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It had only been a week, but it was a long time to be dead, a long time to have no one to talk to. Those that he could talk with weren’t the sorts to have conversations, he couldn’t imagine Caelius sitting down to chat, and he was quickly learning that the other paranormal activity that did exist wasn’t interested in providing him with any sort of answers. He was determined to hold onto hope but it was hard not to wonder if he’d ever wake up again, if he’d ever be able to be whole again. They’d given him a year, but patience when it came to things he wanted had never been one of Shiloh’s virtues, and he wanted to be alive right now, not in three hundred and sixty five days. He didn’t know if he could wait that long.

It was surreal, being like this, and he had tried to countless times to pinch himself awake, to no avail. And even though each day he felt a little stronger, a little less prone to fading away, it still didn’t change the fact that as he sat with Ian, he couldn’t make him hear him, couldn’t reach out and assure him that he was listening as Ian read, couldn’t do anything but sit their and be a ghost.

It was surreal, and it sucked.

Shiloh was always glad when Ian returned, or when he returned to find Ian waiting there, like he did this time, moving back into the room after a morning of investigating. He wasn’t necessarily surprised to see Ian, but it was early, and Shiloh couldn’t help but wonder what duties he was shirking off to be there. His thoughts on that ceased to matter, however, as he spotted the book open in Ian’s hands, the man already reading.

“Wait, wait, wait! I’m not ready yet, Ian, go back!”

He cried out, worried at how much he’d already missed. It wasn’t like Ian could hear him, but he pretended like he could anyway, pretended like nothing was out of the ordinary. He stood behind Ian, leaning over him quickly, reaching his fingers out to keep the page from turning without even thinking about his predicament, determined instead to make Ian go back to the beginning of the chapter.

His surprise was tantamount when, instead going through the paper, his fingers stuck, just for a moment, before the page settled back against the book. To him it was huge, as if he’d moved a great boulder, but to Ian it would be nothing more than s if the page had weirdly gotten stuck, or caught on some phantom breeze.

It might appear a little odd, but nothing more.

Shiloh on the other hand, stared at his hand in disbelief.

“Ian did you see that? Did you see what I did? Holy s**t, I really moved it!”

He’d really done it, hadn’t he?

Ian gave him no confirmation, but Shiloh was sure the page had stuck for just a moment. He didn’t know whether to be excited or afraid… Was being able to move things a good thing? It had to mean that he was getting stronger, that he had some kind of presence but was it as himself or as a ghost? He frowned, thinking about it. There was no way to know and it was probably best not to dwell too heavily on it, after all, he was still here regardless and now he had something new to investigate, and a potential way to communicate.

He’d been so busy reveling in the fact that he’d managed to actually do something, that it took him a moment before he realized Ian was starting to read again.

“No, Ian, wait, go back,” he argued uselessly, phasing right through him in his eagerness to try again. He reached for the book, concentrating with all of his might. He was going to turn that page; he was going to put it back to the right spot, his fingers connecting with the book-

He knocked it right out of Ian’s lap.

Shiloh stared at the book for as long as it remained on the floor, which wasn’t long, as Ian soon picked it up. He’d only meant to flip the pages back, not push the entire thing off. It really wasn’t an arduous tasked but he felt like he’d just walked a mile, and if he’d still been breathing, he’d definitely be out of breath. As it was, he sank next to Ian, resting against the floor and relenting for the moment as Ian went back to reading.

At least he knew now, by some twist of fate, that he could touch things, and even move them. It was a lot of work but he didn’t need an artifact to do it and it meant, as he glanced up at his boyfriend, that he could communicate. He could tell Ian he was okay, as okay as a ghost or whatever he was could be, he could reassure Ian that he was here, that like always, he wasn’t going anywhere. He could tell him that he could come back, that it was possible, and that he was completely determined to make it happen.

He stared at Ian’s fingers as he turned the page, wondering just how exactly he was going to convey all that by moving something. His eyes moved to Ian’s face but Ian was giving no clues of buying into the supernatural just yet and Shiloh sighed, hoping his energy returned quickly because though it bought him some time to think, Shiloh was impatient and all he wanted to do was touch everything he could get his hands on.

Then again, maybe it was for the best. He wasn’t sure how Ian would react to a room of suddenly moving objects, especially one that house two mostly dead bodies.

Instead he settled against his legs again, in his usual spot. Even with his energy low, his form had stopped fading away like it used to, and he felt a little more solid as he leaned against Ian.

Since leaning wasn’t actually leaning, but holding himself up against whatever object he was ‘leaning’ against, Shiloh jumped not from Ian’s sudden movement but instead from the resulting clatter of the chair, and the loud thud of the book against the floor. He turned, staring at Ian as though he’d grown a second head, wondering what the hell had gotten him into such a tizzy.

Oh, right, him. He’d done it.

It was a not so nice reminder of what he was, of how just not okay things really were. He had a way to communicate but no way to tell Ian it was him and not something he should attack, not something he should be afraid of. And even if he did finally convince Ian, it still didn’t change the fact that he wasn’t, for who knew how long. He shook his head, trying to clear his head like Ian had earlier, watching as Ian sat back down in the chair, seemingly talking to himself, though Shiloh knew better. Even though his head was painfully lonely, he knew the second consciousness that they all had, the bond with their weapon. He wondered where Haruko was, if he’d ever hear her voice again, if she forgave him for getting them into this mess.

He settled down again as Ian addressed him, careful to keep a small space between them.

“I think you’ve had enough booze for the both of us,” he said, shaking his head. It seemed they had similar ways of dealing with their problems, but hypocritical though it was, Shiloh couldn’t help but be worried about Ian, with the dark circles under his eyes and a weary look on his face.

“Go back to reading,” he told him, a smile sneaking back onto his face. Impatience meant it was hard to dampen Shiloh’s spirit for long; he simply didn’t have the attention span to dwell. Instead he was considering how to tease Ian, and he reached up for the book’s pages again, concentrating very carefully on flipping the pages back to the beginning of the chapter. It looked like the phantom breeze had struck again, flipping the pages over in succession. “And start here.”

The book slammed, right over Shiloh’s fingers and he reeled backward in surprise from the sound of it. He was unharmed, obviously, the booking having closed through his fingers like they weren’t there because, as Shiloh guess, they weren’t.

He looked at Ian with wide as he bent over, head in his hands and looking positively miserable. Shiloh frowned, looking hurt. It wasn’t Ian’s fault, hell, Ian was reacting like any normal reasonable human being would. Paranoia was to be expect but the resolute denial cut Shiloh deep, the fact that he couldn’t reach Ian staring him plainly in the face. He longed to wrap his arms around him, to comfort him with the gentle squeeze of a hug, to bury his face in the familiar crook of Ian’s neck.

“You stop it!” he argued, shaking his head. “Stop denying it! I’m trying to tell you I’m right here! I know you’re tired and this s**t’s scary and I’m probably not super good at this whole ghost thing, but look I’m not Patrick Swayze okay, I’m working with what I’ve got.”

It only made him more determined.

He still wanted to hold Ian but he needed to explain to him, not drive him out of the room with a phantom hug. Sitting on the floor, his pained expression shifted as he furrowed his brow, trying to set aside his frustration to figure out some sort of plan, something, just something that would work.

“I’m going to… Okay, Ian, I’m going to try something and you have to promise not to freak out,” he said, entirely aware of the futility of doing so but it made him feel better anyway. Ian had left a tray of crackers on the floor beside his chair, and Shiloh instinctively grabbed for them, thoughts drifting back to peanut butter and kisses and he smiled as he focused his attention entirely on the little box. Slowly but surely it started to move across the floor and Shiloh huffed; for such a little box, it felt like he was pushing a giant boulder.

It’s movement was so slow and shaky and likely wasn’t the huge wake-up call he was hoping for, but he pushed it with all the willpower he could muster towards the pod where his body was, thinking that if he couldn’t use words, he could at least leave a trail of breadcrumb clues – or in this case, crackers.

He knew this would be difficult but in his unfathomable eagerness to be able to talk to Ian, to have some semblance of normalcy after the passing weeks, he couldn’t stop, he refused to stop even as Ian sent his chair clattering against the floor. But as Ian soon followed, his legs tangled in the chair’s metallic ones, Shiloh winced, his heart squeezing out of pain for Ian, out of pain that his attempts to talk were turning out all wrong, that he couldn’t figure this out. He left the crackers where they were, moving instinctively to catch Ian but it wasn’t like that room, he had no artifact, no solid arms to catch Ian with.

It hurt, more than anything. He had to get through to him somehow. He refused to give up.

Back to the crackers, he ignored the pang in his chest, ignore Ian’s continued denial, and pushed the box until they were finally nudged up against his pod, and he had to stop, his energy exhausted.

“You’re not hallucinating, I’m right here,” he said quietly, slumping beside the crackers. “If you don’t stop saying that, I’m going to throw them at you next.”

Then a moment later, "I'm sorry, Ian. I don't know what to do."

“Oh, Ian.”

Ian’s words rang bitter and sad and Shiloh knew he meant the sentiment as proof of how much he cared, of how much… Well, how far they had come. But Shiloh was shaking his head in return, looking at Ian forlornly.

“I’m sorry that… You think that. I like you a lot Ian,” he said, his voice ratcheting up a notch even though no one could hear him. Unwittingly, his hand struck out in a surge of energy and he crushed a corner on the box of crackers. “But do you think I would want you to die for me? What good would that do? Then you’d be here too, or worse, you’d be throwing yourself away for my stupid mistake. ‘Cause that’s what this was Ian! There was nothing valiant or brave about being a little s**t on Twitter and I should have known better, should have known… You didn’t let me die, I dug my own grave and I don’t expect anyone but myself to lie in it.”

He watched Ian close his eyes, and his voice settled. “It’s not your job to save me,” he continued, quieter now. “That’s my job. Your job is to take care of yourself, to survive, to keep fighting. If we all just uselessly throw our lives away for each other… Where do we end up? Even if it’s out of… Love, or anger, or whatever, it doesn’t make a difference if you end up like this, like me.”

Shiloh realized how hypocritical those words were coming from him, he who tried to save everyone and everything. Deus was very quickly forcing him to open his eyes, however, to give up his fairy tales of heroes and happy endings. He couldn’t save everyone, just like Ian couldn’t save him.

“Don’t be sorry… Just… Don’t give up. Don’t give up on me but especially, don’t give up on yourself, Ian.”