Work Text:
“Never grow attached.” It was the first lesson his mother had taught Vincent. “Love your family. Like your friends. But always know that the people around you, whoever else they might be, are there as pawns. Growing attached will only make sacrificing them painful.”
This wasn’t an adage Vincent embraced easily. Manipulating people was one thing; he could do that without flinching. Sacrificing them…well, that was more difficult. Vincent had never gotten past the twinge of guilt that came from seeing one of his employees wounded or killed as a result of following Vincent’s orders.
He had thought he wouldn’t have that problem with Diedrich. From the day they had first met, Diedrich had viewed Vincent with clear disdain. Vincent skipped classes with no apparent unease over the consequences, while Diedrich attended even when sick. Diedrich had been raised to be prim and proper, while Vincent only barely hid his promiscuity and disregard for what others thought of him. And, of course, Vincent picked and chose what rules he obeyed, in stark contrast to Diedrich’s sense of duty and honor. Despite all of this, the professors seemed to give Vincent preferential treatment. It was no wonder it made Diedrich’s blood boil.
Honestly, had Diedrich stewed in silence, Vincent wouldn’t have minded. But the German noble had insisted on confronting Vincent about his behavior and mocking him in public. That was something Vincent’s pride couldn’t allow. So, he’d proposed the bet. It had been designed to humiliate the other boy, to put Diedrich in his place. To make Diedrich sacrifice his pride in order to obey the German’s strict code of honor. And it had worked. Diedrich had complained about each and every order Vincent gave, but he obeyed them, nonetheless.
In all honesty, Vincent had expected Diedrich to break off all contact with him after graduation. Surely, Vincent had thought, even someone with Diedrich’s sense of honor would see a lifetime of servitude due to a lost cricket match a bit much. Vincent would have let him go (with only a modest amount of mocking). But, to Vincent’s surprise, the first time he’d telegraphed the nobleman, Diedrich had shown up at Phantomhive manor, muttering complaints until he’d been placated with sandwiches.
It was all very endearing. It didn’t take long for Vincent to freely admit to himself that he’d grown fond of Diedrich. Who wouldn’t? To have someone so perfectly obedient, who despite claiming to hate Vincent, was at the Watchdog’s beck and call...well, the jolt of excitement Vincent got from that was positively addictive. Nevertheless, Vincent hadn't allowed himself to entertain the idea that Diedrich was anything more than an amusing servant. A particularly useful one. One that Vincent would miss should the man ever leave his service. But completely replaceable, nonetheless. There were others who could be loyal, and others who could prove amusing. Should the occasion call for it, Vincent had been certain he could simply move on.
Until that night when Diedrich lay unconscious in Vincent’s bed, shoulder swathed in bandages to treat a bullet wound from a shot that had been meant for Vincent. Vincent was well aware he didn’t deserve this type of loyalty. He hadn’t even truly needed Diedrich to come. Vincent himself could have delegated the task of visiting opium dens for information to any number of his employees. But the truth was that Vincent had been bored, and he loved to see genteel, well-bred Diedrich squirm and avert his eyes from the goings on in those places. Vincent had never thought that one of the patrons of Lau’s den would produce a pistol and start rambling about Vincent being the devil. Nor had he thought Diedrich would be so faithful that he’d shove Vincent out of the way and take the bullet himself.
The sight of Diedrich crashing to the ground, blood pouring from wound, had filled Vincent with a terror he’d never felt before, not even on the first mission he’d had as the Queen’s Watchdog. What happened between then and getting Diedrich back to the manor was a blur. Vincent knew that he’d done...something to the man who had shot Diedrich. In retrospect, something that the man probably hadn’t deserved, given what drugs he was on. Vincent knew he’d done what he could to stop the bleeding and that a doctor had been summoned. But other than that, all Vincent could remember was the phrase that kept repeating in his mind: “Not him. Not him. Oh, God, not him!”
Diedrich had been Vincent’s near constant companion in their last year of school. Vincent didn’t have anyone else who didn’t look at him in fear or speak to him with trepidation. No one else who would wade through the Thames with him if need be or get on a train from Germany to England at midnight, if necessary, holding demands for explanations until he could see Vincent in person. The idea that Vincent might never again hear Diedrich’s complaints and insults would have been enough to bring Vincent to his knees if it hadn’t been so necessary that Vincent act immediately.
Now, after having been assured that Diedrich would make a full recovery if he just rested up, the panic had abated. Instead, Vincent felt drained. He didn’t have enough energy to do or feel much. He simply lay next to Diedrich, watching the nobleman’s chest rise and fall and studying his face for any minute movements.
It occurred to him, in some distant part of his mind, that he had utterly failed to follow the first rule. Not only had Vincent grown attached to his loyal dog, but at some point he’d fallen head over heels in love with him. If there ever came a day when Diedrich was no longer in this world, Vincent wouldn’t want to be here either. This thought should have disturbed the Watchdog, but it didn’t. He would have felt incredibly selfish had he been unable to reciprocate Diedrich’s loyalty in this way.