Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji
A/N: This is the final chapter...so I hope you enjoy this story as much as we have.
I want to give a personal thanks to StickieBun for helping me with this, or else this would have been abandoned, ha ha. She is an amazing writer and it was an honor to work with her. She had posted this fic on her dA should you wish to see her~.
For those who had stuck through to the end, thank you.
The first night Grell spent alone in Madam Red's abandoned manor was hard to bear, if he could remember whatever was left of that night. The next time he opened his eyes, light poured in from a dusty window; his eyes were assaulted by the crimson furnishings and carpeting of a drawing room. He groaned as he rolled from his back to his side, then finally his stomach.
He managed to drag himself on his own two feet to the master bedroom of the manor. Upon entering, he hauled himself over and collapsed upon the large bed, eyes closing shut with hands still clutching Ronald's watch and switchblade. While he was exhausted, he couldn't go back to sleep at all.
He could still see William being dragged to Hell. Those eyes, they still offered comfort in a time of distress, still offered something despite knowing where he would go. Grell shuddered. William asked him to look at him, Grell could never forget that.
And Ronald. The boy gave his life to him, Grell would never be able to return any feelings to him. He was madly in love, yet Grell never saw him anything else than just a friend. He felt an overwhelming guilt that would leave him tossing and turning the nights that followed his confinement in the late lady's bed.
He found himself crying once more, curling up in the covers of his dead mistress's bed for hours on end.
For countless days, he stayed in that room, unmoving from his spot, changing positions to avoid the sun's rays; he would only leave to help himself to the pantry to find sustenance, but it would be a meager meal before shuffling off back to the bath to care for himself, then back to his bed. One could have guessed the time in each of his spots, but only in the day. When night would come, he would stay put until dawn.
His wounds have healed, but the scars would forever remain in his mind. He swore he could hear voices, he swore he would hear Madam Red humming somewhere in the manor from time to time; when he did hear her, he would hum along. Eventually, however, he wanted to find the source of the humming as each passing day they would grow louder, as if getting closer.
He suddenly just...got up. His burning desire to find the humming ended abruptly when his feet touched the ground.
He had set the switchblade and wristwatch on the nightstand. He had forgotten they were there, even how they had gotten there. His hands went to pick them up, but he paused at the sight of his fingers; they were pale, bony even. He grimaced as his fingers clutched around the memorabilia, he decided to wear the watch as he sent away the switchblade for later use.
His hospital gown, no longer white and now stained in his filth, was quickly disposed of in the roaring fire he had made for himself. He noted that the manor had grown deathly cold, the explanation came when he passed a window to see that the front, unkempt yard had become covered in a layer of snow.
For the first time in a long while, he took a bath. As he examined his hair, he found that it had grown half a foot; he decided to cut that extra length when he got out of the tub. As his body dried, he also decided to tie his hair back with a black, satin ribbon he found laying around in the great lavatory.
He decided to make anew of himself as he entered the untouched dressing room of Madam Red's husband, the late Baron of Barnett. The poor man's size was just about enough for Grell.
Time alone forced him to contemplate.
He no longer had personal connections to his world. He was no longer wanted in his world. He now lost reason to return.
He had no home but the abandoned manor. He had no job but to stay alive. He had no love but only himself to survive.
Grell Sutcilff was no longer a part of anything.
Eric Slingby had taken away everything from him. His life, his love, even his image. While it would be a long-shot to get back at him, there would be no use. As he slipped on a pair of black slacks, his mind drifted towards Rivers, the man responsible for bringing Eric into the world. Sure, the man had his justifications, but the effects of his selfish action had brought Grell to this.
He smiled as he reached out for a white shirt and began to button it up to his neck. That smile wasn't one of delight, but of a twisted happiness; he had given himself a new reason, a tangible person to lay his wrath upon. Then Sebastian Michaelis...that was an issue for another time, he had all the time in the world to hunt him down as well; the demon allowed William to slip into Hell and, to make matters worst, left him to fend for himself.
At the back of the dressing room was a bureau that held the noble heirlooms that Madam Red appropriately tucked away, he decided to make use of them. The Barnett cuff-links were added after he tied a red ascot around his neck; to complete the look he found a ruby pendant to pin to the cloth around his neck. He took a silk vest from the clothing rack to add to his attire. A pair of flat shoes, which he hated, were the only option, he forced himself to take it.
The family ring, a silver jewelry with an obsidian centerpiece, was amongst the trinkets. He shrugged to himself and took it as well, wearing it on his right hand.
His hand pulled out a black long-coat, a copy of the one used as Jack the Ripper. He brought it over and wore it, pausing for a moment to glance at the mirror. With his hair tied back, he looked like that pathetic, mousy butler, only with red. He quickly untied his ribbon and ran his fingers through his hair, turning it from the stunning red to a dull brunette. He thought for a moment and, instead of keeping his hair up, he opted for a loose braid, letting the ribbon hold only the end of his hair.
His bangs were brushed back. It caused his glasses, oh the important glasses, to be accentuated. He removed them and found a pair of the round spectacles in the bureau, the deceased owner kept spares of the damn thing. His red glasses were stowed away in his pocket. He gave the mirror one last glance at himself.
None of the Shinigami would recognize him, this disguise was never used in front of anyone he knew, a reason why he got away so easily as the notorious killer. He grimaced at the plain look for a final time and walked out of the master's bedroom with a shoulder cloak in tow for venturing outside.
-...-
He chose to enter his world for a final time, after all, he went through the trouble of dressing himself to see off the men who sacrificed themselves for him.
The bodies of the dead were, if gathered, taken to a wide field where the fallen Shinigami were lain to rest.
Their bodies were eternal, undying unlike their souls that drifted elsewhere, capable of entering Heaven or Hell to either continue their services to Humanity through God (or just become a soul in Paradise, like Alan) or being condemned to Hell to either be reborn as Eric had or be punished. It was only natural to place them somewhere as cremation would be utterly useless.
He wandered through the snowy field, passing none as it was a Monday, everyone was working. He was thankful he didn't have a run-in with anyone. After half an hour of walking about, he eventually found them.
He stood before two, large granite crosses with golden plaques smelted to the center.
Ronald Knox
William T. Spears
There was no recognition, no epitaph. Only their names. Flowers weren't even dropped at their graves. Either the mourning had ended or the flowers were blown away.
Clutching at the hem of his coat, he dropped to his knees between them. His bare hands then went to the fallen snow and clenched it. The ice melted in his hands but the warmth was slowly ebbing away.
They were taken from him. Both of them. And he saw it all. One after the other.
He was weak and he couldn't do anything. He could hardly comprehend the pain they were facing in the fires of Lucifer.
"I thought I would find you here..."
He whirled around, his hands summoning the switchblade in response to the voice.
Undertaker was perched upon a black cross opposite of Ronald's grave, his feet dangling as he calmly sat there. His hands were folded neatly in his lap, one leg crossing over the other; his eyes were covered, a devious smile on his lips.
He looked like a crow in his cassock. A gray haired crow with his signature hat missing. Grell got up.
"I've been waiting months for you to show up. Fall until Winter..."
"And why would you?" Grell hissed, gripping the knife tighter. He wasn't sure if he could trust the Undertaker. The man was wanted for his own crimes, but he was also a legendary reaper, still revered as one of the best by the few who supported him; his story was obscured when Grell entered the Academy, reason as for why a successful man retired and shortly Deserted the society soon afterwards were untold. He wasn't going to chance misplaced trust in him, the man was dangerous. "Planning to clear your own crimes by using me?"
"No, I came here on William's behalf." He hopped off of the black cross, then he dug his hand into his inner pockets while walking to Grell. He produced a letter from his person, his bony fingers extended outwards, offering the letter and disregarding the knife. "His last words before I lost contact with the man. Goodness, what use would you have for me other than being my next Bizarre Doll?"
He gave a light chuckle.
"Take it, it takes up space in my pockets."
"William...?" Grell snatched up the letter, backing up a few steps and falling to his knees between the headstones of his two lost friends, tearing open the letter with trembling hands. The switchblade was sent away.
Undertaker loomed over him, curious as to what the man had wrote on that old parchment. It had truly been months since Undertaker had last seen William at all, and only this letter had appeared on his windowsill with a pigeon tapping at the glass with another notice to wait at the ancient cemetery for Grell.
Grell Sutcilff,
I write to you with trembling hands. I trust you found this through Undertaker.
I am gone now, Heaven or Hell I may be at, I'm no longer a part of this world. Eric Slingby had tormented me these few weeks, I'm beginning to slip away into the madness in which it is my own. Reality or fantasy, I can no longer tell. I am a fool, I truly am, for not having asked for help, and now here you are, reading my last words. A result of my stubbornness.
Undertaker is in debt with me. For my efforts to keep him out of the system, he should be obligated to aid you, protect you, and guide you. I know what person you are, have known for for years, you would leave the Dispatch Society if I am gone. And...I encourage you to do so.
He speaks the truth, so listen to the man. He may be trying at times but he's reliable. Trust in him like you would in me.
Rivers Mason is truly the one responsible (the man visits from time to time to taunt me), Slingby was merely his tool; Slingby was meant to get you and you alone. The demon revealed this to me...another reason why I was unable to find help, he deceived me.
Should I be subjected to his torment, he would leave you untouched. As long as Rivers remained on the job, you would be untouched as well. But what good will this deal be if I have passed on? Ridiculous and desperate...but if you read this, this means you have won the battle but not the war.
End this nightmare [...]
The writing had ended with a long, black smear going down the page. William may have been caught while writing this and had to slip it into the envelope without a second thought. Undertaker gave a visible frown before pulling away, he went to William's grave and placed a hand on the golden plaque, gently touching it and murmuring,"I thought it would be a rumor..."
"...A rumor?" The redhead questioned, clutching William's words to his chest. He turned to look at the man. William said to trust him, so he would. It was William who had gotten him this far, and he would trust William's chosen replacement to help him along further.
"A Shinigami perishing...and then being revived as a Demon. It's not knowledgeable to our kind, but the Devil has quite a couple tricks up his sleeve; most demons don't even tell that they were once humans or Shinigami if their souls were converted by a twist of fate." He shrugged.
Grell thought the older man would be quite learned in the many ways of the afterlife so it surprised him that Undertaker knew as much as he knew for himself; these laws of Death for immortals were left untaught at the Academy.
"No matter, what's impossible has been made possible...but I am curious, what were the fates of these two?"
He pointed at the grave markers.
"Whispers say that a death scythe wasn't what done them in, that you ripped them apart like Jack the Ripper..."
Grell's eyes lowered to the ground, "It was Eric. Eric ripped their souls out piece by piece...he fragmented them...and then dragged them to Hell because that stupid crow wouldn't close the portal to Hell fast enough...I watched them slip into the fires."
"Rip out their souls," he mused to himself,"that is certainly new to me." He raised his voice to be audible. "What were their last words to you you?"
"Before...or after they died?" Grell questioned, "Will, at least, came back after Eric got to him...Ronnie...Ronnie hadn't had the chance..."
"Either time," he replied, eyes wandering to Ronald's grave.
"Ronnie...told me to run...and Will..." he paused, unable to think past that look in William's eye as he was pulled down to Hell.
"And Will?..." He egged him on gently.
"...'End the nightmare'..." He whispered.
Undertaker sighed and looked up at the sky with a slight frown. "Both dragged to Hell...imagine that, hm. For services done for the Lord, to be His envoys of dying souls, they earn that fate as payment. Even the angels wouldn't come to your aid, and we do all the work for them, a very bad system we have. They certainly didn't come to mine..."
A small speck in the white sky appeared, he squinted until it came closer, diving headlong for the earth. It was a minute or so before it took an identifiable form, a bird, a pigeon to be exact. When it came close it became a ruffle of feathers before landing upon William's headstone to prune itself.
"Ah, William's messenger," he murmured. He offered a hand it the gray pigeon.
Curiously, it looked at Grell, then at Undertaker, before suddenly taking off, leaving the man with an outstretched hand.
"I suppose it's his way of telling us to leave." He glanced over at Grell while wrapping his coat tighter around him for warmth. "Well, Grell, I'm in debt with William, as mentioned in the letter, and I prefer to not let them go unpaid. The man has saved my skin countless times, it would be a pure shame if I couldn't live up to my worth; all those days of hiding from those blasted Authorities would go to waste if I linger here, especially with you."
Grell bit his lip, and took the initiative, getting himself to his feet. He turned to look back at the stones and fished into his pockets for his red reaper-issued glasses, gingerly setting them atop Ronald's cross, the string of beads dangling down the front of the shone. He lingered a moment longer before turning back to the older reaper. "Take me with you."
"Once you do this, Grell Sutcliff, you'll never be able to return," he warned in a grave tone,"they know who's glasses belong to who, you're giving a strong message..."
"I know." he glanced back, "But they also think I killed Will and Ron...knowing my life as a reaper is over, makes this easier. I want to live my life for them. I'll not disgrace their memory by giving up. I'll live. Rivers knows the truth. He'll know that this message is for him...as much a warning as it is my leaving reaper society forever."
He nodded in understanding while raising his hand up, smiling at him. "If reasons are stripped away from us, then we no longer see fit serve the Dead."
A strong gust of wind came, lifting the fresh snow up from the ground. Howling and biting at his skin, Grell took the cloak up to cover his nose and mouth, his eyes squinted as the snow began to whirl around, congregating at a particular, open spot between two rows of graves. He was aware that the older Shinigami was powerful, but to the extent of summoning something larger than a death scythe was an impressive feat.
The whiteness eventually gave spots to black and slowly died down; with snow falling back unto the ground, the screaming wind dissipated. Amongst the snow, the man had called forth a rather large ebony funeral carriage complete with unstained windows and four caskets inside; each were paired adnd stacked atop one another. White flowers adorned the inside, red on the outside. It was elaborately made, for all Grell knew, Undertaker may have stolen it from a noble.
At the front were two black horses whose mouths were anxiously chewing on their bits. They were harnessed to the carriage, hooves pounding the ground every so often to indicate their readiness to leave. One snorted, the other nickered, Undertaker went close to take one of their heads, getting two sugar cubes and giving it to Grell.
"You may as well let them know who you are," he advised, his fingers were wrapped around the headstall to keep the horse's attention upon Grell.
"Why?" Grell asked, stepping forward to gently greet the horses, he glanced at Undertaker, "are you planning on sending me someplace with them?"
"Either of these horses can be for your personal use should you need it. It's just a good way to let them know who you are before I let you have them for yourself..."
His hand went to push back the blindfold, revealing an double-irises in a single eye; the horse had been revived under the influence of a twist in fate. Undertaker walked away, going to the side to offer assistance for Grell to get on.
"As for now, I cannot leave you to yourself yet. Probably like Eric, you have much to learn in a new life. In repayment for William, I offer you help, guidance, and protection for living in the world on your own. I must admit, there will be times when I cannot be relied on, hence you must care for yourself for the most part."
He began to list things off with his fingers.
"Avoid Authorities, avoid demons, and judging by your combat etiquette, you need a lot more work done, I'm not comfortable with the knowledge that I can best you so easily. You're somewhat green, from what I can tell, but no matter, we have all the time in the world."
The redhead nodded with understanding as he took Undertaker's hand to get on. "I could manage if I wanted to."
"You can't go into the world alone," he murmured, helping Grell into the carriage. Once he had seated himself next to him, he leaned back and took out a bag of clattering objects. "I bet you want some rest from all this."
He pulled out a bottle of pills.
"Scarlet?" He grinned.
Grell's eyes widened at the illegal drug, but, of course, why should he refuse it? he wasn't part of the reaper society any longer. He reached out to take the bottle nimbly between his fingers. "How do you have so much of it?"
"Hm, when you kill a Shinigami, all they leave behind is the death scythe. Melting the metal is the way to go for making those pills," he snickered. He took up the reins and clucked his tongue, the horses snorted a few more times before hauling the heavy load. "And in my life, I've killed quite a few, discovered the formula for myself, so on and so on. William was addicted to the stuff ever since that accident, unfortunately...that bag is the last I have."
Grell stayed silent, staring at the Scarlet in his hand and holding it up, "...William was..?" he gripped it, and decided to take the drug...in a way, it would bring him closer to William once more.
Undertaker's hand shot out to him before he would swallow a bunch. "Whoa, whoa, hold on, just one," he warned, taking the bottle and skillfully leaving on one pill in Grell's hand. Grell stared at him, curious, Undertaker took note of it. "Too much and you may end up as good as dead."
Grell never understood the effects as it was never distributed to him, or at least to his knowledge. He remembered seeing the little, red pill being forced into his mouth by the Authorities. That little taste was temptation enough, he felt no fear, no pain, as though he could do anything. The thought of forgetting the last few months was something he needed. He took it in and waited.
"Why so?" He questioned.
The older man looked thoughtful for a moment. "In small amounts it represses memories temporarily, that's how strong they are as pain killers. Sometimes...as a Shinigami, we attain human traits, we have the capacity to have emotions. In large amounts, the Scarlet wipes out a lot of ourselves, who we are, and we simply grow mad; similar to a demon dismantling our souls from our bodies. In a way...it chops off a piece of your soul after a long duration of abuse...it's best to start off small if you chose to rely on it."
Grell sighed and nodded, tucking the rest away in his pocket.
"Where do you plan to go, Grell?" He asked, whipping the slack reins and bringing the horses into a trot. "My agendas are yours for the moment."
"I'm not sure," he muttered, watching the city pass them by, "I never expected any of this to happen..."
He threw his head back and laughed. "Not sure? Goodness, spending eternity with you must be quite the bore! Come now, Grell, young ones like you thirst for adventure!" He pointed at Grell's pendant, it was pinned to his ascot. "You hold the Baron of Barnett's crest, you could easily pass for some relative of the sorts, cause a little mischief, eh?"
"Why the bloody hell would I do that!?" Grell snapped, "I'm just saying I don't know right now! Be thankful I even got out of bed to venture out today."
"Oh? So you are just gong to wander this godforsaken earth unsure of yourself!?" He was tempting him into something. "At least I was productive!"
He felt that he could add more. As time passed, Grell could feel confidence build up, perhaps it was from the Scarlet. His hesitant thoughts abated, he thought quickly; the man would never get off of his case if he couldn't pick a direction to go.
"Isn't it more an adventure with not having a real destination?" He challenged with a smirk, Undertaker noticed the change in tone of his voice. "But I suppose we should start by heading away from London...England, even." His eyes glinted as he eyed his companion. "Ever been to France? It's quite lovely."
His laughed died down but that smile was still there. "Ha! Hadn't been there since Marie Antoinette, a sordid affair!"
"Then shall we?" The redhead asked, the Scarlet's effects allowing him to smile as if everything was right in his world.
"To France it is, m'dear!"
He looked forward and waved his hand. Soon enough, the whipping wind came to them, sending white to blind them. Among the gusts buffeting them with snow, shouts came and the sound of horses from a distance told that they had alerted the city guards. "What's life to you if you can't live it!?"
Their carriage jolted at the snow, he whipped the beasts once more. With manes flying and tails barely catching the wheels, they cried out with hooves thundering the white covered ground to kick themselves into a steady but spirited gallop. One could barely see their coats in the whiteness, Undertaker's laughter resonated, and soon, they were in a world of white.
Grell could have sworn Undertaker butchered him in the field, taken him in a mocking chariot of the one that took Elijah, and whisked him away to Heaven; in the reality, he was simply on the road to a new life. When Undertaker's laughter became infectious, he too began to join him, he felt he had truly been born anew that day amongst the paleness of Winter.
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