The pen scratched across the paper erratically, never writing for long as either there was too much ink or too little - the page was covered with as many blots as names. The desk was covered with books, papers haphazardly stashed in the ledgers.
Abruptly, the man straightened up and threw the pen down, wincing as it splattered ink all across the page. He tried to wipe it up, but then gave up with a sigh as it only smeared the ink over other names and blots. Ignoring the ink still wet on his fingers, he ran his hands though his hair, leaning back in his seat with a sigh.
There were so little names. Of course, there were still thousands of names - but compared to what it could or should be? So many names never even entered his ledgers anymore, let alone stayed within their pages long. He raised his head and frowned at the open ledger still lying on his desk: he rather hated his job.
He slowly sat up, leaning on the desk now, lazily reaching down to push papers away. Aaron, Weinraub, Baum, David, Hirsch, Zimman, Weisel, Levine, Smith, Green, Lee, Schultz, Johann - the names screamed at him and he couldn't tell if it was the people or just his mind. The screams he heard were young - so very, very young... So old before their time.
He grit his teeth together for a moment, and then suddenly stood up, brushing his hands together and quickly cleaning the ink stains off them. For a moment, he stood still, folding his hands together and staring at the floor. Turning to the desk for a moment he rummaged through the books and papers, pausing when he pulled one out. Dropping it back to the desk, he stepped across the light office to the door, letting it swing shut behind them.
He stood still, stood straight. The whole world seemed to be burning around him, even though it was merely dusk. He could taste the ash and death on his tongue, and could feel the screams ripping through him. He gripped the helmet in his hand for a moment before dropping it on his head, turning to look around the place he had come.
It was...hell. For lack of a better word. He expected to see flames devouring everything and everyone; but there was nothing there - only silence. Around him, soldiers searched through the buildings and the rubble, searching for any signs of life - of survival. He knew there would be precious few.
He turned and slowly wound his way through the buildings to the centre of the camp and then continuing past. There was a house he was looking for - a basement. There was life there, and death. The other soldiers paid him no mind as he walked; and as he passed, he would straighten black and white clad forms, laying them out peacefully. There was nothing else he could do for them - they were out of his reach.
The door was silent when he opened it, and he smirked for a moment as he considered imitiating the 'creaking' of the cliched doors. There was nothing physically wrong with the house - it was neat and orderly. It always had been.
He stepped down the stairs to the cellar, peering down as soon as he could see below the ceiling. "Hello?"
There was no answer, but he hadn't honestly expected one. "...Child?"
There was a quiet, muffled, giggle; followed by a stifled gasp.
He stepped off the stairs into the cellar, grimacing and the blood filling the walls and floor - somewhat metaphorically - of the room. "I know that you won't believe me when I say that I am not here to hurt or take him." He hesitated and then added: "Or you, for that matter."
Only silence answered.
He sighed, taking a bottle of milk out of his pocket. "...Eilam? He is safe now, I promise."
No one answered, and he almost thought he would have to take the child himself.
"...What are you going here?"
He stepped towards the voice slowly. "He will need to be fed before he leaves - it has been long."
The man pulled himself out from beneath the stairs, cradling an infant close to his chest. "They will be wary if he is not hungry later."
He shook his head, kneeling down and handing the bottle to the man. "They have gone - all of them. The Allied soldiers are sifting through the disaster above."
He took the bottle, carefully feeding the child and ignoring the stranger for the moment. The child waved it's fist happily, reaching up to grasp his guardian's hand. The man smiled and let his head fall back against the wall, looking up to the stranger. "He will be kept safe?"
He nodded. "He will live a long, full life - and he will die as well after he has done much good. You will meet him again one day."
He nodded slowly, his hand slipping on the bottle. "Then...I may..."
"Yes," He reached out to take the child, resting a hand on the man's head for a moment. "Stay with my brother for a little while, Eilam - there is no one waiting for you now."
He nodded weakly, pushing the child into the stranger's arms as his strength finally gave out and he slumped sideways. The child reached out to him, but the body faded away in a glimmer of rainbows and tears.
Life sighed, looking down to the child that now dozed in his arms, safe. "Come child, there is someone waiting to meet you..."
The trucks rumbled to a stop; and he carefully climbed out the back, nodding his thanks to the soldier who gave him a hand down. As the other soldiers climbed out, he looked around, cradling the now-waking child.
"Oh my..."
He jerked his head over, looking at the nurse that had just noticed his burden.
She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear while she hurried over, reaching for the child. "Is he alright? Where was he found? Is he alone?"
He placed the child in her arms and straightened up. "He is fine." He brushed the infant's hair one last time. "His family all died in the camp."
She gasped, this time in horror, devoting all of her attention now to the smiling child in her arms - seemingly unaware that he was alone in the world.
He saluted quickly and marched off, confident that she would care for the child. Reaching the street, he turned back, seeing the blonde nurse turn to speak to the Doctor that approached her, explaining the child's situation.
He smiled, turning away and looking to the skies.
They still smelt of ash and tasted of death, but at least he could hear joy and hope again - for too long, it seemed that even they had fallen prey to his brother's blade...
AN: This is Life, Death's brother. The idea (to write him that is) has been brewing since I wrote the oneshot where Death plots revenge on his brother after having to fetch Jackson back from the Afterlife. The same basic mythology for Life/Death is used here, but I've changed it a bit - and I don't think either of them can actually die now. It'll depend on which mythology I stick with, of course... But, the man protecting the child is Adam (the name 'Eilam' means 'unfading'.) and the Child is Abraham Morgan. (Which of course makes the nurse Abigail and the Doctor Henry.) And this didn't turn out right (it was supposed to be an introduction to Life and he is a bit different from what I felt came across here) but it turned out well as a description of WWII again. *sighs* That's beside the point... And I think I've permanently linked my mythology and Forever now...