Billy was working around the hut, dragging out blankets and pillows to shake them loose of sand before throwing them over low-hanging tree limbs to let them disinfect in the sun. He had once heard or read somewhere that the sun did that. When all the blankets were aired out, Billy went back into the hut, Ozzy nipping and yapping at his heels, and started to carry piles of t-shirts and clothes outside.

A little spring cleaning was long overdue.

It had been a pretty good Christmas, Billy and Joe's first on the island. And inside their small cabin a fire was burning warmly in the fireplace, and the heavy red curtains on the window had been parted to show the falling snow outside. Billy sat on the floor by the fire, playing with the latest edition to their family: a small white puppy, with Dief's blue eyes and a hint of Ante's curly hair.

Billy grinned and rolled a small red superball across the floor and watched Ozzy scamper after it, more toddle than run. "I fucking love this dog, Joe," he said. Maybe they could train her to eat dinosaurs. That would be pretty fucking awesome.

After some digging and tail-wagging, Ozzy managed to dig her ball out from under a chair and started to bring it back, clutched firmly in her mouth when she suddenly stopped, ears perking. She turned and barked at the door.

Billy looked up. Maybe King had come for a visit after all.


[ooc: how 'bout King, Joe, Billy for an order? :q]

It had actually taken three hours but eventually they made it to the top. Billy was the first to make it over the incline, and he grinned broadly, using his hands to pull himself over the last few feet, his heels digging into rock and dirt. Once he was at the top he reached his hand down to help the person behind him up.

The mountain was wide and flat, covered with dark green grass, bushes, and trees. There was no path here, Billy was still pretty sure that he had been the first person to ever venture this high or far. And now Joe and King would see it, too. It was exhilarating, and it made Billy glow with a deep, incomprehensible joy.

"We made it, guys, come on, hurry. We're almost there."

It hadn't been his intention to walk as far as he had, and he sure as Hell hadn't planned on any mountain climbing - his scarred and bruised feet in their tattered flip-flops were a testament to that. But once Billy had started walking that morning, he hadn't felt like stopping. He walked out of the Hamlet and past the caves and into the woods and towards the mountains and kept going and going, his breath getting shallow in his chest. Before he knew it, nearly the whole day had passed.

It had taken some scrambling to get to the top of the mountain, and the knees of his pants were torn and a little bloody from the times he'd fallen, the palms of his hands scraped. But he felt fine, he felt calm. The persistent aches didn't seem to matter.

From the mountain, Billy could see much of the island. He saw the beach, dotted with people, and miles and miles of fresh green trees. He didn't see any dinosaurs, but occasionally a cluster of trees to the north would rustle and send a flock of birds scattering into the sky. He wondered if there were any people still trapped there. He wondered if, maybe, Sookie was there.

Billy walked some more. The trees were a little more spaced out here, the ground less treaded. Billy passed a grove of bushes bearing some hard, brown nuts, and stuffed a few into his pockets. He had been walking for a little while longer when he heard the sound of water, rushing and spilling, and powerful. He rushed towards the sound and stopped just short of a sudden drop, his heart beating fast in his chest.

"Jesus Christ." He'd nearly run right off the side of the fucking cliff. When he was sure of his footing once more, Billy wrapped his hand around the slim but secure branch of a tree and peered over the side.

The drop had to be at least sixty feet, probably more, it was hard to judge. About ten feet down a waterfall cascaded out of the side of the mountain, casting a faint rainbow across it's breadth and down into the water below. It was loud and powerful, and as Billy leaned, he could feel the cool spray floating up to his face.

The pool the waterfall flowed into was wide, and greenish blue. Deep. Around the edges was an outcropping of smooth gray rocks. It was beautiful. Maybe the most beautiful place Billy had ever seen on the island.

Slowly, using the branch to help, Billy leaned back and stepped away from the edge.

His heart was still thumping in his chest, his hands shaking. For a brief, uncertain moment, Billy wondered if he might fall backwards into a faint, or that the ground might disappear from under him. It was an odd sensation. Vertigo, he guessed.

He took a few more stumbling steps and headed back the way he came. He shouldn't have come here by himself.

It had been a bad idea.

Billy sat on the edge of the desk in the IPD office, waiting for Fraser to come in so he could give his notice in person. He felt bad about quitting, he hadn't even worked very long, but he didn't think he had it in him to come in any more. He hoped Fraser understood. Especially since Billy didn't quite understand. Fraser had a way of putting things in perspective.

He played with his hat as he waited, twirling it idly in his lap.

Billy sat down on the roof, his legs dangling off the side, his last cigarette dangling from his bottom lip as he searched for his lighter. It was a nice night, peaceful, and Billy could see the water from where he sat, tipped with silver under a full moon.

He lit his last cigarette and breathed it in, taking the smoke into his lungs and letting it out again. His hand shook slightly and Billy closed it tight around the lighter.

Yeah, it was a nice night, still and silent. If Billy shut his eyes it was like he was nowhere, not touching or feeling anything - not on the roof, not on an island, not anywhere. He wasn't anybody or anything, he was without memory or emotion. He was transparent.

But it never lasted.

Too bad, Billy thought, and smoked.

Billy lay in the clinic bed, drifting in and out of a lazy sleep, his eyes barely open as he twitched the fingers on his left hand, curling them open and closed. He moved his thumb first then worked his way to his pinky, wiggling them one at a time, exercising carefully controled curls; he counted off reps in his head: 1, 2, 3 ....

He wasn't sure if it was better or worse, even if he felt better overall in general. He counted again, and again, flexing his hand and his fingers. The clinic was quiet, not too many of the other beds occupied. And Billy counted, flexed, curled, and waited.

Waited for Joe.

Billy woke up with a start, his head jerking up from a tangle of damp leaves, one still clinging to his cheek. His dreams had been strange, full of scary, dark things and mumbling people who wouldn't speak up no matter how much he yelled at them. Joe had been there, but he'd been nothing but a shadow, shimmering with unfocused light. There had been other people there, too, but they had been indistinguishable from each other, moving around like ghosts. Billy felt cold and disoriented, realizing right away that he was no longer in the Compound.

Where the Hell was he?

He blinked a few times, feeling drops of water speckling his cheeks and nose. He'd gone to sleep in the storage room, his head fuzzy with pot. He'd been alone, Logan having left to find Duncan and Neil (his kind-of-boyfriend). He was still alone, but the storage room and its concrete floor were gone.

It was when he tried to lift himself up that Billy realized where he was. The ground (or what he had thought was the ground) shook underneath him and his hand fell straight through to find nothing but air. Billy gasped and dropped flat onto his stomach, nearly toppling right off the narrow platform of branches and leaves he was on.

He was in a tree. A fucking tree! Billy swallowed and clung to the branches, looking around for a handhold. But he heard them snap under his weight and the next thing he knew he was falling.

A startled scream caught in Billy's throat before he slammed into the branches underneath him. Then those gave away too, cracking loudly, and Billy fell again. He felt a pain spark up his ribs and spine, he reached blindly for something to hold onto but he tumbled to the side and hit another branch and another, each one giving out under him as he gained momentum and fell. His head bounced off a particularly thick branch and Billy saw stars spark in front of his eyes.

Billy hit the ground with a thump, a sharp pain in his arm. He lay there for a moment, panting heavily, his entire body aching. His head lolled limply to the side and he saw a jagged branch sticking out of his arm. "Oh fuck. That did not just happen... "

The world, thankfully, went black.

Dear Journal,

I tried skipping the formalties by just writing on the page, but it didn't work out, I don't know why. I'm not in the Hamlet anymore, I'm sleeping on the beach or in the Compound if I find space. The past few days there've been more people in there than usual, some of them must have realized that the hurricane was coming. I left the hut on Tuesday morning and only went back once, when I knew Joe was gone, so I could get some of my shit. So here I am, writing like a jackass.

Me and Joe had a fight and maybe it was a long time coming but I still wasn't prepared for it. I wasn't prepared for the shit I ended up saying or he ended up saying. I never thought I'd walk out again. And yeah, I realize I'm usually the one that ends up leaving, but that doesn't make me the bad guy, does it? I think my reasons are good ones. Just 'cause I'm the one that goes it doen't mean it's fucking easy or anything.

I don't know how I feel, everything's confusing. I want to forgive Joe, and I thought I had but I don't know if I can. And if I can't, then I guess that's it, but I'm not willing to let it end either. I feel like there are all these voices in my head and they're all fighting and arguing with each other, and they all want something different. I don't know which one to listen to.

Maybe this is how John felt, near the end.

I was also a total fucking asshole to a lot of people, and I'll be lucky if any of them decide to fucking talk to me again. After work on Tuesday I decided to cure some pot, just to keep busy, and so I'd fucking have something to smoke in a week. Instead I ended up telling Kowalski off, repeatedly, but the fucker wouldn't let me stay mad. Then I basically accused Cutter of fucking around with kids, insulted his potatoes, and called him a caveman.

Horatio came by, too, because I can't BE an asshole without this guy coming around to witness it. He's such a sweetheart, it just fucking figures, you know?

I saw Logan, too, and apparently because we're both still five and ten years old, we kicked each other in the shins and then ignored each other. Jim saw me, too, and I'm pretty sure that guy's never gonna talk to me again after I screamed in his face and accused him of making everything into a joke.

Also? A sure fire way to know you're being a jackass is when you have Fraser cursing you out and telling you to 'drop the fucking attitude'. It was strangely hot.

King came by, too. I think he hurt his back or something but we went for a walk and talked some shit out. He's a strange guy, but I like him.

And after all that I slept with Anne. Yeah. You heard me.

Billy will be disappearing in the hurricane with the dinoplot. His guitar (including the speakers and amp) are somewhere in the Compound (I haven't decided where yet xD), and his hat, sunglasses, and journal will be left in the IPD office with Anne.

Billy felt like shit and the last thing he had wanted to do was go to work, but he had made a commitment and Billy wasn't going to flake on it, especially if it meant disappointing Fraser. So he had spent his shift at his desk, the record player on low, spinning the White Album in lazy revolutions. He had hardly said a word to Fraser, and anyone who had come in had gotten short, somewhat snappish answers, or had been redirected to Fraser. Billy didn't bother hide his bad mood, he didn't see a damn point in it.

He missed Joe. He was mad at Joe. He was mad at himself. It was all fucking fucked up.

7 o'clock came before Billy realized it, and he went to the kitchen to get Voldemort his dinner. He hefted the tray into his hands and nodded at the IPD officer who opened the door to where Voldemort's cell was. The first time Billy had seen the guy he'd been surprised by how young he was, but Billy had read the guy's file and he wasn't an idiot. He knew what the fucker was capable of.

The door closed behind him and Billy went up to the bamboo bars that divided the room, he eyed the ropes around Voldemort's wrists and ankles, checking to make sure they were secure, then started to put the food down on the floor so Voldemort could reach it through the bars.

A small cup of soup, a banana leaf of chopped fruit and vegetables, a cup of water. No utensils, no glass, nothing that could be broken into shards or used as a weapon. This guy was treated seriously.

"Dinner's served."

[Anything, Anything] - Dramarama

[Helter Skelter] - The Beatles

[Helena] - The Misfits

It was weird to be on this side of the desk, the desk he had long ago started to think of as Turnbull's desk. And Billy was pretty sure Hell had frozen over because a part of him was really excited to start work, and the last thing Billy had ever thought he'd be excited about was a desk job. But the days were long and aimless and they blended into each other way too easily, at least this way he was being productive, doing something and contributing to the island community somehow. Even if it was just paperwork, filing, and bringing the creepy guy in the jail his dinner every Tuesday and Saturday night.

Billy got up and stuck a pencil into the sharpener that was bolted to the desk, then quickly turned the crank on the side until the pencil shrank down a couple of inches. He took it out and looked at it thoughtfully for a moment before he picked up another pencil and gave it the same treatment.

When Billy had accumilated about five newly sharpened pencils, he brought them back to the desk and set them down next to a stack of paperwork.

It was right about then he realized he had no idea what to do.

Dear Billie Pipe Billie Island Bitches ah fuck it.

Woke up five-years-old yesterday, but thankfully I seem to have retained all memories and mental capacity. Or at least I haven't lost any, I'm not quite sure how much I had to start off with. It's very disturbing to wake up yourself but not yourself. I mean, if I had woken up a goat or a pig or a Pipefitter then it'd be different, but now I'm me but not the me I remember! Okay, it's the me I remember, but the me I remember from a long long time ago. Ah fuck, it's so confusing.

My hands are small, my feet are small, my legs and my arms are small. Everything about me is tiny and stupid and it's kind of tricky to form those 'r' or 's' sounds. Don't tell Joe.

And the longer I'm a kid, the more I *feel* like a kid. I saw a girl yesterday and I really wanted to push her into the water and pull on her pigtails. Why won't she pay attention to me! Girls are stupid anyway.

It seems like a lot of people have turned into kids though, except Joe, Joe's still an adult. I'm not sure if that makes me happy or sad. If Joe wasn't an adult than he wouldn't be able to give me piggyback rides or make me breakfast or lift me up. But if Joe were a kid than I think we could cause all sorts of trouble together. Who am I kidding, we'll probably do that anyway.

I saw Stewie yesterday, he's huge! He's 16 or 17, I think, and he's blond and kind of dreamy. It's really weird. Thank goodness I'm not so young he has to change my diaper, that'd be extra weird.

Anne is one of the people who got older, too, I think she's about 30 now. She's really pretty, but her red hair looks exactly the same which I love. I knew she'd grow up and be more beautiful than she already was, but that's not the sort of thing you say to a person. We played catch with a coconut, but I'm not sure who won. I think the coconut did.

After I ran out of the hut, Joe found me on the beach and lifted me up. He was always bigger than me but now he was really bigger than me and I'm glad he didn't decide I needed a bath or something and throw me in the ocean. That wouldn't have been buddies at all. But he made me breakfast and we built a fort, it was awesome.

Benton's a kid, too! But he still acts a lot like Fraser, only with more giggling. He says that he giggles as an adult, too, but I don't know if I believe him. Of course, maybe he just didn't giggle when I'm around (note to self: make adult Benton giggle). And Dief has turned back into a puppy, he's really cute and very fuzzy. He can hear again, too. That was one of those things that made me sad and happy. Emotions are more confusing when you're this young.

I saw Chris on the beach, too, and I jumped on him from behind for reasons I'm still not too sure of. I think because there's something about his back that just makes you want to jump on it - and that's not meant in some creepy sexual way. Also, I think I should tell Joe to make sure Chris stays away from Stewie. Just in case.

Another kid I met was Jim (Halpert, not Lennox), and he's adorable! And he had a really cool ball, and we played Billyball and talked about puberty. We both hope we don't have to go through puberty again, that really sucked the first time around and somehow I don't think it'll be any better the second time.

Roger's 10 years old (so far, I think I'm the youngest out of all the people I've met), and he's a really quiet sorta thoughtful kid, I never would have expected it. Maybe since he's a kid he feels less of a need to put up a front, and ends up more honest. Maybe we're all more honest as kids, who knows?

Logan's a rock-throwing bully! And the crab pinched ME! NOT FAIR!

Met King, too. He seemed more mellow, and I'm not sure if he likes being a kid as much as some of the other people I've seen. But then I don't think he's really upset about it either. He had a really big orange and he shared it with me. I wonder what happened to his jacket.

It was a really weird day and now it's the next day and I'm still a little pipsqueak. I hope I turn back, if I don't turn back Joe won't want to be my boyfriend anymore and that'll make me really sad. He's fun to build forts with but we could do that while we're big, too. I try not to think about that shit though, because then I won't be able to enjoy being five again, and I really want to because I sure as hell didn't enjoy it very much the first time. Maybe that's why that now, for maybe the first time in 30 years, I really miss my dad. Or I guess I miss the idea of him, since I have very few memories of him to form an actual person.

But now I have to go play soccer-baseball and find some candy.

Billy sat on a tree stump with his legs splayed out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. It was a hot day, too fucking hot, really, and even under the shade of the trees Billy was sweating. He wanted to take his shirt off but King seemed to have an ‘issue’ with nudity, which Billy didn’t fully get but whatever, he didn’t want to make the other man uncomfortable. He was happy that King didn’t seem to mind having Billy visit him while he cut down his trees. It was starting to become a daily ritual.

Billy figured King had gone through quite a bit of them by this point and wondered what he planned on doing with all that wood. For some reason, it didn’t really occur to him to ask. King and Billy spent a lot of their time together in silence.

It was nice, not having to talk, not having awkwardly silent gaps to fill. Billy rolled up the sleeves of the t-shirt he wore, all the way up to his shoulders, watching as King worked steadily on chopping down the tree in front of him. He seemed to be sweating a lot.

“Hey, man, you want some water?”


[ooc: back-dated to June 20th.]

Dear Journal Billie Ray,

I apologize in advance for any permanent damage I might have done to your reputation while trying to 'help' you. Unless this is an accurate example of your day-to-day island life in which case I do NOT envy you and will no longer complain about feeling 'useless' again. Being useful is way too stressful. I'm a guitar player, not a peacekeeper.

Some things you should probably know:

1. Samara wants to know about gay sex, "I" told her "I" would tell her all about it on Saturday. I am so sorry.
2. You were solicited by a male prostitute. He gave me a cigarette. Since "I" don't smoke I didn't do it where anyone could see. He seemed like a nice kid though.
3. You were hit on by a guy named Brian. "I" told him "I" was attached but he doesn't seem the type to really give a shit about that sort of thing. I helped him to the Compound and added his name to the registry. I swear I wasn't hitting on the guy :O!
4. You ate a lot of mangos in the office and got some things sticky.
5. Logan thinks you think he's crazy now.
6. I implied to Clarice that you and Benton couldn't talk to her regarding IPD business because you needed "alone time". She didn't look too impressed. Sorry, we had to do it :(
7. Joe thinks he's very funny.

So ... yes. And it's only day two.

Love I am so very, very sorry,
The fake fake Ray.

P.S. You get hit on a lot, maybe you are the hotter one!

Dear Diary Journal Billie,

I found a spiral notebook in the basement of the Compound, it’s full of blank pages and I figured maybe I should start writing some stuff down. It’s kind of weird that I didn’t think of it before, that it didn’t occur to me that maybe some of the stuff happening here is important and I might want to remember it later. The days started melting into each other a long time ago, it’s hard to keep track of where one starts and the other begins. I think back to when I first got here and it feels like it was years ago, but I only have maybe a week’s worth of memories.

There’s no way you’ll ever read this. I’m dead to you, and I know that even in this place, where all sorts of crazy shit can happen, I’ll always be dead to you. Some things are irreversible. Some things you can’t take back.

It seems pointless to try and remember everything now, and I know I couldn’t if I tried. But here are some important things, Billie, that I would like you to know:

I’m not alone here. In fact, I’m less alone here than I’ve ever been in my entire life. Joe is here, of course, and he keeps me sane and he keeps me happy. Sometimes we irritate each other, but that’s nothing new. I wish I could have told you about him, Billie, about everything he means to me. I wish I knew how to say all that without making it sound like stupid pussy fag shit. But we’re meant for each other and us being here is proof of that. Not that me and Joe ever needed proof for anything.

There are good people here, too, a lot of good people. I’m sure there are a lot of assholes as well but I haven’t run into too many of those. Well, Vecchio’s kind of a dick, but I don’t know him too well. He tried to spill my coffee.

Billie: don’t ever try to spill someone’s coffee, wars have started over less, okay, sweetheart?

There’s a lady named Sookie, who’s from the south. Bon Temps. She used to fight vampires and stuff, even dated one. She’s real sweet and smart and I think people probably underestimate her, and I think she’s probably used to being underestimated. She’s like a sister to me, I bet you’d like her. She’d bake you pancakes or something.

Then there’s this kid named Logan, who me and Joe have been hanging around with a lot recently. He’s a bit of an ass but I think it’s mostly a front. Me and Joe – we know a lot about fronts, which is probably why his attitude don’t work on us.

There’s a mountie named Turnbull. I haven’t met anyone like him but he’s nice, and fucking *sweet* and I hope this island doesn’t change him or corrupt him one fucking inch.

There’s also King, a biker who looks just like Joe. I don’t know him very well, we really just met and have only talked a couple of times, but I think he gets me in a way that not many people do. We don’t have to say much around each other, talking’s not important.

There’s another lady, named Anne, who is still pretty young by our standards but probably one of the smartest, nicest, most confident and self-aware people I’ve ever met. When I grow up, I want to be just like her.

And there’s Horatio and Ray (who, by the way, looks JUST like me but I we can get into that later), who are both sweet and good and just fucking decent. They do a thankless job here, and I don’t give a shit what anyone says – it’s a job that’s needed. Horatio is a sailor from way back in the day, and Ray’s a cop from Chicago. The guy’s hair is something else.

And there’s Benton Fraser. He’s a mountie, too. Around him I miss home, and Vancouver, and you a little less. I’m not sure if we’d have ever been friends off this island, but he’s one of the reasons I’m glad I came here at all. And he’s one of the reasons I’d hate to ever leave.

So that’s my first entry, Billie, I’ll say things here I could never say out loud. But I think they should be somewhere anyway, other than my own head.

Love,
Daddy.

Billy managed to yank Joe's pants down, pulling at his belt and button and fly. He managed to get everything down around Joe's ankles, along with his boxers, before he quickly dropped to his knees and sucked Joe's cock into his mouth.

Billy didn't so much wake up, as he was ripped from the protective numbness of sleep, by the sharp, bright, unrelenting and unmerciful pain of the Morning After Headache.

He groaned and rolled over, trying to burrow his way into the bed. He brought his hands up to his head and squeezed, afraid that if he didn't his skull would just split right the fuck apart and then what? He'd be minus one fucking skull.

Billy moaned again, pitifully.

Billy woke up to the sound of a rooster.

He sat up abruptly, eyes half-shut. Did the island have fucking roosters now? Did they have 'em before? Maybe this meant eggs, some people really seemed to want eggs. But wait, did roosters lay eggs?

Slowly, Billy's surroundings sank in. He was in a bed. A real, honest-to-God bed, and not the straw and palm frawns he and Joe'd been sleeping on the last month or so. The sheets were cool, white cotton, the pillows thick and plump. But it wasn't any bed Billy recognized.

Panic hit Billy for a quick, searing moment. God, it'd happened again. No, it wasn't fair, he'd been so fucking close to be really, truly *happy* and no - no it wasn't -

He stopped when he realized there was a warm body next to him. Someone breathing deeply, heavily, and Billy looked down and felt the world settle down again, felt his heart slow to something normal. Joe. Joe, the fucking bastard, was here with him, wherever 'here' was.

Billy swung his feet around the bed, planting his feet on the floor. He found himself facing an open window that looked out into a green, vast meadow.

"Jesus Christ," he murmured.

But Joe waas here. Whatever happened, at least he still had that.

Billy woke up when it was dark to the sounds of waves and animals (owls, crickets, something else he couldn't quite identify), and he woke up with a sudden, gasping *jolt*. For a disorienting moment, his breath hammering his chest, Billy thought he was back in his bedroom - alone, fucking *suicidal*, depressed. It wasn't until he realized there was someone sleeping beside him, that he wasn't alone, that he remembered.

Then he looked down and in the dim, silvery light of the moon saw the outline of Joe's back, saw his head. Billy just stared at him for a moment, mouth slightly open as fast, panting breaths escaped him.

Joe. *Joe*.

Billy pounced on him, and they went tumbling off the bed.

Billy Tallent, you sad, morose, stupid motherfucker.

Billy threw a few more pills into his mouth, crunched them down to a bitter, powdery ash, and took another glug from his bottle.

It all came around to the bottle, he supposed.

On the nightstand the alarm clock read 3:45 AM in neon green numbers. Billy squinted at it, rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand and turned it around so it faced the wall. He didn’t need to know what time it was. He didn’t need … much of anything at this point. He had his pills, he had his bottle, he had his sad, sad, song.

Chuckling to himself, Billy fell back on the bed and pushed his hat over his face, bringing with it a stifling darkness.

Billy Tallent, you sad, morose, stupid motherfucker.

Billy licked the inside of his cheek, ran his tongue over his teeth, and swallowed back gunk and the chipped residue of the 15 or so sleeping pills he’d taken. It was all fine, it was all good. He felt numb and topsy turvy, the room spun in a slow, lazy rotation. Sort of like the time he and Joe had gone to the top of the C.N. Tower for dinner, and had sat in that revolving restaurant taking bites of french fries in between feelings of vertigo.

And as Billy faded out, as he felt the perfect hold of oblivion sweep him up into serene arms, Billy thought – I’m sorry, Joe. I’m sorry, Billie. I’m sorry, everyone.

Billy Tallent, you sad, morose, stupid …

***

Billy woke up and his ankles were wet. His feet, still laced tightly up in black motorcycle boots didn’t feel the water, but his ankles were definitely wet. And a good portion of his calves. Billy lay still for a moment, his face still covered in his cowboy hat, breathing slowly and deeply.

Please don’t tell me I’ve pissed my pants.

Wouldn’t that fucking cap it off?

It didn’t take Billy long to realize he hadn’t done anything like that, the water at his legs was coming and going, in and out. And after a while Billy realized that that strange sound he’d been hearing was the tide. Waves.

His bed wasn’t his bed either, it was sand and Billy dropped his hand from his stomach to grab a fistful of it at his side. It was warm, grainy. It was real.

Slowly, Billy reached up and took the hat off his face, blinked, and squinted up at the sun.

[ooc: Open to everyone! Billy would love someone to greet him :