Carrying passed-out cargo wasn’t an everyday thing for Aiden either. Neither was talking to the living for an extended period of time. The dead and dying didn’t always make for the best company, so his social contact tended to be very limited. He didn’t know if other reapers had a social life. Sticking around to comfort the grieving relatives and spouses was not in the handbook, he could tell as much.
Aiden followed the woman, the body in his arms emitting a certain warmth he associated with life. To an onlooker there would be nothing out of the ordinary, except for the grown man being carried by another. No floating Atticus led by Nish. They simply wouldn’t be able to describe Aiden when asked. He was meant to be forgotten. The reaper gently set the seer onto what presumably was the man’s bed. There was no fluffing of pillows or taking off the man’s shoes, bedside manners definitely not taught by the D.E.A.T.H. corp. Atticus had the woman stay with him, which in reverse meant she had someone to look after her, right? Being unconscious probably was a deal breaker, but Aiden really didn’t have many options here.
Being thanked certainly was rare. “It’s what I do.” He didn’t remember doing something else. Sometimes there were glimpses of the past, but they never stuck. Aiden knew that it was customary to say things, consoling words, after someone’s loved one had passed, but there was nothing. The gravity of loss couldn’t be made lighter by pretty platitudes, the gaping wound not sugar coated in meaningless prattle. “It’s better, that he moved on. You wouldn’t have wanted him to become…” Like Atticus attention seeking circus or worse. “A carved out, angry shadow of his former self, trapped here until the last remains of his soul had been eaten away.” For some encouraging words, they sure did not sound rosy. “Do you have someone you can… talk to?” It’s what they did, right? Bruise their minds with mementos of their loss.