They lay his ashes on a Tuesday.
Shuri and Ramonda stand behind him, heads bowed, eyes closed, hands folded. The sun's just begun to rise, casting a warm blanket of yellow over the cave extending from Mount Bashenga; it's what N'Jadaka would have wanted, T'Challa thinks as he lowers to his knees; he spreads the ashes in slow swoops, eyes heavy with exhaustion. The ground from where they sat three days prior is still red with N'Jadaka's blood. Like wine; a very bitter, very noxious wine.
"The name's 'Erik', cuz."
T'Challa's hand pauses in its movement, and a scorching presence settles over his spine; he winces, gasps, and looks up from the ground. Erik's standing before him, his body blacking out the sun; he's got a smile that's about as jovial as it's ever been. The clothes he's wearing, a black tee and a pair of grey jeans, are not the clothes he wore when he left this world. But the fatal wound he sustained, the one T'Challa gave him, is still there. A steady stream of blood drips from Erik's lips, and his pants leg is wet with red.
He's not smiling anymore.
"T'Challa?" A hand drops onto his shoulder, and T'Challa flinches. He turns around and finds Shuri standing beside him, her ruby red earrings glinting from the rays of the early morning sun. She brushes several braids over her ear and takes his chin in her hands. "Are you all right", she asks, and T'Challa's shoulders sag. His eyes fall shut, and, without another word, his arms move to envelop her in a hug. "Brother?"
A soft "shh!" emits from behind him. Moments later, his mother's arms wrap around he and his sister; T'Challa squeezes his eyelids firmly against his eyes and reaches an arm around Ramonda. Behind him, the sun continues to climb further along the stretch of blue sky; the fauna have begun to awaken and, beneath the Mountain, so has the country.
There are things to do today. But for now, there is time only for grief and consolation.
A finger curls around his ear before trailing down his neck. Another body presses against his back, accompanied by a deep, wry chuckle. "Funny", Erik admonishes. "With all the crying and hand wringing, you'd have thought someone important had died."
. . .
He slept in his bed.
The onslaught on T'Challa's nostrils upon entering his room alerts him to the fact before the ruffled bed sheets do. The air's rich with musk and fire and anger. His scent is always overwhelming to T'Challa's new nose; it's dizzying, disarraying, it's got his head swimming. It's silly that such a thing could render him so troubled.
It makes sense, though; sleeping in his quarters, overpowering and replacing T'Challa's scent with his own. It was a personal accomplishment, one that only someone with a Habit could understand.
Even in death, Erik is proving to be a massive pain in the ass.
"Right", Erik greets as he exits T'Challa's bathroom; his mouth is foamy with toothpaste, and his hair is white with suds. Swiping a glass of water off the nearby dresser, he removes the toothbrush from his move and twirls it through the air. "I got my sweat all over your shit as part of my plan to kill the world's monarchs, take over the world, and ban caffeine consumption." He spits into the glass, then resumes his brushing. "I ain't a sick fuck like you, T. Suit and trippy flower or not, you're not gonna catch me pissing on the furniture."
T'Challa's right eye twitches. "You are not real", he murmurs as he pulls his shirt over his head. Conscious of Erik's roaming eyes, he tosses it aside and quickly moves to his dresser to retrieve another. Erik sighs and hops onto the dresser, his feet dangling over the drawer T'Challa had been reaching for. "You're just a figment of my imagination", he continues as he pushes him off the dresser. "A coping mechanism to help me deal with your passing."
"And yet you're talking to me. Should you be seeing someone?" When T'Challa doesn't answer, his eyes trained on the drawer as he rummages through its contents, he narrows his eyes and sits back against the wall. "And 'passing'?" He kicks one leg over the other and draws closer to T'Challa. "Is that what the kids are calling 'murder' these days?"
"I have a meeting with the Tribal Council", T'Challa states as he snatches a teal shirt with ruffles from the drawer; he doesn't bother folding and neatly placing the shirts back in order. Just slams the drawer shut and walks to the bathroom. "I don't have time for this."
With that, he closes the door behind him, pressing his back against the olive wood. He sighs, wipes a hand over his face, and looks to the right of him. Upon seeing Erik's lax figure sitting on the marble sink, T'Challa squeaks and takes a step backward, knocking his head into the door. He hisses, fangs threatening to pierce his lips, and glares up at Erik.
"I know you'd like to fling my ashes around my death site, pretty morbid by the way, and just move on with your life." He leaps from the countertop and lands before T'Challa, shaking his head in amusement. "But the universe doesn't work like that, bitch." He presses a finger into T'Challa's chest and flashes his own fangs. "I am dead. And you may have stopped me from helping the brothers and sisters that needed my help. But I'm still here. And you, my dear cousin, I'm gonna help you in every way imaginable."
T'Challa's scowl deepens; a growl rumbles in his chest, and his irises wash over to purple. "You are not here", he says, gesturing to the gushing wound lining Erik's stomach. "You're not even alive."
"Fair enough. But come on. What's that your daddy was always saying?" He leans forward and whispers into T'Challa's ear, "'Death is never the end'." Before T'Challa can snatch hold of his neck, Erik leans back once more and hops back onto the sink. His eyes flick to the claws creeping from T'Challa's fingertips; he beams. "Have fun at your meeting, cuz. I'm sure everyone's just dying to see their compassionate, cordial king."
And he's gone.
T'Challa rises from the floor and walks over to the sink. His hands are shaking, and his claws and fangs aren't retreating; taking care to ignore the spot where Erik'd been sitting, he reaches for the tube of toothpaste sitting beside the faucet handles.
The tube, he's happy to find, has yet to be used.