'Sup folks! I'm back with more Spranne wholesomeness.

Originally, this was supossed to be the ending of "Don't fear the ReapAnne", but the fic itself turned out too long, and this scene felt a bit out place. BUT it works great for a one-shot!

Mostly its just Anne and Sprig chatting about ghosts. I promise we'll see more about Anne's powers (and other people reacting to them) soon enough.

Anyway, enjoy the fic!

Thanks a lot tsundereanubis (on AO3) for beta reading this!

Having grown up on a farm, Sprig had built the habit of waking up early in the morning. A bad habit. Whether there was work to do or not, he found it impossible to sleep past a certain hour. This made him a foil to Anne, who could sleep well past noon if nobody bothered to wake her up. Sprig couldn't believe it! Can you imagine waking at noon? You'd lose the better half of the day! And so, as a gesture of friendship, Sprig built the habit of waking Anne up every morning, regardless of how many pillows the girl threw at him.

This morning, however, Anne wasn't tucked up in her bed in the basement. That worried Sprig. He went into the kitchen. Hop Pop was up (he usually woke up earlier than anybody) and was pulling out the frying pan to cook breakfast.

"If yer looking for Anne, she's outside." Hop Pop answered Sprig's unasked question. "She's been there since I woke up. I don't think she caught a single wink."

His worries increased, Sprig rushed to the door. He found Anne at the front yard, the scythe hanging heavy on her hands as she faced her enemy. The scarecrow smiled his stitched grin. It has been removed from its place by the crops and positioned against the tool shed, facing the hooman. Anne took a breath and brought the scythe up like a club, then whipped it forward. She let out a defeated groan as the scythe abruptly fell. It didn't even fly half the distance.

Feeling mischievous —and being one to never let a chance waste— Sprig sneaked up on the still gloating Anne. He filled his lungs with air.

"Morning Sprig."

Sprig blew a raspberry. There goes a perfect chance wasted.

"Aw, man. How did you know it was me?" Sprig asked.

Anne laughed. "'Cause I'm older and cooler, and I know everything." Anne was cut off by a long yawn. Heavy bags hung under her eyes. "Plus, you're a noisy breather."

Sprig made a disbelieving sound but didn't retort. He hopped over the girl's shoulders. She was strong enough to carry him, and it always made him feel like a giant. "Having the old one-on-one with the scarecrow? I getcha. Hop Pop outdid himself with this year's model," Sprig said.

Anne snorted. "No kidding. He sure nailed the 'Children of the Corn' meets 'Evil Dead' vibe."

Sprig nodded, although he didn't know what either of those words meant. Anne recovered her scythe —because it was hers by now. She slept with it beside her bed; it'd made the routine of waking her up more dangerous but funnier.

"I was trying to recreate my shuriken-scythe strike from the other day," Anne explained. Her nostrils went wide as she buffed. "As you could see, it's been an amazing flop."

"Still can't remember anything from the whole exorcism thing?" Sprig asked.

"Nope," Anne said, defeated, and then, like every day since the 'ghost incident', she asked: "What about you? Still seeing ghosts?"

Sprig tilted his neck, scanning the farm. "Is that Herb checking the carcass of the Blue Back Beatle?"

Once he'd stopped yelling at them for destroying the farm, Hop Pop grudgingly admitted it was good the Beetle was a goner. And that it was a fine piece of hunting. They cut the head and hung it on the living room —with Sprig insisting it would look sick in the bathroom. The rest of the body they'd thrown near the trash can for the collector snail to pick up. Herb, the vet ghost, was kneeling by the dead body, seemingly mind measuring its legs.

He caught the kids staring at him and waved a hand. "Hiya kiddos!"

Sprig and Anne greeted him. "Hiya Herb!"

Then Sprig added: "We're never getting rid of him, are we?"

"Nah, we'd a talk earlier today," she said, with a hint of hubris. "He'll leave once they pick the beetle carcass off. But we've to visit him once a week as payment for his help."

Sprig agreed it was a reasonable arrangement.

The girl sat down by the scarecrow; their rivalry momentarily forgotten. Sprig hopped down and sat by her side. The morning was cold and blue; the sun still lazing behind the mountains. There wasn't much to do today except some farming. It was the weekend and they won't be opening the vegetable stand.

Sprig hummed merrily. "It sure is going to be a beautiful day. Although all days are beautiful now, ever since you stabbed me with your hand," he confessed.

"I like to think of it more like I 'sucker punched' your soul,' she said. "You didn't seem to be having a good time yesterday in town, tho'."

Sprig blushed, assaulted by the dreadful memory. "I panicked," he said as if it was enough explanation, but Anne gave him a gaze that said 'proceed'. "It was too much, OK? The sky looks bigger now, and the colors are brighter, and the shadows darker and it's beautiful, but yesterday it scared me. The sky was too big and the colors too bright. And, I don't know, it felt weird with all the people and ghosts around."

Anne nodded along. She wasn't smiling. "Feels a bit crowded, doesn't it?"

"Yeah! A-and it's like I can sense them all the time. Even if I close my eyes. And then there was that lady ghost who kept trying to talk to me at the stand and I just… panicked and yelled at her." Sprig mumbled at the end. He shouldn't need to; if someone understood what he was going through, that was Anne. "Thanks for telling her off, by the way."

"No problem, dude. You taught me how to do it. I'm not gonna let any spook bully us around anymore," she said and ruffled his hair. "And don't worry about the 'ghost sense'; it'll stop being annoying very soon." Anne's shoulders stiffed, painfully. "And then you start sensing the living people, and everything will be awkward again."

There was a chill coldness in Anne's voice that hurt more than the revelation itself. Sprig had already figured that part out.

"I knew it! 'Older and cooler' my butt. You sensed me sneaking up, didn't ya?" Sprig smiled as smugly as he sounded.

Anne sighed. "Couldn't fool you, could I?"

"You can't hide anything from me, Anne. I know everything that happens on this farm. Except where Hop Pop hides the sugar-coated pill bugs —but I have a few theories," he hastily added.

Anne offered a meek 'right' and said nothing more. She has been pretty somber lately, more than usual. This was the first time they talked about the ghost's incident and not because of the lack of trying on Sprig's part; it just seemed Anne had something else to do every time he asked. They'd barely exchanged good mornings and goodnights the last two days.

And Sprig couldn't take it anymore. He was going insane! Sure, he'd Hop Pop and Polly to talk to, but it wasn't the same. Nothing had been the same since Anne came —in a good way.

"Is something the matter?" Sprig dared. "You've been awfully quiet ever since we beat the ghosts and, not gonna lie, it's kinda driving me nuts."

"You make it sound like I'd been ignoring you," Anne spat back.

Sprig crossed his arms and held his gaze with Anne. Which was a bigger deal than it sounds; the girl had a blue steel gaze.

Finally, Anne yielded. "OK fine, I was ignoring you." She folded her arms in a childish stance. She did this when she was feeling especially self-conscious. "But I had a good reason," she went on. "I wasn't sure if… if you weren't mad at me?"

"Mad? Why should I be mad?" he asked, in a specific way that implied Anne had done something worth being mad about. A very Hop Pop move from Sprig, and it slightly sickened him.

"Well, for one, I brought ghosts into your house. I know, I know, it's not my fault and whatever, but it happened because of me. And second, there is your new ghost sense."

Ah. Sprig could see where this was going.

"Somehow, I gave you a part of my powers," Anne said, head down. "I didn't even know that was possible, but I did. For all we know, it may be permanent. I never asked for this," she pointed at her whole body," and I wouldn't wish it on anyone else. But now you have it too —whatever it is— and I feel like I did you dirty. Take your choice away."

Sprig heard it all and found his chest swelling with something new and strange. The will to protect. He'd never had someone who needed him. There was Polly of course, and Sprig was there for her; but because of her age and thanks to the overbearing eye of Hop Pop, Sprig's role as a big brother was relegated to babysitting. Now he had this amazing alien creature, lost and plagued by doubts and, despite Sprig being the younger one, he found himself standing tall to help her.

Sprig jumped forward, as a master of ceremonies taking the mic. "Anne, that's bananas," he said, using one of the words she taught him. "The way I see it, you were faced with a difficult problem and you did the best you could and more. You took care of the beetle, saved my sorry butt, AND exorcised all the spooks! Besides, it's not like I mind the Ghost Sense," Sprig added, slightly embarrassed. "I like it. And I've been waiting for more of your powers to grow on me."

Anne made the most confused face. "Wait, for real?"

"Ye-eah! Didn't you see me hurling myself at the wall yesterday, trying to walk through it?"

Anne slapped her face. "Oooh, so that's what you were doing!" she said. "I thought it was some weird 'before bed frog ritual' and I didn't want to interrupt."

"I'll try to ignore that culturally insensitive comment," said Sprig. "My point is that two weeks ago I was just some kid in a farm town. And it was great! But now I'm a kid with superpowers and a mission. Which is protecting you."

Sudden shyness filled Sprig. He'd spoken too much, but he wasn't one to shy away from his thoughts. It was true, and it was out. Anne reacted positively, her frown turning into a smile and then a chuckle.

When she spoke, she sounded confused. "Dude. How are you always so positive?"

"I found out pushing the bad thoughts to the back of your head and ignoring them forever works for pretty much everything." Sprig blushed. Again, he'd overshared.

Surprisingly, Anne didn't react with disgust. "I hear you," she said but didn't elaborate. Then she said, decisive. "Well. Since you have some of my powers, I might teach you what I know about them. Only so we're on the same page."

Sprig's heart jumped in his chest, at the same time he physically jumped in the air.

"That's awesome because I have so many questions!" He landed on the ground with a squeak.

He went to the nearest stone he found. It was too heavy to lift, so he pushed it with his short, weak arms. He positioned the rock in front of the hooman and then, exhausted, jumped over it. There. Now he was a student, listening to his teacher. Anne shifted awkwardly. She wasn't used to positive attention yet.

"OK, uh… Shoot, I guess?"

Sprig rubbed his chin. He'd so many questions it was hard to decide. "OK, I got one. If you can sense living people, can you see them through walls? Can you know what they're doing, what they're thinking? Feeeeeling?" Sprig added colorfully at the end.

Anne snorted. "No, dude, it's not like that. Think more like when you hear a noise outside your house and you know there's someone out there. For example, I can tell if my parents are at home and in which room they're in just by standing in the front yard. And I can tell you there are, let's see, like a hundred people in town."

It was good Sprig was sitting, otherwise, he would've fallen on his butt. "Whaaaaat? You can sense them from this far? That's amazing! There are 88 people living in Wartwood, but it was close enough."

Anne mumbled. "88 you know about."

"What was that?"

"Nothing!" Anne said. "Oh, but it only works with people, though, which it's probably for the best," Anne laughed. "Can you imagine if I could feel all the animals living in these woods? I'd be crazy in like a minute."

Sprig agreed and tried to dissimulate his disappointment. After the experience with the beetle, it should be obvious to Anne how marvelously useful it would be to know where all the wild animals hide and where the varmints' nests are. No more crops ripped off. No more farms being shredded apart by voracious beasts. Never again.

Sprig snapped out of his blues. Questions; focus on the questions.

"I got another one," he hastily said. "What happened to the ghosts? When you punched them, I mean. All the cracking and the dragonflies. What was that about?"

"They're gone." Anne didn't elaborate. Sprig tilted his head to the side. "You know, gone. Gone upstairs…" she lifted her finger upwards. "Or to the basement…" She pointed it to the ground.

It took a hot few seconds for Sprig to get what she was talking about. When he did, his heart raced. "The Underworld? You meant you sent them to the Other Side for real?"

Anne was uncertain. "That's what's supposed to happen. Ghosts, spirits, wraiths. They're kind of outlaws. They're not meant to live in our world."

"Why not? I don't care. There's enough space for all of us," Sprig said.

Anne considered it carefully. "Not the point. When you die, you die. And you have to go… wherever. But some folks have unfinished biz, or their death was too traumatic or they were cursed. And they can't 'move on' without help. The janitor at my school was like that."

Sprig gasped. "Your school had a ghost janitor?"

"Swear on my heart," she crossed a finger over her chest. Wait. Is that where hoomans had their hearts? "His name was Mr. Blas and he was mad strong. He could make other people see and hear him, and he was everyone's best friend. Which made everyone warier of me because I didn't like him because he was a stinking ghost!" Anne shouted. Sprig jerked at the noise.

"That's heavy. And weird," he said. "I think people would notice if one of their coworkers was a specter."

Anne showed her empty hands. "You would think that, but no. See, the thing about ghosts is that people that don't believe in them, don't see them. Even when there's no other rational explanation."

It sounded impossible that nobody would notice an actual walking ghost. The more Sprig thought about it, however, the more sense it made. Had he never met Anne, he wouldn't believe ghosts were floating around, ripping Hop Pop's vegetables like it was nobody's business. He wouldn't have even thought of it as a possibility. People don't hunt monsters they don't think exist.

Anne kept talking, voice grim. "But Mr. Blas knew I could see him. That I was different. And one day, he asked me for a favor."

A long-lasting shiver went down Sprig's back. "Tell me he didn't want the souls of the innocents."

"Nope. Just some directions," said Anne, just as gloomy. "There was a place he had to go and wanted me to take him to it. He hasn't left the school grounds in years and he needed a guide."

"Did he ask you to take him to the place he was murdered?" Sprig rambled. "Or a cemetery? An old crypt? A Curse Users covenant? Or-or -"

Anne stared down at the boy, with her skull-shaped pupils. "Dude, what kinda weird stuff you got here?" she lifted her hands as if protecting herself from an explanation. "No, he just wanted to visit his daughter's house on the other side of the city. It was a Hell of a ride. We had to take three buses and we got lost two times. But we finally got there. I figured he wanted to meet his family again. He hasn't seen his daughter in years. But once we got there he went right for the window and looked inside. His daughter was in the living room with her husband and two kids. They were playing some board game —I think it was Monopoly. They were super competitive about it too, especially the mom. She kept getting up the couch and doing a victory dance every few minutes. It felt like family nights at my house —except my dad would dance and my mom would pout after she lost. We were in that window for like an hour. Then we left."

For a few seconds, Sprig waited for the punch line of the joke. Nothing came.

"You what?" he shouted, nearly screaming.

Anne hummed, obviously feeling Sprig's frustration. "He said he'd no place in their life. He'd been dead for ten years, after all. His family had moved on."

Sprig could scarcely believe it. He was rooting for this Blas guy, hoping he would get to meet his family, and he… He left. And his family didn't even know he was there or that he missed them or…

"That's beetle dung!" Sprig roared and heard Hop Pop shouting at him to mind his language from inside the house. But Sprig didn't care.

He jumped on the rock and rambled as he'd never rambled before. "You don't just move on from something like that! All the ghosts here nearly killed me for a chance to get a body, and this dude could've met his family and he didn't?"

"And what was he supposed to say?" Anne broke in. "'Hey sweetie, it's me, your old Pop! Turns out I've been a ghost for ten years but decided to show up just now."

"That's his fault!" said Sprig, heating up. "He's the one who wasted ten years cleaning floors instead of meeting up with his family. Now he has the chance and he chickens out? What about his daughter? Don't you think she wanted to see him even after all these years? And what about his grandkids? Don't you think they should get the chance to meet him? Some people would give an arm and a leg for an opportunity like that!"

"Dude!" Anne shouted, and Sprig noticed how close he was to the girl. He had jumped and rushed to Anne, grabbing her by the hem on the shirt. He let go of her and backed down, body tingling with anger.

The light emanating from Anne's body had become brighter, almost white. Somehow, Sprig knew she was furious. "Don't get mad at me. I was just telling the story."

Sprig lifted his hands as a peace gesture. They were shaking. He hid them behind his back. "I know and I'm sorry but… Ugh! That guy sounds like such a moron."

"Yeah, I definitely liked him even less after that." Anne dropped her elbows onto her knees. She looked very tired now. "Anyway. After I stopped yelling at him the same things you're yelling at me, he thanked me. He couldn't ask any mortal to come with him; they wouldn't know he was dead and wouldn't understand —even tho I don't get it either. Then he walked away and… he was gone."

"You mean-"

"I mean gone. Like the other ghosts." She slouched further down like she was ready to throw up. "He turned into a bunch of butterflies and banished in the air. Puff. Finito. Gone." Anne sighed. "That really messed me up."

"How come?" Sprig asked.

"See it from my perspective," Anne said. "I've been seeing ghosts my whole life. I knew that when you die you become a spirit and you can fly around and nobody sees you and whatever." She paused, voice shaking. "But what happened to Mr. Blas was different. He was gone for real. Died a second time. I never knew that was possible. Or that I could cause it too."

Anne lifted her fist. After the incident she'd gone back to wearing her leather gloves, but took them off to inspect her hand; each one of her long fingers. Sprig knew what was going through her head. 'You didn't murder those ghosts. They were already dead. You just reminded them of that.' The words were there but Sprig couldn't say them. Anne's tale has upset him greatly and now he was mad at her. He shouldn't be. Anne did nothing wrong. But that didn't fill the hole in Sprig's chest. It didn't quench the burning rage at the word gone. Gone, gone, gone. Such a horrible word.

He gave his back to Anne, but immediately knew he couldn't ignore her. So he laid over the rock, facing the sky. Anne looked even gloomier upside down, her light so dim it was almost gone.

Sprig said. "Anne, your story bummed me out."

"I bummed myself out too," Anne answered curtly. "Sorry."

It's OK, but Sprig didn't say it. He lifted his gaze. With his new vision, he found the sun looked more colorful. More alive. Weirdly, it didn't hurt Sprig's eyes that much now.

Anne's voice was full of doubt when she said: "I wish Mr. Blas were here now."

Sprig tilted his head down to look at her. "Why? You hated the guy. I hate the guy."

"I know, you made that clear already," Anne scoffed. "But he definitely knew what he was doing. In the 'unlife' I mean. He was the most powerful ghost I've ever met. He sure could've taught me, us some neat tricks."

No, no, nope. Sprig would never take ghost-lessons from that jerk, even if he were here and begging to teach him.

"If that's what you're thinking, you should've let Eleanor possess you in the first place," he rudely said and felt bad immediately. "Although I guess Eleanor wasn't made of the same stuff as this Blas guy," he meekly added.

"Don't be so sure," she said. "Eleanor was strong. She figured she could possess me even before I knew it was possible. I guess she was too hooked up into her life to see how strong she'd become in death. I'm not even sure she was physically bound to her land. Maybe it was all in her head. Being a ghost, what you think becomes real."

Anne dropped the tip of the scythe on the ground and took it out, ripping a big chunk of dirt and grass. "Maybe it's a good thing we got her before she figured it out."

Anne agreeing with his thoughts eased Sprig's humor but didn't change his opinion. He'd no personal beef with ghosts, but he'd heard and seen enough to be wary of them. Better they stay on their grey side of the world and the living in the warmer side.

The fault in this logic, however, was that Anne didn't live on one side or the other. She existed in both. Sprig knew now he'll never be like Anne (and there went his dreams of pranking Polly by ghost popping into her room). But he could keep her company in her world.

Sprig sat properly on the rock to better look at Anne. "I think it's better this way. I'd rather spend my whole life figuring out how this works than to have some deadbeat ghost or shrieking newt tell us what to do. You don't need them."

There was an implicit offer in Sprig's words; a camaraderie of some kind. Anne picked it up and her light flickered warmly.

Anne said. "I get what you say. It wouldn't hurt to have someone give us some pointers, tho'."

Sprig agreed. "It also would be great if you could remember more of what happened that day."

"No, it's…" Anne paused and rubbed her eyes. Hop Pop said she didn't sleep. How long has she been up? "It's not like I 'forgot' the whole thing. I remember everything that happened. Just don't know how I did it. Like someone else was moving my body."

"Like when you're running in a dream?" Sprig ventured.

"Yea-no. No, it's more like… er…" Anne searched around, looking for something to better explain it. When she found it, she aha-ed. "Like this guy."

Sprig blinked several times. "The scarecrow?"

"Yep." Anne held the scarecrow close like it hadn't been her mortal enemy a few minutes ago. "You look at this guy and you think 'he looks scary', what with the turnip head and the smile and the cloak, right? But that's just a costume. On the inside, you know this guy's just a bunch of hay held together."

"More like fifty percent hay, fifty percent dung, but I see where you're going," said Sprig.

Anne paled and pushed the scarecrow so hard it felt on the ground. Poor guy was having a bad day.

"My point is," she said as she cleaned her hand over her shirt, "the scarecrow was made to scare birds and such. It's what it does, what it's dressed to do. That's what happened to me; when I punched that ghost, I felt like I was myself wearing a costume; playing pretend I was someone else."

"Someone like…" Sprig said and waited.

Anne tapped her chin with the blunt end of the scythe. "Me, I guess? But better," she said with enthusiasm. "A newer Anne. An Anne who was strong, and skillful, and who could kick butt. I play tennis a lot, and I studied Muay Thai at the Temple back home, but I've never been in a real fight. When I punched the ghost, I knew I had it all in me —that I could send those guys to the Other Side." Anne's enthusiasm reached its peak and her eyes gleamed. "And then I did. But know I can't." She grabbed a bunch of her hair and pulled. "I've been squeezing my brain for days but I can't go back into that mindset."

Sprig scratched his chin thoughtfully, even though he instantly knew what was wrong with Anne. See? This is why sharing with your friends is important!

Sprig jumped off his rock and clapped his hands. "I know what your problem is," he stated.

"You do?"

"Absolutely!" Sprig rocked up and down, bouncy and happy. "You're thinking way too much. You've to use your heart for this, not your brain."

"That… doesn't make much sense," said Anne.

"Sure it does! It's like with my slingshot," Sprig pulled his Old Reliable slingshot out. "You think I shoot this baby using my head? My brain? My hands?"

"Yeah, I suppose you shoot it with your hands."

Sprig bopped Anne's nose. "You're wrong!" he said as Anne rubbed her nose. He picked a small pebble off the ground. "Check this out. Keep your eyes on the rock."

He put the rock in the slingshot and aimed to his left. He kept his eyes on Anne as he waited for the feeling. When it hit him, he shot. Anne followed the rock as it flew, but Sprig kept his eyes on the girl. He'd a good guest of what was happening. First, the rock would hit the pile of loose bricks by the window –thuck!- then be propelled up and smack the Plantar's P sign –whack! From there it'll be sent forward to the pond and be caught by one of the giant's reeds growing there. The reed will bend backward and then whip back to its original position, hurling the rock into the air. If today was a bad day, the projectile would reach maximum altitude and then pitifully fall into the water. But if it was a good day, the rock would batter a flying bird and be redirected back to its starting point.

A painful CAW! was heard and Sprig extended his left arm. The rock fell into his hand, at the same time the knocked-out cold bird fell into the family pond. One less crow in the world.

Anne dropped her scythe to smack her head. "Hoppa da boppa! You could make real money with that shi-shoot," she said, in equal parts scandalized and amazed.

Sprig puffed his chest. "That's my Plan B, in case running a farm doesn't pay." He put the slingshot and rock aside. "Shooting is not about calculations or angles. Is about thinking about your shoot and then doing it. The hands are the doers, but the heart's the planner. It's the same thing with playing the fiddle. Or farming. Or worm-eating contests. Actually, I think it applies to pretty much everything in life…" Sprig shook the beginning of a babble off his head. "My point is: Stop wondering if you can do it, and just do it-"

Anne broke in. "But what if I can't do it?"

"Maybe you won't. Not every day. That shoot could've been a bust," Sprig confessed. "You said it yourself: you knew you had it in ya. And one day, it'll come back. Maybe when you least expect it."

Anne seemed thrown off her loop. Sprig had tried his best to sound reassuring. Whatever Anne was going through couldn't be too different from what he knows about life. Anne seemed to believe it too. She put her gloves back on and held her fists up like she was ready to fight. She stood up and punched Sprig in the arm.

She said, "You're pretty wise for someone who is, like, two feet tall."

"I'm regular-sized. You're just awfully tall," Sprig teased her. He picked Anne's scythe and offered it to her, like a squire to his knight in one of Hop Pop's bedtime stories. "Ready to give it another shot?"

As an answer, Anne grabbed the scythe, and a slim blue halo surrounded it. She resumed her previous position while Sprig put the scarecrow so it was right in front of her.

Anne said. "You sure you want to stand right there, dude?"

Sprig leaned against the scarecrow and even patted the guys' back. "I've complete confidence in you," he reassured her.

Anne hesitated but shrugged it off. She opened her legs and held the weapon down, more like a broom than a scythe. Then there was a change in her. The light coming from her increased in intensity, and the shadows that followed her when she fought the ghosts came back. It looked like some kind of solid smoke, tightening around Anne's neck like a cape and cloak, obscuring her face except for her bright eyes. But the most fundamental change was not physical. Anne was a different person now. Strong. Powerful. Scary, but not frightening. Strange without being monstrous. And amazingly cool.

Which is to say she was Anne as Sprig always sees her. Now she was just seeing it herself.

She fixed her blue gaze on the scarecrow and smirked an ashen smile. This is it! She's gonna do it now! Anne grasped the scythe firmly. Sprig held his breath as she swung it up. And released it as the scythe escaped Anne's hands. It flew backward, straight to the house. It hit the wall, and one would've thought that would be the end of it, but the tip of the scythe went straight through the solid brick walls, breaking into the house with a BAM!

Anne shrieked and slapped her mouth shut. The shadows dispersed and her light dimmed. She was a scared slinky creature again.

A few seconds later, she became more scared.

"KIDS!" Hop Pop shouted and Sprig could've sworn the walls rattled. The kitchen window was slammed open and Hop Pop peeped his redder than usual face outside.

He stared daggers at them —that much was obvious even at the distance. "Are you two insane? You could've ripped someone's head off!"

By the tone of Hop Pop's voice, Sprig could sense a two-hour nagging was coming. It wasn't unusual, and he was ready to accept it. Anne, however, began to run like the wind, picking Sprig up on her way out of the homestead.

From behind them, Hop Pop yelling only increased in ferocity. "HEY! Come back here you knuckleheads! I ain't done yellin' and you didn't eat your nutritious breakfast!"

"Sorry HP! Maybe later!" Anne shouted back at him as she jumped over the fence.

Soon enough they were down the road and away from the farm; and the very angry senior frog in it.

"So, on a scale of one to ten, being one 'not angry at all' and ten 'I'm giving you up for adoption'… how mad is Hop Pop right now?" Anne asked as she walked the road downtown.

"A solid four. He didn't mention how old we're getting him nor brought out what our ancestor might say about our behavior," said Sprig, from his spot over Anne's shoulder.

It was nice, being this tall. The world felt smaller, and he felt stronger. He always felt stronger when he was with Anne.

"I'd say we give him 'till noon to cool off, then we hit home for lunch and a nag," said Sprig.

"Sounds like a plan to me. Let's get some breakfast in town, tho'. I'm starving," said Anne.

"Me too. Ghost's stories always build an appetite," said Sprig, but he didn't know if that was true.

Anne hummed curiously to herself. "You want to know the weirdest thing about Mr. Blas?"

"You never knew if Blas was his first or last name?"

"No —although that has been bothering me since forever," said Anne. "The weirdest part was when I went back to school, nobody remembered him. The principal said he'd been dead for ten years and wanted to know how I knew his name. Even Sasha and Marcy didn't know him. Isn't it messed up? How can someone be a ghost in disguise, and then they disappear and nobody remembers them?"

Messed up was an understatement, in Sprig's opinion. Silent reigned in, and Sprig would be alright with that. A lot had been said already and even he could use some quietness. However, Sprig's mind was still racing in circles. Although no longer mad or frustrated, there was a doubt itching his insides. And if he doesn't scratch it, it might infect him.

"Hey, Anne?" Sprig began. "You know how you sent all those ghosts to the Other Side, or how that Blas guy moved on when he felt like it?"

Anne hummed again, slyly. "Having second doubts about a ghost teacher?"

"No, no, no." Sprig insisted. "It's just… I was wondering… If you can send spirits there, do you think, maybe, a ghost can come back?" Silence fell upon them as Anne slowed her gait. "I mean… the dead, the ones that are really dead and gone. You think they can come back here as ghosts if they want to. O-or if maybe you could, I don't know, summon the spirit of someone who… someone…"

Sprig trailed off. The words were there, but he couldn't say them. He never could. Anything related to his parents was always a knot in his chest, a clog in his throat. Hop Pop never talked about it and Polly was too young to even remember them. It was easier, then, to pretend they didn't exist.

Anne kept walking in silence. Her body felt colder than before.

"I don't know," she finally admitted. "But I know this. If there's any ghost out there that, let's say, needs to be found, I'll find them." She paused. "If you have some ghosts you'd like to -"

Sprig cut in. "Noooo. No sire. No. No spirits for me. Not at all," he said and keep adding as many 'no' as it took to put an end to the conversation.

Sprig's body quaked as Anne nodded her head. "OK. Suit yourself. I'll pretend I believe you. But you'll have to come clean to me one day."

Maybe. But not now. Not for a good while.

Sprig spoke, without much thought. "Thanks, Anne."

Anne lifted her leather-covered fist. "Spranne against the world?"

That sounded so right; more than anything Sprig had heard before. He slammed his fist against Anne's.

"Spranne against the world."

And there it is!

I have a lot of fun writing this. Spranne dialogue its always funny and heartwarming (just like them!)

Mr. Blas' story was a last minute addition. I already have thought of it, but had planne to insert it much later in this AU. But it worked well here in the end.

I'm working on several stuff now (including more Grim Reaper AU stuff), so expect to hear from me often (but not that often cause i'm a slow writer -)

Remember i have a Tumblr (wolfinshipclothing) where i crosspost my fics and post my theories and other bullshit.

Thanks for reading! And as usual, like and comment if you liked it!