He gets an angry call from Quill halfway to Davy’s house, the wavering pitch of his voice both disconcerted and furious with the vampire’s "clumsy handling of the situation, Kieran, I thought you were better than that”.

“Relax, Quill.” Kieran sighs, hands clenching the wheel as he turns steadily into the next street. “I’ll kill her another time.”

“And Kilgrave?”

Kieran shrugs. “He had the rest of my lobster but he won’t take my hit. He likes his kills a certain way.” 


“You know jack shit about Kilgrave.”

His lips curve into a smirk. “I beg to differ.”


— -

Meeting Kilgrave had started with his brother.

Kieran remembers it clearly now. Looking into the streets ahead of him, the glowing city lights and the neon signs that reflect their brilliance off the glowing sheen of his Bentley, he remembers the ocean that crashed like solid rock against a monumental cliffside. The image is near picturesque - something you could put in a book and describe with utmost verisimilitude because it was beautiful in the ways that most of nature was until the tremendous force of it all took you by the waist and swung you over a dizzying ledge into the twisted reality of the situation. A situation that wasn’t beautiful at all.

Arthur Oculus had wanted to die. Kieran knew - so often he’d be told by his mother the grievances such suicidal tendencies had brought to her, how she struggled to handle a situation Kieran himself didn’t want to be a part of. Arthur Oculus had wanted to die and Kieran had gone and let him.

They chose a scenic spot. Someplace etherial, someplace you could go where you didn’t have to close your eyes to dream because walking through the blowing grass and the opalescent sky was like living lucid in a sleeping world. There wouldn’t be anyone close by - he would be all alone, and Kieran would accompany him for the last days of his life before letting him go. If he woke up to find Arthur dead in the next room, there would be no sorrow. They had promised each other that no more sorrow, no more sadness would ever befall either of them again, even if it meant to live the rest of their lives like limbo. It was better that way.

When Arthur died, Kieran hadn’t expected him to go so brutally; from the looks of it, neither did his brother. But the sharp smell of blood coupled with Kilgrave’s atrocious mutilation of his brother’s corpse had left a very distinct impression. It was a twisted form of artistic expression.

“Who’re you?” He had sharper eyes then. They were wide with fear - much of that fear lost by now - and a look about him that seemed nearly human.

“His brother.” Kieran replied.

“His brother? You approved of this?”


He narrows his eyes. “I approved of his death. Not the violence that came with it.”



The murderer smiled. It would be the first, but not the last time Kieran would witness a smile like this: there was an air of childishness to it - a mixture of pride and arrogance, a bit of mystery. 


“Arthur didn’t specify.”

“I wish he did.”

“Ah,” and Kilgrave folded his bloody hands. “Still a bit human, aren’t you?”

“Are you, Kieran?” Arthur asks. His eyes are sad. Worried, even, for a brother lost to the living world.

“I’m not sure, anymore.” Kieran struggles to reply. Above him, the stars shine brighter than they have any right to. It is a beautiful day to remember the dead.

“I’m sorry.” Arthur closes his eyes, beside him. His hair soft on his shoulder, intestines drying quickly in narrow, air-conditioned space. “I should have been there for you.”

“You should have.” Kieran fights the tears that spill from his eyes. “You should have.” 



— -

Alta is there by the doorstep when Kieran arrives. No one seems to have noticed her camped out at the edge of Davy’s steps; the faint sound of music thundering indoors is a clear indication that the party’s still on. Kieran checks his watch: it’s been two hours. A teenager’s tolerance for fizzy beverages and loud music would’ve been impressive if he weren’t so miffed by their obvious lack of concern for other people’s well-being.

When Alta slides into the backseat she looks exhausted. He makes himself aware of the way her arms hug her chest, body withdrawn into the seat, eyes somehow doleful in the dim light of the street-lamps. Kieran would go so far as to say she looked like a meth addict on the verge of collapse, with none of what withering benefits there were to taking drugs.

“If you were a house,” Kieran starts, “you would be... dilapidated.”

“What?” Alta looks to him wearily, brows creased in confusion. He decides after another moment’s passing that perhaps her approach to his problems do not necessarily work the other way around, and refrains from making his second joke.

“Did you know this party would end in such failure?” He asks.

“I dunno.” She looks out the window, averting his gaze. “Sort of. I didn’t come to have fun.”

“Does that not...” Kieran frowns, confused. “Does that not defeat the very purpose of a party...?”

Alta snorts, leaning back into her seat. “It does. I just- I had my reasons for coming and they weren’t very normal.” She runs a hand through her hair, breath shaky, fingers moving through a trembling caress. “I’m not very normal.”

“You aren’t.” Kieran agrees bluntly. “I feel as if this is a point I’ve been constantly trying to convey to you, and for the first time you’ve properly acknowledged it.”

“Wow.” She glares at him. “You’re not normal too, okay?”

“Is that bad?” He shrugs.

“Well- in your case, yes, because you just killed someone!” Her voice shoots up an octave as she raises her hands, leaning forward to look him directly in the eye. Kieran whips his head around to watch for the stray passerby. Thankfully, there are none.

“Hush, niece,” Kieran says. “And I didn’t get the chance. I do concede that my actions were questionable, but this is your fault.”

“Oh.” Alta’s body sags, relieved of tension. “So they didn’t die?”

“No.” Kieran sighs, wincing at the confirmation. “A perfectly opportune moment wasted on a child’s social ineptitude.”

“That was so mean.” Alta looks at him. “You did not just say that.”

“How will I pay rent?” Kieran retorts. “My other jobs are too cheap and the month’s about to end, you know?”

“You price yourself?” She wrinkles her nose.

“Some people can’t afford to kill their abusive aunts or tyrannical mothers, niece.” Kieran sighs. “We negotiate prices. Sometimes they pay in sweets.”

Alta sighs. A rebuttal lost on her open mouth withers into a staggered breath as she turns to look at Davy’s house, still adorned in the faint contour of light that frames each window, pulsing to the beat of some new age hip-hop.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t kill them.” She says. “You must’ve worked really hard.”

Kieran feels... blessed. 

There is nothing stranger than a child apologizing for a hitman’s failure to kill a completely irrelevant third party. A pinprick of happiness jolts the tip of his toes and he grumbles a quiet ‘I really did’.

“I suppose,” he clears his throat, “I’m also sorry. You are not socially inept-”

“Nah,” She waves, “I am, a little,”

“No.” He interrupts. “I can testify to true incompetence. You haven’t reached such a stage.“

Alta laughs. It has been a while since she did that, Kieran notes.

“I’m not actually tired.” She says quietly. “I’m just sad. About stupid stuff. I also haven’t eaten yet.”

Kieran’s about to plan his next reply when something in his peripheral vision distracts him, and he leans over to curl his fingers around the edge of a worn pamphlet. An idea strikes him- the first in years of living like a machine, carrying out his own didactic instructions for the purpose of getting money to pay off rent, so he can continue to earn money to pay such rent. The loop went on. And then it stopped. In retrospect, it had stopped a few days ago.

“Niece,” Kieran says slowly, and her eyes grow wide as he holds up two crumpled tickets. 

“Would you like to go to Disneyland?”