figure out how to lie.
THIS IS ALL @ihni’s FAULT. She had a dream about a scenario a little like this, and then we had a LONG chat about it, and then somehow this happened. Apparently we both have a huge thing for, like, hardcore Billy-angst, particularly around Billy being misunderstood by essentially nice people who don’t treat him nicely because they don’t KNOW.
This is REALLY REALLY ANGSTY, y'all. You have been warned. And kind of triggery, so please read the tags on AO3 BEFORE diving in.
Rotten
Billy’s dreaming.
Neil is standing over him, face deadly white and tight with anger, hands balled into fists. Billy did something wrong. Billy always does something wrong. His dad is speaking, voice raised, but the blood is rushing in Billy’s ears and he can’t hear what he’s saying. Telling Billy all the reasons he’s fucked up, all the ways he deserves what’s about to happen. Billy can’t hear. He can’t hear.
That happens sometimes; the words blur into each other, turning into a meaningless jumble of sound that settles around Billy’s shoulders like a shroud. He’s heard it all so many times before that he doesn’t need individual sentences to stand out.
On Monday morning, Billy spends about half an hour after waking up just grinning up at the ceiling with his head resting on his hands, thinking about Steve Harrington.
He’s seeing Steve later today. He’s taking Steve on a second date, because he’s dating Steve Harrington, and in spite of how absolutely fucking lame it is to admit it, he just can’t stop smiling. There’s nothing, nothing, that can ruin this for him. Steve kissed him and wanted him and said yes to a second date, and Billy is in such a good mood that not even Neil Hargrove can bring him down.
Not that he’s around to try. It’s Christmas vacation, so it’s gone ten by the time Billy heads downstairs for breakfast, and of course his dad has already left for work. Another reason to be cheerful.
Steve opens his eyes slowly, aware of both a slight ache in his right arm and a deep sense of contentment filling the rest of him, as though the warm sunlight streaming in through the open curtains has suffused his skin. Blinking in the light, he turns his head to the right.
Billy Hargrove is lying asleep beside him, his naked back facing Steve and his head resting on Steve’s outstretched arm - and therefore causing the dull pain radiating through his forearm.
For a few minutes, Steve just looks at him, conscious of a small and irrepressible smile on his face.
He took Billy on a date yesterday. Their first date, which sort of implies that there might be more - and Jesus, Steve hopes there will be more. He liked sitting opposite Billy at dinner, hearing the sound of his laughter across the table, seeing the surprised pleased smile on his face when Steve insisted on paying. He liked the feeling that he was finding things out about Billy that no one else knows. Who else could have believed that Billy is a secret science fiction nerd?
It’s a lazy kind of party, the kind that takes place down in Sam Crawford’s basement in a cloud of smoke with a cluster of people around the foosball table, a few more getting high on Sam’s mom’s old leather couches, and a steady stream of people swapping in and out of the ongoing Street Fighter tournament taking place on Sam’s Commodore 64 in the corner.
There’s music but no one is hyped up enough to dance, and even the alcohol has dried up to an extent. Steve is sprawled lazily in an armchair near the foosball table with an empty red plastic cup in his hand, head tipped back and eyes fluttering open and closed, and he’s wondering if college is really the place for him, if he’s too old for this shit, because he’s already twenty-two and everyone else his age has graduated.
He doesn’t mind the studying part, although he still has no idea what he’s going to do with it after he’s done. He dithered about whether or not he wanted to go for too long, too caught up in Upside Down bullshit and pressure from his dad and everything else that weighed down on him, and by the time he finally applied he was already twenty.
His eyes catch movement across the room. Billy Hargrove is heading back from the bathroom, cigarette tucked behind his ear and shirt flapping half-open. Billy is the same age as Steve. Billy is somewhat beautiful, although Steve is aware that he’s only admitting it because he’s drunk and a little high.
Billy has an excuse for going to college so late. Billy nearly died saving the goddamn world - diddie, really, spent months wrapped up in a hospital bed and then in a wheelchair and then with a walking stick, and now he walks with a limp and bears an impressive set of scars that Steve only knows about because they’re both still a part of the basketball team and sometimes he glances over in the showers.
Because of the scars, just the scars, he wanted to see - but Billy caught him looking once and grinned, shark-like, and Steve flushed and turned away while his stomach fizzed with something he didn’t really understand.
They’re not friends. Steve’s best friend at college is a twitchy nineteen-year-old called Nicky, and that’s only because they’re roommates. Nicky is too smart for his own good and sells both weed and illegal term papers on the side. He gives Steve the pot for free, and sometimes when he’s feeling generous he looks over Steve’s assignments and points out the obvious mistakes.
Steve doesn’t even really like Nicky. He’s just there, like everyone in college, everyone in this room - everyone except Billy.
Billy is brightly colored, an aura of confidence and warmth surrounding him and making him stand out from everybody else. Steve watches as he heads over to the computer, slaps the shoulder of Jake Simmonds and says something that makes Lucy Carter giggle. Every movement is effortless, his eyes sparkling in the dim lighting of the basement, and Steve lets out a small sigh as he watches through hooded eyes.
Then Billy turns, as if Steve’s scrutiny has laid a physical hand on him, and his eyes settle on Steve.
For a moment they just look at each other. Then Billy grins, eyes flashing, and makes a little gesture. Come here.
Steve doesn’t hesitate. Leaving his empty cup on the floor, he gets up and moves across the room.
“Harrington,” Billy says in greeting as he reaches the gaggle of people watching Chris Elliot and Samantha Cummings playing Street Fighter. Samantha is winning, fingers blurring on the keyboard.
“Hargrove,” Steve replies. Billy’s eyes are so light, so warm, so goddamn blue.
A second too long of quiet between them. Then Billy motions towards the computer. “Want to play?”
“Sure,” Steve says.
“Me and Harrington are on next,” Billy tells the group at large, without taking his eyes off Steve.
Steve waits for his turn. Billy’s shirt is dark red, unbuttoned halfway to his navel, and he’s wearing a silver chain that floats in and out of his collar. There’s a black beaded bracelet on his left wrist and a silver ring on his right thumb. His forearms are bare and Steve has to restrain himself from sliding a hand across them.
Samantha wins the match and Steve and Billy sit down in the pair of chairs in front of the screen. The game isn’t really set up properly for two players, not on a home console, and Billy’s thigh is warm against Steve’s leg. Experimentally Steve nudges against him and is rewarded with a steady pressure in return.
The game starts, pixelated and bright, making Steve blink. He’s never been very good at arcade games; he’s never even really likedthem, but that’s not the point. That’s not the point. The point is the closeness of Billy’s body, the fact that his arm is laid right up against Steve’s, skin-to-skin, shoulders bumping each other and Billy’s hair falling against the side of Steve’s face.
He presses buttons almost at random. He’s not trying to win.
Billy’s leg curls around the back of his ankle. Steve squeezes.
“You’re going down, princess,” Billy murmurs. His mouth is by Steve’s ear, and in spite of the crowd around them Steve isn’t sure if anyone else was meant to hear.
Fast as lightning, he smacks at Billy’s leg. To anyone watching it probably looks like he’s responding to Billy’s shit talking, but he lets his hand linger for a moment above Billy’s crotch, fingers pressing down, just for a moment.
He feels Billy’s cock, feels rather than hears the soft surprised sound Billy lets out as Steve’s knuckles graze past it.
Then Steve is drawing his hand back, returning it to the keyboard. Billy’s on-screen character has faltered, and Steve takes advantage of the moment to deliver a crushing blow.
“I win,” he says quietly, as behind him Lucy and Samantha and Jake and the others cheer.
Billy looks across at him. “Yeah,” he says. He grins that dangerous grin, the one that makes Steve’s stomach contract and his vision blur. “Want to get out of here?”
Nicky is somewhere at this party, probably over by the foosball table selling his wares and trying to chat up the stoner chicks in the corner. The room they share will be empty, unused, Steve’s bed a rumpled mess just waiting for occupants.
“Yeah,” he says, and then he basks in the glow of Billy’s smile.
Okay BUT harringrove amnesia fic. Steve bumps his head or visits the Upside Down or whatever and forgets all the events of the last three years. Suddenly he’s seventeen again, fresh from all the trauma of Nancy dumping him and finding out about the Upside Down for the first time.
And he hatesBilly Hargrove.
His last memory of Billy is the fight, so he can’t understand why Billy is hanging around his hospital bed or why everyone seems to be pretty much okay with him now, or at least tolerant.
(Dustin still glares at him, but it’s almost weary, like it’s just muscle memory or something, and once Steve hears them actually having a rational discussion so he knows it’s not what it once was.)
Everyone in the Party is very kind and supportive, and they explain everything that’s happened in the last few years, the way Billy sacrificed himself for El, how hard it was to bring him and Hopper back, so Steve understands a little more.
It still doesn’t make sense of the way Billy keeps lookingat him.
There’s this torture in his eyes that Steve doesn’t understand, and sometimes on the few occasions they’re alone it seems like Billy is wrestling with something, and once Steve even tells him to spit it out, but in the end Billy just shakes his head and pastes a smile on his face and then the others show up and the moment passes.
(Robin nearly asks him about it, because she had her suspicions - but Steve never told her and she’s not sure, and even if she’s right what good can it do–)
They all want him to be the Steve he was before the accident. The Steve who didn’t care about popularity, who was apparently cool and confident and happy, and he knows they mean well but he’s not that person anymore. That person was lost in the accident.
It’s hard being around Nancy, and he can tell that’s hurtful to her, because by this time he’s supposed to be over her, but he dreams about her a lot and sometimes he can’t even look at her without wanting to punch something. And then he remembers the way Billy beat him up and his fury just rises up inside him and the next thing he knows he’s outside Billy’s apartment.
(Billy doesn’t live at home anymore. He rents a tiny shitty place above the curry house by himself, and when Steve asked Robin about it she got a funny twisted look on her face and just told him he doesn’t get on with his dad. Steve thought there was probably more to the story than that but he didn’t ask.)
He pounds on the door until Billy comes out all sleepy-eyed and confused - and then, when he realises who it is, oddly pleased to see him - and Steve remembers guiltily that he works nights down at the warehouse. But he shakes that off because he can’t feel guilty, because all he wants to feel is anger, and he folds his arms and glares until Billy realises it’s not a social call.
He’s expecting Billy to fight back, because Billy Hargrove alwaysfights back and that’s the whole reason he’s here - but Billy doesn’t fight back.
Steve yells at Billy until his throat is sore, and Billy just takes it. Just stands in his doorway with his arms folded and a strange expression on his face, and doesn’t say a word until Steve is done.
Then he asks if Steve wants to come in.
Steve just nods.
They don’t talk for a really long time. Steve looks around the apartment and wonders why the faint smell of spices and cooking meat seems familiar.
“I know I’m supposed to be over her now,” he tells Billy. “I’m supposed to fit into the life I used to have.”
Billy shakes his head. “You’re not supposed to do anything,” he says, and it feels like a promise.
So Steve and Billy start hanging out, and somehow it’s easy. Billy is easy to talk to, funny and clever and interesting, and he seems to find Steveinteresting, and he never, ever expects Steve to be anyone other than who he is right now. It’s comfortable like exhaling, and soon Billy and his tiny apartment are the most familiar things in Steve’s new life.
(He works at an animal shelter now, and he enjoys it but he’s still afraid of accidentally doing something wrong and hurting one of the animals. Billy’s the only one who doesn’t reassure him when he says this, the only one who doesn’t tell him to stop being so silly. He just listens seriously and it makes something in the pit of Steve’s stomach unclench.)
And then he finds it. It’s just an ordinary day, and he’s somewhat happy now so he’s not expecting it - but then he’s at Billy’s place and he’s cold so he starts digging around for a sweatshirt he can borrow - and he finds one. His own.
He’s never worn this particular sweatshirt over to Billy’s place. He’s certain of it, because it’s one of his favourites and he’s been annoyed that he can’t find it, wondering if the strange future version of himself threw it out. And now here it is, lying at the bottom of Billy’s closet with some other laundry tossed on top of it like it’s been there forever.
As far as Steve knew, he’d never been in this apartment before. But that’s obviously not the case.
His mind is racing. There must be some innocuous reason for this. The most obvious explanation is that he and Billy were friends before, the same way they are now - but Billy has never said so. They’ve been hanging out for months, and Billy has never said anything that indicates they were anything other than polite acquaintances before the accident.
Hands trembling, Steve brings the sweatshirt out into the lounge. He holds it up like a question. And Billy - Billy flinches.
“I don’t get it,” Steve says, even though his mouth is dry and his body is doing things and maybe he does get it, in a way that feels too enormous to explain.
(Sometimes when they’re hanging out Billy will glance sideways at him, and there’s that look in his eyes again, the one that says he’s thinking something he won’t explain no matter how much Steve asks, and sometimes he seems unaccountably sad even though five minutes ago they were laughing, but Steve figured he’d talk when he was ready. Or not. Or not.)
An image swims into his head, and it’s Billy, Billy warm and pliant in his arms–
“Were we together?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper. There’s silence in the room, silence ringing between them until Billy gives a single terse nod.
Steve looks down at the sweatshirt again. “Were you ever going to tell me?”
He doesn’t need an answer really. Billy licks his lips nervously, his face pale and his eyes pained. “I didn’t–” he croaks. “I didn’t want to lose this.”
Steve nearly asks why no one elsetold him - but then the answer to that is obvious too. No one else knew. Whatever they were to each other, they never told anyone. It was just between the two of them, and then Steve hit his head and Billy was left alone with the secret.
And now he’s miles behind, because Billy knows it all and it’s pretty clear by now that Steve isn’t getting his memories back anytime soon - or ever, really - and how can he ever catch up?
But he doesn’t want to lose this either.
So he takes a step forward. Another. And another. And when finally he’s standing right in front of Billy he leans forward and presses a tiny, lightening-fast kiss to the corner of his mouth.
Billy’s eyes widen.
“Tell me about us,” Steve says, and Billy–
Billy smiles.
(Later on Steve will kiss Billy’s bare shoulder, and it’ll feel familiar, like his body remembers even though his mind has forgotten, and he’ll stroke the hair out of Billy’s eyes and feel himself loving him, and he’ll say, “We should tell everyone,” and when Billy looks shocked - though not displeased - Steve will shrug. “In case I forget again,” he’ll explain, and Billy’s eyes will crease up as he laughs, and Steve will smile and lie back against the pillows with his heart so light he could fly.)
And so the madness begins again! I hope y'all enjoy it, and THANK YOU to every single person still on the Second Thoughts train with me!
one
The date, 1984
Billy sits in his car outside Steve Harrington’s house and tries not to puke.
Okay, he’s probably not actually going to throw up. For one thing, nothing would ruin the evening faster than if he did. He’s just unreasonably, overwhelmingly nervous about how it’s going to go, because it’s not just any old Saturday night.
Billy has a date with Steve Harrington tonight.
It’s his first date with a guy, no matter what Steve had assumed when they first started making out a week ago. It’s his first date with anyone he’s really felt anything for. And even though he and Steve have spent plenty of time alone together in the past six weeks, this is the first time they’ve gone out to do something and officially slapped the date label on it.
Billy Hargrove is dating Steve Harrington. Jesus Christ.
So, two things we Harringrovers have in common: we all love our two boys, and we’re all really bloody good at coming together in a crisis to support an important cause. We’ve done it before and in light of the situation in Ukraine right now, I’m asking us to do it again.
The best way we can realistically support Ukraine right now is by donating money to one or many of the various organisations rallying to support them. These include:
The Ukrainian Red Cross, which does loads of humanitarian stuff, from aiding refugees to training doctors.
Revived Soldiers Ukraine, which funds medication and medical supplies for army hospitals on the front line.
The UN Refugee Agency, which provides life-saving protection to families forced to flee their homes.
I’m going to be running this drive a little differently than some of the others we’ve participated in previously, because we’re on a real time crunch here and it’s absolutely essential to get as many donations as we can as quickly as possible. For that reason, we won’t be operating under sign-up or posting deadlines - we want to get the ball rolling straight away.
If you’d like to donate in exchange for content:
- Check out the masterlist of content creators (this will be added as a reblog to this post) and contact your chosen creator(s) directly to negotiate what you’d like them to create and how much you’d like to donate. You’ll also be negotiating whenyou’ll receive your piece - more on that below.
- Send a donation to one of the organisations linked above and take a screenshot. Send a picture to your content creator.
- Sit back and wait for your piece! I’d like to ask all donors to be patient with content creators, because I’m rolling this out with very little notice and some people may not be in a position to start work on a new piece right away.
If you’d like to participate as a content creator:
- Send me a quick message to let me know, and I’ll add your handle to the masterlist of creators (to be reblogged to this post).
- Create a post detailing to your followers what you’re willing to create - be it art, fic, gifsets, podfics, you name it! You’ll be able to set your rate for donations (a suggestion for fic would be $1 for every 100 words, for example) and specify what you will and will not be willing to create in terms of ratings, tropes and prompts. You can copy and amend my post if you’d like to!
- HERE’S THE BIG DIFFERENCE: You will also be negotiating with your donors when you’ll be able to create your piece for them. Don’t overextend yourselves! Because of the immediacy of the crisis, I’m not setting a deadline for when creations need to be done, and I’m asking all donors to be patient and just get their money in as quickly as possible so we can help sooner rather than later. I know some people may not be in a position to write/draw something right away, but I’d hate for that to be a reason they choose not to participate when with a little patience they could do so in a few weeks instead.
- As soon as you have received a screenshot of a donation, send it on to me - I’m active here and on Discord.
- Get working on your creation! I’ll be making an AO3 collection for fics as well.
Whatever you do, please share this post and tag #harringroveforukraine - both here and on Twitter if you can! I don’t have Twitter but I know it’s a format a lot of people use, and the more people we can reach, the more money we can raise.
There’s a lotof[redacted]. Billy [redacted], coughing in what has to be an unattractive sort of way, having underestimated exactly [redacted] - but when he looks up at Steve, Steve looks flushed and happy and utterly [redacted], so he can’t look too awful.
“Jesus,” Steve pants. “Jesus.”
Steve’s[redacted] is in Billy’s [redacted]. It’s all [redacted], dripping [redacted]. He’s [redacted] some of it, but the rest of it… he’s an absolute [redacted].
Steve’s skin feels like it’s on fire. Every time Billy touches him - every time he crowds in for another kiss, another hot blinding moment where their mouths move together and Billy’s hair falls into Steve’s eyes - Steve can hardly breathe. Can’t speak or think or do anything except rock his hips into Billy and try to calm his rabbiting heart.
Gas City - the date - their second date. It’s been everything Steve could have wished for. Billy took him to a tiny pool hall behind the casino and bought them hot dogs and buffalo wings and bent almost seductively over the pool table, eyes glittering as he lined up his cue. They talked about nothing in particular and teased each other and took turns picking records at the jukebox, Black Sabbath and Iron Maiden warring with The Police and Eurythmics.
Steve spent the afternoon feeling simultaneously lighthearted and turned on. Every time Billy spoke he wanted to laugh - and every time he moved, Steve wanted to touch him.
Steve is nervous. Nervous, and excited - because he and Billy are going on their second date and his stomach is full of butterflies.
He hasn’t really had the time to stop and think about Billy since their first date. He’d asked Billy out because Billy seemed so sure he wouldn’t, and he wanted to go out with Billy, wanted to take him to dinner and a movie and then kiss him after, the way he might have done with Nancy or anyone else. He’d been nervous then too, but he’d been prepared. He booked a table at the restaurant and called the movie theater to find out which movies were playing.
Then he’d been fucking kidnapped, and all thoughts of romance had been driven right out of his head.
The days that follow the attack on Steve are strange ones for Billy. All he wants to do is to spend time with Steve, which is pretty much how he was already feeling except that now there’s the added stress of being worried about him like a goddamn mother hen. He’s pretty sure that if it was up to Steve, that’s exactly what they’d be doing - but the Party, it seems, has other ideas.
Steve sleeps for thirteen hours straight that night, waking only briefly when Billy nudges him up the stairs to bed and then not moving until six the following morning. Billy spends the evening lying on Steve’s bed beside him, flipping through a couple of books he found in the lounge without really being able to concentrate on them. He has the odd feeling that time is slipping away from him, that these quiet moments with Steve are somehow precious, and as lame and ridiculous as that probably is, he can’t seem to stop glancing over at Steve every couple of minutes, checking his breathing or touching his face.
Steve decides that lying on his couch with Billy Hargrove’s arm curled around his shoulders and his face mashed into Billy’s chest is actually his new favorite place to be.
Yeah, he’s crying, and that’s somewhat embarrassing - but after the twenty-four hours he’s had, he feels like he’s entitled. He held it together the whole time the rest of the Party were there, telling them everything that had happened to him with barely a waver - but the moment Billy told him they were alone, it was like he couldn’t keep it in anymore. He just broke.
Billy didn’t hesitate for so much as a second. He lunged for Steve, sliding into the small gap between Steve and the couch cushions and just wrapping him up in a tight hug.Steve has spent the last few hours achingto touch Billy, to be touched, to be held - and now he is, and it feels like he can finally breathe.
I decided to carry on with the angst-fest that is the Rotten series. As before, please take care with the tags!
Brittle
He can’t sleep. He drove to the quarry and lay down on the back seat of the Camaro with his knees huddled to his chest to try and conserve warmth, but he can’t sleep. He can’t even bring himself to shut his eyes. Instead he just lies there staring at the thin stream of moonlight gleaming across the back of the driver’s seat in front of him, metal and leather illuminated in the same dull gray.
His back aches and stings, but that’s not the reason he can’t force his mind to stop thinking.
The Chief knows. He knows. He forced Billy to expose himself in that remote little cabin, looked at the marks that cover him and stepped back with a strange horror in his eyes.
It’s not as though Billy ever had a prayer of fooling the Chief into thinking he was a real person, the way he does with all those idiots at school. Not after everything that happened last Halloween. But now he knows everything, knows the truth of who Billy is at his core, knows what Billy’s dad sees when he looks at his son.
Billy doesn’t sleep until his official watch is over. He’s just too wired, all his senses in overdrive, and he can’t get his mind to calm down enough to even close his eyes. He sits on top of the elevator until Robin clambers up to tell him that it’s his turn, and then he follows her back through the hatch and over the haphazardly stacked boxes to a bare spot on the floor for his watch.
Everyone else is asleep. Erica is sprawled out on the floor with Robin’s handkerchief across her face, and Billy feels his chest clenching just a little when he looks at her. She looks so relaxed, so open, like she’s got nothing to fear - and suddenly he just wantsthat for her, wants her to keep that headstrong confidence that she only has because she’s never had to be afraid. He watches her chest rising and falling for a few minutes, matching his own breaths to hers. It helps him to feel calm.Dustin is snoring quietly in a corner, and Steve is sitting up against the wall with his head tipped back and his mouth open. After their strange, delightful conversation - and it wasdelightful, as much as it’s embarrassing to admit it - he’d stayed up on top of the elevator with Billy for another quarter of an hour or so. They hadn’t spoken much, but it had felt like the beginnings of a truce between them. He gave Billy a crooked smile when he finally got up to climb through the hatch to try and get some sleep.
Consciousness returned to him slowly, with no discernable moment between being asleep and awake. Steve heard himself making a soft groaning sound under his breath without quite being able to stop it. The back of his head was pounding, a rhythmic headache that swept right through to his temples. He tried to move - and realized that he couldn’t.
“Are you awake?”
That was the first thing she said to him. In spite of the slowly dawning fear and horror creeping over him, Steve took a moment to mentally roll his eyes. It seemed like a stupid question.
He didn’t bother to attempt to answer. He discovered that his wrists and ankles were bound - the former behind his back, and the latter to the legs of what felt like a hard and uncomfortable chair. He tugged sharply at his bindings, but they didn’t give.
There was something covering his face - a large piece of dark, itchy fabric. Steve shook his head from side to side. It didn’t move, and the realization was enough to make panic rise up inside him. Not being able to see - not knowing where he was or what was happening - Steve was afraid.
