"And you are absolutely certain this is the correct place, Ange?"

"As certain as I'm going to get," Arthur muttered under his breath, trudging through the snow and cursing his wet sandals.

Francis looked up. The building in front of them was fairly nondescript, but their trail had led them here. Death's last official place of operation had been Uganda. From there, the two had searched with for any traces of the dead with a metaphorical fine-toothed comb. It had been a painstaking process, but they'd eventually managed to find a faint trail of death that led straight to a ladies' salon in the outskirts of New York City. Arthur seemed not to mind this in the slightest, but given their previous history in the city (ie, a zombie invasion), Francis was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

Arthur knelt to cradle a wilting flower with the tips of his fingers. "She's here," he said quietly, glancing from Francis to the door in front of them. It appeared that they were going through the back rather than the front, but that may have been for the best. There was a considerable amount of noise coming from the busier area, and neither man of the Otherworld particularly fancied conducting an investigation in a throng of nosy humans.

Phasing through the door, the angel-demon duo found themselves in a dark room. Francis, bumping his head against a wall and probably leaving a nasty scrape on his left horn, scrabbled around until he happened upon the switches. The world flickered into view.

Or the basement did, anyway. On its own, it probably wouldn't have been much to look at, being filled with shelves and the odd miscellaneous furniture. However, the nondescript background went ignored.

In the middle of the room, seated daintily in a circle of light, was Death.

In different, more candle-lit circumstances, Francis supposed, she may have seemed almost romantic. A beautiful girl surrounded by a faint glow and the bodies of tiny unfortunate creatures that had met their end after prolonged exposure to Death's person. Under the glare of fluorescent lighting and the smell of cheap pine air-freshener, however, Francis looked at the dead insects and thought, ugh.

The angel had no such qualms, and quickly strode forward to smudge the lines of the magic circle with his foot. The light immediately faded. Death, taking Arthur's offered hand, stood and stepped over the boundary with no effort at all. "Thank you," she said, voice soft.

Arthur noticed he was smiling and immediately put a stop to it. "You've got some nerve, disappearing on us like that. I've been trudging all over the bloody world with naught but this loon for company and here I find you sitting on your bum looking pretty while we thought you'd been spirited away somewhere."

Francis slipped between the two, wrapping a reassuring arm around Death's shoulders. "What he means to say is that we were very worried about you, and are glad to see you safe. Isn't that right, Arthur?"

"Hardly." Arthur stood back to look properly at the ruined symbols written in chalk on the ground. "What's all this, then?"

Death, ignoring the arm steadily making its way down to her waist, frowned minutely. Cold grey eyes shifted to the stairs leading upwards and into the main area of the building. "I was summoned here and trapped."

Francis whistled. "When is the last time that happened?"

"A few thousand years ago," she said, frown deepening. "This magic was ancient. I do not know how he found it. Lucifer told me that the humans had lost the knowledge."

"Not often you hear that name anymore," said Francis brightly. "Do the two of you still have tea every weekend?"

Arthur shushed him. "What do you mean, 'he'? Who found it?"

The shadows around Death's feet began to warp, snaking up her legs and onto her arm. "A man whose soul I took millennia ago, but whose body did not succumb to me. One of the race that preys on the living, seeking blood. A leech." The darkness took on a three-dimensional shape, solidifying into a scythe. The blade, razor sharp, was almost invisible head-on. "He asked for the return of his soul."

"What, so you gave it to him?"

"When I am summoned, I obey. It is required," the girl shrugged.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair. "So there's a vampire running amuck with possession of his soul?"

Francis, whose hand had been slowly drifting south of Death's back, was rewarded with a swift kick to the shin. He winced and hopped away to hide behind Arthur. "One minute. I thought the species was dying out."

"It's become harder to find prey, now that Death is so well-documented," Arthur said, gesturing to the woman in question. "Quite frankly I'm surprised this one's survived this long. He have a name?"

"I imagine so."

There was a pause. "Do you know what it is?"

"No." The scythe made a graceful arc through the air, making a soft whizz. Particles of dust, now in neat halves, drifted downwards. "However, I know when I took him. The twenty-seventh day of the summer solstice, four hundred and thirty-two years before the birth of Christ, three minutes after sundown." Following the movement of her scythe, a small portal opened. She stepped through, turning slightly to give a nod of goodbye. "Consult Gabriel. He will help you."

"You're leaving? Are you sure you're alright?" asked Arthur, who'd forgotten he was supposed to be gruff.

"There is much to be done," Death replied, closing the portal behind her. "I am behind schedule. Souls must be reaped."

She disappeared. Arthur sighed, turning to leave. "What date did she say, again?"

"The twenty-seventh day of the summer solstice, four hundred and thirty-two years before the birth of Christ, three minutes after sundown," replied Francis, who always paid full attention when a lady was talking. "To Gabriel's office, then?"

Arthur smacked his forehead. "Blast, I clean forgot to ask her about Gabriel's thing."

"Well, he did say there were souls missing, no? I suppose this would explain it."

"Let's hope so," Arthur muttered. He wasn't much in the mood to be scolded, even if it was from his superior.


"I'm not quite sure why you are here."

Gilbert shuffled the papers in his hand, almost upsetting his muffin but not noticing. "You looked like you were gonna pop a blood vessel. If you're gonna work, why not do it in comfort?"

Gabriel frowned. "…this isn't a date, is it?"

Gil made a face. "If this was a date, you wouldn't be paying for your shit. Or you might, actually. Equality and all that. But it's not a date. Sorry, but you're not my type."

Not quite sure why, Gabriel huffed. "Well, you're not my type either."

"I'm everybody's type."

"Not unless everybody has suddenly gone blind and deaf," the angel muttered.

They were in a cozy café in the outskirts of Heaven. Angels, residents and the odd demon crowded the mismatched but well-worn furniture. Because living above the clouds tended to get chilly, a fire crackled merrily in the hearth, giving off a faint glow and making the cream coloured walls look almost orange. Gilbert and Gabriel had the window seat overlooking the road, stacks of paper divided between them.

Gilbert was, unfortunately, right. They'd searched through Hell's old records until they'd both lost track of the days (the work was, naturally, prolonged by Gabriel's compulsion to neaten up Gilbert's illegible ledgers). The problem of Earth's lack of Death was both a blessing and a boon; on the one hand, he hadn't needed to add anything more to his Accounts, but on the other, it had been one more thing to worry about.

"You need to lighten up, Galadriel."

"That is not my name."

The presence of two cups of coffee made themselves known. "Expresso shot for the albino, and a large black for the guy with no taste."

Gilbert blinked. "Feliciano, you work here too?"

The angel in the apron frowned, small wings twitching with irritation. "I'm Romano, dipshit. Feliciano is my little brother. The one without wings who doesn't work in a coffee shop in Heaven."

They blinked at his retreating back as he returned to the counter to make more drinks. "I can't see how he and Feliciano are related."

Despite himself, Gabriel cracked a smile. "He's usually less irritable. It's just that he has a particularly strong dislike of me."

Between taking sips of his expresso, Gilbert managed look of mild outrage. "What's his problem?"

"He resents the fact that I always order plain black coffee. That, and I accidentally let slip that I make coffee from a packet when I'm short on time. Apparently I have no taste and should be ashamed of myself."

"Oh." Gilbert shrugged. "I guess some guys are pretty serious about coffee. Coffee's great. Almost as good as beer. Where would I be without coffee? Still in bed, probably."

They both considered this for a moment, and then moved on with their lives.

"It feels wrong to be slacking when there is a mystery to be solved."

"Listen to me, Golfclub. You're not slacking. You're just taking a breather. There's nothing wrong with that, alright?"

"Are you even trying anymore?"

They were interrupted by a faint buzz. Gabriel held up a finger to silence Gilbert, and took the call.

"Gabriel. What? I do not sound happy- why are you calling me, Arthur? Ah. She was unharmed? I see. Trapped? By a human?" He cast around for a pen, and then remembered he was an angel, and could simply materialize one out of thin air. He tugged a napkin towards him and jotted down what he was hearing. "Twenty-seventh day of the summer solstice…mhm. Mhm. Yes, I understand. I will get on it. Thank you."

"Everything okay?"

Gabriel straightened his halo and took a large gulp of coffee. "I believe the answer to our problems has just been delivered. You and I have some very old records to look at."

"Your place or mine?"

For his trouble, Gilbert was spared a withering glance. "I hope you suggest consulting Hell's book-keeping as a form of comedy joke."

"…can I at least finish my muffin first?"

"Absolutely not. We have work to do."

Gilbert sighed and stood, taking his food with him. "Good thing I'm already done with my coffee." As Gabriel drained the rest of his mug, Gilbert bit into his muffin with all the grace and etiquette of a starving hippo. "I really hope you appreciate all the work I do for you, Ludwig," he said, following his companion to the door. "I could be watching football right about now."

Gabriel wanted to both roll his eyes and sigh, and both urges ended up cancelling each other out so he remained impassive as he held open the door. "You know, Ludwig is not even close to my name."

"Yeah, I know, but I've always wanted a little brother figure named Ludwig."

"I am literally thousands of years older than you."

"Too late, I've already adopted you."

"I imagine it is more the other way around, considering you barely know how to read."

Gilbert laughed. "Well, shit, that's true. Still, I know all the best drinking places in Hell, so I can still teach you a couple of things."

"Angels cannot indulge in such vice!"

"Not with that attitude," said the albino, slinging a companionable arm around Gabriel's shoulders. "Butt under my wing, you're gonna fucking flourish."

Ordinarily, Gabriel would have bellowed at him to show some respect, but he for some reason he found himself in a surprisingly good mood. As such, he only elbowed Gilbert in the ribs a little bit on the way to the office.


Y'all better click that review button real quick or I'm gonna have to break into your rooms at night and pee on everything you love (◕‿◕✿)

I will pee on your mother. I will pee on your cat. Don't play with me man I'm a crazy motherfucker I'll do this shit

Nah I'm kidding I love yo asses I won't pee on your mom

But seriously though. Review.