#parents! harringrove

[hargrove-mayfields]

It’s Harringrove Week! Billy’s Birthday Bonanza edition! @harringroveweek

prompt: 5 years old

warnings: there are a few brief discussions of a past miscarriage

—

Billy and Steve’s youngest child is turning five years old. They’ve done this seven other times now, the only one of their babies for which they didn’t get to celebrate this particular milestone being Summer, because she was adopted out of foster care at six.

Their wavy haired little girl is wearing a pink poofy dress, a gift to match the overload of pink decorations everywhere. Sadie is obsessed with Piglet from Winnie the Pooh, so of course everyone is required to wear little pink headbands with ears attached, and wear matching outfits. Dorothy is the only one who doesn’t have to adhere to this matching rule, since her feeding tube restricts the outfits she can wear.

To document the day, Steve has a camera, a gift from one of their friends as part of the group moving out of Hawkins clean up, set up on a tripod to the side. He doesn’t want it in the kids' faces making them uncomfortable, but he knows the hurt Billy feels being in his thirties now and having not a shred of evidence to prove his childhood existed. At least, not beyond the stiff, unhappy school photos his father had kept framed as part of the happy family routine he’d insisted on keeping up.

Their family isn’t like that. Both of them have done their damndest to make sure their babies got a better hand in life than they were given back at the start.

Sadies fifth birthday is going to be the best one yet for their littlest girl.

“Blow the candles out sissy!” Steve encourages her, after they did the Happy Birthday song in sign language, because all that singing would be sure to overstimulate her.

After a moment of placing her little hands on the table and hoisting herself up over the buttercream flower-adorned sheet cake, Sadie puffs her little cheeks and blows out all five candles, sitting back down to clap her hands together for herself, a proud smile plastered on her round face.

It inspires her siblings and her dads to cheer for her as well, giving quiet little exclamations and shaking their hands in a chorus of, “Yay Sadie!!”

Coming over to her, Billy asks her a question in sign, “How old are you now, Sadie little lady?”

Her developmental delay had made it hard for Sadie to understand these kinds of things at first. Steve has been spending a lot of extra time with her recently, teaching her numbers and letters and all of her siblings names. She even recently learned how to smile.

So it’s amazing when Sadie holds up her hand, all five fingers up, and announces her age with pure confidence. “Five!!”

Billy even catches a little glint of tears in Steve’s eyes. He doesn’t say anything though, and neither do any of the kids, though he also notices little Tommy, their always curious second youngest, checking on his daddy every now and again.

This party is probably the greatest damn thing in Sadie’s life since the first time she responded to her name when she was three. Standing there, hand in hand, watching their littlest girl rocking in her seat and giggling with her loving siblings, Billy and Steve could both about burst into tears, but, like Billy observed, they’re trying to make sure this stays happy.

Sadie doesn’t know the difference between happy tears and sad tears, and when anybody cries it breaks her little heart.

Steve distracts from the potential moment-ruining tear ducts, calling just loud enough to be heard over the kids chattering, “Cake time!”

***

Billy takes the job of wrangling all the kiddos into bed while Steve takes a bit of a rest after the party. He’s overwhelmed after today, all the sounds and sights, he’d actually tapped out of the celebration with Sadie on his hip before it was even over.

The bigger kids wanted to stay up a little later to burn off the sugar in their bodies, but Sadie was exhausted. He’d changed her into her favorite Piglet pjs, brushed her chin-length hair, and she’d fallen right asleep in his lap before he even got her to her bed.

He decided, after laying her on her pillows and pulling the handmade quilt up to her shoulders, just to sit in the little reading chair by her bed and watch over her. Not that there’s anybody around to notice, but he’s also maybe dozing off a bit every now and again.

The last kids to go down are little Tommy and Bobbi-Jo, since they share a room with Sadie and knew she would be trying to sleep by now. Billy brought them in, holding each of their hands now that they’re too heavy for his chronically out of place joints to carry, and they both climbed right into their beds without making a single peep.

Of course, two sets of stunning blue eyes peered across the room at Steve though, begging for nighttime kisses and hugs. And who was he to say no to his little ones, only 6 and 7 respectively?

After rosy cheeks were sufficiently smooched, and the princess night light turned on, Billy and Steve exchanged a look. Downstairs was still an absolute disaster thanks to the dropped pieces of cake, scraps of torn open wrapping paper, and stray streamers scattered about.

Without a word or a sign between them, the looks in their faces alone are enough to discuss whether or not they’re feeling up to it. They both think it’s best to just tackle it now before the kids can wake up and need something they can’t get to because it looks like a twister ransacked their living room.

They’re both surprised to see their oldest, named after their dear friend, Chrissy, up and out of bed and shoving deflated balloons into a small diaper recycling bag.

After a tiny bit of gentle, but concerned questioning, they discover their eleven year old just ate too much candy and gluten free cake. She couldn’t sleep thanks to the rush and wanted to be helpful.

Instead of forcing her to lay back down in her shared room with her snore-heavy siblings, Billy and Steve agree to let her stay up for another hour to help, but instead of asking her to do chores, she’s assigned to watch the baby monitors set up in the three rooms her siblings share. Especially keeping an eye on Summer and Joyce, since their older girl is prone to nightmares, and the latter has seizures in her sleep.

While her fathers take over the slow clean up of the birthday wreckage, Chrissy gets bored of watching the monitors in silence, and though she doesn’t take her eyes off the screens to keep doing her duty, she turns the volume up a little higher, and starts asking questions to keep herself busy.

“Since baby Sadie is five now, that means she has to start school, right?”

That makes them pause their cleaning. It’s a bit of a touchy subject. Steve has spent many a night crying because his youngest isn’t a baby anymore, and he’s terrified of handing over her care in the day to the school system that treated him so poorly when he struggled with the same things his autistic daughter is surely going to.

His comfort is knowing Billy, Chrissy, and Heather all work at the school in various positions, and can keep watch on the little sweetheart if she needs help. They’d done it for the other eight, and Sadie, although she’s struggled a lot, is no different.

Chrissy even personally offered to enroll Sadie in a new music therapy program, using her experience as the music teacher and the wife of a now successful musician to provide a new outlet. The school almost barred it from happening, figuring there wasn’t much their blind, wheelchair user teacher could do for the newest special needs case, but they changed their minds when Sadie toured the place to make sure it would be a right fit, and ran straight to her second favorite auntie Chrissy for a cuddle and a song. That whole situation was almost enough to make Steve decide on homeschooling his girl, but he isn’t exactly equipped to teach with his dyslexia and all.

But all of that is too much for their little Chrissy to worry or know about, so Steve simply answers, “Yep! In a few months, she’ll be in kindergarten.”

The limitations of their answers doesn’t even inhibit the number of questions she has for a second. She’s as sharp as a tack, and they’ve always encouraged her to ask questions and understand things in her own way, so she asks next, “So what will you do with none of us at home?”

“Well-“ Billy looks at Steve, and sees he’s already given up his task of folding up the plastic tablecloth to return the gaze. The only time they tried to talk about it, Steve had broken down into tears thinking about how much he’ll miss having his babies around, and spiraled into thinking about college and the future and grandkids. Billy takes over this conversation though and signs to her, expression casual so little Chrissy won’t worry, “We haven’t really thought about it too much yet.”

But their stubborn little girl already had an answer in mind, something she must have picked up from a tv show or other kids, “That’s silly. I’m a big girl now, so I know you’ll be glad to have the house all by yourself.”

“Bubba, trust me. Daddy is gonna be a wreck having an empty nest.” Billy answers with finality, about to change the subject for his husband's sake before Steve interrupts-

“I mean, the nest doesn’t have to stay empty though.”

It’s a good thing Chrissy was distracted by the baby monitor, probably watching her sister Carol roll around in her sleep, judging from the way she laughs every few seconds, or else she would have noticed the look Billy exchanged with Steve, equal parts shocked, worried, and intrigued.

They haven’t talked about having more kids since their last pregnancy ended early in tragedy. Some things, the kids just don’t know or need to know.

But they need to talk about what Steve just suggested.

Billy goes over to Chrissy and leans down to her level, both arms on the table to support himself, “Hey sissy?”

“Yeah, papa?” She looks to him and smiles, the little sweetheart always so happy to see her dads and have a connection with another person, the opposite of how Steve was when he was her age and afraid of eye contact. Sometimes Chrissy doesn’t like to speak at all, and will just make intense eye contact in its stead.

That warm swell of pride in his chest only makes him want to feel the joy of welcoming another baby even more.

Billy kisses little Chrissy's forehead and tells her it’s time for her to get back to bed, “You’ve helped enough, sweetheart. I bet you’re getting tired by now. I think it’s time for you to get some sleep yourself.”

“Are you sure? I like helping!” Their girl asks them sweetly, but she yawns right after she does so, proving she needs to get back in her bed.

It’s Steve’s turn to walk over and kiss her cheek, accenting his point with the goodnight kisses the other kids had begged him for, and telling her, “We’re super sure. Sweet dreams, little sheep.”

Hopping down from her chair with far too much energy for a little one who just looked so sleepy, she tells them quickly, in a combination of sign and speech, before she runs off to jump in her bed, “Night’ daddy, goodnight papa!”

Together, Billy and Steve watch on the baby monitors to make sure Chrissy got to her room and into bed, then resume their very important conversation.

“Do you really want more kids?”

Steve feels anxious now, coming up with some random excuse in sign to cover up what he truly wants, in case it’s too much for Billy, “Sadie needs me.”

“But it’s not like you won’t be here. You’ll just be here with a new baby in your arms.” Billy grounds him again. He’s always been so good at that, at being able to calm him and introduce rational concerns to Steve’s rsd brain. And he adds a sprinkle of playful flattery, just to make his husband smile, “New daddy Steve is the handsomest Steve.”

Even after a decade of marriage, it makes Steve blush. Flustered, he signs, a little bit wobbly in his execution because he’s so flattered, “Sweet talker.”

“You married me for my charm.” Well, that certainly helped, but it wasn’t the only reason. Steve still rewards the observation with a kiss instead of more clumsy words.

Billy’s arms wrap around him and, cliché as it sounds, the mess around them all disappears. All the stress, the worries about being the best possible, the fear of messing up; all gone in an instant. They kiss, and it feels like the first all over again.

Steve gets the courage to verbalize what he’s truly been thinking about, “I’d like to have more babies.”

His husband's face is priceless, filtering through adoration and shock before landing on a hint of concern, “Even after..”

The miscarriage, Steve fills in for him in his head. One of the absolute hardest moments of his life, tied only with the times Billy was in the hospital after his accident.

But he’s already decided he doesn’t want to carry children anymore, and offers the solution he’s dreamed about for three years now after losing their last pregnancy, “We can adopt. I always wanted to.”

He doesn’t miss the vibrant, shining look in Billy’s eyes now as his worry is cast away. Steve probably looks just as joyful and excited, though Billy’s focus was on his lips to make sure he could tell what was being said.

Then Billy asks, sounding almost breathless and whimsical, awestruck by Steve’s suggestion to expand their family again, “When?”

Those contagious emotions make it clear that this is what Billy wants too, and Steve swears his heart could just burst from happiness. He can’t wait until his longtime dream becomes reality again, to have a little baby in his arms again. To soften the intensity though, he gives Billy a more flexible answer, that lets him know he’s a part of this dream as well, “Whenever you're ready.”

****

It takes ten more months to find the right fit, the child who they can provide to the fullest for, who will not be afraid of two dads, and who will be okay with joining a family of eleven.

Only make it thirteen now, because in their arms are two brand new baby girls. Aurora, the bigger twin, is a little girl of jet black hair with a striking patch of white hair just in the center of her forehead. Waardenburg's it’s called, and it might cause her to grow up deaf just like her daddy. Her sister Briar Rose was born with a related condition that makes her skin and hair all as white as snow, and causes weakness with her heart and lungs. Also like her sister, she’s already presenting deafness.

The agency told them they were getting in over their heads by taking these girls home, but Billy and Steve knew the second they saw those fragile babies curled up in one shared crib, they would be their babies. Nine other kids all with varying states of health had prepared them for this challenge, and like little Chrissy said way back when, with the rest of the kids in school, they’ll have plenty of time with their newest additions, Steve especially while he stays home with them in the day.

It’s not even Billy’s birthday for another few days, but seeing all eleven of his babies gathered here around the living room in an assortment chairs and couches, cradles and a futon, and his gorgeous husband right by his side with a sleeping Aurora and Briar Rose cuddled up to his chest, that’s the best gift anyone could possibly ask for.

[harringroveera]

AU where Billy and Steve met when they were kids

[bigdumbbambieyes]

tw mentioned abuse

Billy always wakes up before his boyfriend and probably always will. But, he’s not complaining — he loves waking up in Steve’s bed, tangled up in the sheets as he blinks the sleep away from his eye. As always, he immediately turns his head and spots Steve there, his face pressed into his pillow as he sleeps soundly. The rising sun peeks through the curtains, spilling across his boyfriend, highlighting his dark hair a soft brown against the blue bedding.

Shuffling over, Billy presses a quiet kiss to Steve’s shoulder before untangling himself from the sheets and getting out of bed, pulling up the shorts he borrowed from the pretty boy as he heads to the bathroom—

And runs into Mrs. Harrington, who’s wrapped up in her house coat with rollers in her hair, cup of coffee in hand.

“Oh!” She gasps, jumping and spilling some of her coffee on the floor, grasping at the fabric of her housecoat over her chest as she stares at him. After the shock quickly wears off, she’s chuckling softly and sighs, “Jesus, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” he smiles softly, glancing down at the floor where the coffee spilled, “Was just gonna use the bathroom.”

“Yeah, of course,” she hums, but makes this soft tsk sound of disappointment as she reaches up to brush a blond curl back from his forehead, where he knows the bruise from his father is. With sadness laced in her voice, she whispers, “Again?”

“It’s fine, Mrs. H,” Billy mumbles as he looks at her again, gently pulling away from her touch.

“No, it’s not,” she huffs, anger replacing that sadness as their eyes meet. Steve has her eyes. Kind, but fierce. Caring. Worried. “Oh, if I ever run into your father again, I won’t be nice like I was last time.” Before she knew what he did to Billy.

But Billy smiles again, a little more amused, because she’s 5’4’’ and could be blown away by the wind if it were too strong of a gust, but she’s got a fighting spirit. He knows where Steve got that from, now.

“I believe it,” he hums, touched by the way that Steve’s family cares and how they care about him. They don’t have to, but they do, and Billy doesn’t take it lightly or for granted.

She gives him that sorry smile and places her manicured hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze, “You know you’re welcome here whenever you need it, Billy. Lord knows we have more than enough room for one more.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles softly with a nod, “And, thanks. Again.”

Another nod and she pulls her hand away, saying, “Coffee pot’s on downstairs,” before she heads down the hallway, back to her room to get ready for the day.

Looking down at the coffee spill, he lets out a soft sigh and frowns. If that had been his dad and Billy had made him spill his coffee, he’d be knocked upside the head. Or worse.

But, not here. In the Harrington house, he’s welcomed and wanted and the coffee pot is left on for him. He has a space here, whenever he wants it. And he always does.

As he’s wiping up the small spill, the door to Steve’s bedroom opens and his boyfriend looks sleepy as hell — eyes half shut, hair a mess, lines pressed into his skin from the bed. Billy stands and smiles at him, filled with warmth and affection as Steve waddles over to him and wraps his arms around him, pressing a kiss to Billy’s cheek as he mumbles, “Morn’.”

“Morning, peanut,” Billy whispers, wrapping his arm around Steve’s shoulders and pressing a kiss to his mouth, then another to his cheek.

“Coffee?” Steve whispers, pressing his nose to Billy’s cheek, his eyes shut again as he struggles to wake up. It’s annoyingly cute.

“Mhm,” Billy hums happily in agreement.

[toobusybeingdelulu]

the fact that they are standing so smugly against Billy’s Camaro is so funny because it seems like Max blackmailed him to drive them somewhere and he knows that they are not gonna move unless he does it 😭😭

[thedeepestwarmestblue]

Mr. Harrington scans him head to toe, giving his extended hand a long look and Billy feels filthy, though he showered twice before coming over. He slides his gaze to his son, a curious tilt to his head.

“I remember that name. Is this is the same one who gave you trouble at the beginning of the year?”

Billy goes cold, the smile sliding off his face. Mrs. Harrington drawing in a shocked inhale.

“Marco! He’s a guest —“

Billy drops his hand, kicking himself because he knew this had been a bad idea. Had told Steve over and over, ‘it’s not going to work, pretty boy, I’m telling you, people like you and me don’t mix’, but Steve wouldn’t have any of it.

Billy bows his head, hot and humiliated, tries to make himself speak around the knife in his throat, but Steve is stepping in front of him, defensive.

“Dad! Really? We’ve been over this! There was a misunderstanding —“

Lucia is next to him then, her hand pressing into his back, guiding him into the kitchen, apologizing quick and low in his ear. Leaving Steve to argue with his father behind them, his voice muffled as the double doors swing shut.

She continues apologizing for her husband as she fixes them each a glass of wine, her Italian accent thick, her eyes dark and tender. The translucent blood red liquid swirls up the sides of fine crystal when she slides it across the counter to him. A third glass waits for Steve when he comes in several minutes later without his father. The fourth absent, like she had known.

His face pink and frustrated, brows drawn together. He throws himself down onto the sofa with his mother with a dramatic groan, taking in a deep mouthful.

“He won’t be joining us,” he says, flat.

Lucia runs her fingers through her son’s hair and Steve closes his eyes, sighing. Billy looks away. Steve opens them, winces when he looks at Billy, apologetic.

“I’m really sorry about that, Billy —“

Billy shrugs him off, like ‘I told you so’. Steve sets his wine down slowly, the glass making a gentle clink against the granite. Looks at Billy for a long moment, concerned, lips thin and unhappy, then he turns to face his mother and launches into furious Italian, his hands everywhere.

Billy watches him, entranced, can only imagine what he’s saying by the expressions on his face. The language fluid and musical, clashing with his tone, harsh and mocking, his eyebrows arching, swooping, buckling. Billy can hear his frustration. Questions, the end of sounds curving upwards. His mother clucking, soothing him, a hand on his knee. ‘Lo so, bambino, lo so’, she repeats over and over.

Steve eventually runs out of steam, looks over to Billy with a grimace.

“Sorry … I’ll use English,” he says.

Billy shrugs, finding it intensely attractive. The wine he’d been sipping not helping one bit.

“All good.”

[fizzigigsimmer]

Don't Fuck With Dad

Also known as the ficlet where Billy accidentally becomes the guardian of a future baby and falls in love with his baby daddy in reverse.

The first raindrop splats against Billy’s cheek seconds before it begins to pour. Back home, Billy would have been able to sniff out the change in the air a mile away - that familiar scent of salt and brine that rolled in off the coast whenever a storm cell passed through.

There is nothing to warn anybody a storm is coming in Hawkins fucking Indiana. He hasn’t smelled anything but mud and cowshit for weeks, and the only respite he gets is when he is driving late at night, windows down, pedal to the floor.  

He’d ignored the first few drops and the heavy looming clouds because he didn’t want to entertain heading toward whatever lame hick shit the kids at school were getting up to. He sure as fuck wasn’t about to go home to Neil and his bad mood. 

It would be calling Billy’s number eventually, so why rush it? 

Except the rain was stirring up something foul - rot on top of wet  - the funk filling his nose. Taking a final drag on the cigarette between his lips Billy tosses it to the side of the road and rolls up his window before it can fill his car. God damn he hates this town.

The rain is really coming down hard now. Sheets of it blurring the lines of the road in front of him. He’s still a few miles outside of town. Thinks he’s getting close to the old power plant. There isn’t much to see on either side except for gray fields and the brown smudges of trees, either way but it still makes him a little edgy. He finds himself wondering about Max. Just because he’ll catch hell for not knowing if he gets home and precious baby Max is unaccounted for. Like it’s his fault her dumb ass doesn’t know enough to come in out of the rain.

Kid is probably fine. She is probably riding around like a queen right now in Harrington’s car with her nerd friends again. Which he isn’t going to think about, because he had new rules for himself since that strange night in October. Staying away from Steve is one of them, even in his mind. Especially in his mind actually. 

The irony is, he’s totally thinking about Harrington when it happens, but even if Billy hadn’t been distracted the rain was coming down so thick he probably wouldn’t have seen him anyway. The figure running across the road suddenly appears between his headlight beams and there’s nothing he can do but slam on the brakes and turn the wheel, hoping to god that he doesn’t hit them.

He does. The car slides on the wet pavement and fishtails to one side before he feels the ominous thud, between his palms and up his arms, his thoughts becoming a litany of oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

The body lays on the side of the road, a few yards away from where Billy struck it - him! Holy shit. It takes seeing the guys beat up sneakers and mud splattered levis for it to really sink in that he has just hit a real person with his car.  Like a live person, who might now be un-alived, thanks to him!

Billy’s knees are knocking together, his teeth rattling in his skull with shivers that have nothing to do with the rain soaking through his clothing as he runs over to the body. It’s definitely male - jean clad legs splayed awkwardly on the pavement, his toros curled in a fetal position. 

“Hey! Hey buddy, are you alright?” Billy calls, praying desperately for a response. Slides to his knees in relief at the body’s side when a pained groan reaches his ears.

Billy pushes at his shoulder to turn him over before he remembers that you’re not supposed to move an injured person and the man on the ground moans softly. The hair on Billy’s skin raises at the familiarity of the sound. And it’s a revelation, because there’s no reason for Billy to know Harrington by something as small as that - just a grunt of breath under the pounding rain - but apparently he does. 

Steve’s a wreck: tears in his clothes, scratches on his face and arms, and underneath the thick layer of dirt that stains everything else Billy spots blood. 

But it’s not just his injuries that unsettle Billy. It’s the strange lines on his face like he’s aged ten years since basketball practice. He doesn’t understand why Steve looks like he’s been through a war zone - or why he smells like absolute death. Billy can’t help but make a disgusted face at the stench of rot that clings to him as well as the slime - not mud - covering his clothes, and now Billy’s hands. Fucking gross.

“B-Billy?”

Familiar brown eyes blink open slowly and stare up at Billy dazedly, but before he can answer a sharp cry cracks through the air. An infant's cry. It’s so wrong and out of place that Billy jerks back like someone fired a gun. Steve reacts to the sound on instinct, pulling enough strength from somewhere to sit up and open the thick parka he wears and reveal the tiny bundle strapped tightly to his chest.

“Hey, hey, baby it’s alright. Daddy’s here.”

He makes these shushing sounds, rushed and insistent despite their softness, as he tries to sooth the baby. Tells the kid everything’s gonna be okay as he unwraps it, shaking hands feeling over its body for injuries. Billy just hopes it’s true. It’s so fucking small in Steve’s arms and Billy hit it with his car!

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Billy demands, swapping terror for beligerant rage because what the fuck is Harrington doing running across the road like that with a kid anyway. “I could have fucking killed you!”

The rant makes Steve look at him again, but it’s not with an expression that makes sense. For a moment he seems confused, like he didn’t understand the plain English coming out of Billy’s mouth. And then something like dread creeps over his face and he turns his head to look back at something in the darkness. 

“Billy.” Steve breathes his name like a prayer and it makes the cold hand of fear drag down his spine. Steve sounds downright terrified. Billy follows his gaze but beyond the glow of his headlamps all he can see is the dark silhouette of the iron gate that surrounds the old steel mill. 

“What? What’s the matter?”

Harrington doesn’t answer. Instead Billy suddenly finds an infant shoved into his arms and has to fumble not to drop the damn thing. It begins to wail again as it is handed over, but Steve doesn’t stop this time to try and soothe it. He wipes the water off the poor things face and presses one hard kiss to its forehead - daddy loves you - and then he’s pushing himself up onto his hands and knees and  stumbling to his feet.

“Wait a minute! Harrington what the hell?!” 

Billy clambors to his feet after him as quickly as he can manage without dropping the screaming baby in his arms, his heart sinking into his stomach because that sure seemed like a goodbye to him.

“I need you to take her.” Steve sways on his feet, weaving like a drunk and pauses to pant for breath before he looks back at Billy. “Get her out of here.”

“Fuck you! You’re not -”

Before Billy can finish, a strange animal scream rips through the air, chilling his blood. He can’t place it. Can’t say it’s a cat, or a fox, or a rabid fucking coon, cause he’s never heard anything like it before. It doesn’t sound right.

“Billy, listen to me.” Steve warns even as Billy demands to know what the hell that was. “Keep her safe. Okay? You have to get in the car and go. Right now!”

The thing is, Billy is inclined to agree. Whatever is out there in the dark making that awful sound is not something he wants to meet. But -

“What about you? Where the hell are you going? Steve!”

But Steve is staggering away from him, visibly powering through the pain as he runs into the darkness. Toward danger.  He shouts something over his shoulder that Billy isn’t sure he catches right. Something about coming back for the kid. 

And then he’s gone.

[intothedysphoria]

Winter had once again blessed Hawkins with frostbitten fingers and hazardous driving, fresh faced five year olds hanging outside the window on a snow day.

Steve found that winter had a certain charm. It meant that his aunts were going to call from Poland and he got to sit in front of a crackling fireplace with a blanket placed on top of his lap.

Steves boyfriend, one William Alistor Hargrove, was not a fan.

Understandable ice bath trauma aside, Billy just genuinely seemed to despise everything about the season. Halloween was ok because he got to scare the shit out of kids (fondly)and old people (less fondly), but Christmas was always shit.

There was always a brief card penned from Mary Hargrove, but never anything that meant shit. She never actually came over.

Steve tried to include Billy in dumb holiday traditions, racing backwards down a hill on a sledge, which had always been his dad’s favourite. There’d never be a rude refusal, just a kiss on the cheek and a shake of the head.

Therefore, Steve felt his surprise was completely warranted when Billy interrupted one cold December evening. He’d been staring at “Hanukkah” decorations on Target’s website and sending them to the family groupchat and Billy just turned up.

There was a haphazardly wrapped present tucked under one arm and a mumbled “sorry, I didn’t know if you celebrated Christmas” and Steve just broke.

He started sobbing on the porch, dragged Billy inside and they made out until Billy’s face was no longer an icicle.

A new tattoo adorned Billy’s arm, just under the skull. It was in Irish Gaelic, so Steve couldn’t read it but the knowing wink Billy sent his way confirmed it was about them.

There didn’t seem to be any deeper meaning about that December night. They watched The Producers on his moms VHS, Billy told long yarns about working at the pool and insisted point blank that he still hated winter, still hated Christmas.

He loved that night though, and Steve took that as a win.

[shieldofiron]

Stranger things; I keep imagining scenarios where billy lived. And I just really love the idea of him in Russia with old spice gang. I just wish there were fics of Hopper Joyce and Billy bonding. And than when he gets back and Steve sees him! Like at first Steve's in denial. But than Billy says it's really is me baby. And that's when Steve like knows and kisses him!! It's just some good with the bad.

Ok but imagine Billy coming back with fully THREE supportive Parents. And they all love him. And Hopper gives Steve the shovel talk because that is his BOY!

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

Maybe instead of getting better after Starcourt, instead of healing and mending that which has been broken, Billy just gets worse.

There’s no more playful grins behind cigarettes or keg stands held in good fun. No more speeding down empty backroads or engines revving in parking lots. He gets quiet, and that’s the scary part.

Because as soon as someone presses him to talk, he gets mean.

He outright says no when he’s asked to keep an eye on Max, because there are no repercussions anymore — his wounds from the “fire” haven’t healed just yet, and if he shows up in the hospital with new bruises over freshly cracked ribs, the doctors will suspect something.

So the most he gets is a glare from Neil and a stern do it or else.

And Billy, a believer of malicious compliance, picks himself up a walkie-talkie. Does whatever the fuck he wants while the thing sits on his dresser.

If any voices come through, he shuts it off, or at the very least tunes it to a channel that only he and Max use.

She knows better than to use it.

Things between them aren’t any less tense than before, but it’s different now. Now he knows.

So the playing field is even.

He doesn’t meddle in Max’s business, who she hangs around, and Max doesn’t burden him with asking for rides and things alike. Not that he could really do much with his car sitting in the junkyard — Harrington has taken over the task of chauffeur anyway.

Harrington, who apparently also picked himself up a walkie-talkie.

And who somehow managed to learn about Billy and Max’s private channel.

“Hargrove? You there?”

The voice is staticky over the radio, but not out of range. After the brief moment of shock passes, Billy rolls his eyes at the thought of Harrington parked down the block, sitting behind the wheel of his Beamer listening intently for a response.

Rather than reach over to his nightstand, Billy rolls over to face the wall.

His sheets have become more of a nest as of late. Gathered around him in piles because he prefers the chill on his skin to sweating beneath scratchy blankets.

He hasn’t changed the bedding in weeks. Hasn’t opened the blinds or really even left his room at all this summer — the pool has likely already filled his position. Not that he’d be going back any sooner than a year or two from now.

If he ever feels comfortable taking his shirt off again.

“Billy? Look, I know you’re there, man. Max said that this was the channel to reach you on, and—“

Billy snatches the walkie-talkie and holds the button down.

“Go fuck yourself. Over.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then static pours through. Likely the air conditioning in Harrington’s car.

“Touchy,” he tuts. Exhales a heavy sigh and blows a raspberry. “Don’t always have to be such a dick, y’know.”

“Being a dick isn’t something all of us have to try at, rich boy, so put your shit in gear and get off my block.”

There’s another brief pause.

“How’d you know I was in your neighborhood?”

“Walkies don’t work out-of-range, fuckhead.”

“Damn, okay,” Harrington huffs. “Sue me for wondering how you were doing.”

Wondering how I’m doing?

“Wondering how I’m doing?” Billy repeats.

He stares up at the ceiling, brows pinched together.

“Yeah? Y’know, like checking up on you?”

“Why?”

For months, Billy has done nothing but rot in his bed. Too sore to move, too short-fused to bother talking about it.

Too guilty to open any of the get-well-soon cards that he’s received.

Among the poorly-addressed ones with crayon scribbles from his former swimming students, he recalls one almost equally as poorly-addressed dawning the signature Steve Harrington at the bottom.

It was the only envelope he’d bothered to open. Practically had to rip it up with his teeth because of the lack of dexterity in his fingers, though, he never worked up the nerve to dial the number scrawled at the bottom.

Harrington scoffs over the channel.

“It’s like you’ve died or something, man. It’s worrying.”

Disregarding the flush spreading across his cheeks, Billy rolls his eyes and spreads out more atop his comforter.

“If you’re so worried, why didn’t you just ask Max?”

“If she answered my questions, do you think I’d be on this channel right now?”

Billy presses his lips into a line.

He knows he hasn’t been the best brother. Quite the opposite, actually.

But it still aches to learn that Max apparently refuses to so much as talk about him. Makes his limbs sink deeper into the mattress like gravity has doubled down on him.

Makes him want to shut his walkie off and never turn it back on.

“Well, you’re a few months too late on your check-up, Harrington,” Billy rasps. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head at the sound of his own voice coming out so wet and pathetic. “Walking corpse at this point.”

A beat of silence persists. Then the static comes through again.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I have a therapist that already doesn’t help, thank you.”

“Well, if you change your mind…” Harrington trails off. He holds the talk button down for a long beat, absently tapping his fingers against the door panel in his car. Then, he sighs. “Is it okay if I use this channel again?”

Billy’s vision blurs and he sniffles. Thankful that it can’t be heard by anyone but himself.

“Yeah,” he says, and his voice shakes with it.

And that’s how Billy’s radio goes from being dead silent to constantly filling his room with chatter.

It helps and it hinders all at once.

Billy smiles for what feels like the first time in over a year, and laughs, even. But each time Harrington tells a little joke or giggles over the channel, Billy’s heart starts to ache more deeply.

It opens up old wounds.

He feels like Neil knows, somehow, when they’re both in the kitchen together. Accompanied by nothing but silence.

Neil asks if he can babysit for the weekend, and Billy drops the mug that was in his hand with a shaky wrist, fearing an entirely different question that doesn’t even get asked.

When Neil would normally berate him, he simply watches the way that Billy flexes his fingers. The way that he makes a weak fist, unable to straighten his fingers completely once he relaxes them, and his brows pinch in mild worry.

“Still havin’ trouble?” Neil asks.

His voice is gentle enough that Billy’s eyes well with tears as he nods. Bites his lip to keep it from wobbling.

Neil pulls him into a hug and Billy sobs into his shoulder. Not because of the pain or disability, but because he thinks he’s let a hint of love creep back into his life after all this time.

Which should be a good thing.

For once, Billy agrees to watching Max, if only because he doesn’t have the energy to snark back right now. Neil pats his shoulder and gives it a squeeze. Asks if he’s sure, like it’d be no issue at all for him and Susan to cancel their weekend plans.

Billy can’t help that he huffs a laugh. Can’t help that it comes out sounding closer to a scoff.

Why be accommodating now, after a lifetime of neglect and maltreatment? He shakes his head to himself, and his expression must give his thoughts away.

Neil digs his thumb hard into his shoulder, earning a stifled whimper and another influx of tears.

Billy cleans up the broken mug and wipes the liquid away from the floor by himself, knelt on his achy knees while he’s watched like a hawk from the doorway. Like he might shove the glass under the counter if he’s left unsupervised for even a second.

Over the weekend while their folks are away, Billy takes Max out to pick up a couple of movies and get a few snacks with Susan’s car.

Since he so scarcely leaves the house, he turns a few heads when people recognize him.

None so much as Harrington, who gawks at him from behind the fucking desk at Family Video. Billy glares hard at Max when she smirks at him before disappearing to the horror section.

The brunet is a bit more rugged than Billy recalls. Has a stronger jawline and more hair. Lots more hair.

It makes Billy feel especially pathetic, draped in a t-shirt that used to fit his figure well, but now swallows him more than anything.

That heavy feeling droops his shoulders down. He shoves his hands into his pockets and looks away nonchalantly when Harrington abandons his station, leaving Buckley behind the counter floundering at the register.

“Look who’s out ‘n about,” Harrington chuckles. He has no issue reaching out and setting his hands on Billy’s biceps, moving close as if to inspect him. “Have I always been this much taller than you?”

Billy flushes red and straightens his posture. Brings himself back up to eye-level, which spurs a dull pain in his spine. He must not do well in terms of hiding it, because the brunet’s brows furrow.

“Do you wanna sit down?”

Rather than respond right away, Billy huffs and waves Harrington off of him. Shoots Max another glare when he spies her watching the exchange from behind a shelf.

“All I fuckin’ do is sit,” Billy grumbles. “If I knew I was gonna get a pity parade I would’a just sent the shitbird in.”

Harrington nods to himself. Takes half a step back and smiles.

“Alright with standing, then. Got it.” He tilts his head to the side. Eyes never leaving Billy for even a second. “Your hair’s grown out a lot.”

His gaze is a fond one. Like they aren’t in public right now. Like Billy is his damn girlfriend on prom night, and he’s seeing the gown for the first time.

Billy shrugs. Absently toys with one of the curls that dangles over his collar bone.

That weird pit is back in his stomach. The one that leaves him crying in the dark when Harrington signs off after hours of chatting about everything and nothing at once.

Billy wonders where he parks his car when they talk for that long. If he’s right outside or in the deep quiet of the woods, where the stars can really be seen and the train shakes the ground.

He’d rather Steve just climb through his window.

“I like it,” Steve adds. Nudges Billy’s elbow with his own. “It’s a soft look. Fits you really well.”

“Are you this nice to all the girls that come in here, or just the ones you wanna pork?” Billy teases.

Steve laughs, and it sounds so much better in person. Billy wants nothing more than to bottle it up and keep it forever.

Before the brunet can come back with a snide little joke of his own, Max meanders up to them. Holds up a few tapes for Billy to approve. Without really looking them over, he hands her the cash, and they all move back to the register together.

Steve rings them up. Max pays. Everything is so much slower than it should be going, like he’s trying to prolong the encounter as much as he can.

Billy understands the feeling.

When Steve slides Max the receipt, he’s less smiley. Billy turns to face the door, but doesn’t miss the way that Max nabs a pen and scrawls something on the slip of paper before sliding it back towards Steve.

Billy decides not to pry. Fears that if he asks, he’ll find that it’s some secret nerd shit that he can’t be privy to.

Fears that the heavy feeling will bear down on him again.

He doesn’t have to ask, turns out. The phone rings later that night, and Billy’s blood pressure spikes when Steve’s voice pours over the line.

“You should come out more often,” he says easily. “Really need some sun.”

Billy just tsks. They wind up sitting on the line for a little under half an hour. Billy wishes it lasted longer.

But he’d rather not explain the minutes away when his father shows him the phone bill.

Just before they hang up, after giggling at each other nearly the entire time, Billy barks out, “Don’t call here again.”

Then he hangs up.

Steve, naturally, gets on the radio not a few seconds later. Giggles and says, “Okay, dick. You can call me from now on.”

They stay up for practically the rest of the night talking.

Billy stares up at the ceiling and wonders how long this little thing between them will last.

He starts to question it more when Steve actually, by some miracle, convinces him to come out a handful of times.

The brunet is really touchy. Always has an arm around Billy’s shoulders or a hand on his back, and constantly bumps their knees together when they’re sitting down. Billy feels stupid for wanting more.

Why, he doesn’t know, because he’s fairly certain that he could ask for anything at this point.

Steve never calls again and that’s okay.

Billy prefers hearing whispers over the radio anyway.

It’s one evening in particular that Max is out of the house for the night, away at the Chief’s place for a sleepover, that the pit in Billy’s stomach turns into a black hole.

Steve has been ranting about his manager for the last half hour, only stopping to mention how a movie cover reminded him of Billy. How he couldn’t even wait to get home before he turned his radio on and pressed to talk to him.

The black hole consumes Billy before he can catch the words leaving his mouth.

“Do you like me?” he hears himself ask.

His voice gets choked up, and the second he lifts his finger off of the button, he rolls over and screams into his pillow. Quiet enough that Neil and Susan won’t hear, but hard enough to let a fraction of the tension out.

“Obviously,” Steve says. “Why else would I be friends with you?”

Billy presses his face harder into the pillow.

He can feel the pressure building behind his eyes. Feel the blistering heat of fresh tears and the throb in his temples as he huffs a strangled sigh into the pillow. Before he can even decide between turning the walkie off or fabricating a response, static pours through.

“Jesus Christ, Steve, he means do you have feelings for him,” Max groans.

There’s a beat of silence.

“What? Rea—“

“What the fuck are you doing on this channel?” Billy interrupts.

He can feel the veins in his neck straining from how hard he’s clenching his jaw. Can practically see red when giggles pour through the radio.

A red hot flush of shame paints Billy’s face when he realizes that Eleven is listening in too.

“What are you still doing on this channel? If you didn’t want us to eavesdrop, you should’ve switched forever ago.”

“How long have you been listening to us talk?” There’s a beat of silence. Billy huffs. “Max. How long?”

“How long have you and Steve been talking?” Max asks.

Her rhetorical question is accompanied by giggles that are cut off when she lifts her finger from the button.

There’s nothing but silence for a moment. Then two.

Billy’s vision blurs as he sets his walkie down on his nightstand. The cold fingers of embarrassment wrap around him and drag him down, lower than he’s ever been drug before.

He’s ruined everything.

His sister not only hates him, but she knows about him now, and the only guy he’s ever let himself truly like is going to want nothing more to do with him after this.

Not for the first time since Starcourt, he wishes that monster had killed him.

“Billy?” Steve asks gently. When there’s no response, he sighs. “Look, we can figure out the channel thing some other time, but… was she right? Is that what you were trying to ask me?”

Silence. Then, giggles.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I’m right,” Max teases.

“Radio silence,” Steve snaps. “Now.”

His tone is stern. Brotherly in a way that should be surprising, but isn’t, really.

“Signing off…” Max says dejectedly.

Astonishingly, the channel falls silent. Billy sniffles as he reaches over to paw at his nightstand, curling his fingers weakly around the radio.

He doesn’t press the button. Tries to swallow his silent sobs in a failed attempt to compose himself first.

“Billy?” Steve coos, voice much softer now. “If you don’t wanna talk over the radio, that’s fine, but—“

“Yes,” Billy rasps.

A beat of silence.

“Yes?”

“She was right.”

Billy winces at how broken his voice sounds. A whistle pours through the radio.

“Oh, man,” Steve chuckles, and Billy’s heart sinks. “The boy of my dreams wants to know if I have feelings for him? Are you dense?”

There’s a crisp millisecond of confusion before Billy presses the button.

“What?”

“Of course I like you, dude.”

Billy inhales like he just resurfaced for air for the first time in years.

“Why?” he breathes.

“You’re funny, smart, surprisingly sweet, and pretty easy on the eyes. Just for starters.”

If his heart was thumping fast before, it’s going light-speed now. All he can do for a few beats is focus on controlling his breathing.

“You don’t like me,” he murmurs. “Trust me, Steve, I’m fucked up.”

“You aren’t the only one who’s a little fucked up.” Steve hums a laugh to himself. “And I do like you. You’re not gonna be changing my mind about it anytime soon.”

“What if I told you to go fuck yourself?”

“I’d tell you that you don’t always have to be such a dick.”

A tiny hint of a smile creeps its way onto Billy’s face when he hears Steve chuckle.

His eyes are dry. The pool of dread in his belly has begun to drain, and he feels the slightest bit hopeful.

“If you’re so sure, then I guess picking me up for dinner and a movie sometime won’t be difficult for you, will it?”

Steve sighs fondly at the notion.

“Are you asking me out?”

“Are you accepting?”

There’s a brief pause. Billy’s unable to keep from smiling giddily to himself.

“Depends,” Steve lilts. “Gonna open your window?”

There’s a light tap on the glass. Billy pushes himself up and draws the blinds, revealing a grinning brunet standing about a foot below, holding his walkie-talkie.

Billy tosses his on the bed before he opens the window and leans his elbows against the ledge.

“Is this the part where you ask me to let down my hair?” he teases.

Steve chuckles, but furrows his brows as he steps closer to the house.

“Were you crying?”

Taken aback by the question, Billy wipes his eyes with the heel of his palm. Shrugs nonchalantly, which doesn’t seem to be the answer that Steve was looking for.

“I was expecting things to go a bit differently,” Billy admits.

Steve frowns, and the expression doesn’t look right on him. He reaches up. Settles his hand on Billy’s forearm, smoothing his thumb back and forth against his skin until Billy shifts to dangle his arm out the window.

The pads of Steve’s fingers are soft where he holds Billy’s hand, clasped and suspended in the air together.

Billy really does feel like Rapunzel for a moment.

“I can be a little thick-skulled sometimes,” Steve says softly. “You’re always talking about yourself like you’re some unsalvageable disaster, so when you asked me if I liked you, my mind instantly went there. I wanted to make you sure you knew for certain that I do.”

He gives a little half smile. Billy squeezes his hand gently. Hopes that Steve doesn’t notice how weak his grip is.

“It’s not like I really gave you any context clues.”

“True. You didn’t.”

“I am a bit of a disaster, though. Feels like I’m only good at messing things up sometimes,” Billy sighs. “Max already hates me, and when I thought for a second that you might too, everything felt so lost.”

Steve makes a face.

“I would never, and I’d like to point out that Max doesn’t either.”

Billy blinks. Huffs amusedly, and as always, it comes out sounding closer to a scoff.

“Pretty sure she does. You’ve said yourself that she wouldn’t even talk when you asked about me.”

After thinking on it for a brief moment, Steve laughs.

“Yeah, man, ‘cause she bites the head off of anyone who asks about you. Definitely told me to mind my fucking business more than once.”

Again, Billy just blinks.

He never considered that maybe it was a protective thing and not a shame thing. The revelation has a surprising amount of weight lifting off of his shoulders.

“Definitely sounds like her,” he says.

They share a chuckle. Billy flattens his other forearm against the windowsill and rests his chin against it.

“Thanks for trying to lift me up earlier?” he muses. “Didn’t really work in the moment, but still.”

Steve softly swings their hands from side to side and sighs.

“I can tell. Your eyes are all puffy.”

“Should’a seen me the other night.”

The brunet cocks his head to the side in mild confusion.

“What happened the other night?” he asks. “Didn’t mention anything while we were talking.”

“It was, ah… after we signed off for the night. It’s no big deal, really. I cry after most of our talks.”

Billy looks away. Steve squeezes his hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“‘S okay,” Billy rasps.

His eyes prick with tears again and Steve steps closer. Drops his walkie-talkie in the grass and reaches up with his free hand to cup Billy’s cheek.

“Oh, you’re just a big crybaby, huh?” he coos. Billy chuckles sadly and leans into his touch. “If I’d known, I would’ve snuck over here sooner.”

“My old man checks in on me sometimes, so it’s probably better that you stay in your car.”

“Well, do you have a curfew? I’d love to steal you away every now and again and kiss your cute, stuffy nose.”

Billy sniffles, and chuckles again. Wipes his eyes with his free hand and shrugs.

“Haven’t really had anywhere to go ‘till now,” he says.

Steve nods.

“You eaten yet?”

A smile cracks across Billy’s face. Steve mirrors the expression.

“You buying?”

“I’ll spend my entire paycheck on burgers and fries if it gets you outta this fuckin’ room. I swear sometimes it’s like pulling teeth.”

They share a chuckle, and Billy sits up. Flushes red when Steve presses a kiss to his knuckles.

“Gimme a sec.”

Again, Steve nods. He’s slow to release the blond when he pulls away, and Billy can’t help that he’s grinning like an idiot as he opens the door and pads out of his room.

He finds Neil and Susan in the living room watching tv. Makes up some lie about a few friends having a kickback. Even goes as far as to apologize for the short notice.

His folks share a look. Susan spreads a big smile and sets her hand on Billy’s bicep.

“No worries, sweetheart. Go ahead,” she says. “Have fun, alright?”

“Will you be coming back tonight?” Neil asks.

Billy stays quiet for a moment. Then two, just processing, and eventually shakes his head.

“It’ll probably be too late,” he says, and clears his throat. “I have somewhere else lined up, though.”

He winces at his own words, regret beading on his skin like a cold sheen of sweat.

Neil nods. Turns his attention back to the tv.

“Just stay outta trouble.”

And that’s it.

Nothing more is said, but Billy still stands there like he’s waiting for something else to happen.

When nothing does, he nods curtly and pads back down the hallway to his room, deciding not to press his luck by letting them think too hard on it. Once he has the door shut behind him, he’s immediately leaning out the window again.

Steve has his walkie back in his hands, rocking back and forth patiently on the balls of his feet while he waits. He smiles when he notices that the blond has reappeared.

“What’d they say?”

“Go get your car, I’ll be ready by the time you pull up.”

Billy leans back. Grabs the window and shuts it just as Steve nods enthusiastically. Turns on his heel and jogs off of the lawn and back towards the street.

Giddy, warm feelings pool and buzz in Billy’s stomach as he digs through his drawers for jeans that he hasn’t worn in forever. Already has a date-worthy outfit in mind as he unfolds a pair.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when static pours through the radio still sitting idly on his bed.

“Update?” Max asks.

Billy rolls his eyes. Moves to grab it when another voice comes through.

“We’re goin’ steady,” Steve informs, out of breath.

“Yes!” Max shouts.

Then, a third voice comes through.

“Finally! Jesus,” Dustin huffs.

There’s a beat of silence, followed by Steve panting when he presses the talk button.

“How many of you dickheads are on this channel?”

“Just two?” Mike says. “Technically, since we’re only using two walkie’s.”

There’s laughter over the radio, and Billy rolls his eyes. Can’t really find it in himself to be mad right now with all of the butterflies swirling in his tummy.

“You’re all banned from the front seat of my car,” Steve huffs. “And the wedding, when it happens.”

“No! I wanted to be the flower girl!” Eleven whines.

“I was gonna walk you down the aisle,” Dustin adds.

“Good luck finding another officiant, then, I guess,” Lucas says with a scoff.

More laughter is had. Max and Mike chime in with various jokes about ring-bearers and bridesmaids, but they’re cut off when Steve presses to talk again.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I highly recommend switching channels.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” Max muses.

Billy can practically hear the smirk in Steve’s voice when he speaks next.

“‘Cause I’m gonna start using this one for sex stuff, and it’s gonna get real weird real fast, so be warned.”

Multiple groans and sounds of disgust pour through the radio.

“Yuck,” Max says. “Switching channels.”

“Ditto,” Dustin adds.

Then silence. True silence.

Billy grabs his walkie.

“We really gonna have phone sex over the radio?” he muses.

Steve laughs. The subtle rumble of the engine is audible from the street as his car pulls up to the curb.

“Not if you hurry up and get your ass out here already.”

The blond bites his lip. Can’t believe for the life of him how light he feels. How, for once, he feels better for having survived car wrecks and slimy monsters in the dark.

Feels like letting someone new into his life won’t cause him grief this time around.

“On my way, pretty boy.”

[lovebillyhargrove]

such pitch black tragedy that is billy hargrove's life

thank you, show creators, for reminding us of harsh reality - where children get treated like trash, and nothing ever happens

[ickypuppi3]

the breakfast club au steve and billy as claire and bender my beloved

[ghostlynimbus]

I want Steve to get a job as a dog sitter/ dog walker

[harringroveera]

Nancy: I didn’t exactly have the best parental role models with Ted and Karen

Billy: Yeah, like Neil was a fuckin’ dream parent?

Nancy: In a way, Karen is worse

Billy: Neil is worse in every possible way, Wheeler

Nancy: Karen!

Billy: Neil!

Nancy: Karen!

Billy: Neil!

[bigdumbbambieyes]

imagining Steve and Billy becoming frenemies to lovers, but in that transitional period where they’re just starting to do sleepovers and cuddling and kissing and stuff, Steve’s parents are home for a week and during that week they get to know the boy who’s become their son’s best friend.

and Billy’s charming, he stays for dinner and helps clean up afterward, he and Steve watch the game with Mr. Harrington sometimes, they roughhouse in the hallways while Mrs. Harrington yells at them to take it outside or to quiet down - just teenage fun. things best friends do in front of their parents.

and it’s nice. because Billy doesn’t have this easiness with his own family, he isn’t allowed to just relax and move easily through a home, he doesn’t get easy affection like he does when Steve kisses his cheek in private or when Mrs. Harrington gives his arm a gentle squeeze in silent ‘thanks’ for drying the dishes, or a friendly pat on the back when he helps Mr. Harrington out around the house.

it’s kinda weird, too. being in a home that isn’t filled with constant tension. yeah, the Harringtons all argue, like how Steve talks back to his parents and how his parents argue with each other. but, it’s never bad. no one ever gets hit. and it’s weird.

Billy’s favourite memory, though, is when Steve spent just a little bit too much money on his daddy’s credit card and Mr. Harrington gave him a full-on lecture in front of Billy, telling him to ‘not waste money on dumb shit Steven’, even though it’s literally just food and movies and stuff for the two of them when Mr. & Mrs. Harrington are out of town for one of those business trips.

and sure, Steve’s dad has been unknowingly paying for their dates for a month, but there’s no harm in that, right? they should be happy their son found a boy his age to hang out with!

after the verbal lashing, Steve is as red as a tomato and groaning his embarrassment out into his hands as they cover his face, all while Billy laughs at him for getting caught and fucking chewed out over it like a little kid.

the cute pout-glare combo that Steve gives him makes him laugh even harder and he makes sure to slow his giggles enough to kiss that pretty pout off Steve’s face.

[lorifragolina]

Steve's parents come home a day before planned and catch Billy at the pool with one of those crop tops (obviously pink)

[rascheln]

In some alternate universe it's Neil who gets possessed and Billy teams up with the others to stop him and the mindflayer, just to distract his dad long enough that El can get in the finishing blow. And maybe he stays with the Mayfields officially, but he drops by Steve's place an awful lot. They drink. They talk. Their rivalry sort of reemerges in the form of them playing basketball and going swimming and ribbing each other mercilessly, just to drive back to Steve's place for pizza and a movie.

While they talk, Billy drops some of the facade he's had on for so long and regales Steve with one shitty restriction after another his dad used to pull on him. Of course Steve's being a bit awkward about how to deal with Billy being a bit (a lot) fucked in the head over his very dead dad for a while, because Billy hated Neil so much and was hurt so much, but he also craved his approval constantly. All he can do is say "wow, what an asshole" and make the dumbest jokes imaginable in the hopes that that's enough and it may not magically fix things but it certainly helps.

It breaks the tension. It helps make Billy crack up when he looks like he's about to cry.

Enough time spent in each other's pockets also brings the frustrating, yet somewhat hilarious realization that Steve, in turn, is also woefully blind to his own family's unique levels of shittyness. Solving problems with money and telling their son to get a job instead of checking in why he's in such a slump? Consistently talking about other people's achievements just to throw Steve judging glances? The drawn out absences and silence between then?

"Oh, that's just how they are," Steve shrugs, leaned casually against the Family Video counter as Robin shares an understanding look with Billy over Steve's shoulders.