One Reason

Squip popped out from seemingly nowhere, finishing off a slushie. He peered down into the hole before letting out a long, low whistle. "Wow. That is not a pretty sight. Good thing you guys can't see this otherwise the rating would be worse-"

The slushie suddenly vanished from Squip's hand, and the demon glared above him. "Hey, you know what?" He took out a small vial from his jacket pocket before shaking it high above him. "Keep that up and things'll get real bad real quick."

After a few seconds, the slushie reappeared in his free hand. "Good, that's what I thought. These two are suckers for happy endings as much as you all, even when this thing's gonna be full of angst." Squip rolled his eyes as he put the vial back into his pocket, patting it a few times. 

"Now, we just need to wait for the airdrop."

There was a slight whistling sound and Squip headed two steps to the left and held out his hand. ‘The Handbook for the Recently Deceased’ landed neatly in his palm.

“Ah, perfect.” He hummed. “Now this little devil is gonna teach our little lovebirds how to be ghosts and how to move on to the Netherworld.” He let the pages fall open and peered at it. “Yup, this is the genuine article. Looks like things are looking up for the couple.” He carelessly tossed it into the fire. “Whoopsie.”

Squip dusted off his hands as the fireplace's, well, fire burned the book to ash. "Looks like these two aren't going to get to learn how to move on to the Netherworld. What's their next best option? Oh, well, the head of the Netherworld is here, so maybe I could help them. I could even be their guide." A guide cap appeared on Squip's head as he grinned. "And no, I am not singing. I know many of you hate my 'surfer' accent to begin with, and this isn't a musical fic."

With his earlier threat still hanging over the story like a dark cloud, Squip swaggered over to the nearest armchair and relaxed, slouching down in it’s plush lining. “That’s right, guys, I run this story now and that means it’s gonna do what I want.” There was a groan from inside the hole. “Oh, sounds like our corpse brides are finally awake.”

Squip didn't shift from his position in the armchair, but he instead held up his fingers. "Time to disappear for a bit." He winked before snapping and vanishing.

A hand appeared from inside the hole, grabbing one of the exposed support beams and using it to haul the owner up. Christine was the first to appear, followed quickly by Brooke. “Whew, I didn’t realize the basement was so far down.” She panted, climbing to her feet and huffing as she tried to get her breath back. “That sure was a massive fall.”

"It was," Brooke said as she tried to catch her breath. "Those floorboards were looser than I thought. I'll call someone to fix them-" She cut herself off as she rubbed her arms. "Oh god, it's cold in here."

Christine glanced around. “It is. I would have thought the fire would have warmed up the house by now.” She walked over to her wife. “Holy meatballs, you’re freezing, honey. Here, let me try warming you up.” She started rubbing Brooke’s arms and held her close. Christine was feeling the cold too, but she was trying to ignore it in favor of keeping her wife warm.

"Wait, there's a fire going? There wasn't when we were dancing," Brooke said as she looked to the fireplace. "Let me try to warm up. Can you check the floorboards while I do that?"

“Sure.” Christine released Brooke before heading back over to the hole. She started checking everything over before she spotted a rather gruesome sight at the bottom of the pit. “Oh... Brooke?” She almost choked on her words.

"Yeah?"

“I don’t think we survived that fall...”

"Wait, what?" When Christine turned to face Brooke, she saw a fire lit in her wife's palm that she somehow seemed oblivious to.

She scrambled to her feet with a small scream. “Brooke, your hand!”

Brooke frowned until she looked at her hand. She screamed herself and shook her hand until the fire went away. Christine held tightly onto her wife as Brooke cried, "What is happening?"

Christine took a few breaths to steady herself before replying. “Like I said, I don’t think we survived that fall... Our bodies are at the bottom of the hole.” She looked up at Brooke with teary eyes. “Honey, we’re dead.”

"Wait, we... We're dead?"

Christine nodded. “I think so. It makes sense why you’re so cold...” She held Brooke tightly. “We’ll figure this out. It’ll be okay, hun, I’m not going anywhere. We might be dead but we sure are not parting, you hear me? I’m right here.”

Brooke nodded as she clung to Christine. Yes, everything would be fine. They had each other and they'd be-

"Hi!"

Christine screamed and tried to push Brooke behind her as a new, unfamiliar figure appeared next to them. “Who are you?” She demanded, her voice trembling with fear. “How did you get into our house?”

"Wow, no 'hi' back? I thought you two were chill," the figure grumbled under his breath before grinning. He held out his hand and walked to the girls, but both screamed as they ran away. "I'm trying to be friendly and this is how you treat a guest?"

“Sorry.” He was right, they were being a bit rude. “We’re both just a little worked up. We just found out we died and it’s all a little but much.” She squeezed Brooke’s hand, which cling tightly to her own. “Hello. I’m Christine Lohst and this is my wife Brooke. I’m sorry for being rude.”

"You're fine. That's why I'm here, actually. Well, sort of. I happened to be coming by this way when I noticed there was a lot of recently-deceased energy coming from here." The man (ghost?) smiled and kept his hand extended to the girls. "So, once again, hi."

Christine took a breath (did she even need to breathe anymore?) before she stepped forwards and shook his hand. “Hi.” She smiled weakly. “So, you saw that we had died? And you thought to come and check on us?” That was sweet of him.

"Yes I did. I noticed it was two deaths so I got worried that it might've been a homocide-suicide combo. Glad to see it isn't the case though. Those always end just as bad as you'd think."

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” Christine cringed slightly. “No, this was just an accident. We fell down that-“ She glanced over and was surprised to see that the hole was gone. “What?”

"Yeah, time passes differently once you're dead. Also, I'm Squip," Squip introduced before pulling down his sleeve and checking his watch. "And they should be coming soon."

"Wait, who should be coming soon?" Brooke asked, though it sounded closer to whining than speaking.

“Yeah. Who would be coming to our house if we’re dead? And how long have we actually been dead?” Christine asked, genuinely curious. She squeezed Brooke’s hand gently, trying to soothe her.

The doors to their house opened with movers coming in. "Long enough for the floor to be repaired, your bodies have been dealt with, your funerals to have occurred, and for your house to be sold," Squip said, listing off everything with each finger. Wait, what?

"Alright, time to move this junk."

"Wh- Our stuff isn't junk!" Brooke cried as she tried to stop the movers that were grabbing their couch. When she went to grab them, she went through them. "Hey!"

Christine ran over to Brooke and pulled her back. “Why are you taking our stuff?! That’s not yours!” She cried. They didn’t respond. “Hello, can you even hear me?”

“Can you believe that the ladies just up and died here?” One mover asked the other, clearly not hearing Christine. “Fell through the floorboards or some shit.”

“It’s a shame, really,” the other agreed. “One of them taught my kid. He was sobbing through the whole funeral.”

"Oh, poor Adam." The first mover shook his head. "Hopefully he'll be able to move on soon."

“Adam was crying?” Christine almost sobbed. She hated anyone being upset, especially her students. She didn’t even try to stop the movers as they took the couch. Brooke held onto Christine, comforting her as the movers started to take the rest of their things.

“What are we gonna do, Brookie?” she asked softly. Then she gasped. “The attic! We can’t let them empty that! That’s got all our pictures!”

Brooke gasped as well before Squip stepped back into their line of sight. "I can help you with this. I actually need you to come with me to the attic, and I'll teach you what you need to do in order to keep people out of your house."

“Thank you.” Christine nodded. “But... why are you helping us?” Brooke nodded, looking hopeful but curious.

"You two seem like lovely ladies, and if you had other people's kids crying for you at your funerals, then you deserve some niceties in the afterlife. This is the least I can do."

“Thank you.” Brooke smiled weakly. “Please, teach us what we have to do.”

"Of course. Now, show me the way to your attic."

Paul Heere was struggling under the weight of his and Jeremy’s bags which he was dragging from the car. 

“Marsh, can you get the door for me? The keys are in my back pocket.” He grunted.

"Yeah, just hold on," Marshal said. Paul heard his elder son shift what he was holding before the keys were removed. "Alright, just give me another minute- Why are there so many keys on your keyring, Dad?"

“There are a lot of locks in this house apparently. It’s super old.” Paul huffed. “I’ll dole them out as soon as we know what goes where.”

"Geez. Well, which key is for the front door?"

“Square top.” Paul staggered a little. “Please hurry, Marsh. These bags are heavy.”

"You can put them down and pick them back up," Marshal pointed out. Paul heard the door unlock before his son said, "You can go in now."

“Thank you!” Paul staggered inside and carefully put the bags down on their new couch. “There we go.” He turned to Marshal. “So? What do you think of the new house?”

Marshal walked in, putting down a few boxes and his backpack before he looked around. "It's definitely what it looked like online, except without the furniture."

“This is gonna be great for us, Marshal, just you watch. We’re gonna get to be a proper family again.” Paul had high hopes for this move, and he desperately wanted to be right. He wanted his sons back properly.

Speaking of sons, Jeremy meandered into the house, looking around and rubbing his neck. “Hey private. So? What do you think?” Jeremy had slept in the back of the car for the majority of the trip. He didn’t look any better rested than before.

“I suppose it’s not a total loss.” Jeremy shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll find some ghosts or something who can release me from my misery.”

Paul wasn't sure if Jeremy was joking or not. He hated that this was the norm for Jeremy now. Well, hopefully this move would help! "Connecticut is a lovely state. I know that it's quite different compared to New Jersey and I think this'll be a great step in the right direction-"

“You mean uprooting me from my home? Where all my important memories are? Where he is?” Jeremy scoffed, slouching against them wall. “Yeah, thanks but no thanks. Somehow I don’t think Connecticut is the right state for me. I wanna go home.”

"This is our home now, Private." He couldn't mention the financial troubles. This house was so much cheaper than their old house since the bank sold it to them. Plus, better paying jobs for him and Marshal. "Plus, we found a better therapist for you here, and the school system here is better. That's just a few of the many great things you have coming your way."

“No, this is your home now.” Jeremy scowled. “My home is back in New Jersey, in our old house.” He paused. “Correction, my home is back in New Jersey four streets from your old home.” He was talking about the Mell house. Abigail and Elizabeth were moving out in a few days and Jeremy still wasn’t taking it well.

Paul sighed and tried his best to work with his son. The last therapist did not help him cope or do anything positive for him. He wasn't a therapist himself, but he wanted to help his son somehow. "That is going to be someone else's home for them to grow up in. This is where you can grow up until you're able to move on to-"

“Yeah, well I can’t move on!” Jeremy snapped, pushing himself off the wall with a harsh thud. “I can’t just move on and forget about my best friend. And I know that’s what you want me to do, but I can’t and I don’t fucking want to!” He huffed and turned away, not looking at either Paul or Marshal. He rubbed harder at his neck.

Marshal gave Paul a tired, trying look before he took a step closer to Jeremy. "We don't want you to forget about Michael, Jerm. None of us want to forget him, and we won't. We can't just mourn him forever though. He wouldn't want us to do that."

“Easy for you to say. At least you had other friends and people who cared.” Jeremy scowled before snatching the key ring from Marshal and extracting the car keys. “I’m gonna go for a drive. There’s nothing else in the car, right?”

Marshal looked so exhausted as he was handed back the key ring. Well, Jeremy more so shoved the key ring into his brother's hands. "No, there isn't. But be back for dinner. Dad and I are making dinner tonight."

That made Jeremy pause. “Wait, you’re actually cooking?” He shot them both an incredulous look. “I’ll try to be back then, I guess. I won’t promise anything though,” he added with a huff.

"Alright. Thanks, Jerm," Marshal said with a smile. Paul felt so small. He was the parent here, the big adult. How did his son, who sacrificed his college to help keep his dad from losing the house, end up more like the big- 

Well, he answered his own question as he thought about it. He needed to really step up.

“Yeah, whatever. Bye. Don’t wait up if I’m gone longer.” Jeremy grunted as he stepped out the front door, making sure to slam it behind him. Marshal sagged and Paul wasted no time in heading over and hugging him. He was lucky they had always been a relatively touchy family, considering it was about the only comfort he could offer right then.

Marshal returned the hug, sighing. "Dad, what are we going to do to help him?"

“I don’t know, Marsh, I really don’t...” He sighed heavily. “I just don’t know how to get through to him that we’re also struggling with everything, and that we want to work with him. But we’ll find a way. We have to.” He squeezed his son gently. “Besides, it’s not like we can’t at least make some progress at dinner, right? What should we cook for him?”

Marshal sighed himself as he pulled back. "Homemade burgers and fries. I've been meaning to make it with him for a long while."

It had been a while since they had cooked together. Wait- “Hey Marshal, how long has it been since we actually cooked?” Paul could barely remember a time when there wasn’t a plate of food set out for him and Marshal as soon as they got home from work. Had Jeremy really been cooking for them on his own since Marie left?

"You? Since Mom left. Me? Since I started that second job," Marshal answered.

“God, that’s two years.” Paul sighed. Jeremy had been looking after them, even if Paul had never noticed it before. “C’mon. Let’s get these bags away, then we can start cooking and stuff. You’re gonna have to direct me though, Marsh, I have no idea what I’m doing with burgers.”

"You've never had a clue how to make burgers, Dad. That's why I've been the one who's made them." As he teased Paul, Marshal gave a smile as he grabbed the reusable grocery bags. "You can put away what we don't need. I'll start the cooking prep. It'll go by quicker that way."

“Sir, yes sir!” Paul saluted, giving Marshal a bright grin. If they could figure out a way to make this work, Paul was certain they could get through to Jeremy. He’d already lost one son when Michael died, he didn’t want to lose another.

It would be so easy, Jeremy thought as he stared into the beautifully clear depths. It would be so easy to make everything stop hurting. His dad didn’t care anymore, not since mom left. Marshal never had time for even a chat, and he never kept promises anymore. And Jeremy was alone. Michael wasn’t around anymore. 

There was nothing keeping him here.

Soft birdsong floated to him over the gentle breeze and dappled sunlight danced across his skin. He sighed. This place was beautiful. Too beautiful for him to taint like that. With another sigh, Jeremy sat down, cradled by the twisted roots of a willow tree. At least here he could think, away from the pressures and expectations his family had. 

He closed his eyes to stop the tears from falling.

Michael would have loved this place.