Chapter Text
You collide with Tate coming up the stairs just as he's descending them in a whirlwind of rage.
"Whoa! What the fuck is going on?" you cry, gripping the handrail in one hand and his arm with the other to keep from repeating your cause of death. You wonder if he was a part of whatever you heard going on upstairs.
Tate's brows shoot up at the sight of you. It's the first time you've come face to face in a while. But that wasn't your fault. He was the asshole who started avoiding you without giving you a good reason.
Though, with how things have been going, it's completely obvious it has everything to do with Michael's return.
Your ex surprises you by grabbing your wrist and dragging you with him.
"Tate? Tate! Where are you--"
"We need to talk," he states grimly, the grip on your arm strong as he practically leaps down the stairs with you. You notice he's shaking.
"Ooh, now you want to talk? I thought we weren't on speaking terms anymore," you laugh coldly but soon wilt, unable to find the energy to put on a bitchy facade around Tate. "At least… you made it seem that way," you mumble, utterly miserable just thinking of the silent treatment he had given you no matter how many times you had tried to beg him to talk to you.
He says nothing but when he stops for a moment to look at you, his dark eyes soften.
You avert your own gaze and let him lead you to the basement, struggling to keep yourself together while being so close to him.
You're genuinely hurt and confused.
You thought after the Harmons passed, that you had become good friends again. Sure, you had tried to sabotage his relationship with Violet a few times while they were 'together', but once the house was finished with that story arc and loosened its grip on both your minds, the two of you had renewed your kinship after coming to your senses.
Tate was different from Hayden in the best of ways.
No manipulation, no trying to use you for his own gain… he just appreciated you for who you were without any ulterior motive. He had gone back to being the sweet, sensitive boy you had first met in the library at Westfield High before all the dark things had completely consumed him.
Loneliness and isolation had bound you to one another again. You respected his feelings for Violet and kept things platonic… for the most part.
(You might have shared a couple intimate moments in an attempt to comfort him in the beginning, but you could count on one hand how many times that had happened before realizing maybe it wasn't a good idea.)
Things improved once you stopped having sex with him and realized all you wanted was for him to be happy. You still loved Tate after all, that fact would never change. He needed a friend and confidant just as much as you did. Misery loves company and you would choose Tate over Hayden any day.
When you reach the basement, Tate lets go of your wrist to place both of his hands on your shoulders, trying to center you and get you to pay attention to him.
He says your name in a way that makes your heart clench in agony but you take a chance and meet his eyes.
"I want you to listen to me. I know I was a massive dick for ignoring you and I'm sorry for that, babe, I really am." The old term of endearment was a comfort that neither of you wanted to get rid of so it stuck around. But hearing it after not speaking to one another for a while feels like he's twisting a knife into your chest. "I made a mistake. I shouldn't have left you alone with him!" There's desperation in his voice and you can't understand why he's acting this way.
"Tate, what the hell is going on? You're scaring me," you plead softly, your hands coming up to rest on top of his.
Tate bites his lip, his entire body tremors as he holds you. It's so unlike him; you're concerned that what happened on the second floor has kickstarted the sinister premonitions you've been having.
"I don't want to lose you! I've practically lost Violet, and I don't want to lose you too. I know our history together is fucked up, but you've always been there for me. I'm sorry for treating you like shit, you didn't deserve that. You're my only friend right now and I was a fucking dumbass for taking you for granted." The boy is breathless as he speaks as if he can't get the words out of his mouth fast enough.
"Lose me? Tate, what are you talking about? You know I can't go anywhere," you reply with a shake of your head, hoping he'll get to the point soon. You hate seeing him like this.
"I'm… I'm fucking mad that I have to watch you become that thing's personal toy. There, I said it! Seeing you with that little creep everyday… seeing him touch you with his filthy paws… I can't stand it! You deserve so much more! You have to stop hanging around him; he's bad news, don't you see!? Don't you feel how evil it is? How unnatural-"
You feel all the softness vacate your body.
"Tate, he's not a fucking thing! Why does everyone keep calling him that!?" you shriek, "He's a human being that deserves to be loved! He deserves a chance! He's your fucking son for Christ's sake!"
"Do NOT call that piece of shit my 'son'! Whatever that is, it didn't come from me, GOT THAT!? He deserves to be put six feet under and rot in whatever hellhole he was born from!" Tate's fingers bite into your shoulders and you can feel the camaraderie you once shared cracking under the pressure.
Before you can even think properly, your dominant hand lifts and your palm strikes the young man's cheek with enough force to turn his head and make him stagger back, releasing his hold on you.
Tears well up in your eyes, your hand trembling in midair before you clutch it to your chest. Tate lets out a pained sob as he touches his face but you're too angry to be sympathetic or regretful.
You've never raised a hand to him before. Thrown things? Yes. But hitting him? That was new.
"After all these years… after all I've sacrificed… NOW you choose to be jealous!? I GAVE you a chance, didn't I? Many in fact! You were a monster too but I loved you with everything I had, even after death. And you know what's really fucked up? I still love you!" you wail, your arm gestures turning violent. Tate shrinks toward the wall as you jab an accusatory finger at his face, "YOU are the entire reason I'm in this fucking fish bowl with you and the rest of these goddamn pitiful souls! And how did you pay me back, huh? How did you show YOUR love for ME!?" Each stab of your finger viciously punctuates each word.
You're so tired of these 'interventions' with the other ghosts. Was this going to be a thing now? All you want is just a small crumb of peace with a sprinkle of happiness. Was that too much to ask for?
It's time to woman up and stand up for yourself and Michael.
"You fucking left me for another girl and I was stuck watching you fall in love with her while I still had to deal with my feelings for you! You, Tate Langdon, do not get a say in my love life or who I choose to spend my time with! I don't have anyone anymore and Michael's never had anyone his entire life to truly love him. It's not fair! Don't I deserve to have a chance too? Don't I deserve love!?"
You're closing in on Tate, your steps slow yet menacing with each footfall. The lights in the room become agitated and with each haphazard switch of light to darkness, you seem to teleport closer to him.
"You say you don't want to lose me, but you seem to forget one tiny little thing, baby," the twist of your lips is as merciless as an executioner's blade, "You, left me behind. You can have Violet or me, but you can't have the both of us. I am not a comfort item to be used to wipe your snot and tears on. You said I 'deserve so much more', am I right? I'm tired. I want to move on with my afterlife and I will not let you hold me back to play these stupid little jealous high school games. I was a fool to think we could make this sorry excuse for a friendship work," you chuckle, the rattle of sound a mockery of true mirth.
"No.. NO! You're not getting it! This isn't jealousy, I'm trying to save you from him! I'M SORRY, okay!? I'm sorry for what I did to you-- for EVERYTHING!!"
Tate grips his hair, despair making his voice crack as he speaks, "I was young and a fucking idiot! I didn't know what I was doing, I just wanted you by my side forever! I loved you so fucking much and I wanted you so bad after I died! I didn't want to watch you age; I was afraid that one day you'd outgrow me and leave! But I was wrong. I was so deep in that delusion that I let the evil of this place take the wheel. I was wrong to kill you and take away your freedom, but you have to-- "
"WHAT!?" you hiss sharply, and suddenly all the heat that had been generating around you is sucked from the room.
Tate's eyes are as wide as yours at the confession.
He fucked up. Big time. He hadn't meant to let that slip.
"W-wait! I--"
"You fucking… WHAT?"
Immediately, you close the short distance between you two, your fingers like claws as you grab his baggy striped sweater by the collar and shove him into the brick wall with a strength you didn't even realize you were capable of.
He grunts and you feel the sharpness of his exhale hit your tear-stained cheeks. You fist the material of his shirt in both your hands, your knuckles digging deep into his collarbones while you pin him.
For once, Tate feels pain-- really feels it-- physically and spiritually. It's unlike anything he has ever experienced. It burns cold and dark like frostbite, spreading from where your knuckles make contact with his skin and radiating out across his chest and up his neck.
He's too frightened to move, watching helplessly as black tendrils bleed into the white sclera of your eyes like blots of ink on thin paper. The evil blight borders the natural color of your irises and threatens to swallow them whole.
Oh, how he used to adore that beautiful color. There was a time when all he could think of were those damn eyes of yours, the looks you would give him...
He wasn't digging the new look.
"Tell me, Tate, because I am real interested in this little secret. Who did you kill? Maybe I didn't quite hear you right the first time," you whisper in a low, venomous tone. There's a nasty sneer on your face as the words seethe from between your teeth.
You can feel the darkness licking at your skin, whispering to continue your wrathful tirade. It's empowering and down right tasty.
This is a feeling you've forgotten: being the most powerful person in the room.
All at once, you remember the things you made people do at your command while you were alive. Everything from giving you material possessions to self-inflicting bodily harm. Hell, that's how you had gotten this house in the first place after Tate died and Constance moved out. Getting the realtor to forge all the necessary paperwork and pay for the house with their own money was a cakewalk. Sure, you had to send your parents away before you did it, but the sacrifice had been worth it. They were better off without you anyway, living happily under the illusion their only daughter was living abroad on a mission to make the world a better place and not dead and stuck in Hell on earth for 19 years. That was your final parting gift to them and only the second time you allowed yourself to use your power on the good people who had brought you into the world.
Anyway, enough with the sad shit, there are more fun things to reminisce about.
Having all the physical things you could ever want wasn't the best part of your old abilities. Your favorite game was passing judgement unto those who deserved punishment. You dished out consequences both benign and malevolent like a goddess with a penchant for meddling in the affairs of humans.
In the case of pervy men, you've lost count of how many you've no doubt sent to the hospital--or the morgue-- if they just couldn't take a simple 'no' for an answer.
You grin when you remember the one time just a month before your death that you convinced Constance to be your maid for a week after you caught her sneaking in for the nth time. The sight of her scrubbing toilets and folding all the intimates you wore around Tate made you giddy. It certainly made Moira happy. You were benevolent and let Constance forget about the event, but the feeling of being subjugated remained and gave the old woman a reason to fear you even when she couldn't remember the exact reason why.
Ah, those were the best of times. What you wouldn't give to have that all back again...
Your good humor turns manic as you apply more pressure to Tate's bones, sure to break them if you keep increasing the force. It elicits a satisfying cry that makes you laugh.
He'll heal. It's fine. He's fucking dead just like you. It'll only hurt for a second. He deserves it.
"Stop it… this isn't you," your name then comes as a broken whimper from his quivering lips. Tate finds it hard to speak as he feels his throat ice over, "He's changing you, don't you see? I know you, babe… you wouldn't--"
"Tate. There are things even YOU don't know about me. But now, it looks like you've been keeping something from me too, babe. Now you tell me--you sniveling little son of a bitch-- what the fuck did you do to me!?"
The fine details of the crime are still hazy to Tate as he mentally scrambles to piece together all the bits he can recall clearly while you have him trapped in your grasp. Like the mass shooting at Westfield High, the deed had been done in a moment of weakness warped by the evil force that had used him as a vessel for destruction.
"I'm so sorry, babe," he wheezes, his tears feeling like ice water as they pour from his eyes. The roaring tundra of glacial energy that seeps from you into his body is absolutely unbearable. "I can't remember it all… but I wish I could take it all back. I never wanted to hurt you!"
Tate draws what little strength he has left to lift his arms and embrace your wrists in his weak hands. The touch rouses old memories of your most intimate moments, disrupting the flow of negative energy inside of you. You draw in a sharp breath, your eyes clearing for a second.
"I've never forgiven myself for doing that to the woman I loved," he whispers, "If I could have, I would have killed myself all over again and thrown myself into the deepest pit of Hell to bring you back and pay for what I've done. You deserved better…"
The Morning of October 31st, 1996
"Tate! C'mere, we need to decide what movie we're going to see!" You call while wandering around the first floor of the house, a newspaper clipping with movie times for the local theater clutched in your hand. Where the hell did that boy go? You've been looking for him for probably twenty minutes now and he still hasn't shown up which was definitely weird for your devoted dead boyfriend.
The theater was bringing back a wicked selection of past horror movies just for Halloween and you never agreed with which one to pick for your annual date this year. The two of you have been debating for weeks over the issue. Honestly, you had gotten to the point where you were willing to spend almost the entire day watching movies back to back. Maybe fool around in the dark a few times.
With your odd powers of suggestion, you definitely had the means to stay without paying a cent or worrying about someone being there to witness any sinning in your seats. You had always referred to using your powers as exercising your 'V.I.P. discount' whenever Tate asked. He always thought it was weird, but accepted the mystery as yet another reason to love you. He loved all of your weird quirks.
To be fair, you tried not to use your Jedi mind tricks all the time. If you overexert yourself, the damn curse made your head feel like it would explode and blood would gush from your nose. Your 'subjects' could also suffer unnecessarily if you broke their unwilling minds. You'd learned your lesson one time after trying to score free burgers from In-N-Out with a whole crowd of people watching. You were cocky after much practice; the gift had worked on small groups and you were ready to test it out in a larger setting. But trying to simultaneously mindbreak the grumpy cashier and staff while also getting everyone to forget the event almost put you in the hospital. Miraculously, you had succeeded but you'd rather not have another brain aneurysm over something as stupid as free food if you could help it. And you're pretty sure it had the same effect on everyone there since the news reported customers suffering from serious head pain and auditory hallucinations at that same In-N-Out location. The restaurant had shut down for a week for inspections of the building and food. You'd felt kinda bad about that one.
Of course, that didn't mean you had to give up using your powers completely. Just had to be smart with it and use it in moderation. It was easier when your natural charms worked to bring down someone's guard and make them susceptible to your ideas.
Your Halloween date is definitely worth rupturing your brain over, however. This is the ONE day a year that you are free to be with Tate outside the grounds of the house.
Stupid ghost rules… maybe you should make a pitstop at the chapel and get married to him just to see if (un)holy matrimony to the living would allow him to come back to your side of the mortal coil. It might not have worked for Beetlejuice and Lydia, but it could work for Tate and you.
A girl can dream.
"Tatertot, get your sweet ass down here!" you call again, deeply disappointed when there is still no answer from your beloved.
In place of an actual reply, a familiar red ball comes bouncing down the steps of the grand staircase as you pass through the foyer again. It bumps against the toe of your leather boot. You bend down and pick it up, sighing.
"Beau, go get your brother, we have very important things to discuss!" you beg, giving the hunched figure at the top of the stairs puppy eyes.
"Play!" The disfigured male grunts, flailing his arms at you as a signal to throw the ball. His own pleading gaze rivals yours yet you feel like you've automatically lost as you are quite fond of all Tate's siblings. The unfortunate part is that they all know it too and liked to take full advantage of your affections.
Your silent battle of wills ends in a predictable loss on your part.
"Augh, okay, you got me, sweet boy. Just one game, okay? But you have to promise you'll find Tate for me. It's a special day after all," you bargain, tossing the ball from one hand to the other to entice him.
Beau bobs his head eagerly and you grin as you throw the ball.
You go back and forth for a few rounds before deciding to switch your position on the stairs. You intend to toss the ball one last time and take a timeout to find your boyfriend. This is going on longer than you had intended. It was probably better that you get Tate yourself anyway.
You're nearing the top, Beau's grinning face coming into better view the closer you get.
What you don't anticipate is him letting go of the ball early while you're not paying attention. It distracts you, causing you to misstep in an attempt to avoid getting hit in the face or slipping on the toy.
In the confusion, you don't see the hand reaching up from the lower steps behind you and giving the back of your heel a sharp tug at the same time you trip on the stairs. Somehow your feet become tangled with each other and you begin to fall backwards.
Time slows as you feel your body rolling down.
-*-
You blink, your eyelids heavy as the world around you slowly comes back into your vision.
Your head sings with pain, a ringing in your ears as you lay at the bottom of the staircase. You'd hit it a few times, and you feel like you might've fractured or broken a few things on the way down but your head is too cloudy to check.
How long have you been laying here?
The image of the chandelier and Tiffany glass skylight above dances before your eyes like colored shards in a turning kaleidoscope.
A blond head swims into your view and you think you can hear it speaking to you, calling your name.
"It's okay. Just rest. You'll feel better once you wake up." Hands colder than an ice pack with long fingers are cradling your head. It feels like such a nice contrast to the warm sluggishness in your brain.
The voice echoes and distorts. You feel like your head is being held underwater, the words are so muffled. Now all you want to do is close your eyes and forget about the pain. You feel so sleepy all of a sudden...
You do just that and the last thing that you hear is a loud, visceral snap before your consciousness is ripped away into the void.
-*-
When you awake again, you feel weird.
Your body aches all over and there's a dull pain in your neck that doesn't go away no matter how much you massage it.
"What the fuck happened?" you groan, slowly getting to your feet. Apparently you had decided to take a nap on the hardwood floor in the middle of the walkway.
Nice.
You take a step and bump into something solid, causing you to stumble. Your eyes trail down and--
--a scream tears from your throat at the sight of your own mangled body at the foot of the staircase. Your dead gaze is at an odd angle, but you're almost glad you don't meet its eyes.
This is a dream or some kind of sick practical joke, right?
"I get it! Ha-ha-ha, 'Happy Halloween' and all that bullshit! You can come out now, Tate, you've had your fun! I know you can do some freaky shit on Halloween, but this is fucked up even for you!" you shout, your eyes watering the longer you examine the abnormal twist of your neck.
It can't be real. You're hallucinating. Maybe the house is messing with you again like it's tried to do since you moved in.
"Babe… don't look anymore. It's… it's not a joke." Tate sneaks up behind you and covers your eyes with his hand. His arm comes to rest around your middle. You can feel his sadness in a way you've never felt before.
"No… no way… no fucking way…," you shake your head furiously, twisting in his hold and smashing your face into his chest. He embraces you tightly.
"It's alright, darling girl, I've got you. I'll take care of it," Tate assures, "Once I'm done, we can plan out our date just like you wanted. It'll be okay, babe, trust me." He rubs your back soothingly and you finally let yourself break in his arms.
You never did ask him where he hid your body.
And you were okay with not knowing.
The Double-Double burgers for dinner and popcorn at the theater afterwards tasted stale that night, and unfortunately, it appears your powers are gone as well. But having the ability to slip past the staff unseen to the spiritually untrained eye was a nice consolation prize. That was just a taste of all the things you would have to get used to eventually.
For now, you would enjoy the rest of your Halloween night and many more to come with Tate Langdon by your side.
Journeys end in lover's meeting...
Present
"I trusted you, Tate," you hiccup, unable to stop the flood of tears from coming, "I loved you…"
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, babe," it's all Tate can say. He repeats it over and over, a mantra that fails to calm you despite his fervent wishes that it would.
"You.. you motherfucker…Sorrys are easy. What about taking responsibility for the things you've done?" Your voice is hoarse and the delivery is pathetic but Tate flinches, recognizing those words as the same ones Ben had told him years ago. You must have been there, waiting under your veil of secrecy, watching like you had been for the past year Tate had abandoned you.
You want it to end.
There's no turning back time to reverse what has happened now. You feel the few friendships and sense of family you have built with your intimate circle of the spirits here are dissolving one by one. The thought makes you spiral further into the stygian depths within your mind.
"I never want to see you again," you whisper, your airway constricted by the overwhelming feelings balling up in your throat. The feeling is made worse by maintaining direct eye contact with the source of your pain, but it is necessary.
"You can't mean that… you can't!" Tate squeezes your wrists, finding new strength despite his withering spirit. He doesn't let go, the fear of loss burning in his tearful eyes.
"But I do. This is it, Tate. I can't do this anymore, I'm done," you shake your head morosely, "You've had ample time to tell me and repent for what you've done. I don't expect you to bring me back to life, but I sure as hell deserved a lot more from you… Nothing can ever fix this--"
In one last ditch effort to dissuade you, you're surprised by the mashing of his lips against yours. It's so familiar that your body can't help but respond before rational thought occurs.
Briefly, muscle memory brings you back to a time when things were good. Your mouth moves of its own accord in tandem with Tate. You're reminded of every shared kiss and touch, his lingering gaze and sweet words…
'I love you.'
Instead of Tate's voice, your mind substitutes Michael's.
This is wrong, you realize.
There is no electricity or warmth in this boy's touch. He's cold and rigid, and you find yourself craving that magic heat only Michael can give you.
He turned you into something soft, pliable, hot and alive.
In this moment, you just feel like a block of ice--devoid of all life and feeling.
There's just no spark! Not anymore...
You recall the reverence in Michael's eyes, lighting him up from the inside out and renewing your sense of purpose in this world. You taught him things, but you've learned--or rather, rediscovered--some new things too thanks to him.
Patience, the ability to smile again, hope…
He needs you.
And you need him.
Just like that, the spell breaks.
You pull away, not missing the small whine that escapes Tate's lips as you part. Your gaze bores into his- serious, sad and with a sense of finality.
"Goodbye, Tate, you've shattered my heart for the last time."
Your murmured words echo in the empty space around him as you blink out of existence before his eyes.
All Tate can do is sink to his knees and scream his loss.
_*_
You're back on the staircase, sitting on the exact step where you met your demise, head in your hands. You hadn't even asked him where your body was. If you knew, maybe you could have gotten Michael to dig you up and take you with him way the fuck AWAY from this godforsaken place.
Fuck...
The sound of Tate's lamentation haunts you but cannot compete with your own grief that crushes you in its cold, skeletal grasp. Cannot wash away the disgust swirling in your stomach at the thought of not knowing the truth for so long. Your mind reels at the thoughts spiraling inside.
You wonder what life would have been like if you had never met Tate Langdon. Would The House still influence him to commit all the atrocities on his resume? Would you be happy and alive, married with kids and a white picket fence or flying solo, living off the bounty of Mother Ocean and making your own way with Her guidance?
Would you still have met Michael Langdon? Would he fall for you then too?
Did Tate really love you at all? Who would he be if he had lived elsewhere?
And is The House really to blame for the murderous desires it plants within its residents, or does it bring out what is already rotten and festering in the darkest corners of their minds?
When your tears dry and the mental torture quiets for a moment, you're left with that strange coping mechanism of laughter. Maybe it's a product of shock; your body never knew how function properly in times of high stress even when it was already dead. It's a hollow sound, a ghost of true humor but it's all you have.
You're dead.
That fact will never change.
You've found out the true cause and it hurts like fucking hell but what's done is done.
It's time to do what you do best, and that's picking up all the pieces you can of yourself and moving the fuck on. No use stewing in what ifs and have nots. You can always wash your face and reapply mascara, but you can't be expected to glue together all the things that tend to shatter in your hands.
It's nothing new.
There's still at least one person in this damned house who cares for you.
You decide to start with him, determined to not let anything get in your way this time.
You rise from the stairstep and feel compelled to finish the journey to your old room, sensing that perhaps Tate has left another broken someone inside.