INTERVIEW 020. WALLY CLARKmurdrtober Oct 5th. Ghost Sex

INTERVIEW 020. WALLY CLARK murdrtober oct 5th. ghost sex

You've never really believed the ghost stories about Split River, but this encounter definitely gave you a new outlook 800+ words MDNI 18+

You’ve been downplaying it the entire day. There were rumors that Split River was haunted, usually nothing but ghost stories told between kids during lock-ins, followed by dares to venture down dark hallways alone. 

You were instructed to make sure none of that happened at tonight’s lockin. It was supposed to be nothing but fun, with as few freshmen sent home crying as possible. You didn’t know how much authority you would have as just a TA, but you wanted to keep as much credibility as possible. Spewing out accusations of phantom touches to your back wouldn’t have helped your credibility at all. So you kept it to yourself. 

You tried your best to keep your composure, ignoring the feeling of a body behind you, keeping your heels glued to the ground even when you wanted to jump at the feeling of a hand pressed into your lower back. By the end of the night, you felt like you were losing your mind. 

Maybe one of the seniors slipped something in your drink during dinner. Maybe your lack of sufficient sleep was finally catching up to you. Maybe you’ve been secretly predisposed to some sort of mental illness and these are the warning symptoms. 

Or maybe it’s real. 

The possibility is there. Maybe Split River is haunted. Maybe you should’ve chosen another school in another district to be a teacher’s assistant. 

You’re busy trying to hold the remains of your mind together when the feeling intensifies. Your eyes stare straight in the bathroom mirror, the remnants of cold water from a damp paper towel sliding down your face, dripping into the porcelain sink that you’re leaning over. You take deep breaths, trying to clear the thoughts speeding around in your head. And just when you think you’ve gotten it all under control, you feel it. 

The feel of a human hand touches right between your legs, brushing against the skin revealed by your shorts. You swear under your breath, staring down with an expectation to see a hand in that very spot. There’s nothing there, just empty space between your legs. 

“What the fuck?” You’re about to turn around and get out of there, join the others with the belief that there’s safety in numbers. But a strong grip keeps you still by your hips, pushing you right against the counter. 

Your heart thumps in your chest with such ferocity that it hurts. You’re scared you might go into cardiac arrest at this rate, left to become another spirit to wander these halls. You close your eyes, waiting for the moment to come, but the only thing that happens is a hand pressed against your mound from behind. The feeling of fingers reaching into your shorts and pulling your lips apart through the cotton fabric of your panties. Those same fingers press right into your clit, experimentally tweaking the bud a few times. You try to remain shocked, refusing to give voice to a moan bubbling within your belly. But then your panties are pulled to the side and there’s a finger slowly penetrating you, in and out in and out. An arm wrapped around your waist, a chest against your back, one finger that soon becomes two opening you up. 

You feel ashamed as you wantonly gasp into the stale bathroom air. You should be recoiling away from the apparition, running out of this place and leaving completely. Maybe skipping town if you’re really scared enough. You shouldn’t be pushing yourself back into the touch and searching for more. 

It’s a purely human instinct, that’s what you tell yourself. It’s natural to search for the touch that makes you feel good, to want to amplify it, receive more and more until you reach a climax. And after you’ve orgasmed, gasping into the sink as you’re slumped over, trying to catch your breath—it’s natural to want it again. 

You don’t know how long you’re in that bathroom, but you’re there for a while. On your knees with your mouth open, letting the cavern be used by someone you cannot see. You would help if it weren’t anything other than air on your end, but you like it like this. All of the control is out of your hands, leaving you pliant as you sit on your knees, your mouth hung open, your eyes closed as you enjoy the feeling. 

By the time you’re done—or, by the time whoever is done with you—you’re spent, limbs and joints aching in ways they never have before. You want more, but the phantom doesn’t touch you after he’s done, leaving you to stand to your feet and splash water on your face, trying to get rid of the flush that’s taken over your features. 

When you come up for air, you swear you see someone standing behind you, their frame present in the mirror. Taller than you by a longshot, dark hair, a mole under the lips spread into a small smirk. You make eye contact and he grins, but then you blink and he’s gone like he was never there. 

Maybe he wasn’t. But you choose to believe he was. 

Split River was a peculiar school, after all. 

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.

This is my comfort cus some bitch decided to spoil the end of the umbrella academy this came in clutch at the perfect time

October Sun

summary: you'd never told Xavier. not because he hadn't been a good friend, but because you'd kept a secret no one but you had known. only then, in the eye of the storm, you'd been forced to tell him: i can't remember.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

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

sorry for the delay, loves, work was overwhelming (it's busy season) and i'm sick and it was a lot 😩⚰️ ilyg 🫶

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.25

In 1987, during the period Wally had still been reluctant to join the Afterlife Support Group, Mr. Martin had asked Bernie to ask Wally to help Mina Volkov transition from life to death. You're from the same decade—Mr. Martin's words from Bernie's mouth—she probably remembers you. Although, looking back, Wally wondered if it hadn't been a strategic play to get Wally to see the benefits of togetherness.

For the first time since his death, Wally had felt useful, but it'd backfired almost immediately and had sent him into a tailspin of doubt and frustration that'd lasted another five or so years. Mina had simply yelled at Wally about a safety course and how she hadn't been responsible for who got what part, barking at Wally until he'd descended from the rafters with his tail between his legs. He'd tried a few more times after their first encounter to cajole Mina out of her roost, and he'd been chased away every time.

So, color him surprised when Mina quietly accepted the bouquet Maddie handed her, tempered, receptive, and willing to offer what she knew by lifting and dropping the stage's trapdoor.

"How did she do that?" Wally asked of Maddie, who'd done in a minute what he'd tried to do over the span of years.

"Maybe it has something to do with what your girlfriend mentioned," Rhonda said in long, bored strokes, "Maddie might have ghost powers that she can use to tame even the most stubborn dead stagehands."

Wally warmed at Rhonda's use of the word 'girlfriend', cheeks flushing and heart picking up speed. He hadn't given much thought to titles, but something inside him did somersaults at the idea that you and he were that kind of official.

"Stop that." Rhonda smacked him lightly in the chest with the back of her hand.

Wide-eyed and totally confused, "Stop what?"

"Your face," Charley explained, "It's gone all soft and pining." Then, to himself, "It's actually adorable."

Wally rearranged his expression into something less smitten as he, Rhonda, and Charley stood and followed Maddie through the trapdoor and down into the cellarage.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Time stammered to a stop, the walls closed in; lights dimmed, noise ceased, and all you could see was Xavier. His ice-wild eyes filled with fear and confusion, already positioned on the defensive, more disturbed than you'd ever seen him before.

"Zav?" You croaked as your heart thundered in your chest. "Are you—?"

"No." Xavier snapped, pacing a few steps forward and then back, "Don't. Just. Stop..." He deflated instantly, rubbed his eyes, and raked his fingers through his hair, and then he demanded, "Who was that guy?"

You couldn't deflect; couldn't say no idea what you're talking about, couldn't fake it 'til you made it or wait for him to think up some plausible excuse on his own that you'd glom on to and ride into the sunset. It was Xavier and you'd promised yourself years ago that he'd be the one person in the world you'd never, ever lie to. Dance around the truth for self-preservation? Sure. But outright lie to him? Your instincts screeched and cried against it, fight-flight-frozen in place as you watched his eyes dart around, the flurry of his thoughts practically spilling out of him for you to hear.

The years you'd spent curating an occult personality, touched by the same incandescent, bewitched spirit as every other boho-goth girly with a penchant for Halloween and horror films; the admissions you'd made of having a crush on a ghost at the school; the easy way you talked about what lay beyond the spiritual veil. The many breadcrumbs you'd dropped in the form of red herrings rose like a bloated corpse from the depths of a lake as he viscerally pieced together the truth.

"I know what I saw." He grunted, falling back against the wall and sliding to the floor, head in his hands, wide eyes staring at his feet. "You were making out with some rando and then he just...vanished into thin air." Xavier made a poof-gone burst with his hands, head panning in a crescent to scan the hall for signs of what he'd witnessed.

"Xavier, I..." Didn't know what to say and your inability to explain everything away seemed to strengthen Xavier's resolve.

He sniffed, dropping his arms to hang on his knees, face creased in a pain you didn't know the source of. "I know I can be a shit friend," He began, tone thin as wet paper, but before you could voice a denial, he continued, "I know that everything with Maddie has...has been hard and it's obviously triggered something for you, but..." And his voice scratched, "I thought I was your best friend."

"You are," You insisted, trying so hard to convey how true the sentiment was.

"Yeah? Then why don't you ever talk to me about Aidan?" A blade to the heart. "Why won't you tell me what the fuck actually happened to him? I loved him, too." The blade twisted, sinking deeper. "I know it wasn't an accident, May; I know you saw something; I know you were there." The nickname hurt for more reasons than one, and it took everything in you not to call Xavier out. "Why don't you ever share anything with me? And now you're buddy-buddy with Simon and handsy with a guy you can't. tell. me. wasn't Walker Clark—fucking Number 57 right on his jacket, DEAD high school legend." Xavier paused his tirade to note, "Jesus Christ, I sound fucking crazy," knocking his head against the wall and squeezing his eyes shut.

Your surprise bubbled out of you before you could reel it back in, "How do you even know any of that?"

Xavier slumped in defeat, shook his head, and confessed, "You always talked about him. How your mom fangirled after him worse than a K-pop stan." He snorted, "In sophomore year, when Eli asked you out? You wouldn't stop joking about how you thought a stupid ghost was more your type." He looked up at you then, gaze misty, brows pinched in anguish. "I wanted to see what the hype was about...so I checked out the '84 yearbook in the library. There's a whole spread dedicated to his memory, did you know that?"

You did. You'd been shown a printout of it along with the rest of Wally's dossier. "Yeah."

"I mean, I thought you'd just looked it up, too." Xavier laughed without humor, "Thought you were just bullshitting for the sake of some manic pixie dream girl vibe you wanted to try out because being a teenager's fucking stupid like that, but..." Again, his gaze met yours, held it briefly as he stared into your soul, and then skirted away, up and down the hallway before returning to fixate on the theater door. "Where'd he go, May?"

"Please stop calling me that." You said, hoarse, strangled, breath shortening as your lungs struggled to expand.

Xavier stood and strode forward until you and he were nose to nose, "Who was that?" He pressed, "Who just had their hands all over you and then disappeared just like that." The last word emphasized with a loud snap of his fingers.

"Zav, please, just hold on—"

He abruptly whirled around, stormed toward the theater door, and violently threw it open. You scurried after him, pleading with him to listen as he charged down the center aisle toward the stage, calling out for whoever you were to show himself as if to prove Xavier wasn't losing his mind. And he wasn't, you knew that, but how were you supposed to tell him without doing more damage than had already been done when you'd revealed yourself to Rhonda and Charley?

"Xavier, wait!" You yelled, panicked, divulging the only thing you thought might redirect his manic assault around the theater. "I didn't tell you about Aiden because I can't remember!"

Xavier stopped his search, still as an eerie pond in winter, and slowly turned to face you. "What?"

"I can't..." Fuck. You scraped your fingers over your scalp then shot your arms wide, "I can't remember." You revealed, voice cracking, "It comes back in bits and pieces that don't make...they don't make sense without the context and you're right, okay? I was there, but I can't remember. Not everything." The door, the farmhouse, blood, blood everywhere, a crowbar, and Aiden screaming for you, his Sissy May because your mother always called you her May child—her little baby girl a symbol of new hope and abundance that had nothing to do with Beltane or spring blessings or the month of May itself.

"What do you mean you 'can't remember'?" Xavier questioned, face scrunched up as if that was somehow crazier than the fact that he'd seen you and a literal ghost make out.

Tears streamed down your face, vision blurry, voice pitched and broken as the last thread of control you had on the situation split. "I don't know." Xavier shook his head in disbelief, compelling you to blurt out whatever you could to keep him calm, "I really don't know. Ms. Chung kept saying my brain was 'repressing the trauma' but I wanted to remember. We tried everything: Art therapy, guided imagery, fucking hypnosis, Xavier, and nothing worked. I can't...I can't remember anything after I picked Aiden up from school."

Panels of that drizzly afternoon read like a heavily redacted picture document. The short walk in the rain from the elementary schoolyard to the end of the block. The friendly smile on a face you knew you'd recognized but that now had a thick, black bar over the nose and eyes. The apple juice. The farmhouse cellar. The crowbar. The door. And then everything sped up from images to a movie reel when then-Deputy-Baxter had to wrestle you to the ground at the side of the dirt road while EMTs tried to resuscitate Aiden.

"I didn't tell you because there wasn't anything in here," You aggressively jammed your fingers into the side of your head as if attempting to unblock the memories, "to tell you. And it's fucked up and I'm sorry I didn't let you in, but I didn't know how. Half the time I didn't believe anything even happened because my fucking brain kept skipping over it."

Except you could remember one crucial detail: "Trust me, it takes four minutes before a person goes from attached to their earthen vessel to haunting the science lab." However, despite the awareness you possessed of having witnessed Aiden's death, your brain refused to evoke the visual memory.

You trembled, tortured by the fact that you hadn't been able to save your little brother, and you had no idea if you'd even tried. Ajay appeared at your side, his hand on your shoulder while his narrowed eyes were pinned on Xavier. As he prepared to say something, the trapdoor at the middle of the stage banged open and Wally climbed out, looking furious and ready for war.

💀___________________________

PART TWENTY-FOUR

note: Waiting for Godot is so stripped down that I disliked it immensely. also, please remember that time moves differently between the worlds of the living and the dead. so the 2 seconds it takes Xavier to lose his shit is, like, enough minutes in the metaphysical world for our ghost friends to find the forged receipt. like Narnia...it's been a thousand years O.o (iykyk)

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ABOUT THE TAGLIST: i'm afraid i am no longer updating or using the taglist. moving forward, if you'd like to keep up to date, please FOLLOW ME and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS. that thing took me to Hell and back, and we're no longer on speaking terms...😒

Neutrality is complicity. Your silence is so loud. CEASEFIRE NOW‼️ 🍉🗣️🍉🗣️

I ain't ever fucking around with you bitches again season 4 of the umbrella academy only been out for TWO FUCKING DAY and someone already spoiled it for me, ive been waiting so fucking long for this i deadass cant anymore 😭😭😭

Y'all when I tell you I audibly gasped ain't no way this actually happened