"So, let me see," muttered the Undertaker after William explained the gearshift to him. "I pull this lever and press the pedal…"

The vehicle lurched with a grinding sound and William quickly put his hand over the ancient's to stop him from grinding the gears further. "You shifted incorrectly, sir. Try again."

The mortician sighed and almost pouted. "Confounded machinery! Why do they make it so blasted complicated?"

"Mortals haven't figured out how to make it automatic, yet." Ronald shrugged, "It's easy once you learn it." He stretched out in the back seat, lying down. It seemed they would be sitting in one spot for a while.

William sighed and begged the gods for patience. "All right, let us begin again. Think of it as a process, Undertaker…like your experimental procedures. One step at a time."

"Hmm, I could do that," acknowledged the mortician. He poked his tongue out the corner of his mouth as he examined the controls of the vehicle again. He tried once more—this time shifting into the correct gear but failing to pop the clutch at the right time. "Bloody hell!"

"Easy," soothed William. He decided to try a different approach, treating it more like dance steps. "Look at me and memorize my motions. One, two, three….one, two, three." He went through the motion of pressing the pedal, shifting the gear and pressing the gas.

"And of course, always keep your hand on the steering wheel and pay attention to where you're going," he finished after going through the motions a few times.

"Spears…"

William suddenly scowled. "Do shut up."

Undertaker blinked at him. "I didn't say a thing, lad. I was clinging to every word you said like a tick sucking on—"

"I was speaking of my stomach," interrupted William hastily. "We had no chance to eat breakfast and it was growling and distracting me."

The Undertaker regarded him with interest. He'd changed into a Nazi uniform like Will and Ron so as to travel easier, and his hair was tucked up underneath the cap. The sun flashed on the emblem on his hat and his vivid eyes seemed to see right through William.

"I've never known you to be easily distracted by a growling tummy, Willy. I used to have to chide you to eat, in fact. You'd have your nose so buried in the books you'd have starved if others hadn't reminded you to have a meal."

"Things can change," countered William. "My stomach can wait. Let us focus on the more immediate concern, shall we?"

Undertaker shrugged. "Suit yourself."

After a few more tries, he managed to get the car moving forward with only a slight hitch. William sighed in relief and leaned back in his seat, unwilling to close his eyes just yet as the Undertaker began to drive out of the town. He turned in his seat to check on Ronald, and he smirked a little to find him dead to the world. Deciding to let him rest while the opportunity was there, he kept an eye on the Undertaker's driving and advised him when necessary. Mad or not, his former mentor was a genius and once he got the hang of the controls William felt confident enough to close his eyes for a while.

"Wake me in an hour, please. I shall take over after a nap."

Ronald was jerked awake by a particularly rough bump in the road, which ejected him from the back bench seat of the car and deposited him onto the floor. With a groan, he sat up and rubbed his eyes as he looked up out of the window at the passing buildings.

"They should really fix that..." he yawned and pulled himself up onto the seat he'd been previously evacuated from, and becoming aware of his full bladder. He leaned forward, "Hey, I need ta piss," he said, expecting that William was awake, but it was only Undertaker who seemed to hear him.

The mortician glanced over his shoulder at the young man, and he looked around at their surroundings. They were out on a country road at the moment, but soon they would be traveling through a war-torn town. Aside from getting fuel and a bite to eat somewhere, he didn't expect they'd want to stay for long and it was probably more sanitary to stop and take a piss behind a bush than to do so in any facility they might find in town. He pulled the car over to a large oak tree and he cut the engine.

"Right then, let's have a breather." He nudged William, who had his cap low over his face to mask his eyes from the sun. "Wakey-wakey, Spears. Your li'l friend wants a pit stop, and I could stand to empty my bladder as well."

Will made a most unbecoming sound in the form of a snort as he jerked awake. "Secure the perimeter," he muttered, obviously caught in some dream.

"Snap out of it, lad," chuckled the Undertaker. "We're in a motorcar on the road. That's it, come back to us."

William pulled his hat off of his face and crammed it on his head, squinting behind the shaded lenses of his prescription shades. "Where are we?" he yawned.

"'Bout an hour from Erfert, on the road to Nuremburg. We could be there by dinnertime if we keep our stop in Erfert brief. Need fuel, though." Undertaker tapped the fuel gauge with a gloved finger. "That was the one thing I forgot to do before we left, but we should be able to find a fuel station in the little town we're going through."

He opened the door and stepped out of the car, patting the hood. "Hurry up, chaps. We're on a schedule."

William sighed and pushed his door open to get out. He helped Ronald open the back passenger door since the inside handle was damaged, and then he looked around for his own spot to relieve himself. "Coffee would be lovely right now, but I suppose I shall have to wait on that luxury. That tree and the surrounding bushes seem concealed enough." He nodded in the direction he spoke of and he patted Ronald on the shoulder.

"Dun' have ta tell me!" Ron said, already hurrying over to the tree to stand behind before he unzipped his fly so he could relieve himself. "Ahhhh better..."

Once he was finished, he zipped back up and stretched as he wandered back towards the car. "How long have we been driving, anyway? I think I dozed off."

"A li'l over an hour," answered the mortician. "You two haven't been out for very long. In fact it's just the right time for Willy to take over. Map's in the glove compartment if y' need it. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a bush to water."

While he was doing that, William slipped into the driver's seat and checked the fuel reading. It looked as though they had just enough to make it to the settlement they were going to be passing through. Ronald was outside stretching his muscles and the Undertaker came back from relieving himself and claimed the back seat.

"Don't forget about the map," reminded the ancient as he took a page from William's book and put his hat over his face as he lay down on the seat. He was too tall to stretch out properly, so he unrolled the window and stuck his calves and feet out of it.

"Oh sir, really," complained William upon glancing in the rearview mirror to see what he'd done. "What are people going to think if they see a pair of legs sticking out from the back of this vehicle?"

Undertaker snickered. "They'll think you're carrying a dead comrade, I imagine. I can fake it if we run into any Nazi militia and need a good story. Just tell them I fell to the enemy and you're delivering me to Nuremburg for an autopsy. The map, Willy. We don't want to get lost."

William produced his navigator from his pocket. "No need for that. I have an electronic device to tell me where I need to go. Ronald? It's time we got going."

"Alright." Ronald sighed, opening the passenger door and sliding in. "Let's get to the gassing station."

As they drove along the roads to their destination, William attempted to find a radio station to listen to. Everything was in German though, and it was mostly Reich propaganda, so he clicked it off with a sigh. It was foolish of him to expect to find any music to make the ride easier. He glanced over at Ronald and he smirked at the boy's utterly bored expression. He couldn't look more miserable if he tried. Checking the rearview mirror to be sure the Undertaker was still sleeping, he reached across and put a hand on Ronald's knee.

"Pity you brought no reading material or word puzzles to occupy yourself with. If you like, I have a couple of books in my luggage and we can retrieve one of them from it at the next pit-stop."

"Still trying to get me to be bookie in my free time?" Ronald teased, glancing over at William and placing his hand over the one on his knee, "I wish I had brought my Shinigami radio transverter. Brings Reaper radio to mortal radios. But I never would have thought we'd end up on a road trip."

William nodded, stroking his thumb over Ronald's. "That would have been handy. Perhaps when we get the opportunity to return to the other side again you could contact Slingby to express mail it to our next reaper address. That would require for us to remain in a given location for more than one day, however...unless he or one of your other friends could find the time to teleport directly to us."

Even as he said it, William could hardly believe he was suggesting such a thing. It then occurred to him that he missed catching up on the goings-on of their realm as much as Ronald did. He was getting homesick for reaper London.

A snore from the back seat interrupted his thoughts and he shot a smirk over his shoulder at his old mentor. "At least one of us doesn't seem to be overly troubled by being far from home."

"Pardon me for saying this, but I think that guy feels right at home in any cemetery, to be honest. I mean, why else would he want all our meetings to be there? He's comfortable there, clearly, so it'd be like home." Ronald said, glancing back at the much older man. He then sighed, the sound long and sad, "I really miss home. Funny thing is, I miss silly things more than my usual pubs and clubs. I miss the people and being able to actually go home to sleep. I've had long assignments before, but nothing like this."

"Hmm, point taken," conceded William. "I would have liked to visit this country under better circumstances. Our situation makes it quite easy to miss home, I'm afraid."

He somewhat envied the older reaper then, in his ability to find some nook to fit in regardless of where he went or what was going on around him. People could make fun all they liked, but the Undertaker was a survivor. William glanced in the rearview mirror again as the mortician snorted in his sleep and rolled over, and he started to smile in spite of himself.

"Madmen are surprisingly versatile."

"It'd be worse if they weren't...don't you think?" Ron said, turning around to glance at Undertaker, "I mean, if they weren't then I imagine they wouldn't take well to any sort of changes, stuck in the past and witnessing their worlds falling apart around them. I imagine it'd break them further."

William frowned at that observation. He'd never really thought about how tenuous the Undertaker's hold on sanity really was, but Ronald put it into perspective and reminded him that it might not take much to make the mortician snap again. He looked at the road again, and he abruptly slammed on the breaks when a figure appeared in the middle of it, staring right at him. His and Ronald's seatbelts fortunately kept them both from going through the windshield, but the Undertaker wasn't strapped in and his body rolled off the back seat to slam against the back of the front ones.

It was an effective wakeup call and the ancient sat up, sputtering. His hair was in his eyes as his head popped up between the driver and passenger seats, sans hat. "What in bloody hell?"

William had no words. His heart was hammering in his chest as he stared at the now-empty road before him with wide eyes. The woman that had come out of nowhere was gone as if she'd never been there, and he couldn't even be certain she'd truly existed to begin with. He swallowed and tried to gather his thoughts, glancing sidelong at his swearing partner.

"I...thought I saw...but it must have been my imagination..."

"What in the fucking titty-fuck!" Ron cursed, gasping. He'd gotten the wind knocked out of him between his safety belt holding him in place and Undertaker's body knocking into the back of his seat quite hard. "I doubt what I said warranted you slamming on your breaks like that! Rhea, Will!"

William flushed in humiliation. "I thought I saw something in the road ahead, and I did not wish to hit it."

"Like what?" demanded the Undertaker. "A squirrel? I never picked you to be the sort to worry about running over the fuzzies."

"I...it appeared to be a person," muttered William uncertainly. "I was mistaken."

Undertaker leaned over the seats to peer at him with his penetrating gaze. "A person, eh? Just standing in the middle of the road, chap? I'm thinking mayhap you ought to take a break from driving and let Mr. Knox take over for a bit."

William sighed and shut his eyes. "I'm fine."

"I don't know...Maybe it is my turn to drive. Seeing phantom people isn't...you know...safe." Ron muttered.

At once, Will felt ridiculous. He blushed scarlet as he put the vehicle into park and opened the door to get out. "Perhaps you are right. I must be more tired than I imagined, and I'd rather not put all of our safety at risk. Exchange seats with me, Ronald."

Undertaker watched with a thoughtful expression as the younger reapers got out of the car to trade places. Once William was inside and buckled into the passenger seat again, he tapped him on the shoulder. "Care to talk about it, lad?"

William glanced at him and he shook his head, trying his best not to allow the incident to shake him up. "There is nothing to discuss, sir. I merely imagined it."

"Hmm, did you?" For once, the mortician wasn't smiling. "Was it a man or a woman, William?"

"Female," answered the brunet shortly. "It matters not. It was only a trick to my eyes." He looked uncomfortably at Ronald, imagining how insane this conversation must sound to him. "I shall nap for a while. Perhaps more rest will clear my head."

After shifting the car into gear and getting back on their way down the road, Ronald reached over with his free hand and took William's, giving it a comforting squeeze, but saying nothing as he kept his eyes on the road.

Something was definitely going on...and it was getting worse.

William rested his head back against the seat, and he returned the pressure of Ronald's hand. He knew Ronald wasn't fooled by his reassurances that it was nothing to fret over. He could tell by the tension he sensed from him, and he wondered if there was anything he could say or do to alleviate his obvious concern. William himself was worried though, and as much as he wanted to believe he had a handle on things, he felt his self-control slipping little by little.

The Undertaker had lain back down and covered his face with his hat again, but William could imagine the thoughts churning in that brilliant, insane mind of his. As much as Ronald understood something wasn't right, the Undertaker was probably the only being alive that could actually relate to him. As William tried to get some rest, he did a thing which he had not done since before he joined Dispatch. He began to silently pray to the gods, begging them not to let him follow his old mentor into madness.

When they stopped in the next town to refuel and find something to eat, the Undertaker pulled William aside while Ronald pumped the gas and he spoke in a low voice.

"You aren't just imagining things, Willy," explained the mortician. "I see them too, from time to time."

William kept his expression as neutral as possible. "I haven't the faintest idea what you mean, sir."

"Don't you?" Undertaker grinned, but there was something humorless and cold to it. "You never were any good at lying to me, boy."

William sighed and looked across the distance at Ronald and the car. "Tell me why this is happening, then. How bad will it get?"

Undertaker shrugged. "That depends on you, Spears. You see, we reapers are caught between the world of the living and the dead, and when we start to snap, that barrier gets thinner. If we can't keep it balanced we start slipping, and those two worlds start merging for us."

"And how do I keep it balanced, sir?"

The mortician chuckled. "Ah, if I knew that I wouldn't be mad, now would I? All I can suggest to you is that you focus on something that keeps your feet on the ground. Think of what keeps you here in the world of the living, yeah? I didn't have anything to use as a focal point, but there may be some hope for you."

William's gaze stayed on Ronald. "Yes...I do have something of value here. I...am sorry that you felt alone, sir. I would have been there for you, had you allowed it."

The Undertaker sighed and he patted Will's shoulder. "Where I was going, I didn't want you to follow. Doesn't matter now, though. Let's not live in the past and worry about catching up with this lich."

William nodded, and he shoved his regrets to the back of his mind. He still believed there might be hope for the Undertaker, but he couldn't worry about that right now. He would have the opportunity to try one last time to help his old mentor once this mission ended. For now, he had other priorities. He walked over to the car just as Ronald finished fueling it up and he opened up the passenger door. "Are you all right to continue driving, Ronald, or would you like for one of us to take over?"

Ronald sighed, rubbing his eye with his sleeve before replacing his glove. "Truthfully...I don't think I should last much longer. I didn't get quite enough sleep last night, it seems. But..." He bit his lip and lowered his voice, "I don't like the idea of you pushing yourself too much right now. I may not understand what's happening, but I know I don't like it, and I'll do what I can to help you."

William didn't know how to respond to that. He wished he could say something to instill confidence in the younger man, but Undertaker came over at that moment to get into the car and William really didn't want to discuss it in front of him. Perhaps later on, he and Ronald could have some time alone and he could talk more in depth with him about it.

"I feel fine now," William said—which was true enough. "I can drive us to our destination, Ronald. It should only be a couple of hours, if our calculations are correct. If I begin to feel...off...I shall pull over immediately and request that someone else take the wheel. You should have a nap."

Ronald nodded and moved around to the passenger side, "Don't hesitate to wake me if you need anything." he said before climbing in and strapping himself down.

Even if Will just needed to talk...Ronald didn't mind him waking him from his nap.

Nuremburg wasn't in as bad of shape as they expected, when they arrived. It was obvious that the ravages of war had touched it, but most of the buildings were intact—though pockmarked with bullets. They made it to the location without further incident and there were Nazi soldiers patrolling the streets. William showed his false identification to the guards at the entrance and it occurred to him that he had no idea what alias the Undertaker was going under.

"We were separated from our regiment," he explained as the guards looked into the vehicle. "We are on our way to rejoin them to the south, but we require food and rest before moving on."

"Of course," said the inspecting officer after looking at William and Ronald's identification. "And you, sir? Do you have some form of identification as well?"

Undertaker held one gloved finger up and he dug around in his uniform pocket. "Here you are," he said, handing it over. The officer inspected it, glancing between the mortician and the identification badge before handing it back. He motioned for the other guards to move aside.

"You may pass," he informed William. "There is a cafeteria in the square, where we have set up our barracks. Simply show your identification and they will feed you. I believe your regiment may have passed through here just two days ago, sir. You aren't far behind them."

"Thank you," answered William. "We shall leave at dawn, then."

The officer saluted him sharply and clicked his heels before walking away, leaving William to drive through unimpeded. The brunet sighed in relief, glad to have gotten through without any hassle. The uniforms and the fake documentation were certainly coming in handy for them. He could just imagine the difficulties they would have faced trying to move freely through the country without them. He noticed Ronald covering a yawn from the corner of his eye and he looked at him.

"We will find a place to sleep soon," he promised, "after we've eaten. I would rather not sleep in the barracks if we can avoid it, but we may have no other choice."

"We could always find a nice graveyard to settle in for the night," suggested the Undertaker.

"No cemeteries," insisted William tightly. "While I realize you sleep well in coffins, I'm afraid the same cannot be said of Mr. Knox and myself."

"No matter what, we'll not be able to snuggle in together." Ron let himself pout. "Just when I'm getting used to snuggling with you, too."

He wasn't going to hide it from Undertaker. The man had seen them sleeping in the same bed, after all. And the room had provided two beds for use.

"You could cuddle in a coffin," urged the mortician with a grin. "Quite snugly, I might add."

"No," Will repeated sternly, feeling like he was addressing a child rather than a reaper several hundred years his elder. "We are not spending the night in a graveyard, Undertaker. That is the end of it."

The Undertaker sighed in a dejected manner and sat back in his seat, practically sulking. "Fine, then. Best hope this place isn't hit with an air strike tonight. Sleeping underground has its practical purposes at a time like this, y' know."

William groaned softly. He hadn't considered that, and air strikes from the opposition was a very real danger to consider. He and Ronald had born witness to such events more than he would have liked, after all. "Perhaps we could take that into consideration," he amended reluctantly, "but I would rather sleep on a cold stone floor than exhume human remains from a casket and sleep in it."

"Suit yourself." The Undertaker shrugged.

"I like my wiggle room." Ronald agreed, "And...at worse, an air raid would only hang us up in the reaper hospital for a good while...right?"

"Enjoy getting blown up, do you?" Undertaker snorted. "You're either a very brave lad or a very foolish one."

"He is merely reluctant to literally sleep with the dead," defended William, "as any sane person should be."

"Careful, Willy," admonished the mortician. "You might not be as sane as you think you are."

William let the barb slide, and he turned down one of the streets that should take them to the city square. "Say what you will, sir. I am not going to argue this matter further with you. The cemetery is an option for consideration but not one that I am particularly in favor of, if it can be avoided."

"Besides, I already was almost blown up once." Ron shrugged. "Looks like that's what the guy was talking about, Will." he said, pointing ahead at an area heavy with military activity.

William nodded and he pulled up to a curb before cutting the engine. "Well, let us see what kind of meals they have to offer."

"Potatoes, most likely," sighed the Undertaker. "What I wouldn't give for a nice, roasted chicken or some collard greens, right now."

"Whether it's potatoes or something else, we need to eat something," William insisted. He opened the door and got out of the car. "You complain a lot for someone who cannot afford to be terribly choosy, Undertaker. Many people must go without food in this country, these days."

"Tell me that again when we end up with mouth scurvy from eating too much of the same thing," grumbled the ancient. "A man can't live on potatoes alone."

William hid a smile. Undertaker's appetite had always been hearty, and the man enjoyed variety. "We shan't get scurvy," he promised. "We can seek out a butcher while we are here, perhaps, and we can cook up our own meals tomorrow. Surely the military is getting their supplies from somewhere. We can ask around."

With a sigh, Undertaker tightened his belt and got out of the car to join him.

"I'm never eating another potato again in my life after this war's finally over." Ron groaned, already smelling cooked potatoes, "Germans do know there are more options in the world, right?"

William sighed. "Of course they do. There is actually a wide array of dishes on the cultural menu, such as sauerkraut, Schwarzwälder Schinken—better known as 'Black Forest Ham' in English, the famous pretzel and all manner of baked goods. Unfortunately, potatoes just happen to be the most plentiful, affordable source of food in this part of the world at this time. When we get the opportunity, I shall treat you to a full course German meal—one that doesn't have to include potatoes."

"Am I invited?" Undertaker hopped over a puddle and grinned at his old student, mouth watering at the thought of having something more than root veggies as a meal.

"That would depend on your actions once we have taken care of the threat of this lich," answered William smoothly. "Though I would be happy to invite you to a meal, provided we do not end up as enemies, sir."

"So it'll be a date, or a party... either way, I'm in!" Ron grinned, walking around the car and joining the other two on the way into the barracks.

William checked a smile over Ronald's enthusiasm. "Good. Let's pencil that in, shall we?"

After a cheerless meal of potato soup that had both Ronald and Undertaker making faces as they ate, William made arrangements for them to sleep in the barracks with the mortal Nazi militia. Undertaker meanwhile used whatever tracking methods he had at his disposal to keep on top of their quarry's movements, and he assured them that they were still hot on the trail. As they bedded down in their bunk beds for the night, William sighed and stared up at the bed above him—which Ronald had claimed. He thought he could hear the hint of whispers at the edge of his consciousness, but the sound of the other occupants' snores, farts and mutterings made it difficult to be sure.

The top bunk creaked as Ronald squirmed fitfully and William impulsively reached up to poke at the underside springs of it. "Settle down, Ronald," he whispered to his partner. "I don't fancy the thought of you falling through this flimsy bedding to crush me."

"At least we'd have a reason to snuggle together again, if I did..." Ronald's voice muttered back. "Try to get some sleep, Will." he added, still obviously worried about the man. "I'll be here in the morning."

In the darkness, William smiled a bit. He closed his eyes and he took comfort in the fact that Ronald would be sleeping directly above him. "Good night, Ronald."

He sighed and he tried to relax his body. His efforts to fall asleep were thwarted when the Undertaker—sleeping in the bottom bunk across from them—snorted in his sleep, rolled over and started to argue with himself.

"No, you bloody idiot...powder th' biscuits with sugar after you put 'em in the oven...not before!"

William sighed and he grabbed his thin pillow out from under his head and crammed it over his face. "Why me..."

The next morning, Ronald was back to his stubborn self, trying to cling to sleep. While he didn't sleep great, it had been better than the no sleep he'd gotten the night before. But soon the sounds of Germans getting up and ready for the day around him forced him up and he groaned, rubbing his face with both hands as he sat up, shirtless.

William was likewise roused from his sleep and his hair was uncommonly mussed. He practically sleepwalked through getting dressed, only half-aware of his surroundings. Mortal soldiers were already up and about, but the Undertaker was still sleeping like an albino log in the other bunk. Annoyed, William tossed a shoe at him.

"Undertaker, we need to get moving."

The ancient snorted and waved blindly in William's general direction. "Five more minutes, brat."

William compressed his lips and he stood up abruptly—too abruptly. He smacked his head on the upper bunk and he cursed at the pain, blindly grabbing his abused skull with both hands. "Bloody hell! Argh! Undertaker, we cannot dally! You said that our quarry is on the move again. Please, wake up and ready yourself!"

Ronald leaned over, placing his hands on Will's shoulders and pressing his lips to the top of William's head in a quick kiss, "Settle down. We can shove him in the trunk if he refuses to get up," he joked.

William wasn't expecting the surprise kiss and he froze for a moment, feeling ridiculously warmed by the gesture. He tilted his head back to look up at the reaper leaning over the top bunk, and he tried to lighten his demeanor. "He might enjoy that a bit too much."

"At least he won't complain once he finally wakes up." Ron smirked before pulling back and grabbing his shirt—which was hanging on the bedpost.

"True." William sighed and stepped over to the Undertaker's bunk to retrieve his shoe. "Undertaker. Wake up."

He then did something that had him grimacing, for he never would have even dreamed of doing such a thing to his mentor in the past. He slapped the mortician's pale cheeks on either side to rouse him. It evidently did the trick, because the Undertaker sat up and flailed angrily at him.

"Oi, what do ya think you're doing!"

"Waking you up," stated William flatly—though he prudently took a step back.

The mortician glared balefully from beneath his mussed silver bangs, and then he blinked upon recognizing the blurred figure before him. "Oh, Willy." He covered his mouth with one hand as he yawned. "Been up for long, have you?"

"Long enough." Ron yawned, hopping down off the bunk to slip into his slacks and finish getting into uniform. "At least, long enough to discuss shoving you in the trunk with the luggage rather than try and wake you. That was my vote."

"No respect for your elders," grumbled the Undertaker. Dressed only in his slacks, he tugged the covers down and sat up in the bed. William's eyes were drawn to the scars slashing over the mortician's albino flesh and he couldn't tear them away. Those scars...reapers did not scar easily. Generally it took a death scythe to permanently mar their flesh that way, but some demon claws were known to have properties that could do so as well.

"Was it a scythe?" William impulsively questioned, nodding at the elder reaper's bared torso, "or are they marks of combat with demons?"

He couldn't really imagine why the man would bear scythe wounds unless they occurred after his defection, but he'd never thought to ask before.

"Demons," answered the Undertaker as he gathered his things. "They carved me up good and proper before I dispatched them."

William nodded, remembering his own horror at seeing his mentor brought in a bloody mess. He'd never gotten the chance to see the extent of his injuries though, and now he wished he hadn't called attention to them. "Forgive me. I should not have pried."

Undertaker smirked at him as he slipped into his shirt and reached for the outer layers of his uniform. "It's a question you've had on mind for a good while now, yeah? No harm, William."

Ronald straightened his tie and put on his hat, "Would you mind sharing the story with us?" he asked curiously, "Once we are in the car and on our way, of course."

The Undertaker hesitated, lowering his shaggy silver head in thought. He'd excused William from asking questions but he seemed reluctant to go into details concerning the injuries and trauma he'd sustained before defecting from Dispatch. "I think, my lad, that is a story for another time. Mayhap with a bit of grog to wash it down with."

Even with everything the Undertaker had done over the years since leaving Dispatch, William still respected him. He thought that he could detect some anxiety from the elder as the man answered Ronald and he inwardly wished that he could do something for him. "Whenever you feel comfortable enough to share it, Undertaker. We may have a long road together ahead of us, so there is no hurry."

He did cast Ronald a covertly grateful look for at least encouraging the Undertaker to speak of it. He thought the blond would be the last person to want to hear of the mortician's personal story, given the amount of disrespect he'd shown him until William demanded otherwise. Even if Ronald was only showing an interest for Will's sake, it had meaning for him.

Ronald shrugged, "Whenever and if you are ever ready. I just thought it'd be interesting to hear. All I really know is the little they teach in school, which isn't much."

He straightened up and sighed, "I'm going to grab us some breakfast to go so we can head on out and try and catch this guy we're after," he said, walking off and leaving the two older reapers alone. He could tell they both had things to get off their chests, and he realized that maybe they would be better talking to each other rather than him. He was so young, after all, and couldn't relate much to what they had or were going through. He hated the idea that William didn't need him, but he still wanted to see Will get better.

"He's definitely a loyal one, your Ronald," observed the Undertaker when the young man left. "Seems to really fancy you, Willy. To my eyes it looks like the feeling's mutual."

"Hmm." William nodded, having no dispute with that and no idea how to respond. He finished dressing and he glanced at the older man as he put his hat on.

"You know that I'm not going to give up trying to convince you to come into Dispatch for psychological help when this is over."

Undertaker lowered his gaze and he smiled. "I'd expect no less of you, boy. It's too late for me, though. You'd best worry more about yourself, when all's said and done."

William sighed and he excused himself to look for Ronald while the Undertaker finished dressing.

Ronald was in the mess hall, gathering three bags of rations to go. Unfortunately, he couldn't get them any coffee to go, so they would have to go without, for now. Maybe canteens would be a good investment for them while they were on the road and not going back to their own realm at night to sleep and eat.

Once he finished, he hurried out to their commandeered car. William was there waiting for him, having put away what little they'd brought inside with them back into their bags in the trunk. He looked up as Ronald approached and he fought another inward struggle. Knox deserved to know how much his efforts were appreciated, but William feared that if he allowed himself to feel too much he might make himself even more vulnerable. He certainly didn't want to return home to Dispatch in the same manner as the Undertaker did, years ago.

"Everything is ready," informed William. He nodded towards the barracks. "The Undertaker should be out to join us shortly."

He looked at the sacks in Ronald's arms. He dearly hoped that whatever Ronald had procured for the road didn't have weevils in it like the boiled potato included with his meal the night before. There had only been a couple but Will had to force himself to eat the portion after digging them out and carefully checking each bite. He steeled himself and he nodded, tugging his uniform hat a bit lower over his shaded eyes.

"Well done on collecting food rations for us."

~Spears, you fool. That is no way to show your gratitude.~

But he was stiff inside and out...sore from sleeping on a flimsy, hard mattress and tense with dread of what was to become of them in the future. He never would have considered himself a fretful man before this all began. He'd learned to box that up after the Undertaker's defection and his first true reaping assignment with Sutcliff.

"...Sure." Ronald looked down at the bags as he set them down on the seat inside the car, "There wasn't much left by the time I got there, but I grabbed what I could. Luckily, there are Italian solders here, so I was able to successfully request bags to go."

William nodded and he began to say something else, but then the Undertaker approached from the Barracks, hair all tucked up under his hat again and somehow managing to look like a proper soldier. William honestly still couldn't figure out how the man managed to bundle up that much hair beneath an officer's cap and keep it in place without odd lumps in the material, but he recalled that the Undertaker had ways beyond mere physical of disguising himself if necessary—just like Grell.

"Well, are we off then?" The mortician sounded unreasonably cheerful as he opened the rear passenger door and got in. He might as well have been going on a summer cruise.

William glanced at Ronald and he nodded. "Yes, let us be going. I shall take the first driving shift."

"Here." Ron handed Undertaker one of the bags after he strapped himself in, "Sorry, there are more potatoes. Wasn't much to choose from." He then grabbed one to hand to Will, but hesitated, "Uh, do you want to wait on yours?"

William grimaced. "I believe that would be best, for now. Perhaps we may find better options in the next town." He glanced through the rearview mirror at his former mentor. Undertaker was already biting into his potato and he made a face and spit part of it out the rolled down window. "Or, we could take to the other side this evening and find better grocery options."

The Undertaker wiped his lips with his sleeve. "I'm not terribly keen on setting foot on the other side, Willy."

"Then you could wait," suggested William, "and possibly get a fire going for a camp whilst Ronald and I collect less rancid goods from our realm."

"So I'm to be 'camp boy'?" Undertaker smirked. "Just how much do you plan to drag back into this realm with you, Willy? Hate to sound like a defeatist, but this automobile can only hold so much."

"Only what we need to have a decent meal and somewhat clean bedding for the night." William felt the urge to scratch in various places, beginning to feel desperate to bathe. "And a good shower, if possible."

The Undertaker chuckled darkly. "If the violence of war doesn't drive you mad, the hunger and filth just might. Lead on then, Spears. Long as we stay on the trail and don't lose it, I s'pose we could set up a camp somewhere later and mask it from mortal view. Just be sure to pick a spot away from any settlements. It ought to be safe off the roads away from bombing targets for the night."

William nodded and he met Ronald's eyes for a moment, trying not to allow the feelings of desolation overcome him. "It appears I may have the opportunity to give you a sampling of what German cuisine can be like outside of rationing or overcrowded conditions, Ronald."

"I love that idea." Ron grinned, "Prove to me there's more than potatoes in this world!" He glared down into his breakfast bag, "I will not miss you," he told the potatoes.

Undertaker snickered and he began peeling his potato with his fingernails—which had gone from short to long on a whim. "I can't help but echo that sentiment. Now, as I recall Willy's actually quite the chef. I think I can be in charge of camp if it means sampling a good meal for a change."

He dug something dark out of potato, considered it and finally threw the remainder of the vegetable out the window. "I could scavenge for wild herbs if you like. Might make for some good seasoning."

William recalled the mortician's herb lore and he nodded. "That would save us a bit of trouble. I shall list what I need once we decide a place to settle for the night."

He thought of what they might need in order to procure some form of shelter for the night, and it occurred to him that they could probably sleep in the car. Still, it might be good to get waterproof tarp and some blankets. The nights did tend to get cold and they couldn't very well leave the motor running for heating without running out of fuel. There were military supply stores everywhere on the reaper side these days and most Dispatch agents could use proper identification alone to bill it to their respective divisions.

"I'm glad someone here does. I sure can't." Ron said, glancing at the man behind the wheel, "Most I could do is mix us up some drinks. So I guess I'll stick to assistant work on this trip."

"That will be fine," William assured. "All that I need is someone to help chop and hand the ingredients to me."

In yet another rare gesture of encouragement, William dared to reach across the way and rest his hand on Ronald's knee. "I can do the rest."

Ronald smiled, placing his hand on Will's. He wanted to tell him he loved him, but wasn't sure how it'd be received with Undertaker watching them, so he said nothing along those lines.

"I'm eager to try your cooking, Will."

-To be continued