[Easy as that. Billy remembers a face; rich boy clothes and smooth, golden hair. He probably hated him too, if he’s honest. Gently, he pries Eddie from him. Lays him down and leans over, uses a knuckle to clear his face of hair.
Billy Hargrove is a predator. His smile is gentle, but it’s there, behind his eyes. Something cruel; something horrible. ] I won’t be long. Promise.
[He doesn’t kiss Eddie Munson. Not yet, anyway. He does leave him as comfortable as he can, grabs his jacket and leaves to hunt. It’s muscle memory, driving some old car to Munson’s place. Remembers one or two times during summer, before he’d been taken. He’s lucky the gates right there. Lucky he can’t hear voices on the other side. Staring at it feels exhilarating; surreal.
Squatting into a jump, grasping the edges of it and climbing through feels better. Hitting the mattress, feeling the crisp air of reality hit his stale, dead longs feels so fucking good he almost cries. Not now, though. Now he has to focus.
It takes him two hours to find Jason Carver, because all it takes, in the end, is to listen to the gossip on the wind, to sniff out a Hawkins High jacket and follow. He finds him at the Creel house, finds him at the door and grabs him fast. He smells like rage and hate; like bad cologne and misguided righteousness.
He has no idea he’s probably just saved Max’s life, but he knows she’s in there and he fucking hesitates a second before he drags an unconscious Jason Carver back with him.
He wakes up when Billy pushes him through; screams when Billy lands next to him. It’s not his fault he has to punch him to knock him out, but he isn’t complaining. Dragging him home is less of an ordeal that way anyway. He’s pliant when Billy ties him to a chair, heavy and limp when he drags the chair down the hall to the room that isn’t his, and leaves him opposite Eddie.
Billy looks mean when he pulls Jason’s head back by the hair to pry his mouth open to gag him. He looks delighted. ] There we go. You want him awake, Killer?
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Billy Hargrove is a predator. His smile is gentle, but it’s there, behind his eyes. Something cruel; something horrible. ] I won’t be long. Promise.
[He doesn’t kiss Eddie Munson. Not yet, anyway. He does leave him as comfortable as he can, grabs his jacket and leaves to hunt. It’s muscle memory, driving some old car to Munson’s place. Remembers one or two times during summer, before he’d been taken. He’s lucky the gates right there. Lucky he can’t hear voices on the other side. Staring at it feels exhilarating; surreal.
Squatting into a jump, grasping the edges of it and climbing through feels better. Hitting the mattress, feeling the crisp air of reality hit his stale, dead longs feels so fucking good he almost cries. Not now, though. Now he has to focus.
It takes him two hours to find Jason Carver, because all it takes, in the end, is to listen to the gossip on the wind, to sniff out a Hawkins High jacket and follow. He finds him at the Creel house, finds him at the door and grabs him fast. He smells like rage and hate; like bad cologne and misguided righteousness.
He has no idea he’s probably just saved Max’s life, but he knows she’s in there and he fucking hesitates a second before he drags an unconscious Jason Carver back with him.
He wakes up when Billy pushes him through; screams when Billy lands next to him. It’s not his fault he has to punch him to knock him out, but he isn’t complaining. Dragging him home is less of an ordeal that way anyway. He’s pliant when Billy ties him to a chair, heavy and limp when he drags the chair down the hall to the room that isn’t his, and leaves him opposite Eddie.
Billy looks mean when he pulls Jason’s head back by the hair to pry his mouth open to gag him. He looks delighted. ] There we go. You want him awake, Killer?