Spending around two and a half hours on a trivia about the dead Winstons was surprisingly not as boring as it sounded.

The possibility of spending eternity as a vengeful bored ghost with little to no emotions and plaguing memories definitely added a bit of spice to it, but that wasn't what was making it so interesting.

What added a bit of fun and amusement to the otherwise terrifying and tense situation was Jean.

He was a completely different person when away from humans, and Fred had noticed it too when they hung out but even then he was cautious, like he was worried of saying or doing the wrong thing. But around ghosts that could have literally ripped his limbs apart and in a building that was rickety, old and haunted, the strange human walked around with an excited gleam in his eyes as he casually answered them like the passionate fanboy he was, right in his element.

It was so fucking bizarre and it made Fred want to understand what made Jean tick.

“The mother wants you to answer why she had vanished for the whole of summer ‘95,” Fred said, sitting cross-legged on the floor of an old library, them having to move there when the father had asked about the history of house.

Jean, casually sitting on a table probably riddled with termites, and swinging his legs back and forth, played with a strand of his hair as he thought through the question.

Snapping his fingers, he said, “To spend time with her husband's brother with whom she was having an affair with. Pretty cliché but that's what I think it is from all the investigating I did.”

“Correct.” Fred looked at the spirit with a look of disgust, her eyebrow going up.

“You want to judge me like everyone did, go right ahead,” she said wistfully, voice quiet and dainty and hands in front of her ripped sleeveless ball gown. It was like she was trying to cover the part that showed her stomach had been split open like her son's.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No. I don't know what went down. None of my business.

“Are they asking anything else?” Jean asked, getting off the table and switching off his dimming flashlight.

Fred turned to look at Jean as he sat down beside Fred, the window at the end of the library showing the change of colors as daylight began to appear.

“One more question.”

Fred looked back at the line of the family members, surprised to hear the father, Victor, talk for the first time.

Fred eyed him as he stepped forward, surprised he couldn't see any visible wound to show how he had died.

A tall spirit that looked more tired than all the other spirits of his family. Skinny, frail looking and bald. If that was how he looked like when alive, Fred would have been worried the wind would've shattered him.

“How did we die?” he asked, a booming, deep voice that Fred hadn't expected.

Ah shit, he thought as he turned to look at Jean. He doesn't know that!

Okay. How to stall? How to stall? Sun will rise in…maybe five or six minutes? Think, Freddie. Think.

“What?” Jean asked, still smiling and eyes all bright and childlike and Fred could just strangle the smart idiot.

“Could you repeat that question? Didn't catch it?” Fred tried after swallowing down the lump in his throat.

Victor straightened up and his expression darkened, making Fred laugh nervously. He hoped he didn't poke a nerve or had his plan figured out.

“How did we die?” Victor said louder, old shelves trembling as his temper got closer and closer to reaching its breaking point.

“How…” Fred said slowly, elongation each syllable, “did…they...lose...their…comfortable…far…reaching…wealthy…gifted…hap-”

“How did we die?” Victor yelled that time, a couple of shelves falling down and the table that Jean had been on breaking into two.

Both Fred and Jean bent their heads forward as dust and wood shavings fell in their heads, making them cough.

“He said,” Fred coughed. “He wants to know how they died?” he finally got out, glancing to his right to see Jean spitting out dust and wiping his arms.

Fred looked behind Jean to see the skies turning dark shades of orange and yellow, thinking that they had a chance. That maybe they could've avoided it if Jean stalled as well with his answer.

“Their deaths?” Jean asked Fred. He didn't look all that excited anymore but worried, lips pressed in a thin line as his eyes shifted from left to right, as if the answer was all around them.

Almost time. Just stretch this out. Don't get us killed, buddy and I won't kill you myself for getting us in this mess.

“How did they die?” Jean asked, using his hand to shake the dust out of his hair as he chewed on his thumb nail, eyes scoping everywhere around him.

“What do their wounds look like?”

The question confused Fred, not seeing the point of it.

Jean turned to his bag at his hip and began to go through it then bringing out an old newspaper as he asked, “What do their wounds look like? Specifically Victor. If they all have their wounds that show how they died like you told me, then Victor should have three handgun bullet shots over his heart, according to this article. Does he have that?”

Fred blinked at Jean who looked at him expectantly with the fraying newspaper in hand. Sighing, Fred turned back to look at Victor who was looking at Jean with a ghost of a smile on his daunting face.

“Smart one,” Victor said and Fred rolled his eyes, thinking differently.

Fred looked at the white dress shirt Victor had on, showing the clothes he wore when he died and didn't see any bullet wounds or even a hint of blood or strangle wounds on his boney neck. It made Fred wonder how exactly he had died.

“No,” Fred said quietly. “No bullet wounds. Or any wound for that matter.”

“Knew it!” Fred swiveled back to Jean to see the younger man had shot up with clenched fist in front of him, smile wide and worry gone.

“Well not really but I had a hunch. It all led back to him either way. It was too obvious so I didn't know but this definitely proves it. Oh this is amazing! I actually get to figure this out! I may still need to read more on th-”

“Jean!”

Jean turned back to Fred, only noticing that he had paced all the way to the window before giving Fred a sheepish smile and bounding his way back.

Fred sighed, trying not to smile because it really wasn't the time for it.

“Victor’s brother, Philip, killed you all but Victor’s death was the special one,” Jean started, calmly talking about a family’s death besides the sad frown that appeared on his face. “He drugged you, I'm guessing, killing you slowly. And because of his occultic practices that were merely rumors but I'm guessing were true, used your daughter's birthday as some kind of opportunity and way of doing his duties. Kill two birds with one stone. Or in this case, eight birds. He was jealous that you got to marry Vivian Winston and was only a dirty secret stuck in a run down apartment while his ill brother lived the life he wanted. You invited him to stay the night for the birthday party the next day. Authorities said he denied the invitation but it was a lie. Am I right?”

The sun had fully risen halfway through Jean's vivid hypothesis about the Winston family, each of them vanishing as light seeped through. Fred decided to wait for him to finish before letting him know that.

Although he did frown, puzzled, when the twins and the boy from before waved at him before leaving.

“They're gone, sweetheart. Thank the gods,” Fred said with a sigh, flopping backwards on the ground out of relief.

We made it. Oh fuck, we made it. Mama and big sis would've killed me if I died.

“Oh,” Jean said from beside him, sounding disappointed for some reason.

Fred turned his head to the right, looking at his crazy companion.

Jean put his hands on the ground behind him as he looked up to the ceiling then at the window. Some of his hair had gotten out of his short ponytail, falling against his tanned cheeks and jaw. His full lower lips stuck out slightly as he continued to chew on his nail, almond-shaped eyes looking wide open and alert despite the obvious signs of fatigue under them.

Fred kept quiet, not sure why he was staring but he continued to do so, up until Jean noticed and looked at him with a puzzled expression.

“What?” Jean asked slowly.

“I don't know whether to kiss you for keeping us alive or strangle you for being the reason we nearly got killed.”

“...Are those my only options?”

Fred laughed at that, a shocked kind of laughter that started with him nearly choking on his spit.

“You're one crazy son of a bitch,” Fred said in between his laugh, sitting up and looking at Jean who gave a shaky smile back.

“At least we made it,” Jean said as he stood up, offering his hand for Fred to take.

Fred let out a small scoff, taking the hand and letting out a yelp when Jean pulled him up effortlessly.

He's stronger than he looks.

“I don't think those guys were the malicious kinda spirits. Maybe the prankster kind. We would have probably gotten out of this alive anyway,” Fred said as they began to leave the library, headed for the creaking stairs.

“Oh I really doubt that,” Jean said while laughing sarcastically, putting all his things back in his bag.

Fred looked at him quizzically, turning back to look at the open door as he asked, “What do you mean?”

“You don't think we're the only ones that have come here around this day to check it out, do you?”

Fred stopped at the last stair at that, staring at the back of Jean's head as he headed for the door.

“Are you telling me that we could've actually died?”

Jean turned around at the door to look at Fred, face all innocent looking like he hadn't just made Fred's heart stop at his words.

“Well yeah.”

Why the fuck does he sound so okay with that?

“I mean a lot of unexplained deaths happened here on this day between 5am and 6am. It's the only reason I was somewhat sure there were actual ghosts here. Either that or a really good serial killer. So yes. We could have died.”

Fred rushed to Jean and smacked the guy on the head before marching out of the god forsaken building.

“Ow! What was that for?” Jean yelled behind him, rushing forward and appearing on Fred's side.

Fred turned to him sharply, hoping his anger showed on his face and watched as Jean deflated, taking a step back as his eyes widened. Fred felt a bit guilty when he heard Jean's quickening heartbeat but it wasn't enough to dampen his anger at the fact that Jean knew they couldn't walked into their deaths and he had dragged Fred with him anyway!

He was willing to risk my life for a couple of fucking answers? What the fuck? How fucking horrible could a guy be?

“You are one crazy son of a bitch! If you want to kill yourself, leave me the fuck out of it!” Fred yelled, the fear from before still coursing through his veins and Jean's admission only made it worse.

I knew I could've died. I knew it but the game made me think, somehow, that it was a joke. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck you, Jean!

“I-I-I-I-” Jean stuttered nervously, taking several steps back as his shoulders shook. He tripped on something and fell on his butt, his widened eyes never leaving Fred's form.

Fred didn't say anything else, so angry that he felt that he would've punched the guy in the face. So he turned back around and left, jumping over the gate and putting his hands in his pockets.

He was ready. So ready to let me die with him just because of his curiosity. Did he not care? Did he just think that because of what I am I'll be fine? Why did I even go? Because I wanted a friend? My hands are still fucking shaking. I could've fucking died.

Fuck being friends. Fuck the humans. Fuck life and fuck you, Jean.