Billy knows he should have woken Spencer-he was instructed to do so if anything bad happened, after all-but the guilt is somehow muted by his sureness that he couldn't do it, not even if he tried. He spent a cold, quiet night sitting in the hallway outside Spencer's room, the inky dark staring him down, his knees hugged to his chest. It was adrenaline that got him that far, but he thinks now that he couldn't have reached Spencer's door at all, couldn't have dragged himself there. Instead he felt more dead than he had yet experienced, with his still heart and silent lungs, unblinking, his mind churning, processing. It was a lot to go through; the weight was enormous and kept getting bigger, so much so that he dreaded each step he knew he would have to take into the world he woke up to find. He had to be brave, he knew, but he also knew that he couldn't. He couldn't be brave. It wasn't a question, because Billy was sure that if Spencer was drowning he'd leap into the water to save him, was sure that if he was before an oncoming car he'd leap in the way of it in stead, but there is no question about this. Somehow it's different, a fear so primal in nature that it overrides all other human emotion, paralyzing. It isn't like in the movies, he thinks. It's real.

So he sits until dawn breaks. Spencer wakes up, he can hear him shuffling around. His heart lightens at that, at least; the yawn and the soft sound of shuffling limbs is human. It's so mundane that it warms the inside of Billy's ribs, and he almost feels strong enough to stand up, but doesn't. He just sits and waits for Spencer to come out, so fried on his own emotional turmoil that he can't even feel the dread he knows he should feel about telling Spencer what happened. He flexes his fingers and toes, his muscles stiff and his blood still.

Everything is quiet, until he hears Spencer's footsteps thunder at a sprint to the door. He throws it open, his sleep addled brain stumbling him out into the hallway on his own momentum. His eyes snap frantically about the hallway before landing on Billy. They look relieved for an instant, a precious, touching instant, but then they turn scared and angry.

"I told you to-!" Spencer's voice is panicked, oddly broken, very angry.

"I-I-I know you did, broseph, I tried, I wanted to, but you need sleep, and I was so scared…" he stutters out, finding the strength to stand, though his bones protest. He gives Spencer a pleading look and the boy softens visibly, though his eyes are still alert and wary like a startled hare.

"Look, alright, there's a reason why you have to tell me if they show up, especially if I'm asleep." Spencer sighs, his posture going upright and solid. Billy just swallows the thickness of saliva kept in his mouth, and waits. "The noises they make...do things to people." Spencer says. "I'll explain on the way downstairs. I need to take care of this before the noise attracts any more. They move in packs when they find prey." Billy nods, eager to make Spencer happy with him again. He knows what he did wasn't brave, that Spencer has been nothing but brave this whole time, but he doesn't know what else he could do. Is this all he really amounts to? Is this really all he can do?

He follows Spencer, who rushes down the stairs. "I've seen it happen before. If you listen to them a lot, especially when you're asleep, man...it does things to you. Makes you crazy." they reach the floor of the stairs and billy follows Spencer into the kitchen, where sunlight filters in in thin golden strips. "My friend, Rajeev…" Spencer continues, opening the kitchen cabinet where the medical supplies are and revealing a couple other things; gloves, goggles, a bandanna suspiciously spattered with dark liquid. "...he used to pull watches. We met his family on our way here to find you. Rajeev didn't make it out." Spencer's movements seem to stutter. Billy adds another tick mark to the list of people in Spencer's life who are dead. It's a good thing Billy was never really close to anyone apart from Spencer and the Wrights, he thinks, or else he'd be in the same boat. It's an oddly cold thought that he doesn't like the sound of. "He fell asleep one night. We were all holed up in his house, but there were a few...undead. Four, I think, which is a lot, but not so many when you have as many people as we did." Spencer straps on the goggles. "The sounds got to him. They were the loudest where he was, outside, the moaning and stuff. He tried to kill his sister and tried to kill me. He ran out into them, and they tore him apart." Spencer pulls the bandanna over his mouth.

Billy just stares at him from across the kitchen. When had he picked up his ax? It has a weight in Spencer's hand beyond it's physical measure, but only in a way that Billy can't quite place. He must've looked puzzled, because Spencer tries to give him a reassuring smile.

"The bandanna keeps it from getting in my mouth." he says, before breathing evenly out, eyes closing momentarily, dark eyelashes fanning out against his cheeks. He seems to go all stony and quiet, but then he opens his eyes again and he's a soldier. His hand flexes around the ax and his pupil dilate strangely. He's working himself up, putting on his armor, slinging chain-mail over his heart.

Billy watches, transfixed, as Spencer puts his hand on the door, ready to leave. Billy doesn't want him to on many levels, doesn't want him to have to fight. It's like watching him walk into traffic, a weapon in his hand and a hundred years in his dark brown eyes, but there's nothing Billy can do to stop him.

"W-wait a minute, brochacho..." he stutters. "Maybe we can just, I dunno, wait for it to go away? I mean-"

"It won't go away. I have to do this quickly, quietly, and now." Spencer says simply. Billy hates that he isn't even angry. He hates that he has to be coddled by Spencer when he's the adult, when he should be the one going out there, but he's too scared. He can't go out there and fight that thing. For once in his life Billy really genuinely wishes he were a bigger, braver person.

"But what if you get hurt?" he murmurs. He meets Spencer's eyes and a meaningful silence stretches between them. There is an understanding in those eyes; a boy who watched his parents try to defend him jumps to the defense of the only family he has left, and watches an all too familiar look of horror wash over Billy's face. He's been behind those eyes that watch a protector go out into the danger, and he's done with it. Billy knows instantly that there is no amount of begging or pleading or drama that can stop him from going out there, crossing over the wall that keeps them safe, and risking his life over one tiny, worthless, insuperable monstrosity.

It isn't worth his life, Billy thinks. Nothing is.

"Relax, man." Spencer puts a hand on Billy's shoulder. It's warm and heavy and real, but not at all comforting. Billy can feel tears in his eyes-he was always a little quick to cry-but doesn't bother to wipe them away, doesn't feel like he can break eye contact with Spencer. "I've done this before." Billy's heart shudders. He's done this before and it leaves a terrible taste in Billy's mouth.

"Don't fuck up." is all he can say when Spencer lets go of him and opens the door, cast out into the world like live bait speared by a fishhook, already half dead.

The door shuts behind him Billy has never been as scared as he is right now.

He walks to the closed doorway and leans against it, an open palm on the boarded up wood, forehead making contact with it. He can't hear anything. He's alone for the first time in a a while, a shuddering, dangerous kind of alone where he's not sure of anything. He wants to reach out and pull Spencer back inside, let the walking bodies pile up to cover them like a blanket of stars where they can be safe forever. But that can't happen. He's not even brave enough to go out there and fight for Spencer's life.

He's on the sidelines. He's never been on the sidelines; he's always the main event. But now, waiting in silence to know whether or not Spencer will live, he's not the main event. It doesn't even feel like an event. It feels like a hospital room, like waiting for a verdict. He wishes he was braver, cooler, a better friend.

"Come back, brosephone, I need you…" he murmurs into the door, into the place Spencer left behind. "If you die and leave me here…" he mutters. What? If he dies, then what? Billy doesn't even know. His brain lacks the ability to imagine that scenario, to event construct it, much less investigate its facets. He's always hated being alone, but being alone is different somehow when he knows Spencer could die. Somehow, it's even harder to imagine than the reality he's living.

Spencer is gone for a while. It's quiet, painfully so. Billy paces around the kitchen and then sits down at the table where Spencer usually spends his time. He draws in the dust. Spencer needs him, clearly; he's cried and broken down and fallen asleep without meaning to, but Billy can't even do this. He brings his hand to his face and bites at his forefinger. What can he even do? Spencer can survive on his own, he's proven that again and again, and yet in spite of that he's still a sad, lost teenager being forced to live in a world he should never have had to see.

An eternity passes.

After a while of Billy running himself in circles, distracting himself from the wait, trying not to conclude that Spencer is dead, he hears the dull knock on the door. His gaze snaps up to lock on it and his heart leaps into his throat; Spencer left it unlocked, of course, so he could get back in. That has to be him. Relief washes over Billy in waves.

Billy gets up and almost collides with the door when it swings open, Spencer coming back inside, silhouetted by the warm gold of the sun that paints his back in platinum and gives him a halo of dust. Billy heart shudders for the first time since he woke up, daring to beat for a moment that he doesn't even notice, sending a flush of life through him that he doesn't even feel.

"Spence, are you…" he doesn't finish. Spencer closes the door behind him and they're locked in the dim kitchen again. Light filters through the cracks between the boards to paint yellow lines over Spencer's back as he rips his bloodied goggles and gloves off and puts his hands on the table, one clutched so hard around his weapon that his knuckles are ivory white. He leans over it, weight displaced, and breathes out a heavy, shaky breath. Billy notices the blood across his cousin's arms, splattered darkly over his shirt. A smeared, bloody, bruising hand print on his bicep. There was a struggle that Billy didn't even see, and Spencer must have feared for his life. That fear is gone now, replaced by something else.

Spencer inhales and straightens his back, standing back up and pulling the bandanna down so that it loops around his neck. Billy catches his expression, which is oddly nonplussed. There's gut-black blood and ichor splattered across his front, tiny dots of skull fragments peppering it like stars. Billy hates how little impact it has on Spencer, how easy he makes it seem even when Billy knows that it isn't.

"Spence?" he says, reaching out to rub a dot of blood from Spencer's cheek with his thumb.

"It's taken care of." Spencer says. Billy feels like he missed something big, like a while other life was happening out there without him. It's such a huge ordeal, to almost die. He missed one of Spencer's many encounters with death.

"I'm sorry." he croaks.

"For what?" Spencer asks, leaning into his touch.

"For making you do that, brohime." he says. "For making you…"

"You didn't make me do anything. Feel grateful, not guilty. You're new to this. It'll be a while before you can put a hole in a human head and not fall apart." he looks up at Spencer. "They look human. There's something to be said for never having to bust a human head open. I don't want you to have to do that." he says. "For personal reasons."

Billy chuckles humorlessly and sniffs, willing his tears not to boil up. "Not for my sake?"

"Everything is for your sake right now." Spencer says it simply, easily. Billy can't help the way he curls around the boy, pulling him into a bone crushing hug. He's small and warm, and for an instant seems to flinch away before falling into the embrace.

"Thank you, then." Billy sobs into the crown of his head. He kisses Spencer's head, rubs his back. He's so brave, so small, so broken. He pulls back and smiles up at Billy, and for an instant he's the Spencer who billy used to know, even though in reality hes an amalgam of all of his experiences, including the terrible ones that changed who he is. That's not a part of him that Billy can ignore.

Billy feels like he has a lot to say very suddenly, but can say none of it. He hovers close to Spencer's warmth, tasting it between them, between the foulness and the fear, between the golden light and the dark blood. His heart, in a moment of feeble construction but impossibly powerful feeling, pushes a little blood through his veins. This time he feels it, though he isn't completely aware of it, as heat flushes his body, threatening to boil him. He's overwhelmed with affection, protectiveness, and something else. Spencer is staring at him, apprehensive but equally captivated by an odd moment that chose it's timing all too poorly. He can taste something on the air. Spencer's freckles and are beautiful, his voice reassuring, his actions brave, his gaze intelligent and discerning. He's everything Billy never wanted, never valued, and yet right now he's shaking the stars from the sky.

Billy is suddenly, painfully aware that all he wants to do is kiss Spencer. The awareness of the desire rattles the magic from his bones and he comes up cold, unsure of himself and completely disarmed. The spell is broken. Spencer blinks and Billy realizes that their faces are only centimeters apart, noses almost touching, sharing breath and thought and heat. Spencer's eyes are wide and glossy like a rabbit's, scared and enthralled.

"Billy?" Spencer is comfortingly nervous and unsure. Billy shakes his head and withdraws from the embrace. He really shouldn't be thinking things like that, not about Spencer, not now. His heart stops again.

"Yeah, brochacho, broham sandwi-" Billy rattles on, his gaze darting around, unable to focus on any one thing.

"Are you feeling okay?" Spencer grabs his arm before he can withdraw completely, and gives him a hard, contemplative look. "I need to know if you aren't. I mean," he gestures around, a short, sarcastic twitch of a smile gracing his features, "I guess nothing is okay. But, you know..." he shrugs, looks away, and lets go. He's afraid of diving in, too. "Are you?"

Billy swallows thickly and looks away from him. "I think I'm just…" he looks up at Spencer again. He's changed so much, and yet not at all. Billy knows him so well, and yet he's a complete stranger. Billy breathes out. "I missed you. I do miss you, right now, bro." he smiles. "I was so scared of losing you-"

"I won't die that easily, Billy."

"I just wish I could protect you, that you didn't have to protect me. I don't know. I wish a lot of things. I'm not even myself any more." he's not sure who he is outside of stardom. He's not sure who he is to Spencer or himself.

Spencer gives him a sad, wanting smile. "None of us are."

"I wish I was brave. You know, like you are." Billy says. Spencer sighs and lifts himself up to sit on the table.

"Listen, Billy…" Billy nods and sits down next to Spencer. They simply stay there for a moment together, fresh blood on Spencer's shirt and shoes, an ax on the floor with a bit of hair stuck to it, a strip of scalp. "I'm scared, alright? Just like you are. Just like all survivors are. But we get up and do what we do every day anyway. It's like the regular world, just...with a lower life expectancy." he kicks his legs and bites his lip. Billy feels small.

Spencer looks at him, and he dares to look back. "You take risks for rewards. Sometimes the reward isn't even that good. It's just survival, you don't get anything nice out of it. There are no prizes. But sometimes…" he reaches over and slips his fingers between Billy's. They fill the slots perfectly, clicking together like puzzle pieces. "...you get something totally awesome in return." Spencer is smiling for real when Billy looks up at him, and its radiance knocks the breath out of his lungs and unzips his rib cage, writing Spencer's name on the struggling muscle of his heart. He hasn't seen that smile in forever, and all of a sudden he doesn't even miss Spencer, just aches on his behalf, like the shaggy boy beside him is an extension of himself, a severed limb, and exposed nerve. "Your life is just another reason for me to get up and do what I do. Stay your sweet, narcissistic, innocent self, just for me, so I can orbit around you like you think everyone in the world should." Spencer lends Billy the strength to stand, but it's up to him to summon the will. Billy tightens his grip on Spencer's hand and finds that they are closer than ever, bound in mutual support.

In that moment, Billy knows what he can do for Spencer; the same thing he has always done, what he was born to do, what he is passionate about, what he lived for when he was alive. He may not know how to survive, but he knows how to live.

whoa has it been a million years or what! relatively uneventful chapter ;v; sorry !

four chapters in and they almost make a gross desperation kiss. im a slow infant.