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When Billy comes to, he doesn't really know who he is supposed to be or where the fuck he even is. The room is way too white and he's in a bed, but anything other than that is beyond him. He feels like a giant blob, and just as sluggish, time seems to be moving around him instead of with him. A hospital, he thinks, vaguely, as some monitor beeps. And there's a cannula in his nose, and why he can remember what a cannula is and not if he's ever had legs is another mystery that registers in the back of his mind, a problem for a future Billy.
"Oh, you're awake," a voice says from the door, followed by steps. Billy remembers he can move his head way too late, and, when he does it, the force of the movement gives him incredible whiplash. His eyes get alarmingly blurry, a monitor starts beeping harder.
"Hey, Mr. Hargrove," repeats the voice, very close now. "You have to calm down, or I'll have to sedate you again, come on, let's breathe."
"Who the fuck are you?" Billy snarls but nonetheless slows down his breathing. "And it's Billy, don't fucking call me that."
Whoever it is only chuckles, which does the job of irritating Billy further. He might not be sure if he has a body, but he very much fucking knows he hates being condescended to. This guy can choke.
"Well, Billy," says the guy, and now that Billy's vision is coming back, he can identify a veritable mane of brown hair and even bigger brown eyes. "Is that any way to talk to your husband?"
And now Billy is the one to choke. Husband? What the fuck. He wouldn’t forget a whole ass husband, and he isn’t even- People don’t even know.
"Woah, Billy, hey," a hand rests on Billy's chest as another lifts his back gently, "I'm kidding!" A cup touches Billy's lips, and he takes a sip slowly.
"What the fuck kinda joke is that, Bambi?" Billy says, still coughing a little.
"The one you started by proposing to me in increasingly incredible speeches while very high on morphine," the guy explains, eyes rolling. "You made us the talk of the floor, Billy. Sorry to say, but our upcoming nuptials will have a lot of very invested little old ladies in attendance." And then the guy fucking winks.
Billy is too angry to be charmed, but not enough not to recognize the whole ensemble is charming as fuck.
"Again, would be interesting to know who the hell I'm marrying," he says, shoving the guy's hand away from his chest. He's fine.
"Didn't seem to matter when you were pouring your heart out to me, but fine," the guy has the gall to sigh like Billy is the cumbersome one. "It's Steve, nice to meet you again, hubby," he offers his hand.
"Steve, no offense, but I'm gonna kick your ass if you don't cut this shit out," Billy slaps Steve's hand weakly. Steve doesn't even look annoyed. Billy would like to walk away.
In fact, he is going to, as soon as he certifies for himself that his legs are still there.
"Anyway, Billy, you’re all set," Steve continues, "your surgery had a few complications, so we're keeping you on watch, but your appendix is out. You can press this button to call me if you need me."
"Gonna call you to slap that smile outta your face," Billy mutters, darkly.
"Maybe later, if you ask nicely," Steve laughs while walking away. "Oh, visiting hours begin soon. I think your sister is here to see you, she seemed really happy about our wedding, by the way." Steve sing-songs while closing the door.
And great, Max knows about this bullshit. Billy will never live this down.
-
Over the next couple of hours, a lot of things come back to Billy. The main one being he's, in fact, not seventeen anymore, and thus very out of the closet and gay as fucking hell. He also remembers being rushed into the hospital maze hours ago when they realized his appendix had actually burst and, more importantly, vomiting on Steve's shoes as he was prepped for surgery.
That one is going into the vault of great memories to have, along with the video Max giddily shows him of his goddamn proposal to a put-upon Steve, who's only trying to switch the bag of fluids going into Billy's body and gets accosted in such a manner that sober Billy wants to eviscerate both himself and everyone who's ever seen him in his entire life.
"If you tell anyone we know about this, I'm gonna feed you to your fucking cat," he says, after the video cycles around the third time.
"Shut up, Billy, this is cute," Max says, eyes glued to the phone screen where Billy can hear himself slurring we just make sense, pretty boy. "Plus, there's no point telling people when I already sent the video to everyone we know."
Billy groans. The video is getting closer to the worst part, and he braces himself.
“This is the best part,” Max says, turning the phone to Billy again like the thing isn’t already forever etched into Billy’s psyche and nightmares.
“How big is it, honey,” Billy says, out of his fucking mind and clearly feeling fantastic about it. “I know it’s big, I just know it. Max,” he yells, delightedly, “look at my husband, he’s so beautiful, and he has a big fucking di-”
“Okay,” Steve exclaims, and the video cuts abruptly when Billy starts feeling blubbery about the prospect of a husband with a big dick, apparently.
"You're lucky I’m hooked to a thousand fucking machines," he says, eyeing Days of Our Lives to keep himself from spontaneously combusting. “Turn that shit off, I swear to god.”
The door opens, and a tall, slender woman in a white coat walks in, "Ah, the future Mr. Steve Harrington lives," she says with an amused smile.
"Well, great, another one," Billy sighs while Max laughs in delight. "Who the hell are you, then?"
"I'm the hell your doctor," she says, picking up the chart at the end of his bed and walking up to his side. "You can call me Robin, though. I feel like once my hands have touched a person's insides, they get to call me by my first name."
"As long as you call me Billy," he shrugs. He's not about to be mean to someone who's clearly saved his life… That is, within reason. Robin has an all-knowing air about her that Billy doesn't really like. Reminds him of Max, and he already has his hands full with that one.
"Well, your vitals are all perfect," Robin says, adjusting a few things on one of the monitors, "but we're keeping you a while longer, Billy."
"Can I at least not pee through a catheter?" Billy asks without much hope. He’d just like not to have his pee being handled by the man he's already thoroughly embarrassed himself in front of, thank you very much.
"No can do, Billy boy," Robin winces sympathetically. "I'm afraid I need you to move as little as possible, so you and Steve will have to keep it all above the waist, sorry," she says while waggling her eyebrows suggestively.
Max seems halfway to proposing herself. Billy is well and truly done.
"Can I look into the incision?" Robin asks, surprising Billy a little, as very rarely have doctors ever bothered to check anything with him, and he's had his fair share of hospital stays. He nods and only then Robin lowers the covers and removes the dressing, telling him what she's going to do and what she's expecting to see every step of the process. Billy starts liking Robin rather a lot, despite himself.
"Well, not to toot my own horn too much," Robin says while smiling, "but the stitches are healing magnificently. Do you want me to redress this myself or would you rather I called in the nurse?" She looks at him and, noticing the murder in Billy's eyes, raises her arms in a gesture of peace.
"Alright, okay," she throws the used gloves in the trash and walks to the little station in the room's corner, getting the supplies to tend to Billy herself. "Now, as Steve’s best woman, I need to know," she says while putting another pair of gloves on, "How do we feel about a June wedding?"
Billy eyes the scissors on the tray by his hip and considers harakiri.
"As Billy’s best woman," Max pipes up, unhelpfully. "I feel like June in Central Park is definitely the way to go."
"None of you are invited," Billy says mutinously, but only gets twin snorts for his trouble.
He takes it back. He doesn’t like anyone, and both Robin and Max are on top of his shit list.
-
"So, I'm hearing you're already trying to vet my best friend from the wedding," Steve says when he walks in later that night. "Wise choice, she's trouble. But I feel like if you're gonna go bridezilla, I should get my demands as well."
Billy, who's pleasantly drowsy from the pain meds Robin gave him a few hours ago, only huffs a little.
"Steve," he says with some difficulty, "grab my legs and help me kick you."
"I think I liked you better when you were trying to compose haikus about my butt, inappropriate as that was," Steve muses while switching his IV bag.
"Tough titties," Billy waves his hand in Steve's general direction. "What are the demands, then, hot nurse?" He asks around a yawn.
"First, for you to never call me that again," Steve says with a stern look. Billy shrugs, he'll promise no such thing when Steve is both hot and a nurse.
"Well, sure, but there are better things to call me," Steve sighs, exasperatedly.
Billy may or may not have a case of the talkies, then.
"Yeah, buddy," Steve laughs, "you have zero filter on pain meds, it's fantastic."
"Can still fight you, though," Billy says and promptly chokes on his own spit. Why this keeps happening around Steve he has no idea, he wants the world to know he rarely chokes on anything. Steve has to help him up and prop him on another pillow. The whole ordeal takes a full fucking eternity. Billy kinda wants to die a little.
"You'd win, I'm sure," Steve says with another great smile, once Billy is settled and more or less breathing again. "I'm pretty shit in a fight."
"Let's fucking go then, pretty boy," Billy says, eyelids heavy. The last thing he sees before blacking out is Steve adjusting his blanket fondly.
-
An excruciating week of what seems like the entire hospital staff rotating to meet "Steve's betrothed" later, Billy is finally ruled well enough to go home and hide in shame in his own apartment, like the good lord intended.
Max, obviously, shows up with balloons that both say you didn't die and congratulations on the wedding in pink glitter, because she's the fucking bane of his existence and kind of his best friend too, the hellion. Steve, obviously, is there to wheel him out, because Billy can't even be given the dignity of hobbling his way out of this hospital alone. And, also obviously, Steve demands to keep one of the balloons, as a keepsake of their engagement.
"Steve," Billy says, looking up at the shit-eating grin Steve has going on, "I have full range of motion of my arms and I'm not afraid to use them," he threatens, and when that only gets him a laugh, crosses said arms in defeat. "Whatever, let's get this show on the road."
"Not before I get a picture of the happy couple," Robin rounds the corner of the corridor and high fives Max who immediately gets her phone ready.
"I hope you all know this is all very inappropriate," Steve says, but still smiles for the picture, because he's a traitor.
"Billy is loving it," Max says and expertly dodges one of Billy's slippers."Oh, quit being a baby, is that how you want to look in all the pictures with Steve?'
"No, let him," Robin says, hands in her pockets and a delighted smile on her face, "it's like a cat and a dog are about to marry, look at them."
"Give me your number so I can send you the best ones," Max says, turning to Robin, like that’s not another nightmare for Billy, personally.
He, again, considers death.
"So, before you're finally out of my care," Steve says, his attention now fully on Billy, "anything I can get you, mister Billy Hargrove?"
Billy smirks, that's a loaded fucking question if he ever heard one. At least a thousand extremely inappropriate things cross his mind in rapid succession. “Well,” he begins, but Steve interrupts before he’s able to go any further.
“Max still has her phone out, by the way,” he says, placidly.
"Can I get a coffee?" Billy diverts and winces a little. Even Steve looks disappointed for a second. Billy’s usually smoother, but then it’s not often he declares undying love to a man and everyone gets to live to tell the tale.
"I actually can't get you that, because you're not supposed to drink caffeine, Billy, tell me you remember that," Steve says, one hand flying to his own hip in that annoyingly cute quirk of his Billy has become intimately familiar with.
"Fine," Billy throws his hands up, "water, then. Happy?"
"Not really," Steve says but walks to the water cooler dutifully. He’s gone way longer than such a task warrants, but Billy does enjoy the view when he comes back, so it’s fine.
"What took you so long?" Billy still has to ask, though, sipping the goddamn water he didn't even really want, suspiciously.
"Nothing important," Steve answers. He begins pushing Billy's wheelchair again. "Ready for freedom?"
"Yes, Jesus fucking Christ," Billy says to Steve's laughter.
"Oh, come on, other than your appendix exploding, was it even that bad?" he asks. And, if Billy's honest, as far as hospital emergencies go, this one was actually pretty okay. He's not about to admit that, though.
He stares at Steve, hoping his upside-down glare is enough of an answer on its own. Steve snorts, not fooled at all. Billy’s reputation in this place is well and truly ruined, if he ever had one to begin with.
It's only once he's in the cab halfway home that he notices he still has the little cup in his hand.
"Want me to throw that out?" Max asks.
Billy shakes his head, because there's something written on the side of the cup, kinda smudged by his sweaty hand. He looks closer.
Fight me? It says, and underneath is Steve's number.
Billy smiles.
-
Three years later they do have a June wedding in Central Park. Turns out Billy was right. He and Steve just make sense together.