Chapter Text
When someone dies, that is it. They are the lucky ones, no more pain, no more drama, no more dealing with a lonely home with a workaholic drunkard for a father. Billy Loomis died on September 26th, 1996. He no longer felt pain, and he didn’t care about drama to begin with and it was supposed to stay that way.
Funny how 'supposed to’, never seemed to stick.
When he woke up, the odour of rotten oak hit Billy's nose like a sledgehammer. It wormed into his head, leaving an earthy rotten taste on his ashy tongue with everything feeling muffled and fuzzy as if someone had muted the movie while it kept playing in the background.
Cracking open his eyes and expected to be met with Stu Macher's ceiling but instead, found himself in a complete void like darkness, his lungs protesting with each cough as he struggled to move. Pain flared in his head and he gingerly gripped at his forehead, his fingers cracking the hair stuck on his skin, sticky with some unknown substance--corn syrup most likely. Gradually, the ache subsided, allowing him to take a shaky breath.
Attempting to move his hands forward, his knuckles were met with a wooden ceiling, recoiling instinctively. A flood of memories crashed over him as he shook the pain of out his hand-- He was shot.. he was shot a lot actually. But most importantly, he got shot right, smack in the forehead, there's no surviving that.
How was he even alive?
Taking stock of his surroundings, Billy touched around the wood, feeling over the corners and tried not to gag when his fingers felt something wet, moving and slimy until he realized he was confined within a box, a decrepit coffin. The wood, rotted and saturated with time, betrayed the hasty and inexpensive burial he'd been given. Clicking his tongue in frustration and a healthy mix of fear, he furrowed his brow.
"Help..!" his voice emerged hoarse and raspy, his throat burning from disuse or perhaps dehydration, most likely both. Sticky residue clung to his skin, deeper than corn syrup, penetrating his muscles and leaving him stiff and sore.
A strange energy pulsed through him, heightening his awareness of every nerve and muscle. He could almost feel the bones in his fingers move under his skin or his lungs stretch out his ribs.
Despite never considering himself claustrophobic, the confines of the coffin triggered a creeping panic within him, hearing his heart begin to hammer and a slow wash of adrenaline flow up his spine and arms. Frantically, he pounded on the rotting wood, the sensation of it yielding slightly under his pressure offering some reassurance, but not enough to quell his rising fear.
Perhaps the shoddiness of the coffin was a blessing in disguise. Billy's relentless clawing gradually splintered the weakened planks, allowing dirt to cascade into the coffin. Terrified of being buried more permanently, he dug with renewed urgency, his breaths now mingling with the earthy scent of soil.
Driven by panic, he continued to claw through the soft dirt, each breath a struggle as he fought against the encroaching darkness. Finally, a sliver of light pierced through the blackness, accompanied by a rush of fresh air. Relief flooded through Billy as he pulled himself out of the grave, grabbing at the grass and long weeds like a zombie out of Day of the Dead, his muscles protesting with each movement.
Collapsed on the ground, his head resting on the grass and dirt as he allowed himself a moment to catch his breath, gasping and feeling the cold air against his clammy skin.
Billy sat there, absorbing the surreal reality.
You couldn't keep a good horror icon down and if this wasn’t proof enough that something in the universe believed him to be just that, he didn’t know what would. Billy wasn't deluded enough to equate himself with the likes of Pennywise or Chucky, but evidently, the world recognized him as someone who didn't go down easily and who was he to argue?
A chuckle bubbled up in his chest. Despite their plans crumbling, he had emerged victorious in the end, in a weird kind of way. This might be his second chance, or perhaps an opportunity to move on. Giving up wasn't in his nature, though he entertained the thought momentarily.
His mind drifted to their plans, or more, the missing puzzle piece in his revival.
What happened to Stu? What did happen to Stu?
Billy tried to search his mind for some sort of answer to his question. He remembered hearing Stu screaming after he was hit with the umbrella but anything after that was fuzzy and blurred in the edges and his head throbbed when he tried to focus in on the details.
With a jolt, Billy snapped his eyes open, pulling himself up to scan his surroundings for any sign of Stu. His gaze only landed on gravestones silhouetted against the night sky, with the looming church obstructing the moonlight. It didn't take a detective to deduce their location.
A chill ran down his spine. If he woke up in a coffin, did Stu wake up in one as well?
Assuming he died that is.
Billy turned his head, his worry growing as he contemplated Stu's fate. What if they weren't buried together? What if Stu was cremated? While killers in horror films often get brought back, surviving being turned to ash wasn't common, only killers with supernatural evil got that treatment. Sorry, Stu, but you didn't quite fit the bill for that.
Billy's feelings about Stu were a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He wasn't thrilled at the thought of returning on his own but in his head, he figured he wouldn’t be more or less off if that were the case. Against his better judgment, Billy frantically scanned the gravestones, not out of anxiety, but an uneasy feeling about facing whatever the world had in store alone. As his worry escalated, he finally landed on a boring grave.
| Stuart Macher, 1978–1996 |
No kind words adorned the stone, just growing moss and long weeds, a stark contrast to the other graves which were clean and covered in bright fresh flowers. It seemed Stu was better off forgotten, his name the only acknowledgement of his existence. Billy couldn't bring himself to look at his own grave, it felt taboo.
They were fortunate to have a grave at all. Both their families most likely wanted nothing to do with them. They had never discussed their final wishes. Kids never thought they'd die, and Billy didn't care enough to dwell on it. What did it matter how he was buried? He wouldn’t be around to complain.
Or so he thought.
Billy began pulling up the plants, grass and weeds and digging into the compacted mud and dirt, the overgrown grass indicating they had been deceased for some time. The realization settled in, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand.
Digging proved harder than anticipated. With each shovelful of dirt, fresh sweat coated his already sticky forehead, and dirt penetrated every nook and cranny of his fingernails. His shirt felt like a second layer of skin. "Damn it, Stu, you better be alive in there or I'm going to kill you," he muttered under his breath, shovelling a pile of slightly softer mud out of his growing hole.
Despite the burning pain in his muscles and lungs, Billy persisted. Whether it was the symptoms of reincarnation or something else, he didn't dwell on it. All that mattered was finding Stu.
Billy dug for what felt like an eternity, breaking through the dense, compacted layers of soil until he reached a noticeably cleaner, more dignified coffin. Perhaps there was a hint of affection there, likely from his parents, more likely from his sister pleading with them, given their usual neglect. They might not have wanted the backlash of a grand grave for Stu, but they still aimed to provide some comfort to his remains.
Billy ignored the sour taste that was left in his mouth.
Stu wouldn't have made it out if Billy hadn't intervened. The thick white wooden lid was still perfectly intact, a stark difference to the condition his coffin was left. Stu would have been truly buried alive if it wasn’t for him.
Billy began pushing the rest of the soil out of the way until he could open the coffin lid.
Reaching for the lid, his hand hovered over the chipping wood, a sudden paralysis gripped him, biting down on the skin of his lips. What if Stu's decayed corpse awaited him inside? He hadn't thought about it until now. Billy didn't think he'd like to see Stu all eaten with maggots and bone showing from melted flesh--
"Help! God dam—" a muffled raspy voice interrupted, sending a jolt through Billy. Without a second thought, he flung the lid open, revealing a dishevelled Stu Macher.
Other than being drenched in blood, Stu looked surprisingly normal. It was almost as if someone had buried him as a prank.
Stu bounded out of the coffin, masking any pain in his limbs with his trademark energy. His eyes met Billy's with relief. "Thank God, dude! I thought I was a goner in there!"
Stu had always been touchy-feely, and though Billy barely admitted it, he somewhat enjoyed Stu's touch. Only Stu, though. He convinced himself it was a manipulation tactic, to give Stu a taste and make him crave more.
Selfish, but Billy was okay with that.
Stu practically tackled Billy, his long lanky arms wrapping around him like a snake, suffocating him like one as well, showering him with exaggerated gratitude for saving him and commenting on the surprising comfort of his coffin but Billy stopped listening when he couldn’t breathe.
Rolling his eyes, Billy pushed Stu away, causing him to flop back into his coffin with a thump. “Okay whatever, get off me, you fuckrag.” Billy spat, Stu only grinned lopsidedly as he clambered out, brushing dirt off his blood-stained jumper. "My bad, man. Guess dying makes me all emotional."
"Yeah, yeah well keep your pants on. We need to figure out where we are." Billy pulled himself out of the hole, clapping the dirt and mud off his hands and digging the debris out from under his short nails.
Something clicked in Stu's mind, and he nodded as if just realising their surroundings. Billy wouldn't be surprised if that was the case. "Right... I think we're in a cemetery, man." Stu commented, picking out a piece of wood stuck to his stiff jumper.
Billy blinked slowly, scoffed, and leaned down to playfully swat the back of Stu's head for his terrible joke. "Ow, dude! No need to hit a guy when he's down!" Stu whined, rubbing the back of his head, cringing into himself when he pulled a worm out of his hair, throwing it off to the side without a second thought.
Billy rose slowly, kicking dirt onto Stu's lap but refusing to engage further. His bones creaked, and a pounding headache made him feel like he was falling apart, exacerbated by the effort of digging Stu out.
With Stu only six seconds out of the coffin and already trying his patience, Billy questioned why he bothered with him at all. He groaned softly, suppressing his discomfort now that he wasn't alone, listening to Stu complain about the effects of the TV.
"What are you going on about now?" Billy kept walking, not bothering to turn and face Stu's incessant complaints, wincing at a twinge of pain in his ribs.
"I had a freaking TV tossed at me, man!"
Billy halted, turning to meet Stus' face, suddenly intrigued. “A TV thrown at you?”
Stu looked incredulous, gesturing wildly to the sky. "Yeah, man! That psycho hurled Jamie Lee Curtis right at my face, which you know, not cool?!”
Billy rolled his eyes, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise. "Well, I got impaled by an umbrella, shot twice—one in the head.” He pointed to his forehead, bloodied but devoid of wounds. “But I'll hand it to you, yours sounds brutal.” Billy finished.
"Thanks, dude. Yours sounds brutal too—classic horror death.” Stu replied.
Billy offered a faint, unseen smile, waving his hand dismissively. “Follow me, and let's piece together what's going on before we start painting our nails at this slumber party.”
The duo exited the graveyard, both visibly shaken but again, alive. Billy struggled to conceal his pounding headache and the overall ache in his bones, while Stu appeared no better, Billy hid it better.
“Should we change clothes? You look like you've been run over by a truck a gazillion times and my clothes are making me squirm.” Stu brought up a good point.
Billy glanced down at his stained and torn white tee and grimy pants, now seeing holes in his shirt where he was stabbed and shot. He nodded slowly. “Yeah, that's a good call.”
Billy wasn't sure where they'd find fresh clothes. In movies, there were always conveniently placed clotheslines with garments perfectly suited to the characters. He doubted they'd be that lucky here.
As they reached a more open area, streets filling up with people again and the street lights illuminating the area, cars driving don’t the streets, they were met with an unexpected sight.
Groups of... Ghostfaces?
Billy blinked, unable to process what he was seeing as teenagers chased each other with fake knives, yelling about stabbing. Some even had voice modulators, reciting lines he vaguely remembers saying, some Stu’s.
Voicing what Billy couldn't articulate, Stu was the first to speak. “What the fuck..?”
Billy couldn't shake what he was looking at, unable to formulate a response.
Suddenly, a group of ghost faces passed by, one of them pausing to give them a curious look, it was unnerving to be on the other side of the silent stare coming from the mask. "Wow, cool costumes. Haven't seen Billy and Stu around yet.” a very normal voice broke past the material of the mask.
Billy and Stu stared at the masked group, not quite clocking what they meant by that. "Yeah, we wanted to make a statement..?” Billy said with an awkward laugh, unsure of what else to say.
The apparent leader of the group nodded enthusiastically, seemingly unaffected by Billy's awkwardness, removing his mask to reveal a typical jock, hair tousled and his face flushed and the rest of the group followed suit, revealing they were also from the same social group. They weren't the type Billy expected to see under the masks. “Since you're dressed as Billy, I'm guessing you've seen the movie?”
“A movie?!” Stu squeaked, and chimed in eagerly, interrupting the conversation, with the group turning with different levels of confusion.
Billy elbowed him, causing Stu to recoil and glare at him. Billy stepped forward to divert attention, forcing a laugh. “Oh yeah, we're big fans of the movies!”
“Stu here just really likes getting into character.” Billy pat Stu’s shoulder and Stu nodded weakly, still rubbing his arm where Billy had elbowed him.
The guy snapped his fingers. “I totally get it, me and my friends are recreating scenes almost every weekend now!” Billy felt a warm flush run over his chest, he felt almost like a celebrity, if more people worshipped what they did, maybe he was.
Stu looked on the brink of about to burst with pride and make a fool of himself but before he could, one of the friends came forward and whispered something into the main jock's ear, who nodded but had the decency to look disappointed. "Well, the movie's starting soon so we should get going, we want to catch the good seats, Catch you guys later!” With that, the leader put his mask back on and walked away, turning back with his voice modulator pushed into the mouth of his mask. “See ya.”
Hearing that voice coming from someone who wasn’t him or Stu was unsettling. Not scary, just strange and slightly uncomfortable.
Billy forced a laugh as the group dispersed. Once they were out of sight, Billy's friendly facade vanished, shadows darkening under his eyes. But before he could process anything, Stu grabbed his blood-stained shirt, shaking him up as if hoping he’d drop candy. “Dude! They mentioned a movie!”
“A movie man!” He finished practically bouncing on his toes.
“I heard them, I was there dipshit." Billy scanned the line outside the movie theatre, gripping Stu's wrists and pushing them away. Most people were dressed casually, but the ghostfaces stood out as the popular fashion choice. He hadn't expected their killings to be turned into a movie.
But then again, he had designed their murders with cinematic flair in mind so really, he couldn’t blame them.
"We have to see it. Can we?!” Stu was now bouncing shamelessly with excitement, resembling an eager puppy. Billy shared his enthusiasm for their movie, but he knew how to maintain his composure. "Yeah, sure. We'll catch the show.”
Stu nodded, though his hands trembled at his sides, trying and failing to hide his excitement. He stuck his tongue out playfully, reinforcing the puppy comparison before hurrying after a group of ghostfaces.
There was a strange protectiveness Billy felt toward strangers donning the mask, yet a sense of disguise in it. He remembered when they killed Casey and the Ghostface mask became popular. Stu had raved about how cool it was. Billy found it funny once, watching Sidney squirm had been amusing. Now, seeing people dressed as Ghostface felt different, yet he shrugged it off—they were fans, like him. Stu seemed happy enough for both of them anyway.
There was also the fact that he could now walk around in his Ghostface mask, blending in as a horror movie fan. It took hiding in plain sight to a new level, and maybe he'd enjoy the movie.
Billy and Stu snuck into the theatre, blending in with a group of Ghostfaces after they both found a mask; which just wasn’t hard, they were practically littered around the cinema and with their disguise, they got in for free, throwing their temporary masks away the moment they were through the door.
They saw employees giving away Ghostface costumes to ticket holders, but the idea felt tacky, the costume wasn’t theirs, even if it was ‘their’ costume. They had changed it and added glitter and longer sleeves, so they declined when a costume was shoved their way.
Seated without snacks, which was a horror scenario on its own, they braced themselves for the horror of watching a movie without food.
As the movie started, the Ghostfaces around them grew animated, throwing popcorn and fake-stabbing each other. Fortunately, they weren't the targets even with Stu almost making them one by jumping and screaming in his seat.
The first scene opened up to depict Casey's death. Stu grew antsy, lost in nostalgia as the scene played out from a new perspective even if the set-up was wrong. Billy found himself engrossed until the inaccuracies began.
Nobody but them witnessed the artistry of that night. Stu killed Steve, seeking his ‘revenge’, while Billy cut up Casey’s life. It was a masterpiece of horror.
As the scene progressed, they noticed more inaccuracies: the phone call, the lack of horror trivia, and Casey's mediocre acting. They seethed but remained seated, hoping the movie would improve. Billy, however, had lost hope when Casey’s death was put off-screen.
When 'Billy' appeared on screen, Billy almost spat out his nonexistent drink. The portrayal was horrendous, resembling an edgy Batman rather than him. Stu's comment about his looks only added to his irritation.
“The guy looks more like Dewey than you,” Stu remarked.
Billy gritted his teeth, feeling a surge of anger. The movie felt like a weak imitation of their lives, favouring a biased narrative. Stu was played like some dumb, erratic loser who followed him around like a lost dog. Which was only partially right.
Stu was erratic; he had enough energy for three people, and he thought he was far more funnier than he was and sure, he did follow him around, but he was smart. The loser thing was up for debate.
Stu was the artist behind the more gorey kills. Billy loved the good set-up. He was the mastermind behind the set-ups and the actual planning, and sure, Stu liked to add to his ideas, but Stu never really found planning all that fun. But Stu always knew how to work with a blank canvas. The movie widdled him down to some kind of clique.
Billy's frustration grew steadily as the movie continued. Every scene failed to capture Stu's true essence, MORE IMPORTANTLY , It failed to capture his essence!
They left before the movie ended, coming up to the ‘kitchen scene’, unable to bear watching any longer. They were on the verge of launching into a tirade about the movie's flaws but couldn't find the words to express their anger.
Billy noticed a poster featuring a familiar name as the writer—Gale Weathers. It explained the movie's shortcomings; the drama surrounding the tabloid journalist tainted their story. She couldn’t write a good news hit so she decided to try and write an amateur book instead.
It seemed the movie was adapted from a book, though Billy couldn't muster the interest to even read them. Thinking about Gale ignited a familiar anger within him, threatening to consume him.
Gale shot him, she was the reason Sidney's insides didn’t find themselves outside. He harboured the desire for her very slow, very gruesome death, almost as strong as his wish for Sidney's death. Well, maybe not quite, but close.
It appeared they were getting their sequel. This time, they would avoid repeating the same mistakes. This time, they'd emerge the winners because the universe has said so.
Every killer claimed that only to return and fail again. Billy didn't want to become a Michael Myers knockoff. He needed to be strategic, not reckless like before. He had underestimated Sidney, overestimated himself, and lost control.
He knew he had been too hasty with the ending, stabbing each other before dealing a significant blow to Sid—a grave error.
His anger had clouded his judgment. He acknowledged that moment had influenced him and he went far too overboard when he saw Stu all bloodied up, what that did to him, leading to the mistake of incapacitating his partner.
He won’t be repeating those mistakes.
Glancing at Stu, who seemed engrossed in his thoughts or perhaps ranting about the movie to the imaginary person in his head, Billy for that moment, entertained the idea of whether he should feel remorse for being partly responsible for Stu's death.
Part of him didn't care, fueled by anger. But a small, sentimental part wanted to apologize, though he wouldn't. Stu hadn't brought it up, and Billy doubted he ever would. He believed Stu had moved on, leaving any resentment behind.
If Stu ever betrayed him, Billy would have no qualms cutting him out of his life, literally. But he didn't think Stu had it in him to betray him. So, he dismissed the thought.
"Ready for a sequel, Macher?" Billy interrupted Stu's musings, his smile masking the anger that had clouded his expression moments ago. Stu's face lit up with excitement. "You know it, baby."
Billy's smile turned sinister, turning to face the movie poster, his eyes landing on the actor playing Sidney Prescott. "Good.”