#Natalie Goodman | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sprnklersplashes · 4 months

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fic commissioned by @andforthecoating thank you for your donation to Operation Olive Branch

"gabe & natalie. prompt: gabe as a ghost (ambigious if he is or just a hallucination, like maybe he can move things but it might be her doing it idk) that Natalie starts to see/hear at some point in the show and some form of sibling bonding (he takes care of her/they have a talk/her emotions around what he means for the family)."

(ao3) fanfic fundraiser

The house is quiet.

It’s to be expected; it’s close to 2am when Henry drops her home. Every house in the street has lights switched off and curtains drawn. But her house has always felt different, right from when she learned how to recognise it. The rest of the street is quiet, but the silence in her house feels heavier.

Henry says goodnight with a kiss on her forehead. She doesn’t need to turn around to know that he’s lingering there as she opens the door, headlights on and engine softly running.

So stupid, she thinks, as a faint blush creeps across her cheeks. So ridiculously stupid, she thinks as the smile on her face grows.

Boots in her hand, Natalie creeps through the hall and up the stairs. She’s still relatively new to this whole sneaking-back-after-curfew thing; before now, her late-night study sessions were confined to her bedroom. Still, she’s nothing if not a good student. Quiet on the balls of her feet, quick past her parents’ bedroom, opening her door carefully so it doesn’t creak.

Prom night begins to wear off as soon as she reaches her bed. It fades from her like rain running off a rooftop and she lets out a mighty yawn, limbs already sinking into the mattress. Her boots were tossed on the floor as she came in. Vaguely, she’s aware that she should take off her dress and probably her make-up too, but as her eyes fall closed she’s content with it being tomorrow’s problem. Half-wrapped in her duvet, she presses her face into the mattress, just inches away from sleep when-

“And what sort of time is this?”

Her eyes open.

Natalie bolts up, her thumping heart matched only by the echo in her head. Chest heaving, she scans her room as a small, hopeful voice asks if she imagined it. But she heard it, crystal clear. She couldn’t make that up.

As she reaches for the bedside lamp, the hair on her neck rises, the distinct feeling of being watched washes all over her. Her free hand grabs her purse and reaches for the pepper spray inside.

As soon as the light is on, she sees him. A figure stands against her closet. The scream is wrenched from her throat, and in her haste she forgets all about the pepper spray and chucks a pillow at him.

Her aim is off. It lands sadly just beside him. He looks down at it, bemused.

“Nice shot.”

“Who the fuck are you?” she hisses. “And how the hell did you get in my room?”

“Oh, you love the descriptors don’t you?” he asks wryly. “The fuck. The hell.” Natalie is sitting straight up, pepper spray hot in her hand, plans forming in her mind. She could blind him with the spray, then grab the alarm clock and bludgeon him with it. She could grab a belt or the cord for the curtain and tie his legs together. Yet as the plans pull together, he just looks at her, and in his gaze there’s a familiarity that holds her back. A small, adamant whisper of you know him.

He crosses the room, his gait brimming with false confidence. In the lamplight, she can see the deep brown eyes, dark hair sticking up in every direction. She sees that he can’t be much older than she is.

Then, he’s in front of her. She holds the pepper spray up, eyes bright and hand steady. He blinks, then reaches out. His hand slips through her hair, so light she doesn’t feel a thing. When he smiles, there’s a sadness in it.

“You look so like Mom,” he mumbles. She isn’t sure if he’s talking to her or himself.

Natalie’s breath hitches, and all at once the realisation crashes over her, a tsunami wave against a tiny coastal town. Her head shakes because no, this is not-

She’s lost it. She has really, truly lost it.

“Gabriel.” The syllables tremble on her tongue, as if they don’t want to come together. Gabriel smirks, then bows like he’s on stage. Natalie’s mouth hangs open, the sour aftertaste of his name lingering there. Carefully, the pepper spray lowers.

They stand there, the silence so full that Natalie fears it will shatter. Gabriel rocks on his heels, his hands in his back pockets.

He’s beautiful, Natalie can’t deny that. Long lashes and big doe eyes that would drive anyone wild. Dimples when he smiles and a face that’s almost angelic. There’s nothing of her in him; his skin is peachy where hers is pale, his eyes sparkle with no red anywhere. He’s handsome, just as mom always said he was.

“You don’t look like your baby pictures.”

“Probably because I was a baby,” he says jovially. He speaks like it’s all one big game, which maybe it is to him. She doesn’t know how ghosts operate-if he is actually a ghost and not something conjured by her fucked-up mind.

“You have questions.”

“Not really,” she says. It’s false. Sure she has questions, the main one being ‘what the fuck’. She also has several things she would like to say to him and the list grows longer by the second. She clears her throat, pushes her hair off her shoulder, and settles for the most obvious one. “Why are you here?”

Gabe folds his arms, his shoulders wriggle. He smiles so innocently, so easily. Like it means nothing to him. Like it’s obvious.

“Is it so wrong to want to see you?” he asks. “I kept trying to talk to you but I just couldn’t. You’re my sister after all. I want to talk to you.” The word sister feels more akin to a slap in the face. She flinches and Gabriel’s eyes widen.

“You’re a pretty lousy brother,” she tells him. He scowls at that, like a kid being put in the corner.

“I mean… it was not my fault that I died, was it?” He gives a half-hearted shrug, face half-turned away. “Believe me, I was not planning on it.”

Everything hits her at once. Sixteen long, lonely years of living in this house, constantly cold in his shadow. Sixteen years of sitting like a forgotten book on a shelf and counting up every achievement and trophy in the hopes that they’d make her mother see her. Wandering the world like a ghost, like someone who was never fully born. Pausing her movie or closing her book because her mom was screaming downstairs.

It rumbles, a thunderstorm in her chest, until her fingers shake and her heart is pounding and Gabe is looking at her with concern all over his perfect, lovely face.

She grabs the alarm clock from her dresser and chucks it.

Gabe gasps and he ducks just a second before it hits him. The clock smacks into the wardrobe, the door shudders with the impact, then hits the floor. The back falls off, batteries roll out. The hands fall limply to one side.

And then she’s crying. She’s crying because her alarm clock is broken.

“Natalie?” There’s a knock at her door. Gabe freezes, his expression like a deer in headlights and at once, he dives to the floor and presses against the closet. Covered in shadows, Natalie can barely see him. All there is is the faint notion of him pleading with her. When she looks again, she sees him press a finger to his lips.

“Nat?” her dad asks again. She hastily wipes her face and rushes to the door, positioning herself so none of her room is visible. A voice whispers that she’s ridiculous, because if he looked in he’d find no-one there. But… look there’s only so much she can risk right now.

“You okay hon?” he asks. “I heard-I thought I heard you shouting.”

“I’m fine,” she replies. This part is easy. She’s become something of an expert at lying. “I-I saw a spider.”

“A spider?”

“Yeah.” She nods, taps her nails against the wood. “Really big one. I killed it though so it’s-it’s fine.” Her dad nods once, slowly, skepticism plain as day on his face. He studies her, sleep-heavy eyes drilling into her face. Natalie wonders what he sees when he looks at her. Gabe had said she looks like Mom. Does he see that too? The ghost of the woman he sacrificed everything to save? The ghost of Gabe? Did he ever look at her and see her?

“Well, good night then.”

“Good night Dad.”

She closes the door gently, with a soft and quick exhale.

Then she storms over to her bed, throws herself on it, and cries into her pillow.

Fuck, she was meant to be done with this.

It’s not long before Gabe sits down beside her. She doesn’t exactly feel it, not in the normal way. The bed doesn’t sink under his extra weight. Instead she senses him, like a small pull in her chest. When she turns over, she finds him cross-legged atop the covers, elbows resting on his knees and picking at a loose nail. His head is slightly bowed, eyes half-obscured by his hair. He looks normal. He looks sad.

“I hate you,” she mumbles. “I fucking hate you.”

“I know,” Gabe sighs. He pulls his knees to his chest and rests his chin on top of them. Guilt prickles against her skin and Natalie wants to scream because why should she feel bad?

They sit there for a long time. It’s quiet enough that Natalie could fall asleep if she wanted to. She has a feeling Gabe wouldn’t stop her and that’s what keeps her awake. Whether he’s real or a dream or she’s just straight up crazy, she wants to see this to the end.

“I was six when I found out about you,” Natalie croaks. “Because Mom forgot my birthday and then two months later she threw a party for you. I thought it was a make-up party for me but it-it was for you.” She sniffles. “Then when I was seven, I cut my hair real short. I figured since Mom had lost you I’d just look like you and give her you back.” She chokes, a ragged sob tears from her. “Mom took one look at me and ran out of the room crying.”

“I remember,” Gabe says weakly. She looks up at him, eyes blazing. Her hurt is a tangible thing; it hangs in the air like fog. “You wore hats for the rest of the year until it grew back.”

“What did you think?”

“I think you looked ridiculous with it,” he offers. And for some fucking reason, Natalie laughs. It’s a short-lived little thing, but it was there. Gabe pulls himself inward, his thumb rubs circles against his leg.

“I won’t lie to you,” he tells her. He curls in on himself, traces patterns on his jeans. “A lot of the time, I liked it. I liked when Mom looked at me instead of you. Hell, I pushed for it. Because if Mom was looking at me-it meant I was still alive.” He closes his eyes and breathes out. “It felt like I never died.”

“You did though,” she says. It’s so blunt and so cruel that she can’t quite believe she said it. “You died, Gabriel. And you were meant to stay dead.” She gasps, her chest and cheeks burning. The worst taste bitter and she spits them out. “It would’ve been better for everyone.” Hot tears roll down her face. “You ruined my fucking life and you want my sympathy?”

“I don’t want your sympathy,” he sighs. His head falls back, and the light catches the matching tears on his face. Natalie blinks. She didn’t know ghosts could cry. She doesn’t want him to cry.

“I never meant for any of this to happen.” His voice is hollow. “For this whole time, I never thought about what was happening to you. I just-” He swallows, shudders, looks down at his hands. “I was lonely. And I was angry.”

“Join the club.” It doesn’t come out quite as angrily as she meant it. Gabe looks at her, brown eyes so wide that she can’t breathe. At this moment, he doesn’t look like a monster or a ghost or a phantom; he looks seventeen. He looks like her brother. Natalie reaches for the hatred and the anger that she knows and it slips through her fingers.

Maybe she’s growing. Maybe she’s just tired.

“I’m so sorry, Natalie,” he says. And that squeezes her heart like a vice. It squeezes until the edges crack and the pain comes spilling out until it’s all over her and her bedsheets and it’s all over Gabe too, because he’s crawled over to her and his hand is on her shoulder and he’s sobbing with her. And she doesn’t want to push him away. She wants him to hold all over shattered pieces with her.

(How many times can a person be broken and rebuilt in one night?)

For a long, long moment, they’re silent. All they can hear is her beating heart and the catch in her breath and a car passing outside.

“I think in another life we were friends,” she says. Her voice breaks. She feels, rather than sees, Gabe’s smile. His shoulders sag, as if she took some weight from him.

“I hope so,” he mutters against her hair. It sounds real. He sighs, presses his weightless body into hers. Atop her covers, his fingers brush hers and while the physical sensation isn’t there, something else is. Something soft, warm, tickling her skin.

It feels like forgiveness.

“Get some sleep, kiddo,” he tells her. “I’ll watch over you.”

“Creepy,” she mutters. Gabe averts his eyes as she steps out of her dress and dumps it on the chair. She pulls on a t-shirt and Gabe sits quietly as she scrubs off her make-up. He shuffles aside as she flips over the covers, her eyes half-closed. She’s almost certain that he won’t be there when she wakes up.

“Hey,” she says. “One more question.”

“Of course.”

“Are you real?” She lifts her heavy head, forcing her eyes open. With tiredness blurring her vision, helooks more hazy. He could fade away in one blink. “Or am I actually crazy.”

Gabe chuckles, a warm, throaty sound. His fingers brush her hairline.

“Would you believe me if I said I don’t know?”

“Yeah,” mumbles. Her eyes fall closed. “Yeah I would.”

Isn’t it a classic Goodman trait, to not know if you’re real or not?

She wakes late the next morning, when the sun is already blaring through her window. Her room is aglow, painted in yellows and oranges.

The alarm clock is back on her table. The hands tick steadily. The closet door is solid, intact.

Her blue dress is hanging against it, carefully pressed and her boots laid underneath.

She smiles.

#next to normal #natalie goodman #gabe goodman #next to normal fanfic #next to normal ff #natalie my beloved #goodman siblings my beloved

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