#billysbabe

You made quick work of it once you got to your room. You gingerly opened your door, quietly shut it, and practically stripped in your rush to take off everything but your underwear and your oversized t-shirt. You dove into bed, snuggling under your comforter, and sighing at the sense of safety that washed over you. After all, nothing could get you when you were under the protection of your comforter. No creepy crawly would dare disturb the sanctity of the bed.

That was when an arm wrapped around your waist.

Said arm pulled you snugly against a body that definitely should not have been there. Naturally, you did what any rational drunk teen alone in her room after a night of watching other drunken teens get brutally slaughtered on camera would do. You screamed and dove for the closest weapon you could think of in your room. Your hand wrapped around the curling iron on top of your dresser which you always left plugged in not that you were paranoid or anything but this was exactly why. You flicked the lights on, switched on the iron, and turned to face who—or what—ever had dared to ruin your clearly false sense of security.

You watched as a drowsy— and noticeably drunk— Billy Hargrove sat up from your bed. A cold wave of shock and disbelief and a little bit of excitement washed over you as his clouded blue eyes met yours. It was almost surreal, seeing his curly head popping up from where he was snuggly swathed in your blankets. You had no idea how you had missed him before; he was so clearly out of place wrapped up in your pastel bedspread. The two of you sat there, blinking at one another until he finally decided to break the spell in true Billy Hargrove fashion.

“What the fuck, y/n?”

You lowered the curling iron from where you had been wielding holding it out between the two of you, ready to defend yourself should any threat dare to come in reach of the cord. Where the hell did he get off, acting like you had interrupted his night?

“I think that’s my line,” you grumbled at him, finally switching off the curling iron and replacing it on your dresser. “What the hell are you doing in my bed, Hargrove?” His only response was a shrug. One that had you narrowing your eyes at him. You and Billy had never really been close. Once upon a time, when he had first come to Hawkins and didn’t seem to know what he was doing, you had tried to befriend him. But you two had come a long way since then.

You found him trying to pretend he wasn’t lost on his first day, walked right on up to him, and introduced yourself. Your friends had all thought you were insane, just going up to the hot and mysterious new kid like that. Honestly, you weren’t sure why you had. You just felt something in your gut nudging you to do it. You had shown him around that first day, helped him find all his classes, and sat with him at lunch. You even introduced him to your brother, knowing it’d be good for Billy to have a friend in his own year, but not thinking Tommy would demand all the attention of your new friend. He had left Billy alone for the most part in his first day or two in Hawkins. And while you and Billy weren’t exactly attached at the hip or anything, he was pretty nice towards you for the most part and not in that I-only-doing-this-to-get-in-your-pants kind of way. You had hoped maybe you could get to know him. That hope didn’t last long. It was crushed the second the California boy beat out Steve Harrington’s keg stand record. You saw the admiration and basic hero-worship in your dumbass older brother’s eyes as he trailed Billy around for the rest of the party and really the rest of the year like a lost little puppy. Whatever friendship you had with Billy was quickly thrown aside as Tommy countered you at every turn.

Where you’d call Billy out on his shit, Tommy ate it up and cackled at it. Where you tried to have intelligent conversations with Billy, Tommy and Carol brought up all the gossip and bullshit school politics with him. Where you tried to ask him about his life and world before Hawkins, Tommy was happy to just get wasted. You got that it was easier, but fuck if it didn’t sting every time Billy would pick Tommy over you. It made you feel like the annoying kid sister again, trailing along after your cruel older brother and Carol who had always been kind of a bitch to you. You really got fed up with it when they started making jokes at your expense, playing pranks on you and making fun of you for “being in love with the new King of Hawkins.” You weren’t going to put up with that shit even if it was sort of true. So, you cut Billy off. You stopped hanging around the three of them. There was some small part of you that hoped he’d miss you, realize he cared about you when you weren’t hanging around and taking their shit. But it never happened. The jokes started to let up after a while, which was honestly almost worst. It meant when the three of them got a prank in their head, it was especially cruel. And it would be exactly like the three of them to let you find Billy in your bed like he was waiting for you after the party of the year, “hoping to confess his feelings” or some bullshit like that, only for them to make fun of you for falling for it later.

Well. It wasn’t going to work this time. You might like the guy, but you weren’t just going to take this shit lying down.

“You guys really think you’re so fucking funny, don’t you?” The exhaustion hit you all at once as you leaned against the dresser, staring the blond in your bed down. You saw the confusion wash over his face, and you assumed his drunken brain hadn’t realized he’d obviously been caught. “What, did Carol and Tommy put you up to it? I bet the three of you are just dying to get something good to hold over me. Maybe you want a juicy piece of gossip about how I gave in to the King of Hawkins, or you're hoping to get blackmail material as I confess some feelings for you in a pathetic way. Well, it’s not going to happen Hargrove. I don’t give a fuck why you’re in my room. I just want you out. Now.”

“What the hell? You’re buggin’.” He slurred a bit as he tried to shoot back at you, but it lacked the usual bite he’d direct your way. Not that it helped. You still snapped back at him with the regular amount of venom you would. You had a fire that could rival Billy’s. All of Hawkins knew it. And you were one of the only people who didn’t back down when it came to him.

“Right.” You took pleasure in the dangerous edge to your voice. It was the kind that had sent underclassmen running the other way before. It was the kind that made Tommy listen to you, Carol worry about the rumors you might spread, and your friends apologize immediately for whatever they had done to upset. You rarely used it, hating the way it made you feel like a bitch, but when you did take advantage of it, people listened. And you were tired of this boy thinking he could walk all over you. Your voice was low, and cold, and controlled. And you milked it. “Because you three never act so casually cruel that I’d have a reason to be suspicious. You’ve never made my day suck just for the hell of it. You don’t make fun of me at every turn for just being a decent person and actually daring to genuinely care about you, do you?”

You didn’t need an answer, but you still waited. You waited until he cut his eyes away, clearly uncomfortable with the situation and knowing there was truth to your words. You relished in it. “That’s what I thought. Bite me, Hargrove.”

Some kind of thought or emotion flickered over his face. His eyes were still murky and clouded, but the self-righteous expression he had worn was gone. He suddenly looked like the young, seventeen-year-old kid he was. Gone was the macho man bravado and badass bluster. Instead, you were left with a Billy you had never seen before. He almost looked... well, vulnerable. His expression was so open as tried to think of what to say next, his eyes so wide as they settled on you, and his hair unruly in a way that definitely wasn’t intentional. He muttered something as his eyes cut away from yours, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

“What was that?” You tried to distract yourself. The scare had killed whatever buzz you had left from your evening, but you were still tipsy enough that it was dangerous to focus on your feelings for him too much. Feelings lead to confessions, and you refused to give him and your brother anything else to hold over you. You had tried to make your voice hard and sharp, nagging even. You had a feeling it came out far softer than you cared to admit.

“Used to call me Billy,” he mumbled. You barely made it out this time. You stepped closer when you saw him open his mouth to speak again, not wanting to miss what he was about to say. “You. You used to call me Billy. None of this Hargrove bullshit.”

You laughed in disbelief. “Well, it’s not exactly like we’re friends. You’ve made that painfully clear. Besides, you call Steve by his surname so I figured why not give you a taste of your own medicine.”

“You friends with that asshole?” Billy hissed, suddenly tensing. You could feel the fury slowly begin to boil. It was odd to see someone wrapped in a pastel blanket look threatening, but his quick flare to anger wasn’t anything new.

“No,” you tried to reassure him. Why were you reassuring him? Why should you care? “But he’s friendlier to me than you are. Never made fun of me when he and Tommy were best friends. Not that it’s any of your business.” You hoped that one stung him to hear as much as it stung you to admit. You were all over the place, and you knew it. You didn’t have your normal control around him, the safeguards that protected you from that look in his eyes. The one he was giving you now. The one that was protective, and demanding, and curious all at once. The two of you sat in tense, uncomfortable silence for a while. Your eyes locked with his, and the two of you were left staring at one another. You suddenly registered you were in nothing but your t-shirt and underwear, and you rushed to find some shorts to throw on while covering your chest in the process.

“ ’S not a trick.” You almost missed it as you quickly pulled the shorts off the floor and up your legs. You almost didn’t hear him at all. Almost. “Got sleepy. Didn’t wanna go home. Tommy said I could sleep on the couch downstairs, but...” You waited for him to continue. You hoped the silence would encourage him. When he didn’t finish the rest of the thought, you mentally counted to ten and then finally turned to face him.

“But?” You tried to prompt him as gently as you could. He shrugged, avoiding your eyes.

“Got distracted.” You held your breath, hoping, praying, that wasn’t all he had left to say. You waited and watched as his eyes cut to yours, then away again. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve sworn a blush had spread across his cheeks. You let the silence linger a little longer this time, filling the empty space by letting your eyes trace his face. As the silence drew on, Billy finally grew uncomfortable enough in his drunken state to break. “I found your room. Was kinda hoping I’d find you in it.”

This time, you really didn’t breathe. Your heart raced, and you were so tempted to go to him. You so badly wanted to be next to him, and you were just a few inches from the bed now. It’d be so easy to just lounge next to him and let yourself just settle with that answer. But you owed it to yourself to hear more. Hell, he owed it to you after all the shit he had put you through.

“Why?” This time, instead of just avoiding your eyes, he huffed and scooted himself to the edge of the bed. He looked away from you and set his jaw in that stubborn way of his that said no way in hell am I saying anymore. You were having none of that. “Billy, why?”

He finally turned to you at the use of his first name, just like you knew he would. He swallowed, and you searched his eyes as he seemed to debate with himself over whether or not he should tell you. You implored him with your eyes, desperately and silently asking him to say what you needed to hear.

“Fuck, I can’t say it. I’m not some little bitch.” His gruff response shattered the spell, and he got up from your bed. He moved so quickly, throwing the comforter down and practically sprinting from your room, that you barely managed to grab his hand on his way to the door. He stiffened at your touch.

“Please, Billy. I know you’re not. But I still need to hear it.” Your voice was just a whisper, but it filled the room. You pulled him gently by the hand, and he turned to face you. He kept his head down until he took a deep, cleansing breath. When he lifted his head to face you, you could see the guarded expression on his face. You could see the fear of rejection in his eyes. And once again, he set his jaw in determination.

“I like you, sweetheart.” It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t the blushing or heartfelt confession you used to dream as a little girl about when you imagined a guy telling you he liked you. “I like you a lot. Have for a while now, believe it or not. I know I’ve put you through a lot of bullshit or whatever, but you’re pretty cool. And you’ve got way more going for you than Tommy, or Carol, or anyone else in this shithole of a town. And yeah, I can be a dick, or an asshole, or whatever but--” But it would do. After all, it was Billy.

You didn’t let him finish.

You quickly pressed your lips against his, cutting off his sentence, trying to calm him down, and finally living the moment you’ve been dreaming of for months now. His lips were soft, and he pressed them against yours without missing a beat. You could taste the cheap whiskey he had been drinking and the cigarettes he had undoubtedly bummed that night. It made your heart beat faster. You sighed into him, stepping closer and grasping his shirt desperately with your hands. You worked your lips against his until his arm came up to wrap around your waist. That was when it all came crashing back to you.

“You promise this isn’t a trick?” You rasped the question, out of breath from the kiss but desperate to ask it. You had to be sure. “Billy, if this is some joke or prank, I’m not going to be able to handle it. I can’t just laugh this one off or let it slide. Not after this.”

“Y/N.” His voice was the gentlest you had ever heard it before. “I promise. Now do us both a favor and shut up.” His hand came up to cradle the back of your head as his lips dipped down to meet yours once again. You sighed into it, enjoying the feel of being wrapped in his arms. He walked you back until the two of you collapsed back onto the bed, only breaking to breathe when you desperately needed air.

Billy protected you, and you took care of him. That was the deal. You let each other pretend to be whole. You accepted his anger and his violence, and he accepted your perfectionism and anxiety. You two never pushed the other for more than they were willing to give or say, and you respected each other’s boundaries. Hell, you didn’t even find out he had a step sister until week three of dating him. But because of this mutual respect of boundaries, you two quickly became inseparable. Soon, you were sharing even the most intimate, awkward details without a second thought. Neither of you really knew what was in store when you two would leave in the fall for California (you to attend college and him to move home), but you both knew it’d be fine so long as you had each other.

So that summer when Billy abruptly withdrew, you knew something was wrong. Your boyfriend wasn’t without his flaws— after all, he had certainly earned his reputation as an asshole— but you knew there was good in him. You had seen the sweet, funny, mischievous, caring side he buried so deep down. You knew him like you knew your multiplication tables or your SAT vocabulary— you just did. You didn’t question it. You simply trusted yourself, trusted in your knowledge, and trusted him.

That seemingly nondescript summer evening when he didn’t call you to let you know he had survived another day under his dad’s roof, you got nervous. You tried to call him a few times, and you’d either get the machine or Max or Susan, and both would tell you he wasn’t home (one time you got Neil, but you hung up before speaking to the monster). After the umpteenth unanswered call, your nervous energy began to morph into worry. That worry persisted over the next few days until you ran into his kid step-sister and her odd little friend who spoke in somewhat broken sentences at the pool. When you cornered them about Billy and they shared their strange findings with you (after a lot of convincing), that worry blew up into panic. The last straw was when someone told you they saw him drive up to Heather Holloway’s house, dressed up for a fucking date. Even when he had made it his mission his first year in town to sleep with anything in a skirt at Hawkins, he hadn’t so much as considered Heather for a second. You knew something was very, very wrong with your boyfriend. And you were determined to get to the bottom of it. You agreed to help the kids lure him into the sauna. Whether it was the promise of another victim or the supposed “normalcy” of your relationship the Mind-Flayer was after, you hadn’t ben sure. You barely managed to get out of the way before he was shoved into the sauna, where you saw the heartbreaking truth. You saw the possession, then the shift to the poor whimpering mess he was. You could see the terror in his eyes. You saw it persist in his eyes even when the Mind-Flayer took back over and broke him out of the sauna. You knew you had to save him.

You really shouldn’t have even been there that night at Starcourt, but you refused to leave. You had never been a fighter—that had always been Billy’s job— and the Party didn’t want to bring in any more people than they already had, but you refused to take no for an answer. It was your job to take care of him, and you were going to do it dammit. When the teams split up, you immediately volunteered to go with whatever team had Eleven. The girl was the only one who didn’t look at you with fear, or concern, or trepidation. She understood. She had seen Billy’s mind, after all. She confided in you later that she had seen you there, in his happier memories. They had just been a few brief glimpses, and there was nothing as lasting or influential as his memory of his mom. But you didn’t expect there to be. You had only been dating a few months. And besides, what she had seen spoke volumes. She told you about the quick glances she had of you cleaning him up ever so gently when he came to your house after Neil really laid into him, and of you sitting on the roof of his car with him between your legs while the two of you shared a smoke on one spring evening. She even told you about a memory she caught of you two just lying on the floor of your room, staring up at the ceiling and listening to music as he quietly promised to take you to California so you could see the beautiful ocean he loved so much. She knew no one could bring him peace like you did.

So Eleven understood later that night when Billy seemed so jarred after pushing you aside to get to her. She saw the swift flicker across his face, his resolve cracked and the Mind-Flayer’s hold briefly damaged as he pushed you aside. The sickening crack as your head collided with the hard floor of the mall seemed to echo in the massive space. It was easy after that. She could see he was still in there, that there was still a fraction of his soul and his mind worth saving. El saw the pain, and the heartache, and the grief as her words sunk in and she reminded him what he had left to fight for and of his mother. And Eleven understood what happened next, although that didn’t make it any less tragic.

Your eyes opened to a dark world, lit only by the fluorescent lights of the stores around you. There was a suspiciously wet feeling where your head had collided with the floor, but you paid no mind to it. You frantically searched the scene around you, eyes darting around for your boyfriend and the girl you had promised to protect. You found them off to your right, his domineering figure crouched over hers, his hands around her throat, until... suddenly, his hands were by his side again. You blinked, mind and vision a little fuzzy (you knew you probably had a concussion). Your vision cleared, and you couldn’t believe the sight before your eyes.

There was Billy— your Billy, you were certain of it— fighting off this massive... monster. It was the only word for it. As he grappled with the freakish and terrifying tongue-like appendage, you saw what he didn’t. You saw the tentacles creeping through the cloud of light and debris, snaking their way towards him. You saw him struggle to keep the creature at bay, and you knew in that moment he had no idea what was coming for him. But you did. You saw the scene flash before your eyes as the tentacles slowly seemed to open at the ends, revealing horrific fangs. In your heart, you knew there was only one way this would end if you didn’t intervene. And you refused to watch it happen.

You knew a little something about physics. You had been fascinated with it ever since you broke Jamie Foster’s arm in elementary school. After apologizing to the poor boy profusely, you tried your best to understand what had happened. He had been braced against the wall, his arms in front of him to avoid running into it while playing a game of basketball with his friends. It just so happened at that exact moment, you tripped and feel forward into the direct line of his left arm. The arm that had previously been braced against the bleachers quickly gave way, snapping like a twig and creating a sickening s-shape. You were baffled by how something so strong, so firm as a child’s bone, could break just like that. You quickly came to learn that his weight and energy had all been braced forward, meaning there was little resistance to any energy or forces that would’ve caused a change in direction. It was a lesson you’d never forgotten, and one that had inspired you on the cold floor of the mall. thirst for knowledge and love of learning. AAs you rushed towards your boyfriend, you remembered the ease of crashing and breaking something that should’ve been immovable.

You slammed your body into Billy with your full body weight and the momentum of the short sprint behind it. The usually stable mass of muscle that was your boyfriend slammed into the floor, as all of his strength had been thrown forward into resisting the Mind-Flayer’s attack. He was helpless to your unexpected shove, just as he was helpless when the bites meant for him sunk into your abdomen and back.

You were breathless, suspended in time for just a moment, as you watched him hit the floor. You couldn’t quite believe it had actually worked. His beautiful, piercing blue eyes were focused on you in a way they hadn’t been for— was it days? Weeks? You’d lost track. All you knew was that you never wanted him to stop looking at you like that: like he’d never really looked at you before. You tried to send him a small, reassuring smile even as his eyes screamed at you. You could practically hear him berating you, calling your sacrifice stupid and wrong. You didn’t mind though. You had made your choice the second you opened your eyes.

You felt the pain as the first bite sunk into your stomach, still facing the boy you had knocked out of the way. It sunk deep into your stomach, following the fangs as they tore into your flesh. The stabbing sensation tore tears from your eyes and the breath from your chest. You felt it again as the second one latched onto your back, colliding with the middle of your spinal column. After that, the pain numbed. You weren’t sure if it was shock or paralysis, but you appreciated the reprieve. You felt a strange sort of calm wash over your body. You barely registered the rest of the bites and the attacks on your battered body, barely heard the screams of Billy and Max as they cried your name. You didn’t even realize the monster had been defeated until you were laying on the ground, gasping for air, finally feeling the burning pain of the bites and the blood soaking the floor around you as it seeped out of your body. You finally realized it when you saw him crouching over you, with what looked like tears in his eyes. But that couldn’t be right. Billy Hargrove didn’t cry.

He did feel betrayal though, and you saw it. You felt his heartbreak as he looked at your beaten body, covered in blood and bites that were too deep to even pretend could be fixed. You saw the betrayal as he realized you had broken your unspoken deal: you hadn’t let him protect you. Instead, you had taken it upon yourself to protect him and now there would be nobody left to take care of him when you were gone. There’d be nobody left to patch him up, nobody there to help him pass his classes, no one there to cuddle him on the hood of his Camaro in the evenings. Maybe someday, but it would never be you again. You could see him fighting the anger that would’ve been so much easier to deal with, simmering under the surface. You could tell he had to bite his tongue, wanting to yell and rage and scream but refusing to let that taint your final moments.

You felt the aching and the warmth slowly start to leave your body as your breaths started to become quick, shallow gasps. It was almost painful to feel your chest compressing with the futile effort. Having taken more than your fair share of health classes, you knew you didn’t have much time left. You felt the sleepy haze of blood loss start to settle over you, but there was still so much you had to say. You still had to tell him just how much you loved him, how much you believed in him, how you just knew there was still so much out there for him, how he had to go and live that life in California for the both of you. You had to tell him to learn to let his anger go, to try and repair his relationship with Max, to let himself be vulnerable and love someone else—someone who wasn’t you. You had to tell him to live his dreams, to find the man you already knew he was, and to shave his mustache that had always itched when he kissed you. You opened your mouth, desperate to say something—anything—but he quickly shushed you.

“Shhh, Y/N. Don’t say anything. The cops are coming, and after they patch you up I’m going to kick your ass for scaring me like this. Just stay with me, princess.” You don’t think you had ever heard his voice so tender. You appreciated his empty promises, knowing neither of you wanted to really confront what you both knew was inevitable. He sounded so broken, trying to be brave and strong for you. You tried to grin at him, but your world was starting to fade. You knew your last moments were here.

“Well, well, well,” the Hargrove boy drawled. “Look who can pack a fucking punch. I never would’ve thought you were such a little spitfire, Byers. I mean, both your brothers are such pussies.” You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, your temper flaring and just rising as you realized he knew exactly what he was doing. He was enjoying getting you all riled up. His eyes narrowed as he delivered what he clearly thought was a devastating final blow. “Tell me, are you this much of a spitfire in bed?”

It was Billy’s turn to be surprised when it wasn’t you who launched themselves at him, but Steve Harrington instead. The fight happened so fast, no one could quite keep up but the two boys in the middle of it all. Somewhere between the posturing, the taunting, and the chaos, it started to go downhill. It wasn’t until Billy was wailing away on poor Steve that someone finally managed to intervene again. Max grabbed the syringe full of sedative and drove it into her step-brother’s neck. You didn’t dare intervene as she finally stood up to the jackass, but you immediately rushed to his side to check on him after if only to make sure he wasn’t dead from that much tranquilizer. You had essentially become the Party’s medic after everything last year (their healer, if you wanted to get nerdy about it like the kids often did). You immediately checked for Billy’s pulse and found it, a little fluttery but definitely there. You glanced at the syringe where it had landed, knowing it had been filled, and seeing it completely empty.

“He’ll be out until tomorrow morning, easy. Maybe even later.” You sighed, turning to look at the mess that was the living room. Your poor mom would understand, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t suck any less when she came home to this disaster. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught an unconscious Steve on the floor. You had a feeling you wouldn’t be making it back to the lab with overnight bags for everyone like you’d promised. There were more important things to handle here. You turned your gaze to the rest of the teenagers in front of you.

“Right. So. We can go kill the demo-dogs, but you little shitheads listen to me. When I say mission over, it’s over. Got it?” They all nodded eagerly, clearly desperate to do something to help. You searched around for Billy’s keys, only to see them in Max’s hands. She sent you a guilty— but very hopeful— grin, and you couldn’t help the slight smirk that crossed your face. You both knew how much it would piss Billy off that his kid step-sister drove his car—and right now, you were all for a little bit of petty revenge. Still, you had to at least pretend to be responsible.

“Alright,” you mock sighed. “But only because I need to tend to Steve and make sure he’s eventually conscious enough to help. Help me get him in the back, and then we can roll.”

——————————————————————

Billy woke up feeling like he had the hangover to kill all hangovers. He laid on his back, not understanding why the middle-right-side was so sore and why he was in an unfamiliar room. As he shifted to the side, he saw you laying there on the other side of the bed and on top of the covers that he was so meticulously tucked under. He tried to sit up and find some water, but a loud grunt of pain tore out of his throat as the ache in his right kidney intensified.

You shot up, locked eyes with the heartthrob bully in your bed, and immediately scrambled over the edge. He would have laughed at your lack of grace if his head hadn’t been killing him. Instead, Billy opted for a glare. A really mean glare. (At least he hoped it was.)

Without a word, you handed him the glass of water you had grabbed for him the night before. After a few seconds of thinking, you handed him some Advil too. Apparently incapable of actual words, Billy merely grunted in appreciation as he downed the water and the pills. You two sat in uncomfortable silence, waiting for the Advil to (hopefully) ease his headache. He was the first to break it. “So. What the hell happened?”

“Well...” You weren’t quite sure how to go about answering. Direct was best, right? Better start somewhere simple... “You’re in my room.” You saw his eyebrows shoot up at that, an excited and smug grin stretching across his face. You rushed to correct him. “Not because of that, jackass. Will’s friends, your step-sister included, were worried about going home last night. By the time they managed to... clean everything up, you were still out cold. Mom decided to let them stay the night, call it an impromptu sleepover, and phoned everyone’s parents this morning to let them know where their kids were. And we couldn’t exactly have you taking up the couch and the living room, so...” You trailed off, refusing to look at the still-too-smug teenage boy in your bed. Neither Jonathan nor your mom had really been all too happy about it (or Steve, for that matter). You calmly reminded everyone that not only were you the most suited to treat his injuries, but you were also fully capable of defending yourself. The kidney punch you had landed was your key piece of evidence. They couldn’t exactly argue with you there, but they made you promise to call them at the first sign of trouble. So what if they didn’t know you had let him stay in your bed? As far as they were concerned, Billy had slept on the cold, hard ground...

As you spoke and the pain began to subside, Billy suddenly realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He leered over at you, a very hot despicable smirk slowly stretching from one cheek to another. You saw that detached glaze settle over his eyes again, locking the confusion and discomfort (and was that embarrassment?) away as his typical jackass mask slid into place.

“You know, kitten, if you had wanted me shirtless that badly, you could’ve just asked.” He drawled it so lazily, like the crass words meant nothing to him, as he practically posed on your bed. You bit back the blush snippy remark that was just itching to fly free as you grabbed his shirt off the ground.

“I wanted to check on your back,” you ever-so-calmly replied, chucking his shirt at his face and hoping to cover the alluring stupid smirk he still had plastered on. “You know, from where I punched you. I wanted to make sure the bruising wasn’t too bad. And I wanted to check if Steve had done any awful damage to you.” The unspoken like you did to him hung in the air between you two. You saw the carefully detached gleam in his eye give way to some indecipherable emotion. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it was regret. But the violent teen quickly scoffed, and you were sure you had imagined it.

“Guess I’m just built to last, sweet-cheeks,” he lazily threw the innuendo your way as he pulled the shirt back on. He doesn’t even have to try with these, you thought. You refrained from the eye-roll a comment like that usually would have elicited as you realized he was trying to keep his back out of your sight. He was even shifting so you couldn’t see it as he pulled the shirt over his head. But you had already seen everything. And from your own experience with an abusive asshole of a father and a teary mother who needed patching up (which was left to you since she refused to call the hospital and Jonathan used to get squeamish at the sight of blood), you knew what it meant.

“Billy,” you started quietly. The air in the room suddenly seemed thick with the tension of the situation. “I saw the other bruises on your back. And sides. And the really faded one on your stomach.” The boy in front of you froze, looking like a lion with his curly mane of bedhead that had just been backed into a corner. He carefully watched you, only half-finished with pulling his shirt down over his toned stomach. The detached facade was entirely dropped now as a sheer fight or flight response seemed to kick in. You jumped to beat him to (what could literally be) the punch.

“I’m not going to pry. I’m not going to ask questions.” You rushed to reassure him. After all, you didn’t need to. In your few conversations with Max, you had managed to chat with her enough to recognize a girl dancing around talking about her broken home. You had a hunch where those older bruises had come from. “I’m just going to say this: I know those bruises didn’t come from a fight. You’re too good at fighting for anyone to land a hit that smarts like that. But. Anytime you need to get away from the person who did that, you can come here.”

The offer seemed to sit in the air between the two of you with a huge, weighted presence. You saw the suspicion immediately set in as his jaw set and his eyes started to harden again. How could a guy who had said so little so far communicate so much? You were starting to think he was easier to read than you realized...

“I’m not trying to dig up some dirt on you or gain any kind of upper hand here,” you said, slowly approaching the bed. “And I can guarantee Jonathan won’t try to use it against you. I love him, but he’s too fucking scared of you to even breathe when you’re around.” You tried to joke with him. It didn’t quite land. Joking had never really been your strong suit though— helping was. “But if there’s any household that might know what it’s like to deal with abuse, it’s ours. My dad was a jackass. And while Jonathan tried to protect Will, I was left to help my mom clean up and face him again afterward. And now I want to help you.” You were sitting on your bed by this point, careful not to get too close to Billy. You wanted to leave him with his personal space, in case he needed to run. Instead, he looked you over with an assessing (and dare you say hopeful?) gaze.

“I’m not some fucking charity case, you know,” he practically hissed at you.

“I know,” was your calm response.

“I’ve been managing just fine on my own. Why would I need your fucking help?”

“You don’t. But I want to offer it anyway.”

He sat back at that, seemingly turning the words over in his head. You watched him slowly pull down the first of the many, many walls up in his eyes. “You’re pretty alright, you know that Byers? Nothing like that pussy brother of yours.” You rolled your eyes at the dig and playfully huffed. If this was the game he was gonna play, you could keep up. But you weren’t going to let him get away with being a total dick.

“Jonathan has a lot more going for him than you give him credit for. But thanks.” You sent him a small smile. “And please, call me (Y/N).”

“(Y/N), then.” He wasn’t quite ready to return your gentle, friendly smile. You hoped he would be soon though. In the meantime, you’d settle for the charming smirk that quickly stretched across his face.

“Why haven’t I taken you for a drive yet, huh (Y/N)?” He put an emphasis on your name like he might any of the ridiculous pet names he insisted on calling girls. Billy playfully wiggled his eyebrows at you, blurring the lines between flirting and being friendly. You laughed at him, sending a smirk right back. He didn’t offer you an apology for the night before (of course, there were others who deserved to hear it way more), and he wasn’t trying to fix the damage he had done. It didn’t even come close to patching up the issues his anger and his ego caused. And it didn’t explain or excuse any of it. But it was a start.

“Please, Hargrove. You couldn’t handle me. You said it yourself, I’m a spitfire. And I’m not as easy as the other girls you... drive with. You wouldn’t know what to do with me.”