Chapter Text
Billy Loomis limped around a corner in the Macher house, bolting into the blood-soaked kitchen in a frantic search for his best friend. His once-white t-shirt was almost completely covered with splashes of his own and many others’ deep red blood. His breathing had quickened immensely due to the sharp pains in his abdomen, his weary hands doing their very best to put pressure on the dripping wound. His dark hair, which normally only held the greases of his hair gel, now dripped with sweat which had accumulated from the stress and high stakes of the night. Billy’s brown eyes nearly popped out of their sockets with a flash of fear as he took in the state of Stu Macher, laying on the ground in a puddle of god-knows-who’s blood.
“Fuck!” Billy exclaimed loudly, quickly dropping to his knees, not giving a fleeting thought to the further damage to his pair of light-washed blue jeans. Billy’s hands felt around aimlessly, panic setting into his mind, before slamming his middle and index finger into the side of Stu’s long neck, searching hopefully for a pulse, or any sign the blonde was still alive. The tips of Billy’s fingers were met with the slow, yet steady thump of blood in Stu’s veins, but that only did so much to ease Billy’s fears, especially once he saw the growing circle of crimson on his cream-colored sweater. Billy pushed the wooly material over Stu’s flat stomach and almost skeletal torso, revealing an injury that left him breathless for a moment, both in awe, and in terror.
There, on Stu’s milky pale stomach, were multiple large stab wounds, craters in the moon of his body. As his eyes laid on the oozing gashes, Billy was met with the realization that he’d gone too far.They dripped with red liquid, looking choppy and unclean. He let himself get too carried away in the euphoria of it all, of driving a weapon into any human, over and over while watching the pain contort their face as well as their body. And that glint in Stu’s blue eyes, the one that, as much as Billy hated to admit it, made his stomach flutter and his heart nearly stop. But there had to be repercussions for what the two had done, all the people who they snatched the life from so brutally. And here it was, in the horrific form of Stu’s unresponsive figure as Billy gripped his bony shoulders, shaking his lifeless frame.
“Stu, Stu, wake the fuck up! Don’t be a dick, get up!” Billy cried out, voice breaking as he heaved Stu’s chest up to his own, tightly holding his best friend up to his heart, as if Billy could transfer his own heartbeat over to the one who needed it most. Stu’s head just drooped lethargically, plopping onto one of his shoulders. Billy did his best, as he was working with an unconscious deadweight, to tug Stu’s bloodsoaked sweater over his head, and press it heartily into the area of his stab wounds, using his limited first aid knowledge to put pressure on the wound.
Billy was quickly becoming the very thing he hated the most, a complete mess of emotions. His mind was a jumble of anger, first at Stu for being stupid and not taking better care of his open wound, and for not being able to take the knife like he promised he could. Anger at Sidney, for fucking up he and Stu’s near-perfect scheme. Anger at himself, for not getting to Stu faster, and leaving him to bleed out and die alone. He felt despair that he could lose the person he was closest to in this world, that the two of them might not make it out of this house together like they planned so meticulously. But suddenly, Billy’s ears perked up as he heard a noise that struck a bolt of hope into his body. Sirens. An ambulance could mean the difference between life and death for Stu right now, so Billy pressed the sweater harder into Stu’s abdomen, determined to keep his heart beating for this moment and for many years to come. The door burst open, followed by the loud stomping of police officers, their guns held up and ready to shoot.
“Help, over here!” Billy’s scratchy and broken voice called with an angered tone into the next room, causing the men and women to whip their heads (and guns) around to face the Macher’s now-filthy kitchen. A few lowered their weapons at the heartaching sight of Billy clutching Stu’s frail body, the rare occurrence of tears falling down his face. One officer slowly lifted his walkie-talkie up to his bearded mouth, tapping the side button with his middle finger as Billy’s pleading eyes met those of the man.
“Kevin, I need two stretchers, stat.” He spoke with a gravely voice and a haunted expression, looking around the few visible rooms to see the smattering of dead bodies scattered in almost every room.
Stu’s mouth was quickly covered by a cloudy breathing mask, helping the rise and fall of his weak chest become ever more steady as he was lifted onto a stretcher and out of the front door of his own home. Billy had to practically be torn from the unconscious form of his best friend.
“Will he be okay?!?” Billy demanded to know as people in medical uniforms held him down onto the fabric of the stretcher. “Let me go, you assholes!” He screeched, reaching out madly toward the first ambulance that began to speed away, sirens wailing.
As Billy himself was wheeled into an ambulance soon after, he wished he could revel in the sight of many other figures being removed from the premises, reduced to merely unmoving lumps hidden under a dark sheet. But he was stuck hoping, praying silently that Stu wouldn’t soon follow in their unmoving footsteps. Stupid Stu.
As Billy was raced through the emergency room doors, he slipped in and out of consciousness, the immense blood loss finally catching up to him. The bright fluorescent lights shone through his stinging eyelids. He heard the hum of many frantic voices, some conjured up by his twisted mind in a dream state, but it was difficult to discern them from reality, due to the way they all jumbled together, leaving Billy in a confused state. One voice his messed-up, exhausted brain latched onto much more than the others, a familiar soft tone that he thought must have been a dream, for that’s the only place he heard it anymore, the maternal tone of his mother. Her sweet drawl was the last thing Billy’s mind picked up before he went completely under, succumbing to the darkness.
Billy awakened in a small, brightly lit room, body resting on a hard mattress and skin prickling from the thin, scratchy sheets. A woman with wide eyes glazed with worry and short-cropped brunette hair stared down at him from the mandatory plastic guest chair in the corner of the room, making his body snap forward with recognition and disbelief.
“Mom?” Billy screeched, the full embodiment of surprise as his mother’s face brightened.
“Billy, my baby boy!” Mrs. Loomis cried out, extending her arms, manicured fingers stretching so much they almost looked as if they’d fall off her hands. Billy’s mouth hung open as he sputtered, trying to find the right words for this very delicate situation.
“What the fuck! Are you real?” He questioned, whipping his head all around the room in a search for any sort of sign that this could be fake, a final illusion crafted by his dying mind. She just let out a nostalgic, ringing laugh, one that instantly dissipated Billy’s suspicions that she was a figment of his very fucked-up imagination.
“Of course, sweetie. I heard about… what happened at the Macher’s house, and I knew we couldn’t be apart anymore. I had to come back to you, son.”
Billy swallowed hard, trying to keep his emotions where he preferred them to stay, inside his mind, where no one else needed to know they existed. But the image of his mom fresh in his vision for the first time in so long really did something to get him choked up. He felt a hiccupy sob slip through the barrier of his tight throat, the last crack in the dam before letting loose into an eruption of weeping. Nancy Loomis emerged from her perch on the cheap hospital chair before engulfing her exhausted son in a tight embrace. Billy let the maternal warmth ooze into every corner of his being, soaking in all the love and care that his father denied him all those years.
After taking a while to cry into the shoulder of his mom’s navy blue blazer, the events of Stu’s party came crashing back down into Billy’s memory. He was startled by the mental image of poor blue-eyed Stu soaked in his own blood, unmoving and helpless on the cold tile. He wasn’t sure how long the many stab wounds had taken him out, or what could have happened to his best friend in that span of time, but he was wracked with an unfamiliar wave of care for Stu Macher.
“Stu.” He spoke suddenly, his pale face contorting in panic and eyes filling with worry. “Is he…?” Billy asked desperately, part of him not wanting to finish, and the other half unable to, his mind becoming a blank sheet when faced with the possibility that their once-genius plan got his first and best friend killed. His mother plastered on a loving smile, and petted the back of her son’s greasy bedhead, stroking each hair with her delicate, aged fingers.
“I’m not going to lie to you, baby. Those Prescotts…” she inhaled sharply through her thin nostrils before continuing. “...did a number on your friend, he lost a lot of blood. But the important thing is, Stu did pull through.” Billy’s mental celebration was unmatched, a billion confetti poppers exploding simultaneously. But he felt a strong need to maintain his composure over this, especially under the scrutinous gaze of his mother. It’d been so long since she left, Billy had spent years glorifying her moments of kindness, his mind had practically fast-forwarded through the not so pretty memories. He forgot the pure anger that could shine though those eyes, almost perfectly matching his own.
“Could I see him?” Billy asked, with a little too much tenderness for his usual liking, making sure to add onto the request. “Since we were the sole survivors and all that.”
Nancy opened her neutral-toned pink mouth, ready to speak, when a nurse stepped jovially into the blankly colored hospital room, his brunette hair neatly swept to the side, matching well with his wrinkled face. “Hi there, Billy. My name’s Nurse Eason.” Billy knew immediately from this man’s bright smile and bubbly demeanor, that he desperately hoped for a different nurse. “We’re just gonna do a quick checkup on your vitals, and then you’ll be all good to go, alright?”
Checkup? Billy thought, scoffing quietly to himself, glaring at the ever-cheerful male nurse with his dark eyes. I’m not a fucking child.
Nurse Eason hummed a little tune as he velcroed the blood pressure monitor to Billy’s bicep. Not long after, Nancy Loomis quietly exited the room with an attempted smile, waving to her son sweetly. To Billy, what felt like an eternity later, Nurse Eason finally finished scribbling Billy’s medical information onto a clipboard before informing the boy he was free to go. Billy hopped out of the uncomfortable bed, but before he could make his escape, he cleared his throat.
“Do you know where I can find Stu Macher? He probably came in at the same time as me.” Billy requested, making sure to get straight to the point.
Nurse Eason nodded, before licking his thumb and flipping through the light blue papers. “Macher… Macher…” he mumbled, eyes flitting back and forth. “Aha!” He declared, making Billy jump slightly. “Stuart Macher, he’s in room 237, just down the hall and to the left.” Billy snorted, a rare grin taking him over, but was met only with a face of confusion from the nurse, who was obviously extremely uncultured. What special breed of dipshit hadn’t seen the Shining?
Billy sprinted away, not sparing a second to give any sort of thanks to the much-too-cheery nurse. He raced through the narrow halls of the Woodsboro General in search of either his mother, or someone who could tell him where to find Stu. But instead, the tired brunette found someone who almost caused his neck to break from how fast his head snapped around in alarm, pieces of hair slapping his forehead as he moved.
A teenage boy with mousy brown hair, face covered in a sad attempt at growing a beard laid in his hospital bed, watching a film with a temporary expression of contentment. Billy’s jaw dropped to the floor, the air evaporating from his lungs.
“RANDY?” Billy squeaked incredulously, as if he’d just seen a ghost, because in a way, he had. Randy had been shot straight in the chest, Billy pulled the trigger himself! And worst of all, he knew everything! Billy just nearly escaped with his life, and now stupid fucking Randy just had to swoop in and knock his Jenga tower of a plan straight onto the shiny floor. Randy looked up from the small hospital television, his face brightening at the sight of a familiar face such as Billy’s.
“Hey, Billy! They told me you were awake. Come in, I’m watching Jaws.” Randy beckoned largely with the one of his arms that wasn’t wrapped up in white bandages. Billy’s mind raced with panic, but he inched his way into the compacted room, unable to resist the allure of the classic Speilberg film.
“How- how are you alive?” Billy managed to sputter out a coherent sentence despite his jumble of thoughts, but still made sure to choose his wording carefully, considering the delicate situation.
“That bastard Neil Prescott hit me in a nonfatal spot.” The lucky son of a bitch film buff patted his shoulder, presumably the “nonfatal spot” he was referring to. Billy’s brain was completely short circuited, leaving him looking like a dumbass stuttering idiot, trying to string together enough words to ask Randy any sort of question to clarify his growing confusion.
What the fuck? Neil Prescott didn’t fucking shoot Randy. I shot Randy, and he knows it! Why hasn’t the little fucker tattled to the cops yet? What the fuck does he want?
“What the fuck do you want?” Billy hissed, trying to conceal the oozing fear in his tone by coming off as intimidating, but failing terribly. Randy frowned, giving a spiraling Billy a very bewildered side eye.
“I want to know how the hell the killer ended up being Sid’s dad, and how…” He paused for a moment, face stricken with pain, and not the physical kind. “... she ended up as just another name on the casualty list.”
Billy stood for a few moments, frozen in place, the cogs moving slowly in his baffled brain, the only noise being one from the small TV speakers, the pained scream of a poor beachgoer being absolutely mutilated by a mechanical shark.
“I hit my head.” Randy clarified. “The trauma to my brain gave me partial amnesia, my memory is completely blank of the party.”
Billy’s whole body flooded with immediate relief. It all worked out, even if Randy’s still beating heart deviated from the plan. What mattered is that he and Stu would be able to get away with it, no strings attached. If they stuck to a good story, one that Billy had to get straight.
“Well, uh…” Billy began slowly, trying to scramble something together that would satisfy Randy’s craving for knowledge until he could work together a full story. He and Stu cooked something up a few weeks ago, but due to the divergence from their original plan, it no longer worked as something they could bring to the police, considering how much their plan went awry. I mean, what happened to “everybody dies but us”?
Billy tapped his forehead lightly. “I- uh- it’s still kind of fuzzy.”
Randy’s eyes scrunched together, obviously slightly skeptical. If there was anyone Billy had to worry about discovering his secret, it's him. Randy knew the inner workings and subversions of every single horror trope to mankind. On top of all that, he basically accused Billy of being the twist ending in the video store! But he just had to keep his cool, and show Randy that he was just another sad, helpless victim of Neil Prescott, that they were in this together. That would, of course, be a lie, since he and Stu would inevitably end up gutting him, just like all the rest. If Stu even made it. Billy shook his head, clearing the thought from his mind.
Billy began to grow more anxious the longer he spent in Randy’s room, and it wasn’t due to John Williams’s classic score, he needed to get out of that bright blue room as it grew increasingly more suffocating as the seconds went on. Randy was always more of Stu’s friend, Billy kept him around merely because everyone else in the group seemed to enjoy his company. Sid always laughed at his jokes, and he needed to keep her happy until he and Stu got their chance to off her. But now wasn’t the time for that, Billy was too close, he just needed to get to room 237, to Stu, and make sure he was alright. He bade a half-assed farewell to the sleepy Randy, who waved lazily before directing his attention back to Jaws.
Billy checked every room number carefully, his heart pounding as his mind raced with images of Stu, the crazy scenarios getting spiraling out of his control as the seconds pounded on. Finally, his eyes laid on a little flat cream-colored sign emblazoned with the numbers 237, and Billy quickly ran and hand through his grease-slicked hair, which was worse than normal since he’d been stuck in that hospital bed for god knows how long, before pulling open the door. A small voice in the back of Billy’s head still whispered doubts and unsureness in his mind, assuring him that this must be against the rules, or wrong somehow. It insisted that he would get him and Stu in trouble, getting the duo caught by the law and blamed for what they had really done. He shook it from his mind.
Relax, dipshit. You pulled off a fucking killing spree, you can manage to bend a few rules here and there. It’s for Stu.
Billy slipped inside the single hospital room that, in comparison to the ones of him and Randy, was significantly larger, most likely due to a generous donation from his parents, as they tended to do. A chill fizzled through Billy’s body immediately upon stepping inside, and he couldn’t tell whether it was due to the chilly air, or because of the way Stu looked so… helpless. It churned something low in Billy’s stomach, his glaring brown eyes beginning to sting. He felt the emotion welling up, willing with every bone in his body to keep it all in. He couldn’t let himself cry again. Not with Stu laying right there, even if he was out cold, the pain meds pumping into his veins. Despite his tall stature, Stu looked like a stuffed bunny with his eyelids closed and mouth hanging open in sleep. The longer Billy stared, the less he felt like bursting into tears. Billy’s gaze bored into Stu’s skull, looking like he was doing nothing short of reading the sleeping boy’s mind.
Billy’s brown eyes flicked over to the scratchy-looking bed that Stu snoozed away in, all cuddled up with the snowflake patterned sheets and the mysterious tubes feeding into his lanky body. For a moment he considered resting on the edge of the mattress, but thought better of it. Billy had a tendency to let himself go a little too much around the blonde, and so he ultimately decided to reign it in by walking over to one of the grey plastic chairs that every room had. Billy found himself watching the rise and fall of Stu’s hospital gown, alone with his untamed thoughts for countless hours, wondering pointless things like I wonder what movie Randy’s watching right now, when he knew he should be getting together a good cover story for he and Stu, considering the police would come talk to Billy any day now, and Stu as soon as he re-entered the world of the living. Billy began to run through the sequence of events in his mind, but before he knew it, he’d slipped seamlessly into sleep.
“Oof- shit!” exclaimed a female voice, making Billy jolt awake from where he slumped over in his chair, back aching from the awkward position.
Shit! He reprimanded himself mentally, scrambling into a normal stature, acting like he hadn’t been dozed off for who knows how long, and to see who invited themselves into Stu’s hospital room. He guided his sight upwards, laying on a woman of about 20. She had a pinched-looking face, but not in an ugly way, she could pull it off, her mousy brown chin-length bob was dashed with blonde highlights that brought out the striking blue in her eyes, a shade of blue that reminded him of someone… Stu! Billy’s exhausted brain popped the last puzzle piece into place, eyes widening with recognition of the girl standing before him. Leslie Macher, Stu’s older sister, who he hadn’t seen in at least a year, and certainly looked different from the last time he’d seen her, before she left for college. Leslie now sported heavy makeup, including eyeliner and dark purple lipstick.
She jumped slightly as they made eye contact, obviously not having realised there was anyone conscious in the room, before her face lit up with a familiar smile.
“Billy!” Leslie exclaimed happily, setting down the moderately sized television and VHS tapes she’d been lugging around to pull the greasy brunette into a hug, catching him by surprise. Billy patted her back slowly, mouth stretching into a weird-looking, half-forced smile.
“Hi, Leslie, it’s been a while.” Billy greeted politely, while also excited to see her familiar face, one that looked so similar to Stu, minus the makeup.
“How have you been?” Leslie beamed, holding his shoulders at arms length. “Well, apart from…” Her face fell. “...you know.”
Billy looked anywhere but her face, the atmosphere immediately growing uncomfortable. “Uh… the same.” He stammered. Billy had never been the greatest at making conversation, that’s usually where Stu would jump in, slinging his arms around whoever was in their company and diving into a restless babble, saving Billy from having to speak when he didn’t want to.
Leslie patted him roughly on the back, before turning over to the big boxy television she’d lugged in, grunting as she struggled to lift it onto a wheely table that had previously rested in the room.
“Here, I’ve got it.” Billy scooped up the tv, slowly managing to pull it onto the surface, offering Leslie a small smile.
“Thanks.” She responded, picking up a tape and placing it on top of the TV. “I figured he’d want to watch some shitty horror movies when he wakes up, so I drove this piece of shit all the way from my dorm.” Leslie pointed at the TV with a chuckle.
“That’s nice of you.” Billy spoke softly, his eyes searing into knocked-out Stu once again.
“You know, the doctors say he’ll wake up any day now.” Leslie offered, a note of hope ringing in her smooth voice that contrasted with her edgy demeanor.
Billy looked up at her quickly, head snapping around. “Really?” He asked a little too eagerly, unusual emotions sparking in his eyes.
He and Leslie spent quite a lot of time together over the next few days, mostly just sitting in silence, watching Stu to make sure his heartbeat was still steady, and that his chest still moved consistently up and down. Sometimes they’d put on a movie and chat about it afterwards, but that was about the extent of their conversations. But it wasn’t the awkward sort of silence where you’re just waiting for the other person to talk, it was the comfortable kind. The kind where neither of the two felt like anything needed to be said. It made Billy feel nice, something he wasn’t so used to feeling in relation to most people, with the exception of his mother, and, of course, Stu.
One sunny day, the two of them were willingly cooped up in the windowless hospital room, Child’s Play playing quietly on the television, which was apparently one of Leslie’s favorites. Billy couldn’t see why, he found the whole thing to be quite stupid. Everything was overdone and inconsistent, and it bothered him deeply.
I could make a way better movie than this shitheap, with half the budget, Billy thought with one of his regular waves of movie-related arrogance. He tended to go on rants about it, usually to Stu, but they either were directed at Stu’s older, female counterpart or stayed in his head recently. He tried to talk to Randy about it once, when he stopped by Stu’s room after being discharged, but it just left Billy extremely frustrated, and somehow wishing even harder that Stu would just open his stupid eyes.
“If you hate Child’s Play so much, then why do you literally own a copy, dumbass? I’ve seen it in your room.” Billy didn’t even respond, he just shot Randy a very dirty look, causing him to back off the pestering. In Billy’s mind, it made perfect sense. He didn’t enjoy the film whatsoever, but he certainly enjoyed watching it with his best friend. Billy liked the way Stu’s eyes sparkled when he talked about behind the scenes facts and bizarre fan theories, so of course when he found the VHS for two dollars at a yard sale, he whipped out those dollar bills faster than Randy knew Billy was behind the killings.
“Gotta pee, I’ll be right back.” Leslie yawned, stretching out of the chair before popping her neck and strolling away. She shut the door lightly, leaving Billy alone in the cold room, his only companions being Charles Lee Ray and Stu’s rhythmic breaths.
“Is that Chucky?” questioned a grainy voice from behind where Billy and Leslie had dragged their plastic chairs to better face the TV.
“The movie is not called fucking Chucky, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that, Stu-” Billy began absentmindedly, before the alarm went off in his mind.
Stu!