#I’ve also been in a fog so it’s been a lil too easy to fixate on a show to let everything else drone out

[demonicintegrity]

I started House today

[breanime]

Heartworm (Part Eight)

This part is a tad bit long (that’s what she said), but I hope you enjoy it. Please please pleaaaase leave feedback. WARNING: this chapter has depictions of violence (also, I’m totally losing track of which gifs I’ve used for this series...)

*gif by @b-n-a-o*

You passed quite a few cop cars on your way to find Billy, but the deeper into the city you got, the less you saw. The cabbie dropped you off in front of a little dive bar, asking “are you sure about this, sweetheart?”.

Hell yeah you were.

You considered going into the bar, but it didn’t seem like the kind of place Billy would hang out in. Instead, you walked around the block for a while, arms wrapped around yourself to keep warm with one earbud in your ear connected to the police radio in your pocket and hoped for the best. An hour went by with no sign of Billy, then another, and a third. The wind was starting to pick up, and you shivered in the dark. There hadn’t been a tip in hours, but you kept the police radio on just in case. You were starting to feel defeated; you wanted to see Billy, but the reality was that if he didn’t wanted to be found, he wouldn’t be.

It had started to rain, but you didn’t let that deter you. You just zipped up your jacket and kept moving. After a while, the rain let up, but it was still cold out. You stopped and looked out into the street. There was a fog starting up in the dark, and people were filtering in and out of the surrounding bars and shops. You took in a breath and breathed out, sighing in the dark. Still determined to track down Billy, you decided to make a pit stop and grab a hot cup of coffee. The bar you went in wasn’t too busy, but you could tell that the small clientele were definitely scumbags.

“How about I get you something stronger?” A man wearing a confederate flag t-shirt was leaning against the bar and grinning over at you.

You put the plastic lid over your coffee and tried not to roll your eyes. “No thanks,” you said, turning towards the door.

He grabbed your arm. “Hold on, baby,” he said, his grin turning darker, “You didn’t let me introduce myself—”

“—I don’t need to,” you snatched your arm out of his grip and walked off. But you made a point to linger at the door. You grinned to yourself when you saw the guy a few feet behind you. Perfect.

You made a show of being distracted; checking your phone, pretending to stop to stare into stores, staring up at street signs in feigned confusion. He was still behind you, and you put finding Billy on the back burner for a second. This creep needed to be dealt with. You led him out of the street and towards an alley. There were less people around the deeper into the neighborhood you got, and the only thing you could hear besides your heels hitting pavement was the steady sound of his footsteps behind you. You stopped in the mouth of the alley, digging in your purse. You figured you looked like easy prey to him, but he probably wouldn’t think that if he knew you were holding a knife in your bag. You weren’t the prey; you were the fucking predator.

He took the bait.

You felt him come behind you, crowding you and pushing you deeper into the alley.

“Hey baby, you a little lost?”

You gripped the handle of the knife and tried to reign in your temper. You wanted to make a point, not catch a case. Saying nothing, you elbowed him in the face—grinning when you felt and heard the crunch of his nose as he yelled. He stumbled back, and you turned to face him.

“Bitch!” He cried, holding his bloody nose and swiping angrily at the air. “The fuck is your problem?”

You threw your purse down to give you more freedom of movement and brandished your knife. “What’s yours?” You asked. “You see a woman alone in a bar and you follow her for six blocks? What was your plan, exactly?”

“I’m gonna fuck you up, you bitch,” he snarled, glaring at you through teary eyes.

You grinned. “Not if I fuck you up first.” You planted your feet firmly in the ground—just like Billy taught you and motioned the guy forward with your hand.

He rushed at you—all emotion and no tact—and you stepped to the side, avoiding contact. You flicked the knife out and heard him hiss when it cut into his side. It was just a graze—barely even a flesh wound—but you hoped it hurt. He crashed into the brick wall, hands up and you stood a few feet behind him. He turned to you, tears and blood and snot running down his face, and screamed: “Chuck!”

You barely had a chance to even register what the hell he said before you were tackled to the ground. You gasped, the wind rushing out of you, as you hit the pavement.

“The fuck is goin’ on here?” A male voice said above you. Chuck, you presumed.

“This bitch—fucking bitch—cut me! And broke my fucking nose!”

You squirmed underneath Chuck—he felt like a truck. “Now why don’t you be a good girl for my brother,” Chuck said, leaning into you in a way that had your skin crawling, “and be nice, eh?”

“Fuck you,” you growled. Your knife was nowhere in sight—it fell out of your hands when he tackled you.

Chuck flipped you around, mouth open to retort, but as soon as you were on your back you struck out and punched him in the chin. It probably hurt your fist more than it hurt his face. He grinned, a small cut on his lip the only proof that you’d landed a hit in. “You,” he grabbed your wrists and forced them down, “owe my lil brother an apology.”

You spit in his face.

Chuck jumped off of you, wiping his face. You got up, but fell back down when Chuck reared back and punched you. Chuck the truck. You saw lights go off behind your eyes, and you landed on your ass. Chuck’s brother—Lil Chuck, you decided to call him—laughed in the background as you tried to gain your equilibrium back. You tried to blink, but then you realized that you hadn’t opened your eyes yet. You tasted blood and licked your lips to discover blood on them. They were still laughing, and you were starting to regret throwing your purse down, when suddenly, they both stopped laughing.

“Fuck you lookin’ at, freak?” Lil Chuck asked.

One hand over your pounding eye, you looked up through the pain. Your heart stopped.

Fucking Billy.

He was wearing a mask with scribbles all over it, but you would know that silhouette anywhere. His chest was heaving, and his hands were balled up in fists at his side.

“Hey, move along,” Big Chuck said, stepping in front of you and blocking your view, “This ain’t none of your concern.”

You must have blinked or something, because the next thing you knew, there was a soft sound of wind rushing and then Big Chuck was on the floor next to you. You stared over at him, eyes fixated on the small hole in his forehead and the trickle of blood that was coming out of it. Lil Chuck screamed, and Billy put a bullet in him, too. He fell to the ground with a thud.

You looked up at Billy, wondering idly where he’d pulled that gun from. It looked serious, and it had a silencer on it. Billy took a few huge steps towards you and crouched down next to you. Neither of you spoke as he put the gun in the waistband of his pants and flipped his mask up. He took your hand and removed it from your head, dark eyes washing over you, checking you for any more damage. You felt tears in your eyes when his hand grazed your throbbing cheek.

“Billy—”

“—Don’t,” he said, words coming out choked, “don’t… Just… be quiet for a minute. Please…” You shut you mouth and let him look you over. His eyes were shining with emotion—but you couldn’t read him the way you could three years ago. You held your breath as his hands ghosted over your face, thumb caressing your lower lip. He stared down, fixated on the blood on the pad of his thumb. You stayed still; it felt like you were with a nervous animal and any sudden movement could scare him off. Billy ran a hand through your hair, pushing it back so he could see your face better. “Shit,” he mumbled, and you saw his trigger finger twitch. You sat in the alley in silence for a few minutes, nothing but the sound of Billy’s heavy breathing and the pitter-patter of the rain surrounding you. You kept your eyes on Billy, and he did the same to you. There were two dead bodies not even ten feet away from you, but you could care less about that.

Billy was there, with you, and that was all that mattered.

Billy stood up suddenly, staring down at you with fiery dark eyes. “—What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He asked, glaring at you. “What—why are you even out here this late? What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking,” you stood up as well, and Billy put a hand out to help, but you swatted it away, “that I had to find the asshole who broke into my apartment and broke my heart,” you said, glaring back at him, “And since you didn’t leave a number I could call you on—”

“—Fuck, Y/N,” he shook his head, “that was—I did that for a reason—we need to get you out of here.” He reached for your hand again, and this time you let him gently push you towards the brick wall.

Leaning against the wall, you looked over at the dead Chucks. “Should we…?”

“Leave ‘em,” he growled, sliding his mask back on and putting his hood up, “Jesus, Y/N, what would you have done if I hadn’t been here?” He stood in front of you, shaking his head.

“I dunno, die?” You let him dab at your face with the sleeve of his hoodie. “How did you get here, anyway? I know you didn’t just chance upon me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he grumbled, frowning at the steady trickle of blood coming from your busted lip.

You swatted his hand away again. “Asshole.” It felt like old times—well, not exactly old times, but…familiar. “You don’t get to tell me what not to worry about. You lost that privilege.”

That took the fight right out of him. He took a step back from you, and you could see the pain in his eyes through that hideous mask. “You need to get out of here.”

“We need to talk,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

Billy sighed, but you knew that sigh. That was his sigh of resignation. “I have a place we can go, but then you go home.”

“Yeah, whatever,” you huffed, “Grab my purse, please.” He did as requested, and you reached into your pocket while he was grabbing your bag.

“Jesus, what’s in here, a safe?” He muttered as he brought it over to you.

You held your hand out, taking a breath to settle your nerves, and planted your feet firmly on the ground. Billy held your purse out to you, and you pulled your other hand from your pocket—with handcuffs around it. You wrapped the other end around Billy’s wrist and clasped them shut, effectively tethering him to you.

Billy pushed his mask back up with his free hand and stared down at you, dark eyes wide. “Y/N, what the fuck?” He breathed out.

You shrugged, using your shackled hand to brush your hair back. “Call it insurance,” you said, hoping you sounded surer than you actually were, “Since you like to disappear on me.” You looked up at him. “Lead the way.”

He slid his mask back on, and you weren’t sure what he was thinking. He led you through the streets using back alleys that he was surprisingly—suspiciously—familiar with it. You got the feeling that he was making an effort to keep himself in check; his shoulders were tense and the silence between you was starting to get stifling. Billy led you to a seemingly abandoned warehouse, but you immediately noticed the padlock and chains on the door. This was his place.

“So what is this, your lair?” You asked as Billy began unlocking the series of locks on the door. Billy didn’t answer. He pushed open the door and held it open for you. Because you were handcuffed together, you had to brush up against him to get through. You felt a jolt of excitement go through you as you felt his chest against yours. “Jeez, Billy,” your eyes widened as you looked around you. It looked like a jailcell—a mattress on the floor, no window, just a few black bags on the floor that you could only assume were full of guns and ammo. “Where’d you find this place: crackhead Airbnb? Do you pay rent in cockroaches or are they just your roomies?”

“You know you talk a lot when you’re nervous?” He asked, walking over to the bed and dragging you with him. “Sit.” He directed you. “Please.”

You plopped down on the mattress—it was hard as stone. He stood over you, hand out so that you could be more comfortable without having to stretch or move. Billy bent down and dug in one of the duffel bags. He pulled out a first aid kit and your eyebrows shot up. “Where’d you get that?” You asked. “Where’d you get any of this?”

“I had some cash saved,” he said as he dabbed your face with an alcohol wipe, “Some of this is from… someone I know.”

Frank? “Who?”

“Y/N,” he sighed, cleaning up the blood from your lip.

“Billy.” You said back, pulling back so he could see the deadpan look on your face.

He sighed again. “Alright,” he offered, “how about we do this: a question for a question? You ask one, I’ll ask one.”

“I’ll go first,” you said, not wasting a second, “Why did you leave? You said you’d be back and then you…” You shook your head. “Why didn’t you come back?”

Billy looked down at his hand, cuffed to yours, hovering so close but not exactly touching. You could see the emotion in his eyes when he looked back up at you. “Did you read the file?” He asked. You nodded. Billy shrugged, glancing off to the side. “That’s why I left. The shit I did…” He licked his lips, at a loss for words. “I don’t blame you for not being able to love me—”

“—I never said I didn’t love you,” you said, voice soft. You watched Billy’s wet eyes widen, and you wanted to hold him, to kiss him—but you needed to talk first. “Your turn.”

“What the hell were you doing tonight?” His fingers brushed against your cheek. “You could have been killed.”

“I was looking for you,” you answered, “I got this,” you dug your police radio out of your purse, “and I’ve been trying to track you down,” you shrugged, tossing the radio back in your bag, “My friend told me this might be a good way to smoke you out.”

“Your friend’s an asshole,” Billy grumped, reaching into the kit and pulling out a band-aid. He looked into your eyes as he applied it to your cheek. “I’m not sorry about killing those guys,” he confessed.

“Neither am I.”

You saw the corners of his mouth twitch before he got serious again. “But seriously, what would you have done if I hadn’t been there? What was your plan, exactly?”

“Um…” You licked your cracked lip. The truth was: your plan was to find Billy. That was it. You had gone out with determination and a tiny bit of hope that’d you at least get a lead, but that was it. “You already asked a question; it’s my turn.”

Billy rolled his eyes, but nodded his assent. “Fine. Ask away.”

“Where—what’s been going on with you? Are you okay?” You leaned forward so he could see the concern in your eyes. “The cops are looking for you, there’s this detective who came to see me, and your face is plastered on every news station—”

“What face,” he asked wryly, “this face?” He used your joined hands to gesture towards his scarred face.

You reached up and caressed his face with the back of your hand. He closed his eyes, and you felt him relax against your touch. His skin was jagged in certain places where the scars where, but it felt like gold to you; precious and dear. “Does it matter?” You asked.

Billy saw an angel when he opened his eyes and looked at you. “No,” he answered, voice low, “I guess it doesn’t.” He cleared his throat. “I saw Curt.” He said. “He wouldn’t tell me about Frank, but… I know, obviously. I went to a few of his counseling sessions—he didn’t know I was there…”

“Did it help?”

“Kind of.” Billy ran his free hand through his short hair, knocking his mask off in the process.

“What, uh… What’s with the mask?” You asked, staring down at it on the dark floor.

“Oh,” Billy rolled his eyes, “It’s my therapy mask, from the hospital. Figured I’d use it to be anonymous while I… handled some shit.” He looked over at you. “That’s where I’ve been, when I’m not here or out in the streets, at my therapist’s place.”

“He’s cool with that?” You blinked. “You sure he’s not trying to set you up?”

“She. And yeah, I’m sure. Pretty sure, at least.” He said casually.

You froze. She. Hm.

Billy laughed—and every bit of tension in you died at the sound. “It’s not like that, trust me,” he assured you, “She’s trying to save me; she thinks she’s a good doctor, but she’s not.” He licked his lips, getting serious. “Trust me,” he repeated, “there ain’t any other woman I’m interested in except the one sitting in front of me right now.”

You felt tears prick your eyes. “Then why did you leave me?” You asked, hating how weak your voice sounded in that moment.

Billy leaned forward and put his hand on your cheek, staring into your eyes with nothing but affection and intensity reflected in his eyes. “I didn’t want to. I just… I’m so fucked up right now, Y/N. My memory comes and goes, and everything hurts all the time and I… I didn’t think you’d want me. I didn’t want to drag you into this shit.”

“You should have asked me,” you whispered back, “Billy—I would do anything for you.”

He looked at the ground. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true,” you said sternly, “You asked me why I came here—it’s because I wanted to find you. I needed to find you. You think the shit I read in that file would make me stop loving you? I knew you were a criminal before you left that damned thing in my kitchen. I knew who you were before the suits and cars and money, and I know who you are now. I never stopped loving you.” You took a breath. “I never will.”

Billy’s eyes were swimming in tears. “I love you,” he said, words coming out in a huff of emotion.

You felt your love for this man—however misplaced, however screwed up—well up inside you, and you couldn’t take another second without him in your arms. You pulled him to you and held him, your conjoined hands hanging between you as you held him close. Carefully, you pulled back and looked into his eyes.

And kissed him.

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Comments? Thoughts? Opinions? (I’m begging again) What was your favorite part? Mine was the Chucks gettin’ got and the reader seeing Billy’s warehouse and being like ���bitch, you live like this???” 

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