Ghostbusters In Love

4. Ghostbusters Backstory: A Tale of 3 Ghosts

*Author's Note: this is a 13 chapter novella, best started from the beginning. Rated Mature for sex, horror, mature themes, drug and alcohol use.

CHAPTER CONTENT WARNING: drug use, overdose, dead people, character death, ghosts, horror elements, war, Vietnam war, the draft, alcohol, chronic pain, addiction, grief, limb loss, amputation (brief mention, not graphic), internalized homophobia, comp het.

The 1980s was full of homophobia and compulsory heterosexuality, so...the guys are too. Sorry. They'll work through it in upcoming chapters.

*New York City, University, Autumn, 1983, last year on campus*

Rumors of Stantz, Spengler, and Venkman's paranormal research buzzed through campus and started to draw attention.

They were pranked, of course. The long standing tradition of Ivy League assholery demanded it.

Ray's Intro to Engineering students showed up to class one day wearing sheets over their heads with eye holes cut out. Venkman's desk was carried out of his office and left in the middle of the quad.

"Must have levitated there," the smirking sophomores who were questioned said. "Don't blame us, blame telekinesis."

A fraternity stole all the skeletons from the biology labs and filled Egon's lecture hall seats with them, propping them in lewd poses. At least that one was kind of funny.

News spread through the undergrads that they'd pay you ten bucks to tell Dr. Stantz a true ghost story. Five bucks if you let Venkman test you for psychic powers. Everyone on campus wanted to know if they had psychic powers, of course.

Nobody did, to Venkman's continued disappointment.
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The three professors were hanging out in Venkman's nasty little faculty apartment, celebrating that he had somehow finally made Doctor in spite of himself.

They were sitting on the floor because Peter didn't own three chairs. They were talking about ghosts again and drinking bad wine out of (probably unwashed) coffee cups. Venkman bumming Ray's cigarettes as usual. They smoked with the windows open to spare Egon a headache.

Slight intoxication helped Venkman block out unwelcome psychic input, so he almost always carried a flask or a joint. That night Venkman had weed and everyone toked a little, even the straight laced Dr. Spengler, who became a little silly and loose for a change. It was a celebration, after all.

"How does it feel without that stick up your butt?" Venkman teased Egon.

A stoned Egon blew an undignified raspberry in response. Ray laughed at them both. He'd never had more than one friend at a time before. It was nice.

"So, what are you jerks doing here?" Venkman asked.

"In your apartment?" the literal minded Ray asked, confused.

"On Earth?" Egon asked, probably too high and in need of some food.

"No, you genius idiots," Venkman said, laughing at them. "I mean still in University. In your 6th fucking PhD program?"

"Dodging the draft, just like you," Egon replied dryly.

Ray and Venkman toasted to that. They'd all known men of their generation who had gone to Vietnam and not returned. The decade before, their good grades and academic careers had saved them from deployment, probably saved their lives. Thank god the draft and that war were things of the past now.