Author's Note: I THROW MY HANDS UP IN THE AIR SOMETIMES, SAYING AAAAYYOOO, IT'S CHAPTER TWO, YO

Thank you all so much for the tremendous response! I didn't expect people to like this little bit of silliness so much.

Cake and Grief Counseling

you'll be flying blind, people never change,
bitch don't even try, you'll be flying blind,
you've got to keep it together
swear to me you won't fall apart

- keep it together, aqueduct

Chell's wish to go back to Cleveland was granted during spring break, but unfortunately, she had to go back for a funeral.

Ordinarily, her arrival at home would have been a pleasant occasion, marked with hugs and baked goods and some kind of special family outing, but this time the only special family outing was in the form of Chell's mom taking her to get a dress for the funeral. It was just beginning to be spring, and the stores were full of pretty, gauzy floral things, but instead Chell was buying a shapeless black shift that looked like a funereal potato sack. The girl that stared back at her in the dressing room mirror appeared to be dead herself, with deep bags under her eyes from lack of sleep and too many tears. She was exhausted. Nothing seemed real to her, not even the room she was standing in. There were blanks in her memory. Time passed and she couldn't remember it. One minute she was in the dressing room and the next she was outside, holding a shopping bag, going to get coffee with her mom.

Coffee was about the only thing she could keep down these days. Chell could barely eat, and every time she tried, she felt sick. Her parents tried to steer her away from watching the news or going online, where C.C.'s disappearance and murder were being dissected in minute detail, but to no avail. Chell needed to know everything, even if it made her feel worse. The autopsy had been released, along with an official police report, and Chell had learned something from that police report that made her feel even worse than she already did.

C.C.'s family had been quite poor compared to the families of the other girls on the cheerleading squad. Chell had often wondered where C.C. got the money to pay for the various uniforms and activity fees, as well as the unspoken requirements of dressing like you just stepped out of a Tasty Couture ad, but was always too polite to ask. Half of the times C.C. had said she was going to cheerleading practice, or out with her other friends, or to some other unspecified function, she had actually been doing paid "favors" for some of the senior guys. The very idea made Chell feel even worse than she already did. Why hadn't C.C. said anything to her? If Chell had only known, she would have helped her friend in some way. The Freemans weren't exactly rich, but they could have helped pay for the activity costs, since cheerleading meant a lot to C.C. and Chell wasn't in any extracurriculars. And according to some of the people the police interviewed, C.C. could have been into drugs as well.

Chell hadn't known any of this. She could only imagine how it must have hurt C.C. to do things like that, to reduce herself to an object for sale just so she could pay for a uniform. C.C. had always wanted to make her parents proud, to excel at everything. She had gotten into Aperture on a full scholarship. But that hadn't been enough, just to be smart. She wanted to be popular too, and she was, but not in the catty high school movie way where some girl is popular despite being snobby and mean. The word most used to describe C.C., in the TV interviews with Aperture students, was "angel". She just floated around, smiling and being extra nice to everybody, and all the while knowing that she had to fuck some guy she didn't love or even know, so she could pay for her designer purse, so the other girls on the team would still respect her, because they thought she was rich like them. And now, Chell thought sadly, C.C. really was an angel, if there was even a Heaven to go to.

Gradually, Chell stopped talking. It happened almost without her thinking about it. She started using gestures more to reply to people, and by the time of C.C.'s funeral, she didn't speak at all. It was a vow of silence, a commitment that not a word would pass her lips until C.C.'s case was solved.

She went to the funeral with Wheatley and her parents. It was a sad little affair. Not one of C.C.'s cheerleader friends had bothered to show up. It was closed casket, as the body was in too horrible a state to show. Chell sat there, between her mother and Wheatley, as various people got up and spoke about how C.C. was a model student and a wonderful daughter and this and that. She felt that tightness in her chest again, that nausea. The whole church smelled of white lilies, overpowering and sickly sweet. Chell closed her eyes and breathed in deep to keep from crying, and Wheatley knew immediately what was wrong. He put his hand on top of hers, and she grabbed it and squeezed back, hard, visibly struggling to keep it together.

The visitation was even worse. The first thing Chell was greeted by upon entering the funeral home was the life-size cutout of C.C. that they had made in graphics class the year before as a joke. All of C.C.'s friends were there, but they didn't appear to be sad at all. They were talking and laughing, like everything was fine. There was a table to the left of the entrance with a giant banner for everyone to sign, and the smell of white lilies was even more prominent. Pictures of C.C. were plastered everywhere - the smiling one from the missing posters, her cheerleading picture from last year, snapshots of Chell and C.C. as little girls. Chell was unable to tear her eyes away from the last ones. It seemed like only yesterday that they had been six years old, running around the Freemans' backyard and pretending they were fighting aliens. In the picture, C.C.'s little face looked up at the camera, her smile riddled with gaps from recently lost teeth, her blonde hair shining in the sunlight.

"Chell," her mom said gently, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I think you should go say hi to C.C.'s mom."

Chell nodded, and walked over.

Mrs. Cassavetes was sitting by herself in an armchair near the table with the banner on it. She looked absolutely heartbroken, like she could barely stand to be there. She gave a weak smile as she saw Chell approach her.

"Hello, Chell," Mrs. Cassavetes said. "It's good to see you."

Her voice sounded thin and dry, like wind rustling through reeds.

Chell pulled out a notepad and a pen from her purse. It was how she had begun to communicate instead of talking.

Hi, Mrs. Cassavetes, she scribbled. I'm so sorry for your loss.

She then held up the notepad for C.C.'s mom to read.

"Thank you, Chell," Mrs. Cassavetes said. "I don't want to pry, but is there a reason why you aren't talking?"

Chell flipped a page on the notepad and wrote again.

I've taken a vow of silence until they find out who did it.

"That's very sweet of you." Mrs. Cassavetes looked down sadly. "But the police said they didn't have any leads. It's kind of pointless of you to - "

Chell thrust the notepad into the woman's face.

Until they WE find out who did it.

"Chell, honey, that's a very nice gesture, but you should really leave this to the FBI, or someone who knows about murder investigations. This isn't Scooby-Doo or some teen crime drama. You could get hurt."

Chell shook her head. I'm sorry but I have to do this. Even if I fail. I owe it to C.C. I hope you understand.

"I guess I do."

Chell put the notepad back into her purse and stepped closer to Mrs. Cassavetes, holding out her arms. The older woman stood up, and they hugged. Mrs. Cassavetes was a tiny woman, barely coming up to Chell's shoulder. She felt something wet on her shirt and pulled away; C.C.'s mom was crying.

"I'm sorry, I just..." Mrs. Cassavetes wept. "It was so sudden. And I...I miss her so much."

Chell's response was to hug C.C.'s mom tighter, until she finished crying. Watching this woman in the throes of grief felt almost surreal. The Freemans and the Cassavetes' had known each other since their daughters were in kindergarten, and now they were at a funeral, and C.C. was gone. The universe had snapped its fingers and Chell's world had rolled over like a dog doing tricks.

She pulled away again and nodded at Mrs. Cassavetes before walking to rejoin Wheatley and her family. Chell got the notepad and pen out of her purse, quickly wrote something down, and waved it in front of her.

I need to get out of here I think I'm gonna cry I cant breathe so good right now

Without a word, Wheatley grabbed her hand and practically dragged her across the room and out to the parking lot. There was no one outside, save for a nearby squirrel who was engrossed in chewing on an abandoned potato over by the Freemans' car.

"Are you okay? Well I mean, I know you're not okay okay, but you're not in danger of like, jumping off any buildings, are you? Because you're my best friend and I don't want you to jump off a building. D'you need a hug? Or, or, I just had an idea, when we get back, you could come over and we could make the kind of cake that has sprinkles in it, and we could - "

Chell held up her notepad. Damn, Breakfast of Champions, slow your roll. Also a hug would be nice.

Wheatley pulled her into a tight hug, Chell's face buried in his chest. After the past couple of days, Chell thought she was all cried out, but talking to Mrs. Cassavetes and seeing all the pictures made everything come flooding back. This was the first loss that she had ever dealt with, and it was really hard, but Wheatley made her feel a little better, though. He always could. She stood there, her arms around the only person in the world who understood her, and cried. Wheatley was making some sort of vaguely circular, reassuring hand motion on her back.

"I really...I really am sorry that all of this happened," Wheatley said. "It seems like bad things always happen to you and it's incredibly unfair and - oh look your parents are here."

Chell pulled away and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, leaving large black streaks of runny mascara. They walked over to Chell's parents, and got in the car to begin the long drive home. The silence in the car was punctuated only by classical music coming from the radio, which seemed inappropriately cheery. Chell stared out of the window at the cloudless blue sky and endless identical houses, and thought about how she was going to tell Wheatley that he was about to be roped into a vigilante murder investigation.

You're being roped into a vigilante murder investigation.

Wheatley dropped his fork in surprise.

"I what? Wait, am I reading this correctly? Maybe you meant to write something else, like, 'you're being roped into a vegetable murder investigation. That would make a lot more sense."

Chell scowled and pointed to the message on the notepad again.

They were sitting on Wheatley's gigantic waterbed, eating Funfetti cake straight out of the pan and watching Wall-E on mute. Chell hadn't done this in a long time, and she had missed it. The headache she knew she was going to get from all the sugar was far preferable to the headache she normally had from crying.

"But look at us!" Wheatley exclaimed. "I mean, do we look like vigilantes to you? You're probably about ninety pounds soaking wet, and I'm, well, I have terrible asthma sometimes, and neither of us know how to use a gun-"

Since when did I say guns would be involved?

Wheatley's eyes rolled heavenward. "Since when do you know the rules of vigilante justice? Uh, Batman, he doesn't kill people, but he has guns. The guy from Watchmen with the blob mask, he has guns. I know there's more, but the point is, vigilantes have guns. And they can usually lift a lot of heavy things. And well, we sort of...can't."

Chell's pen scratched across the paper. come on Wheats work with me here, you are overthinking this. We'll cross the potentially deadly bridge if we come to it.

"Alright, fine, I'll do it because you're my best friend, and best friends like to help out best friends who have suddenly lost their best friend, but you should know that this is incredibly dangerous, and we will probably die, and everyone will always remember us as those two stupid people who ate a lot of cake and died too young."

Wheatley sighed and flopped back on his bed, causing everything to slosh slightly to the right. Chell leaned over the edge of the bed and very carefully set the cake pan on the ground before coming back up, silently praying that she wouldn't topple head over heels at the last second and go crashing to the floor. They lay there for a while, staring up at Wheatley's ceiling with the glow-in-the-dark stars, comfortably sharing the quiet, and wondering what lay ahead for both of them. In the past few days their worlds had changed tremendously, Wheatley's as much as Chell's. He had never known anyone who had experienced loss before, and though he had not known C.C. as well as Chell had by any stretch of the imagination, it was still a strange thought that one minute, a girl in his class could be alive, and the next, she was just gone.

Chell reached for Wheatley's hand across the gulf of sheets, an unspoken thank you hanging in the air between them, the only sound the incessant buzz of the fan. It would be hard and scary, and Chell knew that obstacles would present themselves at every turn, but they were going to solve this together, and that meant something.