Work Text:
Dave Strider lays in bed, window open to the cool New Mexican night. He stares at the ceiling through his shades as coyotes in the distance begin to sing. He has two unique powers, one he was born with, and one gained. The first, the innate ability to understand the passage of time, to count seconds and minutes as they passed him by. The responsibilities of a life, and the inevitable end of it. After all, there’s only one thing forever constant, and that is Time. He lives in a world where fae and otherwordly beings rule over the humans, controlling them like puppets, and granting favorites powers in exchange for favors. The other power is a bit of a longer story.
Five years ago Dave was laying in this exact spot, on his bed, window open. This time instead of coyotes, there is a piercing shriek echoing across the desert. Looking out from his bedroom window he notices a red light glowing at the edge of town, and everything seems to stop as it glows brighter, as if the light itself was slowing time. From what he could tell, it was. Against his better judgement Dave grabbed his shoes and flashstepped to the source of light, where a banshee was kneeled down over the body of a young boy, wailing and crying. Something about this scene wasn’t right, banshees signal a death, but this young man was not dead, only injured. He sighs, placing a hand on the boy’s chest, confirming his suspicions.
“He has a long life ahead of him, you know,” That’s all he says. Brown eyes flick up to meet the banshee’s red ones. The sound of his voice is enough to startle her into silence, thick black hair still floating around her, red tears still dripping down her face, yet the shrill siren had stopped.
“The life of mortals is always surprisingly persistent, is it not?” She ponders after a minute. She does not mention her name, and neither does Dave. Names hold a special power after all. “I thank you, Boy With Time at His Fingers, for showing me that not all is lost.”
He nods in response, transfixed with the way time is still slowed, living beings moving in slow motion compared to the two of them, and mutters out his name- his true name. A grin finds it’s way onto the banshee’s face, and she takes his hands in her own, cold ones. The man on the ground forgotten in the moment as she begins to speak.
“Dave Strider, Delcien, the one with the Time of Night, I grant you this boon, should anyone ask, it was granted to you by Aradia Megido, Ambrosia, Maid and Servant to Time. A gift unto you,” She moves closer, oddly without moving physically, and her lips brush against his forehead. In that moment his life stopped, his humanity melted off him, and his eyes turned red like hers. It was a searing pain at first, but that quickly subsided.
Aradia moved away in the strange way as before, as though she only had to will herself in a space and she was there. She touches down to the sand and Dave looks down at his hands, he no longer heard the ticking of his life counting down, but instead heard the ticking of something much larger. Looking around he noticed living beings around them in the desert had a clock near it, all moving in sync, some longer than others. He has been granted the ability to see the Time of other’s lives. He did not have one, nor did Aradia.
Since that day in the desert, Dave has seen Aradia around more and more. Sometimes just walking around, other times crying. No one else ever notices her. Dave is a little more noticeable than she, it’s hard to miss a man who floats above ground bending time around him as he walks. He has the ability to speed up or slow down someone’s lifetime, or any living being for that matter.
Back to the present, he’s laying in bed, listening to the coyotes howl with the window open. He sits up and wanders over to the window, taking in the smell of the sand and the desert flowers. Looking out over his neighborhood he notices something coming up his drive, dripping a dark liquid across the pavement. He hurries outside. The next thing he knows is that it’s morning, he’s laying in his bed, the window still open. There’s a searing pain in his hands and words are floating in the space around him. With still no memory of last night he gets up, putting on his shades, and now a pair of gloves to hide the fae about him. Doing favors is changing him.
As he goes about his day he begins to notice humans avoiding him more and more, particularly towards the religious part of town. Maybe they were just more adapt to seeing otherworld creatures. Maybe they were scared of the beings that now follow him, cleaning up the words spattered across the sidewalks.