Work Text:
Steve is there for both parts, Billy's death and his rebirth and he isn't sure which sight is worse - watching Billy get stabbed again and again and again by that thing, that monster made from parts of townspeople, people he knows, knew, knows.Watching as the monster slams its big, horrifying, pointed tentacle-like arm straight through flesh, through blood, through bone, hearing that bone crack, hearing Billy's bones crack, practically feeling it in his own chest as the thing spears straight through Billy's ribs, straight through, Steve's sure, his heart and there's so much blood, so much -
And watching, after the battle is over, watching Max take off running, running and crying, screaming the name of a brother she barely knew, barely, Steve thought, loved. But the way she's carrying on you'd think they'd been raised together since birth, thick as thieves, thick as -
The blood all over the floor that Steve slips on as he runs for Max, goes to grab her and drag her away, but instead kneeling by Billy's side and putting a hand on his neck, feeling for a pulse and feeling his own heart stop when there isn't one, when he knows for sure -
Billy's dead.
He isn't sure if that's worse, or, or, if it's worse seeing Billy come crawling up out of the dirt late one Sunday night while he's out wandering in the woods, smoking and thinking and thinking and smoking, wondering for the thousandth time what exactly it is he's supposed to be doing with his life when suddenly there's this noise, like a groan, only deeper. When suddenly there's an arm reaching up out of the dirt and more groans, and Steve should be scared, a smart person would be scared right now, but instead he's running towards that hand.
Instead he's crawling over the dirt and dragging whatever it is that's attached to it up and out and it happens to be attached to Billy Hargrove and Billy, he's… he's wearing the same bloody, dirty, filthy white tank top as he was the day he died, with that golden chain and that pendant still around his neck and the second his eyes land on Steve he starts screaming. He's screaming like he's dying, and Steve, he doesn't really know what the fuck he's doing, so he just starts screaming right back until Billy stops and then at a loss for any better idea he grabs Billy by the hand and starts running for his car and shoves Billy into it.
And again, not able to come up with any better ideas, he drives them to his big, empty house and forces… forces Billy freaking Hargrove into the shower with his clothes still on, hoping that Billy has enough sense to know how to take his clothes off, enough sense to… to… to know how to use shampoo.
It doesn't seem like he does, though, because he just stands there, letting the water hit him with his clothes still on, like he doesn't even move, so Steve has to do something, he has to, right?
"Okay, um," Steve says, voice going embarrassingly pitchy, "I'm coming in? I mean -" Steve sighs. "I don't want to -" and wow, that's a blatant lie if Steve's ever told one, "but I'm not getting the feeling you can manage this by yourself and your hair seems pretty matted, so…" That part, at least, is true. Billy's hair looks like it has about five pounds of dirt in it and half the contents of the forest floor, so Steve takes off his clothes but leaves on his underwear in a last ditch attempt at modesty and he steps into the shower with Billy.
Billy, for his part, just stares at him and the weirdest part is, it isn't blankly, no, this is the sort of stare that's much, much worse - this is the sort of stare that's like… like… like Billy's looking at him like he's the whole world, like somehow Billy wished and dreamed upon a star and the only thing he could think to wish for was Steve. Like Steve is all his wishes and dreams come true.
And that's a pretty stupid thing to wish for, all things considered. Like, really, of all the things in the world you could wish for, Steve would not put himself anywhere near the top of that list. Or probably even on that list at all.
Still, the whole thing has Steve standing there, gawking dumbly at Billy as his underwear gets soaked through and Billy's clothes start to get so wet they almost start to get clean again. Billy's hair, though, his hair is still a mess and noticing it spurs Steve back into action with a quickly blurted, "So!" and a fumble for the shampoo bottle located on the shelf just behind Billy's head.
Gracelessly, Steve squirts some shampoo into his palms and starts working on Billy's hair from the bottom up because if there's one thing Steve Harrington knows, it's hair, and he knows that with long hair this damaged, this knotted, you need to start from the bottom up.
And Billy… Billy just keeps staring at him like he's everything, making every hair on Steve's body stand on end, so Steve starts trying to think of anything, anything else, but he can't. He actively, literally can't focus on anything but the feel of Billy's hair between his fingers - it's coarser than he thought it'd be - and Billy's still just staring at him and Steve might not want sex, not with anyone, not ever (not that he hasn't tried a few times, anyway) but he definitely wants something from Billy right now.
Still, somehow, he manages to avoid doing anything, manages to finish washing Billy's hair, manages to get all the tangles out just before the water starts running cold. And neither of them, not that whole time, says a word. And still, Billy stares. He stares and he stares and he stares and Steve starts to wonder if he's broken.
He's probably broken.
Like he just came back from the dead, maybe he should be broken.
But then, as he's reaching around Billy to turn the water off, a worse thought occurs to him. They're going to have to dry off. And Billy's clothes are soaked.
"Uh," Steve says, pushing his own wet hair back out of his face. "You just hang out here for a second."
He goes to step out of the shower but Billy stops him, reaches out a hand and puts it on Steve's cheek, effectively holding him in place. This one small, simple action has the breath punching out of Steve's throat and hitting Billy square in the face but Billy takes it different than any other punch Steve's ever seen him take because it has him dropping his chin, then his shoulders, then dropping his guard completely.
Billy grunts, then smiles a little, softly, like nothing about this is weird, this is just a thing they do, and he drops his hand and lets Steve pull the curtain back and hop awkwardly out of the shower.
Fortunately, Billy seems to be a little more himself now because when Steve throws him a towel, he catches it, even starts to rub at his hair to dry it without having to be asked or told to do it. He also starts to strip his clothes off with no fanfare and no shame, just strips the wet clothes off and rubs the towel over his body, drying himself carefully but quickly.
And Steve can't help but stare, because clearly Billy doesn't mind, and, yeah, of course he doesn't, he's never been exactly shy about his body, but - it's still weird. Steve would have thought there'd be scars, that there would be some visible, tangible proof of what Billy's been through printed on his skin, but instead every inch of him is flawless, there's not a mark on him. Even the marks that had been there before, the scars that had littered Billy's body, the ones Steve had counted and made a list of every time they'd been in the locker room together in high school, they're gone too. It's like Billy has been remade, brand new.
He throws the towel at Steve with another grunt after he's finished drying off and stares at him like he's waiting for something.
Pants, probably, Steve guesses, so he runs off to his bedroom and grabs him a pair of sweats, making a point of grabbing his biggest, loosest ones.
They still only barely fit when Billy puts them on, the waistband stretched to capacity and the fabric doing little to hide much of anything, but it's enough, it'll do.
Then, having sorted that out (and having realized he'd totally forgotten to grab anything for himself) he drags Billy to the guest room, turns the light on and points at the bed.
"You can sleep here for the night," he says, watching as Billy crawls onto the bed but not under the covers. And again, Billy just stares at him. Stares at him like wants something. Wants Steve.
And Steve absolutely cannot handle that so he quickly blurts out, "Okay, uh, goodnight," and turns the light off before heading from the room. He's barely a foot from the door before Billy is on him, crowding his space and invading his brain with thoughts of how nice it is that Billy smells like his favorite shampoo and how warm he is and just… everything.
Steve gulps. "You," he says, almost squeaking with it and definitely starting to shiver in his outfit of still soaking wet underwear and nothing else, "you can go lie down in there."
He points back to the bed, to the bedroom but instead of listening, Billy just grabs Steve's outstretched hand and wraps his own around it before dragging Steve's hand down to his side and continuing to stare at him like he possesses all of the answers to the universe.
"Okay," Steve chokes out. "I'm going to go sleep in my own room now, you do whatever you want." He manages to wriggle out of Billy's hold and head down the hall to his room, but Billy only follows him. It makes the heaviest of sighs rattle out from between Steve's lips and makes him put his hand to his face.
"Look, this you not talking thing is getting real old, so please, just, go lie down," Steve says and with each word exhaustion settles into his bones, heavy like lead.
Of course, this is the one time Billy actually listens to him, but he does so in the most Billy way possible, walking straight into Steve's room and lying down. On Steve's bed.
And Steve… he's too tired to fight it at this point, so he stumbles over to his dresser, grabs a pair of sweatpants for himself and walks back out into the hall to put them on, leaving his wet, cold, gross underwear in a pile (more like a puddle) on the carpet in a way he knows he'll regret tomorrow morning but that he's way too tired to deal with now.
And he storms back into his room, flicks the lightswitch off and flops into bed, still shivering. Billy, the bastard, has crawled under the covers this time, like he's figured that much out, and he's drawn them all up around himself, left Steve's half of the bed bare, so Steve stays stubbornly outside of the covers. Or, he plans to, or at least he does until Billy, still watching him like he's planning on making a career out of it at this point, drags him under and -
Billy, Steve can't help but think, is like the ocean. No, Billy is like a tidal wave and Steve himself is the shore - he's helpless, completely helpless to avoid that wave crashing down on him and crushing him until he's soaked and senseless. And he's still shivering, even under the blankets, even if he's not exactly cold anymore, he's still just shivering, shivering because of everything, so Billy, for god knows what reason, drags him in close, wraps an arm around him and groans long and loud and obnoxious, and Steve - Steve can feel it, feel the noise from the tips of his toes to the crest of his soul; he can feel the heat seeping out of Billy's skin and he's desperate for it. Like suddenly he's desperate for it like nothing else, so -
He spins around in Billy's arms so he's facing him and buries his face in Billy's neck, making Billy groan again, only this time, this time it's a happy noise, a contented one and somehow, somehow, Steve just sort of sinks into that heat, into that contentment and -
Falls asleep better and deeper than he ever has in his entire life.