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They’re adjusting to the new world, slowly but surely. The most dramatic of the changes had luckily been contained to Crystal Cove. But it’s the little things that wear them down.
Daphne catches Fred staring at his driver’s license, brow furrowed in frustration. It’s not the first time she’s seen him hunched over the plastic card, glaring at it, like it was offensive to him, somehow. She had dismissed it as just one of his quirks, at first. Now, it was starting to concern her.
“Freddie?” she asks hesitantly.
He jerks his head up (all of them startle easy, these days) “Hey Daph,”
She sits down next to him, one arm slung over his shoulder, lazily rubbing circles into the stressed muscles of his back. He sighs, lets his eyes close and head sag, relaxing. Then she feels him tense up again and she knows the cause.
“Do you think they’d mind if I changed my name?” he asks
“Um, do I think who would mind, exactly?”
“Brad and Julie,” he never called them ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’, only to their face. Even then, Daphne can see the strain in his face as he says it. Like he’s speaking a different language he hasn’t quite grasped yet.
Daphne’s about to ask why he’d want to change his name, but instead, she takes a look at his driver’s license.
Fred Chiles. Not Jones.
“Oh,” she breathes out. Another painful reminder they aren’t supposed to be here. They’re frauds; imposters living lives that aren’t theirs. She pulls him closer, pressing their bodies together.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers into his ear.
“Me too,” he says in a hollow voice. And it’s something about that tone that makes Daphne violently furious. It makes Daphne want to burn down everything in this horrible, too perfect universe. And she would too, with zero hesitance, if meant she’d never hear Fred speak like that again.
They’re in a hotel, in different rooms, miles away from home and miles away to go. Shaggy’s getting a midnight snack for him and Scooby when he hears it. Velma. Specifically, Velma in an argument with someone. He can tell by the passive aggressive snippiness in her voice, a tone he’s heard many, many times before. Despite himself, he leans his ear against her door.
“-when you can admit that you’re wrong for once, you can call me back!” is all he catches before he hears a harsh smack, plastic hitting plastic. He winces. Part of him wants to pretend he didn’t hear any of this and just get some sandwiches, the cowardly part of him. Shaggy steels himself and knocks on the door.
“What?” a vicious voice replies.
He pops his head in, “Hi V,”
After a few moments, he realises the withering glare is the only response he’s gonna get.
“You, uh, okay?”
“I’m fine! I’m perfectly fine! Do I sound not-fine, Rogers?”
A beat, “Like, I think you know the answer to that one,”
She sighs and softens, shifting on the bed so he can sit next to her.
“What’s up?” he asks, although he already has a pretty good idea.
Velma groans, “People are such stuck up, know-it-alls and it gets on my freaking nerves!”
If Shaggy was like Velma, he might make a snarky comment on that. Luckily for her, he’s not.
“Is this about Marcie?”
Her eyes awkwardly avoid his, “When is it not?”
That was the unfortunate truth of it all. In this perfect, shiny new universe, Velma had gotten something she had always wanted: A good relationship. Marcie is perfect for her in every way. Their relationship started perfect, it was going perfect. Everything was so utterly perfect, except Velma. Like usual, Velma was ruining everything by being...herself.
“So, what did she, like, do?”
“She just...refuses to accept the fact that she’s wrong! Just this once!” she throws her hands up in exhaustion.
“Like, wrong about what?”
“Pi! Pi of all things!”
Shaggy takes a moment to wonder what kind of pie is ‘wrong’ because in his mind there is no such thing before he realises she’s probably talking about the math pi and not the edible kind.
She continues, “Marcie is insisting that the fifteenth decimal of Pi is four when it’s three! I know it’s three! She can’t accept that she’s wrong!” Her fist pounds on her laptop.
“Can’t you, like, look it up?” he says.
She scowls, “I don’t have to look it up, I can recite pi to thirty places in my head!”
“I know, I know,” he puts his hands up defensively “Just, like, humour me? Please?”
Reluctantly, she opens her laptop and does what he says. She doesn’t even read the website before shoving the laptop at him. He squints, trying to count the long string of numbers.
“Oh my god,” Velma snaps. She points to the number, “It’s there,”
“The four?”
“No!” she pulls the laptop towards her again, “It’s three…” her voice dies in her throat as she counts. Then recounts. Then searches different websites.
“Velma…”
“They all say four, why do they all say four?” her voice rises out of panic and she’s vaguely aware of the funny way she’s breathing.
“Velma, it’s, like, fine-”
“No, it’s not! It’s three! The right answer is three!” No matter how many deep breaths she takes in, she can’t get enough air, “I’m not-I’m not wrong! I’m not crazy!”
“Vee!” Shaggy seizes her by the shoulders, “I believe you! It’s the universe.”
That makes sense, logically. It should calm her down, she’s not crazy, it’s just the universe. It doesn’t though.
“W-why?!” she exclaims through ragged breaths.
“I don't-I don’t know man,”
Slowly, she feels her breathing return to normal. Now the panic is gone, she just feels guilty, which isn’t any better. She takes off her glasses, rubbing her face, irritated and tired.
“I hate this universe,” she moans. “Nothing is right,”
“It’s, like, worse, everything is right,” Shaggy says, sarcastic and bitter.
Velma pauses. She adds that comment to the mental list of things that make her suspicious. Suspicious of this universe. Suspicious of what really happened with the Evil Entity. The list includes subtle things, like the way Shaggy is sometimes sarcastic, the way Fred is just a little less oblivious, the way Daphne is a bit more invested in their ‘girl time’. Small changes, that could just be the result of natural human change. Or the result of an artificial perfect universe. Velma would never admit it, but sometimes she wonders if her friends are really ‘real’ or if they’re another part of this 'perfect' universe. Another puppet in this nightmarish theatre show. Most times, she can believe they’re really her friends, the ones from before, the ones she's known for so long. Most times.
She pulls Shaggy in a strong hug, burying her face in his chest, trying to rid herself of every horrible thought that plagues her mind.
Daphne’s always been fussy. Particular. Particular about hair and clothes and attitude. Recently she’s just been fussier than usual, teetering on the edge of overbearing.
When Fred tries to buy new jeans, she complains about every pair he picks out. “The blue isn’t right!” is the best explanation he can get out of her. It isn’t just with him though. She complains about Shaggy’s green t-shirts and Velma’s red hair bows. Always something wrong with the colour.
Daphne always wears the same scarf. She has more, probably more than necessary, but she always wears the same one. Meticulously cleaning it by hand, air-drying it, caring for it like a child. Fred catches her one time, over the sink, bare hands massaging the silk.
“Hey Daph, why do you always wear that scarf?” he asks, as casually as he can.
“Oh, uh, it’s my favourite one, so…” she trails off, uncertain.
“Do you not like your other ones?” he frowns, “We can buy you some new ones, if you like,”
She smiles, staring at him with tired eyes. “It’s okay, Fred,”
“Are you sure?” he cocks his head, clearly still concerned.
She sighs, “Do you ever notice how bright everything is now?”
“Uh,” No, he hadn’t noticed that, and one look on his face confirms it.
“Everything is just…” she gestures, trying to find the right words, “Too bright,”
Something seems to click into place for him, “Like the clothes?”
Daphne freezes before nodding. “Nothing’s the right colour,”
“What about that one?” He points to the scarf.
“It’s the one I was wearing before, y’know,” he does, unfortunately, “It’s the only one that’s the right shade of green, the others...they’re too neon, they don’t match,”
Fred really wishes he knew what to say.
“I’m sorry, it’s stupid, I know,” her voice is shaky.
He runs over to her, cupping her face in his hands, “No! No, it’s not, I get it,” Daphne sniffs and blinks hard, trying to get rid of the tears that prick her eyes.
“I wish I could fix it, Daph,”
Like opening the floodgates, she bursts into tears. And all Fred can do is hold her, while she sobs into his shirt. He glances around the room, squinting. Everything seems so much brighter than it did before.
There is something seriously wrong with Shaggy and Scooby. They’re at an apartment, just for a week before they move again. It’s nicer than what they’re used to, good quality beds, hot showers and a whole kitchen to themselves. Shaggy and Scooby were particularly excited about that, gushing over all the delicious, Michelin Star approved meals they were going to make.
So when Velma sees them, poking at half finished ham and cheese sandwiches, she wonders if the Apocalypse is happening. Again.
“Are you two okay?” she asks, waiting for her coffee to prepare.
“Huh? Yeah, we’re fine,” Shaggy says, eyes still fixated on the plate in front of him.
“Fantastic,” Scooby grunts out, head resting on the table sadly.
She sighs heavily, “No you aren’t. I’ve never seen you guys leave food, ever.”
“That’s not true,” Scooby says indignantly.
“Scooby, I once witnessed you finish a plate of two week old mac and cheese that you found in the dumpster,”
He seems to smile at this memory, tongue lolling out “It was good mac and cheese,”
“I’m sure,” she pours out her coffee and takes a seat at their table, “What’s up?”
Shaggy picks up one of the sandwiches, examining it, “Everything tastes, like, different,”
“Is it bad?” Velma wonders if they’ve accidentally used out of date cheese again.
“No just…”
“Different,” Scooby finishes. “To before,”
Velma’s eyes widen, suddenly realising what this is about. “Right,”
Shaggy shakes his head “It’s, like, whatever man we’ll get used to it,”
“How about I make you some eggs?” Velma says, before she can stop herself.
They both give her a look. Velma has many skills- absolutely none of them are cooking.
“I just mean, my cooking skills are terrible, and the food’s different, so maybe it will even itself out and taste okay? Does that makes sense?”
It doesn’t, but Shaggy and Scooby are pretty hungry, so they agree anyway.
She serves them a plate of scrambled eggs and gives a silent thanks to whatever deity there is that she didn’t burn down the whole kitchen. Predictably, the eggs are terrible. Bland, chunky and overcooked. Everything scrambled eggs shouldn’t be. But they taste like Velma’s eggs. They taste exactly how they’re supposed to. As far as Shaggy and Scooby are concerned, it’s the best plate of scrambled eggs they’ve ever had.