Fandom Oneshots

Demons - Part Two *Billy Hargrove x Reader*

Warnings: Physical/verbal abuse and foul language

"If I so much as see a glimpse of your whore face once for the rest of the god damn week, I'll kill you! You hear me? I'll fucking kill you!"

Hot tears stream down your face as you struggle to muffle your wracking sobs and gulping breaths. Panic, fear, and hatred swirl in your cloudy mind as you stare, wide-eyed, at the shadow stretching underneath your doorway. A loud slam shakes the entire wall one last time before you see the shadow begin to slink away. Sporadic thuds echo throughout the hush of the house. A few seconds later and the distinct noise of a closing door turns the resounding thuds into muffled whispers. Three more uneven breaths pass your chapped lips and a quiet falls over the house like a blanket, suffocating all who lie underneath.

With shaking fingers, you weakly clutch at the fabric of your sweater sleeves. Tiptoe-ing to the foot of your bed, you slowly let yourself settle on top of the mattress, staring blankly out the window at the rising sun peaking just over the horizon. You've been up all night, enduring the endless onslaught of torment from your father as he drank himself closer and closer to death.

He was always horrible to you.

But never as bad as this.

Over the course of a week, he had gotten drunker, and drunker, and drunker. You don't think he has even given himself a chance to be sober.

Some nights, he didn't even recognize you. This was not one of those nights.

Memories of the happenings under the light of the moon fade in and out in your brain. His clammy hands gripping you, thrashing you, striking you. It was all too much to bear.

You need to leave; you need to escape. Now.

Sitting up, you walk across your room to the window. With light fingers, you lift the frame, cringing at every squeak and groan until the soft morning breeze finally brushes against your speckled skin, sending a wave of cold from the top of your head to the ends of your toes. Bare-foot, freezing, and dressed in nothing but your pajamas, you slip through the window, flinching as the bottoms of your feet meet the cold, dew-covered grass of your unkempt lawn. Sucking in a deep breath of the fresh morning air, you can feel some of the burdens that plague your mind fade ever so slightly, escaping you and disappearing into the open space of the outside. You revel in the feeling before gingerly shutting the window behind you and turning back around.

It dawns on you that you have no where to go.

You could go to a friend's house, but in the state you were in, they would definitely figure out your bitter secret, and you would rather freeze to death before any of your friends found out about your shitty home life.

Running a hand through your hair, you begin to feel the panic set in when your eyes land on the house sitting just across the street.

Billy's house.

The memory of the conversation you had with him a week ago in his car enters your mind. You haven't spoken to him since then save a few lingering glances and awkward greetings in the school hallway.

He is the only person in Hawkins that knows your secret. And you are the only person who knows his.

Your feet move before your mind can comprehend, leading you across the street to the front door of his home. Your nerves go haywire, making the palm of your hands clammy and your breath shaky, but you want–need–to see him. No one else can even begin to understand you. Not like Billy can.

One. Two. Three short raps on his front door match the sporadic beat of your heart.

You feel like your lungs are caving in on themselves as you wait for Billy to open the door. It only just dawns on you that it's around five in the morning, you're not wearing proper clothes, and his whole family is probably home. Anyone can open the door. His parents can open the door and see you in all of your bruised glory.