
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8857999.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M, F/M
  Fandom:
      Kuroshitsuji_|_Black_Butler
  Relationship:
      Ronald_Knox/William_T._Spears, Alan_Humphries/Eric_Slingby, Alan
      Humphries/Claude_Faustus, Sebastian_Michaelis/Ciel_Phantomhive, Grell
      Sutcliff/Undertaker, Ludger/Sascha_(Kuroshitsuji)
  Character:
      Ronald_Knox, William_T._Spears, Alan_Humphries_(Kuroshitsuji), Eric
      Slingby, Grell_Sutcliff, Undertaker_(Kuroshitsuji), Othello_
      (Kuroshitsuji), Ciel_Phantomhive, Sebastian_Michaelis, Baldroy_
      (Kuroshitsuji), Finnian_(Kuroshitsuji), Mey-Rin_(Kuroshitsuji), Alois
      Trancy, Claude_Faustus, Sascha_(Kuroshitsuji), Ludger_(Kuroshitsuji)
  Additional Tags:
      Explicit_Sexual_Content, Physical_Abuse, Child_Death, Murder, Smut,
      Investigations, Undercover_Missions, Female_Grell_Sutcliff, human!Claude,
      Established_Relationship, Original_Character(s), 17yearold!Ciel, Verbal
      Abuse, female!Sascha, On_Hiatus
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-12-17 Updated: 2017-03-26 Chapters: 4/? Words: 24098
****** Purge of the Innocent ******
by hellosweetie17
Summary
     Bodies of deceased children have been found throughout the streets of
     Europe and the reapers of London and Germany are clueless as to who
     or what could be killing them.
     With only a single lead, William T. Spears, Ronald Knox, Grelle
     Sutcliff, Alan Humphries, and Othello are deployed on an undercover
     investigation to the location where the most recent victims were
     found: the Manor of Claude Faustus and his son, Alois Trancy.
     Assisted by the Undertaker, Ciel Phantomhive and his demon butler,
     Sebastian Michaelis, the reapers find their way into the manor and
     assume various roles to ensure their stay. Through strife and
     struggle, it is their goal to bring an end to the culprit and
     retrieve the stolen souls of the innocent children wrongfully reaped
     and murdered before their time.
Notes
     Ciel is 17 years old and Claude is human.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Present day
A loud crack filled the air, the tail of a leather whip snapping at its end.
Overjoyed by the sound, the handler couldn't help but laugh as he lashed the
whip once more, watching it hit the ground with great ferocity. The vibrations
created by the quick motion crept into his hand and burrowed into his veins,
rushing up his arm and to his heart; adrenaline at the helm. A beautifully
addictive sensation, he was enticed by the comfortable grip and how it seemed
to fit perfectly in the palm of his hand, as if it was designed for him and no
one else. Not to mention, he was the only one able to produce such high notes
from those he beat into submission, writing a musical piece sound to his young
ears.
Little fourteen year old Alois longed to partake in a long-running tradition at
the Faustus Manor: welcoming a new member to the refined home. He was the best,
he thought, in making a lasting impression in those whom were brave enough to
agree to the harsh employment terms. However, his chance to greet another
unfortunate soul was taken by someone else, someone in need of a lesson. It was
his stepbrother's turn to experience the delight of wielding the leather whip,
recently constructed with the blessing of a few cows or pigs—he couldn't
remember. Whether the idiot liked it or not, his brother had to learn the way
of life at Faustus Manor if he wished to be treated well, otherwise the pussy
may suffer the consequences unknown to man. The mere thought caused Alois to
smile, despite his blood brimming with envy.
Before he could pull the whip over his shoulder a third time, footsteps echoed
in the distance, cascading in the direction of the room. His full head of
platinum blond hair swished toward the door, his blue eyes sparkling with
merriment and excitement. A man in tattered, dirty clothes was dragged across
the ground, softly grunting as rubble scratched and dug into his swollen flesh.
Strands of dark hair hung in front of his bruised face, drenched in sweat and
blood, threatening the security of his glasses partially dangling at his ears.
Awestruck, Alois watched the pathetic waste struggle in vain as he was pulled
along.
Trancy giggled and silently cheered as the vermin was tossed to the ground at
his feet. He rolled the handle of the whip in between his sweaty palms, eager
to strike the lowlife at least once. That was all he needed: one chance to
scrawl blood across the walls and break the man's skin, to write a crescendo of
screams in his growing masterpiece, but no… There would be plenty of time to
bask in the afterglow, he told himself, until then…
Why does Ronald have to get this one? It was obvious the nancy boy didn't like
to welcome newcomers; mother saved him each and every time. Except today,
father forbade the woman from interfering or rescuing the princess. Little
Alois was still jealous, though. Perhaps father would allow him to have a go
once Ronald was finished? One could only hope!
===============================================================================
To say Ronald Knox was nervous would be an understatement. On the third floor
of the Manor, the young man paced to and fro across the bare boards of his
bedroom, each one creaking underneath his feet. The honey blonde hair at the
top of his head was damp with sweat, the longer dark strands matted to the nape
of his neck. A steady stream of the salty liquid trickled down the center of
his back, forming a rather ugly stain in his white dress shirt. To make matters
worse, he felt like he was choking with the black tie neatly fastened around
his neck, even after he chose to loosen it.
The repetition of his footsteps threatened to leave scuff marks on the polished
cherry wood, something he would likely be reprimanded for, but he couldn't
stop. How could he? He was frantic and afraid of the doom that awaited him
outside, where his stepfather and stepbrother damned him to the same cruelty
under the Faustus name. It was evident Ronald was unlike the others, if not on
the opposite end of the spectrum. Gentle and meek in nature, he withdrew from
the ceremonies in a flurry of tears, rescued by his mother before he could take
hold of the whip carved by the family name. It was an act that earned stoic
scrutiny from Claude and even worse ridicule from his Alois, but he refused. He
refused for so long, until he had no other choice than to do it. Yet the main
question still waited an answer: could he follow through with such an insane
order?
"I can't do this," he heaved, the words fast and sputtered from thick saliva.
His heart raced, pounded at the door of his ribcage for freedom, or a kinder
fate such as death. To die of his own stern will would be sweeter than at the
hands of his stepfather, a consequence he was sure he would face if he didn't
do what they demanded of him.
Slowly, Ronald drew in a breath and held it for ten seconds. He repeated the
exercise in hopes of calming down, but it made his stomach churn. Rather than
exhaling, he quickly ran into his private bathroom and fell to the floor,
barely making it to the toilet to heave and vomit into the bowl. The contents
of his stomach continued to empty into the porcelain base, acid and bile
burning his throat. The minutes drew on and the more intense his stomach
turned, but after what felt like years, Ronald gagged one last time and lifted
his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his clammy gloved hand. He sat
there, trying to regain self-control, but it was useless. The moment he stepped
outdoors, he would lose all control he had over the predicament at hand. He
would become a harsher man, one of the Faustus name.
"I'm not one of them," he quietly assured himself, folding his arms around both
legs as they pulled into his chest. Exhausted, he tilted his forehead on his
knee, but before he could catch his breath, a knock was placed on the door.
Alana Humphries-Faustus slowly walked into the bathroom, her white heels
clicking on the marble tiles, her pink summer dress flowing elegantly behind
her. She gently kneeled in front of her son, her modest dress pooling around
her. The small woman with curly blond locks leaned closed and tucked a strand
of wet hair behind his ear; her eyes sad and sympathetic.
"Honey, I tried," Alana apologized, fingers running through her distressed
son's hair. Ron looked at her through tearful eyes, his bottom lip trembling as
he chewed on it.
"Mother," he sniffed, his cheeks warm. "I can't."
"You can," Alana sorely insisted, grasping his hands in her chilly ones to
gently squeeze. "You must. It'll be alright, my love."
"No, it won't! I'm being forced to whip somebody. How am I supposed to do
that?" Ronald's eyes widened, his tone gaining volumes of fear as anxiety
seized hold of him again.
Alana didn't respond, but slowly stood, pulling her son from the floor along
with her. She reached to the top of his head, grooming his disheveled two-toned
hair. Sadly, she placed a comforting hand on his blotched cheek, wiping the
tears away with the pad of her thumb.
"We have to go, Ronald. Your stepfather and brother are waiting," she muttered
through a forced smile. Taking a hold of her son's hand, she walked out of the
bathroom door and through the Manor, leading him outside into the daylight.
===============================================================================
It had been less than ten minutes since father sent mother to fetch his brother
from his bedroom, but in those long, excruciating minutes, Alois' patience
began to wear thin. How long did they have to wait for the pansy to arrive?
There was no doubt in his mind: he would back down from the task as he had done
so many times before, which made the wait all the more unbearable. If only
father would grant the responsibility to him full-time, then no one would have
to worry about Ronald making a fool of himself time and time again. In fact,
there could come a day where he would be the one to deliver Ron's punishment—an
idea he quietly reveled in. Still, a lovely daydream could saturate his nerves
for so long. Snapping, he shrugged off his purple frock coat and childishly
threw it to the ground with determined force; dust rose from the impact,
soiling his emerald green vest.
"Alois! Calm yourself," ordered his father, Claude Faustus. He stood tall and
shoulders broad, his demeanor apathetic and icy.
"Why do we have to wait for Ronald to get here? He's taking forever!"
Unmoved by his son's tantrum, Claude remained motionless, not entertaining the
young boy with even so much as a look. "Your mother has gone to retrieve him."
"But—"
"They're walking out of the manor now," the man interjected before his son
could continue. The gold eyes beneath his black hair narrowed as he watched his
wife gracefully drag his eldest son toward them, their steps agonizingly slow.
Yet somehow, Ronald managed to make his way to cower before his authoritative
father. Reluctant, Knox gazed into his father's cold eyes and swallowed the
thick knot at the back of his throat.
"Give your brother the whip," he instructed, his tone flat. With a sneer, Alois
gave the precious item to his stepbrother, which Ronald hesitantly grasped.
"Turn around," the man added.
"This is William T. Spears!" Alois cheerfully introduced. "We're here to
welcome our newest employee. Say hello everyone!"
Servants gathered around the poor man muttered a chorus of synchronized, solemn
hello's.
"Say hi, Ronald!" Trancy urged through gritted teeth, shoving at his older
brother.
"H-hello…" the young man stammered.
Spears peered over his shoulder at the young man whom appeared to be no older
than twenty-four. The panicked eyes behind the bulky, black frames almost made
William pity him, then again, he was the one about to be beaten and scarred for
no reason other than being on the Faustus payroll.
Ronald's tear-filled gaze connected with the hostile eyes that were the similar
in color, but glared with unadulterated hatred as if he ached to condemn the
blond to the deepest, most remote pits of hell. After the 'welcoming
festivities', Ron was certain he would end up there anyway.
"You know what to do," Claude firmly stated. The blond made no effort to move
forward but instead, looked frightfully to Alana who stood mum. Faustus grabbed
the collar of his eldest's son shirt and yanked him close. "Don't look at your
mother!" he growled. "Either you could do it, or your brother and I will.
However, I cannot guarantee that he will live if we were welcome him. With you,
there is a chance of survival. Do you understand me?" he whispered into Ron's
ears, satisfied by the nod of the boy's head. "Good." And with that, he
forcefully pushed his son toward their newest employee, sighing as Knox
clumsily tripped over his feet.
Slowly, he stood before William whom kneeled in front of him, the two staring
at each other in a dance of abhorrence and terror. Ron wished he could tell the
man something other than "I'm sorry" and beg for forgiveness, but the apology
would be meaningless—if not insulting. With a frenzied heartbeat and a sharp
intake of breath, he raised his unsteady arm behind him and snapped it forward,
the whip making contact on the first strike.
On hands and knees, William hissed through clenched teeth at the first lash—his
skin slicing open, the fresh wounds separating wider with each strike. He tried
to bite through the pain, only grunting with every repeated lash; his glasses
tumbled to the ground, the blows lurching his body forward.
Knox winced as he plundered the man's frail body. All sound, except the whip
and the birds overhead, faded into the background. He watched blood flow down
the new servant's back with visions of enthusiastic crows swooping to ravage
the torn flesh from the open, gushing wounds under the hot sun flooded his
mind. Agonizing screams joined the birds' and whip-cracking's duet.
A warm liquid trickled down Ronald's pant leg, pooling in his shoe. His head
began to swim as the nauseating sounds ratcheted in his skull. When he felt
like he couldn't strike another blow, a firm hand gripped around his wrist,
causing him to look fearfully at his father.
"That's enough for now," the Head of House declared, removing his hold on his
son's wrist.
Ron's arm went limp, the whip sliding out of his grasp and dropping to the
ground covered in splashes of blood. The blond looked down at his victim whom
laid on his side, his body racking with painful sobs.
"I should've had a-go," Alois grumbled, figuring the man could have handled a
bit more.
"Give Spears his glasses and take him to the infirmary. Ronald will treat him
there," instructed Claude, concluding the ceremony. Without a glance at Knox,
he walked to the manor with Alois sauntering behind.
Quickly, Alana walked over to Ron and pulled him into a tight embrace. Without
hesitation, he slumped into her arms and put his head on her shoulder, crying
into the crook of her neck. To try and comfort him, she rocked him back and
forth, rubbing small circles against his lower back to soothe his nerves.
"It'll be alright, honey," she whispered. "I promise."
===============================================================================
Despite blurred vision, William saw a pair of black boots step into his line of
vision, shielding the sunlight from his eyes. Flecks of dust were kicked into
his face, forcing a cough from the back of his throat; he hissed as the mineral
found its way into his mouth. The person above him squeaked, letting out a tiny
wail.
A young boy with large, turquoise eyes dropped to the ground, frightfully
looking at him. "Are you alright, Mr. William!"
Will opened his mouth to assure the strawberry-blond haired boy that he would
be fine, but only managed to dry heave in response. Instinctively, Finnian
reached out to place a hand on his shoulder in what should have been a gesture
of comfort. However, William belted out a loud, gut-wrenching groan when the
boy gripped him with a strength no mortal oughtn't possess. As quickly as he
tried to comfort him, he snatched the hand away and burst into tears. "I'm so,
so sorry!" he wailed, both hands covering his eyes.
Another man walked alongside Finnian and crouched beside him, his lips
twitching into a frown. "You didn't mean it, Finny," assured Bard, a cigarette
bobbing at the corner of his mouth. "Let's get Mr. William to the infirmary."
Once he nodded in agreement, Baldroy picked Will's glasses up with the
intention of putting them in Finny's care, but thought better of it. Instead,
he folded the stems of the spectacles and tucked them at the top of his apron.
Raising a hand, he scratched the back of his head and looked down to the beaten
man on the ground, feeling somewhat uncomfortable with the situation. "Mey-Rin
should be back soon with something to carry you to the infirmary," the
Phantomhive chef sighed. On cue, the Phantomhive maid came running toward them
from the sickroom.
"Bard, Bard! I have it!" she called out, haphazardly carrying a white cloth
stretcher nestled between her arm and torso. Baldroy waved his arm above him to
beckon her in their direction. Mey-Rin made it to the three men, huffing from
exertion as she placed the stretcher on the ground, dust billowing up from the
impact. She pushed it close to William's front to roll him on the stretcher;
stomach down.
"Me and Finny are gonna turn you over," Bard informed the bloodied brunet.
"It's gonna be a bumpy ride."
William softly grunted, offering only a nod of his head. His yellow-green eyes
closed and he drew in a deep breath, bracing for the pain. No amount of
preparation could prepare him for what came next. Although the three servants
were careful not to add further injury to the tender wounds, Will let out a
curdling scream—every inch of his body shivering. The briefly clotted wounds
reopened and blood trickled along his skin, following the curvature of his
muscles. Beads of perspiration flowed down his face, the sweat pooling in his
eyes. The immense pause caused him to suck in heavy gasps, but before he could
take control, he blacked out, regaining consciousness shortly later.
"Sorry," Bard mumbled beneath his breath as he stood, scratching the back of
his head. He moved out of William's sight, which caused a stream of bright sun
to shine in his face, adding insult to injury as he hissed.
"Eh, Finny, can you give Will your hat?"
The gardener flushed at the question and his feet shuffled from side to side as
he twiddled his thumbs. "M-My…" Finnian looked at Baldroy and subtly pointed to
the tattoo on his neck.
With a thoughtful hum, Baldroy grabbed the goggles around his neck and pulled
them off, offering the eyewear to the small boy. "How about you take these?"
Finnian beamed with child-like wonderment and removed his hat, exchanging it
with the googles. "Thank you, Bard!"
"I'm gonna put this over your face to keep the sun out," the chef assured
William, whom nodded in approval. With the hat settled over his face, Bard
walked to the head of the stretcher and kneeled to grab the handles—Finnian at
the other end. Together, the two lifted it as gently as possible and, with
cemented grasps and footing, the three Phantomhive servants made their way to
the Faustus infirmary.
"I wish the young master had arrived before this happened," sighed Finnian. "Do
you think he would have stopped it, Mr. Bard?"
"I think he would've if he could've," the chef replied, focused on his steps
onward.
"I hope Mr. Knox can patch him up, I do," Mey-Rin voiced, blushing as she
thought of the other man.
"You seem to be liking that one, Mey," Bard pointed out, taking a wide step to
avoid a hole in the path. The sudden movement made William jostle to the side,
but thankfully, he remained on the stretcher. Still, the blond apologized at
the pained grunt.
Upon hearing the chef's words, a rush of blood burst from the maid's nose.
Quickly, she slapped a hand over it to catch the coppery fluid. "N-no!" she
squealed in protest, her red cheeks darkening. "He said he's studying to be a
doctor, is all!"
"I'm just messing with ya," Bard laughed.
Underneath the straw hat, hidden away from suspicion, William rolled his sore
eyes as he listened to the conversation.
===============================================================================
Hours later, William awoke only to be greeted by nightfall. He was unable to
recall the arrival to the infirmary, nor when he received medical attention.
Had he blacked out again?
The raven-haired reaper gently shifted, able to feel the bandages on his back.
Albeit sore, he moved his arms to pillow his stiff neck and looked to the side,
spotting his precious glasses on a tray. With great effort and fumbling about,
he finally grabbed hold of them to slide back onto his face. When his vision
adjusted, he realized there was a strange object next to his pillow. Closer
inspection told him it was a pen, but at that moment, a warm glow appeared to
scrawl across his forearm. The familiar, sloppy penmanship covered his skin in
glowing ink and he squinted, leaning in to read.
"I'm sorry."
The Dispatch Supervisor closed his eyes, sighing an exhausted moan. What could
he say? To form words was a difficult feat, but an even worse task to actually
write on his skin once the apology disappeared.
"It was necessary. I'll be fine."
In his dark room, Ronald sat on the bed, his legs crossed and still dirty from
the ceremony. He hadn't bothered to change his clothes, nor had he entertained
bathing despite the fact he urinated himself. Shaken, he stared at his arm,
biting at his lip as he watched William's response paint his own skin with the
green ink. Once the message faded, he pressed the pen against the underside of
his forearm.
"Please don't make me do it again, Will." He scrawled in return.
"I'll try my best. It wasn't pleasant, but as I said; it was necessary."
Tears started to slide down Ron's cheeks as the visions of William bleeding and
screaming swam behind his closed eyelids. Will laid, waiting for the blond to
reply, but after minutes of silence, he sensed his lover was crying.
"I've missed you." The glittering letters appeared one by one on the younger
reaper's arm.
"It's been a while, I'd hope you'd miss me a little." Once the slate cleared,
Ronald added, "I missed you, too."
William smiled at the response, though it turned into a mischievous smirk.
"What are you wearing, Mr. Knox?"
"Clothes."
"Would you kindly stand by your window and take off said garments?" William
rarely instigated flirtation, but he was willing if it would lighten the
blond's burden.
The young man's cheeks burned, but he hastily replied. "I really hate you.
Instead of teasing me, don't you have healing to do?"
"The constant reminder of your hatred for me is why I love you so." William
could feel Knox's eyes rolling. Pushing up his glasses, he looked out the
opened window before him. It was unnaturally dark outside, the moon barely
visible despite minimal clouds in the sky. A soft breeze filtered through the
window and brushed through his dark hair, earning a content sigh. He was
grateful for the chilly wind that kissed the abused flesh across the expanse of
his back, yet he frowned once he noticed the conversation had ceased yet again.
"Are they treating you well?"
Ronald chewed his lip, unsure of how to reply. He could be honest, but the
thought was fleeting. The truth would create unnecessary drama when there was
more than enough to deal with on their plates. Lifting the collar of his dress
shirt, he tried to hide the bruise on his neck and scribbled a half truth on
his arm. "Claude and Alois are creepy bastards. We're constantly being watched
by Alois and the Faustus servants. It sucks, but we've had to come up with ways
to communicate. Other than that, I'm fine." Hopefully, Will wouldn't reap him
later.
"And Mr. Humphries?"
William pushed at the bridge of his glasses as a new answer appeared, squinting
at the small text. "The transformation is hard on him. Alan hides it, but I
know he's tired and the Thorns aren't helping. I do my best to get him away
from Claude so he can rest. It doesn't happen as often as it needs to."
"Miss Sutcliff?"
The question made the Junior Office pause. Already, he told a half truth, but
he hadn't the slightest clue how to explain the situation with Sutcliff.
"Something is wrong, Will. I mean seriously wrong. Grelle won't tell me what's
happening and she tells me everything."
"Officer Sutcliff is a highly capable Shinigami."
"Yeah, but you just got here. I've never seen Grelle like this before. I
wouldn't bring it up if I wasn't worried." Ronald hissed once he realized the
tip of the pen was digging into his skin—a sign of his frustration and concern.
"I'll speak to her as soon as I'm able."
"No… We need to send her back to Headquarters."
"Dispatch may not let her abandon the investigation."
"Then we fucking send her off with Undertaker! I can't sit here anymore and…"
The words stopped appearing mid-sentence, notifying him that Ronald had stopped
writing. He was about to urge him on, but a bolt of light flashed through the
sky. It was so bright, he had to shield his eyes from the blinding white shine
that lit up the entire forest ahead of him. Cinematic records shot above the
canopy of the surrounding trees and swayed in the air.
"Oh shit..." the blond muttered as he flew off the bed and ran to the window,
jumping out only to silently land three stories below on the soft grass. He ran
toward the tree line as fast as his legs enabled him, not leaving a sound or
trail in his wake.
As Ron sprinted, he summoned his temporary scythe: a Corona Machete. From the
corner of his eye, he caught sight of the demon butler jumping overhead,
silverware tucked between each of his fingers. Both were prepared to strike.
***** Chapter 2 *****
On the ground, the blond reaper sprinted through the rustling greenery toward
the white light brightening the center of the clustered trees. Ronald Knox
hissed as the low hung branches snapped against his limbs and bushes riddled
with jagged thorns ripped through his clothing, snagging his perspiring skin.
Panting raggedly as he ran, the young agent gracefully hurdled over thick
roots, fallen trees, and dirt banks. But regardless of his impeccable speed and
agility, the terrain proved only to slow him down. He admonished himself for
assuming his chosen route wouldn't hinder his journey; his misplaced judgement
may have given the culprit additional time to flee.
In fear of the malefactor escaping yet again, Knox considered reaching for his
smaller blade scythe and throwing it—the knife would get there before either
pursuer did. Nevertheless, the demon butler was flying above and he couldn't
risk the chance that Michaelis may get ahold of the little weapon. Ergo, the
blond made a split second decision: he grabbed onto the nearest branch and
hoisted himself up with a grunt, the tree limb creaking under the pressure. He
nimbly hopped upward until he burst through the canopy's surface. Ron swiftly
leapt from one tree to the other, each footstep barely touching their tops as
he darted forth.
Moments later, the two chasers reached the inner rim of the encircled open
space. Sebastian landed on a tree top, then propelled himself into the sky,
with his right arm across his torso. He whipped it forward, his white-gloved
fingers releasing the silvery cutlery into the white beam. Meanwhile, the
younger man stealthily dropped to the ground with his Corona machete at the
ready, preparing to throw it as he closed in on the suspect.
Suddenly, the lucent light went out in a blink of an eye resulting in both men
missing their opportunity; their target had vanished. Michaelis' knives whizzed
through the cloud of smoke that was left behind, the expensive pieces lodging
themselves in an impressive tree trunk across the way. Ronald skidded to a halt
to prevent himself from being immersed in the billowing pollution. He coughed
and waved the offending fumes from his face. A light wind picked up and carried
away the remaining wisps of smoke within the encircled clearing. The previously
dimmed moon miraculously brightened, shining down upon the area as if it were
an immense spotlight illuminating the abandoned display.
The blond-black haired Shinigami hesitantly approached the scene; his yellow-
green eyes snapped shut. An infuriated groan burst passed his lips as he drove
the tip of his scythe into the hard ground with due frustration. He took in a
deep breath and slowly exhaled it through his nose in an attempt to calm his
pounding heart. Once his nerves had settled down, he opened up his eyes and let
out of heavy sigh. He pulled the scythe from the ground and banished it.
"That's quite unfortunate," remarked Sebastian, his tone apathetic as he
casually strolled past the reaper, making his way over to the trees where his
silverware was embedded.
Ronald jumped as the butler spoke—the accompanying demon had slipped his mind.
He glared at Michaelis' retreating form, his eyes portraying the evident
disgust as he watched the man nonchalantly step over the deceased. Ignoring his
tasteless comment, Knox closed the remaining gap between he and the small
corpse directly sprawled in the center of the clearing. He withdrew an orange
handkerchief from his trousers' pocket and covered his mouth and nose, hoping
to block the scent from assaulting his senses. Ron crouched down next to the
body, scanning it from head to toe.
A little girl, who appeared to be no older than seven years old, lain on the
cold ground in a pastel yellow nightgown. Her arms were outstretched on either
side of her torso. One leg was bent at the knee in an unnatural angle as if it
had been repeatedly broken and left to improperly heal; the other, straight.
The bairn's long silvery blond hair was fanned above her head. Her lifeless
icy-blue eyes were wide open, their expression conveying the fear she must have
felt before her life was taken away. The purplish-blue, oxygen deprived lips
were agape as if she were screaming. The victim's body glowed and then dimmed,
pulsating like a heartbeat slowly fading. When the light finally diminished, it
left behind a ghostly pale visage on the young departed.
The light breeze returned. It whipped the innocent's silky hair into her face
and across her neck. With added precaution, Knox removed each displaced strand,
wary of how much he touched the corpse. Once her throat was uncovered, he
leaned in for further inspection. There were scorch marks wrapped completely
around it as if she were strangled by two pieces of intertwined rope. The skin
was scorched with faint wisps of smoke protruding from the tears, carrying with
them the distinct scent of burning flesh; Ronald gagged at the smell. The
ravaged wounds were tattooed with abundant flecks of glittering gold.
Standing up, the young agent took a few steps back. He cocked his head to the
side and zeroed in on the burnt grass. A perfectly sized shape encased the
child within a charred circle; both hands and the single foot were seared as if
they were attached to circle, completing the shape. Ron tore his attention from
the marks on her flesh and focused it on the long cut in the middle of her
chest; her cinematic records were reeling into the sky. Normally, only a
Shinigami would be able to see its contents. However, the girl's records were
playing at a snail's pace. Knox figured even a mere mortal may be able to see
what was on each frame.
Ron turned his back on the victim and walked over to Michaelis, who was
standing a fair distance away. He stopped and stood by the demon; an
uncomfortable silence settled between the two men. A few minutes later, it was
broken by the soft beating of wings overhead. Ron looked up at the cawing
ravens that flew into the trees, jostling the green leaves from their branches
as they settled on them.
"Sebastian…" said Ronald, his words apprehensive as he spoke.
"Yes?"
Knowing what needed to be done, he quickly weighed his options: should he get
William and leave the body with the butler, or should he stay behind and send
Michaelis to fetch his senior? Either way, it required that he ask a demon for
a favor. He mentally grimaced at the thought.
"Can ya get William from th' infirmary?" he asked, nervously rubbing the back
of his neck. The action forced him to hiss at the pressure and friction from
his hand—he had forgotten about the bruises around his throat.
Sebastian tilted his head to the side, his dark hair falling over his red eyes.
He smiled sardonically with a hint of elation. "As you wish," he replied,
bowing low with his right hand on his chest.
Without another word, the Phantomhive butler turned in the direction of the
infirmary and with rapid grace, he vaulted over the forest canopy.
===============================================================================
After the light in the woods had disappeared, William returned his attention to
his arm, scribbling anything that came to mind that would urge a reply from the
blond reaper. He cursed loudly when he received nothing in response, despite
his multiple attempts to reach the young man. Spears let out a grunt, his
hand's grip around the little pen tightening as his frustration grew.
Just as the Dispatch Supervisor pressed the writing utensil against his arm
once more, he heard the faint rustle of clothing. The vein in his temple
throbbed and his mouth set in a frigid line as he sensed the identity of the
new presence.
"Demon," hissed Will, his tone venomous.
The sound of well-polished, black dress shoes clicking on the white laminate
floor approached William; it grew closer until it stopped at the head of the
bed. Spears looked up at the butler standing tall before him, his white-gloved
hands clasped behind his back.
Sebastian looked down at the injured Shinigami with a smile bright with
amusement. "The blond reaper sent me to collect you," he informed the man on
the bed, his voice elegant and dignified.
"And why would he ask such a thing?"
"I presume he thought it best he stay with the body of the dead child," replied
Sebastian. He migrated to stand next to the bed, William's eyes following his
every footstep. "Due to your injuries, I'll have to carry you to the forest."
Albeit choosing to not leave the demon unsupervised with the child was the most
logical and wisest decision Knox had made, he still loathed the necessity of
procuring assistance from a lowly demon. He forced himself to reason with the
situation. Will knew the boy wouldn't have sent Michaelis for him if their
associates had been with him. Despite that knowledge, William's teeth clicked
together in annoyance. He made no motion to move.
Sebastian cocked his head to the side and intently stared at the silent reaper,
their eyes connecting with shared disgust. "Perhaps I shall leave you here and
return to your adorable little husband. He has been quite lonely here without
you, after all." His eyes glowed a crimson red, his smile twisted and charming
as he taunted the injured reaper. "I think he could use a comforting hand and a
warmer bed…especially after the things Claude Faustus does to him."
Spears' left eye twitched and his hands clenched into tight fits, his white
knuckled fingers cracking under the pressure. The pen caught in his grip
snapped cleanly in half. "Must I warn you to stay away from him?" Will growled
through gritted teeth. "And what of Faustus?"
A soft chuckle escaped Sebastian's throat. "Worry not, reaper. I'm under orders
from my master to not harm you nor your associates in any way during this
investigation; no matter how delightful either would be," he mocked dryly,
rolling his eyes as he waved the threat away. "As for the head of household, I
believe you shall see soon enough."
He reached into the pocket of his black vest and pulled out his silver watch.
It was getting late—he needed to get back to the Earl. "Shall we be on our
way?" he asked, closing the pocket watch with a click before returning it to
its place.
Reluctantly, the supervisor nodded his head. His movements were slow and
agonizing as he carefully rolled onto his side and pushed himself up into a
sitting position. Will cracked his neck from side to side and let out a low
groan. He pushed up his glasses and looked at Sebastian. "I suppose it would be
prudent for you to carry me on your back," he surmised, sighing with defeat in
regards to his bruised ego.
Michaelis turned around and crouched down. With whatever pride and dignity he
possessed at that moment, William wrapped his arms around the Phantomhive
butler's shoulders, his legs around his waist. Sebastian hooked his arms
underneath his thighs, smirking at the painful sound that expelled from the
reaper's throat as they sped out the door.
===============================================================================
Back at the scene, the blond Shinigami paced back and forth alongside the ring
of dead grass, the black sod crunching under his footsteps. His nerves were
riddled with anxiety. With one hand, he scratched the top of his head and
chewed the thumb nail on the other. He spun around to walk along the circle in
the opposite direction.
Feeling an increase of energy in his surroundings, Knox stopped in his tracks
and looked in the direction of the portal opening before him—out stepped
Othello and Alan, the portal closing quickly behind them. The two reapers made
their way over to the young man.
"Hey guys," said Ronald with a small wave. Othello strolled up to him and held
his palm in the air, silently asking for a high-five; Knox responded to the
gesture by slapping his hand. Alan, who was free of disguise, greeted him with
a kind smile.
Othello looked at the victim, letting out a long whistle as his eyes swept over
it. The forensic scientist pulled out a blue latex glove from his white lab
coat and put it on his right hand, the stretchy material snapping against his
wrist as he did so. He approached the little girl and crouched down with his
elbows on his knees. Othello took hold of her chin and gently moved her head
from side to side, inspecting her throat. He let go and sighed.
"Just like the others," he remarked, his voice morose. He ran his left hand
through his dark hair. He gazed up at Ron. "Where's everyone else?"
Ron flinched uncomfortably at the question. "Sebastian and I arrived first.
Since you guys weren't here yet, I uh…had to send him to get Will."
Othello's eyebrows shot to the sky in disbelief. "I bet the boss loved that,"
he surmised. He stood up and walked over to stand next to Alan, his slippers
sinking into the grass as he took his place.
"Have you called for the Undertaker?" asked Alan.
Before the young agent could answer, his eyes caught sight of Michaelis flying
over the tree canopy with William clinging to his back. The three reapers
watched as Sebastian gracefully landed in front of them. He abruptly let go of
William, leaving him to haphazardly stagger backward. Ronald rushed over to
William to catch him before he fell to the ground. The brunet let out a pained
groan as the blond wrapped his arms around his waist in an effort to hold him
up. "S-sorry, Will," he stammered, his face flushing with guilt.
Will hooked his arm around his young spouse's shoulders to steady himself,
grimacing as he felt the bandages on his back shift. "It's alright, Ronald,"
the brunet assured him. He cupped his hand behind the boy's neck and yanked him
into a kiss. He heard a faint, distressed whimper accompanied by a hand to his
wrist as he held his lover in their small embrace. Will removed his lips from
Ronald's. "What's wrong?" he asked, his stoic mask slipping to reveal a faintly
quizzical and worried expression.
"N-nothing," answered Ron as he pulled the older man's hand from his neck. He
bit his lip, refusing to meet his eyes.
The supervisor's brow furrowed with confused suspicion as he watched Knox sway
uncomfortably from one foot to the other. William's gaze meandered to Ron's
shirt and he tugged on the collar. He gently tilted his head to the side so he
could study his neck under the moonlight. Spears looked at his husband, whose
cheeks steadily darkened under his scrutiny. His eyes flicked over to
Sebastian; the demon was standing nearby, his white-gloved fingers covering his
mouth in a lazy attempt to hide his obvious smirk. William reexamined his
companion's throat, his cold glare zeroing in on a distinct handprint. His
fingers curled in the fabric of Ronald's shirt. The blond looked up at him.
"I'm fine, William," insisted Ronald, hearing the man's knuckles crack. The
brunet's eyes connected with his abashed ones. "I promise," he added with a
small, timid smile.
Despite the lie, William let go of his husband's clothing. He kissed his
forehead and placed his hand on Ron's warm cheek, caressing his thumb along the
smooth skin in a loving gesture. He pressed a soft kiss to his lips and moved
to greet the two reapers.
"How are you feeling, Humphries?" William asked as he limped over to the
smaller man, Ronald in tow. "Have you experienced any attacks?"
Alan held out his hand to greet his superior. "I'm alright, Mr. Spears. I
haven't had an attack for a couple of weeks. Thankfully," he answered as the
two of them shook hands. "Is Eric ok? I haven't heard from him."
Will summoned his scythe. "Now that I've been sent to assist you, Slingby has
taken on a lot of responsibility as temporary supervisor. But I think he'll do
quite well with his new duties." As he spoke, he pulled out a long scroll of
paper from the glowing blades of his pruning shear—the paper rolled back up
when it was removed. "He asked me to give this to you." William handed Alan the
letter, who gladly accepted it.
He took a step closer to the smaller reaper. "Has Faustus been treating you
well?" he inquired, his voice calm as the bruises around his lover's throat
surfaced in his vision.
"Yes," nodded Alan. "Our 'marriage of convenience' is working far better than
I'd hoped. We only see each other for appearance's sake. He hasn't slept in the
same bed as me after the first week we arrived, so I haven't had to stay in
disguise during the night."
"Wait," piped up Othello, cocking his head to the side, "Faustus hasn't been
sleeping with you?"
Alan shook his head. "No. He sleeps in the small adjoining room."
"That's odd…" Ron stated, turning to look in the direction of the manor. "Why
would he do that?" He scratched the top of his head, his mind wandering in
confusion. A few silent minutes had passed before he peered over his shoulder
at his fellow reapers. "Where's Grelle?"
===============================================================================
The light of a half-melted white candle lodged into a tarnished brass
candleholder illuminated the hallway leading to the servants' quarters. On
tender and chafed feet, Grelle Sutcliff slowly made way to her meager bedroom,
inordinately excited for her aching joints to find relief after another long
day. Passing a few doors abuzz with the soft snores of the Phantomhive
servants, she finally made it to her room. She swung open the creaking door and
stumbled inside. Grelle kicked off the plain, one-inch black high heels she was
forced to wear as soon as she crossed the threshold. An exhausted yawn escaped
her throat as she walked over to the wardrobe pressed against the wall on the
other side of the bed, lighting the candles on the small table sitting next to
it.
The crimson reaper opened the wardrobe and stared into the long mirror with a
cracked corner hanging on the inner door, taking in her ghastly appearance and
dull ensemble. She was dressed head to toe in her issued uniform. On top of her
head was a black head piece with white frills covering her once beautiful,
vibrant crimson hair, which was tied in a knot at the base of her head. Her
long sleeved, black dress was covered by a white frilly pinafore that spanned
the length of her outfit, tied in the back into a bow; a white Peter Pan collar
donned the neckline.
Grelle pulled the pin from her bun, allowing her long brittle, red locks to
cascade down her back; dull colored tendrils fluttered to the floor at her
feet. She brushed her hair over her shoulder and reached behind her neck to
begin unbuttoning her uniform. As she popped the button closest to the nape, a
knock tapped on her bedroom door. She closed her eyes and squeezed them tight,
a dreadful and pained expression on her face. She bowed her head to the
hardwood floor and silently whimpered. The tap on the door sounded again and it
creaked open, an intruder stepping over the threshold.
Slow, heavy footsteps walking with only one purpose strolled up behind her. One
hand wearing a white glove was placed on her shoulder, the other tilting her
head to the side. Grelle winced as dark hair fell over her neck, her skin
crawling as open mouth kisses were pressed along her skin. Beneath the dark
hair, golden eyes reflected in the mirror, staring into her yellow-green ones.
"Good evening, Mr. Faustus."
===============================================================================
"Well?" asked Ronald, swiveling to face the group. William stood there leaning
against his scythe while Alan and Othello stared at one another. "Have ya seen
her?" he snapped, throwing his arm in the air.
"She could be sleeping, Ronnie," offered Alan.
The young man let out a sarcastic huff. "Alan-senpai, do ya really think Grelle
would miss any sort of action?"
"No, but even Grelle has her limits. I'm sure she's just resting," the smaller
man insisted. He briefly glanced at his superior. "It's been a trying day for
all of us."
"But—"
"Ronald, after I'm assigned to my duties tomorrow morning, I will speak to
Sutcliff," interrupted William with a firm, authoritative tone, effectively
cutting off his husband's impending argument. "For now, we must tend to the
matter at hand. Is that understood?" He waited patiently for Knox to nod his
head in agreement. "Good."
Spears fixated his attention on the little girl laying on the ground. In an
effort to prevent his wounds from reopening, he utilized his scythe as a
makeshift staff, gingerly walking over to the victim. He beheld her tampered
cinematic records, taking in the pictures as they slowly played. His eyes honed
in on a particular frame—one that was frayed, causing the reels to repeatedly
skip at the altered section before continuing. "Call for the Undertaker," he
ordered. Will let out a deep, exhausted sigh and readjusted his glasses. "The
child has been laying here long enough."
The ravens perched in the trees flapped their wings in anticipation. Knox
glanced up at the birds and whistled the mortician's favorite tune—one that
always threw him into a fit of giggles, regardless of the reason for his
summoning. The birds cawed in acknowledgement and took off, their wings batting
the ovate leaves from the branches as they began their journey to the
Undertaker.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Months earlier
In mortal London stood a young man high upon the roof of a red brick building
overlooking a dim, dank alleyway cluttered with trash. Leaning against a
lawnmower with his elbow on its handle and his chin cradled in the palm of his
hand, the reaper watched a scurrying rat being chased by a stray cat hot on its
tail. A lopsided smirk twitched the corner of his lips when the hunter jumped
in a puddle of dirty water, screeching and hissing at the offending liquid as
it promptly jumped back, sliding in the mud in its haste to run away; the poor
thing lost track of its prey.
Now that the show was over, the bored Shinigami let out an exasperated huff of
air, blowing the blond fringe from his forehead as he continued to wait…and
wait…and wait for his mentor. He propped a foot on top of the body of his death
scythe and began impatiently tapping it against the metal. Ronald looked at his
silver watch and groaned when he saw the time.
"She's late," he grumbled through closed lips, his muffled voice laced with
annoyance. Knox placed his free hand on the lawnmower next to his elbow. One by
one he tapped his black-gloved encased fingers along the handle, his
frustration growing by the minute. Grelle had asked him if he'd like to join in
on her last reap of the day and told him to arrive an hour prior when he
readily agreed. The two reaps were set to happen in twenty minutes and the
woman was late! "Where th' fuck is she?" he asked aloud. The blond rolled his
bicolored eyes. Most likely shopping, he thought to himself, or fooling around
with that crazy mortician.
Ronald reached into the pocket of his black trousers and pulled out his mobile,
ready to place an angry phone call to the redhead when he heard thumping
footsteps approaching from behind. He glanced over his shoulder and watched as
Grelle hopped from one building to another, her chainsaw in one hand, the other
carrying a blue gift bag with a silver bow attached to one straw handle; her
signature red coat fluttered behind her. He straightened up and turned around
to face the incoming Crimson Death, scowling with one hand on his hip.
"Ronnie, darling~!" exclaimed Sutcliff, smiling brightly as she vaulted over
the last alleyway separating the two reapers. She sauntered toward the young
man and leaned in to kiss his cheeks, leaving red lipstick prints on each side.
"Where th' hell have ya been, senpai?" Ron complained, rubbing the makeup from
his face with the back of his hand. "Ya said you'd be here an hour ago!" He let
his arm fall to his side, loudly slapping it against his thigh.
Grelle shot him a scathing look, not appreciating the little brat's tone in the
slightest. "I was out shopping and got carried away," she explained, waving the
purchase in his face. She took a step back. "What do you think of my new look!"
she asked, twirling a few times. The elder reaper stopped and placed her
chainsaw over one shoulder and posed with a hip jutted out, holding up the
death sign; her lips spread into a wide smile.
Knox studied her body from head to toe. She was clad in skin tight black pants
and her white dress shirt was covered with a suggestively form-fitted brown
waistcoat. Grelle stood tall and proud in high-heeled, red and black boots that
went halfway to her knees. The red and white striped tie she usually wore was
transformed into an elegant bow situated off to the left side of her neck. Her
long crimson hair was fashioned into a high ponytail. Ronald silently thought
that if she had a riding crop instead of a chainsaw, she would have looked like
a colorful dominatrix.
"Ya look great. But are ya sure ya can work in that? It looks a bit—" he began,
but the compliment died on his tongue and his smile fell from his cheeks when
he noticed a particular part of her face. The blond Shinigami's mouth opened
and closed in shock. He raised a hand and pointed—a new outfit wasn't the only
change. "G-Grelle-senpai…" he stuttered, taking a step back, "what did ya do to
your teeth!"
Sutcliff waved his words away. "Oh honey, a beautiful lady can work in anything
and needs to look good while doing so!" she insisted, her grin widening and
brightening into a shark-fanged smirk. She clicked her teeth together. "Aren't
they fabulous, darling? Undie loves them!" she boasted and clicked teeth again.
A nervous laugh escaped the younger reaper's lips. He stared at the woman with
a slightly awkward smile and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yep!" he agreed with
a nod of his head, deciding it was best to go along with it not knowing what
the redhead might do if he were to disagree. Ron quickly turned away. He inched
closer to the edge of the roof and peered down into the alley in search of the
couple listed in the Death Book. "Let's keep out of trouble this time. I have
some things to do and I rather not get stuck with overtime, again."
As he voiced his desires, a man and a woman walked arm in arm on the ground.
Laughter floated from below when the man tripped over a discarded box; his
companion grabbed him before he could slip in the mud.
On her tiptoes, Grelle excitedly trotted up behind Ronald. She leaned in close
to his ear, her lips touching its shell. "Do one of those 'some things' involve
Willy…" she whispered in a sultry voice, her breath tickling the blond reaper's
skin. "…in bed, darling?"
A bright pink hue flooded Knox's cheeks and spread down his neck and up to the
tips of his ears. Yes. "Nope!" he squeaked, pulling on his loose black tie. The
coloring on his skin deepened when he felt his mentor's lips curve against his
ear.
"So Ronnie...how good is Willy in bed? I've positively been dying to know,"
Grelle teased.
The scarlet searing the boy's cheeks could've scorched the sun. He quickly
lifted his arm and pushed the ends of his jacket sleeve back from his wrist.
"Oh, look at the time!" he exclaimed, his voice scaling an octave as he checked
his watch. "Better get ready, senpai," warned the blond, leaning over the edge.
The crimson reaper stepped from behind him and stood by his side. "I'm always
ready!" she stated with a hand on her hip, her scythe on her shoulder.
Following Ronald's example, Sutcliff leaned forward to glance down at the scene
unfolding before them.
At one end of the alley, two men strolled toward the young couple; neither were
paying attention to the approaching attackers. The first was carrying a pocket
knife in his hand, repeatedly flipping it in the air and catching it by its
handle as he took a long pull of his cigarette. The other picked up an empty
brown beer bottle. He stood up and placed the bottle against the wall, scraping
the glass along the brick as he walked. The sound caught the couple's attention
and they stopped, staring warily at the men holding the weapons. Quickly they
turned around to walk in the opposite direction, only to find a third man was
creeping behind them. A terrified shriek burst passed the woman's lips as the
second man holding the bottle bashed it against the stone, cracking the glass
from the base of the bottle into sharp jagged ends.
Watching the gang attack the young man and woman—most likely for money—the
redhead squealed with delight as the blood of each was spilled onto the
cobblestone. Her eyes sparkled with excitement, listening to the helpless cries
and moans of the mortals dying below.
"Ronnie, would you like to make a bet?" Grelle asked gleefully, memorized by
the art left behind by the criminals. Red truly was the most beautiful and
seductive of colors.
Knox peeled his gaze away from their targets and regarded his senior carefully.
The logical part of him knew that if he did make a bet with her, he would most
likely lose—like every other time. However, the other housing his manly pride
always tempted him, telling him that one day he will beat his senpai, and will
finally be on her level. Against his better judgment, he nodded. "Alright. What
do ya have in mind?"
Grelle tapped her black-gloved index finger against her chin. "Hmm…" she hummed
in thought. A bright, wicked smile spread across her face. She picked up the
gift bag that was next to her feet and showed it to her apprentice. "If I win,
bring this to work tomorrow!"
Ron looked down at the bag with a confused look. "If I win?"
"We party from dusk till dawn, drinks on me!" she offered, knowing the boy
wouldn't be able to resist such a thing. He loved to party, after all.
Shouts of fleeing the scene were heard from the ground, the attackers knocking
over wooden boxes and smashing glass as they ran away from the murdered couple,
their pockets heavy with coin.
The blond Shinigami smirked. "Same bet?"
"Let's see who can collect the fastest," agreed Grelle with a fox-like grin.
She jumped down into the alley, landing gracefully like a cat next to the man
laying in a pool of his own blood.
Knox hopped onto his lawnmower and rode it down to the cobblestone ground,
landing alongside the woman. He looked at her and grimaced. Her throat was
slashed and judging by the angle of her neck, it was broken. Without a word,
Ron pulled the lawnmower's cord and his scythe roared to life. He pressed the
rotating blades on the middle of the deceased's chest and released her
cinematic records, his blond-black hair blowing about his face as the reels
whizzed by. A few seconds later, he turned off the gardening tool—the records
were collected and with a triumphant smile, he opened his Death Book. "Ha!
Looks like I won!" he beamed, stamping 'Complete' next to the woman's name and
picture. "Finally," he added under his breath.
Before he could say another word, a bag drifted to the ground and settled by
his feet. He looked down at the package, then gazed up from where it was
delivered. On the roof stood Sutcliff, waving at him with her scythe in a
'hello' gesture. The color drained from his face.
"Honey!" called Grelle, giggling. "Took you long enough!"
With profound reluctance—as well as feeling like an utter fool—Ron bent down,
grunting with one leg in the air as he picked up the bag containing whatever he
was to take to work the next day. He opened it and groaned. "Fuck," he
grumbled, beyond annoyed with himself for being tempted into such an ending.
"See you tomorrow, darling~!" said Grelle. She hopped to the next building,
gliding over Ronald's head on her way to see a particular sweetheart.
The young Shinigami childishly batted a hand in goodbye in whichever direction
the redhead was heading. He looked at one end of the alley, then the other in
search of any humans who may be walking in either direction; the coast was
clear. Using his death scythe, he created a portal and stepped through to
Shinigami London and walked back to Headquarters with his pride barely in tact.
===============================================================================
Grelle gracefully dropped to the ground in front of a large, beige, brick
building and straightened up, looking up at the sign reading 'UNDERTAKER'
situated beneath a skull. She let out a low, smitten squeal and wiggled her
hips with excitement at the prospect of seeing the handsome mortician. Sutcliff
pushed open the wooden door, the hinges squeaking and the bell above it
tinkling gleefully as she stepped through the entrance.
"Undie~!" the crimson reaper sang, closing the door and locking it behind her.
She sauntered into the dimly-lit parlor, her high-heeled boots clicking on the
floor as she walked toward a black coffin laying off to the side of the front
counter. Grelle shrugged her shoulders, letting the red coat slip off her arms;
she folded it and placed it on the table next to the funeral box supporting a
small lantern. She hopped up onto the casket and sat down, crossing her long
legs.
"Hiding from me, are we, darling?" she asked, tugging the black gloves off each
hand finger by finger, bobbing her foot. Once the gloves were removed and
tossed off to the side, the redhead reached behind her head and pulled on the
hair tie, allowing the silky crimson tendrils to cascade down her back. She
uncrossed her legs and unzipped the boots; both fell to the wooden floor with a
loud thump. Sutcliff glanced around the shop, calling for the older reaper
again—only silence answered.
Grelle opened her mouth to shout at the top of her lungs a few choice curses
directed toward her love, but before she could utter a word, she jumped and let
out a tiny shriek. The redhead glanced down at the makeshift seat with a
curious expression.
On the underside of the coffin, she felt the vibrations of something knocking
on the lid. Flashing a wide, sparkling smile, Grelle rapped her knuckles to the
beat of a little tune against the dark wood. The muffled sound of giggling and
the tapping of a song echoed her response. She hopped off the burial box and
turned around, lifting its lid.
A bare-chested Undertaker sat up and knocked off his long black top hat, his
silver hair sliding from his shoulders. "Hello m'lady," he said, smiling
brightly and playfully wiggling his fingers in a 'hello' gesture. He reached
out to lend a hand to the younger reaper, helping her climb into the casket.
Grelle straddled his hips and wrapped her arms around his neck; the mortician
placed his hands on her sides. "You didn't bring it, love?" he pouted, placing
a chaste kiss on her lips.
Grelle brushed the silver fringe from her lover's forehead and stared into his
yellow-green eyes. "I'm sorry. I made a bet with Ronnie while we were on a
reap. I couldn't resist tempting my junior," she explained as she ran a long,
red-painted fingernail along the scar across the older reaper's face. "But he's
a gorgeous boy. He'll make us both proud." She leaned in to press a soft kiss
against Undertaker's pale lips, tugging her red and white striped tie loose as
she did so. Once the accessory was removed, she gently pushed the man back onto
the soft, silk lining of the coffin.
The mortician returned the smooch, the sound of his lips smacking as she broke
the kiss and forced him to lay down. While she was sitting up, Undertaker slid
his hands up her sides and chest, flicking open the buttons of her brown
waistcoat. He unbuttoned the white blouse and began working on her lacy bra,
but was stopped when she placed her hand on his.
"I can do that, darling. Hand's up!" she ordered, dangling the tie above his
face. Smiling insanely, Undertaker lifted his hands and pressed his wrists
together. Sutcliff wrapped one end of the material around them and with her
half-bared chest hovering over him, she attached the other end of the tie to
the silver handle at the top of the casket. Grelle ran her lips down the length
of his arm, leaving a trail of red lipstick as she made her way to his ear. She
kissed his neck, nipping the pale, soft flesh. Sitting up, the redhead took off
her waistcoat and blouse, then threw them across the parlor.
"What do you have in store for l'il old me?" Undertaker asked huskily, his eyes
hooded and filled with lust.
Grelle bit her lip and smiled seductively, reaching behind to unhook her white,
lacy bra. She slowly slid the straps off each shoulder and haphazardly tossed
it away. "That's better, hmm?" she hummed and wiggled in the mortician's lap.
Her eyes trained on his, Grelle slowly slid down the length of Undertaker's
body, pressing kisses against his chest until she reached the waistline of his
black pants. The man watched her unzip them with a mischievous smile.
"Don't bite too hard, love," he muttered as she leaned to the side, blowing out
the candle in the lantern.
===============================================================================
Dropping his pen onto a stack of paperwork, William placed both elbows on his
desk and pressed his black-gloved fingertips against his temples. A soft groan
escaped his lips and his tired eyes closed as he tried to massage away the
headache that had formed with soothing circles. Slowly he reopened his eyes,
only to quickly shut them; his office lights seemed unnaturally bright,
increasing the pain shooting through his skull. Sighing, the supervisor forced
them opened again and carefully stood up, grabbing the empty mug from his desk
as he walked out of his office.
On his way to retrieve yet another warm cup of coffee, William covertly glanced
around at the other employees scattered amongst the numerous cubicles, mentally
taking notes of those responsibly completing their work, while the others were
engaged in various forms of nonsense that was deemed inappropriate under the
clock. As he approached the break room, he heard snippets of a conversation and
laughter flowing freely past the door. William strolled in to find Ronald
sitting on the counter chatting with Alan.
"You should know by now, Ronnie," Alan scolded in a light tone, giggling.
"Ugh," Ronald groaned in an exasperated tone. "I know...But she really has a
way of making me think—" the blond reaper paused, and turned his head toward
the entrance, watching his spouse enter the break room. He quickly stuffed the
prize from Grelle into the bag and slid it behind him. "Hey, Will," greeted
Ronald, rubbing the back of his neck. A pink hue dusted his cheeks.
Spears glanced at his young lover, taking in the embarrassed expression on his
face—clearly he wasn't meant to see something. Considering that the color on
Knox's cheeks was darkening by the second, he believed the situation most
likely involved some sort of an encounter with Grelle. Although he maintained
his stoic demeanor, the faintest trickle of amusement lightly sparkled in his
eyes and the sides of his lips twitched into a barely noticeable smirk.
Deciding to leave the matter unaddressed for the moment, William focused his
attention on the smaller reaper sipping his cup of warm brew.
"Good evening, Mr. Humphries. I hope everything is well?" he asked, holding out
his hand. Will looked Alan up and down, studying his appearance and complexion.
Alan's skin was still pale and gray circles donned his eyes. However, he
noticed there was a healthy blush on his cheeks. His brown hair appeared to be
strong and soft–much unlike its previous brittle and frail state.
Alan took his superior's hand in his own, and shook it in greeting. "Yes, sir.
I'm feeling much better," he said with a smile. "I was actually on my way to
see Othello, but I stopped when I saw this one," he pointed at Ron and his
bruised ego, "brooding in the corner." He went to take another sip, and upon
realizing that his mug was empty, he walked up to the coffee station for a
refill. Humphries turned to face the two reapers. "If you'll excuse me," he
asked, nodding his head before leaving the break room.
"Bye, Alan-senpai," called Ronald, waving at his retreating form. Exhaling a
long breath of air in the form of a soft whistle, the blond turned to William,
whom was massaging the bridge of his nose. "What's wrong, Will?"
"I'm quite alright, Ronald," he assured the younger reaper. The supervisor
placed his mug on the counter and reached for the coffee pot, pouring a
generous amount into the cup. He added milk and one cube of sugar. "I have a
slight headache, but it's nothing to fret over," he added, stirring his
beverage.
Ron leaned over and brushed a stray lock of dark hair from William's forehead.
A bright blush bloomed on the elder reaper's cheeks and he cast a covert glance
at the door.
"It's just you and me, Will," pointed out the blond, grinning at the coloring
on his older half's face.
"Yes, you're right," Will agreed. He took a sip of coffee, the pink of his
cheeks deepening as Ron continued to brush his hair back into place. He cleared
his throat and pushed up his glasses. "Have you finished your assignments?"
The young man hopped down from the counter and leaned against it, crossing his
arms and ankles. "Yep," he replied, emphasizing the 'p' with a pop of his lips.
"I was done with mine a couple of hours ago, but I joined Grelle-senpai on her
last reap."
"And how was that adventure?" questioned the brunet, his eyebrows slightly
lifting. He watched as his spouse shifted his stance in an effort to hide the
bag behind him. William momentarily considered asking about whatever torture
Sutcliff had in store for him, but he figured he would find out in the morning.
"Ah, well...ya know Grelle," Knox murmured, rubbing the back of his neck.
"I see," acknowledged Will, a faint trace of amusement flowing through his
usually monotone voice. He hid a small smile behind the rim of his coffee mug.
"A heads up: she's added a few new things to her wardrobe."
William placed his cup on the counter with a thump, the liquid sloshing against
its sides. "Dare I ask?"
Ron gazed up at William, biting back a grin. "Grelle sharpened her teeth. Now
she looks like some sort of shark. According to her, Undertaker loves them." He
wagged his eyebrows.
"Thank you for sharing that bit of unnecessary information," the brunet reaper
muttered, dropping his face into the palm of his hand. Will drew in a deep
breath, held it for ten seconds, and slowly exhaled through his nostrils. He
lifted his head and stared down at his lover. "I suppose I must have yet
another conversation with the woman in regards to her appearance. Between you
and Miss Sutcliff, I'm astounded I've managed to live this long."
Wholly aware that the older man had a point, and lacking in anything better to
defend himself with, Ron stuck out his tongue. Spears rolled his eyes.
"Anyway...are ya done for the day, or are ya stuck with overtime, again?" A
frown tugged at Ronald's lips, catching the slight change in William's
expression.
"Considering the endless pile of paperwork on my desk, I fear overtime is
inevitable," sighed William with regret.
Checking the time, Ron straightened up and turned to face Will head on. "Let's
get th' paperwork and go home. I'll help ya. Once we're finished, I'll make ya
some dinner."
Will raised his eyebrows. "Although I appreciate the sentiment of your offer to
make us a meal, I prefer to keep our home in tact."
"Hey! I resent that!" Ron shot back, playfully. "I'll have you know: I pour a
mean glass of water!"
A smirk flitted across the brunet's face. He placed a gloved hand on his
husband's cheek. "I apologize. Your skill at pouring said drink is superb," he
admitted, gently running his thumb along Ron's cheekbone.
The blond rolled his eyes at the sarcastic praise, but smiled brightly,
nonetheless. Ron popped up on his toes and placed a chaste kiss on William's
cheek. "I'm hungry, let's go."
"I should've known," muttered William under his breath as Ron stepped around
him.
Catching the man's words, Ronald slapped his rear. William gave a start, and
glared over his shoulder at the troublesome young reaper winking at him.
===============================================================================
Hearing a knocking sound on his laboratory door, Othello looked up and saw Alan
standing in the entrance.
"Hey, Humphries," greeted Othello, returning his attention to his clipboard. He
beckoned the smaller reaper with one hand; the other hastily scribbling notes
on the form he was filling out.
Alan crossed the threshold and walked toward the forensic scientist, his black
dress shoes clicking on the white laminate floor as he made his way through the
lab. He passed by numerous tables covered with microscopes of various sizes and
multiple chemistry stations. One station in particular caught his eye, and he
over walked to it. Attached to the stand was a 250 mL flask hovering about
three inches above a burner set to low heat. The liquid gently bubbling inside
the flask was a bright yellow; tiny puffs of steam floated from it. Alan leaned
in a bit and using one hand, he waved his hand above the flask, wafting the
strong scent of the fluid toward him.
"Smells good, huh?" marveled Othello, his wide smile dazzling and his eyes
sparkling with admiration over the scent. "I love bananas."
Alan looked over his shoulder. "It does smell nice," he agreed. He inhaled the
fruity aroma once more, then turned to walk in the direction of the forensic
scientist. The shorter reaper pulled out a gray-colored cushioned chair and sat
down. He held out his hand.
Othello shook Humphries' hand, his pen wedged between his ring and pinky
fingers as he returned the gesture. "How ya feeling?" He glanced over his
patient's form, noting the positive changes.
"A lot better. I have more energy and I'm holding down food, too."
"That's great," stated Othello with a smile, setting down his clipboard on the
desk. "Lemme show ya something." He pushed his chair back, the wheels squeaking
as he road it over to a table housing a beige and black microscope. Putting an
elbow on the table and cradling his chin in the palm of his hand, he glanced
over at the smaller reaper. "Before I show you this slide, have you noticed any
changes to the color of your veins?"
Alan nodded. "There are patches on some areas of the Thorns that are lighter."
Othello stretched out an arm and reached over to a box containing slides of
samples taken from Alan over time. He lifted the lid and chose the one marked
'#1' followed by the date, carefully sliding it onto the stage of the
microscope and securing it in place with the clips. Lastly, he clicked the
illuminator under the stage on, shining its light upward and through the glass
slide. The scientist made a gesture urging his fellow reaper forward.
Alan stood before the microscope, placing one hand at its base and the other
one knob on the tube. He looked into the eyepiece, adjusting both the course
and fine focus, the gears clicking until he was able to see the contents of the
slide.
Othello took a clear stirrer and carefully pointed at it. "This is the first
sample of the vein in your foot we took a few months ago."
Alan zeroed in on the slide, a small frown tugging at his lips. The color of
the blood vessel was an inky black, and under the lens, he could see that it
occasionally wiggled between the press of the two glass slides, expelling a
dark liquid as it moved. Humphries increased the microscope's focus and looked
at the fluid. Upon closer inspection, he saw black parasites rapidly slithering
through and around the vein. He glanced over at Othello, silently telling him
to show him another slide.
Gently, Othello removed it from the stage and returned it to the box. He
continued this process, showing Alan each sample taken over the months.
Finally, he placed the slide containing the most recent sample under the lens.
"This is from the same part of the vein we've been collecting from over the
months after that section healed. As ya can see, each one looks lighter than
the previous."
Alan looked into the eyepiece and saw that the vein was gray in color—no fluid
or parasites moving about. "It looks like the vein died, maybe? Or dehydrated,"
he commented, then looked up at the other reaper and pushed up his glasses.
Removing the slide, Othello put it back in its container and turned off the
microscope illuminator. He stood up and stuffed his hands into the pockets of
his white lab coat before walking to an adjoining room containing medical
supplies and equipment.
"Well, we know the Thorns are tiny parasitic records transferred from
hostiles," he said, looking over his shoulder at the shorter reaper following
him. Once the two men were inside the room, Othello pulled back a white curtain
and bade Alan to sit in the proper chair meant for blood collection. He sat
down on a small, round, backless swivel chair. He crossed his legs and bobbed
one foot, his slipper quietly tapping its bottom.
"As their host, they attach themselves onto your veins. Once hooked on, they
burrow in and slowly eat away at it, replacing themselves as the tissue at the
same time—hence the black marks and vessels. Then they grow and release some
babies into your blood stream. What we found for you is that they've multiplied
to the point where they have reached your pulmonary artery."
"Which is why breathing can be difficult at times," sighed Alan, "and my chest
hurts."
"Mmhm." Othello reached over to the tray containing a long plastic tube
attached to an encased needle . "What we don't want is the Thorns reaching your
aorta. So far, we've been lucky that they've passed through cardiac system
without latching on to anything," he stressed, opening a drawer and pulling out
three oblong vials, as well as a blue tourniquet.
"What does the gray mean?" asked Alan, watching Othello tug and stretch the
elastic band. He took off his black jacket and unbuttoned his white shirt,
removing his right arm from the sleeve. He placed it on the flat surface of the
arm-rest, and turned it over to expose the underside of his forearm.
"It's possible that the tissue is dying, which could mean the Thorns are
dying—or at least slowing down," he offered, tightly wrapping the tourniquet
around Alan's upper arm as Othello spoke. "It's a good sign that the color is
changing. Let's cross our fingers and hope for that nice, healthy veiny color,
eh?"
He put on white latex gloves, then pressed on a blood vessel, forcing it to the
surface. Once he was satisfied with the chosen vein, he ripped open an alcohol
wipe and sanitized the area above it. Othello uncapped the needle and pressed
it against Humphries' skin. "Big pinch!" he warned, and slid the needle in.
"What's Eric been up to?" Othello asked in an effort to distract Alan. He
connected a vial at the end of the tube in order to collect the blood slowly
flowing through it.
"Well...Things have been a bit strained between us," sighed Alan, watching the
blood pour into the vial. "I worry about being a burden to him. Eric insists
I'm not, but I don't want him to suffer because of me. I haven't told him about
what we're doing; I don't want to get his hopes up and then be disappointed if
this doesn't work out." He looked up at Othello with a sad look in his eyes. "I
feel it's best that we spend some time apart."
Othello peered at him over his glasses. "The intensity of his lovey-dovey is
actually a bit gross, but he loves you. He'd stay by your side no matter what
could happen, ya know that." He unhooked the full vial and shook it before
replacing it with another. "Let him be there for you. If ya really feel like
you should put some distance between you two, tell him—don't let him guess and
worry."
"I know he loves me and I love him, or else I wouldn't have married the
frustrating man," Alan laughed softly. "But you're right. I should try to
explain how I feel to him, even if the stubborn man doesn't listen." He cleared
his throat and readjusted his glasses. "Have you made a move on Grelle, yet?"
he asked, aiming to shift the focus of the conversation.
Blushing a scarlet red, Othello stared intently on the third vial filling with
coppery liquid. "Uh...no," he admitted. He removed the vial and shook it before
placing it on the tray. "I'm pretty sure she has no idea who I am—no matter how
many times we talk." He removed the needle and placed a piece of gauze on the
pin-sized prick in Alan's arm, tapping it in place. He pushed the chair back
with the soiled needle in hand, carefully disposing it in the red container
attached to the wall. He took off the gloves and put them in another disposal
container. "She's beautiful...and I'm probably not her type. Isn't she seeing
someone, anyway?"
Alan put his arm back in his shirt and began buttoning it up. "Actually, I'm
not sure. I could ask Ronnie, if you like. In the meantime, I think you should
talk to her. It wouldn't hurt to try, right?" he reasoned. He put on his black
suit jacket.
"Maybe I'll talk to her one day. Can't promise anything though." Othello stood
up and walked over to the sink to wash his hands. He snatched out a few brown
paper towels and hastily dried them.
"I believe you have a shot with her," declared Alan with an encouraging smile.
The forensic scientist shook his head, smirking.
"I'll run the test on the blood work and let you know what's up."
"Alright then," said Alan, shaking the other man's hand as a goodbye. "Enjoy
the rest of your day, Othello." He turned around and left the room.
A few minutes later, Alan stood outside Eric's office. He took in a deep
breath, slowly exhaling it through his nose to calm his rattling nerves.
"Eric?" voiced Alan, tapping on the partially open door. Not waiting for a
response, he stepped into the office and walked toward the Scotsman sitting at
his desk.
"Hey, Al," said Eric, gazing up at his husband. He put down his pen and leaned
back in his chair. He ran a hand through his blond hair.
Alan flashed a small, bashful grin. "Mr. Spears assigned me to a few simple
reaps this evening. Would you like to join me?"
An awkwardly surprised expression crossed Eric's face, which he promptly
covered with a beautiful smile. "Aye, I'll help ye," he agreed. The Scottish
reaper opened the desk drawer and shoved his paperwork inside. He stood, then
stepped around his desk and hesitantly held out his hand for Alan to take. A
sigh of relief escaped his throat when the smaller reaper placed his hand in
his own; he squeezed it gently as they walked out of the office.
===============================================================================
Half conscious in bed, Ronald rolled onto his back and groaned as slivers of
bright light from the ajar door shone against his closed eyelids. He reached
across to his partner's side in search of his warm body to cuddle against,
patting the bed only to find an empty space. The blond opened his eyes and
yawned, blinking the sleep away; he turned to the window to find it still dark
outside. Where was William? He turned to the other side and heard a noise: the
shower was running.
It was a struggle, but Ron managed to push himself up and throw both legs over
the edge of the mattress. With another yawn, he lifted his arms and stretched
his joints before standing to walk toward the bathroom door, his bare feet
slapping on the cherry wood floor. Opening it, he was instantly greeted by hot
steam filling the room. Pulling off his orange and white striped bottoms, Ron
tossed them in the direction of the hamper. He quietly slid the shower door
open and stepped in behind William, hooking both arms around his waist—resting
a cheek against his husband's back.
William jumped at the unexpected touch. He glanced over his shoulder, the water
running down the drenched brunet locks. "I'm surprised to see you awake at such
an hour," he remarked, turning around in his lover's arms, blocking the stream
of water from hitting him in the face. The young man looked up at him. William
ran a hand through the boy's wet hair, his stubborn cowlick remaining as it was
in a comical way. "I never thought I would see the day where Ronald Knox
willingly got out of bed on his own accord without kicking or screaming."
Ron lifted up his eyebrows. "It's pretty early, even by your standards." He
grabbed the soapy sponge in William's hand and used it to caress his chest,
washing his skin. With his opposite hand, he placed it on Will's shoulder and
gently massaged the tense muscle. "What's wrong, Will?"
William sighed, silently enjoying the sensation of his lover washing him. "It
seems my duties are getting the best of me lately. Sleep is harder to come by,"
he admitted.
"Ya can't keep working yourself into a second death," said Ron, lathering up
the sponge. "I can't help ya with everything, but ya know ya can give me some
of your paperwork. I'll take up extra overtime."
Will took the sponge and placed it on the shower caddy behind him, just to wrap
his arms around the blond's waist who draped his own around his neck. He placed
a quick kiss to the top of his head.
Ronald nuzzled underneath William's chin. "I can't have ya clockin' out on me,
Will. Who's gonna keep me in line and make sure I eat my vegetables, especially
th' green ones?"
"That is an excellent point," William muttered into his hair. He rubbed
soothing circles on Ron's lower back. "You do seem to be a danger to
yourself—and others—at times. I suppose it's, indeed, necessary to maintain a
close watch on your reckless ways."
Ron popped up on his toes and kissed Will. "Seeing as you're stuck with me,
you're the man for th' job."
"I wouldn't have it any other way," declared Will.
The brunet lowered his mouth to his lover's and kissed him again. He felt the
slow curve of a smile against his lips and he pulled Knox flush against his
body, cupping the back of his head with one hand. He slid his tongue into the
blond's mouth, the young man's tongue caressing his own.
Moaning, Ronald tightened his hold around the older man's neck, deepening the
kiss as he pulled him into the corner of the shower. William pressed him
against the white tile and broke the kiss. The older male dragged his lips down
his throat, nipping and suckling the damp skin. Knox caressed a hand down Will
chest and slid it between the press of their wet bodies, curling his fingers
around his lover's length.
William's breath caught and a low groan escaped his throat at the feel of his
companion firming stroking him. He lightly scraped his teeth along Ron's collar
bone and licked up his neck, capturing the blond's lips in a heated kiss. As
his tongue warmly wrapped around the other's, he reached into the caddy hanging
from the shower head and grabbed the small bottle of lubricant, popping it open
and squeezing a bit onto his fingers before putting it back. Ron lifted his leg
onto William's hip, bending it around his waist. Spears reached beneath the
younger man and entered him with a slippery finger.
"Ah!" gasped Ronald, his lips parting in a low moan as William's finger thrust
in and out of his body. He continued to stroke the elder reaper's hardened
shaft, his ministrations faltering when Will slid in a second finger, thrusting
harder and scissoring the digits inside him.
Increasing the force behind the thrusts, William curled his fingers and
massaged the little spongy lump on passing, drinking in the blond's lustful
cries.
"Will!" Ron panted, dropping his head back against the shower wall as his
spouse steadily pumped his fingers. His body jerking each time the digits
pressed on the spot that made his body sing.
With a final, firm rub on the younger reaper's prostate, William removed his
fingers and placed his hands on his hips. He pushed him up the wall and aligned
himself up with the prepared entrance.
His cheeks flushing brightly, Ronald slowly lowered himself onto the brunet's
erection, letting out a pleasurable gasp as took in his length.
Once he was completely sheathed inside Knox's tight heat, William groaned. He
buried his face in the crook of the blond's neck and began snapping his hips,
the force of his thrusts driving Ron up and down the tiles.
"Ahn!-Will!" moaned Ron, his cries mounting in volume as the man continued his
thrusts.
Shivers ran down William's spine as he listened to his lover's moans and cries
of pleasure bounce off the shower walls. He picked up speed, driving harder
inside the blond.
Spears wrapped his hand around Ronald's stiffened sex, gripping it tightly as
he stroked it in time with his quick and forceful movements.
"Oh gods, William! I'm g-gonna," Knox cried out, arching his torso against
Will's chest, the aching bliss of his climax spreading throughout his body as
his pent of pleasure spilled forth, coating his husband's hand.
Feeling the spasmodic pulsations of Ronald's climax clenching around his shaft,
William slammed into his body one last time before groaning into his neck, his
own orgasm striking him as he spilled inside the younger Shinigami. Panting,
Will lifted his head and pressed a soft kiss against the blond's lips.
Ron dropped his head onto William's shoulder, pillowing his cheek. "Talk about
a wake up call," he laughed.
"It was quite enjoyable," agreed the brunet, kissing the boy again. Sighing, he
eased himself out of Ron and gently set him back onto the shower floor. He ran
his hand through the blond and black hair. "Shall we take a proper shower?"
===============================================================================
Inside the lift, Ronald stared into the mirror, double checking the garment he
was using to coverup his outfit before he had to face his coworkers. In a hurry
to figure out how to survive the working hours with the least amount of painful
blows to his dignity, Knox chose William's longest black coat hanging in their
closet to "accessorize" his ensemble. It was a reach, but perhaps it would be
his saving grace for the day. He looked himself up and down, again. The blond
inwardly groaned and rubbed the back of his neck when he noticed that his
ankles were still showing—there was nothing he could do about it, now. He felt
like an idiot, but he had made his bed and if he knew what was good for him,
he'd lie in it willingly. The lift came to a stop when it reached the desired
floor and its doors slid open with a ding. With reluctance, the younger reaper
grudgingly exited the elevator, dragging his white oxford clad feet as he
walked down the hall toward William's office.
Heaving a sigh of relief at remaining mostly unseen by his fellow reapers, Ron
turned the corner and strolled into his older half's office, only to collide
into the back of whomever was standing in the room. He looked up and let out a
silent whimper–it was Grelle.
The woman turned around and smiled widely. "There's my sexy junior!" she
squealed, pulling the younger reaper into a tight hug and lifting him to his
tip-toes, oscillating him from side to side.
"Hey, Grelle-senpai," muttered Ron into her crimson hair, feeling a bit
nervous. As his mentor continued to smother him, he reached behind her shoulder
and moved the hair obscuring his vision, as well as the few strands in his
mouth, to the side. Behind Grelle, he could see Spears peering at him with a
questioning look—which was most likely aimed at why the boy was wearing his
winter coat.
Grelle put the Shinigami down and took a step back, placing her hands on
Ronald's shoulders. She quickly took in his appearance and opened her mouth to
comment on how handsome he looked, but it quickly snapped shut when she
processed what the boy was actually wearing. Sutcliff's lips set in a straight,
firm line and she glared down at her so-called best friend. "What are you
wearing, Ronnie?" she asked, her voice unusually calm.
The redhead's tone sent shivers down Knox's spine and he nearly trembled with
fear as his face drained of color. "Uh…well, 'cos I was kinda cold," excused
Ron lamely, praying his lie would save his life.
"It's spring, darling. How on earth could you be cold?" she reasoned, running
her hands along his shoulders, smoothing out the coat's material. Grelle curled
her fingers around the garment's lapel.
"I just woke up with a chill, is all," he responded, rubbing the back of his
neck. He gulped a little as a sinister smile spread along his mentor's face,
revealing her sharp teeth.
Grelle let go of the coat and took a step back, putting her hands on her hips.
"Take it off," she ordered, glaring daggers at the boy. When the poor sap made
no motion to move, she pounced on him and pulled the coat off of him, not
giving a damn if he kicked or screamed in protest. A bet was a bet and she
would collect her reward.
The blond Shinigami practically twirled as Grelle snatched the coat off of his
form, stumbling on his feet while he was spun around. Plagued with a small bout
of dizziness, Ron cautiously straightened up and his face blazed a painful
shade of scarlet.
William was in the process of taking a sip of his cooling coffee when the coat
fell to the floor; he choked and nearly spit out the liquid. He coughed away
the remaining coffee and swallowed thickly. He looked his husband up and down,
his eyes ogling his appearance. Ronald was dressed in a kimono that was short
in length—so short, in fact, the hems of his boxers were easily seen. The silky
fabric was a deep seductive shade of red, beautifully patterned with white
cranes and pale pink cherry blossom flowers.
"Ronald, what in the h-heavens?" he stuttered, waving his hand in an all
encompassing gesture. Leering at the blond, Will couldn't help but admit that
his spouse looked handsome and the colors complimented him quite nicely.
Suddenly, a faint blush dusted his cheeks, knowing that he was staring at his
spouse in a most inappropriate way. He cleared his throat and pushed up his
glasses, forcing certain imagery and desires from the forefront of his mind.
"Doesn't he look gorgeous, Willy!" beamed Grelle. She approached Knox and ran
her fingers through his hair, struggling to tame his wild curl.
Directly outside the office, a group of reapers strolled by and upon seeing the
youngest member of dispatch, threw catcalls and whistles in his direction.
"Looking good, blondie!" complimented one man, shouting the words at an
unnecessary volume. Ronald turned around and flipped him the bird.
"Don't ya fuckers have work to do?" he shot back, his cheeks darkening. The
group laughed as they walked away.
"As it so happens, the garment does violate the dress code, Miss Sutcliff,"
Spears interjected, figuring he should provide his young lover with assistance.
"It would hinder his performance on the field. Therefore, it would interfere
with soul collections." He pushed up his glasses before leaning forward,
placing his clasped hands on his desk. "I'll not hesitate to bestow upon him
additional overtime if he's unable to finish his assignments," the brunet added
apathetically, reminding both employees that he was not one to forsake in his
duties as a supervisor—no matter the party involved.
"Yeah!" agreed the blond, nodding profusely. "'Cos you're th' reason why I'm so
good, right? Plus, it could get ruined."
"If that were the case, Ronnie dear, you should be able to work in anything,"
Grelle countered, slightly rolling her eyes behind her red-framed glasses. "But
you're right," she sighed, "it could get ruined."
Knox flashed a bright, triumphant smile, thankful for the small miracle; the
grin vanished when the woman held up a finger and returned the smirk that told
him "not so fast, young man."
"To make up for lost time, you'll have to wear it when you're not on
assignment…for a week!" she announced.
"Oh, c'mon, Grelle-senpai!" the boy whined, closing his eyes and slumping his
shoulders. He dropped his head back and bounce, kicking the toe of his white
dress shoe along the carpet in a display of childish defeat.
Grelle shifted her weight to one foot, jutting her hip out and crossing her
arms. "Get over it, darling."
"Fine," huffed Ron. "But I need to change. I have a reap in about an hour." His
mentor walked up to him and ran her hand through his hair once more. She leaned
forward and placed a kiss on each cheek.
"Well, my darlings, I must be off!" she chirped. The red reaper turned around
and blew a kiss at William, whom promptly scowled in response to the
inappropriate gesture. With a wave, she left the office in a flourish, throwing
her hair over her shoulder as she sauntered down the hall.
Knox sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he watched the flamboyant woman
leave. He shrugged and went up to Spears' desk. He leaned against it, curling
his fingers around its edge. "My reap's a small gang war, so I'm gonna ask Eric
if he'd like to help," he stated.
Now that his companion was mere inches away from him, William was able to get a
closer look at the garment the boy was wearing. Before he realized what he was
doing, he slid a hand along the young man's exposed thigh. Ron lifted an
eyebrow and gazed at Will with sparkling eyes, a crooked smile donning his
face. The brunet quickly removed his hand and blushed. "Pardon me," he
breathed, feeling slightly perverse for doing such a thing in public. Lusty
fool, he chided himself.
It was tempting, but Ronald decided not to tease—there would be plenty of time
to do that later. "Ya wanna get lunch when I get back? I should be done by
then."
"Yes," nodded William, "that sounds like a fine idea."
Ronald leaned down, silently asking for a kiss. Will glanced at his office
door, making sure no lingering bodies were passing by. Satisfied with the
amount of privacy provided offered, he met his companion's lips in a chaste
kiss. "Do not do anything reckless," he muttered against the blond's lips.
"Nah, I'll be careful," Ron promised. He kissed William again and stood up to
walk out the door. Before he could fully turn around, however, he received a
firm slap to his bottom. He jumped in surprise and looked over his shoulder;
Spears had resumed filling out the paperwork on his desk, an innocent
expression on his face. Ron strolled toward the door, chuckling as he exited
the office.
===============================================================================
"How's Alan-senpai doing?" asked Ronald, leaning on the handle of his death
scythe.
Eric shifted his weight to one foot and put his saw against his shoulder,
placing one hand on his hip. "Well, he finally told me wha' he's been doin' wi'
Othello," Eric replied, running his free hand through his hair. "He said tha'
they've been doin' some injections tha' seem tae be helpin' at the moment. The
Thorns look like they're healin' over or slowin' down."
"That's good though, right?"
"Aye, it is. I jus' wish he woulda told me sooner, yeh know?" Slingby kicked
his foot against the flat surface of the roof they were standing on. "He said
he didn' want tae be a burden tae me or if somethin' goes wrong an' I'll be
left sufferin'. Such a stubborn thing," he sighed. "At least we finally
talked."
"Will he be going home?"
A bright smile spread along the older reaper's face. "Yep. He came home last
night."
Ron returned the man's smile and held his hand up. "I'm happy for you guys," he
said, slapping his friend's hand in a high-five.
"Oh…I forgot tae ask ye, did ye lose a bet tae Grelle?"
The boy's cheeks flushed a cherry red. "Yeah. Please remind me to never do it
again."
"I always tell ye!" reminded Slingby, playfully punching the blond in the
shoulder. "I didn' know yer legs were tha' nice," he teased.
"Oh shut up. You're just as bad as Grelle-senpai," grumbled Knox. "Always
torturing me."
Eric held up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, yer the one gettin' yerself in
tae trouble. Not my fault yer an easy target. Do ye remember the bet about
havin' tae wear only women's underwear tae work one day?"
"Ugh. How could I forget?" huffed Ron, rolling his eyes. He sighed and rested
his cheek on the back of his hand. "It was fucking winter time. Do ya know what
it was like being basically naked an entire day with only underwear to keep me
warm? 'Cos I sure as hell do."
"Everyone was stuffin' pound notes in tae the panties when ye walked by. I'm
surprised the secretaries didn' die seein' ye like tha'."
"I did get plenty of numbers that day. Will was totally pissed off," laughed
Ron. "At least we had plenty of drinking money."
Down on the grassy courtyard surrounded by building, multiple gangs ran into
the clearing, colliding with one another in a massive fight. The two reapers
listened to the shouts and screams of pain and death echoing in the enclosed
spaced as the humans drew knives and pistols. Before they knew it, the last man
had fallen. With a sigh, Ronald stood up and approached the edge of the roof.
"We better get going," he stated and jumped down to the ground, landing
soundlessly on the grass. He was quickly followed by Eric.
Each Shinigami went their separate ways, collecting the souls of nearly all who
had died. Those who lived had run away before the police could arrive.
"Well, that sucked," remarked Ronald, once they finished collecting about ten
souls. He walked toward Eric, wiping the sweat from his brow.
"Mhmm," the older blond hummed in agreement. As approached the younger reaper,
he stopped, catching movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked in the
direction of the movement, and saw a bright light in a dead-end alley.
"Ronnie," he called over his shoulder, "is there ano'er death listed in the
book?"
Confused, Ron quickly opened his Death Book and shut it, seeing no new names
listed in the area at this time. "No.."
Eric approached the alley and stopped in his tracks, his mouth agape. "Oi!
C'mere!" he yelled, waving his hand at the other man.
Jogging, Ron caught up to Eric and stood next to him. "Uh…what the hell?" he
murmured, rubbing the back of his neck.
On the ground laid a little girl with long blond hair, deceased; her records
slowly reeling. The two blonds looked at each other, both confused and
concerned.
"Are ye sure there aren't any more?" asked Eric.
"Yes, Eric. I checked," responded Ron.
"Alrigh'. I'll collect and ye watch my back?" Receiving a nod in agreement,
Eric cautiously walked up to the child and began an attempt to collect her soul
and cinematic records. He grunted as he tried to pull the reels into his
scythe, but they wouldn't budge. The older Shinigami ceased trying to collect
the reels and instead, moved onto her soul. Nothing.
"Ronnie...I think her soul's been collected?" Eric looked over at the boy, a
questioning look on his face. "But her records are still here. I keep tryin' to
collect 'em, but it's like they won' let go."
Before he could comment further, a loud noise echoed at the far end of the
alley, sounds of bottles smashing and wooden crates falling onto the
cobblestone. Shrill screeches and growls floated toward the two men.
"Wha' the—"
"Eric look out!" shouted Ron. He ran over to the other man and pushed him out
of the way; both rolled along the ground, crashing into stray boxes. They
quickly regained their composure and jumped to their feet.
Standing before them was a demon (most likely looking to consume souls of the
recently departed), akin to a giant lizard with long black claws and scales
that glinted red against its green body. It paced furiously back and forth, its
movements rapid and jerky. The creature opened its mouth, revealing sharp teeth
with foam dripping down them as it hissed and growled. Without another sound,
it charged at the two reapers.
Eric ran to one side, jumping on wooden boxes to move higher until he reached
the roof. Lifting his scythe, he dropped down and landed a blow against the
creature's back, slicing away at its scales. With a hiss and a shriek, the
demon slammed Slingby across his stomach with his tail, sending him flying to
the other end of the alley. He crashed into the trash, bits of glass and
splintered wood lodging into his skin.
Ron launched himself in to the air and ran along side the wall, his feet
stomping against the brick. He held the lawnmower up as he approached the demon
and, feet away, he pushed himself from the wall and twisted mid-air as the
scythe slammed into the demon's head. He watched it fling across the alley and
collide with the bricks that cracked and crumbled against the force, falling on
to the creature in heavy chunks.
The older reaper took the opportunity to run toward the demon, prepared to
execute it, but suddenly, it emerged from the debris and launched itself at
Ronald, snatching him by the neck. It hit the wall and skittered to the roof,
dangling the blond over the edge. Knox's scythe landed on the ground with a
crash, settling next to Eric whom quickly grabbed it. He made a move to go
after them, but stopped. The demon began to growl as if it were laughing, or
perhaps taunting Eric while it swung Ronald from side to side.
"Leave, Eric!" Ron shouted through the demon's grip around his neck. It
tightened its hold around his throat, cutting off his air supply. He pawed
desperately at its fingers, kicking his legs in the air. His heart pounded in
his chest.
"Go!" he began, but was caught off when the lizard demon yanked him against its
torso, knocking the air out of his body. It pushed him away, leaving him to
flail over the edge.
The demon screeched at the top of its lungs, the high-pitch sound of nails
scraping along a chalkboard pierced his eardrums; he felt the warm trickle of
blood leaking from his ringing ears. The lenses of his glasses cracked and
splintered, the sharp shards falling from the rims.
As the demon shrieked, it lengthened a claw on one hand and stabbed Ronald in
the back, piercing through his left lung. Using the other, it sliced open the
blond reaper's throat and raked its claws over his right shoulder and down his
back, the torn flesh collecting on the tips of its claws. Knox opened up his
mouth to scream, but his cries of agony were muffled as he gurgled on the blood
spilling from the wound on his throat.
"Ron!" yelled Eric, watching the spectacle from below, frantically searching
for a way to get his partner. Before he could come up for a solution, he
watched as the demon dropped him with a final screech.
Acting quickly, Eric sped toward the spot where Ron was doomed to hit and
opened a portal. He managed to snatch the blond by the wrist before he hit the
ground, the sound of the joint snapping as he whipped him through it.
Ronald landed on a street in Shinigami London, his body bloody, bruised, and
broken. He heard screams and shouts calling for help before he lost
consciousness.
Chapter End Notes
     Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it! :D
     Parasitic headcannon Javanne
***** Chapter 4 *****
William readjusted his glasses, returning them to their proper place on the
bridge of his nose. He clasped his hands together and placed them on his desk.
He peered at the two young ladies standing before him, his yellow-green eyes
icy behind his black-rimmed spectacles; his expression stoic and unreadable.

The Shinigami were rooted to the spot on the other side of their superior's
desk, practically cowering in his presence. Both were frantic—one woman's
bottom lip trembled and the other was on the verge of tears.

"S-sir, w-we..." clumsily stammered the one whose name was Janelle.

"Silence," commanded William, his voice firm and his tone relating to each that
he would not be argued with, nor would he accept any excuses.

Janelle swiftly snapped her mouth shut, her lip trembling with renewed energy.
She reached up into her long hair and began nervously twisting it with her
hands.

The supervisor watched as she continued to fidget; Janelle winced when she
twisted her long, brunet on magenta hair too tightly. Will inwardly rolled his
eyes. Undoubtedly the dye job was most likely in imitation of Ronald's natural
hair style. They had been married for decades, yet somehow the boy still
continued to accumulate a massive fan base. The elder reaper found it quite
annoying.

"Do you understand the seriousness—"

"Yes!" the one called Jessica interrupted, her voice shrill as she nodded her
head; the force at which she did so caused her glasses to bounce on her nose.

William's head whipped in her direction. "Do not interrupt me while I'm
speaking," he snapped.

Both women flushed with equal parts embarrassment and sheer terror. Well,
mostly out of terror. The tears that threatened to run down Jessica's face
appeared and she wiped at her eyes. Supervisor Spears was going to murder them,
she was sure. Would he give them time to say goodbye to their friends, or does
he plan to reap them on the spot?

"I do understand that you came into contact with a demon on your assignment. I
can also understand the emotions one would experience when they are faced with
a demon they have neither fought nor seen before." Spears pushed up his glasses
again, and the frigidity behind his glare solidified. "What I do not understand
is how the creature got its hands on one of your scythes and nearly got away
with it. Are you aware of the consequences if a demon so happens to procure a
reaper's death scythe?"

At that moment, Grelle had been sauntering down the hall toward her office, but
stopped when she heard the icy, stern words of William T. Spears. She quietly
approached his office and peeked around the door. The redhead smirked as she
watched the two poor souls nearly shaking in their boots as they were scolded.
Sutcliff had to place a hand over her mouth to prevent the laughter that
threatened to spill from her lips.

"It could kill reapers," answered Janelle.

"Yes. It could and most definitely would kill a Shinigami when given the
chance. Do not doubt the hatred that lies between a demon and a reaper. It's a
relief that you managed to retrieve the weapon and return to headquarters alive
and relatively unscathed. We're short staffed as it is."

The supervisor opened a drawer, pulling out three forms; two of which he slid
across his desk. Jessica shoved Janelle forward, practically feeding her to the
alpha wolf. With a trembling hand, she took the papers from the stoic reaper's
desk and quickly stepped back.

"Return to your cubicles and complete these required forms explaining your
actions," he ordered. "Once you submit them, leave the building. Both of you
are suspended for two months without pay. During that time, you will partake in
remedial classes for field training as well as every class which focuses on
demons. You are too far along in your careers to be making such childish
mistakes." Spears picked up his pen and began filling out the incident report,
silently telling the female reapers they were dismissed.

The two young women feverishly nodded their heads and exited their senior's
office, sniffling and holding back tears as they passed by a grinning Grelle,
whom was wiggling her fingers at their retreating forms.

"That was so cold of you, Willy," remarked Grelle as she walked into his office
with a flourish. She approached the chair in front of his desk and sat down,
crossing her long legs once she settled on the black, sleek leather material.

"Their actions were irresponsible and inexcusable, regardless of my
understanding of the circumstances," declared the brunet.

"Oh, darling. After all these years, I thought Ronnie would've loosened you up
a bit," stated Grelle, throwing her hair over one shoulder.

"Rules are rules, Miss Sutcliff. If one cannot abide by them, they'll suffer
the consequences," countered Will.

He let out a soft sigh, reverting his attention to the form before him.
Suddenly, a memory resurfaced in his mind. The brunet reaper put down the pen
and looked across the desk at the woman, staring at her intently.

"Open your mouth," he demanded. As soon as the words left his lips, they
snapped shut. A red hue blossomed on his face once he realized the mistake that
Sutcliff would undoubtedly take advantage of. He pushed up his spectacles in an
effort to hide the color burning his skin.

Lifting an eyebrow, a fox-like grin slowly spread across Grelle's cheeks. She
uncrossed her legs and stood up, placing her hands on the desk as she leaned
forward. "I'll open anything for you, darling. You only need to ask~” she
teased, throwing him a sultry wink.

William blinked and exhaled a huff of air through his nose, trying to regain
his composure. A few heartbeats later, he found himself stable enough to
continue. "I want to see your teeth."

Grelle opened her mouth and put her sharp, pearly-whites on wide display,
erotically running her tongue along their pointy ends.

"You are aware that you're violating the dress code, correct?" inquired Spears.

"Oh, Willy. You know I can always hide them," pointed out Grelle, waving his
words away.

"I'd advise you do as such when the Higher Ups are in our presence."

The telephone on his desk began to ring, its shrill sound grating on his
nerves. With a sigh, Spears picked up the receiver. "This is William T. Spears
speaking," he announced.

Sutcliff returned to her seat and watched her superior speak to whoever was on
the other end of the line, her brows furrowing as the color drained from the
man's face. "Willy, what's—"

"—I'll arrive shortly," said William curtly, hanging up the phone. Standing up,
he stepped around his desk and hastily walked out of his office.

Behind him trailed Grelle, her heels frantically clicking on the floor as they
walked down the hallway. "What happened, Willy?"

Instead of taking the elevator, William walked past the sliding doors and
opened the door to the emergency stairs; he took the steps two at a time.
"Ronald was attacked during his reap," he informed the redhead, his words
echoing inside the stairway.

Once they made it to the first floor, Will pushed open the heavy metal door and
exited the building, stepping into the bright sunlight. He hurried across the
street to the infirmary. The brunet walked through the double sliding doors and
approached the first nurse he saw, gently grabbing her arm to gain her
attention.

"Excuse me, Nurse..." He glimpsed down at her name tag, squinting his eyes to
see the letters. "...York, I'm looking for Mr. Ronald Knox. I received a
telephone call notifying me that he was brought here in critical condition," he
relayed calmly.  William pushed up his glasses with a barely noticeable shaky
hand, swallowing the worry and panic lodged in his throat.

The hospital employee walked toward a nurses' station, beckoning the two
Dispatch Shinigami to follow closely behind. When she reached the area, she
leaned over the desk and grabbed a large binder containing patient information.
Nurse York opened it and flipped over the pages, searching for that specific
patient.

"Supervisor Spears," she said without looking up, her eyes quickly scanning the
paper. "He's currently in surgery and under the care of Dr. Berger and the
assisting surgeon, Dr. Bradshaw.”

The woman faced the brunet. "If you follow me to the waiting room, I can see if
the doctor or a fellow member of the medical team will speak with you."
Accepting the slight nod provided by Spears, Nurse York led them down a bright,
white hallway, passing numerous doors until she led them into a small room with
cream colored walls. "Someone will be in as soon as they're available," said
the nurse before exiting the room.

Exhaling a pent-up breath, Will walked to a chair and sat down on the plush,
multicolored cushions. Grelle sat in the chair next to him and placed a
comforting hand on his shoulder. For once, he didn't flinch away from her
touch.

Approximately fifteen minutes later, a woman wearing a navy surgical cap and
scrubs beneath a long, white lab coat walked into the waiting room and
approached the two reapers. She took the free seat on the other side of
William, whom turned to face her.

"Good evening, Dr. Bradshaw," greeted William politely, his monotone voice
conveying nothing but professionalism. His hands were clasped together in his
lap; he yearned to twist them in his anxiety. Beneath his immaculately pressed,
black suit, a stream of nervous perspiration cascaded down his back.

Behind the supervisor, Grelle crossed her legs and bobbed her foot in
worriment. She tucked her long crimson hair behind her ear, then removed it,
repeating the action in a nervous-tick manner. Her yellow-green eyes bore into
the doctor's soul, waiting for the woman to say something. Time seemed to slow
down in her anticipation, and she silently wondered if she would have to
strangle information out of the surgeon's throat. Sutcliff put her leg down and
lifted from the chair a few inches, prepared to do just that when Dr. Bradshaw
finally decided to open her mouth.

“We discovered Mr. Knox sustained a considerable amount of injuries when he was
brought in. Considering the extent of the trauma, it's safe to assume he was
attacked by a demon,” informed the assistant surgeon.

“Is that all you're going to share with us?” Grelle snapped, her eyes narrowing
at the strawberry-blonde. “Do you care to share specific details, or are you
going to continue being useless?”

William glared icily at the redhead over his shoulder. "Calm yourself,
Sutcliff," he warned. The stubborn woman obeyed and leaned back in her chair,
crossing her arms and legs. Sighing, Spears returned his attention to the
surgeon. "I apologize on the behalf of my associate," he said, pushing up his
glasses.

“No worries," assured Bradshaw, shifting in her seat. She took a deep breath
and exhaled it before speaking. "He was impaled by what seems to have been a
claw, which resulted in a punctured lung and broken ribs. His throat, as well
as his shoulder and back, were sliced open as well. The skin surrounding the
wounds is blackened. Whatever sort of demon attacked him, injected him with
poison. We're cutting away the infected flesh. This also means his puncture
wounds contain the poison, too. It'll take a while for us to clear away the
poisoned tissue."

She paused to allow the two Shinigami to ask questions if they were so
inclined. Receiving neither a question nor a remark, Dr. Bradshaw continued.

"His eardrums were punctured and vocal cords slashed. When he wakes up, he
won't be able to hear or speak; he'll regain those abilities as he heals. As
for his glasses...they were sent to Father Anderson. Do you have any questions
Supervisor Spears?"

At a loss for words, Will simply shook his head.

"I must be getting back, then. When he's out of surgery, someone will take you
to his assigned room where you can wait for him there," replied the doctor,
flashing a small smile before getting up and leaving.

"He'll be alright, sweetie," Grelle reassured him, gently rubbing his tense
shoulder in soothing circles.

Once again, William said nothing, too lost in his own thoughts to form words.
Thus, he sat there in a quiet daze, staring blankly at the open door with tired
eyes; his demeanor hardened and indecipherable.

"Slingby," he muttered after a few minutes of silence, "accompanied Ronald on
his assignment. I must..." The supervisor began to stand up, but was abruptly
pushed back into the chair. He looked up to find Grelle standing over him.

"Sit," ordered Grelle. The redhead placed a hand on William's cheek, then ran
her thumb gently along his pale skin. "Let me call Eric. You stay here and wait
for Ronnie." She put her hand down and turned away, walking toward the
entryway. Before she left the waiting room, she looked over her shoulder, "I'll
be right outside if you need me, darling."
===============================================================================
With a final scrawl of his signature, Alan put down his ink pen and exhaled a
sigh of relief. After a long afternoon of being glued to his desk, he had
finally finished his paperwork—which meant no overtime for the exhausted
reaper. He picked up the neatly stacked pile of papers and slid them into the
expandable, clear, plastic file folder; he closed the container and secured it
with the elastic band that wrapped around it. Suddenly, his mobile began to
ring—the noise of it vibrating against the hard wooden desk nearly sent
Humphries into an early death. Clearing his throat, he answered the mobile on
the fourth ring.

"Hello, this is Agent Humphries speaking," he politely greeted whoever was on
the other end.

"Hi, Alan. It's Grelle," replied the crimson reaper, her voice strained. She
paced back and forth in the infirmary's hallway.

Humphries tucked the phone in between his shoulder and ear to hold in it place
while he opened his desk drawer and put the file folder inside of it. "Is
something the matter?"

"Have you seen Eric?" Grelle stopped pacing and looked inside the waiting room
window—William remained in his chair, rooted to the spot.

"I haven't since this morning. Is something wrong?" asked Alan. His eyebrows
furrowed with concern.

"Willy and I are in the waiting room at the hospital," began Grelle, ambling
yet again. "Ronnie was attacked on his last reap. Eric was with him."

"What!" exclaimed the smaller reaper. He quickly stood up, banging his knee on
the underside of the desk. Holding back a pained groan, Alan limped toward his
office door. "Is Ronnie okay? Where's Eric?"

"Ronnie's in surgery right now. I'm sorry, darling, but I have no clue as to
where Eric could be. I tried to contact him, but he didn't answer his mobile."

"Thank you, Grelle. I'll see if I can find him," Alan stated before he snapped
his phone shut, impolitely ending the call. He'll apologize later.

Moments later, the frantic reaper skidded to a halt when he entered the
Scotsman's office. Upon seeing his husband sitting in his chair—bruised,
bloody, and wounded—he let out a gasp.

"Eric!" called Al, scurrying over to the blond Shinigami. His yellow-green eyes
roved over Slingby, his jaw dropping as he took in the injuries peeking through
his spouse’s tattered clothing. For a brief moment, he stared at a particularly
nasty cut on Eric's forehead, which was caked with blood and matted hair. Blood
oozed from the cut and slid down his face, pooling near a black eye.

"I'm alrigh', Al," coughed Eric. He shifted in his seat, letting out a loud
groan as pulses of pain shot up his injured side.

"No, you're not!" countered Humphries. He reached into his blazer's pocket and
pulled out a blue handkerchief. As he approached the taller reaper, he licked
part of the handkerchief and pressed it against the wound in an effort to clean
it. Eric let out a hiss at the added pressure.

"I jus’ need tae get cleaned up and I'll be ready tae go," insisted Slingby.

"We're going to the infirmary," the small brunet sternly declared.

"I'm fine. Stop yer worryin'."

"Get up," Al commanded, nearly stomping his foot.

"No I hate—"

"If you do not get up, Eric Slingby, I will carry you myself!" threatened Alan,
yelling at the top of his lungs. He pointed a finger at the taller reaper, his
face turning red due to the combination of frustration and worry over his
stubborn husband.

The smaller reaper's shouting inside the Scotsman's office drew in an audience,
earning alarmed glances from their fellow coworkers. Some whispered to one
another, curious as to what caused the quiet Alan Humphries to verbally express
such anger.

Shivers ran down Eric's spine and he visibly flinched, shrinking back into his
chair as he was continually scolded by his usually well-reserved, calm spouse.
When he felt he was mere seconds away from a smart slap to the face, he held up
his hands. "I'll go!" he surrendered.

"Not like you have a choice in the matter," muttered Humphries. He approached
the blond and gingerly took his uninjured arm, pulling him up from the chair.
Eric let out a low groan as he was pulled to his feet. Clutching his side, Eric
took a hesitant step toward the door.

Both men slowly made their way to the lifts and across the street to the
infirmary. Once inside, they were swiftly led to an area where Eric could be
treated for his wounds.

"Have ye seen Ronnie?" asked Eric as he sat down on the hospital bed. He let
out a painful hiss when the cuts on his legs brushed against the stiff, white
bed linens.

The brunet retrieved the metal visitors' chair, dragging it along the white
tile toward Eric before sitting on its plush cushions. He settled back in the
uncomfortable seat.

"No. When I talked to Grelle, she said he was in surgery," answered Alan.

"It's my fault," admitted the Scotsman, his shoulders slumping. He took in a
deep breath and ran his hand along his face, knocking his glasses onto his lap.

Alan rose from the chair and walked over to Eric. He picked up his spouse's
glasses and carefully slid them back on. "What happened?" he asked, gently
brushing the hair from the taller reaper's forehead.

With a sigh, Eric recounted the day's earlier events. As he spoke, he watched
Alan's expressions change from worried to alarm, and the various emotions in
between.

"I didn' do anythin' tae help—I jus' stood there like a fool," he concluded. "I
need tae apologize."

"We'll do that after you're taken care of," promised Alan. He placed a hand on
the blond's cheek.

Any further conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door. The couple
turned their attention to the doctor entering the room.

"Good evening, gentlemen," greeted a tall man with short platinum-blond hair.
He held out his hand for Alan to shake. "I'm Dr. Brady."

"I'm Alan Humphries," replied the smaller reaper as he shook the other's hand.
"This is my husband, Eric Slingby," he added, gesturing his free hand in the
blond's direction. Eric nodded his head in greeting.

Parting ways, Dr. Brady diverted his focus to the injured reaper. He quickly
assessed the Scotsman's physical state. "We'll get ya cleaned cleaned up, throw
in stitches and something to ease the pain," he stated. The man walked over to
a cabinet filled with medical supplies and opened it, pulling out the necessary
items to treat the patient.

"Do I really need stitches?" questioned Eric, his eyes glued to the individual
packets of needles and syringes.

The physician glanced over his shoulder at Slingby. "If you're a good patient,
I'll give you a lollipop," encouraged Brady.

Eric scowled and glared at the floor, a childish pout on his face. "I hate
needles," he grumbled beneath his breath.

"Oh, stop being such a big baby!" snapped Alan, slapping Eric's arm.
===============================================================================
Hours after the sun had set, Ronald was wheeled into a recovery room where
William awaited him. He stood over his lover's unconscious form, stoically
taking in his appearance—the tubes, bandages, his ghostly pallor—as he listened
to the doctor speak. The supervisor frequently nodded in acknowledgment of the
other's words, but he barely heard a thing. After what seemed like years of
idle chit chat and unregistered information, the doctor finally bade William
‘goodnight’ and closed the door behind him.

William pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat down. Letting out a huff of
air, the elder reaper placed one hand on Knox's forehead and brushed back the
blond fringe covering his eyes. With the other, he took the young man's hand in
his own and gently squeezed it.

"You mustn't clock out on me, Ronald Knox," he muttered as he continued to run
gloved fingers through his hair. "Who would I be without you?"

With that said, the brunet settled his head next to Ronald's shoulder. Spears
took in a deep breath and slowly exhaled it through slightly parted lips. As he
laid there listening to the machines beep, he found the sounds to be oddly
soothing and before he knew it, he drifted off into a light slumber.

It felt like mere seconds since he closed his eyes before they snapped open at
the sound of the machines frantically beeping. He quickly stood up, knocking
the chair beneath him onto the laminate floor.

Ronald had woken up and began pulling on the tube in his nose, letting out soft
sounds of distress as he clawed at the bandages around his throat. Will reached
across his husband's body and repeatedly pushed on the button signaling for
assistance. He placed both hands on top of the young man's own, gently prying
them away from his neck.

Spears put his palms on either side of Knox's head and carefully turned it to
face him; he stared into wide, frightened eyes. "Calm down, Ronald," he urged
through a strained voice as he ran a thumb across the blond's lips and
cheekbone. "Calm down, I'm here." However, his words did little to ease his
distressed companion. If anything, it only increased the boy's panic.
"Ronald..." he began, but stopped. That's right—he can't hear you. The terrible
reminder sent his anxiety into overdrive.

Furiously wondering where in the heavens the on-call nurse was located, William
let out a silent curse. He hit the button again, nearly breaking it in half.
The brunet watched tears pool in the corners of Ron's eyes; they slid down his
cheeks each time he blinked.

In spite of being unsure as to what he should do—other than abuse the call
button—he refused to leave his husband's side. He ran a hand along the boy's
cheek, aiming to comfort him with the gesture. "It's me, Ronald," Will slowly
mouthed, vainly hoping that, despite his missing glasses, Ron would be able to
understand what he was trying to say. He received a terrified blurt of noise as
a response.

Officially desperate, William leaned down and pressed his lips against
Ronald's. The young man sucked in a harsh intake of breath and exhaled it
through his nose, his eyes closing. The monitor's alarms slowed down and
returned to a steady rhythm; he had fallen asleep. William removed his lips
from Knox's and pressed them against each eyelid, kissing the tears away.

As soon as his lover calmed down, a nurse finally appeared. Spears straightened
up and peered at her as she approached Ron's side, his piercing eyes throwing
sharp blades in her direction. Normally, William thought name-calling was a
childish action, but all he could think at the moment was: that bitch!

Despite his crass thoughts, Will was thankful for one thing, though: his years
of well-practiced self-restraint prevented him from being an overly violent
man. Or else he would've snatched the idiotic hospital employee up by her
horrific pink hair and given her a piece of his mind for dallying while his
husband was in need. And if she were lucky, she wouldn't lose a chunk of hair
during the fierce tongue lashing.

Even so, he briefly wondered what her cinematic records would present to their
receiving audience if one so happened to reveal them. Incompetency? The
irrelevancy of her meaningless existence, perhaps? Are there any justifications
as to why she should be reaped? A part of him itched to find out. One frame
wouldn't hurt, would it?

"I'm sorry, Supervisor Spears," apologized—in Will's opinion—the irresponsible
and utterly useless Nurse Aiden. Standing by the bed, she took the stethoscope
around her neck and put the plugs in her ears, huffing a warm puff of air
against the metal diaphragm before placing it on Ronald's chest.

"Mr. Knox woke up for a brief moment," informed Will, his voice eerily calm in
spite of his inner fury. "He attempted to remove the nasal tube and rip open
the bandages around his throat."

Nurse Aiden hummed at William's words while she listened to the young man's
heart and lungs. Once she was finished with that part of the check-up, she
hooked the stethoscope around the back of her neck. Then, she proceeded to
check the monitors as well as his pain medications.

"He seems to be alright, now," she declared.

William glowered behind his casual expression and mentally channeled his
husband's words: no shit! He wholeheartedly planned on filing a well-deserved
complaint against this senseless woman as well as requesting a new health care
official to assist Ronald while he remained in the infirmary.

"His bandages are loose, so I'll change those," the young pink-haired nurse
stated. She busied about as she procured the necessary items needed to change
and clean the boy's bandages from a nearby cupboard. Aiden put the supplies on
a tray on a little mobile table and pulled it along as she returned to her spot
by the bed.

"Mr. Knox has visitors waiting outside. Would it be alright for them to come
in?" inquired Nurse Aiden, putting on latex gloves.

"What in the heavens are they doing here in the middle of the night?" William
pondered aloud. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I shall
tell them to return in the morning."

"Morning?" asked Aiden, lifting her eyebrows as she removed the bandages around
the blond reaper's neck. "Sir, it's 8:00 AM."

Spears looked over his shoulder and saw sunlight filtering in through the
window; its luminescent rays casted a bright yellow-orange hue against the
white floor tiles, highlighting the dust that hung in the room. He reached into
his waistcoat and pulled out his beautifully crafted silver pocket watch, its
long chain brushing against his hand as he clicked it open to double check the
hour—eight o'clock.

Staring at timepiece’s face, the Supervisor then realized that he had failed to
report in for his duties at 6:00 AM, nor did he give notice of his absence. He
had been so consumed by his emotional exhaustion, he hadn't thought to set an
alarm. He sighed. There was nothing he could do about it now. Pocketing his
watch, Will gazed at the pink-haired nurse. To his surprise, she was already
finished with her task.

"Yes. I suppose that'll be alright," he agreed, pushing up his glasses.

"I'll send them in," Nurse Aiden replied, taking off the white latex gloves.
She picked up the used medical supplies and took them to the appropriate
disposal bin to toss them away. With a small wave, she bid William ‘goodbye.’

The Supervisor reached for the chair and was about to sit down when Grelle flew
into the room at such velocity, William was surprised any loose object in the
room hadn't gone flying about. Following closely behind Sutcliff were Alan and
Eric.

"Ronnie!" Grelle quietly gasped, her hand on her chest. The redhead slowly
walked up to the injured reaper, the sound of her heels clicking on the floor
mixing with the beeping of the monitor. She placed a warm hand on his cheek and
rubbed her thumb along the soft skin.

"Miss Sutcliff, please be—" his request was abruptly cut short due to the look
the crimson reaper bestowed upon him. He nodded his head and pushed up his
spectacles. Spears watched as Grelle fussed and cooed over her dearest friend,
pulling up the paper-thin, blue hospital blanket up to his chest and tucking it
securely around him; Ronald let out a few soft whimpers as she did so. To
William’s immense relief, she did practice caution and stayed clear of the
tubes and bandages.

"Will he be alright, Sir?" asked Alan. He felt the material of his clothing
shift against his back. He looked up to find Eric staring at Knox with an
expression of guilt written on his face.

"Given time, yes," answered William, casting a glance at his spouse.

"Boss...I need tae talk tae ye about somethin' tha' happened while we were on
assignment," Eric said.

"The demon," surmised Will.

"Well yes, but no," replied Eric, rubbing the back of his neck. "I know it's
no' the best time, but I don' think it can wait ano'er day."

Spears looked over at Eric, his brow furrowing when he heard the Scotsman's
unusually serious tone. He took a step toward the door, beckoning Slingby to
follow him. Once they were outside the room, he turned to face him.

Standing next to the bed, Alan looked past Grelle and watched the two men
converse. William nodded occasionally as the blond spoke, whereas Eric fidgeted
and frowned as he recounted the events leading up to Ronald arriving in
Shinigami London. Once it appeared the conversation was over, Alan looked away.

Following behind Eric, William strolled into the room and addressed the agents
surrounding the bed. "It seems I must seek an audience with the Higher Ups," he
announced. He turned to Alan. "Mr. Humphries, may I ask that you return to
Headquarters and keep things in order until I return?"

"Yes, sir," nodded Alan.

"Miss Sutcliff?" asked William, already dreading his request. The redhead
glanced up at him expectantly. "I also have a favor to ask of you," he
admitted.

"What is it, Willy?"

Reaching into his trouser's pocket, William pulled out his key and handed it to
Grelle. "I would appreciate it if you were to go to my apartment and retrieve
Ronald's training glasses. They're in box on the shelf in our bedroom closet.
Please do be gentle with its other contents as well."

Will had stumbled upon said box one evening while he was dusting the top
shelves in their closet. When his arm brushed against it, the container fell to
the floor and opened; a multitude of orange origami birds scattered onto the
floor—the very ones he often folded for Ronald. He remembered picking them up,
one by one, and peeking under each wing in search of the little messages he
would write for his lover to discover. A particular origami bird—a rainbow
lorikeet—was much larger than the rest. The brunet flushed as he remembered the
look on the blond's face when he found the message, then screamed “yes” before
tackling him to the ground. He could still sense the butterflies that fluttered
in his stomach as he impatiently waited for Ronald to read the question.

"I'll go fetch those right now. I won’t break anything, darling,” promised
Grelle, her lips twitching at the coloring dusting her superior’s cheeks.
Contrary to the man’s knowledge, she knew exactly what was in the box, seeing
as Ronald told her every detail down to the last crease of paper.

"I'll stay wi' Ron and wait till ye get back," offered Eric, walking over to
the empty seat by the bed.

"Thank you, Mr. Slingby. If Ronald does happen to wake in my absence, please
call me immediately.”
===============================================================================
The Supervisor anxiously ambled back and forth down a long hallway on the
uppermost level of Dispatch Headquarters. He stared at the floor as he paced,
his mind overfilled with thoughts and questions. William was in the process of
heading toward the door when it opened; he looked up to find a young man with
long orange hair beckoning him forward.

"They're ready to see you, Supervisor Spears," said the young man. He stepped
out of the board room and held the door open for William.

The brunet reaper straightened his tie as he approached the employee. "Thank
you," he muttered, giving the boy a polite nod as he entered the room. The
young man let the door freely shut; it banged against the frame before closing
with a loud click. If the redhead had been invited to the meeting, William
would've assigned him overtime for such a rude action.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," greeted William, bowing at the three Higher Ups
seated at the far end of the room. He made his way to an unoccupied, black
leather chair and pulled it from beneath the table, its wheels creaking
unforgivably along the gray carpet.

Once settled, Will quickly glanced around the place he reluctantly frequented,
whether it be for a routine meeting or an appeal on behalf of one of his
employees--which mostly involved the troublesome Grelle Sutcliff, if he were to
name a few. He had hoped he wouldn't be surrounded by the three teal colored
walls with a long window spanned across the fourth any time soon.

"What is it you wished to discuss, Supervisor Spears?" asked the salt and
peppered hair man, Jonathan Wick, who was seated at the head of the table. He
impolitely sniffed behind his large, square spectacles, undoubtedly attempting
to hide his profusely running nose. William nearly grimaced as he watched a
large drop of mucous trickle down the side of his superior's mouth.

"First, I would like to thank you for agreeing to this meeting on such short
notice," began William, nodding his head again. He took a moment to make eye
contact with each Elder, staring intently in order to convey the seriousness of
the topic. "I believe I shall get straight to the point. I was approached by a
Dispatch Agent who confided in me the details of a particular reap involving a
female child. The employee stated that the child was not listed in their Death
Book—"

"—We are aware as to what you are referring to Supervisor," interjected the
second Elder, Michael Sheppard. The blond reached forward for the blue and
white ceramic tea pot and carefully poured the warm liquid into its matching
cup. He added two sugar cubes and a dash of milk before stirring it. "And it
seems the problem has arrived in London."

Stunned, William blinked. "I apologized, but I'm not sure I understand—"

"—These mysterious instances began in Germany," interrupted Roy Eckles—which
was quickly getting on William's last nerve—before taking a sip of his tea.

"Yet you did not share this bit of information with Dispatch?" accused William.

"To put it simply, Supervisor Spears, it wasn't our problem until now,"
countered Wick, his tone nonchalant.

In spite of the stressful hours he endured prior to this meeting, William was
able to maintain what little of his wits that remained. Or else his jaw
would've fallen onto the table with a clatter. Beneath the table, his knuckles
cracked.

"The German Branch did notify us about these occurrences, but they didn't offer
many specifics past the victims' records and souls," continued Wick.
"Therefore, I suggest you begin an investigation before it gets out of hand in
London. We are a much more capable force than Germany. I believe the task will
be completed under your guidance."

"The two reapers who were assigned to the case were, if my memory serves me
correctly, Sascha and Ludger. It would be wise to contact them for more
information," suggested Michael.

Deciding that he should promptly leave the boardroom lest he accidentally
scythe these men, William stood up and bowed. "Thank you, gentlemen. I shall
begin an investigation promptly," he vowed, bowing again before turning toward
the door and exiting the room. It took every ounce of restraint to prevent
himself from slamming it shut; it may have cracked in half under the pressure
of frustration.

William hurried down the hall toward the lifts. Standing outside the elevators,
he repeatedly pushed the 'down' button as he willed the doors to open. As he
waited, his blood began to boil. The board knew, yet kept him in the dark
rather than giving him notice to watch out for the situation.

The lift doors slid open with a ding and he stepped inside, pressing the button
for the floor he desired. Will reached into his inner pocket and dialed Alan's
office telephone. The smaller reaper answered it on the second ring.

"Mr. Humphries, I would like you to draft a memo which is to be delivered to
every Dispatch agent on hand. I would also like you to arrange accommodations
for two guests from a fellow branch." The lift slowed down to a stop and the
door opened. "It appears that Agents Sascha and Ludger will be visiting London,
yet again.”
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