A/N: So apparently, there's this thing called Trigger Warnings that I need to put at the beginning of chapters, just as a warning as to what it contains.

Has anybody ever been deterred by a TW, though? Just wondering. I don't mean to be insensitive, I'm just asking.

Anyways, if you're not familiar with the story of Dear Evan Hansen, Trigger Warning: Somebody is dead.

Chapter 8: Falling in a Forest

"Mr. Hansen." Washington's voice rang out loud and clear across the room before class had even begun. "Come here."

The boy in question nervously walked forward. "Yes?"

The man frowned, and gave him a slip. "Head down to the Dean's office. Immediately."

Evan's stomach felt like it was sinking. "Do you have any idea what this might be for, professor?"

The older man's brow wrinkled. "I really don't. I'm sure it can't be anything too serious, though. You're a good kid. They probably want you to give some info on something you saw. It happens."

Evan nodded, and began to walk out of the lecture hall at the exact same pace he had entered it. He made eye contact with Alex for one moment, who shot him a worried glance, before opening the door and stepping through.

The public school that Evan had been to previously was quite large, and King's College was a comparatively small college. Even still, it was much, much bigger than his high school. This left him plenty of time to reflect on exactly how much trouble he might be in as he walked down the various roads, sidewalks, trails, and pathways.

Is it about Connor? It's most definitely about Connor, he decided. But what'd he do? Am I getting called in here to be notified of my new restraining order? What could possibly be so important that the Dean wants me? Oh God, how many people did he show it to?

The sun shone down, the temperature was that pleasant sort of perfect that comes during early fall, and the air was crisp and clean, yet to Evan, the mood was awful. Everything seemed off, wrong, as though objects had all gotten up and moved themselves a foot before setting back down.

Eventually, after many minutes, Evan reached the admissions building, which was also where the Dean's office just so happened to be. He walked in, took a left, then a right, then a straight, then another left, and then two rights, and at last, he was there.

Well. Might as well get whatever the hell this is over with.

With that thought driving him forward, he opened the door to the office.

Inside, oddly enough, was not the Dean. Instead, there were two middle-aged white people, one man and one woman. They were both looking incredibly distraught, holding each other's hands and staring into one another.

"Um. Hello?" Evan asked. It felt very wrong to be in there, like he was witnessing something private, and he was the intruder.

The two of them broke their gazes and looked at him, only now aware that he was in the room.

"Oh… Evan, right?" the woman asked softly.

"Um… yes. That's me."

"I'm Cynthia," she said, extending her hand, which Evan shook somewhat limply.

"Larry," the man said, somewhat gruffly. He didn't extend any hand.

"Um… where's the Dean?"

"We asked the Dean to leave. It's just us here," Cynthia explained. "Here… sit down. Please."

Evan compiled, growing more nervous by the second.

"We're… Connor's parents," Larry stated. After saying these words, it was clear that he wasn't a gruff person. He was a terribly conflicted person attempting to put on a front of gruffness.

"And we think that he wanted you to have this," Cymthia said. She took a single sheet of paper out of her designer purse and handed it to Evan. It didn't take him more than a second to recognize it as his own letter to himself.

"It was so unprecedented," Larry cut in as Evan looked at it. "We'd never heard your name before. Connor… never mentioned your name before. And then we saw this. Dear Evan Hansen. That's your name, right?"

"Connor… gave this to you?" Why would he do that? What's he trying to do here?

"We didn't know you were his friend."

"Friends?"

"We didn't think Connor had any friends at all. But this letter, it shows that you and Connor… or at least, Connor thought you were his friend. It says so right there, your name. It's addressed to you, he wrote it to you."

"You think that… you think that Connor wrote this to me? This is him talking to me?" Ok, clearly, there was some sort of miscommunication going on here.

"These are his last words. This is what he wanted to share with you," Cynthia said, and it from the tear forming in her eye, things suddenly became horrifyingly clear.

"What do you mean… last words?" Evan asked. His voice was shaking. He felt it shaking.

Larry looked down at his finely polished shoes, then back up to Evan.

"Connor… took his own life yesterday,"

There was nothing Evan could say. What was there that could even be said? What words can fill the void of death?

"We found this in his pocket. It's clearly… him trying to explain himself." Larry marched on with his explanation, trying to fill that void. Next to him, his wife began to truly cry. "'I wish that I was a part of something, I wish that anything I said mattered…'"

"Would you stop it!" she said at last.

"No, no. Connor… he didn't write this. He didn't write this!" Evan exclaimed.

"What's he saying? It doesn't make any sense," Cynthia tearfully asked, turning to Larry.

"Ok, look, he's clearly in shock over it. We need to just…"

"No, he didn't write it, ok? Can I please go now, can I please just go now?"

"Cynthia, please. Just leave him alone, give him some time to…"

"This! This is the only thing we have left of him!" she nearly screamed.

"Here!" Evan said. He just wanted out of here. It felt like the walls were closing in, and he was sweating. He was sweating in an air-conditioned office. "Take it! Just take it! Here!" He used his good hand to thrust the piece of paper towards the grieving woman.

She took it, and it seemed to calm her. That, at least, was a relief.

"Look. Larry. His cast."

He turned, and the two Murphy parents both looked at the large signature of their dead son's name on the cast.

"His best and most dearest friend."

Shit.