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“Are you feeling okay?” Susan asks softly behind him.
“Yeah, why?”
“Mm, your wound’s a little weepy…” she lightly probes at the skin surrounding the gash between his shoulder blades.
“I’m fine,” Billy reassures in earnest. He’d tell her if he wasn’t. His health has been pretty precarious since Starcourt and getting that close to death has officially convinced him that despite everything, he doesn’t actually want to go yet.
“Are you sure?”
Billy rolls his eyes even though Susan can’t see it.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
She’s been weirdly overprotective since he got discharged from the hospital. Ferries him to and from all his appointments. Changes his dressings out on the wounds he can’t reach and has done so since he’s come home, even though whatever insurance plan Neil’s got him on would’ve covered a nurse for the first week.
It’s awkward at times. Billy wouldn’t say he’s psyched to have Susan— or anybody —see him like this. Sometimes he double doses the Dilaudid just to deal even though he’s not supposed to because everything is so fucked up all around. How he is, all ripped up and weaker than he’s ever been. How he got here, being some literal monster’s marionette and unable to stop himself from—
Fuck.
Billy grinds his molars against a hiss and jerks his head.
“Oh! D-Did I hurt you?” Susan quavers anxiously.
She doesn’t know anything. She still buys the explosion story. Max sold it pretty well though. His stepsister is a better liar than he initially gave her credit for.
“Nah, Susan, s’not you. You’re fine.”
“Okay…” she sounds skeptical and he can feel her uncertainty in the unsteadiness of her fingers as she continues to strip the old gauze away. Billy keeps still, rides out the awkwardness that there’s less of now but still never entirely evaporated even though this is like, a daily thing. Susan replaces everything cautiously and attentively, strips off the vinyl gloves at the end and drops them into his trash.
This is when Billy spots the bruises on her wrist. Finger shaped bruises.
Fucking Neil.
“When did he do that?” Billy demands.
“What?” Susan follows his gaze and splutters in alarm, shaking her head. “Oh, don’t worry about it, Billy…he doesn’t normally, you know. It was just, um. I was ironing one of his shirts and there was a knock at the door, I got distracted. I forgot to take the iron off the shirt and it left a bad burn mark…”
“You left a mark on his shirt so he decided he could leave marks on you.” Billy narrows his eyes.
“He doesn’t normally,” Susan repeats. “I think he’s been stressed out lately, with everything…”
Susan puts the cardigan she’d taken off back on. It’s at least two sizes too big. The sleeves swallow up her hands, so Billy figures she had to take it off to tend his wounds. He’s never seen her wear it before today. Wonders if Neil bought it for Susan specifically because he planned to beat on her.
Neil hasn’t beaten on him since Starcourt. Maybe he’s finally gotten fed up of holding back. Started in on Susan because he’s done waiting for Billy to heal enough to take the hits.
“Did Max see?” he can’t help asking.
Billy still vividly remembers every time he saw Neil strike his own mother. He still has nightmares about it every now and then. Dreams about being younger and softer in more ways than one, of wanting more than anything to get between them and make it stop. But he never can. In these dreams his feet are always stuck in something like tar, or honey, or quicksand. He never gets to stop it and always wakes with this horrible hollowness yawning across his chest.
“No, thankfully she wasn’t home. You really shouldn’t worry about it, Billy.” Susan dismissively flaps her hand and beams a smile worthy of a toothpaste commercial, too picture perfect to be true. “Do you need help with your shirt?”
She’s just deflecting. Susan knows full well Billy’s had a handle on buttons for over a week now, finally enough strength and dexterity back in his scarred up hands. He knows she knows because she was so stupidly proud watching him do it, you’d think she was gonna hand him a trophy or some shit. Just for buttoning his shirt. It was embarrassing, really, her eyes shining, hands clasped before that goofy grin on her lips.
“You know I don’t,” he calls her out on it.
Susan’s smile fades slightly and she only bobs her head before ducking out of his room. Couple days go by and Billy doesn’t bring it up again. He’s home most of the time right now. Doesn’t leave much beyond his appointments and taking walks with Max just to get out of the house. He isn’t cleared to drive yet and while he’s never been one to follow the rules, he genuinely doesn’t even feel up to driving. Admitting that is a bitter pill to swallow. Billy’s swallowing a lot of bitter pills these days.
Being home so much, he wants to think he’d hear it if Neil started really going at Susan. Billy normally blasts his stereo but after seeing the bruises on her wrist he refrains from listening to music at all once Neil gets home. But apparently he still misses something somewhere. It still isn’t enough.
Billy falls pretty bad in the bathroom late one night, after midnight, crashing on his hands and knees so hard the shampoo bottles rattle on the shelf. And it’s his own stupid fault. He should’ve turned the light on, especially since he’s not exactly steady on his feet right now. Not since being impaled by at least six fucking giant-melted-corpse-monster tendrils.
And he can’t fucking get up. He tries so hard but he just doesn’t have the core strength since becoming a human pincushion-shish-kebab. Billy figures he’ll just have to spend the rest of the night on the bathroom floor but then suddenly Susan’s here, getting her arms under his, voice soft and encouraging.
“Come on, tough guy, we got this.”
With her support he can get up, but Billy doesn’t feel tough at all. He feels utterly pathetic every step she helps him back to his room. Feels sorry for himself right up until she flicks his lamp on and the light reveals there are much bigger things to be concerned about.
“Oh, B-Billy, please don’t stare…”
Susan nervously lifts her hand, covering the half-moon of violet bruising under her eye. And Billy's kicking himself because he even thought she’d had on more makeup than usual but brushed the observation off like crumbs from the table. He can’t believe he didn’t even consider she might be hiding something, especially since the bruises on her wrist, since he’s been wary enough not to play his music. He should've known. Maybe his meds are dulling his senses.
“Fuck, Susan.”
“I’m okay, Billy. Your father’s just stressed right now. He’ll p-probably get better when the stress passes.”
“He didn’t get better with me,” Billy growls. “Didn’t get better with my mom, either.”
Susan’s lips part in awe.
“Do you know the last night she spent in our house, I watched my dad drag her down the steps by her hair? Yeah, I came out of my room because I heard her screaming. She was clawing his arm something fierce trying to make him let go, clawed him so fucking hard she lost a couple fingernails. I found them the next day. Stepped on ‘em, actually, they got stuck in my sock…”
Susan’s hand lowers from her injury to cover her horrified mouth. Billy stares hard at the violet half-moon under her eye. He’ll never forget the day Neil dragged his mother down the stairs. Will never forget feeling tiny stabs under his foot and stripping off his sock to see her bloodied nails stuck in the cotton. He doesn’t want the day to come where a similar scene plays out and it’s Max staring at Susan, Max stricken and horrified at the sight of Neil’s ugliest self unleashed.
Susan just stares at Billy as she shakes her head, unable to speak. He recognizes the look in her eyes. He knows it like the back of his hand and yet cannot give it a name and at some point, she gently brushes his cheek and withdraws from his room without another word.
Billy lies in bed and knows he is a murderer. He didn’t mean to be. It wasn’t his fault. Doesn’t change the fact that he is. Whether it was his own will or not, his body was an instrument used to slaughter half the town.
He’s a murderer. He’s killed plenty of innocent people.
He supposes it won’t make a difference if he adds one more to the list. And this one, not so innocent.
“What’re you doing?” Max asks, crinkling her nose as she watches Billy crush his pills into a fine powder using the bottom of a water glass.
“Dilaudid hits faster when you snort it.”
“Oh…doesn’t that hurt your nose?”
Billy shrugs.
“Hey, Billy?”
“Hn?”
“Neil is super grumpy tonight. Can I hang out in here until my mom gets home?”
“Grab that box of Oreos I know you got stashed in your closet, and you’ve got a deal.”
“Cool.” Max huffs out a sigh of relief and disappears from the doorway.
While she’s gone, Billy uses his hand to sweep the powdered Dilaudid into an envelope. That makes half the bottle. He’s going to be in pain for awhile. But if he can pull it off, it’ll all be worth it.
Max munches Oreos and messes with an Etch A Sketch on his couch until Susan gets home. They’ve been getting better at sharing space together. She read to him a lot while he was in the hospital. She even snuck him in a joint, once.
Billy pads into the kitchen while Susan’s getting ready to cook dinner, envelope in his pocket.
“Can I help?”
Susan gives him an odd look, arching a brow. “Pardon?”
“Y’know. With dinner.”
“Are you feeling okay?” she asks for the second time this week, but this time her eyes are twinkling and there’s a touch of jest in her voice.
“I mean…you’ve helped me out a lot lately. I could stand to return the favor.” Billy plays with the drawstring of his sweats instead of looking at her. He can feel his face going pink because fuck, it’s the truth.
The truth, give or take a bit of modification. The sentiment is real. But the way he’s framing helping Susan and the way he actually means to help Susan are a bit different. Though, it isn’t just for her, really. He’s doing this for all of them.
When he glances up, Susan looks like she’s about to cry. But she doesn’t. She gently pats his cheek and puts an apron on him instead.
Billy helps her prepare Swedish Meatballs over fluffy mashed potatoes. She makes glazed carrots on the side and while her back is turned, Billy makes Neil’s plate up for him. Mixes the powdered pills into the potatoes and drowns them in gravy to disguise the taste. If Susan notices the generous bay of gravy swelling around Neil’s helping, she doesn’t say.
If Neil tastes anything amiss, he doesn’t mention it either. They have lemon bars for dessert and it’s family movie night, so that means gathering in the living room afterward. If anybody other than Billy notices Neil stumble, they don’t mention it. He had a beer at dinner. All things considered, this works in Billy’s favor.
Neil nods off during the godawful period piece Susan picked out.
“This is boring as fuck,” Max whispers to Billy before she nods off as well, for completely different reasons.
The movie drags on and on and Billy’s bored enough that he’d probably conk out too if he wasn’t in excruciating pain with the missed evening dose, sweat drenching his shirt until it sticks to his back.
His suffering is well rewarded. After the credits roll Billy gives Max’s shoulder a gentle jostle and she wakes easily, rubbing her eyes. Neil, on the other hand, doesn’t wake at all and his skin is cool and spongy to the touch.