I was thinking this wouldn't get too much attention so it was going to end up being a one or two shot thing and then leave it, but I'm having a little too much fun, and I hope you all are too. More people than I anticipated have already shown interest over here and on AO3! This is slightly shorter than the others, but because I wanted to pace things a little better, so there's going to be less physical action and more psychological action happening soon, as well as some fluff because these two are absolutely adorable together. Enjoy!

"Well, I'm not sure what kind of a fool you take me as, but you are sorely mistaken on that front. I know you and that little idiot are up to something, very inconspicuous leaving the house right after our little… dispute. He really gets on my nerves when he interrupts my little experiments like that. And you would think after our little covenant he'd end up being too bored to care anymore about worthless, small and pitiful living humans. Not that you're necessarily small, by the way. You could stand to lose a few pounds."

She could almost laugh at the poor excuse for an insult if it weren't for two glaring issues. The first being the whole complete paralysis problem that seems like it's going to be recurring in her sleep, and the second being the little skip in her heart rate after She practically read them like an open book.

"In this house, you only know one thing for sure, you know that you know nothing. You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into, do you? Don't answer that, it's a rhetorical question, I of course already know the answer- being so superior to a rotund little shrew like you just means I'll always be one step ahead of any silly thought that crosses your vacant skull."

She stalks over to the side of her bed, leaning over Chell menacingly. Despite her attempts to curb her fear and remember Wheatley's words that She can't hurt her in her dreams, she panics nonetheless as the tall figure snatches both sides of her neck, her frigid, sharp fingernails digging viciously into her skin. She fights against the paralysis in any way she can, wiggling her fingers and toes to break out of the dream. The tall ghost looms menacingly, encompassing her throat and squeezing with such excruciating grip it feels like She's on the verge of crushing her windpipe.

She snaps out of the dream in a blink of an eye, lurching towards the now very panicked Wheatley who situated himself over her. He was grabbing Chell's shoulders in an attempt to shake her out of the dream, but now? He's lucky not to have physical pain receptors since the jumpscare she gave him sent him flying to the ground in an instant, smacking his head on the floorboards for good measure.

"Oh man alive, love! Are you alright? I just popped in to check in on you for one second and you weren't breathing, catch your breath real quick because that certainly looked intense. What happened? I've never seen such a visceral reaction before from just a nightmare…"

Her eyes dart around the room, still disoriented as the shadowy nightmare starts to escape her grasp, and so she fumbles mindlessly at the book and pen on her nightstand. He gets back onto his knees and waits impatiently whilst she frantically recounts the dream in as much detail as necessary– although omitting a single detail, either it out of forgetfulness or disbelief. With the soft thud of the book closing in her hands, she carries it over to the walk-in closet, quickly changes into suitable clothing for the day, and practically pulls Wheatley downstairs and out the house in a hurry. He knows better than to protest, she clearly means business.

"Oh no oh no oh no, did I do something wrong, love? I'm so sorry I couldn't do much with that one, last time you were kinda mumbling to yourself, so I sort of knew what was happening. I'm totally out of the loop this time around."

As Chell rushes away towards their unofficial caucus spot under the willow tree, she passes the green notebook back to Wheatley, who proceeds to fumble and almost drop it. "She knows."

He loses his page as he hurries after her. He's clearly gripped by panic at the two words she throws over her shoulder at him. "She can't! You don't know that, did She specifically say what it was or just, I don't know, allude to something like it?"

"She caught on that we didn't want Her listening into something after yesterday, that's for sure."

He skim reads her shaky handwritten notes, piecing together what unfolded and ended with him knocked flat on his back in what used to be his own bedroom. He brings his right hand up to his chin, and taps lightly at his nose in thought. He stares back up at her. "I'll be honest, this is starting out a lot more intense than I thought it would. If you don't want to go ahead with this plan, that's fine by me. I really don't see what you actually gain from this anyway, if you just get this house on the market as soon as possible and move out yourself you'll be a-okay–"

"Wheatley, this house was laying dormant for twenty years before I bought it with all my savings, we both know that's an equally bad outcome for me."

"Well, I guess we can… change plan priorities around? Option A could be, just sit here. Sit here and do nothing, just you and me. I'm liking the sound of that plan a lot, not much of either of us being seriously injured, or maimed, or in general harassed by a demon. Best part too– we can keep the average number of ghosts in the vicinity constant!"

She shakes her head fervently to dispel any idea that she's backing out at this point. She doesn't give up that easily, and although she may be scared out of her mind, there's another part of her mind processing the very clear challenge the demon threw at her. You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into… I'll always be one step ahead. Now she can't just let such a comment slide. If Chell is anything to a complete fault, it's stubborn beyond gain or reason.

She turns to the young apparition, a determined glint in her eye, and he shies away from her hungry energy. "Wheatley, what can you do?"

It knocks him off kilter even more. "Wha- pardon? As in, just in general you mean?" She nods eagerly, pressing him on.

"Right, uh, well I'm a good talker for one, you know that I'm sure. Uh, I can negotiate well, maybe even with her if it's necessary– you saw it first hand yesterday! Ohhh, I could probably hack I bet with all the electromagnetic nonsense–"
"I mean specifically supernatural capabilities, big man, I haven't got all day."

"Right, right! Sorry about that. Well, as I've said I can dim lights– and that ability also messes with other electronics and circuits in the area– I can pick up things… pretty heavy things at times too, not to brag too much to you, love. I can see pretty well in the dark, have quite good hearing as you know I'm a brilliant eavesdropper, can go invisible and untouchable… and there's probably some things too that I've just never tried out really. There are a couple of buttons and gadgets up here–" he gestures endearingly to his noggin, "-that have just never seen use I guess."

Her eyes dart up and down his ghostly form, clearly sizing him up and suspicious of that final comment. "Anything potentially lethal to me?"

He shoots her a look of genuine offense at the question, daring her to even suggest he'd ever be able (mentally capable especially) to hurt a fly. "Not that I'm necessarily insinuating you would… but could you?"

His gaze drops to the floor immediately, and he squirms a bit under her unwavering resolve. "Um… there might be some. Let's stay in a hypothetical space here for a moment, I would quite prefer that you don't hold any of this against me in some way later. So, with this physical form I could easily overpower you, kinda just crumple you like a can of fizzy drink– not that I will, but you get the point, that's the obvious out of the way. I can also alter heat signatures of things surrounding me, so I feel like that could possibly, I don't know, freeze you or overheat you somehow? Um, what else? I can move things without directly touching them, and there's the small, fairly small, significantly tiny elephant in the room of course too."

She quirks an eyebrow at him, trying to squeeze and ring him dry of any information she can get from him like a wet sponge. "And what's that, Wheats?"

"Not that I've ever tried this before, but um, I can possess people."

"Walk and talk with me, Wheatley."

He half jogs to keep up with her as she strolls out of the café, sipping her black coffee. "Right, sorry I just don't often go out in public, especially not visible like this– blimey, sorry mate didn't mean to! Ugh, would you slow down for a second jeez, I know I don't have stamina or need to breathe but you've got me running into everyone…"

She slows her pace down ever so slightly, and his long legs cover the rest of the distance for him. "Alright, where was I? So yeah, I can possess people, I'm fairly sure. It's almost like this body itches for it, everytime I'm near a living person I tingle ever so slightly I've never caved in though, I swear! And possession on its own can't kill a person, I learnt that first hand when she used to toy with me. But anyway, it never came up because you're not going to have to worry about it anyway."

As they steadily approach the quiet and secluded park to which Chell is determined to lead them, she pats him on the arm. "Sure, can you talk more about this itch you mean, is it a normal thing for ghosts like you?"

They sit opposite each other on a mossy park bench, the grass slightly damp still from the humid air and occasional shower. "Oh, of course. It's almost hard-wired into this form really, I couldn't tell you why exactly, it just feels like I need to do it. All the time. I don't do it, obviously, but it can get a little… unbearable at times."

She glances back over to him after taking in their surroundings, mildly concerned at his confession. "Maybe it's that you miss feeling alive or something like that? Anyway, what about Her?"

She drums her fingers rapidly on the bench, making Wheatley visibly tense up. His adam's apple bobs in his throat, then he hesitates, and opens his mouth finally. "Well, She can do everything I can, plus a few little extra things. So yeah, She's a nasty shapeshifter and all that jazz, but also can make you hallucinate, even if you're wide awake. But, honestly, love, you're not quite asking the right questions anyway."

He stares her down from the other end of the table, clearly deliberating on his next comment as wisely as he can. "Do you actually know why Her and I are different kinds of spirits?"

Chell ceases swirling her half finished coffee, of all her questioning to get to the bottom of this situation and prove Her wrong in how much she knows, the thought never crossed her mind. What makes an interactive spirit like Wheatley different to a demon like Her? Caroline, she thinks he called Her. She nods in a way to say I'm listening.

"Listen, it all boils down to motive and circumstances of passing. Those are mostly the only two factors that play into it, and realistically, Her and I are pretty similar in terms of strength and ability. A demonic spirit, the Christians kind of had the right idea on this but there aren't any red men with horns and pitchforks– and also let's be real no God would make this–" he gestures haphazardly to himself again, "possible. But, if a person is, you know…"

Wheatley gives a nervous grin and sweeps his downturned hand across his throat, quintessential motion to mean killed but as if he's frightened of the word. "... by a demon, then their spirit kind of turns into… what's it called… almost like a vessel for that demon to use."

Chell pretty much chokes on the swig of coffee she took, because that could really only mean…

"What about you? Didn't she kill you or am I misremembering?"

His anxious smile grows a bit at the point blank uncomfortable question, but he pushes through. "Ah, actually there seems to be a few specifics in the conditions– wow I'll tell you what, even in death you aren't free from confusing paperwork or fine print because this can get real messy– but I wasn't really killed by Her, on a technicality that is."

He can't meet her stare, that if he were flesh and blood would have him sweating bullets. "Anyway, unimportant. The other part is motive, which speaks for itself really. It's the reason why a ghost remains on Earth, and can either be achieved or broken free of."

"Oh so… so like your covenant?"

Wheatley's face drops in a fraction of a second, but takes virtually no time to recover, swishing his hands in front of him in a placating manner. "What are you talking about? That– that word is foul, I'd rather you not bring it up again. So uncalled for, accusatory even, do you actually think I made a deal with Her?"

He sneers in annoyance at her, and takes off on his own towards their property. Well that could have gone better, she scoffs at herself, realising now that she definitely shouldn't have jumped the gun, especially with such a touchy subject. She refused to write it in the notebook as she wanted to fully reject the idea that (if they are separate ghosts, again not entirely ruled out in her mind) they're still in on it, plotting against her. For all she knows She was lying, or embellishing in some way to drive a wedge between the two.

She didn't even get to the more important questions yet, damnit. She kicks every rock and pebble that lies in her path home.

She halts in front of the gates to her house, searching the windows and locking eyes with Wheatley once again before he turns away. Funny that, she definitely has come around to accepting his presence already. She in reality should be scared beyond belief at the sight of a ghostly figure standing in her bedroom window given she is supposed to live alone, but her life has definitely been changed for good with his appearance in it.

Chell turns on her heel too. Maybe she hasn't been approaching this quite the right way at all. Treating him not like a person, but rather like a suspect in an investigation and essentially interrogating him was a stupid idea; she gets nothing quite useful out of it because he's just a ball of nerves and everytime it ruins their fostering bond. If she really thinks about it too, Chell treats him no better than She ever did, and he does just let her walk all over him too. She both needs some way to convey that she's sorry for disrespecting him and also that she appreciates his company. Fuck, how's she going to fix this?

She spots the sweet antique shop on the corner of the street they previously hurried through, the shop window littered with vintage furniture, products, and possibly handmade trinkets. The little bell chimes as she gently swings the door open, and she takes in the warm lighting and cluttered store as the cashier smiles her way in welcome.

She wanders aimlessly around the floor of the store as best as she can without knocking over or damaging any products. No doubt, many of these items were sent in from family of old relatives who either passed and left them in their will, or had their belongings purged when moved into aged care facilities– many look used, worn, loved, cherished. As she makes her way to the books and music section, an old manuscript folder catches her eye, partly because of its cerulean blue cover, but mostly from the neat penmanship of the name 'Wheatley Pendleton' inscribed on the bottom right corner.

When flicking through the pages, she spies printed scores, handwritten pieces, and some with a mix of the two, and she has no doubt about who it belongs to. As she carries it out of the store under one arm and $15 poorer, she can't help but feel even more pity for the guy. Not only did people not bother to check up on him after his brutal and tragic passing, but his very own life's work was sold to an antique shop at some point– and worse still it then only seemed to be worth $15 to the shop owners at that. She grabs a quick take away dinner and stuffs her face on the way back to the manor, worried she might get caught up later that night if there's any further issues.

She returns to her not so humble abode given its size, and once again Wheatley's waiting at the window, looking slightly less frustrated and a little more somber. Chell has got to wonder how often those two talk to each other, and not to mention how unbearable those interactions must truly be. No wonder he clings to me like a lost puppy, it's got to be hard having to share a house and majority of your after life with your killer.

She struts into the house like an unwavering, unstoppable force, makes her way up the stairs, down the hallway, and stops in the doorway of her room. Wheatley looks like he's seen better days. His hair is even more dishevelled than usual, he's resting his head on his crossed arms, perched on the desk by the windowsill, clearly attempting to avoid eye contact with her like he's trying hard to stay mad. She gingerly places the folder just under his nose, and his eyes light up in surprise.
"I'm really sorry about earlier, I shouldn't have pushed you beyond your comfort zone, especially not in such an intrusive way. That's completely on me."

He lifts his head slightly, his blue eyes that were fixated on the plastic book dart over to search her own. His face says it all, he was clearly quite glad he didn't have to initiate any conversation or feign anger anymore. His awe-filled eyes do a double take to the thick folder below him, and back to her. "Where did you find this, love," he pushes past the simple apology to the peace offering on the desk.

"It was at the antique shop we passed by earlier, not sure how it got there, but I figured you might want it back?"

He draws a quick inhale through his parted lips, and his smile cancels out the tears he has forming in his inner tear ducts. "Oh thank you, thank you! I never thought I'd get this back– some other resident just snatched it up one day and poof! I never saw it again. Awh gosh, you were gone for quite a long time, or at least it certainly feels like it when you only have Her whispering in your ear, and–"

He has her encased in his long limbs in a pose possibly cousins to a hug, although he can't really be bothered to adjust so she can necessarily hug back in some way. He's just too grateful to let go yet. And still he eventually lets her go, if only to clutch the folder to his chest proudly. "I've missed this so much, you have no idea. If only I had a way to put it to good use again, She absolutely destroyed my hammond organ that day… but blimey, you don't understand how much this means to me."

They head back downstairs , Wheatley with a bit more gusto behind his saunter, and Chell tries oh so hard to deny the flutter in her chest at seeing him so bubbly. He's certainly grown on her, she can accept that truth, even if she refuses to acknowledge the soft spot she has for him. As they settle down on the centre couch, side by side this time, and she flicks through the channels of the relatively dated TV, she glances over at her housemate. He's slipping the crinkled folder into an internal pocket in his long overcoat, smiling softly only to himself in the light of the screen in front of them. He's so sincere and shamelessly so, how could she not grow to care about him?

They settle on some channel airing reruns of The Twilight Zone, and he prods her in the shoulder, as if he's actually asking for permission to talk for once. "Have you even eaten yet, love? It's quite late, I'd get it if you're too tired to make something, but don't stress, if you'd like I could cook something for you? What would you– oh… wait nevermind, forgot I'm not allowed in there."

"No, it's okay Wheatley, I ate dinner early on my way back. Thank you though."

They keenly watch, and sometimes comment over, the black and white proto-science-fiction series, and Chell starts to succumb overtime to her body's fatigue as the night matures, almost rolling over to morning. Her eyelids are heavy, threatening to obscure the screen, and even when she fights it she's still peeking through her thick and dark lashes. Her head falls to the side, expecting to rest on an arm rest or pillow, not Wheatley's arm. Before she can pull away and apologise though, he looks over his shoulder at her, softly chuckling. "Looks like someone's a bit tired. You sure you want to nod off right here, love? I'll take you back to your room, you've got a nice, comfortable bed waiting for you, mostly because you went down like a sack of bricks on my shoulder and that can't be great on either of our backs, even if– even if mine's basically non-existent."

And so he guides her back through her dimly lit house, hands resting on her shoulders, and he knows in her state she definitely wouldn't have made it otherwise. She tucks herself in, and as he turns to leave, he picks up two, very cogent words–

"Please stay."

– and he folds in an instant.

Now that's just not right. In a house like this, with roommates like hers, a dreamless night is probably going to be incredibly out of the ordinary for Chell. Yet here she is. She very slowly gains awareness of her surroundings, letting herself savour a calmer morning than her previous, especially considering she's alone to enjoy it. She takes in her senses one by one: her eyes fluttering ever so slightly open, taking a deep breath of the air that smells subtly of rain after she left her window open yesterday, the sound of the willow tree rustling, her hands folded neatly together under her pillow, the extra hand stroking her hair.

She whips her head around quickly, suddenly face to face with an extremely troubled and mortified Wheatley, who's now doing an impeccable imitation of a statue.

"I never told you to stop."