SPOILERS CHAPTER 131!
IF YOU HAVEN'T READ IT YET, LEAVE THIS CHAPTER FOR ANOTHER TIME!
A/N: Before you ask any questions. No. Undertaker didn't hit his head.
Death was a promise, waiting in the shadows until a hesitation occurs. With a swift movement, it strikes. It was a silent reassurance that even grim reapers could die. Not that they knew for certain. It didn't even matter if they could, all that mattered at this very moment were the wet drops on the window and how much it annoyed the Undertaker. When had he become so entranced by the mesmerizing dance of water outside his shop? Oh, right. It had been the beautiful lady standing in the pouring rain, seemingly guarding his shop. The Undertaker chuckled. This woman, such a pretty face. Such beautiful eyes. They were an enchanting sort of blue, the ones you could drown in. It reminded him of a certain someone, someone he couldn't quite place. But that didn't matter. He started grinning, the movement pulled at his stitched face. How had he ended up like that anyway? He'd been wondering about that often. He turned his attention back towards the raindrops spreading a great paradigm of disordered pictures on his window. He snarled at the glass, trying to see anything passed the water stealing his view of the outside world. If only his vision wasn't so blurry. He shook his head and turned his attention to one of the coffins behind him. It was late. Too late. Well, let's have some fun, no? He started laughing, no longer caring about the increasing stinging of his face.
"Joy!" He shouted into the ever present silence of his shop. He looked at the detail knife and picked it up, studying it close as if he had never seen it before. "Such joy." He muttered to himself, lowering the thin bladed knife until it rested on the wooden coffin. With practiced precision he started carving out the rest of an unfinished rose. Sometimes he wondered when he'd learned how to carve, but questions like these were often pushed away. He could honestly care less, but that shouldn't be him. A lot was missing as of late. There were gaps in his mind, gaps that were trying to edge him closer towards an ever growing depth inside his own head. A depth he recognized as a growing void filled with insanity.
Half an hour later, the rose was finished. He blew the dust away and eyed his work. A pity. He suppressed a sigh. His work was for naught. Soon, woodworms would be eating his work away while maggots would feast upon the occupant of said work. Yet another work, destroyed by nature. But that's alright. Undertaker giggled at the mental picture. He started carving out the name of his latest customer onto the recently polished lid, "Cedric K. Ross". Quite the posh guy, Undertaker had noted. He had died a sinful man. As soon as word came out about the Phantomhive children, Cedric had become a useless drunk. Undertaker shook his head. Oh, he pitied the Countess. The poor woman had given the eldest children, a boy called Vincent, her surname. The youngest, in turn, had been given Cedric's name. Frances Ross. Undertaker snickered to himself. The Phantomhives had soiled their own name, it seemed. The poor countess had every right to go as she pleased, earl Ross didn't quite have the looks after all. Laughter soon filled the small parlor one more.
The Undertaker carved the last 's' in the wood and inspected the letters carefully. Undertaker had never met the countess and wasn't intending on meeting her either. For some reason, he just disliked women who had a certain amount of power. This reminded him of the queen. No good. He had to change his own train of thought. The queen wasn't fun to discuss, she disgusted him and he didn't even know why. He stood up from his crouched position and stretched his back. Lord, he was getting old. Soon Undertaker was wheeling the coffin towards another room where he had placed the 'prettied' corpse onto a slab table. The Undertaker took a chart and read it, uninterested. They'd be there for the body soon. He shrugged and started maneuvering the corpse into the coffin. Custom-made. He smiled at the notion. His life was one big custom-made coffin. His life, his coffin. His choices, all his own, custom to who he was. He started laughing. To some it sounded maniacal, to others it sounded…well…maniacal. There really was no other word, which again, made him laugh more. They were scared of him! Joy!
No one was supposed to know the earl had died so when they came for the corpse at midnight, the Undertaker had already prepared his carriage with the coffin.
"Good evening, gentlemen." Undertaker greeted with a grin.
"Good evening, Undertaker." One of the men replied shakily. It was cold outside, it was a nice evening even though it was January, almost February. Undertaker shrugged at the shaky sound of the man's voice and waved for him to follow him.
"The earl is ready to leave, want a peek inside?" The Undertaker sad tapping against the wooden lid of the coffin. The man in front of him shook his head and smiled sheepishly.
"No need for that, mister Undertaker." He said, his hands held up in front of him. "If you'd be so kind." He gestured towards the carriage and then the road.
"Of course, of course. It was part of the agreement, was it not?" He said climbing on the carriage. He pulled at the rein and allowed the horse to walk up the road in front of the Phantomhive carriage. Annoying animals, horses were just too big. Donkeys were smaller, he'd have to see how they'd do, pulling a carriage loaded with a heavy coffin and the Undertaker. "I'm not that heavy." He muttered to himself, looking down at his belly. He resisted the urge to pat it, remembering the cookies with extra sugar he'd been eating all evening. "At least not yet." He told himself, laughing merrily in the wake of his carriage, spooking the men behind him.
He rode the carriage up the stone driveway leading towards the back of the manor. He whistled at the size of the mansion as he neared it. He looked at the numerous windows and spotted a shadow standing behind one of them. He might be near-sighted, but he could swear it was one of the young Phantomhives. Probably the boy. He waved at the boy with a smile. Vincent had to be around 19 now. Not particularly a child anymore. He could vaguely see the outline of a hand waving back at him and he smiled contently at the silent reply. Proud of the peculiar reaction he had gotten, Undertaker focused his attention towards the horse. At the back of the manor, Undertaker was greeted by servant who had heard them approaching.
"Greetings, butler!" Undertaker greeted happily. He pulled at the reins until the horse came to a standstill. He hopped off of the wagon and extended a friendly hand towards the butler. He could have sworn he knew him, but then again, butlers always looked similar to one another. Was it the neat suit? Probably. Undertaker shrugged mentally, ending his inner debate. Undertaker looked back at the butler who was staring at him with a perplexed look. Undertaker stared back, slightly concerned something was on his face. Oh! It must be the scars. "I apologize, I must look hideous." Undertaker said with a smile.
"No, it's not the scars, sir." The butler said, still staring at the reaper. Undertaker didn't know how to reply to that, instead he just nodded awkwardly. "I'm sorry for my rudeness." The butler apologized. "I will return the carriage to your shortly." He said, taking the horse's rein and leading it away from him.
"I have never seen Tanaka like that before." Another servant observed. Tanaka. Undertaker repeated the name several times inside his head. Why was it so familiar?
"I can sum up plenty of people who act "like that" when meeting me for the first time." Undertaker replied with a laugh. He turned around to face the servant and saw it actually wasn't a servant at all.
"Mother isn't here to greet you, Undertaker, sir." The young Phantomhive boy said politely. Undertaker shook his head and replied,
"That's alright, lad." He reached out to shake Vincent's hand who took it without hesitation. A firm but not too firm grip, Undertaker noted with satisfaction. A strong kid.
"Can I offer you some tea, mister Undertaker?" Vincent asked. He was unfazed by the mortician's strange appearance it seemed. Undertaker thought the offer over, but shook his head.
"I'm afraid I have to decline, young Phantomhive." He told Vincent. The boy actually looked disappointed.
"That's a shame." He said, making the Undertaker tilt his head in apparent confusion. "I've seen an interesting painting up in the attic," The boy began. "The man looked a lot like you, I thought you might be interested in it." He said with a shrug. If the man in the painting looked like him, well,
"I can imagine why you want to get rid of it." Undertaker said laughing madly. That was subtle.
"Lord, no. I didn't mean it like that." Vincent hastened to correct what he now noticed wasn't the best way he could have phrased his thoughts.
"That's quite alright. I'd be happy to take a look." Undertaker told him if only to reassure the boy he had said nothing wrong. Vincent's face softened with relief almost immediately.
"Good evening, master Vincent." Tanaka greeted, pulling Undertaker's carriage along.
"Hello Tanaka, do you mind doing me a favor?" Vincent asked to which the butler merely looked at him, silently urging him to continue. "Can you get that painting from the attic, the one mother has been refusing to sell?" Vincent asked with a goodhearted smile. Why would the boy want to get rid of a painting his mother treasured? Tanaka averted his gaze from Vincent to Undertaker as if looking for any kind of recognition. Undertaker just smiled at the butler which seemed to disappoint him.
"I doubt your mother would appreciate you selling it, lad." Undertaker told him. Truth be told, the mortician didn't even have money on him so he wouldn't be able to buy it even if he happened to like it. Though why would he? If the painting looked like him, he'd only buy it so he could burn it later.
"I know, but it's not healthy. She stares at it with grief in her eyes." Vincent told the Undertaker, leading the reaper towards the front of the manor to the front door. "It looks like she's mourning it." The boy muttered silently. Tanaka had gone through the backdoor into the manor, but Vincent was leading Undertaker towards the front before he had a chance to tell the kid he didn't mind going through the servants' quarters. He was an Undertaker after all, he wasn't a noble.
"I see." Undertaker said quietly. Vincent walked him towards the living room and offered him a seat. The mortician sat down and waited patiently while one of the servants gave them some tea. "Master Phantomhive," Undertaker began politely, if only to break the silence. "You have a sister, right?" He asked before taking a cautious sip of his tea. His mind started reeling. This looked like a terrible set up plan to kill him. Lure him inside with a well prepared story, poison him and bury him somewhere so no one would ever find his rotting bones. How this thought entered his mind, he couldn't even begin to fathom. He carefully put the cup down on the table and settled with just waiting.
"Yes, she's sleeping upstairs." Vincent told him. Undertaker nodded and looked around. There were family pictures on the walls and the furniture looked anything but cheap. He stood up without warning, making Vincent jump. The young Phantomhive remained seated though, so Undertaker decided to roam around the living room. He took one of the family pictures and looked at the odd foursome. Cedric was definitely not a handsome man. His strong and grave eyes reflected in his daughter's facial expression. Luckily for her, Frances had her mother's looks. What intrigued the Undertaker as well were the difference between the siblings. Sure, Vincent wasn't Cedric's. Everyone in London knew this, but the kindness inside the young boy's eyes was surprisingly inviting. His mother shared this trait as well. He silently wondered who his father was.
"Excuse me," Tanaka's voice sounded from across the room. Vincent had been looking at Undertaker while he had been looking at the pictures. Undertaker put the picture frame back and approached the butler. Tanaka looked way too old for his age. The reaper could see deep lines of worry and a hint of grief inside his eyes. Could he expect anything else though? The earl, his master, had passed away two days ago.
"Now let's see what this beast looks like." Undertaker said as joyful as ever, earning him a chuckle from Vincent. The lad didn't seem too affected by the loss of his father even if it wasn't his biological father, Undertaker noted. He hadn't even realized this up until now. Tanaka turned the painting around wordlessly.
"I don't know what eye color you have, but there's certainly a strong resemblance." Vincent said gesturing a hand towards the canvas. Meek colors. It wasn't right. The eyes. The hair. It just wasn't right. The scarless face. No. This wasn't…
This painting.
It's not right.
Undertaker stared at it for the longest of moments. He could see Tanaka looking at him with interest and sympathy. Vincent wasn't looking at him, he was looking at the painting, waiting for him to say something. It's not right. He gazed at the blue eyes of his own reflection.
"It's not right." He muttered to himself. He said in an attempt to comfort himself, memories he had pushed back so long ago started to resurface along with faces he had tried to forget. Vincent had turned towards him now, looking at him with a pensive expression. Undertaker turned towards the boy, his eyes widening as realization hit him.
"The earl is still among us." Tanaka spoke quietly. The words echoed inside his head. Claudia entering his shop, his heart swelling with love, the proposal, the rings. He looked down at his hand, the silver stone reflected off of the light in a dance of small glistering lights.
"Tell me at least your surname. I want to know who I'm talking to."
"Well, miss Phyntom, it's Phantomhive."
I'm earl Phantomhive, Undertaker thought to himself. He looked back at the painting.
"The earl is still among us. He is right in our midst." He looked up at Tanaka. His hair moved out of his face, a single green eye coming into view. Tanaka was smiling sadly.
The queen. She had torn him away from her. She had killed him.
"Mister Undertaker?" Vincent asked uncertain. "If the painting is not to your likening, Tanaka will bring it back." He told the mortician, nodding at Tanaka to get the painting out of the room before their guest had a breakdown. Vincent could see the battle within the reaper, a battle he was sorely losing.
"Burn it." Undertaker said, turning his gaze towards his feet.
"Excuse me?" Vincent asked in disbelief. Surely the painting wasn't that bad. His blue eyes swept over the picture once more. He looked at a man with long silver hair and blue eyes. A small, slightly forced smile graced his pale lips.
"Burn it. Destroy it." Undertaker told him more sternly. "Tell lady Phantomhive someone bought it. I will send you the money first thing tomorrow." He turned to leave, his face hidden by his long bangs.
"No, I wanted to give it you if you were interested, but if it unsettles you this much," He halted and looked at Tanaka. "Please, dispose of this painting, Tanaka." Vincent said. "I don't want any money, mister Undertaker." He laid a hand on the mortician's shoulder. "It has only brought bad luck upon us." Vincent smiled at the man in front of him, but the Undertaker didn't look at him. He was looking passed the young boy and into blue depths where he had drowned in so long ago.
"If this actually fits, I will make sure you eat more." She muttered, looking at the size of her ring. It slid onto his finger perfectly which didn't only worry her, it made her happy and he could see it in her eyes.
He could see her eyes. The genuine happiness. Not the feigned happy smile she was using in the pictures he had been looking at earlier. No. It was genuine and warm.
"I just hope mother won't be too angry with me." Vincent said awkwardly trying to lighten the mood. He laughed nervously, running a hand through his blue tinted hair.
"You have a puppy, no?" Undertaker asked suddenly. Vincent nodded hesitantly, no doubt picturing the tiny black dog.
"Sebastian?" He asked the mortician.
"Yes, tell her Sebastian tore it apart." Because that was all it was worth. To be torn by a dog. Ha! The irony! The queen's watchdog, torn by the queen, torn by a dog owned by the watchdog. What a joke! He saw Vincent contemplating over the thought, trying to picture the happy puppy playing and eventually shredding the painting into itty bitty bits.
"That's not a bad idea." Vincent said with a satisfied smile.
After that, July 13, terrible news reached the Undertaker. Claudia Phantomhive had passed away. He mourned her like a lover would because that's what they were, at least that's how he felt. A piece of him died and the moment her body reached his shop, he broke down. He had snipped away a piece of hair and had out it into an empty mourning locket. He stared longingly at Mally's locket, but ignored those haunted memories into a corner inside his mind.
Nine years later, good news finally found its way into the Undertaker's life. Vincent had gotten himself a little earl of his own. Two in fact. His wife, Rachel had given birth to identical twin boys. Being Vincent's informant came with its perks, but he waited. He waited seven more years before finally visiting the Phantomhive household.
Undertaker wandered through long halls before a young child bumped into him. Surprised by the boy's sudden appearance, Undertaker blamed his unusual lineage. Sure he could sense humans, but reapers were different. Especially at such a young age. Vincent was half a reaper himself, sure he had passed some of that on to his children.
"I'm sorr…" The child started, rubbing into his eyes to clear his vision as if bumping into him had disoriented him. However, he stopped speaking when he opened his eyes to look who he bumped into.
"Oh my, oh my." Undertaker started with a smile. He brought a hand up towards his mouth in amusement. "It's little Phantomhive!" He practically sang. "Which one are you, hm?" The child shouted in fright and started stuttering incoherently. "Well, no matter! You're both Phantomhives as regards me." He told the young boy who just sat on the ground, looking up at him. Another voice was heard, ah, must be the other tiny Phantomhive.
"Oh! There you are!" It was indeed the other one. Undertaker eyed the two boys fondly. Too bad he couldn't actually be their grandfather. Even with that rather disappointing thought in the back of his head, he managed to enjoy the twins' company, along with the young photographer. It was a day neither he nor the twins would forget. Especially the one he had startled so much into giving him nightmares until the day dear old Sebastian would stop barking and their roles were reversed. But that was a matter for another time.
THE END
A/N: Sorry if the ending was disappointing, but from this point onward I could only start telling the entire manga from Undertaker's point of view. But no one would appreciate that, so, THE END ^^