You would think, if Death were human, he'd have black hair and only wear black and carry around a big, scary scythe that he used to reap souls, and be really old. But I'm don't and I'm not.
If you saw me walking down the street, the only weird thing you'd notice is I have a tattoo on my left arm, above my elbow. It's a scythe. You'd assume I wear gloves because I have poor circulation and my hands are always cold. You'd never think twice about the unassuming twenty three year old blonde girl who flinched away from physical contact.
If I were to introduce myself to you, the first thing you would learn is my name is Beth Thompson. The second thing I'd tell you, is I get cold easily and I love the sunrise. You'd never, ever learn that the tattoo on my arm means I'm the one who confronts you and leads you to the afterlife. I'm one of many, but one of few who dare to stray from the path.
I don't wear black and I don't carry a scythe. That's too old school.
From the day I was three, until today, I've worn gloves that allow me to touch people and things without killing them. Born into a family of reapers, I was raised to never take my gloves off unless there was a mark only I can see on someone's skin, and if I saw the mark I was to immediately reap them. I've done this since I can remember, purposely hunting out the reap mark that means it's this person's time to go. Every reap, every time. Until I met Steve.
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The day I met Steve, I was living in Romania. The man in the apartment next to me was the Winter Solider, but didn't know that I knew. We never spoke a word to each other until the day the German equivalent of a SWAT team busted into his apartment when I was bringing home groceries. Three of them had my reap mark. They died within ten minutes of breaking into the Soldier's apartment. Steve watched me reap them.
A reap is simple. I take my gloves off and touch any exposed skin on the person being reaped. Almost instantaneously, this person will die, as their soul leaves their body and moves to whatever comes next. There's never any evidence of my reaping, it's like I was never there. Usually, if I see a reap on the street, it's a simple touch and leave. But this time, it was different. I'd had to tackle one of them in order to get close enough to touch them. After reaping three people, I felt compelled to follow Steve and the Soldier- Bucky, because I assumed there would be more reaps. I wasn't wrong.
After being caught and stuck in a room that resembled a human sized fishbowl with Steve and two other people, I was confronted. There is literally no explanation in the world that makes sense of how I can literally touch someone and cause them to die. This fact made for some awkward stammering as I fumbled to hide my life from Steve and his friends. Eventually, someone took pity on me and let me go home.
Three days later, Steve and Bucky knocked on my door. Steve had a barely there reap mark. I had to follow them to Germany, and then Siberia, waiting for Steve's mark to darken and hold the value it needed.
When it was solidly visible to me, I considered my decision. In the short time I'd known Steve, I grew attached. In another life, we would have dated... maybe even gotten married and started a family. But in this life, in this moment, I was supposed to kill him. So I ran. I reaped five other people instead, five people who had marks that showed up in mere seconds. And then, a month later in Wakanda, I had to face the reap I refused to do.
Steve figured out what I was and why I ran, and called me to him so I could correct my decision. But his mark was gone.
I stuck around, reaping individuals in hospitals that were suffering. Then, one day, I was called to the castle again to speak with Bucky after they woke him from cryo and attempted to undo what HYDRA had done. Steve's mark appeared again as they read the words. Automatically, I stood and pushed my way into the room behind the window, dropping my gloves to the ground.
I held him as his eyes closed, crying for the loss of a future that was purely imagined.
