My Head Aches As I Look Around At All The Surprised Faces Staring Down At Me. I Laugh A Little Until

October Sun

summary: it had been settled. everything had gone to shit and then everyone had had front row seats to watch how that'd happened. back in the theater, no one had known what to say, how to describe what they'd seen, how to reconcile that whoever had been behind the circumstances haunting Split River High could've been anyone.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.27

"Love this for me."

Charley scanned the area, confused, disoriented, nervous. We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto, he shuddered, wrapping his jacket tighter around himself as he began to trek in the direction he hoped would take him back to civilization.

This wasn't how he imagined finally being free from the school. Lost in the middle of nowhere, dense trees as far as the eye could see. There weren't many wooded areas around Split River. A couple of parcels here and there, wilderness parks, but not like this, and he had to wonder if the forest was actually native to the land.

Finally, he found a trodden path in the dirt and decided to follow it. What did he have to lose? There was no danger. He couldn't die twice. Food, sleep, shelter weren't required despite he and the others keeping up those habits in the afterlife at Mr. Martin's guidance. Still, what you'd mentioned on the rooftop the night before—about how your great aunt or your mother could blast his soul into oblivion—made Charley paranoid.

What if he'd landed here just for an evil witch to use his ghost for some nefarious plan to make her young and beautiful again? He'd seen Hocus Pocus. And it didn't matter that he was technically too old for that spell to work. He was stuck at 17 until he moved on and he wasn't keen on having a wicked witch absorb him for the sake of vanity.

Which, okay, Charley reasoned, sounded ridiculous, but one couldn't blame him. After a tornado had manifested in the theater and he'd been transported to some creepy, dark forest alone; he wasn't going to criticize himself for the insane theories his brain churned out.

He followed the path until it brought him to a winding, unpaved road. Turning left, he trailed down the edge of it for what felt like hours. It'd started raining halfway through his journey to wherever the hell, and night had fallen before the road widened into a bare plot of land stretched in front of a dilapidated farmhouse, its shadow a fanged monster raking toward Charley's ankles.

"Oh, that's not freaky at all." Charley muttered, quickly glancing over his shoulder and debating whether or not to go back the way he'd come. The darkness blurring the unpaved road seemed to push toward him as if discouraging him from turning around. He groaned in despair, "I hate everything about this," wanting the universe to take pity on him and return him to—God help him—the safe and familiar halls of Split River High.

It was Movie Night, he winged internally, and Wally had agreed (with conditions) to watch Ghost—shut up—and Katelynn and Bernadette were in charge of snacks which meant there'd be a smorgasbord of good options because Mr. Martin always filled the table with carrot sticks and his homemade tuna salad ("Just like my mother's! Doesn't it taste like home?"—"Why is it encased in jell-o?"—the 50s were a heinous decade, Charley thought, green around the gills at the memory).

Today was supposed to be a good day. A day of progress. A day of togetherness. He and Rhonda and Wally, and now Maddie, a united front against the mystery of Maddie's.....well, not "death", Charley supposed, because you'd debunked that. But against the mystery of Maddie's situation, nonetheless. Except he was here, wet and cold and lost; an Addams Family-esque farmhouse towering in front of him like a bad omen and no one to turn to for answers.

"It can't get worse," Charley sighed, about to ascend the first of the front steps.

As his foot set down on the wood, the screen door creaked and someone emerged, using their back to push the door open so they could exit. When they turned around, Charley nearly jumped for joy. He knew that face! That was your face! Your face... Charley reeled back. Your face was coated in blood. You were coated in blood. Hair, hands, jeans.

"What happened!?" He questioned, pitching toward you to scan you for injuries. You didn't seem to be in any pain, not favoring a leg or curling over a gut wound. Beneath the thin red film on your face, Charley couldn't spot a gash, a cut, a scrape, nothing. He panned to the front door, speculating in startled flashes what lay beyond it. The color drained from his face as he thought about it and he decided, no thanks, he didn't want—didn't need—to know.

The most unnerving part, however, wasn't the Evil Dead amount of blood on you. It was how your eyes stared ahead, completely blank; the same dissociative gaze Charley had witnessed on Emilio's face in the wake of Charley's death. Like Emilio's mind had evaporated while his brain repressed every bad thing that'd ever happened just to keep him upright.

Charley wanted to ask if you were okay but the words lodged in his throat when he finally noticed that you had something—someone—bundled in your arms. Small, child-sized (probably because it was a child, Charley, he chided himself), wearing Spiderman rainboots and a Looney Tunes sweater. A queasy sensation flushed through him as he watched you fumble down the stairs, gaze fixed ahead, arms fastened around the little body.

When Charley shifted to follow you, the screen door creaked again then slammed closed. Another person hurried out, clomping down the steps to chase after you. Small. Child-sized. Spiderman rainboots and a Looney Tunes sweater. Charley's expression twisted with sorrow. He bit the inside of his lip as he turned and walked beside the little boy who contemplated his boots as he squelched through the mud.

"Where are we going?" The little boy asked you, stomping into and out of a puddle.

You answered, "I'm taking you home," your voice light as a feather and far, far away.

"Will mommy be mad at me?" The little boy paused, big green eyes on your back, worried that he'd be in trouble for...for what? Charley couldn't discern. For dying?

"No." You said, dragged your feet with effort, your Converse not made for soft, sinking ground. "She'll know what to do. She'll make it all better, Aiden, I swear." On the last word, your voice cracked, but your face didn't change, your gaze still distant.

Charley kept pace with the little boy, Aiden, until you came to the end of the unpaved road. You were shaking, probably freezing, soaked to the bone and in shock. The unpaved road intersected a tarred section of old, narrow highway, a rusted mailbox keeping vigil in the tall grass that lined the shoulder. Part of the name was scraped away by time and weather. Still, Charley could make it out: Meheive. A name Charley had had hammered into his skull in Grade 7 History. The name of one of the four industry men who'd founded Split River in 1850.

"Oh," He commented mildly, "It gets freakier. Fantastic." Then, as he lifted his foot to continue after you, he simply couldn't. He tried again, again, again, walked in place as if on a treadmill while an invisible force kept him at bay. "Never mind," He gulped, "Now it's freakier." At least he wasn't being shot back to the cafeteria at speed, he mused glumly when he took the time to feel the identical vibrations he felt when he got too close to the one around the school.

Slanting his attention to the side, he saw Aiden standing alone, face pinched, lower lip trembling and eyes filled with tears. "Sissy May, wait... I can't follow you..." He stuttered several breaths, hands balled into fists at his sides. "Sissy May!"

You didn't turn around. "It'll be okay, Aiden. Mom will fix it. She'll know what to do." Charley heard you murmur, dreamlike, detached, as you began to walk along the shoulder of the highway, adjusting Aiden's weight in your arms. "She'll fix it..."

Charley came up beside Aiden, watching you blend into the dark the further away you got. Aiden sniffled, squeaked before he coughed out a sob. He craned his neck to look up at Charley in devastation. Briefly, Charley was surprised though that settled into sympathy the longer Aiden blinked those green eyes up at him.

"I don't want to be alone," Aiden whimpered and took Charley's hand, his grip limp, his fingers tiny.

There was nothing to say to that. Charley didn't want Aiden to be alone either, and if he had to stay with Aiden for eternity, he would. He knelt down and pulled Aiden into a hug, his voice wet as he said, "You aren't alone, buddy," the way he would've comforted his younger cousin, Luca.

Unfortunately, the moment the words slipped out of him, Charley was snatched away and dragged through the farmhouse door.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Where Charley couldn't follow, Ajay did. Down the shoulder of the unlit highway, stomach rolling as he observed how you swayed and stumbled as you pressed onward, Aiden's dead weight becoming more and more difficult to manage. A car had stopped, a woman had called out to you, and Ajay had heard her on the phone with the police, asking for help.

It was as if you hadn't heard her. Ajay doubted you had, the state you were in, mumbling gentle promises to your brother as you carried him home. "Mom will know what to do, Aiden..."

Twenty minutes came and went before an ambulance and two squad cars screeched to a halt meters in front of you, lights flashing, red blue, red blue, red blue. When the EMTs tried to take Aiden from you, you put up a fight; kicked, gnashed, snarled, screamed. Not words, just noise, like a provoked animal. Deputy Baxter managed to get you in a submissive hold so an EMT could sedate you before he helped settle you into a stretcher. Strapped you in, just in case, the corners of his mouth severely turned down and his eyes shuttered to conceal the heartbreak Ajay had caught a glimmer of.

"Take them to St. Vincent's." Deputy Baxter instructed the ambulance driver. "I'll call their mother." He moved on to order the second unit that'd arrived with him to follow the ambulance, that he would check the road, "For anything that'll tell us what the hell happened here."

"Noah, are you sure you want to do it alone? If someone's responsible, they could still be out there. They could be armed." Deputy Hayes voiced her concern through the passenger-side window. She was new, too new to understand a protocol had been established between Deputy Baxter and Sheriff Stallow when it came to your family. A grandfathered in whatever it takes that often involved doing things off-book.

Deputy Baxter shook his head and reassured, "I'm just going to see what I can find along the road. If anything comes up, I'll call it in." He straightened and peered down the highway in the direction you'd obviously come from, a deep-seated foreboding frosting beneath his skin.

He was at a crossroads, his gut told him. Something terrible waited for him in the dark and whatever choice he made to deal with it would change his life forever. Damned if he did, damned if he didn't. He just prayed to God that he'd still be able to be there for his own little boy in the after. That he'd have the chance to hug Xavier and tell him the world might not be safe, but his dad will always be there to protect him.

In the side mirror of his vehicle, Deputy Baxter stared at the retreating image of the ambulance and squad car as they blared down the highway toward the town. Once the sound of the sirens faded, he shifted the gear into drive, gravel crunching under the tires, and he drove to the only building in the area for miles.

Once Deputy Baxter was gone, Ajay vanished through the farmhouse door.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Question Five.

Does the Monster die?

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Simon's eyes flew open and he jolted upright, waking abruptly in a cold sweat. The sky was dark outside his window, his room pitched black, and his mom was tugging at his shirt. He barely registered her words, you told the police you'd return the phone tonight, get up, as she fussed over him, fuming, lecturing him in Tagalog as she switched on the overhead light and pinned him with a strict expression.

He scrubbed his face to wake himself up. Dragged his hands through his hair, eyes drifting to his closet. He could've sworn... Hadn't there been...? The door was open and, apart from the two rails of clothes and the shoe rack, it was empty.

"Hurry up, iho! Before your father gets home." His mom commanded before she turned on her heel and left the room.

In English, Simon responded, "I'm going, I'm going..." and rose from his bed. He felt weak, exhausted despite having apparently slept through the day. Again, his gaze settled on his closet as if the person who'd been crying in there had just tucked themselves in the corner and would pop out any second now that the coast was clear.

But nothing happened.

Taking a deep breath, Simon stood and treaded to his closet. Just to make sure; just to see if it had really all been a dream. There was nothing inside to indicate anyone had been hiding there. No displaced clothes to suggest Simon had shoved them aside to get a better look at the little boy who'd quivered beside the shoe rack. No puddle from the rain that had dripped from the little boy's hair and Spiderman rainboots. No scuff marks in the carpet. No mud. No little boy.

"She's gonna hurt him," The little boy wailed into Simon's hip. "She's gonna take him and she's gonna hurt Sissy!"

Simon tripped backward, away from the closet, breath suddenly ragged as the memory flooded his mind. Because it had to be that. A memory. He'd had vivid dreams before, but never like that. He could still feel the little boy's tight grip around his waist, could still feel the wet and cold of the little boy's body through his Looney Tunes sweater when Simon had instinctually returned the embrace.

"She wants t'take them!" The little boy sniffed thickly, "You gotta help! You can't let her!" And then he added as if he'd been reprimanded enough times by his mommy, imploring "Pleeease!"

"Who are you talking about?" Simon asked. Leaned back and crouched so he was eye-level with the little boy, his hands holding the little boy's boney shoulders, "Who's going to get hurt?"

Simon grabbed his sweater and his car keys, calling out, "I'll be back soon," to his mother who'd installed herself in front of Wheel of Fortune. He had to get to the school. He had to see Maddie. To tell her what he'd dreamt or prophesized or hallucinated because, guess what, he'd apparently graduated from unwitting medium to Nostradamus.

As he trotted down the front walkway, he checked his phone. 7 missed calls from Nicole. 2 missed calls from Mathilda. 3 texts from Nicole asking the same question—are you okay?—and a novel from Mathilda that detailed the lessons he'd missed and what he'd have to make up over the weekend, but don't worry, I'll help you. And 1 text from you. Short and sweet, sent that morning just after Simon had returned home from the police station.

"We found something to get Mr. A. I'll meet you at the bus stop when you get here."

Simon hoped it wasn't too late. That you'd stayed behind to wait for him even though he hadn't answered you. Unlikely, but he tried to remain optimistic, even as he took a moment to collect himself once behind the wheel of his car. That dream...it lingered like a bruise.

The little boy's voice stuttered through rough breaths, "Sh-she said because M-Maddie's gone, she needs s-someone else now and that she still wants Sissy. But she can't do it w-without trapping more people."

Simon started the car and pulled into the road.

"What do you mean, 'gone'? You mean because Maddie died?" Simon pushed, but the little boy wasn't listening, sobbing about 'him' and 'Sissy' and how they were in danger. Simon grabbed the little boy's face between his palms, soft but firm, and god, his cheeks were so cold. He looked the boy straight in the eye, "What can't 'she' do without trapping more people?"

He rolled down the window to let the fresh air soothe his anxiety.

Eventually, the little boy quieted though tears continued to stream down his face, "She can't have a new body." He said in a little voice. "Now she needs more people because Maddie got away."

And what the gentlest fuck did that mean?

Simon still didn't know who the 'Sissy' and 'him' were that the little boy had referred to. The little boy had been too distressed to divulge their names, talking as if Simon should already know everything. Just 'Sissy' and 'him'. 'Sissy' and 'him' and Maddie and someone named Janet. Did Simon know a Janet? He wracked his brain, trying to summon the names of everyone in his class who could have a connection to Maddie's death. There was a Jessica and a Jennifer and a Jayden. No Janet.

Then there was the matter of 'she' wanting a new body. Because that was sane. And impossible. Right...? Fuck, what if Maddie's death had been some nutcase's idea of a ritual sacrifice. What if another teenage girl was about to be murdered because, lo and behold, magic isn't real and Maddie just died instead of ceding her body.

The devil on Simon's shoulder quipped, "But ghosts are real," which, fair. If ghosts were real, surely they weren't the only eldritch phenomenon to exist in the world. Maybe there were cursed mummies or body snatching aliens out there scheming to take over America via its youth. No child left behind. Jesus Christ. Simon was spiraling, brain spitting random images of every creature feature he'd ever seen at him. Had the little boy been trying to warn Simon about mummies? Aliens? Was. it. aliens!?

As he stopped at a pedestrian crosswalk, he stared—definitely too intensely—at the young woman who passed in front of his car. Like he could see straight to her bones and determine whether or not she was really human. The woman picked up her pace, shoulders up, head down, and folded her leather jacket tighter around her.

Don't be suspicious, Simon, he admonished himself, ashamed of his behavior, eyes darting to his lap until the woman was safely on the other side of the road. "What even is my life anymore?" He wallowed. Ghosts and Mystery Inc. side-quests and pinning crimes on teachers. He felt he'd lived a hundred lifetimes in the last week and was seriously considering becoming a hermit the minute Maddie moved on.

There wouldn't be much reason to stick around after that anyway...

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Mina Volkov hadn't left the theater since 1987. She was a looper. She performed the same tasks every day, from morning to night to morning. She didn't sleep. She didn't eat—except for the paper bag lunch she'd brought with her the day she'd died. She didn't stray. Mina had to make sure that what had happened to her wouldn't happen to someone else.

There was safety in her loop. Not just for the living students she protected through her hard work, but for herself. Her loop allowed her mind to remain clear, focused entirely on the task at hand. She didn't have to think or reflect or question why her soul had lingered after being squashed by a stage light. Rhonda had called it denial when she'd visited Mina a week after Mina's death. Rhonda had been sizing Mina up, prodding and poking to see how Mina would react.

Mina had simply gone about her safety checks and Rhonda had eventually gotten bored. And had never come back.

Sometimes, her loop veered off-course. Sometimes Mr. Martin came to check on her. Just to say hi. Never to invite her to those stupid meetings he hosted in the gym. The ones Ajay attended and would tell Mina about later when they picnicked on the stage or between kisses in the green room.

She liked Ajay. He was kind and thoughtful, and he respected her loop. He didn't complain when she prioritized double-checking the lighting cables and tightening ropes and cordage for the dropdown scenery. He'd simply sit and talk to her. Recite poetry or passages from books she never intended to read. Ajay was smart. Ajay was handsome. Ajay was...

Ajay was comatose. Slumped on the floor along with the others, his face, like theirs, twisted in anguish. Whatever measures Mina used to wake him up didn't work and she had no idea how to help. But she knew she needed to. Not because New Girl had brought Mina flowers. Or because Hawaiian Shirt Man had caused her so many headaches since the start of the school year and they'd found something to make him stop banging around under the stage. But because Ajay needed Mina to be brave.

He needed help and she was going to help him. Which meant Mina had to leave the theater. She had to find Mr. Martin.

Though Ajay often thought Mina didn't listen when he spoke, he was wrong. She held onto every word like a treasure that she'd tuck away in her heart and savor in the moments she was alone. Mr. Martin took his privacy in the fallout shelter in the basement. Mina had been there before she'd died. Several times, in fact. It'd been an opening night ritual conducted an hour before curtain. The cast and crew piled downstairs and hid in the fallout shelter to pass around a spliff.

No, Mina hadn't partaken, much too responsible, but she'd wanted to participate in some way even if that was just being there. She'd wanted to feel like part of the group when she'd so often felt like an outsider the actors and other crew members made fun of, "for being so snooty and uptight, God, Mina, chill out."

Standing slowly, Mina regarded the theater door. Her heart slammed against her ribs, palms clammy as she tightened and loosened her fists. A comforting motion to calm her nerves as she stepped carefully to the door and placed her hand on the exit bar.

Mina hadn't left the theater since 1987. But today, she would.

For Ajay.

She spilled into the hall, the world spinning in her panic, and took off at speed to the other side of the school. Down two flights of stairs, through the door that led to the basement.

Most of the basement had been bricked off which had narrowed the hallway, making it feel like a catacomb. Poorly lit and spooky. The fallout shelter was at the far end, directly below the gym. Its vault door was open as Mr. Martin usually kept it. A practical solution given how regularly he had to come and go during office hours.

It hadn't been his idea originally. No. It'd been hers. The woman currently speaking through the janitor's mouth as she stared Mr. Martin down.

"I've had someone canvas the area and several others every night since that traitorous little bitch escaped." Mr. South stated, "There's no sign of her."

Helplessly, Mr. Martin explained for the second time, "I don't know what you want me to do, Amelia. I've done everything you asked me. I'm doing what I can to keep the kids present, like you said, and I need to concentrate on that. I've already noticed a shift in sentient ones since Maddie joined us."

Mr. South—Amelia—snarled, "I'm not asking you to participate in a search and seize, Everett. I simply want you to tell me where that conniving piece of shit would have gone! She confided in you, you told me that. So, tell. me. where she's most likely to go!"

Mr. Martin shook his head, a cowardly expression miring his face, "I've told you everything I know, Amelia, please. I've given you her notes, her journal. Every piece of information I had is already in your hands."

Quite unexpectedly, a frightened voice interrupted from the vault door, "Mr. Martin?"

Mr. Martin whipped his head to the side, his eyes going wide in panic when he saw Mina stood just over the threshold, inside the fallout shelter. She looked ashen. Scared. Shaking like a leaf in the wind. Her brown eyes slid away from Mr. Martin's face to rest on Mr. South for a second before returning to Mr. Martin.

Mr. Martin swallowed, opened his mouth to say something, anything to explain why he was mid-conversation with the live and well school janitor, when suddenly it didn't matter anymore. Mr. Martin choked as he watched Mina glance down her body. Her chest seared like paper in a candle flame. She looked back up, fear contorting into betrayal, before she quietly burned away into oblivion.

Unable to reconcile what he'd witnessed, Mr. Martin merely stared at the spot Mina had just been standing, expression slack in horror. His chest rose and fell heavily, "Why?" he rasped, and it took every ounce of self-preservation not to lash out.

Behind him, Amelia lowered Mr. South's hand, scoffing, "Oh, don't look so sad, Everett. She didn't feel a thing," but Mr. Martin didn't believe it. Still, he was too intimidated to argue. He knew what Amelia was capable of and he didn't want to be on the wrong end of her wrath.

Virtuously, Amelia commented, "You'll have to find me another to replace that one. So, two more, I suppose,. And we need someone to step in for Janet," breezy, as if she'd killed nothing more than a house fly. "And soon. We can't have any more delays." In Mr. South's lumbering body, she picked across the floor like a debutante, "Time is running out." She finished, already out the vault door and returning Mr. South's body to the storage room Mr. South used as his office.

Alone in the fallout shelter, Mr. Martin buckled to his knees.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Operating with half his mind still on aliens and mummies, Simon waited in the bus shelter. He was grateful you hadn't left, had responded to the text he'd sent when he'd arrived at the school: "See you in 5," you'd told him. At the metal crack of the side entrance opening, Simon stood up from the bench and faced the school. He frowned when he saw who emerged.

Steps uneven, Xavier exited the school. He stopped when he noticed Simon, stood still like a deer in headlights. Damn, Xavier looked like his whole world had been turned upside down. More so than it already had been, that was. Pale and bug eyed and jittery. They watched each other for a moment. Simon nodded his head in greeting. Xavier didn't return the gesture.

Instead, he lifted the hood of his sweater and turned toward the parking lot, skulking off with his head down. A minute or so later, the door opened again and this time it was you. And Maddie. Together. Followed by a tall guy in a varsity jacket, a girl in a newsboy cap, and a boy with frosted tips wearing a Canadian tuxedo. The trio of strangers stayed by the door to watch as you and Maddie—together—approached Simon.

When you and Maddie were within earshot, Simon said, "Okay. What the hell is this?"

You at least had the decency to look apologetic.

"So you can see ghosts." Simon stated, irritated.

"So can you." You shot back, but it didn't sound like your heart was in it. In fact, you looked just as rattled as Xavier had when he'd come out of the school.

Although he wanted to chew you out for having lied to him, Simon wanted to make sure, "Are you alright?" His demeanor softened as he took you in. Puffy eyes, flushed cheeks, red nose. You'd been crying. And Simon would never be angry enough to let that trump being there for a friend who needed him. He bundled you into a hug, one hand rubbing your back, and asked Maddie with his eyes what was wrong.

In his periphery, he saw Varsity straighten and move to take a step forward. His friends each grabbed an arm and appeared to shut whatever idea he'd had down because he shifted back before shaking them off.

Urgently, Maddie told Simon they'd discuss everything, "Later," and ushered him back into the bus shelter. He kept an arm slung around your shoulders, a shoulder to lean on, though had to release you when you decided to lean against the interior glass. Simon took what was becoming his usual seat on the concrete base and Maddie folded herself onto the bench.

When neither you nor Maddie spoke, Simon took the lead, "Mr. Anderson totally played us," he began, glancing between you and Maddie. "I mean, the cops are convinced I helped Maddie run away."

Maddie immediately defended, "Seriously? That's—"

"I know. They only let me come back here because I promised I'd get Anderson's phone and turn it in."

You cleared your throat, "Okay, well, before you do that..."

Maddie continued where you trailed off, "I think we might've found something that can help maybe keep the cops off your back." She fished something out of her back pocket and handed it to you which you, in turn, handed to Simon.

Stunned, Simon gawked at the piece of paper, eyes darting between it, you, and Maddie several times before finally resting on the paper. "We're just...not going to acknowledge how insane this is?" He sputtered, flapping the paper to indicate what he meant.

"Just go with it for now, Si." Maddie implored, "Let's take down Mr. Anderson first."

"Yeah," Simon agreed and examined the paper. It was a receipt for new band uniforms. He pulled out his phone when Maddie informed him he'd have to call the company the receipt was from and punched in the number. As the line connected, Simon cast to the three people at the school entrance. "Quick question, and not to alarm anyone, but who are they?" He asked as he waited for someone to answer the phone.

You and Maddie looked to the three people then at each other, Simon, the three people, each other, and ended with open-mouthed stares at Simon.

"They're dead, aren't they?" Simon deadpanned. You and Maddie nodded. Simon kissed his teeth. "Of course they are."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

After all was said and done, you, Maddie, and Simon had watched Wally—the tallest of the three ghosts Simon had seen outside—drape his varsity jacket over your shoulders and stamp a kiss to your head. Simon had watched Wally hold you protectively in the wake of Simon's impassioned announcement to the table of Split River High staff.

He'd heard Wally whisper comforting words and stroke your cheek with his thumb and, wow, you hadn't been joking about saving yourself for the hot ghost on campus.

It was a mindfuck, to be sure, but Simon adjusted. Or he was in shock. Toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe. Wally had mentioned to the group at large as they huddled in the hallway that he and Charley—Canadian tuxedo—had needed to go lest Mr. Martin—whoever that was—get suspicious of their absence at Movie Night. Which could've been dead dove, do not eat, or could've been ghost code for watching the living go to the bathroom.

"Dude, we don't do that." Wally had cringed, offended.

Charley had raised his brows in consideration, "Well, not all of us."

Simon was beginning to double-down on putting together a personal bestiary à la Teen Wolf just to aid him in navigating this shitshow.

Afterward, you, Simon, and Maddie had holed away in a classroom to watch Mr. Anderson be escorted into the back of a squad car. In a line at the window. Discussing in solemn tones what you and Maddie had seen in the theater. How it related to Mr. Anderson. How whoever was behind Maddie's death—no, not death, Simon emended, since you'd brought him up to speed. How whoever was behind Maddie's missing body could be literally anyone. That was if her Maddie's circumstances were related to the terrors you and she had experienced in the theater earlier.

"What do you think's gonna happen?" Maddie asked faintly as she watched the deputy closed the back door of the squad car.

"He'll be questioned." Simon said. "Probably arrested."

Angry, Maddie replied, "But not for abduction. Not for bodily injury." A weighted pause. "I swear to God, if he did this to me over some stupid band uniforms..."

His voice tinged with hope, "Maybe he'll confess."

"Or," Maddie offered the alternative, "You'll hand that phone over to the cops and we'll never know who he was working with. Or why he said he gave me money... I'll never know what really happened to me."

Maddie turned. As soon as she settled, you shuffled closer to her on the windowsill and put a supportive arm around her shoulders. Fuck if that didn't make Simon's heart ache. He wanted so badly to be the one to do that for her. To be there for her. To comfort her.

"We'll figure it out, Mads." You reassured, though your eyes still looked haunted.

"At least for now," Maddie said, gazing up at Simon, "some of the heat will be off you."

Her words struck Simon's soul. After everything she'd been through, she cared about what happened to him, and it made him yearn to show her how much that meant to him. Seeing you in Wally's varsity jacket gave him an idea. Slowly, he peeled off his sweater and hung it over the back of a chair. It wasn't enough, but at least he could do this.

"What are you doing?" Maddie asked.

Voice rough with emotion, Simon said, "I was thinking... I can't hug you, but my sweater can."

You hopped down from the windowsill and positioned yourself between Maddie and Simon, voice pitched just as low as Simon's as if not wanting to disturb the somber atmosphere that had befallen the classroom.

"I can do you one better." You said with a small smile and placed one hand on Maddie's shoulder. Your held out your other hand to Simon which he took, curious as to what you were going to do. It seemed Maddie knew because she came closer and then—god—she wrapped her arms around Simon and held him tight.

Without a second thought, Simon returned her embrace with his free arm, putting everything he had into it. All the grief, all the solace, all the love. He hiccupped a weak sound of overwhelm and pulled Maddie as close to himself as he could. She felt warm. Alive. Like she was right there in her body.

With wet eyes, Simon peeked up at you, "Thank you."

"You're my friend, Simon." You said easily, "I'd do anything for you in a heartbeat."

He dragged you into the hug; you and he and Maddie holding each other, leaning on each other, needing each other. And for that small segment of time, the weight of the world didn't feel so heavy.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Mr. Martin was surprised when Rhonda marched into the gym and pulled up a seat. It wasn't the first unusual thing Mr. Martin had noticed of his Support Group that night, though.

Something felt off. Ajay had been morose when he'd entered, but Bernadette and Katelynn had puppy piled him on the stack of gym mats and were comforting him with cuddles. Always upbeat and charismatic Wally had been reserved until halfway through the film. Perhaps he was truly taken by Demi Moore's performance, though Mr. Martin suspected there was more to it.

Charley hadn't made any sarcastic comebacks to Mr. Martin's purposefully cheesy jokes about the film before Mr. Martin had started it, either. Keeping an eye on Charley and Wally, Mr. Martin had entertained the idea that the two had had a falling out. Teenagers were fickle beings. Even those in their forties and fifties.

Of course, Mr. Martin could be seeing things that weren't there. Reading too much into every small shift in behavior because he'd been on edge since Amelia's impromptu visit. A shiver ran through him, cold as ice, as he recalled what he'd witnessed and what he'd been ordered to do.

Banishing the memory, he forced a smile to his face, "Rhonda. You usually boycott movie night."

Rhonda stiffened in her seat, gaze fixed determinedly on the screen even if it seemed to go against everything she believed in to do it.

"Is everything alright?" Mr. Martin probed when she didn't say anything. His first priority was always his students' wellbeing, no matter what Amelia felt about it.

Rhonda took her time to answer, but eventually, "I've been here for sixty years. Sixty graduations," She explained, jaw tense, as if her words were being forced out of her. Rhonda rarely shared and, when she did, she'd smother the sentiment beneath myriad barbed wire remarks and threatening stares so no one would examine what she'd revealed too closely.

As Rhonda disclosed what had motivated her to join Movie Night, Mr. Martin heard Amelia's voice in his head, "we need someone to step in for Janet."

"—I've made my peace with it because nothing changes...but now..." Mr. Martin listened, giving Rhonda his full, undivided attention. Rhonda didn't elaborate on how her views had shifted, rather redirecting to claim, "I know I'm not always a joiner but," her voice was raw, "I gotta get outta here."

She was outright doing her damnedest to hold back tears and it shook Mr. Martin to his core. The sight made Mina's image flash in his mind, the pain and fear in her eyes as she'd silently begged Mr. Martin to help her before being disintegrated into nothingness.

When Rhonda admitted, "I'm willing to try anything," Mr. Martin was brought back to the present, Mina fading from his mind. What Rhonda said next made his smile falter, a pang of regret in his heart. There was nothing else for it, his hand forced, because everything was easier when the participants were willing. But Rhonda needed to say it right. She needed to mean it without Mr. Martin's direct interference.

And, just like that, she did.

He ignored how his gut wrenched as he heard Rhonda speak into the air, "So, whatever you did to help Janet, I want in."

Mr. Martin felt Rhonda's words vibrate through the veil, the gears shifting as the pieces on Amelia's board were recast.

Mr. Martin forced another smile. However, turning back to the screen, his smile faded completely as Mina's final moments crowded his mind again. The fear. The helplessness. One of his students...gone. His conscience kicked and screamed and berated him. Challenged him. Brought his face right up to the hundreds of mistakes he'd made leading up to Mina's permanent erasure from this earth.

He'd had no choice, a milder, more detached part of him reminded, and it's too late to undo what'd already been done. There was no going back.

All Mr. Martin could do now was offer Rhonda his bowl of popcorn and tell her, "I'm glad to hear it."

💀___________fin.____________

PART TWENTY-SIX - OCTOBER MOON

note: i will definitely be tinkering away here tomorrow 💀

Act 1 was written to The Night We Met (Slowed & Thunder Storm) by Lord Huron. Act 5 was written to You're Somebody Else by Flora Cash. finally, Act 6 was written to Willow Tree March by The Paper Kites.

i can't believe it, guys. we made it. (ignoring that i now have less that 3 weeks to accomplish Series 2 before the second season airs...) thank you everyone who's still clinging for their lives on the sides of this chaos canoe. you're all legends and i love each and every one of you to the moon and beyond 😭

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ABOUT THE TAGLIST: y'all know, it ain't a thing around here anymore due to the overuse of ritual magic, some demon-summoning, and an unfortunate sacrifice that resulted in more technical issues than tumblr could handle 🔮🗡️ if you'd like to be kept up-to-date, please FOLLOW ME and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS. we have fun here (•¯ ∀ ¯•)

Spencer: I've been struggling with drug use after being kidnapped and nearly dying.

The team:

October Moon

summary: it had been game night. Xavier had told Simon who'd told you about Maddie's backpack. A weird and unfortunate game of telephone that your friendship had dissolved into. regardless, you'd had a surprise for Wally and you'd wanted to make sure to execute it, so whatever grievances you and Xavier had had, those had been shoved aside for the night...until you'd received a damning message that had brought to light why Mr. Anderson had called Claire.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smutty smut smut. mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER MOON pt.2

Xavier stared at his phone, thumb hovering over the Send button, rereading his message for the fifth time. He hadn't spoken to you since last Friday. Not more than a handful of blunt words, anyway. He knew you knew about him and Claire. He hadn't needed Simon's confirmation that you'd been told; he could see it in your eyes, in the way you held yourself around him, the defiance in your stance and the disenchantment around your mouth.

In his heart, he'd forgiven you for keeping him in the dark about your abilities. Your family's abilities. Now his abilities. And while it ached to have been lied to, he understood why you'd done it. That it hadn't been entirely your choice. That, if you hadn't had the pressure of generations on your shoulders, you would've told Xavier in a heartbeat. He trusted that that was the truth because, despite everything, he knew you. It didn't completely soothe the rejection he felt, but it made it less sharp.

Rather, he hadn't reached out because he was afraid. Of your anger, of your hate, of your disappointment. Of you icing him out until you and he were strangers. He couldn't face that. Kept it Schrodinger's Box so he'd never have to know if you forgave him or not. However, right now, things were getting bigger than he could manage and he needed someone on his side. Simon barely tolerated him. Maddie... Jesus, he hadn't been able to stomach looking at her, never mind confiding in her. He sort of had Nicole now, a budding friendship built on being shoved to the outside and left to fend for themselves while their closest people banded together to save the world. Nevertheless, Nicole wasn't you. Who he'd always counted on. No questions asked.

With a shaky hand and a deep, worn-out exhale, Xavier pressed Send.

"Cops found Maddie's backpack. I'm going to the house. Corner of 10th and Lasher. Meet me at 6."

After a few short seconds of deliberation:

"I'm sorry."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

You sat on the workbench while Nanna cut, assembled, and pinned the boutonniere you intended to present to Wally before the homecoming game. It was perhaps a silly gesture, but one you felt strongly about making. Cute and romantic and so unlike you that you barely recognized who you were when you were in lo—involved. Granted, you'd never been in a relationship (was it a relationship?) before so how were you to know you'd be the gushy, head-in-the-clouds, affectionate type?

Nanna hummed as she worked, timeworn hands expertly fitting the olive branch and white lily together around a flush of black baby's breath. Nanna had opened and run the flower shop Aurora had inherited ownership of upon returning to Split River. A charming, cozy place squished between Jerry's Wine & Spirits and an upscale pet store. The perfect resource for whatever dried ingredients went into the tea Nanna had iced and sipped occasionally as she worked.

You stared at the half-full mason jar, observing it as if it were a bomb to dismantle. Questions crowded your mind: Was it the same tea you'd been drugged with? Was it related to what you'd smelled on the three teenagers in the cavern before Amelia's ritual? Wally was of the opinion that Aurora's tea was connected to the cult, at the very least, though you found it difficult to believe. You studied Nanna, tried to find a trace of peculiarity in her behavior, but nothing stood out.

"You're thinking awfully loud, sweetpea," Nanna commented gayly, grey eyes sparkling as she put the finishing touches to the boutonniere and laid it carefully in a plastic container.

Without preamble, "Why do you drink that stuff?" you blurted, gaze flickering between Nanna and her tea.

Guzzling tea in your household wasn't uncommon. The kitchen and bathroom cabinets were crammed with a variety of bygone natural remedies that included stocks of loose tea blends. Getting a cold? Don't take Tylenol, drink milk thistle. Can't sleep? Passionflower and lavender. Stomach flu? Ginger and peppermint broth. Hell, when you'd sprained your ankle running track last year, you'd been smeared in turmeric and arnica paste. Your ankle had been stained yellow for days after.

Nanna cocked her head like you'd asked something outrageous, several speechless blinks and then, "It tastes good." Simple, easy. Strange because the tea sure smelt like a biological weapon and not what one would dip one's biscuits in. "Your sister introduced it to me when she came back from New York." She did? That didn't correlate with the image you'd always had of Aurora when she'd been in New York. The corporate baddie whose entire mood had relied on the quality of espresso in her latte. When she'd switched to tea, you'd assumed it was the other way around. That Nanna had led Aurora to the worst kind of river. "Aurora raved about it whenever she made some, and one day I was curious enough to try it."

"You sure she didn't brainwash you into liking it?" Your face twisted in disgust, "It stinks."

Nanna chuckled, "It doesn't taste like it smells, sweetpea, it's very refreshing." She lifted her mason jar and tilted it at you, "Would you like to taste?"

You reared back like you'd been threatened with a fist, "Blech, no thanks. I'd rather drink toxic sludge."

"You're as dramatic as your mother," Nanna said, taking a sip. She put the mason jar down and handed you the plastic container with the boutonniere in it. "You never told me who this was for."

"A boy." You grinned as you hopped off the workbench. In the same instant, your phone buzzed in your pocket.

"A boy we know?" Nanna pried, her expression glowing with mischief and meddling.

You scanned the text notification, unable to disguise your shock when you read who it was from. Xavier. Who'd been actively avoiding you and his newfound ghost-detecting abilities all week. Your heart jumped to your throat and your belly tightened as a wave of anxiety rippled through you.

Nanna retrieved your attention by setting a chilled hand on your forearm. "Is that him now?"

"Uh...no." You looked up and smiled at her, "No, it's just Xavier."

"Oh good," Nanna said gladly, "You've patched things up, have you?"

Not wanting to open that box when you now had approximately no minutes to leave the house, "Getting there," you offered and angled yourself toward the door. Gesturing gently with the boutonniere, "Thanks, Nanna," you said and stepped across the mudroom.

"You still haven't told me who the boy is," Nanna reminded you, tone as puckish as her grin.

"Right, yeah, it's..." You floundered internally for a second and then tossed in the air the first name that came to mind, "Simon. Elroy. You haven't met him."

Shit.

"Well, I can't wait to meet him tomorrow." Nanna said kindly as she began to tidy her workbench.

"He hasn't said yes yet," You peeped, gulping, because now you had to drag Simon into a ruse and convince him to meet you at your house before the dance.

Nanna flapped her hand, "He will. If you think he's worth giving that—" the boutonniere "—to, then he must be smart enough to know how lucky he is."

You melted at Nanna's flattering remark, warmed to your toes that your grandmother thought so highly of you. Naturally, grandmothers were inclined to dote on and adore their grandchildren no matter what, but it felt wonderful regardless. Nanna was the woman in your life who celebrated every single one of your accomplishments, no matter how small. She comforted you when you were upset, encouraged you when you were nervous, praised you when you were insecure. The wind in your sails since your mother had grown distant, comparatively detached, in the years that had followed Aiden's death.

Sometimes you wondered if your mother blamed you as you blamed yourself.

"Thanks, Nanna," You said again, pink cheeked and pleased. When you turned to leave the mudroom, you almost bumped into Ginny. Mercifully, her tiny frame was a lot more dense than it appeared, even at 80-something, so you weren't at risk of pulverizing her on impact. "Sorry, Ginny," You apologized, shamefaced.

Ginny scoffed, "It'd better take more than a knock from you to kill me, chicken. These old bones still have a lot left to do on this earth."

"Good. Because I don't want you going anywhere until I'm in my eighties." You giggled, giving her a short hug and smacking a kiss to her saggy cheek. You noticed she wasn't done up in her usual regalia—strings of costume jewelry and feathered robes. Today, she was dressed down in a plain frock, her only necklace the small silver pendant she always wore, "To ward off evil." One day it was going to be yours, Ginny had promised as she'd disregarded Aurora's accusations of favoritism. Ginny's cryptic response to that had been, "You don't need it, little lamb. Your sister will."

To this day, you had no idea why you'd need it or if it actually warded off evil like Ginny claimed, though you did enjoy rubbing it in Aurora's face that you were clearly Ginny's favorite grand-niece.

"She's got a new boyfriend," Nanna piped up from behind you, shades of glee in the lilt of her voice. "We'll get to meet him tomorrow night."

Ginny gave you wide eyes and a toothy smile, "Oh, is that so?"

"I'm leaving now," You announced, plucked your way around Ginny, and proceeded to ignore the hoots and coos that followed you out of the house.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Mr. Martin spotted Maddie as she entered the stadium, pensive, withdrawn, an impression he'd come to recognize as meaning she'd unearthed another possible clue in the mystery of how she'd ended on the wrong side of the veil. Something he didn't need right now with Amelia breathing down his neck.

His attention diverted upward to Charley, bunched in a seat and scribbling away in a notebook, his face drawn in straight lines of concentration. A new graft Mr. Martin hadn't authorized. Not that his students needed his approval to pick up new hobbies, of course. But he'd never seen Charley so intent, so determined. Writing the hours from end to end like he was composing the next hit teenage opera.

Things were getting out of hand. His students straying from the perfectly planted path he'd composed over the decades to keep them close. Keep them grounded (in more ways than one). If they drifted too far into death, too far from the thin boundary between the world of the living and the world of the dead—Mr. Martin didn't want to think about what would happen, Mina's final moments blinking in and out of focus behind his eyes like fragments of a bad dream.

Ajay, Bernadette, and Katelynn were in the midst of discussing their ideas for a post-game celebration, seeking Mr. Martin's input. They wanted to show Wally some extra love on his "death date"—that the date changed every year notwithstanding—as was customary, and Mr. Martin was glad at least those three had remained on the straight and narrow and continued to defer to him for guidance.

Briefly, he panned to the field, observed for a moment how Wally had passed Maddie something while they sat against the goal post. The distance was too wide for him to see what it was, but it further made him feel like he needed to double down and shepherd Maddie into the fold. Before Amelia cottoned onto the fact that Maddie was still defiantly marching to the beat of her own cursed drum.

When he'd had to report to Amelia what had happened to Maddie's body—to Amelia's prospective vessel—he'd been delivered a monologue about how critical it was to keep Maddie's memory scrambled. If she were to remember the one thing that had kept her safe all those years, she'd be impossible to wrangle. And that meant Amelia would fulfill every dark promise she'd made to Mr. Martin before and after he became a permanent fixture in Split River High.

Mr. Martin came back to the present when Katelynn said his name, her tone indicating it wasn't the first time she'd tried to get his attention. He apologized and asked politely for her to repeat, listening with half an ear as he nodded along, yes, Wally should have a cake; yes, we can certainly bake one in time; and no, the crown of sparklers is still vetoed.

In his mind, however, he was developing a plan to steer everyone back under the right influence. He needed to correct their course. He needed to figure out what was going on with Charley and Wally and Maddie.

He needed to talk to Rhonda.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Sloped against the side of his truck, Xavier scrolled restlessly through his phone while he waited for you to show up. If you'd show up. You hadn't texted back and it was already 6:03PM. He was steadily losing faith that things between you and him could be repaired. Fuck. He needed you. He needed his best friend. He needed time to back the hell up so he could undo every mistake he'd made so you'd be there for him like he desperately needed you to be.

He shoved his phone into his pocket and sighed, mentally preparing to break into a deserted house, play hide and seek with whoever had stolen Maddie's backpack, and persuade them to tell Xavier where Maddie's body was stashed. Alone. Jesus Christ. As he straightened, squared his shoulders and took a step forward, he caught movement in the corner of his eye.

Down the street, at the corner, in the pool of lamplight, you stood, gaze doubtful as you stared at Xavier. You were dressed in customary breaking and entering black. A jumper dress and tights, turtleneck that definitely wasn't yours, and combat boots. Totally committed to the part. God. He couldn't believe you were there. You'd come. You'd shown up for him like you always had. No questions asked. Even after a week of radio silence and cold shoulders and outrage.

Xavier felt a pressure behind his eyes as he stared back at you, positioning himself to face you fully, arms outstretched, ready to catch you when you began to sprint toward him. You and he collided, his arms closed around your waist and his face in your throat, shaking from the force of the emotions that swirled through him.

"You came," He whispered against your skin, breathing in the comforting scent of your shampoo and the DIY detergent your mother preferred.

"Always, Zav," You soothed, arms slung around his shoulders.

His body shook as he hugged you, the immense relief he felt opening the floodgates to everything he'd been holding on to all week. "I can't do this without you," He confessed, voice tight as a rubber band about to snap. And that encompassed so many truths. He couldn't laugh or breathe or live if he lost you. You and he had been through too many losses, changes, heartbreaks, wins together. There was no world in which Xavier could sustainably exist if you weren't in it with him. "I love you," He said weakly. Nothing new, you and he had shared the sentiment plenty of times, but it still carried weight.

"I love you, too," You replied, slightly turning your head inward as you pulled back.

Xavier happened to simultaneously shift his face toward yours, accidental, a reaction to your movement, and then, time slowed. The world retreated. His breath left him in a shaky gasp. One of his hands instinctually moved to your cheek, fingers barely tracing a bruise he wanted to know the origins of. And then his lips gently, so very, very gently, brushed yours. He heard you inhale, sharp and subtle, and that was all it took for impulse to drive him.

His lips crashed against yours, one arm tight around you, the hand of the other splayed on your cheek, thumb pressed close to the corner of your mouth. Sweet liquid heat curled low in his belly and he released a low sigh of pleasure. He'd never imagined this, had never entertained the idea nor held space for it, yet, in that moment, he couldn't recall quite why. It felt so good.

The kiss couldn't have lasted more than a second before he felt you break away, your fingertips replacing your lips as you shook your head. Your eyes were somehow both caring and regretful, filled with a love that Xavier had to acknowledge wasn't the kind that invoked the sort of insatiable desire he craved. It was milder, sweeter; affection in lieu of attraction, and he immediately cooled.

He didn't jump back or apologize or hate himself and the world. There was no pang of rejection. Just plain, honest understanding. Xavier lowered his hand and loosened his grip on you, a tiny smile of acceptance.

"Sorry," You lamented, but Xavier insisted it was fine. Because it was. Like, actually was and not in the way that people insisted when they were anything but.

"Thanks for coming," He said, easing a breadth of space between you and him.

You rolled your eyes, "Like I'd let you go into a freaky abandoned house where a possible body snatcher may be lurking all by yourself." And then you snickered, "As if I'd miss you screaming like a girl if the floor creaks."

"Ha-ha," Xavier sneered waggishly, "You're such a good friend."

"I know." You grinned. As Xavier took the lead, he heard you ask, "Why'd you do it?"

He didn't need you to elaborate, that telepathy bred from a lifetime of familiarity doing the heavy lifting. He admitted, "I don't know." When you didn't say anything, Xavier expounded, "I mean it, I have no idea why I even started things with Claire, never mind why I kept it going." He glanced back at you, taking his phone from his pocket and turning on the flashlight before climbing the front steps. "It felt like I was in a fugue that I only came out of when Maddie went missing." Another glance back at you, this time with the caveat, "Don't tell me it was in the weed, kiddo, I didn't smoke that much."

In response, you locked your lips with an invisible key that you subsequently tossed over your shoulder. "I wouldn't dare."

Xavier tested the handle on the front door, surprised and grateful to find it twisted to the left without resistance. Whoever was using the place must have decided it was easier to leave the door unlocked than slip back inside through a window whenever they left. Faster and less conspicuous, certainly. He entered first, held a hand up to signal for you to wait while he sussed out whether it was safe or not.

In the meantime, you inquired, "You didn't by any chance happen to drink a lot of bad smelling tea while you were cheating on Maddie with the cheer captain, did you?"

The question, to Xavier's mind, was completely random and, frankly, ridiculous. "Tea? When have you ever seen me drink tea?"

"Whenever you get a cold and Nanna insists on nursing you back to health."

"I think we both know that doesn't count." Xavier reckoned, treading slowly and carefully down the hall, which, okay, he was starting to think the whole stealth operation thing wasn't necessary if you and he were talking at a conversational volume anyway.

"When you went through your Jimi Hendrix phase and drank a bajillion cups of apple cinnamon black tea with—"

"—milk and two sugars, yeah, okay, I get it. The answer is still no. I didn't become acutely British one night and then fuck Claire."

"Ew."

"You asked."

You took to the other side of what would've been the living room to look for clues, "Still. Ew."

Someone was definitely living there. Though the house smelt overall stale and mildewy, the place was tidy. Ish. The makeshift bed against the living room wall was made. The messiest thing about the room was the scattering of old mail. When you suggested splitting up, Xavier vigorously quashed the idea, taking your hand just to keep you from wandering off out of spite.

"Is it because I'm a woman?" You griped.

Xavier raised his eyebrows at you, asserting, "No. It's because you have a bruise on your cheek and I don't know if you got it from walking into a door or into someone's fist. Which, please tell me it's the former so I don't have to beat the shit out of someone."

You chuckled, "Technically the former. I projected out of my body to make it look like I fainted. I needed to get out of math class."

About to open another door, Xavier stalled, "You did what." He said, monotone, nearly dropping his phone in disbelief because, surely, he'd misheard you.

"Astral projected. I, uh, ahem, I can do that, too." Suddenly shy, you tipped your gaze down and pressed your lips together.

"Oh. Yeah. No. That's...what."

You tugged his hand, made him look at you when you said, "No one besides Wally knows. So...please don't tell anyone. The fewer people who know, the better."

Xavier wanted to retort, something snappy and sarcastic, but he picked up on the note of earnest pleading in your voice. Instead, he nodded, squeezed your hand, and promised, "I won't." Then, "Your family doesn't know?"

"Nope. I never told them."

"Why not?"

You hesitated. Xavier could tell it was more to choose your words than because you didn't want to explain. Eventually, "I found out when Aiden died. I wasn't able to do it before that. I wanted to tell my mom, but she was a mess after, and Ginny and Nanna were busy taking care of her and me, and it just...the more time passed the less I wanted to talk about it." A pause thick with memory. "When mom was actually getting back out into the world, it felt kinda wrong to bring up anything to do with that day, you know? I didn't want to trigger her and make her backslide into depression again. So, I pretended the ability didn't exist."

Xavier regarded you with sympathetic eyes, "Thanks for telling me." Ignoring the part where your dead boyfriend knew, Xavier felt like you'd let him in again, that you trusted him to carry your secrets with you, and he didn't want to take it for granted. Just then, he heard creaks from the back of the house. "Stay here, don't move," he commanded and advanced to the back room. Opened the door. Stepped inside. Caught a shadow at the window that propelled him forward.

"Hey!" He called, racing to the window. The jump was too high for his comfort, brain calculating the distance between the window and the operating table he'd definitely find himself on if he attempted to pursue the person. As he watched the person disappear behind another house, he smacked the wall, "Fuck!" feeling like a coward. He wanted to be better. To help. To get Maddie her body back.

To be forgiven.

"Hey, did you find them?" You stepped up to the window and peered outside.

Xavier nodded, "Yeah, but they took off."

You must have identified what Xavier was ruminating in his expression because the next thing he knew, he was bundled in a hug and reassured, "I'm glad you're okay. They could've been dangerous."

He returned the hug, not having considered that possibility.

"Let's look around and see if we can find anything useful." You suggested, "And then I need you to drive me to the stadium. I have a sexy football star ghost to ask to the dance."

Xavier smirked, slinging your earlier statement back at you, "Ew."

"Shut up, you're the cheating manwhore."

"Still. Ew."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Wally waited outside the locker rooms for you, geared up and ready to go. His blood was pumping, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Tonight was his night. He was going to make his mamma proud.

Less than five minutes later, he saw you turn the corner and scurry to him, grabbing his hand to pull him into a secluded area just inside a door to the stairwell. The connection between you and him roared to life and he followed its call, crowding you against the wall and kissing you senseless.

When you and he parted for air, he gazed down at you, heated and hungry, "Hey, baby."

You smiled back, "Hey yourself." With a hand to his chest, you pushed him back a step, your other hand hidden behind your back. "I have something for you."

He raised a brow in intrigue, broad grin on his face, "Oh yeah?" He tried to shift closer, but the look you gave him forced his legs still. "What is it?"

Slowly, you brought your hand out from behind your back and presented him with a clear plastic container. He took it, examined what was inside briefly before snapping his head up.

"Wally Clark, will you go to the homecoming dance with me?" You proposed, big, gorgeous smile all for him.

He glanced down at the boutonniere again and then up to you, his heart quickening for a reason entirely separate to the excitement of tonight's events. His soul soared. He'd never been asked. Okay, back when he'd been alive, it wasn't exactly acceptable for the girl to ask the guy, and he had asked his then-girlfriend, Jenny Johnson, to the dance. Went ahead and had died under the enormous bulk of an Outlaws linebacker. Thereafter had attended stag in the company of his fellow ghosts, most of whom hadn't been enthusiastic about dressing up and dancing to cheesy music.

But...here you were.

'Yes' wasn't going to cut it. Wally wanted you to know how much it meant to him that you'd asked. How elated he was, how thoroughly in fucking love with you he was. And, holy shit, he was, wasn't he? He loved you. A joyous laugh bubbled out of him from the depths of his being and he closed the distance between you, hovering over your frame that seemed so small in comparison to his. In measure increments, he bowed his head, free hand smoothing down your waist to your hip, and he grazed his lips against yours. A lingering tease before he pressed in firmly and gave you his answer.

He heard you whimper, the sound making his head spin, and he felt your fingers at the nape of his neck, tickling the short hairs, sending frissons of want and need down his back. When you pulled away, biting your lip, gaze caught on his mouth—fuck, he had to close his eyes just to maintain some semblance of self-control.

"Is that a yes?" You asked, voice sultry and low.

Wally grinned. Unequivocally, wholly, utterly, "Yes."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

At halftime, Xavier humbly handed out the fliers Sandra had printed off. He hated himself a little bit for it since he could see Maddie sitting at a table with your dead boyfriend, as Simon had dubbed him, having what appeared to be a deep and meaningful conversation.

Although he wasn't shackled to the same commitment to secrecy as you were, he couldn't imagine it going very well if he sat Sandra down and told her the truth. That her daughter was half-ghost and some sick individual was out there doing God knew what to Maddie's body. Oh, but don't worry, Maddie isn't alone, there's a bunch of dead kids to keep her company, can you believe that?

No. No one outside your family would believe that. Except Simon, but he was paddling the same shit canoe as Xavier so that rendered him irrelevant.

Xavier glanced at the table again, watching Maddie and Wally laugh and talk and eat. Since ghosts ate apparently. Like people. With heartbeats and working digestive systems. Did ghosts need to eat? Did ghosts use the bathroom?

"What're you doing?" Simon's voice jolted Xavier back to earth.

Xavier ticked his attention to Simon, suffering for what to say. "Nothing," was a shit answer, and he could tell Simon didn't believe it, but there it was.

"You've been staring at them for five minutes." Simon informed, unimpressed. "Did your humanity finally come back online and now you're feeling guilty?"

Xavier clenched his jaw, "You don't have to be such a dick all the time, you know. I'm here. I'm trying to help."

"Yeah," Simon scoffed, "I bet. As if your guilty conscience isn't the reason you've been at Sandra's beck and call all week. Did you tell her you betrayed her daughter?"

"Actually, yeah, I did." Xavier stared Simon dead in the eye, "We covered that in our first conversation."

Simon seemed shocked to hear that, gaping for a beat before covering it up with a stony cast. "It learned how to be honest. I'm impressed. Maybe you will become a real boy after all."

"Fuck you," Xavier snapped, giving Simon his back so he could focus on emptying his stack of fliers.

He didn't hear anything for long enough that he assumed Simon had walked away, but, to his complete surprise, "Are you guys talking again?" Xavier pitched Simon an inquisitive glance. "You know what I'm talking about," Simon said, "For some reason she actually considers you a friend. And I consider her a friend. So, I wanna know. Have you apologized to her yet?"

Sucking in a deep breath, Xavier opted to take the olive branch Simon was offering, as thorny and shriveled as it was. "Yeah, we're good." Remembering the kiss (his kiss, he rectified, taking responsibility for his actions), he slipped another peek at Wally. Too bad for him, Simon was perceptive.

"It's weird, right? Dating a dead guy."

"If she's happy, I'm happy." Xavier said sincerely.

"Great. So why do you keep looking at Wally like he's your middle school bully come back to haunt you." Simon viscerally thought about what he'd said, "Is that a pun?"

Xavier snorted, "I don't think so." And then, bravely, wanting to impart an olive branch of his own. Stupidly. He disclosed, "I kissed her."

Nothing. No comeback, no quip, no insults. Nada. Xavier turned to Simon only to find him trembling with suppressed laughter, back of his wrist over his mouth.

Finally, "Oooh~ ho ho, her dead boyfriend is so going to kill you." Simon glanced at Wally and then back at Xavier, "Please don't let it happen when I'm not around, I really wanna watch."

"You're such an asshole." Xavier grumbled, practically shoving a flier at a passerby.

"You know, I'm surprised she let you," Simon mused.

Conversationally, "She didn't. She stopped it."

"That's my girl."

"She's not your anything," Xavier let him know.

Simon shrugged, casual and delighted, "Doesn't matter. She's definitely his," He nodded to Wally, "And he's going to break you in half."

Xavier swallowed, sizing Wally up and internally agreeing with Simon that, yep, that guy could definitely beat the crap out of Xavier if he wanted to. "But he can't." Xavier said, more a prayer than a statement. "He can't touch me, right, Simon?" Simon didn't respond. "Simon? He can't, right?" Xavier spun around and saw Simon heading back to the bin of fliers, "Simon!?"

Simon threw his head back and cackled.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

You said goodbye to your friends after the game, everyone, including yourself, in high spirits despite the Bandits losing. It had been a close game, fun to watch though you maintained you weren't into sports.

Wally was easy to find, propped against the wall near the exit, one foot up, hands in his pockets, already staring at you with soulful eyes and a soft smile. Your belly clenched and your skin flushed under his appraisal, butterflies swarming inside you.

The crowd was distracted and dense enough that you threw caution to the wind and tucked yourself against him when you reached him. You felt him tense, but it wasn't even a second before you felt his arms wrap around you and his nose in your hair.

"Did you have fun, pretty girl?" He asked. His tone was oddly serene for someone who'd been vibrating out of his skin earlier. He didn't sound exhausted or depressed or anything else you'd expect from someone who'd, a) seen their parent who couldn't see him back, and, b) had watched the same game that'd killed him. Rather, he sounded...at peace, if a little apprehensive around the edges.

You peeked up at him as you soaked up the heat of his body like a needy sponge, "Are you okay?"

Again, that soft smile, tinged very faintly by nerves. Maybe because you were being too forward with your abilities in a public setting? You studied him and found that, no, that wasn't it.

He licked his lips nervously, said, "I need to tell you something. But I'm scared it'll change the way you look at me."

"Nothing could do that," You reassured him, encouraging him to say what he wanted to say.

Wally appeared to think about it, deliberating, but eventually revealed, "I don't like football."

It was your astonishment that kept you from responding right away. Not astonishment for what he said, but how he said it. Like it was a weight off his shoulders. A burden he'd been carrying for too long at last lifted. You tilted your head, eyes on his, and smiled, overjoyed that he'd shared something that was clearly so personal, so vulnerable, with you.

"Me neither." You said and the smile that spread on his face made your knees weak.

You and Wally stayed like that for as long as you were able before he couldn't put off joining the others anymore. You and he parted with a kiss, as was becoming customary, and you walked back into the school. As you wandered down the hall toward the front of the building, you noticed something out of the ordinary. To be more precise, someone.

"What's he doing here?" You muttered to yourself, following Ken Doll Dave around the corner, away from the front of the building and toward the basement door. You maintained a decent distance, made sure your footsteps were silent on the linoleum, and crept along behind him, catching the door before it could close with a shatter.

Down the stairs, along the narrow corridor....you heard voices coming from behind a door you hadn't known existed. The door was open and when you took a gander, you placed who the voices belonged to. You checked both ways down the corridor, but Dave was long gone. Whatever reason he had to skulk around a high school basement would have to wait.

"What're you guys doing?" You asked Simon and Maddie when you entered the subbasement area and stepped further into the room. Casting about, you realized it wasn't just another storage space. It was a full-on, military-grade, nuclear bunker like one would see in the movies, complete with decades-old tinned food, a pristinely made cot, and a system of outdated machinery. "Whaaat the hell is this?"

"Mr. South said it's been here since the Cold War." Simon told you, "That it hasn't been used in decades."

"And he just let you in here?" You wondered, running your fingers across the dusty machinery.

Simon gave you a toothy smile, "He likes me."

Before you could snark back, "Where do you think that goes?" Maddie brought your attention to a panel in the wall.

You and Simon approached with caution, Simon saying, "No idea, but," he pushed the panel open along the small pair of rails set into the wall, "I'm guessing this is how Claire dragged your body out of here."

The dust on the floor below the space had been disturbed, supporting Simon's theory about Claire, and while you'd been reluctant to jump on the Claire is the new cult train, you couldn't refute the physical evidence. You bent down, inspected the floor beside Simon's shoe, and came back up with something between your thumb and forefinger.

Shuddering, you showed Simon and Maddie, "I think you might be right, Si."

Yet, Simon didn't gloat, too disturbed by the sight of the bloody fingernail you'd just found in the scuff marks on the floor.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Deep inside the tunnel, Janet crawled back toward the exit, sleeves of her hoodie pulled down over her hands to avoid potentially losing another nail. That'd been close. Too close. She'd barely sealed the door before those two interlopers had entered the fallout shelter.

After her hideout had been discovered, she'd meant to sneak into the school undetected and stay the night in one of the many secret spaces she'd used for privacy as a ghost. But she'd seen that man again. The one who she knew Amelia had enlisted to find her. As she pushed open the gate at the other end of the tunnel, the muscles in her arm protested, pained and stiff. She groaned, rolling onto the ground below, tripping and scraping her palm on the gravel.

"Fuck!"

Time was running out, she needed to get that book and she needed it now. But the walls were closing in around her. She had nowhere to hide. Nowhere to go to finish what she'd started. Gathering what little strength she had, she made the decision.

It was time to cut and run.

💀___________________________

PART ONE - PART THREE

fun fact: Eli is the guy who, in episode 5, tries to sit with Maddie and Simon at the lunch table and pops tater tots in his mouth until Simon wordlessly banishes him. On his way to another table, he stops Reader as she goes to sit with Simon and Maddie, telling her, "Don't even bother, Simon's being fucking weird."

note: smut in the next one, stay tuned! also, i couldn't take away from Maddie and Wally's sweet moment at halftime. like, it's too meaningful and i refuse to mess with it. so they still have it. but, you know, as homies instead of love interests. i'd toyed with the idea of Reader conveying a message from Wally to his mom at the game, but felt that didn't serve anything beyond insinuating Reader into everything and that's just not a road i wanna go down...

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ABOUT THE TAGLIST: we're not about that life around here (•¯ ∀ ¯•) things got too outta hand and i'm still cleaning up the mess left behind by the demons i accidentally summoned trying to get the damn thing to work 🕳️👹......there's a dustpan over there if you feel like helping 🧹💨 or, if you just wanna stay up to date, please FOLLOW ME and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS.

If I Open the Door To Heaven Or Hell 5/? [Wally Clark/Reader]

Summary: Wally tries to break you out of your scar. Word Count: 2k Author's Note: This chapter is from Wally's POV.

Read On AO3 // Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four //

Wally didn't know how they ended up here. One moment, he was joking around with Maddie, glad to finally get a smile on her face after she had been so hurt to hear Janet having successfully infiltrated her old life, and the next he was watching Y/N standing there in front of that damn door. He didn't know why she would stand where she had sworn never to go. But there she was in front of her scar with her jacket in hand ready to face her demons. 

He froze, prompting Maddie to stop at his side.  

"Y/N," he tried, hoping not to spook her into action. If he played this right, then maybe he could get her to back away from the door. "What are you doing?" 

Maddie shot him a confused look before finally looking down the hallway to see what had caught his attention. It didn't take her long to get it.  

"Is that--?" 

"It's her scar," Wally answered, not daring to take his eyes off Y/N.  

He noticed the way Y/N was tensed, ready to act, which meant he only had a moment to get to her. He took off running, making good use of all of the training he never wanted when he was alive but desperately needed now to sprint down the hallway.  

Y/N opened the door to her scar and stepped inside, the door shutting behind her. He hit the door only a moment after it closed. He tried the doorknob, but when the door opened, there was only an empty bathroom.  

"It doesn't work like that," Maddie informed him.  

"Well, something's got to work," he snapped, hitting his fist on the closed door. He rested his forehead against the door, wishing he had a solution.  

"Wally," Maddie started, before she stopped.  

"I just don't get it," he found himself saying. He tried the doorknob again, swinging open the door to an empty room. "I don't get it," he repeated before trying again and again to enter Y/N's scar and drag her out of there. "There's got to be a way to get to her." 

"Wally," Maddie said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "She's got to make it out on her own." 

"No," Wally denied, shaking his head. He kicked the door, wishing he could break it down. It would all just reset. He was useless in this situation. "When I was in my scar, she talked to me. She got me out of there. I was so...I was so," he tried again, but he couldn't get the words out. He was lost. Hurt. Terrified. But Y/N's voice had led him out of hell and right into her arms.  

"Look, maybe we should go get the others," Maddie suggested. "Maybe we can figure out why she went in there in the first place. Something must have happened." 

"You go," Wally urged, not taking his gaze off the door in front of him. Y/N was just on the other side. He swore he could feel her. But he couldn't get to her and he was so frustrated at the idea that he couldn't save her. "I'm not leaving her." 

Maddie stood there at his side for a moment before leaving him. Wally knew she was going to get the others, but he was glad she was gone. He didn't want anyone else around to witness his failure.  

Y/N was everything to him and now he couldn’t even save her. He knew what her scar held for her. His death had only been built on disappointment and the fear that he would never be able to shoulder the expectations others dropped on him. He had gone to his afterlife feeling like he wasn't enough.  

But Y/N had her life ripped away from her by someone who wasn't worth impressing at all. Y/N had died scared and alone, not surrounded by teammates and a crowd. No one had been there to watch her fall into the afterlife except for the person who gave her the push.  

He wouldn't have her go through that again. His scar had been bad enough, but hers was just downright cruel.  

He didn't understand why she would want to put herself in that situation again. He didn't get why she would want to relive her death. All he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and protect her from the pain.  

All he really wanted was her. Her laugh and the smile she gave him when she was proud of him. The way having her anywhere near him drove him absolutely crazy, because he just wanted to touch her. And when she didn't even notice he was watching her, the way she viewed the world around her. Even in death, she was curious and bright, lighting up the darkness he felt inside and banishing it with just a look at him.  

"Y/N," he tried again, resisting the urge to try to open the door again. "Can you hear me?"  

God, he hoped she could hear him. He didn't want her to be alone. Not now. Not ever again.  

He remembered when Y/N died. The way all the other students talked about it like it was such a tragedy even though they didn’t really know her. How the girl who had bullied Y/N to death was expelled. How he watched them march her out of the school and how much he hated her even then for damning someone else to an eternity at the school. He remembered the way the teachers referred to Y/N as 'that poor girl.' How her mother cried knowing that she would never see her daughter again. How her little brother stood there, confused about why his sister would never go home again.  

"Y/N, get out of there! Just come on. Please," he pleaded, hoping she could hear him. He put a hand on the door, trying to sense her on the other side.  

He remembered when no one came to remember her on the anniversary of her death. She faded away into anonymity. Just a story for anyone looking to spook a freshman about the bathroom on the second floor with the flickering lights. It was only a dying bulb, but that didn't stop a senior from using Y/N's death as a scare tactic.  

 She didn’t get a stadium named after her. She didn’t get people reminiscing over her achievements. All she got was an abandoned memorial sight and no one left to mourn her. 

She sat and waited and no one came for her. No family. No friends. But he was still there. He would have done anything to show her she wasn't alone. They were the same now. Left to forever roam the halls of Split River High in the hopes that maybe one day, something would change.  

He always assumed that something would be crossing over.  

He didn't realize that something would be Y/N.  

"I don't know why you wanted to do this, but please just come out." He stood there on the other side of the door, waiting for any sign from her. "I'm right here for you. I'm not going anywhere."  

As far as he was concerned, she was never going anywhere without him again. If this is what it led to, then he would stick as close to her as she would let him.  

He knew she didn't get really get how much she meant to him. Sometimes, he felt like he was being pulled in so many different directions. He had to help Maddie and he had to be there for Charley and he had to keep Rhonda from being too Rhonda.  

But Y/N had become his rock. His foundation. With her, he felt like he was whole again. Without her, he didn't know what he would do. She had a way of keeping him steady when he felt like he was going to fall. He hated the thought that maybe he hadn't done the same for her.  

"Please, babe," he breathed, both his hands on the door now with his forehead resting against the wood. "You don't need to do this. You don't need to relive it." 

He couldn't wait any longer. He had to do something now. So, he did the only thing he could think to do. He threw himself against the barrier keeping him from Y/N. He hit it and kicked it and slammed into it like it was an enemy he could try to defeat. He would fight his way to her if he had to.  

He didn't know what she was going through. The silence coming from the other side of the door only served to spur him on, because he wanted to hear her voice. He needed to know that she was okay. His scar had been so twisted and horrifying and he hated that she was going through the same thing.  

"Whatever's going on in there, it's not real. You are real." He needed her to know that she wasn't that person anymore. She wasn't whatever she would see in that bathroom. She was so much more. "You don't deserve whatever's happening," he added, hoping she knew it was the truth.  

More silence. More stillness.  

He tried opening the door again, but the scene was still the same.  

He hit the door again and again, not letting him think about the pain. "Babe? Babe!" He tried, wishing he could find a way to get through to her.  

He was going to make a last-ditch effort to rush the door. He took a few steps back, ready to try to break it down, when it suddenly opened. Y/N rushed out of the bathroom and slammed the door closed behind her.  

She was standing there, watching him with such a tormented expression that he felt like he was dying all over again. All he could think was that he had failed her. But he would never do that again.  

She suddenly ripped off her jacket and threw it back down the hallway. He only had a moment to realize what would happen before she was throwing herself at him. He fell to the floor, unprepared, and she went with him. She was clinging to him like she never wanted to let go and as far as he was concerned, she never had to.  

He managed to sit up, pulling her up with him. She had her face hidden in his neck and her arms were squeezing him so tight it was nearly painful. He didn't know if she would ever be ready to talk about what she just faced, but he would be there for her. He didn't plan on going anywhere. At least not without her.  

"I'm here," he assured her. "I'm not going anywhere. You're safe. You're out."  

He kept trying to soothe the pain she felt. It was all he could do. From the way she was holding onto him, he knew that more than anything, she just needed to know that she wasn't back in that bathroom, about to die all over again.  

He wasn't sure how long they sat like that before he caught movement at the end of the hallway. It was Maddie returning with Charley, Rhonda, and Quinn in tow. Y/N hadn't even noticed them, she was so lost in her grief and fear. He knew she wouldn't want an audience for what she was going through. It was bad enough they had witnessed this much.  

He waved them off, hoping they got the hint. Charley immediately started herding Maddie and Quinn away. Quinn shot a confused, inquisitive look back, but she kept walking. Rhonda lingered behind, watching the scene before her with a set to her jaw that told him she was oddly pissed off about something.  

He didn't know if it was because Wally wouldn't let her be there for her friend or she was mad that Y/N had gone into her scar. Either way, he shook his head, waiting for her to finally turn away before he gave Y/N all of his attention again.  

He didn't have all the answers. He didn't know what was running through her mind.  

But he did know one thing.  

He would wait for her.  

For whatever she needed from him, he would be there. And he wasn't going anywhere without her. 

Taglist: @preparedfruit @morstuavitamea-a @thatonegayloser616 @kmarie06 @girlthatislost

@peterpangirl21 @uk1y0 @i-mmunity @siriusxmunofficial @lov3bug

@morallygrayboys @loudtalehologram @hey-its-roseaurum @doves1120 @benjiiisstuff

Author's Note: Next up, Wally's reunion!

Mr.Martin: Rhonda is at that very special age where a kid only has one thing on their mind.

Wally: Boys?

Rhonda: Homicide

Okay, I’m sorry if this is lengthy, but I was reading your period comfort head cannons for Wally (literal perfect timing since I just started😭)

I was wondering if you could write(and now hear me out) period sex with Alive!Wally Clark and Alive!Reader. Like readers hormones literally just raging and she’s super horny, Wally notices and is like hey you wanna? And readers like I’m on my period, and Wally’s just like “So”?

Long story short they freak it and Wally realizes how much more sensitive reader is, and how much faster she cums and just overstimulates the hell out of her.

Also sorry again this is so lengthy. I am horrendously down bad for this man😭😭 I need to be put down💀 Thank you for coming to my ted talk🩷(I love your page and all your writing)

Listen, listen, LISTEN I know it's short and took WAY to long but I tried. Its also written in headcannon style because I tried writing it normally but just couldn't get into the flow of it so I'm sorry but either way I hope you enjoy it nony.

Alive!Wally Clark x Alive!Afab!Reader

Warnings: Periods Sex, Blood, Oversimulation, Slight Dacryphilia, Wally being sickeningly sweet.

⚠ Smut below the cut ⚠

Wally would be the one to bring it up to you. Like I said before he didn’t know a lot about periods so when you first started talking to him about that stuff he took it upon himself to do research. One of the very interesting things he read about was ways to ease period cramps, one in particular caught his eyes, orgasms. 

He knew he’d have to be the one to suggest so the next time you were on your period he brought it up. He said it so casually, like it was just common scene. When you gave him an odd look and reminded him that you’re on your period he just kind laughed and said “That's like the whole point.” 

He’d put a towel down, tell you to relax, that there's nothing to be nervous about. Rubbing slow circles into your skin while he undresses you like a delicate gift made for his eyes only. 

Long slender fingers sliding inside you, crimson slowly coating them. He’d keep his free hand on your abdomen, massaging it with his thumb, while his head rests on your thigh, admiring the mess he's creating. He’d make you cum on his fingers first, watching your body tense up before relaxing in the afterglow of complete bliss. 

Then he’d get to the real show, slow gentle thrusts while he memorises every little face you make. Fingers moving in circles around your overly sensitive clit. Watching you cum over and over again to the point that tears are falling from your eyes. 

Gentle kisses while he tells you how beautiful you are. Soft whispers while he worships your body, absolutely adoring your oversensitivity. Wally always knew he loved pleasuring you but something about the way you face twisted in absolute bliss drove him insane. Trust and believe this might of been the first time he fucked you on your period but its not gonna be the last.

Not sleeping all night just so I can read each part was worth it

October Sun

summary: Xavier had been tormented by many things since Maddie's disappearance, Simon's distrust and hostility at the top of the list. but there'd been other things that'd kept him up at night as well, and for a much longer time. I know we don't talk about it, he'd said, but maybe we should...

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: panic attacks. eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.20

Xavier stood in front of the closed door, wary, unsure if he was allowed to open it. He knew what was behind it, knew you were in there because you hadn't been in your room when he'd gone to check on you after he'd heard the pipes shudder and the water stop.

He'd spent the last thirty minutes with Abigail—your grandmother—in the kitchen, their conversation skirting around the topic of your panic attack as if admitting what had caused it would conjure another episode. Abigail had fed him cookies and chocolate milk like he was still the little boy she'd been introduced to years ago, all scraped knees and peach-fuzz hair, adult teeth too big for his smile.

A massive tupperware of spaghetti and meatballs waited for him on the bench in the foyer where he'd kicked off his shoes and hung his jacket upon entering the house. Abigail always fretted over him. Hugged him and held him like her own. Xavier adored her. Adored your whole family, really; profoundly grateful to be accepted as part of it. Especially after his own had dissolved into something he couldn't hold together no matter how much he'd tried.

Still, being accepted into your family didn't mean Xavier had access to every corner and cranny. Some things were off-limits, private, For Our Eyes Only, and the room he lingered outside of was one of them. But, fuck it, he'd already missed his Bio test; had skipped last period to get you home safe, and he needed to make sure you were okay before he left.

With a grounding breath, Xavier summoned the courage and opened the door.

The room was daytime-dark, curtains drawn, the stars tacked on the ceiling glowing an eerie, phosphorous green. He could easily make out the child-height furniture. The shelves of picture books and action figures. Spiderman sheets, sleeves of Pokémon cards, and a stack of VHS tapes Aurora had insisted on playing whenever she'd been forced to babysit—"This sucks, Rory, we want Netflix!"—"Shut up. This is so much better!"

The air smelt stale, stuffy, and there was a thick film of dust on every surface but the bed. A shrine untouched in the years between Then and Now.

Xavier's eyes fell to where you sat on the floor, knees up, head tipped back to rest on the low, single bed. He wanted to turn around. Leave. Being there felt intrusive. But, you didn't yell at him. Didn't tell him to fuck off. Didn't throw something at his head. You barely acknowledged him apart from patting the ground beside you in behest.

He dropped down easily; accepted your weight when you slumped into his side, head on his shoulder, damp hair soaking a wet patch into the collar of his shirt. He rested his elbows on his knees, hand clasped around opposite wrist, and pressed his cheek into the top of your head. Glancing down the length of you, he noticed the stuffed lion in your arms. A long, gangly thing with a round face and button eyes, features sewn in black thread on a corduroy canvas.

Aidan had toted that thing around like a limb, Xavier remembered.

It hurt everywhere to think of the little boy who'd inserted himself into the sleepovers and hangouts you'd had in elementary school. Afternoons and evenings spent shooing him away only to give in within minutes because neither you nor Xavier or Hana had the heart to say no to him.

"Sissy~, I want to play, too!"

A lump formed in Xavier's throat, pressure behind his eyes that he ignored to ask, "Are you okay?" He kept his voice just above a whisper, the way people spoke in church. Afraid to disturb the spectral peace that pervaded the room.

After several beats, you finally admitted, "I don't think so," and held the lion tighter.

Xavier didn't know how to respond, the agreement you'd both made six years ago—no questions asked—weighing his conscience down. He wanted to respect the promise. Had always respected it just as you had done for him. However, things felt too heavy not to at least broach the subject.

On a shaky exhale, Xavier ventured, "I know we don't talk about it, but...maybe we should."

"Zav..."

"No, listen, you freaked the fuck out back there and it scared the shit out of me. I haven't seen you that bad in years." He nudged you off his shoulder with a minute shrug, shifting to prop his head against the bed. You studied him, thick lashes starred from your shower, and eyes glassy. The misery miring your expression was visible enough through the dark that Xavier felt guilty for saying anything. He said anyway, "Please don't shut me out."

His mother had very little interest in him; his dad treated him like an unbroken animal. And Maddie...he'd fucked that up so much that, even if she came back, he wouldn't be able to look her in the eye. And yes, yeah, he'd done it to himself, okay? He knew that. He'd always made sure not to let himself get too comfortable. Kept people at arm's length because, if he didn't, it would hurt so much worse when they eventually left.

But you were different. You'd been there since he'd pushed Harrison Levi out of the sandbox in kindergarten and split the kid's eyebrow open. The only one in the class who hadn't been afraid of Xavier after that, and had shared your crayons and glue during crafts period.

Xavier needed you like a lifeline, the one person in the whole damn world who saw him for who he was and hadn't left him in the past. You'd stayed through the angst of his parents' separation; through a childhood filled with inappropriate humor and distasteful comments. Through above-average forgetfulness and outbursts he couldn't control.

He felt the warmth of your breath on his cheeks, smelt peppermint toothpaste and vanilla shampoo; faces close, sides pressed together in a soft line. An intimate bubble of privacy and safety.

"I saw Ms. Chung in the hallway before class." You said at last, as if that explained everything, and okay, sure, Xavier could work with that.

Kind of. "Who?"

"The grief counselor that Principal Hartman brought in on Monday." You elaborated. "She, uhm...She was the counselor I saw after..."

Xavier understood what you couldn't say. Nodded and smiled gratefully at you for having shared that much. He filled in some blanks himself, "And, I guess, this whole thing with Maddie is hitting pretty close to home, huh?"

You snorted, "Yeah, it definitely has the whole 'someone you think you can trust ends up betraying you' thing going for it."

Xavier's blood ran cold.

It would occur to him later that he didn't fully understand how your comment related to your trauma. It was the one police file his dad had ensured Xavier couldn't get his hands on and snoop through.

For now, he was blindsided by fear. Because who the fuck else had Maddie been meant to trust and was instead betrayed by? Sandra, perhaps, but you didn't know that. Did you? Had you also been to see her? No, that would be weird as hell. You and Maddie were friends-by-extension. Xavier didn't think you even knew where Maddie lived. Thus, as far as Xavier knew, he was the only one who fit the profile, which meant that, oh God no, you knew about Claire and this was the moment you banished Xavier from your life forever. He wasn't ready. He wasn't ready to be entirely alone, not yet, please, not yet—

"What does that mean?" He fished, tone even, though inwardly he was losing his shit.

Your focus went distant as you seemed to think carefully about what you wanted to say. With his heart in his throat, Xavier listened as you told him, "Simon and I think Mr. Anderson had something to do with Maddie's disappearance."

And he almost cried in relief. Until a certain part of your statement sunk in.

"You and Simon?"

You leaned back, looking at Xavier like you were mentally fitting him for a dunce cap. "Really? That's what you're concerned about? Zav, you went on an adventure with his only other best friend yesterday. He didn't have anyone else to talk to, so yeah, I'm happy to help him follow whatever leads he finds."

"At least Nicole doesn't hate me." Xavier hissed, "Simon dead-ass accused me of hurting Maddie in front of everyone."

"Okay, a) I made sure to get it through his skull that you're innocent. And, b) Simon doesn't hate you." You stopped, appearing somewhat hesitant to continue before you went on in sympathy, "He's just obviously in love with Maddie and you're the guy she chose instead."

As if Xavier hadn't been painfully aware of Simon's big, fat crush on Maddie since the fledgling days of their relationship. Simon had been a looming presence; had viscerally attempted to hold back glaring daggers at Xavier across the lunch table or over your and Mathilda's heads at shows, or movies, or tailgates.

"We're all trying to figure out where Maddie is." You said, bringing the situation to order. "And it seems like we've all been doing a better job than the cops because you and Nicole found boot prints and a ticket, and Simon found a stash of cash in Mr. Anderson's classroom. Plus, after talking about it last night—"

"You saw Simon last night?"

You talked over Xavier, the volume of your voice rising marginally, "—he and I think he's hiding something in the theater, too."

Xavier hung his head, cracked his neck, and rolled his shoulders, trying to calm the wave of conflicting emotion cresting inside him. You were his best friend. Yet, you'd buddied off with Simon Creepy Possessive Elroy to—

"Wait. Anderson has money in his classroom?"

You rolled your eyes, sporting a sardonic smile, "Yes, Officer Baxter, welcome back to the point. You done being weird?"

"I'm sorry, okay?" Xavier apologized sincerely, ducking to catch your eye. He swiveled to rest his side against the bed and face you more easily. "That was a lot of information to digest. I didn't mean to get weird about you and Simon being close all of a sudden."

You playfully shoved a hand into Xavier's face, "Aw, Zav, don't worry, I'm still all yours," and winked before dissolving into a merry cackle.

Xavier reached across the narrow space between you both and slung an arm around your neck, dragging you close to ruffle your hair. It didn't have the same effect as when your hair was dry, tangling and teasing it into an 80s starburst, but it was close enough. You squealed and giggled, laid Aidan's lion on the bed, and then wrestled Xavier off you. In retaliation, he banded his arms around your torso and pulled you into his chest, fingers dancing along your sides.

It was fun, silly, something neither of you had been in what Xavier felt had been forever. Your laughter brightened the room, pushed the melancholy shadows into the corners, and made way for a cheerful lightness that hadn't existed in the space for too long.

"You're an ass." You wheezed, squirming out of Xavier's grasp and settling back against the bed, one leg held close and chin propped on your knee.

"Yeah, but you love me," Xavier teased.

He was loathe to ruin the moment—you beaming at him with dimpled cheeks and crinkled eyes—but his phone started to buzz in his front pocket. He dug it out, saw who was calling and glanced at you for confirmation that he should answer.

At your nod, he accepted the call, "Hey Tilda, sorry for not calling before, but—"

"SIMON, DON'T SAY A FUCKING WORD UNTIL MY MOM GETS THERE!" Mathilda shrieked on the other end of the line and then, into the phone, "What the fuck, Xavier, I tried calling you three times already!"

She had? Xavier hadn't felt his phone vibrate before then...Of course, when he was hyper-focused on something, everything else fell away, muffled by the void until he poked his head out of whatever rabbit hole he'd tumbled down. And, when it came to taking care of you, nothing else penetrated until he'd exhausted himself putting a smile back on your face.

Something he'd just succeeding in doing, damn it.

You pounced forward, grabbing Xavier's phone out of his hand and putting the call on speaker, "What's going on?"

"The cops just dragged Simon out of the school." Mathilda relayed, harried, clearly on the move. "I called my mom, but she won't be in town for another hour!" You and Xavier shared a look before Mathilda pulled attention back to what was unfolding on her end, "They're putting him in the back seat! That's bad, right!? XAVIER!? Is that bad!? What the heLL IS GOING ON!?"

"It's fine, Tilda," Xavier reassured firmly, eyes fixed on yours. "Unless he's in handcuffs, they aren't arresting him. They probably just want his statement on the record."

"His statement for what?" Mathilda sounded ready to go to battle, "They already asked us about Friday!"

Oh shit, you mouthed, the money.

Xavier muted the call to ask you, "Would Simon call the cops on Anderson?"

"I mean, he stole the man's phone. If he found something, he definitely wouldn't wait."

"Simon stole his phone?" Xavier almost clutched his proverbial pearls like a maiden aunt. The unhinged act of devotion to Maddie made him reconsider what it meant to care.

Simon was on the warpath, no fucks left to give, ready and willing to throw himself on the sword if necessary. Was that the kind of love Xavier had been meant to summon for Maddie? He had a lot of big feelings for her, most of them overshadowed by guilt now that she'd taken off without a backward glance, but none of them had inspired him to burn the world down in pursuit of her. There were—maybe—only two people he'd ever felt that kind of feral protectiveness over, and one of them was dead. The other...

He glanced up at you carefully, saw the distress in your eyes as you worried over Simon. "If they're taking him in," Xavier said, putting a hand on your knee for comfort, "they didn't find the money in Anderson's class."

"Then Anderson moved it." You choked. "Simon wasn't lying, Zav. If you'd seen how Mr. Anderson was acting last night, you'd know it was true, too."

"Hello!? Are you still there? Xavier!"

Xavier unmuted the call, both you and he chiming, "Yep, here!"

"Can't you call your dad?" Mathilda demanded and Xavier could picture her perfectly with her hand on her hip, brows furrowed, eyes ablaze, about to scold him like a mother hen. "He's the Sheriff! He could make them let Simon go!"

"Not necessarily, Tils. What if Simon knows something we don't?"

"Like what? He was at the APEX with us last week when Maddie took off. I saw him with my own eyeballs, Bax, he didn't know anything." Mathilda argued.

"Guess she's not pissed at him anymore," You commented quietly, more to a general audience than Xavier specifically.

"Alright, how's this. I'll go see what I can get out of my dad. You've already called your mom, she's on her way," He stated in a measured cadence, "There's nothing else we can do."

Begrudgingly, Mathilda agreed, closing the call with a semi-threatening, "Call me immediately, babes! I want to know why you weren't in Bio," directed to you, and then, "Love you both~!"

"I wasn't in Bio, either," Xavier grumbled, pouting at the white call-ended screen, "I don't count?"

You didn't indulge him, instead asking, "What should I do?"

"What should you do about what?"

"Tilly called her mom, you're going to sniff around your dad's office. What should I do? I can head back to the school and see if there's anything in the theater."

Immediately Xavier was on edge. The idea of you going back to the school and getting caught—possibly by Mr. Anderson who was, if as guilty as you inferred, absolutely going to be on alert now that the police had been called—didn't sit well with him. Not after what had happened to you earlier.

"No." He said, authoritative, stiff, "That's...no."

"I have to do something. What if Mr. Anderson hurt Maddie, huh? What if that money ties him to her somehow? And now he's going to get away with it because the police are focused on Simon."

Xavier grabbed you by the back of the head, angled your face so you had to look at him when he told you in no uncertain terms, "You're not going back there, kiddo. Not without me, okay? You've been through enough today, you need to rest."

"But—"

"How about this," He reasoned and dropped his hand to your shoulder, "We go in tomorrow morning before class and take a look around. Together."

You deflated, "And what about Simon?"

"There's literally nothing we can do about that right now, okay?"

An unhappy silence followed as you chewed over the alternatives Xavier offered. He was gearing up to sling you over his shoulder, carry you back to your bedroom, and lock you in your closet until he came to get you in the morning. Completely dismissing that you had a whole family who would hear you trying to escape and then very likely sneak you into the school themselves just for shits and giggles.

Color him surprised when you actually seemed to acquiesce.

"Fine." You said, audibly pissed that you were being benched, but, hey, Xavier was being sensible for once, the least you could do was humor him for one night. "But you'd better be here at dawn, Xavier."

Xavier traced an X over his heart, "I promise."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Of course, Xavier really should've had you promise to do as he'd said because, as soon as the coast was clear, you snuck out of the house, once again donning Uncle Andrew's hoodie and your mom's black jeans...

💀___________________________

PART NINETEEN

note: all i kept picturing is this teeny-tiny madwoman glaring ferociously at the squad car as she drives after it to keep an eye on Simon. a crazy, over-protective witch just yelling profanities out of her window at the cops the whole way to the station. Mathilda is a delight.

Marshmallow Miles

summary: prompt fill. Wally needs to get the hell out of Split River. thankfully, he finds the perfect excuse and takes you along for the ride. (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut lite. fluff. AU - everybody is alive (zesty). lore established offscreen. same 'verse as Cuddle Bug.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🧁

Marshmallow Miles

Wally spent the last 40 years haunting the high school. Then spent the last few months within the town limits, adjusting to being a regular student while he got his second chance at life organized. Principal Hartman, Ms. Chung, and Mrs. Moretz—the guidance counselor—banded together to help the formerly-dead reacclimate, and part of that means they all need to graduate.

Except, obviously, Mr. Martin, who Sheriff Baxter's keeping a tight leash on. Or Janet, wherever the hell she is.

Point being, Wally and his friends are still tethered to the place they hate most in the world. Even if there is a light at the end of the tunnel this time, they don't get to enjoy it until they walk across the stage, diplomas in hand.

Which means Wally? Is feeling somewhat-very claustrophobic. Skin too tight, walls closing in, suffocated and nauseous at the thought of having to spend another goddamn second in the town that killed him.

It's as he's listening to you, hanging onto your every word like psalms, that the idea strikes. Light. Bulb. Wausau? Claire's stepdad's ski lodge? You don't say!

He knows your birthday's coming up (Simon made sure to stick post-it notes in every single one of Wally's text- and notebooks to remind him) and he's been fretting over what to do for weeks. But this? This is it! Not only will Wally be able to celebrate you the way you deserve, doing something you seem genuinely keen on, he'll be able to put Split River in the rearview for a whole week.

Is it a little selfish to use your birthday as an excuse to escape? Kind of, sort of, maybe. But he's desperate to find out if he can have a life beyond this. Beyond Split River High and Number 57 and tragedy and discombobulating rise-agains. And the only person he wants to find anything out with, well, is you.

It's two-birds-one-stone, honestly, and don't you always praise his efficiency? Hell yeah, you do. His biggest fan. Besides, he will dote on you, treat you right, make you feel like the center of the universe because you are. At least, you're the center of his, and that's why he has to do this. To prove there's a future with him that has more potential than cultivating small town syndrome.

You catch him grinning that dopey little grin he gets when he's thinking about surprising you, but Maddie distracts you before you can question it. Which gives Wally the rest of lunch to plot into his tater tots.

Thank you, Maddie. Best wingwoman ever.

‗•‗

The plan comes together seamlessly. Everyone pitches in to help bring Wally's vision to life. Claire gives him the keys to her stepdad's lodge. Maddie and Charley morally support Wally as he shops for warm clothes in your size that he can smuggle in his own luggage so you stay in the dark for as long as possible.

Nicole and Rhonda, the unlikeliest of best buds, drag him into The Body Shop and Victoria's Secret—"imagine a romantic bubble bath after skiing all day?" Nicole coos. "Imagine undressing her on a bearskin rug in front of a fire." Rhonda smirks around her new vape.

That's. Really. All the convincing Wally needs to make a dent in the allowance Rodney gives him.

Wally even swallows his pride, puts on his most charming smile, and asks Xavier for his truck. He knows the only reason Xavier agrees is because it's for you, but still, a win is a win. With a general, "hurt her and I'll rip your balls off," from your platonic soulmate, Wally joyfully departs. Tosses the keys in the air and catches them, his chest feeling lighter than it has in decades.

Everything is packed in the truck and ready to go the night before. He called you earlier to impart the vaguest of instructions as to what you should bring, proud of himself for not giving anything away too soon. Even when you asked in that silly-sweet voice, pouting on the screen like a princess, "Please? At least give me a hint!"

No. No hints.

Like a child on Christmas, Wally can barely sleep, he's so excited, but he manages a few hours. Dreams of the world beyond Split River as if he's setting off on some grand adventure and not just driving a 3.5 hour span of state highway.

Tomorrow, Wally will experience a first. Something that was so far out of reach there was no point entertaining it because all it led to was disappointment and regret. Instead there were years upon years of distractions. Mock Trials and obituaries and looking at his feet when he should've looked back.

Wally sometimes wonders if those missed opportunities weren't the yellow brick road that brought him to you. Everyone else walked through The Door with him, but there's no sign of Dawn who crossed over. If Mr. Martin didn't do what he did, Wally might've moved on, and you and he wouldn't exist...

His heart lurches in his chest.

No sense ruminating. You have him. He has you. That's all that matters now. And tomorrow, Wally will have his first real taste of freedom with the only person he wants to share that moment with.

It's going to be perfect.

‗•‗

Wally picks you up just after sunrise. You're grumpy and sleepwarm and, Jesus, Wally loves you. Pouting at him like he's both a menace and your savior. Arms up, lower lip jutted out, a sweet demand of carry me before you slump into his embrace and force him to take your weight. Which he does, easily, big grin on his face as he toddler-carries you to the passenger side of Xavier's truck.

He bundles you in, sets you up with the softest blanket Claire found at Target—Yuri and Ajay not doing their jobs as devil's advocate at all as the cart filled up with Claire's suggestions. Honestly, Wally doesn't care. Especially not after your eyes brighten as you run your fingers over it, wiggling happily in your seat.

"You cozy, babygirl?" He asks as soon as he's behind the wheel and the smile you give him makes him fucking melt.

"You got me a blanket." You state, tucking yourself in more securely; shoes off, feet up, elbow on the console so you can lean over it and kiss Wally's cheek. "Thank you."

Wally blushes, he can't help it, and shrugs as if it's nothing. "I got you a bunch of things, baby," he says as he starts the truck, "Just wait and see. You're gonna feel like a princess, I promise."

You slip your hand into his, fingers laced, and he rests them on your thigh as he drives. Down the street, turn left, continue to the intersection of Main and 4th. Right on 4th, all the way to the end and then left on Pine. Drive until the highway onramp. Now Leaving Split River, We'll Miss You!

Oh God... Wally's heart pounds, blood rushing in his ears. This feels bigger than his first step off school property. Bigger than feeling air in his lungs and a drum in his chest after being hollow for so long.

Somehow, and Wally doesn't know how, you manage to talk him through pulling over, crawling over the console to plant yourself in his lap. Hands cradling his jaw, you press your forehead against his and guide him away from the edge of a panic attack.

"—got you, Wally, I'm right here, you're okay, shh, you're okay..." The steady cadence of your voice sharpens as his breathing regulates. He's holding you like a lifeline, arms fastened around your waist, heaving great gulps of air as he trembles slightly.

"I'm sorry, baby," He gasps and squeezes his eyes shut.

"Nuh-uh, no apologies, Wally Clark," You say firmly. There's a lull before you chuckle, gentle and kind, "Hey, this was a lot better than the night you first stepped across the school boundary line, right?"

Fuck, that was a mess. However, Wally wasn't alone when that happened. Charley and Rhonda and Yuri, Mr. Martin and Ajay, Mina, they were all there too, equally as overwhelmed. Rhonda threw up on Quinn's shoes. Charley passed all the way out. Yuri and Ajay were fine, fuck them, but Mina just...screamed. And then laughed. Then cried. Then screamed some more, listening to the sound ricochet off the surrounding buildings in a way it wouldn't have days before The Door.

Wally snorts, "Yeah. Sure," and finally peeks up at you. Your thumbs stroke his cheeks that he realizes belatedly feel damp. Is he crying? Weak. But you aren't judging him, simply gazing at him like he hung the moon; you're perfect person, the man you love most, and Wally's chest swells. "We're out of Split River," Wally croaks.

You beam at him, "We're out of Split River."

Holy fuck. He's out of Split River.

‗•‗

After climbing out of the truck to holler into the ether. To chase each other around the Now Leaving sign. To grab you, spin you around and fall into the grass as you and he laugh and laugh and laugh, Wally finally gets the show back on the road.

Once again, he tucks you into your seat, takes your hand, checks his mirrors and then pulls back onto the highway, the town that raised him then witnessed his death becoming a speck in the background with every mile marker you and he pass.

He lifts your hand, grazes a kiss to your knuckles, his eyes on the road and his mind on you and everything he has planned for this trip. At the halfway point, he stops for gas, shadows you as you browse the aisles for exactly the right snacks. Fondly gazes after you the whole time as you make tough decisions: Nerds or Twizzlers? Cookies or chocolate? Wally, do I want a vanilla or butterscotch pudding with my Oreos? Because that's a normal combination, what?

He's absolutely no help at all, too busy mooning over you as you flutter between the fridge and the chest freezer, babbling about how integral to your mood it is to pick the right snack. To cover for the fact that he isn't paying attention, Wally grabs a bag of marshmallows off one of the shelves when you call him out for not listening.

"These." He says, holding the bag up and then glancing at the graham crackers and Hershey's displayed at eye-level. "Maybe these?"

"You wanna make s'mores in the truck?" You ask, dubious.

"No," Wally saves himself, "Just these," and he jiggles the bag of marshmallows. They're the jumbo kind; the kind he used to bet his cousin Dennis to eat five of in one bite or else he couldn't play Wally's Magnavox Odyssey.

You consider the marshmallows for a moment and then, with a decisive nod, "And hot chocolate."

"And hot chocolate," Wally agrees, following you around the shop to the coffee station.

Wally pays for everything, hip-butting you (carefully, no spills) out of the way when you try to pass the cashier your card. He takes the bag and the tray of hot chocolate and still holds the door open for you with his heel. No fucking way is his princess lifting a finger on her birthday-slash-Wally's-freedom trip.

For every mile, you dip a marshmallow in your hot chocolate—dipping Wally's as well and feeding him, giggling when he nips or sucks the gooey sugar from your fingertips. It's silly and sweet and Wally basks in every second of it. Every second of your off-key singing, your trivia answers, your arguments over which is better, Thunderbirds or Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons.

"You know, I have been catching up on TV shows, right?" Wally laughs, "You can use better examples."

"What's wrong with puppets, Wally? Are you a pupaphobist?"

Wally barks a laugh, "That's not a thing!"

"It definitely is a thing," And you wield your phone, flashing Google as Exhibit A. "So? Are you? Just say it, you hate Jim Henson and everything he stood for."

And it's amazing. It's anything and everything and so much more than Wally could've ever hoped for. Even the quiet intervals when the sugar wears off and the early wakeup call catches up to you; your body curled up in your seat awkwardly just so you can angle yourself right to rest your head on the console and place Wally's hand in your hair.

Adorable little diva.

As you doze, Wally watches the scenery drift by, his lungs expanding more and more with every mile he puts between himself and Split River.

Eventually, he turns off the highway and onto the backroads without you noticing a thing. His fingers card through your hair, trace the shape of your jaw and cheek as he absorbs the softness of the moment and tucks it away behind his ribs. Safe and sound, to be pulled out and cherished when he's alone.

When he parks, he's reluctant to wake you. So, he doesn't. Not immediately. Rather, he spends a few minutes just resting himself, sinking down a little in the driver's seat. Then slants sideways, curls over and around you to kiss your ear, cheek, jaw.

He couldn't dim his smile if he tried, enamored when you protest at first, but then sigh, realize where you are and who you're with before groggily chuckling at Wally's antics.

"Surprise, baby girl," He whispers, letting you sit up so you can take in your surroundings.

The look on your face tells Wally he did a good job. The way you tackle him into the inside of his door and kiss him tells him he's going to have to start planning next year's surprise tomorrow, because, fuck yeah, this is exactly the reaction he's looking for.

Getting out of the truck and staring at Claire's stepdad's lodge; at the trees and the snow and the vast expanse of sky, it hits him again like a ton of bricks.

Holy fuck. He's out of Split River!

‗•‗

He doesn't wait to celebrate. As soon as he closes the door behind him, he reels you in, kisses you deep and hungry while you're only halfway out of your jacket. That's okay, he helps you get it the rest of the way off, along with everything else.

"Let me make you feel good, baby," He whispers against your skin, hands everywhere, his hips rolling into yours as he pins you to the wall beside the door. "Let me show you how much I love you..."

Wally kisses you deep, hungry, groaning into your mouth as he keeps grinding his hard cock against you, fuck, you get him going like nothing else. All you have to do is breathe in his direction and his pants tent.

Heat courses through him, curls tight in his belly and flushes outward to his limbs, God, he needs you. Now. Right fucking now, baby, come on. He carries you to the enormous kitchen island, peels your leggings and panties off and has his lips on you and tongue in you faster than you can cry out his name.

"So sweet, baby," He moans into your pussy, panting, not bothering to breathe in his greed for your taste and pleasure. "Fuck, I can't wait to be inside you."

He spears his tongue in and out of you before teasing little circles around your clit, his fingers plunging into you in place of his tongue. Wally could do this all day and never get tired; the sounds you make, the way you writhe and beg for him, Jesus, he can't imagine ever wanting anything else.

Cruel, desperate, he doesn't care what you call it, he stops right as you're about to come, shoves his sweatpants just below his balls and drags your hips off the counter to punch his cock into you. His head falls back as soon as he feels you around him, so tight and hot, "Fuck, yes, baby, so good for me."

And he sets a frenzied pace, unable to keep himself in check now that he has you like this. His fingers dig into your lovehandles, your legs hooked over his elbows. He's grunting, you're mewling your pleasure, and Wally about loses it before you do. But he doesn't. He's better than that, fucks you like a beast until you scream and shake and squirt around his cock.

It's game over after that. No way can he hold on, his body tensing, hips grinding, as he spills deep inside you. Carefully, he sits you more firmly on the counter and leans in to kiss you, soft, sated, a little blissdrunk in the afterglow. Bodies pressed together, slowly recovering, Wally strokes the arches of your cheeks with his thumbs and gives you a muzzy smile.

"You're my whole world, you know that?" He tells you and then captures your lips in a kiss that quickly turns heated, "I'll do anything for you, baby." Fuck, he's already getting worked up again, needs more of you, always needs more. "I'll die all over again if you asked me to."

"Wally..." You gasp when he rocks his hips forward, driving his cock back into you.

It's just after sundown before you and he finally check out what's beyond the open kitchen/living room space, the table and couch and ottoman and, shit, bearskin rug fully christened in sweat and come.

You and he jump on the beds with childlike glee, music blaring on speakers that cost more than Rodney's mortgage. Claire explicitly forbade Wally from using the master suite so, taking that into consideration, that's the first bedroom he fucks you in—from behind, driving his hips forward while he pulls you back against him. What? He'll do the necessary laundry.

If he remembers...

‗•‗

After a supper of haphazardly thrown together and grossly microwaved nachos, Wally snuggles you between his legs on one of the Adirondack chairs outside, under a thick blanket and dressed accordingly in the thermals and sweater and fuzzy socks he secretly bought and brought for you.

The fire pit blazes, the stars above twinkle, and the land around is a peaceful kind of dark. Not the ominous, suffocating dark Wally grew accustomed to in the confines of the school. The comfortable silence between you and him is accentuated by the crackle and pop of the fire, the scene so peaceful, Wally has to wonder if he ever experienced any such feeling before.

His arms tighten around you and he presses a kiss to your cheek from behind, watching the flames dance as you lance another marshmallow on your stick.

Tomorrow is your birthday and he intends to take you skiing. Or, when he knows you'll diplomatically decide to trade skis for slippers, he'll bring you back here at noon and spoil you rotten with presents and a homecooked meal; that bubble bath Nicole suggested (thank you, Nicole), and a long night on that bearskin rug (thank you Rhonda).

It's going to be an incredible week, he assures himself. And on Saturday, the others will arrive while he takes you into the resort town to explore so they can set up your big surprise party. Yuri will grill in a t-shirt, and Charley will force everyone to play 90s boardgames he died too soon to play, and Rhonda will make everyone take shots whenever Wally gives you heart eyes just to watch the messiness unfurl.

Claire will probably reprimand him for fucking in her parents' bedroom, but Wally doesn't care. Because it means he celebrated you right. That you and he had fun. That there's evidence of the fact that, for the first time in 40 years, holy fuck, Wally made it out of Split River!

fin.

🧁___________________________

also on AO3!

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if you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy Tongue Twister.

a PWP drabble highlighting Wally Clark's addiction to eating your pussy like a man possessed.

I fear I've been hit with a mild version of the writers curse. Its not to bad but um my dad got arrested 😅 This shouldn't put to much of a strain on my writing and I already have part 6 of Sex, Drugs, Ect. almost finished. I'm just very confused rn. Anyways yeah, life's weird.

I'ma name her alieen she's a demon or alien I haven't decided yet that feeds on human flesh