UnWilling Roommates (Bill x Reader x Will)

Chapter 5: Aftermath

You carried Will piggyback down the dark hallway.  You were briefly stymied at the ladder, but you managed to find a grappling hook in one of the boxes in the upper room.  With your creative problem-solving skills developed through years of video games, you used the grappling hook to get you both up the ladder.  You were about to toss it aside, but after a  moment's thought you stuck the grappling hook in your crossbow holster.  It fit perfectly. It's not like the Gleefuls are going to use it anymore, you thought guiltily.

Will mumbled a few vague directions to get back to the entrance of the tent, then fell asleep against your back as you walked, his head resting against your shoulder.  You didn't see any sign of the old man in the fez.  Maybe he was still in the gift shop?  Best not to dawdle.

You made it out of the tent without incident, managing to get a cab home despite the late hour.  Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, Will was starting to feel heavier.  Your breathing sped up and your hands started shaking as the shock faded and the horror of what you'd done hit you.  I just killed someone.  And I sent Dipper... Somewhere.  What have I done?  I'm a murderer!  I killed a person! 

Then you looked at Will, asleep on the seat next to you.

Well, she wasn't a very nice person.

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*Narrator Voice* Later that night...

You had a first-aid kit open on your bathroom counter.  Will was lying limp on the bathroom rug, still unconscious.  You'd taken off his coat and shirt to assess his injuries.  Years of martial arts and contact sports had given you a working knowledge of sports medicine, but his wounds might be beyond your capacity to help.  You hoped you wouldn't have to take him to a hospital.  It would raise too many questions.  Besides, you didn't know if hospitals were equipped for demons.  Did he even need medical attention?  Could he heal himself?  There were too many questions that you wouldn't get the answers to until the demon was awake.  You decided to do what you could now and ask him once he woke up.

You took a bottle of disinfectant and a cloth and held it to the worst of the injuries, a deep gash along his collarbone.  You hesitated before touching the wound, knowing firsthand how much it stung.  You glanced at his face, but he didn't react.  He had been so overwhelmed, physically and emotionally, that his brain had shut down into "Blue Screen of Death" mode.  You kept cleaning the wound, knowing that he wouldn't feel anything right now even if you threw him down the stairs.  There were a few other abrasions and slices, but he wasn't about to bleed out on your bathroom floor.

You moved on to his face.  The cut on his forehead was minor and you covered it up easily, then gingerly lifted his eye patch.  You flinched back in horror.  I wasn't prepared for that! 

His eye was gone, leaving a bloody socket in its place.  This was an injury way beyond your capacity to help.  In the end you settled for putting some ointment on a patch of gauze and replacing the eye patch where it had been.

Finally you put your first-aid kit away, satisfied that you'd done all you could do.  You pulled his shirt back on, struggling to fit his arms into the sleeves, and brought him to your couch.  You left him with a pillow and blanket then collapsed, exhausted, into your own bed.

You'd killed the town darlings.  You had no idea if any evidence would point to you, if a lynch mob would storm your door in the morning, or what to do with this demon who was now apparently your responsibility.  But at this point, you were too tired to care.

I can deal with all that tomorrow.  You put your new grappling hook in its place of honor on your bedside table, where your crossbow used to be.  You stared at it as you fell asleep.

Tomorrow...