#runaway!verse

Eric Slingby was to be tried for the untimely and unlawful collection of 1000 souls.

Alan Humphries, the reaper who had been miraculously cured by something everyone had once imagined to be a folktale, was to be tried for aiding abetting the former.

They spoke in defense of one another when called to the stands, but it seemed to make little difference.  The hearing was, really, a formality, as those present already knew the fates of the accused.

“Alan Humphries, you have been found guilty of aiding and abetting and enemy to the Dispatch  and will be sentenced to one century of supervised desk work.  Your scythe is to be confiscated, and your rank stripped.”

He hadn't expected much less, but Alan didn't really care; it was Eric he was worried about.  Alan nodded when asked if he understood the sentencing, and squeezed Eric's hand tightly as they stood rigidly at one another's side.

“Eric Slingby, you have been found guilty of the unlawful collection 1000 souls not yet on the To Die list, as well as the assault of your Senior officer, and therefor been named an Enemy of the Dispatch.  You are hereby sentenced to execution, which shall take place one week from today.”

Alan felt his heart drop; he heard nothing else the judge said, only gripping Eric's hand tighter.  The room erupted into excited noise at the news of Eric's fate.  

“No!” Alan yelled, not realizing how loud his own voice was.  “No, please reconsider!  Please!”

“Do you understand the sentencing?”

Eric nodded.  “Yes, sir.”

“Please escort Mr. Slingby back to holding.  Mr. Humphries you shall be released and allowed to return to your home.”

“No!” Alan yelled again, gripping tighter to Eric's hand and refusing to move.  “Just let me go back with him!  Please it's just a week, let me stay with him!”

The guards roughly grabbed Eric and began taking him away, trying to pry their hands apart.  Another guard grabbed Alan by the shoulder and began to lead him out.  “Please,” Alan begged with him, “please it's only a week!  L-let me stay with him for the week!”

“Alan, I'll be fine,” Eric assured with a half-smile, resigned to his fate with nothing like a struggle.  “Go on, you don't wanna be locked up again.”  The guard to his right pushed him along roughly.  “Alright, alright, I'm going.”

Despite more protests and pleas, Alan was escorted outside of the building by the guard.  When he tried to force his way back in the guard informed him that he would only get himself into more trouble, and that it was best to just go home.  Alan did so reluctantly, trying to make sense of what had just happened.  He sat in the living room of the small flat, ate some food, and went to bed, all the time thinking about how unfair this all was.

But at the same time he knew that it was fair; they had received punishments according to their crimes.  Alan was no longer a senior officer, nor would he be again for at least a century; his scythe was gone and his glasses were those worn by trainees in the Academy.  That would let anyone who looked at him know that he was to be looked down upon.  It was fair, it was what he deserved, and yet it felt so cruel.

Alan had worked hard to achieve his rank; he had been one of the Academy's best and brightest students.  Director Spears had often commented on the quality of his work, both written and in the field, and now all of that was being taken away because he had refused to turn in the one who loved him most?  Because he had wanted to live out what were supposed to be his last days in some kind of peace?

And what about Eric?  The things he had done were horrible, but execution?  Eric hadn't done what he did out of malice or ill intent; he had done it out of desperation!  One could make the case for mental instability if they wanted, even though Alan knew that Eric was perfectly sane and had realized exactly what he was doing.  Execution would be fitting if he had killed all of those people maliciously or for fun, but it was too cruel for one who had done it to save another, one who had made the deaths painless.

The sentences were fair, but they were not just.  Not in Alan's mind.

Alan reported to work the next day, as he had been instructed to.  Director Spears met him, and Alan felt intimidated by his sharp gaze for the first time since he had been promoted from his Junior rank.  There was no longer any respect or expectation in his eyes; only disappointment and contempt.  Alan tried to look him in the eye, but shame washed over him and he looked down at the floor.

“I assume you were told what your job will be for the next century,” William said, leading Alan down familiar hallways.

“Yes, sir.  A century of supervised desk work; I am not to be allowed a scythe or to go into the field under any circumstances.”

The Director nodded, and said nothing else.  Alan was lead to his new desk, which had none of his personal effects and already been stacked with papers, sat down, and began his work.  

The papers were nothing he wasn't used to; he had filled out these kinds of reports again and again, both his and sometimes Eric’s, through the years and they were mind-numbingly easy.  When Alan felt his hand begin to cramp after writing for so long, he decided to take his lunch break, soon discovering that he couldn't so much as stand up without getting curious looks.  As he left the room he was sure he heard hushed whispers begin when they thought him to be out of earshot, and it didn't stop there:

In the queue for lunch everyone ignored him, reaching past him for plates and bowls, hurrying along the line before he had the chance to get what he wanted.  

Secretarial all turned up their noses at him when he passed.

People he had once had friendly conversations with now scowled at him, or ignored him completely.

This was worse than being kept in a cell; at least there he had had Eric, at least there he hadn't had to endure the whispers and scowls.  He supposed that this was the real punishment; not being stripped of his scythe and his rank, not being confined to a desk for the next century, but being treated like a criminal by everyone around him.

Then again, he supposed that's what he was.

At the end of the day he carried the stack of finished papers to William's office after making sure each one was completed perfectly.  The Director said nothing, only looking up from his work to point to the spot on his desk where the work should be set.  Alan did so, then turned to leave, but stopped short of the door.

“...Sir?” he asked timidly, turning back around, “I was wondering if I could ask you something?”

William glanced up from his papers, looking mildly annoyed as he capped his pen.  “Yes?”

“Er...” he fumbled for the right words, “I was just wondering, sir, if you knew what the date of Eric's...” he struggled for the word, “...execution is on.”

The Director raised an eyebrow.  “Six days from today at three o'clock in the afternoon.  You were there, Humphries, just as I was, when it was set.”

“Yes, of course,” Alan agreed hastily, “I had forgotten you were there... and perhaps it is just to me but doesn't a week seem like a very short amount of time between sentencing and execution?  In fact, doesn't execution for this crime seem severe in and of itself?”

William only frowned.  “I hope you are not implying that the counsel has made an unjust decision; while Reaper Slingby did save your life, he unlawfully-”

“I know,” Alan cut across, stepping towards the desk, “but saving my life must count for something, right?  He discovered that the cure for the Thorns of Death isn't just a folklore and-”

“And that may encourage others in the future to follow his path.  Did you ever think that, perhaps, the cure was stated as a myth intentionally?  To prevent reapers, such as Mr. Slingby, from committing the same crimes?”

Alan's eyes widened.  “Sir do you mean that-”

“I am not saying it is a fact, I am merely asking you if you considered the possibility.”

He shook his head, still dumbstruck.  “No, sir, I did not.”

“I thought as much.  Now please leave my office; I have work to finish.”

But Alan did not leave.  “Sir,” he insisted, “I was also hoping to ask that, since you are the Director of his branch perhaps you could talk to the Counsel and ask them to reconsider Eric's execution.  After all you were his boss for many years and can attest to-”

“I said all that I had to say yesterday, Mr. Humphries.  Besides I have no influence on their decision; Mr. Slingby was found guilty and therefore he must be executed.”

“Yes I know, but-”

“There is nothing to be done about it.”

“But I thought that perhaps-”

“This conversation is over, Mr. Humphries.”

“But it isn't fair!” Alan burst out passionately.  “I know that what Eric did was wrong but he doesn't deserve to die for it!”

William seemed startled by the outburst.  “Mr. Humphries, I must ask you-”

“He didn't want to kill them!  He was desperate, but he didn't kill them for fun!  He made their deaths painless, he tried to make them happy before they died!  Please, he isn't a monster he doesn't deserve to die!  If it wasn't for him I may very well be dead right now, and perhaps that doesn't count for much but it must mean something!  Execution should be saved for those who kill so many people for pleasure!”  A thought crossed his mind and left his mouth before he could stop it.  “Grell wasn't executed for their crimes, and they killed those people for no reason!  You've said yourself how they did it for fun!”

“That is a different case!” William stood from his seat, sending the seat rolling behind him, and looked down at Alan with a glare that trainees feared.  “And it did not involve the murder of one thousand innocent human beings!”

“But it involved the brutal murder of five!  Eric would never have considered doing what Grell did to their victims!”

“That case was handled accordingly,” William said through gritted teeth, “and a sentence given that was seen fit by the counsel.”

“Everyone knows you fought for a lighter sentence for them,” Alan spat back.  

William flushed at the accusation and opened his mouth to argue, but Alan cut him off again.

“Please, sir, I'm only asking you to talk to them!  Ask them not to execute Eric, to lighten his punishment!  Banish him, anything is better than death!  They can banish me, too, if they'd like; that would be fair right?”

“You can not be punished for crimes that are not your own,” William said coolly, “nor can Mr. Slingby's punishment be lightened because you wish to take it from him.  He is punished for his crimes, and you for yours.  That is what is fair and that is what will be done.”

“Like hell it's fair!”

“The council has made their decision.”

“To hell with the council!”

“Mr. Humprhies this conversation is over!  I will ask you once again to leave my office and if you do not I will escort you out!  Now good day!”

Alan stood there for a moment, fuming, before grabbing a paperweight and hurling it at the wall, nearly hitting William in the head or shoulder.  “Damn you!  Damn the council!  Damn it all!”  And then he left, greeted by the many different stares of his coworkers.  

“The devil are you looking at?” he demanded.  “Haven't you got anything better to do than to stare at me?”

Some of them looked away awkwardly, moving from Alan's path as he walked back to his desk and slumped down into his chair, head in his hands.

It was a few moments later that Alan heard a familiar voice, “You know, I don't think I've ever heard you lose your temper like that before.  Who knew you'd dare yell at a senior officer, and at William no less?”

“Grell!” Alan looked up.  “Ronald!”

“Heya, Senior,” said Ronald with a grin.

“I'm not your Senior anymore, Ronald.  My rank was stripped.”

“Oh I know,” he said, waving it off, “but I've called you that since I started here; no reason to go back now.”

Alan almost grinned.  “It's good to see the two of you again; you're the first people who have dared talk to me all day.”

“Sorry we didn't stop by sooner; we had a full list today.” Ronald apologized.

“If you've been acting like you did in William's office all day then I can see why people have been avoiding you; you're fearsome sounding when you're angry,” added Grell, and Ronald nodded in agreement.

“I haven't been like that all day!  Everyone's just been avoiding me, or staring at me.  I know I'm the talk of the offices but they could at least be subtle about it.”

“Well what do you expect?  This is the biggest scandal to happen around here in centuries; people are interested.”

“I suppose, but still they don't need to stare at me or whisper every time I turn my back.  I'd like to think that I've been through enough.”

Ron nodded and Grell made a small noise of agreement.  Alan sighed and turned back to his desk, straightening up the few things left on it.  It was so odd to be missing all of the things that had once been on it, the little trinkets he had picked up from the living world...

“Oh!” Ronald exclaimed suddenly, “I forgot until just now, but I broughtcha this.”  He reached a hand out, pulling from his thin air a blue picture frame holding a portrait that Alan recognized.

“Where'd you get this?” he asked, taking the frame quickly.  It was a picture of he and Eric, one that had sat on his desk for years.

“When they were clearin' off your things from your old desk I grabbed it,” he smiled.  “Figured it was important to ya.”

A soft smile crossed Alan's face.  “Yes... thank you, Ronald.”  He set the picture on his desk, turning away in the chair to avoid showing how his eyes were misting up.  A hand patted him on the back.

“C'mon, let's go get some drinks, huh?” the younger reaper suggested.  “Get your mind off things.”

Alan just shook his head, wiping away the tears before they fell.  “No, no thank you.  I... I'm going to go visit Eric.  There's only six days until...” he trailed off.

“We understand,” Grell nodded.  “Go on; say hello to that handsome man for me.”

“He's not exactly happy with you,” Alan mentioned, standing up.  “After all you did help find him out.  Same goes to you, Ron.”

Grell merely shrugged.  “I was as surprised as anyone to find out that it was him, but facts are facts.”

“I was just following orders,” Ronald shrugged as well.  “I woulda done the same if it were anyone else.”

Alan nodded understandingly.  “Yes, I suppose that's a good thing then; the last thing the two of you needed was to get mixed up in this.  Director Spears would have blown a gasket if there were four of us in trouble, let alone just me and Eric.”

Alan said goodbye to the two of them, possibly the only friends he had remaining in the office, and left.  He was going to go and see Eric, and if they refused then he would find a way in.  He only had six days left; they weren't going to take those away from him.

It was a good twenty minutes of arguing and not-budging before it got through their heads that Alan was not leaving until he was allowed to see Eric and that it was best to just let him do it before he caused a bigger scene than had already been caused.  As it turned out the time allotted for visiting hours was during work, and so Alan would likely have to fight this battle every time he showed up.

“Can't you take those damn things off?” Alan inquired when they brought Eric out still wearing handcuffs of reinforced holy steel.  They were the grade normally used to hold captured demons, a rarity but not an unheard of occurrence.  Supposedly they were one of the only things that even the strongest reapers couldn't break, even if the divine nature of the steel didn't affect them.

“It's for your safety,” said one of the guards simply.

“Like hell,” Alan spat back.  “It's for you to get your kicks; keep a reaper in some cuffs and it's as if you've got yourself a caged animal.  He hasn't a scythe or any type of weapon to work with and if he tried to overpower you it would be three against one so-”

“Alan,” Eric's voice cut across, “it's fine.”

Alan looked back at Eric, whose hands hung uselessly in front of him, movement limited by the cuffs.  It certainly didn't look fine, and no matter what he said Alan was not going to be happy with it, but for the time he stopped arguing.

They were allowed to sit in a small room that contained nothing more than a small table and two chairs.  One guard on the other side of the room near the door and held a scythe with a curved saw blade, the other two sitting outside of the room with similar weapons.  Alan almost commented on how absurd it all was, but then reminded himself that the rest of the world viewed Eric as one of the worst criminals in centuries, so of course they would pull out all of the stops for security.

“You're awfully testy today,” Eric commented, starting a conversation to break the observational silence.  “Bad day back at work?”

Alan nearly shuttered.  “I don't even want to think about it.  They treat me like some sort of animal there, like I'm on display or something.  Most people wouldn't even talk to me.  I think a good few of them might be afraid of me now, since I...” he trailed off, embarrassed about his outburst earlier in the day.

“Since you... what?” Eric inquired, obviously interested.

“Since I... basically told Senior Spears to go to hell and then threw a paperweight at his head.”

“Alan!” Eric tried to scold him, but he was laughing.  “You what?  Really?”

“He was being infuriating!  Treating me like, like some sort of-”

“Criminal?  Believe me, I know the feeling.”  Eric raised his shackled hands and shook them so that the chain made a clinking sound.

The room went silent after that, neither party knowing what to say.  It was Eric again who broke it.

“How do you feel?”

Alan blinked, thinking it an odd question.  He felt awful, of course, with everything they'd been through lately.  But… he knew what Eric was referring to.

“Perfect,” he answered after a few seconds of deliberation.  “I've felt perfect since... there's no trouble breathing, no pain... no anything.  It's just like they vanished, or something.”

The grin Eric wore did not belong on the face of a man who was sitting in handcuffs and six days away from his execution; he looked as if every bit of worry that had ever crossed his face had disappeared, as if he had nothing else in the world to fear.

“I can't believe it worked,” he admitted, “I was afraid of it all being for nothing.”

Alan averted his eyes, a finger drumming rhythmically on the side of his chair.  Mumbling, but still making it loud enough for Eric to hear, Alan said, “One thousand and one souls, all so I can live.”

“A thousand,” Eric corrected, “One thousand souls, not one thousand and one.”

Alan shook his head, head still turned away from the man sitting across the table.  “No, one thousand and one.  You’re going to die, Eric; you’re going to die because of this.  Yours is another to add to the total.  One thousand and one souls… wasted.”

“You’re alive.  That’s not a waste. That makes it worth it.”

“But now you’re going to die!” Alan cut across sharply.  “Put aside the fact that a thousand innocent people are dead, you’re going to die!”

“I don’t care,” he easily admitted, and the response shocked Alan into silence.  “I don’t care that I’m going to die; you’re alive, and that’s all that matters to me.”

Alan’s jaw set, and he looked Eric square in the eyes.  “Did you ever take the time to think that maybe I care?  That maybe I don’t want you to die?”

Eric had no retort; Alan continued, “Now not only are a thousand innocent people dead, but you’re going to leave me!  You’re going to die in six days and… and leave me all alone!”  He clenched his teeth and swallowed the knot in his throat, refusing to cry here.  “You’re going to leave me all alone… that’s worse than being dead.”

“Alan-”

“Don’t try to pretend you don’t think the same thing.  After all, you’d rather have me alive and you dead than the other way around, because at least then you don’t have to live without me, right?  But now it’s the other way around… and I… I hate you for it.”

This silence wasn’t like the others; it was cold and sharp as Eric considered what had been said to him.  The chains on his hands jingled as he tried to move, but he stayed in his chair, dumbstruck, humiliated.

“Alan…”

Alan didn’t look to him; he kept his head turned to the side, away from Eric and away from the guards.  He would not cry, he wouldn’t.

“Alan, you’re stronger than me, that’s why you need to live,” Eric finally said, voice full of shame.  “I couldn’t make it without you; you’re the only thing I have, don’t you get it?  But you… you’re not like that.  Alan you have so much to live for!  To you the world is beautiful, full of light and flowers and stories that you want to read over and over again…  To me the world is dark, but if I had you at least I could be happy…”  He sighed, and his last words were muttered,  “I wouldn’t be living if you weren’t here, anyway… but you can live… you can be happy in this world.”

There was a quivver in Eric’s deep voice, something as familiar to Alan as it was hated.  Alan’s fingernails dug into his palms, fists clenching as he fought the knot in his throat.

“Be happy?  You think I can be happy?  Eric I-” his voice cracked, and Alan cursed it, “I can’t be happy-!  Not like this!  Not knowing that 1000 people died to save me, not knowing that the man I love is going to die because he allowed me to live!  How could you say I can be happy like this?!”

“Maybe not now,” Eric allowed, voice full of a sort of sad calm, “but someday.  Someday you’ll be happy again, Alan.”

“Like hell!”  He looked at Eric, whose gaze was turned down, and resisted the urge to lunge across the table and shake him by the front of his shirt.  “I can’t be happy, Eric!  Not now, not ever in the future!”

“Alan-”

“No, listen to me!  A thousand people died for me, Eric, a thousand people!  A thousand lives ended so mine could continue!  And now you, one of maybe three people left in any world who doesn’t think I’m off my rocker or that I should have been left to die, is going to be dead in less than a week and make it a thousand and one.  How do you-” he cursed his cracking voice again “how do you expect me to be able to be happy with that sort of guilt?!”

He was met with silence.  Alan bowed his head, feeling his shoulders begin to shake against his strongest attempts to stop them.  Eric shifted in his chair, trying to reach a hand out to comfort him, but the metal chain connecting his wrists clanked and held him back.  Because of this, Eric resorted back to words.

“I… I didn’t think you’d take responsibility for it onto yourself, Alan.  ‘S my fault all those people are dead, not yours.  I didn’t think you’d take that guilt, I didn’t want that.”

Without looking up, Alan replied, “It’s still my fault, what happened.  Even if you killed those people, it was for my sake.  If it weren’t for me… if you hadn’t been doing it for me, none of them would have died, and you wouldn’t be here.”

“But you’d be dead!”

“Of my own doing!  I brought the fate upon myself, Eric!”

“But that doesn’t mean you deserve it!” “I deserve it more than those innocent people you killed!”

“No!”  There was pain in Eric’s voice, choking out his words.  “Alan just… just no!  You’re one of the best people there ever could be, reaper or human or anything else!  You deserve to live, Alan… you deserve.. t-to be happy!  That’s all I wanted for ya!”

Apparently Alan was having an easier time holding back his tears.  Eric slammed his hands down on the flimsy table before them, making it shake.  He clenched his fists and swallowed hard and Alan wanted nothing more in the world than to grab him and hold him and kiss him until the tears went away, like Eric had done to him many times before.

“...I was happy,” said Alan softly.  “I was happy, Eric, before all of this.  I had you, and Grell and Ronald…  I was good at my job and I did my best at it, and I liked it.” “But the Thorns-”

“Sure, I had them… but I was still happy, Eric.  Sick, but happy, because I had everything I needed.”  He shook his head.  “I… I didn’t ask for all this…”

Looking up, Alan could only think that he had never seen such a pained expression on his lover’s face.  A couple of tears escaped Eric’s eyes and he lifted his hands, wiping them away.  The knot in his throat was visible as he swallowed it again and again, trying to keep it down.  Alan, deciding that he didn’t care if there was a guard watching them or if he was supposed to stay in his seat, stood and walked around the table, pushing it away from Eric and his chair and sitting on his lap with his arms around Eric’s neck.  He kissed him, his chin, cheek, and lips, then rested his forehead on his shoulder.  Eric, unable to do anything but keep his arms and hands close to him, rested his head on Alan’s shoulder in return, and the two of them stayed like that until the guards demanded that Alan had to leave.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”  Eric’s voice hinted at incredible loneliness, even though Alan was still right beside him.

“Of course.”  He stroked Eric’s hair a bit and kissed him again, finding it a great struggle pull his hand away from his lover’s face.

He managed, though, straightened himself out, and walked out of the room as the guards took Eric roughly by the arms and lead him back to his cell.  Alan noted how dark it had become and began to walk swiftly back home, wiping the few tears that fell onto his face.  

It was then that he made a decision, one that would likely cost him either his life as he knew it, or just plain his life.

He was going to get Eric out of there.  Whatever the cost.

The first thing Alan received the next morning was a thorough tongue-lashing from Director Spears, who was extremely not happy with how he had acted the previous evening.  Alan couldn’t remember the last time the Director had spoken to him in that way, and it was likely due to the fact that he never had; Alan had always been an exemplary reaper, even since he was a trainee.  Director Spears had never had a reason to do more than lightly scold him, perhaps for helping Eric with his paperwork once too often.

Alan wasn’t sure how long the lecture ended up lasting, but he did know that by the time he was allowed to leave the office he was both extremely angry and extremely hungry.  Ignoring the blatantly large stack of papers on his desk, Alan decided to head for the cafeteria and get himself some lunch.  There he received the same rude treatment as yesterday, was stared and whispered at just like yesterday, and sat at a table all alone, just like yesterday.

Unlike yesterday, however, he soon found himself joined by two smiling faces.

“Eating alone, handsome~?” cooed Grell, sashaying their way over to his table with Ronald in toe.

“Not anymore, I suppose,” Alan chuckled a bit.

“Ah, here, Senior,” grinned Ron as he sat forward in the chair he had appropriated, “I grabbed this for ya.”  He took a small plate and set it onto Alan’s tray; Alan saw that on the plate was a brownie, his favorite sweet.

“I thought they were out!” he smiled, hurrying to take a bite, ignoring the actual food he had picked.

“Eh, I saw the way the girl in front of you swiped it right before you could get there, so I asked her real nicely if I could have it instead.”

“Never underestimate the power of a pretty face,” Grell teased, reaching over and pinching Ronald’s cheek.  He whined like a child and batted the hand away.  Alan laughed.

“Thank you, Ronald I appreciate it.”  Taking the brownie in his hand and taking a bite, the noise Alan made was one he only ever made in two situations, which were while biting into absolutely delicious food, and having sex with Eric.  “Gods… I haven’t had one of these in forever.”

“Didn’t get much to eat on the run?” Grell asked.  “I can tell; you’ve gotten thinner.”

Alan acknowledged this, though knew it wasn’t entirely from his lack of food.  The Thorns had ravaged his body and left him a weaker shell of his former self, and being on the run with less than normal to eat hadn’t helped.  Alan knew he’d grown thinner, but he knew he could get stronger again.  After all, he could breath better than he had in years, he could sleep through a night without waking up in absolute agony…  It was going to be a journey but Alan was going to do the one thing nobody ever thought possible; he was going to recover.

“So, it feel good to be back?” Ron eventually asked, still nursing a sore cheek from Grell’s pinch.

Alan shrugged.  “More or less.  I mean, all I do is sit at my desk all day, so it’s not really the same.”  His glasses clinked when he adjusted them.  “And I do rather miss my old frames… but I suppose I’ll get them back eventually.”  In a few centuries or so, his mind bitterly added.

Ronald nodded sympathetically.  “Yeah, it’s rough, Senior, but I’m sure you’ll bounce back.  After all, you’re more hardworking than anyone else in the place; maybe they’ll let you off early for good behavior.”  

Alan laughed, flat and hollow because he didn’t really find it funny.  Grell started to talk about one thing or another, fashion or work or food, Alan wasn’t really sure.  He paid attention to his meal, even going back up to get more.  Grell commented that it was good of him, that he needed to get meat back on his bones.  Ronald offered to go sweet-talk another girl into giving him her brownie, but Alan declined, saying he needed to get back to his desk before Director Spears blew another gasket.

He did his work, dotted his I’s and crossed his T’s, signing his name at the bottom of each form that required it.  Grell brought him some tea, Ronald a muffin, and each talked to him for a few minutes, but other than that his downtime was solitary.

That was fine.

Alan spent it thinking, thinking about Eric and those guard and that prison hell he was in.  He was going to try something dangerous, something unheard of and something that was probably going to get him killed.  Well, he figured, better dead than to live forever without Eric.  His life, after all, had always been so dark, as a Reaper’s was meant to be, but just as he was Eric’s light, Eric was his.  Without him, without the one thing to illuminate his dark existence, Alan saw no reason to keep on going, especially if he was going to be stuck at a desk for a thousand years, having to bear the whispers and stares behind his back.

Alan’s chair in the visitor’s room of the prison was left cold, because he sat himself straight on Eric’s lap instead, taking every moment he could to touch and kiss him.  Eric asked about his day, about work, about Grell and Ronald and Director Spears, about the food in the mess hall and the things people were saying.  Alan answered every question he could, probably with more words than he needed because that kept him from talking about things Eric couldn’t know, about things Eric would try to stop him from doing.  The less he knew the better.

They kissed one last time when the guards told Alan for what had to be the ninth time that he had to leave.  It was difficult to pull away from, for Eric especially, and Alan could see that fear in his eyes that this would be the last time he’d see Alan even if he was supposed to have days left.

“I’ll come back for you.”  A promise sealed with a kiss.

“I’ll be waiting.”  A statement given with pleading eyes.  Eric was led away, Alan forced from the building like some useless vagabond on the streets of Paris.

This was the routine.  For two more days Alan did little but work, visit with Eric, and go home for the evening.  The relief on Eric’s face grew more obvious each visit, just as the hugs grew tighter and the kisses longer.  Alan could see the fear pooling steadily in Eric’s eyes each day as he tried his best to fight it back.  There was so much Alan wanted to say to quell his lover’s fears, to calm him and steady the subtle shake in his hands.  But he couldn’t.  He couldn’t say anything.  That would be too risky.

It was at lunchtime on the third day, two days before the execution, that Grell and Ronald pulled up plastic cafeteria chairs to the small table Alan had been occupying by himself.  They both looked at him with somewhat displeased expressions until Alan set down his fork and asked what they were doing.

“We’re joining you,” Grell responded simply.

“I can see that you’re joining me for lunch, but-” “Not for lunch, senior!” Ronald rolled his eyes, scooting the chair closer and closer.  “For that!”

“That?”

“Oh don’t pretend like you don’t know what we’re talking about, Alan.  Cluelessness doesn’t suit an intelligent thing like you.”  The redhead rolled their eyes, lowering their voice to a whisper that sounded unnecessarily chilling.  “We know about your plan to rescue darling Eric, and we want in!”

“!”  Alan nearly spat out his tea, looking back and forth at the two of them as his mouth tried to form words but only made soundless motions.

“I-I don’t know what the two of you are going on about!” he managed to stutter.  “That’s absolutely ridiculous!”

“Oh yes, soooooo ridiculous.  Just as ridiculous as you thinking that ripping up a piece of paper three times will prevent someone from being able to read it.”

As if on cue, Ronald produced a single sheet of paper on which there was a vaguely diagram-ish sketch with notes written in the margins.  It had been ripped into four pieces but reattached with clear tape.  Alan flushed at the realization that yeah, he really should have ripped that up better.

“You see, to me, this ridiculous little paper looks like a very poorly-drawn map of where your darling Eric’s being held.  But I’m sure that’s a coincidence, right?”

Alan opened his mouth to reply but Grell cut across.

“And oh, that looks like some writing in the margins!  Let’s see, what does it say?”  Snatching the paper from Ronald’s grasp, Grell adjusted their glasses and read the paper through them.  “Hmm… looks like there’s a list…  One beginner’s scythe… a pair of trainee’s glasses… hm, rather boring really.  And then some things just don’t make sense.  “Early morning lowest security”?  “Maybe get in through the window”?  Alan darling, I can see why you threw hit paper away.  You’d never get anywhere with plans like these.”

Alan wanted to die.  No, actually, he wanted to kill.  To kill the redhead in front of him and maybe even Ronald as he snickered in his chair.  He thought he’d been so careful!  Well he did suppose he could have torn up that paper better, but who goes through somebody else’s trash!?

Grell, that was who.

“What do you want?” Alan asked, his glasses slipping up his forehead as he put his eyes in the palms of his hands.  “What’ll it take to keep you quiet?  Honestly, you two, I’ll do anything.”

“We don’t want anything, senior!” Ronald laughed, clapping Alan on the back.  “Like we said, we wanna help you!”

“You’ll never get anywhere with plans like this!”  There was the sound of paper being ripped.  Well, re-ripped.  “Did you really think you could pull something like this off on your own?  Darling you’re smart but you aren’t exactly in the best shape you’ve ever been in, and you’d need the help even if you were.”

Alan replaced the glasses on his nose, staring at the two of them.  “Wait, you’re both serious?”

“Completely.”

“100%!”

To say he was baffled would be an understatement.  Grell he could think would perhaps not mind breaking the rules that would be required to be broken, but Ronald was a rather well-behaved member of the Dispatch!

“But… why would you?”

“Oh just think about it!”  Alan swore Grell’s eyes literally turned into hearts as they clutched their hands to their chest and nearly swooned.  “Eric’s sacrificed himself to save you, his dying love, and now you want to return the favor by helping him escape!  It’s all so tragic and romantic~!”  

“I wouldn’t say we exactly have the same reason,” Ronald grinned sheepishly at his mentor, then at Alan.  “I’m just doing it because I don’t think Senior Slingby deserves to die, y’know?  And if you’re gonna try and break him out, I don’t see why I can’t help.”

Alan’s mouth moved around words but produced no sound.  He fumbled for an reply, only managing, “But if you’re caught-”

“We won’t be,” Grell assured.  “Ronnie and I already came up with a perfect plan; all that’s left to do is execute it.”

“You did?”

“Yep!  But we probably shouldn’t talk about it here, huh?  How about we get together after word and figure everything out?”  Ronald’s grin was megawatt, and Alan found it almost contagious.

“Alright, but I have to go see Eric first.”

“We’ll meet at your flat once you’re done,” Grell assured.

And they did.  Ronald had apparently gotten his hands on an old map of the prison from way back in some documents - why there was a map of the prison mixed in with a bunch of documents was a question with no answer - and Grell had formulated their plan of attack.  It really was brilliant, if Alan was being honest, and definitely required more than one person to pull off.  For a few hours they sat at Alan’s kitchen table with the map spread out and held at the corners with empty glasses.  Eric, from what he’d told Alan had been able to piece together, was held in one of the inner cells because it was very small and had no window to the outside world.  That meant it was most likely in block C, but block D was a possibility.  Grell’s job was getting them into the building, which would consist of a lot of rooftop perching and guard fighting, two things they both knew Grell was good at.  Once Ronald and Alan were inside Grell would stay outside to make sure none of them got up and interfered.

Ronald was the one providing the tools; three trainee scythes and extra trainee glasses; his or Grell’s custom scythes and glasses would surely give away their identities.  Grell’s red hair was to be braided and pinned up under a hat, and any red on their uniform to be left at home.  Plain black and white only, and the scythes were only to be used to knock the guards out, not kill them (much to Grell’s disappointment).

When inside Ronald and Alan would try to stay hidden, only dealing with necessary guards that they came across.  Then they’d snag the keys, let Eric out, and he and Alan would get as far away as physically possible.  It wasn’t perfect, but it was as good as it was going to get.

“I can’t believe we’re going to do this.”  Alan sat, head in his hands and leaning on the table before him.  “We’re actually going to do this…”

“Just make sure you two get far away,” Grell nodded.  “Farther than they can reach.”

“We’ll leave the country; the London Dispatch has no reach anywhere else.”

“News of you might spread,” said Ronald.

“We’ll just keep running,” shrugged Alan.  “And fight them off, if we have to.”  He hoped they didn’t have to.

The silence was sobering, each one running through everything in their minds.  Ronald broke it.

“I’ll miss the both of you,” he smiled a bit.  “You and Eric have been good friends.  I’ll just be happy knowing you two’re far away and doing good for yourselves.”

Alan smiled.  “Thank you, Ronald,” he said, “I appreciate that.”  And he did.

“I’d ask you to write but that could be dangerous,” Grell admitted, a little smile of their own reaching across painted lips.  “I’m sure we’ll hear of you, though, through the grapevine.”

That made him chuckle.  “Yes, I’m sure you will.”

Then they were quiet again.  After a while Grell noted the time, and said that they and Ronald should each be getting home.  The three of them had been discussing plans until well into the night, and would need their rest for the following day.  Alan saw them out, ever the courteous host, then found himself in an empty apartment with nothing but his thoughts.

Sleeping that night was more than difficult, but Alan somehow forced himself to.  The  next day went by both too quickly and too slowly, events blurring together in his mind until it was evening and he once again sat with Eric in a nearly empty room.  Eric… Eric was a mess.  Only once had Alan ever seen his lover so completely terrified, and that was on the night the Earl’s pet demon had nearly captured them both.  He tried to keep calm, to be happy, but to do so while one’s execution loomed overhead was a task nobody could accomplish.

“I’m here, Eric,” Alan held his hands and tried to smile.  “It’s going to be alright.”

“Yeah…  Yeah, I know.”  But he didn’t know.  He couldn’t know, because Alan hadn’t told him, hadn’t dared utter a single word of his plan.  Still, Eric did what Eric always did, and tried to be the brave one.

When the visit was over Alan was all but pulled from Eric’s lap, and Alan pushed past a guard to get one more kiss.

“You’ll see me again,” he promised.  The other man could only nod, then be lead away.  Alan watched him go, then left the building before he could allow himself to cry.  Eric wouldn’t die, he wouldn’t.  Not if he had anything to say about it and oh lord did he have something to say.

He rushed home, finding Grell and Ronald there was planned.  They would wait until early morning to do anything, that way there would be less people to see them.  The only people out at that time, Ronald attested, were at bars getting drunk off their asses.

“Trust me, I know from lots of experience.”

So they waited, and they talked, and Grell braided and pinned up their hair and secured it under a black hat.  Alan packed his scythespace full of clothes for him and Eric, as well as other essentials.  He left everything that was not needed, and found that somehow he was not sad to be leaving his apartment.  After all, it felt so empty without Eric there to fill it.  He’d be fine… they’d be fine.  

“Alright, let’s get going,” said Ronald, closing his pocket watch and standing from his seat on Alan’s couch.  “You got everything you need, Senior?”

Alan nodded, buttoning up his jacket.  “I think so.  Clothes, money, food, matches and other things like that…  I think it’ll be enough for a while.”

“I look so horribly bland like this, “Grell, whined, completely ignoring Alan and grimacing at their reflection in a mirror hanging on the wall.  “You’re lucky, Alan; I wouldn’t do this for just anyone.”

“Thank you, Grell,” he chuckled, “and you too, Ronald.”  He gave them each a smile; he really was lucky to have them each as friends.  It was a shame he’d never see them again after that night.

“Ain’t nothing,” Ron grinned.  “Now let’s get on, hm?”

The only sound to pierce the night was their footsteps, light and quick.  When they were a suitable distance from the prison they took to rooftops.  Ronald and Alan waited behind chimney-pots when Grell’s turn came about.  They took one of the scythes Ronald had fetched and descended upon the unsuspecting guards.  The other two watched and waited for every last guard to be on the ground before following Grell’s path.

“Alright, your turn,” the redhead grinned, twisting a key into the door’s lock and cracking it open.  In the moonlight the smile looked insane, but that was not unusual.  Alan thanked them for a job well-done before ducking into the building.

He and Ronald walked instead of ran, making their footfalls silent against concrete floors.  There were faint sounds of movement, but it was impossible to tell if they were from guards or inmates.  Either way, they followed the path the map had provided them and tried to get to cellblock C.  A guard stood at the door, very confused when the two reapers ran up to him and even more confused when he was hit over the head with the blunt end of a scythe.  He was unconscious immediately, but the sound of the scuffle had been a bit louder than would have been preferred.

“Here’s the keys,” Ronald whispered, pulling a key-ring from the guard’s belt.  Judging by the amount of keys there was one for every cell in the block, as well as one for the block’s door.  “I’ll keep watch out here incase anyone comes to check up on things.”

“Alright.  I’ll be in and out as quickly as I can be.”

And Alan ran.  His heart beat so loudly he could hear it in his ears and he wished beyond wishing that the Thorns had not put him in such pitiable health.  He could feel his lungs begin to ache as he passed empty cell after empty cell, but did not slow down.  He could stop later, he could breath later; he just had to get Eric and get out.

It was in one of the final cells that he found him, the sole occupant of the C block pacing back and forth in his room.  The handcuffs he had always had to wear during their meetings were absent and he was wringing his hands nervously.  Three steps was all it took for him to get from one end of the cell to the other, on account of both his size and the cell’s lack thereof.  There was no lighting in the cell and everything was dim, even for a reaper’s fine sight; besides Alan’s panting all that could be heard were Eric’s feet as they hit the floor.  Alan watched him make one pass through the cell, then a second, before realizing that Eric had absolutely no idea he was there.

“Eric,” he said, softly at first then with more force, “Eric!”

He jumped, nearly stumbling backwards onto his cot and staring dumbly at the bars..  “...Alan?”  His eyes widened, and he snapped forward as far as he could before being stopped by metal.  “Is that you?”

“Of course it is!” Alan beamed.  “But shh, quiet down.  We don’t want anyone to hear.”

While Eric gaped Alan fiddled with the keys, trying to find which one went to the door.  This was easier said than done as the ring had at least fifty keys on it.

“They could have at least numbered these things, bloody hell,” he sighed.

“What are you doing?” Eric asked.  “Where’d you get those keys?  How did you get in here?!”

“Setting you free, the guard outside, and very carefully.”

Eric only gaped again.  Alan got through six more keys before finally finding the right one.  The barred door swung open with a creak and Alan’s heart raced.  Eric stood there, still dumbfounded, until the other grabbed his hand and pulled him forward.

“C’mon,” he said, “no time to lose!”

And then they were running, Alan’s hand gripping Eric’s so tightly that he wondered if it hurt.  They ran out the door of block D, dropping the keys and picking up Ronald in the process.  He ran behind them, offering up nothing but a wide grin and a clap on the back.  Silence didn’t matter at that point, only speed.  They ran as fast as all their legs could take them and Alan didn’t even care about the burning in his lungs until they reached the courtyard outside the prison where Grell was waiting.  Then he collapsed onto the grass, giddy and laughing while covering his mouth with one hand as he tried to catch his breath.  They’d done it, they’d done it!

“It worked!” Ronald cheered, but Grell shushed him.

“Not yet, pup, not until they’ve gotten far away.”  They extended a hand to help Alan up. “C’mon, you can rest later.”

Alan nodded, taking the hand offered to him and jumping up from the ground.  “You’re right, we need to get out of here.”

“First you should get changed.”  Grell observed Eric critically.  “Prison clothes don’t suit you, darling, and frankly they make you stand out.”

“Red,” Eric stared at them, then at Ronald, “Ron…  What’re you two doing here?”

“Helping Alan, of course,” grinned the youngest of them.  “We couldn’t just sit by and watch you get executed.  Wasn’t fair, ya know?”  He leaned against Eric, pretending to buff his nails on his chest.  “We came up with the plan all in a day and a half; pretty impressive, right?”

“We don’t have time to sit and chat,” Grell urged again, “We have to leave; these guards might start waking up and we don’t need them knowing who we are.”

“That’s true,” Alan agreed and once again grabbed onto Eric’s wrist, “let’s get out of here before that happens.”

There was more running, and this time they only stopped when they were safely behind the chimney pots Alan and Ronald had used as cover earlier in the night.  Alan retrieved Eric’s clothes and Eric changed into them, leaving his prison uniform bundled between the stacks.  Ronald, ever planning ahead, provided Eric with a pair of trainees glasses.

“I know they’re not exactly your fit,” Ronald admitted, “but I got them as close as I could.”

“They’re fine,” Eric promised.  “I just… I can’t believe you did this for me.”  He sounded close to tears, relief washing over him as he took in that this was all completely real.

“To be quite honest, neither can I,” Grell shrugged, but smiled.  “I couldn’t watch my little trainee get snuffed out like that.”

Eric grinned, grabbing Grell and Ronald and hugging them each with one arm.  They each laughed, Grell playfully pushing him off and swatting his arm to tell him, “Save the affection for Alan.”

“We need to get going,” Alan reminded him.  “Grell, Ronald… thank you.  Thank you for everything you did to help me.  I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“No, you couldn’t have,” Grell admitted.  “Now just get out of here.  Run until you’re far away from this miserable old place, and promise for me you won’t get caught.”  They bent and kissed Alan’s forehead, then Eric’s cheek.  “We’ll get back and when the news breaks we’ll pretend like we have no idea what happened.”

“I appreciate it,” Alan smiled, then taking Eric’s hand.  “Grell, Ronald… it’s been good to know you.”

“Back at ya,” Ronald smiled.  “You two’ve been great.  Go and keep it up, alright?”

“We will,” Alan chuckled.  “Just for you, I promise.”

Eric smiled at them, then bent over to kiss his lover’s lips.  “Alright, let’s get out of here, huh?”

And they did.  They ran and ran and ran.  The cold night air chilled their lungs and their bones and they couldn’t help but stop to hold each other and kiss as if to make sure this was real and not some kind of mad fantasy each of them had dreamed up in a fit of hopelessness.

“Were are we even going?” Eric asked at one point.

“No idea,” Alan admitted.  “I’ll go anywhere, so long as it’s not here.”

The other nodded, then suggested, “I’ve… always kinda wanted to see Italy.  Never got the chance, though, with work being how it was.”

Alan’s fingers gripped Eric’s hand tighter, and he nodded.  “Italy it is, then.”

When morning broke news of the escape was known by all as word made its way around.  Alan’s apartment was searched but all that was found was empty drawers and a missing employee.  Grell and Ronald insisted they had no idea what could have happened, but smiled only at each other when nobody was looking.

For months, it was news, then it was just a story.  A story as fantastic and unbelievable as The Thorns of Death.  This was the story of two reapers who each escaped their grisly fates, and lived to tell the tale… but only to each other.

Epilogue London Dispatch, 2015

“That’s really them, isn’t it?” Ronald grinned, staring at the computer screen as Grell scrolled slowly through different pictures.  “I can’t believe you found them!” “It was luck, really,” Grell admitted with a smile.  “Turns out darling Alan started a blog to keep track of all the places he and Eric have been…  Looks like they recently went to that mirror salt flat in Bolivia… just look at the pictures.”

The pictures spoke of were of the pair mentioned above, holding hands and kissing as their reflections did the same.  Eric wore jeans and boots a hoodie that would be oversized on any normal person except for him, and Alan wore much the same but with a fitted green jacket rather than a hoodie; he always had been the more fashionable one.  And though it was small, Grell could see the glint of small, golden bands around each of their left ring fingers.

“It’s good to see they’re doing so well,” Ronald sighed, grinning at the pictures.  “I’ve been kinda worried about them…”

“Sutcliff, Knox, that doesn’t look like work.”

Grell jumped and exited the window, turning to grin at their darling director.  “Oh we were just taking a little break, Will, don’t worry.”

He rolled his eyes.  “Just get to work; if I’m not mistaken you have a reaping to get to in twenty minutes.  If you’re even a minute late I’ll dock your pay.”

“Oh we’ll be on time, we’ll be on time.  Ronnie and I never disappoint!”

“I wouldn’t say that,” the director sighed, rubbing his temples.  “Just go, and make sure you get back here to do the paperwork.”  That was all he said before he walked away.

Grell watched him go, then turned to Ronald.  “Alright, pup, let’s get going.  We’ll look through the pictures more later, hm?”

“Yeah, when Director Spears won’t sneak up on us like that,” Ronald nodded.

Alan was back at “home”, which currently was the loft of an abandoned barn a ways out of town. The farmhouse that went with it had long since burned down, but the barn was intact, and filled with enough hay to make a cozy nest with their few blankets. Alan had suffered another attack, a bad one, and Eric had watched over him worriedly for hours before finally having to venture off to find food.

His love was dying. The stress of running for their lives was wearing on Alan just as much as the disease, making it harder for him to fight the Thorns. They were running out of time, but what could he do? He’d sworn to Alan that he wouldn’t kill anyone else.

Slipping through an open window into a small townhouse, Eric rummaged around in one of the vanity drawers for a book of matches, so that when they had to move on, they could at least have a fire for warmth. But he froze when someone asked quietly, “Who…are you?”

There was a girl in the bed. Eric hadn’t even noticed her, she was so frail and buried in the blankets. But she shouldn’t be able to see him. Unless…

“Uh… ‘m Eric Slingby, miss. Y’can…see me?”

“Yes… S-Sorry, sir, but your eyes look weird. W-Who are you?” She tried to sit up, but failed, sinking back into her pillows with a small whine of pain.

Eric walked a bit closer, looking her over. She was sick. Badly sick, from the looks of it. Which would explain why she could see him, if her soul was on death’s door. That would normally mean there would be another reaper around, but Eric couldn’t sense anything, so he didn’t need to run just yet. “I’m…uh…” Maybe the truth would be best. “I’m a grim reaper,” he said quietly.

“I knew it…” the girl mumbled. “The doctor lied.”

“’m not here for you!” Eric objected. “I just…” What? Wanted matches? How pathetic did that sound? Death literally entering your room…to look for matches. Instead, he shrugged, and attempted, “What did yer doctor lie abou’, miss?”

She blinked at him. “H-He said I was going to get better. B-But this doesn’t have a cure. They wh-whisper behind my back about how th-there’s no cure. It’s…It’s not fair…”

Eric felt a stab of pity for this human girl. She was sad and scared and tired, and she reminded him so much of Alan in that second that he found himself sitting down on the end of the bed. “I’ve got…someone I love very much, miss. An’ he’s sick too. There’s only one thing tha’ can cure him, an’ it’s jus’ a legend. So I know. I know how scary it is. An’ ‘m sorry they lied t’ya. Bu’ ‘m sure they jus’ wan’ed t’ give ya some hope.”

She continued to peek over the covers. “How do you fix a disease that’s killing death?” She sounded curious, latching onto something interesting as a distraction from her own pain.

“Well…” Alan was probably much better at talking to humans than he was, but Eric decided to push through. “It’s called th’ Thorns o’ Death, an’ supposedly th’ only cure is a thousan’ pure souls.”

“That’s a lot…” she whispered. “Do you steal them? Where do grim reapers keep souls?”

“I…sorta stole them. From people. Livin’ people. It was th’ only way.”

“But he’s still sick? It didn’t work?” She didn’t seem overly fazed by the idea of him being a murderer. It was almost like a morbid fascination, instead.

Eric sighed. “I was one short. We had t’run, b’cause I got caught.” It was one of his greatest regrets, that he hadn’t succeeded. “I jus’ wanted t’ save him. He’s… better than me. He deserves t’ live, an’ he got this disease…”

The girl looked down at her blankets. “…you could t-take mine,” she said softly. He gaped at her, uncertain how to reply, and she mumbled, “He’s sick too. And if I’m going to die soon… That’s what seeing you means, right? If I’m g-going to die soon, I could at least try to make sure someone else gets well… And you’ve been kind to m-me. You’re the only one who’s sat and talked to me in w-weeks.”

It was a dilemma. On the one hand, he’s promised Alan he wouldn’t take another innocent life. On the other, this girl was willingly offering him the thousandth soul, the last one he needed. He wouldn’t be murdering her. And she was in pain; she was suffering, and if his estimation was right, she would be dead in less than an hour anyway. “Yer… Yer sure…?”

“I… W-What happens…? A-After…?” She coughed, harshly, and again Eric was reminded of Alan.

“Normally yer soul would go through judgment, an’ since yer helpin’ save someone’s life, yer sure t’be sent up Above.” He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure at all what would happen to a soul used to cure the Thorns. But there was no way he was going to scare someone, because whether she agreed to give him her soul or not, she didn’t need to be frightened.

“Okay.” Her voice had gotten weaker, but had lost a note of uncertainty. “I…hope I can make him well… Go on. T-Take it.”

Eric smiled faintly. “Miss, yer a rare gem. Close yer eyes. Ya won’t feel a thing.” It was the least he could do. He waited until she obeyed, then drew his scythe and with one quick slash, released her soul. It curled up easily, and he drew it into himself, where he’d been keeping the other nine-hundred and ninety-nine. If Alan had thought about it, he probably would have told Eric to let those souls loose a long time ago. But now, the older reaper was very glad he hadn’t.

After respectfully straightening the blankets, he turned to go, wanting to leave before the actual reaper assigned to her showed up. Besides, it was getting dark, and he needed to get back to Alan. But he was so grateful, he could hardly contain himself. He had a thousand souls! He could save his partner! Alan didn’t have to die.

When he got back, the sun had set, and he found Alan curled up asleep in the nest of hay and blankets. Eric realized he didn’t actually know how the cure worked. Maybe it would just work on its own, but if not, he’d figure it out tomorrow. He pressed against Alan’s back, burying his face in chocolate-colored hair and wishing, praying for a miracle. He’d done what he was supposed to. He just wanted it to work, with every fiber of his being. He eventually drifted to sleep, clutching Alan close, wanting him to wake up well.

xXx

When Eric woke in the morning, the first thing he felt was lighter. It was an odd feeling, and it took him a second to place it, but then he realized that the pressure in his chest, the tremendous pressure of carrying around a thousand souls for months, was gone. His eyes widened, and he sat up with a start, accidentally bumping Alan awake.

“Eric…?” But as Alan sat up, he looked surprised as well, touching a hand to his chest in confusion. “Wha…?”

“How d’ya feel?” Eric asked urgently, catching him by the shoulders.

“Like… like I can breathe. Like the Thorns aren’t—” But he cut himself off, staring at Eric with huge eyes. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t—”

“Eric,” Alan said, and suddenly his voice was thick and his expression crushed. “You promised. You said you wouldn’t… wouldn’t murder anyone else…” He was still weak, still not perfectly healthy, but in that moment he looked like the Thorns were still choking him.

That sad expression broke Eric’s heart. “I didn’! I swear, I didn’ murder anyone!”

“Eric…”

But there wasn’t time for further arguing. At that moment, the door of the barn flew inwards, and the black-suited figures of reapers swarmed in, surrounding the pair in seconds. Eric realized that they’d probably investigated the soul he had taken, since it matched the type he’d gone for previously, and he was proven right when William stepped through the ring of reapers to stare down at them.

“Running can only get you so far, Mr. Slingby. It was easy enough to track you once your presence was detected. You will be detained and trialed for your crimes.”

“What abou’ Alan?” Eric demanded. “He’s done nothin’ wrong!”

“His fate is yet to be decided.” William turned to the other reapers. “Restrain them and bring them back to the dispatch.”