Chapter Text
Veronica stood at the top of the steps in front of the doors to Westerberg High, clutching her diary like a lifeline, and she hesitated. Of course, she hesitated; it was very nerve-wracking. Honestly, it was just hard to stomach the fact that she was back on the very first day of her senior year—back before anyone was dead, before she was a Heather, or she met J.D. when she was still good. Back then, her hands were clean, free of the blood that would forever stain them now. It didn't matter if she'd gone back to before any of that happened. She still had done it, and nothing would or could change that.
Veronica took a deep breath, a shaky one, sure, but that didn't matter right now. God, it was such a mess. How could she do this? Veronica didn't know if she could. No, no, no! How could she change things if she gave up before she entered the school? She couldn't, she knew that.
Veronica took one last deep breath before she made her way into the school building.
It was suffocating walking through the halls of Westerberg again, which was stupid because, in reality, it hadn't been that long since she had walked through them every morning as part of her daily routine. She knew where her locker was; of course, she did; she had gone through a little over a month of her senior before the pep rally and her first death. Now, walking through the crowded hall, her eyes scanned the student body, and as she looked at the diverse body of students from the jocks, that dawned the same red jackets Kurt and Ram did that had been left discarded in the cemetery after their murder. A murder she had helped commit. Then, of course, there were nerds who were often ostracized and bullied or even beaten. All she could see as she looked at them was what would have happened if she had not stopped J.D. All that would have been left would be bodies, and some would have nothing of their body left at all.
Veronica took a deep breath; she was fine; everything was fine. Maybe…maybe it would be better if she just looked at the floor instead. Yeah, she would just do that; yeah, that would be fine. She would be fine. Expect no; it wasn't fine, she wasn't because she started at the floor; all she could think of was the blood; her blood dripped onto the floor as she limped carrying the bomb away from the gym. Veronica felt as though she was in a haze; all she could see were the floors and her blood as it dripped from her various wounds. She was hallucinating; she knew that course, but she could even hear the sounds of the bomb's timer as it ticked down to zero.
Beep
Beep
Beep
Veronica wasn't really there as she walked through the halls; she was trapped in a time that hadn't happened yet as she stared at the floor. She walked, not really aware of where she was walking. Veronica must have run into someone as she fell to the floor, and she snapped back into reality. Veronica looked up and met a pair of platinum blue eyes of a strawberry blonde girl whose hair was adorned with a red bow. She didn't need to look to know that the girl was wearing a red blazer. Because she knew this girl, her best friend, her worst enemy, turned into a ghostly apparition that seemed to follow her around for kicks: the girl she murdered, Heather Chandler.
Veronica might have stared for longer if someone hadn't slammed their locker closed, causing Veronica to flinch at the noise and jump quickly to her feet. The noise reminded her so much of a gunshot or, worse, the explosion of a bomb, and Heather was standing there.
Veronica ran.
_______
Heather Chandler stared at the spot Veronica had once been for a few moments, careful not to let any of her emotions slip out onto her face. She wasn't a ghost anymore so people could see her. Heather's eyes slowly fell on the black book lying on the floor.
Veronica dropped her diary, huh? Heather was unsure if Veronica would have any memories; however, now that she had seen Veronica, Heather could confirm that she did. Heather had seen the guilt that had shone in Veronica's eyes. "Wow, that nerd looks terrified. I would be, too, if I were her." Heather Duke, who stood behind her, spoke, her voice tinged with disgust.
Heather's face tightened at Duke's words, and she had to revert her facial expression to normal quickly. She had a reputation she needed to keep up. "Don't you agree, Heather? It was path–"
"Shut up, Heather!" Heather snapped, and it was a bit impulsive, to be honest. She had a reputation she needed to keep up, but she didn't like hearing Veronica talked about like that. Yes, Veronica had screwed up. Veronica had killed her, given her Drano. Heather had the pleasure of feeling her insides melting and falling into a glass table.
Heather wouldn't lie; she had been furious at first that Veronica had, you know, participated in her murder. But after spending so much time around watching Veronica as a ghost, Heather realized she had already forgiven her. Maybe she was wrong for that, but she was the one who had been murdered, so shouldn't she be able to formulate her thoughts and opinions about her own murder?
Heather said nothing as she picked up the diary from the ground. "Uh, Heather…are you alright?" Mac asked her, and she turned to face the other Heather, glaring.
"Yes, why wouldn't I be?" Heather spoke, snapping at her longtime friend. Maybe she shouldn't have, but she didn't want to acknowledge or admit to them that she actually knew Veronica because it would be rather hard to explain without getting into the whole apparent time-travel thing. Also, she had a reputation to worry about, and maybe it was self-centered to worry about such things. However, Heather was worried about her safety; it could be dangerous, especially if she did not have her reputation, especially with Mr. Crazy Trench Coat, the kid. Though that didn't really stop him the first time, did it?
"Right…sorry, Heather..." Mac spoke, and Heather just sighed,
"Sure…now I have something to do. Try not to embarrass me while I'm gone." Heather spoke before she started walking away, making sure her pace was fast so nobody would dare bother her. She was the Demon Queen of Westerberg, but not that anyone would either way, she supposed, once she had turned around a random corner. She looked down at the diary and smiled. Since she had it, she might as well see if her dear Ronnie had written anything about this situation in her diary. Maybe it was an invasion of privacy, but Veronica never had a problem with it when she was a ghost.
Heather stopped and leaned against a random nobody's locker and opened the diary, scanning the first page, and found there was only one paragraph written there in the center of the middle of the page, which was very unlike the overly studious and organized Veronica.
Write down what is important in this diary, for what is written here will survive the timelines.
It was what was written on the first page, and Heather couldn't make much sense of it or, rather, make any sense of it. As she studied the paragraph, she noticed that it wasn't even written in Veronica's handwriting. That would have made her question if it was really Veronica's diary if she hadn't seen the nerd, a nickname that she used endearingly, clutching it close to her chest as she had always done with her diary. With this in mind, Heather turned the page to see a normal-looking diary entry written down.
Dear Diary,
I was confused at first when I woke up in my room after being blown up by J.D.'s bomb on the football field. Since then, I have figured out I have indeed gone back in time. In doing this, what seems to be referred to as timelines on the first page of the diary has been created. I have concluded that a timeline ends with my death and will always start on September 1st, 1989.
Heather stopped reading for a moment as she felt dread build up in her stomach. Why did Veronica know this piece of information? Surely she couldn't have…no; she couldn't jump to conclusions; maybe she figured it out based on her death by shooter kid's bomb. Ronnie was always stupidly smart like that. When it comes to common sense, maybe Heather should not base her hopes on that.
So far, there have been seven timelines…if you count our original one. However, I am not, so there have only been six. The first timeline ended when I hanged myself an unknown amount of time. The second one ended after I used hairspray as an accelerant and set myself on fire with my lighter. The third…
Heather stopped reading, snapping the diary shut, and tried her best her very best not to let any of the distress she was feeling seep out onto her face or body language. Heather was reeling, though; she could hardly stomach the fact that Veronica had killed herself five times. She didn't even want to read to know how she did.
Heather was panicking; she wouldn't lie to herself about that, but she couldn't be panicking in the hallway like this. Heather forced herself to start walking again, trying to ignore the way her ears rang and the way her heart was beating erratically.
Heather spotted a bathroom and quickly made a beeline for it. She needed to compose herself and calm down. Heather's hands shook as she pushed the bathroom door open and entered inside. Heather quickly scanned the bathroom to make sure she was alone because she needed to be alone. She couldn't allow herself to panic in the presence.
Heather's eyes fell on a familiar head of messy dark brown hair; there, in the corner of the bathroom, next to the sink was Veronica, shaking and breathing erratically. Now, she really needed to calm down because she couldn't panic when Veronica was right there, and she looked like she was also panicking. Heather was at a loss for what to do, and it was lost on her that she was probably part of one of the causes of Veronica's panic.
"Veronica," Heather spoke, and she wasn't sure why she did, but she couldn't take it back as Veronica's brown eyes quickly met her own.
_______
"H-Heather…" Veronica spoke, and it was hard to speak. She had to force herself to do so. Veronica looked at Heather, and she didn't know what to do or what to say, but as she looked at Heather slowly, the Heather in front of her was replaced with the ghostly figure in her robe, with drano staining her chin and bloodshot eyes.
Veronica quickly looked away from Heather; she just couldn't, she couldn't. All she could see was the ghost of the dead girl she had murdered. The world was so far away; why was Heather here? She didn't know; she couldn't even think straight. "Veronica!" She heard Heather's voice again, and she felt a hand on her shoulder, and she forced herself to look up again. She couldn't even look at Heather right now! Why? She had murdered Heather! Veronica didn't even know if the ghost of her that followed her around was real or just her way of absolving herself of the guilt. Veronica's breathing grew more erratic as this was all too much; everything was all too much. "Veronica…hey… it's okay," Heather spoke, her voice so much softer than before, and it was a tone Veronica had never heard from her before.
"What…?" Veronica said, and she was confused; why was Heather being so nice to her?! Heather shouldn't even know her name to be anywhere close to nice to her.
.
.
.
.
Oh. Heather remembered.
Veronica froze, unable to really do anything for a moment. She was crying, she thought, she didn't really know. "Heather… I'm…sorry." Veronica forced herself to say it; she had to say it. She needed to say it. "I'm so so sorry," Veronica said again as tears ran down her face. She waited for Heather to grow angry and yell, but she didn't. Instead, Heather smiled; why was she smiling?
"I already know you are, pillowcase," Heather spoke; the usual insult didn't sound insulting at all. It actually sounded kind of sweet. Veronica was still processing things, her brain still calming down from the panic she had just been, and abruptly pulled out of by that realization that sent her brain to a spiraling halt. Veronica was processing things, and she did not expect Heather Chandler, of all people, to wrap her arms around her and pull her into a tight embrace.
Wait what?
What even was happening right now?
_______
Heather watched as Veronica observed herself in the mirror now that she was done applying makeup to her friend. She believed Veronica and her were friends, at least. Heather had simply decided to do Veronica's makeup to get both her and Veronica's minds off things. They both needed it.
Part of Heather was desperate to ask Veronica about the diary and wanted to ask why Veronica decided to kill herself five times, but she didn't. She had seen Veronica's panic earlier, and she couldn't. Veronica deserved to be happy right now; the hard questions could come later. "Veronica, your diary," Heather spoke, gaining the brunette's attention as she held out the diary. The brunette quickly turned and took the diary, and Heather did not miss the panicked look in the nerd's eyes. "I didn't read it." Heather quickly spoke, even though she knew she was lying. Heather would rather lie to keep Veronica from panicking right now than tell her the truth and have her panic.
"Oh, thanks," Veronica spoke, and she sounded relieved, which made her feel worse for lying but also a bit angry. Upset, maybe Veronica wanted to hide the fact she killed herself from her. God, Heather could not deal with thinking about this right now. She needed a distraction, and it just so happened that Veronica was wearing a hideous outfit that was a great distraction.
Heather sighed, "Veronica, what is that outfit? It's hideous." Heather channeled all of her energy into making sure it sounded natural, which shouldn't have been done because the outfit was truly hideous. Heather watched as Veronica looked down at her outfit, and her face went red with embarrassment.
"I know, but it's at least better than the scarf and dress, right?" Veronica said, and she sounded rather sheepish, which was a relief because it meant that right now. Veronica probably wasn't thinking about everything that had happened.
"No, Ronnie, it's not," Heather spoke, and she watched Veronica deflate a bit before she added on. "I mean baggy jeans; what are you, a punk?"
"I'll have you know, Heather; I spent a while searching my closet for something that was at least presentable." Veronica huffed, and Heather couldn't understate how relieved she was to see that Veronica seemed to be actually enjoying the conversation.
"I see; well, you failed miserably," Heather spoke, and she waited to study the way Veronica deflated a bit at her words; it was cute, but more importantly, Veronica wasn't thinking about JD or the bomb or what happened before—just worrying about her clothes. Heather smirked, "I'll just have to take you shopping after school to remedy this."
Veronica looked as though she was about to protest when the school bell cut her off.
_______
It was lunch when it happened; Heather didn't know why, but Kurt and Ram had sauntered over to where Mr. Psycho Trench Coat Kid had been sitting, and Heather didn't know why because it was too soon. Heather watched as JD smiled up at them, and chills ran down Heather's back.
He pulled out a gun, but it was fine. It was fine because it was just blanks, right? Yeah, it was fine. It was just blanks. Not real bullets.
Gunshots rang out and then screams, and Heather's world ground to a halt as right beside Kurt, who was bleeding out, was the form of Veronica Sawyer.
Fear and panic had started overtaking Heather, and as it did, her entire world went black.
.
.
.
.
.
Heather woke up.