Okay! Here's the next chapter. I feel like it might be a bit shorter than the last, or something—and I really did keep everyone waiting with the update, but I hope you enjoy! Any input or criticism would be great, but flamers… well, flamers gonna flame, so they'll be rather promptly ignored. Or at least tossed to a rather furious chainsaw wielding Grell. Thanks!
Kuroshitsuji, including all of the wonderful shinigami, belong to Yana Toboso. Any OC that may appear later probably belong to me. Or my friend Ika.

Ronald was frightened for Grell. Truly and sincerely terrified for him. He had always known that his upper-classmen's mind was… for lack of a better phrase, messed up… but with Grell in hysterical giggles and solidly denying the possibility that William could come out of this disabled, if not dead, it almost seemed as if the red-reaper's very sanity (or whatever left of it) was at risk. Ronald wasn't even sure he had ever seen Grell this unstable—even after the Jack the Ripper case… and that had been pretty bad. His senpai had been dragged back by the hair, beaten and bloody. Somewhat hysterical too, if he remembered correctly… but those had been tears, not… whatever this was.

"Hey… Senpai… Erm…"

Ronald backed away from Grell's bedside a bit, watching his friend quiet after the fit of laughter had subsided. He couldn't tell if the lack of giggles was a good thing or not. On one hand, it could mean that he had calmed down enough for reason. On the other hand, it could mean that he had entirely lost it and was about to launch into some sort of psychopathic rage. It really WAS hard to tell...

"Senpai..."
With a slight hesitation, Ronald peered over at his injured coworker, studying him almost fearfully. Well... there didn't appear to be any signs of anger, or mania, or anything like that, so perhaps he had indeed calmed down? That was a good sign... rather, it was a good sign until he noticed that the red-head was trembling, his arm sliding to firmly cover his eyes. Why, Ronald couldn't really figure out. There wasn't anything wrong with Grell's eyes, the doctor had made sure of that... and the motion had to be making his glasses dig into his skin uncomfortably... Then the younger reaper noticed something.

"Senpai... you're crying..?"

He could see little wet streams pass from under Grell's bared arm, trailing over his cheeks. So the trembles were sobs...? But...he was still smiling. After a moment or so of silence, Grell responded with a weak nod, not making a move to uncover his face.

"...I think so... yeah. I don't know why though..."

His voice was almost small; soft and unintentionally broken. It wasn't unhappy, per say... but it was too shattered to be anywhere near normal. It was as if his will had crumbled without his knowledge, whatever fire that he normally possessed had been snuffed out. There was nothing more pitiful than the sound of his voice at that very moment, nothing more pitiful than seeing him truly cry...

The rattling of a bed distracted Ronald from his unstable superior, if only for a moment. They were wheeling in a patient? Probably straight from surgery... He looked up from his coworker slowly, morbidly curious. Who was it...? What state were they in...? When he saw the source of the noise, his face fell, eyes widening a bit.

Three nurses surrounded a hospital gurney, replacing bags of fluid and medication on the adjacent IV drips. The prone form on the the bed... Ronald's heart suddenly froze and plummeted at the sight. William was back from his latest surgery.

The firm boss's face and neck were covered solidly in crimson-stained gauze, only opening for his mouth and nose. His visible lips were covered in neat little rows of stitches, holding the skin tightly together where it had been cut. Dark shadows seemed near painted under his eyes as well, his cheeks gaunt with weakness and blood loss, and his skin a strange bluish pallor. He lay limply, unmoving, unbreathing... It was almost as if he, one of many 'deaths' had perished himself...

Slowly, gently, the nurses brought William to a bed three spaces away from his employees, chattering quietly as they proceeded to check his vitals.

"William's back..." Ronald mumbled shakily, his fists clenching anxiously.

"Will...?" Grell sounded curious, innocent of the situation. He still didn't fully understand William's condition- the severity of the injuries, the cut made by the edge of his death scythe. As far as he was concerned, it hadn't been more than a scratch, a fluke, even with the vivid memory of deep, gory red flashing behind his eyelids as if it were burned to his retinas.

"Yeah, William-sempai..." Ronald's response was immediate and forced. If the simple idea of William's injury created instability, what would be being faced with it do to Grell's psyche?

The nurses finished fretting over William for the moment and left to tend to other patients, leaving him exposed fully to Ronald and Grell's view. He looked so vulnerable now, all alone, battered and bloody... pale as a sheet-hell, pale as death, if one was able to forgive the obvious cliché. He really did look miserable, so badly wounded.

Grell refused to uncover his eyes, laying as stiff as a board. William was there... He wanted to know his William was alright... But it was as if his muscles had frozen in terror, childishly shielding him from reality. If he couldn't see it, it didn't exist. If he didn't see William's injury, he wasn't injured. If he didn't see red... If I don't see any red... there's no blood...

"Hey, you doing okay there, Senpai?" Ronald's voice was shaky and concerned; for good reason too, Grell had not even twitched since he was aware of William's presence. Ronald received a little nod as a response, but nothing more, the red-head stubbornly refusing to move.

Ronald sighed. It was natural that Grell would react in such a way, he supposed... it would make less sense for him to confront the thing of his nightmares than to deny its existence... especially in such a hysteric state. He could only imagine that, if he did remove his arm and look, it would drive him into insanity. Or something. Who knew with Grell, really?

The younger of the reapers could only look between his elders helplessly, not knowing what to do. William... Well, William wasn't going to wake up for a while, if he was still alive that is-

The beeping says he must be… he has a heartbeat...

And Grell was not in a state to do anything at all. The mental strain of even contemplating William's injury had left him a wreck, and Ronald's presence didn't seem to be helping. (Although, it did not seem to be hurting either.) There was no way he could help. There was nothing he could do but-

"Hey, Senpai...? I'll be back later, but there's still work to be done, you know? So... I'll see you." With Grell and William out of commission, the work had piled up... with no direction from their boss, everything was in disarray. Although he was young, Ronald had to step up to take command. It wasn't as if... as if... Well, there wasn't anyone there anymore who could do it, besides himself. There had been reapers he could trust and lean on, once upon a time... but they were gone, never to come back. And... I was about to lose two more... I almost...

He gave a heavy sigh. He had gotten over it a long time ago, dwelling on the past wasn't going to help the situation one bit. Besides, Grell was fine now. Mentally unstable, but physically, he'd be right as rain in a couple of weeks, hopefully back to his bouncy self. Who am I kidding... that will only happen if... He looked toward William briefly before turning away. You better survive, Boss.

Ronald walked away, leaving his superiors, both motionless, to themselves, knowing that, at the moment, there was nothing he could do for them.

The night continued on quietly, the infirmary uncharacteristically empty and unbusy. It was as if the only misfortune the dispatch had suffered was the one that had transpired the night previous, as if no one else in the dispatch was suffering. Grell still could not bear to look at his injured boss. Nor could he stand to visualise what carnage was possible. All he cared to feel and experience was the oblivion of sleep, to numb out the despair that was reaching its icy claws into his chest and clutching at his heart. However, sleep would not come. The moment fog entered his mind, red would flood his vision, bringing terror anew. William's bloodied form was printed in his memory, every tear and splatter a vivid nightmare... and yet...

Reality hurt.

Staying awake was just as frightening as feeling the haze of sterile scent that hit his nose, coupled with the metallic tang of blood that hovered, despite the impeccable cleaning, was unnerving, medicinal, too much reminding of surgery and a little too close to the scent of an undertaker's. (Although, there was no smell of body or wood-rot, gladly.) The beeping of the monitor, although soothing; proving that William and himself still lived, was anxiety-inducing. There was always the possibility that it would stop at any moment, that it could go flat and prove that the seemingly indestructible reaper boss was dead once and for all. There was always the possibility, that if Grell were to indeed look up and at his superior, the man that he cared for more than anything, that William would be dead.

Despite this, there was no way he could live in denial forever. It wasn't a child's world. No matter how much he covered his eyes, reality was still reality. What he didn't see could still happen. He really did need to see... exactly what he had accidentally done to his precious William.
Hesitantly, Grell forced his arm off of his eyes, weakly flopping the once tense appendage by his side. The infirmary around him hadn't changed much, as far as he could tell. The ceiling was just as starch white as before, most of the beds were just as empty...It wasn't as if the apocalypse had occurred. The world wasn't falling apart because he could see.
He turned his head, wincing at the stretch of his stiff neck. It felt as if he hadn't properly moved in years, his muscles pinching and stretching like old rubber. With a slight sigh, he finally managed to properly move his line of sight from something but the ceiling, bringing the rest of the room into his vision. Green eyes flickered around, surveying the linoleum and machines carefully before skimming over the surface of the clean linen-covered beds. His gaze finally came to a stop on the only other occupied cot and a splash of ink black in the blinding white.
William continued to be in brutal shape. His skin had not changed hue, still ivory with a tint of blue and gray. His stitches remained, red around the edges with blood and irritation, but obviously clean and on the mend. The boss did not move an inch; not a twitch of the eye or a flinch of the hand. Breath had not returned to him, practiced habit gone.
At the very least, there was no longer red.

This was... oddly soothing to him. He couldn't understand why.

Red had always been a color of comfort. In the faintest glimmers of his human childhood, his mother's crimson hair had been a security blanket, a sanctuary from his father's scolding and the taunting of his elder brothers. Back then, his hair had been a mousy brown, lank and lusterless, just like all the other men in his family. He had always wanted hair like his mother's...

As time went on, it became a favorite for blankets, clothes, pillows, toys...It was indistinct when the color had become such an obsession. Such fire and passion it invoked. Rich hues of love and power. It possessed everything he had ever wanted. In the back of his mind, he remembered the soft-spoken, useless Grell Sutcliff of a century ago. Hesitant, sheepish, uncared for, weak, untalented, without drive, confused, self-conscious, self-pitying, insecure, and introverted. It took death to change any of that. The power of becoming death, the new start, the manifestation of scarlet in his form. He could finally live up to the fiery soul trapped behind the fear of society.

He became red, and red became him.

But right now, he wanted to be anything but red. Anything but the red that splashed on the stone of that London alley. Anything but William's blood.

Grell's eyes remained locked on his mangled boss. Despite the lack of vermilion, the bone white that had replaced the pale peach of skin was terrifying. They were supposed to be death, not look like it. The red reaper waited anxiously as he watched the lifeless form, searching for some sort of indication of health or normalcy, but nothing warranted optimism. (Or fear, for that matter, which did help the nerves, if only a little.)

Hot, wet tears rolled unbidden down Grell's cheeks. He couldn't stop them. He didn't want to. He wanted to sob and break down, mourn that fact that William, his William, could be in such a state. He wanted revel in self-pity that it had been all his fault, and in pity for his boss, for having to have such a horrible subordinate, for having to come to save him, for being burdened with pain over being stuck with the worst of the worst reapers.

I really haven't changed at all, have I? It terrified him to think even after all this time, that, perhaps, his human side didn't entirely fade into red like he had always wanted. I'm horrid... weak. I couldn't even stop myself from hurting the person I love the most...

Grell wanted to call out to William, to apologize, to spill his heart and beg for forgiveness for having pained him for so long, to tell him how unworthy he was of being saved, but no words would leave his chapped lips. He could only hiccup through sobs, his ribs piercing him with pain with every intake of breath. It was useless anyway... Even if he forced himself to say all he wanted to say, William would not hear him. The sleeping could not hear the words of the awake, after all... Like the living cannot speak to the dead...

Regardless, he had to try. Any chance... any at all... of even a harsh word... an acknowledgement of life... was worth all the effort in the world. If it could help bring back the man from a place far beyond reach, even if it meant dragging him into the coldness of reality.

"Will..." The words were weak, not much more than a croak through tears. As expected, the other reaper did not respond. "Will, please wake up..." Grell's frail voice took on a tone of desperation. He wanted... No, he needed William to wake up, open his eyes at the least... Even a scolding would be acceptable. A whack on the head, a cold glare, a jab in the ribs...

But none of this happened. There was nary a response. William continued to lie there without movement, the plea not reaching his ears; not making any connection to his mind. While Grell had expected as much, the lack of response elicited a sob from the crimson reaper. It was terrifying, not having William awake and responsive. There were only a handful of times where Grell himself had seen William even asleep, let alone unconscious. And in those rare times, even saying his name or touching his shoulder roused him... even if he seemed extremely drowsy and unkempt afterward. (He always did like seeing his Will like that, so relaxed. It made him look a great deal younger. And nicer. But the latter was simply because he had a neutral expression, not a glare.)

Now, there was no waking him. No dazed, sleepy expression or ensuing glare of irritation. There was absolutely nothing Grell could do. Nothing anyone could do. They were gods- how could they be so helpless?

Grell's grief engulfed him. He broke down crying once more, all the while begging William to stir and awaken. He clung to the edge of his bed, leaning as close to his beloved boss as he could with his pained, beaten body. "Please Will, open your eyes... please... please..." The red reaper begged through choked sobs. "I'll never turn in my paperwork late again! I'll follow the dress-code! I'll never go to see Sebastian again! Just wake up..."

William's eyelids didn't even twitch. The critically injured reaper lay soundless, motionless; oblivious to the hysteric pleas of his annoying, loving subordinate.