Chapter Text
The Captain gave up; he couldn’t sleep and that was a bloody fact he’d have to deal with.
Which, to be honest, made him feel slightly grateful for being dead. Because, when you’re dead, you don’t feel physical exhaustion, since both your soul and body are in an eternal rest, so no one would be able to tell that you haven’t slept for the past 4 days for more than an hour. But, even if you didn’t show physical signs of extreme exhaustion, like the bloodshot eyes, then the rest would certainly be able to tell from the physical effects of mental lag because of said exhaustion. Because your neurological wiring could have ended the moment you died but noooooooo. It just HAD to stay, huh?! Couldn’t be left alone. No- you still have to be irritated by everyone constantly asking you if you’re okay, and why ar-
Captain shook his head, dismissing all his thoughts. Clearly, irritation had sneakily replaced his exhaustion. Indeed, for one thing, The Captain was glad that he was dead. Sure, the others might notice all this irritation, and perhaps ask why, but, if the Captain had to be completely honest with himself, he knew that they’d (probably) not be too concerned, since he always seemed irritated about something or other- more often than not at something that one of the other ghosts had done or said (the former most of the time being Julian). Of course, Katherine might notice his extra grouchiness (Captain couldn’t help help but admire her observation skills; he often wondered why it was so good) and ask him, but he could just lie to her and give her a vague reason for it, as bad as he felt to deceive the kind but naive soul. Julian would just continue to make fun of him, probably. The rest...who knew. Their reactions oftentimes varied. No matter; whatever their reactions might be, The Captain knew that his reactions to his own problems would be, well, the death of him- he couldn’t lie to himself. His nightmares would always get him shaking.
Always.
And there was no way to stop them.
The Captain sighed out loud and proceeded to simply let himself untense, letting his arms fall to his sides on the mattress and his legs to separate oh so slightly. He stared up at the ceiling, letting his mind wander.
Unfortunately, it decided to wallow in his war trauma.
In the silence of the night and on the black canvas that was the night-veiled ceiling, his eyes projected the old memories of loud machine guns, firing mercilessly at the Allied troops, with no care for the life of that person. This idea led to one of many families losing their fathers and wives, accompanied by the sound of their screams, which replaced their final words, as the colour drained out of their eyes and their limbs fell limp at their sides. Chests covered in soot, dust...and their blood. Oozing out of the bullet wound, the only thing about them moving. Soaking their uniforms fully.
...It hurt to think of these things. What made the Captain feel even worse was that all he could do was watch, fighting alongside the rest, hoping that those unfortunate souls didn’t die in vain.
The Captain brought his hand up to his face to stop the tears from falling, before bringing both hands to his ears to cut off all the phantom noises from his brain, trying not to break out into a panic attack. Lying there in the dark, with even darker thoughts on his mind, The Captain lay there, shaking, waiting for his death day to approach.
-
The first few rays of dawn were what woke the Captain from his inexistent slumber, dragging him into the day which promised him an hour or two of replays of his death. Sure, that mightn't sound that bad, but really, after being dead for more than 50 years, it was just annoying and frankly, unnecessary. Over the years, though, The Captain had also come to the revelation that no matter how annoying the rest might be, they were pretty entertaining- which, he had to admit, did help him take his mind off things.
That day was no different- by the evening, the day had panned out like any other, with the addition of The Captain wallowing for a bit. Which was a good thing, otherwise he’d have to miss Julian getting drop-kicked by Fanny for swearing in front of Kitty. The same day brought Thomas wailing like a banshee about Romeo and Juliet- cursing Shakespeare for killing off Mercutio (“The man was a brave, charming fellow! That beef-witted playwright had no right!”), Mary yelling at Alison for cutting open a pineapple (“Yous don’t eats it! It bes a sign of wealths!” “Mary. It’s a pineapple.”), and Robin shorting out the all the lights for an hour after sunset.
A typical day at Button House really.
With the power back on an hour later, (Bless Mike and his repairing skills) the general evening set-up was present in the living room- Robin and Julian playing chess, Kitty talking Fanny, Mary, and Pat about Georgian clothing, (Thomas was there, occasionally telling the rest about the Regency’s clothing, somehow still sulking about Romeo and Juliet) The Captain simply sitting and chatting with Humphrey, his body having found his head. One of the peaceful moments you got in Button house. The Captain always felt happy for these moments.
Until the loudest, most ear-piercing screech rang throughout the house, shrill and strong.
It snapped each and every of the resident dead out of their rapt attention, the room falling dead quiet instantly, leading everyone to stare into the blank space of the direction of the sound, where a very jumpy Alison appeared only moments later. Running past them in a flash, the Captain could only make out a very excited smile on her face before she ran past, ignoring the various questions being fired at her by the ghosts. Every ghost stayed their ground as they stared at Alison calling out to a missing Mike, telling him to get downstairs, and then said something about CDs and popcorn before once again turning around and running in the direction of their bedroom, exiting the room, pursued by the rest of the ghosts.
They followed her into her and Mike’s room, where Alison turned on the TV, before proceeding to crack open a CD case and gingerly remove the disc from inside it. She placed it on the disc tray, which seemed to heighten her excitement even more- if that was possible, the Captain thought in amusement. She was already at a different height of excitement, one that he doubted he’d ever seen before in anyone. As she stood up, a smile was still on her face, she was immediately bombarded by all of the ghosts at the same time. It seemed that she was even more excited than the Captain had predicted- usually she’d have yelled at them in exasperation before telling them to speak one at a time- but today, somehow, she did the latter without the yelling.
“One at a time- Pat, go!” she said, pointing at him.
“Well, uh, what’s that disc thing you’re holding?” he asked, voice full of curiosity.
“It’s called Horrible Histories- something I’m proud to call my childhood,” she said, getting into her excited mood again.
Kitty raised an eyebrow.
“But…” she started, “History? As a Child?” she asked softly before trailing off. At this point, Mike entered the room- popcorn in hand, a smile on his face as he noticed the box in Alison’s hand.
With a glance at Mike and a cheeky smile to the ghosts, she turned to the TV with child-like joy, and turned back to them, saying one thing:
“History- but horrible. Gory, but amazing. Weird, but funny.” She said, gesturing to the blanket that’d been spread out on the floor.
The Captain and the rest, clearly wondering why that’d make Alison so happy, joined her on the floor.