Young Writers Society

"You had no way of knowing that would work!" Edward replied. "You were doing a better job when you were trying to take control back than when you slapped me! All that you did was give yourself a sore spot on your cheek, and a chance for me to take control again."

"Vell, I'm sorry, it's not like I've been possessed before!" he retorted, still very displeased about the entire situation.

Excuses, all. Edward was being ridiculous. Admittedly, Boris had been unreasonable, but only the first hit had been excusable, he was still in pain, and it irritated him that Edward was resorting to any argument he could to avoid accepting responsibility.

"Oh, Engel slapped you, now? You poor thing. I can only imagine the pain you felt." he commented scathingly.

"Look, Boris and Engel, I'm sorry!" Edward spat out. "Could I have made better decisions? Yes! But you weren't the ones doing the possessing! You have no idea what I was going through!"

He took a deep breath, bit back more angry retorts, and sunk down into his chair, gaze dropping down to his lap instead of the other people in the room. "I was scared," he quietly admitted. "It's...It's really terrifying to suddenly be in a body that isn't yours. Everything felt wrong, and I couldn't figure out how to get back to normal. I-I knew that I would, eventually, but it felt like I never would...And just when I would think that I was back to normal, I'd realize that I was in someone's body again."

He grabbed onto his pants, giving them a tight squeeze to stop himself from wanting to cry.

"I've...I've been like this for more than seven decades. To suddenly not be me felt really, really wrong..." His grip tightened; he was just drunk enough to have absolutely no control over his eyes tearing up. "...I'm sorry for the chaos I caused..."

James's eyes fluttered as he gradually came back to consciousness, just in time to hear Edward, still apologizing.

That was also when a sickly nausea fell over him, and he leaned forward, feeling the little that was in his stomach start to stir. He looked around, eventually landing his panicked gaze on Wilson, who quickly got the message. Not missing a beat, she tucked an arm under his and started to hurry him towards the bathroom. She looked back at the rest of the group.

"We'll be back in a bit!" she assured them, before she kicked the door to one of the bathrooms open and brought James to a toilet, pointing into the porcelain bowl.

"In there," she said firmly, but he followed the instructions a second before they even came out of her mouth. She immediately closed her mouth and knelt down beside him, grabbing the loose strands of hair falling out of his ponytail to make sure they didn't get caught in the spew of vomit. She had to hold her breath to keep from inhaling the smell.

As soon as Edward began to detail his fears, Boris regretted his cruelty.
He thought of Edward, haunted, tumbling through the endless decades, God knew how much of that time he had spent with only his own soul for company; and now he knew were times when he did not even properly have that.

Times when his soul was not his own, when the only thing that he had left mingled and twisted with the minds of unfamiliar coils, with the ever-present fear that he may never be untangled again.

That night, this fear had followed him from body to body, in a succession of terrors, a ceaseless reminder that he was dead, truly dead, and would never fully own himself again. Boris hung his head in shame.

Was it not his duty, to share his brother's pain? Had he comforted James in his time of need, only to deny Edward in his? Had he really sworn an oath to Edward, only to put his own pain first when their bond was tested?

"Edward, no, Edward, I'm sorry, I-"

Out of instinct he moved to embrace him again, but stopped only a few steps away once he realized that all he could do was remind poor Edward of what he could not have.

Boris' mouth twitched as though he might have cried, but he merely blinked hard, whispered "Goddamn it," and looked to Schadel, silently asking her for help.

Schadel hugged Edward - not because Boris had wanted her to, but because she knew he was in need of an embrace. She would never be able to put herself in his shoes; she was used to change, and was used to looking and sounding a way that wasn't her normal self. But she had heard many stories about what it was like for ghosts to do their first possession, so she really shouldn't have been surprised with his reaction.

After a moment passed, she was suddenly struck with an idea.

She slipped off her coat.

"Schadel?" Edward asked, his voice cracking ever so slightly as he frantically tried to wipe away his tears with his sleeve. "What are you doing?"

She pulled his arm down. "I'm making it so Boris can hug you."

"You can't change how ghosthood works," he argued.

"But I can bend the rules, just like you do," she reminded him. He didn't have his other outfit with him right now, so she would have to make do with her jacket. It was just the right size for her, but was several sizes too large for him - which just enough to easily slip it on over his uniform. He didn't even try to struggle as she pulled his arms through it and started to button it up.

As a final touch, she pulled up the collar so it covered most of his neck.

"There," she softly said, "now they can hug you by touching the coat."

James's throat was burning. His head felt like it was in a painful fog. His eyes wouldn't focus right. What little was in his stomach came up with all of the horrid-tasting liquid he'd ingested earlier, and he felt sick. He gripped the white, stone bowl in front of him on both sides, barely aware of Wilson's presence.

His eyes began to tear up as he fought his insides to stop from dry heaving. There was nothing left to throw up. Everything was gone.

That was when he felt a cool glass tap his shoulder. Wilson was holding a cup of water. With hands trembling, he took it from her and drank it slowly, but didn't put down the cup until it was empty.

His stomach made a wretched aching sound as he leaned over the bowl. Wilson reached over to the bowl's adjacent tower and pushed a lever. The bowl made a dreadful noise that shook him and made his ears ring. He pulled away quickly and Wilson steadied him, lifting him to his feet again. He didn't fight it.

"I'm- I'm a losht... losht shoul. My liyfe... hash reshulted in wis..." he began to slur, his words coming out like slow-moving molasses. "I'be neber eben woved suhmbody... lyke... more van a fwend... what if I neber know what daht feelsh like."

Wilson patted his head. That did not comfort him.

"I won't be patwonized," he slurred, his eyes still teary. It was then that he realized Wilson had returned him to the group. She gently let him down into his seat.

Blankly, he stared out at his brothers through the film of water blurring his vision. He hardly even recognized them anymore, but he noticed Edward was wearing a coat, and that they were speaking softly to him. Must've been nice.

"Schadel, you angel." Boris uttered gratefully, and moved to embrace Edward, to find that he was already doing it, and all that had done was push him a little bit.

Boris muttered an apology, patting him affectionately on the back as he did so.
Hugs were probably a rare gift, in Edward's current state of living, and he wanted to give him nothing less than a lovingly earnest experience. Hopefully Edward appreciated the gesture, for Boris took almost a full minute to release him.

Finally, he stood back, and he noticed James, mired in his unique brand of proud, yet prideless melancholy. What was a considerate friend to do? He was clearly in dire need of affection, but he had also gone far beyond the threshold of how much of it he could accept in one night. He looked ready (perhaps wanting) to melt into the floor if he were granted anonymity, and ready to hiss and spit if he were not. Boris tried his best to invent a compromise.

"James. Brosszther," he said, testing the waters, "Would you like a nice, unintrusive, pat? A friendly nod?"

Then he paused, for a moment, frowned thoughtfully. He stroked his chin.

"I've got it." he whispered triumphantly.

He took off the red jacket he had received from Damascus a while ago, and carefully draped it over James, before plopping gracelessly back into his own seat.

"Is all of the warmth, without so much person."

James sucked in his breath quickly, creating the faintest, involuntary wheeze as Boris draped the coat over him.

Is all of the warmth, without so much person.

James supposed that was supposed to be some kind of insult, but he hadn't the energy to come up with anything witty in reply. So instead of saying anything, he just slouched back into the chair and pulled the coat over the lower half of his face. That way they couldn't see his frown and make fun of him more for his ill spirits and his "inability to have fun," or whatever Carter called it.

Even if James was trying to hide his face, Schadel was good at reading people. She had to be, since her work was built on understanding why people did certain things. So when he hid his face, she instinctively scooted her chair a little closer to his. Edward gave her a confused look, but didn't question it.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice soft and gentle. "Besides the beginnings of what I'm guessing is a hangover?"

"Why did yew have to ashk that?" James whispered in a whimper from under the coat. He hadn't meant to say it out loud. He honestly hadn't. But somehow the question became audible the moment he thought it, which was terrible because that now meant he had to come up with something to make himself one: sound less pitiful and two: make her less concerned.

"I'm fayn. Fa-fine. I'm fine. Vewy fine," he said, wishing she hadn't said the word hangover. As if a prophecy fulfilled, he started to feel a wave of sickness wash over him again, but this time it wasn't nausea. He just felt weak, and a headache was beginning to form.

"You don't sound fine," Edward said from over on his chair. He started to get up, but Schadel shook her head. He frowned. Still, he did as requested and returned to his chair.

"I had to ask because I'm worried about you," she said. She rested her elbows on the table and put her head in one hand as she looked over at him. "I...I know it can be hard to be open with people, and I know it's been a long time since you've seen any of us. But you don't seem happy right now, and I just want to figure out why so I can make you feel better."

She gave him a small smile.

"Because that's what family does," she added. "Honorary or not."

James smiled a woeful smile underneath the jacket and let out a weak laugh.

"I'm druhnk, and I'm tayer'd, and I alweady cwied once todahy," he said, emphasizing each think with a pointing of his finger, and ended my pulling his hand back under the jacket. His throat was starting to tighten.

"Now I hide," he said, though his voice cracked on the last word.

Schadel had never got the memo that James didn't want to be hugged - she had guesses, but had never been explicitly told not. And while she might have followed what she had perceived to be a rule in most cases, she couldn't follow this rule any longer.

She got out of her seat and gave him a hug from behind.

"It's alright to cry," she reassured him, resting her head on his shoulder. "I cry all the time. Edward can vouch for me."

"She does," Edward agreed.

"But if you don't want to talk about whatever's on your mind," she added, "that's okay, too. I'll respect that. I just have one last question - what makes you happy?"