ihni

[ihni]

Healing Hands

For the @harringrovesummerbingo, square C1, prompt: "Late, with consequences".

3,5K, teen (due to someone temporarily being shot, and hints of domestic abuse)

Summary: Billy is six years old when he heals his first person.

(On AO3 here)

He sees it happening in slow motion, but is too late to stop it; sees them running across the darkened food court, heading for the exits, when the black-clad men spill out from the elevator doors behind them. Billy is on the other side of the court, by the Gap, and he is already running but he won’t be able to stop it. Won’t make it in time. He yells a warning, sees Steve’s head swivel around, meets his eyes for one second –

Gunshots, several of them, sharp and fast and devastating. Steve’s body jerks. No! Next to him, Robin screams and grabs him, throws them both to the ground.

Billy is running, no, he is flying, but he is too late, too late, knows he’s too late –

As he runs, he is dimly aware of things happening around him. A car whizzes past, in the air, and crashes into the group of black-clad men. There’s a crash, and no more gunfire. Screaming voices, glass breaking, all of it drowned out by the thud-thud-thud of Billy’s blood pounding in his ears. He throws himself to his knees and skids to a stop next to Steve, who isn’t moving. Robin is shaking him, begging for him to get up and Henderson is staring at them with impossibly big eyes, but Billy doesn’t care about any of the others. He only has eyes for Steve, who is lying in a pool of slowly growing blood on the tiled floor, his eyes staring at the sky, unseeing.

No.

Billy’s breath catches as fear unlike anything he has ever felt wraps around his throat.

No. Not Steve.

This can’t happen.

Billy won’t let it happen.

He shoves Robin off Steve, ignoring her squawked protest, and rips his Scoops shirt open. There is blood there too, too much blood, and he can’t– he can’t see where it’s coming from. But it doesn’t really matter.

Doesn’t matter. He can do this.

He digs his fingers into Steve’s blood-slick skin on both sides of his torso and closes his eyes. Concentrates on emptying his mind of everything but the feeling of where his fingers are touching Steve.

Gone is the feeling of warm blood seeping into the denim of his jeans, and the panic over what it means.

Gone are the sounds of the chaos around them – they’re all filtered out, leaving only oppressive silence and a darkness he can hear. 

Gone is the worry about more armed men and gunshots – El can handle them, because El can do things that no one else can.

Billy can’t do what she does. But he can do this.

Everything is gone; pitch black and silent. The points of contact between his fingers and the skin they’re touching gets warmer. In the darkness of his mind, those points begin to glow; ten stains of light on the velvety black, growing in size and intensity, bleeding into each other until the ten small points become two bigger ones. They keep growing, keep heating up, keep spreading across a figure he cannot see, but knows is there. The light and heat spreads until there’s a glowing outline of a person in front of him, pulsating with energy. Energy which is leaking out of the figure; seeping out through tears that should not be there.

Billy feels his hands, his forearms, his whole being heat up; a buildup of crackling energy coming from his very core. When it is enough, he pushes – feels it flow out of him and into the figure in front of him in a pulse like a discharge. It leaves him lightheaded, but the figure glows brighter below him. He doesn’t know how – has never known how – but he guides the crackling light to the tears-that-should-not-be-there and watches as they start knitting themselves together. Then he heats up his core anew, and does it again. And again.

And again.

He feels himself blinking but cannot see, he only sees the person of light in front of him; whole now, with no more leaks. The hardest part remains.

Everyone has a flow inside them. He can see it if he tries, even though he hasn’t tried in a long time. The flow must be able to move freely, the energy unhindered. The tears have disrupted the flow in the body under his hands, and he must fix it. He no longer remembers why, but knows that it’s important. The most important.

Directing energy in someone else is hard, and depletes his own reserves. He follows the glowing rivers in the figure he is connected to, and he goes through the flow, methodically, from top to toe. A little nudge here, a gentle push there, a renewed connection where it has been severed or frayed.

It is the most beautiful thing, when it is unbroken again, and can flow freely. The glow is warm and strong. It pulses in time with his heart, like a reassurance that it is full of life. It makes him happy to see, calm. Too calm, perhaps; his heart stutters. Danger.

Joy, relief. But dangerous. 

~~~

Billy is six years old when he heals his first person. His mother is hurting, because his parents were fighting and now his father is out (slammed the door when he left, making Billy jump where he was hiding between the bed and the bookcase). His mother is hurting, on her hands and knees and picking up broken glass from the floor, crying silently. Billy’s heart aches because he loves her so much. When she sees him standing there, she sits up and attempts a smile with a split lip, and when she sees the tear tracks on his face she holds her arms out to him and says “Oh baby, come here”. Falling into her arms, Billy closes his eyes and sobs. He hugs her closer and digs his fingers in and something is not right but he instinctively knows how to right the wrong. He … gets warmer, and it feels like love when his mother starts glowing.

There’s a gasp, and Billy is gently pushed from his mother’s arms. He blinks his eyes open (she’s not glowing anymore; strange) and the split in her lip is gone and her face is no longer swelling. He smiles tiredly (he’s so tired), because he loves his mother and she’s okay now.

But she doesn’t smile back.  “Billy, what did you do?”

And he wants to answer, because her voice sounds serious, but he’s suddenly so very sleepy.

~~~

Steve wakes up, which is a surprise. He’d been running from the Russians, had been running with Dustin and Robin and Erica, and they’d almost made it, too – but then they hadn’t. There were gunshots, and something like bee stings, and then he tripped.

No, not bee stings. Bullets.

He was shot.

Frantic, he shoots up and pats himself down, feeling for the wounds. His hands slap against blood-soaked fabric, but there is no pain. There are no wounds that he can find.

How are there no wounds? He remembers being shot.

He is on the floor of the mall, in a pool of blood, and everything around them is chaos. His brain finally connects and he remembers; the Russians! He whirls around, trying to look back at the elevator, but there is no threat there now. There are only unmoving figures, scattered around a crashed car. It doesn’t make sense, but he doesn’t care as long as everyone is okay. The people huddled around him (talking to him, although he can’t make sense of any words) are pale and tearful, but they are all upright and looking at him, so they’re okay. He looks at them too, taking a mental tally and making sure no one is bleeding. Robin, Dustin, Erica, Nancy, El, Max, Jonathan, Billy, Will, Mike, Lucas. All are alive. No one (except for him?) seems to be shot or hurt.

Billy is closest to him, his hands out like he wants to touch (and bloody, like he has touched already) and Steve’s eyes are drawn to him. He opens his mouth to ask … something … when Billy’s eyes roll back in his head and he falls to the side, legs and arms akimbo, like a puppet whose strings have been cut.

“Billy!” No time for questions now. Steve tries to get up, slips in the blood on the floor (and where is it coming from?), and is righted by several hands. He swats them away, and dives for Billy. “Billy …” he says, reaching out (a bloody hand) and gently touching Billy’s face. Billy is breathing, but his breaths are too light, too fast. His pulse is there, but irregular, and his eyes, when Steve pulls back his eyelid in something like panic, are rolled back. He doesn’t wake when Steve shakes him; doesn’t even wake when Steve slaps him across the face because he can’t think of anything else to do.

“Steve,” someone says, and the word trickles into his awareness; impatient, like they’ve been calling his name for a while now. There are hands on him, pulling, and everything explodes with noise that must have been there all along.

“What’s happening?” Steve wheezes, and oh, he’s hyperventilating. “Why won’t he wake up?”

Hands grab at his face and he’s twisted around forcefully, and suddenly he’s facing Robin. She has been crying, is crying, and her face is oscillating between worry and relief. “You were shot,” she says, voice catching. “You were bleeding so much. Billy, he … did something. To make you wake up. He saved you, somehow, I don’t know –” They turn as one to look at Billy, sprawled out on the floor, unmoving. Steve’s heart stutters in his chest, and his mind reels with the implications until Robin’s voice is back. “Steve, we’ve called for help. They’re coming, but …” She trails off, flicking her gaze to Billy. And Steve doesn’t get it until he does.

Billy saved him, somehow. So Billy can’t be here when whoever is coming for the Russians show up. They need to leave, right now, because whoever shows up can’t get their hands on Billy. 

Everything is still too much, and some of the kids are still crying, holding each other close. Steve should care more about that, and he should probably also care about the plans and decisions the others mare making right in front of him, but he doesn’t – the only thing he cares about is keeping Billy safe. Right now, that adds up to two things; making sure that everyone knows not to breathe a word about what just happened, and getting Billy the hell out of here. The first is accomplished by extracting vows from everyone present to keep their mouths shut, and the second … Well. Steve is awake and magically unharmed, but he is weak and gets dizzy when he tries to stand. As much as he wants to, he won’t be able to carry Billy alone. So in the end it is Jonathan who ends up carrying Billy out of there. Steve walks close, his hand on Billy’s wrist, and Max and El trails after them – Max because she refuses to leave her brother, and El because … Steve doesn’t actually know why. It doesn’t matter, though. He doesn’t care, as long as nothing is slowing them down.

Steve climbs into the back seat and accepts Billy’s unconscious form, arranging him so he is spread out in his lap, while Jonathan drives and the girls share the passenger seat. Steve doesn’t pay attention to where they’re going or even remembers much of the ride, and then suddenly they’re at his house (and it’s in the middle of the night but not late or early enough that the neighbors won’t see and ask questions, so Jonathan pulls into the garage and closes the garage door before he brings Billy out of there). They get him in the house and up the stairs and on Steve’s insistence they deposit Billy in Steve’s bed (because that’s where Billy usually sleeps when he’s over), and they’re all bloody and messy at the end of it and if it wasn’t for the feather-light rise and fall of Billy’s chest, he could be dead.

The others bully Steve into the shower, claiming he needs a wash, and when he’s in there and scrubbing the blood off, he moves his hand over the unbroken, unscarred skin where he felt the bullets hit. He doesn’t understand, and maybe he freaks out a little, but there’s no one there to see it.

Once he is clean and wearing clean clothes, hair still wet, he hurries back to his room. Jonathan, bless him, has done his best to clean Billy off too, so there is no visible blood except some stains on the comforter, which he throws a pillow over as soon as Steve enters. Max and El are sitting on the floor next to the bed, their backs to the far wall, and the desk chair has been placed next to the bed on the other side as if they’ve saved the best seat for Steve.

He sits down in it without taking his eyes off of Billy’s still form. Reaching out for Billy’s wrist, he feels his own heart calm at the steady pulse under his fingers, and rubs his thumb over Billy’s wrist.

Over the blank piece of skin where despite everything, no number has ever been added.

~~~

Billy does not have a tattoo on his wrist, because Billy was never taken into the lab.

His mother gave birth to him under the watchful eyes of white-clad men with clipboards, and they took all kinds of samples from her and her newborn son, and made them go through all kinds of tests – all in accordance with the contract that had been signed over a year ago. After the results came back, Billy’s mother was allowed to take her boy home, and the family received a check for their troubles (not as big a check as it could have been if the test results had come back different, but a check nonetheless) as well as a promise of an even bigger payout if any latent abilities were to develop in the boy..

For years, nothing happened. Billy’s father got increasingly frustrated, sensing his chances of a fat check diminishing, while Billy’s mother’s relief grew for each year that her son didn’t show any signs of being able to do things that no one else could do.

And then, when Billy was six years old … he healed her.

Such a wonderful, unique gift. Her son was a miracle.

But she knew that if someone found out, her son would be taken from her. No one else had seen, though. No one knew. She would just have to keep it that way.

Little Billy fell asleep in her arms right after, and couldn’t be roused. At first she worried, but he was breathing normally and his pulse was strong, so she simply put him to bed and kissed him goodnight. There were bigger things to worry about.

The first thing she did after that was to finish picking up the broken glass and clean the kitchen. The second thing she did was to bring a glass shard to the bathroom mirror and use it to re-cut her lip.

It worked. Her husband came home a couple of hours later, and barely glanced at him before he stumbled to bed. In the morning, while he slept and snored, she silently shook her son awake and took him out for a car ride. They parked on an outcrop overlooking the ocean, but none of them looked out at the glittering sea. Billy’s mother made sure her son kept his attention on her, and they had a long and serious talk in which she told him that she knew that he had been trying to help, but he could never do it again. No one could know what he could do, because if someone found out about it they would take him away from her, and lock him up, and she loved him so much and she would miss him terribly if that happened.

They both cried at the end of it, and little Billy promised that he would never do it again, or ever let anyone know about what he could do.

(As he grew up, he broke his word, several times. Once, he helped a bird with a broken wing. Another time, an old stray cat with an injured eye. And one night after his mom had left, he even healed his father who had cut his hand open on a broken bottle when he was drunk – the man woke up with no memory of it, and didn’t think more of it. But even years later, Billy remembered his mother’s warning, and didn’t let anyone know what he could do. At least until the summer of ’86, when he threw all caution to the wind for the one person he couldn’t bear to lose.)

~~~

Billy wakes, two days later, absolutely exhausted.

Steve is right there next to him, with tears in his eyes, chewing him out for worrying him in one second and kissing his face in the next. Max is there too, punching him in the shoulder (but lightly, too lightly to hurt), and El is next to her, smiling and calling him brother (Billy is not, not really, he was never in the lab – but he knows that if he had been, he’d have a tattoo just like hers on his wrist, and have a number of his own, so maybe … Billy may not be able to do what she can do, but they can both do things no one else can).

Eventually, after he’s been fed and watered (and had his life’s most satisfying piss), it is time to come clean. Not that there’s much to come clean about, because the cat is already out of the bag (and halfway across the state, by now). But they have questions, and Billy … Billy is tired of hiding the answers.

He tells them about his mother, and about what he did when he was six. He tells them what she said, after, and how he had to keep it a secret for so long (and how he used his gift anyway, how he couldn’t not, sometimes). He tells them how it takes a lot out of him, and how this time was the worst injury he hs ever tried to heal (which must have been why he slept for two days; he has never done that before). After some prodding, he tells them what it’s like; what he sees when he’s healing, what he feels; the heat and the light and the flow of energy he can see in all of them, even now. El nods like she kind of understands, but Steve and Max only watch him, wonder in their eyes.

Later, after a nap (he’s still so tired) and after the girls – who may be his sisters – have left, Steve crawls into bed with him and curls up close.

“Can I ask you a question?” he murmurs, trailing his finger across Billy’s collarbone.

Billy will do anything for Steve. Answering a question is nothing. “Shoot.” Steve winces at his word choice, and Billy huffs out a laugh. “Oops. Too soon?”

“A bit. I was shot just a couple of days ago, you know.”

“Yeah, but I saved you.”

“You did.” A pause. “Why?”

“Mm,” Billy says, a sound more than a word, and goes for the truth. “Can’t lose you.” An inhale from next to him, and Billy adds with a little smile, “Guess I’ve grown attached.”

Steve exhales on a laugh and nuzzles his neck. After a minute or two, Billy remembers. “Was that what you wanted to ask?”

“No.” A moment passes, in which Steve holds his breath in hesitation. Then, “If you can heal people, why didn’t you ever … you know. Heal yourself?” His voice is small, and Billy’s mind flashes to all the times when they’ve been lying in this very bed, just like this, after Billy has shown up on Steve’s doorstep with black eyes, bruised ribs, blood on his teeth and tears in his eyes. He knows that Steve is thinking of the same thing, and puts his arm around him to pull him closer.

“Couldn’t,” he says, simply, because it’s true. “I can’t do it on myself.” He would have, a thousand times over, if he’d been able to, but he has never been able to see himself in the velvety darkness. Only others, and only through the tips of his fingers.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. Billy feels his breath against his neck.

“I’m not,” Billy says. “I’m glad I have whatever this is. If I hadn’t, I would have lost you.” And, after a beat, “I can’t lose you.”

“I can’t lose you, either,” Steve says, and it feels like a confession. They hug each other close, seeking comfort for a hurt that didn’t happen; both unwilling to let go or allow for space between them.

“I can’t heal you,” Steve continues, after some time. “So I guess I’ll just have to protect you the old-fashioned way.”

“The old-fashioned way?”

“Yeah. With my bat.”

[ihni]

The two first page of a mini comics, hope my english is correct and that you'd like it! 🙇🏻‍♀️🥰

[ihni]

If you’re alive

[ihni]

baseball au steve in which steve is a starter pitcher in a suspiciously homoerotic relationship with his catcher

[ihni]

[ihni]

Sorry for the sad post but I couldn’t not.

[ihni]

Ihni I'm absolutely cackling--! Yesterday I watched the Dodgers clip with Kike and his popsicles and immediately thought of Harringrove baseball au potential

(In reference to this post) Muahaha, yeah I reblogged it from @shieldofiron who had tagged it as harringrove au, and never have I read a more true tag! XD

There's so much potential for that particular scene:

Billy as the baseball player, Steve as a camera man (or the technical director, who decides which cameras to show, like "Camera 4, zoom in ... zoom in more ... ... ..." "Uh, Steve, shouldn't we, you know, show the GAME?" "... Camera 4, keep Hargrove in focus.")

Both of them as baseball players, on the same team. Billy had two popcicles and in theory was going to give one of them to Steve, but then he licked (and deepthroated) them both, so now Steve is glaring at him while Billy grins.

Both of them as baseball players, on opposing teams, who hook up on the regular (in secret). Billy knows that Steve is watching, and he knows EXACTLY what he's doing. This is psychological warfare.

Both of them as baseball players, on opposing teams, who have insane sexual chemistry but who hasn't hooked up yet. They do this whole annoying-each-other thing, and the whole league are rolling their eyes and inofficially taking bets on how long it'll take until they finally snap and fuck.

... and more. So much more!

[ihni]

"kike hernandez, living his best life. (camera flashes to game) let's stay with kike. he's entertaining. ...easy bud. he's got TWO? where did he pull that out of????"

[ihni]

bitch this is all you’re gonna get. this life, this face, this body. you better not ‘maybe in another universe’ your way out of everything. sit your ass down and face this. go make tea and have a picnic and read a goddamn book. kiss your loved ones, send that damn text, and hug your siblings. this is all you’re gonna get.

[ihni]

i would trust weird al with my drink at a party. granted he may put one of those capsules that expands into a sponge animal in it,

[ihni]

Billy Hargrove

[ihni]

... Feel like sharing your recipe for the red velvet soup? :p That sounded so good!

Okay, here's the link I found for three tomato soup, a.k.a. Red Velvet Soup! The only step I do that's not in the recipe is I strain it after it's blended to get a smoother mouthfeel.

[ihni]

If someone doesn't understand 24 hour time and is chill you can convert it for them because that's helpful and polite.

If someone primarily uses 12 hour time but understands 24 hour time and is chill you can leave it unconverted as a sign of respect for their abilities.

If someone throws a hissy fit whenever someone gives a time in 24 hour time you are obligated by sacred duty to exclusively give them the time in 24 hour time, even if you actually use 12 hour time.

[ihni]

Violated

A spiral of shame, a vicious cycle of hate The only thing I ever knew was how to hurt Oh, and how it festers deep inside Oh, there was nowhere for me to hide On the minefield of my life, it was my fate

Violated, torn apart Tossed aside right from the start No one seeing past the face Just a memory to erase Broken, shattered, ice-cold heart

She left and never once looked back That day my life went from dark to black Oh, and she called me her darling boy Oh, only to discard me like a broken toy The last I heard was a postcard and a cheque

Violated, torn apart Tossed aside right from the start No one seeing past the face Just a memory to erase Broken, shattered, ice-cold heart

The first time his hand slipped, he was horrified It was just a little slap, and he even cried Oh, and I believed him when he apologized Oh, it lasted a month until I realized That I was too much like her to be loved

Violated, torn apart Tossed aside right from the start No one seeing past the face Just a memory to erase Broken, shattered, ice-cold heart

I figured that this would actually look rad as a cover for an album or a single. Obviously, it would need a song to go with it (obviously lol). So here we are. A big thank you goes out to @ihni who wrote the lyrics for the chorus, which are incredible!

Thankfully, I wont be tempted to write music for it - for the sole reason that I can't lol.

[ihni]

Why did people just not understand Billy Hargrove

If they just took the time to look past the surface of his character he could have been even more popular than Eddie Munson

I COULD HAVE HAD SO MUCH MERCH

Thats my main point actually I want fucking Billy Hargrove merch

[ihni]

[ihni]

Gotta love this shit take in the fandom that says Billy fans must be conservative when half of the fans headcanon Billy as a queer communist, anarchist, anti cop, anti authoritarian teenager just trying to survive life with his homophobic, racist, abusive father.

We have fan theory posts and deep dives and interviews with Dacre which will always have more weight than anything the Duffers have to say. At least half of all Billy fanfics are either harringrove, mungrove, or harringroveson and the rest are self inserts. And I’ve never come across a single post, fic, or anything showing conservative views in this part of the fandom. If you have you must really have been searching for it.