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Maybe, in a past life, Manfred was a major dick. That would certainly explain why he was currently hanging upside down from a tall ass ghost’s grip, after having quite possibly the worst day of his life, in the middle of town. Which was definitely saying something because his life was one bad day after another.
He looked to the ground that was way too far away, in his opinion, as he swung slightly in the man’s hold. Then, he looked up to the ghost’s face before he could throw up. “Look, man, all I did was offer to help you move on, it wasn’t like I was gonna force you. If you could just -”
He was cut off by a rough shake that sent his already aching head swirling. Manfred barely had the will not to cry out, but he definitely felt done and over with this damn day. Uncharacteristically (actually, very characteristically but no one else would ever know), he wanted desperately to cry. This day had been beyond horrible, and he just wanted it to end.
“Don’t tell me what to do, kid. Now back off before I make you,” the ghost said, before dropping him unceremoniously to the ground.
Manfred didn’t even try to get up, despite the fact that he was laying in the middle of the road. The ghost left in a puff of smoke, only to be replaced by three more that weren’t all too nice either. God, sometimes he wished he had a way to shut off his powers at will. There were just way too many ghosts in the world, but most days he was fine. He could keep up his walls and tune out the moans and voices. But today had not been a good day.
Before the day even started for most people, Manfred had been up. Insomnia was common enough for him, and last night he just couldn’t get to sleep. That alone contributed to the usual migraines and aches and pains from wounds that had never truly happened to him. But, when he had gathered up the motivation required to get him out of bed, his pills had been nowhere to be found. He ended up going without, too tired to care to find them and in too much pain to think right.
With that, he started his day with a shower that left him feeling like he was drowning. Flashbacks were also a common occurrence. As much as he enjoyed helping ghosts pass on, their memories certainly did not help his already fucked up mental health.
Shower done, he hurried over to the diner to have some coffee, hoping that company would help hold the flashbacks at bay. The company had actually helped a little, snarking with Olivia putting his tired mind at ease while Fiji’s giggles at their antics left him feeling warm in a way only the Midnighters had ever accomplished. The coffee also helped him feel more awake, more in control.
Then, someone just outside the Midnighters’ room began kicking up a fuss. It was quiet at first, just an annoyed customer, but as time went on and they didn’t get their way, they started to yell and make a scene. Even though Manfred knew it was just some guy that was more bark than bite, the memories - his own and the ghosts’ - were way too close to the surface. They mixed and swirled together into an ugly, painful picture, and Manfred couldn’t hold back the panic attack any longer. He had fled before the others could figure out what was going on, needing a place where he didn’t need his walls up so he could let go for a moment.
It had led him to spending the last few hours sitting alone in his house, trying to ignore the pleas and cries of the ghosts gathered on the porch. He wanted to go to the others again, wanted to do anything and everything he could to make the ghosts calm down, wanted to do...something. So he had taken a step outside after way too long in one position and went to a ghost that seemed to be of the calmer sort, offering to help them pass over to the other side. Helping others usually made him feel a bit like he was worth something. Of course, that had to go wrong too.
Now he was laying in the middle of the street with ghosts that were still hysterical and a pounding head that was not at all helped by the too bright sun. How was it still day when it had dragged on so long already?
“Manny?”
Manfred didn’t even look to see who it was. Moving hurt, and opening his eyes seemed impossible. He had lost whatever dignity he had when half the town had already seen him at his worst. Lower than his worst. Laying in the middle of the road wasn’t even close to that.
“Yeah?”
“What are you doing on the ground? Are you alright?” It sounded like Fiji.
Manfred couldn’t help but chuckle bitterly at that. “Sure, yeah, I’m only laying here ‘cause I want to.”
A moment of quiet. Well, not really quiet with all the ghosts, but it was probably quiet to Fiji. “I made cookies, if you want some. I was just coming to get you so we could all meet up at the church to hang out.” She paused for a moment. “Chuy made chocolate cake too.”
Manfred did open his eyes at that, squinting at Fiji. “What’s the occasion? Someone’s anniversary or something?” Because it wasn’t a birthday, he already had all of theirs memorized.
She looked a little nervous and concerned and a myriad of other emotions. “We wanted...We wanted to do something nice for you. You helped us, even when you barely knew us, and we wanted to let you know how much we appreciate it. And it looked like you were having a bad day….” She trailed off, and let the sentence hang in the air.
Manfred didn’t want to get up, but the Midnighters - his almost family - were trying to do something nice for him. He couldn’t just blow that off. Moving felt so much harder than talking though, and talking wasn’t exactly easy either. It felt like he was dragging the words up from some inky abyss that kept clawing at the words to make them stay.
But he couldn’t be rude, not this time, not in this way. Not when the Midnighters were just trying to help and be friendly. He would be lying if he said that the sentiment didn’t fill him with a sort of manic glee under all the lethargy. No one did stuff like this for him. It was like the Midnighters actually cared, at least a little bit.
“Yeah. Sure.” The words feel like they’re covered in sludge, coming out slow and meaningless. But Fiji smiled like he just gave her the sun, so he figured he got them out right.
Now he just had to get up. It shouldn’t be hard, he does it all the time. Except this time feels impossible, like the road he’s on is pulling him under. Like he’s been sunken into the tar and trapped. It feels ridiculous, because he knows he can but right now he can’t.
Fiji seemed to realize that he wasn’t going to get up right away, her smile fading from excitement into something more soft and friendly. She reached out a hand to help him up but somehow didn’t make it seem like she was waiting on him or expecting him to have to take it.
Manfred gave her a genuine smile in return, gripping her hand after a little concentration and pulling himself up slowly. Neither talked as they made their way to the church, bumping shoulders and hands somewhat unintentionally as they went. For once, Manfred was glad for the quiet. He didn’t have to talk if he didn’t want to. But if he did, he knew Fiji and the other Midnighters would listen.