A Little Ghost Help

~10~

Hold up. What's this? Could it be...? Long awaited fluff? I guess you'll have to read to see!

Warning: mentions of past scars

Deceit pov
When the boy, I guess his name is Patton, left my house, I knew something was wrong. This kid is going to get himself killed. After a few seconds of doubts, I set off behind him. Let me get this clear, ghosts can travel. If you die and somehow win the ghost lottery, you can travel out of the place you die. I think it's the way that I was killed that turned me into a ghost, but I'm no expert. Anyway, I have just never found traveling interesting. I have only gone out once before, and that was to my own funeral. That was a party. I also attended my family's. Ever since that though, I've stayed in my house. What can I say? I hate people. But this gosh darn kid. I have no idea why I am doing this… maybe… maybe it's because he reminds me of how I was before I died. Helpless. Scared. Alone. Feeling worthless. Why can't I just get rid of him? I have become so soft! I am going to turn right around and forget all about him- oh crap! He just fell! I guess I can't go home now!

I almost help him, when a slim man in high heels comes running up. How can he run in those?! And how on earth is everyone else acting like that's fine?! I may have been in my house for the last one hundred fifty years, but fashion can't change that much, can it? 

Anyway, he ran up to Patton and called his name, which, I guess is a good sign that he isn't a stranger. He then grabbed a box from his pocket and held it up to his ear. He yelled something into it, then returned it to his pocket and walked over to a bench, Patton in his arms. He seemed to be waiting for something. I came down and sat next to them. Patton started muttering no's and sorry's and he kept saying how he won't do it again. I felt myself stifin. I know what this means. I have experienced this once myself as well, but not on this level. He truly is a fighter. I brush my invisible fingers through his curly blonde hair and look at his freckle covered face. The young man holding him shifted, causing Patton to yelp. It's worse than I thought. This poor boy. I need to help him.

A big red car pulled up and the man stood up, placing Patton inside. There was another person there. I'll call them man 1 and man 2. I floated behind them as they drove up to a house about a block away from mine. They bring him in and start arguing about what to do. They rolled up his pant leg and I froze. It was awful! Who would do that to someone so kind? Okay, the only reason I call him kind is because he is the most considerate person to ever barge into my house uninvited. Person 1 then tried to take off the bandages, and person 2 stopped them. They then left and came back with some medicine. They gave it to Patton, and I could tell he was distressed while taking it. He took it in his sleep! How messed up is that? How often had he been commanded to do things in his sleep?

After a few minutes, he had stopped whimpering and was not responding to anything. Man 1 then removed the bandage and I almost gagged. There was a hole in his leg, that is at least two inches deep. I could fit my finger in it. Person 1 cleaned up his leg and rewrapped it. He then mentioned something about Patton's back. They took off his shirt and I, again, was shocked at the sight. Deep bruises were littered all over his chest and gut, and that wasn't even the worst part! When they flipped him over, I felt such great guilt, words cannot express it all. He had large welts and the skin was in literal shreds. I had been moping around about my scars from that one night for a hundred years, and here's this boy, who has been gaining these and just dealing with this for probably his whole life. And, judging by these guys's reactions, it looks like he hasn't told anybody. He isn't just a fighter, he is a freakin warrior. (When writing this, my phone autocorrected warrior to chameleon, and I laughed for five minutes straight)

I watch as the strangers treat his wounds that are probably infected and feel silent tears trickle down my invisible cheeks. I can't imagine dealing with that kind of pain. My own torture is what made me beg for death, but this kid? He has dealt with so much more than I have and he is still alive. He is still fighting. Something I could never do.