Chapter Text
They all stare down at the Dean of City Investigation Corporation, Stephen Spreck. He glares back up at them, managing to look indignant.
“Huh,” says Jeff eventually, in a detached way that means he’s really, really surprised, “I really thought Pierce was faking. I guess the old man really is dead.”
“Yeah,” says Troy. “I feel like I should be sadder knowing that?”
“Me, too,” agrees Jeff. “Weird. He was kind of an asshole, though.”
“Britta says grief works in weird ways,” supplies Abed, and Troy shrugs at that.
“Sure,” says Jeff. “But what I don’t get is how he managed to have Pierce’s voice. We figured that with some faulty lights, a fog machine, and a robot troll, you can easily create a ghost who’s stealing our friends. But,” here he turns to Spreck, “how did you get him to respond to us if he’s dead? And also—why?”
Spreck shrugs.
Shirley gives him a shake. “You don’t have anything better to do than answer,” she tells him sweetly, in that kind of sweet tone that’s really just her being threatening. Troy feels nervous for him.
Spreck sighs. “A megaphone and a tape recorder,” he answers eventually, rolling his eyes. “Plus the speaker hidden in the parlor. We got word from Chang that if you all didn’t show up, he’d get all the money. Apparently Pierce originally tasked Chang with just torturing you all a bit because he was mad at you all, but Chang learned that if he got you all to leave, or disappear, he could get everything. In exchange for us making him a cop again, he’d give us a portion.”
“Christ,” says Jeff.
“Yeah,” says Stephen Spreck, looking kind of melodramatic and sad, like he didn’t just admit to trying to manipulate slash kidnap Troy and his friends. Then his expression gets indignant again as he snaps, “And I would have gotten away with it, too, if it weren’t for you meddling kids!”
“They always say that,” mutters Abed.
“I know you’re not calling me a kid,” sniffs Shirley.
Spreck rolls his eyes again.
“Okay. But what about the image of Pierce’s ghost in that mirror?” asks Troy.
“What image?” Spreck begins to ask, but it’s swallowed by Jeff’s insistent “Where are Britta and Annie?”
Spreck stares at them all for a long time, as if refusing to answer.
“Where are Britta and Annie?” repeats Jeff, somewhat darkly.
Spreck turns up his nose.
“I said, where are Britta and Annie?”
Jeff’s met with a silent shrug.
“Stephen Spreck,” snarls Jeff, stepping forward and dropping into a whisper, “If you don’t tell me where Britta and Annie is, I’m going to sue you so fucking hard your investigation corporation will go so far into debt there will be no chance of recovering. Not just fall apart. Go into fucking debt, do you hear me?”
“You have nothing to sue me over.” He sounds a little nervous now.
“You tried to kidnap all of us,” Jeff replies dryly at a regular volume. “But you know,” he adds, voice quiet and angry again, “I wasn’t done. Because after I sue you until you’ve lost the fucking equivalent of the money you tried to steal from us, you’re going to go to jail. Again, because you tried to fucking kidnap us.”
Everyone’s silent for a moment.
“Do you understand?” asks Jeff, loud enough for everyone to hear him.
Stephen Spreck closes his eyes and nods quickly.
“If you don’t like your options,” Jeff says, almost cheerily, “you shouldn’t have gotten involved. So, tell us where they are, or...” He trails off, shrugging.
Shirley steps forward and gives him another shake and scary look to punctuate Jeff’s speech, so he gulps and says with unconvincing bravado, “Whatever. I’m over this. They’re downstairs.”
Another shake, and he snaps, “Alright, alright, I’m answering the damn question, stop shaking me! If you pull the red notebook, the wall rotates and reveals a secret panic room. When I placed the fog machine outside, Chang screamed, pulled the red book, played the tape recorder, and disappeared all by himself.” He adds, “God, this is so demeaning.”
Jeff rolls his eyes. “Asshole,” he says.
Shirley drops Spreck and looks over to Troy, who shrugs.
There’s a moment of silence, where no one speaks, like no one wants to admit that they’ve solved the mystery, and all they have to do now is collect their friends, whatever fraction of Pierce’s fortune they were given, and go home. Jeff’s the one who inhales and decides to be the bad guy, the one who brings them back to reality.
“I guess that’s it,” he says, after a pause. “We did it.”
“Yeah, we did,” says Troy, and why does he feel so — sad about it? He knows he doesn’t want to be stuck in a not-actually-but-kind-of haunted house forever, but he just doesn’t want this to end. He takes in a deep breath and tries to shake off the feeling. “Come on,” he adds. “Let’s go get our girls.”
“And Craig,” Abed reminds him.
“Oh yeah,” he says. “And Craig.”
He imagines it in a cool montage before the end credits, the way Abed might. First the music plays, and then they all rush downstairs. Jeff slings Spreck over his shoulder and places him on the floor of the parlor.
There’s some difference to his montage and real life, though.
In a movie, they’d all mime surprised expressions and shock when it turns out Spreck tied up Chang (he didn’t trust Chang not to come running to them when they started figuring things out), but in real life they just untie Chang as well. In a movie, they’d all be impressed by the rotating wall, which is identical on both sides except for Pierce’s portrait, where he’s smiling on one side and frowning on the other. In real life, Troy and Abed annoy everyone by turning it over and over again.
In a movie, when they untie everyone, they celebrate and laugh. In real life, when Annie’s untied, she screeches and launches herself at Spreck to pummel him, and Abed has to scramble to grab her. Troy can tell he genuinely struggles to hold her back by his wide eyes and the way he plants his feet. Abed looks over to Britta for help, but Britta stands back and nods in approval at Annie.
Also, Craig practically faints in Jeff’s arms, which Troy wouldn’t put into a montage, but it’s fine. After some convincing and sweet talking on Jeff’s part, they’re back on their feet and reading the will.
(They all agree to continue with it, even though it’s nearing three or four in the morning at this point, and they’re all slumped over each other. No one wants to go home yet. No one’s ready to stop being Mystery, Inc.)
Troy figures the montage would continue into the will reading when it turns out the questions aren’t that mean at all. Apparently Craig just had to say that, since Pierce had planned some ghostly shenanigans before he died, and that was supposed to be the introduction. “One day we’ll see a real ghost, buddy,” Troy whispers to Abed in real life, and they do their handshake.
The only real shocker is this, the record-scratch moment that destroys Troy’s perfect montage sequence: Pierce leaves his house and wealth to the six of them if they continue to solve mysteries together.
There’s a long pause, where Troy realizes he was sad because he didn’t want to stop solving mysteries with his friends, and then realizes Pierce, as old and mean and manipulative as he was, probably missed it too. He swallows, and suddenly feels actually bad that Pierce is dead.
The whole room is silent and somber as they all appear to come to the same conclusion.
It feels kind of weird to feel anything about Pierce that isn’t annoyance or anger.
“That’s why I’m doing the will reading,” chirps Craig. “I’m actually an organizer of Greendale Investigation Co.”
That’s about when it actually clicks for everyone that Pierce just left them his house and his fortune.
“What?!” cries Annie.
“Huh?” asks Britta.
“No way,” breathes Troy.
“Christ,” says Jeff, making that the second time he’s said that in a couple hours. Not that Troy’s keeping count, or anything.
They all turn to Abed and Shirley, waiting for their reactions. Abed looks genuinely delighted, but Shirley—
Shirly just looks sad. “I can’t,” she sighs, glancing at each of them as they all deflate. “I don’t have time to solve mysteries anymore. I have kids, a diner—” She cuts off, and shakes her head. “I’m sorry, you guys. I’ve missed this just as much as you have, but unfortunately, it’s just not realistic.”
Jeff looks around the room, and shakes his head. “No,” he says.
“No?” asks Shirley.
“No. And I know this house is kind of a fixer-upper,” continues Jeff, “and that Pierce was an asshole. I know that we weren’t friends for a year and a half. But listen.”
He pauses, watching each of their excited faces turn towards him in interest. “I missed you guys, and most of us are flat broke. I mean, Pierce practically made it easy for us to do this. Shirley, there’s a guest house, if you want it; you don’t have to actually live in the same house as the rest of us. You could live there with your kids and use the money you make from selling your house for your diner. I know ends have been hard to make since you left Andre. Plus, five...okay, maybe two viable babysitters would be a five minute walk away. Troy, Abed, I’m sure bunk beds are out there somewhere calling your name. Annie, Britta, I know the two of you can’t afford a place by yourself. And if I’m being completely honest with you all, I’d rather be broke and solving mysteries with you losers than consulting. Which I can do on the side,” he adds, shrugging.
“So,” he continues, “it’s possible. We all have the means to do it. The motivation. But how do we know we’ll get along?”
There’s murmurs between them. Troy looks over to Abed, who’s lifted his hand to do calculations mid-air and is considering, and then he shakes his head.
“That’s right,” says Jeff. “We don’t. But we can try. We have had so many arguments, but we always end up here, with me giving you all a speech and you all agreeing to keep trying. That’s what family is.” He glances over to Abed, who gives him a thumbs up. “It’s just a repeated effort.” He smiles. “And I’m willing to make that effort.”
“How do we know we’ll keep making that effort?” asks Annie, quiet.
Jeff shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess we apologize for what happened when we didn’t. Watch: I’m sorry I left Mystery, Inc. after a bad run-in with my dad.”
There’s a moment of silence as they all look around at each other. The lightbulbs are still flickering, the parlor is still dusty, it’s still cold because of the broken window, and the sun might be rising in the sky, but it’s hard to tell. Something settles, though, between them; as they hear Jeff apologize, they begin to nod and smile.
“I’m sorry I got so mean,” says Britta, standing up and smiling over at Jeff. “I was just stressed about money. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you guys.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you guys,” adds Troy as he stands with Britta. “I was so worried about being a good, manly leader I forgot the best way to lead: take care of your friends.”
“I’m sorry I was so controlling,” continues Annie, moving to take Troy and Britta’s hands. “I got too caught up in my family falling apart that I didn’t pay enough attention to each of you.”
“I’m sorry I was also so mean,” says Shirley, and Troy grabs her hand. “My relationship with Andre was ending for a second time and I wrongly blamed you all.”
“And I’m sorry I was so manipulative,” finishes Abed. “I just wanted us to stay together.”
“See?” says Jeff, once they’ve all finished apologizing. “We can live together. Even I’ll live with you losers, if you want me to; I know I haven’t been a great friend as of late. But I’m willing to try, and we can all be a family again. It just takes some effort.”
They all aww and move in to hug one another, giggling as they do so. Craig wipes a tear from their eye. They stay like that for long enough that this is where a movie would end, with the song playing in the distance. Troy looks over to Abed and can tell he’s thinking it, too.
But real life keeps going. After the hug and right as everyone’s figuring out if it’s safe to drive home or if they should figure out a way to crash in the mansion, Jeff pulls Troy out into the hallway to talk to him. “I don’t know, man,” Troy tells him as they walk out. “I’m worried Shirley’s right and the sheets will be too dusty.”
“I don’t care about that,” Jeff says. “We’ll figure it out. I just wanted to…” He swallows, shifts in place. “I wanted to apologize for my joke earlier.”
“Oh,” says Troy, shrugging. “It’s already forgotten. I know you’re just like that.”
“No, I mean,” Jeff sighs, hard, and crosses his arms. A second late, he uncrosses them. “There’s nothing wrong with being gay, you know? And it doesn’t make you any less ‘manly’ or whatever. I’m projecting my own insecurities onto you and Abed and that’s not fair, so I owe you an apology.”
Troy opens his mouth, but Jeff holds up his hand. “Look. Pierce was miserable and horrible because he refused to accept that his actions hurt when he didn’t mean them to; he always thought his jokes were harmless.” Jeff swallows again. “I think that tonight has taught me that not being Pierce is about continuous, repeated effort. Mean jokes aren’t just jokes, I guess.”
“Jeff,” Troy tells him seriously, “you aren’t ever going to be Pierce.”
“Thanks,” Jeff replies dryly.
Troy smiles, says, “cool,” and gives him a thumbs up, “I’m gonna go figure out where we’re gonna crash tonight now,” he adds, and walks back into the parlor.
Jeff stares at the space where Troy was for a couple seconds and mutters, “The Pierce thing was not the point,” like he didn’t actually really need to hear that. He exhales and leans against the wall, his head hitting the wooden paneling with a thunk. “Christ,” he says to himself, “I really Britta’d that apology.”
Right on fucking cue, Britta pokes her head out of the parlor and into the hallway. “Are you still using my name to mean ‘a small mistake’?” she asks. She frowns at him, and then sighs. “You know what, it’s fine. I know you guys don’t mean it. Anyways. Come back in, Jeff, we’re voting and we don’t want to start without you, which is typical, since you’re always late.” She rolls her eyes at him. “Just because you’re a man doesn’t mean you can’t always make us late.”
“Shut up, Britta,” says Jeff, but weirdly, it makes him feel better to hear her say that. It’s just that it’s so normal of her, a reminder that she loves him even though he’s a predictable asshole who insults her at every chance she gets.
Family is a repeated effort, he reminds himself. A repeated effort to be better.
Maybe he’ll stop using her name and start using ‘fucked up’ again.
They discover that the locked rooms aren’t actually so dusty, like Pierce had them cleaned before the will-reading. They’re decorated, too, in just the way that each of them would like: Annie has a reading nook with a window and lots of florals; Britta has a bong on her bookshelf; Jeff has a walk-in closet; Abed has a bunch of first-edition film posters that should have cost a fortune; Shirley’s is filled with Christian memorabilia; and Troy’s room is almost exactly the same as it was when he lived with Pierce.
It’s kind of a shock, that Pierce had rooms made up and cleaned and decorated for each of them.
“I can’t tell whether or not I should be grateful or weirded out or mad knowing he wanted to torture us first,” Annie says, cocking her head.
“Yeah,” says Troy, but he falls asleep in his room anyway.
He must sleep pretty soundly, because next thing he knows there’s sunlight shining in through the curtains and Abed is knocking on his door. He slept in the room next to Troy’s. “Sesame Street is on soon and Pierce’s TV surprisingly works,” he says, opening it before Troy can say anything. Troy blinks at him; Abed’s hair is a mess as he wipes the sleep from his eyes. Troy stretches and tugs on his pyjama shirt.
“Bert and Ernie?” he asks, drowsily. He must have slept pretty late, if Sesame Street is on.
Abed nods.
“Hmm,” says Troy, and kicks off his blankets. “But I’m sleepy.”
“I know,” says Abed, looking down at him. “But I thought you said we should watch it together.”
“We should,” mumbles Troy into his pillow. “But—”
“You’re sleepy,” Abed says for him, fondly. He moves over to sit next to Troy and onto the bed. “You should get up, though. When you’re awake you’ll be disappointed that sleepy Troy made you miss out on Sesame Street.” He tries to tug on Troy’s arm, but Troy flops down onto the mattress and groans.
“Five more minutes?” asks Troy.
Abed pauses, as if considering. “Sure,” he says, eventually. “Five more minutes.”
“Cuddle?” he mumbles.
Abed sighs, and moves into bed with Troy. Troy immediately curls up into Abed’s chest with a happy noise; they haven’t done this in forever and Troy totally forgot how awesome it was. “Cool,” says Troy, beginning to drift off already. Abed’s just so comfortable. “I love you.”
Abed freezes at that. He looks down at Troy; Troy looks up and blinks innocently at him. Abed’s face is the record-scratch face, the I-trust-my-memory-but-did-that-really-just-happen face. Troy doesn’t even realize why Abed’s looking at him like that until he rewinds and realizes — Oh.
He just told Abed he loves him.
He jolts up, suddenly awake. “Abed,” he says, “I, uh—”
“You love me?” Abed’s voice is quiet, and—afraid?
Troy peers closer at Abed, and oh. Abed’s not just afraid, he’s terrified. Troy can tell because Abed’s got real robot face on, the kind of expression he wears when he doesn’t know how to react to anything. The kind of expression Abed wears when something truly unexpected happens on the rare occasion Troy genuinely surprises him.
Troy relaxes and shrugs. “Yeah, man,” he says softly. “You’re the coolest person I know.”
“But you’re—” Abed frowns, holding up his pointer finger. Troy’s never seen Abed at a loss for words before. “You’re mad about not living with me.”
“We’re living together now,” he points out. “Also, I realized that Annie really needed some semblance of family and support. I shouldn’t have taken it so seriously.”
Abed blinks. “But I wasn’t nice to you.”
“You’re being nice now,” says Troy.
“Oh. But—” Here he pauses, and then says, in a monotone, “There isn’t anyone on TV like us.” That, Troy knows, is but I didn’t think it was ever possible—people like us don’t get that kind of happy ending in Abed.
Troy considers this for a moment. “Bert and Ernie,” he suggests.
“But they’re not in love.”
“You don’t know that,” says Troy, and knocks Abed with his shoulder.
Abed smiles at that. He thinks for a little while, and Troy lies back down to place his head on Abed’s chest, kicking the blanket down to his feet so he doesn’t get too warm. “Queer coding,” Abed mutters, mostly to himself, and Troy hums. “You’re right. I should have thought about queer coding.”
“What’re we coating?” asks Troy, drawing his eyebrows together, but Abed shakes his head.
“Queer coding is when a character or characters are portrayed as LGBT through stereotypes or subtext,” explains Abed, and Troy noda against Abed’s chest. He’s always liked how Abed explains these things to him: clearly, but not dumbing anything down. “Maybe Bert and Ernie are queer coded; when we watch it, I’ll let you know what I think.”
“Okay,” says Troy, thoughtfully. “So I should get up then.”
“Yeah,” says Abed. “Also, Annie is making pancakes, even though it’s 2 P.M.”
"Awesome," breathes Troy, brightening up at the thought of pancake. He catches Abed watching him smile and pauses.
Abed tilts his head and says, “I didn’t consider this possibility.”
“What possibility? Pancakes?”
“The possibility where you love me back,” Abed replies, but his voice isn’t so certain and he looks—stressed, maybe? It’s hard to tell, especially since Troy is looking up at him at a kind of weird angle. Troy sits up, and so does Abed, but Abed does it more absentmindedly, the way he mirrors people’s behavior when he’s too busy thinking to deal with coming up with his own body language. “I thought I wasn’t going to get a happy ending,” he says, mostly to himself.
Troy frowns over at him. “I don’t think there’s a possibility where I don’t love you,” he admits.
Abed’s eyes refocus on Troy as he’s drawn back into the present. He pauses, just for a moment, like he’s memorizing the scene and replaying it through different camera angles, and then he leans in to give him a kiss.
November, 1969. Twenty minutes outside Coolsville, Ohio.
Jeff knocks gently on the door to Abed’s room. He’s nervous, Christ. Jeff Winger has never been this nervous about giving a gift to a friend. Then again, it’s taken thirty-odd years for Jeff Winger to get real friends, so maybe it’s just the unfamiliarity that makes him so skittish.
“Come in,” calls Abed from the inside of his room, and Jeff slowly opens the door.
“So,” he begins, without really looking at Abed, because he’ll lose his nerve if he does. He glances over, though, sees Abed sitting up on his bed beside a tangle of sheets and blankets and then shifts his gaze to the window. “I thought about that conversation we had, when we were setting up a trap for Stephen. About how you, uh, there aren’t pieces of media there that reflect you and Troy, so I, uh.”
He swallows. “I talked to Mariah, and I bought you some comics.” He holds them out awkwardly, mechanically. “They’re about this family of trolls...it’s called Moomin, or something, I don’t know. The main character is Moomintroll. And he has this best friend who leaves every winter while Moomintroll hibernates, and comes back in the Spring. And they’re both guys. And they love each other.” He coughs into his hand, mostly to hide his creeping blush. “And, uh, there’s a lot of subtext to indicate they’re in love, not just, like. Good friends.”
“Huh,” says Abed, getting off his bed and approaching Jeff. “Troy suggested Bert and Ernie.” He takes the comics and flips through them. “Thanks. I know being vulnerable is hard for you.”
“I, uh. I wanted to prove to you that this is something you can change,” says Jeff. “I think you should tell him.”
“Tell me what?” says the mass of blankets, moving slightly and sitting up. It’s Troy.
Jeff freezes. And then—
“What the hell, Abed?!” shouts Jeff, pointing at Troy, who blinks sleepily at Jeff. He rubs at his eyes, like he’s been napping in Abed’s bed, and then he waves.
Jeff glares at Abed, heat rising in his cheeks. Yup, he’s definitely blushing now. Christ. “You should have told me that he was here!”
“I thought you saw him. It’s not like he was hiding. Plus, I didn’t know what you were going to say,” he replies, neutrally.
Jeff is silent for a moment. Technically, this is his fault. He should have looked closer at Abed’s bed. He should have—
“Also,” continues Abed, “I told him a couple weeks ago. Or, more specifically, he confessed to me and then I confessed to him. Actually, it was a little more complicated than that, but your face is making an expression I can’t figure out. So, unless you care about the order—which I suspect you don’t—my point is: we’re dating.”
“Yeah, man,” says Troy, and gives him some bleary-eyed thumbs up. Abed moves over to the bed so they can do their handshake. “Thanks for that speech that other night, too.”
“What,” says Jeff.
“I’m glad you’re cool with it, though,” says Abed. “We were kind of nervous about telling the group. Annie’s already figured it out, naturally. And so has Shirley, but she just said, ‘Oh, that’s nice’ when she did figure it out, so we don’t think it’s a big deal. I don’t think Britta has yet, despite increasingly obvious hints. “
“What.”
“Thanks for the comics,” says Abed, instead of clarifying.
“Yeah,” agrees Troy. Then he turns his attention to Abed and it’s almost like Jeff isn’t there; Troy looks at Abed like Abed personally coordinated the moon landing. How Britta hasn’t figured it out yet, Jeff’s not sure. How Abed didn’t figure it out— “Abed,” says Troy, “am I Moomintroll or Snufkin?”
Abed cocks his head, and grabs the comics, which Jeff realizes he’s still holding out, comically frozen in place. He relaxes and tries to look normal.
“Let’s find out,” Abed says to Troy as he walks back to the bed. They do their handshake again. He looks at Jeff, just for a moment, and nods—a kind of thank you, Jeff assumes—and then he crawls over the cover to sit next to Troy. They open the comic book and sit shoulder-to-shoulder as they read. Troy leans gently into Abed, his hand snaking around Abed’s waist. Abed relaxes into it, only moving to turn the page.
Jeff suddenly gets the overwhelming feeling he’s intruding, so he turns to go.
“Hey, Jeff?”
He pauses, and glances over at Abed, who’s looked up again to inspect Jeff with his calculating eyes. “Yeah?”
“You’re a good friend. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” says Jeff, smiling a bit, and shuts Abed’s door.