Work Text:
The first sound Steve has been aware of for hours is the deadbolt sliding into place, a dull thunk that permeates the muffled ringing between his ears.
He didn't know what time it was or how he got home.
But somehow, he had made it here, locking his front door in the middle of the night, one tense hand still gripping his bat. Shoulders shaking with the effort.
Only two noises fought for his fuzzy attention- a low, resonating tick, tick of a clock to his right and the sporadic drip, drip of blood beneath him.
Both rhythmic sounds encompassed the dark space he occupied. It was all too much and suddenly too still for him. It was too dark in the cramped entryway of his home, the shadows licking at his body like ravenous monsters. His eyes refused to focus on any discernible feature in his surroundings. He wasn't safe. Steve's body was still taught and ready for another round even as his tendons screamed for relief. He wasn't sure he could unclench his fist if he tried.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Drip. Drip. Drip…
It was less of a conscious movement and more an effect of exhaustion as his back met the door. The wood was sturdy behind him as his legs gave out. He was completely unaware of the smeared blood his jacket left in his wake or the high keening of nails and wood hitting tile as his bat drooped at his side. At least his back was covered if anything was hiding in the dark.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Drip… drip…
Steve couldn't hear himself breathing or remember how many demodog's he'd laid to rest with the weapon in his hands. When had his shoulder gone so numb? He couldn't remember what it was like to not taste copper on his tongue. Was one of his teeth loose? Everything seemed to stand still as Steve sat in the dark, eyes focusing on nothing as his body desperately tried to wind down. The slower his heart rate got, the more his body hurt.
Tick… tick… tick… drip…
He felt the vibrations in his bones, an even thump of footsteps descending the stairs and causing the pictures on the wall to rattle. Something was coming. He had known, hadn't he? The skin at the back of his neck raised in alarm.
Steve's parents were out of the country.
He was supposed to be alone .
Steve instinctively gripped his bat tighter, trying to raise it to his chest in a fighting position. He was willing to go out with a bang even if his legs refused to support his weight. But the bat hardly moved from the ground, his entire body burning with effort.
Steve imagined snarling and snapping beasts lurching down the stairs, rows, and rows of teeth zeroing in on him from the depths of his darkened home. He had been discovered. Sniffed out by the remaining creatures he'd been unable to kill. Ready to enact revenge for every fallen brethren Steve had laid waste to with the nail-embedded weapon weakly gripped in his busted hands.
All his posturing for nothing.
The kids wouldn't stay safe; he had failed. Lying here on the cold tile floor of his home, barely able to move as death came ever closer.
Tick. Tick… tick...
Light filtered through the stairwell, and Steve flinched. Blinking puffy, exhausted eyes into focus as the steps got closer. If he had been under less duress, he would have paused.
Demodogs from the Upside Down wouldn't waste time turning on lights.
Steve was almost positive they couldn't turn on lights.
The thudding footsteps got louder. Steve tried to bare his teeth in defiance but wasn't sure how intimidating he looked crumpled on the ground as he was. His shoulders were damp with congealing blood like he was in a marinade of his own failure- what a way to go.
Sock-clad feet appeared, followed by a familiar pair of red sweatpants. Steve's sweatpants. Tanned, scarred skin, mussed curls, and bright blue eyes came last.
The bat screeched against the tile as Steve's shoulders slumped in relief.
Billy.
Billy was here, in his home . He wasn't expected… exactly. Steve couldn't even remember seeing the Camaro in his driveway. But that didn't come as much of a shock to his vapid train of thought. Steve couldn't get his brain to think past the word 'Billy' . His bones buzzing beneath his skin and his brain trying to keep itself floating above his pain.
Almost all-consuming pain. Body vibrating with the effort of holding itself together. The torrent of exposed nerves and seeping blood made him dizzy. Steve had never really been good at managing his pain, his body finding the comfort of numb shock better than dealing with it head-on. But Billy was here, and when Billy was
there… he knew he'd be okay.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Billy stayed at the bottom of the stairs, his shoulders catching the yellow light, the back of his curls a bright halo. Steve could hear him sigh heavily before Billy crossed his arms over his chest, hands palming his elbows. A gentle and patient posture Steve would not recognize or appreciate until hours later.
The world was still hazy, gray tinting the corners of his eyes as Steve tried to focus on Billy. The man had taken the few steps needed to stand before him. His shadow casting across Steve's eyes like a blessing.
Billy's face was somehow harder to see the closer he got like Steve couldn't keep up the pace. His ears still filled with the sound of muffled ringing. Through it all, Steve could hear the sleep-heavy rumble of Billy's voice. Weaving its way through the thrumming of Steve's heart. Slow and quiet, like a prayer whispered against rosary beads.
"D'ya kick some ass tonight, Harrington?"
Drip… drip… drip….
It took ages for the words to penetrate the fog in Steve's mind and centuries to decipher them, and eons longer for his motor functions to kick in long enough to jerk his chin up. Only once, just a quick, jolting affirmation to Billy's question.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
"That's my boy. Let's get you fixed up. Can't keep that pretty face of yours safe for two minutes, can you, Princess."
The words fell from Billy's mouth only to tumble around Steve, their meanings lost to the loud thumping of his heart. He felt so tired. So very tired. But every swing of his bat, every Yell that has torn from his frigid lungs has left him wired. Body humming with the fear of attack. He could still feel the bite of splintering wood against his palm, the bat refusing to fall from his grasp. He had to protect the kids. Protect himself. Protect Billy.
Steve suddenly flinched as the stairway lights caught him in the eyes. Billy returned an apologetic hand to him as he turned them off, disappearing into the darkness. He might have said sorry, but Steve wasn't sure. All he was aware of now was being very, very alone.
Drip… drip…
"B-"
Steve tried to call for him. But the coppery taste of his words made him want to vomit. He tried to follow Billy with his eye as he walked into the darkness and was swallowed whole. But the world seemed off, like his brain was in a lower frame per second. The all-too-familiar image of someone being snuffed from existence had him swallowing thickly. The steady tick of the clock to his right the only reminder that he wasn't frozen in the upside-down.
Tick… Tick… Tick…
Right, he was home. He was safe; he was with Billy. But, Billy wasn't here anymore. Maybe he needed help. Steve should try to get up. To check the perimeter of the house before-
Suddenly his vision filled with brown. Billy kneeling at his side, arms laden with items he deemed necessary. Steve recognized the bright white box from under the sink, the red cross made from band-aids on its front mockingly cheerful. A plate, full to spilling and mugs gripped in steady fingers. He had a handful of clothes over his shoulders, a towel, and bucket in his other hand.
Billy leaned over, worming a calloused forefinger between Steve's fist and the bat. With more effort than he thought, he pulled at Steves's grasp. The bat finally clattered to the ground beside him, his shoulder twitching. Billy let Steve hold onto his finger like a toddler for a moment, squeezing him and feeling his hand gripped in return. Steve could feel his hair being brushed from his forehead with gentle fingers. He closed his eyes, leaning into the touch- needing it.
"You did good tonight, Harrington. Now let's get you settled down. Anything hurt?"
Blinking slowly, Steve thought the question over. Things… hurt, it was true. But did they just hurt the normal amount? Billy didn't care about a few scrapes; he wasn't asking about that. Had Steve broken anything? He wasn't sure. He tried to move parts of his body but wasn't even sure he'd managed it.
Steve must have taken too long, his tongue too heavy to come up with a yes or no.
"Okay, I can hear you thinking from here. Don't push yourself, Sweetheart. I'll check you over, yeah?"
The sound of things hitting the tile around him had Steve jumping again. He swallowed thickly, trying to steady his heart. Eyes wide and shoulders tense.
Steve felt Billy's hand on the back of his calf, gently lifting a leg in the air to slide his muddy shoe off. The cold air made him shiver as a sock was slowly pulled away from his clammy body. When his other shoe and sock were off, Billy ran careful fingers over his jeans. Squeezing and stretching his legs out as he inspected Steve, taking his time to peel the ruined jeans from his body. Exposing purpling skin to the cold of the foyer. Billy took care to avoid touching any of his muddled skin further and always ensured never to cause more damage. Never again…
"Seem to be in one piece so far."
Steve couldn't help the sharp hiss as Billy lifted his arms. A gentle 'tsk' and shushing sounds floated close to his ear. Broad, warm hands roamed his body. His jacket took a bit of coaxing, but his shirt was basically in half and fell from his shoulders with hardly a fight. Steve couldn't even remember when his chest had been cut open. Billy took his time, face slowly coming into focus with every tick of the old clock. His hands still moving. They were warm against Steve's chilled skin.
So, so warm.
Gently prodding every screaming muscle, worrying at the jagged rips in Steve's skin. A thumb stroked the swollen apple of his cheek. Steve leaned into the gentle fingers cradling his jaw. Hot breath puffed at his ear, a slight hum of assurance from Billy- seemingly pleased that Steve was intact enough. Billy's warmth left as he leaned away, and Steve couldn't stop the tiny groan of protest at his absence. A hand found his kneecap with a soft squeeze.
"M'still here, Princess. I just gotta… wash n' ice yer everything now."
Steve closed his eyes as the damp washcloth was dabbed against his temple. He could feel his jaw swelling; Billy was right. Steve really couldn't keep his face out of harm's way for long.
With every pass of the washcloth, Steve could feel his skin relax. The steam opened his pores and loosened the tightness in his chest. A few passes through his hair had him humming. He didn't know how long they sat. Steve was silent and listening to the ever-present tick of the clock while Billy wiped away the evidence of Steve's battle. His mother's old dish towel would never be cream again, and that thought made him smile.
"There he is."
Billy murmured, his thumb swiping at Steve's smile with soft movements. It was crucial in these moments to be slow with Steve. When he came home shellshocked and broken, he was more fragile than he ever let on. With crazed eyes, Billy was never sure Steve even recognized him. Steve's body always came home tense and poised for attack after a night of patrolling. After hours of fighting an evil Billy still couldn't face himself. A lifetime of submission made his firmly planted feet useless as they refused to let him cross the house's threshold to follow Steve into the darkness. But he was always there when Steve came back, stumbling and wounded.
It took time, hours even, for his mind to clear the fog of battle. Constant kneading of his muscles to get them to relax, quiet reassurance that he was home. That he was safe, that he had protected everyone. Billy would pepper them against his temple and rub them into his skin with every pass of the washcloth. Slowly removing the grime of death to reveal the tired, handsome man beneath. He probably could have to written some morbid caterpillars to butterfly metaphor or some shit in his English Lecture about this, about Steve. He'd probably get an A.
But this was real life; this was Steve. Strong Steve, with his stupid bat riddled with nails. His inability to keep himself out of danger when it came to protecting his kids. His quick, almost panicked breathing always hastened Billy's return whenever he was left alone. Steve with his soft sighs as he was finally brought out of his own mind and back to the present. Steven with his cracked knuckles that still lifted to push curls from Billy's forehead. His silent thank you for being there. Steve, with the corner of his mouth raising as he thought of something funny about his current predicament that brought him back to himself… to Billy.
Billy had to suppress his own grin as he lifted a bag of frozen peas to Steve's reddened jaw. He knew Steve could see him approach, could almost prepare himself for the cold…
Steve still jerked as the compress slid along his skin. But soon, the chill against his face had him taking a deep, relieved breath.
"Hold this, Pretty Boy."
Billy whispered, kissing Steve's uninjured cheek while lifting Steve's hand to hold his own ice pack. Steve grunted and gave a half-hearted glare, to which Billy winked in return. Twisting to pull the first-aid kit close. As summer progressed, bandages and gauze were becoming a weekly purchase for Steve.
Billy held up a lackluster amount of beige cloth, and Steve knew his wallet would be pinched while he slept to grab more… and hopefully a pizza too… maybe some beer. His leg was pulled into Billy's lap, and he watched as the blonde hunched down and inspected the many scrapes and cuts. Evaluating what needed treatment and what would heal on its own with a practiced eye. The sting of ointment was nothing new. Billy always made sure to apply even pressure as he knelt close. Sometimes he was an ass and would coo at Steve like a child, kiss every band-aid after application, and pat the sting away. Sometimes he was sullen and serious, butterfly bandaging lesions that really should have gotten stitches. Cursing under his breath as gauze and adhesive held Steve together better than his flesh.
"You need to try and protect yourself half as much as you do those damn brats, Princess."
He always grouched, varying levels of anger simmering behind his teeth. Steve knew he was right; he knew he couldn't keep this up much longer. His arms were riddled with paling pink and white scars, skin patterned with the evidence of his lack of self-preservation.
It had only been a recent dawning of understanding on Steve's end… what all his cuts and bruises meant to Billy. Why his sharp intake of breath was always there as Steve came home. Why his hands had shaken the first time Steve had come home late, covered in blood and ribs aching. Demanding to know what had happened and who had hurt him.
Scars to match his own cracks in a façade of being okay. Billy could see right through Steve's bullshit because Billy was doing the same damn thing.
Only his monster couldn't be defeated as easily as Steve's.
Steve wished he could say he was sorry as Billy shifted, leaning away to unfold the clothes at his side, but his voice was still lost. The gentle ticking of the clock matched his heartbeat.
Cotton pants were coaxed up his legs, a drawstring tied just under his belly button. A cropped night shirt was unceremoniously pulled over his head. Steve's drying hair flopping around his head with static. When his arms were in the holes, Billy smoothed down the front of the shirt with a pleased nod.
He was done. Steve blinked as the plate was once again pushed to his side. Finally focused, he saw a pile of donuts and two mugs of coffee. He must have gone to the Krispy Kreme outside of town today. It would have been a pleasant surprise this morning… if Steve hadn't come home in pieces.
Billy settled in beside him. A soft sigh escaped his lips as he sipped from his mug. Bare-chested, Steve's own sweatpants hanging low on his hips. They looked across the room at the sliding glass doors, watching the sun stretch across the purple, sleepy sky. Shooing the stars from sight as the moon yawned out of existence.
The clock still ticked loud in Steve's ears. He always found it comforting, an even rhythm that reminded him that time never stood still. He didn't need to look to his left to see it hanging heavy on the wall. Rich mahogany with highly polished brass pieces. An oval pendulum swinging just behind the etched glass. It was a new addition and one Steve had found on the side of the road.
Billy had been blazing down the main road, returning to Hawkins after a day spent by the lake. A surprise planned by Steve. Not exactly the beaches of California… but the gesture was appreciated all the same.
It had caught Steve's attention as they rounded the corner, a wooden heap in the middle of the road. He had leaned over and gripped Billy's shoulder as he yelped a warning. Cursing, Billy slammed on the brakes, narrowly avoiding smashing it with the front bumper of the Camaro.
"What the fuck. Do people in this shithole not care about anything?"
Billy snarled, smacking his horn at the still object in the road.
"Don't worry, I think you killed it."
Steve snickered, wrenching his door open.
"Aye, what are you doing?"
Steve ignored him, stomping into the frigid night to the front of the car. He nudged at it with his foot, rolling it to the side to reveal a slightly mangled clock.
"What is it, Harrington?"
Billy called, cranking his window down just so. Steve had to smile. The Californian hated the winters here in Indiana.
"An old pendulum clock."
"A fucking what?"
"A pendu- ya know what."
"Don't Harrington. Don't pick that up. I could be riddled with bullshit diseases. Ahhh fucking… don't listen to me about nuthin', do ya."
Billy grouched as Steve clambered back into the Camaro. His prize nestled between his legs.
"Where's your sense of whimsy, Hargrove?"
"Back in California, before this horror show of a town broke me."
He could never really say no to Steve, though. Gripe? Yes. Moan? Always. But saying no to those soft, brown eyes was a sin Billy could never get himself to commit. And Steve knew it.
Steve had refused Billy's hands when they got back to his house. Carrying his prize inside alone to rest it on the kitchen island. They both crowded around the faded glass face.
"As far as treasures go… this is a bit of a bust."
Billy muttered, poking at the splintered wood. Steve swatted at his hand, opening the glass face to peer into the green-tinged brass workings.
"We could fix it up."
"We?"
Billy snorted, shoving off the counter and making his way to the wet bar.
"You know how to fix clocks there, Sweetheart?"
"Not yet."
Steve crowed, eyes bright. Before Billy could even make them both a drink, Steve had pulled the glass out and wrenched the door from its rusty hinges with a lackluster 'whoopsie'.
"Put that shit down, Princess. You're gonna cut yerself on that rusty shit, and I'ma have to take you to the hospital."
Steve pouted up at him, accepting the scotch glass with a sigh.
"You spoil the fun so easily; why am I with you?"
"Because I'm hot. Go take a shower, prissy pants."
Snorting, Steve shoved off from the counter. Leaving Billy in the wake of dusty clock pieces as he climbed the stairs to the shower. He was a little surprised when Billy did not stomp after him. Even more so when he took a shower completely alone. Toweling off and not even styling his hair, Steve went back downstairs to investigate the mystery of the absent Billy.
"Hargrove, why-"
Billy had put his hair up, loose curls frizzing around his crown as he perched on a stool. He had gone into the garage and grabbed Steve's father's toolbox, an array of tiny wrenches and screwdrivers near his elbows. An old rag with a bottle of brass polish by his steady fingers. The corroded pendulum ripped out of the clock as Billy grunted in satisfaction. Steve couldn't have stopped his smile if he wanted to.
"Are you… taking it apart?"
Looking up sharply, a screwdriver between his teeth, Billy gave him a glare.
"S'it look like m'doin? Fixing yer stupid clock."
Mouth opening like a caught fish, Steve could only stare as Billy connected small gears together. Brightly polished brass scattered across the table around him. Steve leaned his hips against the marble countertop and leaned close. Thoroughly impressed.
"Didn't know you were such a jack-of-all-trades."
Billy snorted, setting pieces back into the high polished cabinet.
"There's an endin' to that line. A Jack-of-all-trades, but the Master of none, love."
"You can't make fun of me for not knowing things. I'm the pretty one, remember? I'm allowed to be dumb."
Billy leaned over and kissed his cheek, sandpaper skin rubbing.
"Yer not dumb, Princess. Took shop in Cali, remembered some of the basics of the clock I had to make."
Steve settled into the other stool, grabbing the forgotten rag and pendulum. Polishing the green away as Billy looked for the out-of-place cog he claimed would fix the clock.
They had spent every weekend of their freshman year of college fixing that stupid clock. Heads bent together, gripping about cog placement and stain colors until…
"It's finally done."
Steve cheered, watching Billy tighten the back of the little brass knob one final time.
"Not yet."
Billy sighed, pulling a pocketknife.
"What are you gonna do. Frisk it for an hourly wage?"
"Shut up, Princess. You always know how to ruin a moment."
Setting the tip to an inside wall, he scratched at the soft wood. Steve rested his chin on Billy's shoulder, chest flushed against his back as he watched him work.
"Are you serious?"
Steve bubbled a laugh against Billy's throat, causing him to carve a notch out of place.
"Damnit, Harrington. Now It's ugly."
Steve hummed, pressing his lips to the delicate skin before him. Eyes roaming over the scored wood.
S.H. + B.H.
All encompassed by a crude heart. If he wasn't careful, Steve was worried his own heart would squeeze right out of his chest.
Unwanted and forgotten, it was just like them. Broken by someone else just to have a second chance at living. It was slightly crude but beautiful nonetheless. He leaned in and kissed the growing beard on Billy's jaw, delighting in the rough scratch against his skin.
"It's perfect."
The clock always brings Steve back to himself.
He didn't know which was more grounding, the ticking or Billy's even breathing beside him. Maybe both. But at that moment, Steve knew he could not have survived everything so far without them.
He suddenly picks up the mug and sips it, sliding his foot over to touch his ankle with Billy's.
"Welcome home, Princess."
Billy muses, a smirk kissing the lip of his cup. The steam tickling his nose. Steve was finally back from his night fighting demons and terrors that go bump in the night. Steve had come back, come back for Billy. Returned by the soft touches, gentle cleaning and knowledge that no matter what happened beyond those doors… he would be here to welcome him home.
They watch the sunrise together, not another word between them until Steve looks into the deep blue of Billy's eyes.
"I love you."
And he means it, and for the first time in his life, Steve thinks it's reciprocated by the gentle way Billy sits with him in silence. How he always takes his time putting him back together, brings him food, and stays.
He watches Billy's eyes widen; he doesn't miss the way his mouth twitches. Just slightly- into a smile.
"You love me, Pretty Boy?"
He rasps, voice heavier than before. Steve doesn't back down. He knows Billy is giving him a way out. A moment to take it back, but he stands firm. He can't let this go, not after everything they've been through.
"I do."
Billy reaches out and brushes a knuckle against the back of his hand, and Steve knows without words that he is loved in return.
And the clock never stops ticking.