Out where the world is in the making
Where fewer hearts in despair are aching
That's where the West begins

-Out Where the West Begins, Arthur Chapman

Izrail sat on his horse, gripping the reins in a white-knuckle grip. Though they'd been riding for hours, he still felt uneasy. He never liked horses and horses never liked him.

In front of Izrail, Tommy rode as if he were born in the saddle. He patted his horse as it nickered and smiled at the desert around them.

They rode south, western mesas towering on their left and the boiling, flat horizon to their right. The only plants were stringy grasses and knots of barren bushes that clung onto the red rocks for dear life. The horse's hooves clopped along and an eagle shrieked high above them.

Izrail let go of the reins with his right hand just long enough to tug at his scratchy collar. The sun reached down with its blazing fingers and scorched the land, bleaching the rocks and bushes bone dry.

Izrail's clothes clung to his sticky skin and made him even hotter. His feet throbbed in his too-tight boots and gods this shirt itched.

"Tommy?" Izrail called.

"Yeah?"

"Do you mind if I drop my human guise?"

"Do I mind if you—" Tommy twisted around in his saddle and stared at Izrail, his eyebrows bunched together in confusion. "I mean…. I don't… Sure. Go for it."

With a sigh of relief, Izrail dropped any notion of disguise and the released power surged in his chest. Phil's clothes melted away into Izrail's dark robes, a black cloak spilled down his back, cool tendrils of shadow and darkness drifted across his skin.

Izrail's horse whinnied uneasily and stamped its hooves. Izrail stroked its side like Tommy taught him until it calmed down.

"Woah…." Tommy slowed his horse so he rode side-by-side with Izrail. "You look… Well, you look like an angel now."

Izrail leaned back and stretched, relishing being himself again. He should have never listened to Phil.

"Can I see your wings?" Tommy asked eagerly. "I've seen Phil's and they're huge—"

"No," Izrail said.

"Why not? You don't have to hide anything from me, I promise—"

"Drop it, Tommy."

"Oh, come on, Iz. Pretty please?" Tommy pressed his palms together. "Pleeease?"

Izrail ignored him.

"Just one peek, Iz. That's all I'm asking for. One little tiny peek of your glorious, magnificent plumage. Then I'll never ask for anything again please please please please—"

Izrail spoke through his gritted teeth. "Tommy…."

"Please please please please please—"

"I don't have wings!" Izrail shouted.

Tommy flinched as if he had been slapped, which Izrail wished he had been.

"What do you mean you don't have wings?" Tommy asked, much quieter now.

"It means I don't have wings."

"Like… ever? Were you born like that?"

Izrail rubbed his face and resisted the urge to dropkick Tommy across the mesas. "No, Tommy, I wasn't."

"So what happened?"

"You ask too many questions."

"I know. Did you break them?"

"You're not going to stop asking until I tell you, are you."

"Nope."

Izrail leaned back in his saddle and looked up to the empty blue sky. He remembered what it felt like to dive into it, the cold winds blasting his face, the power in his chest raging, laughing in unrestrained joy, the world below dripping in shades of golden and bronze as he reached up to touch the sun.

"My wings were stolen," Izrail said. "By a human."

That shut Tommy up. For a few minutes, they rode in blessed silence, the wind brushing up against their faces, their saddles and bags clicking and rustling together.

Then, Tommy said, "I'm sorry, Iz."

Izrail patted his horse again, its coarse hair brushing against his fingers. "It's okay. It happened a long time ago."

Tommy shook his head in disbelief. "Must have been some awful human."

That's what hurt the worst. She hadn't been awful.

She was wonderful.

Izrail urged his horse ahead and rode in front of Tommy. Tommy took the hint and stayed behind, though Izrail could feel him watching the empty spot on his back.

They didn't speak the rest of the day.


As the sky closed its eye and the sun fell behind the horizon, Tommy and Izrail huddled around a makeshift campfire, watching the flames dance and crackle and the drifting embers floating up and up as if trying to join the stars in the sky.

Tommy broke the silence. "I'm sorry, Iz. Really. I shouldn't have pushed you about your wings. Sometimes I just… I don't know when to stop talking."

Izrail chuckled. "Ain't that the truth."

"So I give you permission to ask me anything." Tommy spread his arms. "I'm an open book."

Izrail glanced over at Tommy, his shirt stained with sweat, his hair tangled and matted from his hat, his eyes still shining. He looked painfully human, and yet something was painfully inhuman about him. The air around Tommy seemed to stretch and bend at the seams, his edges shifting and fading as if slipping from reality, the blue aura shining through the cracks. Only an Angel of Death could ever notice, of course, but it was still there. Tommy didn't belong here. An unnatural power had forced him back into this reality and it struggled to fit around him.

"Why do you want to kill Dream so badly?" Izrail asked.

Tommy sighed. "I guess it's only fair that you ask me that." He tossed another stick on the fire and watched the flames eat it alive. "Dream killed me. Shot me point-blank in the head."

"To shut you up?"

Tommy ignored Izrail's jab. "I started bounty huntin' after my brother died. I captured bandits and outlaws and robbers and everythin' in between. I thought there wasn't anyone I couldn't beat." He swallowed. "Then Dream showed up, wreaking chaos everywhere. I worked myself to the bone tryna chase him down. I became obsessed. And Dream, he thought it was all some game. He started commitin' bigger and grander crimes, knowing it would fuel my fire and keep me on the hunt. He led me around like a dog." Tommy shook his head, his eyes burning golden and red as he stared at the fire. "Then, one night, he came to my camp. Said he had this book that could bring people back to life. I called bull, and he got real mad. He kept rantin' on and on 'bout how this book was the real deal and that he was going to be as powerful as a god."

Izrail snorted. Tommy glanced over at him and continued. "I had the same reaction. I kept tellin' him it wasn't possible and how he was insane and then he said he'd resurrect me to prove it." Tears brimmed in Tommy's eyes and he quickly wiped them away. "It all happened so fast. The next thing I knew, he whipped out his revolver-" Tommy formed his fingers into the shape of a gun and pointed them at his head "—and bam."

Tommy slowly lowered his finger gun and wrapped his arms around himself. Though he faced the fire, Izrail knew his eyes saw something else entirely. A coyote howled out in the desert, crying at the crescent moon.

"I'm sorry, Tommy. Dream is an awful human."

Tommy laughed shakily. "Ain't that the truth."

"I understand why you want to kill Dream," Izrail said. "But why do you want to get rid of necromancy? If it weren't for that book, you wouldn't be alive."

Tommy shook his head. "If it weren't for that book, I wouldn't have died."

Izrail leaned back and looked up at the stars and all the colors in the night sky. More than anything else in the Overworld, the stars reminded him of home. The power lurched in his chest as he imagined himself fading into the purple blackness, weightless and free and happy and home.
How could anyone give that up? Especially for… well... Izrail looked around him at the harsh, moaning landscape.

This.

"Tommy," Izrail said, "Can I ask another question?"

"Sure, Iz."

"Do you like the desert?"

Tommy raised his eyebrows. "I mean…. Yeah. I like the desert."

"Why?"

Tommy shrugged. "It's all I've known, really. I was born and raised in the desert and it's where I'll die. Out here, the world is still big and wild and there's so much I haven't seen. I don't think I'll ever get bored of it. I could do without the sand, though." Tommy scratched the back of his neck. "Do you like the desert, Iz?"

"No," Izrail said immediately. "I hate it."

Tommy laughed. "Do they have deserts where yer from?"

"No. My home is nothing like this place." Izrail closed his eyes as he imagined home and his heart ached to be there. His essence throbbed with hurt from holding a physical form for so long, the clump of power in his chest whimpered in its weakness. But once he returned home, his form would be free, his power surging through his veins, happier than he ever felt in this world.

"What's yer home like?" Tommy asked.

"It's hard to explain to mortals." Izrail opened his eyes and hated seeing the desert again. "You know the feeling of sitting in the sun, and you close your eyes and watch the colors behind your lids, and everything is right with the world? Imagine stepping into that feeling and that's what my home is like."

Tommy whistled. "Why would you ever leave a place like that?"

"I have to." Izrail watched the shadows coiled around his forearms, shifting in the slight breeze. "When Death calls, I have to answer. There's no choice to stay."

Tommy made a face. "Sounds like slavery to me. No wonder Phil decided to stay here."

No. It was a wonder. Because even though Izrail hated being under Death's command, he'd do anything to have his home. And that meant being Death's angel. Izrail still could not understand why Phil would leave Death at the cost of his home.

"So… with Dream." Tommy fidgeted and twisted his hands together. "What're you gonna do when you find him?"

Izrail shrugged. "Tell him to stop necromancing."

Tommy let out a short, barking laugh. "That's it? You think he's gonna listen?"

"Death doesn't normally need to ask twice."

"Man, that's boring." Tommy glanced over at Izrail and all his shadows and power. "You've got magic, don'tcha? Why not curse him or kill him or somethin'? Can't you take away his powers?"

"Yes." Izrail picked up a twig of sagebrush and held it out to the fire. He watched it shrivel in the blaze, crumbling black and breaking. "I can remove anyone's ability to use magic."

"But…." Tommy prompted.

The twig ignited and was swallowed up in the blaze. "It wouldn't just remove Dream's magic, but everyone's around him. Including mine." Izrail rested his chin on his knees. "And that is something I will never, ever do."

Izrail bolted upright. Snuffling and growling sounded all around him, claws clacking on the sandstone.

Coyotes.

In an instant, Izrail was on his feet, golden fire burning in each of his palms. The light of the flames revealed muzzles filled with pointed teeth, mangy fur and whiskers, hungry eyes that slowly closed in on Tommy and Izrail.

The coyotes howled at Izrail and pounced, their claws aiming for his head. Izrail swiped at them with his fired and they whimpered and backed away, but not far enough.

Tommy sat up with a start, eyes wide, hands grappling for his gun. A coyote lunged for his head, teeth bared and slobbering.

Izrail sprang forward and launched a ball of fire at the coyote. It exploded against the coyote's back. The animal yelped and darted away. The smell of burning fur rose into the air.

Izrail whipped around just in time to fight off another coyote. He made his fire surge and the coyote scampered into the darkness.

A gunshot rang out.

A dead coyote fell next to Izrail, blood spilling out of the wound in its head.

Silence fell upon the desert. Tommy panted behind Izrail and reloaded his gun. Izrail kept his fire burning, straining to hear anything in the darkness.

"I think we scared them off, Iz," Tommy breathed.

Izrail allowed his shoulders to relax and his fire to snuff out. "Yeah."

"So… um… Why didn't you tell me you can throw fireballs?"

Izrail shrugged. "Never came up." He brushed the soot off his hands and turned to face Tommy. "You're welcome, by the way."

Tommy grinned. "There's no way in hell that Dream is getting past us."


"HE'S GONE?!" Quackity roared.

Niki grimaced. "He left with Tommy yesterday."

Quackity yelled and threw his glass at the wall. It shattered and Niki cried out in frustration.

"Where did they go?" Quackity demanded.

"Tommy said something about Dusthollow." Niki crossed her arms and glowered at Quackity. "That's all I know."

Quackity grumbled something under his breath and stomped out of the saloon. "Sam!" he shouted. "Get my horse!"

Niki breathed a sigh of relief as the door slammed closed. She bent over and started picking up the glass, praying that this angel mess would be over soon so her saloon would be left in peace.