Chapter Text
I.
Kevin had been a postman for most of the later years of his life, once he'd fulfilled his time in the military, in part because it was one of the few jobs that didn't require A-Levels or a degree or years of experience (seriously, how kids were supposed to get a job these days was beyond him). Plus, he enjoyed being out and about in all weathers, and the hours didn't bother him since he'd never married and didn't have much family to speak of besides an older sister down in Cornwall. The pay was average and, sure, there was always the risk of running into someone's postman-hating dog, but Kevin enjoyed his job nonetheless. You got a lot of insight into people's lives being a postman, or maybe he was just a bit nosy. Most people probably wouldn't think of it, but opening your door to the postman to collect a parcel gives them a good glimpse of your daily routine. Kids getting ready for school, the clatter of breakfast or lunch, the hum of the TV if it hadn't been paused, whatever the person who answered the door was wearing...not that he ever judged, of course. Humans were all different, that's what made them interesting.
Even more special was getting to know people. He didn't move around much in his job, largely keeping to the same set of streets, and so after a while he could connect names to faces and would sometimes strike up a conversation if he met someone in town whom he delivered to. Like Mrs Anderson, an elderly lady living in a ground floor flat who always offered him a biscuit and had a fluffy ginger cat that would give him the stink-eye from the living room window. Or the Wate family, a couple and their two kids, the eldest of which had apparently joined some kind of cult and run away (he had his own thoughts about what had actually happened, given that the 'daughter' had looked a lot more like a bloke the last time he saw them, but he kept that to himself). Whatever he saw beyond the threshold of an open door made his job worth it, because it was hard to feel lonely when you knew so many people.
He died of a heart attack at 63, a few years before retirement. His sister had passed a few years prior, so the only people to attend his funeral were a few of the lads from the Post Office and himself as a ghost. Death had appeared shortly after, a kind-looking lady who spoke in a soft tone but didn't sugarcoat the situation, and as a born-and-bred atheist Kevin hadn't known what to expect from the afterlife. Though he could be sure it certainly wasn't to still be a postman.
It had all been awfully strange, sitting in the 1940s-style offices that apparently made up the administration side of the afterlife, while someone explained to him how each country had a few ghost postmen as the ever-increasing population meant more ghosts and more mail. His predecessor had apparently resolved their unfinished business and moved on, so they had a job opening. And, well, Kevin was curious. What kind of mail did ghosts get? Were there ghost pen-pals? Did they have bills?
He'd always lived by the philosophy that if there was something that needed doing, and you were capable of doing it yourself, then it was no good fobbing it off on somebody else. He took the job, and ended up with a new uniform and official role as Delivery Officer for Southern England. It mostly meant delivering in and around London, a city he hadn't seen much of when he was alive, but he quickly learnt that he wasn't restricted to the south of England, or the United Kingdom at all, actually. His job meant delivering to people whose addresses were registered as being in southern England, but they could be anywhere in the world and he always had to deliver the post to the person, especially since lots of it was magical in some way or another and so best not left unsupervised.
The years passed quite quickly as a ghost, and Kevin was pleased to learn that he still received his two weeks' annual leave, which he used to explore a world that was constantly changing around him. He also got his questions answered: ghosts had both pen-pals and bills, though the latter were rarer than the former.
He'd been in the job about ten years before he first delivered to the Dead Boy Detective Agency.
He wasn't sure what to expect, apart from the fact the owners of two names on the handwritten letter - Edwin Payne and Charles Rowland - were obviously dead, and presumably some kind of private detectives. That was a bit unusual; he didn't think he'd come across any supernatural detectives before. Still, whatever ideas he'd had in his head, they were not the same as what greeted him when he materialised into the flat. It was dark and empty, and the only occupants were two lads who looked barely sixteen, one dressed like the youngsters he saw nowadays and one much more old-fashioned in a suit jacket and bow tie. They were surrounded by books and loose sheets of paper, and both jumped out of their phantom skin when he appeared. The more modern one jumped to his feet, edging backwards, body tense like he was prepared for a fight. The other let out a cut-off yelp and promptly phased through the floor.
God, Kevin hadn't expected teenagers. He didn't deliver to dead kids much, the Lost and Found Department took care of that, but it always left an odd taste in his mouth even though he couldn't actually taste anymore.
"Edwin!" The boy that was still present - Charles, by process of elimination - spun on his heel, glancing with concern on his friend, before turning back and fixing Kevin with a glare that almost made him uncomfortable. "Can I help you, mate?" The words were friendly, the tone was very much not.
He wasn't perturbed by it. "Just here to deliver the mail," he replied, holding out the stack of letters and junk mail.
Charles still seemed wary, but his expression softened, the corners of his mouth lifting up like he was holding back a smile. "There's a ghost postman?"
"How else would you receive your post? Someone has to deliver it."
The younger took the mail from him, and the joy on his face somehow made him look even younger. "Well, we've never had post before, have we?"
Kevin couldn't help but offer the lad a small smile as he headed out to the next address on his list.