A/N: So, you guys are all bullies. I was intending this to be a oneshot. Then you all bullied meh D:. Here's your second chapter...I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY.

(also, huge thanks to everyone that reviewed. Especially Leriko and XxxLavixAllenxxX who are both awesome and deserves internet hugs/cookies all round :D)

2.

Dinner at the Jones household was exactly the same as dinner with any family that was splintered at the seams. Everyone ate in silence, only the occasional mumble of 'pass the ketchup' and clank of knives on plate breaking the monotony.

Divorce. It was rank in the air, the elephant in the room...

Their father – for now, added a dark part of Alfred's mind – cleared his throat, but said nothing, chasing a stray piece of meat round the plate with his fork. Mrs Jones – soon to be Miss Simons again – creased her brow at the noise, pursing her lips as if she'd swallowed a lemon.

"Jesus Christ," she eventually snapped, slamming her cutlery down with enough force to dislodge the salt shaker, the wooden device spinning wildly to the floor, spilling salt over the tiles. Alfred winced, here it comes...

"Oh? I'm sorry – am I breathing too loudly?"

"Well that certainly wouldn't surprise me, the way you're battering that plate in like it's a fucking drum!" Their father swelled with indignation at the insult, firing back with an equally cutting one of his own. Ruefully, Alfred prodded a lone pea with a spindly prong of his fork, watching as it burst with fascination. He could sympathise.

Matt had slipped away from the table, Alfred surprised at his sudden disappearance. Then again, he'd always been good at that, disappearing. Ever since they were kids Matthew had been able to fade into the background, often he regarded his invisibility as a curse...times like these Alfred thought he'd been blessed.

Sometimes he reminded him of a freaking gho-

"Alfred?" His mother blinked in surprise at the sudden stillness that had come over her eldest son, the colour drained entirely out his face.

"Son?" He threw his cutlery down onto the plate, the untouched food (hamburgers, he loved hamburgers) glaring hatefully back up at him.

"...not hungry." He mumbled, pushing back from the table and ignoring the rising urge to puke twisting throughout his stomach. Why had he thought of that particular comparison? The smell of smoke clouded his senses, momentarily baffling him as he drowned in the memories. Green, he always remembered the green...

"But Alfie you've barely touched your-"

"Sorry, things to do, homework." The excuse was lame; he'd completed all his work over the break before Halloween. Hell, he'd worked non-stop specifically so he could have the night off on Halloween...

(Man, how he regretted that move.)

With no further explanation he rose, dumping the rest of his dinner in the bin and headed upstairs. Ignoring the fresh round of shouting his actions brought on. As he neared the stairs he could hear the pounding baseline from his brothers room, Matt clearly had the right idea on how to deal with this issue, even if his taste in music was crap.

Sighing he felt his hand automatically go to his jacket pocket, fingers closing over the now familiar warmth of the metal medallion. He ran his fingers over it, shuddering at the familiar tingle of fear that came with it, as he traced the patterns against his fingertips. The strange swirling symbols, the sharp pointed edges and finally, the jewel in the middle...

A shiver ran down his spine, temptation to hurl the thing off the nearest bridge rising. What he went through to get that...

His brain cut off, hand curling into a fist. He wasn't going to go there, that was old news and everyone else had moved on. As far as they were concerned (or rather, as far as Gilbert was concerned) they had been nowhere near the freaky Kirkland home when it had burnt to the ground on Halloween, the amulet didn't exist and Alfred nearly died of smoke inhalation from a crazy bonfire party they'd held at the beach...

He passed Matthew's room, the teen in question already heavily involved in a game of something on his Xbox before heading for his own. Sighing, his stomach rumbling as hunger returned, he stepped into the room and froze on the spot.

There on his window seat, green eyes narrowed to dangerous slits was the nightmare he'd thought he'd finally lost.

"...Hello Alfred." It hissed, the window panes shaking ever so slightly behind him. Alfred gulped, taking a shaking step backwards toward the door but the creature was one step ahead, the door slowly creaking to shut behind him. The click as the latch shut sounding thunderous.

"...shit."

"Quite." It was only then, ridiculously, impossibly, Alfred realized the ghost had an English accent, a real one, the kind of accent that rolled off the tongue and sounded so fitting in any period drama. He started to laugh, throwing the poor un-dead once again, because, really if that wasn't totally insane...what was?

"Do you find something funny?" He hissed, unmoved from his position at the window. Clearly he didn't want Alfred bolting off like last time, which was considerate because Alfred didn't want to set fire to his own home as well...

Your accent, he'd thought. Then realized he must have said it out loud because the ghost's eyes narrowed further. A small crack appearing at the bottom of the glass panes, Alfred winced at the damage. Clearly this ghost was totally out of control of his own ability...

"I shall make this quick," he spat, "you have something-" he jerked his head - the setting sun capturing the movement and framing it in a strange amber hue that contrasted so perfectly with his unnatural glow – to indicate he knew the whereabouts of the trinket, "-that belongs to me. Return it."

His fingers clenched tighter round the metal, the sharp edges digging painfully into his palms.

"...what do you need it for? You're dead." The other bristled at the comment, hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as his glare turned murderous.

"Really?" He snarled, "I had failed to notice. Thank you for pointing that particular titbit out to me!" Something told Alfred that he may have perhaps touched a nerve with his earlier comment. However he found he couldn't much care, after all, a homicidal dead teenager was currently ruining his windows after nearly killing him at an earlier date.

All for some sparkly jewellery.

Speaking of...

Alfred winced slightly as one of the spokes pierced his skin, drawing his hand out his pocket to stare at the latest cut on that unfortunate palm. He sensed the ghost's attention sharpen as the pendant came into view, its gem a brilliant emerald in the dying light.

"...please give it back..." Alfred looked up in surprise. The ghost's eyes were not on him, in fact, they weren't on anything. His gaze was elsewhere; wistful and longing however the sereneness of the scene was lost when the dead boy realized he'd been watching, an all too familiar scowl residing on his face.

"Why?" He was nothing, if not stubborn. Alfred grabbed the pendant with his other hand, watching as blood welled up in the wound, a small trickle of it already on the silver surface of the metal. It was then he noticed how cold it had turned, his fingers already going numb.

"...no!" Alarmed Alfred glanced up, jolting backwards as the ghost collided with him sending his back slamming painfully up against the wall. The ghost scrambled for the amulet, trying his best to avoid Alfred's flailing legs. Clearly the dead teen had learnt since their last encounter...

"Get off you psycho!" Grunting Alfred attempted to dislodge him with force alone, using his impressive strength to send the other to the floor. However his brief victory was short lived, with a swift recovery the ghost lashed out with his leg sending Alfred tumbling to the carpet, medallion flying from his grip and landing a short distance away near the underside of his bed.

Both of them watched, as if in slow motion, the necklace land. Then they both glanced at each other, a silent communication of challenge lingering in the air.

The dead boy lunged.

Alfred saw the move coming, grabbing the other by the waist and sending him sprawling face first into the carpet. The ghost made a strange yelp of surprise before attempting to elbow Alfred in the stomach. The living teenager was used to this kind of brawl however, his brother more than a willing participant when he borrowed his CD's without asking, and simply sat upright, using his weight to pin the other completely before leaning over and grabbing for the necklace.

With a flash of defiance the ghost focused, the pendant sliding under the bed and completely out the others reach as if knocked by a breeze.

Alfred growled, "Cheater." The un-dead radiated smug for a grand total of 3 seconds before he found himself flung aside as the overzealous American dived under the mattress, legs scrabbling wildly. Alfred felt a sharp tug on his jeans, with only the carpet to grip on he dug his nails, trying to kick out against the other boy.

"Alfred?" There was a crash then said teen felt his legs drop unceremoniously to the floor, with a cry of delight he rushed forward and grabbed the necklace. There was a hiss, the smell of barbeque filling the air and Alfred cried out, the metal searing against his skin. Yelping he attempted to dislodge it, slamming his head off the underside of the bed in the process.

Blinded by the momentary pain he shuffled backwards, the burning smell lingering in the air. Gingerly, with his other hand, he reached up and gently tugged the metal back, a horrible squelch filling the air. Disgusted Alfred grimaced, examining the charred imprint on his hand. It was a perfect outline of the pattern on the necklace...

"...um, Alfie?" Alfred blinked in surprise, Matt's bewildered expression bearing down on him. "What the hell are you doing in here?"

"...er..." he looked round his bedroom for inspiration. Spotting a can of paint next to his desk he beamed at his brother, "re-decorating?" Matt frowned.

"Under your bed?"

"...yes?"

Matthew rolled his eyes; Alfred had done stranger things after all...

"Whatever, just wanted to remind you that it's mums birthday in four d-"

"Oh crap." Alfred slapped a hand to his forehead, regretting it instantly. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself crying out, if Matt saw what was on his hand it would lead to questions...weird questions...like why he'd been wrestling an un-dead guy in his bedroom...

Matt sighed, "You can share my present..."

"You're a life saver~!" In more ways than one...

"I know, I know." Matthew waved away his praise, turning and leaving the room. As soon as he was gone however Alfred's grin slipped, a pained grimace taking its place. He looked down at his hand, expecting to see burnt muscle and blood.

The charred flesh however had healed over, leaving a pristine silver scar in its place.

The gem on the carpet gleamed teal.

The next morning his scar still remained, the bright light of the school hallways causing it to shimmer and practically preen, as if the tissue itself wished for attention from all those around it. Alfred grimaced and for the fourth time in five minutes flipped his right hand over on his desk, tracing the outline with his other finger.

He sighed; perhaps he should have given the thing up to the ghost. However that would mean giving up the medallion and...He felt the comforting weight of it round his neck, the pleasant warmth as it hung against his chest under his shirt. Quite frankly he was becoming rather attached to the thing...even if it did look like the sort of item you bought at crappy carnivals...

"What's that?" Alfred jerked; Elizaveta was staring at the mark on his hand in fascination.

"Nothing," He replied, quickly attempting to shove it under his desk. She frowned and grabbed his arm, yanking the offending hand forward for inspection. Her eyes narrowed at the scar, sharp nail running along the lines in his palm.

"I've seen this before..." She muttered, "my grandmother had one..."

Where Eliza was, Gilbert and Roderich were never far behind and sure enough both boys appeared over either shoulder, eyeing the mark with equal fascination.

"What's that?" Gilbert muttered, leaning over and prodding his palm. Elizaveta scowled, slapping the others hand away and shooting her boyfriend a small smile. Roderich failed at trying to not look too smug at the greeting.

Alfred wanted to blurt 'nothing' once more and tug his hand back, but Elizaveta cut him off with another fresh indent of her nails, the sharp spike of pain as she traced round and round the lines driving him up the wall.

"It's a...well she always said it was her mediation mark."

"Mediation?" Roderich scoffed at Alfred's idiocy, as if it were common knowledge to everyone else in the world.

"Mediation," he repeated dryly, quoting word for word no doubt from the definition, "negotiation, intervention...however in the context Elizaveta is referring to it is most likely to do with the un-dead..." he paused, mistaking the silence on Alfred's part for one of confusion rather than terror, "good grief...ghosts."

"Ghosts?" Gilbert scoffed, tugging Elizaveta so the attention was once again focused on him, "are you guys for real? Alfie doesn't believe in any of tha- Oi! Where'd he go?" The trio turned back, expecting to see Alfred inspecting the mark on his hand, or at the very least sat there. However the blond teenager had vanished, leaving all his work books behind.

"...weirdo." Gilbert muttered whilst stealing the packet of Oreo's left on his desk. Elizaveta stamped rather professionally on his foot, a sickening crunch resounding through the classroom. The poor boy promptly yelped and dropped the snack, hopping round the room and clutching his foot.

"Like you can talk, you've named pet chickens after yourself!"

"Gilbert Jr. Is awesome!"

"Would you please stop harassing my girlfriend Gilbert?"

"SHE STARTED IT!"

Alfred unlatched the window to the classroom, leaping out into the fresh morning air, the grass crunched under his feet as he landed. Inside he could still hear the argument, the tell tale crashing and screaming a sure fire sign that it was going to be a really good one.

However Alfred had no time for watching. The mark on his hand tingled in the cold; with one final glance back he stuffed his hands into his pockets and started the walk off campus.

Matt would cover for him. He always did.

Besides, this was a matter of life and...He gulped; death.

The church was the oldest thing in their town. It had once even been used as a school, before Alfred's time, way back in the day. Now, looking at the crumbling roof and chipped graves lining either side of the path, Alfred wondered how on earth anyone could have willingly sent their children to such an opposing – make that terrifying – building.

Still, he was on a mission. A timed one, he only had 2 hours before anyone started realizing his absence had nothing to do with whatever excuse Matt had given...

Shrugging into his bomber jacket, never once taking his eyes off the mist covered grounds, he stepped through the rusting gate.

He had expected some sort of reaction, the church to burst into flame, an army of dead spirits attacking him for his...brain – hell he'd even been anticipating the return of his least favourite person on the planet. A leaf fell from one of the skeletal trees, indicating that Alfred spent way too much time playing video games and not everything was going to eat him.

Feeling a tad sheepish he shuffled forward, watching out for loose slabs of paving stone.

A short tug on his leg brought his attention downward. A small, wide eyed toddler blinked owlishly back up at him, sucking on her thumb. Alfred glanced round; there wasn't another soul in sight. Frowning at the irresponsibility of some people he bent down, smiling warmly at the child.

"Heya kiddo," the child's eyebrows rose up into her hairline, disappearing under her curly fringe, "whatcha doing out here by yourself?" She glanced at the floor, pulling her thumb far enough away from her mouth to whisper something under her breath that Alfred couldn't catch.

"Eh? Sorry I'm an old foggie compared to you, mind repeating that?"

"I don't know..." she replied, louder this time. Alfred had to resist the urge to growl, when he found this girl's parents he'd give them a lesson in parenting they'd not forget easily. Forcing another grin into place he offered his hand to the child, who stared at it like it was a foreign object.

"C'mon, we'll find your parents and get you home safe." Her eyes had settled on the mark on Alfred's hands, expression turning into one of awe.

"Oh," Alfred intoned, closing his hand into a fist and offering her the other one instead, "sorry about that, it's just a...scar, yeah, a scar I got. Should clear up soon. So where do you live sweetie?"

"...mediator." She whispered, a small pop as her thumb left her mouth entirely. She inched forward, eyes focused on the clenched fist with frightening perception. Alfred chuckled and tottered backward, trying to put some space between the lost girl and himself.

"Um...what was that?"

She looked up, her blond ringlets bouncing on her head as she moved. "Mediator." She repeated, and then her eyes grew wider still, a look of horrifying desperation on her expression, "save me."

"What!" Alfred squawked, falling backwards entirely as she lunged forward. Her dainty hands – frozen to the touch – latched around his jacket; with surprising strength she heaved him back.

"Save me," her voice echoed, far away and distant. Then Alfred realized, with growing horror, he could look straight through those wide innocent eyes and straight to the gravestones on the other side.

"Oh no..." He slapped her hands back, wincing as an expression of pain crossed her infantile face, and scrambled backward, his back slamming off the gnarled oak tree behind him, roots digging in through his jeans. The child raised her hands, as if for a hug, and began to totter forward, still repeating the same phrase over and over... 'save me, save me, save me...'

"I...I..." She was getting closer, small tears rolling down her cheeks. Alfred didn't think it was possible for the dead to cry...

"Please, save me..."

There was a crash; the doors of the church flew open as the Father strode out. Alfred must have imagined him glaring at the weeping ghost girl because in the next second he was being dragged to his feet, the elder man giving him a cool stare.

"I..." Alfred's jaw seemed to be disengaged from his body; it did nothing but flap uselessly as all excuses died in his throat. He'd come to gain advice not to be assaulted by a dead girl and a priest on the same day...

"...Jones?" The Father's expression brightened, a grin taking the scowls place. He threw an arm round the startled teen's shoulders, half dragging, half carrying him toward the church doors. "Why I haven't seen you since...well I haven't seen you! How's your brother? Matthew isn't it?"

Alfred cast a look over his shoulder. The ghost girl had vanished.

"You didn't see-" he mumbled, half hoping that it would all be an elaborate prank but the other seemed intent on getting him inside the building. All but sealing the doors shut as he did so.

"See? What on earth are you talking about? Wine?" Alfred looked round, alarmed as a glass of ruby red was stuck under his nose; he shook his head in bemusement.

"...what? No I can't drink I'm only-" The glass was shoved into his hands, sloshing noisily. The Father shoved him backward, his knees connecting with one of the benches so he slumped backwards onto the uncomfortable wood.

"You American's and you're drinking laws," the elder man muttered, as if scolding Alfred for the entire thing. "Lighten up~ It's just a bit of sacramental wine!"

"But Father...um..."

"Rome," Father Rome. Alfred mentally scoffed; his parents must have hated him, before responding.

"Surely you of all people should be telling me not to-"

"Come now! If I say its okay, it's okay!" Alfred bit his lip and pretended to take a sip, making a mental note to throw it into the pot plant beside him as soon as Rome's back was turned. Rome beamed in encouragement, taking a rather generous drink himself.

"So, Andy-"

"Alfred."

"Yes, yes, whatever." Rome muttered, waving his hand dismissively. Alfred found it bizarre that the Father new his brother by first name but not himself, the star of nearly every sporting event, by only his last. It was a complete 180 of normal reactions, "any reason you were out crawling along my path during school hours?"

Alfred winced, but Rome merely laughed.

"Oh come now, everyone skips at least once in their life! Not normally to go to a church but..." he trailed off, as if in contemplation of this. Alfred forced himself not to gape.

"Um...well...it's a bit of a long story...and weird...maybe I shouldn't bother you with it..."

"Oh no! I love the latest gossip! Slept with some hot cheerleader chick have you?" Alfred flushed down to his toes, shaking his head furiously. Rome seemed surprised, raising an eyebrow, "cheerleading guy?"

"No! I haven't slept with anyone!" The exclamation echoed throughout the old building. Alfred was sure there was no blood anywhere else in his body, his face had to of been glowing with the colour red it had turned.

"...yes...and now the rest of the world knows that as well..."

"I...oh god," Alfred shook his head violently, putting the wine glass to the side as he forced himself to keep a straight face, "I see...dead people."

Alfred stared at Rome.

Rome stared at Alfred.

Then the Father burst out laughing, grasping the top of the bench in front of Alfred for support as he shook with hysterics.

"Oh wow..." He wheezed, attempting to hold his sides together from the sheer force of his laughter. "That is a good one, people have said they've found Jesus in toast before but you take the cake! Now really, what's the problem?" He settled, leaning against the wood once more.

Alfred frowned, shifting slightly and realisation dawned on the other's face.

"...you aren't...serious are you?" Hesitating, Alfred raised his fist, pausing only to take a deep breath, before unclenching his hand and allowing the mark on his palm to be visible to the other.

Rome's eyes widened, "...where...did you get this?" He muttered.

"...It was burnt onto me with a-"

"Pendant?" Rome finished, stepping forward and grabbing Alfred's palm, twisting it rather painfully in the light as if to check its authenticity, muttering in what Alfred assumed was gibberish the whole time.

"Yes..." Rome finally announced, tracing the lines and grinning, "yes, yes, this is the real thing!"

"El- my friend said it was a mediation mark..."

"She's a clever girl that Elizaveta," Alfred resisted the urge to snap something back. Clearly the Father wasn't as big an idiot as he pretended to be.

Forcing himself to keep neutral, Alfred asked, "so she was right then?"

"What? Oh, Elizaveta, very much so. I met her grandmother before, poor woman..." Rome dropped Alfred's palm, seemingly done with the inspection. His gaze turned serious as he stared at the chain just poking out the top of Alfred's shirt.

"...I see..." He muttered, pursing his lips.

"What?" Alfred exclaimed, Rome said nothing and turned to walk up toward the alter, muttering as he went, "what?" Alfred repeated, dashing after him.

The teen only just managed to catch the tail end of the elder man's ramblings, "-tell Matthew, then there's the burning of that house- Oh! Alfred there you are~ forgot all about you for a second there!" Alfred paled, hand twitching in anticipation for a face/palm of epic proportions.

"...what was that about burning?"

"That house you set on fire, of course." Alfred froze, dread pooling in his stomach. The Father continued walking however; stopping only when he realized the teen wasn't following. "What is it?" He asked, genuinely surprised.

"...you know?" Alfred squeaked, fearing the worst.

"Of course I know, I got complained to for about five hours after it happened!" The teen's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Complained to?" He repeated, "by who?"

Rome pulled back a curtain on the covered dais and Alfred's blood froze in his veins.

"Hello Jones." The ghost teen snarled, looking down on him from his position atop the platform. The golden perch for the books shook lightly.

"Now, now Arthur, you can't kill him until after he apologises." Rome chastised. The ghost's frown only increased at that, a small growl escaping his lips.

Then everything went black.