I hope you guys enjoy the next installment! It's a longer one this time.
Summary: It had been over five years since Billy had been back to Hawkins, Indiana. He knew for a fact that he wouldn't be able to be there if Steve wasn't with him.
Tags/Triggers: Hurt/Comfort | Roommates to Lovers | Loss of Parent(s) | Returning to Hawkins | Drunk Talking | Recreational Drug Use
Steve Harrington woke up to the sound of banging—maybe a door slamming shut in the distance. He blinked, feeling drowsy, and part of him guessed that it had to be morning, because Billy Hargrove hated getting up early even more than Steve did, but it had to be him moving around the apartment at this time. And yet the other part of Steve was pretty sure that it wasn't morning, because it didn't feel as though he had been asleep that long. Steve closed his eyes, rolling over to face the wall and wondering if maybe Billy had just accidentally hit his door as he was leaving his room to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, and he was falling asleep again when his phone started vibrating.
And it wasn't the short vibrate either, like a text or a notification for Instagram or Twitter, it was long, and constant, because someone was ringing.
Steve frowned, rubbing a hand over his face and reaching up to the window sill above his head where his phone was laying, following the cord of his charger, before gripping his phone, wincing at the photo of Lucas Sinclair brightly shining at him, pulling a face. He swiped his thumb over the screen and lifted the phone to his ear.
"Lucas?" Steve croaked.
"Steve!" Lucas' voice was loud in his ear, even though it probably wasn't all that much louder than his usual volume, it was just because it was breaking through the quiet room, and when Steve pulled his phone away from his ear and looked at the time, he saw that it was just before two in the morning.
"Lucas, what's wrong?" Steve asked, already sitting up, feeling a lot more awake than he had before. It was a Wednesday morning, so it would be incredibly unusual for the kids to be out drinking, and they didn't usually go out and not be prepared about what was happening afterwards. "Are you okay?" Suddenly, the light went on outside Steve's room, flooding inside since his door was only partially closed, and Steve tugged the cord out of his phone, letting the charger drop and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, onto the wooden floors.
"It's Mr Hargrove," Lucas replied, voice dropping lower, and in the background, Steve could hear moving around and someone talking in hushed tones. "He's dead—he died in a car crash. Max got a call from her mum—she just rung Billy and he hung up on her. Max is back on the phone with her mum now, but I thought that maybe you should check on Billy." Steve was already walking toward the door of his room.
"Thanks, Lucas," his words were clipped, but he was pretty sure Lucas would understand. "I'll talk to you later." He hung up without saying anything else, holding his phone in his hand as he stepped out into the small hallway. It was the light in the lounge that was on, and Steve stepped into the bright room, blinking a few more times for his eyes to adjust from the darkness of his room, but he still didn't see Billy. He took a few more steps, until he could look into the kitchen, and then he saw Billy, a bottle of whiskey in his hand, lid on the bench next to him, his whole body shaking. "Billy?" Steve said quietly, because he really wasn't sure what he was meant to say. He took a step closer, into the darker lounge, fingers curled tightly around his phone and the other into a fist. "What can I do, sweetheart?" There was another shudder that ripped through Billy, his shoulders rolling, and Steve chewed down on his bottom lip.
Steve didn't know all that much about Neil Hargrove, Billy didn't talk much about either of his parents. Everyone in Hawkins knew that Neil was an asshole drunk, and a lot of the kids in Billy's grade at school knew that he got used as a punching bag, even if he tried to hide it, and there had been this one time that Steve had been making out with Macey Louis behind a diner, and he had seen Neil slap Billy right across the face in the back of the parking lot. Macey had been horrified and Steve had wanted to call the police straight away, but then Billy's eyes had found his. It had been one of the only civil exchanges between them in high school. Billy's eyes had met Steve's and while they were wide and furious and scared, he managed to get the message across with a small shake of his head before his attention was shifted back to his father.
But Billy barely went back to Hawkins.
He hadn't gone back to see his father in the whole time he and Steve had been living together, but he had gone back once beforehand, just a few months after he had left and it had mainly been to see Maxine Mayfield, and it hadn't gone well so he hadn't gone back.
Not for birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas—he hadn't gone back.
It hadn't been until Steve that he had gone back, because of encouragement from Jane 'El' Hopper and even Joyce Byers, but he'd made it clear it was a favor for Steve and he'd avoided his old home at all costs.
Then there was a crash, as Billy smashed the bottle of whiskey into the sink. The bottle was half full, so there was liquid splashing up, getting on the bench and the window sill in front of the sink and probably on Billy as well, but other than jolting in surprise at the sound, Steve didn't move or make a sound, waiting Billy out. And finally, he turned around, and crashed into Steve, nearly sending him tumbling over, and he wasn't crying, but he couldn't stop shaking, and Steve just wrapped his arms around him and held onto him tightly.
Steve rung both of their jobs in the morning. It was Stephanie Anders that he got when he called into his own work, and she was sympathetic and said that she would put through annual leave for him that day. Steve hadn't even thought of that, honestly, because it wasn't as though money was an issue for him, there was a deposit that appeared in his bank account once a month from his parents that was about four times the amount he got at his job, but he thanked her and hung up. The man he got at Billy's work was Billy's boss, and he had sounded gruff, but he always did. He had said to pass on his best to Billy, and not to come back until he felt he was ready, so Steve took that as the man being as sympathetic as he could be.
Billy's phone had been ringing since Steve woke up, and Steve had watched as Max's name had come up, then Susan Hargrove's, then Max's again, then Lucas', and then Max again. They had gone into Steve's room last night, after Steve had found him in the kitchen, and Billy had taken a long time to fall asleep, tossing and turning and keeping Steve awake as well. He'd managed to fall asleep though, and he was still asleep now, and so the next time his phone rang, Steve swiped his finger over the phone and left the room again, like he had to make the calls to their jobs, and answered Billy's phone.
"Max," Steve stated.
"Steve," Max didn't sound too surprised that it was Steve picking up the phone. "Is...Is Billy okay?" Max and Billy had had a pretty contentious relationship when they had been younger, but it had gotten better since Billy had left Hawkins, since he had gotten away from Neil, really, and started healing. They weren't as in touch with each other's feelings as Jonathan and Will Byers, they sort of had that more sarcastic, playful vibe that happened between Nancy and Mike Wheeler, and that worked well for them.
"He's sleeping," Steve replied and Max let out a heavy sigh.
"Okay, that's fine," she mumbled.
"Are you okay, Max?" Steve asked quietly as he walked into the kitchen and looked at the broken glass in the sink, and the stickiness on the bench and wall and window sill from the splashed whiskey.
"Yeah, I guess..." Max sighed. "I hated Neil. I always hated Neil, but not as much as Billy did. I think he liked me, but only...I don't know, maybe because I wasn't Billy—or maybe he just acted like that because of my mum, I don't know." Steve sighed as well, because he hated that two people he loved had to grow up with this man in their lives, and now they had to deal with loosing him, and the mess that was to follow that.
"Where are you now?" Steve asked as he walked into their lounge and looked around for newspaper. He picked up some old papers that were piled up next to the door, probably getting ready to be thrown out, and he carried them back into the kitchen.
"We're about to get on a plane to Indiana," Max told him. "This was my last call before we board."
"Lucas going with you?" Steve checked.
"Yeah, he's got the rest of the week off, so he can stay for a bit...Help to figure some things out," Max sounded a bit distracted and then she sighed. "Okay, I've got to go. I'll call in a couple of hours. Can you...Can you have Billy answer?" Her voice sounded small, which made Steve's heart hurt, because Max was such a little fireball—it was like her and Billy were actually related by blood at times—but she had such a soft heart underneath.
"I'll try, okay?" He said and Max hummed in reply and then the call ended. Lucas was with her, and Steve was happy about it. They had been dancing around each other for a while now, and then there had been a night about two months ago when they had been at a bar and it was clear that the two of them were going home together, so it seemed as though it was only upward from there. Billy acted as though he didn't like the fact that they were getting together—or maybe that they already were together—because he didn't like the idea of his step sister being with any guy, but Steve knew that Billy was glad that it was Lucas, because the kid had been head over heels for Max since they were fourteen. If there was anyone to be by her side at a time like this, Lucas would be the best one.
Steve started cleaning up the mess in the kitchen, shifting all of the glass onto the open newspaper that he had spread out on the bench, and then wiping down the benches. He put some music on, his phone connecting to the speakers, playing something by Theory of a Deadman. He kept on cleaning, even after all the whiskey and glass was gone, just in his boxers, not sure what to do with himself when Billy was hurting in his bed and there was nothing that he could do to fix it.
It was always Steve with problems.
Steve on anti-depressants, Steve on anti-anxiety medication, Steve on sleeping tablets...Steve with the problems with diet pills and throwing up after he ate and who was scared of the dark and the silence and who sometimes hated his body so much that he got tattoo's and piercings to try and change the way he looked.
And Billy always looked after him, even when they were good friends, even before he knew the extent of what was wrong, and Steve had no idea what he was supposed to do.
Steve didn't even realize how much time had gone by, as he was on his knees and pulling the cords out from behind their TV and the cabinet that it was resting on, so that he could wipe down the the cords and the walls and the back of the cabinet with a wet cloth to get rid of the dust, and then Billy's phone was ringing again. Steve's own phone was in the kitchen still, but he was carrying Billy's phone around, waiting for Max's call. He'd let two more of Susan's go to voicemail, because he didn't want her voice to be the first one he heard after waking up, but when he saw Max's face come up, he saw the time at the top, and he realized that he had been cleaning for over four hours.
That would explain why his knees hurt from crawling on the floor and the sheen of sweat on his face and back.
"Hold on," Steve said by way of answer as he walked toward his bedroom, pushing open the door and then approaching the bed. Billy was still facing the wall, and his shoulders were lifting and falling rhythmically, showing that he was still asleep. He felt a bad, because Billy had taken so long to go to sleep, but this was important. Steve laid a gentle hand on Billy's shoulder, squeezing just a little and shaking. "Billy," he whispered. "Billy, it's Max." Billy grumbled under his breath, indicating that he was waking up.
"I don't wanna talk," he replied with a huff, voice sounding scratchy, shrugging his shoulder to try and knock Steve's hand off. Steve took in a deep breath and rubbed his hand over his face before reaching over again, and this time, he shook Billy' s arm, more firmly this time.
"Billy," he repeated, his voice as stern as he could muster. "It's Max." Billy didn't move for a moment, or say anything, before he rolled over and held out his hand for the phone. Steve passed it over and then left the room, so that the siblings could talk. He closed his door behind him so that they had privacy and then went into the bathroom, turning on the shower and looking down at his knees. They were an angry red, and he made a face at the little indents on them, before moving over to the sink and brushing his teeth. After getting a towel from the cupboard, he stepped into the shower, and let the water rush down over him, soothing the aches in his shoulders from where he had been scrubbing at the bottom of their fridge.
He heard the bathroom door open and waited for Billy to pull back the shower curtain, but he didn't. Steve kept on waiting, trying to make out Billy's form through the curtain, but it was foggy from the shower, and he could just see Billy walking to the toilet and sitting down on the closed lid.
"The funeral is going to be Saturday morning," Billy stated, his voice sounding hollow, and Steve swallowed hard.
"Do you want to go?" He asked carefully.
"Fuck no," Billy snapped, the hollowness now gone and replaced with venom. Steve swallowed hard again, dipping his hair under the water and letting it was away the lemon and apple shampoo suds from his hair.
"Are you sure?" Steve asked, because while he knew that Neil was an asshole—even if he didn't know all the details—he was still Billy's father. Steve wasn't close with either of his parents, but he would still go to their funerals. He knew it wasn't the same thing, but...It was still important. Steve reached out and turned off the shower, standing there in the tub, under the shower head for a few moments before pushing back the curtain and reaching for his towel. Billy leaned forward and pulled it off the rack, holding it out to Steve, and Steve gave him a small smile. Billy didn't smile back, but Steve didn't expect him to, and he dried himself off with the towel, ending with scrubbing at his hair.
"I'm fucking sure," Billy replied, getting up from the toilet seat and stepping around Steve to get to the sink. He squeezed tooth paste onto his toothbrush and turned on the tap, shoving the brush under the running water before pushing it into his mouth. Steve wrapped the towel around his middle, tying it in a knot at his hip and he stepped up behind Billy, getting into his personal space. "What time is it?" Billy asked, spitting out a mouthful of toothpaste before putting the brush back in his mouth.
"Just before two," Steve replied quietly, and he lifted a hand tentatively, resting his fingertips against Billy's back. Billy tensed for a moment, but then he let out a heavy sigh and spat out another mouthful of toothpaste and dropped his toothbrush into the cup by the sink and braced his arms on either side of the sink. Steve let his hand trail gently up and down Billy's back, tripping over the knobs of his spine, scratching lightly with his blunt fingernails that were for once without any nail polish.
It was almost five o'clock before Billy spoke again. Steve had filled the silence with a few comments and questions that only required yes or no answers, so that Billy only needed to nod or shake his head. They were in the lounge, on the couch, and Billy's feet were on Steve's lap and they were watching White Gold when Billy lifted his head from where it was resting on a bright purple pillow that Steve had brought a while ago, and he nudged his toe against Steve's hands.
"Mm?" Steve asked, stopping his motions from rubbing the arches of Billy's feet.
"If I go, will you come with me?" He responded abruptly. Steve didn't need any clarification about where Billy meant, he just dipped his head in a nod.
"Of course," he murmured. Billy huffed out a sigh and looked back at the TV. Steve was pretty sure he wasn't really paying any attention to what was happening, there were several things that Jay from The Inbetweeners had said that Billy would usually at least snort at and he hadn't even breathed heavily in those parts. Steve went back to rubbing Billy's feet, digging his thumbs into the arches of Billy's feet, and into the heel, fingers trailing down the sides lightly.
It was an hour later that Billy stated that he would go back to Hawkins, but that there was no way in fucking hell that he could stay back in the house he had lived in with his father, Susan and Max.
"Don't worry," Steve said quietly, his hands still moving. He wasn't rubbing Billy's feet anymore, they had shifted in the past hour, Billy had shuffled around so that he was pressed against Steve's side, and one of Steve's hand was on Billy's thigh and the other was on Billy's shoulder, both hands gently stroking and massaging. "We can stay at my parents. They won't be there—I mean, I'll ring them and see, but—they won't be there. They never are."
That was another thing that they never talked about.
Steve's parents.
He was guessing that Billy had gathered a lot of things, just like Steve had about Billy, but they'd never talked about it.
"Thanks," Billy said, turning his head to look up at Steve, because even though Steve hadn't completely avoided Hawkins like the plague since he had left—like Billy had—it wasn't as though he was rushing back eagerly.
"It's okay," Steve reached down and pressed a kiss against Billy's cheekbone before he was carefully standing up.
"What are you doing?" Billy asked, eyebrows pulling together and corners of his lips turning down, practically pouting at the fact that Steve was moving off the couch.
"I'm—I just need to call my parents, okay? You keep watching," he waved a hand at the TV and Billy let out a sigh through his nose, as though he didn't like the idea of being seperated from Steve. Steve didn't mind the sentiment, but he didn't want to talk to his mum in front of Billy. He didn't really like talking to his mum anyway, but Billy didn't have his mum, and from what little Steve had heard, he actually loved her, so Steve didn't want it to be a thing.
The phone rang three times before it was answered.
"Stevie darling? Stevie!" Anita Harrington cooed into the phone. When Billy called him Stevie it was sort of...Familiar and sweet. When Anita called him Stevie, it was as though she hadn't seen him since he was three and she didn't realize that he no longer wore onesies. "How are you?!" Wherever she was in the world, and whatever time it was, she was definitely tipsy.
"I'm good, mother," Steve said cordially, the way he always spoke with his parents. "Listen, I'm coming back to Hawkins for a little bit. Are you home?"
"In Hawkins? No, darling!" Anita laughed, as though the idea of being in Hawkins was hilarious, and yeah, maybe it was. They had never been there when Steve was a kid, when they should have been there, so there was even less chance of them being there now. "No, darling, we're in London! We'll be here for the rest of the month."
"Right, well, I'll talk to you soon, okay?" Steve concluded, even though he knew it would be at least another few months before they spoke again.
"Of course, darling!" Anita cried, and then the call ended and Steve sighed. He was pretty sure he had at least an hour of roaming call data on his phone, so that shouldn't charge him, making a call to London. He then tried to do the math, because he was pretty sure London time was behind them, and they were only going on six o'clock in the evening, and that would make London around two in the afternoon, if he was remembering correctly, and his mother was definitely not just on her first round of afternoon beverages. Steve grabbed his laptop, from where it was on the ground, half underneath his bed, and then walked back out to the lounge. Billy had stretched out on the couch now, his head resting on the cushions that Steve had been leaning back on before.
"They're in London for the rest of the month," Steve announced, and Billy lifted his head, shuffling back a little bit so that Steve could sit back down, and Billy leaned back down. One of Steve's hands went to Billy's curls, while the other hand balanced his laptop on the arm of the couch and turned the laptop on, waiting for it to power up. Billy's blonde curls were getting longer again, it had been a while since he had had a hair cut, and Steve loved it when it was like this, the waves more pronounced, around Billy's neck. He scratched his fingers lightly over Billy's neck as he searched for flights.
"Whatchya doing?" Billy mumbled, half his mouth pressed against Steve's leg.
"Booking flights," Steve replied. It didn't matter that it was last minute and so the prices were going to be higher. It was all going on his credit card, anyway, his was paid every month by his father, even though he hardly touched it. He wondered if Billy was going to try and deter him from buying them, but he didn't say anything, so Steve took that as Billy's acceptance of what he was doing. Steve found two tickets that were leaving the next morning, and he easily tapped through the website, using his saved credit card details to pay for the flights, and then put his laptop back on the ground, turning his full attention back to Billy. "Are you hungry?" Steve murmured.
"No," Billy grunted, his voice muffled against Steve's leg. Steve stroked his fingers through Billy's curls, untangling a knot at the base of Billy's neck.
"Do you want anything to drink?" He offered.
"No," Billy repeated. Steve nodded, feeling useless, not knowing what else he could do. Billy turned his head in Steve's lap, looking up at Steve, and the brunette looked down at him, his heart heavy in his chest. "Thank you," he whispered, and Steve's eyebrows pulled together.
"For what?" He asked, barely able to keep back a snort. "I literally don't know what to do." Billy just gave him a small, watery smile and turned his head back to face the TV, and Steve's fingers kept pulling through his hair, not really watching what was happening on the screen, just pressing against one another.