versez le sang

He wakes up in complete darkness, surrounded by freezing cold. Fear claw at his heart, sink sharp ugly nails into his meat and bones — He should not wake at all. Nicky knew he was going to die; in the forest, the ashes of their cabin on his tongue, lungs painful and heavy, the metallic taste of blood constant in his throat. It was so cold, even under layers of furs and the fire of the cabin, he could not stop trembling. After, when they were out in the snow, no warmth — His time had run out. He knew it. He had known for a long time.

(Perhaps ever since Jackie — Nicky knew he was not cut for this.)

Nicky isn't meant to be here, walking amidst traffic, after having crawled out the morgue. He is meant to be dead, gone. Is this purgatory? Is he trapped in hell because of what they did to Jackie?

He doesn't know. All he knows is this feeling in his chest, wrapping around his legs — Tugging him to an worn down store, in the middle of a rainbow filled street. He hears a familiar voice calling to him, comfort just a breath away, but he doesn't know where he is. Doesn't know, when he steps inside the store with big doe green eyes, how many days have passed. Where they rescued? Was him in a coma? He sees a familiar shade of red, and his heart clenches

In reality, those ghosts have haunted Van every single day since they got on another plane and sent back to reality. Some days, Van isn't sure which is the story and which is the truth. Even now, they wake some days with the smell of wood smoke in their nostrils and the rich, earthy tones that comes with living on top of one another, and they open their eyes to an empty apartment, warmed by gas and electricity rather than flame.

This second-third-whatever chance this is that they've been granted, Van is determined not to waste it. Sometimes it's the only thing forcing them up in the mornings to face the bills and the stares and the reality of life, knowing that they have this chance and so many others don't. After all, they are a storyteller at heart. What better role do they have in the world than to remember their friends' stories, the ones who aren't here to speak for themselves?

Their bones ache and creak as Van settles in front of the register for the morning shift, usually pretty dead except for a handful of moms running errands to drop off tapes. When the bell above the door rings, Van straightens up from where they were definitely not dozing, and takes a quick swig from their lukewarm coffee sitting on the counter. It doesn't help.

People know their name around a place like Oberlin, especially when they stand out as much as they do, so hearing their name isn't all that much of a surprise. But the voice is, and their head turns to stare at someone who is definitely a ghost. Nicky looks almost identical to the way he did the last time Van had seen him, only he seems to be breathing now. (Do ghosts breathe?)

Nicky isn't the first of the Yellowjackets that Van has encountered over the years. With the vision in their left eye dwindling, it has become almost second nature to see things out of the periphery of their gaze. Jackie is a common appearance. So is Laura Lee. Coach Ben. Melissa. Javi. The dead have followed them around for years, and Van has always believed it is because they are supposed to be part of that group, instead of among the living.

you squeeze your eyes shut, like you could blink the vision of you off like a TV.

when you don't just disappear, you curse under your breath, rubbing your eyes. you know yourself better, though you wish you didn't. you know yourself enough to know that you won't just up and leave your side: and how hard it is to shake the memory of you off.

it took a long time to win a home for this kid inside the better parts of yourself, in your video store — but they're trapped in the terror of your life, where they will deal their way out to bring you everywhere you've been since. the circular logic of this feels fucking nauseating. logically, this kid shouldn't know any of this yet. the hope in their eyes says they've got to. you look away from it.

(if this were a time travel movie, you two would have seriously fucked with events in the timeline even worse. if you could fuck with anything worse.)

"you again," you say to yourself when nobody but you is around to hear it. your mouth feels like static. "what're you that desperate for entertainment options?" it's disingenuous because you know the answer. attempting to ask what you need to hear, you stop short when you struggle with how to ask it, "where — ?"

When they have no one else, they still have you.

You perch on the edge of their bed, ragged pink converse tucked underneath your frame. It keeps you, quite literally, on your toes, rocking backwards and forward like you want to get closer, but you respect the distance.

Barely concealed awe is written all over your face, like you are beholding a marvel for the first time. The lines by their eyes, the faded scars, the undeniable evidence of a life lived. Your grin is lopsided and a little sad when you respond to them. "Dunno, you didn't take any weird shrooms again, right?"

Morgan smiles a toothy smile as the proprietor abandons all sense of propriety and shouts across the store. Their energy matches the same sort of overenthusiastic joking that she and her husband could manage at the arcade and in the privacy of their own home. She shakes her head. "No need to be sorry. It's not often my mind's endless reserve of useless trivia is cause for celebration."

At the mention of swap meets, she nods enthusiastically. "That would be great, but don't stress about it if not." Morgan has never been to one herself -- she used to hit up thrift stores which, in Southern California especially, could be little gold mines from the would-be rich and wannabe famous. But there has always been something both fascinating and melancholy about them to her, the idea of selling away things that no longer belong to your life -- whether death did them part, or time got long and interest got small. But there was joy in knowing someone else would bring it into their life, continue its story.

"Oh my gosh, I have, but it's been... forever minus however old I am," she says, gasping slightly as they hand her the tape. Morgan looks over the cover like it's something from a museum -- which the store sort of is, in the same way the arcade was -- and recalls, "Creature stole my Twinkie, right? Or, or, wait -- Wolfman's got nards! Wow, this is like reuniting with a friend I haven't seen since childhood."

Morgan's eyebrows raised in surprise and she chuckled again. "Oh, you were serious about that? Well, shoot. Can't go wrong with a Crunch bar, right?" She grabs the candy and puts it alongside the recommended tape, and then looks around at the shelves again and then leans in towards Van. "If it's not an abuse of my prize, I'd love to also ask you... out of all of these, what's one film you think I should watch? Not because of what I usually pick up, but because it's something you think is important viewing." She straightens back up a little.

"I'll keep it in mind," she reassures Morgan as she rounds back around the corner to ring her up. Her smile grows wider when Morgan is able to quote back one of the famous lines of the movie. "Damn, I'll have to step up my game next time," Van teases as she carefully bags the VHS tape and candy bar. However, Morgan delivers her challenge right then and there and Van has to pivot.

It's a question she has fielded many times before by customers. Most of them do want Van to predict what she thinks they would like, but she gets the sense that's not what Morgan is fishing for. "Something that's important viewing." Van could cheat and say the whole store. She had a firm belief that every movie was important in its own way, purely because someone was passionate enough about it to want to spend time and money and labor on creating their vision.

But Van decides to take a leap, deciding that the worst thing that could happen was that she makes the moment awkward. She disappears briefly into the back room before emerging with another tape in hand. "The Incredibly True Adventure of Two Girls in Love." Van sets the movie down down gingerly on the counter between them, fingers trailing along the spine. Watching it now always made their heart ache, like a world where things had turned out right for them, but they keep the same steady smile on their face for Morgan.