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Chapter Text

Late September, 1874

Hawkins, Texas

A tall, silent shadow slipped down the narrow alley between the millinery and the general store. The figure kept its head bent, cloaked as it was by the midnight darkness and a worn black coat. It stalked quickly and soundlessly from one end of town to the other without disturbing so much as a blade of grass. The Sheriff’s old hunting dog didn’t even lift his head from his paws to whine for attention as the shadow disappeared behind the blacksmith’s workshop, barely marking the dusty ground with its well-worn boots.

After checking to make sure that nobody had noticed or followed him, Steve squinted into the pitch darkness of the forge and whispered softly: “Billy? Are you here?”

The answer was much louder than he’d been expecting, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when Billy drawled from somewhere to his left: “Of course I am, pretty boy. Where the hell else would I be when you told me you’d be dropping by tonight?” 

“Is that what these little meet-ups are going to be called now, Hargrove? Me dropping by?” 

“Well you ain’t dropping those fancy trousers of yours, are you? So there must be another reason you’re here on this fine evening.”

Steve heard a quiet schnick and watched a match flicker to life, a single circle of light in the pitch black. The dancing yellow-and-orange flame illuminated a handsome, smirking face as Billy lifted his match to light the cigarette hanging from his mouth. He inhaled carefully until a small, uneven circle of cherry red flared in the pitch black. Even though he couldn’t see them clearly, Steve knew the blue of those eyes better than he knew the layout of his family home. He could spend endless days mapping their colors and designs and basking in the adoration that swirled at their depths. 

But now wasn't the time for daydreaming. He had important information to pass along.

“I’m worried, Bills.”

“About what? Are you about to give me the mitten, darlin'?”

“Of course I’m not! I love you too much to play childish courting games like that. But haven’t you heard the latest news from the northern territories?” Steve stepped closer to the glow of Billy’s quirlie, reaching out to wipe a bit of coal dust from his lover’s freckled cheek. The apprentice blacksmith exhaled a perfect ring of smoke, a trick Steve couldn’t dream of replicating, and shook his head. His golden curls were pulled into a ponytail low on Billy's neck, but they still bounced with the movement.

“Nothin’ out of the ordinary. Who was flapping their jaw at the store this time?”

“Sheriff Hopper,” Steve frowned. They were practically chest-to-chest in the stillness of the forge; his hands settled over Billy’s hips like that alone would keep them both safe. Like that could keep them together, always. “According to the express messenger that arrived in town at sunrise, Henry Creel’s posse robbed the bank in Tippecanoe last week.”

“What’s that matter to us, pretty boy? If the Creel gang robs the bank then they rob the bank; that shit is insured.”

“Well, they also rustled an entire herd of cattle from the only rancher in town. They burned down the general store and feed mill on their way out. There were... There were two survivors, Bills.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” Steve frowned. One of Billy’s strong, warm hands cupped his cheek and lifted his face until their gazes met. Even in the gloom, Billy’s gaze shone with fearless determination. He mashed the end of his dead cigarette against the wall behind him and snarled fiercely.

“Nothin’ and no one is getting anywhere near enough to cause you harm, darlin’. I won’t let them.”

Steve swayed closer, catching one of Billy’s stray curls between his fingers. “Billy, sweetheart…”

“Just ‘cause your Pa wants you to call on someone with a bit more cash to their name doesn’t mean I’m giving you up easy, Harrington. I'll get you down the aisle, yet.”

“Good, because I don’t want to keep company with anyone else,” Steve leaned close enough that their lips brushed with every murmured word. “Never, you hear?”

“Like a train whistle in a long tunnel. You’re not gonna set your heart on some other spark while I save up enough for a proper wedding?”

“Didn’t you hear me, Hargrove? I'm never going to love anyone else as much as I love you.”

With his news shared and their vows of love exchanged, Steve fell into Billy’s embrace. His handsome blacksmith was water in the desert. Shade on a hot day. A warm meal after a hard shift at the store. Billy was everything, and Steve never wanted to let him go. Never wanted to leave the comfort and safety offered by his ash-streaked arms. 

Which is why, two nights later, Steve's Pa had to cover his mouth with both hands as he desperately clawed for freedom and screamed Billy’s name. Henry Creel’s right-hand man had thrown a lit kerosene lantern through the front window of the blacksmith’s house, and smoke poured from both the upstairs and downstairs windows. No one could have possibly survived an inferno like that, especially not one that moved so quickly and burned so hot. 

Hidden behind a false door in the Harrington family’s enormous stables, Steve watched his heart burn to ash. 

And then the posse turned heel together and approached the general store…

Chapter Text

October, 1874

Wichita, Texas

Late on a Tuesday afternoon, just before sunset, a strange young man limped his way across the Wichita county line. He ignored the curious glances of the locals as he slowly made his way down Main Street. The stranger’s nose and mouth were covered by a deep blue kerchief to keep dust from getting into his lungs, and the only thing keeping his tangled curls from falling into his face was a plain, wide-brimmed black hat. 

He led a tired chestnut gelding loosely by the reins.

The man kept shooting nervous, almost disbelieving glances at the two girls perched in the saddle behind him, his sharp blue eyes the only defining features still visible beneath his hat and bandana. It seemed, to the small smattering of onlookers, that he was continually checking to make sure they hadn’t fallen off or somehow disappeared. 

The traveler was twitchy. Layers of dust, dirt, and ash covered the majority of his thin cotton undershirt. The fact he’d given up his heavy, long-sleeved flannel shirt to one of the vacant-eyed girls on the horse told enough of their story to keep the nosy locals at bay. For that, the young stranger was endlessly thankful. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could shoulder his heartbreak before it crushed him. 

He asked for directions to the cleanest hotel in town and followed the instructions of a round-faced baker with a placid smile. Grateful but exhausted to the point of near incoherence, the man shouldered his way inside with one child clinging tightly to either of his hands. The balding manager smiled and offered both little girls a penny-toffee, which the brunette accepted with an almost-smile in return. “Thank you, Mister.”

The redhead took her toffee from his palm more slowly, clearly less trusting, and offered a jerky nod in thanks. She smiled with the same wanness as the brunette when she unwrapped it and popped it into her mouth, however. That brief, fleeting sight calmed something in the stranger he hadn’t yet known was weighing on his mind.

With the girls distracted and enjoying their treats, the hotel employee turned his attention to the stranger. “And how may I help you, sir?” 

“I need one room with two beds, if you’ve got one free.”

“Luckily, I have two available. Would you like to use the washroom, as well?”

“You have a washroom inside the building?” the man narrowed his eyes. “That seems real fancy and expensive.”

“The local barber does business next door. Found out it would be cheaper to install one pump and share the cost back when we built the place, so you’re welcome to haggle with him for a discounted bath.”

“Please?” the redhead suddenly blurted. Her wide blue eyes began to water. “I can’t stand smelling like smoke anymore.”

“How about we see how much money we’ve got left when we get upstairs, alright?”

“Alright.”

“How much is the room?” he asked the desk attendant. 

“The room’ll cost you a dollar, but dinner comes free.”

He agreed that a dollar was more than fair for both a room and a hot meal for three people. The stranger handed over his money with hands that were moments away from shaking from exhaustion. He couldn’t show too much weakness, though – especially now that there were two children relying on him for protection and care. 

The employee opened his heavy guest ledger and poised a dented fountain pen over one of the numbered lines. “Can I get your name, sir?”

There was a brief pause while the young man exchanged a look with the redheaded girl. Then he answered, “My name’s William Harrington. These are my sisters, Maxine and Eleanor Harrington.”

The brunette girl curtseyed shyly and the redhead jerked her chin again. The desk attendant frowned and pointed at Eleanor with the end of his pen, “She doesn’t look like your sister.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” the redhead practically snarled, benign expression shifting in an instant to reveal borderline feral rage. “You leave us alone, mister!”

“My apologies,” he blinked rapidly at her cocked hip and bared teeth. 

The stranger behind the kerchief rolled his eyes and accepted his key from the attendant, hurriedly ushering the girls up the stairs to their room. 

The balding hotel attendant made his way back to his usual place behind the bar and watched the three travelers go, observing the slump of the young man’s shoulders. The slight limp in his step. The way the redhead clung to his belt, leaving his arm to swing completely free. On his other side, the brunette had his hand clutched in a vice-like grip between both of hers. 

That’s the hand with his trigger finger, the inkeep realized sadly. His sister is leaving the poor boy open to draw, should the need arise. Those girls’ braids are a mess and the whole lot of them are too damn thin; they must have lost their parents very recently. Poor dears. 

If only the manager of the Star Hotel in Wichita, Texas had known it then, he would have used their visit to advertise for years to come. Because he’d just rented a room to the boy who’d become the most Wanted outlaw in the whole New Mexico Territory. 

Once Billy finished haggling with the barber for the use of a tub, he pumped it full of clean water and dragged it behind a curtain so the girls could wash their hair first. He used the time they took splashing and soaping down to catch his breath.

The blacksmith was used to long days of heavy physical labor working for his father in the forge, but caring for two terrified, heartbroken children was a lot tougher than making horseshoes. He was ready to drop like a bag of cornflour. Making sure both Max and El were fed, finding them a bath despite how difficult tubs were to come by, and feeding them supper had drained the remaining dregs of his energy. 

Thankfully, after all three were finished getting clean and had eaten a bowl of the innkeeper's thick venison stew, the girls fell right to sleep on their thin pallet bed. Billy flopped down onto his own lumpy mattress and stared at the ceiling, begging for sleep to take him. 

He was desperate for any kind of rest. 

But all Billy could picture was the front of Harrington’s General Store. He remembered vividly how far the flames had licked out of its windows and how high they’d burst from the fancy tiled roof. Tall yellow tongues of fire had wailed Billy’s anguish into the endless expanse of the starry western sky as his beloved was lost to him forever. 

Max, smart as she was at seven years old, had done her best to muffle her sobs against Billy’s ribs as they watched Hawkins turn to ash. He held her close and rubbed his hand up and down her spine, the other holding onto El Hopper to keep her from darting back the way they’d come. Billy hadn’t been able to tell the Sheriff “no” when the older man thrust her over the fence and into his arms with an outright pleading expression on his weathered face.

Their survival was, ironically, owed entirely to Steve Harrington, who’d overheard the messenger and Sheriff Hopper in his father’s store. Without his timely warning and Billy’s resulting hypervigilance, the blacksmith never would have caught the posse’s dust cloud getting closer. He never would have managed to escape out the back window with his sister just as the outlaws rode into town.

If only he’d been able to see them sooner and alert Steve as well. Or even the Sheriff. But Billy hadn’t seen them sooner, and they’d taken everything he loved as punishment. 

Because of his failure and because of their overwhelming evil, Steve Harrington was gone. Dead. Lost forever. 

Steve’s steady voice filled Billy’s dreams and nightmares alike, reminding him of the ache that threatened to crush him whenever wakefulness returned.

“I don’t want to keep company with anyone else. Never, do you hear?” 

Never. 

There was a lot of that in Billy’s future, he realized as he lay in the hotel bed. 

He was never going to hold Steve in his arms again, or see Steve's smiling face. He would never brush the older boy’s stupidly uncooperative hair out of his big doe-eyes or kiss his chapped, perfectly pouting lips. He’d never laugh at the way Steve swore like he was shy about it, or see the store attendant biting his fingernails to the quick while watching Billy mend a horseshoe, blond curls stuck to his neck and face with sweat. He would never hear Steve’s soft, desperate sounds breaking through the darkness of the smithy as Billy brought the older boy to a shuddering finish with his hands or mouth. 

So many things he’d miss from their time spent courting, so many things he’d never be able to see Steve do again, or for the first time as a married couple…

He may have been young and inexperienced, but Billy Hargrove knew he would never love or desire anyone else in the world the way he had loved and desired Steve Harrington. No one else could possibly compare. 

And Steve had been taken from him. 

March, 1878

Dallas, Texas

Steve took a seat at the long wooden table and set his hat on his lap. Commander Weller paced at the head, his hands clasped at the base of his spine. His shoulders were fraught with tension. When he started to speak, it was with a gruff and frustrated tone, straightening every spine in the room.

"Fifteen men or more have gone after Blue Lightning in the last two years, and so far none of them have been able to beat him in a draw.” Weller twisted his snow-white mustache between his fingertips and exhaled slowly. When the Commander lifted his head again, his intense gaze was focused on Steve. The young Ranger barely resisted the desire to squirm in discomfort; Commander Weller’s attention brought the attention of the entire room to bear on his careful posture. 

“What can I do to help you, Sir?”

"Last week, Blue and the Quickdraw posse robbed the Texas Red Railway express car and killed the expressman on duty. A disgruntled member of the posse came to us with Blue’s future plans, and this may be the clearest opportunity we ever get to bring him in. This means we’ll need to plan a solo mission and send our stealthiest tracker and fastest, most successful gunman. Harrington, you up for the assignment?"

"Yessir," the young Ranger stood and nodded. "I can bring him in." 

"Commander, you really want to send a greenhorn like Harrington after Blue Lightning? And why does he need to go alone?"

"Harrington and Blue are close in age and skill, seems like. Not sure why I'd send anyone else, especially since more men are harder to hide. Harrington can track the outlaw down without drawing suspicion; if we send a posse of our own, Blue will disappear in the wind like he always does. Now, since he’s agreed, this meeting has been adjourned, gentlemen."

Steve knew very little about Blue Lightning; then again, nobody knew much about the enigmatic bandit. He always wore a kerchief over his nose and mouth to keep his face off Wanted notices. The only major details anyone had gotten from Blue’s victims were that he had “curly hair” and “blue eyes” (or “lovely blue eyes” if the witness was a lady or particularly fascinated gentleman). The memorable color of said eyes, along with his reputation as the fastest six-gun in the western territories, had given the criminal the moniker “Blue Lightning”. 

Steve smiled sadly to himself, shoving his hat back down over his windswept hair. Billy would have wanted a dramatic, mysterious alias like that if he’d become an outlaw. 

“I’d be the envy of every posse. In both the states and the territories.”

No matter how many years had passed since the Hawkins County Massacre, the gangly Texas Ranger could still hear the sound of his beloved’s voice as clear as day. Almost as if Billy were whispering the memory straight into his ear. 

“You sure about this, Ranger?” the Commander asked, clapping Steve roughly on the shoulder and startling him out of his reverie. 

“Of course, Sir. I’m honored that you would trust me with such an important assignment so early in my career.”

“An older man can’t ride as fast, regardless of his additional experience,” Weller shrugged. “And your tracking skills have saved your company more than once.”

“I do what I can, Sir.”

“Drop the honorific shit, sonny, we’re alone for now.”

“Alright.”

“So, can you still sneak into a room full of officers and go unnoticed until the meeting’s nearly done?”

“I did that yesterday,” Steve chuckled. The Commander laughed along with him, hand still warm and fatherly on the younger man’s shoulder. “Didn’t hear anything interesting, though. Waste of valuable drinking time, turns out.”

“No drinking tonight,” Weller intoned. “You ride out at dawn for Agua Fria, in the New Mexico territory.”

“I’ll be ready.”

April, 1878 

Agua Fria, New Mexico Territory

Steve heard the whispers start up as soon as he entered the local saloon and took a seat at the bar. He removed his hat and set it on his lap, running both hands through his sweaty hair to push it back from his sticky forehead. The barkeep approached at a casual lope, leaning heavily against the wood on his side of the divide. He was middle aged, and his gray mustache drooped heavily toward the floor. “What can I get for ya, sonny?”

“Beer, please. And whatever’s on for lunch.”

“Beef stew.”

“That’ll do nicely, thank you.”

“Please and thank you? I thought the iron resting on your hip meant trouble had just walked through the door, but if you’re mannerly as all that you must be in law enforcement.”

Steve smiled self-deprecatingly and nodded. “Ranger.”

“Ah,” the barman grinned. “Who’re you after around here, then? If you don’t mind me asking, Mister…”

“Harrington. Ranger Harrington.”

“Mr. Harrington,” the man slid his customer’s lukewarm beer across the counter and into his waiting hands. A bowl of stew followed shortly after, two thick slices of brown bread shoved merrily against the side of the dish. Steve was certainly not complaining about the unexpected additions; he felt damn near ready to pass out on the floor from hunger and exhaustion. 

Commander Weller arranged for him to get a new horse every eighty miles or so between Dallas and Agua Fria, and in his desperation to make it to the New Mexico Territory on time and catch the bloodthirsty Blue Lightning, Steve had barely rested for more than a few hours between swaps. 

“I take it you’ll be needing a room tonight as well?”

“Yessir,” the Ranger smiled. “If there’s a clean one available.”

“The sheets were changed this morning, I swear on my life.”

“You run a fine business.” The Ranger’s spoon hit the bottom of his bowl and he frowned down at it in frustrated realization. “How much for another bowl?”

“You bought a room, so I think I can manage another serving free of charge. Especially since you’re here to keep the place safe from bandits. Well, at least that’s what I’ve assumed. You never did answer my question about who you were lookin’ for.”

Steve glanced around the room, but none of the patrons stuck out to him as suspicious or disorderly. They were mostly ranchers passing through or farmhands using the railway to move between jobs. He turned his attention back to the barkeep when he arrived with more food. “You seen anyone around here who matches the description of the wanted criminal Blue Lighting?”

“Blue Lightnin’? You’re supposed to be catchin’ him all by yourself?”

“I’m the fastest gun this side of the Mississippi, according to my commanding officer. No one else has come back alive yet, and he’s only getting more dangerous with every train and stagecoach robbery. His posse is getting more deadly, too.”

The barkeep twisted his cleaning cloth between his hands and lowered his voice. He leaned forward, beckoning for Steve to do the same. “Now don’t go tellin’ anyone I told you this, but Blue is holin’ up in the old Cady place at the edge of town.”

The Ranger brightened, cheered by the good news. He’d need to rest before confronting the outlaw, but at least he’d made it to town in time to catch him unawares. And from the sound of the barkeep’s words, Blue would be staying for a while yet. “Which direction is that, if I may ask?”

“There’s a big wooden barn that’s half-collapsed behind the cattle fields due north, he’s around there. That’s all I can say. Ears everywhere, you know. Here’s your room key, Ranger Harrington.”

“Thank you, sir. For everything. You’ve been an incredible help and a magnificent host.”

Billy paid the messenger boy his usual fare and took the small bundle of envelopes. “Any news from town?”

“There’s a Ranger from the States at the Silver Spur that says he’s lookin’ for you.” 

The outlaw’s blood ran cold. “How old?”

“Maybe older’n you? Maybe not. Only had one gun on him.”

“Oh,” Billy rolled his eyes. “Won’t be a problem then. Tell the Sheriff to write a letter home to the poor man’s family, cause tomorrow he’ll be sending it back to the damn States along with the Ranger’s body.”

“Good luck, Blue.”

“Yeah, well, fuck off, kid.”

Billy watched the boy ride back to town, cockier than the innkeeper’s prized rooster and raring for a fight. All the youngsters were, felt like, and Billy couldn’t understand why. He’d been fighting for years and all he wanted was some damned rest. 

His current refuge wasn’t terrible, at least. He’d been lucky enough to discover an abandoned but sturdy woodshed tucked behind a burned-out barn while poking his way around the very furthest edge of the cattle pasture. It proved liveable, especially for someone who was used to sleeping under the stars and either freezing or sweating near to death.

Billy slept on top of a worn woolen bedroll, pressed up against the same wall of the shack that housed the door. That way he could take out an intruder’s knees well before they could notice him, much less draw or fire on him. Not that anyone had ever succeeded in sneaking up on Billy Hargrove (or Blue Lightning) before in his short but violent life. 

Well, nobody except…

The outlaw shook his head and turned his attention to the one good thing that’d happened to him this week: a letter from his sister in California. 

If Billy had to take another stranger’s life in the next twenty-four hours then at least he could read something that made him smile. Pushing his negative thoughts about the Ranger’s impending doom aside, Billy unstuck the seal and unfolded the treasured missive. 

The paper Max had chosen was thick enough to survive a ride through the desert, likely taken from the fancy school all of Billy’s ill-gotten riches went to pay for. Her inelegant scrawl traipsed its way across the page in surprisingly smooth lines of rich black ink:

Dear Billy,

California is big and hot. Edward makes us call him Eddie or Mr. Eddie and he never yells. Mrs. Eddie tells us to call her Chrissy and will not tell me her real name. I think it must be Christ because otherwise she wouldn’t be so embarrassed. 

See that big ass word? We are learning a lot of new words at school. Mr. Eddie taught me ‘ass’ just now, because I asked him to. For the letter.

Stop being an idiot and come home soon, okay? We miss you. 

I miss you the most. 

Love, 

Max

El had included a short note of her own, which fluttered into his lap on a thinner piece of lavender-scented stationery:

Billy,

I hope you are safe. Thank you again for sending me to school even though I am not really your sister. I like it here. I like having a big brother like Max does. 

Be safe.

- Eleanor Hopper

The outlaw wiped a lone tear from beneath his right eye and slid both letters into an oiled leather pouch deep in his saddlebag, the only waterproof covering he owned. Max’s letters were too precious to ever risk losing, especially when any day out here was likely to be his last. And El’s had been sweet, too sweet to lose to the heat of the sun or the wear-and-tear of his Levi pockets.

He’d killed for those girls. He’d taken a bullet to the gut for them, too, on his second job as Blue Lightning. An express man on the Pacific West Rail Line hadn’t been keen on sharing the combination to their payday safe, and it’d been the last time Billy hadn’t drawn his weapon fast enough. 

That was the only bullet he’d taken before claiming his rightful title as the best shot in the New Mexico Territory. He hadn’t died then and he refused to die now, not when his girls still needed him to provide for them and keep them safe. Fed. Educated. Happy. 

Steve had wanted kids, someday. Somehow Billy had ended up getting them, and the blacksmith/outlaw had no fucking idea what to do other than steal and pass along the cash for room and board. 

In a rush of raw emotion, Billy looked up at the sky and mumbled quietly, even though no one was around to hear him speak, “Hey Harrington. If you’re up there, which I sure as shit hope you are ‘cause you were an angel, could you keep an eye on Max for me? I know she was always stealin’ penny candy from the general store and knocking into shelves with El but… If I don’t make it to California alive, you gotta make sure she’s alright. Alright?”

The yawning expanse of the night sky remained silent. 

Well, what the fuck else was I expecting? Some kind of answer? 

Billy banked his fire, cleaned up his dishes in the creek that ran maybe twenty yards north of the shack, and stretched out onto his bedroll. Tomorrow he needed to figure out a plan for going west, and clarity required sleep. 

A handsome roan mare stood placidly in the one remaining stall inside the barn. She watched the Ranger pass her by with utter disinterest, her intelligent brown eyes half-lidded in the heat. 

The horse’s worn brown tack and thick woolen saddle blanket rested on an upright barrel to the right of the stall, protected by an overhang from any damp weather. The saddle itself was heavy and high-quality. It lay balanced over a different barrel to keep dust and hay from damaging the shiny surface. 

Steve moved silently through the half-collapsed building, careful not to leave any obvious footprints. 

Creeping from one end of Hawkins to the other for secretive meetings with Billy had been excellent hunting and tracking practice, apparently. Even though the young lovers were only forced to act that way because Steve’s upper-crust, east coast Pa was from a merchant family and demanded that his son marry someone who could help build and develop their ‘empire’. 

The Ranger shook his head to clear the past out of his mind’s eye. He drew his gun from its holster at his hip and held it at the ready. His thumb rested firmly curved over the cold metal of the hammer. Slowly, with measured steps and bated breath, Steve rounded the corner of the barn and came up behind Blue Lightning. 

The outlaw was kneeling down beside a small cookfire, where a cast iron dutch oven filled with an unappetizing mixture of beans and dried meat hung over the flames. Blue’s hands were both outstretched as he added more wood, too far away from his body for him to make a move without Steve firing first. 

The brunette pulled the hammer of his revolver back with an audible click, finally revealing his presence to the startled Blue. 

“Stand up, turn around, and if you go for your piece then I’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”

The outlaw raised his empty hands in surrender and nodded in understanding. His caramel-blond curls bounced against his shoulders in the bright afternoon sunshine. Blue Lightning slowly straightened onto his feet and turned around. He looked up into the Ranger’s eyes and Steve’s breath caught. The world stopped spinning, frozen in the instant their gazes met.

Because the man Steve had been sent to subdue at any cost was…

“Billy?”

Chapter Text

Billy jerked away from the apparition and covered his face with both trembling hands.

“No, please. No more goddamn nightmares,” he begged the unforgiving emptiness before him. The shocked look on Steve’s ghostly face danced behind his closed eyelids, offering up the teasingly pristine image of his lost love. It wasn’t fuckin’ fair. “He’s gone. He’s gone and he ain’t comin’ back, Billy.”

The phantom of Steve Harrington made a wounded, confused sound and Billy heard the click of an iron pistol hammer being gently released. The telltale hiss of metal sliding against worn leather told him the ghost had placed its gun back into the holster. Had Billy’s dreams grown so frequent and vivid that he could hear them, now? Would Steve’s wandering spirit always be two steps behind him, waiting to grab him by the shoulder and remind him of the loss he’d suffered in Hawkins?

The world faded around the edges, graying and dimming in an all-too-familiar way–

And then it happened. 

Something no ghost or spectral dream had ever managed before despite their best efforts: Steve reached out and wrapped his arms – his real, completely solid arms – around Billy’s quaking shoulders. He nearly flew to pieces when they squeezed gently. Tears that didn’t belong to Billy wetted his dusty collar and trickled down the overheated skin of his neck. 

“Holy shit, Billy, you’re alive. Sweetheart. Darlin’. Y-y-you’re alive!” A triumphant crow found its way out from between Steve’s poorly muffled sobs. Billy blinked. He watched his own hands rise to wrap around Steve’s waist, holding him in place. 

“Is– Is it really you, pretty boy?”

The Ranger nodded, brown hair flopping into those familiar, if watery, doe-eyes. Billy’s heart clenched violently in his chest as it started back to life, suddenly overflowing with a torrent of love that had been dammed up and desperate to escape for years. “Fuck, I missed you.”

“I missed you, too. So damn much.”

So many things had changed, but underneath them all was still the awkward boy he’d fallen head over heels for. For one, Steve’s shoulders had gotten wider. His arms, always gently muscled from hefting bags of flour and sugar around the general store, now rivaled Billy’s own in definition (though still far leaner in build). He hadn’t gotten much taller, but neither had Billy, and their height difference made the outlaw’s heart flutter in an achingly familiar way. It was a sensation he’d never expected again in this lifetime. He wanted to cry.

“How did you escape the fire?” Steve whispered eventually, voice scraped raw. His knuckles skimmed across Billy’s sticky cheekbone. Fire danced along the surface of his skin in their wake and his lashes fluttered involuntarily. “H-How did you make it out of Hawkins alive?”

“I saw Creel’s posse comin’ over the ridge in barely enough time to drag Max out the back door. Got El Hopper out of town, too, by some miracle. Right now I’ve got them set up with an old acquaintance in California, helpin’ around the house and goin’ to private school.”

“You always did want to visit the ocean,” Steve chuckled. Billy pushed a few unruly curls from his eyes and exhaled a shaky laugh. “I’m glad you had the chance, and that the girls are doing alright. Do you hear from them often?”

“Got some letters yesterday, matter of fact. Max takes after me, despite the distance.”

“Why not go back to California and raise them yourself?” Steve’s thumbs rubbed comforting circles in the dusty shoulders of Billy’s worn shirt. 

“I tried to make the responsible decision and exclude them from my life of crime.”

Steve pressed a gentle kiss to Billy’s forehead; warmth spread through the rest of him starting from that point, enveloping every part of Billy down to what remained of his soul. Steve gave a muted chuckle, tapping his pointer finger against the shiny Ranger’s badge over his heart. “About that… My whole purpose for coming to town was taking out Blue Lighting.”

Billy’s throat closed up, choking on sand and disbelief. After everything they’d been through together? After finally being reunited after all this time? Was the love of his life going to insist on following the rules and turning him over to be– To be hung by Steve’s fellow lawmen?

Steve wouldn’t– He’d never–

Strong arms closed around him. Pulled him close. Long fingers wove their way into his curls and scratched gently at the nape of his neck, beneath the knot of his bandana.

“Hey, no, I’m not about to hand you over to a bunch of strangers right after finding you again, Bills. I didn’t give ya the mitten back then and you ain’t getting rid of me, now. Understand?”

Billy nodded lamely, forehead pressed hard to the top of Steve’s shoulder. For a moment he stood within the temporary fortress of his lover’s embrace and thoroughly ignored the harsh reality awaiting them outside old man Cady’s dilapidated barn. 

But only for a moment.

Steve’s heart bullied his ribs in an effort to escape their jailing confines and reach its long-lost partner after so many years apart. Billy. His Billy , alive and well and unharmed (for the most part). He couldn’t believe his eyes, ears, or hands as they took in every missing detail of the man he’d thought was lost forever.

A desperate urge overtook him, rolling through his body with more strength and power than tornado-forming thunderheads. 

“Hey Bills,” he coaxed softly. “Can I see those damn nice eyes of yours again?”

Flushed red, his sun bleached eyebrows gathered cutely over the bridge of his nose, Billy lifted his face from the material of Steve’s uniform and tilted it to meet Steve’s searching gaze. “Yeah, pretty b-”

Steve cupped Billy’s face between his palms and kissed his handsome outlaw squarely on the lips. Between Billy’s awful habit of licking them while he worried and New Mexico’s arid climate, his lips were chapped and rough. His cheeks were still tacky with drying tears and covered in a fine layer of dusty grit. Granules gathered under the pads of Steve’s thumbs where he tried to swipe any final tears away. The breath they shared, though sacred, stank of cheap tobacco and whatever meals they’d eaten last.

As expected, the kiss felt better than sinking into a hot bath after a full day riding through mountain country. Better than beating a braggart at billiards and taking his money. Better than perfect aim at a moving target. This was coming home again.

Steve didn’t pull away until Billy yanked his head back an inch, gasping for air. Far from upset, the blue of his eyes deepened in the dimming light. “Goddamn, pretty boy, I can’t believe it’s really, honestly you.”

“Well you’d best get to believing, ‘cause you’re never getting rid of me again.” Steve finally managed to wipe the last of Billy’s tears from his face and pressed a series of quick kisses to his temple. “Now, how about we figure a way out of this mess, hm?”

Steve checked the chambers on his six-gun for the fifth time and holstered it once again. His fingers refused to stop twitching no matter what physical and mental exercises he tried using as distraction. Even the barman had noticed the growing tremors and offered him another drink on the house. “It’ll calm yer nerves, boy.”

“I’d best not, for the sake of my aim. But thank you kindly,” Steve tipped his hat in respect. “They sure don’t call the bastard Blue Lightnin’ for nothing.”

The stranger nodded sagely and tucked the bottle of cheap whiskey back under the bar. He swiped a dirty rag over the spot he’d cleaned less than three minutes prior, curious gaze trained firmly on the Ranger. “You think you’ve got a chance to beat ‘im after everyone else has tried and failed?”

“They sent me on this mission specifically for my talent in a quickdraw, sir. There’s no way in hell I’m gonna let Blue make it over county lines again without weighing at least two slugs more.” 

His host whistled through the hole where a canine should be, low and impressed. “If you make it back to your commanding officer, and I highly suspect you will, tell that sonuvabitch he chose well.”

Steve smiled genuinely and tipped his hat again. “Will do, sir.”

The Texas Ranger badge shining dully in the late morning light hung in place of an empty promise. After the events of yesterday afternoon, he was only a Ranger in appearance and dress. He had chosen Billy as he would always choose Billy. He’d chosen to make a relatively clever plan and practice through the dead of night, until they were sure it was safe to pull off in front of an audience. Once they got through the next hour or so it would all be over. 

They’d ride off to California together under new names and never set eyes on Commander Weller again. 

“Looks like that’s him riding down the laneway. Good luck, lad.” The barkeep wiped his hands along his apron, shooting a final glance between Steve and the swinging saloon door. “He don’t seem keen on losing.”

“Neither am I.”

“The man is a Ranger, Eugene,” one of the ranchers at the bar huffed. He crossed his arms and spat into the copper jug near his feet. Steve barely resisted the urge to cringe. “Let ‘im die if he wants. Blue ain’t botherin’ us any.”

“Here goes nothing,” Steve muttered under his breath. He squared his shoulders, flicked the fastening atop his holster to make sure it was free, and stepped into the harsh afternoon sunshine. 

“You ready to die, lawman?” Blue taunted. He’d already tied his horse to a signpost near the official entrance to town by the time Steve exited the saloon. They approached each other slowly, each man taking measured steps to keep things honorable. As honorable as they could be in a gunfight to the death. “You’ll be the twenty-first notch on my pistol.”

“In your dreams, maybe. Now, what’re the terms?”

“Ten and draw. Loser dies; winner doesn’t.”

“Agreed.” 

They stood two paces from each other, back to back, and listened to someone count off ten paces from the porch of a nearby general store. 

“Nine… Ten.”

Steve shifted his balance, spun on the heel of his boot, yanked his pistol from its holster, and slammed the hammer back two or three times. Gunsmoke filled the air in front of Steve before Blue even found the time to finish drawing his weapon. The outlaw’s body threw a heavy cloud of dust into the air as he hit the ground – first to his knees and then all the way over onto his side. It took several long moments before that same dust settled again and anyone dared to move. Two small pools of red formed slowly under Blue Lightnin’s battered torso and spread, eventually coalescing into one large puddle near his shoulder. His brilliant blue eyes, the source of his infamous nickname, had closed forever against the blazing New Mexico sun.

“Is he…?” Eugene questioned softly from his post in the bar doorway. He whisper-shouted, as if speaking at a normal volume might startle the outlaw back to life. “Is he dead?”

The only local doctor they could muster for the occasion stepped forward, placed two fingers roughly against Blue’s neck for a few long seconds, and pulled back with a sharp nod. He turned to face the Ranger with disgust written clearly on his features, forcing Steve to temper a bit of extra rage at such disrespect. The greying bastard inquired with very little ceremony, “I assume you’ll be taking the body back to Texas on the train?”

“Something like that,” Steve nodded. “My commanding officer will need to confirm his identity. Not sure we’ll make it all the way back to Texas, but that’s not my call to make, sir.”

“Right, right.” 

“Need any help securing that body to a horse?” someone called. Steve waved the crowd away with growing impatience. 

“I’ve got this handled, thank you. And I appreciate your cooperation while I took care of this brigand.”

“He weren’t so bad,” another rancher spoke up. “Too damn bad all that talent went to waste robbin’ trains.”

“Too bad.”

From the ground, safely hidden by Steve’s hunched shoulders, Billy opened his eyes just long enough to shoot Steve a teasing wink. 

June, 1878 

San Francisco, California

“Billy!” Max leapt from Eddie’s porch and bounded through the yard faster than any train Billy had robbed in his highwayman career. “You’re alive! And you’re home!”

“And I brought a surprise,” Billy scooped her off the ground and squeezed her tight against his chest. “Remember Steve Harrington from back in Hawkins?”

“Sorta,” Max wrinkled her nose. “The one you called ‘sweetheart’ and snuck off in the middle of the night to meet behind the forge?”

“Yeah,” Billy snorted. “That one.”

“I thought he died.”

“Me, too. But it turns out we just ended up in very different situations after Hawkins.”

“So does that mean that he–” She pointed to the stranger standing behind Billy’s temperamental stallion, nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Is he your sweetheart?”

“He sure is.”

“Are you going to be as affectionate as Eddie and Ms. Chrissy?” she groaned. Billy raised his eyebrows at her growing vocabulary and bit back a smile; Max hated receiving praise for simple things like learning new words even when it made Billy’s chest swell with pride. 

“Probably worse,” he took off his hat and placed it over his heart to emphasize the seriousness of his apology. “Much worse.”

“You’re the worst,” she smiled. Billy smiled back and ruffled her hair. “Ugh! Billy!”

“Go find El, would ya?” Eddie asked from his seat on the porch step. “It’s almost time for supper and I’ve got her favorite soup in the pot.”

Max leapt to her feet and took off for the back garden, where El and Chrissy were probably elbow deep in soil. Steve ambled up the short path from the horse shed and shook Eddie’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Munson.”

“Eddie is fine. And just for your own sake, my wife will tan your hide if you call her anything but Chrissy.”

“Thank you for the warning, Eddie.”

“See? You’re already getting the hang of it. Welcome to the homestead, Steve.”

“Thank you.” 

Epilogue: May, 1879

San Francisco, California

“Steve!” Billy shouted from the bottom of the stairs. “Hurry up, pretty boy! You’re going to be late.”

“How can I be late when I’m the one who scheduled this photographer?”

“Just hurry, would ya? I don’t want him movin’ on to other farms before we get a family portrait.”

Steve tumbled down the stairs and straight into his husband’s waiting arms. Billy shook his head, fond exasperation heavy in his gaze. “Told you I’d make it on time. Let’s go!”

Max and El were already waiting for them under one of Billy’s favorite orange trees, chatting politely with the traveling photograph salesman. He noticed when they both looked up and turned to face the approaching couple. “Ah, there you are. Is the whole family present and accounted for?”

“Yessir,” Billy nodded, smiling.