Chapter Text
The door slammed, and with it, the fiery and red-hot emotion seemed to evaporate from the house. It left only the dreary and bleak; the house transformed into a watercolour painting, soaked in black and white and grey.
Billy Hargrove didn’t smile at that. Maybe a month ago, when he used to get that spur of anger towards how he was punished for his step-sisters mistakes, he would have given that infamous manic smile, laced with only one intent. To provoke. But not today, and not tomorrow, and – most likely – never again.
That was his life, day after day, and guess what. Today was the exact same.
Max had been having her fun with those little friends of hers, doing whatever she always did at the arcade. It wasn’t just her friends, though; that Sinclair boy was way too close to her to just be friendly, and Steve Harrington was always there as some sad version of a babysitter.
She just hadn’t wanted to leave, hadn’t cared that Neil had set a curfew that night, of 6pm. Billy however, had cared much too much. It had been enough for Harrington to get suspicious when he grabbed Max by the upper arm and gave a slight yank towards the door, so he had backed off. Had waited outside for another half hour until he had known he was pushing the time way too far. Max didn’t fight when he had pulled her to leave that time.
The little shitbird had given a sarcastic greeting to Susan and Neil before stomping to her room, slamming the door. Susan left soon after.
Billy didn’t realise he was pressed against the wall until the corner of a hanging picture dug its way painfully into the back of his shoulder. Neil’s forearm wound its way against his neck, pressing and pressing. A small choked sound erupted from his throat before he could silence it.
Neil’s eyes grew darker.
“Dare I remind you?” His voice was deep and threatening, just like any other night.
Billy swallowed, and stared up slightly towards the ceiling; a last ditch attempt to avoid Neil’s gaze. “Respect and Responsibility.”
Neil tilted his head. “You’ll do good to look at me when I’m talking to you boy. Respect and Responsibility and what?”
“Respect and Responsibility,” Billy repeated, “sir.”
Neil smirked. “And what happened tonight, huh?”
“Picked Max up too late.” His throat was beginning to hurt. “Messed up my responsibility.”
Neil shoved his arm further into Billy’s throat, and his hands raised to grip the arm as he spluttered and choked, air leaving his lungs faster than it was going in.
A second passed. Then another.
It felt like hours to Billy.
The arm released from his neck, and he bent a little, arm braced around his stomach as he gasped. He leant further back against the wall, ignoring the picture frame in his back, as his head spun.
Neil forced his head back straight. Whatever he was looking for in Billy’s eyes, he didn’t find it. “You know what, I don’t think you understand yet boy, do you?”
There was no attempt to answer, his breath barely starting to steady out again.
Neil’s hand gripped the top of his unbuttoned shirt, and yanked him forwards. Billy felt the air rush around him. The pressure released.
There was a slight breaking noise hidden behind his choked back groan as he hit the kitchen counter, back smashing into a glass. A fuzzy figure seemed to be approaching, and he straightened up, biting the inside of his cheek in preparation.
He wasn’t disappointed: the fist came, sharp and quick, colliding with the right side of his nose, part of his eye, and his entire cheek. It wasn’t too bad. The next fist came, hitting the other side. Billy was smart enough to not attempt to dodge, or dare fight back, at this point. He knew that would only make it worse.
He knew that from experience.
The third fist felt like the first, and the backhand that arrived after was no better. He prided himself that it took about six hits to the face, and two elbows to the stomach, before he was fully on the ground with his arms curled around his head in a sad attempt to protect himself from the onslaught.
Billy knew it was over when he reached the floor. Really, it was over before it started, but this was when he fully caught on again. Neil’s steel-capped boots landed again and again onto his side and back; his stomach and chest. They had an unspoken rule: the boots don’t go anywhere near his face, or people would be way too suspicious.
Blood dribbled out the corner of his trembling lips, pooling on the floor as he laid on his side, eyes closing. It was better not to see it.
If only he could focus more, he might have heard the music seeping out from Max’s room and latched onto it as comfort, but his mind was blacking out before he had the chance.
Billy woke later, the sky darker – from what he could see through the small kitchen window above his view – with his head pounding. He used an arm to prop himself up, leaning back until he found the kitchen counter. Blood dribbled down his forearm and he frowned, eyes creasing. There wasn’t much pain anymore, but he figured that would come later when his muscles started to stiffen and spasm. It usually did.
He assumed that it was well past dinner time, and that Neil had taken Susan and Max out the back way, and then to some sort of restaurant. The man didn’t like them seeing his body laying there after their discussion. Maybe he was worried that Susan would finally break and go tell someone, like a friend or police officer or anyone. Billy snorted, then regretted the pain that shot through his nose. Susan didn’t care for him, and as long as Neil didn’t go anywhere near Max with that drunk smell and twitching hand, no-one would ever know.
He almost crawled up the side of the counter as he attempted to regain his balance on his feet, and gave a slight wince. The rest of the family was probably back while he was still unconscious.
A door shut in the background, a light switch turning off. Billy nodded to himself. The rest of the house must have just finished going to bed. He had to be absolutely silent now. Not that he didn’t have to mind the noise earlier, but now it was crucial.
Only stumbling a few times, he made it back to his room, pressing the door shut very carefully.
It was relatively easy to clean up: swap his shirt, use the old one to dab the blood away, lay an old cloth down on his bed to soak up the blood when he laid down. Billy poked his ribs a little when he eased himself down onto the bed, praying they weren’t broken.
He knew broken ribs, and this wasn’t it. Luckily. Bruises would heal quick enough. His eyes closed again, blanket only half over him.
Billy was awoken by his alarm, arm reaching over to turn it off. Groaning, he stretched a little, and hissed. Just about everything hurt. It wasn’t the worst he’d ever had, considering that Neil’s conversation with him had only taken about twenty minutes, he supposed.
Neil tended to call them either lessons or conversations about Respect and Responsibility, so Billy followed in his footsteps and called them that too. It didn’t change the outcome, so he didn’t care. He messed up anyway, by not just dragging Max out of there, kicking and screaming, so that they ended up home on time. But when he saw the shock and disgust in Harrington’s eyes when he first grabbed for Max, he couldn’t go through with it.
Billy sighed. He made his way to the bathroom, having a shower as quickly as possible as not to waste hot water and risk another conversation, blatantly ignoring the dark colours that littered his chest and legs. Jeans would cover some of those, and he wouldn’t be able to leave his shirt unbuttoned today. How annoying.
He spent thirty seconds brushing his teeth, before heading to Max’s room to get her up. He didn’t want to be late today. Well, that wasn’t quite right. He didn’t want to annoy Neil again today, though he knew that it was just a matter of time.
His step-sister woke quickly, sticking her tongue out at him before shoving him back through her door and shutting it. He debated giving her door the finger, but sighed slightly and walked away. By the time Max made it to the kitchen, Billy had cleaned the dried blood that laid threateningly on the floor, and put together a bowl of cereal for her.
Neil was alright with her having cereal a few times during the week, but never on the weekend. Billy had to do a full cook up for her, then.
Max scoffed the food down after she sat, with Billy standing closer to the front door, fingers fiddling with his car keys. Billy chose not to eat that morning. Actually, he chose not to eat most mornings, instead having a cigarette in the car, or during first break.
He didn’t say anything when he drove Max to school. She still seemed pretty pissed after he tried to take her from her friends yesterday, and chose to follow his lead by not saying anything.
She didn’t slam the door when she hopped out and raced to find her friends, and for that Billy was thankful. He liked his blue Camaro undamaged.
The first class was shit but he didn’t skip it. It was easier to skip class three because he could just not turn up after break, and there generally wasn’t as much suspicion, due to the teachers always forgetting to check who was there and who wasn’t.
It was English. They were reading some book by Austen; Pride and Prejudice, maybe? He didn’t really like her literature. It was always just romance between some stuck-up bastard and prissy princess. Some other books were alright, like the few that his mother had given him, and he somewhat enjoyed reading them, but Neil always said it was a one way ticket to looking weak, and then he had torn them all up. Billy didn’t read much after that.
He ignored the teacher as she finished talking and walked around the classroom for a few minutes, peering over everyone’s shoulders. She stopped at his table.
“You aren’t excluded from this, William.”
He winced a little at his full name. He didn’t like that.
Billy glanced up at her slightly.
“Get onto the assignment. You don’t want detention, do you?” She raised an eyebrow.
He shook his head a little and picked up a blank sheet of paper and pencil. Not having listened, he had no clue what to do, but she apparently thought that was a good start, and went back to her table at the front of the room.
The class didn’t go fast enough.
He couldn’t wait, and skipped second class. Making his way out to his car, a cigarette found its way into his hand. Hours passed and Billy stayed there, his back stiffening in pain, with no thought of going back into class.
Eventually, his cigarette gone and mind fogging, he laid on the front seat inside the car, praying for a little more sleep. Not like he was tired of course, just waiting for Max to finish school. Totally. He fell asleep much quicker than he expected.
A knock sounded against the glass of the windows, shocking Billy’s mind back into consciousness. He groaned, rubbing a fist against his eye. Max peered in, frowning. She whacked the window again with her palm and gave him an annoyed stare.
He narrowed his eyes and sent her a frustrated glare back before pushing himself up to grab the keys. She slid into the car soon later, and opened her mouth as if to ask a question. He knew what was coming, considering that he had been asleep in his car during school hours, so he cut her off by backing out of the carpark as loudly as he could.
While driving towards the carpark exit, he felt eyes on him and looked back only to find Harrington staring. He didn’t look angry, just concerned? Billy thought he looked concerned, but it wasn’t like there was a reason. Nothing was wrong.
“Your eye.”
He whirled his head back to look at Max when she spoke, breaking eye contact with Harrington.
He sighed and rested an arm on the top of the steering wheel as he sped down the road. “What is it now?”
She looked conflicted. “It’s really badly bruised. Like, worse than this morning.”
Ah, so that’s what Harrington was looking at.
“It’s fine, don’t you care about that, shitbird.” It was most definitely not fine, considering that he rubbed that same eye with his fist earlier. So that’s why it hurt.
Actually, if he were to be honest with himself, his ribs were hurting much more than any black eye would, but he wasn’t about to go and admit that to Max. She was better not knowing. Billy didn’t think that she knew much about what Neil did to him, either. Well, everyone could hear the threats and yelling, but her music was usually on before the punching started. Lucky her.
He vaguely realised that she was talking. Something about getting ice, and why would he get into another fight?, and sleeping in his car through class was apparently bad. He cut her off.
“Not your business.” He forced a somewhat friendly face, though no smile.
“Yes, but –“
He slammed a hand on the steering wheel. “I said, not your business.”
Billy regretted it instantly, but didn’t say anything further. It wasn’t like he was looking for something to be mad at Max for, but she was just horrible and got on his nerves and didn’t listen to what he wanted. Well, nobody ever listened to what he wanted, but he couldn’t be forced to talk about Neil’s brilliant parenting with Max, and he wasn’t going to. She could survive without that information.
She could just stay in that happy life with Susan as her mother, and Neil being that nice but slightly strange stepfather that loved her the best he could. There was no room for Billy in that life.
Beside him, Max was quiet. He removed his hand from the steering wheel and ran a hand through his hair.
She left the car as soon as they got home. Today was one of those special days that she didn’t go to the arcade with her little friends. Billy wasn’t sure if he was pleased by that or not.
He went inside a few seconds after Max: not quick enough for her to find something to anger her, and not slow enough for Susan or Neil to think Max got home on her own. Staying inside his bedroom doing a fast homework session and lounging around for a while, he only got up when Neil asked threateningly for him to join the rest of the family for dinner.
Neil, seeming like he knew how much Billy wanted to leave the table, asked him to do the dishes after eating, and he groaned in confirmation.
That night was bad, because even though Neil hadn’t gone for him again, the bruises from the day before were still hot and fiery, especially when his shirt rubbed against them.
The next day wasn’t any better. He didn’t skip any classes that day, but Max seemed to be in a bad mood when she arrived at his Camaro in the afternoon. She demanded he drop her at the arcade. Billy was planning on it anyway, but he didn’t say anything. He stayed silent while they drove, and when she opened the car door a bit too forcefully, but he just had to remind her the time before she scurried off to meet her friends.
“I’ll be here at six. You’re late, and you skate home.” Billy pointed his first finger at her, scowling.
She deemed him not worthy of a reply. With her middle finger in the air towards him, she ran off. He waited until he could see that she went safely inside, and turned his head, starting to back out of the arcade carpark.
He was cut off when he heard someone shout. Well, not quite a shout, just his name being called out.
Searching, he locked eyes with Harrington. For the sake of god, Harrington? Billy wasn’t too surprised to see him here, considering that he babysat the kids most of the time, but he was shocked that Harrington was trying to speak to him.
The guy was on the other side of the carpark, sitting on the hood of his car. Billy noticed that he was lacking the regular cigarette in his waving hand. He sped over, faint skid marks laying on the ground behind his car.
He rolled his window even further. “What do you want?”
“Your marvellous company?” Harrington grinned.
“Shut up,” Billy growled. “Everyone knows you’re failing English, no need for the special vocabulary.”
He wanted a reason to get mad. With a glare, he turned to drive away.
“Wait!” Harrington put a hand out. “Just, ya know, was concerned.”
Billy backed his car away.
“I’m concerned because Max is concerned, and I tend to listen to her.” He explained, hands flying around in expression.
He watched those hands intently, flinching as they got progressively aggressive. The words registered.
“Oh for fucks sake, Harrington. I’m fine, Max is just a little bitch sometimes.”
“Don’t call Max a bitch.” His voice turned sour. “God, I don’t know why I even try.”
Billy frowned to himself. He didn’t know why Harrington tried, either.
Ignoring his internal debates, Billy smirked. “Have fun with the nerds, pretty boy.”
He drove away. When he was a reasonable distance from the arcade, he groaned. Pretty boy? Really? God, of all the names he could have chosen to call the other, it had to be that one.
He glanced at a little clock he kept in his car. Almost four thirty. Plenty of time to kill. Best place to do that was the quarry. And that was where he found himself, about a quarter of an hour later.
Yet another cigarette found its way into his hand, and he smoked it with a sad look on his face.
What would have happened if he dared to tell someone - Harrington, his mind unhelpfully offered - about his father? He knew the other kid had some pretty rich, kinda famous parents. Maybe they had a connection with some alright cops? Some cops that weren’t scumbags, like those in Cali, and the ones he had already met here. He allowed his mind to wander for a few minutes, drowning in the thoughts of life getting better, or at least more bearable, before he forced it back to reality.
He would never tell anyone. Even if he did, Harrington would probably laugh and say that he was getting precisely what he deserved. Plus, there were no good cops. Not in Cali, not here, not anywhere else. He could confidently say that from experience. They were all out to get teens like him. Rowdy teens who got in fights and acted out for no reason. His father had reinforced that thought into his mind back when he thought threatening Neil with police would make him stop.
He also learned pretty early on that Neil had been a Marine. That discussion didn’t end well.
The rest of the time passed somewhat quickly, though it didn't feel like it. He had spent most of the time inside his own head, anyway.
Billy got back to the arcade right on time, but saw no one outside. With a groan, he unlocked the door, and stepped out, preparing to go in and drag Max out, even if Harrington didn’t like it. He didn’t care what Harrington thought.
They were so obvious when he walked through the door; loud and excited and jumping around. He frowned. No one would ever want to do something like that with him.
Harrington evidently saw him, and swung back around to tell Max. Billy could tell the exact second that she got the news; her smile fell, arms wrapped around her middle, her face seeming to darken.
He didn’t let that affect him, and just kept walking. They had to get home soon, or Neil would be furious again. In the back of his mind, Billy knew that no matter what happened, Neil would always find a reason to be mad. He still wanted to get Max home on time, though.
“Hey, man, we aren’t done here yet.” Steve spoke up, voice hard but a smile plastered on his face.
Billy would have turned and walked right back out the door then if he could have. “Too bad, it’s time to go, Max.”
He acted as if Harrington wasn’t important at all, and aimed the majority of his sentence towards his step-sister.
Steve took a somewhat threatening step in front of Max, as if to protect her from Billy’s wrath. He wasn’t feeling mad, however, just tired and a bit sad.
“Max, we have to go. Neil set a curfew.”
She pushed Harrington slightly out of the way, but still stayed behind him a bit. Billy’s heart was breaking by the second. He was going to have to use force to get her out of there, or give up and leave, facing Neil’s anger the moment he arrived home, alone. They weren’t good options.
“Go home, Billy.” Max snarked. “I’ll get a ride, later, when I’m finished.”
He stepped forwards, and Steve shoved a finger into his shoulder, glaring. “You don’t go near her.”
Billy did his best to hide the pain that shot through his shoulder from the spot where Harrington pressed, and stepped backwards. “Last time, Maxine. We need to go, now. We’re going to be late.”
He was fully aware that he sounded desperate by that point. Harrington’s face changed, as if he realised that something was up. “Hey, Max…”. He trailed off.
“No, Steve.” Max said to him, before turning back to Billy, and lowering her tone. “Fuck off, Billy.”
He felt the sides of his eyes water. This wasn’t going well. “Please, Max, you don’t understand what Ne-”. He cut himself off, realising what he was admitting to. Not that he didn’t think Max already knew, but everyone else was there too. Damn, he even said please to Max, for maybe the first time ever; that was way too weak.
Max snarled. “What, you can’t deal with your own father yelling a few words at you? Aren’t you always saying, ooh I’m older than you, respect me?” Her voice turned to an imitation of his own. “Well, Neil’s older than you, so how about you show him some respect?”
Billy reared back.
Respect and Responsibility.
A tear slipped from his eye, and he turned while wiping it away, hoping no one saw. His voice was gruff when he replied. “Find your own way home, Mad Max.”
The name wasn’t meant to be an insult or anything, but Harrington still snapped right back at him, with the whole “don’t you call her that.”.
The door swung back as he left, banging. He flinched. Didn’t try to hide it.
If he had only stayed around another second or two, he would have heard Steve asking Max if it was really necessary to take it that far, and Max’s slight sob.
Billy was shaking all over by the time he reached his car. His hands trembled too hard to open the door, and he had to shake them out a few times - cursing violently as he did - before they worked properly.
There was always the option of just driving away and never coming back, but Max’s words were running through his head. It wasn’t just yelling, duh, but did his stupid, little, step-sister really not know that? He slammed a hand against the steering wheel.
“Fuck.” Even his voice was wobbling.
His car went straight home, pulling up outside in his normal stop. He tried to steady his breathing. Maybe Neil wasn’t home.
He knew there wasn’t a chance of that being true.
He didn’t know how he got to the door from his car anyway, but the door opened before he even managed to get his keys out. Neil was standing there with a grave expression on his face and his hands slightly clenched.
“You’re late.” He stated, voice steady. His neck craned over Billy’s shoulder. “Where is your sister?”
Billy didn’t correct him about the step-sister part. “She wanted more time at the arcade, even said that she’d get someone to give her a ride home.”
“But that wasn’t what I asked of you, was it?”
He looked down. “No, sir.”
“Look at me.”
He did.
“Hand over the keys.” Neil’s face seemed redder than it had a minute ago.
Billy hardly dared to hope that this was the only punishment. He grabbed the car keys that were stuffed in his pocket, and handed them over, hiding a frown.
Neil gave an impatient smirk. “And the house ones.”
His face paled. This was new. It was better to obey quickly, he knew, and handed those ones over as well.
The older one gave a threatening smile. “Come on in, Susan isn’t here now. Also, you said Max wanted more time at the arcade, so why don’t we have a little talk before the both of them get back?”
Billy fought to keep his mouth straight. “Yes, sir.”
They didn’t make it further than the kitchen before the first thing came.
It was just a slap to the face, nice and easy and simple, but to Billy, it was a warning that his face wouldn’t be avoided this time.
Neil’s hand gripped at his wrist, squeezing tightly. That wasn’t too bad, he could deal with it. The stinging from his face was barely noticeable, too, as he was way too focused on his father’s face, which was changing emotions quicker than he thought was possible.
It landed on empty calmness. Billy swallowed.
“Respect and Responsibility. Are you smart enough to understand what those words mean, or have I been spewing bullshit to you for your entire life?”
“Respect and Responsibility,” he repeated back, a bird singing to its owner. “I understand.”
“Oh really?”
The punch came so quick that he didn’t know it happened until the shoulder that Harrington had poked earlier was throbbing with pain. It took all his effort to not bend over, hiding as well as he could.
“Yes, Sir,” he mumbled.
Neil snarled in his face, “I can’t hear you.”
His arm reached up to press Billy against the kitchen wall by his throat. Billy let out a panicked choking noise. It was always hard to breathe, let alone push the other man off when this happened.
He stared him in the face. “Ye-yes Sir.”
Mentally, he kicked himself for stuttering. There was no way Neil wouldn’t pick up on that.
He did. “What have I told you about stuttering, boy?”
“Not to,” Billy did his best to reply.
“Exactly, and what did you just do?” The pressure increased around his throat.
Billy made a grabbing motion towards the arm holding his neck back, before it fell limply to his side. His mouth opened in an attempt to speak, but nothing came out.
Neil increased the pressure to burning amounts for a few seconds, before rearing back in disgust, eyes glancing over Billy’s dishevelled form. Another punch came. And then another. He could barely tell what was in pain at that point; it was probably everything.
The next thing he realised was that he was flying across the room, back smashing into the top of the kitchen counter. He grimaced in pain, getting up and staring at Neil. His vision was fuzzy around the edges this time, and his head was pounding. The man was walking closer.
Billy noticed the glass of water on the other half of the counter way too late, and Neil was already there, picking it up with blood coated fists.
The contents came flying towards him, and Billy held back a wince when the water attacked his wounds. It wasn’t too bad, and surely it meant that Neil was done. Surely.
Apparently not. The cup itself smashed at his feet, covering the floor around him with shattered glass. Neil smirked and walked forwards threateningly, before delivering a solid kick to his slightly bent knees. Billy couldn’t keep back the small gasp as his knees buckled and he landed in the glass. It cut deep, stinging as he writhed around in an attempt to stand back up.
Neil looked down on him with utter contempt, before kicking down hard on his back, leaving him sprawled in the glass, his face feeling shredded to pieces. Obviously, there was another kick, then a third, and a forth, and he lost count after that.
Unconsciously, he curled in towards himself, hands grasping his hair in hopes to protect his head, and shut his eyes tightly. This was going on far too long for his liking.
There was a pause. He hoped it was done. Not that being done did much, because this was the kind of hurt that he’d genuinely consider going to the hospital for. If he could stay awake, at least. But nope, Neil's footsteps thundered away from him for a second, before coming right back, ridding Billy of any hope or relief he had conjured up.
He couldn’t see much, blood from his forehead dripping down into his eyes, but the violent sting that struck his side was recognisable. Neil must have gotten one of his belts. Billy couldn’t stop the scream that echoed out from his bloody mouth, and only got more injured as a result.
It just wouldn’t end. He was fairly sure that Neil had forgotten what he was annoyed about in the first place. Wait. Max. Max and Susan.
He didn’t know when they would be home, but surely it was soon. Well, he didn’t know much about Susan, but Max would definitely be back soon, unless she chose to stay over at a friend’s place. It had to be at least 7pm, meaning that Neil had been going ham on him for at least three quarters of an hour.
The belt was still coming down again and again, welts forming on his bare wrists and ankles and neck. His face was still somewhat protected by his shaking hands. The pain was probably the worst he had ever felt, and it was only getting worse.
A final strike came down on his side, Billy flinching away and crying out. He heard a thump on the ground and assumed that Neil had discarded the blood-caked belt.
He didn’t move as the older man crouched down a little, staring daggers at his scrunched up face and clamped shut eyes. He gave a snort of distaste, and leaned back a little. Billy assumed that he was raising a clenched fist.
He leaned back a little, as if hoping to avoid the pain. Billy prayed it wasn’t his face about to get attacked. Surprisingly, it wasn’t.
The fist cracked down somewhere between his collarbone and shoulder, harsh and bloody. A scream erupted from Billy’s mouth as he felt something in his shoulder disconnect and that hand go limp against his ear.
His eyes flew open, red and tired, as the tears began to flow freely down his face, leaving wet tracks through the sweat and blood. He began writhing around again, the glass on the floor digging deeper into his skin.
The fist of the slightly less injured arm began banging a little against his skull, gradually but consistently increasing as he tried to fall unconscious. It was his first response in terms of avoiding the pain that was streaming down the nerves in his arms, and in that moment, Billy knew he wouldn’t be afraid to admit that this was too much.
Way too much, and he doubted he could take anymore. Distantly, he realised that his mouth was open wide, still screaming, and the fist banging against his head was only making things worse.
He didn’t stop.
But apparently, Neil did.
Not that it made much difference, but he was glad. It gave him more time to try to gather himself, clean his blood off the floor and wall and counter, and get to his room before Max got back.
He didn’t have the energy to get up, though, and couldn’t stop screaming or banging his head. He wasn’t sure he had much control over any of his limbs anyway.
It took the sounds of light footsteps walking into the house to realise that Neil only stopped because someone was home. He hoped it wasn’t Max. He was almost completely confident that Susan would barely shoot him a glance before heading to her room for the night. Max, however, well, he didn’t know how she would react. Billy had been sure she knew about the violence, but according to her outburst at the arcade earlier that day, she didn’t.
He was right, on both accounts. It was Susan, and she did walk right past him. She did let out a small gasp, then a long, quiet sigh, which he hadn’t expected.
He was doing a lot of hoping, and some seemed to help, so he hoped that Max stayed at a friend’s place tonight.
She wasn’t there, but he spoke as if she was anyway, the screams finally breaking off.
“Showed him some respect, didn’t I, Max? Didn’t fight or speak back or anything, trust me.” He almost begged the nonexistent Max as if he needed her to believe him, tears rolling down his face, the world fading before him.
He wasn’t sure, but judging by the lack of light outside the kitchen window, it was well and truly into the night. He must have been laying there, unconscious to the world, for several hours. There was a flurry of white outside the window, and Billy squinted a little, distinguishing the shapes. It was snow.
It was snowing. Must be why the inside of the house was so cold. He thought that it was because of his evident blood loss, but it was now probably a combination of both. Unfortunately.
A small groan left his mouth as his slightly less injured arm bent at the elbow and pressed against the ground, a sad attempt at sitting up. His head spun, and he leant to the side, violently spewing up bile and stomach acid - a result of his lack of eating that day.
It burned his throat as it came up, before splattering on the dry-blood-stained floor. He moved his hand, trying to avoid the foul liquid, but it went all the way down his front, sticky and smelling. Billy choked, hand grasped at his sore throat, and inhaled quickly and sharply. The air just wasn’t going in well.
He threw up for what seemed like hours, but was most likely about fifteen minutes. There were a few panicky moments when he couldn’t breathe because of the liquid stuck in his throat, and he genuinely thought he was dying, but it eventually eased.
“Fuck…” he muttered, glancing around.
There was no way he was getting all this cleaned up, and, assuming that Max stayed at someone’s place, his best option was to maybe get in his car, and hang out the rest of the night somewhere else. The quarry, maybe.
He would probably die there, if he ever made it. These weren’t the kind of injuries that healed by themselves.
Billy laid back down on the sticky floor. Neil had taken his car keys, and even his copy of the house ones. There was no getting out.
He raised the hand on the less injured arm - his left - and tried to pick up his right hand. Nothing much happened, nor did the expected pain spike up to his shoulder, and through the rest of his body. His right hand and arm were limp and bloody; a mess. Laying the right hand back down, he reached up to poke at the shoulder.
The shoulder Harrington had shoved just earlier today. God, that felt like such a long time ago. He felt something move under his hand, and then the pain came.
A guttural scream erupted through his lungs and into the air around him, echoing and increasing in volume. If possible, he would say that his own eardrums burst with the utter volume of the pain. It was worse, so so so much worse, than what it felt like when Neil first attacked it. He didn’t bother trying to mute the screams that kept coming, he just rolled over a bit, hiding his face in the glass and blood covered floor. The pricks that came to his face were a slight distraction from the complete agony that was his shoulder, but it didn’t do any help.
For fucks sake, what the hell was wrong with his shoulder? This wasn’t some kind of break, he already knew what that felt like. Maybe a dislocation, but surely that wasn’t that painful? He had heard that when the ends of the bones were popped back into place, it was even worse than it first felt like. How could anything be worse than this?
It might not be dislocated anyway - he wasn’t a doctor, he didn’t know any fancy terms for injuries. Billy finally realised what his screams would bring, and he slapped his left hand over his mouth, the cries of pain dying off.
It was too late. Neil’s footsteps thundered against the floor as he approached, staring down at his son. There was a moment's pause before he spoke for the first time since lecturing Billy.
“You’ve woken up the whole house, boy. Stop with that awful noise.” It was a command, one that Billy usually wouldn’t dare not listen to.
A tear slipped from the side of his eye, pressed right up against the floor as he silenced himself.
It was enough to set Neil right off.
“That’s it, get up.”
He glanced at the older, debating about whether he was serious or not. He was. Struggling up into a position with his back leaning against the bottom of the kitchen counter, Neil decided that he was taking too long. Billy could sense this the moment Neil lunged forward towards him, grabbing at his injured shoulder.
Billy closed his eyes in pain holding back the screams that he had just let go of, a few moments ago. The room spun as he began blacking out again, and unconsciously leaning towards the other for stability. He was shoved over, towards the door, and tripped over his own feet, landing right back onto the floor. A stray piece of glass lodged itself just above his left knee.
He stumbled to his feet, blood dripping from a reopened cut into his eyes. Through a haze of red, he limped heavily to the door, finding it still unlocked, and tripped down the stairs on his way out. Looking back, Billy groaned in pain. Neil didn’t even spare him a glance, instead shutting the door with a slam.
A small snowflake landed on Billy’s torn nose, sinking into the wounds. He shivered, letting the sting settle into his bones.
He barely got a few steps before collapsing, face first into the rising snow.
The next time Billy woke, there was no telling what time it was. It was still as dark as earlier. If he were being honest with himself, he hadn’t been sure that he would wake up this time. It was too cold, and everything hurt way too much, and he didn’t particularly want to deal with life at that point. Forcing his dreary eyes down to his crumpled up hands, he noticed the purple spreading from his fingertips down the rest of his hands. That didn’t look too good.
About a half hour later, he forced himself to stand, pushing through the several layers of snow that had begun to bury him. Tripping forwards, he made about fifty metres down the road before stopping and kneeling down.
His head cradled in his hands, blood staining the snow a bright red, Billy started entertaining the idea that this was actually it, that he wasn’t getting out alive.
Hours seemed to pass, and he fought to keep his eyes open; he wasn’t going out without a fight.
Dimly, he realised that he must have been close to the road, when a bright light flashed past him. Either that, or it was the end. The familiar sound of a car disagreed with that statement. It was gone as soon as he heard it. Fuck. That was probably his only chance of survival, and he didn’t even do anything about it.
Billy fell sideways, injured shoulder hitting the snowed ground, eyes closing. He couldn’t bring the energy to scream one final time, instead just letting out a small groan as his head hit the ground.
The car sound was back. A pause, as the door opened, and then some hurried footsteps, the snow slowing the person down.
“Hargrove?” The voice was familiar.
Billy pried his frozen eyelids open. It lasted a few seconds before they shut again, blocking out the world.
“Hey, pretty boy.”
He didn’t hear a reply.