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“Am I dreamin’ or that you, Harrington?”
And there, there he was; the momentum of the swing that saved Steve’s life landed an axe squarely on his shoulder. His hair was long, curled in filthy, bloody, muddy blobs around his shoulders. He was wearing a tank top that used to be white, and a denim jacket and there were bloody rips in his jeans. He shoved a cigarette between his teeth and thrust a hand down to Steve.
“Billy?”
Billy shook his hand impatiently.
“Get the fuck up, Harrington.”
Unthinkingly, Steve took it and Billy hauled him to his feet. Steve collided with his chest, immediately aware that around them, the creatures were descending in droves. Maybe it was a dream, maybe this version of Billy standing before him wasn’t his Billy at all, and this could all be another twisted trick of the Upside-Down. None of it mattered a good-goddamn though, as Billy ran a quick hand over Steve’s face, as if ensuring himself that he could touch him, and made a tight, painful fist in Steve’s hair. He slammed their mouths together, and Steve gave no quarter; biting down with teeth and clawing fingernails.
Then they flew apart, Steve scrambled to get his hands on the discarded boat oar behind them. He and Billy swung in unison; a demobat screeched and the brittle timber shattered to pieces in Steve’s hands. Blood blossomed on his palms, on his side where a particularly fast specimen got its talons into him. That one died brutally, it’s black oozing blood splattered across his face as Billy artfully dispatched with a wild, ferocious swing of his axe, and then suddenly Nancy was beside him, clutching her own broken oar in her hands. She smashed a demobat cleanly out of the air.
“Is that Billy Hargrove?” she shrieked.
Chest heaving, Steve straightened, fingers slipping from the tail of the creature he’d just slaughtered. He spat blood, and stared at the teenager retrieving his axe from the shattered skull of another monster.
Panting as well, Billy lolled his head back, sweeping his curls away from his sweat-and-blood-sticky face, teeth bared. He swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at Steve. The whole damn world was washed in crimson and black, but Billy’s eyes were blue-blue-blue-blue.
“Steve are you okay?!” Nancy was in front of him, grabbing at his arms.
He didn’t react, didn’t move, didn’t take his eyes off Billy for an instant. If he blinked, he thought desperately, Billy might disappear. This might turn out to be another dream. How many thousand times had he dreamed of Billy, since the day they’d lowered the coffin into the ground? How many times did he smell the faintest whiff of Billy’s cheap cologne before he was properly awake, and everything they had been was a memory again?
“You,” Billy huffed breathlessly, jabbing a finger at Steve; “You, I get. But what the fuck is my weed dealer doing here?”
“Holy shit man, you’re alive?” Eddie cried.
All Steve could hear was his own heartbeat roaring in his ears like a hurricane. Billy dropped the axe to the ground and stalked towards him.
“You’re dead,” Steve whispered, groggily as if he’d been beaten or drugged.
The fine lines around Billy’s blue-blue-blue eyes tightened.
“You’re dead,” Steve repeated, loud enough for the others to hear him this time.
Billy’s face shattered and he stopped just inside Steve’s space, reaching out a hand between them. Steve knocked it away and drew back.
“You’re…you’re dead. You’re dead. You’re dead, you’re dead, I FUCKING BURIED YOU you’re fucking dead, Billy! How are you-how-what-” Steve’s shout reverberated as if they were in a small room, making everyone jump. Far off, something let out a sinister cry.
The others watched on, with mixed levels of confusion and horror, as Billy made nonsense shushing noises and tried to catch one of Steve’s flailing hands, to grab any part of Steve, Steve whose breath was coming in hurried, frantic gasps, words tangled together.
“Steve, Steve, it’s ok, this is real, this is—baby!” Billy shouted.
That word echoed too, echoed like it had broken some kind of spell, because suddenly, Steve took a breath. He gasped, a rasping inhale that clawed raggedly down his throat. Billy held one of his trembling hands and pressed it to his chest.
“Baby, it’s really me, I’m here, okay? Baby, I promise you, I’m here.” Steve stared at their joined hands, then at Billy’s face.
“Billy?”
His bruised, bloody lips quirked. “Yeah, it’s me. And it's you...what are doing here, Steve?"
Steve fisted the hand pressed against Billy’s chest, catching him by the tank top and reeling him close, smashing their mouths together. He kept that fist clenched in Billy’s clothes, while the other plunged into the sweaty, disgusting mess of Billy’s hair, grasping. Billy wasted less than a second before wrapping one strong arm around Steve’s waist and the other around his shoulders, holding him closer than should have been comfortable. As they finally surfaced for air, Billy laid his hand on the side of his neck. His fingers were warm, hot, against Steve’s chilled skin.
“Is this real?” Steve whispered.
His cheek stung slightly when Billy smacked him none-too-gently, his palm to Steve’s jaw, like he had-
“Not bad, King Steve. You suck cock like a whore-”
“Move your ass,” Billy told him, his voice soft, careful, like he had-
“Neil would straight up kill me if he knew about you. If he knew about Maxine and that Sinclair kid. He’d put his goddamn pistol in my mouth and pull the trigger. He’s a fucking...he'd kill me.”
Robin grabbed his arm and dragged him along, as Billy led the way. He took away from the lake and into the woods, to a steel door in the ground, hidden by leaf cover. Eddie helped him grab the other side and they grunted with effort as they threw it open.
“Hey man, don’t take this the wrong way, but aren’t you dead?” Eddie asked, panting.
Billy shoved Eddie down the steps by the front of his Hell Raiser Club t-shirt. He went with a scared cry as he missed the first couple and caught himself.
“You gunna stand there staring at me like I kicked your fucking dog, or you gunna move your ass, Wheeler?” he growled, making an impatient circle with his hand. Her lips pursed, but she started down into the darkness. The same hand Billy stretched out towards Steve, tangled their fingers together until his bones protested, and led him down.
Yellow lights flickered into life as Robin found the switch. Billy slammed the door shut and locked it behind them without releasing Steve’s hand.
“What is this place?” Robin asked, looking around. There was a camp stretcher in one corner, boxes of canned food and empty ammunition containers.
“Tornado shelter? Or bomb shelter?” Nancy wondered.
“Don’t know. Could be either. It’s safe anyway. Those things haven’t found me yet, you know?” Billy responded.
“How long have you been here?” asked Nancy, interrupting. Billy jerked his chin at the wall behind them. There were tally marks scratched in the concrete.
“ ‘bout a year, near as I can tell,” his eyes cut back to Steve. “I don’t know how…I…I couldn’t get word out. Didn’t know how. I could…I could hear you, Steve. I could hear Max, I just couldn’t…”
“There was a body, Billy. I know, I…there was a body in the coffin. At Starcourt,” Steve whispered.
“I know. It…it was me, at Starcourt, I…that thing was inside me. Then, I…I dunno, Steve, I came to here. Been here ever since.” His jaw clenched.
Steve drew him closer by their linked fingers and pressed their foreheads together.
“We’re going home, Billy. We’re getting you home, okay?” he whispered.
ONE YEAR LATER
“MAXINE I SWEAR TO FUCKING CHRIST IF YOU DON’T MOVE YOUR ASS-”
“I am COMING! Holy shit, will you keep your shirt on,” Max snapped, emerging from the house with a backpack slung over one shoulder. She slammed the door behind her and glared at Billy.
He’d cut his hair short when he’d come back from the dead, half because his hair had been completely unsalvageable and half to assume his new identity. William Hopper, thanks to Jim’s secret contacts and a duffle bag full of mysterious cash that he’d returned from Russia with. It was a little longer at the back, curls sticking to his neck in the California heat. Home looked good on him, signature aviators perched on his freckled nose, open Hawaiian print shirt and colour-block printed boardshorts, neon green and purple and yellow. He was standing outside his car with the door open. It wasn’t his Camaro, but a GMC with a surf rack on the roof, all scraped together from spare parts.
As Max trotted down the path, he drummed his fingers on the roof impatiently, standing on the side-step. The breeze blowing in off the beach caught his shirt, and the sun beat down on them.
“It has been literally like, four hours, would you chill?” she demanded, sliding into the passenger seat as he started the car.
It coughed once, then roared to life. “First of all, you called Sinclair from a payphone at the airport. Second of all, put your seatbelt on and shut the fuck up.”
She grinned at him. Billy half-smiled back, rolling his window down as he checked the road and pulled out of their drive. Steve would be done with his classes for the day and was meeting them down at the pier for lunch, but all Billy wanted to do was hit the waves. The drive from Long Beach to their little slice of the Cali coastline was a couple of hours, so Billy had left in the early hours of the morning to meet Max’s flight. Steve had mumbled something that could have been drive safe when he’d kissed his bedhead goodbye, leaving him tangled in the sheets of their bed.
They tore down the main road, music roaring from the speakers, and Max shouting the lyrics with her hand hanging out the window. Steve must have heard them coming, because he was standing in front of a convenient empty park in the lot. His grown-up-gunna-be-a-teacher sports coat and slacks suited him, even though the thought of messing them up later made arousal tug at Billy’s stomach.
He grinned as the GMC was reflected in his Ray Bans, and hoisted a brand new second-hand longboard up from under his arm, waving it at Max.
She snorted. “Steve skates now?”
Billy gave her a shove. “No, shitbird, he bought it for you.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Are you serious? Are you serious? Holy shit!”
Without another word, and despite the fact the car was still technically rolling to a stop, she flung open the door and piled out.
“Hey! Hey, watch the damn….door, shit. Whatever.” He shook his head, pissed, and turned off the car.
Through the windscreen, he watched on as Max bounded over to Steve, who offered her the board like a knight proffering his sword to his liege. She bounced on her heels like a little kid, and nearly knocked him over when she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him fiercely. His own hug at the airport had been awkward and half-aborted, but it had been a hug. They hadn’t really talked much after the usual how’s Susan-how’s school-how’s the brats topics of conversation had been covered. The silence hadn’t really been uncomfortable, though, and it was a start.
Billy never thought he’d get this, not really. As Max glided off on her new wheels, Steve caught him staring and gave him a what can ya do kinda shrug as he wandered over to lean into the window. He grinned again, pushed his sunglasses up onto his head.
“What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?”
Billy chuckled. “You’re a fucking dork.”
His eyes were soft as he leaned in and stole a quick kiss. “C’mon, then, go do the water thing. I’m taking Max to get shakes.”
“Get me something with bubblegum,” Billy ordered, climbing out of the car. He stripped off his shirt and began undoing the straps on his surfboard.
“God, you’re a disgrace to everything ice cream. Yo, Max, let’s go! Your neanderthal brother wants possibly the worst milkshake known to man!”
“You fucking love this neanderthal, Harrington!” Billy shouted after him.
Steve looked over his shoulder and didn’t stop walking.
“Yeah, I really do,” he said, and flipped his Ray Bans back onto his face like he was the coolest motherfucker on the whole boardwalk.
Billy did not go a little weak at the knees. And if he did, there wasn’t a damn soul around to notice.