Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter One. When Paths Diverge

It wasn’t a unique day or even a particularly memorable day; however, Death wouldn’t forget it, not after what followed.

Her duty could drag her all around the world – once, twice, a thousand times over – and while most times it didn’t exhaust her too much, there were others – particular journeys – that even she found to be… difficult. Everyone always had questions, had arguments, had fear… hope… sadness… acceptance… Actually -

Very few had acceptance…

Death understood it – why so few did. Her siblings did not, but she did. People craved life, adventure, and when it ended, when the light turned off, and there was nothing left..? It was saying good-bye to a well-written book, a full story from start to finish, and some people – most people – didn’t want to put that down.

A sentiment she thought Dream would understand better than most – but he didn’t. Not even after all these centuries on with her and him and their one bet of Hob Gadling.

No matter, she supposes.

She was still winning that.

Which right now was one of the few things brought her comfort. After taking a small child and their father on their journey – both of their hands in hers -, the child inconsolable and the father just angry… angry at the drunk driver that took them both, angry at her for facilitating this even though she had nothing to do with the accident… angry at the world – at all of their functions, her siblings included… she was just…

Tired.

It wouldn’t last long. It never did, and soon, she’d get back to it. There was always work to do after all, and not enough time to do it. Perhaps later, if this feeling persisted – if it didn’t improve – she’d go and visit one of her siblings. She had not seen Dream or even Delirium in some time. She wouldn’t mind the company of one of her younger siblings… although Delirium…

Death rethinks the option. Delirium could be… a lot if Death was needing a moment to decompress… Dream would likely be the better option.

Though only likely because he’d ignore her.

She laughs at the thought. That decides it for her – she’ll visit Dream later. She’d never say it out loud, but she did enjoy bothering her little brother – not as much as Desire did, of course – but it did still delight her in some ways to drag him from his palace and into the sun a few times a century.

The next person Death visits is less angry – sad, yes but not angry. He had lived a good long life and merely sighs before taking her hand. The one after that cried, and the one after that?

It keeps going.

Death would blame that – that the day was so much like any other that she ignores the fluttering in her belly. She ignores the slight buzzing around her ears as she helps another soul cross a river, and she waves away the slight tinge of pain in her neck… except…

She pauses then. Pain was not a common companion of an Endless. They could be hurt, yes, but it was odd and discomforting… and it’s enough that Death pauses. However, before she can pay it much more mind, she senses something... something else and familiar all the same – her brother’s creation… perhaps? But there was a death – one dealt by him, and in a flutter of wings, Death finds herself on the outskirts of an alley, where a nightmare was roaming free. Odd.

Death only briefly wonders if Dream is aware, when her little brother appears – his sand swirling around him like a storm before settling. She watches as her little brother deals with the creation – one that appeared to have escaped to wreak some havoc based on the souls Death could sense nearby… ones that would need ferrying.

She considers speaking with Dream – ask him what exactly just happened – when she feels it again. The sharp tug in her gut, except this time it’s far more painful… it’s enough to stumble her; nearby, Dream lurches as well but quickly recovers – as though the pain completely vanished from him. Her on the other hand, she places her hand along her stomach. There it is again.

She opens her mouth – a shout forming in her throat, one to call from Dream when in nothing short of a painful yank – like a thread wrapped around her mid-section, Death is pulled from that alley, that street into darkness.

Darkness that reminds her far too much of mother instantly. It was cold, uncaring, void, and Death’s eyes flutter close as she slams painfully into the stone. Compared to the utter darkness? Death welcomes the stone and the pain. Anything that wasn’t like mother.

There are voices, far away and deep in molasses, but Death hears them. Simple words, demands, shouts, and silence.

A few hours pass before Death can open her eyes, and few more after that before she can even find the energy to sit up, but when she does, she can examine her new quarters. It’s nothing profound – a rather bleak basement of stone and water, and beneath her hands? Runes – painted and burned into the stone meant to summon and contain an Endless.

Death’s rather impressed, actually. Humans could be quite ingenious, but to capture her? It was preposterous and amusing. Something she’s sure Dream will enjoy hearing about later, before he threatens whoever dared to touch her… not that she needs her little brother coming to her aid… after all, she was more than capable –

Death stands only to find in that moment… yes, she’s trapped.

Her eyes trail back to the runes – the magic and laws having bound her. She had thought this magic was lost, gone… and it would seem it was an error to think so. This barrier, this circle was drawn delicately, perfectly – and whoever summoned her… she was not leaving without their permission.

And it doesn’t take long before said human graces Death with their presence. They eye her disdainfully and her current attire… she liked black – there was nothing wrong with it, and it remained stylish… and she was grateful she was okay with wearing human effects, because had this come from an extension of her power? She suspected it would be gone. Which would only be awkward… humans tended to be more… off about that, but still… she rather likes her clothes.

“I have dreamt of this day,” the man says, interrupting her thoughts. Whatever response he’s expecting in turn, her crossing her arms is not it. She appears bored by this if anything – a touch irate. It’s the appropriate response given how red his face turns. “I have captured you, Death. You are now mine.”

“I am not yours,” she says, surprising the man again by speaking; however, what stupid idiot would stay silent in the midst of this ridiculous man preparing to demand things? It would do neither of them good had she. Instead, she plans to tell him exactly what she thinks… and then… well, they had threatened her, sort of. Honestly, she did not take mortals before their time. It was not her job to determine what their end point was… except when threatened. Except when certain lines were crossed. There were exceptions.

This human was toeing that line far too closely. She’d rather not make an exception – not yet. There was still time, though whether the human realized this or not, she’s uncertain.

“You are mine,” the man hisses, stopping his foot and cane down. “You are mine to do as I see fit, and you are going to bring me back my son.”

Roderick Burgess - the name filters in. Death does not know this man – not yet -, but she does recall his son Randall. He had died on a battlefield – honorably, bravely… the son was nothing like this sniveling man with his fake arrogance and paltry presence.

“You will bring me back Randall!” Roderick continues, though Death merely shakes her head, mouthing a ‘no’ back. “You will bring me back my son or so help me…” he trails off.

“Your son is dead,” Death says, her tone and voice adjusting to something far more comforting. It wasn’t completely faux; she did feel something near to sorry for this man. He had lost his son – she recognized that… it didn’t change what she was weighing once she was free, but she could at least empathize briefly. “Bringing him back… his life, his story is done.”

Randall had done what his life was for. He had lived, he had fought, and sadly… he had died. It was the natural state of things.

Except Roderick doesn’t care. It was his son, and he was getting his child back.

“Bring me back my son.”

“No.” It’s said with such finality, such simplicity, that for a moment Death thinks they’re done – that this is the end, given how the man regards her. Which she supposes is good as she has other appointments to keep.

“So be it, Death of the Endless,” Roderick says, before turning on his heel and walking away.

Death doesn’t know it then… she can’t see threads of Fate like Destiny – she doesn’t always know how the stories go… merely how they end; as such, in this moment, she doesn’t know how much of her own story just changed.

Quick Notes: Viola a Death focused story - as requested (Thelightdancer)… I don’t have an update schedule for this. My hope is this will be 10 chapters at most… I hope… I really really hope (likely not as I'm writing chapter five at the moment)

This will likely get an update when I'm too busy editing other chapters for Essence, Regarding or Family to post one of those, but once Family is done, this will be in more consistent rotation.

Chapter Text

Chapter Two. With What Comes Next

For three days, Death sits alone (initially, she stood but she got bored and tired of that). The basement is quiet, empty, and she’s allowed her thoughts, which after a time, she can’t help but realize how much bloody work she’s going to have to catch up on. Three days of work? That would amount to months of her trying to get to a point where she wasn’t behind. Which to be honest – pending another plague… of which if there was another plague in the next three days… she sighs loudly.

It was an exhausting thought… which the moment she thinks of being tired, she can’t help how Dream filters into her mind. She wonders if he’s aware she’s missing – likely not… given his own hyperfocus (ridiculous, in her opinion) on his duty and realm. And the others? No, it would take some time before they’d notice her missing. Destiny would be the only that would be aware given he saw this, but he had yet to visit.

Which frustrates her.

She just needs one of her siblings to visit, and then, she’d ask for help – as difficult as that could be for some of them, she would. They were family; she’d ask… though she’s quite aware of how ecstatic Desire would likely be to hold this over her head should they be the one to free her. All the same, if she was free? She’d be okay with it, as long as she could get back to work. Irritated for a time perhaps but okay…and likely only irritated because Dream’s reaction would be… less than… ideal.

She sighs.

The basement – her function just beyond her fingertips – she could sense it, almost touch it… but... she sighs again. Three days… and Death wonders if she might be getting bored.

That would be new. Given she has nothing else to do, Death crosses her legs and considers the newfound sensation of dullness. Or perhaps – a sudden idea grips the Endless.

Or.

Or – hear her out (not that she’d speak out loud right now – she had yet to lose her mind to the youngest sibling), perhaps she could view this as a vacation of sorts. She did tend to take a day away once a century – to live, to be free, to try things out, and then well, die.

She could view this in a similar manner to that. Although… reluctantly she could admit this was a bit different than that. She couldn’t just go and do anything right now. She could sit here, which was still a break from her duties, she supposes, but at the end of it… actually, now that Death thought of that too – killing an Endless wasn’t impossible.

This day could still end with her own death – which was also a thought but not one she entertains for long. After all, it was nearly impossible to do so. As such, this wasn’t likely to be anything much more than a momentary headache… and if she could find a way to relax – a vacation.

However, after three more days of silence (the first one she is able to call blissful as she meditates but after that, she’s bored), Death just wants to get back into the world. There was work to be done, and while yes, a break was nice, the catch up would not be. So, any thought of trying to label this as a vacation just evaporates with that knowledge.

Thankfully, Death is finally graced with her captor once again. The man staggers down the stairs, and for a brief moment, Death wonders if the man will simply join her realm by one misstep. Except, she’s not that lucky (or perhaps she is… since she’s not getting out without someone’s outside help).

The man reaches the bottom of the stairs and crosses the space between them, head held high, cane used less so here, until he stands mere feet from her confinement. For every breath he takes pretending he is above her, Death sees it far too easily. He’s afraid of her and despises that she remains sitting in his presence. She merely doesn’t care and based on how he narrows his gaze at her, he also knows it as well.

“Have you thought more about my demand Death?” Roderick hisses, and Death says nothing in turn. She merely tilts her head, before glancing past the man to see a younger boy, one hiding behind the bars that line the stairs. Something Roderick notes as well. “My youngest,” though this is said with disdain. “Perhaps a trade?”

The younger boy sinks further into the darkness, while Death takes a moment to wrap her mind around what Roderick said. It takes more than a minute – more than she’d like to admit to realize that the man had offered her his other son in payment. She grits her teeth in response.

“You have a healthy child, a son,” Death says, voice quiet and yet powerful. “And you would give him to me for a child that’s passed.”

“That boy is barely my son. Only in blood and barely that,” Roderick hisses. “Randall is my son, and you will give him to me.” He turns, beckoning the younger one forward, and when Alex resists – because Death’s mind provides the boy’s name -, Roderick fetches him and all but drags the boy nearer. “And in return, you can have this one’s life.”

That pulls Death to her feet – not because she’d even consider a trade for a moment. One – it was against her function and duty, and two – she didn’t take lives, not like that. She wouldn’t take this boy’s. It wasn’t her place, but she levels a glare at Roderick. The man had a child, the man had a house, a life to live, and yet here he was propositioning her.

That angers her, and Alex cowers at the look she levels Roderick with. Even he flinches in the face of an Endless furious.

“I don’t take lives Roderick Burgess,” Death hisses. “I help those cross when it is their time. Nothing more.” She may aid sometimes in the process – but it was the natural way of things. She was not a killer. She did not trade lives nor take them. When it was Alex’s time, then she would help him as well, but that was not this day. She steps nearer to the boundary of her confinement. “I will not return your son. I will not take this son until it is his time, and you will release me.”

The light in the basement flickers, the air chills, and Roderick feels his breath catch at her words. His heart skips a beat in turn but only for a second. A smart man would take that as a warning, a smarter man would release Death, but Roderick in this was neither. Instead, he merely tightens his grip on Alex, practically shaking the boy.

“Give me my son,” he hisses.

“No.” Death will not acquiesce to this, and she was over this man – a sentiment he seemed to share, given how he releases his son roughly, before smirking, his head dipping low at her words. He licks his lips, something unseen passing through his mind before he meets her gaze again.

“I will not ask again,” he says. “Give me my son, or you will not enjoy my hospitality any longer.”

Death almost can’t swallow her chuckle. Hospitality? She wants to outright ask the man at what point did he think any of this was hospitable. She was trapped, had demands (not requests) thrown at her, and while not direct, he had threatened his own son in front of her. And now? And now, he dares to threaten her.

Face hardened, Death dares to take another step forward – only to be reminded once again by the barrier in place. It’s not painful, but it stops her in an instant. Something that for a moment Roderick takes some relief in. His magic was holding and would continue to hold, until he was satisfied, and with a smirk, he doesn’t even need to tell Death as much. She was his until she gave him what he wanted.

Though, it did seem that they had reached an impasse. She was not going to just give him his son back, not even for trade. So, be it. He had other ways – many ways, and he was not gutless or queasy at the notion of it.

“I gave you the chance to agree,” Roderick says, stepping nearer to the circle. Impressively so – though only emboldened by the sight of her trapped. “Remember that and know this will all be over the moment you give me what is rightfully mine.”

With that, Roderick turns and stomps away, uncaring of the younger boy left behind. Death watches the old man leave, half hoping the man will trip and crack his head just for the inconvenience he’s caused her. But alas, he gets up all the way, and the door slams shut behind him. All the while, Alex remains. She then turns her eyes to him, softening her smile.

“I won’t harm you,” she says.

“You’re Death,” he says, and she nods.

“But I won’t harm you,” she says again.

“But you’re Death,” Alex repeats, backing away, and before she can say another word, he’s up the stairs after his father – more afraid of her than of the man that likely beat him daily.

All can Death do is watch from her confinement and wonder how long they’ll leave her this time… uncaring of the unsaid threats. Instead, she sits back down and leans back as much as her ‘cage’ allows. This wasn’t much of a vacation and not one she’d likely repeat any time soon. That was a certainty.

Quick Notes: Death remembers the ingenuity and cruelty of humans next chapter… and she would never waiver in her duty… but at times, she considers and imagines – almost dreams – of what she might do when she gets herself free

Chapter Text

Chapter Three. To the Day After and After That

There was little Death considered the humans could do to her, and in her cage, little she could do to them. But all the same, she does find some amusement at the sudden rotation of guards. Men, who gawk at her – whisper little niblings of things (nothing profound – simple, boring gossip) – but ones that stay away all the same. Because they were afraid of her.

Just as Roderick was – obviously. After his last offer to her – the one with his son – he had yet to return… even a month later. The only change was – the guards.

Not that she’d do anything to them. She wouldn’t need to. After all, the most natural part of life – was death. She would come for them no matter where they hid, how well they thought their tracks covered. She would find them all the same. There is some comfort in that, though it doesn’t change her current predicament.

For a time, Death wonders if this is what Roderick plans to do with her – just keep her here and otherwise ignore her. It would suit her fine; at some point, she’d get out. One of her siblings had to now know she was missing. Destiny certainly did, but he was such a stickler for things, she sighs. Out of all of them, she was not expecting much help there. The others – she still holds out some hope for. It’s only been a month, she reminds herself.

Half of them barely talk once a century… she hopes she’s not stuck in this circle for a century. That would be utterly dull, and the amount of damage… it wouldn’t just be work to catch up on at that point. The amount of souls, the damage to them, to the mortal plane, to every plane… Death was a natural part of life – as were all the Endless and their functions. The loss of any would be felt, but some… would be harsher than others.

Death almost was curious to know what was going on in the world with her current self-contained, but the guards didn’t discuss it, leaving her to just her thoughts. She could engage them she supposes, but she doesn’t have much interest in that either.

However, apparently today is the day for the change in the routine. Unlike the times prior, the guards do a changeover early, and the new ones are less fresh faced and young. The words these ones exchange are less of a whisper and more… Death suspects they’re saying these things to try and incite a response. They want to be vile and crude, but they’re human. She’s not. There’s little they can say that would bother her, but the fact they’re now trying?

It's telling.

Another hour goes by and then, there’s Roderick – thankfully no son. Alex is not in sight, which Death appreciates. The young child shouldn’t be exposed to such things.

Quietly, Roderick pulls one of the guard’s chair near to the circle, where he promptly takes a seat, cane balanced across his lap. He crosses his legs as one of the new men approach. He peels his jacket from his form, tossing it into a crumpled heap on the floor. Death eyes it but says nothing and refuses to even acknowledge Roderick, which given the shade of red the man is turning, he does not appreciate.

Death’s uncertain of what they’re planning exactly, but she guesses they’ve move passed the ‘ask nicely’ stage (not that Roderick ever truly ‘asked nicely’ in her opinion). When the man steps into her circle, she half wonders if they’re that confident or Roderick didn’t make it clear exactly what she was.

Surprisingly, the man allows Death to push to her feet, and she does twist a smirk onto her features when he throws a punch. She’s not human. It’ll be a tickle, perhaps an aggravation, but it won’t…

The pain explodes across her vision, stars… when did she go outside, she wonders… but she sees stars for a moment, before the man drives his fist deep into her gut. Gone is the glimpse of the outside world, and Death falls to her knees gagging on nothing. She hasn’t eaten food in a month (not that she needs to) but in this moment? Choking on nothing but whatever her body has, she wishes for water. She feels far too mortal suddenly, and the pain fades to a dull ache.

That was… her eyes trail back to the runes containing her. They kept her and her power reeled in, and apparently, it was enough that she was bound to this one mortal form. It takes a minute, far longer than she’d like to admit, before she’s able to catch her breath, and she realizes then that yes she does need to actually breathe. She just hadn’t thought about it until this moment – hadn’t attempted to stop, but if she holds her breath now, her lungs (there’s a sensation) burn.

Slowly, Death gathers herself, refusing to give Roderick any more of a reaction, but the man doesn’t even react. No, all he does is nod, and the guard sharing her circle knees her in the face. Death feels her nose crushed in the blow, the pain near as sharp as the one in her cheekbone, but this time when darkness comes, she can do nothing but accept it.

The Endless did not trend onto one another’s realms often (not naturally at least); they tried to avoid it at all costs if anything. Too much power over another was the issue. Death was possibly the exception as she did once have to take the first Despair from this world into the next, but otherwise, she did not sleep to dream. She did not experience delirium, despair, desire, did not seek to destroy… not as mortals did at least. There were times she could feel the brushes of her siblings, but otherwise, they stayed apart… except to visit physically.

However, for one brief moment, when Death’s eyes close, she hopes to see the gates of her little brother’s realm. It wasn’t often that she got to visit the Dreaming, but she could tell her brother’s pride in his realm and his creations. It was… not as chaotic and demented as Delirium’s realm, and it could be quite wonderful. His realm was one of the few that did sometimes tempt her – she wouldn’t mind stepping into it more naturally.

Especially now.

If she fell within the Dreaming, she could speak to Dream, and without a doubt, she knows Dream will come for her. He’d tear down the house brick by brick for them daring to lay one finger on her. He wouldn’t kill them – couldn’t if they weren’t a threat to his realm technically, nor did he ever enjoy spilling blood. It was not in his nature, but she wonders if had he seen them strike her, if he would reconsider. Just as she was protective of him, she’s certain it goes the other way.

She’s certain he’d help her if she asked, but when she opens her eyes, what greets her is the basement ceiling. The man stands near her, his knuckles raw from where he hit her in sight but his face… blurry. It takes Death a moment to realize that it’s because her eyes are watering. With a hiss, she pushes herself over, getting her knees and hands under herself. She goes to push herself back to her feet when she sees the drops of blood from her nose splatter against the basement. Her blood.

She refuses to react. Instead, she merely gets her feet back under herself, smile and spit a glob of blood that was starting to leak into her mouth off to the side.

“It will get worse,” Roderick says, which Death believes. She doesn’t doubt that; she merely doesn’t care. Even when she’s struck again, she doesn’t – though this time, given she’s ready, she stumbles but stays on her feet.

The next two – it’s the same story, which obviously frustrates Roderick as his cane slips from his lap. She sees him gritting his teeth, prompting another small smirk from her in response. The blood in her mouth dribbles out, but she merely swipes it away with her tongue.

When the man swings again, Death decides to sidestep this one – though she doesn’t attack back. It crosses her mind that she likely could. She was being threatened; the laws stated in defense… but it was her and not her realm and she was not yet at the verge of her own destruction.

Death would like to continue this game – dodge and avoid the hits, but she was near human enough that after successfully ducking under another two, the next one lands. This one – sends her back to her knees.

“This will continue,” Roderick hisses. “And I will enjoy it. You took my son from me, and until you return him…”

Death glances up from her position, a simple shake of her head silencing Roderick. Spitting another glob of blood from her mouth, Death settles across from Roderick. Somehow even now, the mortal recognizes she has control in this situation – even with her lip split, eye blackened -, she has the entire room taut in anticipation to what she has to say.

With purposeful intention, Death forces the smile now, wiping her mouth completely clean with the back of her hand. Only then, does she lean back, resting against her hands – eyes like black nothingness boring into Roderick. He stumbles up at the sight – at the reminder that she may be bound but she was still Death.

“Let me make one thing clear Roderick Burgess,” she says, each word spoken clearly. “I did not take your son from you.” She despises that thought, that insinuation. It was and wasn’t the truth, but it was not as though this all could be laid only at her feet. Humans died because they lived. She existed because of that. “I merely helped him cross, as I do with all when it is there time. I do not kill, I do not take. It is my duty and function when it is your time…” she trails off now, and she watches how Roderick’s breath catches, “to help ferry you to where you’ll go next.” She may give them the helping hand, but she was not why everyone died. People still died – would die… even with her here. They just… she tries not to think of the world, of souls – of everyone trapped. Of those that did need help with her taking her hand… the chaos this likely brought of having her trapped here.

The man in the circle – the one that just beat her can’t help himself but ask, “Where’s that?”

Death breaks her stare with Roderick to glance up at her current tormentor – a man who’s surprisingly quite contemplative given what he just wrought.

“Can’t spoil that,” she says. “But everyone…” At this, she meets every one of their gazes, “everyone will find out eventually.” Including you goes unsaid. Death took pride in her work, but she did not always enjoy it… Roderick, she decides then… she’d enjoy possibly too much.

The world hangs silent for a moment, before Roderick gathers himself – slamming his cane down. He doesn’t care about semantics. He doesn’t care if Death did not truly kill his son; he doesn’t. He just wants his child back, and her words strike something in him. The world whispers a warning in his ear – about taking this no farther, about letting the Endless go free, the natural order… the possible fate hanging in the balance-, but he ignores it.

No.

He would get his son back.

“Perhaps,” Roderick says, before nodding at his grunt in turn. The kick catches Death in the side. “But as long as you’re in there, it will be a long time coming.”

Quick Notes: This is not the entire fic, but we need to roll this in such a way that’s… believable. Next chapter, Roderick finds the right pressure point. And then…

This will likely get more consistent updates once Regarding is done and I’m near finished typing with that (sort of). But we shall see. I have other projects (including original works) I want to focus on as well

Chapter Text

Chapter Four. In the End

Death decides by the third or fourth week that Roderick is not imaginative in any way shape or form. The rotation is the same, the threats are the same, the demands, the hits, the blood… it remains the same, and Death finds herself bored again. She’d almost melt away into that if the pain was slightly more ignorable… which sadly it wasn’t. But she does do what she can to disregard it.

Unfortunately, though, she was mortal enough that it hurt, that it continued to hurt, but her Endless nature protected. Much to the glee of the guards, she’d heal – from almost near anything… near… when they removed a finger a few days ago, it had yet to come back, and Roderick had put a stop to that. He couldn’t get what he wanted if she was… non-functional in his words, but he allowed the newer guards free reign outside of that.

It mostly stayed to beatings, nasty words, vile threats (that thankfully none had crossed that line yet), and occasionally gross acts… she refuses to think one what soaks and dries into her jacket and shirt now (urine)… she refuses…

Death refuses to think on any of it. It would dry; she would heal.

Then, it would start over.

However, eventually it would end. Death focuses on that. Eventually, it had too. Either her captors would die, get bored themselves, or her family would come. Her siblings… she waits each day, bated breath to see if it is one of them.

Though…

It’s not their fault. She has to tell herself that one time after her nose had to heal after being broken, after one of her nails had to slowly grow back. She had to tell herself that they simply didn’t yet know she was missing.

After all, she didn’t truly take lives. People were still dying… they were just trapped – in the space between. She helped those cross – that was it. Although… in some cases, it did take her offering her hand, but those were… less common – those in comas, suffering from brain death, or some other ailment that kept them from transitioning naturally.

However, as much as Roderick raged at her and stated she killed his son – she did not kill. She was Death, in that she oversaw those matters, but she did not kill.

She did not.

Yet – today…

Death watches as the normal monotony changes. The guard rotation was the same, but this time, there’s someone new. A young man – Death’s own mind supplies the name, even in this form, Remy Thomason - is dragged in by one of the two guards, the one that generally prefers to enter her circle. This time though, he drags the Remy to the edge of the barrier where he all but throws the boy to the ground, then remains outside – just past Death’s reach.

And then, Roderick joins. The older man takes a seat as he tends to, but then, he does nothing. Remy glances at the gathered party, eyes wide and frantic as he glances from one person to the next. He’s just opening his mouth – to offer a bribe, to beg… Death can’t be sure, nor will she ever know as before the young man can – the guard puts a bullet into Remy’s skull.

The blood and brain matter splatters across Death’s face and clothes, and she can do nothing but sit, mouth slightly ajar. This was her function; she was accustomed to this… but… no. Not this. She had never had someone shot in front of her, not like this, and before she can further process it, Roderick speaks,

“His death is your fault.” Death’s eyes snap to Roderick. “Every day you refuse my request, I will have my guard shoot someone.”

“I did not…” Death starts, but Roderick slams his cane onto ground – the echo as sharp as the gunshot was.

“I only pulled the trigger because you refuse me,” Roderick says. “I will continue to do so, until you do not.” At that, he stands. “Every death from here on, you can finally lay claim to, Death of the Endless.” He turns, already heading back to the stairs. “He’s dead because of you.”

And like that, the guards sit back down, completely leaving Death alone. She sits, her eyes trained on Remy’s body. She cannot sense his soul – he’s there. He must be, but bound as she was, there was nothing she could do. Nothing save for watch the mortal’s body slowly cool as the guards joke about an upcoming baseball game.

In all her years, Death had watched much of her function, had experienced it, had even lived a human life to better understand it, but this… having a human killed because she refused someone else… she swallows harshly.

It takes Death a moment, but she takes a settling breath. She did not kill Remy. Roderick did. No matter how much the human tried to lay blame at her feet, she repeated it over and over in her mind – ensuring it enshrines there. She can’t forget this – can’t forget Remy but also cannot forget that as much as Roderick tried to place this on her, this was not her fault.

It was not.

Just as it wasn’t the next day with Amy Esseck.

Then, the day after that with Meredith Moore.

Or the one after that with Teddy.

Or the one… Death didn’t recall her name… or his name… and as more time went one – weeks… the deaths started to blur together.

Every few days now (slowly morphing into weeks – Death would be amused that the man was likely having to space out the murders to avoid being caught himself… except she finds no humor in the drying blood, the rotting bodies) Roderick would have someone brought into the basement, and every day, she was reminded this was her fault. Their deaths were on her head; they were only death because of her. And then… they were dead.

Every time.

No matter how the people pleaded, begged, screamed, threatened… there was never any mercy. Only Death could provide that – something Roderick would sometimes tell those he brought in for his sick shows; while other times, he merely had them shot immediately.

The beatings stopped – Death’s not sure how she feels about that. After all, the physical pain was minor. This? Watching this?

This was worse, made crueler by the fact Roderick tended to let the body sit and decompose for a time – ensuring Death truly got the sight (and smell) of the experience. Only once a guard started to heave did Roderick generally allow a body to be moved and disposed of (Death can only imagine what he does with them), and then, they started again.

Honestly, it doesn’t help in any way, but Death does wish she could at least communicate with these people – try to explain things… and once they pass, help them move on as they should. However, she never gets the chance. The most she’s allowed is to tell these people she’s sorry right before they die. Anything else? The guards would shoot – aiming for the gut first – then after a few minutes? Then, the guards would put the people out of their misery.

As much as Death refuses to take responsibility for these deaths (they’re not her fault, they’re not – she keeps repeating it), she also refuses to let these people suffer in life any longer than they must. And then after… she tries not to dwell on the fact these people – all of these souls are likely lingering just outside her circle – lost, confused, in pain and still suffering.

She couldn’t save them in life, and she couldn’t help them in death.

It’s painful, heartbreaking, and Death can only sit, knees pressed into her chest and try not to dwell on it (she dwells on it).

Roderick ensures that.

Beatings, pain, threats, disgusting acts didn’t get to her, but after the twentieth death… over two years of captivity… Death finally comes to the realization she’s on her own, no one’s coming for her (at least not anytime soon), and these people would still be alive… if not for her.

Quick Notes: Okay, let’s get the fun part started…

Well, I feel terrible writing all of this. I'm like Roderick's a shit person - how do I make it worse. Viola. Anyway, this is still going to be super inconsistently updating. I'll get around to it more once some of my other works are done. It's not a very long tale - which is good as I'm very busy with Essence and finishing Regarding.