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Continued from here:

There were meters. There were sensors. There were sniffy things that normally got reserved for testing the air in entire apartments. There were things that got stuck to the temples with medical temporary glue. There were gadgets and gizmos and all kinds of things in the second-floor lab at the Firehouse, and all of them got used with the kind of enthusiasm that was endearing (if a bit freaky) in Ray and outright terrifying in Egon. The in-depth examination of the two Drs. Venkman could have gone on for hours, save that even Ray had enough sense to clap a hand over Egon's mouth and say, "I think we're done," when he sensed the word 'probe' making its way to the physicist's speech queue. "What've we got in the way of results, anyway?"

"Not nearly enough analysis to say," Egon answered with a faint scowl. "Give me ninety minutes and I'll have some proper answers for you."

"All right." Ray pulled a couple of coils of wire from the latest device off his shoulder and set them down on the nearest shelf. "So where do we go from here?"

"Anywhere you like, but I would stay relatively close to the Firehall if I were you. If the patterns of the last few days are anything to go by, I have a feeling there's going to be a call coming in this afternoon."

Ray nodded and glanced over at Peter. One of him, anyway. "You heard the man... preferences?"

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"Nothing. Everything." He shrugs. "Things nobody in the world ought to be able to understand, I can accomplish. Things that ordinary people deal with every day of their lives, I can't fix. I used to be upset that what we did scientifically made so little difference in people's lives- I mean, you'd think that proving life really does exist after death would make a difference- but I'm okay with that now. At least, as okay as I'm gonna get. It's the idea of some of the difference I could make that scares me... I mean, I was at the controls when the machine exploded- the one that drove Mike over the edge. It was a design flaw or a, a weakness, or something, I don't know. I don't think it was me that did it, but it might've been. The thing with Tim happened, and you turned up, and I thought it was the greatest thing in the world. And then it hurt you." He sets the box aside, giving a small, bitter smile that probably goes unseen in the dark. "Ever get drunk and do something you don't remember the next morning, but really, really regret when you find out about it?"

Before Peter can answer, Ray flicks his holocomputer on. The schematics that pop up may or may not look familiar to Peter, but they're complicated, detailed, and frighteningly realistic. It's not until Ray rotates them through about a hundred and sixty degrees that the design becomes familiar- it's heavier and more powerful than the design Peter knows, but still recognizable. And even if it weren't, the words 'PROTON ASSAULT CANNON MK 0.2' are hovering at the bottom of the three dimensional display.

"I don't like the idea of making this kind of a difference, Pete, but I seem to be good at it anyway. People I care about get hurt and I don't know how to fix it- and I can't even leave myself alone for a minute, apparently. I guess I'm just worried that I'm going to leave a mark on the world after all, and that it's going to be exactly the opposite of what I've ever intended."

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Venkman stared at the display.

"Jesus," he mutters. He wasn't sure what was more disturbing, the fact that Ray came up with it at all, or the fact he could come up with it while drunk. Pickled brains should not even be capable of making coherent sentences, much less creating weapons of destruction. Not to mention he had an idea of the when and why Ray would be drunk in the first place. Which meant he held some responsibility for this as well.

He sighed, and rubbed his forehead a bit, his index fingers grazing his temples.

He said, "Ray, first of all, not all of it is your fault. Don't try to take the weight of the world on your shoulders. People screw up and make mistakes. Look at me. I just try to move on from them, because that's all you can do."

"Alright, so you ended making an advanced powerful proton weapon while drunk, and you do realize that's a hell of a lot more than most people can do sober?" Venkman then added, "And you're a scientist, as in find a problem and fix it. That's why we're scientists, and not philosophers or moralists. We think of solutions not ethics. And you've also made good things. Hell, you recently proved a working PKE beacon can be built, and it did its job. Nothing wrong with that. Do you know how many scientists who've probably built things or invented things that were applyed in bad ways? Most if not all. That's the problem with discoveries. Somebody out there's always going to think of evil ways to apply it, but that's not us, Ray."

"I mean, you've haven't built it yet, just proved it can be built. And we might actually be able to do a lot of good with it. Ok, I don't know who we're going to get to fire something like that because I know it's not me." He can't help shuddering a little.

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Ray watched the designs turn slowly in midair for a while.

"I think I meant well with it," he said softly after a bit. "I think... from what little I remember, I think I wanted something that'd hold the beings in the Bar at bay, if they ever went south on us. I don't know. I might've just been doing it because the idea occurred to me and I couldn't stop myself. I like the first idea better."

He shrugged, and switched off the machine.

"Doesn't matter. The point is, I'm tired of people being hurt." His hand went to the same spot as before. "We have to find Mike as soon as we can, though... before he hurts somebody else."

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Venkman immediately agreed, watching his troubled friend, "I am, too, Ray. I honestly wish there was more I could do to stop it from happening again." He added, muttering just to himself he thought, "If I wasn't walking on eggshells half the time with my burnt-out head here, that is." Ray didn't need to hear how messed up he was right now, and he knew his other self wouldn't say anything unless he ended up as a detriment to the group. He already had an idea he was going to have to remain behind here. His younger self was right, he wasn't in any shape to handle a bust. Not like this. It was too soon, and he just had a helluva more dumped on him. But like hell, he was going to worry his friend with anything about it.

He responded, "We'll get him one way or another. We'll stop him. We've taken on a lot bigger fry than him. He's just some possessed little pissant with some hopped-up powers. That's nothing to us. We're Ghostbusters, when the going gets tough, we get tougher, and go out to face it. Right?"

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Ray lifted his head a little at the half-heard murmur, but said nothing. He was in no mood to puzzle the meaning out of the words anyway. When Venkman spoke again he listened, and thought for a bit, and then smiled- maybe not the smile he normally used, not the face-splitting grin that half the papers in New York and virtually everyone in Milliways was used to, but still a smile. "Right," he answered, as firmly as he could. "That's why we get to wear the funny suits, as I believe I said to Andrew when we first started talking in the Bar. All right, then. We'll deal with him tomorrow, but in the meantime there's one other really, really big question..."

He glanced meaningfully at the arrangement of the room. "You gonna arm-wrestle Peter the Younger for the bed, or what?"

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Venkman tensed when he thought Ray heard his offhand remark, but relaxed again.

"Peter the Younger?" He laughed slightly, but it sounded forced, and devoid of his usual humor. He then sagged a bit, and his face briefly revealed how much strain this trip on top of everything else was taking on him, "It's his bed, I don't feel like arguing for it. I'm tired enough I'll just crash anywhere, even the floor." He stood up, and stumbled a moment before he took a proper step.

*Shit, I hope we can get this guy by tomorrow. Before it's too late.* But his mind was divided on whether it was Mike or himself that was running out of time quicker.

"So, time to turn in then? I think I might have spied a couch downstairs with my name on it."

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"Nonsense. Even if we didn't have a decent couch, we make a point of having cots and pillows in storage just in case. Let's get you downstairs and set up for the evening, and we'll deal with Mike tomorrow. Who knows? If he's still traveling on foot, we could have him nailed and returned to the pen in time for happy hour."

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Venkman nodded tiredly, worn out, and only semi-focused for several reasons.

"Sounds good, Ray," he yawned, and headed downstairs with Ray to get some sort of temporary sleeping arrangements. He wasn't aware of some of the looks he got as he slowly walked along. Egon seemed thoughtful, Janine looked frazzled and worried, Winston was studying him a bit. But his other self was especially focused on him, his eyes grim, and inner alarm bells going off in his head.

Once the cot was set up, Peter barely said good night to Ray, before his head hit the pillow, and he was asleep in a matter of seconds.