WHO: Death, Peter Petrelli WHERE: the Hyperion WHEN: Tuesday, October 11; early a.m. WHAT: Death finds a messenger for, from humanity's perspective, the good news. RATING: PG STATUS: log; COMPLETE!
With absolutely no ceremony and no sound, Death appeared in the office of the Hyperion. Famine had fallen and with that defeat, the world continued on, rather than gearing up to halt completely. Another Apocalypse diverted, but this time, Death had not been moved to try to fathom the intentions of an Antichrist. This time, humanity as a whole - or at least in Los Angeles - had been in question. Ultimately, this result was still part of the Plan, just as the last halt to the Apocalypse was, and it was that Plan that Death answered to in the end.
Answering was not the same as understanding, however.
Moving away from the wall, all appearance of a biker replaced with his more traditional form, he addressed the man at the desk.
PETER PETRELLI.
Peter looked up from his mess of paperwork. The voice saying his name had been heard, but by no method that seemed to involve his ears. Nor was it any form of telepathy. The words were simply there. Just as the black-robed skeleton was suddenly there. In his office.
There was no mistaking who this might have been. Pollution, War, and Famine had been defeated. That only left one.
"Oh, I'd like to see how this works," Peter commented, too physically and emotionally drained to even consider how to be courteous to Death. "Really. I have a bit of trouble with the whole 'dying' bit, so if you're here for that, this could take some time."
However, if this particular Horseman were here for anyone outside of this office, Peter would discover if it were possible to kill Death.
Death grinned at Peter - but then, he really couldn't do anything else but grin.
IT IS NOT DYING YOU HAVE TROUBLE WITH, he said, coming to a stop just in front of the desk, for the moment only peering down at Peter from eyeless sockets. IT IS STAYING DEAD THAT YOU HAVE YET TO ACCOMPLISH.
Peter shrugged. "Yeah, well. We all have our problems." His currently in the form of a seven-foot tall skeleton, who was grinning vacantly at him.
"So what's yours?" A brow lifted, the mockery only a suggestion behind the defiance. "Had a few friends drop off the planet or something?"
FRIENDS? Death seemed to consider this briefly, if one could attribute such an act to a form without facial expressions. NO, MERELY CO-WORKERS. OF A KIND.
He leaned in slightly, the twin points of light appearing to briefly brighten in those otherwise empty sockets. BUT THEY'RE NOT GONE.
A cool stream of anger settled into Peter's eyes as he looked directly back into those twin points of light. "We defeated them once. We can do it again." But Death's words still twisted in his gut. How long would this take? How many times would they have to endure this? Was it the end of the world? Would the Horsemen continue to spring up, again and again, until everything crashed around them?
YOU WON THE BATTLE, Death said with a grin. THE WAR, HOWEVER. He shrugged. WHEN THE END REALLY COMES, IT WILL NOT BE STOPPED. UNTIL THEN, THEY REMAIN WHERE THEY HAVE ALWAYS BEEN.
Death reached out then and rapped the top of Peter's head with one long, skeletal finger. WHERE THEY BELONG.
Peter would never be able to express just how much force of will it had taken to not flinch under Death's hand. He could put on the bravado, he could snark, he could even mean it. But he wasn't ready to die, not yet. Not now.
Once he could unclench his jaw enough to breathe properly, Peter looked at the skeleton. "So what was this?" he asked, a sneer of anger back in his voice once he'd had time to absorb the information he'd just been given. "A test? Practice? Do you know how many people are dead out there?"
Given that he was Death, he likely did know. But that was beside the point. If all this had been nothing more than practice for some full-scale final battle, someone was going to pay for all those deaths.
At Peter's last question, Death bent over at the waist to look Peter in the eyes on the same level, nearly lack-of-nose to nose, as it were. I SENSE THAT WAS A RHETORICAL QUESTION, AS YOU DO NOT STRIKE ME AS UNINTELLIGENT.
After a moment of silent staring, Death straightened and then looked down at his side, at seemingly empty space. I AM WORKING. IT DOES NOT REQUIRE A MUSICAL NUMBER. GO BACK TO ROLLING YOUR EYES. QUIETLY.
He turned back to Peter. AS FOR WHAT THIS WAS? ARMAGEDDON. IT IS NOT THE FIRST TIME IT DID NOT END AS EXPECTED AND IT MIGHT NOT BE THE LAST. SUCH IS INEFFABILITY, PETER.
Peter had refrained from flinching when Death touched him. Death not touching him was a bit easier to withstand. And as much as it was satisfying to hear that Death didn't think he was an idiot, the skeleton's next move baffled him just a bit.
The furrow was set in his forehead as he looked at the empty space, trying to get a sense of what might have been there, until Death interrupted with information that sent that brow skyward.
Peter blinked. "So if we hadn't stopped them..."
Death inclined his head just slightly. THE WORLD AS YOU KNEW IT WOULD HAVE ENDED. He gestured with one skeletal hand, encompassing more than just the room with the gesture. BUT NORMAL ENTROPY RESUMES. EVEN NOW, ALL THAT THEY DID IS STOPPING.
A new look rose in Peter's eyes. A hopeful one. Stopping. Things were stopping. They had stopped Armageddon. The desire to race from the room and see evidence of this was inhibited by the way Peter suddenly couldn't keep his legs underneath him. He sank into his seat, unable to look away from the skeletal face in front of him.
We did it. It's over. The words were there, the meaning behind them slowly sinking into his mind. It was OVER. And not the world, but the end of it. The pain, the death, the fear. It would go away. Things could go back to... whatever normal had been before this.
He rubbed one hand over his face, trying to keep exhaustion at bay for just a little longer. He could sleep soon, he knew that now. But different questions were pressing in, and there were still answers to be sought. His eyes rose again to Death. "Why are you telling me all of this?"
Death grinned. WHY NOT?
Peter tilted his head, a touch annoyed. "Why me, then? I didn't even fight any of them."
YOU CAN SEE ME, Death said, still grinning. YOU AND I ARE WELL ACQUAINTED, EVEN IF YOU DON'T REALIZE HOW WELL.
He nodded upwards. THERE ARE OTHERS WITH THAT FAMILIARITY IN THIS BUILDING, BUT HUMAN MALES SHRIEK LESS OVER MY APPEARANCE.
As he said the last, the pinpoint of light in one eye flared independently of the other, a small supernova in that eyeless socket.
Even though he couldn't be sure, even though there was no way to know what Death's motivations or intentions really were, Peter had a suspicion that in that supernova flare, was Death's attempt at a wink.
"Right," he said, with a brief nod. "Okay. So, eh... where are you off to now?"
EVERYWHERE, Death said, stepping back from the desk. MY WORK IS NEVER DONE. BUT YOU AND I WILL SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN. AND AGAIN. AND AGAIN. AND AGAIN.
As he moved backward, the air seemed to change around him, Death appearing both corporeal and not, all at once. TRY DYING LESS, PETER. YOU WILL MAKE THE LAST TIME VERY BORING FOR YOURSELF OTHERWISE.