ive wanted to do an au where danes a typical ghost for awhile now but never really found the right prompt to write about concerning that. then i remembered that au prompt that was like 'person a is a ghost haunting the house that person b lives in. person b is a tired, broke college kid who takes no shit from person a'

or whatever. idk

just an excuse to write dane trying to be big and scary and bobby just being apathetic the blood running down his walls

"Built in the early 1690s, this house has lived through some interesting times. The original owner was a man accused of witchcraft during the Salem witch trials, and was stoned to death just outside by an angry mob. They dragged his body off and burned it, but legends say his spirit still haunts-"

"Okay, but what's the price?"

"...Excuse me?"

"The price. You know, how much it costs?"

"Er, you were looking for a thirty year mortgage? So factoring in the five percent interest rate, and the monthly payment you were looking to do, that's about... one hundred and forty-six dollars per month."

"Hell yes, I'll take it."

"B-But sir, the hauntings-"

"Fuck ghosts, I'll take it."

"But-"

"Take my fucking money."

The salesman sighed and nodded. "Alright sir, it's yours. The first payment is due moving day, but after that it's the first of every month. Enjoy your new home."

Bobby Pendragon hefted his bag onto his shoulder and smiled crookedly.

"I sure will."

The moving truck was disappointingly empty, but his desk wouldn't fit in his SUV, so he rented one anyways. A small stack of boxes, mostly books, and a tiny twin inflatable mattress took up most of the rest of the space. There was a laundromat nearby, and when scoping out nearby Bobby had also discovered a great little cheap Chinese place he already planned on frequenting. A small counter fridge was all he needed, but he could get that at Wal-Mart next time he went.

Bobby stood in front of his new house and sighed. "Yay," he said in dull acceptance. He tossed his keys from hand to hand as he looked back to the moving truck, debating going ahead and moving things in. He needed to return the rental truck by the end of the day, but it was only noon. He decided to wait a bit and explore the house first.

Unlocking the door, Bobby was hit with the musty smell of disuse. It had been awhile since the last owners abandoned the place, and a thick layer of dust coated every surface. A coffee table sat in the middle of the living room, a sheet-covered armchair in front of it. Peeking into the kitchen, Bobby saw it already came equipped with a fridge. He mentally crossed that off his list and thanked whoever left it. He opened it and almost gagged at the smell- they forgot to clean it out before cutting power. He needed to do that before he got anything to put in it, but that could wait for later.

Bobby took a deep breath. Home sweet home.

He turned to the open door to start unloading, when it suddenly slammed shut in his face. A chill raced down Bobby's spine, and he could've sworn he felt someone breathing over his shoulder. Get out, they seemed to be saying, though he couldn't hear anything.

Bobby scoffed. The realtor was right about the ghost, at least.

"Nice try," he said. "Look, whoever you are? I'm not gonna bother you. I don't care. I'm a broke college kid with no time on his hands. I'll be at school most of the time, and work when I'm not. I won't intrude, and even if I did, it's my house now. You've been dead a few hundred years, you can survive a couple decades with me until I move out or die myself. So deal with it, and if you break any of my things you bet your ghostly ass I'll have an exorcist over here in no time flat."

He turned, catching the faintest flicker of a startled expression in midair before it disappeared. He smiled, having caught the spirit. "Beat it, buddy. You can't hurt me."

Only silence responded, so Bobby took that as the go-ahead. He turned back, opening the door and leaving it open so he could bring in his things. It stayed open, but the chill stayed around. Bobby shook his head and went to get his desk.

Bobby jerked awake for the fifth time that night. He groaned and sat up, stretching. He grimaced at the line of drool that had made its way down his face, pooling on his textbook. Wiping it off, he stood to get another cup of coffee from the kitchen. Thank you, Uncle Press, he thought. The coffee machine he left as a going-away gift was a godsend, and Bobby was sure he wouldn't have survived this long without it.

He sat back down at his desk a minute later, staring blankly at his history textbook as he sipped the hot coffee. The extreme temperature didn't bother him anymore, being too far gone to care. He had to finish this five thousand word paper by six the next morning. He was only half done. It was creeping on two AM.

He was fucked.

The wind picked up outside, moving branches that scratched against his bedroom window. He watched them, unblinking, as they swayed and threw shadows across his wall. The chill from that first day was back, crawling up his spine, and Bobby swore he saw the shadow of a man standing at his window before the image faded away.

All the sounds from the world seemed to disappear. The outside noise of traffic, the creaks and groans of the ancient house, even the scittering of rats in the attic were all gone, replaced only by the howling wind. The lights flickered, then shut off completely. It would have scared Bobby, had he not been so exhausted and done with the world.

When the glowing blue eyes started staring out at him from the dark corners of his room, Bobby snapped.

"Dude, cut it out. I'm not scared, I'm just irritated."

The wind died down. Everything was silent. The blue eyes still stared at him, confusion in their depths. Bobby couldn't see anything else, but he didn't need to. He stared right at those eyes, glaring with all his tired brain's might.

"I'm fucking exhausted. This paper is due tomorrow morning and I haven't slept the past two nights, so unless you can help me write about eighteenth-century New England then get the fuck out." He clicked his pen open again and glared at his lamp. "And turn my lights back on while you're at it."

The lights in the room flickered back on, illuminating the corner the eyes were in. They were gone, nothing left in their place, unsurprisingly. Bobby sighed and went back to paging through his book, looking for sources.

A slight wind stirred up out of nowhere, brushing Bobby's hair out of his face. He growled. "What did I say, you stubborn fucking-"

The wind picked up suddenly, flipping through the pages in his book. Bobby sat back, watching as the pages turned rapidly, settling open on a certain page. He raised an eyebrow as the wind died down, returning everything to normal, but with his book open to a completely different page.

He leaned forward, reading a few lines from the new chapter, and brightened up. This was just what he needed to finish his paper!

"Er, thanks, I guess," he said awkwardly. "Wasn't expecting you to actually help. My bad."

He got the feeling the spirit was laughing at him, though he still didn't hear anything. Anything except the groaning of his house and the sound of a car alarm in the distance. Bobby smiled to himself and went back to writing, determined to get the paper done.

A couple weeks later, the spirit showed up again. Bobby had gotten used to it randomly appearing and doing nothing, maybe making the windowpanes rattle or opening a door he'd just closed. Sometimes it just hovered over his shoulder, a cold presence watching him for a few minutes before disappearing for another week or two. Its visits were few and far between, but Bobby had begun to accept and even look forward to the random gave him something other than school and work to focus on, at least.

So a couple weeks after the last visit, when the spirit Bobby had affectionately nicknamed 'Fuckface' showed up again for something bigger, Bobby wasn't surprised. He was irritated, wished it could've picked a better time, but wasn't surprised.

He ran out of his bedroom, hopping on one foot as he pulled his shoe on. He cursed as he tripped over a raised floorboard and almost fell. Catching his balance, he turned just in time to see it sinking back into the floor.

"You know I'm late, what are you doing?" he asked angrily. The spirit didn't respond, as usual.

Bobby rushed into the living room and grabbed his bag. He was about to leave, when the door locked in front of his eyes.

"Goddamnit!" he yelled. "I don't have time for this, let me out!"

Something banged on the window next to the door. Bobby's head snapped to it, startled. The spirit hadn't been this violent since that first day. His frustration ebbed in favor of confusion.

Blood began seeping down from the ceiling, trailing down the glass of the window. Bobby groaned. "Dude, you know I'm gonna have to clean that up, right? You're fucking nasty. And I'm still late!"

The door remained locked, no matter how hard Bobby tugged on it. He growled in frustration, turning back to the bloody window to yell some more. He stopped dead in his tracks as he saw what the dripping blood had spelled out.

PROJECT

Bobby gasped. "My project! I almost forgot my project!" He dropped his bag and ran back to his room, where he dug through his desk drawer until he found his flash drive. It contained the powerpoint for his final project for physics, which he still needed to print out before class. He'd almost forgotten it, and if the spirit hadn't reminded him, he would've left it at home and lost fifty percent of his grade.

He ran back to the living room, slipping the flash drive into his pocket. "Thanks man, sorry about yelling at you. I'm just in a rush on too little sleep. I-"

He stopped again as he got back to where he was. The words on the window had changed, now spelling out: GO. LATE.

"Yes, rambling, going now." Bobby snatched up his bag and threw open the door, which was now unlocked. "See ya!"

As he went to lock the door behind him, he glanced at the outside of the window. The blood was gone, leaving it in its original grimy state. Bobby laughed as he felt the door lock on its own under his fingers. It shuddered, urging him to go before he made himself any later.

"You really don't want me to be late for class, do you?" he asked.

The door shuddered again, as if someone were banging on it from the other side. He backed away, raising his hands in surrender. "Alright, I'm going."

He made it to class only a few minutes late, better than he'd been expecting.

With Christmas break finally upon him, Bobby found a chance to relax from the stress of college. He took advantage of the free week by going out, buying a bottle of wine and renting some cheesy Christmas movies, prepared to spend the entire week doing absolutely nothing. Without anything to do the next day except go to work that afternoon, he settled in and relaxed.

About halfway through the movie, he felt the telltale shiver run down his spine. The spirit was back, though it seemed it just wanted to hang around this time instead of half-heartedly trying to scare him.

"Hey Fuckface, you wanna watch this with me?" Bobby finally offered after about ten minutes of it doing nothing. "It's the Grinch special edition~" he sang. "I'm sure you'd love it. He's basically you."

The presence didn't respond, but after a few minutes, Bobby felt it shift, getting closer. He didn't feel anything physically change, but he had the feeling the spirit had just settled down to watch the movie with him.

The credits rolled some time later, without any more interaction between the two. Bobby got up to use the bathroom and grab some popcorn, and when he came back to start the second movie he noticed things had changed slightly. His journal, which he always kept in his desk drawer, was lying open on the coffee table. He felt his defenses rise. Was the spirit going through his things?

Getting closer, he noticed it was turned all the way to the last page. No pen was in sight, but a message was still scrawled in elegant script on the paper.

I wish you would stop calling me that.

"What…?" Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Are you... Trying to talk to me?"

Words appeared on the page, startling him. They traced out as if someone were writing them, though there was no hand to write nor pencil to do so. Obviously. Are you really so dull?

Bobby huffed. "Alright then Fuckface, what do you want me to call you?"

A moment, then: Saint Dane is fine, thank you.

"Wow, you're even more pretentious than I thought," Bobby laughed. "How about Dane? I know you've got the whole 'witchcraft' thing going on but you're sure as hell no Saint."

He felt irritation seep into the air, layered over a faint sense of amusement. As you wish.

Bobby threw himself back onto the couch. "Glad we got that cleared up. What you wanna watch next? We've got Miracle on 34th Street, Santa Buddies, and A Charlie Brown Christmas. My dad always made us watch that last one, it's become tradition. Any preference?"

He picked up his journal and left it open on his lap, waiting for an answer. His breath caught as the chilling presence seemed to lean over him, writing. He almost didn't notice the words that showed up.

I have not seen any of them. Pick as you will, I am not partial.

"O-Okay," Bobby stuttered. He fumbled with the journal, pushing it off his lap onto the couch next to him and standing on shaky legs. The amusement in the air doubled as he collapsed next to the shitty DVD player he picked up from the thrift store, ejecting the old disk and putting in the new one. He wasn't even paying attention to which movie he put in, just the fact that he swore he could hear the spirit laughing at him. He pressed play and awkwardly sat back down on the couch.

The presence settled back down next to him, the cold radiating from a spot far too close to his shoulder. Bobby stayed hyperfocused on that, and missed the opening credits of the movie.

An hour later, despite the adrenaline in his system, the lack of sleep pulled Bobby under. The last things he was aware of were a solid arm pressing against his shoulder, the icy coldness seeping into his skin, and a flicker of blue eyes watching over him before he was out like a light.