Chapter Text
Steve didn’t like to think he was a cliche, but, damn. The evidence was stacked against him, here.
Cruising down the strip at midnight in his BMW and sunglasses, still wearing his rumpled suit from work, eyes skimming over the girls shivering in tiny skirts and too much makeup.
Catching on a cluster of young men the next block down, biceps and navels on display even in the freezing weather, hips cocked at calculated angles.
Steve adjusted his grip on the steering wheel as one of them broke away to approach his car, smile stretching blue-tinged lips.
Steve rolled down his window to a blast of frigid Chicago air, tilting his sunglasses down as the boy leaned in.
“Looking for company?”
And, oh, fuck, he was a boy. Like, an actual teenager. Dustin’s age at the oldest, holy shit.
Jesus, Steve was a lowlife creep.
The boy watched him with guarded eyes, heavy liner smudged at the corners as Steve reached into his console and pulled out a wad of cash.
He held it out, cold air whistling across his knuckles as the boy snatched it quick, pulling on the door handle and brows knitting as Steve hit the locks.
“Door won’t open, mister.”
Steve shoved his sunglasses back up his nose, facing front.
“Go get your friends and find someplace warm for the night.”
The boy pushed away from the door with a quiet “what the fuck?”, hips swaying in artfully ripped jeans as he made his way back to his group.
Steve didn’t glance at another streetcorner for several blocks, bile thick in his throat.
He flinched hard as one of the streetlights overhead flickered out, the sudden wash of darkness strengthening his resolve.
He couldn’t go home alone.
He needed to find somebody. Just for tonight. Just until dawn.
A shadowy silhouette peeled away from the busted-up brick edifice of some warehouse, Steve’s breath stuttering in his chest as the circle of streetlight illuminated one side of his face.
One side was enough.
Holy shitballs, Steve had finally lost his goddamned mind.
He was seeing ghosts.
Well, a ghost. Singular. Just the one, so far. Christ.
He sat frozen, lead foot on the brake as the ghost drew closer, hands tucked into the pockets of his thin denim jacket.
No way. No actual, motherfucking way.
The ghost of Billy Hargrove leaned in the open window of Steve’s car with that trademark smirk and, honestly, Steve was kind of impressed by how detailed his own hallucination could be.
“Wanna fuc-What the shit? HARRINGTON?”
They blinked at one another for about ten seconds before Steve’s brain finally managed to fire off a thought.
“You’re real?”
Steve couldn’t stop the words from spilling out of his mouth, his own stupidity a constant echo in his empty head. Billy’s face reflected his thoughts as he yanked on the door handle until Steve reached over to hit the lock with shock-numb fingers.
“Real fucking freezing. Let me in, pencil dick.”
He tumbled onto Steve’s ivory leather upholstery with a shudder, boots stomping heavy globs of grey snow into Steve’s pristine cream carpeting. The door shut with a thud and suddenly Steve’s roomy interior was half the size, every spare inch taken up by the sheer presence of Billy’s ghost.
“It’s colder than your mom’s snatch out there, Jesus.”
Billy cupped his hands over the vent puffing out warm air as quickly as Steve’s state-of-the-art heater could go. Steve reached over to crank it up to the max, hand brushing against the frozen edge of Billy’s sleeve.
It did not feel particularly ghostly.
Billy huffed out a breathless burst of laughter, raking Steve over from his tailored suit to his polished loafers. Steve pulled off his sunglasses, fumbling them into his center console, acutely embarrassed by his own douchebaggery.
“Look at you, man. All grown up and trolling for ass.”
He didn’t sound very ghostly, either. Or look it, up close.
Up close, Steve could see the wind chapped rosiness of his cheeks and nose, blonde curls blown into disarray. He looked like he had lost weight since his death, cheeks sunken above his square jaw.
Those eyes, though.
The eyes were the same. Steve had almost forgotten how blue they were. Baby blue and so damn pretty, like a girl.
“So am I sucking you off, or what?”
Billy’s impatient growl pulled Steve back into the present. Back into his car that may never be the same after Billy had sprawled out across his seat.
Steve remembered now, the way he had always left a mark.
Billy’s thick eyebrows raised as he leaned into Steve’s space, snapping his fingers under Steve’s nose and laughing as he jerked away.
“I got in the car, dipshit. Meter’s running.”
Steve cleared his throat, hating the way he sounded like his father. He tried to school his features into anything that might disguise the fact that his heart was trying to climb out his throat.
“You charge by the hour?”
Billy’s hands kept clenching around the cuffs of his jacket, legs restless in the footbed. He gave Steve the most condescending look he had ever received, and that was a long fucking list.
“This your first time, princess? Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”
Steve ignored the shiver that crept down his spine as Billy’s voice dipped low and sweet, settling over him like a blanket.
He looked around the block of warehouses they were parked in front of. Nothing between here and the docks but an extensive menu of bad decisions. Nobody lived here, they just wandered down to fight or fuck. Or both, he thought, chewing on the scar at the corner of his lip that reminded him of Billy.
“Where are you staying?”
Billy’s face closed off, that hint of teasing gone in a flash. There was a shadow on his left cheek that might have been a bruise, fading now. He tossed his hair out of his eyes, damp curls springing back into place.
“Around. What’s it to you?”
Steve shrugged, aiming for casual but hitting right at demented robot.
“I’m just curious about your living situation.”
Or, really, just that fact that he was living. At all. Fuck.
Steve ought to know by now to expect the unexpected but, goddamn.
“Don’t worry your pretty head about it, Harrington.”
Books weren’t really Steve’s thing. He wasn’t much of a reader, never had the focus for it.
But, this. Steve could read between the lines.
“I just. I thought, maybe, if you were between places or something right now-” Billy interrupted him with a mirthless snort, facing away from Steve as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, packing them hard against his palm, “-if that were the case, then we could work out an arrangement that could help us both out.”
Billy’s eyes were wary, bruised knuckles tight around the slightly bent cigarette he had chosen, tucking the pack away.
“So spill. I don’t have time to sit here and hold your hand if I’m gonna make any money tonight. You got a light?”
Steve pulled his custom monogrammed lighter out of his pocket, holding it out as he tried to catch Billy’s eye.
“That’s the thing. I don’t want you to-”
Billy flicked open the lighter, running his thumbnail across the trigger while he scowled at Steve over his cigarette.
“Here’s a news flash, King Steve, I don’t give a fuck what you want. Bet that’s a real novel sensation for you, huh?”
The wave of nostalgia hit Steve so hard he swore he could smell the locker room. It made his stomach turn and his heart skip rope. It made him stupid. The words were out before he could think it through, which, honestly, story of his life right there.
“Move in with me.”
Billy’s cigarette flopped out of his mouth, filter barely hanging on as it stuck to his lower lip. Steve’s lighter flicked closed with a snap.
“What? The fuck?”
Steve ran his hand through his hair, wincing as he ruined all of his hard work that morning making the most of his best feature. Dried hairspray crunched beneath his fingers.
“I mean. Not like, um, roommates or whatever. But like, as an arrangement.”
Billy eyed him warily over the flame as he lit his cigarette, pocketing Steve’s engraved silver lighter like it was a gas station bic.
“Yeah you keep saying that word, and it’s just getting creepier every time.”
Panic pressed sudden and sharp within Steve’s chest, his entire body aching with exhaustion. He knew he looked like a mess, because he was a huge fucking mess. He gestured inarticulately, coming back to his hair to pull it into absolute ruination.
“I need. Things. And I can’t get them from a normal relationship. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
Steve could feel sweat beading along his hairline, gripping the steering wheel just to hold onto something solid. He didn’t want to talk about this. He never talked about this. He had signed multiple government contracts specifically prohibiting his talking about this.
Billy’s hand crept toward the door handle, body held still and eyes sharp on his face.
“What kinda things? You some sort of freak, Harrington?”
Steve’s hair flopped in his face as he shook his head, all the volume he had worked so hard to achieve lost in a fit of nerves. He pushed it off his forehead, keeping the other hand white-knuckled on the wheel.
“Nothing weird. Or, shit. Like, nothing bad. I promise.”
Oh man, Steve was fucking this up so much already. Really putting his own personal touch of fuck-up on it.
“Not real reassuring, shitstain.”
Billy’s hand rested on the door handle, cool and casual and poised to leave the second Steve finally fucked up enough.
Steve leaned forward until his face pressed along the top of the steering wheel, the leather smooth and cold against his skin. He let his shoulders drop, mumbling the truth into his lap.
“I just. I can’t sleep. And I feel like I’m gonna bust out of my own skin sometimes, you know?”
He chanced a look at Billy, finding a hint of understanding rising beneath his snarl. Understanding and, fuck, maybe pity. Steve shut his eyes against it, letting the words tumble out of his mouth.
“And I need someone, sometimes. To just, like, hold me down. Keep me here on Earth, or whatever. And it would be real fucking convenient if it was someone who didn’t ask questions when I wake up screaming and shit, so.”
Billy didn’t seem the type to ask questions, because Billy didn’t seem the type to care. And, God, it would be so fucking nice to have someone around that knew exactly how shitty and fucked up and terrifying the world really was. Maybe Steve wouldn’t have to pretend, anymore. It was so exhausting to pretend like everything was normal all the time.
Like anything could ever be normal again.
“What happened? You scare away all your prissy little girlfriends?”
Billy’s lips pursed around his cigarette for a long, hard draw, smoke drifting lazily from his nostrils. He pulled his hand away from the door to ash out of the window. Steve was pleasantly surprised that he hadn’t let it drop onto his upholstery.
“Something like that. You game?”
Billy flicked his cigarette butt out into the dirty slush that lined the curb, rolling up his window with a stifled shiver as the wind cut off. Quick fingers tapped against the dashboard.
“What’s in it for me?”
Steve straightened up, reading all the signs that Billy was settling in to stay, or, at least dragging his foot in from where he had been keeping the proverbial door ajar.
“I’ll give you a place to stay, free room and board. We can work out a payment schedule. I’m not worried about cash. I just need you to be there when I get home at night. Keep a light on for me.”
The soft curve of Billy’s upper lip lifted in a sneer, disdain dripping from his west coast vowels.
“And bend over for you whenever you want, right?”
Steve’s face erupted in a mortifying blush. Stupid. So stupid, considering that this was exactly what he had set out to find. Better than, even. He closed his eyes for a deep breath before peeking up at Billy through his lashes, unaccountably shy.
“Um. Actually. The other way around. If you’re up for it.”
Billy’s sneer fell from his face as it rearranged into a frown, brows drawing together with incredulity.
“You can’t be serious.”
Steve pushed himself back into his seat with a sigh. Billy’s disbelief was almost insulting, like he couldn’t believe that Steve might have the balls to take a dick.
“I am. Serious. I’m fucking, very serious, man.”
Billy tilted his head, reminding Steve of a hawk following the path of a field mouse. Christ, he needed to stop watching nature documentaries to try to fall asleep.
“Not to talk myself out of a job, but, shit, pretty boy like you could walk into a dozen places around here and get any asshole to fuck you for free.”
Steve was already shaking his head, hand rotating on the wheel like he was revving an invisible motorcycle. Oh god, now he was picturing Billy on a motorcycle. Lots of leather. What the fuck, brain?
“Yeah, I tried that. But then they leave and. It gets real dark and real quiet and I can’t close my eyes and I’m gonna lose my shit if I can’t get some fucking rest.”
Billy’s face morphed into a familiar mocking grin, tongue poking out between sharp, white teeth. It really pissed Steve off how hot that was.
“You asking me to be your teddy bear, sweetheart? Tuck you in with a bedtime story? Sing you lullabies and shit?”
Steve rolled his neck with a satisfying crack, giving Billy his best poker face.
“Will you do it or not?”
Billy’s nostrils flared, lips tightening down into a thin line. His fingers kept tapping on the dashboard, picking out a beat that sounded familiar but was frustratingly difficult to place.
“I want half pay in advance. Cash. Not taking you at your word.”
Something low in Steve’s abdomen drew wire taut. That sounded like a yes. Or at least, it wasn’t a no. Holy shit.
He attempted to relax his shoulders, projecting an image of cool over his internal scrambling.
“Yeah, Yeah, of course. I just, I actually have another request and it’s kind of a dealbreaker so I want you to be really sure about it.”
Billy recoiled, pressing himself back against the freezing window glass. He tossed his head back with an ugly howl of laughter, eyes burning bright as he pointed his finger in Steve’s face. His dirty nails were chewed down to the quick.
“There it is. Knew there was gonna be some sort of sick shit you were waiting to spring on me. Rich fuckers like you always have something they’re trying to hide. Wanna piss on me? Need a fucking punching bag? Someone to grind beneath your boot? Gonna carve me up like a Christmas turkey? I’m not doing that shit, fuck you.”
Steve’s eyes crossed trying to focus on that finger, mind reeling at the tinge of fear he could taste in Billy’s wild accusations.
He reached up and batted the finger out of his face, unable to ignore the way Billy tensed like he was expecting a hit.
“Woah! Fuck, calm down. No I don’t want to, holy shit. Just. I want to be exclusive.”
If the sound of a record scratch had a face, it would be Billy’s at that moment, broad shoulders pressed back against the passenger door as far as he could go.
“What?”
Steve sighed, combing his hair back into shape as much as possible with unsteady hands.
“If we do this, I want to be the only one you’re fucking. No more, um, clients. No boyfriends or girlfriends or what the fuck ever. Just you and me, until we’re done. Can you do that?”
One time, in the shower, Steve had been startled to find a spider tucked up into the corner of his stall. After making a series of very manly noises and a naked jig of disgust, he had realized that it had just as much interest in confronting him as he did in confronting it. He finished his shower quickly and as he was drying his hair to just lightly damp enough for a few puffs of spray, he had watched it climb down slowly and carefully from the corner of his eye, ready to jump back up to the ceiling at the slightest provocation.
Billy eased away from the door in exactly the same way, just a few less limbs.
“That’s really it? Not gonna get me into your basement and pull some whips and chains out on me?”
Steve felt every hour of sleep he had been missing for the past week drop down on him all at once, stifling a yawn as he nodded his head.
“That’s really, really it, man.”
Billy’s hands smoothed down the worn denim on his thighs, relaxed sprawl belied by the tremor in his fingertips.
“Yeah. I can do that.”
He was so quiet that it took Steve a second to realize what he had said through the fog of his mind.
“Okay. Wow, okay. I didn’t expect you to agree to that. Okay. Cool. Yeah, okay.”
That was a smile. Just a small one, but it was real. It lit Billy’s face from within and reminded Steve that he was still a year younger than him, barely 22. He’d died four years ago last July.
“Are you having a fucking stroke?”
There really wasn’t any containing Steve’s tiny burst of hysterical laughter. Okay, it was a giggle, sue him. God, he was tired.
“Not yet,” he tried to swallow back another giggle, resulting in half a hiccup, “Do you, I mean, can I take you back to wherever you’re staying so we can pick up your stuff?”
His chest was filled with balloons, lifting him up and drifting away on the possibility of this terrible idea actually working out. Steve had a lot of terrible ideas, and actually pretty good luck so far with them turning out for the best. It was a talent.
Billy turned away, fussing with his jacket until it was buttoned up to his chin and speaking to his own knees.
“You want to start this shit right now? tonight?”
Steve wanted to start this shit fucking yesterday. He wanted to already be in his bed, with every light on and the sound of Billy Hargrove breathing right up against his ear. He hoped he snored.
Christ, Harrington. Be cool. Act like you don’t care, remember? You used to be cool. What the fuck happened? Like, besides the end of the world kind of a few times. And some light torture. Stop. Don’t think about that. Oh god, Billy was staring at him and waiting for an answer.
Steve traced his left index finger along the top seal of his door in a very cool, uncaring, entirely nonchalant way. Nailed it.
“Yeah. So, where should I take you?”
Wet, cold air hit him in the face as Billy pushed out of the car, tossing his words over his shoulder.
“Keep your panties on, I’ll be right back.”
Steve devoted a moment to reflection as he sat and waited.
He might have finally, truly lost it. This could all be an extremely vivid visual, auditory, olfactory hallucination.
God, Billy still smelled like cheap cologne and cigarettes. Throw in some tanning oil and you’d have the makings of Steve’s most embarrassing wet dream. Which was a high fucking bar, because his subconscious had absolutely no standards.
None. It was disgusting.
But there was something about being carried bridal-style by a dripping wet Billy into a field of daisies just to gobble each other’s cocks like they held the elixir of life that was, like. Take-it-to-your-grave embarrassing.
He jumped at a sudden loud noise, reaching for his weapon stashed beneath the seat before he saw Billy banging on the trunk, black plastic garbage bag flung over his shoulder and another cigarette hanging out of his mouth.
Steve popped the trunk with a thumbs-up that he immediately regretted. Christ.
Billy tossed the bag carelessly in the trunk, slamming it shut just a little harder than Steve would have liked before sliding into the passenger seat.
Steve waited until Billy turned his head a fraction towards him, breaking his staring contest with the windshield.
“Is that it?”
Billy puffed on his cigarette, clenching it between his teeth as he growled at Steve.
“Yeah, that’s fucking it. Can we go, already? Or maybe you want to sit here and braid each other’s hair, fuck!”
Steve checked his mirrors and pulled onto the road, executing a perfect U-turn that he was super glad he hadn’t screwed up in front of Billy ’gearhead’ Hargrove. Which, wait.
“What about your car?”
Billy has this way of jutting out his chin when he smoked that was the perfect level of macho intimidation. Ridiculously perfect, like he had gone to school for it. Steve hated it.
“What about it?”
Everything about his body language screamed at Steve to let it go, but Steve was not great at listening. Or backing down. Or, god, so many other things.
“Your car? It’s like, half of your personality. In high school you were pretty much just a greasy mullet with a Camaro and testosterone-fueled rage. Where is it? I can drop you by to pick it up, or-”
Billy planted his dirty boot on the polished wood inlay of Steve’s dash, leaning his head back in his seat to blow smoke out the window.
“This ain’t high school, dumbass. Just shut the fuck up and drive.”