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Everything’s swimming.
Billy opens his eyes, and everything’s swimming, and all the colours are blurring together into a mess of purple and brown and purple and green and purple and red and purple and purple and purple-
For a moment, he’s not sure where he is. There are people talking, shouting, but they’re far away, and then there comes the slam of a door opening and Billy is being pulled up and pushed against the wall with such force he’s certain it’s his dad in front of him.
But it’s not. It’s the Chief.
He looks a lot like his dad right now, though. The same angry look in his eyes and flaring nostrils, like nothing would give him more pleasure than hitting Billy until he can’t move.
The Chief doesn’t hit him, though. He just pushes him, hard, and shakes him, until Billy feels like he’ll throw up. He’s acutely aware of the hand fisted in his collar and pressing into his sternum.
“I’d like nothing more than to arrest you, Hargrove, you hear me?” Hopper growls. Billy nods. He’s learned not to do anything other than agree when adult men have him in a position where he’s vulnerable. “So you can count yourself lucky Harrington doesn’t want to press charges.”
He goes on to say something more, and although Billy tries to focus, he can’t concentrate enough to process what he’s said. Billy thinks he growls, again, and then the hand moves from his collar to grab at his upper arm, the hold tight.
Hopper drags him away from the wall and out through the front door. He more or less throws Billy into the backseat of the Cruiser. At first he thinks they’re about to drive to the station, but then he hears Max from the front seat, and remembers that Hopper told him Harrington didn’t want to press charges. Home, then. Billy isn’t sure if that’s better or worse.
Probably worse.
The entire trip back to Cherry Lane is spent trying not to throw up all over the backseat, while Hopper and Max converse in hushed voices. They needn’t have bothered. Billy doesn’t think he’d be able to make out what they’re saying had they been shouting.
He isn’t certain how he gets from the backseat to the living room, standing beside Max with Neil seething and Susan crying in front of them. It’s a bit of a blur, but Max must have some excuse because she says something that makes them relax a little, and then Susan’s taking her away and he’s left alone with his dad.
“You drunk, boy?!”
“No... No, no dad, no, sir, no, I’m not.” Please believe me. It was Max, that little bitch, she drugged me, please dad.
“Don’t lie to me!”
Billy’s about to say that he isn’t lying, but Neil grabs him and shakes him, and the nausea crests.
Billy throws up. On his dad.
He doesn’t remember much after that.
—
Jim is parked on the side of the road, busy eating a box of donuts - yeah, he knows there’s a stereotype here, but it doesn’t make them taste any less good - when a blue Camaro whisks by, going way above the speed limit.
Jim really doesn’t want to deal with Billy Hargrove so soon after he last saw him, but the kid’s going to either hurt himself or someone else with the way he’s driving. Besides, this is literally Jim’s job. He doesn’t have much choice in the matter.
So he turns his sirens on, and goes after the Camaro.
It seems like Billy’s just going to keep driving and make him chase after him until they either get to his destination or Jim gives up. Well, he’s not interested in giving up. Jim’s a stubborn bastard, and he’s not going to let some arrogant teen think he can win. He tightens his grip on the steering wheel, and sets his jaw.
He can’t see any oncoming traffic, so he takes a chance and pulls up besides Billy. Close. Maybe that will tell the kid he’s serious.
It seems to work, because Billy pulls up to the side of the road and turns off his engine. Jim parks in front of him, so he doesn’t think about running away. Then he gets out, pulls himself up to his full height, and wanders over to Billy. He puts a heavy arm on top of the roof of the Camaro, and knocks on the window with the other. Billy’s turned away from him.
“Alright, kid, get out.”
Billy makes no move to do so, but at least he does turn around and roll his window down. He still won’t meet Jim’s gaze though, eyes directed down to look at the ground.
Billy’s face is... not pretty, to say the least. There’s a scabbed over cut on his cheek, and on his nose, and he’s got a black eye and bruises. Hopper’s saw Harrington’s face when he and El got back, and he’s glad to see Steve managed to get in a few good hits as well.
“I’ve got somewhere to be,” Billy says, quietly.
Jim laughs. The nerve of this kid. “Yeah, I don’t think so. The one place you could possibly have to be is in class, and school’s the other way. You’ve got somewhere else to be, now. I’m taking you with me to the station. You were going way above the speed limit.”
Billy doesn’t pull his keys out, or reaches over to open the door, or does any of the actions Jim would like him to. He wonders if he can add resisting arrest to his charges as well.
“Get out of the car, kid.”
He doesn’t move. And Jim feels his anger rise. He’s dealt with too much this past week, and he is tired of the bullshit.
He throws his arm down, hard, and hits the roof of Billy’s car with the palm of his hand. “Goddamnit Hargrove! Get out of the fucking car!”
At last Billy moves. He jumps in his seat, and turns to face Jim. There’s hate, and defiance, in his eyes. A lesser man would cover away from that gaze. Jim isn’t a lesser man. He steps back so Billy can get out.
Billy opens the car door, and as soon as he sets his feet on the ground Jim can tell that something’s wrong. Because Billy has to use the door to heave himself up to standing, and as soon as he’s up, his legs go out and he crumbles to the dirty asphalt with a keen. His fist goes flying up to his mouth, and through the curtain of curly blonde hair Jim can see him bite down on his knuckles.
There are marks left from his teeth when he moves his hand away. He takes a few shaky breaths, and then turns his head to the side and Jim watches his whole body convulse as he starts throwing up.
There’s blood in the vomit.
Jim starts to step closer, but stops when Billy turns to look up at him and starts to laugh. It sounds manic, and looks absolutely morbid with the contrast of Billy’s pale, sweaty, bruised face, and the mix of blood and vomit coating his teeth and chin.
“You gonna finish me off, Chief? I bet you want to,” Billy says, still laughing.
Jim crouches down in front of him, and shakes his head. He’s lost for words.
Billy gulps. “Guess you’re just looking for a reason, huh? I’ll give you one.”
And he leans forward and spits in Jim’s face.
It hits his cheek. Jim lifts a hand and wipes it off with his sleeve. He reaches forward, only to pull back when Billy flinches and tries to scramble back, the open door of the Camaro stopping him from going far.
Shit.
Billy’s afraid.
He’s scared of him. He’s trying to hide it, Jim can tell, but it isn’t working as well as he thinks it is. His eyes do their best to follow Jim’s every move. And he’s shaking.
“Did Harrington do this?” God, he hopes not. He’s starting to like Steve. He doesn’t want to arrest him.
Billy’s eyes go comically wide. Harrington? ” he spits. “Harrington wishes he could.”
With that, he starts laughing again. Jim can only stare. He feels almost like he’s dealing with some wild, hurt animal. Scared, but unpredictable.
The laughter turns into another keening sound, and Billy curls around his abdomen and starts sobbing.
Jim’s so out of his depth.
“I told you I had to be somewhere,” Billy whispers, and now his eyes just look betrayed.
Comprehension hits him like a freight train, and Jim wonders if he’s about to throw up now. “You were trying to drive yourself to the hospital?”
“Yeah. I realised I didn’t have much time left.” He lets out another sob. “I’m going to die, Chief. I’m going to die.” Jim can tell he believes it. And he can’t tell if he sounds afraid or relieved.
He can’t imagine the pain he must be in.
He won’t let him die, though. He stands back up, and walks over to the Cruiser. He radios in to the station, tells them where he is and to send an ambulance.
Then he goes back to crouch by Billy.
“Kid? I’ve called an ambulance. And I’ll call your parents once we get to the hospital.”
Billy flinches at that, and sucks in a breath. When he lets it out, it’s shaky. He looks at Hopper and chuckles, but there’s no real humour to it. Tears are still streaming down his face.
“You really are a sadistic pig, huh?”
Jim blanches, frowns.
“You could just leave me here and let me die in peace, but no, no, you’re going to call my dad.”
“What?” Jim whispers.
“He was so, so... fucking angry. I didn’t bring Max home, and he thought I was drunk because she drugged me, and then, and then... I had to make it worse and throw up on him. He didn’t like that.” He lets out that horrible imitation of laughter again.
And an awful lot is starting to make sense.
“Please just let me die, just let me die, please...” Billy’s still sobbing. Jim can’t take it. He sits down, and tries to be as gentle as possible when he moves Billy from resting against the door to leaning with his back against Jim’s chest. Billy still whimpers and whines when he does it, and starts trying to fight him off. But his hands are weak and trembling and they go slack once Jim puts his own around them.
“Shh, hey, kid, breathe. Breathe. You’re going to be okay.”
“Just let me fucking die. It won’t hurt once I’m dead.”
“Yeah, well. You’ll be dead.”
“What do you think my dad’s going to do once he finds you knocking with all your goddamn questions? Thinks he’s going to fucking stop because you give him a warning?” He lets out a shaking breath and Jim feels him tensing up like he’s about to vomit again.
“Breathe, Billy. Breathe.”
“Stop with the fucking sympathy! You hate me, you fucking hate me, why are you trying to make me think you give a shit?!” He sucks in air harshly through his nose, and Jim’s worried he’s going to pass out.
He lets go of one of Billy’s hands, and is pleasantly surprised when Billy moves his free hand to clutch at Jim’s other hand, the one still holding on to him. He moves the other one up to place it against Billy’s forehead, and leans his head back so it rests against Jim’s shoulder. Jim looks up at the sky as well. There are birds flying above them, a couple clouds on an otherwise surprisingly blue November sky. It’s calming, and he feels Billy starting to relax against him.
“Breathe, kid,” he whispers. “Just breathe.”
He’s never been so glad for the sound of sirens.
The ambulance parks just behind Billy’s car, and two EMT’s come running out with a stretcher.
“Chief Hopper,” the first one quickly greets, a tall dark haired man. The other one is shorter, older, and blonde. “What’s his name?”
“B- William Hargrove,” Jim replies. “His family just moved here from California some three weeks ago.”
The man nods, and crouches down beside them. “Right, William, we’re going to move you. You’ll be alright.”
Billy’s breath still hitches when they do, his breaths once again growing short and gasping.
Jim feels something twist in his chest as he stands up, taking the keys out of the Camaro’s ignition and closing the door, locking it before following the others into the ambulance instead off following after it in the Cruiser. Something seems wrong about leaving Billy alone with two strangers, even if they’re trying to help him, and even if Billy might hate Jim.
The first EMT, the dark haired one, has taken a seat up by Billy’s head, and Jim sits down across from him, the other EMT closing the doors to the ambulance. A moment later they go rushing down the road, sirens blaring.
The first EMT reaches for an oxygen mask and places it over Billy’s nose and mouth, while the other one starts pulling at Billy’s clothes. Billy whines at that, and tries to curl away from their hands.
“No…” he tries to protest, voice weak.
“Shh…” the first EMT says, stroking Billy’s hair away from his face. “Shh, kid, you just focus on breathing now, and everything will be okay.”
“Jesus Christ,” his colleague says, and both Jim’s and the EMT’s gazes are drawn to him. He’s pulled Billy’s shirt up, away from his stomach, and Jim feels ill. He’s seen lots of horrible shit in his line of work, in dealing with the Upside Down, but somehow this, and the knowledge that Billy’s dad did this to his own kid, almost brings him over the edge.
Billy’s belly is swollen, and there are dark bruises around his navel, down the side and up his ribs, too.
“Internal bleeding?” the first EMT asks.
“Seems like it.”
“Jesus Christ, kid,” Jim breathes, and brings their gazes to him.
“He was trying to drive himself to the hospital?”
“Yeah,” Jim says, nodding. “He was going above the speed limit, so I stopped him.”
“Probably good that you did. He might’ve passed out in front of the wheel otherwise. And then we’d have to pick him up in a body bag, instead.”
The second EMT touches Billy’s stomach, and Billy’s whole body jerks. He cries out, and the first EMT goes back to stroking his hair.
“You’re going to be okay, William. Just focus on breathing.”
“... d-dad...”
“We’ll call your father once we get to the hospital, okay?” It’s too close to what Jim told him, and Billy seems to agree. He flinches, and shakes his head, and Jim sees his chest start to rise and fall more rapidly.
“No, don’t. His father’s the one who did this to him.”
The EMT grimaces, but doesn’t look surprised. He stands up and goes over to speak to the driver.
“Let them know we’ve got a teenage male with internal bleeding, cause being suspected child abuse. We don’t want them trying to contact the family yet.”
“I hate cases like this,” the other EMT mutters, and he sounds so very tired. “Some people don’t deserve to be parents.”
Jim thinks about the way he’d shouted at Billy, the way he’d slammed his palm down on his car and made Billy jump, the way he shook him last night and dropped him in the back of the Cruiser just to deliver him to his abuser. And he thinks about the way he’s treated El, overprotectiveness and paranoia and his heartbreak over losing Sarah working on overdrive until she ran away to fucking Chicago. He feels so fucking guilty. So fucking ashamed of himself.
He’s not allowed to follow Billy past the waiting room of the ER, and so Jim slumps in one of the hard plastic chairs with his head in his hands.
Eventually a nurse, or a doctor, Jim isn’t really listening steps up to him and starts asking questions about Billy. Some he can answer - William Hargrove, sixteen years old, just moved here from California, yes, suspected child abuse - others he can’t - blood type, allergies, what was used to hurt him, does he have any other family, no, not that Jim knows, it’s just him, his father, stepmother and stepsister and…
Oh, God, Max. What if she’s as hurt as Billy is? Jim doesn’t know what happened last night, after he dropped the Hargrove-Mayfield kids off at their house, he doesn’t know if Max is safe at school, or if she’s dead at home, or if if if…
He left the Cruiser at the side of the road by Billy’s Camaro. Fuck. Fuck, Jim needs, Jim needs to move, he needs to go, needs to check things, needs to arrest Billy’s fucking father.
He asks the staff for a phone, and then he calls the station. He sends Powell and Callahan to Hawkins Middle to check if Maxine Mayfield is there, and if she is, take her out of class and wait for him. If she’s not there, if she never got in that day, even if she was called in sick, then he needs them to drive down to 4819 Cherry Lane. He tells Flo to send someone down to the hospital to come pick him up.
Then he clenches his fists, sets his shoulders, steps out into the cool November day and starts pacing.
—
When Billy wakes, it doesn’t take longer than a moment to realise he’s in a hospital. And then, because he has no self control, his eyes immediately start burning and he can’t keep himself from crying.
Because what the fuck? What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck? What the fuck is he doing here?
He hates waking up in hospitals. It’s always, always, so fucking scary, because Billy almost never knows what’s going on.
The doctors and nurses all seem like copies of each other in their scrubs, and they always care too little or too much. Their tests scars him, the needles hurt him. But most of all, every time Billy wakes up in a hospital, the one thing he knows for sure is that something really bad must have happened, that his dad must have gone too far, and that is terrifying. And he never remembers what it was, not when he wakes up, and he hates not knowing, hates being there alone in some clinical and bare little room, and not knowing what’s wrong with him.
His breath hitches, and that hurts, so Billy fumbles to pull the blanket covering him down, to pull the flimsy little hospital gown up.
There’s layers of thick gauze taped to his stomach, and it’s like seeing it finally brings the feeling back, and he realises that he aches. His belly aches, and something must’ve happened there, he must’ve- He must’ve had surgery, or stitches, or something, which means that whatever landed him here was really, really, really bad.
His chest heaves, and the heart monitor attached to him starts going off. Billy falls back against the pillows and squeezes his eyes shut.
The door to his room opens but he doesn’t bother opening his eyes to see who is stepping inside, not until they walk up to him and touch his arm. He flinches then and blinks, tries to blink the water away.
There’s the blurry shape of a nurse, with greying hair, next to his bed. “William,” she says, reaching out to touch him again.
He moves away before she can. The movement pulls at what he assumes are stitches on his stomach and he groans, deep in the back of his throat.
“What happened?” Billy asks. His throat is dry but there’s no pitcher of water on his bedside table like in the movies, no nothing, so he swallows. Tries to will spit into his mouth so he can speak without it hurting. “What happened to me? I-“
“William,” she says, voice steady. “Are you in pain?”
What kind of fucking question is that? ‘Are you in pain?’ Yeah. Yeah, he is, he’s always in one kind of pain or another.
But he can’t say that, so he just nods. He doesn’t know what happened, how much they know, why he’s here.
She goes fiddling with his IV, and Billy’s scared she won’t answer his question at all. But she stops at the foot of his bed before leaving, says, “You’ve had surgery. Broken ribs and internal bleeding. The doctor will be by later.”
Billy doesn’t hear her leave, too consumed in the sudden rushing back of his memories. Going out to look for Max, finding her in that freakhouse alone with a bunch of boys, fighting Harrington, Max… Max drugging him, and then the Chief of Police screaming at him, throwing up on his dad and waking up on the floor of his bedroom. He barely got through first period, and by that time he knew something was really wrong. And then Chief Fucking Hopper stopped him on the way to the hospital. Billy remembers yelling, feeling more terrified than he’s ever really felt before, remembers the taste of blood and vomit.
It’s too much. It’s all too much. Billy had been certain he was going to die. His head aches and his stomach hurts and his eyes burn and he feels lightheaded.
He’s not certain if he passes out, or falls asleep.