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[a-corndog-named-schibbs]

Hidge Week Day 6 - AU

Happy Hidge Week, y’all!

I love writing Voltron aus so I was really excited for this day.  This fic is a supernatural au with Hunk as a ghost and Pidge as a witch.  It takes place in the same universe as the Fangs and Fur au, so Vampire Lance also makes an appearance.  It’s meant to be a prequel of sorts to those fics, so Keith’s not in this one.

Enjoy and have a happy Hidge Week!

Pidge’s family had been practicing witchcraft since the middle ages.  Her parents had always taught her to approach magic as a science, with precision, care, and discipline.  She figured she was equipped to handle any sort of supernatural situation.

Then again, she’d never dealt with a ghost before.

Her friend Lance, the local friendly neighborhood vampire, had been nearly frantic when he’d called her.  He’d just bought this lovely two-story Victorian house and had been dismayed to find that it showed abundant signs of paranormal activity, from doors slamming open and closed on their own (“At two in the afternoon, Pidge!  I need my beauty sleep!”), to the dining room chandelier swaying ominously (“It costs more than a car!  What am I supposed to do if it falls?”), to kitchen utensils picking themselves up randomly and being flung across the room in anger (“I know I don’t use that room often, but I’d still like to keep it nice!”).  Over the phone, Pidge had assured her friend that she could handle a simple poltergeist throwing a tantrum, but now she wasn’t so sure.

The moment Pidge stepped through the front door, she could tell something wasn’t right about the house.  There was a heaviness to the air, as though a hand was constantly on her shoulder, faintly but insistently pushing her down.  Why hadn’t Lance noticed when he first bought the house?

“Because it wasn’t as bad when I first bought it!” said Lance, “The incidents didn’t start until I’d been here a few weeks.”

“Huh,” said Pidge, “That late?”

Lance nodded, “So what do we do?”

“Well, most ghosts want something, so I think step one is to contact the ghost and find out what’s upsetting it.  Then we can see if there’s anything we can do to make it happier.”

“Makes sense.  So…how do we contact it?  Do we need like a ouija board or something?”

“Nah, I’ll just MacGyver it.  Do you have any Christmas lights?”

“Sure, there’s a few strands in the basement.  Why?”

“Ever seen Stranger Things?”

Twenty minutes later, the two had hung up the festive, multicolored lights along a bare wall of Lance’s parlor.  Pidge took some chalk from her bag and wrote out the letters of the alphabet beneath each individual light, after swearing to Lance that she would wipe it all off later.  She stepped back and admired her work.  Now all that was needed was to get the spirit on the line.

“Spirit,” said Pidge, projecting her voice so it carried through several rooms, “we’d like to talk to you.  Can you hear us?”

There was no sound.  Then again, Pidge wasn’t expecting any.

“If you can hear us,” she said, “make these lights blink once.”

There was a long, pregnant pause.  Then the Christmas lights on the wall briefly blinked on, then off.  Lance gasped and jumped a bit.

“Now can you make the lights blink twice?”

The lights blinked twice.

“Good, that’s good.  I’m going to ask you a few questions, spirit.  Blink the lights once if the answer is yes, two if it’s no.  Do you understand?”

The lights blinked once.

“Are you aware that you’re dead?”

A singular blink.

“Did you die here?”

Another singular blink.

“Oh, lord, don’t tell me the body’s still here somewhere.” Lance muttered.

“Did you die here recently?”

A long pause, then two blinks.

“Are you a woman?”

Two blinks.

“Are you a man?”

One blink.

“Okay, sir, now I’m going to need you to spell something out for me.  Do you see the letters on the wall?”

One blink, then, for good measure, the lights next to the letters Y-E-S lit up in succession.

“That’s good,” said Pidge, “What would you like me to call you?”

The lights blinked in rapid succession, spelling out the word H-U-N-K.

“Hunk?” said Pidge, “Is that a nickname or are you flirting with me?”

The spirit took a long while to answer and for a moment Pidge worried that she had offended him.  But then the lights spelled out N-I-C-K-N-A-M-E.

“Well, Hunk, it’s nice to meet you.”

Y-O-U-R  N-A-M-E

“You want to know my name?  It’s Pidge.”

N-I-C-K-N-A-M-E  O-R  B-I-R-D

Pidge chuckled, “It’s a nickname.”

P-R-E-T-T-Y  N-A-M-E

“You know, I think this ghost is lying,” Lance whispered, leaning in close to Pidge, “He’s totally flirting.”

Pidge waved him away, “Can you tell us how you died?”

The temperature of the room dropped several degrees.  The string of lights blinked twice.  Pidge gulped.

S-H-O-W  Y-O-U

“Nope, nope, nope, nopeity no,” said Lance, “I don’t trust this one bit.”

Pidge felt something brush her hand.  It was the barest touch but still there.  She felt cold, ghostly fingers slide against her own, barely more tangible than a breeze but still distinct.

The ghost took her hand and tugged it gently in the direction of the stairwell.

“What’s happening?” Lance whispered, “What’s the ghost doing?”

“He wants me to follow him,” Pidge pointed to the stairs, “Up there.”

Lance looked mere moments away from pulling his hair out, “Pidge, this is such a bad idea.  This is like horror movie levels of bad idea.”

“Listen, I think it’s gonna be okay.  He’s not acting aggressive right now and I’ve got salt and holy water on me if that changes.  I’ll be up and back as fast as possible.  If I’m not down in thirty minutes, call Matt, okay?”

“Yeah, but…” Lance sighed, “Okay.”

“Hear that, Hunk?” Pig said, a little louder, “You’ve got thirty minutes to show me whatever you’re going to show me.”

The phantom hand tugged hers toward the stairs, a bit more insistently now, and Pidge followed the ghostly presence up the stairs to the second story and then, to her surprise, led her to the hatch of the attic.  Pidge clambered up into the dim dusty space, surrounded by piles of trunks and boxes. The ghost let go of her hand.

“Okay, we’re here,” said Pidge, “What did you want to show me?”

Across the room, a small memento box flew open with a loud squeak.  Pidge jumped and tried not to yelp.

The ghost’s hand touched her arm again.  This time a feeling of calm and reassurance filled her, emanating from the ghost.  Taking a deep breath, Pidge walked over to the open box.

Inside were newspaper clippings, yellow and brittle with age.  Pidge gently lifted the one on the top to examine it.  The title of the article read, “Henry Garrett Becomes First Colored Man to Own a Restaurant in New Altea”.  The photograph beneath the title showed a sturdily built young man with a round belly, wearing an apron and beaming with pride.  Above him hung a sign that said “Hunk’s Diner”.

“Henry Garrett…” said Pidge, “Is that you?”

A ghostly finger tapped the back of her hand once.  Yes.

Pidge flipped through the rest of the articles.  Most of them were reviews of the restaurant, all praising the excellent quality of the food and the warm, inviting atmosphere of the diner.  What caught Pidge’s attention was the last article at the bottom of the box.

It featured a picture of the house Pidge was currently standing in, but in much worse condition.  It looked like nearly half the building had collapsed, one whole side was black and charred, and smoke poured out into the sky.  The headline read, “Local Chef Dies in House Fire”.

Pidge set the clipping down, trying to keep her hands from shaking too much.

“I think I can help you now,” she said, “I’m going to try getting you to materialize in a summoning circle.  Is that all right?”

One tap to the hand.

Pidge quickly pulled out some chalk and candles from her bag.  She drew a simple summoning circle on the wooden floor and arranged and lit the candles.

“Henry Garrett,” she said in what she hoped was an authoritative voice, “I command you to reveal yourself within this circle.”

A bluish-gray haze began to appear and coalesce into a human shape within the circle.  Legs, arms, and finally a face became distinct.

In Pidge’s professional opinion, Hunk lived up to his name.  He had an open, friendly face with warm, expressive eyes and a square, masculine jaw.  He was quite bit taller than Pidge and nearly twice as wide, partially due to the round belly Pidge had noted earlier, but also due to some impressive muscle mass, particularly on his arms.  He wore a button up shirt and suspenders and kept his dark hair out of his face with a headband tied around his forehead.

“Hunk?” said Pidge softly, not wanting to spook him.

“Hi,” he said, voice low and croaky from disuse, “I guess we’ve officially met now.”

“So,” said Pidge, “I take it this used to be your house?”

Hunk nodded, “Decades and decades ago.  I guess they rebuilt it after I…after the fire.”

“Can you tell me about the fire?  How did it start?”

“You know how you’re supposed to smother grease fires?  I forgot that bit of advice,” Hunk turned his head so that his face was in profile and Pidge fought down a gasp.  Nearly half of Hunk’s face was burned away, singed almost beyond recognition.  He turned toward her again and his face returned to normal.

“I’m sorry,” said Pidge, “You didn’t deserve to die like that.”

“Can you help me at all?”

“I…I want to.  It might be tricky, though.  Usually with ghosts, in order to help them, you have to avenge their death.  But it sounds like your death was entirely an accident.”

“Oh.”

“That doesn’t mean there’s nothing I can do!” said Pidge quickly, “I don’t know if I can help you move on, but I can maybe help you find a sense of peace while you’re here.  Was there something you particularly enjoyed doing in life?  Something that gave you happiness?”

“Cooking,” said Hunk, “I was always happiest when I was cooking in my restaurant.  It felt good, you know?  Serving others, making their days just a little bit better…I lost that when I died.  I thought maybe it would be good to have someone living here again, making sure the kitchen at least gets put to good use, you know?  But it turns out he doesn’t even eat.”

“So that’s why you freaked out.”

“Yeah,” Hunk looked down, “Sorry about that.  Your friend’s name is Lance, right?  I didn’t mean to scare him so bad.  He seems like a nice guy.  I was just frustrated and didn’t know how to tell him what was wrong.”

Like a toddler, Pidge thought.  Out loud, she said, “I think I might have an idea of how to help you.”

“I’ll try anything.”

“If you had a place where you could cook again, where you could help make food for others, would that make you happier?”

Hunk nodded, “Yes.  Yes, that’d be fantastic!”

Pidge smiled, “Then I think I know where we can put you.  My family owns this shop, a sort of café-and-bookstore combo, and I’m sure my mom would love having your help doing the baking in the morning.”

“That sounds great!” said Hunk, beaming, “But…how do I get there?  I’ve tried leaving the house, but I never make it past the yard.”

“It would be a little tricky, transferring you from one building to another.  Luckily, you’ll have the help of the most talented witch in town.”

“And who’s that?”

“Me.” said Pidge, grinning.

“Pidge?” Lance’s voice floated up through the attic hatch, “You still alive up there?  You better not have hurt her, ghost, or I’ll kick the ectoplasm out of you!”

“I’m fine, Lance!” Pidge called, “And while you’re here, there’s someone I want you to meet.  We’ll definitely be seeing more of him in the future.”

She turned and gave Hunk a smile.  Hunk smiled back and took her hand again.  She could see right through his fingers, yet they felt as warm and as solid as life itself.

#hidgeweek2018 #hidge #hunk #pidge #voltron #first hidge fic how am i doing guys? #i just love these soft nerds so much #and i also love this au it's so fun to write #my posts #my fanfictions #fangs and fur au