Ash and Bone

-Prologue-

A/N: Welcome to my newest project! Ash and Bone is definitely going to be a longer project than Cadence of the Spring…which I will update and finish…eventually (it's actually very, very close to being complete). Anyhow, there's not much to mention, other than that this is in first person, and things will be explained as the story progresses. This is, which is kind of obvious but I'll mention it anyway, a fanfiction with heavy basis in the supernatural and mythology (including folktales and the likes).

Sorry that the prologue is so short – I do promise that these chapters will be, at the very minimum, around this length.

Reviews, especially concrit and suggestions, are extremely appreciated.

Enjoy, guys! I really hope you like it.

Rating: M, for language, sexual themes, gore, etc. It'll pick up progressively throughout the story.

Pairings: US/UK/US (eventually), Liet/Pol (eventually), Spain/Romano, Germany/Italy

Summary: Alfred never asked for the life he got. He never asked for Matthew's violent murder. In the five years he knew Arthur, he never asked for the demon to take interest. But he certainly asked for all the trouble he got himself into. And it was all for something he knew to be quite thoroughly out of his reach in power, in a world of demons, angels, and everything above and in-between.

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Alfred

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I had always thought of myself as a particularly-keen individual. The locket containing his picture hung open on its hinges in my hand. Heavy. Cold. Like his body had been. That was when I was young and foolish, and I let him out of my sight…

Yao moved beside me as he bagged the purchased item (I hadn't really been paying attention to what she'd picked out – I never really did pay much attention to our boring and often old patrons), smiling cheerfully at the customer and adding a, "Thank you, have a wonderful day, aru!" as the older woman left the store with the ring of a bell behind her. As soon as she was gone, Yao sighed.

"Last one of the day, thank the heavens!"

With a smile of pure amusement, I responded, "Not too keen on the antique business, huh?"

He frowned at me. "You barely know a thing about it yourself, Alfred."

"Hey, now," I teased, "I own this establishment. You're just my lackey."

It was a typical response for Yao to glare. He quickly shuffled into the back room, announcing, "I'm going to bed, aru." As he passed by me, I caught a whiff of his summery scent and held on to the strange, lingering warmth in the air. Once he was in the doorway, he turned back, a question of sheer curiosity, "And where are you staying tonight, Mr. Jones?" The Mr. and Jones part I knew to be a joke, as he half-sneered, half-smiled in that dark way where his lips curl upward cruelly. Punishment for me being a bad, bad boy.

"Where else but Home-Sweet-Home?" I grabbed a rag and a bottle of glass cleaner to wipe down the display cases, clucking my tongue in disgust at the fingerprints. Children.

From the silence that reigned from my answer, it was evident that Yao was upset. Very typical of the aging man.

"You know the Shop is safer, aru."

"I know." There was more silence, which I filled with moving the numerous antiques into safer places. I knew it was unlikely for the store to be robbed – anyone entering this shop had to deal with me and Yao, a bad mixture indeed – but I did it anyway. It gave me something to do while I waited for Yao to forgive me. As predicted, he caved moments later.

"Be careful."

I saw him shut the door after peering out at me, changed into silken sleepwear, hair let down. "Goodnight, Yao." The usual way we part before bedtime.

Once at home, I showered within the five-minute time span I give myself, dried my hair and dressed myself for bed. A T-shirt and pajama pants – nothing complicated or elegant like Yao. His choice in clothing never ceased to amaze me.

Before bed, there's a routine I follow daily. Check to make sure all five locks on my front door were secured – those were fine. Make sure the windows are locked up and the curtains are drawn – those were too. Get a knife from the kitchen and place it under my pillow. That's what I had forgotten!

The only knife I felt particularly comfortable with using was the serrated-edged carving knife I'd bought myself for Christmas. It came in a set meant for cooking, but hell, I barely ever cooked! Their sole purpose was to keep me company at night, should someone else decide to pay me a visit. And I get a lot of visitors at night.

None that you would ever want in your home, near your children, or even at your place of work.

The covers of my bed were, as most things that I liked, simple – a solid light blue, now gray with the lack of light, thick and warm and most certainly soft. Underneath, I could fall into a reasonably-comfortable sleep, with one hand under the pillow and the other dangling over the other side of the mattress. "Goodnight, Matthew. Sleep tight." I kissed the cool metal of the locket, placing it beside the knife, next to my head as a constant reminder. "Love ya." My glasses were off a second later, and my eyes shut tight, shutting out the world.

But I listened very, very closely. I wouldn't have heard the minute sounds of molecules shifting to allow someone within, ripping open space from a completely different area, allowing travel like teleportation. A hot voice was in my ear, whispering all the dark and desirable things in the world to me, daring and damn sexy, "Don't I get a good-night kiss?"

The knife was at his throat in an instant. We both knew, very well, that it would do no good – no good at all, holding a knife to this man's throat. I could hear the dark mirth as he took a cautious (read: sarcastic) step back, grinning a bit. "Arthur. You're later than usual today. What were you out doing? Stealing souls from helpless, dumb blondes?" I looked into those dark, bottle green eyes and casually looked his suited appearance over (black on black on smoky gray, as I've seen him for quite a while).

"That's exactly what I came here to do, actually."

Demons. They were obnoxious, always appearing just as you tried to get them out of your mind. They particularly enjoyed fucking with you, and their professions fit them to a 'T'. All they had to do was find your one, sole weakness – once they found something you wanted (and most often than naught, they did), it was pretty easy – and they'd be eating your soul a second later. Arthur was no different than other demons, except, perhaps, that he was a sight better than most at the tricking you part. He'd take your soul and give you nothing in exchange for it. Leave it to a demon to fill your heart with false hopes and strip them away a second later. Then again, humans could be the same way…just in a less-Hell spawnish manner.

I turned away from him, putting my head back down on the pillow. Arthur may have been good at what he did, but he wasn't good enough to get me. He'd been trying for five years to no avail, which, if you thought about it, was rather pathetic. Why he stuck around, I had no clue. "You want to go away and let me sleep? Humans don't stay up all hours of the night trying to steal souls and get laid."

"Come now, love," his fingers were underneath my chin, warm, enticing, and they forced my head to face in his direction. "We both know you're not a human."

That card again. I sighed. "Listen, Arthur. I've told you this several thousand times over the five years you've been stalking me: I. Am. Human."

He was laughing as he got closer to my face. "Oh, Alfred – we both know it's not just demons that lie and cheat. You're quite good at it, actually, and this is a case where I can see through that lie as if it were transparent." His forehead touched mine, and his voice dropped to a low, seductive whisper, "And I think…that that's incredibly sexy."

I knew what he was going to do next. Before his lips could touch my own, my knife was through his belly. Without any sound of surprise, he drew away as if I had simply scolded him, pouting like a child disappointed about not being allowed ice cream before dinner. That was how he had thought of me, anyway – nothing more than dessert he could never attain, but quite a bit of fun to try for. I told myself this simply because it was easier than wondering why he hadn't given up on me and stuck around for so long. "Step off, freak!"

Pulling the knife from his stomach and revealing the sickly, unnatural shade of charcoal that his thick, jelly-like blood was known to have (I'd done this to him many times before); he tossed the used thing onto the night stand and chuckled. Damn, if his smile wasn't sexy, though – or so help me God. "Sorry, darling…did I startle you? I should take a slower approach next time, shouldn't I?"

I turned away from him, shifting around under my covers. "Just shut up and let me sleep, Arthur." I wasn't about to let him deprive me of sleep. Precious, precious sleep.

"Fine, then." He stepped forward, nose brushing against my hair, no doubt snuffing its scent; his lips pressed against the back of my neck, such a gentle touch, that every time he did this I had a hard time believing it was him. Arthur never ceased to surprise me, just as I never ceased to surprise him. "Goodnight, love. Don't let the demons bite." And he was gone. His warmth was left on my skin, and I marveled at it for a moment. How could such a disgusting, cruel creature radiate such gentle, enticing warmth?

I thought, for just a moment, that he may be warm, and kind, and gentle.

Then I reminded myself that Arthur was a demon. He may be warm, but that didn't make him any less dangerous. It only made him more dangerous, appearing more human and drawing helpless saps like myself into him, until we're stuck on him, and he can hold something against us. I didn't have the resources, desire, or time to get stuck on a man like Arthur.

When I shut my eyes, for just a moment, I let myself think that Arthur was a good man, and he showed me kindness and sympathy. Pathetic, right?

The instant I woke up (to the annoying buzz of the alarm clock – my mortal enemy), I pulled Matthew out from under my pillow, kissing the cool outer metal and uttering a melancholic, "Morning, Mattie," before lying in bed another minute or so. It dawned upon me that I should probably get my lazy ass up, so I did just that, and had myself dressed for work moments after that. A simple white dress-shirt, red tie, gray pants – a disgusting combination invented by the devil to torment man.

Yao was waiting for me, as usual, when I entered the Shop. "Good morning, Alfred. How was your demonic visit last night, aru?"

"Annoying as ever," was my simple reply. I didn't want to talk about it. Period.

"Judging by the look on your face, I'm guessing your little friend pulled something you didn't quite like?"

I scowled. "You know me too well."

"It's my job to know you too well," Yao laughed, shaking his head as he declared our store 'Open' with the flip of a sign. "Sometimes I just talk to you over the phone…other times I stand outside your window while you're changing…watch you while you sleep…steal your cell phone and read your text messages…"

And it was a good thing he was in a good mood this morning. I'd known him long enough to notice this: Yao is in a good mood when he can make a joke; Yao is in a bad mood when he gets on your case about a certain demon. I decided not to ask him about it – I knew his own little nuisance hadn't tried to get into the Shop last night.

"Creepy. I kinda like it, though. In a fucked up, kinky way; stalk me all you want, baby," I sent a wink and a grin his way before unlocking our wares beneath the counter, and placing them within the display cases with very controlled movements. The last time I'd tried to rush through it, I nearly broke three items. Yao had scolded me for the rest of the day, though I assured him I'd received the items from an anonymous donor, and they wouldn't have cost a thing. Where and how I got these antiques free of charge were a secret I wasn't willing to give away just yet.

Yao began to polish up the glass for the new day. I made a small prayer in my mind, as I watched him that no bratty children with grubby, dirty fingers would trail in with their parents and smudge them up again.

Our first potential customer was a mother and her six-year-old daughter. So much for prayer, huh? After the obnoxiously-specific woman ("I'm looking for a three-carat ruby set in white gold, size 7 ring, with emerald inlays. I'll buy nothing over 2,000.") and her brat of a daughter ("Mommy, what's this thing?" "Mommy, I want that one!" "Mommy, that man looks like a girl!") left after I gently explained that we weren't a high-end bargain designer jewelry store, I turned to my scowling employee. "That's why I hate children."

"Honestly!" It was pretty damn obvious that Yao was furious. "'Looks like a girl'…that is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!"

"Well, your hair is kinda long, Yao," I had to laugh, even through the pain after Yao punched me fairly hard on the arm. He may not look like much (and pretty feminine – the little girl was right about that), but Yao was deceitful by nature. I'd never underestimated him after the first time – I promised not to make any foolish mistakes like that again.

As I walked off to find a rag and some window cleaner, rubbing the spot on my arm that would sport a fantastic bruise the next morning, Yao yelled after me, "Oh, Toris called this morning, Alfred."

I returned with the blue-colored liquid and a dirty rag from this morning's wipe-down and set to work on the smudges the brat left behind, looking up at Yao through the display case. "Really, now? What did he call for?"

Yao shrugged. "He didn't say much, other than that he wanted to talk to you, aru. I asked him when he'd be available, and he told me this afternoon he was hoping to have lunch with you, around one-thirty." He took the rag from my hand and wiped furiously at a spot I'd missed. "I told him that would be fine, assuming you wouldn't mind taking an hour or two off of work to talk to him. Do you need me to change it, aru?"

"No," I answered as I tossed the rag and the cleaner aside for later, knowing more children would come in if our first guest of the day had brought her kid along, "that'll be fine, Yao."

"It sounded important, aru. Maybe he's found you a possible lead?"

That…or he wanted to socialize. Toris was more the type to call first thing in the morning when he found something promising. I adjusted my glasses slightly, pushing them further up the bridge of my nose. "I hope so."

I was tired of waiting.

Toris, like most of my friends, was someone you wouldn't quite suspect of his true nature upon first sight. We had met when he was still doing odd-jobs, working as a cook and a sort of cleaner at my old family's home, back when Matt was still alive. I still knew him today, as a good friend and an even better informant. He'd give me little things of interest to do in order to bide my time, or even, if he'd managed to find something really good, a lead in my particular obsession.

As I sat down at the table with him, regarding his brown hair and warm green eyes fondly, I noticed something a little different about him. He seemed a bit ruffled, so I took a (well-informed) shot in the dark. "Feliks got'cha down, huh?"

He sighed. "No matter what I do, he never really notices me! It's upsetting…and," he admitted to me, "I've been going to the same church with him on Sundays!"

Toris wasn't your average Catholic – no, he was a Pagan. The enemy of all Christian faiths. Why he decided to fake being of this religion, however, was above me at the moment. "What the hell, Toris? That's kind of…stalking!"

"N-No! It's not, I swear," he seemed a little nervous now, as he wrung a paper-towel between his hands. It no-doubt lost all its absorbency from the sweat pouring from his palms. "It's the only chance I have to talk to him anymore; it's not like when we were younger, and I could just see him whenever!"

"You're practically committing blasphemy, though," I reasoned, my voice calm. I could see why he'd do it, but really, if Feliks found out? No doubt he'd be screwed. "Is he honestly worth all the trouble? I thought you liked that Natalia chick, anyway." Natalia. I'd only ever heard her mentioned, but she sounded a little off.

"I'm over Natalia. Let's just say she made it clear she didn't feel the same way," he hung his head, and I honestly felt bad for him. For just a minute, anyway. "And Feliks is just…he's great." There was a grin on his face as he continued, "He's culturally-aware, and knows a lot about mythology, and isn't, well, annoying. A little tiring at times, but he's never boring."

Skeptical, but not entirely doubting his new-found affection for this Feliks guy, I raised my coffee mug in a toast. "Well, then. Here's to a possible future between you and a Catholic. Disaster waiting to happen? Let's find out!" Toris unenthusiastically nudged his own mug with mine, and we both took sips from what I considered my life-blood. "Not that I don't care about your love life, but did you call me here for any particular reason? If not, then I should probably get back to Yao soon."

"Oh, yes," Toris made a face like he'd almost forgotten what he came here to do. "I've received word from a former client of mine that something strange has been happening to their brother. They refuse to come out of their room, and all they do is play their violin. He's very concerned about the welfare of his brother, and I'm rather suspicious about this whole situation. I have a heavy suspicion that outside forces are at play there. Unfortunately, I'm going to be out of town for the next few weeks, and I thought it might give you something to keep your mind off of him."

I raised a brow. "Out of town for a few weeks?" I wouldn't ask him what for; I had an idea what he'd be doing. Something probably sprang up with his brothers.

He gave a wry smile. "Yes…but I should be back at the end of the month," and he put down some money to cover his meal, plus a generous tip – Toris was way too kind for his own good – before leaving, with only a pat on the shoulder and an utterance of a typical goodbye from him, "Take care of yourself, Alfred." When I looked back down at the table, he had left a card with the following written upon it:

Vargas Brothers

Possible possession.

Call Antonio for further info.

"You, too," I murmured, staring at the tiny card before me. When I was sure he had left, I stood up and paid my own bill, leaving a small amount of money as a tip. The waitress was terrible.

Once I returned to Yao at the Shop, the rest of the day was spent making jokes at our customers' expense, and doing menial work to keep our boredom at ease. The day ended at seven o'clock – why we kept an Antique Shop open so late was really beyond me. Yao had decided on the time. If it had been up to me, we would have closed at four.

I left for home, returning to find the place empty, as usual, aside from Arthur sitting on my kitchen table. He smirked at me and took a bite from the green apple in his palm. "Hello, dear. You should really pick up some groceries next time you're out – all I could find in your fridge were these apples. They're rather sour and…unappealing. Much like the rest of your quarters."

"Very funny, Arthur," I rolled my eyes, passing him to get a glass of water. He was at my side in an instant, and made a grab for the object hidden away in my pocket. His hand didn't close around it in time – my own hand closed around his wrist. "Don't you even dare."

"I hardly see why it's a problem." Arthur shook my hand off with ease. "It's just a locket – a silly little thing with a colored picture in it." But he knew better – he knew exactly what that locket meant to me. And for some reason, he didn't push it any further.

"It's not just a locket." I walked to my bedroom and began to change. To be honest, I didn't care if Arthur watched me. I had a feeling he had done it before, when I wasn't aware of his presence; and his eyes lingered on every part of me. Why did he even bother with the charade when I knew he wanted something completely different? Why did I let him stick around for so long? I assume that was the little bit of foolish hope still alive within me. "It's Matthew."