#don't worry Neil gets murdered in something else I'm working on

[thatharringrovehoe]

When Billy was little, him and his ma would dress up in their fanciest Sunday best and play pretend. Tea parties and princesses and dragon’s slain by a knight in shinning armor. He would stand between her and his favorite dinosaur plushie, chubby little hand gripped tight around a cardboard sword, and tell her not to worry. He would protect her from the beast.

It wasn’t until he was nine years old and crying on his knees in the middle of a dirt road, watching his mother drive out of his life forever that he realized his mistake. He hadn’t saved his mom from shit. The princess cut and ran, leaving him in the beast’s lair with nothing but a bent cardboard sword and a hole in his heart.

*THWAK!*

The sound of nine inch nails embedding themselves into a stud behind the drywall of the Hargrove’s sitting room is loud. A sickening crack that leaves behind a pocket of silence filled only with the thud thud thud of Billy’s heartbeat whooshing in his ears. Or he’s pretty sure at least. His dad knocked him pretty good on the back of the head so. He’s not at his best.

Steve though.

Steve is a vision.

Those pretty pink lips Billy has been dreaming about for going on a year are pulled back into snarl, pearly whites almost sharp in the yellow light cast from the ceiling. He’s got blood on his knuckles and fire in his eyes. Angry and vengeful like Billy has never seen him. He wrenches the nail bat out of the wall and levels it at Neil Hargrove’s face.

“Touch him again and there won’t be anything fucking left of you for your wife to bury.”

Gone is the goofy pretty boy who throws popcorn at Billy’s head whenever he makes a shitty joke. Not a trace of the babysitter with a heart of gold who can patch Billy up better than any field medic, but who’s so useless in the kitchen he could burn water if Billy isn’t keeping a close eye on him. Neil Hargrove looks about two seconds away from popping a blood vessel; Billy can see his pulse in the veins protruding from his temple.

But he doesn’t move.

Because standing between him and his father isn’t a knight. Or a prince or even a dragon. No. This is King Steve in all his glory, ready to paint the livingroom with Neil’s brains all for calling Billy something he’s been calling him every day for the past fourteen years. And Steve is ready to draw blood over it. Is ready to end a man’s life to keep Billy safe. And it’s the farthest thing from sobbing into loose dust and gravel as his mother abandons him to a monster. It’s a king standing up to a beast all for Billy.

Because-

“Get the hell out of my house. And take that faggot with you.”

His dear old dad hawks spit at Billy’s feet, won’t even look him in the eye as the boot print from a few moments ago blooms purple and black across Billy’s ribs. Steve’s eyes flash and for a moment Billy wonders if Steve Harrington is going to spit literal fire, burn his father alive right here into nothing but a pile of ash on the linoleum.

But. Billy’s so tired.

“Stevie..”

It’s not very loud and he’s definitely slurring but Steve’s head whips around anyway, eyes full of vengeance and rage and-

God. Fucking damnit. He’s not gunna cry in front of his old man. Not like this. That piece of shit doesn’t get to see this.

“Get me the fuck out of here. Please.”

And just like that, the Steve he knows and loves is right there, helping Billy up and leveling a glare at his father that wouldn’t mean shit if he wasn’t also holding a bat full of construction nails. Because Neil Hargrove is an ex marine and Steve only got the jump on him because he kicked in the door right when he was in the middle of cracking his own boot across Billy’s skull.

They hobble out to the car, Steve still puffed up like a pissed off cat and if Billy wasn’t so close to crying he would laugh. He’s settled into the passenger seat of Steve’s beamer and even buckled in; because no matter how much he denies it, Steve is one hundred percent that mom friend. Billy feels warm even before Steve kicks on the heater.

Steve white knuckles it all the way to Loc Nora, adrenaline still pumping through him like a racehorse. Billy can’t relate, he’d already been exhausted when Neil dragged him out of bed to talk about that boy he’d been hanging around with. About why he had Steve’s sweater under his bed. About why Mr. Jenkins had seen Billy pull Steve in for a kiss when he was out on a midnight hike up at the quarry.

It gets a little fuzzy after that.

Billy seems to time travel, each blink a new place he doesn't remember getting to. From the car to the door and then the couch, he’s slipping fast. Out of nowhere his hands are almost uncomfortably hot, a steaming mug of coffee placed gently in his palms. Without thinking, he takes a sip. It’s made exactly the way he likes.

“So Joyce said not to let you sleep for at least twelve hours after a kick to the head like that. She’ll be over in the morning to look at it. Then you can sleep but I gotta wake you up every hour to make sure you’re okay.”

Billy think’s that’s fine. Because he gets to sit here with Steve and drink the coffee he made just for Billy, exactly the way Billy takes it. And he knows what he wants to ask. Can feel it climbing up his throat. His tongue feels thick in his mouth.

“Why r’you doing this?”

Steve jumps a little, like he didn’t expect Billy to speak. He looks like his heart is breaking. And Billy is so tired.

“Tell me Stevie”

Steve looks like he might cry. And any other day he would let it go, leave that curtain be no matter how bad he wants to yank it back. But not tonight. Billy has to hear him say it. Needs to hear it. Please.

“Please Steve.”

Steve breaks. Sits on the coffee table in front of Billy with a soft *thump*. He’s looking down at his shoes, chestnut air flopping in front of his eyes.

“Because I fucking love you, you jackass.”

Steve’s voice is wet and resigned. Like he’s ready for Billy to shut him down. To reject him. And if he were anyone else, he would. But he’s not anyone else. He’s Steve Harrington. Who took a bat to Billy’s dad and saved him when no one else ever even cared enough to try. Who had patched him up almost every other night for the past six months with nothing but a tight smile and gentle hands. Who shakes apart in the dark in his sleep and hates Christmas lights and can’t cook for shit and tucks Billy in when Steve thinks he’s already sleeping and won’t notice. Who took one look at who Billy really is under all the bullshit and loved him anyway. Loved him because of it.

And Billy is so fucking tired.

“ ‘Ve loved you since you put that stupid sparkly bandaid across my nose the first time I showed up at your door.”

Big brown eyes snap up, spilling with tears. In an instant he’s got a lap full of lanky rich boy and careful fingers gently tangling in his curls.

Steve’s smile tastes like sunshine.