An Act of Death [William T. Spears x Reader]

11 Color

It was a surreal thing for ______ to see her own blood in such a manner. 

She sat on the edge of the table with her legs dangling over the side, feet hovering well above the ground. She watched as the crimson fluid flowed from her arm through a tube and into a container, both disturbed and fascinated by its hue. A few feet to her left sat Dr. Sheppard, taking notes dispassionately and generally leaving her to herself. She took the opportunity to fantasize about escaping.

After a while, Sheppard wordlessly rose from his chair and removed the line from her arm just as she was on the verge of fainting. As a reward, Sheppard offered her a glass of juice, only for her take it with such a weak hold that it fell through her fingertips and spilled all over her lap. As the doc reached for a towel, ______ vaguely considered the potential of broken glass in her grand escape plan. All the same, however, she didn’t act on these intrusive thoughts. She knew that it was beyond her ability and wit to pull off. As did her captor.

“Doc?” She said to break the silence. He didn’t look up, merely taking a cloth to clean up the mess she’d made. Nor did he look up as he checked the line in her arm. She spoke a little louder. “... Are you feeling alright?”

His manner pivoted. His arm swung around so quickly that she hadn’t even had the time to recoil: a new kind of pain struck across her face. Her eyes widened in genuine surprise. This was the first time he’d raised his hand to her. Previously, every last action of his had been purposeful and no energy was wasted on petty things such as frustration or anger. Until now, of course. His expression was twisted in such a way that he seemed pained. “Is this the kind of host you want me to be?”

______ parted her lips, prepared to answer in a way that was either brave or stupid. However, before she could make such a mistake, the door burst open with enough force to nearly send it flying off of its hinges. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet as a horrifically familiar presence entered the space-- a demon. And he had someone else in tow, dragging them by the back of their jacket across the floor. From what she could see, the person was profusely bleeding, blood soaking his brown hair and dripping down the back of his neck. He was wearing a suit-- a shinigami?

“Oh? What is this?” Dr. Sheppard asked in a tone void of enthusiasm. He was unquestionably revolted by the demon's presence, but approached anyways to get a better look at what he brought. Upon further inspection, ______’s heart felt as if someone had stabbed it with a knife and twisted. It wasn’t just any knocked out shinigami. It was William. Sheppard’s voice didn’t show any sign of recognition. “Is this supposed to be a gift?"

“Your humor is the same as ever.” The demon said, eyes glistening red. “This one killed two of my subordinates because of your slip up. I expect to be compensated.”

“Of course. I’ll hold up my side of the bargain.” Dr. Sheppard turned away from the demon and looked straight at her with such intensity that she couldn’t help but avert her gaze. The cruelty that flickered in his eyes struck her harder than his hand had. “Go ahead and kill him. I have no need for another subject.”

The demon hoisted William up, closing his claws around his neck and procuring a ornate blade from his belt and readying it. In the next moments, ______’s nerves ignited. Before she could fully understand what she was doing, she was stumbling off of the table and flailing her arms desperately over the workspace until her fingertips met Dr. Sheppard’s scalpel. She grasped it with both hands and pressed the sharp point to her own throat. “Don’t.” 

The demon halted his movement, looking between her and the doctor with a bemused smirk. As for the doctor himself, Sheppard looked at her like a parent looked at a child that was misbehaving. "Your death would be of little significance to me. Put it down, love.”