Welcome to The Grimm Office

R27

Apparently I just couldn't sit still for long. After writing my most recent 8018 fic I had a lot of time to catch up on my other ideas, and I was planning to start one of my older stories and finish a couple of oneshots when I had this random brainwave in school again. Ever heard of the Grimm Brothers' Fairy Tale Collection? I absolutely adore them. If you don't know what they are, look it up. I guarantee you'll never see any of the classic stories like Sleeping Beauty or Cinderella the same way ever again. The 'real' story behind those fairy tales aren't stuff you see in Disney, haha.

This is my first R27, which is one of my favourite pairings. I'm not sure why I haven't written anything about them yet, so here's a series for that! I have yet to decide about other pairings in this story, so bear with me guys :'D This is the first time in a while I'm writing out of my own original idea, not along the plot of a movie like One Summer's Day and Thieves and Beggars. Speaking of Thieves and Beggars, I'm making a small oneshot sometime later on about Reborn's past. Real short and sweet. If you're interested, keep an eye out, I suppose xD

So! Welcome to the first chapter of The Grimm Office. I ranted too much again, I know. But I'm always lost when I first start a series, kora! Please don't mind me!

In other news: Happy birthday, Emily! Even though you're nine and shouldn't be reading anything I write :'3 Enjoy your big day!

Disclaimer: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn. Any similarities in events or characters living or dead are entirely coincidental.

Enjoy!


London, it seems, was a quiet city during this time of the year. Perhaps it was still too early in the winter for its citizens to be interested in the holiday cheer, or maybe it was an oddly chilly year, there was hardly any cheer in the fog swamped, grey city. The air was more than often thick with dark clouds that hung low and smoke pumping into the sky from the factories near the outskirts of the swarming city. In any case, the atmosphere was rather downtrodden.

Everybody was miserable and dreary, but their predicament was almost nothing compared to the setting of a strange little office located in a small alley right off the busiest road in the city. It was completely insignificant compared to the exquisite Victorian-styled bakery and printing office it was squashed inbetween, almost blending into the rusty coloured bricks of the walls in the cramped backstreet. The door was grimy and smeared with dust, the glass pane cracked and taped back together. A sign hanging over the doorway swung eerily in the gloom, rusted at the edges and painted black. Faded yellow words read simply: The Grimm Office.

The interior was as dark and grimy as it was outside. The lowest floor was completely dark and empty. The reception desk at the front had a thick layer of dust on it, and the painting was curling in its frame on the wall behind it. A set of stairs at the back of the room were lit up by a yellowed light bulb, glowing all by its lonesome on the ceiling. The set of creaky wooden stairs let up to yet another frosted glass door, though this time, there were words imprinted on the top pane.

The office was ridiculously small and ridiculously messy. Seven bookshelves lined the wall, hiding the spotted wallpaper with shelves upon shelves of thick volumes bound in leather and other materials. Upon closer inspection, one would realize that this bureau was not very normal at all. Pictures that hung on the walls were not cheap versions of Picasso or some Impressionist, but rather detailed sketches of goblins, dwarves, and trolls. A large frame made of mahogany contained a map filled with little flags labeling places such as "Werewolf territory", "Zombie Infested Grounds" and "Haunted Buildings". Weapons of all sorts were displayed and mounted on the remaining space on the walls, going from primitive crossbows and swords to long rifles and heavily customized shotguns. There were several tables, one located under the unwashed window, and two other placed facing one another, leaving a small sliver of space between the two chipped wood surfaces. All three tables were completely overflowing with papers, folders, open books and dirty plates with remains of food stuck on the porcelain. One of the two tables away from the window had a nameplate placed at the corner, reading Yamamoto Takeshi, Assistant. It was empty. On the other table, balanced precariously upon a pile of tottering delivery boxes was a similar plaque with the name Reborn, Private Investigator inscribed upon the black surface in yellow.

At the moment, the said man was slumped at the table…

…asleep.

Reborn inhaled and exhaled slowly, snoring quietly with his cheek resting on a pile of documents that were being unceremoniously being used as an impromptu pillow. His black hair stuck up in all directions, curly sideburns contrasting against a smooth, pale face. He had a long nose; thick eyelashes and a small frown on his mouth even as he slept. He was wearing a nice black dress shirt with dark pants and had a yellow tie hanging loosely from his collar. Strapped across his chest was a leather holster holding a customized silver gun.

Somewhere outside, the wind rattled the windows and overturned garbage cans, but Reborn slept on like the dead. That is, until the door to the office suddenly crashed open, startling the dark-haired man, who leapt up and went for his gun at once, pointing it at a massive shape hovering in the doorway of the dimly lit office.

"Whoa, don't shoot, Reborn, it's just me!"

Reborn squinted, his head throbbing unpleasantly. He was considering shooting the lump that addressed him anyway, mainly because the guy knew his name and woke him up from a really good sleep. However, the man tugged his scarf down and held up his one free hand defensively.

"Damn it, Reborn, don't shoot your own partner!"

"Shut up, Yamamoto," Reborn growled, actually firing off two shots that made the other cringe and duck, dropping a large paper bag as he took cover from the two bullets that embedded themselves into the wall behind him.

"Jesus! Don't actually fire your damn gun!" Yamamoto cussed, glaring. "I brought lunch, and this is how you pay me back?"

"You're wasting money," Reborn said at once, but he stepped around his desk to retrieve the brown sack. "Where did you go?"

"To Luce's café," Yamamoto grumbled, tugging his coat off, dropping the limp mass into his chair and sinking into it, heaving a tired sigh. "She was kind enough to give me a discount on the meal again. But thanks to you, your espresso might have spilled."

"If it did, I'll really shoot you," Reborn said mildly, searching through the contents to reveal two cold sandwiches, two packs of cigarettes and a leaky thermos containing Reborn's reverend caffeinated drink and a bottle of milk for Yamamoto. Reborn retrieved his lunch, walked back to his desk, lifted a long leg, slammed his heel down on his workspace and swept everything down onto the floor in a swift movement before leaning back smoothly to sit in his chair, taking a long drink from his thermos as he did. Yamamoto groaned in annoyance as ink bottles smashed and papers flew everywhere. Only Reborn could make a mess and still look graceful while doing so.

"Stop kicking things off your table."

"Don't barge in without knocking."

"I work here, Reborn," Yamamoto said irritably, taking out his own sandwich and biting in hungrily.

"I own this office," the other replied smugly between bites. Reborn never talked with his mouth full. It was just one of the small traits the elder had. It was like he was raised in a high-class household or something.

"You sleep on the job," Yamamoto accused. Reborn scowled at that.

"It's not like anybody needs help right now. Business is slower than ever."

"You could say that again," Yamamoto sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "When do you think we'll get something good other than a common house ghoul or a graveyard spirit?"

Reborn 'tsked' loudly, taking a huge bite out of his ham and Swiss sandwich. "We are not a low class business," he snapped. "We work with class, so therefore we exterminate ."

"Can't survive on class, Reborn," Yamamoto said dryly. "But don't worry. I've checked around the locals before I came back; there hasn't even been low scum in the streets. It's like the entire city is deserted."

Reborn snorted. "Thanks for the obvious."

Yamamoto shifted himself into a more comfortable position. "Two years ago, this place was running along fine," he said quietly. "Where's all the business gone?"

"Maybe some over-zealous priest chased everything out," Reborn said, uncaring.

"What's the point of this place then if a simple priest can exorcise everything that'll make London fall?" Yamamoto asked irritably. Reborn just shrugged, directing his gaze out the window.

"The point of us being here," he said calmly, "Is so that London won't fall when nobody can save it."

Yamamoto huffed, but didn't reply. The Grimm Office was indeed nothing like a priest. It was only the two dark-haired males running the little business, but they've had an unbeatable record in their field. And what exactly did The Grimm Office do?

Demon hunting.

It was not uncommon for mankind and the supernatural to cross paths in a busy place, such as London. From ghouls that mess around with piping in the attic to deadly monsters that prowl through the streets at night consuming unsuspecting souls, they all fell under the area of Reborn's services. He and Yamamoto were trained to destroy anything that caused mayhem, yet, they had run into a rather large problem lately.

The city was completely void of demons.

At the beginning of spring two years ago, the population had suddenly dropped, resulting in a huge loss of business as people began to lead much more peaceful lives. But for the two men, they knew that the temporary peace was not something to celebrate about, partly because they were nearly bankrupt now. Other reason?

Demons do not simply vanish like so. Now all of Reborn and Yamamoto's time was dedicated to researching why everything was gone. On a good night two years back, they could actually hear a witch cackling as she soared into the night sky. Now, one couldn't even get the faucet to drip noisily in the bathroom.

Yamamoto sighed and brushed crumbs off his lap. "It's almost 4 pm. Is there anything you need?"

"Nope," Reborn said, still staring out the window. "Go home if you want."

"Thanks, then," Yamamoto replied, standing up to pull on his coat. He grabbed an old rucksack and shoved his notes and books into the roughed up bag. The younger of the two exited the office, closing the metal door behind him with a shaky bang.

The espresso was cooling in the thermos already. Reborn cracked his neck and stretched his shoulders, releasing the tension in his spine before walking into the washroom in the back to wash up. However, before he could do so, Reborn's foot stepped on something on the floor that made a loud crunch.

Groaning, the dark-haired man pushed aside the papers covering the object that had broken under his weight. He didn't really feel like cleaning up, but if Yamamoto came in and found whatever it was he stepped on he'd get an earful from the guy. The man was just so used to shouting at his roommate for leaving his stuff around, the habit had carried on to work. When he'd cleared up his scattered documents from the floor, light finally fell upon what became victim to Reborn's shoe.

It was a picture frame. The glass now had cracks that snaked outwards like haphazard spider webs, but the plain silver frame was luckily intact. Tucked away behind the broken glass was a picture of three men standing outside, dressed in coats with scarves wrapped around their necks, cigarettes dangling tantalizingly from their lips. Reborn stiffened as he picked up the frame gingerly, realizing what he was holding.

One of the males in the photo was him, nearly six years ago, looking about the same but with slightly longer hair. He was standing next to a young blonde man with sky blue eyes and gravity defying hair and a grinning redhead. All of them were smoking as snow fell around them, their breaths coming up in little puffs of mist, mingling with the fumes from the cigarettes. Reborn's chest clenched uncomfortably as he stared down at the two faces he hadn't seen for years already. Flipping the frame upside down, the dark-haired man smashed the cracked glass onto the corner of his desk, breaking everything off. Reborn slipped the photo out and tucked it into the inner pocket of his coat without looking at the image. He wasn't eager to leave it behind on the desk or anything either, but it felt wrong to have that picture so close to his heart.

Reborn tossed the useless frame into the overflowing garbage bin and picked up his bag as well, stepping over piles of paper on the ground to walk out the door. He didn't feel like doing work after finding that. Locking up the office and exiting the entire building altogether, the dark-haired man ripped open the new pack of cigarettes and lit it up with a match, feeling the portion of his coat holding the picture feeling oddly stiff against his chest.


Yamamoto sighed and trudged up the metal stairs up the side of the building to his flat, tripping a little because of the obscuring fog that hung so low that even the third floor patio was covered in a blanket of wetness. He dug through his bag for his keys, inserting it into the rusted keyhole. With a click, he turned the key and pushed open the door, walking into his shared apartment.

"I'm back," Yamamoto called out tiredly, dropping his bag on the floor and locking the door.

There was no reply. Yamamoto glanced up, toeing his shoes off and slipping quietly into the deserted flat. It was small and cramped, just like the Grimm Office, but definitely homier. The narrow hallway branched off into several different rooms; the sitting area with a single couch, coffee table and a bookshelf, two rooms with closed doors, a bathroom and a kitchen joined with the den, where a fold-up table was pushed against the wall and two stools were placed side by side next to the counter. Yamamoto walked cautiously in, looking around for his roommate. Was the guy asleep?

"Hello? Are you up?" Yamamoto addressed the silence again, frowning. "Byaku—"

Out of nowhere, a huge shape went flying out from behind the sofa in the sitting area and tackled him. On instinct, Yamamoto threw himself against the wall to avoid a direct hit, sticking his leg out so that the shape tripped and unceremoniously collapsed into the kitchen with a yelp of pain. Yamamoto pounced at once, grabbing a handful of spikey white hair and yanking backwards.

"What the—"

"Ouch~! You're so mean, Takeshi!"

Yamamoto stared at the figure lying on the kitchen floor below him. It was a tall man with strange white hair and a slim, pointed face, grinning like a smug child up towards the dark-haired hunter. He had glowing purple irises and a tattoo under his left eye. Yamamoto growled and let go at once. This man was his freaking roommate.

"Byakuran, I told you not to scare me like that when I come home!"

"But I like your shocked face, Takeshi!" Byakuran pouted, sitting up and massaging his scalp. "You always punch me though, what's with that?"

"If you stop leaping out like a burglar or something, maybe you won't get your nose punched in," Yamamoto replied smoothly, watching Byakuran stand. The white-haired man was taller than he was upright, and suddenly, the hallway was immediately too cramped. Yamamoto sighed and started to walk towards the den, shrugging his jacket off, but he hadn't walked two steps before Byakuran grabbed him by the crook of his arm, spun the protesting man around and pulled him into a tight hug, their lips meeting halfway.

Yamamoto struggled halfheartedly as Byakuran's arms held him close, lips moving softly and sweetly against his own. It was so soothing that he almost fell into the comfortable embrace, but after a moment of senselessness, Yamamoto forced himself to push the taller away and stammer, "S-stop that."

"But why?" Byakuran whispered; close enough that he needn't raise his voice for Yamamoto to hear him. The dark-haired man made an exasperated noise in his throat.

"I'm not—this isn't the best choice," he retorted lamely. Byakuran's purple eyes seemed to pierce through chocolate brown ones.

"Takeshi, I promised you long ago; I wouldn't love anyone but you. Won't you please give me a chance?"

"And I've told you," Yamamoto said forcefully, pushing Byakuran away from him, "That there's no way we can be together, so please don't continue this."

"Takeshi—"

But Yamamoto had already walked over to his own bedroom, closing the door with a snap behind him. The dark-haired male exhaled heavily, surveying his room. It was small, just like everything else, with an iron-frame bed, simple white sheets with a squashy pillow, a desk, books stacked on the table and floor and a long, Japanese katana leaning against the wall. Yamamoto added his bag to the pile of accumulating mess on the ground and pulled his shirt off. It was a tiring day. With business going so slowly and Byakuran refusing to back down…even his brain was exhausted now.

Yamamoto changed into comfortable pants and a sweater, flopping onto his bed without even pulling his blanket over him. He closed his eyes, and for a moment, his roommate's face filled his mind. Groaning, Yamamoto rolled over to muffle his face into the pillow. He couldn't stand it. The kisses, hugs, gentle ruffles of his hair and the beaming smiles…everything for him make the younger of the two drown in guilt.

He didn't want to push Byakuran away like this. He adored the older man and his humor, creative personality and optimistic way of life. He was the only upbeat part of Yamamoto's otherwise sluggish lifestyle. But his job was far too dangerous for his friend to become involved in. No matter what, Yamamoto knew he couldn't involve his admirer…

…lest the person he loved most disappear from him forever.


Down in the sparsely populated streets, a young boy was stumbling along, clutching his bag and suitcase to himself. He wasn't dressed very well for the cold weather, wearing only a wool sweater and a raincoat with dark pants, flat shoes and a thin scarf. On his hands were two mittens that looked as though they were hand-knitted. He had gravity defying brown hair that stuck up in every direction and dark brown eyes. A side bag bounced against his back as walked, suitcase in one hand and a small slip of paper in the other. Every now and then he'd approach a pedestrian, showing them something that was written on the paper. However, all he often got were shaking heads and shrugs of the shoulders. Looking worried, the boy stumbled along, peering at all the stores along the road.

He was young, perhaps only sixteen or seventeen. The streets were getting dark, and dangers were on the prowl. Unknown to the brunette, about four burly-looking men were already following him as he walked down the street, looking lost and confused. The men stopped when they saw the boy pause to address a lady wearing a white dress and coat bringing tables back into a café as they closed down for the day.

"Excuse me, miss, but do you know where this agency is?" the brunette asked the young woman who was currently folding up tables to bring into a shop named Luce's Café. Luce brushed her black hair out of her face and looked down at the slip of paper.

"Oh! I know where that is. Just head down the street and turn left when you see the Kawahira Bakery. Are you lost?" she added, looking at the teen up and down. The brunette laughed softly, nodding. "I needed to look for these gentlemen, but I'm not familiar with the area. Thank you for your help, miss." He turned to go, but Luce's voice stopped him.

"Now just a minute! You don't know the weather here, do you?" she scolded, looking down at the flimsy sweater. "I'll get you some of my nephew's old things. It's a nice woolen coat, it'll keep you warm in the winter."

"Ah, thank you," the brunette said, looking surprised. "That's kind of you!"

"Don't worry about it," Luce smiled. "Wait for me here."

The brunette watched as the young woman walked back into her shop, wind ruffling his hair. He stepped away from the café and glanced down the street. Where was Kawahira Bakery?

"Hey, boy."

The brunette turned. The four beefy men had walked up to him the moment Luce had disappeared back into her shop, grinning down at the slim boy.

"What is it?" the brunette asked slowly, staring up at the group. The tallest man with a thick moustache reached out and grabbed the teen's collar.

"Come with us, lil' boy," he sneered, flicking a knife out from his coat. "We're gonna have a little chat in the alley, hmm?"

The other males snickered, huddling together as the moustache man dragged the brunette into the shadows, quickly following when they were sure nobody saw them. The brunette was thrown against the wall, his suitcase falling to the ground with a clunk.

"Be good now," moustache grinned, "and you might get away with a finger or two."

The other men roared with laughter, taking out daggers, metal rods and even a pistol. They inched closer to the brunette standing flushed against the wall, completely trapped. There was no way out. Moustache grabbed the teen's hand, yanking at the knitted mitten.

"Gotcha," he jeered, jerking his knife up to the brunette's slim throat. There was a moment where the other thieves crowded in, all clambering for the fun of looting and pillage.

But then, the soft brown eyes suddenly glowed like a blazing orange fire…and in an instant, he was upon them.

Luce was walking back outside when she heard the gunshot. Jumping, the young woman ran out at once, looking for the boy who was standing outside.

"Hello?" she called out into the fog. "Hello? Sir? Are you still here?"

There was no response. Then, a moment later, a shape emerged from the darkening mist hanging over the cobblestone street. It was the brunette, looking concerned.

"Miss, you're here? Didn't you hear the gunshot earlier?"

"I did!" Luce said urgently. "It's getting dangerous in these areas; perhaps you should come inside for now."

"Oh, no, I wouldn't worry about that," the brunette said meekly, scratching his neck. "I'm sure it was just a blank. Probably an empty threat, whoever fired it. The pistol was just to scare someone."

"Huh?" Luce asked, confused. The brunette laughed again and said, "It's alright, miss. I was just taking a look down the street, and I saw Kawahira Bakery, like you said. Thanks for your help."

"I see…" Luce said, not entirely convinced. "Well, here's the coat! It should fit you." She leaned down and wrapped the warm blue jacket around the brunette, doing up the first two buttons for him.

"Thank you very much," the brunette said, smiling. "I'll be going now. Thank you again!"

Luce waved as the mysterious teen walked off, his suitcase bouncing against his leg. Peering nervously around the empty street, Luce was about to turn around and head back into the café when she noticed something strange on the cobblestone. There was a small smudge on the stone where the brunette had been standing a moment ago. Luce blinked, staring down. The smudge was dark, but it looked rather red. Shrugging, the young woman turned and flipped the close sign over her window.

The streets were full of strange things. Who was she to judge a strange red stain on the ground?

He continued to walk down the street, past the alley he'd been in moments ago, past the various shops that had already closed down for the night, and finally, located Kawahira's Bakery. Between the shop and an old printing office was a cramped alley as well. He slipped in, walking a few feet before coming to a stop next to a grimy door smeared with dust; its glass panes cracked and held rather unsecurely together by tape. A sign hanging over the doorway swung eerily in the gloom, rusted at the edges and painted black. Though it was hard to see in the night, faded yellow words on the sign were the same words as the ones scrawled on the slip of paper in the teens' mittens.

He turned the paper over, frowning when he saw that he got a smudge of red on the back as well. He wiped his mitts on the brick wall, sighing. He couldn't help it; he had always been messy when it came to humans. But then again, humans weren't the same as monsters…and he wasn't exactly the best judge of strength.

The brunette looked up and exhaled. He'd made it. Now all he had to do was wait for The Grimm Office to open up tomorrow…and meet this "Reborn" person his brother so desperately wanted him to see.


End of Chapter One~ What do you guys think? I've got lots of ideas for this series, and hopefully I can include them all.

Also: so, I'm unsure which pairings to place in this story…so, and suggestions, requests? :D I'll do my best if you guys are interested in anything~ promise!

Thank you for reading! Please look forward to Chapter Two :'D I swear it won't be a long time before I update. Comments re much appreciated!

-BlackStar