Writer's Note: This is actually two prompts (Scythe and An Attic, actually) put into one. I dunno how I came to think to do a two parter from those prompts but yeah... Since the first prompt is literally only one paragraph, and it actually needs the second one to actually BE a story, I decided to put them together.
This story is and always will be dedicated to Cynlee, for always trying to encourage me and being there for me when I needed it.
Also, I don't own TMNT and have no wish to own TMNT, this is just a work of fan fiction.
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Casey Jones sighed as he set his beer can down on the dusty floor. Outside, the sound of rain rattling hard against the roof was a constant beat accompanied by sporadic thundering. He and April had just... well, a little while ago, had an argument in the kitchen. She'd told him to get lost, the nerve. Well, it was too fucking wet outside, so that's how he'd ended up in the attic of his grandma's farm house. Maybe he shoulda gone to the barn. Whatever. He was already here, and he had already burned through half a six pack already. He wished to hell Raph were here, but they hadn't come along this time around. Which was just as well. He figured having everyone else around this time might have set April off even faster... or at least a lot easier. He couldn't even remember what they had fought about as he cracked open the fourth of many beers to come.
--
He was just reaching for that last beer can when it happened. A damned swirling vortex of doom appeared right there in the attic. Okay, some of that weird-ass karma mojo from the turtles /must/ have rubbed off on him, because they weren't even /here/ and the weird shit was happening anyways! After a few seconds of that, the vortex close and appeared... no fucking way! A figure shrouded in black, an empty looking hood... /skeleton hands/! It was freaking /Death/! At he was looking straight at Casey Jones.
"I've come for your soul, Mister Jones!" Death hissed.
"Y-you serious?" The vigilante asked, standing.
"Nah, but you should have seen the look on your face." Death taunted. "I've come for my scythe. It's been misplaced." He held his skeletal hand out, and lo and behold, from across the room flew Death's scythe, straight into its owner's hand.
"Uhh... Can I ask you a question, Mister uhh Death... sir?"
"Sure, knock yourself out, kid."
"How did your scythe thingy end up in my grandma's attic?" Casey wondered. After all, weird turtle karma aside, why here of all places?
"You... really don't wanna know." Death said dismissively. He then turned his back and was suddenly gone.
Casey looked at the last unopened beer can as if it had betrayed him, shrugged and then popped it open before sitting back on the floor as if nothing had happened.