All belongs to Joss. No money is being made, it's all in good fun.
“Watch how I soar.”
That’s what he’d meant to say, anyway. Until something had crashed through the front viewport and wrecked his concentration. He felt a slight pressure on his chest, but it eased almost immediately. Looking down, he was shocked and a little alarm to find something roughly the size of a small tree sticking out of himself.
“Zoë!” he yelped.
“She can’t hear you,” a voice he didn’t recognize said flatly.
He looked to his left reflexively. He saw Zoë next to him, her face frantic. He could vaguely hear what she was saying, but it was almost as if she were miles away instead of right next to him.
“Wash! Baby! Baby, we gotta go, we gotta-“
Mal tackled her, preventing another spike from taking her head off her shoulders. He leaped up- and found that while what he normally thought of as ‘him’ was standing, his body was definitely still in the pilot’s chair. He could see himself, impaled on that spike, and from here, he had to admit it looked pretty bad.
He looked over to where Mal and Zoë had landed, only to see Mal dragging his wife bodily from the bridge. Mal’s mouth was in motion, but Wash couldn’t actually hear anything he was saying. In fact, the bridge was silent, even though that was definitely not right, not with Serenity still powered.
“Um, I don’t want to alarm anyone-“
“Bit late for that, don’t you think?”
He turned again, and noticed for the first time that there was a woman that went with the unfamiliar voice. She was slouched in the rarely used co-pilot’s chair, feet crossed on the console as she regarded him with some amusement. Her dark blonde hair was slightly curled, and the pink shirt under her grey jacket had a blood smear on it.
She followed his gaze.
“It’s not all mine,” she said. “Drawback to being dead. You don’t get to change your clothes much. And for some reason, the stupid Powers feel me keeping this on is somehow helpful. On the bright side, your shirt doesn’t seem have kept the gaping hole one might expect from being impaled by something that size.”
Wash looked down and noticed she was right. His shirt was exactly as it had been when he’d sat down. Looking back at what he was having difficulty thinking of as his body, he noted she also had a point about the size of the hole it probably ought to have.
“I’m a little confused,” he began. “Who are you? Where did you come from? And what do you mean, dead?”
“My name is Anya. I died before I got far enough on the path to redemption to not need to do some serious penance to balance out several centuries as a vengeance demon.”
“And I’m sorry to break it to you,” Anya continued, not sounding sorry at all and plowing on just as if Wash weren’t still stuck on the first half of the answer, “but you, Hoban Washburne, are definitely deceased. Welcome to the afterlife. Such as it is thus far.”
Wash glanced back at the pilot’s chair one more time, and decided that on the whole, the deceased part actually made sense, aggravating though it was to admit it. But the other thing…
“I’m sorry, could we go back to the vengeance demon part again?”