notes: i'm looking out at a thunderstorm guys, and so long as it isn't a destructive one i will be so incredibly happy. i love rain. also this is super loosely inspired by 49 days.
dedication: to that one song by the neighbourhood that kinda prompted this. and halsey.
summary: Juvia Lockser has amnesia, lives with a grumpy mechanic, works in a bookstore by day, and by night hunts down ghosts and evil spirits. Oh, and one more tiny detail: she's dead. Unlife is the same. And then she saves Gray Fullbuster from an untimely death, and things start to get a little crazy. Well, crazier.
disclaimer: no.
x
(holy water cannot help you now)
x
i. {long live the car crash hearts}
The pavement is slick with rainwater and blood. It's embedded deep within the cracked pavement and leaking into the ground. The cold droplets cling to her lashes and soaks through her clothes, into her skin. She's so cold, cold, getting colder—if she could breathe, the air would materialize in front of her. The storm overhead is raging, tearing the sky in its anger and letting out all of its sorrows onto the earth below.
Sirens scream in the distance, a warning and a shout of relief—and it clashes with the steady downpour. The pounding rain is almost like a replacement for the absent beat of her heart, so constant and loud.
There's shattered glass everywhere, tiny rough gems of hurt scattered across the road and stuck to her skin. Her eyes are wide and staring into at the nightmare sky and streaks of white lightning cutting through it, her lips half-parted in a scream that will forever be contained within her chest. The air reeks of copper, bruises, a car crash, and death. It hangs plays in the trees and wraps itself around the wrecked piece of metal lying somewhere in the ditch.
He huffs in agitation. That isn't wanted here, but he has no way to get rid of it. Maybe he'll never get used to the stench of breath draining away from a person, of life deteriorating; maybe he's doomed and it will make him uncomfortable for—for what, exactly?
Blood is smeared on the side of her head, near her right temple, but that isn't what's the matter, is it? Too much of a loss soaking the surrounding pavement for it to be just that. So what, then?
Smoke lingers around the scene, or rather its presence still lingers, but it was here. Earlier. Gravelly and thick and suffocating, incriminating. Imagine a silver revolver, tipping up up up—the click, click of the barrel, the release of the safety, the pull of the trigger.
Bang, the trees whisper accusingly and the sky roars in its fury.
She was so pretty until her fate was sealed.
x
Juvia stares at the man skeptically, and quite honestly considers running. She may be clumsier than life and she's never won an award for track or even the one-hundred-meter, okay, but she still believes firmly in the principles of stranger danger. Also, she knows the signs of lunacy, trust her, and this guy just keeps ranking higher on the checklist.
She eyes him warily. "Could you please say that again?"
This man—should she even call him a man? He looks like he's seventeen-years-old and just got out of a stint at juvie. He has a facial tattoo. A red facial tattoo that's just a weird pattern and did she mention that it's on his face? He sighs, and she wonders if he's aware of how completely nutty he is. "You're dead, Juvia."
Okay, let's back up to five minutes—no, ten, she's been gawking at him in disbelief for at least three—to when she first entered the coffee shop and ordered. It's something she does every Wednesday at eleven, because she likes the place and the morning rush is mostly over. She sits in a small booth in the back and sips on her tea or mocha and reads until her break is over. Today started out as relatively normal, except for the fact that she woke up on a bench in the park with a killer headache and no memory of how she ended up there. She's having a hard enough time figuring out what happened last night, thank you very much, and then juvenile delinquent tattoo walked into her life and made her question her very existence. Literally.
She feels the steaming mug of Darjeeling under her fingertips, so hot it almost burns, and the coolness of the booth seat. The barista both saw and heard her, not to mention took her money, and now this creeper is here, trying to convince her that she's dead and has been for a while, actually.
Something's not right, and whatever it is, it's probably in this guy's head.
"Um, excuse me but, what did you say your name was again?"
Needless to say, she's super uncomfortable and should probably signal for help. Hello captain obvious, nice to meet you.
He sighs and leans back, apparently having given up on trying to convince her of her ghosthood for the moment. "Jellal Fernandez. I'm sorry for doing this right now, especially considering where we are. I realize that this may come as a shock to you, and that it will probably take some time to accept it, but it's true."
Juvia is slowly edging out of her seat to make her run for it. The first thing she's doing after escaping is calling the police. "Right. Okay."
But Jellal isn't done. "And I get it, I do. You're probably sitting there thinking, 'this guy escaped from a mental asylum and is completely out of his mind,' because that's what I was thinking when I was sitting on the other side of this table. Well, not this table, but metaphorically speaking. Kind of? I don't know, it was a difficult time for me; I'm still working through some stuff."
He cuts off his rambling and snaps out of his faraway gaze when he notices that she's almost out of the booth. "My point is, Juvia, I've been where you are. I'm just like you."
Juvia gives him a once-over, from his pale sweater to his slacks and the red sneakers he's wearing underneath the table. "You don't look dead to me," she says carefully.
He nods at her. "And you're thinking that you don't look dead either, right?"
Maybe, she thinks.
Jellal sighs and leans forward, breaking out the meaningful hand gestures meant for heart-to-heart talks. She's seen them before. "Look Juvia, I know that you have no reason to trust me or believe anything I say because I sound crazy, I know. But I need you to listen to me, okay?"
Knowing that you're insane is a sign that you are not, in fact, insane, Juvia recites in her head. She's not sure that she fully trusts that.
Every siren is going off in her head and they're all screaming stranger danger and convict slash madman on the loose. They're telling her to run you idiot, he's going to drug you and then you really will be dead. But something keeps her from leaving the booth, though she doesn't know what.
Something catches Jellal's attention and she thinks, this is the time to go, but then he's pointing at a tv screen near the front of the shop and telling her to look. Against her better judgement and all those warnings still blaring in her head, she does.
And instantly regrets it.
There's footage from a terrible car accident on the screen, and she covers her mouth in horror. What's left of the vehicle is being pulled out by heavy equipment and she knows that there's no way someone could survive a crash like that. Jason Cool, the local news anchor, is putting out a request regarding any information on the situation. And then they show a picture of the victim.
It's her.
x
"I'm dead," Juvia chokes. "How...? I don't even remember that crash...or—or driving my car down that road? I never drive out that way! Why—"
Jellal flails his hands at her, and she thinks that he isn't very good at this whole comforting process. "That's...that's just part of it, I guess? Sometimes people can't remember how or when they died, or in your case—that you even died in the first place. It's quite common, really. I know that probably doesn't help," he winces at the look she shoots him, "but it's true. I'm sorry."
She sucks in a deep, watery breath. "But—but, how? The girl who took my order didn't seem to think i was a ghost or recognize me, and I don't feel like a dead person, and—andandand."
He lets out a deep sigh. "It's a strange process, I'll admit. I don't really understand it all myself but," he points at the mirror on the wall, "take a look at yourself. Are there things about you that are different than before?"
Juvia brushes away some of her tears on her sweater sleeve and stands, still feeling slightly self-conscious about being in the ladies' room with a guy, and walks over to the mirror. She fingers the ends of her long hair and stares at her murky reflection. Her eyes are still the same indigo sky blue and framed by long and thick lashes, but a bit darker, emptier, and red-rimmed from crying. She smells like rain, probably permanently now. Her skin is pale, porcelain white, like one of those old dolls. She hasn't worn much makeup before, but she feels like she needs to apply some blush to her cheeks. She doesn't really look, well, alive.
"I still look like me," she tells him, turning back around. "I don't understand."
Jellal taps his chin thoughtfully. "Like I said, it's a peculiar instance. See, you're not living, but you aren't really dead either. It's not so much a matter of you 'being stuck in the in between' for whatever reasons as you simply just don't belong here."
Juvia stares at him blankly, his thought process and explanation lost on her. "You're saying that I am not a ghost? But I'm not alive either?"
"Basically," he nods his head. "You're a special case, Juvia Lockser. One of several—like myself—but no less special. The reason that you aren't dead-dead, Juvia, is because you aren't supposed to be dead in the first place. The accident that killed you wasn't supposed to happen, which means that you were not supposed to die. It wasn't your time yet, so this is...it's...think of it as a really crappy form of consolation for your life ending on such short notice. Technically speaking, you aren't an actual human being anymore, and you've become somewhat of a spirit of sorts. You'll notice some changes later on, but I'll give you a crash course to get you started."
Jellal stops to let everything he's just said sink in and hit home before picking up where he left off. "And to answer your question, most people probably won't recognize you or your name, so you don't have to worry about that. I guess it's partly because you've changed so much and they haven't. There's also a chance that you appear differently to them—and not like the dead girl from the channel four news at ten."
The bathroom is silent after that, save for the sound of rain pattering against the building and roof outside. Juvia gets lost in the thoughts all trying to fight each other in her head, in attempting to recall anything that happened shortly before or after her car crashed, but she can't. In fact, the more she thinks about it, the less she remembers about anything. It's like the memories were never even there, like it's an event she heard about from someone, but wasn't actually there to experience it in person.
Jellal watches her, until she seems to remember where she is. "So," she trails off uncertainly, "...you're deceased too?"
He almost laughs at the apprehensive look on her face, relieved that she's finished crying for now. He's never known how to handle crying girls. "Yeah," he nods, "same situation as you. Died when I wasn't supposed to, ended up chaperoning other poor souls like us and helping them navigate through life," he blinks. "Or unlife? I don't know."
Juvia catches something in his tone, something like regret and an immense sadness she's not sure that she has ever known, but tucks that information deep into her heart. "So if I'm not dead but not alive either, and people can see and communicate with but probably not recognize me, what do I do? I suppose going back to work is out of the question, for obvious reasons."
Jellal grins at her, this small, quiet girl who will forever smell of rain and wears pretty cotton dresses with cardigans and sweaters. "You know, I think I'm starting to like you. And don't worry, I have a job proposal. That is, if you're interested of course."
x
Juvia nervously looks up at the building looming over her. It's dark and foreboding and not at all the cozy and comfortable environment she was expecting. Jellal said that she needed to find someone to live with, and then he informed her of the possible candidates he knew of. She chose the one in sunny Magnolia, a quaint town she's always wanted to visit but never had the chance to. She barely recalls stories and pictures of brightly-colored, cheerful buildings with cobbled streets and cheerful residents.
This is so far from what she's been expecting.
Swallowing, she reaches foreword and presses the buzzer for loft 3-A. There's nothing but static for a few moments, then a gruff voice picks up over the line.
"Who the hell is it?"
She talks herself out of running and just living on the streets like a homeless ghostly bum. Maybe she could find some eerie old mansion to inhabit instead? "U-um, it's Juvia. I mean, I'm here to talk about the ad you put out for a roommate?"
Her heart feels like it's hammering its way out of her chest, but she's not even sure if that's possible, given the circumstances. she waits for what seems like an eternity before the buzzer finally rings—an ugly sound that nearly scares her out of her wits—and the voice crackled over the radio again.
"Come on up."
Juvia takes a deep breath, steels herself as best she can, and opens the door. It isn't two minutes later that she's discovered the elevator is out of service and is instead taking the stairs up to her potential answer for her housing situation. An unfortunate problem that Jellal insisted needed to be solved, and soon.
When she finally reaches her destination, a gray steel door with the door number and letter in black, she decides to forgo knocking in favor of saving her hand, and rings the bell instead. A red—red—eye peeks out the door, and she catches a lot of something silver glistening in whatever light is inside before the door opens.
She has to almost crane her head to look up at him, her new roommate. She's been praying that he isn't an ax murderer. And that he doesn't keep his fridge stocked with garlic hummus and eat it by the container. She's had some bad experiences. Or she thinks she has.
He is tall with a wild mane of dark black hair, red eyes that look like they could stare right through you—and she's honestly afraid that's going to happen one day, too many face piercings to count, and a scowl that would make little children cry. He's dressed in a black AC/DC t-shirt and dark jeans, in his sock feet, and crossing his arms.
She is intimidated, to say the least.
What else was she expecting from a guy named Gajeel Redfox? Honestly, he sounds like he could be one of those metal rock singers. Looks like one too.
"You're here about the ad I put out for a roommate?"
Juvia manages to nod her head a couple times.
He raises a skeptical brow, but steps aside. "Well, come on. Don't waste my entire day standin' outside my door looking all helpless and lost like that."
She looks helpless and lost? Does she also look dead?
He steps back into the room and she takes this as a motion to follow him. Once she's inside, he shuts the door and leads her to the couch. The loft is much more clean than she'd imagined, and definitely not as homey-feeling as she's used to. But it's roomy and has potential, not to mention the balcony overlooking the city. She wonders what it looks like all lit up at night.
Gajeel seems uncomfortable as he sits down across from her. "You want anything? Coffee, water, milk? I think I have some orange juice or something one of my friends left here last week."
Juvia shakes her head and thinks that, even if she can't remember a lot from her past, she should at least remember to use her words. "N-no thank you."
They stare at each other for a little while until Gajeel finally clears his throat and asks her to, in a lack of a what to say exactly, tell a little about herself.
"Um, my name is Juvia Lockser. I'm twenty-one, and an avid reader. Even though I own a shocking amount of blue, my favorite colors are pale yellow and lilac. My favorite country is Lichtenstein and I favor plums above all other fruits. I'm a vegetarian but I can cook meat, and I'm a strong believer in stranger danger and the hazards of cross-country skiing."
It's enough from what she remembers to get her through this, hopefully. When she opened her mouth to talk, the words just came pouring out before she could stop them. Did she live with someone before?
"I asked for you to describe yourself, not fill out a fuckin' dating site profile."
She flushes, if that's even possible, from her random word vomit but despite his harsh words, there's a hint of a smile on Gajeel's face. At least, that's what Juvia thinks. It's a little hard to tell because he makes scowling look like a permanent job that he's quite accustomed to. Gajeel crosses his arms and stares down at her, which for some reason tugs at her heartstrings in an unpleasant way. There are memories just within her reach, and she's tipping over the edge—but the closer she gets to falling, the more it hurts.
He narrows his hazardous eyes at her. "You got a job? I ain't paying all the rent here, sweetheart."
Juvia fidgets with the too-long sleeves of her sweater and nods. "Yes. I work at a bookstore downtown."
Or she will be starting tomorrow. She has no idea what sort of job she held before—if she even had one at all. Something tells her that she did, though. Jellal was kind enough to help her apply for several, but this was the only one she really wanted. When she walked through the front door of that shop, it seemed like she truly belonged. Maybe it was fate, although she isn't sure that fate has dealings with dead people.
Gajeel grunts. "Criminal record?"
She supposed he has to ask anyway, even though he seems highly skeptical that she's a past convict. Not that I know of, she thinks, but gives him a shaky smile. "No."
He's been staring at her for at least ten minutes, and it's highly unnerving. The air about him is rough and cloaked in anger and irritation, but he doesn't seem to be directing any of that toward her, which she's extremely thankful for.
Juvia presses the tips of her forefingers together. "I-I promise to pay my half of the rent on time, and I won't be a pest. Also, I'll cook if you want me to, and it won't be just all vegetables or anything. I don't listen to loud music and I won't leave my dirty socks all over the living room floor."
His gaze lingers on the clear, tear-drop pendant hanging around her neck and he sighs, throwing his head back and groaning. "Rent is due the third Tuesday of every month, I won't watch any of those shitty romantic comedies or whatever the hell they are with you, and I work odd hours so don't freak out if I come home at two in the morning."
She blinks a few times. Is he…is he telling her that she passed inspection? That she can live here? Her eyes go wide and she stares at him in wonder. Was it really that simple? No catches or anything?
Gajeel seems increasingly uncomfortable under her disbelieving gaze, and shifts in his seat. "What the hell are you starin' at, woman? I told you that you could move in, didn't I?"
Juvia snaps herself out of her stupor and shrinks back in on herself. "S-sorry. It's just…there aren't many people who've been this nice to Juvia before."
"Did you just refer to yourself in third person?"
She freezes, a feeling of familiarity creeping up her spine. "…No?'
He still looks suspicious, but decides to drop it for the time being. "So when do you wanna move in?"
Juvia smiles at him sheepishly. "Now?"
x
Jellal had allowed her to visit her old apartment and grab some of her possessions before the police went through them, and she's glad for that. Even though she just took a few things—stealing from her former self, she almost laughs—like a bag of clothes and some shoes, books, and some other things, it's enough. Her room in apartment 3-A is sparsely decorated due to her lack of personal belongings, but that's okay for now. In any case, she's thankful that she thought to grab a thick pea coat and some boots, because the weather is cold tonight.
Her baseball bat is clasped loosely in her mitten-clad right hand, and she dances a little as she walks down the street. She's probably an absurd sight to anyone still out—a girl bundled up, hop-skipping down the sidewalk with a bat swinging beside her—and it makes her smile just a little bit. The night is young and so is she (forever twenty-one, according to Jellal), and there's plenty of work to do.
Juvia scans the area and tries to focus on any unnatural presences, and locates one near the cemetery. Of course, she sighs to herself, but heads in that direction anyway. If it's an unrestful spirit, she can't leave it to become something worse and harm someone. And if it's already something worse, well…
She grips the bat's handle tighter and picks up her pace.
The night welcomes the dead girl with open arms and whispers quiet secrets into her ear.
Her purpose is clear—she has evil to purify.
—
tbc
end notes: another story to add to my mausoleum oh goody. but i really love this one okay so of course i crave feedback. remember, sharing is caring.