Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The night sky looks different without Scratch by her side. She misses the light blue glow in the corner of her eye. The bright white headlights in its place make her gut sink. She’s back in the same time loop again.

You’ve seen one highway, you’ve seen them all. And boy does she feel like she’s seen them all. When the sun had set on the moving horizon, Mom had tried to cheer her up by prompting her to look. She didn’t feel up to it. You’ve seen one sunset, you’ve seen them all.

The sunsets in Brighton felt so much warmer. They felt like a mirror reflecting back all the childlike wonder and hope she built up waiting for her forever home. She’d dragged Scratch to watch it with her one night early in their friendship, despite his protests about missing his early old man bed time. She remembers vividly how the scowl had slowly slipped from his face and his eyes widened and softened in awe at the colours. How he leant, just slightly, out of their bedroom window, like he’d never before stopped to notice the beauty of it.

She’d put up a good front, but a part of her had truly been worried up until that point that he would always be that grouchy. That maybe she was lying to herself to think he’d ever be her friend. But when she’d seen his face under that sunsets glow, his yellow eyes almost looking like little suns themselves, she saw him for the first time as the gooey-centred softy he is. And so, she clung to his side harder until those walls broke down and she finally got the forever friend, just as- no, better- than she’d always dreamed of.

He’s back in Brighton now, who knows how many miles away. (When they first left, she’d counted them on Dad’s ancient GPS screen, almost to torture herself, until she had to look away. She can’t bring herself to look back). This all feels feels wrong. Viscerally. Like being torn from the womb too early.

She wants to go home.

Maybe Scratch watched the sunset alone. The thought hurts too much to dwell on and she curls up to muffle a sob in her knees. She doesn’t want to wake anyone and she certainly doesn’t want to be seen right now.

The only plus about being so far out here is the lack of light pollution. Pulled over on the shoulder of a, mostly empty, rural road, she’s greeted with the sight of stars she hasn’t seen since settling into their forever home. She thinks about organising a ‘lights out’ night once a month where all of Brighton can team up to combat light solution. Everyone could gather in the park with picnic blankets to see the beauty of the cosmos together. More tears. She has so much left to do there.

She thinks about sitting with Libby and Scratch on either side and making a memory they can keep forever. She grows angry enough she has to restrain from punching in the window. She wants her life back.

It’s not fair. She’s been good, hasn’t she? She’s been positive, she’s been kind, thoughtful… all the things her childhood stories taught her to be. So where’s her happy ending?

Those stories are how the world SHOULD work and she rejects the idea that thinking so is childish. Kids have made fun of her before for it- told her to get real and grow up. Mom had sucked her teeth and tactfully told her that the real world isn’t a fairy tale. Of course it isn’t. Because people don’t believe it can be. Adults like Scratch want you to believe the world is miserable and cruel and you just have to accept it. She proved Scratch wrong, so she knows she can prove the rest wrong.

…But she’s beginning to see what they mean. She’ll be in this car for the rest of her life, it’s starting to look like. Maybe not literally- she’ll get out and go to school again and maybe they’ll even move in with Grandma Nin permanently. But she’ll never go home again. Her roots will stay cut and frayed, longing for the soil they’d been so ruthlessly plucked from. Reaching out, she holds her hand over the largest star in the sky, closing her fist around nothingness. Unreachable.

If life isn’t fair, what’s the point of living it?

There’s no alternative. Not that she’ll consider. No. No, that’s terrible. But continuing on with life without purpose doesn’t feel like living it. She doesn’t know who or what she is without the thing she’d wished her whole life for. Brighton Home was what the odyssey of her life had all been leading up to. It doesn’t make sense for the end to be…this.

She looks forward into the front seat at her sleeping parents. Mom is draped over the steering wheel, exhausted, while Dad’s long limbs are still awkwardly curled up on the passenger seat, in what had been a long attempt, to get comfortable. She glances at the dimming screen of the GPS, eyes narrowing in hatred. She’s getting sick of other people writing her life’s story for her.

Scratch wouldn’t stand for this. She wishes she was an adult like him. Or that he could be here to talk some sense into her to…

To what? There’s nothing she can do. She’s just a child, just a human. She can’t possess a truck of kpop stars to save the day at the last second; she can’t set a curse to undo this. He made her strong. And she made him soft.

They need each other.

…She wants to hug him right now. The tear-stained plushie in her arms is a poor mimic for the his squishy ectoplasm. Too dry, too tickly in its fluff. It can’t hug back with a surprising softness, like she’s a rare wonder he can’t afford to break.

Why didn’t he come after them? Is he trapped in Brighton by the Ghost Council? …Or was he scared?

She wouldn’t be scared, she thinks, bitterly as she holds her plushie tight. Her limbs untense and her eyes widen as a thought occurs to her. She isn’t scared. Right now, that is. She’s sad and angry and grieving and broken and frustrated- but she isn’t scared when she thinks of home. It feels just as safe from out here as back there.

Almost in a trance, she clicks open her car door, before snapping out of things and looking around anxiously to see if she woke anyone. Dad twitches. Darryl snores. Mom mumbles something in her sleep. Exhaling slowly, she holds a hand over her chest and eases the door further open.

The cool air is calming, drying her tears and hardening her resolve. No, she isn’t afraid out here. She slowly lowers her socked feet to the ground. The ice cold tarmac sends a chill up her spine, but she doesn’t want to move. Up until now, she hadn’t realised how stifling the car was. The road is so open and vast, in both directions, with empty fields and a distant forest on either side. Tangible. Realer than the countless addresses and city names that roll off her tongue meaninglessly in an running list. The bureaucracy of every new school, the numbing routine of packing up boxes- it reminds her of the stale, recycled air on an airplane, the taste of which on her tongue makes her sick at this point.

She’s read that story a thousand times and had finally found the fairytale she’d so searched for. Beneath the identical tomes, she’d found it and she’d lived it and she isn’t prepared to go back.

Her own resolve as she thinks the words shocks her. She means that. She means that.

The floor is tangible and real beneath her feet, somewhere she’s in control. If she gets back in that car, she won’t touch the ground again for miles. She’ll be helpless again, dragged around by the whims of the universe and her parents. Molly glances back but even the thought of stepping foot back on that thin, peeling carpet in the backseat makes a surge of terror run through her. She can’t bear to move any nearer to it.

The wind whistling up the empty road calls to her and she feels inclined to listen to it. To give in to the breeze pushing against her back and let it carry her home.

…Mom and Dad would be heartbroken. Darryl would be without an older sister.

Scratch would have someone to watch the sunset with again. Libby would have her first true friend again. Molly would have her life back.

She’s done the right thing for years. She’s been dutiful, faithful, helpful, loving, giving…

Maybe life isn’t a fairytale, or an animated movie with singing animals. She still refuses to accept that it’s a dystopia, though. Perhaps it’s…like one of Libby’s fantasy stories. Perhaps sometimes you have to make sacrifices to work for your happy end.

It’s hard to rummage through the trunk without waking anyone. She goes so slow trying to keep quiet that it takes almost an hour. She’s wise enough to charge her phone with Darryl’s power pack (sorry) as she works. Multiple times, she stops to doubt herself, terror or guilt freezing her in place with her hands clutching spare clothes. But, every time, she thinks of the alternative of climbing back in that car and the nausea keeps her going through her nerves.

The end result is two bags packed with spare clothes, road trip candy and 2 half finished bottles of cola (again: sorry Darryl). She’d spent a long time trying to fit all her plushies in either bag, only to have to accept there’s not enough room and she needs that space for necessities. The only exception was Twinklespot, who she stubbornly crammed into her Mom’s duffle bag harsh enough for the sides to bulge and the zip to threaten breakage. The effort made her sweat. Kneeling down on the side of the road, Molly pants through a burning throat as she looks at the fully packed bag. That’s it, then. That’s all she can possibly fit.

The tablet will have to be left behind. Her parents will be able to track it. Speaking of which- she unplugs her phone at 100% and turns off tracking. Mom’s phone buzzes in her pocket and Molly stiffens up, blood freezing…but she only mumbles something sleepy about a record deal, sliding down slightly against the wheel in her sleep. Molly breathes a sigh of relief.
Her hands hover over the note she’d written. She’d had to rewrite it numerous times, because no amount of explanation was ever enough to justify the hurt she’d be causing them. Eventually, she realised it was futile and simply settled for ‘I love you. I’m sorry. Don’t look for me. -Molly‘

She takes one look at her peacefully sleeping family. One last time, she brushes her hand against her brother’s (he’s still wearing his What Would Molly Do bracelet…), and… she closes the door.

Walking is slower than she expected and every second she and the car remain in sight of each other, she’s expecting a furious shout to call her back. She scripts and rescripts endlessly what she’ll say when that happens but it never does. She must have underestimated the impact of long nights on the road on her unacclimatised family.

As soon as she reaches the treeline further up and is able to hide amongst them to not feel as vulnerable…her heart rate evens out.

She did it. Almost elated, she looks up at the sky, newly confident in her decision as she spots the Gemini constellation.

“Don’t worry, Scratch.” Relaxing, Molly smiles to herself. “We’ll be back together soon.”

Chapter Text

Molly chugs from her bottle of lukewarm soda, leaning against a tree only briefly before she screws the lid back on and continues. She’s still on high alert, expecting calls in the distance any second now, and she knows if she hears them her resolve will crumble. It’s the same reason she’d made a point to block all of her family as she switched her phone to low power mode. She can’t bear afford to see their reactions when they realise she’s gone.

A car whizzes by and she freezes in place, blood turning to ice. It’s not yellow…or a cop car. She doesn’t think, anyway… Regardless, she moves further into the shadow of the trees to stay out of sight. It’s creepy in here at night, but the trees are sparse and it’s far enough from civilisation she assures herself she’s probably the only one around for miles. Still, she sticks to the edge, always one step away from returning to the safety of full view.

There are owls hooting nearby and she tries to calm her nerves by looking to find them. Owls are nice. All cute and fluffy…

Also good hiders. Well- no matter! She has other things to keep her mind occupied! Like…music!

Smiling to herself in relief at her great idea, Molly pulls out her earbuds and opens up her ‘cheer up’ playlist. The familiar pop tunes prove the perfect remedy for the anxiety of the situation, and she hums to herself as her stride slows to something less rushed and panicked.

Scratch hates this kind of music, she thinks with a giggle. He played a lot of old-timey show tunes whenever it was his turn to pick their workout music (she worked out, he got out of work). She wonders if he was alive when that stuff was popular and that’s why he likes it. Maybe he was into theatre when he was human! That’s something she’ll have to ask him, she thinks, and looks down at her phone to make a note of it.

81% battery

Molly pauses mid stride, feeling panic grip her chest. What?! She doesn’t know when she’s gonna get to charge this next and she needs it for map directions- how is it down 20% already?!

…Eyes widening, Molly yanks out her earbuds like they’re setting her hair on fire and pauses the song. For a long moment, she stands there in silence, the comforting music replaced only by the distant sound of the owls.

…Ok. That’s fine. Lesson learnt- no unnecessary phone use. She can do that! It’s not like she’s going mad out here trying to keep her mind occupied or anything! Slowly, she breathes out a calming sigh and runs her hand up her face to brush back her hair.

She pockets her earbuds, now regretting wasting bag space with them. (Yeah, it’s not like they’re big but she could have fit like…2 extra candies in there with that space!) It’s not so bad…she just has to not check her phone unless it’s necessary! Which, judging by her location on the map view, will be easy since she’s gonna be walking straight for…a long time.

Andrea’s phone probably has better battery. Andrea has probably never had to move house in her life, either.

She won’t be bitter. She may be doing something morally questionable but she’s not going to start being mean on top of that. Instead, she straightens her shoulders, takes another sip of cola, and keeps going.

She wishes she had a normal flashlight but with her phone saving battery she has to make do with the glow in the dark squishy charms on her backpack (now clipped onto her bracelet for ease of use). It gives the night a spooky feel, though if anything that’s comforting to her now. Scratch was like her own personal nightlight, even dispersed as his blue glow was through the dollhouse windows. It feels familiar.

Walking is boring without anyone to talk to or music to listen to. The occasional passing car making her freeze up is the only interruption to the monotony. She wonders what time it is and kills 5 minutes trying to guess without checking. She wonders if scientists missed any constellations and tries to find her own. One kind of looks like a turtle if you squint. She’ll have to show that to Libby when she gets back. She counts the pebbles that get stuck in her shoes, the cars that pass and hums her songs to herself before her throat gets dry. Her first cola bottle gets finished off that way and she reminds herself not to make herself more thirsty than walking alone would.

‘L…Laos…M-Mexico…N…Namibia…O… O…’ 
She’s too exhausted to even be annoyed at lacking an answer. ‘P-Portugal…Q…’ Up the road, a light breaks through the trees. Her train of thought quickly evaporates.

Standing up straight for the first time in a while (she’d taken to leaning on passing trees to pull herself forward) Molly’s eyes shine at the sight. Ignoring her tired legs, she jogs the short distance out of the trees and into a clearing to see the holy grail of this journey. A gas station.

One would think she’d found the fountain of youth by how she’s staring at it. Dumpster diving racoons stop to glance at her, then each other, in questioning, before scurrying away.

Letting out a relieved sigh, Molly leaves the safety of the roadside forest and wanders up to the building. “Oh thank cob, I don’t have to pretend to enjoy this anymore.” She laughs shakily to herself and swings the door open, leaning heavily against it. The employee, a college-age man with a patchy beard, raises an eyebrow as she passes him with a tired wave but she pays little mind to it. Instead, she takes her time wandering the isles, her stomach growling at all the options. Of course she can’t have all the options- money is a vital resource now. But she can pretend. She counts out the cash she’d stolen (with much internal struggle) from Mom and Dad’s wallets, carefully. She knows they have a lot more than this but nobody uses cash much anymore so she’d only been able to grab so much. Darryl probably has tons of hidden cash somewhere in the car but not only is that near impossible to find with him, she also felt too bad about stealing all his snacks to take much else. He doesn’t have much left either without Brighton; she wasn’t about to take away one of the of few things he does have.

She settles on 2 bottles of water- one large and one small to save money- just in case she’s walking for longer this time. The man eyes her oddly as she walks up to the counter to pay, barely at height to see over the tall thing. “Are you still serving pizza?” She asks. He gestures tiredly to the sign right next to her 

“It says 24 hours.” He replies, though his voice is too distracted to really be all that snide about it.

“2 slices, please.” She pushes the wrinkled notes across the counter and he pockets them, slowly. The cold slices are loaded onto a tiny hot plate on the back counter and a silence falls over the room, filled only with the sound of the cheap machine. Molly crouches down to reorganise her things, throwing away her old soda bottle and placing the water in the mesh pockets either side of her backpack. The remaining half bottle of soda she keeps in her hand to go with her food.

“Hey, kid…” The man peers over the counter, a touch worried as his eyes dart about. “…Are you alone?”

She pauses, sweat beginning to bead on the back of her neck. “Uuuuuooff course I’m not alone! Psh!” She scoffs, jumping to her feet, almost too quickly. “Why would I be here alone at this hour? Don’t be ridiculous!”

“There aren’t any cars outside.”

That. Is a problem…probably should have checked that first… “Myyy Mom’s parked round the side! She doesn’t like the bright lights, y’know?” She squints her eyes exaggeratedly, pointing to the front of the building. “Photosensitive.”

“Right…” The man looks more calm now, though there’s something in his voice she recognises from Libby that indicates he’s not 100% convinced. Molly tries her best not to freak out as he hands over the two paper plates of mediocre pizza. “We charge for parking exceeding an hour.”

“IIII will tell her that!” Molly grins a little too widely, grabbing for the plate and accidentally burning herself as her thumb brushes some melted cheese.

“Careful, it’s hot-!”

“I got it!” Is she being too obvious? Is he gonna call the police any second now? She backs out of the door hastily, knocking over a cardboard standee of Kenny Star with her overstuffed backpack on the way. “Just gonna bring these out to my Mom now! Yup!”

There’s an awkward second of staring, once she gets outside the automatic doors, before she grins too widely, barks “OK BYE.” and zips out of sight.

“Phew…I think he bought that.” She sinks to a long-awaited sit on a bench around the side of the building. Really, it’s more a ledge that’s part of the architecture. Whatever- it’s a seat. Molly drops her heavy bags to the floor with relief and tears into the pizza. Gas station food has never tasted so good.

It’s probably not the most attractive she’s ever looked, scoffing down 2 large, greasy slices in a couple minutes. A risky glance in her phone’s front facing camera reveals her hair is a mess too from all the tiny branches tugging at it on her walk. Well, that’s not ideal…she packed a toothbrush, but she can’t remember if she packed a hairbrush. She thinks it’s buried at the bottom of her bag and digging around for it would require near emptying the thing and making everything fit all over again. She’s far too tired for that. All her muscles hurt.

Once she’s had her fill and disposed of the trash (unfortunately, there’s no designated recycling bin here- see? Another reason she hates being on the road), she collapses back onto her ledge seat and stares tiredly into the sky. It’s early morning now. If Dad’s bladder wakes him up extra early he might already have noticed she’s missing. The thought makes her heart sink and so she smothers it with thoughts of her exhaustion. Turning away from the sky and the slivers of pink light barely beginning to peak over the horizon, Molly sets up a makeshift bed for herself with Mom’s bag as a pillow and a jean jacket for a blanket over her chilly arms. Twinklespot is freed from containment and Molly apologises to him softly under her breath as she strokes the giraffe’s head down to his bent-out-of-shape neck.

She thought it would be hard to sleep under these conditions but the exhausted aching in her muscles pulls her into slumber in no time at all.

Chapter Text

Daylight rouses her, reluctantly, from sleep. Squeezing her eyes closed against the harsh glare, Molly turns over, trying to hide under her blanket. “Noooo…” She mumbles childishly. “5 more minutes…” Her blanket must have gotten twisted in the night because it feels way too small over her back. Her legs are completely uncovered. She fidgets and fights to untangle it without opening her eyes, not willing to accept wakefulness just yet, only to get her arm stuck. “What the…? As she tries to free herself, she feels the bed slip out from under her and hits the floor hard.

Funny…the ground is closer than she expected. And grassier… Fingers grasp the foliage in confusion and Molly finally accepts that she’s not getting any more sleep and opens her eyes.

She’s outside. Why is she outside. Why is-
The feeling of the blanket still stuck wrapped around her arm makes her panic and she looks frantically for it as she sits up.

…Oh. It’s just her unicorn jacket. No wonder it felt so small and scratchy…

Scratch.

She jumps to her feet so fast that she stumbles, having to lean against the gas station wall for support. Scratch- she’s going home to Scratch. Right. Shoot, how much time did she lose, sleeping… Still disoriented, she pats the nonexistent pockets of her skirt for her phone, expecting to be in her pyjamas, before remembering it’s in her bag.

8:43am. She only slept for a few hours. Hopefully she can catch up once she gets to Brighton. It’s probably better to not sleep outside and uncovered like this again. The police could find her, or worse…

Suddenly panicking, she does a check of all her belongings. Both bags are still full, thank cob- though some racoons are biting and scratching at her backpack, smelling the snacks within. She tries to scare them off but they’re too cute to be mean to so she ends up forfeiting some trail mix to lure them away.

With that sorted, and her bag pockets checked for any holes they might have nibbled, Molly finds herself with her first problem of the day: a bathroom. Thankfully, there are some around the other side of the building, accessible without going inside. Not that she wouldn’t like some breakfast, but… well. She’ll think about it.

It’s as grimy as every other rest stop she’s ever been in and she holds back her queasiness as she steps inside. It’s an unwelcome culture shock to readjust to, being on the road again. Her family were usually masters at these places- Mom brought disinfectant wipes everywhere because Dad was, in Darryl’s words ‘a big baby’ about public bathrooms. (She’d been too embarrassed to admit she was also grateful for them). But, it has a mirror, soap and running water which is a million times better than nothing, so she embraces the grossness.

All that walking and stress from last night made her sweaty so she cleans up as best she can at the sink with the paper towels, before brushing her teeth. She’s just washing her face when, in her one moment of temporary blindness from the soap, the door opens.

“Ah! O-occupied!” She feels around blindly for the tap to wash her eyes clean so she can see. It’s not like she’s indecent but…well this is hardly her most dignified moment. Being seen brings about the same mortal shame as that last month in Brighton when she and her family were homeless. She’s always been raised to empathise with those on hard times, so she never thought she’d think like this but the word feels…wrong. Like a black stain she can’t remove and everyone can see it and tell that she’s lesser.

When she can see again, she turns quickly to the door, frantically dabbing at her face with the neckline of her shirt. Standing there, next to a mop bucket, is the same attendant from last night. There are bags under his eyes now, but it’s still him alright- that scraggly attempt at a beard perfectly frames the horrified O his mouth is making.

“Are you still here?!” He exclaims, any semblance of boredom from last night now replaced with alarm. Molly flinches back from his loud tone, scrambling to gather up her toothbrush and paste, put her jean jacket back on and grab her bags. Her heart is pounding in her ears in panic.

“I’m so sorry, I-“

“It’s been hours! I was just about to finish my shift- oh man.” He runs a hand over his face, stressed. “I knew something was up.”

“I-it’s nothing! My mom, she just- she just woke up and-“

“There’s no one here, kid! It’s just us! Look- just come sit inside I’ll- I’ll sort this out. I’ll call someone or-“

“NO! Everything’s fine! Really!” She can’t breathe. Something is constricting around her lungs like a cobra. They’re gonna find her and take her back to her parents and they’re gonna be so upset and then she’ll never see Scratch or Libby or Patty ever again and-

The man backs up, awkwardly half tripping over the mop bucket as he fumbles to get his phone out. Molly sees the opportunity and doesn’t have the time to think before she takes it. She dashes past him.

“Wait- HEY! You can’t just- it’s dangerous out here- come back!” She’s lucky he’s too nervous to have the reflexes to grab her in time. Mom’s too-big bag flies around wildly behind her when she runs, even with the strap at its shortest. It slaps painfully against the back of her knees with each stride but she can’t afford to stop. Her backpack is only slung over one shoulder in a rush- her hands are still full with her toothbrush, there’s water staining her shirt from her hurried attempts to dry her face. Yet she keeps running, running, blindly towards the rising sun until her lungs burn and she nearly keels over against a stop sign.

She stays there panting for what feels like ages. Her lungs are working overtime yet still ache like they’ll never possibly get enough air back. Her legs are wobbly, and she thinks she’s gonna get a bruise from where Mom’s bag kept hitting her. Dizzy, she slumps to a sit, staring at the sky.

It seems he didn’t follow her. That or she outran him; it’s hard to tell. If she ran until her legs collapsed that must have taken her…pretty far from the gas station, right? A check of her maps tells her it’s still negligible in terms of getting to Brighton. Probably not that far for a car to drive either- she should hide in case the cops come looking for her. But she feels too weak to move…

It’s almost pure luck that no one drives by in the time it takes her to recover, else they would have surely pulled over to check on her if she looks as terrible as she feels. Somewhere in the back of her mind she remembers her hair needs brushing and curses that she ran out of time for that. Eventually, she has to force herself to move so she can put her toothbrush back away. She’d squeezed the toothpaste tube too hard in her panic so a good amount has leaked out under the cap and now her hand feels chalky. She grimaces, washing it away with a tiny amount of water from one of her bottles. If gas stations arouse suspicion, she might have to live off this for a while…

It’s kinda fun, right? Like…camping! Just like…the Wilderscouts…

Yeah, no. Camping’s officially lost its appeal. Maybe hiking? Exploring! Just like in Libby’s fantasy books, she’s a young, unlikely hero on a great quest! Or traversing the countryside in search of glory like her favourite video game! …The game made it look more fun. Too bad there isn’t a giant ice wolf to ride on IRL.

She doesn’t buy her own sales pitch for even a second. But all this complaining is making her feel like Scratch. And if she’s Scratch then who’s left to be Molly?!

“Maybe when I get back to Brighton you’ll sing me a song about friendship.” She mutters under her breath, with a fond chuckle. She remembers she used to have to drag him on excursions. He hated the park, he hated hiking (and he wasnt even walking!), he hated flowers and sunshine??? But he liked tacos and movies and she got him to warm up to some stuff about days out. Like ice cream!

Man, they’re gonna have to eat a lot of ice cream when she gets back to make up for lost time. Her family only left Brighton a couple days ago but combined with that month in the woods it feels like so long since they were together. She hopes he’s doing alright.

This time, she walks slower to keep her strength up as she watches for cars. She’s less jumpy around them in the daylight but the colour yellow still makes her tense up and she’s always listening out for sirens. When the woods come to an end she can’t tell whether to be relieved or anxious. On one hand, she was starting to feel like Howlin’ Harriet creeping about in there, but on the other, now her only cover is…corn.

“Well at least it’s fitting.” She shrugs, despite her lingering worries, trying to stay positive. She’s grateful every summer that she never inherited Dad’s allergies.

In hindsight, maybe walking back to Brighton wasn’t the most efficient way to go about this…her bike was somewhere in the moving truck, but there was no reasonable way to get that out on her own. She’d hitchhike but that’d make her feel too vulnerable…

Her salvation is almost perfectly timed as, just as she’s thinking over this, a stationary blur in the distance starts to clear up more. Squinting, she hunches forward as she walks, noting that the sound of a man talking is becoming clearer by the second.

It’s some kind of delivery truck, similar size and shape to the moving truck but clearly for something else. The driver is gently pacing on the side of the road but, oddly, he doesn’t look distressed. She can’t make out what he’s saying, but it doesn’t sound like the voice of someone who’s broken down.

When she gets closer, she notices he’s talking on the phone to someone, laughing casually. Maybe he’s taking a break? He’s also left the door open, she notes with wide eyes.

A risky idea starts to formulate in her mind. Laying low in the corn so he won’t spot her, Molly sneaks closer until she can spot the blue light of a GPS inside the vehicle. The man is distracted with his conversation and looking away, but he’s also extremely close. Her heart pounds in her ears.

‘This is crazy!’ A voice in the back of her head says. Another, that sounds suspiciously like Scratch, replies ‘What, and the rest of this isn’t?’. He might help her willingly, she tries to reason with herself but the terror of this morning’s encounter snaps her out of it. No, he’s an adult. He wouldn’t understand why she has to do this.

The man’s mindless pacing takes him around the front of the truck, talking and laughing loudly about some coworker drama. Fighting against all her instincts, Molly dashes to the truck and presses herself flush against the side, heart pounding. She waits for him to shout at her but hears nothing. When it’s clear he truly hasn’t noticed her, she lets out a quiet sigh of relief and sidles slowly up to the door.

Stupid truck being so tall…she hoists herself up the steep ledge into the bed, leaning in hesitantly with her head ducked under the dashboard. She peers from her awkward, contorted position at the GPS and struggles to unlock her phone with sweaty palms. Comparing her map view ap with the GPS isn’t a perfect match- but her eyes light up as she notices the man’s long journey passes Brighton. Not straight through- but definitely close enough to walk from! Excited, she can’t help but let out a tiny gasp, only to freeze in horror as she sees the man’s large figure passing, through the window, to the opposite side of the truck.

Panicking, Molly barely has a second to run through her options, before she commits to a decision. In one swift movement, she rolls to the side, landing painfully underneath the dashboard. She holds her breath as the door clicks open, pulling her legs as far out of view as possible and clutching her phone to her chest to hide the screen’s glow.

His arm passes by her face, close enough she can see each hair on the skin, and she feels sure her heart is going to explode in her chest.

“-nd he thought they meant Knotsworthy TEXAS and boy was that a huge mess to clean up-“ The sound of crumpling paper fills her ears as he picks up a lunchbag from the passenger seat and slams the door shut again. For a second, she doesn’t move, sure it’s a fake-out.

But then her legs start to cramp and she feels a sudden chill from the sweat cooling on her skin and comes back down to earth. She… she did it! He didn’t spot her! A part of her wants to celebrate but she also just wants to get the heck out of here. Hesitantly peaking over the dashboard, Molly confirms the man is thoroughly distracted, now sitting on the hood of the car as he eats. She lowers herself as quietly as she can from the vehicle, trying not to disturb the door on the way out. Feet now firmly back on the concrete, she duck-dashes for the back of the van where she lets her lungs finally explode.

That was terrifying! Darryl would be so proud of her- NO! No thinking like that! It was a necessary evil, ok?! For Brighton.

“For Brighton…” She whispers to herself, still clutching her chest.

Ok. Now to get inside…

Thankfully, the latch to the back of the truck isn’t locked. She wonders if he had to check something back here or if he’s just bad at his job. (Maybe it’s better not to look a gift horse in the mouth). Regardless, it serves her well and she opens it as little as possible (though still cringing at the noise) and closes it behind her, leaving her engulfed in darkness.

Her phone torch reveals boxes of flatpack furniture. They’re hard to navigate through, but she manages to find an alcove in the middle of the stacks out of view to sit down. For the first time, she feels herself actually relax, the adrenaline quickly morphing from fear to excitement. She actually did that! And now Brighton is only 2 days away!

“Man, this is gonna be way easier than walking.” She chuckles lightly to herself, adjusting her bags to work as makeshift pillows as she gets comfy.

…It isn’t.

Chapter Text

So it turns out that video games lied to her and travelling in the back of a truck isn’t actually all that fun or comfy at all. The boxes may be strapped in, but that really only serves to keep them loosely upright and make sure nothing falls and breaks. There is a LOT of scary shifting around from those things as soon as the truck starts driving again and Molly quickly loses her cool and relaxed demeanour.

Not to mention that she isn’t strapped into anything. Whenever they encounter a curve in the rode or a pothole (of which there are many) the floor shudders beneath her, jostling and sliding her around harshly. Just 10 minutes into the ride and she’d already banged her elbow really painfully and accepted her backpack’s fate as it slid again out of reach. She’ll have to get it later. Right now, the priority is staying alive.

It’s a wonder the driver hasn’t heard her constant yelps and shouts, though the muffled sounds of an open window and a blaring Kenny Star song tell her there’s probably a reason for it. She can’t tell if that’s a blessing or a curse. In lieu of a real seatbelt, she slides herself into one the straps intended to keep the boxes still, her back pressed firmly up against hard wood inside that hits her in the back with every pothole. But at least she’s stable…hurraaayy….

It’s the longest afternoon of her life in there. Even when she accepts that walking would be better than this, there’s no escape until the driver pulls over. She’s car sick, she’s getting hunger pangs, she’s not in ANY position to catch up on that sleep she missed, she needs the bathroom and her phone is getting low on charge from using the flashlight so much and continually checking the map.

Maybe at some point she does get some form of sleep, or maybe it’s just dozing, because after a while of sitting limply there in an almost fugue state, only able to concentrate on her bodily aches, she snaps out of things and finds that it’s ended sooner that expected. Still the longest drive of her life by far, don’t get her wrong, but her phone’s given time of 8pm seems to imply at least some missed time.

The feeling of the car slowing and shuddering to a stop is foreign and she blinks numbly with tired eyes at the still boxes, almost unable to remember the sight. She takes so long to adjust to the idea that it’s over that she hears the driver get out and abandon the vehicle without consciously having to wait for him. Stiffly, legs a little shaky, she gets to her feet. A part of her is still expecting the ground to be moving and it gives her a weird sort of vertigo- especially with the limited vision heightening her other senses. When she finds her wayward backpack, she makes short work scrambling out of there, uncaring as to being spotted now. She just wants out.

Cob, what a nightmare. Shuddering, Molly backs away from the vehicle, sighing in relief and enjoying the fresh outside air again. They’re at a gas station- thankfully. At this point, she doesn’t even care about her paranoia, she just needs food and a restroom. The man doesn’t see her as she creeps away from the van to reach the bathrooms and she spends extra time in there, not just to clean up a little, but to make sure he leaves. Sure enough, by the time she emerges the van is gone.

‘Good riddance’ she thinks, even as a more logical side of her despairs at her best hope of getting to brighton disappearing on the horizon. She’s lucky she made it this far without hitting her head and getting brain damage or something. A shudder. Ugh, no… Remember, she doesn’t have Scratch here to save her, anymore.

This time the gas station is busier, with a few people milling about and multiple cars parked out front, so it’s easy to blend in like she belongs. She grabs one extra bottle of water to keep on top of it (since it looks like she’s back to walking) as well as three hotdogs. This place unfortunately isn’t open 24/7 and it’s the most substantial thing they have left to eat.

“No pizza? …Meal deals?” She asks weakly. “You haven’t got any sandwiches?”

“I mean, a hotdog is kind of a sandwich.” The woman behind the counter laughs, evidently accepting Molly’s presence as more normal than the last guy did and brushing off her desperation as a child-like want for her favourite food. “Sorry, we get a lot of truckers coming in around here. Not much left by the end of the day.”

“Thats ok…” Molly forces a smile. It’s not. It’s really not.

As she’s waiting for her food to warm up, her eyes drift across the shelves of snacks, hungrily. What she’d packed from the car is gone by now. She knows junk food won’t give her strength and she can’t afford to waste any money on things she doesn’t need… but man is it tempting just to get something more inside her. Regardless, she accepts her hotdogs with a smile.

On the way out, a hand on her shoulder stops her, startling her into almost dropping the food.

“Woops! Sorry to frighten ya there, sweetie.” An older man laughs sheepishly, hands up in a defensive gesture. “I saw you eyeing these up back there, just thought I’d treat you since you seem hungry and all.” Within his hands, he holds out a bag of pretzels and a chocolate bar, the exact kind she likes. Molly’s eyes turn to stars and she almost bursts into tears from the kind gesture.

“I…thank you.” She looks up at him, touched, feeling the constricting bitter tiredness with the world of these past few days melt away. Her chest feels lighter than it did before and the sight of the extra food piled onto her paper plates only makes her long for Brighton even more.

“I’ll…” She has no money. “I’ll pay it forward.” She smiles at him, tiny and sheepish but so so grateful. That’s a Molly McGee guarantee- when she’s back in Brighten she’ll find the money to give care packages to the homeless, she’ll help at soup kitchens, she’ll remember to take notice of her fellow people more so she can brighten their day and enhappify them just like this.

“Oh, what a lovely thought.” The man gushes. “But you don’t have to thank me. Helping people in need like you is what I do.” She’s too emotional to get hung up on the fact he knows she’s in need. She can only sway, struggling to hold the food and smile.

She eats slowly, sat on the curb outside the building. This time there’s no rush- she’s certainly too far for the police to ever expect her to have gotten, now. Unlike that nightmare of a truck ride, this time she actually gets to sprawl out and relax, taking her time and enjoying watching the cars pass and the neon lights of the station flicker to life. The sun is setting now, though there are hills in the distance blocking it. She doesn’t mind. The calm hum of the lights and occasional jingle of bells as the door opens and closes is all she needs to feel calm for once. Nearly halfway to Brighton, her phone says. She chews her chocolate slowly, savouring it just like she savours the sight of her little dot on that map sitting closer to her goal.

By the time night falls, she’s long finished her food and is reclining comfy against her bags, letting it settle. The worker leaves for the night, shutting the station lights off on her way out and with them gone, the only light left comes from the emerging stars. Gemini smiles back at her and she waves to them lazily. Libby’s turtle constellation is harder to spot tonight and she wonders if she just made it up out of a need to keep her mind bus-

A heavy weight sits down next to her and she shuffles upwards more to take a look. It’s the man from earlier.

“Watching the stars, huh?”

“Uhh…yeah?” She smiles wonkily back at him, though a part of her is alarmed. Is he still here? They spoke hours ago. He’s sat awfully close to her- too close for comfort as their sides brush with the proximity- and she shuffles away as politely as possible.

Unfazed by her questioning eyes, the man leans back against the building, hands on either side. One lands uncomfortably close to her knee and she scoots further away, feeling the beginnings of anxiety forming in her chest.

“Hah…hey, uh, isn’t it getting late? You might wanna hit the hay. Driving at night can be dangerous! No sleep and all…” She forces a smile, getting up rather abruptly on the guise of throwing away the trash she’d been putting off. She pulls her bags on as she does so, hands gripping the straps anxiously to give them something to do. His eyes follow her, though he doesn’t move to get up. Something about the way he looks at her makes her feel queasy.

“‘Could say the same for you, kid. You’re awfully young to be out here by yourself.” He raises an eyebrow with this kind of mock acted-concern. There’s a smirk underneath that makes her the queasiness progress into full-on stomach churning. She already lied at the last gas station but something instinctual within her tells her she really needs to lie here.

“My parents are nearby.” She says quickly. He doesn’t look to buy it. She startles hard at the sight of him getting to his feet snd instinctively begins to shuffle away.

“You sure about that?” That same smirk with this awful knowing look on his face. “You’ve got an awful lot of bags on you for a kid just on a road trip.”

“Mom er- we- r-ran out of room i- car.” She stutters, backing up faster as he approaches. “My parent’s are coming to pick me up now.” Desperately, her eyes dart around for someone to step in and make this end so she can laugh it off and say she just spooked herself reading too much into things!

No one. The place is completely empty. The only car in sight is his.

“How about I walk you to the car?” The man steps closer, reaching out to place a hand on her arm.

…Once, only soon after she’d moved to Brighton, a much younger man had asked for her help loading groceries into his car. He seemed nice and genuinely sheepish about it and, being a natural born enhappifier, Molly had been happy to oblige. She’d walked right up to help him, only to have something swoop in front of her and let out a horrifying demonic screech. The man had screamed, dropped his groceries and sped away before she could stop him. Scratch’d dragged her away by the arm while she argued.

“You’re over reacting!” She’d said. “Not everyone is a bad person- don’t you trust me?! I know a good person when I see one!” He didn’t listen or care. Called her oblivious and said she’d get herself killed one day. That day he’d been angry enough features of his scare form lingered on him for a good while afterwards- but she could always tell that underneath it he was worried for her.

“Adults don’t ask kids for help, Moll.” He’d dragged his hand over his face like he was explaining something basic to a toddler. “They ask other adults. If any random adult takes an interest in you when you’re on your own,” His eyes darkened to a deep red, his ectoplasm beginning to spike up like fire on his back. “You know how to summon me.”

But she can’t summon him anymore.

He’s not here. He isn’t coming to rescue her. There aren’t any supernatural tricks this time to save her and she feels so vulnerable without it. Just like she felt in the car on the way to Grandma Nin’s- she’s just a weak child at the mercy of everyone else’s whims.

She wants to have some big, smart answer like he would. She wants to be a hero. But instead, she runs.

“H-hey! Kid c’mon-! Dammit- I DON’T BITE!” Yes you do yes you do yes you do. Scrambling, hair and limbs and bags flying everywhere, Molly dashes around the side of the building, eyes sharp and darting everywhere for an escape. There’s nothing out here. Panicking, hearing his footsteps, she makes a split second decision and dives within a dumpster.

Her heart nearly bursts in her chest as she curls up in there, hand over her mouth, terrified. Through a tiny crack where the lid meets the base, she can see a thin strip of the outside. The man jogs past the dumpster, calling for her, before walking back past it a few times. There’s ruffling, as he checks the wild bushes, before jiggling and pounding sounds as he tries to see if she’s somehow entered one of the staff doors. He slams his fist against it loud enough to make her jump: “Dammit, kid probably had a phone too…” He mumbles angrily to himself under his breath, along with a few other things. He kicks the dumpster angrily and Molly barely contains a terrified yelp. Thankfully, he doesn’t hear her through his muttering to himself and he quickly becomes preoccupied with anxiety about security cameras. Now distracted, and a little frantic, she hears the man’s footfalls jogging away to the front of the building.

It’s a long while and one last walk around the buildings perimeter until she hears a car pull out. Even then, she still doesn’t dare move, doesn’t dare make a sound. She lays huddled there for hours, shaking like a leaf.

Chapter Text

This was a mistake.

Her soft hiccups and sobs are the only sound for miles, echoing around the metal interior of the dumpster. Who was she kidding? She can’t do this alone. She lost. She lost her forever home and her forever friend and maybe she just has to accept that and accept that the world is mean and…

And…

Mom and Dad usually cut her off there, the rare times she goes down this spiral. They tell her they’re so proud of her optimism and they don’t blame her for losing hope sometimes but they want her to remember what she told them about making the world the place you believe it should be. She’s so used to it she…doesn’t actually know how the rest of the spiral is supposed to go.

She wants them right now, more than anything. Maybe even more than Scratch and Brighton. She wants Mom to wrap her in one of her warm squishy hugs and to feel Dad’s scratchy stubble as he kisses her forehead, for them to brush her hair out of her eyes and surround her with all her plushies for comfort and just be there to wait out the sadness with her. She wants them to make this better.

And… and the worst part is she can’t have that and probably never can again because of this. She messed up and hurt them so bad that things can never go back to normal. She wants to be angry at herself for choosing Brighton over them but she finds she can’t be because it’s an impossible choice. Anyone would grow conflicted. She loves them all the same and it feels like tearing her heart in two to have to pick one over the other. How can she choose her home over her home? How can she choose some family members over another?

She just wants things to go back to how they were…

She just wants things to be normal again.

Eventually, after hours, Molly gathers the courage to slowly emerge from the dumpster. She creeps around the buildings perimeter slowly, shaking all the while and expecting to be grabbed from behind any second now. After checking every alcove where he could be hiding and determining that she’s well and truly the only person for miles, Molly makes a mad dash for a nearby phone booth, like a child running upstairs after turning off the light. She slams the door behind her and holds it shut, shaking, eyes darting everywhere for something she missed. Every sound makes her jump; her nerves are shot.

Frantically, she pulls out a cardigan from her bag and uses it as a makeshift lock. One sleeve is tied over the door handle, the other is tied to the stand of the old-timey phone, the cardigan stretched tight so that trying to open the door from the outside would create resistance. Feeling some relief from her slap-dash security system, Molly finally relaxes enough to lean against the wall of the phone booth and check her phone.

It won’t turn on. Panicked, but not entirely surprised, Molly mashes the home key a bunch more times to double check and, sure enough, nothing. Well, that’s half of why she chose here to hide out in, aside from the ‘security’. She rifles through her cash for any pennies.

Coin in hand, Molly’s fingers hover reluctantly over the slot. Just one call and her parents will be here to pick her up. They’ll be furious, but they’ll come in a heartbeat, she just knows it.

But they’ll cry. And they’ll talk about her running away- and frankly that’s the last thing Molly wants to think about right now. She hugs a newly freed Twinklespot to her chest and runs through potential emotionally charged confrontations in her head.

‘I just want things to be normal again…’

Without giving herself time to think, Molly presses the coin into the slot and hammers out a well remembered number.

It rings for one painful tone. Two. Three-

“Mmmhello..?” A dazed and groggy voice answers. The sound of her voice almost makes Molly burst into tears.

“Libby!”

“Molly??” She sounds beyond confused, creaking and the shuffling of blankets being heard in the background as she shuffles to a sit and, presumably, checks the time. “What’s going on? It’s like midnight…”

“Yeah, sorry.” She chuckles, embarrassed but desperate to keep her on the line. After a pause where she considers being more honest, she instead settles on “I couldn’t sleep.”

“I could.” It’s too tired to be particularly scathing but the sardonic tone is still there. “What number is this anyway? Are you calling from a…pay phone??”

“My phone died.” She sighs, sinking into the conversation more as she lowers herself to a sit, stretching the cord to its limit.

“Why not use your parents’ or Darryl’s phone? Or the ipad?”

“Um. Didn’t want to disturb them, y’know? Mom and Dad need…need their sleep if they’re gonna be driving…” Her tone drifts off into one of sadness and guilt as she realises what she’s saying. She doubts they’re getting much sleep at all right now.

“Oh. Right.” Libby sounds confused, like she doesn’t entirely buy that explanation, which makes her momentarily tense up. There’s no further interrogation, however, and the suspicious tone is quickly dropped from her voice, so Molly hopes that means she bought it. “Is the road trip going alright? I know you said you’re used to them, but it must be harder this time.”

The sympathetic voice only makes her hurt more. “Ah, it’s not that bad!” She forces a smile, trying to change the tone of the conversation back to greener pastures.

“Really?” Libby sounds surprised.

“Yup! We got lots of road trip snacks, we saw some attractions…” All technically not lies. “It’s just great out here! Really!”

“Oh…well… that’s nice to hear.” Libby sounds a little put off by her intense enthusiasm. “…People at school keep asking where you went.”

Oh cob, not school…

“Andrea even asked me in person- which is weird, because I don’t think she’s spoken to me in like, years. The teachers keep accidentally saying your name during registration too. I don’t know if you’re still on the list or what but it’s really uncomfortable every time it happens.”

“Well, we did leave in a hurry…” A month of homelessness wasn’t a hurry but they had to cling onto hope wherever it was. No matter how slim. No one wanted to accept it until the house sale was final and by that point things were already in motion and telling everyone, including school and Dad’s work, had been a rushed job. She thinks part of it was deliberate. Maybe Dad, like her, really wanted to believe for as long as possible or maybe he just couldn’t face the process of saying goodbye.

“Things get all quiet whenever someone mentions you and people stare at me- which I wish they wouldn’t. I feel like they can see everything I’m thinking and feeling. I wish you were here. You made me feel so much more confident.”

“You made me feel normal.” Molly smiles sadly.

“You are normal.” Libby replies, clearly misunderstanding her. Regardless, the sound of her surprised snort laugh sounds like an angels song after the past few days. “Maybe a little enthusiastic…”

“I am known for my enthusisam.” Molly chuckles back, her smile growing a little wider and more carefree. She sits up straighter remembering a billboard they’d passed on the drive. “Hey, I saw they announced a new Worm Woman comic!”

“I know! Text me your grandma’s address once you get there- the store gets copies on release day and I wanna send a first edition to you!”

“Promise you won’t spoil me until I get it?”

“I can try, but I make no promises.”

“Liiiibs-“

“Kidding, kidding.” She giggles. “…I was actually thinking we could read it together? It won’t be exactly the same as doing it in person, but…”

Oh, sweet Libby. “That sounds fun. Like on video call or-?”

“Oof- I’m not good with video calls. I can never focus in them because I just keep looking at myself and thinking I look weird- I don’t know how you do it so often with your grandma.”

“It’s a learnt skill. The more you do it the more you tune out your own corner.”

“Maybe…anyway I wanted to make a habit of calling you, y’know so we don’t fall out of touch.” Many friends have said that to her in the past; It usually doesn’t last more than a month. “I’ve been waiting til you get to California though- Mom says it’d be rude to call while you’re still trapped in the car and everyone has to listen to us.”

Molly shifts uncomfortably. She wants to believe that Libby will be different and keep all these lofty promises but she’s starting to feel glad she didn’t risk it. 

(Returning to Brighton would mean she’d never have to find out. No one can let you down if you don’t let them).

A yawn forces its way out of her without permission and she slaps a hand over her mouth, surprised. Libby giggles. “You getting tired?”

Thoughts abandoned, Molly smiles embarrassedly. “Maybe a little.”

“Me too.”

“Can you stay on the line a little longer?” She begs, voice quiet and vulnerable like a child. Libby stays quiet. “…Please? I don’t wanna fall asleep alone.”

“…Sure.” Libby’s voice is warm and she feels close enough Molly can almost pretend they’re just having a sleepover if she closes her eyes.

“Thank you.” She whispers, smiling gratefully. She’s been sinking lower and lower by the second until she’s almost flat on her back. She tugs her bags up to function as pillows and tucks her legs in awkwardly. It’s hard to get comfortable in the booth but she finds she doesn’t have the strength to move once she’s laid down. “…Libby? You still there?”

A similarly sleepy “M’still here.”

“Can you tell me about your story?” Molly yawns.

“Oh geez. I haven’t really written anything since you left-“

“It’s ok. I don’t mind hearing it again…”

“…Ok.” Another yawn, before she clears her throat. “Knel is a kingdom filled with mythical turtles bigger than a human, tamed by various groups called Turtle Riders…”

Molly listens to the sound of her friend’s warm voice for as long as she can manage, clinging onto it like a lifeline. She holds tight to the sound and the normalcy of it, burning it into her mind to make sure it’s the last thing she remembers before falling asleep.

Chapter Text

She sleeps for longer than intended as, when she wakes up, she’s missed the sun rise. For a moment, the sight makes her panic. Surely someone has come to open the place and seen her, right?! Well, when she hesitantly exits the phone booth (sweet baby corn, are all her muscles cramped) she sees the gas station is indeed open but the cashier seems just as bored and inattentive as the first one she ran into. He doesn’t notice Molly sneaking away from the place, and she can’t decide whether to be relieved or offended at that.

Her phone is still dead, she remembers, with a bite of her lip, as she tries to turn it on. Right. No checking for directions then.

But she still has a few quarters. Calling her parents is still an option, a voice in her head tells her. She wanted them so bad last night. But, under the illuminating light of day, all she can think of is Libby’s claims that she was ‘just waiting until she got to California’ to call and it steadies her resolve to keep going. Scratch hasn’t even attempted to make contact or follow after her. It makes her mad, though it also stokes a different kind of fire within her. One that’s hungry and desperate to be loved. She put too much effort into Brighton to give up on it now. Even if no one in her life ever cares for her as much as she cares for them, if she stops caring then she’ll be no one.

And…and she doesn’t want to start again. It feels like she’s poured out every last drop of herself she has to give over the years, cultivating futures that just wither up and die on her. Some part of her knows with certainty that if she lets this last flower die too, then she will have nothing left to give to another.

She made her bed in Brighton. She put her hope for life on it’s shoulders. She will give every last bit of herself that’s left to keep it.

It’s noon and she’s hot, sweaty and tired when she sees a sign for some town she’s never heard of ‘in one mile’. She nearly collapses from relief. Maybe things are starting to look up? A town will have a place to charge her phone, which is her main priority right now, but they’ll also have access to transport. If she can get a bus to Brighton this will become a lot more feasible because, between you and her, she is NOT built for this life.

The next mile is a horrendous slog with her literally dragging her feet, as well as her bag, along the ground. There’s still dirt on her from her time in the dumpster and mud staining her knees from the many, many times she’s collapsed in the dirt for a break. She must look homeless when she arrives on the junction which, she supposes, she is. It’s still a hard thought to get used to, even a month into it.

A loud, annoyed groan escapes her when she realises she’s on the wrong side of the highway to get into town. It’s probably enough to startle multiple drivers, if her stench hasn’t already. She doesn’t have it in her to care anymore. Hands run down her face in exasperation before she gives her cheeks a few firm slaps to get herself on alert.

“Ok, Molly. You’ve made it this far. Crossing one little road is NOT gonna stop you!” Despite her hyping herself up, she isn’t blind. This is no ‘little road’ and, being a rural highway, there are no pedestrian crossings in sight. Granted, the turn-in means traffic is a little slower here, but it doesn’t account for much. Sweat beads on her forehead as a car whizzes past fast enough to blow her hair back.

“Oooon second thoughts, maybe I can just live here forever! I mean, it’s got plenty of space to sleep, lots of…corn- n-no, pretty sure that’s wheat. You can eat raw wheat, right?” She talks to herself, squinting at a nearby field. “Yeaaah. Yeah, this’ll be great. This is a great plan! I’m losing my mind.” 

There’s no getting past what she needs to do. Molly takes a deep, shaky breath to steel her nerves. One final time, she weighs up the pros and cons of going back to the payphone and calling her parents to pick her up. She can’t think of a logical argument against it, so she instead goes with her gut. If she loses Brighton, she loses herself. She is not getting back in that stuffy car again until she’s at least seen Scratch again.

It takes nearly 15 minutes and a few false starts she’s too scared to commit to for Molly to find a gap in the cars wide enough to risk running across. She screams all the while, raw shock and adrenaline flooding her body like ice water as she stumbles to a stop in the middle of the road and feels the cars whooshing past on either side of her. Panting, she immediately regrets this choose and looks around frantically for a way back. But the traffic has returned at full force on both sides now and, she realises with a mix of dread and determination, that it’s now just as risky to go back as forwards.

Gulping, Molly tries to keep her body calm, even as the racket of the highway pounds against her head and tells every instinct in her that this is a horrible idea. She doesn’t think she can mentally last long out here and commits to not having any false starts this time. In the distance, there’s a gap between the cars growing closer and she takes a few deep breaths to hype herself up, getting into a sprinting position in preparation.

‘You can do this, you can do this…’

As soon as the last car is gone she tears across the road, screaming like a baby the whole way. (That second part was unnecessary to include). Just as she reaches the other side, one foot on safe, safe grass, she hears a loud ‘THUD’ that makes her want to vomit. She throws herself to the floor instinctively, scraping up her face, hands and knees as she lands. There’s a sudden, heavy, choking pull on her shoulder and neck for a split second before, like a cord snapping, it’s gone.

She lays there on the ground, breaths coming in gulps and eyes squeezed shut in terror for what feels like an eternity. She’s dead. That’s it, she’s dead, she’s a ghost now. She died. She’s-

Cracking her eyes open, terrified of what she’ll see, Molly blinks in surprise when only her normal, human hands appear in front of her. She turns them over, once, then twice and checks her own pulse for good measure. Yup. That’s flesh and blood alright.

“I…I made it…?” She mumbles to herself, dazed. Her vision is swimming. She has to close her eyes and pull herself up to her knees slowly. Something feels wrong, but she can’t tell what it is. Something is too light. A strange, thin strip of something slides down her front as she sits up and she freezes in place, momentarily fearing it was skin. Then she notices a flash of green and realises it’s her Mom’s bag strap.

Her thoughts, still muddled by shock, grind back to life slowly as she stares at the thing. Not a part of her body. She’s fine. …She thinks. There’s no obvious major pain as she mentally ticks off various areas of her body, just a series of stinging scrapes and bruises from the fall. The strap isn’t connected to anything, it’s just a torn piece. Which means…

Molly turns around and gasps. An impressive distance from where she’s sitting, is a pile of torn and shredded fabric. She tries to walk over to it but stumbles on wobbly legs and has to resort to crawling. It’s her clothes, mostly, though the wind is slowly carrying away the split open carcass of the bag itself. What had once been most of her wardrobe is now a pile of shredded, mud-caked scraps. Everything…even that mathletes shirt from her old school in New Mexico, and the dress she wore to Libby’s bat mitzvah…

She can’t tell whether to cry out from grief or sob in gratitude. The thud makes sense, now. Even as she triple checks herself, there are no gaping wounds hidden in her hair or sides, no missing fingers or toes she’d been too numb with adrenaline to notice. ‘Of course,’ She thinks, staring at the stuff. ‘The strap on Mom’s bag is too long for me. It trailed behind.’

Her thumbs gently stroke along the ruined fabric of her dress, picking up glitter that had once been stuck firm. She buries her hands in it, scrunching it in…anger? She can’t tell anymore. But at least it’s not her.

It’s an awful conflicting mess of emotions.

The worst moment comes when she notices the stuffing. At first she thinks maybe it’s cotton, before remembering that she’s too far north for that to be growing. Then, a dawning horror and dread sinks over her and she has to force herself to glance over at the road.

Twinklespot is split in two, stuffing squeezed out of him by a filthy tire track all along his neck. His back half is strewn across the road, completely irretrievable and with the fast traffic obscuring it from view every few seconds. Molly bites her lip hard enough it bleeds at the sight, fruitlessly fighting back tears.

It’s such a stupid thing to mourn when she could have died.

But it was hers.

Twinklespot has been by her side since she was little. A birthday present just weeks before the first move of many. He knows what she’s been through and what that’s like. He’s the only soul who knows what lead her to end up here. He was the only thing of sentimental value she found room to take- and now he’s gone. Not even a dignified end, but scattered across some random highway, being turned into mulch by uncaring motorists who don’t know or care what he means to someone.

It’s the straw that breaks the camels back and she starts to cry, hysterically.
-

It takes way longer this time for her to work up the courage to recover him. Even though she doesn’t have to reach a fraction as far to just grab (half of) the toy and drag it to safety, somehow the idea of just her fingers being run over makes her wince more than the thought of all of her. But, eventually, there’s a lull in the cars and Molly is able to retrieve her friend’s head, albeit sans most of his fluff. He looks so sad now. Like a simple piece of fabric. Which he is- she isn’t stupid, she knows that. Always has been. But he was a piece of fabric that meant something. He had a voice and a history. He deserves a proper burial.

It’s probably a bizarre sight for the passing motorists to see a filthy and beat-up teenager digging with her hands in the dirt while cradling the head of a stuffed giraffe. She tries to find some humour in that thought, even though it’s not funny at all.

Molly gives a speech over his fresh and shallow grave, gathers up what’s salvageable from her scattered clothes and takes off, following the road signs to this town. She wonders if she felt this numb just a few days ago.

Chapter Text

The town doesn’t crest victoriously over the horizon, as an oasis does in a dessert, like she’d thought. Rather, it comes slowly, with aesthetically planted trees lining the path and a few rural houses that slowly build up into a suburb. Molly is exhausted, especially so now that she’s crashing from the adrenaline rush of earlier, but each new glimpse of civilisation gives her a boost of confidence to keep walking. Even as her knees sting and her blisters rub painfully against her shoes with every step.

She’s just passed a lone house, isolated at the very outskirts of the suburbs, when the sound of voices makes her jump. Instinctively, (though she isn’t sure why. Maybe because of her appearance? Or maybe because a part of her still feels like a child with her hand in the cookie jar…) she ducks behind one of the hedges at the edge of the property.

The woman she heard doesn’t seem to have noticed her, which is good. She’s sifting frantically through a woven bag at her elbow as a young girl jumps around, playing hopscotch with the pavestones leading up to the front door.

“Emily, stay still, I’m trying to find the keys…ugh!” She holds her hand to her head, with a face clearly conveying that this is the last thing she needs. “We’re gonna be late at this rate!”

“Good!” The girl grins up at her, showing off a chipped front tooth.

“Not good! We’re not missing this appointment, Missy!” It’s obvious this has been a point of debate before as the girl throws her head back dramatically with a groan. “I told you- the dentist is good for you!” The woman tries to put on an enthusiastic voice, even as she fusses around just inside the front entrance. “Where is it, where is it… Oh, you know what?!” She looks up at the sky as though God themself has personally blighted her in a way that makes Molly nostalgic for her own mom. With a stressed sounding huff, the stranger pulls the door closed and produces a key from under the door mat to lock it. “I’ll have to find it later, we’re gonna be late. EMMA! Up, we gotta go!” By this point the girl is lying on the ground, groaning in protest about the dentist and her mother has to pick her up and carry her into the car. Molly watches on in amusement as the flustered woman checks around frantically for anyone else on the road before pulling out and driving into town. Molly ducks lower as the car drives past her, but, thankfully, neither so much as glance in her direction.

She should move on now. But she doesn’t.

The exhausted numbness must be affecting her, because an awful idea begins to take root in her mind that she can’t shake out. She tries to reason with herself but all thoughts come out distant and unfocused with hunger. Even slapping herself in the face to try and snap herself out of it and remember who she is does little to keep the desperation at bay.

She knows where their spare key is now.

It’s wrong and awful (but she’s so hungry…) and she’s not that kind of person (but she already broke into a truck). Just because the world hurt her, doesn’t mean she gets to hurt others.

She thinks all this to herself firmly and confidently, even as she creeps up those pavestones and quickly slips inside. For a moment, her own denial has to take a pause as she slams her back against the door and takes in where she is.

Shoot- she doesn’t know if they were the only ones home! “H-hello?” She shouts into the house, despite the complete stupidity of that course of action. But she’s not exactly thinking clearly here; if she were she wouldn’t be doing this. Her heart is pounding with adrenaline and she waits, still as a statue, on that doorstep for probably 5 whole minutes until she finally is satisfied that no one is going to answer.

Taking her shoes off inside is habit but, in this case, also useful to keep from leaving any signs she was here. She runs a quick lap of the house to double check she’s truly alone before returning to the kitchen where she’d entered with an unsteady sigh.

“Ok… Ok, I’m really doing this…” Her hands shake and it takes a few attempts to plug her phone charger into a nearby outlet. Next course of action: food. Her thoughts are going a mile a minute now, just like her heart (to the point the latter actually dampens her appetite). It sounded like they’re gonna be gone a while but that’s no excuse to dillydally. She just has to get what she needs from here and get out.

Molly throws open every cupboard and the fridge doors, scouring for something she can take that won’t be noticeable. There are tiny bags of animal crackers and goldfish on a top shelf and she takes one of each and shoves them in her pockets for last in case she has to flee the scene quick. They have three different types of cereal and she fills a bowl with a little from each to keep one particular box from going down too much that it’s noticeable. Not even bothering with milk, she just shoves her face in the bowl and eats frantically out of it like a horse as she continues her search. (It doesn’t even occur to her until after that she probably could have used the milk and watered it down when she was done to hide the evidence. She isn’t thinking straight).

There’s enough bread that she risks making herself one, frankly, pathetically thin sandwich with only a single slice of bologna and a craft single on it. It’s disgusting and she eats it hunched over her bowl like a goblin to keep the crumbs all in one place but it’s food. What else is there? There’s enough tangerines in the fruit bowl she feels safe to pocket one but then she gets carried away gathering grapes and takes more than intended from the vine. She ends up turning it over to hide the part she gutted, sweat running down the back of her neck. They’re gonna know. They’re gonna know. They’re gonna-

There’s alphabet soup at the very back of a dusty cupboard that she considers warming up before realising that the scent and the, potentially, still warm microwave will be too risky a tell. Instead, she adds it to her stock…before caving and pouring it stone cold into the multi-purpose bowl. She gags but forces herself to finish it for the nutrients. Soup is meant to be filling, Grandma Nin says.

After one last, desperate loop around the kitchen, she decides to risk another slice of bread to eat (solo this time) and adds a cereal bar to her spoils. Her phone is only on 46% by this point, which is both good and bad because she also really needs the bathroom. It’s a huge relief to get to go somewhere clean for once.

The sight of herself in the mirror makes her flinch. Sweet baby corn- she knew it wasn’t good but she looks AWFUL. Molly washes her hands slowly, distracted as her eyes run over her features. There are bags under her eyes so deep they look bruised, and her face is covered in crumbs, soup stains and stress acne. Her hair is horrifically greasy and her ponytail is limp and has tangled itself around the hairtie by this point. It’s painful to pull it out.

She desperately needs a shower. She looks towards it, longingly, hand outstretched for the door…but she can’t. Steaming up the bathroom is going to be so obvious and, plus, she doesn’t have a way to dry herself. No, no, this is already too risky but that’s crossing a line. Instead, she pulls the bathmat right up to the sink and washes herself as best she can there with just sink water, soap and her hands. In the end, she may have just made a bigger mess than the alternative, but at least she smells a little better now. She’s only changed once so far on her journey, trying to preserve as many clothes as possible. If dried garbage juice stains aren’t a good enough excuse to do so again, she doesn’t know what is. Her replacement shirt is black with a flaking Worm Woman print on the front. She thinks it might have actually been Darryl’s from before he transitioned that got mixed in with her clothes by mistake during a move, because it’s a bit too wide and short on her. That’s fashionable now, right? It’s a half hearted attempt at optimism, but the thought of Scratch backing her up and hyping up her fashion sense gets a genuine smile out of her. He has no idea what’s trendy these days, she can tell him anything. Molly pulls on some light blue jeans and ties her hair back in a bun (she’d found some dry shampoo to put on it, but she’s still kinda grossed out by the grease getting in her face), before creeping her way back out of the bathroom.

She really needs to go now; she’s been here way too long. They’ll surely be back soon and the longer she dawdles, the more likely she is to leave behind evidence. She’s been pretty thorough with cleaning up after herself until now, washing her bowl and placing it back in the cupbard, using her dirty clothes to dry up every drop of water she could find that she’d left in the bathroom, but she has to have missed some things. Molly knows this and yet she still finds her eye drawn to the one open door on the second floor.

There are stickers covering on the front, spelling out the little girl from earlier’s name. Inside is an explosion of pink carpets and yellow wallpaper. It’s distracting, ok?! Her attention caught, Molly can’t help but creep inside, going slowly and on tiptoe as though there were someone still in the room.

There are fairy lights hung from the ceiling and plushies lining the edge of her bed. Her bedsheets are unicorn themed. Molly looks in awe at all the cute little trinkets on her shelves, the box of dolls still open on the floor, abandoned mid-play…she even has her own TV and Ninstation 4! Molly is looking jealously at her extensive collection of Narwhal Surprise figures, when something out of the corner of her eye catches her attention. She gasps.

Among the discarded dolls is the rare, limited edition Cornicorn stuffy from KittySofts 2018 Christmas line. Molly has been eyeing that thing for YEARS on auction sites, but not even Darryl’s ‘sources’ could get her close to finding it at an affordable price. They only sold it for 12 days in December in certain stores.

It’s a little more beat up than the ones she sees resold online, but it’s definitely her. The paint on her favourite toy’s candy corn horn hasn’t faded a bit and the Santa hat is still firmly attached to her mane. Molly runs her hands down the soft fluffy fur of the toy, over the beautifully embroidered snowflakes patterns twirling up from her hooves like vines. She’s one of the most well made and expensive plushies of the character and it’s clear in the details.

If she wasn’t jealous of this girl before, she definitely is now. Back when this Christmas collection first came out, her parents said they couldn’t afford to buy her something so expensive last minute, nor were they even within driving distance of a name brand store big enough to sell them. Dad had gotten them landed somewhere in the middle of rural Kansas that year and anything decent had to be ordered online.

Tears of bitter anger burn at the corner of her eyes. Stupid moving, stupid parents…it’s not really them she’s mad at, she knows, as she wipes her tears away on her shirt. It’s just…everything being unfair sometimes. Why does this little girl get to have the perfect bedroom and the perfect comfortable life when Molly’s had hers ripped away from her time and time again? Why does she get to have a family with money and limited edition stuffies she probably doesn’t even know the value of? Why does she get to have a forever home?

And, for the second time today, Molly has an awful thought.
-

Her phone is on 78% and that will have to do. Molly walks away from the house with her hands holding her backpack straps stiffly, hoping to cob she looks natural to anyone who may be looking at her. No one is, but it feels that way. It feels like there’s a spotlight over her, coupled with a giant arrow reading ‘BAD PERSON’.

She’s not a bad person. That little girl has everything. Molly has nothing. She won’t miss one little toy. Right? Molly just needs this.

She needs this.

Chapter Text

It takes an hour of walking to make her way out of the suburbs and into town and another 30 minutes to find something useful there. The main thing she looks for is a bus stop which, thankfully, with the help of some locals, she locates before her feet give out on her. Either she’s getting weaker or she needs to have a serious look at those blisters. If she gets some kind of infection on top of all she’s already dealing with she might just scream.

Heh. That makes her sound like Mom. …
It’s not super funny.

Thanks for small miracles, there’s a bus to Brighton leaving that evening. Molly requests a ticket and the price makes her do a double take.

“Really?” The pathetic squeak of a word is the only sound she can get out in response. The man shrugs.

“Sorry kid, that’s business.”

With a sigh, Molly reluctantly hands over the rest of her cash and leaves with only $4 dollars, 2 nickels, a quarter and some lint left to her name. So much for getting extra supplies. She supposes it’s good she got that full ‘meal’ in when she did this morning.

Ah, what is she talking about? She doesn’t have to worry about food anymore- she’ll be in Brighton by tomorrow! For the first time, things are looking up! Though, she isn’t exactly sure how Scratch is going to keep her fed without a job that pays human money…or… Come to think of it, how he’s going to support her at all when she still hasn’t figured out any accommodation for when she gets there…

Ah, she’ll cross that bridge when she gets to it! No need to worry about that now!

Once the crushing depression of spending money over $10 goes away (note to self: apologise to her parents when she sees them again for all the useless junk she’s asked them to buy her over the years), Molly finally allows herself to relax in one place for a while. There’s a local park nearby filled with joyful kids and cosy picnickers. Now that she’s (semi) clean and doesn’t look like death, she actually feels normal for the first time in a while! Her mood is improving so much that she (perhaps unwisely) parts with one of her nickels to make a wish in the fountain. 

‘I wish for my forever home back’

Of course she doesn’t need wishes, since she’s got this. It does give her a boost of confidence, though. Nothing wrong with a little superstition in a world where ghosts are real. Plus, if Scratch was right about her being naturally pretty lucky, then she should probably be trying to harness that as a backup plan. To stay on the safe side, Molly plays hopscotch to dodge every crack in the pavement she sees on her way to the local mall. The whole way she holds onto her newfound stuffie, brainstorming names for them.

“Maybe Sparkleshoes?” She thinks aloud, petting the toy in her lap. “Since you have got those nice, shiny hooves.” She makes them bicycle in front of her, admiring the shimmer from the iridescent material. But then again…’Sparkle’ sounds a little too similar to…

A passing vendor walks by and, distracted, Molly quickly shoves her hair into a fake moustache to grab another free sample. (Scratch taught her that trick). Hey, she needs something for lunch! “Remind me to hit up the chocolate store again for dessert. Maybe they’ve forgotten me by now.” She whispers conspiratorially into the toy’s fabric ear. It nods its head back at her.

“‘Yeah, Molly, that sounds like a great idea!’” She frowns, feeling an icy claw of sadness grip her chest at the familiarity of the play talk. “Ok, maybe a deep voice doesn’t suit you. How about high, like this?” People are staring but she doesn’t care, she’s earned this. She trots the toy along her knees, experimenting with this new take on the character. “‘Boy, you and me are gonna have so much fun once we get to Brighton, Moll! I can’t wait to meet everyone!’”

“That we are, my friend! That we are!” Molly grins, hugging the toy close to her chest. This voice is much better, though something about it still sounds familiar…almost like…

A wailing across the food court hits the nail on the head, uncanny enough to make Molly jump. The little girl from earlier is being lead to sit down on a bench by her mother as fat tears roll down her face.

“Calm down, sweetie, it’s alright! I’m sure he’s here somewhere!” The mother soothes, kneeling down to put her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. “Where else did you go with him?”

“I-I didn’t! ‘M sure I left him at home!” The girl chokes out between tears. She gets a confused frown in response

“Well we already searched there, remember? You must have taken Snowflake with you to the dentist and forgot.”

Molly’s stomach drops in realisation and guilt and she quickly (and conspicuously) hides the toy behind her back. The two are distracted enough she could slip away now and go unnoticed. It’s not like she stands out, especially in these more neutral colours. She could just leave- the little girl will probably end up with a new stuffie bought for her by the end of the day, anyway. A happy ending for both of them! …Right?

“What if I got you a new toy? Would that make you feel better?” Her mother asks desperately when the child’s crying becomes loud enough to attract eyes on them. See? Just like she thought! Kids like that don’t have to worry about the things Molly does! She has plenty of toys back at home and she’ll get plenty more! Molly…Molly only has this now. She had to give up everyone else back at the car and ended up destroying Twinklespot in a way he can never be fixed from. She needs this.

Even as she tells herself it, she knows it’s not true.

“B-but Dad didn’t buy a new toy!” The girl blubbers. “He bough’ me Snowflake!”

The woman’s face falls in understanding and pity as she rubs her tears away with her thumbs. “I know, Sweetie…”

…Molly sighs, defeated.

What’s gotten into her? Scratch won’t be impressed with this. This isn’t the kind of stealing he can get behind. This isn’t the kind of stealing she can get behind. If him or Darryl had tried this she knows she would be furiously lecturing them. What, is it different when it’s her?

Her mind is cast back to the sight of Twinklespot’s body torn and emptied, his fur caked in mud and once expressive eyes returned to unseeing embroidery.

‘It’s not fair’, A still hurt part of her protests as her throat burns hot. ‘I didn’t make a scene’.

She did, though. She’d misplaced Twinklespot when she was that age and she remembers how much it hurt to lose such a constant presence in her life.

Her hands stim anxiously with the weighted beans in the toy. She’s going to miss having something to hold onto.
-

“It’s ok, Sweetie. Shhh… I- I can’t promise we’ll find him but we’ll keep looking as hard as we can, ok? …I know. I know you miss Dad…” Tired blue eyes glance away, not wanting to look at the bouncing of her daughter’s pigtails as she sobs into her shoulder. A needle in a haystack is what it is… Why does life have to be so unfair for it to be Snowflake, of all toys she could lose?!

Something shiny and iridescent reflects the lights into her eyes and catches her attention. As she turns her head slightly to get a better look, a gasp escapes her. A few benches down from them, the unicorn is laid out perfectly, as though waiting to be spotted.

“Emma-“ She shakes her daughter’s shoulder to get her to look up, a grin coming to her face. “Emma, look!”

Her daughter’s red, puffy face raises reluctantly from her jacket just enough to glance at where she’s pointing. Instantly, her pout falls away and she gasps in excitement. A relieved laugh escapes her as the child hops out of her lap and runs for the toy, squealing its name.

“Snowflake, Snowflake! You’re back!” As Emma clutches the toy to her chest in a hug and spins it round in circles, her mother pulls herself, a little painfully, out of her crouch.

“I can’t believe we missed that…!”
-

From behind a nearby trash can, Molly holds her breath, hoping to remain unspotted. The sight of the girl talking to the toy and making it respond in a funny voice brings a warmth to her chest, even as her eyes prick. It’s bittersweet, but at least the weight on her chest has lifted. She decides, once and for all, that she doesn’t want to be this kind of person, no matter how bad she’s feeling. Just because the world is unfair, doesn’t mean she has to be.

The knowledge that she did the right thing doesn’t stop her loneliness the rest of the afternoon. Nor the grief when she settles into her bus seat beside her bag and doesn’t find Twinklespot in his designated place. But at least when she arrives back in Brighton she won’t bring any regrets with her, and Molly tries to take comfort in that. She wants people to recognise her when she gets back.

“Don’t let this kill your spirit, Moll.” Scratch said to her before they left. She hopes she hasn’t already failed him.

The drive is overnight, which she’s grateful for after days of not having a comfortable place to sleep. The bus is fairly empty, expected given Brighton’s lack of popularity, so she has double seats to herself to lay down. As the bus gets further and further away from town, the stars come out to watch over her. Molly watches Gemini through her window until she can no longer keep her eyes open. She falls asleep cuddling a curled up t-shirt. 

Chapter Text

Brighton is exactly the way she left it. That shouldn’t surprise her, but it does. It’s disorienting stepping out onto main street and seeing that nothing has really changed even though her whole world has fallen apart. They just…moved on without her.

She doesn’t know what she’s even thinking right now- of course they moved on without her. What did she expect? Everyone to stop their busy lives and hold a vigil for them? She blushes, feeling shamefully self-centred.

It just makes it all the more bizarre to walk down these familiar streets, looking, to everyone else, like things are back to normal when she knows in her head how off everything is. It doesn’t feel as enhappifying as she thought it would. It feels weird.

Mom, Dad and Darryl should be here. Or at least they should know she is here. It’s a Monday, she should be getting ready for school, but school is probably working on removing her from the registers (if they haven’t already). Most crucially, Scratch should be by her side but she has no clue where he is.

That’s priority #1 she decides, after using a local store’s bathroom to freshen up for the day as best she can. Once she finds him, everything else will fall into place and she’ll finally feel like she’s home again! Once they’re together they’ll know what to do.

She begins to doubt that idea a little as she spies a kid she vaguely recognises across the street staring at her for a bit too long. Shoot, right, she’s not meant to be here. Beginning to walk a little faster now, Molly takes one arm out of her backpack strap and slides it down to rest at her elbow as she fishes around for her beanie. She tugs it down over her ears, self consciously, trying to hide her hair. Her hoodie would help but it’s too far down in her bag to get without unpacking everything. Besides, it’s warm out today and she can’t afford to sweat through any more clothes without a way to wash and dry them.

There’s a shortcut home through the grocery store parking lot and she keeps her gaze firmly on the ground to avoid attracting unwanted attention. It doesn’t work.

“Molly?” A familiar, extremely confused voice makes her jump a mile, heart beginning to pound in her chest. Sweating, Molly scans around frantically, but it doesn’t take long to spot the flash of blue across the lot. She hadn’t really thought about bumping into people she knows so far, having optimistically thought that once she’d settled down again she could just waltz back into their lives like nothing happened. Now that she’s actually here, though, she instinctively knows that being seen is a bad, BAD idea.

(It fills her with the same embarrassment she gets whenever Dad gently breaks to her that her plans for city enhappification are wonderful but a bit too ambitious. Not realistic in the slightest. It goes unspoken, but she knows he means childish.)

With a startled squeak, not unlike a cornered mouse, Molly drops to the floor between the two cars she’s been walking between and rolls under the belly of one. ‘Please don’t start, please don’t start, please don’t start…’

The sound of running footsteps is followed by Andrea’s familiar cute boots (she’d always wanted those boots) appearing in Molly’s sliver of vision outside the car.

“Molly?” She can practically hear the girl’s ever-expressive face scrunching up in confusion as she shuffles around like she’s turning. Underneath the car, Molly holds her breath and hopes that she isn’t smart enough to check under the car, please don’t check-

“Button! Don’t run off like that!” Thankfully, those boots turn to point away from Molly as her dad’s voice gets close enough to hear clearly.

“Sorry…I just… I thought I saw someone from sch-“ Molly winces at the same time it seems Andrea does, thinking better of what she’s saying. Her confident, ClikClok approved influencer voice returns. “Nevermind. Must have been someone else.” 

She doesn’t sound 100% convinced, even under the mask of a fake voice, but Molly is grateful that the undercurrent is more befuddlement than suspicion. Her dad leads her away easily, though Molly waits to hear the distant beep of the automatic doors opening before crawling out from her hiding place. 

“Well, so much for keeping these clothes clean…” She notes dryly. Sighing in a mix of guilt and nausea (hiding like that had not brought up good memories), Molly commits to grabbing that hoodie.

If Andrea saw her she would have definitely told people when she realised she ran away. Why wouldn’t she? Andrea doesn’t understand her situation-

She cringes. No…no… Another one of those childish, hopeful ideas she’d been clinging to evaporates in her mind as she actually thinks this over. Andrea would tell because that’s what ANY reasonable person would do. That’s what Molly would do if the roles were reversed. And that’s what Libby would do.

Her movements slow as she adjusts her hoodie sleeves and she stares blankly at her palms as reality crashes over her. Libby would understand but she wouldn’t accept this- what is Molly, crazy?! Libby’s SUPER smart and responsible. She’d call the police or her parents right away. And probably grill her about a lot of the questions she’s been avoiding thinking about like ‘where are you gonna stay?’ and ‘what about school?’. She’d do it out of love, of course, but also out of logic and Molly isn’t ACTING out of logic here, she’s acting with her heart. She needs someone who understands that. She needs Scratch.

…It stings and more than takes the wind out of her sails, but reuniting with Libby is off the table.
-

Logically, she knows the house has been sold, but seeing it still makes her recoil like she’s been burnt.

There’s another car in the drive that looks like a hearse and a man is standing precariously on a ladder (just like Dad when he broke his arm…) as he paints her house black. It would look awful in black, can’t he see that? Is she the only one who understands colour theory here? More colours = more better! That’s just simple math! AND they’ve removed Dad’s petunias! It’s so wrong to look at, she can barely even recognise the place.

Having the new family here isn’t ideal for her purposes, but she’s too impatient to see Scratch again that she risks getting as close to the house as possible. She sidles down the side path, around the side the man isn’t painting, and into the backyard. There, she whisper-shouts as loud as she dares up at the attic window, even throwing a few pebbles to try and get his attention. Nothing. Growing frustrated and a little frantic, Molly looks around the wrecked garden for something louder to throw that won’t break the glass. She has to quickly scramble her way out of sight however, as a woman carrying a newborn walks into the dining room past the big bay windows, thankfully not looking up in time to spot the girl trespassing. Molly lets out a tense sigh as she leans against the side of the building. She stares up at the roof desperately, hoping he’s just playing some mean prank on her and that any second now he’ll phase out of that wall and have a laugh at her expense. Nothing. Tears prick her eyes and she blinks frantically, hoping if she does it enough times he’ll materialise. Nada. Zilch.

‘He’s not coming’, she realises, with this awful heavy feeling of despair in her stomach that nearly drags her to the floor. He must not be up there anymore. Or is he in the Ghost World right now?

She doesn’t have time to figure that one out. The family is gonna spot her if she hangs around any longer so, reluctantly, Molly hops the fence and slinks away.
-

She spends the rest of the day doing her best to search his favourite spots in Brighton while staying undercover. She keeps her hands in her pockets and her hood up to avoid identification, though still feels like a wanted criminal as she walks the streets. He’s not at Sweets and Treats, or the bath bomb store, or laser tag where he likes to bet on teams with Geoff and then mess with the players to skew the results in his favour. He’s not in any of the dumpsters or trash bins he likes to eat out of either- trust her, she looked.

That gnawing realisation that this idea was a tad unrealistic is starting to get to her as she checks her 19th bin of the night next to the park. What if he just left? Can he do that? Would he? No, surely not- if he could, he would have left with the family when they moved away!

…Right?

“Yeeaah, sure.”

“I’m telling you, it was real! Hailey heard it too and everything! There was this big spooky sound like a dog howling-“

“Probably what it was. She likes to mess with you, idiot.” A pair of slightly younger kids walk past her, not even seeming to notice her strange behaviour while caught up in their banter.

“I know, but this was different. It didn’t sound like a dog, man… I don’t know what it was. Some kind of monster.”

“You gotta stop playing those horror games, dude.”

Molly ignores them, sinking back onto two feet from where she’d been leaning over to dig through the gunk for Scratch. She removes the dirtied winter gloves she’s been using as a substitute for plastic ones and shoves them reluctantly in her jeans pocket with a sigh. It’s getting late and she’s dead on her feet again. With no sign of Scratch yet, there are no adults to tell her what to do next. She’ll have to find somewhere to stay the night herself.

Her first thought is camping again, but, as she goes to enter the park, she sees some scary older kids smoking while vandalising the swing set and decides maybe she’d be safer somewhere else.

‘Somewhere else’ winds up being some guys shed, after she exhausts herself wandering until she’s lost in the suburbs. His garden is overgrown and his mail overflowing, so she doubts he’s the kind of guy to take care of his stuff. That probably means he doesn’t use the tools in there often enough to potentially find her. Molly sinks slowly against the wall with a long drawn out whistle. It’s not exactly how she expected to be spending tonight, but hey. She’s in Brighton, which, in and of itself, is a huge accomplishment.

Her scant remaining cash got her some vending machine chips and a candy bar for dinner. She uses her bag as a pillow again and hopes his garden tools won’t fall on her head as she sleeps. Scratch will be so mad at her if she comes all this way just to end up a ghost like him. The thought makes her let out a sleepy titter as she drifts off.
-

Somehow, here of all places, is the first time she’s been woken up in the night. She’d thought she had a good thing set up here, but turns out that was wrong. Molly jerks awake at the sound of screaming, all flailing limbs and hurried apologies and panic. He found her, he found her- she must have been wrong and he DID want to work on his garden, he was just behind on it-

But when she opens her eyes and fully adjusts to the room she’s in, she frowns. Something is off. She’s alone, it’s still dark outside and the door is still shut. There are no signs anyone was here either; when she peaks out the window (having to stand on a toolbox to do so) she doesn’t see any footprints or disturbances in the overgrown grass that would indicate someone ran away in fear. A loud ‘thud’ makes her blood turn to ice, though she can’t find the source of it.

It was definitely heavy enough to be something important, but it was muffled, like it didn’t come from inside the shed. Slowly, Molly peaks her head out of the door and notices that the front door is wide open with a glowing blue light escaping it. There’s something else, too…she squints, and gasps when she sees it’s a hand laid palm up on the ground, just visible peaking out from the door frame.

Someone is hurt.

If she were more awake she might have considered the possibilities and exercised more caution. Maybe a robbery, or a domestic dispute. Something that she couldn’t solve and would only put herself in danger by trying. If she were more awake she’d have called emergency services.

But right now, in her sleepy haze, all Molly can register is that someone is hurt and needs help. The scratchy, long grass is brushing against her legs before she can even think and she almost rushes headlong straight into the open door in her rush to reach this person. She’s already scanning through her memories frantically for the details of her Wilderscouts first aid lesson, half bent to the ground in preparation to assist-

But what she sees beyond the man lying unconscious makes her shriek, herself.

A pitch black, indeterminate mass of spikes is staring back at her, blinking with owlish, glowing blue eyes. A similar glow surrounds its rough and shifting form as it moves like thick, crude oil. It’s the only thing distinguishing its silhouette from the shadows of the unlit house around it. Molly pants and covers her mouth in shock as she stares at the thing hovering menacingly over its victim. It blinks at her, looking to be coming out of a trance of some sort, and Molly can’t help but shiver and flinch away as it shifts the slightest bit closer to her.

She squeezes her eyes shut, expecting something horrible, only to hear a sudden whooshing, squelching sound and…nothing. When she opens them again, the creature is gone with nothing but a few puddles of ink(?) left behind.

Molly pants for a few minutes, taking in the moment. That was…probably a corrupted ghost, it looked like. It had the same sharp, unrefined shape as Howlin’ Harriet- but this one took her so off guard. She allows her breathing to slow naturally, hand over her chest, before snapping back to attention as she remembers the man on the floor. She’d been worried about his abnormally grey complexion, but his pulse is still there, with no abnormalities in his heart rate, and his breaths are coming clear. To her it just looks like the man is sleeping, though passed out is probably more accurate. He doesn’t appear to be injured, though… or even have any of the black ectoplasm on him. His keys are in his hand- clearly he was just coming home when he’d been frightened. Molly decides to believe this ghost is innocent until proven guilty and that he was just frightened. That is their job, after all…

It takes a lot of effort, but she manages to heave the hefty man to his feet and sling his arm over her shoulder. She stumbles, with difficulty, over to his couch to deposit him. He still looks troubled even in sleep, however, with his unibrow furrowed and a deep frown tugging at the wrinkles around his mouth. She can’t help but feel bad for him; doubly so since she’s illegally mooching off of him by sleeping in his shed. As if he needs another thing to stress about.

Looking around, she finds a knitted blanket draped over an armchair. It appears to be homemade, with a bunch of dropped stitches and wonky depictions on each granny square of what she thinks are meant to be world landmarks? She can make out the pyramids but that’s about it. It’s cute. She didn’t peg him for the type to make something so colourful. Carefully, Molly tucks the quilt right up to his sour face and sees those frown lines relax just slightly.

It would be wise to try and steal some food while she’s inside, but she doesn’t have the heart. Instead, she leaves and locks his door for him, sliding the keys through the letterbox, and returns to her shed. He’s already left for work when the sun wakes her up a second time.

Chapter Text

She’s exhausted. Her two nights reprieve of good sleep seems to have ended, but she’s too hungry to force herself to go back again when the light nags at her eyelids.

It’s disturbingly routine at this point to wake up on the floor. And to use the bathroom in bushes- shes really getting sick of that one. Brushing her hair and teeth with only her tiny phone screen on selfie mode as a mirror isn’t exactly dignified either, given how every shirt she’s worn thus far is now officially toothpaste stained. She pours some bottled water on the mark and tries to rub it out, cursing. Darryl’s gonna be so mad when he gets this ba-

…

Nevermind.

She has no money left to buy food and a voice in the back of her head is starting to regret taking the high road last night and not robbing that poor man blind. Another voice reminds her how she still feels sick about the first time she broke into someone’s house and the two types of nausea rage war in her stomach. Thinking of her apparent angel and shoulder devil as Scratch in silly costumes helps distract her from the pain enough to make her way down various streets. It’s really too hot for the hoodie and hat but she’s afraid of taking any risks as she approaches her own neighbourhood. (Curse her friendly, neighbourly spirit!)

The new family is gathering outside in the creepy hearse car when she approaches and she shoves her hands in her pocket and whistles innocently as she walks past the house while keeping an eye on them. She hopes it’s subtle. It probably isn’t.

Eavesdropping saves her again when she hears the mother talking about some baby shower and the dad talking about work. Perfect: they’ll be out of the house a good while; an hour at least. Molly slows to a crawl as the family speeds away, waiting until they’re out of her line of sight before making a beeline back to the house and into the garden.

Second time’s the charm, hopefully.

“Scratch!” She shouts as loud as she dares up at the attic window, getting on tiptoe to project her voice further. “Scratch, it’s me!“

No response. She grumbles a rare curse under her breath and looks around for witnesses. Plan B it is then. The spare key is still buried lightly in the planter where Mom left it- apparently they’d forgotten to move it in all the upset, which may be the one good thing to come of this whole event. She unlocks the back doors and slips inside, heart beginning to race again. She still knows this is wrong, of course, but it being her own former house makes the guilt slightly less than before.

The sight of unpacked boxes everywhere does not help the nausea in her stomach though. She tiptoes through the house, not bothering to take her shoes off, for once, in case she needs to make a run for it. Boxes make it an awkward maze to navigate and she stubs her toe enough times to exhaust her family friendly vocabulary. Stupid new owners. Stupid goth curtains in the entrance way. Stupid third step still creaking the same as usual.

(That’s a lie; she gets so emotional upon hearing it that it makes her feel silly).

Once she reaches the second floor she calls for Scratch again but still gets no response. Her stomach growls in protests of how long this is taking and she reacts in kind with her own grumbling.

“Stupid Scratch making me come all the way up here…” Climbing her ladder, she’s lucky to find the hatch unlocked. The sound of it hitting the ground as she swings it open echoes around the empty space that was once her bedroom.

The attic looks just like it did the first time she came up here, enough to be uncanny. All the colour has been stripped out and there’s already a thin layer of dust forming on the floorboards. For most people, that would be a sign that it’s unlived in but it was dusty the first time she came here too. She thinks Scratch just doesnt take care of his space when he gets sad.

There’s something off though that she can’t quite place, and she keeps turning her head around like an owl trying to find it. The new family clearly havent even started unpacking things up here (if they plan to use the room at all) given its emptiness of boxes and…

Oh. That’s what’s missing.

Scratch had his own stuff the first time she came up here. All tucked away in boxes sure, but a few old timey hats and boat magazines strewn around showed they were being used. He’d kept the stuff piled in the corner for a while after she moved in, still defensive about the house and everything in it being his territory. After a few months, he’d casually thrown them out and admitted that most of it was trash he’d been meaning to get rid of years ago.

Still though, trash or not, he had been right when he’d said that it ‘wasn’t just junk- it’s MY junk!’. Now that all her own stuff has been removed, she’s struck by how little Scratch actually owns outside of his dollhouse (the only piece of furniture left in the room, tucked away in a corner). Without the family there anymore, he has nothing left. The few possessions he’d owned before meeting them, he’d given up. He must have trusted it would be permanent just as much as she did.

It makes her eyes sting. Of course Molly trusted it would be permanent- that’s what she does. She hopes and believes even when the whole world tells her otherwise. Scratch struggles to be optimistic about anything. It must have taken a lot for him to trust them to stay and they let him down.

The fact he’s still not here to apologise to only makes her worry at her lip more in guilt. “Buddy?” She calls out, though her voice is significantly weaker this time and beginning to waver. “…Please? Scratch, are you there? I-“ Her breath hitches. It’s a new feeling to call his name endlessly and have him not appear. He was her forever friend, her curse buddy- she’d been content that she’d never have to worry about him leaving her like the others. Now the curse is broken and there’s no familiar glow of magenta speeding her way to take away her loneliness.

On her knees, she crawls shakily over to the dollhouse as a last resort. (A distant part of her notes that it’s the only place he’s bothered to dust). “Please… I don’t have a plan without you.” Her fingers brush against the door of the house, almost like a knock. The plastic falls open easily, free of Scratch’s enchantment that gave it a false lock. She peers inside every window and even opens it by the hinges, though she knows Scratch hates that. He’s not there. The furniture that had been resting on the border of the hinges clatters to the floor and the sound is too loud in her ears as cotton fills her head.

Her hands look unfamiliar. Everything feels wrong, like a dream. She pinches herself but she doesn’t wake up. Her arms wrap around her chest and she curls up tightly as if there’s anyone around to hide her tears from. She’s shaking as sobs wrack her chest.

Maybe he did leave.

The sound of a key in a lock makes her nearly have a heart attack. She goes deathly quiet, unable to breathe and praying that this isn’t happening.

Footsteps downstairs. She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to end this nightmare. No amount of pinching will wake her up.

“Where is it….where is it…” A faint male voice utters downstairs. Her breathes are timed carefully so she doesn’t smother what he’s saying with her own panic. Just grab it and go, just grab it and go. See, Moll? It’ll be- it’ll be fi-

“…Hello?” His voice is louder now and more on edge, clearly directed at the house.

Oh, corn! No no no no- Molly looks around frantically, starting to hyperventilate. But there’s no furniture left to hide behind and it’s not like she can jump from this height!

“I can see your footprints!” Oh- stupid shoes! She knew she should have taken them off! Scrambling, Molly tucks herself under the built-in desk, pleading with whatever forces are out there to stop crying so she can be quieter. It proves futile as the man begins climbing the stairs.

“What the…” The sound of the ladder being jostled, before much more intense squeaking as it’s climbed. Molly leans as far back against the wall as she can but she knows it’s no use. She’s played hide and seek with Scratch too many times to know this is an awful hiding place even WITH furniture to obscure it. As it is, she’s toast. With a whimper, Molly watches the hatch of the attic open and squeezes her eyes shut, awaiting the inevitable.

“…Woah.”

Somehow that’s worse than anger or screaming. Raw surprise. Curiosity? …Awe? She doesn’t know what to think- does she really look that pathetic?

But then she opens her eyes and the man isn’t looking at her, he’s looking at what’s in front of her. Up and up, a black shadow stands tall, blocking his view. The material is opaque but she recognises it as ectoplasm by the way it moves ever so slightly like a sludgy river. Her jaw drops open (a few salty tears get in her mouth and she realises how soaked her face is from crying) as her eyes find the shifting, hard to focus on, blue outline of the creature from last night.

Before she can even begin to question its presence, a screeching roar like microphone feedback fills the room and makes her cover her ears. The creatures leers threateningly over the ladder and the obscured man standing on it, expanding its form to be wider, spikier and more imposing. When it’s done, there is only terrified silence.

“…Are you the ghost?” The man asks, remarkably calm and ungodly fascinated. “We were wondering when we’d see you! We almost called the realtor for false advertising, actually, but boy do you have good timing-!”

Molly’s jaw drops for a second time and she swears the ghost’s does too. What looks vaguely like their shoulders sags in palpable exasperation and annoyance. It makes her giggle despite everything. If they could, they’d probably be rolling their eyes right now.

“Do you think you could do that again for my wife, outside? Now: act natural…the same as with me, just-“ The blob reals back and lets out a loud, gross belch accompanied by a shimmery sound effect. Molly spots a flash of rainbow light from behind the wall of ink and a few unicorn and kitty plushies fall to the ground with squeaks. A beat, before the man lets out a terrified scream and the hatch slams shut. His footsteps thunder downstairs and out of the house, followed by a car quickly revving up and speeding off. Molly blinks owlishly at the scene before her.

“What…just happened?”The ghost turns around to look at her and she instinctively flinches, realising that maybe bringing attention to herself was a bad idea. No strike comes, however, and when she opens her eyes again, the blobby black mass has retreated away from her, now curled up with its claws hidden under itself in a loaf. Their eyes are sad as they look at her, but they never make an effort to get closer.

She can see, now that they’ve backed up, that the ground is covered in colourful glitter, stickers and plushies. She picks one up to squeak it and can’t help but be disappointed when it poofs away in her hand in a cloud of blue smoke. Right, it’s not real…

Her eyes meet the ghost again and they look away sadly, as if embarrassed, or even apologetic, for the little puddle of joy being temporary. Despite the way they whimper quietly, not unlike a dog, she notices that they’re shaking slightly with anticipation, like they want to move but don’t dare.

“…Hello?” She asks cautiously, holding herself close again as she observes the ghost from a distance. They perk up a little at the sound of her voice, eyes wide like a kitty’s. Hesitantly (she still remembers her past two run-ins with corrupted ghosts and isn’t sure how emotionally stable they are), Molly creeps toward the towering figure and holds out a hand. She doesn’t touch them, waiting to see how they react. They stare intently at her but don’t get any closer or farther away.

Molly lets out a slow breath, closing her eyes, and makes contact. As soon as her palm brushes the ghost’s forehead, their whole being relaxes and turns gelatinous with a purr. She can’t help a giggle as she pets their fluffy hair.

“You’re just like a big cat, huh?” Her voice is still shaky and cracking with the remnants of tears, but the laugh is genuine. It’s the first positive interaction she’s had with another person since she ran away and it’s with a corrupted ghost. Strange, but not that strange by her standards these days.

“Hey!” A fond nuzzle against her hair makes her ticklish and she giggles again. She reaches out and pulls their face down to meet hers with a fond smile. “And who might you be?”

When they make eye contact, both of them pause. The ghost deflates slowly as they register what she’s said, while Molly feels a niggling in her brain click into place and the gears stutter into motion.

She knows that electric blue in this ghost’s eyes.

Her own widen.

“…Scratch?”

Chapter Text

“…Scratch?”

He blinks, turning back to her suddenly in excitement. With a second glance- same cutie bits, same general squareness- joy rushes through her as she realises she was right!

“Scratch!” She throws her arms around his neck with almost enough force to bowl him over. “You’re still here! Ohh, I missed you so, SO much!” A vague purring noise bubbles out of him as he presses their foreheads together, shedding a single, black, sludgy tear. She pulls back, still gaping in disbelief at him as she holds him by the cheeks. She turns his head left and right to get a good look at how he’s translated into this new form. 

A horrifying split forms between his captured cheeks like a wound opening. Molly lets go quickly, flinching away from the sight. She realises too late that he was trying to smile at her, as the jagged crescent moon shape quickly turns upside down and disappears from his face at her reaction.

“S-sorry! I’m not…used to this.” She chuckles sheepishly, hands patting at her knees as she tries to figure out what to do with them naturally. “…You look different.” It’s incredibly lame and awkward sounding. Spoken in the same tone of voice someone would ask ‘did you get a haircut?’. She cringes at herself, doubly so as Scratch gives her a surprisingly clear deadpan look with only eye sockets for a face. He nods, slowly, as if to say ‘yeah, I noticed.’

“Are you ok?” She asks, running her hand hesitantly over his front. His ectoplasm feels simultaneously heavier than before and nonexistent. As though she could push her hand inside and it would be swallowed up by an empty, gravityless vacuum. Space, without the stars to make it bright. He hesitates before a nod. They both know that’s not exactly convincing for him, but she doesn’t mention it. He nods again in her direction, at her disheveled appearance, and she reacts with similar avoidance, literally waving his concerns off with a flick of her wrist.

“I’m fine. What happened to you, anyway?” His eyes are just glowing pools with limited expression but she can somehow tell he won’t quite meet hers. Slowly, making sure she can see him do it (which is so sweet it makes her heart squeeze painfully) he unfurls a clawed hand and begins scratching into the wooden floorboards. Molly moves to sit next to him to watch him draw and his tail curls around her in a gesture of a hug. He’s somehow colder and slimier than before, and she sinks into his ectoplasm like a beanbag- though isn’t close to being swallowed up entirely like she’d predicted.

On the wood there’s a messy drawing. In all its sharp angles and lack of detail, Molly can make out the square outline of a house with a triangle roof and a smaller rectangle to the side of it. Inside the house is a vague ‘A’ shape she thinks was his attempt to render his own round and blobby shape within the limits of angular scratch lines. It has a sad face and a single tear.

Quietly, feeling a bit like she’s had the wind knocked out of her, Molly leans forward and ghosts her finger over the smaller rectangle. “Is that…our moving van?…” She feels his nod rather than sees it. “…Right.”

She wants to be sick with guilt all over again. All this time she’s been focusing on her own feelings and she never even considered what Scratch must have been going through. He corrupted in here and she never even spared a thought about it. It’s only when his newly long and thin tail brushes against her eyelashes that she realises she’s started crying again.

“I-I’m sorry, Scratch-“ She hiccups, feeling a wave of weakness hit her all at once, body and mind. She collapses against his side and lets him hug her close, even in spite of how freezing he is to touch. His ectoplasm perfectly muffles sound whenever her ear presses against it, like his body was designed for sensory deprivation. He doesn’t say anything to her, yet she can almost hear his voice in her head, whispering comforts.

“It’s alright, Molly. I gotcha. You don’t gotta apologise. I understand. I’m here now.”

It’s not the same as the limited telepathy the curse gave them. That was more feelings, and, at most, just the general gist of a thought. She can control exactly what this Scratch is saying to her so she knows he’s purely imaginary. Still, she knows him well enough it feels like his voice. He hasn’t said anything aloud since she found him again in this state.

Her fingers clutch helplessly against where his shoulders last manifested. “C-can’t you talk like this?” He shakes his head, looking annoyed. The answer is expected but it still makes her lip wobble. “I’m sorry.” She whispers again. They really took everything from him when they left, huh?

Scratch shakes his head again, aggressively, pulling her closer in a hug and stroking her back with his knuckles. She thinks maybe he’s afraid he could hurt her with his claws- an idea which is so ludicrous she almost scolds him for it. He would never hurt her, accident or not.

She cries for a while more, up until her knees begin to hurt from kneeling so long in the same position and the numbness in her fingertips caused by contact with his ectoplasm has extended all the way down to her shoulders. When she pulls away, she sees a million questions on Scratch’s face but has to satisfy him with a sheepish, wonky smile for the time being. “We should uh…probably get out of here before they come back for good.” Scratch nods. Molly retraces her steps back outside and watches over her shoulder in amusement as Scratch awkwardly shifts and wiggles his large body past the labyrinth of boxes to follow her. It becomes apparent as soon as they’re outside that he was just trying to make her laugh, because he pretty much immediately phases into half the door and a bit of the ground as he swoops underneath her.

“WOah-!” Molly wobbles backwards, unstable, when her feet are taken out from under her. A careful hand pushes her back into position so she’s sitting straight on the squishy cold beanbag below her like a horse.

“Scratch? What’re you doing?” She leans forward, clutching at his cutie bits to keep stable. He glances at her with a familiar mischievous glint in his eye and, before she knows it, there’s wind whipping across her face and the ground is retreating quickly. The sudden ascent makes her stomach drop and she squeaks, clutching at him tighter for stability. For a scary second, her vision goes white and she worries she’s just passed out- before, with a ‘puff!’, they’re above the clouds and a faint misting of water is clinging to her clothes.

She pants, taking in the moment and the sheer height they’re at as the sun and wind quickly evaporate the mildew that she’s covered in. Scratch glances back at her to check she’s alright, tilting his head in a silent question. Molly takes a few big gulping breathes, shaking just slightly as she sits up straight from where she’d pressed her whole body tight against his for safety.

“I-I’m fine. ‘S’just been a while.” And he’s never gone this HIGH before when they went on joy rides. His mischievous look turns apologetic for a second and he points down below the clouds before making a comically scared face, like that scream painting. Molly giggles.

“Are you saying you’ll scare people… if you go lower?” A nod. “Can’t you just turn invisible?” A shake. “Oh.”She kicks herself for getting into a situation where she can’t talk to Libby. Right now would really be a good time for The Popup Book Of The Paranormal.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Molly asks as Scratch begins flying at a (mercifully) slower speed, this time. She only has to keep one hand clutching at his ectoplasm at a time to stay steady now. He shrugs and looks to her. Right, this was her idea…

“Well… I could show you where I’ve been hiding!” She can feel him tense at the word but he allows her to direct him, regardless. When he swoops down in front of the man’s house, he skids to a stop before he can get too close. Like there’s some invisible bubble around the property keeping him out.

Molly waits for him to move again, only to frown when he doesn’t and lightly kick his side to catch his attention. “…Hey? You ok?” She has to strain hard to see his face from where she is as he isn’t moving to look at her. His eyes are wide and unseeing, staring at the house like he’s caught somewhere else. “…Scratch?” He doesn’t even blink. “Scra-“ That’s the most she can glimpse of his expression before her aggressive leaning to one side makes her topple over and slip.

Her heart jumps from her chest to her throat in seconds, and her stomach leaps up to fill the empty space. Legs kick out against the terrifying nothingness underneath them and the beginnings of the loudest scream of her life erupt past her lips-

Before it’s all over in a second. Scratch is holding her in his palms, thumbs wrapped across her like a seatbelt and fingers twitching with a need to hold her tighter but hesitating like he’ll hurt her. His eyes are in front of her now, terrified as they search her over. That jagged mouth forms again for a split second to let out a silent, relieved sigh.

“…Scratch?” Her voice is still shaky with leftover fear, even as relief begins to flood her system. He hugs her tight against his chest, his whole body shaking. “Scratch, what happened?”

The pure dark and silence of being this close to his ectoplasm is overwhelming and she can barely make out her own question. When he pulls back it’s like he never heard it, only nuzzling her face in a sad apology before depositing her safely on his back again. This time, he keeps an arm bent behind his back at an awkward angle to serve as a makeshift seatbelt. Before she can protest, he turns and begins flying a different direction. “Hey- where’re you going-?!” He just shakes his head. Molly frowns in worry, gripping him tighter again.

They land in the woods on the outskirts of Brighton. The sight and smells make her flinch and Scratch looks visibly guilty as he lowers her to her feet here. She tries to ask why he turned around but he won’t say. Maybe he was afraid he’d be seen? That’s understandable, she supposes…

Once they’re settled down, her body relaxes enough to let out an annoying grumble. Scratch alerts like a dog at the sound and digs around inside his ectoplasm for a minute before producing a whole picnic basket.

“…Seriously?” She asks dryly. He only pouts (it’s kind of cute how clearly she can see him puffing out his cheeks even in magical silhouette like this) and shoves an apple in her mouth. It tastes so good that any questions die on her tongue and she munches on the thing happily like a horse. Just as she suspected, the unfamiliar picnic basket is stolen, given away by empty chip bag in a flavour Scratch hates inside. There’s still some sandwiches and trail mix left. Scratch looks smug as she ravages the food inside, expression communicating a teasing sentiment of ‘looks like the tables have turned’. Even still, he can’t completely hide the concern behind the facade, and she notices him eyeing her suspiciously as she stuffs down a mayo and cucumber sandwich she would usually gag at.

He waits until she’s done before tapping the ground to get her attention. She can’t help but be a little embarrassed with herself after that display, quickly brushing away the crumbs from her mouth and lap with an awkward laugh. “I uh, skipped breakfast.” A few days in a row.

He nods, though it’s tense. With a tilt of his head, he gestures for her to move closer as he begins to draw in the dirt. The lines are much easier to control compared to scratching into wood so he’s able to draw a slightly more detailed drawing of three figures. Who could be anyone! Hey, maybe he wants to have art in the afternoon early! Isn’t that fun!

…Ok, she’s not fooling anyone, least of all him. Her face falls in guilt as he finishes adding the details to the drawing of their family, followed by a large question mark. She deflates, lowering herself closer to the ground and wrapping her arms around her stomach again.

“Heh…yeeeeaaah…it’s a uh. Long story…”

Chapter Text

She feels exhausted just thinking about regaling the story to him. The whole point of going back to Brighton was to carry on with her previous life and not think about this stuff anymore. She’s almost annoyed at him for asking.

But he’s looking at her with such concern that any irritation melts away. Her chest feels warm and it’s creeping up her throat and behind her eyes the more the past few days run through her head. Has it only been 4 days? It feels like an eternity. A part of her doesn’t feel like it’s even over; as if she’s still open and exposed on the side of the road where anyone can see or take her-

She lets out a tiny, high gasp as a flood of terrifying memories hit her at once like a truck- from the anxiety of walking away that first night, to being sure she was going to be crushed to death in that truck, to hiding in the dumpster, to feeling the strap of Mom’s bag pulled taught against her collarbone for that brief fraction of a second and how close she was to it being her who was hit-

With her mind elsewhere, her body starts to sway and she has to lean against Scratch’s freezing ectoplasm to stay steady. Even the more mundane things like her near miss with Andrea make her heart pound with anxiety in the present. She doesn’t realise she’s gripping at her chest until her hand muscles spasm from how much she’s straining them. Her back and shoulders hurt with a similar tension.

There’s a sound, she notes vaguely, though in her fuzzy state she can’t tell what it is. It takes a while for her to calm her breathing and feel the world around her start to slot back into place as ‘reality’ again rather than a strange green screen. Even when she starts to make sense of what she’s seeing again, the noise remains nonsensical. A strange whispery, crackling sound similar to the one she found out foxes made when she tried to find cute videos of them.

The ectoplasm rumbles against her cold-numbed back. The sound has a consistent, repeating intonation to it. Oooh-aaey. Oah-eh. Owwee???

“M̸̢͎͕̞͂́͑̈́̕ͅͅǫ̸̧̩̗̩̫̙͉̲͓͂ͅĺ̴̢̢̻͈͔͓͈̻̦̝͎̳̿̓͗͆̑͊͝l̶̠̬̰͎̯͑̌̿͆͆̔̄͐ÿ̶̧̨͇̭̪̖͎͎́͂͝ͅ?̵̬̮̲͍͕̠̱͇͙̭̙̌”

She flings herself up straight to a sit.

Slowly, both from disbelief and from still trying to remember how to be a person, Molly turns to look behind her. Scratch is slouched over and dripping inky globs of slime everywhere. His cutie bits are dropping like a puppy’s ears and his eyes are wide and sad as he looks at her. He repeats the sound again, marginally clearer.

“̷̢̄M̸̙͒ᵒ̸̛̼o̷̜̊ₗ̶̩͌l̵̥͛ʸ̸̦̈́y̴͕͑y̴̨̎…̴̘͑”̶̧̎

“I’m here.” She answers numbly, unsure of how else to respond. Which is a stupid answer- of course she’s here. Scratch relaxes. He lifts up his hand, curled into a fist for some reason. She stares at him oddly for it but doesn’t flinch as he raises it slowly to her face and brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. Or, well, tries to. His hands are a bit too big and clumsy for that- but she fixes it for him after, knowing what he meant. Her hands clasp around his without thinking when he tries to pull away.

“Don’t go.” She hadn’t meant to sound so desperate. He freezes. “I’m sorry.”

She’s not sure what for. Freaking out? Running away? Scratch’s limited facial features tell her he doesn’t know what for either. “I…” Her throat is dry and gulping does little to help it. “I’m here now…isn’t that all that matters?”

Trying to compose herself, Molly lifts her head up to face him and cracks her signature award-winning smile. Neither of them even get the dignity of the old, reproachful, ‘we both know that’s not true’ silent exchange. Molly’s lip is quivering before Scratch has chance to figure out how to express his lack of buying it on his new face.

She really hates who she’s been since they learnt about the house being sold. It’s turned her into someone weak and sad who can’t do anything for herself, not even put on a smile for her friends. She doesn’t want to be this way- she wants to laugh again, to play video games with Darryl and write fanfiction with Libby and bake cookies with Scratch. She was brave for so many years while they were on the move, why can’t she just keep her positive attitude going just this tiny extra stretch so no one worries about her? Is she really that incompetent?

When she cries, people look at her like Scratch is now. Like some…small baby who needs to be cared for and enhappified. But enhappifying others is HER job! SHE’S the one who takes action and fixes problems and improves things, not the one who sits back and needs help. Who is she meant to be without her job, just some- some sad little kid who wants a home?! If the whole world is gonna treat her like one anyway- gonna dictate her whole life for her without her consent- the least she can do is keep her dignity about it.

She doesn’t want to think about this. It was easier not to think about it when she was the one helping others. They could be talking about how Scratch is corrupted, and what to do about that- but nooooo. It’s all about- about-

“I don’t wanna go back.” She chokes out, making sure to make her angry and bitterness as apparent as possible to spite the tears making her look so vulnerable. She doesn’t admit to Scratch that she ran away. It’s pretty clear that fact has been confirmed enough for him by her actions. His face is sad and sagging, and his extra height on her now doesn’t help with the feeling of being small.

“Don’t look at me like that.” She sniffles loudly and wipes her nose on her arm. “I’m home now. And you’re here with me. Why does anyone else get to decide what I need aside from that?!”

He’s fiddling with his hands. For a brief moment she panics that she was wrong to think he wouldn’t rat her out to her parents- but then she calms. No, he’s still Scratch at the end of the day. He always has her back, even when he doesn’t want to.

“Scratch:” Again, her hand lands on the back of his, but this time it’s soft. “Look at you.” She gestures at the sad melty ectoplasm dripping from his cutie bits. “You clearly need me here too. We need each other.” Squeezing his hand, she bites her lip and blinks harshly, irritatedly trying to fight off more tears. “The dream team, you and me. For all eternity. Remember?” The question is pointed but tapers off just enough enough at the end for a sliver of desperation to peak through. His eyes look old and tired, but like he sees her for the first time since they started talking about this.

“…I won’t leave if you won’t.” She whispers, when her previous attempts fail to convince him. It’s a dirty attempt at manipulating his corruption in his favour, she’ll freely admit that- but, strangely, Scratch’s expression shifts to one of pity when she says it. She can’t wrap her head around why- or even begin to- before he lets out a resigned sigh and holds up his hand. She blinks at him dumbly for a second.

“…Huh?”

He deadpans. It takes a good 30 seconds for her brain to slowly whirr into gear. “…Oh!”It’s hard to do the Molly McGee Guarantee with their new size difference and Scratch’s unwieldy claw hands but they just about manage. She gets goop all over her palms when they do patty cake and lets out a snotty, stuffed up giggle at the feeling.

“Ewww, gross!”

He lets out a sound similar enough to a laugh and tugs her against his side in a hug with his long, zigzagging tail. She sinks into the hug, feeling her muscles finally relax.
-

“C’mon, Scratch.” She pats her knees like she’s calling a dog over, watching as Scratch eyes the man’s house like it’s a monster about to bite him. His eyes roam over every feature, squinting as though he’s looking for something but perpetually unable to find it. He appears equal parts annoyed and put-off by this. Molly takes to whistling for him and he shoots her an annoyed look.

“You can’t hang out on the edge of the property all night!” She whines at him, tilting her head back in exhausted frustration. “Someone will see you!”

Slowly, hesitatingly, Scratch morphs legs and feet to take an exaggerated step onto the man’s land- tapping the grass with his toe first as though it may burn him, and seeming mildly confused when it doesn’t. Molly rolls her eyes. Thankfully, he seems to decide it’s safe now and slithers on his tummy over to the shed while she cheers. (Though not without looking side to side, taking in every detail he passes).

“Yaaay! You did it!” Molly tosses him a dusty raisin she found at the bottom of her bag as a treat and it disappears into his giant maw, like a grain of sand being swallowed by the ocean. Scratch rolls his eyes and shuts the door behind himself to stay hidden…before ransacking the place like a curious child.

Molly chuckles to herself as she starts to unpack enough soft clothes for a temporary ‘bed’ for tonight. He sure got over his fear fast.
-

The walls are closing in. On every side it’s pitch black but she can hear him moving about. Banging on doors, throwing things over, shaking the dumpster and making her heart palpitate with every stomp of his feet. It’s aggressive now, violent, as he searches for her and she knows it isn’t long before he finds her. She’s too far in plain sight, she should have ran away further; she should have never ran away at all.

There’s a deep, gross chuckle from outside and her heart stops in her chest, her eyes wide like a deer in headlights. She sees his eyes through the crack in the dumpster, then his fingers reaching into the gap towards her. Molly flinches away from them instinctively and covers her eyes with a scream as the top is lifted off and light comes pouring in-
-

“No no no, go away, go-don’t touch me, please!”

She wakes up kicking and flailing, hitting only midair instead of her expected target. She can’t find him. Oh god she lost track of him, no-

The space doesn’t look like it should. She’s not outside anymore, or in the dumpster. It’s wood here, she thinks numbly, her fingertips running over the grain like she doesn’t believe this is real. Her panting slows down gradually as she runs her hands along the textured wall (probably getting a few splinters but she’s too numb right now to feel them) and her eyes adjust to the light until she’s actually seeing again.

She’s in the shed.

She’s…she’s in Brighton.

A flash of black makes her flinch for just a moment before it comes rushing back to her what she’s looking at.

“Scratch…!” She huffs out in one lightheaded breath, relief coating her voice. He’s tucked himself as far into a corner as possible- to be nonthreatening, she realises with a pang- and has his arms held up in a calming gesture. A muffled wailing sound, like listening to a vhs through a wall, is pouring out of him as he attempts to shush her with his distorted vocal cords.

He perks up ever so slightly at the sign of her being coherent and she relaxes and pulls away from the wall.

“Scratch…oh, thank cob, it was just a nightmare.” Tilting her head back, she runs her hands over her face and chuckles in broken, exhausted relief. He inches closer to her, hesitantly and she turns quickly to bury her face in his chest in a hug. After a brief pause, he relaxes and wraps his arms loosely around her back, giving her a light pat with the palm of his hand while keeping his claws safely curled.

Molly sighs against his ectoplasm, breathing in the scent of ozone and lightly squishing and squeezing handfuls of the stuff to calm herself. If it hurts him, he doesn’t say. “Don’t worry,” She mumbles against him. “I’m ok now.”

A relieved purr that sounds more like a lawnmower starting up makes her giggle and the two sink to the floor. She runs her hand through her hair sleepily, scratching at her scalp and the jostling is the final nail in the coffin to knock her hair tie, loosened from tossing and turning, free onto the floor. “What time is it…?” Groggily she checks her phone, only to realise the answer is barely midnight. Great, she’s back to struggling to sleep.

Scratch senses her exhaustion and shifts her so her head is lying in his lap before turning off the light. Molly tenses up. It looks just like the dream again in pitch darkness.

There’s a concerned hum and a strangled, monstrous sound that she thinks is trying- fighting furiously, more like- to sound like ‘Molly?’ Heart squeezing, she turns on her side and clutches at Scratch’s ectoplasm again.

“Could you…” Her throat is dry. Shyly, she kneads at a tiny fistful of goop like a cat, the position making her feel small and young all over again. “Could you brush my hair? That- Mom always did that after I had a nightmare growing up.“ Corn does she miss her…a few tears escape her eyes as she squeezes them closed and curls up tighter. She always knew what to do. But she’s not here now, so…

After a long pause where he stays very very still, she hears Scratch begin to shuffle about with her bag, knocking it over and causing all its contents to spill out. There’s a lot of shuffling before she hears the familiar clunk of her hairbrush against the floor and feels the bristles hesitantly ghost over her hair. “C’mon…” She complains sleepily, swatting at him with tired, ineffective hands. “That’s not brushing. Do it properly. I know you know how.” He’s styled her hair in the past, after all. Another pause, before that hand returns, a little braver than before, and gently glides through her hair. The familiar feeling makes the tension across her whole body disappear and she lets out a quiet happy sigh as she snuggles closer to him.

The continuous contact keeps her grounded here in the shed and reminds her that she’s not alone in this anymore. She’s never gonna be alone again.

Chapter Text

The sky is pink and orange as the dawn takes hold of Brighton. This time of day the streets are mostly empty so Molly and Scratch felt safe enough to wander to a convenience store and take a stab at breakfast. Molly looks round anxiously, feeling vulnerable without her hat or hoodie. She’d woken up in a puddle of sweat this morning, cursing the summer sun. It’s barely even visible in the sky and yet it seems intent to scorch her alive. Scratch had fought her on wearing anything too warm (literally, he’d played tug of war with her hoodie like a dog). She currently is back in a skirt, though this time a slightly different one with a neon blue pattern instead of the purple one. He’d not quite insisted, but heavily implied she needed to change, what with the numerous stink eyes given to the mud on her jeans and the overacted scent wafting gestures. His nose isnt even visible anymore but he’d found a way to plug it dramatically. She gets it, she needs a shower. They’re working on it.

He seemed happy with getting her to wear fresh clothes again, and she tries to comfort herself that now she’s back home she can probably find a reliable way to do laundry soon…right? She’d thrown on a spare white shirt that, if she had her jean jacket, would make her look almost the same as normal. Unfortunately, it’s still mud covered from her face-plant on the side of the highway. Shame- it used to be her safety blanket. Her socks ended up mismatched because she forgot to pair them up when packing and lost track of the matching ones. They must have fallen into the same pocket dimension as her hair tie from last night. 

(She remembers Scratch telling her once that that just Happens sometimes. This missing human junk is something of a black market in the Ghost World apparently- something he only found out when he accidentally lost an old vinyl record and was told it was too valuable for anyone to sell back to him).

The inky blob that is her friend forms a baseball bat out of ectoplasm, rears back and makes a show of readying up for a hit… before tapping the top of a vending machine with his free hand. It instantly deposits its entire contents onto the floor and he mouths what almost looks like ‘tada!’ as he shows the spoils off to her. Molly gasps in excitement and Scratch smugly checks out his claws as she begins piling up chip bags and soft drinks in her arms.

When she turns and starts trying to cram them into her overstuffed backpack, he gives her an incredulous look. He picks up a bottle of strawberry soda before she can grab it and holds it to his chest, protectively. “I’m rationing them for later.” She explains, like it’s obvious, and plucks it from his hands to add to her horde. Her finger taps mid air above different piles of goods in accordance to a mental list only she can see. “Let’s see, the chips and crackers probably have the most calories so I’ll make those the main dish and if I add the…”

Scratch stares at her, concern causing his ectoplasm to become unstable- bubbling, roiling and even spiking out randomly like ferrofluid. He droops to the floor and slivers away while she’s distracted.

“Grape soda counts towards your 5 a day, right? What about- Huh?” Molly turns to her side when she hears a faint rustling, expecting her buddy to be asking for a snack or something. Instead she recoils in surprise as a large, still warm breakfast sandwich is shoved in her face. She can feel the heat coming off of it, it’s that close, and the smell makes her stomach cry out in hunger…but she turns away.

“Scratch, where did you get that?!”

He looks away with a conspicuous whistle.

“Did you steal it?!” With a deadpan look, he gestures at the pile of goodies on the ground. Molly bites her lip at his observation (as well as the memories of her own crimes while on the road. What is she on, four count of breaking and entering, now?). “W-well, I mean…that’s different- t-this stuff is just junk food! Someone put effort into that!” Her objections fall on deaf ears. Scratch just keeps looking at her with a flat expression and holding the sandwich up to her face. It gets to the point he smushes it against her stubborn puffed out cheek in insistence. Her mouth waters and her resolve starts to crumble pretty quickly the more she suffers the scent of freshly cooked bacon and eggs.

In one movement, so fast it startles even Scratch into backing away, she yanks the food from his hands and crams it into her mouth. Were she not so determined, she might have choked on a bite as big as she took but that would waste time getting the nutrients to her stomach so she powers through and swallows with difficulty. The sandwich never stood a chance: it’s finished before Scratch can even process her sudden change in attitude.

“Ohhh, that’s good. Corn, I missed hot food.” That doesn’t come from a gas station anyway. Scratch blinks at her for a few seconds before letting out a weird warbled laugh. He swoops away again and, with a distant ‘what the?!’, returns with a second one. Molly shoots him a brief, disapproving look before giving in to her vices and tucking into that as well. The sudden excess of food on her empty stomach knocks her a little sick so she can only finish half of it and throws the rest to Scratch- who catches it in his mouth mid-air like a show dog. She claps as he lands with a flourish on the tip of his tail and bows to an invisible audience.

Then, for reasons she can’t fathom, he picks up a handful of random snacks and shoves them into her arms insistently. “Huh? Scratch, I just ate a real breakfast. I don’t need these anymore.” He looks annoyed with this, expression as deadpan as possible with his limited range. Again, he pushes the goods further into her arms. Molly frowns and picks them up to reorganise them into meal categories…and pauses.

Peach gummies. Her favourite candy. She glances at the other stuff he’s given her and it also consists of her personal favourites. All the snacks she bought as a guilty pleasure after school with her allowance, the stuff he and her parents will bring her when she’s sad. She picks up a cookies and cream candy bar, feeling understanding wash over her.

He’s trying to cheer her up.

As if to further demonstrate the point she’s just realised, he pops open a bag of his own favourite chips and pours the whole thing into his mouth in seconds. He looks at her expectantly, silently telling her to follow his example.

“You want me to just have snacks?” It’s such a silly priority she can’t help but giggle at the absurdity even as her eyes feel misty. “Scratch, I- I gotta meal plan-“ Oh no, not the puppydog eyes. Against her wishes, her giggles get more intense. “S-stop that, you know I can’t resist-! Pfff!” His oversized face nuzzles against her side like a cat, glowing blue sockets staring into her soul. “Stop looking like such a sad wet beast!” She laughs, nudging him away half-heartedly with her foot. “Alright, alright! I’m full though, so only one…” He looks satisfied with that and makes a point of showing her himself safely storing away the extra snacks in his ectoplasm as she opens up a candy bar. It’s unfairly delicious.
-

They go back out to the rural outskirts of town to spend the day so no one can see them. Molly is apprehensive around the sight of the woods again, but Scratch quickly serves as a distraction when he headbutts her for attention and begins to lead the way somewhere. She isn’t sure where he’s taking her for a good while, until they exit via a gap in the trees and her eyes widen.

Brighton lake looks about the same as the last time they were here, minus the ice and death threats. It may be summer, but it’s also noon on a Tuesday so the place is empty of anyone using the spot to sunbath. Scratch spreads his arm out in a ‘behold!’ gesture and Molly perks up at the sight.

“Oo! I could wash my clothes here!”

His expression falls for reasons she doesn’t understand or think about, instead slinging her backpack off and rushing to the waters edge. He watches pensively from a distance as she slowly unpacks her bag and sorts the dirtied clothes from the clean. She dunks her old, most common outfit in the cold lake and rubs some hand sanitiser into the stains in an amateur attempt to replicate soap. They won’t all come out.

Molly scrubs angrily at her muddied shirt until her hands are sore and she’s worked up a sweat in her frustration. A gentle, hesitant claw lands on her shoulder.

“It’s fine.” (She almost said ‘I’m’ there). “It’ll be fine.” The shirt is heavy and dripping with water as she lifts it up to eye level. “It’s…kind of faded. No one will even notice!” Despite the weird look he’d given her earlier, Scratch joins in helping her wring out her cleaned clothes and hang them over nearby tree branches to dry. Once she’s packed her bag again with the already clean stuff, he bumps his forehead against her arm like a cat wanting attention.

“Hmm? Yeah, buddy?”

Scratch’s tail points towards the lake as he looks at her excitedly. Like a puppy wanting to play fetch. Man, she’s mixing her similes today- is he a dog or a cat? Maybe a hybrid? Ooo! Like her OC from third grade!

Molly is busy trying to imagine Scratch with animal ears when he gets bored of waiting for her and swoops over to the water. Even in his abstract form, she can still clearly make out his overacted swan dive pose as he leaps into the water, sending water splashing everywhere.

The noise she lets out is a sound halfway between a laugh and an offended shriek, ending up as neither. She covers her eyes from the light splatters of water coming her way and when she looks back he’s floating on his back and spitting up a fountain of water. She rolls her eyes affectionately as he makes an encouraging sound and gestures for her to join him.

“I didn’t pack my swimsuit!” She calls back, but he looks undeterred. Or, perhaps, she feels undeterred. It does look fun in there…but she can’t afford to waste more clothing, can’t afford to, can’t afford-

She’s gripping her backpack tight to her chest now and the tension in her muscles makes her take pause. …Sweet baby corn, what happened to her?

Scratch seems to share this sentiment, as he gestures her over once again, laughing in an overacted display of joy. He just wants to play in the water with his friend. Molly loves doing that. When did she get so anxious… Why did she come all this way back to Brighton if not to keep enjoying moments like this?

She doesn’t quite feel like that same person anymore.

Her legs itch to run and go jump in that lake with him. Looking around, like a swimsuit will just appear out of nowhere, Molly tries to rationalise this. She taps her fingers atop her backpack. Finally, after a long minute’s pause, she drops her outer layer of clothes like her shirt, skirt, shoes and socks to the ground and takes a running leap into the lake in her vest and bicycle shorts.

The water is cool and refreshing, like a much needed slap in the face to snap her out of all this uncharacteristic stress. The moment she stays submerged under the water after her cannonball lasts an eternity. She revels in the feeling of the water holding her safe while simultaneously giving her the freedom to reach out as far as she wants in every direction. Her own little empty void, to swim about in as she pleases. There are only two stars in this abyss, but she thinks she’ll be ok with that.

When she emerges for air and the eternal moment ends, she’s hit again with the cold breeze against her damp face. Her wet hair slaps against her forehead and the back of her neck. Her clothes are saturated and weigh her down a little more than is comfortable, but not enough to be distracting. Scratch is making a hideous wailing noise that she takes from his expression to be a cheer. Molly swims over to him and watches how he doggy paddles around her in happy circles. Literally doggy paddles- like a dog swims. It’s cute. She giggles, a shriek of laughter escaping her as she’s splashed by his oversized claws. Eyes narrowing, she scoops up as much water as possible between her arms and splashes him back twice as hard. He lets out a sound like a gasp and she goes to playfully shove him, only to have her hand slide right off his slippery wet ectoplasm and for her to fall face first back under the water. His laughter is muffled underneath it as it clogs her ears and she pouts, even as he pulls her up for air.

“You’re like a big slug.” She comments, sticking her tongue out in equal mix intrigue and disgust as she pokes him. Offended, he lets out a loud huff and swims away from her. Giggling, she follows after, catching onto his ghostly tail by the end. His eyes glance back at her mischievously before he suddenly takes off at a quick speed, pulling Molly along with him.

“Wo-oah!” She quickly catches on to the new game, clutching tight even as he takes her on a sharp turn that makes her adrenaline soar like she’s riding a rollercoaster. (Well, she assumes anyway. She’s only brave enough to go on the small ones). Scratch watches how she handles the game before he kicks it up a notch until he’s swimming in large circles and figure-8’s around the lake, pulling Molly behind like a water skier without a board. She whoops loudly and laughs with each strong turn, her stomach twisting from the changes in direction in all the right ways and her loose hair flying far behind her in a halo with the wind.

They play games like that the rest of the afternoon. ‘Shark’ which is pretty much tag but with a fun gimmick where one player is underwater, ‘Olympics’ wherein Molly attempts to beat her personal best diving record off of Scratch’s back at several chosen heights (and more often than not simply slips off comically due to his wet ectoplasm being like standing on soap bars), ‘whirlpool’ where Scratch uses his large size to created a large…well, a whirlpool in the lake and the two race to see who can escape it and stay afloat longest. (That game only lasted one round before Scratch decided it was too dangerous). When they tire, Molly simply balances on Scratch’s tummy as best she can, lays on her back and watches the late afternoon sun lower gradually in the sky. The air is different now, more relaxed. Scratch hums a little song about bears from one of the older Disney movies, she thinks. He floats in a lazy circle in the centre of the lake, gazing with her. It’s a calm and comfortable quiet. For the first time, she truly forgets that there was ever a break between before and now. It’s as if she never left…

She must have dozed off, because when she blinks it’s night and she’s on dry land with blurry eyes. Rubbing at them, Molly glances sleepily around in confusion, noticing a long skirt of hers unwrap from around her shoulders as she sits up. She’s dry, but it smells musty; Scratch must have used it as a makeshift towel for her. He’s currently snoozing away, curled around her like a big donut.

Molly’s eyes soften as she pieces together the events since she fell asleep, accepting them with a sappy, grateful smile. “…Thank you, Scratch.” She whispers, burrowing into her skirt again and curling up next to him. His fingers twitch, moving to curl ever so slightly closer to her. Even in sleep he doesn’t dare touch her directly, but he keeps his arms loosely circled around where she lays. It makes her feel loved and, more importantly, safe.

The grass and clovers below them are soft and the air is fresh and relaxing. Up above, she can just barely see the north star peaking out between the light pollution. She silently thanks it for leading her all these years and honourably discharges it from duty. She doesn’t need it anymore. She’s home.

Chapter Text

There’s shuffling in the brush just as Molly has drifted off to sleep again. She hums quietly out of curiosity, but stays where she is and keeps her eyes closed. Probably just Dad going to the bathroom again. She hates going out here…

But then there are voices that are definitely too young to be Dad and don’t fit the rest of her family either. They’re…teenagers. Molly sits up suddenly in alarm. Someone’s here- someone’s going to see them camping out here and then they’ll tell the whole school and-

But the van isn’t anywhere in sight, nor is her sleeping bag. The feeling of still slightly damp fabric around her shoulders and the freezing brush of cold slime against her elbow yanks her back to the present moment so quickly it could give her whiplash. Right. Right…she’s with Scratch… She’s safe.

Already feeling exhaustion dig its claws back into her, she lays back down despite her better judgment. She snuggles into Scratch’s side to block them out, irritation taking over fear in her sleepy, mixed priorities.

“I think I saw it fly over here the other night…” The voice from the brush whispers.

“Do you think it was Howlin’ Harriet?” A second replies.

“Nah, she’s a ghost. This thing was…I dunno what it was… Some sort of monster…”

“It did sound like one…or maybe a wounded dog.”

“Definitely wasn’t a dog.” The first voice sounds defensive now. “Trust me- it was something else. Some kind of weird, shadow-creature…” The bushes rustle nearby now, on the side of Scratch’s body she can’t see past. There’s the sound of something heavy (a flashlight? The faint, annoying light behind her eyes moves all of a sudden) hitting the ground and dual gasps.

“Oh God…” One of them- the first, more confident one- whispers shakily. Molly peaks an eye open now, growing curious with all this commotion. What is it? Scratch is roused, either by her increased movement or the voices, and he too sits up to investigate who’s snooping around the woods at this time.

Rising to his full height, Scratch’s torso completely blocks off her view of the trespassers, and vice versa. He comes up to 2/3rd the height of the trees surrounding the clearing and Molly can tell when he opens his eyes from the sudden, blinding blue spotlights over the horizon line of his tummy. The voices gasp again and the meeker one lets put a squeaky scream.

“It’s real.” She whispers in a panicked voice. The first one sounds like she’s about to be sick when she responds.

“I told you so…”

Scratch raises his hand just an inch- Molly optimistically imagines in an attempt at a wave, but more realistically to rub at his eyes- and the two teens let out startled screams. There’s the sound of more things dropping and leaves rustling as they scramble over each other, screaming variations on ‘RUN’ and ‘YOU MADE IT MAD’. Their footfalls disappear quickly into the woods, leaving behind a deafening silence.

Molly finally finds the strength to sit up straight on her own and stare at where they’d just been.

“Heh…those guys should see Howlin’ Harriet, if that scared them…” Her sleepy burn (the only kind she can make, because they make her feel too mean when her brain is working at max capacity) goes ignored- something incredibly odd for Scratch. When she tips her head back to look at him, he’s just staring at where they ran off to, frozen in place with his hand awkwardly curled around midair.

“Scratch?” She quirks a brow and pokes at him to get his attention. “Hey, c’mooon. You love making fun of teenagers.”But he doesn’t shift. Molly’s mouth dips into a frown. “…Buddy? You uh…you awake there?” With a nervous chuckle, she leans up as far as possible (which isn’t very) in an attempt to wave her hand in front of his eyes. She can’t reach them by a long shot- but her movement towards him makes Scratch jolt back to reality and frantically slither away from her. Leaning all the way forward on her knees and still half asleep, Molly almost topples right over when his steady presence in front of her disappears. “WOah-!”

Scratch is looking at her the same way those girls looked at him and it only makes her frown harder, concern waking her up to full alertness. “What’s wrong-?” She takes a step forward, he takes one back. “They’re not gonna hurt you Scratch, they’re just kids…” Molly aims for a chuckle at the absurdity of the idea but it comes out weak. They both know that’s not the real issue here, but she doesn’t know what the real issue is.

“…I’m not gonna hurt you.” She adds, tentatively. It hurts to even consider that that’s why he’s shrinking away from her and she bites her lip afterward as though trying to posthumously lock the words back inside her mouth so she doesn’t have to hear them. She has to try everything, though…Scratch doesn’t have a voice to tell her himself.

His eyes widen at the suggestion, looking just as hurt as she feels- which shouldn’t be a relief but it is. A little calmer and more confident now, Molly takes another few steps towards him, but he only backs up again until he bumps into a tree, before curling his body around and up like a snake. A huge, ghostly snake with a big square head.

“Are we climbing trees now? It’s a little late for that.” She laughs weakly again. Neither say anything about it (not that Scratch could if he wanted to, she reminds herself with a guilty cringe) but she hasn’t moved closer since he did so. There’s an uncomfy silence as Scratch settles and loafs up there like he plans to stay. He hasn’t met her eye this whole conversation. The burgeoning worry is starting to overpower the confusion now and Molly gulps back the taste of dread.

“Scratch, what’s wrong.” It’s blunt and makes her sound like Mom while making him flinch. “…Please.” She adds softly after a moment. Molly lowers herself to her knees where she is and sits as calm as possible, looking up at him. “…Do you wanna talk about it?” His expression shifts to one of guilt. “I’m your best friend, Scratch. You can tell me. …O-or uh, at least you can come down!” Her earnest expressions trails off into one of awkward fluster that manages to make him crack a tiny smile but not much else. He quickly becomes distracted staring off into the distance where the two girls ran and she follows where he’s looking.

“Is it those big kids? Did they upset you?” He freezes. She hit the nail on the head. Ok, now they’re getting somewhere! Schooling her features, Molly asks softly “Is it because they saw you? You said before that you don’t want other humans knowing about you.” Well, he’d actually said that’s because he doesn’t want them to see him as friendly, but maybe Scratch counts being vulnerable after a nap as being in a similar boat? Both being disarmingly domestic depictions of someone who works to scare. But then, he did scare them- even if unintentionally. Isn’t that a good thing? He’s always complaining about being behind on his scare reports, shouldn’t he be happy to get a couple freebies?

Scratch shakes his head to her first question so she pursues this line of questioning. He shrinks back sadly at the mention of how he scared them. “But…isn’t that what the Ghost Council want?” She gestures wildly in confusion. “You’ve never minded being scary before. You said you liked it!” He avoids eye contact again, but she’s in The Zone now so she just snaps her fingers to make him look back at her. “Do you just not like scaring kids? No, that doesn’t make sense, you’ve scared me before…” By now she’s pacing and doesn’t see the way he looks devastated at what she’s said. He starts to sadly slide down the other side of the tree in an attempt to slink away, but the noise catches her attention and she whirls on him before that can happen.

“Hey! Where are you going?” He stares at her, arrested, while her expression crumples with betrayal. “You said you wouldn’t leave me!” It’s guilt trippy maybe, but it works at calming her suddenly spiked heart rate. Scratch floats back over, looking like a scolded child, and curls back up in their sleeping spot, though still keeps his distance. Whatever he attempts to say to her is too garbled to understand but might be an apology. (She chooses to believe it’s one).

Slowly, feeling dizzy with the sudden rush of relief, (aw man, is this what mood swings are gonna be like when she starts her periods?) Molly creeps over and gingerly lowers herself to sit criss cross applesauce across from him. Things are quiet for a while as she tries to sort through the next best question to ask that can be answered with a ‘yes/no’ response. It’s hard on little sleep and with the still nagging fear that her friend is gonna take off into the woods again. Scratch just stares at his hands with a guilty, furrowed brow.

She’s just about to ask something when he begins to scrape his claw in the dirt. Surprised, but by no means against this, Molly sits up to squint at the slowly forming shapes, before jumping to her feet. “Hang on- I’m gonna grab that flashlight!” When she runs back, he’s just about finished and he scoots away from her as she moves to stand from his perspective to see.

The light illuminates a small yellow circle in the dirt where he’s drawn himself- his big, spiky, corrupted self- with huge pointy razors at the ends of his massive hands, a mean, angry scowl and a mouth full of huge, jagged shark teeth. It looks like the kind of thing he used to draw to convince he was ‘actually super scary and way more dangerous than you’ve seen me’ so she’d move out of the house. He knew she wasn’t affected by seeing his scare form, so he made stuff up to try and gauge what would scare her, not knowing she loves ugly-cute things! He’s so silly. “Is this you?” She can’t help but giggle at the memories, focusing the flashlight’s spotlight on his figure. He makes a vague, agreeable sound. “And this…” The light rolls over to the side, at where drawing-Scratch is looking, and her smile falls.

Next to a lumpy horizontal shape on the floor, is a a little stick figure with a ponytail and a skirt who’s crying big fat tears. Her hands are raised to her face- which is mostly a huge O of a mouth- in the same pose from Scream.

‘That’s me’.

It goes unspoken.

“…For the record,” She says slowly after a long, tense pause. “I didn’t cry.” He makes a sound that could be a scoff and she can’t tell if it’s derisive or amused. If it’s the latter, neither of their hearts are particularly in the joking. “Scratch…”

He flinches away from her again when she turns to face him, keeping his eyes on the floor and looking ashamed of himself. Just like in the shed, he’s curled himself up into a tightly wound loaf with his claws hidden beneath him. “Scratch, I’m not afraid of you.” He looks away again, doubt clear on his face. So stubborn…

Stepping forward, Molly confidently places a hand on his shoulder, making him jump. She clutches it tight, even as he tenses and tries to shuffle away. “Look at me.” He doesn’t. Not that she’s ever let his refusal to follow along stop her before. “I mean it, Scratch. I’m not scared of you like this- or like anything, for that matter.”

His eyes flicker between her face and the drawing, as though saying ‘you were’.

“I didn’t know who you were then!” Molly almost groans in frustration. “I just saw a dark shape standing over this guy; I didn’t have any context! You startled me- that’s not the same as scaring me! …Do you really think I’d have screamed if I’d known it was you?”

Quiet. She can see on his shifting features, constantly furrowing and unfurrowing, that he wants to say ‘yes’ but his logical side is stopping him. Good. He needs to know that she wouldn’t. She doesn’t know what she’d do with herself if he honestly thought he could scare her off just by how he looks.

Reaching out, she (gently) takes his face in her hands so he’ll look at her. His eyes are old, wide and tired with huge glowey bags underneath. Like a beagle. “You’re my best friend.” She repeats. “I came all the way out here to see you again. If I didn’t give up on you before, what makes you think I’ll give up on you now, just because you look a little different? You’re still my bestie.” She hugs him tight, squishing her face against his cheek where once his nose had taken its place. She kinda misses his big schnoz. He had a very boopable snoot- but she can adapt if it never comes back.

A big fat glob of a tear leaks out when he nuzzles her back, but he still looks uncertain about something. She tilts her head in a silent ‘what’s wrong?’ and he self consciously pulls out his hand from under himself. Unfurling from their fist, he spreads out his fingers so the light of the stars show off each long, finely pointed tip.

She blows a raspberry.

“Pfff- you think some big dumb hands are gonna make me not wanna be friends with you?” While she’s laughing, he grows annoyed with her and makes a quick, powerful and precise slash in the dirt through stick-Molly. Her laughter stops and he gestures at his own hand with a look as if to say ‘see?’. They stare each other down as he waits for the fear and common sense to kick in.

She can’t say she isn’t a touch unnerved by the force he put into that- though, she realises with a sinking stomach, that was probably the point, wasn’t it? If he scares her now he can prove he could scare her in the future. He’s done this before, where he’s deliberately done something really nasty and brought attention to it like he’s waiting for her to snap and say this is the final straw. He always looked confused and then deeply annoyed when she bullrushed past his behaviour. But the few times he really DID go too far he always looked like he felt like dirt the second she expressed her hurt. What was he looking for, then? Why does he try to push her away when that’s not even what he wants?

Molly narrows her eyes, settling the confusion and worry in her stomach into pure determination. Maybe she doesn’t know exactly why he does this but she thinks she knows the answer he wants from her. “I don’t care. I’m staying.”

Determination growing, she takes his hand and, before he can move to stop her, lifts herself up on tiptoes and brushes her fingertips against his. It’s sharp, yes- but it doesn’t hurt her. Not so much as a prick. Scratch’s eyes widen when she shows him her perfectly fine hand and she climbs up his arm to do so again. No pain.

“See?” Still straddling his wrist like it’s a horse and holding onto his ring finger, Molly looks back to smile at Scratch. “I knew you’d never hurt me.” He blinks at her owlishly.

Then, his wrist and hand begin to get all melty and unstable beneath her and she drops a short distance onto the floor with an ‘oof’. He’s all gloopy and emotional again and even though he leaves much more of a mess than before, she crawls over and pulls him into a hug regardless. “Awww…it’s ok, buddy…you can cry if you want.” He always hated admitting when he cried- there’s a reason she didn’t mention it the two other times he has prior to now. “This is a safe space.”

Normal Scratch would tell her to shut up for that and call her corny, but he’d still take the advice. Then she’d tell him she was born on the cob and draw patterns into his back until he fell asleep. They can’t do that first part, but the second they manage just fine. Scratch is a big dumb idiot to think a little makeover is gonna change how she feels about him.

“‘Mnot going anywher’…” She mumbles into his cutie bits, growing drowsy again, herself. “…Promise…”

Chapter Text

Despite still being sleepy, Molly forces herself to a stand once Scratch has fully calmed down. Her movement jostles his position and he whines like a slighted cat.

“Sorry,” She whispers. “But I think we should go home before we sleep some more. Y’know, if people are gonna be wandering around the woods and all…” The word ‘home’ slipped out naturally and she can’t bring herself to correct it.

Scratch blinks at her groggily, clearly not agreeing with this decision. She ignores him and starts pulling her freshly dried clothes down from tree branches and stuffing them in her backpack. (The zip looks about to break and if it does she’s really gonna lose it). To save on space and to keep her makeshift ‘blanket’ on her so she can go right back to bed when they arrive, she steps into her skirt and pulls it up to her chest to function as a makeshift cover dress. With a melodramatic sigh, Scratch reluctantly floats over to her, pops his back and does a few stretches ready to fly. She’s barely got her bag packed when he picks her up by the back of her tank top like a kitten to place her on his back. His other hand scratches lazily at his side.

“Sorry.” She repeats with a sheepish smile while she readjusts her backpack to her front (extra security, what with the whole zip-hanging-on-by-a-thread thing). He makes a gesture vaguely like ‘dont worry about it’- or perhaps, less charitably, ‘shush’- before floating over the tree tops.

He keeps fairly low this time, either out of sleepiness or not wanting to expose her to the elements too much at night when it’s cooler. She is pretty chilly, actually. Maybe she should have grabbed a sweater from her bag when she had the chance…well, she can do that when she gets back to the shed, she supposes. It’s easier for his shadowy form to blend in to the night sky. She imagines if you were looking up you’d just see a dark mass blocking out the few stars visible through the light pollution. It reminds her of something Libby once told her about how sharks have light underbellies to blend in with the sunlight when looked at from below.

She’s always liked sharks. They’re like sharp, pointy dolphins. Everyone thinks they’re scary because of how they look, but from the way Libby talked about them they sound like big sweeties. Molly giggles as she taps Scratch’s spiky cutie bits and imagines it as a fin. He lets out a confused, grumpy huff that only makes her laugh harder.

Her good mood doesn’t last long. Cresting over a neighbouring house, she and Scratch let out simultaneous gasps. He quickly swoops back around the other side of the sloping roof to hide, Molly peering out with wide eyes. The man’s house has police cars outside it.

Their lights aren’t flashing but their tail lights are still on, illuminating the sight of two officers interviewing the man. He looks more emotional than she’s ever seen him, gesturing wildly out of stress and fear. Something about his anxious face, lit up by the tail lights, makes her heart squeeze. It feels familiar, somehow, but she can’t place why. Behind him, another cop emerges from the open shed door- now covered in police tape- holding a plastic evidence bag. She has to squint and lean forward significantly, but she thinks she recognises the distant shapes inside as he passes into the light. A pink, donut-shaped hair tie and a sock. She can’t remember if she left both of those on her own or if Scratch knocking over the bag last night in the dark contributed. She feels too sick to care.

Scratch’s hand squeezes her shoulder in a silent expression of shared anxiety. Molly tries her best to keep a cool head even as the familiar pull of a hopeless spiral tugs at the edges of her synapses. “Ok. This is fine.” It’s far from her most convincing performance ever. “I mean- I genuinely don’t know how this could get any worse! But we-we’ll figure something out! Right, Scratch?!” He pessimistically struggles to meet her eye for a moment and she shoots him an annoyed glare in return. When he does look at her again though, he seems more supportive.

“Ok…” They both slide down the opposite side of the roof to chat. The tiles dig into her back and shoulders but if anything it keeps her grounded. “We’ve been in tougher spots before. We’ll figure something out.” Doing all the talking for Scratch is exhausting and makes her throat dry but on the bright side it helps her organise her thoughts quicker than she did solo on the road. “We can’t go home because another family lives there now,” She raises one finger and taps it off. “We can’t go to the shed because the police know I hide there now. And we can’t go back to the woods because people know YOU hide there now. Sooo…” All options eliminated, Molly stares at her three raised fingers (mostly to avoid meeting Scratch’s eye, to be honest) and furrows her brows trying to think. They’re gonna need another ally to keep this up longterm. She’s certainly not come this far just to give up and call her parents. As sweat runs down her brow trying to come up with something, her eyes drift down to the friendship bracelet hugging her wrist.

Scratch notices where she’s looking and they glance at each other, having the same idea at the same time.

Libby is too smart. She’d sell her out.

But she’s their only shot right now.

Taking a deep breath (please don’t lose another friend over this, please please please- not another), Molly struggles to a semi-stand on the tiles and steadies herself on Scratch. He doesn’t reply or make any indication that he objects when she climbs back on his back, only gives the house one last, unreadable look, and flies away.

It’s much harder to traverse through the heart of Brighton than the suburbs. She and Scratch mostly stick to the back alleys when they reach town to keep out of sight. Multiple times she has to stop him from eating out of dumpsters to focus on the mission.

By the time they reach the back of Book Marks The Spot, Scratch has snagged an armful of stale muffins and Molly has a questionable mark on her leg that she hopes isn’t a racoon bite. (She’d asked Scratch “Rabies isn’t that bad, right?”, half jokingly and he’d responded with a ‘so-so’ gesture. She isn’t sure either of them should ever go into the medical field).

“Welp…this is it.” Molly stares up at her friend’s curtained window with a gulp. Unconsciously, she reaches out a hand to hold onto for comfort- only to be left grasping at thin air.

“Scratch?!” Briefly panicked, Molly turns in quick circles before she spots her friend hiding behind the dumpster. He looks unbelievably awkward like that; clearly far too big for it to give much coverage and scrunched up in a tight ball as though he thinks he can change that with enough effort. Like an elephant trying to hide behind a tree.

Oh boy. Molly glances between him and the building before them, and lets out a tired sigh. “Scratch… Libby’s not gonna be scared of you!” The expression of sheepishness at being read like a book only lasts a moment before Scratch is shaking his head vehemently.

“She won’t!” Why doesn’t he believe her?! “You’re her friend! Plus, it’s not like she doesn’t know what corruption is- she was there for Howlin’ Harriet too. Have some faith in her!” Some of her logic seems to have gotten through to him given his expression cooling off a bit, but he still won’t come out from behind the dumpster. It’s hard to tell when all his body is pitch black but he’s wringing his hands in front of his chest, nervously. Something dawns on Molly, something that she never even considered before.

“Have you…seen Libby at all since we left?” The way he averts his eyes is answer enough. Molly wants to strangle him in the most loving way possible. “Why not! You-your whole issue was being lonely! Why didn’t you seek someone out when they were right there?!“ With each question which SHOULD have an obvious answer Scratch just shrinks further and further into himself, appearing more and more ashamed.

Molly is panting now from frustration and hurt on Scratch’s behalf. No, BOTH her friends’ behalf. She’d thought she made those two friends, why wouldn’t they talk after she left the group? Were they lying to her this whole time?

But then she sees it, that…that look in Scratch’s eye when he talks about his time before her and how ‘popular’ he is in the Ghost World. It was always a little too vague, a little too adult for her to fully grasp before but she thinks she’s starting to understand it. It wasn’t that he didn’t want company, it was something else blocking him from reaching out. Her eyes soften with sympathy. “Oh, Scratch…you’re so stubborn…”

He shrugs sheepishly and turns away from her in that way that always makes him look like a scolded teenage boy. But there’s a hint of a smile at the corners of his eyes at her blunt phrasing. She’ll take that right now. It’s better than nothing.

Blue eyes hesitate over the sight of her outstretched palm for a moment, before meeting her eye. “Come on.” She reassures him, smiling to cover up her own nerves. “Let’s go see our friend.”

For the first time since the transformation, he holds her hand.

“If it makes you feel any better,” She whispers to him as she picks up a pebble and tests the weight in her palm. “I’m nervous too.”

If she knows Libby well enough (and she does) she knows that she’s not gonna get off the hook easily for this stunt she’s pulled. Taking a deep breath, Molly tries to swallow all this rising anxiety in a thick gulp and…throws.

It makes a pathetic little ‘tink’ against the glass. No response. Scratch snickers as she tries again and again. At one point he picks up a rock and she has to quickly talk him down, anxious he won’t know his own strength anymore. Getting tired of this game and not even able to take part in it, Scratch, with a roll of his eyes, swoops up to Libby’s window and just… knocks on it. She freezes. In hindsight, Molly isn’t sure why they didn’t think of that sooner.

The girl opens her curtains far too fast for Molly to prepare and when their eyes meet all she can do is stand there awkwardly looking up at her, like a deer in headlights.

Libby groggily blinks once. Twice. Then she presses her whole face against the glass, wide eyed, and mouths something that looks loud. Cringing hard, Molly presses a finger to her lips and points to the back door with a begging gaze. Libby looks about to protest before thinking for a second, shutting her mouth quickly and nodding.

Her heart is pounding as soon as her friend disappears from sight and Molly grips at her skirt over her chest, suddenly wondering if she’s about to have a heart attack. Libby probably isn’t coming to the door, she’s probably already on the phone to her parents or the police. She’s so SMART and curious, why didn’t Molly predict she would figure it out just from looking at her-?!

The door clicks open and she doesn’t have time to spiral anymore. Libby is standing there in her turtle pyjamas staring at her like she can’t believe what she’s seeing.

“Molly?” Her voice is small, which she’s thankful for. The sound of it makes something in Molly’s chest either burst or melt or combust or something that stops the panic and all she can feel is relief that her friend is here. Just like that night in the telephone booth.

Her shoulders fall. “Libby…! Oh, you have no idea how good it is to see you-“ The sentence sounds far less funny and far more exhausted than she’d intended. Before she can talk herself into a pity party anymore, Molly stumbles forward and pulls her friend into a tight hug- the first normal thing she’s experienced since running away. “I missed you so much!”

Libby had been still and disbelieving before, staring at Molly like she was some kind of optical illusion but as soon as she makes contact, Libby’s long arms wrap around her tightly.

“Me too.”

Chapter Text

Of course, Libby is quick with the questions.

“What are you doing here? Did your family move back?” (Her eyes brighten in hope at that question and Molly tries hard not to let tears prick at hers) “Why are you here at night? What are you wearing- why does your hair look like you’ve been swimming? Where’s Scratch? Why didn’t you call me to tell me you were coming back?!”

“Um…” It’s hard to process them all at once what with the speed Libby’s talking and how she’s holding her shoulders in a vice grip. “Need help, no, had no choice, was at the lake, hiding because he’s shy…and my phone is dead.” There’s an indignant sound from behind the dumpster that she imagines, were Scratch able to talk, would be an objection that he’s hiding for a perfectly non-shy reason, actually. Libby follows her eye line, spotting the hulking corrupted ghost with ease. Her mouth opens to scream but Molly covers it before anything can come out.

“It’s just Scratch!” Libby makes eye contact with her, hazel pupils blown huge. “Just Scratch.” Molly assures and feels her take a deep breath beneath the loosening grip of her palms. Libby lets out a long controlled exhale to indicate her calmness once released and looks over at Scratch in concern. He’d been tapping his fingers awkwardly like a nervous little child and shoots her an awkward smile and a wave when they make eye contact.

“What happened to you?!”

“He can’t speak.” Molly interrupts for him. “And it’s a long story. It’s…ALL a long story.” She huffs a sheepish laugh, trailing off as her eyes wander to the floor. “All you need to know for now is, we…” Any false levity in her voice disappears when Libby squeezes her hand. Classic Libby-ese for ‘cut the crap, Molly.’ She sighs. “We need your help. We have nowhere to stay and the cops are looking for me and you CAN’T tell anyone I’m here, under any circumstances.”

Poor Libby. She can barely handle the stress of an exam, and right now she looks like a baby deer with wobbly knees about to collapse under its own weight. But then, surprising her as she always does, she straightens up and suddenly looks older and wiser than Molly has ever managed to be.

“Ok.” The girl says. “Come inside- but stay quiet!” Molly nods thankfully, ducking past her under her arm. (She always feels the height difference so much more in moments like this…) Scratch and Libby stare at each other awkwardly for a second through the tiny doorway leading into the even tinier entry staircase before she nods her head upwards. “You know where my window is? Just phase inside and wait for us there.” He gives her a grateful nod in return and shoots Molly a thumbs up. She returns it too late for him to see.

Against her wishes, her stomach growls and Molly cringes. Closing the door slowly to mitigate the sound, Libby stage whispers “Do you need any food?” The mention of food makes her stomach squeeze once more in pain and Molly grimaces, not wanting to be a bother. Libby’s expression indicates she read hers clear as day. “Go hide in my room.” She whispers at the top of the stairs, leaving in another direction. Molly watches her go, guiltily.

Inside, Scratch is sat awkwardly in the middle of Libby’s floor, picking at a loose thread on her curtains. He brightens up at the sight up Molly and she smiles weakly, making her way into the den on the underside of Libby’s loft bed to wait. She returns only a few minutes later with a filled water bottle and a large box of cheesy crackers.

“It’s not a lot,” She whispers. “But Mom’s a light sleeper and it was the only thing I could grab without opening any cupboards or drawers.”

“It’s fine, Libby. Better than fine. Thank you.” Molly opens the box and crunches a handful as quietly as possible. She even takes a sip of water mid-chew to help dissolve it to minimise the noise. Libby gives her a grossed out look, followed by a weirded out one in Scratch’s direction when he makes no move to share the food with her. They both know it’s his favourite brand.

“What’s going on here?” Growing increasingly unnerved, she squints at Molly, whose mouth is too full to answer immediately. Even that short wait is too long for her friend who devolves again into a litany of questions. “What on earth happened to you?! You’re covered in bruises and scratches, your hair isn’t brushed or even tied up, no offence but you really need a shower… Plus, Scratch isn’t asking for any of your crackers!” By this point Libby has stood up and started pacing. “Not to mention you’re miles from where you’re meant to be, your family isn’t here, I haven’t heard from you in days-“

“Libby.” Her voice is dry and cracked. Sure it’s just from the crackers, but the pathetic way it makes her sound matches the mood well. Her friend looks at her, eyes wild so that the flecks of gold in them look like tiny flames. Molly lowers her head. “I ran away. …I’m sorry.”

They stare at each other for a long time. Libby isn’t stupid, evidenced by the way she doesn’t seem surprised by this. She does look disappointed though, like she really wanted to trust there was a different answer. “Molly…” Her voice is quiet and hushed, merely a breath in the tense silence of the bedroom. “With all due respect: what the fuck.”

Scratch lets out a sound like surprised laughter but they both ignore him. There’s something in the air between them that cannot be broken until it’s all out in the open. Molly sighs, staring down at her knees. “I know, I know, it was stupid…” She raises her hands as she says so. Hey, she can admit to that! “But- but Brighton is my forever home! I couldn’t just…give up on it! You all wouldn’t give up on me! What was I supposed to do?”

“Not run away?!” Libby throws her hand to her chest, hurt. “What if you got badly hurt and no one knew?! What do you think I’d do then?!”

“I came back partly for you!” Molly looks at her imploringly, hands fiddling with her friendship bracelet. “For you and Scratch and- and everything I’ve built here! I’m tired of having to move my whole life!” Anger rises again in her tone as she snaps the last part, like it does every time she thinks about the injustice of it.

Libby screws up her face in frustration before seemingly letting this part of the argument go for now. When she opens her eyes again they’re filled with dread. “Molly:” She says, seriously. “Be honest-“

“I’m being as honest as I can be right now, Libbs.”

“Were you on the run when you called me the other day?”

Molly doesn’t even need to answer that question. Her shoulders hunch, her facial expression twitches ever so slightly and she can see Libby’s detective eyes roving over all those little movements and widening faster than she could even think to form a response. She takes a shaky step back and falls into her desk chair.

“It’s not your fault!” Molly reassures her quickly, because Libby isn’t the only one who can read people, dammit. She pads over to her as quietly as she can without the same, big, fluffy socks as her friend. “I didn’t want you to know-!”

Libby leans forward, bringing her knees up to her chest and burying her face in her arms. Her long hair surrounds her compact figure like a dark cloak. “I knew it.” She mutters, voice laced with that old tone of shame and regret that used to be all Molly ever heard out of her when they first became friends. “I knew something was wrong- I just didn’t know what and I…I should have pushed it. Molly, I’m sorry-“

“Don’t be-“

“It’s not just about the call, Molly!” Her face screws up, her lip doing that dangerous wobbling thing it tends to. “I knew something was wrong even before that! When you were acting all weird at school but I- I never asked enough questions, I didn’t push it enough…I could have done something before any of this happened but I let you down as your friend and-“

“Libby-“ She has to follow her as she starts pacing again. “It’s not your fault- please, just listen-“

Her friend flinches when Molly’s hand lands on her shoulder and she looks over at it with tears in the corner of her eyes. Molly smiles sadly, knowing she must look awful right now and probably not very comforting but determined to pick up her friend regardless. Libby throws her arms around her fast enough it takes her breath away.

“Woah!” She chuckles in surprise and pats her back through her thick, tangled bedhead. “I told you, remember? I didn’t want you to know….” Her voice trails off as she sinks a little more into the hug, hugging tighter like Libby might let go. “I…I…. I just don’t want people to worry! It’s- part of being an enhappifier, heh…” This time her laugh is a sad, forced thing.

“I know that about you.” Libby says, as though Molly’s extremely hard to make confession is common sense. “So I should have worked harder to figure out what the problem was. Play dirty if I had to!”

“There wasn’t much you could do, Libby.” It’s hard to keep her smile on, no matter how unconvincing it may be. “We owed too much money for anyone to help with…”

“There’s always crowdfunding.”

She can be just as stubborn as Scratch sometimes, Molly swears… It’d be irritating if the thought behind it wasn’t currently getting her choked up. “We don’t have a big enough platform. It’d take a lot of exposure for that to ever work in the time we had.” This feels like a role reversal. Usually it’s Libby talking down her suggestions with logic.

“I just…I feel like I should have done something more…” Pulling away from her, Libby sinks back into her chair and stares down at her hands.

“You’re helping us now.” Molly leans down to meet her eye, giving her a genuine smile, despite the overwhelming guilt and grief weighing her down. “I think that’s plenty enough.”

A large black snaking thing wraps around them and Libby lets out a surprised squeak before realising it’s just Scratch. She reaches out curiously to touch his cheek and he leans into it like a happy cat. The interaction calms her down enough to accept when Molly hugs her in gratitude, her breaths evening out slowly.

They give her the cliff notes version of Molly’s journey to Brighton because it’s late and she’s started mumbling some things about rescuing her princess from a crumbling tower. The underside of her bed is the best place for Molly to hide as she has a large blanket reading fort to keep her out of sight while she sleeps. Scratch valiantly chooses to sleep outside in the dumpster, though Molly suspects he has ulterior motives.

Libby’s room is comfortable, warm and familiar but despite this, it’s not at all the same as when they’ve had sleepovers in the past. There’s a distance between them formed by the design of the bed that makes her aware intimately that something has shifted now and she can’t go back so easily. During the night, both girls take turns sniffling to themself for a few minutes while the other pretends to be asleep.

Chapter Text

Molly rouses from her sleep somewhere much warmer and softer than she’s come to expect. There’s the sound of two female voices talking somewhere nearby and everything is dimly lit.

“No, Mom, I’m fine, really.”

“Are you sure? I should really stay up here in case you get a fever-“

“I’m not gonna get a fever!” There’s a light, high pitched giggle- Libby- that’s in some mysterious no mans land between flattered and anxious. “It’s just a bad cold. I’m sniffly but I’ll be fine with just a bit of R&R!”

“I dunno…you might want me for something…”

“I have your number and I’m just upstairs!” Ok, now that’s pretty clear as exasperated. That kind of ‘ugh, MOM stop you’re embarrassing me!’ tone of voice that makes Molly painfully homesick. “If I need anything I’ll let you know, but I’m probably just gonna sleep all day.”

“Ok, ok…I get it, you’re my big girl now!” There’s a giggle and the sound of hair being ruffled.

“Mom! Y-you’re gonna get infected!”

“Alright, Turtle Dove, I’ll leave you be.” Libby’s Mom’s voice is warm and comforting, just like the pillows and blankets she’s surrounded by. She aches for the feeling of someone coddling her like that and her own parents’ hands running through her hair when she’s sick. “I’ll leave you food in the fridge. Text me if you need ANYTHING, ok, sweetie?”

“Ok, Mom.”

Eyes still bleary, Molly feels around for her phone and tries to turn it on. It’s dead.
-

Mrs. Stein-Torres takes a while to fully leave for work, since she insists on making up Libby a whole three meals ready to go in the fridge. Molly is thankful that she’s so loud, constantly shouting to her daughter and making conversation as she goes about her morning routine. It helps to always know where she is. Libby sits protectively behind the door and replies like nothing is wrong. Sometimes she rolls her eyes at Molly playfully, like they used to do all the time when one of their parents was embarrassing them with their smothering. Molly mouthes laughs to be polite, but she can’t really find the humour in it anymore. Eventually the sound of a key in the lock sounds out throughout the apartment and Libby lets out a relieved sigh.

“Sorry about that. She takes forever some mornings.”

“It’s ok.” Molly grunts slightly as she awkwardly crawls out of the blanket fort and feels her back muscles twinge in pain. “I shared a room with Scratch, so…” While Libby lets out a snort and leaves to go draw all the curtains so they can walk around freely, Molly fishes around in the cracker box for some broken remains and sprinkles them out of Libby’s window. Scratch emerges from the dumpster and follows the trail like a cartoon character smelling a pie up to her.

“Hi.” Molly smiles and laughs happily as he flings himself through the wall and tackles her to the floor in a hug. “Missed me after just one night, huh?” She teases, before quickly softening and returning the hug. “I missed you too, buddy.”

Libby charges in like a bull, quickly snapping her curtains closed again. “Hey! This is a covert operation remember?!”

“Oh! Right.” Molly mimes zipping her mouth shut. Whenever Libby brings out her serious detective voice it’s usually best to just listen. Her friend starts pacing around the room again with a serious, focused expression on her face that contrasts heavily with her childish pyjamas and hair that’s sticking up in all directions like she’s rubbed a balloon against it.

“Ok, here’s the plan:” Libby starts, as though they all agreed to a plan. “Molly, I love you and you’re my very best friend, but you look horrible and you smell even worse.”

“Wow.” Ok, someone took that lesson on honesty to heart. Scratch is snickering shamelessly beside her and she elbows him without looking away from Libby. The girl is digging in her closet.

“You can have the bathroom to shower or bathe for as long as you like. Toothpaste is on the shelf above the sink and pads are in the drawer beneath if you need them.” A handful of clothes and a towel are shoved unceremoniously into her arms. Most of them are varying shades of green. Libby is nothing if not consistent.

“You can borrow these and I’ll wash your clothes for you.”

“Oh! you don’t have to, really!” Molly laughs, embarrassed. “I washed them in the lake yesterday, sooo…”

Libby just deadpans at her. Molly lowers her head. “Thank you.” She mumbles, sheepishly, giving it no further comment. In response she gets a satisfied nod and Libby continues her, clearly rehearsed, speech while she digs around in her bag for her tooth and hairbrush. “While you’re in there, I’ll make us breakfast so you can actually eat something because I heard your stomach growling all night. Then I’m checking your wounds,-“

While Molly is mostly embarrassed over the fussing (didn’t Libby JUST try to sass her mother over this?), Scratch seems a little more mocking of it. If he could still speak she imagines he’d make some kind of comment about her not exactly being a doctor or asking if she knows medicine because of all the pratfalls she takes. As it is right now, he can just shoot her a vaguely amused look that she ignores.

“-and when we’ve done all THAT-“ Libby turns to face her with a hint of last night’s vulnerability peaking through into her all-business expression. “We need to talk about where to go from here.”

Molly doesn’t respond, doesn’t feel able. She just looks away, cheeks flushed, and nods. Some of the tension leaves Libby’s shoulders. “Perfect! Ok, let me show you to the bathroom and Scratch, you come with me.”
-

He’s surprised by the kid’s efficiency. The last time he saw someone this prepared just for domesticity was…ok no, that was just every day with Sharon. But still!

Libby unwraps a foil covered sandwich in the fridge left by her mother and says over her shoulder. “I never asked- do you need to eat, or is it just something that’s fun for ghosts?” It takes a few long seconds of silence for her to remember the obvious and she flushes when she meets his deadpan stare.

“Sorry! Sorry- forgot you can’t- um…” It’s almost funny how quickly she goes from put-together to awkward. Never quite funny though- Libby always looks like too much of a kicked puppy for him to ever laugh at her fully. She’s a strange kid. Seemingly in apology for her, in reality victimless, blunder, she offers out the sandwich to him. It’s just cheese and lettuce but it makes his mouth water. He hasn’t eaten real food since that picnic he raided.

“Here. You don’t have to worry about Molly getting enough food; I’ve got her covered.” Seems like the ‘bloodhound of truth’ is more observant than she looks. He’d be impressed, were he not terrified of how exposed the hard read makes him feel. Scratch takes the sandwich quietly and eats it with the ferocity of a Tasmanian devil.

Libby chuckles behind him and he hears her shove something in the microwave. “The soup she left me is still lukewarm, so this’ll just take a second…” He’s still starved, but the annoying Molly-voiced conscience within him moves him to protest. She raises her hand before he can. “Don’t. This isn’t even for you; I just hate the stuff but don’t have the heart to tell her.“

Scratch drinks the soup like it’s a smoothie while Libby begins frying bacon and eggs. She confirms he’ll still get a serving without even looking, noticing his staring with some kind of creepy sixth sense. Pregaming breakfast with lunch and dinner? Man is he glad to see Libby again.

Food is served for the two of them but by the sounds of it, Molly isn’t anywhere done with her shower. Libby helps Scratch cover her plate to keep warm when his claws accidentally rip the foil. Then, they sit at the table in awkward silence, filled only by Libby’s utensils scraping obnoxiously on the plate and Scratch slurping down coffee like his afterlife depends on it.

She was so put together a few minutes ago but now she looks just as exhausted as Molly has for the past few days. The way she sat down was more like collapsing backwards. He realises, guiltily, that she hasn’t sat down since her mother left. The washing machine is whirring through the wall, the kitchen smells of smoke and bacon, Molly is finally getting a real shower and she’s accomplished it all in 30 minutes.

‘I should have helped’ He thinks, only to flinch as he wonders ‘but how?’ His body barely fits in Libby’s apartment. His cutie bits are brushing the ceiling even sitting down. It hasn’t gone as bad as he thought it would- Libby isn’t scared of him- but it’s still obnoxious to be stuck in this form instead of his beautiful blue blobby one. Molly is nice but this transformation is a lot more inconvenient than just his ‘marshmallowness getting burnt’ as she put it.

Libby keeps eyeing the way his sides judder unevenly like the scratched edges of a pencil. “I don’t get it either” he tries to say, but it comes out garbled and horrific, like a strangled fox. The sound makes her jump in alarm, a slice of bacon flying into her lap. Great. He ghosted her so long that now he can’t even talk to her when she’s right in front of him.

“When did you…uh…” She clears her throat repeatedly, sounding like she needs a drink. Picking the bacon off of her pyjama bottoms, she takes a bite and places the rest back on her plate, eyes roving over it instead of him. “How did this happen? Your corruption, I mean- I know about Molly, of course-“

There it is. He could tell she was curious but he doesn’t exactly have a way to tell her even if he wants. Judging by the sound of warbling Atomic P!nk singing through the wall, it doesn’t sound like Molly will be out of the shower to talk for him anytime soon, either.

He doesn’t have anything to draw with or scratch into- he guesses Leah wouldn’t be too happy if he tore up her floorboards like that. Instead, he settles for holding up a square hash brown and pointing at himself.

“Uhh….” Libby stares at him blankly. “Is that…you…?” See? He knew she was smart. (He wishes he could tell her that). Nodding, Scratch then picks up a sausage and points at the wall where the sound of the shower running is mixing with badly pronounced Korean. “Molly.” Libby nods, following along now. Scratch places both items amongst a group of other sausages on his plate (Libby slightly undercooked them so they’re the only things left he hasn’t devoured yet). “And those are the McGees. So when…oh.” He spears each sausages on one of his fingers and shoves them all in his mouth at once. (Hey, food is food). Scratch holds up the remaining hashbrown and, though he can already see the understanding in Libby’s eyes, rips it in half and throws the mangled pieces back onto his plate with more pent up anger than intended.

Libby looks down quietly at it, eyes filled with sympathy and yet, something else. Something familiar, like the expression she wore last night… Her hands reach for the half-eaten bacon on her own plate and she hesitantly places it next to the remains of the hash brown. “Why couldn’t…”

Now it’s his turn to “Oh.”

It’s the same question Molly asked him. He didn’t have a good answer then and he doesn’t have one now. But this time it’s Libby herself who’s looking at him with those big, worried eyes. She looks betrayed, he realises, his metaphorical heart clenching.

She’s spent all morning running around and acting like her own mother, all while holding so many questions and anxieties inside of her and right now it’s showing more than ever that the person doing all of this is still just a child.

Maybe that’s why he never tried to lean on her? He can tell himself that to make himself feel better but the truth is that staying away until he got himself in this state only hurt her more. The real answer is something so much simpler, more stupid and more selfish than any of his justifications: He doesn’t like asking for help. In that way, he and Molly aren’t so different, it turns out. The motive is though; Molly doesn’t like asking for help because she feels like she’s not in control. Scratch doesn’t like asking for help because he’s been taught no one will give it to him.

Every attempt at reaching out for friends, for nearly a decade, in the Ghost World got him nothing but mockery. And he has this sinking feeling of deja vu that tells him things weren’t much different when he was alive. You’d think he’d be numb to it by now but the rejection still stings just as bad every time it happens. It’s made him so jumpy that he’s still not even 100% certain that Geoff really wants to be his friend and it hasn’t all been some elaborate practical joke. No one wants to be friends with the worst of the worst- can you blame him for his hesitation?

It’s lead him into this awful cycle where the only terms in which he ever feels safe and allowed to accept companionship are when the other person makes all the effort to corner him into it. He’s become so sensitive to being considered a bother that he’s subconsciously started making himself as much of one as possible to weed out those who aren’t serious.

He doesn’t really know how to reach out anymore.

How the hell he’s meant to communicate all this to Libby via breakfast food is beyond him. So instead, he just looks at her apologetically, shrugs and watches her expression develop further into hurt. He tells himself there’s nothing he can do about it without his voice and doesn’t believe himself for a second.

Chapter Text

It’s humiliating to be babied so much by Libby and forced to intrude in her space. Being behind closed doors lets Molly relax and take her time working through the shame and irritation with herself for landing herself in this position. She paces while brushing her teeth, picks angrily at her scabs and stress zits until they bleed, all the while scenes of how she could have handled this more gracefully run through her mind and mock her.

Then, finally, she steps into the shower and realises ‘Oh. I’m not a failure. It was just The Grime.’

Ok, that’s a bit of an exaggeration- she’s still in a mess- but the feeling of hot water washing away all the dirt and sweat she’s accumulated, of her hair being fluffy again instead of greasy- it helps her mindset a lot. She hadn’t realised how heavy all that gunk had been on her mind. She even feels better enough to sing a little like she used to.

The embarrassment hits her again as she steps out of the shower, indistinguishable from the sting of cold air after the warmth of the water. Libby’s clothes are hung up on the hook on the door. Right…she doesn’t even get the dignity of wearing her own clothes when she goes out there and pretends to be just fine. Swallowing her dread, Molly takes her time drying her hair before hesitantly pulling the t-shirt she’d been gifted over her head. She wants to look as presentable as possible.

The shirt fits her a little too well, so she imagines it’s an older piece from before her friend’s growth spurt (though the quality is a little too good, which makes her wonder). It’s lilac with silver sequins forming the outline of the Eiffel tower. Molly isn’t sure Libby ever showed any interest in Paris- nor does she think, in the nicest way possible, that her mom could afford to take her. Libby had once told her they could never even afford Sunnyland.

The jeans she’d been given are more accurate to the fashion sense she’s used to from Libby. They’re an identical match to the ones she wears every day, with only slight differences in the holes on the knees giving it away. (They’re a little too natural looking to be stylistic, Molly thinks with a sympathetic wince. Libby has never been the most stable on her feet). She’s clearly too short for these and has to roll them up multiple times just to walk straight.

Molly sneaks out of the bathroom quietly, dumping her towel in the dirty laundry and fishing around Libby’s room for a hair tie before going to face her. Her hair is still a little damp and she hates the feeling of wet hair against her neck. In the end, all she can find is a jar of rubber bands which she decides will have to do. Molly looks at herself in the mirror… and winces. The holes in the knees give away her scrapes there and the short sleeves of the top do nothing to hide the marks on her arms like she’d wanted. There’s a bruise forming on her jaw and creeping up her cheek that she does her best to cover with loose strands of hair, but would have been way easier to conceal with a turtleneck. It’s not like she’s about to ask for one now though, after Libby’s already done so much for her. With a deep breath, Molly steels herself…and walks into the kitchen.

Libby and Scratch are sat in tense silence when she enters, though both quickly jump to attention when they hear her.

“Molly!” Libby grins at her like nothing is wrong, and Molly desperately wishes she could believe that for just this moment. But she’s not blind and those hazel eyes are subtly roving over her appearance, stopping at the forming bruises. She says nothing however, and moves a covered plate from the counter over to the table. Scratch proudly (and clumsily) rips the tilfoil off with his claws and gestures at it in a ‘tada!’ kind of way.

“Awww, thanks, you two!” Molly gives Libby a grateful side-squeeze and pats Scratch on the cheek, which he leans into with a smile. It’s a little embarrassing to see that they’ve both already finished their food and thus are left to just stare at her as she eats hers. It’s worse when the lingering warmth and care put into the meal makes her start tearing up and she has to mask it by pretending some of her water went down the wrong hole.

She eats the food slowly, to try and hide how famished she is. Libby still automatically plates her up seconds. She feels like some sad, stray animal being coddled and observed by…well, by herself.

No one really talks while she’s eating. Libby just kind of watches her with that analytical look in her eye, like she’s trying to map out the past few days just from clues alone. Molly can’t bring herself to ask her to stop when she’s providing so much for her, even as it makes her shrink into her hunched shoulders in discomfort. When she’s done she doesn’t even get to offer to wash her dish herself because Scratch takes it before she has a chance. She glares at his back in annoyance. Surely he understands how much she wanted to help out! He doesn’t acknowledge her (or anyone really) and keeps himself busy, cramped up in his own corner. Meanwhile, Libby grabs the first aid kit and instructs Molly to sit on the couch. It doesn’t escape her how she had it ready right there.

“Where does it hurt?”

Her friend should know her well enough by now to know she won’t answer that honestly. A deadpan meeting of their eyes tells her that she does. Libby isn’t asking- she’s pleading. Molly flinches subtly out of shame and looks away.

“My hands, my knees and I have blisters on my ankles…” She mumbles into her shoulder, purposefully not glancing back at Libby when she hears her relieved hum of acknowledgement and the sound of the kit being opened.

“You have a bruise on your face and elbow.” She says, her tone not indicating anything- which only heightens Molly’s anxiety.

“I…was gunna…” She mumbles, before hissing as her knee stings.

“Stay still.” Libby is quick to hold her protesting leg as it tries to pull away. “Some of your scabs have opened, and they look dirty…” Right. That stupid tumble into the mud on the side of the highway. She thought she cleaned her scrapes pretty well at the time but she supposes there’s only so much you can do while rushing in a strangers bathroom.

It’s almost worse that Libby doesn’t ask questions while she cleans and bandages the lines of thin scabs and raw, exposed skin. Even when she works her away up her hands (now bandaged in a way that annoyingly makes her fingers stiff to move) and to her jaw, she still keeps quiet. It’s hard to maintain looking away from her when their faces are that close, but Molly is nothing if not stubborn.

The backs of her ankles have thick padded bandaids applied over her messy blisters and she’s left to awkwardly balance heat packs against her bruised elbow and knee. Even the tiny wounds on her face where she messed with her acne in the bathroom get tiny dot bandaids over them. She feels a bit like a mummy by the end of the process, or a doll- posed stifly on the couch with one leg reluctantly raised to keep contact with the heat pack.

Scratch finished his chores towards the end of the ordeal and floated over to loaf on the ground by her side as silent support. Libby pointedly looks away from both of them as she repacks the first aid kit.

“…I suppose you’re not going to tell me how you got hurt?”

There’s that sharp tone she’s been dreading. Molly cringes and glances to Scratch for support- only to receive a sympathetic, but unhelpful, look.

“The same way you didn’t tell me about your family losing the house. Because I guess we’re not good enough friends for you to trust me to help.” They both (both?) flinch hard at that, and watch as Libby keeps her back to them while hanging the first aid kit back on its spot on the wall.

“I…” It’s hard for Molly to find her voice. “Libby, it wasn’t like that-!”

“Save it.” When her friend turns to face them again she doesn’t even look angry anymore. No, it’s something far worse- she’s disappointed. The worst punishment possible. “I don’t understand you, Molly.” It’s said with a tired, lonely sigh. She runs a hand through her messy bedhead before it gets caught in a tangle and she yanks it free with a brief flash of anger that dissolves instantly like sugar in water when they make eye contact. “…You break your back every day to help others but when you need help you don’t trust us to return the favour?”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you!” She jumps to her feet defensively, hurt shining in her eyes. Her heat pack falls to the ground with a ‘thud’ and Scratch silently maneuvers her back into position on the couch while she wrestles against him to gesture wildly. “Of course I trust you, you’re my best friend! I just- i-i-it’s complicated-“

“Fine. Then, what, you don’t think you deserve help? Is that it?” Libby looks more frustrated now, gesturing equally as wildly. “Because if that’s it, then that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“No! No…it’s not…” Molly squeezes her eyes shut so tight that tears spring forth from them. Her free hand grasps desperately at her hair, already disturbing her fresh ponytail. “I…I don’t know, ok?! I just… when other people help me, it makes me feel…” Her eyes open to stare blankly at her knees, before screwing shut again as she curls them up to her chest. “…Small.”

The room falls silent. Her face flushes with embarrassment at the childish admission and she glances at the back cushions of the couch to avoid either of her friends’ gazes. “…I don’t know how to explain it better. I just…don’t like it when I’m…” In the back of the car again. She shakes her head, frantically. Something that will make sense to them, please?! “…I don’t like it when I’m not in control of my life. I hate being a kid! It’s not fair that everyone else just gets to decide for me when-…” An incoming sob forces her to cut off her sentence early to save face, but she can feel in the air that they understand what the the end of it was going to be.

She doesn’t know what else to say. There’s nothing she can think of to justify her choices- not now. Not when she has to convince someone other than herself, not when it’s all become too real. So she stays tucked up in her knees, staring into the green tinted darkness of Libby’s jeans.

There’s a hand, thin, calloused and warm, just like she rememberes, pressed against her back and she doesn’t have the strength to pull away. Slowly, she lets the hand guide her into turning her body towards it, even while she keeps her face purposefully pointed downward. Someone says her name and she takes a shaky breath in to keep from crying further and losing even more control. A different hand- bigger, sharper but paradoxically softer and more reserved than the first, brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. Mercifully, it’s on the non-bruised side, but that little dignity feels like an insignificant drop in the bucket of shame at this point.

The calloused hands reach around her tense shoulders and pull her close in a hug, pressing her face and upper chest against soft, soft yarn. She sniffles into the material, equal parts hesitant as she is relieved to have her tears covered. The privacy makes them flow faster against her wishes and she lets out an involuntary, hitching sob, clutching the material tight in her fists until her knuckles are white. Libby is gently shushing her now and running their fingers through her ponytail. Vaguely, she’s aware of their bodies shifting positions until they’re sat on the couch together and she can burrow even closer now.

A comforting weight settles atop her knees and wraps around the pair of them snuggly. Molly recognises this feeling and the seeming weightless denseness it provides. Like a perfect weighted blanket. The empty void of space, now embracing its first two stars.

She thinks of being weightless in an empty universe that belongs to someone else. With no direction to follow and no choice in the matter, but smothered in that blanketing weight all the same. She remembers a time when having others make the choices for her wasn’t so scary because she knew they would keep her safe. Molly doesn’t know what version of reality is true anymore. She just knows there are other stars here with her, under the cover of the abyss, and whether they embrace it or try to escape it…they’ll do it together.