That morning when Roz woke, she felt like an overwhelming weight was crushing her chest, making it impossible to breathe. It had nothing to do with a growing Phoebe laying across her and attempting to wake Roz up with urgent head buts and a paw to the face. Roz had yet to experience a memory update in Vallo, though she had heard about them from Sabrina. The memories that were flooding her mind now completed the story of the Eldritch Terrors that threatened Greendale, letting her know how the remaining had been defeated, and what they had lost in the process. Who they had lost. The memories were so clear in her mind, like just a few hours ago she had been at the Spellman mortuary to bury both Sabrina’s and try to find a way to say goodbye to her best friend.
Her brain didn’t want to accept it though. It was Sabrina they were talking about. She resurrected. Or one of them, and she had seen the coven complete resurrections before. It didn’t make sense. It was a nightmare, it had to be. Roz sat up in bed, threw off her blankets, and ran straight for Sabrina and Nick’s room.
But the room was empty, they were gone. Roz didn’t know why they were gone, not for sure. She couldn’t confirm whether they had woken up with the same memories that she had or not. She couldn’t ask for details on what receiving memories was like to confirm that this was just a nightmare.
Roz knew it wasn’t though. Logically she knew, it was just a truth she did want to face. Back in her room, she fired off a number of texts to Sabrina. She spent several minutes staring at her screen waiting for a response that never came before throwing her phone down on the bed. Without actively paying attention to what her own body was doing, Roz shoved several of her possessions; clothes, school items, and other necessities into a bag and slung it over her shoulder. She grabbed ahold of Phoebe, before teleporting the both of them out of the Mortuary.
It was automatic at this point to end up at the Sanctum. It was literally becoming a sanctum for her at this point, and she pushed open the main door without much thought that she wasn’t even supposed to be working today. Or that she was still in her pyjamas, or that she probably looked like a mess. Roz went straight to the room she had claimed for herself the last time she had shown up here looking for an escape, and shutting the door just a little too loudly behind her.
Downstairs, Stephen had left the back kitchen doors open - he was outside, currently, since the morning brought decent weather and actual sunshine; he enjoyed it while he could, skin tingling, sitting on the stone walkway warmed by those rays. But since the weather was decent he planned to finally get Wanda’s garden started, out here in the courtyard - he’d already purchased seed packs, pots, a watering can, and a bag of soil; the first task was flipping through the seed packets, setting aside the ones he thought she might like best in a separate pile. The others went in another pile to the left - he was nothing if not organized.
It was a very zen moment, vivid colors and the gleam of prisms, just him sitting outside and relishing in the moment - when all of a sudden...
BANG.
Since the kitchen doors were open he heard (and sensed) activity in the lobby, then steps on the staircase, then the final slam of a door. The entire Sanctum reacted, actually, kitchen cabinets also giving a rattle, the Cloak of Levitation zipping over to where Stephen was (in his sweatpants and hooded sweatshirt) and insisting that he get up. “I’m coming,” he told the impatient thing - it didn’t fasten itself to his shoulders, just directed him upstairs to where Rosalind’s room was.
He got there and knocked on the door. Whatever the hell was happening, it probably wasn’t good - maybe she had another fight with her friends. “Rosalind? Can I come in?”
Rosalind had begun to furiously pace her room, Phoebe watching carefully from a spot perched on the bed. Her bag had been tossed into the corner. She kept going over the events of what happened again in her head. From finding Sabrina with Ambrose and the Weird Sisters, to her time in the void, to everything that followed after. She remembered passing through the days following the destruction of the Eldritch Terrors in a blurry haze. Nothing seemed real, it wasn’t possible. She remembered the funeral, and grief as she had never felt in her life. She remembered crying until it hurt, she fell asleep, only to wake up and cry more. Then the news of Nick came. Waking up here had made that so much worse.
The same thoughts kept spinning around her head on repeat. She should have realized someone would have heard the door slam, but she’d barely heard it herself.
When she finally heard Dr. Strange speaking, her thoughts were brought back to the present, and she took a moment to stare at the door as if she didn’t quite believe what she was hearing. After a few seconds, she went to the door and pulled it open, staring up Dr. Strange (had she ever seen him in sweatpants?) and the cloak. He was the first person she’d seen today, and likely had no idea what he just walked into.
She held completely still for a breath, unsure of how to react or what to say. Her mouth fell open and she attempted to speak. To provide a reasonable explanation for causing so much noise and disturbance in the morning. But nothing really came out. Instead, she started to tremble, her expression crumbled, and took a step toward him and started crying all over again, right into her hands and his sweater.
Okay, so this was like - a Code Red kind of situation.
Stephen was somewhat frazzled, to say the least, but he needed to keep his shit together because at least one of them did - he’d be the adult in the room, it was fine, he’d handle it (even if he realized that the reason he was so frazzled was because he was worried about Rosalind - she was just letting the tears flow like her eyes and nose were leaky faucets, crying into his hoodie, and what the fuck happened?).
It could be anything. School problems? No. Maybe not - Rosalind wouldn’t break down into hiccuping sobs about the Vorerra brats. Trouble at the mortuary? Could be. Dating issues? No. Definitely not that.
This wasn’t just melancholy either - it looked and felt like a breakdown, a road covered with glass shards. He didn’t tell her it was okay, or that things would be fine - because he didn’t know the situation yet. Instead, he just put his arms around her and held her while she trembled and shivered, a solid presence so she didn’t shake free from her own skin. “Hey,” he soothed, voice a rumble that had concern laced within. “I’m here.”
He was. He wouldn’t go anywhere. And he waited a little bit longer before he asked, “Would you like to tell me what’s going on or - we can just sit?”
The concept of a witch’s lifespan was still something she was wrapping her head around when it came to herself, it probably wouldn’t be something she really understood until she continued to maintain her youth while others around her didn’t. But in her head she always pictured Sabrina and Nick living longer than she could mentally comprehend. She would fit in there somehow, she just didn’t know how. That image was shattered. Replaced by the image of Sabrina’s body on the altar, her blood spilled to keep the Void open long enough to save everyone. Her best friend had been lifeless, blank eyes staring up at the ceiling of the cave, surrounded by her family who hadn’t been able to save her. The celebration of their escape had lasted only a second. And Nick, she hadn’t even seen him. Hadn’t said goodbye, or spoken to him much since the funeral. He was just gone.
In response to his question, Rosalind shook her head rapidly. She wouldn’t be able to talk even if she tried. The tears came harder before they eased, reaching a point where she could barely breathe, but still couldn’t make herself stop. It took several minutes, nearly choking on her own sobs, before her breathing started to even out enough to even consider forming a sentence.
Once she had some level of control over herself again Roz pulled back and finally sat down as Dr. Strange suggested. Her eyes were red, puffy, and still freely crying, though she attempted to wipe it away on her sleeve. “Sorry about your sweater,” she mumbled, glancing up at the wet patch on his clothes.
That was fine, no talking - no talking, he could do that. Stephen just continued to let Rosalind cry - occasionally he’d pat her back, but he didn’t say anything more. She seemed like she needed to let it all go, to release the pain - it was like washing away all that inner clutter and leaving you with something of a clean house. Maybe a messy one, but - ditching a lot of that turmoil could feel cleansing; before the sunshine, there were usually storms anyway.
He sat as well, opening one of those portal-pockets; it was where he tended to stash things around the Sanctum (helpful cubbies), or he’d just reach in and grab what he needed without having to, say, go downstairs. In this case, it was a box of tissues - plenty of soft ones, for runny noses and tear-stained faces. “No need to be sorry - laundry detergent is a powerful thing,” he said, offering Rosalind the tissues so she didn’t have to use her sleeve.
And he could be patient. He wouldn’t demand to know what was going on, no. He’d just...wait here. Fearing the worst.
He was waiting for her to say something eventually, she knew that, and she would be thankful he was being so patient if it didn’t feel like everything was crumbling into shambles. They were in a different reality, she knew Sabrina and Nick were probably safe somewhere, but she couldn’t make that separation yet.
She took the offered tissue, the whole box, because she was going to go through these quickly, she knew it. Roz was silent for another few minutes while her tears continued to flow and she tried to figure out how to say what was happening without actually saying it.
“I woke up with one of those...memory updates from home.” that was what people called them, right? Memories from the life she had left behind but was also somehow still happening without her. All at once shoved into her head. “The Eldritch Terrors…” she shook her head as if trying to shake loose the proper words that would explain the situation, but somehow make it seem less horrible. She knew Dr. Strange was aware they were facing the terrors in her world, she had mentioned it to him before, and it was possible she hadn’t been the only one.
“Sabrina didn’t survive.” She finally blurted out while continuing to pull tissues out of the box, trying to keep up with the tears falling down her face and onto her pyjamas. “And Nick, he didn’t…he...” Clenching her jaw, Roz shook her head and closed her eyes, willing herself not to start crying again. She couldn’t make herself say what had happened to Nick.
Oh. Of course - a memory update. Stephen had just gone through something similar - not with him, personally, but with Wanda. It had been a whole onslaught (and a foray into retro life, for a day), and they both knew that she needed help processing what had happened - he stuck by her and worked through it with her as she came to terms with what she had done in another timeline, and all she had lost (again).
It never got any easier - and there was no immediate fix for something like this either.
From what it sounded like, Sabrina didn’t survive and neither did Nick - that was like a double whammy. He didn’t need all the details though, not if Rosalind didn’t want to share them. Message received regardless. “It’s...very difficult,” he started, as the Cloak floated further in - a ripple of red fabric - and placed itself on Rosalind’s other side. It blanketed her in a hug, showing affection the only way it knew how. “To see something in another timeline and not be able to do anything about it. To just have to sit on it and deal with how much it hurts.”
The guilt he had about Stark still felt like a nightmare after nightmare, a permanent bruise. But anyway. “It is - only one timeline though. One out of millions and I’ve seen many more where you’re free from all of that and...you’re all together.”
If it was possible to hug the Cloak without folding it up and squishing it, she would have. For something that only had so many ways to communicate, it was remarkably comforting. She looked over her shoulder at it, attempting to smile, which was more like a slight twitch in her lips.
On some level she knew what he meant, he had the time stone and he was able to see possible futures based on choices made here that could take them down different paths. “It’s not here I’m worried about.” there were so many people working to support each other and keep each other alive. More than there was in her world. It was never just up to Sabrina. “There’s no guarantee they’ll stay here.”
For all her wishing to go back home since arriving, even Roz wasn’t sure she would want to return to Greendale now. “It doesn’t even matter what choices we make, or what we do. It’s all Vallo.” And Vallo could kick any of them out at any time. If it happened to her, she would be okay. She’d be heartbroken, and probably not remember that Vallo even existed, but she would be okay.
“There’s no guarantee, unfortunately. But life doesn’t give the opportunity for many guarantees anyway, about anything,” Stephen said - death and taxes, weren’t those the only certainties? “I guess it’s just a matter of - shifting your focus. Shifting your worry. Because if you worry about the timeline where you lose them both, time still keeps ticking forward here.”
He rested a hand on Rosalind’s shoulder, and the Cloak did the same thing in a mirror gesture - except it didn’t have hands but still. The point remained. It was doing its best, damnit - Stephen was actually sort of weirdly fond of the way it tried (maybe it was also mirroring his own feelings about everything, his own hopes; he didn’t know what he was doing when it came to comforting a small bean about extensive death and loss, but he tried).
“Getting memories like that anyway - the only thing you can do is eventually learn to accept them. Accept what is, and what you need now - which is time with them, while you have it. And that’s hard too - acceptance isn’t easy and you don’t need to do it right this second,” he added, since he wanted her to know that he’d definitely support her while she unravelled this game of cat’s cradle.
Everything he said made logical sense, she knew that. In this reality of back home, nothing was certain. Any of them could end up in a bad situation here as well. But so far here seemed a lot safer than in her own reality. At least here no one had died.
She couldn’t shift her worry. At least not right now. It was too real, and far too soon. There wasn’t going to be any acceptance, especially since the memories from home ended when everything was still so chaotic. Things felt unsettled, like an open wound that couldn’t possibly ever heal.
“She died to save all of us. She’s seventeen. How do you accept that?” Why hadn’t they been able to get out on time? Why hadn’t the covens goddess saved Sabrina, like she had done for Hilda? Why did Nick have to follow her? None of it was something she was going to accept, or even made an ounce of sense.
While pain was unfortunately an old friend for Stephen, loss was too. Not only for himself - he’d died over and over again, a thousand times, each ending more brutal than the last - but regarding others. Regarding his work. Regarding the world. He lost the use of his hands, he lost his self-respect - only to learn humility later, to surrender to the idea that he was a mere speck in the universe and that he was doing all he did for a universe that wasn’t always going to be grateful.
He could see the future, all possibilities - would he cull future threats before they arose? That was why he had the time stone, so yes. Was it hard to accept that he would have to - especially as a doctor who abided by do no harm? Absolutely.
Stark died to save the universe and Stephen knew - he knew he’d leave his wife and daughter behind, and he didn’t say a goddamn thing. He couldn’t. That was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do and, honestly, he still wasn’t quite ‘over’ it. So he wasn’t going to tell Rosalind to get over this either - he would just be honest with her. That sometimes acceptance seemed damn near impossible, even if it was possible - you could accept that you missed someone and still loved them, while finding a way to move on with your life. But he’d also be honest about the fact that sometimes there was no justice.
“She died young and so - yes, it sort of leaves these questions about why this was allowed to happen,” he murmured, hands falling into his lap. “There’s no timeline, or a specific set of steps, for accepting something like that. You process the pain and you talk about it when you need to. You let yourself feel the waves - and it might be easier because you’re all together here, but it’s still a grieving process and you still have to go through it.”
“No, we’re not,” she replied with one nod. “All of us isn’t the three of us.” She was surprised she was saying that, but Rosalind also knew it was the truth. Somehow this whole situation was making her miss the rest of her friends. Harvey, Theo, even Robin. Was that selfish? Why was she even considering this on top of everything else?
Pulling her feet up onto the bed, Roz moved back onto it until her back touched the wall that the bed was pushed up against. “I don’t know where they are right now. I don’t know if they know what I know.” Though if Nick did know, it would make sense why he had been acting so weird when they were in the past.
“The three of you, I mean.” The others, Stephen assumed they were still alive - especially since Sabrina had apparently died to save the world or something (teenage martyr, now that was one annoying cliché). “It’s shitty either way, Rosalind, whether none of your friends are here or all of them are here. Grieving is difficult and no one can tell you how to do it. You have to do what’s best for you,” he pointed out. And feel what she felt, with no apologies - if she missed her friends, then she missed her friends. If she wanted to be angry, she could be angry. He certainly wasn’t going to judge.
He let out a sigh, the Cloak of Levitation fluttering about the room. It rippled with concern and finally drifted over to Stephen, settling over his shoulders. “I - would guess that they know and just need some space. I’m sure they’ll check in later.” Because ‘memory downloads’ weren’t kind - they came at inopportune times, as did most of the fuckery around here.
“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like though. We can watch tearjerkers with the subtitles on. And I’ll stock the fridge and freezer with double chocolate everything.”
Roz watched the Cloak flutter around the room, face blank as she tried to listen to what Dr. Strange was saying. She half-heard, though most of what he was saying was drowned up by images of the altar, of the void she had been trapped in, and of the funerals for both Sabrinas.
“Is it okay if I just….stay in here for a while?” she didn’t want to deal with people or sad movies, and as appealing as double chocolate was, she didn’t really have an appetite.
Hopefully, the two of them were somewhere safe. She couldn’t go back to the mortuary without the two of them there. It was more their home, and the closest things to Roz’s home was with them. If they were gone, then she was more comfortable here. Here was safe, and here she could try to process in peace.
Cloak rose up on one end, doing that thing where it wanted to convey agreement, nodnodnod, and Stephen just rolled his eyes and batted it back gently. “Of course you can stay in here for a while. I’ll tell the others not to disturb you - but I’ll bring you something to eat later. You can try.”
He imagined that Rosalind didn’t have much of an appetite, that it felt like a block of ice in her stomach right now, but a part of grieving was taking care of one’s self too - he wouldn’t bring anything too rich or difficult to get down. And he’d make sure to run to the store (okay, fine, portal to the store - he was a very ‘get in, get out’ type of grocery shopper) and would keep the ice cream and other chocolatey empty calories in plentiful supply for when she was ready.
Honestly, Stephen liked having her here and he always kept her room ready in the hope that she’d decide to move in permanently (he knew she wouldn’t, but anyway). During this current situation they were all going to drown in teenage angst, and yet he didn’t care - he would take that. He had something of a bond with Rosalind and that bond still existed even when things were rough for her - if anything, it just solidified that he’d be here to help her through the tough parts. Maybe nothing he said made sense or really connected but eventually it would. It was just hard to focus when everything hurt so much.
Resting his hands on his thighs, he moved to stand up. “I’ll leave you alone, then. If you need me, I’ll be out in the courtyard. Attempting to garden.” He’d call work as well, deciding then and there that he wouldn’t go in - he would stay in the Sanctum all day instead. No, he wouldn’t hover in her room but he’d still be here. Just in case.
Nodding in acknowledgement of what he was saying, Roz shifted on the bed again, this time pulling herself toward the pillow and laying down. She grabbed the corners of her blanket and pulled them around her, Phoebe making an undignified noise the movement forced her from her spot on the bed.
She mumbled something that was supposed to sound like a ‘thank you’ to Dr. Strange and the cloak, before pulling the blankets high enough to cover her face, and block off the light from her eyes, now overly sensitive from crying.
A blanket cocoon seemed like a good place to spend the next week.