Chapter Text
“If things were different… Would you wanna go to homecoming with me?”
“I’d like that, Pete…” Steph wipes her eyes, “I’d really like that…”
“Cool…” She can hear Peter sniffle. “I’m ready…”
She raises the gun to aim at the back of his head across the room. God, she doesn’t want to do this. She’d give anything to have the thing she cherishes most in that moment be anything- anyone- but Peter Spankoffski. She barely registers the quiet begging from Pete to ‘please just do it’. She bites back a sob and fires the bullet.
Stephanie Lauter jumps awake with the sound of the gun in her dream. As soon as she tells herself it’s just a nightmare, she corrects herself that she really did that . Peter Spankoffski is dead . And she killed him. Stephanie Lauter had killed the love of her life three days ago. The one person who understood her- really understood her . Pete saw the good and the bad that nobody else could see. He saw she’s smart, she’s struggling, she’s more than the mayor’s daughter. She’s his Steph, he loved her more than the stars, she’s his stars.
She’d remain his stars, even if he was gone.
Even if it was her fault.
School was difficult the past three days. Steph found herself facing difficulty in her classes once again, and it was worse now that the people who helped her understand everything were all gone. Well… She understood it all a little better, now that she wasn’t utterly convinced that she was the biggest dumbass in the world, but every time she didn’t really get it, her first thought was to turn to her nerds… Whose chairs were all empty. She had a free period with Reese and her friend anyways- maybe if she begged enough, they’d help her with it. Not that they would have explained it better than Pete could have. They were friendly with her nerds, she’s pretty sure, so she should probably give them her condolences anyways.
And it’s not like she could go to Grace. She was the one who really dug this hole, now that she tries to not blame herself. Grace and her discussed the whole thing with Officer Shapiro, who had survived the car crash. Grace stumbled in soon after Pete’s death, finding Stephanie sobbing, desparately muttering apologies under her unstable gasps of breath and holding Peter’s lifeless hand. She called Shapiro three times in a row, who picked up on the third. After a while, the cop showed up and found the dead body with the two girls. They explained everything… And Shapiro contacted a “General MacNamara” who would help ‘cover this up’. Grace keeps trying to talk to her- invite her to church where she could “ensure Pete, Ruth, Richie, and Solomon are remembered and embraced by God.” Steph almost choked her out. If Grace didn’t butt her nose into their business, Max would have never died and neither would anyone else have.
Her friends stopped talking to her too. Steph was dragging her feet, her makeup was in streaks down her face by third period, and anytime they tried to mention her desolate temperament, she’d either break into full-body sobs or go catatonic. So… There went Brenda and Stacy. If she finds herself desperate enough, she’d see if Lex would pick up the phone. Things didn’t really end well with their friendship, but maybe it could be water under the bridge- she could always use someone to spend time with Hannah, after all.
So here she was on Friday morning. This time last week, her biggest concern was what she got on her test- a C+ that Pete was proud of her for. A fucking C+. All that work and she couldn’t even give him better than that?
Friday was worse than the past two days. She had three tests and tried to use all of the studying methods she had learned from Petey, Ruth, and Richie, but anytime she remembered how they studied, she remembered how they behaved and how they laughed when making a reference she didn’t quite understand. She remembered how Ruth was always utterly captivated with her and every now and then wanted to ask her for advice on getting people to notice her. Richie compiled a list of anime shows and movies that he thought she’d enjoy. Pete’s eyes shined every time she understood the assignment and he practically vibrated with excitement that she finally got it. ‘With thanks to you’, she added every time, which he followed up invariably with ‘You knew what to do; you just need to ignore your doubt!’
Steph tried to study, she really did, but ended up just listening to spotify and crying over the three nerds. She got two low D’s and an F. Her teachers offered her retakes- she recently had five people close to her die and must be going through a lot- but she’d have to come on Sunday to take them. She already wasn’t going to the Homecoming dance, might as well study all evening, if she could manage it.
Three questions deep into studying Saturday night from the long list of questions Peter had given her for each test that they were meant to go over on Thursday.
He had been dead for almost four days.
The doubt she felt began to set in harder and harder as she struggled with the calculus question. Peter’s advice seemed to sink into her mind.
“27, not 9.”
She had blanked, completely forgetting how exponents worked, before the memory of Peter gently correcting her brought her back to reality and she quickly erased the number and wrote down the proper one. She finished the question with less struggle than before and when she ended with an answer of ‘3x+16’, she felt a sudden wash of relief and excitement.
“Yes!! There’ya go!” Pete’s voice rang through her head again. “See, Steph, you get it!”
Steph huffed out a laugh, breathing out and talking to her own memories. “With thanks to you…” She said, teary-eyed. “Never coulda done it without you…”
“Nonsense, Steph, you’re doing great! At this rate, we can still make it to the dance!!”
She blinked in shock, her eyes starting to water and her lungs suddenly lacking air. “What the fuck?” She whispered aloud. The words had sounded too real , too accurate with Pete’s slightly nasally voice that it sounded exactly like how he’d say such a thing, but Steph had never heard him say that in her life. She looked around her room from her desk frantically, as if he had somehow survived and was in her home even though she watched his blood seep onto her hands .
Dark green curtains on the windows, clothes on the floor, posters and wall art and paintings on the walls, fake vines surrounding the door, the ghost of Peter Spankoffski sitting on her bed with a notebook and pencil, the pile of makeup by her standing mirror- wait huh?
Steph did a double take back to her bedding and screamed at the top of her lungs as she stood from her chair, surprising the apparition that it fell through the bed.
“Steph, what the hell?! I could have had a heart attack! Why would you scream at me like that!?”
It sounded just like him. It looked just like him, aside from being sort of translucent and sparkly with slightly sunken-in cheeks, kind of like Max was.
“P-Petey??”
“Yeah, Steph, it’s me!” He beamed brightly. “Er, not me- me but… Me!”
“But you’re dead!”
“This is Hatchetfield!” He gestured around himself incredulously. “People come back from the dead all the time!!”
Steph pinches herself up and down her arms. “Wake up, wake up, wake up .” She mutters desperately. This has to be another nightmare. A sick, twisted nightmare. Pete glows blue momentarily and frowns, reaching out slightly.
“Hey, hey, hey, stop that!!” He says quickly. “Steph, you’re not dreaming! I’m really here, I promise!”
Steph stops, but holds herself at a distance. “I don’t believe this… You’re not Peter.”
“I am, Steph!! I’m Peter Spankoffski. Look into my eyes- Stephanie, look at me!” His hands are placed on her shoulders and it’s a pressure that’s barely there and it’s cold . She shivers and feels compelled to listen. “I told you I never wanted you anyway, Steph. I was lying . I have unfinished business and I think it’s you. I could never want anything- anyone - more than you.”
She looked the spirit up and down one more time and collapsed into her seat, sobbing into her hands.
“God I’ve fucking missed you…” She cried to him. “I’m so sorry, Pete, I’m so fucking sorry !”
Steph felt Pete caress her hair, the dull, cold sensation being nothing but a reminder that even if he’s here, he’s not here . Peter shushed her gently, whispering quiet affirmations and placating sweet-nothings.
“It’s okay. I’m here, Steph… It’s okay. It’ll all be okay, Sweetheart. I’m here…”
Her eyes were closed, desperately clutching his cold hands in hers. It barely felt like she was holding anything though there was a light weight and firmness to his form. She pressed kisses to his knuckles that glowed slightly under her touch.
Peter’s ghost looked down at Stephanie. He glowed green and a smirk shined through before Steph looked back up at him, her eyes sparkling with both mirth and tears, enraptured by her lost love coming back to her. Peter smiled back at her.
“I missed you too, Sweetheart.”