a collection of everything i've written about billy hargrove. imagines/oneshots/stories, whatever you would prefer to call them. all fics are either fem!reader or gn!reader.
none of the gifs i use are mine! credit to the original sources/owners!
gn!reader word count: 1,236 warnings: death/process of dying, post-death, mentions of post-death processes, grief, mentions of blood/blood loss/wounds, ambulances/fire trucks, anxious habits a/n: i'm sorry in advance. i love you, i swear, i do.
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It all happened so fast.
You'd pulled yourself up off of the tile, everything a blur as Max yelled for you, yelled something about looking for El. Something about her being taken.
Then Max had disappeared. You ran down the hall, through the back door to Scoops. And that's when you heard it.
A scream. And ear piercing cry. And it wasn't hard to decipher that it was Eleven. You knew it was.
You made it out, stumbling to a stop as you watched the Mind Flayer's many arms latch on to Billy, start to tear him apart.
But Max was dragging El away, her back turned to the scene. You were glad she couldn't see it. She was focused on getting El somewhere safe, towards Mike, towards anything.
But something in you allowed you to move, and before you knew it, your arms were around his hips, pulling Billy back, as far away as you could get him.
He was crying, begging you to stop, telling you it hurt too much.
And then he was on the floor, collapsing in your hold. He was losing too much blood, too fast.
You remembered that day after he got the lifeguard job where he told you all about the training he had to go through, learning about what to do if someone got hurt.
Your eyes scanned over Billy's torso, looking for the worst of the wounds. There was a deep one, right over his ribcage on his side, and it was gushing.
You pressed both of your hands over it, wincing as he cried out and curled in on himself. You didn't know when you'd started to cry, but it didn't matter. Because he was crying too.
You kept the pressure firm, trying to staunch the wound, but he'd already lost too much blood. You'd never seen Billy this pale, not even when his tan had started to fade in the spring, when his sun-induced freckles had gone and all that was left were his true ones. The ones under his eyes. On the tops of his cheeks.
"Stop, please baby, please. It hurts."
Billy was bringing a hand to your face, wiping desperately at your tears, trying to pretend they weren't for him.
"No. I-I can't. You c-can't. N—"
Billy was smiling at you. "It's too late. I already am. I can feel it."
His voice was hoarse, like it was a struggle to get the words out, to try and talk to you.
He started to cough, and you let up, hands flying to his face. Fat tears were falling from his eyes, clumping his much too long lashes together, trickling down the sides of his face and into his hair. His blue eyes were shining in the multitude of lights in the mall around you.
