A/N: Warning, in case you hadn't realized from the title, this is an Alex death!fic. Those of you who meandered over here from my Prompts story, Sleepwalking can be found under "Tuesday"

Six Days Alex Rider Never Died
(And One Day He Did)

Monday
Alex hated Mondays. It was one of the few things he shared with teenagers across the globe. Mondays were the bane of his existence. He had to get up early after a weekend of relaxation, and go back to that rabid hellhole called high school. Mondays got even worse as over half the people in his grade believed those outrageous rumors claiming he was a psychopathic killer, a drug addict, or both. He snorted into his morning coffee. Ok, maybe he was addicted. But not to anything illegal! It was Jack's fault anyway, for bringing a bag of Starbucks coffee over from her American vacation a year or so ago. Now he relied on the brew to get him through the morning. He took another deep sip then frowned. As caffeine began to course through his veins and his sleepy haze began to evaporate, breathing became more difficult, and he noticed that something tasted off in his coffee…

Tuesday
When Alex was younger, he had the strange tendency to sleepwalk. Ian or Jack would wake up the morning and shuffle down to make breakfast, only to discover their charge downstairs, wandering about. Jack even swore that one time he made a full pancake breakfast before she had managed to coax him back to his room. When Alex woke up, he had no recollection. However, as the years went by it happened less and less often. By the time of Ian's death, his sleepwalking had disappeared entirely – or so he thought.

After Yassen's death and Alex's subsequent indecision over a course of action, he spent many sleepless nights pouring over what he should do. What little sleep he could get was broken up by nightmares, strange images chasing him. In one such dream, he was resting on the kitchen counter counting knives when Yassen broke through the door, howling inhumanly and firing a pistol (the same one he was shot with on Air Force One) wildly into the air. Blood oozed from the walls, mixing, swirling, forming words. Go to Venice, the walls told him. He paused to stop and stare at the wall, at the substance changing to colors he knew blood shouldn't be. A bullet breezed past Alex's head. He whipped around to take one look at the crazed assassin blocking the door before diving head-first out the first-storey window. Except, Alex wasn't in the kitchen, and his bedroom window wasn't on the first storey.

Wednesday
Little 8-year-old Alex couldn't stop wriggling with joy as he watched the fine white snowflakes float serenely to the ground. He turned away from the window, pinning the poor man sitting at the table with a pitiful stare. "Could we please go sledding, Uncle Ian?" The man at the table looked at his half-finished breakfast and sighed as his inner commentary snickered. You softie. He could never say no when Alex wore that face. Next time, they were vacationing where it was warm and sunny and definitely not snowing.

Alex whooshed down the hill, squealing with delight, expertly avoiding the barbed wire fence that sloped across part of the hill and marveling as it whizzed past in a blur. After what seemed like ages, the sled slowly ground to a halt in the thickly packed snow. That had been the furthest he'd gotten yet! From the top of the hill, Ian laughed at his antics. Alex turned and shot him a dazzling smile (just like his father's…)and scrambled up the top of the hill, wrestling with his bulky sled the entire way. He was going to see if he could go even further down the hill!

Once back at the top of the hill, Alex set his sled down and shuffled backwards. He waited, tensing, then on some internal mark he sprinted for the sled. He ran as fast as one could when the snow was up to their shins, and took a flying leap. He landed on the sled with a perfect whump! of downy coat. Grinning like a lunatic, he swung his feet around, trying to sit cross-legged in the sled to control where he was going. Unfortunately, his shifting around maneuvered the sled into a very different direction than the one he planned, sending it hurtling towards a very unforgiving barbed wire fence. From the top of the hill, Ian yelled out in alarm, but the ecstatic 8-year-old couldn't decipher his words over the rushing of the wind and the crunching of snow. He simply assumed it was a shout of encouragement, and he turned to wave at his uncle as the fence hurtled closer and closer.

Thursday
Alex staggered into the bathroom between his first and second class, splashing cool refreshing water on his overheated forehead. He shouldn't be in school – knew it, too – but he was already missing enough days of school on missions, and there was an important English essay due today that he had toiled all night on. He squinted at the mirror, past the bright fluorescent lights, examining his reflection. No wonder the office had accepted his current sickness without question – he looked terrible, deep bags under his eyes standing out in stark contrast to the rest of his gaunt pasty face. His eyes were sore and slightly bloodshot from lack of sleep - and was it possible his pupils were a little dilated? Alex leaned closer to the mirror. Yep, and his vision was getting a little fuzzy around the edges. In fact, it seemed like it was even getting a little darker in the bathroom. Was it possible one of the lights had gone out? But no, now it seemed like they all were dimming and-

The next boy to stroll into the bathroom tore out again, yelling for a teacher and leaving red smears wherever he stepped. Not to long after that, an ambulance tore into the parking lot. It's Rider, the people whispered as they congregated to the side of the bathroom door. He hit his head on the sink, they told each other. Johnny saw it – he says Rider looked dead, but they carted him off to the hospital anyways. After a few days, a weeping red-haired woman came into school. She took collected everything in Rider's locker, stopped in the dean's office, then proceeded out, school notebooks and personal effects of their classmate still in tow. This time, Rider's absence was not remarked on at all. It was never explicitly stated, but they all knew he was permanently gone.

Friday
Alex and a group of his closest friends were walking back from the terrible movie they had just seen, laughing uproariously as they remembered the flick. It was some unbelievable story about a teenage spy stopping an insane computer genius from infecting the entire school population with a deadly disease. "And then the jellyfish!" Alex put in. "Can you really believe a Portuguese Man O' War would be kept as a pet?" Tom choked with laughter. "Hey, hey Alex!" he managed to stutter through his cackles. "You know karate! We can just give you a rope, hire some thugs, and have ourselves a re-enactment!" Sabina, Alex's long-time girlfriend gave Tom a half-hearted shove. "Don't you get my boyfriend hurt!" She demanded in an imperious tone. "I like him as is!"

Ever dramatic, Tom staggered back. "Oh, Sabina, you wound me! Do you only care for this thug? Have we not a spark of true love?" Everyone in the group laughed at his antics. His jaw dropped, and he leapt up onto the street curb. Now standing on his 'podium,' he began flying his arms around wildly. "Don't I ever get to hear my Juliet on the balcony, shouting 'Romeo Romeo wherefore art thou Romeo?' Or is it just life's cruel joke to leave me–" Tom stopped as a horrid screeching filled the air. Everyone's gazes were drawn to the road, where a car was skidding down the road. It was obvious the driver had no control, and everyone flinched as the renegade vehicle turned its headlights towards the sidewalk. Tom stood frozen, eyes wide at the impending collision. Alex, however, was always quickest to react. He leapt at Tom, grabbed one of the smaller boy's shoulders, and threw him from danger. Unfortunately, that saving act left no time for Alex to dodge the incoming car himself.

Saturday
Alex carefully slid out of his bedroom, making sure to walk as quietly as possible as he passed his uncle's room. Ian had just returned from a business trip, and was looking a lot more run-down then usual. It always took him few days to recover from those trips, to calm down and loose that paranoid demeanor, and Alex always made sure to be on his best behavior during that time. Today, he was going to make pancakes while his uncle was asleep. Hopefully that would cheer the man up and give Alex a miniscule chance at going out with friends to see a new movie. He had it all planned out; the quiet breakfast, the good behavior, and at the opportune moment the casual question. After that, he would bite his nails (figuratively) as he waited for Ian to come to a decision.

Unfortunately, he hadn't planned on finding someone downstairs - someone decidedly not his uncle and not Jack. Someone with a ski mask that was currently ruffling through drawers. ("Never store money in an easy-to-get place, Alex. That's where they always look first.") Alex let out a yell of alarm and threw himself at the burglar, confident he could fend the man off with his karate skills. Unfortunately, Alex underestimated his opponent; the man quickly dodged away from the foot flying at his head, and pivoted as Alex lurched past. He shoved Alex across the room, straight into a sharp counter corner. The burglar took one look at the bloody result and fled.

Sunday
Alex sighed, slowly lowering his aching body on the plush sofa. Sunday - the day of rest. And if there was anything the over-worked spy needed, it was rest. He sunk further into the sofa, basking in the comfort of being in a safe, recognizable place with no care to propriety or survival. His eyes drooped, fluttering half-closed before finally giving in. Alex drew in a deep calming breath, ignoring the slight twinge on his chest as his lungs expanded with air. He didn't want to think about anything related to spying right now – and his recent bullet wound definitely fell in that category. So he just cleared his mind and began breathing. In… and out… in… and out… in… Alex quickly drifted off to a deep sleep.

Unbeknownst to Alex, his heart hiccupped as it weakly tried to continue its job. The latest mission had strained the organ and now it was struggling with every pump. Alex slept through the entire event, oblivious to his body's plight. While Alex lay sleeping, his heart finally gave one last shudder and fell silent.