Death Did Us Part (Ben HargreevesXReader)

Chapter 17

I think I died.

I doubt it. But, I don't remember going to the dead. Then again, it didn't look like Hell. We all know that's where I'm going if I die.

Death always kind of scared me. Ironic, considering I technically can't die. The whole thing where I can die and come back on command kind of makes my body not die.

Still, I hope I really am dead.

I walked around, talking to no one. No one bothered to talk to me either. I kinda wished Ben would be here. Yeah, he's a bitch, but I still wanted to be with him. Even if it was us not speaking.

The sick feeling came back. It wasn't terrible. But it still didn't feel fucking good. I could hear ghosts whispering. Not really what they were saying, but the sound.

I felt like I was going to pass out. I looked around and saw a bar. I didn't know they had those in the dead. Maybe a drink will help with the sickness.

The bar was surprisingly full. Apparently, dead people like alcohol. I'd fit right in with these dumbasses. I looked around to see if I could find Ben. I don't know why I did that though, why would he be here having fun for once in his fucking afterlife. I did notice one person.

Sir Reginald Hargreeves.

I went towards him. "Yo, Hargreeves," I screamed. He turned towards me and sighed. "Do I know you?" "Probably not. My name is (Y/N). I was born on October 1st, 1989." He shook his head and ordered another drink, "Why are you talking to me?"

"You thought I wasn't special enough." "Oh, so you have abilities. Well, what were they?" "I'm not dead. I can shift from living to dead. And I can communicate with spirits." "Ah, you're just like Number Four. Let me guess, addict of something and a disappointment." Just as I went to deny, my drink order arrived. 4 bottles. "Alcoholic. Of course," Reginald said.

I felt even more sick than I ever have. I grabbed onto the chair to keep balance. "What is wrong with you?" He fixed his monocle. "How long have you been here?" "About two hours," I said. "You can't be here that long. Your meter will run out."

"What the fuck is my meter?"

"Your life meter, of course. The longer you stay here, the shorter you can live." "So, I'm fucking dying as we speak?" He nodded, "So unless you have a reason to be here, you should leave." I'm dying. Like, genuinely dying. That explains the sick feeling I get when I'm "dead".

"Actually, before I leave, I'd like to say something to you," I said to Reginald, "Fuck you. I am special enough." Then, I left, hoping that Ben would be at my house.