Author's Warning/Notes: A week out of town and here's a fic. It's a little strange to match the strange week I had. Hopefully it'll make sense. It's not a happy story. It's actually kind of tragic. But disturbingly enough, it was a lot worse when I wrote it out the first time. This is the toned down version.
Death came for everyone. While wizards tended to put off the inevitable a little bit longer than most ordinary humans, in the end the proverbial sickle cut through them as it did all living creatures. Being dead himself didn't give Bob any greater skill at predicting Death's approach. If anything, the years of being in a perpetual deceased, yet trapped state, had desensitized him a little to its ominous vibrations as it had taken his previous owners to the great beyond.
But this was different. Though he had forgotten, the feeling was all too familiar. It felt like a crushing hand clutching onto his heart. Bob knew Death was here. And Harry's time was up.
From behind, the ghost heard the howl of the Narif demon just before its claws raked through the air and harmlessly tore through the ghost's chest in a hum of golden light. Seeing the lack of effect, it raised its razor nails again and gave it a few more swipes before realizing it was useless. It turned its attention back to the original prey.
Harry had used his last strength to drag himself inside the protective circle etched into the floor of his lab. The ghost had badgered the wizard in urgent tones to stay awake and pull his limbs inside the runes for full protection. Which Harry had accomplished, even thinking to drag Bob's skull with him inside the invisible walls. Unfortunately, no amount of stern shouting from the ghost had worked to keep Harry awake as his injuries finally caught up with him. By Bob's calculations, Harry had all of fifteen minutes before the walls of the protection circle would collapse and the Narif demon that had been sent by the vampires finished its job of decorating Harry's walls with his own intestines. After a solid three minutes of banging its claws against the invisible walls that protected the fallen wizard, the Narif had enough wherewithal to realize it could simply just wait.
Bob silently paced around the circumference of Harry's shield, having given up trying to rouse the wizard. Blood loss and no doubt the crack he'd taken to the head when the Narif had first forced its way through Harry's doors would result in him being out cold for some time.
The Narif shifted in anticipation.
The ghost's pale eyes were stricken as he looked down at the wizard. This was it. This was the end. No one was coming. Certainly no one in time. No one could help. Harry was going to die.
Crouching down toward where Harry's head lay on the wooden boards, Bob studied the wizard's still youthful features crinkled in pain despite being unconscious. The ghost realized that the last words he'd ever exchange with Harry would be ones of him hassling the wizard. Despite the bleakness of the situation, Bob found some twisted humor in how appropriate that seemed. A few moments of silence passed where the only sound was the noise of the Narif scratching the wooden floors with its nails. Time was running out.
"Harry," Bob whispered. "Sorry."
Rising back to his feet, the ghost's face set to a determined expression. Harry would hate it. More than hate it. But it didn't matter. It only mattered that Harry should live to hate. Bob closed his eyes and imagined more than felt the energy he somehow hoped could be sensed by him.
"We're out of time…."
The Narif continued to scratch.
"I am asking you…."
The sound of torn wood continued to fill the air.
"I wish to make a deal."
The Narif suddenly howled and Bob snapped his eyes open just in time to see the hulking demon freeze in its tracks, though hardly by choice. It was still wearing its Attack Face, but was now suspended in mid-air, its claws a mere two inches from its target. Standing just out of reach from its extended claws, the trickster smiled.
"Gooood monster," he cooed. "Sit. Stay."
The trickster seemed unbothered by the state of Harry's lab, though he did wear a look of mild surprise as he turned to face Bob.
"If it isn't Hrothbert the friendly ghost," he greeted, condescendingly. "How's damnation been treating you?" Without waiting for an answer, he looked down at where Harry lay. "Certainly better than your human keeper, I see."
"I wish to make a deal with you."
"So you said," replied the trickster. Selecting the only stool still intact, the trickster dusted it off and took a seat. "Let me take a guess. You want me to rescue Dresden from certain death over there." He gestured toward the Narif that still stood frozen.
"I do. But that is not the deal I propose."
The trickster raised an eyebrow. "No?"
"It's not enough," said Bob. "Harry has no allies. No one who can help him when it comes to the kind of danger that he is facing. And it is growing worse. You saving him now is not enough."
"So what do want then? Time's ticking."
"I want you to protect Harry. Look after him until the end of his natural life."
"And you think I'm the best person to appoint as a guardian angel?" asked the trickster. "You're up to date on who I am, aren't you?"
"I am quite aware of who you are and I do not relish this agreement. But there is no other option."
"How flattering."
"I need you," said Bob, flatly. "And despite your nature, your mercenary sensibilities makes you simple to deal with. We make a bargain and you are bound by it. You don't have to like Harry and you don't have to weigh in on what he does. You need only make sure he has you as an ally should he run into any trouble."
The trickster laughed. "Such cynicism warms the heart. And what exactly do I get in return? You have nothing to offer me. Even your own skull isn't yours."
Bob pressed his lips into a grim line. "I do have one thing."
"And what's that? Your charming wit?"
"My name."
The trickster smiled, derisively. "As nice a name as you have, Bainbridge, it doesn't interest me that much."
"Not that one. The name Harry has given me."
A suspicious interest perked on the trickster's face before realization soon bled in. "Really? You'd give me that name even though you know what I'll do with it?" asked the trickster.
"Yes." Looking back down at Harry, Bob had a memory of when he'd first met the wizard. How odd it seemed now that someone so young had altered such an ancient spirit. He'd lost track of when he'd begun to associate not only the better part of his dead self, but even all acts of goodness he'd ever done in life with the short, simple and lovingly bestowed name. Hrothbert of Bainbridge was of many sins. Ruthless and ambitious, a servant to his own selfish heart. He had been the man who resurrected Winifred. But as Hrothbert of Bainbridge was all those things, Bob was his opposite. The part of him that could see the Black and turn away, putting the care of those dear to him above all else. He was the man who loved Winifred. He was everything the ghost cherished as the worthwhile part of himself.
The spirit was not sure which one would be making this choice. It only mattered to him that the end result be that Harry, the one who'd even given him his days as Bob, be kept safe. At whatever cost. And if Bob should go so that Harry could live, it seemed only right. Harry had created him and the ghost would only be returning to the wizard what he had so generously given.
"Do we have a deal?"
"Dresden's all noble and crap," sighed the trickster. "He's going to hit the roof and do something rash."
"Then you'll have to be there to make sure he doesn't get hurt in the process." The trickster spared Bob a measuring look. "I won't allow him to die," stressed the ghost. For once and perhaps the last time, he wouldn't be useless.
The trickster gave an incredulous shake of his head and stood up from his seat. "Bainbridge, centuries of imprisonment and you've hardly changed. Tunnel-vision until the end. You're completely pathetic with this loving quality of yours. Still," he continued, clapping his hands together and giving them a rub. "You won't have to worry about that much longer. We have a deal."
"You will protect Harry."
"That's the deal."
"Even from me."
The trickster smiled. "Especially from you. When I'm done, you'll be much too dangerous to play with. But I'm sure the Council will deal with you."
The ghost nodded. He forced himself not to look to Harry again. He hoped the trickster would keep him away. His heart already clenched at the idea of what he would feel should he see the wizard again. Or rather, all that he wouldn't feel. "We're out of time. Do it now."
Shaking his right hand, the trickster did not gesture toward the skull in Harry's arms, but flexed his fingers toward the spectral figure. As he felt the name and all the power it held being freely given to him and him alone, the trickster stilled his hand. The name vibrated as it formed around the trickster's tongue and he could almost feel the spirit's soul cleave in two.
"Bob," he intoned, using the spirit's other name for the first time. "I destroy you."
Harry was dragged out from underneath the shroud of blissful unconsciousness by the feel of water hitting his cheeks. Suddenly, it all came back to him what he'd been doing just before passing out. That memory quickly brought him out of his stupor.
Opening his eyes, the wizard stared up at the darkened clouds, throwing rain down on his face. He was outside. Harry attempted to struggle up to a sitting position and succeeded in getting to his elbows. Where was he? What had happened? Where was the Narif?
"Careful now. Getting you out was expensive."
Ignoring his body's protests, Harry turned and half fell toward the source of his voice and found himself staring at a familiar face.
"What the hell?" he slurred.
The trickster looked bored. "About time you woke up," he complained. "Looking out for you is going to be a bitch, I can tell."
"What…?"
"But don't worry. I've made a deal and your ghost already paid so you're under my protection now."
Harry's head buzzed, indicating a concussion. But in the midst of his droning headache, he realized what was no longer in his arms. Seeing the confusion mix with realization of he was missing on Harry's face, the trickster walked over. "He wanted me to keep you safe. So I'm bound to you now. Try not to freak out," he requested.
"Where's Bob?" Harry managed.
"You mean Hrothbert of Bainbridge," the trickster corrected.
"No, Bob…" The trickster smiled pityingly at him and for some reason, Harry felt his bones turn to ice.
THE END