Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The bullet in his skull didn't come as a surprise.

One group was shooting at another over.. something. Jonny never bothered to find out. He didn't particularly care either, just went towards the first sounds of violence he heard and started shooting at them.

Then they started shooting back.

Jonny didn't even have time to bite out a "Bast-" before his body thumped to the floor, blood soaking into his nice new coat.

HAVE YOU EVER CONSIDERED A DIFFERENT HOBBY?
asked a voice from somewhere above him. It was an odd sort of voice - it echoed, and seemed to go straight to your brain without messing about with the ear.
MAYBE ONE THAT DOESN'T KILL YOU IN UNDER HALF AN HOUR.

Jonny flipped it off.

Then he paused. He was dead. Would be for some time - his healing hadn't kicked in yet and it wasn't as if he had somewhere better to be. He flexed his fingers a few times. They were pale, slightly translucent, and he could look through it to see his actual hand still on the ground where he left it.

"If I sat up," Jonny began, letting out an annoyed groan, "will I see a tall skeleton with a scythe and black robes?"

There was a pause.

I, ER- COULD PUT THE SCYTHE AWAY?
The voice still skipped the ears entirely, but at least it sounded apologetic about the whole business.

Jonny groaned again, hardly sparing a glance for his physical body as he sat up. There was indeed a skeleton stood above him. Twin blue flames burned where eyes should have been, and his robes were not merely black, but a lightless gap in the world that was here long before the concept of colour and would be around long after too.

The effect was ruined somewhat by the scythe he attempting to hide behind his back. The scythe was much taller than he was. It wasn't working.

"Not to sound ungrateful, but why the fuck are you here?"

If Death had eyelids, he would have blinked in surprise.
YOU CAN'T SAY THAT.

"Say what?"

THAT. IT'S INAPPROPRIATE. IT'S.. DISRESPECTING THE DEAD.

"Can't say I care."

IT'S THE PRINCIPLE OF THE THING.

Not for the last time, Jonny sighed heavily. He hated dealing with anthropomorphic constructs. He stood up fully, doing his best to ignore that fact he barely came up to Death's shoulder.

"My sincerest apologies. My name is Jonny d'Ville, captain of the good starship Aurora." He bowed deeply and dramatically. "May I enquire as to why you are here?"

METAPHORICALLY?

"Look if I wanted to debate philosophy I would call Brian. Why are you in this location, talking to me?"

Death looked at Jonny's ghost, then at Jonny's body, then finally back at Jonny's ghost.
YOU MAY WANT TO SIT DOWN FOR THI-

"I am well aware that I'm dead!" he shouted. "But I must have died hundreds of times and never once got a visit from the spooky skeleton himself."

I RATHER THINK,
Death said slowly, like someone whose worldview is undergoing a sudden and significant shakeup,
THAT WE'VE GOT OFF ON THE WRONG FOOT HERE.

"You think?" he asked in mock surprise.

A few moments passed. They were each rapidly rewinding their internal scripts, trying to find a point that might salvage this train wreck of a conversation.

Jonny spoke first, bowing again as he did so.
"From the stop, shall we? I am Jonny d'Ville, captain of the good starship Aurora and member of the Mechanisms, a crew of immortal space pirates who roam the universe looking for fun, violence and.. more violence, usually"

I AM DEATH,
said Death.

This was, without a doubt, one of the worst conversations Jonny had had the misfortune to be a part of. His fingers itched to draw his gun and shoot something. Or someone.

He was struck with an idea.

"What would happen if I tried to shoot you?"

YOUR HAND WOULD GO STRAIGHT THROUGH YOUR GUN AND YOU WOULDN'T BE ABLE TO EVEN PICK IT UP.

Why were some people so obsessed with coming back as a ghost? The way Jonny saw it, it was a lot like life, only worse and containing a skeleton who wouldn't let you be temporarily dead in peace.
"Fine - metaphorically?"

I WOULD BE UPSET. WHAT IS IT WITH YOU AND VIOLENCE ANYWAY?

Instead of answering, Jonny tried picking up his gun. Unsurprisingly enough, his ghostly hand went straight through it.

"What about if I shot you when I'm alive again?"

I WOULD STILL BE UPSET.
Then Jonny's words registered fully.
YOU ARE AWARE THAT HUMANS DON'T TEND TO COME BACK AFTER DYING, AREN'T YOU?

"I'm not human," Jonny said, and if he sounded overly flippant about it well- living forever can give you some funny ideas about existence.

PEOPLE THEN. LIVING CREATURES. THINGS THAT WERE ALIVE AND NOW ARE NO LONGER WILL, IN MY EXPERIENCE, STAY THAT WAY.

"Hardly my fault your experiences are so limited."

Death looked like he was about to say something in response, then decided better. Instead, he reached into the folds of his robes, pulling out a small sandtimer.

A small sandtimer with a little belt wrapped around the middle.

All the sand was firmly in the lower half, like it should be. Death glowered at it as if he could make Jonny stay dead by sheer willpower alone.

Then slowly, a grain of sand began to float back up to the timer's top half.

Shaking the timer didn't do anything, and turning it upside down just made reality fizzle slightly.

Jonny tried to tap on it, but Death raised it up out of his reach. Given the height difference, it wasn't hard.

"Does that mean I'll be coming back to life soon?"

YOU SHOULDN'T BE GOING BACK TO LIFE EVER. THERE ARE RULES ABOUT THESE THINGS.

"Well," Jonny shrugged. "Never was one for the rules."

I DON'T JUST MEAN RULES. I MEAN THE RULES. THE ONES THAT ENSURE THE SUN RISES EACH MORNING, AND THAT SNOW IS COLD AND THAT THE DEAD DON'T COME BACK.

That was a direct challenge if ever Jonny had heard one. He started counting off on his fingers:
"There are planets where one half is always in darkness - where the sun never rises and never will do. Somewhere out there boiling rain is falling which, by a freak of language evolution, the locals call 'sno'."

He grinned at Death, the kind of grin that forcefully reminds you how most animals bare their teeth as a threat.
"And I myself am evidence that the last one isn't true."

Death was silent.

"Like I said," Jonny sat back down again. This conversation wasn't going anywhere useful, and, even in his ghostly form, standing was more effort than it was worth. "I never did like Rules."

There was a rustling of fabric as Death sat himself down as well. He tapped out a quick rhythm with one bony finger on the glass timer. If anything, this seemed to make the sand rise faster.

Jonny looked over at it, doing his best impression of someone not consumed by incredible nosieness and a fair amount of curiosity to boot.

"So, when all that sand reaches the top again, I'll be back?"

Just the rhythm, over and over again.
The sand kept rising.

"If I apologise for breaking the Rules, will you answer me?"

Death let out an impressively heavy sigh for someone with no lungs.
YOU HAVE MAYBE TWO MINUTES MAXIMUM.

One final flick at the timer.
GIVEN THE CIRCUMSTANCES... ANY LAST REQUESTS?

Jonny considered this. He had never met this Death before, and maybe never would again. This was an opportunity like no other - whatever he asked should be important, something he wouldn't be able to find out otherwise. Something for Ivy to file away, perhaps, or for Raphaella to take apart in her lab.

He pointed to Death's scythe, sharp enough to cut the air in two.
"Can I touch it?"

NO.

And at last, there was no more sand in the bottom of the timer.

*

Jonny's body sat up, Jonny's ghost firmly back inside of it. His coat was ruined, soaked through with blood from the now-closed bullet wound.

"Bastard didn't even let me touch his scythe."

Chapter Text

Ivy tried kicking the body lying prone on the floor with a foot. Her body, to be precise, where she had landed fatally after trying to balance on the top of a ladder holding a larger than advisable stack of books. Said books were, thankfully, unharmed. Her body could heal, but some of the things in this library were irreplaceable.

Her ghostly foot went straight through her corporal one.

"There was only a 21% chance of that working anyway," Ivy mused, largely to herself. She didn't usually end up as a ghost and was determined to make the most of it.

A polite but dry cough broke her concentration. 
ARE YOU READY TO GO?

She glanced at the tall skeleton that was now apparently stood in her library.

"Oh, you must be Death. Jonny told me about you."

The twin blue flames where Death's eyes should have been flickered slightly.
THERE'S MORE OF YOU?

Ivy nodded distractedly. She knelt by her body,  trying to capture all the information she could without actually being able to touch anything.

"Nine. Eight if you exclude the Toy Soldier, which is only alive under 15 definitions of the word."

I DON'T THINK I WANT TO KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN BY THAT.
He paused, slightly nervous.
ARE YOU GOING TO THREATEN TO KILL ME LIKE THE CAPTAIN DID?

This at last got her to look up.

"He's actually only first mate. He calls himself captain to fufill a desire to exert control on the world around him."

ER-

"According to Marius, anyway. Jonny claims it's all pseudoscientific bullshit."

OH.

Ivy just crossed her legs as she sat back against a shelf. One of her knees bounced, and she tapped her collarbone as she spoke.
"Can I ask you some questions, whilst I'm technically dead?"

Death leaned his scythe against the shelf.
I THINK YOU WILL REGARDLESS.

The first came almost immediately.
"Where are you from? I don't mean physically, there's an 92% probability of you having your own realm that's just a reflection of your physical manifestation. I mean in the conceptual sense."

YOU,
Death decided,
WOULD MAKE A GOOD WITCH.

At this, Ivy frowned. She had an estimate for how many questions there'd be time to ask, but that wouldn't happen if Death kept giving non-answers.

"I'm the ship's archivist. Anyway, that didn't answer the question."

He inclined his head apologetically, thinking for a few moments.
SO LONG AS THERE ARE LIVING CREATURES, THERE WILL BE DEATH OR, MORE ACCURATELY, LOWER-CASE DEATH. 

A sigh.
BELIEF IS A FUNNY THING THOUGH.
I ONLY EXIST BECAUSE PEOPLE BELIEVE THEY WILL SEE ME: THE TALL SKELETON WITH THE BLACK ROBES AND THE SCYTHE. WHEN PEOPLE STOP BELIEVING IN THAT, I WILL NO LONGER EXIST.

Ivy considered this information, filing it away to analyse more later.
"What if someone doesn't expect to see you? Like me, for instance, but you're still here."

LIKE I SAID - BELIEF IS A FUNNY THING. ALTHOUGH,
he added slowly,
I EXPECT IT'S SOMETHING TO DO WITH QUANTUM.

Ivy's knee stopped bouncing for a moment. It was true that, after Jonny's experience, she had expected to see Death. She just hadn't expected him to be so...

Well, alive.

She hadn't expected him to wander off topic and get distracted, to use words he clearly didn't know the meaning of in order to appear like he knew what he was doing.

This was turning out to be even more of a valuable learning opportunity than she'd thought.

"What will happen when I die?" she asked at last. "For your own sake, please don't say quantum again."

I WASN'T GOING TO,
he replied, slightly irritably.
ER, BY 'DIE'...

"To die: verb. To cease to live, to undergo the complete and permanent cessation of all vital functions, to become dead." Ivy's voice was oddly flat as she said this, like a text-to-speech program reading words directly off a webpage.

The grinning skull seemed to frown.
DOES THIS NOT COUNT AS DEATH?

"This isn't permanent, so I can't be dead. But, if my hypothesis is correct, one day we will die, in the sense you know it. So, what comes after?"

I THINK I UNDERSTAND,
he said, nodding.

There was an extended silence.

"I have," Ivy quickly did the maths, "1.2 minutes before I likely return to my body, and I'd appreciate the answer."

PEOPLE ALWAYS DO.
He picked up his scythe again.
WHAT ANSWER WILL SATISFY YOU? THAT THERE IS AN EMPTY DESERT UNDER A SKY FULL OF STARS AND ONE DAY YOU WILL WALK THROUGH IT TO A DESTINATION EVEN I DO NOT KNOW?

Ivy narrowed her eyes. If she'd been in her physical body, the gears in her metal brain would have been whirring and clicking as she took all the information in.

MAYBE THE ANSWER IS THE LIBRARY.  FULL OF BOOKS AND THE THINGS BEFORE BOOKS AND THE THINGS THAT WILL COME AFTER. WRITTEN IN EACH IS THE STORY OF A LIFE, AND WHEN IT IS FULL THAT LIFE HAS REACHED AN END.

Had Death grown taller? It shouldn't make sense; but the skeleton now towered above her and the flames in his eyes blazed fiercely.

THEN AGAIN MAYBE YOU ARE THE ANSWER.
BY YOUR OWN RECKONING YOU SHOULD BE ALIVE BY NOW, YET YOU ARE STILL HERE - THROUGH SHEER BLOODY-MINDED STUBBORNNESS. IT'S NOT THE ANSWER OF COURSE, BUT WHY WOULD THERE ONLY EVER BE ONE?

He took a small sandtimer out of the folds of his robes. It was stone, carved with vines that curved up and around and around. All the sand had floated up to the top half, and every so often a grain would fall. It wouldn't travel far before hitting some sort of barrier and, with a small flash of blue light, appearing back at the top.

DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?

"You answered my question perfectly," Ivy said, deep in thought.

Death seemed taken aback. He shrank back to his original size - though her logical mind was insistent he'd never grown in the first place - and his eyes dimmed.
I DID?

Ivy made a sound of agreement, still considering all that Death had told her.
Some of her theories were no longer correct, but she was only 62% sure of them anyway. The idea of a library was interesting - it wasn't a concept she'd ever come across before, although did it make a certain amount of sense, if any of this situation could be said to make sense.
And the desert? It could just be a metaphor, of course, but...

It was only when Ivy stopped for breath that she realised she was back in her body.

Death was nowhere to be seen.

Chapter Text

"Fuckers poisoned my milk," Tim said in disgust. "Can't have shit on the Aurora."

His body was slumped over the table, half drunk glass of milk in hand. None of it had spilt though, which meant the risk of one of his octokittens consuming whatever the hell was in there was much lower.
Speaking of...

Tim looked around the room. Where were his o-

His gaze landed on the skeleton. Specifically, the skeleton holding a book and sitting on what looked like a black deckchair.

That was new.

Tim waved. The skeleton waved back.

DON'T MIND ME, I BROUGHT A BOOK.
Death motioned at it. It had bright colours and chunky pages, the kind you'd give to a child.

"I was wondering when I'd finally get to meet you," Tim said, nonchalantly as he could. This was partly true - but Tim had conveniently left out the part where he'd accused Jonny of making the whole experience up for attention. That wouldn't make a good first impression.

GUNPOWDER TIM, YES?

Tim nodded. Placing a bookmark in his first book, Death felt around his robes. After a short search, he produced another one, smaller and bound in black leather. He leafed through it, eventually landing on a page with nine neat columns. Two of them had tallies in.

"Is that keeping track of how often you see us?"

Death gave an impressive side-eye for someone with no actual eyes.
THIS ISN'T A COMPETITION TO SEE WHO CAN FILL THEIR COLUMN THE FASTEST.

"No, no, of course not." Tim's face was the picture of innocence. "But- out of interest?'

The skeleton sighed.
I'VE SEEN IVY TWICE - ONE TIME OF WHICH SHE ORCHESTRATED HERSELF IN ORDER TO ASK ME MORE QUESTIONS. JONNY I'VE SEEN...
His jaw moved silently as he counted.
FORTY SEVEN INSTANCES TO DATE.

Well, Tim had some catching up to do. Like hell was he going to let Jonny win this. Unfortunately, for now he could only wait.

"Why do you have a children's book?" he asked, to fill the time more than anything.

IT'S A GIFT FOR YOUNG SAM. IT'S HIS BIRTHDAY SOON, YOU KNOW.

"I have never met that person in my life."

Death glared at him.
GOOD,
he said sternly.
YOU'D BE A BAD INFLUENCE ON HIM ANYWAY.

That was uncalled for, but probably fair.
"Alright then. What's it called?"

He turned it to show Tim the title.
'I WANT MY OCTOKITTEN BACK'. I-
Death paused.
WHAT IS AN OCTOKITTEN?

Tim grinned happily.
"I'll show you!"

There was at least one in this room, he knew. Hiding, probably, or trying to eat the furniture again. He whistled sharply, and out of the corner of his eye he saw a mottled tentacle poke itself out from behind a box. The rest of the octokitten followed suit, glooping gently across the floor.

Tim picked it up and held it towards Death, who looked slightly concerned.
"This one's called Octokittim."

AH I SEE, IT'S A PUNE, OR A PLAY ON WORDS.
ER, HOW ARE YOU ABLE TO HOLD IT?

He just shrugged.
"Octokittens are weird like that. Sometimes they decide not to obey the little things like the laws of physics or common sense."
Again, Tim held Octokittim towards Death.
"Would you like to hold it?"

IS THERE A CORRECT WAY TO DO IT?

Motioning for Death to stand up and hold out his arms, Tim brought Octokittim close.

Wobbling slightly, it wrapped two tentacles around his arms. It pulled itself across from Tim to Death, landing in the skeleton's hands with a splat.

Death stood there with a handful of octokitten, looking like someone who volunteered to babysit a child and is only now realising how fragile babies really are.

Octokittim seemed unconcerned. Slowly, it began to climb up Death's arm. He stroked it gingerly with his free hand, causing it to make a sound halfway between a screech and a purr.

ARE YOU SURE THIS IS OKAY? OCTOKITTIM DOESN'T HAVE ANY EYES. WHAT IF IT FALLS?

"Neither do you."

Death opened his mouth, thought better of it, then shut it again. After a hesitation, he opened it again.
I DON'T THINK THAT POINT WORKS AS WELL AS YOU THINK IT DOES.

There was just no helping some people. Tim sighed, moving to go sit back in his seat. Then he remembered the dead body currently in it.

For lack of anywhere else to sit, he wandered over to Death's deckchair. It seemed fairly solid, so Tim figured it was safe enough to sit in. Even so, he waited until Death was distracted talking to Octokittim before making his move, just in case he fell straight through.

It was surprisingly comfortable. The kind of seat you could just.. go to sleep in...

THAT IS MY CHAIR.

Tim jerked awake, arms flailing wildly. The deckchair rocked dangerously and he tried to shift his weight the other way to save himself and his dignity.

He crashed to the floor in an ungraceful heap.
"That's- that's disrespecting the dead, that is!"

YOU FELL ASLEEP IN MY CHAIR,
Death said, not sounding too upset about it.

Tim grumbled quietly, picking himself up and making a big show of dusting off his coat.
"Traitor," he hissed at Octokittim, who was curled happily around Death's neck.

OCTOKITTIM HAS DONE NOTHING WRONG.

Tim agreed fully with that statement, but he wasn't about to go saying that to person who'd made him fall off a chair.

"Don't you have a sandtimer on you that says how long I've got left?" he asked instead.

Death shuffled slightly.
I HAVE ER- STOPPED BRINGING THEM WITH ME WHEN I DEAL WITH YOU PEOPLE.
At Tim's horrified expression, he went on quickly.
IT'S NOT LIKE YOU EVER PAY ATTENTION TO THE RULES ANYWAY, AND IT'S ONE LESS THING FOR ME TO REMEMBER.

"Jonny got to see his!"
This was just offensive now.

WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO DESCRIBE IT?

Tim nodded sullenly, trying to hide the gleam of interest that had entered his eyes.

IT'S ABOUT THIS BIG,
Death held his hands about a sandtimer's length apart,
AND IT'S GRE-

With a not-so-subtle cough, Tim interrupted.
"Yeah I'm sure it's very aesthetically pleasing, but what about the sand?"

WHAT ABOUT THE SAND?

"Well... weird stuff happens to it, doesn't it? Or was Jonny just trying to act cool again?"

AGAIN, I DON'T WANT THIS TO TURN INTO ANY SORT OF COMPETITION.
Death looked meaningfully at Tim, who just shrugged.
I WATCHED THE SAND... FLOW UPWARDS, I THINK IS THE BEST WAY TO DESCRIBE IT.

That was just same as what Jonny said happened to him. Tim wasn't going to stand for that
"That's the same as Jonny!" he exclaimed. "I won't stand for this."

NO IT'S NOT. IN HIS CASE, THE SAND ROSE UPWARDS. IN YOURS, IT FLOWED UP LIKE IT WAS ACTED ON BY A HIGHLY LOCALISED GRAVITY SOURCE.

Tim just rolled his eyes.
"You can tell you've been talking to Ivy. Anyway, I don't want to be the same as Jonny!"

I SEEM TO BE REPEATING MYSELF A LOT HERE. YOU'RE NOT THE SAME.

A beat

"Give me Octokittim back."

WHAT?

"You don't deserve it!"

THIS SEEMS A DISPROPORTIONATE RESPONSE.

"I am being perfectly proportionate thank you very much."

I DON'T THINK OCTOKITTIM WANTS TO BE REMOVED.

Tim had to agree that Octokittim seemed almost glued to the skeleton. That wasn't a battle he'd win anytime soon.

Instead he sighed, lowering himself back onto the floor. He lay there, face down, for a few moments in silence.

"Wake me up when I'm alive again," he said, voice muffled.

THAT'S NOT HOW THIS WORKS.

*

The glass of milk was halfway to his mouth before Tim remembered where he was, and how bad an idea drinking it would be.

Then he remembered how many times he'd need to die in order to beat Jonny, and downed the rest in one go.

Chapter Text

The machine beeped twice, and Raphaella la Cognizi died.

*

Sitting up quickly, her ghost passed straight through the glass and metal that encased her body. It was a shame she wouldn't be able to write any observations down, but she'd set up multiple cameras throughout the lab beforehand.

She wasn't going to miss any of this

HOW DOES IT ALL WORK?

"Death arrived T plus ten seconds." Raphaella raised a hand in greeting, but didn't spare a glance for the skeleton. After all, compiling her crewmates' various experiences had told her exactly who was going to show up. There were plenty more interesting experiments to do.

"Hold this will you?" She held out a small, lumpy object.

Death took it immediately, then looked down in concern.
WHAT EXACTLY IS THIS FOR? AND HOW ARE YOU HOLDING IT?

She hummed.
"I guess we'll find out."

RAPHAELLA LA COGNIZI YOU WILL STOP BEING SO CRYPTIC OR-

"Or what? I'm already dead."

ACCORDING TO IVY, THIS STATE ISN'T TRUE DEATH.

Raphaella sighed heavily.
"I love Ivy dearly but," she ran a hand through her hair, "she is the *worst* kind of pedant. Hold this?"

Death looked at the long thin thing.
I WOULD APPRECIATE SOME EXPLANATION BEFORE WE GO FURTHER.
He motioned towards the machine holding her body.
HOW EXACTLY DOES THAT WORK?

"It removes all the life from the body inside it, holding it in stasis until a random amount of time has passed, after which all the life will be returned."

THAT SHOULDN'T WORK.

She turned to look at him, stretching out her wings as she did so.
"You're a creature of belief right? That's the main way all of this works or, at least, that's how I think it should."

Death still looked puzzled.

"It's like this: electricity flows through the machine, pistons move, lights blink on and off. So, in that sense, the machine works."
There was a heavy thunk as Raphaella hit the metal casing. Then she paused, and put her hand on it again. Except this time, it went straight through."

According to my observations, belief is key. If I believe it will keep me dead - or whatever Ivy calls this - then it will. If I believe I can interact with the world around me, I can."

YOU MAY HAVE A POINT.
The skeleton sounded unhappy. Raphaella figured this was because of broken Rules, though which Rule exactly she wasn't sure, and wasn't interested in finding out in this moment.

"It requires a fair bit of effort, especially holding things, but it functions for the time being. Take this?" She held out a cube.

PLEASE STOP PASSING ME THINGS WITHOUT SAYING WHAT THEY DO.
He took it anyway, round lumpy object in one hand and this new cube in the other.
I AM ALSO RUNNING OUT OF HANDS.

Raphaella furrowed her brow.
"Then make some more?"
That was clearly the logical option, at least in Raphaella's opinion. If you encounter a problem, you figure out the best way to fix it, then you damn well go and do it.

Death didn't respond, and when she checked he just look politely baffled.

At last he cleared his throat.
SO...
IF YOU BELIEVE YOUR GHOSTLY BODY CAN FLY, YOU WILL BE ABLE TO DO SO?

That threw her.
"I have wings? I can fly already."

BUT THAT IS IN YOUR PHYSICAL BODY. THINGS WORK DIFFERENTLY WHEN YOU ARE DEAD OR, AT THE VERY LEAST, NOT ALIVE.
Death seemed to be on a roll with the point he was trying to make, which Raphaella could respect.

DO YOU EVEN NEED YOUR WINGS TO FLY? IF YOU WERE TO JUMP, WOULD YOUR BELIEF BE ENOUGH TO STOP YOU FALLING BACK DOWN AGAIN? HOW SURE ARE YOU THAT IT IS BELIEF, AND BELIEF ONLY, BEHIND ALL THIS?

She wasn't fully sure, that was what was driving this whole encounter. Of course, she had theories and hypotheses, but nothing concrete, not yet.

Raphaella stayed quiet, instead testing if she could pick up any of the heavier objects around the lab. Death was straying into the metaphorical side of things, which she didn't care about.

She didn't know how long she'd have left, and there were a few things she really wanted to do before the return to life.

IF YOU DON'T MIND ME ASKING,
Death said after some time.
HOW DID YOU GET YOUR WINGS?

"I made them myself." She motioned to the lab as a whole. "Near everything here was built by my own hands."

AH, THAT WOULD EXPLAIN IT.

"Explain what?"

YOUR LIFE TIMER. IT LOOKS LIKE THE SAND WAS BLOCKED FROM FALLING THROUGH IT INTENTIONALLY.

She just grinned. A sandtimer wasn't something she'd ever experimented on personally, but that sure as hell sounded like her handiwork.

"Do you think that's why I, specifically, can't die?"

Death sighed.
ARE YOU NOT CONTENT TO LET SOME THINGS GO UNKNOWN?

That was quitter's talk. Raphaella was of the firm belief that everything could be understood, if you were willing to break it down far enough into what made it what it was.

She would take the universe and grind it down to the finest power if need be, sieve it through the finest sieve to find her answers.

And she knew with near certainty Death wouldn't agree if she voiced this.

CAN I PUT THESE DOWN YET?
Death asked, interrupting her train of thought.

"No. What if I need them later?"

THEY'D ONLY BE ON THIS TABLE.

"Yes but I need you to be the one holding them."

AND WHY IS THAT?
he asked wearily.

Raphaella's voice could never hope to recreate the echoing tone of Death's, but she did a very convincing impression.
"Are you not content to let some things go unknown?"

Death glared at her, but she refused to look away. It wasn't that Raphaella could merely outstare a snake, but that she would hold its gaze whilst creating a machine that would ensure it would never be free of the sensation of being watched.

The skeleton looked away first, trying to make it seem like that was his plan all along.

She took the lumpy object from him.
"I'm seeing if something being in contact with capital-d Death makes it easier for me to interact with."

DOES IT?

"It's hard to tell. I th-"

The machine beeped once as the object hit the floor with a loud thud.

*

Raphaella sat up quickly.

Or she tried to, before her progress was brought to a sudden and slightly painful halt by the glass and metal around her.

She sighed. At least she'd got some interesting observations.

Chapter Text

Jonny spent the moments before his death admiring the large sword someone had stabbed into his chest.

A pretty thing, probably entirely useless in actual combat, but it had rubies set into the hilt, and an oranate design carved into the blade. Well, the part of the blade he could see sticking out his chest anyway.

If it was still there when he healed, he was planning to sell it on as fast he as could. It must be worth a fortune.

*

Stretching, Jonny sat up.

"Another mark for your book there. What am I on now, two hundred or something?"

I GET THE FEELING NONE OF YOU LISTENED WHEN I SAID THIS WASN'T A COMPETITION.

Jonny looked over at Death, who sat in his deckchair, reading a book and very deliberately not looking back at him.

"Come on now, don't be like that." Jonny smiled in what he thought was an open, friendly way. It was neither of those things, but at least he made the effort.

Death turned a page.

"If you don't give me a number, I'll just make something up and then Tim will end up dying even more to break even."

He watched the flames flare briefly in Death's eyes, and counted that as a win. Yes, talking to the skeleton made time pass faster before the return to life, but also Jonny was never above some gentle threatening.

Another flip of the page, then:
TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN, AS OF RIGHT NOW.

"You know that off the top of your head?" Jonny asked, blinking in shock.

I COUNTED BEFORE I GOT HERE.

"Well," he shrugged. "I always did say I'd great death as an old friend. Just never expected it to be actual Death."

Death hesitated.
DO- DO YOU THINK OF ME AS A FRIEND?

Jonny froze. This was veering dangerously close to "talking about his feelings" territory, which was something he did not want to do. Thing was - he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the company, and the two of them had spent a lot of time together...

"Am I still beating Tim?" he asked instead, quickly moving on.

Death gave him a funny look, but let the topic of conversation shift.
YOU'VE DIED MORE THEN HE HAS, YES. AND NO,
he sighed,  as Jonny moved to interrupt,
I WON'T TELL YOU THE EXACT FIGURE.

A shame, but at least he was winning.

Allowing himself a moment of triumph - Tim was still firmly behind - Jonny at last stood up. His body, unsurprisingly enough, remained on the floor where he left it.

The book Death was reading wasn't written in any language he recognised, not from this angle anyway. There were some nice illustrations though, even if looking at the depictions of a small village high on a lonely mountain gave him vertigo.

"What book's that?"

I'M NOT SURE. THE LIBRARIAN GAVE IT TO ME - HE SEEMED TO THINK I'D FIND IT INTERESTING.

Jonny moved to try and get a better look at the writing. Suddenly, he made the connection.

"Oh it's Latin," he said,  at the same time Death continued:
IT'S IN LATATIAN THOUGH...

The two looked at each other blankly. Jonny was almost certain that wasn't an actual language, but he resolved to bring it up with Ivy next time he saw her.

He made a leap for solid conversational ground.
"So... the Librarian? What are they like?"
A brave, foolish leap for conversational ground that merely *looked* solid, in the same way quicksand seems perfectly innocent until all at once you're buried up to your neck and the tide's coming in.

HE'S SURPRISINGLY GOOD AT HIS JOB, FOR AN ORANG-UTAN.

"He's a monkey?"
Jonny, stuck in the metaphorical quicksand, with the metaphorical tide coming in, had just noticed an angry metaphorical carnivorous squid on the horizon.

Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say an angry metaphorcial ape, swimming furiously towards him.

NO, AN ORANG-UTAN.
Death looked around quickly, even though there was no risk of the Librarian physically being here.
DON'T CALL HIM A MONKEY IF YOU ENJOY NOT HAVING YOUR ARMS PULLED OFF BY HIS FEET.

Jonny blinked a few times as his brain worked through everything Death had said.

"Why does-" he began, before coming to a sudden halt. Taking a breath, he very deliberately put all thoughts of Latatian, orang-utans in libraries, and his arms getting pulled off into the furthest corner of his mind.

Maybe this was Death's plan to keep him from dying again.

Well, it wasn't going to work. He wasn't going to let Tim of all people beat him.

Death just turned back to his book. The current page showed an arcing, branching figure which gave Jonny a headache to look at.

He huffed, wandering over to his body. Idly, he poked it with a foot. Or he tried to but, when he went to pick up the foot someone had left lying on the ground, his ghostly hand went straight through it.

Raphaella had claimed she could touch physical items, but he had always figured it was one of those freak results that only happened under sterile lab conditions.

The approaching sound of whistling made him look up. That- that was Ashes!

"Ashes!" he shouted. "The fuck are you doing here?"

LANGUAGE,
Death muttered, with no real feeling behind it. This was a well-worn argument.
ALSO, THEY WON'T BE ABLE TO HEAR YOU.

But Jonny had stopped listening to that last bit. Instead, he was looking on in horror as Ashes appraised the sword sticking out his chest.

"No - don't you dare" Jonny moved threateningly towards them, but the effect was ruined by the fact Ashes still couldn't see him.

They just wrapped their hands around the very expensive hilt and pulled.

"That's my sword!"

Jonny could only watch in dismay as Ashes admired the sword, slung it their shoulder and strolled off, whistling as they went. He silently bid goodbye to his profits.

UNDER THE ANCIENT LAW OF QUIA EGO SIC DICO,
Death began, not sounding too upset,
I RATHER THINK IT'S THEIR SWORD NOW.

"You and your laws. Never was a fan - they always get in the way of having fun. Anyway, how long do I have left?"

LONG ENOUGH FOR ASHES THERE TO MAKE OFF WITH THE SWORD AND BE LONG GONE BEFORE YOU CAN GET IT BACK. I-
he hesitated slightly,
I EXPECT I'LL SEE YOU AGAIN?

"Oh I expect so." Jonny went to doff his cap, before remembering he didn't wear one, and wasn't entirely sure what "doffing" meant.
"Don't be a stranger, you hear?"

I COULDN'T AVOID YOU EVEN IF I WANTED TO.

*

Jonny lifted a hand, waving goodbye at where Death had been sat.

Then he got up, and went to go fight Ashes. They had a big sword, true, but he had unearned confidence and an often-fatal lack of common sense on his side. Clearly, this was a fight he was bound to win.

Chapter Text

The attic was small, dark and dusty. The trapdoor had long since rusted shut, which might have been a problem, if you weren't the personification of death and able to pass through walls. A grimy window didn't so much let light in as turn the darkness a bit more yellow. 

Right in the corner lay the wooden man, covered in cobwebs long since abandoned by the spiders who wove them. A smile was painted on its face, and yet the whole scene seemed incredibly sad, somehow. It looked, or so Death thought, an awful lot like an old discarded toy.

This wasn't an entirely incorrect assumption.

YOU MUST BE THE TOY SOLDIER,
he said, although it was partly a question too.
I DON'T BELIEVE WE'VE MET YET, THOUGH YOU MOST LIKELY KNOW WHO I AM ALREADY.

No reply.

ER- HELLO?

He waved his hand in front of its face. Still no reaction. He wondered if this was a joke - if the soldier was staying as still as possible to make him think it was truly dead. Jonny had tried it once, but threatening to walk off and not record the death had sorted that out.

SQUEAK,
came a small voice from the shadows.

Death spun around to glare at it. The Death of Rats glared back, doing a surprisingly good job of it despite being only six inches tall.

SQUEAK,
it said again, more insistently.

YES, I AM AWARE IT'S MADE OF WOOD.
Death sighed.
I DO KNOW WHAT I'M DOING YOU KNOW,
he continued, as the Death of Rats remained unconvinced.

IVY SAID IT WAS ALIVE UNDER FIFTEEN DEFINITIONS OF THE WORD. SHE USED THE WORD 'ONLY', BUT I DO NOT THINK THERE IS ANYTHING ONLY ABOUT LIFE, NO MATTER HOW CONDIDITONAL

The rat just sniffed derisively. Death wondered where he had got that attitude from. It certainly wasn't from him.

MY NAME, MORE OR LESS, IS DEATH,
he tried, again to no avail.

Maybe it was nervous? Spending so much time with the other Mechanisms had almost made him forget that people as a whole weren't on inside-joke terms with the skeleton that would usher them into whatever lay beyond.

He sat himself down on the other side of the attic, next to some boxes. Given how small it was, there wasn't much space between them, but it was the principle of the thing.

TAKE YOUR TIME. I'LL JUST BE HERE, WITH MY BOOK.

And for a while, there was silence.

SQUEAK.
The Death of Rats had clambered up the boxes and said this, very loudly, right next to Death's skull.
SQUEAK?

IF YOU INSIST.

Death put down his book, and produced a sandtimer from somewhere within his robes. It was solid wood, with details painted on in cheerful colours. The sand itself was yellow - a bright, distinctly not-sand-coloured yellow - and it was all in the bottom half of the timer.

When he turned the timer over, the painted sand remained in the bottom half.

SQUEAK!
the Death of Rats said triumphantly. He looked to Death, waiting for his reaction.

Sighing again, Death retrieved another book from his robes - the small black one. He flicked through to the tally charts, then motioned the rat to look. Jonny and Tim's columns were both nearly full, with Raphaella's not far behind. Everyone else had a far more sensible number of tallies, though still many more than the standard one.

THESE ARE THE MECHANISMS, AND THEY CAN'T DIE. I'VE BEEN KEEPING TRACK OF HOW OFTEN I SEE THEM.

SQ-

NO I DON'T KNOW WHY EITHER.
At this point, Death had decided he would rather exist in peace, rather than try and figure out why any of the Mechanisms did what they did.
THE TOY SOLDIER IS THE ONLY ONE I HAVEN'T SEEN YET. I'M STAYING TO INTRODUCE MYSELF PROPERLY.

SQUEAK?

I DO IT BECAUSE IT'S MY DUTY.
Death levelled a firm gaze at the Death of Rats. Then he suddenly realised what, exactly, the rat had been asking.
OH-

That was a good question. Why did he keep showing up, even though beings returning to life were very much not part of his job?

He thought about Jonny, who, even when decapitated, would greet him  with a wink and a wave and a request to move my head closer to my body will you? makes my life - hah - much easier.

He thought about Tim and Raphaella, who he was sure were having a competition to see who could die in the weirdest way, though they both denied it to his face.

He thought about Ivy, and how he'd resolved to offer her a visit to his library, the library, if she ever approached permanent death. He thought about Brian, and Marius, and Nastya, and Ashes, and the time he'd spent with each of them.

WELL,
Death began at long last,
IT'S WHAT FRIENDS DO, ISN'T IT? T-

There was a creak from across the attic, and he looked over at the Toy Soldier, surprised. Its wooden face was unchanged, but the air of sadness about it had gone. In the sandtimer, there was now a small pile of sand painted in the top half.

HELLO?

"Ah! Hello old chum! How can I help you?" The soldier's voice was rough from disuse, but the old vigour and cheerfulness still came through.

It didn't seem to recognise who he was. Death found this almost offensive - surely at least one of the others would have mentioned him?

I AM DEATH. YOU ARE THE TOY SOLDIER, I HOPE?

"My old friends called me that." It must have seen the questioning look on his face, as it went on without prompting. "They're gone now - but there was the first mate, and the arsonist, and the engineer and..."

It trailed off.

Taking what probably counted as a deep breath, it continued in a more upbeat tone:
"They told me all about you!"

GONE? GONE HOW?

"Well they're.. gone.." The painted smile seemed to frown, and it shifted awkwardly.

Death frowned too.
NO, IF THEY WERE GONE, PERMANENTLY OR OTHERWISE, I WOULD KNOW. THEY MAY NOT BE ALIVE, WHEREVER THEY ARE, BUT THEY ARE NOT GONE, NOT FOREVER.

SQUEAK,
came a voice, indignant at being ignored.

"Oh! Hello there Mr Rat sir!" The Toy Soldier saluted sharply at them both.

It remained in that position unmoving.

Death waited to see if was going to speak more, but apparently not.

SO ER- WHERE WILL YOU GO FROM HERE?

"If they're out there, I want to find my friends!" It hesistated. "Would you know where to start looking old chap?"

Both the Toy Soldier and the Death of Rats looked expectantly at Death. A bony hand tapped a steady rhythm on his skull as he thought.

FIRST, LOOK FOR SOME VIOLENCE. THEN... THE MUSIC. THE SINGING. LOOK FOR THE PEOPLE REFUSING TO DIE BECAUSE THEY KNOW THERE IS STILL SO MUCH OUT THERE TO SEE.

He looked once more at the wooden lifetimer and knew what he'd see. There was the painted sand - all in the top half of the hourglass.

For the first time, the Toy Soldier noticed it.
"Oh... Does that mean I'm going to die?"

Death shook his head.
ON THE CONTRARY,
he said, with a smile in his voice,
IT MEANS YOU'VE GOT A WHOLE LIFE TO LIVE.