Here we are, guys: Part Two.

Because I don't want to keep ya waiting, let's just get on with this.

Thanks for reading/reviewing/existing.

Here's a bunch of virtual cookies. (::) (::) (::) (::)

AllAmericanSlurp: "I'm not a porcupine!"

Tennisgirl77: Yes, a cliffhanger!

Mia-Teresa-Davenport: "Your brother knows me so well. I'm flattered. :3"

gg180000: "What the hell?"

"I don't know, Hellcat. I can't make heads of tails of this!"

Moonlit: Dougie won't get eaten.

RissA15: "See above porcupine statement."

"And since when am I a baby gorilla!?"

So, who wants to find out what went down in the bathroom? Hellcat?

"Zara doesn't own Lab Rats, Looney Tunes or anything you recognize. If you don't recognize it, it's probably hers."

"Revenge, the sweetest morsel to the mouth that ever was cooked in hell."

Walter Scott, The Heart of Mid-Lothian

Douglas

Douglas ran his hand through his hair, sighing. It wouldn't stand up for a while since he had just taken a shower.

He hated having his hair hanging in his eyes because it was damp.

Actually, now that it was hanging down, it seemed a bit long. He should get a haircut soon.

Nah. It looked awesome as it was.

Even if it was styled wrong.

Blowing a bit of hair out of his eyes, he finally looked away from the mirror. After rationalizing whatever bothered him earlier as a natural reaction to having his hair messed up, he had turned his thoughts back to revenge.

Bree was going down.

He needed more information, though. Know your enemy, right? Where he could make Hellcat or Donnie squirm in seconds, he didn't know Bree well enough to pull off a simple - and somewhat sadistic - scheme. Sure, he had more complicated ones, but those would either result in her getting hurt - an option that was off the table - or him waiting for years to execute it fully.

So...who knew Bree?

He thought about this while heading towards the Lab. Adam and Chase would probably enjoy pulling a prank or two, but they wouldn't get personal enough. Leo wasn't one for pranking much. Tasha would just chastise him for asking. Donnie might help - he was a victim, too - but he might take it too far.

Douglas shuddered. Donald had launched Douglas into the air with an airbag one too many times.

So that left the imps. Ysthry was out immediately. She was a bit fond of Bree and told Leo everything. Oly and Yahn would have to be his partners in crime this time.

Speaking of Oly, Douglas almost tripped over her as he crossed the living room. She didn't even have the decency to pull her head out of the bag of candy she was devouring when he nudged her with his foot. He rolled his eyes and gestured at the bag. "Who got her this?"

Yahn stopped licking some caramel off of his tail. "Adam did to keep her from stealing candy from kids."

Douglas frowned. That was how he got candy last year. Sure, he could always buy some, but it was somehow sweeter when it was stolen. Especially when the kids had gotten it for free. Fucking freeloaders needed to learn that life sucked.

Oh, well. Oly could still scare people.

Douglas picked her up - she snarled and kicked a bit in protest until he told her to stop - and held her in one arm while he picked up the bag of candy. He was glad that Tasha wasn't in the room at the moment. Oly had scattered candy wrappers everywhere. He glanced at Yahn. "When you're done doing whatever it is you're doing, pick these up."

Yahn grimaced, but gave a salute.

Douglas rolled his eyes and made his way down to the Lab, making sure to leave Oly's candy on the counter next to the caramel apples Tasha wouldn't let him help make. Something about family tradition for her and Leo to make them. Whatever. His would've been better.

When he finally made it to the Lab, he found Bree zipping around like lightning, rapidly cleaning up the fake blood. Which, of course, reminded him of why he made some in the first place. He put Oly down in a puddle. "Roll around some."

Oly instantly dropped to the floor and rolled like a maniac, covering herself randomly in the fake blood. After a few seconds, Douglas smiled and picked her up again. "You look scary."

Oly growled. "Can I go back upstairs now?"

Douglas almost said yes, but his eyes landed on a little pink phone sitting on the cyber desk. Douglas frowned. Since when did Bree put her phone down? She was usually glued to that thing.

Wait a second….

Maybe he knew more about Bree than he thought.

Douglas smiled a bit, whispering to Oly as Bree continued to run around. "I'm going to make a distraction. You get Bree's phone without her noticing and put it in my room. Then, you can go do whatever you want."

Oly winced, but nodded.

Douglas put Oly down and narrowed his eyes, thinking hard. What could he do that would be distracting enough?

Lucky for him, though, Bree distracted herself. She froze in the center of the Lab, staring at him for a few seconds before she dropped the sponge she was holding and started laughing.

Douglas furrowed his brow. "What's your problem?"

Bree covered her mouth with her hand, her shoulders shaking. "You look like a hippy!"

Douglas was confused for a second before he had to brush some hair out of his eyes. Then, it clicked. His hair was laying down.

Great. Just great.

Douglas rolled his eyes. At least it was useful to have the wrong hair style for a bit. He tilted his head up haughtily. "Excuse me, but I still look amazing."

"Wear a flower crown and tie-dye clothing," Bree giggled. "Maybe you can be a peace-loving guy for Halloween. Nobody would think it was anything but a costume."

"I actually used to wear flower crowns as a kid," Douglas began, grasping at straws to keep her attention. He smiled a bit. "Belthane was a fun holiday. Dancing in circles around a fire with your friends and family, skyclad-"

"What's skyclad?" Bree interrupted, wiping away some joyful tears as she regained control.

Douglas smirked. "Completely naked."

His family had never observed that particular part of celebrating – clothing was nice to wear – but Bree didn't need to know that.

The frank statement had the desired effect. Bree suddenly went pale, her face twisted up in horror.

Douglas let himself smile easily. "Oh, yeah. It's quite liberating. Especially when a nice breeze is blowing."

"Stop!" Bree screeched, covering her eyes like she was trying to unsee something.

This was too easy. "I think Donnie had the most fun those days. Always dancing around with his –"

Bree cried out, cutting him off. She rubbed her eyes hard, shuddering.

Douglas glanced behind her to see Oly snatch the phone and bolt down the tunnel when Bree wasn't looking. He grinned, already deciding what to do with the phone. He could piss her off for days with it. However, now that Oly had escaped, he didn't need to bother Bree with "scarring" mental images. He rolled his shoulders and waited for her to look at him again. After a moment, she finally regained enough composure to look at him. "What's wrong with you?" she demanded.

Douglas shrugged. "Some people find self-confidence attractive."

"Not on you, apparently," Bree retorted, wrinkling her nose. "You're still single."

Ouch, he thought. He frowned. "I'm single by choice, you know."

Bree rolled her eyes. "That's what they all say."

Douglas bit back his response. Someone had wanted to marry him once, but he was long dead now. It was a devastating blow to learn that his fiancé had died, and it served as a harsh lesson as to why one had to be careful when building bombs. There was no need to revisit that with Bree, though. Let her think what she wanted. Instead, he tilted his head. "So, why are you cleaning the Lab so fast?"

"Because Tasha said we had to," she answered. "That includes you, hippy."

Douglas snorted. "She can't tell me what to do."

"We all know she's the boss of you," Bree responded.

"She's the boss of Donnie, maybe," Douglas defended.

"Who cares? We still have to clean this."

Douglas glanced around the Lab. "You already cleaned most of it," he pointed out.

Bree smirked, picked up the sponge, and threw it at him. "Then you and Mr. Davenport can do the rest." With that, she turned on her heel and sped out of the Lab, not even bothering to check for her phone.

Douglas threw the sponge from one hand to the other repeatedly. Very few bloodstains were left on the floor and walls. Luckily, Bree had handled the ones on the ceiling. He chuckled a bit before he decided to just clean the rest of the Lab. It would give him time to perfect his plan to mess with Bree's phone. He made his way to the bucket of soapy water Bree had left on the floor when he glanced at the little locked box next to Bree's capsule. He smirked. Hellcat's fingerprint lock probably wouldn't be hard to break through if he swung a hammer hard enough.

Giving Oly access to Bree's rhinestones would certainly add insult to injury.

Douglas felt much better now. How sweet revenge was.

"You are terrifying and strange and beautiful. Something not everyone knows how to love."

Warsan Shire

Chase

Have you ever been accosted by a blur?

Actually, you probably haven't. Humans can't see planes, after all.

So you'll just need to take my word when I say that is was definitely unnerving. Especially since I could only see the guy in the mirror. Beside me – even if I searched plane nine – he was just a blur. I pinned my ears and met his eyes in the mirror. "How do you know who I am? And why aren't you just talking instead of writing?"

I tried talking in the Lab, he wrote on the mirror. You couldn't understand me. And why wouldn't I know who you are? I spend enough time around here to know who everyone is.

As the words vanished, I started to back towards the door.

The guy's face became desperate. Wait! I'm not going to hurt anyone! I have to talk to you!

"Why?" I asked, watching with some relief as the fog on the mirror began to fade away rapidly.

In the little bit of fog left in the corner, the man scrawled out, Because I need to talk to my kids, and you're the only one who can see me.

Great. Bree and Douglas liked Medium, but I was the one stuck talking to someone no one else could see. Where was the justice?

Please, the man begged before the mirror was completely clear, destroying his only method of communication. He just fixed me with a pleading expression, looking ready to cry.

I found myself frozen by indecision by the door. I could just run and forget about whatever this guy was, but he just looked so upset. Wasn't I supposed to help people? And the fact that the guy looked familiar was bothering me. "I don't know your kids," I said slowly.

The man nodded vigorously, almost as if he was trying to refute me. He ran his hand through his hair, looking frustrated now. As his fingers caused his hair to spike up a bit, he looked even more familiar to me.

He looks a bit like Douglas, my voice mused.

Holy shit! The small sentence struck me like lightning as I realized that the man reminded me of Douglas and Mr. Davenport. Hell, he even looked a bit like Adam and myself. I saw my eyes widen in the mirror. "Douglas and Mr. Davenport are your kids?"

Excitement lit up the man's expression as he nodded vigorously.

I stared at him in the mirror, utterly shocked. This man was Charles Davenport.

This man was my grandfather.

Where the hell were the bullet wounds? Wasn't he shot to death? Maybe injuries didn't stick around after someone died.

Who cares who this guy is? hissed my voice. Swat him away. He's just a blur.

A blur that wants to talk to his kids, I responded. But he can't because they can't see planes.

Charles frowned and made a writing motion in the air, glancing at me pointedly.

Oh, right! He wanted to talk.

I shut the door and skirted him before I turned on the shower, making sure that the water ran as hot as it possibly could. While we waited for the mirror to fog up again, I rejoined Charles in front of the mirror. He smiled and threw an arm around my shoulder, an action that I could only feel as a sudden temperature drop and see in the mirror. I didn't try to move, though. He probably just wanted to hug his grandkids. So, instead, I purred, which seemed to make Charles even happier. As the temperature rose in the room, though, I was glad for the general chill Charles seemed to radiate. We waited for the mirror to fog up, allowing me time to think up a dozen questions. Why was he here? How was he here? Why did he want to talk to Mr. Davenport and Douglas? Wasn't he supposed to be a Charmer? If so, why wasn't I feeling the effects?

Actually, that was probably because he couldn't talk to me.

I rolled my weight back on one heel as the mirror started to fog up again. As our reflections began to vanish, Charles finally wrote something again. Thank you for staying. I've been trying to talk to somebody for years. You're the only one who can see me so far.

I lowered my ears as the words vanished. "Yahn hasn't talked to you?"

Ajiiyahn can't access enough planes to see me, Charles explained.

I nodded. It made sense. I could only see Charles on the eighth plane and beyond. Yahn only had access to three or four. "That has to be lonely."

Charles' cursive writing ran across the mirror. I'm only here on Samhain. The veil between the living and the dead is the thinnest at this time of year.

I frowned. "Samhain is...?"

Halloween.

Oh...I guess that made sense, too. I perked my ears. "You've been following Douglas and Mr. Davenport for how many years?"

Since I was killed, Charles answered. About twenty or so years, I think? Time is a blur after you die.

I nodded again. "Why?"

I need to talk to them. Keep up!

Well, at least I knew where Douglas' impatience came from. I crossed my arms. "They can't see you."

That's why I need you to talk to them for me, Charles wrote.

"Since when am I a ghost whisperer?" I asked, suddenly feeling rebellious.

Even though I could see him anymore, I imagined that Charles had a condescending expression as he wrote, Since you're the only one who can see me.

"Smartass," I growled.

Show some respect, Chase. I'm your grandfather.

Chastised - by a fucking ghost, no less - I lowered my ears. "Sorry."

Now, it's really important that you tell Donnie that it wasn't his fault, Charles wrote.

"What wasn't his fault?" I asked.

Douglas, came the answer. Dougie turned out the way he did, and there wasn't a thing Donnie could do about it.

"Mr. Davenport doesn't blame himself," I pointed out.

Trust me, Charles responded, he does. It's one of those bargaining things. You know, where he thinks that if he had done this or that differently, something would have changed.

I nodded. "Okay."

Also, Charles continued, you have to tell Douglas that what happened to me can't be changed by anything. Especially not terrorism.

"Question," I interrupted. "Did it hurt when you were shot?"

A lot, Charles answered.

I winced.

Also, you have to warn Dougie that something is coming. Charles paused before continuing, as if he was searching for a way to phrase something. I'm not allowed to tell you much, but I can tell you this: Tell him to listen to Yosemite Sam.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I blurted out.

He'll know. That's all that matters.

I shot him - well, his blur - a look. "What if he doesn't?"

He will, Charles insisted.

"Okay, so I need to tell Mr. Davenport that it isn't his fault and Douglas that he can't change the past and that he needs to listen to Yosemite Sam," I summed up. "Is that it?"

Of course not, Charles wrote. I have a lot to say to them. How proud I am that everything turned out all right in the end, how much my grandkids amuse me, how much I want to smack them both when they're being petty, and so on. I could go on for hours, but I won't. I'll have an eternity to say all of that someday. Your time, though, is limited compared to mine.

"Isn't everybody's?" I asked, tilting my head.

Theirs more so than yours, was the answer. Where you have a couple hundred years left to live, they don't.

I frowned, lowering my ears. "I'm going to outlive everybody?"

You didn't realize that sooner, little half-demon?

I swallowed hard and shook my head. I just assumed that I'd live a normal lifespan.

Don't look so upset, Charles wrote. Eventually, after everything is over, you'll rejoin everybody. You aren't immortal.

"That's better than nothing, I guess," I mumbled.

That's the spirit! Charles encouraged. Besides, you'll always have that voice in your head.

"I don't want that thing," I huffed.

My voice - having been surprisingly quiet until then - decided to speak up. You would be lonely without me to talk to, and you know it.

Well, I had gotten used to talking to it. I'd probably feel like I lost a finger if it was gone.

Even if it was a pain in my ass.

After a second, I perked my ears. "So, everybody goes to the same place when they die, right? Where is it?"

I could imagine the amused expression on his face that the foggy mirror wouldn't show me as he wrote, One of the things that makes death an adventure is not knowing.

Damn. "What about evil people, then? Isn't there some kind of punishment for them after they die?"

I can't tell you that, either.

Talking to ghosts sucked. Seriously, what fun was it if you got no answers about the other side? "Well, then can you tell me what happened to one guy?"

After a second, Charles wrote, Who?

"Victor Krane," I supplied. Sue me; I was curious.

Several seconds slid by again before Charles answered. He doesn't think he's dead. He just thinks Soad has control. He's driving himself mad trying to regain control of a life that no longer exists.

"So you know him," I responded, more of a statement than anything else.

I've been watching for years, remember? Charles reminded me. Krane thought I was either Dougie or Donnie, I think, because he spent some time trying to kill me...again. Now, he's just trying to live.

I lowered my ears. I didn't think I'd ever feel sorry for Krane, but that kind of afterlife wasn't something I'd wish on anybody. "Is there something somebody can do to help him?"

He'll have to come to terms with his death, Charles answered. He's the only one that can help himself now. He'll accept it eventually. They always do.

He deserves eternal unrest, my voice growled.

No one deserves that, I thought back. After a long moment, I perked my ears. "What happens when I deliver your various messages? Do you disappear?"

No, Charles answered. I'll still be around. It's the privilege of watching from another realm. I'll just have the satisfaction of knowing that they finally know what I've wanted to tell them for a long time.

I nodded. "Quick question about Krane again: Will he be able to follow us around, too?"

I don't know why he would torture himself like that, Charles wrote. He wouldn't be able to do a thing to anyone. Just bother you in mirrors on Samhain.

"I don't want him bothering me on Halloween," I growled.

Then avoid looking in mirrors, Charles wrote. I swear to God, the sentence accurately reflected whatever smirk he would be wearing.

I rolled my eyes.

As the old words disappeared, new ones replaced them. You know that I'm proud of you, too, right? All of you kids. I never dreamed that I'd be related to superheroes!

Self-conscious, I lowered my ears and started purring.

Maintain your bravery, Charles went on. All of you will need it soon.

"Why?" I asked, frowning now.

Later, Charles wrote. Right now, you might want to turn the shower off. I don't know how long we've been in here, but we've probably wasted a lot of water.

The noise of the shower was suddenly audible to me again. To be honest, I had completely forgotten about it. "Right," I responded, crossing the bathroom and turning the shower off.

Now go tell them what I said, Charles wrote when I looked back at the mirror.

I hesitated. Honestly, I still wanted to talk to him. He was my freaking grandfather, after all. However, according to Ysthry, I had until midnight to speak with him. Besides, his blurry self was already drifting towards the door, so I was willing to bet that he wasn't going to talk anymore at the moment. He didn't even wait for me to open the thing. He just floated right through it.

What an annoying power that I totally wished I had.

When I opened the door to follow, I was actually quite surprised to find myself face-to-face with Mr. Davenport. He almost ran into me, actually. We ended up stopping just inches from each other in the middle of the hallway as Charles floated in the background like the squiggly thing he was.

Nice timing, ghost.

Mr. Davenport frowned at me. "Chase? You took a shower?"

I nodded immediately. It would be easier to explain that than to tell him what was actually going on.

"But you put your clothes from earlier back on?"

Okay, Mr. Davenport needed to stop analyzing shit.

I nodded again. "I didn't feel like changing," I offered lamely.

After several seconds of the world-famous Davenport scrutinizing glare – nothing could make me more uncomfortable than that look – Mr. Davenport apparently decided to drop it. "Fair enough."

"So," I began before he could say anything else, "what are you doing?"

Mr. Davenport gave me another suspicious look as he answered. "Trying to unlock Bree's phone. Douglas enabled the password lock and set his selfie as the background picture on the lock screen." He shook the little pink phone he held in his hand for emphasis. "I'm currently locked out for the next five minutes. Too many failed attempts to type a password."

I frowned. "Where's Bree, then? Shouldn't she be glued to your side?"

"Douglas let Oly into Bree's rhinestone box," Mr. Davenport answered. "Bree's trying to save her possessions from being defaced."

I nodded. That was a fine example of why one didn't mess with Douglas' hair.

Mr. Davenport sighed. "I swear, Douglas will never grow up."

I could practically see Charles gesturing wildly behind Mr. Davenport. It was like he was telling me that I had just be offered the perfect segue. Lowering my ears, I took a deep breath. "You know that it isn't your fault, right? How Douglas turned out?"

Mr. Davenport scoffed and looked down at Bree's phone, pretending to mess with the buttons. "Of course, it's not my fault."

I shot Charles' blurry spot a pleading look. Obviously, Mr. Davenport wasn't going to accept what I was saying. Why the hell did I have to do this? Charles, however, was floating steadfastly behind his eldest son, silently communicating that I had to try harder.

Damn it. Why couldn't someone else have gotten this job?

I covered the phone screen with my hand, causing Mr. Davenport to look at me with surprise and slight annoyance. "No," I growled, "listen to me. It's not your fault. There was nothing that you could have done that would have changed a thing about him, and you have to accept that."

For a long moment, Mr. Davenport just stared at me, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded. "I know," he responded, sounding slightly relieved. "He always was stubborn."

I nodded and let go of the phone. "Speaking of Douglas, where is he? I need to talk to him."

Mr. Davenport gestured over his shoulder. "Spiking his hair up. If you can get him to tell you the password to Bree's phone, I'd really appreciate it."

I nodded before brushing past him. The sooner I got this whole messenger thing out of the way, the better.

"You can be a daddy's boy or a momma's boy, but you can't be both. So you cling to the one you think you might lose."

Mitch Albom, For One More Day

Douglas

Fixing his hair was like sculpting a masterpiece. It took time, skill, and absolute focus to create a style so perfect, now that his hair had dried properly.

Which was why he nearly threw Chase out of his bedroom window when he kicked the door open. The noise caused Douglas to jump, which messed up a few of the spikes. Great; just when he was almost done. Douglas sighed a bit at the misaligned follicles in the mirror before he turned to acknowledge Chase. "Why did you kick my door open?"

Chase shrugged. "I was bored." He strolled casually across the room and sat on the bed, one of his ears flicking about randomly while the other seemed to trace a single path across the room. He tucked his half-tail close to his leg and leaned forward a bit. "So, here's a random question for you: Have you blown anything up lately?"

A random question, indeed. Douglas narrowed his eyes at Chase. "No, I haven't. Even if I did, it's none of your business."

Chase seemed unfazed by Douglas' statement, though. "You have to stop with this terrorist crap."

Douglas raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "Since when are you the boss of me?"

"Since toppling the government won't bring him back," Chase retorted.

"Won't bring who back?" Douglas asked, steadily becoming more annoyed by this game.

"Your dad."

Douglas hadn't been expecting that answer. He didn't know exactly what he had expected, to be honest. It left him without a comeback, a feeling that he wasn't used to.

Seizing the opportunity that the silence provided, Chase continued. "There isn't a thing in the world that will bring him back. You're fighting a losing battle. You have to accept that he's gone." Chase paused, glancing at the mirror on the wall behind Douglas. "He's proud of you, you know. He's not always proud of your actions –"

Here, Douglas winced subconsciously.

"-but he's proud of you," Chase finished.

Douglas was at a complete loss for words. He stared at Chase for several moments, his mouth opening occasionally before he closed it again.

He's proud of you, you know.

He couldn't possibly be proud of me, Douglas thought, feeling a bit ashamed. Very few people were proud of their sons when they were repeat felons.

Chase leaned forward a bit, as if sensing Douglas' thoughts. "I promise that I'm not lying. You're just going to have to trust me."

How could Chase possibly know that his father was proud? It wasn't like he could ask. Charles was long dead.

Douglas finally nodded. Anything to get that intense look Chase was giving him to go away.

Chase stood up, nodding himself. "Oh, and you're supposed to listen to Yosemite Sam," he stated almost as an afterthought. "I don't know what that means, but you're supposed to."

Douglas furrowed his brow. Yosemite Sam? That old numbers station? The terrorist group that ran that one was apprehended by the FBI years ago. It was inactive, unused. Why the hell would anyone listen to it now? "Why?" Douglas asked slowly.

Chase shrugged. "Apparently, something big is coming." And, with that vague statement, Chase turned on his good heel and walked out of the room, his limp more pronounced now than it had been that morning.

Douglas stared after Chase for a moment before he finally looked back at the mirror. Good; he looked just as confused as his felt. To begin with, the general statement that fighting the government was just a way to bring his dad back was idiotic. He knew that nothing would ever allow him to see Charles again. He was fighting for the greater good against a corrupt system!

Wasn't he?

He ground his teeth and tried to think of a deeper meaning behind that sentence. And, to his immense frustration, he actually found none. No conviction, no drive, no burning reason that the government should actually be overthrown.

So…was he fighting everything and everyone just to fight? Was his underlying desire in all of this really just the fallacy that he could change the past by changing the future?

At least he knew that his father couldn't be proud of him. He hadn't accomplished jack shit that was worthy of pride. He had been in and out of prison for a while, built bombs for the sole purpose of terrorizing people, committed petty crimes, and so on.

He's proud of you, you know.

What the hell was there to be proud of?

You summoned Yahn, he reminded himself.

Hey, that was something! He could summon.

And he had three kids that were just flipping awesome.

There was something else!

He and Donnie weren't at each other's throats anymore.

A third thing! He was on a roll.

Douglas gave himself a half-smile in the mirror. Maybe he did have a few good things to show for his life. He imagined that the list was much longer than that – he was amazing, after all – but just those were enough for him at that particular moment.

He's proud of you, you know.

Douglas grinned fully.

As for Yosemite Sam, Douglas would have to get his shortwave radio transmitter out to listen to it, and he just didn't have time at the moment. It was almost six in the evening, meaning that kids were about to start their candy stealing.

Douglas fixed the bit of hair that Chase had caused him to mess up before he went to his closet. If Oly was going to scare the shit out of kids, Douglas wanted a first row seat while wearing his favorite shirt. Why? Because why the hell not.

Too bad his favorite shirt was missing.

Douglas frowned and dug through his closet a couple of times before he decided that it must be in the washer or something like that. He started in the general direction of the laundry room to hunt for his missing clothes when he passed Leo's room and saw the most horrifying sight ever.

Ysthry was curled up on Leo's bed in a nest made from scraps of his favorite shirt.

Douglas narrowed his eyes, glancing around for the AWOL Leo. Tit for tat, bitches.

"Just because someone's dead doesn't mean it's over. My grandfather died more than 25 years ago, but I still think of him a lot and smell his smell."

Julian Clary

Chase

As it turned out, Adam's attempt to get Oly to not scare little children failed. She still perched on the roof, snarling at trick-or-treaters well into the night.

Well, she did until a kid popped her across the head with his bag of candy in fear. She went and hid indignantly after that, since no one would stop laughing at her. However, she did make up for breaking her promise to Adam a little bit by secretly giving Bree the code to unlock her phone.

Douglas forced Oly to be silent for an hour after that.

As for Leo, he got the joy of returning to his bedroom just to find that all of his white shirts had been thrown in the washer with one of Bree's red sweaters and run on hot water, which dyed all of them pink.

It was awesome to watch him go to bed in pink pajamas.

Tasha and Mr. Davenport ended up falling asleep on the couch together next to the bowl of candy that was supposed to be for the kids, but that Adam ultimately ended up eating himself. Needless to say, he was not feeling too well when he headed down to the Lab with Bree and Yahn for the night.

Douglas vanished to his room a bit after that, saying something about shortwave radio transmissions and Yosemite Sam or whatever. I still had no clue what the hell was going on with that.

As for myself, I got the joy of Oly's company for the night. She had fallen asleep on my pillow around ten, and I hadn't wanted to move her since she might have bitten me. Besides, I stayed awake until midnight, just reading a book across from a mirror. Charles didn't actually show up until a few seconds before the clock struck twelve. He had just enough time to smile at me and wave before he vanished completely from the mirror and the house, separated wholly from our world by another realm until next Halloween.

"If you agree to work for us, half the time you won't know the purpose of your duties . . . and when we do explain, we might not be telling the truth. But that's the real world, folks . . ."

James Alan Gardner, Trapped

Douglas

"Varmint, I'm a-gonna b-b-b-bloooow yah t'smithereenies!"

Douglas pinched the bridge of his nose. He had been listening to that old Looney Tunes line for over an hour now. Even as Yosemite Sam repeated it, Douglas felt like Chase might have been messing with him in a way that happened to be coincidentally linked to the numbers station. Either that, or Perry threw cat nip at Adam and Chase got into it again. He tended to spaz out when that happened.

Whatever the cause of Chase thinking that Douglas needed to listen to Yosemite Sam threaten Bugs Bunny a dozen and one times in a row, it was certainly annoying.

Douglas was about to turn the radio off when something caught his attention.

"Varmint, I'm a-gonna b-b-b-bloooow yah t'smithereenies!"

"7-5-9-1-2-4-8-3-0…."

Douglas immediately grabbed a pencil and jotted the numbers down as a female voice read them off. Maybe Chase was on to something. Yosemite Sam was supposed to be an inactive station. No one should have been reading numbers on there. Had a new terrorist group taken control of it? Or was the old band getting back together?

He cracked his knuckles as the number sequence finally ended. Whoever it was, it was time for some decoding. He started to work out the meaning of the numbers – a slow, complicated process – as the station continued to play in the background as if no one had ever announced anything at all.

"Varmint, I'm a-gonna b-b-b-bloooow yah t'smithereenies!"

Well, that ending was certainly not the best, but it offered a bit of…say…mystery?

"Where are you going with this, Zara?"

We'll get there.

In the meantime, I feel that I should point out that the way I'm presenting the Yosemite Sam numbers station broadcast is inaccurate. The sentence only plays once an hour, and there are no numbers. However, since numbers stations are shrouded in conspiracy and no one has an official explanation for them, I will now use them for Hybrid purposes!

Which you do not know yet.

Anywho, that was the end of Halloween.

Not the best story, I know. :/ Oh well.

It does mean that I'm back on Hazy for the now. :3

Anyways, feel free to review. Or don't. I don't give a fuck.

And, of course, enjoy.

*Bows and exits*