Chapter Text
The past week had gone by in a blur; a flurry of grief, guilt, rage, and an unwavering pang of betrayal. First, it started with waking up to news of a gruesome tragedy; the grief. And then a venture out into the snow, shivering and shaking and pleading with fate; guilt. Things spiraled, the whole world seemed both louder and silent, and he finked. He betrayed them all; rage. When everything was said and done, the expulsion papers formally signed, the screaming, roaring fire of betrayal swept through the heart of Charlie Dalton as he packed his bags to leave Hell-ton. Not the way he would’ve wanted his departure to go, definitely not how they'd imagined it before. But thank God they'd finally be rid of Richard Cameron, that traitor… but oh God, would he ever see the others again? What would their family say when they came to pick him up? He felt like he was going to die.
Lying on his back in bed, Charlie saw a shadow flit past their window. The cold light of the moon was momentarily blacked out and he sat up, glancing around in understandable confusion. Upon further inspection, via peering out the transparent glass of his bedroom window, Charlie confirmed that no one was there outside. That should’ve been a relief, but it wasn’t. The ever confident young adult had found himself becoming skittish after the death of Neil Perry. Everywhere they turned, he swore he saw their good friend’s silhouette… following. But that was impossible, Neil was gone. He was never coming back and there was no way he could’ve been following the expelled poet around. A voice in the back of Charlie’s mind wanted this to be untrue, a part of them wanted his late best friend to haunt him, to follow him around forever, to never leave after not saying goodbye. Coming back to their senses, Charlie laid back down in bed and tried to fall asleep.
It happened again the next night and the next. The shadows that swept past Charlie’s window taunted him every night, pulling them into a state of constant paranoia and reaping him of his ability to sleep. It was driving him nuts, the figure that appeared through the glass every night took a more and more obvious shape every time they caught a glimpse. This shape was the same silhouette that Charlie kept seeing at every turn, the tall and confident figure of Neil Perry. Which was still impossible, Charlie reasoned in a panic, Neil was still dead and couldn’t come back to haunt him. Right? How foolish and hopeful of them, to think Neil would even haunt Charlie of all people if he could. The self-doubt and second thinking brought on by this newfound state of paranoia were starting to rip Charlie apart. His once seamless and nonchalant edges were being torn to shreds, reducing them to a desperate, helpless, rigid mess. He was coming undone, his brain telling them always that Neil was right there. An impossible lie that sank its teeth into him like a wolf tearing into its prey.
The one time Charlie left their house during his ongoing grieving period would be the last, for what he found outside the sturdy brick walls would shake him down to their core. Standing on the snowy street in the fading daylight of winter was the impossible fear Charles Dalton had tried to convince himself was impossible; Neil Perry. But something was incredibly wrong, the living poet tried to reason as the form of their dead best friend slowly approached him, there was something even more wrong here than the dead poet standing right in front of him. The soft light of the setting sun went from warm and comforting to loud, burning, itching, and suffocating. The snow around the two seemed to melt, taking with it the sky, the surrounding houses, and everything in between.
“Charlie?” Neil whispered, eyes locking with the slightly shorter boy’s.
And then Charlie woke up, back in bed at Welton Academy with Neil lightly shaking him awake.