Three hours had flown by, and Walter was still slaving away at his many, many books. He sighed in exhaustion and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He had been at it for so long, the letters were blending together. He had never been this exhausted since he had been brought back after his accident. Alright. Enough complaining. Back to the books.

He barely noticed when a draft picked up in the room, swaying his hair ever so slightly. Nor did he fully notice a voice calling his name.

“Walter.” It was quiet, far away even, but the tone was very firm. He quickly pushed it to the back of his mind. He had to focus. “Walter.” There it was again. Louder, closer, but just as firm. And yet, Walter decided to ignore it nonetheless. “Walter Jones.”

Walter yelped, jumping as his book slammed shut, and a hand pressed down on the cover to keep it that way. Dread filled his stomach as Walter followed the arm to see the face of the man he was dealing with, and-- Oh no… “Hello Charles…” He said, nerves squeezing his throat shut.

“Good evening.” Charles spoke, getting the formality out of the way. “What on Earth do you think you’re doing?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I… uh… Reading?” Walter tried.

“For two whole weeks? And you never got the inspiration to go outside and take care of your duties? Or even to let me know what you were up to? Do you have any idea how many spirits were aimlessly wandering around?! I could barely prevent some of them from becoming poltergeists!”

“I’m sorry.” Walter mumbled, his gaze cast down. “I just… It was an emergency.”

Charles sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Is this still about your son?”

Walter nodded, looking up at the man who was, for all intents and purposes, his boss. The Angel of Death. The man who brought him back from the dead to escort souls to the ‘other side’, lest they remain in the land of the living, lose their humanity and become poltergeists, forever in a state of agony and disturbing living humans.

The man looked about a decade younger than Walter, but his eyes, just as green as his own and all other Agents of Death, showed just how old and tired he truly was. Millennia worth of wisdom reflected in them. He was dressed sharply as ever, never quite growing out of his dandy ways, and was all-around a very handsome man.

Charles leaned his hip against the hardwood desk, mulling over his words before he tried to speak again. “Look. I understand that you love him and you want to keep him safe. I really do. I feel the same about Lily. However, it is not our place to directly interfere with the exorcists.”

“I know.” Walter groaned in frustration. “I just want to know more about them. Gabriel told me the Order of Alexander are who are behind this, but I’ve never heard of them before.”

The younger looking man hummed, deep in thought. “I can’t say I’ve heard of them either. Tell you what. You at least try to return to your duties. At night, when the boy is asleep. Then I’ll take a look in my records and see what these Alexanders are all about.”

The offer was tempting. Almost beyond tempting. But leaving Barclay behind, sleeping and at his most vulnerable... However, he couldn’t just go out and take care of his duties in broad daylight. Humans would see him, and would think at least twice about what they were seeing. There was a good reason the Agents worked primarily at night.

“I’ll send a rookie to watch over your house.” Charles offered, instantly easing Walter’s mind.

“I… That would be great.” Walter nodded, smiling, but he wasn’t sure he meant it.

“See, it’s not so difficult, is it?” Charles said as he reassuringly patted Walter’s back. “I promise I’ll do what I can.”

Walter only nodded weakly. “Thank you, Charles.”

“Anything for my best Agent. Good night, Walter. I expect you to be back on the job tomorrow night.”

“Of course… Good night.”