#harringrove parents

[harringroveera]

AU where Billy and Steve met when they were kids

[bigdumbbambieyes]

tw mentioned abuse

Billy always wakes up before his boyfriend and probably always will. But, he’s not complaining — he loves waking up in Steve’s bed, tangled up in the sheets as he blinks the sleep away from his eye. As always, he immediately turns his head and spots Steve there, his face pressed into his pillow as he sleeps soundly. The rising sun peeks through the curtains, spilling across his boyfriend, highlighting his dark hair a soft brown against the blue bedding.

Shuffling over, Billy presses a quiet kiss to Steve’s shoulder before untangling himself from the sheets and getting out of bed, pulling up the shorts he borrowed from the pretty boy as he heads to the bathroom—

And runs into Mrs. Harrington, who’s wrapped up in her house coat with rollers in her hair, cup of coffee in hand.

“Oh!” She gasps, jumping and spilling some of her coffee on the floor, grasping at the fabric of her housecoat over her chest as she stares at him. After the shock quickly wears off, she’s chuckling softly and sighs, “Jesus, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” he smiles softly, glancing down at the floor where the coffee spilled, “Was just gonna use the bathroom.”

“Yeah, of course,” she hums, but makes this soft tsk sound of disappointment as she reaches up to brush a blond curl back from his forehead, where he knows the bruise from his father is. With sadness laced in her voice, she whispers, “Again?”

“It’s fine, Mrs. H,” Billy mumbles as he looks at her again, gently pulling away from her touch.

“No, it’s not,” she huffs, anger replacing that sadness as their eyes meet. Steve has her eyes. Kind, but fierce. Caring. Worried. “Oh, if I ever run into your father again, I won’t be nice like I was last time.” Before she knew what he did to Billy.

But Billy smiles again, a little more amused, because she’s 5’4’’ and could be blown away by the wind if it were too strong of a gust, but she’s got a fighting spirit. He knows where Steve got that from, now.

“I believe it,” he hums, touched by the way that Steve’s family cares and how they care about him. They don’t have to, but they do, and Billy doesn’t take it lightly or for granted.

She gives him that sorry smile and places her manicured hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze, “You know you’re welcome here whenever you need it, Billy. Lord knows we have more than enough room for one more.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles softly with a nod, “And, thanks. Again.”

Another nod and she pulls her hand away, saying, “Coffee pot’s on downstairs,” before she heads down the hallway, back to her room to get ready for the day.

Looking down at the coffee spill, he lets out a soft sigh and frowns. If that had been his dad and Billy had made him spill his coffee, he’d be knocked upside the head. Or worse.

But, not here. In the Harrington house, he’s welcomed and wanted and the coffee pot is left on for him. He has a space here, whenever he wants it. And he always does.

As he’s wiping up the small spill, the door to Steve’s bedroom opens and his boyfriend looks sleepy as hell — eyes half shut, hair a mess, lines pressed into his skin from the bed. Billy stands and smiles at him, filled with warmth and affection as Steve waddles over to him and wraps his arms around him, pressing a kiss to Billy’s cheek as he mumbles, “Morn’.”

“Morning, peanut,” Billy whispers, wrapping his arm around Steve’s shoulders and pressing a kiss to his mouth, then another to his cheek.

“Coffee?” Steve whispers, pressing his nose to Billy’s cheek, his eyes shut again as he struggles to wake up. It’s annoyingly cute.

“Mhm,” Billy hums happily in agreement.

[toobusybeingdelulu]

the fact that they are standing so smugly against Billy’s Camaro is so funny because it seems like Max blackmailed him to drive them somewhere and he knows that they are not gonna move unless he does it 😭😭

[thedeepestwarmestblue]

Mr. Harrington scans him head to toe, giving his extended hand a long look and Billy feels filthy, though he showered twice before coming over. He slides his gaze to his son, a curious tilt to his head.

“I remember that name. Is this is the same one who gave you trouble at the beginning of the year?”

Billy goes cold, the smile sliding off his face. Mrs. Harrington drawing in a shocked inhale.

“Marco! He’s a guest —“

Billy drops his hand, kicking himself because he knew this had been a bad idea. Had told Steve over and over, ‘it’s not going to work, pretty boy, I’m telling you, people like you and me don’t mix’, but Steve wouldn’t have any of it.

Billy bows his head, hot and humiliated, tries to make himself speak around the knife in his throat, but Steve is stepping in front of him, defensive.

“Dad! Really? We’ve been over this! There was a misunderstanding —“

Lucia is next to him then, her hand pressing into his back, guiding him into the kitchen, apologizing quick and low in his ear. Leaving Steve to argue with his father behind them, his voice muffled as the double doors swing shut.

She continues apologizing for her husband as she fixes them each a glass of wine, her Italian accent thick, her eyes dark and tender. The translucent blood red liquid swirls up the sides of fine crystal when she slides it across the counter to him. A third glass waits for Steve when he comes in several minutes later without his father. The fourth absent, like she had known.

His face pink and frustrated, brows drawn together. He throws himself down onto the sofa with his mother with a dramatic groan, taking in a deep mouthful.

“He won’t be joining us,” he says, flat.

Lucia runs her fingers through her son’s hair and Steve closes his eyes, sighing. Billy looks away. Steve opens them, winces when he looks at Billy, apologetic.

“I’m really sorry about that, Billy —“

Billy shrugs him off, like ‘I told you so’. Steve sets his wine down slowly, the glass making a gentle clink against the granite. Looks at Billy for a long moment, concerned, lips thin and unhappy, then he turns to face his mother and launches into furious Italian, his hands everywhere.

Billy watches him, entranced, can only imagine what he’s saying by the expressions on his face. The language fluid and musical, clashing with his tone, harsh and mocking, his eyebrows arching, swooping, buckling. Billy can hear his frustration. Questions, the end of sounds curving upwards. His mother clucking, soothing him, a hand on his knee. ‘Lo so, bambino, lo so’, she repeats over and over.

Steve eventually runs out of steam, looks over to Billy with a grimace.

“Sorry … I’ll use English,” he says.

Billy shrugs, finding it intensely attractive. The wine he’d been sipping not helping one bit.

“All good.”

[fizzigigsimmer]

Don't Fuck With Dad

Also known as the ficlet where Billy accidentally becomes the guardian of a future baby and falls in love with his baby daddy in reverse.

The first raindrop splats against Billy’s cheek seconds before it begins to pour. Back home, Billy would have been able to sniff out the change in the air a mile away - that familiar scent of salt and brine that rolled in off the coast whenever a storm cell passed through.

There is nothing to warn anybody a storm is coming in Hawkins fucking Indiana. He hasn’t smelled anything but mud and cowshit for weeks, and the only respite he gets is when he is driving late at night, windows down, pedal to the floor.  

He’d ignored the first few drops and the heavy looming clouds because he didn’t want to entertain heading toward whatever lame hick shit the kids at school were getting up to. He sure as fuck wasn’t about to go home to Neil and his bad mood. 

It would be calling Billy’s number eventually, so why rush it? 

Except the rain was stirring up something foul - rot on top of wet  - the funk filling his nose. Taking a final drag on the cigarette between his lips Billy tosses it to the side of the road and rolls up his window before it can fill his car. God damn he hates this town.

The rain is really coming down hard now. Sheets of it blurring the lines of the road in front of him. He’s still a few miles outside of town. Thinks he’s getting close to the old power plant. There isn’t much to see on either side except for gray fields and the brown smudges of trees, either way but it still makes him a little edgy. He finds himself wondering about Max. Just because he’ll catch hell for not knowing if he gets home and precious baby Max is unaccounted for. Like it’s his fault her dumb ass doesn’t know enough to come in out of the rain.

Kid is probably fine. She is probably riding around like a queen right now in Harrington’s car with her nerd friends again. Which he isn’t going to think about, because he had new rules for himself since that strange night in October. Staying away from Steve is one of them, even in his mind. Especially in his mind actually. 

The irony is, he’s totally thinking about Harrington when it happens, but even if Billy hadn’t been distracted the rain was coming down so thick he probably wouldn’t have seen him anyway. The figure running across the road suddenly appears between his headlight beams and there’s nothing he can do but slam on the brakes and turn the wheel, hoping to god that he doesn’t hit them.

He does. The car slides on the wet pavement and fishtails to one side before he feels the ominous thud, between his palms and up his arms, his thoughts becoming a litany of oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

The body lays on the side of the road, a few yards away from where Billy struck it - him! Holy shit. It takes seeing the guys beat up sneakers and mud splattered levis for it to really sink in that he has just hit a real person with his car.  Like a live person, who might now be un-alived, thanks to him!

Billy’s knees are knocking together, his teeth rattling in his skull with shivers that have nothing to do with the rain soaking through his clothing as he runs over to the body. It’s definitely male - jean clad legs splayed awkwardly on the pavement, his toros curled in a fetal position. 

“Hey! Hey buddy, are you alright?” Billy calls, praying desperately for a response. Slides to his knees in relief at the body’s side when a pained groan reaches his ears.

Billy pushes at his shoulder to turn him over before he remembers that you’re not supposed to move an injured person and the man on the ground moans softly. The hair on Billy’s skin raises at the familiarity of the sound. And it’s a revelation, because there’s no reason for Billy to know Harrington by something as small as that - just a grunt of breath under the pounding rain - but apparently he does. 

Steve’s a wreck: tears in his clothes, scratches on his face and arms, and underneath the thick layer of dirt that stains everything else Billy spots blood. 

But it’s not just his injuries that unsettle Billy. It’s the strange lines on his face like he’s aged ten years since basketball practice. He doesn’t understand why Steve looks like he’s been through a war zone - or why he smells like absolute death. Billy can’t help but make a disgusted face at the stench of rot that clings to him as well as the slime - not mud - covering his clothes, and now Billy’s hands. Fucking gross.

“B-Billy?”

Familiar brown eyes blink open slowly and stare up at Billy dazedly, but before he can answer a sharp cry cracks through the air. An infant's cry. It’s so wrong and out of place that Billy jerks back like someone fired a gun. Steve reacts to the sound on instinct, pulling enough strength from somewhere to sit up and open the thick parka he wears and reveal the tiny bundle strapped tightly to his chest.

“Hey, hey, baby it’s alright. Daddy’s here.”

He makes these shushing sounds, rushed and insistent despite their softness, as he tries to sooth the baby. Tells the kid everything’s gonna be okay as he unwraps it, shaking hands feeling over its body for injuries. Billy just hopes it’s true. It’s so fucking small in Steve’s arms and Billy hit it with his car!

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Billy demands, swapping terror for beligerant rage because what the fuck is Harrington doing running across the road like that with a kid anyway. “I could have fucking killed you!”

The rant makes Steve look at him again, but it’s not with an expression that makes sense. For a moment he seems confused, like he didn’t understand the plain English coming out of Billy’s mouth. And then something like dread creeps over his face and he turns his head to look back at something in the darkness. 

“Billy.” Steve breathes his name like a prayer and it makes the cold hand of fear drag down his spine. Steve sounds downright terrified. Billy follows his gaze but beyond the glow of his headlamps all he can see is the dark silhouette of the iron gate that surrounds the old steel mill. 

“What? What’s the matter?”

Harrington doesn’t answer. Instead Billy suddenly finds an infant shoved into his arms and has to fumble not to drop the damn thing. It begins to wail again as it is handed over, but Steve doesn’t stop this time to try and soothe it. He wipes the water off the poor things face and presses one hard kiss to its forehead - daddy loves you - and then he’s pushing himself up onto his hands and knees and  stumbling to his feet.

“Wait a minute! Harrington what the hell?!” 

Billy clambors to his feet after him as quickly as he can manage without dropping the screaming baby in his arms, his heart sinking into his stomach because that sure seemed like a goodbye to him.

“I need you to take her.” Steve sways on his feet, weaving like a drunk and pauses to pant for breath before he looks back at Billy. “Get her out of here.”

“Fuck you! You’re not -”

Before Billy can finish, a strange animal scream rips through the air, chilling his blood. He can’t place it. Can’t say it’s a cat, or a fox, or a rabid fucking coon, cause he’s never heard anything like it before. It doesn’t sound right.

“Billy, listen to me.” Steve warns even as Billy demands to know what the hell that was. “Keep her safe. Okay? You have to get in the car and go. Right now!”

The thing is, Billy is inclined to agree. Whatever is out there in the dark making that awful sound is not something he wants to meet. But -

“What about you? Where the hell are you going? Steve!”

But Steve is staggering away from him, visibly powering through the pain as he runs into the darkness. Toward danger.  He shouts something over his shoulder that Billy isn’t sure he catches right. Something about coming back for the kid. 

And then he’s gone.

[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.”

[lovebillyhargrove]

such pitch black tragedy that is billy hargrove's life

thank you, show creators, for reminding us of harsh reality - where children get treated like trash, and nothing ever happens

[ickypuppi3]

the breakfast club au steve and billy as claire and bender my beloved

[prettyboybillyhargrove]

Steve: why are there little hand prints on the wall?

Billy: *turning to Lily* why are there little hand prints on the wall?

Lily: I have little hands.

Billy: *turning to Steve* She has little hands.

[ghostlynimbus]

I want Steve to get a job as a dog sitter/ dog walker

[cavinginhisfvce]

'IT'LL ALL WORK OUT'

Disclaimer: I'm honestly not a fan of Susan, but I thought this fic idea was cute!

Paring: Harringrove.

When Neil married Susan, he was against Susan adopting Billy, claiming the boy's real mother couldn't bother to be tasked with raising him, so no one should ever burden themselves with such a thing.

Susan, surprisingly, was firm in wanting to pick up the slack Billy's mother left in her wake, eventually Neil relented, and the adoption process was underway.

It's been four years, and a move to Hawkins, Indiana since Billy legally became Susan's child, something Max was displeased with initially, quickly became a comfort to her when she discovered what Neil did to his son. It had shaken her to her core, and when she relayed the information to her mother, the woman simply pulled her into a hug and murmured, "I know, baby. It'll all work out."

Max didn't know what that meant, or if she should trust her mom. But, she silently nodded, she had no real options here. She had to wait for the future. 

The future as it turns out, was just three months later; Neil had laid into Billy with more fervor than usual, and when Susan made to step in, her husband struck her. 

It hadn't detoured the red-haired woman, she continued her self-appointed task of checking on Billy, who was staring up at her with a look she's never seen on his face, a look no seventeen should ever wear. 

She gave him a small, comforting smile, just as Neil got a fist full of otherwise pristine hair; his freehand raising to strike once more.

The action worked quickly in pulling Billy from his Susan induced trance with a start, his body moving faster than his brain as he lunged at his father, swiftly knocking the man to the ground.

For years, Neil's abuse had only ever been turned towards his son, and in truth he was grateful; because Billy doesn't know what he would do if it was ever Max on the receiving end. She was a child, she was his shitty little sister. Max, who brought him the stupidest (best) hoodies he owns, the fabric softer than any he had previously. Max, who despite hating Billy in the beginning, now comes to his room when she has a nightmare or generally needs comforting from someone other than her mother. She's the only person to hug him since the day his mom took off. 

His sister who despite everything, tries so hard to show Billy someone loves him. She loves him.

Susan had tried to comfort him, but Billy always brushed her off. She never seemed to take it personally for some reason. Maybe because she knew he was afraid of what would happen if Neil even suspected Billy felt safe in their home.

The knowledge that Neil could hurt Susan was always present in Billy's mind, but he often wrote off his concern with a scoff. She knew what she married, she knew what he was like. It was her problem, not his.

However, seeing Neil actually hit Susan had set something off in Billy, because while she may have never defended or stood up for him as she had today; she still made sure he was properly tended to after encounters with his father.

If Neil sent him to bed sans dinner, locking him in his bedroom for however long, she would have Max sneak him a sandwich, Max was always more than happy to take said food. 

The times when Neil kicked Billy out intent on making the boy sleep in his car, Susan always snuck a bag of snacks, blankets, and whatever else, into the bushes by their house for him to grab. Despite always going to Steve's and sleeping in the boy's guestroom on those nights, it still showed she was trying.

If Billy was bed ridden after his father caved his chest in, a few too many times, she would come into his room, soothe his pain with hushed words and gentle touches. Billy was usually too tired and in too much pain to reject her warm hands and kind fingers working through his curls after she'd patched him up.

Seeing Susan cradle her cheek, seeing Max sob at the display, finally gave Billy the nerve to stand up to Neil.

He doesn't really remember much after straddling his father, his fists flying rapidly, their intended destination Neil's face, but he does remember Susan scrambling to call 911. Remembers her soft words of assurance that Neil was down.

He remembers Max's look of relief as their eyes met.

He still feels the phantom hold as Susan tugs him from his place over his dad's limp frame. Can vaguely recall the frightening seconds he thought he killed his father before the man was gasping awake, his eyes widened with fear as they landed on Billy. He was actually afraid of Billy. 

Everything beyond that was a blur, Billy doesn't really know what was said, or done. He just knows Neil was in police custody, something that would've left Billy parentless, if not for Susan having adopted him all those years ago.

Especially since his own mother had taken off when he was barely five, and relinquished her rights as a parent in the same breath she'd divorced his father. 

He always wondered why he wasn't enough. For his mother or Neil.

When Hopper came by to ask if they wanted to press charges, both Billy and Susan agreed easily. It was the most gratifying decision Billy has ever made in regards to his father and the abuse he's endured at his hands for years.

Billy and Steve started officially seeing each other a few weeks after Neil's trial ended. Hopper saw to it that his father was hit with the max sentence for child abuse, and domestic violence. Both Max and Billy would be well into adulthood when Neil gets released, something that made the decision to be with Steve all that sweeter.

He hadn't wanted to come out to Susan, the lingering fear that she would object to her newly seventeen year old son being with a guy was too prevalent. 

Though, technically, he didn't come out to her, she came to him one morning with her hand on her hip and a warm smile on her lips demanding he "bring his 'Pretty Boy' to dinner."

Billy wanted to be upset that she'd found out, but he was far too humiliated that it was his own fault she'd figured it out. Apparently calling Steve 'Pretty Boy' like it was going out of style, was a dead giveaway for the woman.

Much to Billy and Max's (dis)pleasure, Susan and Steve got along easily.

On Billy's eighteenth birthday, Max had barged into his bedroom, shrieking in horror when she was met with an eyeful of her brother and Steve in a slight state of undress, Billy had thrown a pillow in her direction, his voice rough with embarrassment as he shouted, 

"Mom, tell Maxine to fucking knock!" 

Both siblings froze at that, Max had a wide smile on her face, while Billy looked slightly mortified, his words echoing in his ears.

The look morphed into one of pain when Susan slipped into his room, her smile rivaling Max's with how big it was, "That's the first time you've ever called me mom…"

Billy swallowed thickly and nodded his head, though he refused to make eye contact with the woman, even when she was throwing her arms around his bare shoulders in an iron grip hug, "okay, okay, I get it! Can we maybe talk about this shit later, you know, when I'm not trying to get laid on my birthday?" 

Billy wasn't actually going to have sex with Steve with both Max and Susan home, but their presence in the house definitely wasn't going to prevent Steve from watching Billy fall apart beneath him, especially not if the brunet had any say in the matter.

This had Susan reaching out to lightly slap his shoulder, a faux look of exasperation on her features,"maybe next time you or Pretty Boy over there will remember to lock the door, hm?"

With one last smile at Billy, accompanied by a wink, she then ushered Max out the room, Steve almost immediately leaping up to lock the door behind them; his face beet red when their eyes finally met.

"I'm fuckin' moving out." His tone was embarrassed, but there was no heat behind, no real threat to his words. 

He wouldn't leave his sister and his mother for any reason short of them wanting him gone.

[harringroveera]

Nancy: I didn’t exactly have the best parental role models with Ted and Karen

Billy: Yeah, like Neil was a fuckin’ dream parent?

Nancy: In a way, Karen is worse

Billy: Neil is worse in every possible way, Wheeler

Nancy: Karen!

Billy: Neil!

Nancy: Karen!

Billy: Neil!

[bigdumbbambieyes]

imagining Steve and Billy becoming frenemies to lovers, but in that transitional period where they’re just starting to do sleepovers and cuddling and kissing and stuff, Steve’s parents are home for a week and during that week they get to know the boy who’s become their son’s best friend.

and Billy’s charming, he stays for dinner and helps clean up afterward, he and Steve watch the game with Mr. Harrington sometimes, they roughhouse in the hallways while Mrs. Harrington yells at them to take it outside or to quiet down - just teenage fun. things best friends do in front of their parents.

and it’s nice. because Billy doesn’t have this easiness with his own family, he isn’t allowed to just relax and move easily through a home, he doesn’t get easy affection like he does when Steve kisses his cheek in private or when Mrs. Harrington gives his arm a gentle squeeze in silent ‘thanks’ for drying the dishes, or a friendly pat on the back when he helps Mr. Harrington out around the house.

it’s kinda weird, too. being in a home that isn’t filled with constant tension. yeah, the Harringtons all argue, like how Steve talks back to his parents and how his parents argue with each other. but, it’s never bad. no one ever gets hit. and it’s weird.

Billy’s favourite memory, though, is when Steve spent just a little bit too much money on his daddy’s credit card and Mr. Harrington gave him a full-on lecture in front of Billy, telling him to ‘not waste money on dumb shit Steven’, even though it’s literally just food and movies and stuff for the two of them when Mr. & Mrs. Harrington are out of town for one of those business trips.

and sure, Steve’s dad has been unknowingly paying for their dates for a month, but there’s no harm in that, right? they should be happy their son found a boy his age to hang out with!

after the verbal lashing, Steve is as red as a tomato and groaning his embarrassment out into his hands as they cover his face, all while Billy laughs at him for getting caught and fucking chewed out over it like a little kid.

the cute pout-glare combo that Steve gives him makes him laugh even harder and he makes sure to slow his giggles enough to kiss that pretty pout off Steve’s face.

[lorifragolina]

Steve's parents come home a day before planned and catch Billy at the pool with one of those crop tops (obviously pink)

[rascheln]

In some alternate universe it's Neil who gets possessed and Billy teams up with the others to stop him and the mindflayer, just to distract his dad long enough that El can get in the finishing blow. And maybe he stays with the Mayfields officially, but he drops by Steve's place an awful lot. They drink. They talk. Their rivalry sort of reemerges in the form of them playing basketball and going swimming and ribbing each other mercilessly, just to drive back to Steve's place for pizza and a movie.

While they talk, Billy drops some of the facade he's had on for so long and regales Steve with one shitty restriction after another his dad used to pull on him. Of course Steve's being a bit awkward about how to deal with Billy being a bit (a lot) fucked in the head over his very dead dad for a while, because Billy hated Neil so much and was hurt so much, but he also craved his approval constantly. All he can do is say "wow, what an asshole" and make the dumbest jokes imaginable in the hopes that that's enough and it may not magically fix things but it certainly helps.

It breaks the tension. It helps make Billy crack up when he looks like he's about to cry.

Enough time spent in each other's pockets also brings the frustrating, yet somewhat hilarious realization that Steve, in turn, is also woefully blind to his own family's unique levels of shittyness. Solving problems with money and telling their son to get a job instead of checking in why he's in such a slump? Consistently talking about other people's achievements just to throw Steve judging glances? The drawn out absences and silence between then?

"Oh, that's just how they are," Steve shrugs, leaned casually against the Family Video counter as Robin shares an understanding look with Billy over Steve's shoulders.

[hargrove-mayfields]

Happy Disability Pride month! Here’s a disabled Harringrove fic I’ve been slowly working on for quite a while now!

Also posted on ao3 and broken into chapters since it’s a bit longer.

warnings: canonical injury, graphic injury description, hospital setting, detailed child abuse, distress, medical anxiety.

-•-•-•-•-•-

At about one in the morning on the fourth of July, Hawkins Memorial Hospital is overrun with a group of banged up teenagers. A girl with an infected stab wound in her leg, a boy with bruises all over his face and drugs in his system, two kids with bruises and mild head injuries, the rest all with ringing ears and miscellaneous cuts and scrapes, but by far the worst was a boy who had been impaled straight through the center of his chest.

There was an explosion at the mall, and falling debris had done a real number on these kids, or at least that’s what they were told to say when they were given government clearance and all rushed into the emergency room.

They made for quite a sight, thirteen people rushing in all at once, but only two of them were in bad enough shape to be taken back immediately. El and Billy, the latter of which had already had to be resuscitated in the ambulance for the extent of the injury to his chest. They both went straight into surgery.

Everyone else had to sit and wait their turns, though some of them with the least severe damage opted out of their check ups, so the next to be admitted back were Steve and Robin.

The truth was a lot uglier than just an explosion, and, to say the very least, they were a little worse for wear.

Robin hadn’t actually been touched by the men who were torturing them, since the plan was to kill Steve first and then get to her. That, thank whatever being might possibly live in the clouds, had not happened. It was just that her head was still fuzzy and her knees unsteady from whatever they’d injected her with.

The thing is, they had probably been pretty damn close to killing Steve though. It hadn’t felt like it at first, the adrenaline from a million other things to worry about taking over the pain, but the longer he sat with his injuries, the more it felt like his brain was trying to come out through his nose, and the room had started spinning around him again, this time from the concussion, and he was pretty sure he was bleeding internally from somewhere.

A nurse whose name Steve forgot as soon as he learned it led them into a big room with two beds and an armchair in the corner. She had the both of them describe their symptoms, frowning at every detail Steve remembered about his condition until eventually she called in the doctor to do a better once over.

They were testing Robins blood or something while they did all kinds of poking and prodding at Steve. They made him do some consciousness checks, asking him who the president was and that sort of thing, and making him follow the end of a pen with his eyes.

Apparently he had something called hyphema in his eye, but to him it just felt like it was going to pop out. A lady smiled down at him and poked his eye with a fancy stick, another made him tilt his head back and put drops in it, then brought him a little patch, some sort of bandage to put over it.

Medicine was put in all the little cuts on his face and the doctor started scribbling something onto his clipboard. He sighed and said something, but to Steve’s ears, he just sounded like a teacher from the Peanuts holiday specials, not a single coherent syllable coming out of the man’s mouth.

To attempt to hear what that doctor was saying, Steve furrowed his eyebrows and tried his very best to focus on just his words, but it still just sounded like a bunch of jumbled up trumpet noises. Eventually he gave up and asked, “What?”

More incoherent mumbling.

For a brief moment, Steve felt his heart start to race with panic, the thought that he could be dying settling into his mind with dread, and that fear and confusion must’ve translated directly onto his face.

The doctor put a hand on his chin and tilted his head to the side again and turned on some little flashlight, then turned Steve’s back to face him, a grim look on his face. “We need to do a hearing test.”

One of the nurses from before left and came back with a big cart and wheeled it up beside him. He asked what it was, to his ears sounding clear and concise, but to Robin and the nurses it sounded more mushed together, like- “Whazat?”

She explained it to him, but he only caught about every other word when he looked up at her face. It was something to do with him having to wear these big chunky headphones and the little tray of buttons they put in front of him.

He gathered that he was supposed to press one when a sound came through the headphones, but he just kind of sat there for a few minutes. Everyone else in the room all had the same look on their face, an odd mixture of sympathy and seriousness, and Steve realized the silence was probably supposed to be full of sounds, he just couldn’t hear them.

It made his heart sink down to his stomach, and for a second he thought about just pressing the buttons whenever he wanted and pretending to hear something, but he knew they would see through it.

The good news was that eventually he could hear some of the beeps, but only when they were obviously too loud to be normal and in his right ear. Besides, the damage of the realization had already been done. Steve was basically deaf.

It made sense- a lot of sense really. Their torturers had done all kinds of shit to him that he could hardly even remember while they were trying to get him to talk, and he’d initially blamed the ringing in his ears on the drugs. After that, a hell of a lot of fireworks had gone off in the echoing space of the mall's lobby, so he thought his ears were just messed up from that.

He supposed it should’ve been a giveaway that everyone else who had also been exposed to the fireworks wasn’t having the same problem, but in their haste to get to the hospital, he hadn’t really been thinking about comparing their ailments.

The nurse signaled for him to take the headphones off and wheeled her little cart away, and the doctor put his hand on his shoulder. “We’re going to do another test to see how bad the damage is, okay?”

Without really knowing what he was agreeing to, Steve nodded, and for the first time looked over at Robin in the bed parallel to his. She gave him a little thumbs up, but her smile looked forced and just sad. Steve felt a tug of nervousness in his chest.

This time they put something inside of Steve’s ear, which hurt like hell when it apparently wasn’t supposed to, that would somehow, he missed the explanation part, check for damage to his eardrum. Not even five minutes after they put it in his ear they turned it off.

The doctor, all stern like, told him, “You need a CT scan. Immediately.”

Apparently his left eardrum had completely ruptured and the right was not far behind it. That meant to the doctors that he had some terrible head injury that could kill him if they didn’t catch it.

Steve was glad he was in the hospital, because it felt like he was having a heart attack now.

Growing up, his mother was something of a hypochondriac, every headache was a brain tumor and every flu season he had meningitis, an aching joint meant he had early onset arthritis, and mood swings, those obviously meant he was, in her words, “mentally unwell.”

Because of that, he’d always been sort of paranoid too, careful when he didn’t need to be and scared of nothing. The one time he worried for someone other than himself and suddenly he’s deaf and has traumatic brain injuries. Nice.

By the time he was done with all the tests they wanted to do on him he was shaking like a leaf. They said it was unlikely that there would turn out to be anything wrong, but he would have to wait an entire day to find out. Surviving all that he had just to die hours later was something that scared him immensely, and, even as they were being cleared for release, he was moments away from a panic attack.

Robin could read him like a book, and got him out of there as soon as possible once they signed him out. Everyone else was still lingering in the waiting room, and Steve wanted desperately to stay with them, but, even if he didn’t realize it just yet, Robin knew he needed to not be around people right now.

They said a quick goodbye to everyone else, and Robin had him in his bimmer and halfway back home before he knew what had happened. She’s not licensed, but since Steve’s place is only a few minutes away, and he really didn’t think he could handle being by himself right now, she just drove him.

Robin made herself right at home, trudging on up into his parents room and raiding his mother’s drawers for something to change into after spending the last two or so days in the same stiff, stained up work uniform.

Words couldn’t describe how relieved that made Steve feel, her just barging on in like she owned the place when he was so used to this house being empty. He was glad that, after everything they’d been through, the two of them came out of it as friends, something he was lacking before having met and been tortured alongside her.

Because really, he had Dustin, but it’s different when he’s younger. The only kids he knew who were his own age either hated his guts or only talked to him out of pity, so Robin was truly a breath of fresh air.

Still, the weight of learning that he had gotten truly and utterly fucked up was too much emotionally for him to bear. The whole time he was in the shower, scrubbing away the blood and the dirt caked into his nails and his hair and his ears apparently, he let tears drip off the end of his nose and ugly sobs out of his throat.

Robin was in another bathroom somewhere in that mansion of his probably doing the same thing, so he let himself go with the promise that there was no way she would hear him. He cried harder when he realized he couldn’t hear himself either.

Afterward, using the phone in the kitchen, Robin called her mom and told her the same practiced story about the ‘explosion’ at the mall, and got permission to stay at a friends while he waited for medical clearance, that part an unfortunate reality. If she left now, there was the chance, albeit a small one, that Steve wasn’t in the clear, and his brain could hemorrhage or something and he’d just die alone at home.

Reluctantly her mother agreed to let her stay, concerned for her daughter's safety and a random boy’s intentions with her, but she had eventually given up against Robin’s begging.

Once she was done, the conversation with Steve’s ima over the phone in the living room went completely different.

Overreacting was Ruth-Anne Harrington’s middle name, and the very moment she weaseled out of her bubbeleh that there’d been an accident and he’d been involved, she was practically packed and halfway back to Hawkins.

After that, he and Robin kind of just sat there until Ima Ruth got there. With what they’d seen and what had been done to them, there wasn’t really much else either of them would rather do but exactly that.

A few hours into reruns of some old sitcom Steve’s ima used to watch, Robin nudged him with her knee to let him know she was going to speak. “Should we try to get some sleep?”

Already knowing that his answer was a resounding no way, absolutely not, Steve shrugged his shoulders and acted casual instead, “Dunno.”

Robin sank further back into the couch and nodded, fiddling with the hem of the borrowed pajama shirt that she’a wearing, “You holding up okay, popeye?”

The little chuckle that Steve gave in response sounded kind of wet, and she could hear it in his voice that he was going to cry before either of them saw tears. “Not really.”

His lip trembled and Robin felt tears pricking in her own eyes, so she sat up straighter and pulled Steve close. It was kind of an awkward angle, with her folded legs pressing into his side, but it didn’t really matter to them right now. They needed to be there for eachother.

-•-•-•-•-•-•-

Only a few hours after sunrise, Ruth rang the doorbell like her life depended on it, immediately dropping her bags on the stoop to hug her son. If he had any more tears to shed he would’ve, but him and Robin had done pretty much nothing but cry all night.

Stephen Sr. had not been able to, or rather, willing to make the flight all the way back to Hawkins from where they had been staying for some meeting in Dayton, but Steve would rather have only seen his ima anyways.

Her manicured nails in his hair, her sweet perfume, and her slightly too tight hugs were much better than the scornful glances and backhanded comments he would’ve heard from his father from behind the newspaper anyways.

He helped her drag all of her luggage into the house, then he and Robin sat down at the kitchen island while Ruth made them some tea. Something she did always made it better than when Steve would try to, with the same tea bags and everything, but she would never tell him her secret.

Sliding them both identical mugs and wrapping her hands around one for herself, Ruth leaned forward with her elbows on the island so she was eye level with them. “So what happened?”

Knowing that Robin was probably super uncomfortable right now, Steve took the bullet for her, “There was an explosion at the mall after we closed up Scoops. A buncha’ kids got trapped in ‘ere. There was just like, debris everywhere a-and we just… yeah.”

Ruth could tell just from her son's voice something was off. His words were all running together, and his pronunciations sounded off. It reminded her of when he was a toddler and she had to send him to speech therapy to teach him how to talk in the ‘proper’ way that didn’t reflect his mothers accent. “And are you okay?”

“We, uh, don’t really know yet.” It’s the half truth. They don’t have all the results. But Steve is really just nervous to tell her something so big.

She gets closer, putting the pressure on, “Stefan. You can tell me anything.”

“I- um. I kinda sorta-“

“He’s deaf.” Robin cut him off and said the words for him, knowing he was too scared to tell Ruth, who she’d heard many not so lovely things about. Maybe it’s just because she knows what it’s like to have parents who don’t show up, but she doesn’t forgive Ruth for abandoning Steve, no matter the excuse. So she’s brutally honest, “His eardrums were blown out and there’s a chance he has a brain injury.”

“Oh, honey.” She picked up Steve’s hand in her own, rubbing her thumb across his knuckles. “When will we know?”

“Sometime later today.” Steve answers on his own.

It doesn’t erase the concern, or the irritated pursed lips, from Ruth’s face, “What do we have to do for you?”

“They just said they’d lemme know when they called me back.” For some reason, Steve feels guilty about not knowing. Like it’s his fault and not the systems. He feels dumb.

“Alright.” Is all Ruth says. It only cements in Robin's mind that this woman isn’t actually the best mom in the world. Steve needs comfort and support right now. Not a performance of concern. Not hollow questions asking if he needs anything while knowing he definitely does.

Still, Robin herself was in an okay enough place after spending all morning with Steve that she figured it was time to butt out. Her own mother is probably going to freak out on her for not going home last night, it’s best to go anyways.

Once Ruth turned her back to them again, she tapped the side of Steve’s mug to get him to look at her, “I think I’m gonna call my mom for a ride and skedaddle.”

Immediately Steve objects, “But you don’ have to go.”

“I can stay if you want me to.” Robin offers, instead of arguing, and Steve realizes she’d read him exactly right.

A guilty look on his face, Steve bit his lip and looked at his mum where she was bustling around in the kitchen around them. Robin knew that meant he wanted to be alone with his mom, and despite her reservations about Ruth from the stories she’d heard, she could understand that.

“I’m going to be fine Steve. Worry about yourself for a change.” Robin hugs him, gently so she doesn’t aggravate any of his injuries, “Call me if you need me though popeye.”

She called her mom and waited awkwardly by the front doors, and, despite how not-normal this situation was, it felt just like any other time leaving a friends house, with the awkward ‘I don’t really know what to say but I’m about to leave’ kind of vibe, and in a strange way it comforted her.

Steve would be okay. She would be fine. They both would be and so would everyone else.

-•-•-•-•-•-•-

The call had come and Steve was dealing with a severe concussion, but it wasn’t anything he would die from, not from an unexpected aneurysm or a stroke like he had convinced himself.

Except for the complete loss of his hearing and the fact that there was nothing he could do about it, he was feeling a little better.

Technically there actually was a solution. At the same time that the hospital told him his brain was fine, they’d offered to get him fitted for hearing aids, but two days later Stephen Sr. finally returned from the birthplace of aviation and the appointment was canceled.

Where Ruth reacted to everything that could possibly be wrong with Steve with the instinct to coddle him, his dad did the opposite. He was cold and harsh Steve’s entire childhood, like the time he was eight years old and broke his elbow playing soccer, but was cut out of the cast early on his fathers orders. Or when he lost his tooth in the dry steak at a fancy restaurant and got slapped for crying.

When they had told him the news of Steve’s disability, both Steve and his mother staring down at the wooden table and twiddling their thumbs, he had the audacity to laugh. He thought they were just making a mountain out of a mole hole, that Steve probably just had some congestion and would be fine in a few days.

Steve tried really, really hard to follow the rules and listen to what his father said to avoid conflict, but after a week he knew it was hopeless.

In just that one week alone, he had been through three phone calls with various people checking up on him that he didn’t hear more than a few words of. He’d discovered when a police officer showed up at the door to get a statement out of him about the mall that looking into other peoples faces was much harder than before thanks to the torture he’d been through, and suddenly it was next to impossible to hear what anyone was saying to him without the extra help of being able to read their lips.

Possibly worst of all, he kept getting whacks to the back of the head with the newspaper or his fathers hand for not answering when he was spoken to or missing out on conversation.

This just wasn’t going to work.

His ears were not going to just magically get better at hearing, and as hard as it was to realize that at 19 he’d have to wear hearing aids like his zeydee did, after an entire week of this icky feeling of being isolated with his head under water, he had to do it.

That morning, he sat down next to his ima on the couch and told her, as casually as possible, “I would be okay if you guys had to leave again.”

Ruth, keeping her eyes low and her face in her cup of tea, mumbled out her response, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hear it, “We wouldn’t just abandon you dear.”

Steve’s face scrunched up with the effort of trying to understand her. She gave a second, clearer answer to spare him the trouble, “Are you certain you’ll be fine Stefan?”

“Oh, yeah, for sure.” He nodded, probably making it even less believable, but as Ruth was between a rock and a hard fist, she accepted it as truth.

“Well, your father has a meeting in Pittsburgh tomorrow morning, and he’s been asking me to go with him..” It was clear in the look on her face that she wanted to turn away, but she remembered his current state and kept her face turned towards him. She’s implying things again, letting Steve do the heavy lifting so she doesn’t have to.

“You should go ima. I’m okay now.” An ingenuine smile to finish it off, and Ruth’s decision was made.

His parents were out of the house by that same afternoon in a slurry of excessive amounts of hugs and promises to call from Ruth, while he got another smack to the back of his head from Stephen Sr.

As soon as the Rolls Royce pulled out of the driveway he ran to get ready. There was an audiologist at the hospital, and he was determined to go there, even if his father had been awful to the staff about canceling the appointment.

See, Stephen Sr. had built up quite the reputation in Hawkins, but where most of the public, like his teachers and his neighbors, thought it was a case of tough love between the Harrington father and son, the doctors at the hospital knew it wasn’t really like that at all. It was all in his records, the suspicious amount of injuries and all the denied treatments for them.

Since he was about ten they’d been leaving him alone for all their business trips and whatnot, and ever since then he’d been taking himself to the doctor for things they deemed too trivial. Mostly it was for his allergies, like to get the epipen he was told he didn’t need or a breathing treatment that one time his mom used coconut perfume before date night, but there were quite a few of the occasional instances of injuries like concussions during off seasons and fingers slammed in car doors before he was old enough to drive.

The staff were pretty good about letting him in without an appointment, and this time was no different.

When he got there, a woman behind the desk signed him in with a sympathetic smile when she heard what happened, and said he’d only have to wait about a half hour.

He was called back and they did yet another hearing test on him, just to be extra sure it wasn’t a temporary effect from the ‘explosion’ and deemed that yeah, he was definitely still very deaf.

Piles of papers were thrown at him detailing all the different options and information for hearing aids, and they took some molds of his ears. The doctor told him it would take about a week, and then they’d call him back in and give him the hearing aids. Simple as that and he was being hurried back out of the room already.

It felt odd just walking out after that, maybe because he still couldn’t hear a damn thing and had to wait another week to get his hearing back, and he found himself lost in his thoughts and in the hallways of the hospital.

Eventually he ended up in the waiting room of an entrance he hadn’t even used, but all thoughts of how the hell to escape this labyrinth of a hospital were pushed out of his mind when he caught sight of a familiar redhead in one of the blue plastic chairs.

Max had been the only one of the kids he hadn’t talked to since that night, so he sat down next to her. It didn’t seem like she noticed him at first, just kept her head down to stare at the pages of a magazine she definitely wasn’t actually reading, until she sighed and slammed it shut, turning to face him.

“What're you doing here?” There was a bitterness in her tone that Steve definitely didn’t expect, and a hard set look on her face to go with it.

As if, with the fading bruises and cuts still all over his face and the blood still pooled around his iris, he didn’t look like he belonged in a hospital. Then again, he probably looks a lot better than Max’s brother.

“I needed to get my ears checked out again. Fireworks got me pretty messed up.”

Instantly her face softens, and she sits back in her chair. “Good. I thought you were here to tell me to go home.”

If Steve is guessing right, then she’s here to see Billy, since he had nearly died, but Steve couldn’t understand why anyone would tell her to leave her brother behind. “Why would I do that?”

“Because pretty much everyone else has.” She snaps then turns her face away, muttering, exasperated, under her breath. “They think I’m just wasting my time.”

Steve didn’t catch what she said at all. He feels bad about it, but has to clarify, “What?”

There’s tears in her eyes and a crack in her voice as she turns back and practically shouts in his face, misunderstanding his inability to hear as a lack of understanding, “They think Billy’s some kind of monster or something and they don’t want me to come see him!”

“Oh.” Blinking a few times, Steve tries to think of the right thing to say. “How.. is he?”

She shrugs her shoulders as a response, chewing her trembling lip to try to keep the angry tears from spilling over.

“Do you want me to go with you? To see him?” The feeling of going through something like this alone was all too familiar to him, so while he and Billy hadn’t exactly been friends, he couldn’t leave Max here alone, crying in the middle of the day, while all her friends isolated her for it. He figured it didn’t really matter who was in the hospital bed as long as he was doing it to support her.

All she manages is a nod, and a sob she’d been trying to contain rattled her shoulders. Of all the kids he was probably the least close with Max, but in that moment he decides it isn’t important, and he wraps his arm protectively over her trembling body.

Visiting hours had opened earlier that morning, but they were doing some sort of test on Billy now, so they would have to wait.

In the meantime, Steve decided to take Max down to the cafeteria for some cheap food. A cup of jello and a bagel sandwich for each of them later, she was leading Steve back upstairs and down the hall to see if Billy was done.

Max saw the nurse lingering in the lobby and rounded the corner like a bat out of hell, tennis shoes squeaking on the floor.

As if she had to say anything, the nurse announces, “Mr. Hargrove is ready for you.”

-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-

Whatever Steve had been expecting to see in room 212, it was not Billy Hargrove awake, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

Had Steve just been impaled through his chest, especially considering how crummy he feels from just his injuries, he doesn’t think he’d be half as alert or completely normal seeming as Billy was.

Other than the obscene amount of bandages around his torso and the oxygen tubes in his nose, he looked mostly just like he had before. Not even ‘before’ as in recently before being admitted to the hospital, he’d still looked pretty run down in the weeks leading up to the incident, but ‘before’ as in when he’d first moved to Hawkins.

Adorned with that playful glint in his eyes that Steve hadn’t seen since last November before they’d gotten into a fight, Billy’s gaze follows him into the room, “Didn’t expect to see you here, Harrington.”

And Steve can tell he’s on all kinds of pain meds, from how wide his smile goes, how light his voice is, and he wonders if Billy’s like him, doing better on the outside than underneath.

But he still thinks he should respond so, with hands shoved into his pockets, Steve leans against the wall by the window and shrugs his shoulders. “Wasn’t planning on being here, Hargrove.”

Max on the other hand, sat herself down on the foot of Billy’s bed, crossing her legs so the both of them would fit together, and launched into a story about her day. It was mostly just complaints about the other kids ditching her and Susan not staying like she said she would, but Steve wouldn’t know all that.

From where he's standing, he can’t see most of Max’s face, so he keeps his eyes downcast at the blue and white floor, counting flaws in the tiles and trying his best to focus hard on what she’s saying. Most of what he gathers is confusing nonsense and it’s sort of miserable.

While she talked, even though he was listening and offering his input, Billy finds his gaze drifting over to Steve in the corner instead. The way he’s concentrating so hard, the way he doesn’t startle or look up like both he and Max had when an announcement came on the overhead speakers, or how, even when his own name is brought up in the conversation he doesn’t respond. To him, it’s become obvious there is a problem.

Max got to the present in her story, where she told him why Steve was here too and, seeing an opportunity to test his theory, Billy asks, “That true, Harrington?”

A second or two too late the words, spoken loud enough that he could just barely hear them, try to register, and he gathers that he’d been addressed by name, but Steve doesn’t hear the rest.

Looking up at the two of them, he sees Max had turned around to stare at him with big eyes and Billy’s drowsy gaze fixed onto him, the pair of siblings waiting for an answer. Steve felt a little heat rise to his face instantly, “Huh?”

“You can’t hear a damn thing can you?” Billy looks curious, almost fascinated by Steve and his situation.

For some reason, despite the seemingly rude bluntness of a high Billy Hargrove, it makes him decide to tell the truth, “Not really, no.”

Taking it in, Billy nods slowly, and eventually asks him, “You know sign language?”

“I never learned it, no.” Steve had only taken French in highschool to help his once best friend Heather get back in touch with her roots since her parents wouldn’t teach her the language of the city she was born in.

His were the same way, but they didn’t offer Yiddish classes at Hawkins High, and definitely not any form of Sign Language either. If only.

What Steve isn’t expecting is for Billy to offer, with one hundred percent certainty, “I could teach you.”

That’s surprising for some reason. Not the fact that Billy would teach him, since he seems in such a cheerful mood anyways, but rather that he’d be able to. “Wait, you know it?”

Still bobbing his head in a rigid nod, so much it makes Steve almost dizzy to watch, Billy explains, “Yep. My momma was deaf. She taught me growing up.”

That explains how he caught on so quickly then. It’s actually not that unexpected with the way he’d noticed Billy staring at his lips instead of making eye contact, since even before their fight. Still, he’s shy about accepting the offer at first, “Oh. I mean, if you wanna teach me..”

Billy doesn’t need any more than that to confidently declare, “Your first lesson is tomorrow. Bring a notebook and some snacks. We have lots of work to do.”

Equal parts excitement and fear flutter in Steve’s chest. The idea of being taught by Billy isn’t the worst, he’s honestly pretty neutral about that. It’s more the idea of having to learn things in general that scares him. He’d done terribly back in school, skating past only with the help of a personal special ed tutor. Any subject where he has to write or read anything is going to be a disaster.

More vulnerable that he expected, Steve brings up those fears, “What if I can’t learn it?”

“We’ll keep trying. It’s not like it’s gonna kill you to mess up.” The question hadn’t even fazed Billy. He’s so confident, Steve feels like it’s contagious.

Being able to communicate better than his attempts at hearing sounds fun actually, and the way Billy has been so kind about everything, Steve’s maybe looking forward to it. “Yeah.. Yeah! I’ll come back tomorrow.”

With that arranged now, Steve decided it was time to go. Besides, he has to go to Robin and tell her absolutely everything. Maybe they’ll have a little sleepover since Steve’s parents are gone again, and then Robin can bring Steve to see Billy tomorrow. She’ll be happy for him. Anything to make life so soon after the disaster easier.

He stands up, and thanks Billy quickly, and with a few pats to Max’s head he’s on his way out the door.

“I’ll see you then, pretty boy.” Billy had said it more quietly, meaning it registered only as a low rumble, but from the pitch he could tell it was Billy saying something. Already he feels that familiar with his new friend, a good sign for their future.

Still, he’s curious about what he said, so he turns back around and asks, “Huh?”

“Just saying bye, Steve.” Billy smiles, in contrasts with a subtle flush on his face, and waves, the tubes in his IV coming up with his arm, a reminder that he’s still in recovery too. It’ll probably make a world of difference for him to have Steve visit, based on what Max was saying.

Steve returns a vibrant smile before he exits, “Oh. Bye!”

Once he’s gone, probably back in his car and driven off already, Max looks at her brother and scoffs, well aware of another reason he wants to get close to Steve; the crush he’s had on him since they met, for example. “God, you’re a dork.”

“I’m a man in love, Maxine. And I got a date with Steve.” The drugs are definitely making him a little loopy, but even he should realize that’s a bit of a stretch just for a couple of sign language lessons.

Max just rolls her eyes at him affectionately, “Yeah, yeah. Keep dreaming.”