#disabled billy

[stranger-rants]

Billy is tired.

So tired, but he wants to shower.

It took a lot out of him just to get undressed.

He's gotten used to washing himself with wash cloths and a basin of water, but his hair feels gross and there's spots he still can't reach.

He's too prideful to ask for help.

He just wants to feel the water rain down on him and wash it all away. Wash away the dirt and grime. The blood. The pain.

His wounds are crusted over with scabs and there are staples in his skin. He's pale. So pale he can see his veins, and his brain plays tricks on him.

Maybe that thing is still there. Black ink yet to be flushed out. Laying dormant. Ready to infect him again when he least expects it.

He wants to wash it all away.

When Billy steps into the shower, he's barely got his hand on the nob when his vision gets spotty. Dizzy. He catches himself, sliding down the wall before he passes out.

He comes to within seconds, but he can't push himself up. He reaches a hand out weakly but it's no use. Can't turn on the shower. Can't get up.

He sits there for what feels like hours. It will be a while until Steve comes home from work. Maybe he will just sleep there.

He feels pathetic, unable to move without effort. Drifts off to sleep, despite the cool tiles on his naked skin chilling him.

"Hey," Steve gently shakes him, "Billy. Wake up."

Billy stirs, a shiver seizing him.

"Are you okay?"

Billy begins to sob.

"I just want to be clean."

"Oh, baby..."

Steve pulls Billy into his arms, careful still of his exposed stitches and staples despite the doctor insisting they were fine.

Steve strips down to nothing, and helps Billy stand. He turns on the shower and holds Billy up as best as he can.

The warm spray of the water feels divine. Billy opens his mouth and takes a deep breath of the humid air, lungs opening up.

Steve instructs Billy to hold onto the wall. Billy closes his eyes as Steve's fingers work through his hair and scalp, lathering and rinsing.

He washes Billy's back... and lower, between his thighs.

They've seen each other naked plenty of times, but Billy is embarrassed nonetheless that this is what it has come to. Steve doesn't seem to mind.

Steve helps Billy out of the shower and into a towel, sitting him on a stool while he finishes showering himself.

"I'm sorry"

"It's okay"

"I wanted to do it myself"

"It's okay"

"I can't -"

"It's okay"

It's not okay, though. When he's not there, Steve is stressed. Worried. This is exactly the kind of thing he thinks about all day.

Billy falling.

Apart.

Steve kisses his forehead and helps him get dressed in warm pajamas. They settle into bed, and he tries to think about what he can do.

"I've got something to show you," Steve says to Billy a couple days later.

Billy grunts in reply, lazily spooning cereal in his mouth at the breakfast table.

"C'mere"

Steve guides him to the bathroom with a hand on his back, and opens the door. Billy stands there for a minute. Confused.

Steve opens the shower door.

Inside is a plastic shower chair and hand rails installed into the wall. Billy doesn't move. Doesn't say anything.

Steve scratches his head, hand on his hip. Nervous.

"This... for me?"

"Uh, yeah..."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Billy wipes a tear from his face and sniffs.

"Yeah," Billy nods.

He grasps Steve's face, kissing his lips. Steve's hands move up his side tentatively, deepening the kiss but afraid to hurt him.

Billy grabs his arm. Encourages him to hold him tighter.

"You're not gonna break me," Billy says between a kiss, "You're never gonna break me"

[every-dayiwakeup]

HC: Post Starcourt Billy adopts a therapy dog- a pitbull named Scorpion. Billy calls him "Scorp" for short.

Scorp is a very nervous dog who usually doesn't go up to people, but he immediately goes right up to Billy, who's sitting down, and rests a paw on his knee.

Scorp was abandoned on July 4th, and he hates fireworks, so when Independence Day comes around, he and Billy cuddle together on the couch watching whatever's on TV. They calm each other down. Billy pets Scorp, and Steve holds Billy's hand.

Scorp is very overprotective of Billy.

Billy can't walk him for long- his heart is weak, and he's still going to rehab to strengthen his arms and legs. He can't move as fast anymore, plus he's got a portable oxygen tank to lug around. Scorp doesn't tug or rush him, though.

If Billy tries walking for more than his body can withstand, Scorp will bark at him, turn around, and point his nose in the direction of home, a safe place they share with Steve and his service dog, Lola (Steve has a peanut allergy).

Scorp adores Lola, and Max's seeing eye dog Rex. The jury is still out on Steve, but he's warming up to him.

[artistmarchalius]

Floyd and the newly named Billie the service bat!

[yourdailyqueer]

Billie Eilish

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Bisexual

DOB: 18 December 2001 

Ethnicity: White - American

Occupation: Singer, songwriter, musician, actress

Note: Has Tourette's

[emsgoodthinkin]

Eddie Munson

Steve Harrington

Rafe Cameron

⤬ reblogs, comments & likes are appreciated ⤬

Multi-Fandom imagines / videos 💭 📺

Eddie watching his gf stim

Eddie said sit on it

Obx daddy issues

I watch Scream for the plot

Subby lil Eddie

Joe🤝Joe

Eddie and Steve? Nah, Ghost and Konig

Eddie in a ski mask

Cute stupid head Ed

I can take them both (not in a fight)

Steve’s predator stare

If Billy was in Queen of the Damned

We all wanna sit on Keerys lap

Daddy Steve vibes

Head? Head.

Hybrid puppy Ralph vibes

Joes an ass man

Billy loves Steve’s eye contact

Joe calls Dacre mommy

Cocky Keery

Let Quinn take you to a bad place too

Arthur can’t take the pressure

Arthur deserves a good ride

Sweaty Ed

Joseph’s BBC

Eddie and corrupted princess vibes

Eddie soundgasm

Rockstar Eddie’s f*ck song

Looks can be deceiving Mr. Keery

Oh yes Rio

Steve Harrington? No, Steve Gallagher

Dacres fine like wine

Twitter links

Put a knife in me Rory

Rafe can handle it

Mommy Nancy

Damon’s words get you wet

Big boy Hopper

Big boy Billy

Riding Steve’s thick limbs

Eddie whoppin yo ass

Eddie say please?

Steddie voices

Do it in the shower Billy

Spencer is a womanizer

Dacre can’t stop lookin at you

Eddie’s warning stare

You crawling to Eddie

Eddie being too calm during punishment

Steve grabbing Eddie’s ass

Eddie’s jeans..

Which Joe can you see

I need Billy and Eddie to wreck me

Joe reacting to a dirty text

Eddie loses V-card

Your beautiful goofball Ed

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She knows better than to use it.

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

So the playing field is even.

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

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

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

“Hargrove? You there?”

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

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

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

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

If he ever feels comfortable taking his shirt off again.

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

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

“Go fuck yourself. Over.”

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

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

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

There’s another brief pause.

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

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

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

Wondering how I’m doing?

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

He stares up at the ceiling, brows pinched together.

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

Harrington scoffs over the channel.

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

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

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

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

Billy presses his lips into a line.

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

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

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

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

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

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

It helps and it hinders all at once.

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

It opens up old wounds.

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

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

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

“Still havin’ trouble?” Neil asks.

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

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

Which should be a good thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you wanna sit down?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’d rather Steve just climb through his window.

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

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

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

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

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

Billy understands the feeling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he hangs up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve never calls again and that’s okay.

Billy prefers hearing whispers over the radio anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Billy presses his face harder into the pillow.

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

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

There’s a beat of silence.

“What? Rea—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s ruined everything.

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

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

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

Silence. Then, giggles.

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

“Radio silence,” Steve snaps. “Now.”

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

“Signing off…” Max says dejectedly.

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

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

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

“Yes,” Billy rasps.

A beat of silence.

“Yes?”

“She was right.”

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

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

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

“What?”

“Of course I like you, dude.”

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

“Why?” he breathes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve sighs fondly at the notion.

“Are you asking me out?”

“Are you accepting?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Were you crying?”

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

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

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

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

Billy really does feel like Rapunzel for a moment.

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

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

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

“True. You didn’t.”

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

Steve makes a face.

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

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

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

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

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

Again, Billy just blinks.

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

“Definitely sounds like her,” he says.

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

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

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

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

“Should’a seen me the other night.”

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

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

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

Billy looks away. Steve squeezes his hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“‘S okay,” Billy rasps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve nods.

“You eaten yet?”

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

“You buying?”

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

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

“Gimme a sec.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neil nods. Turns his attention back to the tv.

“Just stay outta trouble.”

And that’s it.

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

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

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

“What’d they say?”

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

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

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

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

“Update?” Max asks.

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

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

“Yes!” Max shouts.

Then, a third voice comes through.

“Finally! Jesus,” Dustin huffs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” Max muses.

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

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

Multiple groans and sounds of disgust pour through the radio.

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

“Ditto,” Dustin adds.

Then silence. True silence.

Billy grabs his walkie.

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

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

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

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

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

“On my way, pretty boy.”

[kamamo1]

You two can remain calm! I'm gonna kick some fascist butt!

[weepingfishturtledragon]

Freddy when he's on a mission and can't do something because of his leg: In a shocking turn of events my disability has disabled me!

[doyouknowthisdisabledcharacter]

Do You Know This Disabled Character?

Billie Lurk is an amputee and is visually impaired.

[feraljayce]

jefree star...

[jewellery-box]

An interesting essay that I found available online. I always thought that Fanny has been disliked absolutely unfairly in the world of able-bodied and extraverted people. I'm glad I found people who agree that Fanny's character is treated unfairly and without due respect both in the novel and in the real world of readers.

[stranger-rants]

After he’s released from the hospital, Billy spends a lot of time sleeping. He falls asleep easily during the day, and he only wakes in the middle of the night if his pain medication has worn out. Steve can tell when that happens because Billy will start whimpering, especially after trying to get himself up to take more pain medication. That’s when Steve will turn on a light to go grab his bottle of pills and a glass of water. He’ll help Billy sit up and fluff up Billy’s pillow while he’s at it. Then as soon as Billy’s medicated and tucked in, he’s out like the bedside lamp Steve turns off next to him. The problem is that Steve is not great at falling back asleep once he’s awake. He can’t resent Billy for needing it, but he’s exhausted, too, and he’s got to get up early to bring Robin to school and get to work and- and-!

It just never ends, and Steve finds himself awake all night until dawn. When he gets home from work the next day, Billy asks if he can sit with him on the couch. Steve sighs. He’s got dinner to prepare. He should probably do some laundry. But Billy’s got this soft look on his face and he can’t say no to that. Steve sits down next to Billy, the TV at a low volume, and Billy leans his whole body weight on Steve’s shoulder. The quiet inhale exhale and rise and fall of Billy chest signifies that he’s fallen asleep again. Steve shifts so they’re a bit more comfortable, laying himself down with Billy on top of him like a weighted blanket. Steve tries to think about what it is he had to do before he sat down, but nothing comes to mind. His eyelids feel heavy and Billy feels warm and Steve feels himself drift off.

It would make quite a cute photo, which is exactly what Robin says to Jonathan when he joins her and Nancy in dropping off food to Steve and Billy’s apartment. Robin has a spare key, and they periodically do this as a thank you for saving our lives kind of thing for Billy and a please slow down and take care of yourself thing for Steve. Jonathan does snap a photo before they leave after much begging from the girls, hoping neither Billy nor Steve get too upset by it. Months later they get a copy of the photo for their anniversary - Sleeping Beauties ‘86. In it, Steve’s drooling and Billy’s face is smooshed against Steve’s chest. It’s embarrassing but sweet, and Steve will treasure it as a reminder of the best nap he ever had.

[bowiebond]

Deaf Billy signing onto Blind Max’s hands and them just giggling because he’s signing dirty jokes into her palms. They start laughing harder when Max signs back, making fun of his boyfriends singing. Billy makes fun of her partners clothes because Lucas and El now exclusively wears stuff that feels nice to the touch instead of things that match and they both look a little silly.

Just Billy and Max bonding even though he can’t hear her voice anymore and she can’t see his grin, so he’ll laugh, raspy and little off because he can’t hear it himself, and she’ll be honest with her expressions, beaming at him so he can see she really does enjoy having him back.

[books-apples-socks]

(...) Silver had terrible hard work getting up the knoll. What with the steepness of the incline, the thick tree stumps, and the soft sand, he and his crutch were as helpless as a ship in stays. But he stuck to it like a man in silence, and at last arrived before the captain, whom he saluted in the handsomest style. He was tricked out in his best; an immense blue coat, thick with brass buttons, hung as low as to his knees, and a fine laced hat was set on the back of his head. “Here you are, my man,” said the captain, raising his head. “You had better sit down.” “You ain’t a-going to let me inside, cap’n?” complained Long John. “It’s a main cold morning, to be sure, sir, to sit outside upon the sand.” “Why, Silver,” said the captain, “if you had pleased to be an honest man, you might have been sitting in your galley. It’s your own doing. You’re either my ship’s cook—and then you were treated handsome—or Cap’n Silver, a common mutineer and pirate, and then you can go hang!” “Well, well, cap’n,” returned the sea-cook, sitting down as he was bidden on the sand, “you’ll have to give me a hand up again, that’s all.” (...) Silver’s face was a picture; his eyes started in his head with wrath. He shook the fire out of his pipe. “Give me a hand up!” he cried. “Not I,” returned the captain. “Who’ll give me a hand up?” he roared. Not a man among us moved. Growling the foulest imprecations, he crawled along the sand till he got hold of the porch and could hoist himself again upon his crutch. Then he spat into the spring. “There!” he cried. “That’s what I think of ye. Before an hour’s out, I’ll stove in your old block house like a rum puncheon. Laugh, by thunder, laugh! Before an hour’s out, ye’ll laugh upon the other side. Them that die’ll be the lucky ones.” And with a dreadful oath he stumbled off, ploughed down the sand, was helped across the stockade, after four or five failures, by the man with the flag of truce, and disappeared in an instant afterwards among the trees.

[thatharringrovehoe]

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

It’s hard to be strong, sometimes.

“Nothing’s gonna fix me.”

Billy can do the heavy lifting. Can pull the freight with nothing but the sweat on his back to show for it.

“I’m jus’ gonna hurt forever.”

But this?

He isn’t strong enough for this.

“You aren’t,” he coos. “I won’t let you.”

A strained little sob hiccups out of Steve, and he simply shakes his head. The veins running up the length of his neck thump fast with his pulse, rising to the surface of his flushed skin. Tense and angry, like his eyebrows, pinched together harshly no matter how much Billy shushes and croons at him.

He’s got Steve’s face buried in his chest, shirt completely damp around the collar, and Steve’s fists tangles weakly at the sides.

Right now is probably the calmest he’s been all afternoon since this started.

Billy buries his nose in Steve’s hair and closes his eyes, arms wrapped softly around him. Grounding him in place. Smoothing carefully over his back, wary of pressing lest he cause another river of tears.

“Why does something that’s supposed to help hurt so bad?” Steve whines.

As much as Billy wants to squeeze him as tight as he can, he doesn’t. Instead settles one of his hands against Steve’s head, holding his cheek to his chest and gently stroking his fingers through his hair.

“I don’t know,” Billy admits. “Sometimes stuff doesn’t work, and you find out the shitty way.”

Steve huffs and makes a frustrated, pained sound into Billy’s shirt that’s followed by a warm wetness soaking into the fabric. Billy shushes into his hair again.

He wishes he could take the ache away. Wishes he could, even for just a moment, see what it feels like.

What could hurt so fucking bad that it has Steve crumbling into a mess of throaty sobs? Steve, who has been knocked around like a ragdoll and simply dusted himself off after?

“‘M gonna hurt forever,” he whines again.

Digs his forehead into Billy’s chest, shifting and rocking himself softly on top of him like he’s trying to physically shake the pain off, and Billy urges him to lie still with a gentle hand on his back.

“You won’t, it’ll pass.”

He tries to say it with certainty, but there’s a slight rasp in his voice to match the mist gathering in his eyes. Even when he gets Steve to fall still again.

“It hurts.”

“What hurts?”

A shaky sob leaves Steve’s lips as he curls his fingers tighter in Billy’s shirt at his sides.

“Everything,” he urges.

Presses himself down hard, muscles tense, like he’s trying to smother himself. Billy keeps his hand smoothing delicately up and down his back.

“I know, baby. Just breathe, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Steve’s muscles shake from the effort, but he eventually listens. Inhales a shallow breath and sighs it out, drawing another one in as slow as he can manage with his elevated heart rate.

It takes a few moments, but his grip eventually eases again. He sniffles and nudges his face against Billy’s ruined shirt, huffing softly.

“It hurts,” he rasps, voice just above a whisper.

“I know, Stevie.” Billy noses a kiss into the brunet’s hair. “I know.”

They lay there like that for a while. Steve eventually tires himself out, nodding off on top of Billy even though he’s still crying. Too emotionally and physically exhausted to stay awake through the pain.

Billy just holds him. Lays his head back on the pillow once Steve’s breathing finally evens out and exhales a long sigh.

He might not be strong enough to fix Steve, because most medications aren’t even strong enough for that.

He supposes that being strong enough to love Steve will suffice, though.

Then at least he doesn’t have to suffer it alone.