i finished my ghost whisperer au refs for scar and grian !! :)

Skizz was 9 years old the first time he watched Impulse die.

He was just going back to Impulse's room after brushing his teeth when he saw the ghost standing over his friend. He saw Impulse take his last breath. The ghost got him before he could even scream.

But Skizz could scream.

And he did. He cut himself off as he ran away, but he did scream. The ghost drills they did at school taught him to be silent.

He bolted back down the stairs. Impulse's parents were there, already moving to see what was wrong.

"Ghost." He hissed quietly. He flared his wings, cutting them off from the stairs. Impulse was already gone, but maybe he could still save them. They let him herd them back down the hall to their room where they all piled into the closet. Impulse's mother held the door shut while his father held Skizz.

And they waited.

Skizz heard the ghost wander closer. He thought it strange for something with no physical form to have such heavy footfalls. He heard when they finally stopped.

And not even a pair of adult demons could stop him getting back to his friend. Not that they tried. Skizz got there first.

He balled his fists in Impulse's shirt.

Young angels didn't have halos yet. They weren't able to sense souls around them like the adults could. But even Skizz could recognize the absence of the bright warmth he'd come to associate with his best friend.

Impulse was dead.

"No!" Impulse's mother tried to move him, but he refused to let go. "No! Impulse!"

She shifted tactics and just moved to pick them both up together. They retreated again to the closet where she set them down. He laid on top of his friend's body and cried.

If he was an adult he would be able to fix this. He'd be able to find his friends soul. He'd be able to drag it back into place. He laid there crying, as quietly as he could. There was still a ghost.

He just let himself remember.

Impulse was always warm. He was always willing to hold Skizz's hand.

Skizz took a bigger handful of his friend's pajama shirt. He could almost feel the warmth left behind.

He remembered his friend's laughter. He would always laugh at Skizz's jokes. Laugh with him when he got tripped up over his own wings.

He remembered his nerdy rants. Usually about redstone of some form or another. Skizz never understood much of it. But he loved the way his buddy's eyes lit up when he talked about it. How animated he'd become. How much warmer his presence would be.

But he'd never hear it again. Not the laughter. Not the redstone rants. Not the warm soul at his side for the rest of their lives like they'd promised. Best friends forever.

Then Impulse's chest had risen.

Skizz sat bolt upright and stared.

It rose again.

And again.

He looked up to say something, his words dying in his throat again as he saw Impulse's dad shushing him. He'd put his hand over Impulse's mouth then, in case he awoke. The ghost was hunting again.

Skizz looked down and saw the moment his eyes opened, staring back at him somewhat blankly. He saw him look around, take in the closet around them. He watched him stir, getting his father's attention too.

Impulse was alive.

It shouldn't have been possible. But he was looking at his friend. Blinking. Breathing. Moving.

The lights in the closet went out. But Skizz found he could still faintly see. Impulse had startled. He was feeling around like he couldn't.

"Come on." His mother had whispered. She'd again pulled them both into her arms. "Quickly." Skizz cooperated more this time, holding still so he would bea easy to carry. He was just appreciative she didn't try to pull them apart again. He already felt like his heart was going to explode.

Soon enough they were outside, being lowered to the cold damp grass. Impulse's parents both checked him over before his father stepped away to make a phone call.

"What happened?" Impulse finally spoke, his voice sounding like music in his ears. Something in Skizz's chest unwound slightly at the sound.

"Oh sweetie," Impulse's mother was crying now, still running her hand through her son's short hair. "There was a ghost in there. It almost took you from us." She explained somewhat vaguely. Skizz didn't miss her muttered, "Oh thank the gods Skizz was here."

He found he could breath a little easier after hearing it.

Impulse finally looked over to Skizz and then down at his hands which were still tangled in the fabric of his shirt. He didn't think he knew how to free them. He thought his hands may as well have turned to stone.

"Skizz? You ok?"

He nodded slowly. "You're ok?" He worried right back. His honest answer was so dependent on Impulse's right then.

"Yea?" Impulse looked down at himself like he was checking that he was really there. The gesture was just so like himself that Skizz finally felt himself start to relax again. He managed to free his hands only to lunge forward and wrap Impulse up in a crushing hug instead.

He didn't let go, even as his parents pulled up to the house in their car. He could hear the adults talking in hushed, frantic tones. He didn't care one ounce what they had to say right then.

He was only alerted to his mom's approach by Impulse greeting her over his shoulder.

"Hi Impy." She greeted as she sat with them on the lawn. "You feeling ok?"

He felt Impulse nod. "I'm ok."

"Good."

"Skizzy, dove?" She rested a hand gently on one of his wings. He turned his head to look at her. Her eyes were watery and faintly glowing.

"You did so well, Skizz." She praised. "He's ok."

Skizz nodded, but still didn't let go. He could see in his mom's face that she was still worried. Somehow he knew that worry wasn't directed at Impulse. She'd said he was fine. He knew she wouldn't lie to him about that.

"Let's get you boys home." She stood up and offered her hands to them. They fumbled to their feet. Impulse's movements were uncoordinated and slow. And once they were up he slumped into Skizz's side, head wobbling a bit like he couldn't quite figure out what direction was up.

So Skizz merely tightened his grip and lifted Impulse right off his feet to carry him to the car himself. They'd squeezed into the back seat between their mothers. His mother had continued petting his wings slowly as they rode along. Skizz's attention, however, was still fully on his friend.

He'd seen the way his friend had watched the house as they'd driven away. And part of him couldn't help but wonder if he hadn't missed some part of his soul there. But that wasn't how souls worked. And Impulse was alive.

And Skizz swore to himself then that he would keep it that way. Though even then, on some level, he'd already known Impulse wouldn't make it easy.

Love your art!

Jacob(Jackie): You can always join us for a coffee Jesse(Marv): Or just to talk~

Anyone have guesses at the ghost type?

"Tango! Right on time." The sheep bounced happily back into his lab apartment. "You're going to love this one."

Tango followed along to see what his mad scientist of a friend was cooking up this time. His kitchen, as usual was a cluttered mess of gadgets and gizmos and frankly hazardous looking concoctions. It was no wonder the sheep was usually found cooking down in the community kitchen when it came to actual meal times.

"Whataya got?" Tango avoided leaning on the counter as best he could. Surely adding his own fire to the mix couldn't got without some sort of reaction.

"I had this idea for a new ghost hunting weapon. It- oops."

Tango blinked through the small wall of flame that had been flung his way from the weapon. He was fine, being a blaze and all. His shirt however,

"You know if you wanted me to take my shirt off you could have just asked." He teased as the fabric fell to ash around him.

"Ok. That was an… unintended side effect." Zed hedged and stepped up to Tango. "But I can't say I'm upset with the result." He reached to poke Tango teasingly only to flinch away. "Ouchie! Hot!"

"Yea hot!" Tango fired back. "You just blastificated me in the face with a flame thrower."

"It's supposed to fire salt." Zed pouted.

"Well what did you load it with?" Getting fire instead of salt was a little far off the mark, even for Zed.

"Saw dust."

"Right. Of course." The cloud of it had no doubt ignited on Tango's hair and his poor shirt had been the victim. "Well. At least it missed my pants." He laughed.

"We can fix that!" Zed joked, reaching for the device again.

"No no no." Tango swatted his hand away. "You try that and I'll roast you like a marshmallow." He threw his hands out menacingly and Zed let out a peal of bleating laughter as he 'ran' away. Tango caught him easily, actively pulling the excess heat away from his skin so he wouldn't burn his friend.

"Oh no." Zed wailed dramatically. "I've been had."

"You owe me a shirt, mister."

Zed looked at him with a grin. "Mm, maybe later. For now there are experiments to run." He snuggled closer to Tango.

"Oh really." He deadpanned. "And what would those be."