Wednesday's William

"Well." Oh God. "Today sucked." Oh fuck it to Hell. Wednesday grits his teeth and silently resists the urge to scream. Or kill him. Or himself. No, definitely him. He unclenches his jaw enough to take a breath. A very long, very deep breath, willing the thousand retorts on the tip of his tongue back. When he finally does respond, his voice is strangled and forced and really more of a snarl.

"As usual your sense of understatement is painfully astounding." He glares at William through a curtain of black hair. Singed black hair. The pounding headache is doing nothing to improve matters, and he's pretty sure that last ghoul took a piece of him to Hell. Like his spleen. And now this idiot has the gall to smile and say,

"It could have been worse." Wednesday pauses mid step and turns towards William, painfully slow. He is inches away from him, his eyes wide with some emotion he can't identify when irony decides to be a bitch. There is a flash of lightning and the low growl of thunder and then rain starts to fall.

It is midnight in the charred remains of a chapel, surrounded by the bodies of ghouls, rain beating down on them, that Wednesday Michaels turns to William Klein with abject misery in his lavender eyes and asks,

"Why couldn't you just die?" And really, today just couldn't get any worse.

"He hates me," groans William. His voice comes out muffled, his head buried into his pillow. Sunlight filters through a window, makes his hair look more gold than the strawberry blond it really is. Tianti muses that is she didn't know what William's personality was like; she might very well be in love with him. That is to say, if she didn't know what a whiny brat and how incredibly gay he could be she might have given it a thought. Alas.

She struggles to resume listening to his complaining and settles instead for nodding at regular intervals.

"He said that I'm as lovable as root canal and as wanted as heart disease." He looks up from the growing spit stain he'd been making to look at her blearily and say, "He hates me! I know he does!" before giving another groan and attempting to suffocate himself with a Four Seasons goose down pillow once more.

His obvious misery weakens her just a bit but annoyance wins out. Men. Maybe if he actually tells Wednesday instead of whining… Comforting. Right. She sighs, half frustration, half sympathy and moves towards him. There's a dip in the bed as she sits next to him. Tianti combs fingers through his hair comfortingly and says,

"Oh Will, of course he hates you." William's shaking pauses as he lifts his head to scowl at her through pale, pale, grey eyes the colour of a cloudy day and says,

"Your obvious lack of boyfriend and friends in general, excluding myself of course, leads me to have No Doubts about the reason you…lack them," he finishes lamely. There's a sweet smile on her face which never wavers and Will becomes very aware of the space separating them or lack thereof. He feels the first, cold stirrings of fear. There must have been something in his eyes because Tianti laughs and it is as lovely as the rest of her.

"You do like your testicles where they are, don't you Will?" Brown eyes the colour of dark chocolate dance and he feels himself pale around the edges.

"Um, sure." He means for it to come out normal, bland, maybe even wry, not high and more of a squeak. Tianti continues combing through his hair with her fingers. She gives him a brilliant smile and another light, airy laugh,

"I thought so." 'Eviiiil,' his mind hisses out. His eyes dart around frantically, seeking for an escape route or a weapon. Failing at that he scrambles back and crosses his fingers into a makeshift crucifix and shrieks,

"Begone Evil! The power of Christ compels you!" Silence descends, Tianti's expression switching between perplexed and amused. She settles for something in between.

"William?" her tone is that of an adult speaking with a particularly slow child.

"Yes?" He's a bit disappointed actually; apparently the power of Christ was unable to compel her. Not even singe her really.

"You don't believe in Christ." That was so not true.

"That is so not tr-"

"You're Jewish," she continues patiently. A pause.

"Oh yes, I am aren't I?" Tianti smiles and wonder what bail is for murder.

Well that takes care of that. Wednesday surveys the carnage with the manner of an artist surveying his latest masterpiece. He thinks this is how Michelangelo must have felt when he completed the Sistine Chapel. He hums a Monty Python song under his breath as he steps over unattached limbs and the odd head or two. He contemplates taking a picture of himself flipping the bird and sending it to the council but decides he really shouldn't antagonize them any further. Right? Right.

He is fishing his camera out of his backpack when a gasp startles him. Not the gasp really, more like the phrase after them.

"Mary Tits and Jesus' stilettos, what the fuck happened?" Wednesday's heart beats a little faster as he tries to find a response that won't get him thrown in jail. Or burned at the stake.

They're making a movie. Land of the Dead and Decapitated. Rotting and Loving it. Honey, I turned into a Zombie.

The last one makes him giggle and there's a tiny touch of hysteria to it. Mother was going to kill him. He forces his expression into one of polite neutrality and turns towards the newcomer.

Oh Hell.

William Klein. Wednesday supposes he's nice enough but William is known for…babbling. He snorts inelegantly, that was putting it rather mildly, William simply could not shut up. Shit. He hated this part. Maybe the movie thing would work. He advances on William slowly, the latter putting his hands up in a gesture of surrender and squeaking,

"Ididn'tseeanythingpleasedon'thurtmeI'mjustlikeyou." Wednesday stops halfway, blinking slowly and trying to process the gibberish had just said and the secret message encoded within it and not how kissable William's lips had looked while they moved. He settles for the appropriate response of,

"What?" Will takes a breath and says clearly and ,thank God, slowly,

"I'm like you." Silence. Disbelief. Maybe a sprinkling of shock.

"Like me, right." Wednesday's tone clearly states that he now thinks William is an idiot. He takes in the other's appearance, red gold hair, skin that is fair without looking sickly(unlike his) , and full, pouty, absolutely lickable lips. … He did not think that last bit.

"I'm serious!"

"Right. Okay. Bye bye now." Wednesday turns around and waves. He's disgusted that he had gotten so worried about his little secret being found out. The only way anybody would find out is if they ever managed to decipher the language Klein speaks in.

He is walking down the hill towards the high school when he feels something tug at his ankle. He peers down to see a blade of grass wrapped around it. He wonders what harm it can do if he gets rid of it. Surely not that much. He's already sending a bolt of necromantic energy through his leg when another blade of grass joins the first. And then another, and another.

Wednesday is beginning to panic just a little. Maybe William is another of his father's cronies. No, the mere notion of it absurd. When a vine the thickness of his arm appears he gets worried. Enough to loosen his hold on his powers. But that little slip is all that is needed. The grass and vine die away, turning brown, dry. Dead. The brown spreads, going to the source of the magic, all the life, killing, sapping it from it's path. It stops an inch before William's foot. Lavender eyes meet pale grey. He expects fear, terror, even disgust, but not… this.Awe. And some other emotion he can't read.

"You are so cool."

Wednesday is drying his hair with a towel when the doorbell rings. He figures it's William come to apologize and ignores it. He snorts and abandons the towel in search of coffee and aspirin. He pads to the stylish kitchen of his high-rise condo that was built to look pretty rather than actually function. The doorbell rings again and he still ignores it. The plant on the sill needs watering, he idly thinks, it was beginning to get brown spots. As he watches, the brown spots get steadily bigger until all that is left is the dried, black remains of a bromeliad. Wednesday puts his mug down with a soft 'thud' and gets up to answer the door. It is a face he'd rather never to see again, for all its beauty. Black eyes glitter maliciously from a face made to seduce and the voice, for all its pleasantness, makes him shiver in a bad way.

"Hello, love."

"I just love him so fucking much."

"I know you do."

"I'm going to tell him."

"Then what the hell are you waiting for?" The slamming door is her only response.

William decides that anything must be better than this. He doesn't want to live always wondering how it could have been, doesn't want to live always watching the back of Wednesday. He doesn't want to just watch those red, red, lips, wants to kiss them instead, wants to find out if they're warm from all the cold things he says. He wants to watch those stunning eyes burn for him. And he would really, really like to see that ass in something besides baggy denim.

His feet pound against grey pavement and while the thought of rejection fills his mind and makes him sick. He has to at least try. But it still makes his heart race and makes lead forming the pit of his stomach. He also chooses that moment to run into someone. He looks up, sees only the palest blond hair he's ever seen and glittering black eyes. The voice is low and refined, and burns like the finest bottle of Chivas.

"Hello, love."

The phone rings. Tianti debates whether or not to pick it up. She has found a lovely spot on the couch and can't really be bothered. She waits for the machine to answer and contemplates meddling. Maybe she should call Wednesday up, and do the 'if-you-hurt-him-I'll-kill-you' thing. The machine lets out a beep an Wednesday's panicked voice fills the room. That can't be right, she muses, Wednesday never sounds panicked.

"William? William pick up the phone! For the love of God!" Tianti is already halfway across the room before Wednesday can hang up.


"Tianti? Where's Will?" The hysteria in his voice is vivid and does not encourage Good Thoughts.

"He's gone to your place." She's trying desperately to keep calm, but apparently hysteria is contagious even over the phone and the urge to scream or laugh is threatening to take over.

"When did he leave?"

"A few minutes ago." The line clicks dead.

"So you know Wednesday."

"Indeed I do," says the man quite cheerfully. He's nice, polite, and not at all hard to look at. But there's just something about him, something that just doesn't feel Right. "You might even say, he and I go way back." Ah. That was it. The man is a prick.

"Do you?" He enquires politely. His smile is fake enough to shatter, and he wants nothing more than to dump his Mochachino latte on the man's perfect pale head. He doesn't know why the hell he's sitting here talking to a man he has just met. Never mind listening to the man is bragging about whatever relationship he has with Wednesday Had, he reminds himself , It ended long ago. That doesn't stop him from wanting to throttle the bastard. And there's that laugh again, all honeyed tones and secretive smile like he's in on a joke that William doesn't know about, which he thinks, might not be that far from the truth. The niggling feeling is back again, and increases when the man, Lucian, he calls himself, leans forward to whisper conspiratally into his ear,

"I'll tell you a secret; Wednesday doesn't really like me," he feels like a lead weight has just dropped in his stomach. "You might even say he positively hates me." A warm puff of air rushes against his ear. All eyes at the café are on them now. Some with wide eyed curiosity, some with disgust, and not a few with thinly veiled hostility. "But I don't really mind." And with that he presses his lips against William's. At the same time fierce whispers break out and a women cries out, "In public!" scandalized. Lucian draws himself up and tosses a few bills onto the table before giving a decidedly wicked smile and blowing a kiss at an outraged William. "See you, lover." And he's gone.

William gets up slowly and ignores the stares and whispers. They don't matter. Nothing matters. Nothing except Wednesday., he tells himself, You have more important things to take care of. He walks down the street, steps more hesitant, less sure of themselves.

Lucian had been…attractive. Fuck it, he had been mind numbingly gorgeous. Why on earth would Wednesday want him? He was skinny, and his eyes were freaky, and- But Wednesday hates Lucian. According to him anyway. Will takes a shortcut through the park. He figures he can get to Wednesday's condo faster that way. He's so lost in his thoughts he doesn't see the gang following behind until it's too late.

"Lucian. What the fuck are you doing here." He doesn't so much ask the question as much as he demands it. The other smiles wider, frame filling the doorway, black eyes appreciatively taking in the sight of a shirtless Wednesday.

"I'm visiting my favourite person of course," he says in reply. Wednesday sneers,

"I'm quite sure you're favourite person is yourself." The smirk has become, if possible, even smugger as Lucian invites himself in. He looks around with an approving eye.

"Nice. Very stylish. Is mummy dearest paying for it all? Perhaps a sugar daddy?" The blond takes three steps towards Wednesday, grips his chin and forces him too look him in the eyes as he hisses, "Or maybe it's that cute little blond that you've been fucking around with." Wednesday's blood runs cold. His voice comes out flat, utterly free on inflection.

"I am not, as you say, 'fucking around' with him. I don't even like him. But then again," he adds with a vicious smirk, "Who I fuck is not really any of your concern." The other stiffens. "How do you like being my father's whore, Lucian darling?" Lucian steps away eyes unreadable and laughs. It's like the rest of him, refined, beautiful and vicious.

"You were always such a vindictive bitch."

"You helped make me this way. Now. Get .Out."

"Your father still wants you-"

"He wants my power," Wednesday says with scorn. Lucian shrugs,

"It is not such a bad thing."

"But sleeping through an entire family is." Lucian's face hardens. "Now get out. You repulse me." As the door clicks shut, Lucian can't resist a final jibe,

"Since the little blond is of no importance for you, maybe I shall play a little game with him, no? What was his name again? Ah yes, Will?" His breath catches in his throat and he whirls around to wrench the door open but Lucian is gone, and the only traces of him ever being there is the dead bromeliad on the window sill.

"Faggot." Words shouldn't be able to hurt him so easily, he realizes. And he's a witch for God's sake! He should be able to send these guys to hell and back. So why the fuck wasn't he?

Because nothing is working.

Oh yes, that's right. There's stifling pressure that only he seems to feel. It chokes and bears down on him and sucks all the energy out of him. Magic, he realizes blearily, Necromancy. Lucian. The next blow to his stomach knocks the wind out of him and makes him gasp. Someone grips his hair and forces him to look up.

"You're just a little fag. A cocksucker. Why don't you call your boyfriend to save you?" He wants to scream, That wasn't my boyfriend, you fucking loser! but that's rather hard when there's knee in your gut, and an arm against your throat. "Your kind disgusts me," spits his attacker. William's vision is getting kind of blurry, and he find time to think that he, a witch who can invoke the forces of Earth, is about to die a victim of Gay-bashing. Hilarious. Ha-fucking-ha. He hears the sound of a metal blade being flicked out, and he wishes to God that he could see Wednesday that one last time- Prays that maybe it's all a nightmare and that he'll wake up soon, and the blade is getting closer until he can see every scratch, every spot of rust. He blinks. More rust appears along the blade, turning it red and black. It's like watching the Discovery Channel, where they show a flower blooming on fast forward. Except it's knife 3 inches from his eyes and rust. His attacker looks as confused as he does; just watching until the blade rusts and falls away completely leaving only the handle.

"Hello," says a deadly quiet voice. Will looks past the attacker he has nicknamed Beatrice to look at the unflinching black Wednesday's eyes have become. That's always a bad sign. It means his necromancy has swallowed him. Even as he watches, the black starts to consume the whites of his eyes.

"Who the fuck are you?" croaks Beatrice. The man is still gripping the knife handle tightly, out of fear or anger, Will does not know. On second thought he does. Definitely fear. Will knows that he would be shitting in his pants if he ever came across an irate necromancer. The others have stopped to watch as well, looking at Wednesday with a combination of fear and fascination.

"I?" Wednesday's voice is smooth and mellow, jovial even. Will shudders, he has never seen him like this before. He watches the other raise a perfectly arched eyebrow and give a little smile. "I am but a mere a practitioner of the lost arts, a servo della morte," he says taking languid steps towards them, " I am a necromancer," His smile vanishes and turns into a scowl as he says through gritted teeth, "-and I am not having a good day."

"So. The ghouls, zombies, and pretty much all the nasty things that attack you are sent by your father?" Wednesday sighs and shifts his hold on Will's knees.

"Pretty much."

"Oh." He thinks about the implications for a minute. He wants to know more, but he's afraid Wednesday won't answer. Doesn't trust him to tell him the answer. He must have been quiet for awhile because Wednesday looks back at him,

"William?" He beams at that and locks his legs tighter around Wednesday's waist. He came for him, that has to mean something.

"That's the first time you've called me by my name." The brunette frowns,

"Don't be stupid." His heart plummets a bit. Nothing has really changed. He hesitates for a moment, gathers up his courage to ask,

"Why did you rescue me?" Wednesday is thrown off by the question.

"Why wouldn't I?" Will is quiet again, and it just seems so unnatural for him that Wednesday becomes unnerved.

"You hate me." He stops dead in his tracks.

"When in blazes did I ever say I hated you?" his tone screams bewilderment. They look kind of ridiculous like that, Will piggy backed on Wednesday, the both of them smack in the middle of the street. It's late by now, and hardly anybody is left on the streets, but still.

"This morning you asked me why I couldn't just die," points out Will, not very helpfully.

"You were being an ass."

"Oh." Silence reigns again. Wednesday continues walking. "About Lucian…"

"Lucian is the spawn of a herpes ridden prostitute and a very large, very ugly, man who's sperm had been mutated due to long term exposure to radiation. Henceforth we shall never speak of him again."

"Oh.' Will bites his bottom lip, and contemplates this a bit, "He wasn't at all that bad looking really-"

"Oh for God's sake!" Will suddenly finds himself on his ass at the feet of a very Irate Necromancer. He winces at the pain his less than gentle landing caused, when Wednesday yanks him up by the collar. Will yelps and struggles but the other is insistent. When he is standing, half supported by Wednesday, the brunette bares teeth at him in a half snarl and crushes his lips against his.

Oh. OH.

When they finally break apart, his eyes are glazed and he is more than a little disoriented.

"Still find him good looking?" Wednesday spits out the last part like it's a bad word and for a moment Will can't even comprehend who the hell he's talking about as his brain had just taken a vacation to more southern parts. When he manages to regain control, he looks to see narrowed lavender eyes that are quickly darkening. It occurs to him that Wednesday is jealous.

"Erm, well…" He clears his throat louder than necessary before lowering pale lashes and asking meekly, "You don't hate me?" The glare is heated enough to melt steel and for a moment Will thinks that Wednesday is going to hit him.

"You idiot. You have done nothing but annoy me for all the time I have known you, put me in mortal danger countless times, and have proven again and again, that you are far too stupid to be left to your own devices." His heart rapidly sinks again.

"But despite all that, I love you. I love you so goddamn much I don't know how to stop. I love the way smile, and I love the way you pretend to like watching Blackadder because I like it. I have loved you so long I barely remember how life was before I loved you," Wednesday pauses to take a breath before continuing. By this time, Will's jaw has dropped open and he is staring incredulously at him. "But if you ever, ever do a repeat performance of today, I will kill you myself. Understand?"


"Good." Another kiss, not as brutal, not as passionate. Will is delighted to find out that yes, those lips are every fucking bit as incredible as he thought, and yes, Wednesday doesn't hate him. One thing still bothers him though,

"What the Hell is your dad's problem?"

"So you see son, it really is in your best interest that you join daddy in his little bid to take over the world. What do you say?" A smile bright enough to blind.

"Let me think…No."

"That's it?"

"Obviously you don't know how long this has been going on."

"Mummy?" A tiny hand tugs on the hem of her dress; Marissa looks down to see her son blinking at her with puzzled eyes.

"Yes, sweetie?"

"What's 'genocide'?" She briefly wonders where he might have heard the word but already has a suspicion

"Where did you hear that word?"

"Daddy said it when he was 'splaining how my sacrifice would benefit the council. He said that I could help him rule the world." Her son's face scrunches up as a few tears leak out, "But I said I didn't want and that I wanted to play instead, to and he said I would have to die then, and I really, really don't want to." Marissa silently resists the urge to castrate the father of her child. Then she notices the few tears has escalated.

"Oh honey!" She scoops him up in her arms and presses little butterfly kisses to his soft dark hair. The sobs get a little louder and she sighs. "Oh my darling, the thing is… your father is an idiot." He looks up at her curiously. "-and you shouldn't listen to crazy old men."

"Is daddy a crazy old man?"

"Yes Wednesday, he is." He thinks abut this before shrugging.


"So he sent those harpies too?"

"No, that was…someone else."

About a week later his grandfather comes to visit. He sits on the sofa, smelling of spices and oddly enough, Oscar de la renta , and pats the seat next to him.

"Come here child," he says gravely. Wednesday doesn't really like his grandfather. He's old and grumpy and his breath always smells of prunes, but he sits down anyway.


"Have you talked to your father lately?"

"A little."

"What do you and him talk about?" He gives a childish shrug.

"Stuff." His grandfather's eyes twinkle oddly.

"What kind of stuff?" He frowns a little,

"I'm not suppose to tell anyone."

"But you can tell your Pop-pops can't you?" he fidgets in his seat.

"Nope." His grandfather's smile vanishes like an ice cube in summer.

"Wednesday, I order you to tell me what he talks to you about at once!" he bursts into tears.

"But I can't!" he wails.

"And why not?" he manages to say through hiccupping sobs,

"Mummy says not to listen to crazy old men!"


"You didn't!" Will screeches.

"I did."

"You did not call the head of the Witches Council a 'crazy old man'!"

"I did. Repeatedly." Wednesday looks extremely smug. Will is mortified. He's dating the estranged son of a powerful, evil necromancer, who also happens to be the estranged grandson of said necromancer's arch nemesis. "Just, how were you conceived ?" Wednesday shrugs,

"Sex." Will makes a choking sound in the back of his throat. "Just kidding, your guess is as good as mine." He slumps against Wednesday's back. He fiddles with the inky hair, making little braids.

"Stop that." He giggles.

"I envisioned this all rather differently, actually." The silence prompts him too add, "The whole love thing, you know." He doesn't need to see the necromancer's face to know that perfectly arches eyebrow is raised.

"Oh?" Will's gaze is wistful and full of longing.

"I thought there would be candles and flowers, dinner," a pause, "Hot sweaty man sex."

"Not a chance in Hell," snaps Wednesday. Will deflates a bit, disappointed. The brunette is quite before clearing his throat and adding awkwardly, "Except for the uh, hot sweaty man sex part." The smile on Will's face is bright enough to blind.