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He hasn’t been present.
Not really truly present.
No, he’s been buried behind a thin layer of haze, watching his life through the eyes of himself while not really experiencing it.
He wishes he could say it was because of the monster taking up space in his mind, but he’d felt like this long before that night at the mill. The only difference between this and the way he’s been since Neil’s fist first made contact with his face is that this time he’s watching his entire world fall apart through the eyes of someone other than himself.
He’d had this foolish thought once upon a time, that he could come back to himself and fix the things he’d broken when he was gone. He’d thought he could apologize to Max for being an asshole all the time. He’d tell her the entire time he just wanted to scoop her up in his arms and apologize for her mother meeting Neil, and then maybe they could bond over hating his dad.
He’d thought he could apologize to Sinclair, for keeping him away from his sister when really he should’ve been keeping his sister away from his dad.
He’d thought he could apologize to Steve, for antagonizing him and taking his spot instead of showering him in love and holding his hand and kissing his pretty face like he’d wanted to the entire time.
None of that ever happened. No, instead he’d yelled and he’d screamed and he’d punched and he’d bruised because he was too much of a pussy to come back to himself and stop being a dick.
And now he was being suffocated by the mental tentacles of a creature from hell.
He hadn’t thought there was a way out, not until Max and her Motley Crüe had locked him in that sauna. After that he’d had this hope that maybe they’d find him and take him back to the pool and finish the job, burn the monster out of him.
They didn’t.
It was times like this, times when everything seemed so disproportionate and he was thrown too far into the deep end, gasping and floundering for a hold, that he wished that his mother had taken him with her. Or maybe, that he could’ve taken matters into his own hands and gotten rid of himself before he could be used as a weapon to hurt those that he loved, those that didn’t know he loved him.
He hated himself more than he ever did in this moment, standing in the middle of the mall and aiding in the chaos that was trying to rip apart his sister and the family she’d found.
He hated himself because he could feel everything.
He could feel Heather, left over emotions of terror and confusion.
He could feel Dorris Driscoll, her last dying thoughts being a plea to see her grandchildren again.
He could feel Heathers father, and his anger for his slut daughter bringing home another boy. He didn’t feel as bad for him.
He could feel the cashier from the stupid grocery store a block away from the middle school.
He could feel the manager of the Family video, he could feel the little boy from over by lovers lake, he could feel a girl.
He could feel a girl with brown hair.
She’d lived with her dad in the forest.
No.
She lives?
She’s alive?
She’s alive and she’s in his head, and suddenly all he can see is California back before his mom left, when he was happy and healthy and he could feel.
He hasn’t felt in a long time.
He feels now.
He feels the little girl, her dad is here too but she doesn’t know if he’s going to make it through the night and that scares her.
She doesn’t know if she’s going to make it through the night and she’s scared.
She doesn’t know if Billy’s going to make it through the night and that scares her most of all because Max needs him, Max needs Billy and she doesn’t know what she’s going to do when he’s gone.
The monster is attacking her, it’s gross tentacles of sludge and various bits of human matter reaching towards her intent on destruction.
Billy couldn’t let that happen.
Not to her.
She was only Maxine’s age, and she’d been through so much.
He had to let her see her father again.
He’s reaching now, reaching towards a feeling he hasn’t felt in years.
He’s reaching towards presence, he’s reaching towards control.
And then, in the midst of the battle he’s raging in his mind, the battle to finally experience again, he looks across the mall and for the first time he’s seeing.
And what he sees is Steve Harrington, face bloodied and battered and not unlike what he looked like that night at the Byers house.
His eyes are wet and he’s looking straight at Billy. And suddenly Billy sees everything in technicolor.
He feels everything, down to the curls on his forehead and the jeans on his legs. And he can smell, smell the rancid stench of flesh and blood and bodies. And he can see the monster.
The hideous monster that’s been inside his mind, the one he helped make.
The girl is behind him, inching away behind Billy. And Billy can’t believe anyone could’ve let a little girl face down this thing alone, because he’s so much bigger than her and all he can feel is fear.
Pure fear in its rawest form, because he knows he’s not coming back from this.
One of the monsters tentacles is coming forward, this one erupting from its disgusting mouth. It’s going for the girl.
It never hits her.
The feeling of monster on his hands is one he’s glad he’ll never feel again. It’s got a bumpy, slimy feel to it and he knows that there’s pieces of his friends in there. He hates that knowledge more than anything he feels.
And he can feel so much.
He can feel the tentacles erupting through his body, tearing through his stomach and ripping up his flesh, carving holes in his organs and turning his bones into dust.
He looks across the mall, one last time.
Steve looks scared right now.
Steve is crying.
Steve deserves more than to cry over Billy.
Steve deserves the world.
Billy wishes he’d be alive long enough to give Steve the world.
People are screaming, coming from everywhere.
Billy is screaming.
There’s fireworks too, and the little girl who needs her dad is sobbing from behind him, big hiccuping moans. Max is screaming and crying. She’s never cried in front of Billy before, and definitely never for Billy. Billy hopes Sinclair takes care of her after this.
He turns his head, trying to catch a glimpse of red hair.
There’s tentacles in every part of his body now.
Max isn’t in his sight, but the girl is. He looks at her and he hopes that she knows how much she means to him, how she was the only one to drag him out of the recesses of his mind.
She just cries harder.
And then there’s pain even worse than what he was already feeling, a tentacle right through his chest.
Blood is coming out of his mouth and his breath was long gone.
At this point he’s only holding on by sheer will.
And he doesn’t have enough will to last.
He never did.
That was always his problem.
His vision is fading and he can’t think anymore, his mind is just a cacophony of shrill noises.
He’s not sad to be dying.
No, Billy was meant to die from the very beginning.
He just wishes no one was here to see it.
He’s never been this vulnerable in front of anyone before, and it’s ironic how he never will again.
No, Billy is ok with this, because even though he’s dying he knows that at the very least he’s helping.
He’s never done that before, never been present enough to do so.
But now he can.
And that makes dying so much sweeter.