Work Text:
"There was a person for everyone—"
This, Sharon knew to be true.
"Not everyone will meet their other half."
Also true.
"The world is a far more beautiful place in color."
That… was most certainly the biggest truth. Out of everything Sharon had seen in her lifetime… the stormy blues and vibrant greens… she'd always remember what it was like to be in her youth— the world: all shades of black and white. It was the kind of thing that had school kids huddled on the playground, yammering about: "what color do you think that is—" as they pointed to an inchworm on a fallen leaf.
Everyone played that game, always with a promise that whoever met their soulmate first had to come and tell the rest about it. A child's dream, it was, to be first.
It left them high on that excitement, filled to the brim with hope that any one of their six-year-old selves could find their person during summer break— just to see the colors the world was painted in.
No one ever did.
The older the kids got, the greater their hope became.
But real life was unavoidable; and the fantasy gave way to greyscale. Most didn't let it affect them… the dreariness of it all. But those that did… oh dear. They walked the streets with hunched backs and dragging feet, simply trying to get on with reality in lieu of chasing rainbow hues.
Because that was how the world was.
How the world is.
Sharon thought that that would be her. She'd hoped not.
Always an emotional sort— over-attached at times, she considered herself a dreamer. Apologize first, ask questions later, run full tilt towards the next thing because what was life if not a little spontaneous.
Nothing wrong with coming in with a 'bang.'
That was exactly what she did, too; Swung the coffeehouse door wide open so fast that she barely had time to react when she'd hit a fella straight in the nose.
Why, she didn't think blood could be so red.
Or coffee could be that pale.
She'd nearly been thankful for the white-washed walls of the doctor's office; the muted hues and fluorescent lighting, for it allowed her to ignore the newest distractions to get a better look at him.
"Todd Davis," he'd introduced himself, reaching out with a bloodied hand before retracting it with a wince. He wiped it on his pants, smearing bits of red over khaki. She'd reached out and took his hand anyways, rattling off ways to get bloodstains from fabrics.
And he'd just sat there in silence, watching.
She'd remembered to let go of his hand then too, choosing to tuck a stray hair behind her ear.
First meetings were always awkward— that was no different.
Until he cracked a slow smile, broken nose and all, and asked her out for a coffee date. "To replace the one now on my shirt," he'd added.
If she were anyone else, she might have taken offense.
But her Mama didn't raise a fawning girl, rather, she raised one with quick wit and even sharper tongue.
"To replace cup of coffee-laced cream, you mean?" She'd quipped, grinning at the light-brown stain across his button up... if that could even be considered brown— it was the same hue that matched Todd's pants… if not lighter.
"Gotta even out your pure bean-water somehow." He shot back. "At least your order's straight forward."
It was true. She liked her coffee straight-black. Her Pa always drank it that way— there was no surprise that 'daddy's girl' took after him.
"Good. It's the only thing about me that is." She'd winked, fixing her skirts as she leaned further into her chair.
"Well," Todd adjusted his shirt collar. "I'm looking forward to the 'topsy-turvy' then… Tuesday?" He'd asked.
"Tuesday." She'd agreed.
It was all downhill… or uphill, however anyone wanted to look at it— from there. All forty-nine years of marriage, forty-nine years of world in mostly color (thanks Wanda) until the bitter end.
Todd didn't go out with a 'bang,' though perhaps it would've been easier for him.
For her, too.
Anything other than the constant visits to the hospital, leaving Sharon to watch over him in that drab room… the white-washed walls— the fluorescent lighting that flickered incessantly overhead.
It grated on Sharon's every nerve, but nothing could frazzle her more than seeing her husband growing weaker and weaker each day— and there was nothing she could do but watch.
He couldn't even muster the strength to tend to their garden anymore; their pride and joy. There was always a fresh azalea clipping on his bed table every morning, though. Sharon made sure of it.
Until the very end.
She thought it'd be easier to breathe when he passed.
No more suffering.
No more pain.
No more fear.
No more color.
It wasn't.
She had to force herself to eat; Force herself to go outside for fresh air. Couldn't sleep a wink— and Sharon tried everywhere when the bed wouldn't do it; Resting her head on the kitchen table, leaning back in Todd's recliner. Even sleeping on the old pull out couch was a fool's dream, only serving to twist her spine into a knot and numbing her sit spots until she limped a whole day after.
The nightmares started up after the first week.
They replayed the same memory each time. They left her on the brink of hysteria each time. Sharon watched Wanda's magic tighten around her husband's throat… each and every time.
It was black and white then, too.
The garden had started becoming more weed than flower by the end of week two. She'd tried to go out there, to clean it up.
Lack of sleep did her no favors.
The memories that weighed on her mind didn't either.
They were good, of course— and plentiful.
Simple moments.
Lemonade on the porch steps; A bee landed inside Sharon's cup once, and while she shrieked and ran, her gentle giant simply had to find a flower for the small fellow to rest in. And afterward, he wouldn't even let her clean up the shattered remains of her glass.
Or…
The time he fell backwards in the bushes…
Or when Todd stepped on a rake-turned-catapult in the most cartoonish turn of events Sharon had ever seen. He laughed at it all.
And sometimes she and Todd would stand out on the sidewalk, hand in hand, as the sun went down on the horizon, leaving them to bask in each others presence until the fireflies lit up the night sky.
Sharon didn't have anyone to stand outside with anymore.
So she'd sit on the porch, coffee in hand, wearing the most unsightly bags under her eyes… to stare.
Unblinking.
Lost in thought.
"Care for some company?"
A voice interrupted her thoughts.
Sharon looked up to see John Collins, wielding a mug and a newspaper, standing at the edge of the sidewalk.
"Hm?" She asked.
Still, she nodded. The mug in her own hands had long since grown cold. But coffee was coffee, and company was company.
He settled at her side, "Figured you could use it."
John didn't speak after that. Neither did she.
But he stayed with her, turning the pages of the Westview Writeup while sipping his coffee. Sharon could smell it from here— the strong brew, black as hers.
The bitterness of her own made her stomach curl.
Sharon regarded her neighbor with a single nod before getting up; And in the house she went, without another word.
He was back the next day.
No words spoken, simply sharing in each other's company.
A little bit of cream went into the coffee that day, a little sugar too. The lighter hue looked odd, swirling in Sharon's cup with the very pattern she once took for granted.
It was much better this way, she decided.
Something Todd did right.
And in her minds eye, she could see Todd and his crooked nose, and his crooked smile, and his stupid, delicious, cup of overly sweetened coffee.
John waved a farewell at her departure.
It was the first doable night of sleep Sharon had gotten in weeks. Not great, just a few hours, but doable. Better than nothing.
The dark circles still hung heavy under her eyes.
But her gaze was brighter, more welcoming.
More herself.
She wasn't the only one who noticed. John perked up at the sight of her from his spot on the ground, hunched over one of her flowerbeds.
"I hope you don't mind me over here," He looked down at the pile of weeds. "Finished with my shrubs but it was pretty out so—"
"I don't mind…" Sharon interrupted, "Just as long as you let me help." She drank the last of the morning brew. "Mr. Davis had a stool he'd use to keep him off the ground, if you'd rather have that." She added quietly.
John rubbed the back of his neck.
"I wouldn't want to impose." He muttered.
Sharon waved him off, smiling weakly his way.
"Not at all."
It was the start of something different. Something new… and welcome. A fresh routine… but familiar too? Like a very loved pair of boots, well-worn and wrinkled from age; Perhaps they'd require a new sole and shank, maybe a new coat of oil, maybe a nice cleaning.
But they'd still be the same boots, damaged, but not beyond repair.
The weeks went by smoothly from there, rain or shine— Sharon would help John with his shrubs, they'd make idle chat, and sit on her porch for a proper cup of joe.
All while the Davis garden thrived under the renewed care.
Todd would be proud of that.
He really, really would.
The neighbors started taking notice too. A compliment from Sarah Proctor, a few extra waves from Abilash on his morning jog… even Agnes.
Agatha.
That poor woman looked more disgruntled by the day, withering away in her aquired residence. She was spouting nonsense now— Sharon caught her taking 'pictures' of John's shrubbery with a note-card.
She felt for the witch, she really did. Wanda left them all scattering like roaches, piecing lives back together one day at a time— only Agatha lost that chance, cursed to bumble about on a fake schedule, living a fake life.
So Sharon took pity on her, asking John for pictures that she'd be able to gift the woman herself.
Agatha's house was a mess.
Sharon cleaned it the best she could— throwing old food away and restocking the fridge with ready meals, wiping the counter, all while Agatha looked on, seeing her but not registering a single thing.
So she left.
She closed the creaky door behind her, heart weighing heavy in her chest. It was the same helpless feeling that she hadn't felt strongly in months; Not since her Todd had first landed himself in the hospital.
The walk back home was quiet.
Stifling.
She sobbed that night, harder than she had since the funeral; Tears for her husband. Tears for Agatha.
Todd had always said she had a pure heart; Forever caring, Forever concerned for the lives of everyone she had ever met. He said it was one of the things he loved about her.
That it was one of the things he envied.
For he, himself, could find humor in everything, but he couldn't connect to people like she could.
A half-truth, really. He just connected differently.
Sharon loved that about him, too.
The upcoming days passed slowly.
Her routine hadn't changed, John still came over for morning coffee. Sharon still checked up on Agatha around lunch; But she couldn't shake that feeling of dread that gnawed at her stomach.
She hit a teenager with her car that night.
Agatha, not Agnes, but clear-eyed, impish-grinned, sharp-toned Agatha met her outside the very next day.
<><><><><><><>
But it all ended with darkness.
Endless darkness.
No pearly gates, no angel wings— no shining halos.
A figure.
A creature.
Every receptor in Sharon's brain misfired at once. No 'stranger danger,' no fear. Just a calm… and a skeletal being that she only registered as a friendly face.
"I thought it would hurt more than that." She found herself saying.
The figure tilted its head. "Oh?" A tone far more human than Sharon anticipated spilled free, all honeyed but laced with curiosity.
"The poison. Dying. It didn't hurt." Sharon replied.
A skeletal hand pointed her way. "Perhaps you were simply ready to go?" The truth of the statement rung loudly in the space. Sharon couldn't see any fault in it.
"Can I ask you something?" She tread carefully, keeping an even tone. "Are you Death?"
The figure nodded.
"Does that mean— did you get to meet my husband?"
Another nod.
"You met Todd?" She gasped, a smile tugging at her lips.
A beat.
"Was he in pain, when he died?"
Death grew still, regarding Sharon with a thoughtful gaze, before speaking. "I don't recall— I remember all that I guide… but he only smiled and greeted me as an equal. No indication of anything else."
Sharon felt a laugh bubble in her chest. "That sounds like him." She spoke fondly, "Making friends everywhere he went."
The figure seemed to chuckle too, a wheezing rattle from the rib cage. "Shall we go then?" It asked.
Sharon nodded, offering her hand to her guide. "If I can travel with a friend."
"Friend?" Death asked. If Sharon was hearing things right, a tremble entered the other's voice.
But her arm stayed extended, patient, waiting to be accepted. "Always nice to make new friends." She said earnestly. "Todd's prerogative."
Death's hand chilled Sharon to the bone at first contact, but its fingers held steadfast to hers. And together they walked. No pain in her feet, no danger in sight, Sharon marched straight ahead; Until an eerie gate with spilling fog marked their end.
Sharon expected nothingness as she stepped through.
But a hand grabbed hers.
Color exploded on contact.