TW: Alcoholism, Substance abuse, Sally Starlet (Yes, she herself is a trigger)
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Frank almost pulled Eddie towards a seperate part of the neighborhood, but Eddie pulled back, dragging Frank into their house for the night.
---;---
Barnaby laid on the couch eyes and ears open. He had no idea what he was waiting for, but he was defitely waiting. He was tired, getting only a short amount of sleep that night, having thought all the thoughts, but getting to no certain conclusion. A doorbell ring had him mumble incoherently as he got up and answered the door. 'Was it already that late in the morning?'
Eddie waited outside, fumbling through envelopes and looking almost as exhausted as Barnaby. "Hi Eddie, what mail you have for me today?" Barnaby stated flatly, a sharp contrast to his goofy smile and glancing at all the envelopes, looking for his own. Instead he just scanned Eddie's features. He looked as though he needed a good cheer, his face , but Barnaby had no will to give it to him.
Eddie pulled out some envelopes, silence engulfing whatever chat they were supposed to be having. Eddie placed them in his hands, opening his mouth for the first time this whole conversation.
"Read Wally's mail first."
---;---
Frank had woken up that day to emptiness on the other side of his bed. This was usual; Eddie had work, but today he felt like Eddie needed him. He had seemed so distraught the night before.
However, Frank had more matters to attend to, no matter how much he would like to hermit under the covers with the love of his life, and He was sure that Eddie would want to as well.
No matter, the emptiness on the other side of the bed wasn't much of a dilemma, he had things to do today. Frank spent a good half hour getting ready, not one hair could be out of place. Ever. He needed to talk to Sally.
He walked toward Sally's beautifully painted house, courtesy of Wally who had volunteered to paint everyone's home. And when he stepped on her porch, he felt out of place.
Sally had opened the door before Frank could knock. "Holy sh-"
"Hello Sally." Frank said, an unamused tone to his voice. Sally stared at him after taking a quick breath. "Alright, Hi. hi. HI! Sorry, you startled me a bit... Ew, I sound like Poppy."
'That, you do."
Sally motioned Frank to come inside her home, to which he followed suit, taking in his surroundings. It was cleaner than he had expected, though still not very organized. It was tolerable at the very least.
"You know, you don't come around here all that much, Frank." She started. "Sorry about the mess, I don't usually get many visitors inside my house."
Mess? 'If this is messy, I kinda want to see her house when she deems it clean.' Frank thought.
Sally skipped toward a painting, straightening the slight tilt. "Anywaysies, what brings you here Frank?"
"I didn't take you as the type of person to be tidy." Frank stated, a surprised tint of his tone.
Sally laughed. "Well, creativity may be messy, but I sure am not." Sally states cheerfully. "I ask again, what bring you here, Frank?"
Frank's posture straightens to Sally's surprise, she hadn't even known he was slouching. "I came to ask if Wally sent you the paintings for next week's play." Frank stated, leaning forward for no specific reason, more in need of an answer.
Sally faltered for a moment, her face contorting through multiple emotions very quickly. surprised, to anxiousness, to concern. "Follow me."
They walked in silence, until Sally went down the stairs and into her basement. Frank seemed reluctant to go with her, but he needed answers. And Sally wouldn't hurt him... right?
Her basement might as well be her entire house, because he was sure it was bigger. Along the walls were drawings and paintings from past theatrics, props in pristine condition, CD's, backgrounds, paper, and books galore! It seemed like only a paradise for Sally, however, instead of breathing in the smell of paint and (new car?!) she stared grimly at a corner.
Frank followed her gaze to a blanket shrouded in darkness, a cold, damp corner that could only lead to mold growth on whatever could be under it.
"Sally? What is that?" Frank asked, a sense of danger taking over from his core and out. Sally let out a shaky breath, reaching under the blanket. "He sent me the paintings. He sent me all I asked for." The star held up a background of grass and trees. It definitely seemed rushed, and only a blur of Wally's art-style. She uncovered the tarp revealing more paintings for the show, done in the same sort of rushed work.
"Of course, usually I don't complain about this stuff, I honestly still don't care about the art. But this..."
Sally dug through the papers, pulling out a tattered paper, slightly burned on it's upperleft edge. "But this... This is insane."
She handed him the paper, and Frank couldn't help but gasp.
It was too vivid. Too abstract, but it was definitely Wally and definitely wrong. Shades of white and red- too much red covered the paper. He seemed to have many things on there. In specific, tools, art tools all covered in red paint or from what he can assume is blood . Too lifelike. Only Wally could have made it. Etched in the middle of the paper was the most peculiar thing. Etched in black was a group of letters that could only be a call for help: Spiraling.
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Oh, you thought the angst was finished? No, it isn't. Not even close. Also, these aren't fillers, every detail is purposeful. For example, earlier in the story I had mentioned that Wally did vent art, and now it's important. So don't get bored just yet. I have more silly goofy surprises. Thank you and have a wonderful day or night.
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Wally Darling - An ANGST story
Fanfiction(ON HIATUS) Wally was always perfect, at least that's what his friends thought. Leaving his old world behind, He tries to be happier in his new life. But what will happen when they both crash down on him? TW: self harm, suicide, abuse, discriminatio...
