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Ah.
So everything has an end after all, he supposed, his immortal life included.
This time, it’s different; he doesn’t have that feeling of his body coming back, and he knows that the last grains of sand in his timer has run out.
—Captain, I’m sorry I couldn’t live long enough to protect the force.
He closes his eyes and exhales a final time.
-***-
Brett Graves is not ready for this job at all, but a whirlwind of events ended up whisking him into the seat of Captain. Something about the previous captain dying, and all that. He’s— too young, he’s only seventeen, that’s too young, right? The previous captain lived to 100 something. He’s not even immortal, how is he going to do this job? He’s a captain in-training.
He could feel the sadness of loss permeating throughout the force; surely, the recently departed Captain must be loved. He himself hasn’t met him more than once or twice, probably; the first (and only) time he remembers seeing the Captain was when he spearheaded his rescue from the—
Sudden pain stabs through his head, and it almost brings him to his knees. It’s too soon to think about that, Brett grumbled inwardly.
He doesn’t think there would ever be a time that wouldn’t be “too soon”, though.
…Which further proves his point. The Captain before him was literally placed on a pedestal; a great, brave man, loyal to the force and gave all he had.
Him?
He’s nothing more than a dragon with meager combat abilities who’s still haunted by the shadows of his past, plagued by PTSD in the present, and is walking into his future blind and without guidance whatsoever.
"That’s not true!"
—He’s been talking aloud, hasn’t he. Turning around, he sees Iris Ashbery, his friend and captain of the special investigative unit.
"You know it is, Iris." Brett sighs. She’s one of the few dragons in the force who would want to talk to him without treating him like broken glass, and he appreciates Iris for that.
"Yeah, but I’m nine, and I can do this just fine!" She pointed out, frowning.
"Well, Iris." he replied, "you’re not captain of the entire force. And you had adequate training.”
"…True." Iris sighs. "But Brett, you’re not that bad, you know?" The frown hasn’t left her face.
"Thanks for trying, Iris, but I haven’t even started my job yet."
He feels like there may have been more vitriol than intended and he may have gone a little too far when he sees Iris’ face literally crumble, expression falling, eyes losing its shine, enthusiasm evaporating from her.
"Iris, I—" he began, running a frustrated hand through his hair, "I didn’t mean that, alright? I’m just— tired."
With those words Iris’ eyes brighten slightly, although it’s not the original shine. “It’s fine. Sorry for pushing it.”
"I think the investigative unit’s looking for you."
Not really, but Iris gets the hint and makes for the door.
"Alright. Later, Brett."
"See you, Iris."
-***-
That night, he decides to look into the recently departed Captain a little more. Being Captain has its perks; he gets access to old records and materials he wouldn’t have gotten his hands on had he only been Vice Captain. (He still doesn’t think it’s worth the sudden responsibility in his hands, though.) When he dives into research about Neil Masefield, he finds that Neil Masefield was around 100 years old when he was KIA, and his powers are— immortality?
What the hell, Captain Masefield.
You’re immortal and you’re dead? How does that even work, Brett scowled. Immortal and dead.
Nice going.
Right when he thinks about it, the table shakes slightly, as if someone had hit it lightly. But last he checked his window, they’re closed, and there’s no one else in the room.
"…No way, right."
There’s no movement, no nothing.
Definitely no way.
-***-
"Hey, Brett!" Iris waved at him. "How’s being Captain going for you?"
Brett groans. “Stop that, Iris, I still don’t like it. There’s only paperwork so far, though.”
"Oh." Iris frowned, but then perks up enthusiastically. "I heard of something really interesting from the investigative department! It’s a really cool story, too."
Brett loves reading, and he loves stories, and he’d be lying if this didn’t immediately attract his attention. From the look in Iris’ eyes, he knows that she knows he’s got him hook, line and sinker.
"Tell me." Brett replied.
"Alright." Iris grins. "It’s about Neil Masefield."
Brett’s heart sputters to a stop, then comes back to beating double-time.
"…About who."
"Neil Masefield! The Captain who just…you know." Iris waves her hands, but then continues. "They say he haunts the Captain’s quarters—"
"—Iris, that’s where I work and sleep, stop that—"
"—and they can say that because one of the dragonlings who’s got sixth sense can feel him! But that’s just hearsay, though." She shrugs. "Even the sixth sense dragonling isn’t sure, since the presence is sooo faint and her powers are underdeveloped. But she says it’s strongest in the Captain’s room. You heard anything at night, Brett?"
"…No. Definitely didn’t."
-***-
Look, Brett writes that night on a notebook, I don’t know what the deal is, but if you can read this, why are you dead. I mean. You’re immortal. Also, because you died, I’m stuck here. Actually, don’t pretend you can’t see me either, I heard something about the sixth-sense dragonling sensing you here. Why’d you have to go and die, anyway? You’re immortal, this makes no sense. If you hadn’t died I wouldn’t be stuck in this stupid position. At least tell me how I’m supposed to do this before you leave.
He knows he’s writing to a dead dragon, and he’s not sure why he did it, but after he did it, he felt…a little more at peace? It’s difficult to explain, but it is rather nice to vent to someone he doesn’t know.
When he wakes up the next morning, he finds the notebook open (he’d closed it last night, he’s sure of it) and that the writing on the pages are not his own.
Captain Graves,
First things first, I’m not immortal.
I know it says so in my records, but it’s not quite like that.
It’s not that my life is one infinite thing, but rather, it’s a series of finite lives, you know. Like a cat’s. Cats have nine lives, that’s what they say.
Well, think of it that way. Instead of nine lives, I have so many of them, I might as well be immortal. I gave up trying to explain to people so I just told them I was immortal.
You see, I was careless, and I lost my last life. As you can see, I’m dead now.
And it seems like my death caused problems. Sorry about that.
So you’re the new Captain? Congratulations. I always thought I wouldn’t be able to see the new Captain. But you’re not fitting in well, I see.
You know, the only thing I can say is you’ll simply learn.
Don’t worry about your combat abilities; it’s not like I haven’t seen you. You’re good— better than just good.
But if you ever need anything, do write to me. I’ll see if I can help out.
Neil Masefield
P.S: Sorry about banging your table. I felt the need to let you know that yes, I can hear you.
Brett holds the notebook in his hands, completely and utterly stunned beyond belief. He’s…real. The letter proves it. The flourish signature above his name is the one he’s seen in the records, too.
At the same time, however, he finds it a more than just hard to believe. A dead dragon is writing to him. He’s about to dismiss this as a prank, when he rereads the last line of the letter.
But if you ever need anything, do write to me. I’ll see if I can help out.
…Well, he needs a lot of things. No-one needs to know he’s that desperate, right?
He picks up the pen, flips to a fresh page, and begins writing.
-***-
The messages grew longer, and longer, and longer still. Exchanges became more frequent, and it went from simple advice-asking to talking about every day activities. He notices, however, that Neil doesn’t talk much about himself except for a few times about his job when Brett writes to him about the cases he’s got to face. One day, he decides to ask a question that’s been weighing on his mind:
Captain Masefield,
Why are you “immortal”?
Brett Graves
He couldn’t concentrate on his duties for the rest of the day, and when he’s finally signed the last of his paperwork he almost falls over in the rush to get to the notebook and open it.
The reply he gets only confuses him further.
Captain Graves,
Didn’t I tell you you’re the captain? Stop calling me that, Neil’s fine.
Didn’t you know? Dragons are born from wishes.
The person who wished for me made me “immortal”, because she wanted me to protect the force after she was gone.
Neil Masefield
-***-
He wakes up one night soaked in sweat, shivering and shaking and this, this isn’t okay; he hasn’t seen that dream in a while, now, and for it to come back… He feels disgusted with himself. He’s not the dragonling he used to be. He’s over that. Completely over that. Just because one of the suspects today had a whip—
—I’m not over this, am I.
With hands that tremble harder than a leaf in the autumn wind, he picks up the notebook and writes shakily:
Neil,
are you there
…That’s stupid, isn’t it. He usually takes an entire day to answer, Brett thinks to himself, when something halts his thoughts. Words appear on the paper as if it’s magic, traces of black ink showing up on the empty space under his sloppily-written message.
Yes. Are you alright?
"No." he whispers into the dark. He doesn’t think he has it in him to write. "Can you…hear me?" he mutters, still half in disbelief that he’s doing this, but also desperate enough to talk what he thinks is empty air.
I can.
"…I see." Okay, maybe not completely empty air.
What’s wrong? The words appear again, and he has to admit that even watching the letters form slowly on the paper is very, very calming. He takes a deep breath, and sighs.
"Nightmare." he grumbles. "Same old thing. …You’d know, won’t you? You were there."
…How would I forget? I was the one who went into the dragon traffic
“Can we not go there?” Brett hastily cut the stream of letters on his notebook.
The letters disappear in reverse, as if time moved backwards solely for those letters, and slowly, the words disappeared.
Do you need anything?
"…I don’t know." he admits, shrugging. "I’m not sure. Usually I just hope they go away, or something. And then I don’t sleep."
That’s not good. You need sleep for your job.
"You think I don’t know that." He deadpanned.
…You know, you asked for a hug, that time.
Really? He doesn’t remember, and tells Neil exactly that.
"I guess I wiped out most things related to that."
Want one?
This….is awkward.
"That kind of thing is—" he starts, then stops, remembering something. "Before that, can you even touch me?"
We can try. Tell me if you feel anything.
Brett shuts his eyes, and suddenly he feels pressure on his head. It’s like…a hand. The shape of the pressure, the weight…it’s definitely a hand.
"…I feel that." Brett murmured, now in awe. "So you can see me, too?"
Yes, I can.
"…Wait." Brett sat up, eyes widening in the dark. "So all these times I changed clothes—"
I do have the decency to look away.
At that, Brett cracks a smile. “Good. Wouldn’t want to be in a room with a creepy 100 year old man.”
Wouldn’t dream about it, Captain.
Fifteen minutes later, he feels so much better than all the other nights that he’s had to spend alone whenever he gets the nightmares, and falls asleep to a hand stroking his hair, an arm around his midsection and warmth on his back.
-***-
They’re on a first name basis, now.
He’s probably way too comfortable for someone talking to a dragon that’s supposed to be dead, but he couldn’t help it. Any case he needed advice on, all he had to do was write. And replies come much quicker this time, too. Sitting in the leader’s chair became less of a burden, and he feels more comfortable with it now.
He used to think that whoever is on the top must be so alone, but here he is; top of the police force, and he’s not alone. He’s got guidance, straight from the man who used to be Captain himself.
"You’re doing a great job." Iris grins at him. "Not having ‘Captain Jitters’ anymore?"
"No." Brett answers with a confidence he thought he’d never have.
There’s no need to have Captain Jitters when Neil is with me.
-***-
Neil Masefield would be the biggest liar to ever lie if he said that he wasn’t worried about the force after he…well. Died.
When he opened his eyes, he was more than surprised to see his old Captain’s quarters. He’d always thought that the realm of the dead is more…white? This looks surprisingly like his quarters. When he was able to touch his old table, he realized that he was stuck in between the living and the dead.
He’s heard it somewhere; when the living has unfinished business when they die, they remain in that space; unable to move on, yet unable to return to the living. It doesn’t take him long enough to realize that his “unfinished business” was his own force. How does one move on from that? He sighs. He wants to stay with his force forever; guide them forever, be there forever.
There’s no way he was moving on if that’s the case…
-***-
When Brett returns from work one day, his jaw drops at the sight of someone sitting on his bed, decked in the police uniform and a blue coat. He’s gone through the records long enough to recognize who that is, but from the presence emanating from the person, he thinks he wouldn’t need to see photographs of any kind to know who he is.
"Captain." Brett whispers, hand rising to a salute.
"Call me by name." Neil murmurs.
"Neil." Brett is still at awe, and he can’t believe what he’s seeing. "So I can see you. And hear you.”
It’s less about hearing, actually, and more like…a voice in his head. The kind you hear when you read in your head. The voice he hears is rumbly, calm, soothing; a voice befitting of a leader, and Brett decides he must hear this more often.
"I…never tried." Neil admits, sheepish. "I guess now that I tried, I know you can see me."
Brett knows he’s smiling wider than he’s ever smiled before, and almost runs into Neil when he remembers one thing.“Can I touch you?”
"Probably not." Neil murmurs. Brett tries, and true enough, his hands went straight through. "That’s amusing. So I can see you."
He can’t believe this. Finally, Neil Masefield, in the flesh. Well, not really, but.
"You’re here."
"I know, you said that a lot of times already."
"So, does that mean I’m going to get direct guidance from now on?"
With those words, he could see Neil’s face fall, eyes grim and lips set straight and something uncomfortable stirs in Brett’s gut.
"…Neil?"
"…Brett, I…have something to tell you."
Oh, this is never good. Never.
"…what?"
"I’m leaving. For good, this time. Crossing over, and all that."
Wait.
What.
"No." Brett’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. "No, you can’t—! Who’s going to help me if I’m lost? And why now? Why now of all times?"
"I don’t know, Brett. You just know. This isn’t my place. I don’t belong with the living any more. It’s time for me to cross over."
"No, you can’t!" Brett very nearly screams. "Not now! You said I could always write you when I needed anything! I’m not…ready." He pleads, voice dropping to a whisper.
"…Clearly you don’t, anymore." Neil replies, and he’s so fucking calm Brett wants to punch him. "I couldn’t move on because I was worried about my force. But you…you’re reliable enough, now. You’re ready to take care of my force."
"Captain Brett Graves, I entrust the future of the force to you in my absence."
Brett runs to get the notebook. His throat is too tight; there are so many things he wants to say, but the words won’t make it out and what if there isn’t enough time.
What if I wake up alone? What if I get stuck, and I can’t ask you for help anymore? What if I’m all alone now?
I don’t you can’t Don’t go.
Please.
"You won’t be. You have friends by your side. Comrades. You’ll never be alone; and you can turn to them for help, like I’ve told you to many times."
Brett notices that Neil’s feet is— gone, and soon, the rest of his body would be, too.
”..at least,”
hold me before you go?
Neil shuts his eyes, and complies.
Brett wishes that he was vice-captain, that he was in another world, that Neil was his captain and he was following Neil’s instructions and there would be someone to comfort him whenever his nightmares hit, and things were fine and Neil wasn’t a dead dragon and he’s not attached to a dead spirit.
But that isn’t the case, and instead they’re curled up together like this, on his bed (on what used to be Neil’s bed) and he’s watching Neil disappear, slowly but surely.
The last thing he hears (and will ever hear) is
"Thank you so much. Please take care of my force for me."
I will, Neil.
I promise.
When he next opens his eyes, it is daylight, and Neil Masefield is no more.