Scott Pilgrim and the Seven Deadly Sins

Chapter 3: A Brief Reprieve for Our Troubled Hero

Heya! This chapter is not going to be Kim's Wrath dream, so sorry for the false advertising. But BraveEagle brought it to my attention that I should include interludes here and there to represent the emotional turmoil that Scott is undergoing at the moment. Kudos to you, BraveEagle, and to all of my other lovely reviewers and readers! Enjoy!

[WARNING: ONCOMING SHAMELESS PLUG-IN ADVERTISEMENT IN 3, 2, 1…] Oh, and if you are interested, I'm writing a Hunger Games fic where you can submit your OCs to be used in the story. Check it out if you're a Hunger Games fan!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Scott Pilgrim franchise; it belongs to Bryan Lee O'Malley.

"Scott, what do you think you're doing?"

Scott abruptly tore his eyes away from the TV screen to look up at Ramona, who stood in the doorway. Her arms were crossed impatiently. Definitely not a sign that she was in a good mood.

"Uhh, uh-uhm, hi, Ramona!" Scott stammered, immediately dropping the Nintendo 64 controller and shooing away the various Coke Zero cans under the couch that Ramona had recently bought. "Wh-what you—what're you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

The American rolled her eyes. "I just got off. I always get off at 5, remember?" She glanced at Scott's disheveled look. "Did you go to work looking like that?"

Scott looked away guiltily. "I had a day off today."

"You did? Since when, I don't recall you telling me that you did."

"…I called in sick this morning."

A long drawn-out groan escaped Ramona as she pinched the bridge of her nose. "Scott, how many times have you called in sick in the past month? They're going to find it inexcusable sooner or later," she noted as she pushed herself away from the doorframe to the living room.

Scott hurriedly rushed up and approached Ramona. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! It's just that something important came up at a short notice, and—"

"Oh yeah? What was so important that you had to skip your job for, hm?"

Scott suddenly found himself unable to meet Ramona's eyes. "Um…Wallace came by today. With his Nintendo 64."

Flashback Time!

Scott jumped up from the couch as the doorbell rang. He switched off the TV and dashed to the door, trying not to trip in his socks.

"Who is i—Oh. Hi, Wallace."

Wallace frowned slightly, pretending to take offense to Scott's blunt greeting. "You're obviously not happy to see me." He observed, shifting the weight of the large paper bag he was holding.

Believe it or not, Scott was actually very happy to see Wallace, which was something he wasn't going to outwardly admit. At least he now knew for certain that he was alive.

"Eh. I'm just…busy with other stuff, I guess," Scott confessed. That is, if channel-surfing was considered busy.

His gay friend raised his brow. "You…busy?" He made a face as if he wanted to question it even further, but he apparently decided against it and shook his head. "Okay, nevermind. I'll just drop this off later, then, if you're busy—"

This was when Scott fully took notice of the paper bag. "No, wait, hold on!" He exclaimed, grabbing Wallace's shoulder to prevent him from turning away. He peered suspiciously at the bag. "What's that? What're you giving me?"

Wallace smirked at Scott's sudden interest and set the bag down on the doorstep. "Oh, nothing, just my old '64, and accompanying games. I was going to give them to you, since Mobile's getting me a new one, but you said you were bu—"

"I'm not busy, I'm just watching TV like the lazy bum I am, alright?" Scott admitted rather loudly, his gaze never wavering from the console. "Now will you let me have it?"

Wallace tried to suppress a laugh at his ex-roomate's predictable behavior. "Sure. Just lemme come in so I can hook it up. I know you'll burn the place down if you try to do it."

Scott, still staring fervently at the game, shrugged. "Yeah, okay. Come on in."

Once Wallace stepped in, a wide smile broke out across Scott's face; he was amazed that he wasn't freaking out over the fact that Wallace's – now effectively his – '64 was within the confines of his home.

"So, what's been going on with you, guy?" Wallace asked cordially as he knelt down and settled the bag down on the floor. He dragged out the console from the bag and scooted over to the wall behind the TV.

Scott knelt beside him, waiting as patiently as he possibly could. "Hm…nothing much." He answered, before quickly reconsidering. Should he tell Wallace about his dreams? At least, the one that concerned Wallace himself?

"Hey, Wallace?"

"Hm?"

"I had a dream."

Wallace paused to look back at his friend with an bemused expression. "Um…okay, something's up. You're quoting Martin Luther King Jr."

"What? Who? Wh—no, no, not like… I wasn't quoting him. I mean, I really did have a dream."

"Oh." Reassured, Wallace turned back to the mess of wires behind the TV stand, looking for a free outlet. "Continue, then."

"So, uh, okay. Uhm, so…I had…it was about you."

"But not in that sort of way!" Scott added hastily when he saw the suggestive look that he received. "I mean, something happened to you. And Other Scott."

"Mhm. Do tell." Wallace uttered, shifting some wires around carefully.

Scott swallowed, twiddling his thumbs together. "And, uh…you were at a bar, for Other Scott's birthday—"

"But Other Scott's birthday isn't until three months."

"Will you just let me speak?" Scott scowled at Wallace, who was chuckling quietly to himself. "Anyways, you were at a bar, celebrating his birthday, and you met up with one of your one-night-stands. And you were drinking, trying to make your one-night-stand forgive you for kicking him out and stuff, because of me. You kept on drinking. A lot. Like, to the point that Ripley's wouldn't even believe it."

Wallace paused slightly to listen to Scott's story. "And the one-night-stand guy didn't really forgive you, and poisoned one of your drinks, and then you died."

There was an uncomfortable silence between the two.

"I died?" Wallace repeated incredulously.

Scott nodded somewhat meekly.

"…I died?"

"Yes, alright? You died! You were poisoned, and you were killed!"

Wallace abandoned his efforts for a moment to turn to Scott with a confused expression. "And you dreamt of me dying…because?"

Scott scrunched his eyebrows together, shrugging. "I dunno! I can't control my dreams, they're part of… of my…what was it called?"

"Subconscious…?"

"Yeah, my subconscious!" Scott snapped his fingers and pointed at Wallace. "I couldn't control what happened to you, so I'm not entirely responsible for it!"

Wallace shifted so that he was sitting with his legs crossed, as opposed to sitting on his knees. "But, technically, your dreams are affected by influences of your daily life. So something you encountered caused you to dream about me getting killed." He tilted his head a few degrees. "What exactly was it, I wonder…?"

Scott fell back on his butt, propping himself up on his hands. "Yeah, me too."

Another period of silence arrived, at least until Wallace broke it shortly after.

"Anyways, I can't find any free outlets, so you're going to have to hook it up yourself," He finally said before standing up and brushing his hands gently. "Sorry, buddy."

Scott shook his head. "It's cool, I can do it," He assured. "I'll just call Dominique today, tell her I'm sick."

Wallace scoffed as he headed for the door. "Isn't this your…what, your eighth time calling in sick this month?" He asked, a smile played upon his lips as he zipped up his jacket.

"They'll be fine without me. It's not like business is booming over there or anything, so it's good," Scott said nonchalantly as he opened the door for his friend.

Wallace grinned coyly, stepping outside and greeting the cool fall breeze. "Whatever. If you get in trouble, don't come crying to me and telling me that I'm right. Though it would be cool to see you do that."

"Goodbye, Wallace!" Scott sang as he slammed the door shut and locked it. He rolled his eyes as he heard Wallace continue to laugh before his voice died away.

For some reason, he was feeling rather somber now, having relayed the events of his dream to Wallace. To Scott's surprise, he took it rather well, unlike himself. Obviously, Wallace thought of it as nothing more than a dream – something that couldn't be true. It was just fake, and he understood that.

Not Scott, however. He felt chills run down his spine as he recalled how utterly real it felt to him. Both times he had dreamt, about Knives and Wallace, had felt horrifyingly real to him. It was like he could feel everything they felt – the pain, the anger, the drunken haze, the sadistic glee. It scared him more than Scott liked. Usually, nightmares only freaked him out, until he forgot all about it and continued along on his merry way. But these two dreams truly scared him. He knew that he shouldn't let them affect him like that, but the sense of everlasting dread had resurfaced once more.

Trying to shake it away, Scott instead faced the '64, setting his jaw in determination. "Alright, since today's a day off, let's get this baby hooked up," he muttered.

Ramona blinked from her seat on the sofa, disbelief painted across her attractive features. Her eyes were narrowed at Scott, who looked somewhat uneasy as his gaze shifted from Ramona to Ocarina of Time.

"Scott…what is wrong with you?"

"I couldn't help it! Once I saw Ocarina of Time, I knew I had to stay home."

"No, not that!" Ramona waved her hand dismissively. "No, I meant with the whole dream thing."

"Oh," was Scott's small reply, his enthusiasm dying considerably. "I shouldn't have told Wallace, huh?"

Ramona's mouth quirked downwards as she crossed her right leg over her left knee. "Well, not exactly. There's nothing holding you back from telling him about it," she admitted. "it's just that…I'm worried for you. Really, I am."

Scott swallowed, though he tried to not let his facial expression give away his nervousness. "Why? You don't have to be, I'm perfectly fine. Nothing wrong with me whatsoever."

Ramona gazed at Scott, worry and doubt laced in her brown eyes. "Then why did you bring it up with Wallace? If it was really nothing, you wouldn't have brought it up, Scott. If this is really something that's bothering you, then—"

"Ramona, Ramona!" Scott interjected, shaking his head and balling up his fists. "I'm alright! I just brought it up for conversational purposes or whatever. I'm not disturbed or anything like that, I swear!"

Ramona widened her eyes in surprise, having been caught a bit off-guard with his outburst. Her expression seemed to say, "Okay, dude, chill out, it's nothing serious."

Scott noticed and sighed, hanging his head in sudden exhaustion and defeat. His shoulders noticeably sagged. "Sorry," he murmured.

Ramona didn't answer with an acceptance of his apology, but instead stood up. "Get ready, we're going to another one of Julie's parties." She said solemnly as she turned on her heel and went to their bedroom to change.

Scott nodded, feeling something dark blossom inside of him.

Okay, I somewhat lied. It's not a true reprieve, unless you count him getting the '64. No, things will not be easy for Scott and co. in this story, I assure you. Stick around for the next chapter, which is the actual Kim/Wrath dream. Hoped you liked it, and please drop by a sign that you clicked on this story. Thanks!

Grin.