Author's Note: Dragondancer and I have gone through this with a virtual flea comb, and only now am I sort-of of confident it's worth posting. I could have never done it without her help. Once again, thank you!
Another huge thanks also goes out to Cori for allowing me to continue this. :3 I'm sorry it's not even worth comparing to her amazing work, but it was the best I could do, for now. XD;
Enjoy?
Lost
by: AnneriaWings
The forest was beyond pitch-black.
I'd been sitting here for an untold amount of time, slumped exhaustedly against the trunk of a small tree – which wasn't comfortable in the least, from the stupid nuts that were strewn across the ground and digging into my skin – and continuing to gingerly cradle my hand against my chest, a little dizzy from the fresh pain. Once or twice I'd given a half-hearted attempt to stop the deep gash in my palm from bleeding so much, but applying any pressure on the surface just made my hand explode with agony. The freezing cold that soaked into my damp jumpsuit caused involuntary shivers to wrack my body, despite the unbearable ache that throbbed within my broken left wrist with each tiny movement. I tried not to think about the pain or the cold.
The campfire Mom and Dad had set up earlier emitted a dim orange glow that reached up and surrounded the small clearing, no doubt comforting them with warmth and light and protection from wild animals.
Outside the dome of light, darkness stretched between the undergrowth and up into the starless sky. The faint forms of the surrounding trees and bushes flickered and cast even blacker shadows across one another from the firelight, but beyond that, there was only the dark and god-knows-what out there. I felt horribly exposed. Listening hard between my throbbing head and the soft mumblings of my parents allowed cicadas, crickets and even the occasional owl to be heard off in the distance.
Gritting my teeth in a fit of pain and hopeless anxiety, I tried not to think about the fact that we were surrounded, and instead looked over at Mom and Dad, scowling. They were still talking; no doubt about me and why the hell my powers weren't working and what the hell I was still doing hanging around here like some lost puppy. The great hero of Amity Park – or, in their eyes, Public Enemy Number One and a priceless lab experiment-in-waiting – was reduced to nothing more than a tired, limping mess. I was pathetic and stupid, laughable. I tried not to wince each time I heard 'Phantom' mumbled.
I tore my gaze away as Dad swiveled his head back to glance in my direction, checking to see if I was still there. I focused down at the mud smeared on my white boots and the faint glow that still hovered around my spectral body, the way the soft white light played on the sticks and leaves whenever I moved. Oh, I'd kill to warm my hands up to that fire.
If only I was able to tell them – actually show them I wasn't the brainless gob of ectoplasm that they thought I was. I knew would be seriously considering trying to spill everything if things got so bad that it'd have to come to that – even if they wouldn't believe me. There was no telling when I'd gain my abilities back or suddenly revert back to my human form. Accidentally exposing myself should my powers suddenly spring back out of the blue would turn out so much worse than trying to just tell them.
I'd twice attempted to reach within myself, searching through my soul for that tiny part of me that wasn't cold and dead. Lost powers or not, it couldn't just be gone, right? It was still part of me… half of me. It wouldn't just disappear or fade away.
It was probably just another lost cause. But in any case I shifted through thought after terrified thought, seeking that bit of warmth and heaviness. I guess it was there, albeit unobtainable and out of reach, but I could definitely feel my humanity in there… somewhere. Whatever had screwed up my memories was also wearing down on my concentration, or it could've been the sheer lack of energy, or the fact that my wrist would not stop hurting.
Stupid hand. Stupid not-working-powers. Stupid plane.
With a grimace, actually having to clench my mouth shut to try to hold in a muffled cry (which was unsuccessful), I shifted a little so my back rested more comfortably – or as close to comfortable as I could get – against the hard bark of the tree, still shivering. Pain bolted from my broken hand and into my arm as I moved, but it eventually ebbed away to a dull ache. Thankfully, the cold air was numbing a little of the pain.
A sudden low rumble echoed far off in the distance. All three of us lifted our heads – for one split second, my heart leapt up with hope that it was a rescue helicopter or something – before we settled back down. Thunder.
"Just wonderful," I heard my mom grumble, and I glanced over at my parents to see them looking up uneasily at the black sky. A couple of wet patters here and there up in the trees and on the ground told me it'd already started sprinkling. "It's probably going to rain all night. There goes our fire."
"Shouldn't we try to set up some sort of shelter or something?" Dad asked, furrowing his eyebrows.
"No," Mom sighed as the thunder boomed again. "We're not sticking around here for long once this storm passes. It'd just be a waste of energy."
"Well, I'm not gonna sleep in the rain," Dad muttered. He glanced around, hesitating when his eyes passed over me, but I tensed and looked away as he kept searching. "What about those trees over there? They've got lots of big leaves and low branches and… stuff."
The campfire began to flicker weakly as the light, cold sprinkles graduated to a steady rain. Pulling her goggle-less hood on, Mom twisted around to survey a small group of closely-rooted trees and then nodded. "Deciduous," she said. "Probably some sort of beech, by the looks of it. We should stay somewhat dry."
"It'll do for now," my father agreed.
As the fire began to hiss, my parents got up and headed out across the dark clearing and further away from me, Dad carrying the small emergency pack with him.
They never paused to glance back at me. I opened my mouth to say something and started to pick myself up to follow behind – before stopping in mid-crouch. It was clear they weren't intending for me to join them.
What would've been the point, anyway? There was no way they'd let me try to sleep next to them or attempt to share their body heat. I didn't need warmth, and I couldn't feel pain or loneliness. I was a ghost.
With a soft groan, the 'wait for me' died in my throat before I could utter it and I slowly sat back down, my broken hand protesting the movement. The fire had completely died out, throwing everything into the dark. My sensitive green eyes drifted out across the small clearing and watched as Mom and Dad sat down under the heavy clump of dry, low-hanging branches and snuggled together, relatively safe from the dripping rain. They were quiet, but their body language said it all: This spot is ours.
For the umpteenth time today, my parents had just… left me.
They left me here, alone, in the rain.
I knew I was currently guised as Phantom – the ghost who shouldn't feel lonely or abandoned, or anything for that matter – but it still stung, a big wave of despair washing around my heart that I couldn't prevent. I was their son. Even now, when I needed them the most, they had just… ignored me.
Another crack of thunder echoed far away as trembles continued to wrack my sitting form, my teeth chattering as I tried to scoot further up against the tree and stay dry. Of course – being just a tree – that had proven useless, and soon my mop of white hair was dripping and soaking wet along with the rest of my clothes. My breath fogged in the cold, wet air and I brought my good arm closer to my body, bringing my knees up to my chest in a weak attempt to preserve what little warmth there was. Glaring at the ground, I narrowed my eyes shut and forced down the hard lump that'd welled up in my throat as I just huddled there – tired, bleeding, cold and alone.
I was not going to cry.
Day Two
Well, to be honest, a few positive things did manage to come out of last night.
One, my head wasn't hurting nearly as bad. The splitting headache had dulled away to a low throb sometime over midnight – or what I'd figured was midnight, anyway. The second was that most of the more superficial cuts and burns that'd formed from yesterday's plane crash were starting to heal, and I wasn't laden down with as much weakness and exhaustion. My palm had even stopped bleeding. Overall, my body felt a little better.
…Except for my hand. It was still broken. A large, sickly bruise had formed on and just above my wrist, going up on top of my hand, and much of the area was swollen where I knew the bones were fractured.
Not to mention that my entire arm was continuously assaulted with splitting pain – and the chilly air that still hung around still made me shiver and my jumpsuit was still damp from last night. The mid-morning sky was overcast with little tiny patches of blue showing through, and it'd stopped raining long ago, but it had to be at least forty degrees out. Considering how much energy it already took just trying to cope with the pain and cold and not pass out, I really wasn't any better off than I was yesterday.
I groaned softly as I reached up with my good arm to grab a low branch of the tree for support, heaving myself up. A wash of dizziness swooped through my brain right then and I almost collapsed back on the damp ground, but I managed to steady myself after leaning heavily against the trunk for a few moments, closing my eyes and just focusing on breathing.
"This freaking sucks," I muttered sourly to no one before gazing out into the clearing where my parents had set up camp. Mom and Dad also began to pick themselves up, Dad letting out a loud yawn as they groggily shook off the last remnants of sleep.
He spared me a long look before wordlessly turning back to help Mom onto her feet. Not even so much as a 'good morning' or 'how's your broken hand'.
Still gingerly holding my arm, I breathed out an exhausted sigh and rested my head back against the tree. Not that I'd gotten any sleep anyways. I'd spent most of the night just sitting here trying to stay warm and trying to ignore my injuries. A few times I'd drifted off in the rain, almost dozing, only to be brought back to reality by a particularly fat drop of water or a sudden spike of agony from my wrist. Trying to fall asleep when you're sitting on the cold, wet ground is not easy.
Mom and Dad are still kind of to blame for this…I clenched my jaws together and shook off the thought almost as soon as it'd hit me. Now was not the time; I'd think about it later. There were other things to worry about now, like where the heck we were going to go next… and food.
I resisted the urge to clamp my good hand over my stomach at the empty, hollow feeling of hunger that churned at the mere thought of something to eat. We were stuck out here with no way of knowing when we'd find help. I had to eat something if Mom was right and we were indeed going to be out here for at least a few days. If I was really, really lucky, maybe – just maybe – my parents would share a granola bar… but I wasn't going to get my hopes up.
I let my simmering green eyes flick around the small campsite, licking my lips and trying to remember the little scraps of basic wilderness survival information I'd managed to pick up over the years. Weren't forests supposed to have berries I could pick? Plants? Or perhaps I could catch something… provided it didn't run away or try to catch me first.
A growl of frustration left my throat as I stalked off towards where Mom and Dad were. It was hopeless. I was so going to starve out here.
"Great. Just great," I heard Mom mutter angrily, kicking at a fallen branch that had been soaked black by all the rain. "Everything's too damp. There's nothing to burn for god-knows-how-many miles all around us." She twisted around to glare at me as I approached. "And it's still all your fault."
I nearly stumbled to a stop at the knife-like stare she gave me. "But… I didn't mean…" But before I could say anything else she turned back to my father, crossing her arms.
"We need to keep moving," she said, completely ignoring me, her voice softening to something much gentler to Dad. "We've got a lot of ground to cover, and following this creek downstream is our best bet."
Dad shrugged in agreement and then looked at me, his expression not nearly as cold as Mom's was – if anything, he looked confused. "You okay?" He asked softly, eyeing the way I cradled my broken hand. We both started trudging sort-of closely behind Mom, my eyes flitting up to keep the teal blue of her suit in sight as we disappeared into the dark brambles.
My hand is broken, we're stuck in the middle of nowhere, and you and Mom abandoned me in the rain last night. How the hell do you think I feel? Fighting to keep a scowl off my face, I looked down at my feet and shrugged. "Fine for the most part, I guess."
Dad fingered the emergency pack he carried and gazed off into the trees. He was quiet for a moment, probably mulling over a bunch of different questions in his mind, before he spoke again. "So… why can't you fly, then?"
"I don't know," I said quietly.
"Hmph," he mumbled, pausing to dig one of the eight granola bars in the emergency pack. I licked my lips and kept my eyes locked ahead of us, trying not to think about the food.
"Your gloves are gone," he noted finally, and I glanced down at my bare hands. A large greenish-red scab had formed overnight on my palm and my fingers were still a little burned, but they were healing quickly.
"They fell off sometime yesterday. Don't know where they are now."
"Oh." Munching on his granola bar, his brows furrowed as we continued to walk along the cold, damp ground, the silence beginning to feel awkward. I was still kind of surprised he'd even talked to me in the first place. Dad was usually the blast-first-and-ask-questions-later type. Right now he was almost sympathetic, and I tried to figure out why.
"I… Last night I noticed you were bleeding… your ectoplasm had flecks of red in it."
Oh. That was why.
Even when lost in the woods with little chance of survival, Dad still saw me as just some science experiment to toy with in his mind. I had to be careful – they both would probably try to pass the time later to scrutinize everything about me even more. My shoulders tensed a little at that notion as I limped along through the undergrowth, using my good hand to brace against the trees to keep my feet from tripping out under me. It was a moment before I responded.
"Whatever made me forget the last two days also probably screwed up my powers," I muttered, wincing violently with a yelp when my broken hand was suddenly bumped lightly against a small tree. My knees buckled at the flash of pain and I fell to the ground.
Dad seemed to digest my answer for a moment before shrugging indifferently as I grunted and tried to get up. "Still doesn't explain the red…" he mumbled. He didn't slow down to wait for me.
I grit my teeth as I picked myself up, stumbling forward into the brush as he met up with Mom about ten or so paces ahead. For a moment I just stood there, focusing on the sickening ache that throbbed in my hand, trying to catch my breath. They weren't going to help me. I had to keep moving.
Shaking my head, I limped forward and tried not to lose sight of the bright blue and orange.
We had to have been traveling for hours as we continued to follow the creek. There weren't any changes at all in scenery as the day dragged on – the forest seemed to go on forever. Even as they occasionally glanced back to see if I was following, Mom and Dad didn't slow down or stop at all for me – but I hadn't at all expected them to. Not a word had been spoken to me since this morning, leaving me alone to trail behind, lost in my own quiet thoughts.
Still, I tried to keep up the pace. I was behind by a good twenty or so feet, just enough to keep my parents in sight through the thick vegetation. For half the day I'd had to concentrate solely on keeping my feet moving in a straight line and not trip over any fallen branches or roots. But I was hurt and tired, the cold and lack of sleep from last night weighing down on both my body and mind, so it was hard just trying not to be left behind.
I caught a glimpse of my dad's orange jumpsuit through the trees and struggled to catch up. It was becoming noticeably more difficult to stay in a steady, straight path – the ground was gradually beginning to tilt uphill. I glanced a little ways through the trees and noticed the creek had veered off to the side, becoming less and less visible before it disappeared completely beside a steep cliff face.
Gritting my teeth at the continuous ache from my broken hand, I held it close to my chest as I leaned forward a little, using my good hand to steady myself and push off against the passing rocks and tree trunks. My feet were tired and protested against the exertion, but I ignored them and kept going.
Brambles snagged at my feet as I pushed my way into a relatively open clearing. Mom and Dad had slowed down at the base of a very steep hill, full of mud and leaning trees that had roots sticking out all over the place. I also found myself stumbling to a stop, eyeing the hill with wary reluctance as my parents already started to go forward.
"Excellent," I breathed, grimacing. I was going to have one hell of a time trying to keep up now.
Ignoring the question of why there was a huge hill out in the middle of the forest in the first place, I began to trek upwards after Mom and Dad, feeling my body unhappily stumble in the mud at least every couple of feet. Grabbing a nearby root along the way when they appeared helped a lot for my balance, but it only wore out my upper body faster.
I glanced behind me and sighed as I pulled myself up. I was barely even halfway from the bottom, and Mom and Dad were already climbing up over the top. At this rate, I was going to lose them. And it was blatantly obvious that they weren't going to wait for me or even slow down, so I tried to increase my awkward pace, grabbing root after gnarled root and pulling myself up while my boots dug into the soft mud.
One particular spot on the hill – what appeared to be the steepest section – proved to be too difficult to climb up on my own with just one arm. With a small grunt, I swung a muddy foot over to the right to get some solid leverage on a thick root, my good hand reaching carefully up to grab a low-hanging tree branch.
My foot slipped.
Adrenaline suddenly blasted through my veins as I yelped in surprise and snapped out my good arm to grip the branch in front of me. I held on for dear life even as I slid several feet backwards, dragging the thin wood along with me. It suddenly gave way with a loud crack – and I fell.
Instinct slammed into my thoughts right then, commanding me to lunge half my body to the right and grab hold of a thicker branch that stretched out from the dirt. Pain coursed through my broken hand as it was bumped and dragged against the dirt as I tried to heave myself up, but I ignored it for the most part. Instead, I was focused on the startling fact that my ankle wasn't budging. I twisted my head around under my good arm and groaned – my foot was caught underneath a bundle of little roots, having been jammed down by the force of my fall. Several frantic struggles and yanks of my leg proved useless. I was stuck.
Looking back up to the top of the hill, I felt my heart sink when I couldn't see my parents. They'd already trudged up to the top of the hill… they were gone.
"Damn it," I muttered, still trying to wriggle my foot loose of the roots. Licking my lips – and spitting out a few flecks of mud from my mouth – I considered yelling for help… if they'd even be able to hear me. Or, for that matter, if they'd even have the desire to help me at all. They'd probably just leave me here.
I narrowed my eyes and worked to try and get my foot out of the tangled mess of roots, kicking at them with my other leg and even just trying to heave myself up from my spot gripping the branch above, but with little luck. With a sigh I let my forehead plop against the steep hill, not caring in the least that mud was getting all over my white hair. I was probably going to be here for awhile.
"Phantom?"
I glanced up, hope welling inside my chest for a moment as I saw the bright orange of Dad standing up at the top of the hill. To my surprise his face wasn't contemptuous, but just concerned if not slightly bewildered. "What's wrong?"
The ghost kid had lost a fight with a couple of trees.
Sighing, trying not to let a scowl harden my face, I looked up at him and tried to smile awkwardly. I failed. "I'm stuck," I mumbled, yanking my foot roughly against the roots.
Dad glanced over his shoulder for a moment before sliding down a good portion of the hill, careful not to slip and fall, and stopped a good five feet or so from where I was hanging on for dear life. "C'mon, give me your arm," he ordered, offering an outstretched hand.
I let my wide eyes flick up to the thick branch I was gripping – my arm was tiring by the second and I didn't know how much longer I could hold on. And there was no way I was giving him my broken hand, so…
"I… can't," I said, shaking my head. "I'll just fall."
"Your other one, then."
He reached further, his fingers just barely within reach if I were to stretch my other hand up. But I shook my head, instinctively drawing my broken wrist closer into my chest.
Dad retreated a little ways with a sigh. He was probably deciding whether to just leave me here or not, but suddenly he twisted over his shoulder and hollered up past the top of the hill. "Mads!"
He waited. Both of us were quiet for several moments, until he shouted again. "Maddie!"
There was a loud rustling of leaves and then Mom finally appeared into view, leaning heavily against a walking stick for support against the unstable mud, and looked down at us. "What?"
"He's stuck. I need your help."
Mom just stared down at me for the longest moment and I was hit with a wave of uneasiness. She wasn't heartless; that much I knew. But to me, the ghost she'd worked so hard to hunt and destroy… I didn't know what she would do. I probably looked as pathetic as pathetic could get.
Finally, she looked at my dad with a scowl. "He's a ghost, Jack. He'll be fine."
Dad shrugged. "He can't get his foot out of the roots down here."
My mother had a conflicted look on her face for just a moment before putting down her stick with a sigh, muttering something about me slowing them down as she reluctantly slid down the mud to… help me. I just stared at them both, fully expecting the 'April Fool's' joke even as Mom crouched beside my foot. She instantly set to work on untangling my foot out of the thin roots, grabbing my ankle tightly to support herself, and I winced at the painful pressure – but remained silent. I tried not to meet her eyes.
Soon I was able to wriggle my foot the rest of the way to freedom. Mom hastily pulled away without so much as looking at me. She was already making her way back up the hill as I worked on pulling myself up, able to give my legs some extra support.
"Your arm," Dad said again, and I looked up at him hesitantly before taking his hand. He heaved me upwards the rest of the way up the steep, muddy hill, my mind flitting back to just last night when he'd gotten me out of the creek I'd fallen in. This was so unlike him. It just didn't make sense.
Still, I couldn't complain as he practically pulled me off my feet at the top of the ravine. I clenched my teeth at a pain from my ankle as I let go of his grip. Trying to flick some of the mud off myself with my good hand, I managed to murmur a small, "Thanks."
He nodded, then turned his back to me to follow my mom deeper into the woods.
"Cattails," Mom exclaimed from up ahead, and I heard her pace quicken as I pushed my way after them through the branches. We'd reached a small clearing after trekking downhill all day, having met up with the creek again from earlier, and there was a long and narrow ditch full of a bunch of tall plants. The sun was starting to set already, making it difficult to see – but they were there.
"What about them?" Dad asked, and I furrowed my brows as well, wondering the same thing.
"They're perfect tools for surviving out in these woods." Mom set down her walking stick and the emergency pack she'd taken off Dad's hands earlier this afternoon. "It's too damp out here to start a fire from just sticks and branches—" she gestured around the small clearing by the creek before going over to the plants, already working on trying to bring one down— "but the fluff inside these flower heads is dry and highly flammable - even after it rains."
Dad suddenly grinned. "Tinder," he said, eagerly following to help rip the plants apart.
Mom nodded up at him, hope glistening in her eyes as she twisted one of the heads open, revealing a cotton-like material inside. I could tell her mood was already improving by the smile on her face. "And insulation; we ought to snag a good number of these for later. They can also be eaten raw. I've heard they kinda taste like cucumbers."
"Mads, what would I do without you," Dad beamed.
As my parents worked on harvesting as many cattails as they could, Mom already setting about clearing an area of the clearing for a fire, I sighed and curiously took a bite out of one of the plant stalks off to my side. It tasted gross, at first, and there was a dirty, gritty feeling in my mouth – but it was food. My stomach craved more.
I glared at the cattail. Memory loss, stuck with my parents, unable to fly or turn human, and now I was reduced to eating nothing but wild plants. Somewhere, someone was laughing at me. This whole mess we were in had to be part of some sick, cosmic joke.
It was the second time we were spending the night out in the middle of nowhere and there still weren't any signs of hope. But I really couldn't find it in me to care. I hadn't slept in nearly forty eight hours; I was still hungry, and absolutely exhausted.
Not even bothering to even look where I was, I collapsed to the closest spot of semi-dry ground I could find, using my good arm to sweep away any sharp sticks and leaves, moaning quietly at the flare of pain from my broken hand. It was jostled as I tried to get comfortable, causing a string of curses past my clenched teeth and adding the extra effort of trying not to curl up on the ground and just pass out… which was starting to sound very reasonable.
I simply sat there, on the very edge of the temporary campsite, as Mom and Dad chatted about what to do next. Mom threw a couple more bundles of cattail tinder onto the building fire, the flames they were huddled around glowing brighter and – undoubtedly – warmer. An unconscious set of shivers shook my body as I gazed wistfully at the warmth my parents refused to share with me.
Dad turned his head to look at me, and I responded by quickly turning my attention down to my feet. This seemed to be becoming a routine – they'd look, and I'd look away. After a few long seconds, I could still feel his eyes on me.
Holding my throbbing wrist close to me and suppressing the urge to tremble from the cold and the pain, I let out a sigh and closed my eyes, wanting to block everything out and at least try to rest.
"Phantom."
My head snapped up. Dad was staring at me with – surprisingly – something other than his usual disdain. He seemed to debate something for a moment before speaking softly. "Would… would you like to come over to the fire?"
…Huh?
I just blinked, not really having understood the question, and then stared at my father like he'd sprouted two heads. I saw Mom look up at him incredulously and then slowly shake her head to herself, face darkening as he sent her a look. Her opinion obviously hadn't been asked.
On a normal day, I would have firmly kept my distance. Mom and Dad were dangerous and still probably had a very strong desire to capture and cut me open later if we got out of this mess. Even now, getting that close to them would really be pushing my luck. My instincts told me it was probably just some ploy to offer me a false sense of security. But the notion of actually sitting down and getting warm was too good to pass off, and I was just too tired to argue with myself about the pros and cons.
Besides, my dad had actually invited me over. That… that had to mean something, right?
Nodding slowly, my fatigued body running on autopilot, I struggled to pick myself up from the cold ground and walked cautiously over to the campfire. Mom set me a tired glare… but didn't say anything. I hesitated as my thoughts clashed with uncertainty, still a little unnerved that I was now within potential striking distance of both parents, before sitting down next to Dad with a heavy sigh. The warmth of the fire instantly greeted my skin – and my body's decision was already made.
"You looked like you were cold," he said, studying me carefully – but his eyes didn't meet mine.
I glanced up at him before nodding again a little briskly, scooting closer to the flames. God, I was freezing.
The light and warmth were so much better than sitting back over in the dark. A small smile drifted to my face as all my hunger and confusion and worries about getting yelled at instantly left my brain, replaced with the sole task of trying to stay warm. Curling my knees up to my chest and careful to keep my broken hand still, I shivered and huddled closer, practically sitting right in the flames.
We were silent for a long while as we listened to the crackling mixed with random hisses and pops that filled the chilly night air, my parents occasionally exchanging a few words and Mom moving to throw more tinder into the small fire to keep it ablaze. I was no longer cold and shivering – to be honest, for the first time in two days I felt comfortable; if you didn't count the continuing pain from my hand. But even that ache began to ebb away as I gradually felt my mind drift, the world slowing down around me, my eyelids fluttering and getting heavy. I barely even noticed my parents still staring. My body was just too drained to stay awake for much longer.
Gazing into the dancing orange flames, it wasn't too long before I slowly drifted off to sleep, dimly feeling my body lean tiredly against something large and warm before I was unconscious.
It seemed only minutes later when I was suddenly jostled into stirring, blearily feeling my head spin and my body protesting to return to the dark bliss.
"He's actually sleeping…"
"But I just don't get it – ghosts can't sleep… can they?"
Whatever I was leaning against shifted slightly and was now mumbling almost indistinctly, something akin to utter fascination in the voice – but I was too tired to really listen. I did manage to briefly crack my eyes open, though.
Dad continued to sit comfortably next to the fire, not having moved since I'd fallen asleep against his arm. And for some reason, I was at ease. The back of my mind tried to process this odd situation for a moment before I mentally shrugged, putting it off for later. I was just too tired.
"We'll worry about it tomorrow, Mads."
Mind empty, I drifted back to sleep.
Author's Note: 'Aww?'
I kind of felt like the ending here was a tad rushed - but oh well. I dunno if this chapter even qualifies as angst, maybe 'flangst,' I guess... I'm sorry it doesn't really go anywhere in terms of plot, but some action-y stuff will pick up next time, I swear. D:
Anyway, the next update might be a little while - I haven't even started the next chapter yet. Lab Rat is my main prority right now so I'm going to try to finish it before working on anything else.