Chapter Text
CHAPTER 1: A Rose Returning
The car pulls along into an all-too-familiar pathway, except this time it’s covered in snow. He didn’t expect the memories to start flooding back so soon.
“Omigod David. You didn’t tell me how cute this is. It’s, like, out of a storybook!” Alexis would be clapping her hands if she didn’t need them both on the steering wheel.
“Mhm,” David mimics her tone. It may be picturesque, but all he wants to do is cry. He didn’t think he’d ever come back here.
The car pulls into the parking lot, which has yet to be graced by the notorious yellow school bus. At least this time around David Rose is early. (He has to be — Alexis needs to turn the car around to get to the public school on time.) (And he wasn’t ready to go back to Elmdale High just yet.)
“Look at this!” The car stops. “David, you little wilderness explorer! You didn’t tell me this is where you went to school!”
“Um. Alexis. I FaceTimed you from this parking lot several times!”
“Yeah but it was never in the winter, silly!” She boops him on the nose.
She has a point there. When David was last here, it was fall semester, so Alexis saw more orange leaves than snow. He’s impressed she remembers as much. There’s a tap on David’s window. He jumps. A very smiley face with blonde hair sticking out of a toque leans down towards the glass.
Is that?
David rolls his window down halfway, weary of the cold breeze that will inevitably drift in.
“David! Hey bud! Didn’t know you were coming back to Schitt’s Creek!” Ted grins from ear to ear. David opens his mouth to respond, but he’s stopped by Alexis reaching across the driver’s seat.
“Hi, I’m Alexis,” she offers Ted a dainty hand. “I’m David's sister and spiritual guide.” Ted smiles, readily taking her fingers in his palm.
“Nice to meet you. Which program are you in this semester?”
“Oh I’m not enrolled here. Ew. I’m just dropping off David before first period at Elmdale High.”
“Cool,” Ted smiles and nods, clearly taken by her. (As David assumed everyone would be.) (Which is exactly why he wanted the car this morning.) (Or maybe it just comes down to avoiding the school bus.)
“Alexis, if you’ll excuse us, Ted and I have school to get to.” David grabs his backpack from the back seat. Ted is still leaning into the car window, explaining that he lives down the street from campus, so he just walks to the outdoor education centre every morning. He also tells her that he’s on Elmdale High’s swim team, and Alexis eats it up. She starts talking about the intro to business class she’s “like, totally excited for!” while David climbs out of the car.
“K, thanks so much.” David almost slams the door on her. Alexis pouts, clearly wishing that she could keep talking Ted’s ear off.
It’s only a short walk with Ted over to that classic wooden archway. It feels like coming home. (Almost.) There are too many memories here, memories he’s oscillated between trying to forget and desperately replaying when things have gotten dark. It’s been too long, but also not long enough.
Out of the archway come two figures through the falling snow, wrapped snugly in winter coats.
“David!”, a very excited (as always) Ray runs up to them. Ronnie stays behind, keeping her joy much more subdued.
“I’m so happy you’re back! I can’t wait to hear about everything you’ve learned from your fancy New York art school. Have you brought your portfolio with you?” Ray’s fingers dance. It was Ray’s phone call that had pushed David’s transfer credits to the top of the list. The latter half of his first Schitt’s Creek Outdoor School stint was spent with him, fine tuning his more complex pieces. (The other part of outdoor school was painful to think about.)
David smiles humbly and bobs his head. He’s certainly felt himself improve since going back to New York, but there’s something missing from his art. Ronnie saves him from having to speak as she finally catches up to Ray.
“Morning David, Ted.” Her voice is gravelly, but the thermos of coffee she’s holding and the fact that she’s seeing a familiar face makes her eyes kind. “Ray and I were just coming out to wait for the school bus. David, you wanna head inside and get the fire started?”
“Sure,” David whispers gratefully. He thought he had dressed warmly enough for today, but living in a big city for an extended amount of time makes a person forget how to dress for the weather. (He can’t believe he’s criticizing himself for something that would normally be coming out of Roland’s mouth.)
David readjusts his backpack, heading through the archway and down the path to the main cabin.
Nothing has changed, but everything has changed. For one, they’re in the peak of winter, so the garden boxes have been covered with a greenhouse structure. The whole camp is covered in a thick, untouched blanket of snow, but everything is somehow more dull. The sky is overcast, and the forest leading towards the pond is completely silent. It’s missing a certain something.
A certain someone .
***
Patrick sighs, head resting against the frosted bus window, hand wrapping around his mason jar of steaming earl grey.
“If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you look like a wife waiting for her husband to come home from the war,” Rachel says, sliding in beside him. She throws her backpack at her feet and places her cloth bag of snow gear in her lap.
Patrick sneers.
“Morning Rach,” he mutters.
Rachel lifts her eyebrows, taking in Patrick’s sullen form. This is not typical Patrick Brewer behaviour. In fact, he’s had a countdown to outdoor school in his meticulous planner all semester. (As would anyone who had to take law, calculus, and finance courses at the same time.) To say he had been itching to get back to a semester of outdoor school would be an understatement.
Patrick has dark, purplish circles under his eyes, and he certainly looks more pale than normal. It had started last week, when Rachel sent him the New York Times article about that family. A think piece on a certain soap star’s reaction to Sunrise Bay’s cancellation. Right after the Interflix business manager’s tax scandal. Rachel’s message was just an article link with a text underneath. All it read was, “guess he might be coming back.” Patrick didn’t have to read the article to know what she was getting at.
Rachel tries to find the right words for Patrick, but it’s proving difficult. She opens her mouth, then closes it. Luckily, she’s saved by Twyla and Stevie boarding the bus.
“Good morning,” Twyla practically sings. Her cheeks are rosy from walking to Elmdale High in the snow, the hand-knit headband she’s wearing pushing back her high pony. (Rachel’s matching one is in her snow gear bag.) She smiles, leaning down to kiss Rachel’s cheek, and runs a hand through her newly chopped hair. (It’s been almost two years since they got together, and Rachel is a big fan.) Twyla grabs a seat in front of them.
Stevie comes up behind her with a trademark large double double. (She used to take her coffee black, like her soul, but a certain friend had introduced her to a higher sugar content.) She’s wearing sunglasses, even though the sky is covered in clouds.
“I got a two-page email from Ray last night with an in-depth explanation about what art supplies he wanted me to bring. I think he’s still in denial about me being in Ronnie’s section.”
Rachel frowns at that. “I didn’t know you switched.”
“Yeah, I gotta get those business credits if I want to take over the family motel someday.” Stevie takes a long pull of her coffee, depositing herself in the seat next to Twyla. Twyla smiles sadly back at Rachel before sharing the ways that Ronnie’s classes are more helpful for her job at the cafe. Rachel already knows this, but she’s still pouty about it.
“So I’m going to be all by myself in the art section, huh?”
Stevie pulls her sunglasses back on her head, lips in a straight, thin line. “Actually, you will have a familiar face with you.” Her eyes dart over to Patrick, and the girls grow quiet.
Up until now, Patrick has been peacefully ignoring their conversation, staring out the window into the snowy abyss. The silence is palpable, and it’s becoming awkward. He slowly slides his gaze toward his friends, who look back, sad and sympathetic.
“What?” His eyebrows knit together. He takes a sip of tea.
Stevie mouths the two syllables he hasn’t been able to say aloud.
David.
Just then, the bus starts to roar to life. He coughs and sputters, earl grey stuck in his windpipe.
“What?” This time Patrick barely makes it above a whisper, eyes wide.
From the front of the bus, Bob the Bus Driver yells something about it being El DeBarge’s half birthday, cranking Rhythm of the Night.
Patrick Brewer is fucked.