Richie’s Day To Day

One Spark (I’ve Got Your Electricity) by @imneithernor   – STEVE TUGS BILLY’S BELT LOOPS. MATCHMAKING!!!!

sweet to taste (saccharine) by @dobetterbillyhargrove . SEX POLLEN!!! SMOKING HOT. 

between the motions by @un-buttoned . Steve pines so hard it’s nearly painful, but, BOYFRIENDS.

just some observations + thoughts about this:

Dacre accidentally defaulting to a New Yorker American accent and hand gestures for a few seconds is highly hilarious and the fact that that’s the take they chose to use, i love it.

The iconic “it’s givin me da heebiejeebies”, peep this grandpa, we love that that’s a thing Billy said in canon. It seems like something a bad fanfic writer would make him say BUT NO. He actually said it.

This is one of the only times Billy actually calls Max his sister of his free will and i… 🥺 of course it’s to Steve. 

Why do none of the Billy antis realize that this is completely valid thing for Billy to think? Billy has ZERO context as to what’s going on with the Upside Down, no one thought to try to tell him (despite the fact that the Byers house is a mess for a reason and there’s a literal demogorgon chestburster in the fridge that would’ve made it incredibly easy to convince him). From his perspective, it is so weird for this 18 y/o senior to be hanging around alone in this random person’s house with his middle school sister and a bunch of boys. Like i know we’ve been conditioned by this point in season 2 to know that Steve’s a good guy and has no bad intentions with the kiddos, but it’s so obvious why this is weird from Billy’s perspective.

Billy and Max have only lived in Hawkins for 1 WEEK at this point. They start going to Hawkins schools on October 30th and the fight happens November 5th. They just went through a MAJOR cross country move, likely due to traumatic reasons (depending on if you follow Runaway Max, which has since been retconned after Season 3, or the fanon theories, or even none at all, moving so far from somewhere you’ve lived your whole life can be traumatic on its own, not to mention with an abusive parent). In my opinion, he jumped the gun on fighting Steve, but it makes sense after Steve straight up lied to his face without any remorse. It doesn’t make it right, but it makes sense with context and the tiniest amount of thought.

And a random thought that this inspired: BOTH Billy and Max are in high conflict mode at this point with all of these big changes being so recent and i would give my left foot to see them interact a few months down the line. The most we get of this is we see them share a look before Max goes to the Snow Ball, and while Max is still standoffish, Billy looks almost remorseful. By the time Billy is possessed, Max obviously has forgiven Billy to some degree for his anger in this time period and cares for him deeply (by the way she reacts in The Sauna Test and Battle of Starcourt episodes).

*Billy join the party AU feat. protective Hargrove-Mayfield siblings*

+ Bonus

HELLO! I know I’ve been absent for a very long time and I could write a million excuses but I’ll just say I’m sorry and leave you with this ridiculously long thing I wrote.

So the lovely and wondering and fantastic @cherrydreamer donated to a BLM organization and asked me to write this!! I was told a drabble would work just fine and then I wrote 38,000 words bc I’m an idiotic monster who can’t be stopped. I think I might just be bad at being requested things…

Prompt: Billy and Joyce and found family, specifically Joyce becoming a mother figure for Billy

Tags: briefly mentioned/implied sex, brief nudity, cursing, light PTSD (Billy dealing with his mother having left him), recreational drug use (the boys do the weeds), hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, Happy Ending!! ♥

Words: 38,615 (just so you know what you’re getting into before you get into it…)

Also just a reminder that the fight for black lives is never over. Black Lives ALWAYS Matter and we need to keep aware of that! Keep supporting black businesses if you can or even watch those videos that donate their proceeds to BLM funds. You can check out some resources right here!

Hope you enjoy the fic!! Catch it on AO3 (where it’s probably way easier to read…) right here!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maybe it’s because Billy has been told his whole life that his smile looks exactly like his mother’s. That they both share that same relaxed grin- cool and confident.

Cashiers at their local stores used to tell him, waitresses at their most common dives used to tell him… his Great-Auntie May told him about 7 months or so before he was forced to move out to Indiana. When she visited because she was in the San Diego area. When she visited against Neil’s wishes and nearly barged into the house and took Billy out for popsicles on the boardwalk even though he insisted he was too old for that. When she droned on and on in her gravely voice about stories of his mother back when she was a young child… Spoke about stories of his mother’s near-permanent grin that all the time reminded her of Billy’s.

“Whenever she would send me pictures of you on the beach, I swore for a second I was looking at her when she was young. All that curly hair helps too.”

Maybe that made Billy cry that night. Maybe Billy would cry every time he even thought of that.

Maybe that’s why Billy feels like his heart is ripping and like he sees his mother… everywhere.

Or maybe it’s because of that day. That one day. The last mother’s day he actually got to spend with his mother where he gifted her presents he bought at the boardwalk- presents he had saved weeks worth of allowances for. There was that pair of earrings that looked like little seashells that she’d always touch gently whenever they’d pass through the store, and that snowglobe Billy had asked if she’d maybe possibly want to add to her collection because he thought it was cool and wanted to see it every day, and a small bag of that salt water taffy they both loved so much. She seemed to love it all. She hugged him so tight he could hardly breathe for a second. She gave him the brightest smile and they had danced around to their record player and she had given him a big kiss on his forehead even though he whined through it and she whispered about how much she loved and appreciated him and-

And then she left. Day turned to night and night turned to day and that day turned to night and that night saw a taxi driving down the road and out of sight with Billy’s mother inside of it. And Billy saw nothing in her stead but that rusted old ring she would always wax poetic about- the ring that belonged to her mother, Billy’s grandmother, and carried with it more stories than Billy could ever hope to keep track of.

Maybe she left it behind on purpose- to leave Billy a little happiness in her absence. Maybe she left it while thinking of Billy. Billy certainly likes to think so.

Maybe… maybe she wasn’t thinking of anything at all, and certainly not Billy. Maybe if she had she wouldn’t have left… without him. Maybe she gave no thought to Billy at all. Maybe it was a mistake. Billy definitely doesn’t like to think about that.

Maybe that’s why Billy feels so shattered when he thinks about it. Nothing can be trusted because nothing stays. The toys always break, the dog always dies, the flowers always wilt, and the good things… the good things always fade.

And people always worry about mentioning Billy’s mother… but they worry for the wrong reasons. They worry because they think she was a monster. They worry because they believe anyone who could have left their child the way she did must have been cold and cruel. Must have been neglectful. They tiptoe around the issue because they see the way that Billy’s facial expression shifts. They must. Some tell him about it- the kids, in particular, who are young teenagers now and yet still seem to lack tact. Dustin once said: “Woah, did I hit a nerve?” and Steve had chastised him for it.

People always worry because they know it causes pain, but they have the wrong idea about the source.

Yeah he cries, but it’s not because the memories were sour to begin with- oh no, they spoiled over time. Left out in the sun of the San Diego spring, neglected and forgotten and yet not malicious. But they were good before. Maybe it’s because they were too good before. Maybe it’s because they were perfect and sparkling and happy. Maybe that’s what made it so hard to lose. Maybe if they had been rotten before they disappeared, nothing would hurt so much. Maybe none of it would hurt at all.

Maybe it’s the fact that, even though the memories are fading, they’re still colored in a pleasant pastel. And yet with every year past they bleed more and more color out. Maybe Billy’s afraid of the day that they become gray and fragile in his mind. He’s not sure if it’ll feel better or worse. It’s always the “not knowing” that scares him the most.

Maybe Billy thinks about that last Mother’s day he had with his mother. That day right before she left. Maybe he thinks about it too often.

Maybe Billy cried himself to sleep the night she went away. Maybe he cried himself to sleep for a whole week’s worth of nights following that. Maybe he cried until his eyes felt swollen over and his pillow felt permanently damp. Maybe Billy still cries… if he thinks about it too much…

Maybe Billy would never admit it. To anyone. As long as he lived.

—-*—-

Billy’s honestly a little upset about it, but maybe Joyce Byers isn’t as crazy as everyone says.

He’s only known her for about 2 hours now and he’s mostly certain the woman is just a typical mother. He was kind of looking forward to the drugged out mad-woman everyone painted her to be. Would have made the evening a whole lot more interesting.

It’s a Friday night, meaning it’s date night for Hop, except today’s “date night” includes Billy and El tagging along to the Byers home to have dinner with Joyce, Jonathan, and Will. Hopper was so scared to tell Billy about it that it took him a literal week to do so. Every day Hop would fidget with his hands and stutter over requests and shuffle his feet until yesterday morning when he accidentally broke his coffee mug, sighed heavily, and said “We’re going to the Byers’ house tomorrow so you can meet Joyce.”

Billy just blinked.

Because he’s heard about Joyce Byers. He knows the two of them have some long, twisted, exhausting tale of how they’ve known each other since they were kids and they’ve beat around the bush for decades and shit went down in both of their lives and it “just wasn’t the right time” and blah blah blah… Billy never really listens past that. He knows other shit went down. More serious shit that he can’t help but hear when he tries to tune the whole story out. He knows Joyce was dating a man who passed away in the chaos of last fall. Passed away when the monsters were still present and terrorizing the select few of Hawkins. Billy can’t say he’s unfamiliar with the terror they spread. He wishes he could.

Anyway, now Billy has to meet the Joyce Byers that Hop has been waxing poetic about since they started dating a couple months ago. And he’d be lying if he said his stomach wasn’t turning thinking about it because everyone has met her except for him. Everyone knows Joyce Byers. Hell, Billy thought he knew Joyce Byers. There was still talk of her and her two sons and the shit that happened back in ‘83 by the time Billy took his first steps onto the Hawkins High campus. He heard all about how she went crazy. How she nearly got sent to the loony-bin. How she was on ‘shrooms for months and hallucinated about monsters and vines and things that go bump in the night. Billy can’t say he believed too much of it, but he let it paint some kind of picture.

Maybe the picture was wrong.

It’s just that… this woman doesn’t seem very crazy. A little frazzled most of the time, sure. A little panicked sometimes, yeah. But she seems nice enough and her smile has yet to turn to a leer and that’s alien to Billy. Her smile is warm in a way that reminds Billy of the sun and that’s something he’d never say.

“So, Billy, what do you like to do?”

It’s Joyce, asking politely over a bite of mashed potatoes that Jonathan had to help her with because saying she was frazzled in the kitchen is a bit of an understatement. But she asks… kindly. With soft eyes Billy can’t let himself believe. It’s a strange set of emotions battling in his stomach and up through his chest.

“What?” Billy asks less than gracefully.

“What do you like to do?” Joyce asks again, just as kindly, no hint of irritation in her voice.

And Billy can’t even think of what to say. Having people interested in the general goings on of his life is still a fairly new concept to him, even if he’s been living with Hop and El for the better part of a year now. Even if he’s been basically dating Steve “The Mom” Harrington for the last 6 months.

“I… I don’t…” Billy starts, voice getting caught and turning quieter than he intended. He’s wracking his mind for anything to say.

What does he like to do?

The look Joyce gives him feels like it should be condescending, he knows it, but he doesn’t even see a hint of it. He can’t find anything to hate about it. It’s definitely not for lack of trying.

“Any hobbies or… just things you enjoy doing?” Joyce asks again, so softly that Billy feels his blood get hot at the question. Billy can’t make sense of the looks she’s giving him. She presses just like the rest of them, but she does it without that glint in her eye. She does it with some other intention in mind. Joyce is still going on, softly and kindly. “Like, Jonathan likes to take pictures and Will likes to draw. Is there anything in particular that you like to do?”

And suddenly everything rushing through Billy’s mind feels absolutely small. He feels himself shrinking in a way he’s unfamiliar with. No one has ever asked him this. He wasn’t prepared. The few things that come to mind feel stupid as they pass.

He’s taking too long to answer. Everyone is shifting nervously and Joyce’s brow furrows a bit.

“Sorry to pry, I just… want to get to know you! I don’t know too much about you… but I don’t mean to put you on the spot.”

“Basketball.” Billy says, suddenly and on a forcibly lazy shrug. He mumbles. Joyce still hears.

“Oh, right!” She jumps at the answer as the rest of the table seems to release a sigh at the awkward silence being broken. “Hop said he went to one of your games!”

Billy’s shocked to hear that Hop mentions stuff like that. He just nods.

“I hear you guys are pretty good this year.”

She doesn’t sound disingenuine, but something tells Billy that Joyce doesn’t actually know that much about basketball. He just shrugs.

“We should all go to a game!”

Billy stops eating. Jonathan does too, in lieu of looking at his mother.

“For support!” Joyce continues on as the two boys gawk.

El brightens up, sitting up straighter and giving a big bright grin that Billy can’t look at for too long because he’s far too busy with the very important task of shoving his mashed potatoes around.

“Basketball!” El says through a wide grin. “Basketball is fun!”

Jonathan snorts. Billy grunts.

“It is pretty fun!” Joyce agrees, and Billy can hear her voice pulled a little taut. There are pins and needles on Billy’s seat as he waits for the facade to break.

The conversation shifts to sports for a bit, El saying which are her favorites and why, when the conversation lulls and there’s just the clink of silverware against plates to accompany Joyce’s soft voice again as it speaks:

“So how is school, Billy?”

Shock floods his system, but he hopes it doesn’t show.

From his periphery Billy can see that Jonathan is staring at him. Billy’s skin is crawling and his voice is lodged in his throat like a chicken bone and he just…

Stares…

Probably wide-eyed and definitely shocked at Joyce. The silence is back and there are strange feelings crawling up the back of his shirt and around his knees and he’s itching.

“Uh…”

Hop clears his throat roughly.

Billy jumps a bit, but he doesn’t look away from Joyce. Her eyes are searching, but they’re open and kind. They’re not invasive. Billy doesn’t know if this is better or worse than the leering.

“Fine.” Billy finally gets it out. It’s too loud for the moment, but it dislodges them from the awkward stalemate. Joyce seems almost pleased. Almost.

“How’re classes?”

Billy looks down at his food with a sour taste in his mouth. There are too many eyes on him in too small an area. He realizes suddenly that he cares too much about what these people think of him.

Why though? Whywhywhywhywhy-

Trying to push the feeling down is a feat.

“Fine.” He grunts again, forcing another forkful of food into his mouth to stop letting more words tumble out.

Joyce nods. That’s the end of it.

The rest of the dinner is alright. Light stories and friendly jokes are passed around as Billy shovels the rest of his dinner into his mouth. He tries his best to seem present until he just doesn’t. He’s not sure why he feels like his physical presence can’t be enough in this instance when it’s always been enough before.

Billy’s been done with his dinner for about 10 minutes by the time the fight over who’s on dish duty starts. Will tries to take up the responsibility until Joyce reminds Hop that he promised he’d do them this time which leads to Hop recruiting El to give him some help.

And before Billy can blink, he’s standing alone in the living room, Joyce ribbing Hop in the kitchen, Will by her side asking if they’re sure they don’t need his help, and Jonathan slinking off down the hall to his room.

About a second passes before Billy decides he needs a smoke.

He digs into his pocket, trying to do it discreetly, fumbling around for the familiar box as he opens the door. The door squeaks as it opens, inconsiderate of his efforts to move quietly. He winces at the sound, and the sudden cold doesn’t help, but night air feels good in his lungs so he tries to appreciate what he can. The house is a little drafty, but it seems to do its job well enough because the night is far more biting once Billy finds himself surrounded by it. He walks up to the railing, his boots falling heavy onto the creaking patio, and pats his pockets for his lighter.

The feeling of his thumb on the flint feels good. His first drag feels good. The burning in his lungs feels like a hug he never wishes for and yet brings with it memories. Familiar, painful, pastel memories of-

“Billy?”

“Shit-” Billy hisses, whipping his head to see Joyce’s face. He lets the cigarette slip from his fingers and fall to the dirt below the house and then watches for a split-second as the smoke bleeds out onto the dirt before he’s stepping down the stairs in order to stamp it out.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Joyce says, morphing back into the flustered version of herself. Billy sees her watching with wide eyes when he looks up.

“No uh- uhm-” Billy twists his heel into the dirt for longer than necessary. “M’sorry. Shouldn’t have been…” Billy drags on, feeling stupid for apologizing but knowing he’d feel even worse for getting caught smoking outside of this woman’s house without at least seeming apologetic.

“Oh no! Nothin’ to be sorry about, I smoke too.”

Billy must do a very bad job of hiding his confusion because Joyce chuckles at him. It burns his chest.

“D’you want one…?” Billy trails yet again, digging into his pocket before Joyce holds her hand up.

“No, thank you.”

And suddenly they’re pitched into limbo again, lodged in that same awkward stalemate where Joyce is now standing between him and the door. If he was a cat, this is when Billy’s fur would start to stand on end. This is when Billy’s tail would raise and flick. Instead, he just grits his teeth inside his mouth.

Because this is when the pass is made. This is when the leering starts. Billy braces himself for it. He briefly wonders if he’ll tell Hop about it when they get home.

But… Joyce’s eyes stay kind. They stay soft. The porchlight lights up most of her face as she looks him over and Billy stiffens but… she’s examining him almost like a wounded puppy. Like he’s her son that just walked back home with a scraped knee.

It’s too familiar and it’s because Billy has seen this before. Has seen this on a blonde woman in the middle of a Saturday afternoon when Billy was much shorter. Much warmer. Warmed by the light of the summer sun. Suddenly memories are flashing vividly and Joyce is smiling empathetically and Billy feels like he’s been hit by the word coming to mind.

Empathetic…

“Would you like to sit down?” Joyce asks, taking a step to the side and towards the chairs on the porch. She leaves the path to the door wide open, so Billy could pass her if he says no.

Billy wants to say no.

“No thanks.” He responds, voice sounding forced to his ears because it is. He braces himself again, this time to be coerced to sit. He braces himself for the disapproving looks. He braces himself for the betrayal.

“Alright.” Joyce says and her voice is still just as soft. There’s no hint of betrayal or disappointment in her face. She takes another step to the side and lets the path to the door grow bigger. The only look to be found in her eyes is empathy and Billy stares at it for a little longer even though the cold is seeping through his jacket.

He walks himself up the stairs, letting his mouth twist into some kind of a smile as he passes by her. She’s not even trying to cause it, Billy can tell, but her eyes and his refusal are all leaving a dark pit in his stomach.

Joyce stays out on the porch, but Billy tries a little too hard not to notice. His mind is racing and his stomach is tying knots within him and he needs to splash some water on his face if he isn’t going to get his smoke and-

There’s El on the couch, sitting with Will who’s explaining something about cards and elves and wizards or… something.

“Hey.” Billy calls out, watching the small boy look up quickly before shrinking in on himself. “Where’s your bathroom?”

“Uhm…” Will’s soft voice starts, eyes shifting around like he isn’t sure he should be looking Billy in the eye. “It’s just down the hall. First door on the left.”

Billy nods his thanks, blood rushing too fast through his body as he makes his way to the bathroom. Suddenly all of the space around him feels like it’s too much. Too much of a chance for people to be watching him. He doesn’t have a lot of room in his mind to care about Will seeming so nervous.

Billy gets into the bathroom and looks into the mirror and hears all of those voices that ever told him how “you have your mother’s eyes” and he washes his face until those vivid memories turn pale again.

Sometimes having her eyes and her smile is like a blessing and a curse. He hears it even when people don’t say it. All anyone needs to do is compliment him on how blue they are and he’s thinking of her. They say “you have pretty eyes” and he hears “you have her eyes”. He has her ring and her smile and her eyes. Some days he wishes he had nothing of her with him. Nothing at all. Not her smile or her hair or her anything else.

When Billy finally catches his cool enough to leave the bathroom, he hears something at the end of the hall and sees a tall, lanky figure slinking it’s way through the back door and into the house. Billy registers it as Jonathan, standing still like a scared deer before he slips into his room and shuts it quietly.

Billy can smell the very familiar scent of weed from the other end of the hall. He smirks at the thought, chuckling a little incredulously at the idea of sweet, quiet Jonathan being a major stoner.

He’s briefly itching to go knock on Jonathan’s door, if only to scare the shit out of him, when Hop calls to Billy from the kitchen

“Hey kid! You ready to go?”

The words bring relief to Billy’s blood.

El is swaying on her feet, swearing up and down that she’s “not tired yet” over yawns that split her face in half. Billy figures that’s their sign to leave. Joyce’s eyes and voice are still kind, Will is so bashful he can’t even look at Billy, and Jonathan is lured out by his mother’s call with eyes so bloodshot Billy has to stifle a laugh.

“It was a pleasure to meet you Billy!” Joyce says sweetly, shaking his hand and giving a big grin.

Billy can’t find his voice, so he just nods.

“Why am I staring at a ballsack?”

Steve made a disgruntled noise, stomping past Billy to scoop up the cat.

“She’s not a ballsack. Don’t be fucking rude.” The cat was staring at Billy, purring in Steve’s arms. He started cooing at the ugly thing. “Is Billy being mean, Priscilla?”

“Fucking Priscilla?”

“Yeah. Queen of the desert.” Billy rolled his eyes as Steve carried her into the kitchen.

“Are you hungry, My Love?”

“Yeah, I could eat.” Steve threw Billy a dirty look.

“I was talking to Priscilla.” Billy gawked at him as he opened a can of wet cat food, spooning it onto a dish for her. She meowed at it when he put it in front of her, until Steve scooped some on his fingers and let her lick it off. Upon realizing it was food, she tucked into her little meal.

“Can I have food too, or,” Billy trailed off.

“You know where the fridge is.”

-

“Steve, your cat’s staring at us.”

Billy was balls deep, had only stopped fucking into Steve when he noticed big yellow eyes glaring at him from the corner.

“Priscilla, darling, can you please leave us?” She flicked one ear, swished her bald tail dramatically as she left the room.

-

Billy was not pouting.

He had been banished by the fucking cat to the opposite end of the couch.

She was curled on Steve’s chest, had hissed and spit at Billy until he resigned to sitting a few feet away.

“I’m sorry, Bill.” Steve was not sorry. Billy could tell by the way he was trying not to smile. “I got her from a shelter, and they think she was abused. She just doesn’t warm up to people very quickly.”

“Or maybe she just hates me.”

“No one could hate you.” Billy threw him a look. “Just giver her some time. She wouldn’t let me near her for like, a month when I first got her. Now she doesn’t let me out of her sight.”

Which is true.

Billy once closed the door, keeping her out of Steve’s bedroom while they were getting down and dirty. And she scratched at the door, and screamed so loud Billy thought she was being murdered.

She purred as Steve scratched her between the ears.

“She reminds me a lot of you.”

“That’s offensive.” Steve rolled his eyes.

“Standoffish at first, tends to hiss and spit until realization and trust sets in. Then ridiculously loving and sweet.” Billy huffed, kicking his leg. “Sound familiar?”

“Quit comparing me to your ballsack cat.”

“She does not look like a ballsack!”

-

“You have got to be kidding me.” Billy was about two seconds from turning around, and going right back to his car.

“What?” Steve and his stupid cat were in matching sweaters.

Steve was throwing a New Year’s Eve party at his big empty house. He had been extra sweet over the phone, roped Billy into coming over early to help him set up.

And had chosen to put himself and his ugly fucking cat in light green sweaters, with little fireworks knitted into them.

“I hate that you’re wearing the same sweater as Priscilla.”

“Claudia knit these for us. Priscilla gets cold.”

“Because she’s got no fur. She’s not a real cat.” Steve looked scandalized.

“Billy, that is so very rude.” He held the cat close to him as he stomped into the kitchen. “She is a real cat.” He set her down on the counter.

She walked over to Billy, sniffing at his elbow.

She looked up at him with her big yellow eyes. She meowed once and set off along the counter.

“Oh my God, Bill, she likes you. Even though you’re horrible to her, she likes you. Wow. Best friends.” He had a big dopey smile on his face as he set out cookies on a big platter.

“We are not best friends.” Billy knew he sounded like a fucking child.

“You’re best friends.”

-

Billy stared at the cat.

Steve was with his parents in Indianapolis for the weekend.

He had asked Billy to watch Priscilla.

She was sitting on the coffee table, staring right back at him.

She was in another sweater today, a dark blue one.

“So like, do you do anything?”

She meowed at him.

He meowed back at her.

She cocked her head. And meowed again.

He meowed back.

She stood up, sniffing at him a few times before tentatively crawling into his lap. He stroked over her wrinkled skin. She purred loudly in his lap.

Billy didn’t have to open his eyes to know that Steve was above him, snapping pictures of him with their daughter. It was like a seventh sense that he had now, a sense for Steve and his camera. The sixth was dad sense, obviously. Those just came with the title, right?

“Let me have this, okay? She’s only gonna be this little for so long.” Steve insisted, taking another picture of Billy and their little baby girl, the click of the camera causing her to stir under his hoodie. Billy was quick to put a hand on her back, softly rubbing until she settled back into his chest.

“Stevie,” he grit out as a warning, but there was no bite behind his bark. Maybe there would have been before, but becoming a dad had really made him soft. Not that he would ever admit it.

“Bill,” Steve answered in the same tone, snapping another picture for good measure before finally setting his camera down on the coffee table. He took a seat on the floor right in front of where the baby was lying on Billy’s chest.

Billy finally opened his eyes when Steve sat down on the floor beside him.

“Y’know, you didn’t have to ruin our nap,” he commented, soft smile tugging at his lips, breaking through his annoyed facade.

“Well, you didn’t have to stay up with Rosie all night,” Steve tested, reaching forward to slide a hand under Billy’s hoodie, resting half on top of Rosie’s hand and half on top of Billy’s chest.

“Someone had to,” Billy shot back.

“I could have done it, I tried,” Steve pointed out, trying to win the not-really argument. He wasn’t lying he had offered, every single time Rosie cried or made an odd noise he offered to get up and get her but he was always denied, told to go back to sleep.

“Cause you deserve the sleep, baby.”

Steve swore he could feel his heart melting at the comment Billy made. And he did have a point he had been feeling a lot more tired these days. With Billy working his normal shift at the auto repair shop plus over time, and having to watch Rosie full time it was pretty tiring. But he was sure that Billy was tired too and he deserved some sleep.

“Well, thanks,” Steve said simply, resting his chin on Billy’s shoulder, now admiring Rosie again. She truly was the most beautiful baby he had every seen. Okay, maybe he was a little biased because it was his daughter after all. And maybe he hadn’t seen that many babies in his life time. But Rosie was still the cutest nonetheless.

He loved every part of her, from her dirty blonde hair and rich brown eyes that lit up when she gurgled out a laugh. The soft wrinkle of her nose when when she smiled her smile that was all gums. Everything from her head down to her little toes were just amazing to Steve, perfect.

“She has your nose,” Steve commented, trying to move his finger to lightly touch the tip of her nose only to be stopped by her small fingers wrapping around his index finger. He let out an audible soft gasp before practically melting into a puddle. He had always been a bit of a softie, but now it was on a totally different level.

“Yeah, well, I sure as hell didn’t pay all that money and jizz into a cup for her not to have my nose,” Billy said with a grin, trying his best to look down at Rosie as he pet her head, brushing over her marvelous head of hair. Honestly it was no surprise where she got that gene from.

“All that jizz and money paid off though, huh?” Steve asked like he didn’t already know the answer. After so long, after years of saving up money, after years of living off practically nothing. After months of picking out the right surrogate, after months of trying to get pregnant, it was all worth it to have their baby girl in the world, in their arms.

“Sure did.” And Steve swore it was the fondest he had ever heard Billy speak, speak of their child. It still didn’t feel real to say, but here she was, the tiniest, most gorgeous baby on the face of the planet.

Steve was about to speak again before Rosie stirred again, round after round of soft hums and cries spilling out of her mouth as she woke up. Her short limbs stretched out as her honey brown eyes fluttered open.

“Looks like nap times over,” Steve announced, regular voice switching into his signature ‘baby voice’ as the sentence went on.

“Mhm, hiya pumpkin,” Billy whispered, unzipping his hoodie the rest of the way to set her free. He slid his hands under her armpits and shifted her to sit up on his stomach. He kept his hands in place to make sure that she didn’t fall over.

“How’d ya sleep Rosie-Posy?” Steve asked, going in to tickle her stomach, wanting to see her signature toothy smile.

As soon as Steve’s fingertips made contact with her clothed stomach and wiggled in a tickling movement she started giggling. A string of loud gurgles and throat noises that both boys loved so much.  

“God, you’re precious,” Billy mumbled to himself, watching Rosie giggle as Steve worked at tickling her stomach.

Suddenly her smile quickly faded into a small frown, lips pouted out with big sad eyes.

“Oh no, what’s wrong, honey?” Steve asked, frowning himself now, hand pulled back towards himself.

Her lough gurgly laugh turned into soft whimpers as she slowly began to cry. Then it hit him.

“When’s the last time she ate?” Steve questioned, now looking over towards Billy. He could remember making her a bottle earlier in the morning, but surly she had been fed since then, right? Today was Saturday, Billy’s day off so he had been home all day. Surely he fed Rosie.

“Uh, maybe five hours ago,” Billy said, looking back at Steve, Rosie still in his hands.

“Five hours ago?” Steve furrowed his eyebrows and quickly moved to get up, “No wonder she must be starving.” He quickly got up and made his way to the kitchen.

“We really need to keep track of that. Jesus, being a parent is so hard,” Billy groaned, not sounding annoyed just tired. He sat up and brought Rosie to sit on his knee, bouncing her up and down in an attempt to calm her down at least a little bit.

“Just think of when we have two,” Steve replied before walking into the kitchen.

Two? Oh brother, was he in for it.

-o-

This is … 💘💫💕 eVErYThiNgGh 💖🌸❣️

You even picked up on that I tried to give her his nose ??? The FUQ !!!

the fic:  What Lies Unseen 【 A Witcher AU 】

This is a masterpost for all the Witcher AU art (by me and @benalras)

(will be updated when new art is posted)

in chronological order from first to last: [1]  [2]  [3]  [4]  [5]  [6]  [7]  [8]  [9]  [10]  [11]  [12]  [13]  [14]  [15]  [16]  [17]  [18]

on instagram (things i posted there, but not here): [1] [2] [3] [4]

TW: physical abuse, blood, homophobic slurs ((f-slur)), verbal abuse, mental breakdown, cussing

Honey, ever since i got this i haven’t been able to stop thinking about it either ohmyGOD???? This is legitimately a PEAK Billy “i’m absolutely sick of all of this and i need out NOW” Hargrove anthem!! God if i could direct this i would but unfortunately i’m bound to words on my silly little blog so i hope this will do, love. ♥ (@venomdean)

Because it’s absolutely explosive. I kind of hate to think about it, but I feel like Billy is like a landmine. He’s a pot always threatening to boil over. He’s on constant vibrate just about ready to pop. He’s always on the edge of going absolutely feral because the only certain thing he’s felt for years and years is pain.

And you’re right- on both accounts. Neil finds out… and he goes too far.

Because Neil has been hearing all around town that Billy has been running around with “that Harrington boy”. You know, the son of that really influential family, the boy who “has all the opportunities in the world” but “seems to be amounting to nothing… what a shame. You know, his parents couldn’t even pay a school to take him. What a pity. I knew it would happen though...”

And Neil just hoped it wasn’t true. He hears it every time he goes to the grocery store. The voices follow him down the aisles, either from mothers who whisper about how “That’s Neil Hargrove. His son is that curly haired one I told you about. The different one.” or from teens who hiss about how “That’s Billy’s dad. Wonder if he knows his son is probably a fa-”

And one day Billy comes home happy. And i’d encourage you to really think about that and just enjoy it for as long as you can because Billy is happy. So happy he’s beaming. He feels like he’s glowing from the inside. He forgets that anyone other than Steve even exists. For a second he forgets his own existence, he’s so enamored and infatuated and near obsessed, really. Because he spent the whole afternoon with the boy, which isn’t necessarily a rare occurrence but it’s always an exceptional one, and today was especially joyful because something about their mutual existence just felt so…. So good. Yeah they had sex in the camaro like the teenagers they are and then again in Hansen’s field because it’s fucking massive and Hansen’s away on some trip and they blasted hippie music and fucked in a field of flowers and pretended like they were at Woodstock just existing in the skin of the other like they were made for it. Like they were made to share each other’s bodies and they were finally completing their infinite and perpetual task. And Billy would never be able to say these words or perhaps even string them together but it’s about the feeling.

Because that’s just the feeling he has. The nameless feeling.

And they fucked and they thought about smoking and they thought about drinking but they stayed high on each other and that was enough. They were laying there among the daisies happier than anything else in existence and Billy’s not even sure why. But they laid there and Billy felt the sun lay a large blanket of the softest warmth right over him and he absolutely reveled in it, allowing his hand to grace Steve’s fingers and then he rolled over to lay his head on Steve’s shoulder and he can’t believe he does that without feeling like a stupid fucking sissy but… but Steve’s always there. Always always always there. Stronger than he looks and warm and supportive and there. And Steve started to curl some of Billy’s hair around his finger and Billy pretended to bite at him like he was irritated and Steve whispered something about love and you and me and California and after graduation… i should have enough money by then. Let’s do it. Just you and me.

And Billy’s whole world froze. Froze in warmth, incubated in love, goddamn teeming with adoration as he got up on his elbows and evaluated Steve’s face just to be sure it wasn’t a joke and saw that it wasn’t and absolutely 100% beamed. Because the words and Steve’s eyes and the warmth of the sun on his back painted, stroke by stroke, the image of the two of them in California. On the beach. In the soft sand. Enjoying the sunlight. Playing in the waves. Billy teaching Steve how to surf, Billy dragging Steve under the boardwalk, Billy and Steve getting sticky with popsicles and soft serve and fresh watermelon and strawberries, Billy rollerskating hand in hand with Steve just like he used to watch all those couples do back when he was 9 years old and questioning everything. Billy and Steve existing freely. Openly and honestly. It can only have gotten better. He’s sure of it. It can only get better from this stupid hick town. He knows it.

He needs it.

And so they make out some more and the rest of the afternoon is a whirlwind up until he’s got Steve pressed up against the Camaro making out with him on that backroad and then again in front of Steve’s house and he’s letting his skin light up over every little promise of you and me in California… that Steve whispers into his skin, his ears, his mouth...

He feels fucking invincable.

He walks into his house with a forcefield. A smile he never sports. A bounce in his step he never maintains. Goddamn happiness. Not even just confidence, it’s pure bliss on his face and not even Neil’s ugly mug can ruin it. Not even Neil storming down the hall, electricity following his path, can ruin it. Not even Neil scowling, glaring daggers, lip snarled, teeth bared, can ruin it. Not even whatever gross, growling worlds Neil is spitting his way can ruin it.

Billy is blissed out on the future and the idea of pure bliss with a boy he thinks he knows he loves that he doesn’t feel it until even moments after. He doesn’t see it til it’s over. He doesn’t know it til he can’t defend himself. He doesn’t care until he does.

It’s a mistake.

When Billy thinks back on it afterwards, after everything, he heaves and hisses and snarls at his past, blissed out self. He wants to punch himself in the face for such a mistake. This is a lesson he learned years ago. Back when it all first started. Back when he was so young.

But current Billy is blissed all the way up until his world flashes black. Until his ears ring. Until his hand flies to his face of its own accord to press at the pain to get it to stop. Second nature.

“You stupid fucking homo.”

And Billy’s vision bleeds red. It’s anger, it’s rage, it’s betrayal. His vision tunnels with vitriol. With scorn. Fight or flight kicks in and every smart part of Billy is yelling run but the dumber, closer, stronger parts say fuck him fuck him fuck him I don’t deserve this.

So his fist swings, rearing back and surging forward. Animalistic nature.

He thinks he makes purchase, but if he’s honest, the rest is a too quick blur. A mess of motion. Someone presses fast-forward on his VHS tape. The moments bleed together.

It’s a montage of angered words. Words beyond anger. Words that poison his system. Words like “homo” and “fag” and “disgrace” and “military school” and Billy checks in right there because-

“You’re going to military school, you worthless piece of shit.”

Billy spits in the man’s face. Longtime craving.

And then the world blacks out again. It’s blurrier now. His face is warm. There’s liquid gushing out. His wrist is sore and the ground is being taken out from beneath him and he realizes he’s being grabbed and pulled and then dragged because his body is feeling weak. Call it a mix of everything.

And he’s being dragged to his room and the world shatters when they cross the threshold because this place is the only place in this damn house he feels somewhat safe in. And he feels himself hit the ground heavily, right in front of his mirror. Feels himself being pulled up to be seated. Hears a rustling. Hears a weirdly familiar sound his mind can’t process. Sees something metal in the mirror before his hair is being grabbed and pulled taught and then there’s slack and the pressure is gone and-

“How could you fucking do this to me?”

More hair pulling, more growling, more yelling, some spit.

“You’ve been running around with that prissy boy. How long, huh?”

Then there’s slack and-

“Everyone talks about you two. Disgusting.”

Pulling pulling pulling pulling… something tickling his arms.

“Saw you two… outside his house, huh? You’re a disgrace.”

Wetness. Billy’s face is wet. His eyes burn. His throat burns. There’s slack again.

“You’re going to military school. Tomorrow. You’re out of here.”

Pulling and sawing and yanking and slack. Over and over and over and over-

“Hope I never see you again, you fag.”

Billy sobs. It wrenches through his chest. Pulling and slack, pulling and slack, over and over and-

It stops. Billy’s weak. His body is shutting down. It must be. It feels like it. The vision in the mirror is blurry but he knows the damage that’s been done. He can tell. He can feel. There’s nothing touching his shoulders anymore. Nothing against his neck. Something tickles down his arms. He shakes, weakly moving his hand to swipe the feeling away from his arms and grabs at tufts of hair.

There’s that ugly fucking mug, right in his face. It’s a strange look he wears. Billy’s vision is blurred. His lip snarls upward. Instinct.

“Where did I go wrong?”

The words are whispered in his face on hot breath. They hang in the air between them.

Billy shatters.

The door shuts loudly. Another door shuts after that. A car starts. Billy’s still sitting on the floor.

His muscles in his legs begin to contract, and then his arms. His vision clears and sharpens. He pushes himself up off the floor, avoids looking in the mirror, walks up next to it to his stereo, moves to turn on the radio…. Auto-pilot.

Music fills the room. Lilts through the air. Cuts through the humidity of the once cool night. The altercation warmed everything up. Must have.

There’s the sound of a keyboard and the plucking of a guitar. A familiar rhythm. It flows out of his stereo and through the room like it has a life of its own. It’s a spectral kind of presence, slinking out of the speakers, lurking in the corners, filling up the forgotten spaces with its haunting rhythm. Billy turns the music up louder. Stands in front of the stereo. Lets the music consume his space. Exist with him until they can’t co-habitate.

The chord gets more complicated. The chord runs. Billy’s feet feel like they’re going to betray him and let him fall through the floor. His head feels like it’s in another realm. A mirrored realm of darkness and vines… a world teeming with threats that wouldn’t think twice of making attempts on his life.

He sways in place.

When the voice starts his feet move. They betray his thoughts but they don’t compromise his balance, necessarily. He’s moving backwards.

Every time that I look in the mirror….

He can’t.

All these lines on my face getting clearer…

He knows he can’t. Not if he wants to keep his sanity. His breath gets shorter. His head is dizzy just from moving, even though he’s slow. Maybe it’s because he’s going backwards.

The past is gone

His head betrays him now. Swings itself over the edge- looks over to the left.. Billy’s eyes take a second to focus but it’s only an instant after that before his hands shoot up to his head. Grab at tiny curls. Grab at randomly long tufts. Grab at whatever they can reach which is almost nothing.

He’s shaking. His hand is shaking as his fingers grasp with a kind of desperation Billy has never known but is suddenly wracking his body in a way that overwhelms every piece of him until he’s nothing but fingers grasping for what should be where they’re reaching but is nowhere to be seen. He can’t see anything but himself in the mirror. The world blacks out but him and the mirror. His feet are still moving him somewhere. He’s looking at the mirror at an awkward angle.

He hits the couch in his room. His fingers clench and unclench. He flops down onto it.

It went by like dusk to dawn...

Clenching and unclenching until his fingers get sore and he slams his hands onto the couch to stop thinking about it but how can he when his… his reflection...

Isn’t that the way?

He’s grabbing at his blanket beneath him harshly. He fists it and his mouth opens in a grimace and his eyebrows furrow so hard his head hurts and his lip shakes and…

Everybody’s got their dues in life to pay~…

The voice is rising and the music is rising and the specter fills up the space with something passively threatening, something that gently nudges Billy’s shoulders, something that presses at Billy’s head, something present.

Billy’s fisting hard at the blanket. His fingers are sore. He pulls at it. His finger slips into a moth hold or two. The voice reaches the top, along with the guitar and then they both topple over the peak and there’s the sound of a rip and something under Billy gives out. He pulls harder, hearing more tears, fingers dipping into the rips he’s created in his blanket.

I know nobody knows… where it comes and where it goes

Billy looks down at his fists tearing his blanket and they stop, pull away… thoughtless. His hands shake to do something, maybe grab at his aching head and they do, he does- no, they do, his hands do, but they feel uneven tufts of curls and it’s a jolt. His brain shocks itself. He pulls his hands away with a cry because what is this. He’s become alien to himself. He sees the mirror in front of him but he’s not sure who he sees in it. It’s not him.

I know it’s everybody’s sin…. You’ve got to lose to know, how to win…

The music is with him. Towering over him. The presence is daunting. Feels like it’s challenging him to something as a separate chord climbs and falls as soon as it starts. The spectre falls down. Settles with him. Next to him. He stands. He’s unsettled. Nothing in the mirror is right nothing is right nothing is right. He shoves the flat part of his knuckles on his thumbs into his eyes to fix it, fix something, fix this image that doesn’t feel right. Fix this creature he doesn’t recognize. His mind is swimming.

He walks around the room. He’s not sure if this is easier or harder than before, but he still stumbles.

Half my life’s in books’ written pages… Lived and learned from fools and from sages…

He tucks his chin into his chest, his knuckles still pressed to his eyes, the world black and scattered with the spots he’s pressing into them. His stomach is twitching with sobs that meet up in his throat and push out of his mouth. They’re small. That same droning chord is persistent, rising and filling up into the room, aiming to devour him in something. Drown him.

You know it’s true-

The end grows into a growl and takes with it a feeling that’s animalistic. The specter grows feral. Billy opens his eyes.

His chest heaves. His eyes burn as they water. His mouth twists up in misery. Because he sees it. There. At his feet. Under his boots. He’s fucking stepping on it.

All the things…

His hair. In curly tufts on the ground beneath his feet and in front of them.

Come back to you…

He’s stepping on it.

He looks up and he recognizes his face now and he… he…. He’s….

He’s distraught.

And he rounds on absolutely anything he can reach. Whatever is in arm’s distance behind him and it happens to be his lamp and he grabs it and he throws it with all his might to the ground and-

Sing with me, sing for the year-

-and it shatters. His mind is racing and he has no thoughts past the music. The presence is dark. It’s a shadow. It’s all around him. It’s in his vision.

-sing for the laughter and sing for the tear...

He’s swinging. His eyes are blurry from his own hot tears and they sear his cheeks as he grabs at whatever he can- vaguely registers the necks of bottles and the grooves of records against his palm and beneath his fingertips as he hashes through the world around him, trying to tear through the shadows consuming him and the tears are flooding everything out and he’s just swinging and smashing and-

Sing with me, it’s just for today… maybe tomorrow the good lord will take you away~

He’s swinging and crashing and smashing like he’s being challenged. Threatened.. Whatever exists in this room with him is menacing. Malevolent. Feeding off his pain. Sipping it through his tears. He punches the wall and then the drums hit and they stop and the guitar is back and-

“Billy?”

It’s a voice. Billy’s sure it’s his own somehow. Sure it’s the song somehow. Sure it’s this presence somehow, whatever is it, floating through the chords of the song like a friend seeking a kill.

“B-Billy? I… Uhm…. Please stop.”

It’s small. Feminine. Familiar. Shaking.

“Please don’t hur-.... You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Maxine.

Billy strides to the door and throws it open. The violent thud it makes as the knob hits the wall fills something in Billy’s chest. It springs more tears in his eyes. His chest is sobbing.

“Billy?”

There’s something Billy can’t place in Max’s eyes. If his mind were even a tad clearer he thinks he’d recognize it… categorize it under worry or concern or care or even something deeper...

But the guitar chord hits a high note and the shadow specter of the music seeps into his mind and he’s a husk.

The chorus picks up again, singing about singing and Billy is standing there looking at this tiny red head standing in his way and she’s blurred by his tears and-

“Billy, what are you doing-”

“Mind your damn business, Maxine.”

“What happened-?”

“Mind your business.”

The music is rising. It fills Billy’s throat.

“Did… did he-? Do…?”

“Do what?” Billy spits down at Max, leaning over her, invading her space. Max’s eyes flood with fear and it makes Billy step back. The shadows of the song step away. He sees through the blur to find the girl.

“Do that?” She asks, voice small and soft and shaking and weak. Eyes filling with tears of their own and it fills Billy’s gut with bile and he’s so sick of it. So sick of everything. Thinks he might be sick. So fucking done. Broken. Feral.

Maybe tomorrow the good lord will take you away~

Billy’s eyes are filling. He glares as hard as he can while his eyelids are all mushy and swollen.

“Get out of my way, Maxine.”

She’s cowering.

“What are you gonna do?”

“Just get out of my way.” He growls and takes his arm and shoves and she stumbles back and the music is building and then he’s storming down the hallway, punching the walls and cracking every picture frame he passes and the voice is following him, sounding just as loud to him in the hallway as it did to him in his room as it chants-

Dream on… dream on… dream on… dream yourself a dream come true~

And he throws pillows off the couch and shatters a lamp on the ground with a shove and his blurry eyes search fervently for what he wants as the guitar wails and runs down and-

Dream on… dream on…. Dream on… dream until your dream come through~

And the guitar gets darker and he’s got it. Grabs it off the mantle. Looks as steadily as he can with shaking and blurry eyes at this thing in his hands. This picture frame... with their stupid family in it. This stupid thing they call family to convince others. It never convinced him. He’s not sure how it could have convinced anyone. His tears are so hot on his face they feel like they’re boiling and his nose is leaking and his saliva is runny and his chest is heaving and he’s-

“Billy?”

He’s thunder. He’s lightning and he’s rain. The music followed him down the hallway and follows him with heavier footsteps back up as the voice screams on with-

Dream on… dream on… dream on… dream on…

And each chant sees Billy taking the frame in his hands and slamming the corner of it into the wall of the hallway as he walks, goes back to his room, ignores Max as she cries to him some kind of garbled nonsense and the music is filling his shoes like a dark puddle and his eyes are drowned.

And the voice that was once singing is now screeching into the air, into the corners of his room, into the darkest parts and Billy looks at the stupid faces of these stupid people he’s been forced to love and thinks of how the only happiness in his life is going to be taken away from him and probably has been permanently taken away now because he’s fucking hideous with bruises and almost no hair and he’s wailing. Deep from his chest, right alongside the voice from the stereo, hurling the picture frame at his mirror blindly as he screams and hitting his target and hearing a loud crack as it shatters and he’s just screaming. Everything inside of him rising and bubbling and boiling over and over and over some more and he’s sure his body will never settle. He’ll never know peace. His mind and his body and his heart will never rest like it did this afternoon in that field with the warm sun and the blue sky and a love underneath him that was all his own for once for fucking once in his miserable life and he opens his eyes and he’s disgusted he’s a disgrace, he’s bruised and bloody and nearly bald and his fingers and knuckles are bruised and bleeding and in that cracked mirror is the most miserable version of himself and he can’t bear to look.

Sing with me-

He grabs the mirror.

Sing for the year-

He throws it to the ground. It covers his fallen hair.

Sing for the laughter-

He stomps it with his boot. Hot tears stain the toes of his shoe.

Sing for the tear-

He reaches for his bedsheets. He needs to take a few steps to get there.

Sing with me-

He tears at them, ripping all the way down. As far as he can.

Just for today.

His chest heaves. He rounds on his makeshift vanity. Swings his arms violently until it’s all on the ground as his feet, discarded and broken and cracked.

Maybe tomorrow the good lord will take you away-

He looks up from the ground. Up to Max, who’s hugging the door frame and shaking, watching with horror or what Billy thinks must be the equivalent. Something equivalent to it. The music and it’s guitar and the specter it’s conjured up is still rising, expanding, residing in every space of the room, pushing Billy out of the space and he’s struggling, fighting, mind getting so nervous and worried as it looks at Max that it needs to look away, needs to distract.

The song repeats itself as he reaches and throws and rips and tears everything in sight. Posters, picture frames, books, cassettes. He steps on everything, smashes everything, tears pour out and out and out, his mind is running and racing and throbbing in pain in hurt in worry in all of its unease and he picks up a hand weight and rounds towards the window and chucks it as hard as he can and-

The sound of the shattering of the window breaks everything. Breaks any resolve still left within him. Lets the shadow and spectre of the music out and into the night as the room is pitched into a bitter and unforgiving chill. Let’s all of Billy’s breath out of his lungs as he heaves and heaves and heaves like he’s going to hurl. He stands there, looking at the window, pictures something faint and distant and at one time hopeful in his mind before he turns around to Max and it’s just music now, the last of the words have been sung, and he mutters a dark and languid and miserable:

“Don’t wait up for me.”

And then he strides to the window and steps on the small table he has in front of it and jumps out and walks into the unfriendly night, a storm. More than a husk. Once again a human. At least, feeling something closer to human.

And then it’s just Max. She rushes to the window, the music turning into a haunting kind of alarm that doesn’t seem alert or at all worried or hurried or serious. A lazy alarm that warns you of an error in the system. She stands in front of the broken window, exposed to the cold, cutting her hand on the glass in her hurry to watch after Billy, watch as he leaves, watch as he stomps his way out of their house and out to the street and down the street and she’s crying. Her mind is spinning. Her face is heavy with tears and sorrow and fear. Her heaving subsides slowly as the music does.

She’s alone in this house. Truly alone. Not even the presence of Billy lingers like usual.

And then she runs to the phone to do the only thing she can think of- she dodges the carnage strewn across their house and runs to the phone and calls the only person she can think to call. The only person she thinks will for sure be able to help him from doing something crazy like leaving with nothing but the clothes on his back and whatever random cash he carries in his pocket.

Another song starts up slowly. The phone picks up.

billy liked to read. steve had always known that. heard the way he answered questions in english, saw his car outside the library from time to time, watched a new book (or two) spill out of his backpack whenever he came over to do homework

it wasn’t until they got a place together, until they’d been together for nearly two years and they were lugging heavy cardboard boxes up a flight of hot stairs that he realized just how much billy liked to read 

until they’d been living in the apartment a month and suddenly there were books everywhere. on shelves, on billy’s bedside table, on the coffee table, under it

most of all, steve saw them in his hands. cracked spines in pink palms, a left hand with a pen that liked to underline, a right hand that helped keep the page flat so that it could wear a thin post-it note. calloused fingertips that turned page after page after page

steve came home from work on more than one day to find billy sitting in more than one odd place with his nose in a book. up on the kitchen counter. upside down on the couch. slumped against a wall in the hallway. flat on his stomach in the middle of their bedroom floor

steve loved it. loved finding an odd place to sit so that he could curl up next to him, could put his head on billy’s shoulder, or bury his nose in his neck, or wrap an arm around his waist, or pull his feet into his lap, and just listen to him breathe. listen to him turn pages. listen to him talk whenever he felt like it 

books were a part of billy he liked to keep hidden and steve felt lucky every day that billy’d given him the chance to find it. to see it. see him 

steve didn’t see him when he walked into the apartment after work today. he ducked his head into the living room, the kitchen, their bedroom. no billy, though

the only sign of billy was the worn paperback sitting on the coffee table. the spine was so cracked it had turned white. the pages so worn they were completely curled at the edges. so many post-it notes sticking out of the side that steve thought they looked like confetti, more than he’d seen in any of billy’s books before

East of Eden

steve was curious. he wanted to know what the post-it confetti was all about and billy never minded if he thumbed through any of his books. if anything, steve could sort of tell billy loved whenever he asked, could see it in the way his cheeks would go pink, the way he’d crinkle his nose, the way he’d sit at steve’s side and answer any questions steve would throw his way

so he sat back on the couch with the book in his lap and opened it

Hi!!! I’m crying bc you fucking KNOW that Billy would get so fucking embarrassed!!

Bc Billy is prideful!! I’m telling you, that boy has some Leo in his chart or something bc if anyone so much as smiles at a joke at his expense, he gets defensive. And that’s not to say that he doesn’t banter back and forth with Robin, and that’s not to say that he and Steve don’t give insults that sound like endearments, and that’s not to say that he and Jonathan don’t rib each other amicably… but it’s different. Pride is a very different thing.

Bc Billy is legit like a little lion cub. (AKA every Leo i know, therefore Billy has Leo in his chart, don’t @ me) it’s an almost juvenile kind of attachment to pride. Like a baby lion cub who’s just getting their mane in but holds their head like they’ve got the biggest one in the pride, it’s a little childish (as much as he may not want to admit it).

And it’s really not Billy’s fault. That’s what he’ll tell you. That’s what he’ll tell anyone. It’s not his fault he’s a brat and he’ll shrug his shoulders and he’ll continue to be rude/bratty and for some people (Steve) it’s charming and for others (almost everyone else) it’s tolerable but for Jim…. It’s…. It’s upsetting. Jim doesn’t like to be seen as “controlling” or a “hardass” or whatever but he’s not sure how he can just ignore when Billy is being disrespectful. Even if it’s only slightly. bc like…. He feels like he needs to be a good dad and good dads make sure their kids grow up to be good people, right??? Which isn’t to say he thinks Billy is a bad person but he worries because, like every parent, his biggest fear is fucking up. He didn’t get a whole lot of practice with Sara. and after her death he couldn’t help but think of every time he slipped up. Every time his wife soothed his hair and said: “We have time to get it right.” every day that passed with Sara in the hospital where he realized she was wrong.

And i’m SO sorry for getting into that but I think that really influences how Hop parents now! The man was broken and then just…. Acquired a 12 year old. And then a 17 YEAR OLD?? Like… the man would be Confused as to how to proceed. And then THIS happens…

Bc Billy has mood swings. Billy is a teenager and also the human version of a bratty little cat that puffs his chest out and ruffles his own fur and may leave a few scratches but is ultimately harmless (esp now that he has a nice, loving family!!) and so they’re at the dinner table and the boys are talking about their grades and whatnot and Billy may be a little pouty. Because maybe Billy didn’t study as hard as he should have for his last history test. He just thinks history is so stupid. He’d rather read a book or do 100 math problems. What’s history gonna teach him?? He doesn’t need to know any more about plagues.

So he says that.

Jonathan’s talking about how well he did on his essay and Will is talking about how he did on his math test and Billy’s pushing carrots around when Joyce asks: “How’s school for you, Billy?”

“Just peachy keen.” he sneers down at his plate. Hop tuts harshly.

“Hey.” Hop chastises, only serving to make Billy’s blood boil more.

“What?”

“Calm down.”

“I’m plenty calm.” Billy snaps back, but it’s quiet. He shoves a sliced carrot in his mouth.

“Have you had any tests or anything lately?” Joyce asks calmly, in that motherly voice she always gives that makes Billy’s mind swirl a bit.

“Yup.”

“Billy-” Hop warns and it makes Billy sit straight up, but give a challenging look in Hop’s direction as he says, loudly:

“Yes, ma’am.”

Joyce stops asking, but she sends a look to Hop, who’s still caught in a staredown with Billy. Billy can’t see her look, but he wouldn’t understand it if he could, because it says: Hop, cut it out.

And the conversation shifts to significant others and then Joyce is smiling kindly at El and asking about her and Mike and maybe Hop is pouting but he’s not gonna draw attention to himself bc Joyce will just hit him like she always does when he’s pouting over their kids dating (specifically El). And Jonathan is smirking a bit into his dinner but Will is visibly uncomfortable as El gushes about Mike before complaining that he doesn’t come over enough and that she doesn’t go out enough and Billy gets irritated. Why should he and Will have to listen to this when they don’t want to??

And he mutters something, darkly. Something about Mike and El and “ungrateful little brats”.

And everyone hears. He only half means it, but they don’t really think that far.

And Hop shoots a look his way before chewing on a carrot rather aggressively.

“Somethin’ to say?”

Billy gives Hop a challenging stare, but he backs down as soon as he starts it.

“No sir.” He mutters harshly.

“Then behave.”

“How about you and Steve, sweetie?” It’s Joyce. Being sweet.

“Happy as can be.” It sounds bitter the way he says it because it is. They got in a fight today. A little one, but enough to make Billy taste something sour in his mouth when he thinks about it. He figures they’re gonna make up just fine tomorrow, no flowers or empty promises needed, just another heated conversation followed by a heated make out in the front seat of Billy’s Camaro. Maybe followed by a serious talk that’ll make Billy’s face heat up because he still can’t believe this boy has Billy wrapped around his finger so fucking tight.

“Yeah, well Officer Callahan says you and Harrington have-”

“You know his name.” Billy growls, resting his fork on the plate.

“Steve. You and Steve have been running around empty fields a lot lately.”

“And?” Billy’s vision is turning red. It’s tunneling a bit.

“And what’s that all about?”

“Don’t really wanna give you all the dirty details.” Billy shoves some meatloaf in his mouth. Hop’s looking at him like he’s a hassle and Billy’s proud of it.

“You guys shouldn’t be doing that. Someone’s gonna say something.”

“And?” Billy’s getting madder. He puts his fork down with a loud clang.

“And you’re gonna cause problems-”

“For you?” Billy seethes, leaning forward a bit, just willing Hop to say it.

“For yourselves.”

“Oh yeah?” Billy asks, leaning back in his chair, blood boiling hot. “Well what about the little twerps?”

Billy nods over to El, who makes a whining noise.

“Hey!” She calls, face pouting.

“What about them?”

“I just don’t think it’s very fair that it’s safe for them and not us.” Billy growls, gritting his teeth, eyebrows low.

“That’s not true.”

“It’s safe for everyone else but us!” He’s mad. He’s mad bc him and Steve have argued about this before. Argued about how there’s no real point in being together if they have to hide all the time. That one time when they saw Cindy and Jason being grossly affectionate in public and Billy grabbed Steve’s ass and Steve got mad. They fought for a few days and it ended with them laying in Hansen’s big empty field, on the outskirts of town, talking in dreamy, far away voices about how one day they’d move to California bc “It’s not like this there… trust me, babe. It’ll be so much better.”

Billy’s vision tunnels more. All he sees is Hop in different shades of red. He forgets where he is. He’s livid, thinking about El and Mike and Cindy and Jason and Tommy and Carol and Nancy and Jonathan and he’s going to scream. His heart is racing with disdain.

“You know it’s still dangerous for El to go out.” Hop warns.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Look… kid-”

“I’m not a fucking kid.” Billy growls, leaning forward even more.

“Language!” Hop’s voice is booming and Billy’s had about enough of this. He resents being told off like a kid.

“Sorry! Excuse the fuck out of me!” He’s snarling and Hop seems about as livid as Billy feels.

“Go to your room!”

“Fine!” Billy yells, shoving his chair back and standing up, turning to Joyce for the first time all dinner and seeing her eyes full of… concern. He doesn’t know how to feel about it. Something in his chest heaves at the sight. His eyes flick over to Jonathan and then to El and then to Will…. And then his chest tightens. He looks away just as quickly.

He thanks Joyce quietly for dinner, mumbling it a bit but he thinks the sentiment is clear enough. He drops his plate off next to the sink and storms off to his room, slamming the door with probably too much force but everything’s on his mind and he has the right to be a brat if he wants.

It’s just that he hates just sitting here with nothing to do but think about everything. He doesn’t even have his stereo to listen to music with bc he gave his to El until she can get a new one bc hers broke and her nightmares have been bad recently. Listening to music before bed calms her down. Billy didn’t say anything about his own nightmares or his own need for music before bed. He wishes he had now that he’s laying in bed, about ready to rip his sheets to shreds bc he’s boiling. He feels like a storm but, to any outsider, he looks like a toddler- red-faced from a tantrum and fidgeting and bubbling like a shaken up soda bottle.

He’s so mad he can’t even do anything. The minutes pass in sticky but frantic moments of anger and thoughts and memories and the only thing his body will let him do is just sit there. Lay in his bed and pull at his covers and fall into thoughts and think about Hop reprimanding him like that and how awful it was and how red and angry he looked and how he sent him to his room like a kid and… and how Joyce looked so worried…. And how that same look was in Jonathan’s eyes…. And Will’s…. That same worried, concerned look. They all three have the same eyes- Lonnie be damned. Those boys share their mother’s eyes and all of the emotion that goes within them and it makes… it makes Billy mad he’s mad about it he knows he’s mad and-

And…

And he calms down a bit. Calms down enough to do what Steve told him to do when he gets angry and stressed and doesn’t know what to do with himself. Because Steve’s family is “well-traveled” and Steve knows all these weird little things from all these cool different countries.

So Billy takes out his notebook and rips a couple pieces of paper out (bc he saves the fancy paper Steve gave him for when he’s actually trying) and does some origami. Bc Steve said it’d help him to do something with his hands and this is something he can do quietly, in his room, without being destructive. ”It’ll help, I promise!”

The hardest part is making a perfect square, bc it takes too much patience and usually Billy doesn’t have that. But he’s just doing this to calm down so he eyeballs it as he cuts the paper and starts to fold what he knows, which is either a heart or a crane. Those are the only 2 things Steve has taught him that he knows off hand w/o the instructions or Steve guiding him through it.

There’s more crumpled paper on the ground than folded paper on his desk but Steve had assured him that was more than okay. It’s kind of the point, he figures. Crumpling and ripping up the paper is almost as nice as folding it to make something, and it makes actually making something feel even better when it happens.

He’s sitting there, on his 3rd heart, when there’s a small knock on the door.

“Go away.” He calls, realizing that the paper he cut isn’t a perfect square bc the corners won’t match.

“It’s Will.”

Billy pauses a bit. He goes back to folding his paper, not caring about the corners bc it’s not bad enough to start over. He doesn’t say anything.

He hears the door open.

“Do you think ‘go away’ doesn’t mean you?”

“Does it?” Will asks, voice earnest. Billy looks up to see his face matches.

Billy sighs, the harsh feeling in his chest softens a bit at the boy in his doorway. He turns back to his folding.

“What do you want? And close the door.”

“I wanted to ask if you wanna come listen to records with me.” Will says, closing the door behind him.

“I don’t think they want me out there.” Billy folds his paper with his fingernail to make it sharp. It burns his thumb a bit.

“That’s not true.” Will says, taking a few steps closer. “Mom told Hop… Dad he shouldn’t have done that.”

And that makes Billy mad. He’s not even sure why. It’s a heat in his chest and his face that feels like anger and he messes up his fold and he’s just… he’s confused and he’s red and all he can think about is Will saying “mom”. Not “my mom” just “mom” and also “dad” like he’s theirs and Billy can’t understand it still and he smashes the paper into a ball in his hand-

“I don’t need your mom defending me.” Billy says harshly, spitting the words out like he hates them, chucking the paper on the ground. He’s too aware of the way Will flinches a bit at his harshness. He takes a deep breath.

“Uh… “ Will’s fidgeting. Billy feels bad. He sighs.

“I don’t have my stereo.” Billy leans back, running a tired hand down his face. “Ask Jonathan.”

“But I wanna listen to your music.” Will says quietly and Billy believes him. Will’s been getting interested in Alice Cooper and Led Zeppelin and all of the fun bands that actually perform. Steve gifted Billy a VHS performance of Led Zeppelin and Will seemed to like the lead singer quite a bit.

“Well I don’t wanna go out there, pipsqueak.” Billy rips out another piece of paper. It’s quiet for a second, Billy eyeballing another square to cut. It’s so quiet, Billy thinks Will has left.

He thinks wrong.

“Can I still hang out with you?”

Billy puts the scissors down, exhausted, and looks up at Will.

“Alright, what’s wrong?”

Will shrugs. “Nothing. I just…. Like it in here.”

Billy’s confused, but he almost believes him for a minute.

“I don’t have music for you.”

“I can grab a book to read.” The boy’s so earnest, Billy knows he’s not gonna shake him.

So he waves him away with a nod and Will’s out and back quicker than Billy can think about how weird it is that this boy would rather sit in his room in silence than do something fun. Will’s closing the door carefully, latching it quietly and moving over to sit on the bed.

Billy has crumpled up 2 more pieces of paper before Will begins to pry.

“Are you folding things again?”

“Uh huh.”

“What’s it called, again?”

“Origami.”

“Cool.” Will scoots on his knees to the edge of the bed so he can see what Billy’s doing. “Do you need any help?”

“I’m good.” Billy mutters, unconvincingly.

“I can cut the paper for you. I’m good at making squares.”

And so Will is sitting criss cross on the bed, cutting perfect square after perfect square, while Billy sits backwards on his desk chair with his arms folding on the back rest and mind racing a mile a minute. Will’s so quiet and calm, willingly coming in here just to spend time with Billy, helping him now and… and something sick fills Billy’s chest. The only thing he can hear are his words at the dinner table.

‘Hey-uh…” His voice sounds weird to his ears and his tongue feels thick but he’s got Will’s attention now so he needs to get it out. “Sorry.”

Will’s eyebrows scrunch up. “Sorry for what?”

For being a dick? For ruining your dinner? For ruining your family?

Billy shrugs.

“I dunno. Just… not being a good example.”

“Whaddya mean?” Will asks, handing over a handful of squares before working on some more.

Billy shrugs again. “I dunno kid I just… I’m not like Jonathan. I’m not… I’m not a good example for you. It’s embarrassing.”

“What’s embarrassing?”

“Getting told off like that in front of you guys.” Billy turns back around so he can start folding again. He needs to do something w/ his hands.

“I told you, mom told him he shouldn’t have done that.”

“But he was right-”

“No, you can be upset if you’re upset. It’s fine.”

Billy falters a bit. He wonders if Will is quoting Joyce. The small boy keeps speaking.

“You’re a good example,” Will’s voice says, and he sounds so sure that Billy believes him. “You’re just a different one. You show me to stand up for what I believe and… and that it’s okay to be… to like boys…”

Billy stops folding altogether. Will’s voice gets quieter.

“You’re a good example. It’s good to let things out when you feel them.”

Billy’s mind is racing. He’s folding without thinking about it. Because the only thing he can think about is how he got accepted into this family so quickly. How Hop took him in and Joyce accepted that like she was accepting a package at the door. She took him in like he was her own son and not some bratty problem child being dumped on her. And now Hop reprimands him without his fists and Joyce chastises Hop for being too harsh even though he’s… doing his job, whatever that entails and it’s… it’s too much sometimes. It’s too much to think about but Billy knows he wouldn’t give it away for the world bc every moment like this reminds him that every passing day is a day further away from the pain he grew up surrounded by. The pain now doesn’t even compare to the pain then. This is so different bc this pain is laced with care and love.

He’s made a crane before he realizes.

“I’m glad you’re my brother.” Will’s voice sounds so far away but it crashes over Billy like a wave.

Billy nearly crushes the crane in his hand from the words. He’s so shocked at them.

He turns and gives Will the crane, not looking the boy in the eye as he gathers up the paper and the scissors from the bed.

“I don’t need any more paper. Thanks.” Billy mumbles, dumping everything on his desk.

“You’re welcome. Is this for me?”

“Yup.” Billy shoves the paper in a drawer and tosses the scissors into his pencil cup.

“Thanks!” Will’s so excited about it. Billy’s heart is fluttering.

“Wanna listen to those records now?” Billy asks, hands on his hips, fingers fidgeting bc this is a lot and he just…. He needs music now. Whatever. He realizes he shouldn’t be so scared. There’s nothing to be scared about. Will beams up at him.

It’s past midnight. Perfect time for nightmares.

Music: Out of the Darkness -Matthew And The Atlas 

Inspiration:

Billy fades in and out, soft voices, clipboards, beeps of machines, and searing pain. There’s something soft in his hands, so he clutches it close and fades away. 

He wakes. This time he opens his eyes and sits up. He has to cough and a kind-faced nurse encourages him to hug his bear. 

He finds that it helps rein in the discomfort, so Billy hugs the bear often when he coughs. 

When Neil drops by the hospital once, Billy’s body is flooded with hot shame. He tries to jam the bear under his back. The visit lasts exactly four minutes and twenty-two seconds – blessedly, Billy will never see Neil again. 

The bear is his only personal possession when he goes home to Susan’s house – a Neil-free house. It keeps him company on hard days – he squeezes during lonely nights.

Eventually though, those nights are filled because Billy finds that Steve Harrington doesn’t really sleep much either. They share quiet nights of cigarettes, a bottle of whiskey, and shared trauma. 

Billy brings his bear one night. He doesn’t even think about it – just has it clutched in his hand because he’d woken from a nightmare and needed to get the fuck out. Clutching it as he shrugs on his coat and grabs his keys was almost like muscle memory.

He finds Steve sitting by one of the trees at the edge of the quarry, and Steve hands him a joint as he sinks to the cool ground below. Billy holds the bear with one hand as he takes a hit with the other. 

“Oh. Hey, you brought Wilbur.”

“Fucking? Wilbur?” Billy says tightly, trying to hold the smoke in his lungs. 

“Yeah. I named him Wilbur when I gave it to the nurses to give to you. They didn’t tell you?”

Billy opens his mouth, smoke releasing. It was Steve. Of course it was Steve. He shook his head no. 

“Yeah I felt kinda goofy leaving a teddy bear for you but. I don’t know. I didn’t know if you’d be getting a lot of visitors, so I thought you should have something to keep you company-”

Billy leans over and kisses the rest of the words off of Steve’s lips. 

Oh BIG TIME! Canon!Billy is one big mask. I’m still rewatching s3 with my sis and it’s honestly so weird to be reminded of what a douche Billy is in the series :p But yes, the only time the mask slips is when he really can’t keep it on and he starts crying. I imagine it would take A Lot before he can cry in front of Steve.

[*record scratch* then I started writing something that became a scene and then there were other scenes and then it basically turned into one of those ‘x times B y’s + 1 time B z’s’ thingies. anyhow, I hope you enjoy]

~ Billy learns to cry in front of people ~

First time it happens, Billy has had a shit day. It probably had something to do with his dad said to him in a fit of anger, something that seemed insignificant at the time, but proved harder to shrug off than he initially thought. He’s irritable. All of him feels as if he’s covered in a thick slime that’s itching and oozing but impossible to scratch off. 

Steve doesn’t notice that Billy is crawling out of his skin and wants to be left alone. After a while of him playfully trying to get Billy’s attention, the guy snaps. Steve’s wide eyes are enough to make Billy’s heart jump in his throat because fuck he’s doing it. He’s lashing out and it’s scared Steve and somewhere from the pit of his stomach comes a mean whisper that tells him that he’s just as bad as his dad. 

He mumbles an excuse and disappears into the bathroom, locks himself up and sits down at the edge of Steve’s bathtub because of course the Harringtons have a big ass tub. As he’s trying to figure out what happened, why he’s feeling this way, he starts to cry. He didn’t know he had to, but now that he does he doesn’t want to stop. After a minute or so he swings his legs across the edge of the tub, shoes and clothes still on, chest shaking and curls up inside it. It feels better, letting the soft whines echo across the tiled walls of the otherwise deadly silent bathroom. He doesn’t know that his crying is loud enough for Steve hear their muffled sounds from across the hall. 

“Billy?“ he says softly as he raps his knuckles on the door. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” Clearly he isn’t. 

When Billy hears Steve’s voice he lets out a wounded wimper and shrinks even deeper into himself. No. No. Steve can’t see him like this. 

“Isn’t this romantic?” Billy asks, grinning like a predator and batting his lashes. Steve’s face twisted between a laugh and a grimace.

“Not exactly.”

Cue a giggling, little, blonde girl in a hot pink bathing suit climbing back onto the boat with a matching hot pink life preserver on her tiny body and dripping water everywhere.

“But there’s no one else here.” Billy exclaims, plucking his daughter up and over the side of the boat with a quick toss while she cackles with glee. “We’re all alone.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Steve snorts, his eyes trained on his little girl as she surfaces and laughs, wiping water from her eyes.

“But you love me.” Billy purrs, leaning in close. He manages to get a semi-filthy kiss started when a wet and cold hand tugs in his arm.

“Dadddyyyy.”

Billy gives Steve a grin.