A/n: I felt unsatisfied with the first version, but it's back! Cleaned up and hopefully a little less chaotic. Maybe one day you'll see a version of this story as published original works ;D

Part One:

Remember Your Name

It wasn't the most glorious way to die – one day he thought he'd head to the store for things for dinner and the next he found himself watching the coroner cut open his body, the consequence of a hit-and-run.

Being a ghost was hard. For some reason, the bright white light that was supposed to beckon him didn't come. Time didn't seem to exist, floating past him without acknowledging him. He often caught himself sitting in his old living room with a stunned expression, watching the hands of the clock tick by without any regards to him. The living room changed around him, the occupants living there changing like a sudden sweep of a channel. It was startling to acknowledge the strangers that rendered and remodeled his old home into versions that pleased them, but they were like ghosts themselves.

One morning, he was walking his usual route to the college when someone hit him in the side as he was passing by. Stunned into a full stop, he turned to see how that had happened when he saw a man in clothes fitting for another generation pointing at him companionably.

"My dude!" the man said cheerfully before walking off, blending into the crowd.

"Wait…wait! You can see me?" he cried after him.

The man responded from him from within the crowd, his voice bodiless. "And hear you!"

"Are you a ghost, too?"

"Absolutely!"

And with the man long gone, walking some invisible route of his own, the Lonely Ghost felt his heart race. Well, what should have been his heart – his ghost of a heart. Because he had nothing better to do, he waited on the street corner to see the man again. By the time morning traffic began passing through, the ghost walked on. It had never occurred to him that he could interact with other ghosts; he couldn't tell them apart from the living. Now that he was aware that they were out there, it felt like his eyes and sense of understanding had begun to expand.

His old college campus was as busy as it always had been, and the ghost wandered along his usual route. He usually started from the parking lot and made his way to the cafeteria, where the coffee was great and the creamer was always cold. Remembering the taste of coffee made his mouth salivate in a way he hadn't felt in ages. With that wondrous reminder, the ghost was startled to see that he could acknowledge the scent of the cafeteria, the difference of food on display – it was as if a switch had occurred, and he was seeing the brand new cafeteria with brand new ghostly eyes.

The design had changed, and he examined the new differences with awe. The cafeteria had expanded in size and design since his days, and he found that where he usually sat was now a soda station. The tables were bigger, seats newer, spread in a half moon away from the kitchen.

The Lonely Ghost sat slowly at a table near the heavy glass doors, hands folded between his knees. Around him were the quiet voices of college students rousing themselves for the day, smell of lotions, hangovers and the five day stench of someone that hadn't yet taken a shower permeating the air. It took him awhile to process these new sights and scents, amazed at the differences from his generation to this one.

Time passed without him acknowledging it when he finally noticed a guy wearing a bloodied orange and brown flannel shirt with a grey hood taking a seat across from him. Half of this man's facial skin was missing, revealing a gruesome display of skull and muscle. He kept wiping his eyes, oozing blood from a hideously deep wound on his scalp. The Lonely Ghost jumped out of his chair with an awkward noise as the guy's own eyes widened with realization.

"You can see me?" they asked at the same time.

"I can!" they answered in unison.

"How did you…?"

"Hit by a car. You?"

"Hell if I know, I was on my motorcycle when I realized the scenery changed! I'm still trying to understand how this is possible!"

The Lonely Ghost slowly sat back down as motorcycle guy exhaled heavily, watching his blood pool onto the table in front of him. It began to drip onto the clean floor, pushing into a colorful spread away from them. The Lonely Ghost made a disgusted face at how fast this happened – both of them reacted with surprise when a man wearing a backpack slipped in the puddle, drawing people to look at him with concern.

"That happens a lot," Motorcycle Man said with a furrowed brow, watching as the man looked around himself for the cause of his slip.

"Maybe it wouldn't if you'd cleaned yourself up, moron," the Lonely Ghost commented as a kitchen worker ventured out with a mop. Both of the living looked puzzled when they could find nothing visible on the floor that caused the accident. The kitchen worker began to clean anyway, the man walking off with a puzzled expression. Motorcycle Man's blood continued to pool around him in a widening circle.

"This is the first time I spoke to someone since I saw that other guy," the Lonely Ghost said with wonder.

Motorcycle Man wore a shell shocked expression. His hands went to his hair – what was left of it.

"I have to go," he then said in a dazed tone, getting up from the table to walk off.

Because he was sure to lose him, the Lonely Ghost got up from his chair and hurried after him. He followed Motorcycle Man through what seemed like brand new hallways – new display cases, new stairways. It had been awhile since the Lonely Ghost had been on this side of the building, and he'd come to realize just how long he had been returning to campus. It had expanded and some areas remodeled to accommodate the influx of people attending. It was a brand new world for him, and he nearly lost sight of the other man as he made his way to a doorway and walked in. But as he followed, he saw that the classroom was empty.

Motorcycle Man sat near the back and stared with sightless eyes ahead of him. Slowly, the Lonely Ghost took a chair next to him and looked ahead as well. The quiet buzz of the room was the only sound there. Faint voices of the living were in the distance, reminding him that the world continue to turn without them.

"I had a test that I was cramming for," Motorcycle Man said. "That's why I was late."

"You can't take it," the Lonely Ghost reminded him. "You're dead."

"Yeah…yeah, I get that. But I can't stop coming here."

"This place grew in size since I was alive."

Motorcycle Man looked at him, blinking one eye owlishly as he took in his clothes before looking at him. "You don't even look dead."

Eager to show off, the Lonely Ghost lifted his shirt – half of his left side was caved in, swollen and discolored. Motorcycle Man winced.

"One of my ribs went straight through my heart. But my brain didn't die until nearly thirty minutes later," the Lonely Ghost said. "I overheard the coroners tell my mom that after I woke up again."

"Took me awhile to realize that I wasn't even alive," Motorcycle Man said. "I don't even know how I died."

"Pretty sure it was an accident," the Lonely Ghost commented with some skepticism.

They sat there in silence for quite some time before he realized that class was in session. All around them were students engrossed in the professor's words, and neither of them knew what subject he was talking about.

"Things have changed," he said vaguely. "It's like we're suddenly in the future."

Motorcycle Man gave him a startled look, then focused on what was being said. Once he realized that nothing made sense of modern day computer programs, he gave a wordless noise. "Holy shit…you're right!"

They left the classroom, wandering awkwardly through the hallway before emerging out into the main hall. There were students all around them – clustered around tables, chairs, corners with outlets where their smartphones were plugged in. Their voices were quiet but some were cheerful and happy while others were intensely engrossed in their laptops and cellphones. Motorcycle Man paused and looked over the shoulder of one, scrunching his brow with concentration.

He then straightened up with surprise. "This isn't even my country."

"What."

"Everything's in English!"

"Well, this is America, so…"

Motorcycle Man looked dazed, looking at his fingers as he counted them. They were purpled and broken and it made the Lonely Ghost squirm at the sight of them. Terror alit Motorcycle Man's features, and blood splashed about as they went to his head with utmost panic.

"How the hell did I get here?"

Without words, the Lonely Ghost shrugged.

Motorcycle Man slumped to the floor. Even if he were a ghost, people passed around him easily, a cluster of students moving from the stairway to their classes while classes emptied for another round. The main hall filled with sound.

"I'm a lost ghost!"

"Well…wait…if you're from another country, then why are you speaking my language?"

"What do you mean? You're speaking mine!"

"I don't even know your language!"

"Well, you're speaking it!"

"I've never spoken your language in my life!"

"Impossible because I've never even spoken English!"

"Then what the hell are you doing here?"

"I don't know!"

"Don't expect me to return you," he warned sternly, "because I've never been overseas."

Motorcycle Man heaved a breath as he sunk down onto the floor. Laying there for some time, he decided he couldn't help him and the encounter was way too weird. He had to go to the store – not to buy anything, but because that had been part of his routine. He carefully stepped over the Motorcycle Man to leave him to his misery.

The grocery store was bright and cheery, and the Lonely Ghost wandered the aisles, looking for items he'd intended on buying that fateful evening he'd died. Beef stew with French bread, he remembered, wandering the meat freezer.

It took some time to meander back to the college grounds, but it was always morning when he did. He made it in time to see the kitchen ladies setting out warmed pastries, the smell of coffee catching his attention. He sat at his new table and stared ahead of him at a man looking over a heavy textbook. He missed having conversations.

Knowing the living couldn't hear him, the Lonely Ghost said, "Hi."

The man seemed to sweat nervously. It then startled the Lonely Ghost when his head connected with a forceful slap. He hadn't felt pain like that in so long that he wasn't sure how to react. When he turned and looked over to see Motorcycle Man standing there with an angry expression, he rubbed his head fitfully.

"What the hell was that for, asshole?" he demanded. "You shitty piece of work!"

"I waited here for two weeks for you to come back!" Motorcycle Man snarled back.

"So? I can't help you!"

"You're the only one that can see me!"

"It's not my fault!"

The man with the textbook slammed it shut and hurried off.

Two weeks? The Lonely Ghost thought with a startled look. It was true – time didn't apply to him, but it stunned him that such time could fly by without him even noticing. Where had been all this time? Did he follow his normal routine? Or was he wandering the grocery store, still thinking about his stew?

Motorcycle Man took the seat the living man had vacated. As they sat there in silence, the Lonely Ghost's attention went to a woman standing at a table with another, both of them looking at a piece of paper.

"What's your name? Let me get your number," one said, whipping out something from her purse.

The Lonely Ghost was stunned as he thought about his own. It had been some time since he'd heard it, since it fell from anyone's mouth. He blinked rapidly, looking up at the ceiling. Damn, what was his…? He then jerked up from the chair, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. It was still there – with the same amount of bills, cards and knick-knacks he'd had when the car took his life.

He opened it, revealing his ID, brightening. "Ah. It's Sanji."

Motorcycle Man looked at him with confusion. "What is?"

"My name! Say, what's yours?"

Motorcycle Man released a puzzled frown. He looked lost for a few moments while Sanji admired his own ID. He produced it to the other ghost, showing off his bright grin and old address. "This is me. Sanji."

"Damn, that feathered hair is awful," Motorcycle Man commented with a wince. "Eighties. That explains your mom trousers and ugly shirt with shoulder pads. No one wears their sweater over their shoulders like that, dude. And those Reeboks? Ew."

Sanji gave him an outraged look. "What are you talking about? I look fly!"

"Look, this was in, okay?"

Sanji gave the oversized ripped flannel shirt and obscenely wide legged jeans a skeptical look. The inch thick threaded books were unlaced and much too brown. Green hair was parted harshly down the middle to accommodate slightly floppy bangs to frame a wide forehead. "What, were you an infant aspiring to wear grown up clothes? Because that's hideous."

"It was comfortable!"

"Probably wearing a helmet should've been, too."

Motorcycle Man grumbled, reaching up to wipe blood from his eyes. "I don't even know what I look like…"

"You didn't think to look in the mirror?"

"Of course not!"

"Look, I can't help you get back to your country," Sanji said, feeling somewhat better knowing his name again. "What's your name?"

"It's….!" Motorcycle Man looked dazed for a few moments, so Sanji reached out to him and patted his pockets until he felt the bulge he was looking for. He ripped out the man's wallet and opened it, coins scattering everywhere.

"Zoro," he announced, then grew puzzled. How the hell did he know that? The characters on the card were something written from some alien world, but he knew each and every line like it was his own language. He looked at the other man as he snatched his wallet back to see for himself.

"Ah, that's what it is," he heard Zoro mumble to himself, crouching to pick up his money.

"What are you going to do, then?"

"I don't know! I've just been…driving. And going to class…and this isn't even my building," Zoro trailed off in a bewildered mumble.

"Then, let's go to class. Mine's off in this direction."

Once they seated themselves in a grand auditorium, it took Sanji some time to realize that his classroom had changed. It had been a studio style area when he was alive – with stovetop islands and stools, and now it looked like a theater had been rebuilt over its place. They watched the stage slowly come alive with various set items, students talking quietly amongst themselves.

"This isn't even my class," Sanji mumbled.

"With your outfit, you'd fit right in," Zoro mumbled back.

Sanji rolled his eyes. He looked at his watch, which had stopped a long time ago, the plating cracked. "I have to go to the store in a bit. Then I go home."

"I'm lost, so I'll just follow you."

Once they arrived there, Sanji wandered the aisles with mind for the ingredients to his beef stew while Zoro shuffled along behind him with an awed expression. They were standing in the meat department when they heard a hissing sound coming from behind them. Startled at the noise, both of them turned to see a boy peeking out from one of the aisles nearby. His deathly pale features, shadowed eyes, lack of hair and hospital nightgown definitely made him stand out from the living.

"Can you see me?" the boy asked cautiously, looking at them with eyes as wide as dinner plates.

Cheered, Sanji slapped Zoro's back. "Having your ugly mug gives us an advantage! Hey, yes, c'mere!"

"Ugly? What's wrong with it?" Zoro asked, reaching up to touch his ruined face with his broken fingers. Sanji gave him an impatient look while the boy drifted over to them, looking up at them with awe.

"Hi guys," he said merrily. "It's been awhile since I talked to anyone without an ass gown!"

"You come from the hospital nearby?" Sanji asked him curiously.

"Yeah…I finally found the right door," the boy said proudly. Then he wilted slightly. "But now it feels like I got lost but I'm not sure why..."

"This guy got lost," Sanji said, gesturing at Zoro. "He's not in even in the right country!"

"I can't find my way back to my room, so I feel ya, bud," the boy said with sympathy at Zoro. He then looked down at the garish trail of blood that followed them. "Why don't you follow that back to where you came from?"

Zoro looked down, noticed it, then looked startled as he looked back behind them. He began following it, Sanji and the boy trailing after him.

"You're pretty smart," Sanji told him.

The boy beamed up at him. "My grandpa told me I could've been the smartest kid in the class! Were you guys at a costume party? You're wearing pretty ugly clothes…"

Sanji looked affronted, pulling at his pink sweater. "These are the clothes I died in, thank you very much."

"'Died'?" the boy asked, bewildered. "You're dead?"

"Yeah, we all are, I guess."

The boy faltered with a misstep then came to a stop. Sanji looked at him with question, losing sight of Zoro. The boy's stunned features made Sanji feel bad for saying anything. It looked like the kid had been slapped with both hands.

"Oh," he finally uttered, shoulders wilting. "I guess that explains some things…so…so I'm a ghost…I'm a ghost, now?"

"Er…" Sanji trailed off, biting the inside of his cheek. He bent slightly to look at him, hand on one bony shoulder. "If you can see us and talk to us, yes. I'm sorry."

"Oh…oh…that…that sucks…I…I was a little happy because the doc said they could take me off the machine, and I thought…I thought that was good because…it kept making noise, and I was trying to watch the VMA's…Britney was on. Oooh, Britney!" the boy lit up. "And she had a snake!"

Sanji had no idea what he was talking about, but he nodded and straightened up.

"Britney Spears?" Zoro asked, overhearing the conversation. He gestured at the floor. "It stops here."

"Then you can't find your way back," Sanji said, walking over to see this for himself. But he noticed he was in the aisle where he'd first stopped whenever he walked into the store. The spice aisle. Which made him wonder if he somehow just appeared there, or if this was just where his conscious started to pick up the knowledge of finding those ingredients.

"I was going to marry her," the boy told Zoro.

Zoro shook his head. "She married that Federline guy, the backup dancer."

"I knew they were seeing each other, but noooooo!"

"I don't know what the hell you guys are talking about, but Madonna and Cindy Crawford were my favorites," Sanji said cheerfully, both of them looking at him with startled expressions. "That mesh belly shirt was so clutch, and her hair was bangin'!"

Zoro and the boy snickered then laughed noisily while Sanji frowned.

"'Madonna'? That witchy woman was so weird!" the boy laughed.

"Wasn't that mole part of her plastic surgery?" Zoro asked.

"I get the feeling you guys are missing out. They were way better than some chick with a snake!" Sanji said with a huff.

"Don't you talk bad about my future wife!" the boy cried indignantly.

Once they walked outside, their steps faltered once they emerged out into the parking lot. It seemed as if they were at a loss as to what to do next, and looked back at Sanji for direction. It was his first time seeing the expansion of the parking lot, the world changed since he'd last stepped out from the grocery store. It was shocking how much things had changed.

He realized the weight of their stares and frowned. "What?"

"So…what do we do now?" the boy asked.

"What's your name?"

At the blank look, Sanji looked down the busy street – with wider sidewalks, more traffic lights, faster traffic than what he was used to – and saw the cross that marked the hospital's location. It was nestled amongst some higher buildings, growing towers that had seemingly sprung overnight. He didn't remember ever being there, but when he was alive he'd sometimes he'd look in that direction.

Sanji then looked back at them. "C'mon, let's go find out. We've got nothing better to do."

"I don't want to go back there, I'm tired of that place," the boy said stubbornly. The light breeze whipped his hospital gown around, giving brief glimpses to his boxers underneath. His bony limbs were ghastly to see in the bright sunlight, his cheekbones sticking out with alarming sharpness. His teeth were yellowed and nubby, his lips cracked and blue. "I want to be outside."

"Why do we need to know his name?" Zoro asked Sanji with a puzzled look.

"Don't you feel better knowing yours again?" Sanji asked him pointedly. He then told the boy, "Fine. Stay here. Don't forget that we're coming back, either."

"Why, though?" the boy asked. "I'm fine without it."

"Something happens when you do. You kinda understand and remember who you were as...as a living being. It makes you feel better. Besides, you deserve a name. We all do."

The boy nodded with a skeptical frown, seating himself cross-legged on the sidewalk. People passed around him fluidly, Zoro catching sight of this with a puzzled expression as Sanji turned and started walking away.

"He might not even come from that hospital, there's usually several in a city," Zoro said.

"It's right there. Maybe it's part of his routine to walk around here. I don't think any of us can cross over entire oceans to wander away from the scene of their death," Sanji said, keeping an eye out for the man that first called out to him.

"'Routine'?" Zoro questioned, puzzled with the word.

"Don't you walk the same path over and over again?"

Zoro blinked, thinking about it. They joined others at a stoplight, naturally waiting for the light to turn in their favor. No one looked at them or acknowledged that they were there. Sanji kept an eye out for the man that had called out for him but also a steady eye on the hospital ahead.

A name, a name, he thought over and over with some determination. He felt he'd forget if he didn't keep telling himself this. It became important to remember. A little boy's name from the hospital.

"I don't know how the hell I even arrived here…" Zoro ended up muttering incredulously. "Maybe it'd help if I knew how I died."

"I think it's obvious how, dumb ass."

"I meant, details would be important! How, what, why, when! And when I get back there, should I take my revenge?" Zoro added, clenching a fist with a vengeful look to his eye. Sanji looked at him skeptically, thinking it was too late for that.

"I can't figure you out, man. You're a Rubik's cube," he commented lightly.

Zoro sighed noisily. "Yeah well, whatever, prep."

As they followed the group across the street, Zoro's blood leaving a garish trail behind him, Sanji had to admit he was glad to run into him. It felt different having someone to talk to. He felt a little more alive.