Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Years earlier….

For as long as he could remember, he’d experienced the world in a kaleidoscope of colors that danced and shifted with the emotions of those around him. As the years passed by, the colors receded, to living on the edges of his vision or in his mind’s eyes, but in the beginning, the world was color and color was the world. 

Every time someone laughed, a burst of golden light would fill his vision, warm and comforting, like the first rays of sunlight on a summer morning. Joy was bright and vibrant, like the buzzing of bees. When someone was sad, he saw deep blues and purples, heavy and oppressive, like days destined for heavy rains. Fear was cold, but not like winter. It was something sharper, more piercing, like sinking into the cold sea, leaving him to suck in a deep breath and his heart to hammer in his chest. 

Colors sometimes swirled and mixed in the air, like they were dancing with one another, each one a different note of someone’s emotional orchestra. It was one of the reasons he’d grow to like music so much; it made sense of the chaos. 

As a toddler, though, he’d often find himself overwhelmed by the sheer volume of colors that surrounded him. Sometimes, colors exploded in his vision leaving him dizzy and disoriented, or with a splitting headache that made him wail. Other times, they changed too quickly, leaving him feeling nauseous. 

Mama used to say it was because he had inherited her sensitivity.

He wished he could have asked her all the questions he still had. 

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For Oliver, the colors associated with his family had easily been the most comforting part of his world. It’d been the perfect canvas, and that canvas had contained all the colors of the world. 

He’d always associated his mother with spring. A blend of soft pastels and a sweet aroma of buds and foliage, carried by a gentle breeze that wrapped around him like a freshly laundered sheet, soothing and relaxing. His father, on the other hand, had been like the best parts of autumn. The deep, rich oranges and reds of falling leaves, the earth browns of soil, and the crisp cool blues of autumn sky. 

Mae hadn’t been much of a season, she’d always been quite volatile, even as a kid. She’d been a different kind of warmth. Unlike the comforting, gentle warmth of his mother or the steady, grounding presence of his father, his sister's energy had always been lively, always shifting. She could be a wave of zestful, brilliant sunlight one moment, only to sharpen into the taut wire of anxious, frantic heat the next. 

Mom used to say that while Oliver could see the world far more truthfully than others, Beth operated more blindly. He hadn’t understood what she’d meant by that, not until after her death, not until he understood the lengths so many went to hide or control or discipline their emotions. Like any other child, he’d lived under the assumption his parents had always been honest. He’d been too young to fully grasp why their words and actions sometimes felt disconnected to their colors; confusing him. Why did some people smile when they had no joy in their colors? Why did they say they liked something when their disgust tasted like rotten apples? 

That naivety had quickly crumbled away after his mother died, of course. He learned exactly how dishonest and treacherous the world could be. 

His mother was dead, and his father’s colors were hidden from him. 

But his sister was still honest. She was honest in her anger, and in her sadness, and in her grief. She felt all the colors he thought he might have been painted in if someone with his abilities had looked at him, instead. She made the world more colorful, more alive. She was just as sensitive as he was, but in different ways. Unlike their mother, she hadn’t quite mastered the world. So, Oliver was not alone, in feeling overwhelmed. They were both sensitive, and they were both different. 

But he’d always be different to others, even his sister. It was why he hated it when she tried to hide her emotions from him. 

He quickly grew to appreciate honest, blunt people as a result.

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Billy had been an honest child, too. And he certainly felt the world strongly—so strongly, in fact, that Oliver often wondered if he wasn't sensitive himself, not that he’d fully understood the meaning at the time. It didn’t matter. He’d liked Billy, because he loved his sister, and Oliver did too. 

Sometimes, Oliver would sense an undercurrent of something deep and cold under the surface of Billy’s everyday emotions. It wasn’t the same drafty sensation that came with sadness; no, it felt much deeper than. Perhaps not colder, just deeper. It reminded Oliver of the way he felt when he realized how deep and dark the ocean was. 

He didn’t understand it at the time; that some emotions could feel and look completely different to others. 

Billy’s anger ran cold. 

His sister’s anger ran hot. 

Oliver supposed it was rather fitting. 

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Oliver had been awake since five o'clock in the morning, his excitement about his birthday keeping sleep at bay. Despite his parents' evasive answers about his party location, he was convinced it would be at the aquarium. He lay in bed, watching the sky outside gradually lighten, his anticipation growing with each passing moment. Felix, as always preferred to sleep in, lounging in his favourite spot by the window, unfazed by what a special day that was. He was growing at a quicker pace than Oliver was, and it’d been kind of sad he wasn’t as tiny and cuddly as before, but Oliver loved him all the same. Dad told him that one year in a cat’s life was the same as fifteen human years! Oliver didn’t really understand how that was possible, but if it was true then Felix was half-way there. 

Around a quarter past six, his bedroom door creaked open, and Oliver's face lit up as his mother’s head poked in. She was clearly wide awake, though still in her - dinosaur! - pyjamas. "Ah!" she exclaimed, feigning surprise as she entered the room. "Who is this older boy in my son's bed? I don’t know who this is. What have you done with my son?"

She walked over to his bed, and began tickling his sides. Oliver giggled, wriggling away from her fingers. "It's me, Mama! It’s me!"

Diana put on an exaggerated look of disbelief, as she pulled her hands away temporarily. She rubbed at her chin, in thought. "Hm, I am not so sure. My son is only four—"

"I am five now!" Oliver corrected proudly. 

"Are you?"

"Yes!"

Diana tickled him again, laughing softly. "Well, I guess you are. That earns you extra tickles, I am afraid." Then she started tickling him again. 

"Mama, stop!" Oliver protested between laughs.

"I will, if you let me in under the covers," Diana said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Okay," Oliver agreed right away, scooting over to make room for her.

Diana crawled into bed, slipping under the duvet beside him. Oliver snuggled up against her, resting his head on her chest, and sighed contentedly. "Happy birthday, sweetheart," Diana whispered, pressing gentle kisses to his forehead. "My sweet boy."

"Thank you, Mama," Oliver replied, his voice muffled against her chest.

A few minutes later, the door creaked open again, and Dennis, their dog, poked his head in, whining softly and wagging his tail. Right behind him was Mae, still in her pyjamas and looking half-asleep, her hair a wild mess. She rubbed her eyes and yawned. "Happy birthday, Ollie," she mumbled. “Mornin’.” 

Diana chuckled softly. "Oh dear, did we wake you up?"

"No," Mae replied drowsily as she climbed into bed, joining the growing pile of bodies. Dennis followed, squeezing in despite the limited space. Oliver didn't mind the crowd at all. 

Mae snuggled down and complained, "Dennis, you're heavy."

"Excuse me," a voice called from the hallway, and Harry, their father, entered the room. "Has anyone seen my family?"

"Here, Daddy!" Oliver exclaimed, waving his hand enthusiastically.

"Go away, husband," Diana said playfully. "I am not sharing."

Harry smiled, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Share what? Are those my children under that mountain of fur?"

"Daddy, I am five today!" Oliver announced from under Felix. The dog licked his face, which made him giggle. 

"Shouldn't you be bigger if you're five?" Harry teased.

"I am big!" Oliver protested. “Dennis is just too big!”

"I think I need to get closer, don't I? To get a better look." Harry said, taking a step forward.

Mae groaned. "No, Dad, there’s no space. Go away---"

"Harry, shoo---"

The bed creaked ominously, and with a final groan, it collapsed under their weight. Mae screamed, and Oliver giggled uncontrollably. Dennis farted. 

For a moment, no one spoke. 

“Oh, Harry.” 

"...my bad," Harry said, trying to suppress his laughter.

"You need to lose weight, Dad," Mae decided. “You and Dennis.” 

"Excuse you--" Harry started, but Diana cut him off.

"Yes, Harry. Maybe you should leave all the cake to us," she suggested with a grin. 

"Cake? I want cake!" Oliver exclaimed, his eyes wide with excitement. 

"I already ate it, I am afraid.”

"Dad!" 

“Happy birthday, Ollie.” 

Those days had been so bright, so colorful. Like he’d been living inside a Fauvist painting, all audacious joy and unblemished colors. Grief had been a foreign concept, a smudge of gray he didn't comprehend; it was an emotion that belonged to other people, not him. 

Then death came, and death sucked all the color. There were hardly any more pure, unfiltered colors. The Great Gray washed over everything, conquering and swallowing even the brightest of hues. It left his world feeling like an old, monochromatic photograph, a place where no one smiled or laughed. Just like in a photograph, no one seemed to feel much of anything at all, either. 

Oliver had thought that was the worst of it. But the sadness that followed was so much worse. It wasn’t the crushing draining of color, but an ache that burrowed itself so deep it felt like a canyon had opened inside of him. 

He discovered there were worse things than a gray world. A world where colors felt broken and corrupted, infected by sorrow. A world where some colors, like the sunshine affection of a mother, were made extinct. A world where anger, sadness and loneliness loomed over him like ever watchful sentinels, cold and cruel. 

Yes. There were worse things than a gray world. 

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Their mother was dead. 

Mae screamed. 

The world was suddenly, and immediately submerged in blue. The kind of blue-black that could be found in the parts of the ocean he wasn’t allowed to wander to whenever they went to the beach. It was everywhere. Around him, inside of him, pressing on his limbs and organs. 

It was a tsunami, the scariest of kinds, like he’d seen once on TV, and he didn’t even get to gaze upon it before it swallowed everything in its path. All the other colors drowned, pulverized. He drowned. He didn’t understand. How could his mother be dead? His mother didn’t die. She could not die. His mother was invincible. His mother was spring. Spring could not be killed. 

Mae screamed, and something caught fire, and glass shattered. People rushed about. He could hear his father’s voice but not his mother’s, no, not Mom, because Mom was dead, and that meant she was gone, forever, and he’d never hear her voice again and why, why, why, Mom was dead, spring was dead—

The world was made of color, and the colors were bleeding, breaking, fracturing. 

Oliver fainted. 

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Houses could not scream, but it certainly felt like it might have that night. 

Emotions did. 

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Nine-year-old Oliver had been awake since five in the morning. Between the nightmares and the storm raging outside, he hadn’t been able to sleep much. Or very well, but that was hardly a new experience. Their new home may not have been a castle exactly, but it was very close to one, and Oliver figured it was just as loud as a castle. It creaked and moaned and whistled, dissatisfied like an ancient beast that didn’t care much if her guests didn’t feel comfortable. 

He sometimes liked to imagine the house was alive, and it put up with them, just like the castle in the Beauty and the Beast had to put up with all those unfortunate souls turned into objects. Mrs Bradley would have definitely been a very grumpy but well-taken care of teapot. His sister was Belle, of course. Smart and kind and pretty, and forced to be there. Except Belle had never been quite sad or as angry as his sister. 

Oliver wasn’t sure who he was in that fantastical image. Maybe Cogsworth. Or maybe Chip, since he was the youngest. Dad may have as well been the Beast, but since his sister was Belle, that didn’t make any sense. Dad wasn’t so angry, anyway, as he was more of a ghost. That fit him best. A ghost. 

It was stupid, really, to think about such things. He was too old for such things. 

Of course, if Mom had been there—no. Mom was dead and that was his first birthday without her, and all of his next birthdays would be exactly like that. 

Oliver frowned, and glanced around his room. He didn’t like how dark and quiet it was at night. The lamp that his father procured for him, which was always on at night, did little to assuage the fear festering in his gut. His sister helped, especially when she allowed him to sleep with her, which was most nights in recent weeks. Dennis did too, but he preferred being where Mae was. 

No. Not Mae. Beth. Dad said she had to be called Beth, even though Dad was still Harry, and Oliver was still Oliver. They were no longer Foster, either. But Mom was Diana Foster when she died, and wasn’t it enough they lost her? Did they have to lose one other thing they’d shared with her? 

Oliver glanced over at the empty bed across the room. His sister still sometimes slept in the tower, as Oliver liked to think of it, although there was no tower, not precisely. The previous night, though, she’d come to visit him. He’d fallen asleep reading to him. Maybe she did stay longer, because the bed looked unmade, which was bound to annoy Mrs Bradley, who always insisted she was not their maid. She wasn’t, but she also did a lot of things a maid did. 

“Felix,” The cat in question was asleep on Mae’s - Beth's - pillow. Felix looked up at him, his large eyes blinking slowly. “It’s my birthday today.”

Felix just stared at him as if he couldn’t understand why he should ever be bothered with such an inane piece of information. 

He would have definitely treated them all as toys if they’d been turned to objects. 

Oliver glanced towards the closed door of his bedroom, his gaze lingering on the worn wooden panels as if willing someone to appear. Not Mom. Mom was dead. But if powers existed, then maybe—he stared and stared, waiting for a familiar face to emerge, but the door remained firmly shut. Outside, the rain began to fall in earnest, big fat drops splattering against the windows, occasionally rattled by the howling wind. The sound matched the deep blue of sadness. His sister preferred the rain though.

What a stinking day, he thought to himself, eyes stinging. Everything outside was wet, everything was grey. The world had lost its colour, fading into a dull and dreary landscape that matched his sombre mood. The only things that stood out were the ache in his chest and the sour taste in his mouth. The taste had lessened over the last few months, but it hadn't gone away entirely. At least he could taste food okay again. He'd been scared for a while that everything would taste bad forever.

No one came through the door, no matter how long he waited. His mother was...gone. His father was either in the room he claimed as his study, or he was training Mae—Beth. He still made her train the most in the rain because it was safer. Mrs. Bradley had already told him she’d made him a cake. It was a kind gesture, but it didn’t really matter. Oliver didn’t feel like celebrating his birthday, anyway. It might as well have been a day like any other. 

What was even the point of celebrating his birthday?

“Come on, Felix,” Oliver said as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. “Let’s get some food.”

Felix jumped off the bed right away and stretched lazily before following Oliver. Felix had always been an independent cat, never one to be summoned or follow them around much, but ever since they had moved to Espey House, he’d become their shadow. Mainly Oliver, ever since Mae had accidentally singed his tail. Felix was probably also afraid he’d lose them, just as Oliver sometimes woke up in the middle of the night, having dreamt he was alone. All alone.

It had taken Oliver several weeks to stop getting lost inside the grand Espey House. Oliver still didn’t understand why it was called Espey House when it was actually a mansion. A mansion made up of a labyrinth of corridors and more rooms than anyone could have possibly needed. For the first few months, he’d been so terrified and confused by that week that all he could do was sink to the floor and wait for Dennis or his father to find him. 

Almost a year into living there, Oliver knew it as well as the back of his hand. As he made his way through the winding corridors, the scent of damp stone and old wood filled his nostrils. The house creaked and groaned around him, settling into its centuries-old foundations. He could hear the distant echo of his footsteps, the soft pad of Felix’s paws, and the occasional drip of water from the ancient plumbing. It seemed fitting. They lived in a place that might have been full of ghosts, as people who were supposedly dead. 

(Two weeks into living there, Oliver decided that even if Espey was haunted, the ghosts couldn’t have been scarier than men in masks or a world without Mom–hemissedherhemissedherhemissedherhemissedhersomuch)

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Oliver reached one of the kitchens. Espey House had three, but that one was the most used. It was smaller and warmer. Mrs. Bradley, the estate caretaker, was already there, her usual grumpy demeanour softened by the twinkle in her eye as she turned to greet him. Her skin was like old leather, all creased, but the bright, glacial blue of her eyes pierced him with a youthful, almost unsettling clarity.

Mom had had pretty eyes, too.

She was never going to get old, though. 

“Happy birthday, laddie,” Oliver found her Scottish accent a little funny but pleasant, even if he couldn’t always understand her. “Up early, I see.”

He shrugged.

“Always use ye words, son.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Oliver offered. “Thank you, Mrs. Bradley. Um, do you know where my Dad and sister are?”

Could they have forgotten? No. His father had asked him if there was anything he wanted, two days earlier, and Mae - Beth - had told him she’d make sure to get him a nice gift. 

“No idea where your ye Dad is, love,” Mrs Bradley said. “Yer sister has been feedin’ the animals.”

Oh. “Okay.”

Mrs Bradley bustled about, putting the kettle on and preparing a cup of tea for him filling the kitchen with the comforting aroma of chamomile. It was well known by then. No day could start well without a cuppa, according to Mr Bradley. Oliver took a seat at the worn wooden table, Felix jumping up to join him, his turquoise eyes watching the caretaker insistently. When she paid him no mind, he meowed loudly. 

“Patience, ye little bug-eyed rat,” Mrs Bradley responded, as she turned around and served Oliver the tea. “Here ye go, laddie. Drink up, it’ll warm ye bones.”

Oliver wrapped his hands around the cup, feeling the heat seep into his fingers. He took a sip, the warm liquid soothing his throat and chasing away some of the chill that had settled in his bones. 

The side door leading outside burst open suddenly, and in trudged Mae, Oliver's older sister, her raincoat dripping with water and her wellies caked with mud. Dennis followed closely behind, his raincoat doing little to protect him from the elements. He shook off the rain, sending a spray of water droplets across the kitchen floor.

"Don't ye dare bring all that muck in here," Mrs. Bradley warned, her grumpy demeanour returning as she eyed the mess.

Mae paused, looking down at her boots and then back at Mrs. Bradley. "I will clean it up, Mrs Bradley." She turned to Oliver, her expression brightening. "Happy Birthday, Ollie!"

Oliver's chest loosened a little at the sight of his sister, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Thank you.." Lately, it’d become rather obvious how much his sister had grown, compared to him. Sometimes it was hard for him to recognise her, all long-limbed and short-haired. He hadn’t grown much, which was kind of worrying, no matter what his sister or father said. Mrs Bradley agreed, which wasn’t that much of a win, because she kept making him eat more vegetables. 

Mae ignored Mrs. Bradley's protests and made her way to Oliver, leaving a trail of muddy footprints in her wake. She leaned in, giving him a quick hug before pulling back to look him in the eye. "We should go into town," she said in a hushed tone, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’ll tell Mrs Bradley we’re feeding Ophelia.” 

Oliver hesitated, his brow furrowing in confusion. "We're not allowed to," he reminded her. "Dad—"

"It's your birthday," Mae insisted, her voice firm but gentle. "Dad won’t have a problem with that.” 

Oliver wasn't so sure. He looked at his sister, trying to gauge her sincerity, having gotten better at ‘getting a read’. Mae was a swirl of emotions, her aura a well of blues and reds, but a lime green tint gave her away. She was lying, which was likely the part where she said Dad would have no issue with them leaving the property. 

"Um," Oliver stammered, unsure of what to say or do.

Mae took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Oliver looked up at his sister, her determined expression giving him a sense of comfort and security. 

“Okay.”

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Their father, in fact, had an issue with their unplanned outing. He didn’t chastise Oliver at all, but Oliver had to sit through the lecture he gave Mae all the same. Dad never raised his voice, no matter how angry, but his sister did. It’s his birthday. This isn’t fair. Your rules are so unfair!

“The rules are for your safety,” Harry said calmly. “Go to your room.”

“Which one—”

“Go to your room. Oliver, stay.”

Mae did as she was told and stormed out of the room, Dennis in tow. Oliver chewed on his bottom lip as he and his father were left alone. Felix was on his lap, curled up. 

His father’s emotions were always hard to decipher, like they were an object situated too far and couldn’t be seen with the naked eye. “Oliver.”

“She just wanted to do something nice.” Even though it took them a long time to get into town, and they were cold and soaked by the time they did, it had been an okay day. It wasn’t a happy day, but it’d been okay. “Don’t be mad with her.”

Harry sighed and placed a hand on his head, large and warm. There was a burn scar on the side of his palm. “I know,” he said. “I know, son. She–your sister loves you very much. Did you have a good day?”

No day was good anymore, was it? Not as good as they used to be. “I guess so.”

“Good.” His father walked over to his desk, cluttered with papers, books, and maps, and lifted something. A package, wrapped in simple green paper. “Happy birthday, Ollie.”

Oliver accepted the gift with a slight smile, which his father returned. “What is it?”

“Open it, and you’ll find out.”

He did, careful in how he removed the paper. Inside, he found a large locket, its size and shape reminding him of one of those old watches that gentlemen in movies wear. Something squeezed Oliver’s heart as he opened it, and saw his mother’s face on one side, a miniature version of one of her paintings on the other. 

“Dad, this is…”

“I’ve put some of Mom’s ashes in both yours and Mae’s lockets.” His father revealed. “That way she’s always with you. I got you something else as well, but I wanted you to see this first.”

Oh. 

Oliver’s eyes welled up with tears. His mouth started trembling. “I miss her, Dad.”

“I know.” His father bent down and kissed the top of his head. There was no playfulness. No giggling in bed, while they ate breakfast in their pyjamas. “As do I, Oliver. As do I.”

They weren’t really like the characters in Beauty and the Beast. There was no undoing of the curse for them. 

They’d already lived their fairytale. 

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Oliver loved animals. It wasn’t really a surprise, given his parents and sister did too. Animals had always had a special place in the Foster family. 

He loved animals for the same reasons many people did. 

They were always honest. 

(with some minor exceptions when it came to deceptively obtaining more food or pets, but animals never claimed to be flawless either)

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Mae–Beth had only ever run away once, and Oliver thought that may have been the first, real time he felt so angry. Not with just his sister, but with anyone. It was also at that point that he realized that being left alone with his father did not inspire as much comfort as it used to. Dad wasn’t Dad anymore. Not really. 

But Beth came back, and she promised she’d never ever leave him again. 

Many months later, their father had them travel the furthest they’d ever been from Espey House since they moved to that side of the world. They went to England, to a place even bigger than Espey. An old place, too, full of antique furniture and portraits of men Oliver did not know or care much for. He liked staring at the paintings, though. 

He should have known that their father indulging them into trips to London was not a sign things were getting better. That they were a little more normal, back to what they used to be. 

“Your sister is going to go away for a while.”

Fear clawed at his heart, as his gaze darted between his father and sister. His father’s emotions were hard to read, but he could tell Beth was apprehensive just by looking at her. She did not look very enthused by that decision; if anything, she wore the same expression she always did when their father made her do a new type of training, like doing sprints in the rain. 

“You’ll come back, right?” he asked, fearfully. “She’ll come back, right, Dad?” 

“Of course she is.”

Oliver caught the way his sister looked at his father, like she wasn’t entirely sure herself. When she met his gaze, though, she smiled a little. “I promise.”

Before she left, Beth gave him the necklace their father had given him; the one that contained their mother’s ashes. “Hold onto this for me, alright?” she said. “I’ll come back for it.”

Later, he’d realize that while that promise was genuine, Beth likely gave up on the necklace so often because she couldn’t bear to know that their mother was just that; a tiny fraction of a pile of dust. 

Oliver had had the same issue. 

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Mae returned barely a month later, but the way she looked had made Oliver’s stomach twist. She was so much skinnier, her limbs battered, her joints swollen and angry. She had a faded black eye—someone had punched his sister! Someone had hurt her. Was it bullies? Were there bullies where she went? It made no sense. 

If Billy had been there—no. He wasn’t. He thought they were dead. 

And Oliver was too small, too young to do anything about it, he realized with horror. If someone was hurting his sister, he couldn’t do anything about it. 

Oliver sat across from her at the dinner table, and watched her struggle to eat her soup, her bandaged fingers too swollen and tender to grip the spoon. She kept flinching, mouth pressed in a thin line. But she wasn’t crying. 

When Dad tried to help her, she jerked away from him and her hurt was so acrid that Oliver couldn’t taste the noodles in his mouth. Eventually, she accepted Mrs Bradley's offer for a straw, although the latter found it blasphemous to drink soup with one. Despite her words, Oliver could tell even Mrs Bradley felt a little horrified by her state. 

"You're going to learn new things too, Oliver, but Beth needs a different training," their father had promised before she’d left. "She'll get faster, and stronger."

Later that night, she chose to sleep in the tower. Oliver sneaked into her room, and found her huddled against the wall, facing it. There was a cast on her leg, and she had bandages at least in three different places. Dennis was curled up at her feet. He hadn’t left her side since she came back, and had kept on whining through the evening; he was just as concerned, no doubt. 

She was so still that for a single terrifying, dizzying moment he thought she may have— “Mae?" Oliver whispered, his voice catching. “Are–are you awake?”

Her emotions were subdued, and hard to grasp, like smoke. It reminded him of when their father used to sedate her, but Mae hadn’t lost control of her abilities in months. Maybe he gave her something for the pain? 

She sniffed. “...yeah.”

“...can I sleep in here?”

“Yeah.”

Oliver carefully placed himself on the mattress, and moved as close as possible to her without touching her. Mae looked like there was not a single inch of her that didn’t hurt. 

“I am glad you’re back.” He declared quietly. All throughout the evening, she’d seemed so dejected. He would have thought she’d be relieved being back home, especially if she’d been so hurt in that place she was sent to. 

His sister didn’t respond. 

When people were particularly sad, Oliver’s mouth always felt a little salty, like he’d just taken a mouthful of the ocean. 

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Oliver wondered sometimes, if maybe, just maybe, Beth had wished Billy was there instead of him. At least Billy would have made her smile. He always used to. 

Chapter Text

Dennis died. 

A merciful death. Painless, peaceful. He had lived well beyond the years anyone had expected despite the fair amount of danger he’d faced. He’d been a spectacular dog who’d lived a fairly spectacular life, Mrs Bradley had said. Dennis had exasperated her plenty of times, especially whenever he kept stealing her tea towels, but Oliver had always known she’d had a soft spot for him despite saying otherwise. Who wouldn’t have? Dennis was most lovable.

And just like that, one more part of the Foster family was gone forever. First, Mom. Then, their home. Then, their friends and family. Then, their name. And now, Dennis. 

Oliver felt the expected wave of grief, a deep but gentle sorrow that left his eyes raw and his chest tight. He may have anticipated that moment better than Mae, however; he had sensed Dennis’s energy growing weaker the whiter his muzzle went in the last year. His sister probably did too, but she just hadn’t been able to accept the loss, not even when it happened. Dennis had always been her dog; her shadow even before Oliver started following her around and Billy became her friend.

Dennis died, and Beth screamed. 

Violent shades of indigo and crimson appeared in his mind’s eye. Her sorrow was as sharp as a blade, but her anger was so hot that it was like standing next to a flame. 

He supposed he was, actually.

Their father’s jacket was set ablaze. The pine tree to Oliver’s right erupted, momentarily swallowing the courtyard in a blinding, aggressive orange glow. Mrs Bradley, who’d always witnessed small displays of their abilities but had never, truly, openly acknowledged them, had been visibly taken back. It wasn’t an easy feat. 

It would have frightened him, but the silence he found in his father’s canvas had already done that. 

At least his sister was still honest. 

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“I am going back to the Lost Boys.”

She had lost her mind, truly. Maybe it was all the sedatives. Or maybe it was Dennis’ death. 

“What?” Oliver’s heart sank. “No. No, you can’t. They—they hurt you. Why would you—” she was going to leave him alone again. Alone in that castle full of ghosts and Mrs Bradley whose canvas was fading a little bit more each day. 

And the animals. He still had the animals and the books, at least. 

“I…I think I have to.” 

“Why?”

He’d seen many expressions on his sister’s face. He’d seen joy, and sadness, and grief, and hurt and fear. He’d seen determination and seriousness before, too, but never quite like that. There was a sharpness to it, a focus he’d never witnessed before. 

She looked like their father the most, but right then, Oliver thought she echoed their mother when she used to be bent over a stack of papers for hours, lost in grading or preparing for a big conference. 

Beth really was both Mom and Dad, whereas Oliver had always felt more like Mom’s only, except Mom was gone. 

“Because Dad was right. That place can teach me how to be faster, and stronger—”

“Dad can teach you. too—”

“No. Not like that,” Beth said, kneeling before him, her hands settling firmly on his shoulders. “I’m going to learn everything, Ollie.”

He tried, he really tried not to cry, but the effort failed. Was it about Dennis being dead? But Oliver was still here. He was still alive, he was still there. Why did she have to leave him?

“You—you don’t have to do this.”

Beth’s expression did not waver. “I do,” she said with finality. “I am going to learn everything. I am going to be fast, and strong. I’m going to win all the challenges there, Oliver.”

Oliver dragged in a shuddering breath. He didn’t understand. Why did she have to win? They were safe there, in that ancient castle-but-not-exactly-a-castle, with the animals and books and enchanted forests. “Can I come with—”

She was already shaking her head. “You have to stay here, and look after Felix. Help Mrs Bradley. You have to learn new stuff, too.” she said. “I promise I will be back, Ollie. I am going to make sure I can protect both of us.”

Dad can protect us.” The words felt hollow, even to him. Of course their father would protect them; it was all he had been doing, right? He just wasn’t the same, though. 

Beth was undeterred. “I want to protect both of us,” she declared. “So we don’t always have to live here. I will protect you, Ollie, okay? That way, we won’t have to be afraid ever again.”

“Does this mean we can have a normal life?” he asked. “We can we go back?”

“I don’t know.” Beth said. “But I don’t want anyone to hurt us ever again.”

Oliver sniffed, rubbing his sleeve across his face. “You promise? Promise you’ll be back.”

“I will always come back.”

Beth gave him her necklace before she left. She always said she wanted him to hold onto it, for safe keeping, while she was away but Oliver got the sense she couldn’t stomach having a part of their Mom in that place she went to. 

She always came back, though.

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It became a pattern. 

Every few weeks, she'd come back to Espey house, either just before sunrise or late in the evening, clearly having been pushed to her absolute limit. One time she appeared with a sling on her arm, another time with the stiff, guarded gait of someone who’d injured their ribs. Almost always she was covered in bruises and grazes and scratches. Sometimes, the only sign of what she must have endured was a fresh, pink scar. 

Yet, no matter how tired, or uncomfortable or how much pain she was in, Beth always devoted her brief, rest period to him. She’d help him with his assignments, read aloud, play chess, or watch movies on the old TV. Sometimes, she’d make up stories for him. Twice, she even risked sneaking him out to the nearby villages. 

Her visits were brief, painful, and glorious.

From an eavesdropped conversation between his sister and his father, Oliver learned most of those visits were unsanctioned by her ‘trainers’ and she always paid a price for it.
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Oliver turned eleven, and he woke up to his father making pancakes. Harry didn't cook nearly as often as he had back in San Francisco, but lately he'd taken over some of the house duties since Mrs. Bradley was struggling with joint pain. Even so, she still insisted on making Oliver traditional Scottish cakes.

Beth wasn't coming. She was somewhere deep in the wilderness, her exercise not due to end for days. It would be impossible for her to make it to their remote corner of Scotland in time. So, the day would be theirs alone.

And it was. His father took him fishing again. Taught him the rhythm of the cast-and-wait while Oliver shared what he learned from his most recent assignments on history. They ate their catch by a fire, and his father offered up stories that Oliver hadn’t heard before: of being pitched into a frigid lake to learn to swim, or his mother being quite the troublemaker as an adolescent. 

It’d been a good day. But it became an even better one when Beth did make it to his birthday, five minutes before the day was officially over. She had a darkening black eye, a strapped wrist, and ribs that clearly ached, but her smile stretched from ear to ear, triumphant and reckless. Judging by how flushed her cheeks were, and how hard she was panting, she must have really made a run for it. 

“Happy Birthday, Ollie!” she pulled him into a bear hug. She was taller. Her limbs felt stronger each time she came back, strapped with sinewy muscle. “Do you want to go to Edinburgh? I want to see that museum you told me about.”

And Oliver couldn’t help imagining their mother, at that same age or slightly older, just as unpredictable and mischievous as his father had described her.

“I don’t think father will approve.”

“So?” 

Defiance had been taking root in his sister since they first arrived, but its nature was changing. She was bolder, braver. It both made Oliver safe, and unnerved him. Sometimes she felt leaps and bounds ahead of him, especially since she’d gone away to train in that place. 

There was no way their father hadn't heard them leave. He may have been no Beast, but he was every bit the guardian of that place. Yet, when Oliver returned two days later, full of stories about forgotten relics and street food, his father said nothing. No anger, no lectures. He simply didn’t react, the blankness more unnerving than any punishment. Oliver might have believed he hadn’t even noticed the absence, except that he knew Mrs. Bradley had been explicitly told about the 'trip.'

Beth vanished as quickly as she arrived. She didn't return for nearly five weeks. 

Though she claimed otherwise, Oliver was positive she’d gotten punished. 

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He predicted that Mrs Bradley would not survive another year. Since he’d met her, her canvas had always been a dense, earthen brown streaked with the vibrant, relentless red he associated with her will. But in recent months, the red had begun to dim, its edges blurring, and the brown was subtly being invaded by gray, like an autumn sky taking over summer. 

Dennis had been the only creature whose death had come by slow, and natural but animals were harder to sense than humans, so maybe he didn’t count. It was a strange thing, death. Not quite as scary and monstrous as he had always thought it to be, at least not for people like Mrs Bradley, who got to live out their life. 

Death, it seemed, could feel like a palette of colors being diluted, and ultimately, washed off altogether. 

It was not any less devastating, though. 

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The quiet world he shared with his father at Espey House was only temporarily disrupted by Beth's chaos. Whenever she left, he always found the quiet unbearable, although he’d never really minded it otherwise. He and his sister were alike in that sense. It was just his father’s silence that reminded him of how loud and bright and happy their home back in San Francisco had been. 

He found ways to break that silence by spending more time with Mrs Bradley. She taught him how to take care of the animals, how to make proper tea, and how to bake different dishes. 

One rainy afternoon, after Beth’s latest visit had left him feeling particularly disappointed, Mrs Bradley asked him about the book he’d been reading. It was a middle-grade version of the philosophy encyclopedia that Beth used, which was no less impressive, as that meant he read far well above his age bracket. 

As she kneaded dough, Mrs Bradley listened to him talk about his attempts to compare various philosophical concepts. He was surprised to find she was quite well versed in that topic. 

“Ma man liked readin' everythin', just like you and yer sister, aye,” she revealed. “Talked me head off.” She made it sound like a complaint, but her colors were always softer whenever she spoke of her husband.

By that point, thankfully, Oliver could understand Mrs Bradley most days which was why she didn’t control her accent as much anymore. 

“Do you know anything about the stoics?” Oliver asked. “I am finding this topic a little hard.”

She most certainly did. 

As it turned out, he and his sister have been - trying - to adapt to a stoic life all along. That was the whole purpose of the Wall, was it not? More of a wall for Beth, and a canvas for him. 

Oliver quite liked the way Mrs Bradley had explained it, though, even if the message was no different than his father’s. Whereas he told them they should leave the past behind, and keep moving forward, Mrs Bradley said, “Ye cannae control what happens, but ye can control hoo ye react. Ye cannae change yer sister no' bein' here, or yer Da' bein' a wee bit oot there, but ye can focus on bein' kind, an' bein' brave. Nobody can take awa' hoo ye react if ye keep a hold o' yersel'.”

The stoics’ philosophy wasn’t that different from the mental exercises their father asked of them. 

Oliver’s Wall wasn’t a wall. 

He imagined the inside of his brain more akin to a canvas where he could control which colors could live where. His father told him it didn’t matter what he imagined, as long as he was meditating on it correctly. 

Mrs Bradley had been less than impressed upon hearing of such mental exercises. 

“Aye, could be helpful.” she said. “You an' yer sister have had plenty o' misfortunes, so ye have. But ye ken what the problem wi' a fortress is, right, laddie?”

“No. What?”

“A fortress is designed tae keep things oot. All things. Bad…an’ guid,” Mrs Bradley said, as she tapped at her temple with a long, bony finger. Her hands were as leathery as her face, and covered in sun spots and calluses. “The human mind must stay flexible, or that’s how you end up with a world full of glaikits. or that's hoo ye end up wi' a world full o' glaikits. Bein' in a fortress is safe—" She waved her hand around them."—but ye cannae learn everythin' frae books. That's why I never agreed wi' yer da' keepin' ye a' cooked up in here. "

That was true. Oliver had had more outings into town than Beth did when they first moved there, mostly partly because Beth had needed months before she could control her abilities. But Mrs Bradley had always believed Beth was better off to be allowed free, not confined in the tower like ‘a wee princess’.

Oliver wasn’t fully convinced by her words, however. His parents have always encouraged him and his sister in the pursuit of knowledge. Books held plenty of knowledge, and the world was full of people who didn’t. Didn’t that balance it out? 

But his mother and father didn’t know as much as they did just from books, did they? 

“I guess.”

The Stoics practiced the idea of a mental fortress which they referred to as the Inner Citadel. According to them, pain and loss, could not touch one’s soul or true unless one allowed it. It was the ultimate defense mechanism. 

Oliver quite liked the idea of being invulnerable to grief and sadness. 

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He convinced himself he could be a stoic individual himself. His father was one, was he not? His sister wasn’t, though. She was too sensitive. 

Then Mrs. Bradley died.

It couldn’t be helped. He repeated the logic to himself. She’d been old. It was an external event, and he couldn't have done a single thing to stop it. Death came for everyone; she was no exception. At least she got to live her life. Mom never did.

Since he could do nothing about it, he absolutely could not let it affect him.

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No one had to know he'd spent most of the first week crying after he received the letter. It had actually been a couple of weeks, and the news might not have been confirmed at all, but her lawyer wanted to her will, which had included their names. 

He was utterly alone at House Espey when he found out. Their father had never left them by themselves for more than a couple of days when Mrs. Bradley was there. So, again, Dad had promised he'd be back in a couple of days again. 

He didn't come back. With Beth still away in England training, Oliver was left with the creaky, castle-not-castle, a grumpy Felix, and animals that needed tending. 

When Beth called, he said nothing about Mrs. Bradley's death or their father's absence. He didn't know why; he desperately wished she were there; his sister, taller, stronger, and braver with every passing month. But he didn't tell her.

“Dad went into town,” he lied. “He’ll be back soon.” 

A wave of guilt immediately hit him. What if something had happened to their father? Beth should have known. Instead, he assured her he'd be fine for a few hours, then set out to complete Mrs. Bradley’s daily chores. He made breakfast, fed Felix and the few remaining animals, swept the kitchen, and neatly made his bed.

He cried intermittently throughout each task, especially whenever he caught a whiff of Mrs Bradley’s scent or he came across objects she’d used on a regular basis, like her favorite mug. 

He stood in the darkness of Espey House, and just like his father asked, he swallowed his fears. 

It was okay. No fortress worth having was easy to build, right?

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He stopped referring to his father as Dad. It made him feel small and helpless. 

His sister had been right. Dad, or most of him anyway, had died the same day their mother did. 

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Father told him that Beth was made aware of Mrs Bradley passing. Oliver had found it strange she hadn’t called or sent a letter, because of course she would have, but Father also told him that she was likely preoccupied with her last challenge. 

The last challenge. He’d been hearing about it for weeks, if not months. If his sister passed it, she was going to leave the Lost Boys and come back. Maybe not indefinitely, but she would not leave as often. She told him that, and Oliver believed her. 

They travelled to England, and Oliver finally got to see the Lost Boys. He was simultaneously unimpressed and unnerved. That was the place his sister had been stuck? There were no other girls! It kind of smelt. It was loud and it smelt of sweat and he didn’t like the colors of some of the boys. The red of anger ran too deeply on their canvas. 

“Father.”

Harry had given him a few raised eyebrows the first few times he heard Oliver refer to him in that manner, but he hadn’t questioned it. “Yes.”

“Will I be training here?”

His father frowned, and Oliver was confused. “Perhaps.” he said, finally. “It is not the place I’d want you to be.”

“But you sent Bea here.”

“That was not an easy decision either.”

The same way defiance had taken root in his sister’s heart, bitterness had in his. He didn’t express it, however. There was a bigger part of him, unlike Beth’s, who wanted to trust his father’s decision-making. 

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The final challenge pitted well over twenty boys-and Beth-against a treacherous wilderness course. Their objective was to find a series of color-coded flags while navigating natural elements, hidden booby traps, and the potential sabotage of their competitors. The flags varied in value: the easiest-to-spot red flags were worth five points and were the most abundant. Yellow flags were worth ten points and blue flags, considerably smaller, were twenty. 

There was also only one near-mythical green flag. Mythical, because in the last several years, no one had actually found it before, leading the competitors to assume that the trainers lied about its existence. However, it was presumably printed in a shade that made it nearly invisible and rumored to be placed the furthest into the wilderness. 

It was also worth a thousand points so whoever obtained it was by default a winner. 

The challenge had to be completed within a week, and the competitors had miles of wilderness to cover. 

By the time Oliver and his father arrived, the challenge was well underway. In fact, it was going to be over in less than twenty-four hours. 

And no sign of Beth.
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The boys were trickling back, emerging from the dense canopy onto the hill where the finishing line waited. Beth wasn't the only one missing, but as the numbers grew, Oliver's anxiety surged.

His father hid his concern, yet Oliver had seen the wisps of purple flash when a trainer delivered the news. A storm was coming, another one. The first had already made the course a near disaster, and the second one was going to be worse. 

“We have the older boys posted outside of the perimeter.”

Harry was calm but skeptical. “Unless you have actual walls, there’s still a high risk for one of them to wander outside of it.”

The trainer - a tall, burly man with a shaved head and reddish-brown beard - placed a hand on his father’s shoulder. “Harry. She’ll be okay. That kid’s got a lot of fire in her bones.”

He has no idea. 

Above him, the sky cracked, and he looked up at the darkening storm.

She promised. 

She promised she’d be back. 

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The one-week deadline was just six hours away, but the real threat was the storm expected within the next day. The coming weather would make any search in the woods difficult, if not impossible.

Two people were missing from the Lost Boys' final challenge: Beth, and another boy, Tom, who was a year or two older than her. Oliver knew some of the boys congregated around the tents set up on the hill, all of them waiting with bated breath for the two competitors to appear. Though he was only observing, he quickly matched faces to the descriptions his sister had given him. He realized the missing boy was the same Tom his sister had called an asshole. Most of the boys, caught up in the competition or too exhausted and injured to care, had ignored Oliver's presence beside his father.

Meanwhile, his father had walked off to organize a search party with the trainers and older boys. He commanded the attention of everyone with an authority Oliver hadn't seen in recent memory. That was the largest, most deliberate gathering of people they had ever interacted with, and Oliver was confused. Why would his father trust those people enough to know about him and Beth, even under false names? Something didn't add up. If some of these trainers were supposed "allies" or old friends, surely they knew about San Francisco and their mother? They might have even known Oliver and Elizabeth's real names and what happened to their home. Oliver doubted the loud and overwhelming Lost Boys could keep such a secret.

Oliver sat in the corner of a tent, watching the adults talk, his fingers rubbing the locket in his pocket. He fought against the panic seizing him. With every passing hour, and as the sky darkened, their chances of finding Beth plummeted. Though his father and the trainers spoke in hushed tones, Oliver had overheard the other boys discussing the dangers of the wilderness. It wasn't just hungry animals or getting lost. The river was likely swollen from the rain, freezing to death was a risk, and lightning could crush them with a falling tree. 

Worse, if Beth had somehow wandered past the boundaries, the vastness of the forest meant they might never find her.

Beth had spent days and nights alone in a forest before. Never that long though. Never without having carefully mapped the area with their father, who’d never just left her on her own. At least, not always. 

What if….

What if his sister wasn’t going to come back? Just like Mom.

Oliver felt as if he’d been punched to the gut. A sudden, sharp nausea seized him. He couldn’t breathe the air inside the tent,so he scrambled out, stumbling into the drizzling rain. He bent over, hands on his knees, dry-heaving until the worst of the panic subsided, leaving him hollow and shivering in the mud.

“Hey,” One of the boys noticed him. Was it the one named Tommy? “You alright?”

Hot tears prickled at Oliver’s eyes and his cheeks burned with embarrassment, but his insides felt cold. “Y-yes.” he swallowed. What if–

“I see something!”

A boy pointed frantically down the muddy slope, toward the ominous, churning black of the treeline. The low, roiling sky and sporadic rain had stolen the last of the light, making the forest a dark, soaking tomb. The cry of discovery drew the other boys, the trainers, and Harry out of the tents to stare into the direction the boy was pointing at.

At first, there was nothing but wet, dark wood and some of the boys got quickly annoyed. “Man, you need to get your eyes checked, Freckles.”

“No. No, I swear! Coach, I swear! I saw—look—look! There it is again!”

And this time, they all could see what he was seeing. A spot of orange-red, a warm glow, piercing the shadows of the forest. 

The silence broke into an explosion of shouts.

"Is that—"

"Holy shit, lads! It's Wendy!"

The sound of his sister's fake name—the one she used with the Lost Boys—came as a roar of relief.

"Coach! Coach! It's Wendy!"

"How the fuck does she have a torch?"

It was her. Against all odds, bathed in the defiant, moving light of a handheld torch, was his sister.

The relief that flowed through Oliver was instantly muted by a horrifying assessment of his sister. Even from that distance, she was clearly in a terrible state, yet she moved forward slowly, mechanically, one foot in front of the other. In one hand, she held the hand-made torch, its fire glowing bright and fiercely lifted high. Her other arm was clamped around another figure. Taller and skinny, visibly limping, with half his bodyweight leaning against hers.

"It's Tommy—boys, that's Tommy!" 

“Wendy’s got Tommy!”

Beth suddenly stopped, staggering slightly under the weight of the boy. He did not appear to be fully conscious, and Oliver could see a terrible patch of dark blood seeping through his khaki trousers. He was severely injured.

Without hesitation, Beth chucked the torch into the muddy ground off to the side, then reached into a pocket. The object she took out unfolded easily in the gust of wind, and color floated through the air. 

The waiting crowd of boys and trainers erupted into a chaotic, joyous roar. 

It was the green flag.

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Beth looked less like a human being and more like a creature from the forest.

Her clothes were in a terrible shape. The left leg of her trousers was ripped in long, jagged stripes that exposed raw, mud-caked skin on her knees. Her canvas jacket was frayed, a waterlogged mess, hanging off one shoulder where the stitching had given way, revealing a deeply bruised collarbone. The fabric was stiff and heavy, saturated with rainwater, muck, and what Oliver instantly recognized as the metallic stench of dried blood.

Her skin was a patchwork of extremes. Where it wasn't coated in a thick, insulating layer of dark mud and pine needles, it was deathly pale. A deep, ugly gash ran across her forehead, sealed by scabs that had been repeatedly softened and washed by the rain. Her knuckles were split and swollen, her fingernails broken and packed with dirt. She was shivering uncontrollably. Her ankle was swollen, and she could barely put her weight on it.

And honestly, she smelt. Badly. Not just like the earthy smell of the forest, but…bad. Sweat, and woodsmoke, and maybe even something rotten. Oliver tried not to think too much of it. It wasn’t her fault.

Beth smiled at him, eyes sunken and ringed with shadows that made her look years older. 

“See?” she said. “I told you I’d come back.”

If Oliver had to describe what a warrior looked like, he would have absolutely pointed at his sister. 

Even if she fainted right after.
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It took Beth a couple of weeks to recover.

When she found out about Mrs Bradley, she was angry. When she found out that Oliver had been alone at Espey for a week, she said something to their father that Oliver knew she both meant and later felt incredibly guilty about. 

“What is even the point of you being alive?”

Their father didn’t answer, but Oliver thought he’d seen a crack in his canvas, even briefly, for the first time. 

He too felt guilty, even just a little bit, for being jealous of his sister being able to do that.
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For someone who spent so much time in a place as hard and violent as the Lost Boys, Beth still had the unending ability of acting silly.

Very silly. 

It made one’s attempt at being a Stoic very difficult.

“Oh, come on.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“For your sister, who loves you very much, and whom you love so—”

Were older siblings meant to be that annoying even when they were easy to love? Probably.

“Why?”

Beth frowned, and he looked away because he didn’t like seeing that expression, even though she should have been hard to take seriously right then.

She was wearing a Winnie the Pooh onesie, and holding a smaller one in her right hand. A Piglet one, just for him.

Sometimes, he wondered if she shit her head one too many times. Sure, his sister had been plenty joyful and even mischievous, before, but it was odd seeing her act so childish now that she was older. She reminded him the most of their mother then even if his memories of her were not particularly vivid. Some memories were. Most were faint, or fractured.

“Why not?” Beth asked. “Is it because it’s Piglet? We can get you the dinosaur.”

Oliver’s cheeks flushed. He actually did like the dinosaur one, but it seemed immature to wear such a thing. He may have been young, but he wasn’t into childish things anymore. No. No, not when he was working on being the best version of himself.

“It’s just…childish,” he muttered. “We’re going to have to leave it behind anyway. Father said we should only carry essentials.”

“Oliver, look at me.”

It was his time to frown, because Beth rarely ever used that voice with him, but he did as he was told. His sister wasn’t angry, just…sad. A little disappointed perhaps. Her colors were sour shades.

“Why does it matter if something is childish or not?” she asked. 

“Of course it does,” Oliver countered, pushing back the anxiety curling in his gut. “The Stoics considered toddler behavior impulsive, and what’s impulsive is—”

Beth’s frown deepened, cutting him off. The words died in his throat. She came to sit beside him on the small sofa near the changing rooms, and sighed. “I am sorry I wasn’t there when you found out about Mrs Bradley, and that you were alone.”

Oliver lowered his head and stared at his lap. “You couldn’t have done anything about it.”

“I could have been here,” Beth insisted. “Why didn’t you tell me about Harry being gone?” Lately, she had been calling their father by his name more often.

Oliver shrugged, having no answer ready. Then, he heard Mrs. Bradley’s voice in his head. Always use yer words, laddie. “I was fine on my own,” he muttered.

He knew she didn't believe him. 

“Ollie,” Beth placed a warm, gentle hand on his head, and his throat tightened with unshed tears. “I understand why you like the Stoics so much. Their teachings can be useful. They help us learn how to react when something out of our control takes place. Put it behind the wall, right?”

“Yes.”

“But emotions are human, Ollie.” He looked up at her, waiting. “You want to know how I managed to finish that challenge? Or any tough task they gave me in that place?”

“You were determined.”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t have been determined if I hadn't been so worried about the things that might happen.” 

Oliver mulled that over, as he traced the fingers of his right hand over the seam of the sofa. “But worrying about things that might happen won’t help, right?” 

Beth inhaled slowly. “Maybe not. I know I don’t always agree with Dad, but he is right about us needing to be prepared. I’m afraid something bad will happen to you. I may not be able to predict or prepare for everything that may hurt you, but I also can’t just accept things as they come. Or as they are.

“I see.” Oliver wasn’t sure he understood. “But bad things could happen anyway, no matter how prepared you are.” They already did, didn’t they? 

Beth looked conflicted, as she slipped her arm around his shoulders, pulling him in for a loose, comforting hug. “I hope not.” she said finally, then decided to change the topic which made him think she was unsure herself. “Either way, I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t have had anything against enjoying yourself now and again. Is it so wrong to be silly? Or a little childish? Mom used to be like that, sometimes.”

“Was she?” The question was quiet, tentative.

Beth’s brows furrowed in amusement. “Yeah. You were too young to remember, but she once got completely stuck on a slide at the park trying to show me it wasn’t scary.”

Oliver blinked rapidly, trying to picture it. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah. And another time, she and Dad had a bet on who could make the most cupcakes for a school event.”

“Who won?”

“Dad would have, but Minnie ate several of his.”

Oliver couldn’t help the small smile that escaped him. “That’s why Mom used to say she’s the undefeated—”

“—Queen of Cupcakes, yeah.” Her smile was genuine but sad. 

“I’m not wearing the Piglet onesie,” Oliver stated, finally. 

Beth nodded slowly. “Okay. You don’t have to.”

“But I like the dinosaur one.”

She grinned widely. 

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“Father.”

Harry was seated in a rickety chair at a small desk in one of the rooms of the southern Italian villas they’d been staying at. It was surprisingly cool inside that day although the weather was going to easily exceed thirty degrees. 

Oliver approached him, and noticed his father was writing in a journal. He couldn’t fully make out and when he tried to lean in, and take a closer look, Harry placed closed it and leaned back in his chair to look at him. 

“What’s the matter, Oliver?” He wasn’t angry or impatient, even though it did seem like Oliver interrupted him. Harry rarely ever displayed either of those emotions, at least with Oliver. Beth managed to get under his skin more successfully, albeit not often or easily. Sometimes, Oliver found it confusing how keen she was on doing so. Mrs Bradley used to find it funny, and point out that ah, that is the way o' the teenagers.

“Do you think the Stoics were always right?” It was useless asking his father what he’d been writing about. Oliver was bound to receive a vague answer or a lie. “About accepting good and bad things as they were because they can’t change it?”

Harry’s brows lifted ever so slightly, indicating he was surprised. Then he pulled his chair out and turned in his seat to face Oliver. “They didn’t label events as inherently good or bad, merely as something inevitable,” he said. “Like the weather or the opinions of others.”

“And the death of people you care about.”

His father’s expression didn’t change but his canvas felt…heavy. In a way. Oliver wasn’t sure how to describe it except it felt like a canvas that was full of color but painted over to be blank. 

“Yes, that is correct.”

“But are they right?” Oliver asked. “You always say we have to be as prepared as possible, but if we are, and bad things happen, then….”

“You don’t know what you don’t know.” His father said. “You could be prepared for a thousand scenarios, and there might be a thousandth and one you haven’t. However, the likelihood of that one scenario you didn’t prepare for is much lower.”

Oliver pondered that. “So it’s about reducing risk, not getting rid of threats?”

“There will always be threats.” A shadow fluttered over his father’s expression. “You can try and be prepared as best as you can to deal with them, that is all.”

It was a rather disappointing answer. Oliver would have preferred his father had said that they could be ready to face any danger, that they were entirely safe with all the rules and training and assignments.

But he appreciated the honesty. “You always say it’s best to avoid a threat, or…or remove ourselves from it.” he added, after a minute. “Is that because we might not win?”

His father gave him a long, inscrutable look then sighed. “It is best to not take unnecessary risks,” he said. “I want you and your sister to survive whatever threat you might come across. So I’d prefer you know how to get away from it as quickly as possible.”

Oliver supposed that made sense. If the masked men ever appeared again, he wasn’t sure he’d have liked to stay and find out what they wanted. 

“But what if we can fight it?”

“Fight it?”

“Yes. Isn’t that why Beth went to the Lost Boys? Why you train us?” 

Harry shook his head. “No. I don’t want you to ever be in a situation where you have to fight for your life, Ollie.” he said. “I want you and your sister to be able to protect yourselves. To get away from danger.”

Oliver frowned.

His father reached for him, warm hands gripping his small shoulders. “You and your sister must survive,” he said, firmly. “And that may mean you need to do difficult things. Impossible things, even. You must survive, however. Do you understand?”

Oliver nodded quietly. “Yes, Father.”

.
.
.

His sister ran towards danger. His sister stood back and fought for others. His sister did impossible things, like defeating monsters or saving Billy from the Mind Flayer. 

That seemed to have yielded the unexpected: friends, not just allies. Oliver wondered if their father, for all his strategies and intelligence, had ever considered that scenario. 

Probably not. 

.
.
.

"Happy birthday, Ollie," Beth said softly, offering him a cupcake with a single candle flickering on top. "We'll get you some proper dessert later today."

Thirteen-year-old Oliver looked up at his sister, taking in her appearance. She looked utterly exhausted, and she felt like it too. Her eyes were ashen, with dark purple bruises underneath, a testament to the sleepless nights she'd been enduring. Her hair looked thin and dull, pulled back tightly into a bun. 

She was trying to hide her emotions, but she could never do it as successfully as their father. Oliver caught wisps of her anxiety, a sickening yellow, and her fear, a cold blue. There was anger, too, a burning red that seemed to flicker just beneath the surface.

The last few weeks have been a roller coaster of emotions and events. Their father was gone, and the woman who ran the first foster home might as well have been the Devil itself in human flesh. Then the house burned down. Oliver still had flashbacks of Charlie pulling Beth out of that room, naked and bloody. It was an image seared into his memory, one he wished he could erase because it made him nauseous and afraid and confused. 

He much preferred the image of his sister strong and determined, unbeatable. Like when she had arrived to take them all out of the second foster house. 

"We don't have to celebrate it," Oliver said, his voice quiet but sincere. He was just happy she was still there. It was just the two of them left, now. Scotland was a distant memory, and Felix was far away, in New Orleans. It was just him and Beth, the last of their family.

"I don't really care," he added, looking down at the cupcake. He did. He did care, but he was trying to take it in stride, because he couldn’t do anything about what was happening. He couldn’t help his sister, he couldn’t fight like she did, he couldn’t do anything. 

Beth smiled softly at him, but there was no joy in her eyes. It frightened him when she was like that. Dead in the eyes. "Of course we have to celebrate it," she said, firmly. "You're still here, Ollie. That's something to celebrate."

It didn't feel much like a victory, not with everything they had been through. But at least he had his sister. At least they had each other. 

He couldn’t entertain a world where she was gone, too.

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.
.

Their father died. Presumably. Then, tentatively for certain. 

His sister did not scream. She didn’t cry, either, at least not within his proximity. Oliver, however, watched her become a Stoic herself. Or attempting to. It was not at all fitting for someone like her, someone who cared so much about doing the right thing, and helping others even when it went against all the rules.

He wasn’t sure who he was without the Stoics. 

And he worried, again, that his sister might outgrow him. This time, too much for him to catch up. 

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.
.

Fourteen-year-old Oliver woke up late, the sun's warm embrace beating down on his face, coaxing him from his slumber. Mid-April brought warmer temperatures and a bolder sun, a stark contrast to the chill of the past few months. He had gone to sleep late, engrossed in a book, and the remnants of the story still danced in his dreams. His room was empty, Freddie's bed unmade and messy, hardly a surprising sight. He never really slept later than Freddie, though. 

Oliver considered staying in bed, savouring the comfort of his warm blankets, but a few minutes later, the door creaked open. His sister peeked her head in, a grin spreading across her face as she revealed the birthday cone hat perched on her head. "Hello," she chimed. "Happy birthday, Ollie!"

Oliver blinked, taking in the sight of his sister wearing a very tall, colorful and pointy hat. "What are you wearing?”

Beth walked in, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and pounced on the bed, enveloping him in a tight hug despite his protests. 

She kissed him on the head. "Happy birthday, little brother. I can't believe you're fourteen."

Oliver's mouth felt like he was eating fizzy candy, sweet and effervescent. His sister's genuine excitement was infectious, and he found himself smiling despite his initial reluctance. "I can't believe you're almost nineteen," he teased. 

"Aw, give me a kiss," Beth cooed, leaning in closer, as she tapped her finger over one cheek. 

"No—" Oliver protested, but Beth persisted, playfully insisting until he finally relented. 

Freddie burst into the room a minute later, also wearing a birthday cone, and bellowed, "Happy Birthday!" He blew into a party blower, the loud noise filling the room. 

"I can't hear that, Freddie," Beth grinned, her eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. “What did you say?” 

"Happy birthday, Ollie!" Freddie shouted again, undeterred.

"What?"

"Happy birthday!" Freddie repeated, blowing the party blower once more.

Oliver closed his eyes, a mild embarrassment washing over him, but his head was full of brightness, warm colours that seemed to dance and shimmer behind his eyelids. The colour of sunshine. It felt stronger than previous years, more solid, rather than gossamer thin, ready to be blown away like a leaf in the wind. 

Freddie jumped on the bed, chanting, "Ollie, Ollie, Ollie, you need to come blow your candles!"

Oliver opened his eyes and gave his sister a look, a mixture of exasperation and amusement. "Seriously?"

"Hell yeah," Beth said, her grin never wavering. "You're fourteen."

"It's just a day—" Oliver started, but Freddie cut him off with another blast from the party blower.

"Freddie, it seems we need to do this the hard way," Beth said, laughing as she got up and pulled the duvet off of Oliver. 

"What are you doing?!" 

She dragged him out of the room, despite his playful insults and protests, and they stopped just outside of the door. Oliver froze, nearly overwhelmed by the colours that exploded in his mind.

"Happy birthday, Oliver!" a chorus of voices called out, and Oliver was stunned to see a crowd of people filling up the small ‘living room’ of the inn they’ve been staying at. Everyone was there, wearing party hats, and there were decorations everywhere, all screaming happy birthday, Oliver. 

A mountain of colorfully wrapped presents covered the surface of the round dining table, which had been pushed aside, near the window. Joyce was holding a cake with birthday candles, smiling widely. 

"I can't believe you slept in," Max said, rolling her eyes but smiling nonetheless.

"Yeah, you've missed like a quarter of the day," Dustin remarked, a teasing lilt to his voice.

Oliver glanced at his sister, befuddled. She smiled at him, and kissed him on top of his head. 

“Sorry, this was the only way to surprise you.” 

The world was color, and colors were the world. 

.
.
.

“Did you have a good day?” Beth’s fingers moved gently over his head, alleviating the mild headache he’d been sporting all day. He didn’t mind it. It’d been brought forth by good emotions. 

“...yes.” 

“Hm, I wasn’t going to throw a party,” Beth admitted. “I was worried it’d…make it harder, but Max and the others insisted.”

Right. Because they were his friends. He had friends - plural- who wanted to celebrate his birthday. “How did they know when my birthday was?”

“I told them.”

He rolled his eyes, but he wasn’t actually annoyed. “So this is your fault.”

“If I must take the fall.”

Oliver moved slightly and placed his head on her stomach. Beth wasn’t Mom, but she was close enough. With the inn suite finally empty again, it felt almost too silent. How odd. Silence used to be the norm. 

In the past years, there’d been moments when he’d wished he had friends, but he had always thought that they weren’t all cut out to be. Friendships were for normal boys. He had his sister, though, and he’d never had to worry about losing her to better friends, like some characters did in TV shows. 

But it was nice. Having friends. Confusing, and foreign, but very nice. 

“...thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Ollie.” Beth rubbed her hand up and down his arm, comfortingly.

Their mother had died two weeks after his birthday. He’d always felt there hadn’t been enough time between the two events for him to separate them properly. He could barely remember what his last birthday in San Francisco had been like, except he’d been endlessly happy. They all had been. 

The world was coloured, again, Oliver realized. The colors were different, like someone had changed out the color palette for something different, but the new colors weren’t any less bright or pretty. 

.
.
.

Earlier that day….

“Here.” Max handed him a small package when they were alone, at the arcade. Oliver had already opened most of his presents, from the others, and there’d been plenty. He hadn’t been easy to find gifts for, according to Mike, but Beth had helped. Oliver liked everything that he received. Dustin gave him an encyclopaedia, Mike had given him a tie, Lucas had given him a basketball and posters of people he absolutely had to know about before high school started. Will had given him a comic he made of a superhero with empath abilities. 

From the older guests he received mostly clothes, except for Nancy, who gave him a couple of books. In addition to a very finely made sweatshirt, Steve gave him a can of hairspray, mostly as a joke, but told him he’d help Oliver apply it if he needed. “With great hair comes great responsibility, alright?” Jonathan gave him a book on photography. 

Jim gave him a shaving kit, and an awkward pat on his head. “You’ll need it before you know, kid.”

Max hadn’t offered her gift until then, which Oliver hadn't thought much of; he hadn't expected gifts from anyone at all. The present she handed him was rectangular, wrapped messily in green. She watched him stare at it, her own colors flashing with a nervous, jittery yellow. “Well?” she demanded, crossing her arms. “Are you going to open it or what?”

The present she handed him was rectangular, wrapped in green paper (a little messily) and quite heavy. Max watched him stare at it. “Well?” she asked, then crossed her arms. “Are you going to open it or what?”

Oliver unwrapped it carefully, avoiding unnecessary rips.

It was a journal, the size of half a sheet of paper, thick and weighty. The leather covers looked hand-dyed, and the slightly clumsy stitching and uneven pages suggested it was handmade.

When he didn't immediately speak, Max’s energy shifted abruptly; the yellow of impatience was overrun by the muddy brown of worry. She instantly got restless. “What?” she asked, pulling her arms tight. “If you don’t like it, that’s fine. You can just say so.”

Oliver looked up at her, ignoring the rush of heat that always bloomed on his ears when he was embarrassed. “You made this?” For me? Max, did? Max, who was impatient, and just the other week, had lamented not liking anything to do with art class. She looked away, cheeks flushing. “Sort of.” she shrugged. “I saw Beth’s journals, and they were really cool. She showed me how to make one. Thought you could use it.”

She glanced away, a soft pink creeping onto her cheeks. “Sort of,” she muttered, shrugging. “I saw Beth’s journals, and they were really cool. She showed me how to make one. Thought you could use it.”

“Use it?”

She rolled her eyes, and the color that popped in his mind’s eye was a warm, defensive orange. “Yeah, doofus. Use it,” she said, uncrossing her arms. “Don’t the Stoics encourage it or something? A tool for rational processing and so on.”

Oliver knew Max hadn't read a single page of philosophy before. She’d told him as much. Did she go out of her way to read about them because of him? “You read about the Stoics?”

“Sure,” she muttered, still avoiding his direct gaze. “You didn’t get many gifts before, right?”

And, so what—oh. She had wanted to make sure she gave him a good gift.

“The paper is thick enough to paint on, by the way,” she added, glancing quickly back at him. “So you can paint on it, too. You can do whatever you want, it doesn’t matter—will you stop staring?”

He flushed deeper. He had been staring. “Thank you,” he managed, meeting her gaze. “This is…an amazing gift.” 

Max blinked rapidly, her colors settling into a pleased, resonant deep green. Her lips curled a little. “You’re not being full of crap, are you?”

“No,” he said, and smiled back. His stomach felt full of fizzy rocks, but the feeling wasn’t panic. It was something else, something he didn’t have much experience with. He’d experienced it before, just once, but it’d been so brief that he wasn’t sure it counted. “I really like it. Thank you, Max.”

She was mildly stupefied, maybe because he smiled, and unsure what to do with her hands. “Good, uh, I guess. I’m—I’m glad.”

“You have terrible stitching skills, by the way.”

Max punched him lightly in the shoulder, grinning despite herself. He had hoped for that reaction; Max, unlike most people, always preferred his blunt honesty. Okay. Maybe not always, but most of the time. “Just because it’s your birthday doesn’t mean you can be an ass,” she grinned. “Also, don’t think I’ll let you win the next round.”

“I won’t.”

Oliver didn't think of Max as a season. If anything, he thought she was more like the bright, impending change between seasons. 

He wasn’t really sure what to do with that comparison. 

Or with how much he liked it. 

Chapter Text

29th of March

Beth understood that she’d put him on the spot, first with the car and then with her confession, and Billy being Billy, reacted the only way he could have. Like a cornered animal. 

It hadn’t been her intention to turn his birthday into such an emotional maelstrom. She had specifically planned to talk about how she felt, and them, the day after, at the earliest. She knew he’d be resistant to her offering him the car, that he might even be adamant to say no, and she’d told herself she’d just let it go. Let him think it over, give him time. 

But she’d found herself exercising very poor self control. Part of her had been selfish, wanting to put it all out in the open, but she’d also thought that it was best to rip off the bandaid. Nothing good ever came out of them staying upset with one another for too long. 

Beth wasn’t sure what to make of Billy’s emotional state for the remainder of his birthday. Although he’d been willing to let her hold him back at the storage unit, they didn’t exchange any words on their way to the Byers except for when she asked whether he’d like to skip that trip. He’d simply said no, then let her drive him there. 

At the Byers, she might have been fooled that nothing was amiss had she not known him so well. He was never particularly sociable when they were all together, except when it came to making fun of the kids or annoying Steve, but he’d been especially quiet throughout the afternoon. Not as much lacking in bite or his usual assertiveness, as he did in the conviction to antagonize the kids or Steve or Jim. 

He met Beth’s gaze plenty throughout the affair, but she never could tell what he was thinking. They didn’t really speak to one another, and they didn’t get a moment alone. She wasn’t sure it’d have mattered if they did. Beth hadn’t been sure how to act, so she defaulted to just behaving as usual. Or as close as possible to that. She’d struggled to relax, and while they were at the table, she tried to keep the hives on her hands as hidden as possible. They itched and itched and itched. 

At least she didn’t set anything on fire. 

It hadn’t been a birthday party per se, but it’d been a nice get-together. She was certain Billy had felt more touched by it than he let on, and that was clear more in his actions than whatever he said or didn’t say. Like how he insisted on helping Joyce clean up, even though she insisted otherwise, or how he agreed to train Lucas for his basketball tryouts with hardly any hesitation, or how he refrained from irking Dustin too much. 

“I can’t tell if it went really well or not.” Steve muttered to her while she was helping him gather all the trash. He was holding the bag, and she was filling it up with napkins and empty soda cans. “Are you alright—”

“Steve.” She suddenly felt like crying. She felt relieved and she felt castigated and she felt guilty and she felt lost. She couldn’t decide if she was the world’s worst person, or just incredibly awful at being in love. Probably the latter. Most likely. She had no romantic expectations, but whenever she thought about what she’d said to Billy, she felt clumsy and awkward and embarrassed. She wasn’t dealing well with either, and part of her wished she’d kept her mouth shut. Alarm bells were going off in the back of her head. “I just…can’t. Right now. Alright?”

Steve frowned, but it was out of immediate understanding. “Yeah.” he said. “I get it. Hey.”

She met his gaze. 

“Neither of you have run off, so that’s a good sign. Or at least I am pretty sure it is.”

Beth nodded stiffly, not fully convinced by that. Did it count as running when Billy agreed to be dropped off at home by Jonathan, rather than Beth, five minutes later? 

Maybe it did. 

“How about Oliver and Freddie staying here tonight?” Joyce offered, with a knowing look. “Mike and El are too.”

It was probably for the best. 

She was bound to give her brother a headache. 

“Thank you, Joyce.”

.
.
.

Beth had been tempted to check on him, but resisted. If Billy needed space, she would give it. By the time she finished her necessary trip back to the Byers’—dropping off pajamas and a change of clothes for Oliver and Freddie—the sun was already setting.

Feeling a heavy restlessness, Beth went for a run in the woods near the log house. She ran until the rain began to pelt down, convincing her to go back. She moved carefully to avoid alerting the Bakers as she headed for the kitchen to grab a drink; Mary had gone to bed, exhausted from packing for the move abroad, and Mandy was in the basement helping Brian study.

She made her way upstairs to her bedroom, and the moment she stepped inside, she froze.

A figure was standing on the balcony deck outside the sliding doors. The fairy lights hanging from the railing did little to illuminate him through the drumming rain, but she recognized Billy almost right away. For a moment, Beth was paralyzed. She hadn’t expected to see Billy again, and certainly not standing completely drenched, waiting outside her bedroom.

She walked over, her own shoes squelching with water. She was drenched, too. 

She slid the door open. He straightened, but didn’t step inside right away. His hair was plastered to his face and neck, and he was missing his jacket. His shirt and jeans were completely soaked, making her realize he hadn’t just been caught in the sudden shower; he must have been outside for some time.

His expression was illegible, his eyes bloodshot.

“Billy?” She reached gently for his hand and pulled him across the threshold. He allowed the movement, a silent, heavy anchor. “I—” I’m sorry if I messed with your head today. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t appear injured, but his profound stillness unnerved her. Billy wasn’t a still person; the only time he had moved that slowly, that calmly, was when he’d been possessed.

The thought sent a sudden, paralyzing chill through her. He couldn’t be possessed. He was just not himself, which was understandable. 

“Do you want to take it back?” His voice was a harsh, ragged whisper.

Water dripped from both of them, splattering onto the wooden floor. The only source of light in her bedroom was the lamp she left on her nightstand, which cast a warm, orange glow that offered a stark contrast to the cold, wet darkness outside.

“Take back what?” It hit her immediately. “....no. No, I, um, I don’t. Would you prefer I did?”

He remained silent for so long that she feared the stillness was his answer. But then his wet, cold hand rose slowly to cup her face. How long had he been standing there, waiting?

“No.”

Then he kissed her. It was the gentlest kiss but it sent electricity coursing through her veins, all the same. Her breath hitched, and she felt a rush of heat pool in the pit of her stomach, betraying the depth of her longing. Her hands, trembling slightly, found their way to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath his shirt.

He smelt like the forest, and like himself, heady and masculine, sending a frisson down her spine, despite the questions running in her mind. She’d gotten so used to being touched by him that it’d felt punishing when they suddenly stopped all relations and intimacy. It’d been her decision who led to that, but she hadn’t felt any less tortured by it. 

As the kiss deepened, Beth could taste the remnants of the cake he ate earlier, a sweet lingering flavor that contrasted with the faint undertone of nicotine. Billy's hands found their way to her hips, pulling her closer, and Beth could feel the hard length of him pressing against her stomach.

When they pulled away, Billy's forehead pressed against hers. "Betty."

"...yes."

He brushed his mouth over her brow. "I can't be friends with you." he paused. "I can’t."

He couldn’t be friends with her or he couldn’t be just friends with her? Her heart pounded in her chest. "Okay." She let out a small, shaky breath. "Okay."

"I heard you, I heard you, and I know---fuck, I know there's a lot of shit we need to talk about but---" he squeezed her, hands digging into her hips. It’s like he was trying to fuse her to his body. "Jesus, Mae, I don't know how--fuck, I really fucking want—” 

He pressed his mouth over her neck, and she understood. 

"I want you too." she blurted, a little clumsily. "I---"

Pressing her against the glass door, he kissed her, over and over again, short but hard, as if he was trying to leave an imprint of his mouth on hers. “This isn’t—” he muttered in-between. “I am not trying to get my rocks off or—”

Beth pulled him down for a hungry kiss, hand sliding through his wet hair. “I–I don’t really want to think,” she confessed right after, breathless. “I just—I just want you, right now. Is that-is that okay?”

They weren’t communicating very well again, she realized, but somehow they seemed to understand each other perfectly. At least as far as it went regarding desiring one another. If they hadn’t been that close she might have missed the way he inhaled sharply. “Fuck yeah.”

They moved in a frenzied sort of need, breaths mingling as they pulled and tugged and tore at each other’s clothes, when they refused to come off easily, too wet and sticky. When they finally succeeded, the world reduced down to what they did to each other.

Billy’s hand slipped between her thigh, fingers sliding easily inside her cunt. God, it’d hardly been that long since they had sex last time, but it might as well have been the first time all over again. It wasn’t enough, though. Beth suddenly felt like crying, and she wasn’t even sure why. It wasn’t enough. She wanted more, and more, and she was scared that if she didn’t get all of it, she was just going to lose it instead. 

“Please,” Beth placed a hand over his wrist, and she stilled his hand. A sob escaped her throat. “Please, Billy.”

“Betty, hey—”

She brushed her mouth over his. “I want you inside.” she whispered, and she might have felt embarrassed, if not for the sudden terror that had encased her heart. She needed more, or she was going to come apart. She was so damn afraid, and having him as close as possible felt like the only cure. “Is that okay—I just want—”

He kissed her so hard that her head was forced back, knocking lightly against the glass door. A warm, large hand pulled her thighs further apart, before she felt the head of his cock notch at her entrance. His mouth moved to her neck, and words just flew out of her mouth, unabashed and unrestrained. Please, Billy, I am so scared, but I just want this, and I want you, and I don’t know how to—

He pushed inside of her in one single thrust, and Beth gasped loudly, arms coming around his shoulders. Her nails dug into his skin. Even as wet as she was, he still felt too big; he always did. The hot, stinging pain was quickly overshadowed by his thumb pressing down on her clit.

“Don’t—don’t stop—” She wanted more, and more, and more. She liked it like that, impossibly full of him. Of him, of Billy. Her Billy. “Billy.”

Billy’s hands moved over her to her ass, and with a firm grip, he hoisted her up. Beth instantly wrapped her legs around his waist. It was all she could do, really, hold onto him as he started snapping his hips into her, fucking her with such furious thrusts that she could hear her back thump against the glass door repeatedly. 

The new angle made her mouth drop open, and her eyes shut. God, it was too much and not enough. His cock hit her repeatedly in a spot that made her vision fill with dots.

The orgasm slammed into her like a sledgehammer, and she ended up biting down on his shoulder to muffle herself, when for a vague, brief moment of clarity she realized the Bakers could have heard them. Billy didn’t stop, just kept slamming himself inside her, harder and harder. Beth tumbled from one orgasm to the next, her body a quivering, trembling mass of sensation, unable to distinguish where one ended and the next began.

Billy stopped, suddenly and pulled out, leaving her feeling unnervingly empty. And very annoyed. “Billy–”

He pulled her to the floor a moment later, to straddle his lap while he leaned back against the glass door. Beth did not hesitate, immediately moving to mount him, to get him back inside of her. Her jaw dropped open a little, at the new angle and depth. So big, gods. She started to ride him, immediately, no less wanton than before. 

Sweat or water, or both, started to trickle down her breasts, and Billy leaned to lick it up, pressing his tongue over her neck while one of his hands cupped her breast firmly. When her thighs started to cramp and she slowed down, Billy adjusted their position, moving her legs to wrap around him as he began to fuck up into her with violent, powerful thrusts.

Beth wrapped her arms around his neck, and held onto him. His face was as wet as hers, she realized, and she pressed her mouth over one cheek, tasting the salt there. She came again, quivering and shaking and crying. I am so scared, I am but I love you, I do.

That sent him over the edge. He gripped her so hard she knew she would bruise, his face buried in the crook of her neck, his body shaking with the intensity of his own climax. They stayed like that for a long moment, their bodies entwined, sated.

Over his shoulder, through the glass door, Beth watched as lightning lit up the sky, a jagged, brilliant streak that illuminated the world in a sudden, stark flash. The thunder followed close behind, a deep, rumbling growl that seemed to resonate within her very bones. She could feel the energy of the storm against her spine. 

They didn’t extricate themselves from one another for a long time. Beth would have had a hard time trying to move, even if she wanted to. Billy was holding onto her like his life depended on it. Like she was an anchor of sorts, tethering him to that floor.

Well, fuck. 

That was not at all what she’d planned for.

(why did she even bother at that point, when it came to him)

.
.
.

Weeks later – April

Harper’s Inn was a sturdy two-story edifice that blended seamlessly into the town's architecture. There was nothing particularly remarkable about it; it was a classic example of midwestern brick construction, with a flat roof and clean lines. 

Hawkins had never exactly been a hub of hospitality. If it had, then maybe the log house would have ended up taking the business of places like Harper’s Inn, instead of ending up on the market for years, forgotten and neglected. The town did offer a - limited - selection of places to stay, most of which were family-owned establishments that had been passed down through generations. Only a handful of franchise-owned buildings existed, and they were few and far between, mostly on the county line. 

Harper’s Inn, with its three-star rating, was one of the more reputable options in Hawkins. The inn’s central location was certainly more advantageous than living on the outskirts of the town, but what had drawn Beth to that place was the promise of privacy. Only a handful of the twenty-three rooms available were occupied. 

She and her brothers had taken two of the three available two-bedroom suites; a modest arrangement, but sufficient for their needs. The 'suite', which was a bit of a misnomer in her opinion, consisted of two bedrooms separated by a small living area that housed a semi-self-catering kitchenette and a tiny bathroom. The rooms, although not updated in years, were impeccably maintained which was another reason why she chose that place. Beth wasn’t sure she’d ever seen sheets that white before, and she liked to think she was quite thorough when it came to laundry. 

The suite was on the third floor. After two weeks of studying the area, Beth had specifically chosen those rooms because she liked how close they were to the fire exit.

Her room was considerably smaller than the one at the loghouse, with a single bed pushed up against one wall. A small desk sat beneath the window, its surface clear save for a lamp. The walls were covered in a soft, floral wallpaper, and a small armour stood in the corner, its doors slightly ajar to reveal an assortment of hangers and a few spare blankets. Her brother’s room was almost a mirror image of her own, except it had two single beds pushed up against the walls, and a small table between them. 

The kitchenette was equipped with a mini-fridge, a hot plate, and a sink, as well as a few cabinets filled with dishes, glasses, and cutlery. The bathroom was similarly sparse, featuring a shower, toilet, and sink, all neatly tucked into the small space full of pink tiles. The boy’s bedroom was only marginally bigger than hers, and it accommodated two single beds, separated by a nightstand. 

They’d been in that place for three days, but Beth had yet to get a good night’s sleep. The location may have placed them only ten minutes away from the schools and within walking distance of stores, but they were also far away from most of the exits she had worked out. 

It was only temporary, however. She still had access to her car, and if something happened to that, they had the spare car, which she’d bought specifically because of how painfully bland and average it was. If driving out of Hawkins ended up not being an option, at all, then she had several routes out of downtown to safe locations. She had contingencies. Always.

Freddie was up first that morning, for a change. “Mornin’” he yawned as he trudged into the kitchen, still half-asleep. His hair was a mane of untamed curls, and his shirt was inside out. 

That made her smile.

“Hey, buddy,” Beth turned away from the window in the tiny living room that connected to the kitchen, where she’d been watching the street below, even before the sun began to rise. “Cereals?”

“Yes, please.” Freddie yawned again as he took a seat at the table for four. He rubbed his eyes. “I had nightmares.”

She was aware. Freddie had been thrashing and screaming. He’d managed to startle Oliver awake, but Beth had already been. “I know,” she said. He probably didn’t recall that Beth had calmed him down, or that she’d stayed with him until he’d fallen back asleep. “Do you remember what it was about?”

“Lady Lucifer.”

Beth frowned.“Was she hurting you?”

“...I don’t really remember. Just that I dreamt of her.” Freddie said, and Beth leaned in to kiss the top of his head. “I am sorry for waking you. And Ollie.”

“It’s okay,” Beth gently pushed the hair away from his face. “We’ve all got bad dreams sometimes, Freddie. You don’t have to say sorry about that.”

That brightened his spirits a little. “Do we have any more Ghostbusters Cereals?” 

“Of course.” It was a new and very popular brand of cereal. Beth had made sure to stock up, knowing Freddie adored the movie, perhaps even more so than Dustin and the older boys.

Oliver sauntered into the kitchen just as Beth was setting the table for breakfast, handing Freddie the jug of milk from the fridge and a box of cereal. He looked freshly groomed, his hair neatly combed, and his clothes crisp and clean, all traces of sleepiness banished. 

Freddie glanced up at him, his eyes narrowing with a mix of curiosity and annoyance. "Why are you always up so early?” 

Oliver shrugged. “You snore.” 

Freddie scoffed, his cheeks flushing slightly. "I do not snore!"

"How would you know?" Oliver teased.

The bickering was still a novelty, but there was no longer any animosity between them, so Beth took their interactions in stride. Or tried to. She knew Oliver had apologised to Freddie for being harsh on him, and the latter had immediately forgiven him, but she did have to wonder if that was the last of it. Still, she wondered if the underlying tensions had truly dissipated or if they were merely dormant.

Freddie turned his attention to Beth, his expression weary. "My presentation is today," he said, pushing a few curls back. He was overdue for another haircut. 

Beth sat down across from him, her expression softening with concern. "Nervous?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

Freddie nodded, his lips pursed in a thin line. "Yeah, what if…what if I forget?” 

Beth reached across the table and placed a reassuring hand on his arm. "You did great when we went over it yesterday. You know your stuff, Freddie."

Freddie took a deep breath, trying to absorb her words. "But what if someone laughs at me?"

“They’re probably doing so because they’re stupid,” Oliver said. “Ignore them.” 

Beth squeezed Freddie’s arm to draw his attention. "Don't focus on the audience. Find a spot on the wall, across the room—" she gestured with her hand, tracing an imaginary line with her finger. "—and look at that. Imagine Ollie and I listening to you instead. You know what you need to say, Freddie.”

“...okay.”

“It’s okay if you feel nervous,” Beth added gently. “I hated talking in front of people, too.”

“Did you find a spot on the wall? Did that help?”

Not really. “It took a few tries, okay? Sometimes you need to keep trying until you get better,” she said. “It’s just a presentation. Nothing bad will happen, regardless of how it goes.”

“I want it to go well.”

“Alright.” Beth smiled. “Then it will go well.”

.
.
.

“You think everything’s going to be done by July?” Nancy asked, as she clutched her Biology textbook to her chest, while she and Beth made their way to the library. They both had a free period, and Beth had promised to help her study for her test. They made a good team, seeing as they were both meticulous and methodical.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if there’ll be delays.” Beth said. “I do hope it won’t be later than the end of June, though. Roderick said that the damage is not as bad as it looks, as most logs affected are not load-bearing.” 

“But you asked for a lot of other changes.”

A small grimace tugged at the corner of Beth’s mouth. “Yeah, I did.” she said. “I hope that paying for more hands will suffice to speed this up. The weather is meant to be very good, and I’ll try to do some work at night. There’s not much in terms of furniture to move away, now that Mary and Paul had moved out most of it.”

“And we’ll help.” Nancy reminded her. Beth hesitated, and opened her mouth to protest, but Nancy beat her to it. “We are. We will. We’ll all be using that place a lot.”

Beth gave her an amused look. “Oh, are you? I don’t recall inviting you—”

Nancy smiled. “Oh shush,” she said. “You know, my brother and others are already planning to spend every single day at the pool, once it’s renovated.”

Beth didn’t ask how come they weren’t using Steve’s, which was already ready to be used. It was for the same reason Nancy used to struggle to look at it whenever she spent the night with Steve. 

“I am aware.” Beth sighed in a put-upon manner that Nancy did not believe for one second judging by the way her eyes shined with mirth. 

“What about the furniture?”

“The bathrooms will be new. Probably the kitchen too, but I was thinking of visiting that flea market you told me about. In Indianapolis?” Beth said. “I could rent a van.”

Nancy’s eyes lit up. “Can I come with you?”

“Sure.” And noticing her wide smile, Beth added, “What?”

“Nothing.” Nancy shrugged. “We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?”

“I’ve just seen you handle a gun, Nance, that’s all. I know better not to have you as an ally.”

Nancy giggled, clearly not taking her seriously at all. “How did the social worker visit go, by the way?” she asked, next. “Joyce told Jonathan it went well. I take it she had no issue with you and the boys staying at the inn?”

“She said it’s not ideal,” Beth said. “But once I showed her the loghouse, and all the work going in it, she said the inn was a suitable choice, as long as it's temporary. They have enough space, there’s enough amenities, it’s not affecting their end of year schoolwork. Freddie may have charmed her, a little, though, talking her ear off about primates.”

“Primates?”

“He’s been watching documentaries on Jane Goodall' s work. It’s his newest obsession.” Beth said, amusedly. “She was nice, overall, and didn’t seem to be keen on making it hard for us, but she did find the entire situation very strange. Mandy told me that she asked Mary and Paul a lot of questions.”

“Hm.” Nancy mulled that over. “I suppose she has to be thorough. I take it that other social workers you’ve dealt with before weren’t as…nice?”

“They knowingly placed us in the care of a woman that was known as Lady Lucifer by the kids she looked after, so…no.” Beth said, and Nancy scowled. “The social worker who helped me get Oliver and Freddie, however, was….alright. I just hope Mrs MacLeod doesn’t look too deep into how that transfer happened. She did find it weird that it was processed so quickly. The Bakers found it weird too, but they never questioned it much.”

Nancy could see why that was concerning. “We’ll figure it out if she does,” she said, confidently. “Hop said we can trust her. He even vouched for you, didn’t he?”

Beth nodded, just as they arrived in the library. The air was thick with the tension of impending deadlines and exams, a palpable energy that seemed to buzz through the very walls. The senior students, in particular, were feeling the weight of the extra chapters crammed into their periods. 

Beth and Nancy navigated the crowded aisles, their eyes scanning for any available seating. Finally, they spotted a small gap at a table in the middle of the room. They quickly claimed their seats, laying out their notes and textbooks with a sense of purpose.

Nancy leaned in closer, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, and I’ll deny it if he asks, but Billy is... quite good at studying. I would have never thought he was that good at explaining things. He even did it without being too much of an ass about it.” She leaned back. “You two have similar ways of studying, too.” 

Beth’s smile was bittersweet.“We had the same tutor. She was... a force of nature when it came to teaching us how to be effective.” Her voice softened. “My mom also tutored us, sometimes.”

“Ah, right.” Nancy’s smile was wan, a flicker of understanding passing between them. After a quick glance around to ensure no one was eavesdropping, she leaned in even closer. “Do you know what happened to... your tutor?”

Beth’s smile faltered, a shadow passing over her features. “She’s well and alive,” she said, her voice steady despite the emotion underlying her words. “Billy saw her a few times... after.”

Nancy caught the unspoken weight in Beth’s words, the sense that those reunions had not been easy. Billy had changed so much from the boy he used to be, and she wondered what ghosts still haunted him. “I see,” she said softly. “...are, uh, things okay between you two?”

Beth looked up from her textbook, her eyes meeting Nancy’s with a familiar cautiousness. “Yes. Why?”

“No reason,” Nancy replied, leaning back in her chair. “It just seems like... you two don’t seem...” She paused, searching for the right words. “Sorry. I’m not trying to pry. I’m just worried. You’ve both...”

“I know,” Beth nodded, understanding shining in her eyes. “It’s okay. We’ve just been taking things slow. Mostly because we’ve been so busy in the past month. But otherwise, we’re good.” It wasn’t a lie, per se.

Nancy looked relieved as she nodded. “That’s probably for the best, right? Taking things slow, I mean.”

“Yes.” I hope so. 

“Alright,” Nancy said, opening her Biology textbook. “Can we start with this chapter?”

“Sure.”

.
.
.

Robin didn’t think Beth would agree to come with her to the job fair that Saturday. Out of everyone in their rag-tag group, Robin knew she was somewhat of an outlier. She’d only fallen in with their crowd because she’d happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time (although she’d have never considered the old sanatorium ever a right place to be, even without interdimensional monsters involved).

For many weeks, she’d assumed the only reason they talked to her was because they couldn’t risk having someone knowing as much as she did and be on bad terms with them. It was a little pessimistic but Robin didn’t make that assumption because she’d thought Beth and the others were bad people. It would have been a reasonable thing to do, right? Keep an eye on the person who knew the kind of secrets the government would have arrested them over, or worse. 

But, as time passed, Robin no longer suspected they felt particularly obliged. Their entire group of secret-keepers (which was how she mentally thought of themselves, for a long time seeing as friends didn’t quite cut it) was full of weirdos, rebels and nerds. For once in her life, Robin had competition in either one of those categories. 

Beth was a pyrokinetic, with a past that was basically ripe for a blockbuster movie. Equal parts tragic and fascinating. Billy was the school’s biggest asshole - who knew there could be someone worse than the likes of Metson - until he wasn’t. He might have still been, but getting possessed by an interdimensional being then having said being boiled out of him by his long-lost, presumed dead childhood friend could drive anyone to change. Who knew? 

Oliver was an empath because…why not. He was a little like a kid Spock, too, which, well, made sense. The kid had had a crazy life, and he’d only just turned fourteen. El was the kid who grew up in a lab, under the unsuspecting noses of Hawkins residents, and was still technically wanted by the government. As would have Beth and Oliver been if evil scientists discovered they had powers, except theirs were not lab grown. The jury was out on where theirs came from. 

Nancy had a surprising affinity for guns. Nancy’s younger brother, and the other kids were apparently battling alien-like monsters and government conspiracies long before Robin even became aware of them. Chief Hopper was in on it, of course. As was Joyce Byers, who turns out, wasn’t quite as crazy and unhinged as some other parents made her out to be. Robin’s mom hadn’t been one of those moms, thankfully. Oh, and going back to the reformed-asshole, he had powers too, which may or may have not derived from him being part demogorgon. 

Steve was….well. In many ways, Steve was still Steve The Hair Harrington. Ironically, and unfairly maybe, out of everyone, Robin had struggled to change her impression of him the most. She wasn’t sure why. Unlike Billy, who’d put her on edge with his sleazy demeanor, Steve hadn’t actually done anything to her. Not directly, anyway. He’d never picked on her, like Metson, nor had he ever been particularly bitchy like Carol, or mocking like Tommy. 

Maybe it was the way he’d skated through high school concerned only with his reputation. She’d always thought he’d taken his popularity for granted, as he did with the attention of certain students. Or rather, just the one. 

Tammy Thompson, of course. 

Robin wouldn’t have said she had a thick skin, per se, but she normally managed to brush off most of the dumb things that came out of nincompoops like Tommy. What had managed to get under her skin, without fail, had been Steve Harrington’s attitude. The guy who’d show up to class late, with hair flopping in his eyes, and big enough to hide a nest of bees (sometimes, a little childishly, Robin liked to imagine the bees had only so much tolerance for hairspray before they came out to sting him). The guy that’d cause Robin’s favorite teachers, like Miss Click, to beam at him like he was God’s given gift on Earth, even though he barely ever put in any effort in class. 

Steve Harrington had had the kind of popularity that had given him an infuriating amount of immunity when it came to his misgivings, academic (under)performance and general attitude to education. Billy Hargrove had been a little like that, for a little while, until his life blew up, but as Robin discovered, that guy was actually school smart. Who the hell would have thought?

One too many times, Robin had watched Steve slide himself in a seat next to Tammy - Tam, as only close friends could call her, and apparently that included Stevie - causing her to flush red in his presence. In turn, Robin would struggle not to roll her eyes. Rinse and repeat. 

Yeah. She’d had plenty of reason to hold onto her biases against Steve. Petty reasons, maybe, but nonetheless valid. Ultimately, though, Steve proved to be more than he appeared just like the others. Robin had enjoyed herself, initially, hounding him. It was easy. It was payback. Gradually, it felt a lot less like that. She wasn’t sure if she’d have said Steve was her friend, no more than he’d have probably said that, though. 

She’d have definitely said she and Beth were not friends. Which was cool. Beth clearly trusted her enough to let her in a few more secrets, and to stay over at the loghouse during the blizzard, and to let her around her brothers, whom she’d have probably killed for (or burned horrifically). Robin trusted her, too. She was nowhere the stoic, indifferent student that Robin had pegged her off. 

Nor did she like girls, which truth be told, Robin had hypothesized about briefly. That was cool, too. Robin didn’t exactly have a crush on her, but she did think Beth was kind of badass. How could she not? But she liked Beth for other reasons too. She was unexpectedly very kind, and brave, and high-strung in a way that Robin empathised with. 

“Hello, girls.” Mandy Baker cut the line that was forming outside the community center. It was where Starcourt Mall had set up all its kiosks that weekend. There’d already been plenty of staff recruited, but word was it the mall was going to offer at least a hundred more jobs, many of which were seasonal or part-time. Robin didn’t have any grand plans for summer, so that was as good a place as any to find a way to earn some more money. 

“Heya—hi, hello.” Nice, Robin. She cleared her throat, ignoring the way her stomach fluttered when she briefly met Mandy’s pale blue eyes. She had unfairly pretty eyes. “Hey, Mandy, uh, fancy seeing you here?” Real smooth. 

Beth was not at all impressed. “Mandy. Don’t you have any packing to do?”

Mandy and Beth hadn’t been on good terms in the past. That much, Robin knew. The Bakers had had plenty of problems, not just financial, and they hadn’t always been very nice to Beth. She’d forgiven them, as far as Robin could tell and heard of, but not before she paid their debt and made sure they could start a life abroad. It was a really weird situation which, Robin supposed, was on par for someone like Beth. 

“Brian is better at it than I am,” she said immediately. “Why are you even here? You're rich now, aren’t you?”

Robin had asked the same thing, that morning, when Beth had picked her up. Beth was in no rush to work, nor did she have an urgent need for it, but she liked the idea of a part-time role. It would have given her credibility with the social services, and made her stand out less in Hawkins. Good luck with that. Beth was definitely in the top five topics that many residents - mostly housewives - loved to gossip about. 

“I never said I was rich.” Beth said, carefully, expression neutral. “The renovations are not cheap, and money doesn’t last forever.”

She was rich. Robin didn’t know how rich exactly, but she was. She was very good at lying, though. 

“Huh-uh,” Mandy didn’t seem to care much. “What job are you looking for, Ro?”

Ro. Ro. A nickname Mandy had used, all of a sudden, two weeks earlier, and she hadn’t stopped using since then. Robin had gawked at her, like an idiot, and when Mandy asked if she minded, all she could do was shrug. She was sure she’d have found it a dumb nickname had anyone else said it. Maybe not Tam. But Tam didn’t say it, though. Mandy did. 

And Mandy was, well. She was pretty, and she was smart, and for whatever reason, she liked interacting with Robin at and outside of school. Quite often at that. Robin had even helped her with some of her early assignments, so she could graduate earlier. Mandy had, in turn, showed her the drawings she’d been working on, and told her about all the plans she had once she got to France. They spoke in French, multiple times. Mandy was definitely better at it - sounded great in French - and helped Robin with some of her pronunciations. She looked happier. Healthier, too. 

And maybe, she’d just felt lonely, and latched onto Robin because she was the safest option out of her, Beth and Nancy. There was too much history between Mandy and Beth, despite them being on much better terms. And Nancy was closer with Beth, so maybe Mandy recognized Robin for the outlier she was. 

Or maybe Mandy was somewhat of a rebel, like Robin was. Robin couldn’t be sure. She hadn’t seen Nandy date any guy at school, but she’d heard rumors she and Billy made out once (Robin wondered if Beth knew). At one point, she’d been into Andy Anderson, but that had ended terribly, hadn’t it? 

Robin wasn’t sure at what point she started wondering whether Mandy was into girls. Or at what point it became important. She still had a crush on Tammy Thompson, after all. She still got all kinds of flutters in her stomach when she laid eyes on the red-head. 

But now, she got all sorts of twisted up inside whenever Mandy was around, too. 

Wonderful. As if it wasn’t hard enough being gay and stuck in a fragile ecosystem made up by horny teenagers battling for popularity and frenzying over relationships. Straight relationships, that was. Robin often told herself, as consolation, that at least she didn’t have to deal with the hallway make-outs, over-the-top breakups and corny declarations of love. Or the horrible accusations and the shunning that both Mandy and Nancy had faced, respectively. Her fantasies were strictly locked to the confines of her mind. 

Granted that no longer brought her much reassurance, seeing as she knew telepathic powers existed. 

Regardless, Mandy had been eating up a worrying amount of Tammy Thompson’s spotlight in her dreams, lately. It was probably because she’d had more conversations with Mandy than she ever hoped to have with Tammy. 

It didn’t matter, though. Mandy was going to leave Hawkins, soon, anyway. 

“Oh, uh…any job that pays a fair wage,” Robin stammered a little. “And doesn’t have the kind of boss who’ll breathe down your neck every five minutes.”

“That’s fair. Although if you two find the same job, Betty here can just scare the shit out of them.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Billy called her Betty. He was the only one who called her Betty. The only one who was allowed. Robin would have rolled her eyes at that, except there was nothing cliche or common about their relationship. Beth wasn’t really a googly eyed schoolgirl fawning over a bad boy, and Billy wasn’t really much of a womaniser anymore. Still somewhat of a bad boy, but otherwise, he hadn't had as much as looked at other girls in months. Robin knew, because she liked to observe, and that included everyone in their weird little group. 

“Is it because Billy calls you Betty?” Mandy smirked. “How’s Billy, by the way? Happy he doesn’t have to sneak around to see you?”

“It’s because you’re annoying.”

Mandy was not at all offended by either the statement or the way Beth ignored her second question. She may have not been that close to Beth, but it seemed she’d figured out that the latter was not serious. Robin didn’t buy it, either.

“If you say so,” Mandy said. “Is it true that Billy got a job at the community pool? I heard Hannah tell everyone about how they’ll work together. It doesn’t seem like the type to steal another girl’s boyfriend, but I’d be careful.”

“That’s a ridiculous idea,” Beth said, without looking worried in the slightest. She didn’t look amused, either, which made Robin wonder if she wasn’t worried. Maybe not about Billy cheating, but just in general. Those two had been a little weird, lately. “And yes, he told me. Apparently the community pool is very popular.”

“I bet,” Mandy grumbled. “There’s nothing else to do in this town. Or didn’t used to be until the mall. I almost wish I was here to visit when it opened. I guess I’ll just have to settle for the fashion stores of Paris.”

“You poor thing,” Beth said dryly. “Whatever shall you do.”

“I’ll spend part of my father dearest’s new job bonus, as consolation.” Mandy smiled, and it was a wicked thing that lit her eyes up, and made Robin look away, lest she might end up gawking again. Mandy had very, very pretty eyes. “Mom is planning to call every day, by the way.”

“She can most certainly try,” Beth said, lips curling. 

“Didn’t she try to kick you out of the house?” Robin inadvertently cursed herself. Her mouth was sometimes - often - quicker than her mind, which ran fifty miles an hour sometimes - often. “Uh, sorry.”

Beth didn’t look offended. “She did, yeah. Several times, actually.” 

When Robin glanced at Mandy, she noticed the girl frown a little. Regret and guilt was written all over that pretty face–damn it. “Yeah, she’ll, uh, try to overcompensate for a little while longer.” Mandy said, slowly. 

“There’s no need.” Beth said. “Perhaps all those fashion stores will distract her.”

Mandy relaxed visibly at that. “Yeah. Maybe.” she said. “She’s thinking of maybe doing another degree? Or some business course of some kind. She said you suggested that?”

“I did.” 

“Hm. She thought it was silly at first, but she’s apparently called five places already.” 

Robin kept quiet. That conversation seemed very much like a family discussion, although Beth and Mandy were hardly cousins. Or much of a family. “Hey, uh, what about your brother?” she jumped in, internally flinching at her own awkward tone. “Is he going to go to culinary school?”

Mandy’s expression brightened up a little. “He’s still on the fence, but I think I’ll wear him down.” she said. “He wants to polish his French a little more, but I’ll help him over the summer. I might do a language course with him. Apparently, Dad’s new job is paying for it.”

Robin glanced at Beth at that, whose expression betrayed nothing, then she nodded. “Yeah, Sounds good.” she said. “He’ll pick it up faster once he’s there, too.”

“That’s what I said.” Mandy said, then glanced over her shoulder at the line. “Huh, are all of Hawkin's young people here today?”

“Probably, yeah,” Robin sighed. She wasn’t a fan of crowded spaces. 

Beth grimaced. “I cannot stand crowds.” she muttered, which made Robin smile a little. 

“Yeah, I don’t think you should be going for a customer-facing role,” Mandy said dryly. 

Robin tried to imagine Beth dealing with angry, petulant customers. “Yeah, Beth,” she said, trying not to grin. “They might cause you to get all fired up.” 

It was such a lame joke, that Robin instantly regretted making it but Beth looked at her, smiling slowly. She had a nice smile, too. Not as wide and bright as Tam, or as model-like as Mandy, but nice. Unexpectedly sweet. Knowing what she knew of Beth, Robin understood why she didn’t smile that often, although she’d been doing it a lot more in recent weeks. 

Mandy’s gaze bounced between them, not clued into the inside joke, and she scoffed. “You’re both such nerds.”

“You read Wonder Woman comics, and you like the Evil Dead,” Robin added immediately. “I think you lost the right to call anyone a nerd.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Mandy said, then stretched her arms above her head. The movement caused her top to stretch over her chest, and good god, she was wearing a lace bra. Robin moved her gaze away quickly, but not so quickly as to not register that Mandy’s cotton top was quite thin, so the swell of her breasts was very noticeable. “Anyways, nerds, while you wait here, I think I am going to get myself a coffee. Do you want anything?”

“You can afford it?” Beth smirked.

“I was asking Robin only.” Then proceeded to give Robin a pointed look. Robin was too busy trying not to think of boobs, perfect, perfect boobs, Mandy’s boobs most specifically, to notice it.

“Robin?” 

“Huh? What? No. Yes. What?” she rushed. “What was the question?”

Mandy lifted a brow. “You want a coffee? Or something to eat? It’s on me.”

Was it? What was? Oh. Coffee. “Uh, I—sure. Yeah. Thanks.” Robin didn’t even drink coffee. What the hell was wrong with her? 

“Which kind?”

“...surprise me.” Robin grinned nervously. 

Mandy gave her a dry look, that clearly said you’re being weird, but then she shrugged. “Sure. I’ll just get you the same as mine, then.” then with a very loud, put-upon dramatic sigh that was not all genuine. “Elizabeth, would you like anything?”

“I am good, thank you.” 

Mandy walked away, a moment later, stepping off the sidewalk the line was on to cross the street over to the coffee shop on the other side. Robin chose not to look in her direction, but when she felt eyes on her, she glanced at Beth. Her heart sank a little when Beth stared at her with an expression that made Robin think she knew. There was no disgust, reproach or malice in her expression, though. Just a sort of oh, I see what’s going on here, which was better than if it were oh my god, you’re a fucking dyke?

Would Beth tell anyone? She didn’t strike Robin as someone who judged others on such matters, but who knew? Wouldn’t it have been completely ridiculous, though? For her to take issue with Robin being into girls in the grand scheme of things? Like fake deaths and interdimensional portals and powers. 

“If you’d like to go with her, I can pass your resume to some of the stalls you told me about.” Beth offered. 

Oh. Oh. Okay. Robin didn’t even realize she’d tensed up until her shoulders dropped in relief. “Uh, no, it’s—why would I—I am good.” she said, clearing her throat. “Plus, I don’t like crowds either, so I’d like to get this done as soon as possible.”

“Okay.”

Okay. Huh. 

“She takes her coffee with so much milk,” Beth added, after a moment, as they watched someone from the community center exit through the main doors, to announce they’d go in a few minutes. “That it’s more milk with a bit of coffee.” 

“Oh–yeah?” Robin couldn’t tell if Beth was just teasing Mandy, or if she realized that Robin didn’t drink coffee. Maybe she remembered from the time at the loghouse, during the blizzard. Beth didn’t like coffee, either. Robin remembered that, too. “I’d have, uh, pegged her for someone who has an espresso.” 

“Yes, me too. I suppose any person can have unexpected tastes.”

Was that—surely, it was. Right? Was she—maybe. “Heh, yeah.”

And that was that. 

“What are you going to do if Mary actually calls every day?” Robin asked, heart still drumming in her chest. 

“She’ll eventually stop, or not call as often.” Beth said, with a shrug. “It’d be a lot less suspicious than disconnecting the number or brushing her off altogether.”

True. “The you-know-who, know where they are, anyway.” 

The government. Hungry monsters separated by a veil between worlds. All normal stuff. 

“Exactly.” Beth frowned. “It’s not them I am worried about.”

Right. There was the whole mysterious-masked-men mystery. 

And Robin was inadvertently part of it, too. 

.
.
.

The proceeds from selling most of his grandmother's belongings and what remained of her savings had been a small but decent financial boon. However, it was the sale of the property that proved to be the real windfall. Billy managed to sell it significantly above market value, largely due to the prime land adjacent to a winery eager to expand. He couldn't have cared less about the buyers' plans. He was just happy to be rid of it. While the location had its advantages, Billy would never have lived there, with or without Susan or Max, or his decision to stay in Hawkins. 

It was a house that carried too many unpleasant memories; too much unwanted history.

Had Neil still been alive, he would have undoubtedly forced them all to move into it. Billy would have been eighteen, so he could have just refused, but Susan and Max wouldn’t have had much choice. He wondered if he’d have interfered. If he’d have been able to convince Susan not to go with him, for Max’s sake. Maybe. It didn’t matter anymore. 

“What do you think, sweetheart?”

“I’ve already seen it before,” Max replied immediately. “It’s okay, I guess.”

She wasn’t as apathetic about the move as she seemed. Billy had heard her talk to Lucas about it, and how excited she was to have her own bathroom. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her display of petulance. 

“How about you start taking out your boxes?” Susan suggested. “I’ll start unpacking the kitchen.”

“Okay, Mom.”

Max made her way over to the truck, and Susan turned to Billy, with a smile. He thought she may have asked, for the thousandth time, if he was sure he wanted to make that move, but she didn’t. “You sure you don’t want the bigger bedroom?” She’d asked that question about a hundred times already, too.

“Nah.” Billy straightened, from where he’d been leaning against the truck. “I don’t really care. It’s not like my bedroom is that small.” More or less the same size as his old one. 

“Alright.”

“I’ll, uh, go pick up the last of the boxes, and then drop off the keys at the realtors.”

Susan smiled again, and nodded. “Okay, thank you, Billy.”

He just gave a stiff nod. She’d been thanking him a lot lately, and he didn’t even feel any more comfortable with it than the first time he’d heard her say those words. 

From the corner of his eyes he spotted Max struggling to pull one of the heavier boxes out of the truck. “Hey, shitbird,” he said, making his way there. “Be careful. Don’t pull the box at the bottom, everything’s going to crash.”

Max rolled her eyes. “No, it’s not.” she said. “I am being careful.”

“Just let me do it, alright? Get your ass inside and give Susan a hand.”

“Ugh, fine.”

Their new accommodation was a two-story house located in a semi-secluded area just outside of the Loch Nora neighbourhood, considerably closer to the edge of the town, and not that far from Penny Grove itself (it’d been one of the main reasons Billy liked it). The property belonged to a relatively rich family who had renovated it in the last decade, and used it for short getaways from their main residence in Chicago. However, in light of the many incidents in Hawkins, the family had felt wary to return again in the last couple of years, and they’d struggled to sell the place. It wasn’t appealing enough to other rich folks, and not central enough for other residents. By the time Billy reached out, they were eager to settle for renting it out, at least for a year or so. 

Billy had proposed paying six months upfront. Initially, he had considered offering a full year's payment, but Susan had cautioned against such a long-term commitment, suggesting they first determine if the house suited their needs. Despite the owners' apparent reasonableness, Susan believed it was wise to keep their options open. 

Billy wondered if Susan's advice was driven by guilt, or she wasn’t that keen on the location. When he first shared the news of the money coming from California, Susan had vehemently opposed using the money for the house or their debts. Yet, she relented more quickly than he anticipated, leading Billy to believe she was eager to leave their previous home behind.

Or maybe, Billy pondered, perhaps Susan still had hopes of returning to California which explained why she asked him not to commit to that place for too long. Staying with her family was not an option due to strained relationships, but her new job, coupled with the absence of rent and bills for several months, provided an opportunity to save up. He sure as hell didn’t expect her to pay him back, as she’d suggested at one point. 

If Susan did decide to go back, there wasn’t much he could do. It was probably for the best really, but Max wasn’t bound to see it that way. Billy could already imagine how angry she’d feel over it. 

He wondered if his mother would have still left if she had still had someone to help her out.

.
.
.

Things have been kind of weird between Beth and him, and he knew it was mostly his fault. How fucking ironic. He’d spent so much time pining and fantasizing that the moment he got what he wanted, he was paralyzed. What did that make him? A coward? Just a dickhead? Not Neil, though. Neil would have just accepted someone’s love, thought he deserved it, and then torn all that affection like it was a toy to be dismantled. It’s what he’d done with his Mom, hadn’t he? She must have loved him at some point, for whatever fucking reason, and he’d just ruined her life. 

And maybe that was it, wasn’t it? Billy was terrified he’d fuck it all up. He was terrified, and he wasn’t sure how to deal with it. Beth would have probably preferred he talked to her about it, she would have understood, too. She was afraid, too. Hell, she was the only person who might have understood how he felt. 

The dilemma he was having was that he couldn’t do it because she was afraid, too. How would that help them, if they were both terrified? How would it help her? At least Beth had a strong track record of facing her fears. Him? Not so much. He had never even been able to successfully face Neil. 

The familiar purr of an engine pulled his attention away from the box he was sealing up, on the dining table in the former Hargrove residence. That was a table that Neil had bought, the one he’d always insisted they had their meals at like a proper family. 

“Do you want to take this?” Susan had asked him, a couple of weeks earlier. 

“No, I don’t care about it.”

And that was that. 

Goddamn. His stomach did all sorts of ridiculous things when he saw Beth walk up to the property. The entrance door was wide open, filling the room with natural light. The house felt colder, without all their personal effects, even if they hadn’t had much in the first place; and there was an echo that put him on edge whenever he moved around. Floorboards creaked louder, all of a sudden. Had Neil been there, he’d have eventually lost his shit and somehow found a way to blame Billy for it. Or he’d have gotten angry over small things like scuff marks on walls, saying they’d lose money over it. It was what he’d done when they left Susan's place in San Francisco. 

“Hey.”

She was so damn pretty. Hair down, cheeks slightly flushed because even the slightest amount of sunshine took to her pale skin. She smiled a little, and his blood turned to champagne again. 

The last weeks had been agony, quite frankly, especially after that unexpected, mind-blowing sex they ended up having on his birthday. Billy could still hear her in his head, all soft and supplicant, please, please Billy, I just want you. It’d practically become the soundtrack for all the times he’d jerked off. He’d always used to think that getting a chick wet was a high form of compliment, maybe the highest, but Beth had completely blown away all his standards. She truly had had him rewired him, huh?

“Hey, Betty. “ He looked away. He had to, for his own self-restranted. All he wanted was to kiss her and hold her and talk to her and keep her within his reach at all times. He didn’t think it could be worse than just pining for her like an idiot, but apparently it could be. Because now he was still pining, and he didn’thave to, but he wasn’t actually doing anything about it. 

Billy Hargrove, a certified ladies’ man, completely fucked and tongue-tied for a single girl. And goddamn, he didn’t even find that offensive in the least. On the contrary. Only as long as the girl was Beth, of course. 

“Please. Please, Billy.” 

He had no idea how to tell her that he loved her. He had no idea how to express himself as clearly and openly as she had. All he could come up with was a stilted, pathetic I don’t want to just be friends. It was ridiculous. He could fight with her, he could fuck her, he could comfort her, he could be her friend but he couldn’t tell her that he wanted to be with her. Even if it meant living a weird or out of ordinary life.He couldn’t tell her that he was worried she’d want to take it all back, and part of him was waiting for just that. 

She probably knew that too, though. Who else knew him better than her, after all? 

Yet, there she was. Still by his side, as a friend. That was all they’d been in the past month. Friends. Sure, it was working quite well, with them not having argued once. On the contrary, their friendship was as good as it had ever been. 

But surely, she had to be bothered by them not having had an actual talk. Even if it’d been her idea, technically. That night, on his birthday, they’d ended up having sex twice more before they fell asleep together. In the morning, they had breakfast together, at the diner near the care home. In silence. She’d been covered in hickeys, and him in scratches, which strangely enough, had taken longer to heal. 

“Maybe it would be best to take…some time?” she asked. “To figure things out?”

He’d immediately assumed she meant them taking space from one another. He may have not been in a relationship before, but he knew about such scenarios. Couples taking breaks didn’t end up together. 

Except, they weren’t exactly a couple, right? “Yeah. Yeah, Betty.” he said. “Probably for the best.”

But they hadn’t taken space, per se. They sat together at school, they studied and worked on assignments together, they went for food at the diner semi-regularly, he helped her move in at the inn and plan Oliver’s birthday party, she listened to him when he told her about what he planned on doing with the money and gave him advice. He slept over at least four days a week, but just that. Sleep. They didn’t kiss, and definitely didn’t have sex anymore. 

It was weirdly domestic, and honestly, he hadn’t even minded it that much except he didn’t want them to be like that. Stuck in a limbo. He didn’t want her to mask her emotions, which she’d started doing again. She was proving she was still very good at separating herself; keeping some parts hidden, even from him. The weaker parts of him wanted to take it as validation of his own fucking doubts; maybe she regrets it. 

He felt angered whenever that thought slipped through. Beth would have never said the things she said without meaning them fully, even when she was horny. She meant what she said. She was not going to take it back.

But. 

If he waited too long, she might not be so damn patient. Maybe he should have done her a service. 

But fuck, he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to be a saint about it. He didn’t want to take the selfless, if not painless, road and let her outgrow him. He wanted her to hold onto what she felt. He wanted her to keep loving him, just him, and no one else; to be her only damn exception even if he wasn’t the most deserving one. 

Billy had spent many hours thinking, himself. About what she’d expect, what she’d need. There was very little, if at all, that she could ask that he wouldn’t be willing to give, enthusiastically at that. The dangerous aspects of her life were hardly a deterrent; at that point, he might have seen it as encouragement. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to share everything she had to deal with; if not her, then who else? It could only be her. 

Jesus, he really needed to talk to her. As soon as he figured out how to put in words how he felt, and what he wanted, and how motherfucking terrified he was that he’d disappoint her, but how he was also too greedy not to take a risk, too insane about her not to be worth doing it. 

“Ready for that minimum wage career?” 

Beth’s expression was comically scandalized. “I will never work in customer service again.”

Billy chuckled. “That the rich chick in you talking?”

“I will burn something down before I even pass probation.”

“There’s still lifeguard positions open.” Then again, he’d be distracted by her walking around in a swimsuit or tight red shorts (they’d be tight alright). Then he’d get annoyed when others would get distracted by her, too. 

“You know why that’s not a good idea.”

Yeah. She could have qualified officially pretty quickly, but she didn’t want people to ask questions about her scars. That, and she was not sure if spending hours in the sun, overstimulated by crowds, was safe given her abilities. Which, fair enough. 

“Working at Starcourt would look good with the social workers though, and people wouldn’t be so nosy.” 

“Fuck what people think.” He said, as he finished taping the last box. “They’ll be nosy fuckers either way.”

“True.” Beth sighed. “How did the move go?”

“Good, yeah. Max is pretending she’s not excited and Susan is, you know, guilty. Too guilty to be too happy, I guess.” Billy said. “I think they’ll be fine, though. No bad memories there.”

“Yes, I think so too.” Beth agreed. “Do you want any help?”

“Nah. It’s just three boxes.” Billy said. “Where’s the brats?”

“Freddie is helping Mary pack, and Oliver is helping Will study.” Beth said, as she lifted her hands and brushed them over her face. “I think I’ll go see Roderick earlier today. He said he needed to talk to me about the wiring on the second floor. And permits. Are you still coming over this evening?”

He had said he would. It would have been just the two of them, though and that…that was kind of a problem, because his mind was all sorts of fucked. All the kids were going to pile up at the Wheelers’ house for a night of games. Freddie was cooking with Brian. He wanted to learn how to do a dessert dish for Beth, but he lied to her, saying he was only learning how to make the best omelette ever. Billy knew, because Freddie decided to confide in him about it. The Bakers were staying in rooms across from Beth and the boys’, at the same inn, so she wasn’t worried about him being too far away, or unsupervised. 

“No.” he said. “I picked up a shift at the Cove.” He hadn’t. He wasn’t sure why he lied. They’d been alone before. Beth never pressured him into talking, or made him feel like she was waiting on something. They just cooked and watched movies and talked about everything, except them. They still debated over certain school topics, vehemently, and he still teased her. He didn’t flirt as much, he supposed, but he hadn’t stopped completely. She didn’t rebuff him, when he did.

The pause before Beth responded was telling. He couldn’t tell if she was unhappy or just disappointed. That hadn’t been the first time he’d decided to put distance between them, and Billy was pretty damn sure she saw through his lies every time. “Okay.” When he looked up, she’d already turned away and he couldn’t see her face. “I am going to head to the loghouse then.”

Fuck. Why the fuck did he keep doing that? Push her away, when all he wanted was the opposite. “Betty.”

She stopped short of exiting the house, and turned to look at him. Her expression betrayed nothing. It was a blank mask. That, in itself, told him enough. She was not at all indifferent, but she also didn’t want to let him in. Fair enough. Also, fuck. 

“Yeah?”

He licked his lips, and grabbed the box off the table. His hands were clammy. “Susan’s not going to let go of that dinner invite, but she might drop it for a while if you go say hi now.” It was a shitty olive branch. 

Beth gave him a long look. “Okay.” 

The Camaro she gifted him was still at the storage unit, untouched. 

“Billy.” He was just locking up the house. Leaving it behind was rather anti-climactic, overall, but maybe that was for the best. 

“What’s the matter, Betty?”

Beth was staring at him. “You should be proud of yourself.”

Billy stiffened, his hands clenching around the keys in his hand. “It’s just a few boxes, Betty,” he said, lightly, feigning ignorance as to what she meant.

She smiled softly. “You know what I mean. Paying off the debt, finding the new place. Helping Susan find her new job.”

Billy’s throat felt tight. “Yeah. Uh, sure.” he said, as he fiddled with the keys a little, hands cold and clammy. “Come on. I am done with this shithole.”

As were the days of him spending hours staring at the floor of his bedroom, at the bloodstains he never got out.

.
.
.

“Let me get this straight. You love this girl, and the girl loves you back, and you’re….what? Just waiting around holding your dick in your hand like a toddler?”

Claire had a way with words that never failed to entertain Billy, except perhaps that day, because he felt quite irritable. Mostly because he hated getting called out on his shit. He was still a prideful individual.

“You’re going to turn this into a lecture or something?” Billy asked, his eyes flicking to the cards on the table. “What would you know? It’s not like your day when you could just throw a rock at a guy’s head, grunt, and call it a date.”

Claire’s eyes narrowed, a smirk playing on her lips. “Just say you’re a coward."

Billy stilled, his anger simmering deep in his chest, but he no longer clung to it as he used to. "You don’t know shit about Betty and me."

“Then why tell me about it?” Claire challenged, her gaze sharp. “You’re clearly whipped, boy, and from what I heard, this girl might be something special. Why risk losing that? It sure as hell isn't because you’re chasing other skirts.”

Billy put down another card, his focus wavering. Claire was a notorious cheater, and she was going to capitalize on it. “Maybe I am.” he said, though without much conviction. He didn’t even care to think about other girls, much less look at them. At most, he made passing observations if he saw someone attractive, but they didn’t do much else for him. “How would you know? I am a young, red-blooded man."

“You’re full of shit, is what you are.” Claire scoffed, leaning back in her chair and adjusting her glasses up her nose. “The new secretary is very…perky. Apparently, you didn’t deny when she assumed you were spoken for.”

“Spoken for?” he snorted. “What is this? The Middle Ages—”

Claire ignored him. “---and I know all about your little tryst with our former nurse Amelia. Very dumb, by the way, shitting where you eat. How typical.” she said. “Admit it, son. You’re whipped, and you’re being a coward.”

Billy gave her a long, unaffected look. It was hard to summon one. “You’re telling me someone married you?” he retorted. “Was it all your endless charm?”

“I could be charming,” Claire smirked. “I also had fantastic legs.”

“The true foundation of any great marriage.”

Her brows lifted, eyes opening a little wider. “My god,” her head tilted back, as she regarded him the way a vulture assessed its potential prey. “She’s that special, hm?”

Beth was, of course, but Billy wasn’t sure what made her react like that, all of a sudden. Like he’d just revealed something about himself without meaning to. He didn’t like it. “Whatever.” he said. “I was merely keeping you entertained, old woman.”

“Sure, sure.” Claire clicked her teeth. “Want some advice?”

“No.”

He did, actually, and he knew she’d offer it, eventually. One of the reasons he liked Claire was because she cared a lot, even though she behaved otherwise. “Either grab the chance you have now with both hands, or let it go.” Claire said. “There’s no point leading someone on.”

He wouldn’t have dreamt of it. “Is that what you did with your husband?” he grinned salaciously. “Grabbed the bull by its horn? So to speak, of course.”

Claire gave him a kick in the shin under the table, the old bitch. Billy sneered. 

“If you must know, I loved my husband very much.” Claire said, testily. “He wasn’t the first to catch my eye but he was the last. You know, Billy, it is rare for people to actually go through life and say they did so beside someone they did not regret sharing it with. Especially for women, although times have changed.”

Billy’s brows furrowed. “Was it an arranged marriage or something?”

“The man my family wanted me to marry would have been, yes,” Claire said, with unsettling casualty, as she put down another card. “But as it happened, I ran away with my boyfriend.”

“Your husband?”

“Oh, no, just some bad boy who fancied himself better in bed than he actually was.” Claire said bluntly. “No, I met my husband after.”

Billy smirked. “Was he good in bed?”

She gave him a sharp look that said she’d rather kick him again. 

“He, uh, died, didn’t he?” Billy cleared his throat. “Before you came here.”

Claire’s expression shuttered. “Yes. Heart issues took away my Remi.” she said. “But we had a good run, at least. Nearly five decades, two kids with their own kids. Happy in their own right.”

“Why aren’t you with any of them?”

“Because I don’t want to.” she said simply, right away. “I’ve always liked my independence. They have their lives, and I have mine.”

Billy could respect that. “You had doubts, though.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I heard you tell the others once that you didn’t marry until your thirties, or something. Wouldn’t that have been weird back then?”

Claire snorted. “Finally caved in when I was thirty-two, yes.” she said. “It used to unsettle quite a few people. Disresputable, was the preferred word. I never cared much about it, and neither did Remi, but we wanted to adopt, so we finally got married.”

Billy had already known her children had been adopted. He’d met them once or twice, when they’d come to visit along with Claire’s grandchildren. They came by often, and they always fussed over her. Claire was one of the luckier residents there as far as tight bonds with the family went.

“Everyone has doubts, son,” Claire said finally. “Doubts are like shadows. They can follow you everywhere, and grow bigger and bigger until you forget what you’ve got because you can’t see things properly anymore. Sure, some people are right to have doubts. It’s good to think about whether they mean to tell you something or not.”

“I take it yours didn’t.”

“No.” Claire placed another card down. “But I can tell you one thing, kid. If you choose right, and it’s not easy to do so, nor everyone has the fortune or opportunity to do so, but…all those doubts? Those shadows? They’re much easier to take on with the right person.”

“Aren’t you a wise old crone?”

“And a winner, at that.” Claire grinned as she placed her cards down, revealing a winning hand.

Billy rolled his eyes. “I know you cheated, you decrepit thing.”

“I have not.” Claire said. “But I’ll tell you what. If you’re honest with me, right now, about why you’re so afraid, I won’t ask you to pay up the ten bucks you just lost.”

“We bet on five.”

“There was an added interest for wise life advice.”

Billy snorted. He debated just paying her, but that would have been admission he really was that afraid. “Don’t know,” he said finally, curtly, tongue heavy in his mouth. “I didn’t exactly grow around a great example of a successful or functional relationship. Doubt that makes me relationship material.”

Claire had a way of pulling on people’s tongues. Including his. “Jackass father, and runaway mother.” she said, and he appreciated she didn’t beat around the bush, didn’t give him the sympathy card or stared at him with pity. “You think you’ll end up like either one of—”

“No.” Never. Fuck that. He would have never ever hurt Beth the way Neil hurt his mother. She’d have incinerated his ass, anyway, and he took comfort in that, actually. But he didn’t plan on ever putting her in that position. He sure as hell wasn’t going to walk out on her. “No, uh, no. I’d never fucking do that.”

“But you’re not sure.”

“Of course I am fucking sure.” He couldn’t tell Claire that he was worried, sometimes, he wasn’t fully human anymore. He hadn’t even told Beth that. All the healing shit, and the super strength, they came in handy, but what if he was a freak of nature? What if one day he grew another row of teeth or a taste for blood? It all sounded so ridiculous but so did monsters from another dimension and superpowers. 

And that was all in addition to whatever issues he had, and he had a shitload. Beth had taken a hammer to most of those, though, laid them all out, then made him see himself through her eyes and through the eyes of others. Good people, who thought he was worth saving, at the very least. 

“I did know a couple once.” he found himself saying. “A good couple. Great fucking people, and great fucking parents. At least, for a while.”

Claire was immediately curious. “What happened?”

He smiled ruefully. “Shitty luck, I guess,” he said. “She, uh, the wife, died. The guy went kind of mad, and turned into a shithead. Not—not like my old man. Just not the same parent. He became like other parents, not dealing with his own shit and putting it on his kids, instead. But he and his wife never used to be, y’know? Like other people, I mean. They, uh, seemed like something special.”

“Were they?”

He nodded. “Yeah. To a point, yeah.”

“Is that what you want?”

Billy scoffed. “I don’t fucking know.” he said. “I am eighteen, you old hag. How the fuck should I know?”

Claire looked terribly unimpressed by that answer. “What made these folks special?”

He shrugged. “I was a kid, I guess. Maybe I wouldn’t have thought that if I was older, or if I had less shitty parents.”

“Maybe.” Claire looked contemplative. “This girl of yours? You think she’s someone you can count on to deal with the doubts and shadows, kid?”

The answer was immediate. “Yeah. Uh, yeah. Fuck yeah.”

“And there you go, you idiot,” Claire said, irritably. “Wasting my damn time when I already have so little left.”

“Jesus, remind me again why your grandkids love you?”

“I told you, I can be charming.” Pause. “And grandma gives generous birthday gifts.”

Chapter Text

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Steve complained, hands on his hips, as he watched Beth take out the groceries out of the paper bags she placed on the kitchen counter. “It’s like—like I’ve been cursed which, you know, at this point? I am not so sure it’s not possible.”

“You are not cursed, Steve.”

“It’s the third date that didn’t work out.” 

“Maybe the fourth time is the charm.”

“You’re terrible at pep talk.”

“I don’t exactly have a lot of experience in this particular topic.” Beth said dryly, as she opened the small fridge to quickly put away the packs of meat she bought, and other fresh products. “Although, I must say, putting your hand down a girl’s shirt on the first date is not advisable, as far as I know—”

“I did not put my hand—I mean, that’s not what I was trying—” Steve gestured wildly. “There was a spider, alright! There was a spider. I am not a pervert, Beth!”

“Didn’t you sleep with a dozen girls or so—”

“No.” Pause. “It wasn’t a dozen, Jesus.” 

Then he really thought about it, before he lifted a hand, uncurling a finger one by one as he did a mental math. Beth shook her head to herself when he switched to the other hand, a few seconds later. 

“Okay, it was more than a dozen,” he muttered, almost bashfully. “But I didn’t sleep with all of them. Also, that does not make a pervert.”

“I wasn’t judging you.”

“It sure sounded like you were.”

Beth paused in her task, and stared at him. “What I meant is that you have a reputation preceding you, as someone who charms girls, so even if you didn’t mean to be inappropriate, a girl might assume the worst.” she said. “And you have to admit, you’d find it strange too if a girl suddenly grabbed your crotch saying she saw a spider there.”

Steve blinked rapidly, and the rapid succession of emotions on his face was quite something funny. Beth could practically see his line of thought, going from yeah that’s weird to maybe, to maybe I wouldn’t mind it to okay, yeah, that’s strange. 

“The point is,” He lifted a hand. “I was not trying to cop a feel. She saw the spider herself. After, uh, after she slapped me, though—it’s not funny, Beth.”

Was she smiling? Oh dear. “Sorry.” she said, touching her mouth tentatively. “You’re right. It’s not.” She wasn’t amused by his misfortune, just how worked up he was over a date with a girl whose name he’d gotten wrong twice.

“Oh right,” Steve’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “I am sorry, but which one of us was having a panic attack the other day behind the gym?”

Friends could be such dear, and bloody obnoxious individuals. “Wow.”

“You just smiled at me telling you I got slapped, don’t act like you’re better.”

“You groped a girl’s breasts—”

“Not on purpose!” 

“What’s her name?”

“Paula—no. Lauren! It’s Lauren! I knew it!”

Beth stared at him flatly. 

Steve sighed. “Fine. Yeah. Okay.” he muttered, begrudgingly. “That was a low blow.” 

“Steve.” she said. “You are not cursed, alright? Have you considered that you’re putting yourself under too much pressure?”

“Wow,” Steve mimicked her. “This coming from you?” 

“Perhaps you have the yips?”

“I do not—” His eyes widened comically. She might have as well told him to go bald. “I do not have the yips. No. It’s just a weird period. Everyone’s busy with exams, you know, and it’s been a long ass year. It feels like I’ve been a Senior for three hundred years. It’ll be fine once summer is here. And while I am not excited about working at Starcourt, I’ll definitely meet a lot of girls there.”

Beth refrained from pointing out his explanation wasn’t that far from the definition of having the yips.

“Why’s it so important that you do?”

“What?”

Beth resumed pulling groceries out of the bags and setting them aside in cupboards. “You seem so adamant about it. Why? You want to be in a relationship?”Because it’s all so confusing, even before actually being in one. “Because you still seem fairly popular at school, despite what you think, so if it was just sex, I didn’t think that’d be much of an issue, right?”

Steve looked slightly taken aback by her bluntness but he recovered quickly. “Yeah sure. Not an issue at all,” he said quickly, and averted his gaze which made her wonder if she was wrong about her assessment. Maybe he wasn’t having any luck at all, even if for more casual encounters. Maybe he wasn’t that popular anymore either, especially since his decision to quit the basketball team. Billy did, too. That angered plenty of students who believed they were abandoning the team when they needed them the most. Coach Gary’s decision to place Jason Carver as Captain had been the final straw, though; Billy and Steve were just barely tolerating the rest of the team members as it was. Especially Andy Metson. “Uh, yeah. No. I mean, I don’t want that. Just, uh, you know. What’s so bad about dating?”

“Nothing. I was just wondering why it’s so important to you.” Beth said as she crouched and opened the cupboard under the sink, to place aside a few cleaning products. “You seem quite determined about it.”

Steve frowned. “Maybe,” he shrugged. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”

“I wasn’t criticizing you—”

“No, no. I know. It’s alright. You’ve made a good point.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Talking about relationships, how’s, uh, things with you and Hargrove? And seriously, are you alright? That panic attack, Beth…that looked, uh, bad.”

Beth sighed, as she stood up and closed the cupboards. She should have known it’d come up, eventually. Steve may have kept it to himself that he found her crouched behind the school, in the rain, but he was not going to gloss over it. 

“I don’t get them that often, so don’t worry. There’s not much to tell. Everything is—”

“Nah, don’t do that.” Steve said vehemently, then gestured between them with one hand. “I thought we were past this secretive Beth thing. You’ve been eating my ice cream for weeks, and sulking on my kitchen floor—”

“I do not sulk, and you’re the one who kept replacing it—”

“Yeah, because we’re friends. Also, because my Mom also loves that one too.”

Beth tried not to smile. Steve was clearly much closer with his mother, even if she was quite absent from his life too. “I didn’t lie, though. Everything is as good as it can be, I suppose.” she said. “We haven’t been fighting at all.”

“Yeah, but you’re not together, are you?”

“Together as in…”

“You know what I mean, stop being an evasive dickhead.”

“I miss the times when you used to be afraid of me.”

“I was never afraid of you.” Steve said immediately, then at her raised brows, he floundered. “I was…apprehensive. At most. Now spill it.”

Beth shook her head to herself. “I don’t know what to say, quite frankly.” she said, tongue heavy in her mouth. “I think Billy needs time and space, we both do, so we’re taking time and space. We’re just friends at the moment, and it’s been working out well.”

It wasn’t a lie. That was perhaps the longest they’d maintained a friendly rapport without a single hitch. There was plenty about it that Beth enjoyed, and was happy with. Despite the fact that there was a canyon-sized distance between them that hadn’t been there before, and it wasn’t necessarily tied in with them not having sex. Not that she didn’t miss that; she did, plenty. 

But it was for the best, was it not? Especially after that night on his birthday. She’d behaved…the way she did, and he may have been enthusiastically into it, but it hadn’t been the wisest course of action. Not hours after she’d told him that she needed them to have a more defined relationship. 

“I don’t get it. You said you told him the truth.”

“I did. I was also the one who suggested we take some time.” She couldn’t really blame Billy for doing exactly as she asked. She couldn’t deny, however, that part of her had wished that she’d already had a better answer to them. They were still in a limbo, weren’t they? They hadn’t moved past it, other than the fact that they weren’t actively fighting anymore. 

Beth was accustomed to being thrown in the deep end of an unknown territory, but figuring out a romantic relationship felt way out of her skillset. A maybe romantic relationship. 

“And he hasn’t—”

Beth shook her head. “It doesn’t really matter right now.”

Steve’s brows furrowed. “What? What do you—of course it matters, Beth. Is this one of your Beth Things?”

“Beth Things?” she blinked rapidly, as she looked at him. 

“Oh yeah. With a capital T.” 

“What is—”

“It’s just what we call it when you’re, uh, being you. Like right now. There’s no way you can tell me you’re not immensely bothered by this, because no one would be, but you just pretend you’re all cool and composed about it.” He wagged his finger at her, a self-assured look on his face. “It doesn’t work anymore. We know all about your Beth Things.”

“Who is we?” 

“Well, you know, me and the others. I mean, it’s mostly me who calls it that way, but the others are coming around to it.”

Beth highly doubted that. “I am sorry, but do you just sit around and talk about my…things? With a capital T?”

“Sometimes.” Steve nodded sagely. “You have a lot of Beth Things.”

Beth chortled. “You’re ridiculous. You do not do that.”

“Yeah, we do. Sometimes we compare notes.” Steve smiled. “Like how we could have just given you ice cream from the beginning, and just skipped over the whole I am so mysterious, I don’t need friends shtick—”

“You’re deluded if you think that’d have worked.”

He snapped his fingers. “But it would have helped, right?”

“I hope you know I am going to ask Nancy about this.”

“Go ahead. I don’t care.”

Beth stared him down. He lasted approximately ten seconds before he crumbled. “Fine. We don’t actually compare notes.” he grumbled. “But you do have a lot of Beth Things.”

“Huh-uh.” Beth said. “And what are your Things, Steve? Aside from the unnatural amounts of hairspray—”

He choked. “Unnatural–”

“Yes.”

“It is not unnatural. It is a perfect amount–wait. No. No, I know what you are doing.” He said accusingly. “You’re trying to deflect.” 

“Is that a Beth Thing too?” She smiled a little.

“Absolutely.” Steve said. “You don’t want to talk about Billy because then it means you’d have to open up, and you still find it hard. See? Not mysterious anymore, Stirling.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t if you thought to bring ice cream, then.” 

Steve gave her an unamused look which made her smile. “Beth. Come on.” he said as he approached the tiny kitchen table where she was. She’d begun folding the paper bags carefully, mostly to keep her hands busy. They felt itchy. 

“I don’t know what I am doing.” Beth said, finally. “I never even thought about sex until a few months ago, much less relationships. I might as well be an alien.”

“That’s silly.” Steve rolled his eyes. “You’re alien-adjacent, at most.”

She smiled, finding that endearing because she knew he didn’t actually mean it. 

Billy would have reacted differently. He’d have gotten annoyed she was thinking that again, and he’d have angrily told her to knock it off. He'd also heard the unspoken, like how she did feel human right there, all too human, but that maybe she just sucked at it. Being a teenager in love wasn’t easy for anyone, was it? Steve was walking evidence of that. It just felt particularly difficult for her. The overwhelming ease with which she loved him, so achingly much, was the very source of her struggle; it was an entirely new kind of love. How was it possible that she could feel so much for someone, yet so differently?

Steve understood her fear, but Billy knew it firsthand. If the loss of her home and parents had ripped her heart to shreds, what would it be like if she lost Billy? She didn't believe the pain would be lesser or deeper than if she lost Oliver or Freddie, only on a different frequency. Quantity and quality were no measures for grief, not for her. 

“My parents had an exceptional relationship, I think. For different reasons, and not just because of all the secrets they had.”

Steve sat down at the table, listening quietly. He didn’t point out how she kept folding and unfolding the same bag, over and over.

“When I was little, I’d hear the parents of other kids both talk about them. Some admired them, others criticized them. They weren’t even that outlandish. They were married, they had two children, and careers.” Beth said. “I think there was just something about them that most people couldn’t put their finger on, so some found it unsettling while others found it fascinating. I didn’t understand it fully until Mom died. They understood each other. They were…very synchronised, you could say. After all, what kind of parents prepare for their life to implode the way ours did? I don’t know if our Mom knew she was going to die, but she knew those men would come after us. And they prepared. They were the kind of people who saw all that…insanity coming up ahead, and decided, you know what, we’ll prepare for it and we’ll have contingency plans. Maybe they panicked, too but we never saw that.”

Beth smiled a little, humorlessly. “Maybe they weren’t particularly sane, either.” she mused. “I don’t think they were perfect parents, not anymore, but they were exactly the kind of people they had to be to get where they are. Does that make sense?”

Steve nodded slowly. “Yeah. Uh, yeah. I think I get it.” he said. “My folks aren’t really like that, but I get it.”

“I am not sure if they’ve always been like that. I think they had this whole life before us that we barely know of, but they still made it work. I think that was it, really. There was nothing they couldn’t make work.” Beth continued. “They worked so well together that it’s no wonder Harry lost half of his mind when she died. I never thought Mom was worse at handling issues, or that she did so any less. I just never realized how much…they were a part of each other. Harry could be frighteningly smart but he wasn’t much of a person without her. It was just survival, and the mission, and finding answers, and protecting us. Sometimes…sometimes he’d be a father, but that’s about it.”

Steve mulled over her words. “You, uh, think that’s what’s going to happen if you and—”

“We are not our parents.” Beth shook her head. “But there’s a lot to look up to about my parents’ relationship, I think. It’s the only thing I have, really, as reference for this type of thing. They’re not here for me to ask questions, and I may know other happy couples, but it’s not the same.”

“And you’re saying I’m putting myself under pressure,” Steve noted. “Have you even talked to Hargrove about this?”

Beth frowned. “No.” she said. “I’ve put a lot on him, Steve, and I don’t even have an idea of what I am doing. I can’t just put more on him. How is that fair?”

“What? You think Hargrove will back out or doesn’t feel the—”

“I know Billy loves me,” Beth said easily. Whether he was in love with her, she wasn’t entirely sure. She was scared he’d realize that fiercely loving her was not the same as wanting to be with her. “I am not really questioning that.”

“Then….what’s the issue?”

Beth told him about what Judge Williams told her, weeks earlier. “It made me think of my parents, and how independent they were. It made me think a lot about what I’d do in a relationship. Honestly, I don’t think I am meant much for relationships.” she said. “If it weren’t for Billy, I wouldn’t have cared at all. If we don’t, uh, end up together, I doubt I’d care in the future. I don’t have a need for it.”

Steve’s head cocked to the side, skeptical. “But you thought about what it’d be like, though.” She gave him a pointed look. 

“Wanna get it off your chest, Stirling?”

Not really.

“I am not sure you’re ready for this one Beth Thing,” Beth said. “Billy tends to be the one better equipped at dealing with what’s going on in my head, especially the bad stuff. No offense.”

Steve was not at all offended. “Your head isn’t full of bad stuff.” He paused. “Only bad stuff.”

“True.” 

She took a long breath, then exhaled. She wasn’t just worried that Billy was going to choose her out of fear of losing her altogether, or that he’d decide he didn’t love her the way she did. 

There was another reason, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit it outloud.

“This really sucks, actually.” she admitted.

Steve smiled, probably at her choice of words and her candidness. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

Beth stopped playing with the paper bag, and after she finished folding the other bags, she put them in one of the kitchen drawers, stacked on top of each other. 

“I still think you should talk to Hargrove.” Steve said, finally, after a few moments of silence. “I mean, I have no idea how you manage to talk to that guy about this stuff, but you should. Ripping off the bandaid is more of a Beth Thing, isn’t it?”

“Maybe not in this case.” She scrunched her nose. 

“Oh come on,” Steve stood up. “Hargrove has always been your person. Like, from the beginning. Aside from Ollie, of course.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was the only one who made you give up on all the rules. Back when you exorcised that—that thing out of him. You stayed, and you risked your life after, too. Then, uh, at Christmas, you weren’t doing well. We were all kind of worried, but he was the one who got through to you, didn’t he? Oliver told me, you know.” Steve said. “Even when you guys are fighting, you always…show more with him. It makes sense now that I know more about your past, and all.”

Beth could only stare. Oliver talked to Steve about her and Billy?

“Hargrove is your person, so maybe that’s why this stuff is hard to bring up with him, and maybe why you should.”

Beth was stunned. She wasn’t so naive and did not realize she had always perceived and handled Billy differently than everyone else, but she hadn’t realized it’d been that obvious. Or that Steve spent so much time reflecting on it. That’s what friends did, though. They paid attention. They cared. They were worried. 

Their loss would break her heart too.

And she had a lot of opportunities for loss, now. 

“I see.” Beth said lamely. “How introspective of you.”

“I have my moments.”

“Thank you.”

Steve shrugged. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

.
.
.

“You got any pizza rolls? I think it’s only fair that I raided your kitchen for once.”

“Sure, but you’ll be the one to answer to Oliver if you eat them all.”

“He’s not as scary as he wants people to think he is.”

“You only think that because you don’t know how much he knows about poisonous plants.”

“You are so lucky our group has such a high bar for the weird.”

Billy remained rooted to the spot, leaning against the wall outside Beth's door. The inn's walls were notoriously thin, and if one stood outside the entrance door like he did, they could have heard all the discussions that took place on the other side. 

Like he did. 

The floor was empty of other guests or Beth would have been more careful about what she’d said.

After a few moments, Billy peeled away from the wall, moving slowly so the known creaks in the old floor wouldn't betray him. 

He had to clear his head.

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.
.

It was rare that Beth found herself with time just for herself. The only time that had ever happened before was when she’d been recovering from injuries.

It was the last Saturday of the month, however, and there she was, with no pressing matters to attend or needing to worry about anyone. That wasn’t true, of course. There was always something to worry about, but even if she knew when it was unnecessary, and right then, it was. 

Oliver and Freddie were at the Byers’ house, helping Will renovate and redecorate his room. Beth didn’t even need to pick them up as they were going to have a sleepover, so she had the evening to herself. She'd already finished all her schoolwork, including revising for exams, the fridge was stocked, the boys' homework was done, and the suite was tidy. 

She even got a second workout that day, before she had a long shower, changed and decided to just sit and read. 

It was kind of exciting, actually. 

However, every twenty pages or so, Beth’s mind drifted inevitably to Billy. The previous evening, they’d planned to revise together, for one of the exams, and then have dinner after she picked up the boys from the arcade. How domestic. You’d think we’re a married couple. But they weren’t even a couple. Not really. 

Billy never showed. He called and told her he picked up a last-minute shift at the care home. Beth worried he was overworking himself, which she knew was hypocritical given her own tendencies. The worry clung to her, regardless? Was he working to avoid her? He wasn’t in need of money as urgently as before, that much was certain.

Yet, if avoiding her was his goal, he was failing spectacularly. They still spent all their school lunches and free periods together. He still showed up at the inn, on a regular basis. He had sought her opinion before deciding to pay off the old house and rent a new one. And though he hadn’t mentioned researching jobs for Susan, he had told her about the one with the contractor business Beth used for her renovations.

Billy had had the right instincts in regards to that. Not only the job had been a great change for Susan, but she was enjoying it very much as well. No more long minimum-wage shifts at the supermarket or sporadic cleaning jobs. She now had a regular but flexible daytime schedule, a much better pay and benefits. It’d made her happier, for certain, although Beth still found it concerning how thin Susan had become. The last six months had obviously taken their toll on her, between having to become the main breadwinner and working physically taxing jobs. And losing her husband, as much of a shithead he may have been. 

He’s been trying so hard to do better by Susan and Max, hasn’t he? Beth mused. Max had noticed, too. She'd told Beth that Billy was helping her with her homework semi-regularly, and he still handled the bulk of chores around the house. 

Beth replayed the previous night’s conversation with Steve. He’d been right; she needed to talk to Billy about her concerns. Not yet, though. She’d been the one to ask for them to take some time, and whether it’d been the right decision or not, Billy still seemed onboard with it. He hadn’t attempted to talk to her, either. He hadn’t initiated any intimacy. What if he needed more time, himself? She could not abruptly change the rules again, by telling him she was feeling overwhelmed and impatient. 

She'd already laid out how she felt. She couldn't rush him, couldn't be impatient, no matter how hard it was.

And God, it was excruciating. It was a constant torment. Every time they were together, she was so overcome with affection she felt like she might burst, like an overfilled balloon. That affection was always shadowed by worries, however. Some she'd shared with Steve, others she struggled to admit even to herself.

The fiercely independent part of her was also deeply apprehensive. She didn’t believe Billy would curb her independence, but long-term, what if he had expectations she couldn't or wouldn't meet? Of course, she couldn't answer any of it without talking to him, but she couldn’t talk to him until she felt he was making an independent choice about their future.

Talk about catch-22. 

A quiet sigh escaped Beth as she traced the spine of her book, perched in their sole armchair by the dining-room-and-kitchen window. From that height, she had a full view of the main street and the low skyline of Hawkins, a town with no use for tall buildings. Except for Starcourt Mall, and the former Department of Energy.

The construction of the mall had divided Hawkins. The town’s younger residents were buzzing with excitement. Hawkins, and even neighboring towns, simply didn't offer much in the way of modern entertainment. The new mall not only promised stores that many would have otherwise had to travel miles for, but also state-of-the-art cinema, the latest arcade games and national food chains. 

Most other residents, particularly the owners of local mom-and-pop shops, were in constant uproar. Protests had been growing, fueled by the concern that local businesses would die at the expense of corporate greed. The mayor, predictably, seemed unconcerned. Instead, he pushed ahead with lavish mall advertisements, trying to persuade the unhappy residents that the complex would bring new jobs and perhaps even more people. But his appeals fell flat, and for good reason. The local shops were no longer going to be the backbone of the town. The mall was going to act like a retail vortex, sucking all the customer traffic. 

Beth could see the merit in the arguments both sides made. She wasn’t sure if she took any particular stance on the mall’s existence, but she would have been sad to see places like Little Claire close. She also didn’t like the idea of Hawkins becoming more popular. 

The sound of a car pulling to a halt on the street below snatched Beth away from her preoccupation with the mall. She leaned in, pressing her cheek close to the cool glass of the windowpane for a better look.

It was Billy’s truck. The inn had a small, designated parking lot around the back of the building, but he chose to park the truck on the street across from the building.

A frantic energy instantly flooded her chest, part thrill and part dread; the kind that made her stomach clench and her palms feel instantly hot. She felt a silly, almost desperate urge to run a hand over her hair and clothes. She’d never used to worry about such things. 

She hadn’t been expecting him that evening, however. As far as she knew, Billy had a shift at the care home that evening. 

Beth pulled away from the window, the cool glass replaced by the heat in her cheeks. A sharp sort of anxiety, like glass shards, embedded itself in her heart, but she didn’t move away from her seat. Billy had a spare set of keys for the inn, so she didn’t have to let him in. 

She tried to appear casual, folding her hands neatly over her book, but when he finally came through the door, every other thought fled her mind. 

“Hey, Betty.”

The armchair was angled in such a way that she was already facing the entrance door. “Hey.”

It was quite silly, how the sight of him excited her so. An electric jolt ran down her spine, her stomach was filled with pop rocks and the air was suddenly harder to breathe. She watched him move across the threshold, and close the door with his foot, as he smiled at her, slowly. Oh? He was in a good mood? Her gaze flitted over him, quickly, assessingly at first then lingering. 

Billy generally took pride in his appearance, he was even a little vain, but he was dressed particularly nice that day. The jeans were definitely new, and about as tight as all the other pairs he liked to wear. Left open to his navel, the dark red shirt he had on created a deep V that framed the necklace on his neck and his toned physique. Billy had been working out more intensively in recent weeks, and he’d gained back most if not a little extra weight from when he’d first moved to Hawkins. Even shirts looked distracting on him lately, possibly because he seemed to have outgrown them a little, especially in the sleeves. 

Then again, she found him generally distracting. She was continuously and devastatingly attracted to him, and she was long past the point of feeling concerned with the obscenities running through her mind at times. Between recurring wet dreams and him being close-but-not-close enough, Beth had found herself…frustrated. Pent-up, in all sorts of ways. Not enough to ever initiate something and risk terrible timing again, but enough to keep her awake at night, often enough. 

She’d gone back to running a lot lately. A sexually frustrated pyrokinectic was a dangerous thing. 

Beth felt a flush rising in her neck, in tandem with a familiar ache between her thighs as she watched him walk over to the small kitchen table, and place down a plastic bag. He’d been talking, she realized, and she’d been too busy staring at him, and calculating how much it would have taken her to get him out of his jeans. She didn’t even need to get them off all the way, just enough to get her mouth on his cock because it’d been a while, and she didn’t think she’d ever miss doing something like that, but she did. Christ, she did. She was ready to act in the most debauched manner. 

I have completely lost my mind.

Crossing legs tightly, Beth cleared her throat and placed her hand over her mouth. It was very dry all of a sudden. She was behaving so foolishly, albeit it was no news, when it came to him. Just a few weeks earlier, she had begged him to fuck her while the Bakers were in the house. Just that morning, she’d tried, and failed to get herself off while thinking of his hands and mouth. 

It was somewhat of a paradox, that she was both unsettled by how he made her want to act and how incredibly, endlessly exhilarating she found the idea of exercising no self-control. 

Beth shifted in her chair, keenly aware she was wet already. Was he wearing that shirt on purpose? He hadn’t worn it in a while. Red was her favorite color, he knew that. “Sorry, what?”

Billy looked up at her, brow lifting. “You alright, Betty?” There was a glint in his eyes that made her suspicious immediately.

“I am fine,” she said, then cleared her throat again, unnecessarily. “I thought you said you had a shift tonight.”

“Nah, they didn’t need me, after all.” Billy shrugged, as he pulled the items out of the plastic bag, one by one. He had styled up his hair, too, Beth noted. He rarely ever went out without making sure his locks were in the right place, but he had definitely done something different that day. His hair had grown significantly in recent months, so his mullet wasn’t much of a mullet anymore. The curls brushed past his shoulders. 

She liked the long hair. Whenever he slept over, she often reached over and played with it, when she was certain he was asleep. She also liked it during sex. Very much. 

“I see.” 

“Enjoying yourself, Betty?”

“What?”

He gestured towards the book in her lap as he put a few groceries in the fridge. That wasn’t an odd sight; Billy insisted he paid for groceries as well, especially if there was anything he ate exclusively. 

Next, she watched him turn around, and place a box of oatmeal into one of the upper cupboards. She got a full view of his broad shoulders, the tapered waist and his ass. 

What the hell?

“Um,” she remembered he asked a question, but not which one. “Oliver’s helping Joyce. Freddie’s at the Sinclairs. I finished all my errands, so…” Her voice trailed off, her focus snagged on the last item deep within the plastic bag he carried. Her eyes narrowed as she recognized the distinctive carton—a product she hadn't bought since they arrived at the inn, primarily because it had been reliably out of stock.

Billy turned, pulling out the small, distinctive carton. Chocolate Hazelnut. French, and outrageously expensive. He caught her staring at it like a hawk. “Supermarket’s got a new ice cream in,” he stated in a nonchalant tone which she might have believed if not for the faint, knowing smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Chocolate hazelnut. Your favorite, right, Betty?”

No.

No way.

Could he have... how would he have known? Did Steve say anything? No, Steve wouldn't. Did he overhear us? “A new ice cream,” she repeated flatly.

“Well, not new, exactly,” Billy corrected, his eyes locking onto hers. “It was out of stock, apparently. Even though it’s expensive shit, it seems there’s been a demand for it, recently.”

The skin beneath her eye gave a tiny, involuntary twitch.

He knew. He knew. Somehow, he knew something. Was that why he hadn’t come by the previous evening? Had he overheard her talking to Steve? That realization was deeply worrying, and for more than one reason. She immediately filed a mental note: tell the boys to be infinitely more mindful of what they discussed near the entrance.

“Want some, Betty?” he asked, a silken challenge coating the offer.

Her brain stuttered. 

“Want what—no.” Hot and cold emotions—apprehension, attraction, and furious embarrassment—roiled inside her. “What are you doing?”

“I am putting the ice cream away, or it’ll melt obviously.” he said, a slow, deliberate cadence in his voice as he moved toward the freezer.

Infuriating fucking— “No. What are you doing?” What are you playing at? If you know something, just say it. 

Billy did as he said, shoved the carton of ice cream in the small freezer above the fridge, then turned around. He met her gaze, then simply leaned back against the fridge. Then proceeded to stare at her with a heavy look that made her feel both feverish and alarmed, because she couldn’t figure out what was going through his head. Was he upset? Was he angry? Was he relieved? 

Was the damn asshole seriously putting the moves on her?

“Let’s go on a date.”

What the fuck.

“What?” she asked, the word coming out a little too sharp.

“A date,” he repeated, his tone utterly casual, as if he were discussing the weather. “The roof’s got a pretty good view, you were right. For a hillbilly town, anyway. We’ll eat, make fun of the assholes on the street.”

“What?” She was beginning to sound like a broken record, the single word a testament to how thoroughly he had short-circuited her brain. She was almost certain that he had overheard her talking to Steve, but for some reason, he wasn't bringing it up. He was circling, teasing. Why?

“Come on, before the food turns to cold slop.”

Food?

“What?” 

.
.
.

Beth was wearing a dress. She was wearing a dress, and that was almost enough to throw his plan off the rails.

The dress itself was basic as shit, almost granny-chic with thick straps and a skirt that ended just above her knees. It was dark navy cotton, buttoned up the front like a fucking nun's habit. Nothing fancy, nothing sexy. Usually, only old ladies or goody-two-shoes types wore shit like that.

But on Beth? Fuck me. She made that dress look like the hottest thing he'd ever seen. Sultry. Yes. That was the word for it. Sultry. She kinda looked like one of those statues of mythological women, seductive as hell, yet dangerously powerful if crossed. Her toned arms were on display, and the simple belt cinching her waist accentuated her curves that were downright erotic. Beth may have been a born and bred Cali girl, but she did not have the lean, slim look of a woman who did aerobics and had cabbage diets. She looked like a damn warrior, all powerful limbs and thick hips.

Fuck, those hips.

The bottom half of the dress was loose, the material falling like liquid, but when she turned, the shift in the fabric clearly outlined the shape of her ass and hips. He’d caught a glimpse of her bra straps peeking out from under the dress's thin shoulder straps. Was that lace? Had she lost her goddamn mind? Billy wondered if she hadn’t done it on purpose, dressing like that, but she’d had no idea he’d come by. 

He briefly debated if it wouldn’t have been better if he just got her out of that dress, right then, in the middle of that tiny, crowded dining-room/kitchen (although he was partial to fucking her in the dress, too). He’d caught the way she’d looked at him; like she might have liked to burn his clothes off. That was the most honest she’d been in a while. 

Beth led the way out of the suite, climbing the final set of stairs to the rooftop. Billy followed, enjoying the excellent view of her ass as she moved. Once on the roof, he watched her closely, scrutinizing her reaction to his pathetic attempt at setting a mood.

Billy knew he wasn't a romantic; any remote gesture he'd ever made for a girl was usually low-effort. But for Beth? He had fucking tried. It wasn't much: some cheap fairy lights strung across the railing, a nice, soft blanket spread over the gritty roof membrane, and fast food. He’d remembered her favorite—an extra bacon, extra spice burger—along with fries and a double-fudge chocolate milkshake. He felt pretty fucking lame for it, truth be told, but it wasn't as if Hawkins offered many options for a grand romantic gesture.

Judging by her expression, though, she didn’t mind at all. She was clearly touched, but her brow was furrowed with confusion.

“What exactly are you doing?” she asked, turning to face him warily. She knew he knew. He hadn’t exactly been subtle. “We both know this isn’t really a date.” 

“We need to talk, Betty.”

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.
.

Beth ate half the burger and most of the fries before turning to her milkshake, matching Billy's silent pace. They sat near the roof's edge, their gaze drifting over the stream of cars and the distant landscape. Beth traced the outline of the buildings around them. To her right, the massive silhouette of Starcourt Mall was unmistakable, a hulking sprawl of new steel and glass. To her left, a few blocks away, the downtown lights shone a little brighter than everything else.

The sun was already down, and though May was just around the corner, the air had the crisp snap of late spring. Beth hadn't brought a jacket, but the chill didn't register—a mixture of anxiety and apprehension kept her warm. Billy had said they needed to talk, and she agreed, but neither of them seemed ready to start.

She didn’t jumpstart the conversation, though, feeling the ball was in his court. By then, she was confident he had heard her talk to Steve which meant he knew more than she’d been willing to let on. There wasn’t much she could add at that moment, without making it worse, potentially.

“What’s with the dress?” 

Really? That was what he was going to first? “What’s wrong with it?”

It was a simple and plain dress, nothing out of ordinary. If anything, it was quite boring as far as dresses went, not that she knew much on the topic. Back when they used to live in Europe, Beth used to wear dresses occasionally; generally with shorts underneath to avoid chaffing. She’d liked the ease of movement they offered. 

She hadn’t worn in well over a year, until then. Beth had grabbed it on a whim from a second-hand store in town. The only reason she’d been in the store in the first place was because Freddie had seen an old wooden train set that he’d liked and asked her to get. 

Billy’s gaze dropped down her body, then moved back up. “I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it.” he said, smirking. “Next time, I can help you pick, Betty.”

It was unfair, him being that flirty all of a sudden. Coming there, dressed up and charming her with food and a romantic set (not that she knew much on the topic), only to keep her in suspense.

“Billy.” Beth shivered faintly; the familiar, subtle tension along her temples confirmed the change in the atmosphere. It was going to rain again, as proven by the clouds above them. It was going to rain. She could feel it. “Can you just—” Put me out of misery. 

“I never told you about Molly Spencer, did I?”

What?

Beth didn't move much, only shifting her gaze to the profile of his face. She lowered the milkshake to her lap, only half-drank, her fingers cold and wet from the condensation. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Before Mom left and I got pulled out of St. Catherine’s, there was this girl named Molly. A grade above ours,” Billy explained. “She transferred out around the time Mrs. Dixon passed, so I doubt anyone even noticed her leave.” He paused, then tossed out a challenge. “Maybe you dreamt of her, or something. Brown hair, brown eyes. Freckles.”

Beth’s brow furrowed, surprised by the choice of topic, but she considered his question. “…maybe?” She recalled the face of a girl in far more detail than the parade of other girls Billy had casually hooked up with. “I think so, yes. I only remember because she was wearing the school uniform. I also saw her clearer than the others.” She had assumed, briefly, that she might have meant something more, but she hadn’t given it much thought. 

She hadn’t even remembered until then. 

“She was my girlfriend,” Billy stated. Beth looked at him, completely taken aback. “The first, and only time I actually dated someone. Officially. More than once.”

She hadn’t anticipated that admission at all. “I thought you said you were never serious with anyone,” she said, her voice registering only surprise, not judgment. Why would he not tell her?

Billy’s head cocked to the side. “Not sure she’d agree with that statement.” He pushed back, "What did you dream about, Betty?"

Beth took a moment to sort through the archives of his mind. She usually dreamed of his more unpleasant memories like those relating to Neil, or the hellscape the Mind Flayer put him through. They’d been less frequent than they used to be. “It’s been a while, I only saw her once or twice,” she admitted. “I think in one, you two were just sitting together, and in another… she was crying. It was very brief, though.”

“She was…” Billy faltered, his eyes unfocused on the windshield. “I kinda liked her. She liked me more. She fell in love with me, she said. That I was even the first boy she loved.”

Beth understood immediately where that story was heading. “You broke her heart.”

“Yeah. I did.” Billy nodded curtly, the admission sharp. “It wasn’t her fault, but I ended up hating her anyway. Resenting her, too. Instead of just calling it quits, I fucked her best friend. She walked in on us.” He gave a short, hard laugh. “That wasn’t planned, but I knew there was a chance, and… I don’t really have an excuse, Betty. It was fucked up. She definitely stopped liking me after. I bet she was relieved when I finally left.”

“Why did you hate and resent her?” 

Billy gave her a long, direct look. “You already know why.” 

Because he’d wanted Molly Spencer to be someone else. Beth swallowed. She had never made the connection before. How could she have? Billy had been with a plethora of girls over the years, but Molly had been the first, the true outlier.

Billy’s lips curled into a softer, less defensive expression. He lifted a hand and gently brushed a few loose strands of hair from her cheek. “Mm. Her eyes were too dark,” he remarked, his thumb resting near her jaw. “She was nice, and polite. Liked to study. She was more sociable, though. Not quite as clever, or as kind, though..” As you. “She liked it more when people thought of her as a sweetheart.” 

Her vision momentarily swam, not from tears, but from the sudden, disorienting rush of blood to her head. Her heart, a moment ago beating a steady rhythm, now hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird fighting for freedom.

Beth very carefully placed the milkshake down, between them. The plastic felt warm to the touch. 

Billy dropped his hand from her head, his own food long abandoned. “I didn’t even realize why I liked her until I started getting annoyed by her. Then I felt so fucking sick by it, but I just… I put it on her. Just like Dad used to take out his shit on Mom, I guess.”

The admission made her eyes sting. As heartbreaking as his actions had been, Beth didn’t believe it came from pure malice, as much as from a place of endless grief. He’d been completely lost. 

“It’s fucked up, I know,” Billy said, again. “Told you there’s a lot more shit you don’t know about.”

He had that day at the storage unit. Beth shook her head slowly. “I’m sure it was a painful memory for her, but… I understand.”

Billy’s head cocked to the side, in surprise. 

“It’s not that fucked up, Billy. You were what? Fourteen years old? Same age as Oliver. You were alone, and grieving. You had to deal with so much. Why wouldn’t you want to try and get something back from before?”

Billy looked away momentarily, and she couldn’t be sure, but she thought his eyes had a watery sheen to them. “I really fucking hated her. I hated you for not being there.” He scoffed, the bitterness momentarily resurfacing. “I used to think that you all died together, at least. Mom just—” He stopped there, and scowled. 

Left. They all left. And he was in hell long before the Mind Flayer put him through the wringer. That twisted sort of resilience—the inability to fully break—was likely what prevented complete possession, but it hadn't healed him from the trauma of the last five years.

Beth reached over, slowly, and touched his knee. 

“I know,” Beth murmured. “I know.” She had been the ghost that haunted him, one of many, but she’d weighed heavier than the rest. His mother, Adele, was at least alive somewhere presumably, even if her whereabouts were unknown. For a long time, Billy must have clung to the hope that she might eventually come back.

“I wished for the one person who was still alive, and she didn’t come back,” Billy said, turning his gaze back to his hand. He found a lock of her hair, still resting near his shoulder, and began to twist it between his fingers. “I wished for the dead back, and apparently, that worked better, huh? Now, where’s the logic in that, Betty?”

“...Eventually.”

He chuckled. “Eventually,” he repeated, then met her gaze, the intensity returning. “I hated you because you looked like someone I thought dead. I, uh, may have liked you a little for it too. That is fucked up,too.”

“A little bit, yeah,” she agreed, giving him a wan smile.

He stared at her appraisingly, a look that made her feel deeply exposed and vulnerable. But her fight-or-flight response didn’t trigger. “You came back, though.”

“Repackaged a little differently, but yeah.”

He grinned, and it was the undeniably boyish one he used to have as a kid. The sight of it simultaneously lifted her heart and made her feel grief for everything they’d both lost.

“But I gotta ask, Betty? Harrington.”

Beth’s smile faded. 

“Out of all the fucking friends you made, you had to talk to him? Seriously, Wheeler was right there, and she’s a chick who’s clearly had enough relationship drama to know a thing or two.”

And there it was. The confirmation that he’d indeed overheard her conversation with Steve. 

“Why do you dislike Steve so much?” she asked.“The truth?”

“He’s a preppy dickhead who has no game—”

“The truth, Billy.”

He met her gaze again, but predictably, he deflected. “You sure Harrington doesn’t have a thing for you?”

Beth froze. “Why would you ask that?”

“Really? The fucker comes to you about everything, like you’re his damn girlfriend. And it’s obvious he’s got a thing for girls smarter than him, if Wheeler is anything to go by.”

“What?” The single word was laced with genuine confusion. What the hell was he talking about?

“Just sayin’, Betty. You seem so worried about me not thinking about other choices, but you’re doing the same thing, right?” Billy waved his hand. “Even if Harrington doesn’t have a thing for you, I gotta admit, he’s a loyal fucker. And he’d put his neck out for others, so I guess that makes him reliable too.” 

Beth caught herself before her mouth fell open. “You cannot be serious.” Was he actually implying that she should consider Steve? “That was your takeaway from what you heard? That I have options and Steve is…one of them.”

She was fairly confident Steve had no romantic feelings for her. She supposed out of everyone in their group, her friendship with him was strongest, except for Billy. 

But right then, Billy was making her very, very angry. 

And very hurt, too. Tears welled in her eyes, and judging by the growing buzzing sensation at the back of her head, something was bound to catch fire. 

“Well, the jackass is not exactly smart, and you could definitely do better, but he’s better than babysitting than planting his feet which says a lot—”

The stack of napkins that she’d placed between them caught fire.

“Betty, what the hell—”

Beth placed the milkshake aside, nearly causing it to fall, then got up. Billy did the same, but put the napkins out with his boot. “Jesus Christ, Betty—hey. Hey.” 

She moved away. She wasn’t leaving, nothing good ever came out of one of them storming out and it was obvious they were in very much need of getting things off their chests, but she had to move. She needed to move, because she felt hot, and irritated, and there were so many flammable things around her. She could feel energy coiling under her skin, like an unruly beast knocking against the bars of its cages.

“Betty—”

She spun on her heel, already ten feet away. “What the hell are you doing? You eavesdrop on a conversation, then you play some sort of game, bringing me here, only to what? Tell me that I should think of Steve as a dating option? What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Billy’s annoyance matched hers, immediately. “What is wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with you?” he yelled, throwing his arms out. “Why the fuck would you even talk to Harrington about that shit?”

Beth bristled. “I am sorry, I didn’t realize I had to ask for your fucking permission.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ, who said anything about permission?” Billy snapped. “As if you don’t already do everything you want, how you want it—”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean—”

“Oh, give me a break, Betty.” Billy’s irritation spiked into genuine anger. “You didn’t even fucking bother to ask me what I want. You just assumed. You always fucking assume, and you hide, even though I’ve asked you not to—”

“I hide—”

“You had panic attacks.” Billy’s voice dropped, suddenly calmer but far more cutting. Beth froze. “You’ve been having panic attacks, and you didn’t fucking tell me. Just like last fucking time. You just decided you knew the right course of action—”

“That is not true.” Beth hated the slight wobble in her voice. Her cheeks felt hot with shame and fury. “I may not have handled that discussion well, but you didn’t listen to me, either! You just got angry and you stormed off—”

“Oh, like you’re doing the fuck right now?”

Beth’s jaw clenched so tight it ached. “You’re being unfair,” she blurted. “I was as honest as I could be. I did it badly, and I had really shitty timing, and trust me, I wish I had done it differently. But I was honest, and all I’ve been doing is just wait. I’ve been waiting, even if it’s hard—”

“Then fucking say so!” Billy’s voice was a sudden shout. “Fucking say it. Fucking come to me, and say it.”

“I couldn't—”

“Yeah, you could.” Billy cut her off again, merciless. “You could have, the way you told Harrington but you’re telling yourself that I won’t—what was it, Betty? Choose better? You’re telling yourself that because you’re scared shitless, and you always try to control things when you’re scared.”

Beth’s hands clenched into fists in her lap. “It doesn’t seem to me like you would have understood,” she pointed out, pushing back. “Why is it so wrong for me to be worried you might want to make a different choice?”

“I don’t know, Betty, you tell me.”

The realization hit her like a slap. She inhaled sharply and swayed slightly on her feet. Billy had done the exact same thing she did: he’d asked her to consider if there weren’t better choices, just as she’d told Steve she worried about Billy’s choice. 

She’d found it hurtful, like he didn’t have enough faith in how she felt. Which meant... Billy had felt the same when he heard her question his own feelings and choices.

“See? Hypocrite,” he stated flatly.

Beth’s mouth tasted bitter. “Congratulations,” she said coldly, her vision blurring. “Great fucking talk, Billy.”

His expression fell a little but she wasn’t sure because she couldn’t see as a result of the stupid tears. 

“This isn’t what—” Billy let out a noise of frustration, then kicked one of the paper bags on the floor, the one they’d used to put all the dirty napkins and empty containers. It slid across the roof, contents spilling out. A few were taken away by the wind. Their milkshakes splattered over the floor, plastic cups rolling away. One fell off of the roof. “Motherfucking—Jesus fucking Christ.”

He moved away from her, and soon enough they were both just standing at opposite ends of the roof, both discontent.

Beth sat on the edge of the roof, swinging her legs over the dizzying drop, and felt utterly, miserably small. She had completed dangerous tasks, fought literal monsters, resisted cruel boys in foster homes, and risked her life for strangers. She could handle danger, and unprecedented threats. But that—that wrenching emotional loss of control—was her true adversary. She couldn't get a grip on herself, and there was no use pretending she could. 

She was in love, and she was utterly terrible at it. 

She had thought that living instead of surviving in anonymity, acknowledging herself as a person with wants and needs, was the hard part. Billy was a part of her wants, though. Perhaps she didn’t need him for survival, but she wanted him so fiercely it almost felt like a biological imperative, and it was well and truly…fucked. It was terrifying, and she was quite rightly, sick of it. 

So much for compartmentalizing, she thought, letting out a soft, defeated huff.

Beth lifted a hand to her chest, gripping a handful of the cotton dress over her hammering heart. She had believed she was handling the space between them well, or at least to an extent. She thought she was being thoughtful, logical, and responsible. 

But by Gods, she’d been wrong. It was absolutely fucking shite. Why the hell had she ever proposed for them to take time? What good did that do? Now she was drowning in the flood of emotions she thought she’d kept at bay: all the longing and the desire, and the fear. 

Most deceptively, she believed she’d been afraid of him choosing her for the wrong reasons. But that was nowhere as terrifying to how much she wished he did choose her. That he chose all the uncertainty and danger and insanity that came with her. She wanted him to choose that, over and over, permanently, even if no human being with self-preservation would have.

She’d lied to herself, and maybe, deep down, she knew Billy would have figured her out, if she’d talked to him, so she did. He always did perceive her more clearly. 

Emotions stewed in her chest. She felt guilty for her doubts, and betrayed by the way Billy had lured her onto that roof only to tear her down. Yet, she was a hypocrite, he was right. She hadn't considered that her worries would sound so hurtful. She felt hurt too. She may have demanded honesty when she hadn’t been entirely, but she’d offered more than Billy did. She’d cracked herself open, and put all the walls down.

She had wanted him to accept that. She had wanted him to reciprocate. She thought he did, to an extent, but she wasn’t satisfied. She wasn’t. She wanted more, and she wanted everything she was willing to give, and she didn’t even know what that meant because she was so damn new to all of it. She just wanted, and she wanted to be able to want without feeling like she was going to break the world for it. 

Mostly, she was exhausted.

It shouldn't have been this hard, should it? Her parents had made relationships seem so easy. But we hardly even knew who they were as people, in the end. Billy and I are not them, anyway. We haven’t even been in an actual relationship, and it already feels like the hardest thing I’ve ever fought for.

Somewhere in the distance, a faint sound of thunder rumbled. Beth looked up at the deep, cloudless night sky. She could almost taste the distant rain in the air. If the storm gets too bad, the lines might stop working. The walkie talkies should still work, though. Ollie and Freddie will be okay, they’re with the others. 

That never stopped being surreal. 

From the corner of her eye, movement caught her attention, followed by the quiet rasp of approaching footsteps. Billy came to sit beside her on the edge of the roof, mirroring her position as he swung his legs over the edge. He kept his distance.

Beth didn't dare look at him, couldn't bear to look at him, partly out of sheer pride and partly because she didn’t want to cry again. She always cried around him. She was keenly aware of his presence, however, especially the warmth radiating off of his body, the waft of his cologne and masculine scent.

“I didn’t ask you out here to gloat.” Billy said suddenly. “Or to get revenge, or some shit, like trapping you. Whatever. I just came by to talk.”

Beth didn’t respond, feeling a little petty. She may have made her fair share of mistakes, but she’d said a lot more than he did in the past month. She needed more.

Billy clicked his teeth, in irritation but his tone was surprisingly soft when he spoke next. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel like shit,” he said. “Alright? That was not how I was going to go about it.”

She continued to play with the hem of her dress. Now that she’d calmed down, she was starting to feel a little chilly wearing just that as a layer. 

“And I didn’t tell you about that Spencer girl to–to make things worse. I was trying—I don’t fucking know.” he sighed irritably, and lifted a hand to brush it through his hair, pushing locks away from his forehead. “I wanted you to get it.”

She couldn’t help herself. “Get what?” she asked sharply. 

“That I always fucking wanted you. Jesus, Betty, pay attention.”

Beth felt like she might have been pushed off that roof, with the way her stomach swooped and her heart skipped a beat but she hadn’t, she was still there, perched on solid stone. Out of instinct, she looked at him, face flushing. No. He couldn’t say such things to her. He couldn’t say that, not after he made her cry, not after he made her wait. “You–”

Billy barrelled on.

“I, uh, I adored you as a kid, but I also liked you. Like real fucking liked you. I was just too fucking young and dumb and naive to get it, and then everything went to shit. Neither one of us really had the chance to figure shit out beyond the kid stuff. But if we did, you and I…” he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, again, that I always wanted you around. As a kid, it was all innocent and whatever, and then when I thought you dead, I just fantasized about fucked up shit, like how it’d have been like if we’d gone to high school together.”

Beth’s throat felt cinched. It was good she was sitting down because she felt very light-headed all of a sudden. “I think…we might have still run in different circles.” She wasn’t sure what else to say. 

“Bullshit.” Billy said hotly, as if she’d said something incredibly offensive. “Don’t be a dumbass.”

How deeply romantic.

“I liked Elizabeth Stirling because she reminded me of you, or whatever memory I had of you, anyway. I also hated her guts, for it.” Billy added, a moment later. “But I did like you. In a pretty fucked up way, I’ll admit. I was too angry about being in Hawkins and I never really got interested in girls after Spencer, not unless it meant having sex so not exactly an expert. I like people. I’ve spent most of my time hating them.”

It made sense. To her, it did. Billy’s entire worldview had been colored by the pain of losing all the good things and good people in his life. The grief had primed him well to receive Neil’s hatred into his heart. It gave him an outlet. It was no surprise then, that even when he liked someone, he could only do so through the lens of that same worldview. 

“There was no chance in hell I’d have gone out with you. Surely you weren’t that deluded?”

He smirked, a lazy, habitual curve of his lip. “I know. I was, uh, intrigued, though. Yeah, intrigued. You had a cool car, and a shitty family, and you rocked Metson’s shit.” He found common ground in her, is what he was saying. Oh Billy, that’s all it took? “You were angry, too. Never got intrigued by a chick, before.”

“You liked me because I was angry and…potentially violent?” Beth was bewildered. Billy had made mentions before, about having been attracted to her since they first met, but she’d never taken him too seriously. There was a lot he said that she hadn’t taken seriously, especially when they were having sex. Like that night, at the mall, when he kept telling her she was his. In most other circumstances, Beth wouldn’t have liked hearing that. Or so she told herself. “That’s very…worrying.”

Billy shrugged. “If you’d gone on that date with me, I’d have seduced you.”

“You’d have tried and failed.” She retorted, immediately. 

“But if I hadn’t, I’d have absolutely fucked your brains out,” Billy admitted easily, confidently. “I kinda liked you didn’t, though.”

“I wouldn’t have even cared about sex with you at that point.”

“I know. I didn’t know that back then, though.” 

She rolled her eyes. “It’s rather a cliché, wanting the girl you can’t have, Billy.” 

“I did have you, though, didn’t I?” he countered, his voice suddenly soft. “I just had to have my shit rocked by an interdimensional being first.” 

Beth opened her mouth, then closed it, her gaze falling to her lap. He still had her. They apparently couldn’t find a way to deal with it, though.

In true Billy fashion, he pivoted. “They had to remove me from the funeral procession, y’know,” he said, his voice dropping in volume. “You never mentioned it, so I assumed you didn’t dream about it, yet. The funeral was a closed casket, as you know. Obviously. Loads of people came. Mom and I…” he faltered, the word catching in his throat as he remembered the scene. “…we were right in the first row, with Maggie. They said they couldn’t open the caskets because it was too horrifying. Burned bodies and all that. I lost my shit halfway through the service, tried to get them to open it. I nearly managed, too. Mom had to drag me out.”

Beth smiled ruefully. “Harry’s grand plans, nearly foiled by a grieving child.”

Billy chuckled slowly, a deep, strained sound. “Can you imagine?” he said. “I’d have looked for you, though. One way or another.”

“....I know.”

Silence befell them, again, no longer quite as stifling as before. They watched a few cars pass down the road in front of them, and a group of friends that came out of a nearby bar, boisterously loud. 

Billy’s voice ripped through her distraction, his anger sharp and sudden. “What the fuck makes you think I’d ever make any other choice, Betty? Are you fucking serious? You think I wouldn’t choose you if I wasn’t a shithead? I’ll never be that honorable.”

Beth was genuinely startled by his sudden outburst. “What the hell—” 

“Out of the two of us, which one deserves better?” Billy bulldozed on, hotly. “It ain’t me, Betty, but even so, I’d be fucking selfish. I’d want you to choose me, and my fucked up shit. Hell, that's all I’ve been doing these past months.”

Beth reeled from that confession. “What—what—”

“I fucking lied. About sex being just sex,” Billy confessed, his voice blunt and harsh. “I lied, alright? I fucking tried to ignore it, but you were just so goddamn—I lied. I saw an opportunity and I took it. I was the only guy who could make you feel good? Jesus, Betty, of course I jumped right on that.”

Billy dragged a hand roughly over his face. “Never had illusions we’d be anything more, like a couple or something. Didn’t think it’d ever be for me, frankly,” he said, his tone heavy with self-contempt. “I wasn’t, uh, waiting for anything else, though. I wanted you to feel good, and I could do that, and I did. But I wasn’t being fucking selfless. I just took what I could get. It’s what I’ve done for years. Take shit. It’s what I know how to do best.”

“That’s not true—” Beth started to protest, feeling hot around the collar again.

“Isn’t it?” he scoffed. “That night, on my birthday. I didn’t even—I didn’t even tell you shit, but you were willing to and I just took the chance. Even after you told me you wanted things to be clearer between us.”

Beth hadn’t realized he might have interpreted the night in such a self-castigating light. “I wasn’t a victim, Billy,” she said, firmly. “I wanted to have sex with you. Before, and that night. You didn’t force me—”

“It would have been the right thing to stop, right?” Billy cut in, his eyes blazing with frustration. “If we’d stopped, and I’d told you all this shit, we wouldn’t have gone four weeks without talking properly, only to fight like idiots. Again.”

“I—” Beth sighed, pressing her hand briefly against her temple as she collected her thoughts. “I’m not sure that’s true. I think we were both in very… sensitive places that day. I don’t think it was the wrong call to take time. Only that… we didn’t use it well.”

“...Yeah,” Billy huffed, leaning his head back. “For the record, there’s not a single fucking thing you could ask that I’d have an issue with.”

Her heart dropped to her stomach. She felt tempted to check, by pressing a hand to her chest, but her hands stayed in her lap, hot and clammy. 

“You don’t know that,” she challenged, but it came out weakly. Her vision was blurred by tears again, and she was trying really, really hard not to bawl. Was she relieved? Was she happy? Was she sad? She couldn’t tell, head was too loud. 

Not sad. She wasn’t sad. How could she be sad about hearing all that? 

He tilted his head to look at her, his gaze direct and piercing. “I do,” he said, his voice dropping in absolute certainty, leaving no room for debate. “I fucking do. I’ve already thought about all the shit you might ask or need, Betty. You just assumed I wouldn’t have, and I—I get it. I took my sweet damn time. I wasn’t avoiding you because I wasn’t certain, though.”

“Then-then… why?”

He glared. Only he could have been so prickly while delivering the most devastating of confessions. “Are you not listening?” he said. “You think you’re the only one having exceptions? Like I gave a shit about dating or being in a relationship. It's one and done, Betty. The hell I’d do and say any of this for anyone else. Idon’t fucking want to. What’s so hard to believe about that? All the more reason…” he looked away, voice dropping in volume. “...not to fuck it up, right?

Oh. 

Oh God. 

All along, he’d already been thinking about them being together. She’d been worrying about him not making the right choice, and he’d been worrying about not being good enough. And both of them should have seen it coming, really. Hadn’t she been the one to try and convince him he wasn’t worthless?

Beth felt like laughing hysterically. 

“I’d–I’d never think that. Why would you—” she closed her mouth, swallowed. “I’d never thought that. I wasn’t-wasn’t doubting you because I thought you’d–you’d fuck it—”

“I know.” Billy said quietly. “That just made it kind of worse. That you believe in me so much, that you’ve got all this fucking faith. You see someone in me I don’t really fucking see, but….that’s just it, Betty. I see you better too, and I thought, well fuck, it makes sense but I don’t want to fuck it up.”

“How could you—”

“I don’t know,” he said. “The same you’re afraid you’re too much like Harry, or not a person. I—I am not even sure I am fucking human, either, Betty. Literally. Biologically, whatever. You know that right? There’s no way I am entirely human. The universe loves to fuck with me, so I wouldn’t be surprised if I woke up with a tail one day.”

Beth reached to wipe at her face, but the tears kept running down her face. That was ridiculous. 

Was it?

She didn’t care much though. 

“I did hear you. I heard you, and I heard all those…those things that other people said.” Billy said. “I still think some of them may be a bit deluded, but they see all those good things, and I think they do it because of you. That’s a pretty damn tall order to reach, and I wasn’t backing out of it. Fuck that. I just wanted to make sure I got to say the right things.”

Billy sighed loudly. 

“And the fuck I did.”

He did, though. He did say the right things. He said all the right things and all the best things and all the things she had secretively hoped to hear, and the things she hadn’t even thought of but felt euphoric to hear all the same.

“I, um, I–I…” Good God, she was stuttering again.

“You were really honest that night, on my birthday.” Billy remarked, next. Was that how it’d felt when she’d bombarded him that day on his birthday? Probably. “Then you weren’t. You, uh, just hid yourself again, and you asked for us to take time, so I did. I did it a little too well, I’ll admit, so I fucked up too, Betty. Alright? I did, too. Should have just been honest.”

What started as a vague, faraway grumble was rapidly closing the distance. A few tense seconds of quiet, then a sudden, sharp crack split the air, close enough to make the hair on Beth’s arms stand on end.

“Of fucking course,” he said, glancing up at the sky. “Let’s go.”

“But I—”

He pulled her up to her feet, and she found her legs to be unsteady. She was shaking, although not because of the cold. 

“It’s fine.” She looked at him, stupefied. Billy let go of her, and rubbed at his jaw. “You know, Betty, I heard a lot of arguments from you on how we wouldn’t work together, or why this might not work. It’s not the kind of arguments I’d have made, for the record.”

Her heart stuttered in her chest. 

Billy lifted a hand, and brushed a few strands away from her face. He looked like he was going to add something else, and the way he stared at her, so softly, so fondly, made her want to cry harder. The expression was tucked away, a moment later, and he sighed, as he dropped his hand. 

“Come on.” 

Beth turned, but she didn’t follow him, rooted to the spot. Billy strode across the rooftop to the bulkhead, grabbing the heavy metal access door. It stuck, resisting his pull, forcing him to plant a foot and give it a hard, frustrated shove before it finally scraped open.

He held the door wide and looked back at her. "Betty, what are you doing?"

She didn't move, her gaze locked on his face.

Billy let the door swing shut slightly, sacrificing his escape. He approached her, stopping a few feet away. He looked cautious. “Come on, Betty. We had worse fights.” he said, attempting nonchalance. “Do you want me to leave? Fine. I’ll fuck off—”

“You’re wrong,” Beth said, shivering a little from the cold air, though her face was still flushed.

“About what?” 

“About me being scared,” she clarified. “I mean, you’re right that I am scared. I said that, too. I didn’t lie to Steve when I—I said that I’m afraid you’d choose for the wrong reasons.”

Beth licked her bottom lip as she slowly met his gaze. His expression remained unreadable, but he was still rooted to the spot, clearly not going anywhere. She didn’t think he really wanted to.

“I wasn’t entirely honest with him, though,” she admitted. “I’ve—I’ve been scared that you’d say no. I—I think a part of me believes I’d be okay with it, but I wouldn’t be. I’m good at compartmentalizing, just not when it comes to you.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, watching her.

“I’m a lot more scared if you said yes, though, even for the right reasons. Because—Because I want you to say yes.” There it was. Beth exhaled loudly, as if a great weight had just been lifted from her chest. 

“I want you to stay here, in Hawkins, or to come away with us. To come with us wherever we go, even if it means you’ll give up on a more normal life. I really, really want you to want that, and I’ve had a really hard time admitting that because it–it feels like—like I’ll jinx it if I do.” 

Beth threw her arms out. She was a broken vase, leaking. “I don’t need to tell you how hard it is for me to want things. You know that. You know better than anyone, but this—this is so much more.” she said. “This is just for me, but it would also affect you, and Oliver and Freddie and Max. It could affect your life, but I—” she laughed, a little breathlessly. A little maniacally. “I want you to want that, and be okay with it, and how could I ever ask that? Six months ago, I didn’t think I’d ever have friends, much less have a relationship. I don’t even know anything about that, and that’s the scary part because I want you to choose that, and if you can choose that, then I’d feel a little less guilty, except I also feel guilty for wanting that.”

She truly did sound insane, didn’t she? 

“You were wrong about me not having thought about arguments in favour of us,” Beth added, feeling out of breath, but not being able to stop. “I have. I’ve been thinking about the bad things but it’s only because I’ve also been thinking about the good. The only way I can think about good things is to think about all the ways they could be wrong, and I know, I know it’s awful and it’s insane but I can’t really stop it. And if you don’t believe me, ask Steve. That’s why I talked to Steve. Because for weeks, I have been invading his home and eating his ice cream, and using him like a sounding board.”

Billy continued to stare at her, brows set low. She couldn’t focus on his expression, too busy with her verbal vomit.

“And I talked to Steve because he is a lot more…normal than I am, and because I trust him. It’s not because I have feelings for me, or because he has feelings for me, or because he could never replace you. You know me inside out, but we’re also too alike so I couldn’t tell you any of that. I couldn’t tell you at all, because it concerns you. I know you love me, Billy and I know you didn’t treat me like other girls because I am me, and you’re you. But I don’t want you to love me just because I am your childhood friend, or because I saved your life, or because you care so much. I want you to—-I want you to love me for all the reasons.”

That was so deeply corny, and she paused, embarrassed. She couldn’t stop there, though, not then. Beth started moving again, gesturing a lot. Vaguely, she wondered if people from other buildings or even from the street could see her, and felt alarmed. 

“I had to learn a completely new side to me, because of you, and that has been scary and confusing. Because the person I am around you, she’s…so different. She wants things, and cries and loves sex and has fun. I like having fun just for myself! I couldn’t talk to you about any of that, either because I was trying to figure out what it meant. I had to do it on my own first.” 

Billy’s shoulders relaxed minutely, a subtle shift. 

“I thought about you resenting me for not having a normal life, because I also thought about us being together for a long time. I thought about you being unhappy in Hawkins, and wishing to go back to sleeping with much more uncomplicated and prettier girls, and going to college, and going back to California because I thought about you staying here with me. Because I want you to stay with me, always and be happy with that.”

She began pacing, a little, as the sky above

“I thought about you waking up one day and resenting me for robbing you of spending your best years being free, and doing as you please, because I also thought of you feeling free with me. And you wouldn’t be, and I wouldn’t be, not unless we stopped whoever is after us. But I do feel free with you, when things are good, and we’re safe.” she stopped, briefly, running out of steam. Her throat hurt a little. “And I thought about you getting injured, and dying, because I also thought of you being okay with helping me, no matter how dangerous it gets. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to wish and want for all those things? I spent years trying to get excellent at it!”

He did, though. Billy understood, the same way she understood his anger.

Beth straightened, taking a deep, shuddering breath. She hadn't even realized he’d moved closer until she looked up again. He was just an arm's length away, his gaze scorching. 

“Every scenario in which we’re together would be a little selfish,” Her voice cracked slightly, and she paused, clearing her throat. “But I want to be selfish, too. You think I am not tired of overthinking everything? I don’t want to overthink the good things in my life, because I finally have so many more, but if I don’t, I feel like that’ll be why I lose them. But I want them. I want to keep having friends, and I want you, and I want Ollie and Freddie to be—”

She was interrupted by a violent, overhead thunderclap. It was immediately followed by a stark, terrifying flash of lightning that momentarily bleached the entire rooftop and the vast, darkened horizon. For a brief, agonizing moment, Beth's mind flashed back to the Upside Down, the Mind Flayer’s shadow imprinted across a carmine sky. She half-expected to see those spidery limbs and the eldritch horror consuming the night, but there was nothing there. Just churning, bruised clouds.

Before the echo of the thunder had finished rolling away, the sky opened up. The rain came down on them like a cold, violent deluge, as if some primordial creatures knocked over a bucket over their head. The sound was deafening, turning the entire world into a blurry indistinct chaos. Faintly, Beth heard people below, on the street, rush away to cover.

Within seconds, their clothes were thoroughly saturated and heavy, clinging to their skin.

For the love of God. 

Beth looked up at Billy, a little stupefied by the force of the sudden storm. She could barely make out his expression through the streaming rain. He suddenly reached out to her, his hand snapping around her wrist before he pulled. She allowed it, and he dragged her the short distance to the bulkhead.

He shoved the stiff metal door open and pulled her through, slamming the door shut against the deluge.

They stood on the small, enclosed landing, dripping wet and breathing hard. The sudden, total silence was almost as deafening as the rain had been; her ears were still ringing faintly. 

“I—” Beth started, but the words caught in her throat. She was suddenly, frustratingly speechless, despite her earlier ranting. The landing was deep in shadow, the only source of light a weak, indirect spill from the floor below. She could barely make out Billy’s expression, but she saw how his dark curls had plastered themselves to his forehead and neck like damp, stray tendrils.

“You’re such a fucking idiot, Mae.”

Then he snapped forward, his large hands coming up to roughly bracket her face. Before she could react, he crushed his mouth onto hers. He drove her backward with the sheer force of it, and Beth could only stumble, following his lead until her back slammed against the smooth, cold surface of the wall. The chill was a stark, momentary contrast to the furious heat radiating off his body, pinning her in place.

The world spun into a dizzying mix of arousal and immense longing. Finally, finally, finally, oh God. She was utterly drunk on him, on the sudden, consuming intimacy, and the need to analyze, plan, or assess risk vanished entirely. She was so damn relieved, and so desperately deprived of him.

His mouth was fierce, hungry, devouring hers. Her arms shot up, wrapping tightly around his shoulders, her hands fisting into his damp, cool curls and pulling him in closer, closer, wanting more, always more. His tongue plunged into her mouth, and she met him stroke for stroke, her body instinctively arching and pressing against the solid, unyielding heat of his. He smelt of cologne and petrichor. 

She wanted more, and she could have it, because he’d give it to her, and she was going to take, and take, and take all he’d give and all he was. She was going to drain it all, with the same determination she did everything else, all the affection and the passion. Everything. She was going to take everything, because she wanted it, and Billy wanted to give it to her, and fuck the universe, fuck the rules, fuck it all. 

She goddamn earned it. 

It was euphoric, to just take, and to accept being given everything. To accept being taken, too. There were no false pretenses, or logic, or rules, or the endless spiral of what-ifs and maybes. It was absolute madness and chaos and so, so right. So, so good. 

Billy’s mouth was fierce, hungry, devouring hers. Her arms shot up, wrapping tightly around his shoulders, her hands fisting into his damp, cool curls and pulling him in closer, closer, wanting more, always more. His tongue plunged into her mouth, and his hands were everywhere, on her, all at once. On her breasts, and on her ass, and sliding under her dress to cup her through her underwear, the gusset already wet. 

It wasn’t enough.

She was going to set something on fire, and it was purely due to how much she wanted. 

“Billy—” she managed, just barely, when he left her mouth to assault her neck. The hand between her thighs tugged her panties off, not even all the way off, before he was suddenly sliding his fingers through her folds. “Ah.” 

“Be honest,” he growled against her neck, as he grinded against her. She could feel the hard length of him press against her stomach, through his jeans. “Did you hope I’d get you off in that dress?”

“No,” She truly hadn’t planned it. “But I fantasized about it.”

He huffed, in amusement, and slid a finger inside of her. Pressed his thumb over her clit, and her mouth fell open. Finally, “Did you get off?”

“N-no.” she said tightly. “I can’t do it on my own.”

“Poor Betty,” And he thought he might have actually meant it. He added another finger, curled them inside of her. “All these weeks, without feeling good. Must have been frustrating.”

“Yes – ah—actually, you—ah—jackass.”

“Hm.” He leaned it, and licked a long stripe of skin from her neck to her cheek. “I’ve got you now, sweetheart.”

She was too fucking far gone to care if anyone heard the wet, filthy sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of her. The inn was half-empty anyway, and no one would have cared to go to the roof in that weather.

Beth came hard and fast, her mouth gaping open. It was the first real orgasm in weeks, and it felt glorious, like finally drinking water after being stranded in the desert. Billy smothered her moans with his mouth, his thumb working her clit still, stretching out her pleasure. Her thighs shook like a leaf, and she clawed at his shoulders to keep from floating away into oblivion.

When he finally pulled his fingers out, she felt no less satiated. On the contrary. She was fire, hungry and greedy, ready to consume everything. 

She watched him bring his fingers to his mouth, and give it a lick. “Fucking missed that taste.” Then he kissed her. She parted her mouth, earnestly, and tasted herself on his tongue. 

Beth reached for his belt, blindly. Fervently. When it was finally undone, she pushed herself off the wall and switched their positions. Billy remained malleable, allowing her to do as she pleased. Just watched, half-lidded, as she dropped to her knees and worked his cock out of his jeans, quickly. Hungrily. 

He chuckled, his breath hitching as she stared at his cock, appraising it like a prize. Hard and thick, precum glistening at the swollen head, it begged for her attention. It truly was a very pretty cock. "This is what you’ve been wanting, too?” he asked, grinning wickedly. “Could have just led with that, Betty.”

Beth didn’t respond, just took him in her mouth without hesitation. He hissed, his hips bucking up against her face. He was big, always a little too big yet just perfect, even if he made her jaw sore. She gagged a little, when his head notched in the space at the back of her tongue.

“Fuck. Fuck yeah, baby,” Billy groaned, his hand sliding through her wet locks, tangling in the strands. He didn’t guide her, just kept it there, let her take the lead, his eyes locked on her. 

She hummed in response, deliberately. Beth worked him over with the same intent and focus she did her training; her tongue swirling around the sensitive tip, lapping up the precum. She missed that, she missed the way he felt against her tongue, heavy and throbbing and velvety. She missed having him at her mercy, hips stuttering and filth spilling out of his mouth.

Her head bobbed, taking him deeper with each pass, her throat muscles constricting around him, milking him for all he was worth, until the landing was filled with the obscene wet shuttle of her mouth over his cock. When she glanced up, she found him watching, eyes completely dark. He licked his lips. 

She wasn’t sure what was wetter. Her mouth, or her throbbing cunt. Her underwear was still pulled down, halfway down her legs, rather awkwardly and she felt her arousal slip down the inside of her thighs. She quite hoped he was going to lick it all, as she’d missed that too. Very, very much. 

“Betty, fuck. That’s it.” 

He came with a stifled groan, and a snap of his hips that pushed the head of his cock further down until it hit the back of her throat. His hand held her in place, not hard enough that she couldn’t push him off but enough to cause arousal to turn into fire licking at her veins. She liked that too, him using her like that, and the idea he could only get off with her, and her only, made her lose all grasp on rational thought. 

It’d been a while, and the hot, thick burst of him flooded her senses, overwhelming. She swallowed reflexively, then more intentionally, finding the taste achingly familiar. It was more than she expected, but she took it all, every drop. She sucked and licked him clean, like it was her sole purpose in life, even when he shuddered, sensitive but not at all bothered to pull her off. 

Breathing hoarsely, she released him with a wet pop, her mouth and chin wet. She looked up at him, jaw sore, and cunt achingly empty, and skin feverish. “Yes. I wanted that.”

He pulled her up, and kissed her. 

Then he tucked himself in his trousers, before he pulled her down the stairs and to the suite. 

Chapter Text

It was a miracle they made it inside, truly. They didn’t make it past the kitchen, however, because Billy immediately ripped, hiked her dress up, planted her on the table, then removed her underwear. 

Her thighs fell open, exposing herself completely to him. Billy paused, his eyes ravenous as he drank in the sight. A wicked smile spread across his face. Then he got down, on his knees, and using her thighs to brace himself, gave her a long lick. 

Beth gasped, loudly. Her hips bucked involuntarily, a reflex she couldn't control, and he laughed, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through her, making her clit throb with anticipation.

“Been wanting this, too?”

“What do you think?”

“Say it.”

Fucking asshole. “You cannot be ser—”

“Be honest, Betty.”

Beth swallowed. “I really want you to….eat me.”

He chuckled, probably because of how awkward she sounded. “We’ll work on that.”

“You bas–” 

He brought his mouth, open and hot, over her cunt, then proceeded to lap at her like a hungry animal, with relentless fervor. 

"Fuck, yes," she moaned, her voice catching as his tongue found her clit, circling it with a precision that made her head spin. He slid a finger inside her, and she whimpered, her hips rocking against his face, desperate for more friction, more pressure, more of everything.

She struggled to keep her balance, perched on the edge of the table, her hands flailing for something to grab onto. Finally, she settled for gripping his hair with one hand, the other sliding behind her, pressing flat against the wood for support.

"Fuck, Betty, still taste just as good," Billy murmured, his voice muffled against her flesh. He spread her legs further, lewdly, hiking one over his arm, opening her up for his hungry mouth. “Missed your cunt so much.” 

His tongue moved faster, harder, lapping at her like a man starved. She could feel the pressure building, her body tensing, her muscles coiling tight as he worked her into a second, bigger orgasm. She was close, so fucking close, and she didn't care if she lost her mind, as long as it was while his tongue was buried deep inside her.

"Yes. Oh god, yes, Billy," she chanted, her voice a broken, desperate plea. His tongue flattened against her, moving up, licking up to her clit, and her back arched off the table, her hips grinding against his mouth. Her thighs started to shake, her body trembling with the effort of holding back. 

“Say please, Betty. Come on, be honest and be—”

“You–you asshole. Please—” 

In response, he sucked her clit in his mouth, curled his fingers deep inside of her. 

The coil of tension in her stomach snapped as violently as lightning struck against the sky, and her vision went white, her body convulsing on the table. She sobbed his name, as he continued to lick her through the orgasm, his hands gripping her hips, holding her down, forcing her to ride out every last wave of pleasure.

She came down from the high trembling uncontrollably, and cheeks wet anew with tears, albeit out of euphoria.

Billy didn’t get up right away. Instead he kissed the inside of her thigh gently. So gently, as if she was something fragile and precious, as if hadn’t just eaten her out like a starved man seconds earlier. 

She watched him, half-mad with lust and affection, as his mouth traced the faint track of cigarette scars on her skin. He dipped lower, his lips brushing the faded imprint of his teeth on the inside of her knee. He lingered there, his mouth warm and wet, and then, without warning, added a new hickey next to the scar. She jerked a little, surprised. 

Finally, he looked up. His eyes were dark with hunger, his mouth red. "More, Betty?"

She exhaled a shaky breath. “Yes.”

His grin was electric, a flash of white against his tanned skin, his blue eyes so bright they almost glowed. His hair, wet and wild, was a tousled mess thanks to her. Her Billy. Her summer personified.

The phone’s shriek tore through the silence.

Beth launched off the table so fast that she nearly knocked Billy down, her fight-or-flight reflex seizing control.

“Betty, Jesus, calm down. It’s just the phone.” He caught her, his hands firm on her shoulders. His eyes narrowed, registering her hard tremor and stiffening shoulders.

Beth glanced toward the sound at first bewildered, then alarmed. Did something happen? Oliver would have used the walkie-talkie, but what if—She pulled away, her dress rucked up, her thighs slick and wet. Her shoes slipped on the linoleum. The high of the orgasm was instantly replaced by chilling apprehension.

She answered on the sixth ring. “Yes.” Her mind was already racing through scenarios, each one worse than the last. “What’s going on?” 

“Hey, Beth.” It was Jonathan, and he sounded sheepish, not injured, which she’d realize later on. “Sorry to call, I know you must be, uh, busy—”

“Is everything okay? Is anyone hurt?”

“What? Yeah. Everyone’s fine, we’re good.”

The background was loud with the sound of kids screaming and arguing. Not in danger, though. Beth recognized the frenzy of a D&D campaign in full swing.

“Do you think you could—can you put Billy on?”

Wait. What? 

How did Jonathan know Billy was there? 

Beth blinked and looked over at Billy, who had removed his shirt. Her brain tripped on itself, unsure what to focus on, at that point. “Jonathan wants to speak to you,” she said dumbly.

Billy scowled but didn't look surprised as he strode over, taking the phone from her hand. “Byers, what do you want? Other than proving to be an excellent cockblock?”

Beth, still baffled and uncomfortably wet at that point, watched him listen to whatever Jonathan said on the other end. He eventually rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I fucking told Susan. Why is she asking you—Max, what the hell is your problem?” Max was on the line? “You’ll be fine without a goddamn toothbrush. Jesus, if you’re so worried about your teeth falling out, maybe you shouldn’t eat so damn sugar.” Billy’s expression suddenly sharpened. “What? Yeah, of course she’s here. Where the fuck—” he stopped, then snarled, “Put Byers back on. Now.”

Beth thought she heard a snicker before Billy spoke again, his voice dangerously low.

“Byers, listen to me very carefully. Next time you call, you better be in actual danger.” He paused, irritated. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Betty and I have some catching up to do. And yes, Byers, by that I mean lots of fucking.”

Beth's mouth fell open.

He didn’t give her a chance to react. Billy slammed the phone down, grabbed her, and threw her over his shoulder in one smooth movement that had her dizzy. She was stiff as a board, not quite used to being manhandled like that. 

“Billy, what are you—”

He slapped her thigh, lightly. 

“You’re not fucking listening again, Betty.”

.
.
.

The shower was small, but they made it work. Billy didn’t really care much about anything the moment she was naked. She was a vision, a fucking goddess, all curves and defined muscle and soft flesh. He reached out, his hands sliding over her skin, feeling the heat of her, the softness of her, the strength of her.

Fuck. Jesus. He loved her so fucking much. He had no idea what he’d do if she was gone; he couldn’t even entertain the idea without feeling sick. He’d break the fucking world over it. 

“Billy?” 

He blinked out of his ruminations, and found her looking up at him. He’d gained nearly an inch and a half in the last six months, so she had to tilt her head ever so slightly more to meet his gaze. Billy doubted he’d ever be particularly tall, but he’d never been much insecure over it. He’d had other physical traits he’d easily compensated for. 

Pretty brown eyes - fuck he loved those eyes - looked up at him with affection, like he was the moon hung on the sky. She used to look at him like that all the time as children, and each time he became aware of it, Billy had felt instantly and stupidly happy. Back then, he wouldn’t have been able to explain why; just that he’d liked having her attention. 

Of course, back then, it’d been a rudimentary, innocent kind of love. Now, he didn’t just like having her attention. He wanted it, and craved it, and wanted to fucking swim in it. 

“Are you—”

Billy pressed her against the tiled wall, and kissed her. He’d happily allowed her to lather him soap first, both marvelled and endlessly turned on by how endearingly happy that made her. He found her gentleness so damn erotic, her earnestness a damn drug. 

She really was the damn sun.

“My turn, sweetheart.”

And boy he took his time. It’d been weeks since he’d been able to touch her, weeks of him jerking off at the thought of her. One time, he’d come while smelling one of her t-shirts, after she left it by accident at his house. It’d been pathetic but it’d have been a lie if he’d said he wouldn’t have done it again. 

Billy used to think he’d had at least some preference when it came to girls, although willing and enthusiastic had often taken precedence, either way. There was only one preference he’d been wanting in the past months though, only one he’d likely ever want, and quite frankly, he didn’t mind it. Not anymore. Not when she was his. 

She truly had rewired him. 

And she was so damn stunning. Naked, and warm and wet, and responsive to his every touch, and every word. He took a handful of her tits, soft and full. Plucked her nipples until they puckered into tight little buds. Squeezed her firm ass, digging his fingers into the flesh there, and his cock throbbed at the thought of biting her there, leaving a hickey on her cheek. Mark her.

Billy lathered her from neck to the ankles, watched her become progressively more lost in her own arousal. Blown pupils, eyes half-lidded, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He lingered on her thighs, feeling the soft hairs against his palms, the warmth of her skin, the way her muscles tensed and relaxed under his touch. Crouching down before he reached her ankles, he pressed his thumbs into her arches, eliciting a low groan from deep within her throat.

He’d have never thought of himself as willing to kneel for anyone. He’d never liked it, no matter how horny he may have been in the past. 

But he found it perfectly fine for her. Damn her. 

Billy straightened, and turned her around. His gaze followed the path of his hands from her neck - she groaned softly when he massaged there - down to the broad and smoothly caped shoulders. He watched suds trickle down over the tattoo over her scapula, down the sinewy muscles lining her back. The curve of her spine was a work of art, a line that drew his eyes down to the generous flare of her hips.

As his hands glided lower, his mouth went dry at the sight of the deep curve of her ass. Her thighs are thick and well-defined. He fucking loved her legs. Her legs were dangerous and strong and resilient. 

Billy grinned to himself, as his fingers slid over the smooth, wet skin of her ass, exploring every curve and crevice. Spreading her cheeks, he brushed his fingers over her puckered role tentatively. A sharp jerk ran through her body, and he felt her tense briefly, heard the slight hitch in her breath, but she didn’t pull away. 

His fingers lingered there, gentle but insistent, teasing the sensitive flesh. 

“Lean forward, and spread your legs.” 

Beth turned to the side, and she hesitated, then did as he said. 

Jesus fucking Christ, what a fucking view. 

Billy licked his lips, as he brought his hands over hips, tested the grip there, then scraped his nails over her ass. The main disadvantage of that position was that he couldn’t see her face, but there were ways around that. Definitely not in that shitty, small shower, though. 

Billy brushed his thumb off her hole once twice, before he guided her to bend over slightly more, so he could get a full view of her cunt. He didn’t care much if she kept a full bush, but right then, he was pretty damn satisfied to see the shape of her, thanks to the neatly trimmed hair. She looked like a damn peach, all plump and swollen from arousal. 

“Touch yourself.” He half-ordered hoarsely. “I want to watch.”

She didn’t hesitate again. It made him feel light-headed, when she behaved like that. She was choosing to do that, on purpose, only with him. If she hadn’t liked it, she’d have already knocked his teeth out.

Billy watched her place a hand on the wall, to support herself, while the other came between her legs. He leaned against the damp shower doors, his cock hard and throbbing as he watched Beth's fingers slide through her folds. He stroked himself, his eyes fixed on her as she slid a finger in, then another, panting. "That feels good, Betty?"

"...kind of." She exhaled, her voice laced with tension. "Better than...when I normally do it."

"But not as good as when I do it?" Billy's voice was low, his cock throbbing at the sight of her fingers moving inside her.

"No." Fuck, she sounded so needy.

He’d have liked to keep that going, to watch her get herself off and figure out why she couldn’t, but he couldn’t wait. Not after so many weeks. 

Billy pulled her hand out, and replaced it with his. Then he watched, blood rushing in his head, as she started fucking herself back on his fingers, meeting his strokes. Both of her hands came up on the wall, and she spread her legs further. The muscles on her back were pulled taut. 

Goddamn, his cock looked perfectly at home, pressed against her ass. 

“Billy, I’m—ah—I’m comi—”

He didn’t let her, pulling his fingers out, and then turned her around. Her expression was something incredible, a mixture of incredulity and frustration. “What—why would you—” 

Billy mentally filed away the whine in her voice, for later examination. Right then, he had other priorities, and that was to make sure she was prepped to take his cock. It’d been too long, and he doubted she experimented with any toys. Not with how tight she felt.

“Billy—”

“Be patient, Betty,” he smirked. “You don’t want to get any soap in, do you?”

Her pout was made of sugar and sunshine. He wanted to eat it, all. Billy used the shower head to rinse her, discovering he might have missed out on a lot of fun by not doing this earlier. He watched as she shuddered and moaned softly when the water hit her nipples. 

He would have teased her longer, but his patience was waning. As soon as she was rinsed, he just let the shower head fall to the ground so he could bring fingers between her thighs.

Billy worked her up, starting with one finger, then two, then three. He kept his mouth busy, sucking and nibbling on her incredible tits, pinching her nipples, leaving light marks on her pale skin. He licked the faded silvery zig-zags of stretched skin, savoring every inch of her.

Beth's hands came up to his biceps for support, then clenched tighter as he worked his fingers deeper, curling them against that spot that made her moan louder, causing her hips to snap against his hand.

He wasn’t satisfied until she came at least twice. 

The bathroom was a sauna, the steam rising in thick, misty tendrils, thanks in part to Beth's pyrokinectic abilities.

“Billy.” she panted in his ear. “Can you just—I want you—”

“Say it.” Just like that night on his birthday. He’d thought of it a thousand times over, until the memory was like an old, favorite t-shirt. “Say what you want, Betty.”

Beth met his gaze. “I want you inside.”

Gods.

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.
.

Three - or was it four? - orgasms in, and she wasn’t satisfied. She felt insatiable. Her body ached. It ached with a frightening need that had been building for weeks, that she’d tried to compartmentalize and rationalize and appease, poorly, with her own fingers. 

She experienced the same sense of urgency, of desperation, that she did that weeks earlier on his birthday. A deep-seated fear that if he didn't get closer, inside of her, then she’d lose him, and herself, and go mad. 

It made her act so unlike herself. No. No, that was a part of herself, too. Someone so wrecked by arousal that she was behaving borderline feral, greedy in her pleas and nearly in tears when Billy didn’t give her what she wanted right away. She was wanting, so wanting. She was the part of herself whom Beth had assumed dysfunctional and small and irrelevant for years, all of a sudden grown into something big that she couldn’t control, and didn’t want to control. 

“Billy, Billy—” Christ, she wanted him inside of her, not to tease her, especially when she was splayed out on the bed, flushed and wet.

Billy moved on top of her, and her nipples, stiff and sensitive, brushed against his chest. “Tell me,” he demanded in her ear, the bulbous head of his cock sliding back and forth through her folds. “Be honest, Betty.”

Fucking bastard. She might have resisted more, should have probably, but she didn’t want to. She’d practiced plenty of discipline for four weeks, she just wanted to let loose. “I want you inside,” she shuddered, when she felt his head notch at her entrance. “Please. I missed you. I missed you so much, I missed your cock. I missed you, Billy, I miss—”

He slid inside of her, in one single thrust, the sound loud and obscene. 

Beth moaned loudly, nearly regretting rushing him along. Her fingers had felt insufficient for weeks, and he had brought relief, but they didn’t compare to the fullness she felt with his cock. Too much. Gods, she loved the way he made her tether on the delicious line between thisissoincredible and IcantIcant. 

Billy groaned above her, his voice a low, guttural sound. "Fuck, Beth. This fucking cunt. Jesus, you're so fucking tight–you feel so damn good, baby."

Beth surrendered to the pleasure, to the drag of his cock moving in and out, filling and emptying her, a constant sway between too much and not enough.. Each thrust sent electric jolts through her body, lighting her up from the inside out (she worried that might actually happen). She felt him spread her thighs wider, pushing her to the brink of discomfort, making space for himself inside her.

"Is this what you missed?" Billy grinned wickedly, sweat beading on his face, curls sticking to his skin. He looked so damn beautiful. "To get your brains fucked out?"

Beth wrapped her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Yes, yes—ah—yes—" Each thrust stole her breath, leaving her gasping. "Oh, gods."

Quite frankly, she’d missed the filth coming out of his mouth, too. The way he played her body like it was an instrument, as if he knew her better than she did, to do as he pleased. God, Betty, you love my cock that much? Yes. You’re such a good girl, you take me so good. Your cunt is mine. Mine, Betty. You were fucking made for me. 

Tears rolled down her eyes. She felt euphoric, not sad or conflicted. She felt euphoric and loved and so damn good.

Beth dragged her nails over his back, squeezed him further. “I love you.” she half-sobbed. “I love you—”

“Fuck—”

He started fucking into her with a ferocity that made her think he was trying to permanently carve the shape of his cock inside of her. The bed started creaking. The room felt hot, stifling. Sweat trickled down their bodies.

“Want me to come in you?”

Pleasure zapped through her body, making her cunt flutter around him. He hit a spot that made her vision blur with tears and spots, and she was surprised she could still form words. "Yes, yes—"

"Say it, Beth. Say—"

"Yes, yes," she clenched, tightening her grip around him. "Billy, please—inside. I want to feel it, I want—"

Beth couldn't keep up with his strokes after that. Her mouth fell open when he reached between them to press his thumb over her clit. "Say it again."

It took her a few seconds to realize he didn't want her to say she wanted to come.

"I-I love you."

Beth lost track of time and space after that; anything that wasn't her and Billy, and the white-hot orgasms he drew out of her, one after another, until she wasn't sure where she began and where she ended.

"You're so fucking pretty, so goddamn beautiful. You're fucking mine."

She couldn’t answer anymore. She started crying, overstimulated and mid-clutch of another orgasm, or maybe the same one, she couldn't tell anymore. He was relentless, his hips still pumping, hands all over her body, mouth on her neck.

Beth didn't even realize they'd moved until she found herself on his lap, wrapped around him, impaled on his cock as he came spurting inside her violently. The brisk movement of his hips, pushing up into her, made her nearly faint as the head of his cock hit, over and over, a spot inside her that was already too tender and sensitive.

It was too much, and it felt incredible, and it was going to kill her, she was sure but all she could do was take it. And she was going to take it, she was going to take it all. 

She started crying, feeling so damn relieved and happy.

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.

Billy may have been voracious, but so was Beth. Goddamn, they were truly made for one another. 

A few hours after they’d fallen asleep, naked and sated, she woke him first, her breath hot on his neck. Naked and straddling his hips. When she straightened, to meet his gaze, he thought she looked like some sort of succubus coming to visit him in the dead of the night. The dim light of the lamp revealed just enough: her hair wild and untamed, her lips red and swollen, and her breasts heavy and covered in hickeys. 

She didn’t say anything, eyes dark, as she ground her cunt against his stomach, in tiny but insistent movements. 

Well, that was one way of asking for permission. 

Billy simply smirked, and then let her do as she pleased. Fuck, he loved doing that. He loved watching her use him for her own pleasure. He was the only one who could offer that, but even that hadn’t been the case, it wouldn’t have mattered. Watching her guide herself down onto his cock was a view he’d never get bored of. 

She took a moment to adjust to his girth even though she was wet with both arousal and his earlier spend. Silly girl, so earnest and greedy. Just like him. Just for him. 

Beth pressed her hands onto his chest, firm and feverish, nails scraping his skin lightly. They were placed in the same spot they’d been months earlier, when she’d saved his life. The sight made him impossibly hard, and yeah it was probably fucked, but he didn’t care. 

Especially when she proceeded to ride his brains out. The metal railing of the bed started banging against the wall. “Fuck, Betty.” Billy placed his hands on her waist, guiding her, urging her on. “So fucking greedy.” 

He watched, drunk on her, as she pulled herself almost all the way out before sliding all the way back down, grinding herself against him, seeking friction against her clit. Whatever discomfort was detectable in her furrowed brows or tight jaw is replaced by a look of rapture that he wished he could have photographed. The wet, obscene sound of her riding him bounced around the room. 

A drop of sweat trickled down her neck, between her swaying breasts and he followed it with his eyes before he looked at the point where they connected, where he was buried inside of her. Fuck, it was the best fucking thing. She was the best fucking thing. She was everything. Everything.

He knew when she was about to come from the way her cunt clamped down on him, tight and hot, and she froze a little, muscles seizing, her head falling back. “Oh fuck, Billy, I’m—I’m comi—” Pulling himself up, Billy kept her moving by the hips, until her moans turned into high-pitched sounds, and she was digging her fingers into his chest. 

Billy wasn't sure how he'd managed it, but he had summoned the will and strength not to finish inside her just then. Instead, he held on long enough to switch their positions, pumping a few more times before pulling back to kneel between her legs. He came with a groan, spurts of opalescent white landing on her breasts, stomach, and thighs.

Fuck. He had never done that before, not so intentionally. He had only thought about it, fantasized about it. It was so much fucking better in real life, that went without saying. The sight of her, covered in him, splayed out and flushed, quivering from her orgasm, was so damn hot. She was so damn beautiful, all fucked out and marked by him.

Panting slightly, and holding his softening cock in one hand, Billy watched her, trying to gauge her reaction. Had he gone too far? He should have probably asked for her permission first.

Beth didn’t mind, though. She glanced down at herself, at the mess he made, then met his gaze. The haze of lust was gone, replaced with unadulterated affection. And perhaps something else, something needy that he would have never found as compelling and sweet and lovely on any other girl. She was anything but a needy individual, after all, so he knew he was privy to a side of her no one else was. She’d said as much, didn’t she? She discovered parts of herself with him. 

Just as he did. 

Billy collapsed beside her, pulled her close, uncaring of the mess. “You okay?”

She nodded.

They stayed like that, for several minutes, until their bodies - and the room - cooled down.

“Billy.”

“Yeah, baby.”

“I am really hungry.”

He chuckled.

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They showered after. Billy washed her again, this time with no other intention except getting her clean. Beth was hyper-sensitive, so he went slow, careful not to linger too much.

Then he made themselves grilled cheese sandwiches, which they ate, in silence while watching a midnight rerun of cartoons. 

Beth fell asleep against him, her thumb gently running over the ring on his finger. 

Billy fell asleep watching her. 

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.
.

And he woke up with a head full of images of her dead, bloodied body. He couldn't recall who had done it—a demogorgon, his father, or perhaps the Mind Flayer—but the image was seared into his mind. He could almost taste the coppery tang of blood, feel the coldness of her skin beneath his fingertips. He’d been too late to help. Helpless. Useless.

Billy sat up, his body cold and clammy. His eyes were wet, and he had to blink several times to clear his vision. Outside the window, a steady, dismal rain continued to lash against the glass, matching the frantic pulse in his ears. The sky had turned a weary, pre-dawn gray which explained the air. It was always colder at the time of the day even with summer right around the corner. The small, warm glow of the lamp on the nightstand was still on, chasing away most, but not all shadows. 

The mattress shifted as Beth lifted herself up, beside him. She was awake. Warm. Alive. He must have woken her up. Did he cry out for her aloud like he did in his dream? 

“Billy? Hey. You’re okay. It’s okay.”

She reached out, her fingers settling gently on his sweat-damp arm. As she leaned in, a few locks of her hair brushed his skin, and the sensation grounded him. Snapped him out of his daze. He didn’t hesitate. His arms shot out, yanking her close, crushing her against his chest as if to ensure she was solid, safe, and entirely real. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling the familiar scent of her skin, the radiant heat a balm to his frayed, shivering nerves.

“Shh,” she hushed him, her fingers combing through his hair, a slow, rhythmic comfort. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

Driven by a desperate, silent need, he pulled at the baggy shirt she’d thrown on, desperate to feel the warmth of her bare skin against his. She obliged right away, and as soon as that was off, he pushed her back against the mattress, scrambling on top of her.

The pressure in his chest was immense, a physical knot he couldn't loosen. He felt like crying, but the tears wouldn't come. She was alive, well, and there. That was everything. He wasn’t alone, or helpless, or too late. He’d never be either of those things again. He’d never let anything happen to her.

“Betty, I—”

He loved her so much. He wasn’t sure he’d ever love anything or anyone that much. He’d loved her as a child, and he’d loved her when he thought she was dead, and he’d loved her when he’d hated her. Even a fucked up shithead like him, loved someone else enough that he’d envision being selfless for that person. He’d loved her enough that a goddamn interdimensional being hadn’t been able to stand a chance against her. She’d lived in his head long before the Mind Flayer did, her loss had fucked her up long before that thing did.

What could any being from another world do to him that he hadn’t lived through? The loss of his innocence, and the demolition of his hopes, and everything good in his life turn to ash. He’d lived with monsters long before real ones tried to consume him. He’d been infected long before he’d gotten possessed. Thanks, fucking Mom and Dad of the fucking century.

But he was still alive. He was alive, and he was better, and he got something in return, even before he proved he deserved it. He got her back. His goddamn Dorothy. 

Christ, he had no idea how to put in words how fucking she meant to him. 

He could just show her. He could show her, again and again.

“Mae—”

Beth’s hand slipped between them, wrapped around his cock. He was half-hard, already, still sensitive from earlier. “It’s okay, it’s okay—” her mouth moved over his jaw, as she guided him inside of her.

Of course she understood. She had felt the same, hadn’t she? That ants-under-the-skin combination of fear and longing. He just hadn’t fully given into it, until then. 

He slipped in her slowly, mindful that she was likely sore even though she was wet, but when she locked her legs around his waist again, he picked up his pace. “Mae.”

Beth scraped her fingers over his scalp, gripped a fistful of his hair. “Don’t hold back,” she whispered. “Billy, I don’t want you—ah.”

He didn’t.

Dropping a hand under her right cheek, he lifted her slightly off of the mattress, then started thrusting in her rather artlessly. He buried her face in her neck, grabbed a handful of one breast, feeling the soft flesh move with each thrust. With the other hand, he kept her pinned in one place.

God, she felt incredible - she felt so right - like that, underneath him. Safe, and pliable, and sighing softly in his ear. Her cunt turned into a hot vise, pulling him back in, almost too tightly. Sharp nails dragged along his back, and he hoped it left marks. They’d probably heal quickly but he didn’t care. 

He was sure his fingers would be on her hip, with how tightly he was gripping her.

And yet, somehow, it wasn’t enough. He was greedier than that, and she gave him permission to be, and fuck. 

Billy let go of her ass, and grabbed one of the pillows, to quickly slide it under her lower back. Then he hiked her knees up to her ears, before he braced himself on his knees, between her thighs. 

“Billy, Billy–oh—Billy—”

Yeah. That was it.

As much he liked the view, he didn’t want that much distance between them. Billy settled on top of her, holding one knee over his elbow, hand tightly over her thigh. His ring glinted in the weak light of the lamp. 

The other hand came over one of her breasts, possessively, cupping the flesh there. When her hand came atop of his, holding it in place, his cock twitched inside of her. He kissed her, paradoxically gentle compared to the way he kept rutting into her. 

She brought him closer, hand on the tape of his neck.

He felt his balls tighten, and he left her breast to reach for her clit, but she batted away. That made him meet her gaze, those pretty brown eyes of hers. She smiled softly, as she took her hand away from her and brought it up to her mouth. “You first.”

Then she kissed his knuckles.

Fuck.

Billy's hips jerked as he came, his body shuddering with each thrust. He drove deep into her, pinning her hand to the pillow, his grip tight and unyielding. The orgasm was intense, leaving him light-headed and dizzy despite the night he'd had.

Something hot dripped onto his face, but he didn't have time to process it. Beth pushed him back, and he let her, watching through blurry eyes as she settled on top of him. She sank down onto his cock, riding him through his orgasm, drawing it out, milking him for all he was worth. Yes, yes, yes. She could take all she wanted. 

He found her clit, pressing his thumb firmly against it. She came quickly, her cunt tight and throbbing, nearly making him come again had he had anything left. 

Beth leaned down, pushing the hair away from his sweaty face before kissing him softly. Her lips moved over his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, and finally his mouth. She licked away the tears that rolled down his face, humiliating and uncontrollable.

Billy pressed his face into her breasts, and listened to her heartbeat. 

“Are you okay?”

He smiled, even though he couldn’t stop fucking crying. Like a little bi—fuck Neil. Fuck Neil. “Yeah.” he managed. “Yeah. Never fucked all night, so I’d say I am pretty fucking peachy.”

He knew she didn’t believe his attempt at bravado, but she didn’t call him out on it. That was just it, right? 

It didn’t matter. 

Not with her. 

“Betty.”

“Hm.”

I’d kill for you, y’know that, right? “You want to take anything back?” he said, blinking rapidly. Tried not to sniff, as if he hadn’t already cried all over her. “Twenty-four hour buyer remorse, or some similar shit.”

“Don’t make me set you on fire, Billy.” 

He smiled. 

Beth shifted in his lap.

“Are you…seriously? Again?”

“What can I say? I got a thing for chicks who play with fire.”

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.
.

They went to sleep just before the sun rose, and woke up at a quarter past eleven. They both brushed their teeth, at the same time, while in the tiny bathroom. Billy preferred to stay naked. Beth had kept her baggy shirt and underwear on. She still looked all fucked out, which was a sight in itself, what with her messy hair and swollen mouth and red eyes. 

And although that was not her intention at all, she turned him on even when she assessed him quietly.

“What’s up, Betty?” he asked. “Admiring your work? Gotta say, can’t say I am surprised you like biting.” And he liked it when she bit him, although he’d barely tolerated it before. Hickeys and nail scratches had been fine but not biting, unless he’d been particularly horny and didn’t care.

Beth turned to face the sink, washed her mouth then her toothbrush, before she put it aside. She reached for the small towel hanging next to the sink to wipe her face, before she straightened and looked at him.

“You didn’t heal.”

Billy had already finished brushing his teeth. He’d told her he stayed put because he liked watching her in that shirt, which was no lie, but he also really just wanted to be around her. That wasn’t a lack of honesty on his side; he was pretty sure she knew that.

“What are you talking about? Sure I did.” He moved to stand beside her, and took a look at himself in the bathroom mirror. She was right, though. Although some of the first hickeys she’d given were fading, most were still there, looking fresh. What the fuck?

Beth was examining more closely, even making him turn around to take a look at his back. She concluded that even the scratches she left with her nails were still there. “How did you not notice?” she asked. “Some of them are pretty deep, sorry.”

“I don’t care,” he’d had to walk around with far worse than that, courtesy of Neil. When he turned around, and glanced at her face, her expression told him she must have remembered that, too. She was frowning. “Maybe this healing thing’s got a threshold or something. A hickey on my ass is hardly life threatening.”

“They healed before.” Beth pointed out aptly. “Something’s changed.”

“Maybe it had an expiry date all along, Betty.”

That made her frown deepen.

Billy lifted his hand up to face, and tilted her head back. “I was worried about growing a tail, but something tells me you might have been fine with that,” he joked. “Can’t say it didn’t come in handy.” He’d have lied if he wasn’t disappointed, and maybe even, a little apprehensive. He’d just gotten used to the idea of being able to do shit no one else could, even liked it to an extent, especially the healing part. It’d meant he could protect and help Beth in ways no one else could, really. 

What was he, otherwise? Just a guy who could brawl.

“It would have been one thing to keep you safe,” Beth remarked, as she lifted her hand to his chest, to trace over a mark that she left on his collarbone. 

Of course she was thinking about him first.

“You’re not a monster, with or without the abilities,” she continued softly and leaned in to kiss his neck. “Maybe it was a temporary effect. The Mind Flayer was something of a parasite, or a—”

“A virus.”

“Yes.” Her expression softened. “It could be your body is flushing the last of it. It did give you these abilities while possessed, and we don’t really know enough about how it all works. Not even those scientists did.”

“Flushing it out, hm?” Beth’s mind was running with more possibilities, more scenarios, he could tell. Even when she was trying to comfort him. She really couldn’t switch off that side of her. He loved her for it, too.

Beth’s head tilted and she glanced down between them. He was hard again, cock pressing against his stomach. 

“We still have plenty of time to talk about it.” Joyce had insisted that Oliver and Freddie could stay at the house for the rest of the day. A saint, that woman.

His lips curled. “Yeah. We sure do, Betty.”

His super strength hadn’t left him, at least. Not yet, anyway. 

As they discovered a few minutes later, when he accidentally broke a piece of the sink. 

“How am I going to explain that to the owners?”

He shrugged, grinning. Euphoric. What guy wouldn’t have been after he’d nearly got his soul sucked out? Jesus, her blow jobs were something masterful. He couldn’t think straight, fully, right then to figure out why exactly. “You got two unruly shitbirds running about.”

“I am not blaming this on Ollie and Freddie.” Pause. “Oh no.”

“What?”

“How am I going to explain this to them?” 

Billy started laughing. 

Beth shoved a towel in his face. 

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.
.

They were supposed to talk. Between them coming up with an explanation for the broken sink, and changing sheets, and airing the room, however, another hour or so passed by. Beth even suggested they should shower separately. There was no way they’d not end up side-tracked.

She should have known the way Billy readily agreed, eyes bright with mischief and smile wicked, that she was screwed.

“Can I take your order?”

“Yes, so—ah.”

Beth pulled the phone away from her mouth, and glared at Billy. “You bastard.”

Billy smirked. “Don’t be rude, Betty,” he tutted, as he curled his fingers inside her. “Place your order.”

She really didn’t have to put up with that. She was incredibly aroused, however, and his fingers were oh so skilled at addressing that. “H-hi, sorry,” she said, as she brought the back to her ear. “One second, let–let me—” she paused, when he suddenly pulled his hand out of her shorts. 

He pulled them off of her in one, rough full sweep, letting them pool at her ankles. Smirking, he gave her a pointed look.

Beth swallowed, and parted her legs. “Miss?”

“Yes–yes, I’ve, uh—” her mouth fell open when he landed over the seam of her, tongue lapping at her clit. “---can–can I have the number—”

He refused to make her come even after she – eventually - managed to place the order successfully.

Grinning wickedly, Billy lifted up to his feet.

“I want to try something,” he said. “Trust me, Betty.”

It was worrying that she didn’t even care what he had in mind as long as he made her come. 

“The food’s going to be here in twenty.”

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll make sure to get you off.”
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.
.

A few minutes later, they were still making out, on the bed, and Beth felt like crying. She was so frustrated. So wet, so aching, and he had been dedicating his attention exclusively to her breasts. They felt so sensitive that even a pinch made her cunt flutter, clenching around nothing, because the damn jackass was taking his damn time. 

“Billy—just—”

“Just what?”

She really wasn’t in the mood for a game, right then. “Stop teasing me.” 

“Alright, Betty.”

Betty didn’t expect him to flip her around so she was on her belly. At first, she was just confused, then a wave of panic shot down her spine, pooling in her stomach like ice. That position triggered something in her brain. It reminded her too much of that night at the foster house. Laid out like that, on her stomach, her body felt more awkward.

She tensed, and she felt a cold sweat break out across her skin.

“Billy, I don’t like this—” She started to straighten, pushing herself back onto her knees, but his hands were already on her, guiding her into a different position. He pressed her hands against the cold, metal frame of the bed, his body pressing against hers from behind.

His cock was a warm, heavy weight on her ass. 

“Betty, hey. It’s okay, baby. You’re okay. I got you.” His mouth was at her neck, his breath hot against her skin. “Look over there, sweetheart.”

She turned her head, following his gaze to the mirror on top of the drawers beside the bed. Her heart stuttered in her chest when she saw their reflection. It was obscene the way she was on her knees, back arched, hair falling around her. She looked like she was presenting herself to him, all open and naked. Billy was behind her, his hips pressed against her ass. 

It was just like the dream that had been haunting her for weeks.

She didn’t relax, not fully, but she no longer felt like moving away. She was paralyzed by the reflection. 

“See, Betty?” His voice was a low rumble against her back. “It’s just me. You’re safe, baby. Just keep looking there, alright?”

“I—”

“You want to stop?” He was running his hand gently over her abdomen. Of course. Billy was never going to hurt her, he’d have never pushed her into anything she didn’t want. She just forgot, momentarily, where she was. Whom she was with. 

She hesitated answering, her mind racing. The panic was still there, but so was the desire, a throbbing ache between her legs. Was she really going to like it, being fucked in that position? She wasn’t sure, she had doubts, but she did trust him. “No, I don’t—go slow.” She exhaled sharply. “Go slow.”

“Okay. Okay, baby. Slow.” 

Billy slid inside her, slowly just as she asked and she gasped loudly. Oh, god. Oh god, the angle, the fullness. He felt so much bigger like that, and the more he slid deeper, the more she thought I can’t, not like this, he’s going to split me open— “Billy.” she whispered. “Billy, I don’t think—”

Billy leaned over, and reached around her. Cupped one of her breasts, pressed his thumb over her swollen, sensitive nipple. “Shh, it’s alright, sweetheart, you’re okay,” he encouraged, mouth moving her neck. “You’re taking me so well, Betty. You’re so good, you’re so fucking good. Keep looking in the mirror.”

Beth did, and with some horror, she realized he was only halfway in. The sight of them like that, though, set fire to her blood. She felt like a spectator again, just like in her dreams, as she watched his hands move all over her. A spectator, yes, but this time, it was real, and she was there, experiencing it all first-hand. 

“Want to stop, baby?”

“...no.”

Billy kissed her shoulder blade over the tattoo. “Say KitKat.”

“What?”

“If you wanna stop, alright?”

That was—that was— “O-okay,” she relaxed. “Okay.” 

He turned his head, and smirked at her, in the mirror. “I know you can take me, Betty. You can.”

“Hm.”

Then he pushed the rest of his length inside, bottoming out. 

Beth inhaled sharply. The stretch was overwhelming, but not as much as the sudden pleasure that erupted at the base of her spine then ramified itself through her limbs. “Oh…god,” she choked. “Billy—”

Her legs fell further apart, no longer caring about how it looked, about how she was acting. His cock was devastating, that pressing against spots inside of her she had no idea she had. Oh god. How—why—what the fuck. How the fuck could it feel even better than before? How the hell did he find a way to make it even more intense? 

She was going to faint. She was. It was so much. Too much.

“Fuck. I was right,,” Billy chuckled breathlessly. “You look so fucking good like this, Betty. Come on, don’t look away. Watch me fuck you.”

He was trying to kill her. He was. She was certain. 

But Beth did look. She couldn’t have looked away, even if she tried. She watched as he began to move, his hips rolling against hers, his hands using her hips like handles, firm and possessive. He looked so damn beautiful, tight muscles flexing with each thrust, golden skin glistening under the light. He didn’t look human, right then. More like half-god, exiled to Earth, to drive her crazy. 

It shouldn’t have felt that good, in that position, all spread out and submissive, but it did, oh god, it did, and it was purely because of him. She would have not even entertained the idea of it, otherwise. But she liked it, she fucking loved it, and she loved that it was him, and no one else, because she knew she was safe, even when he fucked all rational thought reducing her to the most primal of thought processes.

“Hold on, Betty, alright?”

What?

They’d had sex several times in the past day and each time it’d felt different. She’d thought she’d experienced all the versions of it. She was wrong, of course. She should have known better. 

Billy started pounding into her, his movements precise and confident, a stark contrast to the rushed and desperate sex from the night before. Beth wasn’t sure if it was the position, but he felt more dominant like that. He was just taking her, claiming her. She might have felt used but he left her drunk on pleasure, and incapable of doing much else except letting herself get fucked like an animal.

She thought she’d ceded control before but that was on a different level.

Beth didn’t recognize herself in the mirror, but also she did, and all she could was watch, at least intermittently. Billy set out an almost punishing pace that made her eyes roll back, and her body to jerk forward whenever he plunged back in her. Christ, she looked—-she looked so debauched, breasts lolling and mouth hanging open. 

“You want to stop, Betty?”

She was going to kill him if he did. She was. 

She could only shake her head. 

“Yes?”

That absolute fucker. “No–no, don’t stop—”

Billy pulled all the way out, then slammed back into her. The sound was obscene. “It’s okay, baby. I’ll fuck you like this whenever you want. Now, be a good girl, and let’s hear how much you like it.” 

Oh, that fucker. He sure loved to talk a lot.

Beth was forced to move her hands from the metal railing to the wall, because it was starting to feel too hot. She nearly slipped a few times, her hands too sweaty, because he just didn’t fucking stop, he just kept going. He was going to leave a Billy-space carved out inside of her.

“It’s—it’s too much—Billy—too—”

“You can take it, sweetheart,” he said. “You can. It’s all yours, baby. Didn’t you say you wanted it all?”

Of course he’d taken it as a challenge.

Billy pressed his thumb over her puckered role. He’d done that earlier, and had taken her by surprise. It hadn’t felt unpleasant, just unexpected. She hadn’t decided how she felt about it. A moment later, he pulled her back slightly by the hips, and changed his angle. Ever so slightly. It shouldn’t have made a difference, but it did. 

Beth keened loudly. “Billy, oh god—”

“Whooo, that’s it, baby, be honest,” he said gleefully. “You’re so fucking pretty when you’re honest.”

Leaning over her, he slid a hand in her hair and tilted her head towards the mirror. She looked….unmade. Tears streaming down her face, face flushed, mouth swollen. Her breasts bouncing, and body jerking with each movement.

“See?” he said. “Gorgeous, sweetheart. Why the fuck would you ever be worried about prettier girls, Betty? Who’d ever look like this, hm?”

She didn’t even remember saying that. “B–Billy—I—ah—”

“Never fucked a girl who looked as good as you do, sweetheart, while taking my cock.” Damn sadist. He knew exactly what effect that had on her. “Yeah? You like that? What if I told you that I’ve imagined your cunt while fucking other chicks? They owe you the best orgasms of their lives, Betty.” 

He was insane.

Oh. Ohgodohgodgod.

Beth came, and it felt different than before. It felt–oh god, she was going to die, she was going to die feeling good, and wouldn’t that have been the ultimate joke? The orgasm hit her like a moving train, shattering her inside out, and filling her vision with stars.

“That’s it—that’s it, baby, you were made for this. You were made to be fucked, just like this,” she barely registered his words, the blood rushing to her head, causing a vein to pulse on her head. Was it possible to burst a vein from an orgasm? “You can have this all the time now, Betty. All you gotta do is ask for it. It’s all yours, baby. You’re my good girl. You’re all mine.”

Billy’s thumb landed on her clit. 

The first orgasm rolled into a second - a third, a fourth, a fifth, she wasn’t sure anymore - and it felt like something had snapped inside of her. There were no bones, no muscles, no tissue, just a fiery river that made her scream, and convulse. She was suddenly too small to contain all that pleasure. She was going to burst. The buzzing at the back of her head was loud. Something was going to catch fire. Maybe her. Maybe Billy. She was going to set fire to something, that was for certain.

She instinctively tried to pull away, her fight or flight instinct meekly rearing its head, but he snapped her back into place, right over his cock. Her hands slipped from the wall, and she collapsed onto the pillows, her ass raised in the air.

She caught a whiff of smoke, but it was distant, barely registering as Billy's thrusts grew more frantic. Two new lights flickered in the room, one on the curtains, the other on her desk, but she barely noticed. 

“Billy, I—”

She felt him empty inside of her, deeper than before. Filling her up.

"Fuck—fuck, I fucking love—"

She fainted. 

.
.
.

“You never made those sounds before.”

“We never had sex like that befor—stop smiling.”

He didn’t. He was practically glowing with smugness, as he took a bite of his pepperoni slice. “You know the freckled fucker who delivered the food heard us, right?”

“He did not.”

“He tripped and fell trying to get his change.”

“You answered the door naked.”

“So what? You think he was into dicks?”

Beth frowned a little at that. “I think anyone would feel a little flustered by a strange guy opening the door naked.” she sighed. “I just hope the people staying in the rooms on the first floor didn’t hear. They chat a lot with the owners, and they love gossip.”

“And what would be the gossip? That Miss Elizabeth Stirling likes to get brains fucked out?” Billy snorted. “You and every other nineteen year old out there.”

“It’s different for girls, and you know it.” She sighed, and leaned back against the pillows. The food was thankfully still hot, although they’d both taken their time in the shower. She wasn’t able to come from having her clit stimulated, too painful at that point, but he’d pulled an orgasm out of her anyway. She’d certainly discovered a few new things about her body that day. “Is it that intense for other girls, too?”

Billy was laid out on the bed, on his side, comfortably naked. He used one elbow to prop himself up. “Can’t speak for all the girls in the world, but for some, yeah.” he said, then smirked lightly, as he stared at her. “It helps that I've got the right kind of curve. And girth. And—” 

“Alright, I get it.”

“No one's found it that intense, though.” Billy added after a moment. “You sure seem to find sex more…” he waved his hand in the air. “...acutely.” 

That much was obvious. She was also sure she cried more than any the girls he’d ever been with. 

“Betty.”

She looked up, and found him frowning. “What?”

“Don’t do that. Compare yourself. Knock it the fuck out.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Yeah, you were.” he said, then shifted, to move higher up in bed and lay down beside her. He grabbed a few of her fries, the box on her lap. “It’s different for me too, you know. Some of it is new.”

“You mean the constant danger of being set on fire?”

He scoffed. “I am not scared of that,” he said. “No. It’s…it’s more intense. It’s not just ‘cause of some sappy shit, like how I never loved a girl before, but uh, I don’t know. Been discovering some new shit, too, Betty.”

Beth stared at him, brows lifting. Did he just…?

“What? You don’t believe me?”

“I do,” she said. “I am trying to put myself in your shoes, but it’s a little hard. I don’t exactly have any other reference to go by.”

“What about the Sam guy?”

Beth grimaced. “Sam…Sam is my Molly Spencer,” she said. “I really handled that poorly. It wasn’t awful, um, sex, I mean. I just…I just wasn’t there. I put that on him too, and it wasn’t fair. Then I just left, and didn’t even respond to his postcards.”

Billy’s eyes narrowed. “What postcards?”

“He sent a couple of them, through Magnus. One when we first moved here, then another over Christmas.” she said. “I responded to the first, but the second one—I just couldn’t. He stopped, after, and Charlie told me he’s okay. Moved on. Thankfully.”

“Jesus, Betty,” Billy said. “You must have charmed his socks off.”

“He liked the idea of me.” she said. “Kind of like how girls like the idea of you being a bad boy.”

“I am a bad boy, sweetheart.”

That made her smile. “Have you really been going around having sex while thinking of me?” 

Billy chortled. “Going around? Betty, I’ve barely had sex,” he said, bluntly, and she stared at him, a little taken back. She hadn’t expected him to be that straight forward. They did agree to be honest, hadn’t they? “Remember that annoying girl that used to work as a general assistant, too? She gave me a blowjob, once. The day you came by to drop all that art stuff with John. I heard you.”

“You…heard me.” How were the two events related? She didn’t need to know all the specifics of how and when it happened.

“Yeah, that got me off.” Oh. “Don’t ask me why, Betty. It just happened.” he shrugged, as if they were just talking about the weather. “That was the first time I figured something was off. Even the chicks in magazines didn’t do it anymore. Thought, maybe, that thing fucked with my body too much, got my wirings all wrong. Gotta say, I had a massive breakthrough with Tina.” 

Her stomach swooped. “Tina?”

“She’s got brown hair and brown eyes.”

Oh. Well. Fuck. “Oh.” He really had a thing. For her.

“Too thin, though,” Billy tutted. “Changed my fucking type, too, Betty, so fucking congratulations.”

Her mouth fell open.

“That was a one time thing, though. She was too damn clingy, anyway.” he said. “I didn’t lie. She really should fucking thank you for getting fucked that good. I’d love taking the credit for it, but…”

He was insane. “How–how generous of you.” She cleared her throat. “What about Ame—”

“I was pissed off, and she was horny,” he said curtly. “She looked nothing like you, either.”

Oh. “...we were fighting.”

“Yeah. Didn’t fucking help, though,” Billy said, then sneered a little. “I just didn’t know I was that…transparent.”

He was referring to him saying her name. “She was very gracious about it,” she said, not sure what else to say. She’d have lied if she’d said she didn’t feel relieved. “I think she genuinely likes you.”

“I don’t like her. I mean, she’s alright. She’s a good nurse, a decent person.” Billy said. “I am not interested in her, Betty. Haven’t really been, even back then. I just…I thought I could make things go back to the way they were. You were driving me nuts first showing up at the club looking the way you did, then risking your life like an idiot.”

Beth shook her head to herself. “I won’t apologize for looking the way I did,” she said. “But I already said I was sorry for being reckless.”

His lips curled. “It still bothers you, though. The other girls.”

“It doesn’t bother me—”

“I thought we agreed on honesty, Betty.”

Beth sighed, in annoyance, and he smirked. “It doesn’t bother me because I am jealous. It bothers me because Tina is a dumb twat who thinks you’re not worth more than being a good lay, and you know that, because I already told you about it.” she said bluntly, and he was thoroughly amused at her use of profanity. “And…I don’t know. Amelia made me think she might be the type of girl you’d have ended up with if not for Hawkins. And me. She’s pretty, smart and ambitious. She does seem like a nice person, too. A normal person. You can’t tell me she wouldn’t have been your type in any other scenario.”

“Who gives a fuck about other scenarios?” Billy said. “I don’t want her—”

“I meant in…a future scenario, too,” Beth interrupted him gently. “When thinking about how much harder things might be with me.”

Billy fell silent, scowling. He irritably reached for his cup of soda, and took a few aggressive sips. “You’re an idiot,” he said, eventually. “You can’t think that shit anymore.”

“I will try,” she said. “But I think I am going to need some time. I am just getting to the idea of…being with someone.”

“You have a week.”

“Four—what? No. You can’t just put a deadline on it, you jackass.” She punched him in the shoulder, and he smirked. “You can’t tell me you don’t need some time to adjust to it?”

“Sure I fucking do,” he said. “Which reminds me. You can’t work at the community pool.”

“I am sorry?”

“Even if they can find you a pair of shorts to fit that ass in, you’ll just be a distraction. You don’t want kids to die, do you, Betty?”

What a ridiculous boy. “What?”

“Just saying,” he said. “We’ll both end up getting fired for fucking around too much—”

“Who says I’d have sex with you at the workplace—”

Billy gave her a look that said he thought she was ridiculous. “Of course you would,” he said confidently. “You’re a horny freak, Betty.”

“I am a horny freak?” She was scandalized, but she also couldn’t stop smiling. “You’re the one who’s obsessed with mirrors and talking during—”

“That wasn’t a complaint, it was an observation. I am a horny freak, too,” Billy said, shamelessly. “You’d hate it, anyway, like you said.”

“The–the sex?”

“The crowds, the sitting around, Heather. She’s nice but she talks your ear off—-”

“She talks your ear off because she’s got a thing for you—”

“She won’t once she realizes we’re together,” Her brows went up at that, but he ignored her. “There’s a better job for you, anyway.”

“Oh, is there?”

“The animal rescue place. The sanctuary, or whatever. They’re trying to renovate, to make the place better, maybe even expand, using the hospital across the street.” Billy said. “The manager is looking for an assistant manager, but nobody wants to get involved. They think it’s a lost cause, and the pay is shit. I bet if you tell her you don’t care much about the money, she’ll be more than happy to take you on.”

Beth needed a moment to process all that. “How do you—”

“Saw the sign in the newspaper, went and asked.”

“You assumed I’ll want to—”

Billy rolled his eyes. “Sure you will, Betty. You love animals,” he said. “How many donations have you made already?”

Only two. Sizeable donations, though. “Huh.”

“She’d strike gold, if she took you on so I bet she’d give you a free run of the place in weeks.” Billy continued. “Those cages are fucking shit, anyway. Maybe you could do something about it.”

Beth leaned back, speechless.

“You annoyed that I took initiative or turned on by it?”

“...a little bit of both, actually. It’s very confusing.” she paused. “I am not annoyed, actually. I am just…I am not used to it, I suppose.” He knew that she couldn’t be idle, that she might go crazy, and he went ahead and found her, which was probably the perfect way to keep herself busy.

She really would have loved working at that place, even for free. At least on a part-time basis.

“I don’t want you to overwork yourself,” she said, finally. “You have been, Billy. I get that maybe you wanted some space, but…”

“I am not gonna mooch off of you, Betty,” he said. “I am not a fucking freeload—”

“Freeloader? Billy, there’s enough money—”

“It’s your money—”

“It can be our money—”

“The fuck it is—”

“Hey.” Beth placed a hand on his thigh. “Pause.”

“Pause?”

“Yeah, pause.” she said. “We’re not going to argue over this.”

“We’re not arguing, Betty,” he sighed. “It doesn’t feel right, though. You can’t convince me of that.”

“Is this because you’re a guy?” Beth asked tentatively. “And a guy must provide, and—”

“A man should be fucking providing—” he stopped abruptly, and froze. His expression went slack, briefly, before his usual frown returned. “Fuck.”

Beth moved the box of fries away, and moved in closer. Angled herself towards him. “Neil?”

“Fucking Neil.” Billy rubbed a hand over his face. “It’s not just him, though. You wouldn’t like it too if you were in my shoes. You don’t have to work, and you still want to, right?”

“I do understand,” she said gently, and reached for his hand. Brought it down from his face to his lap, so she could play with his fingers. “Dad lives in my head, too, you know. It’s gotten better but sometimes…all I hear is Lilibeth, if you’re that reckless, Oliver is going to get hurt. Lilibeth, you’re too distracted. Lilibeth, the rules are there for a reason. The funny thing is I don’t even think he even used to say those things in real life as much.”

Billy bowed his head, looked at their hands. “Respect and responsibility was Neil’s favorite,” he muttered. “He fucking loved that one. He could have written a book on what being a man was like. You’d think he had a damn claim to it.”

Their fathers hadn’t been alike, in the slightest, but they’d both managed to cast a large enough shadow over them equally.

“I don’t want Oliver and Freddie to grow up thinking they can only be men if they act or say certain things,” she said, quietly. “Maybe I can’t speak for it, because I am not a man, but I know there’s too many men like Neil.”

Billy didn’t disagree. “Harry was not one of them, was he, Betty?”

“No. If there’s one good thing I can say about him after Mom died, aside from him truly trying to keep us safe,” Beth said. “Is that he never became an angry man? Maybe he was, but he never showed it to us much. Even when I used to cry all the time, he never really seemed mad about it.”

“He still sent you away.”

“Yes.” Beth swallowed. “That’s true. I don’t think he ever enjoyed or thought I deserved any of it. He just saw it as the most pragmatic option.”

Billy scoffed. “That the kind of man you want Toto to be? Because the kid’s already too preoccupied with being logical and pragmatic.”

“I want him to have all the good of our father.” Beth said. “There used to be plenty of that.”

“Mrs D had more.”

“Yeah.” she smiled wanly. “Except the part about keeping us in the dark with life-changing secrets.”

Billy enclosed his hand around hers. “Are you worried I’d rub off on the shitbirds?” he asked. “You can say so, Betty. I would, too.”

Beth stared at him, for a moment. “Not really. I think they’ve both seen how hard you’ve been trying, Billy, and that’s a good thing.” she said. “Freddie is very fond of you. Oliver is harder on you, but that’s because he’s still getting used to us two…changing. Having other people in our lives.”

“The little shit has loosened up, a little, hasn’t he?”

“He’s trying.” she said. “He smiled a lot on his birthday, hasn’t he? I haven’t seen him smile that much in a while. It worries me, a little.”

“That he’s happy?”

“That he might lose it all again.” Beth said. “That this won’t last, and he and Freddie will have to deal with everything we did. Isn’t that cruel, Billy?”

“Sure it is,” he leaned his head back. “But the alternative isn’t much better, Betty. Although, if you wanted to take off, you can just tell me.”

Beth cocked her head to the side. “You’d just take off, too?”

“What do I have to stay here for?” he said. “Susan is doing better, she’ll have plenty of savings in a few months. Max would be in a lot less danger, too.”

“It would break her heart too.”

“The fuck it will—”

Beth brought her hand up to his face. “It will. Especially since she’s seen a different side of you lately,” she said. “She would miss you, no matter what you think. You would, too.”

“You wouldn’t?”

“Of course. I think out of all the kids, I…got most fond of, the quickest.” she said. “I wouldn’t want to do that to her. Or to Oliver or Freddie. Or to El.”

Billy’s brows lifted.

“Hop asked if I’d take El.” Beth clarified. “A couple of weeks ago. If everything goes to hell, and this place isn’t safe from the government, he asked if I could take El to a safe place. She can close the gates, and stop the Mind Flayer, but if the government brings an army…”

Billy mulled that over. “Take it you already have contingency plans.”

“Yeah.”

He smirked.

“How about you tell me about them while you sit on my face?”

.
.
.

“The sheriff helped you steal it?”

“I was stealing it back so it doesn’t count.”

He smirked.

“What?”

“You're a bad girl, Betty. Much worse than I am a bad boy.”

Beth shifted her weight from one foot to the other, his words sending a frisson down her spine. Good heavens, how was she still managing to feel turned on after all the sex? She was sure she’d lose all feeling if they kept at it like that. She was already sore in deep, deep places.

“I never claimed to be good.”

“Yeah, you just like it when you get called that way.”

Her face burned. “Please don’t say things like that around Ollie and Freddie,” she said, clearing her throat. “They’re traumatized enough.”

Beth half-expected him to crack a joke about that, but she was met with a very serious look. “Don’t be an idiot,” he said, as he pulled out from under the hood of the car. He wiped his fingers on a piece of cloth, then closed the hood. “The car’s gonna need plenty of attention, but nothing too complicated, as far as I can tell.”

Beth approached him, and they both leaned against it. “You don’t have to accept it,” she said, slowly. “I hope you will, but I understand if it’s too much.”

“It is.” Billy said. “I am not turning down, Betty.”

That made her smile. “Will you show me? The things you’re fixing.” she asked. “I’ve learned a thing or two, mostly basics but I could stand to know more.”

“Yeah, sure I will, Betty,” he said easily. “I don’t know everything, though. Might have if Dad didn’t drag us here. I was thinking maybe to ask the guy who runs Frankie’s garage to teach me more stuff.”

Beth stared at him curiously. “You want to work at the community pool, the care home and the garage?” she asked. “Isn’t that a—”

“What do you think?”

“What?”

Billy gave her a long, expectant look. “Yeah. What do you think, Betty?” he asked. “You were right. Earlier. I am not used to being with someone, either. But we should at least try to be…synchronised, right?”

Synchronised. That was the word she’d used with Steve, when talking about her parents. She’d never used it with Billy. He must have spent time dissecting those words. “I did mean what I said to Steve. That we’re not like our parents.”

“I know. You did make a good point, though,” Billy said. “They got shit figured out. Better than my folks did, anyway. They’re as good as any to use as a reference.”

A reference. For their relationship. For them. “I think you should keep the job at the care home. That place is good for you, and you enjoy it. Everyone respects you.” she said. “John is fair, and you get to be flexible if you need it. I know being a lifeguard is something you’d enjoy too, so if you really want to, go for it. I don’t want you to feel like you have to earn to be with me, Billy but I also don’t want you to resent me because you feel like you’re mooching off. Which is silly to say. If we’re together, then you’re part of…of our family, right?”

Billy smiled slowly. “Damn, Betty.” he huffed. “I thought you were just going to say I should give up on at least one of them.”

“Maybe you should. Do the care home, part-time. You’ll get bored at it, I think, otherwise. Work at the pool on weekends, maybe? It’s only for summer, right?” she said. “Then you can go work at Frankie’s garage. I’d rather see you more, though.”

“Do you know?” He teased her.

“Yeah.” she said. “I don’t want us to end up like a forty-year old married couple who sees each other in the evenings. It’s kind of weird, right?”

Billy slung an arm around her shoulders. “Too horny for that, are we, Betty?”

“Yes, but I also want you around.” she said seriously. “Is that a problem—” 

He kissed her. It was slow, and sweet. Unrushed. Beth angled herself towards him, and wrapped her arms around his waist, to deepen the kiss. 

“No.” he murmured. “No problem, Betty.”

She leaned into him. “When it comes to Ollie and Freddie…I am–I am not sure how it’ll be. I am not used to anyone else being there when I make decisions. I don’t want you to feel like I am asking you to be a parent at eighteen, and I am okay with making decisions on my own—”

He kissed her again, hand coming up to her face, tilting her head back. 

When he pulled away, “I don’t know anything about raising kids, Betty.” he said. “Or being much of an older brother. But I am here, alright? Whatever you want to say, just say it. All the shit you can’t tell them or you’re afraid of. Hell, you can bounce ideas off of me.”

Beth nodded, silently.

“That bothers you?”

“No. I am just…” she smiled. “...nervous. A part of me feels really apprehensive.”

“Like you might be making a mistake?”

“Like I might fuck it up.” she said. “Like I might make things worse for all of us. You’re not a mistake, Billy.”

Billy pulled her closer. “Yeah.” he grunted. “I get it, Betty.”

She pressed her face on his shoulder. “I don’t want to run away from it, though.” 

“Hn.”

Beth lifted her wrist to glance at her watch. “We need to get to the Byers in about half an hour. Did you want to take another look at the car?”

“Yeah, I was thinking we should take a look at the backseat.”

“Alright, sure—wait. What?”

.
.
.

They were only five minutes late. 

Jonathan refused to look her in the eyes the entire time they were.

Chapter Text

May, 1985

“We are going to win this.”

Oliver glanced at Max whom, despite her insistence that she was a reluctant participant in the science fair, was actually quite excited. That wasn’t even an observation he made due to his abilities; he’d just spent enough time around her to know a fair few of her tells. Like how she kept moving her hair back and forth over her shoulder when she was nervous. Or how she always held her skateboard up to her chest for the same reason she crossed her arms: she felt annoyed or upset. She didn’t deal very well with being upset; it always made her stiff or restless. 

Right then, though, she was more excited than nervous. She kept smiling. It was quite distracting, actually. 

“Relax,” she said. “You know, if the teachers come by and see you this stiff, they’ll just think you’ve got the heebies jeebies.”

Oh. He had something, that was for sure. Not the heebies jeebies but something just as insidious, and capable of turning his stomach to knots. And making him dream all sorts of unexpected and unsettling and embarrassing things that he hadn’t before. That same thing made all the other things, like being a fourteen-year-old boy, all that much harder. “It’ll be fine,” he said. “They won’t have an issue with a student being serious.”

“Uh-huh. If you say so.”

“And you seem very enthusiastic for someone who called this place a nerd fest.” 

“It is a nerd fest.” Max insisted, then lifted a hand, before waving it around. “And we’ll wipe the floor with all the nerds.”

“Hey.” Lucas called, offended. “I heard that!”

“You were supposed to, doofus.”

Oliver didn't realize he was smiling until he felt Will's eyes on him from the opposing stall, where he and Lucas had set up their presentation on lava lamps. Caught, Oliver let the smile falter and then die, turning his head in a slow, deliberate movement. 

He chose to focus on the blur of milling students and parents, determinedly ignoring the sudden, fierce fluttering in his chest. Maybe he was more nervous about the science fair than he’d realized. Maybe the adrenaline rush was just from the science fair though he recalled participating in a similar event when he was young. More or less. When he thought about it, all that came back was a vague image of his mother’s smiling face, that’s my smart boy! and the weight of a tiny gold medal that he’d thought incredible at the time. He hadn’t seen it in years. 

None of the proud parents milling around were there for him that day. Oliver watched moms and dads mill about, stop to listen to theirs or other kids’ presentations, ask curious questions, and take pictures, their faces alight with pride.

Oliver was used to feeling the absence of his parents. It was akin to a chronic low-grade ache, like a wound that never really went away but had bad days and good days (and some really bad ones). The wound throbbed whenever Joyce pointed out how much taller he’d grown, or when he watched Lucas being praised by his father, or whenever Mrs. Henderson treated him with the same gentle fondness she did her own son. He knew his sister felt that throb, too, just as keenly, and so did Freddie. Billy, too, of course. 

It wasn't as if they weren't a family in their own right, or that he would exchange his sister or Freddie for anyone. Sometimes, though, he just wished he could remember with more clarity what it truly felt like to have both Mom and Dad in his life at the same time. Happy. Unafraid. Sometimes, those memories felt so incredibly far and faded, they were almost like they weren't his at all but just a family he saw in a sitcom sometime. 

Oliver eyed his and Max’s stall wondering if his father would have been proud of it. Mom, for sure. She would have liked that they chose an environmental topic, at that.

“Hey, look, there’s Beth.” Max said, pointing to his left.

He followed the line of her gaze, and spotted his sister almost right away, as soon as she stepped through the gym doors. Beth was accompanied by Joyce. Beth’s face lit up, and she grinned, as soon as she spotted him. 

Of course she was there. Beth always showed up.

And a few minutes later, she even managed to be as annoying as any other parent, clicking off a dozen different pictures on the camera he’d gotten as a gift for his birthday. 

“You cannot be serious.”

“You know, fourteen has made you very prickly.”

Perhaps he wasn’t missing out all that much on others’ experience. Not thanks to his sister, who smiled so often lately that it was beginning to be less of a novelty whenever she did that. He really liked that. 

“She’s been in a really good mood lately,” Max noted when Beth turned around to take a picture of Will and Lucas, who posed and smiled for it. Jonathan was the official photographer of the event, having been promised great references and forty bucks, but he kept moving around the room. “She’s really silly when she’s in a good mood. Is that…normal?”

Oliver sighed. “Yes. It’s like she reverts back to being a little kid.”

Max smiled. “I think she’s fun,” she said, then shrugged. “Better than Billy. He’s just weird when he’s in a good mood.”

“Weird how?”

“I don’t know. Just weird.” Max pulled a face. “You can tell, right? That she’s in a good mood.”

“You make it sound like I am a dog sniffing other people’s moods.”

“You kind of are.”

Yeah. He kind of was.

“Yes. She’s in a better mood. She still worries, though.”

“Doesn’t she alw—oh god, my mom is here.” Max groaned a little, shoulders dropping as she looked at said woman come through the gym doors, with a few other parents, including Mike’s mother. Susan’s red hair was hard to miss much like Max’s.

“You don’t want her here?”

“No. I mean, I do…” Max shrugged. “I don’t mind it, she just asks a lot of questions.”

Oliver wasn’t sure why that seemed to be such a source of apprehension. Susan didn’t strike him as either slow or rude, so she was likely simply curious. “Maybe she asks because she wants to hear you talk about it.”

Max gave him a long, contemplative look at that, then bowed her head. “Yeah, maybe.” She glanced down to their right at Dustin and Mike’s stall, which appeared to have drawn somewhat of a crowd. “If those two win, we’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Their volcano is quite impressive,” Oliver noted. Initially, Dustin had meant to be part of a trio, with him and Max, but a leaver in their classroom had forced Mr Clarke to change some of the teams.

Max threw him a flat look. “You know, I would have thought you’d be more competitive.”

“There you are, sweetheart,” Susan appeared before them a moment later. “Hello, Oliver.”

“Hi, Mrs Mayfield. How are you?”

“Susan is okay, dear,” she said. “I am good, thank you. Such a polite young man.”

“Mom.”

Susan stared at the tri-fold display board they propped around their main attraction. Oliver and Max had agreed to switch topics after handing the volcano idea back to Dustin, settling instead on a study of how the environment affected seed growth.

With the science fair being postponed multiple times, they’d ended up carrying on their experiment for far more weeks than initially anticipated but that worked in their favor. They went from studying three environmental factors to having nine of them, with soil split between unique containers, including plastic bottles, clay pots and repurposed tubs holding everything from nutrient-rich soil to arid sand.

They’d documented the effects of multiple environmental factors from light and heat, to water and even localised noise. Oliver had managed the logs, while Max handled the design of the board and the final presentation. Despite Max repeatedly saying she found plants boring, she’d been quite involved. Oliver had no experience with presenting at a science fair, not that he could remember, so it’d helped having her to tell him when he was being too ‘nerdy’ (apparently).

“Oh my, I didn’t realize you’ve tested so many soils,” Susan said, as she straightened. “I am really proud of you, sweetie.”

Max looked embarrassed. “Um, yeah. Thanks, Mom.”

Oliver fixed his attention on Susan, on her canvas. He hadn't spent enough time around her to truly register her colors before. He did remember, however, how genuine her concern had been for Beth when she’d landed in the hospital, after her encounter with Neil. 

She was a pastel, undoubtedly. Soft, smooth, something in the cream or pale lavender family.

Except. He couldn't place it, but something lurked beneath the surface of her colors, a dark pigment he couldn't quite visualize but felt all the same, like a river beneath the soil. It was the familiar, unsettling sensation he got when people were attempting to mask deep hurt or anger.

She looked thin and tired. Depleted. That was it. She looked depleted. Even her colors felt that way, a little. Susan had been through a lot since she’d moved to Hawkins so it wasn’t so surprising, though. Her husband may have been a terrible person, but he’d been her husband. She must have loved him, at some point too. Maybe she still mourned him. 

Mourning someone, he thought, could look a lot like decay, too. A sickly moldy green, like he saw creeping in at the edges of her canvas.

It seemed fitting that someone like Neil would have left that kind of impression. 

.
.
.

Her mother had, thankfully, not asked that many questions and Max felt guilty for being embarrassed for her presence there. Especially since she’d brought it up in front of Oliver. She’d noticed the way he looked at the parents who stopped by their kids’ stalls. It wasn’t necessarily with sadness or longing, just curious. Wondering.

It kinda made it all worse. Oliver had been even younger than Freddie when he’d lost his mother, so he wouldn’t have had many happy moments he remembered. Of course, he still had Beth. He wasn’t entirely alone. He may have seemed annoyed by her silliness but Max didn’t buy it in the slightest.

Max noticed him stare at her mother with that unblinking, curious look he always got on when he was getting ‘a read’ of people’s emotions. “What?” she asked. “What did I tell you about spying on people’s emotions?”

He blinked, snapping out of his reverie. “Sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t spying.”

“Did you see my mom’s colors?”

“Somewhat. They’re not that…obvious.” he said, then he glanced around them. It’d gotten busier in the last twenty minutes, and the passages that formed between stalls were quite crowded. “It’s very bright here.”

Bright for Oliver meant too many colors, not that there was too much light, Max had learned. “Can you focus them away?” she said, repeating what he’d told her a few weeks earlier.

“I am trying,” he said, lifting a hand to his forehead.

“What happens if you can’t, but can’t get away?” Max asked curiously. “You get a headache?”

“I try to focus on the people that feel…familiar. Or their colors feel better.”

“Like Beth?”

“Yes, or you.”

Max’s chest did a funny thing that she ignored, but she couldn’t do the same with the blood rushing to her cheeks. “I–what?” she cleared her throat. “My—I feel familiar?”

“Yes.” He tilted his head, and met her gaze. “Why wouldn’t I?”

She wasn’t sure. It sounded weird, right? It was weird. “I guess.”

“Your face is red—”

“It’s really crowded in here,” she huffed, then waved her hand at his face. “Don’t look at my colors. Beth is right there.”

“...I wasn’t.”

But he said—it didn’t matter. Why did it matter? It made sense, right? That she was familiar. She was one of his friends, and in recent weeks, they’d spent more time together as a result of the project. Yeah. It made sense.

Max wasn’t sure why she even felt so worked up. That damn science fair had her high strung up just like her nerdy friends. She glanced over at Lucas’ stall, and he sensed her look. He smiled at her, then mouthed good luck, Max before giving her the thumbs up.

Nerd.

She shook her head, to herself, mouth curling.

“Mr Clarke is coming,” Oliver said, a moment later. 

“Good. Let’s get this over with.”

.
.
.

They won. They won. First place, at that, too. 

Max had ended up with a brand-new, latest Sony Walkman, and Oliver, with a quality telescope, much to the dismay of Dustin, until he realized that he probably could get Oliver to let him borrow it. Both she and Oliver also received a one-year subscription to a popular science magazine.

Dustin and Mike's volcano project had been a strong contender for first place, mostly thanks to Dustin's incredible showmanship, but the delayed eruption ultimately cost them the top honor. They still earned an Honorable Mention for effort. Lucas and Will secured third place, taking home medals and a couple of great science kits. 

The second place award went to two girls who had ingeniously used the kinetic energy of air to propel a car made of light wood. Max had to admit it was well-deserved. 

She watched those same two girls - and a couple of others - gravitate towards Oliver after the awards’ announcement. He looked hilariously trapped by the sudden crowd of girls who wanted to preen and congratulate him. His discomfort peaked when they asked if they could take photos with him. 

Beth, thankfully, saved him.

Mr Clarke had been able to arrange a paid-by-the-school trip to KFC, just outside of Hawkins. Most students had chosen to go, either via the school buses or driven by their parents who chaperoned. 

“What?” Dustin pouted. “You’re really not going to come? It’s fried chicken!”

“I have a headache,” he said. “And Bea is taking Freddie and I to Little Claire’s.”

Dustin and the other boys understood, eventually.

Max had been meant to join them, with her mother driving her there, but Susan had rushed to the bathroom right before they left. A stomach bug, most likely from a sandwich she had earlier that morning, on her way to work. “Oh gosh, sweetie,” she said, when she finally came out, face ashen and a hand over her stomach. “I am so sorry. I think we can still catch one of the buses, get you on—” ”

“It’s okay, Mom.” Max said. “It’s just fried chicken, who cares?” She didn’t like it that much, anyway. 

“Oh, but I want you to celebrate with your friends—”

Beth appeared in the school hallway, which had emptied out by then, with all kids having rushed out for the buses or the parking lot. A few parents had stayed behind, to talk to the teachers, or amongst each other, like Joyce and Mike’s mom, Karen. As did Beth, whom Max saw talk to Lucas’ mother, before she and her mother left the room. 

“Mrs Mayfield, Max,” Beth stopped, just as she was about the bathroom that Max had been waiting outside of. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh, gosh, yes. This is so embarrassing,” Susan said, waving a hand. “I think I just ate something that didn’t sit well. Do you know if all the buses are gone—”

“Mom, it’s okay—”

“Maxine, why don’t you want to join the others? It’ll be fun.”

Yeah. She’d have liked to tease Dustin and Will, maybe Lucas too. But he’d already looked happier that she won, so he’d have probably just smiled. Max liked that he hadn’t acted like a sore loser, at all. Boys generally did, especially when they lost to girls, at least in her experience.

“It’s not that big of a deal, I’ll see them over the weekend.”

“Is there anything I can get you?” Beth offered kindly. “Would you like me to drive you home?”

Susan was already shaking her head. “No, no. It’s okay. It comes and goes, but I, uh, I think I’ll be fine to drive myself. Thank you, sweetheart.” she said, then sighed. “Where’s your brother? I wish I’d wished him congratulations.”

Beth smiled politely. “He has a headache.” she said. “I am just going to take him to Little Claire’s to celebrate. Max could come with us. You as well—”

“Oh, no, no. I wouldn’t want to ruin the mood if I felt sick again,” Susan said. “That’s so nice of you but I don’t want to impose—”

“I’ll go.”

“Maxine.”

“What? She offered.”

Her mother must have really felt sick because she caved in pretty quickly. “Maybe…maybe I should go with you,” Max said, after a moment, a little worried. “I am not that hungry anyway.”

Susan placed a hand on her shoulder. “Are you sure, Elizabeth?”

“Of course.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you.” 

Max didn’t move from her spot, ready to protest.

“I’ll walk your mom to her car,” Beth said, catching her gaze. “Ollie is in the car. He’s got the keys.”

“...okay,” Max hesitated. “Mom, are you—”

Susan nodded, and smiled weakly. “Yes, yes. I am okay. Just need to sleep this off, sweetheart.”

Max wasn’t convinced, but she nodded, then turned and made her way to the parking lot.

.
.
.

“Is my mom okay?”

“She seemed better by the time I got to the house,” Beth said. “Food poisoning can act quickly, but there’s not much she can do, except drink liquids and wait for it to pass.”

Max was aware. She’d had food poisoning once, when she’d been younger. It’d been horrible. “Yeah.”

Beth had driven her mother home, using Neil’s truck, which she’d had for the day. Billy had been driving around a temporary car, the one that Max had heard Beth refer to as a plan B sort-of-car. It was newer than the truck, but far too suburban and soft for someone like Billy. The image of him behind the wheel of the station wagon was honestly quite hysterical.

His new car, though, was still a few weeks from being ready to be driven around. Something about getting parts replaced, and putting on a new coat of paint on it. 

They all eventually met up at Little Claire’s, where Beth had reserved their usual booth tucked away at the back of the restaurant. Max, Freddie, and Oliver managed to squeeze onto the long bench opposite her.

Billy arrived about ten minutes later, just as they were ready to order. He immediately turned a few heads, including a female waitress who instantly goggled him. Max figured people were also staring because they weren't used to seeing someone dressed like him in a family spot like Little Claire’s. It was not the kind of place a guy wearing earrings, leather jackets or a Metallica t-shirt hung out at usually. He stood out, immediately. 

Fiona, one of the co-owners Max remembered, simply smiled and handed him a menu. It likely helped that he was there for Beth’s table, who was a regular.

“Hey, shitbirds,” Billy obnoxiously pressed a hand down on Max’s head. “Winners or losers, today?”

Max scowled.

Freddie grinned. “Max and Oliver won first place.” he announced, then he pointed at the medals on the table. “Look!”

Billy sank on the bench beside Beth, and slung an arm over the back of the booth, making himself as comfortable as he ever did. With his free hand, he picked up one of the medals, looking unimpressed. “Did you, now?” he said. “So your little weed experiment got you first place, huh?”

“It wasn’t a weed experiment,” Max corrected him immediately, scowling. She reached over to snatch the medal out of his hand, but he was too fast. He moved it out of the way. “Give that back, Billy.”

“Say please—”

She kicked him in the shin, under the table, causing it to shake. A few nearby clients turned to look in their direction, curious. A few had disapproval written all over their face, albeit most of it seemed to be directed at Billy.

“Here, Jesus,” Billy chucked the medal back at her, and pulled his legs back. He may have pretended otherwise, but Max was sure her kick had hurt. “Guess you’re officially a nerd now, Maxine.”

She scoffed. “At least I won a medal in something that requires brain power,” she said. “When have you ever won anything that wasn’t sweating and grunting in the gym? Surfing doesn’t count. That’s still a sport.”

Billy smiled smugly. “That’s because I am not a nerd.”

“Didn’t you win a contest in literature?” Oliver piped up, brow raised. “You even wore a crown, last I remember.”

Max’s head nearly snapped off of her shoulders with how quickly she turned to glance at Oliver. “Wait. What?”

“He sure did,” Beth said, without looking up from the journal she’d been scribbling in. “First prize for the best fictional story.”

Billy rolled his eyes. “I was ten. It doesn’t count.” he said smoothly, before he pointed at Max’s medal. “That, however, will, next year. You two are going to start high school as the king and queen of nerds.”

For some inexplicable reason that description, in relation to her and Oliver made Max’s face flush, a little. “That’s so stupid,” she said, leaning back and crossing her arms over her chest. “Who cares about that stuff?”

“Plenty of assholes who’d shove you in a locker for it.”

“Assholes like you?”

The table went silent. Max felt a sudden coldness, but she held Billy’s gaze, refusing to take the words back. She wasn't actually sure if he had ever shoved someone into a locker, but it felt like a safe bet.

“Yeah,” Billy said, his face unreadable as he met her gaze. “Yeah, Max. Guys like me.”

Freddie frowned, looking genuinely troubled. He glanced at Beth. “Does that mean I’ll get shoved in a locker too? I like books, and science.”

“No, Freddie—” Beth started, but Billy cut her off.

“Probably.”

Beth turned her focus to Billy, her eyebrows raised high. She wasn't angry, but her expression definitely wasn't happy.

Billy sighed sharply. “Not if you learn how to own your shit, little man.”

“Own my sh—”

“He means to be confident in what you like,” Beth clarified softly, turning back to Freddie with a smile. “There’ll always be people judging you, alright? You don’t have to worry about it right now.”

“...okay,” Freddie did not look convinced. He looked over at Billy with a look that said he was expecting the older boy to chime in, maybe offer some advice. Billy tensed at that, scowled a little.

“You’ll be fine, shitbird,” he said. “Betty here knows a thing or two about being an oddball, and not taking shit from anyone.”

“You don’t take shit from anyone, either.”

“That’s right.”

“Okay.” Freddie brightened. “Then I can ask both of you for help, then. Right?”

Beth smiled. “Of course you can.”

Billy blinked, and stared. It wasn’t obvious but Max thought he was a little bewildered. “Sure, whatever.” 

Max’s eyes narrowed at Billy. “So it’s okay for him to be a nerd but not for me—”

“I said you will be seen as one, especially if you go prancing around with that medal,” Billy shot back, as if he’d been expecting the follow-up. “You just gotta be prepared to deal with the shit that might come with it.”

Oh. Huh.

“I will,” Max said automatically. “I don’t care what people think anyway.” 

“If you say so, shitbird. Then suit yourself.”

Fiona came to take their orders a few seconds later. Max didn’t miss the curious, quick glance she threw between Beth and Billy before she scurried away.

Max then watched as Beth leaned back and into Billy's space, his arm immediately falling around her shoulders. He leaned and whispered something in her ear, which made her smile a little. When he pulled back, he looked quite satisfied with himself. 

They were so weird together. Beth was always…somewhat softer, and Billy was calm. Yeah, calm. Like he might have been bored, or not bothered by anything, except Max knew what that actually looked like, and it wasn’t what she was seeing. 

Max eyed the journal Beth had placed down beside her. “What’s that?” she asked Oliver, in a hushed tone. 

“Contingencies.”

“She writes them down? That doesn’t seem very safe.”

“Only routes out of town, and through the country,” Oliver replied simply. “In case we need to leave. Or need to do so without a car. Or a different car.”

Oh. Right.

Of course. The threat was still real. Beth was still planning on taking them away, if it came down to it. They couldn’t trust Dr. Owens to keep them safe forever, and there were other people out there, maybe the government, too. It made perfect sense.

It made sense that one day Beth, Oliver, and Freddie would have to disappear. Maybe even El.

Max looked at Billy.

Him, too.

They would all leave, together. They were one…well, almost like a family. 

And Max and all the others—Dustin, Lucas, Will, and Mike—they’d be the ones left behind. It had to be that way. The boys all had families in town who knew nothing. Max had her mother.

It made perfect sense for Billy to leave with them. He was more family to Beth than he’d ever been to Max. They were a couple, too. It would be ridiculous for him not to go.

They all belonged together. Truly.

But Max didn’t. 

.
.
.

“Do you think we set a record for the weirdest family meeting slash reunion?” Mandy asked. 

“We’re in the top five, at the very least.” Brian pointed out. 

Beth smiled hard, at the strangeness of it all. The Bakers leaving Hawkins, her and the boys being there to seem them off just like any other normal family bidding goodbye to their relatives. She thought she might even miss them, with how good their rapport had been in recent weeks. Perhaps what she missed most was the missed opportunity, the what ifs. 

“Are you afraid to fly?” Freddie asked curiously. “I’ve never flown before.”

Mandy shrugged. Brian’s constipated expression indicated that he was not particularly keen on it. “I will try to sleep through it.”

It was almost six o’clock in the morning, but the airport was bustling. The Bakers had a long haul ahead of themselves, to get to their new home in Paris. First, a flight to New York, where they had a three hour wait before they were to embark on an Air France direct flight to Paris. Paul would be waiting for them. He had been in France for a month already, and he’d been settling quite well into his new role, although it had been nothing short of demanding and exhausting. 

The flight to New York wasn’t due for half an hour, but they’d arrived there early. Very early. Beth wasn’t sure Mary had even slept, given how nervous she was, alternating between enthusiasm to feeling concerned over their departure. She had asked Beth to join them no less than thirty seven times in the last two weeks. Beth and Oliver have been keeping track, for their own amusement. They had a bet that she’d get to forty before they left. 

“Alright.” Mary appeared a moment later in the seating area that they’d settled, near the large windows. Freddie had been watching the planes outside, with fascination whereas Oliver had busied himself with a book. Beth had kept an eye on their surroundings, feeling on edge for very different reasons than the Bakers did. “I think it’s best if we go check in now, before it gets too busy.”

Beth and the boys waited aside, watching the Bakers from afar as they joined the lines that had formed in front of the check-in counters. Most of their personal effects had already been sent out via the international relocation company, along with any furniture they’d wanted to keep which hadn’t been much. The property in France was fully furnished.

“Stay close to me.” Beth instructed the boys, but in particular Freddie, who was happy to keep himself attached to her like a shadow, once they had to wade their way through people to follow the Bakers to security. 

They stopped short of joining the lines there, briefly watching other fliers pass inspection and having their carry-on’s inspected. The process wasn’t particularly stringent, but Beth doubted they could have passed through carrying any sort of weapons.

No wonder Dad didn’t like flying. 

Yet…

“Alright.” Mandy whirled around her feet, and glanced at each one of them, a little frazzled. Her eyes were wet, and she looked like she was having a hard time composing herself. “The offer still stands. You can fly over once school is over, or I can let Mandy and Brian go ahead, and stay back for a little while—”

Beth shook her head. “Thank you. The answer is the same. We will be okay, Mary. You have my word.” Months earlier that would have not meant anything. “I hope you have a safe flight.” 

“Oh. Elizabeth.” Mary moved in closer, and for a moment Beth thought the woman would hug her, but she refrained. “I wish—I do wish that this past year had gone better. That I—”

“Water under the bridge.” Beth said, truthfully. “It was not an easy time for anyone, but….we’re all better for it, right?”

Mary nodded, and opened her arms. “May I give you a hug?”

“Yes.”

Beth was taller than Mary, but she bent at the waist a little to allow the woman to wrap her arms around her shoulders. “Thank you,” Mary whispered in her ear. “For being kind, even though we have…not probably deserved it.”

“I—” Beth frowned. “Thank you for taking us in. For better or worse, if it hadn’t been for you, we would have ended up separate.” For that, she could not find fault, no matter the circumstances that led them to the Bakers, or the difficulty they had under their custody.

They pulled away, and Mary gave her a long, fond look. “You will keep in touch, yes?”

“Yes.” Beth committed, although she wasn’t sure that’d be true for long. 

Mary stepped back, and turned to face the boys. “Boys, let me hug you two. God, you’ve already grown up so much.”

Beth averted her attention from her to Brian who came in for a hug. “If you want to ever visit, we don’t have to tell Mom and Dad. You can just visit us.” he offered. “But we’ll try to keep Mom from calling you too much.”

She was going to miss Brian, Beth realized. Out of all the Bakers, she had connected to him the easiest. In another life, they might have grown up to be very close as cousins. “Maybe one day, I will.” Beth said, truthfully. “Especially if you give me food for free.”

Brian pulled away, and smiled. “Sure. Yeah.”

He moved away, to Freddie, who’d come up to him to give him a hug. Brian looked taken back, before he relaxed, and placed a hand on the boy’s head. 

Mandy was last to come up to Beth, and the latter had anticipated a hug. Just not the tight, and long one she received. “You’re not too bad of a cousin,” Mandy muttered, and her backhanded compliment was undermined by the way her voice wobbled a little. “Maybe if we’d met earlier, you’d have had better fashion taste.”

Beth smiled. “Maybe if we’d met earlier, you’d have been less of a bitch.”

“Doubt it,” Mandy let go of her, and smirked, as she gave Beth an once-over. “Although, I have to say, I am liking whatever’s going on here. I knew you had a thing for leather. Is that why you haven’t given my pants back?”

“They just fit me better.”

Mandy snorted. “I do have a smaller ass, that’s true.” she teased, before her expression sobered a little. “I can’t really take back the things I’ve said, and…I can’t say I didn’t mean them. But…you’ll be fine, right? Cousin? All on your own, with the two brats?” 

Beth smiled, genuinely. “I won’t be on my own.” she said. “But yes.”

Mandy didn’t look convinced but she nodded slowly. She wiped at her face, and straightened, lifting her head higher. “You should keep in touch. Every now and then. One day, when I become a famous fashion designer, I might not have time for it.” she said. “I can’t promise, but I’ll give you an autograph. For free, even.”

“And I am sure you’d save me from any crimes against fashion.”

“I would be charitable, yes.”

They looked at each other, in amusement. 

And acknowledgement.

Then Mandy’s eyes widened. “Oh!” she gasped. “I nearly forgot. Wait.” She turned and crouched down beside her carry-on. She unzipped and opened it, only to pull out a paper bag. Standing up, she offered it to Beth. “I, uh…I made you something. You know. As thanks. Don’t be weird about it. I am just—I am just trying to show my gratitude.”

Beth accepted the paper bag, and glanced inside. There were several articles of clothing inside. The largest appeared to be a jean jacket.

“The scarf is um, for Robin.” Mandy said. “I finished it really late, and didn’t give a chance to hand it to her. It’s for her birthday. It’s not until August, but she’s…she’s been nice to me. Anyway, there’s a couple of stuff for the brats, too. They’re alright.”

“How charitable.”

Mandy scoffed.

“Thank you, Mandy.” Beth closed the bag, and lowered it to her side. “I hope Paris is…a much better place than Hawkins.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Oliver and Freddie re-appeared by her side a minute later, and they all watched as the Bakers went through the security check, one by one. It was an uneventful process, and the family stopped briefly to wave at them which Beth and her boys returned. They eventually disappeared amongst the throng of people, as they began making their way to their designated gate. 

“Is it bad that I am going to miss them a little?” Freddie asked. “I mean, I didn’t really like them, and they were kind of awful but…they weren’t that bad.”

Beth placed a hand on his head, sinking her fingers into his curls. “No. It’s not bad, Freddie.” she reassured him. “People can change. We don’t have to forget the bad things they said or did, but if…we can, we can forgive people. You don’t have to, though.”

“Like with Billy?” Freddie asked. “Although I like him more than the Bakers.”

Beth smiled softly. 

“Yes. Like Billy.” She exhaled. “What do you guys say we go and get some food? Maybe some nice hot pastries?”

“Yes!” Freddie pumped his fist up in the air. “Can we go to that fancy French place?”

“Absolutely.” 

Beth slung an arm around Oliver’s shoulders when she noticed the contemplative, faraway look on his face. He leaned into her, a little. “You alright, Ollie?”

He nodded. “It’s kind of strange,” he said. “How things ended with the Bakers.”

“I think, all in all, it’s a better ending than what we originally had in mind. Don’t you think so?”

“Hm, yeah.” 

All she could hope was that no danger or threats would follow the Bakers abroad. 

Chapter Text

That week was going to be particularly difficult. Saturday marked the anniversary of their mother's death, and its inevitable cloud was already settling over them. For days leading up to it, and days after, Beth knew she’d sleep poorly, the nightmares making their rounds on a far more regular basis. Oliver was bound to be quieter than usual, and have a reduced appetite.

Or at least, that's how previous years had played out. The predictable parts were that they’d grown older, and Harry was still gone. The unpredictable was that they’d settled in a town that nearly killed them several times, surrounded by people who knew their most guarded secrets. A year earlier, exactly, Beth had lived under the assumption Hawkins would have been a quiet, inoffensive and boring town.

It made her want to laugh, at how off the mark she’d been.

The most important change, however, was that she and Oliver were no longer alone in their grief for their mother. Bill may have not been related to her, but he had loved her dearly too. Her passing had affected him profoundly as well. Beth recalled with far more clarity than before how much Billy had supported them during that period; how he’d gone out of his way to cheer both her and Oliver up. She wondered if her brother remembered any of it. 

Beth was laid on her side, staring out the window of her inn bedroom. It was a bright, sun-drenched morning, the weather warming steadily as May pushed them toward summer. 

The mattress shifted as Billy moved toward her, sliding his body close and slinging a heavy arm across her. He engulfed her, and she found comfort in his warm weight, in his masculine scent. His breath was even and warm against her neck. His finger traced the familiar lines of the tattoo on her scapula.

"You alright?" His voice was low, and husky.

"Hm. Yes," she murmured, shivering a little. "It’s just a hard week, that’s all.” 

He shifted again, sliding his arm around her front, his hand moving up to rest lightly between her breasts. She cupped his hand against her chest, holding it steady. "Do you do anything for it?"

"Yes, actually," she said. "Remember how Mom liked to light candles? Even though she wasn't religious, she just liked the ritual. Mrs. Bradley made us do it the first year, and we've always kept it up."

"Hm." His curly hair tickled her ear and shoulder. "I used to go with Mom to the cemetery. She'd make me read to the graves."

Beth knew that already, but she offered no comment, letting him talk.

"After...after she left," he continued, his voice softer. "I only went on the big anniversaries. Haven't been in the last couple of years, though."

She lifted his hand to her mouth to kiss his knuckles gently. "I tried to write to her sometimes, but... it never really worked for me," she admitted. "It was too hard. I think Ollie did, though." He still did, as far as she knew. 

"Did Harry not go with you? To light candles?"

"No," she said. "I think it was too much for him. I did catch him talking to her photo a few times in that first year, though. He planted her favorite flowers in the garden. And he gave Mrs. Bradley some of her favorite recipes to make for us. He still cooked, sometimes, but never on the anniversary. I think it was the hardest on him."

Billy huffed lightly. "It was hard on you, too."

"Hm.” 

Billy didn't comment further. Instead, he gently shifted her, turning her onto her back. She met his gaze and lifted a hand to cup his jaw. "Are you okay?"

He smiled tightly. "Now, yeah." Then he leaned down and kissed the sensitive skin of her neck.

"I think I might get Ollie to skip school," she said, sliding her fingers through his hair, assailed by a sense of surreality. A year earlier, she’d have never thought she’d be in that position. With Billy, out of all people. “You could skip, too. We don't have any more exams until next week, anyway, and we’re ahead with our assignments."

"Maybe."

.
.
.

“So, she’s not going to be in for the rest of the week?” Steve asked, leaning against the cabinets of the library’s study room. “I suppose she took school more seriously at the end of the year than she had to.”

“Not unless there’s an exam,” Jonathan said, as he fiddled with his camera. “Billy was in this morning, but only to hand in an assignment. He’ll be out too. And Oliver. And Freddie.”

“How do you know?”

“He told me.” 

Steve’s brow furrowed. “Are they sick or something? Man, those secretive jackasses–”

Jonathan gave a noncommittal shrug. Nancy, on the other hand, had been unusually quiet, which Steve had initially put down to her legendary study focus. But he watched her expression suddenly pinch, a moment later.

“Oh,” she breathed. 

“Oh?” Jonathan blinked at her.

Nancy let out a deep, defeated sigh, her features falling into a sad understanding. “I think I know what this is,” she murmured. “I think it’s the anniversary.”

“Anniversary?” Steve echoed, confused.

Jonathan connected the dots faster, a wave of somber realization crossing his face. “You might be right.” He supposed they might be able to find something about the house fire in an old newspaper.

“What happened—” Then it clicked. God, he was an idiot sometimes. “Shit.”

Nancy grimaced. “Yeah. It’s probably an incredibly tough period. No wonder they’re all skipping.” After Barbara, she knew too well how agonizing certain anniversaries could be. 

“Will mentioned Oliver’s been quieter this past week,” Jonathan remarked softly. “I didn’t think much of it.” 

“And Oliver’s birthday was… less than three weeks ago,” Steve added, the weight of that observation settling on them all.

A heavy silence followed. 

“When is Beth’s birthday?” Nancy finally asked, her brows furrowed in concentration. “She mentioned summer once, but never the actual date. Oh gosh, you don’t—you don’t think it’s on the same date as—”

They all knew the dates they’d made up for her. Her fake birthday was the same as Billy’s actual one, a fact they had only learned in recent weeks, by accident. Steve found it weirdly endearing, actually. It was pretty damn sweet, to think of Beth, tough and stoic and serious, picking the date of her childhood friend’s birthday as her fake one. 

“I’m not sure,” Steve admitted. “She does her Beth Thing and changed the subject—”

“Did you seriously tell her we call it the Beth Thing?” Nancy demanded, cutting him off. “She told me, you know. You’re the only one who calls it that way—” 

“What? Yeah, it just came up—”

“Don’t tell her that!”

“Why not?!”

“Because she’s going to think we’re—I don’t know—talking about her!”

“We are!”

“Steve—”

“It's June.”

Nancy and Steve immediately stopped their squabble, turning to stare at Jonathan in absolute surprise. He met their gazes and shrugged. “Her birthday. It’s on the first of June.”

“How do you know that?” Nancy asked, dumbfounded.

“She told me.”

“She just told you?” Steve asked, scandalized, a genuine affronted tone in his voice. “What the—”

“Yeah.” Jonathan’s lips quivered, clearly entertained by their bafflement. “I asked why she ended up being Elizabeth. It was always her middle name, she just never used it—”

“Wait. What?”

“—and it was her grandmother’s name.”

“Grandma?”

Jonathan sighed. “No wonder she didn’t tell you two anything.”

.
.
.

The town’s leading and largest church, St Augustine, was situated in the northeast corner of Hawkins. Max found it rather underwhelming compared to the cathedral that she used to have to attend every Sunday with her mom and Neil. That kind of cathedral would have stuck like a sore thumb in a place like Hawkins, though. 

St Augustine was a two-story brick building, painted in a pristine shade of white and topped with a tall, pointed steeple that reached skyward like a beacon. Ivy clung to one side of the building, its tendrils creeping up the walls. The church yard was a lush expanse of green, surrounded by a low stone wall, with a few ancient oak trees providing dappled shade. Headstones, many dating back to the town’s founding and reserved only for clergy members, were neatly arranged in rows. 

There was no parking so the tree-lined road in front of the church was full of cars every Sunday. Many residents, at least those who lived within a mile distance, preferred walking there, especially since the weather had become warmer. The town’s main cemetery was located around the back, just a couple of hundred feet to the left of the church, down the hill. 

It was a pleasant day outside, the sky a cloudless cerulean expanse, offering the sun its sole spotlight as a brilliant orb high above. Sunday mass had just concluded, and parishioners began to file out of the church, their voices a low murmur as they exchanged farewells and well-wishes. In the distance, the church bells tolled softly.

The air was filled with the scent of freshly cut grass, and it made Max’s nose tickle incessantly. She’d never had to deal with hay fever back in San Francisco. 

“Maxine, stop that, or you’ll wrinkle it even more.”

“So?” she grunted, then proceeded to adjust the collar of her dress again. A dress. She wore an actual dress, and okay, it wasn’t that bad actually, but it might have been better if she hadn’t outgrown it. To her mother’s credit, Max had been the one to insist she could fit into that one, all to avoid a shopping spree. 

Susan shook her head, to herself. “Maxine.”

“Alright.” 

The mass had been its usual ordeal of standing, kneeling, and listening to a long sermon but Max had forgotten how annoying the post-mass chitchat between attendees was. Her mother seemed fairly comfortable with all the people stopping them to make small talk, even without Neil leading the stand-up member of the community shtick he had going on. 

“Oh, look at you, Max!” Mrs Cullen, who used to be their neighbour, and smelled violently of sickly vanilla, pinched Max's arm just above the elbow. “My goodness, you’ve grown into such a young lady! Susan, you'll have to keep an eye on this one. Boys will be calling soon!” 

Max offered a tight, painful smile that didn't reach her eyes and felt her jaw lock. Mrs Cullen said that all the time. It was very annoying.

Another middle aged woman, whom Max didn’t recognize but her mother had apparently worked with at the supermarket, approached them next. She skipped right over the compliments, and went straight for the hair comment. Fun. “My god, Sarah, you weren’t joking. Hers is even brighter. You better watch out. Girls are a handful enough as is.” she said with a conspiratorial chuckle.

Oh right. And boys were all such angels, were they?

Max wanted to scream, or maybe just shove her hands into the pockets of the dress that didn't have any. She could feel the heat rising in her neck, matching the color of her blazing hair. Every comment felt like a gentle, patronizing pat on the head.

The three or four ladies who’d perched themselves around her mother like gossip vultures started asking her about her new job, and her new home, and was it true that your rebellious stepson paid for it? Max quickly grew bored of it, especially with the sun beating down on her back, and the dress feeling too tight around her chest. Maybe she did need to start wearing a bra, like her mother suggested. She hadn’t realized she’d grown that much.

Then, a flicker of something pale moving caught her attention to the right, toward the church wall. A slender figure disappeared quickly around the corner, heading toward the quiet of the graveyard garden. Was that...?

“Mom. I am going to, uh, see the garden—”

“What? Yes, sure, sweetie. Don't stay too long, we’ll—”

“Sarah, darling, tell us. How have you been? Really?”

"Well, I, uh…” 

Max didn't wait for the reply. She scowled, dropped the forced pleasantness, and left immediately, melting into the crowd to dart toward the garden path.

She was right. That had been Oliver.

She found him standing before the old, weathered graves, his gaze fixed on one of the headstones. He was dressed in a way all the other ladies would have probably praised, dark slacks and a neatly ironed shirt, though he’d left the button-up completely undone to reveal the faded T-shirt underneath. That was weirdly informal for him. 

He'd grown taller too, she noted. And his hair was long again, falling past his ears.

In the sunlight filtering through the sprawling oak trees, his hair looked almost white, like spun moonlight, giving him an ethereal look. As if he was some sort of ghost. Or a vampire. Movies did depict vampires as pretty often, and she supposed he fit the bill—what?

“Hey.”

Oliver looked up at her. His gaze was distant at first, as if he hadn't fully left the gravestones, then he focused. His eyes widened ever so slightly. “Max. Hey.” His gaze darted down her borrowed dress and back up, an intense stare that instantly made Max feel a sudden, hot self-consciousness. It was stupid. It was just Oliver. “Max.” His gaze darted down her body, and Max instantly flushed. He wasn’t leering but Oliver tended to stare at people rather intensely.

Her cheeks burned, and she floundered. “I—yeah.” She shrugged, then glanced down at herself without thinking. The dress was a dark shade of green, ending just above her knees. “I guess. It’s just a dress.”

“It still suits you.”

Her head snapped back up. “Why? Because I’m a girl, and I should dress like a girl?”

He didn't flinch. “I meant the color,” he said simply. “I don’t think you have to wear it because you’re a girl.”

Right. The color. Of course. Max switched her weight from one leg to the other. “...okay,” she said tightly. “Thanks. I guess.”

Oliver hadn’t been in school since Wednesday. The teachers said it was a stomach bug, but Max had been suspicious. Beth and Freddie were out too. They’d all called or walkie-talkie’d him, but he’d been quieter than usual, and Beth had vaguely cited a migraine, saying it was easier for her and Freddie to be off as well. Max hadn’t bought it for a single second. She did piece it together, eventually.

“....You haven’t really been sick, have you?” she asked, dropping her voice. “Dustin and others think you’re all just being weird and mysterious, but it’s not that, is it?”

Oliver wasn’t looking at her, but at the gravestone again. Max approached him slowly, curious now, and read the etching. Father Leslie Foster, 1892 - 1947, Pray for Me.

Foster.

Oh.

Right. Oliver was born Oliver Foster.

Max swallowed, suddenly unsure what to do with her hands. “The house fire happened around this time of the year, right?” she asked quietly.

“Yesterday was the anniversary.”

Right. No wonder he and Beth had been so distant all week. “I’m—” she stopped herself from saying sorry. She remembered something else. “Mrs. Bradley died a week earlier, too.” Oh god.

“Yes.”

No wonder he’d been so quiet in the last couple of weeks.

Max scratched at her cheek, searching for words. She recalled their conversation months earlier, when he’d told her about Mrs. Bradley. “You’re here to light candles,” she deduced. “Right? You said your, uh, mom liked doing that even if she wasn’t religious.”

Oliver nodded. “Beth is parked down the street. We were just waiting for the sermon to finish.”

“My mom wanted to stay behind and do it, as well.”

“For your aunt.”

He remembered, too. “Yeah.” Max stared at him carefully. He didn’t look like he’d been crying, but he was undeniably tired. The only person close to her who had died was Neil, and Max did not mourn his absence in the slightest. She supposed her father was as good as dead, what with his new shiny family. She wasn’t going to light a candle for him, though.

“Come on,” she said, straightening. Adjusted her dress again. “Let’s light those candles.”

.
.
.

Oliver told her that they had to go to the grotto located within the church cemetery, down the hill, which made Max realize that wasn’t the first time he’d been there. She didn’t comment on it, however. 

When she stopped to check the courtyard, Max found her mother talking quietly to Beth. Most of the other parishioners, including the nosy, chatty ladies, were gone. The road had been cleared of cars, and the sudden quiet was notable. 

“Don’t you want to wait for Beth?” Max asked. 

“She’ll come afterwards,” Oliver replied, already moving in the opposite direction. 

Max shrugged, accepting his lead. She followed him around the curve of the church wall and onto a paved path that began to slope down the gentle hill toward the cemetery. They walked in silence. 

The grotto was located about halfway across the cemetery. It was nestled between two towering, moss-flecked statues of angels, and the stone looked ancient, weathered by years of sun and rain. Inside the small alcove, hundreds of candles were placed in inclined metal grates with holes, and sunk into beds of sand lining the bottom of the shelves.

A tin can with votives was placed aside, on the ground, for people to take but Oliver already had candles on him, and he took them out of the inside pocket of his shirt. There were more than Max had expected, truth be told, at least a dozen. Did he have that many people he wanted to light a candle for?

“Here.” he handed her one. “For your aunt.”

She accepted it. “I didn’t really know her, you know,” she said. “My mom usually does it.”

“Then use it for whoever or however you want.”

Oliver walked up to the central shelf, where plenty of holes were left empty, awaiting new flames. Max joined him, feeling the sharp, momentary heat of the candles whenever the light breeze pushed the flames toward them. She rather liked the smoky, waxy smell, however.

“So how does it work?” she asked, curiosity overriding politeness. “You’re not actually praying, are you?”

Oliver took a candle. “No. You can think whatever you want,” he said. “My mother used to remember good things about the people she lit a candle for.”

“Do you remember—” She stopped, catching herself. “I mean, do you remember a lot of her?”

“Some things,” he replied, then paused, his brows furrowing slightly. “I think of things I’d like to say to her.”

Oh. Max’s heart sank. She hadn’t expected him to admit that, and she had no idea how to respond to that raw admission. “That, uh, that makes sense, yeah,” she managed. “That’s a good idea.”

She watched him light his candle, holding the match steady until the wick caught with a brief, eager pop.

“Do you want me to give you space or something?” she offered, unsure of the protocol.

“I don’t mind it either way.” He closed his eyes while holding the burning candle in his hand. Max watched him, knowing she was being rude. She was intruding, even if he didn’t think so, but she also couldn’t move away. Oliver was allowing her to witness a private moment, a ritual he and Beth had probably shared for years, just the two of them. 

Max looked down at the spare candle in her own hand. She was definitely not lighting one for Neil. Fuck him. Billy was alive and doing better, so not him, either. Her mom seemed better, too. Did people light candles for people who were still alive? Yes. Her mother had mentioned it.

She didn’t want to pray, though. She wasn’t sure she believed in a God anymore. What was she supposed to believe in after falling through an interdimensional world and watching her brother possessed by a monster?

Max used the flame of the other candles to light up hers, then she watched the flame, transfixed. Drops of hot wax dripped down onto her hand, stinging briefly before drying quickly into a smooth, white scab. When she glanced at Oliver, she noticed his fingers were already smudged with dried wax.

She sighed, then closed her eyes, forcing the image of the flickering fire onto her inner eyelids. She decided to think of her Dad, and all the good moments they’d had. They’d been good, for sure. Life had seemed so much simpler back then. The memory of his father’s empty promises, however, and the image of his young wife and his new baby, soured all her good memories of him. Bitterness swelled in her heart. I still hate you for it, she thought viciously, and part of her hoped he’d hear her from wherever he was. You didn’t even visit once. Fuck you.

“Are you thinking of Neil?”

Max opened her eyes. “Don’t spy on my emotions.”

“I wasn’t.”

She scowled a little. “Close your eyes, and do your thing, and I’ll do mine.”

She closed her eyes, and thought of San Francisco. Of her old home. Of her aunts, whom she didn’t like much. Of her grandmother, who wasn’t very nice. Of her cousins, that she didn’t miss. Of her half-brother, who was probably dotted on by her father, and didn’t have to worry about monsters.

There were good things in Hawkins, too, though. 

When she was done, Max opened her eyes, and found Oliver staring at her. His candle had already been placed in one of the holes. Her cheeks flushed. “Don’t stare, you freak,” she said, tempted to shove him, then placed the candle in the hole next to his.
“This is kind of weird. Does it really make you feel better?”

“Sometimes.”

Max opened her mouth, then closed it. He was being more blunt than usual. “Sorry.” she said. “I–sorry. I don’t really know anyone who’s died, not anyone I was close to. Neil doesn’t really count.”

Oliver didn’t seem angry, just tired. “I know.”

An idea struck her. “Do you have one more spare candle?”

He did.

“How come you brought so many candles?” 

“Beth always melts hers before she’s done thinking,” he revealed. 

She nearly asked how come, but it made sense. Beth’s abilities were greatly affected by her emotions. She was having a hard time too. Max wondered which was worse. To have had a mother and hardly remember her or the opposite? It was silly to even weigh those two.

“Okay. Well,” she twirled the candle between her thumb and index finger for a moment, before she reached over to light it up. “This candle is for Diana Foster.” she announced, as if watchful spirits embodied the old stone and she was making an offering.

Oliver’s brows shot up. “Why?”

Max wasn’t sure why. She was sad. She was so sad that she felt angry, and she didn’t want to be angry, but the sadness was kind of crushing too. She was sad about her father, and she was sad that Oliver had lost so many people. She was sad he was sad, very much so, much more than she thought of until then.

“Because I want to.” she said simply. 

“You didn’t know her.”

“But I know you.” she said. “Even if this whole thing is not religious, and maybe she can’t really hear us, so what? I think I have quite a lot to say to her, actually.”

“You do?” his brows furrowed.

“Yes.”

“Like what?”

“It’s none of your business.” When Oliver continued to stare at her, Max faltered a little. “It’s between her and I, so you do your thing and I’ll do mine. And no spying on my emotions, got it?”

Then she closed her eyes. She swore she could feel his gaze on her face, but when she took a peek, she found him eyes closed and holding a new candle. Good. 

Max took a deep breath, and tried to picture Diana Foster, the one she’d seen in photos. The images, though brief, were memorable. Diana had been undeniably pretty, and her smile had been very kind—like Beth’s, actually. Oliver really did take most of her looks, though, right down to the dimples.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood like that, thinking about the things she’d have said if she’d ever met Diana Foster. She hadn’t lied; there would have been a lot to say. Diana had not only been Beth and Oliver’s mother, but also a professor and a feminist. She’d known and loved Billy, too. She’d known Billy’s mother.

When she was finally done, Max opened her eyes and blinked rapidly. Her vision was a little blurry, and she blamed it on the heat and the smoke of the candles. Beside her, Oliver was done a second later. He opened his eyes, then gently placed his burning candle into an empty hole on the metal grate.

“Who did you think of?” Max’s throat felt inexplicably tight, making her voice scratchy.

“Mrs. Bradley.”

“Do you think she’d have believed all the stuff that happens in Hawkins?”

“I haven’t really thought of that now.”

“What did you think of?”

Oliver met her gaze, his expression solemn but steady. “It’s between her and I.”

Max smirked, despite the gravity of the moment. “You better hope your Mom didn’t hear me,” she teased him. “I told her all about how obnoxious you can be, especially when you’re a smartass. And you spy all day long on people’s emotions.”

“That’s okay,” Oliver shot back. “I told her I met a nosy red-haired girl who pretends she’s not a nerd.”

Her heart lurched in her chest. Max quickly cleared her throat. “A red-haired girl? I have a name, you jackass.”

Oliver smiled, widely. It was such an unexpected sight that Max felt as if she’d been punched in the gut. It was a genuine smile, teeth showing, dimples carving deep into his cheeks. His green eyes were bright, lit by the reflection of the hundreds of tiny flames burning behind them. Such green eyes.

“What else did you think?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“You better have not thought of something weird.”

“Like what?” he asked, genuinely confused.

Max floundered. “Nothing.” She cleared her throat. “Whatever. Who’s next?”

.
.
.

That afternoon, her mother was called in to work. Nothing serious, but Mr. Roderick was hoping she’d be available to help him with the paperwork of a new project one of his teams had taken on. He was willing to pay her double and even let her take the time back during the week. He was, Max admitted, a nice man.

Her mother, Susan, initially declined, but Max could tell she was deeply tempted. They were doing better financially, but Susan really wanted to focus on building their savings.

As it so happened, Billy arrived home just as Susan was trying to figure out whether to leave Max with an old neighbor in Cherry Lane or to take Max to the office with her. Max wasn’t keen on either option, but there was no convincing her mother to leave her alone. Lucas would have probably convinced his parents to let her come over, but Max felt embarrassed at the prospect of imposing on the Sinclair family night on a Sunday.

“I’ll watch her, Susan.”

“Really? I thought you were going back to the inn.”

Billy had hardly been around in the past few weeks. He didn’t sleep more than two, maybe three nights, at their new place, but he generally made sure to be around when Susan couldn’t be, like in the mornings. He still drove Max to and from school.

“I am. She can come with me.”

Max was surprised. At that point, Susan knew Beth hadn’t been off due to a simple stomach bug. Max wasn’t sure exactly what Beth had told her, but she knew something. Susan had seen her and Oliver lighting candles, after all. Surprisingly, however, her mother didn’t ask about it, nor did she make a big deal out of the offer.

“Are you… sure? I can just take her with me. Mr. Roderick doesn’t mind. It’s only a few hours.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I just came back to get a change of clothes and some books,” Billy said, then yelled from the kitchen, “Hey, Max. Pack your shit, you’re coming with me.”

Was Beth really okay with that?

Max would have protested, but her mother looked frazzled enough as she was. “Fine.”

Half an hour later, she was sitting in the plain, suburban sedan that Billy drove around when he wasn’t using the truck. He looked incredibly annoyed whenever he did. 

“Shouldn’t you ask Beth?” Max asked as they pulled onto the main road.

“Ask her what?”

“If I can stay over.”

“Why do I have to ask her?”

Max stared at him flatly. “It’s her place.”

“So?”

He was being pig-headed on purpose. 

“It’s the anniversary.” 

Silence immediately filled the car, thick and immediate. Max’s stomach clenched. She no longer was apprehensive whenever Billy fell silent like that; not much. He was still quick to temper, and they bickered and clashed plenty, but their fights were never as bad as they once used to be.

“She won’t have an issue with it,” Billy said finally, looking straight ahead at the road. “Just don’t be weird about it, shitbird.”

Max rolled her eyes, but leaned her head against the cool windowpane. 

.
.
.

Beth didn’t have an issue with it. Max didn’t think she was pretending when she said she was welcome there, and Freddie was visibly happy, though more subdued than usual. Oliver was neither surprised nor annoyed at her being there; he just took her presence completely in stride.

They were all dressed in dinosaur pajamas, even though it was only three in the afternoon on a Sunday.

What the hell?

“Beth said we can have a lazy day,” Freddie explained. “They had them all the time when they were kids.”

In the tiny living room space of the inn, they’d built a sprawling fort with pillows and blankets. A pile of photo albums was stacked on the sofa. One was opened on the coffee table.

Max stood stiffly, still holding onto the straps of her backpack, feeling like an intruder for the second time that day. She didn’t belong there. They were all clearly deep in shared history, reminiscing about things she had no knowledge of. The pajamas, the cookies, and the fort spoke of traditions she was completely outside of.

She was an outsider.

Irritation bubbled in the pit of her stomach, aimed squarely at Billy. Why would he bring her here? Did he do it on purpose? He belonged there, sharing this anniversary, these memories on the tapes and in the photo albums.

“Um,” She felt hot around the collar of the t-shirt. She’d changed as soon as they were back from the church. “I don’t think—”

“Here.”

Oliver handed her a mug of hot chocolate. She accepted it without thinking, even though she hadn’t even removed her shoes yet. Max frowned, wondering if he could feel her embarrassment. Her irritation. The sharp, stinging, and familiar sensation of not belonging. Of being left out.

From the corner of her eye, she caught Beth and Billy talking across the room, by the kitchen counter. He leaned in and kissed her neck, which made her smile a little, then he said something that Max didn’t hear. It made Beth look over in her direction.

Max instantly looked away.

“Thanks.” she told Oliver. “Billy said I could come.”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

Max’s throat felt tight. “I don’t know. Isn’t this like…a private thing?” Wasn’t that why they all skipped school and kept their distance?

“I think we can make some exceptions.”

The hot chocolate pooled in her stomach, warming her limbs. Then she realized she hadn’t actually taken a sip yet.

“Hey, shitbird,” Billy yelled from the kitchen. “Stop standing there like an idiot.”

Max scowled, and flipped him off.

.
.
.

“Is it…really fine?” Max asked Beth, an hour later, after playing cards with Oliver and Freddie. Billy had gone out to collect a food order since deliveries apparently took too long, and Beth was in the kitchen, alone. Max took that opportunity to approach her, and took a seat at the kitchen island with a can of Coke in her hands. “For me to be here, I mean. I understand. Why you want to kind of stay away from everyone this week.”

Beth was busy shaping cookies—Diana’s cookie recipe. “It’s no issue,” she reassured. “Is it too much for you?”

“Too much?”

“It’s not easy being around people who grieve, or have…history,” Beth said, her voice soft but steady. “That can be a lot too, and it’s okay. You can go and stay in my room, if you’d like.”

Oh. Max hadn’t expected that concession. “What? No—uh, no. It’s fine,” she said quickly. “It is a lot, but I don’t mind it.” She glanced over her shoulder, at Oliver and Freddie, still intent on their game. “Does it get easier?”

“The anniversary?” Beth mulled that over as she grabbed a piece of dough and rolled it into a ball. “It’s not that it’s easier, but more that you get better at dealing with it,” she said slowly. “You tolerate it differently.”

That made sense. “Oliver said it helps, the, um, the tradition with candles,” Max said. “Does it help you too?”

Beth smiled a little. “It does. He’s better at it than I am though,” she admitted. “It took me a longer time to be able to do that without feeling…overwhelmed.”

Max’s head bowed. She remembered Oliver carrying extra candles because of her. “I don’t really know what’s the right thing to say,” she admitted. “Everyone says I’m sorry, right? But even if they are, it’s not like they get it, so how does that help?”

“What would you like people to say to you?”

“I’m not sure,” she said honestly. “I never really…lost anyone. Not like that.”

“But you lost someone.”

Max’s heart pinched. “I guess,” she said. “The person is still alive, though.”

“We can grieve people who are still alive.”

Right. Of course. Beth had been grieving people who were still alive for years, not knowing if they were okay or not. If they’d forgotten about her, or moved on.

“Yeah.” Max sighed. “I don’t know what I’d like people to say, but I don’t like it when people say things like, God has a plan, or it will get better. I think it’s stupid.”

Beth continued to make balls of dough, placing them onto a tray lined with a baking sheet. She looked rather silly in her dinosaur pajamas, the girl who could set things on fire and outrun monsters. Max’s lips twitched a little.

“From my personal experience, there’s nothing much anyone can say to make it better, even if there are people who understand what you’re going through. There’s no such thing as consolation.”

“That’s…shitty.”

Beth smiled ruefully. “But you know what helps? Knowing there might be someone waiting on the other side,” she said. “It might take a while, it might be a very terrible period, but someone will be waiting.”

Max swallowed. “You…and Oliver didn’t have anyone waiting, though,” she said. “After…you know.”

“We didn’t have as much as we used to, no. We had Mrs. Bradley, we had our father too, as flawed as he was. We weren’t completely alone,” Beth said. “Before the house fire, though, we had more people. We didn’t realize at the time, but it helped.”

“Billy was one of them.”

“Yes.”

The anniversary had to be affecting him too. No, she knew it did. “My mom married Neil around this time of the year,” Max revealed. “He was…pretty awful about it.” 

Beth frowned, but she didn’t say anything, just slid the full tray into the oven.

Billy had never really come out on the other side, Max realized. Not until he met Beth again. “He didn’t go out because deliveries were taking too long, did he?”

“No.”

.
.
.

“Steve, you need to go.” Nancy hissed in a hushed tone.

Steve placed his hands on hips. “What? No. You go.” he said. “Why are you two even here? It’s clear Beth wants space.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I….was just driving by. Thought I’d check in.”

Nancy crossed her arms over her chest, and her eyes narrowed. “You thought to check in?”

“What?” Steve pulled a face. “What’s so shocking about that?”

“Well, you need to go before she hears and sees all three of us here—”

“If I am going, you need to go as well.”

“We’re not going. We were invited.”

“Actually,” Jonathan jumped in, already exhausted by both of them. “She said I could drop by and pick a book.” 

“Ha!” Steve pointed an accusing finger at Nancy, who immediately glowered. “I knew it. You’re intruding.”

“Intruding?”

“Yes. Intruding. Sorry, Nance, but it’s—”

“You’re doing the same thing, you absolute—”

Footsteps coming up the stairs made them freeze on the spot, in the dark hallway. When they glanced down over the railing, they saw El.

And behind her, Joyce, carrying a casserole.

And Jim, looking incredibly reluctant to be there.

“Hello.” El smiled, and waved.

“Oh shoot,” Joyce froze, wide-eyed. 

“Mom? I thought you said you had work.”

“I did. Just not…today. I got the days confused so I decided to maybe—should you be here? I thought Beth said it’s best if they have some space.”

“You’re holding a casserole, Mom.”

“They still need to eat, Jonathan.” 

Jim sighed. “This is why I said it’s not a good idea.”

The door at the end of the hall, to the right, suddenly opened. They all jumped, except for Jim and El.

Beth stepped out into the hall.

“Seriously?” she said. “The whole building can hear you.”

“Oh, hey, Beth.” Nancy smiled sheepishly.

“We were just….” Jonathan trailed off, scratching the back of his head.

“We were in the area,” Steve said. “Well, I was. I don’t know about the others—”

“Save it.” 

.
.
.

The kids showed up half an hour later, after having snuck out of their houses. Robin did too, five minutes after, but as it turned out, she was the one who actually had an excuse for being there, as her mother was visiting a friend nearby.

.
.
.

The suite was definitely too small to contain that many people. In a way, Beth supposed it exemplified rather well how much more different things were than previous years. 

“You alright, kid?” Jim asked, when he found her in the kitchen, slowly eating a cookie while watching the others eat and drink in the tiny living room. Beth had given them permission to look through the photo albums, because at that point, it was useless to even pretend they could hold onto any shred of secrecy.

The Foster family was alive, at least in the eyes of the people in that room. Except they didn’t really care if they were Fosters or Stirlings or any other names. 

“I am not sure,” she admitted. “It’s been a long week and this—” she gave the group a pointed look. “---is very strange.”

Jim leaned against the kitchen cupboards, next to her. “Yeah. It is, right?” he mused. “You could ask all of them to leave, and they’d understand.”

“I know.”

“Where’s, uh, Hargrove?”

“On the roof.” Billy didn’t mind the others as much as he needed more time. To adjust. Beth was likely going to join him up soon, but in the meantime, Oliver seemed to deal with the others’ presence fairly well.

“Beth!” El called suddenly, lifting her head from one photo album. “You’re dressed like Dorothy!”

“Oh my god,” Nancy continued. “You really used to wear red shoes.”

“I think you were pretty, Beth. I mean–I mean you still are!”

“Dustin.”

“What? She was—is.”

Beth sighed. 

Jim smiled. “It’s not too bad, though, is it?”

“No. It isn’t.”

.
.
.

“Would you like me to start a fire, and set off the sprinklers?”

Billy smiled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing as she came up from behind and wrapped her arms around him, pressing against his back, warm and soft. “This shithole even has a sprinkler? I’m impressed,” he said. “Want me to chuck those assholes out the window?”

“I’m not sure.”

Billy chuckled. 

“How’s Toto, uh, dealing with it?” 

“Pretty well, actually,” Beth said. “Maybe he has an easier time with this because he remembers less.”

He turned away from the edge of the roof, moving so he could face her, and gladly letting her move back into his embrace right after. “Maybe,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “Max came up earlier.”

“She did?”

“Yeah, she told me I’m a fucking asshole for not lighting a candle for Mrs. D,” he huffed gently. 

He felt her smile against his chest where she’d buried her face. “You kind of are,” she teased. “You owe Mom a lot of information.”

“Thought you’d have filled her in.”

Beth pulled away slightly, the smile fading. “I tried,” she said. “I…it was really hard, and I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t able to do it last year, either.”

Billy lifted a hand to her face, cupping her cheek. “You really believe in all that shit? That dead people can hear us talking to them?”

Beth shrugged, leaning her face into his hand. “We did it more for our own sake,” she said. “Didn’t you used to do it to make it easier?”

He did. He’d spent countless hours by their graves. “Yeah, not sure it actually worked,” Billy mused. “We’ll go together.”

Beth’s brows lifted. “I thought you said it was stupid.”

“It is,” he re-affirmed. “But hey, if it makes everything less shitty.” 

“It will if you come with me,” she smiled softly. “Sometimes, I really can’t believe you’re here, you know.”

“Trust me, I know the feeling, babe.”

Beth let go of him and lifted her hands up to his face, pulling him in for a kiss.

“What was that for?” he asked when they finally pulled away.

“A thank you, I guess,” she said. “A bit late, though.”

“For what?”

“For being there for me, when Mom died,” she gently caressed his cheeks. “You were there the most. You were the only one who believed me Dad was acting weird.”

Billy’s eyes stung. The memory was sharp and painful, and it made him fiercely protective of her. “Where else would I be, Betty?”

Beth wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and he pulled her in for another kiss. 

Lighting candles or not, that anniversary was the easiest one they had in years.

Chapter Text

The entire academic year had trickled by except for the final weeks, and all of a sudden, Beth found herself feeling bittersweet over graduating. It was surreal in itself. Graduating high-school. It was a strange combination of nostalgia and grief that kept her from being fully relieved.

“What the hell are you on about?” Billy asked, when she told him she felt somewhat sad at the prospect of them never being in school together. “School only complicated our lives with all the lying we had to do.”

That was true. “Yes, and I wouldn’t do another year of high school,” Beth said. “But it was quite fitting, wasn’t it?”

Billy was driving the Mustang. She decided to let him since he’d been particularly morose constantly switching between the truck and the sedan. Maybe it was a little dramatic but she was beginning to think it was killing his spirit, a little, driving anything but a fast car for so long. 

“Fitting?”

“That we met, again, in a school.”

“You’re turning into such a sap, Stirling, Jesus.”

Beth rolled her eyes. “You really aren’t going to miss school?”

Billy stared at her as if she’d just grown a second head. “Fuck no,” he said. “Are you?”

She shrugged. “Maybe, a little. I don’t mind studying, only the environment,” she said. “I kind of miss Harry’s assignments sometimes. They could be hard, but it gives us a piece of normalcy, I think.”

“You sure you’re not just missing the reward of it?” Billy asked. “Little Miss Valedictorian.”

“I am not Valedictorian,” But she’d been in the running for it. “Should you be making fun of me, Mr first choice for Valedictorian?”

Billy grinned. “Simolett’s lost his fucking mind.”

Billy and Beth did not have perfect grades, Heather did. However, they both came in second place, as far as Senior academics went. They might not have if they didn’t make a rather good team when it came to studying. 

They’d certainly found ways to incentivize themselves, even if in incredibly inappropriate ways. 

“You know he only offered it because of bullshit optics, or whatever,” he said. “The bad boy who survived a car crash, and his old man offed himself managed to still get good grades. I bet they’ll get off on it for years, patting their backs about what a good job they did.”

“Most likely,” Beth understood, and even shared some of his cynicism. “It is still admirable, though. You actually went through a lot worse than any of them know about, and you could have gotten even higher grades if not for it.”

“Nah, I wouldn’t have cared.”

“You cared about getting an A plus in history.”

Billy smiled wickedly, as they stopped at a red light. “I had the right incentive.”

He had. Beth had given him three blowjobs in a single day, unprompted. “Results are results.”

Billy chuckled. “Never got blown before for acting like a nerd.”

“Clearly, you’ve miscalculated your priorities.”

“Betty, if that’s what you’re going to miss out on, I am happy to quote shit at you all day,” Billy teased her. 

Beth shook her head to herself. 

“That’s not what I meant.” she said. “Nevermind. I am just being silly.”

Billy’s amusement faltered, and he frowned. They rode in silence for several minutes, as they left downtown and started heading up north of Hawkins, towards the Byers house. 

“Are you sure you want to talk about this with the others?” Beth asked. “The kids do get a little too over-enthusiastic about this.”

He drummed his fingers over the wheel. “Yeah,” he said. “We gotta all stay in the loop, or whatever, right?”

“Let’s not mention how we found out you don’t always heal fast.”

His eyes shined with mischief. “Which part? That you love biting during sex or that like digging your nails like a damn—”

“All of it.”

.
.
.

“How did you realize you weren’t healing anymore?”

The skin under Beth’s right eye twitched. “It was accidental,” she said.

“Betty and I were just playing around,” Billy cut in with a Cheshire Cat grin, letting the sentence hang with clear implications.

Oliver instantly grew mortified, while Max and Lucas exchanged disgusted looks. Jonathan looked ill, and Nancy’s cheeks flushed as she finally caught on. Jim looked like he wanted to shoot them all.

“What kind of things?” El asked innocently. “Fire things?”

“I burned him,” Beth snapped, tempted to kick Billy. “I burned his hand. It wasn’t a serious injury, but for the first time, it didn’t heal right away. He still had the blister the next day.”

“I’m great, El. Got too close to the sun, that’s all,” Billy replied, unbothered.

“Wait, so you didn’t heal?” Steve cut in. “At all?”

“He still did, just much slower. The blister was gone in twenty-four hours.” Beth said. “It comes and goes.”

“It comes and goes?” Max asked. “What does that mean?”

Billy sighed, from when he was leaning against the wall near the window. He very rarely chose to sit with everyone else, and instead would stand aside, either by the window or the door. “When I cut my hand a few days ago, I healed fast, again.”

“How did you get cut?” Dustin asked.

“It was the middle of the night. Betty and I—”

Max blanched. “Ew, don’t give us the details—”

“I don’t really want to hear that,” Mike mumbled. “It’s enough I hear Nancy.”

Nancy scowled. “Hear me? That’s not true!”

“Jonathan is not quiet when he climbs up to your room—”

“Mike, shut up, god.” 

Jonathan shrank under Joyce’s sudden, questioning gaze.

“I don’t get it,” El said, confused.

“It’s about sex, I think,” Freddie offered, helpfully.

“Oh, Jesus,” Jim sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I need more coffee.”

“For fucks sake,” Billy snapped loudly, silencing the room. “You’re starting high school next year, shitbirds. If you want to be treated like adults, act like it.”

“He’s right. You’re all being immature. Except you, El.” Nancy, surprisingly, backed him up. “But Dustin has a point. Was there anything different about when it happened?”

Billy sighed irritably. “The first time, Betty and I were making out. The second time, when I cut myself, I broke a glass. I had a nightmare before.”

“Was it a bad nightmare?”

“Nah, El, don’t worry your pretty head about it.”

“Friends don’t lie.”

Billy frowned. 

Oliver’s embarrassment had vanished. “So your emotions affect how quickly you heal.”

“Does it?” Mike challenged. “The first time you didn’t heal was when you were... happy?”

“In a good mood,” Billy supplied, smirking. “Don’t play the innocent card, Wheeler.” 

“What?” Nancy asked, confused. 

“Mike and I make out too,” El announced, and Jim’s expression went slack. “It’s very nice. I like Fren—”

Mike rushed in to do damage control. “Um, El, not—not now, alright?” He glanced over at Jim, who gave him an unblinking look, then quickly turned away, shuddering. 

“We considered emotions already, Ollie,” Beth said, ignoring the chaos. “But Billy has healed quickly before, even when he wasn’t…distressed.”

“What if we were wrong about the origin?” Dustin suggested. “Your powers are not because you’re not entirely human. It’s still a form of telekinesis, like El’s, Beth’s, and Oliver’s. El moves things, Beth manipulates molecules. Billy’s is self-healing, which means…”

“He’s doing it himself,” Jonathan finished. “So it was never anything to do with the possession? He couldn’t do that before. Right?”

“What do you think, Byers?”

“The possession still triggered it.” Beth said. “We just assumed it was more of a physical alteration. We just drew parallels between him and his possessed self, and demogorgons.” Truth be told, everything had happened so fast in recent months their priorities had constantly changed. With Billy not having gotten seriously injured, they hadn’t needed to give much time to his abilities. They should have.

“I didn’t get any powers, though,” Will said, contemplatively. 

Joyce’s expression pinched. “Billy was possessed for far longer, sweetie, and in the Upside Down.”

“You did get your spidey-sense, though,” Mike said. “Maybe it’s not as obvious, or as strong because you’re younger. And because of what your Mom said, too.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Beth got the sense Will was almost disappointed by that. She supposed no one, child or adult, would have preferred having a ‘spidey-sense’ for interdimensional beings as opposed to super strength.

Billy shook his head. “I am not buying it,”

“It makes the most sense, though,” Dustin argued. 

“And I did, what? Brought myself back to life, shitbird?”

Everyone fell silent, their conviction floundering a little.

“Perhaps you didn’t, sweetie,” Joyce said finally, noticing how increasingly tense and agitated Billy was becoming. “The paramedics performed CPR. It’s not unheard for hearts to start beating.”

“And I healed myself while in a coma?” Billy argued, albeit not as harshly. “The mind’s completely fu—gone, while in a coma, right? Even if there’s brain signals.”

“Your mind is strong.” Billy’s head snapped towards El, who met his gaze head-on. “It is. I could feel it. You wanted to live, and you did.”

Billy clenched and unclenched his fists by his side. “I am going for a smoke.” Then he cut through the room, and left through the back door, to head to the porch.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No. No, El, it’s okay,” Beth smiled softly at her. “I think you’re right. There’s even scientific research showing that comatose patients are able to hear, subconsciously, when people talk to them. The brain may be a little scrambled, or weak, but as long as it’s alive…”

“Why now, though?” Lucas asked. “For months, Billy has been healing really fast.”

“It’s just like Beth said,” Nancy said. “It’s all about the subconscious. Billy also subconsciously used his super strength before, back at the lake, when he broke through the ice.”

“And he needed to focus on it when he helped with the tree in the road,” Steve pointed out. “He could do that with healing, too, then?”

Beth mulled that over. “I think that may be a little harder.”

“Our bodies are already programmed to heal themselves, but healing so quickly must require a lot of brain power,” Dustin remarked. “His abilities might be more limited than El and Beth, at least on a conscious basis.”

“But not subconsciously?” Max asked, still confused.

“Pain is a warning system, controlled and activated by our nervous system,” Beth explained. “It lets us know something is wrong, like an internal alarm. With what Billy has been through, his alarm must have taken a while to stop.”

“That makes sense,” Oliver agreed. “It’s like being in flight or fighting. Maybe Billy’s healing now acts differently because he’s…”

“Better.” Max concluded.

No one argued against that. 

“Isn’t this better than being potentially half demogorgon, or something?” Dustin asked. “What’s his problem?”

Max scowled at him.

“What?”

.
.
.

“Are you okay?” Beth asked quietly, coming up behind him and sliding her arms around his waist. Billy didn’t budge, except to lean into her imperceptibly as he took aggressive, consecutive drags from his cigarette. He was incredibly tense, just taut muscles under his shirt.

“I am fine, Betty. Just peachy.”

She knew he wasn't. The new theory, that his powers were his own, not a monstrous alteration, was unnerving because it went against his perception that he was a monster. 

“Whether we’re right or not,” she murmured. “You are alive, and you’re here, and you’re you. And I trust and love that person.”

Billy gently huffed out smoke, finished the cigarette, and flicked the butt onto the ground. “I know.”

“El is right,” she said, moving around him so she could face him. His eyes were red-rimmed and damp, but he wasn’t actively crying. “Your mind is strong.”

“I didn’t want to live, Betty. So there goes that theory.”

Her stomach clenched. “I know,” she said softly. “Maybe a part of you did, though. It doesn’t matter. You’re here. And... I hope we are right. If all these months you’ve been healing so quickly because your mind and body were still recovering from what happened... it means you’re genuinely doing better. Even if on a subconscious level.”

Billy lifted a hand to her face, smiling humorlessly. “I don’t know, Betty. Maybe we just gotta have more sex. There might be a correlation there.”

She scoffed in amusement. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s different things, put together,” she said, pressing her right fist lightly to his chest. “Maybe you’re better because you know you can be, and that helps.”

“And Neil is gone. That probably fucking helped.” 

She nodded, frowning a little. She knew he didn’t blame her for Neil, that no one did, but there was a part of her that felt guilty all the same. Not for removing him out of Billy’s life, but for the way it’d all ended. Still, she’d have done it again if it meant ensuring Billy’s peace. “Neil is gone, yeah.”

He pressed his thumb gently on her cheek, and though he didn’t say the words, Beth heard the unspoken you’re here, too.

“Nah. I think it does mean more sex, Betty.”

Beth stared at him, searching his face for a moment for anything that could tell her what was running through his mind. “You better tell me if you ever feel like that again.”

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t want to live.”

Billy’s brow furrowed in quick defense. “Betty, that’s not—I’m not—” He inhaled sharply, looking away briefly. “I don’t feel like that anymore. That was... I don’t. You got my fucking word. It’s, uh, it’s been months since then. Shit has changed a lot.”

Something tight and cold loosened in her chest.

Beth wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder.

“I don’t mind more sex, either. If it helps, you know, and whatnot. Just in case.”

He barked a laugh. “Just in case, Betty.”
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.
.

“Maybe Billy is responsible for the mental link,” Max pointed out, later, once they were all back in the living room. They’d decided to put their theory to test by having Billy injure him slightly, on purpose.

He took it a little too far when he decided to slice into his palm with one of Joyce’s knives. He was officially banned from the Byers kitchen until further notice. Fifteen minutes later, the wound was bandaged but had yet to close, confirming the healing was still intermittent. Attempts to activate telepathic or pyrokinesis abilities had also failed, though he did prove his added strength when he nearly took the Byers’ entrance door off its hinges.

“Meaning, shitbird?” Billy asked Max. 

“Meaning it’s another thing you can do, and El didn’t cause it,” Max said with a shrug.

“It seems more likely El did it, given her abilities,” Mike argued. “But why would the link form between Billy and Beth?”

“Because Billy didn’t know El, but he knew Beth,” Max countered.

Lucas nodded. “And she was the one who broke the Mind Flayer’s hold, remember?”

“That’s what you get for wriggling into a guy’s mind, Betty,” Billy drawled.

“Lucky me,” Beth replied wryly. “The mental link has changed again.”

“Changed how?” Jim asked.

“We had the same dream,” Beth hesitated. “Not at the same time, but an identical dream.”

Billy’s lips twitched in a faint smirk. “Different points of view, maybe, but yeah.”

“Is that surprising?” Dustin asked, intrigued. “Your link got stronger when you were fighting. Now that you’re, um… dating? The connection looks different.”

Beth frowned. “How much more can it change? We already see each other’s memories and dreams. Now we share them?”

“It sounds like it’s more balanced,” Oliver offered, looking concerned. “You went from seeing into each other’s minds to finding a common ground. Dreams.”

“There seems to be a separation, too,” Dustin mused. “The link only becomes active when you’re asleep, which makes sense. It’s like El when she goes into a trance, and she’s able to reach further with her abilities.”

“Yes,” Nancy agreed. “The mind is more receptive during REM sleep, it functions on a different frequency.”

“It would be really cool if you could control it,” Will pointed out. “You might even be able to communicate with each other. Right?”

Beth wasn't sure "cool" was the right word. She feared the link could evolve into something that might affect their psyche, or worse. However, the connection had also offered a unique kind of intimacy. Neither had suffered any side effects, aside from being left feeling vulnerable. “We’ll see.”

“How’s the hand?” Jonathan asked Billy.

Billy looked down at his bandaged hand. He flexed it. “It doesn’t hurt.” He unraveled the bandages. The wound was still there, no longer bleeding, but also not closing.

“Maybe it has something to be that triggers your fight or flight? And adrenaline?” Lucas suggested. “Your brain knew you weren’t in actual danger.”

“Maybe.” Billy started re-bandaging himself. “Unless you propose I stab myself in the throat, we’ll have to wait and find out.”

Beth didn’t quite like the uncertainty that came with waiting to see if he’d heal in a life threatening situation, but there was nothing truly they could do about it, right then.

“There’s one more thing we needed to discuss,” she said. “Next week, after our last exams, we’re going to go and see our father’s connection.”

A trip to New Orleans was long overdue. 

.
.
.

Magnus “Mags” Landry was born and raised in New Orleans, a city he left as a restless young man wishing to find excitement and adventure rather than end up inheriting his old pop’s restaurant. He’d been famished for excitement and adventure. It’d been the kind of thirst common to youth but amplified by an early heartbreak, by his father pushing him into a path he hadn’t felt destined for. 

So, he did. He left in search of his adventures.

And he quickly found out how much hungrier the world was, even when it put men like him- who looked like him - in separate buses and separate trains and designated sections; during the day, everywhere, anywhere, but especially after dark, in those areas that he had no choice to go through to get to the big cities. 

The big cities were even hungrier. 

When his savings, meager to begin with, dried up, he no longer could deny it. He wasn’t living an adventure, he was just barely surviving. Unable to secure stable work even in the larger cities, it hadn’t been long before he became acquainted with the shadow economy. He hadn’t been automatically sucked into it. He’d promised his poor mother, bless her soul, that he’d succeed, and he’d do so without falling in with the wrong crowds. He’d promised. 

But the world was hungry, even when it wasn’t starving. Perhaps he hadn’t been particularly lucky. Or maybe he’d been as lucky as he could be to be at the right place, at the right time to befriend the kind of man that Mags had no business with. The kind of man for whom the world operated under entirely different rules, a man who didn't have to worry about designated sections because he was one of the men who got to draw the lines in the first place.

Alas.

Mags possessed a valuable kind of currency. A silver tongue and a natural ability to read people. He knew how to talk men into deals as much as he knew how to talk them out of trouble.

It’d certainly helped him during his days as a runner, when performing the risky, grinding work of collecting cash and placing bets on the streets. He and other men, and boys, most of whom looked exactly like him. Of course, their success was never really theirs. The business wasn’t theirs. Even in the criminal underworld, lines were strictly drawn. Profits, protection, and power always flowed upward to the white organizations, who took the biggest cuts while assuming the least risk.

Mags had always thought that the criminal world wasn’t that much different from the normal, average world. People were people. They were thirsty for something or other, they discriminated, they wanted to have power. 

Marina had challenged most of those views, later on.

He supposed he’d found plenty of excitement too, particularly after his promotion thrust him into the glitter and grime of nightclubs and casinos. He’d been everywhere, crisscrossing the country, and in every city, he made a crucial observation: when people deemed others to be inferior, their hubris became their greatest weakness. 

And so, Mags learned quickly that knowing what others wanted—their desires, weaknesses, and secret ambitions—held far more leverage than any formal title or brute force. Weapons could gun someone down, but alliances, business deals, and carefully collected favors could dismantle an entire operation.

His dear old friend had understood, too. He understood, but he hadn’t known how to put it in practice, not without Mags’ advice and help and loyalty. In secret. Always in secret. The world worked differently for both of them, after all, and their friendship had existed in the shadows between the color lines. 

His career, if he’d been so inclined to refer to it as such, had not been easy or absent of danger. It’d been constant, more constant than anyone in that line of work could have asked for, and it’d offered him perks he would have not had otherwise. He’d made money and he’d travelled, and he’d witnessed – and experienced firsthand - the power that lied in being a well-connected man. Overall, though, he tried to keep his hands - and nose - as clean as possible. He’d often liked to say that his business was more of a crime-adjacent nature, and he’d maintained that status for as long as he did because he’d had good instincts.

If he had to choose one place, however, he’d have said California was where he truly found his adventure. But it wasn't in the sun-drenched beaches, or the exciting, glittering clubs, or even the subtle trickle of influence he’d managed to find (Magnus learned to be hungry too). It wasn’t even in the legitimate business he’d tried to build for himself. 

No. His true adventure had always been his lovely Marina.

.
.
.

The instant Mags saw her on stage, under that solitary spotlight, dressed in that sparkling dress that moved around like liquid, he’d been immediately and utterly mesmerized.

She had a voice like velvet.

The world, however, was hungry for women like her, too. 

A particular man was.

.
.
.

Harry Foster was one of those sumbitches who was blessed with both good looks and brains. Sure, being white opened plenty of doors for him, but Mags used to wonder if Harry had ever found a closed one he hadn’t found a way to pry open regardless. He could be a scary fucker, despite all that mild-mannered disposition of his. Magnus had never known a man could manage to be so polite when threatening another. In another life, he’d have been an excellent criminal.

Not that he was an entirely law abiding citizen to begin with, anyway.

Harry had a very similar talent to Magnus when it came to reading people, too. 

“Even if you can get me a good deal, I am dead anyway.”

“Why is that?”

He wasn’t that loose lipped.

“I heard about you,” Mags said, head cocked to the side. “Young. Came from abroad. How did the newspapers describe you? Ah, yes. Prodigious. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t think I had what you might need for your next big break.” He’d ruffled a lot of feathers, and Mags had to wonder if his youth did not make him stupidly naive.

Harry Foster had simply blinked at him. “Of course I am here for that,” he said, as a matter-of-fact.

Mag's eyes narrowed. “I am good, thank you.”

“I am not going to get you a good deal.”

“Petty, Mr Foster?”

“No.” he smirked. “I am going to get you out.”

Mags snorted. “The hell you are.” His friend would have let him take the fall. Maybe he could have made sure Mags wasn’t gutted while he was in prison, out of gratitude, but Mags knew there’d been a chance, all along, he’d end up there. “You really are that arrogant, huh?”

“Maybe.” Harry had leaned back in his chair, and closed his notebook. “I’ll come back tomorrow, Mr Landry, to discuss further.”

“There’s nothing to discuss.”

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.
.

Marina convinced him to seek help. She always used to say that he’d spent so much time amongst bad people that he could only read the bad in them. 

But she preferred seeing the good too. 

“Leave this place, leave this all behind, and live our life on our terms. Remember?”

“Baby, I am not sure—”

“That’s the deal we made, and I will hold you to it.”

He smiled, despite himself.

“Yes, ma’am.”

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.

Mags had taken a little while to warm up to Harry, justifiably so. He’d only met Diana once, an incredibly lovely woman, but a little…odd. The way she looked at him reminded him of the way his old aunt, Agata, used to. She’d been completely blind yet she always knew when he’d gone through the cookie jar, or whether he was wearing the same ratty t-shirt full of holes that she hated. 

His mother had always believed some folks just had gifts. His father had always thought it ridiculous. 

Mags hadn’t given it much thought until he met Diana Foster. 

Years later, when he met the (former) Foster kids, he immediately thought that both the daughter and son had the same eyes as their mother. The kind of eyes that saw more than others’ did. Perhaps too much. Elizabeth Stirling was just as mild-mannered and hawk-eyed as her father, though. Oliver Stirling looked exactly like his mother, but did not smile at all. Neither child held any joy, or brightness in their eyes. Curiosity, yes. Not much happiness, though. 

They made Mags think of an old scary tale, of old spirits inhabiting young bodies. 

Perhaps the Foster Curse that he read about in the newspaper was real, after all.

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.
.

“J'ai une dernière faveur à te demander, vieil ami,” Those had been amongst the last words he’d heard out of Harry Foster’s mouth, over a year earlier. “Une qui va peut-être bien au-delà de la dette que tu penses encore devoir me payer.” I need to ask you for a favor, my friend. One that perhaps goes well beyond the debt that you still think you owe me.

Magnus knew exactly what he was going to ask. He’d known it from the moment Harry had decided to introduce him to his kids. “You going somewhere, old boy?”

Harry had simply smiled. “We all eventually go somewhere,” he said vaguely. Aunt Agata would have loved him. “Where, though, remains to be seen.”

He had not been the same since his wife died. Magnus understood. He too, had lost the love of his life, and he had never been quite the same since. At their core, they weren’t that alike; being alive still only because they couldn’t stand to disappoint those who weren’t amongst them. 

Or living in fear they might break promises to the dead. 

“Strange,” Mags had said, as he rubbed at his chin. “Always pegged you as someone who’d die old. Too crafty for anything else.”

“Could say the same about you.”

“Marina would kick me back out. I have to make it to at least eighty, I promised.”

Harry smiled, as he kept staring out one of the windows in Mags’ office, at the street below. “My children. You’ll help them if they ask?” he asked simply. “Because I’ve prepared them as much as I could, but they’re still young. You know what this world does to the young, if it gets a chance. No one is impervious to it.”

Magnus grunted. “Yes. I will. You knew I would, though, or otherwise you wouldn’t have brought them here." He appraised the man before him. “Someone is coming for them, Harry? Those people you told me about? It’d be nice to know if they are.”

“If they do, will you still help them?”

It would have been insulting, given their history, for Magnus to respond immediately. Harry didn’t want a dishonest answer. He wanted to know if he should make alternative plans. If Magnus had said no, Harry would not have even held it against him. 

Harry Foster had been a very different kind of friend than Mario Barone had been. 

“As long as it’s in my power to help them.” Magnus responded simply. 

“Even if it may put you in danger?”

Magnus snorted. “I’d feel better if you told me what you know, ‘cause I can tell you know something, you secretive fucker.”

Harry looked away from the window, to look at him directly. He appeared contemplative. “I am not sure it’d help right now.”

“You’re not actually coming back, right?” Harry didn’t answer. “Do those two kids of yours know?”

Harry evaded his questions, which Mags took as a no, to both questions. “You’ve been a good friend, Magnus.”

“You’ve been nothing but a pain in the ass.”

“You sound just like my daughter.”

“Then she and I are bound to get along.”

Harry smiled again, and it was more genuine than before. There was fondness in those eyes. “I should hope so, or she might burn your restaurant down.” He glanced at Mags’ head, pointedly. “Or what’s left of your hair.”

Magnus had assumed he was joking; or Harry implying that his daughter had a short-temper (and violent inclinations to match). Neither had made sense. Neither one of the former Foster children had struck him as being anything but quiet, intelligent and too mature for their ages. Especially the younger one. He seemed very eager in skipping straight to acting like a grown-up. 

Beth did reach out to him, though. Mags hadn’t expected her to; Beth had struck him as mild-mannered and intelligent, but fiercely independent as well. He’d seen how skeptical she’d been of him, even if her father trusted him.

She’d had no choice, though. Harry had been right. The world was eager to swallow and chew up the young, especially the ones with no parents and no one there for them. Mags knew. He understood. He’d seen many being lost in that manner; it was why he tried to do better by his community nowadays. To make a change where he could. 

It’d been Marina’s dream, too. 

“They took my brother.” She had said it with the same tone he’d heard men talk about going to war over drug territories. They took my brother, and this will not stand. They will pay for it. 

Mags took a deep breath. Nothing more volatile than a teenager, and a teenager who had little left in the world, at that. “You know where?”

“No but I will find out.”

He had no doubt she’d go to lengths - crime-adjacent or not - to find out. “You stay put and keep safe, kid. I’ll see what I can find out.”

“I can’t just stay put. I have to find him. They apparently sent him out of town, maybe even in another state.” she’d said quickly, and her voice had sounded hoarse. She didn’t smoke, not as far Mags could remember from when he’d met her. Didn’t seem like the type, either. Must have been screaming, or crying. Or both. “And…if I go back, the police might question me further.”

“Why?”

“The foster house burned down.”

Ah. That explains why she sounds like that. Inhaled smoke.

“It…burned down.” Was the kid actually some sort of pyromaniac, after all? No. Harry would have said something. Right? Something didn’t feel right. “You got into trouble, I'll take it.”

She hadn’t responded right away. “How are you going to find my brother?”

Magnus sighed. “I know folks here who are well acquainted with the foster system. They might be able to help and—”

“It’ll take too long.” Rude. “I am sorry. I know my father trusted you, and that you could help but they put us in a house with a sadistic woman. There’s no saying my brother and those other kids aren’t stuck in a similar place, or worse. My brother is still not fully well.”

Okay, so not rude. Just desperate. He recognized that youthful sense of urgency. “Give me three days.”

“Three days—”

“Kid.” Magnus cut her off. “You have my word. Three days. I will come back with something.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“I have my ways.”

Pause. “Okay. Alright.” He couldn’t be sure but he thought she was trying not to cry. When she spoke again, her voice was firmer. “If you don’t have anything in three days, I’ll go find him on my own.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?”

“I’ll find a way. I’ll find my brother, no matter what.”

Yeah. Harry’s kid, for sure. 

Chapter Text

The world was a big place, but at times, it felt so small and crowded that coincidences didn’t feel like a simple chance. His mother, bless her soul, had never believed in them. She’d believed in fate, and guiding spirits, and forces of the universes that worked beyond human comprehension. 

Mags had never been much of a believer in anything outside of what he could see until he’d met Marina. He’d always thought that much of what existed in the world - good or bad - was just a product of human choice. Marina never disagreed, but she used to believe - had wanted to believe - there was more to it. That there was more to people than an inclination towards being self-serving and cruel. He used to think she was naive until he got to know her; until he realized his late wife had known plenty of the scourge of humanity. She’d simply believed in more, in better, in putting out good in the world to make it better. 

Anriette of the Hope and Anchor foster house was a lot like Marina, at least as their determination to help others went. It was why they’d become such good friends. Mags had always considered Anriette to be far more pragmatic though; more jaded,too. His late wife had always poured heart and soul in her work, but she’d always had issues taking a step back, of accepting that any failure wasn’t a direct commentary on her efforts. 

“A place in New York?” Anriette repeated, when he’d called her and told her about the fire. “You don’t mean the one that made the newspapers? It burned down, yes.”

Harry’s kids sure liked to make a splash. “Unless there’s any other,” he grumbled. “What do you know about it?” 

“I never met the woman running it but heard rumours. A real piece of work, that one.” she said. “She’s being charged with a lot of shit. Neglect, abuse, you name it. The place was massive, but the fire took down half of it, so it’ll be closed for a long time, most likely. No one died, but there’s a kid, I think, who suffered bad burns. He was old enough to be released soon but now it seems he might not ever wake up.”

Magnus chewed on the end of his pipe. Was that why Beth had been worried about being questioned by the police? She had something to do with that, too? “Hm. What’s the procedure in this case? When a place gets closed down in this manner?”

Anriette sighed loudly. “It varies from state to state, and the kind of house it was. How many kids, and such.” she said. “Kids will be relocated. Split up. Some might go to new foster homes, or to next of kin if possible. It’s not uncommon for them to be moved around for a while.”

“Would they get sent to other towns? Or further?”

“Sometimes. Not ideal, but yes, it’s possible. This place had at least forty kids, so I wouldn’t be surprised. Why?” She’d turned suspicious. “You know one of the kids? Why is this so important to you?”

Always so suspicious, that one. “Maybe,” he said. “I got a favour to ask—”

Anrietta groaned. “Merde, when do you not—”

He ignored her. “I need to know where one of the kids was placed.” 

“Why?”

“I can’t tell you why.”

“I can’t help you, then.”

He was too old to roll his eyes, but Anrietta had that effect on him anyway. “I am talking about a kid who needs help, Etta. You really are not going to help me?”

She sighed loudly, mostly for theatrics. “Fine. I was about to call you for a favor, anyway..”

Unbelievable. 

“Well, you know how it is. You scratch my back, I scratch yours.”

“I’d rather not scratch anything of yours, thank you.” Mag grinned around his pipe. “You know my half-sister?”

“Died young. Drugs, right?”

Anrietta clicked her teeth. “She had a son, who had a daughter. My niece. I’ve spoken to Marina about it in the past, but not sure if I ever told you.”

He had some vague recollection. Marina had been the talker out of the two of them, and he’d always listened to her. “Maybe it rings a bell,” he said. “I don’t think I ever met this niece, but you said she got married. Lived in Manhattan, for a while.”

“She died, years ago. I had no idea. I also had no idea she had a daughter. It seems Liora told her of me, but she’d been passed around from home to home, ever since. Who the hell knows where her father is?” He could picture her sneering. She’d always been quicker to temper, far less forgiving than Marina. “She ended up in that shithole. The house that burned down.”

“How did you find out about her, then? She reached out to you?”

“One of the social workers who’d been overseeing her case looked into her story, tracked me down.”

Huh. “What do you need my help with?” he asked. “I presume you already got in touch with her.”

“Only through the social worker. She was meant to reopen her case, get her transferred maybe, or in touch with me, but you know how slow these things can be. Then the fire happened,” she said. “The thing is, they can’t find her. Apparently, she ended up at the hospital with another girl, who was injured. Nothing major. They both ran off, and disappeared.”

“Let me guess. She’s almost eighteen, and they won’t look for her?”

“Yes. Especially when they have so many younger kids to relocate. I’ve even been asked if we have space, actually,” Anrietta said. “Anyways, you think you could help me find out more? You still have some contacts in New York, right?”

Very few. Most died, retired or relocated. Or they were in prison, but those weren’t the kind of contacts Magnus wanted to reach out to, anyway. “I’ll see what I can do. Can you get me info on the kids who got relocated?”

“I am going to need a few days on that. It’s not info that they release. Who is this kid, anyway?”

Mag smiled. “Well. You’re not going to believe this but…”

.
.
.

They did find out where Oliver Stirling and a bunch of other kids were sent out to. Somewhere in the Hudson Valley. Anrietta was not able to find out which house exactly. There were a dozen or so in the area. 

“I think I know which one.” Beth’s voice was no longer raspy but she sounded tired. 

“And how did you find that one out?”

“....I have my ways.” 

Smartass little shit. Just like her daddy. 

“I assume you don’t want to wait to do this the…nice way?” The legal way.

“Because a court will just give me my brother if I ask nicely?”

Fair point. “No.” Magnus said. “How are you going to get him out? The police will figure out the older sister came a-knocking.”

“I’ll find a way.” 

Huh-uh.

“Listen, kid,” Magnus took a deep breath. “There’s something I gotta tell you about. Your old man, he had a contingency plan in place if something like this happened. Social workers taking you in, I mean.”

“Take off, and come to you?”

“No.” he said. It actually makes zero sense. Your daddy might have really had a few marbles missing since your ma’ died. “He wanted me to contact a guy in England. A lawyer. He was apparently left to handle your pa’s old will, and also your guardians.”

The silence spoke volumes. She’d had no idea. “....what?” she paused. “What guardians? I am almost eighteen.”

“Almost won’t cut it for a while, and it won’t give you custody of your brother.” Magnus said. “He didn’t say much else, which is par for course, I suppose. Secretive fucker. He just said to call this guy, uh, Gavin. Sounds like a completely reliable man. Gavin. Who names their son, Gavin? Anyway, what do you say?”

“I can give him a call but–”

“Harry said I should. He might not take your call if you do.”

She must have pulled the phone away but he heard her curse under her breath, all the same. For fucks sake. He took no offense. She reacted pretty well, actually.

“I–no. Not yet. I'd still like to find my brother first. If I can get my car back, then…we can leave.” she said. “Can you still help with the new IDs? And getting out of the US?”

“Yeah.” Magnus. “But kid, Harry must have had a good reason for this…Gavin.” I sure fucking hope so.

“I don’t really care.” It was as close as to an actual teenager she sounded. “I’ll call you after I get Oliver. Or, as soon as I can.”

“Don’t get caught.”

“I won’t.”

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.

She didn’t, to her credit. Not for a couple of weeks. The damn kid decided to take away not just her brother, but several other kids, too. She would have known that’d draw more attention, that it hadn’t been pragmatic but she still did it. 

The entire family was crazy. 

“Charlie—one of the girls who lived at the foster house helped me. She’s….” Beth had said, after she finished recounting how the authorities caught them, and she’d ended up in custody. They’d had no proof she’d been involved in the kids escaping because all the kids refused to snitch, and the unsuspecting fools who’d ran the house couldn’t liken the scary intruder they’d dealt with to a teenage girl. “She’s an ally. She told me that she has a distant relative in New Orleans. Small world, I suppose.”

Magnus smirked to himself. “Yeah. Small world.”

“Can you help her? And other kids?” Beth asked. “They need to go to good homes and Charlie’s aunt…you can look into her, right? See if she’s sound?”

It said a lot about her that the first thing she asked him for was to make sure Charlie and the other kids would be taken care of.

Marina would have liked her so much. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “I think I know who you mean actually, kid.”

“Really? I didn’t tell you her name.”

Always so suspicious, that one. “Yes. Not many places around here that’d be able to take kids out of state.”

She sounded relieved. “Good.”

“You want me to call Gavin now?”

She paused. “I don’t suppose it’ll help my case if I attempt to escape police custody.” 

Magnus didn’t think those were just the words of a teenager attempting bravado. He’d gotten to know Elizabeth quite well over the span of a few weeks, through their calls. He believed her capable of attempting to escape. 

He started chuckling. “No, kid. It really wouldn’t.” he said. “I’ll make the call.”

“Thank you. For your help.”

“Stay put, and behave, alright? I’ll see if I can get info on your brother’s new family.”

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The Bakers not only were as ignorant to the existence of their niece and nephew as the latter had been to the Bakers, but they had been woefully unprepared to take them under their wing. Based on what Beth told him of them, Mag had expected Mary and Paul Baker to decline. 

“How did you convince them?”

“Money. And I appealed to their humanity.”

Magnus scoffed. “What about the little one you told me about?”

“They agreed to take him, too.”

“Must have made them quite the offer.”

“One that Harry would have disapproved of, for sure.” She’d stopped calling him Dad or father. More and more, he was just Harry. Magnus couldn’t blame her. He was quite angry with Harry too, for coming back to New York in a body bag full of even more secrets. If that was, indeed, Harry. “I had to offer….an incentive to the social worker as well. To quicken the process.”

“What’s his name?”

“He was one of the nice ones.”

“I only asked for his name.”

“Do you ever just ask for people’s names?”

Magnus smirked. “Give me his name, anyway. When kids have been bounced a lot, they tend to get more attention from the social care workers.”

She did. 

A month later, the Bakers decided to move to Hawkins. They hardly questioned how easy that had been. 

Mag was beginning to wonder if that wasn’t exactly why Harry had chosen them as guardians. 

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.

“I am not even sure I could explain it. Hawkins is…” She sounded afraid which spoke volumes. When she’d been split from her brother, back in New York, Beth had been desperate, impatient and frustrated. She’d been resolute. Perhaps she’d been afraid too, but she had masked it well. Right then, though, she sounded afraid. “All I can say is it's the type of danger that no one would even think of. Not even you.”

Mags highly doubted that. “Still coming for gumbo?”

She hesitated. “Not yet. There’s…some loose ends I need to deal with. The Bakers are watching me like a hawk too.”

“Okay. Okay, kid. If you need help—”

“I know.”

Later, he’d hear about the incidents in Hawkins on the radio, in the newspapers and on the evening TV news.

Kids going missing, inexplicable phenomena witnessed by locals like strange sounds coming from the woods or larger-than-bobcat predators that couldn’t have been native to that place. Department of Energy building burning down. Government cover-ups of chemical spills. An old sanatorium nearly claiming the lives of several teenagers, before it too, burned down. 

Fire seemed to be a common denominator to many of those incidents. Strange as hell is what most of them could have been described, seeing as they all happened within the span of a year or so. 

And Harry’s kids were in the midst of it. 

That was no damn coincidence.

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.

Beth never told him what really happened except Hawkins had had government agents crawling around after the debacle with the chemical spill, and that made it difficult for her to contact him. She had to drive far out of town to call him which wasn’t ideal as she worried she might draw attention. 

So they’re listening to the calls, too. Why would they do that for a chemical spill? And why would they keep an eye on everyone? There was a lot she was leaving out, that was for sure. “Still alive and kickin’, kid?”

“I….am. Yes.”

She sounded surprised. 

“Well, that’s better than the alternative.”

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.
.

After the holidays, they settled into a routine. A weekly call that was always made between six and seven in the morning. The early hour didn't bother Mags seeing as he was almost always up before the sun.

He'd heard her voice take on different tones before. Reserved and stoic like her father's, or frustrated and impatient when she was worried about her brother. He’d heard that composure crack under the weight of exhaustion or fear, too.

But something had changed in the first months of the new year. A new energy charged her words. It was a stark contrast to the girl he’d met months ago, who had carefully measured every word and always scrutinised others’. She was still secretive, never revealing the things she told him she couldn't speak of, but her voice had a new, lighter sound. It made no sense for a kid who had faced so much, yet somehow she sounded younger.

Or maybe she just finally sounded like the kid she was. Still too polite and formal in her speech, though. 

"You good, kiddo?" he’d ask towards the end of the call. At first he used to ask out of a sense of duty. He’d promised their old man he’d look out for them. Then he told himself he couldn’t help getting worried - they were just kids, and he’d always had a soft spot for kids who’d grown too fast. He’d been one of them kids. 

Her answer had shifted from the stoic I am fine to the evasive I am alive to I am alright and I am okay.

Then, in April, she surprised him, again “Yes. I think I am. We’re good.” And it sounded like it came fairly easy to say that, no hesitation, no doubt. 

“Alright,” he replied. “Be good, youn’ lady.”

“Not too good, though, right?”

He grinned.

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.
.

“If we come for gumbo, there’s a chance you’ll still be dragged into something very…insane. And dangerous. Far more than whatever Harry told you.” Mags couldn’t help thinking the kid he met a year earlier would have never even considered a social visit to New Orleans before. “I will be careful, of course. There are no guarantees, though.” She still sounded like her old man, but there was something…warmer about her. Perhaps she’d taken more from her lovely mother than he expected. 

“Have there ever been?” Mags challenged, not intimidated by the slightest. He’d lived a long life. There was so very little that surprised him, even shady government dealings. He wondered if she found anything relating to the house fire. Harry had never found out who those men were, in the end. Or maybe he did, and that’s why he ended up dead. “Who do you think you’re talking to, kid?”

“A man who feels indebted to my father enough to keep wanting to help,” she replied. “Even Harry’s favors couldn’t have been so good that someone would want to get involved in what we’re involved in.”

“I see. Is it a ‘once you know, there’s no going back’ type of situation?”

“Yes.”

He’d lived through many of those situations before. Some, he shouldn’t have, by all rights. Mags ran the end of his pipe over his bottom lip, thinking. “How about you just come, have some gumbo, and say hi? Then we’ll see whether our business stays as it is.”

“...alright.” The hesitation in her voice was still there, the ingrained caution from her old man. He’d taught her well.

“One more thing,” she said. “I’ve made some…allies. They may accompany me because they are—” she sighed. “---very stubborn people. Would that be an issue? They do not have to meet you, however.”

“Why?” Mags grunted. 

“They’re very good allies. Overprotective, too.” 

She made such allies? “Can they be trusted?” he said, suspicion coloring his tone. “Is it that big-haired kid Luciano saw months back? Weird choice for a boyfriend, kid, but I’d be careful—”

An unexpected snort of amusement from Beth. The first time she chuckled on a call with him, Mags had thought she may have been drunk. “Yes. He’s my friend, not my boyfriend.” So not allies, but friends. She made friends? “He’s one of them. They can be trusted.”

“How much?”

“As much as my father trusted you, if not more.”

“Fine.” he sighed. “Bring them around, actually. I’ll decide how trustworthy they are.”

He’d always been good at judging people. There’d been a couple of notable exceptions, though, who’d ended up making him question everything he thought he knew about people. 

His wife, Marina. 

And Diana Foster. 

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.
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“Mags.” 

His right hand, accountant and manager, Marcel, was a short, tin man who was rarely ever seen not wearing a custom-made suit. He had no bias for colors, except yellow, because he thought it aged him. Only flax yellow, though. He allegedly could pull off pastels just as well as other colors. 

“Ton visiteur est ici.” Your visitor is here. That day, he was wearing a periwinkle blue suit, but he’d given up on the blazer within the hour of being there. Mags only knew that was the shade because Marcel liked informing him. Always. Marina used to find him very entertaining. 

“Y'all, elle est tôt.” She’s early. Magnus put down the fountain pen he’d been using to write in his ledger. Business was beginning to pick up, quicker than he anticipated. Must have been the good weather, bringing in more tourists. They also had more artists wishing for an opportunity to perform there compared to the previous year. 

His daddy would have been proud. Maybe. 

Marcel pushed the door of the office open all the way, and stepped aside. Mags carefully rolled himself away from his desk and towards the door. Magnus knew better than to ask if he wanted help.

His office, along with changing rooms and a rehearsal studio were located right at the back of the establishment, at the end of a hallway that could be accessed through a staff-only door next to the stage. Magnus exited first, and Marcel followed him closely but not before he locked the door. There was hardly a soul in that place that Mags would have thought capable of theft, not that he kept anything of particular value in the office. Old habits died hard. 

“So,” Marcel started. “This visiteur. Who is she?”

Marcel hadn’t been there when Harry had brought his kids around, two years earlier. He knew of Harry, plenty, however.

“You could say she’s got talent from outta state.”

If Magnus had been any lesser of a man, Marcel might have found that statement worrying. But he knew better. “Eh bien, un autre chanteur, hein?” Another singer? “J'croyais que tu disais qu'on avait plein, pis ce qu'on veut c'est des bandes qui sont déjà là?”I thought you said we had plenty, and what we need is more established bands? 

Magnus chuckled. “Trust me, mon pote,” he said. “She’s not here for singing, just…a social visit.”

Marcel sighed. “Ben bien. You need me to—”

“No. Thank you.” 

The restaurant, known simply as Rosalie, had been the pride and joy of his grand-father, Baptiste, even when it’d been nothing more than a tiny, single-floor space in the same building, serving drinks and sandwiches. He achieved his dream slowly, buying out sections of the building piece by piece over the years, gradually turning the modest bar into a full-service restaurant.

By the time Magnus’ father inherited the place, Rosalie was capable of serving up to seventy guests, and it hosted evening performances. It wasn’t as much the promise of glamour as it was food that drew people in. The community it fostered, however, made people come back for more.

Magnus had grown up hearing many stories about some of the professionals and artists, and even leaders, that had visited the restaurant; about the deals that were struck and strategies discussed. As a young man, however, he’d felt incredibly claustrophobic with the idea of never leaving, of tying himself to that place.

Now, he understood better. 

At least his mother had gotten to see what he made of that place before she passed. 

The clientele-facing area of the establishment was reminiscent of an opera house. A grand stage commanded the far wall, framed by deep maroon velvet curtains. Stretching out from the stage was a gleaming, dark wooden dance floor, encircled by round tables draped in pristine white linen. It was too early in the day so the silverware had yet to be placed, and the bar to the left of the stage remained empty and unlit. Despite the quiet atmosphere, the main kitchen to the right was never really quiet. Magnus frequently offered its use to local charities and schools for events and educational purposes.

A wide, second-floor mezzanine ran along both the left and right walls, featuring an understated wrought-iron railing that offered patrons seated at the upper tables an elevated view of the entire room and the stage below. Access to the mezzanine was provided through two sets of stairs, one on each side of the room. A second kitchen on the upper level, was connected to the main kitchen below, facilitating easier food transport for the staff via a discreet elevator. 

Magnus had made a concerted effort to preserve the original decor. The lower walls were painted a rich, warm ochre, serving as a backdrop for the numerous frames adorning them. The collection spanned decades, predominantly featuring works by Black artists, as well as photographs capturing memorable clientele or memorabilia that spoke of the city’s culture. 

Across the room, the doors remained shut. The establishment was quiet, lit up dimly by the stage lights.

Marcel gave him a short nod, as they came out onto the main floor, left of the stage. “She’s over there,” he said, subtly gesturing to the sole figure leaning against one of the tables across the room. “If you need me—”

“Mon Dieu, Marcel, everything is fine.” Mags sighed. “She’s just a kid I promised to keep an eye on for an old acquaintance.”

Marcel frowned. “An old acquaintance?”

“Stop worrying,” Magnus said. 

“Very well. If you say so.”

Marcel departed, and Magnus waited until the door clicked shut behind him before approaching the figure. She had been watching him since they emerged, her gaze steady but unmoving.

For a fleeting moment, Magnus wondered if he and Marcel had misunderstood each other because he didn’t recognize her at first. It wasn't uncommon for unexpected visitors to drop by, inquiring about job opportunities. Usually, Magnus would find them a position, even if it wasn't within his own restaurant.

Magnus halted a few feet away, his eyes scanning her. "Almost didn't recognize you, kiddo," he said, reaching for his pipe. He pulled it from his mouth and tapped the end against his chin. "You've gotten taller. Been eatin’ all your vegetables, ey?"

Height, however, was the least significant change about her. The first word that came to his mind was healthy. A healthy glow in the cheeks, an evident shine in her hair which she’d left down, pinned back only with a clasp. Even the lines under her eyes were harder to notice. 

The second word that came to his mind was light. Not necessarily happy, but lighter. It was evident in her posture, in the way she held herself, and in the way her eyes met his. They had such a brightness to them. No wonder he’d assumed she might have been someone else. 

"Hey, Mags."

“You good, kid?”

She smiled. “I am good. How are you?”

“Can’t complain,” he said, bringing the pipe back to his mouth, as he watched her give the restaurant a cursory look. She was still hawk-eyed.

“The fish are new,” she noted, glancing over the large tank pressed flush against the wall near the bar. Then her gaze moved over to the mezzanine.“That is a lot of flowers. What happens if someone is allergic?”

“They find elsewhere to eat,” he said dryly.

She lowered her head, amusedly. “Really?”

He waved his free hand. “There’s a couple of rooms past the bar for the romantic and the delicate,” he said. “You got here early. Where’s your little shadow?” That brother of hers had followed her around the entire time they'd been there last time. 

“He’s having beignets with Freddie.”

His brows lifted. “On their own?”

“No.” she said, as she placed her hands inside of her leather jacket. She’d come across as self-assured when he’d first met her too, but she was no longer as tense, Magnus thought silently. She still had her guard up, but she did not seem as…reactive. Harry had that calm confidence. “Is it safe to talk?”

He liked that she didn’t beat around the bush.

“Yes,” he said. “But I thought you came here for gumbo.”

She glanced over her shoulder towards the kitchen.

“Not there,” he smirked. “I’ve got my own recipe.”

.
.
.

Magnus' house sat on a quiet, oak-shaded street, two-story and enclosed by a wrought iron fence. He had it repainted every year, in the same shade Marina had decided the moment they bought it. Magnolia blue. The trim and all the railings were pristine white.

The first floor featured tall, narrow windows framed by louvered wooden shutters, designed to catch the faintest breeze in the humid air. A broad, covered front porch ran the width of the house, supported by slender columns and detailed with delicate ironwork. It was where they used to sit on wrought-iron chairs, sipping sweet tea, listening to the distant streetcars rumble and the kids play on the street. 

The garden, spilling out on either side of the house had been his wife’s creation too, and Magnus had made to keep it alive. Towering camellias and sprawling honeysuckle vines and blue-tinted hydrangeas.

The house had felt too big for them after they realized they’d never have kids of their own. Then it had felt too small when they began fostering, when Marina started using the empty rooms to hold community meetings and small fundraiser events. Eventually, they decided it’d been perfect all along.

After she died, Magnus had needed well over a year before he allowed people back in. In recent years, however, the house had been used more by Anriette and other former colleagues of his late wife. Magnus often preferred to sleep in the quarters he owned above the restaurant, especially if it was a busy period. 

Magnus watched Beth look around curiously, once inside. He didn’t miss the way her eyes darted to nooks and crannies, or the corners of the ceiling. Was she looking for cameras or microphones or both?

Eventually, she came back to the kitchen.

“Is that your wife?” Beth asked, when she spotted the framed pictures hanging from the wall. That entire wall was full of pictures. Kids they’ve helped, people they’ve worked with, precious memories.

“Marina.” Mags said. “Was.”

Beth’s expression didn’t change, but didn’t betray anything either. “Do you like hearing condolences?”

“Not much.” 

She nodded, in understanding. “She had a very kind smile.”

Magnus smiled. He always liked when people noticed that first, because it was what he’d noticed too. Of course, his wife had also been absolutely drop-dead gorgeous.

Beth turned away from the wall to face him. Magnus was standing by the round kitchen table, where he’d poured a couple of glasses of strongly-brewed iced tea. A half-melted candle sat in the middle, a testament to the recent neighborhood blackouts; easy-to-find candles were scattered all around the house.

“Why let me come here?” she asked, taking a seat across from him. “There’s a lot of personal information that could be used as leverage.”

“My wife’s dead. I have no kids,” Magnus replied simply. “There’s not that much leverage, kid. Besides, I thought you wanted privacy.”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t look under the table for a microphone.”

“I could see underneath the table from the other side of the room.”

Magnus grinned, entertained. “Let’s hear it then.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

Beth hesitated, glancing around the room. “You grew up here, right? New Orleans has a lot of stories about the supernatural. Magic. Curses.”

“You’re asking me if I believe in all that?”

“Yes.”

Magnus tapped the end of his pipe against his bottom teeth. “A lot of folks who grew up here, we grew up with stories. We all know at least one person who heard or saw something that made them question themselves. It’s folklore, religious practice, all of it wrapped up. My mama believed it all. She used to think her aunt could… commune with the spirits.”

“You know all that, though,” Magnus remarked. “I remember you and your brother reading up on it when you were here last time.”

Beth’s mouth twitched. “But do you believe in any of it?”

“Will my answer change anything?” Magnus challenged. “If I say yes, will that make me more prepared for your story? More trustworthy?”

“Maybe,” Beth admitted. “If you don’t believe in the extraordinary, you might be more inclined to keep secrets.”

“And if I believed too much, I might be inclined to tell others,” he countered.

“You don’t seem the type to blab.”

“You don’t seem like a supernatural creature to me,” Mags replied immediately, giving her a long, appraising look. “You walk out in the sun, unbothered, and come in without needing an invitation. Not a vampire. You are flesh and blood, so not a spirit, either.”

Beth couldn't help but smile.

“I may be old, child, but I am no fool. I see the pattern,” Mags continued.

“The pattern?”

“A fire destroyed the Foster house. Harry had burn scars—new ones each time he came to visit. The kid who died? Charlie told me he was a piece of work; the world is better off without the likes of him.” He paused, his gaze steady. “That Energy place in Hawkins? Burned down. The sanatorium? Burned down.” Magnus didn't sound worried, just profoundly interested. “You were involved in all those fires, kid. Your brother too. Harry told me he hoped we’d get along, or you might end up burning my restaurant down.”

Beth’s brows lifted slightly. “He could have a twisted sense of humor.”

“It’s not a joke, is it, though?” Mags’ head tilted. “So, a creature of fire. Is that what you are? You are something, for sure. It would explain a lot. Your mother was something, herself, wasn’t she?”

Beth blinked, caught off guard. “Our mother? I thought you never met her.”

“Did I say that?”

“Harry used to say you were the best kind of connection because you knew so little.”

“Harry was a damn liar,” Magnus snorted. “I met your mother. Once or twice.”

Beth sighed. “Of course you did. Why did you say that about her?”

“You going to drink that iced tea or are you worried I poisoned it?”

“Did you?”

Magnus rolled his eyes, grabbed his glass, and downed half of it.

“I didn’t actually assume that,” Beth said, finally lifting her glass and taking a few sips.

“Your mother saved my wife’s life,” Magnus said next, his voice dropping.

“Saved?” Beth frowned.

Magnus glanced past her shoulder at the wall of photos. “Many years ago, one evening, we got a call in the middle of the night.”

“Was it from my father?”

“En effet,” he said. “Indeed. He and I had rules about calling each other, just like you and I have. He called and said, ‘Old boy, you and Marina better get out of that house, right away.’”

“You were in danger?”

“Carbon dioxide poisoning. Un tueur silencieux. A silent killer. Marina was already struggling to get up when I went to get her. I was feeling a little out of it, but I stayed late in my study and got lucky. We got out just in time.”

“He didn’t tell you how he knew?”

“Only that he had his ways.”

“That sounds like my father.”

Magnus grunted in assent.

Beth took another sip of her iced tea, then she glanced over her shoulder at the wall of photos. “How did Marina—”

“A heart attack.” Magnus said. “She had heart issues.”

“I am sorry.”

“Told you I don’t like hearing that.”

Beth smiled wanly. “What makes you think my mother had something to do with that call?”

“Great intuition and old age.”

She snorted. “No, really?”

Magnus shrugged. “I am open minded,” he said. “And that wasn’t the first time she’d said something to make me think she was a little…different. She told my wife that, once, that we’d have many children.”

Magnus lowered his pipe and exhaled. “I don’t need to know the details.” Beth stared at him in surprise. “In fact, I am not sure I want to. I’ve learned that sometimes, some things are best left unspoken. What matters is if you can trust me, and I can trust you. That is a very rare currency, kid, as I am sure you know by now.”

Beth was naturally suspicious of such easy acceptance, yet that was exactly why her father had trusted Magnus. They’d had an understanding. 

“Have the terms of our original arrangement changed?” 

“Not exactly,” Beth admitted. “There’s just more risk involved.”

Magnus’s eyes narrowed. “The government?”

“Maybe,” she said. “Harry told you anything about that?”

“He said the government might end up being the thing you run from. I assumed he pissed someone off on a case. But that’s not it, is it?”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “It’s not the kind of trouble anyone would normally think of, let’s say.”

“Off the record government operations, then.” He tilted his head back, scrutinizing her. “How long are you going to be here for?”

“A few days.”

“You should stay for the boogaloo,” he offered. “You said you needed up-to-date papers?”

“That would be appreciated, yes.”

He nodded curtly. “Give me three days, at least.”

“And you’ll also think about what we just discussed?”

“Will that make my final answer more trustworthy?”

“A little.”

“Very well.”

Beth downed the rest of the iced tea. Magnus refused to let her wash the glass. He led her to the back exit, guiding her on how to leave the property as inconspicuously as possible.

When Magnus went back inside, he noticed the candle on the table was lit. He stared at it, thoughtfully. Outside, on the porch, the wind chimes clinked softly.

“Hm, yeah. She’s an interesting one, isn’t she, my love?”