Packing his belongings hadn't taken long. Bill liked to keep the things he owned to a bare minimum. Travel was essential for his plans. And travel required one to pack lightly. There wasn't much in the room in Lucas' place that he'd decided to bring. His Father may have brought the contents of Bill's old apartment to England, but much of that junk would stay here. A reminder to his dear Father of what he'd lost.

The moment Bill had returned to the house after the hospital released him, he'd started packing. He had finished in under an hour. He'd spent a week preparing for the journey ahead, reacquainting himself with the contacts he'd been out of touch with since his...long silence. The folks associated with Katarina had been surprised but pleased to hear from him. Katarina herself had spoken to him. Shit, she was a right bitch that one. But it was too hard these days to find like-minded people. She was a means to an end. All his various contacts were a means to an end. His mission was paramount; he'd put up with whomever he must.

The sound of a key as it turned in the lock warned him of Lucas' return. Finally. Bill rubbed the sides of his head. This damn headache. He couldn't quite seem to be rid of it. Or the nightmares that had plagued him the whole week. The only ones he could remember were of his Mother pleading with him. Your despicable Father is full of lies, child. Don't listen to what he says. Afterwards he'd wake up with a tingling in his brain, a thought niggling at him that would not make itself known. Perhaps it had something to do with this house. He would have left ages ago, but his Father's recovery had resulted in a multi-day hospital stay. It wouldn't do to simply leave a note. He wanted to see his dear Father's reactions.

Lucas stared at Bill as he caught sight of him. Bill was amused to see hope shining in his eyes. He wanted to laugh. As if. "Welcome home, Father," Bill said mockingly.

Lucas didn't seem to catch on to his tone. His body sagged against the doorway in obvious relief. "My son. Are you alright? That demon didn't hurt you, did he? The doctors told me you were released but I was so worried - " his voice choked up.

"It would take much more than that punch to hurt me," Bill said. "The fucker got away. I do hope you'll track him down at some point."

Luke nodded eagerly. "We will have a challenge with that one. Haven't heard so much as a whisper about Harry since he attacked us. My contact in the police department here in London seems to have disappeared as well."

"There's plenty of work to be done in the meantime," Bill said. He couldn't help the smugness that seeped through his tone in his next words. "But here, Lucas, is where our paths diverge."

Lucas looked shocked. He closed the door behind him, his gaze never leaving Bill's. "What...what do you mean?"

"I see I'm going to have to spell it out," Bill said condescendingly. "Those fantasies you've been spouting at me for months are just that. Fantasies."

Lucas's shock gave way to confusion. Bill rolled his eyes. "Did you honestly think that I'd wake up and be grateful to see you? Did you honestly think we'd end up playing out some version of a Leave it to Beaver happy family?" Bill could see that Lucas had actually assumed such things, and he laughed. "Honestly Father, did you think you could walk back into my life as though you'd never left?"

"I didn't think that - " Lucas started to say, but Bill cut him off. "Don't lie, Father. It's unbecoming."

"We can finally be a real family," Lucas pleaded with him. "We can travel the world together. We can hunt demons together. I can be the kind of Father to you that I wasn't able to be before, I want to prove to you that I can be that for you - "

"Oh please, Lucas," Bill said. "did you honestly think that I'd want to have that type of relationship with you? You left me, you left my Mother. She was torn up about it for years."

"Is that what she told you?" Lucas said in disbelief. "You don't understand Bill, you don't understand - "

"I understand perfectly," Bill retorted. "You couldn't handle raising a child. You couldn't handle married life."

"Son, she's poisoned your mind, don't you see?" Lucas beseeched him. "She was a monster. I tried to protect you for as long as I could. She drove me away, son. Not you. It was not your fault!"

"You lie!" Bill shouted. "She loved me, she loved you, you fucking left."

"Tell me son," Lucas said softly. "How many little children did she hurt? How many bodies did you see come through your kitchen? Do you honestly think that's the mark of a loving parent?"

"My Mother," Bill said proudly, ignoring the ache in his head, "was a demon killer. It matters not the age of the demon."

"I've killed for you!" Lucas cried out. "I've killed multiple demons since I found you, remember? Is that not enough for you? Let me come with you. Let me prove to you how useful I can be to you."

Bill pretended to consider the request. The look of helpless desire - oh that look. What fun this was. He considered bringing Lucas along just to enjoy the beautiful pleasure that came with such emotional torture. To be able to tear someone down with words, but subtly - the art was an incredible high. Oh how he missed the sparing of words that his monster provided him. But no. If all went well, he wouldn't need a substitute. And if it turned out he did - he knew he could track Lucas down.

"No," he said simply, and watched as Lucas' eyes turned from hopeful to hurt in mere milliseconds. He laughed again. "I don't know what my Mother saw in you," he continued. "You're useful, perhaps, in the same way a servant may be useful. But you're not special."

"Elizabeth, what did you do," Lucas breathed, and Bill didn't think he was supposed to have heard that.

"She raised her son to see the world as it is, and not how it should be," Bill said sharply. "I see the sins of humanity, just as she taught me. I see the evil that comes from men and demons alike. I see the god dammed evil inside my own soul. She taught me that all evil must be eradicated, even the evil inside oneself. She showed me the path to crawl back to innocence. It is you, Father dear, who does not seek to know the truth, who merely follows his own desires, unaware of the true nature of our purpose here on Earth."

"And what is that purpose son?" Lucas asked quietly. "Can't you see she was lying to you? She was the demon, Bill. Not those children. Everything she said to you was a lie. I can help you. Please let me help."

"Haven't you been listening?" Bill said scathingly. "You've read my journals. A violation of my privacy, I might add. You really haven't understood? I understand, Lucas. It is you that is lying, not her."

Lucas looked back at him. Bill could see that he only understood a part of it. He didn't truly understand. But no matter. Bill didn't need his approval. Lucas was a mere pawn in this game. Pawns, by definition, shouldn't know or care their role in the game. "Keep following the mission," Bill told him coldly. "But you'll do it here. Alone."

Lucas rushed at him, pleading. "Give me a chance, please give me a chance, let me show you what real family means - "

Bill flinched, recoiling against Lucas' touch. Lucas halted abruptly, hurt evident in his eyes. Bill backed up, putting space between them. "My true family is waiting for me. Get out of my way."

Lucas froze at his words, or perhaps the callous way in which he'd said them. When he spoke he sounded broken, lost. "Bill...please. Don't let her win."

Bill didn't spare Lucas another thought. He pushed past him and left the house, forcefully closing the door on the old chapter. It was time to write his own story. And this time, he could choose the cast of characters. He could hear Lucas calling after him. His voice was brittle, shattered, as he argued with Bill's retreating form, promising to follow the mission while he waited for Bill to change his mind. Bill laughed, giddy with freedom and power, and did not respond nor look back.

New York hadn't changed much in the year he'd been away. Same traffic, same high rise buildings, same people rushing through the rat race, unknowing or uncaring that they were all pawns in their lives. He was above all that. Thank god.

It wasn't difficult to discover which hospital he was looking for. A quick visit to his old precinct and a chat with a member or two of the force gave him all the information he needed. Captain Keller asked him when he planned to return to work. They were short an officer or two, they'd welcome him back with open arms. Bill gave a vague answer in return. His current plans didn't include returning to work. There was too much to do. But perhaps...

Stepping into the hospital was harder than he could have imagined. He'd fantasized about this moment. But he'd never taken into account the fact of the hospital itself. He hated hospitals. Always had. Had he been more aware of his surroundings during his year of...silence, he knew he would have hated every moment of it. He remembered conversations. People talking to him. But it was all so far away, as though he were watching through a long tunnel. He hadn't felt anything. Physically, yes, he could feel when people touched him, moved him. But emotions? Such a foreign concept to him during that time. He just - existed. God. It had felt so good. But it had been an indulgence he could not afford. Too many demons existed. He was behind, so very behind.

But no matter. He was here now.

Sean Kassidy. The man seemed so small and gaunt. Different than how Bill remembered him from that night. The machines kept him alive. The sound of artificial breathing filled the room. This man. How was it possible to hate this man so much and yet be so thankful? Wait. Stop. He didn't want to know he felt that. Bill slipped a hand in his coat pocket, his thumb feeling the syringe. This man didn't deserve a quick death. But it would have to do. A crowded hospital floor was not the place to live out the revenge plot he so longed for.

The clock on the wall told him he had been standing in the middle of the room for ten minutes. What was he waiting for? He didn't know. Perhaps he had foolishly hoped...after all, he'd left plenty of clues. If his monster had been watching, waiting...he'd know. He'd be here.

Another ten minutes. I know what game you're playing, my little monster. I'll wait.

An hour passed. Perhaps it was time to get on with it. His monster would find him when it was time. Bill stepped up to the bed. He noticed for the first time the man's wrists were handcuffed to the bedrail. He rolled his eyes. Honestly. The degenerate was in a coma, had been for over a year now. The handcuffs seemed rather unnecessary.

"Pardon me, I did not realize he had a visitor," a voice came from behind him, and Bill closed his eyes as triumph sparked through his body for a brief moment before he turned. There he was. His monster.

Canice looked quite drained, and Bill spared a moment of worry before his gaze locked with the other man. Large round glasses did little to hide the piercing gaze of his monster. This was not the case with the stripy red jumper he wore. Such an outfit hid what Bill remembered being an impressively toned body. He wanted to pull the hideous thing off of him, unzip him right here in this room.

"I know you, don't I?" Canice said, and his hands slipped into red pockets. "Bill, right?"

Bill raised an eyebrow. Canice may be a brilliant actor, but he wasn't that brilliant. There's no way he didn't recognize him. The eyes are the window to the soul, my monster. Out loud he said, "Yes. I'm the man who - "

"- Used to visit me at the bar, right," Canice finished for him. "I apologize, about a year ago I had a rather nasty concussion and since then my memory has been returning in bits and pieces."

Bill regarded him for a long moment. Too long. He could see Canice's look as the knowledge hit him. His monster was clever, oh yes. But Bill had spent a year silent, frozen. He'd learned to pay attention to voices. Learned to listen. To understand the words the tone of a voice gave away. Bill could play this game. He wanted desperately to play this game. He found it was easy to slip into his role. God, he'd missed this. "That's rough," he said sympathetically. "May I ask what happened?"

Canice studied him carefully. Bill knew he would not rise to the bait. He knew that Bill knew how it had happened. The thud of a head against a wall seemed to sound around them. The room was alive with energy as Bill allowed his gaze to say the words he would not speak. His monster's eyes darkened in delight. When he spoke, as expected he did not answer Bill's question. "Why are you visiting my Dad? Is this an official visit from one of New York's finest?"

"Perhaps you didn't know," Bill said, curious what Canice would say. "But I was attacked by the Dollmaker a year ago. My...recovery was long. I thought perhaps visiting the man who hurt me would jog some sort of memory. Much of the attack is a blur. I couldn't identify the man the police say was my assailant."

"Oh?" Canice breathed. "And has this visit helped?"

Clever, my little monster. Bill followed Canice's lead. "It has," he said, stepping closer to Canice. "Sean Kassidy was the man who attacked me."

Canice stepped forward as well. "I'm sorry my Dad hurt you," he said, and there was genuine emotion behind his words. Bill felt smug. He hoped it didn't show.

"Don't be sorry," Bill said. "What doesn't kill us makes us stronger."

"Cliché, but nevertheless true," Canice conceded. "The memories I've recovered have certainly proven it."

"It can't have been easy, growing up with the Dollmaker for a Father," Bill said.

Canice looked at the man in the hospital bed. "You have no idea," he said.

"As it happens, I understand more than most," Bill confided. "Perhaps you may have heard of the Pied Piper murders?"

Canice's gaze snapped to his. "Yes, I have."

"That was my Mother," he said. He tried to conceal the pride in his voice, but could see that Canice wasn't fooled. His skull gave a slight throb, as though to remind him once more of the aches that came frequently these days, and he resisted the urge to touch his hand to his forehead.

A brief flash of anger darkened Canice's eyes, but it disappeared so quickly Bill couldn't tell if he'd simply imagined it. "We have much more in common than our conversations at the bar gave away," Canice commented. Something about his voice told Bill what, exactly, he was referring to. He felt a rush at the knowledge. God. What a high.

"So we do," Bill agreed. "Perhaps, if you are agreeable, we could continue to learn of our commonalities somewhere more conducive to conversation?"

Canice considered him for a long, charged moment. "Have you finished what you came here to do?"

Bill heard the words his monster didn't say. God. He wanted this man. "Not quite yet."

Canice almost smiled. It was the barest hint of an upturned mouth, but it had been there. The approval was clear in his eyes. "I know a little place not far from here that has some of the finest pizza the city has to offer. I'll grab us some coffee for the walk."

Understanding rushed through him. Bill nodded his agreement. His monster almost smiled again before he turned and walked out of the room. Bill wasted no time in completing his business: A syringe full of air would do the trick. He spared a moment to wish he could watch it happen, but no matter. His future was waiting for him.

His monster was in the lobby, two cups of coffee in hand. Bill accepted his cup, his hand lingering just a tad longer than was absolutely necessary. Canice gave no outward sign of being affected. Bill knew differently.

The coffee warmed his insides as they made their way along city sidewalks. It was cold out, the Christmas holiday only weeks away. Soft jabs of pain worked their way through Bill's body as he moved. He hid the pain from his companion as best he could, but he saw Canice follow his hand with his eyes once as Bill reached to soothe his own arm. The scars left by Sean Kassidy pained him in the chilly weather, the icy cold gripping him as though to remind him of the attack. It needn't have bothered: Reminders were everywhere. The reminders didn't bother him. The reminders served to fuel his purpose.

The pizza joint was a small hole in the wall, not unlike the bar that Canice worked at. They sat in a small booth in the back by unspoken agreement. Bill let Canice order for him. His monster acknowledged the small gesture, the transfer of power, with a hint of a smirk. Bill held in a laugh. God he felt alive again.

"Tell me," Bill said. "How did you learn who your Father was?"

Canice hid his pleased smile well, but Bill could see it in his eyes. He was impressed Bill was so willing to continue their game. "My Dad somehow convinced the higher powers at the Institution to release him after several years. He found me. Forced me to live with him."

It didn't escape Bill's notice that Canice hadn't explained how Sean had ended up in the Institution in the first place. He knew that Bill knew. Bill acknowledged that by not asking the obvious question. Instead he said, "Forced you how?"

"Threatened the one person he knew I cared for," Canice said.

Bill understood at once. "Your Mother."

"Bingo..." Canice looked down at the table. "There were...signs. I suspected who he was. I was...scared. Let's just say he wasn't ever the Father of the year. The stress of it all...honestly, the only way I was able to stay sane was to go a little crazy."

Bill watched as Canice glanced up at him, his teeth worrying the edge of his lip. He returned the gaze, his mind working. How could he get his monster to admit it? Did he even want him to? The lies served a purpose, after all. "My Mum made me watch, once," he admitted, and he hid his face in his hands. He hoped that would be enough to portray the shame he didn't feel. He was aware of his headache building, and rubbed his thumbs on the sides of his forehead once. He felt a hand tentatively touch his arm, and his hands dropped in surprise. "My Dad would torture me if I didn't agree to watch," Canice breathed. His hand retracted.

"Did he ever make you..."

"No," Canice answered his unasked question. "I always refused to kill anyone. As a child he would beat me for it. I spent many a night locked in the basement." He took a shaky breath, his eyes looking into the distance as though seeing the room in front of him. "It was so cold. So dark. To this day..." he broke off, blinking his eyes.

"My Mum never asked me to," Bill whispered. "I think she wanted me to make the choice myself. If I - wanted it of my own volition, she'd know she raised me correctly."

Canice caught his gaze and held him there. Bill swallowed. Tried to. His throat felt like sandpaper. He remembered that look. The look that had passed between them as he'd held his monster against the car. Against the outside of the bar. Inside the bar. He felt pinned. Unable to move. God. He wanted to shove the table out of the way. Press his monster against this dirty booth. Somehow his time spent...in silence...had only heightened his desires. He could see Canice's eyes darken as he read Bill's expression.

"Yet here we both are," Canice murmured. "Raised in what many would call horror. By people society shuns."

"Here we are," Bill agreed. He let the silence drag a moment before he said, "They say our experiences show us the path forward. That it doesn't matter what lies in the past. That we simply have to move forward. To use the lessons we've been taught as we go along."

Another almost smile from Canice. "So they say."

Bill leaned forward. He was eager to make this proposition, but forced himself to remain calm. To take his time. "Harnessing a childhood of what many would call horror...most people never get to that point."

Canice played right into his hands. Or perhaps Bill was playing into Canice's hands. Did it matter? "We're not most people, are we?" his monster told him.

"No," Bill agreed. "We're not."

Their pizza arrived just then, breaking another moment of silent communication. Bill chewed thoughtfully, never taking his eyes off his monster. Canice returned his intensity.

"Have you returned to work?" his monster asked him as they finished eating. Bill didn't react to Canice's slip up - intentional or not - and responded smoothly. "I find myself at a crossroads, actually."

"Quarter-life crisis?" Canice asked, his expression full of knowing laughter.

Bill allowed a chuckle to pass his lips. "I find myself wanting to answer life's purpose. I know what I want. Why shouldn't I go after it? Why put it off?"

"Why indeed," Canice breathed. He shot Bill another heated look. "What do you want?" he asked.

Bill leaned forward, his voice low and husky. "A partner in crime," he said.

Canice's face flashed surprise for the briefest of moments. He hadn't expected so blunt of an answer, perhaps. Bill could see he understood the double meaning in his words by the way his mouth quirked. "I think," Canice said as he slid out of the booth and stood up, "that could be arranged." He held his hand out to Bill, who took it without hesitation.

His monster tossed a wad of bills on the table before he led him outside. He let go of his hand as they exited. Bill glanced at him and knew at once why: His monster was shy. Very recently out, perhaps not out at all. Canice led him through city streets. Bill didn't need to ask where they were headed. Reading his monster's body language told him all he needed to know.

Canice took a detour through Central Park. Curious, Bill held in his question. Instead he let his hand softly brush against Canice's as they walked. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Canice's smirk. His monster halted at the edge of the lake. He didn't look at Bill as he spoke. "Mum told me once that when her physical body leaves the Earth, to spread her ashes in the nearest large body of water. The return of her soul to the Earth will ensure she will never leave this world. Never leave me."

Bill held in his shock, but not well enough: His hand twitched violently. He stilled it quickly, briefly wincing at the pain from his scars. His mind raced. Those were his words. His words. He remembered writing them in one of his journals the day his Mum had told him that. He'd been trying to understand her message to him. Trying to read between what she said to see what she had been telling him. He looked at Canice. His monster was already staring at him. At once Bill knew. He'd suspected before. But those words. This look. Memory loss? Bill wanted to laugh. His monster remembered everything.

Canice seemed to realize that perhaps he'd given too much away. He broke their gaze, and Bill felt the rush of pleasure from the knowledge that he'd won this round. "My Mum once told me something remarkably like that," he said in response.

Bill saw Canice's face flicker in relief as he understood that Bill would not break their game. After a long pause, broken only by a family of ducks loudly cackling as they swam by, Canice turned toward him. Bill could see that there was something his monster wanted to say. Canice seemed to struggle for a moment before Bill could see he decided not to voice his thoughts. He glanced around their surroundings as though to reassure himself they were alone before he reached out. Bill's breath caught as Canice's hand firmly grasped his own. The silence spoke volumes. Bill took in Canice's body language carefully. His monster openly returned the scrutiny.

You want this. Bill read the silent, unvoiced thought formed by Canice's lips. There was a message there. Some meaning hidden within those mouthed words. He felt the niggling of a memory in the back of his brain. You want this.

A shout of laughter from far away. Canice pulled away from him as if burned. Bill looked around to see a family pass by some distance away, the young children chasing each other through the grass. He looked back at Canice. He was pretending to be unaffected. But Bill understood. He didn't say anything. Canice already knew how Bill had struggled. He'd written about it in his journals. Coming to terms with his attraction to men. Discovering that coming out was a process. Each stage of the process a careful balance between maintaining the status quo and wading out into deep water. Learning how to become comfortable with being uncomfortable. Learning how to live out loud in a way others took for granted.

"Take me," Bill said lowly, drawing Canice's attention back to him. "Take me to your place."

Canice looked at him, an unreadable expression plastered on his face. "You want this," he said out loud. His low southern drawl came out confident, intense. Bill didn't understand why he seemed so fixated on those words. There was something his monster was trying to tell him. Something beyond the obvious meaning. Canice searched his face. He seemed disappointed that Bill couldn't quite comprehend. But in this moment, it didn't seem to matter. Canice led him away from the lake.

Bill raised his eyebrow at the fourth floor walk-up Canice showed him. This was a new development. Bill had followed his monster for months, knew every single place that he frequented, knew his house like the back of his hand. This apartment was unknown to him. Bill glanced at Canice. He had a knowing smile playing at the edge of his mouth. Bill knew with sudden clarity that this wasn't a new apartment. His monster had managed to keep at least one secret after all. The fact that he was sharing this secret with Bill showed a type of trust in him that made Bill stumble slightly as he walked, overwhelmed.

Canice might be the one closeted, but stepping into the tiny apartment filled Bill with a type of nervousness he hadn't felt in years. Bill had been out for a long time, yet for one reason or another, the physical aspects of his attraction had yet to materialize. He wanted his monster. God did he ever. What if he did something wrong? What if Canice laughed at him?

Canice seemed to recognize his sudden hesitation. He shot Bill a look as he poured them a glass of wine. I know you, the look said. Bill could read multiple emotions in the way Canice stood as he sipped his sparkling wine. The way he licked his lips. The way he spoke, the lilt of his accent sending shivers down Bill's spine. The way his eyes burned with a fire Bill understood instinctually. The tension sat between them, Bill could see it clearly, could see the mutual desire spread through the room as though a thick fog had permeated the tiny kitchen. Hours passed. Gradually they migrated to the bedroom. Bill found himself nestled in Canice's arms, borrowed pyjamas rubbing his scars. The thread of tension existed, unbroken. Bill let the elephant squeeze into the small room. A thousand lies, a thousand unspoken agreements stretched between them. The thrill of the game, the high of the chase. An explosion in the making, a bomb with no time limit.

Drowsy pillow talk. Bill's hands on his monster's body. Slow exploration. Chiselled abs, toned chest, muscled arms. The feel of small hairs on skin. The way Canice's breath would hitch. The way his words would pause for a beat before he continued. Secrets shared, layered as though peeling an onion. Lies exchanged. But not really. Bill knew how to discern the truth from the whispered lies. Knew how to decipher what his little monster told him. Knew Canice could do the same. They both knew the rules of this particular game.

Canice fell asleep first, at last succumbing to the exhaustion Bill could sense. Bill listened to his deep, even breath. Felt the warmth and safety of his arms. Heard the soft heartbeat against his ear. His final thought before embracing the darkness of sleep was fragmented, but clear. True family. Mine.

It was dark when Bill awoke. He was aware Canice was awake as well. Neither one of them said anything. Bill let his hand trail along Canice's arm. Let his legs twist themselves closer. Canice allowed him to explore as he had earlier. Let Bill's hands return to tracing his chest. The tension returned slowly, or perhaps had never left in the first place. Bill found himself shaking with an electrical charge unlike any he'd experienced. God. If Canice didn't make his move soon -

Canice seemed to sense Bill was rapidly reaching a breaking point. He shifted suddenly. Bill found himself pinned to the sheets. Canice pressed on top of him. His arms held Bill's above his head. His legs entwined and trapped Bill. Bill bit his lip to hide a moan as every part of Canice's body connected with his own. He found he was breathing heavily, his heart pumping faster than it had the first time he'd killed a demon.

Bill could make out the outline of Canice's face in the darkness. He seemed to be waiting for something. Or perhaps he was simply savouring the thrill of this moment, suspended in time. Hot liquid desire thickened between them, but still Canice waited, and Bill cottoned on slowly, arousal making his brain sluggish. A silent battle waged, a test of patience.

His traitorous body betrayed him: Bill's hips moved up involuntarily, and he heard Canice's low laugh as a clear winner was crowned. "You want this," Canice repeated his words from earlier, the words whispered as he bent down to latch his lips on Bill's earlobe. Bill gasped, a memory bubbling up from within, but his train of thought derailed as Canice moved above him. Bill's earlier hesitance disappeared as instinct took hold.

Yes my little monster. You truly are mine at last.

Canice watched Bill sleep. He'd longed for this day, daydreamed about it. To lie next to his Abberline. To touch him in the way his Dad had told him was wrong, had beaten him for it when he'd asked for a male whore to kill. His Dad had been angry, so angry when he'd learned his Abberline shared the same sort of deviancy that Canice...Stop. Why was he thinking of this? Perhaps the end of a man's life simply makes one think of their beginning. He had his Abberline to thank for that. It had taken him a year, but he'd set Canice free.

As frustrated as he'd been for that year, he was grateful for it. With his Dad at last out of the picture, lying motionless in the coma, his Mother had come alive in a way she hadn't been his whole life. Through her he'd learned to come to terms with who he was. Through her, he'd learned to admit his - struggles - with his attractions. Because of her, he'd tried to embrace life as normal people lived it.

But he wasn't normal. He'd never be normal. The way he'd been raised had taken care of that long ago. He found he didn't care to be normal. The temptation of what his dear Inspector was offering - his Mother would exult in Canice's attraction to Bill, he knew. But he'd never be able to explain to her why he needed to watch the life drain from a pair of frightened eyes. She must never know. It's not a part of him he can change, even if he wanted to, and to watch her struggle to accept him as he is - it's more than he could ever bear to see. Some part of him wished it could be different. But such is life. And so she must never know.

Canice shifted, stepped out of the bed, careful not to wake his Abberline. Bill looked something close to peaceful. He didn't want to disturb that hard won peacefulness. There wasn't much about his life he'd change, if given the chance. Even the shit parts had shaped him. But that night - bless his Dad, but if he could go back and shoot him sooner than he had - he would have saved Bill so much pain. He could tell the scars Sean had left still pained his Abberline. Canice lifted a hand, his finger tracing the air where he could see a long scar in the dim light from the lamp post just outside the window. The scar marred part of a raven wing tattoo Canice could see on Bill's back. How could Bill not remember?

Sean wasn't the only one responsible for the scars that Canice knew littered Bill's body. Somehow even in death Elizabeth's presence defiled his Abberline. Bill had once been desperate to dispense of his dear old Mother. His thoughts may have been coded, even in the journals Canice had found and read during the times he spent rifling through his Abberline's home, but he knew his Abberline like the back of his hand. Bill wanted to kill demons. But Bill would be horrified if he became the villain his Mother had been. And Canice would never consent to killing a child. Would never let Bill kill one. They were the innocents of the world. Treasure to be protected from the demons that preyed upon them, uncaring in their cruelty.

Canice turned away and quietly moved from the room. The couch in the sitting room beckoned. Perhaps it was the descent from the high, the drop after the rush of serotonin that had flooded his veins, but he knew from experience it was best to indulge the wave of melancholy.

He removed the couch cushions to expose multiple notebooks and newspaper clippings. He glanced in the corner to check that Binky was still there - the small elephant looked at him innocently, but he knew his childhood toy was far from innocent. Inside Binky's fluff held his secret trophies. A lock of hair from his first kill. A hair tie from his second. The necklace from the one who had given him the chance to see Bill for the first time. A gold earring from the one who had truly introduced him to Bill. A pearl earring from the one who showed him that Bill was to be his Abberline.

The thought of his trophies made him itch. He had been craving the release for awhile now. Perhaps foolishly he'd once thought that when he had his Abberline by his side, he could be different. He could be as normal as his Mother thought he was. Live in the suburbs. Have a normal job. Come home to Bill every night. But if this encounter, after a year apart, had taught him anything, it was that he was not normal. He could now stop fighting it. He could accept it. Neither he nor Bill would ever be content with something so ordinary as normal.

He reached for one of the notebooks. His father had kept detailed notes of the years spent raising him, teaching him. He skimmed them, each entry already memorized, skipping pages to find the ones he wanted.

My son is showing himself to be of the blood, even at eight. He watched as I took apart the whore, taking photos and asking intelligent questions throughout. I am happy to note that his vomiting issue, which has been gone for months now, shows no signs of returning.

I brought the boy on the hunt this time. It was his birthday, and I feel it's important that he begin to be more involved in the good work. He has just turned nine, after all. He asked me how old I was when I killed my first whore. The look of pride he gave me when I told him of my first time and the truth of the nobility of our blood is something I will cherish forever.

At last I am released from that vile institution. My son must prove to me he's been a good boy in my absence. I have concerns after our conversation. He seems more interested in the attention from the media than fulfilling our great work. I don't understand where I went wrong.

My son has found himself an Abberline. He seems intelligent, albeit younger than I'd care for. This should straighten the boy out.

I'm concerned. My son's Abberline is not behaving as he should. This isn't right. He's hunting us now. Not in the way that is proper of an Abberline and his Ripper.

Now my son isn't behaving as he should. I don't understand where I went wrong! The attraction I see growing within for his Abberline is improper. We must stop this attraction at its roots.

Plans are underway for the removal of his Abberline's Mother. I fear even if we kill the Abberline himself all will be lost. My son taints the legacy I've built for him. Perhaps this is the burden of parenthood. Knowing that one has raised an attention seeking brat who cares only for playing games with his Abberline despite all the best intentions.

Canice felt a dark triumph flood him. Joke's on you, Dad. He would build his own legacy, with his Abberline beside him. Freed from the fools who had raised them, together they would do great things. Terrible, perhaps, to some. But great.

It was long past midnight by the time Canice replaced the cushions on the couch and slipped back into bed. Bill's body curled towards him in sleep and he felt a strange emotion invade him. He didn't understand it. The flash of protectiveness he felt right after hit him even stronger. Mine. He must make his Abberline remember. He will not lose his Abberline. Elizabeth was dead. Sean was dead. It was as if God Himself had brought them to this point. Canice would be a fool to allow Bill to slip away. Bill must remember at any cost. He's mine.

Bill knew he was dreaming.

He was somehow aware of his monster's warmth. The weight of an arm slung around his waist. The sensations existed, a long tunnel separating his physical body and the presence of mind he now found himself in. Dreams like this scared him, even from within the dream itself. If this could happen to him, then what powers must demons possess?

He was in a basement. The walls were hazy, somehow not quite all there, but he knew where he was. His childhood home. There was a noise. He looked down. Somehow there was an axe in his hand. He stood. Looked into the darkness. Someone stepped out of the shadows. He almost dropped the axe. He recognized himself at eight. Child Bill told him to go. I want to be free, he begged. Child Bill guided him to a bedroom. His Mother's room. The door opened as soon as he touched the handle. He stepped into a cave, yellow eyes peering at him from within the depths. Child Bill took his hand. Don't be scared.

He walked forward. The further he went into the depths of the cave the further away the yellow eyes appeared. And then he saw her.

His Mother.

She was slumped against the wall. Clothes tattered, blood as black as the darkness that still surrounded them slowly oozing from distorted features. She smiled at them as they approached. Child Bill was holding his hand so tightly he could almost feel the pain, but otherwise unafraid to stare at her. But Bill himself couldn't look at her.

I'm not angry, children. I'm disappointed. Our secrets should stay our secrets. That barman mustn't stick his nose where it doesn't belong. You can make it right. Admit you were wrong. Admit you were confused. We can go back to how it was, my children.

Bill let go of Child Bill's hand. He stepped closer. Don't listen to her, Child Bill pleaded. Think. She was the demon. Not the innocent children. You know the truth!

Bill halted. Looked at Child Bill, who spoke again, but with a different voice now, the low southern drawl familiar. You want this.

Bill turned back to his Mother. Walked to her. Child Bill was silent now. He held out a hand. Helped his Mother stand up. "I remember," he told her. "I remember everything you did."

She screamed then, loud and shrill, but Bill looked down at his hands, the axe somehow still in his grip, and swung it will all his might. She clawed at him, attempting to defend herself, but Child Bill was now beside him. They fought her together. Her face rapidly switched between her own and a likeness of his face, and he screamed at her that he wasn't afraid, that she could not make him like her. And Bill knew that Child Bill felt the same pleasure as he did, the moment the furious yellow eyes became dull and the body became lifeless, limp. Her voice still seemed to call out to them as they turned and left the cave. Bill locked the bedroom door behind them.

They stood there, Child Bill and Adult Bill, and the house slowly faded into shadow. Bill could feel the edges of the dream fade, could feel his body push himself ever closer to alertness, and slowly felt himself wake. He let his heart rate slow. Allowed the warmth and weight of his monster's body to permeate his senses. Canice slept on, oblivious. Bill watched his monster sleep. It's not our fault we are who are. It's not our fault we've done what we've done. Those who raised us are at fault. But we can make it right. We can kill our demons together. He allowed the heartbeat of his monster to calm him. It didn't take long before he drifted off again.

When Bill woke next, the sun was starting to creep up, the glow filtering through the window. The diffuse light shone on the empty spot beside him. Bill blinked. Frowned. The sound of sizzling reached his ears. He sniffed. Bacon?

He slipped out of bed. Hunted around the room for his boxers. He'd never have used the word bashful to describe himself before. But somehow the idea of wandering around uncovered filled him with an apprehension he couldn't quite hide. His boxers had ended up on the floor halfway across the room. They were ripped in half. Shit. Bill uncharacteristically blushed as he remembered exactly how that had happened. He cast his eyes about the room. The top drawer of the lone dresser was ajar. Bill pulled out a pair of boxers and put them on. Damn. Canice liked the expensive kind. He slipped on his shirt - somehow it had ended up hanging from the ceiling fan - unwilling to knowingly expose the scars on his torso.

Bill made his way to the kitchen. Canice was wearing a silk robe, the red fabric set off fashionably with the black apron he wore with a large ring on the front. The words above the ring were written in fancy script, and Bill felt an odd sort of fondness bubble up within. His little monster was a closet Tolkien nerd too? "It's a dangerous business, going out your door," he said, laughter in his tone.

Canice looked up, a wide smile spreading across his face, and Bill felt an another odd sensation fill his chest. "You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to." Canice's gaze pierced him, and Bill suddenly felt shy, any clever response leaving his brain. Canice seemed to know, for he left the sizzling bacon to step in front of where Bill stood. There was a long silence. For once, Bill didn't know what his own expression said. He could guess it was similar to what he could read in his monster's face. His breath caught. That look. That look that made him want to groan out loud. Made his chest compress in the best possible way.

Gently. Slowly. Canice leaned forward and slotted his lips against Bill's. The silent words exchanged made Bill feel drunk. When he opened his eyes again, he saw Canice staring at him with something akin to wonder. The intensity of his stare captured Bill. Held him in place. His eyes dropped down to Canice's lips. Words formed. You want this.

With a sudden rush of clarity, the memory that had briefly burst into his brain the night before and the dream he'd had came into focus and merged. He could see it. Feel it. His Mother's voice and Child Bill and memories of pain and fear, so much fear...

When he came to, he discovered that he was now huddled on the floor, Canice crouched next to him, still looking at him carefully. Bill saw that Canice knew he'd remembered. He still felt the need to vocalize it. Quietly, his voice close to breaking with suppressed emotion, Bill spoke, his voice low. "I did want it. I wanted to be free. I want it. I want this."

And as Canice helped him stand, Bill could see that he understood the message. The multiple layers of meaning. Canice's lips were on his so fast it took his breath away. He was still reeling from the kiss when he felt his monster's hand grip him through his borrowed boxers. "You stole my pants," Canice said. "You should be punished for that."

"I didn't take anything that didn't already want to be taken," Bill said cheekily.

Canice's eyes darkened. He untied the apron from his waist, tossed it aside. The tie from his robe was pulled off unceremoniously, and Bill was too distracted by the sight of Canice's skin where the robe hung open to notice his monster's intentions. The tie was around his wrists in an instant, his arms forced above his head, and perhaps the power transfer should have been alarming but instead the heady rush felt damn good. "I'm not that easy," he mock protested.

Canice leaned forward, his lips latching onto Bill's neck. Bill could feel his soft chuckle. "I'd beg to differ after last night," he said. His lips continued their assault.

Bill was torn between allowing Canice to continue and the desire to play their game a whole new way. The sound of his monster's soft huff of laughter against his neck made his decision: His arms, still tied up, slid down around Canice's shoulders and he used his entire body to spin them around and back Canice up against the wall. Canice went willingly, too startled or perhaps he simply desired the game. Bill could tell it was the latter by the way Canice looked at him. "Your move," his monster breathed. "What are you going to do?"

"You're going to have to catch me to find out," Bill whispered. He pulled his arms above Canice's head and used his body to push away from his monster, who cottoned on a fraction of a second after Bill darted away. Canice caught him by the window, pressing him against the cold glass. "Such an easy target. One would almost think you wanted to be caught."

Bill grappled with him for a moment before ducking away. Canice pinned him against the door this time. Bill laughed, drunk on lust, high on their game. "What would make you think that?" he answered breathlessly. He spun out of his monster's arms and leapt away, but Canice's foot reached out and tripped him. He landed on his side on the soft shaggy carpet. Canice was on top of him in an instant, pinning him down. His hand reached under the waistband of the borrowed boxers. "This is what makes me think that," he growled roughly. Bill gasped, struggling, but his movements only served to spin him further into the power of arousal, and he knew Canice had won this round. Canice seemed to sense this, and for once Bill allowed himself to surrender completely.

The smoke alarm rang only seconds after Bill came down from his high. Canice stood up, his arms pulling Bill up in the same movement, but neither one of them appeared motivated to deal with the incessant beeping. "My Bilbo," Canice whispered into his hair. "Mine."

Bill smiled, shoving weakly at his monster, too sated to put any real force behind it. "You are a Tolkien nerd," he said affectionately. "Shouldn't we do something about that alarm?"

"The apartment could burn, for all I care," Canice murmured. "We won't be needing it, after all."

"We won't?" Bill asked, grinning.

"I too, have had something akin to a quarter-life crisis," Canice said. "The past year I've been - attempting to be someone I'm not."

Bill searched his monster's face. "What do you want?" he whispered.

Canice looked down. Took a deep breath. Looked up. "A partner in crime," he said quietly.

Bill didn't speak out loud. He didn't need to. His expression said it all.

Canice turned his gaze to the stove. "Well fuck, I've burned the bacon," he said, as if he'd only just realized it. "Perhaps you'd like to accompany me to a little cafe I know for breakfast?"

Bill laughed and nodded. Canice moved to turn off the stove and open a window. It was almost a shame to watch his monster put on clothes, but he had to admit food sounded appealing. As they left the apartment, Bill put a hand on Canice's arm. Canice looked at him, surprised. Bill swallowed, unsure how to say the words. At last he said, "Don't - don't stop reminding me. I want this. I'm chuffed to be free. My memory - sometimes I lose track of things."

Canice looked right at him. In that moment, Bill was grateful that Canice had read his journals during the time they had hunted each other. His monster knew exactly what he meant. A door down the hall slammed. Bill dropped his hand. He didn't want Canice to feel uncomfortable. Canice hesitated. Looked around. There was a young couple heading toward them, laughing hysterically at something on one of their mobiles. Bill could see his monster take a deep breath before grabbing his hand. "The devil shall not lead you astray," he said vehemently.

The couple passed by, still laughing, and although neither one seemed to acknowledge that they were there beyond a cursory glance, Bill could feel his monster's tension. Canice seemed to steel himself before he leaned closer into Bill. "Perhaps - after breakfast - we could discuss our plans," he said haltingly.

Bill's heart hammered. "Our plans?"

"Partners in crime?" Canice said after a moment, his words lifting up in a question.

Bill grinned. Whatever storms there were ahead to weather, it mattered not one bit. His life, dedicated to killing demons, would no longer be a lonely one. His monster would walk beside him. His monster would kill beside him. Together, they would do great things. Some would say terrible, perhaps. But great.

"Partners in crime," Bill agreed.

Canice gripped his hand harder. As one, they left the building.

Two days later, the landlord would receive a hefty check and an apology for leaving before the lease was up. He'd met someone who had shown him God's work, the tenet explained. They were leaving the country for a mission trip and would likely be gone for quite awhile, and it would be selfish of him to keep an apartment that he no longer needed.