He didn't understand what was going on. He was on his way home and then... Agony. Raging, flaming agony coursing throughout his entire body. Then he was standing in a strange room, three backs to him as they surrounded something that he couldn't see. The red haired man turned around, a hand over his mouth and his shoulders hunched as if he was ready to puke. The blonde haired male was stock still. He was frozen on place. The man in the white lab coat looked sympathetic.

He gulped, stepping closer. "Alistor? Francis? What's going on?" He went unanswered. "Guys? Why am I he-" he stopped mid-sentence.

Francis began screaming about how he was at fault and moved out of the way.

The man whom had attempted to speak stared at... Himself. He lay there, paler than a ghost.

A ghost?

He looked down at his fingers. He could see them just fine. "Alistor? What's going on?" He reached over, then cried out as his hand slid right through the redhead's shoulder. He drew his hand back as stared with wide eyes. "Oh... God...."

~

He gulped heavily as he walked tentatively through that door right behind the blonde French. He was almost relieved to hear Arthur's cheerful voice. Last time he heard that voice, it was apologetic, and before that it was furious.

Somehow, he hoped that his precious Arthur would see him as he saw Flying Mint Bunny or Unicorns or Faeries or even Captain Hook. But when Arthur looked grouchy and disappointed to see Francis, he couldn't help but feel a sharp pain where his chest was; where his heart should have been beating. The agony in Arthur's cries burned more than the pain he remembered last feeling. He shuddered slightly as a body passed right through him, but it hadn't phased him other wise. He watch Arthur scream at Francis and tell his elder brother that the French was playing an awful trick. When that look of painful realization dawned on Arthur's expression, the ghost wanted nothing more than to hold his sweet lover.

~

Not too long later, maybe three days later, he stood beside his body, watching everyone cry for him, even his family whom he had thought scorned him. He stood beside Arthur as the smaller male fixed him to his daily appearance with trembling hands. The ghost reached out and tried brushing away those tears. They slipped right through his fingers. He tried pushing back the fallen strands of golden hair, his fingers that had done that many times before no longer could.

He felt his our tears steak his cheek, but they'd never be visible or felt by any living being. He watched helplessly as Arthur screamed and cried at his family, yelling that it was their fault.

The ghost sobbed, wanting to be the one holding dear Arthur rather than Alistor.

~

Finally... Finally he could touch Arthur --or anything for that matter-- without going straight through it. He lay on the bed behind Arthur, a week after his funeral. He curled around Arthur, hoping that his darling Brit would not have to cry himself to sleep for another night. He never felt more relieved as Arthur relaxed in his arms. Alfred closed his eyes and breathed in Arthur's scent he had recognized ages ago. He held Arthur, but he knew Arthur couldn't feel him. He smiled when he felt Arthur slip into a deep sleep. Slowly, the ghost shut down his subconscious to be in a sleep like state.

~

The next day, he was furious. Arthur was left alone in the house with only a ghost, and no one could hear or see him. He couldn't just waltz through the furniture or walls anymore, so he stumbled over the coffee table and couch and ran right into the walls, but not a noise was heard to ears other than his own and no one noticed the slight movement of the furniture.

As Arthur stood in the kitchen with his cup of tea Francis had made instead of him like he did every morning, the ghost started screaming, trying to draw Arthur's attention. He finally roared in frustration and tossed his arms furiously, knocking a vase over in the process. He gasped, jumping back even though he wouldn't get hurt by the shards.

Alfred looked up as Arthur spoke from the kitchen, then watched as the Brit slowly made his way into the living area. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, Arthur, I didn't mean-"

Arthur's expression became panic-stricken as he dropped his teacup and started scurrying around the house, searching for intruders. When Arthur finally came back and collapsed, the ghost began to cry as he knelt in front of Arthur. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean it... I promise..."

~

The ghost held Arthur tighter that night, wanting so desperately for Arthur to feel him as he wanted to feel his finger tips graze over Arthur's skin, not just his warmth.

He began to sob, despite the smaller male not crying himself to sleep once again. He was supposed to be strong. He served six years in the army, he stood up to his family, he had a job and left behind enough money for Arthur to get by for the rest of his life.

"I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry... I should have moved, or waited, or stopped.... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." He tried nuzzling his nose into Arthur's hair. "Arthur..."

Arthur abruptly jerked up, yanking the ghost with him. His wild green eyes searched the room frantically as the ghost watched him.

"A-Alfred?"

~

Two weeks... Two weeks and he hasn't been able to talk to Arthur again. He's tried.... He's tried to talk again, see if Arthur could hear him. He's tried keeping his temper under control, trying not to frighten Arthur like he did last time he was furious.

Alfred stood behind Arthur as he stood, washing the dishes. "Arthur... Please. I need you to hear me. I'm so lonely. It hurts. It all hurts so bad. You don't know in here, you can't hear me, you can't feel me... Arthur, I'm dead... Right? If I'm dead, why am I not in heaven or hell?"

He stepped forward. Before he could place a hand on his grieving lover's shoulder or back, the Brit turned and started walking away. "No! You need to hear me!" The cupboard doors
around him burst open an he started throwing all the plates, bowls and cups, most of them shattering as they hit other doors, the tiled floor, or counters. He angrily grabbed a wine bottle and smashed it on the edge of the counter, then started throwing the cupboards shut so hard that they bounced back open harshly.

His fury was so blinding, he hadn't even realized that he himself was doing it until he hear Arthur scream.

"STOP!"

Alfred stood still, then turned his attention to the male whimpering and trembling on the floor.

"Arthur, no... I'm here. Please, Arthur... Arthur." Alfred hesitantly stepped over. He kneeled down and reached closer. "Sorry... I didn't mean to scare you."

"I can't... I don't..." Arthur didn't understand.... But he could hear. Arthur could hear him, even though it was probably only bits and pieces. "What's going on? I'm so scared."

Alfred reached up and pressed his palm against Arthur's cheek. "So sorry..."

"Arthur!?" Alfred stood up at the voice, then saddened more when he saw Francis try to comfort Arthur. Alfred wanted to do that. He tuned out the rest of their conversation, but followed them to Arthur's and his shared room.

He stood beside Arthur as he lay curled up on the bed. Alfred jumped in surprise as Arthur sat up on the bed abruptly. "Alfred?" Alfred froze at his name. He stared at Arthur on shock.

Quickly, Alfred sat down beside Arthur and placed his hand over the smaller male's. "Yes, Arthur?"

Arthur gulped. "Alfred? Is that you? Is it really... Really you?" Alfred reached up with his other hand to attempt to wipe away the tears streaking his cheeks. "Oh, God... It is?"

A soft smile split Alfred's lips as he leaned closer. "Yes, Arthur. It's really me. I'm right here. It's okay, babe."

However, Arthur's expression was just pitiful. "I don't understand... I can't hear you..." Alfred squeezed Arthur's hand as Arthur began to sob. He released the Brit's hand as he drew hi own hands to his chest. "Al... Alfred... H-how?" Said American leaned forward slightly and sighed. "I'm scared... You scared me... I thought you were going to hurt me."

Alfred looked up with wide eyes. "Never." He spoke firmly. Arthur's eyes twinkled in slight surprise. "I would never hurt you."

Arthur shook his head. "I don't understand you."

Slowly, Alfred felt himself disappear. "I know..." He trailed, tears streaking his cheeks, knowing that Arthur probably would never see or hear him ever again. He felt his strength vanish as Arthur called his name.

~

Alfred watched as Alistor listened to Arthur about him. Alistor seemed heavily confused about the situation, but allowed Arthur to believe that he was really hearing and feeling Alfred. He followed along behind Arthur as the Brit made his way to the kitchen.

Arthur started to pick and grab at the things he needed to make his scones, then stopped as if realizing something. Alfred leaned against the counter, grabbing the handle of his favorite mug out if habit. Alfred watched in amusement as Arthur peered around as if searching for onlookers.

The Englishman then sucked in a deep breath before biting his lower lip. "Alfred?" Said American hummed in response, but knew that his darling Brit couldn't hear him. "Alfred, could you please show me you're here?"

Alfred laughed. Of course he would. He stepped around Arthur so his back would be turned. Alfred turned so he faced Arthur's back, smiled, then released a porcelain teacup.

The ghost laughed again as Arthur screamed in surprise, then made his way back to his mug. Arthur then began to laugh lightly while attempting to scold him and telling his brother and guest that he merely dropped something.

Once Arthur had the mess cleaned up, Alfred started shifting the mug without realizing that he was doing so. "Geez, Alfred. You always have to cause a rukus, don't you?"

"Of course." Alfred chuckled, watching Arthur. "You know that's who I am." He absentmindedly tilted his mug.

Arthur suddenly frowned. "You know I don't understand you. I don't even know where you are standing." Alfred gripped his mug, causing it to jerk in just the slightest; but enough to catch Arthur's attention. "Alfred... Can you touch me? I want to feel you again."

Alfred smiled slightly before stepping closer. He reached out and gently cupped Arthur's cheek, not realizing that he was only slightly visible. Arthur spoke softly, "I miss you. I miss feeling you. I miss hearing you. I miss everything."

The American nodded, rubbing his thumb under Arthur's eyes. "I know. I wish you could. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

~

Alfred listened to Arthur tell about what happened at the funeral, even though he already knew, and laughed once. His ghostly body tensed when his family was brought up and he shrugged when Arthur asked if he'd ever be able to hear or see him ever again. Alfred smiled as Arthur bid him good-night.

"Night," he replied, closing his eyes.

He felt Arthur relax. "I heard you." Alfred grinned, holding Arthur tighter.

~

The ghost had learned that the more strength he gathered, the more he could do with Arthur. The more Arthur could feel him or hear him and the more he could move, or break, objects to tell Arthur that he was there. So for a month, he watched Arthur cry himself to sleep again and believe that Alfred's ghost really had been just a figment of his imagination.

He listened to his younger brother's story about their father, and cried. He wanted to see his dad, tell him that he forgave him and he had nothing to feel guilty for. But he knew he couldn't. Right now, he had to stay with Arthur.

~

Alfred sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed which barely dipped under his feather-like weight. He gently brushed his knuckles against Arthur's smooth, pink cheeks as the Brit slept peacefully. Alfred hated this. He had just watched Arthur cry himself to sleep once again.

The American stood up, fisting his hair with both hands as he turned away. He held back tears as he paced. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know if he was stuck here by something or if he had to find a way to move on. He didn't know if Arthur would ever see or hear or feel him again while he was still stuck here.

"Why is being dead so difficult!?" He shouted, throwing his fist. His eyes widened and he gasped, drawing back his arm. A large, gaping hole was torn through the drywall.

"Alfred?"