There's no goddamn reason Billy Joe Cobra should be out here in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. There are shows to perform, alcohol to drink, and ladies - lots of ladies, just throwing themselves at him (and well, some men too, but unfortunately certain indulgences were still frowned upon by the Hollywood elite). God, yeah, that's what Billy could use right now after the seemingly eternal plane ride here and the least interesting chauffer in what had to be the entire world: some attention.

Billy glances into the front mirror of the luxury car he's in, trying to catch the driver's gaze from the backseat. Nope. Nothin'. Goddammit, what's Billy Joe Cobra with no one to listen to him and be charmed by his every action? Fuckin' nothin', that's what.

After a couple of rolling hills and some beautiful scenery (that might be charming to someone who hadn't seen everything in the world and experienced just about everything to go with it), they finally arrive at their destination. Billy would have had no idea had he not been tipped off by the swarm of paparazzi waiting for him on the suburban lawn covered with bits of debris. No respect, people always say, but Billy wouldn't have it any other way. Bring on the attention.

Except this time Billy couldn't act like usual - couldn't wink at the camera, tell some sick jokes that were definitely hilarious (goddamn haters), or strike a sexy pose. This was supposed to be...solemn? Yeah, that's the right word. Sure, Billy had dropped out of school to become the pop star he was always meant to be but that didn't mean he was stupid. You need words to write music even if the songs are just about how flawless you were.

- and oh GOD his mind was wandering again he needed to just get. himself. together. Fuck. Lay it on thick, Billy Joe Cobra, show them how much you definitely care about these distant relatives of yours who died in that tragic house fire. You know, Billy, the ones you never even knew about until the minor headline yesterday.

Look, Billy Joe Cobra wasn't some emotionally stunted sociopath. It was sad that things happened the way they did, that this family had to die. Sad like when you read a headline story on MSN about some poor folks but you just make a little tutting noise and then move on to another story. Billy had no connection to these people, and faking it to improve his image to the press wasn't his idea of a good time. Damn Miranda - his agent was good at her job, he'd give her that, but that didn't make following her orders and letting her choreograph his life any more enjoyable.

He steps out of the car door, welcoming the oncoming flashes and pops and does his best to look pained. "I want you to go out and dig a little, Billy. Like it's all familiar and you just need a trace of the family that left you behind. Make it a good show. Fuck, are you even listening Mr. COHEN?"

Yeah, alright Miranda. You win, as always.

Billy marches on to the pile of wreckage that used to be a home. A husband, a wife, and two kids. A teenage boy and a little girl. Touching all that remained of their life for what was essentially political gain felt dirty. But they weren't exactly around to be upset anymore, were they? Some of the walls of the house remained charred but fairly intact. You could make out the shape of rooms and god Billy didn't want to really think about it - think about who slept where, and where they shared meals together... he could hear more flashes. He must have looked particularly empathetic. Best time to rummage around as any.

Billy kneels down in a room that looks like it could have been a bedroom if you cleared out all the soot. The house is a hauntingly intact - a skeleton of damaged walls remains, rooms filled with blackened furniture. He remembers, as he kneels, what he's heard about deaths caused by fire. How your joints just shrivel up in the heat so you die on your knees with your hands together like you're praying. He wonders if someone died on their knees right where he was kneeling now, trying to escape through all the smoke but unable to breathe or move -

God, he needs some drugs. His mind was wandering far too much today in far too many terrible directions and he just needs to GROUND himself so he reaches out for the nearest thing and his hand falls on an old video camera. Good a time as any to follow Miranda's choreography right? So he holds it up to his face, inspecting it in a way he hopes is Miranda-approved when he sees out of the corner of his eye -

A kid.

There was a fucking kid on the remains of a bed.

Jesus, okay, maybe he didn't need any drugs. Had he shot up lately jesus fuck there was a goddamn KID there and-

and Billy could see right through him.

Fuck Billy, you need to just take it easy bro, he thinks; then the kid, previously curled up with his head in his hands, looks up and meets Billy's eyes. Cautiously. Like he's looked at people before hoping they'd see him only to be disappointed.

Well, Billy Joe Cobra isn't one to disappoint. "Hey lil bro, you okay?"

The kid's eyes widen in shock and he jumps up from the bed frame, an awkward combination of stumbling and floating. Right. So maybe this kid could also...fly.

That's when Billy remembers he isn't alone and shit did he actually say that out loud? Christ, if that didn't make him seem insane he didn't know what would. If Miranda were watching he'd imagine her expression to be abject horror and her mind whirling with excuses to play it off and press releases about how he was just so overcome with grief he went a little bit crazy. Fuck, that kid's still looking at him with this odd mixture of horror and disbelief and happiness. What is he supposed to do? Pop, pop, pop go the cameras. Billy turns around to meet them, placing the handheld video camera down.

"Hey...as much as I love you guys, could I get a little bit of privacy here?"

Hah. Askin' the paps for privacy. Right. But it appeared at least a few of them had some ethical boundaries and turned away. Billy does the old trick to dissuade the rest: stand completely still in the same position until they couldn't get any more interesting shots. Bye, bitches.

He finally turns to look back at the kid that may or may not be some whacked out LSD hallucination only to find he isn't there anymore. Well, fuck. All that effort and he couldn't even keep his own hallucination there. But, bro, is it him or is it suddenly just a little colder? Billy takes an involuntary step back, accidentally kicking the video camera he placed back on the floor.

There's a flash of something right in front of his face and a quick strangled cry of "ellooo-" when he does it.

Wait. The camera. Billy knows somewhere in the back of his mind this is ridiculous, but he reaches down to touch it anyway.

"-od, I knew it was hoping for too much! You can't even see me, can you, Mister Pretentious? I don't even know what you're doing here or what the hell is going on but can you take your terrible sense of fashion and paparazzi somewhere else because some of us are trying to grieve here,"the kid rants half at Billy and half to himself.

"Hey, bromigo, my sense of fashion is fuckin' flawless."

The kid does the same little float-stumble as before. "Y-you...you can hear me?"

"Loud and clear, bro," Billy responds, deciding to just kinda roll with it. It's like when you get high and you just gotta go along for the ride - if you fight it, you get problems. Jumping off a rollercoaster while it's still running hasn't gotten anyone anywhere good. "And you're one to be criticizing my choice of clothes when you're in a t-shirt and jeans."

"You...you can see me too?" the kid asks full of wonder. Jesus, does he have to look like that? So incredulously afraid to be happy but so hopeful he just can't help it? Contrary to what some may say, Billy Joe Cobra does have a heart and damn it might just be breaking right now.

"Yeah, kid. I can see you. And it's just you and me now...for the most part," he says glancing over his shoulder at the paps loading up their vans. "So...you want to tell me why I can only see you when I'm touching this camera? Or why you can float?"

The kid looks confused at first. "I didn't know about the camera..." he mutters to himself. Then his face turns into what Billy likes to call the 'I'm A Little Shit'-face. "Isn't it polite to ask someone their name first?"

Jesus. Okay. "Look, I bet I already know what your name is...Steven."

There is a period of awkward silence and fuck Billy remembered the name from the article wrong didn't he, it was some other two-syllable 'S' name. "Spencer!" he spits out quickly. "Spencer..." he says again, slowly.

The kid looks down and mutters, "Yeah, that's me. So I guess you know I'm dead, huh?"

That's when Billy realizes he's got something really, terribly huge on his hands. He's not just dealing with some figment of his imagination, or even a fan he'll never talk to again. This is a kid who is dealing with the loss of everything he's ever had, including his own life. Billy is not equipped for this at all, he's always been stunted in the area of caring about others. But Billy knows that when he looks in the mirror and he's got the same look on his face this kid - Spencer - has now...he wants to be comforted. He wants to be hugged. So fuck it, fuck whatever he's supposed to do in this situation so he doesn't look batshit insane and fuck whatever Miranda's going to be yelling at him for tomorrow. He reaches out to this kid to give the best hug he can muster and-

Shit. The kid's gone. Right, the video camera. Billy awkwardly shifts back to touch it again.

"Did you just...try to hug me...?" Spencer asks incredulously. And then he chokes out a laugh. It sounds rough, like Spencer hasn't laughed in god knows how long. And maybe that's all Billy can do for him now: make him smile.

"Hey, kid, I'll have you know everything I do is smoooooth and purposeful," he drawls, haphazardly striking a pose while still holding the camera.

Spencer laughs, easier this time. "Hah, yeah right! I've seen you on TV - glad to know you're just as dopey in real life as on camera!"

Alright, dead kid, don't push your luck. "That's a lie and you know it, bromigo," he raises his eyebrows, still frozen in a dramatic pose. God, if Miranda could see him now, limbs outstretched in the middle of the ruins of a burned down building, talking to no one and clutching a video camera. Thank god the press was gone. But there were bigger things to worry about.

"Hey...uh...Spencer," he mutters, dropping the pose and trying to look a little more serious. The kid looks at him questioningly. "What...what are you going to do?" Well, there goes the brief moment of lighthearted fun. Spencer has grabbed his arm with one hand while the other remains clenched in a fist. "I...I don't know. Everything...everything is gone."

Billy surveys the area. There is nothing for Spencer here except painful memories. His family is gone - guess they didn't stick around like Spencer. All he could do is curl up alone in what used to be his bed and pretend things were okay.

Billy Joe Cobra then came up with what was probably the worst idea of all time.

"Do you wanna just...come with me?"

Spencer looks at Billy, brow knitted in confusion. "Wait...you want me to come with you? Then what? I just follow you around until I...disappear or something...?" Spencer trails off, eyes looking to the ground.

"Well, Lil' Bro Peep, I figure it's gotta be a better deal than hanging out here alone. Unless you have someone you'd want to stay with? A closer relative...a friend...?" Billy can see as he's giving suggestions that Spencer's expression only seems to get more downtrodden. Damn. Didn't this kid have friends or family he was close to? Shit, what was Billy even thinking offering to take him in, he was hardly a suitable babysitter. Wait, would Spencer need a caretaker? What exactly would all of this entail? Ah, fuck it, he can think later when there isn't a sad kid in front of him that just lost everything.

"Hey," Billy mutters, stepping a little closer to Spencer which makes him stiffen a little. "We're family...right?"

Spencer hesitates for a moment and Billy is convinced he's going to refuse when he responds with, "Can you just...grab anything that's left from my house? I can't touch things."

"Sure thing, bromosapien," says Billy, and together they scrounge what's left of the house. There isn't much, and what is left isn't necessarily meaningful (like that can-opener Billy excitedly discovered while Spencer gave him the "Are-You-An-Idiot" look). They end up with a watch, a few nonfunctional karate movies in melted cases, a curling iron, and a wrench. Billy gives a mental applause in honor of metal for being so resilient. Speaking of applause, Billy thinks he most definitely deserves it for carrying all this stuff while keeping a firm grasp on the video camera. No-talented hack? Please.

If Billy's chauffer thinks there is anything particularly odd about him carrying back a pile of knick-knacks to the vehicle and opening the door for no one, he doesn't say anything. Typical.

"Hey, driver-man," Billy yells to the front seat, "You haven't been giving me any attention this whole time so I trust you to keep disregarding everything I do or say...deal?"

"Smooth," says Spencer, raising his eyebrows patronizingly. Like Billy needed tips for being smooth from this...maybe 15-year-old kid that was, to reiterate, wearing a t-shirt and ill-fitting jeans.

"I don't need your sass, brotato," Billy mutters, earning a sideways glance from the driver but nothing more. Wonderful.

Time passes in a bit of an awkward silence as they drive through the suburbs and the hills back to the airport, Spencer looking out the window mournfully all the while. When the silence finally breaks, it isn't because of Billy.

"You know, I spent my whole life wanting to get out of this boring town and now I'm sad to see it go," Spencer sighs. Billy doesn't know what exactly to say to that because he's never had a problem getting anywhere he wanted to go.

"Well bro, we're going somewhere so exciting you'll forget about these lame 'burbs in no time!" Billy exclaims. "The Cobra Mansion, home ofyours truly, is just about the most un-boring place to be!"

Spencer offers a half-smile to that, but no other response. He just looks down at his transparent hand, and pushes it through the seat in front of him experimentally. Yep, no doubt about it, Spencer's hand couldn't touch it. Wait, Billy thought, then how was this bro sitting on the seat beside him? Why didn't he just phase through the car? Hell, why didn't he just phases through the Earth's crust and float out into space? Hmm. A dilemma for another day.

"You'd think being a ghost would be cooler, huh," Spencer says speculatively, as he phases his arm in and out of the seat in front of him.

"What...?"

"I said, you'd think being a ghost would-"

"STOP THE CAR!" Billy screams and fuckin wait just one moment here there was a goddamn GHOST next to him and-

The driver slams on the brakes, pitching Billy against the seat in front of him because he's too reckless to wear a seatbelt. Spenc-THE GHOST makes an odd squawking noise and just shouts, "What the HELL, dude?"

Billy jumps out of the vehicle before it's completely stopped, dropping the video camera. He looks around him and JESUS why are all airports in the middle of nowhere there is no place to hide so he just tries to cram himself under the car when a strong arm grabs him by his jacket.

"Mr. Cobra, sir, I'm going to have to ask you to get out from under the car."

Oh, goddammit.

The driver essentially crams Billy into the backseat, handing Billy back the video camera with a slight twitch of the eyebrow and muttering to himself about crazy drug-addicts. "What the heck was that about?" Spencer asks incredulously.

"You're a ghost," Billy says emphatically. What more explanation did this bro need?

"Yes...I would think that was kind of clear, seeing as I am dead and transparent," Spencer enunciated slowly, as if he were speaking to a child. Billy was no child, dammit, and he would not be patronized but oh jesus a ghost was glaring at him and-

"Okay, why are you shoving your face into back of the front seat?" Spencer's voice seems to have a tinge of regret lining his question, as if maybe coming along wasn't the best idea after all.

"Ghosts...ghosts are scary," says Billy, his words muffled by the surface he slammed himself against in an effort to not look at the ghost. What you can't see can't hurt you, right? To his credit, he was brave enough to remain holding the camera.

"You're...afraid of ghosts," Spencer deadpans and Billy can just feel Spencer's eyebrow raise even though he refuses to look at it.

"Yes," Billy replies meekly. He imagines if Miranda were here now she would be openly sobbing and screaming "Heartthrobs can't be afraid of anything unless it's endearing!".

"Ugh, I knew coming along was a mistake," Spencer sighs heavily. Billy immediately feels kinda-absolutely-like-shit.

"Wait, Edgar Allen Bro-"

"It's Spencer."

"Spencer...I'm sorry, man. I know I just flipped my shit a little bit-" one of Spencer's eyebrows arches at the words 'little bit', "But...I can...get over it. Yeah. Totally. For...uh...your sake."

Spencer's expression softens a little bit.

"Thanks...brojangles."

"Hey, you're getting the hang of it, bromeo!"