So um, yeah. I haven't done much justice to the fantastic series that is Misfits, but I just felt like writing this. I wrote it in order of least to most affected by the "tragic and untimely death" of Nathan Young. So, I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: Me no own Misfits.

Warning: Rather strong language in use.



"Mum?" Alisha called into the darkness of the flat. "Mum, you in?"

When there was no answer, Alisha smiled to herself, slinging her bag over the banister to her staircase and moving through to the living room, snapping the light switch on as she went.

She caught sight of herself in the mirror – tired and worn looking, her mascara smudged from where she had rubbed her eyes. She almost laughed at how low-cut her dress was, even at this time. She could imagine Nathan making some crack about it even now.

She had never imagined that a dick like Nathan could ever make her feel this gloomy. It made her realise just how little she'd appreciated his company.

"Ugh, pull yourself together, girl," Alisha chided herself as her lip began to wobble. "It's a shit day. Shit happens. Get over it." The shit day sure had wrapped itself around her like a tight shroud. The funeral had been quiet and depressing, the drink had been short-lived and certainly not worthy of being called a wake. If anyone should be feeling miserable, it should have been Nathan at how crap his final day of acknowledgement had been.

And she still felt low.

Jabbing the television remote, the screen fired into life, some teen drama blaring out of it. Alisha rolled her eyes at it, before leaving for the kitchen where she poured a glass of wine so full that it was overflowing.

It had been a tough day all over, and Alisha felt both physically and emotionally drained.

And to make matters worse, she had been unwillingly stripped of the thing she wanted most.

All she wanted was a hug.

Curtis lay on his bed, his face screwed up as he tried again and again to use his power. But no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't. It was as if something was stopping him, like a wall.

"Fucking Sod's Law," he snapped, and sat up on his bed, rubbing his eyes. Reaching over for his bedside lamp, his hand came across the dog-eared paper he had read and reread this week.


Curtis smiled as he scanned over the bottom paragraph.

"Friends described Young as a satirical and engaging young man who will be sorely missed." It was nice how they'd reworded what he'd told them.

The local reporters had come snooping around, hunting for headlines around the community centre since Tony had "disappeared". Each time they had been turned away, the community centre insisting that Tony's disappearance had some perfectly reasonable explanation, and that it would be wise to leave the entire subject alone now. However, since Nathan's impalement, the hungry press had latched onto the story they wanted. They'd asked each of them what they thought of Nathan's "tragic and untimely death", how it had affected them, what they would do now. They didn't seem to understand that Kelly's slaps were not an invite to interrogate her further. Several times had he and Simon had to pull her off of one particular interviewer only to have him ask her if she'd been close with "the poor Young boy".

They'd asked Curtis the questions too – "How would you describe Nathan?" Obviously, they'd rephrased his answer nicely. The words "Satirical and engaging" had never passed his lips.

He grabbed a sharpie and scribbled out the sentence, illustrating an asterisk at the end. At the bottom of the page, he drew another asterisk, followed by the word "prick".

It was pretty cold outside, Simon decided as he sat at Nathan's grave. But oddly, that wasn't the thing that bothered him most. It just felt wrong, being here, like he wasn't really allowed to come to the graveyard, like Nathan didn't want him there.

But Simon knew he'd be the only one to visit their dead friend for now. Alisha and Curtis wouldn't be overly fussed at visiting. Perhaps the odd occasional stroll down, but neither would want to come alone. Kelly wouldn't be able to face it. The three of them had been pretending Nathan had never even existed.

Simon had sat here for over twelve hours, just to make sure that Nathan didn't get lonely. He knew that Nathan wouldn't appreciate it – he'd make some pervert-based insult to fire at him. But Simon believed in karma, and if he died, he'd want somebody to sit with him. After all, he'd always had some phobia of waking up again, like the plagued did during the Black Death.

"I could be watching Battlestar Galactica," he stated aloud, his voice reverberating though the silence. "Instead, I'm out here, sitting in the cold with some dead git."

He started to rub his hands together in an attempt to warm them up when he heard a noise coming from somewhere.

It was incredibly muffled, but it sounded eerily like it was rising up from the ground where Nathan lay six feet under. The thought shook Simon to the core.

He leapt to his feet. The cold was getting to him, he assured himself. He was going delirious and needed to get inside with a hot chocolate and a sci-fi boxset.

The noise came again, sending a chill down Simon's spine. He began to move away from the graveyard.

He was imagining things. Wasn't he?

"All I have left of him is a fucking DVD."

Keith the dog looked up at Kelly with solemn eyes. What the fuck's she on about now?

Kelly sniffed and pushed herself up from the carpet onto her feet. She felt tired, miserable and dejected. She didn't need to hear the dog's thoughts.

She glowered at the shining circular disc that lay on her bedside table as her hands twisted and writhed in their grip.

How could he do this to her? Flirt with her until she was so certain she wanted to sleep with him, and then die? Torment and tease her into fancying him and then copping it?

Simon was sweet – he'd made her the DVD because he knew she'd like it at first. He was deep like that.

But after watching it so many times she could memorise the words, she grew frustrated. They were just pictures. They weren't Nathan. They wouldn't bring him back. And she'd miss him – she'd miss the tang of community centre bleach that mingled with his Lynx, making him smell that little bit more interesting. She'd miss messing up his hair. She'd miss slapping him. Fucking hell, she'd miss that more than anything.

It was weird how such a tight-knit environment had affected her so badly, but after living in each other's pockets, there seemed to be a gaping hole left where Nathan had once been. It was going to be hard to carry on this community service – what had once been six was now four.

She had been closer with Nathan than the others; they'd formed a bond purely on flirts and torments, a strengthening relationship that wasn't particularly moving in any direction. She didn't really know what to say around Curtis – he was nice enough, sure. But he wasn't a bullshitting arrogant prick like Nathan.

Nobody was like him.

"Pull yourself together, cow," she snapped to herself. "He's fucking dead. You're not even going to see him. Some kind of friend you fucking are."

She felt miserable, low, upset – but more than anything, there was a bubbling layer of wrath in her stomach that she couldn't quash.

Kelly couldn't help but feel angry at him for dying.

"What were the fucking chances?" Nathan pondered aloud, staring at the silk lining of his coffin through narrowed eyes. "Of all the fucking powers in the world, immor-fucking-tality. Thanks God, thanks a bunch." He attempted to roll to his side, but gave up after catching his shoulder on the lid. "Christ, these things give you backache."

He glowered into the dimming light of his iPod, where he continuously scrolled back and forth through the cover flow, frustrated with the lack of interesting songs on the music player. If he ever got out of here, he was refurbishing his iPod playlists.

He finally found a video he fancied watching – one containing Kelly eating biscuits - when his iPod screen cut out. It died so feebly, cutting out in the middle and plunging him into darkness.

"Oh, you die on me too, then," Nathan snapped. "Shut up laughing. Fuck you." I'm talking to a fucking iPod. I'm going insane.

After a round of one-way I Spy, in which he spied "fuck all" and "the darkness", he decided to try something else.

"Hello?" he called out hoarsely. "Anyone there? Anyone else been buried alive by some soulless bastards who didn't even check to see if you were a hundred percent dead?" He was yelling now. "The dicks didn't even think to get me cremated! I mean to think, not only could they have conserved space in this here green and pleasant land and thus save the environment, but they could have ended my misery!" He reconsidered this. "Well, I assume so. Or would I just be like, this floating ball of consciousness?" He smiled. "Then I could haunt Barry until he shits his pants. See if he likes being followed by an invisible prick." The grin on his face stretched his cracked lips. He tasted salt in his mouth.

Nathan sighed, the noise whistling. "This is so stuffy. Stuffy, stuffy, stuffy. This is shit." He was starting to feel a little light-headed. "Oh, whoop-de-doo, here we go again." He wondered if he'd remain dead once he suffocated. After all, that meant there wasn't enough oxygen – surely he wouldn't come back into life again, would he? Or maybe he would, and he'd just die over and over again.

"Fucking hell," he whimpered aloud. "I'm stuck here."

Hope you liked it :D