Chapter Text
Six months later, the sun peeked through the sheer curtains of a lived-in motel room, and the soft autumn wind blew through the partly opened window. Billy rubbed his eyes, feeling the fatigue and the relentless pounding in his head wiggle through the fuzzy blur of growing consciousness. He sat up slowly, taking in a long breath of that soft air, surveying the empty room that he'd had to settle into for longer than he'd ever happily accepted.
For the past few months, Billy has been focused on not only recovering—his right ear now lost most of its shape but also gathering the resources needed to start a new life somewhere far from where anyone recognizes their face. He had secured a full-time job at a construction company, working long hours for less than the minimum wage. Not that he should complain, given that he had no real identity. He was fortunate to have a job at all. Among illegal immigrants and criminals, he felt a strange sense of belonging.
Stu’s birthday had come and gone, celebrated in the comforts of a dark room with a single cupcake—not as depressing as it sounded, though, as it was more content for them both. Billy had finally tracked down the guy his mom knew for fake IDs. He had some old scribbled numbers, no names, and no prices, but a single lead. It took him two months to find the guy and even longer to get everything scrapped together, forking together the money from what he could salvage from his mom's house and his job until he had the $2,000 the guy wanted, cheaper than you'd think but still blown out of his price range.
Now, everything they needed to start over was neatly packaged on the table—something so small for such a long, miserable amount of work—his new life in a small brown package. Billy furrowed his eyebrows and sighed heavily. “Where is that fuckin idiot?” Billy mumbled as he held the slip, and right on cue, Stu burst into the room, his lanky frame practically bouncing with energy.
“Are they finally here?!” Stu asked, brimming with excitement that Billy couldn’t hope to match. He grabbed the passport from the brown slip and tossed it across the small table. Stu barely caught it, eagerly opening it to see his new photo.
Billy followed suit, opening his passport and glancing at the new information he needed to memorise as if he'd known it his entire life. He hadn’t been able to choose their names, probably for the best since the only names he could think of were straight out of horror movies. Instead, he’d been given the identity of some guy who had died 25 years ago as a baby.
He dreaded looking at the photo, knowing his track record with pictures. It was always a disaster. Sure enough, the small, grainy image made him want to burn the passport in his hand. His hair was a mess, and the day's heat had left him visibly sweaty. He squinted at the picture, hoping it might somehow improve. It didn’t.
Resigned, he closed the passport, trying not to draw Stu’s attention to his awful photo. He knew Stu would mock him mercilessly, just like he did with their freshman photos.
The horror.
“Yo man, another great picture day!” Stu flipped his passport around, revealing his photo. He looked deadpan, as deadpan as Stu could manage, but there was still a hint of a smirk visible even through the black-and-white grain.
He looked good. Much better than Billy.
Fucking bastard.
“Good for you, dipshit.” Billy shoved the photo out of his face, grinding his teeth, and Stu’s hand fell back, the passport landing on the table with a careless toss that Billy would never tolerate for his own, knowing it was worth more than anything they had right now.
Stu made one last sneaky attempt to snatch Billy’s passport, trying to hide his attack with a careless stride, his hands snaking around, but Billy caught it, slapped it away, spun on his heel and grabbed Stu’s jaw all in one movement. “You are not getting a look at it, Macher,” he ordered, his fingers pressing into Stu’s cheeks and puffing out his lips. Stu just huffed and laughed.
“That bad, huh, buddy?”
“You know I'll see it one day, just a matter of time, bubble butt,” Stu teased with an amused glint in his eyes. Billy restrained himself from punching Stu for dredging up an old high school 'nickname' the girls in that school didn't think he knew about or they did and just didn't care.
Billy released Stu’s face and stepped over to the bedside table, placing his passport in a secure spot. Despite their frequent invasions of each other’s personal space, they respected the sanctity of each other’s bedside drawers.
When Billy turned back around, Stu was busy rummaging through the kitchenette, grabbing various items from the cabinets, drawers, and fridge. “How’s your side? I know you don’t need to worry about it anymore; I'm just curious if you're ready to get moving now.”
Billy didn’t bother hiding his concern as much as he did before; Stu was too sharp to be fooled. Old habits die hard, and they have a way of lingering. Stu glanced down at the spot where he'd been shot, his eyes telling a story Billy wasn’t privy to.
“It’s better. I mean, your mom did a number on me, but y’know, I always get back up.”
Billy swallowed softly, Stu’s words echoing in his mind. The fear that he wouldn’t get back up - a memory so vivid - was like a dream.
He remembered waking up in that stark white hospital room, the sound of his heart monitor beeping incessantly, and cops constantly patrolling the hallways.
He had opened his eyes slowly, feeling the weight of the world settle over him again. The thin hospital blanket felt too hot and too itchy, but his legs barely moved when he tried to kick it away.
His head throbbed, the elastic bandage around his temples adding to the pain. He took a moment to wake up, like one of those old dial-up computers that needed ten minutes to process before even turning on.
When the light of the room pierced his blurry vision, Billy opened his mouth to groan or make any noise to prove he was still alive and that this existence wasn't just some last-ditch buzz of his brain. Everything around him moved in a blur - no flowers or get-well-soon cards adorned the bare windowsills - and an emptiness settled over him as he realised he had severed the last ties to anything resembling a normal life when he shot his mom.
He wasn’t quite ready to accept that Stu was the only person he had left - not just a friend, but his only family.
Instinctively, he brought his palm to his hair, hoping for something more solid than the cotton blanket. His fingers met unwashed, greasy hair, which made him cringe.
He didn’t touch his hair again.
A nurse came in not much later, noticing he was awake. She smiled politely, moving around the room with practised ease. “How are you doing?”
“You were asleep for only a day, but your ear needed very minor surgery to fix the cartilage that was shot off.”
She continued explaining his condition lightly, almost as if he were a child, and in his delirium, Billy appreciated it. He didn’t ask about Stu right away; the question turned to dust on the tip of his tongue.
Billy wouldn’t call himself a coward, but he felt like one when the nurse left without him asking the burning question he couldn’t voice. He just rested his head against the feather-filled pillow and fell into an uneasy sleep.
By the second day, he had regained most of his bearings. He didn’t feel so disoriented anymore; his body felt more grounded, in a good way. He pulled the hospital blanket off and swung his legs over the side of the bed, pins and needles prickling his feet and riding up his legs.
He bent down and rubbed the soles of his feet, trying to clear the discomfort by ‘promoting blood flow’ or whatever one of the nurses had mentioned during their check-ups. Billy wondered why he wasn’t cuffed to the bed.
He knew he hadn’t called the ambulance, and he certainly hadn’t called the police on himself, and Stu was too shot to have done it. So the only answer was that Randy or that chick did. Neither had any reason to spare him or Stu.
So why? A question he had not even hoped to get out of himself or the empty universe, only the aforementioned had that answer.
Billy glanced at his arm, seeing the needles pumping painkillers and whatever else hospitals gave patients. He grabbed them and ripped them out, pulling the clips off his fingers. The heart monitor flatlined, unable to track anything, and Billy hit every button on that machine to turn it off.
He didn’t mind the blood dripping down his arm as he pushed himself off the bed; the painkillers were likely the reason his body felt so numb.
He slowly stepped out of the room, peeking through the door, to see an active hospital hall filled with patients and doctors bustling around. Some people sat quietly, enjoying their existence like a bunch of hippies.
Clenching his jaw, Billy walked slowly out of the room, staying close to the walls just in case he wasn’t as steady as he felt. He couldn't quite tell when the most he could feel was the weighted pressure in the soles of his feet. He glanced into the rooms, seeing the dying, the simply injured, and the exhausted occupying the beds, but no Stuart Macher.
He slid over to what he assumed was a help desk or a nurse’s station and tapped on the hardwood surface, catching the attention of an older woman with greying hair in a tight bun who was typing quickly on a computer.
Her eyes darted up to meet Billy's, and she pushed her glasses up the ridge of her nose, her sharp cheekbones only becoming more pronounced by the thin frames and harsh hospital lights.
“What do you need?” she asked absentmindedly, finishing her typing before giving him her full attention.
“I’m looking for my friend. He should have been taken in with me.” Billy’s words came out quieter than he intended, but the woman didn’t seem to care, just nodding and typing into her keyboard.
“Charles Lee Ray?” Billy stared for a moment, his expression scrunched in confusion, wondering whether to laugh or question who put that name in, but he knew it was Stu, only Stu. “That’s right.”
“He’s in intensive care, but you can go visit him if you get cleared by a nurse.”
Billy bit down on his bottom lip, getting confirmation that Stu was still and yet he didn't feel settled, just a wash of relief came over him before that weight landed back in the bottom of his empty stomach. “How do I do that?”
The woman’s patience was wearing thin as she rolled her eyes, seemingly moving back to work and hoping the injured new adult would just fade out without much more than that. “Just stay in your room and wait for a nurse to give you the all-clear.”
Billy clenched his fist into a tight ball on the desk, knowing he wasn’t going to get any more help from her.
Pivoting, he walked away with determined strides and didn't care to thank her for her piss-poor assistance. Like hell, he was going to wait, that weight guiding his mind, an itch he couldn't scratch. Instead, he wandered around the hospital, searching for the intensive care unit like a lost child, and eventually found it with no help from the nurses or doctors.
There was Stu, hooked up to a bag full of drugs, the IVs strapped to his arms, pumping into him like poison. A woman Billy would have happily killed in that concrete tomb was sitting on the only available seat in the room, staring at Stu’s sleeping form. The heart monitor was a constant reminder—proof he was alive, but also proof he wasn’t okay.
The background tune for the next couple of weeks.
Billy didn’t announce himself at first; he just stared thoughtlessly. He had heard about her briefly; he hadn’t imagined Stu had made enough of an impact on her for her to care enough to keep him company.
And yet, here she was, the stranger with short, dark hair that was messy but in a nice way. She didn’t have the makeup she wore the last time he saw her, but her face still looked shadowed—a weird goth he wouldn't give a second glance if they shared a class.
She glanced away absentmindedly, her eyes landing on Billy's statue form. She jumped in her chair, her hand shooting to her chest as her breath caught in her throat.
Billy didn’t laugh, didn’t flinch, and just kept staring, almost as still as his mask.
“Jesus, why the fuck are you just staring like that?” Karen's voice tumbled out her mouth, the words cracking like a preteen boy.
Karen didn’t seem particularly fazed by Billy, not in the way you'd expect her to be, but she lost her relaxed posture. Her eyes darted to the door four times in the time it took her to speak.
Billy blinks out of his unintentional stalker stare. “Why are you here?”
Karen glanced at Stu before repositioning herself in her chair. “I'm just making sure he isn’t alone. I didn't know him much as Stu, but I did become friends with Charles. That's who I'm keeping company.”
Billy couldn’t grasp it. Even now, he still doesn’t understand why Karen stayed. He didn’t try to understand it back then; he figured it was some form of Stockholm without the kidnapping. Stu had a habit of attracting stray animals.
Billy moved to the opposite side of Stu’s bed, his hand hovering over the space beside Stu but stopping short, resigning to gripping the bed’s handlebar. They kept silent for a beat. Karen looked on edge, but Billy didn’t care.
His eyes stayed fixed on the unmoving muscles of Stu’s face, taking in every wrinkle of stress. His body was wrapped in that same itchy, thin blanket, but he looked snug, somehow even comfortable.
“They said that he was covered in cuts and untended injuries, none infected. The gunshot was the worst of it.”
Karen broke the silence, and Billy responded with a hum, feeling it was the only response he could muster.
“Why didn’t you tell the cops it was us?” Billy found himself asking. The question still burned in his mind. He heard the sound of leather shifting as Karen moved uncomfortably. When he glanced over, he saw a serious expression on her face that was once covered with nothing but fear.
The sudden switch was like whiplash, her eyes burning a hole in his forehead.
“I don’t think I owe you anything; you are a monster. Both of you are; do not get me misunderstood.” She paused, her voice steady and low, and through all her attempts to be in control, there was so much mistaking the tremble in her hand. “But whether you intended it to go like that or not, you did save my life. I know that wasn’t easy, so I decided to give you a break.”
Karen continued, though Billy felt he was missing something. Despite that, Billy didn’t interrupt. “Call it misplaced sentiment or some shit; the moment you both are able to walk, I'm going to tell the police everything. So if I were you, Billy Loomis, I would get out of here and never return the moment Stu or 'Charles' is lucid enough to move.”
Karen stood up, her hand brushing over Stu’s as she walked around the bed to the door. “And if you hurt anyone again, you will not get another chance. So use it wisely.”
And then she left. Neither Billy nor Stu saw her again. Billy let her words sink in. Her threat, as clear as it was, wasn't one he was all that scared of. Karen wouldn't be able to stop them if they decided to say fuck it to the wall and do what the blood screams at them to do. But in a way, and perhaps he was reaching, he doesn't think she was trying to say that she'd be their reckoning.
He knew the world had already given him a second chance, and he screwed that up, nearly died, and lost everything again.
He wasn’t going to take this chance for granted; the universe had been trying to beat that into him. It had taken everything from him all over again, and he wasn’t blind or stupid enough to ignore it anymore.
That's when he decided he wouldn’t take up the Ghostface mask again. Not for himself, but because he realised in those quiet days, where nothing but the constant mechanical beep occupied his brain, that he had something worth keeping.
No more pain, no more blood. Billy and Stu had made their mark on this world; their story and time were over.
They didn’t deserve it. Billy knew he got a slap on the wrist for everything he did, and even despite that, he didn’t feel bad, nor did Karen’s threats faze him. Yet he felt he’d spend the rest of his life making up for what he did.
Not out of guilt or shame but out of hope for a normal life. Something he used to think was so boring, and he prayed that he would never allow himself to grow bored.
But now all he wanted was boring.
“Earth to Billy, come in Billy.” Stu waved a hand over his eyes, and Billy blinked, not realising he had been staring motionless again.
“Get out of my face,” Billy replied out of habit, not even trying to put a bite in his tone, and Stu just smiled, turning back to the cooker. “You were like, so out of it, man, I should be asking if you are okay.”
Billy blinked, rolling his eyes, and came up behind Stu, snaking his arms around his side like a husband to his wife. “I’m fine; I was just thinking." Billy's voice came out airy, a part of him still living in his thoughts.
Stu didn’t say anything, his body melting into Billy's hold, and Billy rested his chin on Stu’s shoulder, burying his face into his neck and leaving ghost kisses on the thin part of his skin.
Stu shivered, still looking down at the food he was making, but Billy could hear that he had turned the burner off. “You finally have enough time for me?” He teased Billy, pressing his body into Stu’s back, feeling the heat coming off his body, and breathing in the forest smell Stu had.
“Stop talking before I change my mind.” Billy sucked onto his skin, digging his hand under Stu’s shirt to feel the prickle on his skin and the tension in his muscles. His hand felt over the dips in his stomach, rough scars and stitches were hotter than anything Billy could ever have imagined, and he just wanted to rip it all apart. He felt his chest expand slowly, his skin stretching as he moved.
Stu tried to turn, most likely to try and connect their lips and take it to the bedroom, but Billy had no intention of it moving that far.
Billy moved his hand to his back, moved, and pushed him into the table behind them, pushing Stu’s stomach into the side of the table and his face landing on the wood surface. "Oh, you want to do it like that, huh?” Stu spoke, and Billy responded by pushing his body into Stu’s back and breathing into his ear. “What did I say about talking, Mutt?”
Billy ground his hip into Stu’s ass, feeling the blood rush into his dick and press into his jeans. Stu could only whimper, already desperate for his cock. They hadn’t done anything together since the tree house, and both were feeling it.
Billy wasn’t patient enough for care; he was nearly too wound up to give Stu the respect of opening him up, but he felt warm inside, and maybe his reminiscing had brought on uncharacteristic lovey-dovey shit. He unbuckled Stu’s belt and tilted back to pull his trousers and underwear down, exposing his bare ass, and Billy buried the tent of his jeans into his skin, bringing his hand over to Stu’s mouth and shoving his fingers in, Stu licking over and lapping them up with his spit.
Billy pulled them out with a pop and brought them down, rounding them in circles over his hole, and Stu clenched and tensed into the table, his breath hitching out of him and his hips bucked into the wood. “I’ve never–”
“I know, just let me do this for you,” Billy replied quickly but softly, a warmth to his voice only allowed for Stu’s ears, to kiss again at whatever skin he had access to, despite the fact they were both fully or semi-clothed. Stu’s shaky breaths were like shots of arousal straight to his dick, feeling his muscles jump and relax under him, and when he felt he had put enough motion over the rippled muscle, he slipped his first finger in, feeling the ring of meat cling and almost suck them in.
Billy had never done this before, his only point of reference being himself and videos he had looked up when he decided it mattered. It felt weird—not bad, just different and while he could feel they both shared some worry, it just all felt natural.
He ran circles inside, brushing over a rougher part, and Stu let out a hard, breathless moan, his hips bucking again. "Ahhhh, shit—fuck Billy, you gotta do that again.” Stu’s words were slurred; he sounded like a slut, and Billy's dick was so hard it was painful.
Billy searched around again, feeling his fingertips ripple up to the moisture, but he focused again on opening him up, slipping another finger in and groaning into Stu’s neck, needing to bring fiction to his dick and keeping himself from pulling his jeans down and rubbing himself out of desperation.
He found that rough spot again, rubbing down, and Stu let out that breathless whine again, his tongue falling out like a panting dog. “Im going cum- Billyy-!"
Billy could feel Stu clenching around his fingers, and using his spare hand, Billy grabbed Stu’s dick and clenched it in his grip enough for it to hurt, but only Stu Macher would moan louder because of it. “AHHhhhhmnn…!”
“You are not cumming before me; if you do, I'll fucking skin you.” Billy threatened in a baleful lust, biting into Stu’s neck like a vampire, minus the fangs and blood, much to Stu's disappointment, he's sure.
Stu nodded slowly, his hands grabbing at the sides of the table. "Well, then get your dick in me and fuck me before I do it for you.”
Billy didn’t need to be told twice. He didn’t know if he had done enough and didn’t rightly care at that moment either way. He slipped his fingers out and wiped them on Stu's shirt before he undid his belt and pulled his pants down, releasing his throbbing cock, which leaked like a stream.
He leaned back, his legs trembling, as he grabbed his dick to lead the way. He pressed his tip into Stus's clenching asshole and held Stu's hip with his spare hand. “Relax Stu.”
Stu nodded, his cheek still planted on the wood, unable to see his face. Billy pushed his dick in, finding some fight in the push, only telling him he didn’t do enough. He built salvia in his mouth and spat down to bring some sort of help as he continued to force his way in, and finally, he was in.
Billy couldn’t hold back the moan that winded him like a bullet to the chest, feeling Stu’s tight ass clench around him, both of them gasping and grabbing at whatever their hungry hands could grab at.
Billy had to take a breath so as not to cum straight away, already feeling the tilt of orgasm creep up his spine. He took long, hard breaths, clenching his hands around Stu’s fleshy hips. Seeing the old scars peek over his hips, Billy traced a finger over every jagged line he could see and the ones he couldn't.
When he couldn’t feel that creep anymore, he leaned slowly forward, almost asking for permission, which Stu gave by suddenly pushing back, taking in Billy's whole shaft.
With his hip bones digging into Stu’s fleshy ass, Billy grabbed the back of Stu’s hands, pushing his palm forward, his face buried in Stu’s short hair. "Ahhhnmmm...Billy.” Stu moaned slowly in a way that made Billy twitch painfully inside of him.
“You are so perfect.” Billy let the words fall out of him, not feeling a shred of regret as they formed on his lips, his mind too drowned in endorphins to care, and Stu once again clenched around him.
He was always a whore for nice words.
Billy pulled back slowly, letting the feeling slide up to his very tip before he slammed down again, both men falling into a chorus of mindless moans as Billy lost control of his hips and began pumping. Pushing in and out of Stu.
Their words melted together, the wet sounds of skin connecting and slapping together, and the table moved with each push into Stu’s perfect ass. “Touch yourself, fucking touch yourself, you whore.” Billy bit into Stu’s ear and chewed on the skin as he felt Stu's hand come down to grab his dick and work himself as Billy pounded him into the table.
Billy and Stu both rode on building pressure. Stu came first, having the double sensation of having his dick rubbed while Billy mercilessly thumped, being too much, and he fell off the edge with an inaudible attempt to warn him, blowing his load under the table, twitching on top of the table.
Billy wasn’t far behind, still pounding into Stu’s limp form as he reached his peak, and the feeling rushed over him, feeling everything leave him inside of Stu.
The next few moments were nothing but euphoria, with his legs trembling as his orgasm took over every nerve in his body.
Neither man could even think to move as they recovered. Billy only pulled out once his legs didn’t feel like they were going to break under him, but they only lasted long enough for him to collapse into a chair. “That was worth the wait.” Those were all the words that left Stu’s mouth, and Billy couldn’t find the energy to reply.
Stu was the first to get up, standing straight, his fingers coming to rush over his pulsing asshole, cringing at the feeling it all left behind.
“I’m going to go shower, you want to join me?” Stu opened the offer, and Billy took it up.
Not because he still had the energy to fuck him raw in a shower, nor did he think that it'd be faster; if anything, Stu in Stu fashion would make a 20-minute last an hour but because he just wanted to feel Stu close to him.
As stupidly cheesy and romantic as that was, Billy was too fucked to care, and maybe he was getting sentimental in his old age. Once they were out and had cleaned up the small motel kitchen, any evidence of their deed was washed under several layers of bleach and whatever cleaning products they had in the cupboards.
“Where are we going to go?” Stu’s voice cut through Billy’s thoughtless haze. A grilled cheese sat in front of him, one he didn’t remember asking for or receiving, and he recalled that Stu was cooking something before he went monkey brain. Both men were sitting on a chair, with Stu filling his mouth with his meal.
Billy leaned over to the only possession he had that didn't come from the motel room, his bag. He dragged it back and zipped open the bag, rummaging until he found a map of the United States. Stu watched as he opened it up, laid it flat across the table he had just finished cleaning, and closed his eyes.
He could hear the sounds of Stu's crunchy chewing as he slid his finger in circles and lines across the states until his gut felt right.
When he opened his eyes, he knew exactly where their new lives would start.
“New York City.”
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