Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) and all characters therein belong to Yana Toboso. I make no profit from the writing of this fanfiction, and it is strictly for entertainment purposes only.
Author's note: This story was written for my friend and RP partner StickieBun, who's been a little down lately. We've a shared love of the "Slingphries" pairing and I thought I'd try to cheer her up a bit. Unsurprisingly, this story will end up being a multi-chapter fic.
~xox~
They'd done it to him again. Someone in his training regiment had tampered with his alarm clock once more, in an effort to mess up his schedule. Alan woke up on his own without the alarm going off, because his inner clock was getting attuned to his training schedule. Unfortunately for him, by the time he did wake up, he saw that he only had ten minutes to get ready before meeting his new instructor. He cursed and scrambled out of his dormitory bed, having no time to do more than give himself a quick spritz and run a brush through his hair before rushing off to the meeting hall.
All fledgling reapers that passed the grueling tests put down by Dispatch were assigned a mentor to guide them through the next stage. The ones with the most skill and highest grades would then be given one final exam before being promoted into the ranks of the soul collectors. It was the most honorable position any reaper could hope to achieve; to become a death god; a collector of souls. Not many could achieve the marks necessary to earn such a position. Those shooting for it that failed were assigned different jobs within the Shinigami society, and some did not even try. As a result, Dispatch was always short on soul collectors.
"Please don't let me be late," panted the small brunet desperately as he raced through the hallways. His classmates were always doing things like this to him; finding ways to stuff him up put obstacles in his path. He still didn't know what he'd done to deserve their contempt, but he'd been bullied almost since his first day in the academy.
He approached the elevator and he waved and hollered out for them to hold it. They laughed at him and shut the doors, leaving him skidding to a halt in dismay. "Why?" Demanded Alan Humphries helplessly.
He knew the answer, though. He applied himself harder than any of them, and he passed every test with perfect scores. They thought he was stuck up, but he really just wanted to become a good Dispatch agent. It was his dream, and they were trying to steal that from him simply because he wouldn't slack off like some of them did. He tried to be nice to them but they disliked him anyway, because he declined goofing off and pulling pranks. He tried to be polite about it, but most of his classmates quickly decided he was a snob or a goody-goody, and they made him pay for it.
With a sigh, Alan ran for the staircase. He checked his watch as he was hurrying down the steps and he winced. He was going to be late.
He was paying so much attention to the time that he didn't see the tall form he was closing in on up ahead of him, nor was he watching his footing. Alan cried out as he tripped, and he ran flat into a broad back as he went down.
~xox~
"Stupid English," muttered Eric Slingby under his breath as he made his way down the stairs. "Assigning me tae mentor a greenie…are they mad?"
He'd only been transferred from the Edinburgh branch recently, and so far he could barely stand the snotty, proper scunners. There were one or two that weren't too bad, but overall he missed his home branch terribly. Today he'd meet his new trainee. He could already imagine the prissy little complaints he'd get, the entitled demands, the contempt. He wasn't fond of the young ones in any case, but British? Aye, they tended to test him to his very core.
He was almost to the next flight of stairs when he was hit from behind without warning. The Scottish reaper grabbed hold of the railings as the collision threatened to knock him down the stairs, and he briefly felt the imprint of someone's face against his back.
"Awright, ye fannybawbag," he snarled, turning around to face his assailant, "Wha' ya think yer…doin?"
He found himself looking down at a slight-built dazed young reaper with a head of somewhat shaggy, collar-length brown hair. The boy looked up at him in confusion, blinking his green-gold eyes as if he'd run into a brick wall. His standard-issue oval glasses were lopsided and he was sprawled over the stairs. He had delicate, fair features that quickly blushed peach as he realized he'd just literally run into a senpai.
"I…I'm so sorry, sir," managed the student, flailing adorably as he tried to get his feet under him again. "I was late, and I didn't see you!"
Eric quirked a brow. "Ya dinnae see me?"
He'd never been accused of being un-noticeable before. His anger faded into faint amusement as he squatted before the fledgling and reached out to situate his glasses on his face for him. "Might wanna try runnin' wi' yer glasses straight an' yer eyes open then, lad."
The younger reaper thanked him shyly and bit his lip. "Again, I'm so sorry. I was looking at my watch."
Unused to seeing humility from people in this place, Eric smirked at him. "Wha's yer name?"
"Humphries, sir." The brunet took his offered hand and got up with his help, wincing as he rubbed his sore bottom. "A-Alan Humphries."
Eric frowned, finding the name familiar. "Humphries…"
He recognized it a moment later and his mouth curved again. "I'll be damned…ye wouldn't happen tae be rushing tae meet up wi' Officer Slingby, would ya?"
Alan nodded. "And I'm going to be late, sir, so may I be excused?"
Eric laughed heartily. "No ye can't…'cause I'm tha man yer lookin' for."
Alan blushed deeper. "Um, pardon?"
Eric grinned at him. "I'm Officer Slingby. I was jus' on mah way tae th' same place."
"Oh no," moaned the brunet, putting his face in his gloved hands. "I…I just ran over my senpai…"
The Scotsman nearly laughed again. What a refreshing change from the usual bunch this boy was. "More like ya nearly knocked yerself ou' on mah back. It's a'right, kid. Now tha' we're acquainted more 'r less, how 'bout we skip the meeting hall an' get on wi' it?"
~xox~
Still disoriented from running head-long into the man's strong back, it took Alan a moment to catch his meaning. He wasn't used to the thick accent, and he had a little trouble understanding all of his words. The man was tall, more powerfully built than most of the reapers he knew, and rather imposing. He had a head of thick blond hair that fell to his shoulders, braided into cornrows and dyed black on the right side, while the rest was brushed to the left to fall free. Handsome Gaelic features, a tuft of beard on the chin, blue-tinted glasses, tanned skin…he probably made the girls sigh.
He looked dangerous and frankly roguish, to Alan. He'd been frankly a little scared of him, until he cracked that smile and laughed. It was an open, carefree sound…almost reckless. Alan gave him a timid smile, hoping that he wouldn't offend him and misunderstand his words.
"Get 'on with it', sir?"
Eric nodded his leonine head. "Tha preliminaries. We could go tae the meeting hall for a bite if yer really hungry, but I'd rather have a sit-down wi' ye and figure out where yer at in training."
"Oh. I see." He looked up at the taller reaper curiously. "That accent…are you from Scotland?"
Eric's expression hardened a little, and he nodded. "Mm. Tha' a problem for ya?"
"N-no sir," assured Alan hastily. "Not at all. It's just…"
He smiled a little, blushing again with embarrassment. "…I've never heard the accent in person before. It's…cool."
Slingby's crooked smile returned, but he snorted and shook his head. "Ye'd prolly be th' only one 'round here tae think so. How about it, Humphries? Want tae skip all tha social haver an' take a walk?"
Alan considered the way his classmates treated him, and he decided he could save eating for later. He smiled at the taller man and nodded. "A walk, please."
~xox~
"So I looked o'er yer progress reports an' grades sae far," said Officer Slingby as he and Alan walked the paths of the gardens surrounding the academy, "an' I'm impressed wi' yer academic scores."
Alan smiled shyly. "Thank you, sir."
Eric stopped and put his hands in his pants pockets. "But yer physical scores suck."
The brunet blinked, his pleasure quickly stolen away. "W-what?"
Eric nodded. "Yer combat technique, yer reflexes an' yer balance are only average, kid."
Alan bit his lip and lowered his gaze. "I know they could be better, but I—"
"Makin' excuses fer yerself?"
He looked back up at the taller man, blinking. "No," he denied. "I'm only trying to explain."
"Then dinnae use tha words: 'but', 'however' or 'because'," instructed Eric. He spotted a bench and he walked over it to sit down, patting the spot beside him. "Jus' pull up a rock an' tell me why ye think yer lacking in those areas. Dun' think hard on it; jus' be truthful an' tell me what's goin' on."
Alan sighed and did as he was told. He started to try and blame it on how hard he focused on academics, but one glance at the Scotsman's intense, blue-shaded eyes changed his mind. He felt like those eyes were piercing him, and Eric would know it the minute he spoke an untruth.
"I'm hesitant. I'm shy. I'm self-conscious and I've never been confrontational."
Eric smiled crookedly at him and clapped him lightly on the back. "There now, ya see? Tha' wasnae as hard as it seemed. Never lie tae yerself, Alan. Ye can lie tae others all ya please, but when ye start lyin' tae yerself there's no end in sight. Ye'll convince yerself ya can't do things tha' ye otherwise could, an ye'll start putting tha blame fer yer own failings on everything else. Takes some practice, but if ya try tae always be honest wi' yerself, ye'll be able tae pinpoint yer own weaknesses an' work on improving them. Ya might even avoid some mistakes tha'…what 'r ye doing?"
"Taking notes," answered the fledgling as he scribbled down as much of Eric's words as he could into his notepad.
"Huh…tha's a first," muttered Eric. He shrugged. "Ah well, if it helps ye remember an' focus, tha's fine. Just dinnae think I'll be halting our physical training sessions so ye can take down notes every time I show ya somethin' new. It's yer body tha' needs training, kid, no' yer mind."
Alan nodded in agreement. "I know. What you just said seems important, so I'm writing it down. I hope you don't mind my doing that when you say wise things."
"Wise?" Eric's deep chuckle filled Alan's ears pleasantly again. "Cannae say many folk have ever called me 'wise', but I'll take it."
Alan smiled at him impulsively, pen hovering over the notepad for more words of wisdom. He liked this instructor's candor…his lack of arrogance. True he was imposing, but he was also quite interesting, and he seemed to have a good sense of humor. "What else can you tell me?"
Eric looked faintly uncomfortable. "I'm no' a sage, lad. Truth be told, o' tha two of us, yer prolly tha smarter one by far. I'm jus' sharing a piece of advice I learned meself o'er time; one I wish my mentor would've shared wi' me, back in th' day. I had tae lean th' hard way."
He smirked at him. "Ya know, they assigned ye tae me 'cause of where yer skills need help, and none o' tha' is in tha academic department. Tha' ought tae tell ye how 'wise' I am."
"But wisdom isn't just intellect," reasoned Alan. "It can only come from experience, and you have that."
Eric's brows lifted. "Ne'er thought of it tha' way. Heh. Seems you've go' a few things tae teach me, too."
Alan smiled again, feeling a bit more relaxed. "Well then? Do you want to impart any other words of wisdom to me regarding my weak points?"
Eric reached into his blazer and pulled out a slim metal case. He opened it and retrieved a thin black cigarette from within, much to Alan's surprise. The Scotsman stood up and moved away from him courteously before retrieving a lighter and cupping his hand over it. He lit the cigarette up and took a drag, blowing it out with the wind so that the smoke drifted away from Alan.
"Ne'er go on a reaping assignment hungover," he finally said as Alan gaped at him.
"You smoke cigarettes?"
Eric looked at him, his lazy gaze opaque. "Cigars, kid. Clove cigars, tae be exact. Aren't ye gonna write down wha' I jus' told ya?" He winked at him.
Alan felt a curious little flutter inside in response to that wink, and he gulped. "Um…okay." He adjusted his glasses and he looked down at the pad of paper. "Senpai smokes clove cigars," he muttered aloud as he wrote it down.
"No' about my smoking habit," laughed the Scotsman, "about goin' on a job wi' a hangover, ye silly thing."
Alan blushed, feeling foolish. "Oh, that." He wrote it down. "I don't drink, you know."
Eric took another drag of his cigar. "Stay in this line of work long enough, and ye will eventually. Trust me on tha'."
He looked at him again, the breeze stirring his wavy lion's mane. "That'll do fer today, Humphries. Yer dismissed."
Confused by the abrupt dismissal, Alan stood up. "But…I thought you wanted to work on my problem areas with me?"
"No, today was fer evaluation. I wanted tae get a feel of ya before I agreed tae take ye on as mah apprentice."
"Oh." Alan felt nervous again, and he gave the taller reaper a small, hopeful smile. "And will you?" He liked him so far. He didn't want to have to do this again.
"Tha's why I said 'fer today', lad." Eric smirked in amusement at him. "Go enjoy tha day, think on wha' I told ye about lyin' tae yerself. Get plenty of rest 'cause tomorrow, I'm gonna grill ye hard."
Alan winced a bit at that promise. "I…okay." He gave a small bow. "Where shall I meet you tomorrow, Senpai?"
Eric looked around. "Here is good. Same place, same time."
Alan nodded and left, not wanting to be rude by lingering after being dismissed. "Have a good day, sir!"
Eric watched him go with lazy eyes, and he huffed a little and smirked. "Might be able tae do somethin' wi' this one, after all."
~xox~
Officer Slingby wasn't kidding when he said he was going to grill him hard. As soon as they met in the garden the next day, he took him to a secluded, open spot on the campus lawn. Alan barely had time to manifest his training scythe before Eric whipped out a saw and came at him. With a gasp, he fell to the ground and held his hands up, dropping his scythe and shutting his eyes tightly. The Scotsman's shadow fell over him, and Alan peered up through shaking fingers to see him regarding him with a pensive expression on his handsome face. He looked to the fledgling like a lion trying to decide whether to go for the kill or toy with him.
Eric offered a hand to him. "Ye'll never survive an encounter wi' a demon if yer only move is tae fall on yer back and beg fer mercy, Humphries. Get up."
Alan took the offered hand, and he couldn't help but notice how much bigger than his own it was. He got to his feet and he brushed grass off his academy uniform, flushing with humiliation. "You didn't give me a chance to get ready," he accused.
"Hmph, sounds like an excuse tae my ears." Eric slipped his boot under the curved blade of Alan's scythe and he deftly kicked it up from the grass, catching it easily by the handle. He flipped it and offered it handle-first to Alan. "First lesson, kid; always be on yer guard. Always. Jus' 'cause I'm yer instructor doesnae mean ye can slack off."
Alan took the scythe and he tried to ready himself, but Eric again came at him and he launched a spinning kick that knocked it from the younger reaper's hand again before he could even begin to defend himself.
"Pick it up," ordered Slingby.
Alan huffed in annoyance and went for the tool, only to find his way blocked by the flashing metal of Eric's saw. "Wha—"
The older reaper offered no explanation. He swung at Alan and the boy was forced to duck or avoid decapitation—at least from his standpoint. "Are you insane?" he blurted, a few strands of hair drifting free in the breeze as Eric's scythe cut off a few of them.
"Better move yer feet," suggested Eric, and he dove and rolled, coming up ahead of Alan as he tried to grab his scythe.
Alan gasped as the grave-cold blade pressed lightly against his throat, and he held his hands up in surrender. "W-what did I do, Senpai?"
Eric shrugged. "Nothin'. Tha's yer problem." He removed the scythe from Alan's throat and he stepped back, resting the blade casually against his shoulder. "First lesson: Ne'er give yer opponent tha chance tae disarm ye or put ya in a corner."
"But you're more seasoned than I am!" Alan pointed out angrily, "and this is supposed to be an exercise! How can I show you what I can or can't do if you just—"
"Sounds like ano'er excuse," interrupted Eric with a growl.
Alan shivered, and he honestly couldn't understand his reaction to that rough sound. It intimidated him certainly, but their was something beyond a thrill of danger that confused him. "I…I'm sorry."
"Dinnae be sorry," said the Scotsman, "be resourceful an' pay attention. Now pick up the scythe again."
Alan looked at his training scythe dubiously, fully expecting another bum-kicking if he did as commanded. He could he get to it without this quick, fierce reaper blocking him and humiliating him again?
"'S a'right, Alan," assured Slingby in a gentler tone of voice. "Tha' was jus' an example. Ya need tae understand tha' any real opponents ya meet on th' field won't have a care fer whether yer green or seasoned. First lesson o' tha day. Always expect an ambush. Now pick it back up so I can teach ye some basic defensive moves."
"Are you going to attack me again if I try?" pressed Alan.
Eric grinned at him. "If all I e'er do is attack ya, then ye won't learn verra much, aye? Go ahead. I've made my point an' now it's time ta start trainin' ye no' tae be afraid o' yer own scythe."
"I'm not afraid of it," protested Alan as he collected it from the grass.
"Yer no' comfortable wi' it either," Eric pointed out. "Ya handle it gingerly, like a snake tha' could turn an' bite ya. A good Dispatch agent is always attuned tae his scythe—or hers, as tha case may be. It's yer ally in all things…tha one thing in this world tha' ye can trust no' tae turn on ya. Wi' enough practice, ye'll start tae see it as an extension o' yerself and when tha time is right, ye can have it modified tae suit yer personality."
Alan looked at the formidable saw that his instructor was wielding. "May I ask you something, Senpai?"
Eric nodded. "Sure, but tha clock's tickin'. Make it fast."
"What made you decide on a saw?"
Eric glanced at the blade, and he shrugged. "It's rugged. Makes me feel like a lumberjack." He grinned and winked at him. "Anythin' else?"
"No…I was just curious." He took a deep breath and he wondered what form his own scythe might one day take, should he graduate and become a Dispatch agent. He readied himself as best he could and he gave his instructor a nod. "I'm ready."
~xox~
It was brutal. After the first day of training, Alan could barely make it through a bath and to bed before he passed out. The next morning he was so terribly sore that he didn't think he could spar at all, but Eric forced him to anyway. After a while his aching muscles loosened up, and he found himself reacting better, learning the two moves that Eric had been hammering into him from morning to afternoon. After a week passed, he had those down pat and he learned two more. Each night he fell into an exhausted coma, and he would have forgotten to eat entirely if his senpai didn't drag him to the cafeteria after each lesson to be sure he got dinner.
Each day he trained with Eric, he learned a little bit more about him and vice-versa. Unfortunately, the cruelty of his classmates did not cease or lessen. They called him a "loser", they drew insulting pictures of him, they tripped him in the hallways and they snickered behind their hands at him. It even got to the point where he woke up one morning to step on a piece of excrement placed at the foot of his bed by someone. Whether it was animal shit or reaper shit he did not know, but he had to clean it up amidst the snickers of others.
After that incident, he couldn't even pretend excitement during his training session with Officer Slingby. His feet were dragging, his heart was aching, and he simply had no enthusiasm for the day's exercises. Two weeks had passed since he began his apprenticeship with Eric, and by now the Scotsman could tell that something wasn't quite right with him. After a few passes, he called for a break and he lit up one of his cloves while Alan sat down on a rock and hung his head.
"A'right, are ye gonna tell me wha's going on, or do I need tae stand here guessing all day?"
Alan looked up and he gave him a sickly smile. "I'm just tired, Senpai. I…stayed up too late…"
Eric gave him a hairy eyeball, and Alan sighed. "Okay. It's my classmates. They don't like me."
The Scotsman snorted and tapped his smoke before taking another drag. "So? Most reapers here don' like me, but tha's their problem."
"Bet they don't pick on you though," muttered Alan."
Eric paused and tilted his head. "Pick on ya how?"
Alan shrugged. "Pranks…snickers…dirty pictures."
The older reaper's brows shot up. "Dirty pictures?"
Alan swallowed and nodded, reliving the latest incident with a sick feeling in his belly. "Stick figures, mostly. The last one was tacked onto the dormitory door. It…depicted me…doing things to myself…"
Eric took another long drag of his cigar. "Tha' so? An' ye dinnae bring this up tae academy authorities?"
Alan looked up at him again. "That would just make it worse, wouldn't it? They'd know who tattled on them."
Eric sighed. "Prolly. Sometimes in situations like this, ye've got tae take it intae yer own hands."
"But how?" Alan queried, at the end of his rope. "They already hate me enough! I thought if I just put up with it and try to ignore it, they would eventually lose interest and move on…but they haven't."
He looked down again. "This morning I stepped in shit."
Eric didn't understand his meaning at first. "It happens."
"No, I mean…someone put a pile of it at the foot of my bed." He looked up at his mentor—who he'd come to admire already in the short time they'd been training together—and tears glistened in his eyes. "A deliberately placed pile of shit, Senpai. I don't know if one of them just squatted and did it at the foot of my bed while I was passed out, or if they collected it from somewhere…but I was almost late for our lessons today because I had to clean it up."
The Scotsman's expression darkened. "Tha' so?" He put out his cigar and dropped it into a butt disposal container he kept on him, and he walked over to the rock Alan was sitting on. "How long has this been happenin', Alan?"
The brunet shrugged, feeling so down he might as well be sinking into the earth. "A while. Since I graduated from junior academy and came here, I suppose. It just keeps getting worse. Maybe they're right…maybe I really am a loser."
He suffered an abrupt smack on the back of his head for his confession, and Alan yelped and rubbed the spot—though it hadn't been delivered hard enough to do more than startle him. "What was that for?" he demanded, feeling like he might burst into tears. He trusted this man enough to confide in him and now he was getting smacked for it?
"Dun' ever let me hear ya say tha' about yerself again, Humphries," growled Eric, squatting down before him. He gazed into the brunet's tearful eyes and he cupped his chin insistently. "I dinnae work wi' 'losers', an' yer no' one of 'em. Yer jus' an easy target fer shitebags tha' resent ya fer advancing as fast as ye have, no more. Ye'll graduate this academy. Most o' them won't, an' they know it."
Alan swallowed and gazed at him timidly. "What would you do…Eric?" He'd never dared to speak the man's given name before since their introduction, but now…right now he felt like more of a friend than an instructor.
"Well, fer starters I wouldnae whine abou' it," answered the older man with a smirk. "An' I'd find ways tae make it clear tae th' cunts tha' I'm not sae easy a mark as they think."
Alan gasped at the crude use of the "C" word. "M-Mr. Slingby!"
"Och, ya English an' yer aversion tae honest terms," chuckled Eric. He looked him in the eye again, and he released Alan's chin to stroke his hair a single time. "Wha' I'm tryin' tae say, Alan, is tha' as long as ya keep standin' still, they'll keep usin' ye as a punchin' bag. It could eventually get violent."
Alan closed his eyes. "I…I know."
"Then ye've gotta learn how tae defend yerself wi'out a scythe, since it's forbidden fer students tae draw on each other," reasoned Eric. "No' tha' I think these eedjits would let th' rules stand in their way if they think they can scare ya out of reportin' them, but ya dinnae want tae be th' first tae draw a scythe in a fight, believe me."
Eric stood up and he banished his scythe. "Which leads me tae a special lesson—one I'd planned tae save fer later. Put away the scythe, Alan. I'm about tae teach ye a few things about fist-fighting."
~xox~
-To be continued
