Title: The Westfield 15
Summary: They're more than names on a plaque, faces in a yearbook, and dates on stone slabs
Warning(s)/Kinks: Triggery stuff related to the school shooting, language, violence, sexual situations
Disclaimer: I don't own American Horror Story.
A/N: Third Set. I'm using nicknames for this one. Jace is Jason, J.C. is Jay.
Dani and Mickey
It's after they're dead that they get together.
Most of the guys thought she was a dyke but contrary to popular and false belief she's been dying to find a guy to make her want to give it up. Mickey's still got his leather jacket and his long hair and she remembers the Firebird he used to cruise through the parking lot with and after six years of post-demise afterliving they end up in the theatre wardrobe on top of the costume supply for Guys and Dolls with his fingers prodding the soaked crotch of her utilitarian white panties like he knows exactly what he's doing (he does because she's coming soon after with her teeth leaving marks on that leather jacket that smells like Marlboros and Calvin Klein Obsession) and her thigh rubbing up against what she's almost positive is his dick and it doesn't matter because she writhes around enough that he spurts in his jeans like he's twelve and it's all sort of perfect and afterwards they have their first multisyllabic conversation where he admits he's wanted to be with her since the homecoming game she scored three goals and assisted two in and she tells him she was the one who accidentally dinged the driver side door of that Firebird that was his baby in senior year.
He tells her he already knew that and unbraids her hair while she's falling asleep and when she wakes up they've both gotten tangled up in a red sequined flapper outfit.
It's pretty simple. They really like each other and their eternal entrapment doesn't seem so sour when their together.
Jennie and Jace
It's kind of strange because she also used to fucking aggravate the shit out of him when she was alive. They were always pretty on again off again but he apologized and she stopped acting like such a bitch and things sort of worked after they got shot.
But only for awhile.
Now they're back to their usual relationship humbuggery.
She caught him in the girl's locker room.
He'd been fantasizing about lesbian orgies but expecting tits. There happened to be neither and the ensuing argument had not been worth curing his curiosity.
And as it turns out he's as good at making her cry as he was when they were alive.
Luke, Kelsey, Josh
Nobody notices the three dead boys on the edge of the court. Homecomings are the best. The way the floor shakes under a thousand stomping feet makes feeling alive easier. Kelsey kicks at a basketball that rolls out of reach of the team taking to the center of the gym for the bi-yearly showing off of the athletic line-up for the year. Luke tries to peek up the skirt of a girl sitting in the fifth row of the stands. Josh struggles to catch a glimpse of his little sister who's the JV pitcher in girls' softball this year.
They shout right along with the crowd.
Kelsey leaves when they start talking about the shooting and 'staying strong'.
Luke goes after him to sooth the anguish of the boy who's been his best friend since first grade when they grew lima beans in Petri dishes together.
Josh cries when his sister goes up and talks about how brave he was and how big of a spirit he had in life with her voice breaking every so often.
Marky Mark and J.C.
"I don't know why you bother."
It's not like bench pressing one-fifty is going to help him bulk up anymore.
"It kills time. I still feel it. It relieves my stress," Mark explains sagely.
"What stress have you got?" J.C. snorts.
"I saw Gedman again today."
Mark fumes. Gedman left him behind when he got shot. Like a 'fucking coward' Mark always tells him. J.C. can't help but be a bit sympathetic towards running away. He's pretty sure he would have done the same but he doesn't say that, instead he asks what he always does, "Beat him up again?"
"Naw, I'm sublimating my rage into this work out."
"Sublimating your rage?"
Secretly J.C. is proud of his sometimes friend for overcoming the urge to brutally pummel another person, ghost. Whatever.
"Where'd you learn that?"
"They were showing a thing about stress management in health today."
"You went to class?"
Because Mark does that.
"What the fuck else is there to do?"
"Yeah," J.C. agrees and picks up a dumbbell to test out sublimation a little for himself.
He watches the sunset while nursing a clipped joint he found in a bag left out during gym on the bleachers around the track. It's fucking perfect. The sky burns red-orange-pink and it's like he can taste it, something flavored tangy citrus sugary.
The roof is warm under his bare feet from baking in the sun all day, and he snickers a little. Baking. He's baked. It's really fucking funny.
He laughs and chokes a little on the heavy smoke.
But that's funny too, he dissolves into chuckles.
He wishes there was more weed to smoke, he'd never really been able to smoke it up like this while he was alive. His dad always managed to sniff it out and beat the shit out of him for it.
The sunset dissolves and he kind of misses the old guy, just a little though because he was a bastard to begin with and he'll be damned if he lets his dad kill his buzz this time.
It's hysterical, really. He snorts and flicks away the roach while staring up at the blooming darkness and when they come out he drowns in the star-scape.
A/N: I don't know yet how I want to work the Violet goes to Westfield thing, so the fourth chapter probably won't be up for awhile.