A/N: Theme and inspiration from The Lovely Bones. This was written for the Rivetra Secret Santa on tumblr. Contains character death and Rivetra babies! :)

And if anyone's wondering, I'm savingprimrose on tumblr. Now, on to the fic! :)

This is the story of how I died.

I do not have a name for I was only four months old when it happened. But somehow, here in the in-between, I am older, I am wiser. I am at my prime and I watch over those whom I left behind.

I died on a stormy winter night hours shy of my father's birthday, hours shy of Christmas. We were on our way to my grandfather's.

Grandfather owned a ski resort up a mountain, you see. The roads leading up were treacherous and frozen in ice. Dad lost control of the car; mom screamed. I was not aware I was going to die back then. How could I be? I was so small, no larger than a foot.

I left blood and destruction, tears and sorrow as my soul made its way here. Mom wrapped her arms around her tummy to protect me, but it was all in vain. The impact was too great to endure for someone as small as I.

Dad had three broken ribs; mom had a fractured leg and an injured spine. Dad needed stitches for the cut on his abdomen, mom needed to get my body out of her system, lest I poison her.

Dad woke up first and the first thing that escapes his parched lips is her name. I watched as he blinked confusion out of his eyes and looked over to the right, to where my mother is lying on another bed, unconscious and looking half a ghost amidst all the beeping machines. I watched as a small cry escaped from my father's mouth, I know he wants nothing more than for her to be alright.

He tried to pull the IV out of his arm to get to her, tried to sit up, only to find that his body is strapped to the bed. I wanted to cry as I watched my father trash miserably against the bonds.

He had tears in his eyes as he reached out for her and called her name, hoping and praying that she heard him.

I was so worried for my parents that I never noticed that my grandfather was there, I completely forgot about him. Poor old man must have blamed himself for the accident. He watched over them and I watched over him while mother continues to slumber and father continues to fight the bonds in his determination to hold her hand (the nurses resulted to sedating him in order to calm him down)

I wanted to go down to earth to tell grandfather that he need not worry for I have bought their lives with mine.

*
Two months pass and my father has recovered enough to be out of the bed and grandfather can finally relax a little, knowing that dad would never let anything happen to my mother. He told grandfather to go home and rest, that from now on it's his turn to guard her and protect her, that it's time he fulfill what he vowed to her on their wedding day.

He is aware of my departing, I'm quite sure of it. But he chooses not to think about it and keeps the thought at the back of his mind, focusing all his attention to his wife.

I don't think he has time to mourn his dead child just yet.

*
It's been months since the accident and mom is slowly turning into a corpse, her skin is translucent and there is very little meat on her bones. But despite this, my father always tells her that she's beautiful, always tells her that he loves her in her sleep in hopes of bringing her back to life.

There was a time when I was playing on the swing set when I thought I saw mother walking towards me.

I stopped pushing my heels on the ground and stared wide-eyed at this woman who looks exactly just like my mother but with laugh lines at the corner of her eyes and mouth, and a pair of striking blue eyes instead of honey.

"Hello, child," she smiled and sat on the other swing. I blinked at her before saying hello back.

I must have looked ridiculous with my mouth wide open and eyes fixed on her, she told me that she's my grandmother and the looks made sense.

She took my hand and asked for my name.

I told her I have none.

*
Grandmother has a house here. I guess you get to have one when you've been here for years. She grows vegetables in her backyard and there's also a tall tree there, too. I asked her if I could make a tree house and live there. She said yes and helped me build it.

There are other kids here, too. Most of them are like me.

Dead before their time.

*
It's almost a year now and mom is no longer at the hospital. She's at home now but still connected to an oxygen tank and to a machine that tell us that her heart is still beating.

Dad got an online job as a tutor so he can stay at home and take care of her. Grandfather would visit often and play chess with him.

But I know that they fear for her life, I fear for it too.

Once, while I was reading, I heard an awful sound that filled me with horror.

Something must have been happening down on earth. I looked just in time to see my father rushing up to my mother's side - his face paler than usual and then I knew.

I turned to look away. I couldn't bear to see the look on my father's face, so full of sorrow, so full of regret.

I rushed up to my tree house and locked myself up, curled into myself and cried.

This isn't happening. This isn't happening. This isn't happening.

I tell myself this over and over and over until I'm certain that this isn't true, that this is nothing more than a misunderstanding in God's timepiece.

How awful, don't you think, it is for a man to lose his first child and the woman he loves within the same year?

*
Grandmother knocked on my door and told me what I was dreading to hear.

"She's waiting for you inside the house."

I inhaled. I exhaled. I opened the door and there was my mother, sitting on my grandma's couch as if nothing's wrong. I was filled with anger.

You're not supposed to be here is the first thing I said to my mother.

What a horrible child I was, saying such a hurtful thing to my mother. But she smiled and stood to wrap me in her arms and whispered I know.

"You're beautiful, my child, I wish your father could see you," she smiled and I told her that I am sorry and that she is beautiful, too.

We cried together, mother and child, and when I inhaled her scent and exhaled – she was gone.

Later, I found out that my mother's heart stopped beating and was only revived by a defibrillator.

I watched as she opened her eyes on earth as my father wept at her side.

She looked up, she was looking straight at me, and mouthed I love you.

*
I watched as my mother recovered and learned how walk, listened as she told my father about me and the in-between and about grandmother. I watched as he smirked and told her that it was all in her mind, that she was only high on medications.

She smiled at him, "Whatever you say, Levi."

But I knew deep in my bones that he believes her. And later, when she was asleep in his arms, he finally allowed himself to weep over his dead child.

Forgive me for I was not able to save you.

I went down to earth then and kissed the crown of his head.

There is nothing to apologize for, father. Forgive yourself.

And I knew he heard.

*
Five years since the accident and my mother gave birth to my little sister.

She is called Adara and she fills the gap I left in my parents' hearts.

One night, when she was eight, I sneaked out of the gates on the in-between to go down to earth. I wanted to see my little sister up close. She's sitting on her bed, reading Little Red Riding Hood. She looks exactly like mother, except for her steel grey eyes.

I wanted to hold her, wrap my arms around her tiny frame, and feel her heart beat against my unbeating one.

But I know I can't. It is forbidden. They say that people feel you when you touch them or when you come too close. They feel you in the form of a cold gentle breeze or hear you in a light twinkling of bells.

But I am a rebel and I am reckless and nothing can stop me from letting my sister know that I watch over them, that I am still alive, somehow. That I am in the air they breathe.

I whispered her name. The page of her book turned. Her brows knit together and I can feel her eyes on me.

I smiled. She stared.

I tried to say her name, but my words are wind and when she blinked, I am gone.

*
"Do you regret dying, child?" my grandmother asked.

I told her I do not know.

*
Years passed and I watched as my sister grew up and fell in love. I watched as the hair on my parents' head turned to grey.

I watched and I loved and I knew then that I do not regret dying.

THE END.