#if neil keeps acting like a goddamn jackass

[okaybutlikeimagine]

Imagine Max having a fight with Neil because he doesn't want her to see Billy, and she goes to the Hopper family's new house asking if she can stay for the night because she doesn't want to go back home to her stepfather. And then imagnie Neil coming to knock at the door to take Max back, also scaring Billy. And maybe Hop and Joyce will put him in his place.

Hey hun, are you trying to kill both me AND Neil??????? And I say Neil bc Neil is gonna die at the hands of Hop & Joyce if he keeps doing this BULLSHIT. fuck neil.

(i swear you’re all trying to kill me and put Hop in jail but i love y’all for it so it’s fine ♥)

okay so it’s almost dinner time and Billy is walking past the front door to go to the kitchen and help Jonathan get some plates down when someone knocks on the door. He detours the couple of steps it takes to get to the door and swings it open, face unamused until a flash of red is rushing towards him, aimed straight for his chest and making solid contact. It catches Billy off guard, throwing his hands out and fully prepared to push the incoming attacker off when he realizes how small this person is and how warm and are they hugging me? And…

“Max?”

“Can I stay here?” She asks, voice distant and muffled in Billy’s chest. He doesn’t know what to say, just takes another step back so he can close the door and keep the cold out.

“What’s wrong with you, brat?” He asks, patting Max’s shoulder while also lightly pushing her away. He loves her, yeah, but they were never like… affectionate with each other. They never hug or anything, it’s usually light punches and playful shoves.

“Can I say?” She asks again, pulling away and catching eyes with Joyce, who’s standing in the doorway to see who just walked in.

“Hello there, sweetie! What’re you doing here? Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“Yes please.” Max says, rolling her board underneath her foot and over to the corner. Billy didn’t even notice it when she first walked in.

so she skated here.

She smoothes her hair down a little bit and walks over to find Will and El and tell them dinner is almost ready.

Billy doesn’t trust it.

Bc he knows his kid sister. Knows she’s never this frazzled. Knows she only avoids answering when the answer is gonna make Billy mad and that’s a problem bc… Billy’s calmer now. At least, he’s getting calmer. And the only things that would make Billy really mad are things that are serious and if something serious happened he needs to fucking know.

He forgoes helping Jonathan with the dishes to follow Max down the hall.

“Max!” El yells, wrapping Max in a hug and pulling her into her room in a flurry of giggles.

“Max is here?” Hop calls from the front door, where he’s shucking off his coat and hanging his hat.

“Yeah, I dunno why though.”

“Does there have to be a reason?” Hop asks on a chuckle, heading over to Joyce to give her a kiss.

Billy shrugs, looking down the hall unamused.

“Something’s wrong. She skated here in the dark.”

“Wait a second, she skated here?” Joyce asks, pulling away from Hop to give Billy a serious look.

“Her board’s in the corner.” Billy nods over to it. “And she left in the middle of dinner.”

Hop looks confused.

“Dinner is always at 6:30. On the dot.” He nods to the clock, which shows it’s barely 7. “Why’d she leave in the middle of dinner?”

Joyce gives Hop a serious look, prompting him to call the girls in. They come running in a flurry of little feet and humming.

“What’s up kid? Something wrong?” Hop asks seriously.

Max’s brow furrows.

“No. Nothing’s wrong.” Her energy falls. Billy sees it; crosses his arms.

“Sure about that?”

Max hits him with a glare, but it falters. She’s guilty- she’s never been able to keep her glare when she’s guilty.

She nods through a pout. Billy sits in his other hip.

“Really?” Billy asks again. “Because we made a promise when I moved out. You’re not breaking it, are you?”

He leans down a bit to look her more square in the eyes. He can see it- she’s nervous.

When Billy left he made her promise, absolutely promise, that if Neil did anything to her, she’d tell him and he’d get Neil put in jail. (“I’m living with the Chief of Police now.” He had said, swiping at a tear on Max’s red-with-anger cheek. She had swatted his hand away.)

“No it’s fine.” Max says, growling just a bit before pulling El with her to the dinner table to set out the plates.

Joyce looks nervous, Hop exhausted, Billy frustrated to high hell as he watches Max work to get the seat next to him.

And dinner is normal- pleasant even. It usually is with Max. Everyone in the house likes her. She’s funny and she has good manners and she’s good company.

But then-

There’s a knock at the door.

Billy pushes his chair back to get it, being the closest to the door.

“Wait!” Max calls, worry in her eyes that settles a pit in Billy’s stomach.

“What?”

“Uh… don’t. You shouldn’t-”

“It’s fine, sweetie, it’s just the door.” Joyce assures as Billy heads over, each step feeling like he’s walking to his grave for some undefinable reason. He reaches for the handle with some kind of strange worry in his heart, like he already knows who’s on the other side. He thinks he might. He thinks-

He swings the door open to find a man with a square jaw and a heavy brow.

“William.”

Billy’s heart lurches. It takes all of his strength to stand still, pissed as hell to see this man at the front door of his new home. He squares his shoulders, ready to tell the man to leave and shut the door on his face when-

Neil takes a heavy step forward, buttoning the intimidating gesture up with a crack of his right knuckles and Billy-

Billy’s scared. He takes a step back and feels his face flush red with embarrassment that he may never be able to stand up to this stupid man.

Heavier footsteps tell him Hop is coming up behind him.

“Hargrove.” Hop rumbles, putting a large, warm hand on Billy’s shoulder to pull him back behind him. Neil doesn’t let his eyes off Billy until he has to. Billy takes a few steps away, heart racing in anger and fear and embarrassment and anger goddamnit anger.

Joyce rubs his back and pushes him gently towards the dining room where Max is curled up in El’s embrace before she runs to Billy.

“I’m sorry Billy I’m sorry I tried to tell you not to go to the door I didn’t…” She hiccups, dry heaving. “I didn’t think he’d come here I- I…”

Billy pulls her in hard, crushing her in a hug to get rid of all of this feeling bubbling up inside of him.

“You brat.” He mumbles, hitting her shoulder slightly harder than friendly. “I told you to tell me.” He pulls her away by her shoulders and bends down to look at her. “Now what happened.”

Her face is switching back and forth from fear to anger to sadness and back again.

“He… he told me I couldn’t come here anymore. He said he didn’t want me seeing you because…. And… fuck him.” She buries her head in his chest again. El and Will come to her side, hugging her from behind to try to soak up the sadness and all the anxiety.

And over by the front door is an angry Neil standing in front of an even angrier Hop and Joyce, Jonathan standing in the doorway to the dining room to make sure the kids and Billy don’t come out or even see the man standing at the entrance to their house. He’s livid inside, seeing Billy’s father but hearing his own.

“You’re not welcome here.” Hop growls, arms crossed, looking big.

Neil chuckles something menacing.

“I’m just looking for my daughter. Do you know where she is?”

Joyce is boiling, ready to strike.

“She’s safe.” Hop assures.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Joyce is going to punch somebody. Hop takes a step forward, pushing Neil back out of the doorway.

“She’s safe. That’s all you should be asking.”

“I don’t want her here. Is she here.”

“Look.” Hop growls, stepping forward again, Joyce joining him at his side. “That little girl is like family to us, and if something happens to her or she feels unsafe for any reason, then I can guarantee I’ll be the first to know. I’m the Chief of Police, and being Chief of Police and living here my whole life, I have a lot of knowledge that I like to use. Like laws… regulations… good places to hide bodies.”

Jonathan chuckles quietly from his spot in the doorway.

Neil is shrinking, jaw set in something that’s probably supposed to be intimidating but looks more like a child.

“Do you understand me?”

Neil is red with anger.

“She’s my responsibility.” He grumbles and that’s what breaks Joyce.

“Then act responsible! And acting responsible means taking care of kids, not scaring them away or treating them like objects! That little girl is a good kid and so is that boy you tormented for years and you don’t deserve either of them! So until you don’t stop acting like a jackass and start acting like a good, responsible parent, that child is going to want nothing to do with you! And I swear, if you so much as lay a finger on her head or that boy’s head you’re going to wish Hop had got to you first after I’m done with you!”

Joyce is shaking with fury, glaring up into the square face of a man who looks more scared than he does irritated now. He sends a glare to Hop, who reaches down onto his belt to finger at the pocketknife he always keeps attached to his belt, and turns around to get in his car and head back home.

Hop shuts the door loudly as Neil drives off, him and Joyce out of breath from their anger.

They turn to see Jonathan with a proud look on his face.

“Fuck that guy.” He says, and earns a stern finger in his face for it.

“Language!” Joyce chastises him.

Jonathan chuckles and throws his hands into the air in defeat. “Sorry mom.”

And Max is allowed to stay, sticking by Billy’s side for most of the night as the family watches TV and eats dessert. And Joyce hugs Max real big and loudly, telling her she’s always so happy to have her here. She hugs Billy a little later, more subtly and quietly, telling him she’s glad to share a home with him. Billy’s heart falters as he hugs back.

[platypanthewriter]

April Showers

Harringrove April Prompt 02:  April Showers!  Max drags Steve back to the Byers' after the fight, to make sure Billy didn't die on the Byers' floor, and they get some things talked out.  LAST PROMPT, GUYS! I'M DONE! 30 days! XD

It was something Susan had always said—April showers bring May flowers.  She said it when they visited Max’s grandma, and Max’s bigger, stronger cousins dogpiled her and ripped her hair out in chunks.  They apologized—insincerely, and Max accepted just as insincerely, already planning her revenge—and Max’s mom hugged her tightly, shaking with relief, and said “See?  You have to be patient, Max.  Sometimes things can be tough, but—”

“Then you shower vengeance upon them,” Max gritted out, narrowing her eyes at the beefiest cousin, because if she couldn’t be the strongest, she could definitely be the craziest.

“Maxine,” Susan groaned.

 Susan said it when her own mother looked at the dinner Susan had made, and said “...well, I suppose you did your best, dear.”

“The hell does that mean,” Max asked, slamming her hand on the table, and she got sent to her room.  

“It’s fine,” Susan said later, wringing her hands.  “The garlic bread was a little burned, and I’m not sure those tomatoes were ripe—”

“She can eat dog food next time you make the whole goddamn dinner,” Max told her, crossing her arms, and Susan smothered a laugh.

“Come on,” she said softly.  “Sometimes being in a family means you have to weather a few storms.  Don’t be mean to your grandma.  She loves you.”

“Does she?” Max asked flatly, and Susan reminded her of the awful Precious Moments figurines she’d gotten for Christmas.  “If those are my May flowers, they were not worth the crap,” Max told her, and Susan flinched.

 Susan said it again, shakily, when Neil brought her actual flowers, the day after he hit Billy into her newly-planted flower beds.  Billy had stormed in, leaving muddy footprints all down the hall, and at dinner his shoulder and jaw were scraped up from the metal thing Susan had put in to keep the grass from growing into her bulbs.

“Maybe you should be nice to him tomorrow,” Max heard her mother whispering to Neil, later.  “Take him somewhere.”

“Maybe to the dog pound,” Neil said, laughing, and Susan winced.  

“That ‘April showers’ thing is talking about actual rain, Mom,” Max said later, and “What the hell kind of flowers could even be worth this,” and “I don’t think Neil’s showers are the kind flowers survive, Mom, he’s more like the kind that causes landslides, and floods the garage.”

Susan hunched her shoulders a little, and lowered her eyes, the way she always did when somebody was mad, so Max stalked back to her room.  Billy was sprawled on her floor, reading her Beverly Cleary books.

Billy hid in Max’s room a lot that summer, because Neil didn’t think to look for him there.  He’d knock and immediately slide through her door, or run around and stand under her window with a bribe—some cookies, or a cold bottle of soda, or the next issue of The Amazing Spider-Man.  

He’d been fun, then, twitchy and awkward, but he’d burst into giggles when she commented on her mom and his dad.  They snuck out and went skateboarding, even, and ate cheetos as they read Billy’s comics, kicking their legs in the air—until Neil threw the door open one day, and drug Billy out by the upper arm.

Max didn’t know what he’d said to her mom, but Billy wasn’t allowed in her room anymore.  She couldn’t even shut the door before Neil or her mom would throw it open, and she was half tempted to just be naked the next time, and see how they liked that.  

Billy looked away from her, after that summer.  When she finally grabbed him--two months in to the silent treatment--he snarled, watching behind her, and twisted away.  She tried to follow him into his room, but he called her a bitch, and slammed the door right in her face, almost on her hand.

 The night after she drugged Billy with the syringe for Will, she grabbed Steve Harrington, and hauled him back to the Byers’.  

“You want a ride back to your car, right,” she’d hissed at him, and Steve blinked blearily at her, staggering a little.

“...I guess,” he mumbled, as she shoved him in the passenger seat.  

 Billy was lying a little more curled up than he had been, and she ran around to get a look at him, then sat down almost against her will once she could see him glowering hazily at her feet.  “Billy,” she whispered, sighing, and leaning back on one arm to rub her face.  She was so tired her arms shook, the adrenaline finally starting to clear her system from fighting the monsters of Hawkins.  

Steve lingered by the door, frowning down at them, and Max squinted at him, half wondering whether she should try and get her absolutely loaded brother in the car by herself, or whether she should try and bribe Steve into helping, somehow.  Or blackmail him.

There were some things Mike had seen that might come in handy, she thought, considering.  “I know about the time you got dumped by two girls on the same night,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

“...what,” said Steve, who was pressing gently at his skull, where Billy’s knuckles had hit.  

“I’ll tell the next person you date,” Max said, setting her jaw, and trying to look like she could kill him with a shoelace.

“...what’s happening?” Steve asked, frowning at her.  “...what?”

Just then, Max realized she was so tired she’d threatened him without telling him what she wanted, yet.  “You gotta help me get this dumbass in the car,” she said, sighing.  “Or—or I’ll tell everybody I know you, um, you wet the bed.”

“...what,” Steve said again, and Max tried to be patient, since she’d seen how many times he’d been hit in the heat that night.

“...Max,” Billy mumbled.  “Fucking...bitch.”  He kind of half-rolled onto his back again, rolling his face away from her, and she slid a foot out and kicked his hand.

“Shut up, you,” she growled.  “I come running back here to see if you got your face eaten—”

“Whadda you care,” he whispered, laughing.  “You dun give a shit.  You wanted...brother like him,” Billy said, watching Steve, and Steve snorted a laugh.  “How come you’re never on my side,” Billy whispered, and Max kicked his limp hand again, sort of, her legs limp with exhaustion.

“Wow,” Steve sighed.

“Fuck you, the hell are you talking about,” Max hissed.  “You tried to kill him.”

“You knew,” Billy mumbled.  “Fucking...knew I’d get my ass kicked.  An’ you left the house,” he said, sighing, and trying to roll away, but he couldn’t even shift his body that much.  His hands twitched, and he groaned, closing his eyes.

“...I’ll help you get him in the car,” Steve said, and Billy sneered, laughing.

“Oh, ’s so nice, isn’ he?  Fucking...King Harrington.”

“You’re a piece of work, man,” Steve said, grimacing, but he helped her get Billy’s dead weight off Joyce Byers’ floor and down the steps to the cars.  “Want me to drive him home?  You get pulled over driving with him in the car…”

Max and Billy flinched at that.  “Fuck,” Billy panted, his face getting red and veiny as his head and arms dangled over Harrington’s back.  

“Oh, oh shit,” Max said, realizing she could hardly drive Billy home to a waiting Neil, when he was acting like he’d been doing drugs.  “We can’t take him home.  We can’t.  His dad’ll end him.”

“Like you give a shit,” Billy muttered.

“Jesus.  Let’s, um,” Steve thought, walking over to his car.  “You’re not bringing this jackass to my house, so don’t even—”

For a brief second, Max was so strongly homesick for the skatepark by their house in California she had to shut her eyes, imagining taking Billy somewhere she knew to sober up, somewhere with people who had nothing going on but a few skateboard tricks.  She groaned into her hands.

“Whoa, whoa,” Steve said, shifting Billy, who grunted.  “Look, wait, there’s—we’ll take him to the playground, okay.  When he’s sobered up some, he can drive you home.”

“What,” Max said, blinking as she imagined Billy going down slides.

“Just somewhere to sit that’s not Mrs. Byers’ floor,” Steve said, grimacing.

“...why’re you doing this,” Billy asked, possibly to both of them, and Steve groaned.

“No fucking clue.”

“Why’re you such a fucking asshole dipshit?” Max asked, rhetorically.

“Why d’you hate me so much,” Billy asked, as Steve struggled to hold him up and get the car door open, muttering, “Oh, I can think of a few reasons.”

“I don’t hate you!” Max shouted.  “I don’t!  Why the hell did you—why’d you try to beat up my friends—what the hell is wrong with you!”  

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Billy growled back, but he sounded tired.  “You’ve fucking...had it in for me for years.  Little...bitch.  Fuck...fuckface.”

“Shut up, dickhead,” Steve sighed, levering Billy into the passenger seat of his car.  He slammed the door, and patted Max’s shoulder.  “Follow me, I’ll take you to the playground.”

She nodded, glaring at Billy through the window, and wondering what the hell.

 By the time she pulled up to the playground, craning to see in the low seat of the Camaro, Steve was hauling Billy back out of the car.  “Let’s get you on the swing,” he was saying.  “Get your feet moving a little, maybe.”

“Oh look, she’s here,” Billy said, baring his teeth.  “Don’t you wanna take me home, Maxine?  Tell my dad about something I actually did, for once.”

“The hell are you even talking about?” Steve sighed, rolling his eyes at Max, but Billy was glaring at her, his eyes still red and swollen from the mess he was, fighting Steve.  

“You’ll find out,” Billy laughed.  “Once she’s pissed and she tells everybody you touched her.  Fuck you, Maxine Mayfield,” he hissed at her, his jaw working, and Steve stopped, staring from Billy’s drooping head to Max’s face.

“Wait, what,” he breathed, leaning warily away from Billy, as Max’s mouth dropped open in fury.

“I never said that shit, what the hell,” she growled.  “I don’t lie.  I’m not a liar.”

“I never did,” Billy yelled back at her, staggering as Steve held on to him.  “I never—I never would’ve—I thought we were friends, you little shithead, you fucking—”

“I never said you did!” she yelled back, automatically, then remembered Neil dragging Billy out of her room.  Her mom had stopped being nice to Billy, after that, she realized—she’d noticed, but she hadn’t thought about when.  “...Billy, I never said that,” she whispered, watching his set face.  “I didn’t, I—I never would have said that.”

“You told him,” Billy shot back, growling and waving an arm at her, so Steve nearly dropped him.  Steve muttered profanity to himself as he hauled Billy along into the playground, and a few more feet, to the swings.  “You coulda said one goddamn thing to me, I thought you were okay with me coming around, I—you fucking told him I was scary, you—you know how he was kicking my ass—he fucking...” Billy bit his lips together, breathing unsteadily.  “Why the fuck would you tell him something like that—”

“I never did!” she shouted over him.  “I never...I missed you too, you fucking asshole, I thought...I don’t know what I thought,” she trailed off with a sigh, realizing Billy was glaring at her even harder.  

“...you didn’t tell my dad...to make me fuck off?” Billy said slowly.  

“I missed you,” Max told him, sitting on the next swing, while Steve stood behind Billy, balancing him so he didn’t faceplant in the gravel.  “Dunno why, but I did.”

“...he said I scared you,” Billy breathed.  “You didn’t want to be in the same house with me—”

“I never fucking said that,” Max growled, spinning on the swing to kick his leg.  “You moron, why would you…” she let her sentence trail off as she looked at him, and he was wiping his face, and sniffling.  “...the hell would you think I’d lie to get you to stay away?” she asked, her own face reddening as Billy pressed his fist over his mouth to muffle his wet sniffles.  Max’s own eyes stung and blurred.  “Didn’t want you going anywhere, dickhead,” she whispered hoarsely, “—you had the back-issues of X-Men.”

“Holy shit,” Billy laughed like he hadn’t since they were kids, looking at her sidelong.  “Thought you wanted me dead.”

“...’m sorry I had to sneak out,” she muttered.  “I wasn’t trying to get you in trouble.”

“Fuck,” Billy breathed, “—I went nuts at the Byers’.”  

“You went batshit fucking insane,” Max said dryly, and Billy hunched his shoulders, glancing back over his shoulder.

Harrington stepped back, one hand out to catch him.  Billy clenched his hands on the chains for the swing.  “I got it,” he muttered.  “I won’t fall.”

Harrington nodded, and dropped into the swing on the other side of Billy.  “Nice little family therapy session,” he said dryly, and Max winced with Billy, remembering how Steve’s head must be pounding, and how he’d slurred his words, stumbling around because of Billy’s fists.  

“Sorry,” Billy grated out, and Steve snorted a laugh.

Max started explaining why she had to sneak out, stumbling over herself in her urgency, and Steve backed her up, just swaying on the swing tiredly, and kicking at the gravel.

“Fuck,” Billy started saying, as Steve described what had happened at the Byers’ the year before, and Max talked over him about the junkyard, and Billy’s eyes widened.  “Fuck,” he said again, “...shit, you...saved her,” he mumbled, like his brain was stuck.  “Holy shit.”  

It was getting cold, late at night in the playground, but Max didn’t want to leave, so she just watched Steve spin around the seat of his swing, slowly tightening and tightening the twisted chains until he let go in a whirl.  “Fuck.  Sorry,” Billy kept saying, wiping his eyes.

 For the first time, Max kind of...understood, what her mother meant, about the awful weather in April before flowers in May, because it wasn’t like Neil’s fucking raincloud was worthwhile, suddenly, but Billy was smirking at her again like a weight was off his shoulders.  He was kicking at the gravel just like Steve, two little kids, and he grinned whenever he thought she wasn’t looking.  

It was good to watch him bloom.

Here are my other Harringrove April prompts--DONE! 

[dastardlydandelion]

g isn’t for gun (edited)

 ao3 link 

content warnings: child abuse, blood, injury, character death

Billy’s back is against the wall in the garage, shelves of Susan’s gardening supples pressing painfully into his spine, taste of his father’s hand lingering in his mouth. The salty hint of the sweat from his open palm, the waxy residue of the polish he’d been using to clean his guns. They’re still here on the workbench, he was interrupted by a call from the school. Billy’s in trouble for truancy again. He’s skipped one too many days and he’s in trouble, and he can still taste the hand of his furious father as it balls into a fist and punches him hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs. His father’s knuckles plow into his stomach  a second time and he could hate himself for the whiny-wimp-bitch noise punted from his throat.

“Do you like making me look like a jackass?” Neil demands. “I think you think you do!”

Billy raises his head and finds his mouth go dry at the thunderous, dangerous look on his father’s face. Any comebacks he had dissolve in his throat and he. He can’t.

“Leave my brother alone!”

Billy looks past his father. There’s Max in the middle of the garage, lily white complexion budding rose red with a roaring anger too big for her body. She’s petite as is and appears even more so in her baggy skater clothes of choice. Her fists are balled too, held up like she actually wants to hit something. That scares him for her sake, for what Billy dreads will happen if she actually dares to throw a tantrum in front of an already irate Neil.

“This doesn’t concern you, Maxine,” his father states clearly and coldly without even turning around.

“Get outta here,” Billy snaps in agreement, glowering pointed daggers.

Because he can picture it in detail so vivid it’s nauseating. Max’s throat in the crook of Neil’s elbow. Eyes flooding with tears as the pressure goes taut. Max coughing and coughing when Dad finally releases, if she isn’t out cold like Billy is sometimes, on the really bad days. Billy returns his attention to his fuming father. Max takes a couple steps back. That's going to be the end of her involvement. Good.

In a distant way Billy admires Max’s grit and yeah, okay, maybe it feels good that she gives a shit about him, but Billy’s private sentiments don’t compare to his fear. His stepsister needs to fuck off for her own safety. He looks back to his father, meeting and holding his gaze with steel. Billy prepares himself for more yelling, then the unmistakeable cock of a gun has them both freezing.

“I said leave him alone!” Max screeches like a falcon, M1911 stretched out in front of her, bluebell eyes burning in defiance.

Now Neil does whip around and for a moment he hesitates, just as taken aback as Billy. His mouth screws open and then his face hardens.

“I said get outta here!” Billy shouts so loud it rips his throat. Max is one goddamn gutsy firecracker and he’d be impressed by the act of rebellion if it wasn’t bound to get them both killed.

Max’s blazing eyes flicker over the blood at the corner of Billy’s mouth and she holds her ground. “No! I’m sick of living like we’re in a prison! I'm sick of living like we have to ask him permission just to fucking breathe!”

“Maxine, you put that down right now or you’re going to be in a world of trouble,” Neil warns, dark and seething.

She responds by pointing it at his head. Neil growls, lurching right toward her. Billy suddenly finds the ability to move. Quick as a viper, he darts in between them, pushing back against his father. For a moment he isn’t entirely sure exactly who he is protecting and then he realizes it’s both of them.

Billy is protecting Max in case she misses. He’s protecting Neil in case she doesn’t.

“Calm down, Dad! She’s fourteen, she doesn’t know what she’s doing!”

“That’s exactly why she needs to put it down!” Neil snarls right in his ear.

“Get outta here, Max!” Billy shouts for the second time, grinding his jaw as he struggles to restrain his infuriated father.

“You ungrateful little brat!“ Neil roars.

“Move, Billy!” Max shouts, finger on the trigger.

And Billy does move but not quite of his own accord. Neil swings an elbow and the next thing he knows, pain bursts through his face. Billy sees stars as his cheek radiates white-hot hurt. Stunned, his grip slips. He stumbles and hurriedly scrambles back between his father and his stepsister, pushing at him again daring to imagine the fight going in his favor, if only he could take Neil on the floor. Before Billy can go forward with the slapdash plan in his head, there’s a noise not particularly unlike a firecracker on the fourth of July. It almost matches the stars as they recede from his vision.

Neil drains pale and suddenly stops resisting. Billy looks back over his shoulder at his stepsister, actually sees the orange flare from the muzzle as she fires again. Giving a startled cry, Max swaggers sideways, arms jolting with the recoil she was all too clearly unprepared for. As far as Billy knows, this is Max’s first time shooting a gun and that one’s definitely too much for her. It’s Max’s first time shooting a gun she isn’t ready for and Billy�� Billy realizes her aim, her accuracy, well, without any practice, it’s—

“It was an accident!” Max yips behind him, frantic, nearly as shrill as Susan in her distress. “Shit! Holy shit, Billy, you’re bleeding!”

Billy is struck with the realization of just how shoddy Max’s accuracy is as his efforts to restrain Neil turn into efforts to hold onto him so he doesn’t fall— so he can steady himself and remain upright. Neil doesn’t even push him away. He’s gone strangely silent, ghost white as Billy fists into the collar of his navy blue button-up.

“Yeah,” Billy mutters, vaguely annoyed as he blinks down at the egg sized exit wound cascading crimson into his favorite white muscle tank. The bullet tore right through the thin strap of the sleeve and the pristine white fabric thirstily soaks up all the blood that just keeps pouring. “You shot me.”

No way he’s salvaging this shirt. Strangely, it’s the shirt he’s more concerned about. It doesn’t hurt like Billy thinks it should. He feels like he got stung by a wasp. He watches connecting canals course down his arm, a small scale rain shower of ruby falling from his fingertips and pattering to the concrete. He just watches, numb, flabbergasted, not hurting like he believes he’s supposed to.

“Maxine, go open the truck passenger’s seat.” Neil commands, steely and stern but somehow the boiling rage of mere moments before receding to a different kind of exigency. “Now, hurry up!”

And for all her defiance just as recent, her palatable hate for their shared monster, Max immediately obeys. She slams her palm against the button to open the automatic garage door and limbo bends herself under the aluminum as soon as she can. Darts off, soles of her sneakers swiftly slapping the cement.

“Can I let go of you for a sec?” Neil urges. “Get you a towel?”

“Uh…no. No, sir.” Billy shakes his head. He thinks he’ll fall. He really does. His head is swimming and the bones in his legs are suddenly squishy as gelatin. He also doesn’t actually trust Neil not to go after Max.

“Come on, you can stand by yourself for a second,” Neil argues. “It’s just your shoulder, be a man.”

Against his better judgement, Billy lets Neil let go. The garage door is open now. Billy stares down the driveway and watches Max fling open the passenger door with the hand that isn’t holding the gun. She’s still holding it. Billy doesn’t understand why she’s still holding it but then Neil’s pressing a towel against his shoulder and now— now it does hurt, throbbing all the way to his back with the horrible and just plain bizarre sensation of something grinding like peppercorns beneath his torn flesh. Billy clamps his jaws around the scream in his throat.

“You’re fine, you’re fine,” Neil repeats with every step he shepherds Billy toward the truck. “You’re alright, we’re going to the hospital.”

“I’m really fucking bleeding,” Billy remarks and he’s not sure if he’s arguing or not, if he’s being contrary or simply making an observation.

Max is still there, wild eyed, M1911 foreboding and menacing and awkwardly large in her trembling hand.

“Put that back right now, Maxine,” Neil growls, practically shoving Billy in the passenger’s seat because apparently he’s not moving fast enough by himself. “Put that back and go to your room until your mother comes home!”  

Max takes a long look at Neil. Her eyes seem to shake in their sockets.

“I’m sorry, Billy!” she yelps and just like that, she spins on her heel and takes off down the block. As she pistons she picks up speed, legs pumping hard, arms swinging at her sides. She’s running away again. She’s run away before. Twice. This is the third time. Three strikes and she’s out. Billy’s stomach sinks with the dread.

Max is doing everything she shouldn’t be doing and he isn’t going to be able to protect her from the backlash. Not like this. Not this time.

“Maxine! Goddamn it!” Neil shakes a fist after her but makes no move to pursue. He’s still very pale. It makes the flecks of Billy’s blood on his face stand out that much more.

“I’m bleeding,” Billy reminds him and maybe that’s not what he’s supposed to say, not the tough thing to say, not the macho thing to say.

“Dad, there’s blood everywhere,” he continues and he’s trying to be calm. His voice is level and he tries not to sound like he wants to cry even though he kind of does and if he does, Neil’s going to taunt him all the way to the ER for being a pussy-baby-wimp-bitch-loser.

But Billy can’t lift his arm and there’s blood all over. His shirt is ruined and it’s in his jeans now, the towel in his hand has already soaked to the point of uselessness. His head is spinning and he’s terrified of what Neil is going to do to Max. Horrified at the prospect of being unable to do anything about it.

He doesn’t really get along with Susan but Max being spared the full force of Neil’s wrath is one of the few unspoken understandings that exists between them. But Billy isn’t going to be able to hold up his end of the bargain like this, he doesn’t think, or— or maybe. Maybe he can if he redirects Neil’s anger now. If he takes this opportunity to really get under his skin. It’s all that there’s left to do.

“This is all your fault,” Billy accuses when his father finally slides into the driver’s seat.

“Say again?” Neil seems distracted more than taken aback, clumsily fumbling with the keys.

“It’s your fault,” Billy repeats. “Max is just a kid, she didn’t know what she was doing.”

“Horse shit,” Neil growls. “You bet your ass that little brat knew exactly what she wanted to do.”

“Still your fault,” Billy challenges. “She’s right, we can’t even fucking breathe without your permission. You try to control everything…one of us was gonna do this eventually. If not Max then me. Or hell, maybe even Susan would’ve went Linda Couch on your ass.”

“Jesus H. Christ, I always knew you were an ungrateful son of a bitch, but to say something that disrespectful? After everything I’ve done for you, you'd say something like that?” Neil finally jams the key in the ignition, blinking like he’s dazed before he angrily starts the truck. He gives himself a shake as he guns it into the street, tires squealing. Houses blur past and turn into trees.

“Yeah, everything you’ve ever done for me,” Billy sneers. “Beat up my mom—“

“Hey, that whore slung her pussy every which way the wind blows! Hell, for all I know, you’re not even mine!”

“Oh, I’m yours, all right.” Billy rolls his eyes. He’s feeling woozy and his hands are wet and he’s kind of scared now, but not as scared of bleeding as he is scared of what Neil will do to Max if her fails to secure his father’s ire now. She’s in trouble either way, but Billy hopes he at least has a chance to mitigate the pain that’ll come her way if he can get Neil seeing red in his direction.

“Let’s keep going down the list of all the wonderful things you’ve done for me that I should be oh-so grateful for. Let's see, you broke my shit whenever I struck out at Little League practice—“

“You improve under pressure, Billy. That’s just who you are.”

“Broke my actual leg once, do you remember that? Back when I had my paper route?”

“…that was an accident...”

“Pfft. Barely.”

“You were kissing another man’s wife! What I did wasn’t half as bad as what he would’ve done if he’d been the one to catch you.”

Billy just rolls his eyes again. He could go on but Neil beats him to it.

“I fed you, I clothed you, I kept a roof over your head!”

“Right.” Billy huffs hotly, blinking as he lifts the towel to take a peek at his shoulder. “So like, the bare minimum.”

“Don’t get smart with me. You don’t have the faintest idea what it takes to be a parent. What it takes to be a fath—“ Neil breaks off, violently hacking into his hand.

Billy gapes at the saucer of red when Neil’s hand retracts from his mouth, the beads glistening in his facial hair.

“Whoa,” Billy gasps in realization. “Max shot you.”

“…yes.” Neil wipes his palm off on his jeans, shifts his eyes back to the road as he bitterly continues, “It’s a bullet, Billy, it had to go somewhere when it tore outta you. Bullets don’t pop like bubble soap.”

“Holy shit.” Billy has no idea how he didn’t notice. His father’s shirt is darker than his, but still. “Wait, should you be driving?”

“It’s not the first time I’ve been shot, William.” Neil keeps his eyes ahead but he’s so pale he’s almost translucent and a foreboding feeling grows deep in the pit of Billy’s stomach.

“Oh, Jesus, not that again.” Billy cackles wildly and it hurts, it sends torturous throbs all down his arms and across his trunk. His ribs stick into him like he's made of mashed potatoes and he cackles maniacally anyway. “You and your stupid wounded warrior bullshit—“

“Don’t you dare insult my service!” Neil forms a fist and Billy knows he’s going to get hit but then his father’s coughing into the curled fingers instead and it sounds wet and he shouldn’t be driving. No way in hell should Neil be driving, they shouldn’t be on the road, this empty road with nothing but trees on either side as the seats soak up their blood.

“I wouldn’t give a flying fuck if you had a hundred purple hearts,” Billy taunts scornfully and he’s never, ever dared to say anything like this at all actually, but if he doesn’t now, he never will and he’s feeling as vindictive as he ever has. His heart is suddenly as light as his head. Above all, he finally feels free and isn't his freedom what Neil supposedly sacrificed for?

Fighting for his freedom, that generously noble thing Neil did that supposedly grants him this unalienable right to pull rank above everybody else?

“You're an asshole, Dad. And I bet you cling to that military bravado because you enjoyed shooting people. Wrap it up in all the red, white, and blue you want, you bastard. I see you, I know who you really are. You’re just some asshole who likes yourself best when you’re hurting other people.”

And even though he’s still coughing and there’s red spurting through his fingers, his father’s eyes meet his and Billy realizes he’s actually hurt him. For the first time in his life, possibly, he’s actually gotten in a dig that had an effect, made a profound impact. For the first time the pain in Neil’s eyes matches his own and Billy revels in it right until the moment they swerve off the road.

Metal crunches like stomping on a beer can. Billy pitches forward, seatbelt biting into him hard, wounded shoulder jarred as his teeth rattle. It happens so fast, the cacophony, the heart-pounding moment of impact.

The moment is. Then Neil is not.

Suddenly the truck’s in a ditch and Neil is undeniably dead, slumped forward in the seat. The horn blares continuously, uninterrupted and earsplitting under the slack weight of his forehead. Billy reaches over and clumsily pulls him off of it just to make it stop. The way Neil’s head lolls creeps him out and makes him want to puke at the same time.

“Yeah, you’re dead alright, you bastard,” he mumbles.

He closes the lids of his father’s blank eyes with a sweep of the hand and swallows against the sight of his own blood smearing across his face. He’s still bleeding. He’s probably dying too. What a fucking crapshoot.

Billy feels cheated. Action heroes on the big screen never die when they get shot in the shoulder. It’s always a flesh wound. But Billy supposes he’s never been the heroic type anyway.

His heart hammers, chest tightening as he realizes he’s graduated from frightened to flat-out fucking terrified. He’s bleeding all over and his injury throbs with a diabolical vengeance. He could be dying. For a moment he thinks maybe he’ll hold his dad’s hand because he’s dead now, and he can’t swat him off, and then Billy realizes how goddamn stupid that is.

“You’re an asshole and I’m not gonna die with you,” he mutters, shifting in his seat, getting his good hand on the door. He gets it open and half-hops-half-falls out of the truck.

Hitting the ground sends a torrent of torment ripping through his shoulder and Billy lets himself scream. Pulls himself up anyway, stumbles to the side of the road with his hand clamped over the bloody egg hole in his flesh, painful sensation of peppercorns grinding together beneath the meat. He wonders if he should just keep walking…if he can keep walking.

Billy’s definitely dizzy now and he feels like he might fall over again because he’s pretty unsteady, uncoordinated. It’s a little harder to breathe than it was a few minutes ago, he thinks. It’s like he can’t catch his breath and maybe that means he’s panicking even though he’s trying not to panic, panicking won’t help and Neil is dead. Neil is dead?

Yeah, Neil’s dead. Billy won’t die with him. He refuses. He at least needs to get away from the truck. If he’s gong to die, it’s going to be at least twenty feet away from his good for nothing, piece of shit father who just got exactly what he deserved. Fuck you, Dad, fuck you and your pretend patriotic freedom fighter bullshit.

Billy prides himself on knowing he hurt him. That their last conversation was one where he was the one to render Neil speechless. The lingering satisfaction gives Billy a boost he uses to push on a bit further. He’s swaying like a porch swing before he sinks to his knees in the grass.

Maybe he just needs a break. He’ll take a break. Catch his breath and then he’ll get up again and…

And walk to town?

Check himself into the ER?

Shit, he’s fucked. Billy is so, so fucked, and the pendulum swings and he’s freaking out again and trying to get up and he never ever should’ve let himself sink, he should’ve known better than to let himself go down because it’s so much harder to get up this time.

Billy wonders about Max. He wonders if she still has Neil’s gun, if she’s still running around with her finger on the trigger. He wonders if she knows she killed Neil. Wonders if she knows she killed Billy because she did, didn’t she?

He can’t get up.

He blames Neil more. Yeah, he blames Neil more. One of them was always going to do something, right?

Billy understands, of course he does, how many times had he thought about doing that himself? How many times had he brought the muzzle to his own mouth and jammed it against his teeth not to die, he didn’t (doesn’t!) want to die, just to get away from Neil.

He’s still thinking about Max when there are headlights and people here, people he knows, Nancy Wheeler and her smoking hot mom. Billy blinks at them blearily, wondering if they’re real. When they begin to pull him up, his ruined shoulder screams and the musky scent of Karen’s perfume wafts over his nose, and it’s all too vivid to be a dream.

“What happened?” Nancy asks, Karen asks. Alarmed. More than once.

“My dad’s dead but it’s not her fault,” Billy explains.

They must know this, if anything, they must know this. If he’s going to die in the backseat, Nancy pressing Karen’s hastily stripped leg warmers to his entrance and exit wounds, then it must be known that he doesn’t blame Max. Because if Billy doesn’t blame Max, then maybe the law won’t blame her either. Maybe somebody already called the cops because sure, some of their neighbors are geriatric and deaf as all hell, but there were two gunshots and a redheaded girl taking off like a bat outta hell with a gun in her hand, and none of it was inconspicuous.

“He made her do it,” Billy emphasizes.

Karen’s pushing the pedal to the metal and burning rubber like a NASCAR champion and god, if Billy didn’t want to roll around with her before— if he survives this, he’s definitely taking her to a motel —but that’s not the point. It’s Neil’s fault. He practically did make her do it. Force her hand because he was just like that and the pressure of living under him just did things to you, Billy knew better than anyone.

“He made her do it, it’s not her fault.”

“We got it,” Nancy promises, voice weirdly jittery considering she doesn’t particularly care for him at school. “We got it, okay? Maybe stop talking and just breathe?”

“Bossy,” Billy mutters.

It is getting harder to breathe. It’s like he can’t hold onto the oxygen long enough before it’s whooshing right out again. Billy doesn’t understand why. He isn’t shot in the chest, it’s his shoulder, just his stupid shoulder, it shouldn’t be screwing up his ability to breathe.

Only maybe being shot isn’t why he can’t breathe, maybe being scared is why he can’t breathe. Because he’s panicking, right? He’s panicking, remember?

Maybe he’s outright having a panic attack. He’s had them before. He tries to drown the memory of them down with whatever he can get his hands on, really. But now he is undeniably scared. Neil is dead and Billy is still fucking scared of what’s going to happen to Max. She has blood on her hands now and they’re not going to let her off the hook for something like that just because she’s a kid, are they?

It’s mostly Neil’s fault but it’s kind of Billy’s fault too.

Max picked up the gun because Neil was going at him. And Neil was going at him because Billy skipped school. But it’s not like following Neil’s rules was ever a guarantee anyway. Fuck it. Sometimes it helped, sure, but sometimes it didn’t do a damn thing, how the hell was Billy ever supposed to know the difference?

Nancy’s speaking to her mother with something urgent in her voice. Billy looks at her hands. Stares at the glaze of red staining her skin up to the wrists as she presses down desperately hard on the sodden leg warmer bundled over his shoulder.  He wishes someone would turn the heat on. It’s starting to get cold, which is weird, because the weather is warm and balmy today.

He feels himself drifting by the time they’re at the ER. He’s only rudimentarily aware of the transfer from the Wheelers’ car to the stretcher. His own legs quaking under his weight and other hands on him. He makes it onto the thing with help and then there’s a shit ton of people in his face. They’re mostly yakking at each other and not him, but there are a few questions fired in his direction.

Billy manages his name and phone number and repeats as much of the story he’s sticking to as he can. It wasn’t Max’s fault. Neil made her do it.

More or less, that’s the truth.

* * * 

Billy feels weird. Surreal and vaguely nauseous. The lady in scrubs is so short, she’s perhaps not even five feet. Stocky and rounded with pudge next to Susan who stands nearly six and lithe— not in the least because Neil always rode her ass about staying a trim, presentable trophy wife —it’s sort of like staring at a shetland pony beside a hanoverian horse. Billy doesn’t mean to say this out loud, but he thinks he does because after the thought concludes, Scrubs scowls and Susan pinches the bridge of her nose.

“I know equines,” he mumbles. “My mom took me to the fair…”

He remembers it. That big barn with metal box fans and a rainbow of ribbons next to the horse’s names on the stalls. Mom holding his hand steady and making sure he kept his fingers flat so they wouldn’t get chomped by the velvety lips seeking treats in his palm. He remembers the warm scents of hey and alfalfa swirling together, wafting up his nose, the horses’ tails like paintbrushes swatting at insects fluttering by.

“Billy, I know you’re groggy, but can you focus for me?” Susan asks, lowering her hand. “Please?”

Billy blinks at her, shrugs his shoulders— tries to, anyway. It prompts a spike of pain through the left and well, of course it does. He got shot. That’s right, Max shot him. Wow. He wets his lips with his tongue and glances down, tracing languid fingertips over the thick bandaging.

“Feels kinda heavy…” Billy wonders how many layers there are for it to feel this heavy, just how much gauze and batting separate his fingertips from his wounds.

“You had surgery, hon,” Scrubs explains gently. “We had to repair an arterial bleed and the bullet broke your scapula.”

“My spatula,” Billy agrees hazily, attempting to blow a low whistle that comes out as more of a rasp. “Whoa…shit, surgery? S’it serious?”

In theory, being shot sounds kind of badass. Neil always talked like a badass when he showed his scars off. But Billy’s stomach is sinking, worry already resurfacing from the murky lake of his mind.

“It could’ve been much worse.” Scrubs gives him a pat on his good shoulder Billy thinks is supposed to be reassuring. Her hands are unpleasantly clammy and he blinks dazed eyes against the touch.

“Billy, where is Maxine?” Susan prompts, worriedly nibbling her lip.

“It wasn’t her fault,” Billy defends, vehement. “She didn’t mean to. Neil…”

Neil’s dead.

That’s right, Neil is dead. Billy snapped at him. And then he died. And a few things happened in between that. He shouldn’t have been driving. Why didn’t he just call an ambulance instead?

“…it’s his fault.”

“But where did she go?” Susan asks, each word spoken slow, voice a mix of fear and frustration. “It’s been hours and she still hasn’t come home.”

“Hours?” Billy echoes, blinking rapidly. “What?”

Doesn’t feel like hours. Maybe like, one hour tops since he’s been here. They asked him questions. They gave him an oxygen mask he tried to fight off until he realized how much better it made breathing. He was cold. It wasn’t Max’s fault.

“Ma’am,” Scrubs interrupts. “Your son isn’t—“

“She’s not my mother,” Billy declares at the same time Susan corrects, “S-Stepson.”

They stare at each other for a moment and Susan anxiously rubs her hands together.

“Do you have any idea where Max went, Billy?” she pleads. “This is very important.”

“No…but it’s not her fault. She owes me a new shirt…but she didn’t mean it. Neil was scaring her, Max just…” Billy trails off, worried about saying too much. Who knows who’s listening.

Susan sighs softly and glances away, visibly uncomfortable.

“I’ll help you look for her,” he decides.  

It’ll be much better if he and Susan find Max before she gets picked up by a cop.

“Oh, um…don’t worry about it.” Susan shakes her head. “The Wheelers brought you in, I know she goes to school with their boy, um…I suppose I’ll start there.”

“I’ll help you,” Billy insists because he was there, so his input is going to be key in keeping Max out of trouble.

“That’s not necessary.” She gives him a dubious look.

“You don’t think I can?” Billy challenges. “Psh. M’not a wimp, Susan, s’just my…my spatula? Gimme five minutes and I’ll be good to go.”

He just needs to find his shoes, or something. New shirt. Shirt and shoes. No shirt, no shoes, no service.

“Alright then, Billy,” Susan concedes to him, never was much for arguing. Shares a look with Scrubs and runs a hand through her hair. “You take your five minutes. I’ll pull the car around.”

Billy bobs his head, glad for her cooperation. He’s out and around more than Susan is, he has a better mental map of the town and where Max hangs out. Not only is it better for Billy to find Max because he was there, but Susan is bound to find her faster with his geographical guidance. Billy might be a little banged up but he’s not some useless coma patient. Max needs him to help find her and say whatever he can to keep her free. Max freed them from Neil and Billy is going to make sure free is how she stays, that one snap decision she made scared won’t end in their household prison exchanged for a brick-and-mortar one.

Billy waits until Susan leaves the room to close his eyes. He isn’t going to sleep. He definitely isn’t. He swears to himself he won’t. He just needs a moment to collect himself. Only a minute or two, just to get his bearings…

[yikesharringrove]

Billy gets turned into a cat because he pissed someone off. Max brings this stray to Steve's house because of Neil. Billy doing all the terrible cat things at first and not letting Steve touch him but warming up to him. Just follows Steve around, learns about them. Then he jsut does the dick cat hing to other people. Keeps sneaking into family video. The curse only breaks when Billy admits to himself how much he cares about Steve.

No monster au I guess? I honestly don’t know anymore but Billy never got possessed.

-

“Hey little dude.”

Steve picked up the little cat. It’s fur was thick and a light color, with big bright blue eyes.

He had found it screaming in the backyard.

It was squirming in his arms as he brought it inside.

“Where’s your home? You have no collar. You’re naked.” He put the cat down in the kitchen, opened a can of tuna for him. The cat sniffed at the tuna, tucking in to it slowly. “Naked cat, what should I name you?” Steve sang at the cat.

It turned it’s big blue eyes on him, looking at him judgmentally.

“Wow. You’re a rude naked cat.” The cat hissed at him. Steve pretended to clutch at a set of pearls, gasping dramatically. “Mind you language in my home, young man.” The cat seemed to roll his eyes at him.

He spent the night playing with the little cat, learning he was kind of an asshole, didn’t really like to play much, and would knock shit off any surface it could get to. (Which was all of them. All surfaces).

But it was nice having something to take care of, and he woke up with the little thing curled into his neck.

-

Billy doesn’t know what the fuck had happened.

He was standing by the Camaro, having a cigarette as Amy Whatever-her-name-is was sucking him off. He had closed her eyes, pretending the soft lips around him belonged to one Steve Harrington when she pulled off him, started yelling at him for not being into her. He had driven her home mad and told her she was a slut.

She had pointed a finger in his face, told him until he got his head out of his ass and admitted how he felt he would be stuck. He didn’t know what the fuck she was on about and told her she was a crazy bitch before peeling outta her driveway.

It was not his finest moment, and he was seething while he drove around.

He decided to take a walk, was chain smoking through Loch Nora when his vision whited out. He felt like he was hurdling through space for hours or maybe seconds before he came to his senses.

As a fucking cat.

He was outside of Steve’s house, and needed help, only to find that Steve was useless, gave him some fucking tuna and said weird shit to him.

The next day he went out for some time, coming home with cat toys, food, and a fucking litter box.

Billy was goddamn appalled.

He was expected to shit in a box and Steve was gonna clean it up.

That is not fucking happening.

-

He had been spending the week with Steve, had so far he had learned Steve Harrington is an adorable fucking weirdo.

He likes to sing at Billy, likes to pick him up, watch tv with the little cat curled on his chest.

He talks a lot, fills up the empty house around with sound, plays music and leaves tvs in different rooms on as he moved through them.

He would laugh at the asshole things Billy did, like pawing at the record player until it turned off when he played music Billy didn’t like.

And Billy learned that Steve didn’t sleep much. He would stay up late, lights flicked on around the house.

The first time Steve had a nightmare, Billy pawed at him, meowing as loud as he could, trying to get Steve back from whatever nightmare he was having.

Steve woke up, looking at Billy before bursting into tears, pulling the little cat close.

Billy purred loudly, trying to help, absolutely hated the way he his chest heaved, the way he curled into himself.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Billy purred louder, didn’t want Steve apologizing.

-

Steve had named the little cat Diablo.

The first few days were spent with the cat hissing and swiping at him, not letting Steve touch him and pushing expensive vases to the floor.

But the little cat seemed to warm up to him, had stopped doing little asshole things and spent most of it’s time following Steve around.

Robin came over after work one Saturday to meet the little fur ball Steve had been cooing about for weeks.

“He’s really cute, Steve.” Diablo did not like Robin, was curled in Steve’s lap, glaring at her. “Even if he hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you. It took him a few days to trust me.” He scratched the little cat behind it’s ears.

“Billy hasn’t been in Family Video in a few weeks.” The cat perked up at her sentence. Steve shifted it over to rub at it’s belly.

“Yeah. I know.” Diablo purred. “I don’t know what to tell you, Rob. I don’t think he feels like that about me.” Diablo twisted around, curling back into Steve’s lap, looking at him intensely, pawing at his chest.

“He flirted with you all summer at Scoops, Dingus.”

“I think he was just being an ass.”

“I know a closet case when I see one, Popeye. Hence why we’re friends.” Diablo stopped pawing at Steve, trotted to sniff at Robin’s knee, looking at her with big eyes.

“I’m not a closet case.”

“You were when we met.” Diablo swatted at her shin, staring at her. “He’s like a little person. He’s so expressive.” Diablo headbutted her knee. She smiled at him before looking back to Steve. “I mean, when I met you, you were fully lying to yourself.”

“I wasn’t really, I mean I always knew I like guys, I just never really acted on it.” Diablo came zooming back to him, batting at him, making little yowling noises.

“You didn’t let yourself act on it.”

“It just didn’t really matter. I like girls and don’t wanna get fucking killed for being a queer.” He picked up the screeching cat, holding him up to eye level. “What’s up with you? Do you hate me because you know I’m queer?” Diablo licked his nose. Steve smiled at him. “I’ll take that as a no.”

-

Steve Harrington liked guys, and by the sounds of it, he liked Billy.

Billy had tried to get as much info outta the two, but it was hard when he couldn’t use actual words.

He had thought Steve and Robin had been dating, had scratched at her a few times, only feeling bad when she waxed poetic about Heather Holloway, and Steve called her a useless lesbian.

But Steve was an option, if he ever figured out how in the fuck he was gonna get back to himself.

He ended up sneaking into Steve’s car when he went to work the next day, screaming at him from the backseat, making Steve jump and swerve a little, swearing as he pulled Billy into his lap.

He brought Billy into work with him, placing him in a cardboard box under the counter so he could reach down and scratch his ears.

“Why’d you bring the little demon?” Robin’s hand was rubbing at his neck.

“He snuck into my car at started fucking screaming at me.” Robin laughed.

“What a little hellbeast.”

Billy sat curled in the box, quiet as he listened to Steve work. He was asleep when the box started shifting.

“What the fuck is this cat doing here?” Billy blinked up to see Keith, Steve’s jackass boss.

“Shit, sorry Keith, He’s mine. He followed me to work today.”

“Jesus, Harrington. You can’t bring your pets in here.” He went to get Billy out of the box. Billy swiped at him, scratching his wrist. “Fuck,  get your asshole cat outta here.” Steve reached in with gentle hands, picking up Billy, hissing and spitting.

“I’m sorry, Keith-”

“Just get out, Harrington. I am so fucking close to firing you.” Billy went still.

Steve rushed out to his car, placing Billy in the passenger seat as he pulled out. Billy made a little noise at him, trying to get in his lap. Steve pushed him away.

“I am hanging on by a fucking thread with Keith. You can’t do that shit.” Billy made a sad sound. Steve sniffed.

“I just, I’m so shit at everything. Robin got me that job, and I almost ruin it all the goddamn time. It’s pretty much the best I can fucking get.” Steve let Billy slowly climb into his lap.

“And just, if I lose this job my dad’ll kick me out, and then I’m really fucked.” Billy pressed his head into Steve’s stomach, nuzzling into him. “Thanks for that. You’re kinda sweet sometimes.” Billy meowed back at him.

-

Steve had another nightmare that night, had curled around Billy and cried into his fur.

Billy had licked softly at his cheeks. The tears there. He wanted Steve to feel safe and happy.

These few weeks living with him, he had learned so much about Steve Harrington, learned that he was weird and sweet and lonely and sad and loud and so much more than Billy ever thought he’d be.

He had come to really care about Steve, maybe even, maybe even love him-

His vision went out again. He couldn’t feel his body anymore as his mind shorted out. His ears were buzzing when he came back to himself, breathing heavily.

“Um, what?” He turned over, saw Steve looking at him with huge eyes. “What the fuck.”

“Hey, Pretty Boy. I was the cat.” Steve shot outta bed.

“What the fuck is going on? What do you mean you were the cat? Why are you naked?” Billy looked down, putting a pillow over his dick.

“I was an asshole to this girl, and she apparently, apparently like cursed me or something, to be a cat. So I was the cat. I was Diablo.”

“And you, were you like, aware of everything that happened while you were a cat?” His face was red, no doubt thinking about all the little things he had shared about himself in the time.

“Oh yeah, Stevie. I know you pretty well now.” Steve flushed even more. “Know you have a crush on me.”

“I, I do not have a, a crush on you.” Billy raised an eyebrow.

“Would you quit lying to me if I told you I had a crush on you?” Steve opened and closed his mouth a few times.

“Uh, maybe. If you, if you said it again.”

Billy stood up, slinking towards Steve, smirking As Steve looked panicked, eyes darting anywhere that wasn’t Billy.

He pulled Steve’s hips, bringing their bodies flush together. He pressed a wet, open-mouthed kiss to his jaw.

“I’ve got a big fucking crush on you, Pretty Boy.”

Steve lunged, connecting their lips together.

“God, me too. I’m, I like you a lot.” He sighed into their kiss, his arms around Billy’s shoulders.