Chapter Text
They’re approximately 30 minutes into the investigation when everything, in Ghost’s humble opinion, goes to shit. “But every P.I.E. investigation goes to shit!” you say. Yes, that is, in fact, true, but Ghost has decided that bleeding out on the floor - very slowly, might he add, which is decidedly not fun - constitutes the creation of a new category of “gone to shit”. “But,” you say, “Why not just respawn?” and again, usually, Ghost would do just that - but there’s just one issue; he can’t. Let’s rewind.
They entered the decrepit asylum, joking and teasing and generally enjoying each other’s company - unsuspecting of the horrors yet to come. Once they were inside, the ghost wasted no time in introducing itself; it screamed its sob-story from nowhere in particular, voice bouncing off the walls and echoing down each corridor, all lined with empty cells. Ghost thought he heard sobbing from the one beside him, and so, using the keys the caretaker - who had been the one to call them to investigate, and who looked about as old and decrepit as the asylum - had given him, unlocked the door and (ignoring the disapproving sigh from Toast, and the alarmed yelps from the other two) entered. A girl sat huddled in the corner, long, matted, black hair cascading over her small form, blocking her face. Her tattered white dress hung loosely, and one sleeve slid from her small trembling shoulder as he approached and knelt down. A familiar dread washed over Ghost as he gently asked, “K-Katrina?”
Abruptly, the girl stopped shaking, before giggling once, twice, and then, neck cracking violently, her head shot up and she stared into his eyes with a wide, manic smile. He edged away, wondering why the others hadn’t entered, hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even made a sound since he’d approached Katrina, but he couldn’t look back, not now, because when he stumbled to his feet, backing away, she followed, neck craning oddly to one side. “Katrina-” he started, pleading, “Kat, hey, it’s me, Johnny! Remember?” He fumbled for the door handle, careening into the hall when it opened. No one else was there.
“Yessssss,” Katrina hissed, drawling, “I remember youuuu…” but she didn’t slow her advance; instead, she just kept hurtling towards him. As he ducked beneath a wild swing of her claw, he glimpsed it - the small, red, rope-pattern lines wrapping around her neck, exposed by its unnatural angle - and choked back a sob. “God, Kat, I’m sorry - I’m so sorry!” he heard himself plead. She didn’t seem to hear him, only muttered, “Johnny, Johnny, I remember, yes I remember Johnny. Johnny!” and took another swing. He scrambled back, gritting his teeth when a razor nail clipped his shoulder, and Katrina’s crazed grin widened. Something inside Ghost twitched at the sight, but he pushed it down, he didn’t have time to panic. “Toast?” he called as he scrambled down the empty hallways, “Spook? Colon?!”
No one answered, and Ghost felt his heart sink.
He fumbled with the keyring, detached it from his belt loop - which proved to be much more difficult while his hands shook violently - and jammed a key into the first lock he came across, throwing open the cell door and slamming it behind him, locking it back.
The old door’s hinges creaked dangerously with the force of Katrina’s hands slamming against it, and Johnny could only pray they didn’t give out under the stress. Slowly, the banging subsided and, hand over heart, he sighed in relief. Pulling out his phone, he hit Toast’s contact, and pulled the phone to his ear, listening to it ring. It clicked, and Toast’s blurted in a near-shout, “Sir, where the fuck are you?!” in the background he heard a short hysterical laugh, and Ghost felt one of his own bubble out past the tightness in his chest and the burning in his shoulder. “Just getting chased by a murderous vision from the past - you know, the usual.”
“Are you injured?”
“She nicked me, but its nothing serious.”
“Don’t do anything dangerous,” Spooker said in the background, “A ghost said we can’t respawn here and we don’t want to chance them being right.”
“Where are you, Sir? We’ll come find you.”
“Er,” Ghost muttered, trying to recall where he was, “I’m in a locked cell right now, not sure what floor - I think it’s B-hall though, so first floor probably,” he paused, putting on a cheery, guide-like voice, “Just follow the sounds of screeching and growling, and you should see a crazy lady pacing outside the door,” he said peeking through the small, barred window. Katrina spotted him and slammed a palm against the door, snarling. “take a sharp turn there and - remember this step because it is crucial okay? - sock her right in the face.”
Toast barked out a sharp, brittle laugh, “We’ll do our best.”
“I’ll see you in a few, I’m gonna hang up now because I don’t want to attract too much attention - these ancient hinges don’t exactly appreciate the abuse we’re putting them through.”
“Alright Sir, be careful.”
And careful he was, but you can’t exactly count on ghosts to obey the laws of physics, or even manners, really, because out of the blue, there was the caretaker, and boy did he look smug. “What a lovely reunion between old friends,” he croaked, “It’s almost enough to warm my cold, dead heart!” then cackled wildly. When Ghost didn’t so much as blink in surprise, he sobered, snapping at him, “Why aren’t you surprised? Everything went perfectly, none of you suspected a thing!”
“Dude, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I hunt ghosts for a living; this plot-twist happens every other week.”
“Damn! Well, either way, you’re gonna die here, so I guess it doesn’t really matter. Dead men tell no tales and all that.”
“Again, hate to do this, but literally every case a ghost says something along the lines of “Ohohoho you’re gonna die anyway, so it doesn’t really matter!” and here I am, alive and only slightly harmed.” Another bang reverberated around the room, and Ghost shuffled uncomfortably but couldn’t look away from the immediate threat.
“Oh, uh, exactly how many cases have you done?”
“Dunno,” Ghost shoved his hands into his pockets, “I’ve been doing this since I was like, sixteen, and our schedule’s kinda all over the place because you can’t really predict when a ghost is gonna show up, but we get at least three to seven cases a week, and about half of them are real.” Another slam, followed by creaking and a final loud rattling sound.
“Huh, half, really?”
“Yeah, people are stupid.”
“Agreed. Speaking of stupid, you let your guard down.”
“Oh.” Things seemed to slow down, a sharp pain stabbing through his back. He looked down, watching three claw-like fingers withdraw from his chest, leaving three little holes all the way through. He collapsed, head falling to the side as he coughed wetly, tasting iron. Almost calmly, he watched as blood pooled around him, before glancing up to the doorway, where the door had been ripped open, and now teetered ominously on its hinges. Katrina loomed over him, blood coating her claws.
And that’s it, that’s how he got here. Seconds later, he hears someone shout his name, and he feels the caretaker’s presence vanish. Katrina glances back, but it doesn’t give her enough time to react before a bullet rips through her solid form, followed by another, then another. She screeches and stumbles back, blindly tripping over the lump of Ghost while trying to shield herself from the incoming bullets. He groans as she falls over him, kicking his wounds. The puddle beneath him ripples, blood traveling in tiny rivers through the imperfections in the concrete floor. Absently, Ghost notes that his sight has gone fuzzy at the edges, and black static is creeping in. Katrina lets out one last screech before disappearing, and as soon as she’s gone Toast, Spooker, and Colon all rush to his side. He smiles weakly as Colon pulls his head into his lap, eyes watery. The other two looked similarly panicked, and Ghost finds himself wheezing, “Hey, it’s really not that bad, okay? You guys can just carry me out of here and I can respawn.” Blood bubbles in his throat as he speaks, and he has to turn to the side to cough it up when it scratches at his throat.
The others glance at each other and Ghost frowns, confused. “What?”
“If we moved you now,” Spooker explains, chewing his lip, “you’d probably die of blood loss before we got outside. And I’m not a doctor but I’m pretty sure you have a punctured lung.”
Ghost’s brows furrow and he laughs sadly. “Sucks to be me I guess…” he ignores the liquid gathering in the back of his mouth, swallowing. “Anybody here magically know first aid?”
They all grimace, shaking their heads. “Ah, well, worth a shot,” he rasps. He feels a tear drip down, catching on his jaw. His chest burns; a hot-cold sensation that tears through him every time he breathes. He can’t focus his eyes anymore, but he looks at the blurry figures he knows are his closest companions - the loves of his life - and smiles, even as more tears follow and he chokes down a gasp of pain. Someone’s holding his face and speaking to him gently, and he can’t understand the words, but he thinks it might be Colon, so he looks up at him. At the same time as a pair of lips meet his temple, and then again and again, until he’s being peppered with kisses. He can feel the body under him shaking now, and through the white-hot burning and the growing ringing in his ears, he makes out stammered apologies and ‘I-love-you’s, and he feels it aching in his bones because it’s not their fault, he did this, and he wishes all the way down to his core that he could go back, that he could undo the pain he knows paints their faces, but he can’t - he’s going to die here, slowly, painfully. The ringing is piercing now and the black static has spread to cover most of his vision, and he thinks he might be screaming, or apologizing, saying goodbye, but he can’t hear anything over the ringing so it’s possible that when he tries to tell them “I love you too” it comes out garbled and incomprehensible. His throat is raw now so he must be screaming, and it’s all so loud until suddenly everything stops.
There’s no ringing, or panic, or crying, or pain. Just empty blackness and total silence. He can’t move, because there’s nowhere to go, there’s nothing here, there’s only void. That is, until the sound of a single raindrop, followed by another, then another, breaks the silence, and like waking up, Ghost blinks, and finds himself standing in front of a grave.