IG: rodzombie

Neil Hargrove being a man that was raised in the heavy gender role dichotomy and era of "the American housewife" that when his wife leaves and Neil has to take on roles that had been hers things go downhill.

Both his clothes and Billy's might get washed, but rarely on time, and things are full of wrinkles. He tried to iron exactly one time abd burned a hole through his work shirt. So wrinkles will stay. Neil gave up completely trying to figure out how to run delicates or how much starch to add. It all just goes in and if something gets ruined in the process then fuck it. If their clothing falls into disarray, Neil just tells Billy to continue wearing the item because he has no concept of how to sew or mend like Billy's mother, but Neil isn't about to trash and spring for a new set of denim jeans or socks.

Food is available but not in good or large quantities. Meals are had when Neil says it is and that's final. Breakfast is almost always a bowl of bran and milk. And dinner is always some manner of TV pre-heatable dinner or if Billy's very lucky... It might be a one ingredient mix-in like Manwich sloppy joes. Fresh produce is a rarity. Maybe an apple because those are the cheapest.

Keeping their living space clean and livable is at best at after thought. Neil tends to just shift piles of things around to make room to put his feet up or to sleep. Stacks of mail and magazines are all over the place. He sweeps once in a while, but never vacuums. Dishes and trash are about the only true thing that get done in a timely fashion. But even then those can at times be scattered around their living space until trash pick up day is nearing or until Billy can no longer stand it and Neil berates him for being "fussy".

I think I’ve said it before but there is such a stark, visible difference in the way Billy is being cared for before and after his mother leaves

Before his clothes are clean, pressed, chosen with care, his hair is tidy. After the clothes are torn and grungy, that shirt is oversized, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s a cast off from Neil. His hair is messier, it’s hard to tell through the effects overlay but Billy himself actually looks dirty to me.

It really contextualizes him later choosing to taking care with his own appearance and being shamed and verbally abused for it.

We don’t appreciate the fact that Bruce Wayne is a Kardasian level celebrity enough. Everyone knows him. I want more one shots and crack fic moments where the League (Pre identity reveals) just openly talk about Bruce Wayne in front of Batman.

Just imagine them playing fuck, marry, kill with famous actors and such and throwing Bruce into the mix. And Batman just sits there, silently suffering as he listens to the reasons why Flash and Lantern would marry, fuck, or kill him. He prays they choose kill. They don’t.

Barry: Eat the rich!

Bruce: Oh thank Go-

Clark: Oh, I intend to 🥴🥵

It’s Batman’s turn. Bruce needs to decide whether to marry himself for the money or throw himself off the cliff.

Okay but can you imagine what kind of identity reveal situation that would be?

“I would fuck —-, I would marry —-, and then I would commit suicide.”

“Batman, that’s not how the game is played. You have to choose for Bruce Wayne.”

“I did.”

“…WHAT?!”

“I would kill Bruce Wayne just to get him out of this conversation.”

This works best if the reveal comes after literally everyone else has played, and half of the people have said “I’d marry Bruce Wayne for the money” and the other half have not only said that they’d fuck him, but been reasonably graphic as to how.

Flash: So, tall, dark, and scary, what’ll it be? Are you going to marry Bruce Wayne so he can fund all of your sick gadgets? Maybe you’ll be a gentle lover to him like Aquaman here, work him over like a hunk of meat like Supes? Or maybe Brucie is the one person in the world you break your code for. Come on, what’ve you got for us?

Batman: -pauses- Honestly, I don’t think there will ever be a better time for this. -pulls off his cowl-

Justice League: -horrified screeching-

This, but Nightwing talking to Superman about Batman

hi soryyyy im kinda throwing up laughing @ this

@bruciemilf

Okay besties, I have an idea for you;

AU where the justice league was rooted in a small town; everyone knows everybody and no one knows anyone. Not really. But them? Oh, they know eachother.

They knew Clark and Bruce would tie the knot right after graduation.

They knew Diana would take new York museums by storm. They knew Hal would grow into his dad's aviator jacket. They knew Barry would wear gold around his neck in the Olympics. They simply knew.

Except for the fact that Clark had no idea Bruce would go on to divorce him just to marry an old sparring buddy, -- Khoa something; he doesn't know to this day, and he refuses to learn, -- for reasons he wouldn't divulge.

And bruce didn't anticipate his ex husband being the one who would investigate his husband's murder.

Funny how death brings people together.

what my sleep deprived brain found absolutely fucking hilarious at 2am in the morning

Quaritch, finding this out: So, are you telling me that a Smurf Navi defeat me?

Tonowari: I mean, he even manage to look kind of intimidating with that baby tail of him.

Quaritch: Your not helping fish man. Your not helping… but “kind of scary” is more like “I look alike a angry kitten” to me.

Jake: I hate you both. I’m intimidating, right Neytiri?

Neytiri, who can see that her husband is kind of short in comparison of other males of their last clan… and shorter than e Water Navis: Yeah… very scary ma’Jake, very scary.

For personal reasons (im a whore), I need Harvey Dent to be an absolute unit

I headcanon that Bruce, specifically Battinson, cries real easily.

Not only when he's sad; It's actually then when he doesn't cry at all. He cries when he's angry, when he's overstimulated, when he's dissapointed, when scolded and feels like he just let someone down.

Everyone in his life, friends, enemies, and something grey, know this about him. It never bleeds into the Batman, thought.

But it's a well known, universal fact, that every Gothamite knows as divine truth: Bruce Wayne is a crybaby.

Naturally, He cries when happy and proud, too.

Dick learns that when he's 10, and brings back a huge canvas he borrowed (stole) from art class.

The assignment was to illustrate what made them happy. He picked Bruce.

Imagine his surprise when his foster father bursts into tears, gives him a big wet kiss on the cheek, and dashes to his cave, " DON'T LOOK AT ME!"

"...Does he do that a lot?"

Alfred, who didn't even bat an eye, " Only all the time."

Jason learns that when he's 12, holding his favorite copy of Pride and Prejudice, which is DOG EARED. This is a hardback cover, damn it!

" B! How could you! Don't you know better? Are you gonna paint over the Mona Lisa, too?!Seriously,--"

Abruptly, he stops at the first drops of water. Bruce is avoiding his eyes, broad shoulders slouched down, hands fidgeting by his sides. Expression pinched and pained. "...Forgive me."

"Okay," Why does HIS voice sound wrecked and brittle? " I'm gonna go in the time-out corner. And I won't eat any sweets tonight."

" But you love sweets... "

"No sweets! Don't make me. I'll go to sleep with no TV either."

But what really gets to people? Bruce cries when he's embarassed.

"I gotta say, B, " Clark humming, seemingly ignorant to a rather concerning wound. A faint kryptonite nausea still persists, but nothing he can't avoid. " You really saved my behind out there. Good job."

It's obvious Bruce has a doctor's hands; His hands glide stitches confidently, without nervousness, without pause. Healing. That's what Bruce was, at his core.

Still, his heart beats wildly. "...I'm glad you're okay."

Clark, for one, Is delighted. "Are those emotions? Positive ones? Are we having a moment?"

" I did an adequate job. It was nothing special."

" Oh, that's bullshit. Come on, you were amazing! Did you see the guy's face when you blocked the bullet with your batarang? Breathtaking."

"Superman. Enough."

" No, -- listen. 20 guys get their hands on kryptonite and knock me out in 10 minutes. You had them beat in FIVE. Bruce, you were wonderful, --"

He stops immediately when a velvet voice cracks, " Clark,"

He worries that maybe he pushed too much. Forced his way instead of being welcomed. An apology is hot and ready on his lips.

But.

But that cowl only hides so much. That soft, dusty red flushes down to Bruce's chest. Pink skin glows red, shiny with tears, and skilled hands shake.

Clark's heart roars. He's so, so fond of this man.

" Oh, Bruce. Oh, baby."

He can't stop smiling as he listens to Bruce whining in his neck.

Something something, Bruce accidentally keeps adopting his friends' wards. It doesn't sit well with his kids.

Diana's been training Yara for a little over a year. She's scrappy, brave, and unafraid to stand up for herself against the world. She reminds Bruce of a dearly beloved Ghost, and even dearer son.

" Oh wow. You're, uh. You're Batman. Love your work. I mean, Princess Di says you should take it easier since mortals don't fight gods, but it's so cool to me that you do. My mom died too! ...Sorry. Can you sign my pegasus?"

"...For?"

" Jerry. I mean, -- Yara! Sorry."

" Meeting new people isn't exactly my forte. It's fine. Is my training plan working for you? We can adjust it together."

"Oh! Well, I have some cool ideas,-"

For some, emotion gets lost when it comes to Batman. They see a wall of stone and tragedy, nothing beyond a twitch of lips reminding them there's a man wearing the cowl, not the other way around.

Dick's mouth is hanging open as he watches the blank expression on Bruce's face, patient with the excitable rambling in front of him. He rarely looks so happy on patrol.

"He smiled at her!"

Damian is very stubborn. He just won't accept it. Not even with the evidence of Diana's student taking a stream of selfies with his Baba, where he even smiles in one of them!

" Don't be ridiculous, Grayson. That's reaching a new low of stupid, even for you."

" Okay, one. I'm a very capable detective who thought YOU the robin ways. If I'm an idiot, you're an idiot."

" ...TT."

" Second... It wouldn't hurt to be home more often. I think he's lonely."

Damian frowns, " Baba deserves better than pity scraps. And you deserve better than forcing yourself to be here when you're not ready. It's unfair to you both."

"...Maybe I'm not an idiot after all."

The real challenge? The superboys.

"It's not that serious, Dames."

" Not that serious?!" Damian hisses when he's sad, it's a well known fact, " He put MY stickers on your bandages. You don't even NEED bandages!"

Jon shrugs, maybe, perhaps, intentionally flaunting the pink dragon stickers on his wrist. Accepting to arm wrestle Cass had been a bad idea, " It's a nice gesture."

Damian points a finger at him, then calms himself with a hollow breath, " I'm going to walk away. My therapist would be extremely proud of me."

But the bets were off when Jason visited.

"...What's your boy toy doing in my room?"

Tim drags a hand over his face as Kon whistles a marry tune, lounged comfortably on Jason's bed like a spoiled cat, " Dad Invited him over for dinner."

" I just figured it'd be nice to settle in! Since I'll be moving in soon and all," Kon smiles very smugly, " Bruce needs someone around since you just hate being here so much. You don't mind, right?"

" You know," Tim figures he should at least try to stop the slaughter, " I think Alfred's cookies are done. Let's go check."

Jason's radiating murder, " I think it's time for you to go home."

" Oh, I'd really love to see you make me."

Tim discovers Kon is immune to bullets, but not to being crashed through a wall.

Rendered the Vampire!Steve Harringrove we’re Billy is about to be lunch turned lover. (Piece for @adelacreations)

See Night version below.

The Ugly Truth

Despite wishing her mother good night thirty minutes ago, Nancy’s eyes refuse to shut. Whenever she starts to drift off, she sees Barb crawling out from underground to blame her for what happened that night. Nancy would argue her case, but there’s no defense. She failed her friend. Barb hadn’t even wanted to go along in the first place! 

I’m going insane just lying here. Maybe some warm milk will calm me down.

She passes the bathroom on the way to the stairs. Mom’s not in the tub? I didn’t hear the water go off. Huh. 

The front door is open, and there’s the boy from Tina’s party who came speeding into Hawkins High School’s parking lot with his car radio on full blast. The boy Steve keeps staring at like a stunned fish. She’s shit with remembering names. Ben… something? 

Curiosity gets the better of her. She stays very still on the second step, ears and eyes peeled. 

Mom answered the door in her bathrobe? Nancy shifts her attention to Ben- no Billy, his name’s Billy. He seems… tense. Fidgety. 

“I’m Nancy’s mother.” 

“No.” 

For some reason, Billy saying that in a clearly sarcastic tone makes her mother twirl her hair and giggle, “Yes” like a schoolgirl with a crush. 

You’ve never acted this way with Dad. 

“Mrs. Wheeler.” 

“Um, I’m sorry, and you are?”

“Billy. Billy Hargrove.” He extends a hand for her to shake, and when she does, he puts his other hand over hers.

What the fuck is happening? Why aren’t you pulling away? 

“You must be here for Nancy.” 

“Nancy? No, no, no.”

One no would’ve done the trick. 

“Not my type.” 

Nancy snorts into her hand. 

“Uh… No, actually I am looking for my little sister Max. Goes by Maxine. She’s been missing all day, and, uh, to be honest with you, I’ve been worried sick, you know, so…”

“Oh.” 

You sound almost… disappointed. Why would you be, unless… No. Surely not. 

“I thought she was at Lucas’, but Mrs. Sinclair said your house is the…the designated hangout, so, you know… Here I am.” 

This has got to be the worst pretend pickup line I’ve ever heard. He’s got no interest in you, Mom. You know that, don’t you? 

Billy comes in, and if he notices Nancy lurking at the top of the stairs as he goes into the kitchen, he doesn’t say anything. 

“Their driveway is pretty dark this time of night,” Mom says, scribbling down an address for him. “So drive slowly.”

“Always.” He pockets the address and takes an extra bitter oatmeal cookie for the road. 

Under the kitchen light, her mother dies, and all she sees is Karen Wheeler biting her bottom lip as she watches him walk away, her eyes glued to his ass. 

Nancy doesn’t remember when her gun appeared in her hands, but her brain is surprisingly clear when she pulls the trigger. A bullet goes right between Karen’s eyes. 

Killing people is surprisingly easy when you see who they really are. 

Billy lies flat on the floor, hands cupped over his ears. 

“I’m not going to shoot you.” 

“You killed… your mother. God, Hicktown is fuckin’ crazy!” 

Boy, he really catches on quick. 

“You don’t know the half of it.” Nancy steps over Karen’s body and dials the number of Hopper’s secretary. She’s more likely to pick up than the Chief himself. “Hi, this is Nancy Wheeler. I need to talk to Chief Hopper. It’s important.”

She hears a grunt, and prepares the crocodile tears. Billy stares at her with a mix of awe and horror as her lower lip begins to tremble. “My mother st-started acting really strange. She turned the air conditioner down because she “liked it cold”. She-she loved the house being warm. Her voice came out all-all deep and empty. I looked into her eyes, and I knew my mother wasn’t…” she takes a shaky breath for added effect, then continues, “I knew she was gone. So I… I shot her. I don’t want to go to jail! I’m so scared, Chief.” 

“You did the right thing, calling me. I’ll stop by your house and take care of things, okay? Do you have anywhere else to go tonight?”

“I’m not sure. I-”

 Billy’s not on the floor anymore. His headlights are on. Crap.

I need to make sure he knows not to say anything. 

Nancy gets into the passenger seat and he sends her a dirty look. 

“You should really start locking your doors. It’s a safety precaution.”

“... I will keep that in mind. Now get out of my car.” 

“You said you were looking for your sister, right?”

“She’s not my sister.”

“But you said-” “I know what I said. Look, I’d prefer to forget everything said and done in your freakshow house, Wheeler.”

“Nancy.” 

“Fine. Nancy.” 

“I know where Max is.” 

“I’m not giving you shit in exchange for that information.” 

“Well I should hope not.” Has this sort of thing happened to him before?

“I know how to keep a secret. I just… why did you do it?” 

“We were always arguing. She never heard me. What pushed me over the edge was how she was with you. It made me want to puke. She should’ve stuck to her own age group.” 

Billy goes eerily quiet, hands gripping his steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. His shoulders slacken, and he unclenches his jaw to offer her a weary, appreciative smile. 

“Max is at the Byers’ house. Mike’s there, too. I can’t take him back to that house. He didn’t know… I don’t suppose you have room where you live?” Billy tenses up again. 

She takes that as a no.”

“I’ll be your guide to the Byers’. I’m sure Mrs. Byers wouldn’t mind us staying over.” 

He gives her a terse nod.

“Us includes you, Bonnie.”

Billy blinks several times, temporarily breaking out of his grim state. “Bonnie? Hold on, why the fuck am I not Clyde? Clyde’s a man.”

Nancy lets out a long sigh. “Do you actually care about that crap?”

“... No. I don’t,” he admits. “Bonnie has better hair anyway, so it fits.” 

“You think you’re funny, huh.” 

“I think I’m a fucking riot.” 

“Humor is subjective.”

“It was your joke!” 

****** “Am I dreaming, or is that you, Harrington?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Don’t cream your pants.” 

Okay, now I wish I’d shot myself instead. 

“Nancy???” Steve exclaims, dragging his eyes away from Billy’s chest. 

So that’s why Billy took his jacket off. 

She snickers, shaking her head. Steve Alexander Harrington, you haven’t changed one bit. 

Billy seems to be glowing from Steve’s attention. Dorks. 

“What’re you doing here, amigo?”

“Yeah, I could ask you the same thing, amigo.” 

Oh, Steve, you’re not fooling anyone. 

“Looking for my stepsister. A little birdie told me she was here.”

Nancy awkwardly waves. I doubt they’re even aware I exist. 

“Huh. That’s weird. I don’t know her.”

“Small, redhead, bit of a bitch?”

“I heard that!” a girl yells from inside the house. 

“I wanted you to!” 

“You guys are going to wake up the whole neighborhood!” Nancy yells.

“I think we’re a little quieter than a gu- guy who’s bangin’ his wife.” 

“Are you two… friends or something?” Steve says, squinting like he’s come face to face with an impossible math problem. 

“Amigos in crime.” 

“You didn’t tell him any embarrassing stories about me, did you? Nance?” 

“Stories? What stories?” 

“It’s a school night. We should all head inside and get some rest.”

“Nance!” 

“Shut up, Steve.”

“Yeah, shut up, Pretty Boy.” 

“Keep the flirting to a minimum, there are children present.”

Steve’s jaw drops. “WHAT? FLIRTING?”

Billy cackles, slapping his knee, his face matching the color of his shirt. 

New hobby unlocked. 

*****

“Does Mrs. Byers have any grub around here? I’m gonna check the fridge.”

“Billy, I wouldn’t do that if I were you-"

“WHAT THE FUCK-”

It has been Steve's fault.

Tommy has nagged him about one last party at Harrington's after graduation and maybe Steve had been feeling sentimental, thinking of all the years he spent with these people. So he said yes. Invited everybody that graduated this year, even the people he didn't like.

And now he's fucking wasted and stumbles upstairs, because he can't find Billy Hargrove anywhere. Because the guy came here, not wearing a shirt and downed a bottle of vodka Steve's dad brought from Russia.

"I like your chest hair," he slurred into Steve's ear an hour later, eyes glassy and unfocused. "'t looks like a pillow."

Tommy had promised to take care of him and now both of them are missing. Great. Steve should have seen that one coming.

Steve is opening the door to the third room he's looking at and braces himself to find another bunch of his classmates fucking behind it - but instead he finds what he's looking for.

"Harrington!" Billy yells. He's wearing a blue dress, flimsy and shimmering with every movement. It's his mother's favorite evening gown. The cutout nearly reaches Billy's belly button.

Tommy is sitting on the bed, trying to reach the zipper of another of his mom's dresses. Pink and puffed sleeve.

"What are you guys doing?" Steve rubs his eyes. Maybe he has passed out downstairs and is dreaming the weirdest shit now. Like... did they go through his mom's dresses?

"It's pretty," Billy says - like that explains anything. But the blue dress looks great against his tanned skin and golden hair. He tugs at the fabric of the dress. "Your mom must have massive tits."

"You've got really pretty tits," Steve blurts out - only because he doesn't want to talk about his mother that way and he's drunk and it's all a mess and well, Billy kind of does have a nice chest.

Billy's jaw crashes down and his face turns red. Tommy cackles somewhere in the distance.

Steve has to do something. He made Billy Hargrove blush and he doesn't know how to deal with that. He walks over to the dressing table and grabs the necklace with the sapphire his dad got his mom for fucking his last secretary.

"You need this - it's... part of the outfit," he says.

A smug grin appears on Billy's lips and he turns around, face still red and lifting up his hair so Steve can see the freckles on his neck. "Put it on, pretty boy."

sub billy you agree you reblog

Thinking of a harringrove childhood friends AU where Billy was originally born in Hawkins. Steve and him meet at the Hawkins community center during baby play group and are immediately inseparable. Steve seems to go through all his growth spurts at once, sprouting up the summer of third grade and towering over all the other kids when they get back to school. Billy goes to Steve's house almost every day that summer to sit with him in Steve's room and watch movies because the growing pains are so bad. Meanwhile Billy barely seems to grow at all, a premature baby and then a sickly kid that all the other boys poke fun at. He gets pushed into lockers and shoulder checked in the hall so often that no one notices all the bruises he's got are from home. They're best friends from diapers all the way up to middle school, Steve at Billy's side like a bull dog, ready to lay into anyone who messes with his best friend.

"You can't protect me all the time, Steve." Billy's words whistle through the gap where his missing baby tooth used to be. Steve puffs up like a peacock.

"I can so!"

"Nuh-uh."

"Yeah-huh!"

And Billy knows that Steve wouldn't, couldn't, win. Going up against Neil Hargrove. But.

"..Promise?"

Steve grabs Billy's face and smooshes his cheeks together, brown eyes big and beautiful and serious. There's a scrape on Steve's chin, raw and pink from where he smacked into the pavement during school today. David McKinney took Billy's dessert from his lunch box, an apple turnover his mom had made special, and chucked it into a puddle. Steve came out of nowhere and tackled the kid like a linebacker. Nine years old and ready to take on the world to keep Billy from hurting.

"I promise Bills. I'm always gunna protect you. Forever and ever."

Billy's heart flutters behind his ribcage, a flock of butterflies beneath bird bones.

"But why?"

His own dad knows he's worthless. Knows Billy is...wrong. And forever is such a long time to waste on a broken thing.

Steve scrunches up his nose, confused and pretty and Billy wants to hold his hand like in the movies. Like the ones his Ma cries over when his father isn't home.

"Because I love you, dummy."

And they're to young to know what it means but old enough to know that it's true. Billy reaches out, knuckles brushing Steve's in a question.

"BILLY!"

They both jump. Neil's truck rumbles ominously in the Harrington's driveway outside. He doesn't want to go home. Billy wonders if Steve would tackle his dad if he asked him to.

The next day Steve finds out that Neil moved him and Billy out of Hawkins that very night. His Ma had skipped town and left behind her little boy to a monster.

Steve cries for a month straight. The world keeps turning, seasons change and years go by. He grows out of his awkward stage and all the girls want to talk to him, but none of them fill the hole in his chest. He throws parties and drinks with all the other kids and wonders every day if Billy thinks of him at all, out there surfing the Pacific with the sun bleaching his curls.

And it's not until senior year during Tina's Halloween party that Steve gets an answer. Because Tommy Hagen comes bounding out of the crowd, smile sharp and mean while the people behind him part like the red sea, the new kid he's heard people talking about making a beeline straight for Steve. Eyes locked, unwavering.

"Got ourselves a new keg king Harrington!"

Steve can't hear him. Can't hear anything over the 'thud thud thud' of his heartbeat in his ears. And it's been seven fucking years and a whole lot of puberty since Steve saw him last, but he would recognize those eyes anywhere. His best friend is built like a brick shit house and covered in leather and cheap beer and spit and Steve doesn't know if he wants to cry or drop to his god damn knees.

Probably both.

Billy's smiling something wicked, tongue caught in his teeth while he gets up real close. Steve wants to bury his face in Billy's neck and hold on to him until the walls fall down around them. His voice is so much deeper than the crackly squeak it was when they were just kids.

"Miss me, pretty boy?"

And Steve feels like he should say something clever. Something cool and suave and more put together than 'I think when you left for California, you took a piece of me with you' or 'I go out of my way to pass by your old house every day after school and it's not even on my route'.

What comes out is a shaky "Yeah. A whole fucking lot, actually"

Billy looks pleased. Relieved almost. Like he didn't think Steve would care. As if Steve could ever forget about someone like Billy.

"Oh yeah? You waiting for me or somethin?"

Steve knows what Billy's looking to hear. The party goes on around them, Tommy looking more confused by the second. Steve couldn't give less of a shit.

"Yeah Bills." He says. "Forever and ever."

“Ok ok, wait, just one more scene-

You cannot tell me this doesn’t have Superbat vibes when we have canonically seen Bruce in a robe.

Clark tensed, alarm turning cookie dough into rocks in his mouth as his ears picked up the sound of another heartbeat.

There's something so terribly secretive about fathers and pain. Fathers are open wounds, and Bruce isn't the exception of the rule.

But he's very, very good at disguising it. He's a haunted house and refuses to let them in, and a part of Dick, a part of him that both smiles and cries when he sees Bruce interact with his siblings, wishes he could overpower that strength.

"You have to leave it alone. We don't talk about it."

" But we should."

" That's now who I am, chum. Tati's sorry."

So Dick does. What a good little bird he is.

But Bruce's secrets weren't dormat and docile and obedient. They'll come out of someone's mouth if not from his. Dick just didn't expect it to happen like THAT,

Oliver and his dad always had the most curious relationship. It heavily reminded Dick of Jason and Tim, in some ways.

They liked having Oliver around. Uncle Ollie was saucy and witty and railed Bruce up considerably. It was the perfect moment to be a fly on the wall, studious and smirking,

"You're the most unstable Individual I've ever encountered. And I have lunch with Harley on Fridays."

" 1) Rude for not Inviting me. 2) I'm not the one who tried to kill themselves at 8."

Pin drop.

Jason's voice hasn't been so small since he was a kid, " ...What?"

Oliver, entirely unaffected by dropping this hard of a bombshell, sips his tea, " Yeah, why do you think your old man stays away from Robinson Bridge?"

A suffocating hush falls over them. Bruce gently puts Damian down, promising they'll finger paint later, and walks away with eyes downcast.

Oliver blinks, looking at a face palming Roy, "Uh...This is the part where you laugh?"

But looking around their frozen grimaces puts understanding in him. " ...Yeah, never let me improv again."

Through the open window, Billy’s tussled curls drape around a squirming body. 

Steve can hear laughter. High and bright like Christmas bells, nailing his sneakers to the road. A child’s giggle dances lightly around the aching baritone of someone who must be Billy. 

Laughing.

Steve’s never heard Billy laugh before, but he is. Giggling right alongside a tiny blonde girl, her chubby, soft fingers tangled in his hair. 

It’s so sweet.

Steve never thought Billy was capable of something like that. Laughter and honey-crisp cheeks and a gentle hold on Holly Wheeler, of all kids, giggling harder when Billy tickles her fingers and says, “C’mon, brat, loosen that death-grip, yeah?”

“No,” Holly shouts, descending into feverish giggles when Billy tickles the side of her overalls, instead, “Soft, it’s soft!”

“Well, there won’t be any left if you don’t let go. You’re gonna scalp me if you’re not careful.”

At the promise that Billy’s hair might fall out or sink back into his scalp like a slurped up spaghetti noodle, Holly lets go all at once, and topples back onto the couch in a fit of laughter. 

Billy rubs the side of his head. “I think I’ve got a bald spot, kid,”

“What’s scalp-thing?” Holly wonders. She’s sitting next to Billy on the couch, now, only the tops of her fountain pigtails showing through the window. 

From the street, sweating in his gym clothes, eyes squinted against the piercing sun, Steve sees red on Billy’s cheeks and across his nose, seeping like spilled neon matter.

“Uh,” Billy says intelligently. He runs both hands through his hair, plucking a pink scrunchie from his wrist to pull the curls off his face. He looks younger, like this. Sweet. His ears stick out farther than Steve ever imagined, he’s got.

Dumbo ears. 

“This isn’t an appropriate conversation,” Billy admits. 

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s kind of violent. And scary. And I don’t think your mom would like it if I told you and gave you scary dreams for the next few months.”

Holly’s mouth sets into a firm, unyielding line. “I’m a big girl,” She says. Harsh.

Scathing. 

A little bit of Nancy and Billy, too. Their weird personality child.

Billy shifts uncomfortably on the couch, tucking his feet under himself. “I know, kid. Some other time, okay? We’ll get a book from the library and read it when you’re fifteen.”

Holly laughs again, “You won’t be my babysitter when I’m fifteen,” She says.

And if Steve wasn’t mistaken, jogging through a neighborhood fifteen blocks from his own just for the chance to see Billy Hargrove through an open window on a Saturday and then peering through that open window like a creep, he’d swear Billy looks regretful of that. 

Sad, almost. 

“You’re right,” Billy says. When Holly’s eyes go big and watery, Steve knows she was hoping to be told the opposite. Clued in on some secret thing only grown ups and Billy’s know about. 

“When I’m fifteen,” Holly says brightly, “I’m gonna have a boyfriend.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yeah huh!”

“Nu-uh,” Billy sing-songs. He tugs on the end of Holly’s pigtail, smirking. “I won’t be your babysitter but I’ll be around. So if any dumb boys forget to watch their step I can make ‘em sorry.”

Holly swats his hand away, “If you’re mean to my boyfriend I’ll stomp on your foot.”

Billy’s smirk melts, slowly, into a warm, pleasant smile. “You wouldn’t do the same for me?”

“When you get a boyfriend?” Holly asks, small and curious, and. 

Steve’s lurked on this street hundreds of times since Billy moved to town. He’s driven by long after midnight, parked down the block and wrestling with the glimmering dream of sneaking through Billy’s window.

He’s watched the sunlight bronze Billy’s hair in the cafeteria at school. He’s counted the freckles that dust Billy’s cheeks when his head is bent over a notebook. Steve would know the wrinkle of Billy’s lips from a hundred yards away, down the block, on the aluminum surface of another planet. His heart has grown three sizes every time Billy laughs at one of his jokes–

Steve’s never felt like he was spying on Billy, before. Like he was crossing some unspecified boundary.

But Holly Wheeler takes Billy’s silence as admission, and she says, “You could kiss Steve if you wanted to,” Like she’s done the math. Crunched the numbers. 

Steve feels like the ground has been pulled out from under him. 

He shivers, watching Billy’s face for the encroaching panic that’s sure to come with anyone, even a child, seeing him so clearly. 

Instead, Billy tils his head back and chuckles. His Adams apple bobs three times, and Steve wants to kiss it. Bite it. Swallow that laugh down inside himself to keep warm. 

“Oh yeah?” Billy rights himself, grinning, “How do you know that?”

“He’s standing outside,” Holly says, and. 

And she points. 

At Steve.

Billy’s head whips toward the window, and a lot of things happen at once. First, they lock eyes and Steve’s pretty sure Angels are singing. Billy’s so beautiful and surprised and Steve loves him. 

Aches. 

Billy’s flush is back, painting the world raspberry, and for half a second he looks like he’s going to smile. 

Steve’s heart cracks open, but then Billy’s furious.

“Harrington?” Billy snaps, and he’s a mad dog. A snapping pit. A bloodhound pausing only when Steve trips over himself, pathetically, to hide behind a tree. 

“Steve–”

Steve bangs a kneecap on the bark and feels the first few layers of skin tear away. He presses in close to the tree trunk, holding his breath. Maybe, if Steve suffocates to death, Billy won’t find him.

“Don’t be sad, Billy!” Holly Wheeler’s shouting, “Don’t be sad, Steve won’t hurt you. He’s nice. He’s a prince. He’s Ken and you’re Barbie–”

“Stay here a minute okay, kiddo?”

“You’re not upset, are you?” Holly wonders quietly. 

There’s a long, lengthy pause, and Billy’s slamming through the front door. 

Steve’s going to die today, and he’ll deserve it.

He considers making a run. He peers down the street, trying to memorize the sunlight on the pavement and the wind in the oaks so when the cops find his body his spirit can lead them to the source–

Billy steps in front of the sun. “Harrington,” He says calmly, “You have three seconds to tell me what the fuck you’re doing here.”

And. 

Steve’s brain must be offline, preparing itself for what’s to come. Because all Steve can see are the little curls escaping the scrunchie that holds Billy’s hair back.

“I wanted to see you.”

“Why,” Billy snaps, jaw working, and. 

Steve knows that he doesn’t want to fly off the handle. Not in front of Holly. That detail gets blood coursing through him. Makes him brave. 

“Because my day is shit if I don’t get to see you. At least once,” Steve says. If he’s going to die he might as well speak the truth. He pushes off the tree-trunk, realizing for the first time that the headphones around his neck are still playing Tears for Fears.

Billy stares at him, shocked, “You can’t be here.”

“I know.”

“Do you have any idea how fucking creepy this is?”

“I wanted to see you,” Steve says, mouth full of cotton, “I had to see you–

“Stop saying that dumb fucker shit. My dad–” Billy grits. He peers around the tree trunk, smiling flatly at the little girl who’s probably trying to see through bark. 

“Shit,” Billy scrubs a hand over his face. Five seconds later, his eyes well with tears. Billy’s in threadbare sweatpants and a Winnie the Pooh crop top. He’s got sandals on. Battered old Birkenstocks, and. 

“You look really beautiful,” Steve says, feeling like he just ran a hundred miles to get here. 

He did, in a way. 

“I’m babysitting.”

“I didn’t realize you did that,” Steve says. Sounds hopelessly in love.

And he’s not sure what’s written all over his face. What wrinkles his forehead that gets Billy to deflate anger, like a punctured balloon. He’s such a brilliant, special person. Every layer Steve peels away just springs another.

“She’s right,” Steve says. Transparent under the weight of Billy’s eyes. “Holly. She’s right.”

“Usually is,” Billy mumbles. “Kid’s a Wheeler, y’know?”

Steve shuffles forward, stopping cold with Billy glares at him. Steve splays his hands, wide and innocent. 

Billy’s panting, chest heaving as Steve takes another, tentative step. 

“I’m only here for a minute,” Steve mutters, eyes caught on the prickle of Billy’s mustache. “Just a minute and I’ll go.”

“Steve–”

Steve kisses him. Everything he’s felt and known and wanted to say for months, fed right into Billy’s clever, strong mouth. 

It isn’t until a little girl giggles,  grass crinkling under he sneakers, that they realize Holly Wheeler didn’t stay put.