Chapter 42: Though I take my song

Ignoring the looks when he – and an agent, always – walked down the corridor to leave the clinic and head to the library became, if not easy, at least a matter of practice. The two-to-four days a week Vlad would spend "out" only meant a handful of minutes of discomfort, no more – and, in a way, part of it was probably in his head.

Some of the other patients did stare.

Not all of them. Not all the time. The communal area, just left of the branching corridor where Vlad had crossed paths with that one bruised man a few times – but he was almost recovered, now, the bruises were gone and Vlad hadn't seen him in a while, maybe he'd left the clinic already because normal people didn't stay for weeks and months and years and – was hardly a place full of life, considering. Patients, in this clinic, might stare at other people for a lot of reasons, and half the time it had nothing to do with you as an individual and more with past trauma or simple curiosity.

Not that Vlad wanted felt ready to go to the communal area, but he'd had a glimpse of it on the way to the library.

Still. Not all of them stared, and not all those stares were about Vlad himself, but it was difficult not to think that at least one or two or three or more spreading escalating proliferating like rumors and tumors knew something, suspected something.

That they could see the monstrosity behind his facade and only lacked evidence.

So, it was easier to just pretend no one ever looked at him on the way to the library – and for the rest of it, Vlad was better off in his room.

Even if Ziad thought it would be good for him to get out. The nurse huffed, a bit frustrated with Vlad's refusal to even explain why he wasn't interested in socializing with someone, for once.

"You can't just stay here forever, Vlad. One day you'll get well enough to leave and you'll need to talk to people again."

"...I talk to you. And to the director."

The older man sighed as he finished taking his patient's temperature – today Vlad felt just a tad nauseous, and that meant no library. Instead, he'd spent some more time on his business books during the morning and was considering a nap after lunch if his head started throbbing on top of the nausea.

They weren't talking about today, though. Ziad, you see, cared about Vlad's future and mental well-being in a way Vlad himself had a hard time emulating. Not that the young man didn't care, but none of this seemed possible, not the way the nurse made it sound.

like optimism

optimism was for people who weren't still alive only because death was slipping between their fingers because life would neither go strong nor go out

"Two people. One and a half, if you consider the fact that Director Bianco only drops by occasionally. That's not enough. I know you had one other friend here, but she had to leave before I came around, so we're back to two people on average over more than two years. You can't continue like that."

It was nice how Ziad managed not to name June at all, or the reason why she wasn't working here anymore. Not that the middle-aged man could know, of course, that it was Vlad's fault.

"I just... don't have anything in common with them. They were all victims of... ghost attacks... and me... I got hurt because... because..."

"banzai!" jack's fault why couldn't he have just waited listened Maddie tried to help to stop him but he never even listened and now and now

"There wasn't a ghost involved. And if they ask, I don't..."

Ziad threw him a look.

"First of all, nothing would force you to answer. Just because you are all patients in a clinic specialized in ghostly injuries does not mean you aren't individuals outside of that. There might be a Packers fan in the next room, and you'll only get to know that if you agree to go to the communal area occasionally and talk to them. Second, I know this wasn't a pleasant experience for you, Vlad, but are we disregarding the whole 'possession' business? Because I can assure you a ghost was definitely involved there and you did suffer from it. Just because it wasn't the first reason you got transferred to the clinic... Don't feel like it makes your experience less valid, please."

And there, there...

That was why Vlad couldn't give Ziad a true answer, that was why he always ended up silent.

The only ghost involved was himself. The hurt he'd suffered wasn't malignant ignorant and destructive perhaps because of Jack Fenton because of a friend because of a human being. The other patients were victims, but Vlad...

Vlad was as close to their abusers as anyone in this building could get, and he didn't think he could stomach pretending the opposite.

So he kept quiet, and Ziad didn't get an answer, once again.

"Nurse Moore-Hamoud, please. You aren't wrong, but Mister Masters has been, ah, colluding with my translators during his time in the library, did you know? Maybe we could give him a break and work our way up to more social interactions at a later date?"

Vlad started at the interruption, his head swiveling in search of the director himself – there, standing in the doorframe. Bianco had probably just arrived.

Ziad handed his patient a cup of water, then turned around.

"Director. I didn't see you there. But, if you are telling the truth about those translators... I suppose it's good enough for now, then."

"Oh, I assure you, Mister Masters has become inordinately popular with the six of them in a few weeks, they're asking if I could hire him full-time. I'm not surprised to hear it is obscure research that had our friend open up to other people, actually."

Vlad couldn't help the red coming over his cheeks – he'd never been popular, had always been a "nerd" with little to no friends. He just... didn't really get what was that interesting in doing things with people that didn't demand a minimum of thinking and questioning. Like, occasionally, why not, but as a go-to activity?

Watching a football game was the only exception, really, and though Vlad wouldn't admit it out loud, it was mostly because of the emotional attachment, of the days he and his father would watch a game at home and then later how Jack and Maddie had been willing to go along with it even if...

Anyway. Vlad wasn't popular, wasn't liked by a great many people. When they'd tried their hand at making a music band with three other guys from the dorm – not long after he'd met Jack his fault but before they and Maddie had decided on their research subject for their degree – part of the reason it had failed so spectacularly was that they'd never managed to actually get along and properly schedule rehearsal or even agree on what kind of lyrics they wanted. The results had been a generic, messy performance and even tenser relationships with the three other guys, who'd started whispering about the "two losers from those paranormal classes".

Vlad didn't often find people who wanted and cared to listen to what he had to say – but the translators did, just like Jack and Maddie had.

but they weren't here now were they

Ziad finished with his care and gave Vlad a last nod before leaving:

"Continue like that, then. You need some social interactions, honestly."

Bianco watched as the nurse left the room – then kept watching, Vlad this time, for a bit.

"...Director Bianco?"

The old man shook his head and took a seat.

"Excuse me, Mister Masters. I was just thinking... Do you enjoy your visits to my collection?"

"I... Of course!"

"And the translators, do you mind helping them out?"

Vlad frowned, unsure of where this was going.

"No, I like it, I... Not everything in your collection is translated yet, and if I want to be able to read it all, I might as well pitch in. If they don't mind, if they feel I can be useful..."

The director smiled slightly.

"They are right, though. If you are doing the work, I might as well pay you for it. Given your... condition, it couldn't be a full job, but since I already have an agent following you around during those visits, they might as well clock your hours of work in. What do you say to, hmm... five dollars an hour? It might not amount to much, considering the time you can actually dedicate to this work, but in the long run..."

Vlad... didn't actually have an answer to that.

He hadn't been able to earn any money since his bachelor's degree – working on a master of ectology, a field still unrecognized and mostly deserted, meant that you had to do everything yourself and perhaps twice the work in most other graduation courses – and even if the clinic only asked from a token fee from his parents... Well. Vlad wasn't contributing anything for his family.

He knew his parents didn't mind, that they probably wouldn't even ask him to reimburse the hospital bill from before the clinic, but if he could...

Even if it was only a few hours a week, probably less than a hundred dollars a week... It could cover the fifty dollars fee, ease things for Mama and Dad. He'd write to them, tell them about it – and if they didn't want him to take care of that either, depending on how well they were doing themselves, then Vlad could still stock up until...

Until he got out.

It wouldn't be much, but it would be better than nothing.

Bianco had obviously noticed the hold-up in Vlad's answer, because he added:

"I do wish you'd join my organization one day, when you'll feel better. There's no reason not to invest in you, and even if you do not choose to join, your work with my collection and the translators might still save lives, or at least prevent broken bones and other trauma. For my agents, and for civilians caught in the middle of an apparition event. I do believe that deserves payment no matter your choices down the line."

"...Thanks. Thank you, Director. I'll try to do my best."

Bianco's smile grew more obvious.

"That's all I can ask of anyone, really. And don't worry if you don't manage to do everything. The occult, and now ectology... There aren't any true experts, only people who try to deal with things we still don't understand. Everyone messes up once in a while, and as long as it doesn't become a trend, it's nothing to worry over."

Vlad wondered, for a moment, if the older man was talking about the proto-portal accident here.

but Vlad wasn't the one who had messed up here or at least the one who'd done the least of it and Jack how many incidents had there been with Jack before the accident how many small errors how many short-circuits because he'd been distracted and hadn't welded the right wire how many mistakes that had had no serious consequences until

a flash of green burns pain "banzai!" please make it stop

Jack was the best of them three when it came to engineering anything from scraps and making up prototypes on the fly but he was also the most volatile never focused enough on the details always making idiotic mistakes despite the brilliance of his ideas and the way he could forgo specialized tools for the little he had on hand

it hadn't seemed to matter then

but now green hurts can't breath now Vlad was stuck in the hospital with his pain visible to all and Jack wasn't there had never come had maybe forgotten about that detail too

and if that wasn't a trend then

"Mister Masters?"

Bianco sounded worried, half-standing from the chair, as if he thought something might happen.

Vlad blinked – something red and sticky and perhaps a bit luminous just the wrong shade of pink thrown in the mess in the corner of his eyes, stuck in his lashes – and tried to smile, to show everything was fine.

Something felt wrong.

his hands his skin his arms

Bianco almost called a nurse, but Vlad shook his head and focused on the skin – half translucent, half gone, with the muscles and nerves and bones discernible underneath, not the kind of problem he usually had with his powers blue skin turning to grey and black dark red nails like claws.

His breath caught in his throat – this was, once more, something horrible to look at – but if he was right, if...

The skin became entirely visible once again, taking away the skinned look.

Vlad shrank on himself.

"...Sorry."

Bianco sat back down, obviously rattled.

"Did you... That was the bonded ectoplasm reacting to your feelings, wasn't it, Mister Masters?"

Vlad looked away – didn't answer the question itself:

"My skin was turning invisible. But when I calm down, it goes away."

He rarely had incidents like this, just on the limit of what could pass as uncontrolled side-effects rather than outright ghostly powers, since he'd completely turned for the first time, since he'd started training. Three or four instances came to mind though there might have been more times he'd been alone times he hadn't realized times he'd started bleeding and glitching but no one had been there to see and Vlad Vlad had been too busy feeling wrong terrible to notice or care.

"...Why did that happen, was it something I said?"

yes

Vlad didn't want to talk about it – and it might bring the misfiring powers back if he did. He didn't need Bianco to see that.

"...No. Could we... Could we move on? I have... I have to stay calm if... I mean. Is there something else we could talk about?"

He couldn't see the old man's face, but his voice sounded unconvinced:

"I suppose. Is there anything... Hmm. Do you have questions about my collection, perhaps? I didn't acquire all the items in it personally, about half of it was already in my family's possession, but I do know several of the stories behind the objects there. Oh, and take this, you have blood in your eyes."

Vlad nodded – to Bianco, to himself – as he accepted the tissue and started dabbing at the corner of his eyes. The director's idea wasn't bad, he'd spotted a couple of weird things in the library, and while some of those had been obvious to him because he could hear and see things others humans didn't, those hadn't gotten into Bianco's collection at random.

The slight tint of ectoplasm in the blood on the tissue was barely visible, the young man noted. He knew it to be there, but at least for once having freaky pink ectoplasm instead of green helped. If that was the look of his blood, even when the ghostliness rose to the surface, it might remain unnoticed...

Though, of course, suddenly bleeding from the eyes was enough of a show in itself, but. Small mercies and all that.

Now, the library:

"Actually... I noticed a small book under a glass dome. What's the deal with that one?"

Vlad, after all, was fairly certain no one else could see the blood dripping or hear the whispers or notice the aura.

Bianco's countenance shifted immediately – body tenser, eyes somber.

Reluctant.

"Ah. That one."

Vlad almost thought he wouldn't get more – that he'd chosen the one item Bianco wasn't willing to talk about, somehow – but the old man sighed and put a hand on his forehead, eyes closed.

"That's the one I went to Florida for, actually. It... I don't know what it does, exactly, but there have been rumors about it for centuries. We call it the Book of Wraiths, because ghosts who seek it and find it always end up twisted in some way. More... chaotic, I suppose. And if we try to read the book itself... Well. People have before, but they just got assailed by traumatizing memories from what we guess are the ghosts for a few hours. It doesn't always end well."

Vlad bit on his lower lip better not to get close to that book then and decided to let it go.

"Not reading material, I get it. I suppose the dome keeps its power contained or something?"

he had enough bad memories of his own

BTW, could someone tell me which episode is the one where we have Vlad robbing a bank to get rich? I have zero recollection of that part and honestly the framing in the actual episode would be useful for me to decide what to do with that part of canon... (in other words, if I can actually do something with it or if I'll need to completely revisit the context...)