"Parting Words"

A Kuroshitsuji Will/Undertaker fanfiction

Author's note: I've had this head canon for a while that the Undertaker was once Will's mentor, and an idea finally came to me concerning how to write the introductory story. I do have plans to follow this up with a multi-chapter fanfiction eventually.

Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) and all characters therein belong to Yana Toboso. I make no profit from the writing of this fanfiction, and it is strictly for entertainment purposes only.

He'd heard it was bad. He wasn't expecting this, though. Young William T. Spears stood shocked outside the reaper hospital room as the doctor and nurses worked over the man he thought could never be defeated in combat. Death looked...well, quite dead. Not only that, but he was practically in pieces. One of his pinky fingers lay in a tray of ice next to the surgical instruments, having been lopped cleanly off. His right eye was dangling from the socket, and there was a horrid, bloody cut slashing down diagonally all the way from just above it to the left side of his jaw. His clothes were slashed as well and Will heard his mentor groan in pain as the hospital staff began to cut it away with scissors so that they could see to his many injuries.

It was awful and frightening, and all that Will could think was: How could this happen? Who or what could have possibly have done this to him?

As they put Death under to begin surgery, another thought finally raced through William's mind. How can even he survive such terrible injuries?

For the first time since coming to Dispatch academy for training and meeting the renowned death god, William realized that even legends could be killed.

"Young man, I'm afraid you can't remain here," warned a nurse from behind him.

Yes, of course. He hadn't the clearance to stay in this area of the hospital, but William couldn't turn away from the observation window. He saw Death's uninjured hand twitch as the anesthesia took hold and he wondered if that would be the last movement he ever saw from the man.

"Will he survive?" he managed to ask, his throat tight with rising grief.

"We're very hopeful," was all the nurse could give him, and she took him gently by the arm and tried to lead him away. "Please, Mister Spears. There's nothing you can do for him right now and it isn't good for you to be here. Let's get you a warm drink, shall we?"

William resisted her efforts and his hands clenched into fists. His role model...his teacher...he may never hear his soothing voice again, nor spar with him or see him smile. It was agonizing. Even if Death survived this, his throat had been badly cut. He'd likely be unable to speak again. His eyes glittered with rage. "What manner of creature did this to him?"

"We aren't certain yet," she answered, coaxing him away steadily. "All we know for sure is that a death scythe made those injuries. Nothing else could cause such critical, lasting harm to a reaper. The doctor suspects a demon must have been the culprit, though how it could have wrested Death's scythe from him to do it is a mystery."

"A demon." Will's jaw clenched. Demons were bothersome vermin true, but surely there didn't exist any strong enough to best such a powerful reaper. Then again, the evidence was right there and he had no way of knowing otherwise until his mentor awoke—if he awoke again at all.

"Try not to fret," urged the nurse. "Doctor Ellis is the best surgeon we have, and Death is the strongest reaper I've ever known."

"Yes," whispered the young man, "he is."

And if Death could be killed, then what chance could Will have of avenging him? Anything that could do that wasn't likely something a green cadet like himself could possibly take down.

Death survived his injuries thanks to the special sutures they used to stitch up his injuries—specifically made to close up wounds from death scythes. He didn't wake for three full days, however, and Will couldn't get in to see him. When he was finally granted visiting rights, he was almost too afraid to make use of them. A young reaper around his age with a mop of shockingly red hair nearly ran him over in the halls of the academy as William was on his way out to go to the hospital, and their collision caused an armload of books to go flying every which way.

"Ugh! Watch where you're going, you fool!" The redhead glared at Will, fair cheeks flushed with anger as he caught his balance and began to gather up his dropped text books.

William was too distracted to pay any mind to the insult. He hastily helped the stranger gather his books and he saw by the student ID that slipped out of one of the books that he was newly transferred from Liverpool.

"Apologies, Grell Sutcliff," said William absently, tucking the ID back into the book before giving them both over to him. "I was in rather a hurry. Please excuse me."

William walked away at a brisk pace, not looking back.

"Well, aren't you the cowardly one," taunted Sutcliff.

At any other time, Will might have turned around to confront him. He had bigger concerns right now though, so he let it slide and he pushed open one of the front doors to leave the building. He crossed paths with Eric Slingby—a Scottish Dispatch officer that sometimes came to the academy to give presentations to cadets.

"Will, there yeh are," greeted Eric. "I was jus' comin' tae let ya know yer senior's awake an'—"

"I know," interrupted William, forgetting his manners uncharacteristically. "They sent someone to inform me a short time ago with a document granting me clearance to visit him. Has he said anything yet, sir?"

Eric scratched his wavy blond hair and shrugged. "I cannae say, kid. Haven't been tae see him yet, mahself. I'll come wi' yeh if ya want."

"I should like a moment alone with him first, if it's permissible."

"O' course." Eric nodded understandingly and patted him on the shoulder. "He's yer mentor, after all. I'll jus' wait outside while yeh talk tae him."

"Thank you. I apologize for my rudeness, earlier. It has been a trying day."

He didn't mention the loud redhead he'd collided with in the hall. It wasn't important. Together, they went to the hospital to check on Death, and Will braced himself for the experience.

"I can't make this out one bit." His voice came out as a dry rasp—nothing like the resonant, sensual voice people associated with him. Death peered at the medical chart with his good eye, unable to see more than a blurry scrawl. He brought it closer until it was a mere hands-breadth away from his nose and he could finally see the lettering well enough to read it. He read over it while the doctor stood by quietly, reviewing the extent of his injuries and everything they'd done to treat them.

"Goodness, they cut my finger completely off?" He tried to bend said finger, but it was wrapped in a brace to keep it immobile for healing. He winced when it throbbed painfully. "My, my. What else got severed?"

"Nothing, sir," assured the doctor, "though I feared you might lose your eye. We managed to save it, however. Whether you will regain your vision in it or not, I cannot say."

The silver reaper sighed and put aside the chart. A grimace twisted his lips as even that simple action made his body shriek in protest. He was wrapped up tighter than a mummy for burial and he wondered if there was any part of his body that hadn't gotten cut.

"Can you tell me what happened, Master Death?" Prompted the doctor. "Where is your scythe?"

"I've still got it," answered Death. "Don't ask me to summon it to prove it, though. I doubt I could hold it just now."

"I don't imagine you could," agreed Doctor Ellis. He frowned. "So your attacker left it with you after assailing you?"

"My attackers never won it as their prize," corrected Death. He coughed and specks of blood formed on his lips.

"Rest easy," urged the doctor. "You've still got mild bleeding in your lungs, and I probably should not be asking you to talk right now. Perhaps I could bring you a pen and a report document so that you can spare your lungs the effort and just write what happened."

Death closed his eye and laid back against the pillow resting on the elevated upper half of the bed. "Perhaps later. I'm very tired."

There was a knock at the door and a dark head peeked in. "Pardon me, but they granted me visitation rights," said a familiar, polite voice. "Is now a bad time?"

Death smiled and opened his good eye again. "Will, is that you? Come in, my lad. The doctor was just leaving."

"Try not to wear him out with too much conversation," advised the doctor. "Your mentor is still quite fragile at the moment."

William's blurred form nodded. "Of course. Thank you."

William's throat tightened with emotion as he approached Death's bed and stared at him. The man was wrapped almost from head to toe and some of the bandages had traces of blood leaking through them. The staff had covered Death's bed with protective padding to prevent staining the sheets. Will didn't think it was actually possible for the albino reaper to ever look any paler, but even the delicate pink of his lips had faded and now they looked almost grayish.

Despite all this, Death was beautiful to him. He'd survived and at least he'd managed to keep one of his riveting eyes. The ancient reaper smiled at him in that patient, fond way of his and Will swallowed.

"Well? Come have a seat beside me," urged Death. "It isn't like you to linger so awkwardly, Willy."

William took a slow breath and he nodded, complying with his request and sitting down in the visitor chair. "I apologize for my lack of manners, sir. I'm simply...so relieved to see you alive."

"Then why do you sound like someone killed one of your pigeons?" Death turned his head on the pillow to peer at him, squinting a bit in his effort to make him out more clearly. "You don't fool your old instructor, love."

The faint Finnish accent was still there, but his voice...it was so different. It scratchy as if Death's throat was lined with sandpaper—but at least he hadn't lost his ability to speak entirely. William lowered his gaze. It hurt to look at him. His jaw was clenched tightly and he did his very best to conceal his emotions when he spoke, but this was the one being alive that could inspire such strong feelings in him.

"Who did this to you, Master Death? Who is responsible, and I shall personally lead the search to find and punish them. What sort of demon was—"

"It was no demon."

Will looked up with a confused frown. "Not a demon? Some other creature then? Surely not an angel."

"Neither," sighed Death. "It was another reaper. Several of 'em, actually."

William blinked in utter bewilderment. "Reapers? I...I don't understand, sir. Who amongst us would dare raise a hand against you?"

"Speak softly," advised Death with a meaningful nod toward the door. "In fact, you shouldn't speak at all and just listen. Talking hurts my pipes, so don't interrupt me and just hear what I've got to say, yeah?"

Will lowered his gaze again respectfully. "Yes sir. Tell me."

Death took a breath, and then he coughed into his bandaged hand. Will lifted his eyes again and he noticed the fresh blood specking the older reaper's colorless lips with some alarm. He started to speak, to suggest his mentor save it for another time and just rest—but Death raised his bandaged hand warningly. For the first time, William noticed something odd about him. Death had black nails. He'd always worn gloves before, so this was the first time Will had ever seen his hands uncovered. Had someone painted them as some sort of sick prank while Death was unconscious, or had he done it himself before he was attacked? William saw no chips in the color that would suggest it was paint, so he began to wonder if the color was just natural. He waited for his mentor to catch his breath and he made a mental note to ask him about it later on.

"The sort of reapers that would attack me," Death went on, "are the sort that don't like some of the ideas I bring up to the reaper council. They don't like change and they'll fight tooth and toenail to prevent it. Ah, thank you my lad."

Death accepted the handkerchief William offered to him from his pocket, and he wiped his lips with it. He took another wheezing breath before speaking again. "The biggest change they fear is the thought of Dispatch losing its authority over ordinary Shinigami citizens. I won't bore you with the details of it but suffice to say it put a bee in a few people's bonnets and they came after me while I was out collecting."

Death coughed again and William saw red beginning to stain the bandages covering his throat. "Please sir," he said, briefly disobeying his order not to speak until he was finished, "were you able to identify your attackers? Give me names and I shall see to it they are brought in for justice."

The ancient shook his head, and when he finished coughing into the napkin, he gave William a dry smirk. "That's going to be difficult for you to do," he rasped, "considering you can't really put the dead on trial."

William deflated somewhat, his thunder stolen from him. "You reaped all of them?"

"Indeed. I was the last one standing and I conjured a portal to the steps of the hospital just before I collapsed. I didn't even walk through it, truth be told; more like fell through it. Last thing I recall was landing flat on my face, before I woke up here all mummified."

"What of their records?" demanded William. "Surely Dispatch is aware of these missing agents and have people out there searching for them. The Cinematic reels could prove what happened and absolve you of any blame."

"I've already collected their reels," replied Death. "No need for that. I've it all under control, Willy, so don't concern yourself."

William sighed. He truly would have loved to put at least one of them under his scythe.

"William."

The young man looked at his mentor.

"Put your training scythe away." Death smirked at him again.

Startled, Will looked down at the reaping tool in his hand. He hadn't even been aware he'd summoned it. He banished it and he flushed a bit. "Pardon my carelessness, sir. Seeing you like this...hearing what happened...my anger got the better of me." Trainees like him weren't supposed to draw their scythes for any reason without their instructor's permission.

Death reached out with his uninjured hand and he patted Will's knee with it. "I know, chap. You're a good student—one of the best I've ever had. You'll go far if you keep your wits about you."

Will flushed again, this time in pleasure. "I doubt I am one of your best," he murmured. "I'm a B student, after all."

There was a sly glint in Death's eye as he studied him. "Are you, now? Or is it more likely you're an A student that chooses not push himself as hard as he could?"

Will couldn't conceal the brief spasm of alarm that crossed his handsome features. "Sir, I assure you I have applied myself to my studies. I would never purposely give you less than my best performance."

Death chuckled and coughed into his borrowed handkerchief again. "I've no doubt you do, my dear, and yet I could tell you're uneasy with being an A student. The expression on your face when you got your first report card wasn't exactly the sort cadets usually wear when they see how high their marks are. Rather than allow you to tone down your efforts and sell yourself short, I decided to hold you to higher standards than past students and simply stop giving you the grades you actually deserve."

William stared at him. "So you sabotaged my grades?"

"Clever, yeah? You can't tell since my other eye is patched up but I'm winking now."

"But w-why would you do that?" sputtered William. "Why let me go on thinking I wasn't performing well enough? Why push me so hard if I've been earning the highest scores for all this time?"

"Like I said, I didn't want you to start slacking off. What I don't understand is why you were so dismayed when you got all A grades? Care to enlighten a body?"

Will heaved a sigh, trying to think of how to explain it. "Because the higher the grades, the more one attracts attention—and not all of it is good attention, sir. There are some students that do not look kindly on those who excel too much."

"Ah, the jealous bullies." Death nodded in understanding and he winced as the act caused his neck discomfort. "Would that be who you were hiding from that day when I found you tucked away behind the back shelves of the library? I do recall seeing a group of younguns running past looking for someone."

"Yes sir," confessed William. "Had they not so outnumbered me I would have stood my ground, but it was precisely that which got me in trouble with their group in the first place. I stood up to their leader the day before when he knocked my glasses off, so he rounded up his minions with the intention of beating me."

"I see. Did they come after you again after that?"

Death was beginning to grin again, and William frowned suspiciously. "No. As a matter of fact, they no longer set foot closer than ten feet from me. They only glare impotently at me every time they see me, and they mutter beneath their breath."

"You don't say." Death's straight, white teeth made an appearance as his smile grew.

"Sir...did you have something to do with that?"

The ancient shrugged gingerly. "Maaaaybe."

William could just imagine the legendary reaper scaring the piss out of his rivals, and if any instructor in the academy could put the fear of death in a group of bullies, it was—ironically—him. "But you just asked me if they were whom I was hiding from that day," he reasoned. "You couldn't be certain what was going on."

"Willy, I've seen the group you're talking about throwing their weight around with other students before. It wasn't hard to work out what was going on, so I followed them after I left the library and I had a bit of a...chat...with them."

A hesitant smile tugged at Will's lips. "You're a crafty old fox. That was deceptive of you, sir." Realizing he'd just called his mentor old, William stumbled over his words. "I...I did not mean...I'm terribly sorry..."

Death waved it off with another dry chuckle. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, lad. I am a bit of a fossil."

"No, you aren't," denied William with feeling. "You are...you're..." He flushed, stopping himself before he blurted "beautiful".

Death tilted his head. "I'm what, William? No need to flatter me. Right now I look more the part of a withered old husk than ever, I'm sure."

"No. Not even now." William surprised himself by laying his hand over his mentor's. He licked suddenly dry lips. He'd never touched the man so intimately before, but he presumed it was all right to since Death had put his hand on his knee earlier. He then gathered the courage to speak what was truly in his heart. "You shall always by my idol and my inspiration, Death."

The silver reaper watched him silently until William felt the urge to squirm and remove his hand from his person. "We'll see," he finally whispered.

Having no idea what he meant by that unless Death believed his condition was going to force his retirement, Will lowered his eyes. "What happens now, then? Will you turn in the Cinematic records of your attackers when you feel strong enough to do so? I imagine Father Anderson must be having replacement glasses made for you as we speak."

"Hmm, just don't worry about that now," advised Death. He sighed and closed his eye. "Fetch a nurse for me, would you? I think I could use another dose of the goodies to take the edge off this pain I'm in."

"Yes, of course." William took his hand off Death's and he stood up. "Officer Slingby is outside waiting to see you. Shall I send him in or would you rather rest up and see him later?"

"I'm a bit tuckered out to explain things to another visitor right now," sighed the elder. "Tell him I'll have a report filled out in a day or two when I've got my new spectacles and can see well enough to write. Bad enough trying to do it with one eye but without glasses, I don't think I could even draw a straight line."

"Very well. I shall keep our conversation between ourselves, sir."

"Wise choice," murmured Death sleepily. "Good of you to come see me, chap. I'll see you in a few days."

William watched him for a moment more before retreating to do as he was told. Once outside, he informed Eric that his mentor was too tired for another visitor today and then he went to the nurse's station to request pain killers for Death.

Death was released from the hospital two days later, and William hurried to his office when he heard he'd been spotted in headquarters. He didn't find him there, though. What he found instead was an open glasses case with the new eyewear still inside, sitting on his mentor's desk. He frowned as he looked down at them, wondering why Death would just leave them there like that. Perhaps he hadn't come to his office yet and Father Anderson simply left them there like that for him. Will started to leave the office, but then he noticed the glasses were sitting on a sheet of paper with barely recognizable scribble on it. It took him a moment to realize it was Death's handwriting, though the penmanship was sloppy as if he'd been drunk when writing it. One word stood out to him and he quickly snatched the note up to read it, thinking he surely must be mistaken.

"To my friends, colleagues and superiors,

I've decided it's time for me to retire. Don't bother looking for me. I'm parting ways with this realm for good. To those I call friends; don't worry about me. I've got a trick or three up my sleeve yet, and I'm sure I'll make my way just fine in the mortal realm. Sometimes it's best to retire gracefully rather than try to keep being something you aren't anymore. Will, I'm sorry I won't be there to see you graduate and become a Dispatch agent, but I know you'll go far. Keep up the mediocre work and try to smile now and then.

Sincerely,

Death."

William slowly lowered the letter, hardly believing what he'd just read. "It can't be," he whispered. Could it be a prank? Death did have an increasingly odd sense of humor, after all. Feeling numb, he walked across the office to the window and he rested his forehead against it, staring down at the reaper city below. He spotted a familiar head of lustrous, incredibly long hair below and his heart skipped a beat. Death hadn't yet exited the realm. He was crossing the street slowly, painfully dragging a suitcase with him. There was still time to stop this foolishness before he vanished from their lives—possibly forever.

William ignored the rules about trainees using their scythes or creating portals without permission. He had no time to run down the stairs to the first floor and go after him, and to hells with academy restrictions.

"Death! Wait!"

The ancient paused at the familiar shout and he turned slowly to see his apprentice come jogging after him from a portal. He clucked his tongue and he sighed. "That's going to land you in trouble, my boy."

William came to a stop before him, and for once his emotions were displayed plainly on his face, with no effort to mask them. "I'll gladly take whatever punishment they mete out to me, sir. I found your letter. Is it true? You're simply going to leave?"

Death pursed his lips with annoyance. "Look at me, Willy. I'm not fit to reap anymore."

"You cannot know that," protested William earnestly. "You've given yourself no chance to recover. With time you may get your sight back in your other eye and your other wounds will heal as well. Just give it a chance. Please."

"I'm tired, William," admitted the ancient with a regretful sigh. He reached out with his free hand to ruffle the young man's black hair, and then he smoothed his bangs back from his forehead fondly. "I've been reaping since the dawn of time, and this is long overdue. I've just been putting it off so I could see you earn your custom glasses and death scythe, but even that feels too long. Let folk remember me as I used to be, and not as I've become."

Will stared at him helplessly, obviously trying to think of a counter argument. "You make yourself sound like a monster, sir."

Death lowered his gaze, his thick, pale lashes veiling his eye. "Perhaps not yet, but if things don't improve like you hope they will, there's no telling what I could become. I'd rather not have you witness my decline. If you respect me as much as you've said, you'll honor my choice and bid me farewell."

William's breath quickened and he swallowed. His eyes even began to glisten, but they didn't spill over with tears. "What shall I do without your guidance? You are the only one I trust. I can barely even tolerate anyone else."

Death chuckled softly. "Now, William...don't think like that. You should open up a bit and make some friends. I know you've got it in you. After all, I like you."

"You've said that I was annoying and noisy," Will pointed out. "Those don't sound like words of affection to me."

Death brushed it off with a gloved hand. "Piffle. I only said that because you seemed to have so much hubris when you first joined the academy. You were always correcting your fellow students and going on about how much you knew about reaping already. Then I knocked you down a few pegs and I realized all that hubris was just a coping mechanism. You're lonely and you have trouble relating to others. You're actually a likable fellow when you let that mask of stoicism slip, and you've got a nice smile...when you actually crack one."

"And you are the only person I've ever smiled for since coming here," William pointed out. "Now you are leaving. What do I have to smile about?"

"How about earning that custom scythe in a month?" suggested Death. "You said yourself you've already decided what form it's going to take. I know you're excited about it."

"You really are going to leave, then." Will looked away and he seemed to realize how vulnerable he was being. He schooled his expression into his usual calm mask, and he met Death's eye again. "Let me come with you. Not to defect, but as an escort. You may not find lodging right away and you can lean against me if you grow tired. You can barely see three feet in front of you as well, and reading street signs or a map will be difficult."

Death hesitated, unable to deny his points. He'd probably end up wandering into all sorts of places of business before finding an Inn to stay in for the night, seeing as he wouldn't be able to read the sings on most buildings without plastering his face against them.

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea," he said slowly. "You're already going to be in trouble for making an unauthorized portal as it is. Taking off to the mortal side without permission could land you with double demerits."

"But I would have permission," insisted William. "Yours. You are still technically my mentor until they discover your retirement note."

William pulled the folded note out of his blazer and showed it to him. "That is not likely to happen while I have it on my person."

Death smirked. "You're a stinker, chap. I think I could be rubbing off on you."

"I've learned from the best." William's cool expression softened a bit. "Just let me come with you for the night. You could write a note stating that you requested it and I shall return first thing in the morning and present both it and your farewell note to one of the senior officers."

Death sighed, and he finally gave in with a shrug. "All right then, you've convinced me. Now let's get going before someone sees us and starts asking questions."

By the look on Will's face, he was probably wondering why anyone would question Death traveling to the mortal realm. After all, he did so regularly when reaping or training. The young man didn't ask any questions though—which was probably for the best.

"This is a hovel." William frowned at the room they had booked for the night, taking in the faded, dirty wallpaper and the threadbare bedding. Imaging the bed bugs or lice that might be inhabiting it, he shuddered. He picked up the suitcase that he'd just set down and he turned to speak to his mentor. "No, this is not acceptable lodgings for you, sir."

Death squinted as he looked around. "Hmph. Good thing I'm too bloody nearsighted to see how dirty it must be to get that reaction from you."

William gave him a concerned look. "Did you exchange enough reaper currency for mortal before we left? Surely you could afford something better than this."

"Oh, don't you worry about that. I'm not a fan of the authority in this realm or even using her coin, but I made sure to bring enough to keep me fed and sheltered until I can find a trade and some place more permanent. If it's really that icky to you, we could try somewhere else to bed down for the night."

William looked around the room again and when his eyes settled on the moth-eaten couch, his decision was made. He didn't want Death sleeping on that bed and he certainly didn't want to sleep on that couch himself. "Let us try to get your money back and look somewhere else."

A couple of hours later, they finally found a more moderately priced but much leaner Inn, and by the time they made it up the stairs and into their room, Death was plainly exhausted. The silver reaper shuffled over to the bed and he collapsed on it. He hissed in pain and he dug in the pockets of his jacket to retrieve his pills while William put the luggage down on the floor.

"I'll fetch you some water," offered Will.

Death nodded and thanked him as the younger reaper fetched the empty pitcher on the little table and took it downstairs to the kitchen to fill it. He returned a short while later and he poured some of the water into one of the wooden drinking cups left on the table by one of the staff. "Here you are, sir."

Death sat up to take it from him, and Will noticed how his hand shook as he struggled to unscrew the cap of the pill bottle. "Here, allow me." He took the bottle from him and he opened it with a little trouble himself. "How do they expect you to open this in your condition? Perhaps we can transfer these to a container that is easier to open."

"I've got a couple of apothecary bottles in my luggage that I picked up on this side one day out reaping," murmured Death. "They've got cork stoppers...might be a tad more agreeable."

William handed the open container back to Death and he went to the suitcase to search for the items. He was somewhat astonished to find that his mentor had packed virtually nothing save books, some sort of salves and only one change of clothing. Considering his compromised vision, he had no idea how he was even going to read the literature. He looked over his shoulder at him, his concern growing once more.

"Sir, is this truly all you've brought?"

"Do you see another suitcase?" countered the ancient, his speech distorted around the pills he'd popped into his mouth.

"There is no need to get peevish," admonished William. "I simply expected you to be better prepared...particularly if you have been considering retiring for as long as you say."

The ancient shrugged and washed his pills down with the water, grimacing a little at the tinny flavor of the liquid. "I was in a bit of a hurry, lad. Dispatch uniforms tend to stand out to mortals, seeing as they're ahead of the time period here. Didn't you notice the way people were looking at us as we walked the streets?" He smirked. "If I'm to fit in here at all, I've got to dress more the part."

"If you intend to openly work with humans, clothing is not going to be your only issue. Mortals tend to notice our eyes when they look close enough. Perhaps most aren't observant enough to realize we have two sets of irises, but some may eventually question it."

"Seeing as I've only got one eye that works now, they're only half likely to take notice of my peepers. I can grow my bangs out long to cover them up." Death didn't seem at all concerned. "Stop worrying so much about me, Will. I'll get along just fine. I've even got an idea of where I might want to set up shop."

"Oh? Where would that be?" William walked back over to the bed and he took his mentor's drained cup from him to set it on the bedside table, and then he squatted down to help him out of his boots.

"I've seen a vacant building for sale that looks as though it'd do nicely. Ah, thank you." He wiggled his toes as William pulled his boots off. "My poor feet ache."

"You avoided my question, sir," observed William, looking back up at him.

Death laid back down and he snuggled one of the pillows like it was a lover. "It's best you not know, William."

"But why?" Will dimmed the lamp and he sat down on the edge of the bed, greatly daring. "What is it you aren't telling me? Can I not even come to visit you?"

"Mayhap in the future," mumbled the ancient. "Not right away, though. I'd rather Dispatch not know exactly where I'm living, m'dear."

"Why is your accent changing?" He was starting to sound more like a Brit, and that subtle hint of Finnish that William adored melted away.

Death sighed into his pillow. "'Cause I'm in London and I've got to practice speaking more like a Londoner, that's why. Folk tend to do business more readily with their fellow countrymen."

"I see." Will's gaze flicked to the older reaper's hands as Death carefully tugged of his gloves and dropped them on the nightstand. "I never knew your fingernails were black until recently. Have they always been that way, or did it happen with age?"

Death cracked his good eye open to peer at him and he frowned. "You ask an awful lot of questions, Willy. Does it matter what color my nails are?"

"I suppose not," sighed William. "I'm only curious. Who knows when I may see you again, so I am trying to learn more about you while I can."

The ancient smiled a bit. "Hop in with me, then." He squirmed and he lifted the covers invitingly.

Will flushed. "I...beg your pardon, sir?"

"You said you want to learn more about me. Join me and I'll show you a few things."

Will swallowed, his heartbeat quickening with the implications. "I...I don't understand," he admitted. He didn't dare trust his suspicions of where this might lead. When it came to his mentor, not everything was as it appeared and Death's lessons had always been rather...unorthodox. No, surely the man wasn't offering a romantic encounter as a final goodbye.

"William, if you redden any further I may mistake you for a strawberry," chuckled Death. "My, how you blush! You seem to be doing that quite a bit, lately. Just take off your shoes and get into bed with me, or you won't learn nary another thing about me. Trust me chap; I won't bite."

Conditioned now to obey his mentor, Will tried to swallow his anxiety and yes, his excitement too. He dutifully bent over to take off his shoes and socks, and then he unbuttoned his blazer and slipped out of that, too. Death scooched back further to make room for him as the young rookie slowly got into bed with him, moving as if the elder was a wild animal that might pounce on him at any moment.

"There now," approved Death, and he pushed the pillow away, removing the flimsy barrier between them. "Now, the first new thing you're about to learn about me is I happen to enjoy cuddles."

Will went stiff with surprise when his mentor's arms went around him. Death snuggled up close, smiling at the look of bewilderment on his face. "Sir, I don't think this is appropriate," breathed Will, even as his body heated up with the intimacy of the contact.

"Mayhap if you were still my apprentice," whispered Death, "but I've retired. I'm too week to hold onto you if you really want to squirm out of my arms, Willy."

William couldn't find his voice. Death's visible eye had a heavy-lidded look to it. Some would refer to it as "bedroom eyes". Was this really happening? Were all those forbidden, secret fantasies William had been privately entertaining going to come true? He'd never dared part with them—not that he had any friends to reveal them to. Death's body was lean and surprisingly warm against his, and his lips were only a few inches away. Will stared at them and he debated with himself over whether he should take advantage of their nearness to steal a kiss. Perhaps this was a test, though what purpose it could possibly serve was beyond him.

"Are you toying with me, sir?"

Death combed his fingers through Will's hair, mussing it further. "I'm just holding you, chap. Doesn't it feel nice to cuddle?"

"I...it does, but I'm left to wonder if your medication is compromising your judgment."

"I just took it moments ago," chuckled Death. "It takes longer than that for medication to kick in." He grunted with obvious discomfort as he snuggled even closer to him.

"It's hurting you," observed Will softly. He dared to run his fingers through the elder's soft, silken hair. "I wouldn't want you to tear your stitches."

"They'll hold well enough," assured Death, holding his gaze. "Was I mistaken about the way you look my way when you think I'm not watching, love?"

Oh dear gods, he knows.

William came about as close to panic as he'd ever been, and the flush that was in his cheeks rapidly cooled as the color drained from his face.

"My, my, you'd think I just sentenced you to death." The ancient smiled at him. "Is that a yes or a no, William?"

"N-no," answered the younger reaper compulsively. He couldn't bring himself to even try to deny it and tell a lie...not with that mesmerizing gaze trapping him. "I tried my best to conceal it, Mentor. I know it's terribly improper of me to think of you that way."

And yet there he was, wrapped in Death's embrace—and he didn't want it to end.

"Well then," purred Death, his damaged voice softening slightly until it almost sounded like it used to, "if you really meant it when you said what you did to me in the hospital, why not enjoy the moment? Right now we're just a pair of reapers lying here together, not mentor and student. What else would you like to know about me?"

"The fingernails," William answered—though he really didn't give a toss what color they were. He just felt he had to keep him talking.

"Ah, right. They've always been that way, I'm afraid. It's just a characteristic I was born with. What else, m'dear?"

Will started to feel the growing pressure in his pants and there was nothing he could do to conceal it from Death. They were thigh to thigh, pelvis to pelvis and torso to torso. He felt evidence of the other man coming into the same condition and he felt a little better about it. "I suppose my question of whether you prefer the company of men or women is now answered, so I shall try to find the whit to consider another one for you."

"Actually, I have no preference in that area," corrected Death. "I enjoy the company of both, t' tell you the truth."

"Oh." William's breath quickened as he stared at the other's tempting lips. "Well then, I have an even more personal inquiry for you, if I may be so bold."

"Please do." Death smiled again.

"When you have been with male lovers, what role do you prefer to take in bed?" Will dearly hoped he wasn't pushing it too far, but Death didn't seem offended.

"Either," admitted the older man. "Sharing pleasure's a joy for me whether I'm having their arse or they're having mine."

William cleared his throat, unsure of how to respond to his candor. Death cupped his chin with his uninjured hand and he held his gaze again. "And which do you prefer, Willy?"

"I wouldn't know." The admittance tumbled past William's lips before he could stop it. "As little time as I have for friendship, I've even less for romance."

"Goodness, a handsome chap like you?" Death seemed honestly surprised. "I'd have thought you'd have been bedded at least once before. You might come off as abrasive to some, but surely someone's tried to get down your knickers before."

"They have," answered William softly. "I did not return their affections, however."

Because I was struggling with my attraction to my instructor, and nobody could compare to you.

Death must have read the thought in his eyes, because he caressed Will's face and he took the initiative. His half bandaged face moved closer to William's and his lips touched his—softly at first and then with more pressure. Will closed his eyes and he gave into his desires, parting his lips and kissing Death back. The other's tongue glided over the crease between them before delving in deeper to stroke his. A needy sound arose in his throat as their tongues fenced and William held that slim body a little tighter nearly forgetting himself in his passion. When Death flinched a bit, he loosened his embrace so as not to upset his healing injuries.

He stopped asking himself why here and why now. He stopped questioning how this was even happening to begin with. What truly mattered now was that it was happening, and he didn't intend to waste the moment. The next thing he knew, he was easing Death onto his back. He carefully slipped a thigh between his companion's and he was careful not to put too much weight on him. Death broke the kiss for a moment to lift Will's training glasses off his face and set it aside next to the pill bottle, and William took a moment to just stare down at him, close enough to make out all the fine details of the visible portion of Death's features without the aid of his glasses.

"You are beautiful," he finally expressed out loud.

"Even like this?" Death smirked at him.

"Even like this," agreed William, "and since it is so uncertain when I'll see you again, for once I need to say it aloud to you."

"Then I'll remember you said that whenever I'm feeling glum," promised Death, "and when I finally take these bandages off and see what's left of my face for the first time since it happened."

William didn't believe any amount of scars or blemishes could take away from the man's allure, but telling him that he thought him beautiful had been difficult enough. Rather than resort to infatuated rambling, he kissed him again. He was aching with desire for him, but Death was in no condition to do more than this. Perhaps William would never get the opportunity to bed him, but this alone was more than he'd ever dreamed would happen between them.

His kisses took on a desperate quality as the realization that this was goodbye for them began to weigh heavily on him again, and William's kisses moved on to his jaw, his ear and the spot beneath his throat bandages that was free of bindings and exposed above the open collar of his shirt. This reaper had once intimidated him so much, but now all he could think of was how he wished he could kiss every inch of him, from the scars he'd earned to the tips of his toes. He rubbed against him, deciding they could at least grind a bit without hurting him. Death's response was quite favorable and Will could tell that his groan wasn't one of pain, but pleasure and intrigue.

He could tell when Death started to get sleepy, because while his kisses didn't lose enthusiasm, he seemed to begin having trouble keeping his eye open. William kissed him one last time and he eased off of him, rolling back onto his side to embrace him again. "Rest now, Death," he encouraged, stroking his hair. "I will stay here with you."

"Mm, that'd be lovely," slurred the ancient drowsily. "I'd enjoy more kisses, but I doubt I can stay awake much longer."

"It's all right," assured William. "It has been a long day and you need your sleep in order to heal."

He watched him as Death relaxed and began to breathe with a slow, steady rhythm. Will removed one arm from around him and he twisted carefully to reach out and turn the lamp off completely. Trying not to think of how this reaper he so admired would be out of his life come sunrise, William lay awake for a long time, savoring every moment he had left with him. He finally drifted off, and he dreamed of Death changing his mind and deciding to return back to their realm with him.

The next morning, Death wrote the requested note to Dispatch excusing William to venture into the mortal realm. It pained Will to watch how he struggled with it, each little motion causing obvious discomfort for him. The elder was bent low over the table so that he could see his lettering and he poked the tip of his tongue out the corner of his mouth in concentration.

"There," Death said at last, "that's done. Here you are, love." He folded the note and he gave it to William, and then he picked up the bottle Will had transferred his pills into and he pocketed it. Straightening up with a sigh, Death looked over at his suitcase.

"Er, before you go, what's say you help me change into my 'street clothes', Willy. I s'pose I could do it on my own but it'll take a bloody long time to accomplish."

William nodded silently and he went to the suitcase to open it and retrieve the clothing for him. He hadn't taken a good look at it the night before, but now that he was taking it out of the case he frowned. He held each piece up, and he looked at his former mentor curiously. "Are these priest robes? And what is this odd hat?"

"You've seen a top-hat before." Death sat down on the bed and began to unbutton his shirt slowly.

"Yes, but...what is this long piece of material hanging from it? That's no standard feature of a top-hat."

"It's a liripipe, my dear." Death smiled at him. "And no, those aren't priestly robes. They're the robes worn by morticians in these parts."

William brought the garments over to the bed where Death was sitting. "Is it your intention to become a mortician, then?"

The older man hesitated. "You know, I hadn't thought of that. I certainly know enough about human physiology and death to take up that line of work, but I was thinking of an apothecary. Mayhap I'll try a bit of both and see which works out better."

"But you are defecting because you've grown weary of your job," reminded William suspiciously. "How would dealing with more death as a mortician be terribly different?"

Death shrugged. "I'm only toying with the idea, Will. Right now I couldn't see or work with my hands well enough to do either of them. One thing at a time, yeah?"

Will sighed and he started to try one last time to convince him not to do this, but his tongue froze to the roof of his mouth when Death got his shirt open and he again saw all of the bandaging wrapping his torso. As the older reaper painstakingly slipped one arm out of his shirt and then the other, William saw the bandages on his arms. It was a harsh reminder of how badly he'd gotten cut up in the fight, and Will shut his eyes and gave up on the notion of pleading with him not to go. The man had more than earned the right to give up reaping and lead a quiet life somewhere, doing something he enjoyed.

"Willy, that's not 'helping'," chastised Death teasingly. "Might be more productive if you bring the robes here and assist me in slipping them on over my pants."

"Yes, of course." William opened his eyes again and he did as he was asked. The robes were easier to put on Death than the shirt and jacket must have been, and soon he was layered from neck to ankles in the loose, black garments.

"Now the sash you set down there," instructed Death with a nod at it. "I can put the hat on myself, I'm sure."

William quietly helped him put on the sash, and then he gave him the hat. "I've just thought of something," he remarked softly once the strange hat was on the other man's head, completing the outfit. "How many mortals are named 'Death'? You should consider devising an alias to go under, as long as you insist living in this realm."

"Probably," agreed Death lightly. He stood up and he limped over to his suitcase to put his discarded clothes inside of it and check to be sure he had everything he'd brought with him. Satisfied, he closed and it and secured the latches. "One last thing, William. I could use some help carrying this back downstairs. The coachman can load it into the carriage when I hail one but it's going to be a bugger for my broken ol' self to get it down there alone."

"Agreed," sighed Will. He stared at the man, wishing there was something more he could do for him. Perhaps one day when Death recovered from his injuries he would consider returning home. For now, William honestly couldn't blame him for wanting to get away. "Will you...keep in touch, at least? Write to me now and then if it isn't too difficult for you?"

Death hobbled over to him, his pale face softening with fondness. "When the time's right, William. Once I'm settled in I'll send word to you so you don't worry. You just worry about passing that final exam and becoming the agent you've always wanted to be, and trust that I'll be all right."

William nodded. He wanted to reach out to him and embrace him, but he was terrible at initiating contact first. Death took care of that for him, slipping his arms around him and closing the distance between them for a last kiss goodbye. Will clung to him, conveying everything he felt through that kiss.

"Dispatch'll set you up with a temporary mentor to replace me," Death assured him. "You won't have to put up with it for very long, being this close to graduation time."

Will merely nodded in response. There were no substitutes for Death and there never would be. "Let us get you a carriage and see you off. You should stop somewhere during your journey to have a bite to eat, sir. Keep up your strength."

"Oh, no doubt," agreed the older man, patting his stomach. "I've never deprived myself of food for this long."

He heaved a little sigh and he released William from his embrace. "Never thought I'd say this when I first took you under my wing, but I'll miss you, Willy."

"I should hope you will, after last evening."

When his mentor rode away on the carriage to parts unknown, William swallowed his feelings as best he could and he found an alley to summon a portal, out of sight of mortal eyes. He stepped through it and he went immediately to Dispatch headquarters to turn in Death's two notes. It didn't surprise him to see the outrage on the department head's face when the man read it, and it didn't surprise him to get interrogated as to where Death went. He calmly assured him that he had no idea where his mentor had gone; all he did was escort him to the other side and help him find lodging for the night.

"Sir, his injuries were extensive," reminded Will with respect. "He may never be able to reap again. At least that is what Death seems to believe, and so he has chosen to relinquish his glasses and his status as a grim reaper. I am sure he meant no insult to the organization and he surely turned in the records of the reapers that attacked and maimed him."

"Actually Spears, you're incorrect on that," informed Supervisor Randal. "Death never turned in a single one of those records, and now we have no way to review what actually happened that day until we bring him and his death scythe back!"

William's stoic mask slipped, and he blinked. "Why would he not turn them in before leaving? There must be some mistake, sir."

"I'm afraid there is not," insisted Randal with a sigh, rubbing his forehead. "Death postponed consigning them to the vaults for review and we allowed it because he was in such a bad state. He took his scythe and those records with him, which tells me there was something more to all this than he revealed to us."

William's mind raced and he tried to imagine what in Styx his mentor could possibly be hiding from Dispatch. "He has been on medication," he excused. "It may have simply slipped his mind. Sir, you can't possibly believe he is hiding anything nefarious."

Mister Randal stared at Will, measuring him. "Are you aware, young man, that your mentor has been witnessed by more than one fellow officer tampering with the cinematic records of his marks? That is strictly forbidden."

William couldn't hide his confusion. "I don't understand. To what end? He has made it a point time and again to warn me never to meddle with them, never to allow them to pass through me and never to allow my future partner to do so either. I cannot believe he would do such a thing. Whomever has accused him just be mistaken, or they have been dishonest with you."

"Hmm, at least I can rule you out as an accomplice," muttered the supervisor. "The truth is, Mr. Spears, your mentor is not the same reaper you began training under when you enrolled in the academy. There have been other incidents that I won't bother explaining to a cadet. If you care for him and respect him, then you will tell the board if you have any information at all that might lead us to him."

William's jaw clenched slightly, and then he schooled his expression again. "May I ask if any of the officers that have accused him were amongst the fallen reapers that attacked him, sir?"

"That information is classified, I'm afraid. Just consider carefully if Death said anything or did anything that might lead us to him, Spears. If you believe these accusations to be false, then help to prove it. We need those records."

William nodded stiffly, suspecting his hunch about the accusers was right. "Yes sir. May I please be excused? I have a class to attend in twenty minutes."

Randal waved his hand. "Dismissed. Think on what we've discussed, William."

Two months later, William was a junior officer and so was the annoying redhead they'd partnered him with for the exam. Grell Sutcliff went from being an aggressive bully to developing an unreasonable crush on him after William fought back and won their brief but violent encounter. It boggled his mind and he soon found himself having to ward off the flamboyant young man's affections almost constantly. Grell did not want to take no for an answer though, and only Will's pride kept him from reporting Sutcliff's unwanted attentions to their superiors. He also felt grudgingly obligated not to tattle on him because Sutcliff did come to his aid when their reaping assignment resulted in Will getting attacked by aggressive reels.

Dispatch was still looking for Death, but they had no leads beyond Will's account of seeing him off in a carriage. He had some mysterious way of hiding himself so completely that he seemed to have vanished from existence, and the promised letter to let William know he was still alive and well never came. He searched for any clues that might lead to Death himself, but he never found anything of use.

With the lack of communication and answers came a lack of hope. William clung to it for as long as he could, but over time, he began to withdraw within himself. Emotions were painful things, as the hope that his old mentor was still alive out there somewhere began to fade for him, so too did the last lingering threat of William seeking out companionship with anyone, ever again. He immersed himself in his work over the years and he climbed his way to the top of the corporate ladder eventually becoming a senior officer and from there, he got promoted to supervisor of his department once Randal moved up to an even higher corporate position.

Every once in a while, however, try as he might to forget Death, William stared up at the statue of him that they'd built in the Great Library. Regardless of the suspicions against him, Dispatch recognized an inspiring figure and they kept the evidence against him confidential. The statue looked as Death had looked before the confrontation that had nearly killed him. Some part of William still missed him, but he kept it strictly to himself.

Just when he resigned himself to never seeing Death again and came to the conclusion that he had to accept he now only lived in his memories, William got the lead he'd been seeking for over fifty years. Grell Sutcliff and his young apprentice Ronald Knox were assigned to collect souls on a cruise ship that was destined to sink, taking with it hundreds of unfortunate souls. They botched the job, Will showed up to clean up their mess and while they were recovering afterwards in the hospital, they revealed that there was a rogue Shinigami on board that had unleashed an army of living dead on the passengers.

He didn't immediately make the connection until Grell began to describe the mystery reaper with enthusiasm. "Oh, Will...he was gorgeous! Had I but known that creepy old Undertaker had a face like that under that mop of silver hair on his head, I might have pursued him before all this happened. I was not even aware that he was a reaper, thought I've encountered him a few times before. I was even in his shop once with Sebby and that brat he serves once, and I sensed nothing! How is that possible? Reapers can sense one another's death auras, and yet he seemed perfectly human to me until he revealed himself for what he is on that ship."

William had only been listening with half an ear until that last part, and he stilled his pacing and turned to look at the reclining redhead sharply. His heart felt like it lodged in his throat. Silver hair? Angelic features? But if it was Death, then he should have had obvious scars—even disfiguring ones. For Grell to be going on about his face this way William had to presume this was not the case.

"What did this supposed 'Undertaker' look like, Sutcliff?"

Grell adjusted his hospital bed. "I just told you, darling. He had the face of an angel, I tell you...and his eyes are hypnotic. I found myself unable to look away from them at first." Grell fanned himself. "Pity he hurt my face as he did. I'd have forgiven the rest, otherwise."

William looked away thoughtfully. The description of the hair, face and eyes seemed to match, but...

"Did he have any distinctive scars or markings that could help us to identify him? Think carefully, Sutcliff." Grell hadn't transferred to Will's academy until after Death got so injured, and he therefore had never seen him in person except perhaps from a distance after he left the hospital.

"Well yes," admitted Grell. "A rather big one running down his face diagonally and another around his throat, as if someone tried to cut his head off at some point."

Grell shrugged. "Honestly I hardly noticed them once I saw his entire face, though."

William abruptly turned and walked out of the hospital room, leaving Grell demanding to know where he was going. Ronald was oblivious and softly snoring in his sleep.

"He has been an informant of the Phantomhive family for years," mused William softly to himself as he began to pour over old reports turned in by Dispatch agents. He recalled the last time he'd laid eyes on his old mentor and he felt like a terrible fool for never having considered investigating all of London's funeral parlors. Perhaps Death never sent word to him because he'd been expecting William to find him and come to him. Perhaps he'd tried to send a letter and it simply never made it to him. Could he have gotten the impression that Will didn't want to see him, if that was the case?

How could I be so blind? He has been there for all this time and he'd even hinted to me that he might try being a mortician. I never took it seriously though. I honestly thought he would choose a trade that would not remind him of his old position.

Will combed his fingers through his hair, spoiling its immaculate appearance. Now Death was at large again, a fugitive for real. William couldn't make excuses for him this time, and he remembered Death telling him that he didn't want him to witness hid decline. He'd had so many hints but he'd so stubbornly denied them, believing his mentor would never really go rogue. There was no way he would have returned to that shop after the events of the Campania...but perhaps William could find some clues if he investigated the funeral parlor himself.

He got up from behind his desk, straightened his tie and adjusted his glasses. Whatever they'd had between them, he could not ignore the Undertaker's recent actions. He had to accept that he was no longer Death...no longer that reaper he'd held and kissed that night in the hotel room. He had to make peace with that and capture him before some other agent from a different district did it. If nothing else, William still respected the memory of him and he needed to ensure that he got a fair trial.

As he walked out the door to begin making arrangements, William told himself that he was not doing this out of lingering love for his mentor.

-The End