Chapter Text
Billy’s always known Stu is a little fucked up.
It’s not obvious if you don’t know any better, always expressed in ways that are semi-acceptable for a kid like him. Stuff like the hunting, Stu fucking loves hunting. He got his license when he turned twelve, and his dad started letting him go on his own when he turned fourteen. It’s obvious Mr Macher is proud, sees it as a sign that his son’s becoming the kind of man he can respect. Billy doesn’t think he knows about the pictures Stu takes of the things he kills though, he might feel differently if he did.
He didn’t know about them for a while either, but there were always other signs. They’d been watching horror movies together since Stu had first stolen an Evil Dead tape out of his older sister’s room and it was obvious they both liked it all a bit too much. They might have been fifteen or sixteen when Stu opened up about his little photo collection; they were watching Pieces. Billy remembers that for sure because it was the Suzie kill that brought everything up. She’d been sawed in half a few minutes before and her upper body now sat propped against the wall of the shower stall, entrails coiling out, lurid and red below her.
“There’s no way it really looks like that.” He finds himself saying.
“What d’you mean?” Stu speaks through a mouthful of popcorn and Billy wrinkles his nose.
"I dunno man, it’s just like, you’ve seen blood before.” He shrugs. “It’s not that bright.”
“Oh,” Stu’s nodding like it’s obvious now, “Yeah they never do it justice, the colours are all off. There’s a lot more pink and brown inside, like nothing is that red cause there’s fat and muscle and other tissue, right?” Billy blinks and Stu looks a little like he wants to take back what he’s said.
“Yeah?” He’s hedging for more because Stu’s got that look where there are words just behind his teeth and he’s trying not to let them out.
“I mean…” he starts slowly, peering over at Billy through the corner of his eye. “I’ve gutted deer before, rabbits sometimes. Can’t be that different other than the size right?"
He realizes with some interest that Stu is turning a bit pink, eyes glued to the screen as he rearranges his stick-bug legs. It’s the way he gets when they watch the sheet ghost scene in Halloween, but Billy has always assumed that was about the tits. Maybe not. Interesting. Billy likes that scene too.
“Probably not.” He doesn’t know what the fuck else to say but there's something excited climbing up his throat. Something he’s used to swallowing when he’s not alone. He and Stu have that in common as well.
There’s a long pause while he fidgets and Billy pretends to watch the movie, and then:
“…you wanna see?” Stu’s eyes dart back and forth like he’s nervous, more nervous than he was the time he’d asked Billy if he wanted to look at the hustler magazine he’d swiped from the corner store, and that gets Billy’s attention. Still, he snorts. It’s never good to show your cards.
“You gonna gut a deer for me Stu?” He tips his head forward and arches his eyebrows.
“Ha-“ If possible Stu is pinker than before. He’s always been fast to get red in gym but it's fucking fascinating that it's happening right now, about this. “No, I- uh, I’ve got pictures.” Oh. Oh. Stu must mistake the look on his face because he starts to rush for a justification. “Cause Savini got into practical effects after doing like, war photography, right? And that’s why his shit is so good, cause it comes from real stuff, like real live dead bodies.” Billy doesn’t bother pointing out the contradiction in that choice of words, but it does make him smile. “So like, sometimes when I go hunting I bring the Polaroid. It’s just like… studying. Y’know?” It’s not as simple as that, and Billy thinks they both know it. He’s willing to play along though.
“Sure Stu. Go get them.” He sounds as casual as he can, but really? He wants to see those pictures very badly, especially wants to see how Stu will look when he shows them, if his pupils will dilate and swallow the blue-green that surrounds it. There’s something delicious about Stu when he’s like this.
“Ok, yeah-” He looks fucking delighted but he’s obviously trying to hide it as he stands up to fetch his collection. If he had a tail he’d be wagging it though. “One sec-“ He says, and then he’s bounding over to his closet, digging down deep and pulling out a box. Billy is pretty sure he keeps his porn in the same place but he isn’t going to say anything about it.
Stu sits down next to him and lifts the lid off to reveal a stack of Polaroids, labeled in his messy looping script with a black marker.
Billy’s breath catches. He reaches out for the first picture and it’s not a choice, he just needs a closer look. He can’t even identify the animal in the image, it’s just a chest cavity ripped open and shot close up. Flaps of bloodied skin pulled to the side and organs displaced so they’re all visible. Stu was right, they got the colors so wrong and Billy feels jilted because it’s fucking beautiful and the movies never prepared him for this. There are so many more colors than red, and he’s never really been moved by art that doesn’t come on moving film, but he thinks he could make an exception for this.
“Jesus, Stu-“ He almost sounds shaky, feels an unsteady quiver in his stomach and swallows against it. “This is some psychotic shit right here.” Anyone else might think it was an insult, but he thinks Stu knows better.
If Billy hadn’t been prepared for the pictures, he wasn’t prepared for the actual hunting. Officially, Billy isn’t hunting because he doesn’t have a license. Stu’s been teaching him to shoot but it takes like ninety days to actually get your hands on a permit after you apply and they’re not that patient. Turns out it’s a slow sport but he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Stu this focused before. Between the trees, behind his hides he becomes a predator in hunters green and it seems effortless when he downs a doe. It’s dead when they reach it, he got it through the eye and the way Billy feels about that is not something to dwell on. Stu makes it really fucking hard not to though, pressing the handle of his knife into Billy’s palm and guiding it down to slice their prey open, groin to sternum. The whole time he’s talking, telling Billy everything he knows, showing him everything and he’s so overwhelmed that he doesn’t even call Stu out for the fact that he’s still holding his hand over the knife.
When they’re done they leave the thing flayed open and shredded, soon to be dinner for any number of woodland creatures.
After that things sort of change. Before they were only as close as Billy let anyone get, but lately the distance between them has been shrinking. He’s not the kind of guy who likes to talk about himself. Mostly he listens, prods, collects, but never offers. He learned young that when you’ve got a brain like he does you can’t afford to tell people what you’re thinking or how you really feel. Stu isn’t one of those people though, Stu has to keep his thoughts secret too and now this is theirs to keep, between them.
Now, when Stu’s living room is full of their friends and Sid hides her face in his shoulder because there’s a little bit of gore on screen he just looks at Stu. Every time he's already looking back so Billy rolls his eyes, then Stu raises a fist behind whatever girl he’s dating at the time and pretends to stab her.
In no time at all Stuart Macher has become the closest friend he’s ever had. He’s not exactly comfortable with that, but it’s not totally bad for him either. Against all odds Stu is popular, people think he’s benign. Dumb. Fun. He makes Billy’s edges look softer as much as he deflects unwanted interactions, absorbing them like a sponge so Billy doesn't have to deal quite so much with the likes of Randy.
All of that is just to say that there’s only one place he can go the night his dad ruins his life.
It’s strange, the way he feels when he finds out. It’s just confusion at first, this sense of disreality because how could she have left him? After everything, after all she had done for him, fighting his asshole dad and getting him the right meds because she knew what it was like for her sister and she didn’t want that for her kid. She’s the reason he got to start school with the right name, the reason he doesn’t have to strap his chest down under his T-shirt. Maybe it was all just too much. Maybe he was too much.
What hits him first is enough to drown him but it’s a shade of what follows. Because rage doesn’t really cut it, furious barely scratches the surface, and betrayal? Well that’s just the clinical term for what he’s experienced. It’s not what he’s used to. He’s used to control, because that’s what he is; if he followed his whims and expressed his fucking feelings he’s pretty sure his dad would have sent him away to military school or conversion camp if his mom had allowed it. As it is, he’s pretty sure he’s only allowed his hormones because his dad doesn’t want anyone to know and it would be pretty fucking obvious if he stopped taking them. He has no control over his body as he storms out of the house though. He can barely see through the rain, can barely feel the water or the cold, can only think about what he needs to do now because for once in his life he knows. There’s something comforting about that, the sudden sense of purpose that comes over him.
It’s simple, straight to the point.
He needs to kill Maureen Prescott, and there’s nothing complicated about that.