Title: Journey's End
Author: Brenda A
Author Page: Brenda A
Rating: PG-13
Category: gen friendship; hurt/comfort
Disclaimer: The Real Ghostbusters and its characters are the property of Columbia Pictures and DIC. This story is written for entertainment. Original author-created characters, stories and story ideas are the sole property of the author and should not be archived without permission from the author.

Egon Spengler entered the last of the data into the little notebook computer balanced on his lap, committing the information about the class six they had just busted to the database he and Ray had developed.

There were times, he mused to himself, when a color screen came in very handy--like now, sitting in the back of Ecto on a long, dark ride home after a bust. Peter had squawked loudly and at length about the price of a color display ("Color?! What the heck do you need color for? So you and Ray can play video games?"), but had eventually given in, albeit none toograciously. ("Fine, Spengs. But it's coming out of the research budget.") It hadn't, of course. When the rather stiff bill had come in, Venkman had simply written out the check and handed it to Janine to mail, but he wouldn't have been Peter if he hadn't raised a fuss on general principle.

Thinking of Peter, Egon slid a curious glance at the man sitting beside him, realizing suddenly that Venkman's usual background patter had been absent for some time now. Peter was leaning forward, peering over the front seat with a slight frown of concentration on his face. Egon followed his gaze, eyebrows climbing as he realized what had silenced the usually loquacious psychologist. The snow that had started out as flurries when they began their journey had intensified and was now blowing straight at them in fast, furious flakes. From his position in the back Egon could see Winston's jaw was tight with strain as he eased Ecto along at a creeping pace and, beside him in the shotgun position, Ray Stantz sat forward, his eyes intent on what little could be seen of the road ahead.

Spengler pushed his glasses up into proper position on his nose and frowned through the screen of snow and darkness at their surroundings. The Allegheny Mountains of Pennsylvania was not a place he wanted to be caught in a snow storm, particularly at night. A drive down an unfamiliar mountain road with hairpin curves, sheer drop-offs, and no protective railings would have been hazardous enough in daylight, but at night and under these conditions it would be positively treacherous.

"Back with us, Egon?"

Spengler looked over at the sound of Peter's low voice, and though the psychologist's face was shadowed by the darkness inside Ecto there was no missing the exasperation in his tone. Silently, he shut off the computer and closed the lid. "I didn't realize it had gotten this bad," he admitted, his tone equally low.

"We passed 'bad' a long time ago, big guy. I would characterize this as 'Extremely Bad.'" As if to punctuate that assessment, the snow began to rattle against the car, indicating sleet was beginning to mix in with the other precipitation. Shifting forward to rest his arms on the seat back, Peter spoke to the men in front. "Anybody have any idea where we are or how far till we find civilization again?"

"No to both questions," Winston answered, carefully

lifting one hand from the steering wheel and flexing his fingers. "They don't seem to have road signs around here. And even if they did, we couldn't read them in this mess."

Ray was bent over a map spread out on his knees, frowning as he ran the dim beam of a flashlight over it. "I'm still not sure we didn't miss a turn back there, Winston. Remember when it looked like a 'Y' in the road? There was no sign and we didn't think that was really our turn, but maybe it was."

Venkman sat back with a groan. "Are you telling me we're lost on top of everything else? What do I keep telling you guys--we should never leave New York! Every time we leave the city we get into trouble."

"We get into trouble in the city as well, Peter," Egon reminded him absently, his attention on the worsening weather conditions. "Gozer was in New York, remember."

"Yeah, but at least you don't get lost in the mountains there."

"I could do with a little less chatter, guys," Winston growled, carefully coaxing Ecto around a sharp curve.

Suitably chastised, the other three Ghostbusters fell silent. But that silence was broken almost immediately by Ray's soft, "Nuts."

Egon leaned forward. "What's wrong?"

Stantz smacked his flashlight in disgust, trying without success to coax back the flickering beam. "Battery's gone. I don't want to use the dome light because it might interfere with Winston's visibility."

"And Winston's having enough trouble with visibility," Zeddemore muttered.

"We've got more flashlights in back," Peter said, rousing himself to unbuckle his seat belt. "Hang on. I think I can find one of them in the dark."

Venkman was balanced on his knees, leaning over into the back storage area of Ecto when Ray cried out a warning. Almost immediately the car swerved and Egon heard Peter's surprised yelp as he was thrown against the door. He made an instinctive grab for the unrestrained psychologist, only to have Venkman nearly land in his lap as the car fishtailed. Then, suddenly, Peter was gone again and Egon's next grab missed as Ecto spun 180 degrees, then plunged off the side of the road. For one heart-stopping instant Ecto was airborne, then the car hit on all four tires and began a crazy, careening journey into darkness.

*****

For an eternity the only sounds Egon heard in the dark silence when Ecto finally came to a halt were his own rapid breathing and the loud hammering of his heartbeat. Then, cautiously, he shook his head and tested movement in his limbs, too surprised at finding himself alive and unhurt to do more for the moment. Ecto had miraculously remained upright during the entire, paralyzing ride, and he was still sitting in the back, still strapped in, no worse for the wear except a few bruises where he had banged into the door. With an unsteady hand he straightened his glasses and looked around. The darkness was unpenetrable, and the silence terrifying. Forcing down his panic with an effort, he called out urgently, "Peter? Ray? Winston? Is everyone all right?"

"Egon?" Ray. There was the welcome sound of movement in the front seat. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he answered quickly. "What about you? Winston? Peter?"

"Yeah, I think I'm okay." Ray sounded a little shaky, but that was understandable. "Winston?"

There was a long, ragged sigh from the front. "Yeah, I'm okay. Damn, I never saw--"

"Peter?" Why wasn't Peter demanding to know if everyone was all right and complaining like mad about the mess they were in? Spengler twisted in the seat as a horrifying memory suddenly flashed through his mind of making a grab for Peter when the car skidded off the road...and missing. "Peter!" Fighting his way out of the seat belt he groped frantically in the darkness, encountering nothing but an empty seat beside him and a jumble of equipment behind him.

"Peter?" Ray was leaning over the seat now, his face so close Egon could see the fear in his eyes even in the darkness. "Where--"

"Oh, god." All the strength drained from Spengler's voice as he realized what had happened. "He was thrown out." Pushing at his own door, he found it jammed and cursed under his breath as he slid across the seat and scrambled out the opposite door into the blowing snow. "Peter! Peter, where are you?" Sleet stung his face and the howling wind carried his shouted words away. He wasn't even aware of the dangerous cold biting through his uniform until he felt his coat being bundled around him.

"Put your coat on, Egon. You'll freeze." Ray was there beside him, trying to force his arms through his coat sleeves. He heard Winston rummaging hastily in the back of Ecto, then the black man was by his side, pressing a flashlight into his hand. "Get your gloves on, man, and keep 'em on," Zeddemore ordered. "We'll all look for Peter, but we'll do it methodically."

Spengler nodded impatiently. "But we have to hurry. Peter is probably hurt and--" A sudden, horrible vision flashed through his mind and he spun around, staring at the dark, massive form of Ecto. Swallowing the sudden burn of bile in his throat, he abruptly dropped to his stomach and shone the beam of the flashlight under the car's chassis. When no broken body was illuminated by the light, he dropped his head, too weak with relief to even raise his face out of the snow. A hand gripped his shoulder tightly

<P< p>

"Egon? He's not...?"

Spengler looked up quickly to find Ray kneeling beside him, his face a deathly white mask surrounded by the hood of his coat. "No," he said immediately, "he's not." Pushing himself to his feet, he grabbed the occultist's arm and hauled him up as well. "Come on," he ordered abruptly, "let's get started."

*****

That first impact when Ecto skidded off the road was all Peter felt. A blast of icy air hit his face and he realized with a stab of terror that he was airborne. The scream forming in his throat died there as he slammed into the ground and the breath was knocked from his lungs. Groggy and helpless, he felt himself rolling down the steep incline. In the distance he could hear the scrunch of metal scraping trees and rocks and the mingled shouts of his friends.

Then the ground abruptly dropped out from under him and he plunged into water so frigid the shock was enough to momentarily stop his heart. He choked on his gasp as instinct kicked in and he fought to keep from drowning. As he thrashed around, fighting his way out of the broken ice, he became aware of the feel of smooth rocks under him and realized the stream couldn't have been more than mid-calf deep. Knowing the danger of being wet and chilled in this climate, he fought to get to his feet. But, already shaky from his free-fall and rough landing, he was no match for rocks that had been worn slippery smooth from the constant wear of running water. The soles of his boots slid on the slick bottom as he awkwardly tried to make his way the short distance to the bank. He was nearly there when his feet slid out from under him and he went down, his head striking a rock with enough force to black out all his senses.

*****

Pain. Cold. Wet. Cold. Cold. COLD. He was so cold it hurt. He was so cold he couldn't move his fingers, couldn't really move anything. He was so cold...oh god, he was so cold he was going to die if he didn't get out of there. The rock where he'd hit his head had kept his face out of the water, so miraculously he hadn't drowned. But when he tried to move his head a stab of pain shot through his skull. That bolt of pain, though, helped clear his sluggish mind and reawaken his senses. The guys. Where were the guys? Gritting his teeth, he forced his head off its hard cushion and looked blearily around him. In the distance he could hear noises as if people were thrashing around in underbrush and then he heard his name being called. Three different voices, all calling his name. Egon, Ray, Winston. They were all alive. With a half-sob, he tried to answer, but all that came out of his throat was a whispered, "Help." Anger mingled with frustration when he tried to push himself up, only to lay there helplessly as his numbed limbs refused to obey his commands and his head pounded mercilessly.

"Peter!" That was Ray, closer now, and sounding frantic.

"Here. I'm here, Ray." Why was his voice so weak it

wouldn't carry over the sound of the running water of the stream? Suddenly a beam of light hit his face and he screwed his eyes shut with a moan.

"Peter!" Ray's gasp told him he'd been found. "He's over here! In the water!" There was the sound of ice breaking and water splashing as Ray plunged into the stream. Moments later strong hands were pulling him over, bracing him, gently supporting his lolling head.

"Careful with him, Ray. We don't know how badly he might be hurt." Winston. "No, you stay up there, Egon, and keep the light on us."

Venkman felt Ray's hand on his face gently brushing the wet strands of hair out of his eyes. "His skin is like ice!" He was pulled up, carefully, out of the frigid water. But strangely the water had acted as some sort of insulation. Removed from its cover, exposure to the icy wind cut through him like a knife. A hoarse cry escaped his lips as cold like nothing he had ever experienced hit him.

"Peter--"

"We've gotta get him outta here, Ray," Winston interrupted abruptly. "He's going hypothermic. We've got to get him out of these clothes and warmed up now."

He felt himself being lifted up, then carried. It was too dark to see much, but he could hear Egon shouting anxious questions and the strained, rough breathing of Winston and Ray as they struggled to carry him up the sharp incline and over the rugged terrain.

It seemed to take forever to get wherever they were going. The wind burned his face and his wet uniform clung to him like a second skin, a skin of ice. He was shivering uncontrollably and he heard faint moaning, which he realized dazedly was coming from his own throat.

"Hang on, Peter. We're almost there. Just hang on." Egon. He sounded very near, out of breath, and scared. Peter tried to reassure him, to tell them all he was okay, really, but he couldn't get the words past his wildly chattering teeth.

Then he was laying down somewhere out of the wind and sleet. From the clattering sounds of things being hastily shoved out of the way he guessed he had been bundled into the cargo area of Ecto. In the distance he could hear Winston ordering everyone to cut off his wet clothes. He wanted to protest, to tell them they couldn't cut his Grateful Dead tee shirt, for crying out loud, but coherent thoughts were slipping from his mind like water through a sieve. He felt hands all over him, stripping off his soaked uniform and the jeans and shirt underneath. Even with them using knives to cut through the material it was like trying to peel off his skin. Somewhere nearby he could hear Winston

swearing softly under his breath as he struggled with the wet laces of his boots and Ray insisting shakily, "It's okay, Peter, you're going to be okay, you're going to be fine," over and over. He tried to help, but his limbs felt like they were being held down by leaden weights. He wasn't just cold, he was literally freezing; and he wasn't just shivering now, he was almost convulsing, his legs twitching uncontrollably as shudder after shudder raged through his body. And every single quiver sent a fresh wave of pain through his splitting skull.

"M-m-make it s-stop-p-p." Oh god, it hurt.

There was a flurry of movement nearby and Ray exclaimed, "Egon, what are you doing? You'll freeze--"

"He needs to get warm immediately, Ray, and body heat is the quickest way I know to accomplish that."

What the hell...?

"Good idea," Winston approved. "You two take care of that. I'll see if Ecto has any juice left in her. Maybe we can get some heat going."

There was a brief blast of cold air as Winston quickly climbed out of the car to get to the driver's side. "Give me a hand with him, Raymond." He was lifted gently into a sitting position and a blanket quickly wrapped around him. Another blanket followed, covering his wet hair, and a heavier weight settled over his legs and feet. Probably someone's coat. Long arms encircled him, pulling him against a warm body. "It's all right, Peter," Egon's bass rumbled in his ear. "Try to relax. Slow, deep breaths. We're here. We'll get you warm." Groggy as he was, Peter realized Egon must have opened both his uniform and shirt because he found himself pressed against his friend's bare chest. Teeth chattering, still shaking, Peter burrowed against him, eagerly soaking up the offered heat. The physicist's arms tightened protectively, pulling him even closer.

Ray pressed in tighter as he tried to offer some warmth as well. Within moments the occultist had found Peter's chilled, stiffened fingers and wrapped them in his own. "It's going to be okay, Peter. You're going to be fine. You're going to be okay."

Peter wanted to believe that. He was shaking so hard he could feel both his friends vibrating with each tremor that racked his body. For long moments all he was aware of was the heat radiated by the two bodies encasing him and the sound of Egon's steady heartbeat, louder in his ears than even the sound of his clacking teeth.

He didn't know how long he remained like that, sandwiched between his two friends, trying to soak up what warmth he could, when another blast of cold air signalled Winston's return to the back of Ecto.

"No luck?" Ray asked, although the answer was pretty obvious from the lack of heat in the car.

"Only bad," was Winston's brief reply. "We're in for a major repair bill when this is over. I did find the thermos, though. It got wedged under the front seat when we crashed. I almost forgot we had it." Something metal was pressed against his lips and he smelled the pungent aroma of strong coffee. "Drink it, Pete," Winston ordered. "It'll help warm you up."

Even if Ray hadn't had both his hands held captive, holding the thermos cup himself would have been out of the question, so Winston held it for him, tipping it to allow him to drink. He tried to gulp the coffee to get as much warmth into his body as quickly as he could, but Zeddemore immediately pulled the container away. "Easy, Peter," he admonished. "Just sips."

The cup once again touched his lips and he forced himself to sip slowly, if greedily at the hot liquid. Even as he did, he could feel his teeth clattering against the metal. If the cup had been plastic he probably would have left teeth marks in it. After Zeddemore lowered the empty cup, he finally managed to whisper, "W-where?"

White teeth flashed a smile. "In Ecto, my man. The old girl landed on her feet."

Ray's hands tightened around his. "We thought she landed on you," he admitted, his voice catching. "We couldn't find you anywhere."

Enough feeling had returned to his hands for him to manage to give Ray's fingers a weak squeeze in return. "'body o-k-kay?"

It was Egon who answered. "We're all somewhat bruised and battered, but otherwise uninjured." The physicist shifted slightly, not enough to disturb their position or jeopardize the warmth Peter so desperately needed, but enough to try to peer into his face. "There wasn't time to evaluate your condition before we moved you," he said in a softer voice. "Are you injured anywhere?"

Peter's voice was a mumble against the older man's chest. "Head... h-hurts."

Long, slender fingers touched his head, gently probing for signs of damage. Venkman flinched as they encountered the lump on the side of his head. "Sorry," Egon murmured, then to Zeddemore, "Winston, can you check his eyes?"

Peter moaned, squeezing his eyes shut as Winston shifted the flashlight beam to his face. "Come on, Pete," Zeddemore urged, placing a hand under his chin to hold his head steady. "I know this isn't real pleasant, but I need to get a look at you." Venkman blinked, forcing his eyes open as Zeddemore slowly moved the light over his face. Finally, the black man lowered it again. "Okay, m'man, that's it."

Gratefully, Peter let his eyes slide shut. "W-well?" He could sense the unspoken communication between the other three.

"Well, it looks like you might have a concussion, homeboy," Winston said finally. "And you're pretty banged up from that fall you took. Do you think anything's broken? Ribs? Any pain or trouble breathing?"

Venkman gave his head a careful negative shake. He was still so numb he wasn't sure he'd feel broken bones if he had any, but he was shaking so hard he probably would have heard them rattle.

"He's dangerously chilled," Egon said in a low voice, obviously directing that statement at the other two. "We've got to get him out of here. A head injury combined with hypothermia..." He didn't finish the thought, and Peter was just as glad he didn't.

"But we can't move him, Egon," Ray said in an urgent whisper. "We could be miles from help. He'd never survive it."

"I know." Spengler's voice was quiet and grim. "But he won't survive a night of exposure out here on this mountain, either."

"If we could just get Ecto started," Ray fretted. "At least then we could get some heat going."

"Ecto's down for the count, Ray," Winston told him. "We can't even get lights."

Ray declared, "Then I'll go for help. I can try to climb back up to the road and--"

"None of us are going out there alone," Zeddemore interrupted flatly. "I agree we have to find help, but it's got to be two of us. One misstep out there or a wrong turn by someone alone and we'd have another man lost, or worse."

"Winston is right," Spengler agreed. "It's far too dangerous for one of us to attempt it on his own. Two will have to try to go for help together and one will stay here with Peter and wait for assistance."

That was the plan? Two of his friends were going to risk their lives trying to get off this mountain in a blizzard and one was going to stay behind to freeze to death with him? He could come up with a better plan than that in his sleep, under water, and with the lights off! Peter tried to push himself away from Egon's chest to tell them exactly that, but even without Egon's arms around him, he didn't have the strength. Tears of frustration burned his eyes as he realized there was no other viable plan. Between his head injury and hypothermia he could very well die without medical attention; and since he was too badly injured to walk out himself and there was no way for them to transport him, someone had to bring help to him. The shaking, which had never quite stopped, suddenly intensified again. It was already so cold inside Ecto he could see his breath wafting in white puffs in front of his face. Outside the wind was howling and the snow was piling up against the windows; inside the frigid air was finding a way in through every crack and crevice of the old car and the windows were beginning to frost over as their breath condensed. It was like sitting in a freezer.

Egon tightened his grip around him in silent support. "I'll stay with Peter," he announced quietly. "We can hang on here until you bring back help."

There was a brief silence, broken finally by Winston's, "It may be a long wait, Egon. It's going to take some time just to climb back to the road. Then we've got to find the help and get them back here."

"Just do the best you can," Egon replied, his voice as calm and steady as if he were explaining a physics equation, "and so will we. That's all we can do."

"All right then." There was gritty determination in Zeddemore's tone. "Let's do it."

There was a hurried, brief discussion about flashlights and batteries, the thermos, how much liquid to give him and whether he should be lying down or sitting up. Peter barely heard it all through the buzzing in his ears and the fog that seemed to be settling over his brain. All he did know for certain was that he could not let them lay him down. If he laid down, he would fall asleep. And if he fell asleep he knew he would never wake up.

He felt Egon shift slightly. "Peter, we're going to lay you down--"

"No!" He shook his head weakly against the older man's chest. "No, d-don't."

Ray gave him a little tug from behind to ease him away from Spengler. "Come on, Peter," he coaxed. "You'll be more comfortable if you're laying down."

Again Venkman shook his head, moaning when that action set off fireworks behind his eyes. If he could have thrown his arms around Egon and held on for dear life, he would have. "Have to s-stay awake," he insisted.

"Peter." Egon's calm, deep voice smoothly sliced through the panic threatening to erupt in him. "I won't let you go to sleep. I promise. But you may have a concussion and you shouldn't be sitting up like this."

Maybe. But the idea of being horizontal appealed to him even less. "C-c-compromise," he whispered.

"What'd he say?" Ray asked.

There was a deep sigh of exasperation from Spengler. "Compromise." After a brief silence, he said, "That may not be such a bad idea. Perhaps we wouldn't have to lay him down completely."

"I don't think he should be sitting up, Egon," Zeddemore argued.

"But if I'm sitting up and stretch my legs out, we could reposition him so he's not really sitting up--"

"And you could still provide body warmth underneath," Winston finished thoughtfully. "That's not a bad idea. He's going to need all of that he can get."

"And we could cover you both with blankets," Ray chimed in. "That should work."

"All right, then here we go. Pete, can you hear me?" At the sound of Zeddemore's quiet voice, Peter raised bleary eyes to find the black man's serious face close to his. "We're going to move you," Winston explained in a slow, careful voice, "but just a little. You let us do all the work, okay?"

"'kay." No problem there. He was a genius at letting other people do the work. Besides, his head was pounding so viciously he wasn't about to attempt anything more ambitious himself than blinking.

It took some maneuvering in their cramped space, but within a few minutes Egon was sitting with his legs outstretched and Peter was half-sitting, half-laying in his lap. With Spengler's legs cushioning him, he figured he was a lot more comfortable than Egon was, whose legs would probably soon be asleep from the weight of his body pinning them. But even with the warmth of the physicist's body under his and the blankets piled on them both, the exertion of moving had sent him into another paroxysm of shaking, and the painful throbbing in his head had escalated dramatically.

"Peter?" Ray's face bobbed into view as he knelt down beside him. Even though the occultist did his best to produce an encouraging smile, the strain behind it was almost palpable. "We'll be back as soon as we can," he whispered. "It's going to be all right, I promise. You just hang on, okay?"

"T-try.

<P< p>

Stantz gaze him a deliberately stern look. "You do better than try, Doctor Venkman. You do it."

Peter nodded and managed to get, "You be c-c-careful, Ray," out from between his chattering teeth.

Ray gave his hands a squeeze and then withdrew quickly, as if fearing if he hesitated longer he wouldn't be able to leave. Peter shifted fitfully, trying to soak up more of Egon's body heat. Oh, what he wouldn't give for an electric blanket! Egon could probably rig something up to power it from the proton packs. Think of it, an atomic-powered electric blanket! Now there was a thought. It would be so warm, so warm he could sink into it and never have to worry about being cold again. So warm he could just relax and go to sleep and... A strong hand gripped his shoulder, giving him a little shake, and he jerked his eyes open. When had they closed?

Winston was eye-to-eye with him and said in a carefully even tone, "You hang in there, homeboy. You hear me?" Peter managed a nod. Zeddemore tightened his hand then drew back, giving Egon such an openly worried look Peter was sure he wasn't supposed to see it.

"We'll be fine," Egon said in his calmest voice, the one he affected when things were Very Bad--the physicist's euphemism for a disaster. "You two be careful." Peter could have sworn he heard a whispered, "And hurry," tacked on to that admonition and added his own silent, Amen.

"We'll be back with help," Ray assured them.

A door opened and a blast of freezing air was ushered in. The sound of the door slamming shut signaled Ray and Winston's departure. When Egon flicked off the flashlight to conserve the batteries, they were left in the silence of the dark, freezing car.

*****

"Alone at l-l-last."

Egon smiled faintly at the forced humor in Peter's tone. Peter generally faced desperate situations with one of two emotions--anger or humor--and both had served him well in the various crises they had faced together. "Yes, I thought they'd never leave," he said dryly, willing to play the game for Peter's sake. Then his smile faded as silence once again enveloped them. He had been racking his brain, trying to remember anything he might have learned about hypothermia in the first aid classes he'd taken. The prescribed treatments he had been taught--bring the patient to a warm room, wrap victim in warm blankets or additional clothes, seek medical attention promptly--were

predicated on the assumption you could actually do those things. This situation was more a matter of wilderness survival, and he hadn't actually ever taken any courses in that. It hadn't really seemed necessary in New York City. Peter's condition scared him to death, but panicking wouldn't help either one of them. They were doing all they could under the circumstances: Ray and Winston were going for help and he would keep Peter warm and awake, by whatever means it took.

A painfully violent shudder suddenly racked the wiry body in his arms and tore a ragged, "Oh, damn," from the shaking psychologist.

Squeezing his eyes shut in empathy, Egon moved his hand up Peter's back to rest on the still-damp hair. "I know, Peter," he murmured, tightening his fingers in the thick hair. "I'm sorry. I wish I could do more."

"I'm j-just glad you're here...if you know what I m-m-mean."

Spengler's strained features softened as he absently ruffled the hair under his hand. "I know what you mean."

"Eg-gon, I don't want to c-complain or anything, but my h-hands are so c-cold, I c-can't even feel 'em."

Egon quickly located the psychologist's cold-stiffened fingers under the blanket and encased them in his own, drawing in his breath sharply at the iciness of Venkman's skin. He was cold himself, but his was a superficial cold; Peter had been chilled clear through, and he could only imagine how his friend was suffering. Peter tried to curl his fingers around Egon's but his grip was pitifully weak. Gloves would help, but Peter's had been stuffed into his uniform pocket and soaked along with the rest of his clothes and his own were somewhere on Ecto's floor, discarded without a thought during their frantic efforts to remove the psychologist's ice-encrusted clothes. He could probably find them with a few minutes' searching but he didn't want to risk it. Peter was already shivering violently and any slight movement on his part seemed to provoke a fresh outbreak of tremors. Instead, he chafed the younger man's hands, trying to force warmth into the stiffened, numbed fingers, and searched his mind frantically for new ways to keep his friend warm and alive. "Do you think you could work your arms around me?" he asked suddenly.

"Hunh?" was the uncomprehending reply.

"Try to work your arms around to my back," Egon explained patiently. If Peter could worm his arms around him, it would both bring them in closer contact and provide some additional body warmth for the suffering psychologist.

"'kay," Venkman grunted, laboriously working his chilled arms into Egon's uniform. The material of his shirt was no protection and Egon gave a little gasp as the younger man's icy hands came to rest on his back, producing a fresh crop of goose bumps on his spine. But he clamped his jaw and tightened his arms around the shivering form in his arms. "Better?" he asked quietly.

Venkman's voice was so faint Egon barely heard it. "Don't think I'll ever be warm again."

The weary despair in Peter's voice was so far out of character for the psychologist that Spengler quickly moved one hand up to the tangled brown hair and wove his fingers through the damp locks. "Of course you will," he said a little too quickly. "Ray and Winston will be back with help and we'll get you to a hospital--" He fumbled, reaching for the type of tension-breaking humor that came so easily to Peter and he used so effectively. "And we'll put you in a sauna and turn the heat up--"

"Real high," Venkman interrupted, his voice a mumble against Egon's chest.

"Real high," Egon agreed, absently stroking the thick hair under his hand. "You're going to be fine, Peter," he said in a much firmer voice.

"If you s-s-say so."

"I just did, didn't I?"

There was a weak muffled chuckle from the other man. "And Egon S-Spengler is n-never wrong, r-right?"

Spengler rested his chin on the dark, damp hair. "Not about this," he whispered fiercely. "I will not be wrong about this."

Peter's arms tightened weakly around his waist. "Good for you, big guy," he mumbled thickly.

Concerned by both the weakness and the slurring he heard in the psychologist's fading voice, Egon frowned. "Peter? Peter, can you hear me?"

The psychologist shifted restlessly against him. "Close the window," he complained petulantly. "Cold in here."

Thoroughly alarmed, Egon said sharply, "Peter, what is the formula for centripetal force?"

That drew a startled, "Wha--?" from the other man.

"What is the formula for centripetal force?" he repeated.

"You g-gotta be kidding."

"I am completely serious. Would you like me to repeat the question?"

"What is this," Venkman mumbled, "the physicists' version of Trivial Pursuit?"

No, this is the only way I know to keep you focused and monitor your degree of awareness. Which is deteriorating, he added reluctantly.

"D-didn't know that in c-college," Venkman protested, annoyance edging his tone.

"You most certainly did. You forget who coached you through your encounter with higher physics. Not that the formula for centripetal force is higher physics," he added with an affected sniff.

"Maybe not to you."

"Not to you either," Spengler retorted sternly, nevertheless pleased at his friend's protests. He had Peter's attention, at least for the moment, and the psychologist was focusing on something. "The formula for centrifugal force--" He was interrupted when Peter rattled it off as if he had just studied it for an exam the day before. "Correct," he replied in his best professorial tones. "Now, what about the formula for kinetic force?" After a brief silence Peter recited, somewhat more hesitantly, the correct formula for that as well. Egon smiled to himself; Peter was aware enough to understand what he was trying to do, because under any other circumstances the science-avoiding psychologist would never have admitted to remembering any physics formulas. "All right. Now what about the formula for wavelength and frequency?"

Venkman shifted restlessly against his chest. "Isn't that the one with the upside-down Y?" he mumbled. "Never did understand that stupid upside-down Y."

"It's not an upside-down Y, Peter," Egon explained patiently. Without thinking, he launched into a mini-lecture about length equations and scientific symbols, but stopped when he realized he had lost Venkman's attention. "Peter?" When there was no answer, he tightened his arms, giving the younger man an attention-gaining squeeze. "Peter." When there was still no response, Egon let go of him to grab the flashlight laying by his leg and quickly switched it on. He caught his breath in dismay when the beam of light illuminated Venkman's thin face. The psychologist's eyes were closed and his dark lashes stood out in stark contrast against his abnormally pale features. "Peter!" Peeling him away, Spengler patted his cheek briskly, frightened by the coldness of the younger man's skin. "Peter, wake up. Wake up now."

After what seemed an eternity, Venkman's eyelids fluttered open and he stared blearily at Egon. "Egon? 'm really tired." Peter's teeth weren't chattering any more, nor was he shaking, and that sent off warning bells in Egon's mind.

"I know," he said gently. "But you have to stay awake. You remember that, don't you?" Venkman looked confused, but nodded his head obediently. "Okay, I'm going to give you some more coffee." He shifted Peter carefully so the younger man was resting back in the hollow of his left shoulder while he fumbled with the thermos and poured another cup of coffee. Neither he nor Winston were certain of the wisdom of giving liquids to someone with a head injury, but the hypothermia was just as dangerous as the concussion. "Here we go." Holding the cup against Peter's lips, he tipped it, allowing him to drink.

After taking a few sips, Peter lifted his head. "Better save some for yourself." He seemed a little more aware but his voice was still weak and somewhat indistinct.

"There's plenty," he lied, firmly pressing the cup once more to Venkman's lips. It was a sign of how out of it he was that the psychologist drank the rest of the coffee without argument. Lowering the empty cup, Egon carefully replaced it on the thermos, then set it out of the way but within easy reach. Before switching off the flashlight, he played the beam around the car, discovered and retrieved his gloves, then checked the windows. The sleet must have turned to snow because it no longer rattled against the car, but the windows were all completely covered with a thick layer of ice, making it impossible to see anything outside and adding to the claustrophobic atmosphere inside Ecto. It was like being sealed in an ice box. Laying the flashlight aside, he slipped on his gloves, waited a few minutes until he was satisfied they were sufficiently warmed, then quickly guided Venkman's stiff, icy fingers into them. "This should help a little."

"What 'bout you?"

"I'm fine for now." Peter was almost a dead weight in his arms and after making sure the blankets were secure, he carefully re-positioned the pliant man so he wasn't quite sitting up but had as much contact with his body as possible, then carefully tucked the edges of the blankets around him to trap as much warmth as possible. The brown head dropped against him with a soft thud and didn't move. Fighting down his rising panic, Egon forced himself to say calmly, "All right, Peter, now name the constellations of the northern hemisphere."

Egon felt Peter's head move slightly. "C-can't."

"Of course you can. I happen to know for a fact you memorized them years ago to impress that cheerleader, Margie something-or-other."

"Hopkins," came the drowsy reply.

"If you remember her name," Spengler pointed out with some asperity, "then you can certainly remember the constellations. And do them alphabetically. I'll get you started. The first one would be Andromeda."

Egon held his breath and was rewarded finally by a feeble, "Aquila."

"Then Auriga," he prompted.

"Bo”tes," Peter supplied after a long silence.

They continued that way until all the constellations had been named. Then Egon grilled him on the atomic weight of selected elements, switched abruptly to the conversion of fractions to decimals, coaxed him to name the planets in order from the sun, and even had him recite the subway stops, in order, from Ghostbuster Central to Rockefeller Center. Spengler forced himself to concentrate on asking the questions and cajoling the answers out of Peter, compelling the psychologist to focus on something--anything--except the cold slowly stealing his body and consciousness. But as time dragged on even the easiest questions--When is Ray's birthday? Name your five favorite Dewey LaMorte books--were sometimes too much for the barely conscious man. His answers were uncertain, faltering, and it was becoming increasingly harder for Egon to capture and hold his fading attention. More than once Egon had found himself torn between coaxing him to talk and urging him to conserve his strength.

During one such break when Peter was simply resting against him and Egon was doggedly trying to come up with some new, challenging, mental game, Peter suddenly stiffened. His head flew up, eyes wide with fear. "Egon!" Caught off guard, Egon nearly reacted a fraction too slow. Peter had almost pulled away from him before he could pin the psychologist's arms and hold him down.

"Peter, what--"

"Egon! No!" Peter's frantic voice, already weak, broke on a sob and Egon could feel his wiry frame begin to shake with new intensity.

"Peter, I'm right here," Egon insisted, straining to keep his voice calm and reassuring. "I'm here, Peter. It's Egon."

But his assurances seemed to do nothing to soothe the agitated psychologist. Lost in some nightmare of his own, Peter struggled against Spengler's hold, shaking violently from the sobs racking his body. Thoroughly frightened and at a loss what to do, Egon could only tighten his hold on the struggling man and continue to try to gain his attention.

"Egon...no." Venkman was sobbing as if his heart had broken. "My fault. You shouldn't have stayed. You shouldn't have died."

Egon stiffened as he heard those words. Hallucination? Fresh worry filled him as he held the trembling man. How did you penetrate a hallucination? How did you get through to a man embroiled in a turmoil of his mind's making? He did everything he could think of, but nothing seemed to get through to the anguished man. Even weakened as he was Peter continued to fight him and Egon grew increasingly worried for his friend's deteriorating condition. Finally, when nothing else had worked and he could come up with no new options, Egon pulled Peter away, steeled himself, then smacked one cold cheek. The slap sounded loud in the unnatural quiet inside Ecto and was hard enough to make Venkman jump. The younger man continued to struggle weakly, but Egon was able to keep him still with little effort. Setting his jaw, he slapped him again.

This time Peter's head snapped up. "Hey! Cut it out!" he mumbled.

"Then wake up," Egon said sternly.

"'m awake."

Reaching down, Egon flicked on the flashlight and propped it so it illuminated Peter's wan features. The younger man grimaced in the light, but Egon placed his hands on either side of the cold, pale face and held it so they were eye-level. Even though his skin was still ice cold, beads of perspiration had broken out on Peter's forehead and Egon took one hand and gently wiped them away. Then he did the same for the tears still lingering on his cheeks. "Peter?" he asked softly. "Can you hear me?"

There was heartbreaking bewilderment in Venkman's green eyes, but as Egon watched his focus seemed to sharpen as his eyes slid over Egon's face. "Egon?" His voice was uncertain but carried a note of desperate hope in its weak whisper. "Egon, are you--" Feebly, Peter fought one arm free from the blankets and raised it to touch Spengler's face with a trembling hand. "You're 'live," he choked.

"Yes, Peter, I'm alive." Reaching up, Egon covered Peter's hand with his and gave the ice-cold fingers a comforting squeeze. "I'm fine. You were having a...bad dream."

"Bad dream." Venkman sagged heavily against Egon, his head dropping against the physicist's chest. "Bad dream. I thought you...died out here...keeping me warm."

"It was just a dream, Peter," Egon repeated firmly, tucking the cold hand back under the covers. "It's over now."

Venkman grabbed a handful of Egon's jumpsuit and gave it a tug. "Don't die out here," he commanded with more strength in his voice than Egon had heard before. "You hear me? Don't you dare die out here."

"Neither one of us is going to die out here," Spengler retorted sternly. He ran a hand over the younger man's quivering back, listening as his harsh, rapid breathing eased into a steady rhythm. "That's right," he said softly, "just rest." He gave it a few more moments, then asked, "Peter, do you know where we are?

<P< p>

The psychologist's reply was a mumble. "This a trick question?"

Spengler smiled faintly at the almost-normal reply. "Do you know where we are?" he repeated slowly and carefully.

Peter sighed, sending a cloud of steam into the chilled air. "Yeah, but I wish I didn't," he replied, lethargy slowing his words. "Ray and Winston...how long?"

"I'd estimate around three hours, maybe longer. My watch was broken in the accident."

"Not a Timex, was it?" Peter's eyes slid shut. "You know, takes a lickin' and keeps on..." When Venkman's voice trailed off, Egon smartly smacked one cheek again and the psychologist's eyes flew open. In his clearest voice yet, he demanded, "Are you hitting me to keep me awake, Spengs, or because you like it?"

Despite the weakness in his voice Peter sounded so normal Egon felt his lips spread in a soft smile. "What do you think?"

The younger man studied him for a moment. "Combination of both."

"Perhaps." Egon took a moment to brush the damp, heavy bangs out of the green eyes, smiled at the grimace that elicited, then gently settled him back into position and methodically re-wrapped the blankets around him. "You have to stay awake, Peter," he said, forcing the steadiness into his voice. "Do you understand? You have to stay awake...and stay with me."

"'m not goin' anywhere."

Spengler's arms tightened around his friend. "No," he whispered fiercely, "you damn well are not." Placing a hand on the back of the younger man's head, he threaded his fingers in the damp, matted hair and squeezed his eyes shut against burning tears. He could feel Peter slipping further and further away from him; little by little, minute by minute, Peter was drifting away, and he would continue to drift away until he was finally out of reach. Egon knew he was feeling the early effects of hypothermia himself and knew also the only way they were going to survive this night was to stay awake and keep alert. If he could keep Peter awake, he could keep him alive. He believed that. He had to believe that. If he lost that battle, he would lose Peter as well. But his old tactics weren't working any longer; he had to come up with something else, something that would catch Venkman's faltering attention and keep it--

"Peter, do you ever wonder how we became friends?" he asked suddenly.

That drew a startled, "Huh?" from the other man.

"When Winston had only been with us a few months, he asked me how it was you and I had become friends. On the surface we don't seem to have that much in common."

"Even b'low the surface."

"Even below the surface," Egon agreed, relieved he was getting a response.

"What'd you tell him?"

Spengler's lips twitched as he remembered his answer. "That it hadn't been easy," he said dryly.

There was a snort from the other man. "Understatement, big guy. I didn't make it easy, did I?"

"No, you didn't," he acknowledged amiably, remembering the Peter Venkman he had met at Columbia and their first tentative steps toward friendship. Not knowing Peter's background then, he hadn't been sure why the underclassman was so wary of opening himself up to others. Nor had he understood Peter's apparent need to continually test his offered friendship. Now, of course, he did understand: Peter's father had taught him early in life, mainly by unfortunate example, that allowing yourself to trust someone usually resulted in disappointment. It had taken a long time, much patience, and a lot of effort on Egon's part to prove to the skeptical young man that trust, placed in the right person, could reap benefits undreamed of by his father, and was worth the risk.

You don't need to ask me if I'll be your friend
I am, I am
You don't need to ask me if I'm sure my friend

I am, I am

He gave his head a shake, a fond smile of remembrance tugging at his lips. It wasn't often that he thought about those early days of their burgeoning friendship. The Peter Venkman he knew now was a far different person from the underclassman he had known then. Peter was still inherently wary of people he didn't know, but wariness was a far cry from the blanket of distrust he had thrown over the world at large back then. And while it was true he could still close in on himself to ride out bad times, now he had three people in his life--four, including Janine--who were there to help him through those times, no matter what the crisis. He had even learned how to accept their help...and their compassion. The underclassman at Columbia could never have opened himself up to allow such a degree of trust or intimacy in his life. Egon liked to think he and Ray had something to do with that change. From fellow students, to fellow professors, to fellow out-of-work professors, to business partners, to... his smile softened...to friends still. That was quite a history they had together, a lifetime of memories, good and bad. A lifetime of growth and change together. It hadn't always been easy, but it had always, always, been worth the effort to first nurture, and then maintain, that friendship.

I'm the one who saw through
the world's disguise
took away its cloak and made it hide

from me

"You never gave up," came a blurry mumble. "Even when I was bein' a jerk. You never gave up."

Egon pulled the blankets a little tighter around his friend while he considered his answer to Peter's unspoken question, Why? Why hadn't he given up back then? Peter had given him plenty of chances--and reasons--to simply abandon his efforts all those years ago and pursue friendships with others who seemed more willing to return the effort or who shared similar interests and his passion for science. What had it been about the cocky, volatile, often irritating psych major that made him not give up? "I had a feeling," he said in a steady voice and with complete honesty, "it would be worth it."

The whisper that reached his ears was so thin it was barely audible. "Was it?"

Was it? His eyes squeezed shut, Egon dropped his head to rest his cheek on the blanket-covered mound that was Peter's head. My friend, do you have any idea how important your friendship is to me? "Yes, Peter," he replied immediately, his own fierce whisper loud in the silence of Ecto, "it was worth it."

There was a moment of complete stillness between them, then Peter's arms tightened around him in a feeble embrace.

What can I say
You don't need to find the words

to say what's on your mind

Spengler returned the squeeze with barely contained desperation. "Stay with me, Peter," he ordered, his voice rough with fear. "Do you hear me? Stay with me. Don't you dare quit now!" Venkman stirred weakly against his chest and Egon raised his head, thinking Peter was seeking a more comfortable position--not an easy thing to find in their cramped quarters. But when he looked down he found the younger man gazing at him with cloudy eyes. "You made a real difference in my life, Egon," Venkman whispered in a slow, painstakingly clear voice. "A good difference. An' you've been the best friend I could've ever asked for...prob'ly better than I deserved sometimes. Wanted you to know that...in case I forget to tell you later."

I'm the one who knew you when

I'm the one you call your friend

Don't you dare say good-bye to me, Venkman! After all the work we've put into each other don't think I'm going to let you get away that easily. Staving off his panic with an effort, Egon replied in a deliberately calm voice, "You've made a real difference in my life, too, Peter, and I shall expect you to continue making that difference for many years to come."

Faded green eyes slowly swept his face as if Peter were trying to memorize every detail of his features, then locked with his own gaze. "'n case I can't...just wanted you to know that...and say thanks. For everything." Unfocused eyes slipping away, he continued in an almost dreamy voice, "I want Ray to know, too. He made a real difference in my life, jus' like you. Tell him for me, 'kay?"

"You can tell him yourself," he said sharply. "He and Winston will be back any minute now with help and..." He broke off as Peter's body abruptly went limp as if his little remaining strength had suddenly deserted him. "Peter? Peter, talk to me. Wake up." It was an eternity before he felt the psychologist stir against his chest, and he let out a sigh that caught in a half-sob. "Don't you ever do that to me again," he gritted out, not quite managing to cover the quiver in his voice. "Now wake up and talk to me, Peter."

Venkman's voice was muffled against his chest and so faint he barely heard him. "Glad you're here, Spengs. Glad you're with me. Not so bad...with you here..." With a little sigh, Peter lapsed into silence.

Fighting down the hysteria that wanted to erupt inside him, Egon laid a shaking hand against his friend's face. Even to his cold-stiffened fingers, Peter's skin felt rigid and much too cold. With his mind screaming at him to do something, he clumsily shrugged out of his overcoat and draped it over the unconscious man, adding it to the blankets already covering him. But it wouldn't be enough. He knew it wouldn't be enough. The frigid cold inside Ecto bit easily through his uniform and street clothes now that he was denied the protection of his coat, but he grimly ignored it as he pulled Peter tight against his bare chest. His own skin was chilled and rippled with goosebumps, but he had more heat in his body than Peter did and that heat just might make the difference.

"Peter, listen to me. Winston and Ray are going to be back any minute now...you've just got to hold on a while longer...do you hear me? Try to concentrate on what I'm saying...stay with me, Peter...stay with me. You're the most pigheaded man I've ever known...if you give up now I swear I'll never let you hear the end of it..."

Spengler didn't know how long he kept it up, assuring Peter rescue was at hand, demanding he hold on a little longer, just a little longer. But the younger man was like a rag doll in his arms, completely unresponsive, his muscles lax. Cradling the lolling head in the crook of his arm, he grabbed the flashlight by his legs and shone the beam directly onto Peter's face, his breath catching in his throat at what he saw. Venkman's skin had a translucent, almost waxen quality to it; his closed eyes gave the illusion of sleep, but his features seemed too relaxed, too composed, his body too still.

"Peter?" Egon's hesitant whisper seemed loud in the stillness inside Ecto. Hand trembling, he patted one cold cheek. "Peter, wake up," he ordered, forcing strength into his voice. "Wake up. Peter Venkman, if you don't wake up this second and talk to me--" The threat died in his throat. Fumbling with the blankets and coats, he fought to get his hand inside the tangle of covers to press his nearly numb fingers against Peter's neck. His heart skidded momentarily to a halt as he realized he could feel nothing, no reassuring beat against his fingers, no sign of movement, no evidence of blood still pumping through his friend's body, no hint of life. He felt nothing...nothing except a sudden overwhelming sense of aloneness. He was alone. Alone. "No," he whispered brokenly. "No, Peter, you can't...you can't!"

Suddenly the back door of Ecto was wrenched open and powerful lights flooded the interior of the car, nearly blinding him.

"Egon! Peter! We're back! We brought help!" Egon made out the form of Ray Stantz standing by the open door, but registered very little else as the interior of the car was invaded by strangers. There was a blur of activity around him as someone threw some sort of cover around him and someone else gently but firmly tried to pry Peter out of his arms. Rescue. But the rescue had come too late. He didn't realize he was still holding onto Peter, resisting all attempts to separate him from his friend, until Winston crawled in beside him and slid an arm around his shoulders.

"Come on, Egon," Zeddemore said gently, "let these guys do their jobs."

There was no job to do, but Winston didn't understand that yet. Staring out into the night, Egon saw Ray standing by the back door, his face tight with worry as he watched the activity inside. Ray didn't know that yet, either. Numbly, but with infinite gentleness, he transferred his burden to a bearded young man, then tried to force his stiff muscles into action. It was only then he realized his legs had gone to sleep long ago while he had held Peter in their cramped quarters and were all but useless now.

"C'mon, my man, I'll give you a hand."

Winston's strong arms eased him out of Ecto and Ray's hands were right there to steady him as his feet touched the ground and his legs started to buckle. Still supported by Ray, he sagged against the rear fender of the car as Winston shut the door on the activity inside. More strangers appeared and a silvery space blanket was quickly wrapped around him, gloves were forced onto his cold-reddened hands and a cup of steaming coffee was placed at his lips. He drank it automatically, feeling the welcome heat spread through his body, spreading everywhere except that one hollow place inside him that would forever be cold and empty.

"Egon, are you all right?" Ray's worried voice sounded in his ear as the younger man pulled him into a tight hug. "We got back as soon as we could. Is Peter okay? We were so worried about you two."

"I'm sorry, Raymond." Egon's voice was a hoarse rasp and he realized with dismay he was beginning to shake uncontrollably. "I'm sorry. I couldn't--I couldn't keep him warm enough."

Stantz pulled back, the expression on his face a combination of puzzlement and fear. "What?"

"I couldn't keep him awake--he's not--" He couldn't finish it, nor could he bring himself to meet Ray's horrified eyes. He stared at the snow-covered ground at his feet and at the empty styrofoam cup that had dropped from his nerveless fingers. "I'm sorry."

There was an instant of stunned silence, then Winston spun around, yanked the side door open and all but threw himself into Ecto.

"Egon?" The tremulous whisper finally brought Spengler's eyes up to lock with Ray's. The occultist was shaking his head, his face blank with shock and denial. "Peter can't be gone. He can't be. He can't!"

But he was. Without a word, the physicist lifted an arm and Ray threw himself against his chest. Egon gathered in the younger man, his embrace every bit as tight and desperate as it had been when he had been holding Peter all those hours in the cold, trying to keep his friend's life from slipping away. Ray's body was shaking with muffled sobs and he felt his own grief well up inside as the full impact of loss began to overwhelm him. He should have done more. He should have saved Peter. He should have held on tighter, kept him warmer--

"Egon! Ray! He's alive!" The slamming of Ecto's door punctuated Winston's shout and the black man grabbed both men by a shoulder and gave them a shake. "Do you hear me? Pete's alive!" Egon stared at him stupidly. "What? But I--"

"It was close, Egon, real close," Zeddemore hurried on, his words almost tumbling over each other in his haste to make them understand. "But they've got a pulse and he's breathing on his own. They said his pulse was so weak and you were so cold yourself that you probably couldn't feel it." Wrapping his arms around both men, Winston gave them a fierce hug as he shouted the news. "Peter's alive, brothers. He's alive!"

Alive. Egon felt hot tears trail down his cheeks as he was engulfed in a smothering three-way hug with Ray and Winston. Ray was laughing and crying at the same time and Winston was pounding his back so hard only the support of his two friends was keeping him on his feet.

"You did it, Egon!" Ray cried. "You kept him alive."

Even though his legs were screaming in protest as feeling set in, and he was shaking badly both from reaction and the cold, that empty, numb spot inside him had miraculously vanished. Fatigue like he had never known was rapidly overtaking him, but Egon had enough energy left to tighten his arms around his two friends in a hard embrace. "We kept each other alive," he corrected, his eyes sliding shut from a combination of exhaustion and relief. "Just like always."

****

<P< p>

As he had done countless times during the seemingly endless night, Egon stood in the doorway of the dimly lit hospital room and gazed at the sole occupant inside. It was nearly four o'clock in the morning and he had long since been treated for mild hypothermia and released with strict instructions to get plenty of rest. Winston had wanted to take him to a motel to get some sleep but he had vetoed that idea without discussion. With Peter in the hospital and still unconscious there was no way he was going to rest at a motel or anywhere else, so the three of them had camped in one of the waiting rooms all night.

Even as exhausted as he was, Egon had dozed only fitfully and had been coming to check on Peter throughout the night. The last time he had arrived as the charge nurse was making her rounds, and she reported Peter was showing increasing signs of restlessness and should be waking up soon. His vitals were getting stronger, too, she told him, and he appeared to have shifted from unconsciousness to normal sleep, an excellent sign. That said, she firmly escorted Egon back to the waiting room and told them all they would be notified when there was any change. But he couldn't wait for notification. This was where he needed to be. Peter had thought he was dying back on that mountain and Egon thought he had died. He didn't think even Peter Venkman could blow that off with a smart remark, and he knew he couldn't. No, they had started this journey together and they would finish it together.

Walking silently across the small room, he pulled a chair over to the side of the bed and sank down, studying the sleeping man in the dim light. The waxy paleness was gone from Peter's face now, replaced with a light blush of color, and his breathing was the deep, regular respiration of normal sleep. Carefully, Egon picked up one lax hand and smiled as he felt the suppleness of the warm skin and the easy flexibility of the slender fingers. It was hard to believe only a few hours ago these same fingers had been so cold and stiff and they had come so horribly close to-- He gave his head a sharp shake, trying to banish that thought.

But the memories would not go peacefully. Closing his eyes, he rubbed a thumb absently over the fine-boned hand in his and sighed deeply. "It was close, Peter. Very close. But you're safe now. You're safe and it's okay to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

You will find an answer at your journey's end
I am
waiting there my friend
you must remember me
I'm the one who knew you when

I'm the one you call your friend

The first coherent thought that formed in Peter Venkman's mind was that he was finally warm. Warm. Warmth had spread all through his body, from his toes to the tips of his fingers. It was wonderful. It was glorious. It was also pretty damned amazing, he marveled, inasmuch as the last thing he remembered was freezing to death. He wanted to open his eyes to find out how in the heck Egon had managed to get Ecto so warm inside, but his head was pounding with each heartbeat and he was so tired. He hadn't realized dying could be so exhausting.

"Peter?" Long fingers gently squeezed his hand. "Peter, can you hear me?"

"Egon?" Was that really his own voice? Why did his throat hurt so and why in hell couldn't he talk above a whisper?

"Yes, Peter, I'm here." Another squeeze of his hand, this one a little harder. "You're safe now. You're in a hospital, but you're going to be fine. Do you understand? You're going to be just fine. We're all okay. You, me, Ray, Winston, we're all safe now."

Hospital. He was alive. They were all alive. It took a massive effort, but he managed to force his eyes open. It was too dim to make out much of anything except a familiar shadowy figure sitting nearby, but the surrounding darkness gave him a sudden bad case of deja vu. "Any lights in here?" he rasped.

Immediately, Egon stretched out an arm and flicked on a switch. Peter grimaced in the sudden flood of light and had to blink rapidly until his eyes became adjusted to the brightness, but it was worth it as his surroundings slowly came into focus. It really was a hospital room. And he really was alive. Letting his gaze settle on the concerned, angular face hovering above him, Venkman produced a strained smile. "Just checking. I wasn't really expecting to wake up..." he almost faltered..."on This Side."

Spengler's blue eyes filled with understanding. "I know," he said quietly. The physicist gave him a long, comprehensive look, then without a word leaned over and carefully gathered him into a tight embrace.

Peter latched onto him immediately, wrapping his arms around the lithe body and pulling him close. His mind skittered back to those dark, freezing hours they had spent clinging to each other like this: he too dazed from his head injury and hypothermia to do more than hang onto Egon and try to remain conscious, and Spengler stubbornly and determinedly anchoring him to life, refusing to let go. Egon had chosen to stay there with him, fully aware of both the danger to himself and the grim prospect for survival of an injured man. The physicist could have very well ended up cradling a corpse in his arms before dying himself and he had known that from the outset. Yet he had chosen to stay. Peter felt a new wave of warmth spread through him as the full realization of that decision finally hit him. It was more than loyalty and more than duty or even friendship. He pressed the side of his face against Egon's hair, his arms constricting. How could you thank someone for that kind of love? Spengler's arms immediately tightened in response and Peter felt fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck. It had been a long time since words had been necessary between them to express their deepest thoughts; that was yet one more gift they had given each other. But he said them anyhow. "Thanks, Spengs," he whispered. "I never would've made it without you."

Spengler gave him one more squeeze, then slowly pulled back and pressed him back down onto the bed, carefully smoothing the blankets over his chest. "There have been many times," he said calmly, "when I wouldn't have made it without you." The blankets apparently straightened to his approval, he let his hand rest on Venkman's arm and added solemnly, "I'm glad I was able to be there. I'm glad we were together."

"So am I," Peter said fervently, and he meant it. Although he had had many close calls on busts when Death tapped him on the shoulder, this time he'd had too much time to think about its slow, seemingly inexorable approach. Having Egon there with him had made it easier somehow, and he remembered thinking if it was his time to pass over, he was glad at least that he'd had the chance to say good-bye. Looking up, his gaze locked with his friend's and a moment of complete understanding passed between them. I hope you never need me the way I needed you, Egon, but if you ever do, I'll be there. That's a promise from Doctor Venkman. As if reading his thoughts--and he probably was--Egon nodded, blue eyes warm and completely at peace.

Feeling a sudden need to lighten the moment, Peter grinned impishly. "It was fun and all that, big guy, but let's not do it again any time soon, okay?"

Amusement sparkled in Spengler's eyes, but he said reprovingly, "In that case, I trust you will cease jumping from moving vehicles."

Venkman grimaced as he remembered that part of the accident. "Never did know what happened," he said, looking questioningly at the physicist.

"There was something in the road, possibly a pile of fallen rocks. Winston didn't see them until it was too late. When he swerved to avoid them, the car skidded."

"He knows it wasn't his fault, though, right?" He shifted in the bed, sighing in contentment at the warmth that enveloped him. "Nobody could've seen anything in that snow."

Egon tucked the blankets in tightly around him, reminding Peter of all the times his friend had done that in Ecto to try to keep him from freezing to death. The same thought must have occurred to Spengler because he froze for an instant as a memory flickered across his sharp features. Then his face cleared and he methodically finished his task and sat back. "Ray and I have both told him that, of course," he said, "and I think logically he does know that. But knowing you're all right will do more for him than anything Ray or I have said."

"Where are our two happy woodsmen anyway?" Venkman asked drowsily.

"Right here, homeboy."

"Peter, you're awake!"

Peter looked around in time to see a blur that was Ray Stantz rush across the room. An instant later he was engulfed in a warm hug. Egon had tucked him in rather securely, but he managed to work one arm free to hook around the occultist's neck. "Hey, Tex," he said softly, giving a handful of auburn hair a little tug. "Good to see you again." Stantz' response was to tighten his arms until the embrace was almost painful. Over Ray's shoulder Peter looked from Egon's carefully composed face to Winston's relieved features and got the feeling the rescue had been a lot closer than he had originally thought. He waited until Ray finally relaxed his grip before he did the same.

Brown eyes sparkling a bit too brightly, Stantz pulled back and produced the biggest grin Peter had ever seen. "I'm so glad you're okay, Peter."

"'Course I'm okay," Venkman answered, returning the grin. "You guys made sure of that." If possible, Ray's grin widened even more, and Peter tilted his head to look at Winston who was standing by Egon. Without a word, he offered a hand and Zeddemore immediately accepted it, gripping it tightly.

"You gave us quite a scare," the black man said with a strained smile. "Don't make it a habit, okay?"

He gave Zeddemore a thoughtful look. "You do know the only reason I ended up in that stream was because I took off my seat belt right before we ran off the road. If I'd been strapped in, we all could've walked out of there under our own power."

Winston looked like he wanted to say something, then his features relaxed and he nodded, tightening his grip around Peter's hand. "The only thing that matters is that we did get out of there, Pete; all of us."

No argument there. Venkman looked around at the three men who defined friendship for him and wondered what he had ever done in his life to be so damned lucky.

"What's going on here?"

Four heads turned as a gray-haired nurse--built like a battleship, Peter groaned silently, why don't they ever look like Michelle Pfeiffer?--strode into the room, eying them all with disapproval.

"You," she said sternly, pointing at Egon, "are supposed to be resting. And you two," she continued, turning a severe gaze on Ray and Winston, "were told you'd be called when you could visit Mr. Venkman." She paused meaningfully. "Did I call you?"

It was Ray who answered meekly, "No, ma'am."

Her reproachful features softened somewhat at the occultist's apparent contrition and, ignoring the audience, she gave Peter an efficient, professional examination that ended with her nodding approvingly at his blood pressure reading. "I'll page the doctor," she told him, giving him a motherly pat on the arm. "You just rest until he gets here." Turning to the others, she added crisply, "And you three will be leaving now. You gentlemen do not belong here." That said, she did a perfect about-face and marched from the room, clipboard clutched to her ample bosom.

Peter looked around at his three friends and saw with growing delight that they had no intention of leaving. The grin started on Ray's face, progressed to Winston's and spread to Egon's. Mischief glinting in his blue eyes, the physicist settled back in his chair, stretched out his long legs, and let his contented gaze rest on Peter. "On the contrary, gentlemen," he said simply, "I think this is exactly where we belong."

And that, Peter thought happily, just about said it all.

~*~