I Can Head Your Heart Beating Right Now SHOULD I WRITE A FIC??

“i can head your heart beating right now” SHOULD I WRITE A FIC??

OMG MAYBE Y/N WORKS WITH JEN OR SOMETHING

daredevil fanfic writers USE THIS AS FUEL PLEASE I BEG

I hate asking for updates because I never want a writer to feel pressured, but is there going to be a part 6 to Final Girl? I love it soooo much

hii!! don't worry, you asked super politely!!

part 6 of final girl is coming! it would have been out by now but i had a little bit of a ✨mental breakdown✨ and i'm just starting to get out of a depressive episode (this one was one of my worsts in a minute, constant panic attacks and bad thoughts)

i have been writing, as that is how i cope and distract myself from those thoughts and some of the situations i've been through recently, but bc Final Girl feels like my baby,, i didn't feel like i could really work on it in that headspace

i've been mainly working on a bunch of smaller fics, one shots for different fandoms and some requests for Scream,, so one or two of those might go up before Final Girl part 6 just bc they're so much closer to being done but part 6 is coming soon!!

i haven't forgotten about Final Girl, i just love it so much i want to make sure it's as good as it can possibly be :)

final girl chapter 5 “spoilers” with no context

bc i need to motivate myself a little lol (they’re in no particular order)

not really spoilers, just memes that fit the vibe and will be funny once chapter five is finally up

Bonus that i found by accident that works so well on more than just the obvious levels and lowkey works as a secondary joke for chapter 6 lol: 

A Red Widow

a/n i’ve been teasing this fic for like a year oops, decided that if i kept coddling it it’d never get done so with very cursory editing i snapped and decided to post it, i could give it a part 2 as it was originally going to be longer but i decided that my original idea was too long for a one-shot 

i’m scared to post this, part of the reason i didn’t want to post it is bc i felt too close to it,, throwing it out like a grenade and then logging off for the night 

Summary: former black widow reader and matt, what can i say,, this is all about trauma lmao

----

y/n’s POV

----

Before the blip. Tangier, Morocco. 

----

Nothing is enough to distract me from my goal, my mission. Not even the irritating humidity and the way it makes my suit cling to my skin. I’m going to need Yelena’s help pealing out of this suit when this all over. 

“The target is passing.” Yelena’s voice rings through my ear piece, snapping me out of my thoughts. I adjust my grip on my weapon as I press my body further into the corner of the roof. “Are you in position, младенец вдова?” 

Leaning forward, I frown at the nickname. “Baby widow? Seriously? I think I’m old enough for us to retire that nickname.” 

“You don’t like малиновый цвет either.” 

The nickname is almost enough to make me move from my position. Even though my black stealth suit completely covers my arms, the red scar that exists on the back of my left wrist begs for my attention. The mark has been there for practically as long as I can remember, and is the reason Yelena often tries calling me crimson.

 I roll my eyes, leaning forward as the sound of footsteps echo around me. My mark is almost here. “I’m in position.” My finger is poised on the trigger. “They’re almost in my line of--” 

My back hits the gravel of the roof so quickly I can’t even register how it happened. My rifle lands a few feet behind me and my assailant is standing over me. Great--our target has friends.

For support, I press my hands into the gravel. Creating momentum, I push myself upwards with all the strength in my body. My legs strike my attacker and I land in a crouched position. The person that attacked me is surprised, but not ruined. He lunges for me. I duck and strike the way I’ve been trained to. The attacker is persistent and I don’t have time for this. If I miss my mark... 

No. I won’t. I let my assailant attempt to grab me. Instead, I latch onto his wrist, yanking him forward. I rotate his arm with all my strength, not stopping until I hear the sound of bone cracking. He winces and swings at me with his good arm. I kick him in the ribs. He stumbles. 

“Y/n?”

Yelena. Has our target already passed? “Give me a second.”

“Do you need backup?” 

The man kicks his leg forward, almost knocking me off balance. I spin, dragging him down by pulling on his broken arm. He lets out a low sound as he tries to use his size to his advantage. The man towers over me, so when he throws his weight at my center, I stumble slightly. He takes advantage, swinging his leg around my foreleg. 

I fall onto my back. The man places his foot on my chest. Twisting to get on my side, I slam my heel into the back of his knee. The man’s leg buckles. With my other leg, I kick him down. I jump upwards before checking to see where he’s landed. I run towards my rifle, raising it on my shoulder the second my hand is on the cold metal. I can’t shoot my attacker because the noise could alert my target. 

The stranger must know that because the moment he’s on his feet, he lunges towards me. I dodge at the last second, slamming part of my rifle into his temple. He grabs the end of the weapon, jabbing my rib with it in a way that makes me want to double over in pain. The man then throws the weapon behind him. I angle myself to the left, reaching for his broken arm. The man tries to punch me again, but I duck, moving one arm upwards. I wrap my arm around his neck and place a hand beneath his jaw. He tries one last kick of his legs, but it’s already over. I turn his head to the left as sharply as possible, snapping his neck. 

He slumps, his legs going slack. I release him, letting his body fall limp onto the concrete. I run towards the rifle and get back to my position in record time. “I’m my own backup.” 

“No, you’re ridiculous.” 

Rolling my eyes again, I find my target in my scope. Taking a deep breath, I pull the trigger. And like always, my bullet finds my target perfectly. “The target is neutralized.” 

“Alright, now come to the rendev--” My legs give out as pain rips through my body. My rifle falls as a pathetic sound falls from my lips. “Y/n?” 

I’ve been shot. I crawl across the roof, ignoring the insatiable burning in my shoulder. Once I’m behind the apex of the roof, I slump against its wall. A shaky hand reaches forward, grazing where the pain is at its worst. My fingers come back bloody. 

Yelena. I have to warn Yelena. “They have--they have people.” 

“Did something happen?” My throat feels so dry and my limbs have become so heavy. “Y//n? Where are you?” 

This wound puts me out of commission. My body knows what needs to be done. “Don’t come.” 

My hand moves without me telling it to. I reach into the compartment on the thigh of my suit, pulling out a knife. My hand begins to move up, towards my throat. The edge of my blade presses into the side of my neck. I close my eyes, letting my hand fall prey to instinct. 

Something strong clamps around my wrist. My eyes open in frustration as I try to free my arm. “No. Y/n, don’t do this. You’re fine--you’re going to be fine.” Yelena’s grip on me is insatiable, but my instinct is stronger. I continue to struggle against her. “Y/n, you’re not stronger than me.” 

Pain rips through my shoulder as I try to hit her with my free arm. She catches the punch effortlessly. “Y/n, y/n, please.” 

Everything in me wants to listen to her. I always want to listen to her. But I can’t. My body won’t let me. My leg kicks outwards in hopes of knocking her off of me. Yelena is faster than me, she always has been. She turns her leg and forces me to the ground in one move. 

Yelena pins me down, ignoring the way that I struggle. My body won’t stop until the self termination protocol is completed. I kick her in the stomach. Yelena frowns, shifting so that she can pin down my leg. I take that as an opportunity to strike her forearm. The hand that’s still clinging to my knife twists in Yelena’s grasp. I blindly jab it in Yelena’s direction. She grabs my forearm and presses it into the ground with all her strength. 

“Trained you a little too well.” She sighs as I continue to struggle against her. Yelena frowns, eyeing my wounded shoulder. “I’m sorry about this.” 

She moves, placing one hand on the injury. I grit my teeth to prevent myself from screaming out in pain. Yelena then leans over, reaching for a case I’ve never seen. I continue to struggle despite the burning of my shoulder. My body is listening to a source outside of myself. Yelena holds a vile of something red above me.

I take a deep breath, relaxing for a moment before pulling my legs upwards. I push myself upwards with all my strength, knocking Yelena off of me. I run a few feet away from her, holding knife back up to my neck. Yelena is on me in a second, forcing me to turn around by grabbing my injured shoulder. I thrust my knife forward, cutting into Yelena’s arm. She lets out a pained noise and my stomach knots, but this is beyond me. I’m injured, my termination protocol is in motion. Yelena tries to kick my legs out beneath me and I try to twist her injured arm. She turns, grabbing my hurt arm and using it to give her the momentum she needs to flip me onto my back. 

Yelena places a foot on my chest and cracks something over my head. I bend my arm, attempting to cut my neck again. Red powder floats in the air, falling over me as my blade reaches my skin. The powder dissipates and I have the will to let my arm fall slack.

What just happened? I-I fought Yelena. I cut her--I hurt her because she didn’t want me to hurt myself. As I lie there panting, Yelena removes the foot from my chest. She takes the knife from my weakly curled fingers. I let her. She wordlessly bends down, grabbing my leg and turning my thigh outwards. I wince when I feel the sting of the blade cutting through my skin. Yelena touches the wound and a moment later, she holds something out in front of me. 

“Tracker.” I blink dumbly, sitting up slowly. What just happened? At least I’m with Yelena, and I trust her with all that I am. “You want to know what just happened?” She lets out a breath, casually moving to sit crosslegged right in front of me. “You want to know why your self termination protocol stopped before you hurt yourself?” I nod. “That red powder--it freed you from the control of the red room.” No. That has to be some kind of joke or fluke. That’s impossible. “Now, come on.” 

“Where are we going?” 

“We need to send a package to Natasha.”

Natasha. Our Natasha. 

----

Hell’s Kitchen, New York. 

Present day. 

Post Blip.  

----

The strangest part of life is the way that things change. Whether you want them to or not, whether you hold onto the past with all your strength or you attempt to push it away with all you have, you are not in control of that change. Things change by their own will, or by the will of the universe, I guess. 

I think about this every time I do this. The widow uniform still fits, even after all these years. Don’t do this. It’s not your responsibility. My hands feel fragile as I adjust my braided ponytail. Braiding my own hair before going out like this feels wrong. It reminds me of how much has changed. 

Natasha. Yelena. I haven’t seen them since the blip. I haven’t heard from them since the blip. I’m not sure I want to hear from Yelena again, but it would be a relief to know that she’s alive. And Natasha--I’d do anything to make her proud. Five years. For five years she made sure I had a safe place to sleep and that I always had enough to eat. She made me believe I could do anything. Natasha got me the paperwork I needed to start over as a normal person. She made Tony create school transcripts so that I could go to college and do something with my life. 

Don’t think about this now. You can think about it after. 

Turning from the mirror, I pace away from my bedroom mirror and approach the fire escape window. Taking a last look around my room, I sigh, pulling my mask over my face again. Another thing that’s different. When I was a widow, there were rarely masks. We knew we wouldn’t be seen by anyone that would survive and we had no other identities. Now, though, I have another version of myself to keep separate from this. 

I shut the window behind me before throwing myself over the railing of my fire escape. I let myself drop two floors before swinging onto a lower level of the fire escape. Here, I can better make out the people beneath me. They walk around, happy to be lost in their own world. But things aren’t safe here, that’s part of the appeal of living in the city. I can try to be the kind of person Natasha would be proud of. Like that can make up for what you said to her before she left. 

Sighing, I push down the negative thoughts like the poison they are. One day I’ll be reunited with Natasha, and she’ll see that I did good things, and she’ll be proud of me. And she’ll forgive me.

I jump down another floor. And then another. Soon enough, I’m on the sidewalk. There aren’t a bunch of people out at this hour, which I guess is a good thing. I walk down the streets, disappearing into an alley that I’ve stopped crimes in before. 

Pulling myself onto a closed dumpster, I use it as a starting point to make it easier to throw my body onto the ladder of this building’s fire escape. I make my way upwards. I don’t stop until I’m high enough to blend into the night. To observe without being seen.

Someone’s approaching the alley. I hold my position, crouching a little further into the shadows. The person is alone, and walking with methodical patience. “I know you’re here.” My fingers ghost the pocket of my suit, preparing to pull out a throwing knife at a moment’s notice. “You’re not going to make me guess, are you?”

I swallow once, my body tensing even though I know no threat is near. I’ve run into this self-thought vigilante a number of times. I’m not exactly in the business of working with others, but I can’t exactly pretend to be unaware of the other masked person fighting in the same alleyways as me. It’s like sharing an office space, except our paperwork is crimefighting and instead of small talk he grills me about my intentions.

“Not behind the dumpster, because you like the arial advantage.” It wouldn’t be a big deal to respond. Some of our interactions have bordered on friendly, or as friendly as one can be to a stranger they only know through vigilante activities. “Not on the left fire escape because that’s still a residential building and you like to keep away from civilians.” I’m not in the mood for interactions tonight. The days have been harder than normal, and I don’t trust myself to be the person I want to be. I can feel myself being pulled somewhere dark, and the less people that witness that the better. “You’re on the fire escape of the building to the right of me.” He walks forward until he’s right beneath me. “I know you’re above me.” 

Rolling my eyes, I grip the railing a little tighter, and not out of fear of losing balance. “I’m not in the mood for company tonight.” I’m being much shorter than usual, which is a fact he’ll pick up on. I need to add something lighthearted so that I can get left alone a little faster. “This is Hell’s Kitchen, I’m pretty sure you can find another alley to virtuously lurk in.” 

“Virtuously lurk?” Normally, I’d make fun of him for making fun of me. Tonight isn’t normal. Not after what happened this morning. The flash back came out of nowhere and still lingers in me, a phantom desperate to take form. “You don’t want company, but what about a job?” 

“You pay now?” 

He tilts his head upwards, the corner of his lips turning upwards slightly. “It’s more of a community service opportunity. Which is, as I understand it, why you do what you do, Crimson Widow.” There’s something about the way he says my alter ego name, like there’s a joke he knows about that I don’t. “This involves teenage girls. Hurt and scared teenage girls, they won’t respond well to a man that seems violent, and they won’t be trusting.” 

Hurt and scared teenage girls that don’t trust men. Guilt prods at that thing in my stomach that’s always asking: what would Natasha want me to do? I sigh, standing so that I can drop down. Before I know it, I’m on the top of the dumpster just like I was in the beginning. I slide off of it easily, landing right in front of the devil himself. 

“I was right.” 

He’s feeling easy going tonight. Or maybe he just feels the need to compensate for my unusual dryness. “Aren’t you always?” 

“That doesn’t mean I can’t celebrate my victories.”  

I roll my eyes. “That’s a particular mind set.” Crossing my arms in front of me, I watch him cautiously. Just because he’s given me no reason to be wary of him doesn’t mean I’m letting my guard down. “That paired with the way you analyze things makes me wonder...does your day job involve you being a detective or something?” 

He almost smiles, or at least I think he almost smiles. “Or something.” 

I inhale, dismissing the partial kinship that something in me is desperate to cling to. “You said something about teenage girls in trouble?” 

“Does that mean you’re trusting me?”

That word seems to be everywhere. “It means...you said something and I’m saying something in response to that. Which is how all conversations work, so I guess it just means that we’re having a conversation.” He’s quiet, but something about his body language tells me that my sarcasm isn’t as off putting as it should be. At moments like this, I find myself wishing that I could see his face. The fact that I care in any capacity makes me a little more wary of his presence. “You are aware that if this is some kind of trap, I’m capable of crushing your windpipe so quickly you won’t even have time to realize you’re suffocating let alone time to stop me, right?”

The corner of his mouth turns upwards. “You’re that sure you could take me?” 

His voice is lower than it was earlier, more assured. I hold my ground, angling my chin upwards. I nod once, desperate and unwilling to break eye contact. “I’ve taken on scarier things.” 

“So will you help?”

The less involved I am with other people when I’m this version of myself, the better. But there are children, little girls who are suffering in ways similar to the way I did. “As long as that’s the only question you ask me.”

I’m not sure if I like the fact that my tension doesn’t dissipate as we walk together. I should be content that the walls I’m building are standing, but I can’t quite bring myself to feel relieved by the silence. Walking without speaking, preparing for a secret fight in the night. It’s too familiar. Too close to what it was like to be a widow.

Daredevil turns with no warning. A part of me wants to ask questions. To ask how he knows about these types of situations and what made him think to ask me for help. His claim was logical, young girls in these situations won’t exactly want to trust him. They’re going to see his capacity for violence and they’ll already be wary of men. They’re likely to see my violence, too, but they’ll be more likely to listen to me. And I’ll know how to approach them. But does he have reason to believe that I’ve had experience with this kind of thing?

The longer we walk, the more unnerved I feel. It’s not the situation--though I am at a tactful disadvantage, considering I’m following a man I don’t know that well blindly--but the lack of...I don’t know. Natasha. Her absence, her unexplained silence, it’s starting to suffocate me. Could she still be mad about our fight? And Yelena--I sent her away. I told her I don’t want to see her, and I don’t, not after what she did to me. But that doesn’t mean my heart knows to let her go. 

Five years. They could have disappeared with half of the universe. They could be back now, feeling completely displaced. Yelena freed me so that I could do what I want. Natasha helped me find a place in the modern world. Would this disappoint them? I’m trying to do something good--I’m trying to fight for the good, but would this disappoint them?

I’m still wearing the widow suit. I’m still staining my hands with blood. I’ve yet to consciously kill, and I’m not even sure if I’m okay with that. To take a life by choice, is that really so much different from killing because of Dreykov?

Something hard strikes the back of my legs. I stumble back, just barely managing to regain my momentum to turn my fall into a kick. My assailant is thrown off, but they recover quickly, moving to punch me. I catch their fist, twisting their arm until I hear something pop. I then flip them onto their back, the way I’ve done hundreds of other times. 

I turn around. Daredevil is fighting off another attacker. He throws the man off of him and into a shipping container. The man is preparing to charge, I grab his arm before he can get more than a few steps away. He tries dismissing me by delivering a swift kick to my ribs. Yelena’s kicked me harder than that in training--this man is weak. I twist his arm, forcing him to bend down enough for me to deliver a swift kick to his chest. The man lunges for my leg, I twist before he can grab me, using the momentum to flip him onto his back.

“You’re welcome.” 

“I was fine.”

“Tell that to your bloody no--” I’m forced onto the ground at a speed so fast my instincts don’t register the fact that someone touched me, let alone threw me. The explosive sound of a gunshot cuts through the air. A bullet hits the spot where I was just standing.

The bullet came from above the nearest shipping container. How did I not notice the other person’s presence before Daredevil? And more importantly--how did he move fast enough to tackle me before I could notice? Living a relatively normal life must be weakening me.

I inhale as calmly as possible, the last thing he needs to know is how much he’s surprised me. It’s been a long time since someone overpowered me. That’s a fact I wish I could keep secret, but something about the way he’s still on me, hands keeping my wrists pinned above my head, tells me he must know. His body is pressed against mine, steady and hard in case instinct takes over my senses. 

“How--” One of his hands moves down in order to cover the lower side of my face. It takes him a moment to truly cover my mouth.

It’s clear that he wants me to be quiet. I get it, the person with the gun is still above us. They have the advantage I rely on most--arial. The seconds pass us in pure silence. He doesn’t move. I focus on the sounds around us instead of the feeling of his weight and the warmth of his body on me. Or at the very least, I’m trying to.

When two full minutes pass, and there is only silence, I realize that the only way we’re going to be productive is by devising some kind of plan. I gesture with a nod of my head that he should shift off of me. Daredevil doesn’t react. I try being a little less subtle, but he doesn’t move until I turn my head. Which is something he can feel because of where his hand is placed.

Wait...

Daredevil’s hand moves off of my face. I stay silent, shifting my free hand forward. He doesn’t react until my hand is near his face. He moves to catch my wrist and I let him. I don’t--I don’t think he can see. How did I not notice that before? How can he do all the things he does without being able to see anything?

After a moment, he releases my hand. I move slowly, as unthreateningly as possible. And then I grab his shoulder, squeezing it once. He takes the hint, shifting off of me as quietly as possible. Okay--our silent understanding is a good first step. 

I keep my hand on his arm as I sit up. Our target is above us. I need to level the playing field. Squeezing his arm once more to signal that I’m about to move, I push myself into a standing position. Creeping forward, I make it to the side of one of the shipping containers. Without making a noise, I climb onto the lowest shipping container. I swing my body upwards, climbing until I’m right below the shipping container that the gunshot came from. 

Crouching down, I let my vision adjust to the darkness. I can see the outline of someone large, a rifle hoisted onto their shoulder. In true spider fashion, I pull myself onto the same shipping container. They remain unaware of me, just like I planned. I grab the man by his forearm, throwing him back. 

He panics, his fingers searching for the trigger of his rifle. One kick to his stomach and that’s no longer an option. The man loosens his grip on the rifle, I lunge for it. My assailant grabs my shoulder, rotating my arm at an unnatural angle. He tries flipping me, but I’m faster, hooking a leg behind his knee. He stumbles, adjusts his hold on his rifle, and slams the base of it against my head. I won’t let the pain stop me. I grab the weapon, yanking it forward to the man’s surprise. I push it back, forcing him to stumble. My leg comes out, sweeping forward and forcing the man to fall off of the container.

I’m still holding his rifle. I haven’t touched a gun since...well, since Natasha thought shooting practice would be a good way to get me to open up to her again. It worked in the moment, but holding this feels so much different. It’s similar to the types of weapons the widows used. The part of me that’s better wants to throw the weapon as far as possible. To have it away from me. 

But the part of me that’s all muscle memory, the part of me that will always be hardwired for violence knows what letting go of the weapon would mean. The second you let go of a gun, you’re inviting someone to use it on you. 

“Still up there?” 

My hand ghosts the weapon, my finger inclines towards the trigger. I want it gone. I want this rifle in the ocean. Footsteps appear out of nowhere. In a single motion, I turn and expertly hoist the rifle onto my shoulder. My finger finds the trigger with the ease of the trained killer that I am. 

Daredevil raises his hands, open and clear. “Just me.” My mind blurs the words into memories of the past. Time looses its linear quality. Before, after. Now, then. Am I really safe here? Is this now or then? 

“It’s okay.” His voice is steady. Assured and solid. “You can set the gun down, Crimson.” The nickname is familiar, but not in the way the rest of this situation is. I inhale, fingers unwilling to let go of the weapon. “Just set it down.” 

I don’t know why, but I trust him. Swallowing once, I find the strength to ease my pointer finger off of the trigger. I take a step forward, lifting the gun off of my shoulder. Something in the distance bangs. I don’t know what it is, but I know that it’s the sound of violence. A high pitched scream echoes around me. I turn on instinct, adjusting the weapon back into place. I find the trigger with no effort. 

“Don’t.” My body is running on something else. Pure instinct and adrenaline rush through my body as I pull the trigger. 

Daredevil is fast, but it’s already over. I shot the gun. He tries to tackle me, and i’m still lost to that bad part of myself. I jab at him with the hilt of the gun. He catches it easily. Indignation pulses through me, memories of Yelena and Natasha telling me to push myself ring in my ears. You were meant to be my greatest creation, but you are a disappointment, y/n. Dreykov’s voice floods all of my senses as I strike again. Harder and more brutal than before.  

Daredevil staggers back after I hit him in the nose, but he doesn’t let go of me. It doesn’t matter how much I thrash, how much I kick and claw at him. He holds on, and he...he doesn’t try to hit me back. He blocks the punches as best as he can without letting go of my waist, but he makes no move to incapacitate me. 

The confusion makes me want to fight even harder, but something else in me is tired, and it feels safe enough to take over. When my thrashing calms down, Daredevil reaches forward, taking the gun. I squeeze it until he places a hand over mine. He takes the rifle, and I let him place it to the side.

I’m panting and only some of it has to do with physical exertion. He’s still holding me down, but I’m okay with it now. “I’m--I’m sorry.” Swallowing once, I try to expel all of my thoughts. “Sometimes I’m not myself.” The honesty claws itself out of my throat.

His lips part like he’s going to say something, but all I can focus on is the blood trailing down his face. Guilt twists my stomach. I did that to him. My hand moves upwards instinctually, towards the gash on his lip. I stop when I’m halfway there...something’s shifted. And he knows that too, he’s moving, but he’s not going to be fast enough. 

I know what I heard. Someone is preparing to shoot at us. I twist my body, throwing him off of the top of the shipping container. His body lands with a heavy thud at the same time a gunshot goes off. I stay on my stomach for a long minute. When nothing else happens, I jump to my feet, landing in a crouched position. 

As silently as possible, I move from one storage crate to the next, heading in the direction of the shooter until I’m behind him. The advantage of surprise is needed. A part of me is surprised that Daredevil hasn’t come back. He doesn’t seem the type to stay put. So he’s either fighting someone or I threw him off of me a little too hard. Okay--focus, by getting rid of these threats, I’m helping him. 

He was patient with me when I was out of control. Sure, I had a gun in my hand and got in a few good hits, but when he caught me by surprise we both realized that he has the ability to overpower me. Okay, there’s a chance he already thought that, but I didn’t. I thought he’d be a worthy opponent, but that if I made up my mind to beat him I’d be able to do it without issue. Yelena and Natasha could take him, and I’m supposed to be as good as them if not better. Dreykov designed me that way. 

But that’s not the point. The point is he could have stopped me. He could have hurt me to save himself the energy and physical pain. It would have been easier to fight back, more efficient. But all he did was restrain me until I was no longer a risk. He’s a better person than I thought. I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but I’m not leaving him here.

The second man with a rifle is easier to take down. I don’t have another episode. A third assailant appears and I get rid of them just as swiftly. Daredevil has yet to appear. I climb to the top of a shipping crate and make my way back to where we were. Jumping off of the same crate I threw Daredevil off of, I land about three feet from where I suspect his body of having landed. He’s not there...that’s a good thing, right? It means he got up. Or that he got taken. 

The sound of something slamming into the metal of the shipping crate behind me jars me out of my sense of peace. The fight’s not over. I brace myself, turning the corner as another ‘bang’ sound erupts. I’m ready to attack, but when I see what’s happening, I’m surprised enough to stall. 

Daredevil is attacking another man in all black. And he’s spending a lot more time making sure the person he’s fighting will be out of commission than I did. With a final punch, he lets his opponent slump to the ground. Okay--so no guns, but beating someone within an inch of their life is perfectly acceptable. What an odd moral line he lives on. Still, I’m jealous that he knows where he stands on these kinds of things. 

“What?”

I feel my posture straighten. “Nothing.” 

He walks away from the unconscious stranger easily. He paces past me and towards the front of the shipping crate. I watch as he works on breaking off the lock on the crate.

“Mind if I...” He’s confused enough to pause. I grab the lock, and with two firm tugs, it breaks off. Being biologically modified has its perks. I let the rusting metal fall at our feet. “Don’t ask.”

Disgruntled squeals interrupt us. I pull on the door to the crate until it creaks open. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to what’s cowering in the dark, but once I do a wave of nausea runs through me. Girls, children, are cowering, huddled together in a way that’s much too familiar. 

My eyes land on a girl whose wide eyes make me feel like I’m watching a ghost. “H-how old are you?”

She blinks, shying into the crowd of taller girls. “Nine.” 

Something in my stomach spikes. 

“Get out of here.” His voice is authoritative, unflinching. The youngest looking girl winces. “Now.” 

I make a point of standing between them. The girls that are paralyzed in their fear watch me as the rest of them try to disappear into the back of the crate. Stepping forward as gently as possible, I approach them. They’re untrusting, and I get that. 

“You’re okay now.” I hold my hands out in front of me. “It’s over--and I know you don’t believe me right now, but it is.” I take another step forward. “You’re going to be safe, but the sooner you’re out of here the better. So go, and I promise you’ll be okay.” 

The girls are understandably hesitant. But then a girl who can’t be more than 14 steps forward. And then another girl follows her. The rest join in, spilling out of the crate and disappearing from the docks. The farther they get from here, the better. I stand to the side as they flee, my nails digging into my palms. This is a good thing. I did a good thing. 

Even when they’re all gone, I still don’t feel what I thought I would. I’m just as directionless as before. I don’t feel the guidance of either of my sisters. The haunting feeling that I may never know who I am without them settles in my bones. I unclench my hands, forcing myself to look at my palms.

Blood coats my fingers again. I wonder if something happens frequently enough if there’s still a point in using tenses. My hands were bloody; my hands are bloody; my hands will be bloody. If it’s promised to happen again, was I ever really free of its stain?

The fighting is done. At least it is for now. Tonight was not particularly hard, in the physical sense. I’ve attacked people more prepared for someone of my skill level. I’ve attacked people with more dangerous weapons. I’ve been more violent, more brutal. But the people that lay near me, still breathing but broken, something about them sits with me incorrectly. They are a rib out of place in the chest.

Wow. I’m not making any sense, not even to myself. I look at my hands again, the blood of my knuckles has combined itself with the blood of those I hurt. I can’t bring myself to feel sorry for them, but grief still burrows itself into me.

These men were hurting girls. Children. There was a time in which I was the frightened little girl, forced into a shipping crate with other frightened girls. Back then, all I had wanted was for it to be over. All I had wanted was for some kind of savior to break through the metal and fight off the monsters so that I could be anywhere else.

Tonight I was that savior for those girls. I should feel better. I did something good. Natasha...she’d smile at me if she was here. She’d look at me and tell me that I did good. That should make me feel content, more focused, like there’s some kind of direction I know to move in.

But it doesn’t. All I feel is her absence. I even feel the loss of Yelena, and I’m the one that told her to stay away. My fingers curl inwards, nails digging into the palms of my hands.

“That was efficient.” His voice is a reminder of why I can’t lose it here, on the abandoned side of the shipping docks.

Turning enough to look at him, I force myself to take a deep breath. A patient breath. There was something almost awkward about the way he said that. “You wanted my help.” I helped. I should feel better. “And I played by your rules. No one died.” The final word feels off. “I won’t apologize for my efficiency.”

He’s still, watching me like he sees right through me. The part of me that clings to a life beyond bloody hands wants to shrink away. To vanish until it’s morning. With daylight comes the promise of normality. The day will let me shed this mission suit and replace it with the business casual wear of an intern of a law firm. I like that version of me better...she’s whole.

“No apologies necessary.” I blink, fighting the urge to turn even more. He’s closer than I realized. “I’m just curious.”

Of course. That’s the problem with team ups or even just temporary mutual existence. The other person always wants to ask questions, and I can never offer them answers. I’m a former black widow assassin isn’t the kind of phrase that just rolls off the tongue. Especially not in front of him.

The devil of Hell’s Kitchen, someone that everyone here knows to fear, and yet he doesn’t...he doesn’t kill. If he knew all the blood that stains me, if he knew about all the red in my ledger...

“And I’m just reminding you that my one stipulation to this was no questions.”

I knew this was a bad idea. Even when we just happen to run into each other he expresses too much interest in who I am. Why I can do the things I can do. I know that he feels like he’s protecting his neighborhood by making sure that I don’t have any ill tensions. The false sense of security is a good thing, it means that we can both co-exist in peace. But tonight I’m not in the mood to play coy and skirt around the words I won’t say, revealing just enough to appease him. I’m also not in the mood to draw a line in the sand and make him think I’m a threat. He’s proven that he’s capable of overpowering me with the element of surprise, but surely I’d be able to defend myself and escape if I needed to. He’d be a worthy opponent, but not an unbeatable one. But maybe I don’t want to beat him. Maybe I don’t want to fight anymore. Maybe I just want to put my widow suit on the top shelf of my apartment’s closet and never look at it again.

We should part ways. The bad guys have been taken care of. The girls have been freed, the way I could have been years ago. There’s no reason for both of us to still be here. There’s no reason fro him to be less than an arm’s length away. And yet, we both stay still.

“You’re normally more open to friendly conversation.” The words snap me back to reality. I’ve been playing too close to a line I can’t cross. The last time I trusted someone, I learned to never do risk that again.

I force my hands to ease at my side. “We’re friends now?”

“I don’t take down human trafficking rings with just anyone.” He’s joking. He’s just trying to ease me into our normal dynamic. But the words still strike me in the heart. Memories of the day I got Natasha back and the day I stopped seeing Yelena as my protector wash through me, a torrid, unforgiving current.

It’s been years now. Years of silence. I haven’t seen Nat since she told me what she was planning to do with the Avengers. I haven’t seen Yelena since she told me the truth of the day I became a true widow. The end of the red room was the first and last familial moment I got. “For the record, neither do I.”

“And I’ve never taken anything down that fast.” He pauses, testing the waters. “If you were always around, I’d have time to pick up a hobby.”

He’s trying to appeal to my usual attitude. I have to give him something. It’s not his fault that the memories are hitting me more frequently than usual. And if I don’t seem at least somewhat stable, he’ll start thinking I’m planning something. He may start seeing me as some kind of threat. “Is the mysterious day job followed by nights of crime fighting not fulfilling enough?”

“The day job isn’t as interesting as you’re making it seem.” There’s an easiness to his words. He’s taking my attempt to act normal.

I shift on my heels, almost relaxing. “I wouldn’t know because you won’t tell me what it is.”

“And you won’t tell me how you learned to...be so efficient.” He’s referencing the way I fight. I can’t blame him for pressing this issue so much. A random girl shows up in his city, his neighborhood, with brutal skills and strength that would better suit someone twice her size. Of course he feels the need to ask questions.

I inhale, wondering what my next move is. I could remind him that the less we know about the other, the better. That I know not to ask questions as long as he does the same. But the thing is, I don’t want to. Maybe it’s because he’s faceless. Maybe it’s because when I wear this suit I don’t feel like I’m me anymore. Or maybe it’s because I’m tired of pretending my past isn’t tearing into me more and more with each passing day.

“Would you believe me if I told you it’s a family thing?” The honesty threatens to leave my throat raw. I’m treading on a dangerous line. “That I learned everything I know from my sisters?”

He tilts his head slightly, exposing the side of his jaw--which is something I shouldn’t be as aware of as I am. “So an entire family of people like you? Fighting for the good?”

I don’t have it in me to think about the way he says that. The words are stomach twisting enough. Fighting for the good. Is that even a fair thing to say now? Natasha certainly started fighting for the good. I don’t know where Yelena is. And I--I’m just trying to make up for everything I’ve done, everything I’ve been forced to do.

“What if we weren’t always doing that?” My throat burns, the way it often did when I would tell Natasha about the memories. When I would tell her about being a ghost in my own body. “Fighting for the good?”

I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth. Dropping my head, I prepare to step back. To disappear in the shadows in the way I’m used to. He starts to move. To his credit, he’s faster than a normal person, so he does manage to place a hand on my shoulder, but not before my fingers wrap around his wrist. It’s his move next. I’m tense, expecting some kind of attack.

“I would say that you’re doing that now.” I watch him, he stays quiet. When nothing else is said...when nothing else is done, I find it in me to unclench my fingers and let my hand fall to my side. He still doesn’t move. “And that counts for something.” 

Does it really? I guess it does if someone like him thinks so. Swallowing back the thought, I feel my body tense. Don’t think of him like that. If I think he’s good, I’ll find myself trusting him. “If--” A scream cuts me off. A high pitched, child-like scream. 

The sound resonates in my chest and pulses through my bones. It cuts through all of my common sense and appeals to an instinct embedded deep in me. I take off, pushing past Daredevil. His hand extends outwards, but I’m no longer the version of myself capable of weakness. I pivot, forcing him to just barely miss me.

I make it to the source of the screaming in record time. Another man in all black...and a girl. The girl that spoke to me. She’s thrashing against him, the light of the moon catching her red hair. Her fear, her resistance, the look behind her eye. I’m with Natasha all over again. 

I rip his arm off of the girl with a ferocity I haven’t felt in years. Something snaps, likely his bone. The man grunts. His good arm makes contact with my lower jaw. I step back instinctually before round kicking him in the throat. The man chokes, the sound is a lot more gratifying than I thought it’d be. 

The man comes close to stumbling, but at the last second he lunges with all his force. I dodge, throwing my weight left. His hand remains clenched, like he doesn’t care about grabbing me. I don’t realize why until I feel it...a knife cutting through skin and flesh and striking bone.

I wince, hand moving to my side. My attacker grins, blood coating his cracked lips. He will not have the satisfaction of my pain or victory. I grab his broken arm, twisting the appendage at an angle so unnatural I’d be nauseated in any other setting. 

His groan of pain brings me no anguish, no guilt. “What?” He’s panting. He knows what’s coming. I yank the knife out of my side before raising it to his eye line. “Surprised I didn’t say ‘ouch’?”

He inhales sharply. “I can feel your youth.” What does age matter when you’ve been training to be a killer since the age of 5? “Do you know what the problem is with young people?” My fingers squeeze the knife harder. The man shifts, I dig the point of the blade into his throat. The familiar sting of a knife wound takes over my senses. He stabbed me again. Where did he get the second knife? “Pride--that’s the problem with the idealistic youth.”

I bite back my pain, forcing myself to fight against the way the edges of my vision blurs. The knife in my hand is pried from me. I barely register the sound of metal falling to the ground. He’s trying to slip from my grasp. I knee him with all my force. The man nearly escapes, but I’m more determined than ever.

He reaches forward, but I’m ready for that. I knee him in the stomach, again and again until he’s forced to his knees. He’s holding his hands up in defense, but I’m nowhere near done with him. I punch and I kick and I scratch even though it’s beneath me. Any form of inflicting pain. Any method of attack. Russian curses fall from my lips. My fists ache. There will never be enough harm to cause.

The man coughs, blood splattering onto the fabric of my widow suit. I rip the knife out of my side and throw it to the ground. “I’d rather hear your neck snap.” One of my hands grips his jaw and the other holds his head in place. It’d be so easy to end it now. 

Something touches my shoulder. My head snaps to the left. “Don’t.” There’s an understood urgency in Daredevil’s voice. I’m surprised I stopped myself from attacking him on instinct. “He’s done.” I don’t care if he’s done. I’m not. “He’s done and so are you.” 

“Because you said so?” 

“Because I know what you’re feeling.” Like he could ever know. This guilt and urge to do better and be better. It’s suffocating. “The adrenaline, the justice turned into blood lust.” I want to scream. I should end it. I’ve done it before...I’ve killed more than I’ll ever really know.

I grind my teeth together when I notice the shifting of the man’s head. Wait--he’s not moving by his own will. My hands are shaking. Why are they shaking? “He doesn’t--” The words are acid in my throat. “He doesn’t deserve it.” 

The hand on my shoulder becomes a little more assured. “No, he doesn’t.” Daredevil lets the words hang there. “But you do.” The man’s face is starting to blur. All of my vision is starting to blur. My body feels wrong...I don’t know how to be in control of myself for as long as I have been. “You’re not a killer, and you deserve better than letting him make you one.” 

I laugh, or maybe I choke on a sob, or maybe I do both at the same time. “You really don’t know me.” My grip on the man’s jaw tightens. Finish it. Terminate your target. “You don’t know what they made me do. Who they made me be.” 

“What matters is who you are now.” His voice is harsh enough to cut through the wave of uncertainty I’m drowning in. What’s real and what’s false is still unknown, but I know that he’s here. “Let him go, Crimson.” 

It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. Why should he get to live? Why should his entire species get to thrive when all they do is hurt people? Break little girls and turn them into monsters? I can still see the hollow look in Natasha’s eyes after I came back from my first mission. I can feel Yelena patching up my scraped knees after training. I can hear her telling me to trust the men that wanted me to lay on the operating table. 

My hand moves off the man’s jaw. My fist makes contact with his lower jaw. The punch is weak and pathetic but I don’t care. I hit him again and again. The blows lack structure and efficiency. I keep going, my body scared of what would happen if I stopped. 

“Okay,” Daredevil catches my wrist before I can hit the stranger again. I push against him numbly. “You’ve done enough.”

 I don’t care. I don’t care. There will never be an enough. “It’s not fair.” He says nothing. I’m too aware of how pathetic I am. My entire body is shaking, practically seething. I’m coated in blood and sweat and I gave up on keeping tears from falling from my eyes. “It’s not fair--she-she was just a kid.” 

Exhaustion takes hold of me with no warning. I find myself struggling to not let my knees buckle. I stumble away from the criminal. The girl is gone now, but I can still see her. The terrified fear behind her eyes and the way the moonlight caught her red bob. She was Natasha. The ground feels less stable, like it’s trying to open up and swallow me whole. I take a sharp breath as my knees give out. 

I never feel the scrape of gravel. Something strong latches onto my arms. Daredevil. He’s holding onto me, keeping me up. Normally, something like this would have my skin crawling with vulnerability. But now I just extend my hand gently squeezing his arm in a silent understanding. I move to a sitting position, pulling my knees upwards loosely once I’m given the space to. A part of me wants him to leave me here, to rust like the shipping containers surrounding us.

"And what were you?” 

His voice is easy stone--not rough or callus, yet not soft either. He’s speaking to me with a smooth firmness characterized by a distant enough gentleness to ease me. I blink, the words washing something over me. “What?” My voice is coarse, the kind of thing rough enough to scrape skin and leave it bleeding.

I can make out the stiff line of his lip in the dark. “What you’re showing is more than empathy. She might have been a kid, but so were you.” 

Swallowing, I stare at him for much longer than I’ve ever let myself. I know he can’t see me, but the strange sensation that he’s aware of my blatant analysis still cuts through me. There are a lot of things I don’t let myself think about. Easier that way, Yelena once said when we were still programmed killers, sometimes I wish they’d make us forget, like the Winter Soldier. Natasha didn’t like thinking about things either...she was strong and strong people leave weaknesses like that behind. And if they have to think about it, they don’t do it while extremely vulnerable to someone who is little more than a stranger. 

I wipe my hands on the fabric of my stealth suit. “Well I’m not one anymore.” The words are muttered, sharper than they should be as I push myself to stand. Without checking to see if he’s stood, I turn. “I need to--I um I’m gonna--” Nausea spikes in my stomach, a chill that has nothing to do with the weather running through me. “I need to go.”

He lets me walk away. I move to jump onto a shipping container the way I normally would, but my body caves forward before I can. Falling to my knees, palms scrapping against the ground, I find myself thinking how much weaker I must be becoming. 

“You pulled a knife out of yourself to attack someone.” A part of me is upset that he didn’t leave before my collapse. My pride is deeply, deeply wounded. “Which was resourceful, but not the best self preservation tactic.” 

Something in me wants to laugh. Self preservation was the last thing the Red Room cared about. There was always another widow, another stolen girl to replace you. It’s strange to think about that now, as I struggle not to pant. My eyes don’t seem to want to stay open. Daredevil crouches towards me, one hand slowly extending towards me in the dark. He’s treating me akin to the way one would treat a wounded dog found in an alley. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

I should push him away. There’s nothing to be gained from this. "I’m fine.” That’s not something I’m completely sure of. I wasn’t trained to heal, I was trained to kill myself if I was put out of commission. “There’s no reason to go soft on me.” 

He ignores my joke, moving his hand until he finds my cheek. “You’re cold.” 

It takes me a moment to force out the words, “It’s November.” 

Daredevil’s hand doesn’t move. My eyes flutter shut. “Crimson.” I barely manage to squint my eyes open. “Stay awake.” His voice feels farther now than ever. “Open your eyes.” 

I manage to just barely listen. I see him for a brief moment before everything fades to black. 

Final Girl (Part 5)

A/n she’s here and she’s big enough to probably have been two parts lol, so feel free to carve out some you time to absorb all of this, also there are scene breaks in this one like in chapter 4, but no smut warnings!!

also feedback is always super appreciated :))

Final Girl Series Masterlist  (updated parts 1 - 9 and extras)

Series Summary:  Y/n can’t believe that she has to leave the only home she’s ever known just because her mom’s latest boyfriend has a house in some town in California. Just as she’s starting to think that Woodsboro might not be that bad, something life altering happens after she agrees to sleep over at  Becker’s house. Now her name is practically synonymous with Ghostface’s. 

Chapter Summary: Billy and Stu are throwing a party that's basically couple's only. Good thing a guy in Y/n's english class is always trying to ask her out...and a good thing that Gloria isn't around to stop Y/n from raiding her closet.

----

What. The. Fuck.

Like actually.

The first thing I registered when I woke up was the sunlight that slipped in past my curtains. The second thing I registered was how comfortable I was. I don't think I've been this comfortable sleeping since what happened to Casey. The third thing I registered was the hand on my back and arm.

I'm half curled into Billy, and Stu's asleep on his back, my arm pulled to his chest. Okay--this isn't the most shocking thing ever. There was alcohol yesterday, and drunk me is touchy. The fact that we all passed out in bed isn't shocking. What’s shocking is the fact that it’s...weirdly nice. 

This is the first time since Casey’s that I slept through the night without a nightmare. Was that because of the presence of other people or alcohol, I’m not sure, but either way the feeling of a full night of rest is refreshing.

I start to sit up slowly, doing my best not to shift enough to disturb either of them. Before my spine can straighten, a firm touch on my back has me moving back down. I slump against Billy, throwing a more confused than truly annoyed glare in his direction. “Billy.” 

“What?” The question is mumbled, Billy doesn’t even bother looking at me. “I’m comfortable.”

Rolling my eyes, I briefly consider pushing away from him, but he does have a point. It is comfortable, and he’s warm. “That makes one of us.” 

At that, he opens his eyes just enough to squint. I take a deep breath, a little too aware of the way he’s looking at me. Even jokingly lying to Billy feels exposing. I always feel like he can instantly tell.

He doesn’t call me out on it. At least, not directly, “You seemed comfortable last night.” The comment is just a tiny bit more suggestive than it needs to be. I sit up just enough to softly smack his chest. “You’re the one that fell asleep on me,” he defends, “So asleep that you snored.” 

My jaw drops in offense. “I do not snore.” 

The indignation in my whisper makes him grin. “Why are you whispering?” I tilt my head in Stu’s direction. As far as I can tell, he’s dead asleep and not loosening his hold on my arm any time soon.  Billy’s gaze briefly flits over to Stu’s sleeping form. “He sleeps through everything.” When I don’t ease, Billy continues, “He slept through all that snoring.” 

If looks could kill, I’d be a murderer. “You’re getting kicked out.” 

“You’re mean in the mornings.”

“It’s not the morning, it’s...” I sit up a little more, looking at the digital alarm clock on my nightstand. “It’s 12:09. Wow, I really passed out.” 

My mind begins to work in overdrive as I try to remember as many details about last night as possible. The gist of it is pretty clear, but what if I’m missing something? 

“Don’t worry,” Billy says, reading my face easily, “You were fine. A little touchy, but you fell asleep right after The Shining.” 

If I’m remembering correctly, I wasn’t the only one being a little too touchy. “Right.” 

“What’s wrong?” 

Eyes focusing on nothing in particular, I mull over my options. It’s not like there’s anything particular for me to complain about. I don’t remember being beyond uncomfortable or anything, just a little bit unsure. And I really don’t want to ruin everything by overreacting when I’m not even sure what my problem is. 

“Nothing.” My fingers move, nervously tracing the floral pattern of my sheets. “The morning after drinking feels weird.” 

“I thought it wasn’t the morning.” He barely pays any attention to the way I roll my eyes. “What are you thinking about?” 

“Nothing, really.” I sit up, tugging my arm away from Stu as gently as I can. The space makes it easier to organize my thoughts. “Just thinking about yesterday feels a little weird. I don’t think I was the touchiest person last night.” My eyes awkwardly flit towards the one person that’s still asleep.

Billy shifts, watching me carefully. “He had been drinking since before I got to his place. He was moody, something about his sister and his parents.”

At that, I freeze, my breath catching itself in my throat. Mentions of their families, of what their dynamics are like beneath public perception, are rare...and always a little heartbreaking. “Oh.” 

“I wouldn’t bring it up.” His warning isn’t needed. Early on, I learned that this is the one topic I can’t get away with talking about. Still, I nod. “And you know how he is, a ‘knock it off’ is a joke until he’s beyond sure you’re serious. Especially with you.” 

My eyes snap away from the even rise and fall of Stu’s chest. “Especially with me?” 

Billy’s hesitant, thinking over his words. “Your attention means a lot to him.” 

I can’t bring myself to look at Billy. I can’t bring myself to do anything but stare at Stu. “Still,” I mumble after a second, “Boundaries.” 

“I’ll bring it up to him when he’s more receptive.” Probably a good idea. The last thing I want is to push Stu when he’s going through something that he’s sensitive about. Maybe my silence comes off as hesitance because Billy continues, “You know he’d never do anything to hurt you on purpose.” 

“Yeah.” I do know that, but I’m starting to feel like that doesn’t excuse everything. There are things that matter more than intentions. It’s hard to be mad at Stu when he’s asleep. When he’s this relaxed, he looks smaller, almost more vulnerable. 

From what I’ve pieced together through bits and pieces, Stu’s parents are rarely around physically, and when they do come home, they don’t exactly express a lot of interest in their son. I’ve heard even less about Stu’s sister. I only know she exists because of the one time I went to Stu’s house. There was a framed photo of a girl, and when Stu mumbled something about a sister, my surprise was clear. 

Growing up, I had always wanted a sibling, so I got a little excited. Stu’s reaction let me know that my enthusiasm wasn’t taken the right way. I didn’t get it until Billy mentioned that Leslie isn’t Stu’s favorite topic. He told me enough to let me know that it has to do with parental approval and attention.

Even though the way Stu acted yesterday was confusing and out of bounds, knowing where his head was at makes it harder to be upset at him.

Deciding that I don’t want to think about this anymore, I fold my hands on my lap.“How long do you think it’ll take him to wake up?”

“There’s no telling with Stu.” Billy moves so that he’s sitting up fully.

Frowning, I let out a too dramatic sigh. “I wanted pancakes.” 

The corner of Billy’s lips turn upwards. “You wanted pancakes the last time you were hung over.”

I lean back, my arm supporting my weight. “Not hungover,” I defend, “Just want pancakes. They’re the perfect after-drinking food.” 

“We can wake him up.” 

“Don’t.” Billy’s arm is already half extended, I grab his wrist, my words a whispered hiss, “He said he hasn’t been sleeping great. Let him get some rest.” 

Billy’s regarding me in a way that leaves me still. I think he might have found something about that amusing. “Protective.” 

I roll my eyes. “He needs his sleep.” Stu isn’t the best at taking care of himself. What teenage boy is? And it’s not like his parents are checking in on him.

Okay, staring at Stu while he sleeps is weird of me. I turn my head to look at Billy. The bags under his eyes are made more prominent by the light coming in through my window. And is it just me looking for an excuse to worry or does he seem thin? Now that I’m thinking about it, I can’t think of anyone that’d be really looking out for Billy either. 

The few things he’s mentioned about his dad don’t make him seem like a caretaker, especially considering that up until kinda recently, Billy’s mom was around. “Are you getting enough sleep?” 

Oh my god, did I just ask that out loud? Billy turns his head, eyes softening just a little. “Worried about me?” Ugh, this is what I get for being nice. I cross my legs, eyeing him cautiously. “I sleep okay.” Before I can respond, Billy tacts on, “You?” 

“Fine,” I reply too quickly, “Better before the whole thing with Casey.” Scratching the inside of my wrist, I try to force away the images that come to mind. It’s strange, how quiet the killer and the case as a whole have been. “But I guess that’s normal.”

Billy reaches forward, long fingers wrapping around my wrist before I can pick at the skin too much. “If you can’t sleep and you need something to do, you can call me.” 

The offer is comforting. “Thanks, you’re a good friend.” His touch is warm, anchoring. “You both are. Not to make things weird, but you guys have been really helpful through all of this.”

“That doesn’t make things weird.” His response is delayed. 

I look up, hoping to get a little more out of his expression, but his head is angled downwards. He’s staring at my sheets. “Let’s go make pancakes.” 

Billy sits up even more before standing. I follow him, careful to not bother Stu as I move off of the bed. “You’re going to leave him here unsupervised?” 

It’s clearly a joke, but I still shrug as I consider my response. “If he wakes up and decides to be nosy and look through my drawers, all he’ll find is proof of my sticky note addiction.” 

----

This is nothing like what happened that night. I repeat that in my head again and again as I watch the stove. This isn’t like Casey’s and there are too many differences for me to feel like this. 

It’s daytime. What happened at Casey’s was late at night. And I-I wasn’t really using a pan, it was just Jiffy Pop. There have been no weird phone calls. There’s been nothing. I’m fine. 

I repeat the differences between now and then in my head like a mantra as I pour the pancake batter. It sizzles as it expands into the form of a lopsided circle. Forcing my focus to remain on what’s in front of me, I grab the spatula, lifting the pancake’s side to check how cooked the bottom side is. 

“Almost done?” 

“Patience is a virtue.”

Billy lets out a breath, supporting his weight with his arms as he leans against the kitchen counter. “You okay?”

I nod, tilting the pan slightly. “When it happened,” my knuckles lighten as I tighten my grip on the pan’s handle, “When Casey got that first call, I was standing in front of her stove.” Shaking my head to dismiss the potential downward spiral, I lift the edge of the pancake. “I can’t freak out every time I’m behind a stove for the rest of my life.” 

“It hasn’t been that long,” Billy says patiently.

I flip the pancake. The loud hiss that follows leads me down a different road of memories. “I have good stove memories, too.” A weird thing to say, but it’s better than what I was thinking of. “When I was little, my mom didn’t have anyone to watch me and I was a terror unless I had something to do. So she used to sit me down on the counter next to the hot stove and had me mix the batter. It became such a thing she’d even put me on the counter when she was just baking. My mom went through a real baking phase from the time she was pregnant until around the time I started school.” 

Lifting the pancake from the pan and onto the plate, I look up at Billy before pouring some more batter onto the pan. There’s a pensive quality to his expression that’s vaguely familiar. It reminds me of that brief second in the hospital after my mom came in. What had I called that look then? Wistful. “I used to trail my mom around the kitchen. She’d pretend to let me help her.” Focusing on the spatula in my hand, I try to keep my expression casual. “That was awhile ago.” 

I abandon the utensil on the counter. Not being able to help myself, I turn and let myself look at him. What happened to his mother? She always comes up fleetingly, in ways that make it clear it’s a sensitive topic. I don’t think she’s passed away, the energy he reserves for her is too touchy. Maybe a messy divorce? I still remember that one summer my dad petitioned the court for custody and how much that sucked.

He’s closer than I realized. My hand reaches for his. He lets me intertwine our fingers. “Billy...” Thee’s something I should say. Something comforting and not pushy. Nothing good comes to mind. My thoughts are clouded by Billy’s eyes. My lips part, because he’s waiting for me to say something. 

The smell of burning snaps me out of it. Snapping my head towards the stove, I release Billy’s hand. I yank the pan off of the stove and quickly drop it into the sink. Turning on the water, I begin fanning out the smoke. “Great, the one thing my mom told me not to do was trigger the fire alarm again.” 

“Again?” 

Turning away from the sink, I halfheartedly glare at Billy. “Long story and I’m not as responsible for it as that made me sound.” 

He eyes me skeptically, taking a step forward. “Really?” 

Before I can think of a response or get too lost in thought, an unexpected, tired voice interrupts us. “What are you guys up to?” 

“Stu!” I grin, leaning against the counter. “We’re making pancakes.” 

At that, Stu blinks, glancing at Billy, then at the still smoking pan, and finally, at me. “Really?” 

“Trying to, at least,” I correct, “I’m way better at making them than it looks right now.”

Stu walks towards us with lazy steps. “I’m sure.” He ignores my pointed look, walking further into the room until he’s practically within reach. Stu extends an arm, vaguely reaching for me. I give in, closing the distance between us. He’s quick to wrap his arms around me gently. “Morning, angel.” 

“Morning? It’s like 12:30.” 

He runs his hand up and down my back for a second before I slip out of his grasp gently. “You’re the one making pancakes.” 

I return to the sink, scraping the burnt pancake batter off of the pan. “Fair.” I turn off the sink after everything’s clean enough for me to start working again.

----

Reaching forward, I grab a few pieces of popcorn from the bowl that Stu stole from me. He turns his head, jokingly narrowing his eyes. “Hey, I made that.”

I pop a piece into my mouth. “Because I asked you to.”

“First, you make us watch this movie and now you’re stealing my popcorn.”

“First off, I didn’t make you watch this. You made a hospital bed promise to watch Clueless with me. You can’t back out of hospital bed promises, that’s like, karmic bad luck.” I pull my legs beneath me, sitting up a little more. “Second, it’s my popcorn, all you did was pop it. And I made you pancakes earlier!” 

He shifts, pulling the plastic bowl towards him a little more. “Popping is the popcorn, without that it’s just kernels.” He ignores my glare. “Sorry, babe, but it’s mine.”

My last two pieces of popcorn go into my mouth. “Fine--if I say its yours, will you share?”

Stu sinks further into my couch, weighing his options. After a second, he shifts the bowl, leaning it in my direction. “Only for you.”

“We’re watching a movie.” Billy’s whisper is a little bit sharper than usual, irritated.

Billy being the kind of person to shush people for the smallest things during a movie makes sense. Even last night when I was basically wasted, he gave me a dirty look for mumbling something a little too loudly during The Shining. But that was the kind of movie he cares about.

I watch him as he stares at the TV. “Did you just shush me during Clueless?” He doesn’t react, just continues watching. I dramatically gasp, eyes widening. “Oh my god,” I don’t bother hiding the grin in my voice, “Are you, Billy Loomis, liking Clueless?”

“If you’re going to make me watch something, you should at least let me pay attention.” I press my hand against my mouth in an attempt to suppress a laugh. He is so busted. “If you don’t stop looking at me like that, I’m leaving.”

Holding my hands up in defense, I force myself to turn. “There’s nothing wrong with--”

“I’m leaving.”

“No!” My hand stretches forward, grabbing Billy’s arm. “It was a joke. I’ll stop. Promise.”

Billy looks at me skeptically for a long second. Cher says something to Dionne, and his eyes flit towards the screen, betraying him. “Fine,” he mumbles dismissively, attention already leaving me. 

The second this movie is over, he’s never hearing the end of it. Oh, maybe if I play my cards right I’ll be able to get him to watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Unlikely, but I can dream. 

I don’t know how the late morning turned into us watching a movie, but the company’s nice. I’m not used to an empty house and Billy and Stu are the kind of people that are hard to get tired of. Stu’s sense of humor becomes a little much after awhile, but telling him off is half the fun. 

Billy relaxes against the couch, his arm eases as he turns over his palm. He intertwines our fingers before I can pull my arm back. 

With the exception of a few comments Stu mumbled under his breath, the rest of the movie is watched with no interruptions. By the end of it, Stu’s head is on my shoulder and Billy’s still loosely holding my hand. 

“I really promised you I’d watch that.” Rolling my eyes, I softly elbow Stu’s side. “Mean.” Before I can scold him for starting it, he moves on, “When is your mom getting back?” 

Weird question, but I guess not too weird for Stu. “Um, Tuesday after school, right after the long weekend.” A part of me wishes we had school on Monday, at least it’d be something to do while I wait for my mom to come home. The more time I spend with people, the safer I feel. “Why? Do you have plans that’d get me in trouble or something?” 

He moves away enough to look at me before throwing an arm around my shoulders. “I’ll get you in trouble whenever, angel.” Stu squeezes my arm, looking me over with a suggestive glint behind his eyes. “Except for tonight. Billy boy and I have places we need to be. Big, empty house plans.” 

Oh. It’s not like I expected them to spend all weekend with me, but the vagueness of the statement makes me feel a little awkward. “‘Big empty house plans’ sounds like a code for an orgy.” 

“Someone’s jealous.” 

I half-scoff-half-laugh, “Of your orgy?” 

Stu’s fingers press into the skin of my arm again. This time, the touch is a little firmer and less easy going. He raises his eyebrows up and down teasingly.

“Not an orgy,” Billy corrects, throwing a look at Stu that comes and goes so quickly, I can’t even start to interpret it, “Just a hangout with some guys and their girlfriends.” 

I might not have the most experience with having friends that are (semi-)popular, and being left out of secret plans is a sore spot for me, but that sounds a little too much like: ‘Stu’s throwing a party that we don’t want to tell you about.’ But that’s a lot to assume from one sentence. “Still sounds like an orgy.” 

“I’d invite you to my orgy,” Stu hums almost sweetly, his hand moving up and down my arm. 

I shrug out of his grasp. “Really?” 

“Eh.” Stu tries holding onto me as I continue to scoot away from him. “But only because an orgy’s a rough way to lose your virginity.” 

Wow. Heat rushes to my face and the only thing that I’m thinking about is that I can’t just sit here silently. “What makes you think I’m a virgin?” Bad idea. Bad idea. Bad, bad idea. I shouldn’t humor him because now I’m going to have to have a conversation about virginity. “I was hot shit in Texas.” 

There’s some odd quality to Stu’s grin. If I didn’t know better, I’d feel like he was baring his teeth. “You’re still hot shit, babe, that has nothing to do with it.” He answers my unspoken question before I can think to change the subject, “With the way your mom is about guys and how you listen to h--” 

“I don’t always listen to my mom.” God, I’ve never felt like more of a little kid. “I-I drink and I don’t tell her about it.” 

“But you’re mom’s okay with drinking.” My head turns towards Billy. “The first time I came over she was trying to convince you to get wine drunk with her so that you could watch some movies together.” 

Do my mom and I enjoy the occasional tipsy movie night? Yes. Did Billy come over to work on a project with me while my mom was in the middle of trying to convince me to do just that? Yes. Did I need that thrown into my face right now? 

Absolutely not. “What’s your point?” 

“You always listen to your mom, it’s just not a problem because she basically lets you do whatever.”

Damn. Billy’s completely right, and so is Stu. I’ve never had sex or a boyfriend. I’ve never even had a first kiss because the one time I almost did at Chloe Woods’s 13th birthday party I freaked out and didn’t. They can never know that. 

“Okay, I’m done talking to you guys about whether I have or haven’t had sex.” Scratching the back of my wrist, I try to keep my face just slightly annoyed. “And it’s weird that you’re connecting it so much to my mom.” I need a change of topic, and I need one fast. I think through all of the potential topics and how to throw this back at them. “Is that thing you’re doing at your house tonight the couples only thing a bunch of football players are going to?” 

Stu’s smug grin turns, taking on an undertone that feels mean. “Pieced that together. You gonna put amateur detective on your journalism school application?”

I shrug, not loving this energy. “A few guys in my English class were talking about it on Tuesday.” The more time I spend with Stu and Billy, the more I notice their pension for staring when they want you to say more. “I forgot about it until Noel Thompson brought it up.” 

“When did you talk to Noel Thompson?” Billy’s question comes out in a way that almost seems like an accusation. 

“Uh, Friday, I’m pretty sure.” I scratch softly at my knee. “He came by to give me the homework I missed, which was nice because Mrs. Tegan assigned us another essay.” After a second, I meet Billy’s gaze, “He asked me if I wanted to go, I said I wasn’t really up for anything big, but he left his number in case I changed my mind.” 

Oh! I have his number, maybe I could still go. Noel’s nice, and it’s not like I’ve ever been asked out before. Plus, he’s like the only guy in my English class that doesn’t have super sexist takes on our readings. “Oh, now that I know it’s at your place, maybe I should call him. That could be fun since you guys and Sid and Tate are gonna be there.”

“Noel Thompson yells a lot,” Billy says, voice weirdly low, “You’re too sensitive to go out with him.” 

He doesn’t seem like the yelling type, but Billy’s demeanor keeps me from correcting him. “I wouldn’t be dating him, it’s just one party.” 

“We never said it was a party.”

“Noel did.” I bite my tongue a second too late. The reaction came out too quickly. It makes me look defensive. 

Stu’s touch on my forearm nearly makes me jump. “So you want to believe Noel because he came over to your house to flirt with you?” Not what happened, and before I can even open my mouth to defend myself, Stu continues, “I wasn’t going to say anything, but since you’re being naive, I feel like I have to tell you. Noel broke up with his last three girlfriends like a week after fucking them for the first time.”

Nails digging into the skin of my palm, I find it nearly impossible to meet Stu’s stare. “If you don’t want me there or don’t want me going with you, that’s fine, but don’t lie to me like I’m stupid.” What’s with them? One minute, they’re the sweetest, and then the next, they’re trying to parent me. “I get that it’s probably not fun to know that your friend’s a disaster when she drinks because then you feel like you need to babysit her, but I won’t be your problem tonight.”

“You’re always our problem.” 

I try pulling my arm away from Stu, but he’s holding on too tight. “Excuse me?” 

“Like you’re not going to come crying to us the second he tries something you don’t like.” 

Didn’t realize my friendship was so annoying considering that they literally snuck into my house last night. “If you don’t want me telling you about things anymore, congratulations, because I won’t.” I try yanking my arm away again, this time being more firm about it. Stu’s grip is too much, and for the first time ever, that sends a pinprick of nerves through me. “Stu, let go.” 

Billy places a hand over Stu’s. At that, Stu loosens his hold on me. “Stu’s just saying we don’t like seeing you upset.” There’s something about Billy’s calmness that bugs me. It’s feels as forced as the voice I used when I worked at the mall and a woman I couldn’t yell at kept snapping at me. “Noel’s an asshole, ask Sid if you want. He creeps her out.” 

That’s likely true. Sid gave me a bit of a ‘be careful’ look when she saw me talking to him after class once. “I appreciate the concern, but it’s not a big deal. It’s not even an actual date.” 

“It’s not a good idea,” Billy continues, “He’s going to hurt you.”

“I get that you’re worried, and that’s nice of you, but I can handle myself.” 

Stu releases my arm completely, sinking into himself, “We just want a night where it’s just us and our girlfriends. You’re around all the time.”

My lips part, but no words come out. Nothing angry or considerate, just silence. I’m 14 again and finding out that while I called all my friend’s houses asking if they wanted to hang out, they were out together. I’m 12 again and fighting with my mom, defending my dad for standing me up on my birthday just to find out that she lied for him. He wasn’t working. He was at my stepsister’s cello recital. 

Every moment in which I’ve been too much. Too attached, too needy, too dependent on others hits me at full force. And it hurts. And it’s unfair...it’s not like I ask them to be around all the time. I didn’t ask them to come over last night. 

But I do involve myself in a lot of the things they do with Sid and Tatum. Mall trips, coffee runs, movie nights. Sometimes Randy’s there as well, but there have been times where I just kinda involved myself. 

I thought we were all friends and that no one minded. This wouldn’t be the first time I made that mistake. Is this just a Stu and Billy thing or do Tatum and Sidney feel the same way? 

“We can do something tomorrow.” Billy’s voice is still patient, but it doesn’t feel fake anymore. I can’t tell if that makes me feel better or worse. “I’ll drive you to the big bookstore on the other side of town.” 

That’s something I’d normally jump at. It’s one of the worst parts of having no license. No one ever wants to take me to the big bookstore because it’s far and I take forever. There’s nothing more time consuming than me in a bookstore with a cafe inside of it. 

I nod. “Yeah, that’d be nice.” Billy’s eyes are heavy on me. I don’t like it. “Maybe--I um, I have a lot of homework I want to get done before my mom gets back. She takes up a lot of time after trips, no matter how small. She has a thing about taking pictures.” 

“Don’t be mad at me, Stu’s the one that said it.” 

“Like you’ve never said it.” 

Great, now I have to think of them talking about how annoying and clingy I am. “I’m not mad.” 

“Stu’s an idiot, he only said that so that you’d be mad at both of us.” Billy’s words are too carefully picked. He didn’t deny thinking that. “You can do your school stuff tonight, that way we can go tomorrow.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” I need to act more okay about all of this before they accuse me of making a big deal about this. It’s bad enough that they already think I’m clingy. “You know I should probably start soon and I’m feeling kinda tired.” 

Billy turns to face forward. “You’re kicking us out.” 

His voice sounds so small I’d backtrack if it wasn’t for my thoughts. “I’m feeling weird, I’m not sure you’re supposed to drink with a concussion, which could explain why I got drunk so fast yesterday. I think I need a nap before I start working on anything.” I stare at my lap. “That way I’ll have time to finish it all before tomorrow. Besides, you guys have that thing to get ready for.”

At that, Billy seems to unfreeze. He nods. “Yeah, you’re right.” He moves to stand. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, sounds good.”

Stu gets up without looking at me. Whatever his problem is. Who is he to call me clingy when he literally got drunk and demanded to stay at my house last night? I say one last goodbye and the two of them leave. 

Never have I wanted to talk to my mom and dissect an interaction more, but I can’t without getting into the whole thing. I could edit out the details so that she doesn’t kill me, but I don’t want to get into all of that. Lying and keeping things from her isn’t my strong suit, and I don’t have the energy. 

Maybe I should just do homework. 

----

“Oh my god, you know what you have to do, right?” Hallie’s voice rings so loudly throughout the phone’s receiver that I have to push it away. “And if you say homework, I’m hanging up and never talking to you again. Please tell me you’re not doing homework.” 

I frown at the essay in front of me. “You’ve been friends with me long enough to know that that’s my go to panic move.” 

Hallie and I have been each other’s go to’s since we met in the first grade. I had been having a terrible day, and then when Samantha Colts made fun of me for reading during recess, Hallie pushed her off the swings. The teacher asked me if I saw what happened and I said I didn’t see anything. It was my first lie to an authority figure and Hallie’s first time hurting someone for me. 

“Okay, but this is different. You can’t let guys walk all over you like that. if you let them get away with it once, they will do it a thousand times.” Not only did I call Hallie because of how close we are, I also called her because she’s always so opinionated when it comes to guys. Not that this is really a ‘guy’ situation, because it’s not like I’m dating them. But still, they’re boys, and I’ve never cared about a guy’s opinion so much before. “You need to hang up on me, call that football player, and show up, looking super hot. Don’t acknowledge Billy or Stu unless they walk up to you and then be like ‘oh, haven’t noticed you, I’ve been busy.’” 

Do I want to do that? I mean, it’d be fun to get in a jab about that whole clingy thing, but it’s conflictive, and arguing with them is exhausting. “I don’t know.” 

“Well, I do,” she continues, “Go to that party in the outfit Gloria wore to chaperon our middle school dance. The one that almost got her called into the principal’s office.” 

Ugh...my mom was about to turn 30 when I was in middle school, and the crisis of leaving her 20s showed. “It’s late, Noel probably already has a date.” 

“So? Tell him that your schedule just cleared up and that you’re a better time than whoever he’s replaced you with.” I love Hallie, but she’s not like me. When she wants someone, she has them wrapped around her finger in an instant. “You’re just using that as an excuse. Go out, have fun, make them eat their hearts out.” 

I roll my eyes. “They’re not going to care that much. They have girlfriends, remember? It’s not like that.” 

“Guys are weird about seeing you with other guys, even if you’re just friends. It’s like a psychological thing, like they want you around as an option or think that you’re gonna get stollen or something. I don’t know. People have studied it.” 

While I doubt that, she’s never given me bad boy advice before. “I just don’t want this one thing to ruin our friendship. Maybe I should give them the space they want.” I groan, going from sad to angry. “You know what, screw them. If they don’t want to be friends with me anymore than who needs them?”

“No, those are your daddy issues talking. Just because you’re mad at a guy doesn’t mean you’re never going to talk again.” After a second of silence, Hallie asks, “Are Billy and Stu hot? I’m imagining them really hot.” 

This is the exact kind of question Hallie would ask, but I can’t help feeling embarrassed. “Hallie, they have girlfriends, remember?” 

“Doesn’t answer my question.”

Sighing dramatically, I cautiously eye my room as I pull the receiver even closer to my face. “Yes, they’re hot.” 

She squeals. “I knew it. I cannot wait until I visit.”

The thought of Hallie meeting either Billy or Stu makes my stomach feel unsettled. She earned the nickname Hurricane Hallie when we were kids for a reason. She likes to flit in, let others get wrapped up in the storm when they should be bunkering down, and then she disappears, leaving you alone with the aftermath. I love her, but I don’t want her interfering with my life here just yet. 

“Yeah, hot guys with girlfriends, your speciality.” 

I can practically feel her eye roll. “Yep, that’s me,” she plays along sarcastically, “Now quit stalling and call him. I’m hanging up before you can change your mind. And wear something hot for me, okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll dress up all pretty just for you.” 

She giggles, “Alright, love ya. Call me tomorrow with the details.” 

“Okay, wi--” Before I can finish my good byes, Hallie hangs up. She’s smart, she knew I was like two seconds away from talking myself out of this. 

With a sigh, I flip over the English packet Noel dropped off on Friday. He scribbled his number on the back. I dial it before I can panic. After two rings, he answers. “Hello?” 

“Uh, hi, Noel, it’s me, Y/n, from English.” Ugh--I can feel Hallie facepalming from states away. “I know it’s kinda last minute, but I was wondering if you still wanted to go to that thing?” 

----

Those freaking liars. 

This is a damn party, and honestly, I’m offended that they thought they could get away with lying to me about this. It’s not like I’m social classes below them. At least, not all the time. At the very least, they should have considered that Sidney and Tatum could have brought it up to me. 

Honestly, this whole thing is starting to feel weird. Who throws a party that’s couples only? It feels like the kind of thing old married couples would say to get a group of swingers over to their house. Now I’m starting to feel weird. 

“You look really pretty, by the way.” Noel’s voice snaps me out of my train of thought. “I don’t think I told you that earlier.” 

I smile warmly, feeling the slightest bit easier. I went full in with Hallie’s advice and dug through my mom’s closet until I found her go to chaperoning outfit. Pink, low cut halter top paired with a pink mini skirt. Nothing flashy, just mildly suggestive. “Thank you.” 

He gestures towards Stu’s house with a nod of his head. “You wanna go in?” 

Bracing myself for what I hope won’t be a too drastically eventful night, I nod and let him lead me into the house. The second we step inside, the fact that this is most definitely, undeniably a party hits me at full force. From Noel’s truck, I could hear music coming from the house, but this is something else all together. The energy is absolutely magnetic. So magnetic that when Noel comes back from the kitchen and hands me a beer, I don’t think twice before drinking some.

I’m about halfway done with my third (maybe?) drink when a high pitched, “Y/n!” steals my attention.

I turn, searching for the source of the sound. Oh, it’s Tatum. Am I mad at her? What Stu said kind of made it seem like everyone was getting tired of me. I guess the only thing I can do is act normal until I figure it out. “Tate!” 

She runs up to me in a tipsy-enthusiastic way. I let her pull me into a hug. “I was starting to miss you. I even wanted to call you to come over but Stu hasn’t given me a minute.”  

The mention of Stu’s name leaves me feeling awkward. I almost didn’t notice him lingering around Tatum until she mentioned it. He places an arm around her shoulders, squeezing her even tighter as she giggles and pretends to push him away. “I’ve missed you, Tay.”

She rolls her eyes, pulling on Stu’s shirt slightly. “Boys are overrated. We should have a girls day soon.” 

That sounds nice, especially since I don’t think I’ll be spending as much time around Billy and Stu. “Yeah, we should go get our nails done or something soon.” 

“Yes,” she grins, “Oh my god, are you here with Noel Thompson? We saw you walk in with him earlier, I wanted to say ‘hi’ then, but I lost you.” 

Okay, maybe Tatum’s a little more than just tipsy. “That’s okay,” I giggle, “And yeah, I’m here with Noel, he’s just grabbing another drink. He came to my place to bring me some homework from English and then asked me if I wanted to come with him.” 

“Oh, that’s cute,” she hums, “Just be careful, though. I’ve heard enough girls crying over him in the school bathroom.” 

Stu’s lack of attention is starting to feel pointed as he continues to be all over Tate. I guess that’s what he wants tonight, but he could come up for air long enough to say hi. Whatever, if he doesn’t want to talk to me, I don’t want to talk to him. 

“I know, I know. It’s casual.” 

“Good,” she agrees, “I’m gonna go get another drink, but you should find Sidney when you get the chance, she missed you, too.” 

Oh. Both Sid and Tate wanted me here. So Stu and Billy are the ones that have problems with me. Tate circles her way out of Stu’s grasp, laughing and throwing a look over her shoulder once she finally escapes. After she disappears into the crowd, I’m left alone with Stu. 

Just when I’m about to break and say something to him, Noel returns, swinging an arm over my shoulder and pulling me towards him. “Hey, you wandered off.” 

“Hi,” I grin, “Sorry, I saw someone I knew.”

“Oh, you’re friends with Macher?” Noel turns to look at Stu, who seems to snap out of a level of aloofness. “How you doing, man? I meant to check in after the whole Casey thing. I know you guys broke up awhile ago, but still, it’s gotta hurt.” 

Wait--did Noel just say Stu used to date Casey? 

How has that not come up? He was literally in the hospital with me after--? I guess that explains why he wasn’t thrilled when he saw me talking to her after homeroom. No one likes it when their friends talk to their exes, but not mentioning it at all? That’s weird.

“Hey, you okay?” Noel squeezes my arm. “You look a little uneasy.” 

“She’s the girl that was at Casey’s the night it happened.” Stu explains, his tone a lot softer than anything he’s used around me since our argument. “She’s still sensitive about it. Aren’t you, angel?” 

I blink twice, taking a long sip of room temperature beer. “I um--” 

“Shit, that was you?” Noel takes an awkward semi-step away from me. “I must’ve forgot it was you. I didn’t mean to bring up any bad memories.”

“It’s fine.” I internally cringe at how fast the answer comes out. “I’m gonna, I need to use the bathroom.” 

Waiting for nothing else, I turn on my heels. The sound of my name is faint in my ears as I rush away from the crowds. I just need a second away from this noise so that I can think. 

“Hey, Y/n.” I nearly jump out of my skin as a hand grabs my arm. I turn too quickly, nearly stumbling into the wall behind me. Noel’s watching me with eyes that ooze sympathy. “I am so sorry about bringing up Casey. I didn’t know you knew her, let alone--” 

“It’s fine,” I breathe through gritted teeth, “I just-I need a second.” Why am I melting down? Because he mentioned her name so casually? Because of the fact that Stu dated her? 

“I didn’t um-I didn’t expect to hear her name. The things that have been making me spaz lately have been so random.” 

Noel nods once, “That makes sense, I can’t even imagine it.” When I don’t ease, Noel drops his arm. “Wanna go into the kitchen? It’s quiet there and I can get you some water. You just-you kinda look like you want to throw up.” 

I nod gently, letting Noel lead me out of the hallway and towards the kitchen. My stomach is in literal tangles, Noel nailed the ‘wanting to throw up’ thing. 

He’s right. Stu’s kitchen is empty and well lit, making it a lot easier to breathe as Noel pulls a water bottle out of a cooler. “Are you feeling okay? You look really freaked out.”  

I twist the lid off of the water bottle before bringing it to my mouth. I take small sips until nearly half the water’s gone. “Do you think it’s weird that Stu never mentioned they used to date?” The second the question is out, I regret it. Noel doesn’t know the situation. I don’t even really know the situation. I can’t start rumors like that based on a bad feeling after an emotional day. Especially not when talking to a guy I barely know. Maybe I could get away with bringing this up to Randy, but not Noel. “Oh my god, I’m a terrible person for asking that.” 

“I don’t think you’re terrible,” Noel starts gently, “It’s natural to question everything after something like this happens.” I nod, fingers twisting the plastic cap between my fingers. “And I honestly don’t think it’s that weird that he didn’t bring it up.” 

My eyebrows draw together at that. I press the cap into the counter with my thumb. “What?” 

“It makes him look super suspicious. I don’t think I’d want to take that kind of heat over a girl I dated sophomore year of high school.” That’s a decent point, I guess. If most people have forgotten you dated someone, why bring it up when it could potentially ruin your life? “Plus, if we’re going to make everyone Casey Becker dated a murder suspect, the police will have their fair share of guys to look through.” 

My thumb digs so deeply into the plastic that I can feel the ridges of the cap dig into my skin. “Are you seriously slut shaming her right now?” God, what is it with men? “My friend’s--she’s gone and you feel the need to make a joke about her dating life?” 

“No!” He blurts out, moving like the implication scalded him. “No, I’m not saying that at all, I’m just saying that I know Stu. He’s a lot and he makes jokes, but he’s not a killer.” Noel shifts when he realizes that I’m not easing, “He’s not like his friend.” 

What? “His friend?” 

Noel leans against the counter. “Him and Billy are pretty close, and Billy seems impulsive and too attached to how people see him. I’ve known them since we were kids, but Billy’s the only one that gives me that vibe, y’know?” When I don’t say anything, he continues, “I’m not saying Billy did it, there’s no proof as far as I know. I’m just saying that’d surprise me less.” Noel’s gaze moves towards the cap I’m still fiddling with. “He’s just a little too...I don’t know--protective?”

The choice of wording cuts through me. While Stu’s up front about everything, Billy’s the one that’s quiet, hard to read, and cares so much about the people he’s close with in an invisible way. The way he reacted to me saying I might come here with Noel tonight demonstrates the distinction between them clearly. Stu was openly bothered, but Billy...he was nice. Maybe too nice? 

Okay, that’s ridiculous. I can’t suspect Billy, the same Billy that was making pancakes with me this morning and grabbed the syrup off of the top shelf when I couldn’t, of murder. Especially not because he seems like less of a wild card than Stu. 

But then again, most killers aren’t the larger than life personalities. The charismatic white guy is the bad guy so often I’m surprised they’re still never the first suspect. 

Ugh. I hate thinking about this. I’ve had too much too drink and my head’s starting to hurt. 

“I don’t think it’s Billy, for the record,” Noel says after I refuse to end our long stretch of silence, “I was just using him as a reference point.” 

It can’t be Billy. It can’t be. I’m drunk and creating conspiracy theories out of panic. I’ve done it before. Two seconds ago I thought it could be Stu just because he didn’t feel like advertising the fact that he used to go out with a murder victim. I can’t just switch up based on whoever’s name I hear while I’m freaking out. 

“Yeah.” My voice sounds hollow, unsure. “Sorry, this is a party, and that was bleak.” 

“You’re fine,” Noel seems genuine, “You’ve been through so much I don’t even know how you’re out of the house. I’d be too scared to ever do anything again.”

I smile at his effort. “Guess I’m tougher than I look.” Letting go of my water bottle, I reach for the beer I abandoned. “No more talk about all of that, let’s just have fun.” 

Noel picks up his own beer bottle, tapping the neck of it against mine. “I’ll drink to that.” 

----

The alcohol, small talk, and forcing myself back into the party was supposed to help my anxiety. It hasn’t. No matter what I do, I can’t stop thinking through every interaction I’ve ever had with Billy. Even the nice things feel weird now. I couldn’t even bring myself to meet his gaze when he nodded in acknowledgement towards me earlier. And when Sid called me over, I pretended not to notice. 

Ugh, I hate myself for letting these ideas get into my head. 

There’s no proof. There’s nothing. And because of that, even if I could form an opinion, no one would believe me. Whenever I mention anything about that night, people look at me like a child that needs to be coddled. Their eyes get all sympathetic as they dismiss me with kind phrases like, anything’s possible and yeah, I think the police should look into that. 

if I put this in the perspective of something I know well, all mysteries have evidence. They all go back to the crime scene. If Randy gets to pretend that this is a scary movie, I can pretend it’s a mystery novel. 

And following that logic, I need to go back to Casey’s house. 

After I pee. God, I don’t feel drunk, but it’s possible considering how many times I’ve abandoned Noel in the last hour to use the bathroom. I don’t hate the excuse to leave, everyone’s getting couple-y and making out and maybe Stu did have a tiny bit of a good reason for telling me not to come tonight. 

Whoever’s in there is taking way too long. I lift my hand to knock again, but before I do, the door opens. The lack of physical object in the way throws me off. My fist flatly lands against a chest. 

“Oh my god, I’m sorry!” I immediately take my hand back, looking up at the person who I accidentally hit. “I am--” The rest of my apology is lost as I realize that it’s Billy. I take two steps back as my heart thrums in my chest. 

“Oh, Billy, it’s you.” Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. A nervous giggle leaves me. “I um-I didn’t see you there.” Shaking my head dramatically, I start over, “I saw you, I just-I didn’t see--before, you know?” 

He regards me cautiously. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Not much,” I mumble, digging my nails into my palms to avoid bouncing on the balls of my feel, “I um--I’m not your problem, anyways, remember?” It’s supposed to be a joke, or maybe an excuse for my aloofness, but it comes out too bitter. “Sorry, um, we can talk more tomorrow. Bookstore, right?” When Billy doesn’t move or say anything, I tilt my chin up, “Bathroom. I need to use the bathroom.” 

Billy tilts his head, his expression unreadable as he takes a step forward. “You jumped when you saw me.” 

My eyes widen. “No.” The denial is too quick, too offended. “I jumped because I didn’t expect to see you, or anyone.” I cross my arms in front of my chest, tying to seem steady. “I’ve been drinking.” I whisper the last word like it’s some kind of secret. 

“I noticed,” Billy says flatly. His hands almost leave his sides like he’s considering trying to help stabilize me. Or do something more cynical. “Maybe you should get your boyfriend to take you home.” 

Swallowing back my dread, I watch him for a long second, “Boyfriend? Oh, Noel, he’s not--I mean he’s nice.” He thinks you could be a murderer. “I don’t think he’s in the going home mood, and I need some air. I’m walking home after this.” 

Billy presses his lips into a thin line. “Let me take you home, make sure you get to bed okay.” 

“No.” The word is basically a pout, and the way I sway slightly doesn’t make things any better. “Not your problem anymore, remember?” 

He pushes himself away from the doorway of the bathroom. Billy stalks towards me slowly. I hold my ground until Billy’s basically leaning over me. At that, I step back, but Billy keeps going until I’m backed into the wall. 

The hallway is empty, but the party is still alive and well around the corner. It feels like a world away with Billy standing this close. “I never said you were a problem and I never said you weren’t mine.” 

His words only half make sense, but the intensity of his tone edges me towards panic. “Billy,” I begin slowly, “I just want to go to the bathroom, splash some water on my face, and then go home.” 

He places a hand next to my head and I feel air claw its way back down my throat at the implication. He’s trapping me. “You’ve been avoiding me all night. Didn’t even say anything to Sid when she tried waving you over.” 

I shake my head the little bit I can in this position, silently praying that I don’t look like a deer caught in headlights. “No...I was just giving you guys the space you asked for.”

Billy leans impossibly closer, his hand sliding off the wall. I hold my breath until his thumb brushes against my cheek. Despite the tension in the air that I’d need a knife to cut through and my own nerves, my body relaxes instantly at the contact. “Do you remember when we first met?” 

It was during lunch. Tatum was the one that first pulled me towards their group and Stu was the one that kept calling me over. It was my first day and I was super nervous about lunch. Stu called me over before I could freak out and then a few seconds later began a joke that turned some kid into a punchline. I remember not being super comfortable, but not wanting to say anything because I couldn’t risk it. Billy had jumped in and saved me from needing to make a comment about it. 

“Yeah,” my voice is too soft, too flighty, “During lunch on my first day.” 

He nods once, eyes taking on a kinder hue. “You know what the first thing I noticed about you was?” Billy doesn’t wait for me to respond, “That you can’t keep a single thought or opinion off of your face.”

Every drop of blood rushes down my body. The corner of Billy’s mouth turns upwards at my expression. “That’s how I know that you’re lying. You don’t want to go home. Where were you going?” 

Staring at him is becoming too difficult. “The bathroom,” I mumble, “And then...Casey’s.” 

And just like that, any cracks in Billy’s demeanor disappear. “Stu’s right when he says you’re one impulse away from playing Nancy Drew.” I don’t say anything, but Billy doesn’t seem to mind my silence. “You’re drunk, you should go home.” 

“I’ll get there.” I try to sound serious as I say, “Go spend some time with your girlfriend, I’m fine.”

Billy looks at me for a long second, the fingers cupping my face pressing slightly into the skin of my neck. Something I don’t recognize flashes across his expression. All at once, it disappears and Billy steps away from me. “Sid would kill me if I let you wander the streets this drunk.” 

“Don’t do me any favors, I’m not trying to be anyone’s responsibility.” 

With a sigh, Billy looks me over again, “I’d worry too.” He studies my reaction, “Friends worry about their friends.” When I don’t protest, Billy continues, “Go to the bathroom, I’ll walk you home after.” 

---- 

I’m being ridiculous. If I don’t start acting normal, Billy’s going to realize that I’m freaking out. If he hasn’t already. 

Shaking the thought out of my system, I keep my eyes on the ground. People saw us leave together. Sid gave me a quick hug and told Billy to take his time keeping an eye on me, considering the fact that no one’s waiting for me at home and I’ve been kinda jumpy. Two girls from two of my different classes waved goodbye to me. I wanted to say goodbye to Noel, but I couldn’t find him. 

The October air bites against my skin. My mom could get away with wearing this in Texas no matter the time of year because it’s actually hot there. I keep my arms tucked into myself for warmth. 

“Here.” Billy’s stopped walking, and now he’s holding his arm out to me. 

I blink, realizing after a second too long that he’s offering me his jacket. He’s looking just past me like he can’t bring himself to meet my eyes. It’s weirdly cute in an awkward way. The endearment that I feel quickly melts into guilt.

I take the jacket, shrugging it on. “Thanks.”

“Are you okay?” Billy takes a step towards me, nearly making me trip off the sidewalk. “Be honest.” When I still can’t bring myself to say anything, Billy’s expression seems to cloud, “We’re not at a party, we’re not at school. It’s just you and me.” 

It’s ironic that the only anchor I feel is the warmth of Billy’s jacket. The patience that he’s looking at me makes the dam break. “I--I feel like I’m going crazy, all the time.” My answer is so honest, my throat feels raw. “And I feel like that because I lived I’m like indebted to the universe or something. Like--like I’m supposed to do something for Casey, but I can’t do anything because I don’t even feel like I can trust my own thoughts.” A small scoff leaves me. I’ve never been this pathetic. “What if I’m never normal again? I-I tried watching the movie that we were gonna watch before it happened the other day and I couldn’t even get through the first five minutes. And I--I loved that movie.” 

By the time I’m done with my rant, Billy is close enough to me to pull me into a hug. I let him, slowly moving my arms back around him. “It’s been a week,” he whispers, “You just need time.” I nod into his chest. “And in the mean time, we can find a better movie than A Nightmare on Elm Street.” 

I move away far enough to wipe at my face with the back of my hands. “Yeah,” I smile stiffly through a sniffle, “I just want to go home and not drink again for a really long time.”

Billy lets go of me. I turn slowly, already starting to walk again. Billy stays behind me. Shit, he picked up on it. I break out into a run, ignoring the confusion in my body. Billy’s footsteps are deceptively quiet behind me. 

We’re only blocks away from my house. I can--I can get there. 

He grabs my forearm, forcing me to face him. “Wh-what’s gotte--” 

“How’d you know what movie was playing?!” Billy pauses, his grip on my arm tightening. “I didn’t tell you. I only told one person, and it-it was the guy on the phone.” His lips part, but before he can speak I stomp on his foot with all of my strength. It doesn’t affect him until I throw all of my weight back, forcing him to loosen his hold just enough for me to squirm away from him. 

I start running again, taking off my wedged heels and throwing them blindly behind me, hoping that they somehow slow him down. Those shoes are more of a hazard than running barefoot. 

Now it’s just me and a race against Billy as I try to think of every horror movie mistake I could possibly make. My instinct is to run through the woods in order to potentially lose him, but that’s literally the opening scene mistake. So I just run fast and straight, staying on the illuminated sidewalk path and never looking behind me to see if he’s still following.

The house is only steps away from me. “Y/n!” Shit. I pick up the pace, ignoring the ache in my side and chest. “Let me explain!” I scramble to unlock the door. Billy’s close. 

Just as I throw open the door, Billy’s fingers brush against my shoulder. A scream that I can’t even recognize as my own bleeds from me as I slam the door behind me. Billy pushes against the wood, but I was expecting him to do that. I use all of my force to shove against the door. After slamming it hard a few times, the door shuts just enough for me to be able to twist the lock into place. 

This isn’t my first time trying to keep an angry man locked out of the house so I know better than to move away from the door while he’s still pounding on it. “You can’t believe that I’d do that.” 

My eyes squeeze shut, tears blurring my vision. “Just go away! Please.” 

“Not if you think I killed them.” He continues to knock and try the door handle. “You think I’d hurt you?”

I’m still struggling to breathe and the adrenaline is starting to wear off. My head is starting to pound. 

A familiar ringing cuts through my emotional haze. The phone. The living room extension is only a few steps away from me. It could be my mom calling because she can’t sleep, or my dad, or maybe even Hallie. All I know is that it’s a lifeline, and Billy’s no longer shaking the front door. 

I keep one hand on the door for as long as I can before picking up the receiver. “Mom?” 

A dark laugh that’s played almost every night in my head since I first heard it absorbs all the hope from my body. “I’ll give you one more guess, doll face, just cause I like you so much.” 

My bones are glass, the phone slips from my grasp. It clatters onto the ground, not loud enough to be heard over my heartbeat. The last time I ignored him, he didn’t take it well. That’s the only reason I find the strength to sit down and pick up the phone. I push myself back so that my back is pressed into the front door.

“You back yet? You’re cute, but I don’t like being ignored.” My breath comes out just shaky enough for it to be audible. “Oh, I hear you. What’s wrong, doll face? Not happy to hear from me?” My lips part, but my voice has completely left me. “Aw, keep the silent treatment up and you’ll hurt my feelings. And I play a lot less nice when my feelings are hurt. Might even have to take it on your buddy Billy Loomis, since you left him locked out like that.” 

Billy? “I-I’m still not sure that this isn’t Billy, but if it’s not leave him alone.” 

“Maybe you’ll believe it’s not him when he turns up gutted like your little friend.” 

The reference to Casey forces my stomach to lurch. I swallow back bile. “Why’d you do that?” I force my hand over my mouth as I almost let out a cry. Did I just kill Billy? “Why-why do that to Casey and just let me live?” Wiping my face with my palm harshly, I try to keep my voice steady, “Why call me now?” 

There’s the slightest bit of motion audible over the receiver. “What can I say, baby doll? I missed your voice.” If I felt any strength left in my body, I would have rolled my eyes at that. “You should already know why I let you live. You said it yourself the first time I called you.” 

“What?” 

He lets out a cruel laugh at such blatant confusion. “I’m not doing all of this to make a bad scary movie. And all the greats have a final girl, you said it yourself.” As his words sink in, a sob threatens to escape the confines of my chest. If he means what he’s saying, then a lot more people are going to die. “And, sweet cheeks, you’re mine.”

The possessive sort of growl that makes up the last word sends a chill straight through me. This game of cat and mouse is starting to make me sick. A floorboard from upstairs creeks and instinct takes over. “But you have to earn it, doll face, no fun if it’s guaranteed.” 

I force myself to stand on shaky legs. He could be in the house. Billy and Stu had no trouble getting in last night, but Billy already knew about my window. My breaths are too shallow as I reach the kitchen, stealing a knife from the block on the counter. 

“You know,” I start, trying to sound braver than I feel, “A lot of times final girls kill the slasher.” 

Another sharp chuckle. “I’m glad I picked you.” 

Footsteps are coming from the stairwell. I grip the knife’s handle, trying to force myself to walk towards the stairs. “You won’t feel that way forever.” 

“Feisty,” the voice either growls or groans, I can’t tell. 

My skin crawls as the steps from the stairs sound closer than ever. I hold the knife out in front of me with shaking hands.

“Y/n, I--” Billy stops in front of me, holding his hands out in front of him. “I just wanted to tell you that I knew the movie because they printed it in the newspaper. It was in the VCR when the police found you and they listed it in that article where they listed everything that was in Casey’s living room.” 

There was that one article that over analyzed everything about what was in Casey’s house. They even listed the lipglosses Casey was showing me and a bottle of opened nail polish we left out. The explanation paired with the fact that the person on the other line is still there leave my head spiraling. 

“Billy?” He’s probably so mad at me and I-I just--how did we end up here? I drop the knife, letting it hit the ground.

“I leave your friend alone and you thank me by ignoring me?” The voice on the other end of the line snaps me out of it. 

After stuttering for a moment, I finally blurt out, “Leave him alone.” 

“Protective,” the voice muses, “Careful, baby doll, I might get jealous.” Before I can get myself to speak again, the line goes dead. 

Billy’s the one that knocks me out if my panicked trance. He delicately places a hand on my shoulder. I can’t breathe. I don’t think I’m crying until my vision turns blurry. He tugs me towards him, placing a hand on my back. He rubs my back soothingly. “You’re okay.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice hoarse, “I’m so sorry, I--” 

“It’s okay,” he whispers, letting me hug him tightly, “It’s okay.” Billy pulls me away just enough so that I can look him in the eye. “We’ll call the police and figure it out, okay?” I nod, but make no move to let go of him. 

----

Taglist: @cole22ann @womenarecannibals @fand0mskullfa1ry @princessleah129 @i-amnotokaywiththis @fvcking-gxddess @suckmyass-things

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A/n things were getting a little too nice and i had to remind y’all hehe

No bcs if stu gave me that energy i would do the same 💀

Whach me cuddle billy and completly ignoring stu ....im so petty

Also i love this series !!

ahh i got mad while writing it lmao 😭

also thank you smm!! <3