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team-free-will-oneshots · 5 years

Text

Homecoming

Title: Homecoming (part three in the ‘Reckless’ series) Request: Hi, can I request a Dean x reader, where he makes her angry so she decides to leave him while on a hunt… But when she gets back to the bunker, she doesn’t realize a month has gone by. Pairing: Dean x Fem!Reader Warnings: swearing, mentions of blood Word Count: 2,500ish

note; so this was going to be the last part... but then i felt like it was a bit anti-climatic for a finale and it didn’t quite feel over yet SO there’s gonna two more parts!! enjoy ;)

Part One | Part Two

You awoke face down on the ground. Gravel dug into your cheek and bit into the palms of your hands, and you groaned as you sat up, joints stiff and aching. Your shoulder was killing you, and your ribs were definitely bruised, if not fractured. Blinking sluggishly, the darkness around you became discernible as your eyes adjusted - trees. A long driveway. You were still disoriented, but something about this was oddly familiar…

The witch! The realisation hit you like a brick to the head and you jumped to your feet, ignoring your protesting injuries. Spinning around, you realised with a start that the house was dark, cordoned off with police tape. Frowning, you slunk under the weak barrier and looked through the window. The scene that awaited you was far different from the one in your most recent memory.

The candles that had previously circled the witch were now nothing but dried pools of melted wax staining the wooden floors. The witch’s body was gone, though a disturbingly large amount of dried blood was smeared across the floor and walls. Her other victim’s body had disappeared also, leaving nothing but the collapsed china cabinet and an abundance of evidence markers placed around the scene.

Mind reeling and head throbbing, you sat and leaned against the side of the house, glancing at your injured shoulder and deciding now was as good a time as any to assess the extent of your injuries. It hurt like hell, but the bleeding from your shoulder had mostly stopped, and you’d definitely had worse. You were sure that, given enough time, it would heal. You could taste blood in your mouth from the boot to the face you’d received, but thankfully you still had all your teeth, even if your gums were split. All in all, you could survive without rushing to the hospital.

Now that you knew you weren’t bleeding out, a more pressing concern was raised - what the hell had happened here? You could only guess it had something to do with the window the witch had sent you flying through - some kind of portal, maybe?

Though your brain still rattled with confusion, you managed to shake yourself out of your stupor and decided to get back to the motel as quickly as possible - maybe the boys would have some clue as to what had happened. Ha - Dean’s face when he realised you’d taken the witch on your own would be priceless, you couldn’t wait to shove your competence in his face.

You walked down the long drive, ducking under another round of police tape stationed at the foot of the driveway. Your hands fumbled in your pockets for your keys as you walked, but you’d gotten halfway down the street before you froze. Wait…

“Where the hell is my car?” you muttered, glancing back the way you came. You were sure you’d parked it here… Are you kidding? Someone stole your fucking car. Great - just what you needed, tonight of all nights.

You huffed an annoyed sigh as you pulled out your phone, brows shooting up in surprise as you saw the notification - 154 missed calls from Dean Winchester. 82 missed calls from Sam Winchester. Jesus.

Opening Dean’s contact, your thumb hovered over the call button… but then you thought of his smug face when you called asking for help, and thought better. Goddammit, you were Ubering - you were too stubborn to ask for help after all this.

You leaned back against a fence as you waited for your Uber to arrive, scrolling mindlessly through your phone until they did. You slid into the back seat, ready to finally find some answers.

---

When you were dropped off you headed straight for your motel room, surprised to find it locked. You patted your pockets, but realised you must’ve left the room key with the boys. You pounded on the door.

“Hello? Dean? Sam?” you called expectantly. “I took care of her! She’s dead! Can you guys let me in?”

Silence. Then muffled whispering. You groaned.

“Look, I’m sorry if I worried you, but can you guys please let me in? It’s cold out here!” you yelled, kicking the door once before turning around with an irritated sigh. You rolled your eyes as you heard the door creak open.

“It’s about ti-” you began, turning back, but froze when you saw a bleary-eyed middle-aged woman you definitely didn’t recognise. You opened your mouth, brow furrowing in confusion as you glanced around furtively. Had you got the wrong room?

“You… are not Sam and Dean,” you said slowly. She looked at you with fear in her eyes, and you felt your own widen in panic as you realised what you looked like - a bruised and bloody mess - and exactly what she had heard - “I took care of her! She’s dead!” Shit.

“N-no, who are you? What do you want?” she cried.

“Don’t worry, honey, I’ve got the police on the phone!” a male’s voice called from inside. You laughed nervously.

“Look, this is all a big misunderstanding,” you tried, but when you raised your hands the woman screamed. The man was at her side in less than a moment, a frying pan gripped in his shaking hands.

“Get back! The police are on their way!” he shouted, and you sighed. Great. Just what you needed. You spun on your heel and strode away, the couple clearly too shaken to try and follow you. In a tiny town like this, you gave it at least twenty minutes before the cops arrived. Plenty of time to get out.

You walked a block over, finally relinquishing your stubbornness as you tried to call Dean for a ride. It went to voicemail. Eight times.

Great. Just great, you thought, finally giving in and calling another Uber, this time for the bunker. The same driver you had before pulled up, shooting you an irritated look. You glanced at your phone - 5am, in a tiny place like this? God, you were lucky to even get an Uber.

“Lebanon? Are you fucking kidding?” he demanded. “Do you know how far that is? You’re fucking lucky my cat’s with my ex-wife this weekend, or else you’d be finding another goddamn ride. Lebanon!” he scoffed.

You tried a sheepish smile. “Sorry?” You felt a pang of guilt, but knew your chances of getting picked up by a hitchhiker at this hour were zero to one, especially when you looked as bad as you did, in addition to your pending status as a fugitive.

With a very frustrated sigh, the driver pulled from the curb and you cast your gaze out the window as you settled in for the long trip ahead.

A seven-hour drive with Dean’s driving became a ten-hour drive with the Uber driver, whose name was Darren, behind the wheel. You slept on and off, your dreams filled with blood, candles and 1-star passenger ratings. Your waking hours were spent talking - Darren told you about his kids who he was trying to put through college, hence the uber driving, the custody battle for his cat following his messy divorce, that dick Billy from accounting who, in Darren’s words, “Just didn’t know when to quit it!” Quit what, you weren’t certain, but the more he ranted the more your hatred for ‘Billy’ grew.

When you were finally delivered home - or rather, about a twenty-minute walk from home, as you didn’t give the Men of Letters bunker location to just anyone - you were quick to give Darren a good rating. He huffed. Apparently, any comradeship you may have gained as you bitched with him about his coworkers was eradicated the moment you stepped out the door, even with the fortune you paid to get here. You waved half-heartedly as he drove away, waiting until the car was completely out of sight before beginning the trek to the bunker.

The afternoon sun beat down on the back of your neck, drawing beads of sweat that clung to your hair and moistened the dried blood crusted on your skin. When you wiped your forehead, the back of your hand came away stained with dirt. God, Darren hadn’t asked a lot of questions about your appearance, had he? Maybe he had his secrets, too. Like why he was willing to drive ten hours for an absolute stranger, even if he was getting paid… maybe you weren’t the only one running from something.

An eternity seemed to pass until you finally saw the bunker’s entrance up ahead. Finally. As you approached the door you dug through your pockets for your keys, only to find them empty. They must’ve dropped out in Darren’s car. You swore, making a mental note to remind Dean to change the locks, just in case.

Without any other option, you rapped your knuckles softly on the door, knowing the sound would echo throughout the bunker. You heard Dean’s annoyed voice growing closer from the other side, paired with a pair of heavy footsteps.

“Sam, I can’t believe you forgot your keys again, get it togeth-” Dean’s words fell short as the door swung open, and he froze, mouth agape as he stared at you.

“Y/N?” he breathed in disbelief.

“Hey,” you greeted, casually strolling inside and shedding your jacket, draping it over the bannister. “You will not believe the day I’ve had. Dude, someone stole my car! I had to Uber all the way back here! Do you know how expensive a ten hour Uber ride is? Cos now I do, and I’m not pleased about it, either. You could’ve answered your phone, you know!” you accused, striding down the stairs and ready to head for a shower. You paused as you saw the state of the library; chairs broken, desks overturned, splinters coating the floor.

“Jesus Christ, Dean, what the hell happened?” you demanded, spinning around in shock. That was when you finally got a good look at him - at his unshaven beard, the bags under his red-rimmed eyes, the way he was staring at you like you were some kind of ghost…

“Dude, you look like shit,” you informed him, but felt your stomach drop in concern. “What happened? Is everyone okay? Jody? Cas?” you asked, suddenly panicked. The only reason Dean would be like this is if someone had died.

Dean’s gaze hardened, and suddenly he was throwing you up against a wall and tossing holy water over your face, then cutting your arm with a silver knife. You sputtered, blinking in shock. “Dean, what the hell? It’s me!” you insisted, and he pulled away, shaking his head.

“No, no, it can’t be, you’re- Y/N, you’re dead!” His voice shook and his lip trembled, and you wanted nothing more than to take him into your arms and soothe him. But right now, you were far too confused to do anything of the sort.

“Well, obviously I’m not,” you said slowly. “That witch was powerful, but I’m not as weak as you think. I killed her! Weirdest thing, though, she was doing some weird spell and talked about getting a head start away from you guys, and she ended up knocking me through some portal to the next day or something because when I woke up, the place was totally abandoned. And someone else was in your motel room! I can’t believe you guys gave up looking for me after one night!” you cried. Dean’s eyes widened and he looked absolutely furious.

“One night? One night? Y/N, you’ve been gone for a month!” he yelled. “We stayed there a whole fucking week and there was no trace of you!”

You froze. “What? A month? No way, that- that can’t be right,” you stammered, pulling out your phone to check. Holy shit - he was right. You hadn’t paid much attention to the date on the little calendar icon earlier, but… he was right.

“You mean- you thought I was dead?” you asked, voice small. “Is that why- all this-” You beckoned vaguely to the mess surrounding you, and he nodded, exhaling shakily. His rage seemed to drain away, leaving an empty shell of the man you once knew. “Dean…” you breathed, and he shook his head, stepping forwards to pull you into his arms.

His grip on you was bone-crushingly tight, sending pain shooting through your ribs and shoulder, and his breath reeked of alcohol, but you didn’t pull away. He held you like there was no tomorrow, like you might disappear if he loosened his grip for even a split second. His face was buried in the crook of your neck as he breathed you in, assuring himself you were real as he clung to you desperately. You felt something damp on your skin, and realised he was crying.

“Hey… it’s okay, I’m here,” you soothed. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

You felt Dean breathe shakily as he nodded. He swallowed, pulling away but not losing his grip on you for a second. And suddenly, he was kissing you.

His lips were chapped and his beard scratched your chin and his breath could definitely have been better, but none of that seemed to matter as you leaned in closer, your wrists locking around his neck as his mouth moved urgently on yours.

You were interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Y/N?” Sam’s breathless tone was tainted with disbelief. You reluctantly pulled back from the kiss, but Dean held fast to you, his hands shaking as they found purchase on the small of your back. Sam jogged down the stairs, clad in his workout gear as he appraised you with unbelieving eyes.

“Yeah. It’s me,” you told him with a tentative smile.

“Dean, did you do the tests-”

“Of course I did, Sammy! That was the first thing I did!” Dean snapped, pulling away from you long enough to shoot his brother a glare. You kissed Dean’s cheek, running your hand down his arm and feeling him relax minisculely under your touch. His grip loosened, letting you pull away and be wrapped in Sam’s arms. He hugged you tightly, and when he drew back you saw there were tears in his eyes. He gave you a tiny smile.

“Good to have you back, Y/N,” he managed, and you nodded, offering a comforting smile. He stared at you a moment longer, drinking in the sight of you, alive, before leaving to give you and Dean some space.

“You have no idea how incredible it is to see you,” Dean breathed. “I-I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for saying you couldn’t handle it. I knew you could, I just- I didn’t want to lose you. I got scared, and- and I almost lost you anyway, so- you can come on any hunt you goddamn please, okay? I promise. Just- just not alone.” His pained whisper tugged at your heartstrings, and you nodded, running your fingers lightly through his hair. He closed his eyes at the sensation, his breathing slowing as he finally began to relax.

“So… is this a bad time to mention that I’m possibly a fugitive?”

Dean’s eyes snapped open.

“You’re a what?!”

__________

Click here to read part four!

Reckless series tags: @tmiships4life @justagirlinafandomworld @galileeooh @a-fan-fighting-for-equality @sasbb23 @avengersgirllorianna @thewaywarddaughterblog @2dreamcatcher8 @xlplx @spaghettiwoes @gay-ghost-fights @shut-ur-face-and-get-in-the-car @mrspeacem1nusone

Forever tags: @stealingheartsswift13 @babygirloreo @calaofnoldor @lmpala97 @sebastianshoe

Dean tags: @polina-93

If you’d like to be added to any of my tag lists just let me know!

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maddiefriendlovesbilly · 5 years

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aimee and sally? It’s kinda odd but it’d be fun - bi-aimee

Aimee x Sally

Huh

Alright

Let’s imagine shall we?

You’re Aimee, you’ve traveled this earth for a long, long time, searching for love and companionship

But there’s one problem: nobody sticks around long enough, even after you try every courtship trick in the book

Even after you’ve tried to be friendly, and pleasant, and perfectly cheery

Some people say you’re too forward - they’ve told you that since you were little, but you can’t fathom why that would be a bad thing - and others are too busy screaming and running or yelling angrily to explain what you’ve done to deserve their animosity

You’ve tried man, woman, and other alike, but you always seem to be too much, and sooner or later, they all leave

But you are not discouraged, because who are you without someone to love?

One day you meet a girl - she has large brown eyes, warm tanned skin, chubby cheeks, dark fluffy hair and the brightest smile you’ve ever seen

She’s adorable, and energetic, and practically a walking, talking ray of happiness, and you’re drawn to her positivity like Icarus to the sun

You wonder how many heartbreaks it will take to make you stop trying

Eventually you find the courage to introduce yourself; her name is Sally, which fits her perfectly and encompases everything about her in a single word

Sally loves to have tea parties - so do you! You start having them together, even if you can’t actually drink the tea anymore, it’s comforting and nostalgic to be able to sit with someone and talk about the day’s happenings over tea.

She loves waffles for than anything in the world, which is endearing as it is worrying

There’s nothing she can’t do that she sets her mind to, and her ambition is almost frightening when it comes to reaching a goal that she finds worthy of her time

Sometimes her tenacity can get the best of her though, and in those times you worry about the consequences of her actions, especially since she disregards them

You feel at peace around her, even if most of the time she’s getting into some sort of trouble at every turn

You worry that one of these schemes will be her last, but she has her brother, who possesses an amazing power to bring people back to life if they are near him

And you wish once more that your body wasn’t sitting at the bottom of a lake in france

Nonetheless it’s still difficult to watch her get hurt over and over, even she brushes it off like it’s nothing

You feel as though your heart is burning every time she looks your way, and even in death your cheeks heat up when she directs her beautiful smile at you

Sally hasn’t run away yet, or looked at her in disgust or fear - only given her bright smiles and bubbly laughs and warm hugs every time they meet

You know when to count your blessings, because soon, too soon, she’s gone.

You’re visiting her house one day - and you love her family like they’re your own, but they can never replace Sally - and they tell you Sally’s disappeared; left yesterday and never returned

None of them seem too worried, but there’s a quickly deepening furrow in your brow when you come by the next day and she still hasn’t returned

Still, nobody seems alarmed, so you wait another day

But she still hasn’t returned

So even if her family acts as though this is nothing to be concerned over - though that’s not entirely true, because you’ve seen the dark circles under Gertrude’s eyes, and the way Billy jumps when someone catches him searching for something through the window, or how their frequent smiles are slowly fading into grimaces and frowns - you decide to go search for her yourself

You search everywhere you can think has even the slightest possibility or her being there, and when those turn up nothing, you search places someone might have taken her to, or she might have wandered into if she wasn’t paying attention, some of them you’ve never even heard of before now, and when even then, you still can’t find Sally, you start searching in the sketchy parts of town - all of the dark alleys and each shabby motel, and every abandoned warehouse and decrepit building - and you’ve practically shaken down the entire city and the ones nearby before someone tells you they might know where she is.

It’s been seven days since she disappeared now and you’ll take any clue you can get at this point

You check in with the Acachallas each day to see if she’s returned, and you know they’re scared too now, you can see it in the way they grip each other’s hands and sit in the living room together watching the front door like it’s their only lifeline.

The person who tipped you off has disappeared by the next day, probably out of fear because they snitched, but you’ll take what you have

You’re not afraid for yourself because you’re already dead, and the only paranormal investigators for miles around are P.I.E.

You hope someone calls them, because you want to see the look on their face when you tell them what’s happened and watch as one of them - probably Ghost - decks the fiend in the face

You realize you’ve become quite spiteful since Sally went missing, but it’s the least of your worries when the world is tilted wrong from her absence and you’re vision has a red tint to it at all times now

It’s been eleven days since Sally went missing when you finally find her

There are guards with guns at the door of the warehouse and they try to shoot you immediately, but the bullets phase right through you and you don’t even bother to pretend it hurt

She’s in waffle withdrawal when you arrive, and has basically ransacked the entire building in an attempt to find some

Bodies litter the room

You can’t find even an ounce of pity in yourself for these people

Sally careens around the corner with a dangerous look in her eyes when you accidentally kick something and it clatters loudly and skids down the aisle

Even in this state - wild-looking and grey-skinned, with empty black eyes; demonic by any stretch of the word - you think she’s beautiful as ever

She doesn’t recognize you, that much is clear when she swipes at you, growling when her clawed hand glides through you effortlessly, returning empty

You smile gently at her, unbothered by the many sharp teeth you can see when she snarls in return

You wonder how you can get her out of here safely, and contemplate ways to lead her back home in her current state

It’s then that one of the gunmen must walk in, probably to see what kind of trouble you’ve caused in the short time you’ve been in there

But they must see one of their former coworkers dead on the ground, because you hear a yelp and the cocking of a gun

You need to get Sally out of here quickly because Billy isn’t around to bring her back if she’s shot

In a split-second decision, you gather her hands up in your own, wrapping them around her razor-sharp nails gingerly

You kiss her cheek, hoping to god that any of this will bring a spark of recognition to her eyes

It takes some calming words and promises of safety (and a ton of waffles) and a few more kisses before Sally seems to actually see you, hear you, recognize you, but she does, and you’re overjoyed when her eyes fade from inky black to warm brown and are gazing at you with a fondness and amazement of which you’ve never been the target before

She tells you that you’re the first one to calm her from her waffle-rage without using waffles

And now you’re just as surprised as she is

Nonetheless, you explain the basis of the situation to her and you sneak past the guards together, snickering all the while

You explain everything else on the way home

When you get back you explain the whole story to her family - well the parts they didn’t already know - and they look just as amazed as Sally when you tell them that you managed to calm her down without feeding her addiction

You ask them if they’ve ever tried to before

They laugh nervously until Gertrude finally explains that they did when she was little, but as she grew older, the addiction grew stronger, and by age 12 it was no longer an option

You wonder why it worked for you, and can’t help turning curiously to Sally, who blushes and looks away

Spencer snickers at her reaction and Gertrude smacks him on the arm muttering something about being quiet

Things calm down after that, though the Acachallas clearly didn’t totally learn their lesson - the proof being that their crazy schemes and antics never stopped - but they were clearly more careful about pissing people off, and making targets of themselves

But you wouldn’t have it any other way

A month goes by and you wonder when Sally will have enough of you

Because it’s been over a year now, and she shows no signs of turning you away

You’ve practically become part of the family, and your heart aches more and more as time passes and you wait for the inevitable goodbye

But it never comes

And during one of your now bi-weekly tea parties Sally blurts “Will you go on a date with me?!” blushing profusely as she does

Through your shock, you hear yourself say “Of course I will!” and feel tears gather in your eyes

The date is just as perfect as you imagined and at the end, you get a peck on the lips and a big grin that lights up her entire face and you feel like you’re burning once more

Conclusion: Did I just write an entire Sally x Reader but the reader is Aimee fanfic? Because I think I did. Either way, very cute ship, super wholesome, and honestly, p sure it would work!

#venturiantale #jess answers #aimee x sally #sallee #lol #love how i end up writing fics for half of these #also this is my first second person pov story!#im pretty proud of it :)#sr #ship review #ship reviews #vt ships #vt ship reviews #vt ship review #vt sr

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literarycat · 6 years

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(2525 words). post-finale taz: dust fic. errol, augustus, and gandy cope how they can with the aftermath of the last eight hours.

Michael himself told Errol that Dylan was going to make it, so he supposed that was as good an assurance as any. Still, Errol found himself at the boy’s hospital as soon as visitors were allowed, just in case. He didn’t doubt the immortal’s word, per se, but it was in his nature to make sure that people were taken care of. And someone needed to bring the boy flowers.

He was recovering nicely. The surgeon had stitched him up and given him a considerable amount of pain medicine, so much that Errol thought Dylan might not have recognized him the first time he came. He had just awoken from surgery, after all, and Errol was only the second visiting party (his mother and sister, of course, being there as soon as the doctor allowed).

Dylan squinted at Errol for a long time, apparently trying to place a name to the face that hovered just in his quarter’s doorway. Errol edged a little closer, still keeping his distance so as not to startle the boy. Then suddenly, Dylan’s face lit up. “Mr. Ryeson, I didn’t think you’d- please, come in.”

Errol smiled, relieved, and came closer to the bed. He placed a small vase of lilies on the table near Dylan’s head. “I’m glad to see you in good health.”

Dylan nodded as best he could from his half-laying position. “Doctor says I’ll make a full recovery, with enough rest.” He craned his neck, trying to peek past the ragged tear in Errol’s coat. “And- and how are you doing? You were shot, right, did- did the doctor take care of that for you?”

Errol was almost surprised, not expecting a man who’d been stabbed through the ribs mere hours ago to be so concerned with other people’s injuries. “Oh, yes, the doctor stitched me up right after taking care of you. No painkillers though.” And he laughed a little to himself, ignoring the jolt it sends up his side.

Dylan nodded again, slowly. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said softly, leaning his head back on the pillow. He was quiet for a moment, and then his gaze drifted to the flowers Errol brought. “Are those for me?”

Errol snorted. “Wouldn’t’ve put them on your table if they weren’t, kid. They’re from my garden. Carrion Street’s garden, really. It’s a- a community effort. Why they call it a community garden, I suppose.” And he laughed again, though this time at himself. It was a miracle he’d been able to become a politician given the atrocious habit he had of rambling awkwardly whenever anyone gave him the chance to speak.

Dylan looked at the flowers a while longer, then smiled. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.” His brow furrowed, then, and Errol leaned in with concern. “Do you… Do you know what they’re saying, out there?”

Errol blinked. “I’m not sure I quite understand the question.”

“About me.” Dylan’s voice wavered. “About me killing the sheriff.”

Errol’s posture stiffened. “I wouldn’t worry about that, Dylan. What you did was beyond understandable. No one’s gonna blame you for killing Jeremiah’s murderer.”

“But-” And Dylan’s voice caught in his throat. “But he was the sheriff, Mr. Ryehouse, and I didn’t even give him a trial. I didn’t think, I just acted, I just- I transformed. You’re a fur, you know how hard it is to transform at sunrise. But as soon as I knew he was the one who killed Jeremiah, I just- I couldn’t help myself.” His voice was barely audible, now, and Errol had to lean in to hear. “I wasn’t being rational, I was- I was savage. A beast. They have to blame me for that.”

Errol is startled by the intensity of Dylan’s words, but there is no hesitation when he speaks. “What you did isn’t your fault. You can’t blame yourself for a crime that wasn’t really a crime at all. Remember what my, uh, ghostly coworker said?” Errol paused for a moment to see if his half-joke land. It didn’t. He sobered, and said quietly, “Dylan, if you didn’t stop him, he was going to kill us all. You saved my life back there, I- I owe you a tremendous debt.”

Dylan is quiet. “Mr. Ryehouse. What are they saying about me? My mother refuses to say anything, and even Anne is keeping quiet, even when I beg her. I drove a knife through the heart of our town’s sheriff in a rage. What do they think of a monster like that?”

Errol’s heart tightened at the sight of Dylan, hardly old enough to be considered an adult and yet saddled with the conviction of a murder he didn’t commit and the burden of another he committed in the defense of those he loved. Errol had loitered around the town for a while, after the doctor had patched him up but Dylan was still unconscious from his own surgery. He’d conferred briefly with his coworkers, who’d each promptly vanished to do their own soul-searching. There was nothing left for him to do but loiter, milling around Carrion Street to ease his people’s worries; patrolling the town square to answer the burning questions of those who awoke too late to see Uncle Oni’s explanation.

No one was bold enough to speak ill of Dylan to his face (he was a fur, after all, and he’d played his own role in the sheriff’s demise). But Errol didn’t become a politician without learning how to discern people’s true intentions. And the way that they spoke about Dylan in hushed tones, when they thought no one was listening- it was sickening.

Dylan pleaded with Errol to tell him the truth. Bedridden as he was, he’d probably be able to avoid the brunt of the rumors for at least another few days while he recovered. His family had clearly taken the route of shielding him from the truth, and if he didn’t tell Dylan, no one would. The idea was tempting.

But Errol didn’t become a politician to lie to people. And, as Errol had just said, he did owe Dylan a debt.

“I’m gonna be honest with you, kid.” Errol said. “It’s not looking too hot out there.”

He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or heart-broken when Dylan didn’t seem surprised at all.

---

Augustus was rather pleased with himself after his grand entrance. After all, his comrades might have defeated Connors, but only he saved them from the wrath of the residents that would have immediately followed. His task complete, Augustus had leisurely floated down to where Errol and Gandy were standing, shell-shocked, outside the police station.

“Rather clever of me, don’t you think? Escaping with Gandy’s, ah, eccentric eyepiece like that?” The two hadn’t responded, and the ghost pinned it on their exhaustion and potentially life-threatening injuries rather than a lack of interest in him. The two excused themselves to, you know, get their lacerations patched up, and Augustus waved them off with a cheerful smile. When they were gone, Augustus didn’t leave the square. He had someone he wanted to see.

It was a long shot, really. He was rather embarrassed to admit that he had no idea where his daughter was at any given moment. When he died, she had been in town, sure, but she was nearly grown by now. Perhaps she’d decided to pack up and move elsewhere, away from her father’s legacy and (literal) ghost. Or, perhaps, she was still in the care of The Church’s nearby chapel, and she was one of the many who’d heard the commotion and come to the town square…

Augustus shot a glance in the church’s direction, then quickly looked back towards the crowd proper. No, no, of course not. The church was much farther than the immediate residences and it would take time for news to travel there. Anna was likely still asleep! It was seven o’ clock, and teenagers tended to sleep late. Though, perhaps not under a Father’s watchful eye? Augustus’s gaze drifted again, and he immediately busied himself with performing an animated introduction to two yet unmet residents.

News would spread to Anna eventually. It had to. Even if she had left to live somewhere else, it had to be nearby. It seemed unlikely she’d want to move so far away from home, or that The Church would let her- her being underage, and all. What Augustus had done today must have been front-page news, especially for a town as quiet as this. Some day this week, she’d hear snippets of conversation in whatever place she lived, maybe the city- and she’d hear Drywater mentioned. And she’d perk up, thinking, that’s where my dad’s cashew company is! They would tell her what had happened, and she’d be ecstatic to hear that Augustus Parsons, ghost of her previously corporeal father, was the one who had saved the day.

Or, Augustus thought bitterly, she would hate him for being in town and not visiting. Hell, he hadn’t even taken the time to find out if she was available to visit. He hadn’t seen her in, what, five years? And even though he’d passed over guardianship to The Church, there had to be a part of her that resented him, right?

The most likely option, and the one Augustus loathed the most, was that Anna merely forgot about him. Not that she literally couldn’t remember him, because who doesn’t remember their father’s unfortunate and suspicious cashew-related death? But since he wasn’t a presence in her life, it would be easy for him to fade from her recollections. For him to become merely a shadow. A ghost.

Augustus looked around the crowd again, noting it to be considerably thinner than the last time he’d bothered to check. His station outside the police building was as much an opportunity to garner attention from passerby as it was a necessity: unlike Errol and Gandy, he really didn’t have a place to go.

The sun was high. It was noon, or whereabouts; the town bell hadn’t yet rung but Augustus could see people shading their eyes from the late morning heat. If Anna hadn’t woken by now, she was not long for this world herself. And everyone in town had come to hear what had happened once they’d woken up. So she must not have been around.

She would hear about it, eventually. Augustus knew this. And when she did…

Augustus drove the thoughts from his mind. He’d died, and that meant he had to literally leave his life behind. His work with the Graysons was merely a means to an end, something that would enable him to make up for his sins here, or whatever, and pass onto whatever business ventures awaited him in the afterlife.

A fine thought. He chewed on it a while, floating there listening to an exhausted Rosa’s nineteenth explanation of the hour.

“S’pose I should go check up on Gandy and them, make sure they’re all alright,” he muttered. Rosa, still in earshot, gave him a weary look.

“Who are you talking to, Parsons?”

He had to pull the “sinking into the ground” bit for the second time in a day just to avoid embarrassment. (It wasn’t quite as hilarious, this time around.)

---

Gandy sat in her Sanctum Sanctorum, idly flipping through the pages of a book used to contact chaos demons and willing the queasiness in her stomach to go away. She’d gone to Uncle Oni’s side almost immediately after the confrontation, ignoring even the growing numbness in her arm in favor of showing Uncle Oni exactly what she’d confiscated from Connors’s house. The enthusiasm was, of course, partly real, but she’d be lying not to admit that part of her urgency in sharing the news was the unexpected presence of Death himself in the square.

Only when Michael was gone did she allow herself to be pulled away by a concerned Errol and the town surgeon, and she submitted easily to treatment. Squinting at the stiches on her arm, afterwards, Gandy thought it might make a good scar.

She had plenty of those. One didn’t study magic as thoroughly as she did without a few accidents, and one didn’t travel the globe running multiple “How do you play poker, again?” grifts without getting into a few scrapes. And, of course, her work with the Graysons hadn’t helped either. She was no stranger to injuries. But Death? Capital-D, eyes-that-stare-into-your-soul, surprisingly handsome but incredibly terrifying Death? That part was new.

She’d told Uncle Oni, eventually. It had taken until well after eight, but she’d caught him up on who she’d met that morning. He was her partner in this quest of hers, for better or for worse, and she wanted to ease her nerves about it anyway.

“You met Death, you say?” Uncle Oni said, as obnoxious as ever. “How astounding!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know Gus put the glasses on your head so you saw all that stuff already. Cut the act,” she muttered, not particularly annoyed.

“I’m not acting!” Uncle Oni insisted. “What a wonderful opportunity, to meet Death himself! To know what awaits you at the end!” His grating voice took on an infinitesimally more sinister tone. “To have a chance to glimpse Death’s weaknesses, hmm?”

Gandy swallowed down the lump of bile in her throat that arose from even thinking about Michael’s face. “My thoughts exactly,” she said instead, to distract from the way her stomach was apparently rising up her windpipe. “Now that I know who he is, perhaps I can know better how to avoid him.”

“Or destroy him,” Uncle Oni suggested, and Gandy could hear rather than see his smile.

A smile tugged at the corners of her own mouth as she pulled Connors’s book into her lap. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We have a lot left to do.”

“But of course,” the demon said. “We have all the time in the world.” A pause, then he added, “Or, well, I do.”

Gandy’s smile became tight. “I will too, Uncle Oni, once I know how to beat that bastard who took my parents.”

Uncle Oni’s pitch rose. “You mean Death, dear? Don’t tell me now that you’ve seen his face you’re too afraid to say his name.”

Gandy forced herself to keep an even tone. “Don’t tell me you’ve lost faith in me already.” Then, to prove herself, she added, “This only makes me more determined to find a way around death. Death, or Michael, or whatever he wants – he doesn’t stand a chance.”

The doll containing Uncle Oni’s form grins, and it’s truly grotesque; though he has a limited command over the doll’s physical body, he very rarely uses it unless he has to (by which he means, Gandy offers him something so that he intervenes). “Well said, my dear. Well said, indeed. Now, why don’t we crack into that chaos god’s book which you so smartly liberated from its previous owner, hmm?”

Gandy is all too happy to oblige, if only to chase away the images in her mind of a man, tall and broad and handsome and not entirely unkind, standing over her body with a scythe in his arms.

#taz #taz dust #taz fanfic #taz: dust #i'm gonna be real with you chief: this is a pretty old fic but i still like it #my work #i'm not quite so into taz nowadays but i did want to document this on the blog since i enjoy it.

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