Archive of Our Own ^beta

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In all honesty, this week has been one bad day after another. Which is really saying something, given the state of the world.

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Sunday sees Kwan slip on a patch of ice and bust his ass in front of the worst possible choice: Paulina.

His tailbone's sore, his pride is wounded, and she laughs way too hard and long about it, telling anyone and everyone the first chance she gets. Any other day, Kwan'd shrug it off, but he's been shoving it all down for too long now, still letting the guilt churn nauseatingly in his gut, and he can't help but be a little mean in return.

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Paulina doesn't talk to him until Tuesday, and that's just skipping over Monday and the way the guilt twists into shame.

Monday, at least, is mostly crappy in the way that Wulf returns from one of his regular jaunts across the barren continental states scorched down to his ectoplasmic skin, bleeding bright green through crusted wounds.

It's bad, like really, really bad but fixable. Probably. He disappears into the Ghost Zone under the best care the afterlife can afford, but Kwan knows it had to have been something they cannot even begin to understand because ghosts don't… don't get hurt like that.

They just don't. 

Mine, mine, mine—

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Wednesday is spent stewing in worry and want for answers of what Wulf saw and if it's bad or maybe even good somehow.

Look on the bright side, right? Right. Right.

Look on the bright side, Kwan.

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Thursday is Paulina's last radio broadcast.

Something in the air isn't right, and the snow falls harder than it has since it began. Kwan can guess why, and looks away when Sam meets his gaze over dinner that evening. Dash's meltdown that night is to be expected.

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Friday… Friday, Box Lunch comes hurtling through Kwan's haphazard study, kicking up papers and stomping little feet on seemingly every fragile thing.

Kwan snaps at her, and sends her crying. He apologizes later to Lunch Lady and the Box Ghost and Box Lunch herself, but it's just another bad day on top of another.

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It's barely been three years to the day.

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Tucker's cough thickens, grows wet, and rattles.

He isn't the only one.

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Sam looks at Kwan.

He doesn't look back.

There's the beginning of a tickle at the back of his throat, and no amount of water manages to chase it away.

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The snow falls harder.

It grows colder.

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Saturday dawns bright and frigid.

Kwan wraps himself in his thickest parka, and marches himself down to the very last refugee excursion. Dash looks better, if only a little, and Starr's nothing less than perfect, as usual. Sam smirks at them, but it doesn't reach her eyes. 

They clamber into the modified RV and head out, and none of them expect there to be anyone to find. 

Not anymore.

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By all rights, this dude should be dead.

Kwan plucks absently at the threadbare sleeve of the man's jacket, the material itself crunching slightly beneath his touch, already nearly on it's own way to complete ruin. Which isn't to say the guy is much better. He's filthy, and looks half dead but actually isn't and should be, really.

Current temperatures vary but it never gets above freezing anymore. So… how is he alive? 

"Hey, stop touching him and being weird," Dash grumbles, and Kwan pulls his fingers away from the man's dirt covered and blood splattered neck. His pulse is light and a little slow, but steady. "He could have rabies."

Starr snorts across from them, shifting her hold on her ectoblaster, and Kwan pulls slightly at his parka's fringe to clearly roll his eyes through his goggles. "If he was a zombie, he'd have tried to rip us to shreads instead of passing out," she says.

Dash wrinkles his nose, just barely visible beneath his mask, as the vehicle hits a dune of snow and thunders lowly with the strain. "You never know… things could be different out there."

True enough, Kwan will concede. Amity Park is their safe haven and cage all in one snow buried package. Hardly anything comes in, and hardly anything goes out. Out there, the North Americas are a barren wasteland crawling with the undead and very few living humans. It makes this man all the more mysterious and interesting.

What does he know? What has he seen? Kwan wants to pick his brain so very badly, to think about literally anything else.

"Fine, fine," Kwan huffs, leaning back. Outside, the trees are thinning out, the outskirts of the old town poking up through the white like desperate clawed fingers. "Man, I miss the Nasty Burger so much."

They three watch as the desolate remains of the old fast food joint disappear into the distance.  Downtown swiftly crowds in, silent and looming. It feels like just yesterday sometimes, and then an eternity the rest of the time. Kwan almost can't believe he'll be turning twenty four on Friday. 

Too many people won't be turning anything this year or the next.

They hit a rock, or piece of shattered building, whatever, and Dash leans over to thump a fist against the metal partition. "Where'd you even get your license, Manson!"

"Your mother!" she shouts from upfront, and Dash thumps the glass again. "Don't try me, Baxter!"

Arguably, no one drives better than Sam. Kwan does alright, and Dash does pretty good, but maybe it's from whispered years of illegally driving the Fenton RV that gives Sam that edge that makes her a little more reckless but better than the rest of them. It's what saved them in the beginning, what let them live through the blur of terror and screams as their hijacked school bus barreled down the withering streets when others didn't. The thump thump thump of bodies beneath the tires and bouncing off the hood still haunt — hah — Kwan, and no doubt Dash and Starr and Sam, too.

Maybe he shouldn't think about that though. It's all luck they all were even there, on the same day and the same time just to see an old face. It's not fair that Mr. Lancer got through so many years of teaching and stupids kids just... just to—

Thump, thump, thump.

Dash's face twists, and Kwan's shaken from his thoughts enough to place a hand on his arm, to ground himself as much Dash.

He tenses, then deflates before slumping back into his seat. "Sorry, I… no one's shown up in a long time," Dash mutters.

Starr and Kwan share a quick look. "Well, I mean, I think even Danny would have a hard time pulling free of these," Kwan says, and pulls hard on the dimly glowing straps holding the man tight to the cot. "He'll be going straight to quarantine, chillax man."

With a shake of his head, Dash hefts his blaster. "I don't trust him," he announces, like he ever trusts anyone new, "just something in his face, when he saw us…"

It's always a gamble with someone new, and it's true, no one new has shown up in at least two years, maybe three, and very few of them are still around. Paulina ran the radio broadcast to give them all just a little bit of hope, that maybe a familiar face might come home, but… maybe there just isn't anyone else left out there to hear it. Or maybe there is. Or maybe all that's left now is this singular guy that seemed so happy yet so frightened to see them.

What Dash saw, Kwan didn't, but he isn't wrong. Something is up with this guy, just thankfully not the black eye filming over kind of wrong, at least.

There's a honk, and Kwan peers back out of the window to see a motor sled briefly pull up on their right. Valerie. Sam honks back, the horn blistering loud, and immediately the man jerks with a gasp.

Kwan yelps, and Dash swings his gun up, the barrel humming with wisps of green. For a moment, the man struggles and strains against the straps, the veins in his neck bulging, before he gives up. Gasping fills the startled silence, and he flips his head around, blue eyes flitting from Starr to Dash and Kwan.

No one says anything, but then the man whimpers, "... Dean?"

Kwan swallows, and can feel the deceleration of the vehicle around them. "Sorry man, there's no Dean here."

The man closes his eyes, bites his bottom lip. Glances are shared, and puppy eyes are given twofold to Kwan. He slumps his shoulders for a moment before shoring up.

"Uh, so, you passed out, hopefully just from exhaustion, and we'll be setting you up with some food soon but, uh name's Kwan, welcome to Amity Park and all that jazz…" Kwan says, mustering up some cheer. "What's your name?"

With a barely there shudder, the man briefly peeks an eye open, and doesn't answer for a long moment. "Cas," he mutters, and flexes his hands. "What's with…"

"Don't know you, can't trust you," Dash cuts in, and at an elbow to the side from Kwan, adds, " yet ."

"Kinky," the man mumbles, and startles a laugh out of Starr. The slight smiles that draws across his face sheds years and even grime off of him. It's a nice, crooked sort of charming smile. "You're not going to eat me… right? This isn't one of those places…?"

Kwan doesn't know whether to be thrilled or horrified at the prospect of other communities, and potentially cannibalistic ones at that, or not. "No, no, we have plenty of… food," Kwan assures him, and doesn't miss the way the man squints at his less than truthful admission.

"Plenty of weapons too," he says, and eyes Dash's blaster, then the gleaming green lights and grimy metal consoles that surround them. "Never… seen something like it before."

"Haha, yeah," Kwan laughs, but thankfully then the engine dies as the back hatch unlocks and lifts away with a low hiss. 

Immediately, what little warmth they had is stolen away by a crisp and biting wind. Everyone shivers, except. No, Kwan sees him shiver, but it's delayed, sort of like Oh hey, I should shiver too. Like it's a part he almost forgot to play. Chewing on his bottom lip, Kwan doesn't say anything, but allows himself to catch Sam's eye as Dash unhooks the cot and rolls the man down the back ramp. 

"Wow," the man says, completely limp in his restraints. "Is this a, uh, military depot..?"

Starr snorts as Kwan grabs the other end of the cot to help Dash tote him up to the patchwork front door. "No, we're just lucky a couple of crackpots lived here."

The Fenton Works sign has seen better days but it still glows, and in the near evening light it feels hopeful and eerie all at once. The lights along the block all glimmer with a faint green, the curtains fluttering as people watch from their homes. Kwan stumbles over the thick cables snaking down the steps and across the sidewalk, and tries to not drop the man.

Dash shoots him an unimpressed look as Sam unlocks the door, Starr just on their heels.

It's not much warmer inside, the empty living room and hallway dusted with slowly accumulating snow. It's easy to see how often they tromp through it all, especially down the dark stairwell where the cables disappear into. Cas eyes it halfheartedly, and Kwan would've expected more of a fuss. They've had people kick and scream in the beginning, but maybe the world's just grinded it all down.

He's just… resigned, to whatever it is they plan to do to him. 

Kwan wonders if the fact they won't need to do anything to him at all makes any of it any better.

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The last of the day fades into night with all the ill grace of a grieving heart.

Cas is tucked firmly behind ecto-powered bars in the haphazard medbay of the observatory; nowhere near strong enough to even phase the weakest ghost but oddly just enough to fry the black eyed and zombie alike. Kwan piles him up with the usual strange colored carrots and semi-fried fake tofu for dinner, and then a clean set of clothes almost in his size with a rag and a basin of water after. Cas takes his imprisonment without much comment. Namely, he doesn't ask what the food is made of, and Kwan doesn't say. 

Tucker wheezes pitifully from his own cot not very far away at all. Sam's feeding him the thinnest of soup when Kwan leaves and heads further up for the observation deck instead of his room next door with Dash.

He dozes fitfully to the rage of the storm outside, hunkered in the largest of the chairs, and dreams of the summer just before the world went to Hell and of a great big flash. Kwan wakes in a sweat despite the chill to the air, his heart going thump, thump, thump, in his chest. Sleep's obviously a lost cause, so he ends up wandering back down for a lack of anything better to do.

Cas's eyes gleam in the green gloom, almost like a cat, and he shifts uncomfortably when Kwan approaches. There's a soft bark, and the bewildered look in the man's eyes makes him look more alive. He clearly doesn't seem to know what to do with an armful of a glowing puppy, and it speaks volumes with how gentle he tries to juggle the excited paws and sloppy licks. 

"That's Cujo, our resident guard dog," Kwan says, peeling the dry cloth from Tucker's forehead. He murmurs softly, but doesn't wake. "He's a good boy… and I guess this is as good as any crash course into the supernatural but, uh, he's a ghost."

"This doesn't..." Cas starts, squinting, and then blinks. "... this is a ghost?"

Well. Kwan nods. "He was a security dog in life, apparently, guess they thought the name would be tough sounding; it's on his collar," he rambles, and smothers the beginning of a cough with a hard swallow. "But, uh, yeah, the whole town is full of them so… hope that doesn't freak you out and all..."

God, Kwan sucks at this. He stares down at Tucker's flushed face and furrowed brow, frustrated all of a sudden with it all. Outside, the wind howls and the whole of Fenton Works groans in response. Cas tenses, arms coming around Cujo, and Kwan just shrugs at his wary look. 

"Built strong," he offers into the din. "It's fine. Probably."

"Right, okay, ghosts…" Cas mutters, and then tugs on Cujo's collar, squinting at the engraved words. "This says 'Axiom Labs'... ah."

"We found him there, still guarding the place… we kinda had to adopt him if we wanted to steal the cabling. He took his job seriously despite, well, yeah."

Kwan's pretty sure he was left for dead when everything went to hell, but. Well. Cujo is a very good boy.

"Ah," the man repeats, and rubs one dark ear between his fingers. Cujo rolls over, exposing his soft belly. "Well… ghosts?"

With another shrug, Kwan stands with the little basin of water left by Tucker's bedside and takes it back over to the sink. "Some of them were alive at some point, obviously, but some just… started to exist? Maybe? We don't actually see all that many who want anything more than a fight; they like to keep to themselves, and I think it's rude to ask so… Danny—" He cuts himself off even though it's not a secret, not really, but. 

"Danny?" Cas echoes, and Kwan shakes himself.

"Ghosts are made of ectoplasm; it's what we run everything off of, though I don't know what it is really…" he diverts, staring at the water running over his hand from the overflowing pan. "A family of ghost hunters used to live here, and we just sort of moved in after everything… They weren't the most organized; I'm still finding notes and blueprints..."

Thankfully, Cas doesn't push it. "Ghost hunters… Suppose it wasn't those two then," he mumbles as Kwan returns to Tucker's side with fresh water. "What's wrong with him?"

The truth stings at the back of his throat, but Kwan says, "We don't know... but you won't catch it from him though, that much we do know."

"Can it kill him?" 

Kwan wishes he knew any better because he'd almost say Cas sounded wistful. "It can," he whispers, and again, the wind howls.

Cas doesn't ask anymore questions after that.

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Kwan eventually wakes to a bitter and dark morning, the snow clouds grey and still for the first time in days. 

It took a long time to get back to sleep, and he's sure Cas didn't fare any better. With a muffled groan, he sits up from the chair, his neck stiff, and yawns. Tucker's whistling wheezes are piercing in the silence. Cujo's gone, and all he can see of Cas is a tuft of dark hair from under the piles of blankets he'd asked for. 

Please don't be a zombie, he thinks, and pushes to  his feet.

He finds his coat and one of his boots where he left them. The wayward boot he finds beneath the observation deck console, damp with dimly glowing slobber. 

With a sigh, Kwan still puts it on.

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Sam is already in the basement by the time Kwan descends, careful of the thick and twisted cables covering the stairs.

The Box Ghost looms over her, and the portal hisses and hums just behind them, washing the metal walls blue and green. Kwans falters as always, eyes following the cables as they snake up and around the giant metal ring before looking away. He hates it down here. An entombed monument to their sins, the old Fenton lab and the not so defunct tear between realities. The only reason for their continued survival.

In, one breath. Out, another. Kwan grits his teeth, and slowly makes his way down the rest of the steps.

Box Lunch isn't with him this time, and despite Kwan's best efforts, the Box Ghost's expression cools just a little once he's revealed by the light. 

He deserves it, he knows, but it still sort of hurts. The Box Ghost doesn't know, and maybe he won't until it's too late. It's with a bone tired envy he watches Sam laugh wide and full faced at whatever the ghost says before he floats off with most of the boxes through the nearest wall.

Grimacing, Kwan pivots awkwardly and slides his hands under the nearest box, testing the weight, and lifts. Something mewls weakly from within, so he abandons it for one that's quiet.

Sam sidles up on his left, her own boxes in hand. "Alright, lay it on me," she says, the easy facade fading to something a little more pinched and a lot more tired. "His status among the living need to be revoked?"

Kwan shakes his head. "No, I just think… there might be more to him. Wulf's said that this is all a lot bigger than we know but…" he starts, trailing off as they start up the stairs for the first trip of many. "I feel like he might be it. Or know something. He's a weird dude but… not in a bad way, though, y'know?"

She hums. "Maybe. He hasn't turned so… we'll see, I guess. We don't want a repeat of Star's mom."

"Right," Kwan agrees weakly, and picks his way carefully into the kitchen. The green stains that coat the counters and cookware used to make his stomach roil, but now it just makes him miss beef even more. Regular salads, even. Mooncakes especially. "Right…"

It's not foolproof, though, this waiting game; they learned that the hard way. Kwan won't ever be able to forget the way Starr's mom's eyes had filmed over, a lot like Danny's but just a cruel pitch black. How she laughed at them after poisoning the water plant just because . How even after whatever it was had been yanked out from within her and vaporized, there were smarter zombies still hiding among them. 

It took months to weed them out completely, and Starr wasn't quite the same after. None of them were, the fact that most of their parents hadn't actually been their parents for months in the lead up to the beginning of this all just made it… worse, and.

And, they still don't know why. Not completely, anyway. Kwan has his theories, and surely some of the others do too, but it's all moot at this point; he'd rather not hurt any more feelings by bringing it up.

Why didn't it turn me? echoes in Kwan's ears. Why, why, why?

"They can't help being cruel just the tiniest bit if they can get away with it..." Sam mumbles, hefting her boxes onto the brittle table against the wall. "Gotta watch for that until Danny… until Danny cools off. Hah."

Kwan sets his box on the counter. "So. You told him…"

"Yeah…"

Is that fair? Or is it unfair? Kwan isn't sure. "What about telling the others—"

Sam sighs, loud and sudden, and he cuts himself off. "Not yet. Okay? Not yet. "

Her words come back to him, unbidden and unwelcome. I can't leave him. I can't, this is my fault so I can't just —

"Just let me know when you have a plan..." Kwan murmurs instead of all the other things he wants to say. It's not just her fault. "Tucker isn't… he isn't going to get better, you know that. We can't keep pulling the pneumonia card…"

They've already lost five people to 'pneumonia' in the past six months, and. And, maybe it is like pneumonia but it really, really isn't.  

"You think I don't know that?" she snaps, and Kwan bites down on his bottom lip to stave off his own frustration. "I know that, okay, I know but… is there anything out there for those left? You figure that out and I'll get them the hell out of here, Tucker too. Fuck Dora." 

But not me, never me.

Kwan's vision goes muddy, and he sniffs. Sam isn't much better, her eyes shiny in the off light. He looks at her looking at him, and he still sees the ultra-recyclo-vegetarian goth girl in the choppy hair and traces of dark makeup, but he also sees the person they've allowed to take on all the nasty and gritty responsibilities in the dark circles under her eyes and the scar that clips her right ear in two. He wonders what she sees in him, a former bully to her dead but alive again best friend.

"Okay," he says, and she nods jerkily, turning away to rub at her eyes. 

"Sorry, this just… sucks."

"I know."

I can't leave him. 

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The rest of the day passes slowly.

Cas is, without question, a real friendly guy. Some of the humor is just a little too dark and out of context for Kwan, but it's not mean and overall he likes the guy. 

He makes small talk, nothing particularly pressing, and when Kwan offers the vaguest of vulnerabilities as he shuffles papers and scratches out his skittish thoughts, the man just looks awkward. Like he wants to try and comfort Kwan but holds himself back instead. That, plus Cujo's apparent stamp of approval, will just have to be enough.

Sam greenlights his freedom just in time for dinner with conditions. Namely, that he has to stick to Kwan or Dash and can't wander off on his own. He's much older than most of those left though, so Kwan isn't surprised that despite his charm Cas sticks to him for the most part anyway when they introduce him formally to the huddled figures that troop by that evening. Dash doesn't really like it, but he's always been slow to warm up to anyone new.

Valerie is the biggest surprise. Kwan would have thought they'd hit it off, what with her, Starr and Paulina being nearly of all the same humor, but she just stares hard at Cas, and leaves as quick as she came. They try not to let the surprise show, but Sam can't wipe the confused look off her face before Cas can see it. 

His expression eases, and Kwan is struck with the sudden realization that, as much as it must be real in some small way... it's fake too.

Huh.

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The next day is a good one for Tucker. 

His fever recedes enough for weak smiles and small complaints for some actual meat but it doesn't break. Sam's out with Valerie for 'patrol' and to dig into whatever last night was, so it's just Kwan and by extension, Cas. 

"A Fenton… Anti-Creep Stick?" 

Shuffling aside another stack of half finished blueprints, Kwan blinks. "Uh, yeah, as far as I could tell it was just a baseball bat."

Cas's eyebrows furrow. "Does it actually work on ghosts then…?" Kwan shakes his head, and the man puts it down. "Okay… what about this one?"

Squinting, Kwan takes the creased to hell blueprint and then flips it around. "Oh, Fenton Ghost Catcher. It separated humans from ghosts possessing them. Supposedly. The math is there though."

"... There's a story there," Cas ventures, and Kwan squashes the thrill of anticipation that shoots up his spine. Finally. "Did it not work?"

With a wince, Kwan shrugs. "We… tried it on one of the zombie people first. It… worked but the person was kinda already dead… and then it caught on fire. So, we never got to actually try it on a ghost, and we only have so much to work with so we didn't try making it again..."

Not that it really mattered. The other ghosts knew better soon enough. 

Wrinkling his nose, Cas eyes Kwan. "Zombie? Is that what you're calling this?"

"Er," Kwan starts, "what else would it be?"

"Croatoan."

And none of you will ever be safe, the Croatoan will kill you all—

Oh. Starr's mom did say that, didn't she. "We like zombies better," he says slowly, and then takes his chance. "Is that what they call it out there? The communities that are still left? Why did you leave yours?"

Immediately, Cas's face shutters. He still smiles, but it definitely doesn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, the 'Croatoan Virus.' Don't know how the word didn't spread here but… I don't know; I got separated and wandered up here when I heard your broadcast. Everyone I knew and of could be dead."

Ah. Well. Kwan fiddles with another blueprint. Still, it must be better than this, to have the chance to keep living, right? "Oh dude, I'm sorry, I didn't… You'd mentioned a Dean, and I figured… nevermind."

"It's fine," he says, even though it's obviously not. "But, really, what's up with all this snow? It's… July, I think."

It is, isn't it? Yikes. "Well… it's a ghost. He makes it snow for us to keep us safe. It's harder for the zombies to get close if their bodies freeze, y'know."

"Yeah but… if it's a secret, I won't ask again.. how does all of this even work? Do you have greenhouses somewhere?"

Nervous, Kwan scratches at his chin, and glances over at Tucker, who apparently isn't dozing anymore. His fever hazed eyes tremble, and looking from Kwan to Cas, he minutely shakes his head. Right. Kind of a gross trade secret and all.

"We do," Kwan says, lying through his teeth. "Would have to kill you if we told you where though, we've had people try to steal before."

Cas doesn't buy it, clearly, and why would he? It's a weird thing to lie about for sure, but people generally can't make that logical leap from 'greenhouse' to 'Ghost Kingdom growing ghostly foods to feed the pitiful humans.' They used to get accused of hoarding, and at first, yeah, they felt bad about it but now they're glad they don't have jealous and starving neighbors, at least not anymore. Would be awkward, to say the least.

"I see…" he mutters and smooths his hands over the blanket across his lap. It's an ugly thing that Paulina made in a spurt of extreme annoyance with life two months ago. "Can I meet any of these ghosts?"

And then, no sooner do the words leave his mouth, Dora appears, suddenly there when she wasn't there before. Just between one blink and the next like the demons they sometimes are, right in the middle of the room. Mischievous spirits, in the end of it all.

Kwan doesn't startle, but Cas's face turns stone cold even in his fear as he flies out of his chair. His hand swings in a strange way, like he's reaching for something that isn't there from under his quite frankly still disgusting jacket. 

"Whoa, chill, it's just Queen Dora," Kwan chides, and Cas shoots him a confused but still alarmed look. "She's a ghost, man. It's okay, she… helps us out."

It's almost unbelievable what a little technology could do to a medieval ghost society, at least from what little Wulf has told him. Kwan can't remember when he last saw the tight conservative braid; the wild wolf's mane and the shift to an eclectic mix of clothes between Tucker and Sam is just amazing to consider. In a word, he thinks the kingdom is going through a cyberpunk phase.

"Be at ease, little messenger, I am merely here to see how my most charming advisor is doing," she says, and smiles with sharp teeth in Cas's direction, her necklace glowing with intent, before turning away. "I have no business with you as you are."

Kwan eyes Cas, and the stricken look that he quickly buries. 

"Messenger?" he echoes, once Dora has ignored them completely for Tucker's quiet, forced laugh. He's better at pretending than Kwan is. "Thought you didn't know what ghosts were."

Thought only the Fentons knew anything.

Cas watches Dora for a long moment before dragging his eyes away. "Not… this kind of ghosts, spirits would describe them better," he says stiffly, and mechanically sits back down before purposely going back to poking at Kwan's scavenged notes from the Fentons' archives. He doesn't look at Dora again. "I used to be a… Hunter, ever heard of those?"

Kwan darts a look between Cas and Dora. "Er, just Ghost Hunter…" 

With a huff, the man rubs at his scruffy chin. "Do you know anything about other supernatural beings besides ghosts?" he says, pointedly scrutinizing a torn blueprint before looking up at Kwan. "Do you even know about the 'zombie' virus?"

"There are other supernatural things?" Kwan asks weakly, the notes in his hands crumpling between his fingers. "What do you mean? I-I mean, of course it's a virus that's how it always works in the movies… and I have tried looking at it but I, uh, didn't quite get to finish my degree before and it's not quite the same field, so…"

Cas gives him a pitying look. "How old are you?"

Kwan frowns. "I'll be 24 in a few days," he admits, defensively, because they've heard it all before, especially in the beginning. 

Just leave it to the adults. 

Load of good that did.

"… I'm sorry," Cas murmurs, like it's honestly his fault Kwan isn't where he theoretically should be in life.

Amity Park is just filled to the brim with guilt; they really don't need more.

"I mean, it's not like it's your fault," Kwan jokes, wryly. "I heard it was a drug company's fault; did you work for them or something?"

Cas… doesn't immediately answer, and. And, what exactly would be the chances of that? 

"Um… did you?"

He shakes his head. "No but… No. I didn't."

Kwan doesn't press, but he can't help the way his heart flutters, how badly he suddenly wants to maybe peel the answers out of the man. Cas knows something. A lot more than they know but he knows something. 

Could I find the answers if I pulled the wrinkles of your brain apart? Kwan thinks, and quickly punts the ugly thought to the back of his— 

"Ugh!" he gags, the sputtering cough sudden and intense. 

Desperately, Kwan tries to cover it with the threadbare collar of his sweater, but he can't squash it. Cas looks at him in alarm, and Kwan attempts to wave it away, covering the coughs with his arm. Thump, thump, thump. His ribs ache, a tight knot pulsing just to the right of his sternum. His heart feels like it wants to jump right out of his chest. The coughs drag on.

A heavy palm thumps across his back, once, twice, and a glass of lukewarm water is pressed to his lips. It barely abates the itch, tears muddying the edges of Kwan's eyes. 

"Stop fighting it," comes Dora's quiet voice, a sharp hand falling firm on his shoulder. Kwan blinks weakly through the swimming colors. "You need to stop fighting it, you won't form correctly if you don't."

Kwan blanches, fear skittering like bugs beneath his skin. "I-I'm fine, just fragile human sickness, you know?" he denies, and the considering gleam in her eyes makes him want to puke because it doesn't need to be there; he's going to figure this all out and it won't be a problem, he isn't going to be hers . They're all going to be just fine. "I'm f-fine. "

There's an awkward cough. "Kwan says he's fine, so he must be fine," Cas says, and must be the other hand rubbing a circle on his back. Kwan feels like he's five again, and briefly squeezes his eyes shut. "You know, humans are very… very fragile, and they must know more about themselves, right?"

Something about that doesn't sound right, but Kwan is too busy nodding along to figure it out right this moment. "I'll be fine, D-Dora."

The ghost purses her electric purple lips, pupils thinning to silts in her displeasure. "If you say it is true, I shall have to take your word for it," she allows, and Kwan knew she had to know, must have been able to see it in Tucker and the others , but he just never said anything and neither did she. He wishes they could go back to that. "I shall visit Sir Foley again soon, take care, my friend ."

Barely managing a wheeze in farewell, Kwan watches her drift through the floor without a single glance back. 

The silence draws out long and uncomfortable. Tucker is asleep again, and Kwan wonders just how long Dora had been watching them. He'd just got so caught up in whatever Cas would… tell him…

"So," Cas says, faux-casual, "you've got it too, then? Whatever this is."

Kwan's fingers spasms around the half empty glass, and he takes a sip to keep from dropping it, to stall just for a moment longer. "... Yeah," he admits, "but it's alright, we're… we're going to leave soon. It won't matter after that. We'll get better if we just… leave."

Cas doesn't ask where they will go, and Kwan feels the last of his hope for an easy solution fizzle and die because. Because there's no one place they can go and just be safe. Not like here, not like they thought.

"Nobody else knows, though, so if you could keep it to yourself...?" Kwan continues after another sad pause, and another weak cough. "I'll be fine, we're… we're not staying. I'm sorry if you thought this could be a more permanent place to rest. I don't want to lie."

With a shrug, Cas stands up from his crouch and dusts at his knees. Kwan envies the lack of noise his joints make. "It's alright, I… wasn't planning on staying too long anyway, but…" he starts, and his gaze seems to see something further away than the present, "... you guys really don't know what it's like out there, do you?"

Kwan shakes his head slightly, straightening from where he'd hunched over. The double vision is fading, the haze of blue and green, but that knot is still there, tight to the underside of his ribs. It feels cold and like it's spreading. Just like what the others said as it got worse.

"We won't mind having you," he croaks, lying just the little.

Chapter Text

Looking back, Kwan feels like it was the calm before the storm.

Chapter Text

Kwan wakes up in bed for once.

Alone again because Dash never came back after tossing and turning throughout the night, leaving for the observatory gym because why wouldn't an observatory have a gym, right? It's nothing new though, and he relishes having all the blankets instead of an achy neck after falling asleep in a chair. Dash spends more time in Kwan's room than his own, but at least Starr hasn't tried to squeeze in for a while now.

He lays there longer than he has in so long, dozing without meaning to. Behind its cold proofing, the window rattles in its frame, but for a rare moment... Kwan tries not to care.

Chapter Text

When Kwan next blinks awake, Sam is standing over him.

Her lips quirk as he blinks fuzzily up at her. "Have a good sleep, sleeping beauty?" she drawls, and Kwan groans and hides his face. "Hey, hey, it's like two in the afternoon, get up."

"Mmmmm," Kwan whines before peeking over the edge of his blankets. The circles under Sam's eyes are dark, and it could be makeup but it could also not be makeup. "What is it?"

Taking that for the invitation it isn't, Sam clambers onto the bed. "About the guy, Cas… Valerie's seen him before, just the once," she starts, rooting a blanket free and wrapping it over her shoulders, and then doesn't say anything for a long moment. "... He was gawking at Fenton Works and swinging a necklace around. Said he looked like a stooge in his briefcase business man get up, but, well. Obviously he doesn't have a mentally draining office environment to work in anymore."

"... And?" he prompts because that isn't much of anything.

"He disappeared like a ghost, so she thought she must have been seeing things since this was before… you know, but he seems pretty alive to me."

Kwan swallows reflexively. Yeah, he does know. "So what, exactly?"

Sam hums. "Valerie thinks he's lying. By omission, if anything. She's swearing by what she saw."

And Valerie sees a lot, has seen a lot, and some things could have been avoided if they'd listened to her sooner. 

Humans are very… very fragile. 

Was that coming from a place of understanding that non-human creatures might not understand, or was it an admission of posthumous status?

Do you know anything about other supernatural beings besides ghosts?

Or something else?

" We're lying," he says, and then pauses as she draws back at that, easy expression shuttering as she clutches the blanket tighter. "... Sorry."

Barking a short laugh, Sam tosses her chopped fringe with a shake of her head. "No, I need the daily reminder that I'm a liar... Everyone has secrets. Just be careful I guess; we're allowed to be hypocrites sometimes, Kwan."

There's a pause as the words settle in the air, and then Kwan says, "I think Dora knows something. About Cas."

This time Sam's face goes complicated, flashing briefly with a hot flare of anger, and then cooling back into intrigue and consideration. "I'd rather we didn't sink more into her debt," she mutters, "but do you think it'd be worth it?"

Knowing Dora, she'd probably want more cables, more cleared out housing. More, more, more. Maybe if they had met before she'd deposed her brother, she could have been someone different, someone less jaded, but. But, they didn't, and what self respecting kingdom is ever happy with what it already has, huh?

"I think we can wait for Wulf to come back," Kwan allows, because Wulf's a terrible gossip and likes them better than Dora. "I hope he's okay…"

Should he be back by now?

Sam reaches out and deftly pats Kwan's head. "I'm sure your werewolf boyfriend is fine," she soothes, and he wrinkles his nose. "Unless Walker caught him again. Dora doesn't like to share, though, so he's probably fine."

The window rattles again, the howl of the wind long and chilling — hah . With a sigh, Kwan huddles further into his blankets. 

"Fine, twenty more minutes," Sam says after a moment, and flops over, wriggling closer. "Not one minute more."

Closing his eyes, Kwan mutters, "Whatever."

Chapter Text

Cas is gone when Kwan finally makes his way to Fenton Works for the day.

"Dash took him on a patrol," is what Tucker tells him because today is another good day, but there won't be many more if this goes on. "Cujo went with them."

Stifling a laugh, Kwan offers Tucker a fresh glass of water. He can only hope they bond over a rock or something, though. Maybe Cas did sports in college too?

"Is it bad I feel more reassured Cujo's there?"

Tucker shakes his head, and takes a long sip of water before settling back into his pillows with a relieved sigh. "I think they're warming up to each other," he murmurs weakly, and his gaze goes a little unfocused as he inspects the back of one trembling hand. "Man, we've… we've come pretty far, huh."

Kwan is quiet for a moment. "Yeah," he says, even though he doesn't know exactly what Tucker's talking about. They've come a long way from a lot of things. "Still got plenty far to go, though, nerd."

That snaps Tucker out of whatever cloud he was in. He blinks at Kwan, and cracks a lopsided smile.

"Nerd? Really, physiology major?" he retorts, and then turns away to hide a cough into his elbow. 

"Barely," Kwan scoffs, and offers the water again. Tucker gingerly waves it away. "If I hadn't fallen behind I might have finished before…"

It's one of the main things he regrets. Who knew playing fast and loose for a semester had consequences, huh?

There isn't a reply though, and Kwan blinks. Tucker's fallen asleep again, face turned away, wet breathes a faint whistle, and. And, this isn't where they were supposed to be. None of them. 

This sucks. 

With a sniff, he pushes to his feet, leaving the glass by the bedside. Kwan settles back into his creaky little chair and surveys his messy desk. It's mostly blueprints, but some are scattered papers that Tucker scribbled on when he was more present. He picks up one with a dark 'coffee' ring and flips it over. 

Honestly, Kwan can't make heads nor tails of it. He thinks it was something of an upgrade for the few ectoblasters they have. Or, maybe ideas on how to get Sam's to stop sparking after one too many uses as a brace against snapping teeth. Shaking his head, he drops it back to place and props back. 

The silence beneath the scratching wind drags on.

Kwan closes his eyes, and rubs at the bridge of his nose. Don't cry, he tells himself, the familiar feeling welling up like a headache behind his eyes. Don't cry. 

"Ugh," he mutters, and sits up. 

It's fine.

It's going to be fine.

Please be fine.

Chapter Text

Kwan is elbow deep in the box of parts that's sat dejectedly beneath Tucker's bed for the past few weeks when Dash and Cas return.

With them they bring brief stings of fridge air, and Kwan shivers as he lets go of a bit of tangled wires.

"Hey guys," he says, smiling, and waves. "Have fun?"

Cas doesn't look up at Kwan as he shuffles by, eyes averted. He immediately makes for what's honestly just becoming his bed, which. Well. Kwan isn't sure where they would have even put him, really. It's hard enough to rig up a house in one foot of snow, let alone four, and it's not like it gets much use. They won't… be here much longer, anyway.

Dash lingers in the doorway, and also can't seem to meet Kwan's gaze when he raises an eyebrow at the silent treatment. Maybe they got into an argument. Wouldn't surprise Kwan, but Dash looks more chastised than frustrated, like a scolded kid.

Maybe Cas had kids, he thinks, because that's about the only thing that could get to Dash quite like that; the parent voice will chase the fight right out of him. 

Kwan's seen it enough to just know that look, but.

With a frown, he drops his hand, and watches Dash leave without a word. Cas spends a few minutes shuffling his blankets, still ignoring Kwan. Awkwardly, he gets up and dusts off his pants before kicking the box back beneath the bed. Kwan meanders back over to his desk, and brushes aside some more papers before sitting.

Did I do something? Kwan thinks, swiveling away in his chair.

"You said the town was full of ghosts," a voice says after a long moment, low but even, and sounds like it's right in Kwan's ear.

Startled, Kwan spins back around. Cas is still by his bed, the cage door ajar, and just stares at him. Something about Cas seems… hollow, maybe. 

"Er, yeah?" Kwan stammers, thrown. 

"So... where are the people?"

Where are the people?

A sharp twinge curls along the underside of Kwan's ribs, and he barely aborts a wince. "Around?" he offers, and Cas's face hardens. "No, really, all the cables you see around? We have like… other small depots around town?"

"I didn't see any humans. I only saw ghosts, " he insists.

"Oh… I mean, we do have… I guess ghost districts? Dash usually does those routes. Plus, plenty came by the other night, remember?"

That clearly doesn't satisfy Cas, but Kwan doesn't have any other answers. The people are around. Somewhere. If Dash took Cas with him, he should have seen Paulina, if anything. The Action News headquarters is where Paulina set herself up, and it's smack in the middle of a ghost-heavy part of downtown. Of course, she's still not talking to him so… yeah.

"District implies they live there," Cas observes, crossing his arms. "Where did these ghosts come from?"

They weren't here before feels implied, and that means Valerie was right. Cas has been here before, years before all of this went down. Because to know otherwise means he had to know about Amity Park and it's lack of otherworldly inhabitants before they were invited in. He doesn't think Dash is the type to give a brief on recent ghost history, and Cas doesn't look like he's seen the portal; so where is this coming from?

Crossing his arms too, Kwan shakes his head. "What's it matter? They're not… bothering anyone."

Cas's lower jaw flexes. "Not yet? Or no one else," he hazards, and Kwan looks away. "What's happening here? What is this?"

It looks bad. Kwan knows that, and if the world hadn't gone to hell in a handbasket, he'd be less resigned to it. He almost wishes Cas would go back to that instead of this. It's all out of Kwan's hands.

"Nothing you need to worry about," Kwan says. 

"The streets were turning strange. "

Dammit, Dash, Kwan thinks wearily, and repeats, "It's nothing to worry about."

"I don't believe that."

I don't either, a small part of Kwan thinks, but it's better if he ignores it, so with a sheepish smile, he rubs the back of his neck and doesn't respond. There's not a lot Kwan can say to that though. Nothing more that wouldn't just be more and more and more lies.

Cas looks torn even as he smiles and says, "I'm going to leave."

Kwan swallows, but nods. They always do, one way or another. It's better this way. Stings a little even though they just met.

"A-Ah, have you spoken with Sam?" he asks, and flaps his hands when Cas's face goes blank. "No, no, it's so cold and too far to walk, you'll need to be driven out. Dude, we wouldn't — you're not stuck here, you can leave."

"But you can't?"

Kwan shrugs a little helplessly, and stands. "I'm… I'm going to go to bed, so…"

Without protest, Cas shuffles close enough to pull the door to the cage shut, the lock clicking into place. The bars immediately begin to glow faintly, the lowest of hums filling the air. Kwam should probably unplug those; waste of energy at this point, and going forward.

"... Before you go, can I have some paper and a pen?" Cas asks before Kwan turns off the lights over his desk. 

Kwan bobs his head, and scavenges any halfway clean sheets he can find along with the least chewed up pen that still works. He slips the paper and pen between the bars with soft Sorry to Cas's gruff Thanks. The man purses his lips after, like he wants to say more, but ultimately turns away. 

Kwan stands there for a moment, opens his mouth, and then closes it. Lies, anything else to leave his mouth would just be lies. They only just met, and even though he wants answers so very bad , it's not worth it — to jeopardize this all. 

It's just not worth it. Cas is not the answer.

So, in the end, he just goes to bed.

Chapter Text

It's still dark out when something wakes Kwan up.

The shriek of wind and snow raining heavy blows against the window across from his bed. Dash murmurs from his side, wrapped completely in blankets except for the single hand fisted tight in the hem of Kwan's thermal shirt. He lays there for a long moment, all of the scratching thoughts blissfully quiet, and almost falls back asleep until there's a lull in the furious howl.

It's quiet. 

Too quiet.

Kwan sits up and Dash's hand goes with him. He grumbles and lets go, turning away, but Kwan strains to hear what is no longer there, that background hum.

The power is off. 

The power is off.

"Shit," he whispers, and scrambles up, blankets falling to the floor. 

The floor is freezing, and Kwan bites back a gasp as he realizes just how cold it is. He fumbles his way in the dark, stumbling into thicker pants and the first coat he can find. He nearly falls down the stairs, landing heavily against the banister instead of breaking his neck. Kwan picks himself up as the window panes rattle in their frames, creaking with strain.

He picks his way gently over the unlit cables across the floor, the light just enough to see their dark silhouettes. Thankfully, a walkie talkie is in its charging base for once, and Kwan snatches it up from the kitchen counter just in time for the screen to light up a piercing and bright blue. A long, shrill whine pierces the air and then it pops with the sudden smell of burnt wire. Kwan drops it with a yelp.

There's a thump, and then a furious, "Kwan, what the fuck!" from upstairs. 

Something's wrong. Could it be Danny? He hasn't… the storm is still raging, but he's never done something like this. The power has been running strong ever since. Since. So, it can't be that. It has to be something else.

What could be wrong?

Suddenly, there's a hard banging, louder than the wind. Kwan nearly jumps out of his skin before he realizes it's not Dash falling down the stairs and is actually the front door. He hurries over, and flings it open just to have the breath stolen from him as icy wind slithers down his throat. A bundled figure immediately pushes in and past Kwan before he can slam the door shut. 

Ripping the hood and goggles from her face, headlight dimming, Valerie shakes the excess snow off and onto the floor. "Something's wrong," she says, grimacing. "Everything just went dark, and Sam isn't answering me; get your boots on."

It can't be Cas, and Sam wouldn't… wouldn't do this. Where does that leave them?

Tucker. 

Dash stumbles down the stairs, halfway into his parka just as Kwan finishes lacing up his boots. "What's going on?"

"Power outage," Valerie snaps, peering out of the window at the pure white snow, a strange thing to the usual pale green. The whole grid must be down except for the far outskirts running on their ecto converters. "We're going to have to walk."

Kwan winces. "At least it's not far," he mumbles, and watches as Valerie pulls a roll of duck tape from her scuffed bag and begin to systematically patch the tears in her suit from where she presumably crashed her motor ski. "You okay?"

"Never better," she growls, and rips off the next piece with her teeth. "Now shut up and get your coat."

Wisely, Kwan shuts up.

Chapter Text

It's a horrible walk. 

The wind batters them from all sides, and would have swept them all off their feet if they weren't crowded together, arms around the other. It's slow going; the longer it takes the more bruising the grip on Kwan's left side gets, Dash's arm growing tenser. Valerie feels as if she'd like to sprint the last distance, her hold tight but not, so Kwan holds her closer.

Fenton Works barely comes into view through the cruel gusts, the bottom tips of the letters dark and crusted with ice. Groaning, shrieking metal is the only sign that the observatory is still holding strong above their heads. They have to bundle Valerie between them once they climb the steps and face the door, and all but fall through when it slams open.

Inside it feels colder, and even under the yellow lamp of his headlight, everything is coated in a bright field of electric blue. Dash and Valerie force the door shut as Kwan reaches out to run his fingers along the ruined wallpaper. A string of neon curls over his glove, and he can feel the faint magnetized hum through to his skin. If he wasn't wearing a hat, his hair would be standing on end.

If this is Tucker's doing… he's not like the others. They weren't strong, incapable of holding true to a single state of consistency at any point of time. Not much better than extra fuel, in the end, but. This is quicker too. They were supposed to have at least another month, maybe two. Not less.  Or, at least it was supposed to be.

Their mistake for assuming so. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

There's twin familiar hums, and Kwan drags himself up from his thoughts just as Valerie and Dash unsling their ecto blasters. The ectoplasmic whine is loud even beneath the rage of the storm outside, setting Kwan's teeth on edge when it hasn't ever before. Something is wrong.

"I'll check the basement, you two check upstairs for anyone and then meet me down there," Valerie whispers, and they nod.

She disappears slowly down toward the lab as Dash takes point. The flight up to the next floor glows just as blue as the first floor, and crackles faintly beneath each step. Kwan shivers.

This can't be good.

Chapter Text

There's less snow on the second floor, scattered old debris, and blue walls and blue floors.

Sam isn't in what Kwan thinks used to be Danny's sister's room when they crack the door open with a  small zap. There are books scattered on the floor and rumpled blankets, but no Sam to be seen. They move on to Tucker's room, which used to be Danny's, and no one is there either. Green star stickers glow against the ceiling and far wall, but otherwise as undisturbed as it has been for… awhile now.

The master bedroom is locked. Kwan knocks anyway, just in case. No one answers after a long moment, and they move on for the attic. Here, the dust is thick and the path is worn clear between cloth covered furniture and boxes and whatever else had been shoved up here at some point or another. The wind howls just outside as they climb the last stairs.

A whirling gust nearly takes Kwan right off his feet once they breach the roof. "Fuck!" he yelps, and bounces sideways against the door and then the brick wall before he stops, fingers wound tight around the door knob as the wind tries to yank him away.

It's a heart racing minute before it lets up, Kwan stuck in place, Dash just in the doorway. As soon as the wind drops away, a ringing silence in its sudden absence, Dash immediately hurries out of the way and Kwan throws the door shut. The sky rumbles as they make a break for the observatory entrance, and cruel cold fingers chase them in before the automated doors break them off at the knuckle.

Dash doesn't say anything, but Kwan can see the way the blaster shakes in his hands as he glances back at the shut door.

The storm gets louder the further up they go, everything swaying just the slightest in the bruising wind. They're only a few feet from the medbay when there's a loud snarl and the clear snap of metal. With barely a look, they run the last of the way, just in time to find Cas shimmying his way from between the cell's mangled bars.

Cujo immediately turns in their direction, his form shrinking back down as the metal bar between his teeth hits the floor. He whimpers, ears pulling back, and tries to keep his side pressed into Cas's leg as the man stumbles closer.

"Oh," Cas gasps, teeth chattering. "Sorry about the bars, but Tucker, he... I don't know, there's two of him."

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

Kwan hurries over to where Tucker's body still lies. Peeling off a glove, Kwan presses his fingers along his neck, the skin ice cold to the touch. His pulse is quick but there, and the breath that feathers over Kwan's palm is shallow and hot. He waves Dash over and tugs his head light free as soon as he's in reach. Dash hisses as it pulls his toboggan off completely.

Pulling an eyelid up, Kwan quickly flashes the light across Tucker's eye but the dilated pupils don't react. "Shit," he hisses, trying the other eye, and then none too gently pinches the meat of Tucker's thin arm and twists. Still, he doesn't react. "Shit, shit, shit! "

Dash lunges for his head light before it can hit the floor, Kwan jerking away. "Whoa, what, is he okay? What's happening?" he demands. "Kwan, tell me—"

"Cas, I need your blankets, all of them," Kwan snaps, and the man startles from his hovering. Cas darts a look between Kwan and Dash, and then hands over the one wrapped over his shoulders before squeezing back into his cell. "Dash, give Tucker your coat!"

"Tell me what's wrong!" he shouts back, struggling with the zipper of his parka. "What's happening?"

They should have had more time. What's so different? Kwan swallows hard, and turns to follow after Cas to pull the offered wad of blankets free from his cell. 

"Kwan!" Dash snaps, but.

But, with a shudder, the ground beneath their feet rolls. 

Cujo yelps. There's an unfortunate crack as Kawn trips and falls over, the tip of his headlight smashing against the floor. In the spinning light, the walls seem to twist, shine like polished steel. Electricity crackles and zaps, white and blue and yellow. Cables and cords dangle from the ceiling, white noise television screens spanning the blue walls. Gravity lets go. It all happens in one startled instant, and then everything snaps back.

The light blinks out. Kwan gasps as he falls back against the floor, heartbeat a roar in his ears. For a long moment, that's all there is, ragged breathing and the dull groan of shifting metal.

Cujo's smushed face comes into view, glowing a very faint green. Kwan screws his eyes shut against the wet lick across his face before rolling over. Someone groans as he smacks at his headlight. It flickers weakly before lighting up completely, a few shards of plastic falling free. Dash shades his eyes against the light, halfway twisted in his parka a few feet away.

"... Ow," says another voice. Cas. "What was that?" 

"I think… it looked..." Dash starts, brow furrowing as he stands. "It looked like… the Zone, didn't it?"

Oh. That would explain it, wouldn't it? They still know so little about ghosts, but they do know what an obsession can be; they've even joked about whose obsession could be what, and Wulf has said that lairs are strange places, physical form given to a ghost's personality and their obsession. Tucker… Tucker's ghost is forming a lair, here of all places, where there is more than enough concentrated energy to be found.

 A lair within a lair.

The portal.

That sudden moment of clarity is swamped with a surge of anger that is and isn't entirely Kwan's. The knot in his chest pulses and aches, his hands clawing against the floor. Mine, mine, mine, that not so little part of Kwan shrieks, and it won't shut up. 

Shut up! he shouts back, his head throbbing, but still it rings in his ears. 

Mine, mine, mine—

"Dude, I-I didn't, fuck, what would that even mean," Dash immediately blusters, struggling out of his coat. "Don't yell at me. It… It looked just like the swirls and weird colors, I know that much, jerk."

Mine, mine, mine—

Mine, mine, mine—

Mine, mine, mine—

There's a whine, a finger digs into Kwan's shoulder. It startles the niggling voice into silence, Kwan into a frigid breath of air. It's so cold. He can't feel it.

"I don't know if he was talking to you, Baxter," Cas murmurs, prodding Kwan harder. "Hey, er—"

Get up! Get up, dammit!

Kwan grabs for the scattered blankets, and then scrambles the rest of the way up, the double vision settling as he gets away from Cas's touch. He doesn't feel like himself all of a sudden. Is he himself? How would he know? 

Would Kwan know?

Don't think about that.

"V-Valerie," he says, and both Dash and Cas pause. "If… If there are two Tuckers and the power is off…"

Dash's eyes go wide. "Shit, okay, basement!" he yelps, tossing his jacket onto Tucker's so still body. 

Shakily, Kwan dumps the wad of blankets on top, straightening out the corners as quickly as he can. It'll have to be enough. He isn't… dead, not yet. The body just needs to not freeze before it notices that Tucker isn't quite there anymore. 

"You're okay, you're fine, everything will be fine," he mutters, and shucks his own jacket. Turning to Cas, he drops it into his arms. "Stay here with Cujo."

Cujo whines, and Cas's jaw firms. Kwan doesn't  have the time to wait for an answer; Dash is nearly out the door.

"Stay here," he repeats, and with one more look at Tucker, Kwan hurries after Dash.

Everything will be fine.

Everything  will be fine.

Everything  will be—

Chapter Text

It feels like it takes an eternity and no time at all.

They sprint the distance, take the stairs two at a time, their boots squeaking horribly against the metal floors. Kwan's thoughts race through all the things he's wished he'd be wrong about and finds that they slot into place, that they make the most sense. It's not like he didn't know; he knew but he didn't want to know, not for sure, not like this.

Kwan barely feels the wind cut him straight to the bone through his flimsy thermals. Barely realizes they're half way down the first floor stairs before all common sense catches up. With a gasp, Kwan stumbles to a halt and grabs Dash by the back of his shirt before he can trip face first over the dead, dark cables. They both stagger down the last steps, too loud even under the raging snow and ice outside. 

"Fuck," Dash pants softly, and swipes at his forehead with the back of his sleeve. 

With a shared look, they creep carefully over to the basement stairs. Kwan swallows, fingers curling uselessly at his sides. The light from their headlamps only go so far, and the electric blue is swallowed up by the gloom less than halfway down. Dash gestures helplessly with his ecto blaster as Kwan chews on his lower lip. For a moment, he strains to hear anything, something, a signal that might mean Valerie is okay and they'll find her fine and well in the lab, but.

But, he hears nothing. 

"Dammit," Kwan whispers, and probes for the seam pocket at the small of his back. He pulls the small lipstick laser free and palms it carefully in his right hand. "Dammit, okay, let's…"

Go, he doesn't finish, but Dash nods, trembling in the cold, and takes that first step. 

Slowly, they descend. Kwan's head still hurts and the pulse point at his temple throbs with renewed force. His chest feels tight, like fingers are scaping against the underside of his ribs. He presses weakly at the bottom of his sternum as they forge ahead into the leering dark.

All noise seems to drop away except for the faint crackle zap that follows each downward step. It's suffocating, and the air grows heavy. Too much time passes. Dash coughs. Kwan tries not to. The blue completely fades, and the lamp light warps, wavers, turns less golden and more cold fluorescent, more blue — more green? — and the cables look like they're alive. 

MINE.

Dash swears ahead of him, and Kwan steadies himself on the rail as everything gets lighter, blinks the spots from his eyes. It's an instant itch, the air filling with the hum of white noise, and it's only then does he see the empty door frame protruding from the walls just behind him. The twisted spot in front of his lungs buzzes in response, furious, and then Dash yelps. Falls, and the thinner cables beneath their feet writher and coil, and drag Dash away.

"Kwan!" he cries, twisting around to scrabble at the slick stairs, the ecto blaster trapped under him. His bright blue eyes are wide with fear. "Kwan—"

All thoughts immediately scatter, the only one left ringing and furious: Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine! 

Kwan can't think, blinded with the unadulterated wash of pure hatred that suffuses him. "Dash!" he screams, scrambling forward, and the cables on the floor twist, loop over his feet and lash. 

The floor disappears from beneath him, and for a horrible moment time slows. It sounds like someone's laughing. Dash's screaming feels so far away, and it's the last thing Kwan hears before he hits the stairs with a horrible crack that he feels everywhere and then nowhere at all.

Everything goes dark.

M I N E .

Chapter Text

It's a herculean task, but consciousness slowly returns, and Kwan eventually manages to peel his eyes open.

Everything is blurry and indistinct. Nothing hurts. Which, no, something does hurt, just not what he would expect after… after falling down a set of stairs. That crack echoes in his ears, and without thinking, he grasps at his chest briefly, fingers clawing into the fabric of his shirt — it feels weird — before probing numbly at the back of his head.

Kwan coughs weakly, more out of reflex than anything else, when he doesn't feel blood, doesn't feel any pain, and drags his eyes out from a vague middle distance and into the now. The Fenton Lab. It was always larger than it had any right to be, in his opinion.

What did the Fenton's think would come out? What did they expect to go in if they ever got the portal to work? These are both questions Kwan will never get answers to, just two of so many, but. But, the sheer size of the lab always made him feel small, especially in the beginning. 

It's just… never felt so acute. The portal loomed, not the room itself, but now Kwan feels minuscule, and all of his mistakes hover over him, an impossible weight. A shiver racks his body from the tips of his toes to the quiet crown of his head, as he looks up and up.

The walls stretch into the far distance far above him, the ends blurred into dense electrical fog that crackles and zaps overhead and along the floor when he drops his hand, white and blue and yellow. Kwan turns his head, just the barest. Cables and cords snake thick across the walls, the hum of the scattered and buzzing television screens rising in pitch. It fills his ears over the roar of the screeching madness.

Broken and tangled heaps of electronics litter the floor and bury the lab's tables; Kwan can see the clipped and rigged wires, a pile of the frankenstein technology just scant inches away from his fingers. The left behind crates are ripped open, green, green blood smeared along the floor. With a hard swallow, Kwan gingerly rolls over, expecting nausea, vertigo, something.

He feels nothing. Except, no, he does . 

Dash, he thinks, and his pulse races as he remembers, that blistering need for what is his inching back in. 

It takes a moment to get his hands under him, to push, sit up. He nearly opens his mouth to shout, to call out for Dash, when he freezes, a wash of green-blue light filling his vision.

The portal gleams, the metal ring dusted a layer of neon blue, the green tear between worlds spinning, churning fast and frantic. Before, the energy cables were just jerry-rigged to the portal's casing, the best that Tucker could manage, but now they disappear into the ether, glow brighter than they ever did before. 

That's not good.

Movement draws Kwan's eyes, and he spots a dark figure off to one side of the portal, their glowing silhouette illuminated by the light. Something shrieks and the figure's head turns, hand lifting up a squirming prey blob. They regard it for a second, considering, but then their lips peel back to reveal jagged teeth stark against the light. The figure bits into the tiny ghost. It screeches, a weedy and thin dying rattle, before falling silent. Kwan's stomach twists as the, the ghost eats the rest of the pitiful blob.

Think spongy soup that can tear, echoes Kwan's voice, even and unfeeling, so severely unwanted, over the phantom squirm of the blob between his fingers. Made up of super interactive protein structures. Ultimately… a good protein substitute. Could be a problem with continued consumption by people.

A pause, then: Tastes like lemon mint fish, but horrible wet texture.

Gritting his teeth, Kwan shoves the memory away and ducks back down, bracing back against the heap. His eyes flicker across the floor, afraid of the sudden and gnawing want that joins the need and just. Just think. The laser is gone. Dash is… gone, and so is the blaster. 

Dash can't be gone though. He's got to be here somewhere… Valerie and Sam too. But, what can Kwan even do? 

He chances another look, hoping for a better one, and finds that the figure is gone. The loose hair by his ears flutters and lifts away. Dread and fierce hate fill Kwan.

"Hey Kwan," rasps a familiar voice from behind. It echoes so oddly. "Hey."

Kwan stills, and the world feels like it's going much too fast. "T-Tucker?" he says, then turns.

Red rimmed glasses tip down, just a little, over molton brown eyes. Green blood is smudged by the corner of his mouth, and Tucker smiles, stark blue skin flickering like furious lightning trapped in a bottle. Kwan can still see him so clearly that it's no wonder Cas knew it was him; he never saw Tucker before , but this is who he used to be, before before before.

"Hey," he repeats, tipping his head, his long since lost beret remaining carefully in place as he floats closer. All Kwan can see now are his leering, bright eyes, the very tips of his flared jacket. "Hey… Hey Kwan, are you dead?"

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Kwan inhales sharply, drawing up, but he's just too slow.

With a laugh, Tucker darts a hand forward. Bruising fingers wrap around Kwan's neck, and before he can even think to take a useless swing, he's lifted right off the ground. It hurts, all of his weight pulling one point, but then it doesn't. He can barely breathe, and kicks weakly at what feels like air. 

"T-Tucker," Kwan wheezes, grasping at his wrist, pins and needles. His stomach flips as he's flown up and over, and the portal — the portal is right—  "W-What—"

"This won't hurt," Tucker demurs, and.

And then everything is green. It's everything and all there could be. Kwan's teeth snap shut on a strangled yell as he's dunked backwards, the bubble and slosh of waves filling his ears. It burns, God does it burn. His lungs scream and he loses his breath, chokes on the ectoplasm as it slogs down his throat. It feels endless, and Kwan screams, the sound trapped in his head.

Dash, Dash, Dash, he cries, and did Tucker do this to Dash? Where is Dash? Kwan needs to find him, has to find him, must find him—

The rushing wave pulls away. Kwan's jerked free, and immediately gags, the cold slide of ectoplasm fizzing in the open air. He can feel it evaporating off his skin, the fumes stinging his nose. Tucker shakes him, once, and Kwan spits up more ectoplasm.

"There we go," he mocks, "isn't that much better? Man, I bet you feel great."

Struggling to open an eye, Kwan whimpers because he does, in a way. He feels lighter but worse all at the same time. "T-Tucker—" he tries again, pawing weakly at the loose hold on his neck.

"I mean, not surprised at the lab coat, but definitely pegged you for a blue glow..." he continues, and lifts the dripping white hem of something just into view. "Hm. Maybe you need another dunk. What do you guys think?"

Tucker shifts, and Kwan's turned just enough to see the wires and cables covering the wall beside the portal shudder. Sam's limp form emerges from within, her entire front drenched in damp green. She's quickly followed by a tightly wrapped Valerie, whose wild glare immediately falls on them and just as quickly drains away. Dash is nearly as still as Sam, but picks his head up to meet Kwan's dizzy gaze.

Mine! Kwan thinks, and Tucker shakes him again.

"Well, guys? He need a few extra seconds in the portal? He's still a bit unstable, methinks."

No one answers for a long moment, and, with a shrug, Tucker shoves Kwan back into the twisting spiral of the portal. It's worse than the first time, and feels like the ectoplasm is crawling beneath Kwan's skin like skittering bugs. He can just barely hear muffled screaming under his own.

"— op, Tucker stop, you're killing him!" Dash yells just as Kwan is yanked free.

"Me? I'm killing him?" Tucker asks, disbelieving, as Kwan again spits up more ectoplasm all over his wrist. "Dash, dude, he's already dead ."

That startles Dash into brief silence, Kwan's sputtering coughs filling the air. "But, but you aren't dead yet so he, he can't be either," he denies, after a stricken moment. "Kwan—"

"I'm, I'm not—" Kwan rasps, but.

Am I dead?

Tucker's face lightens with a cruel smile, eyes blazing as the grip on Kwan's neck loosens further. "C'mon, you already knew this was going to happen," he cackles, like a weak signal radio, the tip of a finger tapping along Kwan's pulse. "That this is what was always going to happen if we stayed here. You knew."

"I-I didn't," Kwan gasps, hands spasming around Tucker's wrist as the hold retightens. They're green. His hands are green. "I, I didn't know for sure. H-How could I?"

"You knew for sure as soon as we knew Danny was dead," Tucker denies, and his voice cracks a little toward the end. "My best friend, Kwan."

And, he's right. Kwan did know. He just didn't want to be right, not about that or anything else. Not about why no one around their age in Amity Park seemed to become a zombie, not why it seemed like the Fentons — Mr. and Mrs. and Jazz — were purposely lured away. Kwan's had too many sleepless nights after to not piece together the off hand observations of a felon werewolf, to not take what he's found and line them up to see what it could, and ultimately, does mean.

The residual ectoplasmic radiation would have never reached such a high level if the Fentons never came here and meddled with things they shouldn't have. Then who knows where any of them would be. Still here, in this potential future? Out in the world growing up like they were supposed to? Or, zombies, croatoan without the protection given to them from what amounts to a supernatural forever chemical entrenched in their dna.

Kwan knew enough, so it's the same either way.

"I-It wasn't anyone's fault," he croaks, "it was an accident."

With a hiss, Tucker flings Kwan away, and he rolls to a stop a few feet away. "This wouldn't have happened if it weren't for you," he snarls, and his green smeared hand crackles with lightning, the lair trembling with his rage. "I should have been there. Why couldn't you just wait. "

Kwan sways, his vision doubling nauseously, blue and green on top of blue and blue and green. "I, I thought—" he starts, and doesn't get to finish.

The first roiling ball of crackling light hits Kwan square in the back, and it flattens him, his body seizing. It hurts. It hurts. He can't even cry out, his teeth gnashed tight together. 

Dash is screaming again, far away again, and that just won't do. Closer, Kwan needs to get closer; why is Dash so far? 

"Oh, so that's how it is," Tucker observes, crossing the distance with a short glide. He kicks Kwan over with a sharp tsk. "That won't do."

"D-Dash, I'm sorry," Kwan stumbles, reaching up, but a tug on his person draws his eyes down. He's wearing a lab coat now, the white near blinding, the hem held firm beneath Tucker's boot. "Don't b-blame Sam, it wasn't—"

Another crack of light. Kwan jerks, convulsing as the next ectoblast catches him in the chest. His vision spots with creeping green, and he gasps weakly once the energy peters out. Tucker looms, the loose belts along his pants fluttering in an invisible wind. His eyes are wide and filled with the fervor of his hate and obsession. 

C'mon Danny, for old time's sake! It's not like Kwan can fit any of these. Me? Nah, you, c'mon, dude. The suit won't look nearly as good on me as you. Kwan, back me up here.

… Lab safety first?

Kwan doesn't know how to explain it. A midnight jaunt when the world is going to hell and the cabin fever is setting in. Forced humor and teasing in the dark of night and the looming hope of morning. They never would have tried it if they weren't told it would be easy, would give their lightless world energy to spare as they wait because Tucker already rolled his ankle stumbling in the dark, as they wait for Danny's parents and sister to make it back. Kwan still remembers the relief nearly taking Danny to his knees, that last call, and trying not to feel a little jealous, but.

Danny died. The Fentons never made it back, and it took too long to even notice the ectoplasm was killing them too, that it had killed Danny.

And then, they lied. Lied and lied and kept lying.

With a wet exhale, Kwan curls his fingers, a hot tingling suffusing the joints. "It was an accident," he repeats, and it's not like he doesn't blame himself; he does but this, this is just — "Tucker, p-please."

Tucker's face twists, the air around him wavering. "It doesn't matter if it was an accident," he spits, and splays his arms. "This is how we can make it up to Danny, forever. "

The cables and wires of the walls squirm and wriggle. Valerie's yells are muffled but frenzied as slowly, slowly, their bindings lower Dash and dangle him right in front of the portal.

Struggling weakly, Dash kicks uselessly at the air, arching away from the hissing green. "T-This isn't funny, man!" he yelps, the light twisting the shadows along his face grotesquely. 

"Who's laughing?" Tucker murmurs, eyes alight with an unholy glee, and—

Kwan shrieks, a wordless and piercing, savage sound. He twists, and it's like a blaring alarm, protect, protect, protect, that has him crash through the following ectoblast in a burst of scattered electrical sparks to lunge for Tucker with a bubbling green hand.

He gets a boot to the chest for his trouble, laid back out with deep thud before he can even reach Tucker's leg. Kwan snarls, the fear and rage and despair shuffling anything more human to the side like an ill fitting suit. But that isn't how it's supposed to feel, and it's enough to scare him right out of it with a gasp, the throbbing mine, protect, mine, I'm scared, I'm scared, protect, mine, going muted.

Tucker leans forward on his knee, baring down with impossible weight. "Don't worry," he assures Kwan, glasses glinting. "I won't stop with just Dash, myself included."

Starr. Cas. Paulina. Valerie, and Sam. The realization hits with all the force of a truck as no more names come to mind, no more smiling faces. Just those. Oh.

Where are the people?

They all died. It was just them left. 

Tears muddy the edges of Kwan's vision, smudging out the blue and green, and. And, something in the air changes.

The pressure on his chest increases, a wheeze of phantom pain escaping Kwan's lips before Tucker tips off sideways with a stagger. Movement seems to stop, falling still like standing to attention  and the air suddenly feels dry, all of the wet humidity that fuels a thunderstorm dissipating with a rush of blistering cold. Kwan inhales on frost, blinks, and finds that the open air above them is no longer quite so empty.

King, king, king, yowls that desperate obsession, just as Kwan thinks, Danny.

Chapter Text

Kwan's never said this to anyone, but… dying may have been one of the best things to ever happen to Danny.

It sounds horrible, and it's an ugly human thought, but in a way he feels like it's true because the Far Frozen was exactly what Danny needed.

Kwan can't change what he did in high school; he's apologized more than once for it all, but it's just words in the end. Kwan's been better, he's made himself be better, but it was easy enough to see the lingering marks even after four years of college away from Amity Park because Jazz Fenton was the city's prized star despite her too smart but crackpot parents. It was easy enough to forget Danny was even there.

Heard the Fenton boy is taking another semester off again. Ought to be seeing him around soon.

Again? Is he even going to finish at this rate? If I were his parents…

Well, you know how they are… They've got the money now, especially with that, uh, pharmaceutical company or whatever taking pity on them and their work so… 

Feel bad for the boy, but heard he was a handful in high school. Maybe real life is hitting him hard now.

High school is something Kwan regrets, deeply. Was that his fault? He never tried to pull Dash back, and Danny was just easy pickings; it was fun in a stupid, stupid way, but.

But, Danny hasn't been easy pickings for a very long while now. 

"Danny," Tucker demurs, bowed against the pressure, eyes fever bright. "Danny. "

With all the air of a sovereign glacial giant, Danny tips his head, his blazing green eyes sweeping steadily from Tucker and Kwan to just behind them. Again, the weight of the air swells, and Kwan drops his head back, gasping. Danny's loose and one shouldered blue kaftan whips in a sharp wind, the gold of his vibrances shining frosted under the churning light of the portal. His aura ripples like a rock dropped into still water. 

The crown of fire flickers warningly into view atop his head.

"Tucker… what are you doing?" Danny whispers, voice hitching with an edge of grief, and the power behind the words sets Kwan's teeth on edge.

Mine? that scratching want and need whimpers, chastised and confused.

With a shaky breath, Tucker straightens, but up this close, Kwan sees the fine tremble to his frame. "Nothing they don't deserve," he says, soft, so unlike himself. "This is for you, Danny."

The horror that steals across Danny's passive face does not reach Tucker, not where it matters, but it makes Kwan ache. "No," he denies, and flickers, is suddenly just a few feet closer, like the words and the scene before him is too hard to believe. "I don't want this. Why would you think I'd want this?"

A wounded, but angry look washes briefly over Tucker's eyes, quickly buried under a charming and cowed smile. "Of course you do," Tucker insists, and Kwan cringes away at his feet. "No, Danny, let me do this; I'm helping, right? This is, is so much more efficient and I'm doing this for you, my best friend, my king, the Zone—"

The temperature plunges, and there's a muffled cry. It sounds like Valerie. "Stop," Danny snarls, the crown of flames growing, its shadows beginning to dance across the walls. "I would never want this; you're hurting our friends, Tucker!"

For a moment, Kwan thinks it will be enough. Tucker flinches, his form blinking unsteadily. It gives Kwan enough of a chance to pull away, his coat slipping free as he rolls over once, twice, core pulsing with fear and exhilaration. He thinks it'll be enough, but he knows it won't.

"Danny, I'm sorry," Tucker murmurs after a moment, shoulders sagging as his feet leave the ground, as he floats gently up to what used to be his best friend but is now so much more, and somehow less. As soon as they're level, Tucker opens his arms, trench coat fluttering, and Kwan can't look away from the vulnerable look that drapes Danny's alien features. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry… It's just not fair."

Kwan understands now because it's easier to, now. Ghosts don't really hold grudges, not unless it permanently endangers their obsession. Which meant there's coming back from this, to Danny — who has been dead long enough for the enormity of eternity to settle in and doesn't even know if any of them are beyond saving. But, for Tucker, who isn't even quite fully dead — this is unacceptable.

And, if Kwan by some chance is still like Tucker, it won't be for him either, so he understands, and tries not to begrudge the way Danny clings in the embrace or think him naive because. Because he forgave Kwan even when he didn't have to, and Tucker means so much more to him than Kwan ever will. 

But it's just not enough.

It's so soft, a careless whisper; Kwan just manages to hear, " Dora was right; you're just too soft," leave Tucker's lips before the lair shudders .

Danny jerks, crown flaring, his eyes filling with solid green, but it isn't enough. Electricity explodes in a cold vicious storm with the bright clap of thunder, and Danny screams.

The world shakes and roils. Kwan's thrown back against the wall, the lair's venner running so thin he can feel the original cold metal. Tucker's flung away too, catching himself before he slams into the ground, buffeted by the lingering echoes of the wail. There's a dull thud to his left, and Kwan drags his gaze away from Danny's guttering then falling body, crown left behind.

It's nearly a physical pain, his chest going tight and his mind white. Kwan doesn't realize he's next to Dash until he is, hands hovering over his curled back. The fall wasn't very far, but Dash's hands are cupped tight over his ears, and clear fluid shines on the visible side of his neck. Ruptured eardrum. An accident, fixable, liveable. 

Mine, hisses Kwan's thoughts, and he tugs Dash up and over against his better judgement.

He immediately thrashes in his hold, a fist smacking against Kwan's chest. 

It doesn't hurt. 

"Dash," Kwan hisses, and one alarmed blue eye snaps open. The apprehension quickly drains away to disbelief. "Can you hear me?"

Dash opens his mouth, face screwing up, but wiggling movement draws Kwan's eye. The neat heaps of discarded wire and electronics were scattered, littering the floor and shoved into corners, but now it's all moving, a particularly large chunk of circuits struggling out from under Kwan. He herds Dash away from the leering portal and against the wall to the side of its casing, behind him, just as Danny shifts, one pale blue arm coming up from where he fell face down.

"Danny, just let me do this, okay?" Tucker calls, standing high over Danny's head and level with the crown. It lashes at his reaching fingers, and Tucker's expression curdles. "Everyone will be fine, and you won't ever have to be alone; we'll always be right here."

But, Danny doesn't answer. He just slowly picks himself up, the spasms and rippling aura edging out. Usually near invisible, the lichtenberg scar along his bare chest and the right side of his face pulses, dark and sparking with inverted light. Kwan meets the gaze of the Ghost King and no one else; this isn't Danny, not right now.

Light cracks, and an ectoblast splashes across Danny's shoulders. He stumbles, only halfway to his feet, and the gold and brown embellishments along the hems of his damp clothes clink furiously, but he does not fall. 

Tucker frowns, eyeing Kwan's terrified gaze as he looks between them. "If this isn't what you want… how about I take your place, huh?" he offers, eyes bleeding solid, glaring white. "You never wanted that either, right? To be King? I would do it for you—"

"Is that it? You want the throne?" Danny rumbles, cutting Tucker off, and staggers to his feet, frostbitten fingers glinting with ice. "You want the crown?"

Startled, Tucker blinks, then grins. "Yes," he laughs, but Kwan knows it's a lie.

Dora was right. 

What has she done?

Danny tips his head back, face toward the open air, toward what is supposed to be his best friend, and the crown of flames disappears. "So be it," he says, simple, lost, and with a long, tired exhale, dark blue mist slides from his lips.

It falls heavy across the floor around Danny, and then swells, a glittering shroud under the seething glow of the portal, grows. With a roar like snapping ice and the slam of a heavy foot that shakes the floor, the blue solidifies into a snarling, behemoth of a Far Frozen yeti, eyes a blazing morning blue.

Tucker's laugh pitches and echoes, the air buzzing in response. He throws his hands back, and then heaves them up, the wires and scrap surging upward in a screaming grind of metal and the crackle of electricity. It swarms Danny's construct, wrapping briefly around the yeti in a mocking tease before consolidating into the flared wings of a screeching dragon over its head.

The downdraft brings with it ozone and frost, and Kwan can only watch as the two meet in the middle; titans of cold and twisted, coiled wire that collide with enough force that the lair groans in turn, stretching to the limit of its unreality within the constraints of reality. He's mesmerized by the sheer power radiating with each swing and dotted wash of ecto energy, that niggling need struck to silence.

King, Kwan thinks, and for a moment he isn't sure who that means.

Chapter Text

KWAN!

KWAN!

KWAN!

"KWAN!" shouts a voice by his ear, and Kwan startles, the sound rushing back in with a crack as the dragon smashes against a far wall with a toss of the Far Frozen's horns. "KWAN, CAN YOU HEAR—"

Dash. Dash. With a gasp, Kwan whips around, grabbing Dash by the meat of his arms. Panicked blue eyes meet his. 

"Dash!" he yells back, but by the pinched look it receives, he can't hear Kwan, can probably just barely hear the raging fight around them. 

Right. Okay. Think. 

Kwan glances over the rippling ground, past the dispersed fog, and can just barely see the top of the door that leads up and out. The dragon crashes to the ground between them; its sparking claws dig groves into the floor as it whirls around with the shrieking chorus of metal to spew white arcs of light at the yeti. The door disappears behind more fog, more evaporating snow as it lunges back up with a harsh flap of its wings, and. They'll never make that, not on foot.

Right. Okay.

If… If I'm… he starts, and looks at his hands on Dash's shoulders. They're so very green. If I'm…

It means something, right? 

With a shake of his head, Kwan stands, taking Dash with him. He squeaks at the manhandling, and stumbles before catching himself when Kwan lets go. The portal hums to their left, and just above their heads, Sam and Valerie hang. 

He doesn't know how this is supposed to work. Is it supposed to be instinctive? It never was for Danny, at least not in the beginning, but the yetis were not overly interested in oversharing with humans, and eventually, neither was Danny. Kwan wishes he'd needled Wulf a little more, now, but if he remembers right, it's about sense of self and desire.

What am I, and what do I want? 

Kwan reaches up, and thinks about being right there, wrenching the cables from the wall in a spectacular shower of sparks. He thinks that he doesn't want Dash to be even more sad, that if any one of them doesn't make it that that is unacceptable, that he doesn't want to lose anymore friends, and that if they stay here, Danny will lose all of them.

I'm dead, and I want to be alive. 

Because... it's human to want things, and ghosts want to be human, right?

Valerie's dazed eyes meet Kwan's, go confused before widening in alarm. With a helpless shrug, he smiles, dipping in the air unsteadily. It's halfway purposeful thought and careful ignorance; he can't think too hard about it. Kwan grabs a handful of the cables wrapped tightly across her face, tests the give, and yanks. They rip apart like wet paper, shoot sparks, and Valerie sucks in a ragged breath as he tosses the ruined cord over his shoulder, moves on to the ones trapping her in place.

"Kwan…" she whispers, pained, and then flails a little with a yelp as she falls forward and into Kwan's arms. "Fuck!"

It's not anywhere close to smooth, but Kwan manages to land and drop her against Dash and not face first onto the floor. She stares up at him, hair frizzing terrifically with the building static. He looks up at Sam. It's a little easier the second time, and he frees her even quicker, pulling her limp form close. There's dried ectoplasm all across her face, dark flakes peeling away with the smallest movement. 

She doesn't react, but she's breathing, and that'll just have to be good enough. Dash and Valerie huddle close when Kwan touches down, the latter brushing the sticky fringe from Sam's forehead to rest the back of her hand. There's a little blood by her ears, but nothing else is terribly obvious. 

"Clammy," Valerie announces, loud, and winces when there's a booming roar behind them. It's getting darker, the shadows starker. "Tucker… the blobs. It was cruel."

Tucker doesn't do cruel. "It's Dora, she did something," Kwan hisses, and the twin wrinkled looks he's given makes him pause. "What?"

"I CAN'T HEAR," Dash yells, and rubs at his ears with a wince.

Valerie grimaces. "I can some, but… Kwan, I can't understand most of what you're… saying…"

That sends a thrill of despair up Kwan's spine, and he carefully tries to not think about what that means. It's hard not to, and he can see his hands flicker, Sam jostling slightly before he settles. Dash stares, bottom lip caught between his teeth, glancing between them. 

Okay. Okay. Kwan shakes his head, and turns, breaking the huddle. Wind howls, and the yeti's crushed to one side under the dragon's raking claws. Tucker chases Danny high into the writhing fog above the constructs' heads. Light flashes, thunder booms, the arching shadows of their bodies blown larger than life. The lair is crumbling, the blue of the walls dimming and fading into the air, revealing the ruined walls, but their little corner by the portal is unscathed.

Whether that's care about the portal or Danny purposely keeping Tucker away, Kwan doesn't know, but he doesn't want to test their luck.

"We have to go," he says, and points as best he can toward where the top of the stairwell peeks into view within the mist. Dash and Valerie follow his gesture. "It's... too far on foot."

Dash squints, but Valerie looks between Kwan and the stairs. He thinks she gets it, and if she gets it, Dash will follow. With a wince and against his better judgement, Kwan carefully shuffles Sam under one arm, catching her around her stomach, and then kneels, core pulsing. 

He offers his other arm to Valerie, and with a knowing frown, she edges into his hold. They look at Dash, and startled, he hovers for an unsure moment before Valerie pats Kwan's back. 

"OH," he says, and nods. Dash shuffles around, and then carefully wraps himself along Kwan's back, legs crossing his torso. 

Kwan tests their weight, and then stands with some effort, eyes the yeti and its shedding glitter, following its horns up to Danny's flitting shape diving free of the fog. Tucker sails by him like a comet of bent light, the dragon corralling the yeti back a step, two, and — 

He curls his arm tighter around Sam, curling inward, one foot sliding back, and it feels like practice after school. For a moment, the sun is shining and the grass beneath his feet is smooth and fake, his heart races and —

"And where do you think you're going?"

Ą̷͍͎̺͑̊n̷̟̗̫̪̽̓̎d̸̢̤̗͈͙̓̓͜ ̶̜̼̫̖͍̣͐̐̓͌w̵̞̯̻̫͊̏̓ͅh̶̫̹̥͈̩̅̓͐̏̃͑͜e̵̺̼͌̔ȓ̴̤́͆́̓̚e̸̢̞̰̪̻̾͗̉͜ ̸͇̥̙̹̇͌̉d̷̢̡͖̙̅̚ô̸͎̂̓͑̿ ̶̡̢̫̳̙̣͛̿͑̽͠y̷̟̪͕̲͖̼͒͌͊̑́͘o̵̰͎̼̔̓ȕ̵̧̞͖͙̍̀͝ ̶̜̙͖̝͑̈́͗t̶̘̯̱̗̠͈͂̐h̴̢̩͓i̴̱̰̳̩̣̙͐̏̑̄̑͠ň̴̡̫̣̌̅͒͒k̸͍͔͍̋͂̐ ̸̖̋̿͝͠y̷̯̯͚̱̯͆̋͝ǫ̷̞̠̙̘͊͛͌̆̍ũ̵͔̎͗̊͐̂'̴̙̪͚̹͉̼̔̐͗͂r̶̹̱̰̺͔̻̍͌͗̊e̸͙̿͋̏͗̆͠ ̴͙̗̮̯̆̈́ǧ̶͚͗̈́͘o̵͚̗̅̈ī̷̛̞͇̝̼͎̟̾͊͑ņ̶̛͉̰̠̯̹͒̏̂̒g̸̬̝̟̗̘̘͗͊̈͘?̶̮͗͐̋͘͝

The dragon roars, and sweeps the yeti off its feet with a thunderous crash just as Kwan leaves the ground. It lunges, mouth a gaping, shining maw. A suffocating rage overtakes Kwan's drowning terror. He veers off from his straight shot, and then kicks up as hard as he can without thinking. The snap of giant teeth shakes the very air, fills it with sharp ozone; Kwan lands one foot on the top of the dragon's misshapen snout and tumbles off.

Tucker screams, and smoking, sparking claws lash out. A snowing, blue hand is the only thing that keeps them from being crushed like oh so tiny bugs. With a deafening cry, the yeti yanks the dragon up and away in a flurry of raining debris, wrenching the entire limp off in an inferno of burst circuitry. Kwan doesn't spare it all more than a harried glance, skipping across the floor before leaping clear over the deep and dark groves carved through the lair's skin, metal, and the earth.

C'mon! Kwan thinks, because they're almost there.

Up, skim, up, up, fly. 

Lightening shrieks. Kwan pivots harshly just before the ectoplasm can strike the space where he would have been. The electricity caresses his cheek as it shatters in a burst of burning white. Valerie jerks in his hold, but he can't stop, and.

And, it's just a moment, a precious few seconds when the rest of the world is twisting and writhing as the energy starts to cave to the violence behind them. Kwan looks, and sees his body, limp and splayed just off to the side of the stairs, not far at all from where he woke up. He sees , but. There's just no time. He can't tell if it's still alive, and even if it is, Kwan can't save it.

I can only save them.

"H-HEY, HEY IS THAT — " Dash starts, leaning, but Kwan just grips Valerie and Sam tighter, tucks his chin harder against Dash's arms around his neck, and flies past his body and up.

They leave the battle behind, but the sounds chase after them, the stairwell stretching on and on, the roar and screams reverberating all around them. Loose wires and cables hang from the ceiling, lash across Kwan's face and Dash's shoulders as they crash through. His core thumps painfully, and his feet catch along the edge of the stairs, energy flagging. Almost there. They're almost there —

Kwan's foot catches on something not the stairs, and it yanks him in the opposite direction. Valerie and Sam are thrown from his grasp, Dash clear over his head. There are shouts as they tumble up the stairs, as Kwan's slammed into the floor and dragged back. With a frustrated hiss, he twists, and kicks at the cable snaked over his ankle; it squeezes tighter and hauls him down another handful of steps, more wriggling dark shapes crawling past him.

"K-Kwan!" cries another voice all of a sudden. Kwan jerks, and glances up to see Valerie hoisting Sam over a shoulder, her wide, purple eyes bleary with fear. "What, what's going on—"

"Keep going!" he yells, and slams a hissing palm over the nearest handful of advancing wires. The smell of burnt ectoplasm fills the air. "Don't—"

There's a ringing slam ahead, like that of a shutting door. No, no, no. With a snarl, red hot ectoplasm puddles up from Kwan's palm, and he grabs for the cable holding him in place. It arches as if in pain, but instead of letting go, it doubles down and whips him against the wall.

"KWAN!"

It hurts! Kwan thinks at the same time as, Protect! and grabs for it again, pressing harder, the burning ectoplasm searing through his manifestation of too nice slacks and silly socks to skin.

It hurts!

The cable goes slack, falls away. Kwan gasps. Don't think about it, don't think about it. He slashes his hand, and red ectoplasm cleaves the mass of wriggling black in two with the high hiss of heat. It's not enough; they don't stop, just shake off the melted ends and crawl forward.

"KWAN," Dash shouts again, closer, and Kwan pushes himself to his feet, grabbing hold of the railing. 

"GO!" he screams back, thoughts racing, core pounding.

Ghosts. Ghosts. What can they do? He's seen rays, seen projectile blasts, eye lasers, constructs, snow and lightning and transformation, but what else?

You are thinking like the human you are, my friend, comes a rusty laugh, one night out of the many Wulf spent answering Kwan's a million and one questions. Ghosts, we are and are not so inflexible. What you think are absolute truths are not as such for a strong and determined ghost. For the most amazing things a ghost can imagine doing will shatter your understandings of this world. Think outside of the box a little, no? 

Kwan can't be that strong, he's never been strong, but he can think outside of the box — hah.

Again, he cuts his hand across the stairwell, a beam of boiling heat cutting the wires off and maring the wall with another dark, charred line. Offense. That's all he's seen, and he knows the line — that the best defense is a good offense, but here, where there's only one way in and one way out… that doesn't have to be true. 

He just needs time, to want it more.

With a wordless roar, Kwan heaves himself up because his ankle is fine, what use even is the ground?

Kwan flies into Dash and then Valerie and Sam too, hoists them up and up, away. A haunting laugh follows them, and the glowing green door of the lair appears so soon — they were so close. Kwan gutters to a stop before he can fly them headlong into it. They yelp, then stumble when he lets go.

Whipping around, Kwan draws his arms back and down, the building denial fueling the sweltering heat he can taste on the back of his tongue. A pause, and then he heaves his hands forward and up.

A bright red wall rises from the floor, slams into the ceiling with a crack. Hissing fills the air, the acrid smoke of burning rubber, as the cables fly into the shield. It trembles, but Kwan braces a knee, and slaps a hand against this side of the wall. 

It's warm, and it's going to get warmer, hotter, so much so that he won't be able to hold it for long. If his hand melts, Kwam isn't so sure he can compartmentalize that, but here's hoping he can hold out just long enough .

With his free hand, Kwan rears it up and above his head, claws the fingers, the tips glowing. Out. Out. He needs to get them out.

Kwan swings. The very air sizzles, wavers, and for a moment, cold wind strikes across his face. The air is torn, and through it he can see flying snow, but the tear heals up faster than he can rip its edges wider, his fingers catching along the ends. It pinches shut, and green drips from his hand. Which then splatters the wall as he raises it again, and drags down. 

Again, it slips shut. Again, he rends through the distance, brings the outside close. His other hand is starting to burn. Again. Again. Again .

It's starting to hurt, and the sound of coughing fills his ears, eyes unbothered by the bitter smoke but going blurry at the edges anyway.

Wulf made this look so easy, he thinks, just a little hysterical, and so very tired. 

Again.

Again.

Again —

A bone chilling howl rends the air, and Kwan cries out, his shield wavering. He lets it go, and the air immediately clears, the shift in pressure ruffling Kwan's hair and bringing with it wet humidity. Dash, Sam, and Valerie are huddled close to the floor, faces covered with smoke and sweat. He lashes his blistered hand forward and grabs the other end of the tear, then rips both hands apart. 

His skin cracks, splits, dribbles green, and the gash in space trembles. It's not enough — Kwan's arms shake, and the ragged ends cut further into the joints of his fingers as the wound in reality attempts to close around them. 

Kwan isn't strong enough. He can't save them. 

"I'm s-sorry," he sobs, looking past the billowing snow to see Sam blinking down at him with tired eyes. Dash and Valerie are so still. "I'm so sorry—"

"KWAN! "

Glowing green claws tear into the ripped edges from the outside. Startled, Kwan lets go, and stumbles back a step into open air and writhing wires. Immediately, they surge up and wrap around him, slam him sideways into the dark wall with a horrible crack. Kwan sees stars, the breath squeezed from him as the cables constrict like a furious fist. 

There's a booming snarl, and blue flashes. Kwan drops, but doesn't hit the floor. A thundering pulse fills his ears, rage and wrath echoing his struggling obsession. 

"My friend," warbles a familiar voice, "what has happened to you?"

Chapter Text

My friend, what has happened to you?

"W-Wulf?" Kwan stutters, and the arm holding him cradles him closer. Shakily, he looks up, and blazing green eyes meet his own. "Wulf… p-please, Dash and…"

A rough lick over his face stuns Kwan into silence. " Fear not, " Wulf rumbles, and around them, the stairway begins to fill with opposing roars and the stomp of feet, the blinding white fur of the Far Frozen.

Kwan can only watch as they stream pass, catch the briefest snatch of Frostbite's flaring cape, and then they and the wires are gone in searing flashes of blue into the gloom. The following silence is deafening, and, after a long moment, Kwan is set down on his feet. He wobbles, dizzy with unspent adrenaline, and takes one unsteady step up the stairs. Wulf catches him by the back of his thoroughly singed lab coat before he can fall.

Mine? Kwan thinks, confused, and blinks dazed between the snow furling in from the gleaming blue and red portal, and then up at his listless friends. 

His core aches, and he struggles free of Wulf's grasp, falls to his hands and knees. It's hard, but he gets himself upright enough to shamble past the stable tear in reality.

"D-Dash?" Kwan croaks, falling down beside him, but Dash doesn't respond. 

His mind is in a million different places and none all at the same time. Kwan knows this. Smoke inhalation. Oxygen. How long has it been? Kwan grabs handfuls of the ruined thermal, feels the weak rise of Dash's chest, and hauls him up. The dead weight nearly sends Kwan sprawling, and he trembles with the strain before falling back to his knees. Dash still doesn't move.

"W-Wulf, they need air," he says, desperate, hands fluttering and smearing ectoplasm in bright green prints. He's breathing, but. "W-Wulf—"

"I understand," comes the reply. There's the sound of more tearing before a hand on his shoulder gently pushes Kwan out of the way. "I have them."

Dash and Valerie go over one of Wulf's shoulders, Sam silently scoped into his other arm. In the slim light of the portal and dim ghostly glow, they all look like they're dead, washed out and dull. 

Please, he thinks, and staggers after Wulf. Please.

The portal doesn't open up to snow and cold. It's still cold, but it consolidates into stagnant air and metal floor. Kwan blinks, and the medbay feels so alien, so unfamiliar. Or, maybe he's the one who's alien?

"... Kwan?" 

Oh. Oh. "Cas," he manages, and the man unfolds from beside the cot where Tucker's body lies so still. He's brandishing one of the snapped poles from the cage, and his eyes widen when they meet Kwan's. 

His lips part, confusion and a tired resignation filling his eyes, but then everything lurches. 

The observatory groans, and Wulf pauses in placing Sam down into a bed that tips away from him. "That is not good, " he says, ears twitching as the desk chair rolls into the far wall.

"No shit," Cas rasps, caught on the side of Tucker's bed, gaze flicking to Wulf. "What the hell happened? It's only been like five minutes, Cujo ran off, and everything's—"

"Time moves differently in lairs, messenger," Wulf huffs, cutting Cas off, and pulls the bed back with a foot. "I would think that you know this."

Pure want buzzes in Kwan's head, his bottled up questions fluttering like bees in his chest. Messenger. Dora said that too. How is it connected? What does it mean? How does Cas understand them —

Oxygen. Oxygen. Kwan forcibly turns himself away, hurrying to the side of the lab where they shoved most unneeded things. He shoves boxes and stacks of paper out of the way and onto the floor carelessly, revealing the wall.

The partition slides away with a soft hiss. Gleaming rows of unused oxygen tanks glimmer in the low light, a testament to the Fentons' too large dreams, and Kwan goes to pull one free. It slips from his fingers and hits the floor with a jarring thud. He flinches, but it doesn't fly off or otherwise explode, so it must be fine; Kwan reaches for it again as it starts to roll —

"Hey, hey ," Cas rushes, coming up on Kwan's side. He hauls the fallen tank up with visible, uncomfortable effort, repeats, "What the hell happened?"

"Smoke inhalation," he says, turning away to reach for more. Dark paws tug Kwan out of the way, and he flexes his empty hands restlessly as Wulf carefully picks out two more tanks. "We need to —"

Again, there's a deep rumble. The floor sways the other way, and Cas tips into Wulf. Kwan thinks he should be worried about that, and some distant part of him is, but, but this is more important and no one ever knows how to do these things —

"I don't think we can stay here to do this," Cas croaks, grimacing as Wulf nudges him back onto his feet. "We need to leave."

Kwan recoils at the thought. "We can't, we need the respirators," he denies quickly, and staggers over to the tank terminals. His hands shake as he slides them open. "I-I can detach the observatory after."

There's a startled noise. "No, you should do that now," Cas argues, voice coming closer. "I can do this, you detach this or whatever you mean; it's not going to last, Kwan, and you all will die!"

You all will die!

Something just snaps. Kwan's tenuous grasp on his adrenaline crash slips from his fingers, and what fills its place is pure malice . 

Whirling around, the air shuddering, Kwan screams, "I'M ALREADY DEAD!" 

Ĩ̵̡̼̪̮̲̫̖̩̭̠̲͕͙̦̃̋̾̽̉̽̽͜͝'̴̖͖̲͇͑̑̈́̒̋͑͜M̵̦̈́̄͗̀̂̏͌ ̵̡̡͍̟̼̗̰͎̞͕͖̱̟̝̋̍̐̅̈́̆̕͠͠ͅÂ̷̞̖̼̱͖͓̞̣̒͂̊̀̃̆͊̊̊̚͝ͅͅL̵̗͖͈̯͈̟̲̹̹̯̦̭͊͛̄͋͝R̵͙̤͎̠̮̿͋̈́̈́̇̆͛́͜͠Ȩ̵̤͈͓͈̻̫͇͚̗̤̗͛̌͆̔͂́̅̕͜͝͝A̵̱͇̟͈̍̕D̴̡̫͍͎̝̿̈́̄̄̇̈͝͠͠Ý̶̧̧̙̟̼̮̜̫̞̺̺͎͕̜ ̸̡̡̣̮͎̮̬̲̗̾͑̅̂́̉͝ͅḎ̶̪̖̯̜͍͆̎̿̉̒͒̀́̑͜͠ͅE̷̡̗͌͗̃͋Ä̸̡̽́͌̉̽͝D̷͓̻͚̹̝͚̼̣̬̭̲̈͐͌͂̉̌̌͑̎́̉͘͝!̸̢̨̗͖͚̖̻͉̭̺̬̤͑̉͗͋͐̃̇̊̽̄͝͝͝͝͝

And, around them for just a moment, the medbay rearranges itself halfway into an exaggerated, hyperbole of a lab. Bubbling beakers over flaming burners and dripping vials fill the space, severed limbs with traced muscles and ligaments draping the walls. The floors shine green with white lines, shifts and rumbles with movement, and it's warm with sunshine.

Kwan feels at peace for the first time in so long .

M̷̙̳̜͇͎͌̓́̓̅͌͜͝͝I̶̡͔̘̺̰͚͗̎͆̉͛͂N̶̤̘͎̻̩̬̝̫̋͋̀̍̿̿͒͌É̶̢̥̲̰͕̝͇̠̎͜

But it's only for a moment. Reality snaps back like a rubberband, and the rebound makes Kwan waver, clears the haze from his eyes. Wulf eyes him with a concerned look, ears flicking, but Cas hasn't flinched. His jaw is tight and his eyes are hard.

I used to be a…  Hunter, ever heard of those?

Maybe he used to be a good one, maybe he's seen worse. If Cas could, would he hunt Kwan?

"If any one of them dies... we all will too," Kwan breathes after a precious moment, voice cracking, feeling startlingly human, but.

It's all too much.

Kwan flees, leaves the medbay behind even when too much of him rails against the very thought. Flight sputters, and he stumbles out of the air and to his feet halfway up the hall. His ankle immediately gives, and Kwan bites back a yelp as he catches himself on the wall. 

His core is flickering tiredly, and he almost doesn't manage to pick himself back up, his feet barely skimming the floor. It feels like an eternity before Kwan reaches the observation deck. 

Immediately, he heads toward the fridge, its outlet barely still plugged in and stretched to the full extent of its reach. Kwan thinks Danny pushed it out of the way for one reason or another, way before they knew what it was really for, and no one ever moved it back; they would have gotten to it eventually, but why would they ever even need it, honestly?

The creased sticky note stuck between blueprints and a grocery list was so inconspicuous — a simple reminder to restock the ham next to the center's release button. It took way more digging to figure out what that even meant, and Kwan remembers struggling to plug the fridge back in — just in case. For what, he never could have imagined.

Kwan yanks the door open and slams the blinking red button on the inner wall, not the one embedded in the grimey shelf.

Everything groans, the original backup generator rumbling to life — one of many things that no one quite ever figured out. The main console beside him lights up, and, with a pressurized hiss, a large orange shape inflates from the main chair to lightly grip the control wheel that levers out. Kwan shuts the fridge and drops to his feet, winces, and then limps closer.

The grinning visage of Jack Fenton makes Kwan want to cry, just a little, so he quickly looks away as everything shifts, lifts up, and then starts to condense and move. His view of the raging blizzard outside dips, the Fenton Works sign coming closer, and the dull roar of expelling air thunders around him. 

"Autopilot engaged: destination?" chirps a robotic voice, and Kwan startles as the normally clear window brightens with green grid lines and icons.

If he'd read it right, the observatory is turning into a blimp, but. Where in the world can he land a blimp?

"Distress signals detected," it says after a moment when he doesn't immediately respond, and all of the emergency lights flicker as the observatory begins to lean forward. "Mapping weather adjustments for the closest location."

Distress signals? Who—

With a yelp, Kwan grabs onto the arm of the chair to keep from spilling across the console. Outside, the Fenton Works sign flickers once, a quick butterfly wing flutter, and then falls away, disappearing into the white. He can barely hear the following thud as the observatory's engines flare with strain. 

With a rather distressing click, the screen ripples again. "Detecting landing instability, engaging stabilization measures." 

Everything begins to vibrate, the ringing thrum buzzing up through the chair and floor. It makes Kwan's teeth itch, and his core pounds as the window dips further down before stalling. The shattered and broken remains of the Fenton Works sign are already vanishing beneath the snow. Kwan swallows as the observatory begins to tip back up, straighten out, fly. 

Snow whips across the window. Kwan can't even begin to guess where they're going, or how. Are orbital satellites still working? The internet went down pretty fast, and the library went up in flames pretty soon after. So, it's not something he could suss out, and Danny wasn't

Okay. This isn't going to work. Kwan palms weakly at his chest. He wants to know where they're going but it hurts and he wants — needs — to know if Dash is okay more. It's on autopilot, so it's fine. For now, he won't worry about anything or anyone else. 

I'm fine. 

Nodding to himself, Kwan pushes himself upright, and limps away without another glance.

It takes a lot longer to walk back, and he gingerly dodges thrown debris in the halls. By the time Kwan makes it to the medbay, he honestly feels like passing out. Which. Weird, right? Ghosts don't need to sleep, but Gods Kwan is tired. 

Wulf's head snaps up from the floor when Kwan leans into the doorway, hands and feet full of metal cot frames. "Where are we going?" he asks, and shifts, sagging free before phasing from within his rodeo of cots against the wall.

"I don't know," Kwan admits, and hurries to Dash's side. The grime has been wiped from his face, and his breathing looks even and strong behind the fogging oxygen mask. "It said there were… distress signals?"

Wulf says something else, low and muffled, but as Kwan surveys the sleeping faces, he finds Cas staring at him from the other side of Valerie's bedside. It's an intense look, and Kwan misses the sleazy, fake smiles already. Self conscious, Kwan rubs at his neck and then grimaces at the painful and scabby feeling of the blistered flesh of his fingers.

He looks at Wulf again, at his unmarred fur and the same hoodie as always. Nothing about him looks different, not a scar or visible wound anywhere. It'd been bad, that first day. Ectoplasm everywhere, and covered in weeping burns worse than Kwan's hand. 

"Cas," Kwan starts, and flexes his fingers, dribbles of ectoplasm falling to the floor, "Cas, we're not speaking English, do you know that?"

A startled look washes over Cas's face, so quick Kwan almost misses it. "... Really," he allows, eyes darting to Wulf. "I couldn't… tell."

Kwan's dead. It's why Valerie had a hard time understanding him. Danny had a hard time for a while too, but right now… it should be like he's trying to speak through the white noise of a radio.

"What are you?" Kwan asks, finally .

But Cas just says, "Human," like the liar he has to be.

"Falsehoods are unbecoming for one of your creation," Wulf huffs, tail swishing, and turns to Kwan. " He is… the accumulation of Thursday, the legacy of four tragic brothers. Pandora—"

"Not anymore," Cas denies tiredly, cutting in before Kwan can even begin to puzzle that out because what. "It doesn't matter anyway. We need to get out of here, something… something bad is up ahead."

Something bad feels like an understatement, because as soon as Cas mentions it, Kwan suddenly feels it—a terrible, blooming madness. It makes the hair on his neck curl, makes Tucker feel like a temper tantrum in comparison. Makes his obsession go haywire with a sudden and frantic fear. 

A part of Kwan hates how easily he's diverted, how easily he loses the thread of this conversation in the face of taking his friends toward clear danger and that's WRONG and he needs to take them and RUN . The other part is just freaked out because.

Because, where would they even go? 

"I-I don't know how to fly this," Kwan stammers, " I—"

"Well, I can fly, it cannot be that difficult," Wulf says, ears flicking. "We should hurry. They will be fine, Kwan."

Oh. He didn't even realize—Kwan drops Dash's hand, grimacing at the new green smears on his too pale skin. "Okay, I, yes, okay. "

It's not quite easier, but the trek back to the observation deck is quicker. Kwan doesn't feel the exhaustion quite as acutely now either; it's still there, but he feels not as bad. Of course he feels worse the further he goes, a tension filling his jaw. 

"What's that?" Cas says, and startles Kwan. He came with them. Why? "Is a balloon flying the plane?"

"It's on autopilot." Kwan limps over to the dashboard, and grimaces at the many different buttons. "I'm… not sure if there's a guidance assist or just manual piloting…"

Wulf regards it from the other side of the console, feathering his paws over the blinking lights. "Perhaps if I just take possession of this balloon, it will be—"

Cas inhales sharply somewhere behind Kwan. "Is that… a door?" 

Kwan jerks, and then the OPS center shudders, tips violently to one side. Cas yelps as Wulf grabs him by the arm to keep him on his feet. A neon blur of green skims past the windshield and disappears into the white before Kwan can get a good look at it, but it turns out he doesn't need to.

The wind and snow just stop, vanish. Suddenly, the air is clear and still. Kwan spies the odd roof top as the blimp rises, a strange rendition of downtown pulling into view, and. And the ruined streets below seethe with glowing, shiny armor and writhing ectoplasmic miasma and fog. The longer Kwan looks, he sees that there are doors—doors forming in the air, wedging into being across crumbling walls. The room hums as the blimp starts to skirt more and more vivid door frames, too many, more than there's ever been. Everywhere, suddenly, he sees ghosts. 

"We are too late."

Action News HQ stands like a beacon amongst the wreckage, shifting in place like a television screen on the fritz, as the pulsing red dot on the far side of the screen slips closer. Kwan's gut twists, shame and guilt rising. It makes sense now—the borrowed Fenton thermal jumpsuits. He hadn't even… in a way he forgot about Starr, about Paulina. 

He hasn't seen them in days. Paulina not since before Cas. How could he just forget about them, like that? He should have known something was wrong then.

The screen ripples, and a green film spreads across the window. " Detecting dangerous and unstable levels of ecto-energy, deploying ghost shield, " the computer chirps. 

Mine, is all Kwan can think, dazed and so tired, and so angry.

"Dora is going too far," Wulf sneers, ears flat to his head. "Tucker may have been her proxy but she is already trying to claim this lair for herself."

It's all she ever wanted — a foothold in the world, and it's not like they didn't know it, they just didn't think she'd—

Wait. Lair?

"W-What?" Kwan stutters, rounding on Wulf. "This, no, wait we're in a lair?"

Blinking, Wulf twitches a folded ear. "... Yes, did you not realize?" he says, and flexes his paws. "How exactly did you think our King was able to bend the weather so easily to his will? This whole settlement is his Lair. The portal is his door. Everything within it is His. "

Kwan doesn't even know what to say. The ectoplasmic radiation was bad enough before, but, but to be living within a lair… It explains so much, all of a sudden.

"... And this Dora ghost wants to take it over because it's already made and she can't stay too long out of, uh, her own lair and the Veil?" Cas hazards, and even if that doesn't make complete sense Kwan gets it.

Danny… this is his lair, like Dora's, even if he is King of everything in the ghost zone. This is his kingdom and he didn't know any better than to let her move ghosts in. A kingdom needs people, and why would Danny say no, when he truly only considers the Fenton home his, specifically, but in actuality—

She wanted a foothold on the mortal plane, and of course she never told them everything, maybe even outright lied to their faces, but Kwan knew all this, so why… why didn't he make that final connection? 

There are no people.

Why didn't Dash know that? How did Kwan know that and yet not know that? 

What isn't Kwan understanding? 

"... Of course, " Wulf murmurs. "It is his Lair, after all. He would want his people happy more often than not, even if they shouldn't be. He may not realize… "

Everyone has secrets.

The more Kwan tries to think about just how he hid anything from Dash, he draws a nore painful blank. Just how did Valerie never question the glowing carrots and other questionable food they put down on their plates? How… How did Kwan do that? How did he just, just eat—

Hrgh.

How exactly has Danny's obsession affected them all? That, that desire to protect. To keep them, to keep Tucker and Sam safe. 

What did he wish for so hard, so desperately even as he—

"Ugh," Kwan groans, and draws his hands harshly over his face. It hurts to think about. He's not even that upset about what this might mean, just curious and greedy, and, and. "Stop, stop, I can't…"

MINE, howls that screeching little voice, and Kwan curls more over himself. Starr. Paulina. That's what matters right now. Forget everything else. Discard the fear, the exhaustion, the questions, but fan the rage.

Gods, Kwan is just so fucking angry at the fact that he's so, so, weak. 

From between his fingers, Kwan says, "Wulf, the OPS center is picking up on Starr and Paulina. Can you open a portal into the Action News building and grab them?" 

"... Yes, however, I don't think it will be so easy. Her army is here, and I will need time to find them."

"T-That's fine," Kwan says, and straightens, hands dropping to his sides. He regards Cas with the best confidant look he can manage, tries to keep his own madness off his own face. "I want some answers from you later, if, if you're cool with that and all, before… before you leave."

Cas blinks slowly, adjusting his grip on the cage bar still in his hands "... Sure," he allows, and he's just really, really taking this all in such stride it infruitates Kwan even more. Good. Good. "Provided you all survive this."

And, again, he leaves himself out. How is he so self assured he won't die? Kwan wants to know but tucks the nagging want away. Later. Later, he can ask. Later, later, later.

Kwan looks ahead as the blimp begins to slow, like the air is turning to thick soup, as the colors begin to bleed just the slightest green and blue and weird. Another lair within a lair, claiming land bit by minuscule bit for herself, and if Kwan can do it, can figure out how to cut through the distance like Wulf, why can't she?

Dora is coming, and. 

There's… something. Something Jack Fenton worked on and then forgot about, a serum meant to weaken too strong ghosts. Meant to. Meant to. Kwan hid it, not sure what to do with it, not sure how to dispose of it, but. Well. Dora is coming.

Again, they just need time.  

Chapter Text

Originally there were three syringes.

Kwan broke one. It was an accident, and while there's still a sizzling tray of ectoplasm hidden beneath an upturned wastebasket in a broom closet, that's neither here nor there. What's truly important to know is that Kwan knows what he's doing. Knows what the ecto-dejecto does, because he tested on some blobs and maybe went a little too mad scientist about it.

It makes ghosts stronger; it didn't make the blobs any smarter but they were tougher to chew, more ferocious in a cute, small dog sort of way. Kwan thinks he still has the minute scar on the corner of his mouth, thinks maybe that shouldn't be so easy to, uh. Well. 

Shrug at, in retrospect.

Kwan takes one really long look at his friends, at their tired, shadowed eyes, and steady, rising chests. Well. It doesn't really matter does it? Not right now anyway. He touches briefly at the edge of his bottom lip before wrenching his gaze away and making for his desk, says less than confidently: 

"L-Let me out on the roof. I'll be a distraction."

There's the familiar shnick of Wulf's claws, and Cas makes an conflicted noise somewhere behind him. With a shake of his head, Kwan digs through the first drawer, palming a half charged lipstick laser before upending the next one entirely. He punches out the false bottom and catches the singular glowing syringe that falls free, letting the compartment drop to the floor in its wake.

It's unsettlingly warm in his hands.

"Here, Cas," he says, stuffing the vial in his pocket, and turning around. Cas is staring at him instead of Wulf, who's tracing the air carefully in thought, closer than he was before. "... Um, it may not look like much but it's way better than that bar, I swear."

He bridges the last of the wary distance and takes the lipstick, eyes it dubiously. "... Sure, just point and shoot?" Cas asks, and at Kwan's nod and miming of twisting it, stuffs it into the jacket given to him earlier. Which, right. It's not like Kwan'll ever need it back now— "And, word to the wise, suicide missions really aren't all they're cracked up to be."

"Uh, w-what do you mean?" Kwan squeaks. Sure, some of the blobs melted in the end but Kwan isn't. He's not going to melt. He'll be fine. Mind over matter. "Sounds… oddly specific if you ask me."

Cas smiles a not so pleasant smile. "I'm rather old hat at them to tell you the truth, so take it from me, there's probably a better plan than… whatever you've got."

"Er." Kwan grasps the syringe in his pocket out of reflex. Later. Later. "I'm fairly sure that makes it not a suicide mission, if you come back alive, and, well."

Helpless, he can only gesture at himself with his other hand, and Cas blinks oddly for all of a heartbeat before he smooths it back into faux nonchalance. "Right," he murmurs. "Right. Well, there are things worse than death… Good luck, and take this. I don't know if it'll help, but slap it on another ghost and maybe it'll do something."

The piece of paper he hands Kwan is crumpled to hell, but when he glances it over, he can't place any of the squiggles or lines around what he thinks says Umbra abi. It also... kinda looks like it's written in blood, but it's a nice gesture, whatever it is, so Kwan'll take it.

With a limp smile, Kwan tucks it into an inside pocket, says, "Thanks," just as Wulf growls sharply, and slashes the air. 

He immediately grabs the edges, plants a foot, and tears the portal further to one side, like the space is a stringy, tough cut of beef—it sounds like ripping paper, looks like torn cardboard. "Quickly, the building keeps shifting!"

Oh. So soon. But not soon enough. This portal may lead straight to Kwan's imminent doom, and he isn't even sure ghosts can't die. No, wait, don't think too hard about that—

Mine! snaps his obsession, bucking the fear, because Dora is trying to take what's his away. 

That's what sees Kwan square his shoulders and step toward the portal past Cas. What sees that third step turn into a run across the medbay and straight into open air without another glance back.

The drop… is actually a bit far. His core immediately flies into his throat, and Kwan flails as he falls, structured thoughts scattering to the four winds as the pressure suddenly hits him, damp but tingling fog rushing past his cheeks. He can hear the cries and cheers of all the ghosts far below, what must be a parade in the street, and holy cow. What a sight downtown actually is now.

He can't even remember the last time he came by. If it looked anything like this no wonder Cas called Kwan on his shit. Warped colors and buildings, medieval arches and bland modern architecture and shiny future punk chrome all fighting for space—how long has this been going on? Shouldn't they have noticed the dead, stifling air that smells almost rancid with electric exhaust? Shouldn't they have seen this sooner?

Time passes differently in lairs.

It's all he can do not to faceplant, to marginally stick the abrupt landing at the thought. 

"Ow!" he hisses, toppling head over heels and finally flat onto his back. If he were alive he would have broken his everything. "Ow, ow, okay, ow…"

Okay. Okay. He's here. On the roof. Good enough, and right. Dora's kingdom hyper industrialized super quick. Okay, that checks out. Fuck.

Shakily, Kwan rolls over onto his chest and pushes himself to his feet. He palms the syringe, and sighs with short lived relief when it fits into his hand. 

Above him, the sky boils outside the domain of this pocketed lair. He can see the sharp winds circling, prowling, hear the faint hiss of steaming snow not reaching the ground. Is it weird he misses that biting wind all of a sudden? With a swallow, Kwan shakes his head and slowly turns around, eyeing the scattered debris, and the roof access door.

He beelines for it, and after a pause, experimentally tries to phase his hand through door. Either he botches it entirely or too much of the zone has leaked free, but his knuckles hit metal regardless. Kwan then cracks the doorknob off its handle instead and swings it open. Just in case.

"Paulina?" he calls into the dark. "Starr?"

He receives no answer—at least not the one he truly wanted.

There's a loud boom, and Kwan stumbles away as the ground beneath his feet shifts, hikes up, and then down. Looking back up, he sees that ghost knights have surrounded Fenton Works as it circles around, that an unfair amount of ecto blasters have appeared all over the blimp's outer frame. The roar of another blast sees one circuity plated ghost sailing far below and out of sight just as another charges with a spark spitting purple lance. Kwan can only watch as the ghost is squarely rebounded and the barely there ghost shield trembles.

He thumbs the ecto-dejecto. Kwan doesn't know what this will do to him, not exactly, and knows all the gorey details of what doping can do to someone, but. But he's not… he's not alive, so it should be fine. He can only pray it lasts long enough.

A tingle runs up his spine, that new sixth, undead sense going from a needling pinprick to an outright blaring alarm. Kwan tears his gaze away, eyes flying up to the open air opposite from Fenton works and out over the ruined and strange city that used to be Amity Park. 

Everything goes quiet, swallowed up into thick silence. 

Then, it appears.

Like a knife's gash across skin, a tear rends across the air. An iridescent green bleeds from the edges, drips and then frothes, bubbles then grows. From the wound between realities, against the thrashing sky, polished wood begins to form.

The fleeing cold is a distant observation, the renewed unearthly cries of joy and awe warring with the muffled howl of the restrained wind. Kwan tightens his hold on the syringe in his hand, straightens, and trembles as the door solidifies. The engravings peel free in a dark red, and tell of the story Kwan's only heard in bits and pieces—the thorn crowned man's anguished snarl as the seasons change, a dragon rising from grasping flames toward the sun. 

Here, now, Kwan wonders once more who Dora could have been.

Chapter Text

With a high pitched drone, the door opens.

First is the wash of blue, then gleaming green frills of flickering flame, then the shine of polished gold and the grind of teeth. A clawed hand nearly as large as a car pulls Dora forward and partially free of the Ghost Zone, her scales shining like gems, her horns a jagged crown. The black skull ring adorning a talon spits with green ectoplasm. 

"Yes," she hisses, tongue flicking, and pitches her wings, the fervor of the crowds growing frenzied. "Yes this is more like it!"

Kwan swallows around the knot in his throat, and flicks the cap off the needle. He depresses the full syringe into his thigh before he can think better of it. It hurts but feels like nothing at all, a quick and wiggly discomfort. He tosses it away to a wash of intoxicating heat, and forces himself to remember that feeling of up, up, fly.

"D-Dora!" he shouts, voice carried on the gales whipped up by her wings, the ground terribly far away. Boiling red eyes fall on Kwan, and he struggles not to shrink back, his core pulsing, racing. Not yet. "Dora, don't do this!"

Dora's teeth peel back in a leering smile. "You dare challenge me?" she says, perched halfway in the open door's frame, and her words shake the air, but have no merit, not when Tucker has not won. "You are but a speck, barely more than a child. I refuse."

It doesn't matter if she refuses; Kwan isn't here to fight for the right to her kingdom — isn't here to fight anywhere near fair. 

His visions swims, and Kwan stifles a gasp as flight sputters for a terrifying heartbeat. Dora laughs, but the flood is at the gates, the dam crumbling beneath the sizzling tide that eats up the fear, swallows up the rage and the uncertainty. The colors stain red as he hunches over midair, the silhouette of his hands bubbling. The air crackles, hisses, and Kwan looks back up, his mind going staticky but quietly focused.

MINE, shrieks everything , and the heat grows, covering his arms and body. Kwan's shoulder goes down, foot back—

Her laugh tapers off, turns into a scream of rage like thunder; her scales darken under his burning shoulder as Kwan slams right into her, arms snapping around her chest. The crack and split of wood fills the air, her talons digging in as she holds fast to her entrance into the land of the living. He feels like he's underwater, cloaked tight in a wavering, whistling fever, and almost not quite there. The projected construct of his fingers dig into her back, and Kwan heaves. 

The human world disappears behind them, everything going green, green, green. Dora howls, and teeth sink into the meat of his neck, the tips of the fangs stalling just shy of his actual shoulder. Kwan chokes back a scream at the echoing sensation of pain, and kicks away from her. A chunk of his ectoplasmic cloak sloughs off under her jaws, sears and drips from her gums as they even out, her wings beating furiously.

"You insolent cur!" she screams, and above them her kingdom buzzes in alarm, the gleaming lights flickering. "After all we have done for you—"

Without a word, Kwan tosses a hand and a sweltering ray of heat slices for her chest. Dora barely darts out of the way, frothing flames spewing from her mouth in turn. He can barely understand it all, his core throbbing, the present before him a whirlwind of red and green, and every worry is already gone.

He laughs, and it sounds hysterical to the small, maybe still dying part of him. 

Dora lashes her tail, a curved band of ectoplasm flying free, and Kwan barely dodges, a thin sheet of his projection carving away from his side. He closes the distance without thinking, and her eyes are wild as she twists away. It's not fast enough though, his suddenly spiked shoulder clipping hers, gouging her scales. Dora snarls, maw snapping around, but his burning fist snaps her head sideways and she falls back, regains the space between them before he can grab her. 

"You humans have already ruined your world, why not entrust it to us?" she howls, bares her dripping fangs. "That sickness cannot overcome ectoplasm. Any humans left will be saved, the world will just be ours, what is so wrong with that?"

Put that way, Kwan could almost get behind it. It's almost guaranteed that one way or another… humans are just going to die out, become a zombie or a ghost or just die. But that's not the point anymore. They're so far past the point he just doesn't care.

With another scream, she dives, and he follows punching forward with hissing red blasts. One catches her back leg, the other misses, and—and she's going back for the door. Kwan's arms whip forward, stretch, thin, and latch onto her tail, wrench her back just shy of the outside world. Dora whirls, but using her momentum to spin, he tosses her back out into open space.

Wings flapping furiously, she tumbles through the air, flames dribbling from her lips as she rights herself, rings of burnt scales circling her tail. For a moment they watch each other, no words forthcoming, rear back to clash once more and—

A lance spears his side, grazing his lab coat, and then whirs, flairs. Kwan shrieks, seizes, every imagined nerve on fire. The ghostly knight pinwheels away when Kwan swats at them with a howl, abandoning the weapon to rejoin the small contingent floating on just this side of the portal. Black noise edges his vision, fingers spasming as the electricity disperses.

"I'll say this once more, for our time together if nothing else," Dora rumbles, her eyes bright with obsession. "Stand aside."

Against his better judgment, Kwan yanks the lance from his side, an oversized toothpick in his contruct's hand; the echoing pain is enough to fuzz his vision further. "N-No," he says, blinking it away, and for some odd reason, the ring upon her finger blazes in time with her snarl.

The following gout of flames is brighter, hotter, bigger, and Kwan barely dodges it. He hears her knights yelp, scattering, and he looks to them instead of her, sees that one didn't quite get out of the way fast enough. Their melting visage is enough of a distraction that Dora's claws rake over Kwan's back instead of his face. His follow up punch misses, and her tail wraps around his waist, flings him into, then through, the doorframe.

He sees stars, unnecessary breath punched from his lungs. Kwan can't tell up from down for a dangerous and precarious moment, the world spinning, that incessant little voice shrieking full volume in his ears—

Teeth close across his side, fangs puncturing the meat of his real body. A scream catches in his throat as she grabs hold of his other side and then rips away, half the construct just gone. The smell of burnt wire fills Kwan's nose, partially exposed to the air. He can only watch as his ectoplasmic cloak splatters across the wind, too stunned to worry about the white and green mixing into the red. Before he can even begin to think she drops, the air whistling past his ears, then slams him into the ground, drags him through concrete and asphalt. Kwan can't get his hands between her talons, desperate fingers slipping off her scales. 

Green fire sparks, and Kwan shrieks as the flames wash over him. It hurts. It hurts so much!

The heat dissipates after what feels like an eternity, and the displacement of air burns and sears. Kwan swings blindly with his remaining arm, and finds himself thrown aside in turn. Glass and brick shatter, and by the time he stops, Kwan is just spent. He thought he'd been empty before, but even that scratching little voice is quiet as he struggles to open his eyes, to try and just get up—

"Ah, ah, ah," Dora says, and Kwan cries out, eyes flying wide as she drops right onto him. "You will stay down if you know what is good for you, child."

Kwan tries to blink the sizzling tears away and raise his remaining arm, but Dora's tail whips around, constricts, and then wrenches it off entirely with a hot pop . The immediate and sudden pain echoes up his actual arm, and he hugs it close with a choked scream. It's gone. But it's not. It hurts.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts—

"D-Dora," he stutters, teeth grinding, "Dora, just stop, why—"

"How is what I am doing anything different than what you have done, the atrocities you have committed?" Dora snarls, and bears down, licks of flames brushing Kwan's singed hair as the last of the constructed cloak begins to crack and splinter, what remains of the chest caving in under the weight. "You sacrificed what amounted to children, my friend , and yet you think you have the right to stop me?"

They're not people, he now, again, remembers telling himself, deep into that first, fridge winter with no power, no lights, no nothing. They feel clinical, dispassionate, his past thoughts. They're not aware, less coherent than a blob, not like—

"My people do not need a King who allows such horrors to befall his own people," she continues when Kwan cannot find the words, the wind picking up. "It needs someone like me, someone they believe in. Someone who knows what they want and can provide, not a soft, cruel but spineless child at the beck and call of monsters ."

With a shudder, Kwan bites back a mad sob because. Because what else were they supposed to do? The ecto converter was all they had then, and it was enough for that winter, the melting shades of strangers worth a little warmth. They couldn't get the portal to work, and people kept dropping like flies, picking themselves back up as wailing green ectoplasm that could do little more than follow simple directions and scratch at the walls at best. Worse in a way when compared to the furious hoard.

They weren't people.

The cloak of energy completely shatters, falls apart with an outward thunder of air. Kwan is snatched between too sharp claws. Dora sneers, then squeezes, the pressure all around Kwan—the fear blinding as he can't find the room to breathe, his vision swimming.

He doesn't want to die. He'd deserve it, but he doesn't want to die yet. It's not fair, he'd just wanted to live, y'know? How's that any different from a ghost? He'd wanted them all to live and, and—

"How's about you pick on someone your own size, you overgrown lizard!"

There's the whistle of air and then a sharp sizzle. Dora screams, her grip loosening just enough that Kwan gasps, unneeded air filling his lungs. The familiar sounds of ectoblasts fill the space, and blinking the spots from his eyes, Kwan manages to catch sight of a familiar red board.

Dora spews flames, and Paulina dives clear, the blaster glowing in her hands. "Wretched sack of meat, I will melt the flesh from your bones!" she howls, her eyes going a solid, bloody red, the edges bleeding like fire. 

Heat flickers at the edge of Kwan's eyes, and Dora swoops down and then up , the wind bitter and cutting. He looks at the frothing ring upon her claw. His exhaustion flutters with a furious rage at the sight; it pulls at him, tugs and yanks. His vision tunnels down.

Thunder booms, and Kwan struggles, wriggling in Dora's grasp, the world a kaleidoscope around him. He gets one arm free and reaches for the ring, the flaring ectoplasm of the skull burning his fingers, the band of imitation gold searing to the touch. There's something about this ring, something wrong. Kwan wants it, needs it.

"Kwan!"

At the call of his name, the foreign haze clears just enough he recognizes it, realizes that this won't work. That something is wrong about this ring. Kwan just knows he has to get it off of her. Dora jerks, and he struggles to look back up, the view dizzying in her barrel roll. Paulina barely dodges the next ectoplasmic blast, but her own next shot catches Dora's arm, and the hand spasms enough that Kwan wiggles his other arm free. 

He scratches uselessly at the scales, mind racing because he needs her hand open. How can he get it to open? Kwan grunts as she reaffirms her grip, her talons digging into his side. As he twists, the collar of his coat flaps in the wind, the front collar slapping against his chin. 

Stupid coat, he thinks, and yanks at it, the thin, worn ectoplasm tearing down to the first button under his hand. Immediately, the crinkle of paper draws his eyes, and he nearly misses it as it flies free, crushing it in a desperate grab. He stares blankly at the wrinkled paper. It's the thing Cas gave him. The thing to… banish a ghost?

How the hell does he use this? 

There's a distant yelp, the bleating obsession clogged in his throat rearing up, and, well. Paper. Tag. Talisman? Fuck.

He slaps the paper down, creased and all, and. And. Oh. Oh.

Between one half second and the next, Dora's hand is just… just gone. His is too, actually, and there's a suspended, slow beat where all he can see is the empty space where both things used to be. Then, Kwan's flung away, the ring following him. The startled silence left in his wake is shattered with a sharp, stunned scream. Dora flails, grows smaller the further he goes, and. Yeah. Okay, he's falling, he should be worried about that, right?

With the last of his strength, he grabs for the spinning ring with his remaining hand, the band shrinking. Kwan curls over it, someone screams his name, the words stolen by the wind and the bright crack of lightning, and then—

Chapter Text

Kwan jerks awake with a gasp 

Frantic, he scrambles upright, twists in the blankets, and hits the floor with a hard thud. Heart pounding, he lays there for a moment as the ceiling solidifies into the observatory, the console chair spinning slowly. Familiar wind howls just outside the window, and for one, hilarious moment… Kwan is sure that was all a dream.

He's so, so sure as he pulls himself upright, as he slowly gets himself to his feet. Kwan's so sure until something stings across the palm of his right hand. With a stifled wince, he slowly uncurls the not green fingers, and stares numbly at the burning ring. 

"You know, I would have liked to have tried that Nasty Burger place in its heyday."

Startled, Kwan knocks his shoulder into the chair, nearly drops the ring. He almost falls over again, the blanket catching on his feet, heart thundering in his ears, but he manages to catch himself. The man before Kwan is pale, the sort of man with slicked back hair his professors would have advised him to stay away from on sight alone. Labor and safety violations are written all over his pressed suit that way; he's dressed way too nice for this to be real, regardless.

"That… I'm dreaming right now?" Kwan says when the man continues to observe him. 

"No," he replies, leaning on one hand in the other console chair, and taps the ground with his cane. "No, you are very much dead right now."

Oh. Um. "Wasn't I already before…?" Kwan can't help but probe, even as a knot twists itself up in the pit of his stomach.

"Interestingly enough, not quite." Straightening, the man glances around. "You can stay dead now, if you'd like. Humans usually don't get a choice; it either happens or it doesn't."

Kwan… is very confused, but definitely would prefer to not be dead. "Okay, I'll choose to, uh, not be dead then. Thanks."

The man smiles thinly. "Now you know better than that don't you, Kwan?"

Yikes, he knows his name? But, ah. Well. Yeah, that did sound too good to be true. What's worse than not being dead? 

There are worse things than death.

"... What's the catch?"

"Ah, good, quick on the uptake," the man says, and stands. He splays one hand and a small, white orb appears above his palm, a little tattered looking, flickering, but there. Kwan aches at the sight. "Well, your poor little soul gave up the ghost here finally. Couldn't handle the strain. So, I'll be taking that as a matter of course, but… well, the memory of you is imprinted into all that ectoplasm, and they do say you die twice. Thrice, perhaps, literally in your case."

Kwan swallows, stifles the desire to snatch back what is apparently no longer his to have, a damp greed swelling. "O-Oh, so I'll be a ghost, is what you're saying."

"Correct. You could, of course, just let go and enjoy yourself in a new life far from this deteriorating universe. Stay, and there won't be anything waiting for you if you ever 'pass on' again; ghosts like you in this dimension are fake that way. Your soul, however… will be someone or something else somewhere else."

"Oh," Kwan repeats, unsure if he should focus on the confirmation of reincarnation or not, "so, ghosts can die. I'd wondered…"

The man gives him a rather impatient look. "Everything dies one day. Even God will."

"... Um—"

"Yes, yes, anything you could believe in is real too; nothing is mutually exclusive, the universe is unfortunate like that, makes my job complicated," he says, cutting Kwan off. "But, I am actually fairly busy, no one likes ferrying souls from here anymore, and while I like to watch what happens when people make the wrong choices, this timeline doesn't have Chicago style pizza anymore either, so if you could make a decision promptly, I'll be on my way."

This is a lot. Kwan maybe can't help the tears. "Er, um," he starts, sniffling, and rubs hard across his eyes with the back of the hand he currently shouldn't have. "I, uh, I'll stay. Thank you. I hope I get a nice life despite everything."

"Hm," the man says, "unlikely, but who knows. Fortune favors the damned, trust me on that. Just know that you've done your best with the lot given to you."

There's a pause despite the man's claim to his lack of availability, and Kwan says, "Thank you," again, unwilling to ask questions he feels won't get answered.

He has the gist of it anyway, he thinks.

Death cracks a small smile. "How about that."

Then Kwan wakes up.