𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 | it feels like a lifetime ago, but you knew billy once. when a stranger calls you from a hospital, you're ready to drop everything to be at his side again.
𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽 | 2.7k
𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 | 18+ adult content (no smut but just mature in general), violence mentions, inpatient psychiatric care, implied abuse and abusive childhoods, fluff and angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of alcohol consumption and possibly drug use, technically kind of platonic but also kind of not... it's complicated
please let me know if you guys want a part 2 to this, I'm not sure if there's enough demand for it but I got a few requests recently for a billy knight fic <3
Perhaps it was part of your role as the self-elected leader of the unit, but you tried to introduce yourself to every new intake.
You’d been here the longest of anyone now, everyone you met when you arrived had been discharged, and you felt it was your duty to do for these new kids what Rory back on your first day did for you: come by your room and tell you that everything was going to be okay.
You leaned in the open doorway, and the new kid was doing what they’re usually doing when you show up: sitting on the edge of their unmade bed, sheets folded beside them, staring at the wall. He wasn’t as dazed as some of them— he must not have put up a fight so he didn’t get any tranqs— but you could see the gears turning in his head as he considered everything that led him to this point, locked in a psych ward possibly against his will. No one actually chooses to be here… some just accept it once they arrive, and some do not.
He wasn’t completely freaking out or trashing the place, though, so that was a good sign.
It took him a minute to notice you, and when he did, he shot you a slightly skittish look with those massive brown eyes he had, nearly hidden by a mess of blonde-ish curls.
"What are you in for?" you asked, raising your wrist to display the white plastic band with a smirk.
He barely glanced at it, before wrapping his fingers around his own wrist to cover the label. He was bouncing his leg rapidly, staring forward with bloodshot eyes, the kind you get from not sleeping well for months.
"You'll sleep better here," you promised, and he stopped moving his leg, looking up at you again, and you smiled. "Night meds have something that help you sleep. It's not that strong, won't knock you out right away, but it helps. I swear I never had my eyes shut for eight hours straight 'til I got here."
As you laughed politely, he glanced up and down at you. "What's your name?" he asked quickly.
You stepped forward and told him as you gingerly sat beside him on the bed. He nodded a little when he heard it, you almost wondered if you'd heard him say 'pretty' under his breath. "What's yours?" you asked.
"Billy," he answered. "I mean, William, but that's what everyone calls me. Y-you could call me something else if you wan'."
You smiled. "I think Billy will be just fine, unless you'd like me to call you something else."
"Billy's okay," he agreed, wiping under his nose with his knuckles as he looked at you for a second. "It's not that bad here, then?"
You shook your head. "It's my favorite so far. Easily one of my top ten juvenile mandatory inpatient psychiatric facilities."
Billy snorted as he smiled and looked down, and you smiled too. "You're funny," he decided.
"Yeah?" you grinned.
"Yeah," he hummed. "A-and…"
"Mm?" you encouraged softly, but he didn't go on. "And… mad? Strange? Stunningly gorgeous?"
You were just joking on the last one, but it seemed to throw him off, and he shook his head as he laughed breathily at you. "Mad, definitely mad," he decided.
"Well, Billy," you leaned in closer, resting a hand on his shoulder as he looked at it and then you with watery eyes, "we're all mad here."
xx
"Miss, do you know a William Knight?"
You clutched your phone tighter as you held it to your ear; you'd wondered if you'd ever hear that name again. “Billy? Yes, I—” you couldn't decide if you should say know or knew. “Yes. Is everything alright? Why are you calling?”
“We found your name in his wallet. An old hospital ID bracelet.”
You smiled. How could he have kept that rotting old thing for all these years?
“We were hoping to find someone who could come talk to him. He's being treated at St. Agnes' now for stab wounds.”
You gasped. "Oh my god— is he okay?"
"Yes, he'll be fine,” the voice on the other end of the call assured. “He's awake now, medicated, a little disoriented but… frankly, he's in a better state now than he was before the attack. He was quite psychotic and dysregulated."
You chewed your lip. "Wait— before the attack? How did you… who is this?"
"My name is Cormoran Strike, Billy is a client of mine."
"I hope you're a therapist, Mr. Strike."
"I'm a detective."
You shut your eyes and sighed.
"Can you come to the hospital?" he asked.
"O-of course. I'm leaving work now, I should be there before the half-hour."
xx
“Thank you for calling me,” you sighed as you stood in front of Cormoran and his assistant, Robin.
“The hospital was running out of options for next-of-kin to contact,” Cormoran explained. “We figured you must be a good friend.”
You smiled. “Well, I am. But we haven’t spoken in over ten years.”
They both gave you a shocked look, and glanced at each other.
“Not since I gave him that wristband you found,” you admitted with a laugh.
“But you came on such short notice,” Robin recalled.
“Certain people will always be in your life,” you explained, “no matter how long you go without seeing them. Billy and I lost contact after I was discharged from that hospital, but we made a promise to never forget each other. I knew we were keeping it, all this time…”
As you looked down at the floor for a minute, cheeks warming, you felt that nervous feeling growing in your stomach— the one you’d had since you hopped in the car. It was intimidating to imagine seeing him again. You were expecting, on some level, to walk around that corner and see the same boy you saw sitting on his bed way back then; you almost felt like the girl that had introduced yourself to him, too. But so much had changed since then— even if you felt in your heart that some things hadn’t. You could only hope that he felt the same way.
“Can I see him now?” you asked quietly.
“Yes,” Cormoran nodded, “but know that he might be a little disengaged— he’s still coming off of anesthesia and other medications.”
You nodded, another mumbled thank you before you stepped past them and leaned past the corner. You smiled as soon as you saw him, even though he looked rougher than you’d hoped for. Time hadn’t been especially kind to him, but he was real, he was here, he was a grown man— which, after everything he’d been through, just growing up was an achievement. You were so proud that he’d made it this far.
He didn’t see you yet, still staring forward at the row of chairs across from him, elbows resting on his knees. "We've simply got to stop meeting like this," you grinned.
He looked at you, and seemed to recognize you in a moment before suddenly becoming concerned. "You're not staying here, are you?" he asked quickly.
"No, I'm only visiting," you assured.
"Oh," he sighed, relaxing a bit as you approached him and sat next to him on a chair. "Who are you here to see?"
You couldn't help but laugh softly, though you didn't answer the question, instead reaching up to rest your hand on his. "How are you feeling?"
He breathed out heavily. "I'm better. But things haven't been so good."
You nodded. "So I've heard… a friend of yours called me, said you got hurt?"
He chewed his lip for a moment; you loved that after over a decade, he barely questioned your presence, he just started talking. Of course, the cocktail of pills he was on at the moment likely contributed to that, but you knew part of it was the bond you had as well. Some things really don’t change. “Yeah,” he finally agreed to your question. “But m’okay now. They gave me some things to make the bad thoughts go away.”
“That’s good,” you hummed, “it’s so scary when you’re having bad thoughts, but you’re not bad.”
He raised his hand to his mouth where he started to chew on his thumb, but you reached forward and gently moved it back down again, making him glance at you. “I remember you told me that before,” he replied quietly. “When we lived in the same place.”
It almost seemed like he remembered it better as a feeling rather than a real experience; like he recognized you without really knowing how you met. “I did tell you that,” you agreed. “You remember that, right? We stayed in a place called O—”
“Oak Hill,” he interrupted, “yeah. You visited me on my very first day.”
“And you called me mad,” you remembered with a laugh. “Thought it was pretty rich coming from you.”
“I— I didn’t want to call you that. I was gonna say something else,” he remembered, looking away, forcing you to lean in closer.
“What? What did you want to say then?” you pressed.
“I… well,” he stalled as he ran his hand over his hair, ruffling it slightly— a nervous tic you remembered. “I wanted to call you pretty.”
You smiled a bit, glancing down. “You thought I was pretty when you met me?”
"Always thought you were pretty," he said quietly, looking at you with that scared puppy look like he thought he might be doing something wrong by admitting that. "Did we kiss or did I just imagine it? I mean, I know I imagined it, I just can't remember if that night by the creek was real."
You smiled. "If you imagined it then so did I. I remember it, too."
He nodded, smiling a little, and your heart melted just to see it again— that smile. It was nothing compared to the wide grins and belly laughs you remembered, but it was a good start.
"I told you to find me again when we were both back on the other side," you remembered. "Did you ever look me up, try to ring me?"
He crossed his arms slightly, looking down into his lap, before shaking his head.
"Well, I'm glad that we've seen each other again," you decided. "I really hoped you were doing so well… I'm sorry to hear you've had a tough go of it since then. I was always thinking of you, but I guess it didn't help."
"Thinking of you helped me," he countered, and your chest filled with a gasp and with hope. "I, er… I figured you'd find someone better than me."
You delicately reached up and tucked his hair behind his ear, toying lightly with one of his loose wavy strands. "You've brushed your curls out," you noticed with a slight pout.
"Y-yeah," he mumbled, reaching up to touch his hair self-consciously. "I got sick of 'em, looked like a clown—"
"No, your hair was so nice," you insisted, "I loved your curls."
His cheeks seemed to tint as he gave you a tiny smile. "Nah…"
"And you've got a beard now," you noticed too, making him laugh and brush your hand away as you rubbed his face for a second. "You're so… scruffy."
"Look like a stray dog, I reckon," he shrugged.
"No, Billy, you look good," you assured.
He turned his head to look at you, really, for the first time. His eyes were big, of course, that warm brown like a blanket over your shoulders. It took you right back— to those months in the ward with him, to that night by the creek where he kissed you and held you close and you thought that was it, that you and him would be together and nothing else mattered.
But you saw the darkness under his eyes too, the lines at the corners, and you could only imagine how tired he was. As you reached up to brush your hands over his face, he caught a glimpse of the ring on your hand.
He held your hand so delicately, guiding it back so he could see your fingers, and smiled as he pinched the diamond between two fingers to get a better look at it. "Who's the lucky bloke, then?"
"His name's George," you answered, smiling back at him.
"Is he a footballer?"
You snorted. "Heavens, no— he's an architect. What makes you think he's a footballer?"
"Always thought you'd marry one."
You scrunched up your nose as you shoved him on the shoulder. "Shut up!" you whined. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I dunno," he shrugged as he laughed. "Just… pretty girls who like attention always end up with footballers. It was that or Prince Harry."
"Oh my god," you rolled your eyes. "What about you, have you got a girlfriend?"
His eyes got a little sadder and he glanced down. "N-no… I was seeing a girl for a while, but… she left."
"I'm sorry," you sighed, "I was hoping you had someone to take care of you…"
"W-well, there's my brother…"
You stiffened up; you still remembered the things he told you about his brother all those years ago in the facility. His idea of 'taking care' of Billy made you concerned. "Do you know when they'll discharge you?"
"Eh?" he mumbled. "Oh, no… maybe today."
"Well, I'm gonna leave you my number," you promised, "and address. I'll leave a little money too so you can take a taxi to my place—"
He started to shake his head, his lips pursing. "Y'don't have to do that for me—"
"But I really want to, Billy," you assured. "If you'd like to come over, we'd love to have you for dinner."
"I-I did look you up once," he admitted suddenly. "I wanted to call you— I really did, but… I guess I was afraid of what you'd think. You always told me to do something with my life."
You smiled and pet his head, combing your fingers through his hair. "I just want you to be okay, Billy, s'all I ever wanted."
He nodded quickly, glancing away.
"Will I see you around then?" you pressed.
"Yeah— maybe we can grab a pint or something."
You didn't have the heart to tell him you couldn't drink on your meds; and you sighed, knowing if he was drinking then he was probably not on meds and obviously not staying sober. But this could be a new start, if whoever operated on him gave him more than just painkillers; who knew how long he’d been unmedicated (or, knowing him, self-medicating), but you’d learned from a lot of breakdowns that it’s never too late to begin again.
You allowed yourself to touch his hair one more time, gently twirling a lock of light brown around your fingers, before you took the paper out of your purse along with a pen and hastily wrote your home and cell numbers, your address, even how to contact your office. You folded it up with some bills and gave them to him.
“Keep these in your pocket for later,” you instructed, and he took them with a slightly shaky hand to shove into his jeans pocket.
He watched you as you stood up.
“I’ll see you later, okay?” you prompted, but he suddenly stood up and faced you. He was taller, and you looked up at him for a moment before he quickly pulled you into an embrace; it was sort of stilted and uncomfortable even though it wasn’t really awkward in of itself, and you relaxed into him as you reciprocated the hug.
“I missed you,” he breathed against the top of your head, and you heard him take a deep inhale. “You smell the same.”
You smiled and pressed your face harder against his chest through the soft t-shirt. “You smell like hospital,” you admitted with a laugh.
He let you go, but you would’ve let him hold you for hours. “You have to go,” he noticed, sniffling as he rubbed under his nose. “But I’ll call. I really will this time.”
His empathy and emotional intelligence are through the roof. He realizes she is genuinely frightened almost as soon as he bumps into her, way more freaked out than is warranted by the situation. Either she’s very afraid of him, afraid of being seen with him, or afraid of getting caught doing business with him.
He tries to reassure her and help her feel safe in a lot of ways. He removes his denim vest and leather jacket (his armor and symbols of rebellion/individuality), making himself look smaller, more ordinary and therefore less intimidating. He sits across from her, trying to meet her as an equal. He tells her there’s nothing to worry about and he promises that they are safe. He casually and simply explains what the transaction will entail, offers her a good deal and asks if it is acceptable, indicating that he’s open to negotiation and that she has power in this situation.
But she is still so jumpy and he thinks it’s because of him. He tries to play it off as no big deal with that little shrug in the 2nd gif, but he’s disappointed and hurt. Tired of the assumption that he is ‘mean and scary’. (And as far as we have seen, this is unique to her, because earlier in the cafeteria, he was openly defiant, proud of his differences, and a tad aggressive. He made a show of playing into the labels others throw at him. But he doesn’t want her to believe it.)
So he makes further efforts to be non-threatening. He looks down and away from her, just completely breaks eye contact. He makes pacifying and surrendering/stop gestures with his hands. He removes his lunchbox from her sight to show her that he means it when he says they don’t have to do this; he’s not going to pressure her just because she expressed interest in buying. He places control of the situation entirely in her hands, and states he is willing to take marching orders if she gives them. He’ll walk away from the clearing, and walk away from the interaction like it never happened; her reputation will be intact because he won’t try to hold this over her.
But his entire demeanor shifts when she tells him she doesn’t want him to go. He was not expecting that at all. So, he’s not the problem, but he has no idea what might be troubling her instead. She’s clearly afraid but she doesn’t want him to leave her alone. If she’s afraid but she’s not threatened by him, she’s expressing a level of trust by telling him that. She feels safer with him there. The Queen of Hawkins High feels safe in the middle of the woods with the outcast, flunk-out freak.
So he makes eye contact again and he stays. He waits palms up, gentle and open. He was already concerned by her behavior, and now he’s uncertain of what’s coming next.
Thinking about Steve, who is so often talked down to that he doesn’t fight back on it, even when that kind of disrespect comes from kids younger than him who he routinely bends over backward to help. Steve, who told Nancy there was no point in him working on his college application essays because he wasn’t going to get in anyway. Steve, who isn’t surprised that he couldn’t get into Tech schools and says he has no future with a shrug. Steve, who is so used to being told how dumb he is that he doesn’t even look upset anymore when it happens. Steve, who feels the need to ask follow-up questions and get clarification on nearly everything because he doesn’t trust himself to know what’s going on unless someone else—someone “smarter”—lays it out for him. Steve, who finds actual relief instead of grief over the fact that he fell down the stairs as a baby because he thinks it could put an explanation behind why he is the way he is. Steve, who regularly refers to himself as an idiot and has no one who ever tells him otherwise. Steve, who gets ragged on for not being able to win a fight even though he’s clearly a lover, not a fighter, and seems reluctant to harm anyone that isn’t a monster threat. Steve, who only ends up in those fights 9 out of 10 times because he was looking out for others and trying to help by putting himself on the line despite knowing he’s going to get seriously hurt. Steve, who won’t pick up a gun as a weapon like Nancy or Jonathan or Hopper, or even a makeshift sword like Dustin and Eddie. Steve, who continues to use things like nail-bats and boat oars because he doesn’t want to be the guy who hurts people any more than he has to. Steve, who thinks he has no purpose beyond how much he can help others, so now he’s taken a full-time role of being the one to charge headfirst into danger and try to keep others safe because it’s literally the only time he feels like he’s worth something which is only solidified by the fact that everyone lets him and even expects him to.
Summary: Bullies are everywhere. They manifest as a group of jocks at school who think you're fat and want to make sure you know. Sometimes they even manifest as your own father. But can they manifest as the love of your life? No probably not.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7
Words: 1.2k
Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Plus Sized!GN!Reader ; Steve Harrington X Plus Sized!GN!Reader
Warnings: MENTIONS OF DISORDERED EATING IN THIS ONE!! Bullying, abuse, swearing, mean ass Billy obv
a.n: Billy’s learning the consequences of his actions finally o3o
The smell of spices filled the air as you stirred away at the pan you had on the stove. It wouldn't be an elegant meal, but from the way Billy had his eyes on it intently you figured he didn't really care.
"What are you even using? I swear Susan's food never smells this good.." He mumbles, chin resting on your shoulder as he stares into the pan. It's oddly domestic with his hands draped on your sides and the gentle warmth from his chest against your back. He'd tried to kiss you even more in the bathroom but when his stomach let out an embarrassing growl, you forced him to let you cook him a proper meal.
"Secret ingredients.. Be nice to me and I might share them," you chuckle softly, moving out of his grasp to grab the meat you had chunked up before dropping it in with the veggies. They sizzle instantly and you're back to stirring, Billy's hands returning to their place almost immediately. Nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck he holds you tighter, enjoying the softness you provide.
The scene is quiet other than the sounds of the plastic spoon against the pan, but inside you couldn't stop the constant monologue. It felt almost wrong to be here, in this moment, Billy Hargrove clinging to you like a doting husband. After the months of torment, all it took was a few soft words and you were wrapped around his finger like so many others? He hadn't even apologized for how he acted or the constant negative comments about your body. The body he was now so desperately holding. Words bubbled on the tip of your tongue.
So was it all a lie? You never hated my body? You just got what? A sick kick out of making me hate myself more? You know, I still hear every comment you or those other assholes made in my head when I look at myself in the mirror. Why don't you ask me how many meals I skipp–
"Fuck I'm hungry, is it almost done?" He whines as he steps away, opening the door to the fridge and helping himself to one of your father's many beers. It snaps you out of the fight you were having internally and brings you back. A part of you wished you would just bring it up, get it over with like a bandaid, but a smaller part craved this peace; A momentary cease-fire in an ongoing war yes, but peace nonetheless.
You can only watch as Billy takes his first bite apprehensively, but his face breaks out into a smile as he eats more comfortably. He motions for you to join him and you oblige, both of you chewing silently in the now too quiet trailer. The thoughts overpower you though and before you know it you're asking a question you're not even sure you want the answer to.
"Billy.. What was that.. in the bathroom I mean.." He looks up at you dumbfounded for a moment before responding.
"Uhm.. A kiss?"
"You know that's not what I mean.. First we're like mortal enemies and then secret friends and now what? Secret dating?"
"Is that what you want?" His question stops you in your tracks and honestly, you hadn't thought of that. If he did want to continue this, what would you say? And what about Steve?
"I.. Don't want to be kept a secret, I deserve more than that," you finally reply, feigning confidence but still mindlessly pushing around your food.
"It'll just be until we graduate, and then we can leave this shithole town.. Maybe move to California? You'd love it there, babe, I'm sure, way more freedom and people aren't such hicks.." You sigh as he skips right over your feelings, almost exactly like you knew he would.
"And what? Before then we just hide out at the lake on days when no one is there? I hide enough, Billy, at school, the pool, the mall.. I don't want to hide anymore,"
"I'm protecting you, don't you see that? I'm protecting both of us from whatever those assholes would do, they'd be relentless," he groans, slamming his fork down. "You have no idea how it would be if we were public."
"Steve Harrington asked me out in the middle of a packed cafeteria but Billy Hargrove is scared of what a few jocks will think?" There they go, the words you wanted to cling to more than anything, the one thing you had hoped to keep inside. You never wanted to bring up Steve in this discussion, but he was an inevitability so long as Billy wanted you for his own.
"He what?"
Any confidence you had fizzled with the icy cold stare in Billy's eyes. You could only stumble over your words as he stood in disbelief.
"So that's what this is.. King Steve asked you out? Is that where you were when I got here? I didn't expect you to be out but with Harrington no less?" The rage seemed to boil inside of him, his eyes darting around as he tried to put the pieces together, forcing them to fit a narrative he constructed. "You know, I didn't take you for a hit it and quit it type but if you agreed to go out with him–"
"I didn't do anything with him, Billy! Not that it's ANY of your business. I mean what did you say to me a few weeks ago? Oh wait I remember, "I wouldn't touch that with a twenty foot pole, probably would eat me"? And yet here you are, all over me like a fucking koala? What's the truth huh? At least Steve didn't tear me down for months just to show up at my doorstep. He isn't scared to tell me he cares about me in front of other people, you just hide behind your bullshit attitude and lackies cause you're scared to fall off your pedestal!" Tears are falling freely now, the anger too much to hold in. You'd be lying if you said his words didn't haunt you in every aspect of life. Ignoring them was easy when he hated you, you could pretend he didn't exist outside of school, but now with his presence an invasive species, they had nowhere to go.
"So what do you want me to do? Do you want me to parade you around town? Why do you want everyone to know anyway? So they can treat me like a prize you won? So you can be 'the one who tied down Billy Hargrove'?" Billy throws his hands in the air before running them through his hair, more arguing the last thing he wanted.
"I don't care about any of that, I just want to know that it matters to you how I feel. I won't let you use me like everyone else you've been with, a piece of ass or arm candy. I need to know, for certain, does everyone have to like you or am I enough?" A hush falls over both of you, your eyes on him and his on the floor. It was asking a lot of him, you knew that, telling him to throw out the reputation he spent the better part of a year building up, but it was impossible for him to ask you to hide in the shadows.
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