bury me anywhere (but hawkins, indiana) | harringrove

chapter eight: get a grip

JUNE 30TH, 1985

STEVE | NOW

Behind him, Robin's muttering something, but Steve can't make it out. The rain is gaining, lull giving way to a fresh, pelting wave; the yard around them should be floating away any minute as Steve kneels at the edge of the tub, gripping the edge with aching hands- well, one hand. The other isn't gripping so well, wrist or fingers or maybe both painfully refusing to pull their weight now that he needs them most, still bruised red from Billy's slamming grip.

Pinned like a hundred grasping, invisible hands are dragging him down, Billy doesn't look at him. Billy doesn't look at anyone but El, just past Steve's shoulder.

Around Billy, the water shivers with his twitching frame, snake-like tremors of movement that are barely stifled by El's grip. He struggles, veins in bright red definition as he strains against her hold- but Billy's face suddenly crumples, the flat, assessing mask sliding off like a wet sheet. Leaving nothing but Billy, the real Billy, behind with a wrenching gasp, eyes rolling frantically. Sweat drips off his chin, rolling down his temple and off the tip of his nose.

Billy's gaze jerks wildly to Steve's right, at Max. She looks more upset than Steve's ever seen her, cool-kid facade in flames. She goes stiff as Billy croaks her name.

"Max-" Billy grates it out like he has to scrape it past his own throat, "Max, I swear, it's not me okay? I swear- it's him- he keeps- he makes me do things-"

His fevered slur only worsens as he chokes up, whole body curling up under the water. He twitches forward, hand barely gripping at the edge of the hot tub.

"Please, make her stop- make her stop- gonna kill me-" Billy's desperate tone dissolves into taut despair, eyes bright with tears as he grasps uselessly toward Max, "don't let her kill me, Max, we're family, please-"

Steve's stomach sinks into a shriveled pit. He's never liked seeing people in pain, and hearing Billy like this- it's not right, nothing should be able to pull that terror from his throat, and he'd already caught enough glimpses of this small and fearful Billy in the last hour than he ever wanted to see again.

Beside him, Max is shaking her head hard. She leans in past the edge of the tub, past him, reaching for Billy, "I promise! I promise, El's gonna help you Billy-"

And cuts off with a splash as Billy's hand fists in the front of her shirt.

Max flies forward with a yelp. Steve reaches for her blindly when she jerks midair and is flung backward instead, tearing out of Billy's grip and bowling back into Steve. Both of them go sprawling, Max's bony elbow slamming into Steve's ribs as she tries to get back up. Steve flops back on the deck, winded, and barely yanks his hand back before Lucas can run him over trying to help Max up.

Blood's starting to drip from El's nose, crawling down her upper lip. Her hand trembles, and she gasps as Billy snarls, steaming water flying. He must have hit the control panel in his lunge, because the underwater lights flip on in a glimmering disco-ball of pinks and blues, throwing El's strained face into sharply cartoonish relief where they radiate up through the bubbling water.

Dustin and Robin reappear next to Steve- when had they gone?- hauling the... garden hose? The coil is unhooked from the wall spout, dragging behind them like a gawky green snake.

"Here! We can tie him up-"

"Hurry!"

And of course they look at Steve, and Steve matches eyes with a slightly pale Robin but mostly El, the girl struggling and intent despite the blood, and Steve swears. Anything that'd help, right?