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"Well, this is a surprise."
The chalk circle is slipshod and hastily done with a shaky hand, symbols only barely recognizable. The power, though, is there - the intent and the will are strong, so the temporary binding will hold. For as long as Steve draws breath, anyway. There's kind of a countdown on that, actually.
"I take it you thought about that little deal I offered?" Billy's wearing sunglasses that have no place in the dim light. He's temptation incarnate - jeans far too tight and shirt hanging open, golden skin and perfectly windswept golden hair ready to catch the sun. There's even the lingering scent of coconut and salt-water, like the summoning plucked him from a boardwalk in Santa Monica to drop him in a dark, dank basement in Indiana. "Was the idea of unimaginable power just too tempting, or did Daddy finally piss you off enough? What do you get a rich boy who has everything?"
He's needling, looking for a crack in Steve's armor so that he can pry his ribs apart and take a good long look at his soul. He's been dying to get his hands on it for a long time now, since even before Steve knew exactly what Billy was. It was probably just a matter of time.
"That's not what I need," Steve says. His voice is cracked and reedy. The summoning had been rough on his already sore throat, and he hadn't stopped to grab a drink when he'd been washing the blood off of his hands. There's still dried blood under his nails, on the sleeves of the long shirt he's wearing.
Billy pushes the sunglasses up to the top of his head. His eyes are golden, a quick flash, like a trick of the candle light. "What you need?" he repeats, mocking. "You're playing your hand a little early, aren't you, Stevie?" He looks around, spreads his arms at the candles and the chalk symbols. "You didn't have to go to all this trouble, baby. You could have just called."
"Does Hell have good reception?" Steve says, ghost of a smirk on his face. He feels it, and it's gone again.
"The WiFi down below is to die for." When Billy smiles, his teeth are gleaming white, sharp. "Enough small talk. You called, I came. What can I do for you, pretty boy? What is that you need?"
Steve swallows. He really should have grabbed some water. Maybe a chair. He's afraid, though, that if he sits down, he won't get up again. He already can't really feel his fingers - everything he has is being used to keep himself upright and Billy in that circle. Besides, a chair would give himself away, show a crack for Billy to dig his fingers into. He'll know soon enough, but Steve's going to hold onto his secrets for as long as he can.
"I need a soul." Steve watches as Billy raises his eyebrows. Impressed, maybe. Surprised. "I want an exchange."
The laugh that Billy gives is a pleasant sound. Steve supposes that's par for the course - Billy is designed to tempt, after all, to be attractive enough to lead others down a dark, dangerous path. "Sweetheart, you know that's not how it works," he says, like he's patiently explaining. "No refunds, no exchanges. It's all in the fine print."
"You've done it before," Steve says. "Haven't you?"
This time, Billy doesn't laugh. His eyes go golden again, and Steve can feel the push of demonic will against his own. The circle holds. "We've got rules," Billy replies finally. He's still wearing a smirk, still looks perfectly at ease, but his eyes have narrowed even if they've gone back to blue. "Strict ones. The guys farther down don't give me a lot of leeway, you know."
"So you have." It feels like a victory, now that Steve knows how to hear what Billy doesn't say. "The Mayfield kid, right?"
The smirk going sinister. That's good, it means Billy's feeling threatened. Off-kilter. More likely to make a mistake. "Aren't you full of surprises tonight," he says, low. "Who have you been talking to, Stevie?"
"Just a couple of acquaintances of yours." Steve shifts. He's started to feel the slash in his side again, which means the painkiller he took is starting to wear off. It's probably soaking through the bandages.
Bright blue eyes catch the movement, and Billy makes a big show of taking a deep breath, gives an exaggerated wince. "Baby, you reek of desperation. Don't get me wrong, it's a damn good look on you." Sharp eyes scan Steve. "The blood's a nice touch, too. Who'd you kill?"
"No one," Steve rasps. "Are you going to hear me out or not?"
Billy chuckles, shakes his head. "Sorry, baby, no deal. You're pretty, and I like you, but nothing's worth a century or so of punishment for stepping out of line." He winks and drags his sunglasses back down over his eyes. "Break the circle, babe, I've got places to be and souls to steal."
And that's their usual game, now that Steve knows what Billy's after. What Billy really is. Today, though, Steve is covered in blood that isn't his and slowly bleeding out, so the game has become a lot more real than he ever wanted. "Not this time," he says softly. He winces digs the chalk out of his pocket.
"You know a binding won't work on me." Billy's still grinning, aviator sunglasses glinting in the flickering candlelight. "Just break the circle and go back to trying to save the world one mundane cleansing at a time."
Steve doesn't reply. The symbols he needs are in a language he doesn't know well, but he's got the book on the table he painstakingly dragged in here. The page is bookmarked, and he can feel Billy's eyes on him as he flips the pages. He learned earlier that crouching is excruciating with the wound in his side, so he drops to his knees instead, lays the book open so that he can start drawing just outside the circle that Billy can't leave.
The first four symbols go down, and he feels the shiver of Billy pushing against the confines of the circle. It holds, though, because even if Steve's never done this particular kind of summoning before, he's not a novice either. He's been told he's a prodigy. Billy keeps offering immense, unimaginable power, but Steve's got plenty of his own.
"Lucky guess," Billy says, and when Steve looks up, he's only a few inches away. He doesn't look so at ease now - Steve gets the feeling that if it weren't for the thin, invisible barrier between them, Steve would have a hand around his throat and a set of claws digging into his chest. Billy likes him, but he doesn't like him this much.
Steve doesn't smile. If Billy doesn't take the bait, he's going to die in this basement. It'll probably be a relief at this point, just so he doesn't have to hear Joyce or Nancy's heartbroken sobbing if he manages to stagger back to the cabin. He's lost a lot of blood, though, spilled out on the forest floor just like Jonathan's. "It's not a guess."
He gets the rest of the next symbol written before Billy speaks again. "It is," he insists. "You're bluffing, baby, I know you are." His eyes are gold, and there's an insistent push against the barrier, like hands shoving against a locked door.
Steve's a little dizzy. Billy's strong, centuries of ability and intent built up with the power of Hell itself behind him. "I'm not," he says, and draws the second to last symbol. "I know who you are. What you used to be" He's talking and drawing, holding himself together, even as the pressure against his own barrier gets what feels like a solid, hard kick. "Daddy finally pissed you off enough, right?" He doesn't need Billy to confirm, Steve knows what he knows. It's still satisfying when he looks up and sees Billy's face, gold eyes and sneer. He's still got a few cards to play. "Fear looks good on you."
Another shove, harder than before, like a shockwave going from the center of the circle out. Steve gasps, winces as the action pulls on the knife wound, and sits down hard.
The barrier holds.
"I'm willing to listen to your terms," Billy snaps. "But I'm not making any promises."
Well, neither is Steve. He levers himself to his feet, using the table nearby, gives himself a moment to lean heavy on it even though he knows Billy will see. "I want a soul," Steve repeats. "I'm offering up mine in exchange."
Billy's eyes are on Steve's side. "We don't do that. I can't make that kind of deal, it wouldn't fly. There's a high price on yours in particular, yeah, but we don't bend the rules even for witches as strong as you."
"You don't, but you can," Steve insists. "Besides, I'm not offering my soul to Hell, I'm offering it to you."
He sees the spark of interest, feels the way that the shoving against the circle eases off. Billy's intrigued, he's on the hook even if he's not sure about it. Billy watches him, eyes going from Steve's face to his side again. "I could just drag this out," he says. "I could sit here and keep you company until you bleed out all over this floor, step over your body on my way up the stairs."
He could. "You won't," Steve says.
Billy snorts. "Is she really worth this, Stevie?" he asks. "I mean, think about it. She'll move on. They always do. You might even have another chance with her."
"No, this is all or nothing." Steve shakes his head. He's dizzy. "You either drag Jonathan's soul back from wherever the fuck it went, or I finish the spell, and you die with me." He's leaning on the table still. He'll see this through if it's the last thing he does.
"Break the circle," Billy says, low and demanding. "I can save you."
His lip tastes like blood when he licks it, chapped and dry. "Deal or no deal, Hargrove." It's a dig, because the name is nothing to Billy, not really, except what Billy wants it to be.
"Fuck," Billy hisses, and follows it with, "Deal. Come here."
The circle holds against a final push, and Steve's legs almost don't hold him as he stumbles past the barrier. Billy catches him when they give out, holds him in an inhumanly strong grip. Steve half-expects to die, even with the strong intention of promise laced in Billy's utterance of the word 'deal.' Instead, what he gets is the warmth of Billy's hand pressed to his side, where his shirt is tacky with blood.
"You're an idiot." Gold flashes in Billy's eyes again, and the warmth spreads as Steve can take a deep breath for the first time since the forest. "You have no idea what you've done. Most people pray for a miracle, you know."
"Heaven's empty," Steve slurs out. If it weren't for Billy's arm, he'd be sprawled out on the floor, boneless and unable to move. "Hold up your end of the bargain, Hargrove." He blinks and Billy blurs for a second, then comes back into sharp focus. He looks unimpressed, if a little pleased.
There's the smell of sulfur, a whisper of something that could be feathers in a nonexistent breeze. "The things I do for love," Billy murmurs. His hand is still covered in Steve's blood when he cups Steve's jaw, tilting Steve's face up from where he's slumped and clinging to Billy. "You realize you'll be mine. Forever. Eternity's a long time, pretty boy."
Steve gives a single, tired nod. He's still dizzy, but now it's from the way that Billy's breath ghosts over his own lips instead of from blood loss. "Just do it."
"Let me savor the moment a little." Billy's smirking again, fingers gripping Steve's chin. He looks a little more pleased now that Steve's not knocking on Death's door. "It's not every day I get power like yours at my disposal."
"You're powerful," Steve argues. He's got a hand in Billy's shirt, fisted in the fabric, and his other is braced on Billy's bare chest. It's strange, how Billy can seem so human - heartbeat under Steve's hand, warmth of his body stark in the chilly, damp air. "You don't need mine."
"Yeah, well, you're something special." Billy doesn't kiss him, though. He kisses at Steve's jaw, gets his fingers tight in Steve's hair to pull his head back. "So loyal, though, so good. Fuckin' awful flaw to have when you could have the world at your feet, you know." Teeth, sharp against the pulse on Steve's neck. "She never deserved you, Stevie."
Steve's panting. He can't help it - there's a reason he's stayed away from Billy this long, his body reacts to Billy like it never has with anyone else. He's already half-hard, and he knows this is going to end with Billy fucking him on the cold and dirty basement floor to drive his claim on Steve and Steve's magic home. Just maybe not the way Billy thinks. "You said we had a deal," he manages to get out. His throat's still sore, but it's fading as Billy's mouth moves across his skin. Possessive, Steve guesses, doesn't want anyone else's marks there, even if they were made by hands instead of teeth.
"Yeah." Billy heaves a put-upon sigh. "I guess I did."
Sulfur and ocean fill Steve's nose, heavy and heady. The candles flare into a sudden, sparking flame, and Steve gasps as he feels something fold around him, feels the way that time and space and existence bends around Billy for just a brief moment. Billy catches the gasp in his own mouth, pressing Steve flush against him with an impossible embrace.
Billy breaks it off with harsh breath. The candles still burn too bright, and the world is still shivering around them, liminal. "What did you do," Billy snarls, as gold light curls around his wrists and neck. There will be black left behind, twisting and twining vines, a mark of Steve's magic on Billy's very being.
When Steve smiles, it's through the pain of the same marks forming on his body. It burns, sharp and searing. He lifts one arm, pulls the sleeve back with his teeth so that Billy can see the runes and symbols drawn there in his own blood. "Guardian angel summoning," he gasps out. "I may be yours, but you're gonna be mine, too."
Billy's furious, golden and beautiful, the perfect mix of angelic and demonic energy wrapped into one vessel that can barely contain him, cracks bleeding gold around the seams. "You brilliant son of a bitch," he hisses, and when he kisses Steve again, Steve tastes blood. Somewhere across town, Jonathan Byers is gasping his way back to life - Steve can feel it.
"The things we do for love," Steve murmurs into Billy's lips, and the satisfaction that curls in his gut has nothing at all to do with Nancy.