Work Text:
Steph and Peter know they’re out of time. They’re on the roof of Hatchetfield High, the door blocked by the chairs they brought and anything else they could find. The Starlight is just visible below, emitting some kind of odd glow from the hole in its roof. Peter checks his watch. Those army soldiers promised a way out, but based on the smoke blanketing the sky, there’s not much hope. Steph’s pacing around the roof, only stopped by the pounding against the door. They’re here. She runs for Peter, who’s perched on the side of the building, feet dangling off the edge. She plops down by his side, breathing heavily and clutching the edges of her flannel.
“Pete, please tell me that fucking chopper is even somewhat close. The goddamn musical zombies are right outside, we have to go.” She tugs at his arm. Pete doesn’t budge.
There’s so much music in his head. The thundering drums and melodies were getting fucking louder, and God, he hated it. There were voices taunting him from inside his mind. He hears Max and Ruth and Richie, all beckoning him to stop fighting. He hears his brother. Fuck. Ted’s voice is uncharacteristically gentle and inviting, to the point that for a moment, he considers giving in. Then he glances at Steph, seeing the desperation in her eyes. He hates this feeling. Pete hesitates, then speaks with a quiet sorrow to his voice.
“…No. No, you have to go, Steph.” He pauses, hearing the metal door hinges loosen again with a slam.
“What the fuck are you talking about, Spankoffski?” It’s not even a question, and based on the concerned look on her face, she isn’t ready to take no for an answer. This isn’t going to be easy. He bites his tongue. “Pete? C’mon, we have to go.” She tries to get a response out of him, tugging his arm again.
“You have to go,” he repeats. What else can he say? She’s Stephanie Fucking Lauter, no amount of convincing is going to make her leave. He has to try, though. With some effort, he forms the best excuse he can. “I’m fucked. I can hold them off, that door won’t hold. You can get to that helicopter. You could climb down, right? Just go slowly, there’s a spot down there where there’s no zombies. Please- please just go. One of us has to make it.”
“Pete…” She almost seems to consider it, standing and turning away, then she faces him again, her expression a mix of fury and pain. “Goddamnit, Spankoffski. Why’d you have to make this so fucking hard? I don’t want to leave you! I thought you were just some geek. I- I didn’t want to like you, you made me.” He sets out a sad chuckle, one that’s almost melodic. They linger there, just for a moment, only interrupted by a cough from Peter. There’s slime building up in his throat, too much of it for him to even think he’s fine. Before he can spit it out, Steph pulls him in for a kiss on the lips, and he jolts back.
“WAIT- No no no, stop- Steph, you can’t- I can’t- god fucking damnit.” Steph raises an eyebrow. He panics, trying to speak through the blue gunk in his mouth slurring his speech, hands raised. Jesus, he sounds like an idiot. “It’s not you, Steph- but you can’t just- rgh- fuck.”
“Why not?” Steph crosses her arms, head tilted to the side. What, was he suddenly scared now? She watches as he stands up, then suddenly coughs and spits out fucking slime onto the floor. Pete faces her, a look of pure discomfort on his face. Glowing blue ooze trails from the edges of his mouth and nose, nearly identical to the rest of the infected. Her blood runs cold. No. Not you too. Pete steps closer, wiping some of the ooze from his mouth with some difficulty.
“That. That’s why,” he huffs. Steph backs away. Her heart pounds against her chest, begging her to do something, to run or fight, but she stays still. He won’t hurt her, right? He can’t. It’s then she notices just how bad he’s gotten. The whites of his eyes are tinted blue behind his cracked glasses. He’s barely even breathing. And when he reaches out to grasp her hand, she flinches at the cold of his touch. “I’m so sorry, Steph- I didn’t mean to scare you. Is… Is it that bad…?” His face falls when she nods. She can’t bring herself to say anything else, but it’s enough to send the message. He sits down on the edge again, taking off his glasses to rub the thick blue tears from his eyes. The melody gets even louder, and for a second he swears his ears start to bleed. It’s too loud. He can practically feel the parasite in his blood, slowly draining the control from his own body. His thoughts are only interrupted by the sound of Steph sitting next to him, their hands nearly touching. God, he hopes he’s not blushing. As if he needs to look even more like a mess. She doesn’t seem to bring it up though, instead just brushing her shoulder against his. They stay there for a bit in another moment of silence, watching the world crumble. In the distance, a gunshot rings out, and a helicopter falls from the sky. Peter’s heart sinks, realizing the truth he’s been trying to avoid. Steph’s last chance at getting out quite literally just crashed and burned. Besides him, she goes pale, knuckles whitening as she clutches onto the lining of the roof like it’s the last thing keeping her alive. He gently places a hand on her shaking one, relaxing a bit when her grip loosens.
“Does it hurt?” Steph suddenly speaks up. The snark and confidence in her voice is noticeably gone, replaced by a barely audible whisper of pure hopelessness. Her head rests back onto his chest.
“…What?” He tilts his head to see her, but she’s still staring into nothing. A few thin tears have rolled down her face, dragging a bit of mascara with them in faint, inky streaks.
“The infection.” Her voice breaks.
“Oh- Uh… kinda? It’s like a really awful fuckin’ migraine- I dunno- I mean it only now started hurting- but it’s fine!” Pete bites his tongue, shutting himself up. Based on her expression, she already knows the truth. The least he could do is confirm it. “…Yeah. Yeah, i-it does.”
“I should’ve gone back for them. For you. Maybe then Dad would be here. Hell, even Miss Tessburger and your fucking nerd friends would be here to lend a hand for once. God, I- I’m sorry, Spankoffski.” She finally musters up the courage to look him in the eyes again, and it’s gotten even worse. Those soft, hazel eyes almost look gray, consumed by that obnoxious blue glow, made worse by the bags under them. For some fucking reason, she can’t bring herself to be scared of him, though. It’s still Pete. She clings to that thought.
“This isn’t your fault, it never was. We all were terrified. I’m still terrified! We’re stuck in some shitty horror movie, hell, more like some kind of bootleg copy or ripoff. Maybe that’s it. I don’t even know. But I- I do know that you did everything you could. This-“ He motions to the blue smears on his shirt, “Wasn’t your fault. Plus, it’s not like you sent that stupid meteor.” He can feel his face go bright red (blue?) with nervousness. God, Ted would so make fun of him for his attempt at comforting her. He almost wishes that asshole was here to lighten the mood. But Ted’s gone, and Pete’s not far off from joining him. Oddly enough, Steph doesn’t retaliate this time. She nods slowly, taking in his words. She moves her hand out from under his, intertwining their fingers together. There’s a voice in Pete’s head again. His hand tenses up, squeezing Steph’s.
Oh, Petey. She’s the one you want, isn’t she?
“Pete?” Her voice quivers.
You want her so dearly, boy. I can feel it. But you’re oh-so scared, hm?
“Pete- fucking hell, dude, you’re gonna cut off my circulation.” He can feel her other hand gripping his forearm, trying to free herself. He can’t see her though. He can’t see anything. The banging on the door ceases. The only noise left is the deep, ominous presence calling to him, and the muffled cries from Steph.
There is no need to be afraid anymore. Rejoice, Peter. It will all be over soon. Your apotheosis is upon you.
One moment, Pete is violently shaking, and the next, his entire body goes limp. Steph’s hand is released, and immediately she sprints for the barricaded door, yanking out a chair to use for some kind of defense. What else can she even do? Steph raises the chair, legs pointed out towards Pete. As if on cue, he seemingly reanimates, standing with his back still to her. It’s not Peter. The alien across from her stands with a poised, confident stance, hands folded behind his back. It’s all so wrong. When the monster speaks with his voice, Steph has to bite her lip to keep herself from screaming.
“Oh, Steph.” Gone is the nervous, passive tone of his voice, replaced by something much more cautious, with a faint, airy tune to it. Not-Pete chuckles, and it almost sounds like the ringing of bells. He continues, practically singing now. Steph’s heart sinks into her stomach. “You’re not as smart as you think you are.” He slowly steps towards her. He could kill her at any moment, but he doesn’t. Her heel hits the edge of the roof. Fuck. Steph, in a last ditch effort, chucks the chair at him, but she already knows she’s done for. He isn’t even bothered, instead picking up a bit of speed as his humming gets even louder. God, she’s supposed to be the cool, confident mayor’s daughter, and here she is, basically throwing away her life. Her father’s own voice rings in her ears, the same disappointment as always. You’re a Lauter. You’re supposed to be better.
She falls to her knees, not strong enough to keep going. She hates how gentle Pete’s touch is when he wipes the stray tears from her face.
“It’s okay. Stay with me.” She does. The fight in her leaves as he wraps his arms around her, a hand rubbing her back. For a moment Steph lets herself believe they’re okay. That it’s really him. But then he starts to hum again, and he pulls her closer. Her subconscious chastises her for letting her guard down. Pete tilts her head up to look at him with one finger, and she chokes out another sob. His eyes are fully consumed by electric blue, slime dripping from his nose, eyes and mouth. Even his fingertips and teeth are now stained with blue. Her eyes go wide. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna fucking die. “Pete- please.” Steph hates how desperate she sounds. But her words fall on deaf ears.
“Hey Steph?” His voice suddenly returns to normal. “I still owe you a kiss, huh? S-sorry about that, I really fumbled the bag.” Is it really him? She can barely tell anymore. It sounds so much like him. The kindness in his voice lasts only for a moment though. He brings her lips to hers. For a little bit, Steph’s able to play pretend and kiss back. It’s just her and Pete. Just her and the boy she was afraid to love. There’s no meteor. No death. No pain. In a way, she’s right. When the infection finally hits her system, it all fades away. There’s nothing left but her and Pete.
Stephanie Lauter smiles, blue slime trickling from her mouth.