Billy was a bad man

And carried a big gun,

He was always after Greasers

And kept 'em on the run.

But one day he met a man

Who was a whole lot badder.

And how he's dead,

And we ain't none the sadder.

-Billy the Kid

Phil held his gloved hand up to his brow and squinted at the glaring sun. Two riders trotted on up to his property, acting like they owned the place. Phil couldn't make out their faces or figures, but he could see their shadows crawling on the desert ground. One was unmistakably Techno. The other Phil had no clue.

Phil leaned up against his hoe and waved at Techno. Techno's shadow waved back and Phil smiled. He watched them ride closer, their faces growing clearer as they blocked out the sun. Phil studied the second rider. Scrawny. Rigid in the saddle. Sweatin' like a pig and shoulders drooped with exhaustion. A pigeon fresh from the east most likely.

The stranger turned his head to talk to Techno and Phil caught a glimpse of his eyes.

Golden.

Phil dropped his hoe. He squinted again, thinking his mind was playin' tricks on him. Suddenly, the stranger looked exactly like the angel he had seen only a week ago. Minus the shadows and air of power and authority and aura of death, of course.

He'd had his magic stolen.

Phil's heart ached for the angel. Falling was painful, confusing, and terrifying. It had been for Phil, and he'd chosen it. How would it be for someone who loved his godhood with all his being? How would it be to lose your whole life in a breath?

It would be a hell that not even Death herself could conjure up.

Phil walked out to meet Techno and the angel. As soon as the angel slid off his horse, his new legs shaking and his hands covered in blisters, Phil grabbed him and hugged him.

"I'm so sorry," Phil said.

The angel stood stiff and shocked. Then he slumped forward and into Phil, his chest shaking with tears he refused to cry.

Techno cleared his throat and Phil glanced over at him. "We need yer help, Phil."

"Well, I'll say." Phil pulled back from the angel and gave him a good look over. Gone were his shadows and robes and smooth skin and harsh gaze. What remained was a stripped-down version of the angel he used to be, his face red and burned, dirt clinging to his hands and dark rings under his eyes. But his eyes themselves still burned golden and sharp and wise, ancient and older than a mortal could ever imagine.

Phil chuckled when he recognized his old clothes. "Glad you took those now, angel?"

The angel scowled. "These are the ugliest, most uncomfortable clothes I have ever worn."

"You've never worn clothes before."

"They stink."

"Oh, come now. That's partially from you."

The angel crossed his arms and huffed. Phil's jab had hit deeper than he intended.

"I have to agree with Izrail on this one," Techno joined in. "Yer clothes are truly awful, Phil."

"Did you just come here to make fun of my clothes?"

"We came to get my power back." The angel, Izrail, stood next to his horse and ran his fingers through her mane. "Techno said you could help."

"Get yer power back?" Phil's heart ached even more. "I'm sorry, Izrail, but that's impossible—"

"Kotori," Techno interrupted. "Kotori can help him."

Izrail nodded, hope rolling off of him so thick it made Phil sick. "Techno said that Kotori knows a lot about life and death and—"

"Stop." Phil held up his hands and took a deep breath. "Can I talk to you alone, Techno?" He gestured towards his house.

Techno nodded and looked over at Izrail. "Put Bluebell and Carl up, will ya?"

"You can't just boss me around!" Izrail retorted.

"Or what?" Techno smirked as Izrail struggled to find words. "That's what I thought."


Izrail grumbled to himself as he led Bluebell and Carl to Phil's makeshift stable. Consisting of nothing more than a post underneath a tin awning, Phil's horse already held the place at max capacity. So, Izrail led Bluebell and Carl to the apple tree and joined them in the shade.

Izrail sighed as he relaxed against the tree trunk and let his sore muscles unclench. The afternoon sun sparkled through the thin leaves of the tree, painting his skin in specks of gold and green. Phil had picked most of the apples, but a few buds and scattered fruits glistened amongst the branches. Izrail breathed in their sweet scent and it helped calm the worry bubbling in his gut.

Phil's reaction hadn't been very reassuring. Izrail wondered if Techno had simply made the shaman all up or if they were both chasing a campfire tale. Whatever the case, Izrail didn't want to bring Phil along anymore. He watched Izrail as if he were dead, his eyes full of pity.

Izrail hated it.

Bluebell nickered and nudged Izrail's shoulder. He stroked her nose and watched the drooling cotton clouds roll across the blue sky and the golden-green light dance on his hands.

After a few minutes, Izrail could hear Techno and Phil arguing inside the house. Though he hated being bossed around, Izrail was glad Techno made him wait outside. Whatever quarrel was going on in there, he didn't want any part of it.

Soon, their shouting quieted down and Izrail hoped that Techno had won. That Native shaman had to bring Izrail's powers back.

He had to.

Izrail heard the door open and he stood, still keeping one hand on Bluebell. Techno stepped outside, adjusting his hat, all smiles. Phil followed, rolling his eyes.

"What's the verdict?" Izrail asked.

Techno grinned. "Our pal Phil here has agreed to come along."

Phil crossed his arms. "I still don't think this shaman is going to be able to help you. But…." He shrugged. "It's worth a shot."

"A shot's all I need," Izrail said.


Tommy watched Quackity march out of the jailhouse, bloodstains on his leather vest, gripping a knife in his hand. He looked angry enough to chew up nails and spit out a barbed wire fence.

Sam closed the jail door behind Quackity and locked it. He said something to Quackity, who jabbed his finger into Sam's chest, opened his mouth, thought better of it, and stomped into his office. The door rattled on its hinges as he slammed it shut.

Tommy took a deep breath and wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. This was it.

He waved as he approached Sam, all smiles and good cheer. "Hello, Sam!"

"Hey, Tommy." Sam fidgeted with his keyring, his fingers sliding through each piece of metal, counting them.

Tommy rocked on his heels. "It's um…. It's noon, Sam."

"I know it's noon, Tommy."

"Well, in case you've forgotten, you said to come at noon and you'd let me see Dream."

"I know what I said." Satisfied with his keys, Sam looked down at Tommy. "But security comes well before you. Quackity just left and I need to check the cell."

"Yes. Of course."

"So stand back please."

Tommy took an exaggerated step backward, hands clasped behind him, trying to look every bit the innocent child his mother believed he was.

Sam unlocked the jailhouse and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

Tommy waited in the blazing afternoon sun.

A few minutes later, Sam came back outside, locked the door, and motioned Tommy forward. Tommy eagerly hurried to the jailhouse, his blood humming with excitement. He thought of the revolver in his boot, the barrel digging up against his ankle.

This was it.

This was when he killed Dream.

For real.

After the abysmal assassination attempt with Iz, Tommy had rushed back to Yucca Falls, only a few paces behind Sam and Quackity. For a day or so, Quackity had interrogated Tommy about the angel and Dream and Techno and on and on. Tommy told him over and over that the angel said he would help Tommy kill Dream and he took up his offer. He simply had no idea that Quackity wanted the angel dead and had no clue that Techno would be there. Tommy's charm rubbed off on Quackity and he let Tommy go. Immediately, Tommy went to Sam and begged to see Dream. Sam agreed, only if Tommy obeyed his rules. Tommy promised he would, still not sure if he was lying.

All that mattered now was what lay on the other side of that door.

Sam's keys slid into the lock, the metal clicking and clinking as he turned it. He pushed open the door. The hot sun glided into the dark jailhouse. Sam barely had time to step aside as Tommy barged in.

The Yucca Falls Jail House consisted of two cells, one on the left and one on the right with an area in the middle for visitors and guards. The only light came in from the opened door. Dust motes glittered in the air and Tommy wrinkled his nose at the smell of sweat and dirt. All he could see was the blank wall in front of him.

Sam closed the door, shutting out all sources of light. Tommy's breath filled the darkness. Then, a lamp was lit and Tommy's anger shot through the roof.

Dream sat in the left cell, his back to the wall, wearing prison rags and his stupid bandanna. The iron bars cast long shadows on his face. He laughed when he saw Tommy.

"Of all the people to come see me," Dream said, "it's you." He pressed his hand to his heart. "I'm touched. Really."

Tommy stepped towards the bars but Sam grabbed his shoulder and said, "Can't let you get any closer."

Tommy gritted his teeth and glared at Dream, the scar on his forehead throbbing as he remembered the bullet shattering his skull. Dream reached up to adjust his bandanna with the same hands that had held the gun, watched him with the same eyes that laughed as he pulled the trigger.

In an instant, Tommy yanked his gun out of his boot and pointed it at Dream.

Also in an instant, he was kicked in the back and dropped to his stomach as Sam pressed his boot into his neck.

"You promised me you wouldn't kill him, Tommy," Sam said, his voice eerily calm.

"And why shouldn't I?" Tommy spat, the gun still clenched in his fist. "He's a murderer."

"He's my prisoner. It's my job to protect him."

Tommy laughed bitterly. "For what? You just gonna let him rot in here? What's the difference if he dies now or in ten years?"

"I'm a necromancer, Tommy." Dream rose from his corner and Tommy's eyes strained to look up at him from the ground. "Most people want me alive."

"That's why yer keeping him alive, Sam?" Tommy exclaimed. "So you can rip people out of the afterlife?"

"No." With his other boot, Sam kicked the gun out of Tommy's hand. "But that's why Quackity is."

"Hasn't he seen all the trouble that book has caused?" Tommy squirmed on the cold floor but Sam's boot pressed harder into his neck. "Didn't he see the Angel of Death that came to kill Dream?"

"Didn't you see the angel die?" Dream said. "The gods don't belong in this world anymore. It's time we take control of it."

"Are you hearing this, Sam? He's a madman! Shoot him!"

Sam sighed and Tommy heard his keys jangling. "I need you to leave, Tommy. You've broken my trust."

With Sam distracted, Tommy reached up and grabbed Sam's leg and threw it off of him. Sam stumbled and Tommy leaped to his feet, scanning the floor for his gun. He saw the barrel glimmer, dove for

it as Sam tried to grab him and Tommy rolled and aimed his gun for Dream's head and—

Dream started chanting.

The temperature in the room dropped.

Tommy was frozen. His hands shook as his brain screamed at them to pull the trigger but he couldn't move—

Thick tendrils of chalky blue smoke wove around Dream and ringing filled Tommy's ears as pressure pushed down on him like he was at the bottom of the ocean and blood dripped out of his nose as the pressure tightened and he squeezed his eyes shut—

It stopped. The door was open, light flooding the room. Quackity stood in the jail, pointing his gun at Dream.

A slow smile spread across Quackity's face. "So. You can raise the dead."

His head still spinning, Tommy couldn't manage to fight back when Sam ripped the gun from his hands. Tommy blinked away the pain in his head and stood. He grimaced as he wiped the blood from his lip.

"Why'd ya stop me, Quackity?" Dream asked. "Don't you want me to bring people back from the dead?"

"Yer the last person I want resurrectin' the dead." Quackity turned to Sam. "Git Tommy outta here, then I want you watchin' Dream day and night. Got it?"

Sam nodded and steered Tommy to the door. Tommy's heart plummeted to his feet.

He'd failed.

Again.