Archive of Our Own

“Top, I bet you twenty bucks and hunt-bait duty that you can’t run into the ghost room right now, touch the rocking chair, and then run back.” Skizz smirks over at Tango from the kitchen, raising an eyebrow in clear challenge.

Tango smirks back, crossing from the living room to the other side of the counter to stare Skizz directly in the eyes. He can absolutely win this bet, but the fact that they’re doing it at all is an interesting choice with Zed actually in the house with them today. He tends to not approve of their more dangerous, though really it’s more accurate to call them stupid, games. 

Although really, he’s got good reason for being skeptical, given how many times one of them has nearly died on a bet worth nothing more than bragging rights.

Even now Tango watches as Zed's face pulls slightly into a frown from the other side of the room, even if he stays quiet for the moment. Turning his attention back to Skizz, Tango leans his elbows on the counter. “I’m not sure I believe you have twenty dollars, given the tragic state of our warehouse fridge.” 

Times have been a bit tough the last couple days as they try their hardest to stretch their dwindling funds until they get the payout from this contract. Every spare cent has gone into making sure they eat each night, and last night it went into making sure Zed could pay off his electric bill.

Tango had moved in with him not long after they’d finally started dating, and it’s been an absolute dream. The house is quaint, he’s gotten to learn a ton more about his wonderful boyfriend’s many lives, and it’s incredibly domestic. Not to mention the extra income has been helping Zed stay on top of his payments. 

Despite his general ease with modern-day technology, Zed still seems to struggle with paying bills online.

It’s the strangest hang-up, but he just seems to be incapable of it. The last time he’d tried, he’d managed to make such a mess of it that he’d set his entire computer to Russian and it’d taken six hours to fix, due to the troubleshooting directions also being in Russian. Tango’s taken to dealing with it, and to joking that it’s the only reason Zed still allows him to stay.

That, and the fact that as far as the world is concerned, Zed died sometime in the 1300s. Having a “living” person with an actual social security number and bank account has done wonders for his ease of blending in, according to him.

“I’m sorry, let me make something clear. You want him to go into the ghost room. Where the ghost is. The angry ghost. Right?” Zed’s voice is- less than amused, to put it nicely, as he joins Tango’s side. His hand finds Tango’s easily and squeezes gently, betraying his lack of real annoyance at the situation. Tango squeezes back automatically, tilting his head with a lopsided smile.

The lights in the cabin flicker ominously, as if trying to warn against their harebrained schemes. Skizz’s head wings cover his eyes slightly as he tries to avoid Zed’s critical stare. “Well- actually I’m not gonna lie to you Zeddlebop, yes. That’s exactly what I want him to do.” Turning back to Tango, Skizz smacks him on the shoulder. “And I do too have twenty dollars!” 

“Are you three actually going to help me with this polty pile, or should I just go sit in the van until you’re all dead from the ghost?” Impulse’s voice jumps through the radio, his displeasure considerably more real than Zed’s. Tango glances up at the ceiling and winces. He can already feel the heat of Impulse’s glare on the back of his neck even through two stories of floor and rooms between them.

Pulling out his own radio Tango starts making his way back towards the staircase, the sound of Zed and Skizz’s footsteps following behind him. “We’re on our way now Impy, sorry.” And look, he’s kinda sorry! Somewhat! It just so happens that going upstairs also makes it easier for Skizz to witness him crushing this dumb game of chicken and making twenty bucks. Tango’s just good at multitasking!

By the time they make it to the foot of the attic stairs, a thousand steps and lots of heaving later, Impulse is leaning against the banister waiting for them. His hands and clothes are covered in dust, a few particles of it even in his hair. A small lantern hangs from his belt, the smell of oil and smoke covering the area. 

Tango slides to the foot of the stairs, peering into the dark of the attic. The only light comes from the unnaturally green glow of their dots projectors, and the small amount of moonlight from the sole window in the room. Admittedly, looking at the room again has put a few doubts into his head. 

But twenty dollars is twenty dollars, not to mention the teasing Skizz would subject him to if he chickened out now.

“You said upstairs, touch the rocking chair, and then come back, right?” Tango’s hand drifts to his crucifix as he talks, once again checking to make sure it’s still on his belt. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Zed pull out his pocketwatch, checking its face subtly as Skizz nods.

Impulse’s unamused demeanor cracks instantly once he realizes what’s going on. Tango finds himself smiling slightly, turning his head so none of them see. It’s just- it’s nice that even after this many hunts, they can still mess around like it’s their first time. It’s nice to have fun with his closest friends, even if his boyfriend sometimes looks as if he might drop dead of a heart attack from it.

Maybe if Tango didn’t know a heart attack wouldn’t be more than a mild inconvenience to Zed, he’d worry a bit more about it.

“Watch the polty pile dude, it’s pretty large and I’m also not redoing it if you fuck it up.” Impulse points his finger at Tango accusatorily, a mischievous smirk making its way to his face. “I’ll add another five dollars into whatever Skizz owes you if you do it without a flashlight.” Zed groans in pure agony, already knowing what Tango will say.

Without hesitating, Tango takes his flashlight off his shoulder and sets it on the floor next to him. “I mean, do I even need to tell you it’s a deal?” He and Impulse shake on it, sealing his fate.

Looking back up at the attic a second time, a faint tendril of nerves start to work its way through his stomach. His fingers tap anxiously against the banister as he makes his way up the first step, and then the second, and continues until he’s finally in the attic fully. He glances back briefly, the muffled sound of chatter floating back up the stairs. 

Tango shivers, from the cold of the ghost room, certainly, and not his own fear, and starts to creep his way closer to the back of the room. Normally when they play chicken his strategy is to run as fast as possible, but Bleasdale is old, the attic even older. He’s not interested in falling through the ceiling today, or any other time for that matter. 

So instead it’s a careful march, Tango taking extra care to walk a wide path around the polty pile. Impulse will kill him if he messes it up, and honestly Tango can see why. It’s a very large pile, filled with random objects from across the entire house. It must’ve taken him ages to put together. 

 A terrifying hiss cuts through the eerie silence, causing Tango to jump backwards in fear. “Just an event. Just an event Tango.” He mutters to himself as he clutches his heart, pausing for a moment before forcing himself to continue on. Despite his weak assurances he speeds up his steps, touching the rocking chair quickly before turning around and starting to speedwalk out. 

Really, he should’ve been paying more attention to where he was not-quite running, even if he was afraid. 

Tango’s foot catches on a loose floorboard, sending him crashing to the ground before he can catch himself, just inches away from the carefully constructed polty pile. Ouch. Pushing himself up to his knees, Tango does a quick pat-down of himself to make sure no bones are sticking out of place or blood is gushing anywhere. He really doesn't want to have to get another tetanus shot if he doesn’t have to.

When his hands reach his belt, however, his heart drops.

His crucifix is gone, completely detached from its permanent spot on his hip. And he left his flashlight downstairs.

Shit.

Shifting slightly to try and maximize the light of the moon, Tango starts grasping around the floor frantically. He needs to find it before he leaves the room, which means he needs to find it fast. The longer he searches the more desperate he gets, his heart beating faster and faster until it's the only sound he can hear.

Finally, mercifully, his hands finally find something cold and metallic. Without his light it’s impossible to see for certain, but its weight is familiar, its shape right, thank the Void he’d found it quickly. Tango attaches it to his belt, relief coursing through him. Without wasting another second he runs the rest of the way out of the attic, practically skipping every other stair as he rejoins Impulse, Skizz, and Zed in the hallway. 

Zed snorts behind his hand, eyes filled with warmth and amusement. “Did you take a tumble up there?” His eyes move down from Tango’s face to his knees, more giggles slipping out as he takes in more of Tango’s appearance. 

Tango glances down at himself, his cheeks flushing bright red as he realizes exactly how dirty that attic floor was. Which, in turn, means exactly how dirty he is. His pants are coated in light dust, his shirt is turning brown with dirt, and his hands are a disgusting, grimy mix of the two. He groans, letting his head drop against the railing with a resounding thunk.

“You owe me twenty-five dollars, dry cleaning, and some therapy sessions. The ghost hiss-ificated in my ear! Loudly!” Tango begrudgingly accepts Skizz’s hug, gentle feathers brushing his back and calming any residual nerves he might’ve had. Lowering his voice to a murmur, Tango shuts his eyes briefly. “Your wings are going to get dirty, Skizzle.” 

Seemingly undeterred from Tango’s cautioning, Skizz hugs him a little tighter. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Impulse already said he’d preen them this weekend, so why not live a little!” Skizz laughs, and as always it's so loud and full of life that it shakes Tango’s body as well. 

After another moment Tango steps back, smiling at Zed warmly before clapping his hands together. “Now, gentlemen. I believe we have a summoning circle here with us today?” Oh he doesn’t believe, he knows. Even though he hasn’t seen it, even though Impulse had been the one to turn on the breaker, he can feel it. It’s been calling to him slightly since the moment he stepped foot in the house, but it’d gotten so much louder after he’d finished playing chicken, and now he has the perfect reason to use it. “I say we go back down there, summon good ole Mr. Ghostie Pants, and snap a great photo of him! Make a few extra bucks at his expense for daring to be an attic ghost.” Tango barely resists the urge to spit on the floor in disgust, and for the bit.

Zed’s eyes snap to attention at the mention of the summoning circle, crinkling slightly in worry. The cursed objects tend to give him migraines, which is why usually Tango would never suggest using one. 

But they need cash, fast, and this is a surefire way to get some.

Making his way over to him, Tango gently kisses Zed’s forehead. “I’ll help with the migraine after, promise.” The video camera presses against his leg slightly, giving him an even better idea. “If you film a video, and Impy here snaps a photo, we might be able to get double the money from a single summons.” It’s a bit risky to have all four of them in the room at the time of the summoning, but as much as none of them want to admit it, they’re getting desperate for cash. 

Letting out a sigh, Zed tips his head up slightly to steal a kiss. “Fine. It’s not my favorite idea, but we need the money. I’ll film from inside the room instead of the van, in case you guys need me to redirect the ghost for a minute.” 

A small click pulls Tango’s attention back to Skizz, who clicks a lighter on and off repeatedly. “Well, I say we go do this buddies!” With no outstanding arguments popping up, and no, Zed lovingly whining of his future headache or Impulse halfheartedly grouching about always having to do the harder photos don’t count, the four of them make their way back to the ground floor and stand outside the utility room.

The lights flicker again, but Tango finds himself lost in the alluring pull of the summoning circle calling out to him. It’s been ages since he’s last been in a house with one, he hadn’t realized he’d missed it. His hand drops to his crucifix again, clutching it just a little tighter. The energy in the hallway buzzes with ill-disguised anxiety as Impulse checks the camera film and Zed fiddles with video settings.

“We should be all set. Let’s do this, get our money, and then actually figure out what the ghost is.” Impulse taps a final button on the camera before opening the door slowly, taking in a deep breath. “It’s just a summoning circle.”

Zed steps into the room first, his whole body twitching with what looks like a chill. Tango walks in next, pulling incense off his belt and grabbing his own lighter. Just in case the ghost decides to hunt it’s a good failsafe, it’ll give them a few seconds to run without relying on Zed’s influence.

Skizz lights the first four candles in rapid succession, the temperature in the room dropping each time another candle’s flame flickers to life. Despite the added light the darkness feels like it's encroaching towards the center of the room, clinging onto his body and weighing him down. 

Just before lighting the final candle, Skizz turns back to Tango. “You have your crucifix, right?” Tango drops his hand one final time, feeling the familiar shape in his palm. Every part of him longs to light the final candle, to complete the ritual.

“I- uh- yeah. Yeah I do.” Tango forces himself to pull his eyes off the lit candles, though his voice sounds airy and unfocused even to himself. Without further questions Skizz lights the final candle, and the whole room turns red. 

Almost instantly the ghost appears in the middle, and Tango can distantly see the flash of the camera permeate the red lighting for a brief moment. The next second he staggers, something decidedly wrong with his body. 

No, not his body. 

His mind. 

With panic too slow to be natural, Tango realizes that he can hear the ghost calling to him. He stumbles backwards, his back finding the wall as he reaches for something to keep himself upright. His brain feels like it’s on fire, every thought amplified a hundred times past its normal volume until he can’t make out any of the words. An uncontrollable chill spreads through him violently, stopping him from moving. Tango glances at his crucifix in blind fear, waiting to see it erupt in a brilliant orange light as it wards off the ghost.

Instead, his eyes lock onto the wrench at his side.

A wrench, not his crucifix.

He must not’ve grabbed his crucifix when he’d fallen, he’d grabbed a wrench. 

“Oh fuck.” Tango’s voice sounds wrong even to himself, like an accent he’s never known is trying to fight its way out of his throat.  Impulse, Skizz, and Zed’s eyes all snap to him immediately, but much to Tango’s growing horror, he’s no longer the one in control of his body. He tries to fight back the ghost but it’s too late, he hadn’t started early enough and brain is already so weak to its efforts.

He only manages another single step backwards before his head explodes in pain, and he collapses.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tango collapses, and Zed can only stare in complete shock.

What- his first instinct is to rush forward, ignoring any sort of common sense or the fact that the ghost should be in the summoning circle, or perhaps trying to kill them, but most definitely not just gone. None of it matters right now, not while Tango’s suddenly out cold on the floor. 

Skizz picks him up carefully, Tango not stirring in the slightest. Impulse checks his pulse, dropping his wrist with a relieved sigh. “He’s alive. Let’s get to the van until we figure this out.” His tail wraps around Tango’s wrist again as the three of them make their way to the front door. Zed’s not sure if he can feel Tango’s pulse through it (though that’d mean his tail must be incredibly sensitive) or if it’s just for comfort. 

Zed and Impulse both step out into the cold night air, waiting for Skizz to follow. He takes a step but freezes, his body straining as if something’s holding him back from crossing the threshold. His brow furrows in confusion as he backs up and tries again, the same invisible force halting him in place.

Something about that- Zed yanks his blessing out, opening it up and staring at the face. It glows bright purple, although absent of any smoke. The final piece of the puzzle snaps into Zed’s head quickly, even as his face pales slightly. 

“I- I think Tango’s been possessed.” The idea sounds completely absurd (to the point that he wouldn’t even hold it against Impulse or Skizz if they thought he was kidding), but it’s the only thing that makes sense. There’s no other reason he should be trapped in the house, and it must be him and not Skizz, because Tango is the one who collapsed at the sight of the ghost.

The ghost that Zed couldn’t locate earlier, when he was first distracted by Tango passing out. 

Instead of either (or both) of them immediately telling him he’s insane, however, Impulse and Skizz exchange knowing glances filled with concern. Zed makes his way back into the house, his eyes rolling back momentarily before returning with the purple irises of his deathly sight. 

The soul that’s currently taking ownership of Tango’s body looks nothing like him, instead sporting dark brown curly hair with green streaks, a vest, and tattered white clothing. Not to mention a wicked deep slash against his chest, the wound leaking-

Purple smoke.

Oh no.

Zed blinks himself back into his normal vision, taking several steps back to steady himself. That’s- that’s a soul he claimed. He wouldn’t be able to see the smoke otherwise, not to mention the intrinsic feeling deep in his brain that he’s met this ghost before. When he was alive.

Skizz gently lies Tango back on the floor, joining Zed and Impulse a few paces away. “What’s going on, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Impulse groans, and Skizz shoots him a silly grin. “C’mon Dippledop, how could I not go for the easiest pun out there!” Zed tunes out the rest of their silly argument, trying to organize his thoughts (and figure out a way to ask why they seemed to agree that he’d been possessed without question).

Interrupting the two of them abruptly, Zed massages the violent headache behind his eyes. “I switched sights momentarily, Tango’s body is being puppeted by another soul. One I’ve met before.”

Before he can explain any further, “Tango” sits up. The tips of his flaming hair have turned blue, the color seeping through the rest of it slowly. A single green streak shoots up from the base of his hair all the way to the tip, vivid even in spite of the array of other colors fighting for dominance. 

He cracks his knuckles and then his neck, carefully gathering himself onto his feet before turning in a slow circle, staring at every detail of the house. Given how long it’s taken him to speak (most likely because he’s forgotten that’s an option) plus how closely he looks at every detail of the house, this spirit has been dead for a very long time. If Zed had to estimate, he’d put it at about five centuries at the earliest. 

Impulse clears his throat, brandishing his empty hands outward in a show of peace. “Hello Mr-” He pulls the journal out quickly, checking the hastily scribbled down name. “Joel? Joel Smallish?” 

That gets the ghost’s- Joel’s attention, Tango’s body jerking to stare at the three of them quickly. Skizz flinches slightly, a sentiment Zed’s not far from himself. Tango’s eyes are a sickly shade of green, the same color as the streak in his hair, and he looks slightly manic. Everything warm and kind and slightly strange about Tango has been replaced by sharp edges and the jerky movements of a ghost unused to the feeling of a body.

“That’s uh- that’s our friend you’re possessing, homie! I don’t suppose you’d be willing to- well I guess not?” Skizz steps forward, his most charming smile taking over his face. “We’d really appreciate it dude, we’re a bit worried about our friend.” Judging by the less than amused look on Joel’s face (which is really Tango’s face, but for the sake of not giving himself a worse headache, Zed’s just going to pretend it’s only Joel), just asking nicely might not do it.

There is another solution to this problem, though it’s not one Zed’s interested in trying unless he has to. 

Joel stares Skizz down (despite Tango being significantly shorter than Skizz), his expression teetering on the edge of pure rage. “Absolutely the fuck not! I just got this body, no blummin’ way I’m getting rid of it now!” Joel throws his hands up, pointing aggressively at Skizz. “So unless you can get me another body for my revenge, tough luck!” 

Revenge? 

Impulse scribbles down something in his journal before redirecting his attention back to the scene in front of him. “Look, Joel, we’re not trying to stand in the way of your revenge! We just- well we’d really rather you didn’t use Tango to do it!” Impulse’s grin is a lot less confident, instead bordering on the edge of a nervous breakdown or perhaps passing out himself.

Zed finally steps into the conversation, his right hand grasping his pocketwatch tightly in order to control his tone. “If it’s another spirit you’re looking for payback on, we may even be able to do it for you! We don’t really have a moral code to be honest, so long as we get paid.” Impulse looks personally offended by that, but it’s true! It’s not exactly ethical to charge as much as they do for labor and time when half of it is spent playing chicken, and Zed could identify every ghost the minute he steps into the building!

That seems to calm Joel down a bit, his hands moving to run through his hair. He suddenly yanks them back down as he realizes that it’s all flames, his eyes wide with confusion. “What the bloody- y’know what, not important. You guys said you’ll help me with my revenge?” He stops for a moment, seeming to debate with himself. “Actually, more help could be great! Death’s Devoted can be a tricky guy to catch.” 

Zed’s breath catches.

Willing Impulse and Skizz not to immediately blow his cover, Zed chuckles. “Oh? Haven’t heard of him, you sure he’s still alive? Deities tend to be a bit- oh I don’t know, careless with mortal lives, after all?” Joel’s pure hatred of him (even if he hasn’t recognized that he’s speaking to Death’s Devoted) only confirms Zed’s suspicions that this is someone from his reaping era. 

As long as he manages to stay in his human form, they might be able to make something work. That should be easy enough, he tends to stick to this form during most of their hunts anyway.

Joel stalks forward, grabbing a mug off a side table and smashing it across the ground. “Oh no, I know he’s alive. I wouldn’t still be stuck here instead of my afterlife if he wasn’t.” Zed flinches at the sound of shattering glass, as Skizz makes his way to stand in-between Zed and Joel. 

“Look dude, be as upset as you want but you need to be careful.” Skizz’s stern glower seems to snap Joel back to his senses briefly as something close to regret flickers across his face. The flames on his head flare a brighter orange for a second, nearly drowning out the green streak before suddenly being smothered in more blue. 

The room hits a standstill momentarily. Joel finally takes a step back, which in turn makes Skizz relax his more serious expression before sticking his hand out. “I’m Skizz, it’s nice to meet you Joel.” Joel shakes his hand, and Zed’s brain clicks with an idea. 

Impulse introduces himself next, and now Joel’s staring at Zed. Who holds his hand out innocently, a polite smile on his face. “I’m-” Think Zed, think. “Exsuma. I’m Exsuma.” His entire body goes still as he speaks the words, a whirlwind of grief nearly sweeping him off his feet. He’d panicked, so focused on his plan that he’d forgotten he’d need to introduce himself. 

And said the name of his long-deceased partner.

He sticks his hand out on autopilot, willing himself to focus on the task at hand. The second Joel’s hand touches his, Zed pushes as much energy as he can muster into making Joel submit to his command. To his immense surprise, however, his efforts seem to be completely voided. 

This should’ve been easy, Zed’s power infinitely stronger than Joel’s even with him in Tango’s body.

Joel wrenches his hand back quickly, pulling Zed’s concentration along with it. “You! You’re- you’re Death’s Devoted!” Zed audibly scoffs, the combination of regret, pain (from the headache the summoning circle gave him), and confusion making him forget to restrain himself.

“No, you don’t say! Here’s the deal, Joel. I don’t know why you’re so mad at me, or why I killed you, but you’re going to let my boyfriend go before I kill you again, ok? If not, when I banish your soul it will be the most painful thing you’ve ever experienced in life or death.” Zed’s voice is completely flat, a part of him that he hasn’t actively needed in centuries coming out in an instant. 

Skizz’s eyes dart between him and Joel quickly, his feathers starting to bristle. “Now, now, now, this doesn’t have to be a big deal! Joel, why don’t you tell-” He hesitates for a moment, eyes crinkling in confusion. “-Exsuma, Ex, here, what your issue with him is?”  

Zed’s brain goes silent yet again.

Skizz- it makes sense that he’d use the name Zed gave him. That’s what he wants, he doesn’t need a spirit as angry as Joel going around with access to his real name. 

But- but the nickname. 

He shouldn’t be surprised, Zed’s well-aware of Skizz’s nicknames for everyone and everything they interact with frequently enough. But nothing in the entire world could’ve prepared Zed to hear his own nickname for his partner again. One he hadn’t spoken since the day they’d died, or for the final time as they were laid to rest.

A part of him feels like it’s breaking inside, to have someone else say the name of someone so dear to him, someone lost to time outside of Zed and Death himself.

Now is not the time for this. 

Zed forces his brain to focus on the situation at hand, pushing his thoughts further into the part of himself that he needs to deal with Joel. Back when he was reaping for Death, he went by a different title than Death’s Devoted. 

No, he went by Mors. Death’s Blade.

At the sheer thought of his past self Death’s magic flows through his body, transforming his appearance yet again. His ram horns materialize, accompanied by his scythe. The new part of his appearance, however, comes in the form of a bone mask now on his face, the skull covering the upper half, save for his eyes, and leaving his mouth exposed. His hair, though he can’t see it, he knows has turned a dark shade of purple similar to the smoke his blessing billows when death is near.

Joel barely blinks at the change, his expression twisting into even more fiery anger. “He killed me! Tracked me down for months until I finally got tired, and then he reaped my soul!” Now that he’s been reminded of the details- Zed remembers Joel very well. 

He’s one of the only ones that ever tried to fight him.

Not that he won, obviously, but he’d certainly gotten the closest. If Zed’s remembering correctly, he might’ve even landed a hit at some point.

“Ah, you.” Zed’s voice is cold as ice, every hint of the fun, silly, emotive versions of himself he’d been for so long not present anymore. “You evaded my deity’s call for months, I only did what was determined by fate.” Joel was one of the worst ones, abusing various deals, charms, and favors from unsuspecting deities to shirk his death date.

Impulse’s pen continues to scratch down notes frantically, his eyes barely looking at the page while he stares at Zed, and then Joel, and then Zed again. “Let me get this straight. Z- Exsuma killed you? How long ago?” Zed barely blinks at the near-slip, too focused on the continued pain of hearing Exsuma’s name. Sadly enough, that pain seems to be working in his favor, since it distracts him from any partial mentions of his actual name. 

Tango’s flames turn even more vibrant blue, almost all the way down to his forehead. “Nearly six centuries ago, the bastard. Mors was so feared for a good two hundred years, and for what! All he did was reap people when their backs were turned.” Joel swears aggressively under his breath, but doesn’t dare take another step forward while Zed’s scythe is so near. 

But even if Zed won’t admit it, Joel’s relatively safe from his retribution. There’s no good way to remove Joel’s soul without hurting Tango, if not spiritually than physically. 

And that’s not an option, no matter how desperate they get. Death may be able to hold them in limbo for quite a number of things, but Zed’s scythe doesn’t act the same, it sends people directly to their afterlife. Automatically, before Death ever knows they’re gone. 

Taking Joel’s soul would take Tango’s right along with it, and neither of them would ever come back.

Catching Skizz’s eyes momentarily, Zed glances at the stairs up to the second floor for a split second, before yanking control of the house from Joel and shutting all the lights. His hands twitch with the new power, the headache behind his eyes swelling even further.

Once the room goes completely dark, Zed takes advantage of the moment of confusion from Joel to make his way over to Impulse, grabbing his wrist and dragging him up the stairs. Rolling his eyes back again he switches to his deathly sight, allowing him to see much better than he could in the pure darkness. 

He and Impulse meet with Skizz at the top of the stairs. Zed has no idea how to bring Tango back yet, but getting his crucifix is probably a good first step. He hadn’t noticed it before the summoning, but while he was staring Joel down he’d noticed the wrench in its place, not to mention Tango looking down at it just before he’d collapsed. He must’ve dropped it when he fell earlier.

Keeping his voice to a whisper, Zed starts to speak as he creeps forward. “Go up to the attic. We need the crucifix, and time to plan.” Both of them nod, following behind him as they make their way to the attic stairs and up into the dark room. Once inside Zed lets out a long breath, wishing for the thousandth time tonight that his head wasn’t screaming such vocal bloody murder at him.

“Zed, dude, what the fuck is happening right now. Why did you not use your actual name, whose name is that?” Skizz barely manages to whisper as he flicks his flashlight on, accidentally blinding Impulse with its glare. 

For a few moments Zed doesn’t say anything, his eyes entirely focused on searching for the crucifix and a way out of this conversation. Finding neither, he doesn’t bother to bite back a groan. “I told you guys I had a section of time where I delivered souls to Death. Joel was one of them. As for the name-” He clams up suddenly, the thought of telling them like nails in his throat and chest despite how much he trusts them. 

But really, it’s not about how much he does or doesn’t trust them. It’s about his inability to process hearing the name again. 

“It’s someone important to me.” Zed turns away the next moment, his voice thick with emotion. “Someone very important. I panicked.” With that his lips clamp shut, his ability to talk about the situation getting less and less capable the longer Tango’s possessed. The longer Zed has no idea how to fix it.

Just getting the crucifix won't do it, he can’t just reap Joel’s soul, and it’s getting less and less likely that he’s going to be able to talk Joel into just relinquishing the body. 

The body that he’d gained far too easily.

Turning to Impulse and Skizz, Zed shines his flashlight in their general direction. “What was with the glance you two shared when I’d first guessed he was possessed? Cause if it might help us now, I’ll take anything we can get.” 

Impulse sets his flashlight on the ground under the window, searching through piles upon piles of discarded toys. “He’s been possessed before. Once.” 

Zed blinks, the words processing but still not making sense.

“Also by summoning circle. We were new to the whole ghost hunting thing, and he lit the candles without knowing they did. Skizz managed to bring his soul back with his fading angelic powers, but it turned him into a blaze.” Impulse doesn’t look up from the floor the entire time he recounts the story, his hands picking up a random basketball and just spinning it in his hands. “I have no idea how we can fix him this time, we have no powers left.” 

His mind was weak. 

Everything makes so much more sense now. The apprehension around blood moons, when even the weakest spirits are much stronger, the insistence on keeping a personal crucifix, the reason Skizz had specifically asked if he had it before lighting the final candle, all of it clicks into place as if he’d always known it. 

Unfortunately, that means it’s going to be even harder to get Joel’s claws out of Tango’s body. Unless- 

Zed pops to his feet at the same time Skizz holds up the crucifix victoriously. “I think I know what we need to do. If we can tire Joel out enough, I should be able to push him out.” He voided the first attempt, most likely due to the sheer amount of spite tethering him to the plane to begin with. Getting him to expend most, if not all, of his energy on them, though, would weaken his ties here. 

Impulse also stands up, his voice deep in thought as his brow furrows. “And that won’t hurt Tangs?” He takes the crucifix from Skizz, nestling it into the pages of his journal before tucking it safely away.

Shaking his head, Zed starts making his way back to the stairs, snapping his fingers to turn the lights back on as he does. “Shouldn’t, but even if it does, this is our least painful option for him.” As much as he hates the idea of potentially hurting Tango, he can’t think of a safer way than this. Joel’s energy should be entirely separate from Tango’s so as long as he doesn’t try to throw himself down the stairs Tango’s body should be fine (better than fine, honestly, given how many times the man manages to walk himself into and off of things without being possessed). 

When they reach the first floor, Zed waves his scythe away casually before raising his voice. “Joel! We’re done hiding, let’s have another chat!” A small twinge in the back of his mind urges Zed to take a step to his right, which he does without thinking. A second later Joel’s fist strikes where his head had just been, as Tango’s body slowly manifests back into view from the ghost plane.

His hair is entirely blue now, a stark contrast to the angry red cheeks of Joel’s face as he stares down Zed. “Wh- no blummin’ way! Absolutely not, no way you dodged that!” He throws another reckless punch. Zed catches it this time, lightly twisting Joel’s wrist to get him to back off, without risking breaking it. 

Tango would never let him live it down if Zed broke his wrist, even if he’d done it in pursuit of ridding the unwanted soul from his body.

A lamp soars through the air without warning, Zed and Joel both turning to stare at it at the same time. Joel fades back out of the mortal plane, something Zed has no time to do before it hits him directly in the stomach. With a wheeze he doubles over, desperately trying to force air back into his lungs faster. 

“Sorry, sorry! I forgot he could do that!” Impulse’s panicked voice makes Zed chuckle (a feat harder than normal without any sort of breath to begin with). Admittedly, the sentiment is much appreciated, and technically it’s exactly what they’re meant to be doing. The more times Joel has to fade in and out, the harder it's going to be for him to keep himself from returning to the ghost plane permanently. 

Ideally, it also involves less lamps being thrown at his stomach.

“I- Void, you really threw that thing, didn’t you?” Zed coughs weakly, finally straightening back up to his feet. “Right idea, but lets work on aim a bit more, yeah?” Readjusting his mask on his face, Zed ducks as an invisible fist swings above him. His deathly senses are working overtime right now, this is easily the most he’s used them for this purpose in at least a hundred years. 

What can he say, normally people find him too loveable to try and punch him from the ghost plane!

Skizz throws a plate (which Zed thankfully manages to duck) that Joel sidesteps, shifting back onto the mortal plane fully just in time for Impulse’s thrown book to batter his left arm. He and Skizz continue to trade off tosses, grabbing anything they can get their hands on. 

The longer they throw the harder it gets for Joel to shift back and forth, the projectiles starting to hit more often than not. Zed, to his credit, only gets hit by two or three more himself, and none hurt even half as bad as the lamp.

It’s when his back is fully turned, distracted by nursing his cheek (where Skizz had just hit him with an emf reader), that Joel’s hand latches around his wrist. Initially, Zed was just going to flip him. Easy peasy, might make Tango a bit sore the next day but nothing too bad. 

And then the hand starts to burn. 

Immediately every rational thought in Zed’s head flees at the first lick of pain, every brain cell and movement dedicated solely to getting out of this fiery grip. His breathing starts to speed up more and more, until he’s not sure any air is making its way into his lungs before it shoots right back out. 

The hotter the fire gets the worse his wrist feels, which in turn makes his panic even worse. He hasn’t been burned in ages, due to careful avoidance because he can’t take it. Not since he’d been burned at the stake for his first witch trial, the fear growing even worse after his second. Almost anything else he’s been through he can handle, even intentionally triggers at times when it’s more convenient than the alternative, but never burning. 

He’d been too young into his service with Death, too unfamiliar to pain and what it meant to die.

Tears start to prick in his eyes from the combination of fear and pain, and only then does Joel let go. Although- judging by the look on his face it's not by choice. No, his hair flares a violent orange color again, staying longer this time as Joel stumbles backwards a few steps. 

Skizz runs over, grabbing his uninjured wrist and dragging the two of them back out of the house as fast as he can. Zed’s chest heaves for breath, his eyes trying to find anything to stare at other than his wrist. Skizz’s wings cover him completely, white, warm feathers blocking out his other senses until his breathing evens out. 

Only after his mind has calmed down does Skizz move his wings, sitting down next to Zed and Impulse on the porch. “I think we need another plan, he doesn’t seem to be getting tired.” Impulse groans, letting his head fall back in clear frustration. “Nothing I wrote down seems to help us, except that he’s driven. Why? I’m not sure.” 

Driven. The same way he’d been while evading his death, he- Zed’s eyes light up as he whispers a thankful prayer to Death. “That’s it! Both times his hair’s flickered, it’s been over big emotions. But- he’d been avoiding his death for a reason. He wanted to bring his wife back.” What bigger emotion is there than grief? It’s plagued Zed for all his years, and he’d be more than willing to bet that it’s plagued Joel just as long.

Finding his radio, Zed switches it on. “Joel, can we call a ceasefire? I want to help you, if this is about what I think it is.” At the sound of silence in return, he presses the button one more time. “Your wife?”

Barely a second goes by before the radio crackles to life, Joel’s abrasive voice too close to make for comfortable listening. “Fine, we can talk. But just you. In the master bedroom.” It worked. 

Taking off his mask and rubbing his eyes, Zed lets out a sigh of relief. “I’m going to go talk to him, get this all sorted out. You two stay out here, and stay together. I’ll radio if there’s any trouble.” Hearing no complaints, Zed makes his way back into the house at a brisk pace. The idea of talking about the worst day of his entire life doesn’t bring him any great joy (or urge to get to the room any faster), but for Tango’s soul it’s more than worth it.

He steps into the room cautiously, greeted by the sight of Joel’s red-tinged eyes as he sits on the edge of the bed, staring at a family photo left behind by the last homeowners. Zed’s heart twinges slightly in sorrow as he carefully sits next to him. Joel looks up at the dip of the bed, his eyes too sad to truly be angry. “You said you can help with Lizzie. Bring her back.” 

“I- I can’t bring her back. I can’t bring anyone back. That’s the whole reason I joined Death to begin with.” Zed pulls out his blessing, opening and closing the pocketwatch repeatedly for comfort. “I lost my partner too.” 

The words hang in the air, and Zed tries not to choke on them. No matter how much it hurts, it’s worth it to save Tango.

Joel, on the other hand, looks mildly affronted at the idea. “So what, you serve Death and still don’t get to bring them back? What’s even the bloody point then!” He laughs bitterly, finally meeting Zed’s eyes. “Don’t take this the wrong way mate, but I think you made a shit deal.”

Leaning back so his head rests on the bed, Zed fixes his gaze on a small imperfection in the ceiling. “I made a deal for their eternal peaceful afterlife. I could help you move on, rejoin her in the beyond somewhere nice and quaint.” Without being able to see, Zed can’t tell if his words are doing anything to drag Tango back into his body. 

The bed dips again as Joel stands up, his voice slightly further away. “You’re afraid of fire.” At that Zed sits up quickly, slight fear creeping into his expression. “And I’m not resting until I bring Lizzie back.” In a flash the room goes up in flames, the overwhelming emotion overtaking Joel's body as Tango’s hair turns its brightest shade of blue yet, the green streak glowing even stronger. “And if I have to kill you to make sure you don’t stand in my way, then that’s what it takes.” 

Without another word he steps past the door, shutting it. The resounding click of a lock echoes in Zed’s head as he starts to panic. The fire is all around him, the room already starting to fill with smoke. Zed scrambles to the door, banging against it haphazardly. “Joel! Joel let me out!” Belatedly he realizes he still has control of the house, only to feel that yanked from him and taking his breath with it. He rattles the door knob, the metal starting to heat under his hand the longer he tries. 

“Just give up Exsuma! I’m sorry you lost your partner, I really am. But I can’t let you stop me from getting Lizzie, I won’t. I don’t care if I have to possess your boyfriend for a hundred years, or put you through your worst nightmare in order to get her, either. May your soul rest in better peace than you left mine.” Joel practically spits the words out, the telltale sound of footsteps walking away filling the following silence. 

A small whimper forces its way out of Zed’s mouth before he can help it, the fire only growing closer and the smoke only getting worse. His hands search his pockets, finding his radio. “Imp-” He coughs, hard, as he inhales some smoke. “Impulse, Skizz- I’m stuck, bedroom, fire.” He barely manages to choke out the words in short bursts. “Please.”

There’s too much smoke in the room, not to mention how faint he’s starting to feel from the heat. His legs give out as he falls to the floor in front of the door, clutching his blessing and radio tightly to his chest. 

“Zed we can’t get in, the doors are locked. Skizz is trying to break a window but-” Impulse sounds on the verge of tears. His blessing falls out of his hand as he tries to cover his mouth and nose, tries to filter out any amount of smoke he can manage. The flames creep ever closer, the nightstand just across the room from him catching ablaze faster than he expected. 

Hopelessly he tries to shift to the ghost plane, but the sheer amount of fear flooding his senses keeps him rooted firmly here. In the path of the fire. “I can’t- I can’t do this, I need to get out of here, someone help me! Please, I’m begging you, don’t make me burn again. Anything else, please.” The faint feeling he’d been fighting off flares back up in full force, his body feeling weaker by the second as the heat works its way through his system alongside the thick, dark smoke. 

He manages to scream for help another few times before he starts inhaling more smoke than air, hacking up what feels like neverending ash from his mouth. Desperation slowly fades to bitter acceptance. He’s going to die here, yet again a victim to the ruthless nature of flames. As his eyes slip close (a small mercy, to not have to feel the pain a third time), the door suddenly shoots open. 

Zed’s being dragged out of the room before he can react, the movement sending his vision tilting in nauseating waves. His legs aren’t doing a good job of holding him up, too unsteady from the continuous coughing he can’t seem to cut off. It feels like the smoke’s taken permanent residence in his lungs, it’s the only thing he can taste. 

“Come on Zee, come on. I’ve got you.” Tango’s worried face, his hair blessedly back to its normal orange, stares at him as they pause at the top of the staircase. “Are you ok?” He- wait- his hair is back to orange. And it’s impossible not to notice the fact that his voice is entirely his own again, no longer British or trying to kill him. 

Tango’s no longer possessed. 

It takes the realization a few moments to sink in properly (though maybe that’s less about the magnitude of it and more to do with how weak he feels from the fire), and once it does Tango’s radio buzzes. “Tangs you gotta get out of there, do you have him?” Skizz’s voice is much graver than Zed’s used to, the sound unfamiliar and frankly concerning.

Coughing again, Zed finally manages to stay on his feet for a few seconds without immediately collapsing, using the banister to support most of his weight. The smoke has started to make its way into the rest of the house, but he can’t tell if his darkening vision is from his inability to breathe or the smoke itself.

“-got him, have you made any progress on unlocking the doors?” It takes him a second to realize Tango’s talking, his voice similarly serious. A gentle hand takes his unburnt wrist, tugging him closer to the stairs. He flinches slightly, but no pain follows. “We’ve got to get downstairs, do you think you’re able to get down?” Zed shakes his head in a panic. He can barely keep himself upright standing in place, that many stairs can’t possibly go well for him. 

In a single, smooth motion Tango picks him up, getting both of them down the stairs with relative ease. At the bottom he sets Zed down again, his comforting smile not reaching his eyes as he stares at the front door. 

Vaguely, Zed remembers Impulse mentioning the door being locked. Taking control of the house again feels like a daunting task while he’s so out of it, but the alternative is both of them burning to death. Reaching for his blessing, Zed’s hand pauses when he realizes it's not with him. 

He dropped it in the room. 

Whispering a prayer Zed summons it back to himself, dropping it instantly when the metal burns his fingers. The pain laces up his hand, dissolving any modicum amount of concentration he’d been able to build. He hisses slightly at the feeling, carefully flexing his fingers to test how badly it hurts. 

Manageable, but definitely painful.

Tango scoops up the pocketwatch as if he hadn’t just seen Zed burn himself on it. Curiously enough, though, he isn’t getting burned. Casting it out of his mind for now, Zed gestures vaguely at it. “Open it, please. Need the help getting the door.” Tango nods, carefully opening the clasp. 

The watch glows a fierce purple, strengthened by the multitude of prayers Zed’s muttering under his breath. While he speaks he draws the light out of the watch’s face with his left hand, letting his fingers drift idly as if he were listening to classical music. The more light he draws the stronger his concentration grows, until he feels put-together enough to force the doors to unlock. 

At the same time the lights in the room shatter, a byproduct of his lack of real control. 

Skizz throws the door open, he and Impulse pulling Zed and Tango out of the house as fast as possible. The four of them fall back onto the porch, breathing heavily. It’s silent for a few minutes, save for the quiet crackles and pops of the fire still raging inside the house.

Zed lets out a long breath, his lungs rejoicing at the fresh air he greedily gulps in until he can feel his heart finally stop beating as hard in his chest. He’d almost burned, again. He had been burned, twice. But he’s alive. And Tango’s not possessed.

“You- Tango not that I’m not happy to have you back, but how the fuck did you get rid of Joel?” Zed twists to stare at him, his lips quirking in amusement as he watches Tango idly roll the pocketwatch through his fingers. 

Impulse sits up as well, lightly tugging Skizz to his feet. “I’m also curious, but let’s maybe be curious in the van. I’ve put in an anonymous call to the fire department, so we might want to be gone before they get here.” Ah, right. That works wonders for getting all of them up, the four half running, half tripping their way into the van. 

Once they’re on the road, far enough away from the wail of the fire sirens to dispel their anxiety, Tango finally answers, his hands clutching his newly-returned crucifix. “It was like I’d just gone to sleep, y'know? I didn’t know what he was doing, not until I saw you flinch that first time.” He must be talking about the mug, but that has nothing to do with grief, or even any particularly strong emotion. “And then the second time, when he burned your wrist. I was able to try and pull for control again, even though I failed. And then the last time-” He pauses, clipping the crucifix back onto his belt. “I could hear you over the radio.” 

Zed doesn’t even remember what he said now, the entire event fading to the haze of lightheadedness and unrestrained fear.

Fear that was apparently strong enough to snap Tango back into consciousness long enough to banish Joel.

Skizz twists around in the passenger seat, a strikingly smug expression on his face. “Now, Top. You know you’re never living this down, right? Because how on earth did you think a wrench was anything similar to your crucifix?” 

Tango sputters, throwing his hands up in mock outrage. “It was dark man! It was metal, and vaguely cross shaped, and I wasn’t tryna spend a single extra second in that room!” In stark contrast to his words, Tango suddenly breaks out into uncontrollable laughter. “Void, I’m never going to stop hearing about this, am I?” 

The harder he laughs the more ridiculous he sounds, dragging Impulse, Skizz, and even Zed into laughing with him. Because honestly, should they have expected anything different from playing ghost chicken?

When they get back to the warehouse, Zed slips back into limbo momentarily. As much as he can’t stand Joel, can’t forgive the fact that he possessed Tango or the fact that Joel tried to kill him, he can understand why. 

So if Zed happens to put in a request to Death to reunite Joel and Lizzie in the afterlife (regardless of if Joel really deserves it, something Zed’s not entirely sure he does) then it’s between him and his deity.