Title: Don't Fear the Reaper
#: 10. Does It Always Hurt
Author: Lucifer Rosemaunt

Summary: A fic about death - as in, everyone you care about dies; this is not an exaggeration. A fic wherein the Chagny family is of intense interest to a soul reaper.
Fandom: Phantom of the Opera
Pairing(s): Erik/Raoul
Warning(s): AU, reaper!Erik, major character death, brief though vague sexual encounter
Word Count: 4,113
Rating: T

A/N: This is it, y'all. The end of the line for us. It always takes an inordinate amount of time to edit the sad stuff. I always have to step away for long periods of time.
Story note: Were you waiting for this moment to happen? Because I'm pretty sure I've been dreading it. :(

o.o.o.o

Raoul is fifty-two the day that Erik begins to linger more than what could be considered normal.

For the past two years, Piers has been living and working with him, having convinced his parents not only to allow him to pursue a life as a fisherman but also to take on the Chagny name. Raoul is still uncertain how he managed to do so but cannot deny that he is thankful for it.

He has a child he considers a son, an heir and an apprentice with whom to teach his craft and leave both boat and cottage. He would not have allowed it had he thought his nephew would go hungry, but Piers proves himself skilled in all aspects of this life. He is self-reliant and has instincts even better than Raoul's when determining where to cast his nets. The boy is made for the sea and Raoul has spent the past two years waiting for the moment when his beloved nephew becomes unhappy with his decision and desires to return home. That moment never comes.

Piers has grown to be a fine young man. He is tall enough that Raoul needs to tilt his head back to look him in the eyes. His skin is bronze from long days beneath the sun and his blond hair is shorn nearly completely off for ease of care. He has retained the endless energy that Raoul had once hoped he would grow out of. He is well-muscled and boisterous, and his laugh reminds him of the grandfather Piers has never known.

He has even managed the herculean task of persuading him to work on the boat by himself some days. Raoul's initial reluctance has nothing to do with his nephew's youth or some notion of inexperience and everything to do with simple worry. He honestly does not know how to stop worrying for the boy even though he is now a young man, and Raoul finds himself muttering near silent apologies to Philippe for how much anxiety he must have caused him in his youth. However, he eventually does allow it if only to offset the fact that living with another person means he has less time to spend with Erik.

It is an adjustment not being able to speak with his reaper whenever he pleases, but he supposes the title of 'eccentric' does help. His nephew believes him to speak to himself quite often and jests of his senility but never cruelly so. Raoul only smiles in response and Erik shares a smirk of his own.

Time has been less kind to him. He has wrinkles upon his face, and the beard he has allowed to grow is gray. Raoul may be more fit than others his age with all the labour he has done through the years, but there is a weakness in his joints, one that he has long since associated with the weather but is now simply a constant. He feels more fragile than he should be and tires quickly, but his mind is still quick and his eyes even better.

Still, it is not until mid-morning that Erik's presence becomes something to be noted. He stays just at the edge of his sight, at the edge of his awareness but certainly present.

Raoul worries.

He worries through the morning catch and the market, worries through the lunch they have at the house of his mentor's son and through the repairs they perform on the L'âme Prêts while Piers carries on as though it were just another day. He, on the other hand, feels as though the hours pass as but a dream, the world speeding around him while he remains motionless and yet somehow carried through it all. There frozen with him is Erik and a look in his eyes that Raoul has perhaps only ever seen once before. He simply cannot place when or why.

When the day ends and nothing has happened, Raoul only worries more.

It is not until night has fallen, Piers has retired to his bedroom, and they are ensconced in their bed that he asks, "What will happen to Piers?"

Erik turns to gather him in his arms in an effort to stave off this conversation, as though silence will make it less real. They have spent many nights as such, on their sides, chest-to-chest with whispered conversations. Wrapped in each other's arms, safe and warm, Raoul cannot help but relax into the embrace though his mind is still in turmoil. His concern only grows when the reaper remains silent longer. So close, he can easily feel how shaky Erik's breathing is and it dawns on him.

"Oh," he whispers, shutting his eyes, but not before he sees something akin to despair cross Erik's features.

His reaper presses their foreheads together, nose brushing against his, and Raoul tilts his head the slightest bit in invitation. The response is immediate. Erik kisses him lightly, simply presses his lips and lingers; it is a touch, a caress, a benediction. Erik has always considered Raoul something precious, something to adore, and he has made sure that he knows it.

Raoul only removes his arm from around Erik to reach up to touch his face, pulling away slightly in order to be able to look at him properly. Feather light caresses trace the depth of Erik's sacrifices for him throughout his life, and he wants to erase the sorrow present now, the hint of fear that he knows is for him. It seems wrong for Erik to look as afraid as Raoul feels.

He stares at a face he knows better than his own, one he has seen almost every day of his entire life, unchanged from year to year. Although Erik has long convinced him that he does not find it odd as he ages, Raoul has always felt the dichotomy of their foothold in time. Seeing Erik physically remain the same only makes him feel ever more distinctly how his body is deteriorating. Yet, there is little he can do to hate a body that Erik cherishes and praises so often, understanding his insecurities, and Raoul finds himself convinced if only by the strength and persistence of Erik's conviction. And though time causes things to ever change, he has one constant that can erase every doubt, Erik's love.

Stopping his caresses in favour of laying his palm against Erik's cheek, he traces the reaper's bottom lip with his thumb and cannot imagine a moment when he would not want to be here, refuses to imagine a time when he will not be able to do this. His throat constricts as his thoughts brush against the possibility despite his resolve.

Erik kisses his thumb before revealing, "It is Piers though," hoping to draw Raoul away from the thoughts that make him frown just so.

"What?" he is forced to ask when he gets lost in the sound of his voice instead of comprehending the words.

"You will be stupid and brave and…" Erik's voice catches in his throat, so very near to breaking. He clenches his jaw and exhales sharply. Gazing past Raoul for long moments, he eventually says in a voice rough with poorly contained emotion, "You will be your wonderful self." It sounds both accusatory and fond.

When Erik still refuses to look at him, Raoul moves to gently grasp his jaw to physically garner his attention. He says jokingly, "And here I had hoped to die peacefully in bed with you by my side."

It is not the right thing to say. He despises himself right after speaking because a sob nearly breaks free and his chest heaves. Tears well and overflow, dropping to the pillow between them. His vision blurs and he takes a hiccupped breath. He tries to hide his face in the pillow and is desperately wiping at his tears when Erik grabs his wrist and kisses his knuckles before wiping the tears away himself. He wants to smile and apologize but all that he can manage is a shake of his head and a grimace.

A tightening of the arms around him is all he has before Erik turns them, pulls him easily onto his chest and tucks Raoul's head beneath his chin. There are no wayward limbs in the motion, no awkward and painful movements, no elbows or knees digging into sensitive areas and Raoul only distantly remembers a time when they had not fit this well, this easily together. The thought does little to quell such sudden anguish even though he feels anchored to the moment. He fists Erik's nightshirt as he sobs and hides his face. He does not know where the tears come from, thinks he is assuredly too old to be crying like this, but Erik only holds him tighter, tries to quiet him with a steady 'shh' that reminds Raoul of waves upon the sea.

Like the sea, he eventually calms and the tears ebb. Forcing himself to take slow deep breaths, he wants to be strong enough to speak of this without breaking down. This is nature and as with all men, his death has simply been waiting for him. His death has always been with him, a comfort even. Still, his throat aches when he asks tentatively, "When?" There is always the chance that Erik will not tell him.

"Too soon." The reaper sounds so very distant even while he clings ever more tightly to him. "Always too soon."

Raoul struggles not to follow him back to all those decades ago when Erik had first said those words. He asks again instead, more urgently, "When?" because he needs to know how much longer he has to hold onto him.

With the silence that follows, he is almost certain he will not have an answer and focuses instead on the rise and fall of Erik's chest as he breathes. He stares into the darkness and can see the silhouette of their bedroom. For all appearances, only a single person lives here, one set of clothes and shoes, one nightstand, a single razor, and a single escritoire with a sheaf of paper upon it. Raoul knows better. There is the bed that is much too large for a single man, the violin tucked in the corner of the room that he only barely knows how to tune much less play, and the drawings tucked within the right hand drawer. There are memories of them imprinted in the very fiber of the room, pieces of their time together suspended by routine and love. Like the strings of the violin, Raoul almost feels like he could reach out and pluck a memory just to let it resonate through him, peace, joy, and sometimes even anger. This is their space, their home.

Erik silences the reverberation of Raoul's memories with a single word. "Tomorrow."

There is no response he can give to that.

Too soon.

Erik is never wrong. Raoul has known that for years.

Always too soon.

He will not be wrong now, no matter how much he and his reaper wishes it were otherwise. Glancing up at Erik, he knows just as certainly that he does not want to spend his last night soaking Erik's shirt with tears. His mind clears, the anguish held at bay for now though balanced on a knife's edge.

"He will think it to be his fault," he says instead because it is easier to think of Piers's life than of his own death.

"When do they not?" Erik replies vaguely and Raoul thinks of his parents, of Philippe, of his captain. "He will get over it," the reaper continues perhaps unkindly, but Raoul cannot bring himself to chastise him. He is allowed some petulance.

"Perhaps," he says contemplatively. His fingers ache when he finally releases Erik's shirt, but the pain is soothed when he reaches down to twine his fingers with Erik's. "I am glad it is not him. You know, Piers has fallen for the blacksmith's daughter." The leather gloves are soft and familiar against his skin. "She is a pretty thing."

Erik nods and leans forward to brush his lips on the top of Raoul's head. "He trips over himself whenever he sees her. I know."

Reveling in this closeness, Raoul's laugh is muffled against Erik's chest. He releases Erik's hand so that he can lever himself up in order to see his expression, a resigned smile of fondness that is reserved for Piers. But his nephew is not who comes to mind. All he can think suddenly is tomorrow already, selfish as he is.

The black leather glove placed on his cheek is familiar and Raoul leans into the touch before kissing him. He wonders if he has taken them for granted, if he has taken their legs entwined, their breaths mingling, and their faces so close together that a hushed word is too loud for granted. It all feels so fleeting, the memories of nights spent together all blending together, somehow unremarkable yet so very significant. He feels ill-equipped to relish it well enough, to appreciate how all it takes is the slightest of movements to press their lips together or the simple liberty he has to do so with Erik. So, he kisses him again, trying to force his mind to not only remember every moment they have shared but to memorize every detail of the present. He knows he is failing when he loses himself in the feel of Erik's lips, their bodies pressed flushed together, and the fingers twined in his hair. He pulls away abruptly because he cannot breathe, not when the tears threaten to fall once more.

Dropping his head to rest on Erik's chest, he hesitates to ask but feels he must, "Will you watch over him?"

This time Erik's voice is grave. "I will do what I can."

And Raoul knows he can only do so much; he hopes that Piers is never able to see Erik after all. His circumstance with the reaper was a special case. It has been exceptional and the muscles in his back and shoulders that he had not realized were so tense relax just a fraction. He can accept this. After all, Erik will be with him every moment.

"Are you scared?" the reaper asks.

He thinks for a moment, of the many years he has lived in fear. "Yes." He breathes in Erik's scent and feels his heart beat unsteady and nervous against his chest. "I am afraid of how much I will miss this, of having to spend a single moment with you not by my side. I am afraid of leaving you." The familiar question falls out before he can stop it, "What will you do without me?" Still, he waits to hear any of the flippant and well-worn phrases that Erik has, needing every familiarity he can get.

He sniffles when there is no playfulness in Erik's response.

"I shall never love again."

The words are familiar. The feel, the sound of it drags him into a memory. Except Erik is not teasing his twelve-year-old self, he is serious and pained and it sounds more a promise than a statement. He does not know how to make it better and is selfish enough to want Erik to only ever love him, but he knows that would only make him suffer unnecessarily.

"All first loves feel like that," he replies though his heart is not in it.

Erik looks worse and Raoul noses his throat before moving to press their cheeks together so that he can slide his arms behind Erik's neck in order to hug him. He admits that he clings to him when Erik's arms settle around his waist. They cannot stay like this for very long, he will soon lose feeling in his hands, but he needs to be this close right now.

A single thought rings clear, so it does always hurt like this but he knows it is not the truth. They have had sunrises on his boat and slept beneath the wide expanse of endless night. They have had furtive touches become confident teasing, passionate encounters that pass in a haze and steady comfort that settles peace deep within ones bones. They have had such happiness and joy, even their arguments and frustrations have made him love Erik more. It hurts now only because they have had everything.

"I love you," Erik says.

"I love you more," he whispers back.

They remain awake into the night.

Tears come and go as do memories of their past and hopes that had been for their future. Raoul, of course, considers trying to change their plans for tomorrow, but he knows he cannot run from his fate. When he thinks of running, he thinks of all the time he had lost with his brother and knows that Piers will somehow suffer if he returns to being so selfish.

When he can talk, he whispers every thought that comes to mind, unwilling to hold anything back. He tells Erik every secret he holds though is certain that the reaper knows them all. He lists every single thing that he loves about him and even the things that he hates. The words are fervent and desperate, and he is both relieved and distraught when Erik is just the same because hope is a cruel thing and it still lives within him. It believes that perhaps there is a way that fate is wrong, but Erik's hold on him is nigh painful though somehow resigned.

And Raoul finds himself saying words of comfort aloud, whether for Erik or for himself he does not know.

It is okay, he assures but neither of them believes it.

The morning breaks and Raoul is drawn from his daze with warm breath on his cheek and his name being spoken reverently to ease him from his thoughts. He feels exhausted and torn apart, both his head and heart aching. He had been lost in the simple rise and fall of Erik's chest, his mind too tired to focus on anything else. A trail of kisses ends on his lips and he opens his mouth eagerly, sighing and relaxing further beneath the touch of the man he loves. He is pressed deeper into the bed, warm body above him and clever hands that know how to make him arch for more currently trying to divest him of his clothing.

It is not the first time they start the day as such, naked and twined.

Lust and desire have lost its urgency. How they want is different from how it had once been in the beginning but is no less remarkable for the change. The volatile inferno has turned into a steady flame, a need that never goes away but is not always slaked by a tumbling of bodies desperate against one another. They explore each other once more, as though something will have changed from one day to the next, but they are always eager and willing to find out.

There is intent in their touches, but this particular morning, Raoul grabs Erik's hands unable to stand the feel of leather against his skin. They move against each other instead, sliding into a rhythm that is slow and languorous and near hedonistic. It is perfect and yet somehow not enough. When he glances up, he sees Erik looking at him intently as though he were trying to memorize every expression and Raoul holds his gaze. He stares back until Erik licks his lips before leaning down to kiss him with such tenderness and love that Raoul comes with a surprised groan that would have been too loud had Erik not stifled the sound with a kiss. The reaper's breath stutters against his mouth when he follows shortly after.

They stay pressed together, Raoul beneath the weight of Erik's body that has tensed already despite his release. They stay until the sounds of Piers moving about forces them apart. Even then, Erik lingers longer than he normally would, stealing kiss after kiss as Raoul is forced to get ready for a day he will never be ready for. When his reaper leaves, Raoul thinks he sees a shimmer in his eyes and wants to call him back.

He does not.

After all, Erik is there just at the edge of his sight, at the edge of his awareness but certainly present. Raoul knows it is because he will be tempted to interfere and that is something he cannot do any longer, not this time.

Raoul is vigilant the entire day. He feels sick, his heart beating erratically, and he wonders what will happen to Piers. Today is their day off. More repairs on their beloved ship need attention and they can afford to relax. They head to town and Piers is chatting distractedly. His eyes wander as he talks, searching the streets and Raoul smiles fondly at him. The young man has been especially excited for this excursion and Raoul had still yet to learn how to say no to his nephew.

"You should speak with her," he suggests. One last pearl of wisdom before it is too late because falling in love with Erik has been the best thing to have ever happened to him.

"What, uncle?" He feigns confusion. He is much too old and too tall to be able to play innocent any longer.

Raoul smiles and claps him on the arm. "You are a Chagny. I love you and you have always made me proud. What is speaking to one girl compared to earning an old fisherman's respect?" He winks and the shocked expression on Piers's face surprises a laugh out of him, one that sounds weak even to his own ears.

"Uncle – I…"

And Raoul sees it before he hears the shouts because Erik turns his head away from them, cannot watch a wagon laden with wood barreling towards them. Its owner chases it down the street and if Raoul were a younger man, he might be able to save them both, but time and age are cruel and unforgiving.

He pushes Piers away and tries to defy fate and save himself as well but the weakness in his joints twinge painfully, a fragility he is still unused to makes him crumple short of safety. The wagon strikes him and drags him beneath its wheel before overturning.

Coughing blood, a startling red against the grey of his beard, Raoul hears a roar in his ears. He turns his head to see if Piers is safe. The boy, and in this moment, he is still just a boy, stares at him in shock between some logs that have fallen atop him. It is a heavy moment before his nephew scrambles on his hands and feet, trying to get to him, straining to lift logs off of him. There are tears in his eyes and he is shouting something Raoul cannot hear.

Erik is already at his side, one hand brushing the hair from his face. Raoul tries to raise his hand to no avail because even his reaper cries for him. He is hot and cold at the same time though he is certain that both are simply just an interpretation of pain in this moment. When Erik bends forward to give him one last kiss, the tears fall upon his face and Raoul sighs once more in the relief both the touch and the errant tears give him.

By the time Piers skids to his knees beside him, Erik has removed his glove.

"Uncle." He does not know where to put his hands. "Hold on please. The doctor is coming. The doctor." He looks around lost, but safe.

Raoul attempts to smile at him but there is too much blood on him and the ground to be anything but gruesome. He cannot breathe but he can somehow feel the blood pouring from him. The heat he had felt before has disappeared and he feels unspeakably cold. He opens his mouth but all that comes is a gurgle of blood that climbs up his throat and between his lips.

He locks eyes with Erik and wills him to understand. I love you more. More than I have ever been able to express. It takes all his energy to do so, but he turns his hand, palm up and Erik twines their fingers together – the glove no longer between them. He would smile if he could, finally being given this of Erik as well, the everything he has long since wanted.

Raoul is fifty-two and death's touch feels like coming home.

o.o.o.o

End chapter 10 and fic

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!
Fic Review: I'm such a lying liar who said that I would never kill Raoul ever again. This is why I was going to make it just a 5+1 because if you stop at Chapter 06 everything is still fine. D: Surprisingly, saddest chapter for me is still Philippe's death.

Also, I hate myself because that line "It is not the first time…" is always followed by "But it will be the last" in my mind, but I decided to leave it unsaid because that's just cruel and makes me sadface (this whole chapter does that, but still).