Chapter Text
"Billy."
Someone is shaking his shoulder, gently.
"Hey. Wake up."
Billy blinks. Max is standing over him. He blinks again.
"We're gonna be late. Don't you hear your alarm going off?"
Well he does now. "Fuck. Yeah."
"You sure you should go in today?"
He grunts as he sits up, holding the sheet to his bare chest, and punches the OFF button to his alarm clock. "You heard Neil. Don't really have an option."
Max is already dressed, backpack slung over her shoulder. She's stepped back and is watching him, arms hanging limply by her sides, a look of pity and concern on her face.
"Billy…" she says unsurely.
"I'm fine," Billy growls at her, even though he still hasn't gotten his bearings from the change of equilibrium. He hates that she knows now. Hates the next question he's about to ask. "Is he…?"
"He left early. Already gone."
Billy closes his eyes. "'Kay," he breathes, relieved. "Go wait in the car. I'll be out in five."
To her credit, Max nods and does what she's told.
Only when she's closed the door behind her does Billy dare to move.
He aches as he shrugs the sheet away and pushes off the bed to get dressed. He avoids looking in his full length mirror as he bends down to collect the pair of jeans and shirt lying on the floor by his closet.
His abdomen protests as he stands back up, a flare of pain shooting across his belly. He curses and braces his dresser for a moment while he waits for the pain to diminish.
It never does, so he sucks it up and pulls his clothes on anyway.
His abdomen screams at him again when he bends down to pick up his book bag. He feels lightheaded when he stands back up, but ignores it as he steps into his boots.
It's the same old routine he's been dealing with for three days. He's normally feeling a fraction better by now, but then again, his dad hasn't wrecked him this bad in a long time.
Not since before them.
He smells toast and bacon coming from the kitchen. He swallows hard and exits out the front door, his steps careful and slow. He's thankful that he's able to evade Susan; she's been pressing food on him ever since it happened.
But right now the thought of food is making his stomach turn, so he skips it all together.
He's wiped by the time he makes it to his Camaro and drops inside.
xxx
"You sure you're okay?" Max says to the silent car.
Billy glances over at her. Challenges her. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"Well, you're not blasting music. You're not smoking a cigarette. You didn't grab any breakfast and you never miss breakfast."
"Nice notes, Ms. Goodall."
"I'm just saying—"
"Listen, Maxine," Billy cuts her off. "You knowing about this shit isn't going to change anything. And neither will your pity, so knock it off."
That shuts her up real good for the rest of the drive.
She feels guilty.
Billy knows she does.
It's not her fault.
It's not her fault even though she's the one who stayed out all night and hijacked Billy's car - doing God knows what - forcing him to walk home from the Byers' sister-less and car-less once he came around. Billy still isn't sure what happened that night. He isn't sure what Hopper told their parents when he brought Max home. He isn't even sure how his car made it back.
It's not her fault because Max hadn't known.
She hadn't known until Billy was left in a heap on the floor.
xxx
Billy doesn't make it inside the school. He drops Max off at the door of the middle school and as he's heading to his normal parking spot in the high school lot he's hit with a sudden surge of nausea.
It comes out of nowhere.
Wasting no time, he drives around to the back of the school, away from any potential spectators, because he's almost positive he's going to throw up. There's saliva pooling in his mouth, black dots clouding his vision. He throws the car in park and fumbles with the handle to the car door before pushing it open.
He shifts his body so that his feet are planted firmly on the ground and he hangs on the frame of the door to brace himself. His stomach hurts to high hell. He can feel the moment his skin turns clammy, as cold, slick sweat materializes on his chest, slips down his spine.
He's terrified of how much it's going to hurt if he pukes. His abdomen is so fucking tender.
"Fuck," he breathes, as he spits a mouthful of drool onto the pavement.
He swallows thickly, tries to focus on anything else: the cool breeze, the moans and groans of the Camaro as it settles….
He doesn't vomit, but only because he fights it like hell.
He stays in that position for longer than probably necessary, taking deep breaths and trying to get his bearings.
Eventually, the nausea abates enough that Billy thinks he's out of puking territory.
With great effort, he pulls his legs back into the Camaro and relaxes into the seat.
He's left feeling shaky and weak.
He decides to drive to the general store, see if they have anything over-the-counter to settle his stomach. Then, maybe, he can come back. Take a nap in the backseat of his Camaro until he has to drive Max home.
Pray that Neil doesn't find out.
School is decidedly out of the question.
xxx
He makes it to Melvald's without incident, but takes a moment before mustering up the strength to walk inside. He feels about as good as roadkill.
As he's staring dazedly at the shelves of the medication aisle, the nausea starts to creep back up. He grabs some Pepto from the shelf then heads to the refrigerated section to get some Gatorade.
He's feeling overwhelmingly hot and shaky again by the time he heads for the checkout counter. As he approaches he sees - to his utter dismay - the Chief of Police standing by the bagging area, having a friendly conversation with the middle-aged cashier.
That's when everything goes numb.
This cannot be happening.
Billy feels like crying. Feels himself go on autopilot as the nausea crests.
"Do you - uh - is there a bathroom here?" he hears himself ask as he sets his items on the counter, but his voice sounds far away. There's saliva filling his mouth and swallowing it down is making the nausea even worse.
He's going to be sick. It's going to happen before he can leave the store, and the Chief of Police fucking hates him, and Billy just wants to die.
"We have one in the back for employees," the woman says over the ringing in his ears. "But you're welcome to use— Oh, Hopper, I don't think he's well."
Billy blinks, knows he must look bad for her to notice so quickly. He feels like his legs are going to give out.
"Kid, I think you ought to sit down," the Chief says, echoing her sentiment, taking a step closer to him, cautiously, like Billy is a ticking time bomb about to go off. "You're feeling ill?"
It's not really a question.
All Billy can do is nod. He coughs slightly, tries to hold back the gags that are trying to surface.
He feels so small.
"Joyce, will you grab the trash bin under the register?" the Chief asks calmly as he takes ahold of Billy's elbow.
"Hop, that's…"
"I know who he is, Joyce. It's okay." To Billy, he says, "C'mon Hargrove, let's get you sitting down."
Billy wants to protest. He wants a bathroom. He wants a door.
He wants to be anywhere but here.
But he truly doesn't think he has the steam to get there.
The Chief tugs him down and Billy gives in. In fact, he even leans on Hopper, lets him take the brunt of his weight as they lower to the floor. Hopper positions him so that he's leaning against the counter.
He's trying to be gentle, but being moved like that hurts, and Billy can't help the pained groan that surfaces. Vaguely, he hears Jim apologize. Jesus, I'm sorry, kid. Shit. You're okay. I'm sorry. I gotcha.
Billy's vision is swimming.
The pain in his stomach is blinding.
A plastic bin holding some discarded receipts appears in front of him and Billy screws his eyes shut.
He does not want to get sick in front of Jim Hopper in the middle of Melvald's. But it's happening.
Oh God, it's happening.
The Chief helps him lean forward and Billy just… surrenders.
Vomit gushes out of him and into the trashcan, his stomach clenching so hard it brings tears to his eyes. He coughs and hiccups as mouthfuls of soupy bile spill into the bin. He barely has time to take a breath between bouts.
Any embarrassment that he should be feeling is overpowered by the sheer pain in his gut. He feels like he's being split open.
It's dreadful and Billy can't even try to suppress the keening gasps and whimpers that escape him.
There's a copper taste in his mouth.
He knows that's not normal.
Something is wrong and Billy is scared.
There's blood, Joyce. You need to call an ambulance. Now. Call an ambulance.
The Chief's voice seems distant, but Billy can feel his presence next to him, holding him as retches and gags roll through him. What the Chief said barely registers. He can't even bring himself to open his eyes to see for himself. He's too dizzy and the lights are too bright.
Even when there is a pause in the rebellion, Billy is still victim to the overwhelming nausea.
It's not abating, not at all.
He remains with his head hanging over the bin that Hopper is holding steady, smothered by the smell. He's shaking and panting, drenched in clammy sweat, mouthfuls of drool dripping out of his parted lips. He spits, vainly trying to get the horrid taste out of his mouth.
Kid, you finished?
Billy whimpers, knows he's not. Mere seconds later more bile is burning up his throat and gushing out, over and over again, until he's reduced to dry heaves.
He can't make out what Hopper is saying anymore, but his voice is still vibrating through him. Tones that are tenuously calm. The one thing that's been holding Billy to consciousness is slipping away. The pain is starting to leave him, his body is getting heavier.
He's losing his hold on reality. He can feel it happening.
The ringing in his ears turns to sirens and he falls into blackness.