"Some people think I'm a joke..." Dawn said sadly, and I gave her a empathetic look. "You're not a joke, Dawn." I reassured, and she smiled. "Thank you." She said. "You're welcome." I replied. After that, we put our stuff in our lockers. The end!
"You should take a break." I told. "Really?" Maddie asked. "Well, yeah. You suffered a lot, and I just feel terrible for the shit you went through." I said. "Thank you." She said. "You're welcome." I replied. After that, we went outside for a walk. The end!
Summary: Wally is determined to get you to talk--hell, he'll take any kind of acknowledgment--now that he knows you can see him. The boy can be persistent when he wants to be.
Warnings: A bad title (I can't name fanfic for my life), semi-proofread, definitely still some mistakes. Probably ooc Wally (I’m sorry, I really tried).
Thank you for all the support on part 1! Read it here if you have not.
It turns out that ignoring the ghosts is really hard when one of them is dead set on making you acknowledge him. It seemed like nowadays you were seeing Wally everywhere. He was showing up in your classes, catching you at your locker, trying to catch you as you were leaving for the day.
He was persistent, to say the least.
The nice thing was he seemed to be the only one who knew you could see them. If he wasn't, none of the other ghosts acknowledged the fact that you could see them.
Slowly, he was cracking you. The first time happened a week after the sneeze accident. Wally had walked into your English class halfway through, making his way to stand near your desk like it was second nature. Your class was reading Hamlet, and the teacher had decided to assign parts to people in your class, to “make the reading more fun” (he just knew people would pay even less attention if he didn’t force it like this). At first, Wally sat quietly on the floor next to your desk, his knees bent up as his arms rested lazily on top of them, listening as a few students read lines from the book out loud. Then, he threw his head back and groaned.
“God, you guys still read Hamlet? We read that when I was alive. Well, I never read it, but, you know what I mean.” He looked over at you as he spoke, hoping you’d say something back, but you didn’t. Your eyes were still on your book, following along with the lines.
He made small comments the next few minutes, cracked a few jokes, attempted small talk. Nothing worked. Every time, he was met with your silence. Which he should be used to, I mean, he has never gotten a response from a living person before. But he knows you can hear him and is choosing to ignore him. He fully turned toward you, moving slightly closer to your desk.
“It’s boring, right? I mean, who cares about the stories from some guy who died like, four hundred years ago?” He speaks conversationally, his voice dipped lower as if the two of you were trying not to get caught by the teacher. You still didn’t answer him. He knows he’s being persistent, but he needs answers. He hasn’t told any of the other ghosts that someone could see him, and assumedly, can see all of them. Is there something special about you? Maybe you’re a ghost and don’t know it yet, or simply pretend as if you’re still living. Wally then realizes this thought is stupid as he’s seen you talk to people and actually interact with your environment. Still, there has to be an answer, right? Wally huffed lightly, lowering his voice even more, though it was only for your ears.
“Okay, come on. You’ve gotta give me something here. I mean, can you only see me, can you see all of us? Why can you see me anyway, no one else ever has been able to. Trust me, I’ve tested that.”
He makes it so hard to ignore him sometimes. You can understand his eagerness–hes has said multiple times that no one living has ever seen him. So many years with only a handful of people to speak to must get old. But you don’t know why you can see them, communicate with them. You just can. Sighing, you shift your book into your non-dominant hand, picking up your pencil and writing something in your open notebook.
Not in class. I’ll look crazy.
Finally, finally! Wally got something from you. He nodded, moving back from your desk after reading the note.
“Alright, fair enough. I get that. Yeah.”
…
During study hall, you sat in the library at one of the computers, working on a paper. Unfortunately, your laptop had died, and you didn’t have the charger. None of your friends had a charger that fit your computer, so you were stuck here, working on a slow school computer that, for some reason, blocked some of the websites you were trying to access for your assignment–seriously, CliffNotes?
You’d been sitting there for a bit, maybe around 40 minutes, undisturbed. But you felt a presence slide into the chair next to you. You sighed inaudibly as Wally turned his head around, checking to make sure no one was near. You didn’t acknowledge his presence, keeping your eyes on the computer as you skimmed an article.
“Working on a paper, huh?” He questioned conversationally, as if it were a completely normal thing for the two of you to talk. He leaned slightly closer, his head propped in his hand, his eyes squinting as he looked at the computer screen.
“What is that? Is that French?”
It’s Spanish, actually. But you don’t respond to tell him that. You suck on your teeth lightly, using all your willpower not to acknowledge him.
“I was never that great at French. All those conjugations, y’know? Messed me up.” He looks at you expectantly for a few moments, hoping you’ll answer him. Or in some way acknowledge him. He knows you can hear him, knows you can see him. Hell, you had answered him during your English class—not verbally—but that little note counts. He was hoping now that you were out of class and practically alone that you would finally give in.
He threw his head back, his mouth opened in a quiet groan when you had, once again, not even glanced over at him. "You know, there’s no one around now. You said not in class…you’re not in class, so, if you could at least give me like, a head nod or something. Blink once for yes, twice for no. That would be great.” He talks with his hand slightly before leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms.
And maybe it was because he grated on you, wore you down. Maybe it was because you felt bad and, in a way, understood. It had been, what, almost 40 years since this guy died? Has he ever spoken to anyone other than the handful of ghosts you’ve seen since you’ve gotten here? Or maybe it was a combination of both that prompted you to mutter, your eyes still on the screen as you scrolled the Google results, “You know, you make it annoyingly hard to ignore you sometimes.”
Wally dropped his mouth a bit dumbly, not knowing what to do since you finally responded. The shock stays for a second before he excitedly jumps up from his seat, clapping his hands once.
“Yes!” He exclaimed, fists pumping toward himself, pacing for a second before moving to stand next to the chair he just vacated. “Yes, see, that’s what I’m talking about! Okay.” He sits back down, his body leaned into yours. You sat straight still, your eyes on the computer screen, but you’re paying attention to him now.
“So, you can see me?” He asks, knowing the answer. You nod.
“And obviously you can hear me.” He nods to himself, his brain going a mile a minute. Now that you’ve responded three times, it feels like a whole world has opened up. What does he ask first?
“Why?’ Great start.
You turn around. There's a boy in the stacks on the other side of the room, far enough to not hear if you kept your voice down.
“I don’t know.” You answer–quietly, clearly, honestly. You don’t know why you can see them, why it seems like only you can. You just can, that's the answer you give yourself.
“You don’t know?” He asks back, his voice accidentally slightly sharp. “What does that mean?”
“It means I don’t know, I just can. I’ve been able to see you since my first day of freshman year.” You keep your voice low, your head just barely tilted in his direction. If anyone glanced over it would look like you were still just looking at the computer.
He opened his mouth again, but you spoke before he did.
“If you want answers, you’re not going to get them talking to me.”
He nods slowly, leaning away. He shifts his jaw as he does, thinking.
“Can you see anyone else?”
“I can see a lot of people.” You answer dryly. Wally didn’t appreciate it too much.
“I meant ghosts, can you see other ghosts?”
The boy in the stacks had moved to the counter, the librarian seemingly materializing from nowhere to check him out. You nod, not wanting to risk either of them hearing you answer verbally.
“All of them?” Wally needlessly lowers his voice. You nod again. He leans back in the chair, his arms crossed over his chest as he thinks, a quiet “huh” leaving his lips.
“Can you see them anywhere else?”
The library door opens, shattering the quiet of the room. You whip your head toward the heavy metal doors, seeing the boy now leaving through. The librarian grabs a book cart, pushing it to the stacks at the far end of the room. You turn back toward the computer.
“Just in the school.” In a moment of weakness you tilt your head a bit more toward him, speaking again. “Look, I get you want answers, I’d love them too. It’s a bit disconcerting being able to see people who have died in the school you currently go to. But I don’t think I’m where you need to go for answers.”
He leans in. “Where then?”
“As if I know.”
He huffs. Thinking out loud, he says, “Maybe Mr. Martin will know.”
You look at him fully now, eyes meeting eyes. The only time you’ve met his eyes have been the couple of times you’ve looked at his picture in the athletic wing, his goofy, boyish smile frozen for eternity in the picture they hung up. Now though, you’re actually seeing them. They blink, they widen, they shift. It's unsettling. He’s dead, and you know it.
“Mr. Martin?” You whisper.
“Yeah.” He says it as if that clears anything up.
“Who the hell is Mr. Martin?”
“Oh, he’s a teacher. Died in like, the 50s or something? He leads the group we al–”
“He’s dead?” Your eyes widen as you process his words. “You told another ghost about this?” You question, a little panicked.
“No, not yet. But he’s smart. And he’s been here a while, he might have some answers or something.”
You shake your head at him, the panic not quite leaving your eyes.
“No, no, you can’t tell him. You can’t tell anyone.”
“Why not?” His question is genuine, as if he doesn’t see why the other ghosts knowing could be a bad idea.
“Because you can’t, okay? I mean, I highly doubt I’m supposed to be able to see you. What if–what if you guys knowing disrupts some sort of universal balance or something? Or, it messes with the line between life or death?”
“Universal balance?” He raises a brow.
“I don’t know!” You whisper-shout. “I just have a feeling that you guys aren’t supposed to know I can see you.”
“But–” He begins to speak, but you cut him off.
“You can’t tell anyone. Not Mr. Martin, none of the other ghosts, okay? This stays between you and me.”
He sighs, slightly disappointed. You pick up on this and, maybe stupidly, offer something.
“How about this? You don’t tell any of the others, but I don’t continue to ignore you. I will answer you, talk to you. But, ground rules,” You add quickly, “no trying to get responses from me when I’m in class, or at my locker, or in any crowded area, alright? Because, if there’s a bunch of people around and you’re trying to talk to me, I’m not gonna answer. I will look crazy talking to nothing but the air. But, we can talk. And maybe somehow we'll figure out why I can see you guys. But just you and me. No one else. I’m serious.”
Wally nods his head quickly, agreeing to your terms. He’s bummed he can’t tell the others–surely Mr. Martin or Janet would have some sort of idea, they were the brainy ones. And he doesn’t like keeping secrets from his friends, so that sucks. But, he can keep talking to you, and maybe the two of you will figure this out.
“Yeah, okay,” he agrees, “deal.”
“Good.” You nod, turning toward the computer. The time in the bottom right corner reads a few minutes until the period ends. You close out your tabs and log out, planning to go to the bathroom in the last few minutes before the bell rings–Mrs. Tucker never lets anyone go to the bathroom during class.
“I gotta go, but I guess I’ll..talk to you later.” You're a bit hesitant as you say that, the words feeling weird being spoken to a ghost. You can’t tell if this is a bad idea or not. As you stand and grab your bag off the ground, you turn back to Wally.
“It was Spanish, by the way.”
“What?” he questioned, obviously confused.
“The paper I was working on? Spanish, not French.”
“Well, I was never good at Spanish either.”
You nod a bit, both in acknowledgment and as a goodbye, and turn to leave the library, the heavy doors banging as you push against the push bar to leave, Wally watching you from his seat.
Panic
You can see the ghosts of Split River High and never let them know, until you slip up in the dumbest way possible. (Un)lucky for you, a certain spectral football player notices.
Acknowledgment
Wally is determined to get you to talk--hell, he'll take any kind of acknowledgment--now that he knows you can see him. The boy can be persistent when he wants to be. Part 2 to Panic
Hi. I have a request. Wally Clark x reader where she has the ability to see and hear ghosts but has been pretending that she can't see any of the ghosts at the school until she walks by Wally in the hallway and she sneezes. Wally says bless you and she instinctively says thank you and that's when she remembers and starts to panic a little?
