Archive of Our Own

Ashe winces as the eyeliner pencil nearly jabs him in the eye. “Ow.”

“Sorry, sorry.” William pulls his hand back for a second to adjust his grip. His hands feel clammy. Have been since Ashe hauled himself up to sit on his bathroom counter and told him to go crazy with the eyeliner. He’s not even sure if it’s his own sweat or if it’s from the beads of it on Ashe’s forehead that he keeps brushing against. William is... not sure if his body can even produce sweat. Anymore. Can he do that? He knows he can cry. Can bleed, a little, but it’s dark and congealed and rotten and drips out of wounds like syrup. He’s learned that, at least.

It’s... weird. Kind of. Having Ashe here, in front of him, relaxed, eyes closed, almost serene, like—like a corpse. Don’t think about it like that. At least he’s not—not blood red with wild hair and laughing like a maniac. 

He remembers the feeling of claws in his skin, sinew ripping, bones cracking. Takes a deep breath. It’s just Ashe. He’s sitting here on William’s bathroom counter, letting him hold his face in his hands, closing his eyes and allowing him to get really close to put stuff on his face. He’s—fine.

He brings his hand up again, using the other to cup Ashe’s face—gentle, really gentle, a barely there touch just to keep Ashe’s head still enough that he won’t fuck this up—and carefully drags the pencil along Ashe’s eyelash line. It’s kind of clumsy, but it’ll look better when he smudges it out. Hopefully.

“So...” Ashe shifts in his seat a little. His black wings are spread out behind him. They span the entire length of the bathroom and then some, hanging over the edge of the counter, one of them firmly situated half in the bathtub, the other draped over the sink and cramped against the wall. It’s... kind of cool. The wings, he means. They don’t look as ratty as they used to. They used to look—and smell, kind of—like they were going to rot right off his body, covered in dust and dirt and grease all the time. Never took care of them. Couldn’t bring himself to. Seems to be doing better at it now, though, which is good. William’s helped him take care of them a few times, pick out loose feathers, get some of the dirt off. It’s nice when Ashe lets him help with that.

“So, what?” William prompts, switching to Ashe’s other eye in an attempt to make the eyeliner even. He’s so bad at this. It’s been a while since he put eyeliner on someone else. He hopes it doesn’t look too bad.

“Where are we going again?” Ashe cracks his free eye open. A startling purple iris peeks out at him. A weird, otherworldly colour, so deep it almost blends into his pupil, like a black hole in the void of space. William wanted to go to space, once. Dreamed of being an astronaut as a kid. That’s—not really on the table anymore, he thinks. Sure, he could have maybe travelled into space with WATCH if there was some kind of extraterrestrial threat, like... like the meat planet, or whatever, but he’s... not really keen on working with WATCH. Not right now. Whisperer shit comes first. Has to.

“Right, yeah, uh.” William goes back to Ashe’s other eye, partially to make him close it so he’s not looking at him. “You wanted to get back into, like, spirit world stuff, right? Learning about it outside of your...” Book. The book. The one he doesn’t have anymore, the one that made him... yeah. “So I, uh, thought we could take a trip there? Look at some cool shit? Different afterlives and stuff. I can tell you about shit, if you want.”

Ashe hums. “And... it requires makeup?”

William nearly chokes on his words. “Well, I—I was thinking we’d go to a specific one, or something. I can—I can ghost-shape stuff to make us fit in better, but—I don’t know, I thought... makeup might be cool. For this one.” 

He thinks of the last time they went to a concert together. Before the—the Overlord shit. Before Ashe went missing. They did each other’s eyeliner in the Winters’ bathroom, just like this, blasting music loud enough to shatter someone’s eardrums, giggling and singing along like a couple of stupid teenagers. They were stupid teenagers. Still are stupid teenagers, but it’s... different now. 

Ashe hums as William starts using his thumb to blend out the eyeliner. He’s not going for perfect wings here, he’s just trying to make Ashe look a little emo. Hopefully Ashe likes it.

“Whose afterlife are we going to?” Ashe’s breath is warm on his wrist. Usually William’s got sleeves down to his hands, but he’s in an old short-sleeved band tee right now. He can feel it on his bare skin. All these months since he stopped taking his switchblade to his own skin, and he’s still not used to the feeling of not having anything covering his arms. It’s weird. He likes it. Kind of doesn’t at the same time, though. It’s complicated. He’s not gonna think about it.

He’s not sure how to answer that question. Where they’re going is... a little out of their comfort zone? It’s just—something he thought would be fun, a little change of pace, something to kind of gawk over and maybe make fun of a little bit. Ashe likes making fun of stupid things.

“You’ll see.” William pulls back a little to survey his work. “Open.”

Ashe opens his eyes. The eyeliner frames his black hole eyes, making them look bigger, deeper. His dark grey hair falls in his face as soon as William’s hands aren’t there to keep it back. 

William has other makeup, but it’s mostly just varying shades of black and blue eyeshadow. He does have a dark green shade that might contrast with the purple, though. Could maybe smudge that on Ashe’s undereye, lead it into the liner on top. 

He reaches into a drawer and rummages through old toothbrushes, face cream, nail clippers, until he finds a small palette. He flips it open. Most of the shades are old as fuck and super patchy, but they still work for adding a little bit of colour to things. When he’s in the mood for it. Which is rarely. 

He swipes his finger over the barely touched army green shade in there amongst the navy blues and blacks and reaches for Ashe’s face again, steadying his head with one hand. “Look up.”

Ashe does. He blinks as William carefully drags his finger under Ashe’s eye—would be way easier to do this with an eyebrow brush instead of having to really carefully swipe his finger under Ashe’s eye, but he lost his a long time ago and he’s not grabbing his mom’s. 

It is patchy as hell, but it’s visible, and when he pulls back and tells Ashe to look at him—yeah. Yeah, it. It looks good. Makes the purple in his eyes pop. 

“Nice. Nice.” William puts the palette down. “Here, I–I can do mine—”

“I can do it.”

Ashe is tense when he says it. Like—he’s not sure how William will react, like he’s not sure if he should even be offering in the first place. He grips the edge of the counter with both hands, knuckles white. His gaze meets William’s and then he looks away immediately, turning it to William’s ear, his chin, anywhere but his eyes.

William remembers hands in his chest, prying his ribs apart, fingernails scrabbling at the tissue, a voice laughing right behind him in his ear.

He swallows. Nods. “Yeah, yeah, sure.” His voice is an octave higher than it should be. He hands Ashe the eyeliner pencil. 

Ashe—hesitates. For longer than he should. Like he knows what William’s thinking about—what he’s constantly thinking about when Ashe is around, he can’t fucking help it, it’s so hard not to—and doesn’t want to fuck this up. The idea of having those hands on him makes William want to... he doesn’t know. Explode? Maybe?

Ashe is wearing one of those pairs of fingerless gloves William gave him not too long ago. Covers up the scars of the runes on his wrists. It takes literally every ounce of William’s willpower to keep himself from flinching as Ashe’s hand touches his face. He’s... gentle with William. Like he’ll break if Ashe handles him wrong. Which is ridiculous, he’s fine. He’s literally never been more fine in his life. He’s not a piece of glass, thanks Ashe. He can—he can handle a little manhandling.

He shuts his eyes and tries so hard not to wince when Ashe drags the pencil along his eyelash line. It’s slightly dulled from him using it on Ashe.

A thumb presses at his eye, smudging the eyeliner. He tries not to think about the idea of that digit digging into his eyesocket, squishing through his eye, jabbing further and further back until it hits his brain, forcing itself through his grey matter until it cleaves through his neurons and leaves him a mess of gore on the floor of his own bathroom. He’s not thinking about that possibility. At all. The thought—crosses his mind, but he shoos it away and definitely doesn’t imagine it further to the point where he almost wishes it would happen just to get it over with so he’s not sitting here feeling like he wants to vibrate right out of his skin. It’s Ashe, if he wanted to he could do literally anything and William would let him because it’s him.

Ashe’s other hand comes up to touch his face, feather light, turning his head just a little so he can get his other eye. William tries so hard not to tremble like a newborn deer in his grasp. Ashe could stick his hands in William’s chest cavity if he wanted. William would pry his own ribs open just to let him. The concept is both terrifying and awfully, awfully tempting.

His hands pull away and William lets out a breath. Awesome. Easy. Literally all of this is so fine. 

He hears a gentle click and opens his eyes. Ashe has opened the palette and is looking through the colours, brow slightly furrowed. He glances up at William, a silent question. William swallows and nods. He did it for Ashe, it’s—it’s only fair. 

Ashe circles his finger in a bright blue cyan shade, patchy powder clinging to the tip, and then reaches for William again. He looks up, the bathroom lights searing into his retinas, trying so hard not to start shaking. He blinks automatically as Ashe’s finger touches his undereye. Tries so so so hard not to flinch like an abused dog or something. This is—fine. 

He stays so still as Ashe gently drags his fingertip across William’s undereye. Ashe is still holding his head with his other hand. That’s fine. That’s good, actually. Keeps him from... moving. From fucking this up. If he fucks this up, he’s going to be so mad at himself, because Ashe wanted to do the same thing he did for him, and he’s not going to just—just mess it up like some loser, okay?

Ashe pulls away and William feels like all of his blood is going to spill out of him all at once. This is good. Fine. Awesome. It’s fine. Everything is perfect and fine and good and awesome. He’s not thinking about Ashe pressing his thumbs into his eye sockets and ripping his skull in half. Not even a little bit.

He glances past Ashe into the mirror. Looks good. The blue contrasts with his brown eyes. Makes them look darker, sort of, two pitch dark marbles like a dead walleye hanging on someone’s wall. He’s not sure how he feels about that.

He looks away. Back at Ashe. “Thanks.”

Ashe smiles, just a little bit. William thinks of his cheeks stretching, ripping, smiling too wide to be natural, skin reddening and runes glowing on his skin.

He steps back, focusing on Ashe’s hands, the fingerless gloves that cover his wrists, the pale fingers with the nails covered in chipped black polish. “Okay, so... I think we’re ready. If you are?”

Ashe slips off the counter, taking his cane from where it leans against the wall. It’s a good day for him, clearly. Hopping onto the counter without help, not needing William to steady him when he gets down, barely putting any of his weight on the cane. “Yeah. So... where exactly are we going?”

William startles. He almost forgot where it is they’re going. “Right, right. Um, I wanted to take you to... Here, let me just.”

He shuts his eyes and focuses on the wisps. Directing them, asking them if they can do this one thing for him, praying they don’t—don’t decide to be silly this time and take full control of what William’s asking them to make for him and do something stupid instead. They do that a lot. Less so nowadays, ever since... yeah. But they still do sometimes. Just to fuck with him. They think it’s funny, or whatever.

He feels something cold was over him, like a chill down his spine, and opens his eyes. The wisps are cooperating, thank god. They’ve been a lot better about working with him instead of being purposely obstinate ever since... he needs to stop thinking about it. It’s fine. Everything is fine.  

Ashe looks down at himself with wide eyes at the outfit that’s formed itself over him. It’s some fancy looking long waistcoat over a shirt with an elegant ruffle in it, like something from the 1700s way back on Earth. The pants go all the way down to his shoes, which probably isn’t even historically accurate, but whatever, it’ll work. Keep them blended in, sort of. It does glow a spectral blue, but he silently asks the wisps to tone it down until the coat is just a flat dark blue. No, it’s green now. Why is it green? Could the wisps always do that? Change their colour?

Ashe looks up at William, slightly confused. William’s wearing pretty much the same thing, but his is still blue, and it doesn’t want to stop glowing just a little bit, no matter how much he asks. “What’s this for?” Ashe reaches up to touch the ruffles on the shirt and blinks when his hand passes right through. Making the clothes intangible but still attached to their own clothes was a good idea—this shit would not be comfortable otherwise. 

“Uh... here.” William ghost-shapes two more things and hands one to Ashe. “We’ll need these.”

Ashe furrows his brow as he takes it—a mask. Like the kind of shit that would be worn at a masquerade, decorated with little jewels and fancy filigree. The gems on his are green again. Weird. 

Ashe looks back up at him, a confused but excited smile spreading across his face. William feels like he’s going to explode at the sight of it. “Where are we going?”

William draws a circle in the air with his finger and a portal appears in the wall. It’s not as effortless as it looks; he has to focus just to keep it open, and the wisps that make up their outfits jitter a little as he has to split his attention. “Somewhere fun,” he says, putting on his mask as he walks backwards into the portal. He hopes that he looks as cool as he’s trying to make himself look. He probably doesn’t.

Ashe looks down at his mask. He pulls it on and follows after William, cane in hand. 

The spirit world feels cold, in a way. There’s no heat source really, no sun, no living people. But it’s not freezing. It’s more... temperate, sort of, but in a way that makes a person want to wrap themselves in a jacket because it’s just a touch too chilly to be comfortable. Ashe shivers a little and reaches through the glowing spectral outfit to pull his sweater tighter around him. 

William turns to face their destination. He clears his throat. “So, uh... welcome to the place where old fancy rich people go when they die.”

Ashe blinks behind his mask, staring up at the elegant mansion they’ve found themselves in front of. It’s the centre of an imposing scene, jet black clouds gathering above like an oncoming storm, obscuring the endless grey sky of the spirit world, fog drifting along the ground, surrounded by crooked, leafless trees. The sound of water lapping on a shore meets his ears, coming from every direction; this is just one island in a sea of many, each of which house countless unique spirits. This one is rather small in comparison to others, but that doesn’t mean it has any shortage of ghosts. 

“Woah.” Ashe stares up at the inky black clouds, the dim yellow light from the windows casting shadows across his face. William’s almost glad he’s wearing a mask. Otherwise, the shadows would make his cheeks look hollow, his eyes look sunken, skeletal, and that—William doesn’t want to think about that. “Why are we here specifically? Like, at this one?”

William shrugs. “I don’t know, I—I looked around here earlier, and it seems relatively safe and kinda cool, so... I thought it might be fun?” He’s so fumbling this. He just—it’s weird, bringing someone here again. Usually he does his Whisperer business... alone. He’s not used to having a friend with him.

He steps back so he’s next to Ashe and holds his arm out, hoping he looks more confident than he feels. “Should—shall we?”

Ashe looks at his offered arm. He snorts and passes his cane to his other hand so he can link his arm with William’s. There’s a smile on his face. Not uncannily wide like William almost expects to see, just... normal. A normal Ashe smile, small and a little crooked. It’s good. Nice.

They walk up to the steps, Ashe leaning some of his weight on William. He does his best to support him—he’s not nearly as steady as Vyncent or as strong as Dakota, but he’s better than nothing. Not by much, with his one short leg and perpetual limp, even with his one platform to even out his gait. Ashe would probably be better just using his cane. He’s not gonna tell him that though; Ashe can literally do whatever the fuck he wants. He could stab William and there would probably be a good reason for it. Not—not that he would want Ashe to do that, that would be... weird, surely, but. He could.  If he wanted.

Ghosts wander around the doors, each one in elaborate old outfits with fancy gold embroidery and matching masks, hairdos that are perfectly curled and piled high on their heads, glittering jewelry that’s probably worth more than William’s entire bank account. Each of their faces are obscured by full-face masks, each one more elaborate and lavish than the last, with feathers that curl perfectly up around their heads, jewels that glint in the light that pours out from the few windows. Some of them linger and mingle on the steps, visiting, although none of them... actually speak. They just motion with their hands, make vague gestures, nodding and miming laughing as if they’re actually speaking aloud. Maybe they are. Maybe William and Ashe just can’t hear them. Who knows? William sure fucking doesn’t. He hopes Ashe doesn’t ask.

The ghosts turn to look at them as they approach, halting their silent conversing to just stare. He can’t see their eyes even through the eyeholes of their masks; it’s just black void behind each of them, as if there’s nothing there at all. Unsettling. They part for the two of them like the sea, like there’s an aura around the two of them that they don’t even want to touch, or—or like they respect them, or something, but that’s stupid. They can probably smell the living world on Ashe and want to avoid him like the plague. That’s gotta be it. 

The two of them enter the building arm in arm, like a couple of important historic lords, or something. He’s not sure he likes the featureless looks from the ghosts here. Makes him... uncomfortable. Like being escorted to the principal’s office after making a scene in class. Walking along, being watched by everyone, not knowing what they’re thinking but knowing they’re thinking something.

Ashe’s mouth falls open when they step inside. “Woah.”

The doors lead directly into a lavish open ballroom, elegant curved staircases trailing up either side to a balcony overlooking the floor. A glass chandelier hangs from the ceiling, casting a warm light on the room, emphasized by the lit candelabras around the walls, flickering gently. Dozens of ghosts twirl around the floor in a seemingly rehearsed routine. Each one dances with a partner, all moving perfectly in tandem with the other pairs, not a single step out of place. There’s a band playing at the other end of the room, playing a hauntingly slow waltz, the notes lingering just a touch too long, warbling slightly in a way that almost makes him feel like it’s in his bones.

“This is—whose afterlife again?” Ashe asks, looking around. William can see the green makeup through the eyeholes of his mask, making his eyes shine an even more vivid purple. 

“Uh, as far as I know, this is where rich aristocrats go. Like, usually ones from the twentieth century and before.”

“Like, from back on Earth?”

“Yeah, before humanity established themselves on Prime.” He didn’t think the questions would start so soon. He didn’t prepare anything to talk about, he just—wanted to show this to Ashe, maybe make fun of the rich ghosts and their outfits and dancing a little bit, but—he did come her to teach Ashe, fuck, he’s got to say something. “All these people lived on Earth instead. Or, most of them I think? There might be a few newer rich people who went to shit like this and were considered alike enough to the rest of them to spend their eternity here. I don’t know where the newer ones would be, but there have to be a few fancy rich people from Prime here, at least. I—I think they’re all dressed like this, though. With the fancy old outfits.”

He’s just making guesses. He has no idea if anyone from the past century would be here, but there has to be, right? He doesn’t see anyone dressed in anything more modern, though. The idea of all of these being old centuries old ghosts makes him nervous. They’ve probably seen countless Whisperers already. Do they know he’s the Whisperer? What are they thinking of him?

Ashe hums, taking in the extravagant room, the ghosts dancing and twirling in perfect unison. He watches as a couple passes by, arm in arm, both of them staring directly at him through the blank holes of their masks. “Freaky.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s, uh... this one is weird.” Maybe this wasn’t the right afterlife to take Ashe to for a first trip into the spirit world since getting... un-Trickstered. Maybe somewhere else would have been nicer, like—maybe the NASCAR drivers’ afterlife again, or he could have taken the extra time to find an afterlife for old dead emo bands, or there was that one afterlife that was literally just a huge arcade, but the idea of bringing Ashe to that one made him uneasy somehow, and he’s still not entirely sure why. “Sorry, um, if this is... too much, we can—”

“No, no, what? This is so cool, man!” Ashe turns to beam at him. “This is like some horror movie shit, it’s awesome! Can—can we—” He points up at the balcony. 

William shakes off his surprise, hoping Ashe didn’t notice his hesitance. “Yeah, yeah! Uh, yeah, come on.”

They make their way to the stairs. Ghosts part for them, staring. He can’t tell whether they’re looking at him or Ashe. Probably Ashe, because he’s alive and William and these ghosts are... very much not. Or maybe his half-assed ghost-shaped outfits don’t fit in as much as he thought. He’s not sure what the case is, but whatever the reason, it unsettles him. A lot. Moreso than when almost any other ghosts look at him, mostly because he can’t even see the faces of these ones. Can’t tell what they’re thinking, if anything at all. 

Ashe’s grip is strong, holding onto William’s arm. Stronger than usual. Definitely a good day for him pain-wise. Even his wings are moving more than they typically do, lifting a little as he walks, gently moving forward as if they want to flap, take off, fly. He wonders if Ashe even could fly with those, like the Trickster could. Has he tried? He’s not going to ask, but he is curious. Maybe another time.  

He helps Ashe up the steps. Ghosts move out of their way to let them up ahead of them. William wants to ask them why, but he’s not even sure they would understand him. None of them have said a word to either of them or even each other. Makes the entire room feel quiet, the ghosts’ footsteps not making any noise, no chatter filling the air. Just the music, and Ashe and William’s own voices and footsteps on the marble.

William’s glad he’s making noise too, that he’s tangible. If it was just Ashe, he’d feel... Weird. Like he’s—like he’s one of them. The ghosts. Kind of is, if he thinks about it, but he doesn’t want to think about that. His footsteps make sounds and his voice carries in the air despite how quiet it is. He’s... here. With Ashe. Mostly alive. Kind of. He’s not one of these dead-eyed ghosts. Not... not yet. Won’t be for a long time, if he has anything to say about it.

They reach the top of the steps and Ashe hurries over to the edge of the balcony, tugging William along beside him, arms still linked, tucking his cane under his other arm so he can grab the railing without letting go of William. Ashe’s hand is warm on his bare skin, phasing through the ghost-shaped clothes to grip his arm. He can feel the scratchiness of Ashe’s fingerless glove, the soft sleeve of his sweater. He’s warm. Alive. God, he’s alive. He shouldn’t be here with the ghosts. With William. 

Ashe leans over the railing, looking down at the spirits dancing below. “How do they all know how to dance?”

Shit, he should have an answer, right? “Uh... they’re all in the same afterlife, so it makes sense they would know a lot of the same things. They probably know this dance from their lives, or if they didn’t know it before, they learned it when they came here.”

“Do they just dance all the time forever?”

“Probably. Well, there are some ghosts that aren’t dancing, so they probably switch off, I think. Maybe they do other dances, too.”

Ashe points at the band, directly below the balcony. “What about the band? Do they ever switch out?”

William scrambles for an answer. “Uh, yeah, yeah, they—do. I think. I mean, they can’t be the only fancy dead band that’s destined to play at fancy dead rich people parties for eternity, right?” That makes sense, yeah. He’s going with that.

“Does the band play anything other than this?”

“Do you want them to?” William’s not sure why he’s offering. He’s not sure he could make them play something else if he wanted to. He may be the Whisperer, but it’s not like he has full command over every spirit he sees. Still, if Ashe wants something different, he’ll do his best to make it happen. Make a request or something, if the band takes them.

“No, no, I like this.” Ashe gazes down at the band, their haunting tune drifting through the air. “Just curious.” He leans a little further over the railing and watches the band with rapt attention. William tightens his arm around Ashe’s. He doesn’t want him to lean too far and fall. 

“So, how do you decide who goes to what afterlife?” Ashe turns his head to look at William. 

William splutters. “Wh—I don’t decide, they just—they just go there, I don’t... I don’t really—” He doesn’t... have a lot of experience in the whole helping souls move on thing. Duck is the one who usually escorts souls across—William doesn’t know how he does it, there’s only one of him. Maybe he can find Duck sometime and ask? “I’m... not really sure. I think... Duck brings them in and drops them off wherever they need to go. I don’t know if he makes the decision, or if their afterlife just appears before them when he takes someone here, or if something else decides.”

Ashe hums. “Why is the afterlife divided like that? Does everyone have to spend eternity in one place forever?”

It... used to be like that. Strict borders between each of them. William knows that. Duck has told him a little bit, about—about Mallard Conway, Ghoul, the way he enforced the borders, and then—the Trickster happened, the Array, breaking loose and possessing Ashe, and the borders got blurry, and things changed, and now... William’s here. He’s not sure if it’s part of his job to maintain those borders anymore. Maybe people should be allowed to explore the afterlife more, go places they never would have thought to go in life, learn new things. But if they do, there’s always a chance they could cross into the rest of the spirit world, and with places like Mal’s mansion and the Carnival of Souls around... that might not be the best idea. Risky. Dangerous for everyone involved. He’s not sure yet, how he wants to... wrangle that. Doesn’t want to do what Mal did. Doesn’t really know what else to do, though.

“I don’t know,” William says truthfully, because that’s... a lot to try to put into words, to try to summarize in a concise, not-confusing way. “I think... it was done to keep things organized? Keep... keep the chaos at bay, keep ghosts from wandering into any dangerous places.” 

He doesn’t mention the Trickster, his building theories on how the Array might have been the original reason for the excessive separation in the first place, the chaos they brought across the spirit world, how he thinks the first Whisperer might have had to separate things for the ghosts’ safety, how after Clarence—died? disappeared?—Mal’s been upholding it all in the Whisperer’s stead. He needs to learn more about all this, about the Array, the Chaos Zone, previous Whisperers, make some concrete discoveries, talk to someone who knows, but... the only person who would know is now the Array’s new host, so. Not much luck to be had there. And the only other reliable source of information would have been Ashe’s book, but hey! That’s gone too! He’s kinda shit outta luck here! 

He could be totally wrong on all of that. He could just be connecting the dots wrong. There’s so much he’s missing, so many little bits and pieces about the spirit world that he doesn’t know and has no idea how to figure out, unless he’s pestering Duck every second of every day, and neither of them want that. Duck probably doesn’t know as much as William hopes, anyway. He’s told William a fair bit, but there’s got to be a limit to both his knowledge and his patience. William hasn’t found either limit yet, but he’s certain to hit it eventually.

Ashe doesn’t say anything, just keeps watching the band. He’s gently bobbing his head to the music. There’s really not much of a beat to bob it to, just slow, melodic notes, but Ashe could find something to groove to in just about any music. Even shit like this. 

William looks around at the other partygoers. He can feel their gazes on him and Ashe, relentlessly staring. The ones that wander around the balcony snap their heads over to look at them as they pass, turning almost a hundred and eighty degrees to keep their eyes on them until they leave Ashe and William’s general radius. He has no doubt that if the two of them walked down there and waded into the throng of dancers, every single one would stare at them, twisting their necks at impossible angles while spinning around with their partners, just to look at Ashe the entire time. The living person intruding on their party. 

Ashe doesn’t... belong here. He’s not possessed by the Trickster anymore. He’s not a demon, despite what the wings on his back and the runes in his skin and the broken nubs from the horns on his forehead might suggest. He’s smiling, his face bright, dark grey hair freshly washed this morning—a rare occurrence for Ashe, but it’s a good day for him. He’s... getting better. Slowly but surely, even though somedays he still ends up stuck in bed and rotting away until someone physically drags him out of it. He’s alive.

He shouldn’t be learning about the spirit world. Shouldn’t want to. He’s not like William, who has to do this shit, who’s basically fucking contractually obligated by means of being chosen by the wisps. Ashe got out of the Array’s clutches, he lost the book, he’s free, he—he should be focusing on life, not... not this. Not death.

Ashe pushes off the railing and steps back. William goes with him, arm still linked with his. Ashe turns to look at him, dark eyes under his mask glinting in the light, like twin black holes. 

“Do you want to dance?” he asks. 

William feels like his unbeating heart is going to leap into his throat and crawl its way out of his mouth. There’s something light in Ashe’s tone—something light, hopeful, but hesitant, like he’s not sure if William will say yes, if that’s even the right thing to say or ask in this situation. He wonders how Ashe feels about all this, being here with William in the land of ghosts, knowing he easily could have been one of these spirits had things gone just a little bit sideways, if things had gone wrong, if they hadn’t managed to push through and get the Trickster out of him.

William takes a deep breath. Shoves that thought out of his head in favour of focusing on the question Ashe has just asked him. William is... not a good dancer! Not with one of his legs being shorter than the other and his overall abysmal bodily coordination. But—they are at a dance, or a ball, or what the fuck ever it’s called. So... maybe he should? Say yes? He wants Ashe to have fun for once, and if Ashe wants to dance... fuck it, fuck it, he’ll make his best god damn effort. He’s not saying no to Ashe, not when he’s made this entire trip for him in the first place. Ashe spent a year possessed, if he wants to dance now, he’s going to get to fucking dance.

He musters up a smile, trying not to make it look like he’s about to piss himself from how nervous he is about looking like an absolute fool in front of one of the coolest people he’s ever known. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Let’s, uh... you wanna go down?”

“Yeah.” Ashe nods at the stairs, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Lead the way.”

Awesome, yeah, William can do that. He keeps his back as straight as possible, shoulders back, trying to—trying to do his best to be the picture of elegance and poise, because they’re at a fancy fucking ball and if he trips and eats shit on the stairs he will probably die for—what, the fifth time now? But out of embarrassment this time, which is objectively the worst way to die ever. Worse than—than being ripped in half, probably. At least that wasn’t entirely his fault. If he did something stupid and died from embarrassment, that’s completely on him.

He leads Ashe over to the stairs, trying so hard not to trip or anything. He’s so good at this. He looks so cool and calm and collected, surely. 

They descend the staircase arm in arm, Ashe tucking his cane under his arm to hold onto the railing. William tries not to look at the other partygoers as they twist their necks to stare at Ashe. Tries not to look at Ashe himself, because he doesn’t need more pairs of eyes looking at him right now. Is it making him nervous? Should William ask? If he asks them to stop staring, will they?

He and Ashe step onto the dance floor. Ghosts part for them, and he tries so hard not to wither under their gazes. They’re not even looking at him, they’re just looking at Ashe, he thinks. He doesn’t need to worry about it. Feels kind of bad for being relieved that they’re looking at Ashe and not himself. Ashe probably feels weird about it. Nervous, probably. He’s never been super social. Terrible with crowds. How is he so calm right now? Does he think they’re all looking at William? Shit, are they?

He stops when they’re in the middle of the floor. The rest of the ghosts all dance around them, twisting their necks to look, like the single living person in the room is more important than anything else. Why are they all looking at Ashe so much? Is it just because he’s the only alive one here, or can they still sense the residual chaos on him?

William hasn’t visited many afterlives since then. It’s mostly just been... wandering the spirit world in general, the in-between spaces, guiding lost stragglers to where they need to be, closing up random holes that have opened into the real world, taking care of the occasional chaos spirit. He really should visit the specific afterlives more often. Make sure all the spirits are okay. It’s just—hard. Doing that. Thinking about how he could have—would have been one of those ashy ghosts wandering aimlessly through his assigned eternity if he didn’t just get fucking lucky and come back. 

Ashe unlinks his arm from William’s and takes a few steps back. He sticks his cane to a little hook on his hip to free up his hands. Mark probably made it for him, or something. “Okay, so... how do we do this?”

William looks around at the ghosts dancing and twirling across the floor in perfect synchronization. They’re all still staring at the two of them. It... almost looks like they’re staring at him specifically, instead of Ashe, but that’s—that’s stupid, Ashe is the odd one out here. William isn’t—he’s not important, he’s no different from the spirits, he belongs here. Ashe doesn’t. 

He tears his gaze away from them and turns back to Ashe. He’s staring at William too. His eyes look almost black, a dark bruised purple shadowed behind his mask. 

William swallows. “Uh... I don’t really know.” He’s... never really danced before. Kind of did during Ashe’s birthday party, the one they threw for him months ago even though it wasn’t his real birthday. But that was—that was different. That was in Tony’s, with just the four of them. This is...

He takes a deep breath. He doesn’t need to, but it’s something that makes him feel alive, better, even though he doesn’t need the air.

He reaches out and takes Ashe’s hand. Tugs him closer, just enough to see the purple in Ashe’s black hole eyes. He lets go to reach out to take Ashe’s right hand with his own instead, pressing their palms together, like he’s seen the rest of the dancers do. Kind of maneuvering around so they’re both standing next to each other, facing opposite ways, hands held up at head level between then two of them, palms pressed together, so they can just like—walk around each other, circling each other, kind of. He saw the other dancers doing that a bit. It’s... a start, right?

The other dancers stop twirling and immediately mirror what William and Ashe are doing. Circling each other, hands together. Shit, now William doesn’t have any guidance, anything to copy. How does this kind of thing work? He doesn’t know how to fucking dance. 

Ashe is watching him with rapt attention as he walks around William. Following his lead. He probably doesn’t know how to dance either. Alright, okay, William’s taking the lead here. For Ashe and for all these ghosts, apparently. Why are they copying him? He doesn’t like that. They shouldn’t be doing that. 

He puts his free hand behind his back as he and Ashe slowly walk around each other, trying to keep his shoulders straight, hoping he looks like he knows what he’s doing. Ashe is a touch taller than him, maybe by about an inch, but William feels like—like everyone can see him, like he’s on a fucking stage and everyone including Ashe is looking at him just to see what he’s going to do next. Like he’s standing up at the front of the class with a presentation he hasn’t been able to remember the beats to and he can’t look at it to read right off it or he’ll get in trouble. 

He stops and turns on a dime, holding up his other hand. Ashe follows suit, whipping around with much more grace than William ever could, wings swooshing behind him, drifting against the ghostly floor. Or—not grace, really. Just... a lot more control than William could have with his fucked up gait. Ashe smiles at him, a little shaky, but genuine. He’s having fun, then. Probably.

William smiles back. It probably looks ten different kinds of nervous. He hopes it doesn’t.

The other ghosts follow their lead and whirl around and start circling each other the opposite way. Ashe locks eyes with him. His gaze is the only one William focuses on, ignoring the dark stares from every single ghost in their vicinity. His eyes look just as terrifying, just as empty as the ghosts, but there’s a gleam in them that’s so... alive.

It’s... so weird. Having him here. His palm warm against William’s. His eyes dark and gleaming in the light instead of staring wide with narrowed inhuman pupils and bloodshot scleras. Months ago, William never thought he would have Ashe back. Never get to see this Ashe again.

He links his fingers with Ashe’s. Very slowly and clumsily, he moves their arms so he’s twirling Ashe—or, just really slowly turning him. Twirling is not in the cards. Ashe’s wings would smack him and one of them would trip and eat shit or something and it would not be nearly as cool as it should be. 

Ashe follows his lead and slowly spins under William’s arm, ducking a little bit with a small laugh, until they’re both back in their previous position. The ghosts around them all follow suit, much more graceful than either of them could ever hope to be. 

“I think we’re bad at this,” Ashe whispers. His hair falls over his mask and in his face. William wants to run his fingers through it, just to feel it. Not—not like, in the way he wants to with Vyncent, god no, that’s different, he can’t even begin to imagine feeling that way about Ashe, it’s just... he didn’t think he’d get this. Get to see Ashe smiling and having fun again. He wants to hold him close and never let him go again, which is stupid because Ashe can literally take care of himself.

William snorts. “Yeah, yeah, maybe.” He tries not to look at the ghosts around them, just Ashe. The spirits don’t matter. He’s here for Ashe, not them. “Do you... know how to dance? Like, at all?”

“No, I’ve never really... danced at all before. Ever.” He shrugs one shoulder as the two of them circle around each other. “Unless you count headbanging. Or like, Dakota flinging me around in Tony’s.”

He remembers that, Ashe’s surprised and elated screeching as Dakota took him by the hands and spun him around like he weighed almost nothing. He thinks Ashe had fun that day. He hopes so. 

“I think headbanging counts.” William turns again, and Ashe is a millisecond behind him, turning in sync with him so they can switch hands. “It’s, like, moving on beat with something. Right?”

Ashe snorts a little. “I guess if that’s your only requirement for what qualifies as dancing.” He stumbles a little, nearly rolling his ankle. He grimaces. He might be hurting now. He’s been on his feet for a while.

William hesitates. He can make this easier for the both of them—he’s not in sync here, his short leg being on the outside of their circle right now is not helping either of them.

He focuses on the wisps. Even if he can’t see them, there’s always some around wherever he is, invisibly hanging out or lingering between the border of the living world and the spirit world. He calls for them, asking politely, making a quiet request, hoping they listen and that they won’t decide to be little shits to him and fuck all of this up. 

Blue flames flicker around their feet. Ashe looks down, eyes widening, as the wisps attach themselves to his feet, lifting him up off the ground. William follows, hovering—he doesn’t need to use the wisps for that himself, lifting himself into the air on his own, still holding Ashe’s hand. 

Ashe looks up at him, the blue fire reflecting in his eyes, making them look almost indigo, the blue light turning the gentle green of his ghostly outfit into a soft teal. He beams. William doesn’t even care about the other ghosts around them. Ashe being here in front of him is way more important than being stared at by a bunch of souls he doesn’t even know. 

He pulls Ashe in closer and twirls him again. Ashe laughs, wings spreading out, smacking into William and passing right through a bunch of other spirits on the outskirts of their little circle. William’s always liked his laugh—sounds almost like he’s just hiccupping repeatedly, a bunch of short inhales that wheeze in his chest. He’s missed the sound of Ashe’s laugh, his real laugh, not the wild cackle the Trickster used his voice for. 

Ashe’s wings flutter, like they think he’s in flight now that Ashe’s feet aren’t touching the ground. They... they still look a lot like the Trickster’s. Obviously. They were the Trickster’s wings. But... it’s different, now. It’s been months. He doesn’t feel like he’s going to crawl right out of his skin at the very glimpse of a black feather. 

He remembers the beating of those wings, slow and steady, right behind him, as claws dug into his chest. 

He grips Ashe’s hand tighter and pulls him in for another spin. Ashe nearly knocks him over with his wings, but William doesn’t care. It’s Ashe. He’s here.

Ashe grins and takes William’s hands in both of his. Moves to twirl William instead, taking over the lead. Okay, yeah, that’s good, that’s fine. William twirls under his arm, smiling a little despite himself. Okay, yeah, this is kind of fun. He’s bad at it, yeah, but so is Ashe, and at least they’re bad at it together.

Ashe pulls him back in, biting his lip in concentration. He kind of spins William around once, like he’s getting a feel for his weight, and then—

Oh jesus fuck, Ashe is dipping him. Bad idea, they’re going to fall and absolutely eat shit on the floor—

A few wisps dart out to support William’s shoulders as he leans back. Ashe’s grip is strong for once, one arm around William’s back, the other clutching William’s hand a bit too tight, enough to almost hurt. He tries not to wince.

The glow from the chandelier frames Ashe’s head in a halo, casting shadows over his face, making his eyes look beetle black behind his mask. His hair falls down in a curtain around his face, narrowing most of William’s vision to just him. William grips Ashe’s hand as tight as he’s holding William’s. Probably digging too tight into the skin under his glove. Is that okay? Is Ashe okay with that?

Ashe is smiling. Bright, wide, happy, like the sun. William’s breath catches in his lungs, the breath he doesn’t need, but inhaling is—like instinct, now. He wants to... cry, maybe. Ashe is alive. Holy shit, he’s alive.

Ashe’s grip slips a little. He scrambles to grab William and pull him back up. The wisps help him, pushing him up until they’re standing face to face again.

He swallows. Ashe’s hand is tight in his. Ashe spins him again, and he goes easily, letting Ashe do what he wants, guiding him this time. It’s... fuck, it’s more terrifying than it should be. Putting himself in those hands that once had themselves in his open chest cavity, prying apart his ribs with the sickening crunch of breaking bones and tearing gristle. It may not be the Trickster behind those hands anymore, but they’re still the same ones. But—Ashe now, he wouldn’t—he’d never let that happen, never dig his nails through William’s lungs. William would let him though, if he truly wanted to. Ashe would never rip him apart. He could put his entire physical heart in Ashe’s hands and be totally fine.

His hand slips out of Ashe’s as he spins and he goes flying a little, ghosts moving out of the way until he coasts to a stop. Ashe stares after him, smiling as he watches him go.

The ghosts around them keep staring. At William. 

They haven’t been looking at Ashe at all, just—just him. 

Just William. Why? He—he belongs here, he’s—why do they care? Why are they watching him? 

He tears his gaze away from Ashe to turn and look at the rest of them, in the centre of this little clearing they’ve cleared out on the dance floor just for him. They’ve all stopped dancing now that William has. They’re all looking. Every last one. Even the band, even the ones up on the balcony, even the ones just walking in the door.

They’re keeping a wide berth around him, like they don’t want to touch him—like they can’t, maybe. He’s not sure. 

They’ve been keeping a distance. Is it fear? It can’t be, they’ve been... copying him. Taking his lead. He—no, it’s—it’s not respect. It wouldn’t be. That’s not—he’s not someone to be respected, he’s just... William. It doesn’t matter that he’s also the Whisperer, that’s not like—like some big, important thing. He’s just some guy.

“Will?”

He whips his head back around to Ashe. He’s got a hand in his hair, pushing it back to reveal his face, still covered by that mask, still with those big dark eyes. He’s looking at William, his smile faltering. 

William feels like a jolt of electricity runs through his entire body. Ashe’s eyes are—so similar to those of the ghosts. Dark, piercing, infinite. The nubs of broken horns on his forehead stick out from behind his mask. His wings are splayed behind him, the horned joints sharp, like they could pry themselves in between someone’s bones and rip them open. His ghostly outfit flickers, revealing his sweater, the collar low enough to show the scars of runes burned onto his neck. 

William looks back at the ghosts around them, staring with their pitch black void eyes. What do they see when they look at him? Someone... important? He doesn’t know. Not sure he wants to know. Hates that they could see someone important standing here. He’s just William.

He turns back to Ashe. He’s not smiling anymore, staring at William with his brow furrowed in concern. Ashe frowning is worse than the smiling. More Trickster-ish, with its weird little mood switches.

William reaches up and takes off his mask, dropping it to the floor. As soon as it lands, it bursts into wisps that scatter around the room, dissipating into the air as if it was never there. His fancy ghost-shaped outfit disappears with it, wisps floating off his form, drifting around him, hovering, and then they disappear. They’re still there—he can feel them, their presence, invisible and standing by in case he needs them again. Waiting for him to ask them for something. Waiting for the Whisperer to give them something to do.

“Can we go home?” His voice trembles. He hopes Ashe doesn’t hear it. Knows that’s a tall order.

Ashe nods without missing a beat, without hesitating, his wings relaxing, falling to his sides. “Yeah, yeah. We can.”

William lets out a shaky breath in relief. When did he even inhale? He’s not sure. Has he just been holding oxygen in his lungs for a hot minute? How long has he been doing that?

He holds out a hand. Ashe walks out of the throng of ghosts, passing right through a couple that have frozen with their palms pressed together. He takes William’s hand and starts walking—well, drifting, he’s still floating—to the door. William follows without protest. His hand feels clammy. No, that’s just Ashe’s. He can’t... produce sweat of his own anymore. Probably. Knows he can produce tears and blood. Doesn’t know about much else.

Spirits give them a wide berth as they pass through. Give William a wide berth. They don’t care about Ashe. They should. It’s a fucking miracle he’s alive. They should care, should be looking at him in awe, giving him space, celebrating him. William’s just—just William. 

He lets go of Ashe’s hand to push the doors open. Ashe gives him a smile, shaky, nervous, and William just—just walks through the doorway, down the steps, and Ashe follows. The wisps let go of their form and his ghostly outfit disappears, leaving Ashe in just his hoodie and jeans, and he nearly trips as the wisps on his feet let him go, dropping him to the ground. The doors swing shut behind them, the light from inside disappearing, leaving them in a murky, foggy darkness with only a few beams of light from the windows to see each other.

“William?” Ashe unhooks his cane from his belt and leans on it as he steps closer to him. Limping a little. Probably pushed himself too far tonight. Will definitely pay for it in spades tomorrow pain-wise. William tries not to feel bad about that. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m—I’m great, don’t worry, just...” He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He can still hear the music from inside, wafting out through the windows, haunting, echoing through the empty space around them. “Just... I don’t know, a big fancy ball seems a little out of our wheelhouse.”

Ashe hums. He knows William is lying about the reason he’s acting weird. He has to know, he’s Ashe, he’s smart, he can tell. Is he going to say something about it? William hopes not. He doesn’t want to explain all of—all of that to Ashe. He doesn’t need to carry William’s baggage alongside his own. 

Ashe shoved his hands in his pockets. Glances back at the door, then forward to the infinite watery expanse that marks the edge of the island. “So... you wanna go home?”

He does. But he was supposed to be showing things to Ashe, he can’t—he shouldn’t just bail. 

Ashe walks up to him, grimacing at the pain in his legs from walking up and down the stairs and dancing and staying on his feet for so long, and stops next to him. Gently nudges him in the side with his elbow. “This is a bit much,” he says with a snort. “Definitely out of our comfort zone, yeah. Pretty different crowd from that concert we went to.”

William lets out a harsh exhale that might be a half laugh, he’s not sure. Part of him is surprised Ashe even remembers the concert they went to before the Overlord shit went down. “Yeah, yeah. Probably, uh... not the kind of people to be in a mosh pit, you know?”

“God, no. I think all these ghosts are all, like, sixty at the youngest. I think a rock concert would give them a collective stroke.”

William cracks a grin, just the slightest bit. “If they had physical bodies left to have strokes with.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ashe shifts on his feet a little. “Do... do you wanna go hang out at your place? We can... I don’t know, keep watching Hunter X Hunter, or something? I kinda wanna... keep watching it, at some point. I don’t know. We only just got to meet Kite, I wanna see more of him.”

William looks out at the wide empty expanse beyond the shore. It’s always... weird. Looking out there. Seeing the infinite plane of nothing that’s so much like a lake—the ocean, actually, considering its size, but he’s so rarely seen the ocean aside from on the occasional family vacation. He does, however, remember going to the lake a short drive south of Deadwood frequently, usually just for fishing trips with his dad, and he would stand on the shore in his waders and stare out at the seemingly endless expanse of water that seemed too deep and mysterious to comprehend.

“They kept looking at me,” William blurts. He didn’t mean to say it, it’s just—they were staring. All of them. Ashe included, but that—that could just be for a different reason, of course Ashe would be looking at him, they’re here to spend time together—whatever. “I... do you know why? Any idea? I... I just—I don’t know. Why.”

Ashe presses his lips together, like he wants to say something but isn’t sure how to put it, and that makes William nervous, because Ashe is not the kind of person to shy away from saying what he’s thinking. At least not anymore. Used to, sometimes, but after all of the everything, he’s kind of lost the fucks to give. Him hesitating? That’s... not the greatest sign.

“There’s... something about you,” he says, his voice quiet, hesitant. “This—I don’t know, aura? Kind of? Like... this blue, fiery...” He gestures at William. “Something. It’s just kind of—around you.”

He reaches out and takes William’s wrist, gently tugging his hand out of his pocket. William’s scars stand out on his skin, ladders of thin lines that are years old, some of them only months. No real recent ones. Not—not yet. Still has his switchblade, but that’s tucked away somewhere he doesn’t remember. Maybe Vyncent has it, or Dakota.

Ashe takes William’s hand and spreads his fingers, tracing a fingertip along the edge of each one, outlining his hand. “It’s, like, all around your edges,” he says softly. “In between your fingers like webs, and in your hair, and around your shoulders and everything. And—” 

He looks up from William’s hand to his face, but his gaze travels upward, higher, like he’s staring at something above his head. William looks up to see what he’s seeing. There’s nothing there. 

“There’s...” Ashe hesitates. “There’s, like, a little crown? Kind of? Or a halo? Above your head. It’s not fancy or anything, it’s just—a vague shape, kinda. Made of blue fire.”

That’s. Something. He didn’t know he had a crown. Why didn’t Duck tell him about it? Did he assume William already knew? That’s... weird. To think about. Having a crown. Being important here. Is that why they were all staring at him? Could the ghosts see it on him? His... his importance? He doesn’t really like that.

“So—I don’t know.” Ashe twines his fingers in between William’s. “Maybe that’s why. Just... looking at you because you’re the Whisperer, or whatever. But—I mean, staring’s kinda rude.” Ashe grins slightly, a bit nervous. “Fuck them, anyway, if they’re gonna stare at you about it.”

William looks out at the endless sea beyond the shore, the expanse that’s so wide and infinite it almost makes his head spin. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Yeah, yeah.” He curls his fingers around Ashe’s, holding his hand tight. “Let’s—let’s go home. I can... repaint your nails, if you want.”

Ashe’s smile widens. “That sounds good. I can pull up HXH on my phone. I mean, if you want to keep watching.”

William nods. Feels a smile tug at the corners of his own mouth, one of them rising higher than the other—the left side of his face has been a little harder to move ever since... well, yeah. “Yeah, let’s get the fuck out of here. Get the hell out of dodge, or whatever the saying is. Is that the saying?”

“I think so. I don’t know man.”

He draws a circle in front of him with his finger, and a portal opens. The bathroom light is still on—sorry Mom, he forgot to shut it off before they left so it’s been on this entire time. Hopefully she didn’t notice. 

They start walking toward the portal hand in hand. “So, what do you think happens next?” Ashe asks. “Like, in the show?”

William hums, considering it. “Well, I think I remember the Queen chimera ant eating people and spawning things that looked human, so—did you ever watch Blood in the Bayou?”

“That old horror movie? Yeah, oh my god, do you think she’s gonna spawn clones of people?”

“What if we get a clone of Gon?”

“I don’t think anyone can handle a clone of Gon, oh my god, don’t even suggest that.”

They step through the portal. Back into the living world. Back into William’s home. Ashe’s hand is warm in his. The sound of haunting music disappears as the portal closes behind them.