“Open the maps app and type in Emergency Room near me,'“ Dustin said.
Greg navigated the phone slowly.
“There's one eleven minutes south,” he said eventually. “St. Mark's Medical Center. It says they have... three point two stars.” He looked up. “Is that good?”
“It's a hospital, not a restaurant.”
“But wouldn't you rather go to one with more stars?”
“Greg. Directions.”
Greg relayed the turns with the nervous energy of a copilot who wasn't sure the plane was going to make it.Dustin drove one-handed, faster than he probably should have, and tried not to think about the way his shoulder ground against itself every time he turned the wheel.
“I wonder,” he said when the question got too loud in his head, “why the fall didn't hurt me, but this did.”
He could feel Greg looking at him.
“It doesn't make sense,” Greg said. “You walked away without a scratch from a fall that should have killed you, but today you gota lotof scratches.”
“Maybe I'm losing whatever protection kept me alive.”
“No.” Greg shook his head. “I don't think that's it. If you were without protection now the system would have calculated a new death for you. But you were stillPendingthis morning.” Dustin could almost see the gears turning in Greg's head as his anxiousness was replaced by professional curiosity. “I think the difference is that the fall should have killed you. The car wasn't going to.”
Dustin's grip shifted on the wheel. “Meaning what?”
“Meaning whatever is protecting you doesn't care about injury. It cares about death.” Greg said as if he were stating a fact. “When something tries to kill you, like the duck or the fall — you get total protection. But the car was never going to be fatal. It hurt you because it wasn't a lethal threat, so whatever this is didn't need to intervene.”
“So I can't die,” Dustin said flatly, “but I can get the shit kicked out of me.”
“It appears that way.”
“Great. That's comforting.”
“It's good to know.” Greg was still in analytical mode. “It means whatever's protecting you has limits… or rules. It responds to lethal threats, not to harm in general.” He went quiet, lost in thought.
“I left my clipboard on the highway,” he said after a while.
Dustin glanced at him. Greg was looking out the passenger window, his reflection ghosted against the glass. “You left your clipboard? You?”
Greg flushed slightly. “I wasn't really thinking. I just…” His lips pressed together. “I just wanted to get you off the highway and somewhere safe.”
Dustin didn't know what to do with that.
Less than 24 hours ago Greg had told him he could never be anything other than a reaper, and then he'd failed a collection and forgot about his clipboard all because Dustin got a little scraped up.
Dustin would have expected him to run back to HQ, file his reports, and recommit to the mission.
But Greg had gotten in the truck.
With Dustin.
Those weren't the actions of someone who prioritized their job above all else.
Dustin shot the reaper next to him another glance. Not even his own mother got so worked up over his injuries that she forgot the point of her existence.
“Aren't you going to dissolve?” Dustin asked. “You said your clipboard was your anchor or something.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Greg looked down at his hands. “I probably won't be able to stay in the mortal realm for long.” A pause, then an expression of renewed determination. “But I can guide you to the hospital first. Turn left at the next crossing.”
