Fic: Dead Like Winnie: Fringe Benefits
Title: Dead Like Winnie: Fringe Benefits
Fandom: Dead Like Me/Winnie the Pooh (you read that right)
Rating: PG-13 for mature themes, language & stuffed animal gore (you also read that right)
Word Count: 1620
Summary: Sometimes reaping souls has its perks.
This is really just an exercise in madness. Like all great insane ideas, this was sparked by a Twitter conversation with 4you_blue_jway & notusachan. I blame them entirely.
With sincerest apologies to A.A. Milne and the creators of Dead Like Me. And to all of you whose childhood I've just ruined. Don't worry - I have been promised a place in the special kind of hell reserved for child molesters and people who talk in movie theatres.
Sometimes being a reaper came perks. Not the kind a normal job offered, like a salary or health insurance - not that an undead stuffed bear had much need for either - but what it did offer was first pick on the possessions of the recently departed. Pooh had always been a moralistic bear, even in life; stealing from the dead was tasteless and therefore more or less Tigger's department, but everyone has weaknesses, and Pooh's just happened to be his latest assignment's killer.
It was a gruesome scene, as far as deaths went. The poor bastard had been struck by the same honey pot he'd been trying to maneuver off a high shelf, his head crushed under the weight of it. That gorgeous golden syrup was now mixing in with the stuffing from his head, spilling from a split seam. One black button eye had popped off and flown clean across the kitchen, and was now melting slowly in the heart of the fire. It was so similar to the way he'd gone that Pooh nearly laughed; the irony wasn't lost on him. The thought was pushed away quick enough as he stared at the honey slowly leaking over the floor. It'd be a shame to waste it; it wasn't really theft, was it? More of a courtesy to the poor bear who couldn't very well enjoy it now. He was wasting time, letting the honey spread in a wide pool across the deceased's dirt floor.
"Damn, I wanted to eat that."
Pooh turned to the ghost of his client, who was staring forlornly at his own corpse. Pooh was silently grateful the body had stopped twitching some time ago; it was always harder for the departed to see themselves with their brain still firing messages to their limbs, though this bear seemed to be doing rather well, considering the state his body was in. Most didn't deal well seeing their stuffing bursting out like that.
"I guess I'm dead, then?" Pooh only nodded, and the ghost mirrored the movement. Some bears were so practical. "Ma always said sweets would be the death of me."
Pooh rubbed his own round belly with a small laugh. "True of all us bears."
"You can have it, if you want," the ghost said, and Pooh had to scrunch up his snout to keep the delighted smile that threatened to cross it. Best not to make the departed feel any worse about his situation.
"Hmm," was all he managed, still staring at the honey. Half the jar must have leaked away by now.
"Go on, then. It's my best clover honey. Shame to see it wasted."
That was all he needed. Pooh scooped the jar up between his paws, replacing the lid and nodding gratefully to the ghost before starting out of the bear's cave.
"Thank you. Now - I think it's time we sent you on your way."
His client had barely begun to be swallowed by the light before Pooh had dipped both paws greedily into the jar.
*****
The jar was empty before Pooh was halfway to Christopher Robin's tree house. He regretted not grabbing it sooner, giving him just a little more to set aside for later. He wouldn't have, but it was really only the thought that counted, or so he told himself. Last summer when disease had struck the Bee Tree and the entire colony had been wiped out (the finest hour of the Plague Division - really just a surly stuffed retriever known only as Dog who never did anything more than grunt), Pooh had feasted until his seams threatened to split, and even then he'd dragged the entire hive back to his house, stopping occasionally to dip in his paws for another taste. Self control was least among his virtues, though he never seemed terribly troubled by it.
He arrived second to last; as usual, Tigger was nowhere to be found. Pooh could tell from Christopher Robin's expression that he was on the verge of making some sort of comment, but the words never left his lips; as he drew breath, the tiger dropped from a tree branch on to the very tree stump Pooh was about to seat himself. Tigger smiled serenely at the five faces tossing tight-lipped smiles his way. Pooh, Piglet, Rabbit, Eeyore and Christopher Robin sighed in tandem, the last drawing out four large oak leaves, passing them to everyone but the donkey, who nevertheless regarded them eagerly. It was Christopher Robin who answered the question Eeyore seemed to be on the verge of asking, wearily, as if this happened every day.
"No Eeyore, you're not on the list today." The donkey's head hung - if possible - even lower than normal, his tail swishing as he turned and disappeared into the trees.
"You shouldn't let him come around," said Rabbit, watching Eeyore's retreat with narrowed eyes.
"He's not doing any harm." Piglet's small voice drifted up, and Rabbit's ear cocked towards the sound as he leaned down to catch the pig's eye.
"No one's supposed to know when death is coming for them."
This was going nowhere good. Pooh was grateful his appointment was far enough outside the Wood that he'd have to set off now if he was to make it on time. He made his unheard excuse and set off, the sound of Rabbit's rising voice fading gradually. He glanced at his leaf again; Bananas, the Old Tree, E.T.D. noon was scrawled in red crayon, the e's backwards as always - not that Pooh noticed that particular flaw in Christopher Robin's otherwise careful printing.
"What an unfortunate name." Pooh started, glancing back over his shoulder as Tigger bounced around him, laughing madly.
"Hullo, Pooh Bear. Mind if I tag along?" He did, but thought it polite not to say as much. Tigger had the unfortunate habit of taking silence for consent, and set pace beside Pooh as he continued through the forest. It wasn't that Tigger was consistently disruptive or a nuisance, but deaths never seemed to go as smoothly when he was involved. Still, Pooh thought, what was the worst that could happen?
*****
Bananas, it turned out, was a small monkey with a taste for acorns. Predictably, Tigger found the opportunity to make a few jokes in the course of idle chat while Pooh remained politely silent. He always found his job easier to perform if he didn't become too attached, while Tigger seemed to find the opposite true, no boundary untested in the brief time he got to spend with each assignment. Being near Tigger during a job always made it more difficult, and when the moment came to take Bananas' soul, he did so with more reluctance than he usually felt. He couldn't bring himself to watch as the monkey scrambled up the tree to gather more acorns, a loose thread catching on a twig, tearing the seam of his back completely; one sharp, poorly-judged tug and Bananas was swinging freely in the air, his own thread becoming his noose.
"Poor fella." Tigger sounded surprisingly sincere; Pooh imagined if he were wearing a hat, he would have taken it off now out of respect.
"Oh dear." The ghost of the recently departed Bananas was staring up at his own body, eyes tracking its progress as it continued to sway in the breeze. "Am I dead?"
"'fraid so, little buddy." It was Tigger who piped up, resting a paw on the tiny monkey's shoulder, turning him from the grim sight of his own corpse. Pooh set his paw on the other shoulder as an icy white light began to form the shape of a merry-go-round a short distance away. It grew to dazzling brilliance, one he could never bring himself to shield his eyes from, if only because it was so hauntingly beautiful. He wondered if he would ever get the chance to understand why.
"I believe this is your ride," he said gently. Like so many others, overcome by the sight, Bananas slipped from the pair's grip and walked towards the light without a word or a backward glance. Tigger chuckled as the light flashed, shrank, and finally vanished into the distance.
"Do you ever wonder what it will look like for us?" Tigger asked. The question surprised him so much, Pooh found his mind went completely blank for a long moment. He'd thought about it enough, but who could ever be sure? He'd always watched the crossings carefully, trying to determine what it was that made the light appear so different for everyone. Maybe it was their heart's desires, or the place where they were happiest - or maybe it was a picture of their soul.
"A honey tree," he said at last, firmly. "And you?"
Tigger smiled mischievously. "A trampoline." Pooh couldn't help but laugh, not sure if Tigger was serious or avoiding the question. Either way it seemed fitting.
Apparently having decided their conversation was at an end, Tigger bounded up into the Old Tree. Pooh was frightened for a moment he was going to drop the body, but then a cascade of acorns fell from the place where Tigger had disappeared into the branches, followed by a familiar pale shape. It was a beehive. Tigger followed after it, landing on the ground with a muffled thump as an angry buzzing began to grow above him. He was already gathering the give into his arms, bouncing on his heels.
"Come on Pooh - we might be able to outrun the bees and make my appointment." And with that, he bounded away into the forest.
Pooh smiled. Twice in one day - sometimes, the fringe benefits really did make this job worthwhile.
Fandom: Dead Like Me/Winnie the Pooh (you read that right)
Rating: PG-13 for mature themes, language & stuffed animal gore (you also read that right)
Word Count: 1620
Summary: Sometimes reaping souls has its perks.
This is really just an exercise in madness. Like all great insane ideas, this was sparked by a Twitter conversation with 4you_blue_jway & notusachan. I blame them entirely.
With sincerest apologies to A.A. Milne and the creators of Dead Like Me. And to all of you whose childhood I've just ruined. Don't worry - I have been promised a place in the special kind of hell reserved for child molesters and people who talk in movie theatres.
Sometimes being a reaper came perks. Not the kind a normal job offered, like a salary or health insurance - not that an undead stuffed bear had much need for either - but what it did offer was first pick on the possessions of the recently departed. Pooh had always been a moralistic bear, even in life; stealing from the dead was tasteless and therefore more or less Tigger's department, but everyone has weaknesses, and Pooh's just happened to be his latest assignment's killer.
It was a gruesome scene, as far as deaths went. The poor bastard had been struck by the same honey pot he'd been trying to maneuver off a high shelf, his head crushed under the weight of it. That gorgeous golden syrup was now mixing in with the stuffing from his head, spilling from a split seam. One black button eye had popped off and flown clean across the kitchen, and was now melting slowly in the heart of the fire. It was so similar to the way he'd gone that Pooh nearly laughed; the irony wasn't lost on him. The thought was pushed away quick enough as he stared at the honey slowly leaking over the floor. It'd be a shame to waste it; it wasn't really theft, was it? More of a courtesy to the poor bear who couldn't very well enjoy it now. He was wasting time, letting the honey spread in a wide pool across the deceased's dirt floor.
"Damn, I wanted to eat that."
Pooh turned to the ghost of his client, who was staring forlornly at his own corpse. Pooh was silently grateful the body had stopped twitching some time ago; it was always harder for the departed to see themselves with their brain still firing messages to their limbs, though this bear seemed to be doing rather well, considering the state his body was in. Most didn't deal well seeing their stuffing bursting out like that.
"I guess I'm dead, then?" Pooh only nodded, and the ghost mirrored the movement. Some bears were so practical. "Ma always said sweets would be the death of me."
Pooh rubbed his own round belly with a small laugh. "True of all us bears."
"You can have it, if you want," the ghost said, and Pooh had to scrunch up his snout to keep the delighted smile that threatened to cross it. Best not to make the departed feel any worse about his situation.
"Hmm," was all he managed, still staring at the honey. Half the jar must have leaked away by now.
"Go on, then. It's my best clover honey. Shame to see it wasted."
That was all he needed. Pooh scooped the jar up between his paws, replacing the lid and nodding gratefully to the ghost before starting out of the bear's cave.
"Thank you. Now - I think it's time we sent you on your way."
His client had barely begun to be swallowed by the light before Pooh had dipped both paws greedily into the jar.
*****
The jar was empty before Pooh was halfway to Christopher Robin's tree house. He regretted not grabbing it sooner, giving him just a little more to set aside for later. He wouldn't have, but it was really only the thought that counted, or so he told himself. Last summer when disease had struck the Bee Tree and the entire colony had been wiped out (the finest hour of the Plague Division - really just a surly stuffed retriever known only as Dog who never did anything more than grunt), Pooh had feasted until his seams threatened to split, and even then he'd dragged the entire hive back to his house, stopping occasionally to dip in his paws for another taste. Self control was least among his virtues, though he never seemed terribly troubled by it.
He arrived second to last; as usual, Tigger was nowhere to be found. Pooh could tell from Christopher Robin's expression that he was on the verge of making some sort of comment, but the words never left his lips; as he drew breath, the tiger dropped from a tree branch on to the very tree stump Pooh was about to seat himself. Tigger smiled serenely at the five faces tossing tight-lipped smiles his way. Pooh, Piglet, Rabbit, Eeyore and Christopher Robin sighed in tandem, the last drawing out four large oak leaves, passing them to everyone but the donkey, who nevertheless regarded them eagerly. It was Christopher Robin who answered the question Eeyore seemed to be on the verge of asking, wearily, as if this happened every day.
"No Eeyore, you're not on the list today." The donkey's head hung - if possible - even lower than normal, his tail swishing as he turned and disappeared into the trees.
"You shouldn't let him come around," said Rabbit, watching Eeyore's retreat with narrowed eyes.
"He's not doing any harm." Piglet's small voice drifted up, and Rabbit's ear cocked towards the sound as he leaned down to catch the pig's eye.
"No one's supposed to know when death is coming for them."
This was going nowhere good. Pooh was grateful his appointment was far enough outside the Wood that he'd have to set off now if he was to make it on time. He made his unheard excuse and set off, the sound of Rabbit's rising voice fading gradually. He glanced at his leaf again; Bananas, the Old Tree, E.T.D. noon was scrawled in red crayon, the e's backwards as always - not that Pooh noticed that particular flaw in Christopher Robin's otherwise careful printing.
"What an unfortunate name." Pooh started, glancing back over his shoulder as Tigger bounced around him, laughing madly.
"Hullo, Pooh Bear. Mind if I tag along?" He did, but thought it polite not to say as much. Tigger had the unfortunate habit of taking silence for consent, and set pace beside Pooh as he continued through the forest. It wasn't that Tigger was consistently disruptive or a nuisance, but deaths never seemed to go as smoothly when he was involved. Still, Pooh thought, what was the worst that could happen?
*****
Bananas, it turned out, was a small monkey with a taste for acorns. Predictably, Tigger found the opportunity to make a few jokes in the course of idle chat while Pooh remained politely silent. He always found his job easier to perform if he didn't become too attached, while Tigger seemed to find the opposite true, no boundary untested in the brief time he got to spend with each assignment. Being near Tigger during a job always made it more difficult, and when the moment came to take Bananas' soul, he did so with more reluctance than he usually felt. He couldn't bring himself to watch as the monkey scrambled up the tree to gather more acorns, a loose thread catching on a twig, tearing the seam of his back completely; one sharp, poorly-judged tug and Bananas was swinging freely in the air, his own thread becoming his noose.
"Poor fella." Tigger sounded surprisingly sincere; Pooh imagined if he were wearing a hat, he would have taken it off now out of respect.
"Oh dear." The ghost of the recently departed Bananas was staring up at his own body, eyes tracking its progress as it continued to sway in the breeze. "Am I dead?"
"'fraid so, little buddy." It was Tigger who piped up, resting a paw on the tiny monkey's shoulder, turning him from the grim sight of his own corpse. Pooh set his paw on the other shoulder as an icy white light began to form the shape of a merry-go-round a short distance away. It grew to dazzling brilliance, one he could never bring himself to shield his eyes from, if only because it was so hauntingly beautiful. He wondered if he would ever get the chance to understand why.
"I believe this is your ride," he said gently. Like so many others, overcome by the sight, Bananas slipped from the pair's grip and walked towards the light without a word or a backward glance. Tigger chuckled as the light flashed, shrank, and finally vanished into the distance.
"Do you ever wonder what it will look like for us?" Tigger asked. The question surprised him so much, Pooh found his mind went completely blank for a long moment. He'd thought about it enough, but who could ever be sure? He'd always watched the crossings carefully, trying to determine what it was that made the light appear so different for everyone. Maybe it was their heart's desires, or the place where they were happiest - or maybe it was a picture of their soul.
"A honey tree," he said at last, firmly. "And you?"
Tigger smiled mischievously. "A trampoline." Pooh couldn't help but laugh, not sure if Tigger was serious or avoiding the question. Either way it seemed fitting.
Apparently having decided their conversation was at an end, Tigger bounded up into the Old Tree. Pooh was frightened for a moment he was going to drop the body, but then a cascade of acorns fell from the place where Tigger had disappeared into the branches, followed by a familiar pale shape. It was a beehive. Tigger followed after it, landing on the ground with a muffled thump as an angry buzzing began to grow above him. He was already gathering the give into his arms, bouncing on his heels.
"Come on Pooh - we might be able to outrun the bees and make my appointment." And with that, he bounded away into the forest.
Pooh smiled. Twice in one day - sometimes, the fringe benefits really did make this job worthwhile.