#strangeflayed

Steve leans into it without thinking, Billy’s hand in his hair pulling something quiet out of him that he doesn’t try to joke away or fill with noise. His eyes slip shut for a second, just letting it happen, the warmth grounding in a way that feels almost new, and when he opens them again he stays close instead of pulling back. His hand shifts in the water, fingers brushing lightly against Billy’s arm before settling there, easy and unforced. “You’re getting good at that,” Steve murmurs, a faint, softer smile tugging at his mouth without any edge of teasing. He studies him for a second after that, really looking, like he’s noticing the effort, the choice behind it. “I like this version of you,” he adds quietly, not making it bigger than it is, just letting it sit between them.

Eddie huffs out a quiet laugh at that, the sound softer than usual, like it doesn’t quite make it all the way out. “Yeah,” he murmurs, a little crooked smile pulling at his mouth again. “Pretty sure I’ve already got the reputation. Might as well lean into it, right?” His thumb keeps moving against her hand, slow and absent, like he’s grounding himself without thinking about it. But the joke doesn’t stick for long. His gaze drops to where her hand rests against his chest, like he can feel it more because she’s noticing it, the steady rhythm under her palm.

“Hey,” Eddie says, softer this time, not teasing anymore. His fingers tighten slightly around hers, not enough to hurt, just enough to hold. “You don’t have to pretend it’s nothing, you know. People are gonna talk. They always do.” He pauses, searching her face like he’s trying to make sure she really means it, that she’s not just saying what he wants to hear. “But yeah,” he adds after a moment, voice low, steadier now, “we’ll know the truth.”

Steve goes rigid at that. Not at the anger—he expects that—but at the flatness that follows. The way Billy says it, like it’s already decided, like he’s already slipping somewhere Steve can’t follow. His grip tightens without thinking, hands anchoring hard at Billy’s arms like that alone might keep him here.

“Don’t—” Steve starts, pulling back just enough to see his face, eyes searching, almost frantic for a second before it settles into something sharper. “Don’t do that. Don’t check out on me like that.” His voice drops on the last part, less command, more plea.

The words about his body hit, but Steve shakes his head immediately, quick and stubborn. “I don’t care about that,” he says, voice rough but steadier now, something grounding under it. “We’ve dealt with worse than ‘impossible,’ alright? That’s kind of our thing.” His jaw tightens, gaze locked on Billy like if he looks away this might disappear.

His hands shift, one catching the front of Billy’s shirt, holding him there—not aggressive, just desperate enough to matter. “And you don’t get to decide it’s over,” Steve adds, quieter now but more intense for it. “Not before we even try. Not when I just—” He cuts himself off, breath catching, something slipping through before he can stop it.

Because this isn’t just relief. It’s him. Alive, talking, looking at him like this is real. Steve swallows hard, grip tightening again, like he’s steadying himself as much as Billy.

“I thought you were gone,” he says, softer now, the edge breaking just enough to let something real through. “I spent all this time trying to be okay with that. Trying to just… live with it.” His eyes flick over Billy’s face, like he’s memorizing it all over again.

“And now you’re standing here telling me it doesn’t matter?” Steve continues, quieter, more shaken now. “That you’re just… stuck here and that’s it?” He shakes his head slowly, disbelief and refusal tangled together.

“No,” Steve says, voice low but firm. “I’m not doing that. I’m not losing you twice.” His hand loosens just slightly in Billy’s shirt, not letting go—just enough to soften the hold, thumb brushing once like he didn’t mean to.

“You don’t get to write yourself off like that,” he adds, quieter now, something steadier underneath it all. “Not when I just got you back.”

Eddie catches that half-smile, and something in him softens—not because it’s convincing, but because she’s still trying. Still here. “Yeah,” he says quietly, glancing over at her before looking back at the road. “It is. But that doesn’t make it normal.” His fingers tap lightly against the steering wheel, not restless, just present. “Just means you got used to carrying it.” Another small glance her way, softer this time. “Doesn’t mean you’re supposed to keep doing it forever.”

When she says she doesn’t know how, Eddie nods like that makes perfect sense. No surprise. No pressure. “Most people don’t,” he admits, voice easy and steady. “Not at first.” A faint smile tugs at his mouth. “It’s not like there’s a switch you flip and suddenly you’re good at being honest about how you feel. It’s more like… you get a couple minutes where you don’t have to pretend. Then maybe next time it’s a little longer.” His eyes flick briefly to the way she’s curled in on herself, but he doesn’t call it out, doesn’t try to pull her out of it. Just lets her have it.

The tease earns a quiet huff of a laugh. “Wow,” Eddie mutters, shaking his head a little. “My scary van? That’s cold.” There’s no bite to it, just warmth, something lighter threading back in. “And here I thought I was building a solid reputation.”

The road opens up ahead, trees thinning until the horizon stretches wide. Eddie slows, guiding the van off onto a narrow path, tires crunching softly before he brings it to a stop. When the engine cuts, the quiet settles differently—no walls, no pressure, just open space. He leans back slightly, glancing over at her. “Figured if you’re gonna try not pretending,” he says gently, “might as well do it somewhere no one’s expecting anything from you. Here you can scream all you want. Get all of that bullshit you deal with out and breathe a little. I do it from time to time."

She had thought she was going to die; was sure of it. Once again had she been ripped from the world she knew and thrust violently into another. All Chrissy knew was hot searing pain. Gone was Eddie's sweet face; the safety of having him near - and instead it was replaced with pure blood chilling fear. 

The fog had rescued her, in a way; crept into that other world and ripped her straight out of that creature's grasp. She knew not what happened to her body, just how mangled it had started to become, nor did she know where she was now. Just that she felt lonely, surrounded by strangers and forced to run for her life night after night. Chrissy was lonely, exhausted, and terrified. 

It helped when others from Hawkins started to arrive - she at least knew Nancy and Steve, but they weren't who she hoped for. Their story was essentially the same: a thick fog swirling around them and swallowing them whole. The nights continued, on and on for what felt like an eternity. 

Until, a new batch of survivors came. Oh, she'd recognize that curly mop of hair anywhere. Chrissy's heart leapt in her chest, pounding hard against her sternum. Tired legs forced her on her feet, carrying her in a dead sprint directly to him.

   "Eddie!" she called out his name, tears welling in her eyes as thin arms were thrown around him in a tight embrace, face buried against his chest as Chrissy burst into tears.

Chrissy had felt like she was going insane; from Jason’s possessiveness and oblivious obsession, to her mother’s harsh ways. And now that damned clock. Those twisted visions. Fear and anxiety boiled within her core – she didn’t feel safe anywhere anymore, except with Billy. There was just something about him that helped calm her nerves at least a little. An unspoken and unexplained connection between them, as if they both had gone through similar experiences beyond their own realizing. Maybe it helped that he was always so nice to her.

So when he offered her a ride? Chrissy said yes without a second thought, despite Jason’s annoyance with it. She let slip a little white lie: that she was meeting up with one of her girl friends who was going to pick her up after practice. He would have flipped if he knew Billy was the ‘girl friend’.

Hands gripped the seat belt and she was unable to meet his gaze. Instead she studied the dash of the Camaro and spoke softly. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was a freak.

   “I…I keep having these nightmares,” Chrissy finally spoke, the softest tremble in her voice. “Except they don’t feel like nightmares.”

Time had flown. Not just because of the chaos of everything happening in Hawkins - but also because of him. Billy. Through all of it, he had become a secret constant in her life. A distraction, an unexpected form of a support system. A reminder that there was more to a partner than what she had ever experienced with her husband - even if there was never any spoken commitment between Karen and Billy. He'd brought about renewed confidence in her, one that had been dragged into the ground and stomped on by Ted. A new lust for life.

And even though their situationship had come to an end and her drinking worsened, it never hindered her desire to keep him and the kids safe by any means. Karen had snuck into the hospital several times to visit Billy during his stay there – along with bringing her son and Lucas in to visit with Max. It felt almost humorous to have the situation flipped. Unfortunate that she probably looked like shit laying in the hospital bed. Embarrassing, but miniscule in the grand scheme of things.

Karen had carefully masked her tone when she spoke. It was a necessary end with an anticipated outcome; the weight of her wedding ring heavy as he took her hand. God, did she ever enjoy that warmth. The scariest part about it all? She felt no guilt, no remorse, for cheating on her husband.

If only she were 20 years younger.

Her head laid flat on the pillow, turned to look over at Billy. A smile cracked tired features, the softest little laugh scratching its way out of her throat. “Don’t…” Karen spoke mindfully, softly, and with the sweetest little smile. “You’re making it harder to say goodbye.” They were lucky they were able to get along with it for as long as they did - but the tears welling up in her eyes gave way to those inner thoughts she’d forever keep locked away. Karen had no choice - she needed to return to her nuclear family the second she was discharged. Her kids deserved to have their father in their lives, no matter how Karen felt about him. Ted was...safe. Exactly who everyone expected her to be with.

She blinked, quickly, before tears could fall and mentally steeled herself as attention was laid instead on the flowers. A simple gift, but one that had her heart melting. When was the last time Ted had bought her flowers?

“They’re beautiful…thank you, Billy.”

What had Seven expected? He knew how Billy was – knew his struggles, even if Billy himself hadn’t fully realized them yet. It was a benefit of one of his powers. Jaw clenched, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. Hard. Typically, Seven wasn’t one that Billy yelled at – he could handle it just fine, but this topic was…sensitive. He watched, silently, body rigid. A deep breath silently inhaled through his nose and just as silently exhaled, forcing his muscles to relax. Everything would be fine.

Right?

   “So what?” Seven highly doubted his sexuality was the only thing talked about behind his back. He simply didn’t give a rat’s ass. He knew full well that if he didn’t look the way he did, he would have been a bully’s favorite target. “Let them talk.”

There was a want to approach; to soothe – but he stayed put, keeping his distance. Gears turned in his head, playing out every possible direction that the conversation could go. Maybe it was safer to stay in the closet.

   “Just ignore them, Billy. Please.” There was something utterly heartbreaking about it all. That one little thing that Seven had no control over upset his best friend this much. He couldn’t lie. Couldn’t dismiss the rumors. Not when they were partial (although exaggerated and misunderstood) truths – well he assumed so, anyway, considering he’d never actually heard them himself. "It...doesn't matter."