02. bring unto me vanity

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Disclaimer! The version of Billy I write is MY OWN VERSION of him. I understand that he can be controversial but as a writer, I see him as a character who had a lot of wasted potential and I wish to write it into fruition, especially since Dacre Montgomery tried so hard to humanise his character and had all his efforts thrown under the rug. So no, this version of Billy isn't his canon version, but rather a FANON version.


02. enter: billy hargrove


YOU stood there, expression blank as you stared mindlessly into the Eddie Munson. It almost felt as though all your thoughts had left you the moment you bumped into him—flooding out in an endless, blank stream of nothingness you couldn't even begin to comprehend.

Then—not even seconds later—it all came rushing back.

Scenes of him lying in a pool of his own crimson, straining as he told Dustin about how he didn't run away—how he wasn't a coward for once. Scenes of the town believing he was some sort of satanic worshipper—vandalising his missing posters with pentagrams after he had just died protecting them. Scenes of Dustin informing Eddie's uncle of his noble death with tears streaming down his face; unrelenting in their cruel pace.

Scenes that always shot straight through your heart no matter how many times you rewatched them.

"Woah, hey, are you o—?"

You couldn't help it—the way you flew into his chest, arms wrapping around his back in a hug so tight—so inextricably emotional—that even the most affectionate of lovers, the most intimate of partners, would envy your outpour of emotions in that one embrace.

You couldn't help it because—because he was here. And he was okay. And he was alive—oh god, he was alive.

"Wha—?"

And apparently, he was also confused.

Get it together, Y/N. What kind of weirdo randomly throws themselves onto a stranger like that?

But he wasn't a stranger though, he was a character you had watched and grown attached to on screen; a beloved character you had witnessed die over and over again without being able to do a single thing about it.

But, a small voice prodded at the back of your mind, maybe you could do something now?

"Are you... okay?"

You blinked, further scattering a wet substance across your eyelashes. "Oh, yeah, um... it's just that—"

You didn't deserve to die, Eddie.

"—well, everyone is always so mean to you and— they're always like, calling you a freak just because you like playing a fantasy, role-playing game and it's just— it's so unfair because you seem like such a nice guy who doesn't deserve any of the shit that you get and I'm just— I'm so sorry!"

Ah, maybe you let out a little too much there, judging by the way he reacted.

His mouth had hung open, brown eyes wide in what you could only describe as disbelief, bewilderment and utter, utter shock.

For a moment, you were worried that you had accidentally made him malfunction or something; maybe said some type of dialogue that he couldn't compute and, therefore, couldn't respond to—like some sort of unaware NPC being told that they weren't real—which, in a way, is quite similar to his actual circumstance anyhow.

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