Someone was crying.

Cole didn't know who, and, if he was being honest with himself, he didn't really care. Someone was always crying, as far as he was concerned. At the bottom of the steps, in the rafters, somewhere in the ground, scrabbling with dirt and blood and rot… Cole had found by now that it was best to leave the criers alone.

He was meant to help them. Yes

He would help them, in time…

But…

Cole couldn't deal with the crying.

His mother would cry at night, sometimes, when she thought Cole was asleep… When she thought he couldn't hear.

He did, of course. He always did.

She was sad. It was understandable.

Her husband had left her, her family was dead, her son could see and hear and feel things that were hurting him, and she was just so so helpless…

It had been three years since Cole had told her about the ghosts, and though things were much much better now between them, it didn't mean that everything was okay.

It would never be okay, not really.

That was why the criers got to him, he supposed.

He hated having to help the ones who just wanted to be okay, because he knew that, in their eyes, it would never be a possibility, not now.

It hurt to make them see the reality of their positions, the reality that both tortured them and healed them simultaneously.

Because in the end, though they were dead, they were finally free. And wasn't that such a beautiful, bittersweet little thing?

So yes, Cole avoided the criers. Maybe it was because they were so hopeless. Maybe because they were so sad.

Or maybe because somewhere, deep deep down, Cole envied them.

Maybe.

A/N: A silly, pointless little drabble to ease myself into the Sixth Sense fandom. I hope to stay in this universe for a bit longer, and write some more, longer, stories. :) Cole is such a BAMF...