Chapter Text
Kevin crumpled the worn piece of paper in his fist. He had already read and re-read the note on it hundreds of times. Aaron's cryptic words were etched into the forefront of his mind, replaying on a constant, dreadful loop. Despite this, he couldn't bring himself to throw it away. It was the last tangible piece of Aaron, parting words that Kevin still couldn't decipher. It was real.
Kevin couldn't understand why Aaron had even given him a letter. Aaron had known he was going to die. He had known the entire time and not said a word. Did he not think anyone would care? Did he not think Kevin would care? It filled Kevin with an indescribable rage. He had built a rapport with Aaron, had even grown fond enough to call him a friend - If he even knew what friendship meant at this point. All for Aaron not to think of him as worthy of the truth. It bothered him for reasons unknown. Kevin hated liars and couldn't help but feel betrayed.
Mostly, though, it upset him. Aaron had silently withered away in front of them — his body crumbling under the weight of all his secrets — accepting his death with his usual indifference. In hindsight, Kevin found it unnerving how casual Aaron could be with the matter of his own life and death.
If Aaron had told them he wasn't feeling well, they would have done anything in their power to help him. Andrew would have done anything. But he’d stubbornly stayed silent until his last moment.
He thought about throwing the note away, but decided instead to stuff it into his pocket.
Kevin's mind wandered back to that day on the beach. He replayed it in his mind over and over again, but still couldn't figure out where it all went wrong. Aaron was fine one minute, convulsing in Kevin's arms the next, choking on what seemed to be petals or vines of some sort, but Kevin had blinked, and they were gone, replaced by blood. The Nest made sure Kevin was well-practised in first aid, and he took care of Aaron as he had for Jean time and time again. It did not matter in the end. Aaron had passed long before the paramedics arrived.
“Kevin?”
Jean’s voice anchored him to the present. Kevin hadn't remembered pressing the call button, but all of a sudden, the soft, lilting French filled his ears. He felt a nostalgic sense of comfort wash over him as he heard his old friend again, easing some of the tension in his body.
“He’s gone, Jean.”
“I know, Cat saw it on the news and insisted on all of us watching with her, your backliner, correct?” Kevin didn't know what he was expecting. He knew that Jean wouldn't sound upset over it. Jean hadn't known Aaron well, but his detachment startled Kevin.
“Shame. He wasn't half bad,” Jean continued.
“Stop,” Kevin whispered, but Jean barrelled on.
“If only he played more aggressively and not relied on the gremlin goalkeeper so heavily – his potential was truly wasted.”
Kevin himself had only told Aaron that fact hundreds of times, before he begrudgingly accepted hat Aaron wouldn't accept his helpful advice. He didn't know why it irritated him when Jean brought up Aaron’s faults.
“JEAN! Please stop.”
Kevin knew this was Jean’s attempt to acknowledge Aaron. Ravens respected talent, and Kevin understood that. He himself would have done the same thing. But, for some reason, he couldn't take Aaron being spoken of in the same way.
“Kevin?” Jean sounded slightly amused, “Do not tell me you are truly upset. The great Kevin Day has gone soft; the master would be rolling in his grave if he could hear you now.”
“He was my friend,” Kevin felt defensive, “You have Cat and Laila. Would you wish for me to speak ill of them?”
The phone went silent as Jean took in this new piece of information.
“Cat and Laila.." Jean paused for a moment, "So he was your family.”
Hearing Jean readily accept Cat and Laila as family so openly warmed Kevin’s heart ignoring the slight bitterness that snuck in. It seemed that Kevin had underestimated Jean's growth. Jean deserved people he could call family, and Kevin nodded for a second before remembering Jean couldn't see him.
“He was.”
“I will only say this once, Kevin. You are the strongest person I know, but your true strength lies in your stubbornness.” Jean spoke softly, “You have dealt with the death of another before, countless times. And you have stubbornly persisted. Everytime. You can deal with this. I am sure of it.”
“You’re right, I'm being ridiculous.” Kevin was no stranger to grief. The suddenness of Aaron's death had shaken him, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. He decided to change the topic, not wanting to speak about Aaron anymore. “How has California been treating you?”
Kevin listened to Jean grumble about his classes, his new dog, and halfheartedly complain about Jeremy, his voice barely hiding thinly veiled fondness. Soon, the call ended, and Kevin was left with nothing but his own thoughts. Any lingering warmth left him as Kevin stumbled through the cluster of headstones.
Kevin's brain whirred as he sat next to the fresh grave. He had been visiting frequently and at odd hours; he knew Andrew was, too, if the bourbon resting on the headstone was a clue. He himself had chosen vodka as his personal crutch years ago and wasn't inclined to change any time soon. Grief wasn't new to him, but he'd never felt this irritable before. Never felt so angry. Why Aaron? Why so suddenly? All the questions surrounding his death enraged him. The rush of noise around him felt muted, and all Kevin could remember was the warm body in his arms going limp.
He shook himself out of his thoughts and took another sip, glancing at the headstone.
In loving memory of
Aaron Minyard
Rest in peace
That was it. No cheesy quotes or heartfelt epitaphs. Aaron’s sudden death meant they had a rushed funeral, and there was no time to brainstorm the perfect engraving. Nicky couldn't bring himself to come up with something more personal, unable to accept that Aaron was truly gone. Andrew had just paid for what was necessary, only speaking up to refuse the constant nudges from the funeral director to add a quote from scripture; otherwise, he had no preferences and spent the majority of the week in silence. In the end, it was Wymack and Abby who handled most of the proceedings and all the paperwork.
Kevin felt like he didn't have the right to complain, but he couldn't explain why the impersonal headstone made his heart clench. Rikos grave had a constant rotation of fresh flowers and heartfelt cards from fans, but Aaron's was bare, and it hurt more than he could have imagined.
When Kevin first joined the Foxes, he gained Andrews' protection and found safety in it along with the rest of the monsters. Nicky was generally friendly and trusting of everyone, so Kevin had no problems with him. But it was Aaron's silent, yet unwavering loyalty that Kevin found more comfort in than he ever cared to admit. A fact that Kevin had realised only after it was too late.
He had stumbled into the living room after a nightmare to join Aaron with whatever medical drama he had stayed up watching. Only, he was faced with an empty bean bag and the TV being turned off for what seemed to be the first time ever. The silence felt oppressive, and it had made Aaron’s absence all the more real. He hadn't realised how used to Aaron's presence he'd become —how fond of it he was — until all that was left was a gaping hole that he once filled. Kevin had tried continuing the episode from where Aaron had left off, but a sick feeling overcame him, and he felt his stomach clench hard as he ran to throw up. He spent the rest of the night hugging his knees and shivering on the cold bathroom floor, rocking back and forth as his tears fell freely.
Kevin dug his fingers into the cold earth as he took a deep breath, inhaling crisp winter air. A crunch of footsteps nearby interrupted his musing, and he looked up to see a figure walking towards him. He squinted to try to make out the stranger's features, but when his vision cleared, he felt his heart stop. He could recognise those forest green eyes anywhere. It was the same green eyes he saw in the mirror every day, but never on such a soft-looking face. Those eyes crinkled slightly as Kayleigh Day smiled softly at him.
Kevin didn't think before he jumped up and ran into her arms. How many times had he dreamed of this? Staring into photos of his mother in the nest after a particularly hard day, wishing he could just crawl into his mother's arms as she sang to him. He gripped as hard as possible onto her; he didn't know if it was real or if his drunk mind was playing tricks on him, but he didn't mind it. He could pretend it was real and that he was in his mother's embrace once again.
She gripped back just as fiercely, and Kevin melted into her touch. His mother was holding him. He didn't know how long this delusion of his would last, and he felt his eyes begin to fill, and his shoulders begin to shake for a moment before heaving sobs overcame him. He was sure that the sounds that escaped him were almost inhuman — it felt as if years of repressed grief converged into this single moment as he heaved onto his mother's shoulder. He hadn't been allowed to cry at her funeral; he was expected to remain composed in public always, and so 7-year-old Kevin remained blank-faced whilst strangers and adults all around him heaved dramatically over the loss of the great Kayleigh Day. There wasn't room for grief in the nest, either, so Kevin put all his energy into Exy; the sport being the last connection he had to his mother.
His legs gave out as she cradled him. She was unwilling to let go, so both of them ended up crumpled on the floor. They could have been there for hours or days — time felt like a foreign concept to Kevin. At that moment, he knew nothing but his mother's touch. She was an unyielding weight, and Kevin was sure that if she were still alive, the nest would never have been able to break him. Eventually, his sobs slowed down, and his brain caught up. Why did this dream feel so real?
He lifted his head back up to take a look at her face; her freckles seemed to glow in the evening light, and her smile revealed a small dimple right beside her mouth. He’d seen videos and pictures of his mother, but nothing could compare to being so close that he could touch and connect her freckles if he wanted to. As soon as the thought entered his mind, he so desperately wanted to, and so he did. He lifted his finger slowly, as if she might disappear if he moved too suddenly, and began to trace the constellations adorning her face, starting from just below her eyes down to her jaw.
He nestled his head back into her neck. As he inhaled, he felt transported back to his childhood and to the tiny apartment they shared in Ireland, smelling faintly of the sweet cinnamon treats she would bake for him every week, of sunny afternoons spent running around outside, and, most importantly, of home. She smelled like home, and Kevin couldn't believe he’d forgotten what home was.
He’d calmed down by now, and the strangeness of the situation started to sink in. Part of him wanted to stay in whatever odd liminal space his mind had entered, but he knew it wouldn’t last forever. This wasn’t his mother. It couldn’t be — but he still couldn’t help himself and spoke before thinking properly.
“Mom?”
She- it- whatever it was just softly stroked Kevin's head, detangling the knotted curls, “You know that I am not Kayleigh Day, child.”
“You are not my mother,” Kevin repeated dumbly.
“Correct,” it smiled, “but you are my child nonetheless, as is all of humanity.”
“Who- how?” he stuttered for a moment before asking, “What are you?”
“To put it simply, I am death.”
Kevin didn't think it was simple at all, but he was too tipsy to care or think logically as he looked at the entity, “Why do you look like my mother?”
“I thought it would bring you the most comfort,” it smirked before asking, “Would you prefer this shell?”
Within seconds, his mother's features distorted, green eyes turning hazel. Kevin stared in horror as her long black hair turned pale blond and was cropped short. Soon, the arms around him weren't his mother's; they were Aaron’s. Kevin felt a lump form in his throat as he recalled the body that turned cold in his arms just the week before.
“NO!” he found himself scratching at the arms around him. It felt suffocating, and he just wanted them off. “Please change back. Get out of his body. GET OUT.”
“My, what a strong reaction,” Death chuckled, back to looking like his mother, and Kevin felt a weight lift off his chest, “You don't seem all too bothered that I look like your mother. Humans truly are strange.”
“What do you want?” Kevin heaved, trying to regain a semblance of control over himself.
It let out a derisive snort, “Death doesn't want, child.”
“Then why are you here?” His heart beat faster in his chest. “Did I do something? Am I going to die next?”
“Calm down, child. I actually came here for him.”
“He's already dead,” Kevin stated the obvious, pointing at the fresh grave.
“There was a slight oversight in his situation.”
“Oversight,” Kevin repeated slowly.
“A slight technicality Fate has been agonising over.”
Kevin didn't even know how to begin deconstructing that sentence, so he changed the topic as an idea struck him, “Wait, since you're here. Can I see him? Can you let me speak to him? Just one more time.”
“How eager, settle down, child.” Kevin wanted to say he wasn't a child at all, but he didn't think complaining would endear him to the entity. If anything, he would look even more like a petulant child in front of death incarnate, so he wisely kept his mouth shut. “As I said before, there was a slight oversight that occurred on the day of his death. Aaron Minyard had made a deal with Fate, unwillingly, but alas, a deal is a deal. Regardless, that is not something you must concern yourself with.”
Kevin felt his head spin with the onslaught of information, “What deal did Aaron make?”
“That is between Aaron and Fate, and I would rather not meddle in her troublesome affairs, but I do have to correct her mistakes, to restore balance.” Kevin could have sworn death almost sounded frustrated. “The parameters of the deal have not actually been met, so the matter of Aaron's death remains ambiguous. Death doesn't just take souls, as humanity so often believes. Death, at its core, represents a balance between the living and the dead.”
Kevin felt his own frustration grow from how vague Death was being. What deal did Aaron make? Death mentioned that it hadn't been willing, so Aaron must have been tricked in some way — but by whom? Kevin couldn't remember Aaron meeting anyone new. If anything, Aaron had isolated himself in their dorms most of the time and refused to speak to anyone who wasn't a Fox. And how is death planning on ‘restoring balance’? There was so much he wanted to ask, but somehow, he knew that death was unwilling to explain further.
Death was standing now over Aaron's grave with a palm out, muttering. “His soul is restless, poor child.”
Kevin suddenly felt ill. He thought back to Aaron constantly fidgeting, his leg shaking whilst studying, or his fingers tapping a rhythm onto his desk as he stared at his textbook, deep in thought. The bags that had developed after that dreaded Thanksgiving, and how he was constantly looking over his shoulder for some unidentified threat, flinching at any sudden move. Aaron was always high-strung, but Kevin had naively thought that it was all over now. His gaze went back to the headstone, ‘rest in peace,’ it said, mockingly. It seemed that even in death, Aaron Minyard could not rest.
Kevin felt his hands begin to shake, and he dug his fingers into his thighs in an attempt to keep them still.
“How about a deal?” Death was smiling now. Kevin tilted his head in confusion, and Death just grinned wider. It was bizarre seeing such a feral expression on his mother's face, but Kevin was too worn out to care. “It's perfect. A deal is what caused all this confusion, so it must be a deal that will balance the scales.
“Seven. A very strong number, very powerful.” A harsh snap echoed around the graveyard as Death snapped its fingers together. “I will give you a week.”
Kevin couldn’t keep up with Death's constant mumbling, “A week for what?”
“In seven days, Aaron Minyard will die,” Death stated simply, “You will do your best to save him. He might die again, he might not, but that is none of my concern; I've completed my part of the deal by sending you back.”
Kevin’s field of vision began to narrow, and he felt a light tap on his forehead before the world faded to black.