#the sandman and shadow and bone are the only reason I’m holding on to my subscription

[renaroo]

Hushababy

Disclaimer: Batman and associated characters are the creative property of DC Comics. Death of the Endless and Sandman associated characters are the creative property of Vertigo & Neil Gaiman. Warnings: Death, Moral Ambiguity Rating: T Prompt: ( anonymous ) Dude, Cass meets Death and challenges her to a fight so she won't take [insert loved one here] away?

A/N: So the comics I used in reference to this in order are Batgirl (2000-2006) #25, #19, #2, and a small reference to #21. Hopefully this meta posturing is as interesting for people to read as it was for me to write lol And no, I don’t think you need to read those issues to get the story (though it would help!!!)

“What I don’t understand is why. Why did you want to die?”

“I… killed a man.”

“Just one?”

“I watched… him die.”

“So? You mean to tell me — Ah. Your gift. Reading your opponent’s intentions. You saw him die… as he saw it.”

“Terror. Then… nothing.”

[Batgirl (2000-2006) #25]

Cassandra looked at the red guilt dripping from her fists. Then to the gurgling man, watching the hollow blankness eating away at the fear, the pain. The terror. She watched him be engulfed by the nothing that was death. 

Death came with a smile that day -- a sad one, expected and ready. Death did not speak out loud, but young Cassandra could read body language all the same.

I come for every man, woman, and child. I come for all creatures who breathe a first and a last. but today I come by your hands. My gift should not be underestimated. 

Eight years old and Cassandra broke four bones escaping her father that day. 

It was the first day of many days she would spend running from him, and running from her. 

She had kissed him, on the cheek, and hoped that it would translate. That her thanks would translate as best it could across languages that did not cross paths.

Batgirl kissing the cheek of a good samaritan seemed to carry a weight with it that she hadn’t understood at the time, however. Not until she had seen on the news for herself that the good samaritan was missing.

Her kiss was as good as a kiss of Death then.

She traveled the city, pointing at maps, looking at signs with their nonsensical lines and inarticulate written gestures. 

And she made it to where he was kept, but she did not do it timely enough.

The man was weak, fading, and a piece of paper like what Oracle was always pushing for her to try was shoved into her hand. 

“Wait,” he pleaded when Cassandra tried to lift him up. “Please. Stop. No time. Please. My wife. Please. My wife.”

Then she watched his eyes and, once again, it was pain, it was fear -- but it was also love, and it was courage, it was trust. It was so much worse than what she had seen before at her own hands because those final emotions ripped through the bat on her chest and pulled out her heart to lay bear. 

Then. There was nothing.

In the corner of her eyes, beneath the full head mask of her suit, Cassandra saw Death again. For a moment, for a sad smile. 

Then the rage took over. The man was dead, and Cassandra was fighting tooth and nail to make people pay.

And she did. 

But Death did not come again that day. 

It seemed like their meetings were always when time was not on Cassandra’s side. 

Death had supposedly come for Batman, and she was alone in the world. But she was not without her mission. 

Her mission to stop Death at every opportunity that she could, for every person that she could. 

If she failed her loved ones, she tried to ease the pain by saving crooks, criminals, and thieves. Taking the time to save the cowardly lot from themselves. 

And, as ever, time was working against her. 

By the time she heard the gunshots, Cassandra could not cross the Hong Kong rooftops fast enough to stop the gang shooting. 

Two groups, three down, and one was not getting back up. 

It took only two batarangs to disarm who was left, two kicks to knock out those that were up, and a bent knee to pick up the young man who was bleeding profusely from his chest. 

Cassandra looked into his eyes, and he looked back into hers. She knew what he was feeling before he said it. 

“Wǒ bùxiǎng sǐ,” he whimpered. I don’t want to die. 

Squeezing the hold she had on his shoulders, Cassandra responded, timidly, “Shì.”

Lightning fast, she laid the man down and began to remove the kevlar scarf that covered most of her neck and shoulders, using it as a compress for the man’s wounds. 

It was in the middle of this that there was a sigh -- a sigh that sent a shiver down Cassandra’s spine -- followed by, “Bùyào zuò chū nǐ bùnéng bǎozhèng de chéngnuò.”

Don’t make promises you can’t keep.

For the first time, when Cassandra looked up, she saw Death head-on. 

There was no corners she hid behind, there were no shadows. She was there, unnaturally white, stylish, perhaps a bit wild by the smile on her face and the volume of her hair. 

But it was the smile that struck fear in Cassandra most of all.

“Hello again,” Death said simply. “We really must stop meeting like this.”

Cassandra was stunned, too stunned to move at first. But as feeling came back into her limbs, she began to feel a mounting anger. A defiance that was at the core of her being. And, very quickly, she returned to trying to save the shot man’s life. 

Blood was on her hands again. But it was for very different reasons. 

Sometime during Cass’ first aid, the man lost consciousness. Also, Death had moved to sitting on the other side of him, smiling and watching Cassandra with almost childlike curiosity. 

“No,” Cass said to her directly, then began to perform CPR, just like she had learned from Stephanie. 

“Hmm,” Death mused. “CPR for a bullet wound to the spleen. I suppose humans are always looking at alternative medicine in some way or another, aren’t they?”

Ignoring her, Cass continued working. The blood wouldn’t stop. Death didn’t leave. 

Burning tears were working themselves into Cassandra’s eyes. 

Finally, Cass looked up angrily at Death. “Why are you here?” she demanded angrily. 

Death smiled sympathetically. “You know why I’m here.”

“Stop,” Cass snapped. “He needs... Everyone gets a second chance!”

There was something of a lofty sigh from Death. “Now, that’s not entirely true. Maybe everyone deserves one, but people so rarely seem to get them. You should know that.”

Cassandra gave the woman a glare that could cut through steel.

Rather than angered by the defiance, Death seemed genuinely surprised. Perhaps, even impressed. “Wow,” she said. “You really do believe it.”

As Cassandra went back to work, she hoped that Death would finally understand and leave. 

She had no such luck. 

“Of course, humans often mistake believing things with them being true. It’s such a curious part of your nature. So fascinating. And lovely. At times,” Death bantered. “Of course, I’m less pleased with the times that it just brings me extra business.”

When Cassandra attempted to ignore her, Death repositioned herself, fully sitting in the alley, her legs kicked out, leaning back with her palms on the pavement. She was stylish but didn’t seem to care much about getting down and dirty. 

Appropriate for Death, perhaps.

“Go,” Cassandra instructed.

“He’s not a good person, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Death explained. “I know these things intimately. If he survived, he’d be in another shootout more likely than he wouldn’t be.”

“Don’t care,” Cass said. She then faced Death head on, leering dangerously. “I’m not afraid.”

“I know,” Death said, some mischief growing into that ever present smile. “And yet, you’ve ran away from me yourself twice. So I know you’re aware I don’t discriminate. How’s it go? Between the sinners and the saints. I’m welcoming to them all.”

Cassandra’s work slowed, her eyes were blurring. “Go. Please.”

Death stayed. 

“You have a very black and white worldview, my young friend,” Death said gently. “If I am not a friend, I must be an enemy. If you’re not good, you’re bad. And that’s made you view me in a not so flattering light, honestly. It’s okay. I don’t take these things personally.” She paused and tilted her head. “You’re a smart girl, you know? But you’re also stubborn. So I know you already know this, but you need someone else to say it to make it real.”

“Please,” Cass begged, not working on the man in her lap at all. Only holding him.

“A life never equals a life. So saving the world, it’s not going to give back the person you feel so guilty for taking,” Death said. She managed to be sweet, nurturing, but still harsh. Like knives digging into Cass’ flesh. “You help people because you’re good. And you killed someone because you were raised bad. But you’re still good today. That’s an impressive feat.” She paused. “Look, let me appeal to your compassion. Because you love people. You want to think of me as terror, as something hateful and ugly. Maybe you still think of me that way even looking at me as I am now. I hope not. I worked very hard on stylizing myself. But you have to know that sometimes I’m a good thing. Sometimes death is the compassionate force.”

“It’s... nothing,” Cass argued weakly.

“But life is something,” Death countered. “So just think of me as a hard truth -- a reminder.”

Cass looked up at Death, faced her head on. Looked deep into the eyes of Death herself and saw...

It wasn’t nothing. 

Her grip on the man loosened. 

“He’s gone,” Cass admitted.

“Yes,” Death said softly.

“Couldn’t... Couldn’t do anything,” Cass sobered up. 

“No one could,” Death replied. 

At once, they both stood up. Cassandra stared at Death, and Death stared back. 

"I can’t stop you,” Cassandra announced, as if it were something marvel. 

“No,” Death assured her. “I come for everyone. Eventually.” Her smile brightened. “But you can do your job, keep me on my toes. Just... don’t be so scared of me, alright? Know I’m not nothing. And life is the real something.”

Cass left the alley, speechless, just as sirens came from the distance. 

Death had already disappeared by the time Cass turned around. 

But then, she was always around. 

[ecotone99]

[FN] The Key to Everything

Hey guys, potential for more if you enjoy. First time really writing a story, hope you like it.

​

Some people say they have skeletons in their closets. Others may guess, rarely correctly I’ll add, that their house is haunted. I’ve even found myself having to hold back a laugh when a friend once told me he had 'inner demons'. Until you've smelt an actual demon, you have no sense of what one truly is. The smell touches all of your senses simultaneously; it smothers your skin, sticks to the back of your mouth like mustard, and sounds like the hum of electricity, an uncomfortable and thick buzz you want to scrub off. A werewolf is even worse. The smell of flesh simultaneously dying and being reborn is unlike anything else I have experienced. I could close my eyes. I could plug my ears. But that smell. That smell took weeks to wash away.

Since birth, for unknown reasons, I have had the ability to see the supernatural, and them, I. To be honest… looking back, it had all become far too overwhelming. I could see monsters, but I couldn't touch them, or fight them away. Instead, I was helpless, left for them to pray on me from a distance. I couldn't go to bed without Wendigos howling at my door, and even when I did finally drift off, sandmen would feed off my dreams and lock me in their realm. I was often paralysed for days on end, pleading for them to hunt elsewhere. My body had also been drained by psychic vampires to the point that I was a shadow of my former self, as weak in body as in mind. For many years now, this curse caused me not just emotional, but physical damage.

There appeared only one way out. I had picked the perfect spot, a bridge overlooking a river far below that opened out to the sea. Lilies grew amongst the reeves, and the water was always teeming with life. It seemed as good a place as any to die.

I had prepared two cheese and onion sandwiches as a form of last supper, and made my way through town. I was followed by the usual gaggle of ghosts, each moaning and babbling behind me. The fresh spring-time air, as normal, was overpowered by the faint stench of a werewolf, perhaps two or three kilometres away, and a high-pitched shriek in the distance suggested it was accompanied by a banshee, a personal favourite of mine due to their sulky, self-absorbed nature and complete lack of personal space.

Finally the bridge appeared in sight, calmly overlooking the river below. It was built from red bricks and white, triangular wooden beams that had withstood the weather for over a one hundred years. I perched myself on the edge of the rail, and looked out towards the sea. With my feet hanging over, I unwrapped the sandwich and began tucking into my last meal before jumping to my peace. It was genuinely delicious, and for a brief moment, it was as though I was tasting food for the first time. The smell of flesh seemed to disappear with each bite, and I was suddenly hit by the overwhelming, and admittedly welcoming scent of lavender, fresh bread and cut grass. I was also increasingly becoming aware of the fact the smell was getting stronger, and was not my imagination. I started to panic, worried perhaps a siren had marked me, or worse, an imp trickster. And yet, as quickly as the panic arrived... it was gone. Drawn from me like poison from a wound. I decided to ignore it, someone else’s problem now. I was here for a single purpose. I closed my eyes and in one motion, rocked forward, over the edge of the bridge and down towards the beckoning water below.

It was not the river however, that engulfed me, but something else; not unlike water, calm but altogether warmer. Pure light seemed to surround me, and when I finally opened my eyes, and the brightness settled, I was back on the bridge. A small boy, no older than five, was sitting next to me. We were both holding sandwiches. His eyes were astonishing, seemingly brown, blue and green all at once, whilst a deeper, more curious colour I had not quite seen before swirled within them. They seemed ageless, and the most beautiful things I have ever seen. In an instant, they met mine and whilst his mouth remained still, I heard his voice.

'Do not be afraid, old friend. There will come a time when you are ready to go. On that day, I will take you gladly, and we shall both finally return home. But not today. Today, war begins.'

The boy winked, and was gone. I was, again, alone.

Bewildered by the experience, I stumbled home. The sun’s rays seemed to have intensified in the recent hours, and looking up made me nauseous. I felt literally drained. Psychic connections had left me tired in the past, but I had never experienced more than a distant whisper, a scratch against armour. This was different. What I felt was indescribable, and I felt it… awaken something in me. As I passed the local park and turned towards my house, I suddenly realised how quiet it was. Much quieter than usual. Looking behind, I saw why. My ghosts had gone. I expected it to settle me, but instead threw up next to a park bench.

After two more incidents, I gratefully made it home, although my sight still hadn’t recovered. My dad had left me the place before he disappeared, and it had seen better days. A pile of greying books by the door nearly made me trip as I essentially felt my way to the kitchen. I quickly downed a glass of water, and then my body crashed onto the sofa. As I drifted off, I could have sworn I heard the distant voices of men, arguing between themselves and gradually approaching.

​

​

My eyes open. It’s freezing, and I’m bare chested. Deep, blue waves of sand crash into a pink ice field, stretching as far as the eye can see. Huge icebergs climb out towards the horizon, glowing like rubies within great diamonds. The sand rises in a hundred foot wave, before crashing against the icy shore. The sky is empty, an endless, distant void. In the centre, a crater overflows with enormous skeletons of strange, tusked beasts. Two thrones, carved in ice, sit in the centre, and appear to have grown out of the ground over many years. I am sitting in one. My skin feels like it’s on fire. I try to move, but realise my skin is frozen to the chair and let out a scream in pain. The second throne sits empty before me.

‘Can you hear me? Hello? Can you understand what I’m saying?’

For a moment, I’m confused. Then quickly I arrive at the truth; the sandmen are feeding on me again, and someone is trying to wake me up. I shake myself, trying to ignore the very real agony I’m in. You’re in a dream, I think loudly. Wake up! This is the sandmen. Don’t let them get inside your head!

‘Ah fantastic. Although, let’s face it… that ship has sailed, my Lord. Mark, get over here. I told you something was different! He even calls us ‘Sandmen’!’

Before I have time to react, the sand begins to rise around the second throne, kicking up a great blue storm and swirling up into the sky, before rocketing against the throne twice. When the clouds finally disperse, two short, fat men are revealed in silk cloaks, one perching awkwardly on each arm. They have pale, translucent skin and a large, trunk-like nose that curves around their mouth, before hanging freely off their jaw. I have never seen a sandman in this form before, and it completely throws me. The one on the left, slightly shorter and slightly wider, pulls a note from his pocket and clears his throat, as well as his trunk.

‘Greetings, Almighty Key! Welcome to my humble Sand. My name is Gus, and this is my fellow sandman, comrade and long-term lover, Mark.’

The second sandman waves slightly and smiles... I assume. The surrounding icebergs start to glow in unison, turning a pale shade of lilac.

‘I would first like to deeply, and dark-heartedly apologise for consuming you for so long. In our nature and all that jazz. We had very conflicting emotions about the whole thing, if I’m being honest. Emotions we’re only now beginning to understand. Therefore, to the Almighty Key, we are truly sorry. Next, we would like… well I would personally like to say how thrilled we both are that you personally got in touch, and how excited we are to finally die! I mean, four thousand years is plenty of time to be stuck on Earth for us, and I for one will be happy to finally be at peace, especially with the war looking the way it does. I mean, I didn’t even know this was an option until today, and Floyd said... sorry. I’m rambling. Anyway, we graciously accept your offer, and await your further command, Almighty Key.’

The second sandman bursts into applause, before shaking his comrade/lover’s hand passionately. Suddenly they embrace and their trunks begin to intertwine, before almost realising where they are and, somewhat reluctantly, stopping. They then turn towards me eagerly. Another great wave of sand rises behind them in apprehension.

I blink. What is happening? The key to what?

‘Well… Purgatory of course?!’

The sandman responds to my thoughts immediately. I open my mouth instinctively to ask another question, but at once the sky flashes and turns a sickening yellow. The wave breaks upon me, tossing aside bone and shattering the throne upon impact, throwing me backwards. I can hear the sandmen scream out in the distance, terrified. The ice begins to catch fire, and I’m taken away by the sand. A deeper, commanding voice swallows me.

‘You will free me! Together, we will rise!’

The sand tightens around me, twisting and turning my body. Razor quick, it slashes out at me, leaving a deep cut in my right cheek. I raise my hands to cover my face. A sandman is still screaming, or maybe grieving, and as the storm begins to deafen me, the sand starts to take form. Now a deep, black stone, six great fingers curl into a fist, flying towards me and striking me head on...

​

​

I was brought back to reality with a jolt. I struggled for breath as I attempted to figure out what I had just experienced. Was that a sandman, or something else? Sweat streamed down my face and as I went to wipe it away, a large and very real cut across my right cheek suggested the latter.

submitted by /u/haywhat [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2YLrVtD