Author's Note: I am so freaking sorry for the long wait! I really don't have anything to use as an excuse other than my natural tendency to procrastinate, and what doesn't help is the fact that I feel like this particular chapter is really half-assed and filler-ish compared to the other. X'D It seems too... I dunno, slow? Stalling? In any case, things really pick up next time, and next time shouldn't be nearly as long as a wait.

Flegh, I dunno. D: Feedback would really be appreciated; I tried as hard as I could, so hopefully it won't seem as messy as my paranoia percieves it to be.

-Anneria

Lost

by: AnneriaWings

Day Three

When I woke, one of the first things my brain added to its lovely 'List of Things to Complain About' wasn't the cold or the hard ground or my body's numerous aches and pains. It was the ravenous churning in my stomach, my mind distantly supplying a single word: hungry.

I couldn't help but groan quietly, shifting a little from wherever I was laying and drowsily taking in more of my surroundings. That's when I noticed this weird feeling of part of my upper body being elevated, like my head was resting against something. Something with a soft, lumpy sort of feeling. Pillow, perhaps… In any case, for now, I was in no hurry to find out what it was. I was perfectly content to just lay here – wherever 'here' was – and keeping my eyes closed; that blissful, placid state between being awake and asleep felt too good to relinquish. Shifting a little (…am I on the ground or something?), I sighed, ready to shut out the world again and get several more hours of sleep.

That's when my jostled left hand suddenly exploded into pain. It drew a hiss from me as I squeezed my eyes shut, now completely awake, memories from the last two days sliding into focus. I groaned quietly and waited for the pain to subside to something below 'excruciating'. I blearily opened my eyes – wincing at a barrage of bright sunlight – and struggled to sit up, my unhappy body protesting the movements. Now that I was fully awake, I twisted around and managed to get the chance to see what I'd been laying on.

The emergency pack.

Raising a brow, my mind just stared dumbly at it for a moment, and I blinked in confusion. Weren't my parents supposed to have it?

My parents. I twisted my head around to look for them, eyes wide with panic. Had they left me here last night? Was I alone?

But they were still there. I'd been the first to wake up. Asleep on the other side of the smoldered pit that was once last night's fire, they were pressed close against one another, Dad's arm draped over my mother. Small bundles of the cattail fluff from last night were packed into the crook of his arm and under the side of his head. One of his fingers twitched. "…yes, fudge," he mumbled faintly, and when he licked his lips a little, a small grin drifted onto my face.

They wouldn't have just abandoned me out here with the emergency pack, not when it was full of their… food…

The mere thought of food suddenly triggered a ravenous monster inside the pit of my stomach. I clutched it with my good hand, gritting my teeth and resisting the desire to moan pathetically against a hollow feeling. Hunger had never been this painful before, and I still couldn't wrap my mind around the idea that I could even feel hunger so strongly in this form. It'd never been an issue before. Hell, I wasn't even sure if there was a real digestive tract in there – for all I knew, it was just a mushy combination of ectoplasm and ghostly energy resting under my skin… but what I was feeling in my 'stomach' was definitely hunger. For a second I wondered if the audible gurgles it made would be enough to wake my parents up, but I shook the thought off.

Rather, my entire being was locked on the zipper in front of my knees. The zipper to the emergency bag. The zipper that, when opened, would reveal Mom and Dad's remaining stash of six granola bars... edible granola bars... sweet, gooey, mouth-watering granola bars.

Grab NOW was the only thing dictating my thoughts. My fingers were automatically moving before I'd realized it. They fumbled almost desperately with the bag and started to unzip it – when my mind suddenly screeched to a halt.

I couldn't steal from my own parents. Aside from the likely chance of having the living snot beaten out of me before being banished from this little group, it was just… wrong. But, it was so tempting to snag a quick bite and settle my pleading stomach (just one bar; would they even notice?). I hadn't eaten in several days, but… I just couldn't do it.

With a heavy sigh/grumble, I reluctantly zipped the bag back up and shoved it away to the side. That's when I heard a sudden crunch of leaves directly behind me, and I whirled around with a startled gasp.

"Get away from our food, ghost."

I blinked, face-to-face with the end of a thick stick that was only inches away from my nose.

It shouldn't have surprised me that Mom was standing right behind me, calm and completely awake. She usually was a morning person. I'd figured she'd appreciate sleeping in after the last two exhausting days, and hadn't imagined myself to be loud enough to wake her up – but she was there, her walking stick held in front of her and looking ready to beat someone within an inch of their life.

For a moment I just sat there, and then began spluttering out a mouthful of incoherence. "Whoa, hang on – th-this isn't what it looked like," I stammered, scooting back a little as Mom lowered her walking stick and bent down to pick up the small emergency pack, her wary eyes never leaving mine. "I-I just woke up. My head was laying on it but I didn't—"

"Quiet," she suddenly hissed, casting me a glare I was all-too-familiar with. "You're going to wake Jack up."

"Mads, 'm already 'wake." Mom hesitantly took her eyes off of me for a moment to glance back at my father. He sleepily sat up, rubbed the grit out of his eyes, then blinked at the two of us. "Uhh… am I missing something? What's wrong?"

We glanced at each other again. I took the time to pick myself up and stumble back a little ways further, gladly giving my mother her space. She cast her distrustful eyes over to me again while she walked back to Dad. "Nothing's wrong," she said, helping my dad to his feet and handing him the small bag.

They took a few minutes to shake off any loose remnants of sleep – then Mom looked back over to the creek where we'd eaten a scrumptious dinner of wild plants last night. She turned her attention warily up to the overcast sky, as if expecting the gray clouds to dump buckets of rain on us at any second. "I'm going to go grab a few more flower heads to take with us – and then we need to keep moving." Mom said quietly to Dad. "Looks like there's a chance of rain today."

My father exhaled heavily through his nose. "A hundred miles in four days, thirty a day? We've only travelled, what, almost forty over the last two?"

She shook her head. "We just need to pick up the pace." She cast a glance over in my direction. "Which is obviously a little harder to do with this ghost trailing behind."

"I'm going to talk to him later on, find out why he's still following us." He shrugged. "And Mads, he hasn't really done anything threatening, so…"

Trying not to pay attention to the conversation between my parents, I was left to hang out by myself for most of the time after that, lost in my own thoughts and (growing) worries. I was still a little confused by the whole waking-up-with-a-makeshift-pillow thing; the last thing I remember before falling asleep was sitting by the achingly warm firelight, ignoring all of the aches and pains, falling asleep on my dad's arm—

Oh.

My eyes widened a little at that particular memory, and a wave of unease was quick to replace the initial shock. That… hadn't been smart. At all.

Glancing over at him, I couldn't help but scowl. Something was up. I hadn't been in the right state of mind to contemplate it much yesterday, but why was he being so… Well, 'nice' wasn't exactly the right word I was looking for, and 'generous' was pushing it. Back home, he was the absolute epitome of shooting first and asking questions later. He was a dangerous ghost hunter when he wanted to be. But now…

"Hey. You coming?"

I looked up and blinked, surprised to see Dad cautiously ambling a few feet over to me, Mom already stalking off further into the woods. Shaking off the thoughts gnawing at my brain, I nodded silently, and trailed after my parents.

Just for the record, being stuck hungry, tired, having to depend on two people who'd gladly destroy you, and completely lost in the middle of freaking nowhere isn't the most exciting thing in the world.

I brushed past what was probably the ten trillionth tree since getting stuck out here, my nerves growing more and more anxious by the hour. The day had dragged on forever. Everything had quickly seemed to become routine out here. Were we just going to keep walking in some pointless direction, looking for help? Would we even find help? Were we meant to die out here, far away from home, where the chances of someone finding us alive and sane were next to nothing?

The thought that we wouldn't be getting out of this alive was too disheartening for my mind to think about. Shaking my head, I heaved a tired sigh and pushed my way through the forest after my parents, trying to think of something else to… well, think about. It was kind of hard to accomplish that when every two minutes my stomach was whining for me to feed it, and the continuous pain in my hand, along with the sheer exhaustion that clung heavily to my shoulders wasn't helping at all. It was weird how tired I was compared to back home – usually my ghost half was quick to heal itself, regenerate lost energy…

My brows furrowed as I pushed past a particularly thick grove of trees, still keeping my parents in sight, a sigh of irritation leaving my lungs. My powers.

I'd always known I wasn't really a ghost. My body, thoughts, actions – my very existence just didn't work the same as a ghost's did. I'd always remained consciously aware of that small spark of warmth and humanity – of life – buried deep underneath the cold, distant feeling associated with my ghost form. But that same feeling inside of me I'd known for so long had given way to a strange sensation of hollow nothingness, and apparently wouldn't be coming back on its own anytime soon.

I closed my eyes for a moment and let the problem echo through me, my mind struggling to come up with any possible explanations, theories, solutions… nothing. My eyes glared down at the earth with an air of defeated frustration, and I absentmindedly rubbed the back of my head, wincing at the small lump from when I'd whacked my skull during the plane crash. It'd been nearly forty eight hours since I'd realized they were gone… Had I forgotten how to use them, or something? Would they ever come back? Were they gone forever?

That… wasn't a thought I wanted to dwell on. I was as useless as any human. A human with a freaking broken hand. It would be impossible to prove to my parents I was really their son, if it became necessary in the future, and I had no way of defending myself.

"I'm not dead," I muttered to myself with a sigh, cradling my broken hand again and gazing out into the leaves. "I'm not a ghost…" It was still obvious, but it made my nerves relax a little more from hearing the words come from my own mouth. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my father hesitate a step to turn his head and stare at me, blinking in bewilderment.

"Uhh…"

Oh. Right. I was technically already supposed to be dead. "Er… don't ask," I said, not meeting his eyes, cutting off the question he was surely about to ask. "Just talking to myself, is all."

Dad seemed to hesitate on something before muttering, "Okay…?"

Nothing much happened for a good portion of the day after that. We were fortunate enough to avoid the impending rain save for a few scattered drizzles – yet the clouds continued to hang around, cloaking the forest in mild darkness. A few hours later, a nagging at the back of my mind drove me to quicken my pace just enough to catch up to match that of my father, who'd lingered a little ways behind Mom.

"Umm… Jack? Can I… Can I ask you something?" I asked, rubbing the back of my neck. I cannot believe I'm asking this, but…

He glanced down at me and blinked. "What?"

"This morning I… er, I woke up on the little bag you guys salvaged from the plane crash. I didn't steal anything, though – but did… uhh…"

"Oh," he exhaled, "that. Yeah." He paused for a moment, awkwardly struggling with what to say next while I waited. "Uhh – I don't know, I mean, Mads and I just found out that you can sleep like humans, and you looked… I don't know. I figured you'd be… comfortable or something, I guess. She wasn't happy about it."

I blinked. It might have been the response I'd half-expected, but it was still bewildering to hear the actual words come from my father's mouth. "Thanks," I said slowly – Dad merely grunted in response. I rubbed the back of my neck and wracked my head for something to come up with to break the uncomfortable silence that stretched between us.

"Your, uh, wife seems really…" I shook my head and smiled a little. "She looked ready to beat the crap out of me this morning."

Dad chuckled a little, his shoulders visibly easing a little. "Mads practically stayed up half the night just to make sure you wouldn't wake up and run off with it.

"I wasn't planning on stealing it in the first place," I said. "And it's not like I'd get far, anyway."

He was quiet for a moment to digest that. "Why are you following us, anyway?"

I shrugged. "Is… there anything better to do? We're lost, I'm powerless, I'm starving, and hell – I can't even freaking fly. I haven't been able to do anything since we crashed here." I said sourly. "Compared to you two, I'm useless."

Surprisingly, Dad chuckled a little. "So, basically you're defenseless? You must be pretty desperate to admit that," he said. "Especially to a ghost hunter."

"Yeah, well…" I scowled, gazing down at the ground and trying to keep my balance while we trudged across the uneven ground. "Following you and Maddie just seems reasonable, I guess. She seems to be the outdoors expert, not me."

"That makes two of us," he said with a half-smile, then looked at me uncertainly. "Earlier you'd said you were starving…" He set his jaw and glanced off to his side, which was a usual sign that he was attempting to contemplate something very hard.

"Er… Yeah. I'm really hungry," I muttered, shrugging and avoiding his eyes. I suddenly stumbled forward. Dad was surprisingly quick to help me up to my aching feet, and I bit my lip to keep myself from actually crying out in pain when I fumbled with my broken wrist, trying to cradle it in a not-as-painful position close to my chest. "God damnit…" I muttered, gritting my teeth and pushing myself ahead of my father, very aware of his eyes on the back of my head. "Thanks."

"Mmhmm… Shouldn't you… uhh…" I glanced up to see him walking by my side, staring at my hand with curiosity. "Shouldn't you get that into a sling, or a… splint, or something?"

I wanted to laugh, but I was just too tired. "Probably, but what would I use for one? S'not like there're any orthopedists anywhere out here."

"Ortho… what?"

I cracked a smile. "Bone doctors. There's nothing out here I could make a splint out of."

"Oh." Dad kept an eye on the path ahead of us, keeping Mom in his sights. We were silent for another moment, when he unexpectedly said, "You have bones?"

"I… guess." More silence ensued.

"Actually," Dad said cautiously, like he was trying to convince himself to say his next words, "Mads would probably know how to set it, or something. She's good at things like that. Uhh… if you want, I could talk to her…?"

I opened my mouth to stutter out some sort of half-coherent response when the back of my neck suddenly prickled. I slowed to a stop and twisted around, alertly surveying the trees. Holding my breath, I waited.

Nothing.

The fact that nothing was there just made it worse. I remained stiff, narrowing my eyes and feeling goose bumps spring onto my arms. An odd yet horribly unsettling sensation had suddenly permeated the air around us – the kind of feeling where every hair on the back of your neck rises and icy fear begins to crawl down your spine. I didn't even know what I was waiting for – but if there were ever a time to feel claustrophobic, vulnerable, and exposed at the same time, it would be now.

It was just… For some really odd, really unnerving reason, that feeling wasn't leaving me alone. Of course, from months upon months of being affiliated with the supernatural, I'd been exposed to that sinister feeling enough times to know what it felt like. The trees seemed to be a little darker, the tangy smell of rain drifting through the air. Something within me suddenly wasn't liking the direction we were heading in.

I continued to stand there – completely tense and unmoving save for the movements from my chest, listening, ready to spring back at the slightest rustle around me. I felt as if a loaded gun were being pointed in my direction. And I didn't know why.

"Phantom?"

I yelped, actually leaping into the air and simultaneously whipping around, completely having forgotten that Dad was nearby. He was standing curiously up ahead, having fallen back a little ways from Mom. His forehead wrinkled a little. "Why'd you stop?"

I moved my mouth a little, blinking in confusion. "You don't feel that?"

His brows creased. "Feel what?"

"Uhh…" I trailed off, looking back in the trees, that same foreboding pit settling in my stomach. "Nevermind. I just… thought I saw something."

"Oh… Well, uhh – Mads and I are stopped up ahead by the creek for a break." He hesitated. "If you're going to join us, then… come on, I guess." He began to walk off, and I made sure to follow this time.

It must have been my natural tendency to feel paranoid, or my sensitivity to the supernatural. Whatever it was, I tentatively shrugged it off, stalking after my father. Before following, though, I glanced back over my shoulder, doing a quick sweep of my surroundings. Nothing was jumping out at us or lunging for my throat. The forest was quiet and eerily still.

And yet… I couldn't shake off the feeling that we were being watched.

"So, Jack says you've broken your hand."

It wasn't a question, and surprisingly, lacked contempt. I shifted nervously from foot to foot – or, rather, swayed from side to side on the ground, gazing up at my mom hesitantly standing a few feet from me. I'd half-heartedly agreed to Dad's suggestion of letting her take a look at my hand – even though it was something my brain was rapidly categorizing as a Very Bad Idea. The really odd thing was that she wasn't looking at me with the same hostility as before. Not that I was complaining. It was just… it was different.

I avoided her eyes, my face blank, trying to ignore the churning of butterflies in my stomach. "Yeah," I said quietly.

She sighed, then closed the distance between us knelt down in front of me and – I flinched – gently grabbed my swollen hand. I tried to remain perfectly still and didn't say a word. She lightly traced her fingers over the top of my hand and wrist, and I could sense the shiver she tried to repress at the iciness of my skin. An uncomfortable silence stretched between us. She examined the injury with a weirdly practiced, maternal-like skill. "Obviously a closed fracture… Looks like it's broken in several places somewhere along the carpals, possibly part of the metacarpals." She looked up at me, her eyes intense, and it was obvious gears were turning in her head. "Ghosts can break bones?"

Having no idea what a metacarpal was, I glanced away, consciously trying to push the waves of pain to the back of my mind. "Uhh… Sure, you could say that," I muttered.

"I don't get it," she said impatiently, turning my hand over and inspecting the reddish green scab across my palm, puzzled on the way dried blood and ectoplasm was smeared all over my clothes, how dirty I was… etcetera. "From what Jack and I have observed in the past, your ectoplasm should have completely regenerated itself and healed these… wounds… hours after you damaged yourself."

I resisted the urge to snort at the way she worded herself. "I don't know why my hand's still injured," I said softly. "Something's wrong, seriously. I should have healed on my own… mostly, anyway." I looked up at her. "And… really, I didn't crash that plane. It's not my fault… I don't even know why I was involved. I should have been back home."

Mom's face seemed to soften just a little at my words, and she sighed. The awkward tension seemed to lesson a little bit as I massaged the tight muscles on the back of my neck, and she stood up. "There's nothing I can do. There's nothing to use out here to set the… bones with." She hesitated, and I could have sworn her expression flickered into one of sincere sympathy before settling back into a calm mask. "I'm sorry."

I shrugged, pulling my knees up to my chest, leaning my chin against them. "It's okay. Thanks for trying, anyway."

"How can you have bones to break, anyway?"

I hesitated, shrugging diffidently again. Frankly, I wasn't in the mood to really care about his prying, which I probably should have been. It'd been only three days since we were stranded – it seemed longer – and my entire mind was just kind of lethargic. I gazed up at the sky, as if something up there would show itself as the answer to all of our problems… and that's when it struck me. I needed to tell them…

I was starting to seriously agree with the thought that keeping this Earth-shattering secret from them wasn't the smartest idea, judging from how screwed our situation really was. It was truly going to be a matter of life and death; these stakes weren't something I could take lightly. I was trapped out here with a pair of paranormal scientists. Of all people, wouldn't something like this be in their area of expertise? Perhaps they could offer some sort of help, figure out why I couldn't fly…

There just wasn't any other way.

"There's…" I sighed, clenching my other fist, closing my eyes. "There's something I need to tell you…" Drawing into myself a little, I stared down at my knees. "I'm… I'm not—" That's when a loud snapping of twigs suddenly broke the silence behind us. All three of us froze.

Dad blinked. "What was—"

"Quiet," Mom whispered. I twisted around, eyes glancing warily through the trees. Off to my left, leaves rustled, brambles crackled, and young trees swayed as the whatever-it-was grew closer. I narrowed my eyes, tensing, trying to ignore the small tendrils of fear sliding into my veins. This was probably the source of the uneasy vibes I'd been getting earlier, from the exposed, dangerous atmosphere looming in the forest…

We waited, each of us growing more anxious by the second. Adrenaline began to seep into my system, A few more seconds passed – then a dark shape loomed into view, obscured by the brush.

"Deer?" I whispered.

I stopped breathing. A mere thirty or so feet away, gleaming at us with interest, sauntered an enormous, solitary black bear.

Author's Note: Pathetic attempt at a cliffhanger, I know, but the plot really kicks off next time! D: