Prompt: Ghost AU! Wheatley buys a pleasant and small house to live in, but it's got something the seller didn't mention…
"There's nothing wrong with the place!" Wheatley skipped down the stairs of his new house. It was modest and small. There wasn't much to it, clearly was going to need a bit of a touch-up. But that wasn't going to be a problem at all. Once the boxes were all unpacked and he was settled in, Wheatley knew it would feel a little bit better.
And possibly a little less empty. It was no secret that he was alone to all the supervisors and workmen. Too few boxes for there to be someone else in his life.
"Perfect, then." The agent shook hands with him one last time. "I do hope you will be pleased with the establishment." Wheatley walked out with the agent, who pried the sign out of the modest lawn and closed the gate behind themselves. "Good day, sir."
Wheatley waved good-bye as they drove off, and stepped back into his house, checking his watch.
11 AM. Plenty of time to unpack.
By 5 PM, Wheatley had put away all the kitchen necessities, set up a sofa and his entire bedroom. Deciding to take another food break for dinner, he walked downstairs and saw himself in the mirror on the way down, right beside the door.
His face paled instantly as he stood in front of the mirror, frozen.
What just moved up the stairs above him? He turned quickly, and saw nobody moving around. Giving a nervous laugh, Wheatley walked to the kitchen, finding himself distracted.
It was just a figment of his terribly active imagination. There was no doubt of it. New house. He was bound to be seeing things everywhere, no matter where he looked. That was the price to pay of living in this new house. Which he was sure the new job would help take care of. The commute would be harder, but it seemed better than mindlessly doing paperwork all day for that company. Especially when there were scientists there who were incredibly rude to him at times. And they rejected his ideas a lot.
Sighing, he flopped onto the sofa, microwave meal in hand. As he looked at the blacked-out TV screen, he saw something again.
This time he turned instead of staring at the reflection.
Nothing.
He was sure he'd seen a hand. An arm, and possibly a head. That last bit he wasn't sure about. They were rounding the corner and Wheatley couldn't see them. If they existed.
If ghosts existed. Wheatley laughed aloud. That totally wasn't scaring him at all! What kind of nonsense are ghosts, anyway? There was absolutely nothing to worry about in this case.
He kept worrying as he watched TV, glancing over his shoulder. Eventually, he just decided to go to sleep and get well-rested to finish moving in the next day so that there was less to worry about over the work week.
Standing in the bathroom, he bent over to spit toothpaste into the sick, rinsing off his brush and sticking it into the temporary cup.
When he looked up again, he screamed.
There was someone in the bathroom with him. They raised a hand, going for his face.
Wheatley did the only thing he could do.
He blacked out.
The ghost looked over in shock as the man collapsed in a heap on the bathroom tile. She hadn't meant to scare him this badly. Waving was usually considered friendly, but there was nothing she could do about that. People were naturally afraid of her.
They would come into this house, which she wasn't even sure why she was inhabiting, and see her. She tired to stay out of sight, and some people couldn't see her. But others, like the previous owner, could. Which made them leave.
That was just how it went.
But the ghost had no idea what else to do with the man in front of her. She couldn't simply pull him back into his room. She could touch him, sure, but her strength was limited and if he woke up it would surely complicate things.
So, she merely went and sat down on edge of the bathtub, waiting for him to wake up.
When he did, he turned around and saw her figure, flickering in and out of reality like a bad signal.
"Ahhhhh!" Wheatley screamed again. So he hadn't been imagining people or things in his house. There really was something there, and… All things considered, that must've been why he got the house so quickly and so cheap.
His terror had silenced him, face paling and eyes like saucers. The ghost across from him sighed, something around her crackling. Wheatley felt his hairs stand up on end.
The sheer terror on his face finally helped the ghost make a decision – to cooperate, he had to trust her. How could she show that she had no malicious intent? There had to be a way… but the only solution that presented itself was physical contact.
Hesitantly, the ghost reached out a hand. Wheatley wanted to back away in terror but the door seemed so far away, and the ghost, so close…!
And the next second, he felt a pressure on the top of his head, sending a small chill through his body. The hand felt strange, almost as if it was a phantom sensation; there, but not really.
The two sat there in silence, not sure what to make of the other, before the ghost finally made conversation.
"Are you going to say something?" Her voice was distant, like it was coming from the other end of a tunnel.
"…You're pretty colorful. For a ghost." Wheatley's throat finally became unstuck and he was able to answer. "Aren't you supposed to be in all white or something with hallowed eyes?"
She rolled her eyes, before glancing at her orange sweatshirt and blue jeans. White sneakers were on her feet. There wasn't much to her, all said. But the man kept staring at her, surprised at how normal the ghost looked. And he'd been so terribly afraid of her, after she steadily began to prove how gentle she was.
"What's your name?" Wheatley asked, giving a smile. "Mine's Wheatley, but I suppose you already could know from all that ruckus we made moving— Oh no, luv, was it the moving that bothered you? I sure hope not, because man alive, that would be awful. Like we disturbed you from a nap!"
The ghost was taken aback by the avalanche of words that came out of the man, never seeming to end.
Eventually he settled down, and leaned back, crossing his legs to sit more comfortably on the bathroom floor. "Your name, then."
The ghost bristled. What was her name? She couldn't find herself remembering it easily, but eventually came up with an answer for Wheatley.
"…Chell? I think so."
Wheatley wasn't sure what to make of her as a person. Then again, she really, well, wasn't a person. She was a ghost. And a sort of pretty one. Shame, really. He wondered what had happened to her. And why she was in this house.
"Did you die here?" She shrugged. So she didn't know, then.
"Okay." Wheatley was rapidly running out of conversation topics. This wasn't anything he had prepared for when he bought this house. He'd prepared for neighbors disliking him, roaring traffic, kids in the backyards… but not for his house to be haunted. How did you prepare for that anyway? Get nice conversation pleasantries and a cheese platter?
"Did the previous owner not tell you it was haunted?"
"Not a word! I mean, I guess you wouldn't really advertise it when you want to get out of here, and sell it dirt cheap, I was honestly surprised… WAIT! What did you do to scare her off?!"
Chell was taken aback by the retort, falling backwards into the tub when he lurched forward to confront her.
"Nothing!" She sat back up, and her fighting back caused Wheatley to scoot back towards the door.
"AHHHHH! Don't hurt me luv please don't attack me!"
Chell's shoulders sagged. "I can't do anything. That's the whole point."
The silence came over again, and Wheatley cautiously leaned forward.
"Are you basically saying, just to get this straight, here, if we're going to start co-existing or whatever this is, you're… a dead person. You've got no powers, no crazy things… can't even go through walls?"
She shook her head, and Wheatley seemed relived.
"The only thing I have is that few people can see me. Not everybody can."
Wheatley took a personal offense at the fact everything in ghost movies had been a lie. Then again, it was rather nice that they weren't true, because that meant he was safe.
"Well, glad we've got that all established then, I'm just going to… go to bed now. Do you sleep?"
Chell decided to not answer, instead simply going, "Good night," before heading down the stairs.
Wheatley shivered when she turned the corner and her figure flickered again.
What have I gotten myself into?
"Is there anything I should avoid bringing around to you? Like, y'know, should I avoid cooking with garlic or something?" Since he hadn't unpacked entirely yet, he was eating microwave meals and sandwiches for every meal, and had no idea what else could trigger a ghost's wrath.
Chell laughed, and shook her head before leaning back into the kitchen chair. "There's nothing you need to do. And garlic is for vampires."
Wheatley paused. If ghosts existed, who's to say that things like vampires and werewolves weren't real either?
He pushed the thought away, deciding to never dwell on such a horrifying thought again.
"Is there anything I can do to help? Do you need to use the shower? Eat?"
He was met with another shake of her head, finding that perhaps, she would be an easy housemate to have. Company without all the hassle of shopping for two.
"…Do you want to lay out some ground rules?"
Wheatley looked up from his sandwich, trying to think of what they could do. He couldn't be blamed for not thinking of this stuff, but he hadn't been prepped—!
"Sure, we could do that. If it makes you feel any better, I guess, since we're going to be, ah, 'co-habituating' or whatever you call it, as a living person and a dead one…"
The silence passed over again, as neither of them could really think of anything at the moment.
"…How about we just establish them as we go along?"
"Sounds like a plan to me."
Wheatley had found there were actually multiple ground rules you could set with a ghost in the house. Things like schedules, TV time… everything having a typical roommate would entail. No weird moving around after he went to sleep, no scaring the cat that came into the yard every once in a while and causing the neighbors to think he was hitting it, no crazy movie marathons on a work night…
One day, Wheatley was sitting at the table eating cereal while Chell read the paper, pulling out the comics and community pages for him.
He put his spoon down suddenly, causing her to flick the paper down and look at him.
"Um. Chell. Hey. Can you see me when I… uh, gosh, how to do I word this? You know when you're hanging around, like, outside the shower in the library while you wait to say good night, and stuff—"
"I can't look through walls anymore than I can walk through them, Wheatley."
"Ah. Well, that's a relief, then. Good!"
The rest of breakfast was very awkward, the silence only being interrupted by the occasional crinkle of paper being laid before Wheatley.
Later that night, after being frightened by Chell slamming the door to the bathroom while he was in the shower (he took great offense to the joke, while she could not stop laughing), Wheatley asked what she did at night, if not creepily sat around the house or haunting cats.
"I sit around. Sometimes I walk outside, despite the fact I don't need the exercise. I went to the park last time, and I think I scared some drunks off. Other nights I quietly lay on the sofa. Oh, and I stare at your books every once and a while…" She trailed off there, looking at him while the gears in his head turned.
"You can… read them, you know. I mean, I'm gone so much of the day, and I can only imagine cleaning like you so very, very kindly have been and watching the telly can get boring after a month or so…"
Chell smiled brightly, and followed him upstairs that night, saying, "You're the best," before turning into the library and finding what she wanted to read.
Wheatley fell asleep that night to the sound of turning pages from the next room over.
"Chell, I'm home!"
The ghost upstairs never got quite used to hearing someone call that out. She had felt so alone after she died and now there was someone constantly acknowledging her presence every time they crossed the threshold.
She liked that a lot. Going down the stairs, she saw him standing in the living room, work bag still over his shoulder and next to something covered by a blanket. It was shaped like a cube, and Chell had to assume it was a box, but what was inside?
"Ta-da!" Wheatley flicked off the blanket when she stopped and stared, showing the name of a local bookstore on the side. Chell's hands flew to her mouth and Wheatley laughed, watching her body flicker with what must've been excitement and surprise.
"I decided to stop by the bookstore, and get more books. You said you were on my last shelves and that you were looking for more. Since you can't go out yourself, and y'know, buy stuff, I thought I'd pick these up for you!"
Chell excitedly stepped over to the box, opening it to find multiple times that she had offhandedly mentioned reading once and forgetting, or ones that he enjoyed and said he wanted to buy.
Wheatley enjoyed sitting next to her on the sofa and watching her smile grow wider with each title, happily picking out which one she would read later.
Before bed, Wheatley decided to check up on Chell in his little library, seeing her sitting quietly in the chair, hunched over a book. Her form was lightly flickering, and he saw that the book was one of the new ones that he had bought her that afternoon.
He smiled, noticing that she was… really pretty. She was still wearing those same white sneakers, orange sweater, and jeans… but was so full of confidence and still didn't take being a ghost lightly, instead proudly. Wheatley was always happy to come home to her and talk to her, and especially to bring her those books – what had come over him? He walked by the store every day to work, and today he froze, staring through the window at all the shelves and racks. Something about it just caught hold inside him and the next moment, he was travelling through, recalling titles and muttering bits of conversation to see if he got all of them, plus a few more.
And now she was reading one of them. One of the things he got for her. Feeling a yawn come on and not wanting to disturb her, Wheatley turned around and went to bed, carrying that happy thought with him into his dreams.
"Hey! Weirdo! Loser!"
Wheatley had dealt with the kids next door for a few months now. After a year of living there, he'd gotten used to the weird comments from neighbors. People mentioning their single friends, older people spreading rumors, and now, the kids catching on and calling him a loner. They'd taken to throwing things into his yard, and occasionally at him, now.
Oh, if only they knew. He used to just smile at them and keep going, but now, he didn't even bother doing that. He just focused on passing by the house and getting home to Chell, who would always listen if he felt like ranting.
But today was a different day. Looking down the path leading to the backyard, he saw Chell running down towards him, intently focused on her destination – the boys next door.
Wheatley realized very quickly that the boys could not see her, and that she must've heard them every day when he walked home, and that if they couldn't see her he would be yelling stop at air and then what would happen—!
Suddenly, the kids screamed. Chell was holding the ball before them, stock still, before whipping it past them into their backyard. They screamed and ran back towards the yard, and while Chell came up to join him by the front door, he heard their mother saying that it was "just the wind", despite their protests.
"Thank you luv," Wheatley said after he shut the door behind him. "You're an angel."
"No," she argued. "I'm just a ghost."
"Nah, I'm pretty sure you're an angel," he retorted, smiling softly at her.
Wheatley settled down on the couch as Chell leaned into him. He'd gotten used to the mild chills that came from her when she did that. After turning on the TV, they chatted about their days. More often than not, he had a story to tell about his new job, how there was something new to think about or how there was this person who showed him a trick to the workforce that day.
Chell mostly had stories about the kids who would show up in their backyard, only to have their ball whip around and be kicked over the fence or find themselves seeing things that weren't really "there" (Wheatley laughed aloud at her saying that), or something about one of the books that she had read or a show she'd seen.
The days rolled into months, and eventually into years. Chell and Wheatley lived in the same space all that time, content with each other's company. People always talked about how alone he must be, but anyone who bothered to listen to the chats that wandered through the window or laughter from the kitchen knew that he had all the company in the world.