Archive of Our Own

Kirby stood in front of the whiteboard plastered with photos of every Ghostface killer from 1996 to 2022, of the masks found at the crime scenes, and of the victims killed so far.

"…Mickey Altieri, Nancy Loomis, Stu Macher and Billy Loomis. Number One and also the father of our chief suspect."

Detective Bailey, arms crossed before his chest, nodded before adding, "It's all leading us back to Sam."

"What about the girlfriend?" Kirby suddenly mumbled, more to herself than addressing the Detective.

"What? Whose girlfriend?"

“(Y/N) (L/N). She and Billy were childhood sweethearts. Although she was never personally involved in any Ghostface incidents following 1996, she could never quite live her life in peace. I mean, come on. The mourning love interest has to be the main suspect. His mother tried to avenge his death and no one thought about that either. Then boom! Dead teenagers everywhere."

Bailey turned his face to look at her with a raised eyebrow.

"What? It's just an idea."

"Hm." He hummed, "It could be worth a shot."

A totally stupid shot because what sane person would suddenly seek revenge after 27 years? Well, if it keeps her occupied, who am I to stop her?

"Any idea on how we can reach her?"

Kirby smirked. "Of course I do."

New York was far too loud, far too big, and far too dirty for your liking. You preferred the calmness and the quiet of a nice little town somewhere far away from any crime or even the smallest hint of being dragged into another drama. You really thought you would finally be at peace, having that calm and quiet life, until you got a call from Agent Kirby Reed. You remember that name well. Besides Sidney and Gale, obviously, she was the only victim who survived the Second Woodsboro Massacre. On the phone, she told you that someone had put on the Ghostface mask again and was after a group of teenagers. She wanted you to come to New York right away so you could be questioned.

It wasn't the first time you were a suspect, but being one again after almost 30 years? You were about to vent to the familiar old feeling of simmering anger for being falsely accused again when…

"Your niece was among those who were attacked."

"Sam?"

"Yeah."

"I'm on my way. It's going to take a few hours."

"That's alright. When you arrive in New York, go straight to the NYPD and tell them you are here to see Agent Reed. Someone will show you the way to the office I'm currently occupying."

You were just about to open the car door and leave the parking lot near the police station when you got a text.

[Agent Reed]: Change of plans. Someone thinks you need to see this too. Come to this address.

So now you were standing in front of some kind of run-down movie theatre, not knowing if you were at the right place. You read the text message again… nope, still the same street name and the same house number. You were about to dial Kirby's number when someone called your name.

"Over here!"

You turned to the blonde woman standing a few meters away from you, holding open a metal door. "Agent Kirby Reed?" You asked.

"The one and only." She nodded for you to follow her. "Come in, the others are already inside."

It's strange, you thought. I'm actually meeting Samantha.

You stopped at a metal bar door that already allowed you an insight of the room ahead of you. There was tingling feeling in your belly.

"You're ready?"

You nodded as an answer, not trusting your mouth to form a decent sentence.

It felt like you were pushed back into your 18-year-old self. Mannequins, display shelves, and cases were set up and led to a stage. It was impossible to take everything in at the same time, so you walked through the row closest to you. Years of evidence put together like it was a museum, like a fucking…

"A shrine." Kirby said from behind you. "Dedicated to every killer that put on the mask."

You barely registered what she just said when you saw what was displayed at the end of the row. You almost couldn't believe your eyes. There… There were Tatum's clothes, the ones she wore when she was killed… and there was the robe Stu wore at his party… and Billy's bloody t-shirt. You walked past a sitting mannequin looking exactly like Steve Orth until you were standing right in front of the white cloth still covered in blood. Huffing out a shaky breath, you reached out to touch it. Your fingers traced from every hole where he was stabbed until it stopped on the chest of the mannequin. You almost expected to feel a heartbeat underneath your skin…

Oh Billy.

Maybe it was the overwhelming, morbid, nostalgic feeling that almost crushed you seeing all those reminders of your past, but you still hadn't noticed the small group on the stage next to you watching you either with curious or wary eyes.

You were still caught up in your head, thinking back to that afternoon on September 28th in 1996 — you, reading another true crime novel and playing with the brown curls of your boyfriend's hair while his head rested on your lap, napping. You two had stayed in this position until the sun went down. The clock read 6 PM when you decided to make dinner and he left the kitchen to make a quick phone call. When he got back…

"Billy, are you serious? There is a killer outside!"

"Stu lives only 10 minutes away. I'll take the car."

"Are you sure? Shouldn't we call the police?"

"No, it's alright. I'm just gonna make sure he doesn't overdo it. You know how he is."

You laughed, "Yeah, I do and I love him for that."

Billy tilted his head, an amused glint in his eyes. "Oh really? I thought you loved me."

The smile on your face grew brighter as he bent down to place a gentle kiss on your lips. "I do love you. So much."

You snapped out of your thoughts.

It would have been perfect. A concerned Billy wanting to make sure his best friend was okay so he goes to his party to check on him, but is surprised by the killer. Both, he and Stu, were fighting to survive and in the end, sadly, they were the only ones still alive. The police would have believed them that it was Sidney's father all along and you and Billy could have lived a happily ever after in another town, away from all that traumatic shit he 'went through'.

But the reality was different. Billy had been a psychotic serial killer, murdering friends and classmates and even Sidney's mother. He had been the one getting addicted to the feeling of killing someone after Maureen Prescott, he had been the one who had done all those horrible things…

"Kirby, who's that?" A female voice asked.

Kirby gave you a quick look before answering, "This is (Y/N) (L/N)-"

“(Y/N)?” Gale interrupted her and watched you climb the stairs of the stage.

You first inspected each of the 9 Ghostface mannequins — your eyes lingering on the middle one a little longer — before acknowledging her. You still held a grudge against her, considering how much she had turned your life upside down.

"Hello Gale. Long time no see." You greeted her with a tight smile on your lips. "And since I was ordered here for an interrogation, let's be honest. It's actually (Y/N) Carpenter."

Everyone but Gale suddenly straightened up before the teenagers of the group looked at the two girls closest to the Ghostface costume in the glass case. Both looked at you with furrowed eyebrows as if they were trying to somehow place you in their family tree.

Looking at her made you tear up. You smiled. "Hi Samantha."

"It's… just Sam, actually. I'm sorry, do I know you?" She asked you, confused, still trying to remember where and when she met you.

"You don't, but I know you. Christina told me everything about you and always kept me up-to-date." You took a quick breath to control your emotions. "God, you've grown. You look so much like him."

Sam shifted on her feet, not liking where this conversation was going. "Him? You mean my father."

"How do you know our mom?" The short girl next to her butt in. She seemed just as wary as her sister.

"Christina is my older sister."

"So you're our aunt."

"Not exactly. I'm your aunt, Tara." You said before addressing Sam directly, "Christina called me when you found out who your real father is in those diaries." You were really about to drop the bomb. "You know, those diaries weren't hers… they were mine."

"What are you saying?"

"That the one who got pregnant by Billy Loomis wasn't Christina. It was me."

Sam looked at you like you've grown a second head. "So what? You're… You're my mother?"

"Biological, yes. In any other way, probably not."

"Oh my God." She started to walk up and down with her hands gripping her hair. "Oh my God."

"I know it's a lot, but-"

"A lot? You just come here, a total stranger, and tell me you're my mother when the woman who raised me all those years isn't actually my mom but my aunt!"

"I don't expect you to replace her with me and accept me as your new mother, Sam. I'm not planning on taking you with me to force you into a mother-daughter relationship after 26 years. I'm here to help you."

Sam's head whipped around to look at Kirby.

"She's on my suspect list, Sam." Kirby shrugged, "Apparently, no one thinks about the revengeful love interest."

"But I have an alibi." You defended yourself, "I wasn't even near New York when the teacher and the students were murdered. Same goes for the therapist and your two friends. I actually expected to be questioned at the NYPD, but if you actually want to interrogate me here, go ahead."

"Then why are you here? This very place?"

You looked back at Tara. "Because Agent Reed told me to. From what she told me, we experienced similar situations and she thought I had a right to see this too." You looked around the room. "My past is on display here as much as hers or Gale's."

Sam shook her head, taking a step forward. "So, just to get this straight. You get knocked up by a serial killer and then just leave the baby with your sister? You found out you were pregnant with me and dumped me because what? You didn't want to be a mom at such a young age? Or was it because you were disgusted by me?"

Your eyes widened. Of course, you expected some resistance and some accusations, but it was still like a knife to your heart to see her betrayed expression and hear her furious voice. "No, of course not. I loved you the second I held you in my arms."

"Then why?"

"I had no other choice! Do you know how hard it was, living like I had to after your father died? The names they called me? And you… you were the size of a grape and they had already called you the Devil's Spawn. No one wants to raise a child in an environment like that."

"So you just abandoned me? Left me behind so you could get away from everything?"

"I didn't abandon you. I gave you a safe life away from every threat that could hurt you or even corrupt you. After that night when… when it all happened, my normal life was over. Either all those blase do-gooders in Woodsboro treated me like I put a Ghostface mask on and killed all those people myself, or I was viewed by these Stab-obsessed lunatics as some sort of precious artifact left behind by their idol. I was ambushed by dozens of assholes in costumes and got 3 or 4 calls a day. Even after I moved to other towns, fuck, even to another state, and I still couldn't live my life in peace. Thanks, by the way." You turned to Gale.

"What, me?"

"The tirade of hate you wrote about me in your damn books. First, the boyfriend, then the mother of the boyfriend, and then even Roman Bridger just because he was the one who stirred Billy into going on a killing spree. You even mentioned me in your fourth book when I literally had no connection to anything that happened that year! You made it look like I pulled the strings, egged on every Ghostface, and was planning every murder, Gale."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did. Just like you called Sam a born killer, you called me the secret Ghostface that got away who will someday get revenge on Sidney for killing the love of her life."

Gale opened her mouth, but having nothing to reply with, she closed it again.

Using the following silence to return to the current problem, Chad asked, "So, just to make sure before that–" He awkwardly gestured to you and Sam "–happened. Someone killed these chucklefucks and took over?"

"Someone who believes that Sam masterminded Woodsboro."

"If this would be a movie, this would be the killer's lair."

"Which means this isn't a normal Stab movie."

Apparently, that gave Tara the rest as she left the stage with brisk steps and disappeared into an adjoining room. Sam was hot on her heels.

Shortly thereafter, the rest of the group split up — Kirby joined Mindy to sit on the edge of the stage, Ethan and Chad were on different sides of the room, looking at the displayed evidence, and Detective Bailey was talking to someone on the phone.

You finally had time to walk to and look at the glass case in front of you. It was a bittersweet feeling, knowing that the one you had loved the most in this world killed four people and thereby started a future death streak, all committed in costumes of his alter ego.

You were so deep in thought that ten minutes had passed and you hadn't noticed that Sam was back and standing behind you.

"Are you married?" She asked, attracting your attention.

You took your eyes off of Billy's name plate and looked into her brown ones that reminded you so much of her father's. "What?"

Sam nodded down to your hand. "Do you have a family?"

Ahh…

"Oh, no. No, I don't. That's a promising ring. You know, when you promise someone to stay together forever and maybe get married one day. Do you kids still do that?"

"Yeah, when we're like twelve, not fifty."

You chuckled. "Ouch. I still have six years until I'm not that old." Sighing, you touched the ring and rolled it around your ring finger. "No, I was actually twelve years old when… well, when your dad gifted it to me. So young and he already wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. This one–" You held the hand with the ring at eye level. "–was never ever replaced since then. His is right here." You pulled the silver chain from underneath your t-shirt and revealed a similar ring just slightly bigger.

A shiver ran down Sam's back before asking in disbelief, "You kept it?"

"I did. And I know it seems like I went crazy or something while grieving, but I was young and devastated. I just lost the love of my life. Some grow distant and want to avoid anything that has to do with their lost loved one or being constantly reminded of them. Others, like me, have to hold onto every little fiber of them. I wore his clothes, put on his cologne… God, it was really a terrible way to cope."

Sam grimaced.

You smiled slightly. "What?"

"It's just strange hearing someone talk about him like he was…"

"Human?"

"He killed people, he was a murderer, and you… you loved him."

"Do you think it's easy to stop loving someone in mere seconds? Minutes, hours, days, weeks? You have that person who you would die for, who you would kill for. This person is your everything, and you can't imagine a life without them. So you plan it with that person: how you will graduate, how you will find a job, how you will leave both your parent's houses to move together, maybe move to a new town, how you will have children with them, how you will marry them, and how you will grow old with them. Billy was my person, the one I wanted all those boring, normal things with. And you have those normal things. You hold hands, cuddle, kiss, go on dates..." You stopped and took a breath. "Until the police show up at your door and tell you that the one who had murdered your friends was him all along. There's a sliver of hope that maybe... maybe you can visit him in prison so you can talk to him. But that won't happen because the police tell you right after that he had been killed by your best friend, Sidney Prescott, and that they have some questions for you."

You still remember how they interrogated you and asked you if you knew about Billy's doings, if they were signs that seemed suspicious, asked you about the places you had been when he and Stu killed another victim, and if there were people who could vouch for you. After two hours, they finally let you go, saying they would call you if they had any more questions. You asked if you could see him, his body. Since his mother left, his father was nowhere to be found and Billy had no other close relatives, so you were the next best option.

The moment you saw him lying there cold and pale on that metal table, your whole world crumbled. With slow shaky steps you had walked closer and closer to him. Almost relieved for something to hold on to, you supported yourself by grabbing the table. At that moment, you didn't care who could see you or who could hear you… you just cried. Your sobs and hysterical breathing had filled the room, your knees buckling and your knuckles turning white from how hard you had clutched the table.

"No. No, no, no."

You had started to hyperventilate. It got harder and harder to breathe. The walls seemed to grow closer.

And then everything went black.

When you woke up in a hospital bed, you were greeted by a nurse who tried to calm you down. She told you, according to the coroner, you had passed out after having a panic attack. Just to make sure that was the actual reason, they ran a few tests — nothing special, just the usual hospitals did when patients arrived unconscious. She had reassured you after you gave her a concerned look.

"Don't worry, honey. The results of the blood test didn't show anything worrying, but I can give you my congratulations. You are pregnant."

Pregnant.

With Billy's…

"You are three weeks along. The embryo is as tiny as a poppy seed, just a millimeter."

You had gaped at her, still in disbelief.

Pregnant.

You were pregnant.

You were pregnant with Billy's baby.

Billy…

Tears had started to form in your eyes and the nurse got blurry. Again, there was this feeling in your chest that there was not enough air around you and it got harder to breathe.

"Hey, it's okay, sweetie. Since you're only eighteen, we called your parents. They should be here soon."

Your mom and dad had been more or less supportive. They had always loved Billy. There had been many get-togethers with his family — barbecues, picnics, movie nights. Your parents got along well. But when Billy was revealed as the Ghostface killer, yours had cut ties with the Loomis family and sheltered you from any contact with them.

What they couldn't shelter you from was Nancy Loomis' surprise visit three months later. Thanks to Gale's book — because she somehow managed to find out the reason for your visit to the hospital and because this heartbreaking twist would boost her sales — everyone knew you were pregnant, including Mrs. Loomis.

You were still stuck deep in your depression. You went from mourning him to calling everything into question — was it all a lie? Every touch, every kiss, every I-love-you, every time you made love and talked about the most intimate things — to mourning him again. You were a mess.

It was too much when Billy's mother was suddenly standing on your doorstep. You had slammed the door right into her face when you saw who was interrupting your crying fest, but through the door, she had convinced you to let her in so you could talk. Your hormones got the better of you and you opened the door. Her eyes flew instantly to your belly, but your baby bump wasn't visible through the white tee and the blue flannel.

"You have his clothes?"

"I have all his stuff. His clothes, his posters, his movies."

You had talked to Hank and begged him to have some of his things. He had stopped you mid-rant and said you could have everything you wanted; he didn't want it in his house. So you grabbed everything you could. When you saw the pictures displayed in his room — of you and of you and him — you turned into a crying mess and collapsed on his bed. His pillow still had smelled like him.

You must have fallen asleep because the next thing you remember was Mr. Loomis shaking you awake, looking into your bloodshot eyes and asking you if you were okay.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't want to-"

"(Y/N), I asked you if you're okay."

You had pressed your wobbly lips together and shook your head. He had engulfed you in his arms and tried his best to comfort you. After all, you were still you and despite every negative thought and feeling he held for his son and his deeds, you were not at fault. You were still the little girl from next door he had hoped to be his future daughter-in-law. You left that day with most of his stuff carefully packed up in the trunk of your car. You knew this wasn't healthy, morbid even — the girl who grabbed the belongings of her dead killer boyfriend to put everything in her room to have at least a hint of his presence, an imaginary possibility of him still being here with her. Now, there were even more pictures of your smiling faces on your shelf, your desk, the table next to your bed, and on your walls. Your closet was fuller with the addition of his t-shirts and his jackets. His movie collection was proudly placed next to yours on your shelf.

There was also a box under your bed. When you went through Billy's tiny walk-in closet you found a cavity hidden behind the wallpaper. Inside of it was a black costume, a Ghostface mask and a knife.

A bloody knife.

Whose blood was that?!

Before you could muster another thought you scrambled to the garbage can and emptied your stomach. When you were done you felt a wave of guilt wash over you.

What were you doing? How did you not notice any suspicious change?

Well, there was this one time after his mom left. He had been so distant and strange, and there had been a dark glint in his eyes when you had cornered him after a week of radio silence. The look he fixed you with gave you the heebie-jeebies. He came around a few days later and acted like nothing had happened between the two of you.

Going back to Mrs. Loomis' visit, you took your time warming up to her. Seeing her cry and listening to her begging you for forgiveness in Billy's stead. Under the influence of, again, your stupid pregnancy hormones you gave in and made her a cup of tea. You two talked for hours, mostly about her son and how much she regretted leaving him behind, then Mrs. Loomis wanted you to tell her everything about what happened after leaving and what happened that night in Stu Macher's house. When you ended your story with your pregnancy, she smiled.

"Even though he's gone, there is still a part of him with us. There is still something important I have to do, but after that, I will take care of you and the little one and support both of you in any way possible. I promise, sweetie."

As it turned out, the important thing she had to do was to kill Sidney. The target on your back you thought had disappeared returned with Gale Weather's second book. Again, you were harassed and threatened until you couldn't take it anymore and you moved away. It got harder each time since you were in the last stages of pregnancy. It hurt thinking about it, but you would never put your baby into a life like this. So you did what you thought was right.

Your sister was more than happy to take her in. Christina would inherit their family's home and would be able to raise your daughter — now your niece — safely.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you continued, "Back then, I was at the lowest point in my life and out of all people Sidney was the one who got me back on track. My mom and dad, your grandparents, must have asked her to come over to talk to me. I actually thought she would just turn around and walk away when she saw my room, considering it was crammed with Billy's stuff. He was in every corner of it, the man who killed her mother and almost killed her. She should be the one staying in bed, crying until she passed out. After all, she's the one who survived all that traumatic shit."

"Sidney visited you?"

You huffed. "Of course she did. I was her best friend. Randy and I were the only survivors out of our friend group. He and Sidney were the only ones who still treated me like a normal human being." You shrugged. "Anyways. Sidney was there for me. At first, I wasn't sure if I even wanted to see her. Inside, I knew she had no choice but to kill Billy, but I still held a grudge against her. I was afraid I would take all my anger and sadness out on her. But the second she put her arms around me, all negative thoughts disappeared, and I realized how much I needed my best friend at that moment. She got me out of bed, made me go to see a therapist, and kept reminding me of you, Sam." You looked at your daughter. "I couldn't allow myself to be selfish. I had to think of your well-being, too."

Sam nodded in understanding and then looked around the room. "I… I'll go check on Tara." It looked like she wanted to add something, but apparently, she couldn't find the right words.

You gave her a sanguine smile. "You do that. When this is all over, I promise you that we can talk about everything in peace and I will answer any question you might have. Only if you want, of course."

"I'd like that." Sam said before turning around to go looking for her sister.

You watched her until she disappeared from your sight and turned back to Billy's costume. It didn't even look that scary from your point of view — which might have been due to the lack of a mask — but almost 30 years ago, you had thought of it differently. You looked at the Ghostface costume on the right, your eyes slowly dragging down the black fabric until they reached the name tag.

Stu.

You looked up again, scrutinizing the whole look.

You remember the first and only time you were face-to-face with it. Your parents were on a once-in-a-blue-moon date in a nice restaurant, leaving you alone for a few hours. They only had been out of the house for 30 minutes when you got the infamous call. You skipped to the living room, letting your dinner heat up in the microwave, and picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Hello."

"Yes?"

"Am I talking to (Y/N)?"

"Yeah. Who is this?"

"You could say a secret admirer."

"Oh yeah? Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I have a boyfriend whom I love very much."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah." You giggled, lazily playing with the phone cord.

"That's a shame, really. In that little dress, you look like a girl a guy would kill for."

The smile completely disappeared from your face as you turned to every window the living room possessed.

"What?"

It felt like someone had punched you in the gut, knocking all the air out of your lungs. You abruptly remember the things Sidney had told you about what happened that night when she was attacked — the smooth male voice, the things he said that gave her the chills, him in a black robe and a white ghost mask, trying to kill her.

Before you could think twice, you slammed the telephone handle on the hook.

"Okay, okay. Just relax. Just some weirdo trying to scare you. It doesn't necessarily have to be-"

You shrieked when the doorbell rang.

"Jesus." With a hand pressed against your chest, you walked to the door. "Who's there?"

No answer.

"Billy, is that you?"

There was no other possibility than him, considering you casually mentioned to him that your parents weren't home with a mischievous smirk on your lips. This time, he wouldn't have to sneak through your window. You were just opening the door, pondering whether you should tell him about the weird call or not, when you were met with a white ghost mask.

Screaming, you slammed the door shut and locked it. You could hear his body colliding with the door, kicking against it, trying to open it. You didn't even think about waiting for him to successfully gain access and ran up to your room. You locked the door of your room too before grabbing your cell phone and dialing Billy's number.

"Billy, please. Billy, please. Pick up, please."

You ran to the window that was facing Billy's. His room was completely dark.

You let out a whimper. "Come on, Billy, please. Please pick up." Tears streamed down your face. When you heard the door slam against the wall downstairs, you clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle a scream.

“(Y/N)?”

Relief washed over you. You swirled around, seeing Billy standing at his window with his phone pressed against his ear.

"Billy…" You tried to control your breath. "T-There is someone in the house… the killer. He is wearing the mask Sidney told us about. He is… He is…"

You watched your boyfriend disappear, presumably running out of his room to get to you.

"It's okay, baby. Is your door locked?" He asked.

"Yes."

"Okay, good. Push your dresser in front of the door and hide in the closet. Stay there until I tell you it's safe. I'm coming, baby, you hear me?"

You heard him skipping down the stairs and listened to his reassuring words.

"I-I'm scared, Billy. I don't want t-to die."

"You won't, I promise you. Just do what I told you. Now!"

Nodding, you ran to your dresser and pushed against it with your whole body weight until it was in front of your door. Next, you ran to your closet, pulled open the door, closed it and crouched in a corner far back against the wall.

"I'm in the closet." You whispered and when you got no answer, you added, "Billy? Bill-"

You were interrupted by a loud "Hey!" and something that sounded like fighting noises. Whimpering, you fought with yourself — on the one hand, you wanted to disobey Billy's wishes and help him out of concern that the killer might hurt him; on the other hand, you wanted to do what he told you and stay hidden.

Meanwhile, Billy was seething as he grabbed his best friend by his collar and forcefully pushed him against the wall on the narrow floor leading to your room. He pulled down the mask and revealed Stu's jolly face.

"What the fuck did I tell you, huh? (Y/N) is off-limits!" Billy whisper-yelled, pulling Stu lightly to himself before slamming him hard against the wall, not releasing his grip.

Stu groaned. "I just wanted to scare her a little. I thought it would be funny."

If he weren't Billy's best friend and if they didn't have big plans ahead of themselves, Billy would have strangled him by now. He tried to channel his rage and took a deep breath before saying, "Listen, dipshit. She. Is. Off. Limits! Killing your ex? I'm in. Her new boy toy? No problem. But keep your fucking hands off of her, or I'll cut your fingers off one by one and push them down your throat, got it?"

Stu gulped and nodded, his big smile morphing into a smaller one. He wasn't scared of Billy, but Stu had to admit that there were some moments when his aggressions got worrisome.

"Now get out!" Billy hissed and let go of Stu. He waited a moment before knocking on your door.

"(Y/N), it's me. It's okay, he's gone."

There was shuffling behind the door and a minute later you ripped it open and flung yourself into his arms. Billy was shushing you, caressing your back while listening to you crying. "It's okay, I'm here." He kept saying.

When your breathing calmed down, he pulled away from you and placed his hands on both of your cheeks while looking deep into your eyes.

"You're stupid, you know that?" You mumbled, "Without thinking, you ran into a house with a killer in it."

"The only thing I could think at that moment was you."

You slightly shook your head with a small smile. "You're so cheesy."

Billy huffed a laugh before turning serious again. "Are you hurt?"

"No. I was fast enough to close the door, ran upstairs, locked my door, and hid in the closet just as you told me. There won't even be a bruise."

"Good." He nodded and kissed your forehead. "It won't happen again, I promise."

You, of course, had no idea what happened that evening outside of your room. You didn't know about the lengths he would go for you to keep you safe. You didn't know he would have killed for you. You didn't know that Billy's feelings and his love for you were genuine, something you truly questioned after the things Sidney had told you about that night. You didn't know that he felt scared when he realized that his plan was failing and he maybe wouldn't be able to see you again. You didn't know that you were his last thought before he was shot in the head.