Charlie Hart was an expert on running away from intense negative feelings. Best friends and long-term partner die in a tragic attack? Become an adrenaline junkie to deal with it. Old friend turns into a confusing mixture of friend and new partner but then Old best friend confesses his feelings after you almost die from blood loss from a brand new piercing courtesy of a demon? 

Pack that shit away and not deal with it. Run away to California for the release of a new album recorded by him and said dead best friends and long-term partner. Instead of seeking grief counseling, throw yourself into your work, impulse-buy a house, and continue to do reckless shit that could get you killed because you have a get-out-of-death-free card courtesy of the fuckers that killed your best friends.

Charlie was faced with a decision. Embrace that he would be famous for a tragedy and become something greater than his friends, or let the grief consume him and fade into obscurity. But music? Music was his life. It was everything to him that even in times of crisis, he could always fall back to. 

After a long debate with his stylist, Charlie decided it was time to be rid of the long hair. It had served its purpose. But this was a new chapter in his life, he wanted to be something greater than he already was, and he wanted to be something new. The electric trimmer buzzed to life, and the barber behind him looked at Charlie in the mirror, giving him one last chance to change his mind, but Charlie just nodded his head and looked back at the barber. This was it, he was cutting it all off. 

The barber nodded back, then let the trimmer go through the locks of brow hair, and Charlie took a deep breath as he saw the hair fall to the floor. No going back now. It was hair, it’d grow back if he decided he hated this. He closed his eyes and let the barber get to work, cutting trimming, and shaping. And when Charlie opened his eyes? His hair was cut short, and curls much tamer. Still long for short hair standards, he’d be able to toss it around and play with it, but the length was gone, and the bangs were gone. He was someone else now.

He gave his thanks to the barber, smiling and tipping him well before setting off onto the street and towards the hotel he’d been staying in. He’d have to send a photo to Finn before the concert, knowing that his boyfriend would be pissy with him if he didn’t show him first before everyone else. He felt lighter, as if cutting off the hair was cutting off a piece of him that he’d been desperately holding onto despite knowing he had to let go.

As he walked down the street, he held up his phone and snapped a photo of himself, then sent it off to Finn with a smirk on his face, then pocketed the device and headed into the hotel where he’d get ready for a show completely on his own, the rituals of the other band members fresh in his mind as he got dressed, got picked up, and was transported to the venue. Vik’s little run in place she’d do and whirlwinds with her arms before every show, Lindz’s vocal warmups, and of course, his and Gareth’s game of smacking each other’s hands together. 

A sad smile was on his face as he stared at the places his bandmates should have been before he forced himself to light up, turning into a larger-than-life stage performer that was Charlie Hart. 

He was fine because he had to be. Because if he didn’t keep going, he’d surely fall apart. And this was his life, this was the life that he’d signed up for.

His manager had been insistent. To stay relevant and take advantage of all the eyes on him, Charlie Hart had to perform in his first concert on his own. It had taken a lot of arguing and sleepless nights, but ultimately, he agreed. He didn’t feel good about it, not in the slightest. But he knew he had to do it for Linz, Vik, and Gareth. Of course, he’d written a song about everything. Of course, he knew what he wanted to sing. It would pull a lot of attention his way, and he had to want it. Part of him wanted to slip quietly into obscurity like his father had. He’d had a good run, now it was time to be just Charlie, not Charlie Hart. But Gareth telling him to keep going for all of them was a powerful motivator. 

So only a month and some change since losing his friends to those evil sons of bitches, Charlie Hart the rockstar was set to perform in the same location that his friends had been killed, Wicked’s Rest. He’d spent long nights out in the middle of nowhere practicing his guitar skills, knowing that he wanted to do this alone, just him and his acoustic guitar. It was going to be a small affair, and Charlie was grateful for that. He thought of telling his friends, but decided he needed to do this to a room full of strangers. It was easier to stomach that way. So he kept it a secret, telling no one about the beginning of the solo career for Charlie Hart.

The night of the show, Charlie was a wreck. Doing this without Lindz’s little rituals, Gareth’s assuring gaze, and Vik’s incessant need to give everyone the biggest hug known to man right before going on stage. He heard the chatter from the crowd, and knew he had to put on his stage persona. He had to become a confident rock star, the one thing he didn’t feel. But he had to do this, it was for Zombie Babysitter, who ironically bit it to fucking zombies. Now it was just singer/songwriter Charlie Hart. Ugh, he hated that title. He hated the way people always used his full name. So with one final deep breath, Charlie closed his eyes and stepped out onto the stage. 

The first thing he registered was the overwhelming sound of cheering. People were standing and clapping for him. Maybe it was because they really liked him, maybe it was because they felt bad for him. Charlie swallowed the nerves and opened his eyes to look out on the silhouette of people. He had to say something, he had to do something. So he gave an award winning smile and let the persona of Charlie Hart take over. “Wow, you sold me out,” the rockstar spoke with a crooked grin, earning another round of cheers. “Thank you, seriously.” He pressed his hand to his chest, touched that this many people still cared about him, they weren’t booing and throwing things at him, they wanted to hear from him. Well, not him. They wanted to hear from Charlie Hart.

So he nodded his head and strummed a chord to make sure his guitar was still in tune. “It’s going to be a little different tonight,” he announced, running a hand through his long curly hair. “Gonna sing something I cooked up since everything that happened.” He scratched the side of his nose, a nervous tick. “This is called Echoes of Yesterday.” He announced, then immediately launched into the intro through his guitar. 

Alone in the stillness of the night, With memories that refuse to fade, Shadows dance, casting their might, A silent symphony of the heart's cascade.

Oh, how the echoes of yesterday, Haunt this weary soul today. In the depths of darkness, I stray, Longing for the light that once held sway.

Beneath the weight of what could've been, I wander through this labyrinth of time, Aching for the touch that's now unseen, Lost in the echoes of a silent chime.

Captive to the memories, I roam, Yearning for a glimpse of your embrace, In the silence, I find my home, Amidst the fragments of love's grace.

Oh, how the echoes of yesterday, Haunt this weary soul today.  In the depths of darkness, I stray, Longing for the light that once held sway.

Though the winds of change may blow, And the tears may freely flow, In the heart's quiet, a seed will sow, A remembrance of love that continues to grow.

The song ended with a guitar outro, and then it was over. The crowd went wild, and Charlie blinked. There was no going back now. He had a solo career on his hands. He gripped the neck of his guitar and took a deep breath, then launched into another song, this one a known classic from the band. It was weird to sing Lindz’ part. It was weird to do it acoustic without his band. It was weird without his band period. But he would do this for them. 

Spending their morning the same way he always did, Alistair decided to close up the shop at noon to let their employees see the solar eclipse. No point keeping them locked up indoors all day instead. Of course, they didn’t see a point in participating. Not like they could see it anyway. So instead, they continued working on inventory and ordering on the laptop in the locked up tea shop. It was around 3 in the afternoon when totality occurred. They could sense it, any light and shadow vanished to just darkness. 

“Al, please hear me.” A gentle voice called out, and Alistair would know that voice anywhere. They’d traverse mountains just to hear it one more time. “Mikael.” Alistair responded, eyes wide as they removed their sunglasses to reveal the scars on their face. “Oh, Al.” Mikael’s voice was closer, and their cheek felt cold. Mikael was trying to touch their face. “Please tell me you don’t blame yourself for what that man did.” Mikael’s voice was like a soft bell chime, a beacon in the night that Alistair felt drawn to. They’d never be over them. As long as they lived, there would never be anyone else for them. 

“Of course, I blame myself.” Alistair spoke, voice breaking as they rubbed their eyes. “You can’t blame yourself for the actions of one person.” Mikael’s voice was pleading, and Alitair wanted to curl into a ball and let the world fade away. “Alistair, I need you to know that you’re heading down a dark path. I don't want you to go down it.” Alistair shook their head, angry as a tear escaped. “It’s what I am, Mik. I can’t… can’t just not practice.” 

Mikael’s voice shifted to directly in front of them. “That’s not true and you know it. These people you’re hurting, don’t do it because you’re hurt too. Don’t do it because of what you’ve lost. I’ve had time to be at peace with what happened. But I’m not at peace because you’re obviously suffering. I love you, you dolt.” That cold spot on their cheek was back, and another tear escaped Alistair’s eyes. 

Remembering Brutus, Alistair quickly summoned their companion to their side and cast the spell. It was Mikael. The short, lanky individual with long chestnut hair and chocolate brown eyes. Those bambi eyes of theirs rendered Alistair speechless. Alistair let out a choked cry, a hand covering their mouth as tears fell. 

“Tha gaol agam ort. An-còmhnaidh. Gu bràth.” Alistair whispered, and Mikael smiled sadly. “Tell me you’ll stop.” Mikael whispered, hands outstretched toward Alistair. “Tell me you’ll at least stop the healing business. I don’t care if you still practice magic, just stop hurting people because you’re hurt. I know you. I know you better than you know yourself sometimes. So stop. Let yourself feel something other than pain.” 

Alistair’s face fell. Of course, Mikael was always right. Always knew exactly what to say. “I… okay.” They croaked, wiping their mouth with their hand as if it would dismiss the emotions. It didn’t. They were still there, and Alistair still hurt. “For you, I’d do anything.” Alistair’s Scottish accent bled into their words, exposing just how emotional they were in that moment. 

Then, Mikael started to fade. “I love you, Alistair. That will never change. But let yourself be happy. Please.” Their voice faded out, and Alistair was left alone in the Sugar Pot. They severed the spell and put their glasses back on, fell into the chair, and wept. 

They wept for Mikael, they wept for what was torn away from them, for everything they’d done. They wept for the person they could never be again.

Charlie was sleeping in the back of his van, deciding to drop the hotel room and just bum it until Wyatt contacted him about his extra room. It had been too much to stay in that room that was the last place his friends were all together in one place, happy and alive. The van felt like a tomb in its own right, all the memories of road trips across the East Coast to perform in different states.

They had finally started to make it, they were destined for the stars! Until they weren’t. Charlie was parked in a parking lot with the sunroof open to watch the eclipse, something the band had planned to do together. He lay across the back seats, cigarette in his mouth unlit as the moon eclipsed the sun.

Charlie put on his glasses and stared up at the sky, grinning. It was neat, space and all that. He didn’t really think about it much, honestly. But shit like this? It made it worth paying attention to. He pulled out his phone to post a photo to the gram when a familiar voice shocked him enough to drop his phone onto his face.

“Charlie.” A familiar voice said, and tears immediately pricked up in his eyes. “G-Gareth?” Charlie stuttered, suddenly he was that nervous guy he was before all this happened, suddenly everything could go back exactly as it should be. No one died, it was all just a really fucking bad dream. The cigarette fell from his mouth, a tear escaping down his cheek. “Charlie, I… I need to tell you this. I need you to know.” Gareth reached out to touch Charlie, but the contact didn’t take. Charlie wanted to wail. 

“Check the glove compartment, under the driver’s manual. It’s important.” Gareth pleaded, eyes wide and urgent. Charlie stared stupidly for a few seconds before biting at his lower lip and nodding his head, scrambling across the center console to open up the glove box and rifle around. His hand made contact with a small box. No. 

Charlie pulled it out and shook his head furiously. “No, you can’t… do this to me.” Charlie’s voice was frail, eyes filling with tears again. “I kept waiting for a good chance to do it.” Gareth confessed, watching as Charlie opened the box to reveal a silver band. “No, you can’t do this!” He exclaimed, having half a mind to throw it through Gareth’s stupid head. “You can’t show me this, I–” 

“I love you, punk. I always will. But I need you to live for all of us now, got it?” Charlie’s mouth fell open, more tears pouring down his face as he nodded his head, shocked into silence. “I… I’ll never forget you. I’ll never stop loving you.” Charlie promised, and Gareth started to fade, the eclipse was ending. Charlie reached out, and his hand went through Gareth’s, and then he was alone in the back seat of the van with a ring he’d never gotten. 

Charlie stared at it for a long time before letting out a pained cry, allowing himself to feel the loss of his friends and partner for the first time since the attack. Gareth was going to marry him. He was going to be happy and live the life he’d always wanted. And those stupid fucking zombies took that away from him. His whole life, ruined in an instant. 

After a tense drive over in the band van they’d all named Morty, The four of them hopped out of the car and headed for the entrance to the cemetery. Charlie staggered behind, but his hand was grabbed by Gareth, the band’s drummer and Charlie’s long-term boyfriend. He flashed Gareth a timid smile and continued forward. They walked silently, taking in the tombstones and strange fog that seemed to envelop the place. 

“Yep, creepy cemetery for sure, dudes.” Vikky, the band’s bassist, announced as she snapped a picture of a crypt on her phone. “Bitchin’ place for a new album cover, though.” She added with a smirk. Leave it to Vikky to get the perfect album photo, the amateur photographer that she was. They were telling jokes and freaking each other out every so often, and Charlie found his worries melting away as they kept going. These were his best friends. These were supposed to be the best days of his life.

Everything happened so fast after that. One minute they were popping out behind headstones and freaking each other out, then next, Vikky was grabbed. She was screaming, and then she was quiet. No one saw what happened. “Vik?” Lindz called out, voice trembling. Gareth was holding on to Charlie tightly as if he’d seen something. “Gareth, what happened?” Charlie murmured to him, hitting him in the chest to try and get his attention. “I… fuck, it was a person,” Gareth responded quietly. Brows knitted together with fear. 

“FUCK, CHARLIE! GARETH!” Lindz screamed out, and then she, too, disappeared into the fog. “Fuck, fuck fuck fuck!” Charlie babbled, grabbing at his hair and pulling. “Fuck, Gareth, we gotta, gotta get out of here!” Charlie decided, taking a big step backward as Gareth was grabbed. “NO!” Charlie shouted, jumping after the man who was getting dragged backward, kicking and screaming. Whoever this guy was that grabbed him was strong as fuck, he couldn’t get him off. “Charlie, RUN!” Gareth screamed before letting out a scream that quickly became a gurgle, then silence.

Charlie stood stock still with wide eyes, then began to backpedal. Fuck, he couldn’t die like this. A hand grabbed him, teeth sunk into flesh. “NO!” He yelled, yanking his arm away and turning around to run as fast as his feet could carry him. “Fuck no FUCK!” His whole life flashed before his eyes at that moment. He tripped over a body, Lindz’s body: her skull, her brain… the guy on the floor eating it. Charlie screamed louder and began running again. Zombies. ZOMBIES. He wasn’t going to fucking die like this. Somehow, he got away. Somehow, he lived. His arm burned like fucking hell, but he was alive. He clambered into Morty and started the engine, eyes wide with fear as he drove off toward the police station. 

Charlie learned two things that day. 

One, he had been bitten by a zombie.