Chapter Text
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The halls of Hill Valley High School are too moist as of late. Maybe it's because it's rained recently, Gerald thinks, but it doesn't explain the copper smell.
The lights flickered, on and off and on, over and over. Gerald grumbled under his breath. It wasn't fair that he had to stay behind and look over paperwork, just when February was beginning to end.
Stomp. Drag. Stomp. Drag. Gerald froze. There wasn't anybody else in the building except the janitorial staff (and him). Who in the hell was dragging their foot in these pristine halls? Gerald Strickland peeked around a corner, and that copper smell was eye-watering. "Hell, what cleaning supplies are we using? It smells like some pest died in here.." He growled, pinching his nose as he strolled to the source of the smell. As he got closer, the lights popped out above him, dying as he found not a smell, but a figure.
There was a standing, slightly tilted person, with long hair and a wet backpack. What stunned Gerald, however, was the broken leg with bones jutting out of the muscle and skin.
It lurched towards him, stomping and dragging, stomping and dragging. Gerald screeched like a little girl who had just saw a bug, running into a locker before running into the art room. He locked the door, and stayed as quiet as he could.
But it found him, as it dragged and walked through the door. It looked at him, dislocating its shoulder to reach into its backpack.
"Can you grade my social studies homework? I've been tardy for a while."
Gerald fainted.
"Did you even get us the right kind of map, Peter? We haven't gotten to Sacramento yet, but it's felt like forever." Winston scowled as he drove. It was an unusual sight to see the ECTO-1 outside of New York, let alone NOT catching or chasing phantoms. "I got the right map, I got the right map. Now, we should've taken a left two minutes ago." Peter replied. Ray groaned. "If possible, we should stop by a restroom. Stantz isn't going to hold out much longer, and I fear he may vomit on our luggage." Egon asked. "Alright, I'll pull over to this small town. Maybe we can get a bite to eat or something." Winston told the others as he signaled right. The car went through fields, which Peter remarked "was cattle country". Then they drove through pine woods, where dozens, if not hundreds of pinecones crunched beneath the wheels of the ECTO-1's wheels.
Then there was a sign.
"Hill Valley, huh? Looks like Ray's hometown if you ask me." Peter joked. Winston parked outside of a grand courthouse, with a massive clock perched like a proud gargoyle upon it. "Please, Venkman, this town is where the author of the book, A Match Made In Space, lives." Egon replied, patting Ray on the back as Ray breathed in fresh, non-car air.
"How do you know about that book? I thought only sci-fi nerds and hopeless romantics read that." Peter asked, curious on how Egon, the brain of the group, even knew about it.
"One word: Janine."
"Oh."
Winston looked around. "Seems they've never seen New Yorkers." He mumbled. The four of them walked around, taking in the sights of this small town. Eventually they sat on a bench, although Egon couldn't fit and had to lean on the back. "We should look for a motel, considering this place is pretty ghost-free." Winston pointed out. They begun to walk over to the nearest motel on the map, when they heard a siren.
Marty couldn't believe what he was seeing. Strict Strickland, in a stretcher. "Holy- what happened?" He asked, shaking one of the EMTs. "One of the janitors found him fainted on the ground. Now go home, kid!" The EMT yelled. Marty jolted back, beginning to skate off... and into a guy. "OOF! Hey, watch where you're going- whoa, check the fit on him." Peter laughed. Ray, being the heart of the group, shook his head. "Hey, be nice. He's just as confused as we are." Marty swore he'd seen these guys somewhere, anywhere- and then it hit him faster than his grandfather's car back when he first time traveled.
"Holy smokes, you guys are the Ghostbusters!"