Archive of Our Own

William runs a hand over this soft bed of grass he’s found himself lying in. A headache pounds behind his eyes as he slowly blinks them open and painstakingly sits up to see a field of misty flowers.

His breath catches.

Falling— whispering his final wish to the uncaring stars. Trying to scream as the wind steals his breath, and knowing intimately this fate was always his. Knowing this was exactly what he deserved.

He wipes harshly at his eyes with his sleeve, breaths coming quicker and quicker with each passing second. He goes for a proper inhale and gasps as a sharp, all consuming pain spreads through his chest. It sends him doubling over, coughing up little flecks of dried blood. 

Blood that made it up his throat because he fell— because he died. Blood that pooled under his body after his neck snapped, and his spine shattered, and—

Instinctively, William’s fists find the grass below him, and he holds on for dear life as panic wracks his broken body. 

He stays there for longer than he should. The world goes a strange sort of hazy until finally he finds himself on his back, clutching a fist to his chest.

Sun piercing through the thick canopy above reveals a little blue flower poking out from his grip.

Forget-me-not, Lui’s voice echoes, and William desperately holds back another round of sobs. Instead, he squeezes his eyes shut and stiffly fishes out his phone from his pocket.

The screen is cracked, but turns on easily enough. He scrolls, almost automatically, to his first contact, and lays the phone beside his head, vibrating gently.

His lays a sleeve over his teary eyes as the line clicks, and his voice escapes him in a raspy wheeze.

"Hey d-dad? Can you come pick m-me up?"

—

There’s a strange boy in Deadwood.

It drifts off of him like an aura. Something eerie, uncanny, uncomfortable and—

One day, he decides he is too old to be ducking behind his brother’s legs. Too old to cower from ghosts. So he pierces his ears, slides on fingerless gloves, paints his nails, and throws on an oversized skeleton hoodie. At some point, it becomes about control. Look here, it tells the kids giving him strange looks on the street. Look here instead. Don’t look at me.

And for a while, it works. He gathers a little band of kids who understand, and together they go ghost hunting on the weekends. Lui nudges William fondly when he yelps at the rustling leaves of a bunny, while Isaac tries to goad Norah into running up ahead. She whacks him lightly over the head, and they end the night piled on the little couch in William’s basement, watching shitty movies.

And it’s nice.

And for a while, William feels like he’s home.

But—

One day, a Striga attacks. Sends the entire town reeling from disease, until finally they’re the only ones left to stop it.

One day, the dead rise from their graves, and the forest quakes under their feet, and—

Slowly, they realize just how close to death they’ve been treading all this time. The world shifts on its axis— the wind sounds out the first notes of a fugue, and together they hold their breaths, waiting for the awful change.

One day, William dies. 

As he drags himself out of the Whispering Woods, pale chrysanthemums bloom in his wake.

—

"Just wait here for a minute, sweetie," Norah’s mother murmurs, stepping up to the front desk. 

The sound barely reaches Norah’s ears, muffled behind layer after layer of thick footsteps. Today, the ambient noise of the hospital twists into the notes of a funeral dirge. One only she hears, standing here alone, clutching a bouquet to her chest and shivering in the chill.

She buries her face in the flowers to escape the sad looks she’s getting. Everyone knows her here, of course, but—

Her hands still itch with the sensation of uprooting stems from the ground. Walking along the river, blinking tears out of her eyes, and picking flowers from the strange little path they’d formed.

Reminding herself that it turned out okay, in the end.

That he wasn’t a missing person.

It’s supposed to be okay—

A warm hand on her shoulder startles Norah out of her spiral.

"—should be good to go as long as you put this around your neck!" Her mother smiles, and Norah blinks at the lanyard in her palm.

Hospital badge. Right. 

She carefully fits the badge over her T-shirt and offers her mother a weak smile. "Got it."

Her mother ruffles her hair, and begins leading her towards the elevators. "Good."

It’s disorienting, walking through hallways she’s known all her life feeling so off balance. It reminds her of blood leaking from her forehead, and desperate hands at her shoulders. It reminds her of things she’d rather forget.

As they step up to the room, Norah’s mother sweeps her into a quick hug.  

"I’ve gotta get back to work," she tells Norah, gently tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. Norah leans into the touch, and her mother gives her a brief smile. "Call if you need me."

"Okay," Norah whispers, voice meeker than she’d like.

Still, her mother walks off and she’s left staring at a white door with her best friend’s name on the placard. Something twists in her stomach, and she forces her hand to the door handle anyway. 

It’s just William.

The door swings open, and as Norah flings herself forward, she finds herself making an addendum. 

It’s just William, but he’s alive.

"Woah— Norah," he rasps out, pulling himself to a sit as she takes him into a shaky embrace.

"You were missing," she whispers, burying her head in his shoulder and pressing the flowering into his chest. "You were missing and I thought you were dead."

William gives an exhale that could almost be called a laugh, and she holds him tighter.

"I’m okay," he breathes, sinking into the hug. "I’m alright."

Norah’s inhale hitches wretchedly. "You fell off a cliff."

"Yeah," he agrees, something choked in his voice. "I got lucky."

Norah pulls back, if only to glare at him, and he huffs.

"You dyed your hair," she comments, now sitting properly on the foot of his bed.

His expression freezes.

"No, no," she rushes, confused. "I— I like it! It’s very edgy."

Almost absentmindedly, his free hand hovers up to the stark white streak falling into his eyes. After a moment, he seems to realize this, and slams his hand back down to the covers.

"Y-yeah," he stutters, after an uncomfortable pause. "Felt like I… needed a change."

"Yeah," Norah repeats, suddenly very lost.

"A-anyway," William rasps. "How are Lui and Isaac?"

"They told me to tell you to ‘get ready for an ass beating once we’re allowed in.’"

"Oh," William exhales, halfway between a laugh and concern. "Bet that was Isaac."

"‘Maybe," Norah concedes, "You scared us." Norah tries at a weak smile. William offers one in return.

"Sorry," he says, belatedly. It’s a lame apology, but she figures smacking him on the head would probably exacerbate his injuries. Speaking of—

"Are you okay?" 

William blinks. "Huh?"

"You fell off a cliff," Norah says, pointedly. "Are you okay?"

"It’s not that bad," William tries, but after a few seconds of Norah’s patented glare he sighs. "Just, um. My ribs, mostly. Some internal bleeding. Bit my tongue pretty hard too."

"Are you okay to be sitting?" Norah worries, and William does an aborted motion she’s pretty sure was going to be an eye-roll.

"Sorry," he breathes, "the doctors are kinda up my ass. Sit, lie down, cough into this pillow talk to the psychologist, take more meds, etcetera."

Norah frowns. "Psychologist?"

William gives her a wry smile— tight at the edges. "They’re t-trying to put me on suicide watch."

Norah winces. She remembers strangers in white coats and pointed questions. 

Jerkily, William lays the flowers aside and grabs a pillow to shove into his chest. "It’s fine," he assures through gritted teeth. "They— uh. Fuck. Ow… They can’t p-prove I did it on purpose."

 Norah considers this for a moment, but after watching William suffer through a minute long coughing fit, she shifts her priorities.

"Don’t be an idiot," she frowns. "If you need more pain meds, just ask for them."

William grimaces. "T-they make me high. I’ll take some when you leave."

A moment passes. Norah listens to William’s ragged breathing beside her, and reminds herself he’s alive.

It’s supposed to be okay. 

It will be okay.

But—

"Did you?"

The question slips out by accident, catching against her teeth in an ugly moment of doubt. She’s not supposed to ask that question. William is her best friend, and she’s not supposed to ask that question but he laughs— a pitiful wheezing thing and buries his face in the pillow.

Little white flowers brush against his thighs and in this moment his skin is just as pale.

"No," he rasps. "No, it was just dark. I needed to follow the wisps, and— and I didn’t see the edge. That’s all."

"That’s all," Norah echoes, ignoring the twisting of her gut. "I— okay."

There’s a minute of quiet. It lays heavily between them and Norah realizes, in the silence, that he hears it too.

The dirge.

"I hear your mom talking down the hallway," William whispers, at last. "You should probably go."

Norah nods, and pulls him in for one last quiet embrace.

"I’m glad you made it," she breathes, pulling back, and his lips tilt upward.

"Thank you for the flowers, Norah," he replies and a wave of fondness comes to wrap around that ache in her chest.

Smoothing out her skirt, Norah offers him one last shaky smile, and heads for the door.

The din of the hospital floods back into her periphery, and she pretends not to hear the muffled noise of pain behind her. 

The door clicks shut.

—

There is a ghost in William’s room.

He doesn’t quite register it, at first. The pain meds send everything into a comfortable sort of blurry and William falls into it wholeheartedly.

Except—

It doesn’t last. The first time the meds wear off, he locks eyes with the shadow in the corner, staring into his eyes with dark, dark holes, and has a panic attack. 

By the time he comes back to himself there are scratches on his arms and a nurse trying to pry his nails off of himself.

After that, he starts to make a game out of it. See how long he can go without pain medication. See how long he can meet its uncanny gaze.

After that, the world starts to fade out around him.

Maybe it’s a deer, he thinks, as his mother cries over him. (I just— I don’t know what you were thinkin’ honey! We could have lost you, and we wouldn’t have even known! Lord help us, William, you almost died!)

It certainly has the antlers. Stark, twisting things that reach toward the ceiling. But—

No, he decides, gritting his teeth as the psychologist comes in to interrogate him. No, its body is too thick— its teeth too sharp. Some type of demon, then. Something quiet, but angry. Like the moments just before a storm. 

Finally, the psychologist gives him an impatient speech about liars and boys who disgrace their families, and leaves. William never even looks at her face.

Maybe it’s waiting, he muses, later. He stubbornly ignores the wave of energy that jolts through his body. 

But—

Only a few moments later, wisps flood in around him, flitting excitedly about the room, and he slowly pulls himself to the corner of his bed. His hands are tinted blue, he realizes, gripping the sheets nervously. Why are they—

Not just blue, William realizes as the air is sucked from his lungs and his body begins to plummet through the floor.

Transparent.

And William—

falls.

There’s a ghost in William’s room.

And as he curls into an uncertain mess of blanket and pillow, doctors rushing all around him and ribs throbbing from the fall, he meets the gaping holes where its eyes should be and knows—

Whatever it was looking for, it found.

There’s a lot more doctors, in the days that follow. William is fairly sure of it. But the hours go blurry. 

One day, it stands at the corner of his room, and William watches its head slowly tilt through the hours. Eventually its neck is completely cracked, and its teeth are bared in a horrible grin, and William’s mother takes him into a hug that he doesn’t have the presence of mind to return.

One day, it drifts toward the IV stand, just feet away from his bed. Lui, Norah, and Isaac are all piled into the tiny hospital room, playing board games but William—

William just stares at the thing inching toward him and wonders why no one else can see it. Wonder why no one comments on the ugly, keening cry it gives when the sounds of the hospital get too loud.

"Don’t worry if he’s not too responsive," one of the older nurses tells them, gently taking William’s hand, placing a few small capsules into it, and closing his fist around them. "He’s on a lot of medication. His internal bleeding started back up yesterday, poor boy. Doctors are trying to get it stabilized, again."

"We understand," Lui offers, as William takes the nurse’s offered water and swallows the pills.

He can’t tell if he feels the cup beneath his fingertips. He fumbles it as he tries to give it back— too focused on the gentle sway of the demon haunting his IV.

"You’re good kids," the nurse smiles. Isaac averts his gaze, but Norah gives him a shy nod.

"Thanks Mr. Martins," she says, and it’s a tone of voice so familiar William feels his lips quirk briefly upward.

"Even high off his ass, Will knows you’re a nerd," Isaac nudges Norah as the door swings shut, and Norah rolls her eyes.

"Oh shush. He’s a nice man."

The next day the ghost creeps up to William’s bedside.

There’s no one left to distract him. No quiet laugher, no angry, Monopoly induced muttering. There aren’t even any pointed questions from doctors with sharp eyes and too-cold hands.

And staring into the place where it’s eyes should be, William realizes, too late, that he’s wasted his efforts. Far, far too late.

Because in the end, when the demon reaches out gnarled claws, it’s mangled face inches away from his—

William bares his neck, exhausted.

There’s nothing left for him to do.

It’s claws pierce through his skin and—

There’s a whole scandal, after that. They try to put him back on suicide watch for a while, but his nails aren’t sharp enough to dig through several layers of skin. They blame it on his powers and try to send him home, but he’s still too injured to get up on his own, let alone function, and there’s no proof it’d be safer there anyway. Finally, they decide to keep him, but block off any visitation apart from his parents.

William stops counting days after that.

But in his dreams he remembers the cold agony of its claws digging into neck. Remembers realizing it was going for his blood vessels— realizing it was going to kill him.

But the most disgusting sensation that follows him in his dreams is this—

It’s the realization that in the moments before the doctors rushed in around him— before his vital signs started screaming out in an agonized choir—

He wanted it to.

One day, William blinks, and he’s curled into the back of his mother’s sedan. She chatters soothingly about the neighborhood gossip, and it sort of just washes over him.

 "Oh William," she gushes, and he tilts his head to listen. "Your father and I planted a couple lil’ seeds in the front, and it’s turnin’ out just beautiful. Who’d have guessed your father would be such a gardener?"

"They’re carrots," William finds himself rasping, eyeing his mother in the rearview mirror. "Aren’t they?"

"Well, honey, of course they are," his mother grins, "Just because they’re easy to grow don’t mean they ain't impressive!"

"‘Course, ‘ma," William placates, a hesitant smile curling at his lips, and somehow, he thinks maybe he’ll be okay.

—

Isaac is camping out on the couch in William’s basement when Ms. Wisp calls from the ground floor.

"Boys! Norah is here!" 

William lays aside his controller, effectively forfeiting the game of Mario Kart they were playing, and Isaac mutters a quick swear as he gets hit by a blue shell.

"Hey could you—" William starts, and Isaac nods.

"Yeah, I’ll go get her."

"Cool," William says, and Isaac watches him stiffly pry himself off the floor to look for another controller.

He thinks about telling him off for it, but every time he’s done that today, William has glared at him and scoffed. He decides it isn’t worth it. If William looks like he’s gonna actually injure himself, Isaac’ll just tell Ms. Wisp and she’ll stick him back on bedrest.

So with a pointed look, Isaac makes his way upstairs. Norah is chatting quietly with Ms. Wisp in the kitchen, sipping on a glass of lemonade, and she offers Isaac a little wave as he approaches.

"We’re gaming in the basement," Isaac explains as Ms. Wisp walks off toward the living room. "It’d be cool if you joined."

Norah smiles, briefly, before her expression evens out to something a little uncomfortable. "Actually," she breathes, rapping her fingers on the little plastic cup in her grip. "I wanted to… ask you a favor?"

Isaac blinks. "Yeah?"

"Would you… go out to the woods with me?" Norah asks, words too fast and tangled up in each other.

Isaac mulls it over for a second.

"I mean, sure?" He agrees, confused, "But William’s still in the basement."

"Yeah," Norah says, sheepishly. "I tried to get Lui, but he’s helping his mom at work today, and you’ve been crashing at Will’s place for like the past week, so…"

"Alright," Isaac nods, easily enough. "But you have to stay after we get back, cause Will and I are watching Origami XIV, The Final Fold tonight."

Norah frowns. "Could it be something a little less… y’know?"

Issac grins, and she gives him a look. 

Smugly, he reaches out a hand. "Do we have a deal?"

Norah looks longingly out the window, and then back to him. "If I have to," she relents, taking his hand. 

They walk downstairs. Norah tells William they’re going back to her place for guitar lessons, and Isaac gives her a sidelong glance but bites his tongue. It doesn’t end up mattering. William shoos them off easily enough, settling back on the couch with a little smile.

"Get out of my fuckin’ house," he tells Issac solemnly, holding his shoulder firmly. "Or I’ll charge you rent."

 Isaac rolls his eyes. "You’re just mad your mom likes me better."

William flips him off, and Norah gives him a quick hug before grabbing Isaac’s hand and running upstairs.

They say a quick goodbye to Ms. Wisp, take one last swig of lemonade, and begin making their way towards the woods.

Their little neighborhood is bathed in shades of golden sunlight, and Isaac pulls his hair into a little ponytail to keep the sweat off his neck. It’s August in the midwest, or, as Isaac likes to call it—

Hell.

"What was that about?" Isaac asks, jostling out his fringe to avoid looking too much like his father.

Norah startles. "Huh?"

"Why’d you lie?" Isaac clarifies, and Norah winces.

"I… just," she starts, trying to find the words. "I didn’t wanna alarm him, is all."

Isaac searches her eyes. She quickly averts her gaze, running her fingers over her arms.

"Sure," he agrees, at last. "But like— what are we actually doing?"

"Checking something," Norah mutters, and steps up ahead. Isaac startles, breaking into a quick run to catch up with her.

The forest is beautiful, this time of year.

The trees form a canopy so thick that wherever sunbeams break through the world looks twice as bright. It’s all vibrant greens, cloaked in the woods’ permanent layer of mist, and Isaac takes a moment to appreciate it all before stepping onto the path.

"Can you hear them?" Norah whispers, suddenly beside him.

Isaac pauses. "Hear what?" 

Norah stares forward for a moment, and then shakes her head. "Nothing. Follow me."

Maybe Isaac’s too used to weird, at this point. Maybe having cockroaches eating through his stomach made him a bad judge of this kind of thing, but—

This is a type of strange he hasn’t seen from Norah in months. 

He frowns, but follows anyway.

Maybe that says something about him.

Slowly, they wind their way up the path. Eventually, they drift toward the river, and together they stop for a moment to peer down at their reflections in the quiet water.

There’s something in Norah’s eyes as Isaac looks over her expression. It’s gone in a moment. She smiles, smooths out her skirt, and beckons him forward.

"C’mon," she calls, "we’re almost there."

Isaac follows.

Finally, they come to the end of the path to find—

"Oh," Isaac breathes, watching as the trees part to reveal the edge of a cliff. "Norah, I don’t know if we should—"

Norah shushes him, frantically, and creeps up to the edge. Isaac reaches out to stop her, but he catches vibrant blue in his peripherals.

"Wisps," Norah whispers, her expression dropping into something agonized.

They dot the valley below, flitting about the little white wildflowers like hummingbirds.

"Norah," Isaac exhales, turning to meet her eyes. "Why are we here?"

Norah sighs.

"I saw one yesterday," she says, quietly turning back to the valley below. "I told Will, and—"

Something creaks, in the distance. A long, groaning noise, like the lament of a bassoon.

"He freaked out," she whispers. "Told me they were all gone."

"He was chasing them, when he…" Isaac pauses, throat suddenly dry.

"Yeah," Norah finishes. "Yeah, he was."

The groan sounds again. Isaac whips his head around for the source, and Norah gives him a bemused look. "You can hear it?"

Isaac nods, taking a step back. "I don’t like it," he tells her. "I think we should go."

Norah looks back for a moment, blue dancing in her dark eyes, and then shakes her head.

"Alright," she agrees. "Let’s go."

Together, they begin to work their way back across the old path. The fog is thick— Isaac realizes, belatedly. Far too thick for a summer evening.

"Something’s wrong," he nearly hisses, catching movement in the corner of his eyes.

Norah nods, holding out her hand. Isaac slides his palm against hers, and she begins to pick up their pace.

"It’s still bright out," Norah breathes. "The woods don’t normally have any spirits till nightfall."

The drone comes again, this time so loud that it vibrates the trees around them.

Isaac whips his head around to see—

"Crows."

"No," Norah hisses. "Look at the antlers."

Sure enough, the flock all have the shadows of razor sharp antlers along with their too long beaks, and Isaac realizes there’s far too many of them to deal with alone.

"Keep walking," he orders, surprising even himself. "They won’t bother us if they know we’re not a threat."

"Okay," Norah whispers, and squeezes his hand tighter.

The walk is a long and arduous thing. Several times, Isaac finds himself reminding Norah to breathe, but in the end his prediction is proved correct.

"We’re never doing this again," Isaac groans as they cross the threshold into their little suburbs. 

Norah lets out a noise that is half laughter, and half a cry, and together they walk off toward’s William’s house and try to forget the demons watching their every move.

—

"Lui," Ms Wisp greets warmly. "It’s nice to see you. Your friends are down in the basement."

Lui smiles, taking off his shoes and crossing into the house. "Thanks for having us."

"No need for that," Ms. Wisp laughs. "You know y’all are welcome any time. I’m just glad my boy has some good friends."

"‘Course," Lui nods, dropping his shoes on the shoe-rack and heading for the basement. He can vaguely hear Isaac laughing, downstairs.

"There’s chocolate chip cookies in the oven," Ms. Wisp says, as he clicks open the door to the stairs. "I’ll bring a tray down soon."

"Sounds great!" Lui calls, overalls clacking as he runs down the steps.

The basement is warmly lit. The walls are unfinished, but it’s far cooler down here than up in the rest of the house, and Lui knows William likes the grungy vibe of it all.

"Can you really do that?" Norah’s voice echoes up. "I thought it was only split between two pieces."

"Maybe not," Isaac admits, glancing up at Lui and offering him a quick smile. "But look at that sick slide."

"I don’t think the rules care how ‘sick’ your slide is," William comments, dryly, and Lui snorts.

Norah and Isaac are playing a game of Sorry! on the floor, red and green pieces scattered about as William watches from his perch on the washing machine. 

"Hey," William greets, throwing up two fingers in a little half-wave.

Lui grins, and drops down beside Norah. "Who’s winning?"

"Her," Isaac groans, "But only ‘cause she used a ‘Sorry!’ card right as I backed out of a safe space."

Norah looks thoroughly distraught. "I apologized," she whines, and Lui gives her a placating pat on the shoulder.

Lui plucks a yellow piece out of the box to fidget with, and Isaac draws another card. 

"Eleven," He reports, eyes glinting with something like mischief. "Norah, I don’t think you’re getting that piece home."

Norah gives him a betrayed look, but trades pieces nonetheless.

William watches on, vaguely amused, and taps a finger against the washing machine. "Since Lui is here, do you guys wanna start now, or after you finish?"

Norah looks to Isaac, who shrugs. "We can finish while we talk, I guess."

Norah nods. "Alright."

Lui clears his throat, dramatically. "Then, I’d like to commence the first meeting of the Unwitness Protection Program since William almost fucking died."

"Hey," William objects, with almost no heat, and Lui offers him a grin.

"Whatever," he huffs, swinging his legs up to sit cross legged. 

"Anyone seen anything weird lately?" Lui asks, and the basement goes quiet.

In the quiet, Isaac gives Norah a look Lui can’t quite decipher, and her shoulders drop.

"We… uh," she coughs, awkwardly. "Isaac and I got chased down by a flock of demon birds yesterday."

William stills. 

Lui frowns, and turns back to Isaac. "Demon birds?"

Isaac rubs at the back of his neck. "They’re beaks were really sharp," he explains, "and they had no eyes. Just— sorta… pits."

"Hey, uh, where was that?" William rasps, something brittle lacing his voice.

Norah averts her eyes. "Around the e-edge pf the wood. We went for a walk after going to my place, yesterday."

William curls his knees into his chest, and goes silent.

Lui squints at the two of them, before redirecting gazing back down at the board.

"I saw a demon hanging by the remnants of the old church," he reports, quietly, and the others all flinch to some degree.

"Hanging?" Norah whispers, and Lui grimaces, gesturing at his throat.

Isaac moves a piece. It clicks as he accidentally sets it down a little too hard onto the game board. "Why were you even over there?" 

"Helping my mom," he explains. "Remember?"

Isaac nods, and Lui sighs. "Anyways, when we were driving around I also saw a bunch of wisps on the outskirts of the woods."

The room goes dead silent. Isaac nudges him, and gestures not so subtly at William, who’s hands are quietly trembling.

Shit.

They all sort of glance between each other, unsure what to do. 

After a moment, William breaks the silence.

"What if," he rasps, barely audible over the washing machine, "we’re just— like, fucking this up?"

Isaac frowns. "What do you mean?"

William shrugs, playing with a white curl at his temple.

"We’re trying to help," Isaac points out, gently. "Like, it sucks sometimes. It sucks really fucking badly— but we’re helping people."

After a moment, William gives a stiff nod. As tbe words echo in his mind, Lui wonders whether he meant something entirely different. 

The incident happened when William was chasing wisps, and now—

Norah agrees, quietly, and the two turn back to playing their game. But, as the attention leaves William, Lui blinks, and just for a moment—

He’s gone.

Except, obviously, he isn’t. He’s sitting right there, picking at his nail polish. 

(So then why does his skin flicker whenever Lui looks away?)

"—Lui?" Norah asks, a hint of concern in her voice.

Lui feels his lips curl into a sheepish smile. "Sorry, yeah. What were we talking about?"

"Isaac asked whether or not we should investigate anything," she fills him in, expectantly.

"Right," he snaps. "Well, the old church is already off limits so…"

"We’re not investigating the wisps," William says, flatly. Seeing everyone glance back at him, he coughs, and adds, "Besides being nuisances, they’re practically harmless."

Isaac raises an eyebrow at him, and William just stares back.

Ignoring this exchange, Lui nods. "I figured. So, nothing this week."

"Alright," Norah agrees, knocking Isaac’s piece back to Home. He pouts at her, and she gives him a little smile.

Ms. Wisp walks in shortly after, and they set aside the conversation to snack on some freshly baked cookies.

As Norah walks over to ask him about the plants he’s growing right now, and oh, my dad says he’s been missing fresh fruits, something about the store ones tasting strange, Lui spots William muttering something to Isaac and slipping away to go upstairs.

And he wonders.

—

Lui is picking tomatoes out in the backyard, when his mother peeks through the door.

"Lui?" she calls, "Janet’s boy is here."

Lui stands, stalks tickling his knees, and peers out from the garden.

His mother is bathed in the evening sun, one of his siblings hanging off her arm and smiling softly as she gazes about the soft greens. He knows she’s proud of him. Knows she was worried, after everything with the grimoire, and Lui being hospitalized. But today, there’s no supernatural— no corpses digging in the backyard.

Just tomatoes.

"Did Will say why he came?" Lui asks, frowning.

"No idea," she huffs, "but don’t keep him waiting. That boy looked like he was gonna fall over."

Lui nods, grabbing the bowl from the ground and handing it to his mother. "I’ll finish up later. Can you put these on the table?"

He doesn’t wait for a response before heading off to the door. When it swings open he realizes his mother wasn’t exaggerating.

On the porch is William, standing with two plastic bags and a hazy sort of look in his eyes. He doesn’t notice the door— instead staring off towards something in Lui’s yard looking hunted.

"Will?" Lui tries, stepping out.

William startles visibly, and gives Lui a sheepish smile. "Sorry, got… distracted."

Lui stares at him for a moment, and then steps aside. "C’mon."

The two of them enter the house. It’s almost ritualistic, somehow, the way that they move around each other. William deposits his shoes by the door, while Lui pours him a cup of water— extra ice, because he’s a psychopath who loves brain freeze. He walks back to find William washing his hands at the sink, and steers him upstairs towards his room.

"Okay," Lui breathes, handing William the water and sitting on his bed. William gives him a grateful smile, settling down on his beanbag chair. "Are you possessed?"

"What—"

"If you are we can probably do something about that," Lui continues, flipping through the book at his bedside. "I was doing some research on Lycanthropy last night, and I can’t imagine banishing a demon is all that much more complicated than banishing a wolf spirit, or—"

"Dude," William says, putting the bags down and reaching out for Lui’s shoulder. "I’m not possessed."

Lui huffs, smoothing out his rainbow quilt to sooth his anxiety. "Well what am I supposed to think when you show up on my doorstep looking about ready to pass out?" 

William scrunches up his face. "Pass out?"

Lui gives him a look, and props up an arm with his knee. "Well if it isn’t possession, what is it?"

William takes a sip of water, and looks away. "Can you… help me dye my hair?"

Lui blanches. "What."

Seemingly subconsciously, William tangles a hand into white hair, tugging lightly in a sort of rhythmic motion. "I just—" he starts, and then cuts himself off.

Lui waits for a moment as he finds his words, tapping his fingers against his mattress. 

"I keep looking in the mirror, and I —" he stumbles, frustrated. "I hate it. I really, really hate it, and I knew my mom would kill me if I tried to dye it back so…"

"You came to me," Lui finishes. William gives a meek nod, and offers up the bags.

Inside is everything he needs— at least, to Lui’s knowledge. Black box dye and brushes in one, and a couple of disposable containers and gloves in the other.

After a moment, Lui stands, walking to the door, and William grabs him by the sleeve with a desperate sort of panic. 

"Where are you going?" He demands.

Lui frowns, turning to see William’s pupils the size of pinpricks. "To ask my parents?"

Immediately, William lets go, an almost nonexistent blush forming on his cheeks. "Sorry," he mutters, hiding his face, and Lui just sort of… stares, for a moment.

"It’s fine," he assures, after the silence stretches on just a little too long. "Just give me a sec."

He runs downstairs. Conversations are had, a tarp is set up in the bathroom, siblings are shooed off, and soon enough William is walking down the stairs, picking anxiously at his nails, and Lui leads him over to the bathroom.

"Sit," he says, lightly shoving William towards the toilet.

"Ew," he complains. "No."

Lui rolls his eyes. "It’s this or the bathtub, and I know your balance is still a little wobbly."

William gives him a pleading look. Lui just points at the toilet, unamused.

William sits.

"Alright," Lui says, "I’m gonna go grab you another shirt, so you don’t wreck your hoodie. You better have it off by the time I come back."

Lui turns, ignoring the quiet snort William gives as he leaves the room. ("Buy me dinner first.")

As he makes his way upstairs, he notices the golden light gently shining through the windows. Lui’s room is warmly lit as he opens the door, and he can just faintly see the glow of the stars dotting his ceiling. He slides open his closet door, and feels for an old shirt he’s willing to sacrifice. An old Green Day shirt finds it’s way between his fingers, and he mourns it quickly before sliding it off the hanger and folding it over his arm. He also swings by the laundry room on his way downstairs, grabbing a clean, dark towel. 

With that settled, he descends to the ground level and turns into the hallway where the bathroom is. The door is still cracked open as Lui rushes over, and he stills as he sees William’s reflection in the mirror, standing with his hands in his hair.

That clouded look is back in his eyes. Lui wonders, for a moment, if he’s changed his mind.

Better to give him a chance to back out, he thinks, taking a quiet step back.

William’s gaze shifts to that of a glare, and something is wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong,

wrong.

The hands in his hair begin to grip, and then—

pull. 

One strand of white hair leaves his scalp.

And then another.

And then another.

There’s too many strands of white mixed into his curls, and with shaking hands William reaches for another section—

"Will," Lui calls, desperately trying to even out his breathing. "I— I got the stuff. I’m coming in now."

William freezes in the mirror. 

By the time Lui enters, he’s back sitting cross-legged on the toilet seat— left in his bracelet stacks and a black tank top that falls loosely around his form.

Lui hangs up the towel, still trying to wrap his mind around what he witnessed. When he turns around to meet William’s eyes, they’re wide. Panicked.

"Will," Lui rasps, eyes flitting down. "What’s that on your hands?"

William glances down, and he stills as he notices the dusting of red on his fingertips.

Old blood, Lui’s mind supplies, and William silently moves to the sink to wash it off.

"Will…" Lui tries, watching William’s face through the mirror. William meets his eyes for just a moment, and—

The sink turns off. Lui hands William his shitty old shirt, and William kicks him out so he can change.

After a while, the door crack open again, and Lui walks in to prepare the dye. 

"Dude," William says as he enters, "why is this the sacrifice shirt?"

"What do you mean?" Lui asks, looking away from the instructions to cock an eyebrow at William. "It’s old as shit. I think it might’ve been my dad’s."

"But Lui," William whines, "It has so much character."

Lui huffs out a laugh. "Well it’s about to get a lot more. Do you want me to go over just the white, or dye everything?"

William frowns. "Uh. Just the white should be fine, I think."

"Great!" Lui smiles. "Then I have one last condition before we start."

William eyes him suspiciously. "Yeah?"

Lui allows his expression to drop. "You’re helping me clean the bathtub."

William laughs.

The process is about as soothing as Lui remembers from dying his sister’s hair last summer. Some splatters of black get on the sink, which is gonna be a bitch to clean, but—

Mostly it’s just familiar. Lui’s known William all his life. Every time he’s needed someone, William’s always right next door. And sure, they fight. But this is practiced in a way little else feels, these days. When the wind makes the woods shake and Lui remembers the way they shivered. When his hands itch to feel gnarled paper under his finger pads.

Norah told him, once, that she felt like the world was always holding its breath. Waiting for the next note to play in some sort of fucked up melody. 

But today, there is golden light shining over the tomatoes he grew in the yard. Painting fields of chrysanthemums in vibrant greens and whites as the trees loom overhead, and—

William’s hair is black, beneath Lui’s gloved hands. He smiles, and jokes that by the time they’re done Lui’s shirt’s gonna be more desecrated than his. 

And Lui laughs.

—

"And… open your eyes!"

William runs a hand through warm flyaways, and revels in the normalcy of it all. 

No more white, no ghost, no corpse.

Just William.

He smiles up at Lui in the mirror. "Thanks."

Lui just grins, and hands him a comb.

"Here," he says, turning towards the door. "I’m gonna go get the cleaning stuff. You do whatever it is you normally do to your hair."

"It’s called styling," William huffs, and Lui glances back to raise an eyebrow at him.

"I suppose you could call it that," he acquiesces, slowly, "if you ignore the part where you tease your roots so hard they break."

William levels him with a flat stare, middle finger flipped clearly in view, and Lui leaves the room snickering.

William does indeed style his hair, stealing Lui’s blowdryer again in the process, and then proceeds to spend the next hour on his hands and knees scrubbing out black dye.

They fall into a comfortable silence, snacking on fresh tomatoes every couple minutes when one of them runs out to the bowl on the long dining table. 

Eventually, William finds himself scrubbing at the last patch of dye staining the tub while Lui drapes himself over the edge and taps his finger to the beat of some song he’s been humming. William glances back at him, and he gets a thoughtful look in return, like Lui’s trying to get a read on something.

After a minute, Lui clears his throat. 

"Will?"

William rinses the sponge— cold water running over his palm. "Yeah?"

Lui shifts so that he’s leaning his back up against the tub, facing away from William. "Why’d you bleach your hair?"

William fights back a wince. "I don’t know man," he tries, forcing his voice bored, "It just sort of happened."

"Happened pretty quickly," Lui comments, and William frowns.

"What do you mean?"

Lui props up an arm on his knee. "Sorry, that was a weird question," he admits, voice tinged with embarrassment. "I just meant— when’d you even dye it? I feel like it was black one day, and then you were in the hospital and you bleached it to hell."

William flicks a bit of water at him. "I did not bleach it to hell, my hair’s perfectly healthy."

Even in the corner of his eye, William catches the eyeroll Lui gives him in response. 

After a moment, it becomes clear he’s still waiting for an answer, and William sighs. "I snuck out to Isaac’s new place to do it the night before," he lies, "his foster parents didn’t really give a shit."

"Don’t give a shit about much," Lui frowns, and William hums in assent.

"He’s practically living at my place, for now," he says, and Lui sighs. 

After a moment, he slides down a little further, head resting on the ridge. "It’s good that he has you."

"Sure," William mumbles, rinsing off the sponge one last time. "Think this is good enough?"

Lui turns his head bonelessly, and hums. "Yeah."

"Cool," William nods, leaving the sponge on the side of the tub and finally standing. His joints crack pathetically, like some sort of old man, and Lui winces sympathetically before doing the same.

As they walk out of the bathroom, Lui invites him to dinner. William tells some half truth about his mother wanting him home early tonight, and finds himself on the Dupont’s doorstep once more, being pulled into Lui’s embrace.

"If you ever need anything," Lui demands, pulling back just enough to glare at him. William’s a little taller, so it isn’t very intimidating, but he knows it’s a threat nonetheless. "Then you come to me. Promise?"

William steps out of the hug, and offers Lui a little half-smile. "Sure," he says, not trusting himself to say much more, and Lui grins.

"See you Friday!" He calls, and William nods with a wave as he walks into the cool evening. 

On his way back, he sees five ghosts. There are twenty on his street, and he knows this because he’s been keeping track ever since he got back from the hospital.

By the neighbor’s porch, the old women with her lungs hanging from her throat. He tried to get Lui to see this one a couple days ago, but he just stared at William, oblivious.

In the window, the looming shadow with piercing yellow eyes. This one he pointed out to Norah when they walked to the gas station the other day to grab some snacks for the meeting. She gave him a concerned look, but didn’t acknowledge the ghost.

In the gutter, the strange sort of insect with too many arms— all reaching out like tentacles, trying to feel for any passerby's. This one he drew a picture of for Lui, desperate to find just one ghost they could see to prove he wasn’t crazy.

At the crossroads, the pile of bodies. This one, William does not look at, no matter how his curiosity itches at him. It’s a gruesome sight.

In the tree, in his own front yard, the hanged man. The same Lui described— or maybe not. Maybe Deadwood’s suicide rate isn’t quite what the national average might suggest. Maybe he’s not a great outlier. 

William averts his eyes as the body in the tree drifts around to face him. It’s smiling at him, he knows.

They all are.

"Will!" His mother greets, standing in the kitchen with his father. 

"Hi mom," William mumbles, slipping off his Converse and tucking them away into a little closet by the door. "Sorry I was out so long. Dyed my hair."

His mother blinks at him. "Oh," she says, giving him a once over. "I’m… glad you didn’t go for anything ridiculous."

William nods, going to wash his hands. As he reaches for the warmly patterned dish towel, though, he spots a letter in his father’s hands.

Curious, he cranes his head to get a better look. "What’s that?" 

His father grins, and hands over the envelope. "It’s for you."

William stills. Stiffly, he turns over the envelope to find—

"Ms. G," William rasps, blankly. "No, this must be wrong."

"It’s your letter," his father repeats, smiling even as his mother levels him with a disapproving look.

William nods, distantly, and rips open the envelope. 

And everything changes.