𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕼𝖚𝖊𝖊𝖓'𝖘 𝕷𝖎𝖔𝖓

A Special Fitted Coffin

"That little brat stole my wages!" Shouted the ugly man as he waved around the bat. The girl just sobbed louder and clung to Y/N's legs.

"Sir, put the bat down or I will fire. Let's handle this like reasonable adults without weapons," Y/N tried to reason with the man but he just started stomping over to Y/N and the kid. "Sir, this is your last chance to back the fuck up before I fire!"

BANG

The man fell backwards and the little girl screamed. A small stream of smoke wafted out of the barrel of Y/N's pistol. His body hit the concrete with a 'thud' and Y/N stood in shock of what she had just done. She had just shot a man right in the chest. Not in the foot like she normally did, but square in the middle of his chest. The girl sobbed louder and gripped Y/N's pant leg like it was all she could hold onto to stay alive. Y/N just stood frozen for a few more moments before she fully realized what she had just done. She felt like throwing up. Rather than lose her dinner all over the sidewalk Y/N stumbled over to where the man fell and bent down over him. Blood was pooling under him and some was dripping out of the wound onto the pavement. "Oh my God," Y/N whispered, "Oh God oh God oh God!" She never wanted to actually kill anyone: getting shot in the foot usually wasn't lethal and so far no one had died but she just shot this man in the chest! Y/N frantically looked up around herself to find that no other people aside from the man, herself and the wailing kid were around. Where they had just come from appeared to be the only place where people could shack up. Everything else was a shop. Y/N's mind raced: ambulances weren't a thing yet and this man would die without any medical help. She had no car or taxi to get him to a hospital and taking him back to her universe would be insanity. Y/N kept racking her mind for a solution to her problem: where around her could she find someone who had the medical knowledge and tools to stop a man from bleeding out from a bullet wound?

Y/N felt stupid for not thinking of them immediately. She had thought of this type of problem and its solution on the first patrol she had done. She chalked it off to shock and hysteria as she hefted the man up on one of her shoulders. "I really hope he doesn't mind late night guests."

It only took her ten minutes to haul the man over in front of the store. She placed his bleeding body down on the sidewalk before she banged on the door, "Please open up," Y/N begged under her breath. There was silence, she was about to knock again before she heard his blood-chilling laugh from behind the door. Slowly the door creaked open and the moonlight reflected off his smile and white hair.

"I'm afraid I don't work with the live ones," chuckled the Undertaker, "Once he loses his kick, come back and I'll help you out." He went to close the door but Y/N stuck her foot between it and the frame before it closed.

"Please," she whispered, "I need your help." He could've crushed her foot in the door if he slammed it hard enough but he stopped to consider the gains, the pros and cons of helping her played over in his mind. He finished considering lending her a hand before giving her his signature smirk and opened the door a little more.

"You know I don't work for free, I need some... incentive, for helping you deal with a living man you shot," he chuckled. Y/N sighed. She knew what he wanted. Before he could elaborate and lose them more time Y/N began talking, still using her fake voice.