Title: Don't Fear the Reaper
#: 08. The Willing Soul
Author: Lucifer Rosemaunt

Summary: A fic about death - as in, everyone you care about dies; this is not an exaggeration. A fic where death has a way of following Raoul around – and he doesn't mind most of the time.
Fandom: Phantom of the Opera
Pairing(s): Erik/Raoul
Warning(s): AU, reaper!Erik, fluff, OC death
Word Count: 5,252
Rating: K+

A/N: This story is coming to a close and all these little details need to come out. (In case you were curious, I'm pretty sure there are a total of 10 chapters. Unless something suddenly happens to this plotbunny.)
Story note: I don't think you understand just how mad I am at this chapter for being this long. It started out at like 960 words. Sorry for editing errors, but really, Wtf? I thought it would be a quick edit and now I have no weekend. (It also took me away from the huge rewrite that has become necessary)

o.o.o.o

Raoul is thirty-two when he purchases his own fishing boat.

He has, perhaps, been too complacent working for someone else, too comfortable supporting the captain he looks up to as a mentor if not a father figure. The camaraderie between them is easy after so many years that it is difficult imagining going out to sea without the old man by his side. Their synchronicity is something that Raoul revels in. The fisherman is old enough not to need to fill the silence with words and Raoul has had his fill of empty niceties. The expectations placed on him are clear: make sure the boat does not sink and bring in fish. He has long sought after such simplicity; it is uncomplicated and yet fulfilling, unlike most things in his life.

Once, he had thought it was routine that had left him dissatisfied, that he had needed to actively search for happiness by leaving the familiar behind, but it is quite the opposite that gives him peace now. It is performing the same actions, seeing the same faces and same places that have wrought this change, and he knows this new development between him and Erik has been a crucial part of it all. How can he look towards tomorrow and not be excited at the prospect of knowing what lay in wait for him: the boat, his home, Erik?

It is only a matter of time though before a morning comes when Raoul goes to meet the old man at the dock and Erik is there as well, two worlds that he had so far successfully kept separate colliding.

Much has changed between him and his reaper, but a few things have remained the same. His heart still leaps when he sees Erik; although when they are not in the privacy of their own home, it is always a mixture of joy and fear. They make the barest of eye contact before Erik is gone. It is a warning, a courtesy to him even though the reaper rarely attempts to explain himself, at least not in so many words. He need not try because Raoul finds he already understands. He knows the other man prefers to separate his existence as a reaper from Raoul's life, though impossible it may be. Still, he is glad for such consideration.

Even though his presence is a surprise, it does little to change the words he has been planning to tell his captain.

The ache in his chest is a dull throb, persistent in a way that foretells something more than simple choppy seas and a rough storm. The winds have already picked up and the skies are gray, the clouds heavy with water that wish to plunge from the heavens. There is a spattering of other boats that have decided to go out into such weather, but Raoul knows many more of them have decided to wait it out.

In the name of all who have sailed aboard this ship in the past, and in the name of all who may sail aboard her in the future, we invoke the ancient gods of the wind and the sea to favor us with their blessing today.

Raoul glances at the sky pointedly. "The land is calling us today."

The old man only shakes his head, clearing eyes that had glazed over for a brief moment and Raoul wonders if he has seen Erik, if he knows.

"My boy, you need to learn how to live a little."He laughs and it is a thing unfettered by fear. "The sea is calling me."

Raoul doubts he has ever heard him say a truer statement.

He hesitates to acquiesce so easily though, wondering if words exist that would make the old man think otherwise. Glancing over at his captain's grin, he knows such words do not and decides it would only dishonor him as a sailor to try to convince him otherwise. Unlike those more unfortunate than he, the fisherman is able to decide where he will die and the stubborn fool has already chosen. Raoul cannot help but smile at the thought, knowing the need to lose oneself in the swell and dip of the sea. He understands what it is like to feel more yourself with a battery of wind and spray in one's face than when constrained to land. More significantly, he understands that perhaps the sea is truly calling the old man and remembers a time when it had called to him.

Loading the gear onto the boat is a mundane activity that feels new once more; each action is scrutinized. He looks over their equipment to make sure it is in good condition despite knowing that Erik is never wrong with his timing. Still, he cannot help but search for any imperfection, for any indication that what will come to pass is caused by an accident. There is nothing he finds out of the ordinary.

They pull anchor to the fisherman's laugh, a taunt to the heavens that leads them out. Raoul has never seen him happier, has never seen him as happy as he is than when he is behind the helm.

Mighty Neptune, king of all that moves in or on the waves; the mighty Aeolus, guardian of the winds and all that blows before them we offer you our thanks for the protection you have afforded this vessel in the past. We voice our gratitude that she has always found shelter from tempest and storm and enjoyed safe passage to port.

He tells the fisherman's son of such happiness later in the afternoon as he stands on their doorstep soaked to the skin with both sea and storm. There is a tear in his shirt where it had gotten caught on a splintered railing. He holds it closed for propriety's sake with hands that are burned and bleeding, tiny fibers of their rigging imbedded in his skin from his struggle. He knows he looks a sight, stumbling his way to the house and he imagines people wondering how he managed to make it back on land. Luck, he supposes, or it was simply not his time to die.

This is a conversation he would have rather avoided given the opportunity though. It brings to surface memories that linger far longer than he knows is healthy, of a heartbeat he can still hear with such clarity if he so chooses. He sees himself reflected in the young man's sorrow, remembers the heavy drag upon one's soul tugging persistently until there is little else one can do but stop resisting.

He is invited in from the waning storm and into their home, a home built for three that has been reduced to two, the fisherman's son and the son's wife. Not wanting to sit though his legs do tremble, he lingers by the mantle, trying to warm himself and not drip water on too much of anything, knowing he is doing a poor job of it. Distracting himself with the portraits, he spots an old one of the fisherman and his wife when they were young and he wonders if they are together now in whatever lies after this life.

The son is quiet, in shock still even as his young wife clings to his arm whispering words of comfort. The way they cling to each other, the way the son turns towards his wife instead of away assures him that they will survive this tragedy. Raoul almost smiles at the sight and imagines his fingers entwined with Erik's to give him strength, giving comfort to pull him out of his own sadness.

Erik is absent from this meeting and Raoul is glad for it. He knows it is silly, but death is such a fearful thing and he would prefer to protect the reaper from any possible accusation of his part in it. Erik is unaffected by the anger and hatred that is so often turned toward him during others' sufferings, but it is always a difficult thing for Raoul to refrain from defending him.

He searches for the right thing to say even though he knows there is never such a thing in sorrow. Every word not one of denial is wrong, but he knows the son will want to know what happened. He simply does not know where to start.

"He was at the helm trying to bring us home," Raoul says and the young couple turn their attention to him, almost as though they have forgotten that he is present. The fisherman's son is several years younger than he is. His hair is the same dark brown of his father's. They share the same nose and stature. The man's wife is a pretty thing, petite but he knows that belies the spirit in her if the stories he have heard are true. Matching streaks of tears run down both their faces.

He feels so much older in this moment, tired in a way he has not felt since Philippe's death. She offers to bring him tea, but Raoul waves her off. He realizes that he has never really spoken to either of them in all the years that he has been acquainted with their father. Raoul had always declined the invitations, too excited with the prospect of having time for just Erik and himself. However, with all the stories that had been shared, he still feels as though he knows them.

"He was shouting obscenities at the thunder." He smiles the slightest bit at the memory.

That garners a broken laugh from the son and his wife clings tighter to him.

He is back on that boat then and hears fragments of laughter and the deep voice of the fisherman. He imagines the old man shaking his fist to the heavens even though at the moment, Raoul can only focus on tying the rigging around himself painfully tight to secure himself to the boat. The fisherman is at the helm already having done the same. The man's voice is coarse from shouting what Raoul had originally thought were orders, but as he persists, he assumes they are words not specifically for him. Regardless, the thunder and the water that slams him to the railing of the boat time and time again, like waves upon a shore trying to drag him out to sea, make hearing nearly impossible.

The boat shudders and creaks. Between the waves that are too tall and the water that is streaming from the skies, he knows not which will drown them first. He can hardly see beyond a meter from his face save for the brief moments of lightning that captures frightening single portraits of clarity: rain suspended in the air; the sails coming loose from the winds; the wave that looms over their heads. Then, just as quickly, they are submerged into the cacophony of darkness and sound as thunder is quick to respond, canon fire that Raoul feels in his bones even when he is immersed by the next wave. Lashed by rain and beaten by waves, foamy fingers search for purchase on the deck, on their bodies, on anything to pull them deep into the insidious, deathly calm meters beneath the surface of the storm. The vessel tilts near completely on its side and Raoul fears they will overturn, but with a jerk, the boat is flung upright as he is similarly flung across the deck.

His hands slip on the rigging as he tries to drag himself to the mainmast, desperate to get closer to the helm because he knows Erik must be near. From where he is, he has no hope of seeing either the reaper or his captain. He slips and trips, claws his way to the mast and finally catches a glimpse of the fisherman. He can do nothing more than cling as the next wave floods through them, brutally rocking them in rebuke for daring to be present during such a storm.

Through the sheets of rain and in the crack of lightning that splits the sky, he sees them, the fisherman and Erik, a single portrait of frightening clarity: rain suspended in the air; his captain lashed to the helm though limp in the rigging's embrace; Erik holding him steady against the next wave with hands ungloved, luminescent white bones.

Raoul is quickly thrust into the darkness and motion once more, and a crack, not one from the sky, makes him cling tighter to the mast. He thinks it will topple but it is a boom that falls and sweeps across the deck with the next wave. By the time it is safe enough to move once more, by the time the next lightning clears the sky, there is no captain, no body. It feels like hours before he makes it to the helm, before he can search for any rope to drag back onto the boat, pulling and pulling though his arms tire, his shoulders cramp, his hands bleed, and he slides almost uselessly on the deck.

Nothing is attached to any line. No one. Nobody.

When the storm quiets enough, he is able to enlist the help of other boats who have been trying to recuperate from their own losses. In hours of searching, there is little in the wreckage that can be salvaged.

Now, wherefore, we submit this supplication, that the name whereby this vessel has hitherto been known, be struck and removed from your records.

He stares at his hands, red and raw, blood sluggishly welling up and he grips his tattered shirt once more.

He tells as much as he can, explains how the boat breaks down just as the old man's body does, but while the vessel makes it to shore carrying in it a half-drowned Raoul, his father has been swept beneath towering waves furiously crashing down upon itself.

The son tries to run out of the house, perhaps to search for him himself, but his wife is quick to stop him. Raoul turns away as the young man falls to his knees and curses his father for his stubbornness, curses his profession and his boat as tears fall unchecked. His voice cracks and Raoul shuts his eyes but in the darkness of his own mind, it is worse. The young woman is hugging her husband, covering him as though to shelter him from his own grief. She gives Raoul a shaky smile and mutters out a thank you.

Raoul almost apologizes then; however, he knows it to be the worst kind of solace. Instead, in a sudden moment of inspiration, he insists on purchasing what is left of the boat to keep it alive. The thing hardly floats anymore, but Raoul does not know any other way to give his condolences. He knows the heavy costs a funeral incurs and knows the burden will be too great for the young couple to take alone. He only realizes afterwards that his words may have been insensitive when silence is the only response he receives for a long moment. The son looks up at him in consideration, searches his face.

"You said it barely brought you back to shore," he says finally as he gets to his feet once more. His voice is steady, his arm secure around his wife's shoulders.

"Barely." Raoul shrugs. "But it did."

Although he is given a tight-lipped smile in return, it is easy to see the son is grateful and Raoul is able to do this one last thing for his captain.

The journey home is spent walking through the haze of drizzle that lingers in the aftermath of the storm. His legs barely hold him and he fights the urge to lay on the side of the road and simply sleep, sleep for days. His feet drag upon the ground and he shivers in the cold. He stumbles and already knows that he will not do more than lift his arms to break his fall, if even that, but a hand catches his shirt and jerks him upright. Erik ducks beneath his arm to steady him and places his own behind Raoul's back for support.

"Erik," Raoul sighs and turns fully towards him so that he can wrap both his arms around the reaper's neck in an embrace. He nuzzles in the familiar warmth and scent before finally giving into the urge and letting his knees buckle.

Erik catches him easily, but with a harsh exhale by his ear, he says, "I cannot carry you from here, love."

Instead of responding, Raoul hangs limply and presses a kiss to Erik's neck since his mouth is already there, but even his arms are beginning to tire.

"Someone will see," the reaper explains.

Raoul noses his neck and kisses it again before saying petulantly, "Let them think what they will" even though he is struggling to stand on his own two feet once more. Before he pulls out of the embrace, Erik presses his lips to his temple.

He ends up carrying most of Raoul's weight with his arm securely wrapped behind the blond even though Raoul does his best to place one foot in front of the other. His eyes are closed, trusting Erik to keep him upright and get them safely home. It is a relief to be able to clear his mind of everything and in his utter fatigue, it is a simple thing to do. The effort it takes to keep upright needs his entire attention and there is something soothing about the mantra of left foot, right foot, repeat. He only opens his eyes when his feet are suddenly no longer on the ground and Erik lifts him up bridal style. He can barely see their fence in the distance and he thinks he would be more outraged to be in this position if it were not a relief to no longer be standing. Instead, he grips the reaper tighter in appreciation.

They are in their home and up the stairs before Raoul is placed back on unsteady feet. His clothes are pulled from his skin, over his head, down his legs and discarded as he is led from the bedroom door to the bed. Dark as it is, it is still the afternoon and he feels he should tell Erik it is too early for sleep. When he finally flops backwards onto the bed though, he cannot muster the energy to say anything.

Even though he is naked and there has been no fire lit in the hearth, he feels warmer than he has all day. Rolling and twisting, he squirms his way to the headboard to nuzzle into a pillow that smells of them both before hugging it to his chest. He kicks feebly at the covers he is still laying on top of, trying to get beneath them to escape the chill of the room that creeps up on him. When they fail to cooperate, Raoul lays bonelessly on top of them, pouting.

He is only just barely getting over the disappointment of his failure to push the blankets down when he is pulled against gloriously warm skin. Opening his eyes just enough to see that Erik has shed his own damp clothes to join him, he allows himself to be manhandled. Together, they are able to slide beneath snow white sheets and a feather comforter that insulates the warmth shared between them.

Raoul sighs in relief and is near asleep when Erik lifts the blanket, allowing some of the chill to infiltrate their cocoon. The reaper draws his gloved hands across the new bruises and wounds he has managed to amass and Raoul allows it because he does not mind the gentle touches across his skin, warming him by increments. He knows Erik was worried for him and though desperate as he was to help, had refrained.

When Erik moves to get up though, Raoul will have none of it. He clings to him then, all arms and legs pinning him to the bed. Eventually, the reaper relents and allows Raoul to shift to a comfortable position, which is essentially laying half on top of Erik in an effort to get as much of their bodies touching. He tucks his head under the older man's chin and tries not to shiver when a drop from his still damp hair trickles down his back.

Further, we ask that when she is again presented for blessing with another name, she shall be recognized and shall be accorded once again the selfsame privileges she previously enjoyed.

"I own a boat," he mumbles against a smooth expanse of skin that is Erik's chest.

It is not so uncommon a thing to be able to find rest in each other's arms, but it is always a relief when they can. The arms holding him tighten and Raoul feels like Erik can keep both the chill and the sadness at bay.

He feels the scoff that means Erik is amused.

"The one that almost drowned you" is all he says but it is approval Raoul hears in his voice.

Gloved hands lazily stroke up and down his back, relaxing muscles he had not realized have been tense. His mind drifts to the first time he saw Erik in nothing but gloves. The circumstances had had a decidedly different air to it then: playful and passionate. He had been both amused and sobered by the gloves' presence. All there is now is comfort, but the thought that he has had all of Erik save for that small part follows him into sleep.

o.o.o

Erik has been busy as of late.

Sometimes, Raoul wonders what keeps him away: revolutions, plagues, accidents. Though these thoughts do occur, he does not mind this separation as much as he normally would. He himself has been busy as of late as well. Renovating the old boat has monopolized both time and thought. Save for the frame and its mast, Raoul has had to replace almost everything. Moreover, since he has decided this new, old boat deserves to be renamed, there has been an abundance of extra work to ensure he is not cursed from the start. There is the denaming ceremony as well as the need to remove all physical traces of the boat's old name in the log book, miscellaneous books and charts, anything with its name inscribed within it as is custom.

It has been long and arduous weeks, but it has been worth every second of it.

In return for which, we rededicate this vessel to your domain in full knowledge that she shall be subject as always to the immutable laws of the gods of the wind and the sea.

The stars are still shining their brightest and the moon lends them its glow when Raoul drags Erik by the hand towards the town. It is the only way that he can assure some semblance of privacy between them, but he is so excited that he does not care what hour it is. It is difficult not to rush through the forest just to reach the little town. Even still, he cannot contain the lightness in his step nor the laugh that looses itself and echoes through the trees. At this moment, it feels as though the entire world is a paradise made especially for them. Once they reach the town limits however, Raoul grips Erik's hand tighter before racing through the streets. He has stifled his laughter but he cannot control the mad grin on his face.

In the last few days, he has been furiously painting, rigging, and adding final touches to his vessel. Erik has sworn that he has yet to see the boat. Raoul made him promise from the very beginning that he would wait until the grand reveal. It is only because the fisherman's son visits with a bottle of champagne does Raoul not forget that most important facet of christening a new boat. He has the bottle gripped in his free hand.

Finally, they stop several paces from the vessel and Raoul stands in front of Erik to block his view, though to little effect. Erik is kind enough to look only into his eyes.

"You seem rather pleased with yourself," the reaper comments and Raoul smiles down at their hands, fingers twined together as they had been since they left.

He looks up only to grin wider. "When am I not pleased with myself?"

Erik concedes that fact with a slight dip of his head and an answering grin, small and nearly impossible to see unless you knew what to look for.

A gull caws in the distance and gentle waves lap against his boat. The wind is both an intimate whisper and a cool embrace. The world is calm and Raoul feels as though he is about to burst from joy. There is no reason to be this eager, but this moment feels so very profound, the cusp of something important that he does not fully understand. All he knows is that he cannot seem to catch his breath nor hide the smile from his face.

On impulse, he lifts their hands and kisses Erik's knuckles. "It may look the same," he admits. It is not lost on him how very symbolic it has been that he has spent the past weeks tearing a boat apart just to bring it back together with new pieces. He is sure it is not the same boat it once was, but he cannot deny that essential parts have remained the same.

"Does it float?" Erik retorts.

Raoul laughs but nods in response. He cannot help but raise the slightest bit on his toes to press his lips against Erik's.

In consequence, whereof, and in good faith, we seal this pact according to the hallowed ritual of the sea.

"I love you," Erik says when he pulls away.

"I love you more," Raoul responds and it is easy and familiar. He somehow means it more and more each day though he does not understand how when he loves Erik so fully. He allows himself another moment of staying in his space, their confessions of love still hanging heavy and warm between them.

When he steps away, he opens his arms wide and brandishing the champagne bottle towards his boat, says, "Here she is."

Raoul is correct when he says it looks very similar to how it was before. It is simply another fishing boat, but the paint is new as well as the wood. Time and love have been spent on fixing her, and before Erik can say anything in response, Raoul drags him closer.

"This is the best part." He gestures to the neatly painted name of his boat.

Erik tugs him back and into his arms to kiss him again. He lingers though he does not deepen the kiss as he so desires, instead presses a second kiss on his lips before kissing the corner of his mouth. It is all they should do away from the privacy of their home but it is difficult to remember that. However, Erik has had much practice with self-control, so he pulls away even though Raoul attempts to give chase to kiss him once more.

Raoul sighs heavily but is still smiling too wide. "I name this ship L'âme prêts," he states proudly.

Erik finishes the christening ceremony words, "And may she bring fair winds and good fortune to all who sail on her." Before he can say another word though and before Raoul can break the bottle on the hull, he frowns, his attention drawn elsewhere and Raoul's face falls because he knows what is to come.

"Go." Raoul pushes him away even though he has yet to release his hand. He attempts to smile though it is a mere shadow of his previous joy. "Go and come back when you can."

Erik is kind enough to look torn even though Raoul understands there is no choice but to leave. The disappointment has only ever been momentary. Erik always returns to him as soon as he can. He only kisses the reaper's cheek in fear that he will linger longer than possible if he kisses him properly.

"It is beautiful," Erik mutters, and then he is gone.

Raoul smiles ruefully at the champagne bottle in his hands before breaking it on the hull with a little more force than necessary.

The rest of the morning is easy enough. Despite the long weeks, it is still second nature as he sets about his day to go to sea. The weather is kind and the fish are plentiful. He loses himself to the familiar motions and tries not to let the obvious void on the boat depress him too badly. The silence is different now and there are moments he forgets that he is the captain of this vessel. He tries not to think too deeply about the footsteps he wants to follow because it makes him think of the man who had shown him the way. It takes little else to begin the downward spiral of remembering everyone else he has lost.

Instead, he forces himself to think of Erik and lets himself wonder if he should not hire help, someone with whom he could teach the trade and eventually with whom to leave this boat.

It is midmorning when Erik appears. Raoul is at the helm and before he can even greet him, Erik spins him around and cradles his face between his hands. He kisses him soundly, coaxing Raoul's mouth open with his tongue and Raoul melts into the touch. His body relaxes against Erik's as his arms wrap around his neck. He moans when Erik grabs his derriere to lift him bodily and Raoul instinctively wraps his legs around his waist to better support himself so that he can deepen the kiss, tongue stroking against Erik's and his fingers tangling into his hair.

The boat lists suddenly and it is only Erik's reflexes that save them from falling overboard. Raoul drops to the deck and scrambles to the helm to steady them.

He is breathless and his lips are red, slightly swollen from the force of their kisses.

"I do believe you are trying to destroy the vessel before it lasts the day." Raoul laughs but still takes a moment to look at Erik closely, wondering if that sudden show of affection was due to whatever took him away this morning. Erik looks more disappointed than tense and Raoul motions him over, kissing him when he is within reach but making sure one hand it still on the helm.

He hums and maneuvers Erik to stand behind him. "One of us has to be responsible," Raoul jokes. "What would you do without me?"

The reaper goes willingly, knowing that anything more will have to wait. Placing his chin on Raoul's shoulder, he settles an arm around his waist. Erik kisses his neck and Raoul can feel the smirk he is not even trying to hide. "I would rather think of all the things I would do with you."

As a swell lifts them up high, the spray and wind carry away the pleased laugh that is startled out of him; it feels like flying with Erik by his side. The sea is calling him, but it is Erik's voice that leads him home.

Raoul is thirty-two and he thinks he has finally learned how to live.

o.o.o.o

End chapter 08

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!
Chapter Review: So, other people do die and it's not all fluff, but the ending was fluff? Head!canon for some reason is that Erik loves terms of endearments and references he thinks are damn witty (probably because of the whole 'lying Delilah, prying Pandora' bit in the musical). He likes being able to use 'love' mostly because Raoul never refutes it and it encourages Raoul to say it back to him (which Erik may or may not ever admit to love hearing).

I know the denaming ceremony (taken from: reader_ and repurposed to my own devices.) would probably be best reading-wise to not be spread throughout the story, but I like it there.

Google translate for the ship's name. Honestly, I think I found the wrong 'willing', it's should probably be something like L'ame volontaire, but I was already sold on the current version. My bad. I obviously should learn French for the sake of fanfiction. ;)