Chapter Text
Velma stops asking Daphne to stay with her.
It isn’t bloodshed that Daphne dreams of that night onward, but rather the emotional turmoil that fractures her into irreparable shards. The terrors only grow in size, looming ever over with every waking moment since—cloaking her very consciousness, both awake and asleep, with a relentless torment she cannot quite understand.
Her heart’s caught in her throat when everything unravels with blinding speed, the sense of foreboding heady in the air around her. Daphne can only watch as grief tears Fred away from her, can only watch as familial obligation drags Shaggy and Scooby away—and when Velma steps forward with what she thinks is sympathy in her eyes, Daphne can only watch as her anguish cuts deep into the other girl as the tears all but stream down her face.
Daphne wakes the same way every time—with watery eyes and the regret heavy in her stomach.
Velma wakes the same way every time—with a bloodcurdling scream that has Daphne flying over to her in alarm, no matter the time. But Velma always shoves Daphne away—force of habit, she thinks, or maybe retaliation for their past life—and with each time, she can feel the distance between them growing wider and wider.
Daphne initially wants to hate Marcie. Really, really wants to.
In the past, she’d reasoned that it would be easy—she barely knows Marcie, after all, having only spoken face-to-face with her a single time. It’d been far too easy to see why she and Velma had become such fast friends—and Daphne, at the time, had taken a liking to Marcie and felt nothing but happiness for her best friend. Trying to unlearn that had been far more difficult than she’d imagined since Velma’s known Marcie for years—and she certainly hadn’t been successful, since she’d given up altogether after Daphne learnt of Marcie’s sacrifice.
She looks back down now at the open notebook on the counter. It’s the gang’s official contact list—one compiled to help them with various cases over the years. Among the hastily scribbled notes on the page is the name Marcie Fleach and a phone number in Velma’s barely decipherable cursive. Daphne sighs even as she smiles at the sight. This is exactly why they’d all asked Velma for a digital version of the contact book—this, the fact that Scooby’s handwriting is completely illegible even to himself, and the many many times they’ve managed to lose or damage the notebook—but to this day, Velma’s insisted in sticking with the physical copy.
(Daphne suspects that it has something to do with the prank call spree they’d gone on years ago. In hindsight, it… certainly hadn’t been one of their better ideas.)
She takes a deep breath. Holds it in for a moment—because really, despite her jealousy, a small part of her still cares about the impression she gives—then finally unlocks her phone to make the call.
It picks up after two rings. “Hello, this is Marcie.”
Well, at least Daphne knows she dialed the right number. “Hey, it’s Daphne. You know, Velma’s—” She tries to ignore the bitter taste in her mouth. “—friend.”
“Hello Daphne,” Marcie says. “What’s up?”
“I’m okay,” she replies. “And you?”
“I’m fine.” There’s a bit of a pause. “Excuse my bluntness but why did you call me? We don’t speak much to each other.”
“I… had a question for you.”
“For me.” There’s another pause as Marcie seemingly mulls this over. “Forgive me, but I don’t think I understand. Velma’s smarter than I am, and I’m sure she can answer whatever question you have.”
She’s more than confident that Velma is, but that’s besides the point. “The question is about her.”
“Ah.”
If Daphne thought it’d been awkward before, it’s… even more so now. She doesn’t even know how to go about asking this—there has to be some sort of graceful way of doing so than—
“Do… do you like her? Romantically?”
—that. Daphne facepalms mentally.
Thankfully, Marcie laughs—a genuine sound with no mockery behind it. “I should be asking you that question.”
Daphne falls silent for a moment. Of course she likes Velma—she’d conceded to such already—but now face to face with the realities of the past few weeks she can’t help but feel flustered.
She squeezes her eyes shut. “How could I not?” It’s a bit of a non-answer, but a telling one at that—and from the way Marcie laughs again, it’s clear that she knows too.
“Yeah,” Marcie says, “yeah. Tell me about it. She’s really something else. I’d be a fool to not like her but in the end, I really have no chance.”
Daphne blinks. “What do you mean by that?”
“All that girl talks about,” Marcie sighs, “is you. Subtlety really isn’t her strong suit. So unless you can tell me she’s been doing the same to you, which I sincerely doubt, I really don’t have a chance.”
Daphne’s heart soars embarrassingly high at that statement. “She talks about me?”
“Nonstop,” Marcie confirms. “To the point that I’ve figured out something happened between you two recently. She won’t talk about the specifics but I can tell she’s… upset. I’ve been offering to come over and stab you with a fork if you did anything to hurt her—”
“Charming,” Daphne mutters sarcastically, even as she silently agrees—she would, after all, do the exact same in Marcie’s shoes.
“—but she said to not and that it’s not your fault, so I won’t. You should talk to her, though. I think she’s more likely to respond to you.”
“She hasn’t exactly been in the talking mood recently.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I think she’s trying to convince herself and, by proxy, you of that—but it’s actually eating her up alive. And you know Velma and her stubborn pride—if she has it her way, she’ll let it slowly kill her.”
That’s… very true. She’s watched Velma do this more times than she can count. “Alright, I’ll try. Thanks, Marcie.”
“You’re welcome,” Marcie says. “And good luck. I’m rooting for you both.”
As the call ends, Daphne realizes that she… doesn’t want to hate Marcie at all. And well, that’s… okay, Daphne muses, because the emotional toll of all of this would be even more overwhelming if she had an unnecessary grudge to hold as well.
The days begin to bleed into one another, smearing her world in smog and trapping her in a hell of her own making.
Although a fairly rare occurrence, it’s not the first time that she and Velma have been at odds with each other. What makes this instance different, though, is that there is no visible exit—no clear light at the end of the tunnel. Despite living in the same house, they barely speak to each other anymore. Somehow, even the simple exchanges of please and thank you have become quieter, heavier—significant, she thinks, of the burdened relationship between them. Every time she tries to bring up what’d happened, Velma turns the other way—finding some excuse to not speak to her—and every time without fail, Daphne wishes their relationship could return back to what it was before she’d blurted out her panicky confession. The only thing left are Marcie’s words—phasing in and out of her mind, reminding her to guide Velma out as she struggles to find the exit herself.
It’s bad enough that even the usually oblivious boys have caught on. They can’t help but meddle, which… is to be expected, now that she thinks about it, considering that’s what they all do for a living anyway. She’d had her suspicions days before she’d heard them scheming while under the impression that she was well out of earshot. Daphne doesn’t find it within herself to tell them that they really aren’t being as sneaky as they think they are—their hearts are in the right place and honestly, she can use all the help she can get. She can’t really blame them for trying, either—in their last case alone, the conflict had bled through enough that they’d almost managed to burn down a water park. Afterwards, Velma accused her for being reckless, and she’d accused Velma right back for being negligent—and then they’d both fallen deadly silent, an unspoken agreement between their eyes. Velma was right, she is becoming more reckless—she’ll acknowledge as much mentally—but she… simply can’t bring herself to care considering the circumstances. And she knows that Velma must’ve come to the same realization—that Daphne had been right, too—because the other woman had exhaled and turned away without another word.
They hadn’t spoken of it since. Daphne hadn’t bothered trying to bring it up.
Which brings them to the case they’re currently solving, where Daphne finds herself trailing behind Velma. Fred had paired them up together earlier and disappeared with Scooby and Shaggy before they’d even gotten the chance to protest. It’s unusually quiet, uneasily so, with the severe lack of lighting within the mansion only adding to the unsettling ambience. Every time Daphne opens her mouth to say something, the uncertainty clogs her train of thought entirely. She settles, finally, for following Velma from a distance—blankly staring at the floor beneath her feet as she tries to think of a way out for what must be the thousandth time this week, her flashlight dangling loosely (and unhelpfully) by her side.
“I don’t get it,” Velma suddenly muses aloud, shattering the silence and shaking Daphne from her stupor. “They said the vampire seemed to follow traditional rules—but what exactly are considered the ‘traditional rules’? Vampire folklore comes from all over the world.”
Right, that’s what they’re supposed to be on the lookout for. Admittedly, Daphne hasn’t been paying much attention to the case—or to anything in general, really. Not that it matters, though—they’ve been on so many vampire cases that they’re basically experts on capturing them now, even if said vampires did all turn out to be fake. Does that make them fake hunters of vampires or hunters of fake vampires? What would happen, then, if they encountered a real vampire?
“…it’s odd that they know exactly what ‘rules’ the vampire supposedly follows,” Velma continues on. “Did they try shooting it with silver? Stabbing it with a wooden stake? Who even invited it in?”
“Maybe they spoke to it,” Daphne says unhelpfully before she has the time to think better of it. “Seems to have cleared a few things up.”
The words tumble out far more scathing than she’d initially intended—and she grimaces initially as Velma noticeably flinches before her. She’s on the brink of apologizing when she realizes that this is the first time Velma has actually acknowledged her words in some way.
“My point,” Velma emphasizes without turning around, “is that they could be lying.”
She shouldn’t be surprised that Velma brushed past it despite her fleeting moment of weakness—it’s all the other girl’s been doing since she’d turned her back on Daphne two weeks ago. Either way, though, it’s a start. Daphne can work with this. Velma’s actually listening to her now, or—what was it again? ‘It’s actually eating her up alive’, Marcie had said. Maybe Velma had been listening all this time, but Daphne hadn’t said the right thing to snap her out of this.
Sarcasm. It finally clicks, sliding into that empty slot Daphne had been agonizing over for weeks. It’s not exactly a hidden secret that Daphne is, and always has been, kindest to Velma. Velma had expected Daphne’s frustration and sorrow, but not resentment.
“Oh really,” Daphne says loudly, doubling down. “I wonder where they could’ve learned that from.”
“Now is hardly the time.” Daphne doesn’t even need to be looking at Velma to know that her jaw is clenched—the tension oozes from every word.
“Then when is?” Daphne retorts. “I’m tired of sitting in unresolved silence like this. You can’t just tell me that my feelings are wrong and then stubbornly ignore me for weeks. What do I need to do to prove you otherwise?”
“Daphne, I don’t need you to prove anything to me.”
“Oh, really?!” Daphne interjects, picking up her pace to step in front of Velma. “Then why are you so intent on treating everyone like people that they’re not? Do I look like that version of Daphne you see in your dreams, the one that’s a liability and exists as a pretty face? The one that they call ‘danger-prone’ because she always gets kidnapped?”
“That’s not—” Velma winces and drops her gaze to the ground, refusing to meet Daphne’s eyes. “It’s not you, Daphne. You didn’t cause this.”
It’s not you. It’s a little hard to believe, considering what’s been said and done, but it’s enough to make Daphne hesitate. She inhales, exhales.
“Then what is it?” she asks, trying to soften her voice but instead it all comes out tired and defeated. “What is this about?”
Velma looks up at her.
“I keep seeing it,” Velma mumbles. “Seeing Marcie. I panic, I call out for her because she’s right there. And then I let her go. What was I thinking? Why did I do that?”
“That’s not fair to you,” Daphne replies, a pang of guilt and sadness vibrating through her. She will never understand why Velma places so much responsibility on her own shoulders, even when it threatens to crush her entirely. “Tell me, was it you who made that decision? Or is it her memories that haunt you?”
Velma stiffens.
“It doesn’t make sense!” Velma cries out suddenly. “None of this has—we’re not supposed to see the other threads of timelines at all. That’s just not how it works. There has to be a reason why we’re reliving this now. Whatever it is, I need to know why. I need to make sense of this.”
“Hey,” Daphne says gently. “You’ll drive yourself crazy trying to find a hidden message that might not even be written. Sometimes things simply are what they are.”
Velma averts her gaze.
“It’s messing with my mind.”
“I know. But love isn’t predetermined, Velma. Whatever happened there has no bearings here. None of us chose to be that way—those were different people living in a different world.”
“But I hurt her.”
“That wasn’t you.”
“I hurt you,” Velma says then, reaching over to take Daphne’s hand into hers. “There’s no excuse for that and I’m sorry. I was so deep into this whole thing that I couldn’t see what was right in front of me this entire time.”
She squeezes Daphne’s hand and stares right up into Daphne’s eyes.
“I love you too,” Velma whispers, so quiet that Daphne’s convinced she’s misheard. “The version of me here loves you so much, but the nightmares—and my own self-consciousness at times—they keep telling me that I’m not good enough for you. That you deserve better, or more, or—”
Daphne pulls Velma toward her into a much-needed hug, wrapping her arms around the other girl tightly.
“I don’t want anyone else though,” she whispers. “I want you.”
Velma melts into her arms, sobs shaking her entire body—and Daphne just holds her, murmuring her comforts and reassurances, grounding them as the anchor of a ship threatening to disappear into the sea.
A few minutes later, as they’re sitting on the floor—Velma clutching the packet of tissues Daphne handed over to her—they hear a loud crash beneath them and Scooby and Shaggy’s unmistakable screeching of fear.
“We should probably help them,” Velma laughs breathily, wiping her eyes again. She pulls herself up to her feet. “Make ourselves useful. We are on a case, after all.”
“Velma Dinkley? Unproductive?” Daphne fake-gasps, giving Velma a lighthearted smile all the same as she follows suit. “I never thought I’d see the day.”
“Oh, believe me,” Velma says. “I don’t think I’ve ever been productive mid-conflict with you.”
Same, Daphne wants to say. But Velma’s smiling—really smiling, and Daphne doesn’t want to disturb that feeling.
“Good thing we’ve resolved things then,” Daphne quips instead, swinging an arm over Velma’s shoulders. “Now let’s go catch a vampire.”
Velma leans into her with a contented sigh. “Let’s,” she agrees, letting Daphne tug her along.