#billy hargrove whump

[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

[sunwarmed-ash]

Dear Billy

It’s been over 6 months since you died and I have finally started to try and not hate you for leaving me. With him of all people.  It’s been 6 months and I can still hear your voice. From the last time I saw you, saw anything for that matter. You were right, for a long time, I did want to join you. How could I not? I know who you really were. Before. Before Neil, before Hawkins, Vecna. Even before your mom left. Who you were at the end. Because after all, I'm alive, we're all alive, because you are not. I know you think I don’t care but I do. I’ve been through hell, hell you’ve put me through, but you’ve been through hell too. I’ve seen it. Not as fast as El did, and sure as hell not fast enough, but I saw it. And I’m sorry Billy. I’m so fucking sorry.  And I would do anything to have you back.  Max

[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.

[katyawriteswhump]

(i'm still) watching you—harringrove microfic

my first attempt at harringrove and probably totally weird like my usual shit, so… yeah, nervous. but I love prompts/challenges too much to resist… Pls be kind 🙂 

WC: 914. For @harringrovemicrofic prompt, green (I also got a passing mention of Jason Carver in for the additional prompt.)

CW: None. Tags: angst, pining, chronic illness (Fibro/Chronic fatigue), enemies to lovers, h/c, no Upside Down AU, slightly soft Billy? Rating: M.

…

Steve hated sitting in the stands watching the Tigers win without him.

Hargrove rained all over the hoop, right until the full-time whistle ripped through Steve’s skull. Simultaneously, Billy ripped his vest off—shouting, thudding his chest, scanning the crowd.

His crazily soft-blue eyes rested on Steve. That smug grin faltered, and Steve’s heart gave a crazy little squeeze.

Billy’s attention snapped away. His teammates carried him on a lap of victory, and Steve shaded his eyes. Too fucking much. Since he’d got sick, the doctors had droned on about Steve having to pace himself. Today, that’d been a bust—all for the torture of watching Hargrove play.

Even though Steve hated him.

And he’d chew on that image of shirtless Billy for goddamn weeks.

“Stop bawling, Harrington.” Steve startled, squinted into the suddenly too-bright light. Tommy H waggled a stuffed tiger in front of his nose: “You can be team mascot. This one’s got even less backbone than you.”

“Jesus, I’m gonna punch your stupid face in!”

Steve pushed himself up. Despite his dumb threat, it took all his strength to stumble away. Halfway to the exit, he collapsed onto a seat, slumping forward with his head in his hands. The crowd stomped by, sending shockwaves through his aching bones. Nobody offered to help. Probably figured he’d bite their heads off…

A hand landed on his shoulder. “You okay?” asked Billy.

WTF? Steve flinched away. Up close, he couldn’t handle those stupidly long lashes and gorgeous eyes. “M’fine.”

“Want a ride?”

“You leaving already?” Steve gawked at Billy’s pecs. “Guess there’s only so much showboating even your fat ego can take.”

Billy arched his brow. “I’m sick of this shit. Your ex-teammates are fucking losers, you know that?”

Uh… Yeah?

“Whatever, dude. I’m leaving with Nance.” Steve had just spotted her with freshman golden-boy, Jason Carver, scribbling madly in her notebook.

“She’s writing an essay on that asshole. Couldn’t bag me. Seriously, I need space. Figured you might too.”

Space with me? “Jesus, you still never stop talking! You hate me. What’s your game?”

Billy shrugged. “I don’t hate you, man. It genuinely sucks you had to be benched. Don’t have to believe me, but I actually miss you.”

Miss humiliating me? Miss me rubbing my ass against you while you shoved me around!?! Guess I enjoyed touching you as much as I hated you. I mean, uh, I STILL hate you…

“I don’t need your fucking sympathy, Hargrove.”

“Not offering fucking sympathy.”

Steve’s heart repeated that crazy squeeze. He’d grabbed the hem of Billy’s green shorts before he knew it.

Don’t leave. I honestly can’t get up without help right now. Won’t ask for help, either.

Billy harrumphed vaguely, casually offered a hand. Steve clasped it—since when did he dig slippery palms?—let Billy draw him up and sling an arm around him. Even with Billy’s help, the effort of walking consumed Steve completely till he sank into the Camaro.

Billy winked at him from the driver’s seat. “Don’t worry, I’ll go gentle.”

“Jesus, I’m not gonna break.”

“You wanna go home?”

Yeah, I totally should. “No fucking way. Anywhere but this dump.”  

With minimal wheelspin, Billy tore from the school grounds. He didn’t play loud music. They didn’t talk much either. Seemed Billy did occasionally shut up. Only Steve fizzing nerves—WTF AM I DOING?—kept him awake until Billy slammed to a halt.

Steve blinked. “Where are we?”

“One of the few places in this shithole that’s not a shithole.” Billy hurried around and helped Steve from the car.

“I’m not a fucking princess,” Steve bitched.

“Whatever you say, pretty boy.”

“Screw you.” Steve’s glare melted into a laugh that he almost felt.

They’d arrived somewhere in the hills, which smelled of spring grasses. Steve slipped from Billy’s warm grasp—not without a dumbass pang—lay flat on the soft turf. Beyond the trickle of a stream, it was so quiet, he dozed almost instantly.

Then, through the blur of his lashes, he spotted Billy stripping his shorts. Christ, that ass!

Billy headed for the stream. His smirk was as mind-blowing as his body. “I skipped showers.”

“Fucking show-boater.” Steve snickered.

He watched Billy wade thigh deep, splash sparkling droplets over that lick-able, lithely muscled torso. He wished he could watch this a billion times over, ached to join Billy, then his eyelids grew too heavy, his fatigue winning, and… Shit!

Deep inside, something snapped. He slung an arm across his face and cried, drifted, then cried again, shamelessly sniffling. A brush against his arm stirred him. Billy lay stretched beside him, towel around his waist, chin rested on a fist.

“Tears are cathartic, huh?”

Steve rolled to full-on sneer at Billy. Ended up fixed on Billy’s lush mouth, fretting his own lower lip. “Quit mocking me.”

“I’m not. Tears help. Apart from when they’re too damn painful. You don’t have to say which those are.”

Billy reached out, as if to push hair from Steve’s damp eyes, then hesitated. Steve grabbed Billy’s fingers, like he’d grabbed for his shorts. He barely breathed. He clasped Billy’s stream-chilled knuckles to his own burning face, like his life depended on it.

“Meant what I said about missing you,” murmured Billy, as Steve drowned in those adoring eyes. “None of those dicks are half-decent rivals. It sucks we never got a chance to work through that tension and…"

This is a dream, right?

Billy’s fingers slid up through Steve’s hair, gently drawing him closer, and they tumbled into a kiss.

[azrielgreen]

Does anyone in the Harringrove Community have any whumpy, heavy duty angst and hurty fics, I am starving for whump, please rec any and all, the more explicit and lengthy the better, thank you so much!!💜💜💜 p.s I'm also not fussy AT ALL about pairings, kinks, warnings etc... I'm multipship so honestly ANY ST pairing that's whump I will read if it's good and painful💕✨️

[thatharringrovehoe]

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

[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.

[ihni]

Finding Billy, chapter 2

(VERY loosely written for a Harringrove Kinktober prompt for day 9; "temperature play", but with 100% certainty NOT what the prompt intended, as this is so far from kinky, it's basically on another planet)

~~~

(Chapter 1)

He doesn’t know what’s real and what’s not. Things have happened that has felt real, but there’s no way it could have been because things like that can’t happen, it’s not possible, but it’s also too crazy for him to have made it up and he’s probably going insane. Maybe he’s gone insane already.

Time ceases to exist, and when it comes back, it jumps from speeding up until he can’t keep up to slowing down like his whole existence is stuck in tar. Nothing makes sense, he’s losing time and gaining false memories and he wants to scream but he can’t –

It won’t let him. The thing. The … Shadow.

He rarely has control over his own body. His mind is no longer his own. The pain of the thing – the Shadow – rifling through his memories and feelings and what makes him him, is indescribable. A violation that defies words. The physical pain of his body being broken and knit together only to be broken again and again and again, that pain is secondary. An afterthought, almost. A backdrop, to this new reality of being a prisoner in his own body; held hostage in his own mind.

He sees the world in flashes.

He’s young. Hiding under his bed when his parents fight. He’s scared. Then he’s older, being dragged down metal stairs and he’s so, so afraid. He has angered his father, who is approaching with his fists clenched and Billy flinches even though he knows he shouldn’t, fearful as always. Then he’s watching Max and a voice inside him tells him to bring her, kill her, and he wants to warn her but he can’t, it won’t let him move or speak. He’s standing in front of a monster and he knows he’s going to die, and his mind is filled with terror.

The only constant is the fear, overlaying everything like a filter.

There are memories in his head that aren’t his. At least, he doesn’t think so. They’re all connected, all of them, him and the Shadow and every other person it takes using his body, every other person that he has to bring to it. He is filled with fear, and only some of it is his own.

He feels it when they die, every single one of them. They leave their terror behind, and it becomes his.

Then a monster that isn’t real – can’t be real – slams itself into his body again and again (each hit a shock to the system that makes him crash back into himself, making him aware enough to experience the excruciating pain of dying), and right there among the terror that spills over like thick blood on his tongue, he feels a stab of relief. Because at least this means it’s over.

Only, he doesn’t die. The horrors continue.

(Read the rest on AO3)

[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.

[maltedmilkks]

you can change your name

or change your mind

and leave this fucked up place behind

but i’ll know (i’ll know)

i’ll know

i’ll know

(i’ll know)

[ventya]

I love writing Billy whump, I love writing about Billy being pathetic and needing help from others. Love writing about Billy leaning onto others because he can't hold himself up. Love writing about Billy completely giving up control because he has no other choice. Love writing about Billy being taken care of by someone that just has to be gentle with him or else Billy will break <3

[sunwarmed-ash]

Angst Prompt: Billy Hargrove

Neverender

Characters: Billy Hargrove, the hawkins crew, Eddie Munson Trigger Warnings: Suicidal ideations/mention, no attempts, homophobic language/violence Tags: Sad Billy, post season 3 & 4-Billy lives, Billy and Steve are ex's, Eddie is a worried friend, Neil Hargroves A+ parenting, post harringrove fall out, hurt/minor comfort, suicidal ideation/mentions, dissociative/Major Depressive Disorder Billy

*Fic also under cut*

Nothings been the same since July. 

How could it be? Billy died. And what was left of their heated-rivalry-turned-blazing-sex-life and budding romance died with him. Because Billy wasn't the same when he came back. How could he be? Nothing that Billy liked about himself existed anymore; Nothing that Steve fell in love with was recoverable. 

He’s a shadow of his former self, and its obvious to everyone, but worst of all himself. His Calforinan tan and meticulously sculpted torso were gone, replaced by a ghostly pale all over color, and ugly, horrifying scars left behind by the monster that almost took his life. His hair, which he had spent months learning to cut and style himself had to be cut to add stables to keep his brain inside his skull post attack. The ‘doctors’ did such a piss poor job of it too Billy lost almost all of the length. He hated how it looked now. How he looked now. 

Nothing is the same as it was before. 

When the Steve finally got the balls to call off whatever their pathetic attempt of going through the motions, Billy told Steve the first lie he’s ever told them since they became exclusive. 

“I get it Steve. Don’t worry, I’ll be alright.”

“Billy…”

“I’ll be fine. Really.”

-

He wasn't fine. He wasn't even in the same ballpark as fine. He was ‘okay at best’ on good days, and seconds away from diving headfirst into the shallow end of the quarry on bad ones. The demons in his mind that plagued his night and daymares were nothing compared to the venom spit from his classmates, from Neil after everything with the mall went down and Billy was arrested after he barely surviving an interdimensional monster attack. 

Some rack of shit huh? Instead of a welcome wagon and fucking parade like the hero who sacrificed everything for a stranger should get, he was gifted with 100% of the blame, 7 months of rehab and a 6 thousand dollar fine for the damage. 

What was worse was that no one refuted it. Not a single person who was actually there that night. Not Steve. Not his fucking father, and since he was unconscious at the time, busy ya know, not dying, certainly not himself. 

Billy shut himself off from everyone after that. He quit the basketball team, spending the extra hour of silence after school at the quarry, increasing his likelihood of lung cancer, one malrboro red at a time. 

Since Steve had graduated, and dumped his ass, and he learned the hard way his so-called friends were as fake as silicone tits, he didn't see a point in being social. He was content to just keep his head down and degrade, one major depressive episode at a time. And at the end of each day, the bottom of the quarry looked more and more welcoming. 

Harrington Home

“So what's going on with Billy?” Eddie asked suddenly, and unprompted, catching everyone off guard. Enough that Steve dropped the dish he was washing into the sink and Dustin choked on the pizza crust he bit into. 

“Why- do you want to know about him?” Robin asks, eyes jumping anxiously between Steve and Eddie. 

“He’s been, weird,” Eddie said, unsure why now everyone else in the room was being weird.

“I haven't noticed,” Dustin shrugged and Max smacked his arm. 

“You ‘haven't noticed’ how the once loud and proud Californian Dickhead is now essentially a ghost? I don’t think I’ve heard him talk in months. It’s like he’s trying to will himself invisible. I think I even saw Carver bullying him last week. LIke isn’t that weird- What, whoa what did I say?” He asked anxiously, because now 7 sets of intense eyes were on him. “What? What is it? You can tell me.”

“Billy is… a complicated topic around here,” Lucas starts, hedging something big and looking very intently at Max. 

“Why?” Eddie asked again anyway and Dustin and Max sigh way too heavy for 14 year olds. But then again, they all did just barely survive an apocalypse. Some their second and third….

“Because he died,” Max answers, and Eddie’s mouth dropped open.

“Because he used to be our friend,” Dustin added, which is actually more surprising in some ways. 

“Because he’s my ex,” Steve says, finally addressing the real elephant in the room if all of the others matching tense expressions was any indication. 

Harrington Living Room

“He saved me. But, no one wanted to see that,” El said, her own tears staining her face as she retold the story of last July. 

“The Hawkins lab and the press have had an ongoing, lethal NDA since, what four years ago now? By the time Vecna rolled around, well, we were as close as you got to for experts at that point. The mall burned down because we had to kill the monster inside it. Without alerting the town there was one in the first place.”

“Which, happened to be controlled by the bigger monster possessing Billy at the time,” Lucas finished, because one look at Steve confirmed he couldn't. 

“As the building was burning down, The Mind Flayer basically had El, ready for the monster, but Billy, our Billy broke through. Sacrificed himself to the monster so she could get away. So we all could.” Dustin finished. 

“None of us knew if he was alive or dead for months,” Max chimed in. “And then one day, he just shows up on our doorstep. Looking like he got the shit beat out of him. Didn't say where he’s been, or why. I wasn’t even sure it was him. So I tested him.”

“How?” Lucas asked, evidently even he hadn’t heard the story. 

“I punched him,” Max shrugged, “He didn't block it or fight back. He barely even looked at me. He just waited, until Neil stopped screaming and then went to his room. He’s been like that ever since. Whoever, whatever he is now, that isn’t my brother.”

Hawkins High Locker Room

It's been 34 days since he returned to Hawkins, and there's still another 156 days left in the semester until he can graduate and move back to California. He’d leave now if that was an option. But it wasn't. 

He just wants to get through the school year without any trouble. He’s lived through enough already. But its evident in the next moment, Carver and Hill aren’t gonna let that happen. 

“Oh how the mighty fall,” Carver laughs, referring to Billy’s more-scar-tissue-than-unmarred-flesh shirtless torso. “Serves you right, karmas a bitch, huh?”

“I told you, I didn't do that shit.”

It was of the general Hawkins misunderstanding that Billy set the mall on fire, as an act of ‘unamerican criminal mischief’ turned way wrong. They also say he endangered the lives of several minors as well as many ‘respected members of the community.’ 

When Billy was hit with so much violence and hatred upon reintegration, he almost high tailed it back to California with his tail between his legs. But then, and now, he had exactly $197 to his name, and he needed more than that to get out of here for good. 

“Right, just like you didn't try and fuck Chrissy at Tina’s Halloween party right?” Hill piled on. 

He actually didn't. Chrissy was a friend. And Billy was gayer than Liberace. Just outfitted with denim instead of glitter. But Hill and Carvers sudden and vicious betrayal still stung and he just wasn’t in the fucking mood. 

“Didn’t need to initiate anything. She was begging for a fuck on anything bigger that pencil dick of yours.”

The next moment Tommy’s fist is in his gut, knocking him down before he has a chance to brace. Carver is standing above him, one shoe making contect with his solar plexus when he tries to raise up off his knees. 

“Remember your place fag,” he sneers and Billy laughs in his face.

“Well which is it? Am I fucking your girl on the side or too busy choking on cock? Can’t do both.”

Carver launched his own attack now, kicking into Billy’s chest hard until he wheezed. Hill added a right hook that knocked Billy flat on his ass. 

Any other day, before The Mindflayer, he could have taken them both. But almost all of his former strength vanished with the monster attack. He was vulnerable to everything they gave him. And what’s worse, he’s lost all will to get back up. 

It wasn't long before Tommy’s own kicks started. Billy’s been in this position on the floor all too often. He pulls his legs against his chest so hopefully his ribs won’t break under their combined force.  

-

Billy skipped the rest of his classes that day. 

After Carver and Hill left, (got bored of kicking an unresponsive Billy), he just laid there on the cold, filthy floor. All through the lunch period. No one else came into the locker room. Not even the Coach. Billy was grateful. It took longer than usual for him to get back up these days, and he really didn't want an audience to his shame. 

The quarry

Billy didn't go home. He didn't want to explain the bruises that weren’t from Neil. Neil would accuse him of trying to get social services called. So he just stayed out, drove to the quarry, lit up a cigarette and watched the sun go down and the moon rise. 

Some undetermined time later, another vehicle arrived at the quarry. For a moment, Billy froze, expecting to see the cops truck, or his fathers, here to drag him back home by his hair. But it wasn’t, it was Eddie fucking Munson’s screaming metal death trap and that was somehow worse. He didn't want to talk to anyone right now. Let alone his ex’s new BFF. 

Billy ignored Eddie when he exited his car. Maybe if Eddie realized he wasn't welcome, he’d leave. Eddie was soft. Billy, even now, could probably still scare him away. 

“Thought I might find you here,” Eddie says and the statement sets him the fuck off. 

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Eddie’s huge eyes only got bigger and his hands flew up in surrender. 

“Nothing, just, this is a good space to think. Figured after today you'd be looking for thinking space is all.”

“And why would I need that?”

Eddie grins, hands still up in the air. 

“Okay, you caught me. Steve uh, filled me in with what happened today. With Jason.”

Billy balks and jumps off the hood of his car that he was comfortably sitting on. He is not here to talk about this. Fuck Eddie Munson. 

“Wait! Billy hang on,” Eddie pleads, and for some reason, it stops Billy in place. He doesn't bother turning around. 

“You got three seconds freak.” 

“I brought weed.”

Billy huffs in frustration before yanking his hand off the door handle. 

“...Alright.”

-

“What's going on with you man,” Eddie asks, not more than three seconds into Billy’s hit. Guy really knows how to kill a high. Probably how he stays employed. 

“Nothing’s going on with me,” he said because it's true. He’s been silent for months. He’s just trying to make it to May. As soon as he graduates he can get the fuck out of this hellhole. Go back to California, his home. It's where he belongs. 

“That's what I mean. I actually never thought I’d say this, but I kinda miss being bullied by you.”

Billy takes another hit instead of passing the joint, flipping Eddie off. 

The brunette only laughs in amusement, his eyes crinkling adorably as he laughed. 

“Yes finally! Goddamn this has been the longest slow burn of my life!”

Billy rolls his eyes but the weed is helping soften some of his bad mood. And maybe the company is helping. He won't admit that shit outloud though. Never again. 

Eddie follows up with, “Carver’s a dick, don't let him get to you.”

Billy scoffs. 

“I’m not.”

“Then why are you out here?” Eddie asked, far more perceiving than Billy appreciates right now. 

“What’s it to you?”

Eddie’s eyes are too honest when he says,

“I don't know.”

Billy doesn't like it. Doesn't like how its making him feel. He can’t let someone else get in the way again. 

Billy shrugs, admission falling off his lips easier than expected. 

“I wasn’t planning on going home.”

Eddie’s eyebrows raise to his hairline but Billy didn't see it. He was too busy staring at the body of water that had to be below freezing by now. 

“So you’re just gonna what? Sleep here? In your car, all night?”

No. Ideally, if he jumped from this height, the impact would probably be enough to break some bones. His neck preferably, but beggars can't be choosers. 

“That's not what I said.”

Its eerily quiet in the next moments, as what Billy meant finally sunk in. Billy’s hand shakes on his last inhale. 

“Oh…” Munson says.

Well, at least Eddie didn't apologize, or launch into a monologue of 1000 reasons to live. 

“Yeah…” Billy sighs, feeling lighter but also so much worse finally admitting just how far gone he was out loud. He passes the dead joint back to Eddie before pulling out his car keys. 

“Wait, where- where are you going?” Eddie asks, panic obvious in his voice. 

Billy wishes he could feel something. Anything. 

“Home. Can’t try and kill myself now, can I?”

Eddie’s expression exposed he was probably suffering from the illusion that someone genuinely giving a shit could be enough for Billy to change his mind. But it wasn’t. Not long term. Not after everything he’s been through. “Night Munson, thanks for the weed.” 

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

the day you make peace with the fact that you don’t own your blorbo and there’re always going to be people who make theories / headcanons / analysis about them, or involve them in a ship, that you do not agree with, is the day you will truly enjoy being in a fandom.

no, you can’t make everybody agree with you. but you can curate your own fandom experiences by blocking / muting / not interacting with what you don’t want to see / what makes you uncomfortable / what triggers you / what you disagree with, instead of engaging in ‘calling out’ or ‘cancel culture’ — even if you believe their takes are ‘morally messed up’ — and, whether or not it’s your intention, taking part in furthering the toxicity in your own fandom.

no, people enjoying a piece of media however they want to enjoy isn’t what makes a fandom toxic. people who claim to have superior moral standards, who also attack and harass other people over a fictional movie or show or book, are what makes a fandom toxic.

[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

[thatharringrovehoe]

Just gunna do this for a bunch of whips I guess. Anyway, Whump Steve AU