Work Text:
Germany was boring. Not that Andrew didn’t enjoy the old buildings and the red roofs that crept along the tops of Stuttgart, but there wasn’t much that Andrew cared about these days. He’d been up, up, up, UP . Not much to do besides fall. Andrew was falling, perhaps. Spiraling down into the well of emotion that had been full of elated laughter and smiles that hurt his cheeks after too long of being conscious.
It wasn’t till the sun was setting and the sky burning orange and pink that Andrew felt himself settle into his own skin. Evenings were his, and his alone. He used to take his last pill at dinner, riding the high and awaiting the ice that would flood his veins as the darkness set in. The ice would start in his fingers and toes, spreading to his chest and leaving tingles of feeling behind. Andrew was never truly awake until those moments. Those snippets of life on the rooftops or the back porch in the dark were when he felt like he could breathe.
Now that the sun made the rooftops glow in the fading light, he could could fill his lungs with air. They’d been in Germany for three days already, crashing in a large and well-furnished apartment. Nicky’s boyfriend, Erik Klose, worked for a large graphic design company in Germany and was all too eager to play host for their visit.
He spotted Erik with Nicky out on the balcony, Erik in a large black coat due to the chill in the air, Nicky with a blanket over his shoulders. Grabbing his cigarettes and making sure his lighter was in his pocket, Andrew left the apartment. It wasn’t the first time he’d stepped out and certainly would be far from the last. Nicky would text him in a few minutes when he realized that Andrew wasn’t there. Andrew would respond with a brief, “out” and that would be it. Another exchange to match the two that predated on his message thread.
The roads of Stuttgart were a mix of straight lines and curving paths. Erik’s apartment was set on a newer set of roads, everything laid out with ease but a short ten-minute walk southwest brought forth twists and bends accompanied by uneven cobblestone footpaths that lined the pavement. Andrew had followed the same path the previous nights and seemed that his feet wanted to continue on the familiar route once more.
Typically his walk led him to a large garden space that was populated in the daylight, now the grass shone silver. He’d only been walking for thirty minutes at this point, but the last of the sun had slipped over the horizon. He stepped into the park, hands tucked into his pockets, and walked along the path. A few lights dotted the length of the path through the park, illuminating the area in an orange glow before he walked past the light’s reach. There were frogs singing in the trees and bushes that formed a barrier between the road and the park. As the path curved, the line of trees did as well, a small forest space being allowed to grow and thrive in the bustling city. They’d come to the large park on their first day in an effort to stave off the jet lag and keep themselves awake until darkness had settled over the city.
There was an old building reconstructed that now acted as a restaurant further into the park, sat right beside the lake. His feet began to take him there, following the path that he’d walked days before with ease. An owl flew overhead, Andrew’s eyes tracked it before it disappeared into the shadow of the treetops. The moon was a small sliver in the sky, barely enough light to see off of the paths.
If he’d been a character in a horror film, everyone would be groaning at the decision he was about to make. Why did dumb characters follow the mysterious sounds and step off of the lit path and into the darkness of the woods?
There wasn’t much in the way of mysterious sounds to be fair, just a large splash of something breaking the surface of the lake. Stones skittered in the distance and a twig snapped.
Against the small voice in his head that said to stay on the path or just go back, Andrew stepped towards the woods, choosing to cut through the trees to reach the lake edge. He stepped lightly, leaves crumbling beneath his boots.
Out in the lake was a man, old enough that the faint light of the moon shone off his bald spot. He was turning frantically, eyes wide enough that Andrew could see the whites as he searched for something. Water splashed up as he kept reaching into it, ripples reaching Andrew on the bank. For a moment, he expected the man to stand with his water-logged wallet in hand; instead, there was a delighted cackle as the man lifted a long stick in his hands. Metal glinted in the light and Andrew straightened. He was well acquainted with the glint of a blade in the moonlight. A wicked curved blade was attached to the top of the long stick—a scythe, his brain helpfully supplied.
The man cackled, swinging the scythe in a sweeping pattern above the water. “Come out, come out, Reaper! Can’t take a soul without your scythe!” He shouted gleefully.
His laughter echoed across the lake, bouncing off the water and trees. Andrew watched as he dissolved into heavy pants, spinning, and looking around wildly. His wide eyes found Andrew on the bank. Andrew watched the scythe arc up as he moved backward, his boot slipping against the muddy ground beneath him. It was probably the slip that saved his head, the blade of the scythe sliding against his shoulder and down his back. Andrew hit the ground on his side, hard, teeth clacking together and ribs protesting. The sting of fire through his back and up his neck, the pounding of blood suddenly noticeable throughout his body. Andrew clenched his jaw against the pain, baring his teeth at the man. He lifted the weapon again, hesitating and turning to look back at the lake. A head popped up from the surface, curses tumbling from its mouth.
The newcomer spat water out and shook the soaked mop of dark hair on his head. Wiping his face he frowned at the man. “Are you fucking serious?”
The man spun to the boy sitting in the water, scythe held out between them. “Stay back, Reaper.”
Andrew watched as the boy shook water from his hands, resting them on the water surface and then standing. He pushed against the surface as if it was a solid thing, straightening and holding a hand out.
“Can I have that back?” He asked, voice bored.
The man was still shaking, the weapon in his hand wobbling in the air. Andrew didn’t doubt that if the man wasn’t standing in a lake his pants would be wet regardless. There was pure fear on his face. His eyes shifted back to the boy, blue eyes that seemed to be glowing in the faint moonlight were locked onto the man. The boy took a step, foot rising and setting on the surface and staying there . Andrew blinked, rolling onto his back and accidentally bumping his wound on a wayward root. The flash of pain was jarring enough that he knew it wasn’t a dream. Andrew watched the boy walk across the surface of the water, moving towards the balding man so pulled the scythe back and swung.
For a heartbeat, Andrew felt like he was going to shout out a warning. The next, the scythe was already through its swing, blade buried into the boy’s side.
The boy simply grinned, white teeth flashing. “Don’t you know that you can’t take a soul that isn’t there?” He gripped the base of the blade, pulling it from his side and out of the man’s hands. He handled the large weapon with graceful movements, hands sliding along the staff as he swung and sliced the man through.
Andrew waited for the man to fall into two pieces. He’d seen the blade cut through effortlessly. Instead, he watched as the man simply slumped over and remained whole. He came to rest face down in the lake, floating along the surface. When the wind caused a gentle tide to form, the boy stuck his foot out to stop the body from floating away.
He tucked the scythe against his shoulder, blade curving behind his head, resting close to his bare neck. There was confidence in the move, he knew his weapon perfectly.
Andrew shifted his eyes back to the body, and for the first time since he’d come off of his meds, he saw something abnormal. It was like mist rising, coming up from the body in a sickly pale, bluish-green color.
The boy looked up from whatever he was writing and grinned. “That didn’t take near as long as I figured. You accepted death easily.” He held up a finger and went back to what he was writing. “Take this to The Master for me, would you?”
He folded a piece of paper and handed it to the mist. Andrew blinked as the mist seemed to reach out and take the paper from the boy. Both the mist and letter slipped beneath the surface of the water and disappeared. The boy nudged the body, sending it floating gently towards the bank of the lake. Toward where Andrew was still laying in the mud.
The boy looked at him then, his eyes still captivatingly blue. He scanned Andrew over from head to toe, a look that Andrew would assume was someone checking him out if the guy didn’t look so annoyed. Two could play at that game, and Andrew knew he had the better death glare. Unfortunately, the boy was attractive. The soaked clothing only made his pants stick to him and demonstrate the strong curve of his thighs. The hoodie he wore was thin and loose, clinging to his arms where the outline of muscles showed through.
“Well fuck,” the boy muttered. “You’re protected.”
Andrew frowned. “What?”
He gestured at Andrew as if that would help get his point across. “You’ve got a mark of protection. That makes my job difficult.”
He stepped over the floating body and walked closer to Andrew. In a second, there was a knife sticking out of the boy’s shoulder. He stopped, looking at the hilt of the knife and back to Andrew.
Surprisingly, he grinned again. “Good aim,”
“What do you want, killer?”
The boy reached up and fingered the hilt of the knife, leaving it in his shoulder. “I want to take you back to the Klose’s, they’re the ones who have a protection placed over you.” He cocked his head, blinking. “You know them I assume?”
Andrew nodded minutely.
The boy crouched, bringing their eye level closer. Andrew didn’t forget that the boy was still walking on water. “Will you let me take you to them?”
Andrew’s hand gripped his arm tighter. The adrenaline was fading, his heart rate slowing. “Not planning on cutting me up with that?” He jerked his chin to the large weapon still against the boy’s shoulder.
The boy lifted it, glancing at the weapon before holding it away from his body. Andrew watched as it hovered for an instant before disappearing.
“Cool trick,” he muttered.
The boy reached out, extending a hand that Andrew took without hesitation. His arm was numb and burning at the same time. Every motion sent sparks of pain through his nerves. Using a nearby tree, Andrew pulled himself onto more stable ground, shuffling along through the small wooded area. He could hear the boy beside him, footsteps crunching on the dried leaves and kicking small stones out of his path. They moved in silence, Andrew's mind replaying the past few minutes in his mind.
“What about the body?” He spoke into the quiet air.
The boy shrugged. “A drunk who stumbled and drowned, such a shame.”
Andrew knew there was no way the boy would tell him about anything that he’d witnessed, but questions were creeping up in his throat. The boy obviously wasn’t fully human, he’d walked on water and made the scythe disappear. Never mind the obvious killing and sending a letter via— ghost ? Andrew’s head spun as memories and images of his studio back home in Columbia popped up. He had dozens, hundreds of photographs he’d printed out and painted over. Beings with glowing eyes and black shapes that blended into the shadows, hallucinations from his medication, cursed and plagued by them. They followed him everywhere, even in the daylight where others could easily see them.
Andrew felt like laughing. He stuffed the feeling down his throat, letting it fester and burn in his gut.
It took them shorter than expected to reach the road where Erik’s apartment sat, Andrew’s eyes shooting up as he looked around.
“You kept adjusting our course, I figured you knew where you were going,” the boy spoke, voice soft, slipping away on the gentle wind.
Andrew jerked his chin. “Second floor, one with the garden.”
The boy nodded and entered the building, leading the way despite not knowing the apartment number. Andrew followed at his back, eyes looking over the form in front of him. The boy was dressed in dark colors, old jeans worn to gray, and sneakers scuffed to hell. There was a rip in the hoodie, right against his waist that was darker than the rest of the fabric. He was still drenched and dripping lake water, but that wasn’t what it was from.
Andrew frowned. “You were cut.”
The boy knocked on the apartment door. “I was,”
The door opened before Andrew could speak again, Nicky’s confused expression dropping into fear as he took them both in.
The boy nodded. “I believe he is under the same protection you are?”
Nicky’s eyes locked onto the boy’s. “He is under the protection of the Klose Order, any harm that befalls him will result in proper payment.” The formal, steady tone was one that Andrew had never heard from Nicky’s mouth.
“Don’t worry, proper payment has been dealt already.” He looked around. “Is Erik here?”
Nicky stepped to the side, waving them in. “No, he’s on his rounds.”
“Call him back,” the boy ordered.
Andrew narrowed his eyes. Who was this kid who thought that he could boss around Andrew’s family? Nicky didn’t hesitate, though—phone already to his ear and rushed German coming from his mouth. For once, Andrew found himself impressed with his cousin; he was the type of person to sit on the phone for hours and ignore life around him.
Nicky looked at Andrew afterward, phone sliding into his pocket. “Let’s see your back.”
Andrew frowned. “No.”
“Andrew, you were cut with a stygian blade,” Nicky’s voice was calm and hands steady as he reached for the first aid kit. “If it’s not treated, it will fester and kill you. Shirt. Off.”
Lifting his arm caused hot fire to spread across his back, but he managed to pull the fabric over his head. His eyes caught on the boy watching, eyebrows pinched together as he looked at Andrew. He leaned forward a bit, the ceiling light glinting off the knife still in his shoulder.
“That’s why mortals shouldn’t wield our weapons,” he huffed. “They fuck up the cut.”
Nicky rolled his eyes, muttered something under his breath before sitting beside Andrew. He gestured with a soaked cloth out towards Andrew. “This is going to hurt a bit, okay?”
Andrew shrugged, pain was temporary. Still, Nicky hesitated for a moment before dabbing the cloth over the cut. There was the bite of antiseptic followed by the cool air as it settled onto damp skin. Nicky winced as he worked, brows pinching together and teeth digging into his lower lip.
For the first time, Andrew wondered what his back looked like. “Show me.”
The boy glanced up from Nicky’s work, eyes searching Andrew’s face before he wandered off. It wasn’t but a few seconds before he came back with a stand mirror, idly spinning the glass round and round. He stood by Nicky, lifting the mirror in a vague attempt to show off the wound. The prickle of unease at having someone he didn’t know or trust at his back scratched warnings down his spine, directing the hair at the back of his neck to stand on end.
“Lower,” Andrew ordered, looking over his shoulder. “To the left—your other left, idiot.”
It wasn’t pretty. Of all the wounds, scars, and cuts he’s had, there had never been one that looked like this. Carving a path from his trapezius to just beneath his ribcage, the wound ripped towards his spine. The skin around the open wound was gray, necrotic already. There wasn’t blood flowing from the cut anymore, but Andrew hedged a bet that that was due to the black tissue of dying muscle he could see.
Andrew turned his gaze to Nicky. “Aaron?”
Nicky barely glanced up from his shoulder. “Asleep, he was snoring a few minutes ago.”
“Typical,” he breathed, fighting off a wince as Nicky pulled some debris from the wound.
The boy looked at Nicky, still holding the mirror in position. “Do you have ambrosia?”
Nicky blinked up at him. “Cabinet, maybe?”
Under the lights of Erik’s apartment, the boy’s hair acquired a reddish tint. It was still wet and darker than it would normally be, but it wasn’t hard to imagine the auburn color it surely was. Andrew watched him slowly pull the knife from his shoulder, setting the metal into the sink. He rummaged through the counters before pulling a ceramic pot complete with a lid out.
“You’ll want to pack some of that into the wound and then stitch it up,” the boy said, and Nicky’s face paled.
He shook his head loosely. “Can’t.”
Andrew frowned. “Can’t?”
Nicky leaned back. “Can’t do needles,”
Jesus Christ, his cousin was serious. The green tint to his skin was obvious and the man has just cleaned out a necrotic wound without blinking. Andrew wasn’t a surgeon by any means, but he’d seen enough medical dramas to know how to do sutures—hopefully. The angle would be difficult but as long as the mirror was still there he could probably swing it. Nicky moved away as Andrew took the curved needle from the suspiciously well-stocked first aid kit. He was looking for thread when someone in soaking wet clothes sat where Nicky had been.
“May I?” The boy asked, hand held out for the needle.
Andrew leaned away slightly, enough that he could look at the boy properly. His traitorous heart beat a little bit faster at the blue eyes staring at him. There was a scattered collection of freckles on his cheeks and over his nose, if Andrew let himself look long enough he could make constellations out of them. His nose was slightly crooked, no doubt having been broken in the past and never set to heal correctly. He blinked long lashes that were definitely auburn and kept his gaze on Andrew.
“Don't touch anywhere but my shoulders,” Andrew ordered.
The boy nodded, hand gently settling on Andrew’s shoulder. There was no pressure or squeeze from the hand, just there to steady himself as he took a thin, flat stick and spread a paste from the jar. The ointment wasn’t cold but slightly warm to the touch. A soft yellow-like butter color that began to fill the room with the scent of honey and cedar. His arm began to tingle where the paste was smeared before the boy lifted the hooked needle.
He gestured with the needle slightly. “This will probably hurt.”
Andrew only grunted in response as the boy shrugged and pushed the needle into his skin. It was farther back from the edge of the wound, the dead skin from the blade unable to hold the stitches together. It was a slow process. Two stabs of the needle through the skin and a methodical knot bringing the pieces of Andrew back together. The paste—ambrosia, the boy had called it—must be working. There was pain as he worked, but hardly more than to make Andrew wince every so often. The warmth from the wound spread out through his back, leaving tingles in its wake. The needle dipped into his skin, just above the fat layer before curving up and out the other side. The boy moved and worked quickly, never hesitating as he stitched Andrew’s back. Six sutures in and the door to the apartment opened, Erik striding in with an expression Andrew had never seen him wear.
It was a cold expression, schooled into calm neutrality. There was a pinch to his eyes and the corners of his mouth as he looked over the scene.
“Nathaniel,” Erik spoke.
The boy’s hand tightened a fraction. “I prefer Neil.”
Erik simply blinked. “Did you fail to see the mark of protection?” The German language finding a familiar home in Andrew’s mind.
The boy—Neil—huffed, warm breath cascading over Andrew’s skin, before the same language falls from his lips. “Yeah, because I’m clearly the idiot who made a cut this shit.”
Eye twitching, Erik crossed his arms. “Who did?”
“Look, the soul I was after got a little slippery in the lake, he lashed out and well,” Neil leaned away, tipping a hand side to side. “Wrong place, wrong time.”
Erik’s hand run the length of his face as he sighed, stepping closer to Andrew’s back. Nicky molded himself to his side, arm settling around Erik’s waist.
Nodding to the wound, Erik speaks, “Will the cut spread?”
Neil shook his head, shoulder lifting to brush a stray drop of water from his jaw. “Wasn’t deep enough to sever his soul, the ambrosia will help any adverse effects too.”
They were on stitch number ten now. “Nicky,” Andrew grunted. “Mirror.”
His cousin lifted the mirror, for once silent and listening to the short commands. Neil’s work was clean. He had half of the wound stitched together, each knot placed near exact width apart down Andrew’s back.
Erik was still frowning. “If anyone hears about this—”
“They’ll only hear about it if you keep talking about it.” Neil pointed out, tying off the eleventh stitch.
Eventually, three stitches later, Erik sinks into the chair across from Andrew. Nicky ends up on his lap, long legs folding in and making him appear smaller.
Andrew looks between Neil and Erik. “What are you?”
Nicky, surprisingly, is the one to stiffen with a secret. Erik just sighs. “Reapers,”
“Reapers.”
“Grim reaper? Gatherer of Souls?” He lifts a golden brow. “It’s kind of the family business.”
Nicky fiddles with his fingers. “There are thousands of families across the globe like Erik’s, they collect the souls of the dying and help them move on.”
Questions tick up in numbers inside Andrew’s head. “Where to?”
Neil snorts. “Wherever they expect to go,” Andrew feels him tie off another stitch. “Some souls have religious expectations and some don’t, their afterlife tends to be determined by what they expect to find in The Beyond.”
Two more stitches.
“Your family are Reapers too?”
Neil shakes his head. “I made a deal.”
His eyes meet Andrew’s, cold blue steel that doesn’t leave room for another question on that matter.
Instead he looks to Nicky. “How long have you known?”
A guilty look settles on his cousin’s face. “I found out near the end of my trip abroad, when I first met Erik. It was an accident.”
“Seven years.”
The careful touch along his back pulls away. The snap of the first aid kit is loud in the room. Faintly, Andrew can hear Aaron snoring in the guest room. Water rushes into the sink as Neil presumably washes off his hands. Andrew stands, slowly moving his shoulder.
The water cuts off. “You shouldn’t feel much pain, some stiffness and soreness tomorrow but the ambrosia works fast.” Neil says.
Andrew nods once. The harsh light over the sink does him no favors, but Andrew doesn’t want to look away. His hair has begun to friz as it dries, bits of curls sticking up and growing knotted on his head. He smiles, a small thing that looks nothing like the grin he wore at the lake. If left to stand here, Andrew would let himself think about the pretty body who walked on water for hours—days perhaps. Instead, he grabs his shirt and walks into the bathroom, shutting the door securely behind him.
He hears the front door open, the soft voices of the three men in the apartment. There’s the snick of the door closing and a twinge in his shoulder. Andrew didn’t place bets, there was nothing to the thought of luck to him. Yet something, more than likely the twinge in his shoulder, led him to believe that this wouldn’t be the last time he’d come across Neil.