Title comes from Blakemore's Night's Ghost of a Rose: (on youtube) /watch?v=qqjWv3cxmtw

Ghost of a Rose

April 30, 2013

Danny squeezed his eyes further shut as if, along with the thunder and lightning, that movement would block out the smell of lavender and the presence that filled the room, threatening to overwhelm him.

He hoped it would disprove the truth he knew but didn't want to see.

Maybe it would force him awake and he would be relieved to find it was only a nightmare. One that was all too vivid and too real. And one that had repeated itself again and again and again until he thought that his heart would break. But a dream nonetheless.

That was what he hoped for with every fiber of his being as he squeezed his eyes shut. That was what he wished for. But it was an irrational hope and he knew it.

This was no dream. She was here. She was waiting for him. And he would have to do something about it.

Even if he were to close the curtains, he would never be able to ignore her.

And the last time he had tried, she responded by wrapping her leafy tendrils around his car, the sleek black eco-friendly thing she suggested he buy when she was alive. He didn't hear the alarm go off, but heard the shattering of glass and scraping of metal against metal as she crushed it.

When he closed his eyes to try to block it out, hoping that she would go back to the Ghost Zone where she belonged, she had started for the neighbor's house. He was there less than ten seconds after he heard the kids begin to scream.

It had cost him his car and landed Jake in the hospital with fractured legs, but he finally understood.

He couldn't ignore her. He was her obsession. Just as she was his.

Only… it wasn't this Sam that was his obsession. His Sam wouldn't deliberately target children. His Sam wouldn't torment him by coming after him night after night, giving his mind and body no rest from his trials.

No, this wasn't his Sam.

But he could hardly convince himself of that when he faced her.

Sure, he could see the ghostly glow radiating softly off of her. He could see the altered outfit— the purple dress that was her prom dress and Undergrowth uniform combined into something that he wished she had worn while she was alive. She looked great in it, even now that her face was paler than his and her eyes were rimmed in a ring of undead black.

He could see all of this. And the vines flowing with ectoplasm that had no chance of being remotely natural or human.

She was a ghost. And he knew it. He could see it there in black and white.

But when he looked into her eyes…

… all he could see was that she was Sam.

She was his lovely, beautiful, independent, animal loving Sam. His best friend. His ghost-hunting partner. The love of his life.

She was still his Sam.

Her eyes were the same, but now instead of looking at him like she used to, there was a different kind of fire in her eyes. An insatiable blaze that consumed both of them.

He knew from their bright gleam that he was the only one being hurt when her tendrils wrapped around his body, exerting pressure around his neck to stop his breathing or arm to stop a building ecto-blast.

But he wasn't sure who was hurt more when he was able to land a hit on her. It felt like he was destroying a part of himself every time he blasted or punched her. She recovered too quickly and he would find himself needing to attack.

Jab again.

Punch twice.

A flurry of ecto-blasts.

Then some shards of ice to slice through the foliage trying to pin him down.

He had discovered early on that if he went easy on her, she wouldn't go easy on him. And if he didn't keep her occupied, she would go after something or someone to put him on the offensive again.

And then he would finally find an opening and take her down in a stream of harsh blue light, ending it for a while.

What he couldn't stop, however, no matter how hard he tried, was her final scream as she disappeared at the end of every fight. It would tear through his heart and echo through his head for hours until he finally fell asleep, the tears having long since soaked his pillow as he clutched the occupied thermos to his chest.

The beautiful fanart I saw several years ago that I'm pretty sure is responsible for nudging me in the direction of this story's ending: starsoftwilight43 . deviantart (dot com slash) art/DP-Cold-84702387