#vaguely chansaw towards the end

[shalebridge-cradle]

The Big Night

(Here’s a fun, happy story where one (1) bad thing happens and is quickly resolved. Enjoy.)

Warning: Reference to non-consensual touching.

Veronica leans the back of her head on the wall, sighing. Bored, bored, bored.

Chandler had told her not to start writing in her diary, that picking her outfit would only take a few minutes at most. Well, it’s been ten, and if Heather wasn’t going to uphold her end of the deal, why should she?

She takes out the book out of her backpack and clicks her pen, starting with the date, drawing a little circle next to it.

Dear Diary, it’s that time of the month again.

She doesn’t get much time to stew in her pun-induced self-loathing once she hears the handle turn. A hand, holding three filled coat hangers, shoots out from behind the door.

Dropping her diary in her haste to get up, Veronica takes the prepared outfits carefully, checking them over. Red, yellow, green. Everything seems in order.

“Go put them in the trunk while we get changed,” the arm’s owner says, and Veronica works out it’s Duke speaking, “carefully. Heather’s gonna tear you apart if any of us show up tomorrow all creased.”

“The big sunglasses and the Red Bull/Coffee combos won’t raise any eyebrows, I’m sure.”

“That’s different,” Duke growls. “That just means we’ve been partying. I’m trusting you with my baby, Veronica, don’t push your luck.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The door shuts, and that’s when Veronica remembers. She knocks.

“You didn’t give me your keys!”

The door opens again, and the keys to Duke’s Jeep hit Veronica square in the face.

-

She didn’t really mean to find out. Maybe. She isn’t sure, now that she thinks about it.

Even after Chandler inducted her into their little posse, it was more like the Heathers were work colleagues than friends. They weren’t cruel - not to her, at least - but there was an air of exclusion the Veronica just barely noticed.

Was it because of her love of books? Possible, but Duke read all the time. Because she was nice? Maybe, but McNamara at least pretended to be a decent human being. There was a reason she was treated as an outsider, and she couldn’t put her finger on what it was.

Veronica decided she’d make an unannounced visit to Chandler’s place, just one, before she would write it off as paranoia. Or maybe an inferiority complex. Both, she’d go with both.

So, in her curiosity, she went up the two flights of stairs (and had to reorient herself each time), she trudged down the hallway to Heather’s bedroom (regretting her decision with every step), pushed down the door handle (the only lever-styled handle in the house) and pushed the door open.

Three sets of orange eyes stared back at her.

Veronica closed the door, screamed at the floor for about five seconds, then opened it again.

“Okay, let me get my last words out before I become a pile of miscellaneous body parts. I know it’s you, your fur’s the same color as your hair. Yellow,” Veronica points to the wolf near the window, “black,” the wolf by the TV, “orange,” the wolf on the bed, “Heather, Heather, Heather. I get why you didn’t tell me, but here’s the thing, you were at no risk if you did. One, no-one will believe me if I say something, and two, you could kill me if I do. Instead, you acted all secretive, and look how that worked out. Now everyone’s embarrassed.”

Duke briefly tilted her head in the universal gesture of ‘fair enough’. No pack takedown came, so Veronica slowly started backing out again.

“I’m going home. You better believe that once you regain the power of speech, you have some explaining to do.”

Chandler went ‘boof’ and McNamara flattened her ears as Veronica shut the door for the final time that night.

She was called into an impromptu conference in the girls’ bathroom the Heathers had claimed as their own on Tuesday. Admittedly, the territorial bullshit these girls engaged in made a whole lot more sense now.

“Full disclosure,” Chandler began, “we took a vote on whether or not to kill you.”

Veronica nodded sagely. “The nays have it, I hope. 2-1?”

“3-0,” McNamara corrected with no small amount of concern.

“We have use for you. As I’m sure you can imagine, none of us can operate a vehicle when we’re… like that. As great as my bedroom is, it gets boring.”

“You want me to drive you places.” Veronica briefly entertained the thought of taking three wolves through the McDonald’s drive-through, and had to stifle a laugh at the image.

Duke shook her head. “Drive us one place, and you’re not touching my car until next month.”

“Is that why you own a Jeep?”

“…No.”

“Any questions?” Chandler interrupted.

“Oh yes, many.” Veronica opened a notebook. She hid it well, but Chandler balked. “Why are you like this? Did you get bit? Is it a Heather thing?”

“Got cursed by some goth kid for being a bitch to ‘em.” Duke answered. Veronica wasn’t surprised to find they had learned nothing from it.

McNamara nodded. “We didn’t find out it was for real until later. That was awkward.”

The bell rang, and the four of them jumped at the sound.

As expected, Chandler recovered the fastest. “You’ll get to ask another one if you carry my books to class.”

Veronica rolled her eyes, but they both knew she was going to. The promise of knowing, of being included at last, was too good for her to pass up.

-

It’s actually a nice night. A little chilly, sure, but the stars are out and Veronica’s far enough away from any street light for them to glitter like tiny diamonds.

The Heathers’ hand-chosen location is a field on the edge of town. No cows, No animals at all – just an open field next to a smattering of trees. Perfect for running around in.

As soon as Veronica opens the door, McNamara is off like a shot, gone from sight before Veronica can register what just happened. Duke gives a huff, and follows her.

Chandler waits, and Veronica thinks at first it’s simply out of practicality (she’s in the front seat, after all, and even she won’t get off easy if she breaks Duke’s window). But, no. The door opens, the Big Red Wolf hops out, and Heather stares at Veronica expectantly.

“…What?”

No response. Not like Chandler can really yell at her like this, but even a growl or something would give Veronica some sort of indication of what she’s thinking. Slowly, looking over her shoulder for some sign of reproach every few seconds, Veronica gets the Heathers’ prepared outfits, lays them in the back seat with almost ceremonial levels of care, and moves back around to sit on the edge of the opened trunk.

Chandler watches the whole time. Veronica doesn’t really want to call her out on it, not when she can literally rip Veronica’s throat out.

Well, Veronica hasn’t been eaten yet, and potentially messing with Chandler’s clothes was the most likely trigger for her untimely death. She’s probably in the clear. Veronica fishes around in her backpack for her appropriately-colored blanket and her diary.

Blanket, super easy to find and smooth down.

Diary…

“Ah, shit.”

Chandler’s ears prick up.

“No, no, it’s nothing,” Veronica sighs, “I left my diary at your house. I’ll just take a nap, if that’s okay.”

Chandler huffed, climbing into the trunk next to Veronica. Veronica is shaken both by the sudden movement of the car and that sleeping was what finally got a reaction out of the alpha bitch.

Another pun. God.

“Well, what do you want me to do? I figure you don’t want to play fetch-” Chandler growls a little - “and I’m not running after Heather and Heather if I can avoid it. Besides, I’m the driver, aren’t I? The getaway girl. I need sleep if you don’t want to die.”

Chandler is glaring at her again, the amber in her eyes making her gaze as firey as the pits of hell from whence she was spawned.

Then, with a groan, she lays her head in Veronica’s lap.

Veronica freezes for two reasons.

One, Heather is really warm. She doesn’t want to risk scratching Chandler behind the ears, no matter how soft she looks, but the weight is comforting in a way she’s sure Heather didn’t intend.

Two, she just won an argument with Heather Chandler. And yeah, she’s at a massive advantage with the ability to speak, but still. Victorious at last.

It’s these two things that help her drift off. Someone warm next to her, and a happy thought.

Veronica wakes to the sound of howling.

She opens her eyes, and yelps in surprise when she sees Heather McNamara barreling towards her. Chandler, evidently just waking up herself, growls at her, before directing her anger to the source of Veronica’s suffering.

McNamara cowers for just a moment, before taking off in the other direction.

Then she turns back, waiting.

Veronica’s brain takes another few seconds to kick into gear, then to register that McNamara is expecting her to follow. Groaning, she throws the blanket off of her knees (and onto Heather, who makes her displeasure known) and climbs to her feet.

“What’s wrong, girl? Did Little Timmy fall down the well?”

McNamara just stares at her, before resuming her run-two-steps-then-look-back dance.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming. Gimme a sec.”

By the time she reaches the edge of the field, she’s running.

The first thought that runs through her head is that one of them has found a dead body. Worse, one of them has found a living person and it became a dead body through their intervention.

Thankfully, it’s neither of those things. Veronica hears before she sees – a faint sniffling before she sees a girl sitting with Heather Duke. A brunette, bespectacled eyes red-rimmed, a watery smile on her face as she strokes Duke’s back.

Veronica knows this girl.

“Betty?” The girl’s head snaps up, and Veronica grins. “Betty Finn! It’s been too long!”

She hasn’t changed much from middle school – still a little dowdy in her dress sense, sure, but Veronica wasn’t much better until recently, and the fact she’s trying to smile through her tears means her personality’s probably much the same as well.

Veronica mood dips once she remembers something’s made Betty cry. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m…” Betty pauses, composing herself. “I won’t lie. I’d just gone on a date - my first real one - with Richie. He’s on the basketball team, and he’s been really handsy all night. When we got here, he started touching me all over, and I told him not to, but he…”

Veronica’s never heard of a basketball player named Richie, at Westerburg or otherwise, but she already hates him with every fiber of her being. She locks eyes with Duke – Veronica knows this is one of the things she just can’t stand. It explains her interference, at least.

“I hope you didn’t bite him,” she chides Duke, and the black wolf looks almost offended at the suggestion.

“Why? Is this your dog?” Betty asks. Veronica swallows.

“Oh, uh, sort of. I’ve been dogsitting for a little extra cash, and these guys needed a run outside.”

“Care to introduce me? I love dogs.” Betty smiles at Duke, and the black wolf practically radiates smugness, “Especially this one.”

Veronica’s mind races. Duke, what’s a female Duke – “That’s Duchess.” She points to McNamara, “The gold one is… Flash, and this one is -”

Her finger finds Heather Chandler. She knows she has to be careful with what she chooses, but if she spends too long picking a name, Betty will get suspicious. Lose-lose, really.

“…Foxy.” Veronica finishes.

She’s never heard a wolf laugh before, but Duke quickly disguises it as a yawn. Chandler tenses, but doesn’t move.

“Oh, I see. Because she’s kinda orangey-red?”

“YES. THAT IS THE ONLY REASON.”

“It’s a good name,” Betty agrees, bewildered. She pauses. “Um, I know it’s probably not the best time to ask, but can I go back with you? I got here in Richie’s car, and he’s probably gone by now. I’d rather not walk home alone, not out here.”

“Yeah, sure,” Veronica says without thinking, “I’m borrowing a friend’s car. I’ll drop you at your place before I take these guys home, does that work?”

McNamara whines.

“Oh, I know, but you’ll have another chance later. Betty needs to go home right now, okay?” McNamara flattens her ears again, but submits.

Betty smiles. “That’s good. Thanks, Ronnie.”

“Oh, no problem,” Veronica replies, but she knows it probably will be soon enough.

-

She drops Betty back at her place without further incident (Veronica sees her open her mouth to question the three perfectly pressed outfits, but Duke licks the back of Betty’s hand to distract her and saves the day once again), and the car ride back to Chandler’s place passes in a painful silence.

Veronica knows she’s dead, one way or another. For making McNamara upset, for reneging on her end of the deal, for calling Chandler foxy, but she also knows so long as she’s driving, she’s safe.

Her heart is beating out of her chest as she pulls up to the Chandler mansion. She puts the Jeep in park, she pulls the handbrake, and takes the key out of the ignition.

Nothing happens.

Oh, right, they can’t open doors. Veronica steps out and opens the back door, and waits for all three wolves to climb out before locking the car and heading up the driveway.

The Heathers head inside once Veronica unlocks the side door. Still no death. Maybe they’re just waiting for the right moment to strike, Veronica thinks.

“I’m gonna crash on the couch. Uh, the third floor one,” she announces, “if you’re gonna kill me, I’d rather be taken in my sleep, okay?”

She gets three very odd looks in response.

Veronica tries to put it out of her mind. A rational voice in her head tells her that they might not want to murder her at all, but this is hardly the night of rationality. She’s exhausted, her head hurts, and she’s been spending the night ferrying around three werewolves, for god’s sake.

She flops down on her bed for the night, not even bothering with her shoes, and she’s dead to the world.

If she wasn’t before, she might as well have signed the execution warrant herself for putting her dirty feet on Chandler’s couch.

-

Veronica wakes up the next morning.

Odd.

She’s relieved, of course – she was expecting to die, but that doesn’t mean she wanted to – but there’s a strange sensation she can’t quite place.

She needs to get up. Once she’s a little more awake, Veronica reasons, her brain will start working properly and she’ll figure it out. So, she stretches her legs (and quietly nurses the cramp that forms in her hamstring), tilts her neck from side to side, right to left–

And sees a very naked Heather Chandler resting her head on Veronica’s waist.

She tries to make her freak out as silent as possible, but clearly a whine or a squeak escapes her lips, because Chandler stirs. One eye opens to search for the source of the noise.

Then she sees it’s Veronica, and Heather grins a wolfish grin. When she speaks, her voice is low, husky, inviting.

“Foxy, huh?”

Veronica internally screams.