“Here it is!” Robb said cheerfully, slinging an arm around Jon’s shoulder. Jon sighed, not bothering to move from Robb’s embrace. Robb would only replace his arm and tighten his grip, and Jon was in no mood to wrestle with a chipper werewolf. The flat was small, rather dreary-looking though a single potted flower sat at the window in some pathetic attempt to raise some cheer. The bricks looked old and dark, and bits of paint peeled off the windowsill. One of the stone steps was cracked in a way that felt foreboding and Jon stepped forward very, very tentatively. “It looks awful,” he noted dryly. Robb beamed. “That’s the spirit!” he crowed, dragging him to the door. They already had their keys, received from a friendly redhead named Ros. “Just dig into that well of enthusiasm you’ve been hiding all along!” He happily shoved the door open and bound in, pulling Jon along with him. The inside of the flat was clean, empty in a lonely way. There was some furniture, not worn enough to throw out, and the staircase looked surprisingly clean. Jon stepped near it and shuddered. “What’s wrong?” Robb asked instantly. Jon narrowed his eyes. “It smells like bleach.” It was hanging in the air, stale and hard. “Bleach and blood.” Robb stared. “What?” “It’s old,” Jon frowned. He sniffed at the stairs, wincing at the unpleasant scent. “Real old, faded. I wouldn’t have noticed if I wasn’t trained to.” Ygritte would have slapped him for not noticing it sooner. “The fuck?” Robb frowned. He sniffed a bit and wrinkled his nose, finally catching the dying scent. For the smell of blood to be this strong despite its age, there would have been a lot. “Maybe there was some kind of accident.” “Like you two coming here?” a voice drawled. They whirled, Jon’s fangs snapping out automatically. A tall, lean young man was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He was smirking. “I mean you’re pretty enough, but - Jesus, are those teeth?” He swept forward and leaned toward Jon. Jon stepped back, shutting his mouth, but the stranger continued to stare. “I didn’t smell you,” Robb said, confused. He glanced at Jon. “What does that mean?” “Smile,” the man urged. Jon scowled, retracting his fangs. “Do you know how long it’s been since I had something to look at? How did you do that?” “He’s a ghost,” Jon said flatly. The man shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much.” He waved an arm in the air, watching them hungrily. “How can you see me?” “My name’s Robb,” Robb said eagerly, always too trusting. “This is Jon. He’s a vampire, and I’m a werewolf.” “Robb,” Jon hissed, not trusting the dead man with their secrets. The ghost ignored him. “I’m Theon,” he drawled, moving forward. He looked at Robb with interest. “A werewolf? Seriously?” “Born one,” Robb confirmed. “Natural weres are rarer, but we’re still around.” He looked at Theon curiously. “How long have you been here?” “Dead in December two years ago!” Theon told him cheerfully. “Boyfriend moved out and everything.” Robb made a sympathetic noise. “How did you die?” Jon frowned. From the little he knew, ghosts tended to linger because of personal matters. Theon only shrugged. “Fell down the stairs, if you can believe it.” He scowled at said stairs. “Hope they didn’t put that on my gravestone: idiot who tripped.” Robb laughed. Theon grinned and Jon felt a headache coming on.
It wasn’t long before Jon was considering the benefits of an exorcism. Theon had become their unofficial third flatmate and got along with Robb very well, often joking together. The discovery that he could touch nonhumans thrilled him and he could often be found slinging an arm around Robb or poking Jon’s face. Jon was convinced he was plotting to kill him. “He’s infuriating,” he groaned. Ygritte raised an eyebrow at him, gingerly sipping at her thermos. “But Robb likes him. I can’t figure out why on earth, but he does.” He glanced at her. “Have you met ghosts?” “Not many,” she shrugged comfortably. Ygritte was older than him and, according to her, smarter and prettier. “But the ones I’ve met aren’t happy little souls, Snow.” “Don’t call me that.” She smiled fleetingly. “There’s a reason he’s here,” Ygritte promised him. “Mark my words, he doesn’t stick to this grimy world without a cause.” She took another sip. “And if he don’t know it, all the worse for you.” “What do you mean?” “You’ll see,” Ygritte smiled, and he could see blood in her teeth. -- The walls were shaking when he got home, most likely due to Theon. Apparently ghosts could influence their surroundings and Theon had managed to physically touch the table before. Well, he’d kicked it over and spilled all the coffee. “Hullo?” Jon called, shrugging off his jacket. He was tired and thirsty, and not in the mood for Theon’s jokes. “Robb, you home?” Apparently not. Jon sighed and started up the stairs toward his room, only to stop midway. Theon was at the landing, curled into himself in the corner with his back melted into the wall. Jon would have ignored him except he was whispering, so low Jon could barely make out the frantic words. “I’ll be good, I’ll be good, I’m yours, please don’t, thank you, thank you…” “Theon?” Jon said hesitantly. Theon looked up at him, eyes wide and glazed. “I’ll be good,” he said, quivering, and suddenly vanished. -- Robb was frantic when Jon told him, and became increasingly more worried when Theon didn’t reappear. “It’s been five hours!” he ranted, hands shaking. “Where did he even go?” “Limbo?” Jon suggested. He’d thought of calling Ygritte but deigned to wait a little longer, just in case Theon was pulling something. It didn’t feel like he was. “Calm down, at least we know ghosts can’t be hurt.” “We do?” Robb stared, and Jon cursed - they actually didn’t. His silence panicked Robb more, and Robb shouted, “THEON!” “Yes?” Theon drawled. They both jumped and he grinned from the chair he was sitting in. Robb swore loudly. “Where the fuck have you been?” he snapped; he sounded like his mother. “We were freaking out, what the fuck!” “Where have I been?” Theon frowned. “What are you talking about?” “You disappeared a bit after I came home,” Jon reminded. Theon blinked. “When did you get home?” he asked, and Jon exchanged glances with Robb. Theon scowled. “If you two are going to be weirdos, I’m going to go haunt my sister.” He puffed away and Jon put a hand to his face. Robb was saying something but he didn’t hear it, remembering Ygritte’s words to him. He doesn’t stick to this grimy world without a cause. “What’s going on?” Robb asked plaintively. He looked at Robb grimly. “Guess we’ll have to find out.”
Theon didn’t seem to have any idea why he remained on earth or even the flat. Robb had talked to his father and Jon to Ygritte, but it seemed only Theon could find out what was keeping him here. Robb was more concerned about Theon’s actions the other day. “I talked to Jeyne,” he told Jon quietly. Jeyne was a pretty hospital intern, a human who dabbled in psychology. “She said it sounds like he went through some kind of trauma.” “He’s dead,” Jon pointed out. “I expect that’s traumatic.” “He seems okay with it,” Robb retorted. His handsome face was marred with a frown. “I’m worried, Jon. What you were talking about doesn’t sound good.” “He’s dead,” Jon repeated. “What could be good?” "You're dead," Robb snapped, and Jon didn't reply. -- When Jon came home he was surprised by a man staring longingly at their front door. The man was tall and pale, with long hair and a wistful expression Jon couldn’t quite define. He stared so hopefully that Jon felt almost guilty when he spoke. “Can I help you?” The man turned, startled. “Sorry,” he apologized with a grin. His smile showed all his teeth. “I'm Ramsay, I...I didn’t mean to creep you out, it’s just…I used to live here.” He looked back at the door sadly and Jon felt an uncomfortable need to comfort the man. “I’m Jon, I live here at the moment.” He paused. “Do you want to come in?” he offered. Ramsay’s eyes lit up. “You sure?” Ramsay asked. No, not really, but Jon unlocked the door and gestured for him to go in. Ramsay entered with a wide smile that showed all his teeth as he took in the flat. His pale eyes fixed onto the staircase. “I moved out two years ago,” Ramsay said. Jon hadn’t asked. “But we lived here six months before that, me and Theon.” Theon. “Theon?” Jon asked casually. He glanced around the room to see if Theon was here, but the ghost was curiously absent. “Boyfriend,” Ramsay said. His hands flexed as he approached the staircase, tentatively touching the railing. “He died.” “I’m sorry.” “I miss him,” Ramsay confessed, trailing his hand on the rail. “There were good times.” He smiled and for a second Jon thought he glimpsed something darker, something like Thorne had when he tormented new recruits. “Great times,” Ramsay amended, and Jon wondered where Theon had gone. -- “Where’d you go this afternoon?” Jon asked at dinner. Robb insisted they sit with him even though the other two couldn’t eat. “Your boyfriend showed up.” “He did?” Robb said, and Theon looked just as alarmed. “Ramsay was here?” Theon seemed elated but also almost afraid, upset. “I…I thought I heard his voice.” “And then…?” “I just sort of winked out,” he confessed, looking confused. “I don’t know why, I wanted to see him.” “You have interesting taste,” Jon mused. Ramsay was nothing like what Jon would have expected. Truth be told, he would have imagined Theon’s boyfriend to be more like Robb (which was uncomfortable because Robb and Theon was not a combination he enjoyed). Theon stuck his tongue out and Robb laughed at the reprieve. But soon Theon frowned. “Why didn’t I get to see him?” he asked. Jon wondered the same.
After a long bout of interrogation Robb invited Ramsay over again, eager to learn of his life and hoping Theon could get a glimpse of him. The human accepted readily, to Jon's surprise; he'd expected it would be too traumatizing to come back again. "It's all so different," Ramsay sighed. His eyes fixed once again on the staircase. "But still the same." “Ramsay,” Theon gasped from the kitchen. A wall shook and Jon glanced over at the human, who hadn’t noticed. “He’s here.” “He can’t see you,” Jon reminded in a whisper, but the ghost paid him no mind. “Look at me,” Theon pleaded. Something about his voice was sick and needy as he stared longingly at the living man. “Look at me.” One of the pipes blew out, water spraying from the kitchen sink. “Shit!” Robb yelled, running to it. Jon gave a pointed look at Theon, who was groaning sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. Ramsay just laughed. “Never did that when we lived here,” he cracked. Theon smiled, eyes fluttering with memory. Jon frowned. -- He was woken that night by the bed shaking. No, not the bed, the entire floor was groaning ominously. When he got up to investigate he found Robb in his pajamas. “Robb?” he croaked. Robb pointed to the figure huddled in corner of the landing, eyes wide. Jon approached Theon carefully, crouching down to meet his eyes. “…be good, I’ll be good, please don’t I was good, no, no, I’m sorry…” “Theon?” Jon said quietly. Theon looked at him. “I was good,” he repeated. Jon nodded. “You were good,” he agreed, glancing at Robb. Robb looked sick. Theon grabbed at his arm, his grip surprisingly strong for someone incorporeal. “Tell him I was good, tell him…” “Tell who?” Jon asked carefully. “I was good,” Theon insisted, and he was gone. -- “Who do you think ‘he’ is?” Robb asked over coffee. They were outside Robb’s work at the animal shelter, using up his lunch break. “I don’t know," Jon sighed. He wished more than anything he did. Robb nodded sadly. "I talked to Professor Luwin, the old alchemist? He said ghosts can block out their traumas even better than living people, only they’ll subconsciously keep reacting to whatever’s keeping them here.” “Because they’re not meant to stay here,” Jon voiced. Robb bit his lip and sighed. “We have to help him,” he insisted. “To - to move on or whatever, or at least so he doesn’t keep having these weird -” Robb flapped his hands, lost for words. “It’s messed up!” “Yeah,” Jon agreed. He took a quick sip of his thermos, the warm blood comforting in his throat. Robb wrinkled his nose at the smell. “I think we should figure out everything we can about Theon back before he died. Think you can ask your dad?” “He’s not going to like it,” Robb frowned. “The chief of police isn’t supposed to be pulling favors for his kid.” He blew out a sigh that smelled like jerky and chicken. “But it’s for Theon.” “Yeah,” Jon said, looking down at his thermos. “For Theon.”
It took two days for Robb to get everything together, and two more days for him to read through it all. The entire thing was…unpleasant. “Ramsay Bolton’s got a clean record, but there’s been a lot of allegations.” Robb bit his lip, glaring at a piece of paper. “Including several accusations of domestic abuse.” “Theon?” Jon asked. Robb’s expression darkened. “He’s got a lot of hospital records. I couldn’t get the details, you know, privacy and stuff, but most of it was in an eight month period.” “When he met Bolton.” Somehow that didn’t surprise him, in an awful way. Ramsay had that look to him, like he was a man who enjoyed pain. “There’s another name referenced here, a Jeyne Poole. It’s bad stuff, Jon.” Robb looked ill. “I mean, it’s fucking bad.” Jon reached for one of Robb’s scribbled notes and skimmed it quickly. “Christ, he broke Theon's hand?” “That one a neighbor submitted to the police,” Robb said gloomily. “Broke his teeth too, apparently. When he was questioned, he just said they like it rough.” “I can show him rough,” Jon murmured, feeling at his teeth with his tongue. He tried to avoid feeding on humans, but he could always make the one exception. Robb was frowning though, squinting at his notes. “So this is why Theon’s still here, right? Because he needs to get revenge on Ramsay.” “What about Ramsay?” Shit. Jon leapt up at the same time as Robb, the two of them looking guiltily at Theon. Theon stared at them suspiciously. “We know he abused you,” Jon said bluntly. Robb sent him a scathing look and Theon looked appalled. “What?” he laughed, though he looked uncertain. “What are you talking about?” One of the walls shook. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Robb asked gentler. “Because he hurt you.” “No!” Theon snapped. The walls trembled. “He would’t do that, he was good to me -” “If you were good?” Jon asked coldly. The ghost flinched. “He didn’t hurt me, he was just - he got a little intense but he was always careful, he never hurt me.” The staircase shook hard and they all leapt back. Jon scowled. “I think your subconscious is telling you something." “He was good to me,” Theon insisted. The stairs shuddered. “He took care of me.” He kept looking at the stupid staircase, and Jon remembered Ramsay eyeing it too. Caressing the railing, looking at it almost reverently. And that had been where the smell had been, that had been where Theon always had his episodes... “He killed you,” Robb realized, and it dawned on Jon too. God. The lights flickered violently. “He killed you, didn’t he?” “NO!” Theon burst out, and Robb was blown across the room. Jon ran to him and the entire flat was shaking, the furniture quivering as Theon held his head. “He - never - never hurt - me -” he gasped out, face contorted. “He would never - I was good -” Robb struggled to sit up and roared: “He was an abusive son of a bitch and he murdered you!” Robb’s scream seemed to pierce through Theon’s confusion. The ghost’s eyes widened and he vanished, a lamp rattling against the wall. Robb's anger deflated and he leaned against Jon’s chest, groaning. “That went well,” he muttered unhappily. “Yeah,” Jon said. He looked at the staircase, which was perfectly still. The smell of old blood was stronger than ever, teeming across the room with dust and cold. When he closed his eyes he thought he recognized another smell: the smell of band-aids and tears.
Re: Hauntings 5/?brighterloveMay 29 2012, 18:59:24 UTC
See Jon knew Ramsay was an evil bastard, God I want to kick Ramsay the same way I wanted kick Danny(Being Human NA version. Poor Theon and his victim brain and PTSD. Robb. just can't help but trying to save him can he?(cause that's just how Robb rolls).
That last line was just yeah, like I am using that line the first chance I get, you hear me
The flat was small, rather dreary-looking though a single potted flower sat at the window in some pathetic attempt to raise some cheer. The bricks looked old and dark, and bits of paint peeled off the windowsill. One of the stone steps was cracked in a way that felt foreboding and Jon stepped forward very, very tentatively.
“It looks awful,” he noted dryly. Robb beamed.
“That’s the spirit!” he crowed, dragging him to the door. They already had their keys, received from a friendly redhead named Ros. “Just dig into that well of enthusiasm you’ve been hiding all along!”
He happily shoved the door open and bound in, pulling Jon along with him.
The inside of the flat was clean, empty in a lonely way. There was some furniture, not worn enough to throw out, and the staircase looked surprisingly clean. Jon stepped near it and shuddered.
“What’s wrong?” Robb asked instantly. Jon narrowed his eyes.
“It smells like bleach.” It was hanging in the air, stale and hard. “Bleach and blood.”
Robb stared. “What?”
“It’s old,” Jon frowned. He sniffed at the stairs, wincing at the unpleasant scent. “Real old, faded. I wouldn’t have noticed if I wasn’t trained to.” Ygritte would have slapped him for not noticing it sooner.
“The fuck?” Robb frowned. He sniffed a bit and wrinkled his nose, finally catching the dying scent. For the smell of blood to be this strong despite its age, there would have been a lot. “Maybe there was some kind of accident.”
“Like you two coming here?” a voice drawled. They whirled, Jon’s fangs snapping out automatically. A tall, lean young man was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He was smirking. “I mean you’re pretty enough, but - Jesus, are those teeth?”
He swept forward and leaned toward Jon. Jon stepped back, shutting his mouth, but the stranger continued to stare.
“I didn’t smell you,” Robb said, confused. He glanced at Jon. “What does that mean?”
“Smile,” the man urged. Jon scowled, retracting his fangs. “Do you know how long it’s been since I had something to look at? How did you do that?”
“He’s a ghost,” Jon said flatly. The man shrugged.
“Yeah, pretty much.” He waved an arm in the air, watching them hungrily. “How can you see me?”
“My name’s Robb,” Robb said eagerly, always too trusting. “This is Jon. He’s a vampire, and I’m a werewolf.”
“Robb,” Jon hissed, not trusting the dead man with their secrets. The ghost ignored him.
“I’m Theon,” he drawled, moving forward. He looked at Robb with interest. “A werewolf? Seriously?”
“Born one,” Robb confirmed. “Natural weres are rarer, but we’re still around.” He looked at Theon curiously. “How long have you been here?”
“Dead in December two years ago!” Theon told him cheerfully. “Boyfriend moved out and everything.” Robb made a sympathetic noise.
“How did you die?” Jon frowned. From the little he knew, ghosts tended to linger because of personal matters. Theon only shrugged.
“Fell down the stairs, if you can believe it.” He scowled at said stairs. “Hope they didn’t put that on my gravestone: idiot who tripped.”
Robb laughed. Theon grinned and Jon felt a headache coming on.
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“He’s infuriating,” he groaned. Ygritte raised an eyebrow at him, gingerly sipping at her thermos. “But Robb likes him. I can’t figure out why on earth, but he does.” He glanced at her. “Have you met ghosts?”
“Not many,” she shrugged comfortably. Ygritte was older than him and, according to her, smarter and prettier. “But the ones I’ve met aren’t happy little souls, Snow.”
“Don’t call me that.” She smiled fleetingly.
“There’s a reason he’s here,” Ygritte promised him. “Mark my words, he doesn’t stick to this grimy world without a cause.” She took another sip. “And if he don’t know it, all the worse for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll see,” Ygritte smiled, and he could see blood in her teeth.
--
The walls were shaking when he got home, most likely due to Theon. Apparently ghosts could influence their surroundings and Theon had managed to physically touch the table before. Well, he’d kicked it over and spilled all the coffee.
“Hullo?” Jon called, shrugging off his jacket. He was tired and thirsty, and not in the mood for Theon’s jokes. “Robb, you home?”
Apparently not. Jon sighed and started up the stairs toward his room, only to stop midway. Theon was at the landing, curled into himself in the corner with his back melted into the wall. Jon would have ignored him except he was whispering, so low Jon could barely make out the frantic words.
“I’ll be good, I’ll be good, I’m yours, please don’t, thank you, thank you…”
“Theon?” Jon said hesitantly. Theon looked up at him, eyes wide and glazed.
“I’ll be good,” he said, quivering, and suddenly vanished.
--
Robb was frantic when Jon told him, and became increasingly more worried when Theon didn’t reappear.
“It’s been five hours!” he ranted, hands shaking. “Where did he even go?”
“Limbo?” Jon suggested. He’d thought of calling Ygritte but deigned to wait a little longer, just in case Theon was pulling something. It didn’t feel like he was. “Calm down, at least we know ghosts can’t be hurt.”
“We do?” Robb stared, and Jon cursed - they actually didn’t. His silence panicked Robb more, and Robb shouted, “THEON!”
“Yes?” Theon drawled. They both jumped and he grinned from the chair he was sitting in. Robb swore loudly.
“Where the fuck have you been?” he snapped; he sounded like his mother. “We were freaking out, what the fuck!”
“Where have I been?” Theon frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“You disappeared a bit after I came home,” Jon reminded. Theon blinked.
“When did you get home?” he asked, and Jon exchanged glances with Robb. Theon scowled. “If you two are going to be weirdos, I’m going to go haunt my sister.”
He puffed away and Jon put a hand to his face. Robb was saying something but he didn’t hear it, remembering Ygritte’s words to him. He doesn’t stick to this grimy world without a cause.
“What’s going on?” Robb asked plaintively. He looked at Robb grimly.
“Guess we’ll have to find out.”
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This is so good, I can't wait to see more!
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(also this is brilliant & Ygritte is a queen)
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(also, awwww ♥)
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“I talked to Jeyne,” he told Jon quietly. Jeyne was a pretty hospital intern, a human who dabbled in psychology. “She said it sounds like he went through some kind of trauma.”
“He’s dead,” Jon pointed out. “I expect that’s traumatic.”
“He seems okay with it,” Robb retorted. His handsome face was marred with a frown. “I’m worried, Jon. What you were talking about doesn’t sound good.”
“He’s dead,” Jon repeated. “What could be good?”
"You're dead," Robb snapped, and Jon didn't reply.
--
When Jon came home he was surprised by a man staring longingly at their front door. The man was tall and pale, with long hair and a wistful expression Jon couldn’t quite define. He stared so hopefully that Jon felt almost guilty when he spoke.
“Can I help you?” The man turned, startled.
“Sorry,” he apologized with a grin. His smile showed all his teeth. “I'm Ramsay, I...I didn’t mean to creep you out, it’s just…I used to live here.” He looked back at the door sadly and Jon felt an uncomfortable need to comfort the man.
“I’m Jon, I live here at the moment.” He paused. “Do you want to come in?” he offered. Ramsay’s eyes lit up.
“You sure?” Ramsay asked. No, not really, but Jon unlocked the door and gestured for him to go in. Ramsay entered with a wide smile that showed all his teeth as he took in the flat. His pale eyes fixed onto the staircase.
“I moved out two years ago,” Ramsay said. Jon hadn’t asked. “But we lived here six months before that, me and Theon.” Theon.
“Theon?” Jon asked casually. He glanced around the room to see if Theon was here, but the ghost was curiously absent.
“Boyfriend,” Ramsay said. His hands flexed as he approached the staircase, tentatively touching the railing. “He died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I miss him,” Ramsay confessed, trailing his hand on the rail. “There were good times.” He smiled and for a second Jon thought he glimpsed something darker, something like Thorne had when he tormented new recruits.
“Great times,” Ramsay amended, and Jon wondered where Theon had gone.
--
“Where’d you go this afternoon?” Jon asked at dinner. Robb insisted they sit with him even though the other two couldn’t eat. “Your boyfriend showed up.”
“He did?” Robb said, and Theon looked just as alarmed.
“Ramsay was here?” Theon seemed elated but also almost afraid, upset. “I…I thought I heard his voice.”
“And then…?”
“I just sort of winked out,” he confessed, looking confused. “I don’t know why, I wanted to see him.”
“You have interesting taste,” Jon mused. Ramsay was nothing like what Jon would have expected. Truth be told, he would have imagined Theon’s boyfriend to be more like Robb (which was uncomfortable because Robb and Theon was not a combination he enjoyed).
Theon stuck his tongue out and Robb laughed at the reprieve. But soon Theon frowned.
“Why didn’t I get to see him?” he asked. Jon wondered the same.
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"It's all so different," Ramsay sighed. His eyes fixed once again on the staircase. "But still the same."
“Ramsay,” Theon gasped from the kitchen. A wall shook and Jon glanced over at the human, who hadn’t noticed. “He’s here.”
“He can’t see you,” Jon reminded in a whisper, but the ghost paid him no mind.
“Look at me,” Theon pleaded. Something about his voice was sick and needy as he stared longingly at the living man. “Look at me.”
One of the pipes blew out, water spraying from the kitchen sink.
“Shit!” Robb yelled, running to it. Jon gave a pointed look at Theon, who was groaning sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. Ramsay just laughed.
“Never did that when we lived here,” he cracked. Theon smiled, eyes fluttering with memory.
Jon frowned.
--
He was woken that night by the bed shaking. No, not the bed, the entire floor was groaning ominously. When he got up to investigate he found Robb in his pajamas.
“Robb?” he croaked. Robb pointed to the figure huddled in corner of the landing, eyes wide. Jon approached Theon carefully, crouching down to meet his eyes.
“…be good, I’ll be good, please don’t I was good, no, no, I’m sorry…”
“Theon?” Jon said quietly. Theon looked at him.
“I was good,” he repeated. Jon nodded.
“You were good,” he agreed, glancing at Robb. Robb looked sick.
Theon grabbed at his arm, his grip surprisingly strong for someone incorporeal. “Tell him I was good, tell him…”
“Tell who?” Jon asked carefully.
“I was good,” Theon insisted, and he was gone.
--
“Who do you think ‘he’ is?” Robb asked over coffee. They were outside Robb’s work at the animal shelter, using up his lunch break.
“I don’t know," Jon sighed. He wished more than anything he did. Robb nodded sadly.
"I talked to Professor Luwin, the old alchemist? He said ghosts can block out their traumas even better than living people, only they’ll subconsciously keep reacting to whatever’s keeping them here.”
“Because they’re not meant to stay here,” Jon voiced. Robb bit his lip and sighed.
“We have to help him,” he insisted. “To - to move on or whatever, or at least so he doesn’t keep having these weird -” Robb flapped his hands, lost for words. “It’s messed up!”
“Yeah,” Jon agreed. He took a quick sip of his thermos, the warm blood comforting in his throat. Robb wrinkled his nose at the smell. “I think we should figure out everything we can about Theon back before he died. Think you can ask your dad?”
“He’s not going to like it,” Robb frowned. “The chief of police isn’t supposed to be pulling favors for his kid.” He blew out a sigh that smelled like jerky and chicken. “But it’s for Theon.”
“Yeah,” Jon said, looking down at his thermos. “For Theon.”
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omg this is killing me in all the best ways
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“Ramsay Bolton’s got a clean record, but there’s been a lot of allegations.” Robb bit his lip, glaring at a piece of paper. “Including several accusations of domestic abuse.”
“Theon?” Jon asked. Robb’s expression darkened.
“He’s got a lot of hospital records. I couldn’t get the details, you know, privacy and stuff, but most of it was in an eight month period.”
“When he met Bolton.” Somehow that didn’t surprise him, in an awful way. Ramsay had that look to him, like he was a man who enjoyed pain.
“There’s another name referenced here, a Jeyne Poole. It’s bad stuff, Jon.” Robb looked ill. “I mean, it’s fucking bad.”
Jon reached for one of Robb’s scribbled notes and skimmed it quickly. “Christ, he broke Theon's hand?”
“That one a neighbor submitted to the police,” Robb said gloomily. “Broke his teeth too, apparently. When he was questioned, he just said they like it rough.”
“I can show him rough,” Jon murmured, feeling at his teeth with his tongue. He tried to avoid feeding on humans, but he could always make the one exception. Robb was frowning though, squinting at his notes.
“So this is why Theon’s still here, right? Because he needs to get revenge on Ramsay.”
“What about Ramsay?” Shit.
Jon leapt up at the same time as Robb, the two of them looking guiltily at Theon. Theon stared at them suspiciously.
“We know he abused you,” Jon said bluntly. Robb sent him a scathing look and Theon looked appalled.
“What?” he laughed, though he looked uncertain. “What are you talking about?” One of the walls shook.
“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Robb asked gentler. “Because he hurt you.”
“No!” Theon snapped. The walls trembled. “He would’t do that, he was good to me -”
“If you were good?” Jon asked coldly. The ghost flinched.
“He didn’t hurt me, he was just - he got a little intense but he was always careful, he never hurt me.” The staircase shook hard and they all leapt back. Jon scowled.
“I think your subconscious is telling you something."
“He was good to me,” Theon insisted. The stairs shuddered. “He took care of me.”
He kept looking at the stupid staircase, and Jon remembered Ramsay eyeing it too. Caressing the railing, looking at it almost reverently. And that had been where the smell had been, that had been where Theon always had his episodes...
“He killed you,” Robb realized, and it dawned on Jon too. God. The lights flickered violently. “He killed you, didn’t he?”
“NO!” Theon burst out, and Robb was blown across the room. Jon ran to him and the entire flat was shaking, the furniture quivering as Theon held his head.
“He - never - never hurt - me -” he gasped out, face contorted. “He would never - I was good -”
Robb struggled to sit up and roared: “He was an abusive son of a bitch and he murdered you!”
Robb’s scream seemed to pierce through Theon’s confusion. The ghost’s eyes widened and he vanished, a lamp rattling against the wall. Robb's anger deflated and he leaned against Jon’s chest, groaning.
“That went well,” he muttered unhappily.
“Yeah,” Jon said. He looked at the staircase, which was perfectly still. The smell of old blood was stronger than ever, teeming across the room with dust and cold. When he closed his eyes he thought he recognized another smell: the smell of band-aids and tears.
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That last line was just yeah, like I am using that line the first chance I get, you hear me
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