heaven-sent | b.h.

09.

"God, what am I doing?" Frances asks. She and Billy have been sat on the floor for an immeasurable amount of time, and her muscles are beginning to cramp. She had needed his comfort so much earlier that she hadn't thought about it. Now, the haze of anxiety was easing enough for her to think clearly, and the memory of last night begins to torture her until sitting in Billy's arms no longer feels right.

She pulls herself up from him, leaving him to sit with his back against the dresser alone. He watches intently as she smooths out her clothes and wipes the smudged mascara from under her eyes.

"You tell me," he responds lowly.

"I don't know why I keep doing this. I mean, you're Billy fucking Hargrove, and I keep falling apart in front of you like an idiot. You must eat this shit up."

He frowns, pulling himself up slowly. "You think I'm enjoying this?"

"I don't know," Frances shrugs, pacing into the living room so she can distance herself from him. "It's something to laugh about with your friends, right? The chief's daughter is a freak, had a panic attack right in front of you, not to mention she's fucking adopted and her eyes change colour."

"Jesus, Fran, is that really what you think of me?" He's still tired, though no longer drunk, and his denim jeans hang off him from spending so long in them.

"I don't know. None of this makes sense to me." She can't look at him anymore. What he must think of her after the things he'd seen. "I ... I need to go find my dad. You're welcome to take a nap while I'm gone, but you probably shouldn't be here when I get back."

He rolls his eyes, grabbing his denim jacket aggressively and marching past her. "Don't worry, angel. I know when I'm not welcome."

"Billy—"

He places his hand on the door, scowling at her as he turns. "Save it. I can't take this hot an' cold thing. You want me gone? I'm gone."

"Billy, wait," she pleads, causing him to freeze. "Just ... Please don't tell anyone about what you saw. Please."

This earns a scoff that's filled with hatred hatred. "Please, angel. Don't flatter yourself. I won't waste another second talkin' about you at all."

With that, he leaves, slamming the door behind him. Frances flinches at the sound, closing her eyes as her stomach fills with regret—whether it is for pushing him away or letting him too close to begin with, she doesn't know.

* * *

Hopper's car isn't on Joyce's drive, and neither is Jonathan's. Any hope of talking to either of them is gone the moment that Frances reaches the Byers'. Still, she knocks on the door timidly, unsurprised when Joyce is the one to answer. She is surprised by the state of her though, with wide, fear-filled eyes and a slight tremble to her fingers as she holds the door open reluctantly.

"Frances," she greets, her eyes darting from Frances to the empty drive. "Jonathan isn't home right now, sweetie."

"That's okay. I was hoping that maybe you might have seen my dad this morning. I can't find him anywhere."

"You just missed him, actually," she says, causing Frances to breathe a sigh of relief. "He, uh, had a case to get to. I'm sure he'll be home later on."

Joyce is already closing the door, and Frances has to put her foot in the threshold to stop her completely. "Wait, Joyce."

Joyce shuffles impatiently, widening the door only slightly. It's clear she wants her gone, just like everyone else she's talked to today.

"My father, was he with anyone?"

Frances watches carefully for a reaction, but if she thought there was a chance that Joyce ever had an inkling about El, she knows it's impossible now. Her eyebrows furrow in confusion. "Like who? Officer Callahan?"

"No ... Never mind." She shakes her head. "Is everything okay? Y'know, with Will?"

"Everything's fine, he's just a little under the weather," she reassures, though her smile doesn't meet her eyes. She hasn't seen her this nervous since last year, and the thought makes her stomach twist. "Listen, I'm a little busy—"

"No, yeah. Sorry to bother you," she swallows, taking a step back. "Just ... if you see Hop, tell him to call me or something. I'll be at the trailer."

"I'll tell him, honey." She gives a wave and has shut the door before Frances has time to thank her.

Despite the fact that Frances knows her father is at least still in Hawkins, she can't help but feel dread gnawing at her. Something is wrong, something worse than what has already happened today, and until she finds her father—if she can still call him that at all—she has no idea how to right it. All she can do is continue treading through Hawkins, cold, numb, and alone.