Archive of Our Own

Steve is eighteen when he’s drafted.

It’s been the most steady and reliable event of his life, something he knows he can turn the radio on to tune in to, start a conversation with, and wonder about. It’s been like this for years already.

And, once the States got involved, Steve knew it wouldn’t be long. The ugliness that reigns in Europe needs to be stopped, and having the United States Military fully involved will ensure that. It might take a while still, years, and Steve knows that when he reads the conscription letter.

He kisses his mother one day, nods at his father, and boards a bus.

Life changes, as Steve knows it will, but it’s a shock. Boot camp, training for the front lines, all of it. An entirely different world than the small town of Hawkins, Indiana, but that eventually changes too. Everyone comes from the same place. They all look alike; stripped bare, shaved, shoes shined, hands pressed firmly to their foreheads as they shout yes, sir, no, sir.

They’re each other, not one of them worth more or less, and they’re told that in no uncertain terms. They’re fighting to save the world from dictatorship and to stop the mass destruction of Europe—blitzkrieg is still a word that tightens Steve’s stomach because he’s been hearing it for so long, and people need to be free of the terror.

It spreads everywhere. Europe, Africa, and The Soviet Union. The French and British have been at this a lot longer than they have, and there’s tension there that Steve understands, but he can only listen and watch. Not speak unless spoken to.

Smoke with his unit at night, trade jokes among crumbled buildings as they talk about things that wouldn’t be normal back home. That would horrify them just months ago, but it has become an everyday thing; they hear news much more plainly here and know what it means. They can picture it because they’ve done and seen it.

Steve makes friends with everyone in his unit. They’re not worth more than the guns they carry and the dog tags around their necks—that’s been beaten into their skulls. But to them, they’re brothers and worth a lot more.

They’re young boys with families. Mothers who cried when they saw them off, siblings who clung tightly, fathers who nodded because they’d fought once too. Fought and survived and watched their sons slip from their grasps and hoped they will survive, too.

Captain Hopper is a big asshole who doesn’t take shit from anyone most days unless it’s been a hard one, and his bag of dog tags grows a little heavier.

He smokes like a chimney, so he’s packing if they run out and always lets them bum one.

Hagan comes from Kentucky, not too far from Steve, and he’s a little freckle-faced bastard who thinks his shit doesn’t stink, but he’s funny, so no one’s smacked him yet.

Byers from Indiana, just a few small towns away from Steve. Quiet, but sharp, always smiling about something and staying positive.

Hudson from Utah, religious but never out loud. Tall and gangly with a goofy grin, keeping the peace with a steady hand if Hopper isn’t around to shout.

Hargrove from California. Blond-haired, blue-eyed with a wickedly handsome grin, a raunchy sense of humor, and enough boiling rage that he’s good in close range, but he can settle that down when he sits in a tower.

Settle down enough to become the best sharpshooter Steve’s come across. He likes to sit with Hargrove as he picks guys off one by one, helping him with rounds or scouting because they make an excellent team.

Billy’s eighteen, and Steve turned nineteen in boot camp; their body count is far greater put together.

Hudson, Jones, Byers, Franco, and so many more. Just one unit of many, pushing their way further into France so they can take it back and liberate people from war.

It’s a well-oiled machine until it’s not.

Their unit gets sent to scout a few days ahead. Their Sergeant and Corporal were shot down and haven't been replaced, but they're sent, anyway. They all have good eyes, but it means more paranoia, even if the French countryside is pretty. Something sinister in disguise, Steve thinks, and he doesn’t want to come back.

Within two days, they’re split from their base by the Axis powers that rein down hard.

Radios are hit, so Hopper can’t get through, and they can’t go back, and their unit has to keep moving. So they book it through shining emerald hills, avoiding trees, looking for enemies, and trying not to shit their pants.

Talking shit and telling stories from home always helps, but they know it’s bullshit to disguise how afraid they are. Steve sees Hopper looking at them sometimes, shaking his head like he disapproves, but Steve knows it’s not of them.

It’s that they’re kids.

And they carry a bag of dog tags that belonged to other kids who haven’t made it this far.

They find the remains of a village. It’s been blown to smithereens and very little stands. Half-walls, old foundations for homes, small gardens turned to dust.

People who lived rurally, away from everyone, likely for generations. And what did they do? Exist? They didn’t have anything the Third Reich would’ve been interested in, so why did they get blown off the face of the planet?

It feels like stepping on sacred ground, as it always does when encountering something like this, but they still have to scout it.

“Hey, fellas,” Hudson says from further ahead. “What do you make of this?”

They walk to him and stand side by side, leaning against each other and looking up at a spire.

A church survived beyond a massive hole in the roof and blown-out doors. But it still stands, and they laugh as they look at it.

“Anybody got somethin’ they wanna make right?” Hargrove drawls. “I got my rosary somewhere.”

“Man. No one else here is Catholic,” Steve says, grinning. “You’re gonna have to do it the old-fashioned way.”

“Funny,” Hagan says, “bet they did every day of their fucking lives. God wiped them out, anyway.”

“Is that what we’re callin’ him now?” Hargrove asks. “Fuuuck me. Definitely lookin’ for a confessional.”

“Wasn’t God,” Hudson says. “Wasn’t evil, either.”

“Just human,” Hopper says as he stomps behind them. “Are we lollygagging or are we calling it clear?”

Steve smiles and looks at Hargrove. “I dunno. Kinda want to lollygag for a damn minute,” he says. “Want to clear it?”

“Let’s do it, Harrington,” Hargrove says, smacking Steve on the back. “Haven’t stepped on holy ground in a while.”

“Are you saying you might catch fire or something?”

“I ain’t nothin’ but a sinner.”

“I think we can all be called that,” Steve says as they walk to the church. They stop at the doors and glance inside.

It’s quiet and dark beyond sunlight bursting in from the hole in the roof and shining across the middle of the church. Dust floats between the rays of light, and the pews are mostly broken, but a few in the back and front are still standing, waiting for someone to sit and pray. They walk inside, holding their weapons, and scout the church.

Only a tiny room in the back without much in it. A poor, toiling village of people living life away from the hubbub. Who could blame ’em for that?

The stone walls he drags his hands across are obviously ancient and Steve wonders how long this small village in the French countryside stood. How long before a madman decided he needed to have more than what he already did?

Fuck, isn’t that what it always boils down to?

“Guess we’ll be parkin’ it in here tonight,” Hargrove says with distaste. “Get back to tryin’ to find a friendly face tomorrow.”

“Can’t fucking wait,” Steve says, yawning. He rubs his eyes and looks at Hargrove, who is peering at him with amusement. “What? What have I done now?”

“You’re just so pretty when you’re sleepy, sweetheart.”

Steve rolls his eyes and shoves Hargrove’s shoulder. “Shut up, prick. I went from daily siestas to this. I’m never going to sleep right again. I remember how my grandfather was,” he says. “Fucked up six ways to Sunday from fighting in a war.”

Hargrove shrugs. “Ehh. Probably. But that’s a worry for future us. Besides, we gotta worry about not joining that bag Hopper keeps so close to his chest,” he says, smiling shortly. “Remember they deserved it, Stevie.”

“They didn’t, though,” Steve mutters. “Not all of them, Billy.”

“Yeah. Maybe not,” Billy says. “But you gonna stop and let ’em shoot you ’cause fair’s fair? Nah. Get home and hug your parents. Remember you got home because you did what you had to. We gotta survive first.”

“Yeah, I know. Eager to stop looking at the beautiful French countryside, though,” Steve mutters. He smiles after Billy laughs. “Where would you go if you could pick anywhere?”

“Count me the fuck outta Europe,” Billy says, grinning as Steve raises his hand. He smacks it. “I love San Diego. That's home. Mexico is gorgeous, too. But maybe Miami. See what the east coast has to offer.”

“Bet it’s different but just as nice,” Steve says, resting his hands behind his head. “Sounds peachy. I’d love to get the fuck out of Indiana.”

“Come see Miami with me.”

Steve laughs. “Yeah? Yeah, that’d be a good time,” he says, grinning. “Find out if you’re all bullshit or not.”

“Me, sweetheart? Not a bit,” Billy winks. “Never thought I’d have a cool enough head for this baby.” He reaches over his shoulder and pats the rifle. “She treats me right.”

“Yes, she does,” Steve agrees. “I’ll feel more comfortable once we load up.”

“You told me a hundred times already. I got eighty-six rounds, Stevie. We’ll be fine. Captain knows where we are and where we’re goin’,” Billy says. “Then we’ll be back with the brig.”

Steve knows that, but that doesn’t mean his paranoia agrees. He doesn’t think anyone’s does, but Billy has a way of making everything seem like it’ll work out for the best.

Maybe because he’s good at making that happen in small and large ways, but it’s difficult to believe right now.

He wants to feel safe again, but Steve knows that means putting one foot in front of the other.

It means not looking at anyone else as anything more than a threat.

Everyone gathers in the church for the remainder of the day and through the night. They’re quieter, and maybe it’s these old, cracked stone walls or broken pews, stained glass blown out and strewn across the floor. Maybe it’s being in a place of worship and knowing children ran through here, quieted by their mothers, and later dabbed their mothers’ tears as they were married or laid their family to rest.

It’s memory, painful and beautiful, and Steve thinks of it as he lounges on a half-broken pew, smoking a cigarette and watching the smoke curl above him.

If anyone ever left here for something bigger, even Paris, they might be as dead as these villagers are, anyway.

“You like Sinatra or Dino more?”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Uhh. Dino,” he says. “Martin is the king of cool.”

“Tch,” Billy tsks as he lies on the floor below Steve, his gear under his head like a pillow. “Figures. It’s all Sinatra, baby.”

“Yeah, that figures,” Steve says, smiling. “Sinatra has the mafia lining his pockets.”

“Rumors,” Billy says. “Martin could, too.”

“I don’t think so,” Steve says slowly. “See, this is actually surprising. He wants it cool. A smooth life. Soak in the sunshine outside of New York. I’m surprised you don’t like him more.”

“Was talkin’ about their music, fuckhead,” Billy laughs. “Martin is too cool. Sinatra has power.”

“Hmm,” Steve hums. “Yeah, alright. Good point.”

“If anyone,” Hopper says, muffled by his helmet resting over his face, “starts singing, I’ll put a bullet in him.”

They snicker.

Steve rolls onto his side, grimacing because he’s nothing but aches and pains. He looks down at Billy, pressing his cigarette into the makeshift ashtray on his chest.

“Missing some tunes, Hargrove?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Billy sighs. “Captain won’t even let us sing.”

“Hey, Captain?” Steve asks. “What made you such a stick in the mud?”

“Assholes like you.”

“C’mooon,” Billy says. “You got better than that, sir.”

Hopper grabs his helmet and holds it as he points around at them. “Assholes like you,” he says more firmly. “Job back home keeps me busy wrangling in pieces of shit. Unfortunately, they’re not required to listen.”

“You put a bullet in ’em if they don’t, sir?”

“Not usually.”

“You teach high school,” Hagan says. “That’s what Cap does.”

“You’re a fuckin’ cop,” Billy says, pointing at Hopper. “That’s what you are, Captain.”

“They don’t draft police officers,” Hopper says dryly.

Steve squints and looks at Billy, who frowns. They all glance at each other, but no one seems to know if that’s true or not, and Hopper disappears behind his M1 again.

“So, I just have to become a cop to avoid the third one?” Steve whispers to Billy, who grins. “We’d make good cops.”

“We’d be the worst fuckin’ cops on God’s good green earth. Detectives, though,” Billy says and holds up his hand until Steve grasps it.

“You have to be a cop first, though.”

“Ahh, fuck it.”

Steve smiles and rolls back onto his back, resting his hand behind his head. 

It’s not that late, but it’s a chance to get caught up on sleep. Not that they’ll ever get caught up until they’re in their beds back home.

But morning is always there before they know it.

They walk for two and a half more days before they get to the city Captain Hopper leads them to. There’s no saying if it’s occupied or not, but they’re scouts. The place is half destroyed by bombers and is quiet. A little too quiet for their liking, but there’s a bell tower on the city’s outskirts, so Captain sends them ahead.

Steve and Billy stick to the forests and shrubs surrounding the city, padding over rubble—stone and wood, glass and iron. They’re near the bell tower when they hear a sharp, familiar whistle, high like a bird.

They point their weapons, but no Germans peer back at them from the crumbled stairway leading up to the tower. American forces, baby, and Billy and Steve grab each other before they hustle to them.

No idea who these fucking guys are, but they’re American, and they greet each other with solid handshakes and shoulder thumps, like reuniting with old family. They’re quiet, though, and that only means one thing.

“That diagonal crack,” one of the guys whispers as they peer out of small holes in the bell tower’s lower walls. “That’s about where we end and they begin. Been quiet for a couple of days beyond some lovely German serenades at night.”

“Funny how their serenades are so violent,” another guy says dryly, smiling. “They do have a radio with ’em.”

“Actual serenades?” Billy laughs. “No shit?”

“Turn it off whenever their propaganda starts blarin’,” another guy says with a thick Jersey accent. “The last great Axis powers we shared a city with weren’t so smart.”

“Nobody in America can speak German, huh?” Steve asks, laughing. “Shit. Anything good?”

“Just a looksie into what these people are bein’ fed, man. Crazy shit,” he says. “But nah. They don’t got anything but reassurance that they’ll win the war and Germany will prevail. People on the streets are on food rations and got no idea they’re losin’. That all their kiddos are dyin’ while cryin’ out for their mamas.”

They grimace and nod. It’s about what they’ve experienced everywhere outside of Paris, but they have to win back large and small cities to move inward.

It takes time and a lot of collateral damage.

“You want the bell tower?” the first guy asks Billy, nodding at the rifle. “Go on up, gentlemen. Relieve our guy, huh?”

“Consider him relieved,” Billy says and winks at Steve. He looks up as Hopper, and the rest of the boys are led to them and grins. “Got my six?”

“Always, pal.”

They sit in that bell tower with better rations and cleaner water than they’ve had in a while. No cigarettes, enemies across the aisle who love to throw a grenade every hour or so after the sun goes down. Just to keep them wired, along with some German singing, but it doesn’t make any of them stir-crazy.

It doesn’t make any of them want to make a mistake.

It makes them patient as the boys work together to get a radio frequency Franco can hop on. They’re betting on codes in Spanish to give them an edge as they ask for reinforcements.

The Germans have done the same but won’t necessarily receive reinforcements, while the American military will see it done.

Who gets there first will decide it.

No, it doesn’t make them want to have a firefight.

But it makes them all want to see them lit up as soon as possible.

It’s chaos when it happens because reinforcements do come. Soldiers on the ground, in stolen tanks with American flags draped over them, and a lot of firepower.

German bombers hit at the same time.

The Germans, so good with their grenades and radio, must’ve made a mistake because their side of the city is wiped out first. American forces scatter for cover under the trees rather than the city, and Hopper calls in for air power, too, which shouldn’t be too far out.

It’s the last time Steve and Billy see Hopper and the rest of the guys that day. They’re separated by bombing and go east instead of west to escape. They don’t have radios, but they’re loaded up on ammunition.

They don’t know where German soldiers come from, but they hear them on foot. Steve and Billy need to get the fuck out of there, and even if it takes them a day to swing back around, that’s fine.

It’s better than dead.

They run until they’re out of the woods and headed north. Smoke from the city billows up black and ominous far behind them, but they keep it behind them and scour a map once they stop to breathe.

Way further north than they want to go, and turning back southeast is how they’ll get back to their unit, which will take days, and they’re in the middle of nature without a fucking soul around.

“FUBAR, man. Fucking FUBAR!” Steve says, yanking his pack off and dropping it next to a creek. “What the hell happened?”

“How you gonna ask me that again? For the eighteenth time?” Billy mutters as he peers at the map. He’s sitting with it on his lap. “We got this, sweetheart. Better than whatever the guys are goin’ through.”

“How the hell do we even know if they’re alive?”

“Captain’s too stubborn to let ’em die.”

Steve sighs, resting his hands on his hips, shaking his head. He walks in a circle, then looks at Billy, holding out his hand. “What if they’re not there anymore by the time we get there?”

Billy waves his finger. “One problem at a fuckin’ time. If that happens, we got another plan. We know where we’re goin’,” he says. He looks at Steve and grins. “Even if we gotta bulldoze our way in.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Hargrove,” Steve sighs. “Strength in numbers.”

“Hey, get your head outta training. How long you been on the ground? Five months. Same as me. You know what we’ve got?”

“What’s that, asshole?” Steve asks tiredly.

“Your nose,” Billy says and points at the rifle next to him, “and my eyes. Stop gettin’ your panties in a twist. We got all the rations we need, we’re heavy on ammo, and we got cigarettes. We couldn’t have picked a better time to set off on our own.”

Steve rolls his eyes and sighs. He sits next to Billy and shakes his head. “Yeah. Yeah, great. Still,” he says and catches Billy looking blandly at him. “Yeah, no. I’m gonna complain.”

“Wouldn’t be you if you didn’t,” Billy says dryly. “If you weren’t so pretty, I’d leave you in the trenches.”

He smiles, shaking his head. “Mhmm,” Steve hums. “Speaking of pretty,” he juts his chin toward Billy. “You need a haircut.”

“I do?” Billy asks, pointing at his chest. “I do? Do you know what you look like when you take off the steel pot?”

Steve laughs. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. You assholes shit on me all the time,” he says. “I haven’t seen the curls yet.”

Billy waves his hand. “They’re not there when it’s shorter,” he says. “Should’ve been a Hollywood star.”

“Probably could’ve made it. But you chose a mechanic and now you have a steady hand that Sam finds desirable.”

“After this, Sam can go fuck himself,” Billy says. “Maybe I’ll still hit Hollywood. As long as I’m in one piece.”

“Weren’t you just saying we were gonna be fine?”

“That’s this time. Fuck knows in a week. A month. Six,” Billy says and grins. “Maybe it’ll all be over by then.”

Steve yawns. “That’s not my fucking luck,” he says. “Still. Hope you’re in one piece. Me too. What’s today?”

Billy looks at his watch. “April eighth, Stevie.”

“Nineteen forty-three,” Steve says slowly. “I know the Captain says the powers that be expect this to keep going. But I dunno. Seems like a good year to end it.”

“Always good to have hopes and dreams, sweetheart. They keep us lookin’ forward.”

Steve hums, not too sure about that, and looks at Billy. His dirty blond hair is a few inches long, and curls hang naturally over his forehead as he looks over the map.

He used to brush it into a perfect part when they first met.

Billy glances at Steve, and Steve wants to look away, mind his business, but there’s something about him. Something that makes him look as young as he is—nineteen just a week ago, barely out of high school, already a certified sharpshooter.

He gives a different number whenever someone asks what his count is.

Steve thinks Billy does it to protect the innocence that rifle has taken from him and the guys he’s shot down. He tells Steve the number after each one, sometimes with a smile and wink, but Billy never tells anyone else.

Not even the Captain, but he’s only asked once.

Right now, Billy looks like the kid Steve feels like. They could be camping—not fighting a years-long war with no end in sight.

But a sniper and standard rifle lie beside Billy and his M1 helmet. A pistol is on his belt, and his pants are tucked tight into mud-covered military-issued boots.

They shouldn’t be here. Not a single kid. Let grown men fight the wars they started and stop throwing them in the front lines, knowing they’re nothing but a weapon and dog tags.

Billy sighs, and Steve looks away, expecting a sharp rebuke, but Billy only slings his arm around his shoulders and shakes him a little.

“FUBAR,” Billy says. “But you’re gonna be okay.”

“Yeah. FUBAR,” Steve agrees and sniffs. “But we’re gonna be okay.”

Billy ruffles Steve’s hair but keeps his arm around his shoulders, and they look at the map together. They know it like the back of their hands, where they’re going, where they were, and they’ll figure out where they are soon.

They try and fail to pronounce French villages and towns they don't know.

It’s better to laugh than cry.

Steve’s back on track by morning. He doesn’t like being alone, no matter how calm Billy is, and he’s eager to start their long walk back to the safety of their forces and away from the Germans.

Anything can happen at any moment, so they need to move. The landscape changes beneath their feet too often, and while they need the rest, they need to make sure they aren’t wandering into occupied territories when they’re supposed to be hitting home.

It’s a long couple of days of walking. Paranoia and fear follow, biting at their ankles, and they hold their rifles tight, keeping their eyes peeled for signs of danger.

They don’t come across any Germans, but they don’t come across American forces at the city they were headed to, either.

It’s been completely razed. There’s no telling who or why, but it was large enough to mean something—to hold the territory. Probably them, but it’s been so destroyed that everyone must’ve scattered again. A big firefight and tank tracks are everywhere in the mud surrounding the city.

They come across a few dead Germans rotting under the sun and decide not to go further.

Press on. If they scattered the Germans and obliterated their hold of the territory, they’ve moved inward, so Billy and Steve do, too.

Putting puzzle pieces together by ruined towns, tracks on the ground, cigarette packs and other things left behind. They follow what they know and come across a war scene they’ve been a part of but haven’t seen the aftermath.

The Germans lost this battle because they were hunted down. Blown apart by rounds from stolen tanks carrying the American flag, shot down by their rifles, slaughtered across a field like something more reminiscent of the Civil War. But that’s what happens when units scout ahead on both sides, and one has more firepower than the other.

They likely don’t have to worry about enemies from this point on, though Steve vomits from the stench before they move away. Billy urges him on, far away from the scene, and stops to ensure he gets water and rations to regain strength.

Billy doesn’t look like he’s been affected—he doesn’t look like anything beyond the occasional grin that’s a pale imitation of what it once was.

If they can’t catch up on foot, which isn’t likely, they’ll be trekking alone for days still. They don’t have rations to last forever, their ammunition is a precious commodity they don’t want to use, and they have to stop to fill up on water where they can, which is almost always a detour.

It’s exhausting.

Steve is pissed off enough to keep going out of spite and hopes they award them with a boat ticket stateside and out of the fucking military.

Half a day is spent going out of their way to a river that seemed a lot closer, but they need water, and to get some of the grime off before they get sores. It’s cold and as shitty as everything else, but Steve and Billy keep going.

“Hold up, Stevie.”

“What?” Steve asks, glancing quickly around them. “What?”

“The fuckin’ map,” Billy says, shaking it beside Steve. “If we follow the river, we hit this town.”

“Mhmm,” Steve hums as he looks at the map. “Which could be full of civs or Germans.”

Billy sighs, dragging his finger over the paper. “We gotta be here. That’s home base, Steve,” he says. “It’s too close to let civs stay and way too fuckin’ close to let those bastards stay. We’re gonna be in it or it’s gonna be evacuated. It’ll take us two more days if we hit it first. Could have all we need.”

“Or it could be a barren wasteland like the last one,” Steve says dryly. “Do we chance two days of rations and energy for no man’s land?”

“We take a peek. We don’t like it, we head south,” Billy says and shrugs. “A wasted couple of days or we get rich beyond our wildest fuckin’ dreams.”

“What, do you think you’ll find canned food?”

“Why the fuck not?”

Steve sighs. “It’ll be cleared out if we went through and you know it,” he says and frowns. “But I guess that means we might have scouts placed there.”

“Uh-huh,” Billy says, grinning. “C’mooon. It’s a pot of gold. We’re already half a day outta our way. Let’s do it.” He holds up his hand.

“Fuck,” Steve mutters and smacks Billy’s hand, then grasps it tightly. “Let’s do it.”

They hang onto each other as they walk through the picturesque landscape, and Steve can’t wait to never see it again. But Billy is warm and solid at his side, and he shakes Steve’s shoulders or brushes his thumb over his collar, and it feels human.

It feels real. Something tangible, something Steve wants; not here, not really. Somewhere safe where no one has to worry about bombers overhead.

A human touch that’s gentle so he remembers what it’s like.

They sleep in tall, fragrant grass with a river running not too far away, backs pressed together, and it might be peaceful if the steel pots on their heads were comfortable. If they even fucking mattered.

The town isn’t razed when they come upon it a couple of days later. Steve kneels behind Billy in the grass as he sets up his scope and peruses the town.

“Hmm,” Billy hums and sounds displeased. “Got hit with somethin’, but not recently. No smoke. Got no movement anywhere. Looks like a ghost town.”

“No man’s land,” Steve mutters moodily. “It’s gonna be booby-trapped.”

Billy chuckles. “Nahhh. Told you. Our boys wouldn’t let nothin’ like that fly,” he says. “Smaller than I thought it’d be, so they might not want to risk a unit on her. I got nothin’. But let’s watch a while.”

Steve scoots up and lies on his stomach next to Billy. “Cap’s gonna think we deserted or died,” he says. “Probably gonna call us deserters the second he sees us.”

“Probably. Then he’s gonna hand us two full packs of smokes.”

Steve grins. “We’ll definitely be the richest bastards then,” he says. “It did get hit with something,” he adds as he grabs his binoculars and squints into them. “But not by much.”

“Tank.”

“Yeah. Friendly or misfire, maybe. What’s on the church door?”

Billy shifts his rifle, then hums with interest. “The German flag,” he says, grinning at Steve. “Almost torn in two.”

“Fuck,” Steve groans. “Fuck, yes! Finally! Finally some fucking luck on our side.”

“We still got some scoutin’ to do.”

“I know! But come on. That’s a love letter.”

Billy cackles. “Yeah, it is. Let’s see if they’ve caught on or if we’re in the clear. Then we celebrate with a little love,” he says. “Maybe some canned peaches.”

“You’re never going to find canned peaches. Give up the dream,” Steve laughs. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“Gonna get me those peaches, Stevie.”

“You’ll get the real deal back home.”

“If I’m real fuckin’ lucky.”

“Let’s see how lucky we are now.”

Very lucky, as it turns out.

Billy scouts the town from its highest points, and Steve takes the lowest, but it really is a ghost town. Not a single soul is here—they’re all a few days northeast and left the only sign that they conquered this territory on a church door. But there’s water, and maybe some things have been missed, like smokes or canned food or something.

They aren’t satisfied that they’re alone until they check cellar by cellar, but they do find pots of gold. An unbroken bottle of whiskey, someone’s smokes stacked and hidden behind a register in a bakery.

Officially rich men and it feels pretty fucking good.

Billy and Steve go through houses and try not to think about the people who lived there. They ignore children’s toys and small china cabinets left untouched in some places because people decided they weren’t worth it, but some things are difficult to ignore.

Breakfast food is a common theme—made, left on the stove, the counter or the table. Coffee brewed and never drunk. Everything is black and done rotting, so it’s been a while, but Steve notices, and he knows Billy does, too.

They go through another home, neater than the rest beyond the dust and shattered windows. The glass they step on is loud and worrisome, but they’ve ensured no one is here. They’re alone, as safe as they can be at this moment, and preparing for the last trek to home base.

A bachelor must’ve lived here. No sign of a woman or children, but there are numerous suits in the closet upstairs. Drawers have been turned out, but someone missed an expensive watch under the bed. Billy puts it on his wrist, tidies his hair in the mirror, then leans against the dresser and winks at Steve.

He laughs.

God, they both look like shit. Covered in sweat, grime, and who knows what else. Their fatigues need to be washed, they need to work the mud out of their boots, dust their M1s. Check their rifles and pistols and other gear.

It’s a good enough place to do it, but they’ll need to find running water.

Steve pokes around in the small bathroom, only glancing at himself once. He’s lost weight, there are dark rings around his eyes, and he seems like a shade of who he was. Maybe he’ll find that person again in Hawkins.

He turns the faucet and watches clear water burst from it before quickly turning it off. Steve stares at it, then looks up at Billy as he slides into the bathroom beside him.

“Do it again,” Billy says.

Steve turns the faucet and they stare at the water briefly before he turns it off. They look at each other before hurrying into the bedroom, nearly getting stuck in the doorway because they still carry too much gear.

“Me first,” Steve hisses, pointing at Billy, tossing his pack on the bed. “I found it.”

“Don’t do me like that, Stevie,” Billy says as he pulls his jacket off and tosses it on the corner of the bed. “We’ll use it at the same time.”

“There was soap, Hargrove!”

“I fuckin’ saw. Who’s the genius?”

“I dunno. Not looking at a genius right now.”

Billy fights his way out of his shirt before he yanks it and his tank top off. “Fuckin’ hell,” he says and points at Steve. “Soap, water, soap, water.”

“Deal,” Steve says as he hops on one foot, pulling off his sock. “Ten seconds at a time.”

“Fuuuuck. Fine!”

They squeeze into the bathroom, naked as the day they were born, and look through drawers and cabinets. Only a little has been gone through here, so there are more bars of soap, shaving cream, and even pomade. Cologne.

It’s bizarre to see a slice of life with the bedroom half ransacked, but maybe they got called away before they could finish.

Steve and Billy are only getting richer.

It’s gonna be a bitch cleaning like this, but there’s nothing to complain about. They’ll be clean with actual soap, and that’s a big fucking deal.

Steve reaches for the faucet but Billy grabs his wrist. “What?” he asks as he looks at him. Billy looks at the tiny shower, then at Steve, raising his eyebrows. “Oh, no! The sink is safer. It’ll run out in ten seconds.”

“What if it doesn’t?” Billy asks and waggles his eyebrows. “Plumbing looks fine here. No damage. River and wells look just fine, too.”

“Do you even know how plumbing works in France? In towns feeding off rivers in France?”

“Do you?”

“No!”

“Then shut your mouth. Let’s see if she turns on. We’ll do the same if she does,” Billy says, grinning. “Get done a lot faster and a lot cleaner.”

Steve groans. “If we have to go to the river to wash soap off, I’m gonna kick your ass, Hargrove.”

Billy snickers and reaches into the shower. He turns it on, and it bangs and whistles for a hot minute before water spurts out of the shower head hard enough to skin them. Billy turns it off and looks at Steve, raising his eyebrows.

“Fuck,” Steve says, grabbing a couple of bars of soap. They squeeze into a French shower, which is absolutely terrible because it’s tiny, and the showerhead is right there, but they’ll do it.

They’ll get every nook and cranny, even if they giggle the entire time. Speed is of necessity, but they forget to turn the shower off between soaping themselves down or washing their hair at least twice. Steve gets Billy’s back, and Billy gets his, and they’re both trembling like leaves because it’s fucking cold, but this is probably the cleanest they’ve been in six months.

There’s nowhere to lean and take a moment to breathe, even with the cold water, but the excitement from the shower is quickly wading far from shore, not likely to be seen again.

Steve leans against Billy because he’s there and he knows Billy won’t mind. They’ve lost three guys from their unit, and who knows how many more now? They’ve been leaning on each other for months.

If Steve cries, Billy won’t ever say anything about it.

After a few minutes, he turns the water off and rubs his fingers along Steve’s scalp, and Steve doesn’t know why, but it calms him right down. Makes him drowsy, too, and he’d like nothing more than to sleep for the next decade.

There’s a war happening outside, but they’re in a French bachelor’s home that wasn’t hit as badly as others. So they should take advantage of the day and night, then head out richer and stronger than ever.

After brushing their teeth with actual toothpaste, they wear some of this guy’s underwear so they can spot clean and sew their fatigues because there’s still a war outside. They don’t wash them just in case they need to throw them on, but it’s nice to wash their hands afterward.

The kitchen doesn’t have much. A bottle of maple syrup that Billy seems happy about, but the cabinets above the refrigerator weren’t left open like the other ones, so maybe there’s something. Steve gets on a chair and opens them, frowning at a few dusty jars. He pulls a couple out, one dark and one light, and tries to read the French written on top.

“Orange… janvier ‘43. I don’t know what this says. Orange… janvier…”

“Stevie, you’re sayin’ orange. It says orange,” Billy sighs, then laughs. “For fuck’s sake. Gimme one of those.”

“Oh,” Steve says, then laughs. “Shut up. I’ve had a difficult few months.” He hands the cans to Billy and grabs a few more. “Aha! Okay. Okay, this isn’t obvious. Ananas. Ananas janvier ’43.”

“It’s January, Stevie. Fuckin’ January of this year, all these were canned. Fuckin’ shoot me. Stop readin’ and start lookin’! We got canned oranges, blackberry jam, and pineapple. This fucker knew someone or he was able to line some pockets. Any more?”

“Shit, really? Are they still good?” Steve asks and grabs an armful more. He hands them to Billy and hops off the chair. “No peaches. Just a lot of those, it looks like.”

“Figures,” Billy says. “But you know what this means, right?”

“We’re experiencing bliss tonight?”

“Fuuuck. A shower, clothes, canned fruit. Gotta figure out a way to take some with us. We are experiencing bliss tonight, Stevie. Maybe we already died and this is heaven.”

“Jesus. I sure hope not. The French countryside in a Frenchman’s bachelor pad with you? No, thanks.”

Billy cackles. “Stuck with me forever,” he says and winks. He opens a few drawers before grabbing forks and spoons. “C’mon. Upstairs. Bring a couple of ’em.”

Steve sighs as he watches Billy grab a few, so he does, too, and follows him upstairs into the bedroom. They straighten the bed until it looks normal again and collapse on it.

The sugar is probably going to kill them or make them vomit or give them the runs, but why the fuck not? Where else are they going to get this?

Alright, it’s too much for them. Too sweet, too flavorful after not a lot of that for a while. They only opened two, at least, and the blackberry jam goes nicely with the oranges, but they can’t do it.

Maybe when they’re sweltering after a day of walking tomorrow, but not tonight.

“Tomorrow,” Billy declares because they’ve always been on the same page. He puts their jars on the table beside him and rests his hands behind his head. “Two on, two off?”

“Shit,” Steve says, looking at the closed and curtained window, then at Billy. “You think ghosts are gonna come wandering in?”

Billy grins. “Can’t be too careful.”

“Yes! Yes, you can. I know it’s early, but I am sleeping an entire fucking night in this ghost town, and then we’re out in the morning,” Steve says. He yawns before he stands and walks to the closet, where he sees linens. 

After thoroughly shaking them out to ensure no spiders or other creatures will spend the night with them, he tosses them on the bed and straightens them out. Billy watches him do it, shaking his head but smiling.

He’s gonna be out like a light in two seconds flat, Steve is sure.

Steve climbs into bed and sighs. “Jesus, pal,” he says. “This is a French hotel on the riviera. We are on holiday.”

“Rented out the whole place for some peace and quiet.”

“We are rich men, so that’s possible.”

“Damn right. A little too quiet for the riviera, though, Stevie.”

Steve narrows his eyes. “I think I hear an owl.”

Billy laughs. “They rest their tail feathers on the beach?” he asks, grinning. “I like it, though.”

“Yeah, me too,” Steve says, smiling. “What’d our sorry asses do to deserve this?”

“Nothin’, probably. Pleased Sam for a minute. Doesn’t matter. It’s ours.”

“Mhmm,” Steve hums. “Yeah, it is. Too bad we can’t sleep in.”

“Sure we can. We’re kids.”

“Yeah, and knowing our luck, we’d have Germans up our asses.”

“I definitely don’t want a German up my ass.”

“Jesus,” Steve laughs, looking at Billy. “Lauren Bacall?”

“I don’t think she’d be into that kinda thing,” Billy says, grinning. “It’d take a Rita Hayworth, I think.”

“She’s engaged to Orson Welles, isn’t she?”

“Is she? Fuckin’ hell,” Billy says. They look at the ceiling, then at each other. “Rita.”

“Definitely Rita,” Steve says, holding his stomach as he laughs. “Jesus Christ. Poor dame.”

Billy smiles. “You treat Indiana dames well, Stevie?”

“I… well, you know. I try. Wasn’t given a whole lot of time,” Steve says. “I kind of figured if this shit wasn’t done when I hit eighteen, I’d be here. I liked this girl, Nance, but all I could see when I looked at her, smart, happy… was my mom telling her I was gone. I couldn’t do that to a girl. She’s too young to grieve like that. Not saying that'd happen, but... I dunno.”

“When I met you, I thought you’d have her already,” Billy says. “That smart, happy, pretty girl. By a year or two. It’s easy to picture you already dedicated and in love. Ready to start a family.”

“Hope you learned not to judge a book by its cover.”

“Sure. Sometimes they’re dead on,” Billy says. “Might’ve been if you were one of the guys who cared about love more than worrying about what might happen if they got drafted.”

Steve grimaces. “Seems stupid not to plan ahead for that at our age with an active draft,” he says. “I get what you’re saying, though. I know I don’t need to assume the same about you,” he adds dryly. “Hollywood.”

“Aww. Not goin’ with Hagan’s nickname?”

“I saw what happened when he called you a whore. No, thanks.”

“I only asked if he wanted a hands-on lesson.”

Steve laughs. “Yeah, and he’ll never live it down,” he says. “Don’t give it if you can’t take it.”

“He blushes so pretty,” Billy snickers. “He’s from your neck of the woods.”

“Close enough. Just another small-town hick, right?” Steve asks, sighing. “You Californians and New Yorkers are the strange ones.”

“Like to live with a little excitement, sweetheart. That’s all. Once we get outta here and I take you to Miami,” Billy says, “you might know somethin’ about it.”

He smiles as he looks at the ceiling, then at Billy. “Gonna hold you to that one,” Steve says. “Eh, pally?”

Billy cackles and reaches over, thumping Steve on the chest. “Told you Sinatra’s got power,” he says. “Sorry to say you don’t, darlin’.”

“Yeah, yeah. Made you laugh, though.”

“You’ve been makin’ me laugh for six months.”

“I’m funny, baby. I’ve got that going for me.”

“Yeah, you do.”

Steve bites his lip as he looks at the ceiling, then glances at the curtain over the window. It seems like the sun is about to set, and he’s tired—more exhausted than he’s ever been in his life.

But Billy meant something by that, and Steve’s not entirely sure what, but it wakes him up a little. It makes him scared to look at Billy because he expects nothing or… or something.

Maybe he didn’t mean anything by it and the thickening silence in the room is because he’s out.

Steve looks at Billy and sees that was probably wishful thinking. Billy looks back at him and his blue eyes are sharp. He’s used to seeing Billy in many ways—clean, like at the beginning, dirty and covered in grime, but with a white grin shining through no matter what. He’s used to seeing his jaw clench as he holds a pistol, how he looks yelling and cursing at enemy soldiers he’s shooting at, and he’s used to watching Billy let out a slow breath before he blows someone’s brains out with the sniper rifle.

They’re too young for this, and Steve’s aware of that, aware they had no choice, really, but until they saw what war looked like on the ground in Europe versus a military base stateside, they were proud to serve.

This is survival. And a lot of their fathers and grandfathers never told them what that looked like, not even when they joined this war.

Billy Hargrove could be a friend Steve’s known all his life. They’ve shared more together in six months than with anyone else, and maybe they’re Hargrove and Harrington when they’re by their squad, but they’re not together.

Steve doesn’t know what that means, but he knows how Billy’s looking at him. It should be wrong, something that cuts that bond in two and puts a vast chasm between them.

But they’ve shared too much for that to happen and they’ve only got each other.

Maybe it’s only one night while they enjoy being rich men, but Steve will take it if Billy is offering.

They meet in the middle for something soft and tentative, testing the waters of each other, but it quickly turns into hunger and greediness. Steve and Billy are greedy for each other, and they hold on tight when they’re not dragging their hands along the other, seeking out the answer if this is real or not.

If they are.

Steve’s never done this before and he tells Billy that when Billy asks for everything, murmured against Steve’s jaw.

“Doin’ just fine, sweetheart,” Billy says, lips brushing over Steve’s chin.

“Okay, but,” Steve says, short on air but pausing to kiss Billy anyway. “I’m not queer. I dunno how to do this right.”

Billy looks at Steve with a fond and familiar smile, as it’s how he looks when he thinks Steve is an idiot.

“Queer for one night, huh?” Billy says. “I’ll tell you how.”

“You’re, umm….”

“Queer for every day of the year.”

Steve laughs and presses their foreheads together. “Alright, baby,” he says. “Should’ve guessed, Mister Know It All. Teach me how.”

Billy grins and pulls Steve into another kiss.

He’s never had any of this before, but Steve gives and takes what Billy allows him to, which is everything. It’s better than he’s ever felt but magnified by the sense of danger lurking around the corner and the horror they’ve experienced together.

They’re rich men tonight, buying themselves out of the draft and enjoying their spoils.

Steve isn’t sure how to behave when they wake up with the sun. They need to clean their boots and maintain their weapons still, but he doesn’t know if they pretend it didn’t happen, act like it did, talk about it.

Billy makes everything easy by talking about it plenty and teasing Steve within an inch of his life for blushing, but he doesn’t mind. It’s a relief, honestly.

So, Steve asks questions about queers, and Billy tells him not to in front of anyone else, but he’s not that stupid. He wouldn’t put Billy in danger, which goes against everything they’ve been through, anyway, so who’s the real idiot?

He asks so many questions that Billy looks exhausted before they’ve even packed up. He laughs and indulges Steve but compares him to a kid asking why all the time, but this is a whole new world. Steve wants to know everything about Billy’s life that he’s kept secret if Billy wants to tell him, and he wants to learn more about queers.

“How do girls do it?”

“They ain’t got the same parts.”

“Jesus. Come on.”

“They got a little more freedom and less raised eyebrows about sleepovers, staying with each other, living together, than we do. Like anybody else, Stevie. Just not in the open or talked about, but we’re not a different species, Stevie.”

“I know! I know. I just… I wouldn’t really have guessed. You, or… well, I don’t know anyone else.”

“Bet you do.”

“Not that I know of!”

Billy snickers. “Don’t go askin’ anybody,” he says and grins after Steve shoves him. “I haven’t been around as long as you think I have. But I’ll tell you a couple of things. Don’t be stupid about it.”

“You know what? Keep them to yourself.”

“Your wish is my command, sweetheart. You asked and I’m gonna tell you.”

Steve sighs as he pulls on his gear, which feels heavier than ever, not because of the extra shit they have, but because they’re carrying the weight of the dead on their backs.

He might never shake the feeling.

They check their surroundings from a bell tower and a good vantage point on the outskirts of town, but there’s no one around. Just a roaring river they keep away from so they can hear any familiar clicks or pops and whizzes. Voices.

Nothing is out here, though, and they’ve got two days ahead of them.

Everything is in bloom and it’d be a good sight if Steve didn’t think every log or boulder they see from a distance is a soldier rotting in the soil.

The canned fruit definitely tastes better when they settle down with the setting sun. Still, it’s another priceless commodity, and they don’t eat a lot of it, but it’s fucking good.

They sleep against a tree trunk, close enough to grasp each other’s hands and not let go. As they walk through another day in the countryside, they bump elbows and shoulders, laughing and trading stories, and Steve learns more about Billy’s life.

How his mom left him behind, how his dad skins his back, and how his stepsister forgave him before he left.

By the time the sun sets, they know they should find something before mid-afternoon tomorrow, and it makes Steve and Billy restless with excitement and fear. What they’ll find should be home, but that hasn’t gone so well for them yet, and they’re pushing closer to larger cities. To potentially occupied cities.

That night, Steve and Billy realize this might be it.

When the moon is high in the sky, Billy lies on top of Steve and kisses him. Each one feels like it’ll be the last, and it’s more of a desperate need tonight than when they were huddled in a quiet room, pretending they were safe.

They hike up their fatigues, and Billy’s fist moves fast and slow between them as he rocks his hips, and Steve can only hang on. It might be the last time, which hurts, but he arches into a heated kiss and tries to only feel pleasure.

The mess is wiped quickly away, but Billy stays otherwise, pressing his forehead against Steve’s until they’re grinning too much to kiss.

Still, they stay up too late doing precisely that and only reluctantly put themselves back together and let an owl hoot them into an uneasy rest.

Mid-afternoon comes and goes. Steve and Billy stop to argue as they pour over the map and point at whereabouts they should be and whereabouts the damn base should be.

Turns out that letting Steve man the map while Billy pissed was a bad idea.

Billy doesn’t talk to him for an hour, and Steve thinks that’s fair because they have additional hours to go, but he doesn’t want to hit the base and see what’s left with Billy angry about anything. No apologies or cajoling will suffice, and Steve gets it because he could get them killed, but that’s not how they’re going home, baby.

He pinches Billy’s butt and watches him startle like a grenade was thrown between them before Billy stops and stares at Steve, unamused.

“What?” Steve asks. “What happened? I think I saw a bee, you know. Better watch out.”

Billy stares at Steve before he sighs, shaking his head and looking at the clear blue sky. He glances at Steve and it seems he can’t help the grin.

“You’re not that funny.”

“Got you to smile, though.”

“Yeah,” Billy says. “You do get me doin’ that. Fuckhead.”

Steve laughs. “Be sweet to me, sweetheart.”

“I don’t know if that was supposed to be me or Sinatra, but don’t do it again.”

They sling their arms around each other and laugh like a couple of knuckleheads as they march forward. This is how it should be, even if Steve fucks up. He’s done that often and repeatedly, as the Captain would say, but maybe everyone will be more forgiving soon.

The sun sets as they walk through woods, their least favorite place that has them on edge, but it surrounds this area, and they have no choice. Steve and Billy debate settling down or moving forward because they’re close, but then they hear a familiar buzz in the distance.

“Down, down, down,” Billy hisses. “Where’s she comin’ from?”

“Northwest,” Steve says as they kneel, looking up at the sky. “There’s more than one. There, there!” He points at a clearing.

They get up, run to it, and collapse on their backs, binoculars in their hands. They stare up at the night sky as they hear the birds come closer. Steve’s heart pounds so hard it hurts, and it’ll be a bitch if they have to get up and run after them if they can’t see them, but they have to know.

Like a sign that points home, two helicopters fly overhead, and they might as well be dragging the American flag.

“Hoverfly, baby!” Steve says and hops to his feet. “Fuck, yes! Fuck, Billy!”

“Almost home!” Billy laughs as he stands and grabs Steve for a short but tight grasp.

They gather their shit and run, following the Hoverflies home. It takes a solid hour of sprinting, which feels more challenging than ever, but that’s only because they’re almost there.

Steve and Billy burst from the tree line and see an American base, active and alive, huge spotlights shining over it. It means they’ve got the surrounding territories much further inward and are planning the next march forward, further into France, and they’re safe.

They don’t get far before a truck spits dirt and drives straight to them and they see guns silhouetted behind bright lights that are turned off quickly. Guys hang on the truck and out of doors, staring at them like they’re a pair of ghosts or the best news they’ve ever gotten.

“Where the fuck did you two come from?” the driver shouts.

“We been all over, baby!” Billy shouts back, cackling. “We’re ready to come home!”

They’re embraced like family by guys they’ve never seen before and never will again once the brig has the next orders from on high. Steve and Billy are packed into the truck and driven into the base. It’s all makeshift but working like a well-oiled machine, and it’s beautiful.

Hargrove and Harrington?

Some guys look at them with their jaws hanging open because apparently they’ve been talked about—Hopper hasn’t been told they’re dead by anyone and he hasn’t reported them as such. He’s told people to keep an eye out for them and guys say we thought he was crazy.

Billy says you’ve never met us.

They’re led to their unit in a short but wide tent and walk inside, squinting at the bright light of lamps.

Captain Hopper sits in a chair, legs stuck out straight, puffing on a cigarette as he listens to Hudson brief him on whatever so and so had to say. It goes quiet as the guys and the Captain looks at them.

“Son of a bitch,” Hopper says quietly. He throws the cigarette down and stands, stomping on it. “Son of a bitch!” he shouts. “You assholes! You slick little shits!”

It’s a blur of shouting, bear hugs, slaps to the back, saying god knows what over each other, all their fears and assertions, worries and confidences, and there won’t ever be another moment like this.

No matter how close they all are, they’ll never be this close again.

“Where’s Jones’ sorry ass?” Billy asks.

The solemn silence that falls over them says enough.

“He’s on his way home to his parents,” Hopper says because no one else can. “I’m glad I don’t have to say the same about you two.”

The Captain’s tired, but he doesn’t have to write two more letters. His relief is palpable but nearly too much, too open and vulnerable, so Billy and Steve say they’ll smoke one for Jones.

They share their stash of smokes and canned fruit and dine like kings. Laugh like jesters. Recount horrors and bright spots. Grieve and mourn, celebrate and live.

Hudson gives up his cot without asking so Steve and Billy can sleep side by side. They know what they’ve been through, hiking it through the wilderness after getting separated the way they did—they know what it means to only have each other and survive because of one another.

They don’t know about more and they’ll never have to.

Steve looks at Billy and smiles. Billy grins, winks and makes Steve feel like they’re gonna survive this war. They’re not invincible, but they didn’t get this fucking far to die.

Miami is waiting.

Their unit is allowed to rest for one week. It means everyone gets to be lazy shits, including Steve and Billy, but they also have to go through the rounds at medical, and that’s never thrilling.

But they’re deemed healthy enough and told to pack on a couple of pounds while they’ve got the chance.

Everything moves too quickly in Europe. One week seems like a lifetime, but it’s gone in the blink of an eye, and they get orders from their field commander. All the way from the top, and they’ll be marching forward with half the brigade, so the chances of staying together are pretty damn high.

Steve might not ever be alone with Billy again, not over here. But they still have a war to fight, and one foot forward means one step closer to home.

There’s an occupied city on the outskirts of Paris. They’ll be hitting it from east, south, and west, on foot and in the air. Multiple divisions are joining the fight, and it helps that everyone has German tanks with American flags hanging or painted on them. Hit ’em with their own firepower and see if those boots shine as much covered in blood.

A sense of anger ripples through everyone. Guys have been at this a long time—Europeans even longer. Four fucking years and no end in sight. Maybe the brass can see one, but they don’t tell anyone in the trenches because that’s how guys die.

Still, everyone wants it to be done.

They’ve got multiple sharpshooters among them, but Billy’s picked to hit the nearest high point as soon as they burst through the lines. Of course, it means Steve’s with him, which he wants to be, but he’s reminded that they’re only guns and dog tags.

A few guys know this place, and they’ve got plans; they know where and how, but nothing ever goes right. This is war, and it’s messy, and Steve thinks of Jones in a wooden casket lying among many, shipped home to be with his parents before he’s buried like so many others.

Billy shakes Steve’s shoulder and the thought away.

They have a city to take, one step closer to Paris.

The British and Australians could tell them how well that’s gone for them over the last few years, but their Captains and equivalent would remind them that’s war. A chessboard with wins and losses, gains and setbacks.

They come down hard on the Germans.

But the city is significant, and there are stone buildings large enough to house war rooms and a lot of German soldiers. They bomb some, but not all, because they need this city to stay standing, so they swarm the streets.

The sound of bullets hitting stone, grenades bursting and blowing out walls, bombs being dropped—a symphony that Steve is used to. He knows how to move with it, where to go that’ll hit high and low notes and he orchestrates it more than runs from it these days.

Billy is always there, his voice rising and falling between bursts of gunfire and blasts, and they work as a team. They clear out a building with a tower once Hopper gives them the OK so they know they won’t be bombed out of the fucking sky.

They lie low, breathing and listening to blood rushing through their ears. Shouting below, spits of gunfire and grenades, the resounding boom and mechanical grind of a tank, but the bombers are called off.

They take turns glancing out of broken windows and hunker down when bullets ricochet off the stone.

“Don’t like it,” Billy says. “They got too many eyes on it.”

“Mhmm,” Steve hums, squeezing his eyes shut before he sighs and looks at Billy. “There were a couple more.”

“Due west?”

“There’s a fucking tree shading it.”

“I like it.”

“I don’t.”

“Too bad you only get to sit and watch,” Billy says, laughing. “They won’t have eyes on it. Not so much.”

“Yes, they will,” Steve says. “Better than we’ll have eyes on them.”

“Trust me,” Billy says, reaching over and slapping Steve’s thigh. “I got this. You ready?”

Steve sighs, thumping his head back against pale stone. “Jesus. Jesus Christ. Yeah,” he says and holds up his hand until Billy grasps it. “Better be right.”

Billy winks. “When am I ever wrong?”

They leave the tower and join the guys on the ground, going west through the city. Steve’s nervous and afraid about this one, but Billy hasn’t ever been wrong, and Steve has plenty of times, so he’ll trust him.

He can’t say Billy is a brother anymore. Hoo, he can’t, but their bond turned into something else, and Steve trusts him more than anyone. He already did, as they always put their lives in each other’s hands, but it’s different now.

Steve doesn’t like how the tree obscures their view, but a nook in the room is diagonal to a window, and the tree sits behind them. Son of a bitch, Steve thinks, as Billy sets up his scope, and he helps him with it before planting his ass on the ground.

“They were—”

“I got it, sweetheart.”

Steve bites his lip, glancing up at Billy, and watches him slowly breathe out.

One shot. Sharp and loud, but there’s so much noise down below, the Germans would be hard-pressed to hear it. So Billy fires a few more, muttering the count after each, and Steve watches him scour the city as he picks them off one by one.

He ducks down after a while and stares at the ceiling before looking at Steve.

“What’d I say?”

Steve laughs. “Yeah, yeah. Smarty-pants,” he says. “Move.”

They trade spots as Steve glances out the window and sees why it’s such a good vantage point. A sharpshooter on their side might see the rifle soon, so they need to find somewhere else, but Steve’s got a good nose for sniffing out where Germans are so he can tell Billy where to point.

“Scope, scope, scope. Ninety degrees,” Steve says, ducking down and letting Billy slide back to the window and behind his rifle to shift it.

After a brief moment, he fires a shot and says a number.

“No more scope. But they’re lookin’ now. Let’s move!” Billy says as he pulls his rifle down and sits next to Steve. “We’re further in below. Head back east. See how many we can pick off.”

Steve nods.

They run down the tower and onto the street, looking at their guys behind walls, flooding into buildings, pushing on. Steve and Billy cross a wide road, and guys in tanks cover them until they reach the other side.

“You shits goin’ that way?” Hagan asks as he leans against the wall, panting. There’s a smear of blood on his cheek. “Huh-uh. They called in an airstrike. We’re locked down.”

“No fucking shit?” Steve asks, looking back at a blown-out doorway into a building. Multiple COs are screaming into radios. “I thought we wanted to keep this place standing?”

Hagan laughs. “We did,” he says. “Then we saw them come up from a cellar.” He points. “So they’re underground. Blast them up high and bomb them out from below. Problem is,” he sighs, “half our unit is between us and them.”

“You serious? How the fuck did that happen?” Billy asks. “Who?”

“Hudson, Byers, and Franco,” Hagan sighs. “How? They came up out of the fucking ground, Hargrove. So they’re in that building and our guys are in that big one. We were sent ahead, as usual,” he adds, pointing over his head, but it gives them a good idea. “But now they're too close to the airstrike. But we don’t know how many are in between and we don’t know what they have to take them down. If we blast ’em, the Germans are gonna bomb our guys to pink dust because they know they’re in there.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” Billy says and paces further down the alley. He spits on the ground and shakes his head. “Cap has to call it off.”

Hagan laughs. “Why do you think they’re all screaming in there? Half of them are trying to, the other half are telling brass not to. They’re yelling at each other,” he says and shrugs. “This might be it for some of us.”

“Don’t fucking say that, man,” Steve says, pointing at him. “We’re getting them out of there. ETA?”

“Seven minutes,” Hagan says, looking at his watch. “Six, now.”

“Fuckin’ Christ. They’re gonna hit it.”

“There’s still time to call it off,” Steve says. He can hear his heartbeat and breath, and the fingers on his right hand start to shake. He clenches it into a fist. “Hargrove. Come on. You got anything?”

“What we don’t have,” Hopper says as he steps into the doorway, looking pissed off, “are heroics. We don’t have that. You let me handle this.”

“How’re you handling it, sir? Huh?” Billy asks. “By calling in an airstrike and killing three of our guys?”

“I’m trying to call that off, Private,” Hopper spits. “You watch your mouth. Stay there and stay quiet.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Billy says with a lazy salute. But he looks as angry as Hopper does as he turns away, shaking his head. “We’re relying on hopes and dreams, guys.”

Steve frowns as he watches Billy pull off his M1 and thump his head against the brick wall. He grinds his teeth, listening to the silence that falls over the city, and thinks of the guys just as young as them who shouldn’t be stuck between Germans and an airstrike.

“Fall back! Fall back!”

Shouts from their COs echo through the city. Steve sees the urgency on Hopper’s face as he yells at them, but he doesn’t hear anything else. Just his labored breathing. He grabs Billy’s collar and watches him put on his M1 before they run.

FUBAR. It’s all FUBAR.

An airstrike that isn’t called off but isn’t targeting what it should be, and they’ve got minutes to cross half a city.

Billy’s fatigues slip out of Steve’s grasp when they’re nearly there and Steve looks back at him.

He stops running and stands alone. Billy looks at Steve and only Steve before he turns on his heel, drops his rifle, and starts running. His helmet falls and bounces off the cobbled streets.

Steve tries to run after him, but Hopper’s arm wraps tightly around his chest, and he pulls him back as the ground trembles. He yells after Billy, tells him to get his stupid ass back here, but the Germans likely abandoned their post when they saw the Americans fall back.

Billy must assume the same, but that doesn’t mean they have time or won’t be gunned down.

The sky thunders as Mustangs trample overhead and bombs are dropped one by one. Steve watches each of them fall and time slows briefly. In a rush, white fire spits into the air, old stone buildings explode, and the ground rocks beneath their feet as grey plumes of smoke engulf the city.

Hopper drags Steve away as he shouts Billy’s name, and he feels other hands grasping at his gear, at his fatigues. Hopper screams we’ll come back for them, we’ll come back for them, but Steve knows what that means.

They’ll come back for their dog tags because that’s all they are and that’s all that’ll be left.

He gets shoved into a truck and physically restrained in his seat by Hopper as the guy behind the wheel hits the gas. Steve doesn’t know what he roars; it’s all fucked up, that they’re not supposed to be treated like cattle, that they’re the American military, and this isn’t supposed to happen. Mistakes like this can’t be made at the cost of lives.

Take me back, take me back, take me back.

The city won’t be safe to pick through for a couple of hours, and scouts will stay, but Steve won’t be going back. He knows Hopper won’t let him.

A Hoverfly is called in to take Hopper back to the base, and he puts Steve and Hagan on it, too. They’re not much of a unit anymore, so maybe that’s why.

Fill up on more hot bodies to turn cold as they march on.

Hopper and Steve sit in a tent alone on base.

“I’m sending you home.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Kid. I’m sending you home.”

Steve looks up from the table at Hopper. “Home?” he asks and feels a flare of anger. “Why?”

“You’re useless to me, Steve,” Hopper says. “I’m not going to send you out there and watch you get picked off. Billy would have words to say if I did.”

Steve flinches a little and looks away. “How do you know he won’t when he comes back?”

Hopper’s quiet for a while before he sighs. “They’re already heading back there. We’ll bring him home,” he says. “And I’m sending you back to your parents as you sit in front of me. We aren’t discussing it. Consider yourself honorably discharged with special services to the war effort. It’s done already. You’re going home.”

“I have every fucking right to keep fighting!” Steve snaps. “I have every goddamn right to keep doing what everyone else is, Captain! I lost my friend! So what? We all lose one here!”

“I said we aren’t discussing it,” Hopper says firmly. “I only have to look at you, Private, to know I’ll lose you if I send you back out there. Like I said. Not gonna happen. Go home and hug your mother for all of the boys that can’t.”

Steve sits back, and there are hot tears on his cheeks, but he doesn’t wipe them away. “I want to see him,” he says. “I want to see him when you bring him here.”

Hopper sighs as he stares at Steve, then nods. “Alright, kid. Alright. Go to your barracks,” he says. “I’ll bring him to you.”

It’s hours before he does. Hopper walks into the barracks, but Billy isn’t behind him. No soldier covered in sweat, grime or blood, with a white grin shining through. Hopper is alone except for the dog tags he sets in Steve’s hands.

Steve looks at the blood splattered on one and feels sick, but he runs his thumb over Billy’s name. Over and over and over again. Hopper leaves Steve alone, but he knows these aren’t his to keep—they’re going to Billy’s family in California.

His little sister, who has every faith she’ll see him again. His father, who might shed a tear if he comes back dead or alive, as Billy joked one day.

But Max, only fourteen, will see someone at the door holding a letter and flag no one wants to see and read what Hopper has to say about Billy and hold the dog tags that were around his neck before they weren’t.

Steve holds them against his chest and thinks Hopper is right—he no longer cares. He’s tired of being a weapon and a name printed on metal to survive what happens in war.

He wants to go home.

Unless you’re on the ground fighting, nothing ever works quickly in the military. It takes weeks for Steve to get to safety and onto a boat. He feels like a deserter, and the guys below in wooden boxes might spit on him if they saw him now. But what use is he if all he can do is die and join them?

Billy isn’t in one of those boxes, but he’s in a letter on this ship, and Steve tries not to think about it.

Transitioning out of the military takes another couple of weeks and one more to get home. Stepping off a bus and seeing Hawkins, Indiana, for the first time in a long while—but not nearly long enough—is strange. Stranger than strange, and Steve feels sick as he looks at familiar sights.

Familiar like they were in a dream once and not that he grew up among them.

Steve hugs his mother for a long time. Longer than they’ve ever hugged, and she usually might pull away to let him sort out his own feelings, but she doesn’t. Mom tells Steve she’s there if he wants to talk about it, but Steve doesn’t.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever want to talk about it. It was too horrific, and who wants to hear that? No one and Steve doesn’t want to speak about the guys he saw rotting, no matter which side they were on, just as young as him. Not able to go home to their mothers.

California is far away, but sometimes Steve wants to go there. San Diego. He can find Billy’s family and maybe some part of Billy so he can have closure. So he can say goodbye in some meaningful way, which he never got to.

But he’s too scared.

Their time together in the French countryside doesn’t seem real. They walked it for days, spent a surreal night in someone’s bed, shared something special, and walked more. Billy kissed Steve like each one would be the last and Steve realizes it’s because it could’ve been.

Whether someone came across them, they came across someone, or they found the base quicker… anything. They were never safe, so Billy kissed Steve like he never would again, and there was a last one.

They never snuck away and chanced it while they were with the brig. It was before they found the base, and it doesn’t seem real.

None of it seems real. Not standing by a river and looking over a map together, sitting on the ground pressed back to back as they ate rations and called it lunch. Joked and fooled around, touched and kissed, all while flowers of every color and emerald grass shined around them.

It never rained.

Steve doesn’t know why he thinks of it as he sits in his new office at his dad’s company. It never rained while they were alone. Everything lined up so perfectly for them to get back in one piece, richer than before, but that good luck didn’t keep up.

It did, maybe, all the way up until Billy decided to be a hero.

To be stupid and get himself killed.

He tries not to think about Billy, but it’s impossible when he dreams of him every night. Most dreams turn into nightmares that wake Steve up in a cold sweat. They seem so real that he sometimes wakes up shouting and shoving his sheets away because the limbs of dead soldiers grasped at him.

Steve startles easily, but Mom tells him the spark in his eyes is gone otherwise. She says it like it’s a disappointment and Steve should make it better, so he looks for somewhere else to live.

Somewhere alone, preferably.

He meets two eighteen-year-old girls at the grocers when he overhears them speaking about renting a cottage by the lake that one of their uncles owns. Unfortunately, they can’t afford it and whisper about it possibly being too strange, and Steve narrows his eyes.

“Hi. Uhh, I couldn’t help but overhear—”

“Were you spying on us?”

Steve stares at the girl who is nearly as tall as him. “No,” he says with forced patience. “I was shopping, thanks. I’m looking to get out of my parent’s place, and if you can’t afford rent, a third person might help….”

The redhead raises her eyebrows. “We don’t even know you.”

“Oh, I remember Steve Harrington,” the other girl says. “I was not fond of your displays in high school.”

Steve blinks a few times. “Okay,” he says. “Anywho! You do know me! Woo! Steve Harrington, ma’am,” he adds, offering his hand to the redhead. “I keep my displays to myself these days.”

“Vickie,” she laughs and shakes Steve’s hand. “Robin forgets that we have a third bedroom. Which is potential.”

“Uhh. I don’t forget that at all,” Robin says. “I am looking at a man. He is a man.”

“Didn’t you just come home?” Vickie asks.

“A couple of months ago,” Steve says slowly. “I work at my dad’s company.”

“Thanks for your service,” Robin says dully, then looks at Vickie. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Isn’t your uncle a veteran?”

“Oh. Ohh… and he’s still a man.”

“Alright, well,” Steve says. “I’m gonna continue shopping. I am a man not interested whatsoever and with no sinister intentions, ma’am. But I’ll look somewhere else. Good luck!”

Robin narrows her eyes at Steve, resting her hands on her hips. “Hmm,” she hums, glancing at Vickie, then at Steve. “Perhaps we should interview the square.”

“Hoo, lady. I am not a square,” Steve says. He leans closer to whisper. “And I do not care if you share a bedroom. We could have an office or something then. But, you know. If that doesn’t work. Good luck!”

They look scandalized, so Steve leaves them there.

Vickie and Robin catch up when Steve’s looking at what produce he can afford, and Robin swears she still has to interview him, but if her uncle goes for it, they’ll do it.

Veteran-to-veteran is something Steve isn’t comfortable with. He didn’t even make it an entire year, and the war still rages on in Europe. So, when Robin’s Uncle Huey wants to knock off a bit of rent, he insists that he doesn’t.

Steve doesn’t tell him he’s a sham. That he couldn’t cut it after watching a friend die while everyone else could. And maybe he and Billy shared something different, but Steve is sure they aren’t the first and definitely not the last.

If anyone else goes through it, Steve bets they press on and fight even harder. But he wasn’t allowed to, and maybe the Captain was right not to let him, but it makes Steve a sham who couldn’t make it, and he’s not a fellow veteran.

He’s a stupid kid.

Robin and Vickie pretend they aren’t sharing a bedroom for a week before Steve asks if he can pretend he’s not, too, and they tell him he’s a stinky boy, but Jesus Christ.

At least they finally give it up. They might as well be pointing a knife at him for the next month, though, and Steve thinks they really would shank him if he blabbed about it, but he’s not going to. A queer helped him pick them out, and Steve admits that one night when their suspicious staring gets to be a little too much.

“What?” Robin asks, laughing as they sit at the table with dinner. “And how did that happen?”

Steve shrugs. “I was overseas with a bunch of guys from all over the world. One of them was bound to be,” he says. “He was, you know. A good guy. One of the best friends I’ve ever had.”

Vickie frowns as she pushes broccoli around on her plate. “Was?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Price of war, I tell ya.”

“Oh, Steve,” Robin says quietly.

His eyes sting and feel warm, but he shakes his head and smiles. “Don’t worry about it,” Steve says. “Good guys die every day over there. A lot of them will get to come home in one piece when it’s all over, too.”

“What was his name?” Vickie asks.

“Billy,” Steve says and sniffs. “His name was Billy. San Diego.”

“Billy from San Diego,” Robin says, smiling just a bit. She lifts her beer bottle and lightly shakes it. “To Billy?”

Steve huffs and smiles, looking at his beer bottle. “Well,” he says, “I think he’d like this well enough. We’ll do whiskey next time. Yeah. To Billy.” He clinks his bottle against Vickie and Robin’s and ignores how his right hand trembles.

He cries himself to sleep that night, but that’s nothing new.

They become best friends and Steve learns a lot about them. How they found each other, how they fell in love, how they’ve made it work. They say he came at the right time to give them freedom, but they did that for him, too.

Steve can talk to them sometimes about the war, Hopper, the guys, and Billy. He doesn’t talk about weapons or shooting them, he doesn’t talk about the last number Billy said, but he tells them about their journey through the wilderness.

How it was scary, how it pissed them off and brought them close together. Steve doesn’t tell them how they felt like rich men because it doesn’t sound right, but Robin and Vickie seem to understand it wasn’t a romantic rendezvous.

They could’ve died at any moment.

They were best friends.

Steve tells them Billy died in a large operation because he doesn’t want to say the United States Military fucked up beyond all reason and killed their own soldiers so they could wipe out the territory vantage point.

He doesn’t want to say Billy ran headfirst into it.

He keeps much of it close to his chest, which doesn’t change through the years.

They stay in that cottage by the lake, work, play, and enjoy life. Steve mostly watches Vickie and Robin enjoy it, but when the war ends a couple of years later, a weight is lifted off his shoulders.

Steve feels he can breathe without the most immense burden for the first time in two and a half years.

They learn of the atrocities and how soldiers found them, not knowing any of it was happening.

He’s a fucking coward, and Steve already knows that, but he should’ve been there or died trying to get there. What happened to him didn’t matter; he let it matter so much that Hopper sent him home. The burden comes back more powerful.

Robin and Vickie tell him he couldn’t have known, but they don’t understand. It didn’t matter what was in front of them—the whole point was to keep pushing forward no matter what was. Billy’s death was a part of war and Steve should’ve been able to keep going.

Steve’s a sham and feels it every single day of his life. He wishes he didn’t and sometimes wishes he could put an end to it, but Billy Hargrove’s voice always has things to say about that.

Hawkins starts to feel suffocating. It’s too small and everyone knows him by name. They don’t look at him the same now that the war is over. He hates working at his dad’s company and Steve’s dad doesn’t look at him all that fondly either. Steve wants to find something else, go somewhere else, but he has no idea where or how.

Chicago, maybe. Somewhere no one knows him; that’s bustling and filled with opportunity.

Robin reminds him that organized crime is also popular there and might not be the best choice. She suggests New York City, which also has a lot of organized crime, but there are better suburbs and places to rent and work.

Being on the coast helps, as there are people from all over the world from every walk of life there.

They visit for a few days and decide to go for it. Indiana will always be there if they hate it, but they’re young people who want freedom away from Hawkins.

Steve gets a job quickly that pays a decent wage, and Robin and Vickie soon follow. They rent a home that works for them and learn to live in an entirely different environment. But it’s fun and exciting—Robin and Vickie haven’t really met anyone except in Hawkins, so it’s an eye-opening experience for them.

Him, too, though he’s known people from all over once before.

One month turns into a year, then three and five and seven. It becomes home, something they’ve adapted to and love, finding safer nightlife and closer friends. Robin and Vickie want him to find someone, and Steve’s had the thought a few times, but it usually leaves him feeling ill, and he turns them down with the promise to tell them when he’s ready.

Steve’s nightmares don’t go away, but they lose their edge, and one day he realizes he’s twenty-nine years old.

Billy was nineteen for three weeks before he died. Steve was nineteen then, too.

He’s a young man, not a kid anymore. But Billy didn’t get that chance, and Steve still sees him clear as day, looking straight at him before he turned—how his helmet fell, how his weapons clattered to the ground as he foolishly went to save guys who were already dead, even if the shells hadn’t hit yet.

Steve can squeeze his eyes shut and see Billy lying next to him, feel his hand in his, see his blue eyes and white grin, but he can’t always remember his voice. He’s losing him again, bit by bit, to memory, and Steve’s not sure how he’ll feel the day he can’t remember Billy’s face.

He wishes he could draw him before he forgets.

He’s too afraid to put pencil to paper and always forgets to try harder with each year that passes.

Robin leans against the kitchen chair Steve sits in as he reads the paper. “Gonna be a big year,” she says. “All those guys together, huh?”

“Mhmm,” Steve hums as he glances over the article. They’re inviting brass to Arlington cemetery to give big speeches about how courageous all the dead men and boys lying in the ground behind them were, applauded by family and friends and military personnel.

Any veteran and their families are welcome, of course.

It’ll be ten years since the war ended next year, but that was only one of them. Thankfully they haven’t entered another World War yet.

“Do you think you’ll go?”

Robin asks him almost every year if he wants to go to Arlington. It’s to find Billy, he knows, to be close to him, but there’s nothing of him there. An empty box filled with mementos, maybe, but that’s it. It’s only a headstone in Arlington and that doesn’t mean anything to Steve.

Or it means far too much.

Hudson, Byers and Franco will be there, too, most likely.

Steve doesn’t think he could stand to look at their names.

“Probably not. Seems like a lot of froufrou for something that killed a lot of people.”

“Hmm,” Robin hums and doesn’t sound like she believes him. “Alright, square. I guess you’ve got a year to change your mind.”

Steve frowns after her as she walks away, then looks at the article. He doesn’t want to hear brass talk about how the war couldn’t be fought without these brave individuals.

They got to sit at mahogany desks and write with pens and stationery worth more than Steve’s paycheck. They didn’t hear soldiers asking for their moms as they lay dying. They didn’t hear the number of German soldiers who never got to go home muttered under Billy’s breath after each shot.

They didn’t get lost in potential enemy territory or watch their best friends die.

It’s for their families, but it’s for them too—to keep up morale and pat themselves on the back for ending the war.

Even if Steve fought until the bitter end, he thinks he’d feel this way.

But that doesn’t mean that ten years doesn’t stir something up. Something dredges from the deep recesses of Steve’s mind, where things are dark, and he’d rather never go again—the desire to be near it all again. The desire to see men and women in uniform, polished metal and shoes shining in the sun.

To hear military voices or guys who were in, at least, say things Steve would understand.

Hudson, Byers, Franco.

Hargrove.

Steve could say goodbye and maybe he’d feel the touch of the autumn sun on his cheek and know he was heard and forgiven.

He won’t go in uniform. Steve left them at his parent’s home and thinks he’ll put them in a chest in the attic someday. Let someone else find them a long time from now and wonder what bravery he had—they’ll come up with better stories than the real thing.

It’s difficult. Steve changes his mind numerous times in the days leading up to their planned transit to Virginia. It’s not even that far, but Steve feels sick and wonders if he’s ready.

It’s been ten years since the war ended and twelve since it ended for Steve and Billy.

Robin and Vickie convince him to board a train. The first step, though, makes him more anxious. But he tries to remember how Billy used to know and shake his shoulder without saying anything. How that used to melt his worries away.

But Billy’s dead and gone, and it doesn’t work so well anymore.

Fuck, it’s busy in Arlington. So many fucking people are here, and despite the cool, sunny weather, Steve feels like vomiting. They’re limiting people in the cemetery, but they get there right on time because they get in, and the line closes only fifteen minutes later. Speeches will be blasted loudly enough for people to hear outside still.

Steve doesn’t want to hear any of the speeches, but he also doesn’t want to wander through a sea of white headstones. But it’s quieter—the dead don’t talk, only leave memories for the living, and Steve walks the pathways with Robin and Vickie.

They don’t say much, though the girls occasionally whisper and point out headstones. Some have flowers, or flags draped over them, and some have other things, like teddy bears or smaller items. It stings to see something so personal, but it’s grief.

There are so many.

So many say World War II.

Steve reads names, afraid he’ll see the one he dreads with each headstone he looks at.

He pauses as he sees a name and his stomach lurches. Steve stares at it, blinking quickly, frowning.

“Steve?” Robin asks quietly. “Did you know him?”

Steve walks closer to the headstone and his right hand is trembling. It hasn’t in a while, but he expects it here. He kneels and brushes a twig off the top of the headstone before he traces the letters of the name and down further.

KENNETH R HUDSON
PRIVATE, FIRST INFANTRY
US ARMY
POW
1925 - 1947

“Steve?” Vickie asks.

He swallows, blinking. “He’s one of my guys,” Steve says and traces POW. “But he wasn’t a POW.”

“Prisoner of war,” Robin says slowly. “He wasn’t?”

“No. No, he died right in front of me,” Steve says, thinking of Billy running back to the doomed building that Hudson, Byers and Franco were trapped in. “There was an airstrike.”

“Are you sure that’s him?”

Steve glances at her. “Yeah, Robin. I’m sure,” he says and sits back, frowning. “But he’s dead, anyway.”

“Hey! Is that a stupid son of a bitch I see?”

He staggers to his feet and whirls around, looking down the pathway. Steve raises his eyebrows, then laughs, unable to help it.

“Jesus, Captain,” Steve says. “You’re looking, uh, a little grey around the edges.”

“Get the fuck over here, kid!”

Captain Hopper isn’t even an old man. Steve realized that one day—he was thirty-five when he was minding a bunch of dumb kids and trying to keep them alive. He’s still in his fucking forties, though he’s definitely got some salt and pepper in his neatly parted hair.

Grew a little around the middle, too.

Hopper doesn’t wrap him in a bear hug like Steve expects but smacks his hands down on either of his shoulders and raises his eyebrows. “You stupid shit,” Captain says. “You stupid asshole.”

“Jesus, Cap,” Steve says. “Nice to see you too! What the fuck?! POW?!” He gestures back. “Hudson died!”

As he shakes his head, Captain Hopper looks like he needs a stiff drink. “You stupid fucking kid. Come here,” he says and grabs Steve in that bear hug. Ruffles his hair and pats him roughly on the back until Steve’s sure he is bruised all over.

He swats him away and tries to fix his hair. “Okay,” Steve sighs. “Okay, I’m stupid. There. What the fuck?”

Hopper crosses his arms, shaking his head. He’s in his dress blues, but it doesn’t look like it was done very enthusiastically.

“Hudson died from long-term injuries sustained as a prisoner of war,” Hopper says tiredly. “We wanted that kid to pull through, but the malnourishment ruined his kidneys. His mother wanted him here.”

Steve bites his cheek, shaking his head. “Fuck. Prisoner of war?” he mutters. “What the hell, Captain? Jesus. If any of us bastards deserved to live, it was Hudson.”

“I concur,” Hopper says dryly. “You might be curious how he became a POW.”

“I thought he became dust.”

“Yeah. We all did. Found out different when we won the war,” Hopper says, shaking his head like he’s still pissed off about it. “They got hit hard. Wasn’t safe for either of us to move in the city until the dust settled. Turns out our boys weren’t in that building for long. Germans had access from underground almost everywhere and relieved them of their duty well before the airstrike.”

Steve gapes at him. “Are you fucking shitting me?” he hisses. “They had Franco and Byers, too?”

Hopper nods. “They had Franco and Byers, too. They’re alive, by the way,” he adds. “Survived what that side did to them. Not without scars, but they’re alive. Franco opened a pizza restaurant in California. Can’t convince him to care about any of it anymore. Byers always says next year. And you. You, you little shit. You move out of the only place I know you exist in and no one can give me a forwarding address or number. Not a single person, including your parents, so I could tell you this.”

Robin and Vickie stand off to the side, and Steve can see Robin cover her mouth.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Steve says. His shoulders feel heavy, and he thinks of his parents, who don’t have his address because he doesn’t want them to, but they do have his number. Mom probably didn’t give it to save him some pain. Or maybe she had something else on her mind. He doesn’t know. “Oh, fuck. Oh, god.”

“Breathe, kid,” Hopper says and pats Steve’s shoulder. “Breathe.”

Steve does feel woozy. He’s been mourning these guys for twelve fucking years, and three of them survived. Hudson died later, and he shouldn’t have, but Franco and Byers are alive.

Their families get to hold them. They’ve probably made families of their own.

“Jesus,” Steve says once the queasiness passes. He looks at Hopper and shakes his head. “All for nothing. It was all for fucking nothing.”

Hopper raises his eyebrows. “What was?”

“Don’t fucking ask me that!” Steve snaps and shoves Hopper’s hand away. “You know what I mean.”

“No, actually. I don’t,” Hopper says. “Hargrove was right there alongside them.”

Steve stares at him and hears blood rushing in his ears. His eyes have been blurry for a while, but it gets worse. He doesn’t know how to feel because that can’t be right—can’t be real.

Billy died. He died twelve years ago when he ran headfirst into an airstrike. They saw the blast and watched buildings crumble.

“Don’t lie to me like that,” Steve whispers, grasping Hopper’s dress blues. “Don’t fucking lie to me.”

“I’ve never lied to you and I’m not gonna start now,” Hopper says. “Had this kid up my ass for twelve years. You think I’m the only one who’s been trying to find you?” He shakes his head. “He got into the building and dove underground before that first shell hit. Dove straight into their arms, but he survived it. Mostly in one piece.”

“No, he didn’t,” Steve says. “No, he didn’t, Cap. He hasn’t been alive this whole time. You gave me his dog tags. You gave me his dog tags! They had his blood on them! He was gone!”

Hopper holds Steve’s shoulders. “They took them off him and left them there, kid. Breathe,” he says. “He’s probably wearing them right now. Just like you are.”

He knocks his fist against Steve’s chin, ignoring the tears, and looks down the path.

Robin and Vickie cry as they look at Steve, then turn around.

Steve looks at a man and woman further down the path between rows and rows of headstones. The autumn sun kisses the coif of dirty blond curls hanging over the right side of the man’s forehead. The woman next to him has red hair braided tightly to her skull.

He stares at a ghost sixty feet away, and Steve wants to run from this because it can’t be real. It’s as much of a fairy tale as their time in the countryside was; a dream, maybe, but it was only because they made it that way.

It could have gone differently at any second, and they’d both be out here, buried six feet under.

Billy stares at Steve, and, as usual, he makes the first move. He has a limp, Steve immediately notices and thinks Hopper meant it when he said mostly in one piece.  

Steve walks to him, afraid this will fade into a dark, cold abyss that’ll swallow him whole until he wakes up in his bed in New York, screaming.

But he’s alive. Handsome enough for Hollywood with that jaw, those blue eyes, blond curls hanging effortlessly over his forehead. He’s not in dress blues, but there’s a chain visible around his neck.

Steve aches and aches and aches.

The woman at his side, a handful of years younger than them, can only be Billy’s little sister Max. Redheaded and sharp, which described her fourteen-year-old self back then, but Steve thinks she’s not much different now.

Still, she smiles wide enough that it’s painful to see and steps away as Billy and Steve meet.

A nineteen-year-old doesn’t look back at him, but a grown man. Someone just as confident, though, because he’s Billy. Born to impress, he used to say whenever Steve would catch him winking at himself in his pocket mirror.

“After all this time,” Billy says, and it’s like an amplifier has been stuck next to Steve’s ear to remind him this is how he sounds. “After all this time, you’re still cryin’.”

“Don’t think these tears are for you, pal,” Steve says. “I moved on years ago.”

Billy grins. “What’s his name and where can I find him?”

Steve laughs and moves closer so they can throw their arms around each other. He grabs fistfuls of Billy’s shirt and smells nice cologne, feels someone more solid than he remembers, not living off rations, but he’s Billy.

He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive.

He’s alive, and he was looking for Steve but couldn’t find him.

How many times has he come here on the anniversary, hoping to see Steve? How much sooner could he have discovered Billy, Byers, and Franco survived hell?

“How?” Steve croaks. “How the fuck did you survive that blast?”

“Took cover, sweetheart,” Billy mutters against Steve’s neck. “Right into the enemy’s hands, but I lived to talk about it. My ankle was fucked and they took the leg at the knee if it makes you feel better. Now I only got two and a half.”

Steve laughs loudly and holds him tighter. “You fucking asshole,” he says. “Jesus! No! No! None of this… Billy, I’ve been…” he trails off and doesn’t know how to put what he’s been the last twelve years into words. “Billy.”

“FUBAR,” Billy says against Steve’s jaw, something that feels intimate, but he pulls back a little. His eyes are bright with tears, and it seems like he knows exactly how and what Steve’s been. “I know, Stevie. I’m sorry. I tried. The Captain and I both tried to find you.”

“My fucking fault. My stupid fucking fault,” Steve says. “I’m sorry. Trusted my mom to have sense, I guess, but I should’ve left my address with her. Not just the number. I live in New York City.”

“New York City?” Billy asks, raising his eyebrows. He brushes a tear from Steve’s cheek, and Steve brushes one from his until Billy grins. “Small town boy in the big city, huh?”

“Those women back there are my roommates,” Steve says. “Thanks for the pointers.”

Billy barks a laugh, grinning. “Glad to be of service, sweetheart,” he says. “Fuck, you look good, Stevie.”

“I look like shit, pal. You look good. I’ve been terrified to come here.”

“To see us?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I wish—”

“All we got are hopes and dreams,” Billy interrupts. “You lost yours. Mine was that I’d find you one day. Get to see you one more time, at least, if…” he trails off and shakes his head. “You made my hopes and dreams come true. I know it hurts. I know you thought I was gone.”

“Twelve years,” Steve hisses and holds onto the front of Billy’s shirt. “Twelve fucking years. I’ve been mourning you that long. It doesn’t just hurt, Billy.”

“Leaves scars,” Billy says and smiles faintly, tiredly. He has the same look in his eyes Steve sees in the mirror every day, but Billy’s eyes have a spark in them, too. “I know. I didn’t think I’d get out of there alive. I mourned you too. Hurt worse when I got healthy and couldn’t ever find you. How about we make it right?”

“How do we do that?” Steve asks. “How do we make all of it right?”

“Your girls are my kinda girls,” Billy says, looking over Steve’s shoulder. He grins and winks at Robin and Vickie, as charming as ever, usually until he opens his mouth. “Which means they don’t mind guys like me. How about we give each other twenty-four years?”

Steve laughs. “Twenty-four, huh?” he asks, grinning. “Just the twenty-four?”

Billy shrugs. “I don’t know if you’ll be sweet to me,” he says innocently. “How we’ll like Miami. We’ll see about more after that.”

“Jesus. Yeah. If you’re lucky, pally,” Steve says, grinning after Billy sighs, but he’s smiling anyway. They embrace again, and Steve holds the back of Billy’s neck, running his fingers through the short hairs there. “Don’t make me think of fairy tales, Billy. Ours was unreal.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Billy says. “Every little bit of it was real. Just me and you, livin’ like rich men. I’m not bullshitting you, Stevie. I got you again. You think I’m gonna let you go?”

“You were stupid enough to do it once.”

“Got half my leg sawed off for it. Don’t worry. Ain’t gonna happen again.”

“Christ, Billy,” Steve laughs. He sniffs and squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m serious.”

“I am, too,” Billy says. He looks at Steve and smiles. “If the Captain wouldn’t blow, I’d sing you Night and Day, sweetheart. ’Cause that’s me and you. I’m offering and I’m serious.”

Steve bites his lip as he stares at Billy, who has changed. He has, too, but at the very heart of them, they’re two boys who fell in love and never wanted to nor fell out of love.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course,” Steve says. “Twenty-four and more. You want to come home with us?”

“Gotta take Max home, but I’ll fly to New York afterward. Hope she doesn’t follow me. Or that maybe she does,” Billy says, looking around. He covers his eyes and looks over his shoulder at Max, standing far away. “The hell are you doin’ over there, Maxine?”

“Uh, not listening to you two anymore?” Max calls back, holding out her hands.

Billy cackles and looks at Steve. “We might have to find a closet to stuff her in.”

Steve grins, shaking his head. “Whatever you want,” he says. “I’m yours. Well… we’re yours.” He looks back at Robin and Vickie.

They hurry to Steve and Billy and throw their arms around them. Billy looks momentarily taken aback, but Steve smiles at him—how could he be? Of course he told his best friends about his only love.

He smiles at Steve before squeezing his eyes shut.

Steve meets Max properly, and she’s a grown woman, but she’s brutal and endears herself immediately to Robin and Vickie. And Steve, really, because he sees how similar she is to Billy.

She went through much more grief and mourning, and Steve wonders if they’ll talk about it someday. What Billy’s dad said or did because Steve thinks he’s not in the picture anymore.

If Max will tell him what it was like to hear someone tell her Billy wasn’t dead and they’d freed him as a prisoner of war. He can’t fathom what waiting for Billy to get home must’ve been like.

There’s a lot to talk about it and it might take years. But, sometimes, things like this do. Sometimes things are decided within minutes, like sharing their lives together.

Steve hopes it’s not a fairy tale. 

The Captain says tell me nothing, I don’t want to know, but he thumps them on their shoulders, offers them a cigarette, and lumbers away. Steve wonders if they’ll see him again.

Max and Billy have a hotel room, so Steve, Robin and Vickie get another. The girls stay together upstairs, and they’re downstairs. The moment the door is closed, Billy grabs Steve and pulls him into a kiss.

Something brief and quick, to prove they’re real, really there, before it becomes passionate and so, so like what Steve remembers. It wasn’t nostalgia or thinking the first was as good as it was—Billy’s right when he says what they had was real. Every bit of it.

Billy presses kisses to Steve’s skin, each one a promise.

“Twenty-four,” Billy murmurs. “Want me to keep going, Stevie?”

“As many as you want to give me, Billy,” Steve says breathlessly. “I’ll take all of them.”

He’s swept into another kiss, hungry and yearning, knowing they have no war effort to join just outside the door. No fatigues to pull on, no weapons to maintain, no unfamiliar terrain to trudge through.

They’ll fight different wars at home and do it proudly together, but tonight is for them, and all the time they have ahead.



Night and day, you are the one
Only you 'neath the moon or under the sun
Whether near to me or far
It's no matter, darling, where you are
I think of you night and day