Work Text:
The first time Death encounters Jonny D’Ville, she doesn’t think much of it. After all, he’s no different from any boy from the endless list of those she’s met before. Young, but not enough young not to hold a rifle or get into a fight, yet just enough to make it sound unfair.
Death has seen many like him. Most of them beg them. Some cry.
The thing about Jonny is that he is quiet. He doesn’t beg. He doesn’t cry.
He just looks at her, and around, a little out of place, but overall as calm as he could be, which Death could find amusing, was it not infuriating, or concerning.
Thing is, the moment she loses sight of him, just for an instant, he’s gone.
Death finds herself smiling. This one is going to be interesting.
***
The second time she meets him, there’s a flame in his eyes, a spark of curiosity and a hunger for an answer, and just for a moment, the fragment of time of a heartbeat she doesn’t have, he looks excited, before disappearing again.
Death doesn’t understand, and it is rare for her not to. His appearances are sporadic, often brief, always leaving behind nothing but questions she should not be asking herself.
She starts seeing him more often. Battlefields, mostly. It is almost exasperating how often, whenever she’s trying to claim someone, he’s just there. Covered in other people’s blood, mostly. A kid playing war, a violent child decapitating all his dolls to see if he can put them back together. But she’s not the one to judge, so she doesn’t.
Then, he sees her.
Death knows he sees her, because his mouth contorts in a furious smile and his eyes are made of that same awful joy and he waves.
Death thinks, as she leaves the battle ground, what is he? And that’s what she asks him when they meet again, what are you?
The boy smirks, and improvises a hyperbolical bow.
Jonny D’Ville, humble first mate.
And he’s gone, again, back to life, the bastard. Death doesn’t like to be cheated, but anyone escaping her as a common practice deserves at least her respect, she decides.
She finds herself waiting.
***
Once she asks, how did it happen this time?
He shrugs. Ain’t that your job?
Now that’s just a common misconception, Death says. I don’t kill people. I merely pick up what’s left. You should know better, Jonny.
He explodes in a laugh that almost sounds like a cry.
Now you just sound like my mother.
He lits up a cigarette and offers her a drag, but Death doesn’t smoke.
The next time, he’s shaking and speechless and for the first time she hears the ticking. She knows it’s always been there, but now it’s frantic, and Jonny’s breathless. His chest half open.
He doesn’t say a word.
They just wait until he’s not there anymore.
***
Nastya?
Ivy, actually. Pissed her off. His voice raises to an exaggeratedly higher pitch.
Jonny, you come to my archive, in front of my books. Fuckin’ hell.
He turns his head to her, but he knows he’s not watching her, which is fucking weird an unexplainable and makes an awful lot of perfect sense. Death doesn’t watch him, because she has no eyes. No face, actually, which is why no one can really tell what Death looks like. Jonny can’t, at least, and whenever someone asks he usually just answers with a harsh “better than you”.
Did I lose a bet? Death wonders.
What’s on stake anyway?
She’s fond of this one.
***
Once, he’s headless.
He waves at her, and she waves back, even if he can’t see her.
***
Was it the Toy Soldier?
You bet it was the Toy Soldier. The fuckers are having a show on some low-level planet full of consistently ugly people. Without me! I don’t know why I even bother…
He gestures a lot, she notices, while he goes on about how hard exactly he’s going to kick them in the face as soon as he’s alive.
How long does it take, usually? She asks. Time doesn’t mean much to her. Or to him, for what matters.
Not sure? ‘bout an hour I think. More if they get creative with my corpse.
He takes his head in his hands and hides it on his knees, and curses.
An hour. Tim’s gonna narrate his entire fucking life story. I swear to god.
He tells Death about the crew, about the stories. Tells her, oh, yeah, that was Marius, when she asks if he has something to do with the disturbingly laughing violinist that escaped her las week, or, a lot of burnt folks, you say? Sounds like Ashes has had their share of fun.
He’s not the only immortal she crosses paths with. The only one who sees her, though.
Sings, once or twice, about a war. She remembers, because how could she forget? She had to work overtime for a decade, because of that war. She recalls every soldier, every child, every pained howl of every desperate parent. Death doesn’t forget anyone.
Especially because of this, it feels good to listen to someone talking.
It’s good to have more than terror, and prayer, and tears.
***
He cries, just once.
Asks, did you see her?
She places cold, sharp fingers on the side of his face. His skin feels violently warm. His mouth quivers, in a thunderous despair.
His eyes are empty.
Death remains silent.
***
Do you want to know the reason I’m in a concrete block?
The voice coming out of the cement is hushed, rasping against the wall. She has no idea how he manages to talk, with concrete poured all around him, but he does, probably only out of willpower.
Are you willing to tell me? She answers.
Gladly. It happened in a police station. You know the planet I’ve been stuck on for the last two decades?
Death knows. They’ve met a few times already, since then.
Well, them. I’m in one of their oceans at the moment, I think. They surely are a bunch of imaginative assholes. Still stupid enough to think they can get rid of me, though. I just hope Brian’s gonna be able to find me, was he ever to decide to fucking pick me up, that insubordinate piece of brass.
Death does not say anything. He speaks enough for the both of them. She looks at the concrete block, and wonders. If he’s going to get out. If this is the last time he does. If they’re going to wait, and wait, and wait until it’s time for him to be alive again, and he won’t be.
She doesn’t know when she started to feel afraid.
The silence is long, unexpected. Painfully heavy.
Do you think I’m a bad person?
Death raises an eyebrow. Thinks, do I? Thinks, of course, and, since when it is a matter of concern?
Why?
Her voice is firm, made of ice and needles. She can’t help it. Maybe she would want it to be warm. To be comforting like that of a mother, like the morning sun. maybe it is too much to ask, and she would be content with less, it would be enough for it to sound the way the rain does, the wind, a fire. She can’t help it.
The concrete block is silent, for a while, until it finally answers.
I don’t know.
When Jonny disappears, once again, once again, Death can’t help but let out a relieved cry. It sounds cold, and cruel, as it always has.
***
You are telling me a world ended, and you had nothing to do with it?
Jonny raises his hands in some sort of gesture of defense, protesting.
I swear! The crew and I were just passing by! I mean, some of us were in prison, and some of us failed to mention a couple of important details, and most of us managed to piss off some people, but still.
Sounds like you’ve made your fair share of enemies.
Ah, I think so. Shame they died.
Not all of them, Death tells him. She was there, of course. She saw a person running away, alone.
So the Inspector did get away? Nice. Marius and Raphaella were so fond of them.
Jonny pulls a flask out of his pocket. Says, I’ll drink to that.
When he offers a sip, Death doesn’t refuse. Even if, as a matter of fact, she can’t drink. But she holds the flask and says, cheers. Jonny laughs, and keeps laughing, until she’s alone.
***
When she comes for him, one last time, he’s covered in bruises and blood, and he’s laughing like a child, and she swears she could weep, if only she had eyes.