Billy stumbled up the steps to his front porch, fumbling with his keys to get the door open. His head was throbbing, dots forming in his vision like a spotting TV screen.
"Come on, come on..."
The door swung open from his weight, and he startled, catching himself on the stairway handrail to avoid crashing onto the floor with renewed sobriety.
His leg was burning with the pain of a newly inflicted wound. He hadn't felt something like this since the Road, but back then, he'd had Jen to help heal him with barely a scar. Now, all he had was his normal, not-witchy bathroom and a human first-aid kit.
He was never one to sneak out - or, in this case, sneak back in - but he was ever so grateful that both his parents were asleep in their room.
...But not as grateful that the lights were off and he couldn't see shit.
Still leaning against the stairs, Billy twitched his fingers, shutting his eyes as he tried desperately to conjure enough blue magic to use as a light source. To his surprise, it worked. The alluring blue energy flickered in his palm, casting soft shadows on the staircase ahead.
Just one foot in front of the other, Billy. Come on.
He took a step with his right leg, using it to push himself up to the next step. He pressed his left leg down.
The pressure on it felt like hell.
The boy grimaced, clenching his jaw so tight he thought he'd break something. He couldn't scream; that'd only wake his parents. He just needed to get upstairs. Get upstairs, lock yourself in the bathroom, and hope you know how to fix yourself up.
He could do this.
Billy managed to make it all the way upstairs, practically collapsing on the last step from the effort. He strangled a gasp, watching as his world closed in with darkness, his last bit of magic fuzzing out.
"No, no, no... Come on, Billy, just a little more..."
"Billy?"
A cloud of purple entered his peripheral vision. He quickly tried to sit up and get a better look at it. "Agatha...?"
Agatha looked down at him, her ghost form flowing in transparent little waves. Her transparent expression hardened as she noticed the glass shard stuck in his thigh. "Jesus, kid, the one time I leave you unattended..."
"Sorry..." He forced a laugh, trying to bring up the mood. "A little help would be nice, maybe."
"What the hell even happened to get a stab like that?" She gestured to the wound.
Billy pursed his lips. "There were these boys. They said they knew where Tommy was."
She drew a hand down her face in exasperation. "And you believed them. Of course you did..."
"They said..." he sucked in a breath, "the boy almost drowned... at a friend's pool."
Agatha stilled. "...Oh."
"Yeah."
The ghost kneeled down, the purples of her dress blending into and occasionally clipping into the wooden floor beneath her. Up close, the wound was messy; a large piece of glass was wedged into his thigh, the edges caked with blood that made the shard look like a crystallized ruby.
Billy pulled himself up to sit against the wall, wincing as he let his leg stretch in front of him.
Agatha reached out to grab the shard. "I have to pull it out. You think you can manage to stay quiet?" She let her gaze wander to the bottom of the stairs. "Wouldn't want to wake the parents..."
He looked away toward his room, unable to stare at the shard in his leg for too long. "I'm ready," he nodded. "Do it."
He shut his eyes, gritting his teeth in wait for the impending pain.
A couple seconds passed.
Billy was starting to wonder what was taking her so long.
"...Shit."
"What?"
When he opened his eyes and returned his gaze to the witch, her hands were vigorously swiping at the shard like a cat, phasing through the solid matter. To Billy, it felt like just a slight breeze.
He chuckled slightly. "You can't pull it out, can you?"
"Quiet! Let me concentrate!" Agatha snapped, still trying to grab at it. But it was no use; all she could do was swipe at it like a breeze trying to pull at coral in the ocean.
While it was a funny sight, a sharp, stinging pain brought him back to his senses, causing him to gasp and curl in on himself. "Agatha, now's not the time to be all self-absorbed!"
"Dammit!" She slapped her hands on her knees, standing up and looking down at his disheveled form. The witch tried to help pull him up, but her hand slid right through his with a chill that sent shivers down his spine. "Alright, Billy! Here's your lesson of the day! You're gonna fix up your own wound!"
"What?" Billy hissed incredulously. "I can't do that, I don't even know-"
"Well, you're gonna have to learn!"
He grunted in agitation. With a huff, Billy gripped the last pole at the edge of the stairs, pulling himself upright and not daring to put pressure on the stabbed leg. He hopped to the bathroom, thankful the distance wasn't far, and managed to land with his hand on the door handle.
Agatha followed him, silently studying his every wince, every pained gasp. Once they reached their destination, she reached up and flicked on the light switch. At least she could turn on the light. Probably some magical ghost witch energy thing.
"Alright. Time for a little magical surgery, I suppose."
He sat on the edge of the bathtub, wincing as he stretched his leg out in front of him. The shard glinted unsettlingly in the white light. "Okay... What's first?"
Agatha moved closer, examining the wound. "First, we have to sterilize the wound. Do you have any cleaning liquids? Rubbing alcohol, disinfecting stuff, anything like that?"
Billy thought for a moment. "I have nail polish remover?"
"Oh, God, no!" She exclaimed, eyes widening in surprise. "What, is that seriously all you have? I mean, I'm not surprised, but come on..."
"...I might have some rubbing alcohol in the cabinet under the sink." He bent with a sigh and opened the cabinet, grabbing a bottle of liquid and putting it on the floor next to him so it was easier to reach.
Agatha sat down in front of him. "Good. Open the bottle, and pour it over the wound."
"Wh- Over-?"
"This is going to hurt. A lot. You have to focus, though. Don't make any sudden moves. Got it?"
"Pour it... over..." Billy stared at the bottle in his hands, a little dazed. The blood loss was really starting to get to him. "Okay... Okay. Fine. Got it." He opened it and set down the cap. With a steady hand, he poured the first drop. It burned. Pain seared his thigh, and he strangled a scream.
Agatha flinched, watching silently. "Keep going," she instructed. "The pain will lessen after a moment. You just have to get through it."
"Are you sure this is helping?"
"Trust me," she reassured. "A little alcohol will be a lot less painful than an infection. Now keep going."
He'd made a point once to never trust Agatha Harkness. But now, she was dead, and he would be, too, if he didn't patch up this wound in his thigh. He didn't have much of a choice.
He nodded and continued, gasping with quick breaths as he finally set the bottle down. It spilled, and he quickly picked it up with a shaky hand. Oh, God, his parents would freak if they noticed the spill. Or his wound. Or literally anything happening in the bathroom while they were asleep.
But he was fine. Agatha was leading him through it. It would all be over, and he'd be back in his bed, ready for another day of searching for Tommy. He steeled himself with another breath. "Okay... Okay. What's next?"
Agatha studied the wound for a moment. "Next, we gotta... well, we gotta pull the shard out of there. Carefully, though. We gotta be mindful of any blood loss and try our best to not make any further damage."
"The shard. Right. Okay." He gently grabbed it, and his eyes widened. "Oh, God, that hurts."
The ghost cringed faintly, watching him. "Just be careful," she warned, her voice suddenly soft. "Pull slow."
"Slow?" If anything, he thought he'd have to pull it out quick and easy. Not feel the pain until the end, like waxing.
"Slow," Agatha repeated. "And careful. Like you're pulling out a splinter. If you pull too hard, too fast, you could tear something. Can you do that?"
He nodded, quickly, and started to pull. He couldn't help but yell, and he was lucky his voice was muffled by the sound of the bathroom ventilation.
"Careful, careful, careful." Agatha repeated it like a mantra, her eyes darting over to the door. "You're doing good, kid. You're almost there. Keep pulling."
"It hurts, Agatha!"
"I know it does," she said gently. "And I'm sorry. But you're doing good. You're doing real good. You're almost there. Just pull a little more."
Billy dared to look at his hands, noticing the glass he was gripping digging into his palm. The blood seeped down the surface like a ritual knife, dripping onto his skin as if he himself were the sacrifice.
"You're bleeding, but that's okay," she observed, an underlying panic in her tone that she pushed down to give way to serenity. "That's okay. You're okay. We're almost done."
He was hyperventilating, watching the blood mix with blood and shine under the false moonlight that would never heal him again. "Agatha, I- I can't do this, I-"
"You can," she insisted, her voice firm but also shockingly, uncharacteringly, gentle. "You are going to. Don't give up on me, not now, I refuse to let you bleed all over this bathroom because you can't handle a bit of pain."
Agatha was right.
He could do this. He made the entire Witches' Road with nothing but mind power and determination, he could pull out a shard of glass from his leg.
Take a breath. Count to three.
One.
Two.
With renewed vigor, Billy gripped the shard and thrust it out of his thigh, letting it go with a clatter as it fell on the bathroom floor. He wobbled, leaning toward the wall next to him. His eyes were glazed over and unfocused.
"Oh, shit-" Agatha lurched forward, grabbing him before he could fall all the way. "Whoa, easy... good job. You did it. You did it." She helped him lean back against the wall, her hands firm on his shoulders, and exhaled a long, low breath. "Great job, kid. You did good."
He opened his eyes slightly, brows furrowing as he glanced at her hands. "You're... You can touch me."
"I..." she trailed off, realising that, yes, she was actually touching him. Her hands were on his shoulders, keeping him upright, and they were making contact. She let out a breathless laugh. "Huh. Look at that."
She couldn't have chosen a better time. "Wrap my leg," Billy mumbled. "Please. Before you go ghosty again."
"Right, yeah..." Agatha was still a little stunned at the fact that she could hold, feel, and touch him. But she managed to bring herself back to the present. "Keep sitting down. I'll grab the gauze."
She went over to the bathroom cabinet and grabbed a roll of gauze, bringing it back over and unrolling it.
"This isn't my best work," she admitted. "Hold still."
Billy nodded slightly, closing his eyes and wincing as she tightened the wrap.
"Sorry, sorry," Agatha winced in sympathy as he winced. "I've gotta make sure that's as tight as I can, or it won't stop the blood."
Despite the pain, Agatha was surprisingly gentle. Her hands moved slowly and meticulously, as if his leg itself was glass that would break if handled harshly.
It was like she'd had experience, in a way. He didn't doubt it was from her own wounds, stories probably centuries in the making, but it also felt like something else. Like she'd helped someone else centuries ago, carefully healing them like their life depended on it. Maybe it did.
Once she finished wrapping his thigh, she leaned back, observing her work and giving a nod of satisfaction. "Alright. That's done... not too bad, if I do say so myself. You still with me, Billy?"
"Yeah..." he managed quietly, leaning his head against the wall. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me, kid," she scoffed, but there was a hint of a smile on her face, and her eyes were surprisingly soft. She moved to a sitting position in front of him, her arms draping over her crossed legs. "Now, let me see your hands."
Right. He'd almost forgotten. His palms still stung with the cuts from pulling out the glass. He stretched them out in front of him, lifting them so they wouldn't rest on his thighs and agitate the larger wound.
"Hm..." Agatha picked up his hands, studying them. "These are gonna be a pain in the ass for a few days, that's for sure," she commented, her head tilted. "Nothing a bit of bandaging can't fix, though."
Billy looked away again, grimacing as she tightly wrapped his palms. He felt like he was at the Fire Phase trial again, having been thrown through a window, stabbed in the gut with the debris and cut all over his body. At least those scars disappeared.
These would be there forever.
Once she was satisfied with the gauze wrapped around his hands, she sighed and looked back up at him. "You look a little woozy, kid. You doing alright?"
"...'m okay." Billy dared to look at his wounds, eyes widening at the sheer amount of blood that caked his legs and hands. "I should... clean up. This."
"Yeah, you're kinda bloody, there," Agatha joked, trying to lighten the mood. "You definitely don't wanna be walking around like that." She pushed herself up to her feet. "Come on, up you get. You need a good ol' shower."
He huffed, trying to reach out to grab something to steady himself with, only to wince when his palm pressed on the sink counter.
"Careful, careful." Agatha placed both hands on his shoulders, supporting him as he rose to his feet. "There you go, easy, there you are..." Once she was sure he was fully upright (and not going to topple over), she carefully removed one hand and started turning on the shower.
Billy looked over lazily at the flowing water, watching the clear liquid puddle in the tub below it. "I think... I can handle the rest."
"Oh, no." Agatha shook her head, stepping back in front of him and crossing her arms. "I am not leaving you alone when you're all woozy like this. You're gonna fall, and you might crack your head open and start bleeding again. I'm not gonna clean up even more of your blood."
"I'll just sit down," he reassured her. "I'll be okay, Agatha. Just wait in my room, yeah?"
Agatha sighed once more, tilting her head with a frown. "Fine, fine, whatever. But if you crack your head, I'm leaving you to bleed out. And don't take too long, got it? I'm not gonna wait forever."
"Got it." He managed a soft smile at her obvious bluff, sitting back on the edge of the tub as he watched her phase through the wall to leave again.
Once she was gone, Billy was on his own. The sound of the water flowing from the shower faucet filled the silence of the small bathroom.
He could feel the adrenaline from earlier starting to wear off, and the exhaustion was beginning to settle in. Pain still coursed through his leg and hands, a reminder of the shard of glass that had been pulled out earlier.
He looked back behind him at the flowing water, watching it swirl in a puddle and trail down the drain. He would've blocked the drain and turned off the overhead shower to have a proper bath, but he just wanted to get the blood off of him.
It was then he realized he should probably take off his shirt.
His palms still burned. That ruled out magic. He'd have to do this the old-school way. At least his arms weren't hurting.
He reached behind him with his least-injured hand, struggling a bit before finding the back of his pull-over sweater. He pulled it over his head. From there, he slipped off the sleeves, wincing as the cloth rubbed against the tied gashes on his hands.
Now he was cold.
At least Agatha set the water to warm.
He wouldn't be able to take off his pants - the gauze was tied over the cloth, not under - but he could at least slip off his shoes and socks, not caring whether the shoelaces were left tied or not.
He turned, allowing himself to dip a foot in the water. He visibly relaxed at the warmth.
Slowly, he eased his body into the tub, gasping as the clear water licked his wounds. Before he'd even gotten settled, the bathtub was painted red.
The shower overhead washed his torso, leaving his upper body riddled with bruises he hadn't even realized he'd gotten. Cuts and scrapes littered his arms, but under the gentle stream of water, the pain dissipated.
His left leg still hurt like hell.
But he ignored that for now. The water was nice. Nice, smooth, gentle water. He was able to summon enough magic to flick the light off from where he sat, shrouding the room in a thick blanket of darkness.
The moonlight shone through the small window above him. He closed his eyes.
Billy breathed.
When he stepped out of the bathroom, dirtied sweater in hand, Agatha was leaning against the wall opposite him. She hadn't gone to his room; instead, she'd been leaning against the wall, tapping her finger against her arm as she crossed them over her chest. She was waiting for him.
The tension seemed to fade from her ghostly body as she caught sight of the kid. "Was the shower alright?"
He nodded. "Got most of the blood off."
"You got some of the blood off," Agatha corrected. "You're gonna have to shower again later, but at least you're not bleeding all over the place anymore." She took a step forward, looking him over carefully. "Do you need any help getting to your room? You look like you're about to keel over."
"Yeah, that'd be good," he smiled softly. His smile grew into a slight chuckle as her hand passed through his. It looked like she was full ghost again.
Agatha scoffed, though a smirk couldn't help showing itself on her lips.
She walked beside him instead to his room, careful to keep pace with his slow strides and occasionally reaching out to correct his path or keep him from stumbling.
"I should probably look at your leg again once you're settled," she said, looking down at his bandaged thigh. "And change those bandages on your hands."
"Maybe, yeah. If you switch back from full-ghost." He hopped a little, opening the door to his room and entering it, shutting it behind him. Agatha phased through the door to keep following him.
She guided him to his bed, gesturing for him to sit and lay down on the cushions. "Lie down. Let me see it."
He sat down with a wince, slowly maneuvering his leg so that it rested carefully on the grey blankets. He really hoped he didn't bleed onto them. He adjusted himself so he could lay comfortably against his pillows.
"Hold still," Agatha instructed, leaning down to take a closer look at his bandaged thigh. She touched it just to test, and was pleasantly surprised when she could touch him again. She carefully unwrapped the old gauze, frowning slightly at the sight of the already blood-stained cloth. "They really did a number on you, huh, kid?"
Billy just mumbled incoherently in reply. The exhaustion of the day was catching up to him, leaving him drained of magic, energy, and blood. The witch wouldn't be surprised if he passed out before she left.
She slowly unwound the medical wrap, peeling the crimson-stained cloth off the boy's body. To her surprise and relief, the gash was already healing, slowly closing itself up. At this rate, it'd be healed by sunrise.
At least his parents wouldn't have to find out the brunt what happened - thank the Lord for magical healing.
Agatha finished rewrapping his thigh, taking the time she had to clean his hands and rid his palms of the dried blood that had started to cake.
She finally finished, dusting off her hands with a satisfied huff. "Alright, Billy, I think I'm done."
Billy didn't reply. He was fast asleep, blankets barely even covering him. He hadn't even managed to put a shirt on before he passed out, leaving his torso bare and his legs sprawled out like he'd been asleep for hours.
Agatha found herself smiling fondly at the sight. She carefully stood, moving to grab some of the blanket and pull it over him so he wouldn't be cold.
She looked up at his face, slightly scarred and scraped, hair mussed and damp from the shower.
Her hand moved to his forehead, gently brushing some of the hair from his face.
She hesitated.
She'd managed to keep him alive.
The crone planted a soft kiss on the boy's forehead, pulling away before he woke up.
"Good night, Billy," she found herself whispering. "Sleep well."
Billy smiled softly in his sleep.
Agatha stayed by his bedside for the rest of the night, watching over the boy that wasn't hers.
She'd be a liar if she said she wasn't smiling when he finally awoke to the sunlight shining through his bedroom windows, the dark of the night not once giving way to green flame.