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Doctor Owens tosses Billy a chocolate pudding as he strolls into his room for their first check-in of the day. Perking up, Billy throws a hand out to catch the plastic container flying towards him. He can’t help but revel in his capability. A few weeks ago, it would have landed in his lap — he wouldn’t have had the strength to raise his arm, let alone snatch something from the air.
“Morning, kid,” the doctor greets, sitting down in the chair that’s pulled up close to Billy’s bed. He holds out a spoon to him.
“For breakfast?” Billy asks, pulling the lid open and grabbing at the spoon, dipping it in for a large mouthful. This offering is a bit odd because pudding is normally reserved for dinner. A dessert that Billy has come to savor in a way he never did before. Sometimes they’ll let him have two if he’s had trouble eating that day. He’s always able to stomach the pudding no matter how bad he’s feeling.
“Yeah, it’s a treat for your birthday,” Owens says, his voice lifting in an attempt that Billy knows is meant to make him feel excited. But Billy doesn’t feel any excitement hearing this.
Oh is all he thinks. I’m eighteen.
It’s hard keeping track of the days here. In the top-secret government hospital he was spirited away to after Starcourt.
They all bleed together. The days, the weeks. Billy’s honestly not sure how long he’s been stuck in the hospital. At this point, he’s grown too afraid to ask, scared to learn the hard truth. That he’s been cooped up here for months now.
He only knew it was the end of July when he had finally come to, clinging to life in a way that made him hurt. Everything hurt at the beginning. It was like the very fiber of his being was struggling against itself.
Your body’s trying mend Doctor Owens had said when all Billy could do was grit his teeth and pant through the pain.
Mend faster Billy pleaded with his body, when the drugs they were pumping into his veins weren’t enough to cut through the agony he was experiencing.
In the hospital, his life has been an endless stream of nurses administering his meds, visits from Doctor Owens, being poked and prodded by medical technicians. The monotony is broken up by an occasional visit from Chief Hopper, one of his sole links to the world outside of the hospital.
The first time Hopper visited, he had thanked Billy for protecting his daughter. El, you saved her, kid the chief had said. Billy didn’t respond when Hopper had expressed his gratitude. After the chief had left, Billy sat there, wallowing in the guilt he felt over the people he hadn’t been able to save.
Once, the chief brought Max with him. Billy knew it was supposed to make him feel better, but it didn’t. She had spent the entire time at Billy’s bedside, weeping, clutching at his hand. He had at least been able to squeeze back, though weakly, trying to reassure her that he was alright.
Billy had hated having Max witness him in such a frail state, all due to his injuries. He could only speak a few words to her at a time before having to pause and steel himself in order to continue on, pushing through the exhaustion and pain.
Hopper hadn’t brought her again after that. Billy didn’t have the courage to ask if it was because Max had said she didn’t want to visit him anymore. That she couldn’t deal with seeing him like that.
The break from his routine came most recently when he was deemed ready to start physical therapy sessions. He’s finally able to walk again, albeit slowly, his muscles growing used to everyday actions once more.
“You’ll be back to normal in no time,” the therapist told him during his session yesterday. Billy had grunted in response, had taken another wobbly step forward.
It wasn’t just his body fighting against him. Billy’s mind plays tricks on him too. Making him see Heather on the outskirts of his vision or glimpses of one of the many people he hurt (though he didn’t want to, had been screaming at the thing inside him to stop please just stop).
His mind made him relive the moment he was taken in the abandoned warehouse that night. That same fear, a dry, noxious taste in his mouth, will come unbidden at the most mundane of moments, making him gag.
Billy often gets the sense that the thing which possessed him is still around, watching him.
The Mindflayer Owens calls it.
The feeling doesn’t leave him, whether he’s awake or asleep. Late at night, staring at the ceiling, a prickling sensation will crawl up his spine and Billy swears the monster is in his room, hiding in the shadows. He’ll clench his eyes shut, pulling his blanket tight over himself. As though that would protect him against the Mindflayer.
Once sleep finally takes him, he’ll often dream of a void. A void so dark, he can’t see anything and he’s by himself in this vast nothingness. Except he knows he’s not really alone.
“Hello?” he’ll call out. A skittering noise is all that echoes back. It gets closer and closer. Until it’s on top of him, pushing at him. And he’s falling and falling.
Until he wakes up gasping for breath, blinking sweat out of his eyes, the sheets tangled around him making him feel trapped.
He’s feeling it now, like the monster is closing in on him. That it will take him again and it will be like the Mindflayer never really gave him up. He can’t live through that again, stuck in his own mind with no control over what is happening. He can’t .
“Billy?” a voice calls to him from far away. Something touches his shoulder and Billy jerks away, coming back to himself.
He’s in his bed. Nothing is here to hurt him. It’s just Doctor Owens. He’s watching Billy with a knowing look on his face.
“Billy, you —,” the doctor starts, reaching a hand towards Billy.
“Leave me alone,” Billy spits, embarrassed that he’s had another episode in front of Doctor Owens. They’ve become less frequent, but they still happen.
“Billy,” Doctor Owens tries again.
“Please,” Billy croaks, his throat clenching up. He doesn’t want to cry in front of the doctor. He already does that enough.
He never used to cry in front of other people, but now it seems like a common occurrence. He cries over the pain, out of frustration, in anger.
This time, he cries in disappointment. Over the fact that he’s spending his eighteenth birthday, what’s supposed to be a special day, in a hospital. That the sole person who’s going to acknowledge his birthday is his doctor. Someone who’s only there because he’s been charged with making sure Billy recovers.
“Okay,” the doctor says, pulling his hand back and turning to leave. He takes a final look at Billy before he steps out of the room. “I’ll come back later.”
No one else at the hospital knows it’s his birthday. No one cares. Barely anyone on the outside knows he’s here, that he’s still alive, and even if they did, he’s not sure they would’ve bothered to come see him.
Turning on his side, Billy curls in on himself, despite the protest from his stomach, the pain it causes. Now that he has his room back to himself, he lets the tears fall, sniffling dejectedly into his pillow.
Billy tells himself that if he was on the outside, it would’ve been better. He knows it. Not by much, but still. Susan would’ve at least tried to bake one of her pathetic cakes and Max might’ve given him a card or something.
Who knows what Neil would’ve done? His seventeenth birthday was right before they moved to Hawkins and that was an especially shitty time as well. Neil hadn’t even let him out of the house that day, had screamed in Billy’s face that they were moving to Hawkins and that’s final before shoving him into his room. Forced to pack, Billy had let the tears fall while he stuffed his clothing into a black garbage bag.
But what does it matter? His own dad thinks he’s fucking dead anyway.
There’s a soft knock on the door, despite the fact that it’s open. Most people who work in the hospital take the liberty of waltzing right in, so it must be Owens again, going back on his word that he’d check in on him again later.
“Not now, Doc,” Billy mumbles miserably into his pillow, hoping he doesn’t sound too choked up.
“Can’t imagine being anyone’s doctor,” a voice responds, and it’s not Owens.
Steve.
“Go away, Harrington,” Billy says, swiping a hand across his eyes, hoping that the hulk of blankets around him hide that he’s doing so.
He hasn’t seen Steve in a while. He had visited Billy too, one time, shortly after Billy had woken up. It had been a bad day, when Billy's hopelessness turned into anger and he felt like he was going to crawl out his skin if he had to spend another damn day lying in a hospital bed.
Then Steve had come in with his wide-eyed, pitying look and it made Billy even angrier. He had mostly glared at Steve, answering any of his attempts to talk with a grunt. Billy hadn’t blamed him for not returning.
But he’s here now.
“C’mon Billy,” Steve says, his voice closer. “I’m not leaving until you stop moping.”
Groaning, Billy flops over to sit up and face him. He knows Steve is stubborn and will hold true to his word. He just prays that his eyes don’t look too puffy. The last thing he wants is for Steve to know he’s been crying.
Steve’s standing there with a balloon that has a colorful Happy Birthday! written across it. He’s also got a box tucked under his arm and a bag slung over his shoulder.
“How?” Billy says, not able to fully articulate his question.
Then there’s a sudden ball of dread settling in the pit of Billy’s stomach because he can’t help but wonder if his mind is deceiving him again, making him see something that isn’t there in a sick attempt to make him feel better.
“How did I know it’s your birthday?” Steve supplies. Billy nods, wary of this potential not-real Steve.
“Max told me,” Steve explains, coming over to tie the balloon string to one of the bars on Billy’s bed. Billy touches the string tethered to his bed, watches the balloon jostle above him, and that’s when he knows this is real. Steve is actually here.
“She wanted me to give you this,” Steve says, reaching into the bag while balancing the box precariously in one hand. He manages to hand over a card, along with something shoddily wrapped in newspaper, without the box dropping to the floor.
Billy opens the card first. It’s a generic eighteenth birthday card but at the end she’s written Love, Max . Miss you & I’ll come see you soon . And after that, P.S. I know it’s not your make & model, okay!? which Billy assumes has something to do with the present she had Steve bring him. She signed it off with a drawing of a smiley face with its tongue sticking out.
“She would’ve come today too but it’s fall break and Susan took her to visit her grandmother for the week,” Steve explains. Billy hums in response, understanding that Max wasn’t able to say no to the trip. It’s not like she could tell Susan she had to visit her supposedly dead brother for his birthday instead.
Billy unwraps the newspapered item next to find Max has gotten him a ‘67 Camaro Hot Wheels. Billy allows himself a small smile.
“And I got you this,” Steve announces. “Because no birthday is complete without a —” he opens the box to show Billy, “cake!”
Setting the cake on Billy’s lap, Steve reaches into the bag and flourishes two forks, one of which he hands over to Billy.
Billy peers down at the cake. There’s a blue Happy Birthday Billy! scrawled on top of its vanilla frosting.
“Thanks,” Billy says. “You didn’t have to come visit a sad sack like me on my birthday.”
He says it quietly, his voice wobbling over the emotion. Goddammit. He’s not going to cry.
“Are you kidding?” Steve asks. “Who would miss celebrating Billy Hargrove’s eighteenth birthday with the man himself?”
Billy chuckles wetly.
“Oh, and also I brought a few movies for you to watch,” Steve says, hauling a handful of videos out from the bag.
“That’s right. You’re working at the Family Video,” Billy says, more composed now. He vaguely remembers Steve mentioning that when he was here the last time.
“So what do you say we pop in a movie and dig into this cake?” Steve suggests. Billy hasn’t made use of the television in his room yet but this is as good a time as any to start.
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Billy replies.
“The Goonies, The Terminator, or Ghostbusters?” Steve asks, holding out all three for him to pick from.
“The Terminator,” Billy decides.
Steve walks over to turn the TV on and pushes the video into the VCR. The movie starts and Steve plops down in Doctor Owens chair, pulling it in closer to Billy so he can reach his fork over for some cake.
“It’s good,” Billy comments, after trying a forkful of the cake. It’s chocolate, which Billy prefers. He wonders if Max told Steve.
“Mmmmmm,” Steve agrees after stuffing a big piece in his mouth, his eyes sliding over to the television.
Billy watches Steve as he watches the movie and can’t help but notice how his birthday blues have seemingly vanished with Steve’s arrival. As if Steve can feel Billy’s eyes on him, he turns towards Billy, a tentative smile spreading across his face.
And Billy finds himself returning it, smiling bigger than he has in a long while.