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WHAT'S CRACKIN??? :DDDDDDDDDDDDDD

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I woke up with a gasp in the Ferrari of all beds. I was on a king sized mattress on a raised platform with thick blankets and a heap of soft pillows. It was nearly pitch black, except for the one corner of the room, where a floor light stood, dimmed, outlining a high ceiling and a spacious room with luxury bedroom furniture.

I brought the comforter rumpled around me to my nose and breathed in a familiar scent. I was in Death's bedroom.

Just then, an icy sensation pricked the side of my face like dry ice pressed to my cheek. I turned my head to my right, towards a weighted pair of eyes in the darkness.

"AAAHH–!" I jerked back and bonked my head on a headboard.

Death was right next to the bed, lounged back in a leather chair. He rested his arms over the length of the armrests and his legs were stretched out in front of him. He'd exchanged his leather pants for black sweatpants and wore a t-shirt that exposed his thick biceps and the tribal markings etched into his arms. He wore a baseball cap that shadowed his eyes from the light.

My heart fluttered with nerves. Hell, my heart had definitely smashed through my chest and hit the wall across from me.

"Why am I here?" I finally asked.

He didn't say anything at first and drilled me with his hidden gaze. "You're here because I want you to be here," he said. "I didn't trust any of my demon slave twits to take care of you."

"Take care of me?"

He tilted his head to the side, as if reconsidering the wording. "Watch over you. You went through some sort of power surge that left you disorientated and weakened." I watched the long gloved fingers of his right hand curl tightly around the armrest of his chair. "Do you not remember?"

I stared at him until felt my stomach roll as the memories crashed into me in one harsh wave. I inhaled with a gasp, as if a continuous surge of shock had suddenly abandoned my body, and I gripped the comforter with white knuckles. And I'd do anything to forget it. I had drained my own body, killing myself slowly with my own power, until my insides felt like they were swelling against my skin. I'd felt helpless, terrified, suffocating in my own body. And then there was the demon, the images....

I remembered, alright.

I looked around the room and could have sworn the room was getting colder by the second. Sure enough, my breath caught in the air like a fog. I turned back to Death, whose body was tense and stiff. He was causing the change in the temperature.

"I thought you took me to my room," I said rather calmly, although the anxiety building in my chest was becoming crushing the more alert I became.

"I intended to leave you there for the night." He pointed at the end of the bed, where a thin sheet lay crumpled with an ice pack on top. "But then you started to violently shake. You had an in and out fever of one hundred and twelve degrees Fahrenheit. For three hours."

My heart began to pound. "That's impossible.... A fever that high would...it would–"

"Kill you?" Death offered, pushing up gracefully for his size from the chair. He closed the distance between him and the bed with two smooth strides. "Or at least leave you with severe brain damage, wouldn't you think?"

"Yes," I whispered.

We stared at each other.

"Headache?" he asked.

"No."

"Chills?"

"No."

"Seeing double?"

"No."

"Pain anywhere?"

"No."

He pinched me.

"Ow!"

"Well at least we know you haven't developed congenital analgesia." I happened to know what that was. It was an inherited disorder where a person couldn't feel pain. Clearly it had been a cynical joke, but his lips didn't even twitch with laughter. "When's the last time you got your period?"

"What?"

"Well you see Faith," Death began in that even, monotone way he was speaking, "when it's that time of the month, blood comes out of a woman's–"

"Are you seriously asking me if I'm pregnant?" I interjected, heat crawling ot my face.

"You wouldn't be the first to undergo Immaculate Conception."

I reached back and whacked him hard with a pillow. "I'm getting the heck out of here."

"Not until I say so, Mary."

I whacked him again with the pillow with a growl and then yanked the covers off of me.

Death kept his eyes on my face even when I felt a breeze on my legs.

"Holy–!" I pulled down the oversized shirt I was wearing and then yanked the covers back on. I had on a pair of normal cotton underwear and no pants. Blood rushed to my face. "You changed my clothes!" Then it dawned on me that he might have done something else and I smelled my arm. "And you bathed me!"

"Nothing gets past you," Death said flatly, and I couldn't remember ever seeing such unreadable features. It was as if he'd shut down any ability to express emotion in his face. It made him seem less inhuman than he already looked. "What part of you had a one hundred and ten fever do you not understand? You were soaked in sweat and blood and some of that alcoholic drink my reapers tried to get you to choke down. Wasn't about to get that on my sheets."

"Heaven forbid."

He scrunched up his nose, finally showing me a human quirk. "Gesundheit. I also put you in a cold bath for the fever, but even then it wouldn't break. All it did was make you throw up."

"I threw up?"

"You projectile vomited," he corrected, back to serious mode. "All over me. I had to drain the bath and clean you and myself. Ever try and get vomit out of leather? Fun time."

I blinked. "You cleaned both of us."

"Yes."

"At the same time?"

"No, cupcake, not at the same time." A smile twitched his lips, and I watched his severe expression crack slightly. "I might be old AF trapped in a blistering hot twenty-something year old body, but I'm not a caveman."

Heat flushed my face. I had to turn my head away from him. He'd seen me naked. Everything. All of it. Again for him, probably. My eyes were huge saucers of embarrassment.... and yet I also found myself fighting the urge to pat myself on the back.

Sure, Death was usually a villainous sack of turds and had obvious psychopathic tendencies, but nonetheless, he looked like a walking incubus and God bless America. As soon as he'd mentioned a shower, images flashed in my mind of a cloth gently brushing my body came rushing to me. And I didn't even feel a fraction violated. I felt...oh god, I'd actually wished I'd been conscious.

Oh shit, I suddenly thought. And when was the last time I shaved?!

"Take my word for it or don't, but I actually didn't look at anything or touch any inappropriate areas," Death clarified, snapping me out of my thoughts. "Just to clear the air. I'm not a total asshole."

"Thank you, then," I said rather awkwardly, although that hadn't even crossed my mind. Hell, I probably wouldn't have even minded it... You're a hot mess. "But couldn't you have at least put some pants on me once the fever broke?"

"What do I lo ok like, Goodwill?" He scoffed. "Besides, all my sweatpants are in the wash, and Satan forbid the blood and gore stains I get on my pants come out in one cycle. I'm telling you, this place might look nice, the detergent in Hell is some kind of knock off, watered-down shit."

I blinked. "Get me a pair of pants before I scream."

"Alright, alright." He tossed a pair of sweatpants at me from thin air. Then he turned around.

"So much effort."

"Don't be a brat," he snapped, which suddenly made me feel young and annoying. I felt the urge to prove myself but didn't say a word. I was young and annoying.

"Do you remember what happened?" he asked, with his back still away from me while I pulled on the sweatpants and tied them tight. "Before I arrived at the den, I mean. What happened in the bathroom when the demon attacked you?"

My chest tightened at the memory. I could suddenly feel the fear that had knotted my stomach when I saw that white haired demon in the mirror. I could feel the helplessness, the lack of control I had over my power that had almost killed me. The white-hot pain that shot down my shoulder blades and paralyzed my body. The images that had appeared to me in Ace's club. They'd come back a second time and this time I'd felt like I'd momentarily been dragged into another world.

A cloaked rider and his horse. A blonde pregnant woman. A little boy. A man hanging from chains. A river. A cloudy mirror covered by vines. If I shut my eyes for a moment, I knew those images would be there, vivid, connected...

And then there was that horror film that played out before my eyes of Malphas, the Raven Demon. How did he fit into all of this?

I looked over at Death. He was facing me now, arms crossed over his chest. He knew how much of a toll my powers had taken on me. In that moment, I knew I couldn't hold anything back from him without him knowing, so I told him everything that had happened in the bathroom. By the time I was done, he had averted his gaze from me and begun to pace the length of room in front of the bed, running his hand slowly over his jaw.

"Is this the first time you've seen these images?" he asked, and I could tell by his demeanor that this was all unsettling to him.

I shook my head. "This isn't the first time I've seen them. And I have a feeling this won't be the last."

His gloved hands tightened into fists. "When did you first see them?"

"In the club. When we were going through the curtain to see Ace."

"In the club?" His facial features began to sharpen right before my eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?" he growled with a sudden ferocity.

"Because I had it under control," I answered lamely.

He let out a harsh laugh and motioned to me on the bed. "Clearly. Let me go get your wheel chair so you can reenact this 'control' you speak of."

"Don't act like there's something you could have done," I bit out, far too cranky to deal with his attitude. I swung my legs off the bed and ignored the light headiness I got when I stood up. "Let's clarify that there's nothing you and your anger management issues could have done to help me."

"You didn't even try to tell me."

"I don't have to tell you anything!"

"I need to know these things, Faith. Maybe what happened to you in the bathroom could have been prevented."

"A lot of things between us could have been prevented."

"Like if I let you die from square one?" he offered, although I was certain he knew I meant something else.

Death tilted his head a little at me, like an animal observing its prey at a different angle. "You know, you're becoming more and more combative and childish each day. Maybe the real problem here isn't your control. Maybe it's that you're reverse maturing like Benjamin Button."

"I'm sorry that I won't bend over and take it from you like your demon slaves!" I shouted.

A vicious smirk framed mouth, exposing his fangs. I instantly regretted my choice of words. And I regretted getting off the bed, because somehow, we were now almost toe-to-toe.

"Don't ever expect me to let you walk all over me," I continued quickly, burning everywhere, "because that will never happen. And don't act like you're not childish too, because you are! You're two thousand plus years old and have a fohawk and more piercings than a needlepoint pillow. So don't call me childish."

His lip twitched in a brief snarl, but he said nothing.

"You can't just fix me, Death," I went on. "You're not perfect. You don't know everything. You don't have the solution for me. You can't fix me, and I don't need you to. Whatever is going on with me, I want to figure myself. You're the last person I want to help me."

"I beg to differ," was all he said. "If I recall correctly, and I always do, I'm the one you cried on. I was the one who came to you when you called. Do you think Leo can help you? Because I think he's the one who wants to bend you over and treat you like a slave. But the rate you two are going, he won't have to bend you over. You'd fall on your back with your legs wide open."

My fists clenched. "You should watch what you say to me," I warned.

"Or what?" he challenged. "You going to zap me with your laser beam again?" Death leaned in. "Make it count, little gir–"

I slapped him so hard that my hand stung. I felt that the action wasn't just for his comment about Leo, but for a lot of pent up anger I had towards Death and. His head actually shifted to the side, and if I didn't know any better, by the surprised flare trapped in his eyes, and the way he touched his cheek, I'd say I'd even hurt him,

"I'm not a little girl anymore," I said.

Death's eyes darted to me like two stabs of mismatched green infernos. His mouth parted, and his fangs extended until they were little points past his lips. "If you wanted to play, cupcake," he purred out in a dangerously low voice, "you could have just said so."

He lunged towards me and I stumbled back, barely dodging his mouth as he gnashed his fangs at my face like a wild animal. With a yelp, I hopped onto the bed and rolled over to the other side. I armed myself with a lamp, yanking it out of the wall.

"That is expensive." Death leaned his hands onto the opposite side of the bed; head tilted low, eyes narrowed and cynical. He pushed on the mattress with his large hands, as if testing its ability to help him pounce at me. "And this is fun."

"You almost bit me."

"I know right?" Death chuckled, real deep in his throat. "I just wanted to frighten you."

He fake lunged at me. I squealed.

"You better cut it out," I cautioned laughably.

"Or what?

"Or I'll tell Devin."

"Tattle tale." Death laughed again in that deep, pleasing way, slowly licked his upper lip. "You have a very inconsistent attack process." He didn't move any part of his body, as if he were still considering pouncing. "I'd want to see you act more on reflex. You can at least try and fend me off next time."

"Next time?" My heart pumped quick pulses of intermingled fear and excitement. "Did you just...test me?"

"If I were any other psychopath, I would have just grabbed your ankles when you hopped on the bed, pulled you down, and murdered you senselessly." He cocked his head to the side. "Yes, it was a test, princess. Off the cuff."

I glared at him.

"Or maybe I was just putting you in your place." He snapped his jaws together, growled lowly, and then leered at my reaction with a wicked grin. "Perhaps next time you'll use your only real weapon against me, cupcake."

"My underwear?"

"Touché. You have two weapons, then. Your underwear, and that lively little light thing you do with your hands sometimes, Sparky McHope."

"I'll have to remember to use it next time," I snapped.

"You mean you'll have to learn how to use it."

My sass lessened. "Does that mean you're going to teach me?"

"I'm considering it." His expression hardened to a mask and he crossed his arms over his chest, thick biceps rolling under his t-shirt. "But I'm no longer considering taking you with me to find Ahrimad."

"What?" I mirrored his position with my arms crossed. "Listen, what happened was a fluke–"

"Fluke is certainly an understatement," he growled. "You almost got yourself killed, proving to me that you need a lot more concentration on your ability than I anticipated. "

"But that's not fair–" I started angrily.

"It's fair."

"But Death–"

"Why do you even want to help me?" he suddenly asked, and there was a fleeting look in his eyes that exposed some sort of vulnerability.

Why did I want to help him? I just stared at him a moment without a response.

"Because," I said weakly.

"Because what?" he asked.

My fists clenched. "It wouldn't be to help you," I bit out, although I wasn't sure if that was entirely true. "It would be to help myself." I looked away from him and ignored the burn in my eyes. "I was hoping... I was hoping if I helped you... You might...."

His eyes remained hard. "Let you see your family?"

"Yes," I said.

Death didn't say anything for a stretch of time. "Well you won't have that option, because I've already stopped considering taking you with me. You are emotionally and physically unstable. Seeing your family right now would be detrimental to their well-being, anyway."

My voice sounded small. "I miss my parents, Death."

"Then you'll give them a call the next time a phone is available to you," he said dismissively and checked the Rolex around his wrist. Give them a call?! "I need to leave for a while. You'll stay in here and rest."

I watched him collect his leather jacket from the closet. I wondered, as I often did, how much suffering it took to make a man into a monster like Death.

Frustration quickened my breath. "You have some real nerve saying that to me," I snapped at his back, making him pause. "You know you're the reason why I'm emotionally and physical unstable."

Death took his time fixing collar of his leather jacket before turning around to face me. He glared his glare and prowled towards me. I stood my ground, even as his scent was intoxicatingly close. He leaned in so that our faces were inches apart and looked me deep in the eyes. For a moment, I thought he would kiss me. I wasn't so

"Well tough love, Faith," he said in a low voice. "I already told you I'm not the nice guy. I was going to train you for me so that I can get my scythe and rip Ahrimad to shreds. I don't have the time nor the motivation to train a little girl to control her fucking feelings, so she can visit her mommy and daddy. If you still want to tag along and play my sidekick so that you're not staring at a wall all day, then tag along."

I just stared up at him. Sure, Death's words had felt like a repaid slap to the face, and he'd intended to hurt me, but that last takeaway line had pulled my focus on the core issue at hand.

"You're so...jealous," I said.

He glowered down at me. "Jealous?"

"Of Leo. It's painfully obvious. That's why you're so pissy."

There wasn't even a flinch in his expression, except for a slow grin that peeled his lips from his fangs. "And what exactly would I be jealous about?"

I kept my gaze locked with his. "His civility. The attention I give him. Who knows what else your screwed up possessive self is jealous about?"

Death leaned back a little, eying me up. "You are getting some real heavy iron balls on you, you know that, cupcake?"

"You haven't denied it."

"I have nothing to deny."

The tension in the room was unbearable.

"But if you knew what I was thinking right now," Death growled out in nearly a whisper. He seemed to fight something internally and looked to the side. His eyes radiated and darted back to me. They slithered over my body, and as if his hands were ghosts feeling every inch of me, I felt my temperature rise. Those wicked eyes lifted back to mine. "Leo would pale in comparison to me if you knew what I was thinking about."

I wondered if the fever was back. Every inch of me was on fire. I wanted to close the distance between us and find out exactly what he was thinking. But that meant letting myself be vulnerable with an unstable jerk. "I want to go back to my room."

I hated how that smirk emphasized his beauty. "Are you scared that I'm right?" he pressed.

"I'm scared that I'd let you prove it."

His expression was once again unreadable. Eventually, he gripped my arm. We transported. His hand left me and I faced my Ikea bedroom set.

The bedside lamps were on and there was a black box on my bed. It was secured closed with beautiful black ribbon. My only physical birthday present. I felt lame that my heart had fluttered just at the sight.

I ran my fingers over the black ribbon of the box and then looked behind me. Death was still lingering gin the room. He stared down at the present in my hands, anger lining his sharp features.

"Is this from you?"

He didn't say anything, but those exotic eyes darted to me. His features significantly relaxed. He looked away from me, as if he were uncomfortable.

I turned towards the present and smiled. He had gotten me a gift!

Death remained silent. I knew that somehow, he hadn't actually intended to give me the present. The moment just didn't feel right. I felt sad and now as I stood in front of the box, I didn't know what to do. Death didn't seem to know what to do either, since he still remained in the room but couldn't vocalize his thoughts. Funny how two could transition from a tense conversation to an even tenser nonexistent conversation.

"Happy Birthday, Faith," Death said. When I turned back around, he was gone.

I sat down on the bed, feeling as though I was floating. My fingers shook a little as I sought the silk ribbon of the box. I pulled in one direction and it all fell away. I popped the lid and my hand slowly rose to cup my mouth.

Inside the box was a clear plastic container filled with the biggest pink frosted cupcake I'd ever seen in my life. And to the left of that container, with a renewed sewing job on his arms and legs, and an additional big pink bow around his neck, was my childhood teddy bear from home, Mr. Wiggles. 

I picked up the bear and held him chest, extracting a strong, nostalgic amount of comfort from the bear that left me in tears. And imagine my surprise when Mr. Wiggle's old voice box, which I'd damaged years before, went off as I squeezed him tighter.

I'm Mr. Wiggles and I love to sing this song. Clap your hands and you can sing along! I'm Mr. Wiggles and I love to sing this song. Clap your hands and you can sing along! Be my friend and I'll be yours. Hug-me-when-you're-feeling- blue...

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Death– *sitting back in reclined chair shoving popcorn in his mouth and watching chapter play out* "Ugh, I am so fucking cute."

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