There were many spirits that would kill for Death's job, for a chance at the power and might he alone wielded. The challenges he received were tiresome, and he cursed those that were so power hungry they'd dare attempt to take his place as the undead king. Each and every time he sent away another defeated challenger, he became more and more tired.
Tired of the world's problem, tired of all the souls he was forced to reap, tired of the dead he was surrounded with and the darkness that, once, was home to him.
Only a few things brought him joy anymore. A healthy child, a quiet day with few souls to reap, the company of his calm, cheerful counterpart, and the laughter of a close friend. His job kept him from seeing healthy children, there was always some sort of natural disaster or war, Lady Life was never around, and he had no friends to speak of.
Lord Death sighed and stood from his bony throne. His mirror would show him nothing he already knew, and the shadows of his lair no longer felt welcoming to his weary mind. He stepped through the shadows, let them wrap around his body and yank him from his cool lair and into the mostly warm air of California.
The wrecked car had yet to be discovered, and the sight of the mangled bodies sent an uncomfortable churning through his stomach. He hated this part of the job most; the corpses.
Still, the souls had to be reaped, no matter how he felt. Moving closer to the bodies, and to the soul strings, Death avoided stepping in any of the pools of blood or crushed glass. His scythe swung back, and with one powerful swing, he struck all five of the souls, feeling the familiar cold of the dead being collected rush through his head.
Instead of returning to his lair, he turned away from the wreck and started walking along the dusty road, scythe leaning across his shoulders, as per usual. He should return, he should place the collected souls in their respectful afterlife, he had other places to go before the sun was down. He really didn't want to though, he ached for a day off, to be able to relax and hide away from the world, to focus on himself; he wanted, for just one day, to be selfish.
"Ya really shouldn't talk to yourself. It's a sign of bad health."
"I am not in the mood Bunnymund. Unlike you and your...eggs...I have an important job to do. Why don't you go hop down a hole?" He kept walking right past the Easter spirit, phasing right through the bunny's outstretched paw. "Isn't it Easter today anyway?"
He could feel the disapproving glare the Guardian was directing at him, but he found he still didn't care that the silly bunny, or any of the others, disapproved of what he did, of what he'd been made to do.
"Tomorrow's Easter, and you just killed an entire family. All three of those kids believed in me, y' know."
"No. I don't." Death turned on his heels, swinging his scythe around it to trap Bunnymund between wicked blade and a furious undead king. "You seem to forget that no one can see me, no matter how much they might believe. You guardians may hate us neutral spirits, but most of us have been around longer than your guardians. We are not believed in; we simply exist, and the humans will never see us. My job is not to interfere, or kill and murder like you seem to believe, it is to take the souls of the dead and give them peace before they move on. Once a child becomes an adult, you guardians abandon them."
He let go of the bunny, brushing fur from the blade of his scythe with obvious disdain.
"You should return to your work now. Let me, and every other spirit, do their job. That includes the winter spirit you enjoy thrashing so much."
Bunnymund seemed to flinch at the subtle accusation, and opened his mouth to defend himself and his actions. Death beat him to it.
"That blizzard was an accident caused by his over active emotions, and we both know that. You simply don't like him; there's so much more to him than you know." A smile caught thin lips, tugging the corners upwards. "Twenty years. I'll give you twenty years to be kinder to him, or I will not hesitate to toss you into the pit of the damned. I'll be watching."
Lord Death slipped into the shadows before the Guardian could reply, back into his significantly colder lair. There was first on the walls, and someone had blown the fireplace out, and a small form was huddled on his throne. Death simply tucked a blanket around the sleeping Jack Frost, and gave the moon a scathing glare.
The boy had so much more to learn, but so did those bumbling idiots that claimed to be guardians of the children.