I do Not own the Anime/Manga Ghost Hunt, or its characters.

Set before the team learns about Naru's PK.

I could hear them screaming downstairs, getting louder and louder. I sat behind the door, its crack letting in the dull shine of the stairs' lamp-like light. My knees were drawn up to my chest, my little arms and hands shaking as I tried not to cry, to not make a sound. I remembered what happened last time I cried, the last time I showed them I was scared of their anger. I bit my lip when I heard his heavy boots stomping up the stairs.

I wanted to go back to Martha's house - only, she died in a car accident.

No. Not again.

Please.

I looked up at the ceiling, silent tears sliding down my cheeks. He stopped outside the door, and my heart hammered against my chest harder and harder, - I thought it might explode - fear constricting my throat and drying out my mouth. I bit my lip hard enough to bleed; I wanted to bawl my eyes out, to sob and be comforted. I buried my head into my knees.

Please.

Not again.

No one answered my prayer.

...

A few years after that, I knew that it was better to just pretend I wasn't there when it happened. I learned to focus on the pain and not the act itself. I learned how to smile when everything was just so fucked up. I learned the lies and breathed them like they were air, drank them like they were water. I learned the importance of alcohol and to take it without complaint when they passed it to me.

But some nights, I couldn't separate my mind from my body.

Some nights, I just didn't have enough weed or booze or I was just a glutton for punishment.

After all, it was always my fault.

-X-

I jerked awake, twisting around in my blankets.

Monk was snoring loudly from his futon, ear buds in his ears. I kicked off most of the blankets, the chilly air making me shiver - but if felt good. My chest was heaving, my breathing ragged to my own ears.

I put my head in my hands, body quivering; I can't remember the last time I dreamt of those days.

Darkness quickly claimed me once more.

-X-

By the time I was thirteen, I had broken thirty different bones in my body and had several joints dislocated.

Not to mention needing to be stitched up.

I began cutting.

Not that it mattered, the pain. I had more than enough of it.

...

When I was caught at a party, I was beaten senseless and left to rot in the basement for three days.

I was taken to the hospital by a friend, who dumped me in the arms of the first nurse she could. They were arrested, but I was sent to live with their relatives. This time, they left me in the shed, duck taped and gagged.

When their son was busted for weed a month or so later, they tore apart the entire house.

I could hear the cops, could hear the shouts. I tried to call out - I really did - but I wasn't found. The shed was set just inside the wooded area behind the house. They didn't even know it was there; it was a new addition.

I was blamed for Jake being caught.

I woke up in the back of a ambulance, fifty some miles away from their town. There was so much blood, and I couldn't stop screaming. I needed emergency surgery. Later, they had the gull to tell me that I was lucky to be alive and I cried.

Lucky.

They didn't understand that word.

I'd be lucky to have died on that table - or, better yet, to have never been found by that hitch hiker.

...

When they released me, I told them I didn't remember what happened. They believed me, because someone had taken a baseball bat to my head; they found it in the ditch beside me. I told them my name, and I tried not flinch. I didn't want them to send me back.

Instead, I found myself in a church-run orphanage for the next two years.

At the age of sixteen, I became a priest.

I wanted to help.

I wanted to forget.

I needed to believe.

-X-

I rolled over, blearily opening my eyes to see an empty room. I sat up with a groan; I saw the door open and the men's locker room door beyond it. My body felt stiff and dizziness swam behind my eyes. My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, my throat sore and mouth dry. I was painfully aware of my bladder.

I struggled to my feet, my legs trembling with effort.

I stumbled across the hall and did my business, quietly ignoring Monk singing in the shower.

While I was washing my hands, he came out of a shower stall, a grey towel wrapped around his hips. He was busy drying my hair and hadn't yet seen me. Maybe I could slip past him and get back in bed. Ice poured down my back when he turned and caught sight of me, "Mornin' sleepy head."

The smile that was on my face was by knee jerking instinct alone, and it felt tight, forced. "G'day."

He eyed me suspiciously, "You feelin' okay, man?"

"Fine," I said a little too quickly. I tried slipping out the door, "I'll let you get dressed - "

But he wasn't having any of that. He caught my arm, his other hand pressed against my cheek. I had frozen when he grabbed me, eyes wide, and he eyed me with concern, "You have a fever. Go back to bed and I'll get you something for it."

I nodded quickly, pulled away from him and stumbled back to bed.

-X-

"Johnny! Johnny, wait up!"

I ran into the white house, tears blurring my vision. My arm hurt, it hurt really bad. I shot towards the kitchen, slipping on the freshly cleaned floors. Red was streaking down my arm as I fell into Martha's lap, sobbing.

"Oh! Johnny, what happened?" She pulled me back, gently holding my arm.

"I-I f-fell!"

She nodded as Rori came slipping into the kitchen. "Is he okay? We were climbing the tree and h-he fell off the lowest branch and h-he wouldn't let me see - "

"Its okay, Rori." She sat me on the counter and grabbed a white box. "Its just a scratch."

"Just a scratch?!" Rori wailed, throwing his arms into the air. "He took off and was howling like he had broken something!"

"He's four," I could hear the gentle amusement in her voice, and she kissed my forehead. She cleaned my cut - it stung, stung, stung - and put a spider man bandage on it. "There, all better."

Martha wasn't my mommy, but she loved me like a mommy should. I wanted her to be my mommy. I wanted to ask her to be my mommy.

Rori walked up to me, his red hair hanging in his eyes. His green eyes were round with worry. "You okay, Johnny?"

I nodded miserably. Rori picked me up; he was a big boy! He knew lots'a stuff, and even though I was small and his friends made fun of him for playing with me, he loved me. Like a brother, that's what he said. Even though he's gonna be going to school soon and I have to stay home.

He grinned suddenly, "Hey, remember I told you I was gonna teach you how to ride a bike?"

Rori always made me feel lots better. My boo-boo didn't hurt no more.

Later, he let me try without holding onto my shoulders.

"Just believe you can, Johnny. That's it. Picture it, feel it, live it. That's it! You got it!"
...

"Jonathan, come down here."

"Its John." I said nastily as I rounded the bottom of the stairs. I pulled up short, seeing two cops standing in front of the Miller family. Mr. Miller, his wife and his step-son were gathered, the mother holding a slip of paper, "What happened?"

The one cop looked up, "You're John Brown?"

"Yes," I nodded slowly, a sinking feeling dragging at my being.

"There's...no easy way to say this." He continued, passing me a picture, a letter and the paper Mrs. Miller had been holding.

Mr. Miller hadn't even told me to watch my tone, and there were tears of sympathy in her eyes. Their son, two years my elder, couldn't look me in the eye.

I looked down. It was a picture of Rori - I'd recognize that necklace and hair anywhere - and my eyes shot up. Was he coming to live with us too? I only saw him every few years, was only allowed to call him a few times a year. We wrote back and fourth when we could. We were planning on moving in together - we were even thinking of running away together and meeting up and living by our own rules. I was only ten, but he was sixteen - or, he was gonna be, in a few weeks.

But then, I saw the paper.

It was a police report - a report about a dead body.

A dead body with red hair.

I swallowed thickly, tears filling my eyes. My voice was hoarse, "No. No. It - No!"

I tore open the letter, and out fell his necklace.

It hit the floor with a metal clang. It was a surfer's necklace. It was suppose to protect him from sharks and massive waves and - and -

And a week later, I was high for the first time.

-X-

"You should have seen him, Mai." Monk's voice was low, worry clear in his voice. "I only grabbed him cuz' he was lookin' really white, ya know? And he looked like I was about to hit him, or something."

"Maybe...he's just, ya know, not used to being touched." Mai said just as quietly. My back was to them, but I could feel their eyes on my form. "I mean, how often have we actually touched him before?"

"No." Monk's voice was firm. "That was real terror in his eyes. I've seen him take out ghosts with less fear."

I wanted to crawl into a dark hole somewhere and never come out.

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