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If Joyce were to say that she’s surprised when Jonathan comes to her on Thursday morning, after she’s called the kids in for breakfast, to tell her that he thinks Billy’s sick, it would be a lie.
She’s been seeing it build up all week, from the way he’s been moving like his muscles ache, to the extra clothing, the way he’s pulled Steve’s blanket tight around his shoulders, to the way he’d started yawning only a couple hours after waking up, when Joyce knows he’s slept for at least twelve hours.
Last night she’d asked him how he was feeling after seeing him wince while watching a movie with Jonathan, and Billy’d told her he was feeling fine, but Johnathan sent him a look and rolled his eyes, and told her that Billy’s head hurt.
She’d been glad Billy had evidently felt comfortable enough to complain to Jonathan, if a little sad he wouldn’t trust her enough to be completely honest yet. She’s spent some time considering if Billy might have an easier time seeing Jim as his parental figure, compared to her, since Billy’s biological dad has, from what Joyce can tell, always been a complete and utter arsehole, while Billy’s mum is still someone Billy loves. Joyce isn’t trying to replace her, though, she just wishes to be someone Billy can rely on, can come to with the questions and issues you come to your mum for.
When Billy’d brought his first test result back, when Joyce had first seen his grades and told him how proud she was and how goddamn smart he must be and how hard he must’ve worked, Billy seemed shocked at the praise, but he had lit up at it nonetheless, had seemed to glow.
He’d reminded Joyce of a sunflower then, constantly trying to turn his face towards the sun. And if Billy’s the sunflower, then Neil Hargrove was, without a doubt, the clouds obscuring the sun. Joyce is going to do her best to let Billy have as much sun as possible.
She knocks on his door before stepping inside.
Billy’s almost completely hidden, only the top of a curly head sticking out from under his covers. As Joyce gets closer, she sees him shivering slightly.
“Jonathan said you were feeling bad?”
Billy mumbles an affermative.
“Think you’ll be okay by yourself for a couple of hours?”
“‘Course,” Billy mumbles, burrowing further into his pillow. Joyce is hit with the thought that he’s probably been alone every time he’s been sick since his mum left; neither Neil nor Susan Hargrove seemed like the type to have stayed and taken care of him. It’s enough for Joyce to reconsider her own plans for the day.
But the fact is that Billy’s seventeen, and Joyce has four kids to take care of now, even though Jim does provide an extra income, and she will be by to check on him during lunch.
She gets him another blanket from the cupboard in the hallway, spreads it out over him and just barely stops herself from tucking him in. She does stroke his hair once, though, before going to get him a glass of water to put on his nightstand.
She has to get out and make sure the other three cleaned the kitchen then, and call the high school, before leaving for work. Jim had an early shift, and she makes sure to call him as soon as she gets to Melvald’s, to let him know Billy’s sick.
When Joyce gets home during her lunch break, the house is dark and silent, and Joyce assumes Billy’s still sleeping.
But when she gets to his room, he’s not in bed. The bathroom door is left slightly ajar, and pale light is streaming out into the hallway.
“Billy?” she calls, and when there’s no answer, she goes up, pushes the door open the rest of the way, and sees Billy standing by the sink. He’s gripping the edges so hard his knuckles are turning as white as the snow outside. There’s the vague stench of vomit still in the air, and Joyce realises with a sinking feeling that he must’ve thrown up.
“Billy? Sweetie?” she says again, and this time he does look up, meeting her gaze in the mirror. He sniffles, and Joyce sees he’s crying. It makes her move, quickly taking the few steps until she’s standing right behind him.
She reaches a hand up to feel his forehead and sighs at the heat she finds there. Billy’s shoulders shake as he turns his head down to stare into the sink.
Joyce strokes his hair. “You’re feeling really bad, huh?”
Billy turns around then, and holds up his arm to the light. His sleeve has been pulled down, and there are dark spots, marks almost like bruises, littering his skin. Joyce frowns at them, wondering when he might’ve hurt himself, but doesn’t get much time to think before Billy’s speaking.
“They just... appeared, out of nowhere, and I just noticed them and- and... And they’re not going away, and I didn’t do anything, and I-“ he breaks of then, let’s out a sound almost akin to a sob, and turns to look at her with wide, heartbroken eyes. It’s the youngest she’s ever seen him look. “What if it’s AIDS?” Billy whispers, and Joyce feels like the ground has just gone out from under her.
It can’t be , she thinks, but is forced to remember how she’d made fun of Jim’s concern about Billy and Steve sleeping together, how she’d made light of it, how she doesn’t actually know what the rash or the bruises from AIDS look like at its early stages, how she’s only seen a few pictures on the news, and with that thought she reaches out and pulls him close to her. Billy’s shaking, shivering, and her shirt is getting damp.
“I don’t want to die.”
Joyce is close to crying herself. She holds him tighter. “You won’t. I won’t let you.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“You underestimate me,” she says with a shaky laugh. “You’re one of Joyce Byers’ boys now, and I won’t let anything happen to you.”
—
“We need to take Billy to the hospital,” Joyce says, as soon as Jim picks up.
“He feeling that bad?” He says, worried but a little absentminded, like he’s sitting at his desk having just finished a report and trying to plan the rest of his day in his head.
“He thinks it might be AIDS,” Joyce whispers, so quiet she might’ve thought Jim hadn’t heard her when only quiet meets her words, if it wasn’t for the fact that Joyce has learned to read his silences.
“... What?”
Joyce takes a deep breath, and lowers her voice so Billy won’t hear her. She’d sent him to his room to go lie down, told him she’d call Jim. “He’s got rashes, they look like, like bruises, and I don’t know much but I know that’s one symptom, isn’t it?” she’s quick to explain. There’s no sound from the other end. “Jim?”
She hears a shuddering breath. “Sorry, yeah, I just... I just started thinking about Sarah. Joyce... Joyce, I can’t lose another one. I can’t. We just got him. I can’t.” She thinks about Sara, about the little picture of her he keeps in his wallet, and knows there’s nothing she can say. She’s afraid of exactly the same thing. But then his voice changes, from desperate to angry, and he says, “I’m going to kill Steve Harrington.”
“No, Jim-“ Joyce is quick to say. “If... If, if Billy has it, then...“
“... so might Steve,” Jim breathes, all anger gone. “God, Joyce. Shit. Fuck. I’m coming home, we’ll- Who are we going to take him to? If it isn’t... that , and we say we fear it is, then the doctors and nurses, they’ll know, and this is Hawkins, they might talk and some of them might have kids, kids Billy’s age, and it might come back to bite him in the ass.”
Joyce hasn’t thought about that. “I’m going to call Dr. Owens. Ask her, tell her we’re on our way, and that we need help.”
“Okay. Okay, you do that, I’m going to pack up here and come home.”
She’s already called Donald, had been prepared to scream and cry if he wouldn’t accept her telling him she had to take her kid to the doctor and wouldn’t be able to get back to work that day, but he hadn’t argued. Had only sighed and told her he hoped everything worked out.
Dr. Owens gave them a phone number, back when they got custody of Billy and first took him to his physical therapist, the first time he’d been there in months, that she’d said she’d always be reachable on in case of an emergency, and true to her words, she picks up almost immediately.
“I hate to say it but I think you’re right to be cautious,” she says. “I’ve got a colleague, Dr. Allard, whom I trust. He won’t say anything. He can meet you outside the ER.”
“Thank you, thank you so much.”
“Of course.”
Jim doesn’t go inside the house, Joyce just hears him pull up outside and honk. She calls for Billy to come out, and scribbles a note for Jonathan in case they’re not back when the others get home.
Billy hasn’t changed clothes, still dressed in pyjama pants and a sweater, but he uses his crutch to get out, and Joyce’s heart clenches at his weakness. He’d been getting better, using it less and less. He doesn’t need this too.
It’s quiet for the first minute or so, once Jim’s started driving, but Joyce can see his jaw working, can see the way his hand clutches the steering wheel, and isn’t surprised when he explodes:
“Listen, I know you’re fucking teenagers, but how goddamn stupid can you be not to use condoms? What the fuck, kid?”
There’s a hysterical edge to his tone, something Joyce knows is borne out of concern and fear, but Billy hasn’t learned Jim’s moods yet, hasn’t learned to interpret all his body language correctly, and he flinches and presses himself back against the door.
“Jim,” she says, quietly, and when he glances at her she shakes her head minutely. She sees his eyes shift up to the mirror, sees him glance into the backseat at Billy’s curled up form behind her. Something almost ashamed comes over his expression.
“Billy,” he says, calmer now. “I’m sorry. Hey. I’m sorry, I’m just... really worried.”
“Yeah. Yeah, fuck. Okay.”
It goes back to that loaded silence after that, up until Jim hits a spot of ice and has to make a sharp turn. Billy lets out a choked whimper and Joyce turns around in her seat to see him holding his head with one hand, the other at the back of his neck.
“Billy?!” Jim almost shouts, and Joyce is just glad he’s still got enough sense in him to keep his eyes on the road.
“Sorry, sorry...” Billy mumbles. “My neck hurts. I’m okay.”
He doesn’t sound okay. Doesn’t look it, either. Joyce’s heart is beating like a jackhammer.
Jim parks as close to the ER as they can get, and as soon as they step foot inside a dark haired doctor comes up to them.
“Billy Hargrove?” he asks, a slight accent to his voice, and Joyce, standing before the other two, nods. “Dr. Owens said you’d be here. I’m Dr. Allard. Come with me.”
He leads them deeper into the hospital, up through an elevator and down a few more corridors until they reach a room with a desk and computer, a couple chairs, and an exam bed against one wall.
There’s a piece of cloth on it, and Dr. Allard goes up to it and lifts it up. It’s a hospital gown, which he hands to Jim with a nod towards Billy. “Help him change?” Billy’s leaning against him, looking about ready to pass out, but he walks up to the bed with Jim following.
Dr. Allard turns to Joyce, and gestures for her to sit down in a chair close to the desk, so her back ends up turned to Jim and Billy. Dr. Allard takes a seat in front of her, behind the desk.
“I’ve got Billy’s medical record here, so I can see he got heavily injured this past summer, and then again in November. The reason Dr. Owens asked me is because I have experience working with AIDS patients in the city, and I know how you might want to keep this under wraps if that isn’t what it is. Billy’s got a boyfriend, correct?”
Joyce nods, fidgeting with her hands in her lap.
“We might have to get him tested, too, depending on Billy’s results. Can you tell me about his symptoms; why do you think it’s AIDS?”
“Well, my other son, Jonathan, he told me Billy was sick this morning, and last night he had a headache. I came home to check on him during my lunch break, and he’d thrown up. He showed me his arms and the spots there, and said he was afraid that it was AIDS.”
Dr. Allard’s frowning, but he nods when Joyce finishes talking. “Okay. I’m going to need to take a look at that rash first.”
He writes something down, before standing up and walking over to Billy and Jim. Joyce goes to follow, seeing Billy’s hopped up on the bed, and stands to the side with Jim’s arm around her. Billy’s shivering, arms crossed over his chest, eyes trained on the floor.
“Alright, Billy, can you show me your arms?”
Billy slowly uncurls, holding his arms out to the doctor. Dr. Allard takes something out of his front pocket, something like a glass tube, Joyce can’t really make it out, but he rolls it over the rash on Billy’s arms and hums. She sees him put it back in his pocket, bringing out a thermometer next. “Can you look at me, Billy? I need to take your temperature.”
Billy barely moves his head an inch up before Joyce hears him whimper, and sees Dr. Allard tense up.
“Billy,” he starts. “This is really important, okay? Does your neck hurt? Does it feel stiff?”
“Y-Yeah.”
“Okay. I’m going to help you down so you can go sit down with your parents.” Despite the situation they’re in, Joyce’s heart warms at hearing them being called that, at Billy not making any move to protest.
Dr. Allard helps him over to one of the chairs, Billy swaying when his feet first land on the floor. She and Jim sit down on each side of him, and Dr. Allard takes a seat in front of them, behind his desk.
“Well, the good news is that I don’t think it’s AIDS, but I’m going to order a blood culture just to be sure. The results won’t be available until in around three weeks, though.”
“And the bad news?” Jim asks.
“I think it’s meningitis. Has Billy recently met with any new people, slept in the same room as them? A risk group is often college freshman living in dorms.”
“Dr. Owens didn’t feel like he should go back to school last term so he spent it studying from home,” Joyce explains. “He just started classes again this month. And he’s a Senior in high school; he went on a trip with his classmates over the weekend.” She and Hopper had been unsure about letting him, afraid something would happen but Billy had looked so excited and Robin and Nancy and even Jonathan were going, so they’d said yes in the end.
Dr. Allard nods. “He might’ve gotten it passed from one of his classmates then. His teachers will have to be contacted so they can tell the other parents to be on the lookout for symptoms. Now, we’re going to do a lumbar puncture to make sure it is meningitis and to see which type it is so Billy can get the right antibiotics.”
Joyce frowns and Jim must share her confusion because Dr. Allard explains,
“During a lumbar puncture we use a hollow needle to draw out a bit of spinal fluid which we can then test. Billy will be under local anaesthesia during the procedure. It’ll take around forty-five minutes.”
“You want to stick a needle into my fucking spine? No. No, no way,” Billy says, the first full sentence he’s said since they got here.
“Billy...” Joyce starts.
“No. No, Joyce, please,” he says, voice agitated and timid. “I can’t.”
“You have to understand that this is a very serious illness,” Dr. Allard says. “One in five people die.”
“But you can treat it? He’ll be okay?” Jim asks.
“There’s still a risk, long term brain problems can occur in twenty-five to fifty percent of cases, but if we don’t do anything I can’t promise that Billy will be alive at the end of this week. It worsens quickly, so early diagnosis is key in getting the best possible outcome.”
Joyce frowns. “We’ll be allowed to be there with him, right?”
“Of course.”
“Can you schedule it for today?” Jim asks.
Dr. Allard nods. “In an hour or two. I’m admitting Billy to the hospital in the meanwhile.” He glances over to Billy, his expression sympathetic. “I’ll step out, give you three some time. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”
The door closes behind him with a soft click and Joyce turns to look at Billy, who’s been silent since his first attempt at protest. He’s hugging himself, and his hair falls like a curtain so Joyce can’t see his face.
“Billy?”
He lets out a sob, and Joyce starts as she realises he’s crying.
“Billy,” she says, a little louder, and puts her arms around him. He’s rigid, and only relaxes a little. Jim comes over and crouches down on Billy’s other side. He rubs a hand over Billy’s arm.
“I fucking hate needles,” Billy whispers. “Before the... before the Mindflayer, this shit would have been my worst nightmare.”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “But we have to do this, okay?”
“I know,” he says, sounding defeated. He’s still staring at the floor.
“We’ll be there with you. You won’t be alone.”
“Okay.”
They stay like that for a couple of minutes until the door opens, a nurse stepping inside.
“Dr. Allard sent me to do a blood culture,” she explains.
Billy presses his face against Joyce. She reaches up and strokes his hair.
“He doesn’t like needles,” Jim explains.
The nurse smiles kindly at them. “That’s alright. He doesn’t have to look, I’m just going to need him to give me access to his arm.”
She opens a drawer and takes out the items she’s going to need, before taking a rolling stool and pushing it up to them, sitting down in front of Billy. She doesn’t do anything, doesn’t rush him, just waits for him to hold out his arm to her. His hand’s trembling, and Joyce guesses it’s not only from the fever. His forehead’s warm where it presses against her collarbone.
The nurse cleans the inner part of his elbow first, before wrapping a cuff around his arm, so that his veins fill with blood and become more visible. Joyce feels it when Billy swallows, and hears him hiss when the needle goes in.
“I think one sample is enough,” the nurse says, drawing out the needle and putting a bandage on. “There we go. We’ve got a room ready, so if you’re ready to go I’ll take you to it now?”
Joyce gives a small nod when she feels Billy shift away from her. His legs shake when he goes to stand, keeping one hand on the back of the chair until Jim hands him his crutch.
It’s slow going, to the point where Joyce almost wants to ask for a wheelchair or tell Jim to carry him the rest of the way, but eventually they reach the elevator. The nurse takes them a floor up and shows them to a room, telling Billy to rest until they come to do the lumbar puncture. Jim helps him up into the bed, Joyce pulling the covers over him. There are chairs in the room, and the two of them sit down, Joyce immediately taking Jim’s hand.
They spend a while like that, a nurse coming in to get their insurance information and check Billy’s temperature after twenty minutes, Billy’s eyes closing almost immediately and chest rising in sleep, until an hour later they fly open and he pushes himself up on his side, swallowing.
Joyce shoots up from her seat and goes to him, calling over her shoulder at Jim. “Get him a trash can!” She reaches a hand out and strokes Billy’s hair back, away from his forehead. He blinks up at her, eyes unfocused and wet.
Then Jim’s there, holding out a trash can and a second later Billy’s heaving.
The door opens, but Joyce doesn’t turn around to look, too focused on Billy, whose eyes are squeezed shut and whose hands are fisted in the blanket. Jim however must’ve, because she hears him say, “Who the fuck are you?”
And then, an unknown male voice answering, “Dr. Moore. Dr. Allard had an emergency, so I’m here to do William’s lumbar puncture.”
One last great heave, and Billy falls back against the pillow. She feels Jim stand up beside her and turns around to see him carrying away the trash can, hears him tell the new doctor that Billy doesn’t go by his full name. Her stomach drops when she sees the length of the needle the nurse, who apparently came with the new doctor, takes out and prepares. She quickly moves so she’s blocking Billy’s sight of it.
Dr. Moore steps up to the bedside, making her and Jim move back, and leans down a little so he’s closer to being on eye level with Billy.
“Billy? Can you open your eyes? I’m going to need you to turn on your side.”
Billy does turn around, facing the doctor, but his eyes close almost as soon as they open. “Please,” he whispers. “Please no... it hurts, it hurts so bad...”
Joyce’s belly clenches in worry.
“What hurts, Billy?” Dr. Moore asks. “Billy, what hurts?”
“Head... The lights, I can’t...” He goes to shake his head but winches and stills.
“Okay. Okay, Billy? Your parents are here. They’re going to-”
Billy’s eyes snap open. “No... no, please, don’t call my dad. Please... please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”
The nurse sends Jim a horrified look at the sound of the distress in Billy’s voice, the utter panic at having his dad there, and Joyce feels like crying. Jim pushes past the doctor, getting Billy’s attention.
“Billy, hey, kid. Your dad’s not here, he’s in jail. He’s in jail, Billy, he can’t hurt you.”
He blinks at him, seeming to calm down a little, before his gaze shifts to Joyce. She smiles gently at him.
“Do you know who I am?” she asks, and feels her heart break when he just stares at her. He looks so lost, eyes wide and searching. It feels like Will all over again.
“I’m sorry.”
Joyce shakes her head, reaching for his hand and taking it in her own. “No, sweetie. It’s not your fault.”
Billy squeezes her hand, grip weak. “Don’t go,” he whispers and Joyce has to blink back the pressure behind her eyes.
“I won’t,” she says, stepping closer.
Dr. Moore’s gone up on Billy’s other side, standing behind him, and he meets Joyce’s gaze, nodding at her. “Keep him calm,” he says. “Billy? Think you can curl up, with your legs to your chest?”
Billy makes no move to show he’s heard him, just keeps taking measured breaths.
Dr. Moore sighs, and moves down to his legs, the nurse stepping in on his other side, together pushing his legs up to make his knees bend. Billy tries to twist away from them, out of their grasp, a low whine coming from the back of his throat. The nurse pushes him back down, before turning around and beckoning Jim to take her place. Joyce’s heart aches.
Next, Dr. Moore moves back up to Billy’s head, and pushes it forward, curling him up further. Billy lets out a gasp and a groan at the movement he’s forced into. Joyce reaches up with her other hand, the one Billy’s not holding in a tight grasp, and places it on his head. She smooths his hair down, gently shushing him.
The nurse comes up and takes the doctors place, placing one hand on Billy’s neck, underneath his curls. “He needs to stay in this position, keeping his spine stretched,” she tells them. Joyce nods, and keeps stroking his hair.
Dr. Moore pulls up a rolling stool and rolling table and sits down by Billy’s back. He reaches out to open the hospital gown, and for the first time, Joyce sees Billy’s scars. They’re big, rounded and swirling from his side down his back.
“Jesus,” Dr. Moore says, and Joyce wonders if he knows as much about Billy as Dr. Allard, or if he thinks this is all Neil Hargrove’s handiwork.
Billy shivers after having his back exposed to the cold air, the tremors increasing when Dr. Moore starts cleaning his back. He lifts up a syringe and Joyce doesn’t see it go in but she feels Billy flinch and try to pull away, squeezing his eyes shut again.
A minute goes by without anybody moving, before Dr. Moore reaches out again and starts pressing at Billy’s back. Billy doesn’t react to it, so Joyce guesses he must’ve just injected him with the anaesthesia.
He reaches for the long, thin needle next, and Joyce hopes Billy won’t feel it. It seems her prayers have been answered, because she’s pretty certain he’s pushed it in and Billy hasn’t made any sign of having felt it, but then his right leg shoots out, spasming as he cries out, and Joyce sees tears start to leak out past his closed eyelids.
Jim moves quickly to push his leg back up, throwing her a terrified look.
“Sorry,” Dr. Moore says. “Must’ve hit a nerve. We’ll try again.”
“You’re kidding,” Jim says, and the doctor looks up, throwing him a slightly irritated look.
“It happens,” is all he says. Joyce wishes she could slap him.
He takes the needle out, only to push it back in, and almost immediately Billy’s whole body shudders. His other hand moves from clenching the covers so hard his knuckles turn white to grasping her wrist, above their clasped hands, fingers fluttering. Joyce hears a sigh and looks up to see the nurse staring at Dr. Moore with wide, unbelievable eyes.
Dr. Moore removes the needle again, putting his hand on Billy’s side and bending him a little more towards her. He injects the needle again, and Billy yelps, trying to move away, closer to Joyce, whimpering the entire time.
“It’s hard with all the scar tissue-“
“Okay, no,” Jim says, not able to take any more. “No, stop. You clearly have no idea what you’re doing, and I’m not having you try to stick any more needles into my kid’s back. I want you to go and get us another doctor, a capable one, for fuck’s sake.”
Dr. Moore looks up, shocked. “I-“
“Out,” Jim growls, and Joyce’s heart swells with pride.
Dr. Moore puts the needle to the side, brushes himself off, and stands up and leaves.
Joyce looks to the nurse, and says, “Can you see if you can find Dr. Tatiana Owens?”
She gives Joyce a quick nod and leaves, closing the door gently behind her. Once they’re both gone, Billy starts sobbing uncontrollably.
“Shit,” Jim says, letting go of the hold he’d kept on Billy’s knees and moving closer to her. Billy’s trying to twist away, trying to move so he’s lying on his belly, shaking and still holding on to her hand even as he turns his face into the pillow.
“Hurts,” he moans.
Joyce smooths down his hair again, moving a stray curl that keeps trying to land in his mouth. “I know, sweetie. I know.”
He’s blinking up at her, but Joyce doesn’t think he actually sees her. “Max,” he gasps out. “Max. T-Tell... tell Max I’m sorry... I’m sorry... I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to... I didn’t mean...”
“Shh, Billy, sweetie, it’s okay. It’s okay.” She turns to Jim, tells him, “Turn the light off.”
Jim goes away and a second later the room’s submerged in darkness. She hears Jim knock into something on his way back, feels him put his arm around her. Joyce keeps her hand on Billy’s head, gently stroking until he calms down.
The door opens, and the light turns on. Billy flinches and moves a shaking arm up to block out the light.
“Oh God,” Tatiana’s voice comes, and Joyce looks over her shoulder to see her standing just past the doorway, staring at Billy’s trembling form. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“Just get us another doctor,” Jim sighs, and Tatiana leaves, turning the light off again.
She’s back, some fifteen minutes later, with another female doctor and a male nurse, turning the light on as they step inside.
“Dr. Martinez,” the woman introduces herself as, taking Dr. Moore’s abandoned seat. She’s brought a new needle, and a new syringe. Tatiana moves up by Billy’s head, gently pressing it forward while the nurse pushes Billy’s legs up, making him curl up again.
“Does he know where he is?” Tatiana asks. “Can he recognise you?”
Joyce shakes her head, looking down at Billy. He’s just crying quietly, still holding her hand.
“I’m going to give him another local,” Dr. Martinez says, and without further ado lifts the syringe and injects it. She waits a minute or so for it to take effect, before reaching for the other needle, gently and slowly pushing it inside. “Okay. I’m going to collect the CSF now. There’ll be a bit of pressure.”
True to her word, Billy sucks in a harsh breath when she starts drawing out the fluid. His breathing’s speeding up, his chest starting to heave.
“Billy? Hey, kid, slow down. Breathe,” Jim says, but it doesn’t seem like he can hear them. He tries to twist away, the nurse holding him down.
“He needs to stay still,” Dr. Martinez says, a slight panicked quality to her voice. Joyce thinks about her having a needle stuck in his spine, and worries that if she doesn’t get it out correctly then maybe he might end up paralysed. She doesn’t know if that could happen, but it feels like it could and that’s enough to make her panic, so she reaches out for Billy’s shoulder and tries to hold him still.
A couple seconds later, and Dr. Martinez is pulling the needle out, pressing a bandage to the puncture site. While she takes out a bit of gauze and uses it to clean his back, Tatiana steps away, goes around the bed and disappears somewhere behind Joyce. Dr. Martinez tapes another bandage to his back, before leaning forward and placing a hand on Billy’s side and upper arm.
She turns him around so he’s lying on his back, making him let go of Joyce’s hand. Tatiana comes back into eyesight, wheeling an IV stand up to the bed. Dr. Martinez reaches for his hand, taking out a needle, but when Billy’s eyes land on it his breathing speeds up again, hyperventilating and gasping in short bursts of air. He tries to scramble backwards, tries to push himself up, eyes jumping between them, but as soon as his head raises from the pillow he’s moaning and turning to the side, starting to dry heave.
The nurse pushes past them, and Joyce stumbles backwards, into Jim, as he brings up the trash can Billy threw up in before. Joyce doesn’t think he’s really eaten anything today though, so nothing comes up.
Billy seems to come to the same conclusion because he falls back down. Dr. Martinez tries to touch his arm, but he flinches and starts to shake harder.
“No, no, no, please don’t touch me, don’t touch me, don’t...! No! No, please, I don’t understand what you want, I don’t-!” His eyes are wide open, showing nothing but pure terror, and Joyce realises he’s not with them, not at all, he’s seven months back, seeing the Mindflayer.
Joyce thinks she’s crying, one hand grasping Jim’s, the other trembling in front of her mouth. Tatiana appears in front of her then, blocking her sight of Billy.
“Joyce. Joyce, I need you two to step outside, I can’t focus on helping him and helping you. Go to the waiting room, or the cafeteria, I’ll find you later, but you need to go now.”
Joyce doesn’t think her voice would bare, so she just nods, but can’t really get her feet to move. In the end, Jim tightens his grip on her hand and pulls her with him, out of the room. The last they hear before the door closes is Billy cry out, hears him call out for Max, and then the door is falling shut and Joyce is pressing her face into Jim’s chest and finally letting her tears escape.
—
“Four nurses, and four doctors,” Jim says, almost an hour later.
They’re in the hospital’s cafeteria, two mugs of strong coffee in front of them, although Joyce doesn’t think she’s taken a single sip of hers.
“Four doctors, and four nurses, and Tatiana just told us he’s slipped into a coma.”
“But she said that’s... good, didn’t she?” Joyce tries. “That it’ll help him rest, help his body fight it off quicker.”
“She just said that to make us feel better. That’s what they did with Sara. They want us to have hope, but Joyce, he might die.” She hears a sniffle, and when she looks up, there are tears trailing down his cheeks. It’s the first time she’s seen him cry. “What will we do if he dies?”
Joyce doesn’t know, so she chooses not to answer, instead squeezing his hand and saying, “We need to call the kids. And the school.”
Jim nods, pulls his other hand up to dry his cheeks. “You do the kids, I’ll take the school?”
“Okay.”
There are little cubicles outside the cafeteria, each one with a phone. They step into one each.
Jonathan answers on the first ring, as though he’s been sitting, waiting, by the phone. “Mum? How is he? Max went home with El, she found your note before I did. She’s been worried sick, her mum just came and picked her up.”
“It’s... it’s bad, Jonathan. It’s bad.” There’s a burning behind her eyes, and Joyce has to take a couple seconds to make it go away. She doesn’t want to cry with Jonathan on the other end. “He’s got meningitis, and he didn’t recognise us, and now he’s in a coma.”
“What?” Jonathan’s voice is soft, quiet, barely there.
“Yeah, I don’t... We’re going to stay here for a couple hours more, at least, and you’re in charge until we get home.”
“Can we come and see him?”
“Not... Not yet. Not yet.”
“Okay. Mum?”
“Yeah, honey?”
“I love you. Take care of him.”
—
The next two days feel never ending while they happen, but when Joyce looks back on them there are only snapshots that stand out.
She’s about to call Steve when she remembers he’s on a two week trip with his parents, and has to put the phone down, an invisible hand clutching at her throat. She’s afraid that Billy will die, and Steve won’t know anything until days later. Won’t get a chance to say goodbye.
She and Jim take turns, sitting by Billy’s bedside in shifts so the other one can get home, can get food, can sleep. She hears him, angry on the phone, telling his colleagues that he’s the Chief and his kid might be dying in the hospital and he’s certain they can hold the fort down for a couple days without him watching them like a hawk. Donald doesn’t argue when Joyce explains the situation, only tells her that he hopes Billy survives.
She’s feeling helpless, and they need groceries, and Joyce doesn’t want to burden Jonathan with it, and she needs to do something useful, so she goes out to shop.
And ends up in the same aisle as Susan Hargrove.
“Joyce,” Susan says, sounding breathless. She seems shocked to see her there. And a little bit afraid. “Max told me Billy was in the hospital, she’s really worried. Is... How’s he doing?”
Joyce is exhausted, and so, so worried, so she stares up at Susan who’s at least seven inches taller than her and sets her jaw. “He’s got meningitis. He’s in a coma, and he might die. The last thing I heard him do was scream. And I have three children, and your daughter, who are worried out of their minds, and I am so scared that I will have to be planning a funeral by the end of this week. Now excuse me, I need to get back to the hospital.”
She sits in a cold plastic chair next to his bed and sings Somewhere Over The Rainbow. She hates how similar this situation is to the first time she sang it to Billy, months ago. She didn’t know if he’d pull through then either.
Then finally, after two days of intense fear and uncertainty, something changes.
Joyce is asleep in her chair next to him, when she’s startled awake to the sound of a chocked keen.
Her eyes fly open just as Billy collapses back into bed. Joyce has seen his back; she knows it’s one big bruise where the needle went in.
She shoots forward, taking his hand in hers and clutching it like a lifeline. “Shh, Billy, sweetheart, don’t try to move. Don’t move, you’re okay.”
He turns to look at her, eyes tired despite him having slept for over sixty hours. “Joyce?”
She can’t help but cry. Tears of relief, this time. “Yes. Yes, Billy. Can you hear me? How do you feel?” Joyce asks, her head pumped full with all the long term brain problems they’d been warned about during the last two days, Billy’s bedside table filled with pamphlets and leaflets, and Joyce’s mind filled with thoughts of brain damage, deafness, learning disabilities, paralysis, bereavement, Billy, Billy, Billy.
He frowns at her. “Head hurts. Back hurts. But why wouldn’t I be able to hear you? Why are you crying?”
“Do you remember what happened?” Dr. Martinez had told them that if he woke up, he might experience some gaps in memory.
“I... I thought I had AIDS, but the doctor, he said he thought I had men... meni... I don’t know. I remember they came to draw blood.” His whole face screws up at that memory. Joyce squeezes his hand.
“You got meningitis. It’s Sunday, you’ve been in a coma since Thursday night. God, Billy, we were so afraid. You can never do that to me again, you hear me? You’re not allowed to.”
He gives her a weak grin. “Sorry.”
Joyce sighs. “I should get your doctor.”
Billy gives her a slight nod, wincing at the movement.
Joyce leaves him to go intercept a nurse outside, ask her to call for Dr. Martinez, and when the doctor gets there, she asks Joyce to step out so she can examine Billy. Joyce takes the time to go call Jim. He jumps in his car as soon as they’ve said goodbye.
—
Billy tries to get out of bed the next day. His legs go out from under him as soon as he puts weight on them, and if Jim wasn’t there to catch him he’d have crashed to the floor.
By the time they get him back in bed, he’s crying, and complaining about pressure in his head making him nauseous.
They get Dr. Martinez to come back, check him over again, and she closes the door gently behind her when she steps out to talk to them in the corridor outside his room.
“He’s going to be okay. He’s alright, Ms. Byers, Mr. Hopper.”
“But his head still-“
“It’s to be expected. He’s going to be fine. I’ve got him on pain medication.”
Joyce still has a hard time believing her, especially when she’s hearing him cry himself to sleep that night. She sinks her hand into soft blonde curls and wishes the world could stop being so cruel.
But then the next day he’s doing better, and by Thursday he can stand up again, he can walk, and Joyce knows they are so, so lucky, but she also feels like this is the least they deserve after everything they’ve been through.
—
They get to take him home on Friday.
Joyce sits with him in the backseat, has him lean his head on her shoulder, the whole way home. As soon as the car pulls up outside the front door is thrown open, both Max and El rushing out of the house to throw themselves at him when he climbs out of the car.
Joyce takes his crutch with her from the trunk, the girls helping him up the steps and in through the front door, and when she comes in it’s to the sight of Jonathan hugging Billy.
It only lasts a second or so, but they stay close to one another. She sees Billy turn to look at the kitchen table, sees him send Jonathan a teasing smile.
“You got me cake?”
Jonathan laughs. “You scared the shit out of us.”
“So you got me cake?”
“Yeah. Yeah, we got you cake. Will decorated it.” He knocks his fist against Billy’s shoulder, gently, gives him a small smile. “Don’t ever do it again.”
Going to bed that night, belly full of cake and heart full from having heard laughter from her family for the first time in a week, secure in the knowledge that all her kids are safe and healthy in bed, lying in the arms of the man she loves, who she might’ve loved as a teenager, even, Joyce finally, finally feels like she can breathe.