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Death will admit, should they be asked by other spirits, other concepts living and not, that giving their Touch to mortal wesen had been a flight of fancy.
Nothing destructive in the way War had chosen his champions, or mischievous in how the fae touched humans to twist their desires. It’d be a simple touch and go, relatively painless. Maybe.
They just figured, after a brief (century’s worth) discussion with the Old Blood, eldritch beings so beyond even Death, who saw the past and future and all the possibilities, the shadows and void incarnate, to have a go with Touching mortal souls.
See how it goes, if you will.
Death had been bored.
Humans and wesen and Old Blood mortalized (who now called themselves ‘Royals’, how quaint, having lost themselves and fallen in love with the world) needed something new and exciting to shake things up. It’s why entities meddled in the dealings of mortals after all.
And so Death came upon the earth at the height of spirituality, when the beyond had a greater foothold on the mortal realm. Wesen, demons, lesser gods and goddesses ran amok beside humanity. The Eldritchian Old Blood took many of their mortal kin back with force. The fae gifted (cursed) humans with the gift of Sight, and gave them powers beyond understanding at the cost of their human gaze. It was the era of legends and myth, of folklore that would be passed down to generations.
It was entirely by coincidence, as Death spread out their shadows and swung their scythe, on who were touched and claimed by them. These humans’ hearts dried into husks and what fragility they had became cold steel. Their true face shared Death’s rotten visage and they became attuned to dark magic, the beyond, and what it could provide.
Hexenbiest, Zauberbiest, the Wesen Cursed, witches and other countless names. Death’s most favored creations. Chaos had been delighted in their discovery and used them to cause much strife and entertainment. Even the fae pit their own fae-touched humans against them, creating a near rivalry between both kinds.
Throughout the millennia that came after Death had been giddy with every soul they came across who had been Touched; their creations, and those who had been affected by their design. So many lives twisted, for better or worse, from one mighty swing of their scythe.
It is then by irony that the soul they’ll meet later on, who would worm his life and mortal coil into their dead dry heart, who Death would love enough to spare from themself , would be birthed by the Hexenbiest of their very own making.
-
The first time Death meets Sean Frederick William Renard III of The House of Kronenberg is when he is two hours old.
The name itself was special, a mouthful and utterly pretentious, bearing the names of two powerful but equally wretched kings of the Old World. To bestow upon the child a name filled with strength and fear , it was a curse in and of itself.
Death watched both of their visitors, a woman and a newborn child, with mild interest.
Elizabeth Lascelles, Hexenbiest and mother, consort of the King of Kronenberg, and one of their most powerful creations, stared Death in the eyes. In her arms, the hybrid prince.
/I am surprised that one of my designs would ever find themselves intertwined with Royals, of the Old Blood mortalized./ Death said, empty sockets focused on the child.
He was so small, quiet in his mother’s arms, cheeks pink and full of life. They sensed the Old Blood in his veins. The Touch of Death that will follow him all his life.
She hummed.
Hexenbiest and Zauberbiester alike felt no fear around Death. There was a pull that bound them together and let them know of their creator. But this woman stared at them with calculating eyes, gaze sharp and resolute.
Death waited, ready to hear what story they will weep over, what contract they’d provide.
It’s not often that Death is surprised.
“Return us,” She said. “For when my son is older you will see the height of what your children can accomplish.”
She had offered Death no bargain, no sacrifice. But she had given them a promise, of the greatness her child would become. Of history rewritten, of interesting times abound; the future ever so captivating.
A blessing and a curse.
Death peeked over to the boy, feeling the Royal pull of his blood. The Zauberbiest, still hidden away, halved but no less complete. And Death believed her, of what this boy could achieve, and promptly sent her back with a bony grin.
In the mortal world, a mother and her child wake up. The royal doulas and midwives and doctors are amazed at the miracle. And Sean, the quiet little Royal-Zauberbiest hybrid, opened his bright green eyes and cried in his mother’s arms.
Death feels something akin to a smile tug at their withered face.
Really, who could ever fault Death for being so lulled by her promise, not from their own creation, their own child , at least.
-
Death talks to Sean Renard for the first time when he is nine.
Sean’s first and worst woge, something that shouldn’t have happened when he was so young, was unexpected and so potent that it had stopped his heart. His Royal blood was ever so vicious and his Zauberbiest, so young in its first surfacing, just as ferocious, had warred for but a moment and killed the boy.
Millennia, Death recounted, and no such volatile mix had been conceived that could match him and his strange Royal-Zauberbiest blood.
Not for the first time, Death had wondered if the Old Blood knew of the coupling that would happen, of this child coming into being, even generations before, even before Death had been convinced to Touch the humans. They would ask should Death cross paths with them again.
“Am I dead?” Young Sean Renard asked with large doe eyes and long curly hair, hands fisted by his sides.
/You are, little one/
There was no use for disappointment for a boy that would not live to fulfill his mother’s promise. A blink of an eye when it came to them. Just one life with unrealized potential. A drop in an ocean of souls with the same premature fate.
Death placed a bony hand on Sean’s head, marvelled at the curls that wove around their bones. The boy tilted his head up to look at them, nose red and eyes threatening to spill with tears.
Death waited for the crying-
“Bring me back.” Sean told them, face set into a determined frown. He sniffed, nose still runny.
/Ah,/ Death thought, /He has his mother’s fortitude./
It looked like the promise may come to life after all.
-
It's nearly a decade later when Sean Renard, no longer a Royal in official title, stands before Death’s door again.
He has grown. Gone was the cherubic face and large doe eyes, now a handsome man with sharp features and a calculating gaze. The once curly hair that framed his face was cropped short. His stance was strong, posture tall and proud.
Even as an exiled bastard prince, having bound himself to a county in the New World, he was ever so regal in his nature.
A Prince in Portland.
Death’s lipless mouth quirked. How delightful.
Sean looked at Death calmly, the Zauberbiest inside shifting to meet its maker, and grinned, face half rotten and full of charm.
“I don’t suppose I can get another free pass?” He asked, having drowned to save a stranger without second thought. Noble and kind in a way that surprised Death, with the blood that ran through his veins. Elizabeth had not been bluffing in her belief that Sean would be much bigger than his bloodlines.
Death gave him a lipless smile, so utterly besotted by this ridiculous half-Zauberbiest boy and his cunning mother.
/Mayhaps, I shall think about it. In the meantime, tell me all that you are and have done, Sean Renard./
Sean's smile grew wider.
Meetings with Death are oft forgotten when the departed was returned so they took it upon themself to ask Sean about his life, his dealings, and all he planned to do. Death had been watching of course, on occasion, but they’ve always liked hearing their children regale them with stories.
Having desired to satisfy his ambition and protect the land he’s claimed, Sean Renard did not delve into politics. He set his eyes on the county’s precinct instead. On the Chiefship that would allow him to stretch his influence into the farthest corners of his land without having to break bread with royalty, human or wesen alike.
“I’ll make Portland untouchable.” He said, harsh in his words as it was in his Royal blood. His Zauber simmered on his skin, as cruel as he could be selfless.
“I’ll make it a home no matter the amount of blood I have to spill.”
And just as they had with Sean’s mother, Death believed every word he said.
They sent him back with a kiss on his brow and eagerly waited for their next meeting. Just a few years later young Sean becomes a Detective, much to Death’s delight.
-
The next time Death meets Sean he is a decorated Captain who has somehow found a messy and amateurish demise.
“I admit that one could’ve been avoided.” Sean grimaced, hand splayed over his torso where the bullet holes would be.
Death crossed their arms. Sean Renard had already incurred three, three resurrections and he wasn’t even half a century old. The previous send-off had already given the other spirits much ammunition to find humor in Death’s favoritism, another one would make them nigh unbearable in their gatherings.
Already caught up in intrigue and betrayal that have shaped countries and allegiances, it was a surprise that Sean, oft prepared for assassination attempts a' plenty, to be caught off guard. Trying to aid a grimm, no less! The same troublesome one Death had met years prior, in what the entities fondly call The Fae-Touched Zombie Incident .
Grimms, fae-touched humans who toed the line between Old Blood and wesen, made for the sole purpose of messing with the Order of things, had once been simple creatures. Figures Sean would find one so removed from tradition that it had ensnared even his cursed Zauberbiest heart.
Sean smiled, a little nervous but entirely self-satisfied. The years of running and bloodshed and much loneliness etched into his face disappeared against the boyish grin. Death sighed, or a semblance of one if they had any lungs.
Their half-Zauberbiest child had already achieved greatness only few could ever boast, much less actually survive for so long without their aid. But Death knew Elizabeth’s promise had yet to be fully realized, that whatever interesting times she’d cursed the world had barely awoken. For Sean to have fallen for a grimm, difficult in his New Age thinking and capacity for love, was proof in itself of her promise taking form.
Death rubbed the bridge of their nose between bony fingers. They were feared and respected by every spirit and immortal creature alike, but teasing was the way of entities and Death just knew all the ribbing would be unbearable. Perhaps they’ll join Bacchus, the next time all the gods of drinking and ale had a gathering.
They turned to Sean, pleased to find the nervousness gone and in place stood the determined individual Death had chosen as their beloved child. If their Zauberbiest boy should ever have the grimm by his side, it would be an age to remember. History rewritten, indeed.
“I’ll make this one count.” Sean promised. As if he hasn't already been doing that with the many times he’s been returned. As if every single day Sean was breathing wasn’t already a miracle.
/I better not be seeing you on my doorstep for a few decades more, Sean Renard./ Death huffed, absolutely endeared. Everyone already knew of Death’s unwonted favoritism, a few more second chances and subsequent teasing wouldn’t hurt.
Sean laughed, a delicate thing that made Death’s withered heart beat with affection.
With a gentle bony hand to Sean’s handsome face, distal phalanx stroking his cheek, Death kissed him on his brow and bid him farewell.
If Sean had leaned in and given them a hug, only moments before they were sent back, and made Death feel a warmth that was so foreign that they were frozen to the spot for an unknown amount of time, well… No one would know.
So caught up in the sentiment of the cold and distant Sean Renard offering hugs, Death missed a shadow slither after their son.
It was here when it went wrong.
-
Spirits and all beings immortal tended to respect each others’ boundaries. Oftentimes their work led them to cross paths, but they were ever so professional and didn’t interfere much with affairs beyond their jurisdiction.
Some, however, dipped their toes in matters they had no hold over. War was a little too nosey, constantly meddling and interacting with mortals other spirits had claimed, whispering power and rule to push battles along. Some eldritchian beings took away curses that the fae had rightly given. And some used the dealings of Death to corrupt children they returned to the waking world.
It called itself Jack, an essence of fear and violence that had taken shape sometime during the Dark Ages. It’d been a little entertaining, watching it wreak havoc on little humans, if a little messy.
Death didn’t mind, malevolent spirits were everywhere, birthed from people and places that have seen much horror. It would sometimes hijack Death’s send offs, returning with the soul to use the mortal’s body as their amusement park.
Jack had done it only a handful of times, one of the instances birthing the Ripper legends. It was a pest but nothing more.
But this time, this time it went after Sean .
-
Death didn’t think much on Jack’s little escapades. It was capable of clinging to a send-off without fanfare so they had assumed Jack had simply hitched aboard one of Death’s more commonplace returns.
Three or four Jack-induced souls in, however, Death felt something was off. They felt the Touch of one of their children but it wasn’t like before. There was no intent, no curse in these deaths. As if they were merely vessels used to carry out these murders.
It wasn’t until one of their Hexenbiest children had come to their doorstep did Death realize the gravity of what Jack had done.
From beyond the pathways that led to Death’s door, other spirits and entities felt a sudden burst of fury, suffocating and terrifying in its severity.
-
“I had sensed your Touch within him, of course, but I am so very glad to have taken the little captain for a spin. A Royal and a wesen cursed? What a positively divine creation. The chaos we could’ve wrought together had I not been so thoroughly tricked.”
Jack laughed. Its many teeth and eyes brimming with malevolent glee, ready to take hold of another soul and return to its newfound favorite toy. It returned in Death’s realm all of a sudden, months into its chaos spree within the mortal realm. Tricked into leaving its host body by the very mortals Jack had sought to terrorize.
Death didn’t speak, face shrouded in the shadows of their cloak.
“Come now, I know you enjoy my work, as do many other spirits. You usually allow other folks to meddle with your creations, they are much fun to play with. Most especially the little half-Zauberbiest. Surprisingly delicate underneath all that pride.” Jack licked its many misshapen teeth, eyes glazing over in want.
“Call him back, this Sean Renard, and I promise to use him to his highest potential.”
Death remembered Henrietta who’d felt fear in her passing and upon seeing them. One of their dear children, a friend to both Elizabeth and her son, powerful and noteworthy, and she had been so afraid.
They remembered Sean’s screaming whenever they chose to watch their most favored child. The whimpers when Sean woke from his nightmares. His grief for what Jack had done to him was so suffocating that the Old Blood had reached out to their broken son.
They remembered Sean, fragile underneath the bravado and bloodshed, as ruthless as he could be kind. The half-Zauberbiest Royal with a cursed heart that had too much love to give.
Death grabbed Jack by the throat.
Jack was a powerful entity by its own right, having existed for eons as an embodiment of violence, of what horrors the human soul can achieve. It was a force of nature, corrupt at its very core. And Jack would’ve fought back, would’ve used its entire being to destroy and rage at the indignity, if not for one glaring fault.
It was not Death.
Death who was untouchable even in the realm of the beyond, who was the one constant in every single life. Whose domain was at the center of everything, every being’s path intersecting at their door in every possible combination. The essence of a higher power that demanded complete submission in the face of the inevitable. Who bowed to no one and escaped all comprehension, who took on a tangible form simply because they had felt like it. Who could devour everything whole and leave no trace of anything behind, no thought, no memory; a complete erasure from existence.
It was Death that Jack cowered from in fear.
/Should you attempt to go after my children again,/ Death whispered, bony fingers unyielding in their hold,
/I will rip you apart until all that remain is your consciousness, and I will bind you to the earth until your mind festers and eats into itself./
Death’s realm melted into shadow, their hold over all things that crossed their door a sudden choking presence. Their threat and promise rang out to all the other spirits that crossed their domain. Cold fury burned on a withered face.
They watched in satisfaction as Jack recoiled. Its form writhed, reduced to nothing but a wisp, unable to escape.
/You will not touch my children; especially not Sean Renard, nor his mother and daughter, nor those that will come from their blood. Nor will you even have a passing thought of existing alongside those my children hold dear. If they destroy themselves it will be from their own hubris and no fear will cross their face when they meet me.
/Should I find your disobedience, Jack, I will make haste and do what I’ve promised. Do you understand?/
Jack’s own shadow shivered in fear. Its lack of response would’ve caused great offense had Death not been aware it was rendered completely mute with terror. A shadow born from the terrors of the human mind and history and it was reduced to a mere shade from the same thing that gave it life.
They let go and Jack slithered away to lick its wounds. It won't be a few centuries more until the fear that seeped into its form would dissipate, and even then Death knew it won’t be crossing over anytime soon.
Satisfied that no other entity would dare think of harming young Sean Renard, Death can only hope that whatever horrors he was battling, he wouldn’t have to do it alone. With the immortal realm taken care of, it’s now up to the humans and wesen Sean had gathered into his fold to ensure the promise given unto Death would be fulfilled.
So help them, should Death find Sean Renard before themself again so soon they'll no sooner walk into the mortal realm to enact some justified scythe swinging.
-
Nearly a year after Jack, Death sees a familiar face.
“I’m dead.” The grimm said, eloquently.
/Yes./ Death replied.
Their finger tapped at the scythe’s handle. The bone white blade gleamed as if in response. The grimm, Nick, eyed it warily to Death’s amusement.
“We’ve met before.”
/Also yes./
The grimm had been in a panic during their first meeting. Had been begging and threatening to be returned to his body. It was a little bit funny, if exhausting, with the way Nick had repeatedly tried to attack Death and bargain for his life. It was not the first time a departed soul had tried to attack him, but it certainly was one of the most entertaining.
Death supposed, having to watch his zombiefied remains wreak havoc would be a major source of stress.
The grimm pursed his lips. He tensed, eyes widening and mouth going slack.
“Renard-” He gasped, the memory of recent mortal events returning to him.
Of their group fighting wesen beyond their capabilities. Of Renard stepping in despite Nick’s rage and risking his own life to give them aid. Of a gun aimed at the unsuspecting prince, caught in the middle of the fray. Of Nick seeing it and moving-
“Is he—is he here? Did I manage to save him?” He stuttered, breathless and panicked. The dead need not breathe in Death’s realm but he looked like he desperately needed air, suddenly pale as a ghost.
/He’s fine. A little worse for wear./ Death waved him off.
Nick’ shoulders sagged in relief. Inwardly, Death was chuffed at his worry.
“That’s—that’s good. Made some things right, in the end.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes with trembling fingers.
Death really shouldn’t make a habit of this. Especially not for souls who were so closely intertwined with each other. It was bad enough that they’d waved off their neutrality when it came to Sean (and Elizabeth, and now Diana and the grimm and the motley group of friends Sean had grown so fond of...), now here was the aforementioned grimm practically screaming for a second chance by proxy of (unknowingly) holding Sean’s heart.
Well, Death thought, already accepting their fate, it’d give the other entities and fae something fun to discuss during their next gathering. Hell knows the previous Jack escapade had brought the mood down regarding Sean (‘Little Hybrid Prince’ as some spirits had lovingly called him).
/Do you want to see?/ Death leaned forward to cover Nick in shadow. /Do you want to see their faces before you go?/
Admirably, Nick didn’t so much flinch from having Death loom over him, instead choosing to keep their sightless gaze. He was so young, grimm blood running strong in his veins, but inexperienced in the world of spirits and things beyond him. And yet, in the face of the void, so dark and relentless in its pull, he’d remained so unbearably, inexplicably human.
“Show me.”
This was the man Sean Renard had chosen to die for and had saved from Death themself. It made sense now why Sean had been so distracted by his own bleeding heart to worry about his own sake.
Death wasn’t a being that normally held grudges, but this was Sean and while they knew pain had been dealt from both hands, the hurts Nick had caused were far more personal and cut deeper than he was aware of. They may give Nick an out, by proxy alone, but it didn’t mean they had to make it easy for the grimm. There was a reason Hexen and Zauberbiests alike were spiteful creatures after all.
With a delicate twist of their hand, Death cut into the space before Nick with their scythe. The fabric of time and reality pulled split apart, the edges razor thin and shifting. They gestured to Nick and the grimm leaned in to peer inside.
Nick’s breath hitched.
Nick’s motley group surrounded two figures in the center of the abandoned lot, each in varying degrees of outward grief as they came to terms with the fact that Nick was well and truly dead.
Hank covered his eyes as he stood a few feet away from Nick’s body. Tears leaked out from behind his fingers, dark skin ashen and pale, in his other hand a phone, the 911 responder left hanging on call.
Trubel, spirited and painfully young, looked lost as she sat beside Hank, knees bent and hands covering her face. Her knuckles were more bruised and bloodied than Nick remembered during the fight.
Monroe hid his face in the crook of Rosalee’s neck, both of them clinging to each other as they quietly wept. Their bloodied hands, Nick distantly remembered them trying to put pressure on his stomach, stained the other’s clothes in red.
Wu’s stance was defeated, mouth set in a thin line as he gripped someone’s shoulder painfully but not out of malice.
Nick’s gaze narrowed down to the figures in the center of everyone’s makeshift wake.
Renard was cradling Nick’s body as he knelt, legs and majority of his upper torso drenched in blood. Nick’s blood that had spread out around Renard like a spotlight. He dared to peek closer but the grimm couldn’t see Renard’s face, his head bowed as he clutched Nick’s lifeless form closer to himself.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen.” Renard choked, small and weak and unlike the proud man he’d come to know. It broke Nick’s heart to see those powerful shoulders trembling, arms wrapped around Nick as if they were afraid to let go. He looked so small, hunched over himself and Nick.
This was the man Nick had convinced himself he hated. Too clouded by his Royal and half-Zauberbiest lineage, the manipulation and pseudo-betrayals, that Nick had forgotten and ignored all the man’s attempts at redemption, at the reasons behind his actions.
Renard had thrown everything and everyone aside for his daughter and had, at some point, done the same for all of them. Renard had died for Nick. The Captain would have sacrificed everything for the people he loved only to be pushed aside by the same people he'd protected in his time of grief.
Renard knew suffering and loss all too well. His whole life had been defined by fear and the vulnerability inherent to it. Behind all the ruthlessness he’d expertly crafted around himself however, Renard was passionate and his capacity to love whole-heartedly was so great that Nick was ashamed of not having seen it before.
There were moments when Nick would watch Renard in longing and admiration, feelings he’d fooled himself into thinking were only out of respect for the Captain. The times he’d felt gutted when he thought Renard was in danger, when the man had betrayed them, when the man had woken to smile at Nick despite having just died. The warmth Nick felt in his stomach, at the thought of the Captain and his smile, his rare laughter, his cunning and ferocity in battle.
All of it had been tinged with something far greater than affection. For Nick to have realized when he was dead was agonizing.
“I’m sorry.” Renard’s voice wavered, hushed and whispered into Nick’s hair as he wept. His face was hidden but the tears flowed freely and stained Nick’s face. From above them, Wu mirrored Hank and closed his eyes, chin quivering.
Everyone looked away from Renard as he cried, the very picture of a man at the height of his heartbreak and—the scene faded from view.
/It’s time to go./
Nick’s chest burned. Tears wouldn’t come but he felt the raw stinging pain behind his eyes, the breathlessness as his lungs tried to suck in air. He’d thought he’d accepted it this time, that surely Death wouldn’t give him another chance at life.
“Please,” Nick turned to Death, eyes large and desperate. Everyone’s weeping still echoed in his memory. “Bring me back, one last—one last time. I want to make it right.
“Please, let me make it right.”
Death hummed.
/Many have begged fruitlessly, little grimm. What makes you think this time would be different?/
“Because I’ll make it right.” Nick stood a little straighter, resolute. “If not for me then for everyone else, if you want to see me make history.”
/I do not care for the history of mortals or your friends. Give me a better answer./ They replied.
And because the sight of Sean grieving tugged at Death’s nearly nonexistent heart, they shared a sliver of sentiment reserved for their child unto the grimm. If only to give Nick a push and nothing more.
Past meetings leaked from their memory; the dull heartbeat of a heartless entity, disjointed feelings of affection and visions of a hybrid child, of a mother making a promise and a young prince too full of love that even Death had caved—Nick’s eyes widened in revelation.
“Let me return,” Nick said, full of wonder and steely determination. “I’ll make it right. For everyone. For Sean… let me return to him. One last chance, for Sean.”
Death tilted their head in approval.
Deeply ironic that the best thing Death had to offer to their beloved child would be life .
Death placed a gentle hand on Nick’s shoulder, parental had bone not bitten into cloth and flesh. They smiled, teeth sharper than how they usually wore it.
It was rare for Death to feel affection, much less favor a mortal soul. Even rarer for Death to allow a human to remember their conversation. But if there was at least one thing Death had come to discover about themself after meeting and coming to love Sean Renard was that they were ruthlessly and comically overprotective.
/For this special occasion I bestow upon your return, Nick Burkhardt, an echo of our meeting./
“Why?” Nick asked, wary at the implication.
Death’s realm darkened.
/So that you may think twice about hurting my beloved child again./
Nick blinked at the thinly veiled threat. Like everything concerning Sean, Death was surprised, yet again, when the grimm laughed.
“Is this- is this a shovel talk?” He gasped in between fits of laughter.
The foreboding shadows Death conjured up for said shovel talk slithered away in their exasperation.
“Oh God, this is so surreal. This is a shovel talk, wow, the Grim— hah —Reaper... Death is actually giving me a shovel talk, which is okay, wow, I gotta admit, this is by far the most terrifying one I’ve gotten in my entire life. This is both hilarious and utterly horrifying.”
Death resisted the urge to drag both hands over their face.
Of course. Of course Sean had managed to find and fall in love with a grimm that could match him in terms of utter ridiculousness and no small amount of brazenness in the face of the unknown. Nick guffawed, here in the realm where all things ended.
The grimm’s laughter eventually died down into wheezing chuckles before he sighed, hesitant but no less hopeful.
“Sean… he really loves me, doesn’t he?”
/Yes./
“Even before he’d died, even before Jack. Sean's always loved me. ”
/Does it surprise you, that he can love so freely, that you might love him in return?/ They cocked their head at the young grimm.
“No. I think—I think I’ve known for a while now but I was too stubborn to admit it. We’ve both hurt each other many times, but I, I… I do love him.” The grimm smiled, small and warm, not unlike the souls Death had met who saw their last sunrise and felt peace and wonder.
Nick gave them a cheeky grin. There was a lightness in him that removed the years from his face. “I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised that Death itself would love someone as stubborn and frustrating and basically unkillable as Sean Renard. Grimm, Grim Reaper… there’s gotta be a pattern there.”
/Okay./ Death interrupted, somewhat mortified that they’re becoming fond . They’re never going to hear the end of it, not for a few more millenia at least.
They waved their hand, the grimm’s smile another promise they’ll keep to themself.
/Off you go./
The grimm's elated laughter echoed in their realm even as he'd gone.
Death themself smiled, the promise of a mother on the road to fulfillment and the eventual happiness of their beloved hybrid child settled into their bones and flowed into their heart.
-
In the mortal world, surrounded by mourners and in a pool of his own blood, Nick opened his eyes.
It was like waking from a dream, the memory hazy and disorienting. But Nick knew that it was real, that he’d died and met Death themself and all that came after.
Unlike in the vision Death had shown him, Nick could see Sean’s face. His eyes were shut, tears still falling, handsome features twisted in agony as sobs continued to tear out of him. It hurt, seeing Sean cry over him, that Nick had spent the latter years stewing in his resentment for a man who had only loved too deeply and to a fault.
Nick lifted a hand to cup Sean’s face.
“Hey.”
A hitched breath.
Gasps and exclamations.
He stroked Sean’s cheek and when the man opened his eyes, green so bright and watery and filled with awe, Nick felt love bloom in his chest.
-