Chapter Text
“Right.” Grian put his fork down and pushed his plate away. “I’m almost 100% certain it’s a ghost. A normal, ordinary, ‘I died in an unnatural way and I’m mad about it’ ghost. We should be able to banish it and call it a day.”
Jimmy’s stomach dropped. “Are you sure? I don’t feel like our evidence was that conclusive.”
“We have your classic mild physical manifestations, thrown objects, etcetera.” Grian counted off on his fingers. “Plus, the smoke, which matches up with our presumed method of death. There’s no reason to think it’s anything else.”
“What about the fact that Scar couldn’t sense it though?”
“Theoretically possible.” Scar shrugged. “I’m not really familiar with how this whole ‘median’ thing is supposed to work.”
“Medium,” Grian corrected on reflex. “And it could happen, if the ghost is moving away too quickly for him to find it.”
“We’ve got the banishing kit in the trunk. We can try and set it up tonight, no problem,” Scar said. Jimmy stared at his plate. All of a sudden, lukewarm toast with the stupid little plastic tubs of individually-sized jam didn’t look so appealing.
For the duration of the 20 minute drive to the ranch, Jimmy was mostly quiet. He couldn’t figure out what was bothering him—in all respects, this should have been like any normal job. Get in, identify the spirit, make a plan, and get rid of it. Scar’s wonky vibe check aside, all Grian’s evidence lined up. Still, his thoughts lingered on his encounters outside.
“We’re here,” Grian announced, voice cutting through the bickering. “We’ve still got a few hours to kill before sunset. Don’t wander too far off.”
Scar muttered something about his sketchbook and walked off towards the hills. Grian pulled out his notebook and a spare pen along with his old grimoire. Jimmy pulled his phone out of his pocket and resolved himself to spending an afternoon reading one of the books he had downloaded on his phone for when the internet was shaky.
He parked himself by the old house, away from everyone’s eyes. He flicked through his library for a moment, finally settling on These Happy Golden Years . The old house groaned a little when he rested his back against the porch, but nothing gave way.
Jimmy found himself only half reading, the words familiar enough his brain was able to focus instead on searching for the presence that had rapidly become familiar. It never appeared. That should have made him feel safer, considering the other day’s incident, but it just left him feeling sad.
He made it through maybe a quarter of the novel before Grian called them back over the walkie-talkie. He sighed and put his phone back in his pocket before hauling himself back to his feet. The sun was already starting to set.
At the van, Grian was rooting around in the banishing kit, pulling out everything he needed for the ritual. Scar was filling his bag with more salt. Jimmy morosely pulled his own silver necklace out of his backpack, noticing that Scar and Grian were already wearing theirs.
“You ready?” Grian asked, putting the bin back into its place in the van.
“As I’ll ever be,” Jimmy sighed.
“Let’s go evict a ghost!” Scar pumped his fist in the air.
“For that–” Grian gestured towards the door, “You can lead the way.”
Scar did an exaggerated bow as he ushered them towards the door. “Please, be my guest! In this house of horror, we have a real show for you tonight.”
“A little less showmanship?” Grian glared at him.
He pouted. “You’re no fun.”
Jimmy trailed after the two of them, clutching his silver pendant with the hand that wasn’t holding his camera. The house seemed heavier than normal as he stepped over the threshold, as if it could sense that something was about to happen. Grian made a beeline up the stairs with Scar following right on his heels. Jimmy lingered.
“Ooo.” Grian paused at the top of the stairs. “I can already smell smoke.”
“I’d better set us up a salt ring then.” Scar pulled out his ziploc bag.
“You’re always looking for an excuse to use that,” Grian said.
“Has it failed us yet?”
“Maybe get on with it?” Jimmy shivered. “I think it can tell we’re doing something.”
“Right.” Scar opened a small hole in the top of the ziploc bag and started pouring it in a ring around them while Grian pulled out their incense and his grimoire, the page with the incantation dogeared and careworn. Jimmy hovered next to them.
“You ready?” Grian asked, looking up as Scar finished the circle.
“Yep.” He readjusted his grip on the salt bag. “You just tell me when you need more of the good old salt.”
“Ready, Jimmy?” Grian turned to him.
“Definitely,” Jimmy lied.
Grian knelt down and lit the incense before reaching into his bag to put the lighter away and pull out a hammer. Jimmy blinked at it a few times to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. Grian turned towards the hallway and started to yell.
“I’m back!” He shouted. “Ready to take things into my own hands and tear down that hunk of junk in the backyard once and for all. If you want to stop me, you’ll have to come out here and do it yourself.”
The smoke started to form again at the end of the hall. The pictures rattled. Jimmy clutched his camera like a lifeline. Grian cocked his head, staring it down. Scar preemptively reached his hand into the salt bag.
“Come on.” He raised both hands in an obvious challenge. “Come and take me! You won’t.”
The figure stalked forward. Grian dropped the hammer and lifted his hand to his silver pendant, holding it towards the figure. It was like all the air in the room was being sucked towards that single point as he held the grimoire in front of him and began to read. Jimmy stared at the figure, transfixed.
Its gaze was also fixed forward as Grian’s voice rang out loud and clear. The words were so familiar to him they were practically rote, the grimoire more a backup than a real tool.
Still, Grian was human. And out of all the times he’d performed this ritual, this was one of the few where he stumbled. In that split second the figure’s gaze snapped up, and he locked eyes with Jimmy.
Suddenly, his mind was filled with images—familiar enough to be memories, but nothing that he’d experienced in his life. He crumpled as he tried to process them all, camera dropping from his hand.
Here was a moment of him building a house, nailing planks together with a hammer. It was crooked and the walls had to be patched later to keep out the drafts, but it was a home. Here he was cooing at the very first pair of cows they ever bought, giving them both names. Here he was fawning over the tiny baby chicks in a little coop. Here he was, rocking on a porch. And through all the memories, a figure remained constant.
His partner. His rancher. A man so familiar it felt like their hearts beat as one. In that moment that could only have been seconds but felt like years, he wondered how he could have ever forgotten.
His mind filled then with images of flames. The fire that had claimed it all. A house crumbling down around him. He remembered how one of the roof beams had fallen, pinning them both in place. He remembered a hand reaching for his in their last few moments. He remembered looking at the face he saw day in and day out for years, and realizing this would be the last time.
Jimmy remembered dying.
“Stop,” he choked out, grabbing Grian’s arm and pulling him off balance. “Please, stop.”
“What are you doing, Timmy?” Grian hissed at him, furious.
“You have to stop,” Jimmy pleaded. “He doesn’t mean any harm.”
“He’s tried to hurt the family! This is our job, Timmy!”
“Please. You have to let me try to talk to him.” Jimmy yanked on his arm again. “For once in your life, trust me.”
Grian stared at him for a long moment, searching for something in his face. He sighed and lowered the grimoire. “You get one shot. If this doesn’t work, I’m going to banish it so hard it winds up on the other side of the Milky Way.”
Jimmy stood up on unsteady feet, turning towards the specter, who was now watching in mild interest.
“Tango?” He asked, heart in his throat. “Is that you?”
The swirling mass of smoke stopped stirring. Features began to appear—a recognizable face, a body still dressed in a simple shirt, knee-high boots, and a bandana wrapped around the neck. Hair slicked back in the front that turned into spikes in the back. It stared at him.
“I remember. I’m not sure why I remember, but I do.” Jimmy took a step forward. “I know you’re hurt. I’m so sorry.”
“Jimmy?” He breathed. Grian and Scar stood in rapt attention.
“Yeah.” Jimmy resisted the urge to laugh a little. “That’s me.”
“I missed you.” The smoke started to solidify into an apparition much more like ghosts they’d seen before. “You were gone for so long.”
Jimmy reached out a hand. “I’m here now. But you can’t keep hurting people.”
Tango’s face flashed with anger. “They’re on our land. It’s our ranch, Jimmy.”
“Not anymore.” He kept his hand out. “You have to give it up.”
“I can’t.” Tango’s face contorted even more. “It’s all I have left. I—”
As soon as he reached out to grab Jimmy’s hand, he vanished. Jimmy was left trying to clutch a handful of smoke. His arm dropped back to his side.
“Well,” Grian deadpanned. “I think we have a lot to talk about.”
Somehow, Scar had managed to sneak a thermos full of tea out from under the nose of the B&B owner. He poured them all a cup as they sat in the back of the van. Jimmy clutched his close to his chest.
“Run this by me again.” Grian tapped his pen against his notebook. “You remembered what exactly?”
“It was like I was remembering another life.” He stared at the ground. “I saw all these memories—building the ranch, mostly.”
“That should be impossible.” Grian furrowed his brow. “It was built back in the 1860s.”
“That is, last time I checked, significantly before when you were born,” Scar offered helpfully. Jimmy glared at him.
“I swear to you, I saw it clear as day. I’m not making this up.”
“You do have a point.” Grian stopped scribbling in his notebook and put his pen down. “I don’t think you have a good enough imagination to come up with something like that.”
“Hey!” Jimmy protested.
“I mean, there is always the possibility we aren’t considering.” Scar looked thoughtful.
“What?”
“Reincarnation.”
“That’s absurd.” Grian turned to stare at him. “You can’t be serious.”
“Why is it absurd?” Scar shrugged. “We hunt ghosts for a living. It can’t be that much weirder than what we already see on a daily basis.”
“It would upend every theory we have about the supernatural!” Grian threw his hands into the air.
“You were literally just doing magic.”
“We can’t get rid of him.” Jimmy’s voice cut through the argument. “We can’t.”
“You have got to be kidding me.” Grian’s voice pitched higher. “We have one job!”
“For once, I’m going to take Jimmy’s side in this.” Scar crossed his arms. “His gut has been right so far.”
“What would you have us do instead?”
“Could we move him?” Jimmy said.
Scar tapped his chin. “I mean, theoretically, we can. If he was more attached to an object than a place. I’ve never seen someone try to convince a ghost to move, though.”
Grian sighed. “I’ll let you try it, if you can come up with a suitable object.”
“I can do it.” Jimmy straightened. “As soon as there’s sunlight, I’ll do it.”
Grian drove them out to the ranch nearly as soon as dawn broke, B&B breakfast forgotten in favor of the box of protein bars they kept in the back. Grian loudly pronounced he’d have no part of this, and turned to inventorying the van as if anything would have changed since last night. Scar simply shrugged at Jimmy and wandered off again, leaving him alone.
He started in the cowshed, poking around for anything that jogged a memory. Tango did not make his presence known.
It was mostly empty. Maybe the building itself counted, but that didn’t solve the portable problem. Eventually, he wandered over to the house, and for the first time, he got the courage to climb onto the porch and into the wreckage proper.
It was hard to make out anything among the dust and ash on the ground. He had to drop to his knees to sort through the rubble piece by piece, moving chunks of board that nearly crumbled in his hands.
Jimmy figured it felt a lot like grief; grief for a person he’d only known for a few days, and grief for a person he used to be. Buried in the midst was the simple detritus of an old life. A few pieces of lumber, once obviously shaped into a bed frame. Half a chair, twisted in the collapse. Simple pottery plates and bowls, shattered into hundreds of pieces.
It felt like he spent an hour digging until he hit something solid. Jimmy pulled it out from under a pile right next to the door, just under where he’d come in. It was a simple iron horseshoe. As soon as he tried to grasp the significance, it flashed out of his mind, but he could feel the tug right away. He wiped it clean on his pants and started walking towards the van.
“Found it,” he said, slamming it against the floor of the van. Grian looked up at him.
“A horseshoe?” He said, obviously skeptical. “You really think that’ll work?”
“I’m sure of it.” Jimmy paused. “Well, assuming I can get Tango to talk to me.”
“Do you have a plan?” Grian’s face didn’t change. Jimmy scratched the back of his head.
“No, not really.”
Jimmy paused at the threshold of the old house, horseshoe clutched in one hand. Grian and Scar stood a safe distance away, Scar with his salt bag at the ready.
“We’re following your lead,” Grian said, followed by a slightly softer, “For what it’s worth, I hope this works.”
Jimmy nodded at him and turned to face the house. He raised his hand and knocked twice against the remaining timber of the door frame.
“Hello, Tango!” He called, closing his eyes and desperately reaching out for a connection. “I wanted to talk.”
This time, Tango appeared behind him. Jimmy resisted the urge to turn and look. “I think we have a compromise. You leave the ranch, but you’re able to come with us.”
“But it’s our ranch!” His voice echoed in Jimmy’s ear. Jimmy wondered if he was the only person who could hear. Based on Grian and Scar’s reactions, that was entirely possible. “Our home!”
“Not anymore,” Jimmy said a little sadly. “It hasn’t been for a long time.”
“It always will be.” Tango’s voice started to get louder. “It’s all I have.”
Jimmy screwed his eyes shut. “Please. I’m trying to make sure my friends don’t banish you. Either way, you won’t get to stay. I’m just trying to not lose you again, not when I’ve just met you.”
“I don’t want to leave.” His voice dropped to sad.
“I know you don’t.” Jimmy’s urge to reach out was only stopped by memory of what happened last time. “But you have to. You can’t stay here forever.”
“Why?”
“Because there are people who’ve made it their home.” Jimmy bit his lip. Maybe it was time to reach for one last card. “And besides, I have to go, too. I can’t live here. We travel. Tomorrow morning, we’ll be gone.”
“You’re leaving?” Tango took on a sudden frantic energy. The wind whipped up around him. “You can’t leave!”
“I have to.” Jimmy tightened his fist. “I don’t have a choice. But you could come with me. You could get to see the world.”
“How?” Tango whispered. “I’m stuck.”
“You don’t have to be.” Jimmy held out the horseshoe. “Is this familiar?”
He could imagine the expression on Tango’s face as he considered it. There were a long few moments of silence—long enough Jimmy worried he’d made a mistake.
“Yeah.” Tango barely breathed. “I remember.”
“Scar thinks if you can attach yourself to an object with enough emotional weight, you can leave. I thought this might work.”
“I don’t know how.”
“You just have to try,” Jimmy said, sticking it out even further. “If this doesn’t work, I’ll think of something else. I don’t want to leave you behind.”
“I—I can try.” Tango’s voice took on a hint of steel. “For you, I’ll try.”
The air filled with a hot, heavy silence. Jimmy screwed his eyes as tightly closed as he could, unwilling to let a stray glance ruin whatever was taking place. Just like in the banishing ritual, if felt like all the air around him was being sucked into one point, concentrated on the horseshoe he held out in his right hand. After what could have been seconds or hours, the bubble popped.
“Huh.” Tango said, looking down at his hands. “I certainly feel a lot more solid.”
Jimmy cracked open one eye, and then another. Tango was standing beside him, one hand on the horseshoe and the other held up in front of his face so he could inspect it. He looked solid enough you could almost mistake him for a real person, save for the fact he was slightly transparent and his eyes flickered like a bonfire. Jimmy resisted the urge to throw his arms around and hug him.
“Do you think it worked?” He asked instead.
“I think so.” Tango cracked a smile. He reached out to touch Jimmy’s other hand. This time, they connected. He was warm to the touch. “I missed this.”
Jimmy grabbed his hand properly. It was covered in the kind of calluses that came from hard work. It felt like coming home. “I missed this, too.”
Tango rested his forehead against Jimmy’s. His smile was wide. “I think you promised me I could see the world.”
“That I did.” Jimmy laughed a little. “Where do you want to start?”