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strangerchurby · 22 days ago

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Part three on post-Starcourt werewolf Billy. Hope you enjoy. sorry this one is longer, oops Original Idea/Steve Post by @shieldofiron [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ Here ] [ 4 ] [ 5 ] [ 6 ] [ 7 ] [ 8 ]

Or Read on Ao3

'I don't understand.'

If he really thought of it Billy might realize he's never really understood anything that happened around him. He didn't understand why his father didn't love him. He didn't understand why his father was angry all the time. He didn't understand why his mother both hated his father and feared him. He didn't understand why she let him do the things he did for so long, or why she took so long to fight back when his father tries to hurt her.

Most of all, he doesn't know why he's alone right now, sitting with his back against their bed, knees curled up against his chest, phone to his ear. He's not supposed to be in his parents' room. He's not supposed to be on the phone without permission. He's not supposed to talk to his mom.

There are a lot of things he's not supposed to do that he's up to right now.

'Why not?' his voice continues without pause.

'Oh Billy,' she answers with her voice sounding all wrong.

It's tight like how it gets when she's been crying. When she's sad. When his father said or did something that kept her in bed for days. Like when she's tired and his father insists that she drinks she drinks the tea that smells bitter and green and a bit like the stuffing she made from the box at Thanksgiving.

'Oh Billy, it's just how it has to be right now. It's... it's better for all of us this way. Safer. For me. And especially for you. I'm so sorry, baby.'

Safer? How was any of this safer? Billy already has bruises on his upper arm from where his father grabbed him last night, shaking him, demanding to know where Mom was. Of course Billy hadn't told him. Easy not to do it when he didn't know. But he also hadn't told his father that once, a while ago, there had been a man at the door while his Dad was at work. Billy had been home sick from school that day, he was supposed to be sleeping. He had woken up when someone knocked, and peeked quietly out through his cracked open door to watch his mother talking to the man there. A big, tall, golden haired man, with eyes as blue as Billy's own, as blue as his mother's.

He had watched as the man shook his head in frustration, and while he couldn't hear the words, he'd seen when the man had finally shoved something into his Mom's hands before leaving. Watched as she balled it up and walked to the kitchen where the trash was. Later, when he'd fished it out, Billy had found a phone number on it.

Sneaking out of school to come home and make the call had been a long shot. One that didn't seem to be paying off.

'Please Mom, don't do this. Please come home.'

For a second he thinks he hears her crying. For a second he thinks he hears another voice mumbling to her in the background.

'Baby, I can't right now. We're... we're just going to have to be apart for a little while. But not forever. I promise you, not forever.'

Her voice sounds all watery. It makes him think of slaps across the face and thrown plates and stomped on toys.

'No!' he reacts without thinking, speaks without thought.

And then, 'How long?' he demands.

'How long?' he asks again, fruitlessly, as the call disconnects.

He didn't even get to say goodbye.

And Billy keeps sitting there, phone pressed to his ear, hoping it wasn't true. That his Mom's voice will come back.

In the end he doesn't bother calling again. The man who answered the first time hadn't been happy to hear his voice after all. And something tells him his mom won't be the one to answer.

For a moment, though, he thinks about that voice. The way it had growled at him when he asked if she was there. How it had curled with disgust around the word 'whelp' when he called for Billy's mother.

For the first time, he thinks he understands the words that voice mumbled while his mother couldn't speak for her tears though.

'He isn't like us. You need to let him go.'

Wait. First time?

Yes. The first time. He has never heard them before, never understood them.

The realization jars him right out of sleep. Long habit keeps him from flinching awake, cautious of any potential injuries or discomfort it might stir back to life. With his eyes closed Billy lays there, trying to call back the dream, to understand what had made it different. Because of course it isn't a new dream. It's one that had plagued him for years. Actually it's less of a dream and more of a memory, one that the thing that took over his mind had pulled out of him and used to remind him that he wasn't wanted by anyone other than the voice. The voice that had purpose for him. The voice that only hurt him when he disappointed it.

In retrospect, the force in his head and Neal actually had a bit in common.

This was the first time the dream-memory had been different, and that's really what he wanted to focus in on. Had he ever heard the strange man's words before? The man that, through the fog of distant memory looked half familiar. No, not familiar... He had never known the man, that much he was certain of. But he had looked a lot like Billy did now, when he thought about it.

That's not relevant, he reminds himself, shaking his head a little to try and drive the thought away.

Which of course was what brought him back to the change. He could feel the way that the bulk of his fur moved around his face and head. The flopping of his far bigger and differently placed ears was pretty noticeable too.

Right. wolf. Fuck.

Billy opened his eyes at last and took in the scenery around him. By the light of day it's different from what he'd remembered the night before. Then again things were pretty blurry there from the end. Whether it had been his pain refusing to be ignored anymore, fatigue setting in from running for until nearly sunrise to put as much distance between his captors and himself as possible, or just some shut down from how overwhelming everything had been over the last few days he couldn't be sure. All he really remembered toward the end was splashing through a creek, racing through trees, and finally collapsing with his back to a large boulder.

Even now he lay there, he could feel the massive rock at his back, slowly warming as the overhead sun baked its surface. It was about the only comforting thing he had available to him right now. The mass of trees around him weren't really all that familiar, especially since there hadn't been any parties in the woods around Hawkins since Billy had moved there. Something about hunters going missing that Billy thought he had heard from Carol, or maybe it was one of the other vapid cows at school.

Slowly Billy shifted his body, changing position from where he's just flopped down on one side. The motion sent a flare of pain through his whole body, and a shameful noise that could only be called a whimper slipped past his lips. The noise was so pathetic that he felt disgusted by it and a growl of distaste escaped him.

Great. Involuntary ear movements, involuntary noises, a tail that he could already feel thumping weakly behind him. Was there any part of this that was going to play to his advantage?

At least by the light of day he could take a little better look at himself. Billy slowly, achingly, pushed himself up until he was sitting on his haunches, and twisted his head around to regard himself. Blood still matted his fur along his sides, now with dirt and stray leaves and twigs mixed in, but at least he could make out his apparently odd fur color.

He'd expected a strange shade of gray, or maybe something toward black given how all the blood that had run from him when the monster attacked him was that color. Instead he found something more in the range of a golden brown, maybe a bit lighter in shade. Somewhere between the color his hair bleached out to after a long summer at the beach, and the beautiful shade of pale gold his mother's hair had been.

Just thinking about her makes Billy huff and lower himself back down to his belly, stretching his paws out before himself to cushion his head.

Guess he was wrong, Mom. I am like you.

Because that's the only way Billy can make all of this change and the thoughts that go with it make sense. Whatever explained that monster that attacked him was clearly one thing, and this was clearly another. No amount of drinking dangerous chemicals and kidnapping people, and being ousted for control of his own mind and body could account for waking up as a massive wolf.

Werewolf, he corrects himself, because there was no sensible answer other than that. It felt right, even if the shape he was in didn't fit the way movies depicted it, and he sure as hell wasn't bitten by anything other than a people-slush monster, and there definitely wasn't a full moon right now as far as he knew. But it felt right, felt as plain to him as the nose on his snout on the ears on his head.

It's just as clear to him that since there wasn't any biting or something, he was born like this. The only explanation for that is that it comes from his parents, and even that's simple math to do. His mom is one, his father isn't. Because if his father was there was absolutely no chance that Neal would not have used this on him. Wolves ran in packs, after all, and packs had leaders. If there was another way that his father could assert dominance over him, he would have done it. So his dad can't be the source of his change. Probably doesn't even know about it. Which leaves his missing mother.

Except...

The train of thought is harshly derailed by a noise off to Billy's side. A rush of wind and the rustling of feathers, and a loud, sharp caw far too close for comfort.

Billy opens his eyes again, hadn't even realized he'd closed them, and looks. Perched on a smaller rock not two feet from his face is the offending bird. The crow regards him intensely, its dark and beady eyes watching. It turns its head first one way and then the other, like looking at him with only one eye at a time will make him easier to see. Probably does if the bird is doing it.

Again the bird caws, this time louder, sharper, enough for Billy to flinch back just a little from the noise. Adjusting to how sensitive his ears were was going to be a thing, isn't it? He doesn't like it, especially given how the bird almost seemed to know just how to pitch the noise to make his head hurt.

Great, wolves can get headaches. Who knew?

Billy growls, a low and rumbling thing that pairs with his lips lifting just enough to showcase his teeth. The bird, unbothered, hops down from its perch and bounces an extra few inches closer. It's ballsy, Billy will give it that. Surely it should be scared of a predator like he looks like. Important words there, actually. Billy doesn't know if he could hunt to save his life. Which he supposes, if he stays free and survives the next day or so, he's going to have to test. Either way, the bird is either brave or dumb or just gives no fucks because it bounces closer again, with another angry caw.

Again Billy shifts, moving weight forward on his legs to get into a low crouch. Hopefully the position is threatening, though from how the bird doesn't flinch back or fly away, he doubts it. What is making it so brazen? How can it be so...?

Oh.

Right.

The blinding flare of pain in the side he had slept on explains everything. He's still injured. Badly so. How he's alive remains a mystery (do werewolves have better healing, was that how he survived), but he's still injured. And what had his biology teacher said about the nature of the animal kingdom? Shit, maybe he should have paid attention. Something about crows being opportunistic he thinks. That they'll eat anything they can get a chance at, even carrion.

Carrion being dead things.

Dead things being something he very well could be in the next few hours.

Wonderful.

Well, all he can hope to do right now is drive the bird off, to show it he isn't dead yet. So Billy snaps forward with his teeth. Snaps and snarls like he did at the cowardly man the night before. The one that stank of fear and piss in the end.

The bird doesn't even flinch. It watches his display with a bored air, like it's seen a thousand giant, wounded, golden wolves in the woods before. Like he's just another bloody mess.

It's more of a blow to his confidence than it had been arriving to Hawkins High and being completely and utterly ignored by the one guy there he couldn't stop looking at.

Now is not the time for that. You've got to focus on survival.

Thanks, frustrating part of his brain. Or instincts. He hadn't fucking noticed the need to survive. Gold fucking star or some shit. Now if only something would tell him how to do it.

He's busy being mad at himself so at first he doesn't see the crow's weight shift. In fact he doesn't realize it's moving until it's already beating at the air and taking to wing. Just like that he's going to be alone again.

Except the crow lands lightly on a middling height branch of a tree near him. Lands and hops to turn around, to regard Billy again. It barks out another sharp caw. Then, moments later, another caw rings out further away. Another crow. He's outnumbered, though he's not sure how many it would take of the birds before he's really at danger.

Better to show he's alive now than to let them get ideas. So Billy pushes the rest of the way to his feet and growls again. Which seems to be as impressive to the bird now as it was before. Or, wait... As Billy growls the bird hops from the branch and takes to the wing again. It swoops quickly toward his face and Billy staggers back a step, almost tripping over himself like the night before.

Close your eyes, protect your-

The thought doesn't get to end before the bird has flown past his snout and behind him. Billy turns to look and find the bird landing on another branch. It looks back over its shoulder at him and caws back at him. Once he turns fully to regard it, the bird takes off again, flying on to another tree further along, but still in sight.

Could it want me to follow it? That seems crazy. Not that everything isn't already fucking crazy as hell.

But... but there had been another thing, right? In that same biology class. Talking about how some animals sometimes worked together in nature. Bonds made across species lines. Like the birds that rode on big African mammals and ate well by snatching at bugs bothering the animals. Did wolves maybe have a connection to crows like that? But there aren't any wolves in Indiana, right? So is the crow just... making it up as they go? Or is this a trap? Do crows know how to set traps? They're just stupid birds, it's not possible.

And yet something in Billy tells him to follow the bird. The same thing that woke him up when the vehicle stopped. The same thing that told him when and where to run. The same thing that has been keeping him alive until now. An inner wolf sense if you would.

So, with a resigned huff, Billy started to pad after the crow. After the week he's had, he's not sure things can get any worse.

[ To Part Four ]

#billy hargrove #winter werebilly #pre harringrove for now #werewolf billy au #inspired by the words of #shieldofiron #no more for tonight i'm tired #see you again soon

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