Chapter Text
Billy hated whispers.
It didn’t matter who they belonged to. His father, switching from his angry shouting at whoever was on the other end of the phone the second Billy walked into the room, like if he was fast enough, Billy wouldn’t know he was trying to find someone to fix his son. Harrington, lowering his voice whenever he mentioned last year, like Billy would spaz out if the richie said it too loudly. The population of Hawkins High, eyeing him as he stormed for his locker, dishing out whatever juicy gossip they thought was worth a rat’s ass.
Whispers were the coward’s way out. A half-assing way to get their licks in without risking a toe.
If they really meant what they said, then they’d say it to Billy’s face. Because Billy could take whatever goddamn asshole wanted to test their mettle. The new kid just… took him by surprise. That was all.
But the whispers remained. And Billy found himself wondering if they were really the cowards here.
Billy cursed himself as he reached his locker. No. None of that bullshit. He was Billy Hargrove, King of Hawkins High. Star of the basketball team! Everyone either wanted to be him, befriend him, or lock their lips against his until the passage of time was a mild suggestion. Nothing could change that. Not whispers. Not scars. Not goddamn Steve Harrington’s stupid, sympathetic ass of a face.
Like he got it. No one did.
Billy forced those thoughts to worm their way into his stupid skull and threw open his locker door. First up was Ms. O’Donnell’s. A demon in human flesh, but Billy made do.
He grabbed the appropriate textbooks, jamming them into his backpack. He was still seething about the new kid--since when could a queer punch like that?--so when the corner of his textbook caught on one of the shelves, aggressively rattling it in its frame, Billy didn’t exactly give a shit. That changed when a single piece of paper came fluttering down. One that Billy didn’t recall putting there.
Billy caught it out of the air, ignoring the tight pain in his shoulder. Whatever brief hope he had that it might be a note from some sophomore or junior girl, ready to while the time before first period away, vanished as soon as he focused on it.
It was a newspaper clipping. Almost a year old, and stained with time. Billy’s eyes flickered over the headline: “The Boys Who Came Back to Life.” Two pictures were inset between the columns of text: one of a raven-haired twelve year old. And one of Billy himself.
Their eyes were scratched out in red ink. Scrawled across Billy’s picture were the words Zombie Boy.
All at once, everything seemed to fade away. The conversations and whispers in the hall turned into static. Billy’s vision swayed and rippled like water, leaving only the pictures in his mind.
Steve had been late for practice, the morning of November seventh. In fact, he didn’t even show up. He completely missed Bill kicking Tommy’s ass on the outdoor court. Billy had enjoyed that game more than most. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to let any disrespect--intentional or not--slip by him unpunished.
So Billy slipped through the crowds of the high school halls. Stepped up to Steve’s locker. And they had a… chat. Apparently, Mrs. Harrington had insisted on making Steve breakfast before he left for school, and then foisted his step-brother--only for four months--onto him, to drive to the middle school, and Steve hadn’t had the time to drop by the court. Billy didn’t believe it for a second; more likely than not, Harrington had stolen his step-mother’s hairspray again and time had gotten away from him.
But Billy overlooked the lie and forgave Steve. He was nothing if not gracious.
However…
As Steve wrapped up his excuses and began to walk away for class, Billy held up an arm to block him.
“You do realize that you need to make it up to me,” Billy said calmly.
Steve blinked at him. “Uhhh… yeah?”
Billy studied him for a moment. Determining if he was being honest. If it’d been anyone else, Billy wouldn’t have gone to the effort… but Steve was an exception.
Billy nodded, dropping his arm. “Good. Think on it, Harrington.”
Billy walked away, leaving a confounded Steve Harrington behind. It was only then that he caught on, calling out, “Wait, what do you want me to do?”
Billy spun around and walked backwards, throwing his arms to either side and ignoring the dirty looks his fellow students shot him. He was above that. And they couldn’t do anything about it if they tried.
“Surprise me!” he shouted back.
Billy collected favors like it was a currency. A basketball practice here, a pack of beer there; it all stacked up until Billy had the high school wrapped around his finger. He wasn’t known as the King of Hawkins High for nothing.
This was the first time that a favor had gone south.
Billy threw up his hands in victory, grinning as the chugged beer burned in his gut. Tommy and Carol cheered, slinging their arms around each other and whooping into the night air. Steve, though--laying on his pool chair and smoking a Camel--was quiet.
Billy raised an eyebrow. “What, Harrington?” he scoffed, tossing the empty, sliced-open can at Steve’s head. “Think you can top that?”
Steve snorted, absent-mindedly catching the can and slipping it into the trash bag sitting next to him. Some shit about cleaning up before his step-mother got home from her extra shift; the whole reason they were having this party in the first place. “Yeah, no, I learned my lesson after last time.”
“Then how come you look like Wheeler got your little brother, too?” Carol asked, giggling and leaning into Tommy’s side.
“Step-brother,” Steve snapped. “And Nancy didn’t kill her brother. You really think she’d be putting posters up at school if she’d done it? I’m just…” He leaned back in his seat, brow furrowed in thought. Then it smoothed out. “Concerned. That’s it.”
Carol frowned, but Tommy only laughed, shaking her good-naturedly. “Damn, Stevie! You’re not crushing on Nancy Wheeler, are you?”
“This’d be, what?” Billy mused, thumping into the pool chair next to Steve’s. “First bitch since Linda? Broke off in June, right?”
Steve sighed, pulling his cigarette out of his mouth. “Okay, making out once--”
Billy cocked an eyebrow.
Steve rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile. “Twice. Doesn’t count as dating.” He blew out the end of the cigarette, tucking it into the trash bag. His smile vanished as he turned to glare at Tommy. “Seriously, Tommy, in what universe do I date Nancy Wheeler?”
Tommy simply shrugged, but a smirk played across his lips. He let go of Carol’s shoulders and crossed his arms over his chest. Something hard glimmered in his eyes. “Hear she’s never dated. Goody two shoes, teacher’s pet, mommy’s girl… She’d probably love a bad boy like you, huh?”
Billy rolled his eyes as Steve flushed, angrily rebutting Tommy’s words and making him laugh. God, did he get pissed when they were like this. Might as well shake things up a bit.
He slipped out of his seat and snatched a pair of beers and Steve’s pocketknife off of the table. He sauntered over to Carol, who was scoffing at Tommy. Billy held out a can. “Mind holding this?”
Carol glanced at him with a frown. As soon as she saw what he was offering, she brightened, snatching the can out of his hands.
That was when Billy shoved her into the pool.
Tommy and Steve cut off, heads snapping towards the pool as Carol shrieked. She resurfaced shortly after the beer can bobbed up, soaking wet, glaring at Billy. “Hargrove, you bastard!”
Billy was gratified when that got a laugh out of Steve. Good. Harrington needed to smile more, anyway.
When Tommy started forward, Billy stopped him. He gave the freckled teen an easygoing smile. “Come on, Hagan. I got Carol. You might as well live a little.”
Billy handed Tommy his remaining beer and the pocketknife. “Beat me, I give you fifty bucks. Lose, and I get your new magazine.”
Tommy’s scowl vanished, replaced by that familiar gleam in his eye. “Don’t shit me. You blew your fifty bucks on my last two magazines.”
Billy just smirked at him, the tip of his tongue snaking out and licking his teeth. Tommy grinned back, so Billy took the opportunity to fall backward into the pool with a violent splash.
Carol shrieked, paddling out of the way, but Billy caught her, shoving her under the water. When she came back up, she was laughing, splashing madly, and Billy moved back, smirking. “God, Billy, nooooo!” she exclaimed, lurching for the edge of the pool. “Stevie! Tommy! Get your asses in here!”
“Yeah, I’m good,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. Something caught his eye and he turned his head to the windows of his house with a frown.
Tommy held up a finger, adjusting his grip on the beer can. “You can wait two seconds!”
Carol scoffed as Tommy placed the blade of Steve’s pocketknife on the bottom of the beer can. Just as he sliced, Steve lurched out of his pool chair, stumbling into Tommy’s side, ripping the can out of Tommy’s hands, and throwing it towards the trees. The knife slipped, and Tommy hissed as blood welled up from the wound.
He squeezed his hand into a fist and glared at Steve as a steady stream of blood spilled down from his palm. A drop of red fell into the pool, dissipating in the water and the chlorine. “Stevie, what the fu--”
Then the backdoor slammed open.
“What the hell, Steve?” a curly-haired, gap toothed twelve year old exclaimed. “Seriously?”
The teenagers stilled. They stared at each other with wide eyes.
In an instant, Steve bolted for the door, slamming it shut behind him and tugging Dustin away from the windows, presumably to buy the others time. Billy was out of the pool, pulling Carol after him. He shoved her towards the treeline--just in case Steve’s attempts at bribery and blackmail fell short--promising that her boyfriend would be two steps behind, and then whipped around to grab said boyfriend.
Then the pool lights flickered.
And something growled.
Something inhuman.
Billy slammed the heel of his palm against the locker door.
He felt more than a few curious gazes on his back--heard more than a few quiet, mocking laughs--but he didn’t exactly give a shit.
Billy shook out his hand, quietly reveling in the aching pain in his bones. He wasn’t living in the past. Not if he could help it. He’d had his fill of that, last night.
Billy tore the newspaper clipping in half, tossing it to the floor. He threw his backpack over one shoulder and walked for Ms. O'Donnell's.
This would be a good day. Sure, it’d been shit so far--and he still had the visit with the Hagans to look forward to--but it’d get better.
He could feel it.