Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji
Alan snored lightly atop the desk, Eric was gone but was kind enough to take a brief trip to town to quickly fetch him a cup of coffee. Behind him, a certain top hatted, silver haired reaper stood by, a single nail came to his neck to tickle the skin. Alan twitched and shuffled in his seat, turning his head revealed a stream of saliva trailing from his lips to the floor.
"Just like when you were a baby," Undertaker murmured, grin forming. He brought a sleeve to wipe Alan's mouth, then he bent down to pick up the brunette; he sat in the once occupied chair and cradled him, he was smiling ever so wider. He stared down at the sleeping form, fond thoughts came unto Undertaker's mind as he thought of the many times Alan would scurry to him in his shop as a child whenever a storm occurred; the little child demanded to be picked up immediately for comfort. He wondered if he ever does the same with Eric on stormy nights.
Undertaker continued to hold Alan as the said reaper awoken with a heavy yawn. The brunette cuddled closer into Undertaker's shoulder until his eyes flew wide open at the realization of being held. "...I'm not a child..."
"Oh, yes you are, boy," Undertaker responded warmly as Alan slid out of the position to be on his feet. The older reaper helped him up and stared up at him. "You still are to me." He began to chide him. "You shouldn't be sleeping out in public, it's not professional and it ruins your posture. Honestly, being out like a passed out drunk, what will your mother think?"
Alan rolled his eyes, laughing under his breath, he removed his glasses to wipe the sand away that formed at the corners of his passive eyes. He placed them to his face as he reached over for his cup of coffee, he blew on it before placing the brim to his lips and tipping the bottom up. As Eric would have wonders for Alan, Alan himself also had wonders for Eric, such as being how the hell the blond knew of his favorite flavor. About four cubes of sugar for his sweet tooth, half a pint of milk and creamer to go down smoothly in throat, and then a dash of mint to add a refreshing after taste.
Asking of Spears' whereabouts was the first question Alan popped to the older man, who suddenly had a spark of rage tinted in his eyes until it disappeared when he spoke,"He's brought to the Infirmary, searching for Sylvestre is worthless since his blood is back to reproducing itself at a normal rate. He should come to by lunch. Oh, I discovered a Rip in his chest, I got it out since it was stopping blood cells from producing properly...amazingly, it came to him when Grell bit him under the withdrawals of the Scarlet. How did that happen? I'll tell you, the Scarlet is a wonder drug, yes?"
Alan nodded and sipped more of his beverage, he leaned against the desk to listen further in the lesson. It's been a while since he's had a good lecture from the silver haired man. "It heals at a fast pace, it's even powerful enough to heal our terrible eyesight, that would explain Sutcliff not using glasses. Also, it's known for temporarily repressing memories of any particular injury that was dealt with on the body."
"Do you know why? Because it is created from death scythes crushed into fine powder. Our weapons are mysterious things, not until a chemist by the name of Jacques de Scarlet from the Paris Division found that out after having his scythe crushed in a mill by accident. He tried to reshape his death scythe but failed to do so, he gotten an idea and placed it into a bottle of wine to give to a demon as a truce. When the demon drank from the bottle, his insides crushed in until he died. That technique was heard through other Divisions, it was the Madrid Division with their Mecca Division alchemists that developed the Scarlet. It boosted in popularity and shipped off to several Divisions, but side-effects included memory loss; not a very helping thing if you're fighting demons on the battle field. Sure, your wounds heal but loss of memory will make you forget what you were doing. It becomes addicting when one finds a way to escape the pain...(it's well that you don't take it)...
"Grell has been exposed to massive doses of the Scarlet for quite a long time so when I checked his Cinematic Records, a good three fourths of the pages were blank! I'm just waiting for the Cinematic Rips to entwine with his soul. Cinematic Rips that occur when under the drug is known as the Scarlet Effect, Grell has obviously been experiencing repressed memories and hallucinations, and that's because his soul was trying to recollect memories, but what is a memory without emotions? Now, when you, Alan, create a Cinematic Rip, you use your death scythe-"
"I get it, so that the death scythe in the Scarlet basically rips away emotions and memory, so that when a Rip appears, it's the skeleton of emotion that contained the memory...so pain is not there to remind the reaper what happened. Emotions and memory are connected real well...that's why they're important. Let me guess, the Cinematic Rip that you found two nights ago are Grell's?"
Undertaker smiled in approval. "Else I shouldn't be here in the Library to check his Cinematic Record." He sat in the chair comfortably, hands folded unto his lap. "Would you like to know the big kicker?"
"And what's that?" He took easy sips from his cup.
He grinned madly. "William T. Spears has been under the Scarlet Effect the past three hundred years."
Then Alan spat out the contents, he coughed and gagged on the drink and rubbed his throat. The cup was held loose as Undertaker reached up to give heavy pats on the back. After a few minutes of his choking spree, he spluttered,"W-what? H-he...h-h-he'd g-gone m-mad!" He coughed.
"But he's been mad! Had to repeat the Academy thirty five times until the little bastard was sane enough to think through~!" Undertaker laughed loudly as Alan began to back away from him. "When I got found out, Richardson forced me out of the Council in 1712 but I could care less, at least one of their reapers wouldn't go on rampages any more! It took a long time until they realized what I was doing to William, so long as I kept the Rips to myself, the Council can't do a damn thing to repair his soul! Now that he's sober from the Scarlet, he still acts like the Baron he was, just not as barbaric. He can be considered one that functions properly, you can see it in his eyes that he maintains control over situations."
Alan brought two fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose to sort out the information the mortician had laid out for him to asses. He tried to think back to what he and Eric witnessed last night. And so far, they discovered that William was much more than a control freak, he was a madman that could best Jack the Ripper. They watched William sneak into weddings and slaughter anyone he saw, he even locked the doors to keep anyone from escaping. They saw him enter houses where gathering were held and slaughter anyone on sight. He even went to a nursery at one point, the screams of the infants screaming echoed in Alan's mind. Sure, he had issues with rage, but the chosen targets was just too cruel, not even Grell would reaper a child for the life of himself.
And then it clicked with a jolt as he cleaned his mouth.
"Undertaker," Alan started softly, his throat stinging. The mortician smiled up at him, bits of giggles escaping his lips as he perked up in interest. "If he's been under the Scarlet Effect why was Eric and I able to see his past history? Wouldn't his Rips remove the memories from the book?"
"Ah, that? William has an acute Memory Recall...he has been able to keep his memories but the Scarlet removes the emotions; it's a result of me giving the Scarlet to him in manageable doses. Grell, however, goes full out without keeping track of the amount he takes in, this results in his memories being repressed. He hadn't forgotten them they're just not surfacing since emotions aren't there to Recall them." Undertaker gave a slight frown at the inquiry. "And you watched his mayhem? I swear, he was worse than me...all the women he taken in, all the humans he assaulted, oh, but you never seen him before with a demon...rules of the London Division say to remain passive towards those creatures, not everyone can do that, not even Richardson..." He fiddled with his pendants thoughtfully. "William thought it noble to do justice as he was taught at the Academy, justice for souls but he never gotten the message quite yet...the fool...the arrogant fool..."
His hand went to the side and caught a leather bound book that fell out of the sky, or more of the top shelf above their heads. It landed with a heavy thud in his palm, he smiled.
"Ah, Grell seems to be ready to tell us what happened. Come, come closer, dearest lamb," he beckoned Alan gently; the brunette scooted to the side as the book opened. Undertaker turned to the latest page. "Grell Sutcliff awakens in the Infirmary next to Ivan, the trashy American...such a boring passage." He turned back as new pages began to fill the book. "Ah, Grell slaughters Doctor Giovanni of the Vatican Division, not good for the Council, I can change that up...what's more of him?"
"I feel like we're invading his privacy," Alan grimaced at the perverse thoughts Grell would have of a certain demon.
"That's funny because demons think us reapers do that all the time. And...hm?"
After a few dozen pages, Undertaker found the last few thousand of them to be suddenly empty. He flipped through them with a frown, his teeth bared in frustration until he found a page that had a single word of blackness. He reached for the top left corner and pulled several pages back, allowing a strip of the Cinematic Record play before him and Alan.
It was a simple mission. A single soul on the To Die List was an easy and fair task for Grell, so easy, he took the List from William's desk without a moment's hesitation. Just one soul this time, at least it's work I'll get done fast, he thought when he flew over the rooftops like a gazelle. It was a rare opportunity for a reaper to reap only one soul for a full 24 hours, normally it would be twenty or more at the maximum. Being at Grell's rank, the numbers were higher. And being at Grell's demoted rank, the quantity sky-rocketed to his displeasure.
It was the dead of night, he spotted a faint glow in the distance and raced towards it; the Cinematic Record was left alone, long enough for the Record to float languidly to the sky. He approached it and landed onto the concrete sidewalk that acted as a doorstep to an alley. He came by an open window where the Record was floating through, the victim was in a building. The reaper hoisted himself on to the windowsill and gracefully slid in with on the sound of his cloak brushing against the wooden pane.
He gained a sinking feeling, both mentally and physically. A soft, gentle giggle came to his ears and he felt hands, more delicate than his own, lace fingers with his. It felt as though he was standing over water while he watched the Cinematic Record in the room glow more faint and then vanish ever so slowly. Was it a demon? No, it can't be, the presence of a demon's soul was nowhere near him. His scythe appeared at hand and he lashed out at the person holding his own hand.
He remembered screaming, wrenching his hand but not releasing the one holding it, but it wasn't the motion that made him scream; it was the fact that his fingers were entwined with a dismembered hand that seemed to clutch his. He began to hyperventilate, the sinking feeling becoming more and more prominent as he searched desperately for the one pulling such a horrid prank.
He remembered that his world turned into nothing but blackness.
When Grell's memory went black, so did the Cinematic Reel as it scrunched up into a roll and faded away into the eggshell colored paper of the book. Undertaker was in shock at the scene that unfolded before him, in comparison, Alan held the same exact expression. It was mind bending to them both as they stared at one another, exchanged worried looks, and then took off from where they sat. Despite having woken up with a cramped leg, Alan sprinted to keep up by the bolting Undertaker who held the book tucked under his armpit.
It was clear, they had seen this action before. For Alan, it was from watching other Cinematic Records of the deceased reapers from the fallen Divisions; for Undertaker (while never exactly witnessing an attack as morbid as this), it was from being at the exact place where Grell was assaulted twice. Quickly, they tore down the hallway in a race that was fueled on by questions. Now, if the two ever had the chance to open Grell's Cinematic Record once more, they would have found the last five words:
He witnessed Ivan's incalculable murder.
-...-
Grell swallowed a mouthful of water he gained from a glass cup. He faced the wall in deep thought when he sat up; he was slouched over, uncaring for his posture. His eye twitched, he wanted to kill Undertaker for doing that to him earlier. He clearly remembered feeling a Cinematic Rip spear for his mouth and eventually force its way down his throat until it reached for his soul, he felt the two fight within his chest until they embraced one another. He felt as though Undertaker violated him in some sort of way. Some sort of violation he done me, the madman.
And then now he was staring blankly at the wall as though it were the most interesting thing in the damn Realm to watch.
Thoughts processed through his mind, his mind abandoned Undertaker as an entire month's worth of his life came slamming strait into his face like a locomotive. He gagged, his body instantly rejected the pills that he had just swallowed, he began to hark them out, falling to his side on the bed, as he pounded a fist to his chest. Now he choked on them. No, not this time. He flexed his throat muscles and pushed until he spat the Scarlet out. It took skill to do that, and without practice he wouldn't have known to do so; without his recollection of how to do so, he wouldn't have had the thought of regurgitating in the first place.
Three little, red pills came flying at the wall, each skittering on the ground when they fell. He panted, anger blazing through him once more. He wasn't weak anymore, he felt that he didn't need them, no, he knew that he didn't need them. In fact, he knew he wasn't supposed to have them! He coughed and slowly brought himself to his back to lay upon. Now there was a new interest to him, not the ceiling, but his position of being sprawled out on the bed. It felt unnatural but sort of familiar.
He remembered that day.
His hands absentmindedly lifted up from the sheets, the cold leather straps he still felt to his wrists. He stayed completely still, hands falling back to place. His eyes. All he saw was the crystal clear view of the ceiling, his vision was average to that of a human's, they were dull and lacked the spark of divine power that all reapers had in their own eyes. They picked up the bright morning rays of light that poured copiously from the many windows of the infamous Infirmary.
He looked to his left, there, he saw a pair of emerald, green eyes, both fatigued and weak, stare back at him.
His stomach lurched, not out of ill, but of excitement. His heart thundered rapidly at the sight before him. He threw himself to his left and rolled to a sitting position with hands immediately snapping behind to help him off the bed. He lunged forward, landing on Ivan's chest, crying out in joy, joy of being relieved that William's demise hadn't come for him.
"William! There's so much I got to tell you!...my, and since when did you get heavy? !"
The groggy Ivan became enraged as Grell, unknowing of William being a bed over away, throttled him about by lifting him up and over the edge of the bed. Ivan growled as he was shaken like a rattle, his head pounded achingly as a hand seized Grells throat to choke him; the American placed just enough pressure to make Grell's voice box to compress and make gurgling noises. Grell stopped his movements but held fast to Ivan's chest and shoulder as the latter began to shake him in return, wringing his feeble neck like a soaked beach towel with a single hand.
"I swear, Spears out to keep a leash on his dogs!" His free hand was in a ball of fist ready to be swung at Grell's, quickly turning, purple face. Grell released Ivan and realized his misconception of identity of the man that was assaulting him so early in the morning. Just as the fist was only a foot away, Grell squeezed shut his eyes.
Not the face!
His euphoria was gone with the wind, fear corrupted his mind but those gushing feelings that his heart and mind struggled to keep up all went to a dead stop when he heard a gloved hand grab a hold of the wrist, giving Ivan a jerking motion. Ivan grunted as Grell slowly creaked open one eye, he gave a sigh of relief when he saw the comforting habit of William standing besides Ivan, one hand occupied in protecting the redhead while the other adjusting a pair of black rimmed glasses.
"Without any respect, Sir, I don't care if you hunt angels for sport or represent America, show some profession when you are kept in the London Division as a guest, lest you be treated like Undertaker. All respect but no class. Beating one of my said dogs will send the Council into a skirmish between relations regardless to what they do to you. Do I make myself clear?" He fixed his glasses to perfection once more. "Mr. Ivan?"
The hand that held he wrist in an arduous grip around the joint as the bone beneath and muscle skin broke without restraint. Ivan howled in pain and released Grell, tossing him back to his bed and leaving the redhead into a coughing fit, as he faced William. Before he was given a chance to summon his death scythe William took advantage of his fazed state of mind by slugging him the middle of his face, breaking his nose and causing to bleed profusely. Grell coughed until his eyes stung but he saw Ivan fall backwards into the bedside table, a lamp and glass of water shattered when it contacted the floor.
He thought William would stop there but he was wrong when William picked a shard of glass that scuttled to his feet. He failed to see William's expression and yet the aura he released in pulses was too damn horrid to comprehend. His eyes went wide when William, with shard poised high and downwards for the unsuspecting driver, advanced upon the groaning Ivan as he got down to the bed's level. He rubbed his throat and nearly let saliva go down the other tube.
Grell could only manage to choke out his name in a hoarse vociferation,"William!"
A/N: Incalculable murder? Will! You horrid man! Cliffhanger! Does he kill Ivan? He's got the motivation! Give this story a lot of reviews and you'll see what happens! Love writing this story. I said it before, I will see it to the end but what I really want to see is more reviews!
READ AND REVIEW~!