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moonlitwings1 · 2 years ago

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lex!! i am humbling begging if we can get billy being alive/surviving for season 4 and maybe him being present for max's possession and eventual escape from vecna ?? essentially some max & billy sibling stuff we were robbed off this season (also harringrove on the side if you so please!)

okokok so here's some quick AU notes to establish this 'verse: Billy survives the Mind Flayer attack with Max's help; Neil & Susan stay together, but Billy's medical expenses drain them and they're forced to sell the house and move into the trailer to afford his care; Steve & Billy are in an established relationship. LET'S GO.

but see how deep the bullet lies fic requests open

The harsh, metallic reek of iron stings Max's nostrils. Her breath shudders; her heart pounds. There is blood on her hands, on her clothes — blood pooling on the floor. She pushes hard against Billy's chest, against his belly, tears pricking her eyes as she begs him to, "Stay awake, please stay awake. Billy, talk to me. Billy, don't fall asleep. Don't go, don't go, don't go."

His eyes are glassy. His lashes flutter. He opens his mouth to talk and more blood comes out, sputtering at the corners of his lips. Max shakes her head, shushes him, pleads with him to, "Please, Billy, stay with me. Stay with me." but his heartbeat weakens against her palms and she feels him fading, fading, fading, and —

Max wakes with a gasp.

The room is pitch-dark. She blinks and slowly shapes come into focus: a stereo against the wall, a stack of paperbacks and comic books piled up in the corner. From the far side of the room, Billy snores. Max turns, finds him lying on his back on a twin-sized bed that's far too small for him, his blankets tangled around his legs and his chest rising and falling in sleep.

Max collapses against her pillows. She turns to her side so that she can see Billy and forces her breathing to match his, slow and steady and rhythmic. She clutches her blanket and remembers the feel of his shirt in her hands, the feel of his heartbeat stuttering beneath her fingers. She remembers the red lights painting the high walls around them, the urgency of the paramedics as they pulled her away from Billy, swarmed around him like buzzing bees. She flicks her eyes to the nightstand, to the red LED numbers on Billy's alarm clock.

It is 3:45am on March 21, 1986.

Billy's birthday is soon. He will turn 19. He will graduate come summer. His is not among the names listed in the Hawkins' Post memorial articles; it does not ripple across the evening news scroll each time Starcourt is mentioned. He is here, he is alive, he is okay.

***

The next thing Max knows, a hand is squeezing her shoulder.

She blinks. Sunlight filters through the grimy bedroom windows. Max squints and sees Billy standing over her, his body slanted awkwardly as he leans heavily against the silver crutch that the physical therapist still won't let him ditch.

"C'mon, shitbird," he says. His voice is gravelly and low, but not harsh. "Harrington's here."

"Shit," Max murmurs. She tosses her covers aside, darts into the bathroom, rushes to get ready. By the time she emerges, Billy is already outside. Steve's car is idling in drive; he always pulls up as close as he can to the trailer, though he would never dare bruise Billy's ego by admitting that it's because of him, to shorten the distance that Billy has to walk.

Billy is much stronger now than he was. He's stubborn, too, always pushing himself beyond what the doctors and the therapists and the specialists advise, and Steve is protective. He does everything in his power to make things comfortable for Billy. Hell, if Steve had it his way, Billy would never so much as lift a finger.

Robin is already tucked in the backseat of the beamer, fixing her makeup in the tiny mirror of a blush compact. "Good morning," she sing-songs as Max opens the passenger door and Billy collapses into the seat. Max takes the crutch from him, tucks it into the trunk of the car where it will stay until after school, when Steve drops them off back home. This is how Billy wants it, and no amount of protesting will change his mind.

Steve's greetings are always quiet. He lights a hand on the back of Billy's neck, his thumb gently massaging Billy's shoulder. Billy melts into his touch, exhaling a long sigh.

"Morning," Max greets as she folds into the backseat.

Robin raises a brow and asks, "You okay?"

Billy's gaze meets Max's in the rearview mirror, begging the same question. Max swallows past the lump in her throat and says, "I'm fine." Before anyone can say anything else, she pulls her headphones over her ears and pushes play on her Walkman. She leans her head against the cool glass of the window and watches Hawkins ripple by. Beside her, Robin begins worrying over Vicki. Across the console, Steve holds Billy's hand. Max stares at their intertwined fingers, focuses on the realness of the two of them together, of Billy solid and real and smiling as Steve makes some quip about Robin's band mate crush and Robin punches the back of Steve's seat.

Max closes her eyes, lets the laughter and the teasing in the car merge with the soulful tones of Kate Bush oozing through her speakers, wills any image of Billy hurt — of Billy on the ground — of Billy dying — out of her head.

***

Chrissy Cunningham is dead.

Max knew, of course. She knew before the news ever released her name. She'd watched Chrissy climb into Eddie's trailer, had whispered to Billy, "Did you see that?"

"See what?" Billy had asked. He'd been perched on his bed, a battered library copy of The Catcher in the Rye open in his lap, a pencil tucked behind his ear and a dying cigarette dangling from his lips. His stereo was just loud enough to drown out the argument in the kitchen, Neil and Susan bickering over extra shifts and overdue hospital bills.

Max sighed and said, "Nevermind."

Billy glanced up, brows creased, and asked, "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," Max lied. She felt Billy's eyes on her, boring into the back of her head, and she fixed her headphones over her ears and cranked the volume on her Walkman to push him out. She stretched out on her bed and closed her eyes until she felt Billy's gaze lift off of her, and then she turned and watched him paging through his book until she fell asleep.

She'd had another nightmare that night. She was walking the sterile halls of the Hawkins Memorial Hospital, and the lights flickered overhead. Every single room that she passed looked the same and her heart lodged in her throat as she pushed each door and found empty bed after empty bed after bed. A slow, long, steady beeping noise drowned out all of her senses. A team of nurses rushed by her with a crash cart and she ran after them, followed them all the way to the end of the hall and there he was: Billy, looking small and frail and sickly, all bones and bruises, the machines around him flatlining with a deafening squeal. Someone shouted, "Clear!", paddles were thrust against Billy's chest and —

Max woke in a cold sweat. Her hand flew to her chest as if it might catch her runaway heart. Her gaze shot across the room and there Billy was, his back to her, asleep and blissfully unaware of the horror of her dreams.

In the brief period between Billy's discharge from the hospital and the family's move into the trailer, Max had spent many a night asleep on Billy's bedroom floor. She'd have a bad dream, see him dead in her arms or in a hospital bed, see his gravestone rising up out of the ground before her, and she'd need to see him, alive and breathing, to calm herself down. She'd drag a pillow and a blanket into Billy's room and curl up beside his bed, comforted by the sound of his creaking mattress, his gentle snoring, his soft breath. When they'd moved into a tiny trailer with two tiny bedrooms, she'd secretly been glad for the close quarters, the shared room. Billy was never far from her. She could always check on him, assure herself that he was okay.

She'd never stopped to think about herself.

Not until the killings started. Not until she sat in a dark school laboratory, stolen counseling files spread open in front of her, the same symptoms repeating themselves over and over again. Headaches. Nightmares. Visions.

"I'm next," she says without thinking.

Six pairs of eyes land on hers, Billy's burning the hottest.

"What?" he asks at the same time Steve says, "Max."

She turns toward them. Lucas and Dustin watch her warily from a worktable, both of them slack-jawed. Robin stills. Nancy frowns. Billy takes a step forward and Max instinctively moves back. She clutches the files, their damning words seared into her brain.

"I have all the symptoms," she says. "The same as Chrissy. The same as Fred." She looks at the floor, scuffing the toe of her Vans against the linoleum. Billy closes the gap between them, Steve hovering behind him. Billy grasps Max arm and tears spring to Max's eyes. She looks up at him, trembling, and is unprepared when he pulls her against him, locking his arms around her. She is frozen for a moment, and then she relaxes. She closes her arms around Billy's middle and lets him hold her steady, squeezing her eyes shut and swallowing her tears and bracing herself against her brother.

"Whatever this thing is," Billy says fiercely, "it's not getting you."

Max squeezes him, his scars be damned. She clings to Billy and Billy lets her. She clings to him and she prays his his words are true. It's not getting you. It's not getting you. It's not getting you.

***

The Wheeler's basement is a bleak place to spend a last night. Max watches as her friends fall out: Dustin first, trying hard to stay awake but succumbing around midnight. Lucas is quick to follow. Billy and Steve sit together on the couch, Billy leaning into Steve, Steve's arms around Billy.

"How are you?" Steve whispers.

"How do you think?" Billy says. He watches Max, perched at the desk, pen moving faster than he ever thought possible. He's watched her write and fold a dozen letters, label each envelope carefully. Billy sighs, shifts in seat. "This fuck isn't getting her," he says definitively. "I won't let it."

"Billy—" Steve starts, but Billy holds up his hand.

"No," he says sternly. "She's my sister."

"Yeah," Steve says, pressing his lips against Billy's shoulder and lingering a moment longer than normal. He nods, squeezes Billy a little tighter, and says, "Yeah. She is."

They hold out the longest. After Nancy retires to her bedroom and Robin passes out in an overstuffed armchair, Steve and Billy stay awake. Steve falls asleep somewhere around five o'clock in the morning, slumped against the couch cushions with his arms still secure around Billy's middle. Billy is the last man standing, and Max can feel his gaze on her, lingering until the sun rises.

When she finally rises, Billy is the first person she hands a letter to, neatly tucked into an envelope with his name printed on the front. "What's this?" he asks.

"It's..." Max starts, and then she falters. She shakes her head and says, "Just in case," she says. "If things don't work out."

Billy crushes the letter in his fist.

Max gasps, "Billy!"

Billy shakes his head and says, "I'm not gonna need that."

"Billy, please," Max begs. "We have to be realistic—"

"I am," Billy insists. By this point, Steve has woken up. He watches the exchange warily. Max looks at him and then back to Billy. Her brother's eyes are hard. She knows this mood, knows that there is no talking him down, no reasoning with him. He's made up his mind. Max wishes she could be as sure as he is. She sighs and silently hands a letter to Steve.

***

Max is able to convince the group to bring her home. She insists that it is important, and though Billy knows what she is up to — knows that she wants to leave letters for her mom, and her dad, and her aunts and her uncles and her grandparents and even Neil — he says nothing as Steve rounds the bend and pulls up alongside the trailer that has become home.

Billy moves to exit the car, but Max's hand on his shoulder stops him. He stills, looks over his shoulder at his sister.

"Give me this, okay?" she asks. "I won't be long."

Billy relents, and he watches Max disappear inside the trailer. Steve's hand grasps Billy's and Billy squeezes. They wait for a long while, the whole car silent. In the backseat, Lucas and Dustin barely breathe. Billy bounces his a leg, a nervous habit he's never quite shaken, and Steve squeezes his hand harder.

"She'll be okay," Steve says.

"No," Billy says, his free hand reaching for the door handle. "Something's wrong."

***

Billy finds Max in the backyard.

She is standing still as stone between the clotheslines, freshly cleaned flannel shirts and bedsheets rippling around her. The others follow behind Billy, Steve and then Lucas and then Dustin, everyone hesitating as Billy holds out a hand. He doesn't want to crowd her, to scare her. But as he draws closer he sees the glassiness of her eyes, the rigid stillness of her muscles.

"Max?" Billy tries. She does not respond. Louder, Billy barks, "Max!"

"Dustin," Steve says, snapping and pointing toward the car. "Call Nance. Now."

Dustin scrambles toward the car and Lucas runs in the opposite direction, toward Billy and Max. Billy has his hands on Max's arms and he shakes her but she still doesn't react, doesn't respond.

"Max!" Billy cries, squeezing her arms so tight he can feel his nails cutting half-moon groove in her skin. "Come on, Max! Come back. Maxine!"

Lucas places on a hand on Max's back and tries, too. "Max? Max?"

Nothing. Billy looks at Lucas and shakes his head. Max is staring straight ahead, looking right through them. There is no reaching her. Lucas's hands fly up to his head. He repeats her name over and over again to no avail, and Billy looks desperately at Steve, who only shakes his head. He doesn't have any answers. He doesn't know what to do.

"What's her favorite song?" Dustin cries suddenly. He races around the trailer, his arms loaded with Max's cassettes. Steve runs with him, and Billy and Lucas's heads snap up.

"What?" Lucas asks, dumbfounded.

Dustin collapses near them, the tapes scattered across the lawn. "What's her favorite song?" he breathes, falling to his knees and rifling through the cassettes. Lucas drops, too, and helps to sort through the tapes: Madonna and Joan Jett, David Bowie and Bjork.

"I don't understand," says Steve.

"I'll explain later!" Dustin says. "What's her favorite song?"

Lucas is holding two tapes, weighing the odds, and Billy reaches over his shoulder and swipes Kate Bush out of his hands. Lucas looks up at him, watches as Billy loads the tape into Max's Walkman.

"Are you sure?" Lucas asks.

Billy scoffs. He's shared a room with his sister for months. He knows her music like the back of his hand, as heard the notes warbling through Max's headphones, has heard them pulse behind their bedroom door on the rare occasion that Max gains control of the stereo before he can. He knows. He's sure. He's right.

He has to be.

"Holy shit!" Billy exclaims. Max lifts into the air, her arms open at her sides, and Billy watches in horror as she rises above him. "Max!" he calls, and all around him the others join in, a chorus of her name repeated again, and again, and again. "Max! Max! Max!"

***

Max can hear them. There is a window and she can see them: her friends, her family, crowded around her, crying out to her. Vecna leans in and Max snarls.

He can't have her. She won't stay here. She won't die.

She thinks of Lucas, nervous and fidgety at the Snow Ball. She thinks of Dustin cheerfully inviting her to go trick-or-treating. She thinks of Mike. She thinks of Will, always sweet and kind. She thinks of El, of laughing with her, of the photoshoot they did. She thinks of Steve, adamantly refusing to allow her to drive his car.

She thinks of Billy, asleep in the hospital, his hand limp in hers. She'd held it anyway, clung to him then, whispered, "Please don't go. I think I need you."

His hand had closed around hers, his grip weak but undeniable. His eyes had been closed but still he whispered, "I'm still here."

She sees him now, face upturned, screaming her name. She runs to him. She runs to all of them, Vecna in her wake, Kate Bush singing all around her. She runs and she runs and she runs.

***

Max falls.

She gasps. It feels like a hundred hands are grabbing for her, but strongest are Billy's, and she scrabbles toward them, lets him gather her up. She throws her arms around his neck and presses her face into his shoulder. Lucas's hands fall on her back and she uncoils. She sobs against Billy and she whispers, over and over and over again, those same words he'd said so many months ago.

"I'm still here. I'm still here. I'm still here."

#I WISH THIS HAPPENED #billy and max #st4 spoilers #spoilers

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