"I'm sorry... They... they're gone."
Donald hated having to always be the messenger, but that was what he had signed up for when he decided to become Cecil's assistant. Or, at least it was one of the things. One of the things he hated most.
Debbie sobbed into her husband's chest, Mark standing off to the side with denial in his expression. "No... they can't be. I- that's impossible! They can't die!" Some anger peeked through, frustrated tears streaming down his face as he tried to turn away from the truth. Donald's eyes darted between each member of the family, trying to think of a response. "I-" He sighed. "I'm sorry." He then shook his head and left, for once realizing that trying to reason with the boy, or speak of preparations for your funeral, or any other things of the like, would not help.
Nolan rubbed Debbie's back as he stared down the hallway with furrowed brows, watching as Donald met with Cecil, whispering something to the man. Cecil met Nolan's gaze, and after a moment, he nodded.
Mark, distraught and incapable of knowing what to do next, fell against the wall, running his hands through his hair. He scowled, angry with himself now, crocodile tears streaming down his face, hiding them with his hands. There was an infinite amount of phrases he wanted to speak- scream at the world and the rest of the universe, but instead only folded them on himself, keeping his many overwhelming and cruel thoughts internal.
There was too much he wanted to say and do, but no way to do it, so he felt stuck- frozen within the fact that you, the one that was with him for every single thing he did- whether minuscule or grave in its importance- were gone. And there was no getting you back.
Debbie tried to wipe her tears, clear them away and do something. But she didn't know what to do. What was she supposed to do? She sought comfort from her family, but at the moment Mark was overwhelmed with his own grief, and Nolan seemed to be within his own world.
That night, the Grayson's fell asleep crying, save for Nolan, who had met with the man who always kept things grey- Cecil.
"What's your plan?" Nolan asked him, sitting across from him on his sofa, leaning forward and tense. Cecil crossed one leg over the other, responding as though it were obvious. "We'll keep an eye on their body. See if they really do come back like their "Death Sworn" abilities imply. Outside of that, I need to figure out how exactly Viltrumite DNA got into their bloodstream." Cecil shifted in his seat, keeping an eye on Nolan's grave face and serious form. There was no change in the Viltrumite's expression, so he continued. "Is there any way your blood or Mark's could have somehow gotten into them? Through an injury? Or an accident?" Nolan's frown deepened, a hint of offence showing in his voice. "No. What sort of "accident" are you implying?" Cecil took a step back within his questions, trying to counter Nolan's defensiveness. "I'm just trying to figure things out. With everything that's going on, you have to understand where I'm coming from." Nolan sighed, irritated in his tone. "Well, I don't know how Viltrimite blood could have gotten into their bloodstream, okay? End of story." Nolan stood. "And don't think about trying to interrogate my son either, Cecil."
Cecil frowned as the man left, sighing. "You know I'll have to anyway." He muttered, laying back in his seat with his glass of whiskey.
___________________________________
With the fluttering of tired eyes you awoke in a place of coldness and a monotonous color scheme. Groaning, you stood, a weight around your neck and shoulders. Leaning against a grey brick wall, you looked around, taking in your surroundings. You seemed to be in a train station, in the dead of night with weak lights hovering above with no rods supporting them rather than twinkling stars or a moon. You felt the weight on your shoulders shift- the fact that Bane was still hanging around your neck like a loose scarf became apparent to you. With a yelp, you jumped back, bringing your hands to the scaly creature, only for it to move from your grasp and wrap around your arm. "Now, that's no way to treat your guide, now is it?" Blinking, you lowered your arms, allowing Bane to become comfortable on your shoulder again. "Sorry." No one but him was there. "So, where exactly are we? And what's going on?"
"You are dead, my dear."
You whipped around to see a man calmly ambling your way, a cunning smile on his face. He wore monotonous colors as well, donning a trench coat and a floppy hat, along with steel-toed boots. The only thing that truly stood out were his glasses, which were round and tinted red, nearly glowing with the color, making it impossible to see his eyes. The man's hair was also odd- heavily curled and yet oily and slick but thick with inky blackness, and rested down the length of his back.
"Who are you?" Was your immediate question. With the tilt of his hat and the glint of his lenses, he announced himself. "I am the Conductor. I run this train station. And you..." He took a moment, looking you up and down, taking special note of the snake wrapped around your shoulders. "...Do not have a ticket." His grin remained, although the case seemed grim. "But that can be fixed." He came closer then, delicately leading you with a hand pressed to your back, careful of the snake. "I'll make you a deal. Your familiar- the snake- for a ticket." To your surprise, Bane said nothing, but nonetheless you flinched away, shaking off his hand with a frown. "No! I'm not giving up Bane."He shrugged. "Your loss. It's either that or your soul." He said it as though it were nothing- as though the dealing of souls was something he did often.
When you made no moves and kept your expression hard with declination, he shifted, his smile appearing more forced. "Er- do you even know what going down that train line implies?" Slowly, you shook your head, bringing the man to let out an awkward laugh. "I... I mean- you've made it this far. I felt like you'd know. You gotta." You tilted your head, confused. "What do you mean "this far"?" His mouth opened with shock, eyes likely wide behind the red of his glasses. "You-" He stuttered. "You woke up here?" You nodded your head, blind to the implications you had pressed upon the man by affirming his suspicion. His expression morphed into shock and horror, but then he squinted, confused as he shook his head. "No, that doesn't seem right..." He looked you up and down, inspecting you closely with a hand on his chin. Standing back, hand still holding his chin, he quirked a brow. "Are you a mass murderer? Or a tyrant?"
Shocked, you blinked, taking a moment to process his words before you started to shake your head rapidly. "No! No- oh my god, no. Why- why would you think that?" Humming, he crossed his arms, looking even more confused. "Only mass murderers or people important to the King end up here. Sometimes people do stop here by accident, though." You tilted your head. ""The King?" Who's the King?" His smile finally returned as he clapped his hands together. "The King is the King of the Dead. The Dead King. The Underworld's child, technically." You frowned. "The Dead King is the child of the Underworld? Like, the place?" He nodded. "Yep. It's confusing, I know, but that's just what the story is. Confusing as fuck." His grin became more sinister then. "But... if you're here and you're not a mass murderer, chances are, the King's gonna wanna see you." He wrapped an arm around your shoulders holding you close and tightly. His glasses glinted with sinister intentions. "So he'd have to give me something really good to get you from me."
As he tried to move you somewhere, you panicked somewhat. "Bane?! A little help?" The man laughed. "Is that your familiar? You're really asking for help from that thing?" He kept laughing, almost madly. "You don't need me for this. Just wait a moment." More panic coursed through you as you squirmed, leaving the Conductor to let out an annoyed grumble. "Stop moving, would you?!" As his gloved hand touched your flesh, something sparked. You stared at it with morbid curiosity, the man taking a moment to notice it. He squealed, reeling back and holding his arm as it crumbled away in chunks of sparkling black dust. "WHAT THE FUCK?!" He glanced between you and his arm, his expression contorting into vengeful terror. "You... You're his kin?! YOU?!" He looked back at his arm, shaking it wildly as it turned to nothing but rotten bone. He huffed and puffed, the inky black no longer spreading up his arm. He let out a breath, grinning uneasily as his eyes darted between you, his arm, and Bane. "Ah." He let out, collapsing to his knees, sweating heavily.
"Okay, now let's try that again." You said, a hint disconcerted as well as you crouched in front of him. "New deal- you help me out, and I'll try to work something out with this Dead King when we get wherever we need to go." The Conductor gave you a look of concerned bewilderment, but then let out a breathy laugh. "You- you don't even know where you're going?" Pursing your lips, you shook your head. "Nope. I mean- maybe Bane was supposed to help me, but he's not being much help right now, so..." You felt as though Bane was rolling his snake eyes from around your shoulders. "I am your overseer, not your guide." Huffing, you looked the snake in his eyes, giving him an expression of apathy. "Well then, my good 'ol chaperone, you're not doing much for an overseer either." Turning back to the Conductor, you held out your hand. "My name is Y/n." He flinched away from the hand, not touching it as he stood again. "I'm Kayde." You tilted your head. "I thought you were the Conductor." Shuffling through his coat, he responded blankly. "That was a lie. Kinda an obvious one, too- why wouldn't the Conductor be with the train?" Rubbing your arm, you responded with a small, "oh."
A train whistle sounded from behind you, a bright light shining from the tunnel as a train left it, screeching to a halt. "Now-" You looked back to Kayde, the man pulling small slips of paper from his coat. "Normally, these things would still be the price of a soul, but I'm willing to make an exception." He handed you a ticket, shoving the rest back into his pockets. "What about you?" He shrugged. "Can't leave the stations. I can only bounce between them. Could never get on the train." Inspecting the ticket, feeling Bane looking over your shoulder at it as well, you responded. "Have you tried?" He let out a long whistle. "Many times, kid. Too many times to count. Never worked- and I doubt it's gonna work now." Looking back up at him, and stuffing the ticket back into your pocket, you gave him a smile. "Wanna try anyway?" You wanted him to try for some reason. He took a breath, sighing, already expecting to be kicked off. "Sure thing."
Approaching the train's entrance, you stood before it with Kayde behind you, a shadow man with glowing eyes that matched the train's headlights. He seemed oddly cheerful. "Tickets?" Handing him the ticket from your pocket, he took a good look at it, and you, before then punching holes into it. Handing it back to you, he nodded, and stood aside to let you board. You waited behind him as you watched Kayde walk up to the man, an awkward smile on his face. "Kayde, have you been taking my namesake again?" Kayde laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. "Well, what can I say? It's got power to it!" They both chuckled as the man who you presumed to be the real Conductor held his hand out, waiting. Kayde, sighing, shoved a hand into his pocket and pulled out a random ticket, handing it to the man. "Trying again, are we?" The Conductor asked as a form of idle conversation, inspecting the ticket. Kayde made no response, waiting as the ticket was checked. The Conductor let out a surprised hum, punching holes into it. "Welcome aboard, Kayde." He said, handing the ticket back. The man looked it up and down, mouth agape. He stared up at the Conductor, the man smiling as he moved aside, making way for Kayde. Kayde, still in disbelief, took a moment before stepping up, each step bringing him to wince as though he expected to be kicked out by the train itself. But, instead, he stood in the train unscathed, ticket in hand and slightly crumpled.
"Huh." He finally said, staring at the ticket. The doors then closed, the Conductor gone and at the front of the train again. The whistle sounded, and you were on the move again. "How's it feel?" You asked, smiling with crossed arms. You could tell he was really holding himself back, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips as he shook his head, smiling with more of the smirk you had first seen him with, rather than a happy one. "It's great. Now, let's find a seat, shall we?" You nodded, slinking into the seat closest to you. The entire train car was empty, oddly enough. Kayde sat across from you, still looking a hint speechless. You chuckled, lying back in your seat. "Hope you get where you need to go, Kayde." He seemed to blink from behind his glasses, sighing. "Yeah, me too." And with that, you drifted off, leaving Bane and Kayde to make conversation without you- if Kayde even could hear or understand Bane.
__________________________________________
Detective Parr sat at his desk, doing ample paperwork, but unable to focus. Y/n hadn't been at work for days. He stared at the empty chair beside him, the space you'd often sit when there was nothing to do but paperwork. Sighing, he ran a hand through his slicked hair, the single white strand coming out like a rebel as it usually did.
"Detective Brian Parr?"
The man looked up to see someone he had never seen before- not in the department at least. He was bald and had fair skin, and wore a grey suit that complimented glasses that glinted silver so that you couldn't see his eyes. "That's me." Parr replied, sitting up. The man seemed uneasy, even a little saddened- Parr couldn't quite read why, though. "My name is Donald Ferguson- er- do you know Y/n L/n?" The detective nodded, "Yes. Did something happen to them?" His brows were already furrowed, concerned as to what you could have gotten yourself into. Donald folded his hands, brows creased, a pit in his stomach.
"I'm sorry, detective, but Y/n... they've... passed away."
Brian's eyes went wide with disbelief, but couldn't find a single hint of what could be a lie within the man's expression. Donald bowed his head. "I'm sorry for your loss. Y/n was... a good person." The man was clearly having a hard time finding the right words, so he stood there a moment, waiting for Detective Parr to say or do something. After a moment, Donald sighed sadly, and began to leave. "Wait-" Parr stood suddenly, his chair falling back as he scrambled from his seat. "H-How? Who- what happened?" Brian rushed forward, stumbling past his desk, and grabbing Donald's shoulders. "How?" He asked again, on the verge of a breakdown. Donald was tense within Brain's harsh grip, but did not panic. "They-" He pursed his lips as though contemplating something. "They got sick- it was cancer. It was incredibly sudden. There was nothing we could do." Parr took a moment as the full weight of the realization crashed down on him, the man releasing Donald. The agent dropped down, clenching and unclenching his fists again as he gave another nod. "I'm sorry." Donald left, and the moment he was out of view, Parr stumbled out to his car, driving home.
He was home in a flash, as though no time had passed, and opened the door with the same blank and shocked expression and looked only a breath away from agonizing despair. "Brian, honey, welcome home! Did you find out what happened to-" Colin rounded a corner, seeing his husband in a state of absolute shock, barely standing with locked knees and trembling. "Honey..?" Colin asked, worried overwhelming him in an instant. "They're gone." Brian muttered. Colin's brows creased as he stepped forward, gently taking his lover by the shoulders. "Who's gone?"
"Y/n. They're dead."
Brain wanted to scream, rage, sob, and most of all, wanted to hug you one last time and tell you how proud he was of you. Colin's expression brought him back, the man crying with a hand pressed to his mouth in denial. Brian's knees buckled, and he finally fell, holding Colin's arms still as Colin let go. Tears streamed down his face, broken, unable to know how to react to the wave of pure anguish.
"God, they're gone."