#billy:starter

Billy lay handcuffed to the bed, his wrist going a little purple from how harshly he'd been treating it. His face was a ragged mess of cuts and gashes across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. The sting burnt his eyes, making him unable to see without a teary haze. In a way, he knew he deserved it. He'd just murdered the son of of the mayor's wife. Though, he hadn't known that at the time, it definitely sounded better on paper. His broken ribs throbbed from where the boy's mother had rushed to his defense, only for it to already be too late. But, she was the reason he was here now, and he wasn't going to forget that anytime soon.

The door opened and Billy's head tilted to one side, blinking until his vision was clear enough to squint an image worth looking at out of. "Who the hell are you?" He asked, tensing up. "What do you want? You a reporter? A cop?" His paranoia began to gnaw at him, slightly worried she'd been sent to finish the job. It wasn't as if the mayoral family couldn't afford to hire someone to do their dirty work. "Whatever this is…I don't care. Alright? Just get out." He snapped at her, tone defensive but not entirely hostile. There was a fear in his eyes that betrayed his performance. His teary eyes stayed locked on her, cuffed hand tense against the pull of the restraint, as if there was still half a chance he could claw his way out of this nightmare.

For the short time Billy'd been conscious, pain had been his constant companion. His face was a wreck of gnarled, raw flesh, his ribs were bruised and aching with every shallow breath, and one of his legs twisted in a way he was really sure it wasn't supposed to. His wrist was a purpled blue where they'd chained him to the bed by force. He was only eighteen, but the weight of his choices had battered him into something unrecognisable. His teary eyes fluttered beneath bruised lids, his sleep restless despite having little energy to waste. As the door creaked open, Billy stirred, head lolling against the pillow as his eyes struggled to open. The light was blinding, forcing him to squint through blurred, watery vision. "Mmph…Who's…?" He mumbled, voice weak and barely audible over the monitors and machines keeping him comfortable. His cuffed hand twitched feebly, trying to shield his face, but a sharp bite of pain from his ribs made him whimper, a small, pitiful sound that caught in his throat. "Nurse…?" He asked, tone uncertain, almost hopeful, like a child calling out for comfort.

Then, as the figure got closer and the haze cleared just enough; recognition slammed into him. His breathing hitched, a ragged gasp escaping as his eyes went wide in an agonised terror. "No…No. Get back!" He cried out, voice breaking into a high, frantic pitch as he jerked against the handcuffs, the metal clanging off of the railing. Pain ripped through him, but, he barely noticed, the fear consuming everything. "Who let you- How did you- You're- You're gonna kill me!" He sobbed, words tumbling out in a desperate, childish rush. "Please don't - I can't - Don't do it!" his teary eyes darted wildly, searching for an escape that just didn't exist. For a fleeting second, defiance flared and his quivering lips twisted. "What, you think you're some…some hero now? You're nothing!" he spat, but the words were hollow, his voice quivering as even he didn't believe what he was saying. The snarl faded almost instantly, a trembling whimper taking its place as he stared up at her, tethered to the bed, tied up and too injured to try to escape. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay?!" He panted, a few tears running down his cheeks and mingling with his blood along the way. "I didn't…I didn't know how to stop it. No one ever…No one showed me." He curled in on himself, his cuffed hand gripping the bedsheet like it could protect him in some way. "Please…I'm sorry. I was scared, alright? I don't…I don't wanna die. Not again…"

"You've gotta be kidding me." Billy growled, freshly re-broken ribs aching with every shallow breath. "The vulture herself. What, you smell blood in the water and come for your scoop?" His words were clearly sarcastic, but, there was a flicker of fear in his teary gaze that he couldn't quite shake. His body instinctively tense, as if bracing for impact. "You never quit, do you?" He spat, voice trembling a little more as anger and paranoia got the better of him. "Always gotta be the one who comes out on top, huh? You happy now?" He let out a harsh, barking laugh, but it quickly turned into a wince as the movement pulled at his wounds, a fresh tear slipping down his cheek. "Get the hell outta here. Go write your shit stories somewhere else."

Billy felt like he was in a trap. A stark, suffocating trap. He had a fear of hospitals, one that made him feel like the walls were going to close in on him if he didn’t escape. That someone was going to come and inject some kind of poison into him that he didn’t understand. If there was a way to overthink what could happen to him, you could be sure he’d already thought about it. He lay in a heap, one arm outstretched as it was handcuffed to the bed, his wrist purple from being pulled tightly against it as he lay on the other side of the bed to where the handcuff was clamped. His face was a mess of gashes from cheek to cheek, eyes teary from the stinging pain of each little movement of his face. His ribs throbbed with every little breath and his mind was a fractured storm on the verge of snapping. He was trapped, broken and seething with a restless tension that barely masked the frightened boy underneath. As the door opened, his head lopped to one side, a tear dripping down his cheek and clearing his vision. “Oh, great.” he muttered. “The prodigal daughter. What’s this? You here to play morality police?” He scoffed, but his teary gaze stayed fixed on her, sizing her up as a threat to his safety. “I’m not in the mood for this.” He added, voice low and clipped. The cuffs rattled softly as a faint remor betrayed the pain he was trying to hide. “If you’re here with some kind of lecture, you can save it. I don’t need you acting like you’re better than me. We both know you’re not.” He glanced at the cuffs, then back to her, breath hitching slightly for just a moment. “What do you want? I’ve enough to deal with without you adding to the pile.”

The fluorescent lights cast a harsh shadow over Billy’s small, battered form. The metal cuffs that tethered him to his bed were biting into his wrist, bruising his skin from how tightly they’d been locked in. His shattered ribs stopped him from resting peacefully, each shallow breath rattling new aches and pains around his body and he could do nothing but lay there and feel it. He squinted through the tears brought forth from the gnarled skin on his face, vision blurry but with a few blinks he figured out who exactly was in the doorway. “Well, well…if it isn’t Deputy Dewey.” He snarled despite pain being evident in every word. “Come to babysit the big bad wolf, huh?” He let out a harsh, barking laugh but it quickly turned to a wince as the movement pulled at his cuts, a fresh tear slipping down his cheek. “Stupid, bumbling Dewey. Always one step behind. And now what? You’re my jailer?” His red, stinging eyes burnt with defiance, but there was an underlying fear that was evident if you took a moment to look. “Get out of here.” He growled. “I don’t need you staring at me like I’m some…some little monster.” His words were sharp, but, his voice wavered, a faint tremor betraying the fear beneath his bravado.

The hospital room was a cold and sterile prison, the steady beeping from the monitor almost mocking in its constant rhythm against Billy’s ragged breaths. His face was a mangled mess of cuts, scrapes and gashes that throbbed from ear to ear with every blink, forcing him to squint just to try and see anything at all past the tears of his own agonies. He was trapped and broken, seething with a rage that barely masked the frightened teenager trembling beneath. A low growl escaped him as he squinted through the tears, vision blurry but eventually clearing enough to recognise Christina. His bloodied lips curled into a snarl, his body tensing against the restraints. “What the hell are you doing here?” he spat, voice a battle between venom and pain. “Get out!” he barked, voice cracking as he lunged forward only to be jerked back by the handcuffs with a sharp clank, his body trembling with the pain of the effort. A sharp jolt shot through his ribs, making him gasp and bare his teeth. “I don’t need your pity, Christina. I don’t need you! You think you can just…just show up now? After everything?” His voice broke on the last words, a flicker of raw fear before he buried it under another grumble of pain, his hands clenched into fists. “Go away. Go back to hating me from a distance. I dont…I dont want you here.” His words were sharp, but his voice wavered. He didn’t want her to see him like this; broken and so very small.

"You think you're better than me, don't you?" Billy's voice cut through the quiet room. He was looking out the window with an almost predatory focus. He didn't want to look at her. "You think you can just say the right things to keep me quiet, and then you can bury what's in you. Say it. Tell me I'm wrong." He wanted to shove that lie right back down her throat. He was angry, and he wasn't sure why. He'd offered to care about Tara. For her. Only to be told by Tara that Sam hadn't liked the idea. If it was true, then it meant someone wasn't good enough. It had to be him, didn't it? It was always him, he was always the weak link in every family. "My own flesh and blood, playing hero."

"What's it to you, huh? Back off!" Billy grunted, throwing the remote control of his television against the wall of his apartment, sending it clattering to the ground as the batteries and buttons scattered onto the wooden floor. He exhaled sharply out of his nose before stomping on it, cracking it under his combat boots. "Everything's fucked anyway, so why not? You gonna fix it? Didn't think so! Get out of here before I give you something to really worry about."