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Billy doesn’t like to be touched. It took Max some time to notice because it’s not like he flinches away every time or something—no, it’s a lot more subtle than that. It’s the way he tenses when Neil pats his shoulder, even when the touch is genuinely affectionate, it’s how he would grit his teeth the few times Mom brushed a hand against his arm to get his attention before she completely stopped touching him; even with his friends or the girls he would date, Max has never seen him look anything but slightly uncomfortable unless he was the one initiating touch.
It’s even worse now. Since the Mind Flayer, since Starcourt.
He doesn’t even try to hide it anymore, or maybe he simply can’t, and Max doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to forget the sight of him sobbing while a nurse worked as fast and gently as possible to change his bandages.
It’s even worse now, because Billy is stuck in a hospital bed where he has to bear the touch of nurses and doctors every day while they check his vitals, tend to his wounds, bathe him. He can’t do anything on his own and Max knows he hates it. The powerlessness, the vulnerability, he has no agency in this bed, like he had no agency under the Mind Flayer’s control, and that—
Max thinks she would hate being touched too.
It’s been almost a month since Billy woke up, two since Starcourt. He should look better, like he’s healing, but he’s been losing weight, and he’s looking more and more pale and frail every day, like he’s slowly fading away.
Max doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t know if there’s anything she can do.
They aren’t close. They never were. They’ve been living under the same roof for a little bit over three years now and she knows him in that she knows how to piss him off and how to avoid him; she knows he isn’t a morning person and usually won’t say a word unless he absolutely has to before 9AM; he loves his car and his music, he works out obsessively and he spends more time in the bathroom than Max and Mom combined do, but only when Neil isn’t home.
She knows what he sounds like when he’s getting hit and trying not to cry out in pain. What he looks like when he’s angry, when he’s terrified, when he’s focusing so hard on not showing anything it’s like he isn’t even there anymore.
She knows him but she doesn’t, not really. She knows the Billy who ignores her, the Billy who’s angry at the entire world, but she was trying to think of what could cheer him up a little bit the other day, and she realized that she has never really seen him happy before. Yeah, he was happier in California, and of course she has seen him smile before, but nothing like the smile she saw on that little boy’s face in the picture she found Neil staring at one night while Billy was still in the coma.
That little boy’s smile was so bright it reached his eyes, Max has never seen Billy’s face do that before.
It hit her hard, the thought that she has never seen Billy truly, genuinely happy. It pissed her off too, because why should she feel bad about it?
She tried, she really did. She’d wanted something good out of that stupid marriage, they could have been close, she thinks, but Billy made sure that was never happening. He pushed her away, refused to let her be anything but someone he shared a house with, someone he had to be responsible for when Neil said so. It’s not her fault she doesn’t know what makes him happy, how to help him feel better about this whole situation.
But if she doesn’t figure it out, who’s going to help him? It’s not like there are many candidates. Neil? Yeah, right. Mom? Billy loathes her more than he’s ever hated Max, and Max can’t even blame him anymore.
She’d hated him for being so horrible to her mom, for scaring her too sometimes, when all she was doing was her best to be nice to him. The first time Max had seen Neil slap Billy across the face for being an asshole to Mom, she’d been shocked by the sheer force behind it, and then she had felt nothing but satisfaction.
It had felt deserved.
Even if it made her flinch, even if there was always something cold and scared coiling in her gut whenever Neil would backhand Billy across the face for being rude or mean to Mom and Max, there was always a part of her that felt like it was justified, like Billy deserved it.
That feeling was strengthened by Mom never saying anything. And then Max saw Neil beat Billy with his belt for the first time, and that made Max feel very cold inside—wrong wrong wrong, a voice had screamed inside her head, but Mom still hadn’t said anything.
So, maybe Billy truly deserved that too, Max thought.
Fuck, she’s such an asshole.
(El doesn’t even hesitate before reaching out to wrap her fingers around Billy’s hand. It makes Max’s guts twist painfully, an ugly feeling rising inside her. She isn’t sure who it’s aimed at: Billy because El insisted on visiting him when she’s leaving tomorrow morning with the Byers for California and Max would rather spend some time with her while she still can, or El, because she’s touching her awful step-brother like she knows how, like she knows him.
Max presses her lips together. She’s being awful, she knows she’s being awful. Billy saved El’s life, and whatever happened between the two of them while she reached out inside his mind shook them both deeply, Max has no right to feel—whatever it is she’s feeling right now.
“Hi, Billy,” El says softly. She sits on the edge of his bed and reaches out with her other hand to gently brush a stray curl out of his face.
Oxygen gets stuck in Max’s lungs. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen anyone touch Billy with so much care and kindness, like he’s something precious and fragile. The ugliness inside her wants to tell El that he would never let her do that if he was awake, that he’d slap her hand and snarl at her.
“I’m leaving tomorrow,” El says. “I’m sorry.” She holds Billy’s hand with both of hers and strokes his knuckles with her thumbs, like she’s massaging them. It’s weird. It doesn’t look like anything Max has ever seen El do. “But you are strong. And you are not alone.”
Billy doesn’t look strong at all like this. Not with the tube in his nose meant to keep him fed, the weight and muscle mass he’s already lost, how pale he looks when he’d finally managed to get a tan with his job at the pool. He looks small. Small and broken.
And alone, too.
“I’m going to California. Lenora Hills,” El enunciates the name slowly. “Joyce said it wasn’t too far from San Diego. So, when you feel better, you will come, and we will go see your beach.”
Max can’t take it anymore, she quietly slips out of the room and closes the door before leaning against the wall, breathing deeply. Her eyes burn.
He’s an awful older brother. He’s never been anything but mean to her, and then November happened and he just started ignoring her completely, like she didn’t even exist unless he absolutely had to interact with her.
It should have made her happy, it was what she’d wanted after all when she had threatened him that night at the Byers. Instead it made her feel miserable. Miserable and so lonely.
He’s an awful older brother, but he cried and begged her to believe he had never meant to hurt anyone, and then he stood in front of that monster to protect El, and then he—
He died. Just for a short time, but he died, and the last thing he told Max was that he was sorry.
Max waits outside until El comes out of Billy’s room. She looks sad and Max hates it, so she opens her mouth to tell her they’re leaving, but El suddenly tenses up as her gaze catches something behind Max.
“Maxine?”
Ah, hell.
Max turns around and offers Neil a small smile.
“I didn’t know you were coming to see Bill today.”
Bill. That’s all he’s been calling Billy since July 4th. It’s what he calls him when he’s in a good mood, when they’re watching a baseball game together and he’s had just enough beers to loosen up a little bit, when they’re both working on the Camaro and Billy does something good that gets him a clap on the shoulder and a good job, Bill, that makes him duck his head shyly.
Max has heard Neil call him Bill more times in the past three weeks than she has in the three years they’ve all been living together.
“Jane wanted to say goodbye, she’s moving out tomorrow,” Max says.
Neil frowns, seemingly confused, his gaze moving from Max to El. He tenses up suddenly, his eyes narrowing, and Max glances at El, only to hold her breath at the look on her face.
El is standing tall, her chin up, pure hatred dancing in her eyes as she keeps her gaze locked with Neil’s.
“Billy saved her life,” Max blurts out and reaches out to grab El’s hand and give it a squeeze. El blinks and looks down, then back up at Max, frowning. “At the mall.”
“Oh,” Neil says, looking at El like he doesn’t know what to make of her. “You’re that little girl. Well, thank you for visiting him, I’m sure Bill would appreciate it.”
“Billy is my friend,” El says. “He is brave, and strong, and good.”
Neil looks confused again, but then his expression grows cold, and the muscle in his jaw twitches.
“She has to finish packing,” Max rushes to say and starts tugging on El’s hand. “I’m having dinner at her place, Mrs Byers will drive me home. Mom said yes.”
She doesn’t wait for a reply and pulls El with her as she quickly marches away from Neil and towards the elevator. She calls it by pressing the button repeatedly until the doors open, sighing in relief when they can finally get inside.
“What the hell, El,” she mutters when the doors slide closed.
“He is a bad Papa,” El says, her tone dark.
Max exhales shakily. She hates Neil. He’s an asshole, and he cares too much about what people think and how they should live their lives and who deserves what. The one time Max voiced her mixed feelings about the way Neil treats Billy, Mom said it was none of their business how a father decided to raise and discipline his son, that Neil knew what was best, but Neil is always trying to raise and discipline Max.
She has a dad already, and he might not be the best dad, but he’s kind and he loves Max and she doesn’t need Neil to take his place, no matter what Mom might think or say.
Is he a bad Papa? Maybe, but Billy isn’t a very good son, and Neil has been acting differently since Starcourt.
He’s been visiting Billy every day, sitting by his bed and staring at him without even saying a word the first week, his eyes constantly flickering between Billy's face and his hand, like he wanted to say something or touch him but didn't know how to.
And then he did. He covered Billy’s hand with his own, Oh, Bill, his voice shook as he spoke, and Mom reached out tentatively to put a hand on his shoulder.
He looked like a real father then, scared and worried for his son.
“He’s better now,” Max whispers and it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.
El frowns. “Friends don’t lie,” she says and Max feels like she’s been punched in the gut.
“I’m not lying,” she defends herself and lets go of El’s hand. “He’s—he’s still Neil, but he’s—he cares.”
“My Papa cared too.”
“Your—the guy who would experiment on you?” Max asks, appalled.
El nods. “He cared. But he was bad.”
The elevator stops, the doors open and Max chews on her bottom lip as they make their way outside the hospital. El’s Papa probably cared more about her powers than her, but that would be a very cruel thing to say, even if it’s true and El probably knows it already.
“I’m sorry. About your Papa.”
El hums. “But you are not sorry about Billy’s Papa.”
Max almost trips on her own two feet. She stops and looks at El with wide eyes, opening and closing her mouth as words refuse to come out. El offers her a small, sad smile and sits down on the bench close to the hospital doors.
Max takes a deep breath and joins her. She looks down at her lap and starts fidgeting with the hem of her shorts. “I am. Sometimes.”
When she can hear Billy cry in the bedroom next to her, once Neil is done. When Neil calls him a faggot and Billy flinches harder than when Neil hits him. When Billy gets hit for something Max would probably have gotten away with a simple scolding.
“But not always,” El says.
Max inhales sharply and clenches her fists. She feels judged, and it makes her want to lash out.
“Billy’s not—he is bad too, sometimes,” she whispers.
El is quiet, so Max risks a glance in her direction and finds her staring with her brows furrowed, like she’s studying Max. It makes her face feel hot.
“You are lying,” El says slowly, her frown deepening. “But—not to me.”
Max can’t breathe. She tears her gaze away from El, anger bubbling up inside her as she stands up abruptly. “I’m going home,” she snaps.
“Max.”
“Fuck you, El. He’s a jerk, and you act like he’s—like he’s great and like you know him, but you don’t. You don’t know him, okay? I do! He’s my brother, and I don’t feel sorry for him because if he didn’t act like such an asshole all the time, then maybe Neil wouldn’t hit him, and things could be normal!” She’s shouting. She’s shouting and she can’t see El properly because she’s crying too, tears streaming down her face as a sob crawls out of her throat.
“I hate him,” she cries. “I hate him, I hate him!”
Gentle fingers circle her wrist and tug, Max slumps down on the bench with a sob and lets El wrap her arms around her.
“I hate him,” she keeps repeating, but it sounds more and more like a lie, like when Mom doesn’t say anything and keeps acting like nothing is happening as Neil follows Billy to his room while unbuckling his belt, like when Max covers her ears with her headphones and sets the volume higher while telling herself this wouldn’t be happening if Billy hadn’t made her walk back home in the rain.
Like when Neil holds Billy’s limp hand in his with tears in his eyes.)
She held onto it anyway, the thought that maybe something good would come out of this. That maybe Neil would actually remain that softer version of himself. But it’s been a month since Billy woke up, and he has barely said a word since, keeps flinching every time Neil tries to touch him, and Neil has stopped trying.
Worse, Neil is losing patience. He hasn’t done anything, not really, but it’s been a whole week since he last visited Billy, and the last time he was here, Max ended up holding her breath as she thought for sure that Neil was going to smack Billy across the face for not answering him.
You are lying. But not to me. El’s words had echoed in her head until Max felt sick afterwards.
She was. But she’s done now. She’s done lying to herself, and it hurts, it hurts so fucking much because with it came the guilt, the horror, and more anger.
She feels like she’s angry all the time these days. At Mom, for marrying Neil and letting him move them all away from home, for her silence. At Neil for being such an asshole, for making her believe he could be different, for making Billy miserable. She’s angry at Billy still, because he said he was sorry but he can’t even look at her now.
But mostly, she’s angry at herself. Angry and ashamed.
“Thanks for the ride,” Max says and gets out of the car before shutting the door.
The window rolls down. “Someone’s coming to pick you up, right?” Nancy asks with a frown.
“Yeah,” Max lies.
Nancy nods, reassured. It’s kind of funny how oblivious Nancy Wheeler can be when it comes to things she doesn’t really care about. Max isn’t complaining, she’d rather dodge any uncomfortable questions, and it’s not like she needs anyone to drive her home anyway, the hospital is closer to Cherry Lane than it is to school, she can walk home.
Max turns around to head towards the hospital.
She's been here almost every day for the past two months, so Max doesn't even need to think about where she's going as she makes her way inside, walks past the reception desk and calls the elevator.
She looks down at the walkman and the tapes she’s been clutching in her hands the whole ride here. She feels stupid. Yeah, Billy loves his music, but how is her giving him her walkman and some of his tapes going to fix all of this mess? It won’t. She knows it won’t. In fact, it might just piss him off, because she had to look through his things to get those. She started with his bedroom, basically holding her breath the whole time like she was expecting him to suddenly appear and shout at her for being here. She found his records and a few tapes, but then realized that the ones he listened to the most were probably in his car.
The damaged Camaro that’s been sitting under a tarp behind the house for two months.
It still smelled like smoke inside. It made Max gag a little bit but she pressed the eject button to retrieve the tape still inside the deck.
BILLY, it said on the label. Just that, in large, capital letters, the handwriting unfamiliar.
Kinda like a mixtape someone would have made for him. Max pocketed it and opened the glove compartment where she found a box full of more tapes.
She recognized some of the bands and pocketed them as well. And then, more of that same unfamiliar handwriting.
WHY I’M RIGHT AND YOU’RE WRONG, one said. BILLY II, BILLY III, BILLY IV.
SUNSHINE, was buried under all the ‘Billy’ mixtapes.
Max grabbed them all, her heart hammering inside her chest, feeling like she wasn’t supposed to see any of this.
And now she’s bringing them to Billy.
The elevator doors open and she lets people come out before going in, pushes the button for the 4th floor and brushes her thumb over the label of the tape on top, the one that says BILLY.
She feels like she’s holding a secret. She hasn’t listened to them, she has no idea what’s on them, but holding them feels more like a violation than stepping inside Billy’s bedroom.
They were in his car. The thing Billy cares about the most, the place where he felt safer and more comfortable than their home. They were in his car because he listens to them the most, and because that’s where he thought they would be safe.
They mean something to him, and Max just hopes that maybe seeing them and being able to listen to them will bring him comfort, and he’ll be able to look past the fact that Max went through his things to get them.
The elevator stops on the 4th floor, Max walks out and tries to ignore the urge to shove the tapes inside her backpack and forget about this whole idea. The nurse sitting behind the reception desk isn’t one Max is familiar with, but she doesn’t usually visit at this hour. She looks busy and Max doesn’t need her help anyway, so she just walks by the desk and further down the hall until she reaches Billy’s room.
He sleeps a lot still, and Max doesn’t want to risk waking him up if that’s the case right now. In fact, it might be ideal, if he’s asleep then she can just leave the walkman and tapes for him to find when he wakes up. There’s no way he won’t recognize her walkman considering her name is written on it, but maybe he won’t get angry if she isn’t around when he sees the tapes.
So, Max doesn’t knock. She pushes the handle down with her hands and very slowly and quietly opens the door, peeking inside to check whether or not Billy is asleep.
He isn’t.
He’s also not alone.
The sight before her doesn’t make sense at first. It takes her a few seconds that feel like an eternity to realize that the boy sitting on Billy’s bed is Eddie Munson, the high school freak she’s already heard so much about even though she’s only been a freshman for a week. The guy is kind of hard to miss, especially when he’s the leader of the DnD club Mike, Dustin and Lucas are all obsessed about these days.
Seeing him here is already surprising, Max vaguely remembers seeing Munson and Billy talk once or twice before, and she knows they’re into the same kind of music, but she never thought they were friends or anything.
But Munson isn’t just visiting Billy. He’s holding his hand between his, his thumbs gently rubbing Billy’s knuckles as he sings quietly, and Billy—
Billy is smiling. It’s small, but his eyes are closed and he looks more relaxed than Max has ever seen him, and he’s smiling while Eddie Munson gently massages his fingers and sings to him.
It looks—practiced. Like this is something they’ve done a thousand times before, like Munson just comes here every day to touch Billy and sing to him. Like it’s something he’s allowed to do, because there is no sign of the tension she usually finds in Billy whenever someone touches him. Because he can barely stand it since Starcourt, but he looks perfectly comfortable while Munson strokes and massages each one of his fingers like Billy’s hand is the most precious thing in the whole world.
This is like the tapes. A secret, something Max isn’t meant to see. She knows it, yet she can’t move, frozen in place as she watches Munson bring Billy’s hand to his mouth and press a kiss over his knuckles.
She makes a sound. She doesn’t mean to, but it spills out of her before she can do anything to stop it, and all the air rushes out of her lungs when two pairs of eyes suddenly snap in her direction.
Billy’s grow wide and he snatches his hand out of Munson’s as if burned, fear written all over his face before he schools his expression into something murderous.
Faggot, faggot, faggot, Neil’s voice echoes inside her head, and Max feels like throwing up.
Munson shifts on the bed and looks at her warily, like she’s a bomb about to explode. Like she’s a threat.
“Hey,” he says, his voice shaking a little bit. He clears his throat. “Max, right?”
She can’t speak, so Max just gives him a tiny nod, her gaze shifting between them.
“How long have you been standing there?” Munson asks and he tries to sound nonchalant, like he’s just wondering, but Max can hear what he’s really asking.
Faggot, faggot, faggot.
She’s always hated hearing Neil throw that word at Billy. Calling him that because he likes to take care of his appearance and because he cries when Neil hits him seemed unfair and cruel, it sounded like the proof Neil wasn’t doing this because Billy deserved it.
Billy always flinches when Neil calls him that. He takes everything else without a sound until he can’t help it anymore, but that word has always hit him harder than Neil’s hands ever did.
He can’t, but Billy looks like he’s about to jump out of bed and murder her with his bare hands. Max also knows that he wouldn’t, not really, because no matter how angry and awful he got with her, he also never really hurt her physically.
Angry is just how Billy looks when he’s scared, she knows that now.
And right now, he’s terrified.
Faggot, Neil spits, his face red and his eyes cold as he brings down his belt across Billy’s back.
Max steps further inside the room and closes the door by pushing it with her elbow. “I won’t tell,” she blurts out, her heart hammering inside her chest.
They both inhale sharply, like she just slapped them across the face.
“Max,” Billy growls, it’s the first time he’s addressed her directly since he woke up, and Max’s eyes burn.
“I promise. I promise I won’t tell anyone. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she rushes to say.
“O-okay,” Munson says, sounding distressed. He stands up and starts approaching her with his hands raised, like she’s some kind of wild animal. “It’s okay, hum, no—no harm done, right?”
“Eddie,” Billy rasps with a warning in his voice.
“I know, I know, I just—you mean it, right?” Munsons asks, his tone pleading.
And she probably deserves it. The complete lack of trust coming from Billy, she probably deserves it. Yeah, he was an asshole to her most of the time, but Max fought back and she fought dirty. That’s where the shame comes from, all those times she used Neil against Billy, all those beatings she knows he took because she got him in trouble on purpose.
Like that night at the Byers’. Of course she hadn’t imagined she would be sneaking out for so long, but she had thought about what would happen if Mom and Neil came home before she did, and she had known it would get Billy in trouble.
But Billy had been even more of an asshole since they’d left California, so she had done it anyway.
And then she drugged him and threatened him and a part of her still thinks he deserved it for going after Lucas and beating up Steve the way he did, but she also knows why he did it, and she knows he definitely didn’t deserve the punishment that came from Neil when they got home.
Billy doesn’t trust her, of course he doesn’t trust her. Not after all this, not after she failed to notice something was wrong with him and to help him.
She deserves it, but it still hurts.
“Billy,” she says, because she doesn’t know Munson and doesn’t care about whether or not he believes her. She takes a deep breath and gets her feet to move, walking past Munson until she’s standing next to Billy’s bed.
Billy looks at her warily, and it makes her want to burst into tears, but she holds them back and carefully puts the walkman and the tapes she’s been holding onto this whole time on the bed next to him. Then she takes a step back and watches as he looks down with a frown.
“I mean it,” Max says. “I won’t. I wouldn’t.”
Billy makes a small, wounded noise at the back of his throat, his hand shaking as he reaches out for the first tape. Munson walks past her to return by Billy’s side, and he pauses at the sight of the small stack of tapes on the bed.
“Oh,” he breathes out and sits down on the edge of the bed, his face looking a bit flushed.
SUNSHINE, the tape under the one Billy just grabbed says, and Max no longer wonders who the big and messy handwriting belongs to.
“I thought it might cheer you up,” Max whispers, her voice hoarse. “It’s stupid, I know, it’s just music, and you’re hurt and stuck here, and after what—what happened to you, but I didn’t know what else to do, and—and it’s not just music, is it?”
It’s Munson who makes a noise this time, it sounds choked up but she can’t see his face with his head tilted down and most of his hair covering it. Billy’s hand shakes so much he drops the tape and Munson immediately reaches out, but he pauses before his fingers can make contact with Billy’s.
He lays his hand on the bed instead, palm up, and Max watches as Billy lets out a shuddering breath before tentatively putting his hand on Munson’s.
Munson closes his fingers around Billy’s hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. Slowly, the tension seems to bleed out of Billy, and the sight brings more tears to Max’s eyes. She doesn’t try to hold them back this time.
Billy looks up then and meets Max’s gaze with something almost challenging in his eyes, like he’s daring her to say something.
Like he’s ready to fight back.
“No,” he says. “It’s not.”
He looks wary still, but the defeated, small and fragile ghost she grew used to seeing in this bed is gone, and Max can finally see her brother again.
It stings, because she didn’t do this. She isn’t the reason for this, just like she isn’t the one whose touch Billy allows and feels comfortable with.
But someone is.
Max looks at Munson, who is staring at Billy like he hung the moon and all the stars in the sky. Billy is squeezing his hand back, like the touch is giving him the strength he’s been lacking ever since Starcourt.
“Yeah,” Max says. She hesitates, then decides: screw it. “Probably a little bit of music, and a lot of noise and screaming.”
Billy blinks. Munson makes a strangled noise at the back of his throat and Max bites down on her bottom lip, her heart beating so fast inside her chest she feels like she’s going to be sick.
The corners of Billy’s mouth twitch up. “Shitbird,” he mutters.
Her heart soars.
“Asshole.”
El was right: Billy is not alone. And maybe. Maybe Max isn’t either.