#Billy Rocks | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heliads · 9 months ago

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okay, hopefully you have room for more than one request from me !! this time, could i pretty please request billy rocks with a gender-neutral reader, since you know i have to send in my obligatory magnificent seven request ? the reader is a member of the seven and their resident medic, in charge of patching up everyone else’s injuries after a fight. they’ve had a kind of flirting banter thing going on with billy for a while, but neither of them are planning on really doing anything about it anytime soon, until the reader collapses after a battle because they ignored their own injuries in favor of helping the others and billy completely freaks out. when the reader finally wakes up, the others tell them that billy hasn’t left their side the entire time they were out, and after billy soundly scolds them for ignoring their own health, they finally confess ?

again, obviously you don’t have to right this if you’d rather not, but if you do, thank you so much in advance, and i hope you’re doing well !! <3

'living, surviving' - billy rocks

masterlist

He will die tomorrow morning, but now, while the town of Rose Creek is still quiet and dark, Billy Rocks is alive. Alive and alone. No one sees him, no one knows him. He remains invisible, curtained by deep shadow. He looks around him at the wavering lights of candles in windows, and wonders, depressingly, when they’ll get blown out by gunshots. When every glass pane shatters, when every roof collapses, when each body falls and friend goes missing, Billy will remember this night, back when nothing had gone wrong yet.

The wind whistles through the slots in the door out back, bringing with it the vague lilts of laughter and conversation from a few doors down. There are people here who still harbor hopes of walking out of tomorrow morning’s fight alive, and they’ve gathered around fires or drinks to convince themselves that it’ll happen. Not Billy, though. Billy, as per usual, is alone.

He likes being alone, though. It lets him see what others don’t. Billy remembers being a child once, a long time ago in a place that was not this one. A schoolmate of his, a friend, maybe, had shown him a print of an ancient warship in the book with a proud figurehead at the front cut out to look like the head of a god. It was meant to guard the ship, apparently, and keep it from harm.

It had always struck Billy as a rather lonesome thing. One god, brought down to land in the form of a wooden carving, always staring ahead sightlessly and separated from the crew. Forever bond to solitude. Watching out for the men aboard that would never look it in the eyes.

Now, though, Billy thinks that he quite understands it. He is alone now, hidden comfortably in the shadows such that his eyes have adjusted to the darkness. Tucked away in a dark corner, he can see the various inhabitants of Rose Creek nervously passing the time before they’ll likely lose their lives. Lost in drink or card games, doing their best to do too much so their minds can’t sit and think about how little time they’ve got left, nobody has the patience or nerve to check for things hiding in the shadows. They certainly don’t look hard enough to find him.

They wouldn’t if they tried. Billy has had a lot of time to perfect the art of remaining out of sight. He shows off when he wants to, twirling a silver knife just right so the lithe blade reflects the sun like an arc of pure light, but he prefers being quiet. He’ll let Goodnight do the talking, or Billy’s knives. When he’s quiet, he can watch. When he’s quiet, he can learn the secrets about people that they aren’t aware they’re telling. He can guide his crew from the shadows. He can lead them from his place alone above the stormy water.

Usually, no one can find Billy unless he wants them to. The exception, of course, is Goodnight, because as business partners, it became somewhat of a necessity to find Billy when need be, so he’s let that slide. Tonight, though, with Goodnight gone and everyone else highly strung due to the battle looming ahead, Billy doesn’t think he’ll be found.

That makes it even more surprising when he is. Billy sees this new arrival coming, of course, but he assumes they’ll veer off towards the bar, or that they’ll go laugh with the drinkers or the dancers like everyone else sees fit on this restless night. Instead, their path stays true, and they not only find Billy at once but pull up a chair next to him. Like the only thing they want to do on what may be their last night alive is to spend time with him. Like Billy is the only person worth seeing at all.

Ordinarily, Billy Rocks has no problem holding his tongue. He’ll whisper a few biting jokes here or there, typically never above the volume of a sigh, but he’s never had a problem with keeping his peace. Tonight seems to be a night of surprises, though, because Y/N L/N, their resident medic, has hardly sat down before Billy’s asking them cautiously, “You don’t want to be with the others, then?”

Y/N glances towards him, surprised, as if they hadn’t even realized this would be an option. “Now, why would I do that when I’ve got such pleasant company here with me?”

Billy chuckles in spite of himself. “It’s not the most entertaining of company.”

“Mmm,” they hum, “but I like it better that way, I think. Tonight’s not a night for shouting. Seems wrong that way.”

Billy lets out a slow breath. He can feel his fingers curling at his sides, readying themselves for triggers or blades come the next morning. “No, it doesn’t,” he agrees.

Quiet falls. Billy waits for them to leave, but they don’t. They stay, and they smile at him, warm in the lamplight from across the room, and say, “You don’t mind me being here, do you?”

“Of course not,” Billy replies hastily. “Besides, what sort of man would I be to kick out our medic the night before a fight? I can’t risk upsetting you now, sweetheart. You might do something wild, like sew me up with pink thread.”

Y/N laughs. Billy finds himself glad for the isolation again– out there in the main room of the bar, the sound of Y/N’s laughter might have blended in with the stomping of heels, the creaking of wood, but out here, with nothing else to disguise it but his own bated breath, Billy delights in it entirely. The sound curls around him like music, and his fingers twitch again, this time not to reach for a weapon but to hold their laughter. To hold them, maybe. It’s a good thing he knows better. It’s a good thing he doesn’t want that more than anything, because if he did, he might do something foolish like try.

“I’d never mess with you,” they grin. “Promise. It would ruin my reputation.”

“Wouldn’t just ruin your reputation, it would ruin my skin,” Billy grumbles, but he’s smiling again.

Y/N knows it too. They always seem to smile all the brighter when he’s smiling too, like it’s a bet they’ve won. “I wouldn’t dare,” they promise. “Besides, I can’t go threatening one of our best shooters the night before I fight, can I? What sort of friend would I be? I need you on my side to keep me safe.”

Billy arches a brow. “I’ve seen you with a gun, darling. I’m pretty sure you can keep yourself safe all on your own.”

Y/N’s lips curl suggestively. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Something hot rushes through the back of his neck. “I leave it to you to find the fun in a gunfight,” Billy says hoarsely. Changing the subject is the safest thing to do right now. It’s safer than leaning closer, than returning Y/N’s fire with fire. Safer than touching them, which is what he wants to do right now most of all.

This is not the night for that, Billy reminds himself. They’re going to die tomorrow and he won’t cloud either of their judgment. So, even though he wants nothing more than to keep testing this theory and see where they break, he forces himself to pull back and resume a normal conversation. He encourages Y/N to get some rest before everything goes to hell tomorrow, and hopefully, they will. Y/N’ll have a lot of hard work headed their way by dawn. He doesn’t want them any more stressed than they need to be.

The sun rises, bringing trouble with it. Bogue brings a lot of men, too many by Billy’s estimate. He grits his teeth as he watches them ride in, and prepares himself for a long, bloody morning. They’ve set up a small medical center in one of the better protected buildings where Y/N can practice their craft. If Billy can only make sure none of Bogue’s thugs make it to them, he’ll die a happy man.

Y/N, however, doesn’t seem to like the idea of sitting pretty while their friends die. Ordinarily, Billy wouldn’t blame them for that, but he can’t deny that his heart starts racing whenever they sprint out into the streets to tend to the wounds of their fallen friends. Once Goodnight turns up, the other man wastes no time in teasing Billy about his obvious partiality to the brazen medic, but Billy’s only half listening, anyway. He can’t both partake in snide comments and keep Y/N alive, and he’s really only interested in one of those things.

The battle rages on, then, startlingly enough, quiets. Bodies line the streets, both the dead and the injured. Y/N has been moving non stop almost the entire time; how they haven’t passed out from exhaustion, Billy has no clue. He sees them swaying slightly on their feet as they move from patient to patient, and mentally reminds himself to make sure they’re doing alright. He just needs a little more time to clear the enemy from the town, then he’ll be free to check on them.

Once the final thug has been killed or chased off, Billy starts scanning the area for Y/N. A couple friends mention that they saw the medic recently, but none of them can point him in the right direction. He checks the medical center, but it’s only inhabited by the groaning injured, not sunny would-be doctors with a spark in their eye and a quick joke on their tongue.

Heading outside again, Billy completes a slow loop around the building, but he can’t find them anywhere. Panic starting to grow in his chest, he pulls aside Sam when the other man walks by.

“You haven’t seen Y/N around, have you?” Billy asks hastily.

Sam gives him a slow, worried look. “Now that you mention it, I’m not sure that I have. They were keeping plenty busy while the fighting was hot, but it’s been a while since they crossed my path.”

Billy nods, not even sparing the time for a thank you before continuing on his careening search through the city. As he paces down the streets, some of his friends make to approach him, but he brushes them all off. Nothing matters except finding Y/N. Nothing matters except finding Y/N.

And then, almost by accident, he does. It isn’t how he’d expected. Somehow, some naive part of him was hoping he’d find them in the tavern, already with a drink in hand, or surrounded by some awestruck sharpshooters, dazzling them with their wit. Anything that would guarantee their safety. Anything that would keep them out of harm.

In reality, when he finds Y/N, it’s no different than finding any of the other fallen bodies. They’re slumped against the wall of a building, a roll of bandages fallen loosely from their hand. There’s a man unconscious next to them, a friend of theirs who’d evidently suffered from a gash across the arm. Billy spots Y/N’s expert handiwork in the form of a clean wrap across the injury, but the one who seems to need medical care now is Y/N themself.

Hurriedly, he crouches by them, lifting a hand to check for a pulse. “Y/N?” He asks, his voice wavering.

Y/N stirs slightly, their eyes half-lidded. “Billy? That you?”

“It’s me,” he confirms. “Sweetheart, what happened?”

They move slightly, grimacing in pain, and that’s when Billy notices the dark splash of red seeping out of their waistcoat. “Sweetheart,” he repeats unsteadily, “Don’t tell me you got shot, now. You can’t just bleed out like that without getting yourself some help.”

“I had to help him,” Y/N whispers. “That’s what mattered.”

“No, you’re what matters,” Billy hisses. “Fuck the rest. You were supposed to put your health above theirs.”

Y/N manages a slight slip of a grin, not even a half-smile, and the obvious pain it causes them makes Billy’s heart clench in his chest. “Now, what kind of medic would I be if I did that?”

“A safe one,” he sighs. “Now, come on. I’m going to pick you up and get you some help, alright? Don’t you dare close your eyes. I need you to stay with me.”

“I like staying with you,” Y/N mumbles as Billy picks them up.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he tells them.

Y/N feels deathly still in his arms, and Billy doesn’t want to give that a single moment of his attention. All that matters is sprinting back to the medical center; calling for someone, anyone to help him; carefully setting Y/N down on a clear bit of space. He has to be moved away from the table so the doctor can treat them, so intent is Billy on staying within reach, and the second they tell him that Y/N’s going to be okay, he’s right back by their side.

Y/N will wake up soon, they tell him. Just a bit of exhaustion and blood loss. Y/N’s made of tough stuff, they’ll be alright. When they open their eyes again, Billy will be right by their side. This time, he has something he’d like to tell them, and this time, there isn’t anything holding them back from the love they were always meant to share.

requested by @faerieroyal, i hope you enjoy!

all tags list: @wordsarelife

#billy rocks #billy rocks imagines #billy rocks x reader #billy rocks oneshot #magnificent seven #magnificent seven imagines #magnificent seven x reader #magnificent seven oneshot #magnificent seven fanfic #billy rocks fanfic #the magnificent seven #the magnificent seven imagines #the magnificent seven x reader #the magnificent seven oneshot #the magnificent seven fanfic #the magnificent seven (2016)

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heliads · 2 years ago

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MAGNIFICENT SEVEN REQUEST!!!

Okay so I was thinking about this at like three a.m. the other night (as one does), and I could think of no one better to do it justice than you, my beloved Lisa, so here goes: Billy Rocks with a gender-neutral Reader in a Magnificent Seven Grishaverse AU (or just sort of The Magnificent Seven but Grisha exist)??

All of the Seven are Grisha themselves (you can totally pick what kind, but Billy really strikes me as being a Fabrikator), but the Reader is a Heartrender who keeps it a secret and pretends to be a non-Grisha because Heartrenders have kind of an iffy reputation. But when the Seven are in a fight with another gang terrorizing a small town and Billy gets cornered by a man about to shoot him dead, Reader panics and kills the guy by stopping his heart, revealing themself in the process. The group’s pretty much fine with it considering their skills just saved Billy’s life, but this is the first time the Reader’s ever killed anyone and they’re pretty distraught about it. And maybe the fic ends with Billy comforting them and the two of them confessing their feelings for each other??

Of course, if you don’t want to write this, that is totally and completely fine!! Thanks for hearing out my request, and I hope you’re doing well, my beloved!! 💛💛💛

raven raven raven.... as if i were not already deep within magnificent seven brainrot, this fic has changed me fundamentally. enjoy!!

masterlist

A stranger has come to town, and he’s looking for you. He’s not alone, either. The group comes in slow and easy, just when night is about to roll in from dusk’s opener. It gives the people of your town an excuse to stand and stare on their porches under the cover of lighting the lamps.

The comfort of a familiar chore can make anyone feel safer, better; just enough light, and it’s like all the shadows in the world will be gone. Maybe somewhere out there, the Unsea looms and breathes like a sickening thing, but out here, darkness is conquered by a splash of kerosene and the spark of a match. The riders tip their hats and keep moving down the street.

Your townspeople can’t be blamed for a little bit of distrust. West of the Shadow Fold, with nothing in Ravka to protect you, everything’s become a little bit of a wasteland. The ocean chokes out travel, Fjerda and Shu Han threaten to close their jaws on you from above and below, and the Unsea keeps you from running. All anyone can do is settle down with their guards up and try not to die.

Around here, the night never ends. Everything is sweltering twilight, with a great lot of dust blowing in the wind, marking off how many towns have been outcompeted and left behind for dead. Trade dries up by the day. Great men run out of business. The only thing strangers have in common with each other is empty pockets. No wonder the town natives watch the newcomers like thieves. For all they know, the strangers could be just that. All the world’s a hustle, and if you’re not careful, you’ll go from king of the hill to just another victim of a swindle in the span of an hour or two.

They go to the inn first, by means of securing a room for the night. It’s too late to travel further, even if they find their target, so they’ll just have to stay until the next morning at least. Convenient. Makes it harder for you to hide, if that’s the sort of thing you were interested in.

You only find out that someone’s looking for you, or that there are newcomers at all, once the group of them have relocated to a tavern somewhere close by. A young boy, the oldest son of your neighbor, comes running over with the news. He says there’s seven of them, seven men, and all of them walk like danger’s their best damn friend. You scold him lightly for swearing, then gather up your hackles and misgivings and head over.

There are many reasons that someone could be looking for you. This is not your only home nor, you have sense to believe, will it be your last. You’ve run from trouble like it were your shadow, only for it to come creeping back by your heels when you least expect it. Times aren’t always easy for someone like you. Maybe this latest life of yours has been working out pretty well, but that’s no guarantee that it’ll stick around.

This could be someone from an old life or two, or worse, someone who’s gotten wind of the one secret you’ve tried to hide since you were a kid. Grisha aren’t welcome here, no witch or monster or unsainted creature, which is why you never tell a soul what you really are. Sometimes, though. Sometimes, when you’re on your own and a wicked man decides you look like prey, you have to defend yourself. Sometimes that involves revealing yourself even when you’d rather not.

You have never killed anyone. That should be stated first. You have never taken a life in cold blood, nor hot, not even when they’re aiming to kill you first. Despite the fact that, of all the Grisha branches you could have claimed, you were born a Heartrender, you’ve never used your gifts for anything that extreme. You’ve injured, sure, knocked a few people out when you couldn’t avoid it, but you’ve never killed. Never. That would make you– something, you think, something wrong, something not like you.

You avoid it like the plague, but that doesn’t stop people from looking and whispering. If this is someone who’s been hunting you since the olden days, there’s not a whole lot you can do about that. Silently, you mark out your belongings in your head, plan out which ones you’ll need and which can rot away in a home that you never should have trusted as yours for long. Houses are just wood and stone, not something you can keep like anyone else. Monsters don’t get to live, they get to survive.

You might have forgotten that, maybe that’s why whoever’s looking for you was able to catch up while your back was turned. You gather your nerves up in polished metal and gunpowder and mentally press your finger on the trigger. The door to the tavern is in your sights, and you stalk inside without a trace of fear showing on your face, no matter how your heart hammers in your chest.

The doors swing shut behind you, but they’re still swaying like a dancer’s hips by the time your smile starts to shine. You’ve recognized the stranger, and he’s certainly no enemy of yours. You’ve met this man before, and if there’s one thing to identify him more than a face or name, it’s the honor he keeps polished in his heart.

“Sam Chisholm,” you say with a broad grin, “Now, what are you doing in these parts?”

Sam is prone to a smile on occasion, and he treats you to one of those along with a drink. “We need your help, L/N.”

“Help?” You ask, then, “We? I thought you were a solo act.”

“Not anymore,” he says, “Take a seat, we’ve got quite the story to tell.”

You do as told, pulling up a chair in the space they make for you. As Sam spins his tale, you listen with growing incredulity. Turns out Sam met his crew of seven trying to pull some small town out from the yoke of a greedy businessman. The odds weren’t in their favor, and they all probably should have died doing it, but the Saints were on their side and somehow they all managed to pull through.

You’re introduced to the members of the group one by one, and they raise their drinks in greeting as each name is called. There’s Sam, obviously, a self-taught Squaller. It’s fascinating hearing his heart whenever he uses his gifts, not a beat is out of place. Complete mastery. He can make one bullet strafe the sky until the single hunk of metal takes out twenty men.

Then there’s Joshua Faraday, resident Inferni. The branch of the Small Science suits him, you think; even after only having known him for a small bit of time, you can already tell he’s some kind of hothead. Jack Horne, more mountain than man, is an otkazat’sya, but you still wouldn’t like the odds of going up against him in a fistfight, he’d probably take you out in one blow.

Vasquez, outlaw, tells you quite proudly that the only power he’d ever need is that of two revolvers in his hands. Faraday guffaws loudly, shoves him in the shoulder, says as if and proceeds to list out all the ways being an Inferni’s way better than that. Vasquez shoves him back, and you think they might argue for the next few hours until Sam tells them to quit it.

Red Harvest keeps to himself, for the most part, but his eyes track every movement in the room. Tidemaker, someone says he is. No, Durast. No one can decide. He never told them what he was, but what’s obvious is that he’s damn good to have in a fight. He’s a Grisha of some sort, but, much like the Zemeni, he was never raised to place such faith in pointless labels.

All of them seem decent enough to you, but your attention is stuck on two men in the back. Goodnight Robicheaux introduces himself without needing Sam’s guiding words. He’s a soldier, he says. Was a soldier. Now a friend. He didn’t need to be a Grisha to do the things he did in the war. Privately, you think that’ll kill him someday, but Goodnight doesn’t need a stranger to point out how heavily guilt hangs about his shoulders. He’s much too aware of that burden already.

It’s Goodnight’s traveling partner, though, that pulls your focus the most. He regards you with cautious, dark eyes until Sam points him out as Billy Rocks, Fabrikator. He spins a blade back and forth between his fingers, intricate whirlpools of silver, sometimes with his fingers and sometimes with nothing at all. He keeps your gaze until Sam starts talking again. You’re the first to look away, and although it should not be something you remember, it is.

Sam’s found another town that needs his help, and this time, he wants your aid in liberating it. West Ravkan separatists have riled up a small militia and held a village under siege just because the inhabitants were believed to be followers of the crown. Separated from Os Alta by the Unsea, there’s no chance that any soldiers will be sent to free the residents, which leaves the bloody task to local fighters with a sense of benediction.

You almost laugh at that. “Since when have you been sent by the Saints to free the needy? Hell, since when have I? Why come to me?”

Faraday pipes up from the far end of the table. He’d been lost in some cards earlier, but he slaps them down when you ask that. “Actually, I’d like to know the same thing. We’ve all had our time to shine, but why’d we come all this way for some friend of yours?”

“Y/N is not just a friend,” Sam says evenly, “they’re a talented fighter, and, more than that, gifted at strategy. They saved me from a shootout some years back. We survived the last intervention by the skin of our teeth, I’d like a little more reassurance this time around. That comes with adding to our numbers.”

“I’m only one person,” you argue, “Not exactly an army to turn the tides.”

“You’re willing to fight for a good cause,” Sam replies simply, “that’s worth more than a dozen lax soldiers.”

“That assumes I’m on your side. I haven’t agreed yet,” you point out.

Sam arches a brow. “That’s true. We’ll set off tomorrow morning at dawn. If you wish to come with us, we’ll see you then. If not, it was good to see a friend.”

You nod, and turn to pay your tab at the bar. Before you leave, you glance once over your shoulder, and find that someone is still watching. Billy. The knife is still in his hands. He doesn’t seem surprised to be caught staring, and his expression doesn’t change. Unable to stop yourself, you check his heartbeat, but the rhythm is still and even. He’s curious, nothing more. Curious to see what choice you’re going to make.

You’d like to know, too. You go back to your house, lock the door, check it thrice. You haven’t considered fighting in any capacity in a long time, probably since the last time you saw Sam. A battle is dangerous. It gives you the chance to lose control, and if you lose control, you’ll reveal yourself for what you truly are. Not even Sam knows you’re Grisha. It’s not something you can afford to show off.

The smart decision is to stay in hiding. You don’t have to face Sam again, you just won’t show up at dawn tomorrow and nothing will happen. He’s a good man, odds are he won’t think any less of you for not being there. He’ll find another contact and that will be that. They’ll go rescue the town without you and nothing will have changed. Nothing. You’ll rot and die in this town, and your complacence will be what kills you at last.

The sun is just starting to rise when you close the door of your house. You have no idea when you’ll be back, if you’ll live long enough to come back at all. It served you well, this purpose, but perhaps there’s something more to life than just hiding after all.

Sam looks up when he hears the clop of your horse’s hooves. He’s been leaning against the wall of the inn, but he smiles when he sees you. “I was wondering when you’d get here,” he says, “I’m glad that you’ve decided to join us.”

“I’m glad too,” you tell him, and you realize that you mean it.

Sam mounts his ride, and leads you around back where the others are waiting. Again, Billy’s gaze is cool, but this time you swear you detect something almost like satisfaction in his eyes. One more sign that you made the right choice.

The town is only a two days’ ride from your village, and before you know it, you’re taking one final camp outside before the attempt to take it over. Sam has good information on the positions of the radicals, and you’ll mount your assault just before dawn so you can get the jump on them. You have no doubt that they’re expecting you, but it’ll be best to attack while the element of surprise is still in your favor.

You have to admit that you’ve grown fond of the company, even in the short time that you’ve known them. They’ve all got rather interesting personalities, and from the stories you’ve swapped over fires and during your travels, it’s a miracle any of them are still alive. You suppose you’ll be able to add this journey to your tales in the years to come. It’s a good thought to have.

This close to the town, everyone’s nerves are on edge. You’ve already spotted several scouting parties, no doubt combing the surrounding area to find rescue crews like your own. You’ve already had a minor incident tonight, actually. Faraday was starting to drift off when he heard a noise behind him. In a fit of panic, he fired off a blast of flame before he fully realized what was going on.

When all of you headed over to check out the attacker he’d felled, though, all you found was a charred rat. Faraday had heard the scratching and made a veritable mountain out of a molehill.

“Congratulations,” Goodnight had said dryly, “you just fried a rodent.”

Vasquez poked at the still-smoking corpse with a corner of his boot. “That’s one crisp rat,” he said, looking Faraday dead in the eyes.

The Inferni had the grace to look ashamed. “My bad for wanting to protect us,” he’d claimed, “I just have those fast reflexes, you know. Everyone wants them.”

You can’t entirely blame Faraday for being jumpy, though. Just a few hours later, you’re on watch when you hear another noise. This time, though, it’s no rat, but footsteps, and several of them. You reach out hesitantly with your abilities and hear two distinct heartbeats.

Quickly, you wake the others, and all of you crouch low beneath undergrowth and rock formations, trying to stay out of sight until you find the intruders. Red Harvest points out the silhouettes of two men creeping towards the dying embers of your campfire, and you suck in a breath. It wouldn’t do to be found out before your attempt even started, so your group will have to take out these men without alerting the rest of the separatists in town.

The two spies go in separate directions, presumably to circle up on you. Sam and Jack split off to take out one man, and you go with Billy and Goodnight to handle the other. The rest trace the perimeter of the camp to ensure that there aren’t any more visitors than the two men.

The three of you stalk your target until he’s right in front of you. Goodnight’s the closest, and you wait for him to make a move. He was a sharpshooter, after all, and right now, the spy is completely within range without any idea that the three of you are behind him. This is the perfect shot, so why isn’t he taking it?

You can feel Goodnight’s heart, hear the pattern of it. Two beats slow, then fast-fast as he tries to reconcile himself with the idea of killing. It’s a quickstep, the same regular cadence of a dance. You watch as Goodnight’s fingers twitch at his sides. It would be so easy to do it now, he’s got the guy in his sight and his hands are free. That’s all he’d need to kill. It’s all you’d need.

The quickstep picks up speed, the beats spinning around themselves like drunk kids on a dancefloor. Slow-slow, Goodnight raises his hand tremblingly forward, places his gun in front of him like a shield. Fast-fast, and the man falls down dead.

It’s not Goodnight who killed him, though. You didn’t feel him do it, that tug of a trigger finger to end the dance. It was someone else. One closer look and there’s a knife sticking out of the dead man’s chest, a silver blade. It must have passed right in front of your eyes and you didn’t even see it, that’s how fast it went.

You know who threw it, though. This whole time you were so focused on Goodnight’s two-step that you didn’t even think about Billy. Billy, who was watching just like you were, a lone man at a country outing pacing around the outskirts of a packed dance until he swoops and cuts in, getting the best partner for himself and forcing out a competitor in just the blink of an eye.

You turn to look at him, but Billy doesn’t even flinch, just relaxes the one raised finger by his side. He meets your gaze coolly, daring you to say anything about it. You don’t, and the breath caught in his chest lets itself go. You turn back around to look at the dead man, pretending you don’t feel the way Goodnight’s heart is tumbling over itself in relief.

It’s funny, growing up you’d always assumed that killing would be easy if you were good at it, if you had enough experience with it. That would be the true sign of bravery, that a soldier like Goodnight would be able to end the man’s life in a moment.

Now, though? Now you’re starting to sing a different tune. If there is real bravery in this world, it’s present in Billy, who will let himself take the moral punch of robbing the universe of another life just so that Goodnight would not have to bear the blow. It is not weakness in either of them, it is friendship, and a stronger sort of friendship than most men in this world ever experience in their lives.

Situation over, you meet up with the rest of your group. They took out their spy too, and there’s no one left, so the rest of you go uneasily back to sleep. You ready yourself to continue your watch, but to your surprise, Billy steals away from his place to sit next to you.

“I’ll take over from here,” he says gruffly, “you can rest.”

You frown at him. “You’re not on watch for another hour at least.”

“I’ll manage,” he tells you.

You arch a brow. “You’ve been doing that a lot, haven’t you?”

He nods, apparently unbothered by the implications of what you’ve just said. “I watch out for the people I care about.”

That sort of sentiment makes sense for Goodnight, who Billy’s known for quite some time. For you, though? You, who Billy met just a few days ago? You didn’t think there was room for you in his life already. Perhaps, though, perhaps you were wrong.

Billy’s gaze softens and he gestures again to where the rest of the group lies sleeping. “I mean it. You’ll be safe. I’ll make sure of it.”

He’s telling the truth, his heartbeats betray no lies. How wonderful it must be to be so sure of yourself, that you could protect the people you care about and harbor no hesitations about it. How terrible, to know that you are so capable of killing that no villain would be able to stand in your way.

“Thank you,” you whisper. When you get up, your hand brushes against his. You hadn’t realized you were sitting that closely. In fact, you think you had wanted him to stop being so far away.

Sleep comes far more easily than you’d thought. It was a cold night, but for some reason you had been warm while you rested. That could have been due to the fire sparking nearby, but when you wake, you notice that a jacket has been laid over you. There’s a knife in the pocket that you think Billy forgot to take out. You give it to him the next morning, which he accepts, but he does not let you return the jacket. It’s still cold, he says. You might need it.

The only thing that’s cold, though, is the oil slick in your veins. Your blood drips cool and heavy through your limbs, keeping you alive just long enough to take someone else’s life. Sam came up with a plan before he met up with you, and he’s spent the duration of your travels making sure everyone knows their part in it down to a T.

Even then, it’s common knowledge that complete mastery of Plan A and even plans B through E won’t save you. This is only your best guess as to what will happen inside the bounds of that city. You could all die in an hour’s time, or maybe not a single one of you will get so much as grazed by a stray bullet. Plans only get you so far. The real test will be what you’re able to do when everything goes wrong and you’re three seconds from death.

With your spirits accordingly lifted, the eight of you set out to retake the town. You split up in pairs of two to cut off any avenues of escape. You’ll be with Red Harvest, and you and your partner in death head to your prearranged location to ready yourselves for the events to come.

The crowing of a rooster somewhere in town serves as the agreed upon signal to attack, and just like that, the time of waiting is over. After that, everything seems like a blur. You and Red Harvest descend upon the town, sneaking around the back to attack the false sheriff’s men from behind. They clearly weren’t expecting an attack at this hour, so you’re able to take out many of them before they can cause you too much trouble.

The whole battle follows suit, actually. You swear it feels like you’ve just been fighting a few minutes, and then you blink and the sun’s well into the sky but you’re still not dead yet. You carefully maneuver throughout the town, taking out enemy fighters as you go, but you have yet to spot any one of your friends crumpled on the ground.

The fighting is starting to wrap up soon enough, with the remaining separatists fleeing for the hills. You haven’t seen Billy in a while, which is worrying you, so you start to stalk through town in the hopes of finding him.

The rattle of a gun makes you startle, and you peer down a nearby alleyway to investigate. What you see there makes your entire body shut down. Billy is standing with his back to the far wall, trapped in without any hope of escape. One of the separatists is staring at him from behind a gun. Billy’s fingers twitch towards the holsters on his sides, but you notice at the same time he does that he’s all out of knives.

Billy’s usually good at keeping his emotions in check, but you feel his heart rate spike in a way you’ve never experienced before. This is– Billy knows he’s going to die, doesn’t he? He has no way of fighting back and nowhere to run. You have no way to help either, you ran out of bullets half an hour ago and your aim with a blade is nowhere as good as his, so you’d probably end up hurting Billy with just as much likelihood as the separatist.

That leaves you only one option, then. The separatist pulls back on his trigger finger, but he doesn’t get the shot off in time. Instead, he drops the gun, clutching at his heart even as it judders to an abrupt stop in his chest. He’s dead in a moment. Probably didn’t even hurt.

Billy slowly looks between the fallen man and you, staring at your raised hands. Only Heartrenders can do such a thing, and everyone knows Heartrenders are monsters, the worst of the Grisha by far. Killers they are, killers and killers alone. There is no saving a person once they develop such a gift. That’s what you’ve been taught since you were small, and why you’ve kept this part of yourself hidden for so long.

You turn away quickly, mind already racing to come up with some sort of alibi you can use later. You had a poisoned dart. There was a knife in your hand, he just didn’t see it. Someone else shot at the separatist over your shoulder. There are a thousand and one reasons for the man to die, and none of them have to reveal what you are.

These reasons are of no use. When you look over your shoulder, you see the remaining six members of your party slowly congregating behind you. They must have been searching for Billy as well, and they’ve shown up just in time to learn what you really are.

You swallow hard, waiting for them to yell at you to leave or curse your name, but then Faraday leans back like he’s delivering a praise to the Saints and shouts: “No way! Saints, that was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. You’ve been holding out on us this whole damn time and you never said a thing? No wonder Sam liked you.”

Sam shakes his head slowly. “I never knew. Y/N’s just that good with or without using their abilities.”

Goodnight chuckles, the sound dry and rasping in his chest. “That was quite a show. You’ll have to do that more often, it’s a waste not to use that sort of talent.”

You listen to their heartbeats, training your abilities from man to man, but all of them beat steady. They’re not lying, then. They all have your back even after learning the truth about you. A weight releases itself from your shoulders, but it’s not fully gone. Not yet.

With the battle decidedly won, your group is finally able to relax. You all pitch in to start putting the town back to sorts again, and the hard work distracts you from what had just happened, for the most part. Once the day starts to settle, they head over to the closest bar. It’s mostly a wreck, but the owners are glad enough to be under their own leadership again that they pull out the surviving drinks and those who wish it are able to get as wasted as they so desire.

You’re not one of them, though. You’re not so sure that what you did today was cause for celebration. Instead, you find a quiet place somewhere on the porch of your inn, kick your legs up on the railing, and wonder how long it will take to forgive yourself for what you have done.

You’re fully expecting the remaining seven of you to be indoors in pursuit of shots both alcoholic and violent, so it comes as a surprise when you hear footsteps on the porch next to you. Seconds later, someone settles into a seat by your side.

“Not up for celebrating?” Billy asks you.

You sigh, letting the sound fade away into the distant choruses of the night before you answer at last. “Don’t think I’m the right person for it.”

He regards you curiously. “Is that because of the fighting overall, or what happened at the very end.”

You blow out a low breath. “You know, I’ve killed people before this. I rescued Sam from a shootout, like he said. I’ve run from place to place, and not all of those goodbyes were pretty ones. Still, I never killed someone with that. Not ever. It feels far worse, and I’m not sure why.”

“Never?” He asks. “I thought you’d used your abilities before, though.”

You frown at him. “Why’d you reckon that?”

Something occurs to you about half a beat after you form the question. It had to do with the way Billy had looked at you after you saved his life earlier that day. He hadn’t been surprised in the way you’d expected, not like the rest. Almost like he knew it was coming.

“You knew, didn’t you?” You ask him. “You knew I was a Heartrender and you didn’t say anything. Why not?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t feel like my place to say. I figured you would have shared that during the introductions if it was something you wanted the others to know.”

You nod, accepting this. “How’d you know, then? If not by me saying something?”

A smile flickers tentatively onto his lips. “You move your hands slightly whenever you try to sense someone’s heartbeat. I could sense the rings on your fingers shift.”

You laugh incredulously. “No way, the rings? Saints, maybe I need to get rid of them if they blow my cover.”

Billy shakes his head. “I don’t know, I like them. Maybe I wouldn’t mind seeing one more someday.”

The way he says it makes your breath stick in your chest for a second longer than usual. There is an empty spot near the base of your ring finger on your left hand, but you never noticed it before now. It appears that he did, though. Maybe it was the first thing he looked for.

He clears his throat a moment later, not wanting the silence to linger. You hadn’t minded it, though. “You said you’d been to a lot of places. Were all your troubles based on the Heartrending business?”

You hug your arms tighter around yourself as you consider the question. You’ve never told anyone that you were a Heartrender before, obviously, so you’ve never had a chance to discuss it with anyone. That meant that your coping strategy was usually just to push things away and never think about them again, though. Suddenly, your past is stretched out before you, painful and new like a fresh wound.

“You know, my parents were the first ones to kick me out. They loved me right up until the point where they found out I was a monster. I was squabbling with some neighborhood kids and it wasn’t a problem until I pushed one of them down a hill without ever laying a finger on them. That’s when they knew that I was some sort of thing not even the Saints could love, and they sent me away. Guess they thought I’d end up being the worst thing everyone feared of a Heartrender, and today, I proved them right.”

“By doing what?” Billy’s voice is soft. “By saving your friends? By putting your life in harm’s way to protect strangers you never met before? If that’s their idea of a monster, I’d like to meet one of their Saints.”

His hand is still and calm on your shoulder, but you didn’t miss the way his entire body tensed when you mentioned what your parents had done to you, nor how he had to force his fingers to relax one by one.

You shiver slightly, but he doesn’t take away his hand, which you’re grateful for. “You never know. It was never a safe topic for me. I’ve always kept it a secret, but whenever other Grisha come to town, they can find me out if they’ve got other Corporalki amongst their numbers. All it takes is one question and everyone knows. I can hide from the Grisha testers or human amplifiers with a bit of paraffin and some white lies, but Grisha know other Grisha.”

Billy’s brow is furrowed. “Why don’t you go to the Little Palace, then, if you’re in need of safety?”

You scoff. “Oh, that’s nothing more than a dream. As if I’ve got the money to get me to Os Alta. The Little Palace’s for the good ones. I’m not interested in becoming one of their toy soldiers. I’m no charity case for the king to point to as proof of his benevolence. I’m just me. I wouldn’t fit in there any more than as a royal myself.”

Billy nods slowly, leaning back against his chair. “If you’re interested in a different sort of life, though, you could always come back with us. It’s not much. Cold most of the time. Not a lot of money to be had. You never get the blood or dirt out of your clothes. It’s us, though, and we’d have your back.”

“I’d go for you,” you tell him through a sudden rush of confidence.

You can hear his heart stutter in his chest. It’s sweet, makes you smile. Makes him kiss you. The moon rises overhead and you– you are happy. You haven’t felt something this complete in a while. It occurs to you at last that you are going to be okay. What a life to lead. All yours. All wonderful.

requested by @starlit-epiphany, i hope you enjoy!

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