Heavenstruck (Guardian Angel AU)

Heavenstruck

12k words. last chapter. lets go.

CW: major character death, grieving behaviors

Eternity passed.

Dream didn't remember when he had run out of tears or when the sobs wracking his body had died down, but when he anchored himself back to reality, the sun's edge touched the horizon. The tears he was sure had fallen on the knees of his jeans were dry now, leaving behind a new staleness to the fabric. Every limb felt heavy from his head to his toes. It was as if Earth itself was pulling him down, keeping him chained away from George.

His gaze fell on the gravestone in front of him.

George was dead. Nothing would change that.

Before he could slip back into blankness, somebody cleared their throat behind him.

"Um... excuse me?"

Dream's shoulders tensed. Wasn't it an unspoken rule to leave people alone at cemeteries?

He turned around anyway.

The man behind him was possibly the most unthreatening human he had ever encountered. His glasses were slid down as far as it could go down the bridge of his nose, and the blue hoodie he wore swallowed his torso, upper thighs, and hands. He stood tall, but it was clearly to compensate for the lack of height otherwise.

"Hi," Dream hazarded, now aware of the wrinkles in his shirt, the puffiness in his eyes, the dirt on his pants. Still, he didn't move. He didn't have the energy.

The man crouched down next to him like a teacher would next to a kid on the playground. "Was George your friend?"

What a loaded question and an understatement. What could he say to that?

After floundering for a satisfactory answer, Dream nodded.

"Yeah, he was my best friend," the man said, almost sighed. He turned to Dream with a smile that exuded kindness and held a hand out. "And any friend of George's is a friend of mine."

Best friend.

Best friend.

As in—

Dream's heart dropped.

George's best friend was in front of him. George's best friend had seeked out his grave, remembered him fondly, and treated anyone associated with him well even after all these years.

George's best friend was an angel. Not quite the same type of angel as George, but an angel nonetheless.

Dream shook his hand. Where had his voice gone? Where had his words gone? "Nice to meet—"

There was a forearm in his hand. He was carrying a forearm. He was carrying a metal forearm, a forearm that had been attached to the person in front of him.

Dream looked up when the man snickered and took the forearm back.

"I love doing that trick," he chuckled. "Best idea Geppy's ever had." He sat down properly on the ground and set his metal forearm in his lap before pulling his hoodie up just enough to reveal emptiness where a forearm would be. He began putting his arm back in place. "Don't worry, you didn't break my arm, silly. It's a prosthetic from... Well, if you're George's friend, you know what."

And he did. Memories of tires screeching, metal creaking, people screaming flashed through his head.

"Just thought you could use a smile," the man said, holding his other arm out. "My name's Bad."