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tv-draws · 6 months

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AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I’m so glad I could prompt this deliciousness :))))

[Everyone Blame Cleav3rrr for this idea guys. It’s totally his fault-]

Imagine Doug Van Housen meeting Billy Loomis..

This will be something like- Billy being in the Animal Room timeline suddenly, and he’s meeting Doug and it’s hhhh

Anyways

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Title: The Vexation

Word count: 2648 Rating: Mature? CW: knives, blood, fighting

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Billy's awakening was accompanied by a relentless pounding in his head, one of the most excruciating pains he had ever experienced. The throbbing beat against his skull, rendering even the slightest movement a daunting task.

His entire body seemed to be in agony, and the awareness of this discomfort hit him almost immediately. Everything hurt, and the pain in his head took center stage, amplifying his irritation. Slowly, he rolled over onto his side, his eyes barely opening. Something felt amiss. Something was undeniably wrong.

With a sudden jolt, he sat up, a hand instinctively clutching his head as a surge of pain swept through him. The room he found himself in was alien, a stark contrast to the familiarity of his own space. Taking in his surroundings, he noted every detail that distinguished this room from his own. It was different—disconcertingly so.

As he rose from the bed, a distinct thud resonated on the floor. Glancing down, he discovered his knife, the trusty switchblade that Stu had gifted him. Stu. The mere thought of his friend intensified the disorientation. Where was Stu? Did he exist in this unfamiliar realm?

Picking up the knife, Billy set it on what appeared to be his dresser, contemplating the mysterious circumstances of his surroundings and the conspicuous absence of Stu. The room held a strange atmosphere, and Billy couldn't shake the feeling that something profound had shifted.

Billy felt a wave of nausea threatening to overcome him as he sluggishly moved around the unfamiliar room. He needed to find some sense of normalcy, something grounding. Spotting a plain t-shirt and jeans, he hastily threw them on, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling that lingered in his gut. Where the hell was he?

Once dressed, he instinctively pocketed his trusty knife in the front pocket, a small yet familiar comfort in this disorienting situation. Memories leading up to this point were a blur, leaving him with a disconcerting sense of amnesia. All he knew for certain was that this place was a far cry from his usual surroundings.

Descending the stairs, he noted the eerie emptiness of the house. A heavy quietness hung in the air, casting a somber mood. His eyes fell on a note resting on the kitchen counter, and he carefully picked it up. The message, 'don't forget to go to the animal room today,' stared back at him, devoid of any signature. A vague recognition flickered in his mind, suggesting that the handwriting resembled his father's. Yet, the idea of his parents being present in this strange place seemed implausible.

His thoughts raced, and the nagging question kept piercing through the confusion: Where the fuck was Stu?

Frustration boiled within him, and he crumpled the note before tossing it aside. What the hell was happening? The uncertainty gnawed at him, leaving him with more questions than answers.

A curse escaped Billy's lips as he stepped outside, a strange compulsion tugging at his stomach, urging him forward. It felt like an instinct, a force guiding him through the unfamiliar surroundings. Succumbing to this unseen pull, he followed it, his senses heightened by an odd sense of purpose.

Upon arriving at the school, two distinct observations struck him. First, this place was vastly different from Woodsboro. The architecture, the atmosphere—all of it bore no resemblance to the familiar surroundings he knew. The second observation concerned a tall figure surrounded by several guys and one other individual.

Dressed in dark clothes with equally dark hair, the tall figure's face caught Billy's attention. It was an uncanny resemblance to Stu, yet something was amiss. This person exuded a deranged aura, a darkness that Billy couldn't associate with the Stu he knew. The observation unsettled him, but rather than approaching closer, Billy chose to keep a distance, at least for the time being. There was an air of caution, a hesitation to delve into the unknown.

Billy surveyed the unfamiliar surroundings before deciding to enter the building. Although he couldn't recall ever being here, an inexplicable knowledge guided him, directing his steps. A subtle internal voice suggested that he didn't have to be here yet, but an insatiable curiosity compelled him forward. He wanted to see, to understand, and to meticulously note every detail.

Navigating through the hallways, he encountered an anarchy symbol on the wall, triggering a vague sense of déjà vu. It was as if he belonged here, and that feeling only intensified when he noticed a guy dozing off in a chair. Rolling his eyes, Billy descended into what seemed to be a basement, a place that, on the surface, appeared to be a hellhole designed to isolate certain individuals.

To his surprise, the atmosphere down there exuded an eerie sense of normalcy. It was a paradoxical thought—how could a place that seemed like a hellhole feel so commonplace?

As he explored further, another striking realization dawned on him: Stu didn't exist in this strange realm. Instead, the mysterious guy from earlier was present. Intrigued, Billy felt an urge to learn more about him, to unravel the enigma surrounding this unfamiliar counterpart. It was a necessity, a gut feeling urging him to comprehend the dynamics of this peculiar place.

Billy's fingers traced over the surface of one of the desks, and he decided to claim a seat. His legs stretched out, ankles crossing, and a semblance of relaxation settled over him. Several minutes passed, and more people filtered into the room, none of them paying any attention to him. That sense of anonymity pleased him.

He observed the dark-haired figure, one of his companions addressing him as 'Van Housen' while another simply called him Doug. Doug Van Housen. The absurdity of the name almost tempted Billy to snort, but he restrained himself, biting his tongue.

The room buzzed with the flickering light of a TV as someone switched it on, broadcasting something that failed to pique Billy's interest. Instead, his focus honed in on Housen, and he meticulously noted every detail—the shoes chosen for added height, the clothing, and the palpable irritation emanating from him.

Though Housen appeared to radiate a dangerous aura, Billy's instincts were driven by a desire to prod, poke, and unravel the enigma before him. He wanted to see what made Housen tick, to uncover the reasons behind his seemingly menacing presence. It wasn't about fear; it was about understanding, peeling back the layers to reveal the truth about this mysterious figure who bore an uncanny resemblance to his boy- his.. friend.

Billy contemplated the idea that he could easily kick the leg of Housen's chair to gain attention, but for the moment, it felt unnecessary. As conversations unfolded around him, Billy remained observant, catching shadows moving behind the door labeled as the exit. He recalled the guy asleep in the chair and speculated that there might be more of them, silently watching.

An uneasy feeling settled in Billy's stomach as the alarm bells rang in his head. The notion of being watched by unseen observers didn't sit well with him.

Amidst the ongoing chatter, Housen's voice carried irritation and impatience. Everyone continued talking, seemingly oblivious to the potential danger lurking behind the door. Billy's attention shifted back to the shadows moving again.

When he saw Housen's hands inch toward the desk, Billy was quick as he stood and reached over and grabbed his shoulder, his voice low and meant for Housen alone. "Not yet. They're waiting, just for you. Wouldn't want them to actually have a reason to mess with you today, would you?" A sly smile played on Billy's lips as he touched a mark on Housen's jaw. "Especially not after this."

Tension gripped Housen under Billy's grip, but as he met Billy's gaze, a fiery determination burned behind his eyes. Billy reveled in the intensity, wanting to stoke that flame.

"What?" Housen retorted in a hushed tone.

Billy motioned toward the door. "The shadows under the door. They move whenever you speak even remotely too loud. They're waiting for you to do something."

Housen blinked, swatting away Billy's hand, but the fire in his eyes seemed to dwindle. He glanced at Billy, then at the guy beside him, commanding, "Beat it." The way he spoke had an immediate and powerful effect, causing everyone to stop. It made Billy twitch, craving more. Housen patted the chair after the guy left, and Billy sat down, anticipating the unfolding dynamics of this peculiar place.

Billy wasn't in the business of making friends, especially not with someone who wasn't Stu. Nevertheless, this guy intrigued him in a peculiar way.

Housen directed a question at him, his tone probing. "What are you here for?"

Billy casually lolled his head to the side, feigning disinterest as his gaze rested on the TV. "Secrets, secrets," he replied nonchalantly.

Housen emitted a noise of acknowledgment, turning his attention back to the TV. The room resumed its chatter, eyes off the two of them. "Why does everyone look at you like you're a threat?" Billy inquired, seeking answers.

Housen shot him a scowl this time. "What was it you said just now? Secrets, secrets?"

Housen sighed after that, seemingly only a willing to share. "Most people don't live; they exist. Yet, I've shown people what living is."

Billy snorted at the analogy. "What a dumb fucking analogy."

A sizzle of irritation began to form in Housen's gaze. "What?"

Billy grinned mischievously. "'Oh, people exist, they don't live!' Come on, man. Be more creative than that." The exchange was laced with a peculiar blend of tension and amusement, as Billy continued to toy with the mysterious Doug Van Housen.

Housen blinked at Billy, a subtle acknowledgment of the inevitable irritation that lay ahead. "Well, you're obviously going to get on my nerves."

Billy rolled his eyes. "Could say the same about you. What's with the fucking clothes, by the way?"

Housen looked at him again. "Style," he answered, the word delivered with an air of simplicity. The response tempted Billy to snort, but he managed to restrain himself this time.

Billy sensed that he wouldn't particularly like this character, yet there was an undeniable allure in the challenge of trying to unravel him. It promised a momentary diversion, a puzzle to solve in the peculiar environment they found themselves in. The dynamic between Billy and Housen, though laced with tension, held the promise of an intriguing dance of personalities.

As a day or so passed, Billy continued to navigate the intricate undercurrents of the peculiar environment surrounding him. One noteworthy observation concerned Housen's peculiar fixation on a particular individual—someone named 'Arnie Mosk.' Arnie seemed like an ordinary kid, grappling with everyday issues, perhaps even a drug problem. However, for reasons unknown, Housen harbored a distinct issue with him.

One day, Billy happened to be passing by the bathroom just as Housen and his entourage emerged, a few of them sharing hearty laughs as if they'd just witnessed something uproariously funny. What caught Billy's attention, though, was the unsettling look in Housen's eyes as they briefly scanned over his face. The glance was devoid of anything good.

Deciding to investigate further, Billy entered the bathroom and found Arnie on the floor, his face soaked with vomit. Sighing, Billy approached, offering assistance. He urged Arnie to report Housen's actions. When Arnie questioned him, Billy skillfully shut down the inquiry with an easygoing demeanor.

Now, the time had come for Billy to address Housen and the unsettling dynamic he seemed to harbor.

Billy positioned himself in the hallway, strategically near a classroom not currently in session. Hidden from view unless one approached closely, he readied himself for what he intended to do.

Taking out his switchblade, he deftly opened it, using the blade to clean dirt from under his nails. The minutes ticked by, and then the unmistakable sound of boots approached—Housen's boots. Billy heard the slam of a body against a locker, confirming that Arnie was the unfortunate target.

Billy shifted his grip on the knife handle and stepped out from his concealed position, moving carefully to avoid triggering Housen's awareness. Uninterested in the exchange of words, he acted swiftly, lunging forward. A firm hand clamped around Housen's head, covering his mouth, while the other pressed threateningly against his neck.

"Don't try anything. I'll make sure you bleed out right now," Billy hissed, low and menacing. He then directed a gaze toward Arnie. "Go, and don't say anything." Arnie blinked for a moment before swiftly making his exit.

Billy emitted a primal noise before issuing a directive. "Let's chat in a more private area." A forceful kick to Housen's foot set him in motion, and Billy guided him toward the bathroom, preparing for the private confrontation that lay ahead.

In the confined space of the bathroom, Billy wasted no time asserting dominance. He forcefully shoved Housen, relishing the satisfying thud as his face collided with the stall. A smirk played on Billy's lips as he scratched his head with the butt of the knife.

"You know," he began, the mockery evident in his tone, "I knew you were insane. What I didn't know was that you seem to move without reason."

Housen touched his nose, inspecting the blood on his fingers before locking eyes with Billy. "You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into."

Billy tilted his head, his smile widening. "You sure?"

Housen took a deep breath and advanced toward Billy. However, Billy, anticipating the move, sidestepped and expertly tripped Housen with a swift kick. He taunted, "Not very good without your little boys, are ya?"

Billy, well-aware of the dynamics within Housen's group, knew that his followers did most, if not all, of the heavy lifting. Housen was more of a barker than a biter.

As Housen lay on the floor, Billy applied pressure with his boot on Housen's back. Bending down, he grabbed a handful of Housen's black hair and pulled, prompting a pained noise. The knife tapped mockingly against Housen's exposed neck.

"Are you living now, Doug Van Housen?" Billy asked, reveling in the role reversal.

Housen emitted a noise akin to a growl. "If you want my blood, then take it, it's yours," he gritted out. His words hung in the air, causing a momentary pause for Billy. It felt like a challenge, an invitation, but also a statement that echoed eerily in his mind. His?

Growling in response, Billy couldn't resist the temptation. He cut a long line into Housen's arm, feeling a surge of aggression. "Don't fucking say that."

"Why not?" Housen breathed out. "Doesn't it make it fun for you?"

"Not at all," Billy retorted, releasing Housen's hair and pushing him to the floor. The desire to inflict further harm waned, replaced by a strange feeling that he couldn't quite define.

As Housen touched his face, he posed a curious question. "How pissed would you get if I said you were like me?"

Billy rolled his eyes. "You'd be a liar if you said that."

"Wouldn't I?" Housen smiled, and the next sequence of events blurred for Billy. Suddenly, Housen was on him, and the knife slid away from both of them.

"You curse someone in your life. As do I. My question is, who is it you curse?" Housen looked down at Billy, and a memory stirred in his mind, prompting a laugh.

"You did not just fucking ask me that. What? Did you read the story of Job and how he never curses God?"

Housen grinned. "You're knowledgeable."

Billy shook his head. "That was an easy fucking guess. What about you? Who do you curse? Mommy or Daddy? Or! Better yet, is it-"

Before Billy could finish his sentence, Housen cut him off with a hard punch to the nose. He felt the warmth of his own blood, and a twisted smile spread across his face, relishing in the sensation.

The room seemed to spin, and Housen's words became distant echoes as Billy's head lolled to the side. His eyes scanned the floor, fixating on the glint of his knife. The instinct to retrieve it surged within him.

In a hazy, almost detached state, he focused on the weapon, his mind tuning out the words that continued to spill from Housen's mouth. The need to reclaim the knife became an urgent, singular thought, overshadowing everything else in the room.

-End for Now!-

#billy loomis #doug van housen #scream 1996 #animal room 1995

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