Tw: death, murder, blood, self harm, hallucinations

More ghost Florida

Buncha time skips
also not told from Florida's perspective

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He'd long since given up on escaping, long nights trying to focus enough to lift something and the blood stains that covered the walls confirmed it, he was trapped.

He's adjusting, getting used to staying awake making sure the others were alright, it was good to have routine, even if they didn't need it. It made the long days easier to handle.

He's surprised to hear of a new arrival, the building is old and worn, he doubts anyone would want to come in. The others don't seem afraid or angry, so he leaves it, assuming it's some unfortunate teenager who went in on a dare on the wrong day, he didn't need to check.

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What he was not expecting was a young man, who didn't look much older than twenty, bright smile and warm eyes.

He grunts, tearing his gaze away from where the man was reading something to the children, that smile would fade soon enough.

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It didn't.

Nothing seemed to weigh on him, not the whispers from the adults, or glares from the man who trapped them, not nights alone when someone shut a door before he could leave, he seemed fine.

He couldn't be.

He wasn't.

The cracks started to show soon enough.

Bags under his eyes when he couldn't figure out how to hide them, zoning out before he could change his expression, paranoia was starting to set in.

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"Hey- hey kid-" he huffs, struggling to see through the small hole in the wall, "kid-" the man was curled in on himself, sitting on the floor with tears in his eyes, the man glances over but he doubts the man actually processed the fact that he was there, "what's your name?"

"Will." It's a broken whisper, Will, he could remember that.

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"Hey! Will!" He walks around the table, wrapping an arm around the man's shoulders and leading him away, "listen, I know this isn't uh-" he pauses, looking over to where Will's waiting expectantly, "ideal-" he ignores the glare, "but! I'm sure we can figure out a schedule for you-"

"I don't need a schedule." Will replies, shoving his arm off and stepping away, "I'm fine."

"I'm not asking." Will stops at that, looking unsure, "trust me when I say it'll help."

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"I-I need help-" he turns, waiting to hear it again, "please- I need help-" it's followed by a sob. He makes his way over in quick strides, listening again for which room it came from, "I can't-" it's Will.

"Hey, hey-" Will's tugging at his hair, red marks down his face and neck, presumably from scratching himself, "what's wrong? What happened?" He isn't expecting an answer, fully prepared to talk to the man until he can start responding.

"Is- is there someone else in here?" He pauses, looking around, he wasn't as good at noticing living people like the rest were, years of being dead taking their toll on his abilities, but he can say for certain that no one else is there.

"No." He's struggling with the door now, "no there isn't."

He finally gets it open, managing it with a quick kick to the bottom. He walks over to where Will sits, gently taking his hands from his hair and tilting his head up to check the injuries.

"These aren't permanent, can't really get hurt anymore, right?" Will's expression sours and he can see the tears in the boys eyes, "oh no, no- don't- don't cry, you'll be alright, we uh-" would he be alright? "Do you want me to sit with you?"

Will nods, moving to make room. He sits, wrapping an arm around Will, "whatever you're seeing isn't real." He doesn't miss how Will holds the photo in his hand tighter but he doesn't think to comment on it, not yet. He needed to make sure the kid was alright first.

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