Let Time Restart

“…Oh.” Was his soft reaction, fiddling with the Thing in his hands. Scared? Scared that he couldn’t help. Scared he’s still a bad person. Scared that he did something wrong without even trying. If that was the case, then… “…Then it’s no wonder he got so agitated…” Fear and desperation manifesting poorly, not so much anger that Poltergeist had done something unforgivably wrong. 

He wondered if Will had done something similar before, in his early days as a ghost. Had he, too, experimented with his own abilities? Had it made the fear even worse? Seeing a smaller, younger Will making the exact same mistakes? Maybe. He’d have to ask, once the man was… less reluctant to speak with him. 

“I just scared him…” It was a much nicer idea, and made the mess of emotions in his head feel less like it was pulled too tightly. “So, I should… apologize to him too. When he’s ready.” He added, looking over at her. “I honestly thought I’d done something that even he thought was beyond forgiving. He got so upset so quickly - kinda scared me, to be truthful. The way he was acting, and how he looked-” Grip tightened on the Thing he was holding - but not so much he’d break it. He didn’t want to break it. “I was gonna ask why he had metal bits on him when he was upset, but… I guess he didn’t die too nicely either, huh.” He didn’t expect Clara to answer that one, though.

“...No. No, he didn’t.” She brought her thing down, looking at it with deep thought - and sorrow. What made that worse, was that she knew that wasn’t William’s first springlock incident. It was just the one that took his life. And she couldn’t even imagine the person that everyone else saw, the one that needed to go. The one that had his victims relish - if for a moment, or beyond - in his pain. She only saw a glimpse, once in forever.

While Poltergeist spoke, she stopped to listen. Clara understood where that logic came from. That was why she needed to say something. William wouldn’t - or couldn’t - clear it up himself, so she would. 

Something had changed. Clara had seemed fine before, but now? Now it felt like she was a step away from breaking down. Was it his fault - was she that upset about what he’d done? It made him feel worse, regretting the act even more if it meant he’d hurt Clara like this, this quickly and deeply just from practicing possession.

Then she pulled him back into a hug, causing him to let out a soft, surprised noise. He was okay with it, of course, contact like this was still nice and comforting, but it seemed like Clara was the one that needed it now, more than him. Which had him hugging her back - albeit after a few surprised beats processing what had happened.  His hair, as well, was touched. Fussed with. And it felt nice - made him relax in her hold because gods, when was the last time anyone had done that, when was the last time anyone had done anything like this at all- 

“It - sounds like… like he got hurt pretty bad too, back then.” Poltergeist managed to get out, from his spot hugged in close to her. Guilt guilt guilt he’d caused this he’d made it worse even if only indirectly this was all on him and he hated it- Held her tighter when her control seemed to shatter because what else could he do? 

This was his fault his fault HIS FAULT-

“…Is that why he got so angry?” That… tracked, if so. Panic-anger, rather than the usual kind. Fight-or-flight, almost, but for Will it was probably fight every time. “Because of me, and my- How - w-what I wanted to do. I’m sorry.” Another sorry, even though he felt like it wasn’t quite good enough. “I’m sorry I made it worse…” Because he had, he had made it worse and now Clara was upset too because of him.

“I won’t do it again, not if it- if it hurt everyone this much.” Not exactly a promise, but he felt terrible enough that the idea of ‘practicing’ again made his heart ache, terrified he’d cause worse damage the next time.

How he blamed himself struck at her heart. She didn’t blame him. He didn’t know. And she so desperately wanted him to know that. That while yes, his actions had indirectly caused an effect like this, he shouldn’t be burdened with their feelings and reactions. As he apologized, she just said “no,” repeating it, soft and quiet. 

The hug was nice - contact at all was nice. It was grounding, helped him concentrate and keep his head on straight while she talked. Which itself kind of helped him focus on her and not on Will and Anger and the idea of testing out abilities on the unsuspecting public out in Tokyo.

Hearing that Clara was concerned, though, did send a spike of regret through him. Regret, guilt, a general desire to not have done it even though he didn’t regret the act itself, didn’t quite grasp why he wasn’t allowed to practice something like that beyond her general dislike of him feeding the anger. 

Which… he supposed made sense. Intentional or unintentional, any feeding of his anger was a bad thing. And while unintentionally running off to cause harm was one thing… Hm. Poltergeist supposed he could grasp that, at least.  After all, Clara had said that if he fed that too much, he might lose control - and he didn’t want to lose control. He wanted revenge, yes, wanted it badly, but not so much that he wanted to throw away his self-control.

“…Sorry. The - the anger part, is…” He started, trailing off. Considering his words. “It’s like an itch, kinda. But in my head.” And while sometimes it went away, sometimes it just… got worse, and went from a mild irritation to a burning need to break break break until the itch went away.

And sometimes instead of an itch in one area, it was… all of him. Like that last time he’d gone out, and then come back and proceeded to sleep for over three days straight.

He fought to keep his gaze on Clara when she moved the two of them, moved to hold him and look at him and probably intend for him to look back. He didn’t want to think about Will, though, but at least a question about him wasn’t actually him.

“I… Not a lot. He likes robotics. Liked them before, I think.” Then, remembering how Will looked before, he added- “And… died, involving robotics? I didn’t like seeing that, honestly. Not at all. I’d like to never see that again.” That sort of horror was best reserved for movies or shows, thank you very much. “Why? Is that important for uh… this conversation?”

It didn’t surprise her that he called it an itch. She imagined he was also underplaying how bad it really got. William had his moments, too. Perhaps more often than she knew, but she knew he got them all the same. She’d seen how bad they could get for him. Almost lost him to one of them.

...Dear god, she really hoped that the reason Will had gotten so violently angry earlier - before they even got Poltergeist - was because he saw too much of himself in the younger specter, and that his defense mechanism of turning to rage instead of fear kicked in before they even knew that happened. 

She hated when she didn’t know why Will did something. While she never wanted to excuse his actions, she at least wanted explanations for them.

Not much. Probably nothing about the murders, either. She didn’t want to scare him more than Will already had done. Clara glanced to the ground, gears turning as she thought. “...It is,” she started, looking back at him. “For context.”

Another deep breath, chocked this time. Like she was trying to not cry. Once again, she hugged him. Though was it more for him or her, at this point? One of her hands lightly messed with his hair. And it was hard for her to keep her composer. Of course it was, as she thought about what happened after her early departure. William killed five children, at least. His reasons why were complicated, and many, and they might never truly understand all of them, but he always and readily admitted that it was ‘because he wanted to’. Because he could. Because ‘it’s freeing, isn’t it.’

She couldn’t tell Poltergeist all of that. 

William would’ve, if it came down to it. He never shied away from that fact, even as it tormented him. 

“Dear,” she began, unable to keep her voice from breaking. “I’m terrified cause William... After I died, he did something horrible. I don’t...” Deep breath in. She rested her head against his shoulder. “He needed help I couldn’t give... Needed me when I couldn’t stay... 

“You two...can be so alike sometimes... Your struggles... I...” And there’s the tears she tried so hard not to burden him with. How she gently clutched his hair. Her soft sobs. She hated it, cause she knew she was worrying him. And a kid shouldn’t have to deal with an adult’s feelings. Especially not when he carried so much already.

She wasn’t angry… That was good. A bit doubtful, there had to be some anger in her somewhere, but from the sounds of it there wasn’t nearly as much unhinged rage as Will seemed to have. Though… According to Clara, Will probably wasn’t angry at him either. Or at least, not all of that anger was meant for him.

He’d take that - it was better than thinking Will was just wildly pissed off specifically by the idea of possession.

“I’m sorry.” He says again - this time more for upsetting her than the act of ducking away to do bad things without saying. He still can’t get himself to feel bad about that. Before he continues though, he shrugs off the blanket, and pulls in for said hug - actual contact was better than a thick blanket, after all.  Plus, it gives him a bit of time to consider his answer to her question. Or. consider how he’d word it, at least. Because really, he technically already knows what the answer is.

‘Was he only sorry he got caught’?

“…Mh.” Quiet, noticeably reluctant, but not technically an answer so much as it was a noise. It was a good few minutes before he actively, genuinely, replied - more focused on just holding and contact and feeling better. And, to some degree, gathering the courage to tell a disappointed technically-parent that he had, in fact, wanted to actively hurt people, rather than simply being taken in by a fit of rage. “…Kind of.” Practically whispered, but said, all the same. “I was… excited, to… to test it out. See if it was true. Couldn’t help but think of- of…” He trailed off there, not wanting to say out loud, and hoping Clara would be able to put two and two together. He was excited to figure out new opportunities to hurt Goro. Hurt his ‘friends’.

Admittedly… he still wanted to.

She returned the hug, holding him close and rubbing his back. Though she’d stop if he seemed uncomfortable with that part. Either way, she wasn’t going to let him go unless he wanted to. He clearly wanted - or maybe needed was more appropriate here? - the hug, and the silence, and the gentle patience she had for him and his answer - whatever it may be.

An answer that’s unsurprising, but all the same, not the one she hoped for. 

Clara struggled to keep herself from sighing. Not from anger, but she figured Poltergeist would take it as such. She couldn’t stop herself from taking in a deep breath. But she didn’t move, or tried to push Poltergeist off. “Mm...” Her own noise, one that was hard to read. She must’ve realized that, cause she quickly added “I’m not mad. Just thinking, dear.” so he’d know - hopefully - that her silence wasn’t meant to be a punishment. Nor that she wished to leave him anxious about what she’d do or say.

If he made any move to leave, she’d let him. If he didn’t, then she was clearly content to stay like that for her own minutes-long silence. That was when she sighed, a moment for both of them to prepare. “I have to admit, dear, I don’t understand that desire. The desire to hurt others.” Or, rather, she didn’t understand the desire as it manifested in William - and perhaps Poltergeist, concerningly. 

Oh, she could logically understand it: they both had massive anger - and likely shared control - issues. She’s had her fair share of times she’s been so angry that she could harm someone, too. But she didn’t quite understand why neither of them could let it go, instead letting it linger and grow. Maybe it was how she died - peacefully, and in her right mind. They didn’t get that.

“I get that you’re angry - and you have every right to be. But I’m worried.” Ah, how did she want to continue? She wished she could say with full confidence that despite the brutality, William was trying to stop Poltergeist from a very real, potential danger that she saw. But she couldn’t. Not with the state he was in at the time. 

While extreme, that was the perfect example of why he didn’t usually get involved. 

“It’s...concerning, when you lose yourself to your rage. I understand that’s something you can’t control, and the frustration when you can’t appease it. I don’t expect you to be perfect about keeping it in check.

“What I do expect is that it stays limited to that side. I’m not disappointed because of the action itself,” necessarily. “I’m disappointed cause you intentionally did that. On people, no less. You did it when you didn’t have to. And that scares me.”

He buried deeper under the blanket as she entered - keeping an eye out for any following Williams. When there were no such unwelcome persons, he relaxed a bit - Poltergeist had no desire to talk again with him, at least not right now. Not while he was at risk of seeing Angry Will again. Clara, though - Clara was okay. He liked Clara, she was nice, and relaxing, and really was good at keeping people calm.  He wondered offhandedly if she was good at that in life, too, and if she was tired of meeting people with anger issues. He would be, in her shoes.

“Good. That’s good…” Voice giving away how much that admission made him feel better - practically sighed out as the blanket fell to his shoulders, uncovering his head.  Her offer was contemplated, tumbled around in his head for a moment - perhaps two - as he stared at the floor in front of him, eventually shuffling out from beneath his really-not-that-safe-from-Will-at-all table, and closer to Clara. 

“…Kind of.” Then, after a beat, he added; “Are you mad at me like Will is, or are you just better at hiding it?” He never wanted to see what Clara’s ‘other shape’ was like. Too many bad things would have to happen for him to see that, after all. 

Was she mad? No, not really. Exhausted, and more than a little disappointed, but mad? Maybe she was too tired to be, or she was a lot more understanding. After all, she dealt with William. She knew of his crimes, knew of his worse self. As much as she wouldn’t openly admit it, there wasn’t much anyone could do that was worse than what William had done, intentions and all.

Not that she didn’t have her bad days. 

“No. Extremely disappointed, yes, but not mad. And I don’t think he’s mad at you, either. Not that he wasn’t angry.” Clearly. “But I doubt it’s with you, in the end.”

“It’s just me,” she reassured. Not paying much mind to his ‘not Will’ comment. She expected him to be extremely wary, and he was still a child. 

After a moment, she slowly opened the door and glanced inside. Once she found him, she entered, closing the door behind her, and went to sit near him. In silence, for a few moments, so he could adjust somewhat at his own pace. It allowed her to think about how she wanted to approach this, too.

Go go go find him FIND HIM- ran through his head. A spiral of fury that he hadn’t thought of voicing back ‘home’ with the others, before it had gotten so out of control. And so, here he was - tearing across Tokyo, trying to find the object of his rage. And thankfully - though not to Poltergeist - failing.

He doesn’t pause. Doesn’t hesitate for any longer than it takes to ascertain if Goro is there before blazing off again, leaving slamming doors and flung items in his wake. Until he hears a noise. Not Goro, and not immediately close by, but close enough and familiar enough to make him pause. Twitching, and antsy to get moving again (Goro won’t find himself, after all) but that- that is Clara. Clara isn’t supposed to be here. Not usually. Goro needs to hurt needs to DIE, but- but Clara. Clara who’s yelling his name somewhere in the vicinity. Clara who gets upset when he’s mad. Even though he wants to be mad, wants to hurt Goro until he’s shattered.

The indecision has him twitching in place, venting the fury on at least one nearby window, humming quietly in satisfaction at the sound of the glass breaking into myriad pieces. 

The shatter of glass caught her attention, and perhaps that was best when she didn’t hear anything else. It meant- hopefully- that he stopped, and hadn’t found the poor boy she met so long ago (at least, long to her). She followed the direction until she found him. A sigh of relief escaped. “There you are, dear.”

The ghostly Akira hasn’t stopped. He still runs rampant across Tokyo, leaving evidence both physical and ethereal behind him. He hasn’t found his Goro yet - yet - and the longer he searches, the angrier he gets. For Goro’s sake, one had best hope the young man is never found.

Seeing what damage had been done during the other ghost’s rampage, Clara felt a pang in her heart. As well as a sense of guilt, for not coming to help him immediately. To see anyone she cared about be so consumed by rage broke her heart.