Archive of Our Own ^beta

Tired people in gray suits kept asking who Billy was to him.

"He is my former enemy," Steve explained patiently. He tried to go with friend and associate in his previous attempts, but neither got him through. None of the three felt adequate, but maybe there just wasn't a good word for what they were to each other. Some new term would have to be invented.

"So he was not your family."

"He is not."

"Than you know as well as I do," the Agent said, the one who he liked best, the one present to all of those meetings, "that even if he was alive and well, I wouldn’t be legally allowed to discuss his condition with you."

"Guys, it's been almost four months. I think we can all safely assume I won't get tired and I won't quit," Steve resisted the temptation to bang his hands on the table and carefully folded them in his lap. Those people wouldn't appreciate such a blatant display of emotion. "I know he's alive. I just need to talk to him. Five minutes and I'll be out of your hair."

"I am very sorry, but Mr Hargrove is dead."

The agents wore no name tags, which gave them the illusion of anonymity. Just two more cogs in the great, top secret machine. Just the messengers. It was frustrating, not having someone to focus his anger on.

"Alright," Steve stood up and made his chair loudly scrape the concrete floor. It was petty, but made him feel a little better anyway. "See you next week."

"I hope not, Mr Harrington," the Agent said. "I really hope not."

#

It was a strange autumn for Steve. His life wasn't what he always hoped it would be after high school. He didn't apply to college and worked with Robin in the video store. It was hundred times better than Scoops; at least no one expected him to wear a uniform. His boss hated him but it was okay. Steve was perfectly aware that he was far from the model employee.

After all those monsters, the Starcourt and more than one close brush with death, it was hard to take that meaningless kind of work seriously. Steve longed for more, but was unable to say what exactly that more entailed.

He still spent a lot of his time with little losers, the ones who stayed in Hawkins. They tricked him into weekly patrols of the woods; when he initially refused to participate, they tried going out on their own - leaving him no other choice than to follow. There were game nights at the Wheeler's and movie nights at Henderson's. Steve got into habit of helping Dustin's Mom with cooking and unloading the washing machine. He tried doing little repairs around the old house and even though he wasn't very good at it, he was still marginally better than Mrs Henderson. Fortunately, her appreciation for his presence wasn't tied up to his usefulness. Some nights, after he dropped Dustin off after science club, they just sat in front of the TV, quietly sharing peanut butter sandwiches.

She was lonely, and she enjoyed having him around. So Steve stayed. There was nothing waiting for him in his parents' big and empty house. Only memories and echoes he'd be glad to get rid of. And maybe El, who kept calling him in strange hours of the morning, insisting that Billy was alive. Even though she couldn't reach him.

Steve was nineteen years old, the monsters were real and his life could have looked better.

#

They took turns handling him, like he was too annoying to be only one person's responsibility. It made him think that he would be able to wear them down eventually, with persistence and patience.

Steve could always tell when his case was discussed during Agency's briefings. Someone out there had the power of strengthening the agent's resolve - their eyes twitched less frequently and their fervor in denying him help was renewed.

But not this time.

"We decided to allow you to visit Mr Hargrove," his favorite Agent said quickly, before he even properly sat down. "One hour. My team would be supervising from the outside. Feel free to call for assistance at any moment. And don't bring any sharp objects."

Steve felt his head spin. Some part of him started doubting El's conviction and it was surprisingly nice to know that he was, unchangingly, a fool.

"So, are you telling me he's alive after all?"

The Agent shot him an amused look.

"What can I say, Mr Harrington. We live in an age of miracles."

#

The room was empty except for a white plastic chair and an antique bed that wouldn't look out of place in a renaissance mansion. And in that peculiar bed sat Billy, his back against the headboard, still as a statue. He opened his eyes only after Steve softly called his name.

"Harrington? What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Visiting the dead man." Steve dropped the bag of grapes on the edge of the bed and settled in the chair beside it. "Although, you look pretty alive for a dead man."

Billy indeed looked alive but it was the only positive thing that could be said about his appearance. He was extremely thin and pale, with skin maybe a tone darker than white comforter he was laying under. Someone cut his hair close to his scalp, soldier-like, and his blue eyes seemed darker than they used to be. Steve tried very hard not to stare at the mess of scars and burned tissue marring his face. It looked like blood had boiled in his veins. Not much was left of his dangerous beauty.

"I'm not allowed to have visitors."

"I can't imagine many people would like to visit you. I mean, everybody thinks you're dead," Steve amended quickly, alerted by Billy's sharp intake of breath. "That's why... Yeah."

"So what are you doing here?" Billy inclined his head in confusion. His voice sounded raspy from disuse, but it wasn't exactly unpleasant. It lacked its usual venom.

"El sent me. She wanted to thank you for what you've done in Starcourt. She'd be dead, hell, probably we all would be dead if you didn't rebel against the monster. So... Thank you."

Billy's jaw worked like he was trying to find proper words to respond. He closed his eyes for a moment and huffed a weak laugh. There was something different about him, and it wasn't just in the way he looked. It was in the very air he breathed, in the way the light seemed to bend around him.

"She found me in my mind and told me I was worth living. And even though she was wrong, just for a moment, I believed her. She saw me as someone better than I really was. So I had to save her."

"Whatever you want to call it," Steve shrugged. "I'm just the messenger."

"Is that the only reason why you came? To pass on her message?" Billy avoided his eyes, but it was clear he was desperate to hear the answer. His whole body curved towards Steve, the way a starved flower turns towards the sun.

"Yes."

"Then you can go now."

There were no windows in this room. No way to measure time. Only bright fluorescent lights ingrained in the ceiling. And a whole wall of mirrors, most certainly hiding a team of people in gray suits.

"Don't you wanna know about the outside world? Your friends, your family?" tried Steve. "I could tell you some things if you'd like."

"No need," Billy's voice was sharp, his anger sudden and familiar. "Dead men feel no curiosity."

Steve shrugged and stood up. He did what was asked of him. He could go back to his own life now.

Billy's voice reached him just as he closed his hand over the door handle.

"Harrington?"

"Yeah?"

Steve looked back and there Billy was, still looking at him, so young and fragile in his antique bed.

"Don't come back."

"I wasn't planning on it," Steve said, just to see the other man flinch.

It wasn't as satisfying as he hoped it would be.

#

"I relayed your message," Steve said into the receiver. "He was as difficult as always."

"Not difficult. Scared. Unhappy."

The connection was weak and El's voice came out faint and distorted by static. Still, it was good to hear her. Somehow, Steve got attached to her too.

"You were in his head for just a moment. Dealing with him in real life is a lot more tiresome."

"He wanted a friend then. He needs friends now."

"It will be difficult for him to befriend anyone while he's locked up in a lab. But one of his agents is pretty cute."

El sighed loudly. Her exasperation was completely unjustified.

"You can be his friend."

"I don't think he wants me to be his friend."

"He needs friends."

Arguing with El was like trying to reason with a brick wall. Cute but murderous brick wall.

"You're aware that to be someone's friend you have to like them first?"

"Steve," it was inspiring how one word could convey so much meaning.

Steve drummed his fingers on the wall. One more visit. Then he'll tell El this whole friendship thing didn't work out and he'll walk away with clean conscience.

"Alright. But if he kills me with his mind, you'll be the one to blame."

#

"You came back."

"I brought you some more grapes," Steve announced proudly. He also tried to smuggle in a pack of cigarettes, but the agents doing the security sweep were very thorough.

"Why?"

"Because you looked hungry."

Billy's lips twitched in amusement. But his laugh, when it came, was weak and self-deprecating.

With an unexpected pang of guilt Steve realized, that the mirrored wall was right in front of Billy's bed. Not a day could go by when he wasn't reminded of what had become of him. He was always vain, perfectly conscious of how he looked and how to use it to his advantage. People used to fall over themselves to get into his good graces.

Who would desire him now?

"I told you not to come back."

"Well, I figured you didn't mean it."

Steve wondered how far Billy's burns went. Did they mark all of his body, every secret nook and corner? Did they hurt?

"I've got some more news," Steve said in a rush. He felt his cheeks grow red and fumbled with the bag of grapes to distract them both.

"Do tell. I admit I'm a little behind on the gossip."

"I have your car. We stole it after the crash."

Billy's face did something complicated, flashed through such a vast array of emotions that it was impossible to pinpoint what exactly was he feeling.

"You were the one who crashed into me, right?"

Steve could still hear it, the screeching of tires, the awful sound of metal grating on metal. Shattered glass adored the pavement like crystals and the moonlight made the ruined Camaro glimmer. It would look like something straight out of a fairytale if not for the black blood on the windshield and a broken man slumped behind the steering wheel.

Steve could still feel it, at the tip of his tongue. The overwhelming fear that despite his best efforts, he might have ended up being the one to kill Billy Hargrove.

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

"No, that's alright. You tried to stop me from hurting your friends," Billy's smile was light and crooked, but his eyes were empty. "I had a lot of time to think about it. I wish you had killed me then. It would make things easier."

Steve felt something cold drop to the bottom of his stomach. He didn't think he'd be able to forgive himself for having Billy's blood on his hands.

His thoughts must have showed on his face, because Billy quickly reached towards him, trying to reassure him.

"No, don't feel bad. You did nothing wrong."

Steve tracked the movement and realized, with a start, that Billy's wrists were enclosed in heavy leather cuffs. Solid metal chain, more fitting for a beast than a human, connected them to the headboard.

Steve couldn't believe how he did not see it during his previous visit.

Billy smiled coldly. The expression in his eyes brought to mind the images of a frozen ocean.

"Oh, this? They don't trust me. They are afraid I still may have something monstrous in me," he stretched the chain as far as it could go, which wasn't very far at all. They probably didn't want him to strangle himself with it, neither accidentally nor on purpose. It must have been a nightmare to find a comfortable position to sleep in. "When I need to piss, three armed guards escort me to the bathroom. I'm not allowed to shower on my own, or to shave. Good thing they allow me plastic spoons during dinnertime."

Steve swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

"Why are they doing this to you?"

"You should ask them yourself."

The door behind them swung open and one of the agents noisily cleared her throat.

"Your time's up, Mr Harrington."

"I don't think so. It's been, what, fifteen minutes?"

"They're afraid I'll tell you about what's really going on here," interrupted Billy. His smile was cold, his voice taunting. "They don't want you to know about the experiments."

"I advise you to stop."

"I don't remember signing any non-disclosure agreements."

"Well, I did," interrupted Steve. "I signed so many that I considered giving up talking altogether, just to be on the safe side."

"If you don't stop, we'll be forced to extend our hospitality to Mr Harrington," the agent was unmoved. She didn't even blink.

Billy's smile slid off his face. He swallowed hard and licked his lips. Then, he looked at the agent with such cold hatred, that Steve stopped wondering why they kept him chained up.

"You should go, Harrington. I'll be fine."

"I don't think they can do this," tried to reason Steve. But in truth, he wasn't sure how far those people would go to protect their secrets.

"It's alright. Go. And bring me some flowers next time," grumbled Billy. "I hate grapes."

#

"Once a week," Steve said as he tried to put newly brought cassettes into their proper places. Comedy section was a mess and it was not his fault. "They didn't even ask me if I wanted to see him every week."

"Given how persistent you were in trying to gain access to him in the first place, they probably suspected you'd want to move in."

"You're not as funny as you think you are."

Robin shot him an amused glance.

"But really, how is he? Still crazy?"

Steve weighted the cassette in his hand. "Trading Places", the cover said. It sounded fun.

"I think there's something really wrong with him. And not just because he died and was brought back."

"Will you keep seeing him?"

"I don't know," Steve shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. He needed more time to decide what he actually wanted to do, El's nagging and Billy's sad eyes aside. "Let's talk about something else. Like that pretty blonde who slowly buys every movie with the word "dream" in its title."

"Give me a few more weeks and I'll figure her out. No straight girl would compliment my hair that often."

#

"I was kidding about those flowers," Billy said as Steve entered the room with a small bouquet of cornflowers. His lips twitched and although it was too early for Steve to know all of his tells, he suspected the other man was pleased.

"Too bad. I thought they'd go nicely with the color of your eyes."

"Charming, Harrington."

Steve put the flowers on the bed and felt momentarily sad that there was no vase to put them in. They'll wither and die before the day would be done.

"Your sister sends her regards."

Billy stiffened.

"You talked to my sister?"

"Yes," Steve gingerly lowered himself onto the plastic chair. It was getting more and more uncomfortable the longer he had to sit in it. "El told her that you're alive, but she was worried anyway. Apparently she cares about you, for some strange reason."

"What about my father?"

"We decided it would be best if you choose whether you'd like to inform him about your condition. Or not."

"That's... very considerate of you."

Steve shrugged. He was aware that Billy's father was not a nice person. He noticed the bruising on Billy's skin when they showered after the practice. And, more importantly, he heard the old man's reaction when Joyce tried to give him her condolences.

We'll be better off without him.

"They moved back to California. So when you'll get out of here, you won't have to worry about bumping into him on the street."

"Shame. Maybe the sight of his dead son would give the bastard a heart attack."

Steve smiled hesitantly, not sure if that was a joke or not.

They tried to play it safe, talked about music and basketball. Taunting words came to Billy easily, almost like a reflex. It was plain to see how much effort he put into not being cruel.

"What season is it?" he asked, when Steve was just getting ready to go.

"Autumn. Well, almost winter actually."

"Well. So it seems, I haven't seen the sunlight in five months. Not counting the time with the Shadow Monster."

Steve wasn't fooled by the flippant tone. Billy's eyes went unfocused, his head dropped.

It was hard to imagine. Being locked up in those four walls for so long, with only quiet agents for company.

"Do you remember anything? From that summer?"

"Not really. At least I hope those aren't real memories."

On impulse, Steve clasped Billy's shoulder. And the most peculiar thing happened. The other man tensed but greedily strained into his touch. Like a stray cat wanting to be petted despite its fear of being kicked again. It must have been a reflex, muscle memory. His face, when he realized what he was doing, was a mix of alarm and confusion. And poorly hidden shame.

Steve very purposefully let his touch linger.

"Is there anything you'd like me to bring next time? I'm not sure if they'll allow me, but it may be worth a try."

"No," Billy replied curtly. He sat frozen, barely breathing, as if afraid to move.

Steve wanted to shake him, wanted to break or cover every single mirror in this room until they were alone.

But he didn't. He slowly took back his hand and walked away.

#

"Can't you uncuff him, at least?"

"It wouldn't be safe. Not for him, not for you, and especially not for the people taking care of him."

Steve scoffed and tried to find a more comfortable position on the metal chair. It was a challenge, as interrogation rooms weren't build for comfort.

"He looks like a starved orphan. What could he do? Tickle them to death?"

"During his first month here, he repeatedly attacked civilian members of the staff. One of them ended up with bruised ribs, the other with a broken arm. When he realized we wouldn't let him escape, Mr Hargrove tried to take his own life."

Steve went quiet. It didn't make sense. Billy was always so greedy for life and sex and control, unrelentingly curious, stubbornly self-absorbed. Such a vibrant person wanting to die? It was unimaginable.

But after their talk about the Camaro, maybe he shouldn't be so surprised.

"We allowed you to see him, because he became unresponsive. He refused to eat, he refused to talk. His condition was deteriorating at such rapid pace, we had nothing to lose if we wanted to keep him alive. And we did. We still do."

"But he spoke to me," Steve said slowly, uncomprehending. "When I first came to him, he spoke to me."

"That is correct, Mr Harrington."

"Why?"

"That is a mystery I still haven't found an answer to."

#

"You know you don't have to keep visiting him, right?"

Dustin was truly baffled by the concept of anyone willingly spending time with Billy Hargrove.

To be perfectly honest, Steve was a little baffled himself.

"El wants me to keep him company."

"El's not here. Besides, she can't tell you what to do."

"Oh, but you can?"

The game night at the Wheeler's was in a full swing. Apparently, with their better halves temporarily out of the picture, little shitheads regressed into their nerdiest selves. Steve still wasn't sure why he agreed to be the fourth member of the party. It wasn’t like the bridge, they were perfectly capable of playing as a trio.

Maybe he was just weak to please Steve, we need you speeches.

"I think it would be good for Steve to have some friends his own age," Robin quipped. She was laying on a couch with a book and a cup of tea. She adamantly refused to join them, even though everyone suspected she was a huge nerd at heart. She inconspicuously kept track of the game but interrupted only to criticize Steve's character's life choices.

"He has you, doesn't he?" Dustin countered. Lucas nodded furiously. He rarely got involved when the topic of Billy resurfaced, his distaste for the man hard to overcome.

Steve didn't blame him.

"Besides, if they become friends, Steve will make him befriend all of us. You know how he is."

"Hey!"

"I'm not saying it is a bad thing, Steve, don't get so excited. But we aren't capable of taking in any more outsiders at the moment. No way, no how."

"Then you should all pray Steve doesn't fall in love in the foreseeable future," grinned Robin. "You wouldn't survive it."

"Can we leave my miserable love life alone and go back to the game? Mike?"

Mike happily shuffled through the notes sent by Will. They'd be lost without that kid's imagination.

"So you enter the Forest of..."

"Wait a minute!" screeched Dustin. "Steve's such an innocent lamb when it comes to love! What if Billy tries to seduce him, the way he did all those soccer moms at the swimming pool?"

"Oh come on!"

"Innocent lamb?" repeated Lucas, mortified.

"How could you push Steve into danger like this, Lady Robin?" Dustin stood up from his chair and accusingly pointed a finger at clearly amused Robin. "You are supposed to be his friend!"

"Control your child, dingus."

"Why would Max's brother try to seduce our Steve?" tried to understand Lucas.

"Because he's bored! And evil!"

"And weirdly hot, even I can see that."

"Thanks for that, Robin," said dryly Steve as the room erupted into chaos.

#

"Check this out," exclaimed Billy and spread his hands high above his head.

"You've regained your free hands privileges? I'm impressed."

"And I don't want to brag, but yesterday I almost walked the whole length of this room without falling on my face."

His smile was radiant; Steve couldn't remember whether he'd ever seen him this happy. He was sitting cross-legged on the comforter, his feet bare. There was something carefree and childlike in him, some contagious joy.

"And they gave you a table! That's huge, man."

"Yeah. I think I'm making real progress," Billy made a show of looking straight at the mirrored wall. "Soon I will be all better."

"Okay, don't push it."

After a brief hesitation, Steve forgone the hated chair and sat on the edge of the bed.

Billy tensed, his gaze sharpened.

"Comfortable?"

"Better than the chair."

"Come on. There's a lot of space. No need for you to hang off the edge."

Steve didn't need Billy's help to settle more comfortably on the bed, but he accepted his outreached hand anyway. The other man's skin was hot and dry.

"Now," Billy said as they settled opposite each other, like mirror images. "Tell me more about Robin and your thrilling adventures in customer service."

Steve groaned.

#

After the tenth visit Steve ran out of excuses. There were no more messages to pass on, no more unfinished businesses.

So he brought games. To his absolute delight, Billy was hopeless at poker.

"You cannot bluff! Your whole face does this thing, your eyebrows twitch and that wrinkle here..." Steve pointed at his face, but Billy swatted his hand away.

"I don't see a point in lying during a game. There's no fun in it."

"It's loads of fun. Maybe you just need higher stakes to get more involved."

"Higher stakes?" Billy raised his eyebrows in a challenge. Sly smile lifted one corner of his mouth. He looked more like himself that he had in months. "What can you offer me?"

"I'm open to suggestions. Is there anything you want?"

"Well, I could think of some things."

Steve laughed softly, before the silence between them could get too charged.

"You're not what I expected," Billy said, unexpectedly. He seemed honestly surprised. "You see, I've gathered all the memories I had of you. I tried to recreate you in my mind, to understand why you keep coming back. And I still don't get it."

Steve knew he'd changed, after Nancy and after the monsters. He reevaluated his life and found himself wanting.

But Billy was different too. A little colder, a little more subdued. Steve was finally able to pinpoint the main difference - Billy's sensuality was gone. He hadn't tried flirting with Steve, hadn't pushed his boundaries.

Steve was surprised that he kinda missed that kind of attention.

"If it's any consolation, you're not what I expected either."

Steve shuffled the cards. He was getting good at it. Maybe he should think of changing professions.

"Sunflower," Billy said suddenly.

"What?"

"I'd like you to bring me a sunflower. If I win."

Steve felt his heart skip a beat and hoped none of it could be seen on his face.

Sunflowers in winter. Such a whimsical desire.

"You're on, Hargrove."

#

"It sounds like a date."

"It's not a date."

"I know, I'm just saying it sounds like a date," Dustin pointed out, trying not to jostle the ladder. "He flirted with you..."

"He did not," Steve huffed impatiently.

"He flirted with you a little bit and then asked for flowers. Before you know it, you'll be drinking contraband wine from juice cartons."

"I think," Steve finally managed to reach the coffee machine, nastily hidden on the highest shelf of the cupboard, "that you're blowing this whole thing out of proportions. He's very lonely. In his circumstances, even I may seem like a pleasant company."

"You are a very handsome man," Dustin said earnestly. "And your hair is unparalleled. Don't sell yourself short, Steve."

"I know you're just trying to be supportive but please, for the love of God, stop."

#

"He's in a bad mood today. Maybe you should come back another time."

Steve shook his head and without being asked, laid on the table his keys and three boxes of matches.

"When I've known him in the real world, he was always in a bad mood. I think I can handle it."

Besides, he'd promised Billy sunflowers. At least the agents allowed him to keep them.

Inside the room, Billy was pacing. Or rather, he tried to - the effect was ruined by his hand, braced against the wall for balance.

"You again," Billy scoffed under his breath. "Don't you have anything better to do with your time than coming here?"

Steve carefully put his sunflowers on the bedside table.

"I was under the impression we had a meeting today."

"Have you ever stopped to ask me whether I want you here?"

Steve didn't. But he knew, even without asking, that Billy was glad for his company.

Or was it just his own wishful thinking? His burning desire to be needed overwriting the reality?

"Are you so desperate for validation that you'd be satisfied with little scraps of my attention?" Billy perfectly recognized his doubt and didn't hesitate to hit him where it would hurt the most. "You're still not good enough to have a social circle consisting of more than preschoolers? First you seek out lonely single moms, and now you cling to an invalid."

"Maybe you're right. Or maybe I just feel sorry for you."

Billy snarled and made a move towards him, like he wanted to punch him. But he was still weak and he wavered, his legs unable to support him. He would have fallen if Steve wasn't quick enough to catch him.

"Let go of me!" Billy hissed and heavily sat on the bed. He was even more pale than usual, his lips twisted in a hateful grimace. There was an angry bruise on his left cheekbone.

"What the fuck do you want, Steve? Go be a failure somewhere else."

Steve had an ugly thought to just get up and go. His life was sad and empty but he didn't need to hear it from such a pitiful and desperate creature. But deep down, he suspected that Billy wasn't fully in control of himself. He lashed out because it was what he learned to do when his emotions got too tangled. They both could go down the same familiar road, argue and hurt each other the way they always did.

Or they could try to do better.

"What are you waiting for?" Billy kept nervously scratching his left forearm. Skin there was visibly inflamed. "Go away. I'm tired of listening to your voice."

Steve watched him closely. Even now, in his anger, Billy's body was tipped towards him, like he was unconsciously seeking his proximity. All the lines of his body screamed of yearning even as his words tried to create distance.

From the corner of his eye, Steve could see the sunflowers laying on the table. He thought he saw their petals flutter, but it must have been a trick of light. There were no windows in this room, no wind.

Steve took a deep breath and tried not to think about the agents watching them from the other side of the mirrored wall.

"I... Can I touch you?"

"What?" Billy choked out, taken aback. There was blood on his left forearm now, in places where his fingernails broke the skin. Little drops were falling on the white mattress, blooming there like gruesome flowers.

"Can I touch you?"

Billy kept looking at him in confusion, so Steve sat on the bed beside him and touched his arm, gently, with just the tips of his fingers. When the other man didn't immediately recoil in horror, he pulled him closer.

Billy gasped, his body went stiff with tension.

"It's okay. I've got you."

Steve held him close, like he was trying to physically stop him from breaking apart into thousand angry and miserable pieces. And miraculously, Billy allowed him to do it. He hid his face in the crook of Steve's neck and just breathed; sharply, raggedly. He was shaking.

Steve felt the hot wetness of his tears but didn't comment on it.

They stayed like that for a long time, until one of the agents came to kick Steve out.

"I'll be back," he said and it sounded as much as a promise as a threat.

#

Steve dreamed of a forest of sunflowers being bent down by some invisible force. He thought he heard the howl of wind, like a faraway beating of wings, but he couldn't feel anything on his skin.

He dreamed of dark clouds swallowing the sun, of coldness seeping under his skin, mixing with his blood.

He woke up shaking and scared, the taste of ash heavy on his tongue.

It wasn't one of his usual nightmares. It seemed like a harbinger of some new disaster.

#

"I'm sorry about the last time."

Billy was calm again, withdrawn. His eyes were a little unfocused, giving him the look of someone not fully awake. He had small burns on his temples, like he was hooked up to some kind of electrical machine. Steve thought about the electroshock therapy, about psychiatric patients from the old movies. About Frankenstein's Creature.

"It's okay. Are you feeling better?"

Billy grimaced and considered the question.

"I'm glad you came back," he said eventually. "I wasn't sure if you would."

Steve didn't know how to reply. After all, he seriously considered staying away. For once, he tried to push away his emotions and make a decision with a cool head. He gathered facts - he even called El to ask about her time with the Agency. And her stories weren't pretty. He couldn't even imagine his favorite Agent forcing Billy to kill, but who knew. It was a strange world they've all found themselves in. Getting more involved could turn out dangerous for him.

But he told Billy he'd come back.

"If you need... Help," Steve said, haltingly, conscious of his phrasing. There were people behind the mirrors hanging on his every word. "With anything, let me know. Alright?"

Billy reached for him but hesitated. Both of his forearms, peaking from underneath white sleeves, were bandaged.

"I'll keep that in mind."

#

"We've been very patient with you, Mr Harrington. Out of respect for what you and your friends had done to help our Agency and the whole country. But you're really testing me right now."

"He didn't commit any crime, beside being an asshole and getting possessed," argued Steve. "What happened next is not on him."

"We have to be sure."

"I don't know what are you doing to him when I'm not around. And I won't ask. But from the way he looks and behaves afterwards, I'm guessing it's not too far from torture."

The Agent took a slow breath and straightened her back. Steve was perfectly aware he was pushing his luck, but was unable to stop. The memory of Billy's vacant eyes wouldn't let him.

"You saw what Subject 11 was capable of doing. You know very well why we cannot let Mr Hargrove out of our sight if there is even the slightest possibility he might have developed the same gift."

"If he had it, he would have used it by now. He's not a patient man."

"We are aware," the Agent let out a long suffering sigh. "But he's also a volatile and unpredictable individual with a history of violence."

"He won't get better here. He can only get worse."

"At least he won't hurt anybody else."

"It's not enough," Steve said after a few seconds of stunned silence. It finally dawned on him, that they may never let Billy go. He could grow old and die in this lab. Alone. Forgotten.

"We hope he'll be able to live on his own one day. But for now, we need to look at the bigger picture."

"You can't keep him locked up forever."

"He is a dead man. We can do anything we deem necessary."

#

"We can break him out, you know" said Dustin and it was plain to see how hard it was for him to extend this offer. He almost choked on the words. "El will be home for the spring break. She's game if you are."

"Are you two talking about me behind my back?"

"Sure we are," the little shit was unapologetic. "You've been sad lately and Robin got worried so she called Nancy..."

"That's just great," Steve sighed and added more chopped tomatoes into the pan. "It's good to know you're all so involved in my life."

"I love you Steve. But you know as well as I do, that when it comes to personal relationships your track record is... not that awesome."

Dustin tried to steal a meatball straight from the pan, but Steve cuffed him over the ear.

"It's not ready, you little barbarian."

"Fine, mom," Dustin grumbled and lifted himself up onto the counter. "But seriously, if things get too bad for that wretched criminal, we can break him out. Will got better on his own."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Steve. But it wasn't that simple. Will didn't have to worry about every shadow, didn't have to constantly look over his shoulder. If Billy escaped, he would be hunted to the ends of the Earth.

#

Steve expected things to be bad by the scrupulous way the agents searched him before allowing him to enter Billy's room. He liked to think they trusted him by now, at least a little bit. But today they took away even his shoelaces.

Billy was curled on the bed with his back to the entrance. He didn't move when Steve closed the door, didn't even throw some snide remark to greet him.

"Billy?"

Steve would have thought him asleep if not for how tense his form was, how irregular and shallow his breathing. He looked fragile, like he was on the verge of something. Breaking? Collapsing?

"I'm going to touch you, now," said Steve and waited for a moment, allowing the other to protest. When no words came, he lay down beside Billy and carefully pulled him into his arms.

The other man smelled like antiseptic and antibacterial soap, a hospital smell. His heart was beating erratically inside his chest, and Steve had a sudden image of a trapped hummingbird, trashing against the bars of a metal cage. It knew it had to escape, for it would never survive in captivity.

"I won't let you die here," whispered Steve into the worn cotton of Billy's white shirt. They always dressed him in white, like it would make him seem more like a patient than a prisoner.

"It's winter outside," he tried again. He wasn't sure whether Billy could hear him, but he was willing to take the chance. "It was snowing last night, the first time this year. Have you ever seen the snow? It's beautiful. It makes the world seem clean."

Steve could have fallen asleep like this, but the other man's fear kept him wide awake. He would have given so much for just a glimpse inside Billy's head. He was never good with words, but maybe it would be easier to choose the right ones if he knew what horrors he was up against.

He would walk with Billy through his nightmares, if only the other man would let him.

The door behind them clicked open and cold air ruffled the hair on the back of Steve's head.

"Time's up."

Steve sighed and made a move to go. But suddenly, Billy took hold of his wrist. It was the first sign of life he exhibited that afternoon.

His touch was hot, like he was burning up with fever.

"Can I have five more minutes? Please?"

The Agent was quiet. It was the one that supervised him most often, the one he liked best. He recognized her voice and her silences. She was hesitating, weighting her options.

"Five."

#

Billy got worse during that winter, more angry, more volatile. He broke things, attacked the agents and refused to cooperate at any level. He oscillated between mania and complete withdrawal, when nothing seemed to reach him. Steve hated those days. He'd rather the other man hit him and curse him than regress to that pitiful mute creature.

The first time Billy got violent with him, three agents ran into the room to subdue him. He trashed and screamed, trying to scratch their eyes out. It was almost like he was fighting for his very life. He was so far gone, the doctor had to sedate him.

And while seeing him blinded by rage was horrible, leaving him weak and unconscious was even worse. So despite his better judgment, Steve asked the agents not to intervene unless it got really bad. Billy had a better chance of calming down when it was just the two of them, fists against fists, skin against skin.

There were moments when they were wrestling on the floor, Billy's quick hands trying to close around his neck. Most times, he eventually managed to trap Steve underneath his body, mirroring their fight at the Byers house. It was so long ago, it seemed like a memory from another lifetime. But Billy's raised fist was real, his blank stare was real. The collision seemed unavoidable.

Steve never tried to overpower him physically, even though he could. His true weapon was in his words.

"Come on, you know me. You know me."

Sometimes Billy hit him anyway. But sometimes, it was enough to make him hesitate.

"I do," he replied then, like someone fighting their way back from a dream. "I know you. Steve."

It was easy to see the madness going out of Billy, to feel his body becoming lax and pliant. His surrender was complete and Steve always used it to shift their positions.

"I'm sorry."

"I know," said Steve, resting his head on Billy's shoulder. "I know."

It wasn't healthy but it was still better than the alternative. It was better than never seeing Billy again.

"You can't make him okay, Steve. Not by hurting yourself," Robin told him, after he arrived at work with a bruised eye. She tried to touch him, but he clumsily ducked out of the way.

"You were the one who wanted me to become his friend."

"You can be his friend, just not his only lifeline. You can't put your own life on hold and hope it would be enough to save him."

Steve gritted his teeth and looked away. He knew she was right. That was the story of his life, wasn't it? He could never be enough.

Despite his best efforts, Billy eventually ended up chained to his bed again.

#

"The Shadow Monster liked it cold," Billy told him once, in one of his more lucid moments.

And maybe that was all it was. Madness brought by memories, by associations. Just a long, crazy winter.

Because come spring, Billy seemed to come back to himself. He regained all of his privileges and was even allowed one smoke a day.

But he didn't seem happy with those developments.

"I feel incomplete. It's almost like a part of me got left on the other side. And I'm not even sure what it is that I am missing," he said blankly, without even trying to hide his words from the agents. "Maybe they are right in keeping me confined."

Steve didn't have the right words, didn't know how to tell Billy it would get better. Didn't even know if he believed it himself.

#

Summer came and went, giving Steve warm nights and loud days.

Joyce brought El and Will from the West Coast and the three of them breathed new life into the Hopper's cabin in the woods. Suzie came too, with her younger brother in tow. Even Nancy and Jonathan decided to sacrifice part of their summer break to visit good old Hawkins.

The shithead gang reunited, however briefly. The only one missing was Max, but Lucas was strangely philosophical about the issue.

"If Dustin and Suzie managed the long-distance, so can we."

"They have more in common than you and Max," needled him Erica. She found strange pleasure in following them around and pointing out all the flaws in their reasoning. Robin adored her. "And she's way too pretty for you."

"Shut up! We have plenty in common!"

"Name one thing, nerd!"

"Shared near-death experience," interrupted suddenly Robin. "It's a powerful thing."

"Is that why you allow Steve to follow you around?"

Steve made a face and dramatically took off his sunglasses. "That wasn't very nice. Now I have no choice but to drown myself in the swimming pool. Goodbye, my so-called friends."

"NO!" screamed Dustin and jumped into Steve's arms, elegantly stopping him from making any more sudden moves. The kid was getting heavy.

Yes, it was good to be together again.

Nancy and Jonathan stayed at his house for a while and it wasn't as awkward as he feared it might be. He was surprised by how much he grew to enjoy Jonathan's company and his weird sense of humor. There was a night when they got drunk on cheap champagne and sang Christmas carols, loudly and completely off-key, straight into the blue summer skies. Despite of what Nancy said when she found them in the morning, limply splayed by the pool, it was a terrific bonding experience.

That summer also made clear, that the kids didn't need him as much as they used to and it was a bitter relief. He applauded their independence but couldn't deny his sadness.

Steve never realized exactly how much he liked being needed by someone, by anyone.

"We still love you," Dustin explained and clasped his shoulder. He was getting tall. Soon, he'd be taller than Steve. "But we're perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves. No one is going to kill us if you let us out of your sight."

"You're just trying to get rid of me to peacefully make out under the stars."

"Maybe."

They laughed, both joyful and carefree. It was summer, and life was normal and they could finally concentrate on stupid, everyday things.

But then, Dustin looked at him with a serious face.

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you, but there was never a good time."

"Okay?"

"Billy. I'm sorry I've been so hostile towards him," Dustin said quickly. "I still don't like him, but I'll try. If being with him makes you happy, it's good enough for me."

"You're a real grown-up now, aren't you?"

"Shut up."

#

"So I've been thinking," said confidently Steve, as he sat down in the interrogation room for his weekly talk with the higher powers.

"Good Lord."

Steve liked to think the Agent was growing fond of him. One of those days he might even ask for her name.

"He's been better lately. He's eating all of his meals, submits to testing with only mild complaining and didn't even bite anyone this week."

"I don't appreciate your attempt at levity. Agent K almost lost his finger."

From what Billy told him, Agent K deserved to have his whole hand bitten off but Steve knew better than to say that. He was on a mission.

"You're right, I'm horribly insensitive. And I apologize," Steve made a significant pause, calculating how respectful he should be. "But I honestly think, that seeing the sun and breathing in the fresh air would grant him a world of good."

The Agent sighed and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. "I thought it would be clear to you by now, that the rules we operate by are in place for a reason."

"Safety first, yes. As a glorified babysitter I completely understand where you're coming from. And I know that even on his best days he's far from cooperative. But it's not going to change if you insist on keeping him locked up."

It was more difficult than he expected, trying to be reasonable about the issue. After all, his main argument came down to a heartfelt let him see the sun or he'll lose his mind for good.

"And well, if things go bad you can always put him in solitary until he calms down."

"I'll put your suggestion to the Board," agreed the Agent with almost imperceptible roll of her eyes. "But don't get your hopes up. Mr Hargrove is still in quarantine."

#

Nancy called him at the end of September, when he almost forgot about their promise to talk more often. Part of him wanted to believe they could be friends now, but another part was afraid of trying. He couldn't allow himself to get too close to her again.

"Remember what we talked about during summer? Have you given it any thought?"

Steve guiltily thought about a stake of college brochures, haphazardly tucked under his bed. He read them all in one sitting, panicked, and then purposefully avoided thinking about them altogether.

"I don't know, Nance. I think I might stick around Hawkins for a while longer."

"Come on, Steve. There's nothing for you here. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life working in a video store?"

Steve sighed. He had no idea how to explain what was keeping him in this shithole of a town. He couldn't even explain it to himself.

"I'll think about it, okay? Just don't tell Dustin."

"You'll have to talk to your son eventually."

"Hilarious. You and Robin should really think about starting a career in comedy."

#

Billy turned out to be unable to walk without assistance. He had a wooden cane, but was so clumsy with it that Steve was forced to grab him under one arm to guide his steps. It was a slow journey; through the gray corridors, up and down innumerable flights of stairs and finally into the open front yard.

The agents accompanying them were quiet. They didn't comment on Billy's sharp intake of breath as cool gust of wind ruffled his military issued jacket.

"You okay?" asked Steve, feeling the other sway on his feet.

"Yeah."

Billy's scars were more prominent in the sunlight. He looked frail, like a victim of some incomprehensible catastrophe, miraculously saved.

When they finally reached the greenish field behind the Compound, he freed himself from Steve's hands and made a few uncertain steps on his own. Then he stopped, spread his arms and tipped his head back.

"I didn't expect to see the sunlight again," he said in wonder. His eyes were wide open, staring straight into the sun. The wind grew stronger, more sinister. The clouds seemed to move faster across the sky and Steve felt a sudden stab of fear.

"Billy!" he said sharply.

The other man looked back at him. He was young and happy and Steve felt his traitorous cheeks color with embarrassment. The wind calmed down, grew slightly warmer. It was just an ordinary autumn day.

"Race you to the electric fence?" Billy asked cheekily.

"Maybe another time."

"You're just afraid I'll beat you."

Steve laughed but didn't contradict him. It was autumn, and the whole world was preparing to hibernate for winter.

But they were both wide awake. So hungry for life.

#

Sometimes, he sat on the floor by the bed, the other man's hand absentmindedly playing with the strands of his hair. Other times, he lay beside Billy under the covers. These were the bad days, the days when the other needed to be physically held together.

But most often, they were sitting together on the bed, their arms touching. It was comfortable, easy. Easier than Steve would have ever imagined.

"I had a dream last night," said Billy, breaking the lazy silence. "I dreamed about the ocean, but not the same one as in California. The water was cold and sharp like crushed ice, blue-black. And there was a whale swimming in it."

The room was warm despite the thick blanket of snow covering everything in the world outside. It was a peaceful, kind winter. Billy dreamed a lot, but these were just dreams. Just dreams.

"A black cat was sitting on it's head, guiding it. Because the whale tried to go back home, but couldn't remember the way."

"In this dream," murmured Steve, Billy's shoulder warm against his own, "were you the whale or the cat?"

"I think I was the ocean."

Steve felt sadness wash over him like that cold, dark water. He found Billy's hand and held it.

"There are moments when I'm not sure where I am. Or what is real and what is imaginary. Sometimes I see the Upside Down and it's like I'm trapped again. Like Starcourt never happened, like I've never died. Never broke free."

Steve wanted to put his other hand over Billy's heart, to feel it's fast, hummingbird beating. To put his lips against the hollow of his throat, where his scent was the strongest. He longed to go too far but didn't.

They had so very few boundaries left.

#

"Are you planning to adopt Dustin?"

"What?" Steve spluttered and shot Robin an incredulous glare. "No?"

"Otherwise, why would you try to spend the New Year's Eve with his Mother?"

"Little shitheads managed to annoy Joyce into driving the family back to Hawkins. It's going to be a huge party at Mike's house. Even Suzie is rumored to grace them with her presence."

"So?"

Steve took a huge bite of his Chocolate-Chip Extravaganza. Out of perverse curiosity, they made a habit of eating at Scoops every few weeks. The staff kept changing and it was strangely gratifying to know, that not everyone could make a tasty ice cream dessert.

"So, I don't want Mrs Henderson to feel left out. I think it would be nice if someone kept her company."

"But do you want to be the one saving her from loneliness?"

"I'm not in the mood for partying."

"That's not what I asked."

Steve shrugged. It wasn't really important what he wanted. Lately, the end of the year made him feel sad and frustrated. He spent the last New Year's Eve buried under the covers in his bed, getting drunk on expensive whiskey. It wasn't as depressing as it sounded. He didn't think about Nancy even once.

Robin sighed and took the spoon from his fidgety fingers.

"We'll ask Joyce to keep Mrs Henderson company. And you'll come to my house."

"Robin-"

"It's nothing big. Just me, my heartbroken roommate and three bottles of cheap wine. She could use a distraction. But don't be too nice," she stressed. "We don't want her to get the wrong idea and fell in love with you. It would be a whole new disaster."

"Of course. The very idea of anyone falling in love with me is catastrophic."

"Hej, dingus," Robin frowned and lightly cuffed him on the side of the head. "That's not what I meant. You are a very lovable guy."

Steve wasn't convinced but decided to let her win this round. "Fine. I'll come. "

So he did. And despite his misgivings, the New Year's Eve at Robin's was the most fun he had in months. There was no pressure to look attractive, so he wore his warmest and most comfortable clothes. They made spectacularly awful spaghetti, drank close to a gallon of wine and watched "Footloose". Robin's roommate was sufficiently distracted by his poor imitation of their old physics teacher. And there was absolutely no chance she'd fall in love with him after seeing him trip over his own feet while on the way to the bathroom. At midnight, they bundled into their winter coats and quietly sneaked onto the roof.

And as Steve looked into the firework-lit sky, his arm comfortably circling Robin's waist, he wished Billy could be there with them. He'd probably complain about the cold, but wouldn't be convinced to properly button up his shirt. They'd scream nonsensical things at the stars, breathe in the sulfur-scented air.

He thought of kissing Billy at midnight. Of the surprised, but pleased noise he would make in response.

He'd never imagined kissing other men before.

"Robin? I think I might have feelings for Billy."

"You're really slow, aren't you, dingus?" her smile was sad, but she sounded fond. She grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket, hauled him down and noisily kissed his forehead. "Be happy this year."

#

Steve often thought about choices that lead him to this, to here and now. About all the chances overlooked, all the alternate routes he might have taken. Was it like with the butterfly effect, was one thing enough to change the course of the whole life? If he didn't fall in love with Nancy, would he be able to sleep without nightmares? Or if he didn't go into the tunnels of the Upside Down, would Billy be able to walk without limping? Would he and Billy become friends if Steve hadn't fallen out with Tommy?

Maybe it shouldn't be surprising that all of the questions eventually lead to Billy. His enemy, his rival, his friend. Was it real, that strange bond they'd forged? Or was it just a product of circumstances? Was Billy so starved for human contact that he'd accept anything, any scraps of kindness that were given to him? What if someone else came to him instead of Steve? Would he cling to them with the same desperation, the same ferocious want?

Steve couldn't change the past and didn't understand the present.

The only thing he knew, the only one he accepted as truth, was that his hands were missing the warmth of Billy's skin.

#

"You weren't here last week," there was no accusation in Billy's voice, his words a simple observation. But he was sitting in the awful plastic chair, his bare feet propped on the comforter.

"I'm sorry. I had some business to take care of and it took longer than I expected."

One of the colleges he applied to send him an invitation for an interview. So he went, mostly out of curiosity. First, meeting with the Board, than the tour of the campus, many we'd be lucky to have you speeches. Somehow he missed the train back and had to spent the night in the city. He knew, that with his own car at the mechanics shop, taking Billy's Camaro would make this journey easier. But it didn't feel right.

"I was just wondering if everything was alright. You've never missed our meeting before."

Steve frowned. It couldn't be right. He was visiting Billy for over a year now. Surely, he must have missed at least one afternoon.

He sat at the edge of the bed and put his hand on Billy's crossed ankles. His skin was, as always, unnaturally hot to the touch.

"You don't have to be here every week. I know you have other things to worry about."

"I want to be here. But... It's like I have two lives, you know? One out there, and one in here with you. And I'm not sure how to merge them."

"If I ever get out of here-"

"When you get out of here," stressed Steve. "I won't leave you on your own. I'll help you settle down. I've invested too much energy into befriending you, to simply watch you run away from me once you've regained your freedom."

"Run away from you?" Billy laughed. "You're the only person in my life who stayed."

Letter from the nearby community college was burning in Steve's back pocket.

He already knew he wouldn't accept.

Maybe next year.

#

Sometimes, they talked hidden under the covers, craving the illusion of privacy. That way they could pretend the agents couldn't hear them, couldn't analyze every word they breathed out.

In that softened light, deformities of Billy's skin were invisible. All the subtle lines of his face were obscured and it almost seemed like the last year never happened, like he was still the same person that came to Hawkins with golden sand clinging to his feet. Steve didn't like it. He wanted Billy in sunlight, with all his history and all his imperfections. Maybe there was a reason why they couldn't be friends, before. Maybe there was a reason for everything that happened, something more than the beating of the butterfly's wings on the other side of the world.

The moments Steve liked best were the ones in which Billy fell asleep in his arms, relaxed and heavy in his slumber. His trust was a heady thing. Steve hoped he'll never get used to it.

#

It took another year.

A year filled with weekly visits that morphed into every day occurrences. Customary hour stretched into two, into three, into little drops of infinity. Late night conversations and walks around the Compound.

Billy grew stronger. And although his body would never be as athletic as when he first came to Hawkins, he was finally capable of walking without assistance. His limp was more pronounced when he was tired, which was often. In contrast, his violent outbursts were few and far between. He had more control over himself, a firmer grasp on reality.

And Steve knew things about him now. He knew his sense of humor, and his tendency to flirt to avoid answering difficult questions. His passion for music and absolute contempt for all the games based on chance. His desperate hunger for being touched.

He knew that the burns left by the Mindflayer marked all of his body.

It took a whole another year for the Agency to finally admit, that there was nothing extraordinary to Billy Hargrove except for his stubborn desire to be free.

#

"Billy Hargrove is officially dead. Death certificate we showed you last year was not a ruse."

"Okay," said Steve and instinctively sat straighter in the metal chair. When Agent Susan used that tone, it was best to shut up and listen.

"It means, as you well know, that we can bury him in this Compound and no one would look for him. Or, we can give him a fresh start."

Steve felt his heart speed up.

"You'd let him go?"

"He's nothing like Subject 11. We have no more use for him."

The Agent looked away. If he didn't know better, Steve would have thought her to be embarrassed. Billy was no innocent by any definition of the word, but he was still a human being. And they've kept him locked up for almost three years. Like an animal. Like a monster.

"He'll get a new ID and a small allowance to help him settle down in the real world. He'll be expected to report here for a monthly check-up, but otherwise we won't interfere with his life."

"So where's the catch?"

"Well, he'll be expected to return at any time if we decide to call him back."

After all, second chances did not come cheap.

But come autumn, Billy will be a free man again.

"Does he know?"

"Not yet. We thought it would be best if you were the one to tell him."

#

Steve dreamed of a tropical forest, the trees so high their branches seemed to reach into heavens. The place was alive with birdsong, different melodies mingling with each other in a strange but curious harmony.

And hanging in the air above his head was a blue hummingbird. His wings were thundering like a storm, seemed to change the very shape of the air around the little creature.

Steve imagined a hurricane those wings would create, the great havoc they would wreck. He saw whole cities being destroyed on the other side of the world.

He held out his hand.

He woke up.

#

"What the hell are you doing here?" exclaimed Steve and almost dropped an armful of cassettes he kept under the counter and finally decided to put back on shelves. He gently, very gently, placed them next to the cash register.

"Don't tell anyone, but I'm on the run," said Billy and heavily sat on the low windowsill. He was very pale; his faded t-shirt and jeans were at least one size too big for him. It was the first time Steve saw him in regular clothes since the Starcourt. White made him look like a patient, like a victim.

Right now, he looked like the man he used to be, in his previous life. Charming, unpredictable, slightly dangerous.

"For fuck's sake."

"Relax, I'm kidding. Agent Susan decided I was well enough for a little walk on my own."

"Oh really?" Steve abandoned the counter and walked up to Billy. His hands were itching to touch him. "And how is it working out for you?"

"I don't mean to sound weak, but I almost fainted after the first crossroad."

"You're really stupid, you know that?"

Billy shrugged. He truly looked exhausted but at the same time, there was something light about his whole posture. Some sort of tentative happiness. Light coming through the window painted him a golden halo, made him look like a modern day saint. Billy Hargrove, The Patron Saint of Anger Management Issues.

"Well, at least you're good looking," conceded Steve, expecting a laugh. But to his confusion, Billy frowned.

"Please, don't mock me."

"I'm not."

Billy still had that starved look about him, but it didn't make him seem sick. Not anymore. He kept his hair short and his face shaved clean, his scars on full display. Like a challenge to the world.

And Steve... Steve found him beautiful.

"Anyway, what brings you here? Wanna surprise Agent Susan with a movie night?"

"You told me I could come to you if I need help. And, apparently, I could use some help."

"My shift ends in an hour. Can you wait?"

Billy smiled and leaned his back against the window.

"Sure. I'm pretty good at waiting."

#

They walked to the Starcourt, familiar and strange all at once. There were new tiles on the floor, new balustrades and new stairs. Different shops advertised their goods and even the music oozing from the speakers was unfamiliar.

They stopped next to the rebuilt fountain and the sea of busy people parted around them. Billy closed his eyes and tipped his head back. His life ended here. He was reborn here. But the rest of the world went on, uninterrupted, unaffected. Indifferent.

Steve studied the curious curve of Billy's smile and felt an overwhelming weave of tenderness wash over him.

"Take me for a drive," Billy said without opening his eyes.

"Where do you wanna go?"

"I don't know. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere where the trouble won't find us."

#

They took the Camaro, safely stored in the Starcourt's parking lot, and Billy allowed Steve to drive. He seemed to be perfectly at ease, sitting on the front seat and quietly watching the road.

They drove by the swimming pool and by the school. They drove by Billy's house, darkened and abandoned, and by Steve's own, where Barb died and his whole life went into a downward spiral.

There weren't many places in Hawkins unmarred by the shadows of the Upside Down. It was in the very bones of this town, inescapable.

So Steve decided to bring them to Hopper's cabin in the woods.

From time to time he came here with the little shitheads. He saw how much they all missed Will and El, how strongly they wished everything could go back to the way it was before the monsters and the Gate and all the deaths. He was surprised by his own longing for Hopper. He didn't have enough time to grow close to the man, but he caught himself missing his strength and his dry humor. Under his loud brashness, he was kind and safe, reliable.

He wished Billy could have known him. Maybe then, things would have turned out differently.

Steve made them Eggos and coffee, the only edible things that survived the latest game night. They sat on the couch and ate in comfortable silence, both lost in their thoughts.

"Remember our fight in the Byers house?" Billy said eventually, his impatient hands playing with the half empty coffee mug.

Steve nodded. Sometimes, especially when it was about to rain, he still felt phantom pain in his bones.

"That was the first time when I thought about kissing you. I wanted it so bad I had to hurt you."

Cold wind rattled the windowpanes. It felt like it was going to rain.

"Do you still want to?"

Billy put the mug on the table and looked away. He touched his shaved head, softly pulled the left earlobe where his diamond earring used to be. He looked different without it. Softer. Kinder.

"I always want the things I can't have."

Steve clenched his fists. Would it be scary, allowing Billy to have him? Or would it feel like a relief, like a step towards freedom? Like finally circling back to the road not taken?

Back then, he would have pushed Billy away, wary of his unpredictable cruelty. But they knew each other now; put a lot of effort into being more open and honest. All it would take to erase that one last boundary was a little bit of bravery.

Second chances never came cheap.

Steve's hands were shaking as he leaned forward to touch the other man's face. Billy's skin was uneven under his fingers, rough in places where life was burned out of him. His eyes were blue like the ocean and clear like the summer skies. There was no madness in them, only yearning.

Pushing away his stubborn doubts, Steve finally allowed himself to put his lips against Billy's. They were softer than he expected, clever and willing. He always imagined kissing Billy would be another kind of fight, a natural extension of his desire for control. But it was not quite like that. It was passion without violence, giving and taking not motivated by the anger or selfish greed.

Billy's hands tangled in his hair, pulling and caressing. When they eventually separated, his pupils were blown wide and he looked a little lost, a little unhinged.

"I'm not okay, Steve."

"I know."

Steve leaned down again and Billy met him halfway. It seemed like he was waiting for this even longer than Steve did. Maybe that's what he thought about before falling asleep during those long and lonely months in the lab. And maybe even before that.

Billy's hands migrated to Steve's back, slipped lower. There were too many layers of clothes between them, too much worn cotton separating skin from skin. But they had time, they could afford to be patient and careful and caring.

Steve scratched his stubbled cheek against the other man's neck and Billy hummed in contentment.

"Come on, come on."

It wasn't clear what he was being asked for, but Steve was more than willing to try and give it. He found that wonderful place where Billy's neck met his shoulder and bit down.

There was a loud crash and the air filled with the smell of raspberry juice. Billy swore and pushed Steve away.

Tall bottles, previously lovingly lined on the countertop, lay on the floor, shattered.

"Well," Steve said slowly, his eyes cataloging the wreckage and swiftly going back to Billy. "That was unexpected."

"No shit."

"How long have you known the Agency was right?"

"From the very beginning," Billy shrugged, non-committal. But Steve had practice at reading him, could see how scared he was underneath the flippant facade. "But I couldn't control it then. I thought I was finally losing my mind. That it was just a matter of time, when the Shadow Monster would awaken and swallow me whole."

And it made a strange kind of sense now, Billy's early desire for death. He would have done anything to save himself from being used again.

"What about now? Can you control it?"

Billy looked away and furrowed his brows. Glass shards trembled and reassembled themselves into tall, dark bottles. It was marvelous and absolutely terrifying.

"What else can you do?"

"I'm not sure. I didn't have many opportunities to practice."

Steve thought about flowers, the only objects he was allowed to leave behind. How Billy pretended not to like them, but never asked for anything else. What Steve thought romantic, turned out to be plainly practical.

"Enough with the questions. Say something. What are you thinking."

"I don't understand why you didn't run. Once you've learned how to use this... gift."

"Because you've kept coming back. I wanted to see you."

Steve choked on a breath he didn't even realize he was holding. "What?"

"Steve," Billy's voice sounded strange; hoarse, like he was hurting. "I would have gone mad without you. I would have killed myself, one way or another. Things finally made sense when you were around and I would lose it all if I ran."

His eyes were wide and impossibly blue. Steve wanted to kiss him again.

"Are you afraid of me?"

Billy was a hurricane. If his stray thought resulted in random destruction, what could his concentrated anger bring? Only someone truly blind wouldn't be afraid of him.

"No, I am not," said Steve.

"Will you make me go back?"

Should he? Could he?

Hopper's phone rang, startling them both. With heart hammering in his chest, Steve picked up the receiver.

"Is he with you?" Dustin sounded frantic. There was a loud crash at his end, something like a large jar of marmalade connecting with the marble floor.

"Yes."

"Apparently your friend walked out of the Compound in the morning and never came back. The agents keep calling our house and it's freaking Mom out. I'm pretty sure they're convinced I'm hiding you both in the basement."

Steve looked at Billy, his hands folded in his lap, his eyes cast down. He looked like a prisoner again, waiting for the verdict.

"They should have put a tracker on him. "

"No shit, that's what I would have done. Is everything okay?"

Steve was twenty-two years old, a little tired and disoriented, but in love for a second time in his life.

"Everything is fine," he said with conviction. "Better than fine, actually."

Dustin went silent for a beat and then yelled so loudly, even his deaf neighbor must have heard him. "For all that is holy, you cannot have sex with him in Hopper's cabin! We all use that place! I forbid you!"

Steve looked at Billy, openly laughing at the kid's distress. He leaned back on the couch, relaxed again, with his legs splayed nonchalantly wide. There was a red mark near his collarbone where Steve's teeth broke the skin.

He was breathtaking and Steve wanted him so badly his whole body ached.

"I can make no promises. Robin was right. He is pretty hot."

Dustin swore, defeated, and ended the call.