Billy can't get clean
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Summary
The whole tableau was too weird: to have Billy Hargrove, the Trash King of Hawkins, crying on the checkered tile of his kitchen floor.
Steve hesitated, unsure if he should maybe try to offer some kind of comfort. But before he could follow through, Billy tipped suddenly forward, fingers curling into the fabric of Steve’s pant leg, the smudged stains on his cheeks landing to press somewhere around Steve’s knees.
“Look, man,” Steve tried, “you don’t look so good. Do you maybe need an ambulance or something?” Steve reached behind him for the phone but stopped when Billy finally spoke, voice a raw mix of wet gravel that sounded distressingly like the discordant high notes of fear. It’s unsettling, to hear Hargrove without mirth or menace; to hear him scared.
“Please,” Billy said, still too raw, like a wet wound, catching in his throat. “Please, Harrington-Steve.
I need you to kill me.”(Or: an “out damn spot” fic where post-flayed Billy has blood on his hands and Steve helps him get clean).