Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue

Hannah hadn’t had too many dreams once she’d left Hatchetfield with Lex and Ethan. Not prophetic ones, anyway. She had nightmares, often relating to losing everyone she ever cared about, or being outright murdered by a giant, freaky eyeball. But the actual visions were fairly limited since they’d arrived in California a month before. Even Webby hadn’t made more than a few appearances since they packed up and left – Hannah hadn’t asked her to go, but she thought maybe Webby was tied specifically to Hatchetfield with how quickly she’d disappeared after they’d gone.

Starting at a new school had been less than ideal, especially so close to the end of the year, so that had added a whole new level of stress to Hannah’s life than she’d anticipated. Still, she tried her best to keep up a happy face for Lex’s sake. Maybe “happy” wasn’t the right word exactly. “Content” was probably better. At the very least, acting like she was relieved to be out of Hatchetfield seemed to make Lex feel better, and that was what counted.

In truth, Hannah missed Hatchetfield. It wasn’t like she had friends there or anything, but it had been her home for 15 years before they’d left. And she did miss Miss Holloway. Like, a lot. But Lex didn’t handle any reminders of the place very well, so Hannah had learned to keep those specific feelings to herself. For Lex’s sake.

And truth be told, Hannah had more or less begun to fit in at least a little bit in California. The apartment they’d found wasn’t the best, but Ethan and Lex had managed to get her into a decent school, and without Webby to give her visions and cause chaos during shop class, people tended to be a bit less judgmental toward her. She didn’t have friends, exactly, but she did have a group of people who actually seemed to like hanging out with her during school hours. They rarely invited her anywhere outside of school, but it was still leaps and bounds better than anything she’d seen at Hatchetfield High. She’d even joined the theater club; she liked building the sets and setting up the lights.

It was a Thursday night when she arrived home late; rehearsal for the spring musical had run long and she’d missed the bus. Lex couldn’t drive due to chronic pain, so Hannah had had to wait around until Ethan could come and get her after work. And by the time that had happened, it was very nearly dark. Lex had started an argument with Ethan – which seemed to be a nightly occurrence these days – about Hannah being out too late; Ethan retaliated by reminding Lex that he was working three separate jobs to ensure that they could stay here. The rest of the argument was cut off by Hannah slamming the door to her room, muffling their raised voices enough that she couldn’t make out individual words.

It was on days like this that she really missed Webby.

Lex and Ethan arrived individually in her room later, both apologizing for their fight. This was, once again, a nightly occurrence anymore. They loved each other, Hannah knew, but they were genuinely so bad at talking to one another. They had tempers, and their pride made it impossible for either one of them to admit when they were wrong. They always – always – tried to make up before bed, but there were nights that Ethan spent the night on the couch in the living room when an agreement couldn’t be reached. Tonight, Ethan ordered food, and Hannah chose to eat in her room while Lex and Ethan hashed out their argument.

And then she went to bed.

Hannah hadn’t had too many dreams once she’d left Hatchetfield with Lex and Ethan. Not the prophetic ones.

So imagine her surprise when she opened her eyes to find herself back in the Witchwood forest.

It was dark and light all at once, a strange, eerie purple glow emanating from somewhere that Hannah couldn’t quite place – the purple glow matched what she remembered seeing in peoples’ eyes as they tore each other apart, and she felt panic knot in her stomach. Large, tall, black trees spired upward into thick, roiling clouds overhead, flat and dark, like someone had forgotten to add shading to a painting. Hannah could hear voices. The voices of the trees, she knew. They were all around. Muttering to her. She couldn’t quite understand what they were saying, but she could hear it.

And just above the treeline, off in the distance, the top of the tallest loop of the Tear Jerker could be seen.

“Webby…?” Hannah’s voice echoed, despite the fact she’d tried to keep it low, lest she attract the attention of whatever – or whoever – was located in these woods. “Webby, are you here?”

No answer. Just her own voice echoing off into the distance, and the sound of wind moving through the trees.

Unsure of what exactly she was supposed to do, Hannah took a tentative step forward. Then another one. She swallowed. This reminded her of the dream she’d had back before the possession had begun. The one where she’d seen Cross killing Lex and Ethan. Where Cross had warned her that something bad was coming, and laughed about how she wouldn’t be able to stop it. She expected Cross to step out of the trees at any moment; logically, she knew he was dead – Lex had stabbed him multiple times with his own Black Blade – but the fear of seeing him again was still there. That man had nearly destroyed her family. He’d nearly killed Lex. Hannah wasn’t sure what he’d do if he stepped out of the trees in front of her.

With no clear direction, Hannah simply...walked. And kept walking. She hugged herself tightly, eyes darting every which way. So far, there was nothing to be afraid of, as far as she could tell. But that didn’t stop her from feeling deeply uncomfortable.

She stopped in her tracks when she heard someone sobbing. Begging. Pleading.

Panicking.

It took a moment for her to calm down enough to recognize that she knew that voice. She knew who else was out in these woods. In this dream. No. In this vision.

“Lexi!”

The pleading sobs came to a halt a second or two before a choked voice called back, “Hannah?”

“Lexi, where are you? Talk to me!”

“Hannah! I’m over here, follow my voice!”

Following Lex’s voice was impossible, given that it sounded like it was coming from everywhere all at once, but as Hannah came to the realization that this was, in fact, a vision and not simply another nightmare, she began reaching out with her consciousness instead. If Lex really was here, if they really were sharing this vision together, then they were more than likely connected, and Hannah should be able to find her. Sure enough, as she closed her eyes and reached out with her mind, she felt, rather than saw, Lex sitting huddled next to a tree not too far away. She opened her eyes and ran there, panting heavily.

It was never easy, watching her big sister suffer a panic attack. It happened more often than not anymore, however – after everything she’d been through, Lex was a wreck most of the time. If she wasn’t angry and throwing a fit, she was lost in the throes of bad memories and nightmares, latching onto Hannah or Ethan for support. It had been long enough that Hannah would often catch glimpses of the old Lex – the powerful, often judgmental, angry, snarky, stoic woman who’d practically raised her – but getting her back to that point was very slow going.

Even so, it had been a while since Hannah had seen Lexi this bad off.

Lex was huddled against a tree, her legs drawn up to her chest, good eye wide as a saucer (she’d taken to covering her missing eye with her hair, as she’d felt an eyepatch looked stupid and didn’t fit her sense of style). She met Hannah’s gaze with her own, panic written all over her face, sweat beading on her brow.

“Hannah...” she muttered, “is this real?”

Hannah swallowed and knelt down in front of her, reaching out to grab her hand, “...I think so?”

“Jesus,” Lex whispered as she squeezed her eye shut, “God dammit, no! Tell Webby to stop, Hannah, please!”

“I don’t...think Webby’s doing this, Lexi,” Hannah said hesitantly, “I haven’t even seen her since Hatchetfield, and this is the first vision I’ve had since we left.”

A soft sob escaped Lex’s lips and she shook her head, “Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I can’t deal with this Hannah. I’m-”

Booming, echoing, childish laughter cut her off and Hannah fell forward onto Lex, gripping her by the shoulders. She was only handling this whole thing marginally better than Lex was, and she was terrified. At least having her big sister there provided her something to grip onto in her fear.

A sickly yellow light began to flood the area, momentarily merging with the purple to make a strange, sickly gray color before the purple and yellow separated and began to flow around them like some kind of disgusting, psychedelic tie-dye. Inside the loop to the roller coaster, a massive, yellow eye appeared, the iris in the middle a bright purple color. Emerging from the trees not 15 feet from them, a dark, shadowed figure appeared. Hannah couldn’t see their features, couldn’t recognize who it was, but Lex certainly seemed to. She clung to Hannah’s arm with both hands, her nails digging into skin as she began to hyperventilate, repeating “No, no, no, no” over and over again. The figure began to laugh, a manic giggle that merged with Blinky’s as pain erupted through Hannah’s head. She let out a scream that filtered up into the air and mingled with the laughter that was still echoing around them.

The scream physically tearing through her throat badly enough to hurt her was what woke Hannah from the dream. She sat up in bed, momentarily tangled in her sweat-soaked sheets, and clutched at her head, where pain still clung to her senses like some kind of leech. It took her a moment to realize that she could hear Lex screaming as well from the other bedroom, a panicked, wailing screech the likes of which Hannah had never heard from her before.

It took Hannah less than 10 seconds to close the distance from her own bed to Lex and Ethan’s bedroom door. The apartment was dark, and while she wasn’t entirely sure what time it was, she got the feeling it was pretty late in the evening. She hesitated for only a moment while she considered knocking, but ultimately decided to just go on in when she heard Lex crying.

The only light in the room came from the clock on the bedside table, but it was enough to illuminate Lex and Ethan. They were both sitting up in bed, Lex completely curled in on herself while she leaned heavily on Ethan, who was looking confused and incredibly worried as he pulled her into a hug. His eyes flicked from Lex to Hannah as the girl entered the room and he swallowed.

“Banana? What the fuck is goin’ on? What happened?”

Hannah moved to the side of the bed, where she knelt down and grabbed Lex’s hand in both of her own, her eyes never leaving her sister.

“We had a vision.”

“We?” Ethan asked, “Like...you and Lex?”

Hannah nodded silently.

“Well...what...I mean...what did you see?”

“The Witchwood,” Hannah said, at the same time Lex managed to stammer out, “H-Hatchetfield.”

“Okay, that told me exactly nothin’,” Ethan said with a shrug, “What do you mean, you saw the Witchwood and Hatchetfield? Why’s Lex so upset?”

Hannah sighed, swallowing as she turned her gaze from Lex to meet Ethan’s eyes, “Ethan...it’s starting again.”

“What? What is?”

“Blinky’s back.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

The morning shift was still Emma’s least favorite shift to work.

She had to be up and out the door by 5am, which was difficult when she knew, without any questions or prompting, that Paul would need help with something in the morning. Whether it was tying his tie (though they’d more or less figured that one out by simply just...not untying the ties and keeping them loosely tied on the hangers), buttoning his shirt or trousers, or even pouring a glass of coffee in the morning – it was surprisingly difficult to pour liquids one-handed, as it turned out. Sure, he’d been getting better about it as time went on, getting used to the fact that he had to make due with one hand, but some mornings were decidedly worse than others. Emma had tried reminding him that it had only been about six months, and that he would get used to it eventually, but she wasn’t sure even she believed that anymore.

Paul tried. She knew he did. He’d made it perfectly clear that he didn’t want to be a burden to her, and so he only asked her for help when he really needed it. It had led to arguments where something got dropped, lost, or broken because Paul was insistent that he could do just this one little thing by himself, only to be proven wrong. It was getting better in some ways...but worse in others.

Being the sister of a therapist who had constantly worked with depressed people when she was alive, and being someone who actively suffered with it herself, Emma recognized depression when she saw it. Paul, who struggled to justify taking a day off of work when he had the flu, had actually taken so many days off work that he was running out of sick time. Sure, a lot of that had been for doctor’s appointments and the like – and he’d spent a fair amount of time in the hospital after his surgery, as well – but a surprising amount of those days had been taken because he simply did not want to get out of bed. By the time Emma had managed to get Paul to open up about it, it had reached a boiling point, and what was supposed to have been a deep discussion about how worried Emma was for her boyfriend had turned into a small shouting match.

Those didn’t happen often enough to be a huge problem. But it did still worry Emma.

Leaving at 5am the next morning, when Paul wasn’t even awake, had left a pit in her stomach. She’d decided to do something nice for him before she left though, so she’d prepared his coffee for him – all he’d have to do was heat it up – and left a little note on the coffee maker prompting him to have a good day. Jane used to brag about doing that sort of thing for Tom. Emma had always found it silly.

Look at her now.

After Paul had returned from the hospital, he’d needed a lot of help with...well, everything. Which had prompted Emma to stay over at his place more often than not; she didn’t mind that, honestly. She’d been plagued with nightmares for weeks after everything, and she really hadn’t wanted to spend the night alone in her apartment. Since she’d been staying over so often anyway, they’d made the decision for Emma to move in with Paul. It had been simple enough to do. Both of them had downsized on things they didn’t need anymore. Emma had plenty of kitchen appliances and utensils she could bring in, and Paul had a nice coffee maker so she could get rid of her old one. They got a new couch, and replaced Paul’s old mattress with a new one. They shopped for decorations together. And soon enough, “Paul’s place” became “their place,” and Emma didn’t even miss her old apartment anymore.

Hell, they were even discussing adopting a dog at some point.

Emma tried to imagine telling the version of herself from three years ago that she’d be living happily with someone else, settling down, and actively discussing marriage in three years’ time, and all she could think was that the version of her from three years ago would think herself absolutely insane for even wanting something like that. But here she was, not only actively wanting it, but relishing every moment.

Even if it wasn’t always easy.

The one good thing about the early shift was that Emma was off work by 2pm. She’d had plans to meet up with Becky for a short time after her shift (Becky evidently had something she wanted to discuss with Emma – Emma wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to spend any length of time with the woman, but since she was marrying Tom, she supposed she’d have to, so she’d obliged the request), but by the time she left the Starbucks she’d received two text messages that derailed that plan.

One from Becky, apologizing for not being able to make it.

And one from Tom, explaining that Becky had fainted at work and wouldn’t be meeting up.

Despite the fact that Emma decidedly did not like Becky, she couldn’t help but feel a little pang of worry at the idea that the other woman had just straight up fainted like that. Paul, after his ordeal at Hidgens’ house, would have blackouts every now and again that caused him to pass out randomly, and it was scary as shit. Emma could only imagine the level of concern Tom felt for his fiance. She sent two texts back – one to Becky promising to meet up again later, and one to Tom, asking if Becky was okay.

Tom replied almost instantly: She’s fine. She’s just resting. Thanks.

Becky and Tom had not ever gone into detail about whatever it was they’d been through in the Roller-rama – though, to be fair, Emma and Paul hadn’t exactly discussed their ordeals with anyone else either, so she supposed she couldn’t blame them. Whatever it was, it had been terrible enough to make them temporarily postpone their wedding, and Emma was fairly certain they’d separated for a few days at least just after Christmas (Christmas dinner at Tom’s house had been tense as shit, too). But they were together, in couple’s counseling, and the wedding was back on, so Emma didn’t worry too much. As much as she didn’t like Becky, she understood that Becky was good for Tom, and that was what mattered. Jane would want Tom to be happy. She’d want Tim to be happy.

And they were, as far as Emma could tell.

So she didn’t push.

At the very least, Becky canceling their little meetup gave Emma more time to go home and prepare the surprise she had planned for Paul. He’d been feeling down, and she could tell, so she’d planned to clean the apartment a little, cook his favorite meal, and wear the dress he liked on her. She hadn’t put out in quite a while – she’d been stressed, and they had been having tiny micro-arguments over the last several weeks – so that was her gift to him tonight. Paul Matthews was getting sex. If he wanted it, of course.

God, she hoped he wanted it.

Yes, Emma had plans. And she was excited to enact those plans.

So when she walked into the apartment to see Paul sitting on the couch, looking up at her with an apologetic grin, it was all she could do not to visibly deflate. Had he taken the day off? Again? He’d been complaining that he was out of paid sick time, so what was-

“I tried calling you,” Paul said, cutting into her rambling thoughts as she closed the door behind her.

“What happened?” she asked, brow furrowing, “Are you okay?”

Paul inhaled through his nose and gave a little shrug, “Well, I, uh...I kind of...passed out at work.”

“What?”

Paul stood, holding his hand up in a placating gesture, “I’m okay! I think. I just...” he sighed, “I woke up with a migraine this morning, but I went into work anyway.”

Emma nodded, crossing her arms, “Mm, hmm, you’re out of sick days.”

“Right,” Paul said with a nod, “So I went in, even when I probably shouldn’t have. At some point I went to go use the bathroom and raid the first aid kit in there for some aspirin, and then the next thing I knew, I was lying face up on the ground, staring at the lights in the ceiling.”

Despite the tension and irritation Emma felt rising within her, she stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on his arm, urging him to sit back down. He looked like he was trying to reason with her, like he expected her to be mad – and admittedly, there was a small part of her that was – and was trying to keep her from exploding at him. He sat, but grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her down onto the couch next to him.

“Bill found me in there, and he more or less kinda...forced me to come back home.”

Emma quirked a brow, “Home? Not the hospital?”

“I didn’t...want to go to the hospital, Emma.”

Emma stood with a huff, “Paul, you haven’t had a blackout in months. Why, if something is wrong, would you not go to the fucking hospital?”

Paul gnawed on the inside of his lip and broke eye contact with her, “I’m sorry, I just...”

“You just what, Paul? Huh? You just want to wait and hope it goes away?”

“No. I just don’t want to...deal with this again, Emma!” Paul got to his feet, “I cannot deal with this again!”

In that moment, the irritation and mild anger Emma could feel rising within her melted away as she met Paul’s gaze, and she sighed. He was scared, goddammit. And she wasn’t handling it well. She never handled this shit well. She reached up to scratch her forehead with her thumb, and shrugged.

“Okay, well...Paul, if something is wrong, you have to deal with it again. We have to deal with it again. We cannot just let this – whatever this is – fester until it gets worse.”

“I know that.”

“You need to tell me things, Paul.”

“I know that.”

“If this happens again, you have to call me.”

“I did call you,” Paul said with a shrug.

That...was actually true, Emma realized. Paul had called, only once, while she was still at work and she’d let it ring through to voicemail with the assumption that he’d call again if something was wrong. He usually did. Evidently, though, he was simply tired of dealing with things being wrong, or bothering her with things that were wrong. She didn’t know which one it was, but either way, he didn’t call again. Or text. And Emma had assumed that everything was fine. She’d assumed maybe he’d just called to say hello. To check in. He did that sometimes, and she always appreciated it, even when she wasn’t able to pick up.

That said, he did usually leave a voicemail.

She supposed she should have seen his lack of voicemail this time as something of a red flag, and called him back.

She inhaled sharply and put her hands on her hips, “I think we fucked up today, Paul.”

Paul nodded, “Probably. Yeah.”

“Hey,” Emma said, adjusting her head so that she could better meet his gaze, “It’s okay.”

“It’s...really not.”

“It will be okay. Okay? If something’s wrong...we’ll deal with it.” She moved toward him and placed her hands on his shoulders, “You call me if something like this happens again. Or have Bill call me, or whatever. And I will call back. I promise.”

Paul nodded, “Okay.”

“You really could’ve left a voicemail, though.”

Paul huffed, “I didn’t wanna bother you.”

“Bother me, Paul,” Emma said as she placed a kiss on his cheek, “Fucking bother me. Okay?”

“Okay.” There was a moment of silence as he wrapped his arms around Emma, and she hugged him back with her head resting against his chest, before he said, “I’m surprised you’re home so early. I thought you had a thing with Becky.”

“Blech,” Emma said, sticking out her tongue as she pushed herself away from Paul and flopped down onto the couch, “Funny thing is, she also passed out today, apparently.”

“Jesus, what?”

“Yep,” Emma nodded as Paul sat beside her, “Didn’t get too much info beyond, she fainted and wasn’t feeling well or whatever, so,” she shrugged, “she canceled.”

A small grin found its way to Paul’s face, “You’re happy about that.”

Emma gave him a sidelong glance, “Maybe.” Paul snickered in response, prompting Emma to quickly clarify, “Not that she fainted, Paul! Jesus. No, just that I didn’t have to see her today. I had plans.”

“Plans?”

“Uh, huh.”

“Are they plans I’m ruining?”

“I mean,” Emma waved one hand toward him, “it was supposed to be a surprise for you, so...kinda. Yeah. Plans you’re ruining.”

“You had a surprise planned for me?”

“Well, I noticed you seemed to be feeling a little down lately, so I was gonna do something to try to cheer you up.”

Paul smiled, “Something different from the note on the coffee machine? That was sweet, by the way.”

Emma snorted and rolled her eyes, barely able to contain a little smile, “Shut up.”

“So what else were you going to do?”

“I was gonna make your favorite meal-”

“And that was meant to cheer me up?” Paul interrupted in a teasing tone.

Emma smacked him, hard, on the shoulder, “Don’t be a dick, I was trying to be nice.”

“Emma, I love you, babe, but you absolutely cannot cook.”

“Well, neither can you, asshole!” Emma said with a chuckle, “Look, I was trying, okay? I was gonna make dinner, and then...” she quirked a brow, “we’d have dessert.”

“You know I’m not really a dessert person...”

Emma nudged him with her shoulder, “Not actual dessert, you geek. Dessert.”

Paul’s brow furrowed for a fraction of a moment before he caught her meaning and gaped at her with a grin, “Oh. Ohhhh. That kind of dessert.”

“Uh, huh.”

“So...how badly did I fuck that up for myself?”

“Eh, there’s still time to salvage it,” Emma pushed herself to her feet and held her hand out toward him, “We can order in, and have dessert first.”

Paul took her hand, “Ooh, what a treat!”

With a little chuckle, Emma wiggled her butt at him “If you play your cards right, we’ll have dessert after dinner, too!” And then she took off toward the bedroom, Paul hot on her heels.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

For the first few weeks after it reopened, the halls of Hatchetfield High were tense. Students had to sit in class with the teachers who’d tried to kill them. Teachers had to teach students who’d attacked them. Some classes were postponed until replacement teachers could be found. A small minority of classes were canceled entirely. Some people refused to be in rooms with one another, forcing schedule changes or removal from class entirely. After school clubs had to be rebuilt from the ground up, due to missing members.

The tension was pretty bad, but if one good thing had come out of the “incident”, it was that, where there were people still taking advantage of people’s fears, there were others who were calling out such behaviors and actively stepping in to try to put a stop to it. It didn’t always work, but it was always appreciated.

One of the people who’d firmly decided to shake up the school hierarchy a bit was Stephanie Lauter. After everything she’d been through six months before – including a very tense standoff with Richie Lipschitz, of all people – Steph had come to realize that, while she’d never actively bullied anyone in the school, she hadn’t really done a good job of standing up for the bullied, either. The way she used to see it, so long as she wasn’t participating in the cruelty, she was fine. Boy, had she been sorely mistaken. It was a lesson she’d learned well, and so she did her best to step in and stop the bullying when she could. This had the unfortunate side of effect of making her a victim to some bullying as well, but unlike some of the nerds, Steph was more than equipped to handle it.

Which was why she’d found herself in the Principal’s office, and later in detention, after punching Brad Callahan in the face.

Several faces were missing from the halls of Hatchetfield High when it finally reopened. People who were either killed in the chaos, or injured enough that they weren’t able to return right away. One of those people was Max Jagerman. It didn’t seem possible that Max, of all people, could have wound up dead or injured, but then the rumors began to trickle in one by one until one was eventually confirmed to be true: Max was in a medically induced coma, and wouldn’t be returning to school for several weeks. Maybe longer.

Brad Callahan had made it no secret that he was supposedly behind the attack that left Max incapacitated; though he refused to go into detail about it, he claimed that he’d been the one to take out the King of Hatchetfield High. Which, in his dumbass mind, meant he was the new King. And he was a holy terror, stalking the halls for victims he could try to strong arm under his control, but no one really took him seriously. His teammates more or less just ignored him when he started trying to rally them under him, and so long as nerds weren’t caught by him in the halls alone, they were more or less fine.

One thing Brad kept trying to do, though, was insist that he, like Max, could decide who got to date who.

And he really did not want Steph dating Peter.

Truth be told, Steph would be dating Pete even if Max were the one telling her not to, because...well, quite frankly, she’d never taken his little “rules” all that seriously in the first place (though, to be fair, until she’d started properly talking to Pete, Richie, and Ruth, she hadn’t actually thought Max’s god complex was that bad). She at least had a level of respect for Max Jagerman, though. The guy was an idiot, and had moments where he could be incredibly annoying. But he was also oddly charming when he wanted to be. Steph had been friends with Max since junior high. She liked Max, despite it all.

She did not like Brad Callahan. Even a little bit

And she was, quite frankly, done with his bullshit attitude toward her dating life. Brad was not her father. Hell, even her father didn’t get to tell her who she could and could not date, as much as he wanted to think he had any control over it. But Brad? Brad didn’t have the luxury of being related to her like her father was. He didn’t have the luxury of being her sort-of friend like Max was. Brad Callahan was a moronic bully who, as it turned out, had a very unhealthy crush on her and really didn’t like seeing her in the halls with Peter Spankoffski.

So, when he’d confronted her about her choice in boyfriend for what felt like the thousandth time in two weeks, Steph had told him to fuck off in the calmest way she knew how. He’d pushed the issue, and she’d punched him. She wasn’t even ashamed of it. She’d laid that asshole out on the floor, and she was fucking proud of it too. It was worth the write-up and subsequent detention to get him to leave her alone for a little while, at least. Hell, even the threatened suspension had been worth it in her opinion.

Her father probably wouldn’t be happy. But when was he ever?

Walking out of the school after detention, Steph was mildly surprised to find Pete waiting for her. It wasn’t often that he or his friends hung around after school, especially outside; unless they had a club to attend, it wasn’t usually worth it to risk getting caught by one of the jocks during their practice. Steph had given Pete a ride to school that morning, but she’d also texted him about her detention, so she was surprised he hadn’t called someone else for a ride or something. Instead, here he was, waiting for her. His face brightened as he met her gaze, and he smiled.

“Hey, Steph! How was detention?”

“Boring, as usual,” Steph said with a scoff, “What are you still doing here, I thought maybe you’d call Ted or something to come pick you up?”

Pete shrugged, and together they began to walk out toward the parking lot, “He was in a bad mood this morning, so I didn’t want to bother him. Besides, I don’t need him to know I’m dating a delinquent.” He gave her a gentle, teasing elbow to the arm.

“Oh, please. If anything, he’d encourage it.”

Pete barked out a laugh, “You’re probably right, actually. So, what happened, anyway? Ruth heard you punched Brad Callahan?”

“Ruth heard correct,” Steph said with a nod.

“Correctly,” Pete’s little grammar correction was met with rolled eyes from Steph as he continued, “And...why did you do that? Brad is...” he trailed off with a little shrug, unsure of what word to use to properly convey the fact that he thought Brad had the potential to be dangerous, without actually using the word dangerous. It felt like such a big word to use for a teenage boy, but he supposed it was the only word he could use to describe the guy after he’d broken his arm and slashed Richie with a shard of glass.

“An asshole?” Steph finished with a grin as they got to her car.

Pete shrugged, “A bit mild, for how I’d describe him, but sure.”

Steph gave a little scoff and opened the driver’s side door to get in, “He didn’t give me much of a choice, Pete.”

Pete got in next to her with a huff, balancing his backpack on his knees as he reached for the seatbelt, “What’d he do?”

“I mean, the guy really thinks he’s Max, “Steph said, rolling her eyes, “He’s trying to dictate who I can date.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Honestly? I see it as a win,” Steph began to pull out of the parking lot as she spoke and reached toward the radio to blast some tunes. Pete winced and turned it down so that he could actually hear her.

“How is this a win? You know he’s gonna take out the aggression from your punch on me, right?”

Steph gave him a sidelong glance, “Pete, that’s not gonna happen.”

“And if it does?”

Steph shrugged, “I’ll hit him harder next time. Maybe leave him where he left Max.”

“That’s not funny, Steph.”

Steph winced. Ever since the incident six months before, Pete hadn’t taken to any mention of overt violence well. He was deeply afraid of being forced back into that headspace again. The headspace that saw him wanting to kill his own brother in cold blood and lock Steph up for her own “safety.” He was afraid of losing it again. Of Steph losing it. Or Richie and Ruth. The fact that there weren’t any concrete answers as to why the whole thing had started in the first place really didn’t settle with him well, and it manifested as him being terrified anytime someone near him had an angry outburst. Scared that they would lose control – that he would lose control – and kill someone else.

Steph’s sweet, funny, incredibly smart boyfriend, who had been afraid to get beat up before chaos had erupted across the city, was now afraid to face it again lest he lose the people he loved most.

She inhaled slowly through her nose. He’d been masking it well enough that she hadn’t noticed, but she did feel bad about the fact that she hadn’t even considered it in the first place: Pete was upset about her punching Brad Callahan, and it wasn’t just because he was afraid of the guy.

It was because he was afraid of what he or Steph would do to Brad should he retaliate.

“Hey,” she reached over to put a hand on his arm, “I’m sorry.”

Pete swallowed and offered her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “It’s okay.”

“I really just reacted,” Steph said. She leaned back in her seat as she slowed to a stop, her eyes glued to the red traffic light in front of them as she spoke, “I was just...really fucking tired of the guy trying to tell me what to do. Like, I didn’t take that shit from Max, what makes him think I’d take it from him?”

Pete shrugged, “I don’t know. He’s on some kind of power trip. I think he’s freaking out that Max is coming back soon.”

Steph nodded, “Uh, huh. And how are you feeling about Max coming back soon?”

“Honestly, I don’t know how to feel,” Pete said with a sigh, “I mean, obviously I’m glad he’s not dead, but it would have been nice to finish out my senior year without my biggest bully around, you know?”

“Maybe he won’t be so bad.”

“Or, maybe he’ll try to catch up on six months worth of bullying that he’s missed out on.”

“Well, you have me now, so...” Steph gave a little shrug, pressing down on the gas pedal a little too hard as soon as the light turned green. Out of pure instinct, Pete grabbed hold of the handle above his window, his eyes widening for a moment. He loved Steph, but if there was one thing she wasn’t good at, it was driving. At this rate, he’d be dead before college.

“Look, I am sorry,” Steph said, “I just kinda lost my cool with Brad, and I...” she sighed, “I know that scares you.”

Pete nodded, “It does, yeah.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m still me. No angry voices in my head or anything.”

Pete offered her another smile, this one a bit more genuine, “That’s worth a lot, Steph.”

Steph returned the smile. And then an idea popped into her head and she narrowed her eyes at Pete with a mischievous grin, “So, it’s Friday. Weekend. No school tomorrow.”

“Uh, oh, I know that look. What’s up?”

“I know you have homework,” Steph said with a playful little shrug, “and you have a big physics test coming up, so you probably want to study.”

“I do,” Pete said, quirking a brow with a grin, “I really, really do. And you should, to, we have a bio quiz on Monday.”

“Yeah, but we have the whole weekend for homework and studying,” Steph said with a wave of one hand, “I have an idea.”

“Oh?”

“I know a pretty spot over near the park. An overlook that’s kind of off on its own where no one would bother us.”

Pete gave her a confused grin, “O...kay?”

“Pete, let’s grab dinner to go, and watch the sunset, okay? No talking about studying, or homework, or college, or bullies. No stress, no fear. Just you, me, and a pretty overlook above the lake.”

“Steph-”

“Ah!” Steph held up a finger to stop him, “I just need a yes or no, Spankoffski. That’s it.”

“It’s-”

“Pete! Yes, or no?”

“Yes!” Pete stammered, his tone caught somewhere between amused and annoyed, “Jesus, speaking of bullies...”

“Oh, shut up, nerd, you know you love me.”

“I do, yeah.”

It took approximately ten seconds for either one of them to register what he’d just said, and when they did, Steph stopped the car to gape at him. They’d been dating for six months, but they’d had yet to say the L-word to one another; no matter how much both of them felt it, it felt strange to say out loud. Almost ludicrous, in a way. They were so young, and romantic love felt so much like an “old person” thing to both of them. Like, by saying the word, they were tying themselves to one another. There was also the deep-seeded fear on both sides that, if they said it too soon, they’d drive the other way. So they’d simply fallen into a comfortable existence when around one another. They held hands, they kissed, they went on dates. And the whole while, the word hung in the air above them like some unspoken bond.

Until now, apparently.

“Did you…?” Steph asked.

Pete nodded, his wide-eyed gaze firmly planted on the road in front of them rather than on Steph at his side, “Uh...yes?”

“Do you?”

“...yes?”

Slowly, Pete turned his head to meet Steph’s gaze. Beautiful, smart, wise, loyal, lovely Stephanie Lauter. Somehow, she was with him. Somehow, she’d chosen to stick by him. Somehow, she was so into him, of all people, that she’d punched a boy twice her size for merely suggesting they break up.

He was terrified that she was about to bolt. Or kick him out of the car. But as he turned to face her, he was surprised to find she was smiling. The biggest, most lopsided, dopiest grin he’d ever seen on her face. He hadn’t even been aware she’d been able to look that...well...dorky.

And it was adorable.

“Me, too,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Pete’s brows rose, “You...you, too?”

Steph nodded, “I...yeah. Me, too.”

The subsequent dinner order from Pasqualli’s and sunset picnic at the overlook was one of the more simple dates they’d ever been on. But it was also the best.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Returning to school had been harder for Ruth than she’d thought it would be.

Having experienced a life or death situation surrounded by people who only barely liked her had been hard enough. But coming back to see that everyone else had a shared experience without her had been even harder. Richie and Steph were acting like friends, for crying out loud – 24 hours before it all Richie had been wary of Steph potentially trying to pull a cruel prank on Pete with her invitation to study together. And now they were (awkwardly) talking and laughing and sharing things with one another that Ruth...simply couldn’t share.

What didn’t help, was that almost everyone who’d been in that Roller-rama with her hadn’t really kept up contact. She’d surprisingly remained somewhat close to Trevor and Rudolph. But, while he didn’t completely ignore her, Jason chose not to maintain any kind of friendship within the school halls – they more or less went back to not talking unless strictly necessary. Tom and Becky, while lovely people, weren’t exactly Ruth’s friends – though Tom was a teacher and did check up on all of the students every now and again. Daniel and Sophia had gone completely radio silent, which did admittedly worry Ruth a little. And Caitlyn…

Well, Caitlyn was having a hard time.

The last time Ruth had visited Caitlyn in the hospital, Caitlyn had told her in not so nice terms to leave and not come back. It had broken Ruth’s heart, knowing that Caitlyn didn’t even want to maintain a friendship, to say nothing of an actual relationship. Trevor had tried to explain that Caitlyn was just having a hard time adjusting to her injuries – which may have very well been true – but Ruth didn’t really think that warranted being so mean to everyone about it. Ruth was, despite what Caitlyn seemed to assume, entirely aware that sharing a couple of kisses in an incredibly stressful situation didn’t really mean anything in the long run. They weren’t dating. They were barely friends.

And they weren’t even that anymore, it seemed.

The strangest part was, after reuniting with the people who were her friends, seeing what they’d actually been through. They were hurt, covered in blood, traumatized. Ruth had...a couple of bruises and a sore throat. So, she’d downplayed what she’d been through in the Roller-rama, even tried to make a joke of it to make everyone feel better. No one needed to know that Ruth had killed someone anyway, right? They didn’t need to see her as a monster or anything. And besides that, she hadn’t been through anything near what they had – apparently, escaping a burning building seemed to have been the theme of the day, though, which was kind of amusing...

They’d all been together, though. All without her.

Somehow, that hurt a bit.

At the very least, the entire ordeal left Ruth with a new sort-of friend. Steph was, surprisingly, very nice, even holding Ruth when she cried after she’d found her having a panic attack in the bathroom a few weeks after...everything. She handled Ruth’s overt flirting well enough, and even her quippy comebacks when Ruth was clearly getting on her nerves began to have less of an edge to them after some time. Hell, Steph even gave Pete, Richie and Ruth rides to school whenever they missed their bus (though Pete got rides every single day, understandably).

Which was what Ruth figured had happened when the school bus made its normal stop at Richie’s usual spot, and he wasn’t there: he would likely be getting a ride from Steph.

Ruth couldn’t help but notice that was happening more and more frequently, too. As the bus pulled up to the stop where Richie and Trevor usually waited with a handful of other students, Ruth caught sight of someone else clambering to get on. Someone who normally only rode very occasionally, but who had been choosing to use the bus more and more frequently: Grace Chasity.

It was a pattern Ruth had begun to notice, but hadn’t put too much thought into until very recently – every time Grace chose to ride the bus to school, Richie chose not to.

Ruth found herself wincing a bit as Grace met her gaze and eyed the empty seat next to her, but luckily (which was a word Ruth never would have thought of using when it came to Trevor...well, ever) Trevor slid in next to her instead. Thus saving Ruth from a potential ride filled with Grace’s...intense beliefs coming up in conversation.

It wasn’t exactly a warm morning, so Trevor was bundled up in a heavy coat and scarf, which he began to remove as he sat, stuffing his backpack under his feet. Ever since his very near-death experience inside the Roller-rama’s freezer, Trevor had difficulties staying warm in any level of cold, so it wasn’t unusual to see him bundled up in 40-50 degree weather while everyone else was wearing light jackets. Specifically, he covered his hands and feet at all times when the temperature got low, as his fingers and toes – the ones that hadn’t had to be removed due to frostbite anyway – tended to become actually painful if exposed directly to the cold.

He sniffed as he unwound his scarf and offered Ruth a crooked smile, “No Richie today?”

“Guess not,” Ruth said with a shake of her head, her eyes firmly on Grace as the girl plopped daintily into a seat next to a cute little red head Ruth didn’t know very well (Richie had once introduced her to Ruth as Reese – they evidently shared one or two classes together).

Trevor followed Ruth’s glance and quirked a brow, smirking, “What’s with the sudden interest in Grace Chasity?”

“Not an interest,” Ruth said with a little grimace, “Just connecting some dots.”

“Which invisible dots are we connecting?”

Ruth rolled her eyes, “It’s none of your business, Trevor. Don’t worry about it.”

Trevor moved to put one hand on her shoulder, and the other to his chest in a show of mock concern, “Ruthie. I am your friend. Your concerns are my concerns.”

Ruth scoffed and swatted his hand away, “Get off me. It’s not a big deal, okay? Leave it.”

“Fiiiine,” Trevor said with a shrug, drawing the word out as he slumped back against the seat. He took out his phone and began absently scrolling, a soft smile appearing on his face.

Ruth quirked a brow at him with a sidelong glance, “What’re you so happy about?”

Trevor returned her glance with a smug little grin of his own, “Oh, so you can have secrets, but I can’t?”

“Jesus, you’re annoying.”

“Uh, huh, and you like me anyway.”

Ruth met the sentence with a scoff. Six months ago, she would have adamantly denied the accusation, but now…

Now they’d been through enough that Trevor...was actually kind of her friend.

They still weren’t close, or anything, and once Trevor had recovered from his ordeal enough to return to something that resembled normal, Ruth once more considered him a pain in her side. But he was also someone she’d shared an experience with and...well, if he wasn’t going to drop that bond like everyone else had, then she wasn’t going to either. Trevor and Rudolph were the only ones she still spoke with on a regular basis who knew and understood what she’d been through in the Roller-rama. What they’d all been through. Trevor was the only one who’d kept Ruth up to date on Caitlyn’s recovery, as well, since Caitlyn wasn’t talking to her to do it herself. So, Ruth kept him around.

And admittedly...it was kind of nice.

“Is it Rudolph?” Ruth finally asked, trying her best to keep a stubborn face as she spoke.

“Huh?”

“Well, you’re smiling like a fucking idiot, so I’m asking if your boyfriend is texting you?”

Trevor sniggered, “Yes, Ruthie. It’s Rudolph, okay? Happy?”

“What’s he saying?”

“Just wishing me a good morning,” Trevor said with a shrug, “and that he’s looking forward to seeing me soon.”

“You two are irritatingly cute, you know that?”

Trevor offered her a wink, “Ruthie, if I’m not irritating you, what am I even still here for?”

Ruth rolled her eyes, unable to suppress the small grin tugging at her lips. Her eyes went to the window, watching the scenery as it passed by. The bus turned onto the street where the school sat and Ruth decided to finally ask the question that had been swirling around in the back of her mind since she’d seen Trevor board the bus.

“How’s Caitlyn doing?”

Trevor’s eyes darted from his phone to Ruth, and he swallowed, “She’s, uh...she’s okay.”

Ruth nodded, “She’s coming back to school soon, right?”

“Should be back next week, yeah.”

“Cool,” Ruth said as she turned her gaze back out the window.

The school was within sight when Trevor said, “She doesn’t hate you, you know.”

“What?”

“Caity,” Trevor said, his voice soft, “She’s not mad at you or anything. She’s just...she’s going through a lot.”

“I know,” Ruth said with a sigh. It was a far cry from what she’d wanted to say. What she’d wanted to say was that everyone was going through a lot. Everyone was hurting, and while it was true Caitlyn was probably going through a lot more than most – certainly more than Ruth – it made no sense for her to abandon every friend she had at a point in time where she needed them most. Ruth knew she wasn’t lucky enough to come out of the whole ordeal with an actual girlfriend, like Pete had been, but she hadn’t expected to be pushed out of Caitlyn’s life completely. Not like that. It...well, if she was being honest with herself, it hurt. A lot.

“I can talk to her for you,” Trevor said, reaching down to pick up his backpack as the bus pulled to a stop outside the school.

Ruth shook her head as she got to her feet, “Nah, it’s fine. Thanks, though.”

“Are you sure? I can-”

“Hey, Ruth!” Grace’s voice cut through the series of irritated groans that were coming from other student as she pushed her way past them, through the narrow aisle, toward Ruth at the back of the bus, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“Everywhere, huh?” Ruth’s eyes scanned the back four seats of the only-so-large bus, and she rolled her eyes, “What’s up?”

With a little giggle, Grace reached into her backpack and withdrew two small pieces of paper. Handmade fliers full of pink hearts, and featuring a bright yellow sun with the image of a cross on the front. “Easter Sunday! He is Risen!” was splashed across it in large, obnoxious font, along with a phone number and the logo for the church Grace attended every week. She handed one to Ruth.

“I wanted to invite you to my church’s official big grand opening!”

Ruth quirked a brow at her as she looked over the flier, “Wait...it wasn’t open? Haven’t you been going to church every week for the last six months?”

Grace nodded, her curls bouncing, “Mmm, hmm! But not in the church building itself. We’ve been switching between hosting it at different members’ houses, or the community center when we could get it,” she almost daintily flicked a second flier toward Trevor, “You can come, too! I’m inviting everyone!”

“Uh...thanks?” Trevor took the flier and shared a sidelong glance with Ruth.

“Of course! After the church got burnt down, we had to rely on donations to rebuild, and it’s taken a while, but,” she spread her arms wide, “it’s finally back up! We did it!”

“Yay!” Ruth said in the most sarcastic tone she could muster, waving her hands in mock excitement.

If Grace caught wind of Ruth’s less than genuine reaction, she didn’t make mention of it. Instead, she simply nodded again and said, “Right? I plan on handing these out at school. You don’t think they’re too much?”

“They’re certainly eye-catching,” Trevor said.

“Thanks!” Grace responded, “Oh, and don’t you worry about your proclivities. We’re open to all kinds!”

The amused smile that had found its way to Trevor’s face as Grace went on and on tightened a bit into something far less genuine, “Sorry?”

Grace shrugged, “Oh, I’m talking about your proclivities toward other men, of course. It’s a sin! But don’t worry, we won’t push you out or anything. Everyone is welcome!”

Trevor’s smile fell away completely to an expression of genuine offense, and he scoffed. “Right. Cool. Okay.”

“Anyways. See you in bio, Ruth!”

Grace turned on her heel and skipped back down the bus aisle, leaving Trevor and Ruth as the last students to deboard. As they made their way to the front, Trevor rolled his eyes and dropped the flier to the ground, where it fluttered under one of the seats and disappeared.

“Whoops,” he said in a deadpan tone.

Ruth snickered, “You should’ve waited. She’s still outside, she’ll just give you another one.”

“You think I’m the annoying one?”

The bus doors closed behind them as they came out onto the concrete of the sidewalk, Ruth’s gaze following Grace through the crowd as she disappeared inside.

“You’re both annoying. Just in different ways.”

“You know what’s funny? I do actually go to church.”

“You do?”

Trevor nodded, “Yup. Not every Sunday, or anything, but I go every once in a while. Crack open a Bible and everything.”

“So, you’ve been hanging out with Grace on random Sundays then?”

Trevor snorted as they began making their way to the school’s entrance, “No. Different church. Smaller. Not as...preachy.”

“I didn’t know those existed,” Ruth said with a chuckle.

“Well, they do. And they don’t constantly remind me that I’m going to hell for being gay. Even Rudolph’s gone with me once or twice.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

What he didn’t mention out loud was that he’d only started going after his near-death experience. The way he figured it, whatever divine luck it was that kept him alive in that freezer long enough for someone to find him and save him was something he needed a little more of in his life. He wasn’t quite to the point that he 100% believed, or anything. But it did make him feel better to think that, should he wind up in such a hopeless place again, he’d have something to look forward to if he didn’t make it out a second time.

Heaven seemed nice.

“Hey, Richie!” Ruth suddenly called, pulling the conversation away from religious talk as her eyes locked onto Richie, who was making his way over to them from the school’s parking lot. He offered Ruth a little wave, and gave Trevor a nod of acknowledgment.

“Hey, Ruth.”

“No bus ride this morning, huh?”

Richie shook his head, “No, ah...I woke up late. Steph was good to take me, though, so no big deal.”

It was the same excuse he’d used the last three times. Which either meant that he wasn’t getting enough sleep, or Ruth was 100% correct to think he was outright avoiding Grace.

“Where is Steph?”

“She had a meeting with one of her teachers,” Richie said.

“A meeting that Pete went to, too?”

Richie huffed, “No, Pete’s not feeling well this morning, so he’s home.”

Trevor quirked a brow, “Wait, you’re talking about Peter Spankoffski, right?”

“Yep,” Ruth said, at the same time Richie simply nodded.

“Huh. He caused an entire flu outbreak last year because he refused to stay home, didn’t he?”

“Well, things change,” Richie said, his tone a bit more harsh than he’d intended.

Richie wasn’t Trevor’s biggest fan, but evidently he and Ruth were now friends and that was something he was having a hard time with. Trevor was annoying, pushy, and something of a smartass. He liked to tease, but didn’t seem to know when to stop teasing.

He also looked so much like Richie, that people occasionally got them confused with one another. But not in a way that saved Richie from bullying, of course. Because why would it?

And yet, here was one of Richie’s best friends, walking into school with the guy at her side, like they’d gotten along their whole lives. Richie wasn’t sure exactly what Trevor and Ruth had been through in the Roller-rama (neither of them talked about it much), but it had pushed them closer together. Whatever happened in that building, though, it had brought about a significant change to Trevor in particular. He wasn’t nearly as pushy or annoying all the time. And Richie wasn’t about to ask Ruth to not be friends with someone just because he didn’t like the guy, so...he had to get used to it.

Still, it didn’t mean he had to like Trevor.

Trevor’s brows rose and he exchanged a look with Ruth, who gave him an apologetic shrug before he said, “Well, I hope he’s okay.”

“Oh, watch out for Grace,” Ruth said, handing the crinkled flier in her hand over to Richie so he could see, “she’s on the rampage again. This time, she’s inviting people to her church.”

“I’m invited,” Trevor said, his tone deadpan as he wiggled his hands in mock excitement, “even though I’m gay. Isn’t that lovely?”

Richie snorted, “Nice.”

“Trev!”

Trevor’s entire face lit up as his gaze shifted over toward the owner of the deep voice that had called his name. Rudolph was making his way toward them, smiling gently. He placed a hand on Trevor’s shoulder, while Trevor reached up to gently touch his elbow, and the two exchanged a quick peck.

“Hey, Rudy.”

“How are you feeling today?”

Trevor shrugged, “I mean, I’m fine, I guess. Woke up...y’know. Cold.”

Rudolph’s brow furrowed, “Cold?”

“Yeah. This damn cold front is killing me. I’ll be okay, though.”

Ruth snickered and said in a teasing tone, “Don’t worry, Trev, your giant, beautiful boyfriend can keep you warm.”

Trevor stuck his tongue out at her while Rudolph stifled a laugh. The bell for first period rang.

“Shit,” Trevor hissed, “I haven’t even hit up my locker yet!”

“This is why I carry all of my books with me,” Ruth said with a smug little grin.

“Oh, is that why your posture’s so bad?” Trevor quipped.

Ruth moved to physically kick him, but he took off down the hall with a hyena-like laugh; Rudolph muttered an amused apology as he followed behind his boyfriend.

“We should get to class,” Richie muttered as he watched Trevor and Rudolph disappear down the hall, his eyes narrowing. Ruth gave a nod and gently pushed past him to head to her first class.

“See you in calc!” she called with a little wave.

“Yeah, see ya!”

Richie watched Ruth disappear around the hall, and then made a beeline for his first class of the day. The door was already propped open, the teacher writing something on the board as students filed in one by one. Sitting right in the front row, right where she always did, was Grace. Richie swallowed and turned to move around the back of the classroom so as to avoid her gaze.

He genuinely didn’t like being around Grace. Even before all the chaos, he’d never exactly been Grace’s biggest fan. But after everything…

Watching Grace go violently insane and kill people had been horrifying. Being actively hunted by her, even more so. But worse than all of that – worse than the running, the chase, the fights, the gunshots – was the fact that Grace didn’t seem to feel bad about any of it.

When everyone had come back together afterward to check in and make sure they were all okay, the group had been genuinely invested in Grace’s health and safety. Pete, who had spent the second longest amount of time possessed, or infected, or whatever it was, was especially concerned about her mental health – it had taken its toll on him, none of them could even begin to fathom what Grace felt like. But when questioned about it, all she’d said was that she was fine. That “God had given her to tools to muster through, and she’d used them.” She’d mentioned regretting the loss of life, but never once had she shown any remorse for being the one to take those lives.

And it truly terrified Richie.

So, he’d gone out of his way to avoid her whenever he could. It was easier to spend time around her when they were both surrounded by other people and he could get some space between them, like in the two classes they shared together. But when it was just him and her, or just him, her, and one or two other people, he couldn’t stand it. He felt like she was going to snap at any point. That the perky, almost ditzy demeanor she put forth would crack at any second. And he didn’t want to be anywhere near her when it happened.

As he lowered himself into his front row desk, he risked a sidelong glance in her direction, freezing when he saw her looking at him. He froze. She waved, grinning.

The second bell rang, and Grace’s gaze swiveled back toward the teacher as class began, saving Richie from the unbelievable desire to simply bolt away from her.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

In the weeks and months that followed the events at the Roller-rama, Becky had more or less become accustomed to Tim’s nightmares. It never got any easier to hear him wake up in a screaming panic, but she no longer thought he was being attacked in his sleep, at least. The first night it happened, the first night they got back to the house, Tom hadn’t been there. It was Becky and Tim, alone in the house, while Tom was in the hospital recovering from his wounds. Becky was fairly hurt herself, but hers had been more easily treatable, broken ribs notwithstanding. Tom, however…

Tom had required multiple surgeries, due to the beating he’d received from Cornelius Sinclair. He’d barely made it, and even after coming through the surgeries, he required recovery time. It was two months before he was allowed back home, and even then that was only because Becky had some form of medical training and could keep up on his treatments.

In the interim, Becky and Tim were alone in the house. Which turned out not to be an easy feat; recovering physically from the chaos was one (incredibly big) thing, recovering financially was another. The house’s front window had been busted due to the literal firefight that had occurred outside, and a lot of the things inside had been looted in the meantime – up to and including bed sheets, of all things (Becky had to tell herself that the people who had stolen literal linens had desperately needed them, otherwise she was going to go insane). Blood stained the carpet, to the point it had to be replaced, and after that…

Well after that...they were alone.

The deep, lingering feeling of unease that followed the end of the chaos was something Becky hadn’t quite considered until she was in it. She was alone, in a big house, with a 12 year old boy that she had to protect if anything else happened. And she was worried something would happen. That chaos would erupt again and she would find herself in another life or death situation. She could not deal with it. Not alone. Not without Tom.

The first night Tim had a nightmare, he awoke screaming bloody murder. Becky, who was drowsy from lack of sleep and who had been pulled out of her own bad dream by the sound, had been 100% convinced in that moment that Tim was being attacked, and she’d run to his room with a knife in hand ready to kill whoever touched her kid. It happened again the next night. And then again the next. Until Becky simply allowed Tim to sleep in her bed with her to help keep him calm.

She didn’t like sleeping alone anyway.

Then, Tom had returned. He’d been set up in a little spot of his own in the living room for the first few weeks, due to the fact that he couldn’t climb the stairs; Tim, who was simply glad just to have his dad back, slept on the couch nearby. By that point, Becky had managed to get him, and herself, into therapy, so the night terrors had lessened somewhat.

She hadn’t expected Tom’s return to their shared bed to be so...disconcerting. He wasn’t a dangerous man, and she knew that. But watching him lose all composure the way he had in that Roller-rama had brought her back to a very dark headspace she recognized from the time she’d been with Stanley. Tom wasn’t Stanley. But God above, did her brain love to make that comparison.

That was when the arguing started. Becky was afraid of Tom, and she and Tom both knew it. She couldn’t help it, she tried not to be, but she couldn’t help it. And it hurt Tom. He was a man who wasn’t the best at dealing with difficult emotions in the first place, so he dealt with that hurt through annoyed anger directed at Becky. Never physical – he was not Stanley – but he had no qualms about calling her out for her behavior toward him, the way she acted in the Roller-rama, the violent obsession she’d had with Charles Coven, even going so far as to hunt him for literal hours.

The day Tom reminded her of what they did to Bruno, Becky practically forced him into couple’s therapy.

Things had been a bit better after that. They opened up to one another more, and they spent time simply talking and getting closer, like they’d done before everything had happened. Perhaps most importantly, they began to learn to give each other space when they needed it most, instead of trying so hard to “help” each other that they became almost smothering. Individual therapy, couples therapy. It was working out for the best, in the long run. The wedding, which had been temporarily postponed during the thick of their worst arguments, was back on. The date had to be pushed back, so that planning could begin anew, but they were getting married.

Finally – finally – things were looking up.

Still, things weren’t normal, and they likely never would be again. Which was what led to the complicated swirl of emotions roiling through Becky’s stomach as she looked at the three tests sitting on the bathroom counter in front of her.

Three different tests. Three identical answers.

Positive.

Becky Barnes was pregnant.

She had been so convinced, when she’d been with Stanley, that it was impossible. He had convinced her it was impossible. They’d tried. Lord knew, they’d tried. Stanley had wanted kids so bad, and Becky had been still been foolish enough at the time to believe that a child might help calm him a bit. Make the marriage better. Make him treat her well. She knew now that it likely wouldn’t have happened; if she’d brought a kid into her marriage with that man, she would have done a disservice to herself and that child. But at the time, she’d been so convinced that it might help…

And then it never happened.

Even so, she always played it safe with Tom, particularly toward the beginning of their rekindled romance. Contraceptives were a healthy way to maintain a sexual relationship, especially with someone who already had a child of his own. Tom didn’t seem particularly fussed about having kids, Becky was certain she couldn’t have kids, and Tim seemed happy enough as an only child, so why even take the risk, right? They used birth control. Always. Every single time.

Evidently, something got through.

She was excited; she loved Tim, adored him even, but she’d always wanted kids of her own. That led to her feeling guilty – Tim was her kid, even if he wasn’t her blood, and who was she to say otherwise? Guilt led to sadness; would Tim feel ousted, would he feel like she was abandoning him, or worse, that they were replacing him? Sadness led to frustration, led to fear, led to anxiety, led all the way back to excitement, and then the whole cycle would start anew.

As she stood there, staring at the tests, she decided the predominant feeling she had was fear. She was terrified. What...were they going to do…?

Her phone ringing loudly on the counter next to her startled her enough that she gasped in surprise and she blinked herself out of her own swirling headspace to look at who was calling her. Immediate guilt flew in to join the fear in her chest, and she cursed under her breath when she saw Tim’s name pop up on the screen. She picked up the phone and answered before it could ring a third time.

“Hey, Tim, I’m so sorry I forgot I was picking you up today. I’m just about to leave, right now!”

In a rather funny turn of events, it was Tom who was working late tonight, coaching try-outs for new potential football team members, while Becky was actually able to get off early. She had promised to pick Tim up after school, which was usually no problem for her. But the realization that she was...late, and the subsequent tests had preoccupied her to the point that she’d lost track of time.

“You forgot?” Tim asked, his tone more worried rather than accusatory, “Is something going on? You never forget.”

Becky huffed out a short chuckle as she left the bathroom and made a beeline for her keys, “I know, I’m sorry. I have a lot on my mind.”

“Therapy stuff?” Tim asked, “Or something you can talk about with me?”

Becky gnawed on the inside of her lip. Shortly after starting therapy, Tim had set a boundary with her (that he later implemented on Tom after his return from the hospital) that he wasn’t going to share everything with her. There were things he talked about with his therapist, and things he talked about with her. Sometimes those things overlapped, sometimes they didn’t. Anytime Becky found herself pushing Tim to share his thoughts or feelings with her, he simply said, “It’s therapy stuff,” and she’d back off. She hated it – she deeply wanted him to share everything with her – but she had to force herself to understand it and to adhere to his set boundaries. Her own therapist even backed the idea, saying that she should do it as well.

So, whenever something came up, Becky, Tim, and even Tom would simply clarify whether or not it was “therapy stuff,” and everyone else would back the fuck off.

It was a good system. It worked for them. And that was what mattered.

Becky found herself smiling a bit as she got into her car, balancing the phone between her shoulder and her ear, “It’s not therapy stuff, but...it’s complicated. Look, I’m on my way, Tim, okay? I’ll be there in, like, 10 minutes.”

“’kay,” Tim said with a forced nonchalance that Becky could practically feel through the phone, “See you in a bit.”

“See you.”

She was at the junior high school in less than 10 minutes, as it turned out. Traffic hadn’t been nearly as bad as she’d thought, and she was late enough that the line to pick up wasn’t as long as it usually was (this sent another pang of guilt up through her chest). She spotted Tim sitting on a little grassy hill near the parking lot, headphones in, most likely listening to music or watching a video. He spotted her and moved to pick up his stuff before she’d even parked, and then immediately walked over to her car as soon as she pulled over.

“I am so sorry, Tim,” Becky said as Tim got into the car.

“Are you okay?”

Becky nodded, “Yeah, I’m...fine.”

“What’s up?”

Becky cleared her throat and began to pull out of the parking lot as she spoke, “It’s not therapy stuff, but it is something I should discuss with your father first.”

“First, like...before me?”

“Yes,” Becky nodded.

“Is it bad?”

“I don’t...think so,” Becky said with a shrug, “It’s...a little scary, but in a good way.”

Tim scoffed, “How can something be scary in a good way?”

Becky chuckled, “Remind me to take you to a haunted house sometime.”

As she pulled out onto the street, she heard Tim sigh. A part of her really wanted to let him in on the news, but she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she had to tell Tom first. She gave him a sidelong glance, grinning slightly at the mildly confused and annoyed look on his face, the little furrow of his brow. He looked so much like Tom, it was actually scary. Kid was definitely his father’s son.

“Hey, Becky?” Tim finally asked, breaking the silence with a glance in her direction.

“Yes?”

“Can I talk about a therapy thing with you?”

Becky’s brow furrowed, “Well, sure, sweetie. But are you sure you want to?”

Tim hesitated, only a moment, then slowly nodded, “Yeah. I’m sure.”

“Okay. Go ahead.”

Tim swallowed, chewing on his lip, then inhaled deeply and finally said, “I’m having nightmares again.”

“You are?”

Tim nodded, “I was working on this project in class last week, and we had to look up old newspaper articles. I found one from a long time ago. And...” he cleared his throat, his face scrunching up as he spoke, “it was an article about the Roller-rama. About it being built, and the grand opening, or whatever.”

Becky tensed and scratched at her neck, “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Tim said with a shrug, “And, I dunno, I guess it kinda...freaked me out? Took me back there? And I started getting nightmares again.”

“How long has this been happening?”

“Couple days.”

“And you talked to your therapist about it?”

Tim nodded again, “I did.”

“Did she say anything?”

“She just...she told me it was okay to feel afraid, but that I had to remember I’m not back there. That I’m safe with you and dad, and that you guys can protect me.”

Becky nodded, “That’s all true.”

“The nightmares are still really bad, though.”

“I still have nightmares sometimes, too, you know.”

“I know. Dad does too.”

“He does.”

“I just thought they’d be gone by now.”

Becky sighed as they pulled into the neighborhood and spared a glance toward Tim, offering him a small smile, “Tim, the thing about what we went through...I don’t think any of us will ever truly be over it. We can do our best to move on. To not let it define us, or control us. But it will always be there.”

“I hate that.”

“I know, sweetie. I do, too.”

They pulled into the driveway and Becky was fairly certain she heard Tim sniffling. She definitely saw him swiping at his face, as though wiping away tears. She felt her heart twist in her chest. He was way too young to be dealing with this shit. This trauma, this grief. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.

Once they were inside, Tim disappeared upstairs to do his homework. Becky went to the kitchen to start on dinner. She’d made a decision. She’d been wrong. She wasn’t going to tell Tom first. She was going to tell both of them. At the same time. It was only fair. They were both important to her. They both deserved to know. So, as she set the table, she prepared herself. She was more nervous than she’d anticipated when Tom walked through the door.

“I’m home!” he announced. He closed the door behind him, wincing when it slammed a bit harder than he’d been trying for, and then offered Becky a smile as she popped out of the kitchen to greet him. “What smells so good?”

“It’s literally nothing,” Becky said with a shrug, moving into give him a kiss, “I just made some spaghetti and meatballs. Quick and easy.”

“Well, it smells fantastic, and I am starving. Where’s Tim?”

“Finishing up his homework, he’ll be down soon.”

Sure enough, as Tom finished taking off his shoes and jacket, and placing his keys on the hook beside the door, Tim emerged from his room and came down the stairs toward him. He offered Tom a one-armed hug, and together the two of them made their way into the kitchen.

“How was your day?” Becky asked as they sat.

“Ugh, busy,” Tom said, rubbing at his face, “One of my seniors decided to try to use a band saw as a toy and damn near took off a finger before I got to him.”

Becky huffed and dished some spaghetti onto her plate before handing the utensils over to Tom, “Again?”

“Yeah, except this one wasn’t a weird medical problem, this kid was just being an idiot.”

Tim snorted, “Aren’t we supposed to get smarter as we get older?”

“You’d think,” Tom handed the utensils to Tim, who began to dish up his own plate, “I ever catch you acting like that around your teachers, kid, you know there’ll be consequences.”

“Yes, sir,” Tim said, a smirk finding its way to his face.

“How’d tryouts go?” Becky asked.

“Not bad, actually. Lots of decent prospects, at least. I’m still hoping Max is able to rejoin when he gets back. Help me whip those boys into shape.”

Becky watched Tom slump a bit at the mention of Max’s name. The last time Tom had seen Max, Max had been actively trying to kill him. Despite it all, Max was, and always had been, one of Tom’s favorite students. There was just too much potential there for Tom to give up on him completely, and he’d given his all into making sure that boy stayed on the team. Up to and including hiring tutors to help keep Max’s grades up. In a very strange way, Max Jagerman reminded Tom of himself at that age: large, headstrong, a little stupid, and deeply unsure of his future. A large part of why Tom had joined the military had been because, at Max’s age, he’d fully believed he’d peaked in high school and was a nobody after he graduated. Joining the military was his only prospect, as far as he’d been concerned.

And while he couldn’t ever fully bring himself to regret it, he did often think about being able to change it if he ever got the chance to go back and do so.

Taking Max under his wing had been his way of doing just that, he supposed.

Finding out that Max had been hurt enough to warrant simply not returning to school for six months had been a lot. The kid was gonna need to take an extra semester in order to graduate, which wasn’t going to do anything at all for the self esteem issues Tom knew were just boiling under the surface. The least he could do, he figured, was be there for Max when he got back.

And this time, he wouldn’t let Max push him away.

“Anyway,” Tom said with a sigh. He turned his gaze up toward Becky and smiled, “How was your day?”

Becky tensed. Now was the moment, if there ever was one. “Oh, it was...fine.”

Tom’s brows furrowed, “Are you okay?”

“She’s acting weird,” Tim said with a little eyeroll, “She was late picking me up today, too.”

“Tattle tale,” Becky teased.

“How late?”

“Much later than I would have liked,” Becky said, “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine, it’s just...” Tom shrugged, “I wanna make sure you’re okay. Becky, you’re never late.”

Becky nodded, “I know. Something came up.”

“What?”

Becky chewed her lip, her gaze shifting from Tom, to Tim, and back again.

“Becky?” Tom asked, “What is it?”

It was now or never. Say something, dammit!

“I’m pregnant,” she finally blurted, a bit louder than she’d intended.

Tom and Tim both gaped at her. In this moment, they looked like the exact same person, their mouths open wide enough to drive a car into as they stared in wide-eyed disbelief. Becky swallowed, looking between them again, drawing her fingers together in anxious anticipation.

“Can...can one of you say something…? Please?”

It was Tim who came to his senses first, blinking, “Wait, are you...sure?”

Becky shrugged, “Pretty sure? I took three tests, but I plan on getting a blood test at the hospital in a couple of days. That one’s a little more accurate, so we’ll know for certain, but...yeah. As of right now...I think...I’m having a baby?”

There was another short silence that followed, and then Tom spoke up, “Are you...are we excited about this?”

Becky nodded, “I think so. Yeah. I mean, I’m terrified, but...Tom, I think this might be...a good thing?”

Tom put down his fork and stood, making his way around the table toward her. He pulled her into a hug as a smile split across his face, and he chuckled, “Hey. It’s okay. We’ll be okay. We got this, Becky. We’ll be okay.”

The complicated swirl of emotions she’d been feeling since earlier that afternoon returned tenfold, and Becky burst into tears. Happy tears, sad tears, terrified tears. They all flowed free as Tom held her close. She wrapped one arm around him, and one around Tim as he came to join the hug.

“I know you can’t, like, make it happen, but I really want a sister,” he whispered, eliciting a happy little giggle from Becky.

She had her boys. They had her. And in that moment, there was nothing in the world she would change.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Ted Spankoffski was not good with emotion.

Even before he’d made the conscious decision to be a relentless, womanizing asshole, Ted had always had a difficult time discussing the way he felt with people. He ultimately blamed his parents – his dad had always been closed off emotionally, and the only connection his mom had to emotions was when she was using them to abuse and manipulate the people around her. The closest he ever got to a genuine conversation with anyone in his life had been Jenny. His best friend. His confidant. His first love.

And even then, he’d royally screwed it up.

In an effort to protect his friendship with Jenny, Ted had held his feelings for her close to his chest. He hadn’t made a move. He hadn’t pushed. He’d sat back and waited, hoped that the friendship would evolve into something more. In some ways, he almost valued her friendship too much. He’d been so worried about losing her completely that he’d decided to keep his love for her a secret. And all it had netted him was heartbreak and the loss of an actually halfway decent person from his life. Someone who’d cared about him. Someone who had, in the long run, loved him.

Learning Jenny had run off with the guy he hated, moved to the worst place in the world to be with said guy, rather than stay anywhere near Ted, had ultimately broken him. He’d changed, the moment he got that note from her. He became the person he thought she wanted.

And that had led to him pushing away anyone else who even remotely cared about him.

It was a vicious cycle, and one he wasn’t even entirely consciously aware of anymore. He closed himself off to people, played the fool, acted like an asshole, then took personal offense when they didn’t want him around. Deep down, Ted did like people. He needed them. But he was just so fucking bad with them at this point that, if pressed for true self-aware honesty, he wasn’t sure he could name one person off the top of his head who actually gave a shit about him. Pete...maybe? But even that was a crapshoot at this point.

In the months following the chaos that struck Hatchetfield, Ted spent a lot of time in the hospital. Internal bleeding, broken ribs, strained and torn muscles, second degree burns, bruises, and infection, all complicated by the fact that he’d dehydrated himself by drinking too much booze the night of the fire at Steph’s house, and not enough water. He had, in the simplest terms, barely survived. The last thing he remembered before waking up in the hospital had been Steph, standing over him. He’d said something to her, he couldn’t even remember what, and then the next thing he knew, he was in a hospital bed in the worst pain of his life.

For their part, people did visit when they could. It wasn’t easy, with hospitals as overrun as they were; Pete could get in pretty much whenever he wanted, since he was directly related to Ted. But Paul, Emma, Steph and anyone else who might have thought to come visit him had to sign up for specific open timeslots to do so. It was a lot of effort to go to for someone they only marginally liked, so eventually those specific visits stopped entirely.

Once he was medically cleared and could return home, the visits from Paul, at least, resumed, which was nice. It was nice to see someone other than Pete for a change, and Ted did genuinely like Paul. It was Paul who ultimately found out Ted had been mixing his copious pain killers with booze in order to actually sleep without nightmares (the nightmares themselves weren’t a new problem, but the contents of said nightmares were). The ensuing argument had only led to Paul visiting a bit less often, and Ted better hiding the problem – in his mind, if it helped him sleep, even if it was only for 3-4 hours at a time, that was better than suffering through the exhaustion that would come from getting no sleep at all.

Besides, what did anyone care what he did or didn’t do with his own fucking pain meds, anyway?

On this specific Saturday, Pete was out with his friends and girlfriend (seriously, it was so strange to imagine Pete with a girlfriend) at some spring street fair that it was probably still far too cold for. Paul’s visits had become less and less frequent, and he didn’t text or call to check in anymore either. Apparently, six months was as far as their friendship extended. Ted had slept particularly badly the night before – bad day at work, along with a pain flare-up, and general stress and anxiety made for pretty shitty sleeping conditions – so he wanted to try to relax anyway. Maybe watch some porn or something. Who needed friends, right? Who needed plans? Alone time was a perfectly acceptable way to spend the day.

He settled down onto the couch with a plate of freshly cooked food in one hand, and a bottle of booze in the other. Absently, he checked his phone, making note of a text from Charlotte that had come through about 20 minutes before. He figured he really should probably block her at some point. He’d spent the last several months actively avoiding having to be in the same room alone with her so they wouldn’t have to...talk. Every text she sent went unanswered. As did every call. Still, she tried, and each time she did, it irritated Ted.

He couldn’t bring himself to completely cut her off, though…

There was some small, deeply petty part of him that enjoyed it. Enjoyed watching her look at him with those sad puppy dog eyes as she tried to find some excuse to be alone with him so they could talk. Ted resented her. He resented the fact she’d told Sam about him, despite his pleas not to. He was no saint in this situation, and he knew that. He just wished that everyone else recognized that Charlotte wasn’t either.

Sam had, against all odds, survived the fight at the school. Physically, anyway. Somehow, he hadn’t bled to death on the floor of that hallway, and had been found just in time to be taken to a hospital. He hadn’t, however, woken up.

Which was pretty goddamn good, as far as anyone who’d actually been involved in that confrontation was concerned.

There had been a few weeks, after discovering Sam’s survival, where Pete’s friend Richie had freaked the absolute fuck out thinking he was going to get into trouble and wind up in jail or something, despite the fact that everyone in Hatchetfield had done some pretty shady shit over the course of those two days. Still, when Charlotte came poking around for answers, it was a rare moment of unity from the entire group as a whole that they chose not to say anything to her about what had happened. Both to protect Richie, and, in the case of Paul and Ted, at least, to protect Charlotte. She didn’t need to know that her beloved Sam had gone on a rampage, given a teenage girl a very serious concussion and tried to kill a teenage boy. That he’d been shot and attacked out of self-defense. That Sam Sweetly, Charlotte’s “rock” and “the love of her life” could fall so quickly to the Rage Plague and become the villain of the story. Ted did not want to see Charlotte hurt.

Admittedly, though, there was a part of him that got some sick satisfaction from watching her try to figure out what happened, too. The part of him that resented her for putting him, and by extension Pete, in that trouble in the first place. For being so blindly naive to her husband’s capacity for violence.

Because, when push came to shove, Ted was 100% convinced that, even without the aid of some weird, random rage-possession, Sam would have come after him anyway.

Now, with Sam in a coma and showing no signs of waking up, Charlotte was going to have to start making some tough choices; and it was very clear she wanted help with those choices. Over the course of their two-year affair, Charlotte had come to Ted with quite a bit, looking for support. He wasn’t the best at offering that support, but he at least pretended to care. It always seemed to make her feel better, at the very least. Now, it seemed, she wanted more of that. And Ted...simply was not willing to offer it.

Let her figure it out on her own.

For some reason, that line of thought made him feel sad.

So, he stopped thinking it.

He swiped at his phone screen, ridding it of Charlotte’s text without looking it over, and checked the time. He was in pain, his painkillers had long since worn off, and he desperately wanted to take more. He wasn’t stupid enough to take more than the prescribed amount (even if he was stupid enough to take them with alcohol), so he’d had to wait a few hours. And luckily for him, those few hours were up. It was time to drug himself up, and at least attempt to relax.

It was nearing midnight by the time Pete made it back to the condo. He’d spent the whole day out with Steph, Richie, and Ruth, and had even spent some time with Rudolph and Trevor when they’d dropped by (much to Richie’s chagrin – Pete didn’t really understand why Richie hated Trevor so much, he seemed nice enough, and Ruth evidently liked him). Once the street fair had closed up, they’d all gone out for ice cream before splitting up to head home.

Pete hadn’t wanted to go home. So Steph had taken him out instead.

Pete didn’t hate Ted. Far from it, actually. Pete loved his big brother, even through all the flaws and assholeish attitude. But being around Ted truly, genuinely scared him. Not because Ted was dangerous – far from it, in fact – but because Pete, evidently, was.

When the voice in his head had demanded he kill Ted, and his brain and body both somehow agreed to that notion, Pete had been afraid. From the moment he’d started hunting Ted down, to the moment the entire thing ended, Pete had tried to fight it. He didn’t want to kill anyone, let alone his own flesh and blood. Ted had his flaws, but he didn’t deserve to die. He was, however, extremely annoying, and he constantly said and did things that rose Pete’s blood pressure; he was remarkably blasé about everything, even after all they’d been through, and the dumbass forced nonchalance he put forth genuinely angered Pete.

The problem was, Pete was terrified of getting angry.

He’d come to the conclusion that the thing that had sent him on his hunting mode had been...anger. He’d been angry at the Mayor’s aids attacking Steph. He’d been angry at Grace for hunting them down. He’d been angry at Ted for...well, everything. Anger was the catalyst, and that scared Pete. It wasn’t an emotion he felt often, but when he did, he felt it hard, and he was horrified at the notion that his anger could potentially hurt those he cared about.

There was a lot he had to work out with Ted. A lot they had to talk about. But Ted’s attitude and Pete’s utter fear kept either one of them from approaching that avenue. That led to tension, and tension led to Pete...simply not wanting to be home. If he wanted to live in a tense atmosphere, he would’ve stayed with his mom.

Still, he had to go home sometime, he supposed. So, near midnight, Steph dropped him off at his house and drove off. Normally, she wouldn’t have left so quickly. Normally, she would have stayed and waited to make sure he made it inside okay. This time, however, her father had decided that it was time for her to come home, and had sent her a text informing her to do so as quickly as possible, or she’d be grounded for a month. Being grounded meant he’d take her phone away, which for Stephanie Lauter was a fate worse than death. So, she dropped Pete off at his house and took off with nothing more than a gentle kiss and a wave goodbye.

Which left Pete outside the condo, fumbling to find his keys.

It took him a good few seconds to realize that he didn’t have his keys, and he groaned. He leaned to one side, trying to get a good view through the small, long window that ran alongside the door in an effort to see if he’d maybe left them in the little bowl they kept on a small table in the entry way. As far as he could tell from here, the lights were off in the house, so it was too dark to get a good look. Still, he figured that was where they had to be: just inside the door, just out of reach.

Fuck.

Inhaling deeply, and only just now aware of how quickly the temperature had dropped when the sun went down, Pete knocked loudly. If the lights were off, it meant Ted was more than likely asleep, but luckily for Pete, Ted was a light sleeper.

Except for tonight, apparently.

The first thought Pete had was that Ted had possibly gone out or something. Maybe to a bar? Maybe he was spending the night at a lady friend’s house or something, and had locked up. He couldn’t have known Pete was going to forget his keys, so that made the most logical sense. Pete reached into his pocket and took out his phone, dialing Ted’s number. It rang through to his voice mail, which he evidently hadn’t set up. With a heavy sigh, Pete began to scroll through his phone to call Steph – it might get her in more trouble if she turned around to come get him, but it wasn’t like he could spend all night out here alone waiting for whenever Ted got back. Richie’s father hated whenever friends spent the night, so he was off the table. He could call Ruth, he supposed. Keep Steph out of trouble and maybe, just maybe, get out of the frigid night air.

Yeah, that made the most sense. Call Ruth, get a ride back to her house and ask to spend the night in their spare bedroom. It kept Steph out of trouble, at least. As Pete stepped down off the front stoop and onto the lawn, he scrolled through his contacts to find Ruth. He moved out toward the sidewalk, near the edge of the parking lot, and was just about to hit the call button when something caught his eye.

There, sitting in the parking lot not too far away, hidden from view by a large SUV, was Ted’s blue Studebaker.

Pete’s brow furrowed, a strange mix of irritated anger and worried panic rising up into his chest. If Ted’s car was here, then...where was Ted? If he was inside, and not answering the door...not answering his phone…

Two possibilities came to mind in that moment. Either something had happened, and Ted was injured or sick, and couldn’t get to the door to let Pete in…

Or, Ted had finally decided he was done with Pete.

It was a thought he hadn’t been able to shake since, one that had crept into his head directly after the ordeal with Sam in the school. When Pete was being actively attacked, and Ted had done exactly nothing. Ted had never once said anything about not wanting Pete around, and deep down, Pete did understand that freezing up was a very real response to fear, but Pete simply could not get the thought out of his head. It had wormed its way in there, and it refused to leave, even six months later. The growing tension in the Spankoffski household hadn’t exactly helped, either. Ted and Pete rarely spoke much anymore, beyond basic greetings and wishing one another goodnight.

The ever growing tension did nothing to relieve the deep-seeded fear in Pete that Ted...simply didn’t like him. Didn’t want him around, and truly believed he’d ruined his life in some way. Deep down, Pete thought it wasn’t true, but there was always the little seed of doubt there, planted by the fact that Ted simply refused to talk to him. And of course he did; Pete had tried to kill him. Why would he talk to him? He was probably terrified of him. Of course, Ted wouldn’t have to be if he’d just fucking talk to him. But Ted wasn’t a talker. Pete knew that.

It frustrated him.

Which led him to his second biggest fear: falling to the possession again, and trying to kill Ted out of pure anger and frustration. It was another big reason he didn’t push a talk; he simply did not want to kill his big brother, and he was terrified he would if he got answers he didn’t like.

So, they didn’t talk. They simply moved around one another, exchanging pleasantries like co-workers, or friendly strangers who saw one another on the street every day.

With a huff, Pete turned on his heel and climbed back up the stairs toward the front door of Ted’s condo, pounding hard.

“Ted! Open the door, asshole, it’s cold out here!”

No answer. He pounded again, “Ted! Ted, come on, man!”

Someone in a nearby unit yelled for him to shut up. And that was when Pete decided that, one way or another, he was getting into Ted’s house. He lifted the front mat, in search of a spare key. Nothing. And from the looks of things, Ted hadn’t kept up mom’s habit of having one of those crappy hide-a-key thingies nearby – none that were visible to him, anyway.

Stomping back the rising panic in his chest, Pete huffed and moved toward the front yard, where several large rocks adorned the area around a tree. He picked one up, just large enough to fit in the palm of his hand, moved back toward the door, and lobbed it through the small window that ran alongside the left of the doorframe. It collided with the window, the resounding clatter making Pete wince as glass shattered into the condo entryway; that had been a lot louder than he would have liked.

As if on cue, the same voice from before bellowed another warning to shut the fuck up, or cops were getting called. Pete’s brow furrowed; the idea of getting arrested for trying to break into his own house was a darkly amusing one, he had to admit. But it was a very real possibility should his darkest fears come true and Ted decided to just up and get rid of him – it would be far too easy for his brother to tell the authorities that he wasn’t welcome there, and he’d be escorted away without a word.

The shattered glass provided just enough room for Pete to get his arm in, reach around to the door, and unlock it from the other side. He’d just gathered up his bag and was opening the door when Ted came barreling around the corner from the living room, looking panicked, yet exhausted. He stopped in his tracks upon seeing Pete, blinking rapidly to rid himself of the sleep still clinging to his eyes.

Pete’s eyes narrowed as his gaze locked onto his brother. He’d been here the whole time? And he wasn’t injured? Or dead? He’d been asleep?? He could feel anger rising in his chest as tears began to sting at the corners of his eyes, “Oh, that you heard?”

Ted exhaled sharply, his eyes darting from Pete, to the open door, to the shattered window, and back to Pete, “What the fuck, man?”

“I did knock,” Pete said as he shut the door behind him, “loudly.”

“Why were you knocking when you have a key?”

Pete rolled his eyes, “Use your brain, Ted. Think real hard. Would I be knocking if I hadn’t forgotten my key?”

Ted scoffed, crossing his arms, “Well you don’t gotta be an ass about it, kid.”

“Pot, meet kettle.”

Pete sniffled and moved toward the stairs, only stopped by Ted grabbing hold of his arm.

“Dude, are you crying?”

“Fuck off, Ted.”

“Why are you crying? What happened?”

Before he could stop himself, a cynical, hissing chuckle left his mouth and he shook his head, “What happened is that I was standing out there, in the cold, for 10 fucking minutes while you,” he sniffed toward Ted, the smell of booze easily identifiable in the air around him, “drank yourself into a stupor. Ha, of course. Of course you’re fucking drunk.”

A barely perceptible wince of regret came over Ted, one that Pete didn’t see, or recognize. What Pete did unfortunately see, was the nonchalant shrug that Ted performed to cover the wince as he said, “’Of course?’ What does that mean?”

Pete snorted, “Nothing, Ted. Par for the course with you.”

“Look, I don’t know what I did to piss you off, but-”

“Yeah, once again, that makes sense.”

“Jesus, Peter, what the hell is your problem?”

Pete, who had managed to ascend up a couple of stairs during their argument, paused, glared at Ted, and moved back down the stairs toward him, “We’ve both had a problem, Ted. For months. And I’ve tried – I’ve tried – to talk to you, and all you say when I bring anything up, any problem I’m having? All you do is wave me off like it’s not a big deal. I’m not okay, Ted. I’m not okay, and neither are you. And you don’t seem to care.”

Ted blinked, backing away from Pete as he came closer, his brow furrowing as tears began to fall freely from his baby brother’s eyes. Genuine surprise contorted his features as Pete advanced on him. He wasn’t the most insightful person on the planet, but he wasn’t stupid, and he did know that Pete was right. Neither one of them had been okay for a while. Ted had gone his usual route in dealing with any issue that cropped up: ignore it and hope it goes away.

Obviously, that wasn’t working.

What surprised him more than Pete’s genuine hurt anger in that moment, though, was the fact that it was scaring him. He hadn’t seen Pete this upset – this angry – in six months. Not since he’d tried attacking him in the library at that crazy Professor Hidgens’ house. Ted had witnessed his baby brother lose his absolute shit and hunt him down like an animal over the course of a few hours...and it had truly terrified him. And now, as Pete stood in front of him – came at him with barely concealed anger – Ted found himself unconsciously falling to that fear again.

Pete noticed, too.

As soon as Ted took one terrified step away from him, eyes going wide, Pete backed off. He took several deep breaths, trying to keep himself from bursting into sobs, and then turned on his heel and took off up the stairs to his room. He’d never wanted Ted to look at him like that again. He felt like he’d lost control, and he was too terrified of himself to go to the bathroom and look in the mirror. To see the purple in his eyes that he knew, without any shadow of a doubt, would be there.

Downstairs, Ted watched Pete retreat up the steps, wincing when he heard the bedroom door slam loudly behind him. He took a few steadying breaths before slowly turning back toward the living room.

Hours earlier, he’d fallen asleep on the couch, the booze and painkillers swirling together in his system just long enough to create a nice, lovely little blanket of artificial relaxation and help him drift off. He’d been just at the beginnings of a nightmare when Pete had begun knocking, a sound he could hear in his sleep, but couldn’t really wake to confirm if it was real or not. The shattering glass had woken him, but left him confused and groggy; he hadn’t even fully recognized where he was, let alone what was going on. Until he saw Pete standing in the doorway.

On the living room floor, just off to one side of the couch, were two empty bottles of whiskey. Ted only remembered drinking half of one. That was...probably not good. With a shaky sigh he moved around the couch and slumped down onto it, rubbing at his face. He’d screwed up. He knew he’d screwed up. And he’d come far too close to Pete finding out. All the kid would have had to do was walk the few feet into the living room, and he would have seen the things Ted was mixing together for just a bit of comfort. Then Pete would have been even more upset, and he would’ve made Ted feel even worse…

Honestly, he probably should feel bad. He knew that. He should feel bad, and he did.

He felt worse than he had in a very long time.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

“Yo, Jepson! Catch!”

Jason inwardly cringed at the sound of Brad Callahan’s voice behind him, and only barely turned just in time to take an absolutely massive spitball to the side of his face. Brad let out a doofy chuckle, throwing both arms up into the air.

“Touchdown!”

The locker room was half full of boys who had just gotten out of gym class. Most were changing, some were showering, and everyone within earshot turned to face Brad as he exclaimed. More than one of them rolled their eyes. A few of them groaned.

“Jesus, dude,” Kyle muttered as he moved around Brad and toward Jason, pulling a tissue from his bag, “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“Oh, c’mon, Kyle, it was funny.”

“You know what was funny?” Kyle asked while Jason wiped the spitball from his cheek, “When Stephanie Lauter punched you in the face.”

Behind Kyle, Jason snorted, “Yeah, that was hilarious, actually.”

The smile on Brad’s face fell into a scowl. He slammed his locker closed and muttered, “Fuck you guys,” under his breath before disappearing to the other side of the locker rooms toward the showers.

“He can dish it out, but can’t take it,” Kyle rolled his eyes, “What a fuckin’ baby.”

“Do you know why Steph punched him?” Jason asked.

Kyle shrugged, taking a seat on the bench near where Jason was standing, “No clue. But whatever it was, it must’ve pissed her off good. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Steph, like, punch someone.”

Jason snickered, “Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her mad enough.”

That was the truth, too. Jason had known Steph since the third or forth grade. They hung out in the same circles and went to the same parties, but truth be told, Jason didn’t really know if she considered him a friend or not. He hoped she did, even if they didn’t really hang out much outside of group settings. He liked Steph. She was good people.

“You believe him when he says he put Max in the hospital?” Kyle asked.

Jason sat next to him on the bench, crumpling the spitball-filled tissue in one hand, “I mean, maybe? But based on how Max was acting...” he shrugged, “Self defense is an option.”

Kyle nodded. That was, indeed, an option. And a good one, as far as he was concerned. If it was actually Brad who’d apprehended Max then...well, Kyle hated to admit it, but if that was the case, he had Brad, of all people, to thank for giving him and Brenda enough time to get out of the school. Were it not for Max being waylaid like that, there was every possibility he would have caught up to them. And then who knew what would have happened?

Still, he did wish Brad wouldn’t celebrate it so much. Beating Max to the point of leaving him in a coma and in need of physical therapy wasn’t something to be proud of, as far as Kyle and Jason were concerned.

Kyle inhaled sharply through his nose and sighed, “Well. Max is coming back next week, so. There’s that.”

Jason’s brows rose, “Yep.”

“Are you, uh...excited to see him?”

It was Jason’s turn to sigh, “I don’t know, man. It’s been...kinda nice without him?”

“Ugh, I know. I feel bad that I, like, like not having him around, but it’s just so much easier here without him.” His gaze flicked over toward the showers, where Brad was singing a very loud, very raunchy, very out of tune song at the top of his lungs, “Even with Brad trying to take his spot.”

“You think he’ll still be a problem?”

“I dunno,” Kyle said with a shrug, “I mean, why wouldn’t he be?”

“You worried about you and Brenda?”

Kyle’s face fell a bit as he stared at a spot on the tile floor near his feet, “I really like her, man. I don’t wanna break up or anything.”

“So don’t.”

“What?”

Jason shrugged, “Don’t break up with her.”

Kyle looked at him like he’d grown a second head, mouth agape, “You...he...I...ahem. Jason, did you have a stroke? He’ll kill me.”

“You like Brenda, right?”

“Yeah. I mean...yeah, I like her a lot. Maybe even love her.”

“So, fight for her, man. That’s what Steph’s gonna do with Spankoffski.”

“Wait, what? Really?”

Jason nodded, “Yeah. She really, really likes him. And I don’t think she’d let Max stop her from dating him.”

It was something she’d told him a couple of months ago. They’d found a quiet time to actually catch up and talk, and the topic of Steph’s new boyfriend had come up. Jason had questioned her extensively about what she planned to do if and when Max ever came back, and she’d scoffed at the idea of breaking up with someone she genuinely liked just because one person told her not to date him.

“I think if you really like someone, you have to be willing to fight for them,” she’d said.

The words had stuck with Jason. Made him think. He’d given up on a lot of possible relationships because he’d allowed Max to dictate who he talked to, dated, hung out with, and bullied. And Jason had gone along with it because...well, because it was easier. Being Max’s friend made high school bearable. Jason was at the top of the social totem pole, and all it took was a little bit of bullying to stay up there. Standing up for himself and the things he wanted was out of the question if he wanted to graduate high school with some level of popularity. He was just trying to survive this bitch.

Then he’d found himself in an actual life or death situation, and suddenly none of it seemed to matter. The popularity, the social status, the friends. None of it mattered in the end if he couldn’t hang out with who he wanted to hang out with. Date who he wanted to date. Life was too short for anything else. Jason liked Max. He really did consider him a friend. But when push came to shove…

When push came to shove, Jason liked Kyle more, and he’d stand up for his friend.

“Max is gonna kick his ass,” Kyle said, drawing Jason out of his thoughts.

“Max already used to kick his ass daily.”

A barking laugh escaped Kyle’s lips and he nodded, “Okay, fair.”

Jason gave Kyle a gentle slap on the shoulder, “You got this, man. I’ll back you up. Just...don’t break up with Brenda. I think you guys are good together.”

“Thanks, dude.”

“Of course.”

The bell rang, signaling the end of class, and sending the students gathered in the locker room scattering for the hallways. Brad came out of the showers, wrapped in a towel and still soaking wet, cursing as he moved to hurriedly get dressed before the next bell. Kyle stood and held out a helping hand toward Jason; he didn’t need it, but the gesture was appreciated, at least. Jason accepted Kyle’s helping hand and stood alongside him, and together the two made their way out of the gym and into the hall.

Kyle’s next class was math, while Jason had a free study period, so they wound up saying their goodbyes and headed off in opposite directions. Usually, Jason would spend his study period in the library, or the cafeteria, but today he thought it might be nice to get a little bit of sun before it disappeared back behind the roiling clouds that had taken over the sky that day. The weather had warmed up nicely, and he figured it would be a good idea to get out for a little bit. Away from the narrow halls of Hatchetfield High, even if it was only for 50 minutes. He stopped by his locker to grab a book he’d been meaning to finish reading, and then headed outside to sit on the front lawn.

The memories of what happened that day six months ago still felt fresh at the forefront of his mind as he stepped out the front doors of the school and stood on the steps. Max had rallied them, like an actual mob, and attacked anyone who dared try to make an exit. And Jason, in an effort to keep himself safe, had stood by and watched it happen. Hell, he’d even helped. He wasn’t proud of it. He could still hear the pleas and screams of panicked students and teachers as they begged to be let go when they were caught. He hadn’t let them go. It wasn’t until Coach Houston had gotten involved that Jason had pulled his own head out of his ass long enough to actually help anyone. He’d gotten those theater nerds out of there, at least. Everyone else…

Well, if he lingered on that thought too long, he started to feel like a horrible person, so he shoved it away from his mind.

There was a nice spot under a large tree that looked at least a little bit comfy, so that was where he perched up, sighing as he set his backpack down. He’d been just about to sit when he heard a choked gasp, and saw a figure skittering out from behind the opposite side of the tree, moving as though startled and trying to get away. The figure slipped on the wet grass and faceplanted hard into the ground, and it was only then that Jason realized he recognized who it was.

“Yeowch. You okay, there, Lipschitz?”

Richie pushed himself up onto his knees, wiping grass from his shirt, and looked up toward Jason with a small, almost pleading smile.

“Hi, sorry. I just...I didn’t know you wanted to sit here, so I was gonna go ahead and move, and uh...” he motioned around him, “I slipped. I’m getting out of your hair, though, don’t worry.”

Jason quirked a brow, “You don’t have to go.”

Richie gave him a confused look, his eyes darting from Jason, to the tree, and back again, “I mean...you’re sitting here, so...”

Before the Rage Plague, Richie and Jason were not friends. Richie was Max’s favorite little victim, and Jason had the unfortunate luck of almost always being around whenever Max managed to catch Richie alone. He hated it, but it was sort of the way of high school. The only time Max didn’t bother Richie was during football games, when Richie wasn’t Richie, but Zeke the Fightin’ Nighthawk – though, admittedly, that could have had something to do with the fact that at games, Coach Houston was there and generally put a stop to any bullying that occurred.

The problem was, Jason liked Richie. Like, a lot. Like, in the way Kyle liked Brenda. Or the way Steph liked Pete.

That wasn’t a fair comparison, he supposed. Kyle and Steph actually knew things about Brenda and Pete. They had actually gone out of their way to talk to them and get to know them, instead of wistfully watching from afar as they adorably tried and failed to dance. Jason knew Richie liked anime – that much was obvious, just in the way he dressed and spoke. He knew he liked video games. Jason also liked both of those things, but it wasn’t really...enough to start an actual conversation.

But perhaps the biggest difference between Jason, and Kyle and Steph, was that Kyle and Steph hadn’t openly bullied their crushes for literal years.

They hadn’t really interacted much, since coming back to school. The football season had been more or less canceled due to the chaos, and even if it hadn’t...well, Jason couldn’t really play anymore with a bum shoulder. He’d managed to retain his commitment to the team by acting as their equipment manager, but it simply wasn’t the same. This change left him on the sidelines more, alongside Richie. But Jason had been too invested in cheering on his teammates, and Richie too distracted by his routine and filled with nervous energy. They hadn’t gotten any alone time together, where they could talk without prying eyes or ears, so they’d fallen into a more or less comfortable silence together.

Not helping matters was Brad Callahan’s complete and utter devotion to trying to take over Max’s spot as top dog. Where Jason and Kyle had followed Max, they actively tried to stop Brad, usually by drawing his anger toward them so it wasn’t being unleashed upon the nerds. Richie had become very good at avoiding Brad, who claimed that he’d “taught that nerd a lesson” back when the chaos had erupted; Jason wasn’t sure what Brad had done to Richie, if anything, but it angered him knowing that whatever had been done had traumatized him enough to literally hide whenever he saw Brad approaching. The unfortunate part was, with Kyle and Jason both playing havoc trying to keep Brad under control, they were hanging out with Brad more often. Which meant Richie...was afraid of them as well.

And that honestly kind of hurt.

Steph’s words echoed in his head as he watched Richie awkwardly try to push himself to his feet. He’d evidently hurt himself in his fall if the pained hiss was anything to go by. Jason inhaled slowly and stepped forward, holding a hand out toward him to help him up. The scared and confused look on Richie’s face melted away to only confusion as he looked up at Jason with a furrowed brow, as though trying to figure out what the angle was. Then he awkwardly reached up and accepted Jason’s hand. Jason pulled him to his feet.

“We can both sit here, you know,” he said as he wiped his hand on his shirt. The sheer amount of sweat on Richie’s hand had taken him off guard, and he did his best to hide a little grimace, turning it into an awkward, toothy smile instead, “It’s...a big tree, ha.”

Richie shook his head, “No, that’s okay. I don’t wanna bother you.”

“You’re not.”

Richie gnawed on his lip as he looked Jason over with some measure of confused distrust, then bent down to pick up a notebook that had come out of his open backpack when he’d slipped. He wiped it free of grass stains and shoved it back into the backpack, then scratched at the back of his head.

“Honestly, it’s fine. I can...go study in the library or something.”

This was a losing battle, Jason knew. He wasn’t going to get Richie to stay there unless he himself left. Not unless he bullied him into it, which...quite frankly beat the entire purpose of trying to be nice. So instead, he simply nodded and sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Okay.”

Something resembling relief overtook Richie’s features and he offered Jason a small smile. He turned to walk away, heading back in the direction of the school’s front doors.

“Hey, Lipschitz,” Jason called before he could get too far. Richie stopped and slowly turned to face him. Jason bent down to pick up a piece of paper he’d seen flutter out of the notebook that had fallen from Richie’s backpack and moved to hand it to him. “I just wanted to, uh...to apologize.”

“Apologize?” Richie asked, his brow furrowing.

Jason nodded, “For all the bullshit I put you through the last couple of years. The...the bullying. It was mean, and I’m sorry.”

Richie looked him over as though trying to decide whether or not he was telling the truth, and swallowed, “I-it’s okay.”

“It’s really not,” Jason said, “It never was. I let Max pressure me into it, and I did it so that...I don’t know, so high school would be easier? It doesn’t really matter, the point is, I’ve been a massive jackass toward you, and I’m sorry.”

“Are you…?”

“Serious? Yes,” Jason said with a nod, “I’m dead serious, Rich. I feel bad, and...I mean...it was unfair of me. I can’t...I’m going to try to work toward making a change, when Max comes back. I can’t promise anything, because if I’m being honest, he probably scares me almost as much as he scares you, but,” he shrugged, “I’m gonna try.”

Richie practically gaped at him, eyes wide, “Um...okay. Uh, thanks...Jason. I appreciate that.”

“Cool,” Jason said, offering him a smile, “See you around, Rich.”

“Uh, huh. See you.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and headed back inside the school. Jason watched him go, feeling oddly lighter as he did.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

Grace Chasity considered herself a good person.

There were people who called her disingenuous, rude, entitled, or holier-than-thou. People who believed that her shows of faith were nothing more than a mask she wore to make herself feel better about herself, or put herself above others. Grace was told, at least once a day, that she was annoying, that she needed to shut up, that she needed to butt out of people’s private conversations, that she wasn’t wanted around, and that she should just go away. These attitudes did hurt her, if she were being completely honest with herself, but she wasn’t willing to change herself to make others around her comfortable. She wasn’t going to magically become a different person just because someone asked her to.

She’d tried that once. All it had done was stress her out and make her second guess herself.

So, she withstood the low levels of abuse she received. She stood up to it. She remained steadfast in her beliefs, because...well, what else was she going to do? Her devotion to her beliefs was the thing that kept her sane in a completely insane world.

When the purple glow had entered her eyes, and the voice in her head had told her to start hunting down and killing people, Grace had taken it at face value. At the time, it made sense. Of course God would choose her to rid this city of sinners; if they weren’t willing to repent, then killing them was the only way to go. She had saved lives. Were it not for her, so many more people in their little group would be dead.

Grace was a Warrior of God.

So, when the whole thing had ended, and she became herself again, Grace had a difficult time grappling with the idea that she’d done anything wrong. Where else had the voice come from, except God himself? It didn’t make any sense for it to be some supernatural force when the true answer was right there. Everything happened for a reason, and the reason this had happened was to help the people who needed it most. Rid the world of sinners in an effort to protect the rest. The idea that she should feel any level of guilt was strange to her. It was God’s plan. Why should she feel guilty at God’s plan?

Still, the idea that God had told her to kill Steph, of all people, had greatly confused her at the time. Grace...liked Steph. Steph was her friend, they were study buddies. Steph wasn’t a bad person, she just had sinful tendencies – which everyone had. But she’d never tried to kill anyone. She was promiscuous, and she smoked and drank, but those weren’t things that couldn’t be fixed with a little bit of prayer and church. The idea that God had wanted her to kill Steph had been the one thing Grace had had a difficult time wrapping her mind around, but...she’d tried, at least. She’d had to.

Who was she to question God?

She had thought, after all was said and done, that maybe the people she’d hunkered down with would be willing to repent, after all they’d been through. But instead, most of them cut ties with her entirely. The woman, Emma, had engaged in premarital sex that very night, and had even slashed at Grace with a knife, and yet somehow she felt uncomfortable at the idea that they should go to a church service together and pray. At the hospital, after everything had ended, Pete had physically barred Grace from seeing his brother, even though that man was probably the one person in the entire group who’d needed her prayer most. Steph had tried to make her feel bad for the things she’d done, disguising it as a conversation meant to make Grace “feel better,” but was completely uninterested in actually listening to Grace when she spoke up about her beliefs. Richie didn’t even talk to her at all anymore, often physically running from rooms where he found himself alone with her.

It didn’t make any sense. Yes, the things they had seen were traumatic – Grace herself had nightmares for months about the cop in the school, and the fire in Steph’s house – but the group at large didn’t seem to understand that they didn’t need to be. If they would have only engaged in prayer and self-reflection, they would see that there was purpose to everything. They would see that Grace was not some crazed psychopath (words that Steph had used to describe her when Grace had mentioned not feeling any measure of guilt at killing people – hearing it from Steph, of all people, had cut deep), that she wasn’t lost, or confused, or brainwashed, or whatever else they wanted to call her.

Grace Chasity was a good person.

She just wished everyone else would see it.

Sunday’s church service came and went, and no one she’d handed fliers to had come to church, which was disappointing. She knew that not everyone would come, but the fact that no one had? That was truly disheartening. She’d tried so hard to bring people into the fold, and they were still so resistant. She thought they would have taken well to today’s sermon as well – a lesson on guilt, and how God helped one deal with it. Everyone seriously could have used a reminder on the topic, especially recently. She wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, but she could practically feel the guilty tension radiating from everyone recently. It was as if they were all reliving the events of the chaos.

Now that the service was done, Grace politely stood off to one side while her parents spoke with some of their church friends. It wasn’t that she didn’t like her parents’ church friends, but aside from exchanging polite greetings, she rarely actually spoke with them in long-term conversations. The one time she’d tried, one of her mother’s friends had told her, “children should be seen and not heard” – though, to be fair, her mother hadn’t taken that sentiment very well and had told that friend off for speaking to her daughter that way. Still, it was something Grace had taken to heart, and talking directly to her parents’ church friends for longer than a few minutes at a time actually made her genuinely anxious, with that woman’s words echoing in her ears every time she tried. She was 18 now, so it shouldn’t matter. But it did.

Standing there waiting for the conversation to end was deeply boring, and she herself was feeling a bit closed in, so at a certain point, Grace excused herself and stepped outside.

The air was cool and crisp, filled with the soft smell of pollen and leaves. Grace fought back the instinct to take it all in with a very large deep breath – the last thing she needed was for her allergies to act up. Still, it was nice out here, at least. Her brow furrowed. Never before had she felt stifled in church, but as she slowly moved to sit on the front steps and wait for her parents, she realized that “stifled” was the exact word she could use to describe how she was feeling. Stifled. Stuffy. Hot. Claustrophobic. Closed in. Church was usually a place of comfort for her, so the idea that it could be anything but that was making her feel a little odd.

She moved to one side to keep the center of the steps clear and sat, waving at people as they left. She had just opened her Bible and was skimming through the passage they’d gone over during the service when she heard a voice call her name.

“Grace?”

She looked up to meet the eyes of Bill Woodward. Bill was one of her parents’ church friends. He talked to her parents often, but he was also one of their few church friends who paid her any mind as well, which was nice. Grace liked Bill. She gave him a small smile and gently closed her Bible, using her finger to mark her place in the pages.

“Oh, good morning, Mr. Woodward!”

“Are you okay?” Bill asked, “You’re out here all alone, and you looked a little sad, so...”

“I’m okay!” Grace said, hopping to her feet almost immediately. She smoothed out her dress and offered Bill a little nod, all semblance of discomfort she’d been even remotely feeling gone entirely from her pretty features.

“Oh. Okay. I just wanted to make sure. I saw your parents inside without you and got a little worried.”

“Oh, you’re so sweet, Mr. Woodward. No, I’m fine! I just didn’t wanna bother my parents’ friends, is all.”

Bill quirked a brow, giving a little chuckle, “Well, if you ever need anything, you just have to ask, okay?”

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind! How’s your daughter?”

Truth be told, Grace couldn’t remember Bill’s daughter’s name if her life depended on it. The young woman had only attended church there for a few years until Bill’s divorce, when she stopped coming altogether. Even on weekends she spent in Hatchetfield, she never came by – on those weekends, Bill didn’t either, determined as he was to spend time with her. But Grace was nothing if not polite, especially to her elders; she knew Bill had a daughter, and she was going to ask after her. To be fair, she did care. She just didn’t care nearly as much as she pretended to.

It was very lovely to see Bill’s eyes light up at the mention of his little girl, though. And the absolute devotion and love that flashed across his face made Grace feel happy that she’d thought to ask.

“Oh, Alice? She’s great! She got into a college in New York, so she hasn’t been around, but she did say she was coming back for Spring Break, so,” he shrugged, giving a little nod, “She’ll be in town next week!”

“Ooh, how exciting! You should see if she wants to come to church! I’d love to see her again, it’s been so long.”

Bill’s smile stiffened to something much less genuine at the offer. He knew Alice didn’t much enjoy church anymore, and him so much as asking her to attend with him had been enough to spark an argument back when she’d been in high school. Grace was being nice, he knew. But he didn’t know how to say “that’s not going to happen,” without coming across as...not nice, himself.

So instead, out loud he said, “We’ll have to see! I’ll definitely ask.”

“Good! I look forward to seeing her.”

Bill nodded, cleared his throat, and offered her a little wave as he moved out toward the parking lot, “Well, I need to go. It was nice talking with you, Grace.”

“You, too, Mr. Woodward!”

Her gaze followed him as he walked, and then a figure walking down the sidewalk just across the street from the church caught her eye. She was vaguely aware of Bill stopping to say something to her, barely registered the good natured chuckle he gave as static began to fill her ears and she swallowed. If she didn’t know any better, she would say that the figure across the street, walking toward the crosswalk that would bring him just ever so slightly closer to the church...was Professor Hidgens. It looked just like him. The stark white-gray hair. The black shirt. The brown pants.

No. It couldn’t be him. She’d killed him. She’d had to kill him, too, it wasn’t like she’d taken pleasure from it. He was a danger. A menace. A sinner who believed in the power of science over the value of human life. He’d hurt people, kidnapped people. Professor Hidgens had leveled a shotgun at Grace, for crying out loud!

As the figure stood, waiting for the signal to cross, she could swear his gaze met hers. His eyes narrowed. It was him. It was him. Professor Hidgens wasn’t dead, he was alive, he was –

Something heavy settled in on Grace’s chest, and she let out a startled cry as she stumbled backward. Her heel caught on the steps behind her and she hit the ground, hard. Bill moved forward to check on her, concern in his eyes. She could hear her father’s worried voice calling her name, could feel her mother taking her hand to help her back to her feet. And all the while, the man across the street stared. Sneered.

And then a car passed by, and the man was no longer Hidgens. He didn’t even look like Hidgens. He had a beard, for crying out loud!

What the heck had that been?

“Gracie, are you okay?”

Grace blinked and looked up to meet her mother’s wide-eyed, worried gaze, inhaling sharply.

“Gracie, answer me. Are you okay?”

“Do I need to call 911?” Bill asked, shooting a questioning glance toward Mark Chasity.

Mark shook his head, “I-I don’t know. What happened?”

“We were talking and she just...screamed and fell backward,” Bill said with a shrug, “It was like she’d been scared by something, but,” he looked around, confused, “I don’t see anything.”

“I-I’m okay, mommy,” Grace stammered, squeezing Karen’s hand in her own, “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? We can take you to the doctor if you-”

“No, it’s okay. I’m fine. I just...” Grace wracked her brain, looking for an excuse. She couldn’t sit here and tell a direct lie on the steps of a church, but she also couldn’t tell her parents she’d seen the ghost of a man she’d brutally stabbed to death either. Had she stabbed him? Honestly, she couldn’t even really properly remember what had happened. All she knew for sure was that the life had left his body, and she’d been the one to take it.

He’d deserved it…

He had deserved it…

Mark and Karen exchanged a look, and then both of them took Grace by the hands and helped her to her feet.

“Thanks for your help, Bill,” Mark said, offering Bill a hand to shake, “We’re going to get Gracie home and make sure she’s okay.”

“That’s a good idea,” Bill said with a nod, “Keep me in the loop, okay?”

“We will. Come on, Gracie. Let’s go.”

As her parents walked her out to their car, Grace stole another look at the crosswalk where the man had been standing. Hidgens was no longer there – he’d never been there, she was pretty sure – and the man who she’d mistaken for him had moved on without a fuss. The sidewalk was devoid of anyone who could remotely be mistaken for him. As the car pulled out of the parking lot, she was acutely aware of the fact that her mother’s eyes were on her through the rearview mirror, her brow taught with worry. Grace’s mind wandered back to the sermon she’d heard not a half hour before. To the Bible verses that had been preached to them.

Romans 8:1-4

1 There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.

2 For the law of the Spirit of life has set you free in Christ Jesus from the law of sin and death.

3 For God has done what the law, weakened by the flesh, could not do. By sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh and for sin, he condemned sin in the flesh,

4 in order that the righteous requirement of the law might be fulfilled in us, who walk not according to the flesh but according to the Spirit.

Grace believed in God. She believed in Jesus. God had told her to do the things she’d done. She was sure of it. If He hadn’t…

If he hadn’t, then why hadn’t He stopped it when it happened? Why had He let her do those things? Why hadn’t He given her to power to resist? It had to be...it had to be His will, right? It had to be.

As her father drove the short distance back to their house, Grace found herself trying not to cry. She hadn’t felt this way in over six months. She’d allowed herself a moment of guilt, mourned the men she’d killed – because she hadn’t forgotten about the man on the Lauter lawn she’d shot to protect Richie – and then...she’d moved on. Because it didn’t make any sense to let it linger in her heart. It just didn’t make any sense.

None of this made sense.

Grace Chasity considered herself a good person. She was a good person.

Wasn’t she?

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

Max Jagerman was used to having all eyes on him. It came with the territory of being the King of Hatchetfield High. Everyone knew who he was. Everyone looked up to him, feared him, respected him, loved him. He was god.

But this...was different.

It had been almost a full six months since Max had stepped foot in the high school. Being in a coma and having to go through physical therapy made it impossible to return to class full time; instead, he took tutoring courses and handed in his homework through an online portal. And if he was bad at school before, doing it virtually like this made him worse. He simply didn’t have the motivation – or brain capacity, as his father liked to remind him – to be essentially self taught in this way. He was missing out on class, and with each passing day, turning to weeks, turning to months, the likelihood of him graduating on time was dwindling rapidly. He almost didn’t want to return at this point. He was even considering dropping out altogether.

His father wouldn’t allow that, though, so as soon as he was medically cleared, back to school he went.

And, just like before, all eyes were on him. Everyone knew he was there. Except this time, he wasn’t basking in it.

People weren’t looking at him with any measure of awe, or respect. There was no pitter patter of shoes on linoleum flooring as he walked by, no one scattering to the winds to avoid his wrath. There were just faces, and eyes, all glancing toward him as he came through the front doors. Most people tried not to stare. Some people didn’t care not to. And the worst part was, everyone was looking at him with some measure of pity.

Max didn’t want their pity.

It was weird, being back here. The last time he’d been here for longer than a few minutes at a time, he’d overtaken the front entrance and had literally taken hostages as they tried to escape the building. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now, looking at the faces of people he’d genuinely, actually attacked, he had to admit he felt bad. Max was a bully, but he wasn’t some psychopath. Not really. Whatever had overcome him on that day had really tried to prove otherwise, though. There was still some fear in the eyes of people who, the last time they’d seen Max, had been straight up kidnapped by him. But it wasn’t the good kind of fear. It wasn’t the fear Max wanted.

“Hey, Max!”

Max stopped just short of his locker and slowly turned to come face to face with Kyle, who had been the one to speak, and Jason. They were approaching him slowly, almost apprehensively, like one might approach an injured animal that was coiled for attack. Max took a deep breath, steeling himself, and walked toward them.

“Hey.”

“Welcome back!” Kyle said. Max couldn’t help but notice that the smile stretched across his face was rather...forced.

“Thanks.”

“How’re you feeling, bud?” Jason asked. His smile was a bit more genuine. Only a bit.

Max did his best to give a nonchalant shrug, “Fine.”

Jason’s smile wavered, “Just fine?”

“Yeah.”

Kyle’s eyes flicked between the two, and then he reached forward to clap Max on the shoulder – if he noticed Max flinching at the action, he didn’t draw attention to it, “Well, we’re here for you buddy. Whatever you need, we got you.”

Max gave a stilted nod, his gaze not quite meeting Kyle’s as he said, “Cool. Appreciate it.”

Kyle’s almost forced smile disappeared, replaced entirely by a furrowed brow of worry, “Hey, dude, are you sure you’re okay?”

He wasn’t, but he wasn’t about to say that out loud. He was uncomfortable – the last time he’d seen Kyle, he’d been chasing him down the hall with every intention of killing him – and he was deeply, deeply...afraid. The idea of going back to school with Brad Callahan, the boy who had landed him in the hospital in the first place, was terrifying. He couldn’t admit that out loud, of course. He couldn’t admit to feeling guilty for betraying and attacking his friends. He couldn’t admit to being scared. Because voicing either of those things out loud showed weakness, and if there was one thing his father had taught him – and taught him well – it was that a real man never showed weakness. Ever.

Max was already less of a man for even feeling these things, if his father’s words were anything to go by. He definitely couldn’t fess up to them.

Instead, as Kyle’s concern washed over him, he did his best to put on a brave face and said in the most confrontational tone he could muster, “Will you get off my dick? I’m fine.”

Kyle blinked, taking a step back, “Yeah. Okay. Sure.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to retort, but seemed to decide against doing so at the last minute, closing his mouth with a shake of his head. Max clocked it and huffed, “What, Jason?”

“Nothing,” Jason said, looking resigned, “It’s good to have you back, Max.”

“Damn right it is,” Max said. The words were there, but the conviction was missing from his tone. They all knew it, too.

And then the bell rang, and the three of them split without a word, heading off to their respective classes.

As it turned out, even doing class virtually in the hospital and from home, for several hours every single day, for six months wasn’t actually enough to keep Max up to date on everything. He was horrifically lost in every single class, at least an entire lesson behind everyone else. Max wasn’t smart anyway, and this was doing him no favors. He felt...dumber than usual, and that was saying something. The only class he didn’t completely fail at was shop class, but that was because Coach Houston was going easy on him, Max knew.

Eventually, everything Max had been feeling throughout the day built up and led to frustration, which led to him punching a locker in the hallway between classes and scaring the ever loving shit out of some poor girl he hadn’t even known was there; she’d gasped and run off without a word, leaving Max with the vague impression that...he knew her...maybe? She’d tutored him once, hadn’t she? He didn’t even know her name, she was just some band nerd he’d never given the time of day to before.

It was just after lunch, nearing the end of the day, when Max rounded a corner and caught sight of Brad Callahan giving some unfortunate nerd a wedgie in the hall. A teacher came out of a nearby classroom to put a stop to it. Brad released his victim, who took off down the hall like a terrified rabbit, and then Brad caught Max’s gaze.

There was a moment where they simply stared at one another, mild surprise showing in Brad’s expression while Max did his best not to actually show his mounting fear. And then Brad grinned, and winked.

Max suddenly felt like he was going to throw up and made a beeline for the nearest restroom, breaking his eye contact with Brad as he turned around. He could hear Brad’s laugh echoing down the hall behind him, followed by a teasing jeer directed at the teacher who’d broken up his little bully session.

There was one other boy in the bathroom, but the second Max demanded that he get out, the order was heeded. Evidently, he still held some amount of power over the kids here. He just wished it felt better.

He leaned over one of the sinks to wash his face, doing his best to keep himself from throwing up, and it was only then that he was aware that...he couldn’t breathe. He was only taking short, shallow breaths that kept getting caught in his throat. He could feel pain rising in his chest, feel tears welling in his eyes, and he couldn’t breathe. He felt hot, sweaty, and a little dizzy, and genuinely felt like he might pass out. He threw water in his face in an effort to cool himself down, and then began to pace as he wiped at his face.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe.

And then he threw up. He barely made it to one of the stalls in time, but decidedly didn’t make it to his intended target on time – some of it splashed onto the floor nearby and he landed on his knees in front of the toilet. He kept seeing Brad’s stupid grin in his mind, and it brought him right back to Brad, standing over him with a fucking fire extinguisher, bringing it down onto his head over, and over, and over again. The taste of the chemicals in the extinguisher as Brad sprayed him down. The pain coursing through his body. The terrifying release of unconsciousness. Waking up alone, only to fall back into that dark place several times. Brad’s laugh. Screams echoing down the halls. The begging, pleading cries of the people he’d hurt. Kyle’s terrified face as he and Brenda ran away. Coach Houston yelling at him, fighting him. Punches being thrown, Brad laughing, the wink...

“Max?”

The voice was muffled in his ears as Max fought to breathe, even as he lost the fight to keep the tears from falling – he was vaguely aware of the fact that he was crying. And then a deep horror filled him when he realized that the voice wasn’t in his head, but that someone was speaking to him.

Someone was here, witnessing him lose a battle with...whatever the fuck this was.

With a panicked little gasp, Max turned to get a look at whoever owned the voice. His vision was blurred by tears and the lights were far too bright for his liking, but he recognized the bowtie almost immediately and let out a cynical little chuckle.

“Go away, Spankoffski.”

His voice was heavy. Shaky. His tone lacked any sort of conviction or authority. And Peter Spankoffski just stood there, gaping at him before he said, “Richie, go get the nurse.”

“Fuck off!” Max yelped. He pushed against the toiletin an attempt to get to his feet. It was bad enough Spankoffski was here, but now he had to deal with Lipschitz, too? He got to his feet before he took the time to fully recover his balance and fell backward against the side of the stall with a soft grunt. Pete hovered in the stall’s doorway, watching him, unsure of whether or not to approach any further as Max took another series of short, shaky breaths.

“Am I...getting the nurse?” Richie asked.

Pete nodded just as Max said as loudly as he could muster, “No!”

“Max, you’re not okay,” Pete said.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Pete retorted. He made the decision to kneel down where he was so that he could more easily meet Max’s gaze, his stern tone not quite matching up with the fear in his eyes. He looked like he was facing off with a rabid dog that needed help or something: concerned, but very frightened.

Max’s face contorted into something resembling pained sadness and he wiped at his eyes none too gently to rid himself of his flowing tears. He tried again to take a deep breath, his chest heavy, and felt like he’d probably throw up again if he tried to move from this spot. He was hot. Just, absolutely, uncomfortably warm, and the florescent lighting shining down on him was doing nothing to help that sensation. He could hear the loud buzzing of the lights above, distractingly loud, merging with the static that was filling his ears. He didn’t even protest when Pete got closer, and said not a word when Richie appeared around the edge of the stall, looking equally concerned and frightened.

“He...he looks like he might be having a panic attack,” Richie said, his tone uncertain.

Pete nodded, “Yeah, I think so.”

That sparked a fragile anger in Max’s chest that forced a harsh chuckle out of him. Max Jagerman? Panicking? No way in hell. Max had never, in his life, had a panic attack. He reached forward and grabbed hold of the front of Pete’s shirt, mildly surprised the nerd had even allowed himself to get close enough for Max to do that, and shoved him back away from him. The shove was weak, and simply forced Pete to reach for the wall to maintain his balance rather than moving him away from Max in any actually useful capacity.

“Go. Away.” Max grunted between breaths.

Pete looked him over, considering, and then looked back at Richie, “Do you know how to get someone...out of a panic attack?”

Richie inhaled sharply and shook his head, “I know what works for me. That’s it.”

“Try it,” Pete muttered, his voice barely above a whisper as he pushed himself to his feet.

Richie gave him an “are you kidding me?” look as Pete moved out of the way to allow him access to Max. Pete met the look with a determined gaze, his eyes flicking back toward Max. He motioned toward the bully, who was shaking now, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Richie, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“We don’t even know if it’ll work,” Richie protested, “We should get the nurse.”

“So he can kick our asses for drawing the entire school’s attention to this?” Pete asked, “Bad idea, Rich.”

Richie seemed to consider for a moment, then sighed, throwing his hands up as he exclaimed, “Ah, fuck it.” He moved toward Max, looking him up and down. Max’s eyes were still closed as he fought to try to catch his breath, wiping sweat from his brow with a shaky hand.

“Max?”

“Go away, Shit Lips!” Max yelled. It sounded more like an uncomfortable whine than anything resembling a viable threat. And then he let out a sob so soft Richie wondered if he’d imagined it, before muttering, “Just go away...”

Richie’s brow furrowed and he reached forward to put a hand on Max’s shoulder.

“Hey, Max? Do me a favor and open your eyes.”

Max shook his head, “Jesus, just go away.”

“I’m trying to help you, Max,” Richie said, his tone sounding far more certain than he felt, “Please let me help you.”

“Why? I can’t...I...I don’t...want you...just go away!” He tried to shove Richie back, like he had Pete before, but did just about as well against one as he did the other. Which is to say, he only succeeded in knocking Richie off balance a bit. Richie’s hand never even left Max’s shoulder.

Richie looked back to Pete, who gave a resigned shrug, his eyes wide. Something resembling determination settled into Richie’s gut. He’d been through panic attacks before, had suffered from them often enough that he was usually able to bring himself out of them, anymore – barring extenuating circumstances, of course. Hell, there were times he could feel one coming on and stop it before it started, simply by performing basic breathing exercises. But Max, evidently, didn’t have that kind of experience. And panic attacks were scary if one didn’t really recognize what was going on. Richie did not like Max Jagerman. And for good reason.

But he knew enough – cared enough – to know that leaving Max here, like this, was a decidedly bad idea.

With a steadying sigh, Richie moved a bit closer to the other boy, placing himself in a position where he was able to put both of his hands on Max’s shoulders. The movement had the desired effect Richie had wanted of Max opening his eyes. The glare was an unwelcome addition, though.

“Get the fuck away from me.”

“Five things you can see,” Richie said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“W-what?” Max stammered, his brow furrowing with confusion.

“It’s a grounding technique that works for me when I get like this,” Richie said with a resolute nod, “Look around. Name five things you can see.”

Max stared in silence for several long seconds, to the point that Richie began to wonder if this was, in fact, worth his time. He was just about to suggest that they just go tell the nurse when Max suddenly stammered out, “Y-you.”

Richie swallowed, “I...what?”

“I see you,” Max said.

Realization dawned just then, and Richie nodded, “Okay. Four more.”

Max looked around. There wasn’t much in the school bathroom, of all places, for him to focus on, so he settled on four relatively mundane things. The toilet beside him. Spankoffski’s stupid bowtie. The stall door. His backpack.

“Good,” Richie said, “Now four things you can hear.”

Max took a shaky breath and closed his eyes to focus more on his hearing. The water in the sink (he’d forgotten to turn it off). Air coming through the vents. Richie breathing far too loudly. His own heartbeat.

Three things he could touch.

The floor. The wall. His jeans.

Two things he could smell.

This one was less than pleasant. The vomit on the floor. Richie...just like...in general (Richie rolled his eyes at that one. Of course Max would list him in the scent section of this little exercise).

“Last one’s a little harder,” Richie said as he looked around, “since we’re in the bathroom. It’s to name something you can taste, but uh...”

Max scoffed, “I’m not licking anything in here.”

“Valid,” Pete said with an amused huff.

Max swallowed, gnawing on the inside of his lip. He was still hot, and a little dizzy, but he could at least breathe a bit better now, and his stomach wasn’t threatening to reintroduce him to his lunch. The static in his ears had gone (sometime around the “things you can hear” portion of the exercise, he realized), and the world not longer felt as fuzzy and closed in as it had before. Richie and Pete were both staring at him, and it was only now that Max fully recognized exactly where he was and what had happened.

The entire day, up until this point, had felt like he was slowly being enveloped in a perpetual haze. From the moment he’d seen Kyle in the hallway, to the moment he’d spotted Brad, Max knew that this...whatever this was, was coming. Looking back on it now, it was obvious he hadn’t been okay. He’d been getting worse and worse until…

Until he was here. On the bathroom floor, while Spankoffski and Lipschitz stood over him with a worrying amount of concern on their faces.

They hadn’t had to help him.

Yet they’d done it.

Shit.

He had to save face here. If he just let this slide, then these two nerds would think they were friends or something, and that just couldn’t stand. He also couldn’t have them going off to tell the whole school that he’d just suffered a fucking panic attack in the boy’s bathroom in Hallway D. This entire scenario? It could not get out. None of it.

So, now that he was feeling better and had some measure of strength back, Max grabbed the front of Richie’s shirt in both hands and tugged him closer until their faces were inches from one another. Richie let out a surprised, terrified little squeak as Max glared at him.

“This? Never fucking happened,” Max sneered. He turned his glare up toward Pete, who was looking at them with surprised horror, “You hear me? It never happened!”

“Got it!” Pete spluttered, while Richie nodded in agreement and said, “Yeah, no, never happened!”

With a huff, Max shoved Richie back – and this time it was an actual shove, with Richie colliding with the far wall of the stall – and got to his feet. He pushed past Pete, who more or less moved out of the way before Max could shove him too hard, and made his way to the sink. He washed his face, took a drink of water from the faucet, and turned off the sink with a sigh before turning to face Richie and Pete again.

“Never. Happened.” he stated again, jabbing a finger toward each of them with each word. Then he turned on his heel and exited the bathroom as Pete moved to help Richie to his feet.

Not that he’d ever admit as much out loud, but those nerds helping him through that panic attack did make the rest of his day somewhat easier.

Later that afternoon, after the final bell, both Pete and Richie were surprised to find hurriedly scrawled notes in their lockers, the handwriting so bad it was almost impossible to read. They weren’t signed, and the gesture was so wildly out of place that it didn’t make sense. But still, there was only one person they could think of who would leave the notes, after the events of the day. A simple, effective way of doing what needed to be done, while maintaining plausible deniability at all costs.

Written on the little pieces of torn notebook paper was one word:

“Thanks.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

Caitlyn was tired of being told she was lucky.

She heard it from everyone. Her parents. Her aunt and uncle. Her cousin. Her doctors. Her friends. She was lucky to survive such a traumatic head wound, specifically to the temple. She was lucky, because most people didn’t survive getting shot in the head. She was lucky, because those who did survive often lost bodily functions. Sh was lucky, because she could still talk, and walk, and move.

She was lucky to be alive.

But Caitlyn didn’t feel lucky.

Three months into her recovery, Caitlyn was told she’d likely always have memory problems. That she’d likely suffer from chronic headaches, and seizures were possible – though manageable through medication. Bright lights, like the sun, hurt her eyes, and she had double vision whenever she tried to read for too long. She had balance issues, and often got dizzy. Then there was the scar.

In essence, the one thing Caitlyn had grown up doing, the one thing she had a natural talent for, the one thing she’d never had to work overly hard at her entire life…was gone.

Caitlyn couldn’t continue theater.

She couldn’t read the scripts given to her without a considerable amount of effort, and even when she managed to get through an entire book, she couldn’t remember any of the lines. The bright stage lights hurt her eyes and gave her headaches, and she couldn’t really dance anymore. The scar, at least, could be somewhat hidden by makeup and wearing her hair a certain way, but it was always going to be there. She would always know it was there.

Her life was, in essence, ruined. The one thing she loved more than anything was gone, replaced by chronic life-long pain and suffering.

So how lucky was she, really?

Trevor, at least, stuck by her through it all, no matter how hard she tried to push him away. And boy, did she ever try. She’d pulled out her cattiest remarks and said some pretty hurtful things to get him to leave her alone, and the little idiot stuck around. He took her abuse, flung it back at her even, and stayed firmly at her side. He was the only person, besides her own parents, who she ultimately wound up voluntarily keeping around, though not for lack of trying to get rid of him. He brought her homework assignments and helped her work through them, basically becoming a tutor – which was ironic considering that he was an average student, at best – and he turned them in for her. The online classes she’d been forced to take in lieu of actually being able to attend school were tedious, and Trevor was there helping her through it all.

By the time she was medically cleared to return to school, she was more or less caught up on most of her assignments, though her grades had taken quite a tumble (something her counselor was very quick to remind her of). She was still on track to graduate on time, but only barely. She wasn’t sure why she had to physically go back to school, other than that her parents wanted her to. They seemed to think it was important for her to do it. She’d fought it, of course, but they’d forced the issue in the end.

And so, Caitlyn found herself standing on the curb in front of Hatchetfield High, her parents’ car rolling slowly out of the parking lot behind her.

“Hey, Caity!”

Despite her sour feelings, she couldn’t help but smile just a bit at the sound of Trevor’s voice. Her best friend, her steadfast rock. At least he was here.

And he was with Rudolph.

Caitlyn liked Rudolph, she really did. She felt bad that she hadn’t had the chance to get to know him a bit more before everything. She felt bad that she didn’t really feel like getting to know him more now. Trevor really liked the guy. Like, a lot. And Caitlyn wanted Trevor to be happy. So, as much as she really didn’t want Rudolph around, she decided not to say anything. She couldn’t hide the fact that her smile died upon seeing him, though.

If he noticed her apprehension, he didn’t make it obvious, instead offering her a smile as he said, “Hello, Caitlyn.”

Caitlyn gave him a silent wave.

Trevor stopped in front of her, looking her up and down, “You ready?”

“Not even a little bit,” Caitlyn responded, pushing her sunglasses further up her nose to hide her eyes. She’d been crying earlier that morning, and really didn’t want people to notice. With any luck, she could utilize her head injury as a reason to leave her sunglasses on indoors for a little while. “The lights are hurting my eyes” seemed like a good enough excuse, as far as she was concerned.

Trevor held his hand out toward her, “Well, get ready, bitch. It’s time.”

The little smile returned as she took his hand, and she gave an amused chuckle, “Don’t call me a bitch, you twerp.”

Trevor stuck his tongue out at her as he looped his free arm through Rudolph’s, and together the three of them headed inside.

“So, I’ve worked it out so that I can meet you between class and help you with anything you need,” Trevor said, “If something happens and you need to go to the nurse or whatever, just shoot me a text or something, and I’ll be right there.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, “I don’t need you to babysit me.”

“I’m not babysitting you, I’m taking care of you,” Trevor retorted, “There’s a difference.”

“Well, you don’t need to try so hard.”

Trevor stuck his tongue out at her, “Stop me.”

“Trevor has worked harder on this than I’ve ever seen him work on any homework assignments,” Rudolph said in a playful tone.

“Well, when homework assignments become my best friend, I’ll work harder on them,” Trevor said with a shrug.

“You’re such a nerd,” Caitlyn teased, “I can’t believe I hang out with you.”

“Admit it, babe, you’d be lost without me.”

That was true. Caitlyn gnawed on the inside of her lip as the thought crossed her mind that...she almost had lost him. They all almost had. She held onto a deep regret at the fact that she hadn’t been there when Trevor had been pulled out of that freezer. She hadn’t been there when he’d woken up. She’d been out cold, with this stupid fucking head wound, while he suffered. Granted, it wasn’t like she’d asked for it, but still. It hurt, knowing he’d gone through all of that without her.

As theygot to her locker, Caitlyn became aware of the fact that she wasn’t sure she remembered the combination. Admittedly, that had always been a problem for her even before getting shot in the head, so this little issue didn’t bother her much. What did bother her was the fact that, because she always had trouble remembering, she’d written the combination down on the cover of one of her notebooks, and right now, she couldn’t find the notebook. Couldn’t even remember if she’d picked it up that morning. She wracked her brain, trying to recall where she might have left it – she could see it in her mind’s eye, clear as day, but not where it was – and let out a frustrated huff. It started here, she knew. School was going to be hard.

“You can use my locker if you want,” Trevor offered, giving an almost apologetic grin.

“Trevor, you can barely fit your shit in your locker, it’s so unorganized and messy.”

“You can use mine,” Rudolph piped up.

Caitlyn looked up at him, brow furrowing. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was being genuine – Rudolph wasn’t the type to make disingenuous offers like that – but she couldn’t for the life of her think if she actually wanted to take that offer or not.

“Rudy’s locker’s super organized and clean,” Trevor said as he crossed his arms, looking slightly hurt, “if that’s what you care about.”

“Oh, shove it, Trev, I’m having a hard enough time remembering where I put everything anyway,” Caitlyn whined, “I don’t wanna have to dig through all your stuff too.”

Rudolph let out a soft chuckle, “The entire bottom shelf of my locker is available, just say the word.”

Her gaze went back up to him as she considered for a moment. Then she sighed and nodded, “Okay. Fine. I usually only use my locker in the morning, at lunch, and after school, so I won’t be in your way all day.”

Rudolph nodded, “That works. It’s this way.”

Rudolph’s locker was indeed very organized and clean. And surprisingly, decorated. There was a picture of his parents, a small poster from a musical he’d attended in New York the year before, and a picture of Trevor, interspersed between photos of people Caitlyn didn’t recognize, an old magazine cover, and a couple of tiny movie posters. True to his word, his books were all stored away and organized on the top shelf of the locker, the bottom shelf was completely empty. Caitlyn dug through her backpack, drawing out everything she’d need for her afternoon classes to place into the little space, then zipped the backpack up and gave Rudolph a small smile.

“Thanks.”

“Of course,” Rudolph said. Caitlyn moved aside so he could get his own books out, and as she swung her backpack over her shoulder, her eyes caught on a figure standing a little ways down the hall.

Ruth was talking with her friends, Richie and Pete, and...was that Stephanie Lauter? Since when did Ruth actively hang out with Stephanie Lauter? Caitlyn’s brows shot up. That was a surprise. If Ruth noticed she was there, or that she was looking, she did a remarkably good job at appearing nonchalant about it. Oh, who was Caitlyn kidding, “Ruth” and “nonchalant” did not belong in the same sentence. She almost certainly hadn’t noticed her yet. She was laughing at something, and turned her back toward Caitlyn to look at something on Steph’s phone.

A small part of Caitlyn really wanted her to turn around. To see her. To say hello.

Ruth was a nerd. She was bullied and picked on every single day at school. She was, in effect, lower than Caitlyn on the school’s popularity totem pole. Caitlyn, under any normal circumstance, never paid her any mind unless she could get something from her. And Ruth, ever hungry for any scrap of attention, usually came crawling. Up until six months ago, Caitlyn had never felt bad about that. Manipulating Ruth into doing small things for her had never seemed like a problem.

But kissing her to manipulate her into surviving the night had really weighed on Caitlyn’s conscious.

Because that’s what she’d done. The kiss – all of the kisses – hadn’t been genuine. Caitlyn was an actor, she was good at eliciting emotions from people, and it hadn’t been all that hard to make Ruth think she was actually interested. With Ruth panicking as badly as she had been, the kiss had been the only thing Caitlyn could think up that might work to keep them both alive. And she’d been right, in the end.

But that didn’t mean she felt good about it.

It was part of the reason she’d worked so hard to push Ruth away. In addition to her own feelings of inadequacy, her own anger and upset, she also just genuinely didn’t want Ruth thinking there was any chance in hell that there would be a relationship between the two of them. Caitlyn was semi-popular, and Ruth...wasn’t. They couldn’t be together, that would be wild. What would her friends say?

(Well, her other friends. Trevor would probably be okay with it.)

Seeing the hurt in Ruth’s eyes as she told her to go away did kind of hurt, though.

As if the universe had carried Caitlyn’s thoughts over to her, Ruth turned around. The first bell had rung, and she and her friends parted. For a split second, Caitlyn considered trying to hide behind Rudolph’s locker door. Or maybe Rudolph herself. But before she could make up her mind on the matter, Ruth saw her and paused. Caitlyn met her gaze. Ruth offered the tiniest smile, and waved.

Caitlyn considered for a moment...and then turned and walked away.

Even if Caitlyn’s social status weren’t on the line, Ruth deserved so much better than someone who would use a kiss as a manipulation tactic. She deserved someone who didn’t care so much that she was a smelly nerd. She deserved someone who wasn’t broken, angry, and depressed.

Caitlyn would never admit it out loud, but deep down she truly believed Ruth deserved more than her.

The hand on her shoulder that stopped her from walking was gentle enough that it didn’t hurt, but firm enough that, when she turned around to see it was Trevor who’d grabbed her, she was surprised. She hadn’t been aware he was that strong.

“What the fuck was that?” he asked.

“What the fuck was what?”

“You’re not even gonna wave at her?”

Caitlyn sighed, shaking her head, “Trevor, stop. This has nothing to do with you.”

“It sure as shit does,” Trevor said, “You’re my friend, Caity. But Ruthie is also my friend. I’m not saying you have to be super close with her or whatever, but you don’t have to ice her out completely. You can go back to what it was like before or something.”

Caitlyn scoffed, “There’s no going back to what it was like before.”

“I know that,” Trevor said, “You don’t think I fucking know that? My point is-”

“Trevor!” Caitlyn snapped, loudly enough that some nearby students turned to look at them. Rudolph, who had been working to catch up with them through the crowd, stopped in his tracks. “Stop. Okay? Just fucking stop. You don’t get to tell me who I should and should not hang out with. You wanna be Ruth’s friend? Be her friend. I don’t care who you hang out with. I’m not hanging out with her.”

“But-”

“That’s the end of this conversation,” Caitlyn held a hand up to interrupt him, “Point, blank, period. Got it?”

Trevor snapped his mouth shut, his eyes narrowing. He’d been trying for months to get Caitlyn to understand that what she was doing to Ruth wasn’t fair. Setting boundaries was perfectly fine – she’d been absolutely correct when she’d told him she didn’t owe Ruth a relationship – but cutting her out entirely didn’t make any sense. It was like she was punishing Ruth for her own hurt and insecurities. To be fair, she’d tried to do the same to him, but he’d known her long enough that he didn’t even begin to let her try. Ruth didn’t have that advantage.

He watched Caitlyn walk away, looking up toward the signs that labeled the classes in an effort to find hers – something she’d never had to do before, as she never used to have trouble remembering where every class was – as Rudolph moved to put a hand on his shoulder.

“You okay?”

“I wish she wouldn’t do this to herself,” Trevor muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Rudolph nodded, “All we can do is be there for her, Trev.”

“I know. I just want to help her.”

“You can’t help someone who doesn’t want help,” Rudolph said with a shrug, “What you can do, is be there when she finally realizes she needs it.”

Trevor nodded, gnawing on his lip as Caitlyn disappeared into one of the classrooms down the hall.

As Caitlyn slipped into a seat in the front row of her first period math class (normally she’d never sit in the front row, but she’d been having vision problems recently and was not going to wear glasses – the front row was the only place where she could see the board properly), she slipped her phone out of her pocket. She had a few minutes before class began, so she wasn’t technically breaking the rules by scrolling for a bit. With a sigh, she opened her text app – she knew she should probably apologize to Trevor, but had no intentions of doing so in person – and stopped when she saw Ruth’s name among her contacts.

Shortly after going out of her way to push Ruth out of her life, Caitlyn had drafted a text message she’d never sent. As of right now, it was very short, and was full of words she eventually wanted to say, though didn’t know when. Or even if she could bring herself to do so. She tapped on it just as the teacher greeted her, welcoming her back to class. Caitlyn shot the teacher a grateful smile before returning her attention back to her phone.

Ruthie.
You don’t have to forgive me, but just know

that I am really sorry. I like you a lot, but I...

It ended there. She’d wanted to say so much more, but she couldn’t even bring herself to send what she’d already written. It made no sense to write anymore. She more than likely wouldn’t ever send it.

But she couldn’t quite bring herself to delete it, either.

With a sigh, she switched over to her conversation with Trevor and shot him a quick apology text. He responded within seconds with a simple, short: Get over it, I’m not mad. But we’re talking later. Caitlyn huffed out a short chuckle, shaking her head. She was not looking forward to whatever conversation he thought they were going to have.

Then the bell rang. And Caitlyn’s first day back in class began.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

The parking lot of Miss Retro’s Diner was a lot more crowded than Duke would have anticipated. It made sense – the food here was phenomenal, and Miss Holloway herself was well worth the visit – but it was still kind of strange to watch how some small businesses seemed to thrive after everything and others...simply died out.

He managed to find a decent parking space and turned off his car before taking a moment to center himself a bit. Driving was so much more anxiety inducing after the accident six months earlier. Now, Duke was always painfully aware of where all traffic was around him at any given time, and intersections – specifically those with stop signs instead of traffic lights – still freaked him out. He found himself tensing behind the wheel every time he chose to drive, and had to physically make himself relax once he was made aware of it – his shoulders constantly hurt whenever he was behind the wheel anymore.

Inside the diner, there was a very short line, but it wasn’t anything that the employees weren’t able to get through quickly. Duke stood, patiently awaiting his turn, and caught the eye of one of the waitresses. She was a high school student, according to Miss Holloway, who took this job both as preparation for graduation, and because...well, quite frankly, she’d needed the money. Duke remembered Miss Holloway calling her Brenda. The waitress approached him, giving him a small wave.

“Hi, Mr. Keane!”

“Heya, darlin’,” Duke said, offering a small smile, “Miss Holloway in?”

Brenda nodded, “She’s in the back, want me to grab her?”

Duke gave a small shrug, “Sure, but let her know I’m not in a hurry. Really, I’m just here to visit.”

“Okay!” Brenda turned to look at the dining area, then pointed at a small empty table near the far wall, “That table’s empty! It’s one of mine, so flag me down if you want anything!”

“Will do. Thanks!”

Duke headed toward the table while Brenda disappeared into the back room to find Miss Holloway. No sooner had he made himself comfortable than he watched Brenda emerge, Miss Holloway in tow, alongside another woman he didn’t recognize, who was trying and failing to put on her best polite smile. Brenda ran off to pour a coffee for a particularly ornery customer, while Miss Holloway and the other woman shared a brief conversation, shook hands, and parted. The woman left, while Miss Holloway caught Duke’s gaze and smiled before immediately heading over toward him.

“Hiya, Duke!”

“Heya, Darlin’,” Duke said, his voice soft as he returned her smile.

Miss Holloway slipped into the seat opposite him, her bright smile faltering a bit into something filled more with concern, “Any news?”

Duke shook his head, “Nope.”

“Aw, hon, I’m sorry. I know you have to be worried sick.”

Duke nodded, “Yeah. I am. I just wish I knew where she was, you know?”

The “she” in question was the woman Duke had been actively dating for a little more than two months. A nurse who’d helped care for him in the medical center after Blinky lost his hold on Hatchetfield. Duke had liked her. A lot. And while she was no Miss Holloway, she was someone who at least returned his affections. He’d reached a certain point after meeting her where it only made sense that he needed to move on, and Abigail was wonderful. So, he’d asked her out. She’d said yes. And they’d been going strong ever since.

Until she up and disappeared.

Duke had filed a police report, and for their part they did actually seem to take it seriously (the new detective they’d brought in from Chicago – Shapiro, he thought her name was? – was particularly efficient). But it had been more than two weeks and there were literally no leads. Duke himself had even been questioned, more than once, “just in case,” and still nothing. There was, in the end, absolutely no sign of Duke’s girlfriend.

People disappeared in Hatchetfield every day...

For reasons that Duke couldn’t fathom, Miss Holloway hadn’t liked Abigail. She hadn’t hated her, or anything, but after the first time they met, Miss Holloway insisted that Duke deserved someone more “interesting.” She insisted that, while there was nothing really wrong with her, Abigail was just kind of...boring. She’d even given her something of a mean nickname, choosing to call her “Miss Meh.” It had been a surprisingly shallow response from her that Duke hadn’t expected. Almost like she was jealous. Which made no sense, because she’d made it perfectly clear that they were never going to be together. So why shouldn’t Duke move on?

It was, and still remained to this day, the biggest argument they’d ever had.

Still, Miss Holloway was the only person who seemed to really care that Abigail had even gone missing in the first place. The second Duke had told her, she’d gone into that same mode she went into when she was protecting children, and used every resource at her disposal to help find her.

And even that hadn’t worked.

Abigail was well and truly gone. And Duke had no idea why. He didn’t know if she was okay, if she’d chosen to leave. Had he done something to upset her? Was she in danger? Was she dead? Was she in trouble? These were all answers that had gone missing alongside her. And despite the fact Miss Holloway hadn’t liked Abigail, she had, at least, gone out of her way to support Duke.

Miss Holloway leaned forward and put one hand over Duke’s on the table, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t do more.”

“I know. I know you tried, Miss Holloway, and I do appreciate it.”

Miss Holloway gave him an apologetic smile. She had really tried, too. For Duke’s sake, if not for Abigail’s.

“You want anything?” she asked, “It’s on the house, just for you.”

Duke quirked a brow at her, “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking, Duke, I’m offering.”

Duke let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head, “I’m assuming you won’t take my money even if I tried to pay you?”

“You’re assuming correctly.”

With a small, resigned sigh, Duke silently resigned to at least tipping his waitress well before he flagged down Brenda, who had just managed to usher the ornery customer out of the diner and was looking more than a little annoyed. She did her best to put on a smile for Duke’s sake and walked over to him, notebook at the ready.

“What can I get ya?”

“What do you recommend?” Duke asked.

Brenda’s large, flashy smile melted into something filled with a bit more confusion and she spared a glace at Miss Holloway. Miss Holloway gave her an encouraging nod.

“Oh, um...I mean, I personally really like the Monte Cristo,” Brenda said with a shrug.

Duke chuckled, “I’ll try that.”

“Cool!” Brenda said as she jotted it down into her little notebook, “I’ll go put this in!”

“Thank you!”

Duke watched her walk away before turning his gaze back toward Miss Holloway, who was watching him with an amused smirk. “What?”

“Have you ever actually read my menu, Mr. Keane?”

Duke shrugged, “Of course I have. But if left to my own devices, I’d just get the same thing over and over,” He motioned toward Brenda, who was speaking animatedly with the cook behind the counter, “This way, I get to branch out and try new things. I’ve never had a Monte Cristo before.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“Well, you’re in for a real treat!” Miss Holloway sat back in her chair, crossing her arms with a grin.

His phone going off in his pocket was enough to make him jump a bit, eliciting a cute little giggle from Miss Holloway. He shot her a wink and took out his phone to check it. It was a text from a number he didn’t know. With a curious head tilt, he opened it, his brow furrowing as he read it over.

Tell Miss Retro I say hi.

A shiver ran down his spine, and he frantically began looking for anyone nearby who could have been texting him. There were people on their phones, but no one looked particularly interested in him at the moment, as far as he could tell. Swallowing, he looked over his shoulder out the window behind him, then toward the front door for anyone who could be standing outside. Miss Holloway’s brow furrowed and she sat forward.

“Everything okay?”

Duke took a deep breath and shook his head before handing the phone over to her to read. She squinted at it as if trying to figure out what she was even looking at for a moment, and then her brow furrowed as she handed the phone back over to him, “I’m gonna guess by your reaction that you don’t know who this is?”

“I do not.”

Miss Holloway nodded, “Okay. Have you ever gotten a message like this before?”

Duke shook his head, “No, but...”

“But?”

“Abigail did.”

That peaked Miss Holloway’s interest and she stiffened, “Did you tell the cops about that?”

“We filed a police report after the forth or fifth message,” Duke said as he ran a hand through his hair, “but the problem was that there was nothing to go on. The messages were just like this one,” he motioned to his phone, “asking her how she’d liked the food she’d just eaten, or if she’d enjoyed the movie we’d just seen. Stuff like that. No threats, just enough to let her know someone was watching her.”

“Could it have something to do with why she…?” Miss Holloway didn’t finish the sentence. It was strange for some reason, saying the word “disappeared” when it pertained to someone Duke actively cared about.

Duke shook his head, “The messages weren’t frequent or anything. Just as we’d forget about them, she’d get another one. The last one she got was...I don’t know, maybe a month before she disappeared? And none of them were ever threats, like I said.”

Miss Holloway was just about to respond when Brenda walked up to them with a plate of food. She set it down in front of Duke with a smile, “Here you go. Enjoy!”

“Thanks.”

Brenda gave him a little nod, then turned to Miss Holloway, “Is it okay if I go on my break? My boyfriend dropped by to say hi.”

It took a few moments for Miss Holloway to answer, preoccupied as she was by Duke’s very obvious distress, but she did eventually look up at Brenda with a small smile and nodded, “Sure, yeah. Go on ahead.”

Brenda’s smile fell, “Is...everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine, hon. Just don’t let that boy distract you enough to go over your break time, okay?”

The smile returned, “I won’t! I’ll be back in 15, I promise.” Then she turned on her heel and practically flounced her way toward the front door. Miss Holloway found herself searching the entryway with her eyes as Brenda went through, looking for anyone who seemed far too interested in Duke. She saw nothing out of place.

As soon as Brenda disappeared from view, Duke’s phone, which he’d placed on the table between them, went off again. Duke swallowed, exchanging a look with Miss Holloway before hesitantly reaching out to pick it up and check the newly sent text message.

Oooh, Monte Cristo. I like those. Enjoy.

Suddenly, Duke didn’t feel so hungry anymore.

Miss Holloway wound up driving him home; the combined stress of the texts and the fact that he didn’t really like driving anymore was a bit much for him. She could bring him back to the diner to pick up his car later.She offered to stay with him, which he politely declined in the moment. But as nightfall began to encroach, and Duke felt more and more uneasy in his own home, he decided it might not be such a bad idea to have some company. So, he called Miss Holloway and asked her to come back over.

She didn’t hesitate even a moment.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

Charles Coven had never seen a more aggressively creepy house in his entire life. It was like whoever lived here was purposely trying to look like some kind of movie-level vampire. It was actually darker here, as though a perpetual storm cloud hung over it. He half expected to see a random bolt of lightning and hear thunder echo above him.

With a curt order for his driver to stay there and wait for him (he had absolutely no intentions of staying any longer than he needed to), Charles made his way up the front stoop and hesitated only a moment before knocking on the door. He cleared his throat, adjusted his lapel, and pushed the bag hanging from his shoulder in behind him, so it wasn’t easily reached by someone facing him directly. He gave his bodyguard a single, cursory glance to make sure he was ready. Then, he put on his most convincingly charming smile, and waited. He was just about to knock again when the door finally opened, and a very large man decked out in full protective gear and loudly chewing gum stared him down.

Charles gave him a sidelong glance, “Um...I’m looking for Iris Sinclair?”

The man removed his sunglasses, popped his gum, and narrowed his eyes, “Name?”

“Charles Coven,” Charles said, with some measure of irritation in his tone. Supposedly, she’d been expecting him right around...oh, right now. So what was with this incredibly annoying runaround?

“It’s okay, Rupert,” a voice echoed from behind the large man. The security guard stepped to one side with a grunt, exposing Iris Sinclair coming down the stairs toward the front door. She was much younger than Charles had anticipated, potentially no older than her early 20s. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a perfectly curled little ponytail and placed almost delicately over one shoulder, and she was wearing a purple sweater that was more than likely entirely too warm for the current weather. She almost absently rubbed at her arm as she reached the bottom of the stairs, and then held out a hand toward him to shake.

“Welcome, Mr. Coven! Would you like to come in?”

Charles shook her hand and nodded, “Of course. That’s what I’m here for.”

He stepped through the threshold and into the house, his gaze wandering around the absolutely massive foyer. He himself lived in a two story penthouse downtown, so he probably wasn’t one to judge opulence, but he did wonder just what one family needed with all this...space.

One person, now, he supposed. As far as he was aware, the entire rest of the family was gone.

“If you’ll follow me, please,” Iris said. Her tone was light, pleasant, and conversational, but Charles could feel a very distinct tension rising through her words. She didn’t want him here. He didn’t want to be here.

He hoped this wouldn’t take long.

Iris remained silent as they traversed a short hall out of the foyer and into a rather large office. She motioned for Charles to sit, and then settled herself into the absolutely massive, ugly, purple office chair on the opposite side of the desk. Charles sat warily, his eyes darting around the room. It wasn’t often he found himself at such a disadvantage – he was in her house, surrounded by her staff. Sure, he had his own bodyguard, but in the grand scheme of things, he would be useless if this bitch decided to take him out. She had a fair amount of power here. He had to leverage his information delicately.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Iris asked, her brows high as a faux inquisitive tone entered her voice.

Charles nodded, “Ah, scotch, if you have it.”

Iris chuckled, “If we have it? What do you take me for, Mr. Coven?” She motioned toward her bodyguard with one hand, and he moved to pour their drinks from the wet bar across the room.

“I take you for a smart woman,” Charles said.

Iris quirked a brow, “Oh?”

“At least, I hope you are.”

Iris leaned forward in her chair, placing her elbows on the desk as she intertwined her fingers together in front of her. There was something so powerful about sitting at this desk. She could understand now why her father had liked it so much. It was large. Imposing. As Charles eyed her inquisitively, she couldn’t help but notice that he looked...uncomfortable. Good. It wasn’t her job to make him feel anything but.

The bodyguard moved over to them, handing them each a glass of scotch before returning to his position beside the door, opposite Charles’ guard. The two large men eyed one another as Charles took a sip. Oof, it was strong. Good. He knew what to avoid now in order to keep his wits about him.

“Mr. Coven, I’m a busy woman,” Iris said, spreading her arms wide, “I don’t have time for whatever games you’re trying to play.”

“No games, Miss Sinclair. Only an offer.”

“What kind of offer?”

Charles grabbed hold of the bag that he’d been almost nervously clutching at his side this entire time, and opened it. He removed several pieces of paper, which he practically tossed onto the desk between them, letting them spread out across its smooth surface. Iris leaned forward to get a better view, her brow furrowed. Then she let out a barely audible gasp and grabbed hold of one of them.

“Where the hell did you get this?” she hissed, glaring at him over the edge of the page.

“Your brother,” Charles said in a matter-of-fact tone, “had them on him when he was killed. I spent a lot of time and effort getting them back after the Roller-rama came down.”

Iris’ eyes narrowed, “Why would you even want these?”

Charles cleared his throat and made himself a bit more comfortable in his chair, crossing one leg almost casually over the other, “Do you know how your brother died, Miss Sinclair?”

“He was killed in the Roller-rama,” Iris said, her voice tense, “I’d assumed by you.”

“Ooh, and yet you let me into your house?” There was amusement in Charles’ tone as he spoke.

Iris shrugged, “You asked to come here, Mr. Coven, and the way I saw it, if you tried anything funny, I’d just have you killed.”

Charles nodded, “As you should. I’d do the same.”

“So you’re telling me to didn’t kill Cornelius?”

“I did not,” Charles shook his head, “No, in fact, he made it perfectly clear that, if he’d wanted to, he could have easily killed me.”

“So how did he die?”

Charles motioned to the pages, “From what I can see after looking these over, he performed some kind of ritual to allow this...Bliklotep to use him as a vessel of some kind?”

Iris scoffed, rolling her eyes, “Corny, you idiot.”

“I mean, I’m not going to argue with you,” Charles said with a shrug, “but you should know it worked.”

There was a moment of silence while Iris considered Charles, before she said, “It did?”

“It did.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. If it worked, he wouldn’t be dead.”

“That’s what I figured,” Charles nodded, “I thought he was bordering on invincible. When I left, he was taking quite the beating and just kept going. It was truly impressive. Awe inspiring, even.”

“So then how did he die?” Iris asked, scowling.

Charles held up a finger, “Ah. That is the question, isn’t it? You see, I have the answer.” He reached into his bag and withdrew a small thumb drive, smirking, “In addition to those pages, I also rescued this.”

“What is it?”

“Security camera footage.”

Iris’ eyes widened slightly; if she was trying to look nonchalant, she did a poor job of it, “Security...camera footage?”

Charles nodded, “Yep.”

Iris took another moment to consider him, then pushed herself to her feet. Her high heels echoed against the floor of the large room as she began to pace around the desk toward him. She inhaled slowly, looking Charles up and down, and then settled onto the edge of the desk beside him, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What do you want?”

Charles grinned, “That’s easy, Miss Sinclair. I want answers.”

“Answers?”

Charles spread his arms wide, “Knowledge is power, honey. And I certainly do like power.”

Iris snorted, “You can have both for the right amount of money.”

“Ah, that’s true, but I figured you wouldn’t take money if I offered it.”

“You’re probably right about that.”

Charles nodded, “See, I do know my clientele.”

“I’m not a client, Mr. Coven.”

Charles leaned forward in his chair and gave Iris a sidelong glance, “I’m offering a trade.”

“What, knowledge for the thumb drive?”

“The thumb drive,” he held it up toward her, just out of her reach, “and...a little extra.”

“Extra?”

“I want in.”

“In?”

“On whatever it is you’re involved in here. Whatever it is you do, whatever monster it is you worship, it’s powerful, Miss Sinclair. And I want some of that power for myself.”

Iris rolled her eyes again, “You cannot contain the Watcher’s power, Mr. Coven.”

“I’m not trying to contain it,” Charles said, “I’m trying to use it.”

“For?”

“See, I haven’t figured that part out yet,” Charles shrugged, “but I’d like to. With your help.”

Iris quirked a brow, “And what makes you think I’ll help you?”

“The person who killed your brother? Their face is all over this camera footage. They wouldn’t be hard to find, either. I share this with you, tell you want I know about the ritual Cornelius performed, and you have full access to any and all sources I have that you don’t.”

“I can’t help but feel like you’re getting the rotten end of this deal.”

“So then why not take it?” Charles said, grinning.

Iris let out a cynical huff, returning his grin, “Because I don’t trust you, Coven.”

Charles shrugged and pushed himself to his feet, “Well, in that case, we’ve come to an impasse. You can keep those pages, they’re only copies. I have the originals stored away somewhere safe.”

“Hold on. You’re leaving? Just like that?”

“I can’t force you to trust me, Miss Sinclair. And since that seems to be an important part of doing business with you, then we’re done here.”

He moved toward the door, but Iris stepped in front of him, holding up one finger, “Now, hold on.”

Charles’ brows raised, “Yes?”

“I have a very valid concern here, Mr. Coven. I never said trust was important – trust is fickle, it can easily be bought and sold to the highest bidder.”

Charles nodded, “We agree on that.”

“What I’m confused about is why you would put yourself in a position where you’re getting the very obvious short end of the stick.”

“From your perspective, Miss Sinclair. Not from mine.”

“And I suppose you’re not going to share that perspective with me?”

Charles leaned toward her, until there was mere inches between them, and quirked a brow with a grin, “I can’t show you all my cards, now can I?”

Iris stood up to her full height – normally she would have been shorter than Charles by a good two inches, but her heels made her taller – and inhaled deeply, adjusting the bottom of her sweater with a flourish. She cleared her throat and stepped away from him, making her way back around the desk.

“Once you’re in this, Mr. Coven, there’s no stepping away. I hope you understand that.”

“Are you worried I can’t handle it?”

Her hands ran over one of the pages on the desk as she chortled, “I didn’t miss the part where you said you left the Roller-rama before Corny was killed. You ran away so quickly, you didn’t even see who or what killed him. You abandoned him, Mr. Coven.”

“Yes, well, self-preservation isn’t a sin. And he made it perfectly clear I was on his little chopping block.”

“Running away from this is a sin, Mr. Coven. You want in? You’re in for the long haul.”

For his part, Charles was very good at hiding his discomfort. It never showed on his face, even as a pit fell into his stomach. He wasn’t entirely sure what she meant by that, but he was willing to find out. At least for now. And, as usual, he had contingencies for when things inevitably went wrong (because things always went wrong). The only thing he could hope for was that he’d planned for every possible outcome this time.

But, this family had already surprised him once. It was entirely probable they’d do so again.

It wasn’t like she could force him to stay if he got in over his head. He just had to manipulate the situation in his favor. He could do that. He’d done it before.

So, as Iris stood there watching him, he slowly nodded, offering her a small smile.

“I completely understand.”

Iris’ brows shot up in mild surprise. Coven had struck her as a coward. Self-preservation clearly came first, so of course he’d back out if she laid it out firmly in front of him. Except he hadn’t. So now she had to contend with what was very possibly going to be a betrayal if things got too hairy for the smarmy bastard. She huffed, licking her lips, and stepped forward to offer him a handshake. Not as good as a contract – she’d have to have one written out later – but it was as binding as it could be under the circumstances.

“Welcome aboard, Mr. Coven.”

Charles reached forward and shook her hand with a silent grin.

Inhaling deeply, Iris moved back toward the desk and pressed a button on a nearby intercom. She spoke into it, keeping eye contact with Charles the entire time, “Darcy. Send in our consultant.”

“Yes, Miss Sinclair,” a rigid, feminine voice from the other end came through the slightly static-filled speaker.

Now here was a level of discomfort Charles couldn’t hide. There was someone else involved in this little deal? His brow furrowed. “Consultant?”

“Yep!” Iris said with a nod, “He showed up just a few days ago, and he has more knowledge about the Watcher With A Thousand Eyes than either one of us combined.”

“And he’s...helping?”

“He is. Didn’t even take payment.”

Charles scoffed, “And you said you can’t trust me for taking the short end of the stick.”

“Mr. Coven, this man has a deep loyalty to Bliklotep. He wants to see our Lord thrive, just as much as I do.” She crossed her arms, smirking, “And he’s so far proven himself to be an excellent member of this little team.”

Charles opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by the sound of the office door opening. He turned to face it just in time to see a man step through and – in an almost too cheerful manner – thank the guard for holding it open for him.

Despite the fact that Charles was good at manipulating them, he was not great at reading people on a surface level. His basic trick was to get them talking, get them to expose themselves on a deeper level, learn what made them tick, and then work from there. It didn’t always work, but it benefited him more often than not, and that was what counted. But this man.

This man.

There was something decidedly off about him. Something so invariably dark and mysterious that it set the hair standing on the back of Charles’ neck and put him on edge almost instantly. He was a tall man – taller than both Iris and Charles – with inky black hair slicked back against his skull. If eyes were the window to the soul, then this man was empty, dark as his were. He looked like he’d stepped right out of the 1980’s with his getup too, dressed head to toe in denim. Charles could see his own bodyguard give this newcomer a disconcerted look, eyeing him up and down. And in return, this man winked at him. As though relishing the discontent.

“Mr. Coven,” Iris said as she swept an arm out toward the man, “this is Mr. Cross.”

“I already told you, sweetheart, you can call me Wilbur,” the man said, waggling his eyebrows at her.

Iris gave him a good natured chuckle, “Of course. Wilbur, this is Charles Coven.”

The second Cross’ eyes landed on him, Charles second guessed every decision he’d made that led him to this point. He was past the point of no return, he’d already agreed to be here. He’d told Iris he wanted in, he’d even shook on it – granted, a handshake was not a binding contract by any stretch, but he had the distinct feeling that Iris would be treating it as one.

And besides all of that, Wilbur Cross was now blocking the door.

Shit.

“Good to meet ya, Charlie,” Cross said, stepping forward to offer a hand, “I can call ya Charlie, can’t I?”

“I would prefer it if you didn’t,” Charles said as he shook Cross’ hand. Cross simply huffed out a short chuckle and shrugged before turning his attention back to Iris.

“So, Miss Iris. Where do you want to start?”

Iris grinned, “Before we jump into anything, I have a little problem I need to deal with. Mr. Coven, I assume I can look at that camera footage now?”

Charles nodded, his smile not quite reaching his eyes, “Of course.”

“Good. It’s time to find out how my brother died.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 12

Six weeks. That was how long it had been since Hannah Foster had set foot in Hatchetfield. Six full weeks since she, Lex, and Ethan had packed up everything they could fit in Ethan’s car and drove away to California. Hannah hadn’t ever thought she’d miss the place – she’d never felt entirely at home in Hatchetfield. It wasn’t until she left that she realized she didn’t really feel at home anywhere, Hatchetfield was just the place she she fit in best.

It wasn’t like school wasn’t going well back in California. She had made friends surprisingly well, and she was doing well in her all of her classes. Her seizures had stopped, and so had the visions. Until recently, anyway.

The second time she and Lex both woke up in the middle of the night from a shared vision, Hannah had suggested going back. Lex had given a firm no, Ethan had backed her up, and there was no amount of argument, logic, reasoning, or begging either one of them had been willing to listen to. They wanted to bury their heads in the sand and act like the visions didn’t mean something. Like they weren’t an actual omen of some kind. Even bringing up the fact that Miss Holloway could potentially help them did nothing to convince them.

To a certain point, Hannah understood their apprehension. Lex, in particular, had been through a lot the first time Blinky attacked. She’d been tortured, for crying out loud. She was missing a finger, an eye, and suffered from chronic pain daily – on her worst days she had to walk with a cane like, in her own words, “some old, worn-out hag.” Hannah even distinctly remembered an earlier argument, shortly before they’d left Hatchetfield, where Lex broke down crying saying she didn’t want to live anymore. Like, at all.

That had been the driving force behind Ethan moving them all away. And it made sense. He wanted Lex to be able to move on, and in order to do that, they had to leave. And Lex had been getting better. She still wasn’t great. But she was better, and that was what mattered.

So, yes, Hannah did understand why Lex didn’t want to come back. Even if the world was about to end again, she couldn’t face the things she’d been through again. It wasn’t a sign of weakness in the slightest. If Hannah felt like she had a choice, she also wouldn’t be going back. She just didn’t feel like she had a choice.

Especially after the third shared vision.

So, she’d taken just enough cash from Ethan’s wallet for a bus ticket and to buy food, and she left.

She hoped Lex and Ethan would understand.

It took two days to get back home, followed by a further three hour wait at a bus station in Clivesdale in order to get over the bridge into Hatchetfield – the ferry was faster, but the bus was cheaper. After being dropped at the bus stop near downtown early in the evening, saying a swift goodbye to her seat-mate – a young woman who’d introduced herself as Alice – Hannah took a moment to double check the city map located nearby and took off for her destination on foot. She needed a shower and some actually halfway decent food, but she wanted to make her presence known first.

The sun was just beginning to set when Hannah made it to Miss Retro’s Diner. She was mildly surprised to find that it was closing early, with Miss Holloway standing outside to see off her employees for the evening. Just as Miss Holloway turned to go back inside and lock up, Hannah called out to her.

“Miss Holloway!”

Miss Holloway paused, blinking, her brow furrowing with mild confusion, and then she turned around to meet Hannah’s gaze just as Hannah began to cross the parking lot toward her.

“Hannah?”

Hannah slowed herself to a walk as she approached, stopping only a few feet away as she offered Miss Holloway a soft smile. Miss Holloway gaped at her, looking her over with wide eyes. Then, without warning, she leaned forward and pulled Hannah into a tight hug. Hannah returned it, chuckling softly. They held the hug for a few seconds, and then Miss Holloway pushed Hannah away to hold her at arm’s length.

“What are you doing here?”

Hannah swallowed, “I had a vision.”

“A vision?”

“Three, actually,” Hannah said with a nod.

Miss Holloway’s brow furrowed and she motioned to the front door of the diner with one arm, “Come inside. Sit down. I’ll make you something to eat.”

20 minutes later, Hannah was chowing down on a nice hot meal. It was a nice change from the last two days, which she’d spent practically living on the protein bars she’d taken from Ethan, and bags of chips (if she could afford them) every time the bus came to a stop. She’d just finished relaying everything to Miss Holloway, from her visions, to buying a bus ticket (leaving out that she’d stolen money to get it), to finally arriving back in Hatchetfield. Miss Holloway watched her with an appraising eye, her expression unreadable.

“Lexi and Ethan are gonna be real mad at you.”

Hannah nodded, “I know. But Lexi didn’t want to come, and I didn’t want to force her.” She looked up, meeting Miss Holloway’s gaze, “The visions mean something, I know it.”

“You think they mean Blinky’s coming back.”

“Yeah.”

Miss Holloway sighed and sat forward in her chair, resting her elbows on the table in front of her, “Well...that’s not good.”

“So you believe me?”

“Of course I believe you, Banana,” Miss Holloway said in a soft tone, offering her a small grin, “I’ve had a feeling for a while that he’d be trying to make a return, but I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him in that time. I’ve been keeping a real watchful eye out, too, just in case.”

Hannah huffed out a cynical chuckle, “’Keeping an eye out’ for Blinky is kinda funny.”

Miss Holloway quirked a brow at her, and then laughed, “You know what? It is a little funny, isn’t it?”

Both of them jumped slightly at the sound of Hannah’s phone going off. Hannah took it out and looked over the screen with a mixture of regret and irritation in her expression. Miss Holloway took a deep breath and threaded her fingers together on the table, swallowing.

“It’s Lexi,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. There was no question to be answered. She knew.

Hannah nodded, “Yeah.”

“How many calls have you put off?”

Hannah shrugged, “A few.”

“You should answer it.”

Hannah stared at her phone for a moment, considering, and then shook her head and sent the call to voice mail, “I already know what she’s going to say.”

“Do you?”

“She’s going to say that this is dangerous and I’m stupid for coming back here. She’s going to be mad that I ran away.” She gnawed on the inside of her lip, studying the grain of the table in front of her with a furrowed brow, “She’s gonna be really mad at me.”

Miss Holloway nodded, “You made the choice to run away, Hannah. You need to face those consequences sooner or later.”

Hannah looked up at her, “Can I choose later?”

“Later isn’t gonna be any easier,” Miss Holloway said with a shrug, “The longer you put off talking to her, or Ethan, the more worried they’ll get. The more worried they get, the angrier they’ll get, and all of that will make them all the harder to actually talk to.” She reached forward and put her hand over Hannah’s on the table, “Talk to your sister, honey. At least let her know you’re okay. That you’re safe.”

Hannah absently took a bite of food, chewing slowly as she considered. Then she nodded and took her phone back out. She wasn’t going to call her – she didn’t think she could stand to hear the worry and sadness in Lex’s voice when she picked up – but it wouldn’t hurt to text her and let her know she was all right. She got a reply almost instantly.

Where the fuck are you?

Hannah inhaled sharply, wincing, “Looks like she’s already mad.”

“I don’t mean to sound unsupportive here, Banana,” Miss Holloway said, regret all over her features, “but what exactly did you expect? You ran away from home and spent two days dodging calls, of course she’s going to be upset.”

Hannah bit her lip, “I also...kinda stole money from Ethan.”

At this, Miss Holloway literally facepalmed, sighing, “Okay. This...isn’t good.”

“I wanted help with the visions,” Hannah retorted, “I wanted to know if I was interpreting them right, and if I was...I wanted to help Hatchetfield.”

“Was Lexi barring you from calling me?”

“I didn’t ask.”

A frustrated sigh escaped Miss Holloway’s lips and she shook her head, “Honey, you screwed up here. Real good.”

Hannah looked back down toward that wood grain in front of her, “I know.”

“I am happy to see you,” Miss Holloway said with a soft smile, “but not like this.”

“I understand.”

“You call her back. Or...message. Whatever it is you do with those things,” Miss Holloway absently waved a hand toward her phone, “Tell her everything you told me, about wanting help with the visions and everything. Let her know I’ll be watching over you while you’re here.” She took Hannah’s hand in her own, giving it a light squeeze, “But know this, Banana: if she wants you to come home, I’m not going against her wishes. I’ll pay for the bus ticket this time, okay?”

“But I want to stay here.”

“So tell her that,” Miss Holloway said. Her voice was soft, but her overall tone was stern. “Communicate with her, Banana. Because worrying her like this? Is only going to make everything worse, do you hear me?”

Hannah swallowed, “Yes, ma’am.”

Miss Holloway grabbed Hannah’s hand and gave it a soft squeeze, smiling gently, “Good girl. Now I’m gonna go wash these dishes. You call your sister, and then get yourself cleaned up, okay?”

Hannah nodded as Miss Holloway stood and began removing the empty dishes from the table in front of her. She eyed her phone, considering, and then sent a message back to Lex. It was short, just saying that she’d made it safely to her intended destination, that she was staying with someone they could trust, and not to worry. She’d take care of everything. She’d keep Lex and Ethan safe. Then, as she eyed the kitchen where she’d seen Miss Holloway disappear to with the dishes, she shut off her phone; if Miss Holloway asked – which she likely wouldn’t, as cell phones weren’t exactly in her wheelhouse – she’d just say she’d forgotten its charger and it died. With a sigh, she pushed herself to her feet and made her way to the apartment at the back of the diner to clean herself up a bit. It had been too long since she’d had a proper shower.

She could only hope Lexi wouldn’t be too mad at her when all was said and done.

Chapter Text

Chapter 13

The day the chaos hit Hatchetfield, Bill had been on a video call with his daughter, helping her to resolve a mistake on some of her intake paperwork before the official start of orientation. He’d just wished her luck and ended the call, and was making himself lunch when things went wrong.

His plan had been to hole up in his house. Lock all the doors, just stay away from everything going on outside. Stay there until it passed, periodically check in on his friends, and then come out when it was all over. If he didn’t need to be outside, he wouldn’t be. Simple as that.

Then Charlotte had called.

Evidently, she’d had plans with Sam that day, but he’d wound up leaving the CCRP building almost as quickly as he’d arrived with barely a word to her. Paul and Ted had gone out to Beanies together (which did strike Bill as odd – Paul rarely voluntarily hung out with Ted), which had left Charlotte alone at the office. People in the building were actively trying to kill each other, and Charlotte was scared. Bill was the only one she could think to call. So he’d gone to pick her up; he wasn’t far from CCRP anyway. They could hunker down together and ride out the wave of chaos with some company.

He got her back to his house, locked the doors, and was beginning the process of trying to calm her when the voices started. Softly, at first, he’d initially thought Charlotte had whispered something under her breath, or that he’d left the TV on. When he asked her about it, she said she hadn’t spoken, and claimed to have heard nothing at all. From there, 24 plus hours of absolute hell began. He could hear the appliances and electronics in his house calling his name in a robotic tone, taunting him, telling nasty, horrifying stories of death and violence, plaguing his imagination with terrible descriptions of bad things happening to Alice. To Paul. To Charlotte. To Ted. Laughter reverberated over the walls, and there was the ever-present feeling of being watched. After he’d very nearly destroyed his TV to get rid of the voices, he locked himself in his bedroom to avoid a confused and fearful Charlotte, and that was when the eyes started appearing. They’d be in the corner of his vision, and every time he’d turn to look, they were gone. The laugh played a creepy soundtrack to it all, echoing softly in the back of his mind. Driving him slowly insane, he knew.

He didn’t fully remember when it had all ended, or how, but he did remember waking up to a bloodied, frenzied Charlotte standing in front of him, looking as confused and horrified as he’d felt. They’d both been wielding knives from his kitchen.

And then it had stopped. Just like that. Six long months of nothing since then, and Bill...hadn’t told a single soul what had happened to him. It sounded too unbelievable. Too strange. After watching him speak with every appliance in his house and beg them to leave him alone, Charlotte was more than a little wary of him. Add to that the fact that they’d both tried to kill each other in a rage-filled frenzy and well...

They hadn’t exactly talked too much since then. Or spent too much time alone together.

When Alice had announced she would be coming back for Spring Break, there was a very large part of Bill that was excited. Sure, she was primarily coming back to see Deb, but she’d promised to spend some time with him, too. She’d even gotten tickets to a musical for the three of them to attend together; it was in Clivesdale – the Starlight Theater, while still standing and relatively untouched in the chaos, hadn’t performed anything aside from small local shows for the last few months – but it was something she’d thought they could all enjoy together.

Him, and Alice. And Deb.

Bill decidedly did not like Deb. He never really had. It wasn’t like she’d ever even done anything particularly wrong, he just...didn’t like her. He didn’t hate her, by any means, and he was civil to her when Alice brought her around. But he just could not shake the feeling that Alice could do so much better. Especially now that she was out of Hatchetfield and exploring an entirely new, much larger city. He hoped it hadn’t showed on his face but he had been extremely disappointed when Alice had told him they’d be trying long distance for a while – he’d expected for them to break up when Alice announced she’d made it into her college of choice. But nope. They were stubbornly sticking together, through thick and thin.

It would be kind of sweet...if Bill actually liked Deb.

Much to his chagrin, when he’d volunteered to come pick up Alice from the bus depot, Alice had asked if he could pick Deb up along the way. He’d protested a bit, asked why Deb couldn’t just drive herself if she wanted to see Alice so badly, but evidently Deb could no longer drive and she needed a ride. Besides, it didn’t make sense for Alice to be greeted by two separate people at the bus stop, norwould it make sense to ultimately leave Deb at the bus stop waiting to get home on her own. Besides,Alice evidently had plans to take them all out to dinner – her treat, apparently – after she cleaned up a bit. It was an olive branch, Bill figured. Alice knew her father did not like her girlfriend, and in the past, she’d been known to choose Deb over Bill because of it, even when Bill actively tried to include Deb. But now, coming back for Spring Break to visit her girlfriend, she’d actually gone out of her way to involve Bill in her plans. At least some of them.

So, he reluctantly agreed to pick Deb up and drive her to the bus stop to meet Alice.

There was another part of him, though – a smaller, but very loud part – that really wanted Alice to stay away from Hatchetfield. After what had happened to him six months earlier, he was worried it could potentially happen again. And he did not want Alice there if and when it did. But, the violence and chaos had made national headlines, and Alice seemed to be genuinely worried for Bill and Deb’s well being, so there was nothing stopping her from coming home to see them both.

Deb had, apparently, had needed surgery after everything, and had spent quite a bit of time in the hospital. Bill wasn’t up to date on the finer details, but he did pick up on the fact that she seemed to be walking with a noticeable limp that he was fairly certain she hadn’t had before. And Bill himself had been freaked out enough by his little encounter that he hadn’t answered any of Alice’s calls for two days after everything had ended, thus worrying her more. Even if Bill tried to beg and plead for her to stay in New York, she more than likely would have shown up anyway. She was stubborn like that. Just like her mother.

It was infuriating.

The slight detour to pick up Deb put them arriving at the bus depot just as the bus was preparing to head back to Clivesdale with more passengers. Bill pulled into a parking space right as Deb caught sight of Alice standing on the corner talking to a younger girl. The girl left just as Bill turned off the engine, and Deb was out of the car before he could even open his door. Alice, upon seeing Deb, gave a little excited scream and ran to her, wrapping her in a hug. Deb lifted her off the ground, and then the two shared a kiss.

Despite his personal feelings about Deb, Bill did have to admit that the reunion was very sweet.

As he shoved his keys into his pocket and stepped up onto the curb near the two lovers, Alice released her hold on Deb and moved to give Bill a hug. Now that surprised him; usually, if it came down to Deb and Bill in a room together with Alice, Alice always went to, and then stuck beside, Deb. Watching her actively leave her girlfriend’s loving embrace to come to him was something of a shock. He let out a surprised little, “Oh!” as she hugged him, and smiled.

“Hi, daddy!”

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Releasing her hold on Bill, Alice looped one arm through his, and then reached over to grab Deb’s hand with the other, babbling away about how much she was enjoying school and going on and on about how her script had been chosen for some showcase near the end of the year. Bill wasn’t really listening to the finer details, more just enjoying his daughter’s happiness. They put her luggage in the trunk of the car, thenbegan to head back to the house and let her clean up. Even watching her get into the back seat alongside Deb – thus relegating him more to the role of chaperone – didn’t fullydampen his spirits. Alice was home again, she was thriving, and she was happy. What more could he want?

(Well, for her to have a different girlfriend, he supposed, but he was learning to pick his battles.)

One battle they constantly fought was over music. When Alice asked Bill to turn on the radio, he happily switched it on to one of his favorite stations and began to sing along to the song that was playing. Alice let out a groan and leaned forward to try to connect her phone to the radio in an effort to play her own tunes instead. Just as Bill was telling her to sit back in her seat and buckle up, the song ended, and a voice boomed through the radio speakers, startling him.

“I see you, Bill!”

The voice was so loud, it actively hurt. Vibrated through his very bones as it echoed around him. Through him. He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a surprised cry, clutching at his head, covering his ears as the voice continued.

“I’m watching you! With Nine-Hundred and Ninety-Nine eyes. One short, thanks to your little brat. And oh, look! She’s come back! Just in time, too. What’s the old saying? ‘An eye for an eye’? See you soon, Billy.”

The manic, almost goofy laughter that followed faded away slowly, leaving Bill panting in the driver’s seat of his car, his head cradled in his hands as he frantically whispered, “No, no, no, no, no, no...” over and over again. It was that voice. That same voice he’d heard coming from the very walls of his home all those months ago. Except back then, it had sounded almost robotic and soft. Something that tickled at the back of his mind like a memory long forgotten. Here it was loud, boisterous, almost childlike. He could feel panic welling in his gut, feel the dizzying, all-encompassing fear that began to take over, and he shook his head. He was fairly certain he could hear Alice and Deb talking, but he couldn’t understand what they were saying. There was a long, droning sound in his ears, and it took him far too long to realize that he’d stopped in the middle of the road – a line of cars was beginning to pile up behind him, and someone was incessantly honking.

The first words to finally break through the haze that had overtaken him were Alice’s, as she reached forward to grab him by the shoulder and give him a little shake.

“Dad, pull over. Let me drive.”

Bill wanted to protest, he really did. He wanted to say that she’d just gotten off a two hour flight, after spending hours in the airport. He wanted to say that he knew she didn’t really like driving and that he would be okay to continue doing so. He wanted to say that he didn’t need her help. That he was going to drive her home, and she could take a shower, and then they’d go out to dinner, like she’d planned. Like she wanted.

But he didn’t protest. He decidedly was not okay, and at the very least, he did need to get off this road. Sooner rather than later. He took a shaky, steadying breath and placed trembling hands on the steering wheel before slowly, almost methodically, pulling over to an empty spot on the side of the road.

The woman behind him, who had been honking, flipped him off as she drove past. Deb returned the favor, adding an annoyed little, “Fuck you!” out the window as she did so. Classy.

Bill was a lot more unsteady on his feet than he’d thought; as he opened his door to get out and give Alice access to the driver’s seat, he found himself almost completely unable to stand. The voice had thrown him off, rocked him to his very core, and set off in him memories he’d been doing his best to stamp down for the last six months or so. Alice and Deb had to help him out of the car, and carefully placed him into the back seat. He was fairly certain he heard Alice say something about going to the hospital, but as he became more and more aware of what was going on around him, he found himself shaking his head.

“N-no. It’s okay. I...I don’t-”

“Dad, you had a full-on episode just now, I’m taking you to the fucking hospital.”

Bill swallowed and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. He could hear ringing in his ears, though that was slowly dying down as they drove. His brow furrowed as his eyes darted between Alice, who was white-knuckling the steering wheel with both hands, and Deb, who’d moved into the passenger seat beside her. They looked...fine. Worried, sure – he was fairly certain Deb hadn’t taken her eyes off of him since she’d moved to the front – but fine. Like neither one of them had been full-on assaulted by the loud voice through the radio.

“Did...did you not hear that?” Bill asked, motioning absently toward the radio, which was playing a new song at a low volume – no one had touched it since he’d turned it on.

“Hear what?” Deb asked.

Bill caught her gaze and cocked his head to one side with confusion, “T-the voice. The voice on the radio.”

Deb quirked a brow, “The annoying guy announcing the next song? Yeah, of course we heard him.”

“No, not the...not the radio host, the other voice. The loud voice.”

The look that Alice and Deb exchanged sent another wave of panic coursing through him. Whenever he’d question Charlotte about the voices coming through his walls, or the TV, or...the microwave, or his fucking toaster, she’d say the same thing: that she hadn’t heard anything. That the TV reception had gone out hours ago, and no one was talking. She’d given him that same wide-eyed, worried gaze...

“There...wasn’t another voice?” Deb questioned, at the same time that Alice said, “Dad, are you sure you’re okay?”

Oh, God, no.

“Alice, honey, I don’t know if a hospital is gonna help this,” Bill muttered as he rubbed at his forehead.

“What is going on?” Alice asked, in a tone of voice so reminiscent of her mother that it actually sent a flash of irritated anger jolting through him for a hot second. He shook his head, gathering himself before speaking.

“I just...I need to go home. Get some rest. I, uh, I haven’t been sleeping well lately, so...maybe I need to go to bed or something.”

Deb looked at Alice with raised brows, “My dad gets really weird migraines sometimes that take him out of commission. Could be that, I guess?”

“A migraine that made him hear a voice through the radio and slam on the breaks in the middle of the road?”

“I don’t know,” Deb said with a shrug, “I’m just saying, it’s an option.”

“We’re lucky we didn’t get rear ended.”

“Babe, if your dad doesn’t wanna go to the hospital, I don’t think we should force him.”

“So we just, what? Take him home and hope whatever the fuck that was goes away?”

Deb gave Bill a sideways glance before turning her gaze back to Alice, “We can go to dinner tomorrow night, Alice. Take your dad home. Take care of him. If he gets any worse, we’ll take him to the hospital then, okay? You probably need your rest anyway.”

Alice let out a small whine and sighed, “Okay, fine.”

Something that had been tightening in Bill’s stomach loosened a bit once the decision was made to just go home. Hearing voices coming through the radio that no one else could hear was a surefire way to get him locked up in the psych ward, as far as he was concerned. And he was not about to deal with that tonight. Not on the day Alice came home after more than six months away.

And especially not after that voice had directly threatened Alice.

There was a brief argument over whether or not Deb could spend the night at Bill’s house with Alice (the answer was a firm no – even in his current state, there was no way in hell that girl was staying in his home), before Alice reluctantly dropped Deb back off at her place. The two exchanged a quick kiss and Deb promised she’d see Alice the next day. She then, surprisingly enough, helped Bill back into the front passenger seat – he was pretty wobbly – and disappeared back into her apartment without a fuss.

The drive home was quiet, with Alice stuck somewhere between moody and worried. She kept eyeing her dad with the very clear indication that she wanted to say something, but didn’t seem to know exactly what. Eventually Bill gently prompted her to keep her eyes on the road, trying his best not to sound chastising.

He wasn’t sure it worked, based on her reaction.

Alice’s dinner plans were clearly ruined, but luckily Bill was the type to keep food in his house, so they whipped something together easily enough; Alice wasn’t the best cook, but she insisted upon doing it, since Bill clearly was not okay.

“You know, Deb’s actually a really good cook,” she said, after the forth or fifth time being reminded to keep the sauce at a low simmer so it didn’t boil over, “She could’ve made us something if you’d let her stay over.”

“Alice, please, let’s just...not. Okay? Not right now.”

Alice let out an annoyed sigh and continued cooking.

It wasn’t great, but it was food. That was what counted.

Bill really did want to stay up and watch a movie with her. She’d been so excited to show it to him, but his head was pounding, and there didn’t seem to be a painkiller on earth that was able to relieve him of this headache. Alice, for her part, looked disappointed, but did eventually gently demand for him to go to bed and try to get some rest – with the caveat that if his headache wasn’t gone in the morning, they were at least hitting up urgent care, if not the ER. Bill acquiesced to the demand with a soft smile.

It was both easier and harder to sleep with Alice in the house. On the one hand, he wasn’t alone, which made the whole ordeal that much easier to deal with should he start hearing or seeing things again. On the other hand, it was Alice. His little girl. He was supposed to take care of her, not the other way around. It wasn’t fair for her to have to cook for him, watch after him, drive him around. And that voice...it had threatened her, too. It had sounded so happy at the prospect that she’d come back to Hatchetfield. Bill wasn’t actually sure what that meant, if Alice was in actual danger, or if he was just completely losing his mind, but either way.

He didn’t sleep very well that night at all.

Chapter Text

Chapter 14

Becky was nothing if not persistent. Whether or not it was an admirable trait, Emma couldn’t decide.

Since their last planned meetup had been canceled, Emma had spent the next week or so hoping against hope that maybe, just maybe, Becky would forget that she’d wanted to meet up at all. But nope. She couldn’t get that lucky. And before she knew it, she’d been invited out to a cafe for brunch, of all things. Brunch. Emma did not do brunch. And yet…

Here she stood, outside the cafe, waiting for Becky to arrive so that they could do exactly that.

What kind of bullshit was brunch, anyway?

The fact that Emma had managed to get to their little meetup first was what confused her most. Becky struck her as a punctual woman. Punctuality seemed to match with the rah-rah cheerful attitude she put on. And yet, here Emma was, standing outside the cafe alone. She checked her phone, swallowing. Maybe there was a problem and she’d be late?

Or maybe she was being stood up. That would track, she figured. Becky hadn’t exactly been the nicest person in high school, and if there was any of that petty mean girl remaining in her, then making plans just to stand someone up was exactly something she would do.

Just as Emma was trying to decide between calling Becky or simply leaving, she caught sight of the woman making her way through the crowd toward her. She met her gaze, and a large, bright smile appeared on Becky’s face as she waved. Emma returned the smile, stilted as it was, and moved to greet her.

“Hey. Feeling better?”

Becky’s brows shot up with confusion for a moment before she shrugged, “Oh! Yes, I’m feeling much better, thank you.”

“Tom said you passed out?”

“Yeah, it came on so suddenly. I was at work, and then suddenly I was waking up on the ground in the break room.”

Emma quirked a brow. Paul had described it pretty much the exact same way, as though he didn’t fully remember the actual passing out part of passing out. Emma herself had fainted once or twice in her lifetime, and she always remembered feeling it coming on before it happened. Once, she’d even told someone she was about to go down. But it was probably different for everyone, she supposed. It was more the fact that both of them had shared the same experience in the same day that confused her most.

“Well,” Emma said with a nonchalant shrug, “at least you were in a hospital, right?”

Becky laughed. Probably a lot harder than anything the statement had warranted. It hadn’t even been a joke so much as a silly observation. Emma fought the urge to roll her eyes.

“Oh, yes, probably! My friend was able to get me up pretty quickly, and she insisted on running some tests before sending me home for the day. Everything’s fine though, nothing weird.”

“Right.” Emma nodded, “That’s good.”

Becky motioned toward the door of the cafe, “Shall we?”

“Yeah. After you.”

The cafe itself was small. Quaint. Pictures of fields of flowers, horses galloping, and cute puppies adorned the walls and it had the feel of a little country cottage kitchen. The food smelled fantastic, and there was coffee brewing somewhere that smelled miles better than anything Emma could make. It was the exact sort of place she’d expect someone like Becky Barnes to take her for brunch.

They sat down across from each other at a small round table, and Becky looked Emma over with an appraising look in her eye. “So. How have you been?”

Emma shrugged, leaning on her elbows on the table. Her mother would have a conniption seeing her do such a thing in a public restaurant, but Emma wanted to keep whatever this little meeting was as casual as possible. Besides, she hadn’t listened to that little rule since she’d moved out of her mother’s house.

“I’ve been fine. Little stressed.”

“Oh? What’s got you stressed?”

A perky waitress in the tiniest skirt Emma had ever seen came by to drop off menus. She took their drink order, then flounced away. Emma and Becky both watched her go, and then exchanged a glance.

“I remember when I could wear that,” Emma said with a chuckle.

“Oh, please,” Becky waved her hand, “you still could!”

That elicited a genuine laugh from Emma and she shook her head, “Maybe in the bedroom.”

“Eh, I’m sure Paul would appreciate it.”

“Ha! Probably.”

The waitress returned with their drinks – an orange juice for Becky and a coffee for Emma – and told them to flag her down when they were ready to order. Emma took a sip of her coffee. It was perfect. Definitely better than anything she could have made.

“So,” Becky said after taking a sip of her orange juice. She set the glass down in front of her almost daintily and quirked a brow at Emma, “You were about to tell me why you’re so stressed?”

Emma scoffed, “No, it’s fine. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing! Not if it’s stressing you out!”

“I mean, it’s not...nothing, it’s just stupid.”

“How stupid?”

Emma did roll her eyes this time. Why was she being so fucking pushy? “I’ve...been applying for jobs, and that’s always stressful.”

“Starbucks isn’t working out?”

“Not even a little bit,” Emma said with a sigh, “They changed my schedule, so it doesn’t work with my class schedule anymore. I went to my manager, and he told me that he needs me around more often because I’m ‘so good at my job’,” she put the words in finger quotes, “But I’m not around more often, I’m just around at different times. Meaning he’s fucking me over, and I’m not actually getting anymore hours. So...I’m quitting.” She inhaled through her nose, “I just...need to find another job first.”

“Well, where have you applied?”

“I mean...there aren’t a lot of places hiring right now. There’s a coffee shop in the mall looking for people. A diner just on the edge of town-”

“Ooh, Miss Retro’s?” Becky interrupted, her smile widening, “I love that place!”

“That’s the one,” Emma said with a nod, “The owner was nice enough, and she seemed willing to work with my schedule, but,” she shrugged, “we’ll see.”

“I would wish you luck, but I don’t think you need it,” Becky said, “Any place would be lucky to have you, Emma.”

Whether the comment was disingenuous bullshit or not, it was kinda nice to hear. Emma gave Becky a somewhat surprised smile in response and said, “Thanks, Becky.”

“And if Miss Retro doesn’t call you back, you could always apply at the hospital cafeteria,” Becky said as she looked over the menu with an appraising eye, “I could put in a good word for you.”

“Oh,” Emma’s brows shot up in surprise, “okay, I’ll...keep that in mind. Thanks.”

The waitress returned to take their orders – bacon, eggs, and a three-stack of pancakes for Emma, and an omelet for Becky – took their menus, and took off again. Emma huffed out an amused chuckle.

“God, I wish I could have that much energy.”

“She is perky, isn’t she?”

Emma took another sip of her coffee with a nod, “Mmm. So, you and Tom still doing your...wedding planning thing?”

Becky’s entire face lit up and she nodded, “Yes! That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually!”

Emma quirked a brow, “The...wedding?”

“Mmm, hmm!”

“What about it?”

“Emma, I know you and I aren’t exactly...close.”

Emma shrugged, “I mean...yeah, I guess.”

“But I wanted to ask you something,” Becky continued. She clasped her hands in front her, on her lap, looking almost nervous, “You can say no if you want! My feelings won’t be hurt, I promise.”

“O...kay?”

“Emma, I wanted to know if you’d like to be one of my bridesmaids?”

The request took Emma so genuinely off guard that she sat back in her chair as if she’d been pushed. She blinked, mouth agape, brow furrowing a bit. Her? In the wedding party? The last wedding party she’d been in had been Jane’s, and she...decidedly hadn’t done well.

“I can help with the dress cost,” Becky continued, sounding hesitant, “and the bachelorette party isn’t going to be fancy or anything. We’re staying in a hotel in Detroit for a few days, gonna go...check out some of the sights there, stuff like that. I can’t...exactly drink right now, so I’ll be avoiding the bars, but if you and some of the ladies wanted to hit up the night life, you’re more than welcome!”

Emma exhaled sharply, holding up a hand, “Wait, slow down. You...you’re asking me to join your wedding party? Like, for real?”

Becky nodded and gave her the biggest puppy dog eyes Emma had ever seen on a human being before, “Yes?”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“You said it yourself, we’re not exactly close.”

Becky sighed and absently fiddled with her orange juice glass for a moment before leaning forward to meet Emma’s eyes with her own, “Emma...I feel like I’m...intruding on your family in a way. Tom was married to your sister. Tim is your sister’s kid. I love both of them, and they love you. Tom wants you in his life, in Tim’s life. And that means I’m going to be in your life. I just...I want to start this whole thing off right, and I...” she scratched at her forehead, breaking eye contact as she shook her head, “Whether you like it or not, we’re going to be sisters-in-law. And I want my sister standing up there with me when I get married.”

Something resembling fury sparked up in Emma’s chest and her eyes narrowed. She already had a sister, and one that she’d loved dearly – even if she hadn’t always shown it well. Becky claimed to not want to intrude, and then she goes and says something like that?

“We’re not sisters,” Emma snapped.

Becky deflated a bit, “I...I know that.”

“We’re barely friends.”

Becky’s face fell, “Right. Of course...”

As quickly as the rage had flared up, it died down, and Emma sighed. She scratched at her brow with one finger, looking Becky over. The woman looked so dejected in this moment. So genuinely disappointed at Emma’s reaction that Emma actually felt bad. Becky...was trying. And while Emma had her problems with the woman, it probably wouldn’t do to hold on to petty high school grudges. Especially since Tom was marrying her, and it was likely that she’d be around if and when Emma wanted to come visit.

It was an olive branch. Emma decided to take it.

“But I do love Tom. And Tim. Probably about as much as you do.”

Becky gave her a small, sad, half grin, “That’s good to hear.”

“So...” Emma inhaled slowly, then held her hand out toward Becky over the table, “I’m willing...to try. For them.”

The smile grew on Becky’s face, “So...is that a yes?”

Emma hesitated only a moment before finally saying, “Yes. It’s a yes.”

An incredibly annoying, high-pitched squeak escaped Becky’s lips and she wiggled in her seat excitedly. She took Emma’s extended hand in both of hers and gave it a squeeze. “Oh, thank you, Emma! Thank you! I promise, it’s going to be great!”

Emma sighed, rolling her eyes, “I mean, I don’t know how great a bachelorette party can be if we can’t drink, but...”

“I can’t drink,” Becky clarified, “you are more than welcome to.”

“Wait, why can’t you drink?”

Becky met Emma’s eyes once more, giving her a knowing look. It took a moment for it to click in Emma’s brain and her eyes widened.

“Wait, are you…?”

“I am.”

“How long?”

Becky shrugged, “About six weeks?”

“And we’re...excited about this? It’s good?”

“It’s very good,” Becky said with a nod.

For the second time, an actual, genuine grin spread across Emma’s face and she returned the happy squeeze Becky had given her, “Hey, congrats, Becks.”

“Thank you, Emma.”

By the time their food arrived, the two were in conversation about potential baby names, Emma’s concern that there was nothing to do in Detroit, and Becky’s wedding plans so far. The brunch ended in, of all things, a very awkward hug.

Later that night, when Paul found Emma crying in the bathroom, she admitted that she felt like she was replacing her sister. She’d failed Jane in so many ways, and trying to do better – to be better – for Tim and Tom meant doing for Becky fucking Barnes what she hadn’t been able to do for Jane. It hurt, knowing she’d failed Jane in so many ways, and being forced to recognize it only now, after she was gone, made her feel like shit. She’d considered calling Becky and backing out of the wedding party, but hearing how excited both Tim and Tom seemed to be that she’d agreed to do it...she simply couldn’t back out now.

She couldn’t let them down. Not again.

I’m so sorry, Jane.

Chapter Text

Chapter 15

Ruth’s phone was quiet.

She’d reached out to everyone she could think of in an effort to hang out, and so far they’d all said no for one reason or another. Pete and Steph were hanging out together, Trevor and Rudolph were hanging out together, and Ruth decidedly did not want to third wheel either date like a pathetic loser – not that either one of the couples had invited her to do so anyway. Richie was at a therapy appointment. Ruth didn’t have Jason’s number, but she was fairly certain he’d find some excuse to avoid her too. And Caitlyn hadn’t answered her calls or texts for months.

Being alone – being lonely – was nothing new to Ruth. When she wasn’t being actively bullied or teased, even by her own friends on occasion, she was simply being treated as if she wasn’t there. It made sense, she supposed. Ruth was the “behind the scenes” type. She wasn’t the girl who was always in the spotlight.

It was a nice day. There was a slight chill in the air whenever the wind picked up, but for the most part it was warming up nicely. Usually, Ruth was not an outdoor person. Allergies and the general desire to just...not be out in nature if she didn’t have to be made her choose to stay inside when she could. But she was also feeling actively cooped up; her step-dad was out of town, and if she stayed home with her mom, she’d just be stuck cleaning the house all day.

This, unfortunately, left her with nothing much to do by herself. Pizza Pete’s was kinda lame (especially alone), going to the mall meant catching a bus to the other side of town, there weren’t any good movies out, and she wasn’t hungry enough to go to a cafe. Besides, all of those things cost money, and Ruth had exactly none of that at the moment.

Which was how she’d found herself in the small park that butted up against the outskirts of the Witchwood Forest, a couple of blocks away from her house, sitting at a picnic table alone, scrolling on her phone and people watching. Ruth loved people watching. She liked to make up pretend lives for the people around her and come up with fantastical stories for why they were doing what they were doing. Where were they going? Who were the people they were with? Were they married? Divorced? Maybe that woman over there has a secret crush on the guy playing with his kids over by the swings. Maybe those two people sitting on that bench across the way are having a torrid affair and trying to act nonchalant until they could find some time to be alone. It was silly, yes. But it passed the time.

Looking at her phone told her she’d been there for a couple of hours. It was early evening, it was getting colder, and the park was beginning to clear out. Ruth checked her phone; maybe Richie was out of therapy and wanted to do something? They could get dinner, or maybe –

No texts. No calls.

Of course.

With a sigh, Ruth shoved her phone into her pocket and rested her face in her hands. Even among her friends she was always the odd one out, because of course she was. Deep down, she knew they weren’t doing it maliciously. At least, she hoped so. But still, it was hard to keep telling herself that when she’d reached out to everyone she cared to hang out with and had heard back from exactly none of them.

“This seat taken?”

The voice caught Ruth so off guard that she actually yelped and almost fell off the picnic table bench. Looking up to find the source of the voice, her eyes locked onto a tall man, at least a decade older than she was, standing on the opposite side of the table from her. His dark hair was pushed back out of his equally dark eyes, and a crooked grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. His outfit, comprised of jeans and a denim jacket, likely would have looked absolutely ridiculous on anyone else wearing it, but it somehow worked nicely on him. He quirked a brow at her and huffed out a soft chuckle.

“Sorry there, Ruthie, didn’t mean to startle ya,” he drawled.

Ruth froze. She did not know this man, and yet here he was, standing in front of her calling her by name. She swallowed as butterflies swirled up into her stomach and equal parts fear and exhilaration welled up in her chest.

He knew her name.

Ruth had a stalker.

And he was hot.

Gnawing at the inside of her lip nervously, Ruth sat up straight on the bench and cleared her throat, “How do you…?”

The man chuckled, “Know your name?” Ruth nodded silently in response and he continued, “I know a lot about you, Ruthie. I know you go to Hatchetfield High. You’re in the theater club – real good with them lights, ain’t ya?” he gave her a little wink, which sent a shiver down her spine. “You’re all set to graduate this year, too. Got colleges all lined up, I expect. Smart gal like you.”

It wasn’t information that was hard to find if one went looking for it, but the fact that someone had, in fact, gone looking surprised her. As deeply unnerved and uncomfortable as this whole thing made her, she had to admit that it was also quite flattering. Who knew that Ruth Fleming, of all people, would have a super hot, older stalker with a deep voice and a sexy accent? In a world where her own friends had chosen not to even text her back after hours, here was this tall, dark, handsome, mysterious dude who was voluntarily talking to her and wasn’t shying away. He’d gone out of his way to learn stuff about her. He even knew her name.

Who was this guy?

“Y’know, I pegged you as bein’ a bit more talkative,” the man said in an almost playful tone. He rested one leg on the picnic table bench across from her and leaned onto his knee in a nonchalant matter, chuckling deeply, “I makin’ ya nervous, Ruthie?”

Ruth swallowed, “A-a little.”

The man leaned forward a bit and offered her another wink, “See, now I knew you were smart.”

The butterflies in Ruth’s stomach fluttered about and she suddenly felt very flush. She swallowed and took a deep, shaky breath. This guy. Holy shit, this guy. “H-how do you know...me?”

“Well ain’t it obvious, sweetie pie? I’ve done my research.”

“Okay, but...” Ruth cleared her throat and gave herself a quick once over. She was fairly certain she was wearing a sweater that she’d pulled from the dirty clothes hamper...oop, yep, there was the stain from last night’s dinner. Her hair was a mess, as usual. She wore head gear and hadn’t been able to do anything about her pervasive acne in years. Everyone at school reminded her on a daily basis that she stank. Hell, even her own friends found reason not to have her around. There was nothing remotely interesting about Ruth Fleming, as far as she was concerned. If anything, someone like this guy should have found her completely revolting.

“Why?”

The man chuckled and gave a little shrug, “Why not?”

Ruth spread her arms a bit and gave him a silent look as if to say, “Look at me.”

The man’s grin widened, “Oh, you’re worth a lot to someone, sweetie pie. Trust me. That’s why I’m here.”

“Oh?”

The man nodded, straightened up, removed his foot from the bench, and began to make his way around the table toward her, “What say you and I go for a little walk, huh?”

Ruth’s brow furrowed and she looked over her shoulder toward the park. It was nearing evening, the sun was beginning to set, and it had cooled down considerably. Clouds were rolling in, threatening an overnight storm. People had been slowly clearing out – aside from one or two stragglers, the park was nearly empty. Ruth bit her lip. They were faint, but alarm bells were going off in her head. Something wasn’t right. As hot as this guy was, it didn’t make sense for him to latch onto her, of all people. Ruth didn’t get stalkers. Sure, she’d read books and seen movies, and fantasized about what it would be like to be followed by a good looking person. Someone tall, dark, and handsome, as this stranger standing next to her was.

“C’mon, Ruthie,” the man said, “I don’t bite.”

Ruth huffed and barely managed to avoid saying, “could you?” out loud. Best not to scare him off before she figured out what made her so intriguing to him.

“I probably need to get home soon,” Ruth said with a shrug, “and I don’t even know your name.”

“Oh, of course, how silly of me.” The man extended a hand toward her, “You can call me Wilbur. Wilbur Cross.”

Ruth hesitated only a moment before taking his offered hand to shake. With a swiftness that surprised her enough to elicit a gasp from her, he bent and kissed her hand.

And just like that, Ruth practically melted. She let out a stuttering chuckle and blushed, gnawing at her lip. If he was interested, who was she to say no?

There was a walking path that disappeared off into the trees near the back side of the park. Following it one way led to a small picnic area, but the other way led to a hiking trail that was used regularly. There were no hikers on it right now – people tended to stay out of the Witchwood when the sun started to set – so it was completely empty. They were the only ones there.

“So...you never told me...why me?” Ruth asked, after a few moments of awkward silence.

“I heard about you from a couple of acquaintances of mine, and I just had to find you for myself,” Cross said with a little shrug.

Ruth’s brow furrowed, “You mean...there are more people out there who know who I am?”

Cross chuckled, “Oh, you bet your ass, sweetie pie. Very, ah, influential people, too.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t make any sense,” Ruth said, “I’m not...important. To anyone.”

Cross quirked a brow, looking her up and down, “To anyone, huh?”

“Well, I mean, my parents, maybe,” Ruth said with a shrug, “but my friends fucking ditched me, and I was hanging out at that park because I’m lame and broke. There’s literally nothing about me that anyone with any ‘influence,’” she put finger quotes around the word, “could possibly want with me.”

“Well that is where you’re wrong, sweetie pie.”

Ruth snorted, “I think I know myself enough, Mister.”

“How do you think I found ya, then, if not with a little help?”

“It’s not really a secret where I go to school, or that I’m in theater club. Anyone with access to instagram would know that.”

“I know a lot more than than, Ruthie.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Like what happened in the Roller-rama six months ago.”

The alarm bells that had been chiming faintly in Ruth’s brain earlier were now ringing at full force. After everything they’d been through in the Roller-rama, she and everyone else had seemed to quietly agree to never discuss what had happened there. And even beyond that, there wasn’t anyone else there – as far as she knew – who would even care about the events that had taken place in that building. It had burned down. The general consensus was, as far as the media was concerned, that there was nothing to find. It was a large, empty building where people had taken cover from the chaos. That was all.

Whatever operation that Coven guy had been running there had been well and truly covered up.

“Now see, I’m a little surprised,” Cross continued, “because you do not seem like the type of girl who’d kill anyone.”

And now Ruth stopped walking. So he knew about that too? Shit.

Cross took a few steps ahead of her and then turned to face her, brows raised, his grin never wavering. “He was a powerful man, Ruthie. Rich. Well-connected. Did ya really think you could just get away with takin’ him out like that? Did you really think no one would notice?”

It was only now, as she was preparing to run for it, that Ruth realized that she hadn’t been paying attention. She’d been so enamored with Cross, so intent on finding out what it was that this tall, handsome stranger saw in her, of all people, that she’d failed to realize…

Cross had led her off the trail.

She had no idea where she was.

And she was alone with this man.

“His sister wants you dead, sweetie pie,” Cross said, the mildest hint of amusement tinging the edge of his tone. Ruth’s blood ran cold as Cross, from seemingly nowhere, pulled out the largest, gnarliest dagger she’d ever seen. He cocked his head and looked her over, the grin widening. “Don’t make it too easy on me now,” he said with a wink, “I like the chase.”

Ruth wanted to scream. She really did. They could not have possibly been that far from the park. There was absolutely no way they’d walked far enough to be completely lost. It hadn’t even been that long, she could still see the sun shining down through the trees as it began to set. She should scream, get the attention of anyone still in the park. Yell for help. Anything.

Fucking do something, Ruthie!

She couldn’t make herself scream, but she could sure as shit run. So that was what she did. With a soft whimper, she turned on her heel and took off in what she believed to be the direction she’d come. She could not be that far from the path, she could not be lost, she could not be alone –

She made it approximately 10 feet before Cross caught up to her and physically picked her up around the waist.

“No! No!” Ruth yelled. It wasn’t as loud as she would have liked. Not loud enough to get any actual attention. Not loud enough to get someone to help. “No, let me go! Let me go!”

“Where ya goin’, sweetie pie?” Cross practically purred into her ear, “We were havin’ such a lovely talk.”

“Get off me!” Ruth squeaked, kicking and punching and squirming in his grasp. A stray elbow managed to smack across the side of Cross’ face and he hissed with pain, loosening his grip just enough that Ruth was able to wiggle free. Her feet hit the ground and she took off running – she was used to running. She did it all the time at school.

The bullies of Hatchetfield High were definitely not Wilbur Cross, however.

He caught her again – she didn’t even have a chance to make it 10 feet this time – hoisting her off her feet once more as he growled, “Stop yer squirmin’, little girl! Quit makin’ this harder ‘n’ it needs to be!”

But Ruth did not stop squirming. She didn’t stop kicking, or punching. She didn’t stop begging, or pleading. She kept it up right up until the point where she felt the tip of the dagger press against her throat. And then her eyes widened and all protestations stopped. Tears streamed down her face and she choked back a sob, followed by a soft, whispered, “...please...”

Cross ran the tip of the blade from her throat, up her cheek, to the side of her right eye, then back down to her throat, chuckling, “When I say stop yer squirmin’,” he sneered, “you fucking stop. Hear me, sweetie pie?”

Ruth whimpered in response and squeezed her eyes shut.

There wasn’t much fighting left to be done as he dragged her backward deeper into the woods.

~*~*@*~*~

Iris had specifically asked not to be disturbed, so the fact that she was getting a knock on her door at 8 o’clock at night was enough to send anger fluttering through her chest. Coven had proven to be particularly pushy in their dealings since they’d agreed to work together, and as she got to her feet to answer her door, the thought occurred to her that if the person knocking was that man, she might just take him out herself. His info wasn’t worth keeping him around if he couldn’t learn to hold his fucking tongue.

“What?” she snapped as she opened the door. She’d fully expected Coven to be standing there, but instead, it was Wilbur Cross. Iris blinked and relaxed a bit, looking him up and down, “Well?”

Cross grinned, “Gotta surprise for ya.”

“Unless your surprise is the head of the little brat that murdered my brother, then you shouldn’t be bothering me.”

“Well, a head was a little hard to carry across town, Miss Iris,” Cross said in an amused tone, “Little conspicuous, y’know? Might garner a bit of unwanted attention.”

Iris quirked a brow, “You said you could kill her.”

“I did say that, true,” Cross reached into his pocket and took out a handkerchief, which was wrapped almost delicately around an item.

Iris’ eyes narrowed, “What is that?”

Without a word, Cross unwrapped the handkerchief to reveal two dainty little fingers, and something that looked like it could be part of an ear. Iris’s face lit up and she grinned, looking up at Cross with something resembling awe on her face.

“Is that…?”

“They’re hers, yeah.”

“And the rest of her?”

“In the woods, near the park where I found her,” Cross said with a shrug, “Wasn’t worth movin’ her too much.”

“Good,” Iris sneered. She reached out and wrapped the dismembered body parts back in the handkerchief before snatching it from Cross’ grasp. “Let her rot. Let the nighthawks have her. I don’t care.”

“Not that I don’t find it incredibly allurin’,” Cross said as he shoved his hands back into his pockets, “but this burnin’ hatred for some random ass girl seems like a lot.”

“She murdered my brother,” Iris said, blinking back tears, “a servant of the Watcher. He was a good man, and worth far much more than some...fucking teenager with no money and no prospects. The little bitch reaped what she sowed, and the world is better off without her in it.”

Cross huffed out a soft chuckle, “I understand.”

“And you?” Iris turned her gaze up toward him, took a step closer to him, “You have just proven yourself, Mr. Cross. Beyond all doubt, I trust you. You hear me?”

Cross nodded, “Anythin’ else you want me to do in the Watcher’s name?”

Iris inhaled slowly and stepped away from him. She shook her head, “Not yet. But I’m sure I’ll think of other ways to utilize your...talents.”

“Oh, I hope so, Miss Iris.”

“Good night, Mr. Cross.”

“Nighty night.”

Cross didn’t so much as flinch when the door closed less than an inch from his face. He heard the lock click into place and let out a sigh, rolling his eyes as he turned to make his way back down the hallway toward his room. He had a phone call to make.

Iris Sinclair was lucky she was cute, because she sure as shit wasn’t smart. The fact she still thought she was actually in charge of this whole thing was genuinely adorable. It was going to be so fun to knock her down a few pegs.

Chapter Text

Chapter 16

Throughout the week, the time between breakfast and lunch was generally quiet at Miss Retro’s. There were even some days where Miss Holloway chose to open the diner after noon for lunch and dinner only because it was so slow in the mornings. Sundays, however, were the exception to this rule.

Hatchetfield wasn’t an overly religious community (at least not in the way most people would normally choose to use the word) but there were a surprising amount of people who attended service on Sundays. And a lot of those people had made it a habit to go out for food after service; sort of a late breakfast/early lunch situation. Miss Holloway didn’t consider her diner to be much of a brunch place, but enough people showed up in those mid-morning hours on Sundays that she was beginning to wonder if she shouldn’t maybe add a few things to the menu.

She’d just handed off a plate full of food to Brenda for one of the tables when the bell on the front door rang, signaling that someone had just come in. Miss Holloway looked up toward the door to take in the new customers, looking slightly frazzled, but not unwelcoming.

It was a man, dressed in business casual attire so pristine that it looked like he’d worn it straight off the shelf. His long sandy hair was pulled back out of his face, revealing sharp features and stern eyes that glided around the room as though actively looking for something. There were two kids with him, no older than 16 or 17. The girl was just as tall as he was, with dark skin and long braided hair, dressed in bright reds and oranges that contrasted starkly with the man’s more severe attire. The other was a boy, much shorter than both of them, dressed comfortably in jeans, a blue sweatshirt, and an old torn and burnt cowboy hat that had definitely seen better days. Excitement shown in his eyes as he looked around.

Miss Holloway inhaled, searching the room for any servers who could potentially help these newcomers, only to find that she was evidently the only one free at the moment. She wiped her hands on her apron and moved toward them, offering a welcoming smile.

“Hi! Welcome. We’ll find you a place to sit in a moment, we’re a little busy right now.”

The man’s stern glare melted away into a warm smile and he nodded, “That’s fine. I’m actually looking for someone named Miss Holloway, when you get the chance.”

“Oh,” Miss Holloway’s grin widened a bit and she extended a hand toward him, “that’s me. What can I do you for?”

Based on the way he was dressed and the look on his face as he’d come in, Miss Holloway had been expecting a stiff handshake from the man. Something overly formal, and maybe even a little awkward. But instead, he took her hand in both of his, shaking almost gently as he offered her a nod, “Miss Holloway. Hello. My name is John. I need to speak with you.” He released her hand and motioned to the teens on either side of him, “We need to speak with you.”

Miss Holloway’s smile faltered a bit and she tilted her head to one side, “Is it urgent? I’m kinda busy here.”

“Oh, it’s urgent. It’s very urgent.”

“What’s this about?”

The man looked around the room as though making sure he wasn’t being overheard, then leaned forward and whispered, “It’s about what happened here six months ago, with the Watcher.”

He said the last word of the sentence with a nod, as if trying to nudge her toward a mutual understanding. Miss Holloway swallowed, looking him up and down. Who was this man, exactly? What did he know? How much did he know? If he was coming to her with this, then he had to have information about her, in some way. Where did he get that information? What was he going to do with it? And again, just how much did he know?

Her first inclination was to turn him down. Tell him to go away. He didn’t give off particularly dangerous vibes, but then again, a lot of very dangerous people didn’t. She had a diner full of customers, and she could not afford to let them get caught in the crossfire should something go wrong here. She could not have that on her conscience.

As if he’d sensed her unease, the man held up his hands, “We can come back later, if that works better for you. But we do need to speak at some point.”

“Aw, I was kinda hoping for some food,” the boy said with a small smile, “It smells really good.”

The girl let out an amused snort and shook her head, but otherwise stayed silent.

Miss Holloway’s eyes fell to the kids and some of her unease ebbed away. These were children. Older children, yes – the girl was quite possibly a legal adult for all Miss Holloway knew – but still children. They didn’t look like they were in distress or anything, and the boy in particular seemed to be quite comfortable standing near this man. Miss Holloway prided herself on being able to read people fairly well, and her first impression of these three was that, should she talk to them in private, she wasn’t actually in any danger. She could go with that gut feeling, and roll with the punches as they came. If they came.

God, she hoped they wouldn’t come.

“No, it’s fine,” she said with a soft sigh, shaking her head, “I can...step out for a moment, we can talk in the back. Follow me.”

Ever since Hannah arrived back in Hatchetfield, she had found herself more than a little bored. She and Miss Holloway had begun to work together to decipher her visions, and she’d since had one more in her sleep, but they weren’t really getting anywhere. All they knew for sure was that Blinky was coming back, but they didn’t know how, when, or where. Which meant they had no idea how to stop him before he possibly struck again. When they weren’t actively discussing the Blinky situation, Miss Holloway was working, which left Hannah with a lot of free time to herself. And since she’d made a promise to herself not to check her phone, that left her with very few options for things to do.

She’d made Miss Holloway promise not to tell Duke that she’d come back yet, and it seemed that, so far at least, the woman had adhered to that request. That wouldn’t stop Duke from catching a glimpse of her out and about in the city though, which was what had almost happened that morning when Hannah had gone to the arcade for a bit to mess around there. Duke had apparently been meeting a client in the parking lot – there was a small sitting area nearby that he liked to use as neutral territory for meetings – and had very nearly seen her. She was able to duck away, however, and as far as she knew, he was none the wiser to her presence.

She was just returning to the diner, coming in through the employee entrance, when Miss Holloway appeared in the back hallway with the man and two teens in tow. Miss Holloway’s eyes widened upon seeing her and she stopped in her tracks for a moment. She hadn’t wanted Hannah involved in this just yet. Not until she could determine what this man’s intentions were.

“Hannah, you’re back already? I thought you went to the arcade?”

Hannah shrugged, “Yeah. I got bored and came back.”

“Oh.”

Hannah’s eyes fell to the man, then to the kids with him, and her brow furrowed, “What’s...going on?”

Miss Holloway swallowed. Hannah was just stubborn enough that she more than likely wouldn’t be persuaded to leave this well enough alone. It was the one quality about her that Miss Holloway both adored and hated in equal measure – that stubbornness was going to get her killed one day. With a sigh, Miss Holloway shrugged and motioned to the man standing nearby behind her, “This is...John,” she said in a questioning tone. The man nodded in agreement, “He and his...friends, here, apparently know about what happened with Blinky.”

The man’s brows furrowed, “Does she…?”

“She does,” Miss Holloway said with a nod.

Hannah swallowed, inhaling sharply, “What’s going on?”

“Well, I can tell you,” the man said as he stepped up to stand right beside Miss Holloway, “once we’re somewhere not so out in the open.”

“Right. The back room’s right through here. Come with me.”

It had taken some measure of time to redo the back room that bridged the distance between the diner and Miss Holloway’s little apartment at the back of the building. Everything in the place had been overturned, upended, destroyed, or broken six months earlier during Cross’ little rampage through the area. It wasn’t anything that couldn’t be fixed – the material possessions weren’t worth as much as the human lives Cross had nearly taken in the process – but Miss Holloway did like everything just so, and putting it back in order had been quite the task. Hannah, Lex, and even Ethan had all helped her with it before they’d taken off to California, so there was that, at least.

Miss Holloway motioned for everyone to sit before disappearing into her apartment, citing that she had to grab something real quick. The two teens took a seat on one end of the couch together, while the man sat at the other. Hannah settled into a chair close by, eyeing all of them questioningly. Within a few moments, Miss Holloway came back out, sans apron, and sat in another chair near Hannah. Her eyes immediately went to the man calling himself John.

“So. You know about Bliklotep.”

He nodded, “We do.”

“And who, exactly, is ‘we’?”

John eyed the two teens sitting next to him, then straightened up in his seat, “I’m sorry, Miss Holloway, I wasn’t entirely truthful with you out there in the dining area. Too much potential for listening ears, you know?”

Miss Holloway quirked a brow, “Oh?”

“My name is General John MacNamara,” he continued with a little nod.

Miss Holloway’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t like that title. “General” meant military, and Miss Holloway was not a fan of the military. Specifically the higher-ups – they tended to stick their noses where they didn’t belong, all while putting people of a lesser rank in direct danger on their behalf.

“You’re a General?” Hannah asked, head tilting to one side curiously.

“That I am, little lady.”

Hannah winced a bit, squishing up her nose at the nickname, “Ew. No. I’m Hannah, call me...call me Hannah.”

MacNamara chuckled, “Hannah, got it.”

“So what does a General know about Bliklotep?” Miss Holloway asked, “And where did you get your information?”

“I’ll be frank with you, Miss Holloway,” MacNamara leaned forward, resting his arm against his knee as he spoke, “I’m special forces, with a unit called P.E.I.P. We-”

“They call it ‘peep’,” the boy chimed in with a little grin, cutting off MacNamara before he could finish, “Kinda fun, right?”

With a deep breath, Miss Holloway leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms as she glared at MacNamara, “Special forces are recruiting teenagers now?”

“Believe me, we wouldn’t have done it if we felt we had a choice.”

“What makes you think you don’t?”

MacNamara’s gaze slid over to Hannah for a split second before returning to Miss Holloway, “You know as well as I do how powerful they can be at this age, Miss Holloway.”

“So they’re, what, child soldiers?”

The girl, who hadn’t spoken up until this point, and who’s name Miss Holloway didn’t know, let out a scoff, “Lady, we’re pretty powerful. If we didn’t wanna be with him, we wouldn’t be.”

“And I’m going to guess, by the fact that you didn’t hide anything from her,” MacNamara nodded toward Hannah, “that she might be one of them, too. Am I right?”

“One of...who?” Hannah asked.

“We’ve come to call them the Gifted,” MacNamara said with a shrug, “but I know some people prefer to call them psychics.”

Miss Holloway eyed the two teens questioningly, “You two have the Gift?”

The girl smirked, “You bet your perky ass we do.”

“Spitfire is one of the most powerful psychics I’ve ever seen!” the boy piped up.

Miss Holloway offered him a smile, “Don’t sell yourself short there, kiddo, if you’re here you must be pretty powerful yourself.”

“Spitfire?” Hannah asked, “What kind of name is that?”

Spitfire looked down her nose at Hannah, “The fake kind. It’s...sort of a codename.”

“Do you have an actual name?” Miss Holloway asked.

Spitfire looked toward MacNamara. Since joining his little operation, she’d only been introducing herself as Spitfire. It felt safer, somehow, than telling people her real name. MacNamara, for his part, had encouraged it. At this point, she wasn’t sure if it was even okay to tell anyone they were meeting with what her real name was. He caught her gaze and shrugged, motioning toward Miss Holloway as he said, “It’s up to you.”

She sighed and turned her gaze from MacNamara to Miss Holloway, considering a moment before she said, “Sophia. I’m Sophia.”

A soft, warm smile found its way to Miss Holloway’s face, “Nice to meet you, Sophia.” Then she turned to the boy, “And you are?”

“Uh...uh, Stopwatch. Or, well, Daniel. Either one’s good,” he said with a little chuckle.

“So,” the smile on Miss Holloway’s face faded back to a scowl as she turned her attention to MacNamara, “would you like to tell me why you’re collecting psychic children?”

MacNamara looked between her and Hannah with an unreadable expression on his face before saying, “You know about Blinky. Don’t you?”

“That would depend entirely on what, exactly, you want to know about him.”

“You know he’s coming back.”

Miss Holloway shared a look with Hannah, who nodded.

“My question is,” Miss Holloway said, “how do you know about Blinky?”

“To be fair, his little incursion six months ago isn’t exactly some big secret,” MacNamara said with a shrug, “The chaos that erupted here was national news for a while.”

“Right,” Miss Holloway nodded, “but the fact that it was caused by a malevolent, otherworldly being didn’t exactly make the media coverage, did it?”

“It did not.”

“So then, how. Do you know. About Blinky?” She punctuated each part of the sentence with an increasingly deeper scowl.

“PEIP have their ways, Miss Holloway.”

“Yes, I am aware of that.It’s not exactly comforting.”

“Listen, lady,” Sophia piped up, holding up a hand as she spoke, “take it from someone who really didn’t like this guy when he approached us at first, MacNamara’s...fine.”

MacNamara quirked a brow at her, offering her an amused smirk, “You didn’t like me?”

“I didn’t trust you, which means, yeah. I didn’t like you.”

“Huh. I did not know that.”

Sophia rolled her eyes, “That’s because you’re kinda clueless, my guy.”

Seated between them, Daniel stifled a short, amused laugh.

“So, you know about Blinky through your mysterious contacts at PEIP,” Miss Holloway said with a wave of her hand, “but how are you so sure he’s coming back?”

MacNamara gave her a knowing grin, “You didn’t seem at all surprised by the news, Miss Holloway. Which means I can ask you the same question.”

“Oh, that was me,” Hannah said, raising her hand as if to help draw attention to herself, “I told her.”

MacNamara quirked a brow at her, “And how did you know about it?”

“I...saw it.”

“You saw it?”

“In a vision. A bunch of them, actually.”

Sophia scoffed, “A vision? Like, a dream?”

“Um...I mean, there’s technically a difference?” Hannah said with a shrug, “But I did have the visions while I was sleeping so...”

“You never answered my question,” Miss Holloway pointed at MacNamara as she spoke, sitting up straight in her chair.

A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth and he shrugged, “PEIP knows things, Miss Holloway. It’s what we do.”

Again, less than comforting. “So what are you doing here, now? With them?” she nodded toward the two teens sitting across from her on the couch.

“Blinky is coming back,” MacNamara said with a nod, “I don’t think there’s any disputing that fact. What we want to do is stop him.”

Miss Holloway snorted, “Hannah and I are already doing that.”

“That’s good. That’s very good. But if you could use the help...so could we.”

“What?”

MacNamara leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together in a casual manner, “PEIP has the manpower to track any and all odd activity throughout Hatchetfield. With any luck, we’ll be able to hunt down anyone or anything Blinky might be using to regain his foothold here. The problem is, we might be able find him, but we can’t stop him. And that’s where you come in.”

“Me?” Miss Holloway asked, “Or psychics in general?”

MacNamara shrugged, “In general. The more who are willing to help us out, the easier time we’ll have stopping him. Call it a...psychic task force, of sorts.”

Miss Holloway’s eyes narrowed and she huffed,“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me how you know about me?”

MacNamara gave her an almost apologetic smile and slowly shook his head, “I’m afraid not, no.”

“So you want me to do what, exactly?”

“Help us. Pool our resources. Work together to stop a Lord in Black from trying to take this city a second time.”

Miss Holloway shook her head, “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Miss Holloway-”

“General MacNamara,” Miss Holloway interrupted as she got to her feet, “Do you know someone by the name of Wilbur Cross?”

The tension in the room became palpable as MacNamara and Hannah both stiffened in their seats at the very mention of the name. Hannah swallowed, her gaze darting back and forth between the General and Miss Holloway, eyes wide. MacNamara was looking at Miss Holloway with some level of measured surprise, brow furrowed.

“Where did you hear that name?”

“From the lips of the man himself,” Miss Holloway crossed her arms over her chest, “when he tried to kill me. What? Your little special ops group didn’t manage to gather that little detail about me? That I knew him? Well, I did. And I know he was affiliated with you, too.”

“He was, but he’s not anymore,” MacNamara said.

Miss Holloway blinked in mild surprise, “Wow. Hearin’ you admit to it is really something.”

It was MacNamara’s turn to get to his feet now. He wasn’t going for intimidating, not by a long shot. But he did want to make himself an equal in this conversation, and the only way to do that was to make sure Miss Holloway wasn’t towering over him like some imposing force – for someone so dainty, she was surprisingly scary. He made sure to keep his demeanor as casual as possible so as not to put her off any more than she already was, holding his hands out toward her in a placating fashion.

“I can assure you, Miss Holloway, Wilbur Cross is no longer associated with PEIP. He is an enemy in our eyes, in every way.”

“He’s also dead,” Miss Holloway said with a shrug, “Twice-over, actually. And your men? Were not the ones who did it either time.”

“Well that would explain why we lost track of him...”

Miss Holloway huffed, “Yeah, probably.”

“Look, I know you must have dealt with absolute hell when it came to that man, and for that I am truly sorry.”

“I’m not the one you have to apologize to. She is,” Miss Holloway motioned toward Hannah, “Hannah, and her sister both have suffered at his hands. They went through hell.”

MacNamara nodded, his gaze moving to Hannah, “I am sorry.”

“How do you know him?” Hannah asked.

MacNamara sighed. Well, this certainly wasn’t going to garner him any favors with Miss Holloway, but he was already in the shit anyway…

“He was...my mentor for a time.” He made note of both Miss Holloway and Hannah reacting with surprise at the revelation before continuing, “PEIP was working on a project – I never had all the details about it, but it did result in the opening of a portal. A portal to the Black and White. Cross stepped through, despite many of us telling him not to do so, and it...it changed him. The man I knew died that day, and became something...barely even human anymore.” He offered Miss Holloway a cynical sounding chuckle, “So I guess you could say he’s technically died three times.”

Despite herself, Miss Holloway felt a slightly amused grin tugging at one corner of her lips as she rolled her eyes, “I guess so.”

“Whatever he’s done, to you, or anyone else...it was never sanctioned by PEIP. And we’ve spent more than a decade trying to fix the mistake that put him in that position in the first place.”

“Well, you haven’t exactly done a very good job of that, have you?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Miss Holloway, tilted her head in an almost mocking fashion, “Where were you six months ago?”

“PEIP didn’t get intel about Blinky until he’d already attacked Hatchetfield. By that point, all we could do was monitor.”

“That was not all you could do,” Hannah piped up, “There were still people here who could have used help.”

“The military marching into an already volatile and chaotic situation would have only made things worse,” MacNamara said, “not better.”

Hannah scoffed, “Couldn’t have been any worse, if you ask me.”

Behind MacNamara, Sophia huffed out a chuckle, “She’s not wrong. I got fucking shot.”

MacNamara took a deep breath, scratching at his jaw with one hand, “Thank you, Sophia. Miss Holloway, I-”

“You have your answer,” Miss Holloway interrupted.

“Please, if you could just-”

Miss Holloway held up a hand, “Nope. Stop talking. I refuse to trust anyone associated with Wilbur Cross, past or present.Especially when that person can’t actually tell me how he knew about me in the first place. So please, General. Get out.”

MacNamara looked like he wanted to protest, but simply wound up nodding. He took a deep breath and shrugged, opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of it and snapped his mouth closed again. Turning slowly, he made his way back around the couch toward the door. “Let’s go, kids.”

Sophia pushed herself to her feet with a sigh, and was just making her way around the other side of the couch when Daniel stood and took a step toward Miss Holloway.

“Do you know how to stop Blinky?”

“Daniel, let’s just-”

“I’m not asking for him,” Daniel said, his words cutting Sophia off before she could finish, “or for PEIP. I’m asking because...I’m genuinely curious. Do you know how to stop Blinky?”

“We did it once before,” Miss Holloway said with a nod, “We can do it again.”

“And this time we know he’s coming,” Hannah said.

“Right, but...you don’t know when. Or how. Right? He could pop back up without warning, and then what? What if what you did to stop him last time doesn’t work again this time? I don’t...I don’t want to go through what we went through again. Sophia and I, we...we lost a friend.”

“A good friend,” Sophia piped up with a nod.

“If you’re trying to help, and PIEP is trying to help...I guess I just don’t get why you can’t help together, you know?”

“Because I do not trust PEIP, sweetheart,” Miss Holloway said with some measure of regret to her tone.

“So don’t,” Daniel said with a shrug, “Nothing says you have to trust someone to work with them. You just have to work together toward a common goal, right? So use what they’re offering. Help us help Hatchetfield. Please.”

Sophia stepped back around the couch to stand next to Daniel, meeting Miss Holloway’s gaze with her own, “You might be able to stop him on your own, and that’s great. But who says you need to, right? My dad had a saying when I was growing up: work smarter, not harder. Why make it harder on yourself by working alone?”

“Miss Holloway?” Hannah’s voice rang out in Miss Holloway’s ear and she turned to face the girl with a questioning glance, “I don’t...think it’s a bad idea. For the record.”

Miss Holloway ran her tongue across the back of her teeth with a sharp clicking noise and sighed. Turning away from Hannah, she faced Sophia, who’s expression was unreadable, and Daniel, who looked for all the world like a puppy begging for attention. As much as she really didn’t want to trust PEIP, it did make an odd sort of sense to keep them close at hand. If they were going to be in Hatchetfield anyway, it might help to be able to keep a closer eye on them in case they tried anything shady.

The image of Hannah, bleeding from every orifice on her face as Blinky clung to her, came to Miss Holloway’s mind. Lex, lying cold and still under the remains of the Tear Jerker. Duke – her dear, sweet Duke – battling nightmares of the woman he’d killed in self defense for months after. The city, damaged and broken, struggling to rebuild even now, six months later.

If she could avoid that again…

She had to avoid that again.

Sniffing harshly, her gaze slipped from the teens toward MacNamara, who seemed more than eager to leave. At least he wasn’t pushing the point, she supposed. A part of her did wonder how much of this was some form of coercion – use the kids to get to Miss Holloway, because Miss Holloway has a soft spot for kids – but something told her that the teens wouldn’t stand for something like that. The girl in particular seemed pretty headstrong. The connection to Cross was still a sticking point, but if MacNamara was telling the truth about him, then it might not be a problem.

No, actually, it wouldn’t be a problem at all. Cross was dead. Lex had killed him.

Again.

“If your people do anything shady,” Miss Holloway finally said, jabbing a finger in MacNamara’s direction, “then it’s off. You hear me?”

MacNamara’s brows rose in surprise and he nodded, “Yes. I hear you.”

Miss Holloway turned to Hannah, “Are you sure about this?”

“I’m sure,” Hannah said with a nod, “I think it’s a good idea.”

“Then...fine. Fine. Okay. General MacNamara, you have a deal.”

Slowly, almost apprehensively, MacNamara came back around the couch toward Miss Holloway, extending a hand toward her. Miss Holloway scowled, huffed, and then shook his hand with as much physical strength as she could muster. She’d considered adding a little extra psychic push, just to prove a point to the man, but ultimately decided against it. It wouldn’t do to start off this...whatever this was, in a bad way.

She still didn’t like it. But if this man was willing to help, then she was willing to try.

Chapter Text

Chapter 17

The break room was empty by the time Ted managed to slip out of his office and head over there for a coffee. He didn’t really want to talk to anyone anyway, so he wasn’t about to complain (though it wasn’t like anyone went out of their way to talk to him when the break room was full of people). Luckily for him, whoever had been in there last had left the coffee maker on, so the coffee inside was still hot. Unluckily for him, there wasn’t any creamer left in the fridge, so he had to contend with the powdered shit if he wanted any damn flavor in his coffee at all.

Sighing, he grabbed a stirrer from the little cup next to the coffee maker and turned away from the counter, blowing onto the steaming liquid to cool it a bit before taking a sip. His eyes fell on a figure in the doorway and he froze.

Charlotte.

She looked...well, quite frankly, she looked awful. Charlotte always looked a little frazzled, even on some of her good days, but right now she looked almost sick. There were dark circles under her eyes the size of a small city, she looked pale and thin, and her curly hair had gone flat. It looked like she was wearing laundry pulled from her dirty clothes hamper, and she appeared to have just gotten over crying.

She was also blocking the doorway.

If Ted wanted to, there was every likelihood that he could just push past her and be fine. It wasn’t like she was gonna fight him or anything. Especially not in this condition. But the problem with that little course of action was that Ted could not bring himself to move. The second he saw her standing there, he’d frozen in place, staring at her with wide eyes, some odd form of curiosity overtaking him in the moment; as much as he really didn’t want to talk to Charlotte, he was also deeply curious about what she actually had to say.

“Hi, Ted,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ted did not respond. Just lowered the coffee mug from his lips and stared at her with an unreadable expression on his face.

Charlotte cleared her throat and continued, “How, uh...how have you been?”

Ted blinked, swallowing, and finally managed to mutter out a simple, “Fine.”

“I heard you were in the hospital. Your brother said you didn’t want to see me.”

That, at least, elicited an actual reaction from Ted, who quirked a brow in mild surprise. He hadn’t been aware he’d had any visitors, outside of the people he’d spent those two days with. Well, and Ruth, at one point. The fact that Charlotte had come to visit him was a surprise, and the fact that Pete had kept her from him was an even bigger one. It wasn’t that he’d wanted to see Charlotte – especially during a time when he’d been barely awake and functioning – but he fully hadn’t expected Peter to take the initiative to keep her away from him.

He cleared his throat and shook his head, “Yeah, uh...I didn’t.”

“Did I do something wrong, Ted?”

Ted snorted hard enough that it actually hurt and shook his head, placing his mug down on the counter without actually letting go of the handle, “You ratted me out to your husband, Charlotte, what do you expect?”

“Well, I don’t think you have any right to be angry about that,” Charlotte said, and she was doing her best to put on some semblance of a stern tone, but she just wasn’t very good at it, “We aren’t married. Sam and I are.”

Ted shrugged, “Yeah. You’re right. You have every right to choose him, go back to him, and you did that. I don’t know what you want from me now.”

“You’re my friend, Ted, I want to be your friend.”

“We’re not friends. We’re fuck buddies, at best.”

Charlotte blinked in surprise, tears forming in her eyes, “I...we were friends before.”

“Uh, huh,” Ted said with a nod, “Which was why I was willing to oblige your little,” he motioned toward her with a shrug, “indulgences. But once it turned into a two year affair where our only contact outside of work was sex, I think we fell into that ‘fuck buddies’ category, don’t you?”

“You’re not being fair, Ted.”

“Oh, I’m not being fair?” Ted flinched slightly at the sheer volume of his own voice and brought it down a few notches, if only to keep what was very clearly going to be an argument a bit more private for as long as possible, “I’m not being fair, Charlotte? You know what’s not fair? What’s not fair is that, after two years, you still didn’t respect or like me enough to keep my name out of your mouth around your very angry cop husband.”

“Ted-”

“You chose him over me, and that’s fine. You’re married to him. I have my own opinions on that, but whatever, it’s not my fucking business. But what is my business is my own personal safety, and the safety of my fucking brother.”

“What are you talking about?”

Ted really did not want to discuss this with her, let alone here in the office. He didn’t want her to know the truth of what had happened to Sam, for his own comfort, and for her own sanity. He and Paul had both decided against telling her, so it wasn’t like he was being purposely deceitful. But despite his promise to himself, to Paul, and even to Richie and Pete, the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, “He tried to kill him, Charlotte.”

“Who tried to kill who?”

“Christ, you’re so bad at putting together context clues.”

“Well you don’t have to be mean, Ted.”

“Sam tried to kill Petey!” Ted snapped.

Silence filled the tense air around them as Charlotte reeled back in surprise. She grabbed onto the door frame beside her as if to use it for support and blinked, shaking her head. “No...No, Sam wouldn’t do that. Not my Sam.”

“Your Sam is a fucking psychopath,” Ted said, jabbing a finger toward her, “and even before he got all possessed and glowy-eyed, I know for a fact he would’ve come after me instead.”

“No. No, the...anger...the anger was amplified, it was-”

“Oh, it was,” Ted nodded, “It was certainly amplified.”

“He wouldn’t have done that if he wasn’t coerced, Ted, you know that.”

Ted barked out a laugh, shaking his head, “No, you’re right, I don’t think he would’ve gone after Pete. But you’ve glossed over the fact that I fully, 100% believe he would’ve come after me. With or without the extra fucking motivation.”

“I don’t believe that, Ted, he just wanted to talk.”

“See, here’s the context clues thing I was talking about,” frustration and anger made Ted’s voice go much higher than he would have liked, and he rubbed at his forehead, “When he came here for lunch that day, how long did he stay?”

“W-what?”

“The day everything went to shit, when he came into the office to see you. How long did he stay, before asking about me, and leaving you here alone?”

Charlotte gnawed on her lip and gave a small shrug, “I don’t know, a...a few minutes?”

“Did he even say hi to you?” Ted asked, “Did he ask how you were doing? Greet you? Kiss you? Anything? Or was it just immediately about me?”

Charlotte swallowed and met Ted’s gaze, “He...gave me a kiss on the cheek when he came in.”

“Oh, well, isn’t that nice?” Ted’s tone was dripping with sarcasm as he spoke, “Gave you a little kissy-poo before he hunted my brother down at his school and tried to fucking kill him? How wonderful of him. Such a doting husband.”

Charlotte’s brow furrowed, and something resembling anger flashed across her delicate features for a split second before she finally asked, “What happened at that school, Ted?”

It was as if a light bulb went off in Ted’s head in that moment and his eyes widened. He had not meant to tell her anything about that day. He hadn’t wanted to. The whole thing made Sam look bad. It made Ted look bad. Hell, it even made Richie look bad, as he’d shot a man in the back. Charlotte...wouldn’t understand. It would hurt her, knowing what happened there that day. She wouldn’t understand, when it came to Sam, she never understood...

“What? Happened?” Charlotte repeated, moving toward Ted as she spoke, “Tell me what happened!”

“Can we just...not talk about this here?”

“Oh, no, you’re not doing that,” Charlotte whimpered, “You’re not putting this off, Ted. I have been trying to talk to you for six months. Six months, and you won’t come anywhere near me by yourself. You act like I’m radioactive or something. I just wanna talk, that’s all I’ve ever wanted with you!”

Ted scoffed, “It’s what I wanted to do back when you told Sam about us, but,” he shrugged, “you didn’t offer me that courtesy, did you?”

Charlotte’s eyes narrowed, “What happened in that school, Ted?”

Ted rolled his eyes in response and made to move around her. She grabbed his arm with surprising force to stop him, shaking her head, “No! You don’t get to walk away from this! You claim Sam went to that school to find your brother, so if you know that, you know what happened to Sam! So what happened at the school?”

“Charlotte, let go of me.”

“What happened at the school, Ted? What happened to my Sam?”

He wasn’t sure what made him say it. Maybe it was the irritation rising in his chest at hearing her call that trash of a human “my Sam,” as though he still had some claim on her. Maybe it was a desire to protect Richie, for Paul’s sake. Maybe it was a desire to protect Pete, in his own way – he couldn’t do it back then, so maybe he was trying to now. Maybe it was a way to live up to the fantasy he saw in his head, the what if scenario that he’d played through so many times over the course of the last six months, where he got to be the hero for once, instead of some useless asshole who fucked a married woman and then stood there and did nothing while his brother got the shit kicked out of him. Maybe deep down, he wished the words he said were true. He wasn’t sure. But in a split second moment, Ted decided to answer Charlotte’s question with one more lie.

“I shot him.”

Charlotte blinked up at him, her eyes going wide, “Wh-what?”

“I shot him, okay?” Ted repeated, with a little more conviction this time, “He was killing Pete. He’d dropped his gun, and I picked it up, and I shot him. That’s what happened. I shot Sam.”

The silence that fell between them felt like an eternity as Charlotte searched Ted’s face for any sign of the lie. Any sign at all that what he was saying wasn’t true. Tears welled in her eyes once more as she took a deep breath and released her hold on him.

A crack echoed through the air, slicing the silence in two.

Admittedly, Ted’s balance hadn’t been great since he’d suffered through multiple bodily traumas and the surgeries that followed, but it still came as a surprise when he found himself leaning against a nearby table, sent sprawling there by the sheer force of Charlotte’s slap. He blinked, stars dancing in his vision for a moment as he reached up with his fingers to gingerly touch the spot where she’d hit him. His face felt hot, and he wondered for a moment if it was swelling. Had she really hit him that hard?

Neither one of them were aware of the fact that Paul and Bill were in the room until the two men physically stepped between them, Paul gently taking Charlotte around the shoulders to lead her out through the door. Bill swallowed, watching as Charlotte babbled apologies to Paul while he led her away, and then reached out toward Ted.

“You okay?”

He was being nice, and Ted did know that, but in that moment he was just so angry and hurt that the second Bill’s hand touched his shoulder, he shook it away.

“Fuck off, Bill,” he muttered before pushing himself into an upright position and taking off through the door toward his own office. He needed a second alone. That was all. He could apologize to Bill later. Luckily his office door wasn’t too far from the break room, and he was able to duck inside before anyone could ask him too many questions.

He had just settled back into his chair and was using his phone camera to assess the damage to his face when there was a knock at his office door. Ted sighed, rolled his eyes, and said, “This better be important.”

“It’s me,” Paul said from the other side, “Can I come in?”

There was a moment of hesitation, of consideration, before Ted finally said, “Go away, Paul.”

“Ted...ugh. Fine.”

Ted regretted his words the second he heard Paul stomp off down the hallway, back in the direction of his cubicle.

He hadn’t wanted to say anything. He’d wanted to bury his head in the sand and move on from the whole Sam ordeal without consequence. That was how he lived his life – he did bad things, he dodged the consequences. It was what he’d become accustomed to.

That slap had hurt in more ways than one, however. He wasn’t aware of a time he’d ever seen Charlotte that angry. He hadn’t even thought her capable of violence. And yet, here he was, sitting in his office with a bruised cheek (ironically, Charlotte had managed to hit the same spot Steph had hit six months before in a very similar fashion) and the heavy weight of knowing he’d deeply hurt Charlotte with his words. A woman who he did care about, in some way. Someone he’d gone out of his way to comfort on more than one occasion. Ted didn’t love Charlotte, he was sure. But that didn’t mean he wanted to hurt her.

And he probably couldn’t anymore, now that she more than likely wouldn’t be talking to him. It did make sense, he supposed. Ted Spankoffski was easy to hate. Why not give her reason to? At least maybe now she’d leave him the hell alone and move on.

Ted sniffled and angrily blinked back tears. He couldn’t cry in the office. He wouldn’t cry at home, either. He just had to make it through the rest of the day, and then he could drink.

A few more hours. Just a few more hours.

Chapter Text

Chapter 18

The sheer amount of messages coming through when Caitlyn was finally able to get back to her phone was almost overwhelming. She’d taken off from school early, just before lunchtime, due to a severe migraine, and had turned her phone off upon getting home so that she could get some rest. Turning it back on hours later saw text after text come through; most of them were from Trevor, a few were from Rudolph, and all of them read as surprisingly urgent, almost begging her to call whenever she was up so that they could talk.

Rubbing at her face, Caitlyn obliged, and dialed Trevor’s number.

He picked up after the third ring, sounding frazzled, “Hey, Caity.”

“Hey, I got your texts, what’s up?”

There was a moment of muffled conversation on the other end of the phone – Caitlyn couldn’t hear what was being said, but she definitely recognized Rudolph’s voice.

“Trevor? Are you busy, I can call back?”

“No, sorry, we were, uh, discussing. Are you feeling okay? Can you meet us at Waylon Park?”

Caitlyn let out a soft sigh, “Is there a reason you can’t just tell me what’s going on over the phone?”

“I wanna do it in person, Caity. Please.”

“Okay, well, I’m not feeling okay,” Caitlyn said in a sardonic tone, rolling her eyes, “Definitely not okay enough to walk my happy ass to the park. So no.”

“Jesus, Caity. Fine. Can I come over then?”

“What could you possibly have to tell me that you can’t just say over the phone?”

There was another brief muffled conversation, during which Caitlyn definitely heard Trevor say something about her being “difficult,” which elicited another eyeroll form her. Then there was a rustling sound for a few seconds before Rudolph’s voice came over the phone, “Trevor really wants to do this in person, Caity, please.”

Caitlyn let out a scoff. She liked Rudolph. She really did. He was a nice guy, and he very clearly cared about Trevor. But she was just so tired of him being everywhere Trevor was. She couldn’t have her best friend to herself anymore without his boyfriend around, and it was really beginning to piss her off. Trevor had gone out of his way to keep her from pushing him out, and she did want him around. But she wanted him. Alone. Without his super hot boyfriend. Just fucking once.

Which was probably why she snapped upon hearing Rudolph’s voice, “Jesus, Rudy, can you just let him talk for himself for once?”

She could hear Rudolph stammer for a moment before he said, “What? He asked me-”

“I don’t care, okay? I do not want to talk to you, I barely want to talk to Trevor right now. Put him back on the phone.”

Rudolph huffed before there was another shuffling noise, more muffled voices, and then Trevor’s exasperated voice on the other end, “Caity, let me come over.”

“I don’t want company, Trev. I’m hanging up now.”

Before she could make good on her promise, Trevor let out a frustrated growl and then blurted, “Ruth’s missing!”

The breath caught in Caitlyn’s throat, her eyes going wide. She sat in silence for several seconds, trying to process what Trevor had just said to her, before his voice came back through the phone.

“Hello? Caity? Did you actually hang up on me?”

“What did you just say?” Caitlyn asked in a breathless tone.

Trevor let out a shaky sigh, “Ruth’s missing, Caity.”

“How long?”

“Uh...I guess...she never came home Saturday night? We hadn’t heard from her all day yesterday, and you know she never showed up at school today.”

That was true. It hadn’t surprised Caitlyn that Ruth hadn’t come in – she’d assumed she had a sick day or something – but it had surprised her that none of her friends had seemed to know about it. Ruth tended to be very communicative with them on a normal day.

“I guess Pete got a hold of her mom during lunch to check in on her or whatever, and...she filed a police report last night.”

“Okay, well...where was she? Did you hear from her on Saturday?”

There was a moment of silence from the other end, as though Trevor was hesitating, and then he cleared his voice and said, “She, uh, she texted us, asking to hang out. But we were...kind of going on a date, so we said no. That was the last we heard from her, it was...like, 3pm or something?”

Caitlyn sat back on her bed with a heavy exhale and shook her head, “Are...I mean, are we sure she’s missing? She didn’t, like...like, go to a friend’s house or something?”

“She didn’t,” Trevor said, regret laced through the words as he spoke.

“Okay, so then what...Trevor what-what do we do?”

“I don’t know.”

Tears began to sting at the corners of Caitlyn’s eyes and she took a shaky breath, covering her mouth with one hand as she shook her head, “No...no, this can’t...Trevor, she can’t just be gone. That’s not...it’s...” she took a deep breath, “Oh, Ruthie...”

“I’m, um...do you want me to come over?”

“And do what?” Caitlyn blurted, half hysterical, “Do what, Trevor? We can’t help her from here! Jesus...I...she didn’t...”

“Caity...”

Caitlyn let out a soft sob and whispered, “Trevor, what do we do?”

“I mean...I dunno. All we can do is, I guess, wait until the police find something, and-”

“They won’t,” Caitlyn interrupted, sniffling, “They never do.”

“I...I know.”

Caitlyn let out a soft, shaky sigh and shook her head, “I...I gotta go.”

“Do you want me to come over?”

“No. I need to, like...think. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

She wasn’t. Not by a long shot. Her dad had some work thing that her parents were planning to leave for in a couple of hours, and Caitlyn really didn’t want to be alone. At the same time, she’d always hated crying in front of people. Even before she became this angry, misguided mess. She knew Trevor would be there for her – he always was – but she didn’t want him to feel obligated to take care of her. Besides, there was every possibility he’d bring Rudolph along, and she really didn’t want to see him (especially after snapping at him like she’d done), or feel like the third wheel.

So, out loud, she said, “Yeah. I’m sure. I just...I need to be alone.”

“Okay. Call me if you change your mind.”

“I will.”

“Caity? I love you.”

Caitlyn squeezed her eyes shut with a little nod, “I love you too, Trev.”

The click of the call ending sounded much louder than it probably was.

Ruth was missing.

It was such a strange thing to think about. People went missing in Hatchetfield every day, so often that their names and pictures were usually just a footnote in the news. Hatchetfield itself was small enough that Caitlyn even occasionally recognized some of the faces popping up on her TV. Her father’s mechanic. The clerk at the grocery store. A cheerleader from Sycamore. People she recognized, but didn’t really know, not even by name. And it was always sad, but ultimately...just the way of things. People disappeared. It was never her, or any of her friends, so while it was tragic, it wasn’t really worth losing any sleep over.

But this was Ruth. Sweet, strange, clingy, smelly Ruth. Ruth, who had attachment issues and low self esteem. Ruth, with the pretty eyes. Ruth, who had stayed with Caitlyn in the Roller-rama as often as she could, who had practically carried her when she couldn’t walk anymore, who had cuddled with her when she was cold. Ruth, who had saved their fucking lives. This wasn’t some random face that Caitlyn only barely recognized. This was Ruth Fleming.

This wasn’t fair.

A huge part of her felt responsible. Like, if she hadn’t pushed Ruth away all those months ago, maybe she would have had somewhere to go. Maybe she wouldn’t have been alone and vulnerable. Maybe she wouldn’t be gone now. Another part of her was angry at Ruth’s friends. Where were they? It wasn’t Caitlyn job to watch her, to hang out with her when she was lonely. Trevor and Rudolph were on a date (because of course they were – she could not wait for this stupid honeymoon phase of theirs to end), but where was Spankoffski? Where was Lipschitz? Hell, even Stephanie Lauter had been hanging out around Ruth more, where the hell was she?

Sniffling, Caitlyn turned on her phone again, scrolling through texts. Maybe...Ruth had sent her a message and she’d missed it? She was both relieved and upset to find that wasn’t the case. Her unsent text still sat as a drafted message from months ago, waiting to be finished. Gnawing at her lip, Caitlyn began to type out the last thing she’d wanted to say. Something she’d never had the courage to put out into the universe.

Ruthie.
You don’t have to forgive me, but just know
that I am really sorry. I like you a lot, but I
used you in that Roller-rama. I kissed you
when I shouldn’t have and I feel bad about it.
If you’d let me, I’d kiss you again. Just
to see if it was maybe just a life or death thing
you know?

You’re gone now. I’m sorry I couldn’t be
there for you. I’m sorry I’m such a shitty friend.
If you were here, I’d give you a hug if you’d let me
and I’d apologize a thousand times over.
I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

“I’m sorry,” Caitlyn muttered out loud, her voice heavy. She wasn’t sure why, but she pressed send. Maybe, just maybe, if Ruth was still alive out there, getting a message from someone would help her. Inspire her to come home.

Maybe Caitlyn was just trying to find a way to cope.

Whatever it was, it didn’t help. The second that text read “sent,” Caitlyn burst into quiet sobs and fell back on her pillow, clutching her phone to her chest as she softly repeated, “I’m sorry,” over and over and over again.

~*~*@*~*~

Unfortunately the school library wasn’t open when the school was closed, and the front doors of Hatchetfield High were now locked. The public library was full of people who didn’t seem to know what a library was; there were constantly people running around being obnoxiously loud. So it was that Richie found himself at a small local used bookstore instead, browsing through their manga section absent-mindedly. The owner of the place kept a relatively quiet atmosphere, and the sprawling maze of bookshelves meant that Richie could get lost in there for a while without anyone really worrying. His friends knew he was here. He’d just needed some alone time...without actually being alone.

When Ruth had texted him on Saturday, he’d used the very real excuse that he’d had a therapy session he’d needed to attend, rather than hang out with her. It wasn’t a lie, and he took the sessions where he could get them, since his dad absolutely hated him going and would push back against it if he knew it was coming up. But the sessions themselves only took 45 to 50 minutes on average. And often left Richie mentally and emotionally exhausted. Unfortunately, as much as he liked Ruth, she was equally mentally and emotionally draining in some ways, so he hadn’t really wanted to hang out with her after his session either.

He also hadn’t wanted to hurt her feelings. So he simply...hadn’t responded to her messages asking if he was out yet. He’d ghosted her, with the intention of apologizing later and coming up with an excuse about how his phone had died, or the messages hadn’t come through or something.

He hadn’t even considered just how mad she’d get.

Or, well, that was what he’d thought, at least at first. That she’d figured out his stupid master plan, and was pissed enough not to reach out the next day. Richie felt bad enough that he made plans to ride the bus the next morning – Grace or no Grace – just to get a chance to talk to Ruth and apologize.

Except that Ruth hadn’t been on the bus that morning. And she still wasn’t answering texts or calls from Richie, Pete, or even Steph. Reaching out to Trevor just led to more questions when they found out she hadn’t talked with him or Rudolph either.

It was during their lunch hour that Pete decided to try to reach out to her parents. He had to scroll way back in his text conversation with Ruth to find her mother’s number, but he did so and called her. And that was when they got the news.

“Ruth’s missing. She never came home on Saturday. I filed a police report last night.”

She never came home on Saturday. A police report had been filed.

Ruth was missing.

The teens went into crises mode in that moment. There wasn’t much they could do, and deep down they did know that, but they still wanted to try to find some semblance of answers. What had happened? Where had she been? Who or what had taken her? They were all questions each one desperately wanted answers to. And it was at that point that they started comparing who Ruth had sent messages to and when.

And Richie, as it turned out, had been the last one (in their group anyway) she’d texted.

Richie hadn’t touched his phone for about a half hour by the time he meandered into the bookstore. He’d messaged Pete and Steph to let them know where he’d be in case anything happened (because apparently, anything could fucking happen), but after that the phone remained firmly in his pocket. It was the only way he could think to keep himself from completely spiraling; every time he turned on his phone, he went back to that message that Ruth sent and just...stared at it.

How’d therapy go? It’s done, right? We
should hang out.

He’d ghosted her.

He’d ghosted her. Pete and Steph, Trevor and Rudolph, they all had valid reasons for not texting her back. They’d all been on individual dates that day or whatever. But Richie? Richie had been tired. He’d been drained. He hadn’t wanted to hang out with Ruth, because he’d considered Ruth to be exhausting and hadn’t wanted to deal with her. And now she was gone.

And Richie didn’t know how to handle that.

So, he simply acted like his phone wasn’t there. If it went off, he’d answer, but he always forced himself to put it away before he returned to aimlessly stare at that last message from Ruth and began to spiral again. He was the last person she’d reached out to, and he’d ignored her.

The manga section of the bookstore was less than entertaining, so Richie moved on to a section near the back of the store that sold movies. It was small – movies weren’t the main focus of the shop’s sales, but they wouldn’t turn down a trade – and the shelves were shorter, meaning that it was a bit harder to hide the fact that Richie was trying desperately not to cry. He tried to focus on individual movie titles, take in the smallest details he could find on the covers, anything at all to keep his mind off of Ruth. He was so focused on the movies, and the fact that he was about to cry in public, that when he rounded the end of one of the shelves to go down an adjacent aisle, he failed to realize there was a person kneeling there looking for something, and tripped over them.

He tried not to scream out loud as he fell head over heels like a complete goober and landed against the nearby shelf painfully. The person he’d tripped over let out a strained huff, lost balance, and fell sideways onto his hip. He muttered a soft curse and began to turn toward Richie before saying, “Dude, watch where you’re-”

The second Jason’s gaze met Richie, slumped against the shelf opposite him, rubbing at the back of his head with a pained expression on his face, he stopped. He’d expected for the person who’d knocked him over to be some obnoxious kid, running through the store without paying attention, not a classmate. He grabbed at the shelf behind him to get to his feet, dusted himself off with a soft huff, and then reached a hand down toward Richie.

“You okay?”

There were a lot of things Jason had been expecting in that moment, but Richie bursting into tears hadn’t been at the top of that list at all.

It wasn’t full-on sobbing. In fact, Richie seemed to be working extremely hard to keep his crying as soft as possible. He let out a tiny grunt of frustration as he wiped at his eyes with his sleeve and turned his face away from Jason.

“S-sorry. I should go,” he muttered as he tried to pull himself to his feet using the shelf behind him.

Jason’s eyes darted around the shop. The movie section was in the back corner, farthest from the door, at the very end of the maze-like group of bookshelves. There was one other person browsing the section a few rows away, their eyes firmly on the movies in front of them, headphones on as they lightly bobbed their head to the music they had playing. A couple stood a little farther down, just barely within line of sight near the books. If there was one thing Jason knew about himself, it was that he wouldn’t want to be caught dead crying in front of anyone, let alone strangers at a bookstore. He wasn’t sure if Richie felt the same way or not, but if he did, then running out of here right now, even with only a few people around, wouldn’t help. Even if said people were a little distracted.

So, as Richie tried and failed to find his feet, Jason knelt in front of him and reached out to put a gentle hand on his ankle. He wasn’t sure what was happening here, if the fall had physically hurt him or what, but he decidedly did not like seeing Richie cry like this for seemingly no reason at all.

“Hey, relax, okay?” Jason muttered, his voice soft, “You okay? You hurt yourself?”

Richie sniffed almost aggressively and shook his head, but did give up on trying to get back up, slumping down against the shelf behind him, “No. I’m fine.”

“Then why are you crying?”

The truth was, he was crying because tripping over Jason had evidently been just the thing that was needed to help the dam break. Just one more shitty, embarrassing thing at the top of a long list of crappy things from this fucked day. He’d already been heavily fighting tears. Not only had he fallen face first in a public bookstore, but he’d actively tripped over another human being in the process. And one of his bullies, no less.

Richie let out a tiny little sigh and said, in a quiet shaky voice, “Jason, please, just...can’t this wait until school tomorrow?”

“Can’t what wait?” Jason asked, looking genuinely confused.

“This,” Richie motioned wildly around them with one hand, slumping back against the bookshelf, “Whatever this is going to be.”

Realization dawned on Jason before Richie could finish his sentence and he sighed, removing his hand from Richie’s ankle, “Richie, I’m not gonna bully you in a public bookstore,” he whispered. He’d tried his best not to sound completely appalled at the insinuation, but based on the look on Richie’s face, he’d failed.

“Can you please leave me alone?” Richie practically whined, “I really...I can’t handle this today.”

Jason adjusted his position on the floor so that he was sitting cross-legged in front of Richie and cocked his head to one side with concern, “Rich, what’s wrong?”

Richie did know that, whatever Ruth had gone through in the Roller-rama, Jason had gone through it, too. They’d spent those two days together in that building, and whatever had happened in there had resulted in Jason being forced to resign from the football team. When questioned about it, Ruth had mumbled something about Jason being hurt, mentioned that he “wasn’t actually that bad,” and had jokingly encouraged Richie to ask him out sometime.

“He’s hot,” she’d said with a shrug, “You deserve a hot boyfriend. And you never know, he might say yes.”

Whatever had happened to them six months ago, Jason and Ruth had some kind of bond. Maybe not the kind that had continued on into normal life afterward, but they’d waved at one another in the halls on occasion, and Richie distinctly remembered Ruth talking about Jason asking her to be his partner in their shared math class. They weren’t friends, exactly. But they were something.

Maybe Jason deserved to know.

Or, maybe Richie just needed to tell someone.

“Ruth’s gone.”

Jason’s brows furrowed, “What do you mean, Ruth’s gone?”

Richie took a deep, shaky breath and squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head, “She’s missing.”

“Missing?”

“Since Saturday night.”

Jason inhaled deeply, rubbing at his mouth with one hand. That...didn’t seem possible. After everything they’d gone through, everything they’d survived...Ruth just going missing like so many others in Hatchetfield didn’t seem plausible. If something bad was going to happen to her...if she were going to die or something…

It would’ve happened six months ago. In that Roller-rama.

But Richie was very clearly upset, crying on the floor of a used bookstore, slumped against a shelf like a puppet whose strings had been cut. No, not upset. Devastated. There wouldn’t be any reason for him to be acting like this if he didn’t truly believe Ruth was gone.

Jason opened his mouth to say something, but wasn’t sure what there was to even say. He couldn’t tell Richie it was going to be all right, because truthfully, he had no idea if it would. He had hope that Ruth was okay, that there was some kind of misunderstanding or something, but bringing that up now, as Richie let out a quiet, soft little sob and covered his face with his hands, seemed like a bad idea. He wanted to reach out and pull the guy into a hug, but he wasn’t sure how Richie would respond to that, so he simply...sat there. Across from Richie, unsure of what to do or say.

There were a few long seconds before Richie finally spoke again, his voice muffled against the palms of his hands, “It’s my fault.”

“What?”

“That Ruth’s gone. It’s my fault.”

Jason blinked in confusion, “How the hell do you figure that?”

Richie dropped his hands from his face and fumbled to pull his phone from his pocket. He practically threw it at Jason with a huff, “I was the last one she texted. Me. She wanted to hang out, and I didn’t even say no, I just...didn’t answer. She was alone, and she was scared, and if I’d just...gotten over myself long enough to hang out with my fucking friend, she wouldn’t be gone. I should’ve-”

“Okay, hey,” Jason held up a hand to interrupt Richie’s rambling and slid the phone back over toward him, “dude, you can’t do that. Okay? This? Is not your fault.”

“How is it not?”

Jason moved to sit beside Richie, leaning against the shelf next to him, “Did you hurt her? Did make her go missing?”

“No. But if I’d been there...”

“No, see, that’s exactly what you can’t do, Rich. You cannot – absolutely cannot – say without a shadow of a doubt that you would have changed anything. You could’ve gone to hang out with her, and this still might’ve happened. Except maybe you would’ve been right there with her, and...” he shrugged and threw his hands into the air with a cynical little huff, “then I’d have to mourn you, too.”

Richie gnawed at the inside of his lip. He wasn’t entirely sure what had compelled him to confide in Jason like this in the first place, but if he was already in this deep…

“I’m a shit friend.”

“Maybe,” Jason said as he put a hand on Richie’s shoulder to give him a light shake, “and you’re allowed feel bad for that. But that is all you should feel bad for, you hear me? Don’t blame yourself for anything else.”

That was extremely hard to do in the moment, when Richie’s emotions were all screwed up and spiraling out of control. But the thought, at least, was enough to ground him before he fell headlong into a panic attack. He swallowed and pushed a hand through his hair, mussing it more than it already was.

Feel bad for ghosting her. Don’t feel bad for getting her killed.

Yeah, right.

“Hey, Richie?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m serious, man. It’s not your fault.”

Richie nodded, “Okay.”

“And if you...if you ever wanna talk or something, I’m here.”

A small, sad, half grin pulled at the edge of Richie’s mouth, “Thanks, Jason.”

“No problem, man. Now go to the bathroom and blow your nose, you got a booger, and it’s super gross.”

“Oh. Shit,” Richie hissed as he clumsily pushed himself to his feet and took off at a brisk pace to the small bathroom hidden in the back corner of the bookstore. Jason watched him go, then stood and moved back toward the shelf he’d been browsing. Looking for a movie to entertain himself seemed like such a petty action now, knowing Ruth was gone. He wasn’t close to her or anything, but it felt strange to feel so...hollow at the news. Like losing her had darkened the world just a little bit.

Who knew Ruth Fleming would have had that effect on him?

Chapter Text

Chapter 19

The morning bell hadn’t yet rung as Grace stood in front of the school, absently fiddling with the WWJD bracelet that adorned one wrist. It had been months since she’d managed to have any sort of meaningful conversation with Steph, Pete, or Richie, but she thought she might try now. They had to be hurting, and she knew it.

The second her eyes locked onto Pete – who was tall enough to see over a small group of students that had been blocking Grace’s line of sight with the parking lot – she headed his way. He was holding Steph’s hand as they walked, while Richie trailed behind looking despondent. Steph seemed to have her eyes on Richie at all times, her brow furrowed with worry. It wasn’t until Pete practically walked headlong into Grace that any of them even knew she’d been moving toward them. She offered them a small smile and a wave.

“Hi.”

“Hey, Grace,” Steph muttered, “What’s up?”

Grace swallowed, and took a deep breath, “I heard about Ruth on the news last night,” her gaze shifted toward Pete and Richie, “I just wanted to say, I’m really sorry. I’ll be praying for her safe return.”

Pete’s brows rose in mild surprise and he exchanged a look with Richie before saying, “Oh, um...wow. Thanks, Grace.”

“Of course! I’d hate to think she’s actually dead, you know? She needs to make a safe return to pray for repentance before that happens!”

“Jesus, Grace,” Steph snapped, “What the fuck is wrong with you?

“Language, Steph! I’m just saying, Ruth’s-”

“Do you think before you speak?” Pete asked, “Like, ever?”

Before Grace could answer, Steph let out a painful sounding scoff, reached behind her to grab Richie’s arm with her free hand, and dragged both of the boys past Grace with a dirty look, “Let’s go.”

Grace watched them go with a soft sigh. She’d only been trying to help. If Ruth was dead, then she was more than certainly in Hell, which definitely wouldn’t make any of them feel better. She’d thought praying for Ruth’s safe return would be a good thing. Evidently it was not.

“Wow. Kinda fucked that one up, didn’t ya?”

Grace let out a fearful squeak at the sound of someone’s voice so close to her and turned on her heel to see Max standing there, arms crossed, his eyes on Steph and the boys as they disappeared into the school. Grace huffed, looking him up and down, and straightened her sweater.

“Max! You scared me.”

Max turned his gaze toward her with a snort, “I could tell.”

“How long were you standing there?”

Max shrugged, “I mean, technically I was sitting over there,” he pointed over his shoulder toward a nearby tree, “the whole time.”

“How much did you overhear?”

“Nothing really, up until Steph started yelling. What’d you say, anyway?”

“I simply told them I was praying for Ruth’s safe return.”

Max gave her a confused look, “Ruth…?”

“Fleming?” Grace finished, eyes narrowing, “Short? Curly hair? Wears headgear? Constantly says the most obscene things you’ve ever heard?”

“Oh,” Max snorted, “Flemwad? What did that nerd do now?”

“She disappeared, Max.”

The amused smirk on Max’s face melted away, “Wait, what? Like, seriously?”

“Seriously,” Grace said with a nod, “She’s missing.”

Max’s tone remained nonchalant, even as something resembling concern showed in his expression, “How long ago did that happen?”

Grace shrugged, “Saturday, I think?”

“Huh.”

“Anyways, I was just trying to tell them that I hope she’s okay. Because if she’s dead, she’s definitely in hell, so-”

“Wait,” Max held up a hand, “did you actually say that to them?”

“Not in so many words.”

“Well, how many words did you use, Gracie?”

Grace gaped up at him for a moment before placing her hands on her hips, “I was trying to help.”

“People don’t like to be told their missing friends are assholes, Grace.”

“I did not...say that about Ruth!”

“I mean, you may as well have.”

“No, I just...argh! I just meant that she’s...Ruth is...” Grace sighed, “You know what, I don’t have to explain myself to you, of all people, Max Jagerman. Since when do you care so much about Ruth, anyway?”

“I don’t,” Max said with a shrug.

“Well, you sure are acting like you do.”

Max’s gaze slipped back toward the door where the trio had disappeared, and he sighed, shaking his head. They couldn’t head any farther down this line of questioning, or he’d start to reveal that he’d gone somewhat soft for the nerds since Pete and Richie had helped him out. As much as he liked Grace, he simply could not stand for anyone finding out about that. Even her.

So, he changed the subject.

“How long has that been going on, anyway?”

“How long as what been going on?”

“Steph and Spankoffski,” Max said, screwing up his face into a scowl, “holding hands and shit?”

Grace shrugged, “They’ve been inseparable since...well...that day,” she scoffed, shaking her head, “Such public displays, too, and they’re not even married! Do they have no shame?”

“Apparently Steph doesn’t,” Max scoffed, “Spankoffski? Really?”

Grace’s expression fell toward disappointment, and she shook her head. She opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by the sound of the first bell of the day echoing across the courtyard toward them. Immediately, she pivoted away from their conversation and offered Max a small smile and wave, “Oop! Class time! See you later Max!”

“Yeah, bye,” Max’s voice trailed off as Grace practically ran toward the door to get inside. He inhaled deeply, scratching at his eyebrow with a small grin while his gaze trailed after her. She was a little ball of energy, her loose curls bouncing as she moved. She had no idea the effect she had on him, that girl. Or maybe she did, and she liked to utilize it against him. Maybe she played up the whole “good girl” act to get under his skin. He wasn’t sure. But whatever it was, he liked it.

“God, she’s hot.”

Max jumped in fearful surprise, just as Grace had done before (except he, at least, managed not to squeak like she had), and he turned his gaze from where Grace had disappeared through the door and over toward whoever was speaking. Brad stood there, almost 10 feet away, arms crossed, his eyes on the front doors of the school.

“What?” Max asked, annoyed at how breathless he sounded.

“Grace,” Brad said with a little nod, “is fucking hot.”

Max swallowed, brow furrowing, “Since when are you into Grace Chasity, man?”

Brad shrugged, “Since when am I not? You don’t know who or what I’m into.”

To be fair, that was entirely true. But Max...also didn’t really care. He never had. He couldn’t say he cared about what any of his friends were into, even the good ones like Jason and Kyle. But he was fairly certain what he did know was that Brad was trying to get under his skin. There was no way Brad hadn’t seen Max run off like a complete wimp the week before, and he was going to start pushing boundaries. Max could feel it.

“I don’t think you’re her type,” Max said, crossing his arms with a glare.

Brad scoffed, “Right, like you are? You never know, man. I might make my move. She might like it.”

“I doubt it, bro.”

Brad took a few steps toward him, and it was all Max could do not bolt like a little bitch. Flashes of Brad attacking him in the school six months before came to his mind’s eye, and he swallowed. Audibly.

“You can’t tell me what I can and cannot do, you know that, right?” Brad taunted, his voice barely above a whisper, “You don’t have the power anymore, Max. You got Kyle moving around behind your back with Brenda. You got Jason actively hanging out with nerds in public places. You got the most popular girl in school dating fucking Micro-Peter Spankoffski, of all people. People aren’t afraid of you anymore, Max. They don’t fear you. They don’t respect you. After the shit you pulled in front of the school last year, no one likes you. You shouldn’t have come back to Hatchetfield High, you dumb fuck. You should’ve transferred to Sycamore. Or better yet,” he moved closer, his face only an inch from Max’s now as he poked him in the chest with two fingers, “Clivesdale.”

The combination of fight-or-flight level fear coursing through him, and the anger steadily rising within him at Brad’s words, caused Max to lash out before he even fully recognized what he was doing. He shoved Brad, hard, with both hands, sending him backwards away from him. Brad managed to keep his balance, let out a scoff, and ducked out of the way just as Max swung a punch at him. He swung back at Max and collided with the left side of his jaw. Max retaliated, landing a quick hit to the side of Brad’s head. By the time the second morning bell rang, the two boys were in a knock-down-drag-out brawl.

And Max was losing.

Normally, Max would have easily kicked Brad’s ass. He’d managed to do it before. But Max was also still recovering from the injuries he’d received from Brad six months before. Coupled with the very real fear that Brad could have killed him (and probably should have – Max had gotten lucky), Max’s movements were sluggish as he tried not to completely panic again. He’d switched from actively throwing punches, to more or less simply defending himself; yes, he was holding his own, but Brad was more than capable of winning this fight.

It wasn’t until Brad was physically grabbed around the waist by Coach Houston and dragged away that Max took it upon himself to back off.

“Callahan, knock it off!” Coach Houston yelled as he practically threw a cursing and spitting Brad toward the front doors of the school, “Principal’s office! Now!”

“Fucking bitch!” Brad spat. He moved to lunge at Max again, laughing when Max flinched, but was cut off by Coach Houston physically placing himself between them.

“Principal’s office, Callahan. I’m not asking you again.”

Brad huffed and groaned before muttering out a defeated, “Fine. Jesus,” and turning on his heel to head into the school.

Coach Houston turned to face Max, “What the hell was that, Jagerman?”

“I was defending myself, Co-”

“Ah, don’t do that,” Coach Houston said, holding up a hand, “I came out here just in time to see how this thing started, Max. You threw that first punch.”

Max sighed, rubbing at his chin where Brad had gotten a good hit in, “Well, he deserved it.”

Coach Houston sighed with a shrug, shaking his head, “Can I give you a piece of advice, Max?”

“I guess.”

“Never throw the first punch in a fight. But you sure as shit make sure you throw that last one.”

Max blinked, his gaze falling on his Coach with a surprised expression, “What?”

Coach Houston stepped forward and put a hand on Max’s shoulder’s, meeting his gaze, “Look, I know what he says he did, Max. I get it. Okay? It’s hard to come back here with someone who...” he inhaled deeply, “someone who hurt you like that. But, now he’s trying to get to you. Because he knows he can. And your job now is to not let that happen.”

“How do I do that?”

“You ignore the idiot. It’s gonna be hard, because he is really, really annoying. But Max? You absolutely cannot let him get to you like this,” he gave Max’s shoulder a little shake, “And remember to never throw that first punch.”

There was some hesitation in Max’s gaze as he nodded and said, “Okay. Thanks, Coach.”

“No problem. Now, I do, unfortunately, have to send you to the principal’s office, too. We have a strict ‘no fighting’ policy here at Hatchetfield High. And you did technically throw that first punch.”

Max let out a groan, rolling his eyes, “Dammit!”

“Watch your language, Jagerman! Now get.”

Max stomped away like a petulant child while Coach Houston let out an amused chuckle.

Don’t let Brad get to you, Jagerman.

Good fucking luck with that.

Chapter Text

Chapter 20

Duke wasn’t out on the curb for too long before he caught sight of Miss Holloway’s car making its way toward him, the woman herself at the wheel. She shot him a quick smile and waved as she passed by, pulling into an empty space along the curb a dozen or so feet past him. She leaned over and opened the passenger side door from inside the car, beaming up at him as he got in.

“Heya, Duke!”

“Hiya, darlin’,” Duke returned the greeting. It wasn’t as chipper as it normally was, but he did have to admit that seeing her bright smile did put a little pep in his step.

“So,” Miss Holloway said, as Duke closed the car door behind him, “would you like to explain why I’m pickin’ you up at the police station, Mr. Keane?”

Duke sighed as he buckled himself in; Miss Holloway pulled away from the curb and started off down the street.

“I was filing a police report.”

Miss Holloway’s brow furrowed, “What for?”

“My car was vandalized.”

It was Miss Holloway’s turn to sigh, and she shook her head, “You think it was…?”

“It has to be,” Duke said with a shrug, “And I really don’t like the idea that whoever is doing this was in my driveway last night.”

“Too close for comfort,” Miss Holloway said with a nod, “You know, my offer for you to stay with me still stands.”

Duke rubbed at his face, “At this point? I might be taking you up on that.”

He was too distracted – to tired – to see Miss Holloway swallow almost nervously. She’d kept her word to Hannah so far about not letting Duke know that she was here (though she did find it odd that Hannah wouldn’t want him to know), but if he did wind up taking her up on her offer, she’d have to tell him; it wasn’t like she could hide Hannah in her tiny apartment if Duke was actively going to be there, too.

“So, what did the police say?”

“Nothing really...helpful,” Duke said, his tone far more strained than Miss Holloway liked hearing, “Unfortunately, since I don’t actually know who it is, and there’s surprisingly little evidence to help me find out, there’s not much they can do. Whoever it is would have to make themselves known and actively try to harm me before the police can make an arrest.”

“Vandalizing your car to the point where you can’t drive it seems pretty threatening to me,” Miss Holloway said with a sneer.

“It’s the same problem we were running into with Abigail,” Duke’s voice wavered a bit at the mention of her name, “If we didn’t have any proof as to who it actually was, and they weren’t trying to harm her, then there wasn’t anything they could do.”

“And until then, you’re living with the knowledge that whoever’s been watching you was close to your house.”

Duke nodded, “Exactly. Needless to say, I haven’t been sleeping very well.”

“Have they left any more messages since the last time you were in the diner?”

“About one a day,” Duke said, “Sometimes more. Most of them just...letting me know that they know where I am or what I’m doing.” He clicked his tongue against his teeth, shaking his head, “I don’t think I told you that whoever it was left a little gift on my porch yesterday.”

Miss Holloway’s brows shot up, “You did not.”

“Yep. Flowers.”

“Flowers?”

“Big ol’ bouquet of...” he shrugged, “white lilies and black roses. I had to look the other ones up, but they were apparently chrysanthemums.”

“And the cops aren’t taking that seriously?”

Duke shrugged, “What’s threatening about flowers, Miss Holloway?”

“Nothing threatening,” she said with a shrug, “but definitely creepy.”

Duke scoffed, “Yeah, well creepy isn’t exactly enough to send out an arrest warrant, unfortunately.”

Miss Holloway stopped at a red light, her eyes narrowing in thought, “Do you think whoever it is might...try to hurt you?”

“That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? They already seem to know where I am or what I’m doing at all hours of the day, and they’ve taken out my car, so...I don’t know.”

“The offer’s turning into a demand, Duke,” Miss Holloway said as the light turned green, “I don’t want you staying alone tonight.”

Duke looked like he was about to protest, then inhaled deeply and gave a slow nod, “Yeah. Okay. I don’t really wanna be alone, anyway.”

“In that case,” Miss Holloway said with a sigh, “there’s probably something you should know.”

“Oh?”

Miss Holloway nodded, her eyes firmly on the road, even as she could feel Duke’s eyes on her. She cleared her throat, swallowed hard, and then said, “Hannah’s back.”

Duke’s eyes went wide, “Hannah…? Why?”

“She’s been...having some visions lately. Wanted my help with them.”

“So she came here alone? Where are Lex and Ethan?”

“Back in California.”

“Please tell me they sent her here.”

Miss Holloway gave him an apologetic, sidelong glance, and a tight-lipped smile, “For what it’s worth, I did tell Hannah to reach out and tell Lexi where she was as soon as she got here.”

“She ran away?”

“She ran away,” Miss Holloway confirmed with a nod.

“Oh, man. Lex has got to be losing her mind.”

“I imagine she was, for sure. But Hannah’s safe with me, and I thinkLex knows that.”

Duke blew air out through his mouth, “I’m sure she does, but...that doesn’t stop her from being angry that Hannah left in the first place.”

“Hannah’s resilient, Duke,” Miss Holloway said with a shrug, “She saw a problem, and she came here to fix it.”

There was a moment of silence, during which Miss Holloway could see Duke trying to process what she was telling him. His brow was furrowed, his attention firmly on a spot at the center of the dashboard, a look of concern on his features. Finally, as the diner came into view up the road, Duke said, “What kind of visions?”

“What?”

“You said Hannah was having visions again. Did she say what they were?”

Miss Holloway pulled the car into the parking lot. She could let Duke borrow it later to go get anything he would need from his house, but for now, she had to get back to work; the lunch rush had just started when he’d called, and she had a phone call she needed to make at some point in the day. She couldn’t exactly deal with the consequences of concerning Duke in Blinky’s return, but if he was going to be here…

She turned off the car, jingling the keys in her hands, and sighed, “I can explain everything, Duke. Okay? I will tell you everything I can, as soon as I can.”

“Is that a promise?” Duke asked, quirking a brow at her.

“It’s a promise.”

Duke unbuckled his seat belt and gave her a resolute nod, “I’ll hold you to that.”

“I know you will. But please, for now, just try to relax, okay? You’re going through a lot. Anything you want, it’s on me.”

Duke snickered as they both exited the car, “You can’t keep doing that, you know. You’ll run yourself out of business.”

“You let me worry about that, hun,” Miss Holloway said with a wink, “Now go get yourself cleaned up, and I’ll-”

“Uh, oh.”

Miss Holloway blinked in confusion at Duke’s words, and she cocked her head to one side. His gaze had moved past her, to something just over her shoulder, and she turned to see what he was looking at. Her brow furrowed.

“What?” she asked, giving him a confused shrug, “What’s uh, oh?”

“I’m fairly sure that’s Ethan’s car,” Duke said, motioning toward a car a few spaces away behind Miss Holloway, “The one he bought and fixed up for their drive to California.”

Miss Holloway’s eyes fell on the car and she swallowed. She didn’t really know much about cars past, like, 1989, but looking at the old beater sitting in her parking lot, she was fairly certain that Duke was right. A small part of her had been expecting Lex and Ethan to show up at some point, if only to make sure in person that Hannah was okay. But an even bigger part of her was surprised Lex had been willing to come back to Hatchetfield at all. If Lex even was with Ethan – she supposed it wasn’t entirely impossible for Ethan to have driven back by himself. Either way, she would have thought Hannah would have told her they were coming.

Before Miss Holloway could move past her own car and up onto the sidewalk in front of the diner, the diner doors popped open and Lex Foster came rushing out, Ethan hot on her heels. Miss Holloway didn’t have time to process that she was even looking at Lex before she started yelling.

“Where the fuck is Hannah?”

Miss Holloway tried her best not to look completely affronted and held her hands up in front of her, “Whoa. You wanna try that again, Lex?”

“Don’t fucking talk down to me,” Lex snarled, “I want to know where my sister is. Now.”

It took a moment for Miss Holloway to fully comprehend that Lex was asking because she didn’t know. Which meant that...Hannah hadn’t told her? But that wasn’t right…

“Didn’t Hannah call you?”

“The last I heard from her was fucking Friday,” Lex ranted, her voice going high, “She sent me a text saying she was somewhere safe and that was it. I’ve been trying to message her for four days, she hasn’t said anything back!”

“Okay, hold on,” Miss Holloway reached forward to gently take Lex by the arm and lead her back up onto the curb, where Ethan and Duke were standing – Duke looked confused and concerned, while Ethan just looked pissed off. “Lexi, I told Hannah to call you.”

“When? When did you tell her to call me?”

“When she showed up here Friday evening,” Miss Holloway’s voice was calm. She wasn’t using her power yet, but she was about to, if Lex got anymore worked up. Miss Holloway wasn’t even aware if Lex knew her hair wasn’t covering her face anymore; she knew Lex had chosen to hide her missing eye with her hair as often as possible, but now it was pushed back, as though she’d been running her hands through it repeatedly. “She told me she’d been dodging your calls, so I told her she had to call you back and let you know where she was. She never did that?”

The worried anger never died from Lex’s eyes, but her coiled stance relaxed a bit as she moved to hug herself, “No. She never fucking called me back.”

Miss Holloway shared a look with Duke over Lex’s shoulder and shook her head, “That girl,” she said with a sigh, “Lex, I am so sorry, honey. I had no idea you didn’t know where she was.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill her...”

“How’d you know to look here, if she didn’t tell you?” Miss Holloway asked.

Lex shrugged, “She kept...saying she wanted to come back to Hatchetfield, so I thought maybe...” she sighed, “I don’t know. I know she trusts you. You were the only person I could think to come to.”

“Well, you were right,” Miss Holloway said with a nod, “She’s been spending most days out and about in town, since the diner’s so busy and I don’t...really have anything for her to do while I’m working. I think she’s at the library today.”

Lex swallowed and glanced over her shoulder toward Ethan, “I don’t want her staying here.”

Something twisted in Miss Holloway’s gut. It did hurt, knowing Lex didn’t want to stay, but she’d also expected it. Everything she and Hannah had gone through nearly destroyed the both of them. It made sense Lex wouldn’t want to stay in the place that had done that to her. At the same time, Hannah had just more or less devoted both her power, and Miss Holloway’s, to that General MacNamara guy. She wasn’t entirely certain Hannah could leave, at this point.

She sighed, placing a hand on Lex’s shoulder, “We’ll talk when Hannah gets back, okay?”

“There’s nothing to talk about. Hannah’s coming home.”

“There is, actually,” Miss Holloway said with a nod, “This...it’s not simple anymore, Lex.”

Lex’s good eye widened, even as her brow furrowed, “What does that mean?”

Miss Holloway’s gaze flicked back toward Duke, who was looking confused and concerned, and Ethan, who was standing with his arms crossed looking equally confused, and angry. If Miss Holloway had known Hannah hadn’t actually talked to Lexi, she would have fought harder to keep her out of this whole PEIP thing. But she’d trusted Hannah to do the right thing, for herself and for Lex. It was deeply disappointing to know she’d tried to choose what she’d thought was the easiest way out.

For someone who was so eager to fight an otherworldly being, Hannah sure seemed frightened of anything resembling confrontation with her sister.

“The four of us will talk later,” Miss Holloway said with a nod, “with Hannah. I promise. There are some things you need to know. But...I don’t think taking Hannah back to California will be as simple as you thought. I’m sorry.”

“Jesus Christ,” Lex hissed, “What did she get herself into now?”

“Trust me, I’m not happy about it either,” Miss Holloway said, “I followed her lead on this one. I’m just hoping it wasn’t a big mistake.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 21

Surprisingly, it was rather easy to get used to driving with only one hand.

Paul hadn’t been aware of just how often he’d used both hands for things, until one of them was gone. He supposed he should consider himself lucky that he hadn’t lost his dominant hand; that would have made everything just that much harder, he was certain. Still, things as simple as buttoning a shirt or tying a tie were a hassle anymore, and he often felt bad for leaning so heavily on Emma to help him with such things. He could feel her rising tensions whenever he’d sheepishly ask for help with something, and while he knew she didn’t mean anything by it, his own anxiety made it just that much harder to ask.

Of the things he had to re-learn, driving had been among the simplest. Oh, it still hadn’t been easy, not by a long shot. But unlike dressing himself, where he had to find shortcuts and ask for help, learning to drive again had simply been a matter of adjusting expectations and learning not to rely on his left hand as much as he previously did. It was more a matter of retraining his brain to realize that hey, that second hand? It isn’t there. Learn to concentrate on the road and the steering wheel without it.

Really, the entire situation was a matter of retraining his brain. It was so odd how often his mind seemed to truly, actually believe his left hand was still attached to his body. There were times where he could feel it there. Move it, even. Several times, he’d actively dropped things, or knocked things over, simply because he was 100% convinced, in that moment, that he could grab something with his left hand. Occasionally even looking right at it didn’t help with the sensation. It was wild.

But driving, at least was something he could do without too much help.

Well, so long as he didn’t have an “episode,” anyway.

He couldn’t really remember what Hidgens had done to him in the sub-basement of that house, but he did actively remember a lot of pain, and a lot of rage. He distinctly remembered ripping through leather restraints to get at Hidgens at some point, an act that should have broken his wrists. For weeks after everything ended, he’d dealt with chronic pain and migraines, sensitivity to light, frequent blackouts, and had even had a seizure at one point. He’d thought he’d gotten through the worst of it.

And then he’d woken up on the floor of the men’s restroom in CCRP.

It had been about a week since then, and nothing. No more blackouts, and headaches that could be seen as mild at worst. Still, it didn’t make him feel any better at all, knowing that it could just kind of...happen, even when he thought he was done with that particular mess.

He had just gotten off work, and was heading out to meet up with Emma, Tom, and Becky for an early dinner and drinks. Sort of a double date, he supposed. Emma would be driving herself to the restaurant (a place Tom chose – Paul hadn’t even known it existed) a bit later, so Paul was headed there himself now to meet with them early.

He had to admit, he wasn’t entirely...happy about this arrangement. Tom didn’t seem to like him much. Becky had been nice, the one or two times Paul had met with her, but Tom? Every time Paul walked into his house, Tom glared at him like he was looking for the best way to kill him without making a mess. Becky had made a joke about how Emma was technically Tom’s sister (through marriage, yes, but the point still stood), so he was just being protective. But still. It freaked Paul out a great deal. And now he was driving to meet up with these people alone, while waiting for Emma to arrive later.

The restaurant itself was a little hole-in-the-wall seafood place not far from the beach. It wasn’t overly crowded, but the parking lot was tiny, and Paul had to drive around a few times before he was able to find a spot. He shot Emma a text to let her know she might be better off parking in the street when she got there, rather than running the risk of getting trapped in the parking lot waiting for an open spot (which was what had happened to him), and headed inside. Tom and Becky were easy enough to spot, sitting next to one another at a booth not too far from the entrance. It was Becky who noticed Paul first and offered a little wave, which Paul returned before heading toward them.

“Hi, Paul!” Becky greeted.

“Hi. Um, Emma’s on her way. She had a job interview.”

Tom quirked a brow, “Starbucks not working out?”

Paul took a seat across from him and gave a little shrug, “Her boss changed up her schedule to the point that it was conflicting with her classes, so she’s looking around for a place that’ll accommodate her more.”

“Do you know where she has the interview?” Becky piped up with a curious head tilt, “I know she mentioned on Saturday that she’s applied to a lot of places.”

“It’s actually a followup interview,” Paul said with a nod, “at that diner across town.”

“Miss Retro’s!” Becky said. She gave Tom a knowing grin.

“That’s the one,” Paul said, “Yeah, I guess the owner had a few followup questions, but it does kinda sound like she has the job there if she wants it.”

“Ooh, that’s exciting, I love Miss Retro’s!”

Tom quirked a brow at her, smirking, “You do? We should go there more often, then.”

“I’m game,” Becky said with a shrug.

The server approached at that point, to offer Paul a menu and ask what he wanted to drink. Paul ordered a water with lemon for himself, and a Coke for Emma, thanked the server, and opened the menu with the softest sigh he could muster. He wasn’t huge into seafood, but he wasn’t about to complain about it with Tom sitting right there. He could feel the man’s eyes on him, watching him as though waiting for him to do something that would warrant yelling at him or something.

“So,” Tom’s gruff voice drew Paul’s gaze up from the menu and onto him, “how’re things with you?”

“Oh, uh,” Paul instinctively went to smooth his tie with his hand, letting the menu fall onto the table in front of him – there it was again, the odd thought that his other hand would be there, to catch the menu before it fell – “Nothing much, really. Just work. The usual.”

Tom quirked a brow, “Work, huh? How’s that going?”

Paul shrugged, “Uh...the-the usual?”

“What is ‘the usual,’ Paul?” Tom asked, annoyance flaring up in his tone.

“It’s...well, it’s a boring job, is all. Nothing really exciting happens on the daily, you know.”

“Hmm,” Tom said with a nod, “Sounds boring.”

“It gets the bills paid,” Paul replied, “And...well, I have decent insurance. Which is good for,” he motioned to his missing hand with a little shrug, “everything.”

“How is that, by the way?” Becky asked, concern showing on her pretty features, “Still getting those phantom pains?”

Paul gave a slow nod, swallowing, “Uh, yeah. Yeah, occasionally.”

“You seem to be dealing with it okay, though.”

Paul’s gaze slipped down to the fallen menu, which he’d dropped specifically because he’d thought his hand was still there for a split second, and he nodded, clearing his throat, “You know, kind of? It’s still hard.”

“I get it,” Becky said with a nod.

“I asked Emma if you wanted me to pick you up or something,” Tom said, “but she said you seemed pretty insistent on driving yourself.”

“I like driving,” Paul said, “It’s...one of the only things I can do by myself right now. Without any...without too much help.”

Something in Tom’s expression softened a bit and he inhaled deeply, “So if you’re driving, I’m assuming those blackouts Emma was so worried about are under control?”

Considering Paul had just had one a week earlier, he wasn’t entirely sure how to answer that question without straight up lying. So instead he simply said, “Eh, more or less.”

Tom looked like he was about to respond, but Becky cut him off, “Oh, there’s Emma!” She lifted a hand in the air and waved toward the door, as she’d done for Paul before.

Emma approached them with a breathless little, “Hey,” and leaned over to give Paul a quick kiss before sliding in next to him. He scooted down the bench a ways to give her a bit more room.

“Paul said you were at an interview?” Becky asked, “How’d it go?”

“Yeah,” Emma nodded, “followup interview. Mostly just...you know, writing down what I need for my schedule and stuff.” She gave Paul a small smile, “I think I might have it.”

“I think you do, too,” Paul said with a nod, returning her smile with a warm grin of his own.

“Miss Retro’s, huh?” Tom asked.

Emma shrugged, “Well, you know. If she’s willing to work with my class schedule, and not jerk me around like the asshole I work for at Starbucks, I’ll consider it an upgrade.” She quirked a brow at Becky, looking her up and down, “Should you be eating seafood, Becks?”

Becky gave her a good-natured chuckle, “I should be fine. I do appreciate the concern, though.”

It was at that point that the server returned with the drinks. He placed the Coke in front of Emma, and handed her the water to pass to Paul before asking, “So, have we decided what we want yet?”

“Oh, I just got here, I haven’t even looked,” Emma shook her head, “You guys can order, though.”

“It’s okay, we can wait for you to pick,” Becky said. Tom gave her a look somewhere between affronted and amused, and she snorted, “You can be patient, Tom. We can eat together.”

Tom rolled his eyes, but gave Emma a good-natured grin, as he lifted his glass to take a drink, “Take your time.”

“Alright,” the server said in a chipper tone, “I’ll be back in a bit.”

No sooner did he saunter away, then the sound of a guitar being plucked filled the room. Paul perked up, his brow furrowing.

“What is that?”

“Oh,” Tom said as he placed his glass back down on the table, “that’s the live music. Next show’s starting.”

“Live music?” Paul asked, his tone filled with disbelief. He knew Tom didn’t like him much, but Tom knew Paul wasn’t exactly a fan of live music in any capacity, so the fact that he’d knowingly invited him here, of all places was...wow. Tom really didn’t like him.

Tom gave a little shrug, “It’s jazz.”

Paul gave Emma a look, “The seafood place has live jazz, Emma.”

Emma nodded, “Yep, I’m...sitting right here, Paul, I heard.” She reached over to give his knee a squeeze that told him pretty distinctly to just stop. Suck it up. We won’t be here long. Listen to the fucking jazz, eat the fucking seafood and then we can go home. Paul winced as Emma’s nails dug into his knee, and cleared his throat before reaching for a sip of water. Tom was staring at him with a knowing little half grin. Oh. Oh, he was enjoying this.

For her part, Becky did seem to notice the tension and quirked a brow at Tom. He met her gaze and offered her a smile, but she narrowed her eyes in a way that silently said, “I know what you did, and we are talking about this later.” He withered a bit under her glare.

And then the brief warm-up ended, and the music began.

Now, Paul had never liked live music. He barely liked music, period. And most of what he did like, he’d come to enjoy for Emma’s sake (she didn’t like moving around a quiet environment for too long, so often kept soft music playing while she did things around the apartment). Watching people perform live – specifically when it came to singing and dancing – had always made him incredibly uncomfortable, and live music in general had always just kind of struck him as annoying.

But what it had never done, was give him a headache.

Not like this, anyway. The second the song started – the guitar strumming, the drum pounding, the brass billowing, the singer singing – he felt a low throb in his head. A throb that began to pulsate along with the beat of the music and become more and more painful as the song went on. What started as an annoying throb, became a stabbing pain, and he found himself clutching at his head with his hand. It was like the music was crawling through him, enveloping him, and settling down into his brain. He was fairly certain he could hear Emma talking to him, but he couldn’t make out the words through the cacophony of sound.

He certainly hoped he’d worked through the pain enough to ask Emma to move, because otherwise he’d shoved her out of his way as he made to get up and head to the bathroom. Once inside, the bathroom door muffled the music a bit and he could actually hear himself think, thank God. He swallowed and moved toward the sinks to splash some water on his face, when the door opened and Tom came in.

“You’re really that upset about the music, huh?” he quipped, watching Paul with something resembling concern on his face.

“It’s not...” Paul shook his head, “I didn’t...”

“That was a joke, Matthews, lighten up.”

“Oh,” was all Paul managed to mutter as he leaned against the sink in front of him.

After a few moments of silence, during which Paul could feel Tom’s eyes on him, Tom finally said, “You okay?”

Paul nodded, “Yeah. I’m so sorry, I have no idea what that was.”

“Well, whatever it was, it got Emma real worried. She thought you were about to black out again.”

Paul turned to face him. Tom was leaning against the wall near the door, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were on Paul, his brow furrowed just ever so slightly as he looked him up and down.

“To be honest,” Paul finally muttered, “I was worried about that, too.”

Tom snorted, “Well, next time you plan on pulling this shit, could you maybe not run into the men’s restroom? It was all I could do to keep Emma from coming in after you.”

Paul huffed, “Right. I...wasn’t really thinking. I just...had to get out.”

“Out?”

“Out of there,” Paul motioned vaguely toward the bathroom door, “Away from the music.”

“Ah,” Tom nodded and pushed himself off the wall, moving slowly toward Paul, “so you were upset by the music.”

“I mean,” Paul shrugged, “no more than usual. The headache was a surprise, though.”

“Well, if I’d known you were gonna react like that, I wouldn’t have suggested this place.”

Paul’s brows rose and he gave Tom a knowing look, “You picked this place on purpose, didn’t you?”

“To get to you specifically, because I think you’re a fucking boring-ass dork? Yes. Yes, I did.”

Paul gave him a little shrug and said in a half joking tone, “Well, maybe I’m not sorry for running off like that, then.”

“Right,” Tom rolled his eyes, “Seriously, though, are you okay?”

“I think so,” Paul said with a nod, “I don’t suppose there’s a way to get them to...stop the live music?”

“There is not,” Tom shook his head, “but we can go somewhere else.”

“That...would probably be a good idea, yeah.”

Tom clapped Paul painfully on the shoulder – Paul was fairly certain he’d put more strength into it than was entirely necessary – and motioned toward the door, “Let’s go get the girls, then. We can all pile into my truck, and I’ll bring you back here to get your cars when we’re done.”

“Right. Okay.”

Moving back into the dining room, the headache returned, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been before. Not as distracting, or pounding, or all-encompassing. It still throbbed with the beat of the music, which struck Paul as odd. Emma met them outside the bathroom almost immediately, checking Paul over for any signs of injury or something; it was all Paul could do to calm her enough for Tom to let her know they were going some place else.

It wasn’t until they were all piled into Tom’s truck and heading to a different restaurant that Paul’s headache subsided; small talk revealed that Becky had apparently been suffering from a headache in there, too, which seemed to concern Tom a great deal. Emma wouldn’t stop fussing over Paul – it was sweet in its own way, but he really wished she wouldn’t. It wasn’t like he’d actually passed out, he’d just...nearly passed out. There was a difference. Sort of. He was worrying about himself enough for the two of them, however.

He hadn’t had an episode in well over a month. No migraines, no blackouts, nothing. And now he was going on two in two weeks. He really didn’t want to have to make another trip to the hospital. He didn’t want anymore tests. No more poking, or prodding, or medicine. He really, really hoped this would be the last of it.

If he were a more religious man, he’d pray for it to be the last of it.

Chapter Text

Chapter 22

After his little… “episode” while driving home from the bus depot with Alice, Bill had suffered two more incredibly off-putting incidents. The first had come the very next night, close to 1am on Sunday morning. Bill had a nightmare and woke up sweating and terrified, screaming like Alice had never before heard him scream. It took several minutes to calm him down enough to get him to understand that he was safe, during which point he very nearly hit Alice twice, hit his own head against the wall once, and bit his tongue hard enough that it started bleeding.

The second came Monday, while he was at work. According to his co-worker, Paul (Alice remembered Paul used to babysit her, she liked Paul), Bill had seen something on his computer that had sent him into a panic attack so severe he’d nearly passed out. It was bad enough that he’d had to be driven home by someone else, and when Paul checked his computer later, he didn’t see anything that could have triggered it.

These two...attacks, or whatever they were, had worried Alice enough that she’d once again suggested going to a doctor – if not the ER, then at least urgent care – but Bill had pushed back against the idea both times.

He had also, much to Alice’s surprise, suggested she cut her visit to Hatchetfield short and go back to Clivesdale to see her mother.

That really worried Alice. Ever since the divorce, the only thing Bill wanted was for Alice to be with him. To an annoying degree. He was clingy, needy, and almost smothering. Anytime she had come to visit, he did everything in his power to try to make her think he was cool so she’d hang out with him. He took her to the theater (to plays he enjoyed), he tried to get her to go to movies (movies he wanted to see), they went out to dinner (at places he liked). He didn’t always listen to her when she voiced her desire to do something different, something out of his comfort zone, and more in line with the things she enjoyed. It was like he couldn’t comprehend that she was growing up, that she wasn’t a little girl anymore, and it annoyed her.

Before moving to New York for school, she got snippy with her father and demanded that he try not to call her every single day. She was going out on her own, she didn’t need dear ol’ dad checking in on her all the time. She’d keep in touch, but she didn’t want to hear from him unsolicited. Not every day. Then, shortly after school had started, he helped her with an administration issue she was having, and after that...

When news started trickling out of Hatchetfield that something was happening, that people were dying, Alice felt panic set in. Not just for Deb, whom she loved deeply and didn’t want to lose, but for her father. He was stuck in a city that seemed to be destroying itself through violence. Her last conversation with him had been nice. Fun, even. But she’d taken the time to remind him not to bother her with constant phone calls or texts before ending that video call. Her last words to him were, “I love you, but I don’t wanna hear from you constantly.”

Then she didn’t hear from him for nearly a week.

She had to get the information from her mother that Bill was okay. Evidently he was deeply traumatized – enough that he hadn’t even considered calling Alice – but he was okay. She made sure to check in with him every day after that, even if it was just as simple as sending a “good morning” text.

When she made plans to go home for spring break, she decided to try to include her dad in those plans as much as possible. She’d kept saying she wanted him to bond with Deb a bit more anyway. Maybe they could do it now. Actually try this time. Like he kept saying he wanted.

And now he was telling her to go.

The whole thing had led to something of an argument between the two, during which Alice began to remember why she found her dad annoying in the first place, and he didn’t bring it up again after that.

Bill had returned to work today, which Alice had mixed feelings about. On the one hand, he clearly wasn’t doing well, and likely shouldn’t be working (let alone driving himself to work). But on the other, she did have a day planned with Deb, where they were just going to hang out, smoke a little, and find walk around town. By the time late afternoon landed, a storm was beginning to move in (one that hadn’t been forecast, annoyingly enough), so they found themselves at the mall to keep out of the worst of the rain, where they decided on going to see a movie.

The movie wasn’t good.

It was some flick neither of them had ever heard of, a strange, almost surreal comedy horror that didn’t lean enough into either the comedy or the horror to be anywhere near entertaining. There were vampires, for some bizarre reason, and an incompetent serial killer “trying his best.”

They were at the back of the theater, alternating between very blatant public displays of affection, and snacking on popcorn while they made fun of the movie. They hadn’t really thought that they were being disruptive – or that the movie was even good enough for anyone to care whether or not they were – but when the woman in front of them got up to move farther down the aisle, shooting them a dirty look as she went, they decided that yeah, maybe some people did care. The man yelling at them to shut the fuck up from several rows down only verified that fact, so now they were sitting back in their seats, legs intertwined, trying desperately not to giggle at just how bad this film actually was.

The movie was about halfway through (they hoped, God this it was long), when Deb went to lift her soda cup with one hand. She hadn’t realized that, at some point, the lid at the top of the cup had come loose, and she grabbed the cup at such an awkward angle that she managed to accidentally spill a good portion of the soda down her front. She hissed out a soft curse, disentangling herself from Alice as she sat forward in her seat. Alice moved to hand her some napkins from the pile they’d grabbed at the concession stand before the movie, but they did very little to clean the spill.

“Fuck,” Deb hissed, “Now I’m gonna be all sticky...Blech.”

“Deb, just go to the bathroom and take off your undershirt,” Alice said with a shrug, “You can live without the extra layer for, like, an hour.”

Deb quirked a brow at her, then let out a huff and stood to leave the theater, grumbling the whole way.

Alice turned her attention back to the screen, choosing to ignore the glares she felt being lobbed their way from the other patrons in the theater.

“Movie isn’t even good, guys, Jesus,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.

On screen, the scene changed to follow the main character as she went back to her house, and Alice couldn’t put her finger on why, exactly, but she suddenly felt...uneasy. It didn’t make a lot of sense – up until now, this “horror” movie was severely lacking in any actual horror – and then she noticed the eyes. It was subtle, at first. Something barely noticeable unless someone was paying attention. More than a dozen eyes littered the background, hidden in the patterns on the walls, doors, or windows. Alice sat forward in her seat. Had that been there the whole time? Was this movie actually doing something that they’d missed completely because they’d been messing around?

The eyes seemed to follow the actress as she moved off-screen, and then began to glare straight ahead, as though looking through the camera. The scene switched, following the character into another room in the house. The eyes were still there, more prominent this time, staring at the camera while the character on screen did her thing.

And then the character stood, slowly turning to face the camera, and stared.

Alice wasn’t entirely sure why, but she definitely felt like the eyes were staring directly at her, specifically.

One by one, as if choreographed, every eye on screen began to glow a bright, almost iridescent purple, and then the woman on screen began to laugh. A loud, echoing cackle came from her, her mouth opening almost too wide as the sound seemed to make its way through Alice, boring into her brain like a drill. She hissed in pain, clutching her hands to her head as the laugh went higher and higher, becoming almost child-like in cadence. Then it stopped, an almost stoic look appearing on the actress’ face for a moment before the mouth opened and a voice that was definitely not the actress’ spoke.

“Welcome home, Little Alice. You couldn’t have picked a better time, ha!” The manic grin on the actress’ face turned to a sneer, her eyes wide, wild, and glowing a bright vibrant purple. The voice continued speaking, except this time it didn’t come from the actress’ mouth. Instead, it came from right beside Alice, a harsh whisper directly in her ear, “An eye for an eye, you stupid bitch.”

Alice’s scream was only barely drowned out by the very loud clap of thunder erupting overhead outside the theater, and then the room went completely dark and silent. The only sound was that of the rain falling outside.

“What the fuck?” asked the man who had told Alice and Deb earlier to shut the fuck up, his tone more angry than anything else.

“What happened?” muttered someone else.

“The power must’ve got knocked out,” a bored voice drawled.

Alice heard none of it. Her ears felt like they were filled with static. She could still see the residual outline of the eyes on the screen, staring at her. She blinked. The images were behind her eyelids now. With a desperate, panicked breath, she began to fumble for her phone to use the flashlight. To get something to light the darkness so the after-burned images would go the fuck away.

She managed to find her phone, but lost hold of it just as quickly; it fell from her grasp and she heard it hit the ground under her seat. With a soft, fearful cry, she eased herself out of her chair and onto the floor in an effort to feel around for her phone. She couldn’t find it. Her hand brushed up against something that definitely would have made her gag if she had been in the right state of mind to even care. She could still see the eyes in the darkness, could still hear the echo of the laugh in her ears. A throbbing, pounding ache began to convulse behind her eyes just as her fingers found her phone and closed around it. She let out an almost triumphant huff, and moved to stand.

Under normal circumstances, Alice would have just called it vertigo. Claimed that she’d pushed herself into a standing position too quickly, and was dizzy. But right now, as confused fear coursed through her, she wasn’t so sure it was as simple as that. Her head was pounding, and those eyes were still burned into her vision in the darkness. She slumped back down into her theater seat, eyes sweeping the room for the exit signs that would lead her out. She was vaguely aware of the fact that someone seemed to be clearing the room – an usher with a flashlight was leading everyone out into the hallway – and tried to get back on her feet to follow. She shook her head, swayed in place, and sat back down again, blinking rapidly.

The brightness of the usher’s flashlight sweeping over her made her wince, and then she thought she heard someone maybe calling her name? She wasn’t certain until she saw Deb standing over her, an usher directly behind.

“Alice, what’s wrong?” Deb asked as she knelt down next to Alice and placed a hand on her knee. The usher said something Alice couldn’t quite hear, only for Deb to turn around and snap something about giving them a second.

“I...I have a headache...” Alice muttered. It was far from the only thing that was wrong in this moment, but it was the simplest problem for her to explain out loud.

“Okay. Come on, I’m taking you home,” Deb said as she grabbed Alice by the arm to help her to her feet. Alice didn’t protest, leaning heavily against Deb for support as the two of them followed the usher out of the theater.

~*~*@*~*~

Bill liked storms. There was just something so relaxing about them. Alice had always hated them. She used to be afraid of the thunder when she was a kid, and would come running to him for comfort and support.

“Don’t worry, baby girl,” Bill would say, while she softly whined against him and hugged him tight, “it’s just the angels bowling in the clouds? Ooh, hear that? One of them got a strike!”

Then they’d curl up together, under a blanket on the couch, with hot chocolate, and watch a movie.

God, he missed that.

After the week he’d had, though (which felt so weird to say, considering it was only Tuesday), he did find a calming sort of presence in the storm. He hoped Alice – and Deb, he supposed – were staying safe out in the rain. She’d likely hate it, but he couldn’t help but send a text when the rain started, reminding her to call him if she needed anything.

Considering it had been hours since then, he figured she was...probably fine.

He was torn. On the one hand, he wanted his little girl here, with him, curled up on the couch like they used to do. On the other hand, he was deeply, insanely worried for her safety. Each and every one of his little “episodes” had involved something – he didn’t know what – directly threatening Alice. The problem was, while Alice knew something was wrong, there wasn’t exactly a way for Bill to explain what was wrong without sounding incredibly crazy. One thing he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, was that he would do anything and everything within his power to keep Alice safe.

He just didn’t know how to do that.

What he didn’t understand, was why. Why now, after all this time, was this happening again? Six months of relative normalcy, and then Alice comes back home and it starts up again? What was that about? The last time anything remotely like this had happened, poor Charlotte had taken the brunt of it. Bill didn’t want Alice to go through the same.

She hadn’t taken his suggestion that she leave town early very well. It had taken every ounce of willpower for him to even suggest it out loud – he wanted her here, with him. It was all he ever wanted, and she was actually willing to give it to him during her spring break vacation, when she quite literally could have gone anywhere else (her words, the ones she used during the argument that swiftly followed his suggestion). But, in the grand scheme of things, he wanted her safe even more. Suggesting that she leave was the only way he could think to do that. It hurt, to see the disappointment in her eyes when he said it. She was trying, and she didn’t understand, and Bill couldn’t explain...not in a way that made any sense whatsoever.

He was living it, and it didn’t make sense.

The pounding on his door startled him enough that he actually yelped as he sat up straight on the couch. He didn’t have time to even open his mouth to respond before the person knocking said from the other side, “Mr. Woodward?” Ah. Deb. “Something’s going on with Alice. She lost her keys. You need to open the door.”

A brief worried panic rose in his chest and, in half a second, Bill was on his feet and at the door, unlocking it. He pulled it open with what was probably more force than necessary to see Deb standing outside, Alice leaning heavily against her, while someone Bill did not know helped support his daughter from the other side. Bill’s brows furrowed.

“Is she drunk?” The words left his mouth before he even fully recognized it as a thought in his own head and he reached forward to help Deb and the stranger drag Alice inside.

“No,” Deb said in an affronted tone as they lowered Alice onto the couch.

“She might be a little high,” the other person said with a little shrug.

“Shut up, Ziggs,” Deb hissed.

“High?” Bill yelled. He turned on Deb, “You got my daughter high?”

Deb held up her hands and instinctively took a step away from him, “No! It’s...okay, we smoked a little, but that was hours ag-”

“Since when does Alice smoke pot?”

“Since as long as I’ve known her, man,” Ziggy said with a shrug.

“Shut up, Ziggs!” Deb hissed again, “Seriously, go wait outside or something.”

Ziggy gave her a nonchalant shrug, muttered, “Okay. I’ll keep the van warm,” and headed back out the door, gently closing it behind them.

Bill, with some level of barely contained rage, glared at Deb, “I cannot believe you got my daughter high.”

“Can you just slow down for a sec?” Deb’s tone was somewhere between scared, worried, and annoyed, “The pot didn’t do this, okay? I promise.”

“Then what did, huh?”

“I don’t know, I think...she had a panic attack?” Deb said questioningly.

“What? Why?”

“We were at the mall, in the movie theater. I left to use the bathroom, and there was a big clap of thunder and I guess lightning hit a big power pole nearby or something, so everything within three blocks just went black.”

Immediately, Bill’s expression softened and he lowered himself onto the couch beside Alice. She’d told him, shortly after the divorce, that she wasn’t afraid of thunder anymore. That she was too old to be afraid of such “babyish” things. She didn’t run to grab him in a terrified hug anymore, but every time there was a thunderstorm while she was in town Alice found some way to be close to her father. Even if it was as simple as being in the same room. She was still afraid of thunder. She was just better at hiding it.

As Bill sat next to her, Alice looked up to meet his gaze, her eyes wide.

“Daddy?”

“Hey, honey. Deb says you had a panic attack.”

Alice swallowed, looked up at Deb, then back at her father, “Dad, I think we need to talk.”

“Okay. That’s fine, I can do that.”

Deb gave a slow nod, “I can, uh...I can go.”

Alice reached forward to grab Deb’s hand, giving it a little squeeze, “I’ll call you later, okay? I promise.”

“And Deb?” Bill spoke up. Deb stiffened, her gaze meeting Bill’s as he continued, “Thanks. For bringing her home.”

Deb nodded, “Of course.”

She was at the door and had her hand on the handle when Bill stopped her once again and said, “I don’t want that other person in my house ever again. They smelled like weed.”

Deb snorted, “Yeah, they get that a lot. Honestly, if I had your number, I would’ve given you a call, but Ziggy was our best bet. They’re kind of always around, y’know?”

“Huh,” Bill huffed, “Goodnight, Deb.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Woodward. Night, Alice. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Alice said as she blew Deb a little kiss.

Deb made a show of catching the kiss with a grin, and walked out the door.

“Now,” Bill said, turning all of his attention on Alice as he spoke. He put a hand on her shoulder, his brow furrowing, “tell me what happened.”

There were any number of things Bill expected Alice to say in that moment. Anything from claiming she was perfectly fine and Deb overreacted, to that she’d had some bad pot and had a panic attack (he still couldn’t believe she’d been smoking – they’d be talking about that later). He would have taken anything – anything at all – aside from what she actually said.

“Dad, I...I think I heard...I don’t know...I think I heard the voice you’ve been hearing. It said my name.”

And just like that, Bill felt like his entire world was going to collapse around him.

Six months. Six months everything had been normal. Or at least as close to normal as it could possibly get after everything. Bill would have given anything in the world to know why it was happening again.

And he would have given even more to ensure Alice didn’t have to suffer through it with him.

Chapter Text

Chapter 23

The halls of Hatchetfield High were full of an awful lot of grumpy geese the next day, mumbling and muttering their distaste at having to go to school.

It turned out that the lightning strike that had left Deb and Alice stranded in the darkened mall the evening before had also knocked power out of a little bit less than half of Hatchetfield as a whole. Hatchetfield High had been involved in that outage, so the idea that classes would be canceled the next day hung in the air...until power was successfully restored to the affected areas after a few hours. Students who had been surreptitiously making plans for a day off of school in the hopes power wouldn’t be restored suddenly found themselves exactly where they didn’t want to be, and they were not happy about it.

Honestly, Grace didn’t understand all the fuss. It wasn’t like there was anything to do when they weren’t in class. Nothing that wouldn’t get them all into trouble, anyway. People had to contribute to society, and what better way for teenagers to do just that than by doing their part and going to school? Get an education, graduate, get a job, start a family. That was Grace’s long-term plan. She couldn’t do that if school was just straight up canceled.

As she made her way down the hall toward her locker, Grace said her hellos to anyone she passed by. Surprisingly, a few people returned the tiny form of affection, sending Grace’s heart soaring. She was getting through to some people, it seemed, even if it was slow going – Richie, for instance, was still avoiding her; he ducked into a nearby empty classroom as she sent a wave his way.

She got to her locker and was switching books around for her morning classes, when all of the sudden the locker door slammed closed in front of her. She let out a startled gasp, drawing her hand away from where it had almost been crushed in the locker door – had she been actually reaching inside, it could have seriously hurt her – and sent a glare toward the person who’d very nearly injured her. Brad Callahan stood there, leaning against the row of lockers beside her, his hand pressed firmly against her locker door.

“Hey, Gracie,” he said, his voice dripping with a forced charm Grace didn’t recognize as a poor attempt at something flirtatious. She grimaced.

“Hello, Bradley.”

Brad huffed out a chuckle and moved to cross his arms as he waggled his eyebrows at her, “I like it when you use my full name like that. Very stern. Very hot.”

Ah. Grace knew what this was now. Flirtation. Gross. She felt her stomach churn and simply shook her head as she stooped to pick up her backpack. She didn’t have all of her books, but she certainly wasn’t going to just stand here with Brad Callahan of all people while he made that face at her. What was it with these teenagers and their desire to get into each other’s pants before marriage? Didn’t any of them recognize how wrong that was?

Grace flicked her backpack over one shoulder and turned to walk away from Brad, but he grabbed her by the arm in a none-too-gentle fashion and spun her around to face him.

“Hey, I was talking to you.”

“Let go of me!” Grace spat as she pulled her arm from his grip. Her tone was low. Almost dangerous. And something her voice set Brad to taking a single step away from her. It made sense, she supposed. She had knocked him over the head with a heavy book during their last most significant interaction. And she hadn’t even been possessed at the time. He was likely aware of the fact that she’d do it again.

Brad raised his hands in an almost defensive gesture, “Whoa. Jesus. Sorry.”

“Language, Brad,” Grace admonished as she readjusted her backpack on her shoulder, “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.” She turned to walk away, but he stopped her again, this time with his words, rather than by physically grabbing her.

“Hey, I need your help with something. If you don’t mind.”

Slowly, Grace turned to face him, eyes narrowed, “What?”

“Well, it’s a couple of somethings, really,” Brad said with a shrug, “First, you’re Spankoffski’s friend, right?”

Grace let out a barely perceptible scoff, “Not in so many words, no.”

Brad’s brow furrowed with confusion, “You’re not? That’s surprising, since I seem to remember you beating me over the head to get me off of him.”

Grace shrugged, “It doesn’t take friendship to protect people, Brad. You were going to kill him.”

Brad opened his mouth to respond to the contrary, then thought better of it. Normally, no. He wouldn’t have been trying to straight up kill Spankoffski. But in that moment…

He waved a hand as though waving the thought away, “Eh, whatever. Point is, I’m looking for him.”

“Why?” Grace asked, quirking a brow, “You gonna try to kill him again?”

“No,” Brad said without hesitation, shaking his head, “I need to talk to him, is all.” He scrunched up his face into an unreadable expression, considering, and then broke out into a grin, “I’m gonna apologize.”

“Apologize?”

Brad nodded, “Yeah. For breaking his arm, or whatever.”

“In that case, you should probably apologize to Richie, too,” Grace gave him an admonishing glare, “And Max.”

Brad bristled at the mention of Max’s name, inhaling sharply, “Right. I, uh, I already apologized to Max.”

Grace’s brows rose, “Really?”

“Yeah,” Brad said, nodding, “Yesterday. Out on the courtyard, just after the bell rang. We had a...little talk.”

“I heard it was more of a fight.”

Huh. She was more in the loop than he’d originally given her credit for. “Rumors spread like wildfire around here, Gracie. We...we didn’t actually have a fight. People thought we were going to because of, like, what happened with us or whatever. But no, I apologized.”

Much to his surprise, Grace seemed to take this at face value and visibly relaxed a bit, “Oh. Well, that’s good, then. And he forgave you?”

“I mean, maybe?” Brad said with a shrug, “he didn’t really say it out loud or anything, but uh...I think we’re getting somewhere.”

Grace’s entire expression lit up with a bright smile, “Oh, good! I’m so glad to hear it!”

“Yeah, so like,” Brad gave an awkward little shrug, “I wanna do the same for Spankoffski.” He did his best to hide a grimace, turning it into a smile, “And...Lipschitz, I guess.”

“Well, I don’t know where Pete is, but I saw Richie earlier,” Grace said. She turned and pointed off toward the classroom where she saw Richie disappear. It was likely he wouldn’t still be there, but it was worth a shot, she supposed, to give Brad a chance at forgiveness, “He went in there, last I saw him.”

Brad’s eyes glided up toward the classroom door and he nodded, “Cool. Thanks.”

He made to move past Grace and toward the classroom, when Grace’s voice stopped him.

“Was that all you needed?”

“Huh?” Brad turned to meet her gaze.

“You said you needed help with a couple of things,” Grace said, “You needed help finding Pete, and then...what else?”

“Oh.” Truth be told, he’d forgotten about that second thing. The second thing that had only popped into his head the day before, when he’d gotten into his little fight with Max.

Contrary to popular belief, Brad didn’t want Max dead. Sure, he’d tried to kill him, but he...hadn’t exactly been in control of himself at the time. If he was being completely honest with himself, his actions on that day had probably scared him as much as he’d scared anyone else. Sure, he’d broken arms in the heat of bullying before. But he’d never done it on purpose, and never with such malice and sheer force of will as he’d had when he broke Spankoffski’s arm. He didn’t like Lipschitz, but he’d never actually intended on slicing him to ribbons like he had. And while he’d always wanted to see Max Jagerman brought down a few pegs, he decidedly had not wanted to beat him into a coma.

Still, the way he figured, it didn’t matter how they’d gotten here, but Max had been brought down. He wasn’t nearly as confidently cocky. He was afraid of Brad. And there was some dark part of Brad Callahan that liked it. A lot. Max was slowly clawing his way back to that top dog spot, though, and Brad didn’t like that. He wanted Max to stay down.

And if he wasn’t willing to do it physically, as he had before, he had to squash him another way.

Max liked Grace. Brad wasn’t entirely sure why – Max had his pick of the litter when it came to hot girls at Hatchetfield High, and Grace did not fit that bill in Brad’s personal opinion – but he did know Max liked her. And that meant Brad had to take her from him. She was weird and hyper-religious, and not exactly hot, but he figured...why not try, right? If it meant keeping Max down for at least a little while longer, if it meant giving Brad just that much more of an edge to find a foothold into becoming top dog of this school…Brad could swallow his pride, he supposed.

Besides, Grace wasn’t all that bad looking. Not hot, but...not exactly a two-bagger, either.

“I...wanted to ask you out,” Brad said, standing up a little straighter as if to put himself on display for her.

Grace’s smile died almost instantly, her expression changing to a mix of disgust and disbelief as she said in a flat tone, “What?”

“Yeah,” Brad nodded, “I wanted to ask you on a date.”

Grace’s eyes narrowed, “Are you kidding me?”

“I’m dead serious, Gracie.”

Grace glared at him. She didn’t necessarily have a problem with dating. Not particularly. Dating was a basic part of courtship. It was public displays of affection, overt flirtation, and premarital entanglements that bothered her. Going on a single date with someone wasn’t inherently a bad thing, and Brad was the first person to actually ask her on a date rather than jumping straight to the physical stuff like Max usually did.

The problem was, Grace found Brad wholly detestable. He was trying, it was clear. He wasn’t a bad person (Grace firmly believed that no one was truly bad, in the end), but he wasn’t exactly a good person, either. He had a lot of work to do if he wanted to be seen as anything but a brute in her eyes. Her glare softened a bit into something stern, but ultimately unreadable, and she shook her head.

“No.”

“No?” Brad parroted, his tone offended, “The fuck do you mean, no?”

Grace scoffed, motioning toward him, “See, that is exactly why I’m turning you down, Bradley Callahan. You’ve shown amazing growth, by apologizing to Max, and wanting to do the same to Pete and Richie, but...you have a long way to go if you want to actually court me. You’re a brute.”

Brad put a hand to his chest, “Ouch.”

Grace stepped forward and put a hand on his arm, “Brad, you’re not a bad person. We can be friends, if you want!”

Brad did not want. He really, really did not want. He could care less about being anywhere near Grace Chasity, he’d only asked her out in the first place to get at Max. Her little blow to his ego didn’t exactly help, either. He shook her hand off of him with a soft snort, “Yeah, no.”

Then he turned on his heel and headed toward the classroom she’d pointed out earlier. The chances of Lipschitz still being there were slim to none, but he figured he had to at least try, if only to get away from that nerdy prude.

Grace watched him go, looking confused and somewhat hurt.

~*~*@*~*~

The second Richie ducked into the closest classroom he could find, he regretted it. The classroom itself was empty, meaning that not only could Grace follow him in here, but then he’d be alone with her, which he didn’t want. When she didn’t immediately follow him inside, he relaxed a little. He figured he’d stay in here until the bell rang – at which point he’d be forced to see her anyway in their first class together, so...shit.

He supposed he should probably attempt to get over this fear of Grace Chasity at some point. Deep down, he felt like it was kind of ridiculous, this desire to keep as far away from one singular person for as long as he had. Still, he simply couldn’t move past the fact that she’d actively hunted him – hunted all of them – around that stupid mansion for hours and then killed Professor Hidgens in cold blood. Granted Hidgens hadn’t been the best person in the world, but still.

He supposed it wasn’t the fact that she’d done all of that that bothered him. What truly freaked him out was the fact that she didn’t seem to feel bad about it. At least outwardly. She’d apologized to all of them for chasing them around, for scaring them, but she didn’t seem to care about the fact that she’d killed two people. She’d straight up said that they’d deserved it. That it was God’s will. And that was what scared Richie the most. The fact that she was able to just separate herself from her actions like that...it freaked him out.

His phone went off in his pocket and he took it out to check the notification. An email, from a subscription service he...honestly didn’t remember subscribing to, interesting. He opened the email and began to read it over in an attempt to both distract himself, and to force himself to remember what websites he was signing up for. He had to stop doing that shit…

The sound of the classroom door opening sent his stomach dropping into his knees and he looked up. He’d been expecting to see Grace standing there, ready to try to talk to him in her infuriatingly perky fashion, but instead he came face to face with Brad Callahan.

Well, shit. This was objectively worse.

Brad sent a sneer his way and moved into the classroom, dragging the door closed behind him.

“Fuck me. Didn’t think you’d still be in here, Shit Lips. What ya up to?”

Richie swallowed, his grip tightening around his phone as though it would somehow save him from what was sure to be an inevitable beatdown, “I’m, um...I’m just...”

“Hiding?” Brad asked, the sneer widening into a grin, “You look like you’re hiding.”

Richie’s eyes darted around the room. It was a science classroom. Chemistry, based on the tools and vials on every desk. He swallowed. He wasn’t taking chemistry this semester, but Brad didn’t need to know that. “I was waiting for my teacher. I had a, um, a question.”

Brad looked around the room, “Well, where’s the teacher?”

“She should...be here soon.”

“Uh, huh,” Brad stepped toward him. Richie took two steps back, “Where’s Spankoffski, Shit Lips?”

“What?”

“I know you heard me, you nerdy fuck, where’s Spankoffski?”

“I don’t know,” Richie said with a genuine air of confusion in his tone, “Why?”

“Nah, don’t give me that. You and that asshole are constantly together, along with fuckin’ Flemwad,” the smile on Brad’s face became something a bit more cruel and he huffed out a little chuckle, “You know, when she was alive.”

Something twisted in Richie’s gut, guilt and anger swirling together with the abject fear that had already settled there, “Her name,” his tone became decidedly less frightened in that moment, his eyes narrowing, “is Ruth Fleming, Brad. Ruth. Fleming. Not ‘Flemwad.’ Show her a modicum of respect.”

Brad quirked a brow, “’Is’? Don’t you mean, ‘was’?”

If Brad had been just a bit closer, Richie would have probably tried his hand at throwing a punch in that moment, he was so angry. As it stood, Brad was way too far away to reach, and as angry as Richie was, he wasn’t completely blind as to recognize that rushing him was a decidedly bad idea. Brad was a football player. He was faster, stronger, and used to people trying to tackle him. Richie would not win that fight.

Still, hearing Brad talk about Richie’s dead best friend like that made him want to hurt the guy in some way. He couldn’t, and he knew that. So he just stood there, shaking, his hands balled into fists at his sides. The edges of his phone dug into the fingers of one hand with surprising sharpness.

“You wanna kick my ass, Callahan,” Richie’s tone was deep and sharp as he spoke, drawing a mildly surprised look from Brad, “then just fucking do it.”

Brad huffed and took another step closer. Richie didn’t step away this time, still glaring as he held his ground.

“I’m only gonna kick your ass if you don’t tell me where Spankoffski is.”

“I already told you, I don’t know. He’s probably with Steph somewhere.”

And just like that, the grin on Brad’s face disappeared, reverting into a scowl, “Fuck that. Where?”

Richie shrugged, “I’m not her fucking dad, Callahan. I. Don’t. Know.”

That strength and speed Richie had been so worried about earlier was becoming a problem now as Brad barreled down on him. Any semblance of defiant rage Richie had shown suddenly melted away the second Brad threw a punch that clocked him hard on the cheek. Richie spun to one side and fell, hitting his hip hard against a nearby desk as he went down. Brad came down on top of him, straddling him, and grabbed him by the front of his shirt.

“You wanna act like a tough guy, Shit Lips? Huh? Go ahead. Keep it up. See what happens.”

Richie let out a little whimper and covered his face with his hands as Brad raised his fist, threatening another blow.

“I don’t know, Brad, okay? I really, really don’t know! I don’t know!”

Brad threw the punch, this time colliding with Richie’s arm just before he hit him in the face. Richie let out a little cry of pain and curled in on himself – well, as best he could, with another person literally sitting on top of him.

Brad was frustrated. Things weren’t going to plan, and he was just so, so frustrated. First Grace couldn’t give him what he wanted, and now Lipschitz couldn’t (or wouldn’t) either. He was treated like some kind of annoyance among his friends. Max was scared of him, but not enough to actually back down and just...step away. Grace had straight up insulted him for no goddamn reason. Nerds were becoming defiant. All Brad wanted was for things to go back to normal. Back to a time where he hadn’t beat the shit out of his quarterback in the hallway of their shared high school. Back to a time where he was accepted amongst his teammates and not treated like a pesky fly to be shooed away. Back to a time where, through his connections and pure talent on the football team, he was respected.

One fucking blowup in the hallway, one lapse in judgment, one terrifying loss of control, and it was all gone.

And he couldn’t claw his way back up.

Unfortunately for Richie, there wasn’t much of anything for Brad to let his frustrations out on except him. The only small spark of luck was that Brad had learned his lesson from six months before, and had learned when to stop. Richie was left in a bruised and bloody heap on the floor of that chemistry classroom, muttering soft apologies in between whines of pain, but he was left there. And when the first bell of the day rang what seemed like an eternity later, he was helped to his feet and escorted to the nurse’s office.

It was a far cry from what Brad could have done.

Chapter Text

Chapter 24

With a huff of exertion, Caitlyn ran up the front steps of the school and in through the front doors. A teacher yelled at her not to run in the halls, but that only slowed her down to something between a little half jog and a swift power walk, and only until the teacher was out of sight, at which point she broke into a run again. Someone said hi to her as she passed by them – it took her a few moments to register that she’d just reciprocated a greeting to Grace Chasity of all people. Oh, well. She didn’t have time to worry about who she was and was not seen talking to in the hallways. She could do damage control on her social life later.

Trevor was in the cafeteria, according to his text. So that was where Caitlyn swiftly went, scanning the tables for any sign of her best friend. She didn’t find him, but easily recognized Rudolph’s tall figure standing off to one edge of the room, leaning over slightly as he watched Trevor finish up some homework; Caitlyn shoved down a mild surge of annoyance – because of course those two were together, when were they not? – and headed over toward them with her phone in hand.

Whether it was because Caitlyn had texted him so he’d been expecting her to arrive soon, she was walking quickly enough for him to hear her, she just had a very distinctive gait that he recognized easily, or some combination of all three, Trevor, without looking up, said “Hey, Caity,” as she approached.

“Hey,” Caitlyn slid onto the bench opposite him at the table and swung her backpack off her shoulder. She narrowed her eyes up at Rudolph, who gave her a welcoming smile, but remained quiet, “I need to talk to you.”

“Gimme a sec, I’m almost done with this.”

Caitlyn’s gaze slid toward the clock on the wall over the cafeteria entrance and she let out a little whine, “Trevor, I don’t have time, the bell’s gonna ring soon.”

“Which is exactly why I need to finish this,” Trevor responded in an annoyed tone.

“You know, you wouldn’t have this problem if you actually did your homework at home,” Caitlyn said.

“That’s what I told him,” Rudolph said with a shrug. Trevor gave him a gentle elbow to the stomach before moving to close his notebook and replace it inside his backpack.

“There, done. See?”

“Yeah, uh, huh,” with an exasperated sigh, Caitlyn shoved her phone in Trevor’s face, taking care to cover the message showing there with her thumb so he couldn’t read the whole thing. “What do you make of this?”

Trevor’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the screen. Rudolph slid onto the bench next to him to try to get a good look as well – Caitlyn subtly moved it so he couldn’t see. If she wanted Rudolph to see her phone, she’d show him her phone.

“What...am I looking at?” Trevor asked.

Caitlyn let out a soft groan, “Look! There! Where it shows the time I sent the message? It says it’s been seen.”

Trevor quirked a brow, “O…kay?”

Another exasperated sound left Caitlyn’s mouth and she rolled her eyes, pointing to the name on the text conversation, “Trevor, I sent this message, like, two days ago. To Ruth.”

Trevor gave her a sidelong glance, his eyes going back and forth from the phone screen to Caitlyn’s expectant stare. It took far longer than she would have liked for realization to dawn on him, then his jaw dropped, “Wait, what?”

“I sent the message to Ruth two days ago,” Caitlyn said with the smallest of grins, “and she read it. She’s not dead, Trevor!”

Trevor slowly shook his head, gaping at the phone screen for a few more seconds before turning his attention back up toward Rudolph with a confused, questioning glance. Rudolph shrugged in response, his mouth open as though he wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure what.

“Okay...um...when...” Trevor stammered, then rubbed at his face with one hand, “when did you see that?”

“After I woke up,” Caitlyn said with a shrug, “shortly before I texted you.”

Rudolph nodded, “Before you got to school.”

“Yes,” Caitlyn said, nodding.

“Okay, but...Caity, that could be...I mean...I don’t...” Trevor let out a heavy sigh, “How do we know?”

Caitlyn gave him a disbelieving glare, “Because it’s Ruth’s phone, Trevor.”

“Anyone could have found that phone,” Trevor muttered. He was trying desperately to get Caitlyn to look him in the eyes. To understand that excitement might be warranted, but they had to temper it somewhat. It wouldn’t do to get hopeful about Ruth’s possible survival, only to find out that the person with the phone was just some homeless guy who’d randomly found it or something.

Caitlyn did indeed meet his eyes, scowling, “Come on, you don’t think it’s her?”

“Have you tried calling?” Rudolph asked, “See if whoever it is picks up?”

Caitlyn turned her scowl toward Rudolph and swallowed. She had not, in fact, tried calling. She hadn’t even tried texting. Though she wasn’t saying it out loud, she was actually sharing Trevor’s train of thought about tempering expectations. Calling or texting only to receive no response – or a response from someone who decidedly was not Ruth – would only lead to potential disappointment and heartbreak. She really, really didn’t want to deal with that right now. Not after she’d gotten her hopes up…

But it did make sense, she supposed. Call, or text, or something. If whoever had the phone saw it, maybe they’d respond. Maybe they’d know for sure.

Caitlyn’s finger hovered over the call button for a few seconds before she inhaled sharply and shook her head, “I don’t...even if it is her, I don’t think she’d answer.”

“I can call her,” Trevor said, reaching to remove his phone from his back pocket, “You text.”

Rudolph moved to fish his own phone from his backpack, “Do either of you know if she had location sharing on before she disappeared?”

Trevor shook his head as he pressed his phone to his ear. Caitlyn nodded while staring at her own phone screen, considering what she wanted to write as she muttered, “I think so, yeah.”

Rudolph nodded and began to scroll through his own phone. There were several seconds of silence between the three of them. Caitlyn sat there, frozen in thought, wondering what to say in her message. She figured she couldn’t get as sappy as she had in her previous text, and she didn’t think accusing whoever had the phone of going through the messages would be a good idea. In the end, she settled with a simple, “Hey, Ruthie,” before she darkened the phone screen and turned her attention toward Trevor. Trevor let out a sigh and lowered his phone, shaking his head.

“No answer.”

The bell signaling the start of the school day rang just as Trevor and Caitlyn both turned their attention toward Rudolph, who’s brows had furrowed with something resembling confusion. He blinked, tilting his head to one side and uttered a single, “Huh,” as he stared at the screen.

“What?” Caitlyn asked, at the same time Trevor asked, “What’s up, Rudy?”

“Well...she had location sharing on,” Rudolph said, “but, uh...”

Rather than finish his thought out loud, he turned his phone toward the other two, who leaned forward to get a better look. Sure enough, the location of Ruth’s phone shone through at them, but the results were less than promising.

“What’s she doing there?” Trevor asked.

Caitlyn deflated, “She’s not. She wouldn’t be. Someone else found her phone.” She gnawed at the inside of her lip, shaking her head, “Dammit. It’s not Ruthie.”

It wasn’t until the second bell rang, signaling the start of classes that any of them even thought to move.

~*~*@*~*~

It wasn’t often that Pete overslept, but when he did, he did it like everything else he set his mind to: he did it well.

Steph had never before been anxious about being late to class, but Pete was pushing it very close this morning. As she sat outside Ted’s condo in her car, waiting for her boyfriend to emerge, she found herself checking her phone and comparing it to the time on the clock in her car to make sure she wasn’t losing her mind. She sighed softly and leaned back in her seat, her eyes flicking up to the rearview mirror to get a better look at the passenger sittingin the back.

Jason didn’t often call Steph for favors. It wasn’t that they weren’t friends or anything...but it wasn’t exactly like they were. They’d been closer in junior high and their freshman year of high school, but had more or less drifted into a comfortable sort of camaraderie since, rather than maintaining a full friendship. Jason had his friend group, and Steph had hers. Occasionally those friend groups would mix, and in those times, they were perfectly happy hanging out with each other.

That was why it was so surprising that Jason had called her that morning. Like Pete, he had evidently overslept and missed his bus (literally watched it drive away from the bus stop right as he got there, fucking asshole bus driver). Kyle had already found his way to school, Brenda didn’t drive, and Max...well Max could technically drive, but wasn’t necessarily supposed to, with the brain injury and all. So, Jason had called Steph in the vain hope that she hadn’t made it to school yet either. And as it turned out, the hope wasn’t actually all that vain.

He offered her a smile through the mirror, “Thanks for this. I hope Spankoffski doesn’t mind.”

Steph shrugged, “What’s he gonna do? It’s my car.”

“Fair,” Jason said with an amused huff.

“Besides, if you try anything, I’ll kick your ass.”

“Duly noted.”

Steph checked the clock again and took out her phone to shoot Pete a text telling him to hurry the fuck up, or they were going to be super duper late and miss the first few minutes of class. Before she could actually send her message, though, the front door of the condo opened and Pete came running out, backpack trailing from one hand while he worked to get one of his suspenders over one shoulder. Steph caught a glimpse of Ted in the doorway, yelling something toward Pete as he ran off, his voice muffled enough by the interior of the car that she couldn’t make out what he was saying.

“Yeah, okay!” Pete’s muffled voice called back to Ted, then he opened the door and got into the passenger seat.

Steph quirked a brow at him as she waited for him to get comfortable, “One of those mornings, huh?”

Pete nodded, let out a little huff, and bucked his seat belt, “Yeah. It’s been...ugh. Just...okay. I need to show you some-” As he leaned over to get his phone out of his pocket, he caught sight of Jason in the back seat through the reflection of the rear view mirror and froze. “Uh...hi?”

“Hey,” Jason said with an awkward little wave.

“Jason needed a ride,” Steph said, offering Pete that warm grin she often used to get him to agree withalmost anything she wanted. A grin that never failed to make him wobbly in the knees – it was a good thing he hadn’t been standing, or he would’ve fallen over. As it stood now, he was really wishing his pants weren’t so tight…

He returned her grin with a goofy little lopsided smile of his own and nodded, “Um...okay.”

“See, Jace?” Steph asked, eyeing Jason in the mirror as she pulled out onto the street, “Told you he’d be fine with it.”

Jason quirked a brow and gave Pete a sidelong grin, “Uh, huh. I see that.”

Pete cleared his throat in an effort to compose himself a little, and Steph gave a little chuckle, “So, what did you wanna show me?”

“Hmm?” Pete asked, distracted.

“You were saying you wanted to show me something.”

“Oh. Um, it can wait until you’re not driving.”

“Oh, come on, Pete. You have me intrigued now. What is it?”

Pete rolled his eyes and unlocked his phone, switching to his text app with a soft sigh, “I’ve been, um...I guess just kind of keeping an eye out for any messages from, uh...” he cleared his throat again, this time to clear it of the lump that was beginning to form there. Steph reached a hand over to give his knee a soft squeeze. He didn’t need to finish that sentence. She knew exactly what he was going to say.

He was looking out for messages from Ruth.

It was a futile thing, and they both knew it. But it was the only thing Pete knew how to do in the moment. He couldn’t help Ruth. He couldn’t track her down. He couldn’t force the police to do anything. The only thing he could do was hope against all hope that maybe, by some miracle, his friend was still alive. So long as there wasn’t a body, maybe…

(There more than likely wouldn’t be a body. People disappeared in Hatchetfield every day, and it was very rare that a body followed suit.)

“Anyway,” Pete muttered, shaking his head as he once again tried to clear his throat, “I saw something strange.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Pete nodded, “I think someone found Ruth’s phone.”

Steph’s brow furrowed, “What makes you say that?”

“All of the messages I sent to Ruth on Sunday and Monday? They’ve been seen.”

Hitting the brake had been shock-filled instinct on Steph’s part more than anything else. Pete and Jason were flung forward as the car screeched to a halt, both stopped only by their seatbelts clicking into place as they locked up to keep them from falling further. The driver in the car behind them laid on the horn, sending a long, loud honk their way before ultimately driving around them; she flung a barrage of curses at them as she passed by.

“This was why I wanted to wait until you weren’t driving...” Pete muttered, rolling his eyes.

Steph flipped the other driver the bird, then began to pull over to the side of the road. She put the car in park, and turned to face Pete straight on.

“Who saw them?”

“I don’t...know?” Pete said with a shrug, “It took me off guard and...I know it sounds silly but...I don’t know, I saw that, and just kind of lost, like, a full half hour just staring at my phone.”

From the back seat, Jason piped up, “Is that why you were late?”

Pete nodded without looking at him, “Yeah.” He looked up from his phone to meet Steph’s gaze and whispered, “It can’t be her...right? It has to be someone who found the phone and is just going through it or something?”

Steph shrugged, “I mean, maybe, but...have you tried calling?”

“I don’t really...see the point.”

“Why not?”

“Steph, why would Ruth ghost everyone for four days – including her own parents – and then sift through dozens of messages from worried friends and family without answering any of them? She’s not a fucking psychopath.” He blinked, as if catching himself, and turned his gaze back down to his phone, “She wasn’t a psychopath.”

Steph made a clicking sound with her tongue and moved to pull her own phone out of her pocket, “I mean, we gotta try, right?”

“I think it’s more likely that someone found her phone and is just…going through the messages trying to find an owner,” Pete said with a shrug.

“Or just being nosy,” Jason said, “I think if they were looking for an owner, they’d text someone.”

Pete nodded, “Good point.”

Steph’s call began to ring through to Ruth’s phone, amplified by the car’s speakers thanks to her bluetooth connection. Pete started in his seat.

“What’re you doing?”

“Calling Ruth.”

“Steph, I don’t think-”

“Listen, Pete, I’m not just going to sit here and speculate, okay? Clearly, it’s bothering you, and it’s going to fucking bother me until we can find something resembling an answer. So let’s just...clear this, okay? Make this phone call, and move on.”

Jason unbuckled and leaned forward in his seat, motioning toward Pete’s phone as he muttered softly, “Check if she had location sharing on or something. Maybe we can at least find the phone.”

By this point in their relationship, Steph could tell when Pete was starting to get overwhelmed with things, so when he blew air out of his mouth with enough force that his cheeks puffed out, she reached over to give his knee another squeeze. He met her gaze again, and she offered him a small nod of affirmation, her eyes telling him what she didn’t want to say out loud. Just try. Then we’ll move on. Please. Pete nodded, and began to check for any signs of the location of Ruth’s phone.

As Steph’s phone rang, and rang, and rang, she began to sift through the messages she herself had exchanged with Ruth. A private text conversation she’d had with her for the last six months. Seen. A snapchat conversation. Seen. An instagram exchange. Seen. The group text between her, Ruth, Richie, and Pete. Seen.

Someone was definitely reading all of Ruth’s previously unseen messages.

Could it really be…?

The phone rang through to Ruth’s voicemail, which was full, so Steph hung up with a soft sigh. Beside her, in the passenger seat, Pete’s eyes widened.

“What the…?”

“What’s up?” Steph asked.

Jason leaned further forward to get a better look at Pete’s screen, his head tilting to the side with curiosity, “That means it can’t be Ruth, right?”

Pete nodded, “Definitely not. Someone has to have found her phone.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Steph asked, “Where is it?”

Pete and Jason both responded at the same time.

“Clivesdale.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 25

The note that Hannah left behind before she’d taken off on her own had given no direct details of where she’d gone, but Lex had known. Immediately. The two of them had shared nightmarish visions in their dreams that told them of Blinky’s impending return. The visions had led to arguments – Hannah wanted to go back and help, Lex did not. More importantly, Lex didn’t want Hannah going back either. She wanted both of them to stay right there in California and just...ride it out. Hannah had tried telling her that that probably wouldn’t work. That Blinky would probably find them eventually. But Lex was having none of it. She didn’t want to go back, and she didn’t want Hannah to, either. It was too dangerous.

But Lex wasn’t an idiot. At least, not when it came to Hannah. The second she saw that note, she knew exactly where Hannah had gone. She also knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Hannah could take care of herself. Or, barring that, that Miss Holloway could – and probably would – take care of Hannah. It didn’t make it any easier to swallow, though.

Not helping matters was the fact that Hannah had stolen money from Ethan’s wallet before running away. Money that Ethan had earned in tips at one of his jobs. Money that he’d actually managed to save, despite the fact most of his cash went directly to bills. It was extra fucking money, and Hannah had taken it all.

The original plan had been for Ethan to go alone to Hatchetfield, grab Hannah, and drag her ass back to California. Lex didn’t want to be anywhere near that God forsaken city any longer than she needed to, so it only made sense that Ethan go alone. Then, she realized, she’d be alone in California for however long it took Ethan to actually enact the plan to the end, during which point she’d just be worrying about both of them. So, she volunteered to come along.

Ethan had tried to talk her out of it. Having stood witness personally to everything Lex had gone through – was still going through – he really didn’t want her to stress herself out. As frustrated as he got with her attitude, the fact of the matter still stood that Ethan loved Lex with every fiber of his being, and he did not want to see her hurt, or upset, or sad. She was just now starting to be something resembling happy again…

And then Hannah went and did this.

To make matters worse, she’d up and volunteered herself – and by extension, Miss Holloway – in some kind of weird psychic kid force run by the...military? Ethan wasn’t sure, Miss Holloway didn’t exactly make it very clear when she explained to them. It didn’t matter what it was, though, because as far as Ethan and Lex were concerned, there was no reason at all why Hannah couldn’t just...leave. What were these people gonna do, hunt her down?

Actually...maybe they would. Ethan had no clue.

With Hannah, and now Duke, both staying at Miss Holloway’s tiny place the night before, Lex and Ethan were more or less forced to go somewhere else if they wanted to stay. Admittedly, neither one of them really did; they only wanted to try to convince Hannah to come home. But doing that meant staying as long as it took to talk her off this ridiculous heroic ledge she’d placed herself on. So, they were staying. For now. It took quite a bit of a fight on Miss Holloway’s part to convince Lex and Ethan to let her put them up in a hotel a block or so away from the diner.

It was well within walking distance, and the hotel itself was surprisingly nice – Ethan didn’t want to know how much Miss Holloway was paying for them to stay there. They were on the third floor of a four story building, and had access to a balcony from which they could actively see the diner. There was a king sized bed, a comfortable couch, a TV, a microwave, a fridge. The only thing they were missing was a stove to actually cook on, but Miss Holloway had extended the offer for them to drop by and eat whenever they wanted. Not that they’d take that offer too often – Miss Holloway was already being far too generous, as far as Lex and Ethan were concerned. There was only so much charity they were willing to accept.

Lex apparently did like the room, though, because she was still fast asleep, and seemed to be sleeping better than she had in months. The opposite was true of Ethan. While he hadn’t exactly slept deeply in California, he’d always felt a bit better once he’d gotten the girls out of Hatchetfield. Now that they were back, he was barely sleeping at all. But he wasn’t about to wake Lex to make himself feel better, so he found himself out on the balcony patio, smoking a cigarette as he watched the clouds change color with the morning sun. Every now and again, he’d peek through the balcony door to check on Lex, but otherwise all was quiet and disarmingly calm.

There was something about it Ethan didn’t like.

It wasn’t that he hated Hatchetfield. Far from it. He’d grown up here. He’d gone to school here. His friends and family were all here. It was where he’d met and fallen in love with both Lex and Hannah. Where he’d joined their little family. It was where he’d learned his trade, and learned it well. Hatchetfield was his home, at the end of the day. Which was why it sucked that being back felt so stifling. It did make sense, he supposed. Yes, he’d lived here his entire life. But he’d almost died here, too.

He jumped and hissed a deep curse when his phone went off inside the room, vibrating loudly against the bedside table where he’d laid it the night before to charge. He scurried back into the room and toward his phone as fast as he could muster, his eyes on Lex as he scooped it up off the table. He winced when she stirred a bit in the bed and rolled over with a soft groan, her good eye fluttering open to look at him.

Ethan’s wince turned into an apologetic grin, “Um...mornin’.”

“Who’s calling?” Lex asked, her stern tone marred with the heaviness of only having just woken up.

Ethan checked the screen, “It’s my fuckin’ boss,” he let out an annoyed huff and turned the phone toward her so that she could see before declining the call. With a shake of his head, he stuffed his phone into his pocket, “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake ya.”

Lex sat up, instinctively reaching up to pull her hair in front of her missing eye. She’d made a habit of it, by this point, despite Ethan’s many efforts to assure her it didn’t bother him (even though it kind of did, which...she honestly probably knew in some way, Ethan wasn’t very good at hiding his feelings). She inhaled slowly, expelling the air through her lips with a soft huff, “Morning.”

“Mornin’,” Ethan repeated with a warm grin.

Lex moved to check her phone on her bedside table. There was, surprisingly enough, a text from Hannah, wishing her a good morning. It was surprising only because the two had been engaged in a very long, drawn out argument since Lex and Ethan had arrived back in Hatchetfield the day before. One only exacerbated by the fact that Hannah didn’t want to stay at the hotel with them, instead choosing to stay with Miss Holloway at the diner. The good morning text was more than likely some attempt at a small olive branch. One that Lex wished she could accept. Unfortunately, at this point, she was so hellbent on going home that nothing short of Hannah agreeing to leave the city would make Lex feel better in any capacity.

Ethan sat on his side of the bed, eyeing Lex up and down, “You okay?”

“Do I look okay?” Lex retorted, her tone lacking the bite that would have been needed to truly get under Ethan’s skin, “I’m fucking tired, Ethan. I wanna go home.”

Ethan nodded, “I know, baby.”

“Did you hear from Miss Holloway?”

Ethan shook his head in response. Though they’d both heard about this General MacNamara, and his apparent little psychic kids taskforce, neither one of them had actually met him yet. He was supposedly dropping by the diner later that very day, whereupon Lex insisted on meeting him, which Miss Holloway and Hannah both agreed to immediately.

“We can always just head over,” Ethan said with a shrug, “Wait there for him.”

It was Lex’s turn to nod, “Yeah. I could use something to eat anyway. Let me get dressed.”

“Take your time,” Ethan said as he pushed himself to his feet, “I’m gonna go get the car warmed up.”

The car that had gotten them all the way to California (and back to Hatchetfield, by extension), was old. It ran fine – Ethan had done a truly decent job of that – but it did need to run for a few minutes before it was actually driven. So, Ethan had gotten into the habit of starting it up a good 10 to 15 minutes before he went anywhere. Lex gave him a nod and got out of bed to head toward their shared suitcase to grab some clothes for the day, while Ethan grabbed his keys and headed outside.

The morning was crisp and clear. Looking at his watch, Ethan knew the diner more than likely wouldn’t actually be open for at least another half hour, but Miss Holloway had told them to stop by any time – she’d be there to let them in. If she wasn’t there, Hannah or Duke more than likely would be. Either way, there shouldn’t be any issue getting inside. Ethan took out his phone, noting that his boss had left him a voice message, and shot off a quick text to Hannah wishing her a good morning and letting her know they’d be dropping by. He had the distinct feeling that he knew what the voice message was about; he hadn’t technically gotten this time off...approved, and his boss was likely less than happy that he’d taken it anyway. Oh, well. California was a big state. It wasn’t like he couldn’t find another mechanic job somewhere else if he needed to. He wasn’t sure he liked working for someone who wouldn’t give him time off for a legitimate family emergency anyway; evidently “my daughter ran away,” (it was easier to say “daughter” than it was to explain the actual situation, so that what what he stuck with) wasn’t something his boss thought warranted immediate action.

Stepping into the car, Ethan turned the key in the ignition. The engine fought for just a few seconds before turning over, the car revving to life. It was at this point that Ethan remembered he’d left his wallet inside, and he stepped out of the car to head back upstairs to get it. He figured the car would be okay by itself for a few minutes until he got back down. He closed the car door just as his phone vibrated in his pocket – Hannah had texted him. He found himself smirking a little at the small okay, see you soon <3 message left there.

He was maybe ten feet from the car when, he next thing he knew, he was being propelled forward by a blast from somewhere behind him. He hit the ground hard, rolling a couple of times, the air knocked from his lungs. Fiery heat bellowed from somewhere nearby, the smell of smoke filling the air. Car alarms began to blare from all across the parking lot, and smoke alarms started up inside the hotel. Ethan could hear none of that, however, through the ringing in his own ears. He landed face up on the asphalt, staring confusedly up at the sky above him for what felt like far too long until Lex’s panicked face came into view. He felt her hands on his face, his chest his arms. Saw her lips moving, could just barely make out the outline of his own name as she spoke. But he couldn’t hear her past the unbearable screeching ring in his ears. Couldn’t feel her touch beyond the strange, hot tingle that had taken over his body.

Then came the pain. Shooting, throbbing pain that erupted through his midsection. His head felt like it was about to explode. He thought he might have let out a groan, but couldn’t be sure. Lex was on the phone immediately, panic written all over her face. She wasn’t concerned about her missing eye now as she ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back out of her face repeatedly while she rocked back and forth. There were more people gathering around now. Bystanders who had been walking past. People from the hotel. Everyone coming over to gawk – only a few offered to try to help in some way.

It only took a few minutes for emergency services to show up. But to Ethan and Lex, those minutes felt like hours. And even then, Lex wasn’t allowed into the ambulance with Ethan when they did show up. Her one consolation was that Ethan was awake – and talking, albeit not in full sentences – when they took him. As they carted him away, her next call was to Miss Holloway to ask for a ride to the hospital.

~*~*@*~*~

Decorative foliage provided enough cover for the large blue car as it sat out in the street, parallel to the hotel parking lot. The windows were darkened, a uniformed driver sitting in the front. It looked for all the world like a professional driver waiting for his rich client to make a return to the car.

Except he wasn’t waiting for a client to return. The client was already in the car.

Sitting in the back seat, face against the window like an excited child as she watched the events unfold in the hotel parking lot, was Iris Sinclair. She’d watched in anticipation as Ethan Green entered his car and turned it on. Disappointment flooded her when the bomb she’d had planted in the car didn’t go off right away, instead detonating late, after Ethan had already gotten back out.

The little rat bastard had killed her parents in cold blood six months ago, and she’d had a plan to exact revenge for the deed. A plan to make him pay. But then Iris’ own recovery took too long (a broken forearm, as it turned out, took a metric fuck-ton of time to heal properly), and she ran out of time. Ethan left town, and she didn’t know where.

She could have followed him, she supposed. She had the money, time, energy, and resources. But the simple fact of the matter was, he wasn’t worth all of that. So, she’d simply taken the high road and wished him nothing but the worst for his life before moving on to other matters.

Then she’d seen him with Duke.

Iris liked Duke. He was handsome, and sweet, and soft-spoken. And defiant. He was the type of person who broke down after killing someone, but would fight the hardest to protect himself in a dire situation. He was an enigma, someone who rode in on a high horse like some kind of white knight, but ultimately was no better than anyone else. But the thing was, he didn’t seem to even think he was better than anyone else. He truly seemed to see the good in people, and it confused Iris. There was no good in the world. People would do the most depraved things to each other for any reason. One just had to go out of their way to find out what that reason was. Iris wanted to know Duke’s reason. She wanted to find something that he would do awful things in exchange for, and not feel bad about it. She wanted to break him. She wanted to know him. She wanted to be with him.

No, Iris Sinclair didn’t like, Duke Keane. It was deeper than that. She loved Duke Keane.

She’d tried reaching out to him, in the weeks after Blinky’s failed coup. He never returned her calls, never answered her messages. He made it clear where she stood with him, and she loved him even more for that. He was standing his ground against her. It was admirable.

So she started following him, instead.

The way she saw it, she’d find some way to wear him down, eventually. If he got the hint that she wasn’t going to leave him alone, then maybe he’d be willing to reach out. She had the money and resources to stalk someone without getting caught. She just had to act on it.

Anonymous notes, texts, little affirmations letting him know he was being watched. That she watched him like Bliklotep watched Hatchetfield. She knew where he was at all times. She knew what he was doing, who he was with. She knew about his little girlfriend. She’d gotten rid of his little girlfriend – there would be nothing standing between them, if Iris had her way. Duke wouldn’t be able to go anywhere or do anything without Iris standing two steps behind him. Metaphorically, of course. Iris was a busy woman, so she couldn’t be there all the time. She hired people to be there when she couldn’t be. He would, at the end of the day, be hers. And hers alone.

Following Duke had the added effect, however, of also letting her know that the bastard who’d murdered her parents was back in town. She’d seen it, with her own eyes. Duke and Ethan, standing outside that damn diner, talking and reminiscing like they weren’t filthy, dirty murderers. Like there was no blood on their hands. Like they deserved to be happy, alive and without her.

Bliklotep worked fast, but Iris Sinclair worked faster. She wanted to be rid of Ethan as quickly as possible, so she had a bomb built that very evening. Had it planted early in the morning. And had waited there for hours to watch it snuff out the life of the man who’d taken out half of her family.

And then it hadn’t worked.

It was supposed to go off when he turned on the car, but instead had detonated late. In addition to that, he’d gotten out for some fucking reason, and was walking away when it exploded. Iris’ only consolation was that he did, at least, seem to be hurt, and hadn’t been moving much when the ambulance had taken him. He didn’t know how lucky he was. And if that luck continued, he’d fucking die in that hospital bed, because he didn’t want to endure what Iris would do to him if he didn’t.

He’d killed her parents, after all. He had to pay.

She wondered briefly if Wilbur would be willing to take him out as he had with the little bitch who’d killed Corny. Maybe she’d run it by him if Ethan survived.

As it stood now, his fate was in the wind. She’d check in later to see if he actually died or not. In the meantime, she had a contact to talk to – the person who’d built this bomb needed to know how immeasurably disappointed she was that his plan hadn’t worked out like it was supposed to. Turn on car, car go boom. It shouldn’t be this fucking hard. With a sigh, Iris sat back in her seat and tapped on the partition that blocked her from her driver. He caught her gaze in the rearview mirror, nodded, and then drove away from the scene.

Chapter Text

Chapter 26

Ted’s nightmares were getting worse.

He wasn’t even entirely sure how that was possible, considering that they were always bad. He rarely got more than five hours of somewhat decent sleep on a good night, and that was only maintained anymore with the assistance of painkillers mixed heavily with booze (a vice that was getting harder and harder to achieve, as the more he drank, the more used to it his body became, and the more he needed to consume to actually knock him out). He’d become more or less accustomed to getting through the day on 4-5 hours of decent sleep, and was even functional on only three hours. But this?

This was bad.

Things had been steadily getting worse since his confrontation with Charlotte in the CCRP break room. The night after their argument, he’d gotten so drunk that he’d nearly fallen down the stairs of his condo – Pete hadn’t been home at the time, so he hadn’t seen it happen, but it added in the extra danger of the fact that Ted could have been potentially incapacitated until Pete got home, which would have been arguably worse – and it still wasn’t enough to knock him out for longer than three hours. But last night…

Hoo, boy, last night.

Ted didn’t sleep last night. At all. Whenever he tried, he got the overwhelming feeling of being watched, and wound up pacing the house looking for any signs that someone had their eyes on him. He looked out all of the windows to make sure no one was outside, triple checked all of the locks to make sure no one could get in (not helping matters was the fact that, though it had been covered, the portion of the front window Pete had launched a rock through the week before to get into the condo was still broken), and even checked inside each and every closet. By the time midnight came around, he found himself checking the place for cameras or bugs, despite the fact that there was absolutely no way anyone would have been able to plant anything. Nor would they want to, really; who wanted to keep an eye on Ted Spankoffski of all people?

When he did manage to get to sleep, the nightmares woke him in a sweaty mess, as per usual. At one point in the middle of the night, he woke from a nightmare where the strange goat thing that tormented him was stalking him through the halls of a bright yellow maze, laughing maniacally at him as he ran, only to sit up in bed 100% convinced that there were eyes staring at him through the walls of his own bedroom. The eyes did eventually disappear, as did the echoing laughter of the nightmare goat demon. The whole night left Ted a shaken, sweaty, ball of paranoia.

Usually, Pete wasn’t late for school. But when he was, Ted did his best to remind the kid to kick it into gear. This morning, however, he was just too damn tired to care. When Pete did finally come downstairs, rushing to the door with his backpack and one suspender hanging off of his gangly shoulders, Ted tried to perk up enough to tease the kid a bit and tell him to have a good day. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Tell Steph I say hi.

“Yeah, okay,” was the only response he got, tossed out as Pete was getting into Steph’s car. Truthfully, Ted was too tired to care whether or not Pete responded at all.

He briefly considered calling Paul to ask for a ride to work, but he figured the answer would more than likely be no. Ted had thought they’d become something resembling friends after everything went down, but eventually Paul started to pull away. Back to his normal, aloof self. Back to being the person Ted considered his best friend, even when Paul clearly couldn’t care less. After Ted’s argument with Charlotte, Paul hadn’t really talked to Ted at all, really. Bill had taken that one split second to ask if Ted was okay, but other than that, neither one had shown him any sign that they cared.

So, Ted got himself to work.

Ultimately he decided that driving when he was this tired was worse than driving drunk, so he wound up walking. He was going to be late, and he knew that, but he didn’t particularly give a shit. Let Davidson write him up. Ted had gotten away with way worse in his years at CCRP. He could be late one fucking time. Checking his watch, he realized he was already running around 10 minutes late, and he was decidedly not making it through the day without some kind of help.

So, off to Starbucks he went.

There wasn’t really anyone else at Starbucks worth pursuing like Zoey the Latte Hottay had been, so he spent much less time creeping around Starbucks than he had at Beanies. He also never really paid enough attention to Emma – who was hot, but also super mean and simply not worth his time to pursue – to know when or where she was working. So, when he walked into the semi-crowded morning rush and saw Emma standing behind the counter, he was mildly surprised.

If he were less tired, he might have cared more.

The second Ted walked up to her at the counter, she sent him a scowl, “Aw, fuck. Look, it’s my last day here, okay?” she crossed her arms as she spoke, her eyes narrowing, “So whatever you’re planning to do or say, just know that I have no fear of repercussion.” She spread her arms wide, “What’re they gonna do? Fire me?”

Ted met her scowl with one of his own. On any given normal day, he would have picked at her just to get a rise out of her. Watching her turn all red when he’d managed to get at her filled him with a strange joy he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Yes, she was good at slinging insults back at him – sometimes better than him, though he was loathe to admit it – but it was fun to see what she’d come up with to try to get under his skin. Today, though. Today, he was genuinely pissed that she’d immediately assumed that was what he was going to do. He didn’t have time to play their little game today. Didn’t she see how tired he was?

Out loud, he simply said, “I just need a coffee.”

Emma quirked a brow, “Can’t make a coffee if you don’t tell me what kind of coffee, genius.”

Ted shrugged, “I dunno, whatever’s got the most caffeine.”

She looked him up and down, the scowl softening just a bit into something more unreadable, then immediately moved to start putting ingredients together. Ted moved to the other end of the counter to give the customer behind him more room to order, pulling out his phone to scroll through his socials without a word. It was only a few minutes before there was the soft click! of a flimsy to-go cup being set down onto the counter with more force than was strictly necessary, and Ted looked up to see Emma staring at him, one hand on his coffee cup.

“Here. Black coffee with three shots of espresso. Usually works for me.”

Ted gave a slow nod and reached for his wallet, “How much?”

“$5.50.”

He removed six dollars from his wallet and placed it on the counter as he took the cup from Emma. “Keep the change.”

“50 cents,” Emma said in the least enthusiastic, most sarcastic tone possible, “thanks.”

“Uh, huh,” Ted muttered before turning to leave.

Emma wasn’t sure what came over her in that moment, but something was very clearly off about Ted. The last time she’d seen him this despondent, he’d been very badly physically injured. She hadn’t talked to him too much after he’d gotten out of the hospital, only really getting updates from Paul every now and again if she remembered to ask (which admittedly, was not often). She’d seen him once or twice since then, and in those rare meetings, they were often sniping at one another, to the point that it was practically habit from the second they laid eyes on each other. He got her blood pressure up like no one else could, and she did her best to do the same for him.

God almighty, she hated worrying about him.

But something was wrong with him. At least, she thought so. He’d come shuffling into the shop nearly 10 minutes after work started (or at least, 10 minutes after Paul’s shift was supposed to start – she had no idea when Ted was supposed to be working). And while Ted was no stranger to being late for work, he generally didn’t make a habit out of stopping at other places on his way in. Paul had complained before about how Ted would show up late, make a show of being oh, so upset that he’d slept in, or whatever the excuse was, claiming that traffic was just so bad (despite the fact he lived within walking distance of the CCRP building). Then he’d brew a pot of coffee – often complaining about how no one else seemed to make any for him, but he was always making it for others – and bitch and moan about how tired he was the entire time it brewed. While he did occasionally order coffee from local shops (or get someone else to do it for him), he almost never did so this early in the morning.

So, as he turned to walk away from her, Emma spoke up without really thinking about it, “Hey, asshole.”

Ted let out a heavy sigh and turned to face her, “What now?”

“You okay?”

The genuine concern in her tone was only barely overshadowed by the contempt she couldn’t quite hide. Ted blinked at her, looking confused, then shook his head.

“Yeah. ‘m fine.”

Emma gave him a knowing glare, her eyes narrowing, “Okay. Well, uh...you know Paul’s available if you, like...need anything. Or anything.”

Ted huffed out a cynical little chuckle. Paul hadn’t been there in a while, but whatever. Out loud he said, “Yeah. Sure,” before turning and walking out of the shop. He brushed by a woman who gave him a dirty look and muttered something about him not holding the door for her, then stopped in his tracks.

Across the street, staring at him with large green doe-eyes he’d never expected to see again, was Jenny. Something was off about her, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He wouldn’t have known how to describe it if someone had asked him directly, but she looked like she was covered in an instagram filter in some way. She looked...almost purple against the orange tinted light of the bright morning sun. She also hadn’t aged a single day. But it was her. It was his Jenny, he was sure of it. He gulped loudly as she sent him a little wave before turning and disappearing into a nearby alley. Without really paying attention, Ted made to follow her, stepping out into the street. A car honked at him, tires squealing on the asphalt of the road as it screeched to a halt, the driver hurling insults and curses at him through their open window. Ted paid them no mind, continuing on after his old flame, intent on finding where she’d disappeared to.

And she had disappeared, too. As though a ghost, Jenny was nowhere to be seen by the time Ted got into the alley. There was nowhere she could have gone, the way was blocked off by a fence with a locked gate that led to some private business. Unless she’d climbed the fence in seconds and run off around the corner…

Ted blinked, shaking his head. He really needed to find out what was wrong with him so that he could get some fucking sleep and stop seeing things…

Hearing things was a new problem, though. A problem he likely wouldn’t have even noticed were it not for the fact that he knew that laughter. The crazy, manic, almost goofy giggle that he recognized from his nightmares.

Ted whirled on his heel, looking for the source of the sound. There was no one there. And yet the laughter continued.

Then the eyes started appearing. Dozens of them, popping up in the brick walls of the alleyway, on the ground at his feet, all of them pointed at him as they began to blink. A second laugh joined in with the first, loud and raucous, and still just as disarmingly, horrifyingly goofy. Ted felt a wave of dizziness overcome him as Jenny’s voice joined the laughter in his ears, calling his name.

“Teddy Bear. Teddy Bear. Teddy Bear.”

Over, and over, and over, until Jenny’s voice disappeared completely and the voice from his nightmares overtook it, calling to him, taunting him, laughing at him.

Ted ran.

Chapter Text

Chapter 27

After the events of the car ride to school that morning, it was tough for Jason to fully concentrate on class. He didn’t even know Ruth that well, but the idea that someone had found her phone and was just going through it was bothering him. He couldn’t imagine what her actual friends must feel like.

Second period classes had just let out, and the halls were full of students shuffling off to third period. Jason had gym third period, so was heading to his locker to store stuff away there. He was distracted by his phone, scrolling to answer a text from Kyle, when he rounded the corner a bit faster than he’d been intending and collided head on with a body standing in the hall. He let out a pained huff, regaining his balance just enough to avoid falling over. The person he ran into, however, didn’t have the same reaction time, and wound up hitting the ground. Hard.

Jason’s heart sank into his stomach when he looked up and saw that he’d just practically run over Richie.

Richie had only just been released from the nurse’s office, after a couple of hours of observation to ensure he didn’t need a ride to the hospital (he would have refused anyway, but the nurse was pretty adamant that he didn’t have a choice in the matter – if she said he needed to go, he was going). His parents had been called, much to his chagrin, and he’d been cleared to return to class. He’d been trying to get to his locker without drawing to much attention to himself, when Jason had knocked him on his ass.While Jason had just managed to avoid joining Richie on the floor, the impact had knocked his phone out of his hand. It skittered to the floor between them, where they both looked at it, then at one another. Jason bent down to pick it up, huffing out a short chuckle at the idea that he couldn’t seem to run into Richie anymore without the guy falling over...

And that was when Jason saw what shape Richie was in.

“Holy shit,” Jason spluttered, “what happened to you?”

Richie swallowed and made to push himself to his feet, “Sorry, I was in your way.”

“No, you weren’t,” Jason said, a bit more firmly than he’d been intending. He reached a hand down toward Richie with the intent of helping him up if he wanted, and continued, “This was my fault, dude. Are you okay?”

Richie forwent the offered hand and got to his feet with a soft grunt, rubbing at the back of his head. He could not catch a break today. First Brad beats him up for practically no reason. Now Jason…

Well, Jason hadn’t technically done anything yet. But while Jason had confirmed his status as Richie’s supposed friend just a couple of days before, Richie had no delusions to the fact that, when they’d had that conversation, they’d had it in private in the back corner of a bookstore. They were out in the halls of high school now, very much in public, and very much surrounded by people who could see them. If Jason wanted to maintain his social status at the school, especially now that Max had come back, he might just make Richie’s day that much shittier.

“Sorry, I’ll just...” Richie grimaced, “I’ll just go.”

“Hey,” Jason said. He reached for Richie and gently grabbed at his sleeve to get him to turn around. Richie flinched, which made Jason feel a little bad for touching him at all. “Hey, you never answered my question.”

“What...question?”

“Are you okay?” Jason repeated, a bit slower this time.

Richie shrugged, “I mean, I’m clumsy, I fall all the time, so like-”

Jason held up a hand to interrupt him, “That’s not what I’m asking about, Richie. I’m asking about...” he motioned toward the bruises covering Richie’s face, “all that. What happened?”

Richie swallowed again, shaking his head, “I just...it’s my fault, really. I shouldn’t have gotten so snippy with Brad, and-”

“Brad did this?” Jason interrupted.

Richie nodded, “Yeah, he did.”

“When?”

The sheer anger in Jason’s tone took Richie off guard and he jumped a bit. He answered without really thinking, “Uh, this morning? Before class started.”

Jason inhaled deeply, shaking his head, “Mother fucker.”

“Look, Jason, it’s not really that big a-”

“Heya, Shit Lips!” Brad’s voice caused Richie to slump in on himself, and he drew his shoulders up to his ears as Brad approached them, leaving a confused and irritated looking Kyle behind in the middle of the hallway where they’d been walking together. “You look like shit, bro, you fall down the stairs or something?” he quipped.

Richie made to slink away, but Brad grabbed him around the shoulders with one arm, “Hey, hey, don’t be so quick to run off there, Richie. It’s rude to leave a conversation halfway through.”

From around the corner, just behind Jason, Max appeared. Richie’s heart dropped into his stomach and he gave a soft whimper. He was definitely in for it now. There was absolutely no way Jason was going to stick up for him when all of his friends were around. He swallowed and did his best to offer Brad a small smile, which came across more as a terrified grimace.

“I’m gonna be late for class, so-”

“You know, you never answered my question, Shit Lips,” Brad said, cutting Richie off as he grasped him even tighter around the shoulders.

“W-which question was that?”

“If you know where Spankoffski is.”

Richie nodded, “Yeah, um...I don’t-I don’t really know. I know we have b-biology together, and-”

“I’m not asking what your schedule is, fuckface,” Brad interrupted again.

“Brad,” Jason spoke up, “back off.”

Brad quirked a brow at him and gave a scoff, “Excuse me?”

Jason was deeply aware of the fact that both Kyle and Max had their eyes on him. Two people that he constantly and consistently bullied other students with. Two people who, should they choose to, could ruin his entire high school career with one word. Max, in particular, would potentially take great pleasure in destroying everything Jason had built up over the last four years.

But looking at Richie, standing there awkwardly in Brad’s grasp, his face covered in bruises and his eyes wide as saucers, Jason couldn’t help but get involved. He’d stood idly by for far too long and let his friends pick on this guy that, when all was said and done, he liked.

“You heard me,” he said, raising his voice a bit as he stepped toward Brad and drew himself up to his full height, “Back. Off.”

Brad scowled at him and released his hold on Richie, shoving the boy sideways into the nearby row of lockers before stepping up to meet Jason face to face. “Make me, asshole.”

Maybe it was because Jason knew Max well enough to know when he’d seen a change in his friend, ever since he’d returned. Max’s coma and following stint in the hospital had left him a massively different person than he’d been six months before. He was more withdrawn, more quiet. Afraid. And as far as Jason knew – as far as Brad made sure to let everyone know – Brad had been the catalyst for that change in the worst possible way.

Max had almost died. And Brad had spent months bragging about being the one who’d nearly killed him.

Maybe it was the fact that Jason and Kyle both were sick and tired of Brad. Sick and tired of his attitude. Sick and tired of the way he treated them, and everyone around them. Brad flirted with Brenda, openly, in front of Kyle. He treated Jason as less than because he couldn’t play football anymore. He was a brat, and Jason was sick of it.

Maybe it was Richie’s bruised and swollen face, and the fact that Brad had been the one to do that to him. Jason, as it turned out, had a thing for nerds. He’d harbored a crush on Grace for a very long time, but had never gotten up the courage to ask her out (besides, Max would’ve more than likely put the kibash on it, and it wasn’t like Grace would say yes anyway). He had one on Richie, too, but had always put his own social standing above those feelings and did Max’s bidding in Richie’s presence – which often resulted Richie getting his ass kicked while Jason stood and watched, wishing he could do something to help.

Well, he could do something to help now. Yes, Kyle and Max were here, and yes, it would more than likely ruin his social standing within Hatchetfield High. Sure, it wouldn’t make Richie like him the way he liked Richie. Sure, it didn’t make up for years of bullying and tormenting.

But it sure would be fun to knock Brad down a few pegs, if only for a little while.

Maybe it was some combination of all of those things that made Jason decide to sucker punch Brad across the jaw.

The hit sent Brad spinning sideways. He bodily smacked against the nearby lockers, narrowly missing Richie, before he slumped to the ground, blinking in surprise. He slowly shook his head and turned his gaze up toward Jason, astonishment and pain working together to leave him agape on the ground.

“You leave him the fuck alone,” Jason growled through gritted teeth, “you hear me, Callahan?”

Brad inhaled sharply and leveraged a hold against the lockers behind him to drag himself to his feet. He rubbed at his jaw, glaring at Jason before he threw a punch of his own. Jason ducked to one side, Brad’s fist glancing against his cheek just enough to daze him a bit, and grabbed Brad by the lapels to shove him back into the nearby lockers with a grunt. Brad pushed against him, but the simple fact of the matter was that Jason was bigger and stronger than Brad. Always had been. Even with a career-ending injury to the shoulder, Jason was the stronger one here. And it showed now as Brad tried desperately to get out from under his hold.

Something struck Brad in that moment: the only reason he’d managed to beat Max was because he’d been fucking possessed at the time...

“Do you fucking hear me, asshole?” Jason yelled, “Leave Richie alone!”

Brad wasn’t above fighting dirty. From where he was, pinned against the lockers under the majority of Jason’s body weight, he couldn’t exactly throw a punch. So instead, in an effort to throw Jason off enough to get him away from him, Brad spit in Jason’s face. Jason flinched and let out a disgusted yell, dropping his hold on Brad enough for him to slither away and move out into the center of the hallway.

Brad’s eyes narrowed as he looked Jason up and down. Kyle had moved forward to check on Jason, and to provide a buffer should either one of them go after each other again. Max had also stepped in, albeit hesitantly. Richie, who’d been paralyzed by fear and had yet to even try to run, stood not far away, gaping at all of them. A small crowd had begun to form around them, curious murmurings rising from the gathered teens. A teacher was making their way toward the kerfuffle from one side, and from the other, Coach Houston was on the way.

“Jesus, that’s disgusting, Brad!” Jason grumbled as he wiped the spit from his face.

“No, you know what’s disgusting?” Brad retorted, his eyes going wide as he quickly tried to grasp for any straws that might make him come out on top of this thing, “What’s disgusting is your crush on fucking Lipschitz over there.”

It was a comment made to taunt. To tease. Ha, ha, look at the big-time former football star, the jock who dared to step up and protect a nerd. Isn’t he so weird? Surely he couldn’t care about the person he was trying to protect if he didn’t have a crush, right? It was a jab. A call-out. Something said to make Brad sound all the more rational, given the current state of the high school social hierarchy. Brad didn’t literally mean that Jason had a crush on Richie. He couldn’t know that. No one knew that.

The only person who did was dead.

The problem was that it took Jason’s brain a few seconds to catch up to the fact that Brad was just teasing and being a dick. And in those few seconds before reasoning dawned on him, Jason panicked. How could Brad know? How could Brad know??

In those precious few seconds before realization dawned on him, he said out loud, “How did you…?” Then he understood enough to stop talking and shook his head.

Brad grinned for a moment before disgust took over his features. Jason’s reaction had made it perfectly clear to him that he was right. He had to be. “Holy shit, you have a crush on Lipschitz.”

“He’s my friend, Brad,” Jason said, almost too quickly. He was desperately hoping to pivot away from this particular topic of conversation.

But Brad wasn’t letting it drop. His eyes darted from Jason, to Richie, and then to Max and Kyle, and he chuckled, “You’re slacking, Max. Your fucking friend has a crush on a nerd.”

Jason gave Max a sidelong glance. He’d expected anger. He’d expected yelling. Instead, Max was just standing there at the center of the group, staring at him with a completely unreadable expression on his face. Jason swallowed and turned his glance toward Kyle, who was glaring at Brad, of all people, shaking his head as he spoke up, “What’re you hoping to accomplish here, dude?”

“Me?” Brad asked, looking affronted, “I’m not the one who’s in love with Richie Lipschitz, man.”

Before anyone else could do or say anything more, Coach Houston and the second teacher closed in on them, dispersing the crowd with threats of detention before turning around to face the boys – Richie included, unfortunately.

“You boys wanna explain what’s going on here?” Coach Houston asked, his arms crossed as he gave each of them a stern look.

“Jason started it,” Brad piped up instantly, with the tone of a child tattling on a sibling, “He hit me!”

Coach Houston gave a nod, “That may very well be, but this is the second time this week I’m breaking up a fight that you’ve been directly involved in, Callahan. Wanna explain that?”

Brad shrugged, “I don’t know, man, maybe they hate me?”

“Right. And it has nothing to do with the fact that you’ve been taunting people in the halls for weeks, right?” Brad withered a bit under Coach Houston’s glare, and actually had the good graces not to give backtalk. Coach Houston continued, “I want all of you to go to the Principal’s office. Now.”

“Hey, Coach?” Max piped up.

“Yes, Max?”

Max hesitated a moment, his expression moving to something decidedly more irritated, and he rolled his eyes, “Um...Lipschitz didn’t have anything to do with this...sir.”

Everyone, from Jason and Kyle, to Brad, to Richie, and even Coach Houston and the other teacher, gaped at Max in genuine surprise. Max gave an uncomfortable grin, baring his teeth at his Coach with a little shrug, “I’m just saying. Brad was being a dick. Lipschitz was just kinda here.”

“Was he involved in the fight?”

It was Kyle who spoke up this time, “No, sir. He was literally just standing here. Wrong place, wrong time, y’know?”

Coach Houston turned his gaze toward Richie, who was standing hunched over at one end of the group, wringing his hands together. He took in the bruises, the terrified glances at the much larger boys standing nearby, and sighed.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me who did that to your face, Mr. Lipschitz?”

Richie hesitated, then shook his head.

“And can I assume you didn’t return the favor?”

Richie shook his head again.

Another sigh, and then Coach Houston waved a hand off down the hall, “You’re dismissed, Mr. Lipschitz.” Richie skittered off down the hall with a muttered “thank you” that was barely audible, disappearing around the corner. “The rest of you, though. Principal’s office. Now.”

Kyle and Max both protested a bit, as they hadn’t technically been involved, but since Max had been standing in the center of the group, and Kyle actively had his hands on Jason in an effort to keep him away from Brad, both were told to scoot on down to the office. They eventually acquiesced to the order and took off down the hall with Brad and Jason, Coach Houston and the second teacher in tow. Jason eyed Max the entire time, confused as to what had just gone down back there. Max had stepped in for Richie to keep him out of trouble?

What was going on in this school??

~*~*@*~*~

Richie slinked into his bio class a full seven minutes late, earning himself a short lecture from the teacher before she urged him to sit down. He did, sliding into his seat beside Pete, who’s brows furrowed at the sight of him.

“Where have you been?” Pete hissed, “What happened?”

“Brad happened,” Richie said in a matter-of-fact tone.

On Pete’s other side, Steph perked up, leaning forward to get a better look at Richie, “Holy shit, dude.”

“It’s fine,” Richie hissed, “Just-” he jumped when the teacher called his name, urging him to stay quiet and listen to the lesson she’d prepared. The three of them quieted down, but both Pete and Steph kept stealing glances at Richie, concern written all over their faces.

When class ended fifty minutes later, Steph caught Richie out in the hall before he could skitter away from them, grabbing him by the arm a bit harder than she’d intended.

“Hey. Dude, what happened?”

“I told you, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Steph said as Pete stepped up beside her, “You said Brad did this?”

Richie nodded, inhaling softly, “Yeah.”

“Why? What dumbshit reason did he give for kicking the crap outta you?”

“Technically he didn’t kick me at all,” Richie said with a shrug, his attempt at humor marred by Steph’s rising irritation, “He mostly used his fists.”

“Hey, Rich?” Steph made a show of checking her nails as she spoke, sarcasm oozing from every word, “Don’t be a smartass.”

“Look, he didn’t give a reason, okay?” Richie said, “Does he really need one? Welcome to my everyday, Steph. It only took six months, but things are finally going back to normal, except that it’s Brad now instead of just Max. Yay.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not a normal I’m okay with,” Steph scowled.

“I appreciate your concern,” Richie said with a nod, “really, I do. But I’m just gonna come right out and say it, Steph: you getting involved will only make things worse. You’re lucky Pete hasn’t had his ass kicked yet as retribution for what you did to Brad last week.”

Steph scoffed, “What do you mean?”

Pete inhaled sharply through his teeth, “Honestly, he’s not wrong. You’re one of the most popular kids in school, Steph, if Brad physically retaliated against you specifically, his social life would be dead in the water. But he could get back at you by coming after me. Which he hasn’t done. Yet.”

“And he won’t,” Steph said with a defiant nod.

Pete shrugged, “He might.”

“Look, the point is,” Richie said, holding up his hands, “I don’t want you going after Brad, okay? Not only will it be bad for me, but you’d get suspended for fighting.”

Steph glared at him for a few seconds, then rolled her eyes in pure frustration. She wouldn’t get suspended – her father would more than likely see to that – but she would potentially lose phone privileges again, which she decidedly did not want. “Ugh, fine. Whatever. I won’t hit him again. But if I see him, he’s getting an earful.”

“That...” Richie let out a heavy sigh, “That won’t help either, but whatever.”

“Look guys, my next class is all the way across the school, so I gotta go,” Pete said. He leaned down to give Steph a little peck on the lips before leaving them, “See you at lunch.”

“See you,” Steph said with a nod. She turned her attention back toward Richie, who’s gaze was entirely focused directly over her shoulder at someone approaching from behind. She turned on her heel, fully expecting to see Brad, or maybe Max, but was mildly surprised to find Jason walking toward them.

“Hey, Steph,” he said as he approached, offering her a small nod before turning his attention to Richie, “Can I talk to you?”

Richie swallowed, then nodded, “Uh. Yeah. Sure.”

Steph’s gaze flicked back and forth between them, her eyes firmly on Jason as she spoke to Richie, “Want me to stick around?”

Richie hesitated only a moment, then shook his head, “No. I-I should be fine. Thanks, Steph.”

Steph nodded, and then sauntered off down the hallway away from them.

“I didn’t, uh, get the chance to talk with you before,” Jason shoved his hands into his pockets with a deep sigh, “before Coach showed up. I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For...all of that,” Jason motioned behind him vaguely with one hand, “The whole thing with Brad.”

Richie’s brows shot up, “Well, I mean, it could’ve gone a lot worse for me, so. Y’know.”

“Yeah, I just...I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that. And I’m sorry.”

Richie inhaled deeply, then shrugged with a slow nod, “It’s okay. Really.”

A group of freshmen girls walked by just then, ogling the two of them together with mouths agape for a few seconds before swiftly turning to one another to share whispered rumors. Richie distinctly heard the words “ew,” “shit lips,” and “crush,” and winced.

“Looks like the rumors have spread,” he said, with an attempt at a good-natured chuckle that came out more like a long whine.

Jason eyed the girls as they disappeared off down the hall and shook his head, “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Richie said with a nod, “You should probably stay away from me, right? Don’t wanna give people the wrong idea.”

“Richie...”

“It’s okay. Really. I get it. We can be friends outside of school. Or not. Whichever.”

Jason gnawed at the inside of his lip, shaking his head. Richie was giving him an out, it seemed. A way to dodge the rumors Brad was no doubt spreading about his crush on Richie Lipschitz. Stay away from him at school. That was all he had to do. He could salvage what little remained of his social standing if he just walked away right now and didn’t say a word. Max and Kyle, they’d more than likely back him up. They’d probably help him quash the rumors that would no doubt start to spread around Hatchetfield High like wildfire.

Or, he could just fess up, he supposed. Bite the bullet and admit to himself that he liked nerds. Do what Steph had said and fight for something he cared about...and risk falling down the social ladder.

Jesus, when did he become such a coward?

He had once taken a bullet to the shoulder in an attempt to protect Tim. He’d been stabbed in the arm with a high heel to protect Becky. He’d gotten a concussion trying to protect Rudolph and Trevor. Why the ever-loving fuck was admitting to a goddamn crush so fucking hard?

Some measure of the frustration he was feeling must have been showing on his face because Richie swallowed hard and took a step away from him, eyes wide.

“I’ll just, uh...I’ll just go.”

“He wasn’t wrong, you know,” Jason muttered, the words leaving his mouth before he was even aware of what he was saying. His cheeks felt hot. What the hell was he doing?

Richie quirked a brow, “What? Who?”

“Brad,” Jason said, “He wasn’t wrong.”

“A-about what?”

Jason gave him a pointed look. Was he really not getting this, or was he trying to force Jason to say it out loud? He couldn’t really tell. It was only after a few very long seconds of confused glances from Richie that Jason finally said, “About the crush, Richie. He wasn’t wrong.”

Richie’s brow furrowed, “Wait, on who?”

Jason rolled his eyes, letting out a groan, “Jesus, I thought you were supposed to be smart, Lipschitz.”

“Well, that’s not-” Realization dawned on him in that moment and his eyes widened, “...Oh.”

“Yeah,” Jason said with a nod, “Oh.”

Richie stared at him, brow furrowing. Jason wasn’t expecting reciprocation, of course. They’d spent the better part of junior high and high school at opposite ends of the social hierarchy, and Jason had actively tormented Richie on a daily basis. Jason was going to work hard to quash the rumors not because they weren’t true, but because at the end of the day, Richie would more than likely be the one to suffer most from them. He always did get the raw end of the deal. People like Jason and his friends made sure of that here in high school. But until the point that Jason was able to take care of it, it only seemed fair that Richie know. He deserved to make his own decisions about himself, about Jason, and about their friendship. And he couldn’t do that properly unless he was fully informed.

No, Jason was not expecting reciprocation. But he hadn’t expected Richie’s actual reaction either.

His expression contorted into some mixture of anger and genuine hurt, and he gave an almost aggressive shrug as he said, “Okay, so, um...we’re back to this, then?”

“Back to what?”

“Back to, like, dumb jokes at my expense?”

Jason blinked, “Excuse me?”

“So, what’s the plan here, Jason, huh?” Richie asked, his voice wavering a bit, “You admit to a ‘crush,’” he put air quotes around the word, “and then...what, to back to Brad and Max and everyone else and tell them how I react, is that it? Make fun of me behind my back or whatever?”

“Jesus, Richie, no!” Jason said, “That’s not-”

“So what then, huh?” Richie snapped, “What? You expect me to believe you actually-” he stopped, suddenly aware of the fact that several pairs of eyes were on them, and cleared his throat. “Never mind.”

“Hey, I’m not lying to you,” Jason said. He desperately wanted Richie to look him in the eyes, to understand that he was telling the truth, “I’m not lying.”

“Please, you really expect me to believe that you just suddenly have a crush on me, of all people?”

“It’s not...” Jason gave a little shrug, “It’s not ‘suddenly.’ I’ve had one for a while.”

Richie scoffed, “How long is a while?”

“Maybe, like...a couple years?”

And just like that, Richie was meeting Jason’s eyes, but not in the way Jason had wanted. Disbelief was written all over his face. Anger. Disgust. It was all there as he gaped up at Jason with wide eyes.

“A couple ofyears?”

“Yeah, I mean-”

“Jason, you have actively kicked my ass before.”

“I mean, I know.”

“So then you have to know that this feels a little out of nowhere, right? You have to understand why it feels like...like a particularly poor-taste prank?”

Jason nodded, crossing his arms, “Yeah, see, I had a feeling.”

The bell rang, signaling the start of class. Both of them were officially late. They stood there for a few moments in silence, as stragglers hurried around them to get to their various classrooms. Finally, after what felt like forever, Richie spoke again.

“Why are you telling me this, Jason?”

Jason swallowed, then shrugged, “I figured...you deserve to know.”

“Yeah, well, I think I would’ve been perfectly happy not knowing.”

That hurt a little more than Jason was willing to fully admit. As much as he kept telling himself he wasn’t expecting reciprocation...there was a small part of him that felt like it would’ve been nice in some way. “I am sorry, Richie.”

Richie gave a slow nod, “Yeah, well...maybe it is for the best that we...don’t hang out at school. Y’know? Just to like...I dunno...” he sighed, averting his gaze toward the floor at his feet, “I-I dunno.”

And that hurt worse. Jason sighed, then nodded, “Yeah. Okay.”

“We are...super late for class.”

“We are, yeah.”

“I gotta go.”

“See you, Richie.”

Without a word, Richie turned on his heel and headed off down the hallway toward his next class. That was two classes in a row he was going to be very late to. He was never late, if he could help it. But truthfully, in that moment, his mind was racing too much to fully care.

~*~*@*~*~

Caitlyn was also late to class, but she cared about as much as Richie did in this moment. Maybe even less.

She’d gone to use the bathroom during passing period and had been washing her face when her phone had gone off. There, flashing across the screen, was a text from a number she fully had not expected to ever hear from again. She’d opened the text, her hands shaking, and had spent the last several minutes just...staring.

Under her message, the one she’d written to Ruth’s phone just that morning just that morning, was a reply:

hi

Caitlyn felt like she might pass out again.

Chapter Text

Chapter 28

It wasn’t often these days that Charles got to negotiate on his own grounds, so when he called upon an associate to meet him at his office in CCRP, he was more than a little surprised when said associate agreed. He was even more surprised when the associate arrived not only on time, but 15 minutes early. He was in the middle of a phone call when he was made aware of the fact that he had a visitor: his 11:30 had arrived.

He ended the phone call as abruptly as he could and then had his secretary let his visitor in.

Charles had been working alongside Wilbur Cross for a little more than a week now, but that didn’t make him anymore comfortable around the man. Cross was smarmy, greasy, and far too charming for his own good. He always seemed to have an answer for everything Iris asked of him, and he was far, far too eager to please.

He also knew a whole hell of a lot more than he was letting on. Charles was sure of it.

Charles had expected to feel a bit more in control in his own fucking office, but the second Cross came sauntering it, it was like a cold wind followed, and suddenly Charles simply could not relax. As the door closed behind him, Cross sent a crooked grin Charles’ way and offered him a little wink, clicking his tongue against the back of his teeth as he did so.

“How ya doin’, there, Charlie?”

Charles rolled his eyes, “Mr. Cross, I have asked you – repeatedly – not to call me that,” he said through gritted teeth. He inhaled deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, then stood and swept an arm toward one of the empty chairs on the opposite end of his desk, “Please take a seat.”

Cross shrugged and did as he was bade, slumping down into a chair with the air of a bored teenager. He idly checked the nails on one hand and spoke without looking directly at Charles, “What is the nature of this little meetin’, hmm?” His eyes flicked toward Charles expectantly, while the rest of him remained unmoving.

Charles lowered himself back down into his chair, his eyes narrowing, “How much do you trust Iris Sinclair?”

Cross quirked a brow, “That’s an interestin’ question. Why do you ask?”

Charles brushed past the question as though he couldn’t have cared less about the answer in the first place and said, “How much do you think she trusts you?”

The grin returned to Charles’ face and he chuckled, “Well, now, we’re gonna have to do a little tit for tat here, Charlie. I’ll answer your questions, so long as you answer mine.” He shifted forward in his chair, placed his elbows on the desk, laced his fingers together, and rested his chin on the backs of his hands, “Fair?”

Charles’ eyes narrowed as he considered Cross sitting before him. Charles Coven was not a stupid man – he’d never been incredibly intuitive, but he’d always been very, very good at getting people to talk. And when people talked, they tended to reveal a lot more about themselves than first impressions alone ever could. But, Wilbur Cross had spent the better part of a week dodging every single one of Charles’ attempts to get to know him in any meaningful way. And in doing so, there were three things Charles had learned definitively about the man.

He knew more than he was letting on.

He was not to be trusted.

And perhaps most importantly of all, he was dangerous.

When Iris Sinclair had seen the footage of the fight at the Roller-rama, had laid eyes on the face of the girl who’d killed her brother, she’d gone practically feral. She’d started screaming immediately that she wanted her dead. Deader than dead. And while there wasn’t anything Charles could (or even wanted to) say to calm her down, Cross had stepped right up to her and asked her a question in a tone of voice so calming even Charles felt soothed.

“Are you certain?”

Iris had said yes immediately, that she had a list of people she could use to get the job done. And Cross had stepped in to take the job. Without hesitation, he’d volunteered to hunt down and murder a teenage girl, without payment.

That alone told Charles one of two things: either Cross was an idiot...or he was dangerous.

Could be both, he supposed. But that didn’t make the “dangerous” part any less of a problem.

Charles needed Cross on his side. He needed Cross in his corner. He needed answers, and the longer he spent around that fool Iris Sinclair, and her right hand man Wilbur Cross, Charles had come to the conclusion that Cross was the one who could give him the knowledge he sought.

Knowledge was power. And power often lead to treasure.

Charles Coven liked treasure.

He’d invited Wilbur Cross into his office. His building. And while Cross did not give even half of a shit about the well-being of the people working here, the fact of the matter was that if anything he was about to say or do went wrong, it would look very bad for optics in the long run should anyone get hurt.

So, he met Cross where he was at, leaned forward onto his desk, and rested his chin in his hands.

“Yes, I’d say that’s more than fair.”

Cross quirked a brow, “You didn’t strike me as a smart man, Mr. Coven. Good to be proven wrong.”

A flash of prideful anger fluttered through Charles’ chest, and it took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to strike back against that little verbal spar. How fucking dare this man…?

Out loud, his tone dripping with barely concealed rage, Charles simply said, “Right. Good to prove you wrong.”

“So, let’s start this thing from the begining, shall we?” Cross asked as he leaned back in his chair and almost daintily crossed one leg over the other, “You were askin’ me something’ about...trust?”

Charles nodded, “How much do you trust Iris Sinclair?”

Cross gave a little shrug, “’bout as far as I could throw her pretty ass.”

“Good,” Charles said with a huff, “we’re on the same page there, then.”

“Any particular reason for your curiosity regardin’ this matter?”

“To be perfectly frank with you, Mr. Cross,” Coven sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers together in front of him, “I don’t necessarily trust either one of you.”

“See, there you go again, provin’ yourself to be so much smarter than you look.”

Charles bristled a bit before continuing, “I do, however, recognize an opportunity when I see one.”

“Oh?”

“How much do you think Iris trusts you?”

Cross smirked, “Bein’ completely honest?”

“I’d prefer that.”

“Probably more than she should.”

“I’d say definitely more than she should,” Charles said with a nod.

Cross chuckled and gave a little shrug, but otherwise remained silent.

The smallest of grins tugged at the corner of Charles’ mouth as he continued, “How much do you think she’ll trust you if she realizes you betrayed her?”

Cross snorted, “Come again?”

Charles leaned forward once more, the grin widening, “You didn’t kill Ruth Fleming.”

“Of course I killed her,” Cross said.

“Right,” Charles drew the word out a bit longer than needed and gave a little shrug, “which is why she’s in Clivesdale right now, recovering in a hospital bed.”

Now this was interesting. If there was one thing Cross was good at, it was remaining secretive. He would use every trick in the book to keep eyes off of him until it counted most, and he’d utilized a lot of those tricks when it came to that girl, if only to make her disappearance and assumed death seem all the more important to the citizens of Hatchetfield. Well, as important as dead people could be here; it was hard to mourn the missing when someone disappeared every day. His tricks had worked on Iris – she’d accepted the girl was dead without any questioning. But this Charles Coven…

Any hint of amusement on Cross’ face froze into something far more unreadable, and his eyes narrowed, “What makes you say that, Charlie?”

Charles made a show of leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms above his head almost nonchalantly, “See, here’s the thing that Iris – and by extension, you – seem to have forgotten about me, Mr. Cross. I have just as much money, just as much power, and just as many resources as she does. There’s rarely anything that goes on in this fucking hellhole of a city that I don’t know about in some way. Especially when that something is as...interesting as the assassination of a teenager.”

Cross quirked a brow, “Now, I just finished complimentin’ how smart you are, and there you go straight up forgettin’ that you were in the room when we discussed said assassination, Charlie. That ain’t some big secret to ya.”

“No, but you taking her to the hospital before she bled out is a secret, is it not?”

Cross’ eyes narrowed, “Are you gettin’ to some kinda point here?”

“I am.” Charles pushed himself up out of his seat, “Here’s the deal, Mr. Cross. There is a lot about this plan – about this whole situation – that Iris isn’t sharing with me. She seems to think she can lead me around like a little puppy dog on a leash, dangling information in tiny pieces to keep me in line.” He paced toward the window and leaned against the sill, his eyes on Cross as he continued, “But the stupid thing is, she doesn’t know nearly as much as she seems to believe she does.”

“Yeah? What gives you that idea?”

“You do,” Charles said, motioning almost delicately toward Cross, “The way you speak, the way you carry yourself. I believe you know far more about everything happening here, with this Bliklotep, than you’re letting on. What I can’t figure out, though, is why you would want Iris on your side for all of this?”

“Huh,” Cross huffed. He gave a nod, staring at the desk in front of him, considering for a moment. Then he cleared his throat and looked up to meet Charles’ gaze, “Why don’t you tell me why, if you’re so smart?”

Charles gave a little nod, “Okay. I don’t think you want her. I think you need her for some reason. Now, you don’t have to tell me why. Quite frankly, I don’t give a shit. But what I want to know, Mr. Cross, is if I’m in the right ballpark.”

Cross narrowed his eyes, “Alright. I’ll bite. But only because I’m simply fascinated by your angle here, Mr. Coven. Say for the sake of argument that yes, I need Iris Sinclair.”

“You need her to trust you.”

“I do.”

“So if she were to know that you didn’t kill that girl…?”

Cross chuckled, “Blackmail, Coven? Really?”

“Not blackmail,” Charles shook his head, “mutually assured destruction.”

“What?”

“If I tell Iris that you didn’t murder the girl who killed her brother, her trust in you wavers. Trust that you clearly need to accomplish whatever it is you’re trying to do.”

“Right...”

“If you tell Iris that I went over her head and came to you directly, she’d have me removed from this whole thing faster than I could blink. Potentially even have me killed.”

Cross’ eyes widened for just a fraction of a second as realization dawned on him. Coven was looking to strike some kind of deal, it seemed. He was being super cagey about it, though. Cross couldn’t help but admire the attempt. He slowly reached out to grab a pen from the little holder at the edge of the desk and absently began to spin it between his fingers with a practiced deftness. Charles glared for a moment at the very clear desecration of his things – how dare that man touch something that wasn’t his, goddammit? – before relaxing a bit. He didn’t need a fight with Cross.

He was more than certain he wouldn’t win.

“We makin’ some kinda deal here, Coven?”

Charles shrugged, “Perhaps.”

“Uh, huh. And you do realize that I don’t actually need Iris to complete my plan, right?”

Charles’ brows rose, “Oh? I was under the impression that whatever you wanted to do had to be done quick. She’s your means of making that happen.”

Time to throw the guy a bone, Cross supposed, “You ain’t wrong. I’d like to get this done sometime this year. Iris is...important.”

Charles nodded, “She’s also pretentious as fuck and hardly useful.”

Cross snorted, “What’s that sayin’ about the pot callin’ the kettle black?”

“I’m proposing a deal, Cross,” Charles said, speaking up before his pride got the better of him and he said or did something he might regret. Like kicking this arrogant asshole out of his office without at least trying to get what he wanted from him.

“What kinda deal?”

“Whatever I need, whatever knowledge or information I’m looking for, you help me get my hands on it.”

“Hmm. Not seein’ the upside for me.”

Charles’ eyes narrowed, “Well, what do you want?”

Cross pressed his hand to his chest in mock shocked surprise and said, “Anything I want?”

“Within reason,” Charles said in a stern tone.

Cross nodded, “Course.” He pushed himself to his feet, still twirling the pen in his fingers, and began to pace the room, considering. There was something he’d need to get his hands on later. Or rather, someone. It wasn’t like he was completely incapable of doing it without help, but if he could just make it easier... “Well, y’know, come to think of it, there is somethin’ you can do for me.”

“Okay.”

“You have an employee here who Blinky is very interested in,” Cross said, “When the time comes, I need you to bring him to me.”

“When the time comes?”

“Oh, I’ll let you know, don’t you worry about that.”

Charles hesitated. Not because he particularly cared about his employees or what Cross might do to them. But because this seemed too easy. All the information he wanted in exchange for one useless office drone? “What’s the catch?”

“Ain’t no catch, Coven. Just a deal. I give you want, and in exchange, you bring Blinky’s favorite little office worker to me.”

That peaked Charles’ interest, “His favorite…?”

Cross gave him another wink, “The Lords in Black have a lot of favorites wanderin’ these halls, Coven. You’re a real important guy, bein’ the one in charge of ‘em all.”

If there was one thing that was going to work to get Charles Coven to acquiesce to anything, it was stroking his ego. Not that he’d admit that, of course. As far as he was concerned, he was a humble individual, especially when he needed to be. Cross knew otherwise, though. Without a shadow of a doubt, he knew that building Charles Coven up would more than likely make him put his guard down, even if only just a bit.

Charles pushed himself up off the sill, standing up straight as he adjusted the hem of his jacket. He approached Cross with some measure of hesitation, hunger in his eyes. All the information he wanted in exchange for one lowly employee? Well worth it, as far as he was concerned. He extended a hand out toward Cross to shake.

“We have a deal, Mr. Cross.”

Cross chuckled and shook Coven’s hand, “So we do. Let’s go ahead and get started.” He adjusted his jean jacket with a little flourish and moved to lean against Charles’ desk with a grin, “What do ya wanna know?”

Chapter Text

Chapter 29

A knife tearing through flesh. She could hear it. Not just the squelching noise that accompanied such things in the movies, but the sound of her flesh actually tearing apart. Like a sheet being ripped in the wind. Blood was somehow cold and warm against her skin at the same time. Pain so intense that it circled back around into numbness so that she couldn’t feel it at all. She’d begged, pleaded, screamed cried. It wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop. She even prayed. No one came.

No one came.

Ruth awakened in her hospital bed in a cold sweat, the nightmare drawing a scream from her throat that actively scared the nurse who had come to check on her. The nurse was sweet. She brought Ruth down from the panic attack. But then she asked questions. Questions Ruth didn’t really feel like asking. Instead she nodded or shook her head whenever the answer was yes or no, her mind involuntarily wandering back to that night.

She distinctly remembered passing out at some point, from pain. She could hear the man talking to her, almost cooing at her like she was a naughty child. She woke up, it was dark, the sun had set. She passed out again. She woke up, lying on an uncomfortable cloth surface, street lights rushing past through a nearby window. A car? She passed out again. She woke up, bright lights, voices speaking over each other, someone trying to soothe her, genuinely this time. She passed out again. She woke up to people she didn’t know asking her questions, how much pain she was in, what her name was, where she’d come from. She passed out again.

She woke up.

It took a few moments for her to recognize that she was in a hospital, the too white walls of the room bright even in the dim lighting, kept low to help her sleep. People entered and left. Nurses, doctors, all of them asking her questions, trying ascertain how they could help her. What they could do.

Ruth didn’t speak.

She couldn’t, for fear of bursting into tears and admitting, out loud, that she’d made an incredibly stupid decision. She’d put herself in this position by following a complete stranger into the woods. She’d trusted a man, tamped down every instinct that had been screaming at her for her to run, run far away, because he was fucking hot. She couldn’t admit that out loud. She couldn’t stand the looks of pity she’d get for her own stupidity.

The doctors tried to piece things together for her. Help her understand what had happened. Saturday, she’d been taken. Brutalized. Tormented. Tortured. She didn’t know how long it lasted, but it had been well after dark by the time she’d briefly come to in what she thought might have been a car as he drove her to the hospital. Sure enough, very early Sunday morning was when she’d been found outside the entrance to the ER and brought inside for treatment. Surgery. She’d been gutted like a fish. Practically eviscerated. She was bleeding out. She spent all of Sunday in a medically induced coma to help repair her wounds and recover from life-saving procedures.

Monday, she woke up.

She spent three days in that hospital listed as a Jane Doe on her paperwork. No one knew her name. She couldn’t bring herself to tell them. Even when she found out she was in Clivesdale and not Hatchetfield, she couldn’t bring herself to talk.

Tuesday, the police arrived. They went through her things, found her phone. They charged it up, went through it for answers. Ruth Fleming, they discovered her name was. A missing person from Hatchetfield. The police across the bridge were contacted. Ruth’s mother was contacted. Ruth was given her phone. She went through her messages late Tuesday night.

A message from Pete, sent Sunday afternoon, saying that he hadn’t heard from her in a while and was wondering if she wanted to hang out. Another sent Monday morning, expressing understanding over the fact that she was probably mad at being ignored, but that he was worried and only wanted to talk to her.

One from Richie, sent Monday morning, asking why she wasn’t on the bus, and if he’d see her at school.

One from Trevor, sent Saturday night, apologizing for not calling her back and saying he was too tired to hang out. Another sent Sunday, asking how she was doing. Another on Monday morning, asking where she was.

A snapchat message from Steph sent Monday morning. A funny meme that Ruth definitely would have laughed at under any other circumstance, as well as a message expressing well-wishes and a hope that she was feeling okay.

One from Rudolph, sent Sunday night, wondering where she was and why she hadn’t texted Trevor back. Another on Monday morning, simply hoping that she was okay. Another Monday afternoon, apologizing for not being there for her.

And then three from Caitlyn. Three exquisitely written texts sent Monday afternoon apologizing for the kiss in the Roller-rama, expressing a desire to kiss her again, and apologizing for cutting her out all those months ago.

People who Ruth considered friends. People she did care about on some level, even when she felt like they didn’t care about her. People who tended to ignore her to push her out when they didn’t need or want her around. People who made her feel like shit on a daily basis, whether they meant to or not.

Ruth wasn’t new to resentment. She felt it toward herself all the time. She’d never expressed it toward her friends before, however. Doing so was a new feeling. An unwelcome one. She didn’t like feeling angry at her friends. But she couldn’t shake the idea that this was at least partially their fault. Yes, Ruth had made the incredibly stupid decision to follow a sexy stranger into the woods. But she never would have been alone in the first place if they’d actually talked with her.

Then she’d circle right back around again to self-loathing. No, it wasn’t their fault. There was a reason they didn’t want her around, and that was because she was annoying, clingy, and just oh, so dumb. Looking at the texts again made anger flare up in her chest, though, and she went right back around to being mad at them. Resenting them. Resenting herself. Anger, hatred, horror, sadness…

Pain.

She hurt. In more ways than one. She hurt physically. She hurt emotionally. She hurt mentally. She couldn’t make herself feel better, couldn’t talk herself into being better. She couldn’t, for the life of her, figure out why that man hadn’t just finished the job. Why do this – any of this – and then let her live? What was the point?

The doctors kept saying she was lucky to be alive.

She didn’t feel lucky. At all.

By Wednesday morning, everyone seemed to notice she’d seen their messages and were once more trying to check in with her. Phone calls she didn’t want to take, texts she didn’t want to answer. She was too embarrassed, and hurt, and in pain, and she didn’t want to tell anyone what had happened to her for fear of them making fun of her. Again. Making fun of her for being so utterly thirsty that she couldn’t say no to a tall handsome stranger. Making fun of her for being such a goddamn idiot. Even if they didn’t make fun of her, they would probably all stare at her. Pity her. She was missing body parts, after all. She didn’t want that either.

The more cynical part of her thought it was funny, in a dark way. How many days had it been since she’d been taken? Four? And the only reason any of them cared was because they’d more than likely thought she was dead. Where was this worry and affection when she was actively in their lives?

Hell, maybe she should be dead. It genuinely didn’t make any sense that she wasn’t.

Ruth wasn’t sure what made her decide to ultimately text Caitlyn back. Maybe it was the simplicity of the Hi, Ruthie text. The heartfelt messages before it. Caitlyn hadn’t spoken to her in months, and only sent those first three messages because she likely thought that Ruth was dead and wouldn’t read them. But somehow, Ruth suddenly felt like she understood why Caitlyn hadn’t spoken to her in months. Ruth didn’t particularly want to talk to anyone else either.

So, she sent a text back.

hi.

Simple. Plain. Just enough to let Caitlyn know that she’d seen her messages. That she understood. She supposed she’d have to message everyone else at some point, as well. But right now she just didn’t want to.

Shortly after sending the text, Ruth’s mom had arrived at the hospital. She got the rundown of Ruth’s injuries: major bruising across her entire body, cuts and lacerations, missing fingers, a missing ear, and something that came far too close to evisceration. Her attacker had almost literally gutted her. Like a fucking fish. And she’d survived. There were many hugs and angry tears when Ruth’s mom saw what had been done to her. Threats of violence toward the person who’d hurt her baby girl. Ruth still couldn’t bring herself to talk long enough to tell her that she didn’t think it would matter.

Next came a detective, from Hatchetfield. A tall and imposing woman with dark skin and piercing eyes. She asked Ruth questions. Questions Ruth couldn’t bring herself to answer out loud. She settled for writing things down as much as she could. Things the detective had a hard time deciphering. In the end, she took Ruth’s scratchy writings as testimonial and left to return to Hatchetfield to pursue the investigation into who had attacked Ruth.

Ruth’s mom wanted to take her home. Ruth didn’t want to go home. Not back to Hatchetfield. She couldn’t stay in Clivesdale, she knew that much. That was ultimately the worst part about this whole ordeal in Ruth’s mind. But she didn’t want to go home. Home was where she’d been when that man had come from nowhere and lured her away (like a stupid child getting into a big, white, windowless van with the promise of candy, stupid, stupid, stupid…). She hadn’t recognized him, hadn’t known who he was. Hadn’t seen him before. He’d just shown up, destroyed her, and left.

She was certain she’d know his face now, if she saw him again.

Yes, Ruth’s mom wanted to take her home today.

The doctors wanted to keep her for observation and send her home tomorrow. Ruth’s mom had to get back to the police station in Hatchetfield to talk to the detective there. So, she gave Ruth a kiss on the forehead, and left.

And just like that, Ruth was alone again.

It had been a couple of hours. It was nearing 1pm when Ruth noticed she’d missed a call. From Caitlyn. She didn’t want to talk. But Caitlyn had sent a text, too. Lots of them, actually. Asking where she was, how she was doing, what had happened to her, if she could come see her. Ruth wasn’t sure she could bring herself to answer. It was a lot to explain. A lot to deal with.

There were more messages, too. Two from Pete, asking her if she was okay, what had happened.

Three from Richie, asking much the same, and apologizing for ghosting her.

One from Trevor, letting her know he was happy she was okay (she was not).

More than a few from Steph, demanding to know what had happened to her and promising to kill whoever had hurt her, and one last one begging Ruth to call them back. Anyone, Ruth. Please.

One from Rudolph, reiterating what Trevor had said and adding thathe was there if she wanted to talk.

One from Jason, surprisingly enough, reaching out to ask if she really was okay, or if Steph was just losing her mind.

And yet one more from Caitlyn, apologizing for what, Ruth didn’t know, and promising to be there waiting when Ruth got home.

Ruth read them all. Over and over and over again. Turning the words around in her head, trying to move past the resentment boiling in her chest. Tears stung her eyes when she got another message from her step-dad stating he was on his way to see her. He’d be there soon.

She didn’t answer any of them. She couldn’t.

What was there to say?

Chapter Text

Chapter 30

Usually, when they were together, Duke and Miss Holloway talked. Even if they didn’t have anything to talk about, they’d go out of their way to find something to talk about. It never came across as forced, either. Small talk was a comfort for them, when the big things weren’t there.

But that car ride home from the hospital was quiet.

Ethan had survived, and more to the point, he’d gotten extremely lucky. Fractured ribs, a concussion, road rash along his hip from where he’s slid across the asphalt, and minor burns on his arm from the fire itself. Nothing that couldn’t be fixed. Nothing that would kill him. The doctors wanted to keep him overnight for observation, but otherwise he’d be in decent enough condition to leave the next day, with nothing more than some prescribed pain meds. Lex was staying with him while they waited. Hannah had wanted to, as well, but the hospital had a rule about only one person staying overnight with a patient.

So, Hannah sat in the back of Miss Holloway’s car on the way back to the diner, arms crossed, looking sullen and sulky.

There wasn’t much to say.

Yes, Ethan was going to be fine, but the fact of the matter was that someone had tried to kill him. And in a particularly brutal fashion, too. Had the person who’d built and set the bomb actually known what they were doing, it would have gone off while Ethan was in the car, and his chances of survival in that case would have been slim to none. Lex would have come out of that hotel to nothing but a charred corpse in the remains of their car. As it stood now, she was upset enough that she’d wanted to take both Ethan and Hannah right then and there and go back to California immediately; but even if Hannah were willing to leave at that point, Ethan was in no condition to make the two to three day drive back to California, and the fact of the matter was that they no longer had a car.

They were stuck in Hatchetfield.

It was all Hannah, Miss Holloway, and Duke could do to talk her down from her panic attack.

Truthfully, if she’d had the choice, Miss Holloway would’ve stayed with Lex and Ethan as well. She hated leaving Lex there by herself while they waited for Ethan to wake up, but she simply couldn’t stay, and there was a diner to run. Hannah had wanted Lex to come meet General MacNamara and the other psychic kids this afternoon, but it was very clear that the meeting wasn’t going to happen now. They’d have to give the General a call and let him know.

The diner itself was relatively full by the time Miss Holloway pulled into the parking lot. She parked off to the side of the building to allow more room for incoming customers, and got out, Duke and Hannah following suit.

“Okay,” Miss Holloway said with a sigh, “why don’t we get inside and get you two a milkshake or something, huh?”

“I’m not really in the mood for a milkshake,” Hannah muttered.

Miss Holloway nodded and touched a gentle hand to Hannah’s back, ushering her up onto the sidewalk and toward the front door, “Okay, well, let’s find something for you, then, huh? Anything you want, on me.”

Duke gave her a knowing smile. He didn’t need to speak out loud for Miss Holloway to know exactly what he was saying.

“You can’t keep doing that.”

She returned the smile with a little wink and motioned toward the front door of the diner. Two free meals wasn’t going to bankrupt her. She’d be perfectly fine.

Once inside the diner, Duke and Hannah moved to sit at a small table together while Miss Holloway walked in behind the counter. She said her hellos to her staff, one of whom asked how her friend was doing – she answered that he would be fine and would be coming home tomorrow – before swiftly heading to the back to put on an apron and help with customers. It wasn’t busy enough that anyone was being overworked or anything, but if she was here, she may as well help lighten the load a bit. She’d just emerged from the back room when one of the servers caught up to her, giving her a wave as he came her way.

“Hey, Miss Holloway!”

“Oh, hey, hun. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. There were some people here who wanted to speak with you. I told them I didn’t know when you’d be back, but they said they’d wait.”

Miss Holloway gave a nod, “Oh, okay. They still here?”

The server stood up straighter, straining his neck a bit to see over the swinging doors into the dining room. He let out a soft “Ah,” and nodded, motioning toward the doors, “They’re at table six.”

“Okay. Thanks, Lloyd.”

“No problem! Hope your friend’s okay.”

“He probably will be, thanks.”

She brushed past him with a soft pat to his shoulder and headed out into the dining room. One look toward the table where Duke and Hannah had made themselves comfortable lifted a weight from her chest she hadn’t even known was there – Duke had somehow managed to make Hannah smile, even through everything she and her family were experiencing. God, he was amazing, that man.

Sitting at table six were two young women, probably no older than 20 or 21. If that. They were sitting across from one another, one eating a salad while the other slurped on a smoothie, talking in hushed tones. The first, who had been sitting in a position with a better view of the kitchen and back hallway, looked up at Miss Holloway as she approached and gave her companion a light tap on the hand. The second girl turned, her eyes wide and her expression unreadable.

“Hey, there, girls,” Miss Holloway said in a nonchalant tone as she approached. She leaned casually against the back of one of the booth seats, looking them both up and down, “Lloyd over there said you wanted to talk to me?”

The first girl nodded, exchanged a glance with her friend, and said in a nervous tone, “Um...I mean, it’s not a big deal if you’re busy we can-”

“Yes,” the second girl interrupted, “Yes, we wanted to talk to you.”

“What about?”

The first girl let out a heavy sigh, resting her face in one hand on the table as though trying to hide herself away in embarrassment. The second girl continued.

“This is gonna sound completely crazy, I think-”

“Thanks for that, babe,” the first girl muttered through her fingers.

“I’m not calling you crazy, Alice. Just...this whole situation – seeing things, hearing things? It sounds insane.”

Miss Holloway held up a hand, “Hold on. You’re gonna need to back up a bit. Start at the beginning, okay? Tell me what’s going on.” She met the first girl’s – Alice, her name was, apparently – gaze as she peered through her fingers. “I’m not here to judge, I promise.”

Alice sighed and hid her face again, motioning toward her companion with her other hand while she muttered, “Go ahead.”

“My girlfriend saw...something, last night?” the second girl said with a shrug, “I don’t know how to explain it. Babe, you need to explain it.”

“Ugh, no, this was such a dumb idea.”

“You were all for it up until, like, right now.”

“No, Deb, I was not!” Alice hissed, “You’re the one who told our friends about my problems and took advice from Ziggy of all people! I’ve been uncomfortable with this from the start.”

“Ladies,” Miss Holloway interjected before Deb could retort, “I really need one of you to tell me what’s going on here.”

Deb’s mouth snapped closed and she peeked around the room, suddenly aware of the fact that there were far more eyes on them right now than she’d wanted. She’d brought Alice here – on Ziggy’s advice, yes; they evidently talked with Miss Holloway a lot and trusted her enough to send Deb and Alice her way – to help her. Not to embarrass her.

“Shit,” she hissed, looking up toward Miss Holloway, “Is there somewhere more...like, private where we can do this?”

Miss Holloway took a swift glance around the room, and nodded. Whatever was happening here, these girls were clearly freaked out, and she wasn’t one to turn away someone in need. Besides, she liked Ziggy well enough, even if they were a little...odd. She was fairly certain she’d seen Deb at the diner with Ziggy once or twice, as well, though she hadn’t really known her name until now.

“Come with me,” Miss Holloway said, motioning for the girls to follow her. Deb and Alice exchanged a look and then got up to do just that.

The back room of Miss Retro’s had been essentially rebuilt and redecorated, after Wilbur Cross’ little rampage through it six months before. It was back, though, and looking better than ever. It was brighter, cleaner, and while it was still just as cluttered, it was much easier to find things. Miss Holloway held the door open for the two young women, motioning for them to sit on the couch, and then sat in a chair opposite them.

“Okay,” she said, giving her best supportive grin, “now tell me what’s going on.”

Deb nudged Alice with her elbow and motioned toward Miss Holloway with a nod of her head, whispering, “Go on,” in a voice barely above a whisper.

Alice inhaled sharply and scratched at her forehead for a few seconds before asking, “Are you really a witch?”

Deb genuinely facepalmed with a groan, while Miss Holloway huffed out a soft chuckle. “That is one word people use to describe me, yes.”

“Okay, because Ziggy said you’re a witch, and I didn’t know if they actually meant it, or if they maybe just saw you do something strange while they were high and made the assumption.”

At that, Miss Holloway laughed. A deep, warm belly laugh lacking in any form of judgment that betrayed her genuine amusement. She shook her head, wiping at a stray tear that was falling from one eye, “No, Ziggy is not wrong.”

“Okay.”

“Alice...” Deb groaned, “Jesus, will you just tell her?”

Alice gave her a sidelong glare and then turned a much softer gaze toward Miss Holloway, “Okay, um...I’m sorry, I’m kind of freaked out by...all this.”

Miss Holloway held up her hands, “It’s fine, honey. Like I said, I’m not here to judge.”

“Right,” Alice gave a slow nod, “Okay, so...so last night...I kind of saw something.”

“What did you see?”

Alice inhaled deeply and practically breathed the word, as though just trying to get it out before she decided against it, “Eyes.”

Miss Holloway quirked a brow, her smile dying a bit, “Eyes?”

“Eyes,” Alice repeated with a nod, “We were at the movie theater, watching a...truly atrocious movie. And I saw eyes in the walls on screen. Like, behind the actress, on the set. I thought it was part of the movie at first, but...I don’t know, I just kind of felt like they were staring at me specifically.”

Miss Holloway looked toward Deb, “You didn’t see this?”

“I was in the bathroom,” Deb said in an almost apologetic tone.

Miss Holloway gave a nod and returned her attention toward Alice, “Continue, please.”

Alice hesitated and swallowed hard, gnawing at the inside of her lip. Deb reached over to give her hand a squeeze. “I heard a voice.”

“A voice?”

“Yeah. The actress on screen, her mouth was moving, and a voice was coming out, but it wasn’t her voice. Then she looked right at the camera – at me – and...” she let out a shaky breath, “The voice called me by name. Like, directly.”

“Wait, you never told me that...” Deb muttered.

“This is very important, Alice,” Miss Holloway said, “Do you remember what the voice said? It doesn’t have to be exact, but-”

Did she remember what the voice said? What a stupid question. She could recall it exactly. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to forget it. Without hesitation, she interrupted Miss Holloway almost immediately to quote, “’Welcome home, Little Alice. You couldn’t have picked a better time. An eye for an eye….you stupid bitch.’”

Beside Alice on the couch, Deb tensed, staring at her girlfriend with something between horror and disbelief. Miss Holloway took a deep breath, swallowing hard as she gave a slow nod. “An eye for an eye...You’re sure that’s what it said?”

“That’s what it said exactly,” Alice said with a nod.

“Is this the first time something like this has happened?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing similar before? No dreams, or nightmares?”

Alice’s brows furrowed and she shook her head.

“One more question, Alice,” Miss Holloway said, and Alice met her gaze with wide, terrified eyes, “Can you tell me what color the eyes were?”

“Purple. And instead of the part around the iris being white, it was yellow.”

It was a good thing Miss Holloway was good at hiding her emotions, because in that moment she grew cold with genuine, actual fear. As far as she knew, this girl sitting directly in front of her in the back room of her diner didn’t have any trace of the Gift. Nothing that Miss Holloway could feel, anyway. And yet, Blinky had latched onto her specifically for some reason. Even knew her by name. This was deeply unsettling, and Miss Holloway wasn’t sure how to stop it. She could, at least, provide some measure of shielding, she supposed. Protection. With a sharp breath, she pushed herself to her feet and moved to the other side of the room where there stood a small dresser; she began to leaf through the drawers.

“Um...” Deb sat at the edge of the couch, looking ready to spring to her feet at any point if necessary, “so, like...can you help, or not?”

“Ladies, I don’t have all day,” Miss Holloway said, “so without going over too many details, I’ll simply say this: You’re more than likely being watched.”

Alice gaped at her, “O...kay?”

“Something has taken an interest in you, Alice. And until we figure out how, or why, you might be in danger.”

“Wait, what?” Deb asked.

“What kind of danger?”

Miss Holloway looked over her shoulder at them, “Call it...supernatural. Spiritual. Otherworldly. It doesn’t matter what word you decide to use, the point is, it’s bad.”

“Jesus Christ,” Deb muttered.

“How do we stop it?” Alice asked.

Miss Holloway let out a triumphant little breath of air as she found what she was looking for in the drawer and took it up into her hand. She closed the drawer and turned to face the girls with a small grin, “This should only take a second.”

“What’re you doing?”

“A spell I’ve done thousands of times,” Miss Holloway said as she moved over to the table she often used as a sort of pseudo-altar. She didn’t necessarily need an altar, but she found that it (ironically) helped legitimize her a bit with some of the less spiritually inclined individuals in Hatchetfield – people were more willing to trust a “witch” if she actually did witchy things...like pray at an altar, for instance. She placed the item – a black tourmaline crystal necklace – down onto the table and began the very easy, very short ritual to imbue it with her best approximation of protection magic.

She was, essentially, shielding Alice from Blinky. It wouldn’t last forever, and Alice would likely have to come back within 24 hours to have the ritual done again, but it was certainly better than just letting her saunter about out in the open when the Watcher With A Thousand Eyes not only knew her by name, but was directly contacting her. The spell clicked into place and Miss Holloway let out a little sigh, then picked up the necklace and walked over to Alice to hold it out toward her.

“Take this.”

“What is it?”

“As long as you’re wearing it, you should be shielded. At least for a little while. You’ll likely have to come back tomorrow or the day after to get it imbued again, but it should keep you safe for now.”

Alice swallowed, gingerly taking the necklace into her hand, “R-really? You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” The sheer conviction in Miss Holloway’s tone was enough to convince Alice. She didn’t generally believe in this witchy stuff, but after the night she’d had, she was more than willing to try, at least. She undid the necklace’s clasp and handed it to Deb to help her put it on. Miss Holloway, meanwhile, moved back toward the small altar-desk and withdrew a piece of paper and a pen. She jotted down her personal number and handed it over to Alice.

“Call this number if anything like this happens again. And I mean anything, Alice. Even if it’s not eyes, or a voice. Anything strange or out of the ordinary, you come straight to me. No hesitation, no second guessing, you hear me?”

Alice nodded, “Yeah, okay.” She exchanged a quick look with Deb, who proceeded to get to her feet and hold a hand out toward Alice. Alice took it, getting to her feet beside Deb. “Um...thank you, I guess.”

“It’s no problem, honey,” Miss Holloway said, a soft, genuine smile spreading across her face, “I need you to promise me you’ll stay safe, okay?”

“I’ll try.”

Miss Holloway held up a finger, “No trying, Alice. Stay safe. If that means calling me, call me. Any time, day or night. Matter of fact, give me that real quick, I need to add something.”

Alice handed the slip of paper back to Miss Holloway, who returned to the table to write down a second number: Duke’s cellphone. Since she didn’t use a cell herself, if Miss Holloway was out, Duke would more than likely answer and direct Alice to her anytime. He was great at that. She handed the paper back to Alice, pointing at the second number, “If you can’t get a hold of me there, call that number. The man who answers will help you get through to me.”

Alice nodded again, “Okay. Cool.”

“You ladies stay safe, okay? And don’t remove that necklace unless absolutely necessary. I’m going to get to the bottom of what’s haunting you, Alice. I promise.”

Alice seemed to visibly relax at those words, “Thank you.”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

Miss Holloway escorted them out of the back room and into the dining room, offering goodbyes as they left through the diner’s front door. She turned just in time to see Duke staring at her with a small, confused smile on his face, and walked toward him.

“Everything okay?” he asked as she approached.

Miss Holloway shook her head, “Not sure. Hannah, honey, I might need your help with something later.”

Hannah perked up a bit at that, “Okay. What’s up?”

Miss Holloway’s gaze shifted back toward the front doors, where she could see Alice and Deb standing just outside. She shook her head, “Something’s up. I wanna know what.”

Outside the front doors, Deb gave Alice a sidelong glance and said, “So?”

“So, what?”

“So, how do you feel?”

Alice blew air out through her mouth, shaking her head, “I don’t know. I mean,” she lifted the necklace up to examine it with a little shrug, “I guess I feel better?”

“You guess?”

“Look, Deb, this whole thing was super weird. I mean, she seemed legit enough, but...you know. It was weird.”

Deb put an arm around Alice’s shoulders and the two of them began walking off down the sidewalk, “It was really fuckin’ weird, wasn’t it?”

“I guess...if it helps?”

“If it helps you stop seeing things so you can sleep? I’ll be happy.”

Alice let out a scoff, “You make me sound so crazy when you word it like that.”

“You’re not crazy, honey,” Deb planted a kiss against the side of Alice’s neck, “this whole situation is fucking crazy, but you’re not.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course,” Deb said with a shrug, “Besides, even if you were crazy, I wouldn’t complain. Crazy chicks are hot, and super fun in bed.”

Alice let out a cackle and poked Deb in the ribs with a sharp, “Hey!”

Deb laughed and moved away from the playful poke, then reached out and took Alice’s hand. Alice did have to admit, she felt oddly better. More at ease. In fact, she hadn’t been aware until this very moment just how tense she’d been feeling since the night before. She hadn’t slept well. She’d barely eaten. But even if the necklace didn’t actually do anything to help, Alice felt like it was better than trying nothing at all. And she was suddenly very hungry.

She supposed she’d have to thank Ziggy for the suggestion later. For now, she was going to try to relax.

Chapter Text

Chapter 31

It was strange how someplace could be so quiet yet so loud all at the same time.

It was quiet enough that people spoke in hushed tones and moved around the halls and rooms as though they were trying not to wake the dead. Sounds like a door opening, someone typing on a keyboard, the crappy TV in the small room playing at a low volume, or shoes squeaking on the tiled floor felt so out of place and loud in the quiet atmosphere. At the same time, the constant beeping of the machines attached to Ethan, as well as the occasional alarm from another nearby room and the scuttling of nurses and doctors in the hallways as they moved from emergency to emergency were loud and frantic in Lex’s ears. She found it impossible to completely relax here. She could feel her own tension, and couldn’t really do anything to stop it; her shoulders ached from her constantly coiled muscles.

She sat on a chair beside the bed in the surprisingly small hospital room. Ethan was asleep on the mattress, had been for hours. He’d woken up briefly to speak with Hannah, but he’d been so out of it on pain meds that Lex doubted he’d remember anything about his mumbled conversation with her when he woke up.

If he woke up.

The doctors, nurses, and even Duke and Miss Holloway, constantly reiterated that Ethan was going to be fine. He had a bumpy road ahead, and was in the thick of it right now, but he’d likely recover within a few weeks. He’d gotten lucky, they kept reminding her. He could’ve been in the car when that bomb had gone off, instead of 10 feet away.

Ethan was Lex’s rock. Even before she’d become the broken mess Cross had left her as, she’d depended on him more than she’d ever been willing to fully admit out loud. She’d never really needed him – everything she’d done before she met him, she’d done on her own – but he supported her. And that support? That support was nice to have. He always seemed so infallible. So untouchable. Before he’d met Hannah, Ethan would often come home with bruises and cuts where he’d gotten into some fight with someone who’d looked at him crosseyed. Then, after he met Hannah, after Lex made it clear she was going to raise Hannah, Ethan got his act together and stopped getting in those fights. He stopped acting like a fucking hooligan all the damn time and he stepped up. He stepped up even when he didn’t need to. Even when Lex didn’t need him to. He was there. Always there.

He was an imposing force. His sheer stubbornness was only matched by Lex’s herself. They constantly butted heads, bickered, argued, yelled. But they loved each other. Lex loved Ethan. She didn’t need him around, she wanted him around.

God, he looked so small in that hospital bed.

Lex wasn’t sure what all of the machines were for, but she felt like Ethan was attached to far too many of them for someone who was supposedly going to be okay. He had a bruise and some cuts on his face where he’d made contact with the asphalt outside the hotel, bruising that lined one side of his body under the hospital gown as well. His face was screwed up into a pained expression even in sleep, and he was taking short, shallow breaths courtesy of what were apparently some pretty severely bruised ribs. His left arm was wrapped up in medicated gauze, from his hand all the way up to his elbow, where he’d taken the brunt of some heat burns as he’d reached up to shield his eyes from the blast. Lex could literally see the small lump that had formed under his hair on one side of his head, where he likely had a concussion. He looked pale and gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes.

Everyone kept saying he’d be fine. He didn’t look like he’d be fine.

With a soft sigh, Lex grabbed her phone from the small shelf that sat beside her – one she’d more than likely hit her head on when she laid this chair back to sleep, given her luck – and turned it on to check the time. 4:30pm. Doing a quick count on her fingers that meant it had been...about eight...maybe nine and a half hours since the bombing? Maybe? Lex hadn’t actually checked the exact time she’d watched her boyfriend get exploded, but it sounded right, at least. The point was, it had been a while since he’d been awake, and even then, he hadn’t really been awake enough to actually talk. Lex was mildly surprised to find a text from Hannah, stating that they’d made it back to the diner and she hoped both Ethan and Lex were doing okay.

There was a small part of Lex that felt bad for being so angry at Hannah. Deep down, she understood exactly why Hannah had done what she did. It didn’t mean Lex had to like it, though. She wished Hannah would understand that she was protecting her. Both of them had very nearly died six months before. Lex had been physically tortured. That shit didn’t just happen to people on a daily basis, and yet it had happened to her. Hatchetfield was a fucking cesspool, and while Lex did understand that Hannah wanted to help and be useful, she didn’t fully understand why Hannah wanted to do all of those things here of all places.

She couldn’t stop Blinky from California?

Or better yet, she couldn’t leave it to Miss Holloway?

When Lex and Ethan had arrived back in Hatchetfield the day before, Lex had had every intention of dragging Hannah out, whether she wanted it or not. Learning she’d stolen money had been genuinely hurtful, given how hard Ethan was working to make that money (alone, mind you – Lex had never felt more useless than when Ethan had to take a third job to keep a roof over their heads). The ghosting didn’t help. At first, Lex had genuinely thought Miss Holloway had broken her trust by shielding Hannah from Lex and Ethan. But to find out that Hannah had lied to all of them…

It hurt.

The ensuing argument between the sisters had been bad enough that even Duke, who tended to be the type of person to act as a peace keeper, kept out of the whole thing. Words had been said that were more than likely going to be very hard to take back, including Lex calling Hannah selfish, and Hannah flinging out the word “coward” to describe Lex. Neither one of them were sure exactly when Miss Holloway had decided to step in to stop it, but it had ultimately been she who had talked both sisters down off their little ledge, before sending Ethan and Lex away to that damn hotel to cool off. Duke had escorted them there, helped them check in, and offered to buy them dinner.

And then...this.

If there was one small good thing that had come of all of this, it was that Lex simply didn’t have the mental or emotional capacity to be angry at Hannah anymore; when she’d arrived back in Hatchetfield the day before, she would have responded to the text flashing at her on the screen with some sarcastic quip about only now keeping her in the loop about her whereabouts. But now? Now she was just happy to know Hannah was safe. So, she sent a text back thanking her for letting her know, and placed her phone face down on the shelf beside her.

She about jumped out of her skin when she felt something touch her hand, letting out a startled gasp as she stood from the chair. She blinked, looking toward whatever had touched her, and was genuinely surprised to see Ethan staring at her with the smallest of smiles forming through his pained expression, one hand gently, almost weakly, extended toward the chair.

“Sorry,” he muttered, his voice only barely a raspy whisper, “Didn’t mean...to scare ya.”

“Ethan,” Lex whispered as she lowered herself back down into the chair. She grabbed his hand in both of hers and planted a kiss onto his knuckles. A lump formed in her throat, and she could feel tears forming.

“Hi,” Ethan said before swallowing, his brows furrowing, “God, I’m...thirsty...”

“Let me see if someone can get you some water or something,” Lex said as she pushed herself to her feet again, “Be right back.” She moved over toward the door, which had been left open a tiny crack, and stuck her head into the hallway.

She hadn’t expected the response she’d received when she’d told the nearest nurse that Ethan had woken up. For people who’d been assuring her all day that he’d be okay, everyone seemed genuinely surprised to see him awake at all. Four nurses flooded into the room, forcing Lex into the back corner while they ran tests on Ethan and asked him questions. They checked the machines, checked the wires and tubes, kept Lex updated on his condition with words she didn’t understand, got him some ice chips, asked him if he wanted to eat, and then left with the assurance that he was, all things considered, fine.

By the time Lex and Ethan were left alone again, both of them were genuinely exhausted.

“That was a lot,” Ethan said. He’d moved the bed into a position that allowed him to sit up better, and was almost happily chewing on his ice chips.

“I should call Hannah,” Lex said as she reached for her phone, “She was here, you know. So were Duke and Miss Holloway.”

Ethan nodded, “I know. I talked with her, right?”

Lex quirked a brow, “You remember that?”

“Not, like, what we talked about,” Ethan said with a pained shrug, “but I remember her holding my hand and saying...something to me. And I remember saying something back.”

“You remember that,” Lex repeated with a soft grin.

“Of course I remember,” Ethan said, like it was the most natural thing in the world, “It’s Hannah-Banana, Lex. I’m not just gonna fuckin’ forget.”