Peter wandered the second floor for some minutes, eventually reaching the
long, main corridor. He squinted his eyes against the thin haze of dust
motes dancing in the air, shrugged and turned his steps in the direction of
a door visible to his extreme right. Cobwebs hung like lace curtains from
roof and wall, and Peter cursed softly after one of the delicate structures
tangled in his styled hair, then louder when his foot passed through a
rotting plank, nearly precipitating a spill.
"Place should be condemned," he muttered, reclipping his thrower and using both hands to retract his foot. This done, he bounced gingerly on his toes; assured that he had suffered no injury in the mishap, he drew again and continued his journey, stepping more cautiously. The door was resolving itself the closer he got, and now stood revealed as a steel firedoor with a once-bright warning sign still visible through decades of grime. From within, a muffled thump sounded then another; Venkman froze in a listening attitude though the wall and the door itself were far too thick to allow more than these few tantalizing tidbits to escape.
Undaunted, Peter smiled. "Game time. Guess Ray's gonna have to wait until I bag us a paycheck." He balanced himself on one foot and lashed out, his heavy boot catching the door squarely. Unfortunately, the door remained fixed -- Peter's foot did not.
"Yeee-OW!" He hopped on his remaining member, face twisted. "Not again! I could have broken something! Blasted thing must be locked." Again testing his foot, he took a moment to adjust one of the dials on his weapon then took careful aim at the panic bar. "But I got your skeleton key right here. Wonder if we could re-patent these things for Triple-A?" He pressed the trigger, sending a hammer of highly-charged particles to collide with heavy steel. This time it was steel that gave way; the door crashed open and Peter sprang forward, clearing the threshold in a single bound.
"Okay, you low-level slimeball sneeze!" he hollered by way of a battle cry. "Prepare to meet...! Ulp!" He stopped, jaw sagging at the sight of Ray Stantz, feet braced and face determined, locked in combat with what was probably the biggest terror dog they'd ever faced. Blue-white energy so bright it was painful to look upon streamed from the barrel of Stantz' weapon, slamming into and flowing around the pseudo-canine's body. The creature kept it's head up, taking the brunt of the attack full on its elephantine chest; though the sheer impact of the energy kept it at bay, still it managed to take frequent swipes at the young engineer, the distance by which it missed no more than a hairsbreadth.
"Whoa! Good catch, Ray!" Peter cheered, joining his weapon to Stantz'. "Hang on while I toss a--"
Ray, unaware of Venkman's presence until he'd spoken, shot a panicked glance over his shoulder, amber eyes widening to see the second terror dog closing on his friend's unprotected back. "PETER! LOOK OUT!" Not waiting for the other to act, Ray turned his own stream away from its target, managing to catch the second attacker in the face barely before it could reach Peter. It yelped and scurried backward, diving toward a point situated roughly in the middle of the room and disappearing from view.
Despite his own danger, Peter's attention never wavered from his primary target; unfortunately, his single stream was insufficient at the distance to prevent the first brute from acting. A massive paw rose and extended, aimed at the distracted Stantz. Peter's bolt shifted briefly, striking the four blade-sharp claws but was unable to divert them completely from their course. They completed the arc, one talon catching Ray's thigh a fearsome blow, slicing through cloth, skin and muscle with almost ludicrous ease. His scream mingled with that of the terror dog, for it was now at an angle for Peter's beam to catch those ruby eyes. The creature leaped backward away from the approaching Venkman, still casting hungry glances at Ray, who had collapsed, blood pooling around his right leg and staining the filthy floor scarlet.
"Ray?" Peter called urgently, using proton bursts much like a lion tamer uses a whip to keep the animal at bay. "Say something, kid."
Stantz shuddered and turned his head in Peter's direction, his eyes literally glazed with pain. "Try-try to force it ... through...."
"Through what?!" Peter demanded when the thready voice had trailed off. "What happened to the other one?"
Ray swallowed, shifting until he could press his hand against the bleeding wound. "D-dimensional nexus. Try and force this one through...."
Peter nodded his understanding. "Got it! C'mon, little dogie, time for the Duke to do a little round-up!" Aiming in careful bursts, Peter herded his prey backward, carefully directing it toward the nearly invisible breach in time-space through which its fellow had escaped. Maddened by the irritating stings, the terror dog wove and retreated, finally uttering a loud yelp and disappearing at a gallop into nothingness.
"You did it!" Ray rasped, forcing himself over onto his side.
Peter nodded, feral satisfaction glinting in his eyes. "Now to make sure it stays did," He dropped to Ray's side. "They'll be coming back any second; think we can seal that rip like we did in Hainesport last week? You up to try?" Stantz nodded and accepted the particle rifle Peter helpfully retrieved for him.
"I'm ... I can set mine at full negative," Ray mumbled, staring blankly at his weapon. Peter plucked it from his fingers, twisted two dials and handed it back.
"Just a few minutes longer, kid," he encouraged, casting an anxious glance at the slashed leg. Ray nodded again, bringing his rifle to bear on the head of a terror dog, peeking through the rip. Peter crossed the room at a trot, taking up a position just opposite Ray and behind the dimensional portal. "I'm at full positive!" he yelled. "Ready? NOW!" With that he opened fire, his altered stream clashing with Stantz' in the middle of the large room and over the alleged portal. The energies splattered against each other in a brilliant pyrotechnical display, while thunder and ozone filled the air like a miniature summer storm. The terror dog, wisely, retreated never to be seen again.
"Time!" Peter called, releasing his trigger at the exact same moment Ray did. The nexus, no longer invisible, shimmered prismatically, wavering then shrinking until it, too, disappeared from view.
Metal rifle clattered to the floor, raising a cloud of fine dust. "It's ... gone," Ray managed, dropping his head. "Thank goodness. It's gone." He didn't open his eyes when Peter knelt beside him; not until the older man began to tug at the zipper of his jumpsuit did he crack them blearily open.
"Your belt," Peter explained hastily. "I need something to use as a tourniquet, and I'm wearing sweats."
Ray stopped him with a touch, his voice perceptibly weaker even as the pool grew wider. "Don't ... have one. Slacks today."
Peter rocked back on his heels, biting his lip. "Nothing for it, then. I'll have to get you back to Ecto fast." He unbuckled first his own pack, then Ray's, allowing them both to drop away. He then slipped a hand around Ray's shoulders, lifting him into a sitting position supported against his own chest. "Need you to help me, kid. Can you put your arms around my neck?"
Barely conscious, Ray allowed Peter to position his arms, his fingers digging in tightly to the material covering Peter's shoulder and collar. Peter smiled. "Good boy. Hang tough, this'll probably hurt a bit. Think you can take it?" Without waiting for an answer, Peter slid his hand under Ray's thighs and staggered to his feet, arms wrapped tightly around the limp body. "Hang on, Ray," he begged, paling at the sharp cry this elicited. "Just a few minutes longer."
Though his face was chalk white, hazel eyes regarded the psychologist reassuringly. "I'm okay, Peter. Please don't worry."
"Who says I'm worried?" Venkman snorted, disdain patently false but oddly comforting nonetheless. "You're bleeding on my good uniform, is all. Just got it out of the dry cleaners, too." He paused, a muscle jumping in his clenched jaw. "You saved my life, buddy. Thanks."
Ray sighed deeply and nestled his head on Peter's chest just under his chin. "I'm sorry about Lynn," he murmured, shutting his eyes again. "Didn't mean it."
Fine lips drawing into a thin line, Peter stood for a single moment cradling his injured friend. Tenderness filled his eyes, so warm as to banish completely the street-hard persona he usually wore as a second skin. Peter turned his head until he could rest his cheek against his friend's auburn hair. "Lynn wasn't your fault," he apologized, stepping carefully through the ajar firedoor. "My temper got the better of my mouth -- again. You had no way of knowing Slimer was going to make a pass at my date dressed as me."
Two field mice scurried by; Peter ignored them. "One thing I never thought I'd hear myself say. Slimer impersonating me?" He shuddered. "Didn't have anything to do with you, pal."
They had by now nearly reached the stone steps leading to the lower level. Footsteps heralded the arrival of Egon and Winston, attracted by the man- made thunder caused by the closing of the nexus. "Peter! Ray! Are you-- ?" Spengler's powerful bass echoed from the high roof, cutting off abruptly at first clear sight of the laden psychologist and his close-held burden.
"What happened?" Winston demanded, reaching the two first.
Warm blood spilling over his gripping fingers, Peter brushed past the black Ghostbuster without a word, waiting until the breathless blond had reached him before snapping, "I need one of your suspenders. Quick."
A single searching glance conveyed the reason behind that demand. Immediately, Egon dropped his proton pack and unzipped his uniform, releasing one of the brown suspenders he wore instead of a belt and handing it to Zeddemore. Using the length of elastic expertly, the ex-soldier passed it around Ray's thigh above the wound, jamming it high into a position near the groin. Ray stiffened but did not cry out; all the while Peter held him tightly, muscular shoulders braced, face pale but impassive.
"That should slow the bleeding a bit," Winston offered doubtfully, staring at the blood which soaked not only Ray's trouser but the bottom half of Peter's uniform as well. "Should hold 'till we get to a hospital."
Egon brushed long fingers against Ray's hair once and again, then turned a worried look at the silent psychologist. "Peter? Are you all right?"
Peter forced himself back into motion, his own gaze riveted on Ray's face, half-buried in his chest. "Let's get out of here," he ordered, and if there was more than a bit of a quaver in his voice, it was soon lost to the sounds of the living city.
***
"Place should be condemned," he muttered, reclipping his thrower and using both hands to retract his foot. This done, he bounced gingerly on his toes; assured that he had suffered no injury in the mishap, he drew again and continued his journey, stepping more cautiously. The door was resolving itself the closer he got, and now stood revealed as a steel firedoor with a once-bright warning sign still visible through decades of grime. From within, a muffled thump sounded then another; Venkman froze in a listening attitude though the wall and the door itself were far too thick to allow more than these few tantalizing tidbits to escape.
Undaunted, Peter smiled. "Game time. Guess Ray's gonna have to wait until I bag us a paycheck." He balanced himself on one foot and lashed out, his heavy boot catching the door squarely. Unfortunately, the door remained fixed -- Peter's foot did not.
"Yeee-OW!" He hopped on his remaining member, face twisted. "Not again! I could have broken something! Blasted thing must be locked." Again testing his foot, he took a moment to adjust one of the dials on his weapon then took careful aim at the panic bar. "But I got your skeleton key right here. Wonder if we could re-patent these things for Triple-A?" He pressed the trigger, sending a hammer of highly-charged particles to collide with heavy steel. This time it was steel that gave way; the door crashed open and Peter sprang forward, clearing the threshold in a single bound.
"Okay, you low-level slimeball sneeze!" he hollered by way of a battle cry. "Prepare to meet...! Ulp!" He stopped, jaw sagging at the sight of Ray Stantz, feet braced and face determined, locked in combat with what was probably the biggest terror dog they'd ever faced. Blue-white energy so bright it was painful to look upon streamed from the barrel of Stantz' weapon, slamming into and flowing around the pseudo-canine's body. The creature kept it's head up, taking the brunt of the attack full on its elephantine chest; though the sheer impact of the energy kept it at bay, still it managed to take frequent swipes at the young engineer, the distance by which it missed no more than a hairsbreadth.
"Whoa! Good catch, Ray!" Peter cheered, joining his weapon to Stantz'. "Hang on while I toss a--"
Ray, unaware of Venkman's presence until he'd spoken, shot a panicked glance over his shoulder, amber eyes widening to see the second terror dog closing on his friend's unprotected back. "PETER! LOOK OUT!" Not waiting for the other to act, Ray turned his own stream away from its target, managing to catch the second attacker in the face barely before it could reach Peter. It yelped and scurried backward, diving toward a point situated roughly in the middle of the room and disappearing from view.
Despite his own danger, Peter's attention never wavered from his primary target; unfortunately, his single stream was insufficient at the distance to prevent the first brute from acting. A massive paw rose and extended, aimed at the distracted Stantz. Peter's bolt shifted briefly, striking the four blade-sharp claws but was unable to divert them completely from their course. They completed the arc, one talon catching Ray's thigh a fearsome blow, slicing through cloth, skin and muscle with almost ludicrous ease. His scream mingled with that of the terror dog, for it was now at an angle for Peter's beam to catch those ruby eyes. The creature leaped backward away from the approaching Venkman, still casting hungry glances at Ray, who had collapsed, blood pooling around his right leg and staining the filthy floor scarlet.
"Ray?" Peter called urgently, using proton bursts much like a lion tamer uses a whip to keep the animal at bay. "Say something, kid."
Stantz shuddered and turned his head in Peter's direction, his eyes literally glazed with pain. "Try-try to force it ... through...."
"Through what?!" Peter demanded when the thready voice had trailed off. "What happened to the other one?"
Ray swallowed, shifting until he could press his hand against the bleeding wound. "D-dimensional nexus. Try and force this one through...."
Peter nodded his understanding. "Got it! C'mon, little dogie, time for the Duke to do a little round-up!" Aiming in careful bursts, Peter herded his prey backward, carefully directing it toward the nearly invisible breach in time-space through which its fellow had escaped. Maddened by the irritating stings, the terror dog wove and retreated, finally uttering a loud yelp and disappearing at a gallop into nothingness.
"You did it!" Ray rasped, forcing himself over onto his side.
Peter nodded, feral satisfaction glinting in his eyes. "Now to make sure it stays did," He dropped to Ray's side. "They'll be coming back any second; think we can seal that rip like we did in Hainesport last week? You up to try?" Stantz nodded and accepted the particle rifle Peter helpfully retrieved for him.
"I'm ... I can set mine at full negative," Ray mumbled, staring blankly at his weapon. Peter plucked it from his fingers, twisted two dials and handed it back.
"Just a few minutes longer, kid," he encouraged, casting an anxious glance at the slashed leg. Ray nodded again, bringing his rifle to bear on the head of a terror dog, peeking through the rip. Peter crossed the room at a trot, taking up a position just opposite Ray and behind the dimensional portal. "I'm at full positive!" he yelled. "Ready? NOW!" With that he opened fire, his altered stream clashing with Stantz' in the middle of the large room and over the alleged portal. The energies splattered against each other in a brilliant pyrotechnical display, while thunder and ozone filled the air like a miniature summer storm. The terror dog, wisely, retreated never to be seen again.
"Time!" Peter called, releasing his trigger at the exact same moment Ray did. The nexus, no longer invisible, shimmered prismatically, wavering then shrinking until it, too, disappeared from view.
Metal rifle clattered to the floor, raising a cloud of fine dust. "It's ... gone," Ray managed, dropping his head. "Thank goodness. It's gone." He didn't open his eyes when Peter knelt beside him; not until the older man began to tug at the zipper of his jumpsuit did he crack them blearily open.
"Your belt," Peter explained hastily. "I need something to use as a tourniquet, and I'm wearing sweats."
Ray stopped him with a touch, his voice perceptibly weaker even as the pool grew wider. "Don't ... have one. Slacks today."
Peter rocked back on his heels, biting his lip. "Nothing for it, then. I'll have to get you back to Ecto fast." He unbuckled first his own pack, then Ray's, allowing them both to drop away. He then slipped a hand around Ray's shoulders, lifting him into a sitting position supported against his own chest. "Need you to help me, kid. Can you put your arms around my neck?"
Barely conscious, Ray allowed Peter to position his arms, his fingers digging in tightly to the material covering Peter's shoulder and collar. Peter smiled. "Good boy. Hang tough, this'll probably hurt a bit. Think you can take it?" Without waiting for an answer, Peter slid his hand under Ray's thighs and staggered to his feet, arms wrapped tightly around the limp body. "Hang on, Ray," he begged, paling at the sharp cry this elicited. "Just a few minutes longer."
Though his face was chalk white, hazel eyes regarded the psychologist reassuringly. "I'm okay, Peter. Please don't worry."
"Who says I'm worried?" Venkman snorted, disdain patently false but oddly comforting nonetheless. "You're bleeding on my good uniform, is all. Just got it out of the dry cleaners, too." He paused, a muscle jumping in his clenched jaw. "You saved my life, buddy. Thanks."
Ray sighed deeply and nestled his head on Peter's chest just under his chin. "I'm sorry about Lynn," he murmured, shutting his eyes again. "Didn't mean it."
Fine lips drawing into a thin line, Peter stood for a single moment cradling his injured friend. Tenderness filled his eyes, so warm as to banish completely the street-hard persona he usually wore as a second skin. Peter turned his head until he could rest his cheek against his friend's auburn hair. "Lynn wasn't your fault," he apologized, stepping carefully through the ajar firedoor. "My temper got the better of my mouth -- again. You had no way of knowing Slimer was going to make a pass at my date dressed as me."
Two field mice scurried by; Peter ignored them. "One thing I never thought I'd hear myself say. Slimer impersonating me?" He shuddered. "Didn't have anything to do with you, pal."
They had by now nearly reached the stone steps leading to the lower level. Footsteps heralded the arrival of Egon and Winston, attracted by the man- made thunder caused by the closing of the nexus. "Peter! Ray! Are you-- ?" Spengler's powerful bass echoed from the high roof, cutting off abruptly at first clear sight of the laden psychologist and his close-held burden.
"What happened?" Winston demanded, reaching the two first.
Warm blood spilling over his gripping fingers, Peter brushed past the black Ghostbuster without a word, waiting until the breathless blond had reached him before snapping, "I need one of your suspenders. Quick."
A single searching glance conveyed the reason behind that demand. Immediately, Egon dropped his proton pack and unzipped his uniform, releasing one of the brown suspenders he wore instead of a belt and handing it to Zeddemore. Using the length of elastic expertly, the ex-soldier passed it around Ray's thigh above the wound, jamming it high into a position near the groin. Ray stiffened but did not cry out; all the while Peter held him tightly, muscular shoulders braced, face pale but impassive.
"That should slow the bleeding a bit," Winston offered doubtfully, staring at the blood which soaked not only Ray's trouser but the bottom half of Peter's uniform as well. "Should hold 'till we get to a hospital."
Egon brushed long fingers against Ray's hair once and again, then turned a worried look at the silent psychologist. "Peter? Are you all right?"
Peter forced himself back into motion, his own gaze riveted on Ray's face, half-buried in his chest. "Let's get out of here," he ordered, and if there was more than a bit of a quaver in his voice, it was soon lost to the sounds of the living city.
***