October Moon

summary: things had begun to escalate after Quinn Wu had been pushed from the roof by none other than your brother-in-law. revelations had been made and everyone had been prepared to get down to business.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

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

bon reading, frens

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OCTOBER MOON pt.6

The Ciorcal. A council that oversaw a clutch of families whose blood was infused with connectedness. There were many throughout the world, the number of families under each Ciorcal's governance limited to ensure the rules could be effectively enforced. Ciorcals weren't all powerful or meddling. Nothing like the Volturi in Twilight or the Ministry of Magic in Harry Potter. More like a rural Board of Revision who stepped in to make decisions when families couldn't agree on courses of action. Very mundane stuff that often involved pots upon pots of coffee during deliberations, and a lot of paperwork. Often, hearings took time to schedule since most councilmembers had real lives with real jobs and real social demands.

You'd never met them. You didn't know who your family had to report to if an issue arose with someone's connectedness. Only the matriarch had the privilege of reaching out to them in times of need.

The matriarch in your family was, of course, Ginny. And Ginny didn't seem pleased to have had to call one of the councilmen ('Godfrey', you'd heard her bark when he'd rambled on for too long about his grandkid's ballet recital) simply because Andrew had found a totem linked to a homicide that'd taken place in Mississippi in 2010.

The right thing to do, you thought, was to hand it over to police so they could test it for DNA or whatever. Only, there was nothing special about the totem to indicate that it'd had anything to do with anything apart from having been donated. They were normal-looking sneakers. Not even a pair that the victim had been reported as having worn. And Andrew had happened upon them at a Goodwill while browsing for costume pieces with his girlfriend. There was nothing Andrew could say that would sound plausible enough to avoid becoming the next prime suspect.

Ginny pinched the bridge of her nose, groaned, and then said harshly, "I understand that Marjorie has apples to harvest, Godfrey, but we need to———interrupt me again and I swear to every God and Goddess you can name I will choke you with your ridiculous bolo. I dare you to test me."

You tried not to laugh, pressed your lips together and grabbed Nanna's hand. You were both sat in the living room hunched over a puzzle, a relaxing pastime Nanna shared with you when you were stressed. And, oh boy, were you stressed. It was your sophomore year; you felt awkward and ugly and you had nothing to wear to Homecoming. And, although you knew it was stupid, Wallace J. Clark had started haunting you for real and you maybe-sort of wanted to impress him. Even if you couldn't have sought out, talked to, or acknowledged him in any way.

Ginny's agitated growl brought you back to the present. She tossed the cordless landline phone onto the couch and collapsed beside it, head on the backrest, fingers massaging her temples.

"All good, sister?" Nanna asked with a small smile, examining the puzzle pieces.

Ginny rolled her head to the side to scowl at her, "They're all idiots and I want a new Circle. In fact, I demand it. Who do I bring this up with!?"

Nanna's eyes glittered, "I think we'd have to move, if that's the case."

"Oh, hooey, we could petition to have them replaced, I'm sure."

"Really?" You wondered and glanced between Nanna and Ginny, "You can do that?"

Ginny returned to rubbing her temples, "Even if we can't, I will!" She exclaimed, truly frustrated. "Bloody sheep shaggi—"

"And~ that's enough puzzle time for one day," Nanna interrupted as she rose from her chair, encouraging you to follow her, "Let's get started on supper, sweetpea."

"I want steak!" Ginny called after you and Nanna, "With garlic mash! After putting up with slow-talker Godfrey, I've earned it!" And then, to herself, "It takes that man a thousand years to get to the point. I'm seventy-nine, for Chrissakes, I don't have time for that."

Nanna sing-songed back, "You'll get what you're given!"

"It's not too early to pass the baton onto you, you know." Ginny said like a threat, giving Nanna's back a pointed look. Apparently, dealing with the Ciorcal was a responsibility nobody wanted.

Nanna paused briefly and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, "Garlic mash, you said?"

Ginny grinned victoriously.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

You were snuggled against Wally, back to front, between his legs on the floor at the back of the library. It was still too early on a Monday morning to worry about being caught. Charley sat in front of you and Wally, cross-legged with his back against Civil War history books. Ajay was sprawled across the windowsill. He listened as he gazed outside forlornly, still nursing Mina's ongoing absence.

Maddie leaned against Wally, her head on his shoulder, arms around her knees, clearly battling with too many thoughts. Lastly, Xavier stood at the end of the aisle, wary and alert and watching the door for anyone who wasn't on Team Parabnormal, as he'd called it. A loyal guardian.

He hadn't left your side all weekend, even when, on Saturday, you'd snuck onto school grounds to see Wally under Security Guard Barry's nose. Xavier had respectfully waited with Ajay while you and Wally had taken advantage of the makeshift bed that hadn't yet been dismantled. It'd been the distraction you'd needed after having witnessed Quinn Wu's almost lethal drop, and though Xavier hadn't been too keen for it, he'd driven Aurora's car and had diligently pretended he hadn't been chauffeuring you to a sex date with your boyfriend who'd been dead for forty years.

Xavier was a good friend. A good person. The only person you could trust with everything without having to explain in depth.

After Aurora had arrived at the school to collect you on Friday, she'd informed you that Ginny had had another episode. That Nanna had had to stay behind to wait for an ambulance because Ginny hadn't opened her eyes when they'd tried to rouse her after you'd called. She'd had episodes often throughout your life, but this seemed to be the worst of them. It reminded you that she wasn't as youthful and vivacious as she seemed. That she was a woman in her eighties with a body that no longer performed the way it used to.

Xavier had had Claire drop him off at your house before Aurora had left, wanted to be there should Dave have returned. He hadn't, but that Xavier had stepped up to protect your grandmother and great-aunt solidified for you that Xavier wasn't what Maddie and Simon believed, regardless of his prior misbehavior. He'd taken a taxi to the hospital with Nanna and had stayed until you and Aurora had arrived to relieve him.

For her part, Aurora had been a shell of herself when she'd found you after the dance. On the phone, you'd had to tell her why Sheriff Baxter had insisted she and Nanna and Ginny leave the house if Dave hadn't shown up. Shock, Nanna had whispered when you and Aurora had been sat in Ginny's hospital room, Aurora staring into space while you spoke quietly to Nanna. Currently, Aurora rotted in the bed of the Baxter's guest room, head under a pillow as if she could have blocked out the world.

They hadn't found Dave. Dave who might not have been innocent, but who hadn't been present when his body had pushed Quinn off the roof. Though his eyes had still been hazel, you'd known that it'd been Amelia looking through them. His situation wasn't like Christopher Nears whose ghost had been expelled from his body and trapped. No, Dave had been a—

"Golem?" Charley asked, head cocked like a confused puppy, "Like the clay monster things?"

"Yes and no," You offered, "It does usually mean clay monster things, but my family uses it to describe someone whose body is animated by energy that's not theirs."

Charley raised an eyebrow and, "So, a possession," he stated skeptically.

"Hard no," You said and held up your hand as you listed, "First, only a traveler can use a golem. Second, golems are temporary and the host's ghost is dormant in their body while their body is being used. Third, to be used as a golem, you have to have either full-blown connectedness, like me, or you have to have the potential to have it.

"Possession, on the other hand, can happen to anyone and the possessor has to be dead. A ghost with no body." Maddie's face pinched as she tried to understand. You elaborated, "Also, the host is aware of the ghost. Generally, the ghost is a super pissed off person who died traumatically. Hence why there's always records of lashing out and cursing and all that stuff."

"Got it. Golems, temporary. Possessions, a lot of projectile vomiting?" Charley added with a question mark.

You winced and tipped your head from side to side, "Either one can make you sick, actually. Think of it like an infection. The longer it sticks around, the harder your body tries to reject it. Either the body wins...or it doesn't."

"Jesus," Wally said under his breath, "This shit is wild."

Xavier interjected, "Can we please go back to the part where you said to be a golem you have to have magic?"

"It's not magic," You deadpanned.

"Don't really care." Xavier dismissed, and then, "You're telling me Dave has or could have magic?"

The corners of your mouth dropped severely, "Yeah. I know. Trust me."

"You had latent magic," Maddie mentioned to Xavier, "Same with Simon." She panned to you for support, "Right? That's why they can see us."

"It's still not magic, but I'd say yes." After a moment of reflection, you urged Maddie, "Trust me, though, if you knew Dave, you'd understand why it's so..."

"Fucking. Dave." Xavier finished on your behalf. You gestured to him, that.

Charley brought everyone's attention back on task when he asked, "Guys, if Amelia's already possessing people—"

"Borrowing," You inserted the correct terminology.

"Borrowing?" Charley blinked several times, "Okaaay. So, if Amelia is borrowing people...that means she has to have a body around here, right?" You nodded. "One she obviously wants to get rid of or she wouldn't be creeping around. And her whole thing is stealing bodies." Again, you nodded. "So, why doesn't she just...keep one of the bodies she borrowed?"

To be honest, "I don't think she can," you said, then chewed your lip in thought. "You could technically push someone's soul out of their body. Amelia did it to Christopher, right?" Maddie bowed her head, "But if it's for long-term use, you risk the body rejecting you since it isn't yours. Like an organ. Unless the chemistry matches, there's no guarantee a ghost can just keep the body. Which means, if they're in there too long and they're not a match, the body starts going through the stages of decomp. A lot slower than an actual dead body. But still...same-same."

The ghosts looked between themselves, Charley's features conveying to you that that usurping someone's body was something he'd never thought of trying.

"We're not assholes," Ajay reminded him, having read Charley's expression for what it was. "Although it would be nice to leave the school. Even for a day."

"We're. not. assholes," Wally doubled-down as he stroked your hip with his thumb, almost as if he was reassuring you that no one in his haunt was going to do something like shove a living person out of their body for a field trip.

You smiled up at him before informing everyone, "Besides, if you're inexperienced, you'd need a big source of energy to ensure you could successfully hold onto a body. Which brings me back to why Amelia can't just keep one of her golems. In that memory I got trapped in, Alastair said something about how the death of those cult members was what glued his and Anabelle's and Amelia's souls into their new bodies. I think Amelia would need to get a bunch of........." You trailed off, the realization dawning in fazed degrees. "Oh my god..."

There was an extended silence until, from the windowsill, "That's why we're trapped here," Ajay uttered, looking at the group. "Amelia's using us the same way she used the dead cult members, isn't she?"

Wally tensed, his body rigid behind you, thumb stilled on your hip, "What does that mean?"

"It means the symbols that I found were probably made by the Something-Something to trap their energy resource." Ajay's gaze was heavy as he clarified, "Us."

Charley glanced between you and Ajay before fixing on you, "But you said there were, like, fifty or sixty of them. Including us, we're only twenty here. Nineteen now that Janet crossed over."

"I don't think Janet was supposed to cross over," You said quietly, the gears in your head turning, "Maybe that's why Amelia tried to kill Quinn. To...to replace her."

Maddie pointed out, "Even if she succeeded, that still doesn't bring the total anywhere near fifty or sixty, though. If Amelia needs more than us..."

"If," Ajay said as he hopped down from the windowsill. "She could've perfected the ritual. It's just her now, right?"

"That we can confirm, yeah." Then you speculated, "Anabelle could be out there, too. Which, being Amelia's mom, I bet she is." Everyone sat in troubled silence for a moment before you suggested in a timid voice, "Maybe this isn't the only place she's hording ghosts." You glanced at Xavier, "I think it's..." A deep, shaky breath before you restarted, "I think I need to go back to the farmhouse."

Wally's arms tightened around you protectively, "Not on your own, baby," and pressed a kiss to your head, letting his lips rest there for a few seconds as he breathed you in.

Xavier said, "I agree with Grease Lightning, kiddo, you're not going alone," a short pause as he schemed, and then, "We can go tonight. My dad's working a double so he won't notice if we're not home."

"You're still staying at his house?" Wally asked, shifting to look at you and you could sense the jealousy he was trying so hard to conceal.

"Until tomorrow," You confirmed, "The locksmith's been booked solid since the break-ins started and couldn't get to us until tomorrow morning."

He pressed his brow to your head, "I wish I could go with you."

"You~ have an important job to do here," You reminded him, smiling softly and reaching up to run your fingers through his hair, "You guys are going to help Maddie get her memory back and then we'll be able to figure out what happened and if her disappearance has anything to do with Amelia."

Wally nodded into your hair, but his arms tightened further.

"I promise to cooperate," Maddie said with humor, having noticed Wally's reluctance to accept that you were going on a road trip with Xavier who she suspected had done something besides cheat on her to upset Wally. "I'll go along with whatever weird, kooky thing you guys wanna try." She lifted her hand, scout's honor, "No complaining."

"That's an offer we can't refuse," Charley chuckled and tapped Wally's foot with his toe, "Whaddya think, buddy?"

Reluctant, "Yeah. Yeah, that sounds awesome." He stamped another kiss to your head. Tentatively, eyes soft, he asked, "Do you think Aiden'll still be there?"

The question made Maddie flinch, because if Aiden's ghost had remained in the farmhouse, it was likely that Christopher's had also. Measuring your words, "I'm not sure. Honestly, I don't even know how I'm going to find the place. My memory is all fucked. I still remember it being in town."

Charley volunteered, "I saw Meheive on the mailbox, if that helps," his voice just as hushed and cautious.

"We'll start there." At least you knew what you'd be busy with at lunch. You mapped out the rest of your day, already itching to run to the computer lab and write your name on Mr. Balkin's log because those spaces filled up fast. "I'll see what I can find and then text you," you told Xavier, getting to your feet.

Everyone stood, ready to leave, except Ajay who returned to roost on the windowsill. When Wally inquired about Group, Ajay brushed it off, stating he wasn't in the mood; believed Mr. Martin wouldn't have any advice beyond what he'd already given Ajay on the Mina front.

Wally patted Ajay's shoulder and then returned to you. Leaned down and kissed you slowly, sweetly, pulling back to whisper, "I love you, baby."

"I love you, too." You replied, closing your eyes when you felt him kiss your forehead. "I'll see you at lunch."

At Wally's agreement, everyone but Ajay exited the library; you and Xavier went left, the ghosts went right toward the gym. You had a Mock Trial to prepare for as liaison for the school newspaper, and Xavier had Bio homework to catch up on so, at the end of the hall, you and he parted ways.

However, not before Xavier reassured with a joking grin, "I'll be there, kiddo. If things go sideways, at least we'll go down together."

You rolled your eyes, "Such a glass-half-full thing to say, Zav."

"You know me, always looking for the silver lining!"

"Idiot," You smacked his arm lightly and he feigned agony, wincing and rubbing his arm like you'd nearly amputated it.

"So cruel when all I wanna do is help," He moaned with an exaggerated pout.

Refusing to indulge him, you turned to head to your locker and grab what you needed for the Mock Trial, "You're a menace~!"

"You love me anyway~!"

Begrudgingly, you had to admit that, yeah, you did...

He was still a dickhead, though.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Wally had never seen that side of Mr. Martin. Jaw tense, features screwed up in vexation; his feathers ruffled in a way that they had never gotten before. Normally, Mr. Martin was a pillar of even tones and encouragement. The man who'd gracefully assumed the role of leader for their patchwork haunt. He was the glue, the calk, the cement that kept everyone together.

Until Maddie threatened to leave Group to find clues to clear Mr. South's name. The session had already been going off the rails at thunderous speed since Charley had kept probing Maddie for answers. Wally knew it was Charley's manner of trying to unlock her memories, but it only served to get under Mr. Martin's skin and put the man on edge. And, weirdly, spouting Mr. Martin's passive mumbo jumbo, Rhonda seemed to be on his side. She'd never bought into Mr. Martin's advice, as well-meaning as it was, yet, recently, she'd been following him around like a lost duckling and regurgitating his words like they were revelation.

What the hell was going on?

Wally was startled from his thoughts when Mr. Martin said, "Whether your memory returns or not, you're not in a position to help the accused, Maddie." At which Wally and Charley shared a nervous look. "We have no influence over what happens in that world."

Wally flicked his gaze to the back of your head, visible above the back of the first spectators' bench.

"Do we?" Mr. Martin prodded Maddie in a pointed tone. When she didn't answer, he repeated, "Do we have any sway over a living person?" And the expression on Mr. Martin's face might've been docile, but there was something beneath it. Something that made Wally uneasy. "Is there something we're not sharing with the group?"

One more there-and-gone glance at you, and Wally interjected, "Uh, speaking of repressed memories..." He leaned down to grab the psychology textbook he'd boosted from the library.

"We're not," Mr. Martin insisted.

Wally ignored him, desperate to take the heat off him, Maddie, and Charley, "Well, we can, so I will." Wally presented the textbook and assured Maddie that, "We're gonna help you get through this, Maddie, okay?" A hand on her back, his eyes sincere. "We're all going to figure it out." And he believed it was true. Between you and Simon and Xavier; and he, Charley, Ajay, and, hopefully, Rhonda, the odds were in their favor. They'd help Maddie remember and she'd be able to tell you what'd happened to her so you, Simon, and Xavier could go and valiantly retrieve her body like the knights in shining armor you and they were. Wally had faith in that.

"Thank you, Wally," Maddie answered.

What remained of the Group session was rocky and, either defeated or unsettled, Mr. Martin dismissed everyone earlier than he usually did. Before vacating the circle, Wally leaned in to ask Maddie, "Quick question," his voice low to avoid being overheard. She sat back down and waited for him to speak, "The day you ended up here...you didn't by any chance drink tea that probably tastes like soap, did you?"

A hundred questions passed over Maddie's expression as she thought about how to respond. Wally knew it was totally random, but figured it couldn't have hurt to ask. If that tea had drugged you and possibly made fifty to sixty wealthy socialites attend to the whims of a crazy woman, it very well could've been what'd caused Maddie to forget why she'd been in the boiler room in the first place.

Eventually, "No," she answered, and she sounded worried about Wally's mental health. "You think her sister snuck into the school to drug me with her favorite herbal sedative?"

"I just wanted to make sure," Wally defended, "And I'm not saying it was my girl's sister. Amelia could've golem'd—"

"Borrowed," Charley chirped as he came to stand in front of them.

Wally backtracked, "Amelia could've borrowed someone's body and slipped it into your drink at lunch or something."

"She could've spiked my odorless, colorless water with something that smells like a thousand grandmothers' perfumes without me noticing?" Now Maddie was grinning, cheeky, a glint in her eye.

Wally groaned, "If you're going to make fun of me for trying to help, I'm gonna find something else to do with my time." His gaze unintentionally slipped to you.

Maddie raised an eyebrow, followed his line of sight and then smirked, "You mean someone."

"Shut up." To get out of the hot seat, Wally stood and collected his backpack. Together with Rhonda, Wally was pleased to note, they left the gym. As they moved down the hall, "I have an idea," Wally announced, "but I need you to bear with me, okay?"

"Alright," Maddie said, followed by a semi-curious, semi-concerned, "Why?"

"Hey, you agreed to do whatever weird, kooky thing we wanted to try, right?" Wally grinned, "And I wanna start with those triggers I told you about. First up," he turned toward the cafeteria and, without comment, everyone trailed after him, "Do you remember what your last meal was?"

Maddie's nose scrunched as she tried to recall. "Whatever they served in the caf," she said, albeit unsure.

"Great, we just have to check their menu rotation and we'll go from there." Wally was excited for his experiment. His blood pumped and his brain buzzed similar to how he felt on game days. Jittery, but good jittery. Like he was on his way to do something with purpose.

Charley made a face of disgust, saucily recommending, "If it's whatever they try to pass off as fish, we're skipping it."

"We don't have to eat it." Rhonda said, linking her arm with his. Charley beamed at her as if she'd told him Mr. Figueroa could see Charley and wanted a word.

Beside Wally, Maddie snapped, "Thanks. Guys. Love the solidarity."

"Oh-ho-ho no," Wally shook his head as he draped his arm across her shoulders and gave her a friendly squeeze, "This isn't about solidarity. We're here to support you and to try to trigger your memories."

"And torture you with the school's trash fish." Charley added gleefully.

Maddie shot him a glare, shoulders drawing inward and mouth twisting in displeasure, "I think I'm good, actually. I don't need to remember anything."

Wally chuckled, "Too late for take-backs, Maddie."

"It's never too late," Maddie disagreed, "I take it back. I'm taking it back now."

Wally waltzed ahead and opened the cafeteria door, merrily saying, "You'll be fine. It's not like you can kill a ghost, right?"

The look Maddie leveled him with would've withered a lesser man.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Xavier drove in the direction of the old Meheive estate, the truck quiet except for the low drone of the radio. He'd dropped Claire off at her house after the confrontation with his father in the 7-Eleven, and picked you up outside his house. Nanna had returned to the hospital to sit at Ginny's side. Your mother, Alice, was conducting a reiki session at her friend's studio downtown. Aurora had relocated from the guest room to the den where she'd curled up to distract herself with reruns of shit reality television. No one knew you and Xavier were gone.

He'd filled you in on the lunchbreak escapade to the station; how he and Simon had found a clue that pointed to Nicole. As skeptical as Xavier was, you'd altogether refuted the idea that she could be responsible for Maddie's abduction. However...it made a twisted sort of sense to Xavier.

Simon had described the root of the resentment Nicole could've possibly harbored toward Maddie. Toward Simon. And Xavier saw how that could've led to a tragic outburst that had resulted in Maddie's current predicament. Plus, if it had been Nicole, that could've explained why Maddie's body was still alive somewhere. Maybe Nicole hadn't meant for things to escalate how they had and, heart heavy with guilt, Nicole had undertaken being Maddie's warped Florence Nightingale.

"Maybe..." You allowed, but, "It still doesn't feel right."

"Does any of this?" Xavier returned with a rueful smile.

You snorted, "True."

Twenty minutes later and Xavier turned onto a gated dirt road. The gate itself was dilapidated, yawned open, its iron panels slanted away from the frame as if trying to free themselves from their hinges. Xavier drove carefully down the dirt road, no lights to guide him apart from his high beams. The setting felt spooky, Xavier's blood curdling as he maneuvered around fallen branches and deep pits in the dirt. No lights. Just dark and trees and whatever hid within them.

One would think the town would've maintained the property. A heritage sight owned by the family of one of Split River's founders. Apparently, no one had had the incentive since, when Xavier drove to the crest of the horseshoe driveway, the house itself was completely run down. It had the essence of grandeur in its woodwork and architecture, but he could tell it had long since been abandoned to the elements.

He saw the ghosts at school, therefore knew that building was haunted, but it didn't feel it. The Maheive estate, however...it emanated profound melancholy, enough that it urged Xavier to turn around and put as much distance as he could between it and him.

Fighting his instincts, Xavier glanced at you when he parked, reached over and took your hand to give it a squeeze.

"You ready?" He asked softly.

You didn't respond. Simply inhaled a rattled breath and returned the squeeze before opening the truck door to climb out. You waited at the nose of the truck for him and, just as he reached you, his vision shifted. Or perhaps it was the world around him, because the house had suddenly changed. He rubbed the meat of his palms into his sockets and looked again, but the house remained pristine. Turrets proud and mended, shingles restored, paintwork smooth and intact.

"What the hell?" Xavier muttered, astonished.

Without looking at him, "Even homes have ghosts if they had enough life made in them," you said, then smiled sadly, "This is how the house is perceived in the world of the dead."

"So, why don't I see the school any differently?"

"It's still alive." You shrugged like that made an iota of sense. Xavier went with it, though, not sure if he wanted another magic lesson. Your voice in his head chided him that it's not magic, but Xavier was having a harder and harder time believing that. A ghost house sounded like something a wizard would say. And wizards? Notorious for wielding magic.

"So, is this how I'm going to see every abandoned building from now on?"

You seemed to consider that for a moment and then, "I think it depends on the building." You turned your head to gaze at Xavier and instructed, "Just look closer."

Xavier peered at the house, but he didn't know what he was supposed to have been looking for—wait. There. Beneath the reminiscence was the decayed reality. Two images overlayed to create a new composite. A house trapped between life and death.

"This is both very cool and very terrifying," Xavier commented.

He trailed behind you as you made your way up the front stairs, minding your steps. Carelessly trod over the fallen screen door that was also in perfect condition on its hinges. Watching you pull it open while not pulling it open was a trip that made Xavier a little queasy. The unnaturalness of it disagreed with his brain.

You hesitated with your hand on the main door's polished-tarnished handle. Understanding, Xavier took over—it was unlocked—and put a hand on your back to guide you inside when he pushed the door inward. He felt a chill zip through his skeleton, the hairs on the back of his neck standing as he stepped over the threshold. The air felt thin and cold. Inside, the house was stately, something one would see in a British period drama. Beautifully woven rugs and old-fashioned wallpaper; portraits and paintings in goldleaf frames; candlelight in the hall and carbon arc in the rooms.

Xavier's mouth hung open as he took it all in. "This is insane," he said as the urge to snoop rose within him.

What? It wasn't every day he'd have the chance to explore a ghost house from eighteen-dickity-six. While he could see the weathered and decrepit interior beneath the ghostly mirage, the mirage itself was still marvelous to behold.

As he'd done at the place on 10th and Lasher, Xavier clasped your hand. For support. For safety. For comfort. For all of the above. And right then, a bell rang. The clangy, old-fashioned kind with a clapper and string. The sound came from the back and, cautiously, Xavier led you further into the house, down the hall, into what had been yet still was a small kitchen. You and he froze when a woman trotted away from the dinner bell screwed into the wall, to the oven where she stirred something in a stock pot.

Xavier's heart slammed behind his ribs and his grip on your hand tightened. Spooked, he shot you a look, except you weren't paying attention. Not to him. Not to the woman. No. Rather, your eyes were cemented to a door at the back of the room. Jesus, was that the cellar door? Xavier's question was almost immediately answered when it opened and two people emerged. A man in military garb. And a young boy clutching a stuffed lion.

"Oh my God." Xavier croaked, breath caught in his throat. His stomach lurched as Aiden skipped to the oven and grinned up at the woman. Behind Aiden, the man—Christopher, Xavier speculated—called Aiden's name and gestured for Aiden to, "go sit at the table, champ."

Your hand shook in Xavier's and he could hear you taking gasping, little inhales that hiccupped when Aiden stopped in his journey to the next room. He turned his head and looked right at you, a toothy smile then sweeping his mouth.

"Sissy May!" He squealed and ran to you.

Xavier choked, swallowed, released your hand as you knelt to Aiden's level. Your eyes were glistening with unshed tears, smile forced as you greeted your brother for the first time in six years. Dear Aiden, who'd been in that house since his death, unbeknownst to his family that had grieved him.

Aiden appeared exactly as Xavier remembered him. Small and excitable, a kid with more energy than he knew what to do with. His crooked grin and brilliant green eyes that gazed at you with unconditional love. Xavier wasn't as strong as you; collapsed to his knees as he heard Aiden ask innocently if you and Zavvy had come for supper.

"We're having Martha's stew again and it's very good." He informed you, so matter-of-fact and polite, like Alice was around to observe his behavior.

Xavier recalled how similar he and Aiden had been, Aiden's restlessness mirroring what Xavier had been like as a boy. Alice had often been at wit's end just as Xavier's mother had. Which is likely why Xavier had felt a connection with Aiden unlike anyone else. A protectiveness and loyalty that had led him to including Aiden in everything Xavier did with you.

"We-we can't, Aiden," You apologized, voice rough as you spoke, "Maybe next time."

Aiden pouted at his rainboots. "You never wanna hang out with me."

Xavier felt hot tears roll down his cheeks. He placed his hand between your shoulder blades, a gentle reminder that he was there if you needed him.

You laughed, thick and wet, blinking up at the ceiling to control your own tears. A sniff and then, "You know, that's honestly the only thing I've wanted do for a long time...is hang out with you."

"Then why can't you stay?" Aiden grumbled, petulant, pulling the same guilt-trippy stunt he'd pulled countless times when you'd decreed that he hadn't been allowed to join the slumber parties you and Xavier had had as kids. Aiden's face remained downturned, but his eyes watched you through his lashes.

Frankly, Xavier wanted to know as well. He was happy to sit at a table and eat ghost food if it meant spending time with a child he'd considered his brother. Even for one night. Just one night.

"It's late," You explained, and to Xavier's ears it sounded as if you were struggling to get the words out, "And we have to be home before we get in trouble, but," you paused, whimpered, "I promise to come back, okay?" With that resilience and acceptance only children have, Aiden agreed and smiled again. "Can I..." you sniffled, "Can I have a hug before I go, Addy?"

"What's the magic word~." Aiden sang and his eyes sparkled with mischief.

You laughed through your tears, "Pleeeease can I have a hug?"

Instantly, Aiden crashed forward into your arms, tucked his head into your throat and let you embrace him. Xavier placed a hand on Aiden's back, a sob punching out of his chest when he made contact. He wrapped an arm around you, the other around Aiden, and held you both close. His body trembled. His teeth clenched. And he cried as soundlessly as he could so as not to disturb the moment. It wasn't long enough, the hug, but it healed something in Xavier's heart.

Christopher called Aiden's name from the other room and Aiden squirmed out of your and Xavier's embrace.

"I have to go," He said like a little gentleman, so articulate, and, "Love you, Sissy," he planted a sloppy kiss on your cheek. He did the same to Xavier, "Bye, Zavvy," before he cheerfully turned and speed walked through the entry to the adjoining room, stuffed lion crushed to his chest.

You and Xavier helped each other stand and, without having to direct him, Xavier crossed the kitchen and peeked through the entry way into what he discovered was a well dressed formal dining room. You pressed into his side to see for yourself that there were more ghosts around the enormous table apart from Aiden, Christopher, and the mystery woman Xavier assumed was Martha.

Men and women, young and old; a few teenagers no younger than fifteen. The ghosts' clothes spanned the decades from what Xavier guessed was the 1940s onward. As he stood in the entry, clearly visible, overtly analyzing them, he was surprised to realize that none of them seemed to notice. It was like you and Xavier didn't exist to them, Aiden included.

"It's a loop," You murmured, voice cracking, "Right now, we're not even here."

"But he just spoke to us," Xavier said.

You snorted, the sound weak and lacking humor, "They can come out of it from time to time, but as soon as they reenter the loop, they forget." After a pregnant pause, "How many do you count?" you whispered as your eyes flicked from one figure to the next.

Xavier tallied, "Twelve."

"Me too."

As soon as you spoke, Xavier felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Reluctantly, he backed away from the entry, away from Aiden who was slurping his stew, his spoon absurdly large in his tiny hand. The text was from Simon, an update informing Xavier and, by extension, you, that Nicole hadn't hurt Maddie. That she'd taken a misconceived route to buy herself a ticket to Chicago.

Xavier had to peel you away from the entry, had to hold you close as you seemed to turn hollow in the wake of witnessing your little brother forget you were there, his consciousness overwritten by the loop that'd seized he and Christopher for six years.

"Come on, kiddo," Xavier said calmly, "We got what we needed. We should go."

"There might be others," You advised, but you didn't argue when Xavier opened the passenger side door of his truck for you.

"There might be," He agreed, staring at the house, "but it's almost 9PM and we don't want to get caught, right?" He offered you a weak smile, accepting the hug you drew him into and rubbing your back soothingly. He kissed your head and helped get you settled in your seat before moving to the driver's side.

Revisiting that place had taken a toll on you—and, if he was being honest with himself, him—and Xavier wanted to get you away from there. He could tell you were sinking deeper and deeper into the memory of when you'd last been there, your gaze distant and glossy. Your curled up in your seat, slanted against the inside of the door. Xavier reached over the console and lifted your hand. An anchor. To remind you of what was real, where you were, who you were with.

Just as he was about to pull onto the freeway from the dirt road, you mumbled, "We need to stop at my house," your tone as fragile as it was firm

Xavier asked anyway, "What for?"

"Zav," and, slowly, you turned your head. Xavier was struck by how sick and shaken you looked. However, with what you said next, Xavier understood why, "Aiden didn't have Limon when he died..."

💀___________________________

PART FIVE - PART SEVEN

note: we begin our mad dash to the finish line anew 💣 i took @patrickispinky's advice and got some very much needed rest over the weekend, but i'm greased up and ready to smash this out ⌛

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.

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school spirits wally clark milo manheim disney zombies zed necrodopolis wally clark x reader fem!reader wally clark fanfiction milo manheim fanfiction wally clark smut October Moon

Texting Series

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patrickispinky

2 weeks ago

Head over heels lovesick puppy Wally is my fave oh my gosh 🤭🤭

Wally with a crush is the most adorable he can get. all goofy and giddy and totally, completely, utterly involved.

he can't think about anything else, obsessive with it, and does everything in his power to make the object of his affection feel special. like, he plans things and always shows up and is an absolute Acts of Service puppy who will offer to do anything and everything under the sun if you ask him to.

he gets all silly and cuddly and his eyes go all soft when he looks at you and it's precious, especially because he can't. hide. it. no matter how much he tries when he catches himself (which isn't often, because the boy is oblivious to anything that's not you-shaped when you're around).

and he takes all the teasing from his friends in stride, wears his love like a badge of honor, but is deeply mortified if you find out he has a crush on you before he musters the nerve to tell you himself... that's when he stammers excuses until you kiss him stupid 😭

after that...well...👀

Wally Clark Headcanons 3

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headcanons school spirits wally clark milo manheim wally clark headcanons wally clark x reader i need that wally clark fanfiction milo manheim fanfiction wally clark smut I want that i have that i gotta have that Wally Clark Headcanons 3

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patrickispinky

1 month ago

my biggest red flag is that I can listen to the most brutal murder documentary's while writing smut.

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fanfiction fic writing

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patrickispinky

3 months ago

Hi I just wanted to say I really love your writing and your wonderful

Currently ugly crying 😭 okay okay I know that's dramatic but my heart is literally melting. I use writing as a coping mechanism so knowing that there's someone out there thats read it and thought "that's pretty good" is just so comforting.

I love you sweet sweet nony and I hope you never step on a Lego, burn your mouth on food, accidentally bite your lip really hard, or stub your toe ever again.

Anyways I'm going back to my secluded corner to write part 5 :)

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x reader fanfiction school spirits wally clark milo manheim zed necrodopolis wally clark x reader milo mannheim wally clark fanfiction wally clark smut sex drugs etc

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patrickispinky

2 months ago

Fifty Seven

summary: prompt fill. between 1982 and 1983, Wally meets and falls completely head over heels for a girl who changes everything. his biggest fan, his greatest love. you. (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: fluff. AU - pre-canon. dorks falling in love. author doesn't know American football. total disregard for canon lore. HEA.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🏈

Fifty Seven

It was gradual, how things developed between you and Wally. Slow and peripheral at first. Then, like a confetti cannon—pop💥—instant, exciting; a pocket of fresh air in a dense smog. And it was all thanks to Wally's best friend, Rodney.

See, Wally was a baseball guy. Had planned to continue being a baseball guy through high school. He was an excellent pitcher with an impressive BA, and his mama had been over-the-top supportive for Wally to join the team—believed in him so much that she'd even strongarmed Coach Burns to let Wally try out for varsity.

But Rodney? Had wanted to join the football team. And Wally had wanted to do everything with his inseparable since birth best buddy, so he'd found himself donning a helmet and nailing technical drills like it was paint-by-numbers. Obviously, he'd made the team. Had started winning games, gained popularity and praise and attention from girls. Had fast become Coach's MVP only to, in sophomore year, be transferred to the varsity team. Go Devils!

That'd meant training longer, playing harder, and receiving interested elevator-looks from the hottest chicks in school. Seniors who'd graduated out of the awkwardness of puberty and had learned how to flaunt their curves. Don't worry, Rodney had been along for the ride, built like a brick shithouse and equally as formidable on the field, and he'd kept Wally humble.

Not that he'd needed to, because the thing about attention was the more Wally got, the less he was seen.

Yeah, he was the star receiver, the guy whose name everyone knew. But...that was about all they knew about him. People summed him up to the number on his jersey. Shallow. Detached. The girls he took on dates wanted the infamy of having made out with him—"he's such a fantabulous kisser,"—and the guys admired the hell out of him, clapped his back and handed him beers, but no one expressed an interest in peeling back flesh and bone to see what made Wally tick.

Wally wasn't lonely; he had Rodney and Don and Keith. BFFs since kindergarten who gave a real shit about him. It was just that, if people approached him to ask questions, he wanted it to feel less like an interview and more like a connection. Small talk was exhausting.

He'd been contemplating this when you'd first popped onto his radar. Shooting hoops in the gym at lunch to brood over his latest failed effort with a girl—Sarah Miller from History—when, oh shit, look out!, you'd walked through the door the second Wally had decided to unleash his frustration by whipping the ball at the wall. He'd overcompensated. The ball had curved to the left. Smack, you'd taken it square in the head.

Somehow, you hadn't been hurt, though the sound had convinced Wally you should've had a bruise blossoming on the area of impact. He'd run over, eyes wide in panic, visually checking you over to ensure he hadn't concussed you.

He'd rubbed the back of his neck nervously, "Are you okay?"

"Oh yeah," You'd grinned, friendly, not even a little bit upset, "Happens more than you think." Which would've raised flags if Wally hadn't been preoccupied by how your proximity smelled like summer.

After a moment of uncertainty, Wally had stuck out his hand and introduced himself, "I'm Wally Clark. I, uh... I'm better at football." He'd felt like in idiot five seconds later when you'd merrily declared:

"I know," still smiling like he hadn't just thoroughly embarrassed himself. "You always feint left." Then, in general consideration, "I'm surprised no one's figured that out yet."

Wally had stared at you in surprise, "I mean... I do what feels right in the moment."

You'd raised your hands, "I'm just saying, your recovery's weak on your left backfoot, so you might wanna switch it up soon."

Wally had crashed through a gamut of emotions in under a second, beginning with insecurity and ending in shockawe. Because you'd noticed something. And, okay, yes, it'd been jersey-number related, but it hadn't been how well he filled out his uniform.

"You come to the games?" He'd wondered as he'd valiantly ignored how his stomach had started to feel squirmy.

You'd nodded, "You're fun to watch." And you'd said it so...casually. Like it'd been part of the Split River High zeitgeist: The stadium became a sardine can because Number 57, Wally Clark, was fun to watch.

"So, I guess you're gonna be there tomorrow?" He'd asked, the seed of an unfamiliar sense of intrigue planted. He'd watched you tilt your head, watched your eyes light up when you'd smiled. Wally had felt his cheeks heat and his eyes go soppy in response.

"That's the plan, Stan," You'd gleefully confirmed.

That'd been where it'd all started.

You and he hadn't become friends or anything like that, but Wally had felt a connection. Like you and he had clicked. From then on, he'd sought you out in the crowd at every game. Where's Waldo between plays. You'd never been in the same place twice, and as soon as he'd find you, you'd hold up a poster-board boasting a glittery '57' in school blue, and cheer him on with gusto.

It'd swiftly become Wally's favorite part of playing football.

Tonight, Wally was mid-search, batting away Rodney's reminder that the team planned to hit Max's Diner after the game, win or lose, when Number 36, Matt Wilson, advised, "Dude, don't interrupt. It's like a good-luck ritual at this point."

Rodney frowned, "What're talking about?"

Even Wally broke his concentration and swiveled his head to look at Matt in confusion.

With a snort, Matt pointed out, "Clark always looks for the girl, finds her, then plays harder than ever and we win the game. He's been doing it for weeks." He shrugged, "I mean, whatever works, right?"

He did? Huh. He guessed he did...

"You got a girlfriend and didn't say anything?" Rodney accused, a little hurt. "Ouch."

"It's not like that," Wally assured him, though he felt his cheeks flush and his lips curve into a dopey smile.

Rodney studied Wally for a moment and then, "Alright, my man, what's her name?" A big, teasing grin on his face.

Wally opened his mouth to answer before he realized, shit, he actually had no idea. You hadn't given him your name the afternoon he'd accidentally pelted you with a basketball.

"You're not serious." Rodney said flatly, "you don't even know her name?" while Matt slapped his knee and crowed.

Wally was about to defend himself when, just over Rodney's shoulder, there you were, gaze already on him. His insides instantly went gooey, broad smile stretched across his face, and Rodney leveled him with an unimpressed look that Wally refused to acknowledge.

"For the love of God, ask for her name." Rodney commanded before he stuck his mouthguard between his teeth.

The whistle blew and the game continued.

The Devils won.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Taking Rodney's suggestion was somewhat harder than Wally had anticipated. He just couldn't bring himself to do it, nerves piqued whenever he caught sight of you in the hall. He wasn't a nervous guy—Wally was a big, brave boy, thank you very much—but something about you made him stutter and overthink and, aaah, what would he even say!? Hey, thanks for coming to watch me play after I hit you in the face. Also, what's your name, girl who I share a new, ongoing at-game tradition?

Lame.

He needed more information. ✨A r e a s o n✨. Some unavoidable situation wherein Wally had to go up to you that didn't insist upon itself. Or he could actually be a big, brave boy and just say hi as casually as you'd told Wally he was fun to watch.

Between the last game and the next, Wally began gathering facts from a distance (while Rodney's gaze burned a hole into the side of Wally's head).

He learned that you sat with a group of sophomores in the cafeteria, laughing along yet not interjecting, comfortable giving the stage to your friends. Being a year below him explained why Wally hadn't noticed you before, but since that fateful day in the gym, he hadn't been able to stop noticing you.

You were quiet, though not in a shy way. You often spent time in the library—or, rather, you were always in the library when Wally happened to be, nose in a book on the windowsill. You stepped aside to let people go through a door first, and smiled at everyone; and on Mondays and Thursdays your fingers and jeans were smeared with charcoal from your Art class.

Your clothes changed, but your shoes didn't. Beat up Converse you clearly loved to death. You carried around a Sony walkman like the one Keith had, headphones on in the mornings and around your neck in the afternoons. Wally wanted to know what music you listened to.

Truth be told, he wanted to know a lot of things. Like your favorite movie and what you did in your spare time. If you went to parties or preferred to stay home and play boardgames (he wouldn't mind trading a sticky ping-pong ball for a Monopoly shoe). Were you strictly a cassette girl or did you listen to vinyl, too? Bike or license? Star Trek or Star Wars? Tom or Jerry?

God, Wally had it bad. He wanted to know everything. Every detail.

And, finally, after several failed attempts to muster the courage to cold approach you, ✨a r e a s o n✨ fell into Wally's lap and he decided it was now or never.

Practice had just ended. He was loose and warm and in a good mood, and after saying goodbye to the guys on the field, he turned and saw you sitting alone on the bleachers. Headphones on like a headband, the earpieces behind your ears. You scribbled in a notebook, tongue peeking out of the corner of your mouth, clearly 100% focused on whatever you were working on.

Wally's eyes softened and his heartbeat sped up. You were adorable.

Clearing his throat to announce himself, he climbed the bleachers and shuffled across the middle bench to take a seat beside you.

"Hey," He smiled, broad and hopefully not too eager.

Your head lifted and you smiled back.

Wally melted inside.

"Hi, Wally Clark," You said as you closed your notebook and shifted to give him your full attention. "Not practicing your free throws today?" You teased with a glint in your eye.

Wally ducked his head as he chuckled, "Nah, not today. I decided to leave that to the professionals."

"Mm, yeah, that might be for the best," And then, fixing him with a cheeky grin, "You know, if dodgeball ever becomes a recognized sport, you should totally join a team."

Wally pressed his lips together, doing his best to hide how big his smile would be otherwise, before he glanced at you with a raised brow, "Oh. So, you're funny?"

You giggled like sweet melody, "Let's call it observant."

He released his smile, heart fluttering in his chest, eyes flickering across your face to take in every detail. There was something in him—a magnet behind his ribs—that drew Wally toward you. He couldn't explain it. Barely knew you enough to label it as more than attraction, but it was more. His gaze dipped to your lips, traced the shape of your smile, then skirted back up to meet your eyes.

"Alright, let's call it observant." He agreed, his smile somehow widening.

After a moment of comfortable silence, "Your feints are getting better," you commented, "I can't predict which way you're gonna go anymore."

And he positively preened; spine straight, chest puffed out, proud to have earned your admiration. Maybe that's what'd always been missing. He'd never had to work for it, everyone throwing themselves at his feet just for a split second of his attention. Wally had always been approached, never had to do the approaching.

Was that the thrill of the chase?

No. Of course not. You weren't the deer to his crosshairs. But he had to admit, it was nice that he could trust you weren't talking to him to get something out of it. Which is probably why, before he could stop himself, Wally blurted:

"Do you wanna hang out tomorrow?"

You seemed surprised, brows shooting up. Still, your smile remained and, with a chuckle, you nodded, "That would be nice." And then, eyes narrowing, "Nowhere that involves you having to throw things, though, right?"

Hand to his heart, "I'll save it for the field," Wally promised, suddenly feeling giddy and overwhelmed. He had to resist the urge to bite his lip in excitement. Raked his fingers through his hair and glanced bashfully away to compose himself.

"Very appreciated." You bumped your shoulder against his arm.

The brief contact ignited a thousand butterflies to take flight in his belly. He stood, gathered his sports bag and beamed down at you. You looked back, all cute and sweet and appearing nowhere near as affected as Wally felt which made him feel a little silly for the intensity of his body's reactions to you.

"How about the arcade...around 3?" He suggested, putting as much confidence behind his words as he could.

After a moment's thought, "Can we make it in the evening? Say around 6?" You asked.

"Yeah," Wally replied, "Yeah, we can make it 6." He took a couple of backward steps, "I can pick you up at your place."

You shook your head, "I'll meet you there."

"Great, it's a date," He nearly choked when he registered what he'd said, face absolutely flaming, though he didn't take it back. He almost tripped over his own feet as you didn't correct him.

Instead, all you said was, "Can't wait."

You didn't see it—God, he hoped you didn't see it—but as soon as he was off the bleachers and a good enough distance away, Wally fist pumped, practically vibrating out of his skin. Holy crap, he was going on a date with you! He was going to spend time with you, get to know you, connect with you the way he'd always wanted to connect with someone outside of Rodney, Don, and Keith.

It was only when he was in his car and on his way home to shower that he realized he still didn't know your name.

He could hear Rodney's eyeroll from there.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

You'd noticed Wally from the start. It was difficult not to, the guy a high-rise human, towering over most of the student body. But, it wasn't just his physical presence. Nor was it how good he was at attracting attention on and off the field with his exuberance and abundance of energy.

It was the moments between the jokes he made with his friends. Between performing for the crowd when he led the Devils to victory. The somber, introspective moments he thought he had to himself. And he did, for the most part. You'd never meant to intrude. It just so happened that he often used the same spaces you did to find peace.

You weren't surprised that he hadn't noticed you before he'd lodged a basketball at your head. Few people did. Not bitterly; that was just simply how things had befallen you and you'd learned to adjust. In fact, you had approximately two people you considered close and had realized that was more than enough. Still, you enjoyed meeting people where you could. They were fascinating. And, these days, none were so fascinating as Wally Clark.

He had hands that swallowed whatever they held; a smile that brightened a room; and eyes that made your skin tingle, their gaze soulful and heavy whenever they landed on you at his games like a prize. You craved those eyes on you, a flower to sunlight, and were excited beyond measure that you'd have them all to yourself for a night.

When he'd asked you out, it'd taken everything in your power not to kick your feet and giggle in delight. Be cool, you'd told yourself, acting as though you hadn't been daydreaming about Wally Clark since you'd first heard his name in the halls. What you wouldn't have given to spend more of Saturday with him, but things were somewhat strange for you, and you'd had to shave the hours down.

As restrictive as it was, you were only able to go out when the town was sleepier. The streets less crowded, the energy laggard; the shadows darker and the moon visible. Unfortunately, you had hard rules to follow, though, after sundown, no one really paid attention to your whereabouts. You could sneak out unnoticed and do as you please so long as you were back before anyone knew you'd been gone.

It sucked, but it was what it was and there was nothing you could do about it, so you'd set the time for your date with Wally later and hoped you'd be satisfied with the hours you and he did get to be together.

When you arrived at the arcade, Wally was already there, leaning against the exterior wall, hands shoved in his pockets, his expression transforming from teen mag sultry to puppy bright when he caught sight of you. Don't squeal, don't squeal, don't squeal—you did great, kid—you waved sweetly and took measured steps toward him, matching his expression with a happy one of your own.

"Hey, you made it," Wally said as if he'd been worried you'd flake.

"Like I'd miss the chance to kick your ass at Space Invaders." You scoffed, hands on your hips as you pinned him with a challenging look.

Wally laughed and the sound when straight to your chest, settled between your ribs, and you knew your eyes were likely doing something dreamy and dazed. If he noticed, he didn't comment; held out his arm like a gentleman and escorted you inside.

You did, in fact, kick his ass at Space Invaders.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Whatever, you may have beaten him at Space Invaders, but Wally wiped the floor with you at Time Pilot. To further impress you with his skills, he won you a prize from the claw crane. Overlooking the fact that it'd taken several coins and a lot of cursing, Wally felt like the king of the world having handed over a plastic ball stuffed with enough raffle tickets that you could take home a plastic necklace.

He looked for any and every opportunity to touch you, graze the back of his hand across yours, then, bolder, squeezing you into his side as you and he moved between machines. Just as you were about to beat his score at Pac Man, he grabbed you around the waist and spun you away from the control panel, watching triumph when the monitor announced Game Over and Wally's score beat yours by more points than you could come back from.

You shrieked and giggled when he slung you over his shoulder to carry you to the new air hockey table. You sprung into his arms when he defended your honor at the foosball table against another pair of arcade goers. By the end of the night, he had your hand in his, fingers laced, as he walked you home.

It'd been the most fun he'd had in—God—forever. Yeah, he hung out with the guys, went camping and played videogames and did things. Always busy, always entertained. Or, rather, he did the entertaining. A constant performance to keep people interested. Tonight, with you, it'd been different. He was relaxed, completely at ease, feeling like himself for the first time in too many years. His chest felt lighter.

When you and he reached your house, not too far from the arcade, you stopped and positioned yourself to face him, beautiful smile on your face that softened the longer he looked at you. He didn't want tonight to end. Wished it could go on through tomorrow and the next day and the one after that.

"That was a lot of fun, Wally," You murmured as you stepped closer, bottom lip caught between your teeth in a way that made his heartrate spike and his head foggy.

He nodded, "Yeah," and lifted a hand to trail his fingertips along the slope of your jaw, "I wanna do it again, like, now."

You chuckled, and when did your lips get so close to his? "You just wanna try and beat my Donkey Kong score." You accused, breath hitching when the tip of his nose grazed your cheek.

Wally couldn't refute that, but didn't want to, his mind already on other things. Better things. Things like—his lips brushed yours, soft and gentle at first, testing the waters, and when you gasped so prettily, he pressed in. Kissed you slow, his hand climbing to rest on the back of your head to angle you just right. The kiss let in and took out, over and over, until Wally was breathless and dizzy.

He kept you there, one hand trailing down your side to your hip, the other tangling in your hair, for what felt like hours though it must've only been several minutes. He couldn't let go. Couldn't stop. The taste of your tongue against his the most incredible thing he'd ever experienced.

But, eventually, you had to pull away, "It's late."

He kissed you one more time for the road, watched you stealthily maneuver around the side of the house and disappear around the corner, probably to sneak back into your room before anyone realized you'd been gone. Something about the fact that you'd risked getting in trouble for thrilled Wally.

Once you were out of sight, Wally turned in the direction of home, an obvious bounce in his step as he replayed the night—the kiss, how your lips had yielded under his—on a loop.

Again, it wasn't until much later that he remembered he still hadn't asked for your name.

Fuck.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

In typical 1980s fashion, this movie had a montage that Wally revisited almost obsessively. Sure, things had progressed rather quickly between you and him; one minute you were the stranger he viciously—but not on purpose!—attacked with a ball, and the next you were every thought, desire, emotion, response Wally was capable of.

After sundown, like hoodlums, he took you to the roller rink and skated on legs made of Jell-O because you insisted you needed his limbs to support your stilted efforts. Except, as soon as a single-digit child cried his frustration, there you were, a professional ballerina on wheels, teaching the child how to balance and move. You weren't even sheepish when you fessed up to the ruse.

"I like how it feels," You said simply, shrugged, and tucked yourself into Wally's side to prove the point, "You feel safe."

Yeah, Wally couldn't argue to save his life, addicted to how you felt in his arms as much as you seemed drawn to be there. You and he danced under the colored lights, spun and chased and discoed like divas, deliberately falling into each other at every chance. Wally didn't complain when you brought him to the ground with you after a miscalculated dip.

Days later, you and he jumped and screamed along to live music (the lyrics all totally wrong, but the melody right), crashing bodies pressing you together. Halfway through the concert, the surrounding mania receded as he rocked you gently, kissed you with meaning in the eye of a mosh pit; squawked when you poked his side to tickle him and then booked it through the crowd for an impromptu, wild game of hide-n-seek.

An empty movie theater for a screening of last year's horror films. Popcorn missiles thrown when he dared suggest the Halloween was better than My Bloody Valentine. Finger to his lips, his hand firm around yours, crouched as he led you into another theater after the first movie. Four altogether, most of them ignored in favor of making out in the back row until an usher kicked you and Wally out for inappropriate behavior.

Heads close, toes pointed toward opposite walls, listening to Nebraska in a patch of sun on Wally's bedroom floor after a grueling week of exams and Wally's mama nagging him to get fitted for new skates before hockey season. He turned his head, admired your profile, lashes fanned on the arches of peach-blushed cheeks. His heart fluttered and his eyes softened as he watched you doze to the music. Between Used Cars and Open All Night, Wally propped himself on an elbow and kissed you upside-down. Chuckled when you nipped his chin and retaliated by adjusting his position, pinning you beneath his body, and kissing you senseless.

Throughout it all, you never missed a game, football or hockey or lacrosse. You'd put an end to the scavenger hunt, now a pillar of motivation—front row, center—and waved that glittery poster with an enthusiasm that outshone his mama's. The new arrangement made it easier for Wally, sweaty and hot, to leap over the barrier and lift and twirl you after each victory. Or, alternatively, for you to hurdle into his arms to comfort and reassure him after each loss.

Over the summer, Wally reminisced fondly on his junior year and everything you and he had done together. He missed you, a deep ache in his heart while your family apparently traveled for the months between school years. You wrote letters and used payphones to speak to him every Wednesday and Saturday, and it helped sustain him until you returned, but, God, he couldn't wait to see you again. To have you cuddled against him on the couch or in his lap on the bleachers at lunch or under him in his bed.

He craved you like a bad habit. Your scent, your touch, your taste. The soft affection you and he traded; lips stamped to the shoulder, fingers carding through each other's hair. How Wally held you, arm banded around your chest, hand under your chin to angle your face up so he could kiss you from behind.

Soon, he reminded himself. Three more days and he'd have his girl at his side again.

His girl whose name continued to elude him.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

The night of the '83 Homecoming game, Wally felt a dread unlike he'd ever felt before. A lump of lead in his stomach. He had you in his lap, light, gentle brushes of his lips memorized the shape of your neck and jaw, his arms tight around you, as you helped distract him from his uncharacteristic pre-game nerves.

"I'll be right there, Wally Clark," You promised with a sweet smile.

And you were. In the seat beside his mama when the crack of bone echoed across the stadium like thunder.

He spent the following weeks oscillating between grief and rage, too consumed by the confusion and fear and loss of his own death find the strength to seek you out. He didn't want to know how you handled it. Him. His no-longer-thereness. If you were as deeply sad as he was or if you could move on and make it through. Wally didn't think he could handle it if he saw you smile again despite him not being the one to coax that happiness out of you.

Eventually, though, he couldn't deny it anymore. Had to see you. That magnetic pull led him to find you outside, basking in the December sun, no jacket, laying across the middle bench on the bleachers that overlooked the field behind the school.

He climbed up and took a quiet seat beside you. You didn't look any different. Serene, in fact, as you lay there, your notebook rested on the bench above. Wally sighed heavily, traced the air around your cheek as breath choked and his heart shattered. He had so much he wanted to say to you, but didn't know where to begin—I miss you, I wish I didn't die, I need to hold you again. Sentiments that didn't make a difference anymore. He gazed at your notebook and wondered if you'd written anything about him.

And then, to his surprise:

"I was wondering how long it would take before you'd come find me."

His eyes whipped to you and he saw you staring up at him, neck craned back slightly and a warm grin on your face.

"Y-you can see me!?" Wally gaped as you sat up and scooched closer to him.

"Of course I can." You said so easily that Wally had to think for a second if he was supposed to understand how it was possible. No one else had been able to see him, hear him, feel him.

"...how?"

You giggled, the sound a boon to his despairing soul, "Being dead isn't so bad, you know. I mean, it sucks, but you get used to it pretty quick." Taking his hand in yours, fingers laced, "And, when the memory of you starts to fade, you can even leave the school, which is something to look forward to."

Wally stared at you, bewildered, lost, hopeful, elated, "You're dead?" One, two beats, "You were dead the whole time?"

You smiled and nodded, leaned away from him to hold out your other hand for him to shake. That's when he heard it for the first time, your name, the syllables like angelic melody to his ears. You added, "Class of '57. Nice to meet you."

Without hesitation, Wally scooped you into his arms and kissed you like he'd wanted to since he'd risen from his body. He soaked up all the comfort and reassurance and love you offered with your lips. The idea of eternity no longer seemed so permanent and awful with you in it.

You pulled away just enough to bump the tip of your nose against his, that smile he adored melting every worry and fear that'd followed him off the field.

"So, how do you wanna spend your afterlife, Wally Clark? We could play dodgeball now that you know you can't actually hurt me."

He felt a grin form, wide and joyful, and answered, "Whatever you want." After a soft lull that Wally used to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before cupping your cheek, "I just wanna spend it with you." His girl, whose name he would treasure forever in his heart.

fin.

🏈___________________________

also on AO3!

Tags

request school spirits wally clark wally clark x reader fem!reader prompt fill milo mannheim wally clark fanfiction milo manheim fanfiction wally clark fluff Order Up! ✨a r e a s o n✨ Fifty Seven

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patrickispinky

2 weeks ago

I feel like I need to put out an apology or sum, I did a dumb thing last night. I got drunk and used ChatGpt to write me a fic. It was just for fun but in my dumbass drunk mind I decided to post it. I DONT support using AI nor do I use AI to write my fics. I just got really bored and wasn't thinking. AI steals bits and pieces from people's work and gives no credit.

Thank you to the person who called me out because I wouldn't have noticed I posted it.

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