AN: It's been a while. What can I say but life happens? I might start uploading things on AO3 soon as well (maybe tomorrow). Also this is a rewrite/expansion on one of the earlier chapter. The one with the Endless but I won't take that chapter down so people can see the difference. I'll still be slow in updating, sorry about that. But I'm busy with life, with school, with family. So it's sort of a small climb. This is un-Beta'd so any mistakes are on me and don't hesitate to point it out.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, no one but, perhaps, the circumstances that happens in this chapter.

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Death.

A word uttered almost daily. A word feared by all, one form or another, varying . Fear brought about by what it entails, its finality. Is death kind? Or is it perhaps cruel? It is hard to say.

Alluring?

Seductive?

Mysterious?

Yes, most definitely, death can be considered as such. And as a result, death leaves much confusion in its wake.

Death is death.

Nothing more, nothing less.

It's natural. It's unstoppable. Death welcomes all in its embrace.

However, that does not stop mortals from trying to run from death's embrace. Futile as it is, they persist. Treating it as though it is some incurable disease, desperately looking for a way to avoid it.

It matters not, trying to hide.

Death is everywhere. They may not be aware of it but death does take many forms, known by so many names. Death is always there, perhaps as a faceless soldier in battle, a slender darkly feline, a frightening skeletal figure; just know death never truly leaves anything be. Death patiently waits, for nothing can truly be free from it.

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"Oh Eddie, I feel like I'm missing something..."

Wrinkled fingers traced the frame gently. Mrs. Jones, an elderly widowed and frail woman, carefully placed back the tarnished frame back to the fireplace's mantle. Her hands shaking a little as she righted the other little trinkets on the mantle and voice small, sweet, rambling and filled with longing.

Little blue birds singing just outside the curtained window

"Clara's still not visiting, dear. I'm just so worried, Eddie. Ever since she moved out, I've had this feeling that she's hiding something. Oh, Eddie! It's so lonely here without our little girl. Susan visits me every day though. You wouldn't know her. She and her family moved in next door a few months after you—y-you..."

Mrs. Jones had started hobbling her way to the settee, faltering, her breath hitching, the tremor in her hands becoming more pronounced, before continuing. Reaching forward to grab her unfinished knitting placed within her lovely little wicker basket, she relaxed more in the settee, propping her feet on the small puce footstool; paying no attention to the silent woman sitting next to her.

"Anyway, you know the house that the nasty Farrow couple used to live in? Yes, well, they bought the house a few months after those two left. And thank the heavens for that! And, as sad as this sounds, I went over to meet whoever bought the house once the moving was over since I was lonely. But I did bring some of my casserole with me. They turned out to be the most wonderful people Eddie!"

Mrs. Jones turned the television on, once she finished the little scarf for sweet little Georgie, Susan's youngest, since he does a nice job of cleaning the yard. Not really paying attention, Mrs. Jones eyes soon became heavy-lidded, her yawns becoming more frequent. Still not noticing the woman sitting on her husband's old recliner with jeans clad legs crossed and pale hands poised on of top her knees, head bent down, mouth a slightly worried upward curve, eyes closed, dark hair covering some of her features; serene.

"Susan and her family have been great help Eddie. Most days, Susan comes over and helps me tidy the house. We'd usually have dinner together. She's great help around the kitchen. Not like Clara. You must think I'm awful don't you? Eddie, they're like family to me now."

Pale fingers, smooth and nimble, slowly reached up to trace a path on the silver ankh necklace. Dark lashes fluttered languidly, eyelids opening soon after, revealing eyes that were true and clear, blinking to adjust to the dimming light of the living room; equally pale lips lightly pulled up. The same pale hand ran through the dark wild hair, messing it up even more before reaching out, slowly, gently, to Mrs. Jones.

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With her arms placed neatly on her lap, Death is seen as a pale and slender woman. Poised, proper and silent as she sits on the charming and battered, deep blue recliner. Her face serene, her intentions clear. Filled with as much sympathy she can gather, she waits for the time.

Allison Jones, born Allison Keates, was, as Death sees her, a poor clueless and sweet little thing. Widowed a few years back and soon after her husband's funeral, her daughter, Clara, had left for college; leaving poor Allison to her thoughts. She had become one of her sister's, Despair that is for Death has two (sometimes three. It all depends on Desire's whims, really) sisters, newer guest in her dominion during that period of loneliness.

Thankfully, for Allison, Susan Ward and her family moved in next door nearly a year after the Farrows moved out and soon her spirits began lightening once more. Death's sister holding no grudge over the loss.

But that hardly changes anything. Death was in Allison's home, in her presence, now.

And as Allison finishes 'talking' to Ed, who was a very persuasive fellow when he still lived, slowly Death stands, clear eyes showing nothing but gentleness, left hand stretched before her, meaning to grab unto Allison as she leant back on the chair, her slowly eyes closing.

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Eyes suddenly snapping open, the world blurred before his eyes; vertigo had greeted Harry as he woke. He's not exactly sure when he fell asleep but he must have had since he woke.

Straightening himself, he notices that he's back on that sharp blue bus he always sees, no matter the era, no matter the planet, no matter the dimension. Though the exterior of the bus seemed battered, very much so (to the point one would wonder why it was still allowed to operate, if they could notice it), the interior was very chic and Spartan. Dim lights were on the ceiling placed directly above the aisle. The deep brown upholstered seat, the same as the other seats, where Harry now comfortable situated himself in, was near the back of the bus. He tries not to make himself too noticed by the other passengers, not all of them human.

Or mortal for that matter.

Beings seemingly made entirely of shadows and darkness, always shifting though still somehow resembling a wolf with glowing eyes, were there. Something about them did not sit right with Harry; the way they seem to 'converse' with each other, though they had no mouths to speak of, and the malicious glee that they radiated was... riveting-ly horrid. Cavemen or Man still in the early stages of their evolution were there as well, barely functioning and confused. Mayans, or at least people who resembled the ancient and fierce race. Their bodies covered with tribal marking of some sorts and looked ready for war. A woman with short hair in an old-fashioned aviator's uniform—helmet and all—was comforting a little boy, Asian by his features and a Buddhist by his clothing, who was crying; most of the language barriers being obsolete in travel. Men wearing black suits, creatures beyond magic, fallen angels, repenting demons, corrupted reapers, vindictive saints and disgraced gods and demigods, childhood monsters, forgotten apparitions, telling dreams, secret hopes, lost or loosing purposes; those were some of the things that occupied the bus.

It was not crowded per se, but the bus was full enough.

Discreetly keeping one eye on them and hoping that he went unnoticed, Harry reached for his duffel bag filled with his shrunken possessions, at the same time checking his left pocket for the ticket that would be there.

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Placing the key given by Mrs Jones back in her left dress pocket, Susan Ward turned the doorknob and stepped in the quaint home.

"Allie, you there? I bought you some food, since you didn't come over for dinner like you promised."

Steps echoing down the hollowed hall, no one answers Susan.

"Allie? Are you alright? ...Please don't tell me that you forgot to take your meds today?"

Her tone bellied exasperation, being used to something like this happening, still she tried to put it as though she was only casually joking. She heads to the living room a greeting ready to be said once more but lost the momentum as soon as she steps in.

"Oh dear...!"

Susan's fingers tightened their hold on the plastic container that held the dinner she thoughtfully prepared for Mrs Jones until they turned white.

"...Allie?"

With shaking knees she moved toward the settee.

"A-allie? O-o-o-oh GOD! ALLIE! Phil. PHIL! PHILIP! GET OVER HERE! NOW! Oh dear oh dear oh dear—breath-breath-breath-breath-breath-breath—OH. Oh. Oh! Phone! Where's the phone!?"

Not caring any-more about proper decorum, throwing the plastic container away, and seemingly forgetting to where everything was despite always visiting the house almost everyday, Susan tore through the living room.

"Susan? Everything alright? I heard shou—"OhthankGod! Phil! Get an ambulance! Just—NOW!"

Clambering to her husband, hair in a disarray, as she pointed to the cooling body. Hope still in her that it was not too late.

But it was.

The weeping would get them nowhere.

Help would come late. Too late. And there was nothing to change the fact that Mrs. Jones is gone.

Susan was momentarily brought to the hospital, her hysterics causing her to be sedated.

Theirs was a small town and Mrs Jones was a generally well liked person.

Most of the town quiet, solemn during the wake and funeral.

But in Susan's shock when she first discovered the cooling body of the poor old dame she never noticed the wild haired woman leaving the house, a slightly perplexed look on her pale face, her lips not exactly set on a frown as dainty fingers tapped lightly on it, thinking.

Then again the woman's line of work was not something that was meant to ever be seen.

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Looking on the scene before her, with the living room quaint, airy and light, as much as it can be with a corpse, Death was smiling a small and kind smile, as she lowered her arm, her job almost finished in the area.

Allison was clueless little thing, always naïve and dearly kind. It such a shame her daughter had not gotten that from her mother.

Being dearly kind, that is.

"Oh dear who are you? ...Oh. Oh. Ohhh. My time's up isn't it?"

Mrs Jones was quite flustered, having only noticed Death, but that soon melted into realization.

Death nodded, then asked tilting her head to the side, her wild hair falling to her face, her dark eyes showing no malice and maybe a distant warmth, her lips curved nicely. Her voice vaguely kind.

"Hi to you as well, Allison. Or would you prefer Allie?"

"Well, whatever you want to call me would be fine, really."

"Well then sweetie, shall we take our leave?"

"I-what? A-aren't we al-?"

Seeing the confusion, Death carefully gestures to the settee. Allison's expression changing to momentary shock before settling to some form of resignation as she followed the gesture.

"Ahh...I thought that I'd be with Eddie by now. Will I—? W-will I be with my Eddie, then?"

"Maybe. You'll see. Come on. Let's get you going."

Death links their elbows together as they both walk away from Allison's cooling body.

"Although...there is something you might want to know before we leave..."

Amiably chatting about what Clara's been up to and the fact that she might be joining Allison soon, Death leads her away.

All that was heard was the gentle beating of mighty wings.

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Dull gray feathers fluttered as they stuck to the closing door as he stepped off the bus, crushing them. The sun was out for once and was getting in his eyes and, admittedly, it annoyed him. But only very slightly.

Throughout the air murmured conversations and muffled cars could be heard, blending in with the city's natural music.

People were sweating since it was noon, only intensifying that foul smell, one he can't exactly pin-point but permeates heavily in the air.

But he can hardly do anything about that.

Well, he could but he wont.

Not with that bus still near.

Since getting off that bus he woke up in, Harry's been wandering the busy streets of Boston. After he had got off, he looked over his shoulder to check the bus one last time but it was already gone. No trace of it. He wasn't surprised, he's only ever seen glimpses of it from the corner of his eyes and seen most of its interior from the handful of times he suddenly finds himself there with a ticket to somewhere.

But that doesn't mean that bus isn't near. It's best, for his safety, to not attract too much attention.

The noise does not really bother him. People moved, hardly paying the apparent teen a glance despite being already mid-September. Perhaps it was the way he dressed? A jumper, simple and blue, worn and faded jeans, and a pair of grey trainers was what he wore. Nothing special, nothing too flashy.

The populace's inattention to his person hardly mattered to Harry (preferred it that way even), he's too busy looking for a flat to rent.

Flat-apartment-whatever; he just needed to look for some place to stay while he was there. Turning every other corner whenever he reaches a pedestrian crossing, he just lets his feet take him where he's supposed to go. Something was telling him that his stay would be most interesting to say the least. Then he glanced up to where his feet decided to stop.

'Huh...'

Blinking and head tilting slightly as Harry checks the street he finds himself standing on.

Filled with bustling people, tasteful aromas, the hurrying of those who have long fallen into a predictable routine, Harry noted, as tried to adjust his glasses that weren't there at the moment, that the street was certainly busy. And the buildings in this street stood at three to five floors at most.

Neat, clean, none in structural decay.

Yet.

And as luck would have it, Harry had stopped in front of a building like the rest but still holding it's own unique charm was bakery, a 'FOR RENT' sign about the vacant room/s above the bakery taped on the windows.

He stood there, near the store's front so he wouldn't block the sidewalk, contemplating if whether or not he should inquire about it inside.

"Hey kid! Need any help?"

He turned towards the voice.

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Turning away as she left, Death called out one last time.

"Bye. Let's hope we don't have to see each other soon."

And in a flash, Death was back in that quaint little suburban home that currently had a cooling body in it. In the middle of that room, pausing to contemplate that sudden feeling of something—something that she can't quite place her pale fingers in what exactly is bothering her, of all people, Death pondered.

The feeling didn't really quite start after she reached out for Allison, but, perhaps it did. The feeling does not really unsettle her too much. She's all too tempted to visit one of her siblings to see if they sensed this... 'something' as well; however, knowing her siblings all too well and how'd they react...

Death thought it best to not bother them, now. Especially since Dream got...stuck and is too stubborn( and proud and doesn't really want to bother/worry most of their siblings and...) to ask for help, but that's Dream for you.

So with a not exactly a frown on her face, Death left, passing by a panicking woman who found Allison's body and out to the streets. She passed by the gathering crowds and out of the town, her feet taking her...somewhere. She's not completely sure where.

She's got a feel on where it is, something faint and not-exactly hiding or hidden from her senses. But no matter the distance she had put between her and her starting point, Allison's home, so to speak, she can't quite discern if she's any closer.

So carefully, patiently, she eventually reached Boston after a couple of days—of-not-really-but-it-can-be-considered-as—of walking and there! There somewhere across the street, in front of a bakery with a hand written sign taped to is display window was what brought her there.

It took a moment, and it was a long one for her but eventually she got the why of the situation. Made her laugh, though quietly. It was obvious in a way. She should have seen it coming.

And to get this meeting rolling she shouted.

"Hey kid! Need any help?"

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"Death?"

"Who else?"

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And Death and the Master of Death met.

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"You look a little tense."

"Of course I am. It's not everyday I meet Death."

"Sweetie, I'm not going to bite."

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It was the start of something sarcastic and family-like.