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Sometimes, Riley has nightmares that she’s back there again.

No, not the opera house— though she has those nightmares too, nightmares where she watches Spinel turn into a gem, or where she faces Claudine in the dance studio.

These are worse— the nightmares where she’s back at her parents house, back before everything went wrong. Sometimes it plays out as it did in real life, with Chess and Farrah— other times it’s Kate, Mattie— even Cairo. These are the nights she wakes up screaming, the nights Mephisto, Stephen, or Sigyn bust open the door, and she has to hurry to try and fix things, to calm them down, before she can even calm herself down.

Tonight, however, when she wakes up screaming, there’s someone closer. Heather McNamara is asleep on the floor beside Riley’s bed. Finding out you’re queer after already being terrified of social rejection is kind of rough, so even though they’ve been together for these first few weeks after Riley’s release, Heather’s still slept on the floor each night she stayed over as if her sleeping on the floor somehow changed the makeouts or more that they got up to. When Riley wakes up screaming, all the blonde girl has to do is sit up, squinting in the dark, disoriented, and bleary, and suddenly, neither of them are alone.

“Riley?” She half asks half whines in both concern and sleepiness.

“Sorry, Heather, it’s nothing. Go back to sleep.”

“It’s not nothing.” Heather pushes the abundance of blankets she had cocooned herself up in, and Riley moves aside, just enough for Heather to less-than elegantly clamber up into the bed beside her girlfriend. “If it were nothing, we’d like, both still be asleep.”

“I dreamed I was back there again.” Riley confesses, her voice small. It’s hard to admit, but therapy has taught her that voicing her dreams out loud helps make them less real.

“The opera house?”

“No. Before.”

Riley doesn’t have to say anything else. Heather’s already wrapped her in a warm hug, stroking Riley’s hair comfortingly and snuggling her head against Riley’s shoulder, which is about the time that Mephisto all but breaks down the door. The two scramble apart like they’ve been caught in something more than a quick cuddle, Heather shouting “Jesus!” and slamming her head back hard against the headboard of Riley’s bed at the same time that Riley announces “I’m fine, dad!”

He looks between the two suspiciously, as if he’s trying to decide if he should be protective or make some kind of a strong remark. Thankfully, they’re both saved by the appearance of Stephen, whose own glance is accompanied by a knowing smile. Even though Heather was whining and holding her head now, it seemed like tonight was under control, and with Stephen’s coaxing, Mephisto nods and they both exit, closing the door behind them.

“Are you okay?” Now it’s Riley’s turn to ask, as Heather whines and holds her head. Heather nods, though she continues to whine-- if it’s because of the injury, or the humiliation, though, is anyone’s guess. Riley, being Riley, sits up straighter. “Are you sure, Heather? Because it sounded like you hit your head pretty hard. Concussions are very serious, possibly even deadly. We should test your vision, your hearing, your reflexes---”

“I don’t have a freakin’ concussion,” Heather grumbles, still rubbing the tender spot underneath her bedhead of messy curls, as she scoots back to Riley’s side.

“Even if you don’t think so, we should--” Riley’s cut off by Heather’s shhing, before Heather dramatically drops onto Riley’s pillow.

“We were talking about your dream.” She reminds her, and though Riley still looks worried, the stubborn expression on Heather’s face tells her that she’s not going to drop it, and reluctantly, she lays back down as well. “It was from before the opera house?”

“Yeah. From the— the night it all happened”

Heather frowns, wriggling in closer, and taking Riley’s hand in her own. “You were just doing what you thought you had to. And—- that woman—-“ She’s still not fond of the Leading Player, even after she had done Riley so much good. It’s obvious from her tone of voice. “—-made it so that it was only attempted murder, which is way better than real murder!”

“It’s still got murder in the title!”

“Okay, yeah, and I’m not like, trying to argue that. But like, Jesus, it was undone, and you still went to juvie--”

“It was a Youth Correctional Facility--”

“And you still went to a Youth Correctional Facility, and you’re embracing your feelings and stuff and aren’t hurting people anymore. That’s progress, right?”

“But how much progress?”

“I don’t know. I made a girl jump off a bridge to try and kill herself, and I just consider it a win she didn’t actually die.”

There’s this. Awkward silence between them. And then Heather begins to cry, and Riley begins to cry, and then they both begin to laugh and cry at the same time.

“We’re soooooo fucked up!” Heather sobs, clutching Riley tightly, who for what it’s worth, tries to shake her head. “At least you did something to make up for all the awful shit you did! I just tried to—- and then kept up the same way, at the murder opera, being bitchy to everyone so I had an excuse for being lonely. Where did it get me?”

Riley‘s quiet for a little bit, and Heather is too. Neither of them is bold enough to announce what they’re both thinking. It got them here. Together. Heather squeezes Riley’s hand, a comforting, familiar motion. Something that she and Heather had done, though with Heather, it was normally about making someone jealous, showing her superiority through her connection to Heather. She had always wanted it to feel more like this. To be about a connection between two people, more than being about anyone else. Her cheeks warm up, and when she glances over at Riley, her cheeks are red too.

“Riley, I—-“

“But really Heather——“

They both pause awkwardly, before Heather waves her free hand for Riley to go on.

“—- Do you want to go to the hospital for your head? Concussions are really, really bad, they can be deadly, even, and—-“

“Ohmygod no, they’ll look at me like I’m a total freak, when I explain how—-“

“—-They can be really dangerous, especially if you hit you’re head again—“

“Then I won’t hit my head again!” Heather retorts swiftly, cheeks radiating heat.

Riley considers arguing further, but then Heather moves like she’s going to return to her pile of blankets, and Riley chooses her battles. “You shouldn’t sleep on the floor with your head like that.”

Heather knows what she’s really saying. That she’s asking her to stay. She nods hesitantly, most of the hesitation due to the fact that her head still aches. She does lean over the edge of the bed briefly, but it’s only to recover the long limbed, yellow stuffed rabbit she’d brought along. She glances at Riley nervously, before hissing “Dont tell anyone.” Then she snuggles back down into the bed, beside Riley.

“No! I think it’s cute.” Riley whispers back, trying not to laugh as she smiles at her reassuringly.

“Thanks. ‘M tired though, I’m going back to sleep.” Heather mumbles, and at an envious speed, she’s back to snoring. Riley watches her anxiously for a bit, making sure that Heather keeps breathing as the minutes tick by, but eventually, she too settles back in, finding comfort in the fact that she can hear Heather breathing, even if said breathing is accompanied with snores. Eventually, she too falls back asleep.

But not before Riley sets an alarm-- waking them up every thirty minutes, so she can check on Heather, and make sure she actually doesn’t have a concussion.

The liminal Denny's is bustling with energy in the aftermath of all that was the finale of the opera house-- between the survivors, the recently revived, and the loved ones that had magically appeared out of nowhere. And in the middle of it all is Heather Mcnamara, four hours into a five hour shift at the liminal Denny’s-- normally a breeze, the ideal college gig-- except for tonight, of course.

Last year’s Heather would have probably melted down in the bathroom, sobbing, and asking “Why does this keep happening to me?” in regards to being constantly surrounded by death. That Heather’s still there, in her chest, pounding and begging to be let out-- but on the exterior, she’s bubbly college freshman Heather, delivering grand slams and milkshakes with a smile, blonde ponytail bobbing, the yellow ribbon perfectly tied, never drooping. She tries not to think about her own experiences in a musical murder-land, doesn’t think of how many times she came close to bashing someone’s head in with a croquet mallet, doesn’t think of how many times she considered ending it all herself. She tries not to think of the bus ride home-- because oh my god, all of her rides home are dead, or at least, used to be dead, and she can only call B and beg him to pick her up so many times. After a year, “Oh my god, you trapped me in a literal freakin murder game!” loses some of its sway.

Instead, she becomes Heather with the plastic nametag, Heather with the Denny’s apron, Heather bringing milkshakes at a reunion. She allows herself to become as invisible as she feels, eavesdropping as she hands out extra rolls of silverware and refills drinks.

It doesn’t take her long to find the cheerleaders of the group. There are a lot of girls around her age there-- she instantly feels envious, because she was stuck with a bunch of weirdos, literal goodie-goodie Disney princesses, and so many adults. And while there are still freaks and geeks amongst the teens, there are also cheerleaders. Real life other cheerleaders! Santana frightens her, reminds her too much of Heather or Heather’s reign, but Riley-- the one they call Riley, who droops slightly and wears a distant expression despite the celebration around her, draws Heather’s attention.

Something about her compels Heather to set a chocolate and strawberry blended milkshake in front of her, with extra whipped cream and double cherries on top. And when Riley looks up, and looks confused, and utters an “I-- didn’t order---” Heather finds herself looking away.

“I know! I just thought you’d--- like something like that! After all you’ve been through.” And then, without further explanation, Heather bustles back into the kitchen, cheeks red.

She reappears an hour past the end of her shift, to explain to the booths of people that she’s handing their table off to the next waitress-- she has an early class the next morning, but Darlene will take complete care of them! And-- for what feels like the tenth time tonight, Riley’s trying to still explain that she didn’t order the shake from earlier. Heather tries not to roll her eyes, an old habit that has died hard, but isn’t exactly great for a service employee-- then lowers her voice, trying to avoid the stares of all of Riley’s friends and family as they keep calling each other. “No-- I know, it’s just-- I get it, okay? Let me clock out, and I’ll explain-- in the far booth over there.” Heather tosses her head in the other direction, hastily adding on “I don’t like big groups!” before Riley can ask what’s with the secondary location.

Ten minutes later, and Heather’s sitting in the booth alone, trying not to tremble as Riley approaches her, flagged by an extremely scary-looking man, the cheerleader that had reminded her of Heather and Heather, and the extremely loud, tiny woman who kept referring to herself as “Queen of the Denny’s”. She about sinks into her seat, almost dies right in the spot, especially when the small woman declares that Heather looks just like the girl in the program she found-- at that point, however, the scary man drags the small woman away, and the other cheerleader-- Santana, they had called her, quips something that makes Heather’s ears burn more. When she dares look up again, Riley’s giving her this look, like a ‘What the hell is this’ look. Heather wants to crawl under the table and die, but instead, she summons the same courage she had in the auditorium, what feels like a lifetime ago.

“A year and a half ago-- or, I don’t know, maybe longer, time’s like, super screwed up!” Heather exclaims, before hurrying on in her explanation. “I woke up in an opera house dressing room. Two weeks in, this totally weird girl straight up killed this old man. He was kind of gross, but loved hot pockets, in a cute old person kind of way. And then things just kept escalating! One minute I was cheer captain, and then the next, like, people kept killing each other, and it was super crazy and gross, and like-- I kept remembering that back home, people kept dying too! My best friend killed herself, and then my boyfriend killed himself and his boyfriend because he was secretly gay, and so much kept happening in the opera house, and there was this goodie goodie princess that acted so great, and I hated her, but then she wasn’t so bad---” Heather cuts herself off, because she’s getting off-topic, and Riley just kind of does this what-the-fuck kind of laugh and a nervous smile. “Oh my god. I’m rambling. I’m just trying to say, like, Jesus-- I get it! I’ve been there, cheerleader, then suddenly, BAMZO, everyone you love is dead!”

Riley looks pale, then, and Heather immediately feels that pounding feeling in her chest again, like it’s going to explode, like she’s said something stupid and is going to be thrown overboard any instant. She’s about to throw herself out the window of the liminal-denny’s and never return, when Riley speaks up, laughing nervously. “No-- you don’t understand.” Heather’s quiet, but it at least stops her from fleeing the Denny’s completely. “I--- actually! Hurt people! Both at home, and--”

They make eye contact, both hearts seizing at the same time.

“I thought about it.” Heather whispers.

“I did it.” Riley whispers back.

Heather’s quiet. She’s quieter than she should be. But her throat feels like it’s being squeezed-- she’s thinking of Heather, and Ram and Kurt, and how Veronica looked like hell, and then the opera house, and Princess Bride, and--- it’s too much. She’d thought she was past this, but she’s not. You can’t just watch your best friend, your boyfriend and his boyfriend die, and then watch ten people die, and be totally okay with it. She finds herself trembling, struggling to find her breath, and then Riley’s apologizing, and then she’s gone, and then work’s calling her emergency contact, and next thing Heather knows, she’s on Veronica’s worn out couch at Harvard, Duke, or Brown. She can never seem to remember, or even care-- her sanity hangs by a thread these days, and her heart seizes up so easily. When Veronica asks what happened, Heather can only cry-- only the Princess Bride, some jiffy pop, and the invitation of Martha for a movie night can soothe her.

Months later, Heather finds herself sitting in juvie. She’d often wondered about ending up here-- either from drinking too much too soon, or from stealing someone’s car, or shoplifting something her parents could afford--- but never imagined herself like this. She sits across the table from Riley, who smiles meekly at her.

“How are you?” Heather asks like she wasn’t the one who hyperventilated and passed out during their last, and only meeting.

“I’m….okay,” Riley confesses, smiling wearily. “I have a really good therapist here. We’re...making progress.”

Heather stares at Riley like she grew a second, third, and fifth head.

Riley stares back.

Finally, Heather finds her voice--

“Holy shit. They give you therapy here? How do I get in?”

Riley just kind of. Watches Heather for a few minutes, then the corners of her mouth twist into a smile, and she finds herself laughing.

“Heather. You don’t have to go to juvie to find a therapist!”

“Jesus-- really?”

---

So, Heather McNamara goes and finds a therapist. And she makes some real progress, about her dad who sells engagement rings-- about the heart-pounding that she feels every day on the bus, again and again. She talks about how Heather Duke’s mom paid for implants, even though they were in high school. She talks about how Heather Chandler was a mythic bitch, but she had still worshipped her, had still loved her even-- and how she had died. She talks about the opera house, which makes the therapist raise an eyebrow-- but after a gaggle of her former opera-house roomates show up to a single therapy session, she’s never doubted again. Eventually, her heart pounds less and less-- and taking the bus feels less and less like a death sentence. Previously the girl who couldn’t even manage childproof caps, she manages to pass her early childhood education classes, and for the first time in her life, Heather feels proud of something.

---

The day Riley’s released on probation, Heather stands by the scary man, who she has since learned is acting as Riley’s adoptive father. She’s still terrified of him and stands a good 2 yards away at all times, but he doesn’t seem….so bad…. All the time. He doesn’t seem very happy with her when she bolts ahead of him to squeeze Riley tightly as she emerges from the gates of juvie, definitely isn’t happy when they cry and grasp each other tightly-- but Heather doesn’t care if he’s happy or not when she and Riley finally kiss when she knows Riley is free, safe, and with her.