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Steve can’t really comprehend what he’s looking at when he walks into the showers after he’s through swimming.
The kids had dragged him to the pool all summer. Then they got hooked on some other new fun thing and he was left just getting into swimming again with no good reason to go to the community pool besides, well. Himself.
So he’s been going almost every day. He swims for a few hours, showers the chlorine from his hair, because it always gives him blond streaks before long, and then goes home and naps or goes to work.
But today he walks into the showers, only wanting a nice, hot stream of water to blister himself clean, when he sees Billy Hargrove, resident lifeguard, bent over and bleeding.
He blinks. Blinks again. Takes in the streaks of blood, the slowly growing pool of red underneath his straining arms and that’s when Billy notices him.
He makes an aborted little moan, averts his eyes, and drags himself into the nearest shower stall. The water slaps on a moment later and Steve blinks again. Because what the hell .
“Billy?”
He checks to see if the coast is clear, which, thankfully at this time in the afternoon, is devoid of anyone else. Most of those still at the pool are either kids with their moms or the moms themselves, lurking for a chance to grab Billy’s attention. Steve’s always found it gross, and kind of funny. Especially since Billy can’t be bothered to do more than schmooze them before ditching the pool entirely on his breaks.
Steve’s always wondered, absently of course, where he gets off to during his breaks, his lunch. Does he go to his car? Does he eat in the staff room?
Wherever he goes, it’s nowhere the pool-goers can ogle him.
But now, Billy’s in a stall, leaving behind a trail of dark blood. Some stray thought tells Steve that’s a bad color of blood to have leaking all over the place, but it’s Billy , so who knows if he just got beat up and is whining over it. Or.
Or he’s hurt.
Steve finds Billy’s bare feet sticking out under a curtain that’s only covering little more than half of the bleeding boy inside. He slowly slides it back and takes Billy in.
“Get out, Harrington,” he croaks and Steve doesn’t think he’s ever heard anyone sound so rough before. “Get the fuck out.”
“Billy, what the hell…”
Billy shifts, his blue eyes bloodshot and pleading up at him to listen, maybe. To leave him alone.
He’s got one hand on a knife. And that knife’s tip has carved a map on his other forearm, tracing along what--what looks like black veins. They’re big and stark and ugly things, and he’s bleeding on top of it. What the hell is going on?
The hair on his nape stands on end. Realizes the water Billy’s turned on is ice cold.
Steve wishes the kids were with him today. Then he’d have El here to call it. To decide if this is what Steve thinks it is.
“Harrington,” Billy grinds out. “Please.” When he squeezes his eyes shut tight, tears slip down his face. Steve’s never seen him cry. Didn’t know a guy like Billy Hargrove could .
Steve makes a choice.
He kneels at Billy’s side, ignores the sting of ice water on his neck and shoulders, making his skin pebble all over. He crowds in close, takes Billy’s hand that’s wielding the knife and gently, but firmly, takes over.
Billy whimpers. “I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to hurt you again.”
Steve swallows. He’s got cottonmouth, but his hand doesn’t shake. He clasps his other hand over the worst of the wounds, Billy’s blood seeping past his fingers.
Black swirls down the drain.
Billy’s head collapses against his shoulder, his breath is steam along his skin. “It’s telling me to hurt you. Don’t want to. Not again.”
Steve takes the knife. Chucks it away with a clang that gets lost between Billy’s sudden sobbing and the slick feel of blood mixing with ice.
“I need to cut it out.”
Steve doesn’t know what else to do beyond hold Billy as he weeps and bleeds. The worst of it seems to be staunched, but Billy’s got his other hand twisted in his hair, tugging hard and soft in turns.
“Billy, it’s okay. I got you, I--” Billy pulls him in close, face buried in his neck. Steve wraps his free arm hesitantly across Billy’s shoulders. “I know who can fix this.”
“Carve it out of me, Harrington,” Billy’s saying, over and over. “It hurts, too.”
Steve just holds on and waits. Makes a plan.
He just knows he won’t let the monster hurt anyone else.