The job that day had been a Class-8 full torso apparition at the Montefiore Medical Center. Supposedly, the spirit was a long-dead patient from the hospital and had a bone or two to pick with how the staff were running things, tearing down medical charts, breaking equipment, and giving the doctors a healthy dose of fear and terror for the day. The ghost had already ransacked an entire wing of the hospital when the Ghostbusters arrived on the scene, and the medical students working there had already evacuated several of the patients to other floors.

It was over an hour before they were able to pile back into the Ecto-1 and haul themselves back to the firehouse, smoking ghost trap in hand.

“You know, I think that’s the first time that we’ve ever run out of charge on the proton packs while out on a job,” Dr. Stantz said, getting out of the car and moving towards the trunk. He started unloading their equipment and placing it on the ground. Dr. Spengler moved to help him, still fiddling with his PKE meter and frowning.

“Let’s make that the <i>last</i> time it happens, alright?” Winston grimaced, sitting halfway out of the car and rubbing his bruised knee. In his other hand, he held the slightly smoking ghost trap by the wire. The ghost had spilled a janitor’s bucket on the ground, and he had slipped and fell while pursuing it. Every bone in his body ached, and he knew that he would be waking up sore tomorrow.

Dr. Venkman eventually slid out of his seat, frowning and inspecting his clothes--his jumpsuit had been stained yellow by a flying bowl of chili. “Forget the proton packs,” he complained. “When the hell are you and Spengs going to invent uniforms that clean themselves?”

“We can start <i>after</i> we adjust the energy capacity on these,” said Dr. Spengler, not looking up from his device. “And after we place the ghost in the containment grid.”

Dr. Stantz hefted two of the proton packs over one shoulder and started walking towards the stairs. Winston got up from his seat and followed, limping slightly. Dr. Stantz glanced over and smiled at him.

“You okay? I can get that, if you want!” He extended his free hand to take the ghost trap from Winston.

Winston shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. “No, no, I can make it downstairs just fine, Dr. Stantz--”

“Oh, c’mon, Winston, you don’t have to call me Dr. Stantz,” he said, grinning warmly. “You’ve been here for long enough. I mean, none of us call each other ‘doctor’--”

“Not unless I’m trying to piss off Egon,” Venkman chimed in, trying to peel off his jumpsuit without touching any of the chili leftovers. He pulled a face and shudders, trying to shake his hand dry. “Ugh. Why’d it have to be <i>chili,</i> of all things?”

Winston blinked. “I mean, if you guys don’t mind.”

“Of course not! You’re one of us now, whether you like it or not.” Ray beamed at Winston. After a pause, he glanced down at the ghost trap. “Are you <i>sure</i> you don’t want me to put it in the containment unit for you? You took a pretty nasty fall--for a second, I was worried you broke your leg.”

Winston couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle.

“Believe me, it’ll take more than that to take me out.” After a moment of hesitation, he handed the trap over to Ray. “I think I’ll go lie down for a little bit. Thanks, Ray.”

Ray nodded, giving Winston a thumbs up before walking down towards the basement. Venkman followed soon after, jumpsuit balled up in his hand and muttering about installing a laundry machine in the basement.

“I’d recommend compressing the inflamed area with ice and elevating it for at least an hour, if not more.”

Winston jumped--he hadn’t noticed Egon had walked up right behind him. The physicist was carrying the two other proton packs in his arms.

“Right. Ice.” Winston stared up at him before giving him a small smile. Egon’s expression remained the same. The corner of Winston’s mouth twitched as he snapped his finger and pointed to the proton packs. “Don’t forget about adjusting those babies, alright?”

Egon raised an eyebrow, still looking down at Winston in silence. Winston’s smile became slightly more strained.

“Yep. Good talk,” he said, turning to hobble up the stairs. It was difficult to tell what Egon was thinking or feeling at any given time--if he even <i>did</i> have emotions, that is--but at least he seemed to care about Winston. “Seemed to” being the key word, because it took a few days before Winston realized that, no, Egon wasn’t purposely being blunt to insult or intimidate him, he was just...like that. This revelation made his interactions with Egon a bit more relaxed, but damn, it was still difficult to hold a meaningful conversation with him.