Title: Pretty Little Goth Girl

Disclaimer: Matt & the wrestlers belong to themselves. Death, though I'm fairly certain probably belongs to herself as well, is property of Neil Gaiman and DC/Vertigo comics.

Spoilers: None, I hope.

Notes: This is something I wrote in about an hour or so last night when I was half asleep already. It's pretty much a work in progress, or maybe it's finished, I don't know. I just wanted to write something and try to break my writer's block. Eh. Oh well. Have fun, kids.

******

"Look, if you don't quit pacing and sit down, I swear by everything I hold holy I'll tackle you and cut off your feet."

Jason Reso was many things, wrestler and notorious prankster among them. He was not, however, one to jump around a subject. Despite others' attempts to change him, he was just about as subtle as a brick to the head.

Matt Hardy stopped in his tracks, brow creased in sudden thought. "And what exactly wouldja do with 'em if you did cut 'em off?"

Jay, never missing a beat, offered a shrug and a half-grin. "Probably put 'em up on eBay. I mean, if someone could sell a half-eaten roast beef sandwich, I'm pretty sure I could sell your feet." He paused for effect, eyes widening just slightly. "Imagine it: it'd be the perfect addition to some psychotic teen girl's Hardy memorabilia collection! She'd probably put 'em in a glass case surrounded by candles and bow to it in the morning and sacrifice sheep or something to it before bed."

Matt shuddered involuntarily.

"Well, maybe not, but I'm sure it'd be just as creepy."

With a quiet chuckle, Matt walked back to the window and parted the heavy curtains enough to look out for the fifth time in half as many minutes. "He shoulda been here," he mumbled absently under his breath.

"It's Jeff," Jay reasoned, scratching at his temple. "He probably saw a sale on Nerf guns at Target or something and thought it'd be cute to get enough to have a war in the hotel lobby. Again."

Matt grinned at the memory, remembering the incident a couple months earlier when his sweet, adorable, plotting, and perpetually five-year-old younger brother stepped out of the elevator, entered the lobby where several of his fellow wrestlers were waiting for him so they could try to find a decent restaurant nearby. He'd been wearing a trenchcoat and a pair of dark sunglasses, seemingly stolen from the set of The Matrix, and pulled it open to reveal guns of various sizes and colors strapped on the inside. The result was a Nerf fight that involved both Hardys, Jay and his best friend and partner in crime Adam, a teenage chef on break who happened to be passing by and made the mistake of asking for an autograph, and even Shane McMahon at one point when he realized it was hit or be hit.

And as a result of that, the pricy vase Shane bumped into and shattered, three small tables, and an entire collection of magazines that had been used as shields were replaced, as well as the whole company being barred from staying at that particular hotel in the future.

"Nah, he'll wanna up the ante this time, more than likely," Matt noted, choking down the urge to look out the window again. "He'll prob'ly bring paintball guns back."

"Wouldn't doubt it."

"He shoulda been here by now, though."

"Don't start again."

"Well, he should've."

Jay sighed lightly enough so as not to be heard. He had been keeping Matt company the past hour or so for lack of anything better to do, and because Adam was having one of his "times," as Jay had termed them, when he would call home and more or less ask his wife everything from what had happened that day to what side of the bed she woke up on that morning. It was so disgustingly sweet that Jay wanted absolutely no part of it.

So here he sat with a pacing Matt Hardy, wanting to just go curl up in bed and sleep for at least another week.

"Wanna do something?"

"Will it get me arrested?"

Jay appeared suddenly thoughtful. "I don't think so, no."

"Alright, then, what?"

"I dunno, play strip poker. Something to take your mind off Jeff."

Matt raised a single eyebrow, a gesture vaguely similar to the Rock's. "An' you think seein' you naked is gonna do that?"

"Well, I'd sure as hell hope it would."

"It might make me start convulsing on the floor . . ."

"Ah, screw you. You just don't know studliness when you see it."

"Studli - you know what? Never mind. I won't even reply to that."

Jay flashed a playful smile, prepared to fire off another sarcastic reply when someone knocked on the door, opening it at the same time. Only two people ever did that -- his mother and

"Hi, Adam. Done playing sex hotline now?"

The blonde's cheeks flushed with the barest hint of red, accompanied by a sheepish little grin. "I wasn't doing that to begin with."

"Uh huh. I grew up with you. I know how your perverted mind works."

Adam's shoulders tilted back in a move of defiance. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Really?" When he was answered with a curt nod, Jay folded his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. "Bobby Hunt's eighteenth birthday party." Adam's face was blank. "Katie . . . well, I don't remember her last name, but it was that ditzy redhead you chased around all night. You wanna tell me you now that you don't think I'm right about the pervert thing?"

Realization suddenly dawned, appearing in the form of a much deeper blush. "C'mon, man. I was barely even eighteen. I was . . . wild. Or something."

"Yeah, that's a word for it. Dude, I found you the next morning tied to Bobby's bed with a hangover."

"Okay, you two, shouldn't you be goin' somewhere?" Matt asked suddenly, hands over his ears. "I so did not ever need that image in my head. Ever."

"I'm going to bed," Jay answered, already making a bolt for the door. "And I'm hiding the phone."

Adam, bless his clueless, Canadian heart, was still standing in the open doorway, perplexed look on his face. "What was Katie's last name, anyway?"

"And I'm locking up the bar in the room before he decides to reenact his youth," Jay continued, more or less dragging his friend out by the shirt and shutting the door behind him.

Matt, though he would likely never admit it, rather enjoyed the two men's interactions. For all intents and purposes, they practically were brothers, traveling, fighting, and bickering together as if there was shared blood between them.

It was that thought that made Matt go back to the window and look, though he knew he wouldn't be able to see much thanks to the snow that had followed the tail end of an ice storm earlier that day. For some reason even he couldn't begin to explain, he felt protective over Jeff, even while knowing his brother could more than take care of himself. When a bully had picked on him at school, Matt was there to face him and, usually, get his head bashed in. When an angry ex-girlfriend started harassing a current one, Matt was always there to help Jeff come up with blackmail plots.

It was, quite simply, hard to stop interfering in Jeff's life even when they were both grown men.

"Ugh. Get some sleep," he told himself, rubbing his hands over his face. "Worryin' never helped anything." That being said, he stepped into the bathroom, brushed his teeth, changed his clothes, and then staggered half-asleep already to his bed.

It would be barely even an hour before he would awaken, startled into consciousness by the feeling of someone at the end of his bed. He looked across to the night stand to see the red numbers of the alarm flick over to read 1:52.

"Crap," he mumbled, pushing himself up on his elbow and fumbling for the lamp switch. When he found it, artificial but blinding light flooded the room, temporarily blinding him. He threw his hand up to shield his sleepy eyes, blinking them rapidly to gradually bring them back into focus.

"I hate it when that happens, too."

That's when he noticed the person at the end of his bed.

"Jesus!" He cried, jumping backwards and slamming into the headboard. The girl on his bed only smiled a charming little smile that spoke volumes about her personality.

"No, I'm not, but I'm flattered you think so."

Matt blinked again, taking a moment to look over the girl. She seemed to be in her twenties, no more, no less, but also had an air about her that made him feel she was oddly ageless. Her skin was a ghastly pale tone, the whitest he'd ever seen without help from makeup. Black, slightly wavy hair fell just past her shoulders in an unruly mass that added a bit of innocence to her appearance.

She was, he thought, the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Not gorgeous, but she could certainly hold her own.

He also had the undeniable feeling that thinking such things about her was for some reason horribly wrong.

"Alright. I'll give you an autograph if you'll get outta my room. How's that?"

The smile flashed again, making Matt's heart skip a beat despite his best efforts to keep it under control. "Considering you just called me Jesus, shouldn't I be the one giving autographs?"

"Um . . . okay. Who are you?"

"I'm me," she replied simply, giving a faint shrug of her shoulders. Matt huffed in frustration.

"That didn't help."

"Most people get a little nervous when I give them my name."

"I'm more nervous by the fact that I don't know your name, actually."

The girl shrugged again, leaning against the wall the bed was pushed against. "Fine. I'm Death."

Matt closed his eyes and gave himself a moment to regain his composure. "Okay. So you're some kinda whacked out Goth in here, prob'ly on a dare. I'll give you an autograph and a shirt, just promise to never come near me again."

To his surprise, the girl seemed more amused than ever by that. "If you really want to give me an autograph that bad, I'll take it. But just to set the record straight, I'm not a Goth by any means."

"Then how do you explain the skin and the black clothes and the...the thing," Matt pointed to the heavy silver object that hung from a chain around her neck.

She looked down at it. "Oh, this? It's an ankh."

"Yeah. So what would you call yourself then?"

"Death."

"Look, lady, I'm callin' the lobby now."

"What would I have to do to convince you?"

Matt's hand stilled above the phone. "I don't know, but you're insane."

"Your mother loved you very much," she announced all of a sudden with a tone in her voice that made it sound as natural as if she'd just asked what the next day's weather forecast was. Matt, eyes widening to almost comical proportions, slowly turned back around. "She really didn't want to leave you and your family, but these things happen to the best of us."

Eyes immediately narrowed, Matt clenched his hands into tight fists at his side. "Who the hell are you to come in here talkin' about my family an' my mom?"

"Death. Really, now, how many times must I tell you?" Matt never answered, so she continued. "Your grandparents on . . . it was your father's side, I believe . . . they both regretted that they hadn't treated your mother better than they did. Your sixth grade teacher was killed in a bus wreck on her way to visit her sister while on spring break. You had an older cousin who moved to Colorado and was shot in a bank robbery a few years ago."

Matt, mouth agape, still remained silent.

"Any of this sound familiar?"

Matt could only give a faint nod.

"Thought so. Do you believe me now?"

"How --"

"I told you who I am. That should explain things."

Matt sighed in resignation, closing his eyes briefly before attempting to speak again. "So, what? Are you here to kill me now?"

"Not exactly, no."

"Well, that's one good thing, I guess." He paused, looking her over with a critical eye. "So where's the hood and scythe and stuff?"

"I leave the shadow and hoods and everything to my brother, actually. And why does everyone always ask about the scythe?" She shook her head, deciding she didn't care to wait for an answer to her question. "But no, Matt, I'm not here for you."

"Then who . . ." His heart lept into his throat as he looked to his right, finding an empty bed, the covers not even having been ruffled yet. "You're not . . ."

She brushed her hair back, nodding slowly, a certain glimmer in her eyes that told Matt that, while she wasn't merciful, she also wasn't without sympathy. "'Fraid so. It hasn't happened quite yet, though, but I know how close you two are and I thought I should give you a bit of warning."

"It hasn't . . . then stop it!" He shrieked, voice cracking faintly. The girl only held her hands up in a helpless gesture.

"I don't have the power to change anything, Matt, and I'm not really sure I'd want it if I did. I just take care of what's left over."

"But . . . okay, fine. Where is he? I'll go stop him from doin' whatever an' then it'll all be fine, right?"

She shook her head. "No, it won't. I don't know where he is."

"But you know it's gonna happen!" Matt's voice continued to get shriller with every word, tears gathering in his eyes. "You can't just let 'im die!"

"I know that he's going to die, Matt, but I don't know the exact whens or wheres. That's not in my job description. I'm just there to be with them - with everyone - in their final moments so they're not alone."

Matt whimpered quietly, helpless fear sinking deep into his bones. "Why are you telling me this?"



The girl looked away for a moment, out to the window and the snow falling outside. "Just why I told you. I know you two are close and I thought you could use a bit of warning. I don't give many people this chance, you know. I usually do my job and move on."

"How?"

"Because that's what I do."

"No, I mean how . . . how does it happen with . . . with Jeff?"

"You really don't want to know, believe me."

"Yes I do, or I wouldn't have asked."

Death sighed, a breathy sound that wasn't really a sigh at all, but continued anyway. "I don't know all the details, but his car runs off the road and hits a telephone pole."

"Can," Matt started, pausing long enough to sniffle, "can you just take me instead?"

"It doesn't work that way. Your day will come soon enough, trust me. It just happens to be Jeff's now."

Matt felt cold, bitter tears running down his cheeks, not wanting to believe this odd woman before him and yet somehow, deep in his soul, knowing she was telling the truth. He wrapped his arms around himself, wanting to bury his head in his knees and cry until there was nothing left inside of him.

For a brief moment, as she did with all of her victims, Death honestly regretted her duty and what it involved.

"Matt, look at me. I'm giving you an opportunity that most never have. I'm telling you what's going to happen and giving you a chance to set things straight one last time." She slid off the bed, hands clasped in front of her. "Do you have anything you'd like me to tell him for you?"

Matt shook his head, voice too tear-choked to say much of anything.

"Honestly."

Looking up, Matt saw Death's eyes, black as the clothes she wore and holding so many emotions within them they nearly overwhelmed him. Pity mixed with sympathy, regret, indifference, hope, happiness, everything and more he never would have expected from such a creature.

"Tell him -" he stopped, sob ripped from his throat and making him try to choke it back down, "just tell him that I love him. Would you do that for me?"

Death smiled a tiny smile and nodded. "Yeah. I'll do that."

Voice too shaky to reply, Matt said nothing.

"I have to go now, Matt."

"Please, don't . . ."

"I have to."

"I know." Matt looked up then, eyes glassy and filled with tears but determined. "Will I remember this in the morning?"

Death hesitated at the door, head tilted to one side. "I don't know. Everyone has different ways of dealing. You might."

Matt sniffled and nodded in acceptance.

When he looked up, the pale girl with the beautiful, terrifying eyes was no where to be seen.

******

Jeff Hardy drummed a steady beat on the steering wheel in a pattern somewhat close to the one on the radio. He laughed as he did, remembering how Matt had always told him that, as far as his musical talent was concerned, he couldn't carry a beat to save his life.

A quick glance to the clock showed it was almost two a.m. and he was still out driving, mostly because he had spent most of the night hitting on a cute checkout girl at Wal-Mart. Not only had he gotten a new pair of boots half-off, but he'd gotten her number, too.

Yeah. She was hot. And single.

Life was good.

It was the last thought he remembered having before he hit an icy patch in the road. Panicking suddenly, he instinctively slammed on the brakes and tried to get the car into a straight path, succeeding only in locking it up and sending it careening sideways off the road. A deafening noise, the sickening sound of steel bending, and a searing pain from somewhere he couldn't place.

And then . . . darkness.

When he opened his eyes again, he tried to groan at the pain, but found that something warm and wet was in his mouth and prevented him from speaking. He tried to move but found he couldn't. He wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to anyway.

A face appeared in the window he was facing, a pretty one with dark, shadowed eyes and slightly obscured by frizzy black hair. "Hey."

Unable to reply, Jeff only watched her, recognizing her from somewhere but not quite sure exactly where it was.

"Hmph. You're about as talkative as your brother, I see. Oh well." She smiled gently, a sight that made his heart ache. At least he was pretty sure he still had a heart. He really couldn't tell. "He says he loves you, by the way. Sweet kid."

Jeff mumbled something unintelligible, the warm liquid gurgling in his throat again and messing with his speaking.

The girl, with a noticeable sorrow, opened the crushed driver's side door as if it had been nothing and gave a tiny smile. "Ready to go?"

"Go where?" Jeff choked out, eyes bleary.

The girl shrugged. "Can't tell you that. It'd ruin the surprise."

Jeff's mouth fell open in that instant. "You're . . . you're Death."

"Yeah."

Finding it easier to talk, he closed his eyes and tried to regain his bearings. When he opened them, he found himself standing outside the car, watching himself but knowing, somehow, it wasn't really him at all. The girl still stood beside him, hands on hips. "I always figured you'd be . . . different."

"Most people do. You should have seen how Edgar Allen Poe reacted. I thought he was going to die all over again."

Jeff, to his surprise, chuckled.

Another few silent minutes passed, and he watched in a surreal moment as the eyes of the body in the car closed, a moment with silence so stifling he thought he'd gone deaf, and then Death turned her attention to him.

"Guess that would mean it's time to go, huh?" Jeff asked sadly, a hint of regret in his voice. Death nodded.

"Jeff?"

"Yeah?"

"Give me your hand."

The medical crew, already on the scene, stopped as one. They would never speak of it again, but they could almost swear they heard the beating of mighty wings from somewhere in the distance.