It was raining. One of those unbelievably rare nights in L.A. where there was an actual, legitimate chill in the air, and if you looked hard enough you could actually see an ominous mist settled quietly in the night's atmosphere. Not many people tended to wander on nights like these. On occasion you'd catch a few people out, mainly out of necessity, buying groceries or going to work, but for the most part, people tended to stay indoors. It was as if they were afraid of it. Rain was unusual for the area, and why would anyone ever want to deal with the unusual?

Naturally, Billy was outside. In dark. In the cold. Completely soaked.

Why had he done this again? He still wasn't sure. His usual reason was to get a moment to himself, some time to think without interruption. But Moist was out tonight, no one ever called, he had the apartment to himself. So why was he out here?

As always, answers were very hard to come by. Sometimes, things just happened. Hours could be spent frantically writing and re-writing equations on the whiteboard, only to have the answer finally appear in his mind while doing laundry. Nothing ever happened when expected, nothing ever quite seemed to work out logically.

Except, of course, for logic. But, that was really an entirely different issue.

At the end of the street was a single store with it's light on. Did stores honestly close early just for rain? Billy was sure he had seen this street alive much later than this. Nonetheless, he realized soon that he was not simply lost and confused, but thirsty, and that despite it's shady appearance, the store seemed to be the type of place he could get a soda. Digging into his pocket, he desperately hoped for a ten. He got a five. It was close enough, and by far more than he'd had in his pocket in quite a while. He could probably even afford a coffee, or at the very least a hot chocolate.

He smiled a bit, maybe things weren't as bad as he thought.

The store was your typical convenience store. There was a bored, slightly angry looking man reading a paper behind the counter, cigarettes behind him, alcohol around him, and a coffee machine in the back. Naturally, Billy went straight for the coffee, not expecting it to be good, but at least hoping it would be warm. He wasn't much of a natural coffee person, and was dismayed to find only three sugar packets next to the machine. He vaguely heard the sound of the door opening at the front of the store as he reached for a flavored creamer to replace the lack of sugar, but didn't really start to take notice until he heard the yelling.

"Open the register!"

"What?!"

Billy turned. A man in a dark hoodie stood in front of the register. Even from the back, he was an intimidating figure, tall, with a large frame that made him look not dissimilar to an un-costumed Captain Hammer. He was, of course, not Captain Hammer, unfortunately, as his hair was far too long and the wrong color. He was standing across from the man behind the counter, who was at this point looking far less bored and angry and far more like he wanted to wet himself. The tall man was armed, a small handgun being held comfortably towards the other man's chest.

"Open the register." The man repeated. The cashier moved hesitantly towards the register, eyes fixed on the gun, not even really bothering to look at the register as he began to take out the money.

Billy ducked down behind the aisle in front of him. What should he do? What could he do? He'd left his phone at home, he couldn't contact the police. And if he went out there, would he really be able to stop the robber without any of his Dr. Horrible things? He realized he was shaking. This was pathetic. Wasn't this what he was fighting against? The insanity, corruption and senseless brutality of society? Wasn't this the reason he did what he did? Why was he hiding from this when the opportunity to stop it was right in front of him? Why was he crouched on the floor?

"Move faster!" The tall man up front shouted.

Billy could hear a few thuds, intermingled with some yelling in pain, and finally a frantic "I'm sorry!" from the cashier. He didn't need to look to see what had happened. The situation was getting worse.

"Is that all?" he heard the tall man demand.

"That's it." The cashier replied, shakily.

"Are you sure?" There was a shot, Billy just barely stifled a scream.

"Yes! That's it!"

"Alright," said the robber, "thanks a lot."

It wasn't until he heard the door open and close that stood up and walked to the counter. The cashier was shaken and beaten, bruises forming on his face, a bit of blood dripping from his lip. It was a state Billy was familiar with, and was not one, in his mind, the typical civilian should be forced to experience. The situation disgusted him. Was this really the kind of world he lived in?

"I'm…um, sorry about that." He said, still too shocked and angry to say anything else, "I would have…um, you know, called someone…but I left my phone at home."

"It's alright," said the cashier, "it wasn't your fault. Stores get robbed. It happens. I just hope you have exact change…"

"Keep the rest," said Billy, putting down his five, "and…um, you might want to ice that."

"Thanks." Said the man, smiling.

Billy took his coffee and started towards the door. How on earth could that man be smiling? He'd just been robbed. Beaten and robbed. And he was just going to accept it? He was in pain for no reason at all, didn't that mean anything? How could he just stand there and let men like that run around free?

Just before he opened the door, the cashier sighed. "Fucking villains," he said. Billy gulped.

Villain.

His eye twitched a bit as he pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head. In one gulp, he finished his coffee and threw it away. He shoved his hands in his pockets and after one quick look back at the cashier and his store, he opened the door and stepped back out into the darkness.

Character: Billy/Dr. Horrible

Fandom: Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog

Words: 1, 090

.