The house feels impossibly quiet now that the others have left. The distant hum of Mrs. Byers Pinto fades from the driveway, leaving behind only the buzz of the refrigerator and the soft ticking of the kitchen clock. I am still sitting at the worn kitchen table, my hand and shoulder throbbing with each passing second. The adrenaline from the night is wearing thin, and now all that is left is an exhaustion that settles deep in my bones.

Across from me, Billy is still standing in front of me. His hands grip the first-aid kit, his eyes locked on me like I might disappear if he looks away. His presence fills the room, but neither of us can find the words to break the silence. A familiar tug of frustration gnaws at me, but I am too tired, sore, and confused to say anything. Where would I even begin, anyway? Finally, Billy lets out a quiet sigh, his eyes drifting from the broken glass still scattered on the floor to the cut on my palm. For a brief second, his usual cocky expression softens, the concern flickering in his eyes.

Without a word, he kicks out the chair in front of me, opening the first-aid kit with a rough flick of his wrist. He rifles through the supplies in silence, the click of bandage scissors and the crinkle of gauze filling the quiet.

"I need to wrap this up," Billy says, his voice low, but not unkind. "I can't have you bleeding all over the Camaro."

I can't help but let out a dry laugh. "Of course that's what you're worried about."

Billy's lips twitch into the ghost of a smirk, but his hands are steady and deliberate as he takes my injured hand in his. His touch is firm, precise, but not rough – almost gentle in a way that catches me off guard. I watch as he starts to wrap the bandage, and for a moment the chaos outside seems far away.

"Where'd you learn to do this?" I ask, my voice soft, slightly teasing.

"Junior lifeguard," Billy mutters, not looking up, "you have to be first aid certified to graduate."

I raise an eyebrow, feeling the smile lifting at the corner of my lips."Junior lifeguard?" I ask, watching as Billy rolls his eyes, glancing up at me with a locked jaw.

"Yes," he sighs, digging through the first-aid kit for more gauze, eyes settling on my shoulder, "I'm a certified lifeguard, is that so hard to believe?"

"No," I lie, but my smile is only growing. Billy shakes his head, pressing the gauze to my shoulder and I flinch, the pain shooting down my arm to the tips of my fingers.

"Sorry," he mutters, lifting his fingers carefully before picking up more gauze to press to my shoulder again, "you're going to need stitches."

I frown, shifting uncomfortably, "I'm not leaving."

"Lacy," he argues, immediately, eyes settling on my own, "yes, you are."

I try to cross my arms over my chest, but the shoulder pulls with a burn and I settle with just dramatically settling my hands into my lap. Billy smirks, trying to fight the way his corners of his mouth lift at my dramatics, before sitting back in the chair in front of me, "You gonna tell me what's going on."

"No," I say, but it's another lie, and he knows it. Billy rolls his eyes, leaning back against the chair and crossing his arms over his chest to make a point as he regards me, "There's nothing to say."

"Bullshit," Billy grumbles, shaking his head.

"What do you want me to tell you?" I ask, exhaling, my mind spinning with the possibilities.

"The truth," he says, shrugging. "The real truth. You're a shitty liar, Lace."

I frown, turning away from him to look out the window. My mind races as I try to decide how much to tell him. Everything about Will Byers disappearance? The lab? Alternate dimensions? Dart? It all sounds so insane, even just in my mind, so I can only imagine what Billy is going to think. I open my mouth, deciding to just argue, demanding that he leave it alone, but when I meet his gaze with my own sharp look, I find that he's studying me, patiently waiting for an answer. I lose my nerve, almost immediately, taking a deep breath.

"Dustin found it on Halloween," I finally say, trying to keep my voice even, but the words are spilling out of my mouth at a rapid pace, "we – he thought it was a tadpole and that he discovered a new species, but it got – weird."

"Weird?" Billy asks, rubbing his face with a hint of frustration, "That's not enough, Lace."

I force out a breath, lifting my hand to touch my shoulder, the bandages from Billy are solid, neat, perfectly flush against my skin. I meet his eyes again and nod, knowing that he's only being honest. "It grew at a rapid pace. By the time I found out about it, it had already started molting," I lick my lips, picturing Dart's gooey body sliding across the floor of the tank. "That first night we hung out, it had molted and ate our cat."

"I knew that was blood," Billy mutters, but his brows knit together. I can't tell if it's in annoyance or anger, but after a few seconds he nods for me to continue.

"And then when we were in my truck, I heard it, but it wasn't the one Dustin found. There are others that live in the woods." I exhale, glancing away from him again, "Then it got bigger, it escaped, and the night you came over to see me and I was with Steve, we were looking for it and that's why I had to leave so quickly in the morning."

"What is it?" Billy asks, but I can't tell if he believes me. His gaze is completely guarded and I feel the warmth of my face deepen, feeling stupid for telling him anything.

"Something," I press my lips together, deciding to keep some details to myself, "from the lab – an experiment or something."

Billy's brows furrow, before he scoffs, "So, what? You're telling me this is some government cover-up?"

"You wanted the truth," I shrug, flinching at the pull in my shoulder. "You saw the one that attacked me."

"I don't know what I saw," Billy snaps, sitting back in his seat, running a hand through his hair. His eyes flick over to me again, searching my face for something, "for all I know it could have been a mangy, rabid dog."

"You know for a fact that thing wasn't a damn dog." I snap, feeling my temper flare.

Billy smirks, clearly fighting to take me seriously. "This all sounds like some bad horror movie, Henderson. Creatures from a government lab? Secret experiments? Next you're going to tell me that the Russians are living in some secret basement."

"Don't mock me," I hiss, pushing back through gritted teeth, "you wanted the truth? This is it. You saw it yourself, but if you still don't believe me."

"Because it doesn't make any sense," Billy argues. "I don't know what I saw, it was dark, and you were bleeding, and Steve punched the shit out of me."

I knew he would be like this and I frown, glancing at the fridge, lifting a brow, "Open the fridge and see for yourself."

"What?" Billy sighs, following my gaze, "Why would I open the fridge?"

"See for yourself," I repeat, refusing to let him work me up.

Billy stands, abruptly crossing the kitchen to the fridge. His back is to me as he runs both hands through his hair. My heart hammers in the silence. I'm close to telling him to leave – forget about the demodogs, forget about me – but he's too stubborn for that.

The kitchen feels colder, quieter, now that he is not sitting right in front of me. His anger, his doubt – cuts a little deeper than I want to admit.

"Open it," I repeat, nodding my head. I know what waits for him, I can still hear the sickening thud of the demodog's head against the fridge door when Steve crammed it in there.

Billy pauses, his hands hovering just above the fridge handle as if he's trying to decide whether to believe me or walk out. He shoots a glance over his shoulder, eyebrows drawn in suspicion, and I can practically see the gears turning.

"Seriously?" he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. "This is ridiculous."

"Just do it," I urge him, the frustration in my voice rising, the anticipation almost unbearable, "don't be a chicken."

Billy scoffs at my challenge before he yanks the fridge door open. The air inside is cold and sterile, the soft flow from the fridge light casting a yellow hue over everything as the demodogs head topples out. He jumps back, cursing, "What the hell, Henderson?"

My stomach drops as I stare at the lifeless, twisted body. Billy picks up the head, pulling as its jaw to reveal sharp teeth. He grimaces, wipes his hands on his jeans, and shoves the creature back into the fridge.

"Still think it's a dog?" I ask, watching as he struggles to shut the door. When Billy only rolls his eyes, I continue, taking advantage of his silence, "My brother and his friends call it a demogorgon.

"A what?" Billy lifts a brow, turning to face me now, leaning against the fridge doors.

"A demogorgon," I repeat, feeling a little silly, "it's from their nerd game."

"This is insane," he mutters, his voice low, talking more to himself than to me.

"This is the truth," I sigh, watching as he comes around the table to sit across from me again, but I nod agreeing with him, "but it is insane."

Billy runs a hand over his face, letting out a long, frustrated breath. "Alright," he mutters, his voice rough. "Alright, fine. What the hell do we do now?"

I am a little surprised. I had expected him to argue more, to leave, but Billy's eyes are focused on me, waiting for me to respond.

"We wait here," I sigh, "for Dustin, Max, and the others."

Billy nods, but there's something in his expression – like he's still wrestling with everything he's just seen. His eyes flick back to my shoulder, the torn fabric of my sweatshirt, the bandages carefully wrapped and taped by Billy.

"You need to get that taken care of, Lacy," Billy says, his tone unusually soft. "You're not going to be able to sit around here much longer with that."

I open my mouth to argue, to tell him it doesn't matter right now, that Dustin and Max are what matters, but the words die on my tongue. The pain in my shoulder has grown worse, a dull throb that's become nearly unbearable to ignore. I'm still trembling from the adrenaline, and my head is swimming with everything around me feeling distant and too sharp all at one.

Billy's voice cuts through my haze. "Lace. You with me?"

"But, Dustin," I begin ignoring him, but Billy snaps the first-aid kit shut, harder than necessary cutting me off.

"Your brother's fine," he says, firmer now. "Harrington looks at you like you walk on water. You think he'll let anything happen to your kid brother?"

I start to argue, but Billy cups my face, tilting my chin up to meet his eyes. "You're not doing anyone any good like this."

I frown, looking away from him, my annoyance flaring with the pain in my shoulder.

"Come on, you're not stupid," Billy continues, his voice lower, trying to contain his anger, "we don't know what kind of infection that thing is going to give you."

I let out a sharp breath, wincing as the pain shoots down my arm. He's right, I can't keep sitting here, pretending I'm okay, but going to the hospital feels too real, feels like I'm admitting I'm falling apart in more ways than one.

Still, I know I don't have a choice.

"Fine," I shrug, flinching again, "but you don't have to say."

Billy lets out a rough laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, well I'm not leaving, so get in the car."

I don't have the energy to argue. I force myself to stand, but the room tilts sideways, my legs buckling, but before I can hit the floor, Billy's arms are around me, catching me, holding me up.

"Jesus," he mutters, his voice low in my ear, "you don't know when to quit, do you?"

I let out a weak laugh, leaning against him for support. He doesn't say anything as we walk to the Camaro, the cold night air biting against my skin. The dizziness creeps up on me, making the world spin around the edges. Billy opens the passenger door and helps me inside, his hands surprisingly gentle as he buckles me in.

"Stay awake," he orders, sliding into the driver's seat and glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. "Don't pass out on me, alright?"

I nod weakly, but my eyelids feel like they're made of lead. The hum of the engine fills the silence between us, a steady rhythm that lulls me into a daze. I keep my eyes on the blur of trees flashing past the window, trying to focus, but the pain in my shoulder has grown unbearable. Every bump in the road sends a jolt of agony shooting through my arm, and I clutch my bandaged hand against it, but it doesn't help.

"This is what you'll say," Billy's voice cuts through the fog. "You fell off your bike, took a shortcut through the woods, landed on some sharp debris."

I nod, but the words slip away.

Billy snaps his fingers in front of my face. "Lacy. Focus."

"I… fell off my bike," I repeat, blinking hard. "Landed on some sharp rocks."

"Have you ever told a lie?" Billy asks, his voice teasing, but his eyes are unexpectedly soft.

I force a weak smile, but it doesn't reach my eyes. "I lied to you all week," I remind him, trying to sound teasing, but my voice comes out thin.

Billy scoffs, shaking his head. "So you want to argue again?"

I let out a weak laugh, leaning my head back against the seat. "It's kind of our thing."

Billy's smirk flickers, but there's something else there, something softer. He glances over at me as he pulls into the hospital parking lot. The fluorescent lights flood the interior of the car, harsh and jarring against the darkness outside.

"You'll be fine," he says, but there's an edge of uncertainty in his voice.

I open my mouth to respond, but the pain flares again, sharp and unforgiving. I bite down hard, fighting the wave of nausea that follows. Billy's hand hovers near mine, but he pulls it back, gripping the gearshift.

"Remember the story," he mutters, killing the engine.

The hospital doors slide open with a mechanical hiss, and Billy's arm wraps around my waist, steadying receptionist in the emergency room glances up when we approach the desk, her eyes flicking over my bandaged hand and shoulder. "What happened?" she asks, her tone flat and uninterested.

"Oh – uh," I swallow, suddenly forgetting the words, my mouth dry.

"She fell off her bike," Billy interjects, shaking his head in annoyance, "I told her not to take the shortcut through the woods, but she's stubborn."

I smile weakly, a small attempt to seem sheepish at my mistake, but even that gesture feels exhausting. The receptionist looks between the two of us, clearly skeptical, but she doesn't question it. "Fill this out," she says, handing Billy a clipboard. He takes it, shooting me a sideways glance as he guides me toward one of the plastic chairs in the corner of the room.

"You're actually the worst liar I have ever met," he mutters, shaking his head with surprise. "I don't know how I believed a word that came out of your mouth," he continues, watching as I sink into the chair.

The pain in my shoulder throbs in time with my heartbeat, but I roll my eyes anyways. He shifts, so our knees are touching, the clipboard balanced on his lap as he reads over the paperwork to me. His handwriting is surprisingly neat and I find myself silently enjoying the way he loops the "y" in my name.

"You're left-handed," I observe. I'm not sure why I say it – it just slips out.

Billy glances at me, his lips twitching into a smirk. "So?" he asks, his tone light, teasing.

I shrug, wincing as the movement pulls at my shoulder. "Just… noticed."

There's a beat of silence, the kind that feels heavy with things left unsaid. Billy's smirk fades slightly, replaced with something softer. His eyes flicker to my shoulder, then back to the clipboard.

"Your birthday's coming up," he mentions, handing the clipboard to me so I can sign my name.

"December birthday's suck," I sigh, grimacing at the awkward way my uninjured left hand grips. "Everyone always forgets because of Christmas and you can't do anything fun like go to the pool or camp in the backyard."

"What do you do then?" he asks, his arm coming to rest across my shoulders. I stiffen at the touch, bracing for the pain, but Billy ensures that his embrace is light and warm.

"Last year," I laugh, bitterly remembering, "Carol and Nicole threw a party for me and I spent the evening, locked in the bathroom while Carol threw up and cried about Tommy breaking up with her. It was super fun."

"Sounds like my kind of party," he mutters with a hint of sarcasm, his lips curling into a half-smile. "You should have a proper birthday this year – skip the whole disaster with Carol and Tommy."

I raise an eyebrow at him, caught off guard by the casual suggestion. "And what, spend it with you?" I tease, but can't hide the curiosity in my voice.

Billy shrugs with a smirk, "Couldn't be worse than your last one, right?"

I blink, my heart skipping a beat. There's something almost sincere about the way he says it, as if he's offering more than just a joke. As if he actually cares, and the thought alone is enough to send a warm blush to shoot across my face.

"You're getting a little ahead of yourself, Hargrove," I sigh, handing him the clipboard to take back to the nurses station, "we haven't even gone on a proper date."

His eyes stay on mine for a moment, and I swear there's something flickering behind them – something deeper, something he's not quite ready to say. He looks away, his focus shifting to the clipboard in my lap, and just like that, the moment is gone.

"Here," he says, tapping the space where I'm supposed to sign. "Just scribble something close to your name. They won't even notice."

I nod, taking the pen and scrawling my name awkwardly with my left hand. It's barely legible, but Billy doesn't seem to care. He takes the clipboard from me, his fingers brushing mine for just a second longer than necessary before he stands and walks it back to the desk.

I watch him from my seat, feeling a strange sense of unease settle in my chest. This is Billy Hargrove – loud, arrogant, reckless Billy. And yet, the way he's been acting tonight, the way he's been looking at me, doesn't match that version of him. There's something else, something I've only glimpsed in the quiet moments, when it's just the two of us.

When he returns, he doesn't sit back down. Instead, he crouches in front of me, his face level with mine, his blue eyes searching my expression, for what, I don't know.

"You okay?" His voice is quieter now, softer. It's not the same cocky tone he usually uses—it's something different, something that makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, he's really asking.

I nod, though the pain in my shoulder hasn't eased. "I'm fine."

Billy's gaze lingers on me for a second longer, as if he doesn't believe me, but he doesn't push. Instead, he reaches out, his fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from my face. It's such a simple, fleeting touch, but it sends a jolt of warmth through me, leaving me frozen in place, unsure of how to react.

His hand drops back to his side, and he clears his throat, standing up again. "They'll call you back soon," he says, his voice gruffer now, like he's trying to cover up the moment that just passed between us.

I don't say anything. I just watch him as he takes the seat next to me again, his knee brushing against mine as he sits back. I sigh, feeling the weight of the night settle into my bones as I shift toward him. For a second, I hesitate, caught between the instinct to keep my distance and the overwhelming exhaustion that's pressing down on me, but then, without thinking, I let my head fall against Billy's shoulder. The denim of his jacket is worn and soft, but underneath it, I can feel the strong rise and fall of his breath. There's a faint scent of cigarette smoke and the lingering woodsy scent of his cologne. His presence surrounds me, grounding me in a moment of peace.

It's strange – letting myself settle against him like this. Billy Hargrove, of all people. I don't know if I've ever seen Billy this quiet, this still. The boy who's always in motion, fists up, pushing boundaries, now sitting here with me, letting the silence linger. It's like seeing a different side of him – a side that maybe he doesn't even realize exists. I start to pull away, reminding myself that I don't need anyone, especially someone like Billy Hargrove – that I've always been strong enough to stand on my own, but the weight of everything that has passed presses down on me, and for once, I let it. I lean closer, letting my head rest heavier against his shoulder, I feel something I haven't in days – a release, a small letting go of the tension that's knotted in my bones. It's not much, but it's enough to make me breathe a little easier, if only for a moment.

There's a warmth to him I hadn't expected – something warm in the way he's just here, without asking for anything. I've spent so long holding everyone else together – Dustin, Mom, even myself – that I've forgotten what it feels like for someone to hold me up. It's strange to rest on someone else, to let myself feel small, but right now, with Billy's warmth at my side, it doesn't feel weak, it just feels necessary.

Billy shifts slightly, his body going still, like he's not sure what to do with this kind of closeness – this form of intimacy, but maybe he's just as surprised as I am – that someone like me would let my guard down with someone like him. After a moment, his arm moves just a little closer, like he's afraid I might pull away from him anyway and maybe I should.

In fact, I know I should pull away. I should push him back into that box I keep people in – keep the distance between us, where it is simple and safe, but I'm too tired to move, too tired to fight, and too tired to understand if this will change anything between us in the morning. Right now, in the cold, sterile emergency room, it feels like Billy is the only thing holding me steady and just for tonight – that's enough.