vanillalime (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
vanillalime) wrote2016-10-28 10:46 am
vanillalime) wrote2016-10-28 10:46 am
Spook Me FIC: When Death Dies (Oz, PG-13)
Title: When Death Dies
Pairing: Tobias Beecher/Chris Keller
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
Word Count: 2,268
Creature Prompt: Grim Reaper
Summary: Toby and Chris meet Death, but the encounter takes a strange turn.
Notes: Written for the 2016 Spook Me Multi-Fandom Halloween Ficathon. The artwork prompts assigned to me were as follows:
Artwork by Tegehel on the left, and by Egoodwinart on the right.
Additional note at the end of the story.
__________________________
Death sat a table in a shadowy room, patiently waiting for his next victim. He had grown tired of seeking them out over the years. Now, he made them come to him.
He retrieved a cigarette from his bottomless supply box and used one of the two candles burning on the tabletop to light it. He took a long drag and blew the smoke into the air, watching it curl upwards before dissipating. The drug gave him little physical satisfaction at this point, but it heightened his sense of power. Not that there was ever any doubt about who was in control.
He saw movement in the shadows a short distance away and smiled. Someone was here.
An adult male came into view. He appeared to be in his late thirties, certainly too young to die from natural causes. He looked heathy enough, if a little rough around the edges.
Rubbing his forehead, the man scowled as he looked around, taking in his surroundings. Then he saw Death and swore.
"Where do you come from?" Death calmly asked.
The man glared at him. "Oz."
Death laughed softly to himself. These ones were always a lot of fun. That Nazi who had just come through had cried like a baby, kicking and screaming all his way down.
"Anyone else here?" the man asked.
Death shook his head. "Just you and me."
That answer served to double the man’s anger. He grabbed the chair from across the table, whirled it around, and threw it against a wall. The flames from the candles danced in the rush of air before settling again.
Unperturbed, Death tapped the ashes from his cigarette onto the floor. "You’re making a great first impression," he commented dryly. Then he motioned to the chair. "Pick it up, and sit down."
Death blew a smoke ring in the man’s direction, and the man responded with another seething glare. But he collected the chair, set it back into place, and sat down with a huff. He rubbed his forehead again.
"Does your head hurt?" Death asked in curiosity.
"Yes," the man snapped. "Falling over a second-story balcony railing will do that."
Ah. So that’s how the man came to be here.
Death took a final drag from his cigarette before snuffing it out in a candle tray. Then he reached over and retrieved a set of tarot cards from a corner of the table.
"I’m going to tell you a story," Death said in his well-rehearsed statement. "The story of your life."
Then, looking directly into the man’s eyes, he added, "And your death."
As he shuffled the cards, Death detected someone else stumbling around in the shadows. He paused as another man emerged. This second man walked unsurely toward them, rubbing the back of his head. The apprehension on his face marked a sharp contrast to his intimidating physique.
The man in the chair turned around to look at the new arrival. "Well, well, well. Look who made it here after all," he snarked.
Death sensed that things were about to get very interesting.
"Toby?" the second man inquired quietly. "What’re you doin’ here?"
Toby folded his arms across his chest. "Oh, I don’t know, Chris," he retorted sarcastically. "Just why the fuck do you think I might be here?"
The room was silent while the two men stared at each other.
"You weren’t supposed to try’n save me," Chris finally whispered.
"Yeah, well, believe me, I won’t make that same mistake again."
Chris shifted his look in Death’s direction. "I don’t think you’re gonna have the chance," he slowly observed.
"You," Death addressed Chris, "take that seat." He pointed a bony finger at another chair propped against a wall. "I only do one at a time."
He paused before adding ominously, "But don’t worry, your turn will come."
Death raised his deck of cards and carefully laid six of them out on the table. He turned each one face-up, reading them off as he did so:
"The Hanged Man, The Fool, The Hermit, Judgement, Death, and The Devil."
Death gave Toby a slow, evil grin. "An interesting story, to be sure. But, if you're coming here from Oz, it is not particularly surprising."
Death leaned across the table to get closer to the man. "You were born an idiot and managed to stay lonely all your miserable life," he whispered in a sinister tone. "You then killed yourself, and when you met Death, it judged you a lost cause and sent you directly to Hell."
Toby scowled at Death, then turned his nose up at him. "That’s bullshit," he declared defiantly.
Death leaned back in his chair and cackled into the gloom. He loved it when they tried to fight back.
Toby tapped a finger on one of the cards. "Each of these can be interpreted in any number of ways."
Shaking his head, Death continued to chuckle softly as he fished out another cigarette from his supply. Once again, he moved to light the tip from a candle, but what he saw made him come to an abrupt stop. His laughter ceased.
"What is it?" Toby asked warily.
Death tilted his head to the side. "The candles are melting down," he observed. "The flames are getting low."
"So?"
"That’s… different," Death replied cautiously.
A moment passed, then Death looked back up at the man. "So, do you think you can read these cards better than me?" he asked.
"Absolutely," Toby stated confidently. "I say The Devil is temptation. I was a lonely fool and succumbed to it many times. Then I turned things right-side up. After evaluating the situation, I came to my senses and put an end to the most destructive temptation in my life."
Here, Toby turned to stare at Chris, sitting silently along the wall. "It was a relationship that was supposed to end, not my life," he remarked bitterly. "I shouldn't even be dead, let alone sent to Hell."
Death sat there silently, looking back and forth between Toby and the candles as they continued to burn down, the wax collecting in their trays.
Finally, Death nodded his head and proclaimed, "You make a very persuasive argument."
"Yeah, well, I used to be a lawyer," Toby snorted.
The flame of one of the candles reached the end of its wick. It went out with a small pop, throwing the shadowy room further into darkness.
As the remaining candle neared extinguishment, Death reached across the table and clasped one of Toby’s hands with his bony fingers.
"Thank you," he said with a smile.
Toby furrowed his brow. "For what?" he asked.
"You’ll see," Death murmured.
Then the last candle went out, plunging the room into total blackness. Toby felt those bony fingers disappear as Death left the room, leaving him behind with Chris.
Dr. Gloria Nathan stood between the two beds, repeatedly looking back and forth between the tiny blips on the monitors and the bodies of Tobias Beecher and Chris Keller. Tim McManus came up to her and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"I just don’t understand this," Gloria fretted. "Normally, it doesn’t take this long after disconnecting the life support. They both should have passed on by now."
She straightened the blanket that covered the lower half of Toby’s body. Sadly, she added, "I guess God just isn’t ready for them yet."
"Or the Devil," muttered Tim.
Gloria frowned. "I just hope that, wherever they are, they’re at peace."
"I just hope that, wherever they are, they're together," Tim sighed. "Otherwise, whoever is responsible for their souls has my sympathy."
"Hey, Tobe," Chris called into the darkness. "What do you think is goin’ on?"
"How should I know?" snarled Toby. "I neglected to pick up a copy of the agenda on my way in here."
"How much time do you think has passed?"
"Gee, let me check my watch. Oh, wait. Fucking Adebisi fucking stole it seven fucking years ago."
"Ya know what, Tobe?" Chris said quietly. "Even in the dark, you’re one sexy motherfucker."
"Go to hell, Chris."
"Actually, Toby, I’m afraid that’s exactly what's gonna happen."
"It’s unbelievable!" exclaimed Gloria.
The others in attendance at the emergency staff meeting stared nervously back at her.
"Maybe you're just not giving yourself enough credit," Tim declared. "You could be quite the miracle worker."
"No, not in these cases," argued Gloria. "It all started with Beecher and Keller. They’ve been off life support for days, yet somehow still haven’t died.
"Then the mailroom workers opened that jar of Anthrax. All those Aryans should have died instantly, but they’re fine.
"Poet was stabbed directly in the jugular. He should have bled to death in minutes, but he survived.
"And now, this bad batch of heroin. Five ODs, but none of them fatal."
Gloria shook her head. "There is something seriously weird going on," she surmised. "And we need to figure out what it is. Can you imagine what’ll happen if the inmates come to the conclusion that they’re immortal?"
The staff members traded looks with each other, their eyes all wide with horror as they realized the potential ramifications of the situation.
A loud thump, and Toby cried out, "Goddammit!"
"Watch yourself there, Tobe."
"Why does stubbing my toe hurt so much if I’m dead?" Toby muttered.
Chris answered slowly, "I don’t think we’re dead." He paused before adding, "I’m pretty sure you killed Death."
Toby was too busy respond. He was fumbling around once again, hoping to find some candles and some matches. He was tired of sitting in the dark, listening to Chris’s aimless attempts to put things right between them. Especially when those attempts weren’t entirely in vain.
Toby’s searching fingertips brushed over a small heap of soft fabric lying on the floor. Somehow, he had missed it in his previous explorations. He picked it up and held it out in front of him.
With a shiver, he realized it was Death’s cloak. He must have left it behind.
Suddenly, Toby caught a chill. He felt a warmth radiating from the cloak that was irresistible. Slowly, he draped the cloak over his own shoulders.
He immediately experienced an overwhelming sense of serenity, followed quickly by an awareness of his own devastating power. As the pieces of the puzzle came together, these feelings flourished, and a soft light appeared around him.
"Toby!" exclaimed Chris in a hushed voice.
The faint light surrounding him grew slightly brighter, and Toby caught a glimpse of two new candles resting on the tabletop alongside a single match. He quickly struck the match and lit the candles. A shadowy light proceeded to fill the entire room.
Toby exchanged looks with Chris, and he smirked at the expression of awe and wonder on Chris’s face. Then Toby looked beyond Chris, and his smirk was replaced by a smile that spread wide. For there, a short distance away, was a bar lined with countless rows of martinis that continued ad infinitum into the darkness.
Toby sailed past Chris toward the bar. He picked up a martini glass and held it out into the dim light. Then he brought it close, savoring it. He grabbed a second glass and walked back over to Chris.
He handed one of the martinis to Chris and gave him a wink. "Bottoms up," he toasted. Then he drained the glass.
Chris took a long sip of his own drink, eyeing Toby over the rim with dawning comprehension. He hesitated briefly, then asked, "So, who’s your first victim gonna be?"
"Oh, I would have thought that was fairly obvious," Toby replied, staring intensely at Chris. "It’s someone who I believe will make the perfect assistant."
Heaving a great sigh of relief, Gloria pulled the sheet up to cover Beecher’s face. A few minutes later, she did the same for Keller.
Maybe Oz was finally going to get back to normal.
Over the course of the next few days, Oz was thrown into complete and utter turmoil. In other words, things indeed went back to normal.
Claire Howell fell down an abandoned elevator shaft, breaking her neck and dying instantly.
The prison’s entire Aryan population was killed by a suspicious carbon monoxide leak in the mailroom.
Len Lopresti committed suicide by shooting himself in the mouth in the middle of Death Row.
FBI Agent Pierce Taylor, driving home after closing out Keller's file, was struck and killed by a drunk driver. The drunk driver, who was also killed in the crash, was the not-so-honorable Judge Grace Lema.
And finally, Tim McManus was crushed under the weight of a falling basketball hoop. He managed to survive the impact, but would be spending the next several weeks in the hospital recovering from all his broken bones.
Chris sat across the table from Toby, gazing past the candlelight into Toby’s eyes. "I think we’re doin’ pretty good for a couple of beginners," he remarked. He took a finger and ran it down the length of Toby’s bony hand. "But what made you change your mind about McManus?"
Toby shrugged. "I figured it would be more fun to fuck around with him."
Chris nodded his head. "Speakin' of fucking around, Tobe…" he grinned. "I've been wonderin’ if it’s still possible to do that here in the afterlife."
Toby slowly looked Chris up and down. He paused, then eventually returned the grin. "Actually, I’ve been wondering that, too," he said softly. He pushed the hood of his cloak down off his head. "Let me finish this martini first, and then we’ll find out."
THE END
Endnote: The artist Tegehel wrote the initial tarot reading used in this story and posted it with his/her artwork.
Pairing: Tobias Beecher/Chris Keller
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
Word Count: 2,268
Creature Prompt: Grim Reaper
Summary: Toby and Chris meet Death, but the encounter takes a strange turn.
Notes: Written for the 2016 Spook Me Multi-Fandom Halloween Ficathon. The artwork prompts assigned to me were as follows:
Artwork by Tegehel on the left, and by Egoodwinart on the right.
Additional note at the end of the story.
__________________________
Death sat a table in a shadowy room, patiently waiting for his next victim. He had grown tired of seeking them out over the years. Now, he made them come to him.
He retrieved a cigarette from his bottomless supply box and used one of the two candles burning on the tabletop to light it. He took a long drag and blew the smoke into the air, watching it curl upwards before dissipating. The drug gave him little physical satisfaction at this point, but it heightened his sense of power. Not that there was ever any doubt about who was in control.
He saw movement in the shadows a short distance away and smiled. Someone was here.
An adult male came into view. He appeared to be in his late thirties, certainly too young to die from natural causes. He looked heathy enough, if a little rough around the edges.
Rubbing his forehead, the man scowled as he looked around, taking in his surroundings. Then he saw Death and swore.
"Where do you come from?" Death calmly asked.
The man glared at him. "Oz."
Death laughed softly to himself. These ones were always a lot of fun. That Nazi who had just come through had cried like a baby, kicking and screaming all his way down.
"Anyone else here?" the man asked.
Death shook his head. "Just you and me."
That answer served to double the man’s anger. He grabbed the chair from across the table, whirled it around, and threw it against a wall. The flames from the candles danced in the rush of air before settling again.
Unperturbed, Death tapped the ashes from his cigarette onto the floor. "You’re making a great first impression," he commented dryly. Then he motioned to the chair. "Pick it up, and sit down."
Death blew a smoke ring in the man’s direction, and the man responded with another seething glare. But he collected the chair, set it back into place, and sat down with a huff. He rubbed his forehead again.
"Does your head hurt?" Death asked in curiosity.
"Yes," the man snapped. "Falling over a second-story balcony railing will do that."
Ah. So that’s how the man came to be here.
Death took a final drag from his cigarette before snuffing it out in a candle tray. Then he reached over and retrieved a set of tarot cards from a corner of the table.
"I’m going to tell you a story," Death said in his well-rehearsed statement. "The story of your life."
Then, looking directly into the man’s eyes, he added, "And your death."
As he shuffled the cards, Death detected someone else stumbling around in the shadows. He paused as another man emerged. This second man walked unsurely toward them, rubbing the back of his head. The apprehension on his face marked a sharp contrast to his intimidating physique.
The man in the chair turned around to look at the new arrival. "Well, well, well. Look who made it here after all," he snarked.
Death sensed that things were about to get very interesting.
"Toby?" the second man inquired quietly. "What’re you doin’ here?"
Toby folded his arms across his chest. "Oh, I don’t know, Chris," he retorted sarcastically. "Just why the fuck do you think I might be here?"
The room was silent while the two men stared at each other.
"You weren’t supposed to try’n save me," Chris finally whispered.
"Yeah, well, believe me, I won’t make that same mistake again."
Chris shifted his look in Death’s direction. "I don’t think you’re gonna have the chance," he slowly observed.
"You," Death addressed Chris, "take that seat." He pointed a bony finger at another chair propped against a wall. "I only do one at a time."
He paused before adding ominously, "But don’t worry, your turn will come."
Death raised his deck of cards and carefully laid six of them out on the table. He turned each one face-up, reading them off as he did so:
"The Hanged Man, The Fool, The Hermit, Judgement, Death, and The Devil."
Death gave Toby a slow, evil grin. "An interesting story, to be sure. But, if you're coming here from Oz, it is not particularly surprising."
Death leaned across the table to get closer to the man. "You were born an idiot and managed to stay lonely all your miserable life," he whispered in a sinister tone. "You then killed yourself, and when you met Death, it judged you a lost cause and sent you directly to Hell."
Toby scowled at Death, then turned his nose up at him. "That’s bullshit," he declared defiantly.
Death leaned back in his chair and cackled into the gloom. He loved it when they tried to fight back.
Toby tapped a finger on one of the cards. "Each of these can be interpreted in any number of ways."
Shaking his head, Death continued to chuckle softly as he fished out another cigarette from his supply. Once again, he moved to light the tip from a candle, but what he saw made him come to an abrupt stop. His laughter ceased.
"What is it?" Toby asked warily.
Death tilted his head to the side. "The candles are melting down," he observed. "The flames are getting low."
"So?"
"That’s… different," Death replied cautiously.
A moment passed, then Death looked back up at the man. "So, do you think you can read these cards better than me?" he asked.
"Absolutely," Toby stated confidently. "I say The Devil is temptation. I was a lonely fool and succumbed to it many times. Then I turned things right-side up. After evaluating the situation, I came to my senses and put an end to the most destructive temptation in my life."
Here, Toby turned to stare at Chris, sitting silently along the wall. "It was a relationship that was supposed to end, not my life," he remarked bitterly. "I shouldn't even be dead, let alone sent to Hell."
Death sat there silently, looking back and forth between Toby and the candles as they continued to burn down, the wax collecting in their trays.
Finally, Death nodded his head and proclaimed, "You make a very persuasive argument."
"Yeah, well, I used to be a lawyer," Toby snorted.
The flame of one of the candles reached the end of its wick. It went out with a small pop, throwing the shadowy room further into darkness.
As the remaining candle neared extinguishment, Death reached across the table and clasped one of Toby’s hands with his bony fingers.
"Thank you," he said with a smile.
Toby furrowed his brow. "For what?" he asked.
"You’ll see," Death murmured.
Then the last candle went out, plunging the room into total blackness. Toby felt those bony fingers disappear as Death left the room, leaving him behind with Chris.
*~*~*~*~*
Dr. Gloria Nathan stood between the two beds, repeatedly looking back and forth between the tiny blips on the monitors and the bodies of Tobias Beecher and Chris Keller. Tim McManus came up to her and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"I just don’t understand this," Gloria fretted. "Normally, it doesn’t take this long after disconnecting the life support. They both should have passed on by now."
She straightened the blanket that covered the lower half of Toby’s body. Sadly, she added, "I guess God just isn’t ready for them yet."
"Or the Devil," muttered Tim.
Gloria frowned. "I just hope that, wherever they are, they’re at peace."
"I just hope that, wherever they are, they're together," Tim sighed. "Otherwise, whoever is responsible for their souls has my sympathy."
*~*~*~*~*
"Hey, Tobe," Chris called into the darkness. "What do you think is goin’ on?"
"How should I know?" snarled Toby. "I neglected to pick up a copy of the agenda on my way in here."
"How much time do you think has passed?"
"Gee, let me check my watch. Oh, wait. Fucking Adebisi fucking stole it seven fucking years ago."
"Ya know what, Tobe?" Chris said quietly. "Even in the dark, you’re one sexy motherfucker."
"Go to hell, Chris."
"Actually, Toby, I’m afraid that’s exactly what's gonna happen."
*~*~*~*~*
"It’s unbelievable!" exclaimed Gloria.
The others in attendance at the emergency staff meeting stared nervously back at her.
"Maybe you're just not giving yourself enough credit," Tim declared. "You could be quite the miracle worker."
"No, not in these cases," argued Gloria. "It all started with Beecher and Keller. They’ve been off life support for days, yet somehow still haven’t died.
"Then the mailroom workers opened that jar of Anthrax. All those Aryans should have died instantly, but they’re fine.
"Poet was stabbed directly in the jugular. He should have bled to death in minutes, but he survived.
"And now, this bad batch of heroin. Five ODs, but none of them fatal."
Gloria shook her head. "There is something seriously weird going on," she surmised. "And we need to figure out what it is. Can you imagine what’ll happen if the inmates come to the conclusion that they’re immortal?"
The staff members traded looks with each other, their eyes all wide with horror as they realized the potential ramifications of the situation.
*~*~*~*~*
A loud thump, and Toby cried out, "Goddammit!"
"Watch yourself there, Tobe."
"Why does stubbing my toe hurt so much if I’m dead?" Toby muttered.
Chris answered slowly, "I don’t think we’re dead." He paused before adding, "I’m pretty sure you killed Death."
Toby was too busy respond. He was fumbling around once again, hoping to find some candles and some matches. He was tired of sitting in the dark, listening to Chris’s aimless attempts to put things right between them. Especially when those attempts weren’t entirely in vain.
Toby’s searching fingertips brushed over a small heap of soft fabric lying on the floor. Somehow, he had missed it in his previous explorations. He picked it up and held it out in front of him.
With a shiver, he realized it was Death’s cloak. He must have left it behind.
Suddenly, Toby caught a chill. He felt a warmth radiating from the cloak that was irresistible. Slowly, he draped the cloak over his own shoulders.
He immediately experienced an overwhelming sense of serenity, followed quickly by an awareness of his own devastating power. As the pieces of the puzzle came together, these feelings flourished, and a soft light appeared around him.
"Toby!" exclaimed Chris in a hushed voice.
The faint light surrounding him grew slightly brighter, and Toby caught a glimpse of two new candles resting on the tabletop alongside a single match. He quickly struck the match and lit the candles. A shadowy light proceeded to fill the entire room.
Toby exchanged looks with Chris, and he smirked at the expression of awe and wonder on Chris’s face. Then Toby looked beyond Chris, and his smirk was replaced by a smile that spread wide. For there, a short distance away, was a bar lined with countless rows of martinis that continued ad infinitum into the darkness.
Toby sailed past Chris toward the bar. He picked up a martini glass and held it out into the dim light. Then he brought it close, savoring it. He grabbed a second glass and walked back over to Chris.
He handed one of the martinis to Chris and gave him a wink. "Bottoms up," he toasted. Then he drained the glass.
Chris took a long sip of his own drink, eyeing Toby over the rim with dawning comprehension. He hesitated briefly, then asked, "So, who’s your first victim gonna be?"
"Oh, I would have thought that was fairly obvious," Toby replied, staring intensely at Chris. "It’s someone who I believe will make the perfect assistant."
*~*~*~*~*
Heaving a great sigh of relief, Gloria pulled the sheet up to cover Beecher’s face. A few minutes later, she did the same for Keller.
Maybe Oz was finally going to get back to normal.
*~*~*~*~*
Over the course of the next few days, Oz was thrown into complete and utter turmoil. In other words, things indeed went back to normal.
Claire Howell fell down an abandoned elevator shaft, breaking her neck and dying instantly.
The prison’s entire Aryan population was killed by a suspicious carbon monoxide leak in the mailroom.
Len Lopresti committed suicide by shooting himself in the mouth in the middle of Death Row.
FBI Agent Pierce Taylor, driving home after closing out Keller's file, was struck and killed by a drunk driver. The drunk driver, who was also killed in the crash, was the not-so-honorable Judge Grace Lema.
And finally, Tim McManus was crushed under the weight of a falling basketball hoop. He managed to survive the impact, but would be spending the next several weeks in the hospital recovering from all his broken bones.
*~*~*~*~*
Chris sat across the table from Toby, gazing past the candlelight into Toby’s eyes. "I think we’re doin’ pretty good for a couple of beginners," he remarked. He took a finger and ran it down the length of Toby’s bony hand. "But what made you change your mind about McManus?"
Toby shrugged. "I figured it would be more fun to fuck around with him."
Chris nodded his head. "Speakin' of fucking around, Tobe…" he grinned. "I've been wonderin’ if it’s still possible to do that here in the afterlife."
Toby slowly looked Chris up and down. He paused, then eventually returned the grin. "Actually, I’ve been wondering that, too," he said softly. He pushed the hood of his cloak down off his head. "Let me finish this martini first, and then we’ll find out."
THE END
Endnote: The artist Tegehel wrote the initial tarot reading used in this story and posted it with his/her artwork.