Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from the books or True Blood. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Author's Note: I think I'm on True Blood overdrive. This relates to the OC of Dusty, Godric's day man, in Becoming Involved. It's some back story for Godric in Dallas pre-Revelation. I realized I was quickly approaching Season 3, and wanted to wait to see the conclusion before publishing something I'd regret. I'm not a fan of a sudden 'oh, btw, such and such was there all along, didn't you know?' when it should have been mentioned earlier in the story.
Day Man
Chapter 1
Dusty had been discharged after his injury. Still got medical care for free too. Didn't help much. Head injuries being what they were. Brains are delicate things, not that Dusty used his much. He was a sniper, or had been a Marine Recon sniper. Got to Vietnam in 1966, and sent out on a stretcher in 1968.
Before that he didn't like school much and worked on a ranch instead, till he thought about enlisting at 17, but didn't get around to it until he was 18. Better than getting drafted.
Now, he wasn't supposed to go back to ranch work. He didn't like city living much, but at least Dallas was still in Texas. He could drive out of the city to see the sky when he wanted. Look at the stars.
Driving a delivery truck was something he could handle. Paid the bills. Paid the rent on something large enough for him to Dusty his arms out in. Gave him a couple dollars extra too for when he lost the job and had to get another.
His wants were simple. Always had been. Just a choice between what he'd spend the evening with – Mad Dog 20/20 or Thunderbird, JD, Jimmy Beam, the Captain, Johnny Walker, or Wild Turkey. Damn the hangover. Who cared about tomorrow?
He liked Stan at the liquor store. That's why Dusty went at night, when Stan worked. He was a man's man. Understood things like the open range, man working outdoors, war, what a man needed to do. Stan wasn't all there, and laughed at some weird things. Like some punk hippie kid who thought he could rob him one night while Dusty was choosing his date for the evening. When Dusty heard the boy's squeaky demand, he had come forward to help.
Stan's voice got all cold after he had a laugh, and told the little shit to drop his gun. The gun got dropped. The hippie soiled his pants. Then Stan looked at Dusty, winked, and said, "Boo." Dusty laughed as the kid ran out and hoped he kept running till he hit California. Stan liked that one. California.
Dusty thought he was going to see something else as he followed some young fellow into the store about a week later. Pressed slacks, white dress shirt, good hair cut, rather than the long hair that was currently popular … maybe he was going to offer Stan a copy of the Watchtower.
Inside, under the lights, Dusty saw he wasn't even close to eighteen. Probably was shaving three times a day to try to get something to grow. No even a hint of a shadow on his sickly, pale face.
Dusty headed into his aisle to make a selection, but kept an eye on the kid. Stan had mirrors up in the corners to spot shoplifters. The teen did not go into the store itself, but was standing near the counter. Did Stan sell liquor to minors? Even if he did, it was kind of late for this one to be out, and not looking street savvy. Clothes like that screamed, 'beat me and rob me'.
He made his purchase, and decided to hang around. Obviously the kid was sticking around till he left, and Stan had not given the boy the 'no loitering' speech.
The young man, because that is what he was, looked at him with red-rimmed blue eyes, and clearly said, "Please take your purchase and leave the store. Continue on your way. Forget you saw me."
Dusty felt odd, like someone gave his shoulder a bit of a push as he body bent back from the waist, wanting to head in the direction of the door.
"You speaking to me?" he asked.
The boy looked to Stan, and Stan replied, "Dusty's okay, sheriff."
"He's yours?"
"Oh no. No, no. Just don't worry about, Dusty. He can't be influenced."
The boy looked at Dusty and asked, "You were injured?"
Dusty frowned. He didn't know who this was to go asking personal questions like that.
"Yeah," Star answered. "War. So what do you want, or you going to lurk about all night? You can sweep, if you have nothing better to do. I can't let you move the stock around."
The young man gave Dusty a long glare before he spoke, but then started speaking some Commie language, and Stan answered him. Dusty could tell they were not agreeing about something, and he knew enough to tell that 'Isabel' was a woman. Was Isabel the boy's mom, and Stan … well, Dusty supposed Stan had a life outside of leaning on a counter all night.
Stan threw his hands up in the air, and growled, "Why Czech? Can't we speak in something I'm fluent in? And I'm telling you up front, my Polish is not so good either."
"Deutsch?" Godric asked, knowing that to be Stan's native language. He did not use it much because too many people knew it.
"German?" Dusty asked. He did not speak it, but who didn't know a few words of German?
"You cannot leave?" the boy asked. "I am not here to purchase anything."
Stan agreed, "He never does, Dusty. I'll see you tomorrow."
Dusty nodded and went outside. He went across the street and got out from under the street light. There was something odd about this, even if the kid did not come out with anything.
His eyesight was still excellent. Through the window, whatever the boy said got Stan upset enough to come out from behind the counter and tower over him, glaring down. Dusty frowned. It was going to be a short fight, but Stan did not touch him. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked angry. That faded as they talked more, and eventually Stan nodded and the boy walked out of the store.
Dusty stood still as the teen looked directly across the street to where he was standing in the shadow of a stairwell, and crossed, heading towards him.
When he got to the curb, Dusty heard him clearly ask, "Are you waiting for me, Dusty?"
Not seeing the point of hiding any longer, Dusty took a step forward and replied, "I guess I am. I didn't think Stan was lying about selling you liquor, but who really knows anyone these days?"
"What would you have done if he had?"
"Try to tell you that it's not an answer to whatever problem you're having at home."
The boy had stopped directly under the street light. Between his pallor and the shirt, it was not a pretty sight. He repeated, "At home? What do you mean?"
"You were arguing with Stan about a woman. Since you're not the same age, I'm guessing your mother."
"You got the part about us not being the same age correct, Dusty."
"Are you going to keep using my name, and not say yours, or is it really sheriff, as Stan said?"
"My name is Godric. Are you interested in working for Stan?"
"Hell, no. Standing around, selling beer? I got to move."
"Do you already work?"
"I got a job."
"Do you like it?"
"It's a job."
"I'll keep that in mind, Dusty," Godric said, and started walking.
"I don't know what you do, but I don't like it."
"I agree. I do not like visiting someone personally for a chat about manners and respect, but I do like Stan."
"You're walking alone this time of night?"
"Yes, but do not worry, I will not be out on the street long, Dusty. Good night."
Dusty blinked. Wearing a white shirt, Godric should have been visible wherever he walked, but he no longer saw him.