Chapter Text
Just hear those sleigh bells jingling, ring ding dingling too. Come on it’s lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you.
The streets of London were a mass of white, the sky was pale and the roofs resembled mountain tops. Feet would fly on the unforgiving ice, various tracks marked the formerly pristine snow – a nightmare for anyone with OCD.
Like William T. Spears for example. He rubbed his hands together, barely creating enough friction to warm them. Beside him stood Ronald Knox, who was frantically trying to snap the metal disk inside his small pocket warmer.
William sighed, adjusted his glasses and held out a hand. He snapped the metal disk with ease and handed it back to Ronald, who watched in amazement as the gel crystallised before his eyes.
"How did you do that?" He asked, looking back with amazement. He slipped the handwarmer into his left glove and began working on another.
"Unbelievable."
Nine forty-two. Three more minutes and the young driver will skid on a patch of black ice and spin uncontrollably until finally crashing into the unsuspecting American couple on the first day of their honeymoon.
Finally, against all odds, Ronald snapped the disk. "See, now the other one’s cold. What’s the point of you? How do you get them back gel-ly?"
"Gel-ly?" William repeated. "You have to boil them."
"What? Boil them? That’s stupid! If you have access to a kettle, you have access to an actual hot water bottle… or coffee… or that other thing."
Tea, William rolled his eyes. He’s only in denial.
Nine forty-three.
"I am sure you can bare the cold for another two minutes."
Ronald folded his arms. "I can’t reap if I have frostbite. Why do so many people have to die in the winter?"
"If I recall, you had the same problem in summer. And spring for that matter…" He adjusted his glasses once more. "And autumn."
"People are so inconsiderate." Ronald muttered, looking up as a blue Citroen approached.
"That the one?"
"It is."
It is a common misconception amongst drivers that, in order to avoid getting stuck in snow, they must speed up. However, all that does is polish the ice consequently making it even more slippery than it was to begin with.
The driver did not leave himself nearly enough time for the combination of thinking distance and stopping distance before reaching the black ice. Surely enough, the car began to skid.
William readied his scythe. Following suit, Ronald did the same, not caring how odd it looked to carry about a lawnmower in the middle of winter.
"I am trying to do paperwork, I cannot do paperwork, my hands are frozen!" Grell complained, removing his gloves to prove his point. His fingers were red and slightly frozen. "I cannot hold a pen in these conditions. For our sake, Slingby, call someone!"
"No, I can fix it myself."
"You said that three days ago!" The even more red than usual reaper complained, feeling himself tense up more than he thought was physically possible. "Typical man."
"What was that?"
"Er, nothing."
Grell resorted to breathing on his trembling hands.
Alan Humphries was sitting alone, laughing to himself, watching the snowflakes fall through the frost gathering on the window.
"Hey, you okay?" Alan looked up when he heard the voice, not quite convinced it was genuine concern, though he was happy for any distraction, even if it was in the form of the overwhelming red-reaper.
"Fine. Frozen, but fine." He smiled.
With his arms tightly crossed, Grell took a seat beside the smaller reaper. "We had electrical devices hundreds of years before anyone else. Why can we not fix a simple heater?"
Somewhere between the car crash and the cinematic records, the gentle snowflakes morphed into relentless hail. Ronald's hair was dripping. He fought against the snow to drag his scythe behind him.
Breathing on his hands, William could see the vapour.
Looking behind them, ensuring they were alone, they opened a portal.