Musical One-Shots and Headcanons! (REQUESTS OPEN!)

Jalana - Aftermath

A/N: Ellie here. The tweets are taken from "You Will Be Found (Reprise)" and Dear Evan Hansen: The Novel, but the wording varies slightly between the two. Of course, I cleaned them up as per our standard policy. When returning to make changes, Ellie added part of the movie's ending because she liked it.

As a canon-compliant DEH one-shot, CW for mentions of suicide and doxxing.

I text my boyfriend, Jared, to ask him to bring the purple hoodie I left at his house last night working on the science project. As I usually do ever since the beginning of my involvement with the Connor Project, I go to my Facebook and type #connorproject. I posted Connor's last words to the Internet in a last-ditch effort to raise money for the Autumn Smile Apple Orchard to reopen in his honor. People have left all sorts of comments.

Have people seen this? Connor Murphy's suicide note.

This is why the orchard is so important, guys.

The whole world needs to see this. Share it with everyone you know.

I just gave fifty dollars for the orchard and I think everyone else should give as much as they can.

He wrote his suicide note to Evan Hansen because he knew his parents couldn't care less.

His parents are insanely rich. Maybe they should have spent their money on helping their son!

Evan Hansen was the only one who was paying any attention.

"And all my hope is pinned on Zoe." Zoe is a stuck-up jerk. Trust me, I go to school with her.

Just contributed another fifty.

Gave forty-one. The age my daughter would be if she hadn't taken her life.

Cynthia Murphy is one of these disgusting women.

Larry Murphy is a corporate lawyer who only cares about money.

Down with the Murphys. Make them feel what Connor felt.

That turned hateful pretty fast, but most harrowing for me is this:

Their house is at the end of the cul-de-sac with the red door. Zoe's bedroom window is on the right. The gate to the back is completely unlocked. I'm not saying to do anything illegal...

Zoe's cell phone number, if my sources are correct.

Ring the doorbell. Keep calling until they answer.

Remorse immediately hits me like a truck, leaving me wounded and broken and helpless on the ground.

Oh my goodness. Oh my goodness. How did this happen?

My breaths tumble out as shaky, uneven heaves and gasps, rapid and shallow and painful, above all. Tears start streaming down my face.

I'm a horrible person and I just ruined their lives posting that letter!

Not wanting to see clearly what I've done, I take off my glasses, then fling myself onto my bed and shove my face into my pillow for good measure. "Alana?" Mom calls. "Jared has your hoodie!"

"Tell him to leave it here," I say in a strained, muffled voice. "I'm not up to seeing him."

"What's wrong?" she asks. "Did you fight?"

"No," I say in my most assuring voice given the circumstances. "I just want to be alone now."

Sure enough, he's here when I explicitly said I don't want him to be. "Alana, babe, what's wrong?"