I saw a sort of prompt on tumblr saying something about an au where Gamzee was a ghost, so yeah. Anyways, I figured I'd at least put the first chapter out and see what you guys think. So review if you like it!

The title is based off of a band called Charming Disaster whose songs are all about murder, ghosts, and general crime in the 1920's I highly suggest you check them out.

Homestuck belongs to Andrew Hussie.

Chapter One

You don't really want to get out of bed when you wake up in the morning, but you've already skipped class too many times to pass if you miss another day. Still, it takes you ten minutes and your uncle knocking on your door, calling something in rapid Spanish, for you to actually get up. You open the closet, glancing over your reflection in the full-length mirror on the inside of the door. A scrawny, lanky teenager with too-broad shoulders and ears big enough to rival an elephant's stares back at you down his arched nose, running a long-fingered hand through his shaggy mohawk as you do the same. The prosthetic leg attached just under your left knee seems even more out of place than usual. Maybe it's just because you haven't looked at it for the past week.

A few minutes later you're in the bathroom, halfheartedly brushing your teeth. Dark eyes stare dully back at you and glancing up you meet the dark purple eyes of someone standing behind you. Wait—who the hell?!

You jump backwards, dropping your toothbrush, and whirl around, trying to see who is slouching behind you, a benign smile adorning their face. Nothing. Just the beige wall Uncle Sumner keeps trying to get you to repaint. Slowly, scared of what you'll see, you turn back to the mirror. Nothing. Maybe you're just tired. It's not like you actually went to sleep last night. Still looking around, you finish brushing your teeth, grab your crutches and head downstairs to catch the bus.

No one talks to you on the bus, but to be fair, you don't talk to anyone either. In class you take out your notebook, getting ready to go through the motions.

"Missin' your pencil?" a gravelly voice asks, holding out the chewed pencil you were digging through your backpack for. You reach out for it and freeze as you catch sight of their face. It was the same person in your mirror this morning. Sure you only saw them for a second, but their scarred face is one you wouldn't forget very easily.

"Tavros?"

You flinch, your head whipping around to see Aradia looking slightly worried. How many times did she say your name? Her brown eyes flick between you and the air you're offering your pencil to.

"What are you looking at?"

"Uh...N-no one," you stammer. "I w-wasn't looking at an-anything."

"Okay...good morning," she says, walking off towards her own desk.

"M-morning," you reply, distracted by the sudden disappearance of the tall person next to you. Where'd they go? Throughout the class, you swear you keep seeing them out of the corner of your eye, but whenever you turn to look it's just another classmate. You remind yourself to take something to help you sleep tonight.

At lunch you sit alone, picking at your food. Someone sits across from you and you don't bother to look up. They sit there quietly for a few minutes and you feel their eyes watching you.

"W-what do you want?" you finally ask. Looking up, you see the dark-skinned face and shaggy hair of the person that's been following you. They smile at you, leaning on one hand. Seeing how they don't say anything and just continue to stare at you, you decide to ask another question. "Who are you?"

"Name's Gamzee," they say. "You looked like you all up and needed some company."

"Th-thanks, but I'm u-used to it." You take a bite of the school's poor excuse for spaghetti, waiting for Gamzee to leave. But they stay, taking the cookie from your tray. They don't eat it, just roll it around the table, leaving little crumbs everywhere.

"S-so, this is gonna sound kinda w-weird, but I s-saw you in m-my bathroom this morning," you say, debating with yourself about whether or not to take the cookie from them. Gamzee gives a low, throaty laugh.

"Yeah, I wasn't sure if you saw me or not. Not everyone can see me, y'know? So when I noticed you needin' some motherfuckin' emotional support, I thought, why the fuck not? Thanks for noticin' me, Tavbro!"

You aren't sure whether this is a new nickname or if they just got your name wrong. Either way, something else they said catches your attention.

"What d-did you m-mean only s-some p-p-people can see you?"

Gamzee looks surprised. "You can't tell? I'm a motherfuckin' ghost!"

They lean forward, their torso phasing right through the table and your mouth drops open. The cookie rolls off the table and you don't bother to catch it. You probably weren't going to eat it anyway.

"H-how d-di-di—?" You stop and take a deep breath, stuttering worse than usual. Gamzee seems to understand what you're saying however because they grin, holding their hands out for dramatic effect.

"I told you, bro! Motherfuckin' ghost! Like some kinda miracle or somethin'."

You aren't entirely sure what to say and instead settle for closing your mouth and nodding like you understand. You don't, but you can pretend.

Gamzee the Ghost follows you around for the rest of the day and, like they said, no one else seems to be able to see them. You try not to talk to them very much (you're enough of an outcast, you don't need to add "talks to himself" to the list of things people think are wrong with you) but that doesn't stop Gamzee from talking to you. They ask you lots of questions—where your next class is, why you keep getting oddly apologetic glares from a blue-eyed girl with large glasses, do you think pigeons have feelings—the list goes on. You scribble down as many answers as you can in your notebook for them to read during class, but they never seem to be satisfied.

Instead of taking the bus, you decide to walk home so you can talk with Gamzee. They take long, striding steps that make them look like they're walking on the moon. Your crutches make it a little hard to keep up, but Gamzee adjusts to your speed quickly enough as you talk.

"So what are those things for?" Gamzee asks, pointing at the crutches.

"Well, e-ever since I w-was in mm-middle school, my legs haven't worked q-quite right. Th-there was an accident w-when I was thirteen." That's all you're willing to say on the matter. Gamzee may be a ghost and eager to be your friend, but that doesn't change the fact that you've only known them for half a day. Gamzee nods until it looks like they're just nodding to nod.

And suddenly you're home. This is the fastest you've ever walked home. You laugh at something Gamzee says as you unlock the door. The sound comes as a little bit of a shock. How long has it been since you genuinely laughed at something?

Talking to Gamzee is so...easy. They only ask why you live with your uncle and suddenly you find yourself telling them your life story—what happened to your parents, why you're so depressed. It all just comes flooding out, impeded only slightly by your stutter. Gamzee listens to what you have to say without contradicting you or, like Uncle Sumner, despite his best attempts, telling you it's only a phase that he went through too, and that you'll get over it. You sit on your bed and Gamzee sits cross-legged on your floor, leaning forward attentively.

"...a-and one of my dads—the biological one—he died when I w-was eight. M-my other dad l-lost the custody b-battle w-w-with my uncle, s-so I only g-get to see him on the weekends." You pause to check your watch. "A-actually, he sh-should be here in about, uh, half an hour o-or so to p-pick me up."

Gamzee straightens up. "Can I come with you?"

You shrug, a little confused seeing as they followed you to school without trouble. "I, uh, d-don't see why n-not..."

Their face breaks out in a wide grin, accented by the scars at the edges of their mouth. The door opens downstairs, telling you your uncle is home. You decide you've shared enough about yourself for now and that you need to change the subject.

"S-so, um...can I a-ask how you—how y-you died?"

Gamzee's smile shrinks only a little bit before they laugh. "Did I ever show you that I can all up and put my foot behind my head?"

They prove it by lifting their foot, sticking it behind their head. Before you can say anything else, they do it again with the other foot, crossing them behind their mess of curly, black hair. Gamzee walks on their hands in a small circle around the rug. You get the message. Death is a sore topic.

Uncle Sumner knocks lightly on your door. "Tavros? You in there buddy?"

"Y-yeah, I'm home," you call back, half wondering if your uncle knows about Gamzee haunting his house.

"Your dad'll be here soon. You packed?"

"Yeah. I-I am."

"Alright."

You hear your uncle walk away and feel a little bad. The two of you used to talk a lot and actually hold down a conversation, but recently you've been spending more and more time in your room.

You open your closet, reaching for your duffel bag, and catch your reflection in the mirror again. The same scrawny, broad-shouldered, big-eared teenager looks back at you. But there's something different. He looks...happier maybe? Or maybe it's just the presence of Gamzee floating behind you. Either way, you feel a little less heavy as you head down the stairs when the doorbell rings.