#whump billy hargrove

[sunwarmed-ash]

🔥Sinful Sunday🔥

Chapter 3: I want to scream I love you from the top of my lungs, but I’m afraid that someone else will hear me

Ship: Past Harringrove-> healing Harringrove, maybe harringroveson too, tbd Rating/TW: Graphic depictions of violence, child abuse, domestic abuse, homophobic language/violence Tags: Angst, neil hargrove sucks, billy hargrove needs a hug, and two hot boyfriends if I'm being honest, post season 3 & 4-Billy lives, Billy and Steve are ex's, Eddie is a worried friend(for now), hurt/minor comfort, dissociative/Major Depressive Disorder Billy, Preview:

Since knocking his father unconscious and tying him up over an hour ago, Billy’s smoked through an entire pack of cigarettes. His brain is struggling to keep up with the latest turn of events so he’s spent most of the hour dissociating. He hates that this is his life. Hadn’t he suffered enough already? How did it just keep getting worse? 

By the time he finishes the last cigarette in the pack, there’s a knock at the door. Optimistically, it's the cop, here to take his shitbag father away. 

Instead, it’s fucking Steve Harrington. Who is the absolute worst person to be here right now, seeing as Billy just sent Max and Susan over there to keep them safe!

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Billy spits furiously.

“Hopper’s at my house,” Steve explains, hands already up in surrender. 

When Billy’s face doesn't change, Steve’s own temper flairs. “I wouldn’t have just left them Billy!”

“Why not?” Billy scoffs cruelly, “You’re good at that.” 

It’s harsh, but Steve deserves it. Steve’s abandonment ruined him. 

His comment works. Steve’s previous heat extinguishes and he folds in on himself. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and tries to make himself look as unthreatening as possible. 

Billy hates that it's working on him. 

“I’m sorry Billy.”

[bebx]

"undoing this character's death would take away his sacrifice and character arc" girl I don't give a shit. I'm bringing him back through the power of ao3 fix-it fics and there's nothing you can do to stop me x

[californiaboytoybilly]

-> Rot in the misery that you have sown; my forgiveness is my own, and I do not feel like sharing.

[shieldofiron]

Steve’s starting to think he’s crazy. Billy finally feels safe around him, safe coming over when he has a split lip and a black eye, and he’ll curl up next to Steve on the couch.

And it’s crazy to think, even to imagine.

Billy’s sniffling, stifling sobs and scooting closer. And Steve is a monster because he would love to taste that split lip. Can’t unthink the thought now that he’s started, that he knows what it would taste like, Billy’s blood. Knows what the kiss would taste like, and once he knows he can’t stop craving a taste.

And the knowing is rending him to pieces because you don’t kiss your friends, you’re not supposed to do that when they’re hurt, when they’re crying.

But Steve knows. He knows what Billy’s kiss would be like. Could draw the moment as if from memory, right up until the moment when Billy would shove him away, hurt and scared again.

And so Steve just huddles a little closer on the couch. And tries to be a good friend.

[midnightartemis]

“It’s okay, Billy. I know you’re in there. I know you don’t want to hurt me. It’s okay.”

Possessed Billy takes Steve instead.

AN: this was so much fun to do!! If you have any fic recs that would go with this drop them in the comments :)

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

“dni if you’re problematic” is level 95 middle schooler behavior btw. “problematic” by what standards? my brother in christ, you’ve got to be more specific. but I can promise you that you are also “problematic” in some people’s opinions whether it be online or irl, whether or not you know it. unless you’re a literal saint who’s never done anything wrong, ever, in your life, I guarantee you this; you are also “problematic” in someone’s opinions. I am problematic in someone’s opinions. every single one of us is problematic in someone’s story, sorry to break it to you though.

[ihni]

Thinking about Steve coming to school with increasingly suspicious bruises and his teachers all asking him if everything is okay at home and of he's being abused or smth. About Steve just hitting his head or whatever weirdly while trying to ninja his way through some girls bedroom window. And Billy, coming to school with bruises from his dad and not one teacher is asking if he's okay. That's how Billy Hargrove is. Angry kid. Got in a fight. Why should anyone be concerned.

Ouch, anon, that hits hard. I am weak for that particular kind of feeling that being overlooked/shoved aside/ostracizised evokes - it's a very specific flavor of whump.

I don't suppose the anger would lessen by Billy having to see this, either. See how they all ask and care about Steve, fuss over him and turn concerned eyes after him in the hallway. And maybe he hears Steve's answers and like ... he knows obvious lies when he hears them, right? He's an abused kid, he can recognize another abused kid's ridiculous excuses. So maybe he's a bit concerned too. Maybe he camps out outside Steve's house a couple of nights, for a while. And he's so confused when his parents don't seem to be home. And maybe he follows Steve one night, and SEES Steve try to ninja his way into a girl's bedroom - actually watches it happen - and the next day in school when someone asks about Steve rubbing his elbow or knee, he tells them what happened and Billy realizes; they weren't excuses. Steve's just clumsy. And people STILL care more about him than they ever will about Billy.

Just, it's gotta hurt, yeah? Maybe he feels betrayed, without knowing why. Because for a moment, he thought that he knew something about Steve that no one else did. Turns out though, that he didn't. Just like no one knows him. Like no one CARES to know him. That feeling of betrayal would possibly lead to MORE anger, especially directed towards Steve. Which just plays into what everyone already know: Billy Hargrove's an angry kid. Violent. Volatile. 'Why should anyone be concerned' in deed (except for maybe their own safety)

(And on a similar vein: when someone finally DOES find out about what Billy's home life is like, and the first question they ask is if it's happening to Max, too. Maybe they ask that because they don't know what to say to what has just been revealed to them, but ... imagine that stab of pain Billy must feel, when people's first reaction to learning that his father beats him, is to ask for the safety of precious Maxine.)

[katyawriteswhump]

eternal summer

For  @harringrovesummerbingo

Title: Eternal Summer  Square and prompt: C2 “Is your dream more important than me?” Rating: M WC: 570. Major tags: Harringrove, angst, non-explicit smut, Incubus!Billy, age gap, no upside down au, dark-ish ending which is also a happy ever after, slightly soft harringrove.

and @harringrovemicroficandart 4 prompts, fingers/slipping through my fingers by ABBA, mention of Jim Hopper. WC: 570.

Summary: Billy's nature enslaved him into killing pretty things. Then Steve happened.

...

“What are you thinking about?” asked Steve, rolling over on the pillows beside Billy.

Billy couldn’t look Steve in the eye. “Just some dream.” 

“You look pretty pissed about it.”

Billy sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed. “It made me think. Listen, I’ve gotta—"

“Is your dream more important than me?” Steve’s voice cracked. “Last night you said… Look, if you were shitting me… C’mon, be honest!” 

“Jesus, you’re needy! Yeah! I meant it. I love you.” Billy scrubbed his face wearily. “Got lost in dreams about you.”

“Oh. Why the sad-face… Crap!”

Billy jumped Steve, pinning him on his back, wrists secured either side of his head. Steve giggled, and Billy melted. God, Billy was two millennia old! The heat must’ve gone to his head to make him feel like a real dumb teen.

“What happened in that dream?” 

I made you mine forever. “You accuse me of talking too much?”

Billy silenced Steve with a searing kiss, enjoying Steve’s struggles, as he moaned, desperate, into Billy’s throat. He knew it confused Steve—how Billy was always stronger. When Billy pinned him, he could never fight free.

The kiss grew rough, bruising. Billy sensed the delicious tingle of Steve’s lifeforce ebbing from him. Tears pressed in Billy’s eyes:

I figured you were a bully. I meant to fuck you all summer, then disappear, leaving Hopper scratching his head over a dead teen, like a hundred lawmen before. Then I watched you ditch your friends to look after a bunch of nerdy kids. You begged for love, and I got weak. Now I dream of keeping you always as you are right now—a freeze-frame saved from the crazy tricks of time.

“Fuck me,” gasped Steve, interlacing his fingers with Billy’s, clinging.

“Gotta go.” I stay, you’re gonna get sick and die, or else I’m gonna have to… 

Steve pouted. Christ, he was such a kid! Billy unthreaded their fingers, letting Steve’s hand drop like a stone.

Later, Billy loaded up the Camaro. A BMW tore up and Steve jumped out: “You weren’t even gonna say goodbye?”

I should’ve hauled ass quicker.

“YOU SAID YOU LOVED ME!” Steve grabbed Billy’s collar, got right in his face. 

Billy shoved him away: “Dumbest mistake I ever made.”

In a flash of golden light, Billy revealed his true demon form. Steve staggered back, covering his face then peeping between his fingers:

“Holy shit! Are you an angel?” 

Billy reinstated his glamor, wondering what Steve had seen. Poor pretty fool must genuinely love him back. Only love played crazier tricks than time. 

Laughing, Billy took his trembling prey in his arms: “I’m a demon, Steve. An Incubus. If I stay, I’ll slowly suck”—literally fuck —”your life from you.”

“Wha—” Steve took a beat, frowned: “Is that like a vampire? You could turn me too, right?”

“Doesn’t work quite like that. I could make you my thrall.”

“Wha… I don’t know what that is.”

That night, Billy spread Steve out on the bed beneath him. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” Steve’s voice was tight. “You’re gonna fuck me all night, and then… Jesus, will it hurt?”

“No.” Billy trailed his fingers down the curve Steve’s throat, over his quivering lifeblood. Then spiralling down his spine, lower, deeper, relishing Steve’s throaty growls, the little trembles beneath his skin.

No slipping from my grasp now.

For the first time ever, Billy was gonna actually make love.

[wild-lavender-rose]

Freak

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x fem!reader

Category: Hurt Comfort

Summary: When Billy saves you from your abusive ex, you slowly realize that he is much more than the arrogant bully you first took him to be. 

Warning: toxic relationship, physical and verbal abuse sequence (if this bothers you at all please scroll on), sexual abuse insinuation, description of injuries, cannon typical swearing 

“Hey, angel.”  

    You jumped as Billy banged his shoulder against the locker next to you, looking up from where you had been twisting in your code sequence.  

    “They tell me you’re best friends with the king,” he crossed his bare arms and looked you up and down. “May he rest in peace.”  

    “He’s still king,” you gave him a look before returning your attention to your locker. “Steve’s just had a change of priorities.” 

      “Yeah, a ball and chain’ll do that.” Billy smirked.  

    “They say you’re gunning to take his place.”  

    “Actually I’m going for the title of god.” Billy leaned closer, his voice lowering. “Most of the girls already call me that anyway. Shouldn’t be too much of a stretch.”  

    “You mean most of the cows?” You opened your locker door so fast he barely had enough time to pull away before it smashed into his face. “Word travels fast, Mr. Tight Pants. I know who you’ve been fooling around with.” You began to absently paw through your locker. “Get the opinion of someone who actually has standards, then we’ll talk.”  

    “Yeah well, they say that you could be queen of the school if you weren’t such a freak.” Billy scoffed, waiting for you to respond, continuing at your silence. “Must be hard, wanting to get with Steve and him going off with a little miss prim and proper which you clearly can never be.”  

    “Get lost, Billy.” You breathed, gaze fixed on your locker.  

    “But getting under your skin is just so damn fun, baby. Are you Stevie’s little guard dog, defending his title? The king is dead,”  

    “Get away from me, I mean it!” You slammed the locker door so hard it banged shut and flew back open.  

   Billy caught it, brow furrowing. “Did I strike a nerve or something?”  

    You didn’t respond, fists clenching as you looked back at your locker. Billy followed your gaze, taking in the thing that had made you so upset. There, half-hidden among your books and jacket, was a piece of torn notebook paper. On it, scrawled in pencil, were the words ‘Tonight at nine’.  

    “Well, well, well,” Billy looked between you and the note. “You’re freakier than I thought.”  

    “Shit,” you grabbed your books and closed the locker, making sure it clicked into place this time.  

    “Hey, hold up,” Billy grabbed your arm before you walked away. “Are you bein’ blackmailed or somethin’?”  

    “And here I thought you were stupid.” You jerked away from him. “Leave me alone, idiot.”  

    Strangely, Billy obeyed, staring after you as you hurried to your next class.  

                                                      # # # # #  

    “Let me go, Brandon, let go!” You squirmed and thrashed, desperate to get out of his hold. “I’m sick of this, I want out!”  

    “Aww, you’re so cute when you play hard to get.” Brandon released you, smirking as you fell to the ground. “Why’d you come if you don’t want it, baby?”  

    “I came to tell you I’m done, Brandon.” The leaves crunched under your hands as you tried to crawl backwards, never taking your eyes off him. “I’m done with the drinking, done with the parties, done with you!”  

    “Turning soft just like Steve, aren’t ya?” Brandon grabbed you by the front of your shirt and yanked you back up, grinning when the fabric ripped under his grip. “Too bad he’s not here, baby. Maybe he’d get some lessons on how to handle a girl like you.”  

    You gave a muffled cry as he smacked your face and jerked you around so that your back was pressed up against his chest. “We’re done, Brandon,” you clawed at his grip on your hips. “We’re done,”  

    “You’ll be screaming for me to keep you in a second.” Brandon pushed your hair aside and bit your neck, hard.  

    Your cries echoed through the woods, fighting to run in a place you had once met Brandon in for fun. It was dark and too cold for hunters to be out. No chance for anyone to hear you. Before this had been the reason you had chosen such a private spot in the woods. Now it was nothing but the biggest mistake in your life.  

    “Taste so good,” Brandon took a hand off your hip to wrap around your neck.  

    You took your chance, twisting around and punching him in the face.  

   “Shit!” Brandon released you and stumbled back with a hand to his nose.  

   You broke into a run, heart pounding in your ears louder than Brandon’s yelling. You headed for the road, dodging trees and jumping over roots and rocks. Just get to the road and find the car, you told yourself, forcing your panicked thoughts to focus even as you ran at breakneck speed. Get to the car, get to the car, get to the car.  

   You burst out onto the road and fell, knees throbbing painfully as you scraped yourself up from the gravel. This wasn’t where you had parked the car. Brandon was close behind, you could hear him crashing through the trees. The moon was bright but not bright enough. You looked around, trying to figure out which way to go. A car sounded in the distance, coming fast. You started towards the sound, only to scream as Brandon grabbed you from behind.  

    “I’m gonna kill you!” He whipped you around to face him and grabbed your hair, slapping you hard. “You broke my nose, you little freak! You’re dead!”  

   “Brandon, stop!” You raised your hands up, shielding yourself from his blows.  

    Car headlights shown on you both, causing Brandon to release you instantly. You stumbled away as the car you had heard in the distance now screeched to a stop in front of you both, headlights staying on as the driver stepped out and slammed the door behind him. “What the hell are you two doing?”  

    Your beating heart twisted into your stomach. It was Billy, his tall figure monstrous in the light of his car. Before you could think you were limping towards him, pretending that it wasn’t a bad idea, knowing that you had no other choice. You could see his face in the headlights, see his eyes slowly take you in. Your face was bleeding. Your clothes were ripped and covered in dirt and blood. Tears blurred your vision. Your body trembled.  

    Billy’s expression softened with surprise and something you hadn’t seen before. Something like pain. Then it hardened and he was pushing you behind him as he stepped between you and Brandon. “The hell did you do to her?”  

    “You know how it is, Bill.” Brandon shrugged as if his nose wasn’t dripping blood. “Dumb cows need training.”  

    “Well she’s mine now, so get lost.” Billy looked over his shoulder at you. “Get in the car.”  

   You blinked at him for a second but obeyed, looking at Brandon as you limped over to the passenger’s side and got in.  

    “That’s my girlfriend, Billy, you can’t just take her!”  

    “I can take whatever the hell I want, and you’re gonna stay out of my way!” Billy growled before turning away.  

    You watched as he slid back behind the wheel. “You’re gonna run him over.” You weren’t sure if it was a question or a statement.  

    “Damn right I will.” Billy gunned the engine and slammed down on the gas, giving a war whoop as Brandon just barely jumped out of the way.  

    You shivered and scrunched down in the seat, thoughts spinning so fast it made your head hurt. You were in Billy Hargrove’s car. This should not make you feel as safe as it did. Where was he taking you? Why had he been driving out in the middle of nowhere to begin with? Why was he alone? You pressed a hand to your head and made a small noise, looking to see your fingers covered in blood illuminated by the moonlight.  

    “Are you all right?” Billy’s voice sounded rusty, as if he was unused to asking such things. “Let me see.”  

    You tensed as he touched your chin, allowing him to shift your head so he could look you over.  

    “Jesus, he did a number on you.” Billy’s thumb brushed over your cheek before he pulled away, gaze flicking between you and the road. “I’m gonna kill him.”  

    “Not worth it.” You rubbed your hands together and shivered again. “But if anyone could get away with it, it’s you.”  

    Billy smirked at that, reaching over to crank up the heat and shift the vents towards you.  

    You looked at him, taking in his slicked back hair, his unbuttoned shirt, the smell of expensive cologne. “You’re going on a date.”  

    “Not anymore.” He glanced over at you. “We gotta get you cleaned up.”  

                                                 # # # # #  

    “Come on,” Billy opened the hotel door and flipped on the light, stepping back so you could walk inside. “You’re all right, I promise.”  

    “You want me out when your date shows up?” You regarded the double bed before looking up at him.  

    “I’m gonna call her and tell her to beat it.” Billy shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto a chair. “You wanna shower or somethin’ while I go get the med kit? Maybe get something to eat, there’s a diner right down the-,”  

    “I’m not sleeping with you, Billy.” You hated the tremble in your voice as you said it, knowing full well that you were too weak to resist should he make a move.  

    “Eww, gross.” Billy grimaced. “And you say I’m the one with low standards? You’re not doing anything you don’t want to ever again, not with me or anyone else.” He pointed to the bathroom. “Now go shower.” 

    “What if I don’t want to?” You asked, giving him a look.  

    “That doesn’t apply to self-care shit.” Billy pulled his keys out of his pocket and left, closing the door behind him and leaving you alone.  

                                                    # # # # #

    The shower felt amazing. You kept making it hotter, hot enough to wash the dirt away, hot enough to burn the open wounds. So hot that you couldn’t think about the way Brandon grabbed you and pushed his body into yours. About the fact that you had been stupid enough to meet him in the first place. You hated him so much.  

    “I put some soap on the ledge.” Billy’s voice caused you to jump.  

    You peeked out around the shower curtain to see him close the door behind him, giving you the privacy you needed. Accepting the bottle, you couldn’t help but smirk as you realized it was Billy’s personal soap. Of course he would have soap, and everything else needed for a sexy overnight. The silky suds filled the room with a warm, fresh, musky scent. You slipped your hands over your skin, enveloping yourself with him, pretending it didn’t make you feel safe. That the scent of the man you had despised from day one was calming your racing thoughts.  

                                                 # # # # #

    You walked out dressed in Billy’s shirt and a pair of his sweatpants, trying not to limp when he looked up at you. “Thank you. For the soap.” 

    “Not a problem, sweetheart.” Billy smirked as he looked you over. “You, uh, you look good.”  

    You looked down. “Thanks.” You crossed your arms over your chest.  

    “Here, come sit down.” Billy moved the first aid kit he had been sifting through and sat on the edge of the bed.  

    “Why do you have a med kit?” You did as he asked, easing your aching body down with your back resting against the headboard.  

    “Susan wanted me to have one in case Max fell off her skateboard.” Billy noted the way you flinched when you moved your legs up onto the bed.  

    “Smart of her.” You watched as he tore open a packet of antiseptic wipes with his teeth.  

    Billy grimaced. “Pretty much the only smart thing she’s done.” He moved to sit on the edge of bed next to you, gaze focused on your cut lip. “Hold still.”  

    “What do you mean?” You cringed as the wipe touched your cut, fingers curling into fists in your lap.  

    “Easy,” Billy’s voice was soft, softer than you ever thought possible. “Well, she married my dad, and that was dumb. She moved us from Cally, also dumb. There’s a whole list.”  

    “That’s why you’re mad at everyone.” You watched as he finished with your lip and got another wipe.  

    “What’re you, some kind of shrink?” Billy scoffed and pressed the wipe to the cut on your cheek. “What’s up with you, dating scum like Brandon?”  

    “Wasn’t always like this,” you hissed at the pain.  

    “Almost done.” Billy’s hand pressed over your fists, his ring cool against your skin still hot from the shower.  

    You didn’t push him away. “It was fine starting out. Then he started pushing, asking for things I didn’t want to do,” Your throat tightened as the events of the evening flashed through your thoughts. “Not as bad as tonight.”  

    “What was different about tonight?”  

    “I broke up with him, like the idiot I am.” Your gaze fell to hide tears gathering in your eyes.  

    “Hey, he’s the idiot here.” Billy squeezed your hands before pulling away to get a band-aid. “And it’s over now, you’re gonna be done with him.”  

    “That’s easy for you to say, Mr. Tight Pants.” You gave him a look.  

    “Didn’t I tell you?” Billy tucked your hair behind your ear and held your head still as he pressed the band-aid over the cut. “We’re dating now.”  

    “What the-,” you cut yourself off with a hiss of pain.  

    “I’m done, it’s okay, I’m done now.” Billy caught your hand as you reached up to touch the band-aid. “Don’t mess with it.”  

    “I’m not dating you, I can’t.”  

    “Mmhmm, yeah you are.” His attention averted down to your knuckles, thumb brushing over the bruises starting to form from where you punched Brandon.  

    “Why?”  

    “Gotta keep an eye on you.” Billy’s eyes met yours as he brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently. “If you want me to.” Another soft kiss. “I’m not gonna force you to do anything.” Kiss. “Your choice, angel.”  

    God that made your heart stutter. You looked down, heat flooding your face. No wonder he had charmed so many girls into one-night stands that they talked about for days. But this, what he was implying, sounded long term. It sounded like a relationship, one that felt safe and warm and what the hell was this man doing to you?  

    “Look at that,” Billy was smirking proudly. “The freak is speechless.”  

    “You can’t call me a freak if we’re dating, Billy.” You looked up at him.  

    “Don’t call me Mr. Tight Pants and I’ll think about it, baby.” Billy’s hand moved down to rest on your leg, expression softening once more. “How’re your knees?”  

    “I got most of the dirt out in the shower.” You bit your lip, careful to avoid the cut. “I think…I think my ankle is twisted or sprained or something.”  

    “I’ll look at it, angel, don’t worry.” Billy slowly pushed the fabric of the sweatpants up to reveal your bruised and bloodied leg. “I’ll take care of it.”  

    “I don’t…Never had anyone say that before.”  

    “Oh yeah?” Billy grinned. “Well get used to it.”  

                                                 # # # # #  

    “Hey, angel.”  

    You looked up as Billy leaned against the locker next to you, smirking as he looked you up and down. “How’re you feelin’?”  

    “Better.” You nodded, glancing around at the people watching you as you closed your locker. “Brandon’s been talking, telling people I’m a…I’m a,”  

    “Don’t worry about it.” Billy pulled you close and draped an arm around your shoulders. “Brady and I’ve got a little hangout planned for after school. He’ll make sure to set everyone straight.”  

    “You’re not going to kill him?” You started to walk to class with Billy beside you.  

    “Do you want me to, princess?” Billy looked down at you, smiling as you bit your lip and took a second to decide. “Nah, I won’t. A little freak I know told me he isn’t worth it.”  

    “God you have got to stop calling me that, baby.”  

    Billy chuckled. “Love it when you call me that.”  

    You came to the doorway to your class and stopped. Billy wasted no time in leaning down to kiss you right in front of everyone. “See you later?”  

    You nodded with a smile. “See you later.”  

    Billy was grinning like a fool as he walked away, you and several other girls in the hall staring after him.  

    “I can’t believe it.” A blonde girl looked between you and Billy. “You? Billy chose you? What do you have that makes you so special?”  

    You shrugged. “You know what they say, Delores. I’m just a freak.”  

And with that you turned on your heel and walked into the classroom with a smile on your face.

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Special shout out to @billysbabyy​. Our conversations inspired me to write this <3

Writer’s Haven Taglist: @alexxavicry @captainsophiestark

[thatharringrovehoe]

Burnout can't stop me from making mood boards of my WIPs! (Yet..)

[oxfordthyme]

The Duality of Max

An emotional story about trauma, shame and love hiding inside a very smutty, very dark fic. NSFW

Max Mayfield has just begun senior year at Hawkins High alongside her stepbrother Billy, her best friend Eddie and her possibly-more-than-friend Steve. As she navigates an inter-clique romance among tribal high school politics, tensions between her and Billy explode at home, and she becomes trapped in a secret and extremely abusive relationship. The rest of Hawkins has no idea what is going on behind closed doors at the Mayfield-Hargrove house, and Max intends to keep it that way.

Billy x Max x Steve (all aged up to 18+)

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only

Genre/vibes: Romance, dark romance, drama, whump, hurt/comfort, angsty, smutty

Warnings: Sexually explicit content, heavy non-con (dead dove: do not eat), abuse, narcotic use, brief descriptions of suicidal thoughts

Word count: 86,735

Author's notes: This is my first finished public longfic! It was strangely cathartic to write. I will say it's not for the faint of heart as there are some very intense non con scenes. There is a sweet, funny romance & friendship at its core but everything else is VERY dark. It's ultimately a story about trauma, shame, and how toxic masculinity keeps those alive and continues cycles of abuse. How a shamelessly smutty fic turned into all of that, your guess is as good as mine.

Chapter 1 Excerpt (Read more on AO3 HERE)

The buckles on Billy's boots jangled as he strolled up to Max and Steve. He had his faded leather bomber on, but despite the plummeting temperature, half of his shirt was unbuttoned, as usual. It was like his chest was allergic to fabric.

“Well, well, well,” he said, glaring at her as he approached. “Why am I not surprised?” He looked at Steve. “Slumming it with the burnouts tonight, Harrington?” 

Steve shrugged. “We were having a nice time before you and your nipples showed up.”

Billy smiled, a malicious glint in his eye.

“Relax,” Eddie said, walking back to Max holding his hands up, “this one’s on me. I picked her up from Rita’s.”

“Mind your own business, Munson. We’re leaving, Max.”

“She’s an adult, man,” Steve said, “she doesn’t have to listen to you.”

Billy raised his eyebrows in amusement. “Is that right?”

Max looked between Steve and Billy nervously. Billy was smiling, but the malicious glint had turned to intent. She’d seen him fight before; he was frighteningly quick, strong, and ruthless. Eddie was not a fighter, and she didn’t know about Steve, but, most likely, Billy would beat the shit out of both of them and enjoy it.

“Hey, man,” Spike said, “come hang, have a drink.” Max couldn’t tell if he was trying to play peacemaker or was genuinely oblivious to the tension.

Billy ignored him. He and Steve glared at each other.

“Or—you know, just throwing out options—you can fuck off,” Steve shrugged.

“I was just about to suggest the same,” Eddie said, crossing his arms.

Steve and Eddie’s sharp tongues wouldn’t help them in a fight. Max shot a warning look at them, but neither saw her. Billy’s eyes flashed as he took a step towards Steve, and Max’s heart jumped into her throat. She hurriedly stepped between them.

“Stop,” she said, “come on, let’s just go home.”

“Max—“ Steve said, but Max silenced him with a stern look and subtle shake of her head.

“It’s okay,” Max said, “I’m tired anyway. Really. I’ll see you guys later.” Her friends looked at her sadly as she tugged at Billy’s arm. He looked down at her and shot a final derisive glance at Steve before he turned around, yanked his arm from her and strode toward the Camaro. ---------------- Max anxiously gripped the passenger’s side door as Billy sped through the dark country roads. She was afraid—of his driving, of him, and of what he might do to make her life even worse now that their parents were gone for almost two weeks.

He was quiet, but she knew he was furious. Of course he was angry; he was always angry, and, honestly, so was she. She had just turned eighteen, so she should be free of Billy and her stepdad Neil’s oppressive bullshit. But as Neil liked to remind her: his house, his rules—and he was a raging misogynist, so those rules were different for Max than for Billy. Billy was only a year older than she was, but he and Neil treated her like like a child. It was infuriating.

Billy had repeated a grade sometime in elementary school, so he and Max had been in the same class together since sixth grade back in California. They were acquaintances at best back then, but in their freshman year, they became enemies pretty quickly when their parents met and married.

Max loathed Billy’s father, Neil; he was a bigoted misogynist and when she and her mother Susan moved in with him and Billy, Max frequently ran away to stay with her father, a kind-hearted but unstable gambling and drug addict. Neil made the unilateral decision that Max’s father should be cut out of her life, and he accepted a job as the head of the police union in Indiana, forcing them all to uproot their lives and Billy and Max to start junior year in a new town.

Billy blamed Max for being ripped out of his hometown, and only seemed to be content when he was able to make her as miserable as he was. Neil encouraged him to take on the role of overprotective brother, and Billy used it as cover to antagonize and control her.

All she wanted was to do make the most of her senior year, but Billy thwarted her every attempt.

Billy lit a cigarette, inhaled and exhaled smoke through his nose. “I warned you about lying to me,” he said, a little too calmly. “You fucked up, Max.”

Max scowled at him. “Why can’t you just mind your own business?”

“You are my business, dipshit,” he said, “Something happens to you, it’s my ass. Not enough that you get us moved to this shit hole town—“

Max rolled her eyes, “Are you still bitching about that? We’ve been here for a year. What, are you jealous that I made more friends than you?”

“You call those burnouts friends? All they do is get you shitfaced.”

“I thought you liked Spike.”

“Spike put fucking ‘ludes in your drink last week.”

“That was an accident. He thought it was his.”

“Don’t be an idiot. That asshole drugged you and I had to cut my night short to drag your sorry ass home.”

Max crossed her arms. “I would’ve been fine without you. Eddie was there.”

Billy snuffed as he finally pulled into their driveway. “Yeah, he was probably waiting for you to pass out so he could have a chance to fuck you.”

“You’re an asshole,” she snarled, shooting him a disgusted look before she got out of the car and stormed into the house.

Max took off her jacket, tossed it on the couch, then paused, realizing she left her camera in the car. She turned around to go back outside but Billy walked in and slammed the door behind him, glowering at her. He strode toward her and she instinctively stepped back until she hit the wall. He was almost always angry with her, but something was different about the fury in his eyes tonight.

“You’re delusional if you think your stoner friends can protect you.”

“I can handle myself. Last week was a mistake.”

“Do you want to get raped, Max? Is that it?”

Max bristled. “Fuck off,” she said, and tried unsuccessfully to push him aside. Suddenly, his hand shot out and grabbed her by the throat.

Max’s hands flew to his, trying to pull his fingers away from her neck to no avail. He slammed her against the wall.

He had surprised her; she didn’t have time to take in any air before he cut off her airway and she couldn’t speak. She pushed against his chest and hit him, but he didn’t let go. He just smirked at her, trying and succeeding in making his point: she had no hope of overpowering him. Billy was a foot taller than her, significantly stronger, and there was something in his eyes that made her worry about the lengths he’d go to hammer his point home.

Read more on AO3 HERE

[sunwarmed-ash]

WIP/Number game

@sweeteatercat back at it again with #9!

good choice, this is actually something I'm working on for @whump-kia 's Whump July event!

Day 1: 

Emergency First Aid: Self-done stitches / Alcohol as sanitizer / “It's just a scratch, I've had worse.”

TW:s Needle mention, open wounds,

“This is not a scratch Billy!”

“I’ve had worse...”

“That doesn’t give me any relief!”

“Well as long as you feel better…” Billy sasses.

Steve sighs loudly but it sounds tired, defeated. 

“I didn't mean it like that…”

Billy doesn't know why, but he cuts Harrington a break. Maybe it's because he’s too busy trying to keep his guts inside his body to have any remaining energy to fight.

“Yeah, I know you didn't Steve.”

It's quiet for two awkward moments. 

“What can I do?” Steve asks. 

“Hand me the sanitizer.”

Steve hands him the bottle, eyes desperate for more instructions.  

“Ahh!!” Billy hisses, because of all things to put on a deep, open, wound this wasn’t one of them, but he didn't have a whole lot of other options at his disposal. He just hopes the stinging stops soon. 

“Please,” Steve begs, “it’s killing me I can’t do more.”

Billy, despite the agony he’s feeling, chuckles, 

“Just can’t shake the Mother Hen persona can you Pretty Boy?”

“Shut up…” Steve flushes, but he’s not mad. 

“Come here?” Billy takes a chance. A fucking stupid chance really. 

“Yeah, where do you want me?” Steve asks unthinkingly, moving just inches from Billy’s face. 

Before Billy can convince himself out of it, he leans closer and brings their lips together. 

The kiss isn't longer than a peck and Steve’s cheeks are flushed bright red when Billy pulls back. 

“What- was that for?”

“You said you wanted to help,” Billy shrugs, pushing the floss-threaded needle through his skin. “Needed something else to focus on.” 

Steve’s still blushing, and Billy hopes that’s a very good sign and not a bad one. But honestly after the night he’s had he wasn’t banking on a happy ending.

[bebx]

Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Steve Harrington & Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Heather Holloway & Maxine "Max" Mayfield Summary:

"Did you seriously sleep with Steve?" Max blurted out. The question came without a warning.

Billy froze, so did all of his peers. When the shock wore off, Billy gave Max a murderous stare, but Max was angry.

She was so fucking furious.

[bearsinpotatosacks]

Never Be the Same - Whumptober 2023

Billy's mum walked out on Neil and him in 1978. Billy wants answers but Neil doesn't want to answer them, leading to the first time he ever hits Billy. It isn't the last.

For day 26 of @whumptober Also on AO3. Shows child abuse so be warned

Words: 850

Sounds of scraping and cutting filled the air as they ate. The food was bland, his dad wasn’t a very good cook, mum wasn’t either but she had practice. Neil thought cooking was a woman’s job, that was until his mum had walked out. He had to learn or they’d starve. 

“Stop playing with your food and eat,” his dad said. 

It was bland and boiled. His peas were more grey than green. He had to eat them or he’d go hungry, but that seemed more appealing than choking this down. 

“If mom was still here, she would’ve made something better,”

“Watch your mouth,” Neil snapped. “You don’t talk about that woman, didn’t we talk about that?”

He stopped moving his knife and fork. His eyes stung as tears welled up. He hated when his dad shouted at him, he hated disappointing him too. It was a simple request but so hard at the same time. He’d gone to bed with her there and woken up without her. It was natural to be curious, right?

“That we don’t mention mom again,”

Neil cleared his throat. The way he looked at him made him unable to not meet his eyes. 

“We don’t mention that woman again.” 

The tears overflowed as he tried to carry on eating his dinner with shaking hands. He heard his dad’s chair screech across the floor. His shoes smacked against the linoleum as he slammed his hands against the table. Billy dropped his knife and fork. He kept his eyes on his plate, his hands under the table as he tensed them to hide the fear. 

“Why are you crying?” He said, voice stern and not raised. “Why are you crying, like a pussy, over her?"

"She left us, Billy, she left us, so she doesn’t deserve your tears. No one does." He lent over him. He could feel his breath on his neck as he flinched away from him. 

"But why? Why did she leave?" He asked.

He knew he shouldn’t. Neil didn’t like him asking questions. He said he knew best so why question that. His mum had liked him asking questions, she wanted him to know that the world was big and beautiful and there were so many possibilities. It was hard for him to know when to stop questioning for his dad and start for his mum. It got confusing.

"Because we weren't enough for her," he said, then grabbed him by his collar. "Are you looking at me?"

He tried to nod but the tears kept falling. Neil took this as his cue to lift Billy from his chair. His body was shaking as he stood him up, legs trembling.

"I can't have you holding onto people who are never coming back, so repeat after me, 'She's never coming back and she doesn’t care about me',"

He didn’t say anything. His body was shaking so much that he couldn’t. And the thought of his mum not caring, the only person who felt like did half the time, made everything seem bleak. If she didn’t care then what hope did he have? If she wasn't coming back, was this his life? Awful dinners and tense conversations?

"Say it." 

Neil’s face was red from anger. Billy could feel it rising and about to blow. He was really going to get it tonight.

Smack. Billy stumbled back a step. The tears had been wiped from his face. Had he just done that? Had he actually just done that? He didn’t hit him, he shouted and was strict but he didn’t hit him. Had he actually-

"Say it!" He grabbed his arm hard enough that the skin when red, then white.

"She's never coming back and she doesn’t care about me,"

"Again."

"She's never coming back and she doesn’t care about me."

"Good, now go to bed,"

"But I'm hungry!"

"Bed! Now!"

He walked away in shock. He almost couldn't move. The tears didn't come back as he trudged up the stairs. He felt the pictures on the wall were staring at him, not caring but judging. 

Once he’d reached his room, he hurried over to the phone on his desk. His mom had given a number to call for emergencies, she’d only called once just to give it to him, she probably didn’t want his dad finding out. He’d tried calling back but got nothing. He was going to give up trying soon, after days without contact and still no answers, but after tonight, he had to give her one more chance. He needed her.

Ring ring, pause, ring ring, pause, ring ring, pause. After waiting again for the phone to pick up, to hear her voice on the end of the line, he got nothing. He couldn’t call again. His dad would get suspicious and if she did pick up he could easily pick up the landline downstairs and listen in. That’s the last thing he needed. 

Instead, he was left with the harrowing fact that he’d hit him. He actually hit him. He didn’t hit him.

Well, he guessed that now he did.

----

I had this idea as soon as I saw the prompts for Whumptober. A lot of the prompts this year remind me of stranger things? Maybe it's because I'm in an 80s media mood with my top gun special interest and stranger things has a lot more whump (at least my style of whump) possibility for whumptober.

Poor Billy too. I wanted to show him as a vulnerable kid, one who wanted his dad's approval and was sensitive. I also think maybe deep down he still wanted his approval, but also didn't want to want his approval. Conflicted feelings baby. Thanks for reading! @whumptober-archive

[chemdisaster]

@whumpthemusical prompt 12 - waitress - abuse

dug up an old fic that i'm likely never posting for this one. billy and max's complicated relationship, straight after season 2

live what you've learned

“At least my dad wants to talk to me,” his stepsister shoots back, even as her eyes fill with tears. “When’s the last time you saw your mom?” Billy pushes her, gets up in her face, towers over her as she shrinks away from him until she can’t anymore, until there’s nowhere left to go and her eyes are glassy with blatant terror.

[theladycarpathia]

Empty Places Chapter 4 - Entity

Masterpost Back to chapter 3

Robin is entirely certain that this house is haunted.

She’s never been really sure before but it’s nice to know for definite. Most people in this line of work spend their lives staring at EMF meters and putting a strange creak in the floorboards down to an unearthly presence.  The ones who close their eyes and announce in odd voices that they feel the spirit of little Timmy, who died so long ago, and he has a message before he can pass on.

They’d hated it. So they hadn’t done it like that. People watch the show for them. To see Robin zoom in on someone’s trinket left behind. On Steve’s bizarrely detailed research of what happened inside. Of Billy’s rather blunt dismissals of anything ghostly. To see what cool little outfits that she wears and to watch Billy and Steve’s weird push and pull of sexual tension. They’ve never going to be viral but that’s not what this was. It was something to do together, her and her boys.

And yeah, she’s had her doubts. Maybe not as many as Billy, but just on occasion she’s wondered if they’ll ever find anything that’s vaguely ghost-like or paranormal. They never expected it to turn into an episode of Supernatural (in that scenario, she’s probably Sam but better dressed) but maybe something weird and spooky for once, just to reassure her that there’s more out there.

The reason that she’s having a crisis of everything she thought she knew is that she is almost certainly looking at a ghost.

And she knows that it’s a ghost because she’s staring at an eight year old Alice Creel. 

“I wish Billy could see this,” Robin mutters, wondering whether she needs to run. Little girl ghosts are supposed to be the worst. She really doesn’t want to test that theory.

Alice just blinks at her. Her curls are still perfect, dropping gently under her chin and falling down the neat, white Peter-Pan collar of her dress. She looks exactly the same as the portrait downstairs, from the flush to her cheeks to the button nose to the bright blue eyes.

“Hi?” Robin tries. She really hadn’t expected to walk down the attic stairs and come face to face with a ghost. She doesn’t have her camera, she’s not even sure her recorder is still running and she’s at a loss for what to say. “Alice?” 

Alice disappears.

“Oh shit,” Robin squeaks, fumbling with her torch. Her fingers are like ice and no matter how brave she tries to be, she can’t stop the faint tremble in them. 

“Alice?” she tries again, and ignores the little waver in her voice.

Next to her the door swings open with a long drawn out creak and she nearly wets herself as she jumps back. But nothing comes through it, no spirit, no wave of blood, and the door just swings slightly on its hinges. 

“Alice?” Robin repeats, her mouth dry. There’s something horrible about calling for her - the disappearance of the Creel kids has been a mystery in Hawkins for decades. People have talked in hushed whispers about what might have happened and greater ghosthunters than they have tried to solve it. The police pulled Victor and Virginia Creel into custody three times after the children went missing from their beds but nothing ever came from it. Whatever had happened, the parents hadn’t been involved…at least, in no way that anyone could ever prove.

And now Robin knows for certain that Alice must have never left this house. She died here. 

So that’s why Robin has to steel herself and take a few steps over to the open bedroom door. 

It’s the little boy’s old bedroom, to her surprise. It’s empty of ghosts so Robin slides further in, wondering if the door had been opened by Alice or if it was just a weird draught. Maybe whatever freaky attic dust Steve breathed in, she got a lungful of too. If so, she’ll slink downstairs and apologize because this is a trip that she doesn’t like. 

“I really don’t like this, I really don’t like this,” Robin whimpers. If she had any sense after finding out that the house is genuinely haunted, she’d go grab the boys and run. But she can’t forget the fact that while she knows for sure that Alice is dead, she also doesn’t know why.

And if Alice is here, then where is Henry?

Alice reappears suddenly and Robin has to stifle her scream.

“Okay,” she says, once her heart has settled to a more normal rate. “Never going to get used to that.”

Alice is by the large bay windows, the faint gleam of the streetlights showing her for what she really is. The dust floats through her and Robin can see the white wood of the windows through her dress. 

“What?” Robin whispers. She doesn't have time to wish for her camera, or to even think if Alice would show up on it anyway. “What is it?”

Alice points one delicate little fingernail at the wall to her left. Swallowing her fear, Robin creeps along and presses her hand against the wall. To her disappointment, it doesn’t give way.

“What?” she asks, turning back to look at Alice. But then she follows the line of the little girl’s finger and she stoops down to prod at the baseboard. A section of it sounds hollow when she taps it with her fingers and she drops her torch to pry at it with her fingernails. A section comes away, about the width of her hand, and Robin drops it to the floor. She looks back, just to be sure, but Alice just nods. So Robin drops down and peers into the dark hole.

She has to turn the torch on and stretch in her arm until her hand touches cold, hard metal. It feels like a lunch box, something really old, and there’s orange rust on her fingers when she pulls it out. Whatever image was painted onto it has long since faded away. 

Robin dusts off her hands, folds her legs, and steels herself to open it.

“I’m not sure why you wanted me to see this,” she says quietly to Alice. It must mean something for the ghost to show herself, only to have Robin dig around in an opening in the wall. But Robin is a little afraid of what she might find here. “But I’m going to look anyway.”

She opens it.

At first, it just looks like any child’s collection. A few stray marbles, a toy car, scattered pictures and drawings. But then Robin begins to pull them out and dread begins to creep down her spine, as each one is worse than the last.

“These were Henry’s, weren’t they?” she asks finally, and looks up to find Alice’s solemn little face right next to her’s. She flinches but continues, waving one of the drawings for emphasis. “He did all of these, didn’t he?”

Alice nods. Robin swallows hard around the lump in her throat. Shit.

“Did he kill you?” she forces herself to ask. There’s a beat where the words hang in the air, stretched as thin as wire. Alice’s lovely little face is full of turmoil, perhaps an unwillingness to reveal the truth about the brother she’d loved. 

It doesn’t matter. Because Robin now knows that Henry was a creepy little fuck anyway. There’s articles about Creel House; every murder, accident and ghastly misfortune that happened before the Creels’ arrival. The drawings are the worst part - scribbled dark pictures of spiders, dead bodies bent at strange angles and scribbled over with red pencil, and a piece of paper containing something dark and horrific that Robin can’t quite bring herself to look at. 

It’s this last drawing that Alice touches with one ghostly finger and Robin forces her eyes back down to the smears of ink, the strange jagged smile, the dark holes for irises. Alice’s face is mournful but resolute.

“There’s something much worse in here with us,” Alice says and Robin drops the picture back into the box.

XXX

“Steve!”

Steve hasn’t moved, but he looks up when he hears Billy’s shout. 

It wasn’t Billy. It wasn’t Billy. But fear still curdles in his gut when Billy appears in the doorway, face twisted with worry.

“Steve!” Billy shouts and races past the old dining table to drop to the floor next to Steve.

“Are you okay?” he asks frantically and Steve looks into Billy’s beautiful blue eyes and wishes he could know if this was real. “Steve, are you hurt?”

“No,” Steve says and is surprised when it comes out as a croak. “No, I’m okay.” But Billy runs his hands over Steve anyway, up his arms, along his collarbones, cradling Steve’s cheek with his hands. Steve rests his face into the curve of Billy’s palm and wonders if this creature is trying to kill him with everything he’s ever dreamed of.

“Shit,” Billy mutters, his fingers a gentle balm against Steve’s skin. “I thought for sure…fuck. I’m glad you’re okay. Come on. We have to get Ro. We’re getting out of here.” He stands up and offers Steve a hand. Steve hesitates, and then takes it, letting Billy help him to his feet.

“What the fuck happened?” Billy asks, looking perplexed. But there’s a pallor under his tanned skin, a wary glitter to his eyes. And he hasn’t let go of Steve’s hand, something that they haven’t done since they were twelve and got Robin’s cousin to let them watch the Blair Witch Project.

“Billy…” Steve says slowly, Billy’s warm fingers still wrapped tightly in his. “What did you see down there?” He already knows by the way that Billy averts his gaze. Steve wasn’t the only one being manipulated like a chess piece. 

“Nothing,” Billy mutters and pulls his hand free of Steve’s. 

“Billy, what did you see?” Steve insists, even though he can still feel Billy’s warmth on his palm. “Because I thought I was up here talking to you when your voice came through on the walkie!” Billy looks up, his mouth slack in surprise at this admission. There’s strange gray marks on the back of his shirt, like thick coatings of dust, and there’s more on his boots. 

“I…” Billy starts. “Steve, you saw what?”

“You,” Steve repeats. He grabs his torch from the table and flicks it on again, just for some more light. “Billy, it was you. Or it looked like you. I came back down from the attic and I thought you’d just finished in the basement early. We had a full conversation, until I heard you on the walkie.”

“Then what?” Billy asks curiously and Steve shrugs. 

“Then it got weird. Mean. Said it was a shame because it had been having so much fun. That’s why I didn’t answer right away. So you’re not the only one losing his fucking mind,” Steve says bluntly, folding his arms. “What the hell did you see?”

Billy looks down again, jaw working furiously. For a brief second, in the light of the torch, Billy looks stripped bare and vulnerable. It’s something Billy works hard against being and even though Steve doesn’t care for it, he understands why Billy needs to feel…stronger, bigger, louder than everyone else.

“Saw my dad,” Billy mutters unwillingly, and Steve breathes in. Fuck. Not Neil.

“Shit,” Steve says and Billy gives a sharp bark of laughter. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to talk about it. They never talk about Neil, not even when Billy came to school with strange bruises. Billy always refused. So they stopped asking.

“Yeah, shit,” he agrees, rubbing his eyes with his hand. “Thought I was dreaming but…fuck, Steve, there’s something in this house, isn’t there?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, wishing he was wearing a thicker layer. He feels tired and cold and he wants to go home to climb into bed with Robin and Billy, to eat popcorn, and argue about what film to watch. Billy wants action. Robin usually prefers something old and arty. They usually end up watching some horror thing or chick-flicks, the only genres that they can agree on.

He doesn’t want to be in this house and wondering if the face of the boy he loves is going to turn on him again.

“I don’t want to stick around to find out what,” Steve says, because this was not in the job description. Time to go home, delete all of the footage they have and post a closing notification on their channel. After this, Steve is done. He could have done without knowing for sure what was out there.

“I already know what’s here,” Robin says, appearing suddenly in the doorway. Steve flinches, wondering if she’s real too, but she strides in, clutching an old metal box to her chest. She’s missing her beret, smears of dust across her chest, and Steve wonders what she’s been doing to get marks like that across her front.

“It’s fucking Henry Creel,” she says, and dumps the box open onto the dining room table.

“Henry’s dead,” Billy says in disbelief, but he drifts over to the table to look anyway. 

“Henry’s here,” Robin corrects him. She’s got the same shell-shocked pallor to her face that Billy has and Steve wonders if it’s mirrored in his own face. Some ghost hunters they are. “He’s a sick little fucker and always was. We thought as much from that,” she says, gesturing at the sour face of Henry behind them. “He was obsessed with death and murder and this house. Look.”

Steve and Billy pick over the contents, taking in the strange paraphernalia, the disturbing drawings. There’s newspaper articles, carefully copied and cut out. Steve knows enough about the history of the house to know that Henry was pretty thorough in his research. Billy finds the dark drawing and runs his fingers over the black smears and yellow eyes with a fearful expression.

Steve digs down to the bottom and his fingers grasp something a little thicker than paper, something smooth to the touch. He pulls it out and they all stare at the photograph in disbelief.

“He’s definitely a sick fuck,” Billy says in a low voice, his eyes wide. Steve and Robin exchange concerned glances.

It’s a family photo, one not unlike the larger version made of oils and canvas behind them. Victor, Virginia, Henry and Alice. Save for Henry, every face has been slashed.

“He hated them,” Robin says, voice cracking. She flexes her fingers, looking for something to hold so Steve pulls her trembling hands into his. “I don’t know why…what caused it but he thought they were beneath him. He wanted to harm them.”

“And he did,” Steve says, looking at Robin for confirmation. She nods, looking queasy. “He killed Alice. But if he killed her then where the fuck is he?” Billy starts sweeping Henry’s collection of horrors back into the box and slamming the lid.

“We’re not sticking around to find out,” he says firmly. “We’re getting what we can grab and we’re going. I’m not sticking around to have my neck broken at the bottom of the stairs or find Steve dangling from the chandelier or Ro floating in the pool out back. I think it’s pretty certain to say that we’re not safe here.”

“How did you find this?” Steve asks curiously and Robin sniffs. He rubs her cold fingers, trying to pull some warmth back into them.

“It was Alice,” she says quietly. “She’s here. She showed me in Henry’s old room, behind the backboard. He must have left it there. She wanted me to know.”

“Someone should,” Steve says, thinking of the forty-odd years that Alice has been left alone in this house. “Jesus, Ro, can you believe it?” She laughs weakly, taking back one of her hands long enough to rub at the tears pooling at her eyelids.

“I know. We found ghosts, Steve! Ghosts!” she whispers. There’s an excited glitter behind her eyes, the excitement that they’ve actually done it. Fuck knows if they’ll ever be able to show anyone any of their footage - Steve doesn’t know if they even got anything on screen. They were only supposed to be doing a walkthrough. Robin had her camera on for some of it, and Billy put his camera on before he went into the basement. Which, by the looks of it, is still down there. Billy didn't have it in his hands when he came up.

“Right,” Billy announces and Steve turns in time to catch his backpack as it’s thrown at him. “Steve, Ro, here’s your’s. Leave everything else behind, we are gone.” He crams the metal tin in the opening in his bag and does it up. 

“Your camera,” Steve protests, because Billy worked at the pool all last summer for that camera but Billy shakes his head.

“Leave it,” he says and something about his tone suggests that he won’t be argued with. But if Billy saw his dad down there, then Steve can understand that. There are parts of yourself that you don’t want to be dragged to the surface.

“What am I missing?” Robin asks, looking from Billy to Steve. Her bag dangles from her arm by its strap, the rainbow buttons oddly bright and cheerful in this space. “Seriously?”

“I…” Billy hesitates. He still doesn’t want to talk about it, preferring to act like it never happened. But Steve can imagine what the Neil creature said, if it’s anything like his illusion of Billy. He only vaguely remembers Neil, from the days when Billy still had both of his parents.

They were not good days.

He got used to Billy skipping showers at school. To his wearing long sleeves even when the weather was too warm for it. He remembers Billy turning up without a jacket, any food, or even a pencil, because he’d had to leave the house in a hurry. Several nights, he’d just turn up at Steve’s or at Robin’s, on the verge of tears, swallowing around a terrified lump in his throat. Steve’s mom always used to sigh heavily when this happened and she wouldn’t say anything even when Steve pressed her.

He overheard her once when they were ten. That it was a shame leaving a child in a situation like that. That Neil was a bully. A monster. That Abigail should leave.

But Steve’s dad would always shush her and tell her that it wasn’t their place to get involved.

Steve had always thought ‘fuck that.’ Billy and Robin are his place. His people. And while he couldn’t do much about Abigail and Neil, he started packing extra lunches and pens and extra clothes in his locker. Keeping his window unlocked for Billy to climb through. Punching Tommy Hagan when he made comments. 

And then one day when they were twelve, Neil was just gone. He packed up and left, leaving Abigail with a broken arm and Billy with such a bad black eye that he didn’t come to school for a week. 

Things got better. Abigail got better, got a good job. Billy got brighter, stronger, and came out. They were thriving until Neil made himself known again, an hour’s drive away and with a new wife and daughter. He wanted to see Billy.

Billy before a Neil weekend is never good. He goes back to the Billy of before, the shadow of the bold, brilliant boy that Steve loves. He stops wearing jewelry, stops wearing eyeliner and the smear of raspberry lip gloss. It takes a few days after for Billy to feel safe enough again to flirt with the boy at the diner, to steal Robin’s bright blue eye-shadow. For him to stop jumping at every sound, to look like he isn’t permanently holding his breath. 

“I saw my dad down there,” Billy says, eventually. He’s turned his head away, like he can’t bear to look at either of them while he talks. “Or what looked like my dad. Got the usual shit about being a fag and worthless and…I don’t know why it bothered. If I wanted that sort of talk I could just go to Monroe and see Pops in the flesh.” 

“Billy..” Robin says, her face painfully gentle. She reaches out but Billy just shrugs on his backpack and turns away.

“We’re going,” he mutters, his walls snapped back into place. “I’ve had enough with this house of horrors.”

He stalks out without even looking back. Robin and Steve look at each other and rush to follow. 

They catch up to Billy in the hallway, and they silently walk as a trio through the house.

“They should tear this place down,” Steve muses, wondering why the house has been left to rot for so long. It’s of no use to anyone, a crumbling corpse of a once glorious house on the edge of town. 

“We should burn it,” Billy says mutinously, his boots a harsh sound on the hardwood floors. 

“Maybe someone still owns it,” Robin suggests. They enter the foyer and they’ve been in here too long. The sun has set, leaving them in near darkness, the only light coming from the moon and the streetlights. Shit. Somehow time got away from them while they were talking with ghosts. “Maybe they don’t want to take it down.”

“God knows what they’ll think they’re going to do with it,” Billy scoffs. “No one wants to fucking live here. People fucking die here.”

“They should take it down,” Steve agrees quietly. He’s grateful that his encounter wasn’t real, that Billy doesn’t know about his feelings. But it makes him all the more sure that he can never tell Billy. If Billy rejects him again, he won’t be able to take it. 

When the floorboards split and begin spewing spiders, Robin leaps back and screams. Steve grabs her arm and pulls her away while Billy curses, staring at the hundred and hundreds of them skittering over the floor between them and the door. 

“What the fuck?” Billy shouts, stamping at the ones under his feet. Robin is nearly incomprehensible and shaking in terror. Steve’s not fond of spiders but Robin hates them. He drags her back, staring in dismay at the swarming, writhing floor. There’s no way that they can get through.

“Back door!” Billy shouts and takes off at a run. Steve follows, dragging Robin behind him. They don’t look back to see if they’re being followed.

“What the fuck?” Billy hisses again as they dash down the hallway. They pass by the dining room, headed for the kitchen and the closed back door. It shouldn’t be a problem - Billy is good at breaking things down.

“It’s Henry,” Robin says, her hand a clammy grip in Steve’s. “He was obsessed with spiders, he kept them. There were drawings in that box too.” Something sparks in Steve’s brain, a memory of something as they’d flicked through the papers.

“And a picture of him with a cage,” Steve says as they barrel through the kitchen door and shut it behind them. Not that it will do much. Ghosts can walk through, spiders can go under. Steve digs in his backpack for his torch again and switches it on. “The big terrarium type that you might keep spiders in.”

“Great,” Robin rasps, resting her head against the door. “So we know it’s him.”

Billy growls in frustration, rattling futilely at the locked backdoor. “On that note, how exactly is it Henry? The guy is old! He went missing forty odd years ago! We should be dealing with an sixty-something year old fucker, and I’m going to be honest, that doesn’t sound that scary.”

“Yeah, well, if Alice is a spirit, maybe Henry is too?” Steve suggests, dragging out a kitchen chair for Robin to sit in. She collapses into it, her face deathly pale. It’s fine. If snakes start spilling out of the walls, Steve might look like that too. “He’s definitely something if he’s summoning fucking spiders out of the floorboards.”

“Oh no,” Robin says quietly, opening her eyes. “Oh dear.” Billy stops trying to force the door to turn to look at her.

“Now what?” he asks, and starts yanking open the kitchen drawers. He digs out a few knives, a meat tenderiser and drops them all on the counter. “Please, tell me what awful thing you’re about to say while I try to stab this door open.”

“So Alice said one thing,” Robin says, and Steve knows that whatever was said by a dead little girl is probably only going to make the situation worse. “Just one thing after I asked her if Henry was the one who killed her.”

“And that was?” Steve asks, and tries not to flinch as a spider squeezes its way under the door. He pretends not to see, for Robin’s sake.

“That there was something worse in here with us,” Robin says, darkly. Billy laughs, the metal of the knife making a scraping sound as he tries to pry open the door. 

“We have a ghost and a homicidal maniac trying to kill us and we can’t get out. What could be worse?” he demands, somewhat hysterically. Steve watches a few more spiders wriggle under and thinks that they’re running out of time. The spiders might not be real. But they also might be actual poisonous ones and they’ve just shut themselves in. 

“There must be something,” Steve says, realizing something. He feels like an idiot for not thinking of it earlier. “You were downstairs talking to the thing that looked like your dad. I was up here talking to the thing that looked like you. Robin was upstairs talking to Alice.”

“So?” Billy asks, furiously kicking at the door. It creaks but refuses to buckle. An unstoppable force meets an immovable object…and is losing. Steve briefly wonders if there’s more than an old steel lock keeping them trapped in here. 

“So, that means three supernatural beings,” Robin says, catching on. “Right, Steve?” 

It fits. Alice wasn’t involved - if anything she seems to be trying to help them, leading Robin to the true culprit and warning her. But Billy and Steve were having their conversations at the same time, more or less. Billy called through on the walkie, immediately after talking to Neil. The timing is too close.

“So it’s Henry and something else,” Steve agrees. He shakes his leg as something tries to skitter up it and then stamps down for good measure. “What if that’s what’s been haunting this house all these years? All those deaths? There must be something before Henry who was causing them or contributing to them.”

The long history of deaths and accidents only lends to Steve’s theory. They didn’t start after the Creels arrived, but long before, ever since the house was built. Henry is just the apprentice. Henry was human. The power must be coming from somewhere.

Billy’s mouth twists. “So what, they see people who aren’t really there and then blow their heads off? Beat their wives? Drown their children? That doesn’t make any sense!”

“If you had it, day in and day out, maybe it would,” Steve counters. Because he still feels shaken to the core by the Billy specter, hollowed out by the mocking and the cruelty. He can only imagine that Billy felt the same. “If you lived here and you saw Neil every day, telling you the worst things about yourself…could you cope with it?”

Billy closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to admit to it. Billy pretends that he’s made of stone, that what happened with his dad means nothing to him. But Steve knows Billy. Knows that he hates bullies, and is more sensitive than anyone would ever expect him to be. That he loves fiercely, and while he thought all of this ghost stuff was bullshit, he still goes into the darkest places so that Steve doesn’t have to. 

“No,” Billy says finally. His hand drops away from the handle. “No, I couldn’t.”

“But the Packards got out,” Robin says, gesturing to the discarded remains of the Packards' brief time in this house. “Somehow, they managed it.”

“Maybe Alice warned them,” Steve suggests, swinging his torch around. There’s too many spiders now, too many. Everywhere he turns his torch, they’re there, clinging to the walls, the door frames, scuttling over the kitchen cabinets. Even in the darkness he can see them, a black foaming mass closing in. 

“Maybe they actually had some common sense and ran when the walls started bleeding?” Billy gripes and then kicks out furiously. The door rattles but still doesn’t give even as Billy throws his full weight against it. “Fuck! This door won’t open!”

Robin screams suddenly, the sound startling Billy into dropping one of the knives to the floor. Steve jumps and swings his torch across to where she’s staring at, expecting to see another swarm of spiders. But it’s just a little girl, glowing faintly in the light. Steve sucks in a breath. Jesus. It really is Alice Creel.

“Alice?” Robin whispers, pulling herself up from the chair. “What is it? Can you help us?”

There’s a beat and Alice briefly flickers. It’s like she’s fighting to stay here, like she’s struggling against something much stronger than her. She’s not like the ghosts Steve has seen on TV, terrible howling creatures, with abilities and bloodied clothes. 

But then she points to a dark corner of the kitchen. Steve follows her finger with his torch and spots a cupboard door tucked away against the back wall. 

“Does she expect us to hide in it?” Billy asks dubiously, but he stalks across the room and rips the cupboard open away. It’s an old pantry, the tins and bottles all covered in a thick layer of dust. Steve desperately swings his torch around, looking for something, anything to help them. But then Robin grabs his arm with a cry of joy.

“Steve! The floor!” He moves the torch down and finally sees what Robin does in the old floorboards. Metal hinges and a pull. It’s a trapdoor. 

“A trapdoor to where?” Billy yelps, and Steve can see the color drain from his face. “Are we just going to get stuck in the basement again?”

“It’s better than staying here!” Robin protests, and Steve realizes that she has seen the increasing number of spiders after all. It appears to be her turn for her fear. Billy and Steve already had theirs. “There’s a cellar door, right? Round the side of the house? We can get out that way.”

“We can’t even break open the kitchen door, Ro, how are we going to manage that?” Billy hisses. He’s more terrified of going back downstairs than he’s admitting, fearing a repeat of Neil. 

Steve kneads at his temples with his free hand. He’s trapped between his two best friends and the things that they fear the most.

“We have to go down,” he says and tries to ignore the look of hurt on Billy’s face. “We have to keep moving. We’ll die in here. We have a chance if we keep going.”

“We could die down there,” Billy says coldly. Steve looks up into his face and tries to remind himself that this is the flesh and bone Billy. 

“I know,” Steve says and longs to reach out for Billy’s hand. “But we’ll be with you this time. Ro, get the knives. Billy, help me with this.”

Robin disappears out of the torch light to collect the abandoned knives and Steve can hear her whimper as she moves carefully past the spiders crawling across the floor. Billy scowls but bends down and grabs the metal ring to help Steve pull it open. It takes a moment and all their strength, the door stiff after years of unuse. But eventually it swings free and they stare down into the darkness. 

“There’s a ladder,” Billy says consideringly. “But I don’t know where it goes. Hold the torch over it.”

“What?” Steve says dumbly, and Billy grabs hold of his wrist and moves it so that the light shines down the open hole. Robin returns and he relieves her of the biggest knife, tucking it into his belt.

“I’m going first, then send Ro. Climb quick,” He advises and turns around, dropping one foot down for the first rung.

Fuck. Billy always has to go into the dark places first. 

“Really quick,” Robin says, her teeth chattering. She’s clutching the knives so closely to her, Steve worries that she might cut herself. He takes one of them away from her and slides it into his bag. He may have a use for it.

They watch Billy vanish into the black, until his voice drifts up. “I’ve hit the bottom! Come down!”

“He doesn’t want to be down there alone,” Robin quips but her fingers are shaking as she puts away her own knife so that she can follow Billy. After she too has vanished, Steve loops the strap of his torch around his wrist and sits himself at the edge, grabbing hold of the wood of the door. A spider or two brushes against his fingers and he winces. He’s not as arachnophobic as Robin but he’s not fond of them either. 

But then he climbs down and drops the trapdoor closed over his head, shutting them into a new nightmare. 

XXX 

Steve’s boots hit dirt as he lands. He brushes off his hands and grabs hold of his torch, still swinging from his wrist. Climbing down in the pitch black, with only the swaying beam from his torch and the faint glow of Robin and Billy’s below, was something he’d really rather not do again.

“Can they get through?” Robin asks, nervously staring up at the direction of the trapdoor. Steve shrugs.

“I think we should presume that these assholes can send or show us whatever they like anywhere in this damn house,” Billy mutters darkly. He shines his torch down the passageway but it all seems to be spook and spider free. “Let’s go.”

They fall into line, shoulder to shoulder and using their torches to keep an eye out. Robin frowns and reaches out to touch the walls with her fingers.

“Did you see this when you were down here before?” she asks and Billy shakes his head.

“Nope,” he says bluntly. He’s got the big knife clenched in his other hand, knuckles almost white around the handle. “I don’t know where the hell this is. There’s way too much space down here.”

“I don’t know if some of it is real,” Robin says thoughtfully. “Or at least, if it was here before Andrew Newton built everything else.”

“What, like some creepy satanic dimensional space?” Billy snorts and Steve stares at the strange structure of the walls. They’re not made of any material that a building inspector would allow - they look almost like mud and brick, something primitive that leaves dirt marks on the pads of your fingers.

“Something like that,” Steve chimes in. “I mean, the house is definitely affected by the creepy shit happening here, right? The attic, blood leaking from the walls, bugs coming out of faucets…why not down here?”

“The thing down here said my house,” Billy says carefully, still too wary of talking about when he encountered the thing wearing Neil’s face. “I think whatever it was has been here for ages.”

“Maybe it didn’t take kindly to the neighbors moving in,” Robin says quietly, shining her torch over the walls and it definitely looks like some demonic, millennia old hallway of nightmares. There’s the occasional root winding its way in between the gaps, just to serve as a reminder that this could so easily turn into a grave. It’s so bizarre how the ancient just adapted to the slabs of steel and concrete slapped over it, bending around it as easy as rubber. 

“It killed them,” Steve says, because that’s what really happened. No one who ever moved in here stood a chance. “Over and over and over….”

“What for though?” Robin asks curiously. “Because they intruded? For food? And if so, how the hell did the Packards get out?” And that is the recurring question - how did the Packards escape unscathed? By rights, they should have been murdered in their beds, and their dog left for dead on the front lawn. No one survives Creel House unscathed. But somehow they did.

“Fuck knows,” Billy grunts. “But we’re going to do like they did and get out while we can. The cellar is at the back of the basement, in one of the rooms on the other side of the house. I think it’s locked but we break it down if we have to…Steve?”

Steve’s suddenly blinded as the torchlight swings up straight at his face. He blinks, automatically bringing a hand up to shield his face.

“You okay?” Billy asks, brow creased in concern. Steve whips his head back down the dark corridor behind him, little flashes of light still scattered across his vision. He hadn’t even realized that he’d stopped until Billy called his name.

“Yeah,” Steve says warily. “Just thought I heard…nothing.” Billy frowns. 

“Don’t let shit get in your head,” he says frankly, and the angle of the torch casts half of his face in shadow. It works on him somehow, making his cheekbones look more angular, highlighting his jaw. 

“Sure,” Steve mutters, even though Billy is probably the last person who should be saying that. He swings his torch back behind them, down the passage, but nothing’s there. “Really just thought I heard something.” But their faces only show confusion.

“Let’s just keep moving,” Robin suggests anxiously. “There was a case from here in the sixties where the owner ended up impaled on the fence spikes and I really don’t want that happening to me.”

“Robin shish-kabob,” Billy quips and Steve watches the earring in his ear swing back and forth as he turns his head. 

They can’t hear it. The chimes, the same one that Steve heard earlier in the attic. 

He doesn’t quite get it, the grandfather clock and the constant discord of chimes. Something supernatural in this house really likes their fucking clocks but Steve pushes the thought away and sets off to catch up.

“How long is this fucking tunnel?” Billy says, taking the thought right out of Steve’s head. Because they’ve been walking for a few minutes and there’s no way they shouldn’t have reached the end by now. The house isn’t that big.

“Do you think we’re just gonna end up in a loop back where we first started?” Robin asks nervously and it says a lot that neither of them scoff at the idea. All rules go out of the window in this fucking house. 

“Maybe we should make a mark?” Billy suggests. “Just in case?”

Steve searches in his pocket for the wrapper he’d shoved in there earlier. Littering isn’t the best idea but it would be something distinct that they can look out for. Dimension warping seems to be a thing here, spaces not acting as they normally would. Especially down here. The rest of the house isn’t exempt but there’s something about this basement that defies all logic. It’s fucking insane that they have to come this way to get out when it seems to be the source of whatever is living here but they had no other options, save for smashing in a window. And if it was anything like the backdoor, then it may have just been more wasted time. 

The thought must have occurred to all of them, even if no one is willing to say it. That something might not let them out of the house. They might reach the cellar door only to find it sealed shut or they might just walk this dark corridor endlessly until they’re too tired to fight back.

Steve’s fingers close around the wrapper just as hears it again, the faint sound of bells. He freezes, hand in his pocket, barely able to breathe. Robin and Billy walk on ahead of him, unaware of what Steve can hear.

Why is it me? Steve thinks. Why is it just me? 

He swings his bag around to dig around for the knife. He’s not sure how much good it’ll do but having his hand around the handle calms the churning in his stomach somewhat.

Then it happens, like a cold breath on the back of his neck.

“Steve,” and the whisper is so faint that for a moment Steve thinks that he’s losing his mind. But then it happens again, the same call and the curl of cold dank breath on the back of his neck makes his hand sweaty around the knife. 

“Steve?” another voice calls anxiously and Steve whips his head back around, towards the bobbing lights of his friends. He knows that this particular call didn’t come from either of them.

“Shit,” Steve whispers, trapped between two ghostly voices. The second voice is higher, sweeter, and he doesn’t have to think twice about the fact that it is Alice, trying her best to fight against whatever is waiting behind him in the dark.

So he steels himself and steps forward, ignoring the pull from behind him.

There’s something in his head and he thinks that there has been for a while. There’s tiny hooks in his brain, left behind from whatever grazed across his thoughts. It wasn’t there when he entered the house but then he remembers how the fake Billy had smiled, the interest in its eyes as it gripped Steve’s chin with strong, sharp fingers. Steve had been too shocked, too reeling from hurt to do anything other than leave his mind open. 

And now it's gotten in and Steve isn’t sure there’s anything he can do to get it out.

The voices echo in his head, two identical calls from opposite directions. Steve’s vision wavers, the tunnel suddenly splitting in two. He has to stumble to a stop, grasping hold of the wall for balance. His breath is getting short and sharp, like the oncoming wave of a panic attack.

Alice’s voice is getting quieter, but more desperate. She’s losing.

Steve is losing.

But when he looks up and finds that he no longer sees his friends in front of him, he realizes that he’s already lost. He lost focus, for just long enough for the house to work its strange little magic. The tunnel wasn’t never-ending in the first place. They just had to think it was long enough for whatever else is living here to have the time to work its way into Steve’s head, finding all of the little hooks and barbs that it left there before. Seeds just waiting to be nourished and grow.

The torch around his wrist flickers, and then dies.

He doesn’t sense what’s behind him until too late.  Onto Chapter 5 Deeply sorry for this taking so long but with the chapters getting so much longer, editing is taking a lot more time. Also, I’ve started putting more work into Pirate!Hellcheer au and I may also be working on a few bits for Hellcheer AU week. I wasn’t going to but then I saw the prompts and couldn’t resist. @dragonflylady77 @ihni @greyghoulclub