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tinyfandomflashTitle: Some Things (Never Change)
Author: Apache Firecat
Fandom: The Real Ghostbusters - TV Show/Cartoon
Rating: PG-13/T
Category: Gen
Relationship(s): N/A
Character(s): Peter, Slimer
Word Count: 1,211
Spoiler: N/A
Summary: Some things never change, but some do.
Notes/Warnings: AU, Future Fic
It was routine, really. Through all his years in New York, he had very rarely been able to finish a sandwich without some broad screaming for him to do something. At least this one was screaming about a spook rather than yelling at him to take out the trash or do some other menial chore. Guys like him always had better things to do than take out the trash, at least the traditional kind. He walked through the wall and immediately threw the trap.
The ghost and the woman both gawked in surprise. The woman's red head turned swiftly between himself and the ghost, and she kept screaming. "Lady, chill out, will you?! We're the good guys! Hit the button, will ya, Spud?"
"Y-Y-You're -- "
"Can you not faint please? I'd rather like to get back to my sandwich."
"You're a Ghostbuster!"
"Yup. That's what it says on the uniform," Peter responded, jerking a thumb at the emblem of a plain, white ghost pinned by a red sign with a bar through it. "And your ghost is toast." He bent to pick up the sealed trap, smoke still oozing out of it.
"But -- But -- But -- "
"Yeah, yeah, he's a ghost too."
Slimer rolled his eyes. "Pete--" he started to say, but Peter didn't want to be bothered. All he wanted was to get back to his sandwich. It was so rare he actually got a good meal these days!
"But you're dead!" the girl blurted out.
He sighed heavily and glanced back at her, the trap slung over his shoulder. "Yeah, so what? That's ancient history. All the Real Ghostbusters are dead. These kids these days -- "
"But how are you trapping ghosts when you're a ghost?!"
"I can let him out if you want."
"No! No, please!" She pushed her glasses back onto the bridge of her nose. Her bared knees were still knocking rather loudly, to Peter's hearing, against one another.
There had been a time in Peter's life -- most of his mortal existence, really -- when he would have quickly and gleefully taken advantage of the kid. But all he wanted to do was to get back to his meal quickly and in peace, before other ghouls came along and made away with it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Slimer beginning to sail away. "Uh huh!" he said, snagging his arm. He was glad the ectoplasm no longer splattered him, and for just a moment, he imagined what the frightened girl's legs would look like spread apart and covered in his ectoplasm... But then he pushed the thought away, thought once more fondly of his sandwich, and sighed heavily. His sigh set a breeze floating through the library, rifling books' pages and knocking others from their shelves.
"Look," he asked, turning at last to face her, "can't you just be thankful I got the bad ghost out of your way?"
"But how do you do it?!" she asked, refusing to let it go and obviously still baffled. "How do you catch ghosts when you are a ghost?!"
"It actually makes it easier than you think," he answered earnestly, tightly holding to the Spud's slippery arm. "You're not stealing my sandwich," he hissed at him through gritted teeth. Another ethereal wind knocked more books down, but the girl clearly didn't care. As his luck would have it, she seemed fascinated with him!
"Look," he said, pushing his own glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. When he had been younger, he'd always sworn he would never look like Egon or any of the other geeks, but age had a way of changing an old man's mind. And keeping him interested in far better and more lasting things than sex, especially sex with the living. "The same Scientists who created the Ecto-Containment system and the whole way we catch ghosts," he explained, dangling the filled trap between them, "were awakened a few decades back when another mad Wizard tried to take over the world from New York. We had to find a way to stop those ghosts because nobody else could do it -- nobody would do it --, and we've been doing it ever since. Those same Scientists rehashed the mechanics so that ghosts could catch ghosts." He glowered at her, unaware of just how far his eyes bulged out of his phantom head. She grimaced. "Now," he demanded, "can I please go back to my sandwich?!"
"I -- I think I remember that. I mean, not it actually happening or anything, but my Great-Great-Grandmother telling us kids about it."
He nodded. "That would make sense," he snapped. "Your Great-Great-Grandmother was one of us original Ghostbusters, or at least, she was our Secretary."
"How do you know that?" she asked, gaping.
Peter pointed behind her where Janine had come up, sailing through bookcases. "Will you please answer your granddaughter's questions so I can go back to my dinner?!"
As the two women began to gab, Peter returned from whence he had come. He didn't even stop long enough to drop the trap into the old Containment system, but he was still too late. "Damn it!"
"What?" Ray asked, his mouth full of food.
"Shut your mouth, man!" Winston complained, dabbing at his own mouth with a napkin.
Peter's stomach flopped, but nowhere nearly as bad it would have once. He could see every bit of food in both their mouths! "That was my sandwich," he muttered.
"Sorry, Peter. You want the rest of it?" Ray held out the half-eaten, mildewed sandwich Peter had pulled out of the trash in the alley ealrier that evening, but Peter made a face and turned away.
"Not now," he harrumphed and passed through the floor to the old firehouse's basement. Egon was tinkering with something, as always, as Peter delivered the latest catch. Being ghosts themselves did actually make it easier for them to tell the good spooks from the bad, but it was still a pain in his butt when he had to run off to stop other ghosts and missed what he himself had been doing.
Slimer threw up his skinny, green arms as Peter's glower angled toward him. "I didn't do it this time!"
"No. No, spud, you didn't." Peter shook his head as he fondly scratched Slimer's head. Another ghost had beaten him to the proverbial punch this time. Honestly, for as many things as had become and were quickly becoming ancient history, there were still some things that just never changed.
"Peter -- " Egon called, glancing up from his desk.
Peter flew through the wall. When he looked back, Egon wasn't following, but Slimer was there, holding up two sub sandwiches. "Some things never change," Peter muttered, but then couldn't stop himself from breaking into a wide, open grin as Slimer handed him one of the sandwiches. As ectoplasm no longer affected him, he didn't care the Spud had touched it with his bare, ghostly hands. "And then some things do," he admitted, rubbing Slimer's head with one hand while accepting the sandwich with his other one. He took a big bite as he looked over their neighborhood in the Big Apple. Many things had changed, but maybe it was a good thing that some things never did.
The End
Author: Apache Firecat
Fandom: The Real Ghostbusters - TV Show/Cartoon
Rating: PG-13/T
Category: Gen
Relationship(s): N/A
Character(s): Peter, Slimer
Word Count: 1,211
Spoiler: N/A
Summary: Some things never change, but some do.
Notes/Warnings: AU, Future Fic
It was routine, really. Through all his years in New York, he had very rarely been able to finish a sandwich without some broad screaming for him to do something. At least this one was screaming about a spook rather than yelling at him to take out the trash or do some other menial chore. Guys like him always had better things to do than take out the trash, at least the traditional kind. He walked through the wall and immediately threw the trap.
The ghost and the woman both gawked in surprise. The woman's red head turned swiftly between himself and the ghost, and she kept screaming. "Lady, chill out, will you?! We're the good guys! Hit the button, will ya, Spud?"
"Y-Y-You're -- "
"Can you not faint please? I'd rather like to get back to my sandwich."
"You're a Ghostbuster!"
"Yup. That's what it says on the uniform," Peter responded, jerking a thumb at the emblem of a plain, white ghost pinned by a red sign with a bar through it. "And your ghost is toast." He bent to pick up the sealed trap, smoke still oozing out of it.
"But -- But -- But -- "
"Yeah, yeah, he's a ghost too."
Slimer rolled his eyes. "Pete--" he started to say, but Peter didn't want to be bothered. All he wanted was to get back to his sandwich. It was so rare he actually got a good meal these days!
"But you're dead!" the girl blurted out.
He sighed heavily and glanced back at her, the trap slung over his shoulder. "Yeah, so what? That's ancient history. All the Real Ghostbusters are dead. These kids these days -- "
"But how are you trapping ghosts when you're a ghost?!"
"I can let him out if you want."
"No! No, please!" She pushed her glasses back onto the bridge of her nose. Her bared knees were still knocking rather loudly, to Peter's hearing, against one another.
There had been a time in Peter's life -- most of his mortal existence, really -- when he would have quickly and gleefully taken advantage of the kid. But all he wanted to do was to get back to his meal quickly and in peace, before other ghouls came along and made away with it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Slimer beginning to sail away. "Uh huh!" he said, snagging his arm. He was glad the ectoplasm no longer splattered him, and for just a moment, he imagined what the frightened girl's legs would look like spread apart and covered in his ectoplasm... But then he pushed the thought away, thought once more fondly of his sandwich, and sighed heavily. His sigh set a breeze floating through the library, rifling books' pages and knocking others from their shelves.
"Look," he asked, turning at last to face her, "can't you just be thankful I got the bad ghost out of your way?"
"But how do you do it?!" she asked, refusing to let it go and obviously still baffled. "How do you catch ghosts when you are a ghost?!"
"It actually makes it easier than you think," he answered earnestly, tightly holding to the Spud's slippery arm. "You're not stealing my sandwich," he hissed at him through gritted teeth. Another ethereal wind knocked more books down, but the girl clearly didn't care. As his luck would have it, she seemed fascinated with him!
"Look," he said, pushing his own glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. When he had been younger, he'd always sworn he would never look like Egon or any of the other geeks, but age had a way of changing an old man's mind. And keeping him interested in far better and more lasting things than sex, especially sex with the living. "The same Scientists who created the Ecto-Containment system and the whole way we catch ghosts," he explained, dangling the filled trap between them, "were awakened a few decades back when another mad Wizard tried to take over the world from New York. We had to find a way to stop those ghosts because nobody else could do it -- nobody would do it --, and we've been doing it ever since. Those same Scientists rehashed the mechanics so that ghosts could catch ghosts." He glowered at her, unaware of just how far his eyes bulged out of his phantom head. She grimaced. "Now," he demanded, "can I please go back to my sandwich?!"
"I -- I think I remember that. I mean, not it actually happening or anything, but my Great-Great-Grandmother telling us kids about it."
He nodded. "That would make sense," he snapped. "Your Great-Great-Grandmother was one of us original Ghostbusters, or at least, she was our Secretary."
"How do you know that?" she asked, gaping.
Peter pointed behind her where Janine had come up, sailing through bookcases. "Will you please answer your granddaughter's questions so I can go back to my dinner?!"
As the two women began to gab, Peter returned from whence he had come. He didn't even stop long enough to drop the trap into the old Containment system, but he was still too late. "Damn it!"
"What?" Ray asked, his mouth full of food.
"Shut your mouth, man!" Winston complained, dabbing at his own mouth with a napkin.
Peter's stomach flopped, but nowhere nearly as bad it would have once. He could see every bit of food in both their mouths! "That was my sandwich," he muttered.
"Sorry, Peter. You want the rest of it?" Ray held out the half-eaten, mildewed sandwich Peter had pulled out of the trash in the alley ealrier that evening, but Peter made a face and turned away.
"Not now," he harrumphed and passed through the floor to the old firehouse's basement. Egon was tinkering with something, as always, as Peter delivered the latest catch. Being ghosts themselves did actually make it easier for them to tell the good spooks from the bad, but it was still a pain in his butt when he had to run off to stop other ghosts and missed what he himself had been doing.
Slimer threw up his skinny, green arms as Peter's glower angled toward him. "I didn't do it this time!"
"No. No, spud, you didn't." Peter shook his head as he fondly scratched Slimer's head. Another ghost had beaten him to the proverbial punch this time. Honestly, for as many things as had become and were quickly becoming ancient history, there were still some things that just never changed.
"Peter -- " Egon called, glancing up from his desk.
Peter flew through the wall. When he looked back, Egon wasn't following, but Slimer was there, holding up two sub sandwiches. "Some things never change," Peter muttered, but then couldn't stop himself from breaking into a wide, open grin as Slimer handed him one of the sandwiches. As ectoplasm no longer affected him, he didn't care the Spud had touched it with his bare, ghostly hands. "And then some things do," he admitted, rubbing Slimer's head with one hand while accepting the sandwich with his other one. He took a big bite as he looked over their neighborhood in the Big Apple. Many things had changed, but maybe it was a good thing that some things never did.
The End
