Mikey's arm is probably broken again. His equipment is in pieces. His phone is about a foot too far away, and he doesn't think he could make a call on it anyway.
There's a pressure in the air like the buildup before a big storm, weighted anger sitting in this old house like peeling paint. He's so very much in over his head.
He spent the last five minutes solid wishing Leo or Woody was here.
Someone else showed up instead.
"Casey," he grits out, seeing stars, "go away. You're making it mad."
"What the hell are you talking about? I'm not just leaving you here."
Casey's arm is solid and supportive where it's wrapped around Mikey's shoulders, his brown eyes bright with worry even as his face is twisted into a dark scowl, and any other time Mikey would be really grateful for this, really.
But there's a nasty specter circling the room, a danger that Casey can't even see, and Mikey is sick to think about what it might do. It's probably a few days shy of a grudge, and Mikey has never had the misfortune of running into one of those before.
It opens the jagged line in its face that passes for a mouth, jaw extending the length of Mikey's hand. The wind screams in through the windows in lieu of a voice, and Mikey ducks his head against Casey's shoulder.
He's so out of his depth here. He should have gone home the second he realized Leo and Woody weren't coming. He doesn't know what to do shy of burning the house down, and that's going to be hard to do with a broken arm. Also he doesn't very much want to go jail.
For now he just wants to get out. He just wants Casey to get out.
"I know you don't believe me, I know you never have, but it's not safe. Please, Case, please go home. I don't want anyone else to get hurt because of me."
For a moment, nothing happens. Mikey fears his words were lost to the howling wind.
And then, abruptly, Casey says loudly, "Jesus, if you don't want me here, I'll leave then. Good luck on your own."
But Mikey has known him long enough to know when he's being disingenuous. He blinks when Casey disentangles himself and eases Mikey back carefully against the wall. He still doesn't quite get it when the baseball bat is lifted out of the wincing cradle of Mikey's broken arm.
Casey says, sotto voce, "Where is it, Mike?"
And Mikey gapes at him, forgetting the pain in his body and the menace in the room for a handful of precious seconds.
One of the windows shattering brings him back. He whispers, "It's moving in a circle. It – can you see the shadow it makes? The light won't touch it. It's almost by the door now."
Casey nods, standing. With one hand in his pocket and the bat slung over his shoulder and a scowl on his face, he looks the picture of someone parting ways, headed in a beeline for the front door. The specter considers him for a moment that turns the blood in Mikey's veins to ice, but then its eyes move past Casey back to him and it continues its prowl.
Mikey can see it when Casey sees its shadow. To the older man's credit, he stiffens in shock, but he doesn't hesitate. He lifts the bat, twirls it once to be sure of his grip, and then swings it with all his might at the invisible creature two steps away from him.
It shrieks as the iron passes through its form, tearing it in two. Mikey scrambles to his feet, grabbing at his phone and what remains of his EMF meter with his good hand. He sprints to meet Casey and all but slams into him, pushing him toward the exit and relative safety.
The door falls open in front of them, hardly any strength left to its hinges. Casey snatches up Mikey's hand when he realizes what the plan is, clutching the bat in a white-knuckled grip at his opposite side, and they don't stop running until they're well off the property.
The screaming wind behind them is enraged. Mikey sinks to the ground next to his jeep and presses his hand to his wildly beating heart.
His phone is going haywire. Notifications pop up one right after the other, from his two best friends and his brother – Where are you? You didn't go to that house ALONE did you? We both got a message from you saying not to come and is everything ok amigo? its not like you to go radio silent. dons losing his cool a little bit over here and maybe worst of all, Michelangelo, please answer me. I don't know where you are.
"I hate when those things know how to use my phone," Mikey mutters, feeling terrible. He taps out a reply in the group chat, and gets three replies, and then seven, and then twelve, in a manner of seconds.
He's afraid to look up past his phone when Casey says, "Wanna clue me in on a few things?"
Mikey keeps his eyes stubbornly down. "Do I have a choice?"
"Hah, no. I think I've earned some answers."
"That's not fair," Mikey says slowly. His heart is pounding in his ears. "You make it sound like I've been lying to you. I've never lied to you. You just – you never listen. You said I was making it up. You said I was hurting April on purpose. You said Donnie was – "
"Mike." Casey doesn't sound like himself. "Stop."
He stops. Blinks wetly down at his hands, and feels sick to his stomach, and wishes for the fiftieth time that Leo was here, or Woody, or Donnie, or even Raph.
"Being a skeptic only gets you so far," Casey says, as easy as anything. "And calling the truth a lie ain't cute."
He kneels, mouth twisting. Reaches over and puts a careful hand on Mikey's head, pushing some of the tumbled curls out of his face. Says, "I've been an asshole. I'm sorry. Let's just – let's get you to a hospital, huh?"
Mikey, who hasn't been this close to him in what feels like years, leans closer and nods. Forgiveness comes easily, even after enduring years and years of disbelief and sidelong looks from someone who might as well have been his family.
"That bat suits you," Mikey says, easing his way upright. Casey opens the back driver's side door open for him, because they both know Mikey would sooner walk than ride in the front passenger side seat. Climbing inside, he adds, "How'd it feel to smash a ghost?"
Casey blinks at him, at the easy camaraderie where he had probably imagined some strained conversation instead. He looks down at the bat in his hand, flexes his grip, and grins.
"Not bad," he says. "Maybe I'll make a career out of it. You ain't hiring, are ya?"