This one-shot started out as a random paragraph in the reckoning story. I deleted it because it was derailing the focus, and then this happened.
It's Not What the Doctor Ordered!
"Every day's a punishment; for being human but the wrong kind." - Who I Am by Citizen Soldier
Los Angeles, California: December 7, 1984
It's not a perfect system, but it works. As well as being willingly overshadowed on a regular basis and for long periods of time can work.
When I first met the ghost known as Hutch Blairman - formerly the human movie director, Butch Hart - I didn't think we'd stick together for so long. Hutch was touring the Earth for a documentary about the human realm. And, because once he stepped through a portal from the Ghost Zone, he couldn't find a portal back to it. Meanwhile, I had at last succumbed to the ecto-acne that had been plaguing me for… Heavens, I'd lost track. One can only spend so much time in a hospital before the days start to blur together, even with the date being written on that whiteboard I was forced to stare at every god forsaken day. It had to have been a month at least. And despite my death, for lack of a better way to describe this bizarre in-between state I'm stuck in, the ecto-acne returns every few months, resulting in more time trapped in whatever hospital is closest.
That's why Hutch's constant presence is such a surprise. In the beginning, I know he saw me as nothing more than a pet project. A recently deceased ghost - a fabled halfa and one who happened to be a fan of his films, at that - had fallen into his hands. He couldn't pass up the opportunity to teach me everything he knew about ghostkind. I had no one else to turn to, so of course I joined him on his little endeavor.
I don't know how or when it happened, but I grew to genuinely care about Hutch. Perhaps that's why I'm trusting him with my body.
Er, in a platonic way, that is.
Hutch had a movie idea that he just had to present to the humans. Why he couldn't fulfill his movie Obsession through simply watching a movie is anyone's guess. Though, I can understand why he wouldn't want this film to be easily accessible to ghosts. Once he told me the premise, I could see it offending more than a few specters.
Here's the system we came up with and that I reluctantly agreed to. To keep anyone from realizing that "Martin Mull," as we've been calling him, is something other than human, my human-form directs the movie. And, Hutch directs my human-form. The man swears up and down that overshadowing is harmless, and there haven't been any negative side effects that I've noticed, so I can play along. The condition is that while Hutch is in my body, I have to keep my awareness in case Hutch does anything I don't approve of. So far, it's working. Plus, Hutch is kind enough to limit how…flamboyantly he behaves.
Of course, this is Hutch Blairman we're talking about, but at least he's trying.
"Cut!" Hutch shouts with my voice. We rise from the director's chair and gesticulate wildly while Hutch calls out, "Amanda! You're turning into a wendigo! Not doing the chicken dance! This is a painful transformation. Imagine the worst pain you've ever felt and triple it!"
Amanda rolls her eyes as dramatically as possible, but her next attempt is significantly better.
I'll be the first to admit that I'd rather wait and see the finished product than have a hand in creating it. Years of your mother forcing you into acting classes and school plays will do that to you. If any good came of that, it's that I have a certain appreciation for the production side of things. School plays alone take an infinite amount of work and patience. Watching Hutch do his thing proves that that sentiment is doubly true for a big budget film like Wendy is a Wendigo.
Once the work day ends and everyone, be they actors or production crew, have left the set, Hutch leaps out of my body. I don't know if I'd feel anything if I lacked awareness, but the sensation of a spirit leaving your body is akin to having a hundred vacuum hoses sucking on your skin. Yet, I feel next to nothing when he enters me.
Note to self: come up with better ways to describe overshadowing.
I battle the disorientation by focusing on the undead man before me. Hutch Blairman is a few inches shorter than me and has glowing sky blue skin, darker blue hair peeking out beneath his bucket hat, humanoid eyes with bright yellow irises, and pointed ears. He always dresses in dark colors, mostly black and gray, but the one constant is the hot pink feather boa wrapped around his neck. When I asked him about this odd fashion choice, he said there were two reasons for it: it covers his death mark, and "Everyone needs a signature, Vladimir!" No sign of the feathery eyesore in any picture of his living-self that I've seen, so his "signature" must have come post-mortem.
We are standing by the concessions table, so Hutch swipes a leftover piece of fried chicken. "Another successful day, my partner in crime." He pats my cheek then sinks his human-like teeth into his snack. Being fully dead, he no longer requires food the way I do. He simply enjoys the act of eating.
Thankfully, he does remember to take care of my human-form's needs when piloting my body, though that might be because I send him signals like, I need to use the restroom. And no, he is not permitted to overshadow me while I'm in the restroom. Though, he assures me that he wouldn't anyway.
"Aside from Amanda's nonsense, I agree with you," I say. "How much longer are we going to have to put up with her?"
Hutch holds up his index finger and swallows before answering. "Shouldn't be too much longer, so long as we keep using our powers to speed up the process. And, thank the Ancients for that." Terms like that often slip out while he's overshadowing me, but everyone perceives it as either gibberish or some religion they're not privy to. Hutch heightens his voice, mocking the stick-thin blond nightmare. "This room is too hot! The water is too cold! This spread is too high in calories!" He grunts and returns to his normal voice. "Honestly, this is her first major role, yet she thinks she's the next Marilyn Monroe."
"That's an insult to Marilyn," I comment. "I applaud you, Hutch, for keeping a level head. Were it not for you, I would have kicked her artificial hiney out the door already. Literally kicked it, I might add."
"All part of my charm," he says before taking another huge bite. There's a smugness in the action that makes me think of it as a subtle middle finger to Amanda.
I shake my head fondly and see something out of the corner of my eye. There's a newspaper sitting on the end of the table. Yet another of Amanda's eccentricities, to put it politely. A native of Minnesota, she has her parents ship her her hometown's newspapers. Bunsen - who plays the antagonist - asked her about it, and she told him that she likes to get updates about what's happening back home. The way she phrased it was, "How else am I supposed to know how much better my life is now? Don't talk to me again unless it's part of the scene, you hairy beast!"
In case it wasn't clear, Amanda plays the protagonist. I think Bunsen relishes his role.
I don't know what makes me take a closer look. Maybe it's because I went to college in Minnesota before the accident. Maybe it's because my old college friends grew up there.
Maybe it's because their faces are shown in black and white under the wedding listings.
Against my will, my hands latch on to the paper and bring it closer. I don't want to believe it, but it's them. Jack Fenton and Maddie Donaldson, soon to be Maddie…Fenton…
A shooting pain pierces my chest. My heart breaking? My core hurting? What does it matter?
My mind flashes to the day of the accident. Maddie telling Jack that his calculations were off. Jack being too excited to hear her. Me getting a closer look at the tiny, swirling vortex.
The blast of blistering heat. The heat that followed me to the hospital and lasted so long, I thought I was going mad. Every day it felt like my face was melting off.
They came to the hospital the first day. They didn't get far. I could hear them arguing with the doctors in the hallway. "Please let us see him!" my best friends begged. "No visitors until we know more about his condition," the doctors said. I could hear Maddie crying and Jack calling my name. I was in too much pain to respond. I could only lay in that bed and quietly weep over my predicament.
My friends tried again the second day. And, the third.
They didn't try on the fourth, fifth, sixth, and so on. Every day I hoped to hear their voices, the only sign that someone who wasn't paid to do so was thinking about me.
After two weeks, it became clear that I wasn't even worth that small comfort.
My friends weren't coming. My father had died of a heart attack a year prior. My mother's Broadway career had taken off and I hadn't heard from her since. My grandparents were all long gone. I had no cousins or aunts or uncles. The only lifeforms I saw wore heavy protection against this strange illness that humankind knew nothing about.
I was really, truly alone.
Until…
My first thought was that I was hallucinating. It would make sense; I had spent the past month in constant pain and trapped in a tiny room with only the occasional nurse or doctor for a brief interaction that barely resembled company.
"Vlad."
The sound of my name passing her quivering lips gave me hope. She shut the door and knelt at my bedside. She pulled her sterile blue mask down under her chin. A small gasp escaped me. Her long auburn perm was pulled back in a high ponytail. Her violet eyes shined with unshed tears. She was dressed in nondescript green scrubs that hid her hourglass figure.
Madeline Donaldson. If this turned out to be a hallucination, I didn't know what I'd do.
She took my hand in hers. It felt too real to be my imagination. "Maddie," I breathed, scarcely believing. "You… H-how…"
She glanced at the door then back to me. "Let's just say that I'm not supposed to be here."
It was then that I realized that with her scrubs and face mask, she looked exactly like a nurse. I made sure to speak in low tones. "Do you realize how much trouble you'll be in if you get caught?"
Maddie grinned in that smug way of hers. "All of it."
It took every ounce of control for me to not start cracking up.
At one point during Maddie's illegal visit, I asked about Jack. Maddie solemnly told me that he was afraid I wouldn't want to see him after what happened. I very nearly screamed out how untrue that was, how lonely I'd been, how desperately I wanted someone, anyone, who cared for reasons other than a paycheck. But, I held it together for her sake, only emitting a little, "hm," in acknowledgement.
That was the last time I saw Maddie. I died two days later and woke up as…this and fled after destroying my room in a blind panic. A panic that grew when I realized that those dark pink blasts were coming from my own two hands.
I've thought about Maddie often since that day. Hoping that she didn't get arrested for impersonating a nurse. Knowing that her risk meant something.
Knowing that her relationship with Jack was nothing more than a flight of fancy, friends with benefits if you will.
Evidence to the contrary is staring me in the face, but I still don't believe it.
It should have been me in that picture. The announcement should have been for the future Mr. and Mrs. Vladimir Masters.
"I see Amanda left her paper here," Hutch says. His voice sounds far away even though he's standing right beside me and looking at the article. He lets out two low whistles. "That Madeline is quite a looker. Too bad she's taken, or I'd be tempted. Ah ha ha ha!"
I don't know if my whimper is from emotion or from the physical pain that I'm certain now is my core. We still haven't figured out what my Obsession is.
When Hutch speaks again, he sounds appropriately subdued. "Oh, dear. Don't freak out, but your eyes are black."
As if things weren't bad enough.
Over the past several months, no matter the form I'm in, my eyes have taken to turning black - as in pitch darkness - when I'm in a particularly awful mood. Even worse is that Hutch claims he's never heard of such a phenomenon and thus can't tell me what it means. Just another way I was ruined by Jack's carelessness.
"Vlad?" Hutch is poking my shoulder now. "What's wrong? Do you know those people?"
The newspaper phases out of my hands and plops down on the table. I thought I had a handle on my powers, but they started acting up around the same time my eyes first turned black. I wouldn't be surprised if there was a connection.
"I…" The tightness of my throat and the ache in my core make it difficult to speak. "Excuse me."
Hutch calls after me as I sprint down the hall before I can fall apart. I yank open the door of a random room and slam it shut. The stench of overpriced perfume tells me that I've taken refuge in Amanda's dressing room. The universe hates me that much, I suppose.
Anyone else would suck it up and be happy for their old friends' impending nuptials. But, I am not anyone else.
I am a man who laughed and cried and fell asleep during late-night study sessions with his best friends.
I am a man who supported his best friends' experiment despite not being half as confident about it as they were.
I am a man who waited nearly a month for his best friends to make another attempt at seeing him.
Maddie risked jail time for a few precious minutes with me. She couldn't have simply forgotten about me, about those minutes that meant absolutely everything.
And, Jack… Jack could be rather clueless, but surely he realized what it meant that Maddie was willing to go so far. Yet, he is marrying her anyway.
Which means that Maddie said yes.
I slide down the door and wrap my arms around my legs. The tears weigh heavily in my eyes, making the dressing room blurry and…green?
A sinking feeling hits. I swipe my finger under my eyes and stare in horror at the beads of ectoplasm on my skin.
I've cried in human-form a few times since becoming a ghost. It was never any different than when I'd been fully human. Except in the hospital, but I blamed that on the ecto-acne.
Now I am healthy and in human-form, and my tears are made of ectoplasm. Pale green instead of neon, but there's no mistaking that faint glow.
I'm a freak. There's no other way to say it.
(Maddie is better off with Jack if it prevents her from seeing what I've become.)
I lower my forehead to my knees and let myself shatter, let those inhuman tears stain my clothes, let the pain of my core and my heart overwhelm me.
What else is a freak to do when his life has been yanked out from under him with no hope of returning?
There's a shift in the atmosphere: a sign that another ghost has appeared beside me. I don't bother halting my sobs. Maybe Hutch will finally realize that he's wasting his time with a broken scrap like me.
Suddenly a cold arm is resting over my shoulders. "Easy does it, friend," Hutch coos. "I've got you."
He's still here.
It dawns on me that I've never cried in front of Hutch before. When my fears and doubts and self-loathing became too much, I would make up some excuse to step away. I have human needs; it was easy enough. It was harder during those times when the ecto-acne returned and Hutch insisted on staying at the hospital with me. Then, I would ask him to sneak me some of this or some of that, and he would happily leave to get me whatever because he's such a good friend.
And like a good friend, he has no qualms about pulling me closer while I unleash all these age-old emotions.
Perhaps that's another reason I'm helping him with his movie. This chaotic, wonderful man I don't deserve has done so much for me.
Hutch doesn't speak until I've calmed down enough to lift my head from the ball I've curled into. "So… You know them."
I sniff and wipe my nose on my sleeve. "We went to college together."
Hutch hums with a solemn interest. He knows my college years were cut short.
It all spills out of me. I tell him about my closeness with Jack and Maddie, how I longed to be much closer with Maddie. (A sympathetic, "Ouch," is Hutch's response.) I get into the details of my death - half-death, rebirth, whatever it was - because now that I've started I can't stop. I tell him how Jack and Maddie tried to see me those first few days and then I felt completely alone in my suffering until Maddie broke the law just to check on me. I finish with how I never knew if either of them tried to come back because I became a ghost two days later.
"I thought I was past this," I confess. "Then I saw that article and…it brought up some things."
Hutch blows out a long breath. "I know the feeling. There's always that moment after you die when the world slaps you upside the head and screams, 'You're dead, son.'"
Coming from anyone else, I would think he was making fun of me.
Hutch scratches under his hat. "It usually happens a lot sooner than this. I mean, it's been close to a year, hasn't it? But then, I suppose you are," he weighs his hands in front of him, "not…technically dead? I still don't know how that works for you."
"You think I do?" I ask miserably. "If I was destined to die at age twenty-three, fine. If I must be a ghost, fine. But, why must I be cursed as this-this creature that is dead but also not? H-how-how…how do you move on from that?" My voice cracks at the end. I can't go on or I'll fall apart a second time.
Hutch purses his lips and strokes his chin. "Have I ever told you about my ex-fiance?"
Well, this is out of nowhere. "No, you haven't."
Hutch smiles nostalgically. "Her name was Julia. She was one of those people who shines a light into any room. So full of love and laughter. We shared a passion for arts, though hers leaned more toward small-screen animation. In fact, her latest project just aired the other day. 'T.U.F.F. Kitty,' I believe it's called. It's about animals who are secret agents- Uh, but I digress. Julia and I were pretty serious." He wags his eyebrows. "I will admit to some frisky business. Oh, that woman was amazing in bed!"
"Get to the point," I drawl.
"Sorry. One day, she called and told me that she was pregnant. It was 1968 and we were both famous, so you can imagine the scandal. We decided that the best course of action was to get married. During the planning process, Julia had to attend some doctor's appointments, but she refused to let me come with her."
"But, you were the child's father," I say. "Shouldn't you have been there?"
Hutch's expression as he looks away and plays with his boa leaves a hollow feeling in my stomach. "I didn't question it at the time. Looking back, I wish I had. You see, when Julia called me, she told me that she was two months along."
"She couldn't have told you sooner?"
"I was away on a location shoot for a month, so I didn't question that either. Then about a month after I learned of her condition, I overheard her on the phone with her doctor." Hutch sucks in a breath through his nose and glares at the ceiling. "At that point, she was two months along."
"You mean…"
"I confronted Julia, and she told me that she'd…she'd had a one-night stand while I was gone. The child wasn't mine. Needless to say, I called off the wedding."
My heart breaks. Not for me this time. "Oh, Hutch…"
"I'm telling you this," Hutch says, "because I want you to know that, well, that life gets better. Even when it seems like it never will." He stands up and spreads out his arms. "Look at me. Yes, I'm dead, but I didn't die the moment I learned the truth. I spent a long time moping about it, but I did get back on my feet. I had plenty of great times since then and despite how it ended, I don't regret my time with Julia. Life is full of ups and downs, but you know what they say: when you're at rock bottom, there's no way to go but up."
I ponder his wise words. I suppose my life post-mortem hasn't been all bad. Hutch and I have shared some magnificent times together. And, I have experienced many things that I wouldn't have without these powers. Going to a Packers game for free by turning invisible, for example; they won, which was an added bonus. Or, overcoming my fear of heights by flying without the need for an airplane. Or, snatching a few…thousand dollars with no one being the wiser.
What? I'm going to have to plant my roots at some point. I can't do that if I'm drowning in college loans and medical bills.
All things considered, being half-ghost isn't the worst thing in the world. And, who knows? If it's meant to be, and I'm certain it is, I will see Maddie again one day and we'll pick up right where we left off. She will realize what a mistake it was to settle for another and beg for my forgiveness. I will give her that and so, so much more. We might even have a child or two. I would like that.
As for Jack… I have no idea how I would react if I saw him again. Maybe I would forgive him. Maybe I would strangle him. Who is to say?
One thing I do know is that right now, my life isn't all that bad.
The smallest smile pulls at my lips. I climb to my feet. "Thank you, Hutch."
Hutch pats my shoulder. "Any time, Vlad." He pinches my cheek, and I fight my annoyance at the gesture. I'm used to Hutch's overly affectionate nature. "You know you're like family to me."
My core pulses. Not painfully but in a gentle, soothing way. "I did not know that."
"Oh. Well, you are. You're like a little brother. Even if you are taller than me. You were still in high school when I died, correct?"
"Correct."
"So, yeah. Little brother."
That soothing pulsation occurs again. This is the best my core has felt in some time. I wish I could pinpoint exactly what my Obsession is.
Hutch claps his hands together. "With that out of the way, let's get you cleaned up. Since we're in Amanda's dressing room, I propose we steal some of her lavender-scented face wipes! That'll perk you up."
He flounces up to the vanity. I get a glimpse of myself in the mirror and note with relief that my eyes are back to normal.
Hutch opens a drawer and throws his hands into the air. "Argh! I knew it!" He grabs something and spins around on his heels to angrily show me what he found. "I knew that little slut stole my lotion!"
This is such a contrast from what just happened that it makes me double over in laughter with my arms around my stomach.
"Don't laugh!" Hutch snaps. "I may be dead, but that doesn't mean I can't have silky smooth skin!"
That only makes me laugh more.
Hutch Blairman is so…himself. I can't help but admire him for it. He is exuberant and passionate and ridiculous and not afraid to smash his personality in your face. That should irritate me, but it's charming in a way I can't explain.
I love him.
The thought hits so quickly that it sobers me. But, it's true, isn't it? If I am the little brother, then Hutch is my older brother. The brother who guides me through trying times and is always there with a listening ear and a shoulder to cry on. The brother who adds a great deal of zest to my life.
So, yes, I do love Hutch. Quite a bit, actually. I wouldn't even deny it if asked.
My core purrs happily at the thought. Maddie's marriage to another brought it great pain. The idea of seeing her again brought it some relief. My friendship with Hutch returned it to a normal, if not better, state.
Perhaps love is my Obsession.
I dub this ship "Cheese Popcorn." 'Cause...cheesehead...movie popcorn... I'm clever. Seriously, I am torn between giving these guys a romance and leaving it as a bromance. I just think they'd be hilarious together. XD