Chapter 84: Billy
Steve
Hawkins Community Pool on June 30th was exactly as I remembered—chlorine smell, screaming kids, Billy Hargrove golden and cruel on the lifeguard stand.
In canonical timeline, this was where it started. Where Billy got possessed driving home from work, became the Mind Flayer's primary host, began spreading the infection.
I had four days to prevent that. Four days to save Billy Hargrove from becoming monster and dying hero.
No pressure.
He watched the pool with calculated charm, flirting with the mothers, especially Karen Wheeler. Playing his role—beautiful, dangerous, available.
But I saw the bruises. Fading marks on his ribs where Neil's fists had landed, hidden under golden tan. The way he flinched at sudden movements. The rage simmering constantly beneath the surface.
Wounded. Vulnerable. Perfect target for the Mind Flayer.
Billy
Steve Harrington watching me from across the pool deck was unsettling. Not the usual sizing-up or jealousy. Something else. Assessment. Like I was mission objective.
He approached during my break, casual but purposeful.
"Hargrove. We need to talk."
"About what? Your terrible ice cream uniform?"
"About your dad."
My entire body went rigid. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Neil. The bruises. The reason you're so angry all the time." Steve's voice dropped lower. "And the reason something very dangerous is going to target you specifically in the next few days."
"You're insane."
"Maybe. But I saved your life once already. Demo-dog attack, remember? I absorbed your mortal wounds using abilities I can't explain." He stepped closer. "Something bad is coming. It targets wounded people—physically, emotionally. Uses trauma as entry point. You're prime candidate."
Max
I watched Steve corner Billy from the snack bar. Whatever they were discussing made Billy's mask slip—actual fear showing through the anger for just a second.
"What do you think they're talking about?" Lucas asked beside me.
"Steve's probably warning him. About something. He does that—knows things before they happen, tries to prevent tragedies."
"Think Billy will listen?"
"Billy never listens. That's his whole problem." But even as I said it, I wasn't sure. Billy had changed after last year, after Steve saved him. Maybe he'd changed enough to accept help.
Steve
Billy was shutting down, walls slamming into place. I was losing him.
"My parents haven't been home in six months," I said, pivoting strategy. "I've been fighting actual monsters since I was seventeen. Dimensional creatures, possession, things that make horror movies look tame." I pulled out a note with an address. "Quarry. Midnight tonight. I'll show you proof—my abilities, my corruption scars, everything. Then you decide if you believe me."
Billy stared at the note. "Why do you care? I've been nothing but an asshole to you and your friends."
"Because in another timeline, you die a hero. You sacrifice yourself saving a twelve-year-old girl from a monster you helped create. And I'm not letting that happen." I met his eyes. "You deserve better ending than dying for redemption. You deserve to actually live long enough to become the good person you're trying to be."
His hand closed around the note. Not acceptance, but not rejection either.
"Midnight. Quarry. You're buying beer if this is bullshit."
"Deal."
Heather
Watched Steve Harrington leave, then approached Billy's station.
"What was that about?"
"Nothing. Steve Harrington being weird."
But Billy's hands shook as he climbed back onto the lifeguard stand. Whatever Steve had said, it had gotten through the armor Billy wore so carefully.
I didn't know Steve well—different social circles, different grades. But reputation said he was strange, paranoid, fought "wild animals" and got medals for "finding missing persons."
Also reputation said he'd changed, become serious and intense after sophomore year. Like he'd seen something that aged him too fast.
Maybe he really does know something, I thought, watching him walk away toward the mall. Maybe Billy should listen.
Karen
Billy Hargrove was every suburban mother's fantasy—young, beautiful, dangerous enough to be exciting but employed enough to be respectable.
I watched him from my lounge chair, knowing it was wrong, not caring. Ted ignored me, the kids needed nothing from me, my life was boring maze of laundry and dinner parties.
Billy was escape fantasy. Nothing more.
Except Steve Harrington had just talked to him with intense focus that made Billy actually look uncertain. And Steve Harrington, from what Nancy said, fought monsters. Real ones. Had scars and abilities and knowledge that scared people who knew him well.
Maybe fantasy should stay fantasy, I thought, watching Billy's hands still shaking on the lifeguard chair. Maybe some escapes aren't worth the cost.
Steve
I returned to Scoops Ahoy, served ice cream on autopilot, watched the clock crawl toward midnight.
Billy might not come. Had every reason not to—trust issues, pride, fear of vulnerability. I was asking him to believe impossible things from someone he barely tolerated.
But I'd planted the seed. Mentioned Neil, mentioned trauma, mentioned targeting. If Billy was as smart as I thought—and he was, under all the rage—he'd recognize truth when he heard it.
Please come, I thought. Please let me save you. You deserve to survive this.
Robin appeared beside me. "You told him?"
"Enough to intrigue him. Not enough to scare him off."
"What if he doesn't show?"
"Then I adapt. Shadow him until the Mind Flayer makes its move, intervene before possession completes." I scooped mint chip mechanically. "But I'd rather have his cooperation. Easier to protect someone who knows the threat."
"And if he comes but doesn't believe you?"
"I'll show him Phase 3 abilities, corruption scars, the Portal-Marking Chalk reacting to dimensional weak points. Proof first, explanations after."
The mall clock ticked toward closing. Four hours until midnight. Four hours to prepare the pitch that might save Billy Hargrove's life.
One apocalypse at a time. Right now, that apocalypse is preventing Billy's possession.
My silver scars pulsed in agreement.
The Mind Flayer was watching. Planning. Hunting.
But so was I.
And I had advantage—I knew exactly what it would try.
Now I just had to stop it.
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