Title: Homeless
PG – Some language, eventual violence
Hurt/Comfort / Drama / Family / Angst (in the beginning)
Connected drabble series.. From the corners of his mind, Billy thinks he sees red hair following him. (Billy/Penny sentiments.)

Author's Note: Starts off dark, but gets lighter after a certain point. Also, each chapter's length varies, as this is an on-going, one-plot and continuous drabble series. I've written a few chapters already, and really, I'm not sure where it will be going after chapter 10. Bit of a filler first chapter.


"I take care of what's mine," had been his choice of words, laced with frigid conviction and a calm challenge.

Her life was mine to take.

Apparently, it had been the right answer, and the ELE had left him to his devices, which was not an uncommon occurrence anymore. At first they had ordered him to rob banks, wreak havoc, and the usual like, but eventually they came to realize that he was their residential mad scientist. Mad he was, and they gradually respected him for it, often now only conferring with him for his undoubtedly genius plans and scientific guiding.

So when Dr. Horrible had anonymously presided over Penny's funeral, Bad Horse himself had allowed his show of possession, if only because it was viewed as taking care of loose ends. Let it never be said that Dr. Horrible didn't see through his plans to the very end.

"I take care of what's mine," Billy whimpered now, a pale comparison to his past villainous boast. His naked hand hovered in the air, aching to tough the etched characters of her name against the nondescript headstone, but unable to do so. There was a gap there, a distance far greater than the air between him and the grave, a seemingly bottomless pit that now could never be bridged.

Billy couldn't touch her – especially now – his guilt was too great, the sacrilege of it would surely break him at long last.

Thoughts of her, of her nearly empty funeral, cut him in half. One half the friend who wanted to be more, the other a villain whose cruel smirk could make anyone quake in fear. Bad Horse had his death whinny, but now others spoke of Horrible's jaded yet pitiless smile as being just as traumatizing.

No one ever spoke of his laugh, however, for he had no worthy challenge with which to use it.

No one would ever think that that image of the rising villain hid the sad laundry buddy who had once again been orphaned.


Billy had already known that Penny had been orphaned; it was one of the things that was easily recognized as if it had been his own reflection. It was the same as a selfish person being able to tell when someone else was being selfish, a depressed person being able to see through a fake smile—Billy had been able to tell that Penny was all alone in this world.

But at her funeral, it hit him hard. Nearly empty and without a family, and only a few other equally orphaned people – the homeless she so cared for – attended.

Uneasily she had told him once that she had been orphaned and so she lived alone – though she never told him where, smart girl (even though he had followed her and revered the simple apartment like a chapel) – and that it spurred her to help those like her, those without someone to turn to and a place to call home.

Billy had wrapped his whole world around her, an orphan finally finding such a home, and he wanted to give Penny the world she had so dreamed of.

But now Penny was dead, buried six feet under his ambition.

"Penny," he struggled to breathe out, "I'm... I'm so sorry."

His hand fell away from its suspension between the gap between worlds, and he bowed his head in respect, in shame, while blinking away his sadness.

Tomorrow, Dr. Horrible was to take siege of her abandoned homeless shelter and resurrect the hope that no one knew died with her. Tomorrow he would strike fear in just the right direction, and the sheep would run from the wolf, unaware of the scared black lamb that hid behind the fangs.

He took a small, uneasy breath.

Then something flinted by in the corner of his eye.

Billy snapped his head towards its direction, mind ready to take the leap between personalities, and his hand quickly lowered to the stun ray he carried within his hoodie at all times. But at the sight of red hair and terrified blue eyes, he was frozen.

Frozen in fear, in regret, in indignant shock, and his lips struggled to grab hold of suddenly elusive and meaningless words, before finally, he managed to gasp out:

"You?—Y-you're dead!"

To Be Continued...