Greetings Earthlings! 'Tis I, your friendly neighbourhood fangirl, bearing a fresh new Grelliam oneshot for the (not so) teeming masses. No POV changes this time, folks.

Warning: Uhhhhhh, just me egregiously mishandling Shakespeare, I suppose.

Disclaimer: I own neither Kuroshitsuji, nor the character John. John is blatantly stolen from another fandom (though you don't need to know it to read this chapter), and I have no claim over him. Good luck trying to figure out who he is.

And on that note: enjoy!

:::

Death Scythes and Glasses

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Entertain

:::

"Will, I'm bored!"

William straightened a pile of documents he still needed to approve. "Congratulations, Sutcliff. Shouldn't you be doing something?"

The red reaper heaved a melodramatic sigh, flopping himself onto William's desk, scattering papers this way and that. "Ugh, Will, you're such a bore. Don't you remember what happened the last time I didn't have entertainment?"

The dark haired man gave his subordinate an unimpressed look. "You are, I presume, referring to the red paint incident?" At the answering nod, William commented lightly, "Might I remind you that that day ended much worse for you than it did for me?"

That was a false statement, of course. He had had to resubmit two dozen assorted documents and files that day, putting the branch even further behind than they already were. However, he saw no need to mention that particular fact to Sutcliff, who was in the process of making an utter mess of his work space.

William glared at the reaper. "Sutcliff..." he growled. "Yes, Will darling?" his subordinate asked cheekily, turning to bat his eyes at the dark haired man. "Kindly remove yourself from this office," William ordered.

Sutcliff gave a spectacular pout, leaning in until he was face-to-face with his superior. "But Wi~ll," he whined, poking the dark haired man's shoulder with a gloved finger, "I have absolutely nothing to do!"

The other reaper raised an incredibly skeptical eyebrow. "I am fairly certain you have yet to submit your past three mission reports, along with the obligatory Scythe Modification resubmission for the quarter century." Adjusting his glasses, he added, "If you manage to complete all that, I will consider your request."

Sutcliff pushed himself back up to standing, turning to leave. "Alright, Will!" he sang, grinning from ear to ear. "I'll see you soon - be ready for me, alright?"

As the redhead skipped from his office, William couldn't help a sigh of relief. He was sure he wouldn't be seeing his subordinate for the rest of the day, which was at least enough time to clear up the backlog.

How very wrong he was.

:::

A half an hour later, Sutcliff strutted into his office.

William's eyebrows knitted. "Shouldn't you be finishing your work?" The red reaper slapped a stack of papers down with a sly grin, making his superior jump. "I did," he trilled.

The dark haired man frowned, then instinctively checked the documents. While they were filled in with red pen ('Honestly,' he groaned to himself), they were indeed quite completed, and decently, at that. William clenched his jaw to prevent it from dropping, gazing at Sutcliff in bewilderment. "Since when has this been done?" he asked weakly, trying to wrap his head around the fact that his subordinate had just completed something in a third the time it would have taken him.

Sutcliff's brow furrowed. "Er, since around a minute ago, I think." Heaving a sigh, he plopped his head down on William's desk, drawling, "And it took me ages to find the forms again; they'd been buried under my stationary for the past week."

The dark haired man stared in unabashed surprise. "How," he muttered, "how on Earth did you manage to complete those forms in such a short period of time, Sutcliff?"

Said reaper pointed to himself curiously, before answering, "It was just crunching numbers, really. I remembered all the dates and such that the souls were collected on; it was just a matter of doing the calculations." Tilting his head, he asked, "Why so surprised, Will? I've always been excellent with numbers; I've dealt with them all my life. They're cold and occasionally boring - why do you think I know how to handle you so well?"

William frowned slightly. "You realize I resent that remark."

The redhead giggled in reply, standing up. "But you resemble it, don't you?" Brushing his mane of hair out of his face, Sutcliff began bouncing around like an excited child. "So?" he asked delightedly. "What are we going to do? I did finish all the work you told me to, and we did make a deal, you know."

William gave him an impassive look. "I told you I would consider it. I've considered, and I refuse. Go entertain yourself. Or, better yet, get ahead on your work."

Sutcliff looked distraught. "But Will," he whined, "you told me we would do something together. You can't just go back on that now!"

William studiously ignored his pleading eyes. "I can and I will, Sutcliff."

"But-"

"Can. And. Will."

The other reaper's expression grew dark, before brightening into a devious smirk. 'Oh dear,' William thought. "Alright, Will," the redhead said primly. "I'll leave."

His superior glanced up at him. "Will you really?"

"Oh certainly."

"Well?" the dark haired man prompted. "Shouldn't you be going, then?"

Sutcliff held up an elegant finger. "On one condition."

'Blast.'

William's thoughts must have reflected on his face, because his subordinate began to smile. "Trust me, Will - you'll like this. It even involves getting work done."

William raised an eyebrow. "I'm listening."

The redhead's smile became a smirk. "Let's make a wager. I," he skated over to where William was sitting, dividing the papers on his desk in half with a flourish, "will take half of your work. You'll keep the other half. Whoever gets more done in the next," he glanced up at the clock on the far wall, "oh, let's make it the next hour wins. You win, and tomorrow I leave you alone unless the matter is of the utmost importance."

The dark haired man's eyebrows raised at the offer. "And if you win?"

Two-toned eyes gleamed behind red frames. "I win, and you take part of the day off and spend it with me." Sutcliff leant in close. "So," he sang, "do we have a deal?"

The corners of William's mouth twitched. "Remove yourself from my personal space," he finally decided, "and I accept."

:::

The competition space was set up.

An extra chair had been put opposite William's on the other side of his desk, equal stacks of paperwork gracing each spot. A pen was present on each pile of paper, at complete odds with the period-appropriate décor. (While William generally stuck with using only items from whichever time period the mortal realm was currently in, even he wasn't above fudging the timeline a bit in interest of efficiency.)

From where he sat, Sutcliff's eyes were glued to the clock, drumming his fingers on the desk as he watched the hour hand tick closer to twelve. As it approached the number, he counted, "Three... Two... One... Go!"

William tore his gaze away from his subordinate to look at the first of his forms. Scanning it, he was suddenly struck with an overwhelming sense of relief that all reapers were required to learn how to fill out all possible types of paperwork; otherwise he may have found himself balancing a mountain of incorrect documents. Clearly, he hadn't been thinking straight at the moment of the bet.

Picking up his pen, William started correcting its errors, sighing as he noticed that Sutcliff had already taken the lead while his mind had been elsewhere. Narrowing his eyes, the dark haired man determinedly scribbled faster. If William had one major flaw, it was that if he were to become invested in a competition, he would attempt to win by all means necessary.

Time passed.

William took up a habit of glancing at the clock every five pages completed to see how much of the allotted hour remained, managing to breeze through fifteen packets in double as many minutes; his pride increasing his efficiency by nearly two-fold.

Sutcliff was - uncharacteristically enough - studiously ignoring him. Not that it was an unpleasant change - far from it - but it was... odd, seeing his subordinate actually do his work.

William shook his head, picking up his next form. Now wasn't the time to be distracted.

:::

Three minutes remaining.

William daren't check the hour any longer for fear of losing time, nor look at Sutcliff for the same reason. However, he couldn't help a quick glance across the desk when he heard the unmistakable sound of a chair dragging across the floor and his subordinate letting out a grand sigh of relief. William's eyes focused on the scene in front of him and his pen dropped from his hand.

For Sutcliff was finished. He had, completely and utterly, finished his stack of forms. A cursory inspection showed that everything was all immaculate; filled out in neat handwriting with black ink (William had unequivocally denied the redhead's request to write in red).

"Will?" The voice shook the reaper out of his reverie. "You alright?"

Sutcliff was peering at him through his bangs in what could almost be considered concern. William, clearing his head with a blink, nodded curtly. Then he remembered the exact details of the wager he had agreed to. He sighed, eyebrows furrowing as he chastised himself for his idiocy. Perhaps he should be getting more rest - lack of sleep was clearly affecting his judgement.

The redhead in front of him tapped him on the shoulder. "You're busy, so I'll go for now. Meet me outside at ten - that's when you get off work, isn't it?"

The dark haired man heard himself respond. "Very well, Sutcliff."

His subordinate smiled (and it was odd, seeing a smile rather than a smirk gracing the reaper's face - though William decided to promptly abandon that train of thought as soon as it began to derail) and left the room with a flip of his hair.

William sighed. 'What in the world have I gotten myself into this time?'

:::

Ten in the evening came sooner than William would have liked, and though the reaper did manage to tie up many loose ends he had been meaning to deal with for a while in the hours after the contest, he still had to suppress a sigh at the sight of his subordinate approaching his door. However, the dark haired man was one of honour, and he had lost (not counting the fact that Sutcliff's terms of the wager had been much more generous in William's favour than he would have expected from the frankly self-centred redhead), thus he adjusted his glasses and went out to greet the other reaper when he heard three sharp knocks.

Opening the door, William was greeted with a deceivingly innocent smile. "Hello, Will," greeted the chaos personified standing in from of him.

With tremendous effort, the dark haired reaper held in a long suffering sigh. "Sutcliff," he said slowly, eyebrow twitching in annoyance, "what are you wearing?"

"Oh, this?" The redhead grinned at his superior, giving a little twirl to better show off his outfit. "Just a little something I thought might fit the mood. Come now, Will; it's cute! Don't be such a killjoy."

"'Cute' is most certainly not the word I would use to describe that," William muttered. And indeed it wasn't.

'Striking,' he thought. That was the best way to describe the effect the general public was given when they viewed a mad redhead in an obsidian coat trimmed in scarlet, dark gloves trailing into flared sleeves. The reaper's black slacks and vest matched his coat, the gold buttons on the latter gleaming in the lights of the office. A red velvet bow tie adorned the outfit. But the real cause for shock, William realized, was the man's hair.

Oh, it was still a bright crimson; Sutcliff hadn't changed that. It was still the same length, however much combat with long hair blatantly disregarded common sense. But its style, now that was different.

It had been pulled back into a tight braid that spiralled down the reaper's back, a few locks expertly left loose and curled. The normally wild bangs had been combed neatly to each side. It was tied with a ribbon in the same material as the reaper's bow tie.

It was, in short, the hairstyle of a lady.

And the problem was it looked almost natural on Sutcliff.

William frowned disapprovingly, though whether it was at what his subordinate was sporting or his own off-topic train of thought was debatable. He really needed to get the man under control. For Sutcliff to be distracting to even him now? Honestly.

The red reaper, apparently somehow knowing exactly what was going on in William's mind, smirked knowingly but said nothing.

The dark haired man raised an elegant eyebrow. "Well then?" he prompted wearily. "Shall we get this over with?"

Sutcliff pouted in mock offence, but then laughed and grabbed hold of an uncooperative William's arm. "Indeed we shall, Will darling!"

And with that, the intrepid duo left the office.

:::

"Well, Sutcliff? Where exactly are we off to?"

The redhead glanced idly at his superior, who had paused on the rooftop of a two-story building overlooking the Thames to make his inquiry, and blinked. "I didn't tell you, did I?"

"No."

"Oh. Well," he grinned (and William suddenly became very apprehensive), "we're going out to a show!"

William coughed. Paused. Coughed again. "...excuse me?"

Sutcliff clapped his hands together in excitement. "The theatre, Will, the theatre!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms out and spinning in circles. His coat flared and hair fanned at the action, and the dark haired man found himself dodging to avoid being struck by them.

The red reaper looked to him. "I was hoping Romeo and Juliet would be on, but alas, we shall have to content ourselves with Hamlet. Oh well! I do think any tragedy will do for tonight." Tilting his head, Sutcliff added, "And I suppose you wouldn't be the romance type, would you?"

"That is not a classification I would give myself, no."

The redhead barked out a laugh. "I didn't think so. Now come along; if we're late I will pitch a fit!"

Sutcliff turned on his heels and began to bound away in the direction of the theatre, and, with great reluctance, William followed.

:::

The Globe Theatre was certainly grand, William reflected as Sutcliff waltzed inside, babbling on about the history of the building. But something wasn't right. The dark haired man couldn't quite put his finger on what, but there was something off about the place.

As they lingered in the hall outside the auditorium itself, Sutcliff turned to face him, frowning slightly. "Will," he muttered, just loud enough for the other reaper to pick up, "is it just me, or are you getting an odd feeling as well?" William nodded, and the redhead grimaced. "And I suppose we should check it out, hmm? And I was so looking forward to that play, too." He pouted, before brightening. "Perhaps if we work fast enough, we'll deal with this whatever it is in time to see the show!"

William seriously doubted that, but he obligingly allowed his subordinate to drag him along to the origin of the unusual aura.

:::

In the clearing behind the Globe, the presence looked around, only to see that everything had changed.

:::

Sutcliff strode into the clearing. "Around here," he decided. "But what is it?"

The question gave William pause. "I'm ... not entirely sure," he admitted. "The aura is not that of a human, but it's unfamiliar. Almost like a mixture of human and reaper..."

"But not quite," the redhead agreed. "But it's certainly no supernatural I know of. It's closest..." He paused, weighing his words. "It's closest to when a soul refuses to come quietly when it's being reaped."

William breathed in sharply, paling. "Of course. A ghost."

His subordinate looked at him with a peculiar expression. "Ghost? Really?" The tone was closer to puzzlement than skepticism, but a hint of the latter emotion was still present.

William carefully schooled his features back to neutrality, replying, "Yes, Sutcliff. A ghost. While not officially recognized as a separate category of supernatural creature, seeing as they are merely souls who escaped collection and have been wandering this plane for a long enough period of time, they do pop up periodically and it is a reaper's duty to deal with the situation when they do."

Sutcliff scowled, then nodded. "Alright," he concluded, "fine, so there's a ghost on the loose. How do we get rid of it?"

"I..." William paused. "I believe that as it retains its consciousness and soul, we must convince it to come with us to be collected. Once it is properly stored, we can send the soul back to whichever Division it originally should have been reaped in."

"Very well," his subordinate concluded. "So where is it- oh." Whirling towards his immediate right, the redhead snapped, "Oi! You! Stop skulking in the bushes and get out here!"

A shimmering figure emerged from the bush Sutcliff was pointing at.

"How did you know I was there?" the young ghost asked, a scowl marring his face and his eyes sharp, observant. He was wearing an outdated military uniform, though William didn't recognize to which country it belonged. Judging by the man's accent, however, he could hazard a guess.

Sutcliff sized the soul up, then, coming to the same conclusion as William, said, "You're from the Colonies, aren't you? How did you get here?"

The man gave the redhead a dark look. "And you're a Brit. I'm not giving up any information."

Superior and subordinate shared a glance, before Sutcliff spoke once more. "What year is it?"

"What?"

"I asked," Sutcliff demanded, hands perched on hips, "what year is it?"

The ghost paused, furrowing his eyebrows. "Seventeen... Seventeen eighty-something?" he replied. Then, more frantically, "Seventeen eighty-what? I should know this!"

"And how's the revolution going?"

William looked to Sutcliff, who was staring resolutely at the ghost, and nodded slightly. The American revolution certainly explained the uniform and hostility.

The man seemed taken aback by the question. "It's ... it's been won. We ... won," he breathed. "That's what happened. But they didn't know that, did they?"

Sutcliff turned to William. Didn't know that? he mouthed. His superior shrugged in reply.

The ghost began muttering to himself, so quietly the reapers couldn't make out what he was saying, and pacing frantically, occasionally running a hand through his hair. Suddenly he came to a stop, eyes wide, shaking. "I'm- I'm d-." He whirled around to face Sutcliff. "What year is it?"

The redhead raised an elegant eyebrow. "Didn't I already ask you that question?"

The ghost's eye twitched. "Fine," he spat. "What year is it actually?"

Sutcliff grinned sharply, showing off his teeth. "Ding ding ding, we have a winner!" he exclaimed. "The year, kid, is eighteen eighty-nine."

The ghost seemed to pale. "No. How-" he stuttered, "how long have I been dead?"

Sutcliff shrugged. "Not sure, actually. What was going on at your time of death?"

The young man frowned, but before he got the chance to reply, Sutcliff cut in. "Actually, what's your name? It's annoying having to just call you 'The Ghost'."

The ghost bit his lip, obviously debating whether or not to give up his name to the enemy, but in the end he relented. "John," he said, slumping. "I'm John."

The redhead grinned, then swept himself into an exaggerated bow. "Grell Sutcliff, at your service."

William gave the young spirit a nod. "William T. Spears," he introduced. "And I too find myself curious as to how your soul ended up unaccounted for. What were the circumstances of your death?"

The ghost - John - frowned, dropping to a cross-legged seating position and sighing. "I'm not sure I even want to know what you two mean by 'soul unaccounted for'," he started, "but here's what I remember from when I- what I remember last.

"My men and I were fighting in Carolina when we heard we had won. Well, we heard. The redcoats didn't. We were caught up in a fight when... when..."

He trailed off, scowling. "I can't remember anything after that."

Sutcliff and William exchanged glances. The disorder of the American Revolution had left the fledgeling colonial divisions scrambling to account for all souls. It was no wonder they had missed a few.

The dark haired reaper narrowed his eyes, pushing up his glasses. Now came the difficult task.

Sutcliff, seemingly reading his mind, cracked his knuckles. "Well," he said, "let's get this over with."

:::

"So you're saying," said John, cradling a turtle he had found crawling around in the clearing, "you guys screwed up when I died, and so my soul wasn't 'collected' properly?"

Sutcliff shrugged. "Pretty much. All the Americans were newbies at that point, and even with the help of a few reapers from England, they still had a full-fledged war on their hands. Those are never fun." He smoothed out his coat dramatically. "The seriousness, the paperwork, the overtime. If it weren't for the sheer violence I would refuse to participate at all. Well, that and the abundance of handsome reapers there."

William narrowed his eyes. "Sutcliff," he intoned. "Kindly refrain from making unnecessary comments."

"But Will," the redhead pouted, clinging to and shaking his superior's arm. "I'm just telling the truth! Wars really are no fun- ack!"

William brushed himself off, paying no mind to the reaper stumbling away after having been forcibly shook off the dark haired man's arm, and turned towards John. "As reapers," he informed the ghost, who was at the moment trying to ascertain the turtle didn't escape his clutches, "it is our duty to account for all dead souls - yours included." Leaning forward, his glasses gleaming, William added, "You can surely see how it would be a problem on our end of things should souls be roaming about unchecked. Therefore, we must ask you to agree to be sent to the afterlife - and to do so peacefully would be preferable."

Out of the corner of his eye, William noticed Sutcliff wincing. Drawing back, he muttered, "What?"

"And they say I have no tact," his subordinate merely replied. Stepping forwards, the redhead motioned to (the admittedly more intimidated now) John. "Look, kid," he said. "It's not fun, sure, but you're not supposed to still be here. You can stay here, scared and confused, or you can be reaped peacefully and see your friends and family again." He shrugged. "Now, I know what I'd pick, but in the end the choice is yours. If you run fast enough, you'll be able to avoid us and other reapers."

William was scowling by this point, and reached forward to tap his subordinate on the shoulder. "Sutcliff," he grit out, "kindly do not tell the spirit this information."

The redhead raised an elegant eyebrow, tilting his head to face his superior. "If this kid was in the war and led a command, he's gonna be smart enough to know how to run away from us. He's got a chance; I'm not going to lie." Turning back to John, Sutcliff cocked his head to the side. "You can run. But if you do, you won't get to the afterlife. And you have people you want to see again - don't you?"

John was biting his lower lip. "Yeah," he finally got out.

He put his turtle down.

"Will it hurt?"

"Hurt?"

John glanced at them. "This whole... reaping thing."

The reapers shared a look. 'What do we tell him?'

William smoothed out his suit jacket. "Doubtful."

It was a lucky break that the ghost was too busy sighing in relief to notice how Sutcliff's jaw had dropped. The redhead shot his superior a questioning glance that promised they would discuss that answer later.

In any case, that seemed to have settled the matter for John. "Okay," he said. "Okay, let's do this."

Before Sutcliff could whip out his absurd chainsaw and frighten the ghost into changing his mind, William summoned his death scythe. The pruning pole's weight was familiar as he raised it to eye level, then lowered it until it touched the ground. "Are you prepared?" he inquired.

The ghost replied with a shaky nod, closing his eyes.

"Sutcliff?"

"On it." The red reaper summoned a book to contain the soul.

"Very well."

William lashed out with the scythe, slicing it into John's chest. It stuck there as the ghost's records flew out of the wound, twisting and twirling in the air almost peacefully. John's form began to disappear, disintegrating from his feet up. The records flew into the book in Sutcliff's hands.

John smiled. "Raise a glass to freedom."

And then he was gone.

"Well," said Sutcliff. "That was eventful."

William resisted a most childish urge to roll his eyes, settling for muttering, "Honestly" with a huff.

Sutcliff just laughed.

:::

William's scythe had been returned to his office, the book containing John's soul had been arranged to be sent to America, Sutcliff's makeup had been reapplied, and the two reapers were back outside the Globe, watching the humans mill about.

"Damn," Sutcliff cursed. "Missed everything until the Intermission." He lightened up. "Well, at least we'll be able to watch from here on, I suppose."

William sighed, then reluctantly offered, "Since I missed the beginning, would you inform me as to what is going on in this spectacle?"

The red reaper adjusted his coat. "You want me to tell you about Hamlet, Will?" he asked. "Really?"

William shrugged. "I quite doubt that watching the end of a play I have no prior knowledge of will be enjoyable, so yes. Enlighten me."

Sutcliff blinked, then grinned. "Alright," he said, "it all begins in Denmark."

:::

The plot had concluded, the actors had taken their final bows, and Sutcliff was grinning like a madman. "Oh, I simply adore Shakespeare!"

"I must admit, it was an interesting play," William acknowledged, nodding his head. "Even if it would have been much simpler for Hamlet to have disposed of his uncle when he first heard the news."

Sutcliff laughed. "Oh Will, you're such a spoilsport."

William shrugged. The statement was true, after all.

The red reaper looked off into the distance as they walked away from the theatre. "By the way, Will," he asked, glancing at his superior, "why did you lie to John? We have no clue as to whether reaping a soul is painless or not."

William stared straight ahead. "It would not have been beneficial for us to have him put up a struggle. If lying is what it takes to facilitate a reaping, than lie I shall."

It was true. William refused to admit that it may not have been the whole truth.

Sutcliff shook his head, giggling. "You are something else, Will. Oh well. Just makes it more fun to do things like this, I suppose."

"Things like wha-"

And with that, Sutcliff broke out into a broad, sharp-toothed grin and began to cling to his shoulder.

"Sutcliff! Release me at once!"

"I don't wa~nna!"

"Sutcliff, I will drown you in paperwork."

"Sure you will, Will!"

And with that, the bickering reapers disappeared back to their realm. And as he threatened to give Sutcliff overtime for the next quarter century, William reflected that perhaps it hadn't been such a bad night.

Perhaps he didn't mind taking a break from time to time, after all.

:::

So what did you think? Anybody know who John is? (Lol probably. I really wasn't being subtle about it.) Also thanks to the lovely reviews from Guest and Aquafairyrobot! You guys keep me going.

Next chapter is gonna be a lot of fun to write. Humiliating William is always a good time.

See ya!

-UA