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Pete McGee had a surprisingly long history of midnight meetups. He'd grown up in a house with nine siblings, it wasn't exactly easy to sneak around, no matter what time it was. Too many times he'd snuck out of his room for a midnight snack only to be met with 5 different pairs of eyes gathered in the kitchen like some kind of cult, clearly having had the same idea as him.
As he'd grown older, things tapered off for a while until the forming of his new family. Molly was a loud baby and he and Sharon learnt that the hard way. Many a night were spent awake together, mourning their lack of sleep. Even when both she and Darryl could sleep through the night, their eldest loved bedtime chats and it often took hours to get her to sleep. She never lost that, despite what Sharon thought. As the first of the two who's bladder started failing them, Pete knew this well. Often on late night trips to the bathroom he would hear her giggling to herself in her room and have to tell her to go to sleep. And because his daughter was an adorable little chatterbox he'd often instead be roped into a conversation and entirely forget he was supposed to be the parent. Then when morning came and neither had had enough sleep, Sharon would give them what for.
Not that she was any better, mind. Coming downstairs for a sleeping aid or an indigestion tablet and spotting her raiding the snack cupboard like a racoon was a surprisingly common sight. These days he didn't even flinch when she hissed at him with glinting eyes. Darryl had inherited that little habit, though knowing him it was a relief when that was all he was sneaking around doing. They usually settled things at a head nod and the silent agreement that he wouldn't tell if Darryl did his own laundry that week. Sharon usually scampered upstairs with her spoils without another word and he'd learnt not to question her. His family's sleep disruptions may be odd, and often annoying, but he was far from unused to them.
Scratch, however, was a new one.
Given that he apparently worked nights scaring people, you'd think he and Pete would have bumped into each other that way. But apparently Scratch's hours were known only to him, because the night he found him the ghost wasn't exactly in a fit state for work.
"Uh." Was all he could say. He'd only needed a glass of water from the kitchen but it looked...occupied at the moment. Scratch was curled up on the counter sobbing like a baby and rocking himself. His glowing form was the only light source and, though Pete was right next to the light-switch, he decided maybe it was better if he didn't see the extent of the damages. Just from the dim blue glow he had he could tell the kitchen was a mess.
"You uh," Looking away, he scratched the back of his neck. He wasn't exactly in his element here; it was 3 in the morning, he was wearing only an old band shirt and boxers and he'd barely known Scratch a year. "You ok?" Even he cringed at his own voice. This was much easier with the kids. And on a full nights sleep.
"Yes." Scratch warbled into his hands. There was something off about his voice that was different than the regular sound of tears, but Pete couldn't place his finger on it.
"Are you sure?" He tried. Taking a few steps forward, his foot passively kicked aside a fallen mixing bowl that was oozing...something. He cringed and pulled that sock off, throwing it over to the laundry basket. "Scratch, did something happen?" He tried to ask calmly. It wasn't like he was exactly happy about the ghost wrecking their kitchen, but he knew how to read a room.
The pitiful lump of ectoplasm Scratch had become sniffled. "'M a faillure...!" He all but choked and immediately burst into sobs again. "I ca'do anathin' righ'...Jush leave me..."
Pete sucked his teeth, seeing what was happening. "Hoo boy." Well, that was the voice explained. He leant over, despite his backs protests, until he was on eye level with the other. "Scratch, did you get into Sharon's wine?"
"No." Scratch sniffled, voice thick. Just as Pete was about to ask him not to lie, he continued "Th'a stufff doesnn' toush me anymo'."
Pete blinked in surprise. "Oh. Ok...so are you...Scratch-!" His cry just about stopped the ghost before he lazily stuck his fingers in a nearby plug socket. "What are you doing?!" He hissed, covering the socket, while Scratch only burst into drunken giggles. When Pete pulled away and looked closely at the socket he could see dark stains like burn marks all around it and a worried grimace took over his features.
"...Have you been hurting yourself?"
Scratch stopped his half-cries, half-laughs and turned to look at him strangely. His head flopped to the side with a gelatine-esc sound in a way no creature with bones could. It made Pete shudder a little. Scratch's eyes were both wide and scrunched up somehow. He seemed to be thinking hard, but not getting anywhere in his intoxicated state. Like he recognised in Pete's tone that he was upset but didn't know why.
"...No? S'jusha shock. Makes i' better, makshya shilly." He giggled, as though remembering a joke only he knew. "C'moon, you try-" Scratch's cold, goopy hands just barely brushed his arm before Pete pulled away. Scratch frowned at him in confusion for a moment before shrugging. Before Pete could stop him again, he plunged his own fingers deep onto the plug socket and the room was lit up briefly in the ensuing sparks.
Hair standing on end just from the proximity, Pete leant back as far as he could until his back curved around the contours of the kitchen countertop. He knew, logically, that as a ghost Scratch couldn't die, but it didn't make the experience of seeing him get shocked any less terrifying. He watched with growing winces as Scratch let the electricity run through him, cringing and grinding his teeth hard enough to make noise- until a few seconds later he pulled away. The socket smouldered behind him, looking darker than ever, and Pete found his focus briefly torn between his family member's well-being and the potential for that thing to start a fire. But he had to deal with one thing at a time.
"Are you ok?" He asked, stumbling forward on shaky legs. A hand reached out to Scratch but he paused before making contact, eyeing the sparks he was emitting, with anxiety. Even in his intoxicated and now pained state, Scratch too seemed to notice the danger here and a blue glow, (clumsier than usual), pushed him away. The ghost leant over himself with teeth clenched tightly for a moment. He raised a finger in the air, telling Pete he needed a moment (which he gladly let him have) before lifting his head.
When he did, instead of the expression of pain and anguish Pete was expecting, he only saw a drunken grin. "Shee??" He slurred, voice even worse this time. "Ssssss'not that bad. Try i'!!" He poked his head firmly a few times, the ectoplasm acquiring a dent at the action that took a good few seconds to mould back into place. "Helps y'r brain probems."
"...How long have you been doing this?" Pete eyed the stray sparks that were dancing around Scratch like fleas, warily.
"I'unno, couple houas...righ'?" Scratch held a hand to his head and looked through him like he suddenly had no idea if that was accurate information. Pete let out a sigh. Whatever happened here tonight would have to be a problem for the morning, socket included. Scratch needed sleep.
"Alright Scratch, let's- let's get you to bed." Pete fumbled around the kitchen blindly for a moment, getting his hands in a few mystery goops, before finding the light switch again. Scratch all but screamed at the light and covered his eyes with a broken whine. "I know, I know..." Pete winced with him, trying to yank on a pair of rubber washing up gloves as quickly as possible. "It'll be worse in the morning though, trust me."
He made sure to turn the light off first thing he got. And not just for Scratch's head. Looking at the mess he had caused in the kitchen was making him too angry and the ghost didn't need that right now. He could yell in the morning. Honestly, sometimes he swore he couldn't tell who was the bad influence on who, Darryl or Scratch...
"It's alright, come on..." He made himself sooth, pulling Scratch to his...floating height, by the arms. The ghost whined and melted in his grip, falling to the floor in a puddle of goo. "You have to come upstairs, Scratch." He said, firmer. When the ghost looked up at him with wide, sad eyes, his tone softened. "Please. You're drunk, you need to sleep this off."
Scratch's eyes began to widen even more and sparkle with unshed tears, much to Pete's dismay. "I f'ylled..."
"You didn't fail." Pete knelt down next to him with a sigh. "You were never gonna succeed in...whatever you were doing here, while like this. Just sleep it off and you'll feel better in the morning."
"W'sh tryna make'a cake..." He sniffled. Pete raised an eyebrow. The ghost sounded a little more sober than before at least, even if he still wasn't moving.
"What kind of cake?"
"Y'kno'. Like you do. Witha...tha crumbc'ke."
"My passionfruit crumb cake?" Wide eyed, Pete sat up in surprise. "You- why were you trying to make that?? At 3 in the morning?!"
Scratch didn't answer his second question, but, upon hearing the first, he melted further into the ground. "My fre'nd likesit." He mumbled.
"Your..." Squinting, Pete asked unsurely. "Molly?" That didn't make sense- if Molly wanted his crumb cake she could just ask him! "...Libby?"
"NO!"
Scratch's form raised up from his puddle until it almost resembled how he usually looked, only taller. He reached to Pete's eye level now, glowing with a faint lilac that overtook the lower half of his body and crept upwards. The wrinkles under his eyes seemed to dig into his ectoplasm deeper until they formed spindling, twisted tracks like veins that made his eyes pop. Pete leant back, wide eyed, but it wasn't quiet as intense a transformation as he'd seen from Scratch before. That first day in particular made this look like nothing. He must have either been very drunk or not really mad.
When Pete only stared him down, Scratch shrank quickly back to his normal size on the floor, seemingly confirming the latter. He was still a little melty, but at least 3 dimensional again. With a rather childish pout, he crossed his arms and looked away. "Geoff. U don' even know 'im."
"Oh!" Pete snapped his fingers in realisation. "No, I know Geoff! He visited us for that snow day when we played puzzles and got all comfy cozy, right?" That was a fun day. Geoff and he may not have talked much one-on-one but he seemed nice.
Upon Scratch giving a small nod, Pete allowed a smile to form on his face. "This was meant to be for him?" Scratch nodded again. It was almost cute how embarrassed he looked and Pete thought it was sweet that Scratch cared about people. 'I used to haunt a house, now I haunt a home' had been the moment any lingering fear or distrust towards having a ghost in the house completely vanished for him.
Of course, he also knew Scratch fairly well, so he didn't say any of this. That would be conversational suicide. He still had to convince the other to go to bed after all, since dragging him clearly wasn't working. Instead he just said "He seems nice." It was hard to tell, but he thought he saw tears form in the corners of Scratch's eyes as he nodded. "Is it his birthday? Y'know I can-"
"No." Scratch started clenching his fists tightly. He looked angry, but didn't pull away or snap at him when Pete placed a gloved hand nervously on his shoulder. "'Was to say ssorry, since I kee'bein' a bad friend." A hiccup. "An' I can' even do that! Am a bad person..." Once again, Scratch collapsed into a sobbing pile. Pete recoiled, a look of shocked worry crossing his face.
"What? Nononono-" Despite Scratch's age, parental instinct took over, and Pete fumbled around Scratch in frustration as he tried and failed to hug the ghost in a safe way. While it was possible the electrical charge he'd been carrying had been dispelled through the floor or simply diminished with time, Pete was a coward at heart and he couldn't quite bring himself to take the risk. Plus if he did and got hurt, then Scratch would just feel worse...
Eventually he settled for grabbing Scratch firmly with his gloved hands and cupping his face in them. It reminded him of when Molly was upset and he'd wipe away her tears, only Scratch was a little less graceful than her. The d- no not the drink, the electricity- seemed to either numb his awareness to how much his nose was running or make him so distraught he couldn't bring himself to care. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, with heavy bags under them and up close there was a dim, flickering quality to his glow. Pete tried not to cringe as he wiped away some tears with the back of his glove while Scratch rested his whole chin in his hands like a dog. He looked, frankly, pitiful.
Lip wobbling, Scratch choked out "I don' know why 'm so mean t' p'ple..."
Pete rubbed at his cheek with his thumb, trying to sooth him. Scratch never really talked about his life (or death) before the McGee's in any detail but...well, he'd picked up enough through context clues. Scratch usually only seemed to focus on what the kids would pick up on, not what he was implicitly saying to adult ears.
"Because..." He whispered, softly. Understanding. "People were mean to you first."
Scratch stayed silent for a long while. His eyes didn't meet his and instead focussed on the tears pooling in the palms of his hands.
"...Geoff wasn'..."
In lieu of being able to hug him, Pete wiped his thumb across Scratch's lower lid to catch the growing wave of tears. "Neither was Molly and I don't think you were used to it. That doesn't make you a bad person, though. You just have things to learn." One hand moved up to Scratch's head and he rubbed his fingers along his strange ecto hair in a combination fatherly-hair-ruffle and dog-pet that Scratch seemed to like. "And you've already learnt a lot. We're really proud of you." With a small smile, Pete pulled back to look Scratch more solidly in the eye and gave him a feather light punch in the arm. "You've really come into your own as a McGee."
Scratch's eyes widened, staring into his. For a moment they were both silent, taking in the sentence, but then Scratch eyes start wobbling and shining. His bottom lip began to quiver again and soon a fresh wave of tears were spilling over alongside the most emotional, touched wail he'd ever heard. The ghost buried his face in Pete's palm in an awkward substitute for his chest and he was sure the other would never express this kind of emotion sober. Despite how much his heart swelled at Scratch's joy and his own tears were threatening to form, Pete prepared himself to swear this display to secrecy in the morning. Assuming Scratch even remembered it.
Eventually the ghost pulled away and scrubbed at his eyes, lazily. Despite his coordination looking terrible, he was surprisingly lucid-sounding when he spoke. "Thanks...'Needed that."
"No problem." Pete chuckled. "And y'know..." He waited until Scratch looked at him before continuing, voice kind. "I don't know what you're apologising for, but I'm sure your friend would appreciate a simple 'sorry' as much as a cake."
Scratch let out a small chuckle in return, but it was holding a significant lack of genuine mirth. "Yeah, ituh..." His gaze turned dark again as he looked at the floor and grabbed his arm. "Kin'a everything."
Despite his questions, Pete never pried. Instead he just pulled Scratch's hand away from where it was clutching his arm and assured "Well the same still applies. But if you're really set on this, I can help you bake a new cake tomorrow."
There was silence for a few moments, before Scratch turned to him with wide, disbelieving eyes. "...Yyou'd do 'at?"
"Of course!" Pete tilted his head with a lightly amused tone. "You could have just asked me to begin with." Not that he couldn't hazard a number of guesses as to why Scratch never did, but he hoped the casual tone would relax him. Thankfully, it did, as the ghost then laughed lightly to himself.
"Ok. ...Thanks, Pete."
"No problem." He replied, warmly. Getting to his feet again proved murder on his back, but he managed it and pulled Scratch back up into the air too. "Now let's get you to bed."
"Oh thn'k god..." Scratch groaned, slur already returning to his tone with the sobering moment over. He slung a dead arm over his face. "M'x'shausted..."
Chuckling to himself, Pete helped him slowly up the stairs. "Well you better sleep well so you can clean that kitchen in the morning."
"Aw WHAT?!"
"Sorry, Scratch." He shrugged, hiding his amused smile at the indignation in the ghost’s tone. "It's all part of being a family."
"Uuughh....worsht 'ecision'a my aftalife..."
Neither needed his unconfident tone to know he didn't mean it.