Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's December 1st 1885, when Ciel runs excitedly into the dining room, his two giant blue eyes blinking excitedly. "Mama! Papa!" He beams, "Thirteen days to go before my birthday!"

"I know Our Little Miracle!" Rachel beams, holding out her arms as her son leaps into them. Rachel spins him around, twirling him high above her head. "Who's the cutest little man in the whole world? It's you! Oh yes it is!"

Vincent, who's grabbing a champagne bottle from the cabinet in the same room, grins, "He sure is! And guess what my lad," Vincent says, bringing the bottle over, "your Mama and I are celebrating something else this week too."

"What?" The almost-ten-year-old Ciel asks, as his mother puts him down on the table. He sits there sweetly, swinging his legs off the edge like the cutie pie he is.

"Your Papa made sure a very bad man named Black Hat won't hurt anyone anymore today," Vincent tells, in a very gentle, small-child-friendly way. "Your Papa chased after Black Hat for a very long time, like a cat after a mouse! He was one of the top bad guys in all of London," he gives the sanitised version of events. “Isn't that wonderful Our Little Miracle?”

Ciel is too young to really understand what his parents are saying, but the smiles on his parents' faces tell him this is a good thing, so he giggles. Vincent laughs along and tickles-attacks his son. 

It seems like only a moment, a mere breath of time, before it's Ciel's actual 10th birthday on the 14th of December, 1885. Vincent takes his son upstairs and asks him to wait in his room whilst the final surprise touches are added to his party room and birthday cake downstairs. The adorable little munchkin is eagerly waiting, when, from downstairs, he hears terrible crashing, smashing, and screaming begin. Terrified and yelling for his Mama and Papa, Ciel ran downstairs, just as his manor caught ablaze. The tiny dot of a boy battled through the flames, yelling for his family. He's rushing to the dining room, where his party was supposed to be held, and sees it. 

The same dining room he shared with his parents for all his meals, the same dining room that is filled with so many wonderful memories, is now filled with nothing but fire, and he sees his parents burning. He sees their bodies, in their clothes, burning away into nothingness. 

Ciel is screaming as the flames of the fire close in around him. His childhood innocence dies in those flames as pure, horrified fear fills his eyes.

Vincent Phantomhive jolts awake, his body sore as he slowly sits up. He has to ground himself in a moment. Upon his concrete wall, he has chalked out a makeshift calendar. He sighs when he realises it's December 1st, 1889. 

In thirteen more days, he'll have been 'dead' for four years.

Moving with the aching bones of a 90 year old man, Vincent slowly climbs atop his bed and bangs on the bars of the tiny vent in the otherwise solid concrete walls. "Rachel?' He croaks out, his voice barely audible as it's nothing but a dehydrated squeak. Vincent clears his throat as best as he can, and tries again, "Rachel, my love!" He manages to yell.

Vincent cannot see through the vent. It sits right under the ceiling. If he stands on his bed on tip toes and lifts his arm as high as it will go, he can bang on the bars that cover the vent. This, mixed with yelling on his already sore throat, is his only way to communicate.

"I'm here, my love," Rachel's voice assures gently, her voice weak and exhausted sounding as her husband's own does.

Vincent sighs in relief, glad beyond reason that his wife has survived another night in this hell hole. "How are you today my dear?" Vincent asks, craning his neck up as high as it will go, looking up at the vent so his voice will hopefully travel further.

"I'm…still here," Rachel can be heard heaving a sigh so heavy it echoes.

"I know my love, I know," Vincent sympathies. "Oh my Rachel, I had the worst dream. I was our son, on the day of the fire. I saw everything through his eyes. I can't imagine how scared he must have been."

"I know," Rachel squeaks, sounding as if she's on the edge of tears herself. "All I ever do is hope and pray that he's alive and ok…somewhere." There's a pause, a scared, thoughtful kind of pause. "Do you believe he survived the fire Vincent?" She asks, her voice practically begging. 

"Of course he did, of course he did," Vincent says, very firmly. "He's safe, alive, well cared for, and is with his aunt and uncle Midford. He'll have grown up beside his cousin slash future wife Elizabeth all these years. The two of them will be having a great childhood right now. Full of love, laughter, and safety." He says this with such firm confidence that, for a second, he almost believes it himself.

Rachel can be heard sniffling on the other side of the wall, "yeah, I don't believe that either."

Vincent feels his heart shatter a little. He knows without seeing her that his beautiful wife is dealing with the same destruction. 

"We mustn't love hope my love," Vincent tells her, softly.

"It's December 1st again Vincent. That means it's thirteen days shy of the four year anniversary. The whole world thinks we died in that fire, and sometimes, I wish we had," Rachel releases her woes. 

"Don't talk like that my love," Vincent soothes.

"Well it's true," Rachel's tears can be heard falling now. "To think, it was this time four years ago we were telling Ciel about Black Hat, do you remember?"

Vincent nods even though his beloved cannot see this, "Yes, I dreamt about that too. We believed that Black Hat was dead."

"All those police reports, the Coroner's report, the judge's official ruling of confirmed death…to think Black Hat could have faked all that."

"It wasn't even that he faked them. They were all legitimate papers, made and signed by official, trusted people. That's where we went wrong. We assumed Black Hat couldn't have possibly paid off that many people. Imagine being able to have a real death certificate made up when you're alive and well. Now that's having connections in high places," Vincent sighs.

"We should never have underestimated him," Rachel sobs, "Now, he's faked our deaths with such precision and…we've just been in this damn dungeon so Goddamn long Vincent! I haven't seen the sunshine, or you, or my precious Ciel, in what feels like an eternity."

"I know, my love, I know," Vincent does his best to sound comforting, "Every day, I understand more and more what Black Hat meant when he said that 'death would have been too gracious' for us. We were a thorn in his side for so many years…he had to repay us for all that pain." Vincent leans his head on the cold cement of his cell wall, closing his eyes painfully. "If we ever get out of here, I'm giving up being the Queen's WatchDog for good. Do you remember how Ciel used to want to own a toy shop?" Vincent smiles fondly at the memory, eyes still closed. "If we ever get back to him, I want to open one for him. I don't care if running such a small business like that destroys the entire Phantomhive fortune. I just want you and my son. We can live in a cardboard box, for all I care. It seems so stupid now, to think I was ever concerned with things like wealth or status or power. I don't care about being a Phantomhive, I just want to be Vincent, husband to you, and a father to our Ciel."

"Somebody will find us, someday," Rachel manages in a whisper.

"To find something, you'd have to know it's lost. Everyone thinks we're dead, and they think Black Hat is dead too, so they wouldn't even look into him, let alone look for him," Vincent huffs a heavy sigh. "Which means they aren't looking for us either."

"We mustn't lose hope, my love," Rachel repeats her husband's own words back to him. "Isn't that what you just said?" 

"Yeah, I guess I did just say that," Vincent wilts, peering gloomily around his tiny cell. "And yet.." he trails off.

"I know, my love. I know," Rachel coos.

Just then, Vincent hears the soundproof metal slider between their vents snap shut, and, no matter how loud Vinent yells, his wife can't hear him anymore. He learnt this within two hours of arriving here four years ago, so he no longer bothers. 

He knows their time to speak for the day is up. Decided by their cruel puppetmaster, Black Hat, lurking somewhere high above.

Vincent sinks against the wall, falling into a seated position on top of his bed. He stares around his cold, empty cell. He calls what he's sitting on a bed, but it's just a slab of concrete with no soft furnishings of any kind on offer. His cell, which is in a basement under a basement, under a normal looking building, is both literally and metaphorically ice cold. He has a hole in the ground for a toilet and a cold tap that only works when one of his captives turns the water on, which is usually for one hour a day. He either drinks then, or he doesn't drink at all until the next day. His food is nothing but rotten leftovers that make him ill every time he eats. This slop arrives under his door when his captors feel like it. He can go for weeks without so much as a crumb. He's beaten by one of the henchmen at least ten times a day, though. His cell offers no other furniture or ways to entertain himself. It's a void, grey, hopeless existence of non-stop pain. 

Vincent does believe his son is alive, but alive in what state is the question that scares him so. 

Black Hat assured them that if Ciel survived the fire (and that was a big if, Black Hat made sure to strain), that Black Hat already had men waiting to kidnap him as well. Black Hat then spoke of all the terrible things that would happen to Ciel if that were the case. Beaten, starved, abused, and neglected just like his parents, then sold to the highest bidder as some kind of sick plaything. Or worse, as a paedophile's sex toy. Black Hat did not hold back on describing what that would be like for poor Ciel. What a horrible, hopeless life that would be.

The horrible, hopeless part of Vincent can't help but imagine his precious son, who could be anywhere in the world by now, living in conditions like the ones he and his wife now exist in. It causes Vincent a level of agony no physical torture could ever achieve, to imagine that his son might be in conditions that match, or are even worse, then his own. Black Hat knows this all too well, and tormets both Vinent and his wife regularly by loudly describing what’s probably happening to their Ciel right now as he stands outside their locked cell door. Hat does this whenever he sees fit. 

Vincent lies down on his concrete slab of a bed, eyes closed as he faces the ceiling, and prays;

Dear God,

Despite my grim circumstances, I have not lost faith in you. Please, if you haven't already, send an Angel to care for my Ciel. The kindness, most loving Angel you have.

Amen. 

From somewhere far, far, far away, VIncent is certain he hears a demon roar with mocking laughter. 

He must just be imagining things though.

****** December 14th ****** 

There's only a tiny spot of sunlight that comes peeking through the ventilation fan spinning at the top of the back wall of Vincent's cell when December 14th, 1889 dawns. 

That small spot of sunshine seemed to physically mock Vincent in the beginning, shimmering like a possible escape plan, but, as Vincent learnt the hard way, its such a tiny gap Vincent couldn't even get his hand through even if he could reach that high, which he can’t, because the fan is practically in the ceiling and all the 'furniture' in his cell is bolted down so Vincent couldn't even stack things to stand on if he wanted to. Vincent has considered every possible escape plan, and none of them are possible. Today, Vincent has his head against the cold concrete wall, especially miserable because he knows his son is turning fourteen today. It's Ciel's birthday again and Vincent can't be there. This also means that it's officially been four years that they've been apart. Another year of Ciel's life that his parents have missed. 

There's a clink and the grumbling of a man's voice. "Food," announces a guard, as the small food slot at the bottom of his cell door pops open. Vincent looks up and is able to see the guards foot and knee as he kneels down, as the guard slots Vincent's slop through the slot. 

"Hurry up, the boss wants a meeting," says a secondary guard, whose feet come over. That second pair of shoes kicks at the first guard's ankle and the first guard, still in his kneeled position, goes toppling over. As he falls, there's a clack, followed by skidding, and Vincent looks up to see - an actual miracle - a pocket-size razor has dropped from the first guard's pocket and now skids into Vincent's cell.

Vincent doesn't dare breathe. The first guard is yelling at the second guard for kicking him but Vincent can't even hear the words. He's totally focused on staring at that razor. 

The guards then slam the foot slot door and walk away. Leaving the slop - and the razor. 

He hasn't noticed that he's dropped his razor.

Vincent's heart rate jumps. He knows exactly what he needs to do, and he also knows it won't be long till that guard notices his razor is missing. 

He needs to act fast.

Vincent snatches up the razor, holding it close to his heaving chest, a mixture of hope and terror making his heart slam as he looks at the razor as if it might be a dream. "Rachel my love!" Vincent calls, hoping the slot between his cell and his wife's is open, but the chances are slim. The time that the puppet master opens that slot changes every day. "Say something if you can hear me!"

"I can hear you Vincent!" Rachel yells back, in yet another minor miracle. 

"The guard dropped a razor my love!" Vincent is beaming, "it's in my cell!"

"That's…lovely, dear!" Rachel calls, unsurely, clearly uncertain what a razor has to do with anything, or why her husband would be happy about it. 

"This will be our escape, my love!" Vincent is glowing.

A beat of a pause, "Vince, how does a razor help my love? Even if you managed to squeeze your hand through that tiny food slot, the only thing you'd manage to stab is a guard's toes, through their shoes no less."

"I'm not going to use it as a weapon against anyone but myself," Vincent tells. His voice was bright with glee and excitement, but now he lowers it to a serious level, "Rachel my darling, I need you to believe me right now. 

What I'm about to say is going to sound completely insane, but I vow that it's true, alright?"

"...Alright," Rachel says, cautiously. 

“Firstly, do you truly believe there’s a God?” Vincent asks. He and his wife always talked of Angels and miracles to CIel, but in a way that most parents do to their children; as if it's just another fairytale. 

“Well…” Rachel struggles, then sighs, “I used to, but these days I find myself wondering why we’d still be here, if there was a God.”

“There is one,” nods Vincent, “and Angels and Demons are as real as you or I too. I know because….because my family has always owned a demon.” He says ‘owned a demon’ like most people say ‘owned a dog’.

Rachel pauses for a very, very long moment, then, “Vincent, sweetheart -” she says in a very gentle voice that’s warming up to say, ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this but that can’t be true’ and Vincent knows it.

“My love, these four walls have yet to drive me insane. I know my own mind, and I know this to be true. Please my love, please have faith in me.”

Vincent can hear Rachel taking a very long, deep breath, "ok," she manages, “I…I believe you.”

She doesn’t sound 100% sure, but who could be? At least she’s willing to listen and hold the faith, which is more than most people would do if their loved one began insisting mythical creatures (like a demon) were real. “My forefathers, my father, grandfather, and for many generations before that, have always had demons working for them. A demon can help you to accomplish almost anything. They are extremely powerful creatures who can make your dreams come true, but for a price. They often take your soul as payment, but other times you have to sacrifice someone dear to you, or worse, you’ll be expected to do both. Demons have ensured that all my forefathers before me suffered horrible, horrible deaths. Demons are the explanation behind both the Phantomhive's success and their famous gruesome deaths.”

“I….see,” Rachel says slowly.

“You still with my love?” Vincent asks.

“I'm trying,” Rachel says unsurely. 

“That's all I ask,” Vincent nods even though Rachel can't see this, “you see, I watched all this happen to both my grandfather and father. From a young age I understood that their ‘assistants’ were truly demon's. I watched them go die so, so horribly,” Vincent tells. “For every good thing that a demon does for their master, they bring about one tragedy with it. They're nothing but a curse to their master and anyone near their master. They make you believe they're worth it, they get you drunk on the power they can offer you, but they're only in it for themselves,” Vincent finds himself spitting these words with revengeful rage now, “there's nothing worse that can happen to a person, then to call upon a demon.”

When Vincent is done, he's a little breathless. Rachel gives him a moment in silence before quietly asking, “what does this have to do with the razor?” 

Vincent gets struck with a sense of feeling a touch embarrassed. His rage against demons made him forget his original point.

“Right. Yes. Well my love, a year ago, hell, perhaps even a month ago, I'd have said that being free of even this hellhole would not be worth inviting a demon into our lives but….” He sighs, “we're not getting out of here Rachel, and nobody is coming for us,” he's especially harsh as he adds, “we are going to die in here.”

Rachel remains silent as these words hang in the air for an awful moment.

“But,” Vincent breathes, “a demon could get us out of here and home to our Ciel in five minutes. All I'd have to do is draw a pentagram in blood.”

“That's what the razor can do. Draw your blood, and therefore summon us a demon?” Rachel asks.

“Yes my love.”

“But the demon will want payment. You said they usually take souls, or something equally awful,” Rachel points out.

“I plan to offer the creature Black Hat’s soul, and the soul of every guard in this prison of ours. Hopefully, that should clear our debt.”

“What if the demon doesn't take that offer?”

Then I’ll offer myself, so you can escape, Vincent thinks. But he doesn't want to panic his wife, so he says, “I know demon's, it won't be able to resist such a good deal. Five minutes of its time for at least the 100 souls that are in this place? It’ll be drooling over that.”

“Are you sure?”

No. “Yes.” 

“Vincent….I'm not sure if I believe any of this. I think this cell has gotten to you my love. I think you need to put the razor down and forget all about this,” Rachel stands firm yet speaks so gently.

“Let me show you,” Vincent practically begs, “I swear I won't hurt myself badly. I'll just cut myself shallow, just enough to draw blood for a pentagram, then I'll tear my shirt and bandage myself. If nothing happens, then I've lost my mind but I'll be fine. But if it works, we'll be free.”  

The wheels in Rachel's head can practically be heard turning, “you promise me that you won't hurt yourself badly? Because I need you here with me Vince.”

“I vow it, my love.”

Rachel can be heard swallowing, then, “do it.”

Vincent smiles,"Thank you for trusting me, my love," he says.

With that, he slashes into his left forearm and presses his right hand on the cut, allowing his right hand to become drenched in blood. Using his blood soaked fingers as paint brushes, he paints a pentagram on the concrete floor, just like he watched his father do before him. As soon as the pentagram is drawn, Vinent keeps his promise, tears his raggedy shirt and bandages his wound tightly. He does this all he powerfully calls out, “come forth, oh demon," in Latin. Thank God he still remembers how to say that in Latin. It only works in Latin.

Instantly, with an audible crack like lightning, a swirling mass of darkness appears, swirling and twisting like a tornado, shaking the concrete walls of Vincent's cell. A voice like a horrified scream speaks in garbled awfulness:

W̲ͥḩ̡̦̮̫̱͗͋̽e̛ͪ͗ m̪͍̹̺̭̝̙͆ͤ̃ͧ̋̑͢͡ͅo̴̧̟̘͕̒ͩ͘͘rt̨͙̦̉ͬ̅̽a̷̢̛̘̱̱̺͓̫͔̞̰̟̋ͭ́͋͂̑͟͟͡͞͠_̹̭͙̭͆_͚͠_͖̱͗̈́l̨̨̯̘͍̦͎̦͍̳͖͚ͦͮ̽ͬ̌ͩͬ̔ͥ̂ͧͭ̔ͣ͑ͮͫͣ̌ͯ͗̀̓̄͜͝͝_͑͛ͤ f̨̛̞̬͚͉͐͌̋̆̏ͫ́ͨ͞͠ơ̸̰̤͍ͮͬͩͤo̲l̸̹̞̫̾͠ w͇̣̬̼̗̐ͦ̆̓̽̅ͭḩ̵͉͍̼̰̤̳͆ͩ͑ͧ͑ͩ̚ọ̴̑̽ͫͯ̐ͣ͘͝͝ s̆̇_̴̴̢̛̫̫̣͙̟̬̰̠̦̭̦̼̭͍̀̓̈ͨͥ̎ͯ̂ͭ̀ͪ̀͐ͮ̃̔̋̂̐̕͘p̖ͨ̎́ͣͫ͂i̸̸̴̴̸̧̨̛̤͖͔͎̰̖̩̣̯̬̖̥͓̹̞̠̱͉ͬ̅̿ͣ͗ͫ͆̅̀̀̓̅ͬ̇ͭͯ͘͢͞͠ͅt̸̴̢̛̛̪͓̯̦̞̍̋̌ͯ̎ͣ́ ừ̢̗͍̜͔͋ͤ̎̒͋̑͜ͅōn_̨̢̛͈͕ͫͫ̆͢_̦̖͖̻͕̱͖̬̍̀̇ͤ͗̕͘ͅ 

It's a sound so horrific that it makes Vincent's ears begin to bleed. He cups his ears and shakes, but still stands up straight and strong, baring through it. “Demon! Come forth, I have a deal for you!” Vincent commands. 

The swirling vat of darkness solidifies slightly, “English, is it? How dull,” remarks a voice that comes from the shadow with no clear way to be able to speak. “What do you wish, mortal?”

“My wife and I are trapped in these wicked cells,” Vincent explains. “Free my wife and I, take us to our son Ciel Phantomhive, and, in return, you can devour every soul in the building. There are at least 100 sinners here for you to feast upon. If that's not enough, our main captor, Black Hat, is an extreme sinner. I shall sacrifice him to you as well.”

The smoke growls hungrily, “I prefer my master's soul.” 

Vincent panics slightly, as this is what he was worried about, but he doesn't let this show. He holds steady. “You'd turn down a 100 sinners for one?” he asks, like this would be a very silly thing to do. 

The smoke pauses, then shifts, “Hmm. Deal.”

Vincent smiles, “then let's do this. Your form is unimportant. Look like anything, for all I care.”

The black smoke forms into a generic Victorian era servant, who bows low, “master,” he bids, an evil smile on his lips and a dark twinkle in his eye. He pushed the concrete, steel-hinged door with only the slightest tap and it explodes, flying backwards and crashing through a stone wall. 

“Hey!” Hearing that awful noise, guards come running. 

The demon steps out of the cell (now with a massive hole where the door should be), smiles at the hoard of guards running towards him, and moves quicker than Vincent can blink.

In less than half a minute, the pool of blood reaches Vincent's feet. He smiles.

Watching The Demon knock everyone within an inch of their lives (so It can eat their souls later, he can't take them if they're dead), is very cathartic. Once everyone (including Black Hat), is down for the count, The Demon smashes through several walls, chains, locks and bolts before they finally emerge into the sunlight. It's so bright It's blinding. It's so old it's biting. It's so loud it's deafening. 

It's…outside. 

Vincent is sure that, under different circumstances, he'd be consumed by the amazement of seeing so many things right now. Like the sun, the sky, the buildings, the grass, just by being outside for the first time in four years. He should be amazed by seeing his wife again, or amazed by how he doesn't actually know where he is right now.

But he notices none of it. Not how the world looks, not even how his wife looks. All he cares about is one thing;

“Take us to our Ciel,” he orders The Demon. He won't bother naming the thing. 

“Yes master,” bids the demon.

The Demon whistles and a carriage appears out of nowhere. The Demon opens the door for them and the Phantomhive's climb inside. The Demon whistles again and the carriage begins going as fast as a very-much-normal horse can pull it. 

“Where is he? Where's our Ciel?” Rachel asks, desperately. “Is he OK?” her eyes are full of tears, “oh Vincent, what if this…thing,” she eyes the demon, “is taking us ‘to our Ciel’, meaning a graveyard?”

Vincent squeaks. He hadn't thought of that. He swallows his fear, and speaks, “demon,” he tries to sound calmer then he feels, “where - how is our son?” 

“Ciel Phantomhive is alive, well, and living at Phantomhive Manor,” the demon says, “he's running your stupid business now.”

Rachel looks hopeful, but Vincent says, “prove it,” so the demon tisks and waves a hand. Today's newspaper appears from midair. Inside the business section, which the paper is already folded open to, is an article about the stocks soaring for Phantom Company. There's an accompanying photograph of Ciel, standing outside of the Manor. The photo is labelled as ‘world's youngest business tycoon; Ciel Phantomhive.’

Rachel snatches the newspaper. She's a refined woman who would never usually snatch, but she can be forgiven this time. She holds the paper close and stares at the photograph, which is dated as having been taken just yesterday, like it's the first time she's ever seen a photograph. “That's my baby? He's gotten so big!” tears well up in her eyes.

“He really is running the business now? He's only 14!” Vincent admires, “wait, how did you know this? Do demons read newspapers?” 

The demon shrugs, “I knew your kid was alive and running the family business the second you said his name because he's talked about in...certain circles. Trust me, you don't wanna know what kind of circles he's known in. You asked for proof of what I said and knew, well, there ya go.”

“He's alive, Vincent,” Rachel whispers, tears of joy escaping her eyes. 

“And at the manor,” Vincent breathes a sigh of relief, “are his aunt and uncle living with him?” In response, the demon just shrugs. 

Rachel is chewing her lip and peering out the window, “where are we now? How long will it take to get home to him?”

“Near the coast of Spain,” says their demon, boredly, like he's not really interested in answering. “So a few hours.”

“Spain?!” Vincent gags, “we'll have to take a boat then! A few hours he says! It'll take us half the day to get home!”

Rachel squeaks in dismay at this. Vincent takes her hand and pats it, offering her the best comfort he can. The demon, meanwhile, smirks. “I can get you there faster,” the demon smiles, evilly. “I can get you back to your precious Ciel in seconds.” 

Rachel looks to Vincent with hopeful, questioning eyes. Vincent chews his lip, “there is no good without bad with a demon. He'll only make something awful happen in return if we get him to do this.”

“What's the worst thing he can do to us, Vincent?” Rachel asks, tiredly. “We've already lost everything. Everything except for each other and our Ciel.”

She has a point there.

Vincent considers his next move carefully before taking several deep breaths, “demon,” he pulls down his ruined top, exposing his newly printed pentagram on his collarbone, his half of the contract they now hold with the demon, “this is an order. I don't care what else you do, who else you hurt, or what else you damage, but you are ordered to never, in any possible way, harm myself, my wife Rachel, or our son Ciel. Am I understood?” 

“Yes,” the demon smiles with his eyes flashing as this order sinks in, “master.”

“Then,” Rachel squeezes her husband's hand, “take us to our son.”

The demon clicks its fingers. The horse detaches from the carriage and the carriage begins rocketing down the streets of Spain at speeds too fast for passerby to see, but, inside the cabin, everything feels still and steady. Vincent can see the world blurring past at high speed outside his window, yet the cab is as stable as a rock. Such is the power of a demon. 

“I hope that we can keep this under control, my love, and that whatever repercussions this demon brings us, we can weather it,” Vincent tells, “because there's truly nothing worse that can happen to a person, than to invite a demon into their lives.”

*****

There's a soft layer of snow on the ground and the three idiot servants; Mey-Rin, Finny, and Baldroy, are running around throwing snow at each other and laughing their heads off. Ciel is sitting on a chair, his legs wrapped up in a blanket and an overhead tarp has been set up above him to shield him against the snow. He's sipping a hot chocolate and enjoying watching the three of them run around like the nutcases they are. 

“I know!” Finny stops running around to light up with inspiration, “let's do a snowman family! One for each of us!”

“Yeah that's a great idea! Wanna join us young master?” Baldroy grins over at Ciel.

Ciel scoffs and shakes his head. Undeterred, the three idiots begin rolling up a snowman's bottom. Ciel watches them like a parent watching their kids; a mix of amused, annoyed by the noise, and with a sprinkle of fondness in his heart.

It's his birthday again. He's 14 today. The staff know better than to try to throw him any form of celebration by now, but they always try to make it a fun day, all the same, one full of laughter and smiles. Nobody mentions that it's his birthday, just as they were ordered not to, but they do all go to an extra effort to make it a good and happy day for Ciel all the same.

Some tiny forgotten speck inside Ciel appreciates that, appreciates them. 

Not that he'd ever admit this, of course. 

No, only one person gets to see the softer side of Ciel, and that someone isn't even a person.

Ciel climbs out of his chair and heads to the front garden, away from the back-garden based idiots. Naturally, Sebastian is waiting for him because Sebastian anticipates everything. Such is his way. Ciel's mouth twitches in what could be, when seen by morons, be misinterpreted as a smile forming. 

Sebastian lays out a blanket he pulls from thin air, displaying his demonic power, and Ciel kneels on it. He doesn't need to tell Sebastian that he wants to build a snowman with him because Sebastian just knows. So, neither of them speak. Neither of them need to. Ciel can instruct Sebastian either words or movement. He doesn't need to say silly things such as ‘scoop me some snow from that especially big pile over there’. He doesn't even need to point to it. For the quickest of eye flashes, he just looks at said pile and Sebastian drags it obediently over for use. It's not one sided though, this near telepathic communication. Sebastian pauses with a certain look on his face, but otherwise silent, and Ciel nods equally silently. No one in the world would ever, or indeed, could ever, guess that Sebastian just asked if the left side of their snowman bottom ball was looking a tad saggy, and that Ciel agreed it was, followed by them both fluffing that exact side up at that exact same time.

Nobody speaks their language. Nobody but them. It's their world. Their words. Their place. 

It's here, where Ciel is home. Not the manor, nor any room in it. But here, in moments he shares with a demon, of all things. 

Here is where he discovered what it means to feel at home. 

Home is safety, and assurance. It's the promise that, no matter what happens outside of Home, Home will still be OK. It's the promise of unconditional positive regard. It's the promise of never feeling unsure or scared again. Who knew that a creature from Hell, of all places, could bring that. 

“What a magnificent piece,” Sebastian admires, as they finish their snowman. It's the first time any words have been exchanged in over half an hour. 

“It is rather, isn't it?” Ciel agrees proudly. There's a glow, like a mini fire, roaring within his chest. A glow that feels like he's a child again. A glow of pure, innocent fun without any adult worries. A glow Ciel felt only when his parents were still alive, and was sure that he'd never feel again. 

But, of all things, a demon has changed that.

It's taken a long time. Almost four years of consistent work on Sebastian's part, for Ciel to feel this way. To everyone else, he's still the same cold-blooded, rock hard Earl with no sense of empathy that he's been since his parents died. Nobody gets to see any emotion from him other than displeasure and smug pride when he's winning. 

It's a creature from the depths below that gets to see Ciel do such silly vulnerable things like laugh, cry, and even be silly. Ciel thought he could never be silly again, but Sebastian's persistent love has worn down all his walls.

“We should take a break and get you warm,” Sebastian recommends. “We can come back later, if you wish. Perhaps we can even make snow angels, hm?”

“Surely they'd be snow devil's for you, hm?” Ciel teases, as he steps off the blanket Sebastian laid down for him.

Sebastian chuckles and bends down to pick this blanket up. As he does so, Ciel gets a childish urge and - rather than hold back as he once would - picks up a handful of snow and blasts Sebastian in the side face with it. 

Logically, Ciel knows that Sebastian would take a speeding train strike to the head without flinching. He's a demon, after all, but, because Sebastian always allows Ciel to play like a normal child, he reacts accordingly; by crying out in horrified alarm and falling to the snow covered ground, looking stunned by Ciel’s ‘attack’.

Ciel giggles like the child he's supposed to be, the child he was meant to be. “Attack!” He cries out, rushing to Sebasian’s side, he bends down, and, in a frenzy, shoves and kicks all the snow he can manage onto Sebastian's face and body. The demon flails, coughing and ‘choking’ on the snow.

“Oh no!” He cries drastically, “he's burning me alive!! Someone please help me!!!”

Ciel launches into a giggling fit, yelling out battle cries like “I shall bury you yet!” And “nobody is coming to save you, oh foul one!” between giggles as he shovels the snow. He does this until his weak constitution catches up to him, causing him to become tight chested and begin coughing.

“Whoopsie,” Sebastian sits up, takes out an inhaler from his jacket pocket and gently inserts it into Ciel’s mouth, “deep breath my lord.”

Ciel sucks in air as deeply as his struggling lungs will allow, and Sebastian fires off the inhaler with a press of the button with perfect timing. Ciel's lungs fill with the medication, and he feels them expand gratefully. He lets out a much easier breath as the inhaler is removed, “there, much better, do you need a second dose?” Sebastian asks. Ciel shakes his head. “Good, shall we break for hot chocolate?” Sebastian smiles.

Ciel can't quite explain what happens next. It's as if all the good times he's had with Sebastian, all the tender loving care the demon has shown him, and all of Ciel's grateful feelings combine in that moment so Ciel lets slip an, “ok, Papa.”

Both demon and master freeze, thunderstruck.

Ciel burns burning bright red with shame as he turns towards the house, having heard himself, he goes to scurry away like a startled squirrel when-

Sebastian places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Master,” he says, gently. “You could call me by that name, if you wished.”

Ciel has his back to the demon. He doesn't turn around. He begins to quiver, but not from the cold. “You are my servant, nothing more,” he says, his practised harshness returning to protect him, as it always has .

“Yes, forever your servant,” Sebastian agrees, “but I can be many things at once. You are an Earl, you are also a child. I can be your servant and a parent to you. One would not not stop me from being the other.”

Ciel feels himself weakening, his mask slipping again, “it certainly hasn't so far.”

Sebastian says something, he simply waits, as if he knows there's more. 

And there is.

“No not doubt my intelligence. To think that I do not recognise what you have been doing all these years would be foolish. There is no doubt that you have been raising me. You crossed the line from mere butler to being my parent years ago. Butlers do not encourage their masters to cry when they need to and hold them through their nightmares,” Ciel recites, “however, to ever admit that I looked at you, felt towards you, as if you were my parent…” Ciel trails off.

“You feel as if you were betraying your real parents?” Sebastian sees right through the young Earl, as always. 

Ciel says nothing, but his fist balls painfully tight against this truth.

“My lord. Recognising me as your parental figure would not weaken their role, or dilute their memory. You can simply have three parents. If you wish, I can be Papa and Vincent can be Father or perhaps even the other way around! Besides which, you'd hardly have to call me by that title all the time. It would be whenever you needed to. I have no intention of replacing your parents, and I know that you do not intend to replace them with me, but we, you and I, can extend and renew the family you'll always have. Or we can forget this conversation ever happened and continue as normal. Regardless, I am, as ever, yours, and yours only. Your possession, I shall always be. Whatever else I am, is up to you.”

Ciel can hear his own heart beating. It's making him a little dizzy, “Do…do you want that? Do you want to make the unspoken spoken?”

“You ordered me to never lie, so yes, I do, because I've come to see you as my son,” Sebastian admits.

Ciel's breath catches.

“But, I shall never push my opinions onto you. I'm happy just as we were. So, whatever you decide is more than alright with me,” Sebastian adds. 

Ciel closes his eyes. His heart is banging in his ears now. “I would not be betraying or replacing them,” he says, more to himself than anyone. 

“No,” a smile can be heard in Sebastian’s voice. 

“I'd be adding a new member to my family, not replacing the old ones,” Ciel recites.

“That's right my lord.”

“And I wouldn't expect less of you, as my butler and servant. You'd be expected to be both parental to me, when I'm a child, and submissive to me, when I am your master.”

“In my humble opinion, I have yet to fail in doing that transition on command. Now we are simply making it official.” 

Ciel, for Sebastian's eyes only, smiles. “You're right,” he opens his eyes, and turns around to face him, “Papa.”

Sebastian lights up like this is the greatest thing he's ever heard, “son,” he replies.

Ciel lights up now, and opens his arms. Sebastian knows his signal well and lifts Ciel into his arms. Seating Ciel on his hip, the demon snuggles the small boy of 14 years in close. As the two snuggle into each other, sharing the warmest embrace of Ciel's life, he feels, for the very first time in four long years, Ciel feels like he just might be able to let go of his grief. Thanks to Sebastian, he’s gotten much better, he’s even gotten back to playing, but he’d be lying if he said he’d fully healed. He thought he needed to hang onto that grief, to keep his parents with him, to lose his grief would be to lose them.

But, perhaps, just perhaps, it’s ok to let go now.

“Let's go have a hot chocolate,” Ciel smiles and breathes out for what feels like the very first time, “Papa.” Sebastian smiles back, and gently places Ciel down. They've both reached the doorway and Sebastian is opening the door for Ciel.

“I don't suppose we'll be informing the staff or any guests of my new title, proud of it as I am?” Sebastian asks. 

“Naturally. That is between us, and us alone. You shall always be Sebastian, nothing more, to the rest of the world. Papa is reserved for when we're alone,” Ciel confirms. 

“Very good, my lord,” Sebastian smirks, “or perhaps I should say ‘my boy’?” 

Ciel smirks back, rather enjoying himself, and this moment.

When.

A horrible SCREE-ZSLAM! Sound makes them both whip around. 

Screeching into their snow-bitten front garden comes a carriage that's moving at blinding speed, despite having no horses to pull it. The horseless carriage screeches to a stop with literal smoke arising from its wheels. 

Sebastian and Ciel haven't even have time to comprehend this; when two swamp creatures come stumbling out of the carriage. 

Filthy, stinking, wretched, dirt-coated beings that call out in raspy, dehydrated voices that hardly sound human at all. They're both hairy enough to be bears. One haz a beard and the other had long hair down to its ankles. They're both covered in enough dirt to put a professional mud fighter to shame. They're wearing rags unfit for even the homeless. Their stink wrinkles Ciel’s nose and brings stinging tears to his eyes. He gags. Then, the inhuman sounds these creatures are making become somewhat coherent.  

These beasts are yelling for him. Yelling for Ciel. 

“Ciel!” they gasp. One sounds vaguely female and the other somewhat male, but their voices are so raspy and dehydrated that it's hard to tell. They both hurtle towards Ciel and the small teen flinches as if he's being charged by wild lions. 

Sebastian, calm as ever, steps in front of his master and gently stops the two monsters with a single tap of his gloved hands on their chests, “please detest from touching my lord,” Sebastian instructs, “and whom - or indeed what - are the two are you supposed to be?”

The two creatures look right past Sebastian, peering around him as if he's not there at all, “Ciel!” speaks the bearded one, “it's us, Mama and Papa, we're alive!”

Ciel doesn't even twitch. He just raises a disapproving eyebrow, he waves a dismissive hand, “get these lunatics off my lawn,” he waves a dismissive hand.

“Yes,” Sebastian smiles, “my lord.” He places one hand each on the dirt monsters and gives them a gentle push, “come along now, do not make me force you to do so.”

The swamp creatures are forced to begin marching towards the exit gates at the Manor, whilst Ciel walks in the opposite direction, into the warm manor, knowing that Sebastian has this handled.

“No, please! Ciel! It's really us!” yells the non-bearded beast. “Black Hat faked his death and has been holding us captive for these four years as punishment for ruining his criminal empire!”

Ciel pauses in his walk. Only four people know the name Black Hat; himself, Sebastian of course (because Ciel told the demon all about the stories his parents would tell).

And Ciel's parents themselves. 

Not even the police have a name for the mysterious outlaw. 

Ciel doesn't turn around. He doesn't flinch. He just stands there, his back to the creatures, “Wait,” he calls. He hears the demon stop his walk, but still holds the monsters back. “Let them speak,” Ciel instructs. He can feel Sebastian waiting, so Ciel speaks again, “anything else to add, beasts?” 

The swamp creatures quickly seize this opportunity. 

“Your favourite toy was the Noah's Oak!” yells the bearded beast. “There were only three made in the whole world.” 

Only four people know about the Noah's Ark toy; Sebastian, the annoying Elizabeth, and her parents. Who obviously wouldn't do this. 

“You're asthmatic!” cries the non-bearded one. Ciel's eyes slide thoughtfully. 

Again. That's something only Sebastian and Ciel's last remaining family (his aunt, uncle and the annoying Elizabeth), are trusted with.

“You were our miracle baby,” says the bearded beast. “We used to call you Our Little Miracle.”

“Before you, I had four miscarriages,” says the non-bearded one. 

All the moisture leaves Ciel's mouth.

“And we had a huge black dog named -” begins the bearded one. 

“Sebastian!!!” Ciel yells. 

Everything seems to stop, as Sebastian and the swamp creatures fall into awaiting silence. 

Slowly, Ciel turns around, like the hand on a clock. With no sense of hurry, Ciel picks up a cane from the doorway and makes his way over to the animal-like beings. He doesn't rush himself. He walks with his proud strides on his cane and clicks in his heeled shoes. With his head held high and his back straight. Not in the way anyone else would greet their possibly alive parents after four years, he's sure. 

Ciel comes to stand behind Sebastian. He stares long and hard at these stinking animals. He locks their eyes, their huge, pleading eyes, and searches their souls. 

“Only my parents know that my mother had miscarriages,” Ciel says, very very calmly. He peers up at Sebastian, “I didn't even tell you about that.”

“No, sir,” Sebastian agrees, looking quite thoughtful himself. 

Ciel looks back at the animals, “how could you know that?”

“Because it's Mama and Papa, baby,” says the non-bearded one gently, “I know this must be so confusing for you, but it's true. Black Hat has kept us away from you all this time, but we've finally come home to you.” 

“You were born at 9:09am exactly,” smiles the bearded one, “it wasn't customary at the time, but I was in the room with your mother when you were born -”

Ciel used to hear this story all the time. It always ended the same way. 

“I swear I was in more pain then your mother with how tight she gripped my hand!” laughs the bearded one.

And that's the way the story has always ended. Ciel could quote it in his sleep. 

And that is something he's never told anyone. Not even Sebastian. 

Ciel begins to shake. He can barely breathe. “It can't be you,” he whispers. 

“It's us, Our Little Miracle,” whispers the non-bearded one. It wipes its face as best as it can on the rags of its t-shirt, and, with some of its face revealed, Ciel can see his mother's face staring back at him. She smiles at him. And she's unmistakable. 

The bearded one does the same, and his face slowly becomes revealed to. It's unmistakably Vincent under all that faith. He smiles too, “Hi son,” he greets. 

And, just like that.

Four years worth of healing and hard work on Sebastian's part come undone. 

And Ciel becomes undone right along with it.

He begins screaming. Screaming, screaming, screaming. He drops his cane and screams so loud the three idiot servants come running. He screams until he can't breathe. He screams so loud it's ear piercing. His suddenly-alive parents rush to comfort him, but Ciel backs away from them, screaming and screaming. Everyone; the three idiot servants, his parents, even the elderly Tanaka comes running out of the Manor. Ciel swats them all away, unable to stop screaming, he's even screaming straight into their faces. 

Then Sebastian gently pushes them all aside, and softly offers a gloved hand. 

Ciel grabs at the demon like he's the lifeline thrown from a rescue boat. He throws himself on Sebastian and clings to him desperately. Sebastian scoops Ciel up and holds him close. Ciel is shaking violently. He throws up, equally violently, all down Sebastian's back, but the demon doesn't flinch or even look annoyed. He just pats Ciel’s back, firmly tells everyone else to please go away, and he's so scary that they all scatter, and carries Ciel inside. 

Ciel's screaming can still be heard as the front door closes behind them. 

Chapter Text

Ciel has always admired Sebastian's ability to never be deterred by anything the young Earl does. As he's carried through his manor, Ciel finds himself drowning in memories.

He remembers one time when he was eight and his parents took him to see a play. Ciel doesn't remember what the play was even about now, all he knows is that something during the play scared him and he began screaming. His father had carried him out of the theatre screaming and thrashing. At first, both of his parents were patient and supportive. They rubbed his back and cooed at him with loving words. However, after about twenty minutes, with no sign of Ciel calming down, they became impatient. He remembers his father firmly snapping, “that's enough of that awful fuss!” and his mother snapped at his father for snapping at their ‘precious baby.’ This sparked an argument between his parents that just made Ciel cry and scream more. When they got home, his parents loaded him off on one of the staff members to sort out, who was equally annoyed with Ciel’s insistent crying. Being handed off to a servant when all he wanted was his parents only upset the small boy more, making him cry all the harder. He managed to cry so hard he fell asleep from exhaustion two hours later. So, in total, Ciel supposes his parents were kind, gentle and nurturing only for those first twenty minutes.

Now, here with Sebastian, he knows for a fact that, no matter how long or how hard he screams, Sebastian will never snap at him. 

As he and Sebastian arrive in Ciel’s bedroom, he's switching between deafening screaming and hysterical sobbing. He's thrashing about in Sebastian’s arms and violently hitting Sebastian as hard as he can with his tiny balled fists. He's screaming right into Sebastian's ear but the butler doesn't flinch the way his parents once did. He's sobbing but Sebastian doesn't tell him to quiet down the way his parents once did. 

Ciel is crying so hard he vomits once again. As he does so, he remembers vomiting on this very bedroom carpet when he was young. His mother had shrieked, followed by complaints about the smell and the mess. She snapped at Ciel, “why didn't you say you felt sick?! Look at this mess!” which only made Ciel feel worse. Another time, he threw up all over his mother and she absolutely screamed before rushing to clean herself up, leaving Ciel alone to cry. 

This is the second time he's vomited all over Sebastian, who just coos a gentle, “oh dear, nevermind eh?” as Ciel begins screaming again. He's only stopping the screaming to cry and he only stops crying to scream, and the only time he's stopped either, it seems, is to vomit all over poor Sebastian. As if hitting him wasn't bad enough. 

Inside the bedroom, Sebastian stands with Ciel wrapped around his torso like a clinging monkey as he gently sways to and fro. He soothes, rocks and pats at Ciel, allowing him to get the worst of these wicked emotions out. Sebastian keeps being calm, nurturing and supportive, never wavering for a moment, never asking Ciel to settle or quiten down. 

Ciel has sometimes quitely wondered how Sebastian does it; how he is always exactly what Ciel needs, exactly when he needs it, and can adapt to Ciel's needs at a moments notice.

Ciel could pin it all on the fact that Sebastian's a demon, but that's not it. He was just as much a demon during their first year together, and he was a terrible butler back then. Not that Ciel was any less of a terrible master. Sebastian had never cooked, cleaned or done any work as a butler before then, but more then that, Sebastian himself will admit he'd never worked with any children before this. Ciel remembers his first emotional out burst like it was yesterday. Sebastian was trying to bathe him after Ciel’s own enslavement in that awful cage, but he was being too rough and Ciel was being too impatient so he yelled and splashed the demon as violently as possible. Sebastian, looking deeply annoyed, had left the room, like Ciel’s parents once would when he was having a tantrum. He simply left Ciel to sort himself out, and Ciel heard the demon calling him a little brat outside the bathroom door. Which, Ciel knew he was being. Not that he cared.

Then he tried to get out of the tub and grab a towel, but the floor was wet from his splashing and his body weak from his entrapment, so he slipped and fell, loudly. Despite being annoyed, Sebastian immediately returned when he heard this. Ciel remembers a similar incident when he hurt himself after throwing a tantrum with his parents, who didn't come to help, instead they just tisked and told Ciel to sort himself out. 

But Sebastian came back. 

He came back and helped Ciel gently up. He was firm, telling Ciel straight to his face that he was being far too stubborn, and that he was going to get an infection if he didn't allow his wounds to be properly cleaned. Even then, he didn't call Ciel names or was overly harsh with him. He just gave him a reality check, and Ciel had relented in a way he wouldn't usually, because how could he not in the face of such honesty? That was the other thing about Sebastian, he was honest. True, Ciel had ordered him to never lie to him, but Sebastian was honest even when he didn't need to be. Like when Ciel would refuse to wear stuffy, properly layered clothing in the winter and insisted a normal outfit and his cloak were fine, that's all his parents ever did, and Sebastian had said, “you also told me you grew sick every winter under your parents care. This is because they were not dressing you adequately. I will not lie and tell you that the cold causes illness, because it does not, viruses do, which you humans catch from one another, but when your body is cold it is more welcoming to the viruses that everyone else is spreading, and when you already have a naturally weak constitution, like one of say an asthmatic, underweight child like yourself, it's far easier for you to become seriously ill. If you are warmer and distance yourself from people, this chance lowers. As my master, it is naturally your choice, but I want you to be aware of the scope of your choices. If you still wish to dress improperly knowing the risks, then very well, but I could not let you make such decisions uniformed.”

This kind of stark honesty, this moral compass of telling Ciel exactly what he was signing up for, was refreshing to the small Earl. When he refused to wear his cloak with his parents, they'd tell him he would catch a cold, and he'd say, ‘no I won't’ and his parents would simply let him run around cloak-less. Even when Ciel did, inevitably, fall ill, he still wouldn't connect the dots. Even in his child's mind, the facts of getting physically cold and catching a cold did not relate, because people were out in the cold all the time, and they didn't get sick. Sebastian was the first person to ever explain why, and Ciel didn't even have to ask. Understanding lead to compliance. Sebastian gave Ciel the truth and trusted that Ciel would make good decisions based on that. The very first time, after Sebastian said all that Ciel had thought it was more adult nonsense, and had refused to dress properly. Sebastian had respected this, and even when Ciel fell ill, the demon didn't say, “what did I tell you?” like Ciel’s parents had. He just brought medicine, cared for Ciel in bed, and said, “such things happen. If this is your choice, I shall simply make you soup in bed every winter, it is no trouble for me, after all,” Sebastian had smiled. Although this was said with Sebastian's famous biting wit, Ciel also knew he meant it because Sebastain then gently added, “I am here to serve you my lord, regardless.” 

Ciel knew then. Knew that Sebastian truly cared about his well being. That this creature from Hell wanted the best for him, and even when Ciel didn't want the best for himself, this demon was here all the same. He came with witty remarks and a slight sarcastic smirk, but he came all the same.

The point is, Sebastian didn't turn up with the magical ability to be the perfect anchor to Ciel’s ship, he learned. When Ciel threw a tantrum, Sebastian became annoyed, which only escalated Ciel’s bad mood. When the small boy had done this with his parents, they'd simply grow even more annoyed, get snippy or hand Ciel off to a servant, often both. Sebastian would leave the room at first, but he saw this just increased Ciel’s upset. So, rather than letting him sort himself out, as his parents would have, Sebastian learnt that tackling the problem head on worked best. This took trial and error. Sebastian would try brutal honesty, which worked well most of the time, but when it didn't, Sebastian would then switch to being overly sweet, talking to Ciel as if he were a toddler, which would enrage him. Sebastian tried being overly strict, putting his foot firmly down, which would win him nothing but rebellion. 

Sebastian didn't use any demonic abilities or magic to learn Ciel. Being a demon isn't what makes him Ciel's ideal caregiver. No, it's that Sebastian learnt to read Ciel.

Sebastian devoted himself to learning every micro expression and approaching mood swing of the small boy. He learnt one simple trick: compliance was not the goal. It wasn't about getting Ciel to finish his dinner, or wear enough layers, or to brush his teeth. Sebastian learnt that he needed to let Ciel decide for himself, and face the consequences of that decision. Like when Ciel was refusing to brush his teeth because he never enjoyed doing so, so Sebastian simply warned him that his teeth would become damaged, and allowed Ciel to do so. Two months of non-brushing and Ciel’s usual sweets-heavy diet later, and he woke up in agony. He had to rushed into London to see a dentist, who removed a bad tooth. Sebastian, the first time, pointed out that he was right and that Ciel would have been better to listen to him. This kicked up Ciel’s rebellious side and he refused the after-care treatments the dentist had instructed him to do. Sebastian, unlike Ciel’s parents, learnt from this. When Ciel developed a gum infection from lack of proper after-care, Sebastian had taken him back to the dentist, got him treated, and smiled, “you were right to refuse treatment my lord. I rather enjoy going to the dentist. Seeing all those people in pain reminded me of home.” Annoyed that Sebastian was enjoying himself, Ciel began taking care of his teeth out of ‘spite’. “Let's see you go to your precious dentist now,” Ciel had smirked. Sebastian had sighed and pretended to be deeply disappointed. 

This was when Ciel was 11, and was more easily fooled. He soon realised that by taking care of his teeth, he was giving Sebastian exactly what he had wanted in the first place, and had told Sebastian as much. The butler didn't deny this, “you are correct sir. If you wish to stop caring for your teeth again due to this realisation, that is fine by me. I shall pre-book you in to the dentist.”

That damn demon. He knew Ciel hated going to the dentist more than he hated caring for his teeth. So, even though Ciel was angry at Sebastian for being right, he ended up doing what Sebastian wanted for him; finishing the dinner, wearing the layers, brushing his teeth, but not because Sebastian wanted them, Ciel would never allow that cheeky creature such a victory. No. Simply because doing such things kept Ciel from experiencing unpleasant things, like a cold, going to bed hungry, or the dentist. He did it for his own comfort, and not because Sebastian recommended it. He told Sebastian this too, and the demon, again, smiled and said that this was more than alright by him.

Ciel’s fourteen now. He knows that Sebastian had secretly won all those battles, but it didn't matter. All that matters is that he made sure that Ciel felt like he had won, like he had made the decision. Which he had. The fact that such a decision agreed with Sebastian’s original stance was irrelevant. 

Sebastian knew one little secret about Ciel that his parents never figured out; what Ciel craved, more than any sweet, was agency. The ability to decide what he wished to decide and do what he wished to do, consequences be damned. His parents always tried to tell him what to do, which just made him want to do the opposite, even as a small child, Sebastian simply offered options and let Ciel pick. Sebastian made Ciel feel, not like a small child who was being dragged around, forced into compliance for compliance sake, but rather an adult, who could decide to do the wrong thing, but that was alright, Sebastian would tidy up any mess later.

Ciel knows that he could announce that he fancies leaping off the second story balcony, and Sebastian would warn him that he’ll probably break several bones, unless he wishes for Sebastian to catch him, of course. Ciel could insist that he wants to do it anyway, no catching involved, and Sebastian would stand aside and let him jump. When Ciel, inevitably, was lay in bed with a broken leg, Sebastian would chuckle warmly, bring him ice cream, and say that he found that whole thing quite fun. Not wanting him to have fun, Ciel would never do such a thing again. Its a game they play. They both know they're playing it, but neither would ever admit it. They both like to think they're outsmarting the other, when, in reality, they're both doing exactly what the other would have wanted them to do in the first place.

It's a dance. A carefully oricrasted dance. A battle of wits. It's chess. 

How Sebastian is so good at parenting is simple; he treats it like chess. He respects his oppents intelligence and foresight. He can see that even moves that appear poorly thought out have reason behind them, and he respects the reason more then the move itself. If Ciel made a bad move with his parents, they would assume he did so because he didn't know any better. They'd treat him like a naive, lost little child, who needs to be guided across the board. Who needs to be told what to do next. Who needs their hand held as they move their pieces. 

Sebastian just sets up the board; and waits. 

Sebastian has learnt to be a parent as much as he's learnt how to be a butler. Before, he'd burn the clothes with the iron, turn the white sheets pink in the wash and serve Ciel disgusting food because he'd simply never done any of that before, not by hand, not the human way, which is what Ciel insisted upon. Sebastian could use his demonic powers to do all these things perfectly without any effort on the first try. All he has to do is snap his fingers and the beds are made, lien ironed and the food cooked to perfection. But Ciel insisted that, if they were to have human staff, and human guests, then Sebastian must be able to perform like a human butler, least everybody know their secret. So, with great practice, and endless criticism from Ciel, Sebatian learnt how to be the best butler in all of Britian. Maybe even the world. Now, he's the greatest cook Ciel has ever tasted. Now, he creates the cleanest rooms Ciel has ever set foot in. Now, he plants and grows the most photogenic white roses Ciel has ever seen.

Sebastian may have tamed the rebellious Ciel, but Ciel taught the clueless demon.

It was a trail by fire they put each other through, but they've both come out the other side better for it.

That's what makes them, them. The equal trade off. The partnership. 

Master and butler, frequently. 

Father and son, often.

Partners in all they do, forever and always.

Ciel, who's been having a continuous fit this entire time, finally begins to quieten naturally as he runs out of steam. His body still rattling from the force of his cries, he peers up, his two big eyes blinking rather pitifully. Sebastian lovingly did him the kindness of taking off Ciel's eye patch for him. Sniffling, Ciel peers around the room, getting a feel for his surroundings. His body is telling him it’s been a while, but he’s not sure how long. Ciel wipes his eyes, “what time is it?” He whispers. His voice croaks, weak from all that screaming and crying.

“It's currently ten minutes past twelve in the afternoon my lord,” Sebastian says, as he pats Ciel's lower back, “our usual lunch time.” 

Ciel startles. He knows for a fact his parents crashed back into their lives about 11am, “I've been crying like a baby for an hour?” he yells, disgusted with himself.

“I would more say that you've been crying like an adult who's experienced a great emotional shock, myself,” Sebastian says, “but, what do I know of such things, hm?” He gently lifts and adjusts Ciel's position from clinging to Sebasian’s chest to sitting on his hip, “Now my little lord, you've been deeply emotional for a little while now, which is more than OK, but you're a bit messy after all that crying, your poor cheeks are all inflamed, so I thought perhaps you’d like a wash or perhaps a bubble bath? If you can't manage, that's alright, but I thought perhaps a wash might help ground you a little, but, as ever, it's up to you.”

Ciel, through his sniffling, feels a shot of gratitude. Sebastian could clean him up instantly, plus Ciel doesn't even really need cleaning up, but Sebastian would rather do whatever it takes to help Ciel feel even the slightest bit better than take the easy way out.

Ciel knows for a fact that if his parents could have used literal magic (and magic is what Sebastian has. Demonic magic, sure, but magic all the same), to clean up his sick, or wash Ciel, or make his dinner, they would have. They used servants so they didn't have to do it themselves, after all. But Sebastian would rather give Ciel what he needs, rather than allow himself rest. 

That's selflessness. And from a creature who's supposed to be evil. But, as Ciel has learnt the hard way, the only true evil comes from humans, not demons.

Ciel manages the tiniest of tiny smiles, “a wash, please.” Ciel never says his pleases and thank yous with Sebastian, but…things are different now. Very, very different. 

“Very good sir. You may proceed with whatever expression of emotion you need to do. I'm right here, for anything and everything you can throw at me,” Sebastian soothes, warm and good naturedly. 

His warmth and bright voice, full of hope and gratitude, as if Ciel has done something really wonderful by simply requesting a wash, brightens the darkness that's currently vieling Ciel’s world. He rests his head on Sebastian's shoulder, allowing his still flowing tears to drip onto the demon as he's carried to the bathroom. “There now, you're doing marvellously my lord,” Sebastian says, as he's gently put down on the bathroom stool. He's softly stripped and given a sponge bath from the sink. Sebastian’s own uniform is miraculously clean from all vomit. Tears still drip from Ciel's eyes but he's managed to stop screaming, for now at least. Sebastian mops at those dripping eyes with tenderness before he brushes and gently pins Ciel's hair back with a headband. Sebastian was right. The soft sponge and the warm water help ground Ciel in this moment. He's here, with Sebatian, which means he's safe.

The wash is followed by gentle pat drying, done with pre-heated towels that make Ciel feel warm from the inside out. After which, Sebastian gently lifts Ciel and carries him back into the bedroom. Ciel is still whimpering, but much quieter now. He finally feels as if he's starting to settle. Sebastian, as he sits a towel-bundled Ciel onto the bed, asks, “it is lunch time after all my little lord, are you hungry?”

Ciel shakes his head, “I don’t have the stomach for food.” 

“Alright then my little lord, how about we get you down for a little rest instead, hm?” Sebastian says, as he glides to the wardrobe and gets out a nightgown. 

“I’m much too old to be napping in the middle of the day like an infant,” Ciel says, before a great yawn catches him out. All that crying has worn him out.

“Hm-hu,” Sebastian smiles, knowingly. He brings over the nightgown and gently dresses Ciel. The small teen, however, makes no effort to get himself dressed and is purposely leaving his body as floppy as possible. Despite this, Sebastian doesn't become frustrated or ask Ciel to co-operate. He simply manoeuvres Ciel's limp limbs with motherly tenderness until he's all dressed. Sebastian then wraps Ciel in his duvet, manifests a rocking chair with a wave of his gloved hand, and sits on it, pulling Ciel onto his chest and snuggling them both up in the huge duvet, creating almost an enclosure of soft warmth all around them. “There now, why don’t you try to close your eyes for a little while then my lord?” Sebastian asks.

Ciel, despite the warmth and comfort of the room, topped with the endless compassion of Sebastian, is not sooted. He wiggles uncomfortably, “I can’t possibly sleep. Not with them in the house,” he says, anxiously. The very idea of them being in the house makes him remember what happened the last time his parents were home.  

Sebastian nods wisely, as if he truly understands, then, with a wave of his gloved hand, makes a tea cup filled with Ciel's favourite - warm milk and honey - appear. "Here, just sip this and close your eyes my lord. You don't have to sleep, just rest," Sebastian says.

Ciel sips the milk, which soothes his sore-from-crying throat and warms him from the inside out. Ciel's eyes naturally droop closed, as he takes another lengthy sip, thirsty from all that screaming, and rests his head against Sebastian's chest. He radiates warmth and Ciel can hear a steady, calm heartbeat inside the demon's chest. His breathing is naturally getting heavier and his own pulse slower. "That's it my little lord, deep breathes," Sebastian soothes. He leans in close, "You're safe, I'm here. What happened last time your parents were home will never, ever happen again, not whilst I'm here. You never need to worry again my little lord. Never, ever again." 

Ciel breathes in the truth of these words, and then breathes out all his intense emotions, and manages a tiny smile, finally starting to feel safe again. With his eyes closed, he sips his milk and honey, which is magically refilling every time he almost drains it. He breathes in the comfort of this moment, and knows, that as long as Sebastian's here -

He's safe.

**** Vincent & Rachel ****

Vincent and Rachel have had the day from Hell.

First, they sent their poor son into a fit of pure and complete hysterics. Followed by the demon who brought them here being far too smug. It waited in the carriage whilst the Phantomhive's rushed to their son, and, when their son and his butler were gone and the other staff were in a concerned huddle, the demon climbed out of the carriage. “Well well well Mr and Phantomhive, I hope your reunion was everything you hoped for and more!” It smugly grinned. 

Vincent and Rachel had thrown sharp, annoyed glances at the demon but it just shrugged these off. Attached to the carriage is a luggage box, which the demon then popped elegantly open. Inside, struggling and mumbling, bound and gagged, is Black Hat himself. “I'll just take my payment and go then,” said the demon.

Black Hat could be heard screaming, muffled through the gag as his soul is consumed. It would have been a very satisfying sound to his two kidnapped victims, but Rachel and Vincent were too consumed with worry about their son to care. The demon followed this with a bow and Vincent felt the still-fresh contract seal on his collarbone fading away as their brief contract ended. Turning away, the demon walked away until it gradually disappeared into the abyss. Thankfully, the Phantomhive servants were too busy fretting amongst themselves to notice any of this.

Rachel had then lightly tugged her husband's arm, “Vince, it's our fault that our Ciel's in such a state,” she quivered, “we need to be the ones to go and settle him.”

Vincent nodded and took his wife's hand. “Let's go,” he agreed, before they both charged forward.

This woke the servants up from their enclosed chatter circle. “No no no no!” Tanaka rushed forward and stopped them. He may be an old man but the Phantomhive's are weak from their captivity and are easy to manipulate with little more than a light touch. “I'm sorry my lord and lady, but the young master is clearly in a severe state of shock, and that's, sadly, is due to your return. I cannot allow you to make that worse by exposing the master to you further.”

“But he's only so shocked because he thought we were dead! If we speak to him, calm him down, comfort him, he'll be ok,” Vincent had passionately argued.

“Unless the master sends for you, then I cannot let you see him,” Tanaka stood firm. 

Vincent had looked at this man. This man who was his father's butler, then his own, and now, evidently, Ciel's. Tanaka practically raised Vincent, and was so involved in raising Ciel that the young Earl used to call him ‘gramps'. This man has been a part of Vincent's life for more than 50 years, and Tanaka himself must be 78 years old by now, but, in that moment, he was nothing more than in the way.

And Vincent just couldn't stand for that. 

“I'm sorry old man,” Vincent had declared, “but I won't let you get in the way of seeing my son. We've waited four years too long.”

The Phantomhive parents try to push past the old man, but Tanaka is surprisingly fast in re-blocking them. “I've done my best to be polite to this point, but,” he locked Vincent's eye, “Vincent, I say this now as the person who helped raise you. The young master is with Sebastian.”

The three staff shuddered in fear at the name, as if ‘Sebastian’ might as well mean death. 

“Going inside now, it not only goes against what is best for the young master's health right now, but it also goes against the house rules to go inside uninvited,” Tanaka told.

“Going against what's best for the young master's health and breaking house rules?” the little gardener servant quivers. 

“Exactly Finny,” Tanaka nodded gravely, “Sebastian will not, not now, not ever,” Tanaka greatly strained, “stand for that.” 

This left the servants shaking more violently than ever as they began to sweat.

Vincent and Rachel, however, were utterly unphased. Rachel cocked an eyebrow, “Sebastian is the pathetically skinny little butler that just carried our Ciel off? Not some giant bodyguard, right? Why are you all acting so scared?” 

The staff somehow managed to look even more horrified at that.

“Don't talk about Sebastian that way!” Snapped the chief, stepping forth, “without him, none of us would be here. He's the reason any of us have any kind of life outside the gutter!”

“How very touching, but step aside,” snapped Rachel, “I demand it!” she ordered, as she tried to lunge forward past Tanaka, who blocked her again. Tanaka's expression darkened then, “I'm sorry, but I must insist. If either of you try that again, I will physically restrain you.”

Rachel looked to her husband, who took a breath, “my apologies old man,” he declared, before the two Phantomhive's arrived to charge forward at the same time.

Faster than any 78 year old has any right to be moving, Tanaka sent them both onto their backs, at the same time. Now the Phantomhive parents may be weak from their captivity, but they're still two grown adults who are not yet 36 years old, they shouldn't be this easily overpowered by a man old enough to be their grandfather - yet they are. Again and again. 

They get up and try again and again, with their level of aggression only rising, only to get put on their backs on the cold, snowy ground again and again. Eventually they're left gasping and exhausted, with Tanaka not having broken a single sweat. 

“My lord and lady,” Tanaka said as he helped them both up for the seventh time. “I cannot permit you to see the master without either his or Sebastian's permission. I offer an alternative; that we get you cleaned up. Perhaps if you looked more like your old selves, you'd be less of a startling sight to the young master, when he's ready to see you.”

Rachel had sighed, “do we have a choice?”

“Of course my lady. You can come in and do anything you please in the manor, except see Ciel. Anything else is always your choice,” Tanaka states, warmly. “So, what would you like to do?”

And that's how the Phantomhive parents ended up here, getting thoroughly scrubbed down in one of the manors bathrooms. It’s like an attack from all sides as the servants scrub, rub and pluck at them from every angle.

The staff have all introduced themselves by now. There's Finny, the blonde sun drop of a gardener who looks no older than twelve, then there's Baldroy, who’s a tall blonde with a firm American accent and a permanent unlit cigarette dangling from his lip. He's introduced as the chef and wears the chef's coat to prove it. Finally, there's Mey-Rin, apparently the only woman in the house. She has red hair and extremely thick glasses. She stumbles clumsily about in a maids uniform.

And of course, Tanaka glides about in a butler's uniform, but seems to mostly be in a state of retirement these days. Now that his job as door guard is finished, he sits calmly sipping Japanese style tea, fully relaxed. 

“Are you sure you don't mind us guys attending to you Mrs Phantomhive?” Baldroy had asked before the scrubbing process began.

“Your maid is clearly struggling to do so, and I do not have the patience to wait for her whilst she fumbles. So no, I don't. Let's just get this terrible ordeal over with,” Rachel had insisted.

So here the husband and wife sit, side by side on wooden stools upon the tiled floor. Under Tanaka’s seated instructions, the two get scrubbed, rubbed and plucked from every conceivable angle. It takes eight bucket-showers to get the heavy dirt off the Phantomhive's, and more then twenty more buckets to work out the dirt that’s ingrained into the Phantomhive’s very skin. The dirt is so ingrained that a full layer of the Phantomhive’s skin has to be scrubbed off in order to get that dirt out. As their skin gets purposefully ripped open, they bleed and hiss through the pain as disinfectant gets poured onto those newly open wounds. It’s an awful and painful experience, but the Phantomhive parents ride it out with dignity. 

It’s agreed that the next thing that needs to be tackled is the Phantomhive’s hair. Vincent’s beard is down to his lower rib cage, and his hair has grown nearly to his stomach. Rachel’s hair is down to her ankles, the poor thing. The staff do all they can, but both their hairs are severely knotted and filthy, so much so that their hair water logs like a swamp. A brush can’t even begin to get through the mangled mess. “I think we may need to shave it, my lord and lady,” Tanaka says calmly. “I’m sorry.”

“It matters little. Shave us head to foot for all we care,” Vincent says despondently. Rachel simply nods sorrowly, not mourning her hair, but rather mourning their situation. 

“I know you jest, but a complete body shave may actually be necessary, my lord. There’s dirt buried into your body hair as well,” Tanaka says, worriedly.

“Just do it,” Rachel sighs. 

So, they get shaved all over, from literal top to toe, even their eyebrows get shaved clean off because they're so packed with filth that they're unsaveable too. Soon, they are bald as a freshly laid egg, still bleeding, cut, bruised and bashed all over, but they care about none of this. All they care about is getting back to their son, and if this is what helps them get there, then they’ll do it. 

So, they allow themselves to be shaved, washed, soaped, rinsed, and soaped again. They sit and bare it as their teeth get brushed within an inch of their lives. They don't complain as their wounds are stitched and bandaged. They hold their heads up high as they're bathed in special antiseptic creams from head to toe.

Whilst all that was happening, Tanaka called both a doctor and a dentist, who both arrived promptly from London within an hour and a half of the Phantomhive's returning home. The dentist brought everything a dentist could possibly need, meaning he was able to remove several rotting teeth from both the Phantomhive's mouths right there in the manor. After that, the doctor looked them both over and decreed them to be in decent health, all things considered, but he does send blood, urine and faeces samples from both parties back to London for testing, just to be safe. The dentist coats their gums in a healing ointment and the doctor hooks them both up to wheeled IVs to get them hydrated and begins on a low-start liquid calorie diet. Just eating after such prolonged starvation is dangerous, explains the doctor, so they need to slowly reintroduce calories to their bodies, which is what the drip will do, along with hydrating them until it's safe for them to drink orally. Both the doctor and dentist take up a bedroom in the manor so they can monitor the Phantomhive's for the next day or so. 

By the time Vincent and Rachel are fully cleaned, bandaged, and dressed in night shirts, it’s been five hours since their arrival. They’re aided into one of the spare master bedrooms and helped into bed, both of them sore all over. They’re both insisting they can’t possibly sleep, after all, it’s only 5pm, and they need to see Ciel, and -

The warmth of the bedroom fireplace, the softness of the bed, and the pain-killing drugs the doctor gave them all seem to kick in at once, because they’re both asleep within ten minutes of being forced into bed. Just as Tanaka predicted they would.

***** Sebastian *****

I’ve been playing the role of the human butler Sebastian Michaelis for four years now. Not that I put much effort into being convincingly human outside of appearance. I turn my naturally blood red eyes into a soft brown. I suck in my natural tiger-like long, long fangs and replace them with human teeth. I always wear gloves to cover both my black nails and pentagram, my half of the contract with my master. Other demons like to play up the role more when they have a human audience. Doing such acts as; eating human food, being seen to rest, taking to yawning and looking weary, things like that. I have never bothered with such antaics, and the staff have never questioned my humanity. Why should they, after all? They’re all in agreement that I must be a specially trained human, that I cannot simply be a normal servant, that I must be ex special secret forces or some other highly trained, highly skilled individual. I let them believe this for two reasons; one, because it’s far less inconvenient than having them question if I’m human, and two, because I find it quite funny.

At 6pm, my master has finally fallen into a deep sleep, rather than jolting in and out of sleep, whimpering my name and clinging to me. Now though, he’s finally gone into REM sleep, so I lower him into bed, making sure he’s all snuggled up and still firmly asleep before I set about re-stocking the fire. This is when I hear the soft pad of an approaching Tanaka. Brilliant, he’s going to knock on the door and wake the young master. Hurrying to the door, I pull it open just before Tanaka can knock. 

“Oh! Hello Sebastian,” Tanaka says in surprise, “you must have amazing ears to have heard my light step approaching.”

“Indeed I do,” I smile politely as I set , “how may I be of assistance Tanaka?” 

“Is the young master asleep?” Tanaka asks, attempting to peer past me. Softly, I move slightly so he can’t see into the room. The master would not want to be seen by anyone but me when he’s asleep. 

“Yes,” I nod, “so please be as quiet as possible.”

“I got the older Phantomhive’s to sleep as well,” Tanaka reports, “I’m hopeful that means that you’re available?” 

I cock an eyebrow, “whatever for?” I know there haven’t been any servant-based calamities, I’d have heard them. With my superior senses, I can hear every heartbeat within five miles; let alone if the servants break or explode something.

Tanaka, in response, takes a step back and waves encouragingly forward. Moving sheepishly, the three idiot servants creep around the hallway corner, carefully carrying a tray between them. Upon the tray is a small warm meal, coupled with a British cup of tea, and even a single red rose in a vase. “Now I can’t cook as well as you, but I certainly did my best,” Tanaka smiles. 

“That’s very kind of you, but I won’t be waking the young master for a meal,” I bid warmly.

“It’s not for the master, it’s for you mate,” Baldroy says. 

“Yes, you work so hard, yes you do!” Mey-Rin says. 

“We all think you’re amazing, Sebastian, today especially. You’ve handled an extremely emotional situation with grace and dignity, andI personally wish to thank you. In that terrible moment of all-consuming, overwhelming emotion, it was you the young master reached for, and you who held it all together,” Tanaka smiles, “you always take wonderful care of our young lord, but your performance in getting him calm enough to sleep today is amazing all on its own. So, we all wanted to thank you.” 

“I picked the best rose in the whole garden for you!” Finny chirps.

“And I poured the tea, and I even managed not to spill, yes I did!” Mey-Rin glows. 

“And I polished the cutlery, just the way you taught me,” Baldroy says proudly.

“And obviously I cooked,” Tanaka smiles, “we all discussed exactly what we should make you, as we’ve never seen you put a crumb of food in your mouth, so we weren’t sure what kind of food you even like, so we just decided on something warm and simple. Something filling after such a hard day for you.”

I’ve lived for many thousands of years. In all that time, my experience with humanity has all been the same; they’ve all been filthy, pitiful, selfish, self-centred ego maniacs who care only about what I, as their demon slave, can offer them in levels of power and authority. Humans are vicious, vile creatures who’d step over their own mother to claw their way towards power, money or authority. They’ve never cared about anything, or anyone, other than themselves. In my experience of pretending to be human, I’ve learnt that humans love it when you have as few needs as possible. I’ve had to endure being around other humans in a work environment like this before, and they too have never seen me eat, sleep or rest, and so they never care. If a human usually can be seen to sleep well, and then visibly ceases to sleep well, other humans will enquire about their health and why they haven’t been sleeping. If they never see you sleep, they will not say ‘why do I never see you sleep?’ they just assume you must do it at some point. The same comes to food. If I always ate in front of the staff, they’d want to know what was wrong whenever I didn’t eat, but since I’ve never eaten, they just never ask me about it. This makes little logical sense, as surely never seeing a person eat or sleep must be far more worrying than catching them missing a meal or sleeping irregularly, but who am I to question humans' simple minds? 

The Phantomhive servants have broken a 5000 year trend. They’ve never seen me do such human things, but they still offer it to me out of kindness and as thanks. That’s also a first. 

Never have I experienced kindness or being given thanks. 

I cannot help but melt a little, “thank you,” I manage, hoping these small words express the depth of my gratitude.

The four servants all smile as if they do.

“This is all so sweet, however -” I begin, about to explain I simply cannot come to the table to eat. The young lord would want me to stay close during such an emotional day. 

“I know you won’t want to be too far away from the young master, in case he needs you,” Tanaka gently interrupts, as he sinks gracefully to the carpet, “so I suggest a carpet picnic.” 

The three other servants follow suit, all sitting down outside the master's bedroom door, right on the floor. 

Overwhelmed by their kindness, and the fact that they’ve bothered to get to know me so well that they even know I won’t want to leave, I smile, and sink to the floor as well. I take the tray in my lap, and, having watched the young master eat many times, follow his example so I eat as humanely as possible. Not that human food has any taste for me, besides ash. God said “and all food and drink will turn into ash in the mouths of demons.” Whilst it doesn't literally become ash, everything tastes like ash, which, coupled with the fact that human food offers me no nourishment, and doesn't quell my hunger. I may as well eat air. This is why I never bother with human food, but…

Just this once. I find this food tastes just a little less like ash than usual. 

Perhaps there truly is something behind the human expression of putting “love” into a meal.

I smile at them all, and they glow at me with such love and appreciation in their eyes. Like they really, truly value me as a person. 

I don't think I’ll be calling them the ‘idiot’ servants anymore.

Perhaps I’ll even call them my friends.

Chapter Text

***** Ciel *****

I awaken.

I’m lying across Sebastian’s chest, my duvet and his arms wrapped around me as if I’m a newborn. My body tells me it's morning. With a slight crick in my neck, I peer up at dear Sebastian, who's lying patiently beneath me, acting like a human-shaped mattress. 

“Is…Is it tomorrow?” I croak out, my voice still hoarse from sleep.

“Yes my lord,” Sebastian practically whispers, his voice nice and low. “You survived the night.”

I give a cold scoff, “there were times I doubted I would.”

“I know my lord, I know,” Sebastian soothes. He's speaking so gently, so quietly, as if trying not to spook a wild animal, and I don't blame him for a moment. 

As I lay my head back upon his shoulder, closing my eyes against the world once more, my head is pounding with thoughts.

My experiences have made me strong. They've made me tough. Almost nothing can shake me. 

I am not the type to fall to pieces. 90% of the time, I am as the world views me; a cold, calculating, ruthless Earl who treats life like a game of chess. A game I always win, naturally. Failure is impossible when I have a demon at my beck and call. He's not like a normal chess piece. He can take the whole board in a single move. His power has given me strength, and that strength has put a hard shell of protection around my heart. 

Even in the rare times I allow myself to be vulnerable, I am controlled with it. Although my nightmares are much less frequent these days, I still have them, yet I still wake up with nothing more than a mild, quiet yelp, too low for any human to hear, and yet Sebastian is always instantly at my side all the same. 

Sometimes he holds me in his arms, other times he just sits with me until I calm down. Either way, I'm never in need of that comfort for long, and I never shed a single tear or scream. I usually go back to sleep within ten minutes, tops.

And then there are the times I allow myself some child-like time, where I get to let out that small child inside of me that has been shoved into the back of my mind for far too long. These are the times I giggle and play, but only ever when Sebastian and I are alone, and even then I never fully let go. Those moments of full childhood wonder, where the only thing on my mind was laughter, died long ago. These days, even when I indulge in child-like moments, I'm still having adult thoughts about my adult responsibilities, and Sebastian and I can go from messing around like a father and son to discussing serious matters like murder within the blink of an eye. Darkness is never far away from my light; and even that light is forever tainted by shadows. It can never be pure light again - not after all I've seen.

I've watched people get torn limb from limb. I've seen more darkness, death, tragedy, gore and violence in the past fouryears than most people ever see in their entire lives, and none of it ever rattles me. I've watched countless people die and yet none of that is ever in my nightmares. To speak honestly, I almost never give any of the horror I see a second thought. It all seems normal to me.  

I haven't cried or screamed once since my kidnapping. Even when I'm particularly wound up with emotion and need Sebastian at my side to regulate me, I don't cling to him. I’ll sit in his arms and he’ll hold me for a while, then I'll calm down and be ready to face the world again. 

Even with all I've seen and been through, never have I responded the way I did last night.

Then, last night happened.

To say I fell into complete and utter hysterics is an understatement . I clung to Sebastian like a monkey. I screamed until I couldn't breathe. I cried until I couldn't see. I thrashed, hit, kicked and swore like a drunken sailor in a fist fight. It felt as though if I released Sebastian from my grip, I'd die. I was utterly consumed with every conceivable emotion, both good and bad, and all of them were set to their highest intensity. 

It was as if I was a newborn baby again. Poor Sebastian could do nothing but pat my back and rock me in his arms whilst I fell apart. Even when I finally stopped screaming, I couldn't stop crying. 

Never, have I been such a dysregulated mess .   

Never have my emotions been so out of control. Usually, I'm reserved and tight lipped, impossible to read by anyone but Sebastian. Usually nobody can tell what I'm feeling, much less what I'm thinking . 

Even when I was a small child, I'd never had a fit as bad as that. I never threw tantrums or really cried. According to stories from my parents, I was even a very easy-going, quiet baby. In my known history, I've never been one for tantrums or crying fits or lashing out in any way.

And yet, yesterday I went off like a bomb. I basically became an entirely different person. I practically reverted in time and became the world's most unsettleable newborn. I couldn't even fall asleep unless it was in Sebasian’s arms, and even then, I woke up every hour or so, screaming from another nightmare and needed to be re-held and re-rocked to sleep before Sebastian tucked me back into bed. Followed by me waking up again. The fourth time I woke up with a start and a scream, Sebastian gave up and just laid me across his chest in the rocking chair, “just sleep here my lord,” he whispered. Being on his chest instantly soothed me, and I was able to go straight to sleep. I did briefly awaken twice more, but rather than needing to be soothed for at least forty minutes, like all the other times I'd woken up last night; I fell back to sleep within a minute or two the second I heard the beat of Sebastian's heart under my ear. After that, I finally managed to get some solid sleep. Now, I’m awake and the candles are burning low. I can see on the clock that it's 5am, so I’ve been solidly asleep for a good couple of hours now.

As I just said to Sebastian though, there were times during the night; thrown into a pit of endless torture as I was; that I doubted I'd survive. Not in the literal sense. I knew I'd be alive to see the dawn, but I doubted the person I was before my parents return would survive. 

Even now, as I lie on Sebastian's chest, I wonder if I shall ever be the same again. Just last week I was able to be the Queen’s Guard Dog and face down the most terrifying of crimes, but right now, I feel as though I cannot even survive leaving Sebastian's arms.

And I hate it. I hate feeling this way. I hate that just yesterday morning I felt like I'd finally found peace, only for everything to be disrupted now. The unfairness of it is laughable. The universe certainly has a cruel sense of irony. 

Further irony then strikes in the form of stomach growls. 

“Is that your way of requesting some breakfast my lord?” Sebastian smiles. 

Right. Breakfast. A new day.

I have to face breakfast, and breakfast means it's officially a new day, and it being a new day means I have to face my newly resurrected parents. 

Sebastian senses my hesitation and deflation - because of course he does - and lovingly brushes my fringe out of my eye, “I know my lord. I'm not sure how to handle this new… development either,” Sebastian confesses, “I've been alive many thousands of years, and I thought I'd seen it all. I thought there was nothing left that could shock me, but this? This has even shaken even me up.”  

I blink, “really? You don't seem shaken up. You seem as rock steady as ever.”

“Well we demons are hardly famous for being very emotionally expressive creatures to begin with, but, even if we were, this time is hardly about me, now is it? I'm here for you,” Sebastian tells, “but, yes, if it helps, even I'm unsure how to handle this.”

I melt into a relaxed smile, “it does help, actually,” I say, as I melt into a relieved puddle, my head sinking into his shoulder. “What are we going to do Sebastian?” I mumble into him.

“I haven't a clue my little lord,” Sebastian says, as he pats my back. “But we'll figure it out together. No matter what else happens, I’ll always be here. That , you can count on.”

I smile, a lot of my anxiety soothed by that reminder. It allows me to breathe in the safety that is his presence, and find strength from it. “Where -” I begin, before a fresh wave of anxiety hits me, my breath hitches with anxiety. It’s ok, Sebastian’s here , I remind myself, soI  retry, this time with far more confidently, “where are they then?” I ask, like a businessman making demands. Which is how I much prefer to sound!

Because this is Sebastian, I have no need to clarify who ‘they’ are.

“They are in the West Wing my lord, in the furthest bedroom, as far away as possible. I ensured that you could not accidentally run into them,” Sebastian reports. 

I give a blunt, business-like nod, “good.” I pause as my thoughts race as I nibble my lip, “are they…alright?”

“Tanaka diligently called in both a dentist and a doctor, who have both decreed your parents to be in good health, all things considered. They had to have a few teeth pulled due to rotting, and they had several minor wounds, but they’ve all been cleaned and dressed. Nothing worse than a few stitches. They’re in remarkable shape, given all they’ve been through. The Phantomhive’s famous resilience clearly is something to be reckoned with,” Sebastian reports. “They’ve had to be shaved though.”

“Shaved?” I say in surprise, raising my head off his chest.

“Indeed,” nods Sebastian, “their hair was so tangled and filth so engrained all over their bodies that they needed to be shaved head to toe to have their wounds treated properly.” 

My lips twist at the corner, “so…they’re bald all over?”

“They’ve even had the hairs in their noses waxed!” 

I snort a little laugh, “seriously?”

“Oh yes! I hear they look like naked mole rats!” Sebastian’s grin breaks into a laugh, and, even though my body tries to resist, I can’t help but crack up laughing! First, I’m laughing at the mental image, and then that carries into hysterical laughing as I seem to be laughing off all my stress and the shock I’ve had. Sebastian laughs right along with me, so that we’re roaring with laughter together. 

I laugh until I can’t laugh anymore, until my ribs hurt and my eyes weep. I finish by softly dissolving into giggles that naturally dry up. When I’m done, I smile at the demon I’m still using as a human-spaced mattress, “thank you, Sebastian.”

“Of course,” Sebastian bids, loyally as ever, “now, I know you must be starved, you haven’t had a thing since breakfast yesterday, so how about you let me get you something to eat?” 

Feeling a bit better and brighter about things now, I nod, “sounds good. Are you going to cook or just summon it into being?”

“Well that choice is yours my lord,” Sebastian tells, “I usually have your breakfast prepared before you wake up, but since I didn’t know when to expect you to wake up, I haven’t prepared anything, so I can either cook but you'll have to wait, or I can make it demonically. Which would you prefer?” 

I consider, glad that his mind is more at rest now, and that thinking about food is taking my mind off certain other things, “I want you to cook, I prefer your physically made meals, but I don't…I don't want to just wait here.” Translation; please don't leave me alone right now, I can't bare it.

Thankfully, Sebastian has always been good at reading subtext, so he smiles and gives a warm offer, “well, you could come with me, sit in the kitchen? Perhaps you can even help cook! It might make you feel better, sometimes getting stuck into a physical activity like that can really take your mind off things.”

Despite the shock I’ve had, I’ve still got my principles! So I cock an eyebrow, “an Earl in the kitchen? And cooking ?! That stuff is for servants .”

“I suppose that’s true enough,” Sebastian shrugs, “Earls such as yourself simply cannot admit that you cannot handle an environment that we servants handle daily. You know what they say, if you cannot handle the heat, stay out of the kitchen after all.” 

I squint angrily, knowing that I’m being baited, but damn it! Sebastian knows I can’t resist such things, “fine,” he huffs, angrily, “but I want it noted that I know exactly what you’re doing Sebastian!”

“So noted, my lord,” Sebastian smirks.  

*** The Kitchen *** 

“Alright!” Sebastian swings off his infamous long tailcoat and throws it aside; it lands perfectly on a hook on the wall with inhuman precision as he rolls his sleeves up to his elbow. “How about a contest, hm? Who can make the best pancake!”  

“I already know the answer to that, and so do you,” I say, eyebrow cocked, as I sit on one of the high-placed wooden bar stools.

“Now my little lord, don't be so boastful, I'm sure I have a small chance of victory, despite your clear higher level of culinary mastery,” Sebastian smirks, smugly.

I squint angrily, pick up a wooden spoon and give Sebastian a firm whack, “hold your tongue!” I snap, “damn demon,” I add with a task.

Chuckling, Sebastian is smiling brightly, as if he's really rather enjoying this. “Now then,” he carefully rolls the sleeves of my nightshirt up, folding them neatly so that they stay up and out of the way, “before we handle food, we wash our hands,”  Sebastian picks me up and transfers me to the counter beside the sink, where he puts the tap on, “get scrubbing than little chef!” 

Rolling my eyes but secretly rather enjoying this, I give my hands a thorough scrub, just the way Sebastian taught me. Sebastian then dries my hands for me before he snaps a pair of cooking gloves onto my hands, which look so tiny compared to Sebasian’s, I just noticed, “and for extra hygiene, we always wear gloves,” Sebastian instructs, as he transfers me to the counter island. With this, Sebastian gets out a mixing bowl, a bag of flour, and the eggs carton. “Right, why don't you start pouring the flour into the bowl while I wash my hands?” 

I shrug in a ‘why not?’ gesture, pick up the bag and give it a shake over the bowl, but I shake it too violently and an explosion of flour dust poofs into the air.

“Whoopsie!” Sebastian laughs, turning his head, his back to me as he scrubs his hands at the sink. 

Caught in this snow-like blast, I blink in surprise, before surrendering into a giggling fit too! I dust the flour off my shoulders, “have you seen me?” I giggle, patting a particularly large clump of flour out of my hair.

“You rather do look like you've been caught in a heavy snowstorm!” Sebastian laughs, as he dries his hands. “Perhaps you'd like to try adding all the ingredients into your hair to see what happens? Perhaps we could bake your hair into something delicious, hm?” 

I tut and roll my eyes, pretending to be annoyed, whilst fighting a smile underneath it all!

Wearing matching cooking gloves with matching rolled up sleeves, Sebastian and I set to work. Somehow, despite Sebastian's gentle guidance, I manage to make a huge mess with every ingredient. I drop and splatter the eggs. I spill the milk when I'm trying to pour it, and I manage to shake way too much vegetable oil into the bowl, sending splashes of it all over the counter. Sebastian just laughs and makes a joke every time, never getting snippy or telling me off. He just keeps being encouraging and kind. The pancakes I end up producing are awful in every conceivable way, but Sebastian eats them with the delight and enthusiasm that is only reserved for parents when dealing with their children's creations. He manages to not even flinch!

I, meanwhile, eat pancakes produced by Sebastian, which are as fantastic as ever. 

Once I've eaten about five pancakes and downed two cups of British tea, I find myself staring down at my freshly scraped- cleaned plate. “This…this was nice,” I manage to mumble. 

“I'm glad you enjoyed yourself my little lord,” Sebastian smiles, as he cleans up my various messes without complaint. 

“You were right, it did help,” I confess, my voice low, still staring down at my plate. “But there is something rather major we have to deal with.” I let out a sigh, “my parents are back, and there's nothing I can do about it.” I put my plate aside on the counter and ball my fist in my lap, gritting my teeth. Suddenly, I scoff, a new thought entering my mind as I look up at Sebastian, “unless I get you to kill them properly .” 

Sebastian laughs at this dark natured joke, “I'd certainly do a more efficient job then this Black Hat fellow. I can personally testify that all the people I've ever killed have indeed stayed dead.” 

I can't laugh at this dark humour, I'm too focused on a keyword, “Black Hat?” I wonder what that long-dead crime lord has to do with anything .

“The crime lord your parents claimed held them these four years,” Sebastian reminds me. “Oh that's right,” I remember now, as I shake my head in dismay, “why didn't I remember that?”

“There was a lot to absorb when they came crashing back into our lives, plus the emotional shock and trauma of their return. Such things can mess with our ability to remember things. It's perfectly understandable.”

“Hmf,” I grumble, before I growl thoughtfully, “you know something else? I could have sworn they told me Black Hat was dead.”

“They did. Yesterday morning they said he faked his own death as well,” Sebastian reminds me again.

“That's right, they did say that,” I tut, hating how unreliable my memory is right now. I allow my mind to churn for a moment, “why would he keep them alive for four long years anyway? And if they were kept so deeply under lock and key that they couldn't escape in four years worth of time, how did they escape today ?”

“All good questions that I have no answers to my lord,” Sebastian admits. “These are all things you'd have to ask them, I'm afraid. I am many things, but omnipotent is not one of them.” 

I scrunch my hands together, twisting one hand over the other again and again anxiously, feeling a deep sense of dread. “I'm not sure I can face them,” I admit sheepishly.

“And that's perfectly alright,” Sebastian coos, “you don't have to talk to them or even see them, not until you're ready.”

I lock a pair of woeful eyes with my butler, “what if I'm never ready?” 

“Then we'll kick them out of our house together, hm?” Sebastian chuckles, before giving me a loving smile, “but seriously my lord, you know that I shall still be with you, no matter what,” Sebastian vows,looking at me with so much warmth and love that it makes even me, as thoroughly shaken up as I still am, feel slightly more secure.  

**** One Kitchen Session Later ****

‘ These are all things you'd have to ask them, ’ this advice from Sebastian swirls in my mind as Sebastian guides me into a leisurely bath, where I begin yawning, despite the fact that Sebastian informs me that I slept for six hours straight in his lap. “I don't know why I feel so exhausted,” I complain, as I sit in the bubble bath.

“Tiredness is normal after such a violent shock as the dead coming back to life my lord,” Sebastian tells gently, as he tenderly massages shampoo into my hair, which is helping me to feel less anxious and far more grounded, I must confess. The warm shampoo and the gentle massage are rooting me here, in this moment, where nothing else matters but being here, with Sebatian, where I'm safe. “How about we get you back to bed after this, hm? A good meal, a warm bath and a long nap can help any problem.” 

I fight back another yawn, “I suppose that does sound nice.” 

“Alright then, let's get you all washed and settled back into bed, hm?” Sebastian smiles. “Sweet dreams await you, after all.”

The warm bubbles and the gentle washing from Sebastian make me all the sleeper. I'm fighting to keep my eyes open as Sebastian scoops into his arms and dries me with a pre-warmed towel.  I'm patted dry, slipped into a fresh nightshirt as my limbs go limp with exhaustion. I'm barely awake to watch as Sebastian tucks me in. The last thing I see is him smiling lovingly at me, and the last thing I hear is him humming me a lullaby. 

‘These are all things you'd have to ask them,’ is my last thought though. It spikes my anxiety.

*** Sleepytime ****

I'm running in a vast abyss, both going and being nowhere in particular. Suddenly, my parents appear - just as they were four years ago, clean, preppy, refined, as if they’ve never spent a single day in captivity - in front of me, arms open, calling for me. I beam, running towards them now, but, when I arrive in their arms, they push me away, looking at me strangely. “You’re not our Ciel,” they say, their voices disjointed and distant sounding. “We want our Ciel.”

I’m confused, frowning as I try to fight my way back into their arms, but they keep pushing me away, “I am your Ciel.”

But they’re shaking their heads at me, “no,” says my mother, “you’re broken. We want our perfect Ciel.” 

Just then, ten-year-old me, with his two giant blue eyes and face full of innocence, comes running in from the abyss, just popping into existence before he runs towards us. “Mama! Papa!” he beams, looking so sweet. Not a drop of trauma is on his face or reflected in his wholesome, pure eyes. 

“There he is!” my parents beam, turning away from me as the younger me jumps into their arms. They welcome him, kissing and hugging him all over, repeating, ‘our perfect, undamaged little doll!’ over and over again.

Tears of rejection drip down my cheeks, and when I look down, there’s a puddle of tears at my feet. My reflection stares back at me. I haven’t physically changed much from my ten year old self, but my eyes have changed. They're both still big and blue, but all the horror I’ve seen is reflected in them. Shadows of trauma dance across them. My face is harder, my jaw tighter, my cheeks tireder. I look so much older. I haven’t aged four years, more like ten. My skin has simply lost some of its elasticity and youth. I’m just not the prim, proper, perfect, porcelain doll I used to be. 

I look up and tug at my parents, “can’t you still love me, even though I’m different now?”

They ignore me, and practically kick me, pushing me away with their legs as they walk off with the younger, perfect me in their arms. 

I feel my heart crack. I turn around and run off in the opposite direction. Before I know it, I’m once again alone in the void of this pure-white abyss, my footsteps echoing and my tears flying off my cheeks as I run. 

I’m not good enough. I’m too broken. I’ll never be loveable again. I’m disgusting and worthless and -

“Master.”

I freeze. Someone’s calling me.

“Master!” 

I spin around in every conceivable direction until I’m back to facing the way I was originally running away from my parents, and there stands Sebastian.

“My lord,” he kneels down to my height, his arms open wide.

Flooded with relief, I run towards him. Suddenly, lots of mes are running alongside me as well, on my left and my right. There’s me, chains around my ankles and wrists, running from a cage that chases after him, its door opening and snapping shut like a starved animal trying to eat him. I’m filthy, bloody and skeletal with starvation, but still I run towards the butler. There’s me, in my funeral suit, an obituary of my Aunt Red in hand, running towards Sebastian. There’s me, covered in blood, a newspaper declaring several criminals have died; their bodies looking like they’ve been torn apart by a wolf pack - because Sebastian killed them on my command, naturally - just endless mes, battered, or bruised or bloodied after one of the endless traumas I’ve experienced, running along side me. Caged me arrives at Sebastian first, collapsing into his arms. One after another, the mes arrive in Sebastian’s arms, arriving in chronological order of their trama. Each me dissolves into the other, becoming one person as they are held by Sebastian, until I arrive, and dissolve them all into me as I fall into his welcoming arms.

“There now,” Sebastian smiles as he holds me tight, “I love you all. ” 

I smile, melting into him, finally feeling safe and accepted, just the way I am.

I’m not broken or unloveable. I’m just different now. And that’s alright.

I’m alright. 

I awaken, feeling a content glow within my chest. I stretch and yawn, feeling warm and happy as my safe, comfortable bed welcomes me. “Good morning my lord,” Sebastian’s voice greets me.

I smile as I sit up, the room brightening as Sebastian opens the curtains as usual. “You were right, I did have sweet dreams,” I report.

“That’s wonderful!” Sebastian shines, as he glides over and tucks my dressing gown around me to keep me cosy. “Does this mean you are feeling better? I certainly hope so,” Sebastian bids. 

“Yes, I think the worst of the emotional whirlpool is over,”  I tell, “I feel much less like a shaken bottle now.”

“Good, I'm glad,” Sebastian smiles, as,with a wave of his gloved hand, manifests a tray with my usual pre-breakfast; a cup of tea, biscuits to nibble on, and today's newspaper, freshly ironed, as ever. 

“I fell asleep thinking about what you said,” I tell Sebastian, “about asking my parents about…everything. I was so worried about it, so anxious, and I couldn’t place why, I just knew I felt anxious,” I confess. “My dream helped me figure it out though.”

“Oh? How Freudian!” Sebastian sits himself on the edge of my bed. “Do tell.”

“Well, it was quite an awful dream at first,” I begin, nibbling a biscuit after I dunk it in my tea, “my parents were there and…..so awful, running in this abyss…but then you were there, and took me into your arms..” I tell him the whole dream, because I hide nothing from Sebastian. I can tell him anything and everything, after all. “And, after all was said and done, I realised that what I was anxious about was abandonment, emotionally speaking,” I say, taking a sip of my tea, “that my parents won’t accept me, that they’ll always be searching for their Ciel, the Ciel they left behind four years ago. That if I face them, I’ll be abandoned again. But dream you reminded me that, even if they do, I’ve got you. I don’t care if my parents never accept me for me, because they're still my parents, and I intend to have a civil relationship with them. Maybe I’ll gain a great bond with them, maybe I won’t, but none of that matters, because I’ll have you to help and support me either way. With that, I can face anything.” 

Sebastian alights with a glowing smile, “that’s incredible my lord, I’m very happy to hear that!”

“So,” I down the last of my tea and slam the cup down, “you and I are going to ask my parents the hard questions, and I’m going to tell them the truth, that they need to move over a spot, because I already have one parent,” I shine at Sebastian.

Sebastian looks struck, as if by lightning, then melts into love, “my little lord…are you….sure? Your parents are freshly back, you don’t have to accept me into that role as well. I understand that such a thing might be too much for you.”

“No Sebastian,” I shake my head, “it's exactly what I need. The only way I can accept my not-dead parents being back, is if the parent who’s been here for me those four years they were gone, is at my side, as my parent. Nothing less. And, Papa? For goodness sake, call me Ciel, I’m your son, after all.”

Sebastian lights up brighter than ever before, absolutely aglow with glee, beaming all over as his eyes shine, “well then, my son Ciel,” he glows, “let’s get you washed and dressed. We have zombies to question!”

I laugh, and throw off my duvet.

Ready - to face the impossible.

Chapter Text

*** Rachel ***

My husband and I spent four long years in that wicked, icy, soulless hellhole. The only way we kept from giving up or losing our sanity was to dream of the day we'd finally come home, and our little miracle would leap into our arms. And we'd finally be a family again.

Yesterday….wasn't like that. 

Instead, our homecoming sent our poor son into a fit of hysterics, and he had to be carried off by some servant, of all things. Then, we were shaved, waxed, plucked, plastered, washed, scrubbed, stitched and bandaged all over. We even had to have some teeth yanked and our wounds doused in rubbing alcohol. The final assault on our bodies came in the form of a liquid calories IV drip, being given a shot of painkillers, and put to bed, where, despite our best efforts to stay awake, we proceeded to fall solidly asleep for the next sixteen hours. The drugs and exhaustion combined will do that to a person, I suppose.

So, after falling asleep around 6pm, Saturday December 14th, 1889, my husband and I both jolt awake in a dark room. 

“Is….is it morning?” Vincent groans as he sits up in bed, rubbing his head as if it aches.  

“It…feels like it, but my body clock is all out of whack from all that time in that dark cell,” I sigh, swinging my feet out of bed. “I'll see if I can light a candle.”

“Careful my love, we're both still unsteady,” through all his torment in that horrible place, my husband hasn't lost an inch of love or compassion. He holds my elbow and puts a supportive hand upon my back to help steady me. I give his hand a thankful pat as I stand up - and immediately trip over my own IV tubing in the dark. I think to the ground very ungratefully. It doesn't hurt much, but it makes a loud bang. 

“Rachel! Are you alright?” Vincent cries. 

“Goodness me!” At the exact same time, dear Tanaka’s voice comes out of the darkness. He hurriedly lights and holds up a candle, slowly illuminating the room, “are you alright there my lady?” 

“Fine fine! The only thing bruised is my ego,” I blush, untangling myself from the tubing and sitting myself down on the bed. “I just got tangled, is all.”

“Dear me, nevermind, so long as nobody's hurt,” Tanaka says. The candle he's holding shows that he's in pyjamas, having made a makeshift bed out of the loveseat near the door of the bedroom. Now though, he gets up and shuffles around the room, lighting the candles. “How are the two of you feeling?”

"Fine, what time is it?” Vincent hurriedly and curtly asks. 

“It's 10am, my lord,” Tanaka bids, not taking this curtness personally.

“10-!” I choke in shock, “we need to see Ciel! He must be wondering where we are by this time of day!”

“Of course, my lord and lady,” Tanaka nods, “but we need to change both your bandages and get you clean first. Otherwise we risk infection.” 

My husband growls in frustration, “fine!” he snaps, “but make it quick!”

So, off came their now blood stained bandages. Their wounds get a fresh rinse in rubbing alcohol, followed by a thorough scrubbing all over their bodies, a pat drying, antibacterial creaming all over, and, finally, fresh bandages. After all that, Tanaka, sadly, isn't done. “You want to look your best to see your son, don't you?” he prompts, and, with some further poking, he gets us to agree to teeth brushing, face washing, and dressing in loose but freshly cleaned and pressed clothes, gentle on their bandages. By the time all that is done, it's 11am. “That's better! All nice and clean,” Tanaka glows, “now, let me go and check if the young lord wants to see you.”

“Of course he wants to see us!” Vincent insists. “Why wouldn't he?” He's demanding and forceful despite his weak state. 

“Because your return is a major shock for him,” Tanaka remains calm in the face of this demanding tone. “If he's not ready to see you, he'll simply send you back to your room.”

My husband opens his mouth to argue that he would simply not follow this order. I know that's what he's going to say because I can tell by the look on his face. When you love a man for as long and as deeply as I do, you learn to read him well.

“And he'll put you back in this room by force, if necessary,” Tanaka quickly heads off this argument. “You must accept that your son, as small and as young as he is, is the lord of this manor now, and what he says go, and my fellow staff members and I will follow his orders to the letter. So, if you go barging about the house with no regard for his orders, he will just have you dragged back here, but if you respect him as the new Earl of this manor, you'll earn the right to wander about freely and see him whenever you like. Which would you prefer?” 

My husband just grumbles in response, so I speak his mind for him, “we shouldn't have to earn such rights in our own home.”

“It's not your home anymore, it's Ciel's. Right now, you're guests here. You will be welcomed again as household members, but you need to let Ciel make the decision of when that happens, or else you will likely never be welcomed. Your choice,” Tanaka shrugs. 

My husband and I sigh in unison, meet each other's eye, and share a moment of silent communication. We know each other so well and have been together so long that we don't even need words to agree on a simple fact.

We need to do as we're told, just for right now. Just until we get our strength back.

Then, we fight back.

Tanaka slips out for a few minutes, and returns with a grin, “Wonderful news! Your son is ready to see you. However, he must insist on some rules,” Tanaka explains. “Break them, and the young master will order you back to your room.”

Prepping myself emotionally, I take my husband's hand, “what are the rules?”

“You must be calm and considerate. The young master prohibits raised voices of any kind, for any reason. You must not rush. Move gracefully, the master does not want you running at him like you tried to do yesterday. Do not touch the master without first asking his consent. Do not argue or debate with him. If he says no, do not push the issue. If he gives you instructions, follow them. Be polite and use good manners. Essentially, behave like you are nothing more than guests visiting a Lord, rather than parents reuniting with their son. Is that all clear?”  

Clearly heart breaking - but clear all the same.

The door to the sitting room is a large double wooden door. My husband and I meet each other's eye, squeeze each other's hand for bravery - and push our way in. 

The sitting room is exactly as I remember it. The fire is burning against the snow that's still falling outside. The furniture is heavy, dark wood made of mahogany. Soft, luxurious armchairs and sofas were abundant, showcasing intricate carvings and luxurious fabrics. The furniture is embellished with tassels and fringe. The polished wooden floor is covered in large, richly patterned rugs. These rugs are Oriental in style, adding to the room's opulent feel. The walls are adorned with elaborate wallpaper, featuring damask patterns in a deep, rich dark green. The sitting room is filled with exactly the same array of porcelain figurines, bronze ornaments, and framed artwork depicting landscapes, portraits, or historical scenes are set in ornate gold frames. Burning oil lamps and candelabras add to the room's ambiance. Bookcases filled with volumes of literature, poetry, and encyclopaedias. A grand piano, in scarlet red, takes the president in the room, just the way I remember it. 

And there he is. 

Parked beside the fireplace in the most comfortable looking armchair, sipping a cup Of tea elegantly, is our little boy. 

There's an empty loveseat to his left and an empty matching armchair to his right. He looks up at us with a surprisingly neutral expression. He looks so tiny in that big armchair. So fragile, still so little.

My husband and I both tremble with desire to bolt forward and wrap our arms around our baby. I can see my husband, his face taunt as he fights that desire. I'm sweating with it too, but.

Do not rush. Do not touch him without consent.

We must follow the rules. 

So, instead of running over and hugging my baby boy, which is what every atom in my body wants to do, I smile politely, as I'm a guest in this house, and bid, “thank you for seeing us.”

Ciel smiles. It's a cold smile, one full of power lust, like he enjoys seeing us under the thumb of these rules. But that's nonsense. My baby boy would never feel that way. He gestures to the loveseat sofa beside him, “please, sit.”

So, hand in hand, fighting ourselves not to run the whole time, my husband and I move slowly across the room, towards the miracle we left behind. 

And, for the first time since our return, we get to have a proper look at our son . Things were so chaotic, and the butler was so busy shoving us away when we arrived home yesterday, that we didn't get a chance to take him in.

But now, as we slowly cross the room, we get to absorb every inch of him. 

First observation; he's grown.

He's still short for his age, but he's definitely grown. He was 4'0 feet or 121cm when we left. Now he looks to be about 4’9 or 144cm. So he's grown 22cm/9 inches. He wears it well.

Second observation; he's visibly heavier. He's probably about 95 pounds/43 kilograms/6.7 stone. He was about 3.5 stone/22 kilograms/ 49 pounds when he was 10. So he's gained 9 inches and 3 stones in four years! He’s still a skinny little thing, a small, skinny, little doll of a boy, but whereas before, when he was 10, he was just barely in the healthy weight range, hanging on between there and underweight by a paper thin thread, now, he's clearly on the deep end of healthiness. If healthiness, in regards to weight, based on height and age of course, was a sliding scale, and this scale went from red - underweight - to green, healthy, and then back into red for overweight at the other end of the scale; 10 year old Ciel would have been just peeking outside the red underweight zone because he was never hungry, nobody could get that boy to develop an appetite. Now, 14 year old Ciel would be near - but not dangerously near - the overweight side of the scale. He'd been more than halfway into the green, healthy section. Still with plenty of room to pack on more weight before he got near that overweight zone, but still more than double the amount of healthy he was when he was 10. 

All this to say; even when taking the height and age difference into regard, Ciel is visibly healthier and heavier now. 

His skin is clearer. His cheeks rosier. His body is more filled out with good, nourishing food. He looks brighter, stronger, healthier.

He wears a powder blue suit, with long pressed trousers and a white, freshly ironed shirt. He wears a matching powder blue waistcoat and jacket. A black ribbon, tied neatly in a bow, serves as his neck tie. His formal black dress shoes gleam with polish. He wears the family heirloom ring, too big for him, on his thumb. The buttons on his waistcoat, trouser top and even his cufflinks are so shiny and clean with polish that reflections shimmer off them. Everything about him is pristine and perfect. His blue hair is freshly washed, combed and cut to style. It looks touchably soft and religiously cleaned. When he told them to sit, his voice was slightly deeper. Although it's obvious that puberty hasn't arrived yet, he sounds more serious and adult now all the same. All the childhood whimsy and that cute little lisp that I used to love so much is gone. His voice is now crisper, darker, more refined. Despite puberty’s obvious late onset, our son sounds almost like a man now. He sits up straight, proud and to attention with an erect spine. He looks like a full fledged English gentleman - just a shrunken version.

He sits in his huge armchair with perfect posture across his tiny body. He uses his cup and saucer correctly, holding them elegantly and politely. When he puts the cup down, he turns his body slightly to the side table beside his chair and eats from a small plate with pristine table manners. When he was 10, he couldn't be talked into having table manners for love nor money. When he could be convinced to eat, he'd eat with the politeness of a monkey! But we, as his parents, were never one for disciplining such things. We'd always just laugh if off. Now though, he's even using the correct cutlery and keeping his elbows off the table. He chews slowly and politely, keeping his mouth closed, and, most amazing of all, what he's eating is fruit! 10 year old Ciel couldn't be force-fed fruit or vegetables to save his life, but 14 year old Ciel now gleefully munches through sugar sprinkled strawberries as if he loves them.

Oh, and one more tiny detail.

He's wearing a black eyepatch, covering his right eye.

“Sweetheart! What happened to your eye?” I squeak in surprise, as we reach him, I unconsciously reach out to touch his sweet little face.

Ciel doesn't even blink. He just looks up at us, his one remaining eye glassy with boredom for about a microsecond, before a gloved hand blocks my touch. My hand hits against his flat palm like a carriage crash at an intersection. “Please do not attempt to touch my master,” says a silky smooth voice. I look up and meet a pair of lovely caramel brown eyes.

So this must be him. Sebastian. 

He's tall and skinny. Beautiful. Too beautiful, actually. He's eerily pretty; inhumanly flawless, without a single blip or spot. He has black ribbons of hair that frame his angelically handsome face and soft, caramel brown eyes. He wears a pristine butler's uniform; black freshly pressed trousers, a six-buttoned double-breasted tailcoat with a grey vest. His shift cuff and tie bear the Phantomhive family crest. He also sports white gloves, a golden pocket watch, and a chained silver lapel pin bearing the Phantomhive crest, traditionally worn by a house's head butler, aka, Head of House, aka, the boss of all other servants. He's elegantly pale skinned, paper white, which sets off his beauty all the more, somehow. 

“Ur…I'm sorry?” I manage, kind of stunned to be honest, as I retract my hand.

This is Sebastian? The one the staff quake in fear about? He's so skinny, so delicate looking.

Actually. He looks like Ciel. The two of them could easily be mistaken for father and son. 

“Do sit, and please try to reframe from attempting to break any of the rules again,” Ciel says, like a teacher annoyed with their troublesome students.

Still a little bowled over, I sink into the loveseat he's gesturing to. Vincent joins me. He's eyeing Sebastian, clearly stuck on the fact that this can be the man that's so feared around here.

“Right then, that’s better, all nicely sat down,” Sebastian praises, “now we can have a civilised conversation,” he adds as he - shock of all shocks - sits elegantly down in the armchair beside Ciel. As if he's a family member! Servants like him should know they're not permitted to do such things. Ciel doesn't even look up though, as if this is normal. 

“Right then. Good morning Lord and Lady Phantomhive,” smiles Sebastian. “As you have no doubt figured out by now, I'm Sebastian Michaelis, head of household and your son’s butler,” Sebastian extends them a gloved hand, “a pleasure I'm sure.”

“Ur, hello,” Vincent bids, unsurely shaking hands, “so you're the famous Sebastian. The staff talk about you like you're some kind of God.”

Sebastian chuckles, “the staff flatter me. But I'm hardly the focus here today anyway.”

I'm still a little baffled, if I'm honest. I was promised a reunion with my son. What's his butler doing here? And what kind of gall does he have to sit here as if he's a member of the family? I want to talk to my son, not his staff!

“It's a pleasure to put a face to the name that everyone speaks so highly of,” I put on my best socialist smile, and use my politest voice, “thank you for introducing yourself to us, and for tending to our son last night. I understand you did an incredible job. So thank you for that, and for welcoming us into this reunion. Will you be going now?” I ask as if I'm asking out of pure polite curiosity.

“No, he won't be. Sebastian will be with me throughout this,” my son replies, equally calmly. “He’s been explicitly told to stay right here at my side, unless ordered to leave.” 

“Well then,” I can see how tense my husband is beside me. “I order you to leave?” He says, attempting a joking tone, but how serious he is reflects in his eyes.

Ciel gives a brief, cold chuckle, “very amusing, but the staff, especially Sebastian, only take orders from me. Now then, we've got the polite introductions out of the way,” he puts aside the now empty plate of sugar frosted strawberries, “shall we get down to business?”

‘Business’ is a strange word for what's going on here, but it'll do. 

“Well…ur…yes! I suppose,” My poor husband shakes his head in dismay. “Um…” he struggles, clearly still swept away by all of this. I can't help but feel the same way. What kind of reunion is this anyway? 

“You look amazing honey, so healthy!” I pick up the dropped torch by giving our son a genuine compliment. 

“Yes, yes!” Vincent perks up and smiles now, refocusing on our son rather than the strange situation surrounding him. “You've grown ever so much!”

“Thank you,” Ciel bids politely, before a tiny smirk plays on his lips, “The two of you look very odd without any hair.”

“Don't we?” Vincent chuckles and rubs at his bald head, “I feel like a newborn baby!”

“You look rather like one!” Ciel chuckles, “and you as well Rachel!” His chuckle grows until he splits into pure laughter!

At any other moment, I would have noticed that my own son just called me Rachel and not Mama or Mum or even Mother. And noticing that would have broken my heart. In that moment though, I'm just so happy to hear my son laughing, that I begin to laugh too. Vinent too dissolves into giggles, and Sebastian, irrelevant as he may be, scoffs at us all.

And, for a wonderful moment, we’re laughing together, as a family. Vincent wiggles his non-existent eyebrows - which just amounts to his forehead creasing - and that makes us all laugh harder! 

And, for nothing more than a moment, the past four years didn't happen.

But, crushingly, moments like that don't last forever. 

Soon, my son's laughter dies, as quickly as it seemed to arrive, and darkness re-clouds his eyes. Our laughter dies with his, and now Ciel is looking at us with nothing but pain.

“Where…” he struggles, his voice wobbling. He's begun to tremble. I fight every urge to physically comfort him. 

“Oh baby, it's ok,” I coo.

This snaps Ciel out of his vulnerability. He immediately darkens to damn near murderous intent as he glares at me, “I am not an infant, and I do not need your comfort, nor your pity. Is that clear?” He demands, suddenly ice cold. I startle, and nod, alarmed by my baby's sudden turn of mood. Ciel irons out his expression into calmness, “as I was saying. Where have you been? Tell me the whole story,” Ciel clearly demands. “Do not censor yourselves. Do not speak to me like a child. I want to know every detail. I'll take any missed details as an insult, that, I can assure you,” he warms us, darkly.

This surely can't be my baby?

“Well…” Vincent struggles for a moment. “Alright.” He leans back in his chair, and begins, “it was December 1st, 1885. I finally tracked down the mastermind behind a massive criminal empire, the biggest one in London, a mysterious figure known only as Black Hat. He was a large man who always wore dark clothes, and nobody had ever seen him, until I found his attic hideout in an abandoned block of flats. I remember busting down the door. There was a struggle, and Black Hat remotely set off bombs in the building, alighting the place on fire, trying to smoke me out. He hit me and I went down. Black Hat tried to climb out the window, but I got up and grabbed him. We wrestled to the floor. It was red hot because of the fire burning in the abandoned flats below us. The floor broke under the heat and Black Hat fell through. I watched him fall, disappearing into the flames, before making my own escape. I ran to Scotland Yard as quickly as I could, but by the time we got back, the building had collapsed. A burnt body was pulled out of the rubble, that I was later informed had been identified as Black Hat by a Coroner I knew and trusted. I thought he could never be brought out, but I guess I was wrong,” he gives a sigh. “Without his leadership, his underworld goons turned on him, and I was able to prosecute them all. His enterprise crumbled and it was the greatest week of my life.” He runs his hands across his face, stress riddling his face. 

“It was a great week - once,” I say sympathetically, taking hold of his hand. Vincent looks lost, staring away, so I take over. “It was all over by December 9th, so, when your birthday arrived the next day, we were double celebrating. Black Hat's empire was completely destroyed. He was dead. We had won! Or so we thought,” I squeeze Vincent's hand despite the fact that he's currently staring off into the distance. “You probably remember the rest,” I continue bravely on, “You were up at dawn, so excited to finally be 10. It was snowing, and after opening your morning presents, we went into London, and brought you anything you asked for. You were so excited, running up to everyone on the street, telling them it was your birthday and that you'd get to stay up late that night,” I smile watery, tears beginning to sting my eyes. “We came home and set up your birthday party. You loved helping put up the banners and setting out the party plates. Then, we wanted to surprise you with the last touches, so we put you in your bedroom and asked you to stay there till we called you down.” My breath hitches with a shake, and a tear escapes my eye.

Vincent comes around, waking up and putting his arm around me. “We were in the dining room, setting out this giant cake,” Vincent picks up the story for me. “When these darts came smashing through the window, sticking us. Your Mom and I just dropped to the floor, paralysed. We realised immediately that those darts in our body were drugged. Goons crept into the house and stripped us naked. We were utterly paralysed, able to move only our eyes, but still fully conscious,” he swallows heavily, “I could do nothing as they violated us. We were forced to watch as they dragged in two dead bodies, a male and a female, clearly homeless, naked, and dressed them in our clothes, even taking our jewellery, even the family ring,” his eyes shoot to the heirloom ring, now resting on Ciel's little thumb, “and putting it on the corpses. Then they poured alcohol everywhere, on everything… I did all I could to try to struggle, but just couldn't, as they dragged us outside and threw us into a blacked out prisoner carriage, with bars and heavy metal walls. The last thing we saw was the goons throwing a lit match into the manor, setting the alcohol trails ablaze. They slammed the carriage door on us, and a goon inside the carriage with us, bound, gagged and blindfolded us. We could hear the fire burning, and we could hear you yelling for us, as the carriage pulled away..” he rubs at his eyes, fighting back tears of his own. “It was awful.”

There's a moment of quiet, as the two of us run dry of words.

Ciel just stares at us. There's not a speck of emotion on his face.

I take a breath, “we were drugged again to knock us unconscious. The next time we woke up, we didn't know where we were, except in a dark building. We were chained into wheelchairs, of all things…” I wobble for a second, then find my control. “And goons were pushing us through a deserted, crumbling building. I peeked out the window and saw that we were in the middle of nowhere, with not a single building or person for miles around. We were rolled downstairs, into a basement, and then through a secret passage, hidden in the wall, and pushed down further stairs, through a huge metal door, and into a survivalist style bomb shelter with concrete walls. So we were in a basement under a basement, under an abandoned building, in the middle of nowhere. We were shoved into side by side separate cells, with bomb proof doors without windows. We'd get fed slop through a tiny food slot at the bottom of our doors and get water from a rusty tap, when they turned the water on. Black Hat, his voice unmistakable, came to stand outside our cell, and taunted us. He said ‘I bet you're wondering why you aren't dead!’ He teased us, telling us that death was ‘too good’ and ‘too merificul’ for us. That we made his life Hell, and ruined everything he'd built, so he'd do the same to us. He'd ensure we were kept alive, but just barely. Never so sick we'd die, but never healthy enough to fight. We'd get beaten and tormented daily. And…my Ciel, that's been the past four years for us. That's everything.”

There's another moment of quiet. Ciel picks up his tea, takes a long drink, and calmly asks, “were you raped?’ 

He says that horrible word so casually that it startles both my husband and I. “Goodness no!” Gasps my husband, but then horror overcomes my sweet husband's face as he looks at me, “were you?”  

“Thankfully not!” I confirm. 

Vincent sighs in relief, “Thank goodness.”

“Why would you even ask that Ciel?!” I beseech our baby. 

“Curiosity,” Ciel says, shrugging like this isn't a big deal. He looks bored. He looks like he's just listening to a very dull news story. “Is that everything?” he asks, business-like. 

“Ur, yes, that's everything,” Vincent frowns, worriedly.

“But what about the most crucial question,” Ciel says, putting his newly empty tea cup aside. “How did you escape yesterday if you were so firmly kept under lock and key?”

Ah.

The question I've been fearing.

“Just…a moment please my miracle,” I bid, before I lean in and whisper to my husband, “what do we tell him Vincent?” 

Vincent is searching my eyes, as if for answers, “I don't know my love. I don't want to lie to him. I don't want to taint our fresh start with him like that.”

“I agree, I don't want to lie either, but we can't tell him the truth, can we?” I’m practically pleading for someone, anyone, to figure this out for us. To take this difficult decision off our shoulders.

Vincent stares at the floor for a second, “I think we have to my love,” he says, meeting my eye once again. “Or else we'll be lying about our escape for the rest of our lives, and I can't do that. Not to our son.”

“I just…I don't want to expose him to that! He's a baby, he shouldn't know about demons!”

“Nobody should my love,” Vincent coos, “but the fact is that we did involve a demon in our lives. We can't escape that. We have to live with that, forever.”

“You're right, we can't start our new relationship with our son on a lie,” I sigh. I allow myself a moment to think, and then realise a bigger issue; “Vincent, this isn’t just about the truth or not lying to our son. What if he thinks our captivity has made us lose our minds? As the staff has painfully reminded us, he’s a Lord and an Earl now. All he’d have to do is click his fingers and he could have us institutionalised forever. If my parents started talking about demons as if they were real, I’d think institutionalising them would be the right thing to do too. What about that?” 

Vincent sucks his dry lip for a long moment, “it’s a risk we’re going to have to take my love. I have to believe that, even if our son thinks we’re ill, he’ll take care of us, rather than throw us into one of those terrible places.”

I take a steadying breath for bravery, “you’re right. This is what we need to do. No matter what. Let’s just…get it over with.” With a shared nod, we lean away from each other.

“Sorry about that our miracle,” Vincent smiles gently. “We…needed our moment.”

Ciel, who's got a single eyebrow cocked, looks annoyed. “This answer ought to be good after all that whispering, eh Sebastian?”

Sebastian, who's been sitting silently in his armchair beside Ciel this entire time, looks equally intrigued. “This should be very interesting indeed my lord.”

These two really do have a ‘father and son alone against the world’ vibe. The way they look at each other. The way they talk to each other. Their similar vocabulary and cadence of their voices. Their matching body language. It's eerie. 

“Do tell then,” Ciel leans forward, looking intrigued now.

“Firstly, this is going to sound insane, I must warn you,” Vincent leans forward too. “But I promise you that it's true.”

“Alright,” Ciel says, slowly, clearly interested.

“For generations, the Phantomhive's have been successful, powerful, unstoppable. My father, his father, and his father before him, and they all had a secret to their success; a demon.” Vincent relays, slowly and clearly, so that Ciel can absorb each word.

Ciel and Sebastian startle slightly and throw each other a surprised look, “a demon?” Ciel looks back at his father, both his eyebrows high into his hair. 

“I know how it sounds, but I saw it myself my miracle,” I recite, calmly. “One of our guards dropped their razor, and your father used it to slice himself right here,” I point to the bandage on my husband's left forearm, “and drew a pentagram in blood. We summoned a demon, who broke us out, killed all our guards, and ate the soul of Black Hat as payment.”

“You see my boy, demons are incredibly powerful beings. Ours broke through a bomb proof doors with nothing but a tap of its fingernail and laid to waste over a 100 men in under two minutes. They can male any dream, any desire, a reality, but at a terrible price. They almost always take their master's soul as payment,” Vincent tells.

“But thankfully, your father was smart enough to offer it a deal even a monster couldn't refuse,” I say proudly, “I know it sounds insane my miracle, but that's the truth. The way we escaped is with the aid of a beast from the depths of Hell.”

“I see,” Ciel says slowly, “and…where is this monster now?”

“It took Black Hat's soul and left,” Vincent informs. “I know you probably think we've lost our minds, but I swear this to be the truth.”

“I see, “ Ciel says again. A smirk teases the corner of his lips. He hops up from his chair, “forgive me, but I need to excuse myself and speak to Sebastian for a few moments about this. Please wait here. Come, Sebastian.” 

“Sir,” Sebastian bids, standing gracefully up at his side.

Without waiting for a response, Ciel struts out of the room with his head held high and his shoulders squally back. Sebastian glides behind him, and the two quietly click out of the room.

My husband and I share a worried look, both unanimously thinking; ‘I hope they're not leaving to call the institution.’

*** Ciel ***

Far too exposed in the hallway, Sebastian and I slip into the room next door and close the door quietly behind us. 

“Well that was interesting,” I state, the wheels in my head turning as I take a seat in the nearest chair. “Is it true or have they gone utterly mad?”

“I thought it far too hilariously ironic to be true at first as well, my Ciel,” Sebastian agreed, as he plants himself in a chair beside me. “But I did just read their souls out of curiosity and they are indeed freshly marked. We demons mark all souls that we own in that way. Even if we don't eat our master, we still own their soul in that way, and I did smell a demon on our territory yesterday. I didn’t think much of it, as we demons pass through each other's territory all the time, like passing ships, and whoever it was didn’t stay long, so it wasn’t a concern for me. However, the timeline does line up. The fresh soul mark, the demon on our grounds. It all lines up for this to be the truth,” Sebastian confirms. 

I begin a laugh, “well, this truly is ironic now!”

“I know, right?” Sebastian begins to laugh too.

We laugh together for a few moments, consumed by the hilarious irony of it - until my laughter is interrupted by a nagging thought. I stop laughing and pause, thoughtfully, “that means that they told me the truth, despite the fact that, if I didn’t have you, if I didn’t know for a fact that demons like you were real, and I didn't have you to confirm all this, then I would most likely institutionalise them. They're risking that, why?” I frown thoughtfully.

“Well,” Sebastian’s eyes narrow, “I could tell you what they said to one another, as they did state a reason.”

This peaks my intrigue, “you mean when they were whispering to each other?”

“We demons have excellent ears. I can hear every heartbeat within five miles, if I pay attention. Let alone some whispering happening only a few feet away from me,” Sebastian shrugs, giving a proud little smile.

“Excellent!” I grin, “tell me what they said!”

“Well,” Sebastian leans forward, looking ready for a good gossip session, “they said that they ‘don’t want to lie’ to you. That they simply couldn’t taint this fresh start they had with you, that they couldn’t spend the rest of their lives lying about how they escaped. They worried about ‘exposing’ you to demons. I assumed they’d gone off their heads at the time, until they told their story, and I thought I’d just check their souls, just to make sure, and that’s when I found their soul marks. They just kept reaffirming that they couldn’t start their new relationship with you on a lie, but your mother did worry about you institutionalising them, but your father said he trusted that, even if you thought them insane, you’d care for them at home, as institutions are well-known to be terrible places. That’s everything, my Ciel.”

I flop backwards into my chair, “Is that all? That's rather dull!” I huff. I'd been hoping for a more exciting reason.” I allow this to stew for a few moments, as my mind turns this reason over and over like a pancake. “That doesn't even make things any clearer. Humans lie, and cheat, and claw their way to the top. They're selfish, ugly creatures who care only for themselves. Telling me the truth in this way risks their freedom, and gains them nothing. Humans do not act without something to gain. They must be after something. Pure selflessness, and they're trying to claim, is impossible from our species.”

“I used to think so too, even more so,” my Papa agrees, “but then something rather miraculous happened last night. The staff brought me a meal, unprompted, to thank me for all I do. These people, who have never seen me put a crumb of food in my mouth, treated me with kindness and positive regard. They treated me as if I matter, as if my health matters. What did they have to gain from that? Nothing at all, and yet they did it anyway. On top of that, you and I are an example of pure trust, are we not? Yes, I may be under contract not to lie, but you certainly aren't, and yet you've never lied to me. Why?”

“Well I-” I try to begin, but then become stumped, my eyebrows knitted. “Because there was no reason to, I suppose.”

“Oh sure there was. You could hide your vegetables and claim to have eaten them, just to get your hands on some desert, or many other tiny reasons. It's very normal for a person your age to lie in that way, but that's just small things. You could have told me fantastical stories about how much of a high achiever you were with your school work before my arrival, or how you won prizes, or about how you've never been scared of anything,” Papa lists off.

“Well yes I suppose that's so, but what would have been the point? Humans lie to each other for a reason; it works. You wouldn't have been fooled, not even for a moment. You're a demon. You'd have known if I ate my vegetables or if I'd really won prizes. Besides, humans make up lies about their lives in that way to impress each other. What need would I have to impress a demon?” 

“Ah, so it's just because I'm a demon that you don't lie to me? If I were human, you would?”

I'm about to say yes of course, that's just nature, but then that would be a lie. “No. I never lied to any of my human servants either. Not even as a small child.”

Papa smiles, knowingly now, as he asks, “why ever not?”

I blow up at my fringe in frustration, “okay, point taken. I don't lie simply because I valued honesty and integrity, and felt that lying to people, without a very good reason, was wrong,” I roll my eyes, “but I want it stated for the record that I only felt that way as a child. I lie all the time now, including to the servants. I just don't lie to you because -” I stop, then my face wrinkles with annoyance, “ok, because I value the integrity of our relationship. But only ours!” 

“So noted,” Papa grins, before giving me a gentle look, “your parents don't seem much changed from your childhood though. Is it such an impossibility that your parents still have such truth-based principles?” 

“It's possible,” I wish, annoyed about being wrong; before settling back into my thoughts. “Perhaps they really do simply value the integrity of our relationship that much.” I mumble, more to myself than to Papa. This realisation tugs on something deep inside me. Something raw and open and vulnerable. Something that values a life led on truth. Something that I haven't had in a long, long time. “All I do is lie these days,” I say, again, to nobody in particular. “I'd forgotten the part of myself that valued honesty above all else,” the ghost of a nostalgic smile tickles my lips. I look up at Sebastian, my papa, my demon. My eyes wonder down to his gloved left hand, where I know his half of our contract is stamped. “Perhaps I should tell the truth - about us.” I look up and meet his eyes, “about you.” 

Papa looks a little caught off guard, “you mean, tell them I'm a demon?” He looks uncertain. It's not a common expression on his usually very confident face.

“Yes, you disapprove?” I guess.

“It's not exactly demon policy, is all,” Sebastian shrugs. “The general rule; never tell a human what you are.” 

“I can understand that, but surely this is special circumstances?” I point out. “They already know demon's exist, and they've already been in a contract with one. What's the risk?” 

“You'll be wanting to tell them the whole truth, including showing them your eye?” Papa asks. Why does he look so nervous?

“Yes?” I frown, “what's the issue?”

Sebastian sighs, “I was planning on talking to you about this later, once this business with your parents was more settled.”

“Now you're starting to scare me. What is it?” My brows knit. 

“Ciel I'm not…currently under contract,” Sebastian says, carefully. He peels off his gloves and reveals that the contract seal on his left hand is missing. 

My sense of reality rattles, shaking like a maraca. My breath hitches, and then I begin to hyperventilate, a panic attack beginning. “Ciel? It's alright my Ciel, I'm here,” Sebastian gets up, picks me up, and transfers me into his lap as he sits back down. “Take a breath, I'm right here.”

I squeeze his uniform in my fists and take a few breaths. Squeeze, breathe in, release, breathe out. Repeat. After a few fist reps, I calm down. “Why - why didn't you tell me?” I ask.

“I didn't want to give you more anxiety, on top of what you were already going through with your parents' return,” Sebastian says, rubbing my back. “I know that you felt as though the contract was the only reason I stayed with you, the only reason I was loyal. It's because I was forced to, under contract, under your ownership, when, the truth is, I wouldn't leave you for the world.”

I squeeze Papa’a uniform again, “how long has the contract been broken?”

“It was voided the moment your parents proved their identity,” Sebastian tells, “our contract was that I would serve you until I brought you vengeance for your parents' deaths.”

“And you can't do that if they're alive,” I realise, “I can't believe that didn't occur to me. You know what else? I haven't even looked in a mirror since yesterday either, and I had to remind you this morning about putting my eyepatch on. It's because my eyes are normal, aren't they? How did I not see the signs?” I sigh, as I peel off my eyepatch, staring at it sadly. Then something else hits me. My dream from last night;

My dream reflection stared back at me. I hadn’t physically changed much from my ten year old self, but my eyes have changed. They're both still big and blue but -

“Both my eyes were blue, in my dream, and you didn't take your gloves off yesterday! Not once. Not even when you were bathing me, and you always take your gloves off to bathe me. You don't like getting your gloves wet. How did I not pick up on that either?!” I huff in annoyance. 

“You had a lot on your mind my Ciel,” Papa coos.

“So, this whole time, all of yesterday, all of today, you haven't been under contract? You haven't been mine?” 

“I'm afraid not my Ciel.”

“And yet….” a smime comes across my face, “you've still been right here.”

“Always,” Papa smiles, “I'm your Papa now, and I'm the kind of Papa who would never, ever leave you.”

I allow this revelation to settle over me, like a wave. Sebastian was without a contract, and he stayed. Just last week, I'd have believed that, if Sebastian was without the contract for even a second, he'd leave me. After yesterday and this morning, when Sebastian and I confirmed our true relationship title of father and son, I began to doubt. Some small part of me began to wonder if Sebastian would stay, contract or no contract, but I still had that fear, that deeply ingrained belief that everyone I love leaves me, and that Sebastian would too.

And now he's proved that even my deepest held belief and fear isn't true.

If Sebastian had announced that the contract was broken the moment it happened, I'd have been sent into a panic, as I almost just was, because I'd believe this means he was leaving. But the fact that Sebastian has stayed as consistent and loyal as ever for the last 24 hours, with nothing to gain for himself, not even the promise of a soul as payment, proves that he won't ever leave me.

“Ok,” I take a final deep breath, and reshuffle On Sebastian's lap, getting into a business-like posture, “we need to organise a new contract. I still need to be able to summon you, after all.”

“Agreed, because you are simply utterly defenceless without me,” Sebastian geuns.

I roll my eyes, “same old cheeky demon!” I try to sound cross, but I'm holding back a fond smirk. “What shall our new terms be?”

“As always, it's my master's choice,” Sebastian bobs a head bow, “but if I were to recommend? I'd go with a long term instalments contract. Not many demons work for one master for more than three months, but those who do are very impatient, so they agree to work, if the master sacrifices a certain number of souls per week or month. That would be you saying ‘I sacrifice this soul to you, Sebastian,’ but that's a bit wordy, so we could have a code word like ‘lunchtime’ and I'd go and feast upon either a sinner of your choice or simply the nearest one. And we could do that indefinitely.”

“Really? That'd be easy, especially with all the unwanted guests we receive,” I admire.

“Exactly,” Sebastian smiles, “I'll set a quota of one soul per month, but the more the merrier!” He licks his lips, “I am rather famished. A certain master has made it so that I haven't eaten a thing in four long years!” He gives me a soft poke in the tummy that makes me giggle. 

“Hey, you choose this life!” I poke him right back, “but deal. I'll sacrifice at least one soul to you a month, in return for one simple demand; that you stay with me, forever. That I am your one and only master, always. With our usual rules, of course. You will always protect and care for me, follow all my orders without question or hesitation, and to never lie to me, just cause I know you'd be tempted, just for the fun of you, you cheeky demon!” I poke him again. 

Sebastian chuckles back, smiling, “deal. And when you're old and grey, having lived out your natural human lifespan, which is ridiculously short by the way, I'll turn you into a demon, if you like.”

I light up like a rocket, “you can do that?!?!”

“Of course,” Sebastian grins. “And then we can own the night, together, always.”

I flop into hishoulder chest, overwhelmed with glee, “Now that sounds like paradise to me.” 

Just then, there's a knock on the door of the room we're in that makes both Sebastian and I jolt.

“Ciel?” Calls my mothers voice. “Sorry if we're being a bother, it's just that you've been gone quite a while.”

“Whoops,” Sebastian laughs in a whisper, “I guess we have been talking far longer than expected!”

“I'll be with you in a moment!” I call out, “please go and sit back down.” I listen to ensure that my mother shuffles unsurely away before I speak again. “Papa,” I begin, “can I make it part of our contract that you protect them too?” I peer up at him with hopeful, huge eyes. “As tricky as things are right now with them, I don't want to lose them again.”

Papa brushes my hair out of my eye, smiling at me with fatherly love, “of course my Ciel.”

This relaxes me - until I jolt, “but that doesn't mean attending to them in any way! You still belong to me, and I have no intention of sharing you. Just, protect them if necessary. Leave all their other needs to the other servants.” 

“You command it, and I shall do it,” Sebastian bobs his head in a bow again.

“Hmf, good,” I nod, contently. I extend a hand, “do we have a deal then?”

“Deal,” Sebastian smiles, taking my hand and shaking. “Brace yourself.” He says, just in time for my right eye to begin stinging violently. I grit my teeth through it, as my eye drips blood. Sebastian mops at me gently with a handkerchief until it's over. “There we go! All done!” Sebastian shines, like a true parent.

I glance at Sebastian's left hand. It's firmly stamped with his pentagram once again. Ah, just as things should be.

“Well then, let's go and tell my parents the truth!” I offer Sebastian my eyepatch as I hop off his lap. “Tie that for me. I want to do a dramatic reveal.”

Sebastian barks a laugh, “that's my boy,” he shines proudly. He ties my eyepatch on, and stands up, offering me his hand, “shall we then?”

“Let's,” I take his hand, beaming, “this isngoing to be fun!”

Chapter Text

*** Vincent ***

Twitching with anticipation, our knees bouncing with impatience, my wife Rachel and I wait side by side, huddled together in the sitting room. We clutch at each other desperately, wringing each other's hands rather than our own. We're practically vibrating with nerves when the door to the sitting room finally clicks softly open, revealing Sebastian and Ciel, who glide in, nonchalantly, as if they haven’t kept us waiting all this time. 

“...ended up in a swamp!” Sebastian is finishing something he's saying. Ciel cracks up laughing, and Sebastian joins him. They laugh like nobody's listening, and grin at each other like nobody's watching. They’re holding hands in a familial way. The way a son holds his fathers hand as they wander happily through a busy shopping centre; with squished together palms, the child’s hand so easily dwarfed by the adults, so easily swallowed up; covered and protected from all sides. Symbolic, in many ways, of how a parent should protect his child. 

Ciel looks up at Sebastian with all the love, admiration and pride a son is supposed to have for his father. Equally, Sebastian is gazing down at Ciel with all the pride, love, and protective urges a father is supposed to have for his son. They may be walking into the room to join my wife and I, but they’re totally in their own bubble, they’re own little world. They seem totally ignorant to the fact that the rest of the world even exists . 

As I watch them enter, hand in hand, laughing identical laughs and grinning identical grins, I feel my heart shatter.

Because Ciel and I used to be exactly the same way. I used to proudly and protectively hold his hand in that same way. He used to gaze up at me with that exact same love and admiration. I used to look down at him with the same fatherly pride. 

I know that look. I know that hand hold. I know that shared love, pride and admiration. I've been worried about many things since arriving home, but my top worry ever since I saw those two together was this. 

I knew. From the instant I saw the two of them side by side, I knew that I had been replaced. 

Ciel himself seems to finally notice our existence as Sebastian closes the door behind them. “Ah, yes,” he says, his little nose crinkles with near disgust as he seems to remember our existence, “I do apologise about that,” he says this politely, but obviously doesn't mean it. If he meant it, he wouldn't apologise so flippantly. He's also still holding Sebastian’s hand. He doesn’t seem to notice, like this is normal for him. He begins to move, but gets pulled to a gentle stop when Sebastian doesn't move with him. Ciel peers silently back at Sebastian, who, to his credit, is actually looking at my wife and I with considerate eyes. He's got a touch of pity and sympathy in that handsome face of his. His eyes flick to his hand-holding with our son and back to us. He looks at us with eyes that seems to understand that this is probably a painful sight for us. He locks eyes with Ciel, and, without speaking, flicks his eyes to us for Ciel to follow, as if to ask ‘what about them?’

Ciel follows Sebastian's eye flick, drinks in my wife and I in, and shrugs, without an inch of emotion in either direction upon his face. He says without a verbal word, ‘I care not what they may be thinking or feeling’. This might be because he doesn't understand the pain he's inflicting - or he does but doesn't care. 

I'm not sure which option is worse. 

With that, Ciel, still holding Sebastian’s hand, gives his hand a tug that says, ‘come on then.’

Sebastian throws us one last microsecond long look of pity that says, ‘sorry, but my hands are tied’, and moves forward with Ciel. 

All this silent communication happens across maybe 30 seconds, and yet it breaks my heart as painfully as an hour of watching that would have. 

Sebastian and Ciel have perfect communication, even in silence. My wife and I too can communicate without a single word spoken, but we've been married for 17 years. It is normal, and understandable, that two people so in love and so long-held together could be able to swap words without speaking. But my son and his butler? No. That is not an ability they should have.

‘But that's not just his butler, is it? ’ My mind cruelly reminds me. ‘ That's his father.’

The pieces of my broken heart are further shattered by that helpful little reminder. 

So, Sebastian and Ciel glide around to their previous seats. Ciel finally releases Sebastian’s gloved hand and takes his seat back. Sebastian flows back into his own armchair beside him. They move with the same type of eery grace. Sebastian is much better at it. His movements are so fluid, so effortlessly, so elegant, that he almost doesn't look human. Ciel glides with his movements too. He moves fluidly, without any urgent perks or hurried motions. He moves like he has all the time in the world, so why rush? But he's more clumsy with it, more ill practised. He still looks human, and he still looks like a child who's still learning to be as graceful as his father.

Yes, that's exactly it. He looks like a child who's still learning to be as graceful as his father , nonetheless. He's unconsciously emulating Sebastian.

And that hurts me all the more to see.

“Now,” Ciel dusts himself down, “to ease your worries, Sebastian and I will not be institutilising you.” 

Sebastian and I, he says. As if I already needed anymore confirmation of what I already know; The servant’s opinion is even considered in a family decision. 

‘No ,’ my brain, unhelpfully, reminds me again, ‘ his father's opinion is considered, not his servants .’

“I - ur,” my mouth has gone desert dry. I gulp and lick my lips about three times before I finally find enough moisture to speak again, “I did not suppose you would, but I'm grateful all the same.”

My dear Rachel has obviously been picking up on all the same signs between our son and his staff member, because her eyes are flicking desperately between the two, looking wounded. Although, I notice, she doesn't look as wounded as I feel. But then again, why should she? She's not the one who's been replaced in our son's life, I have. “Yes, we're both very grateful,” she manages to focus herself on Ciel, “you don't think we're ill then? I would think my parent’s ill, if they returned home with talk of demons.”

Ah yes. That's just like my beautiful, intelligent wife, to focus on the main issue at hand. We can sort out these…..parental issues, at another point.

First things first. 

Ciel gives her a smile that could, in the wrong light, be taken as a smug smirk, “no, I do not think you're ill. In fact, I believe you completely.”

This one statement removes all other thoughts and emotions from my body, as if they were tucked into a void as my body jerks with shock.

Rachel, too, recoils with shock, but quickly recovers her dignity, “well that's….wonderful!” she manages, tightly, not meaning a syllable of it. She frowns now though, “but whatever do you mean, you believe us completely? You can't possibly believe us completely, surely.”

I nod eagerly, “Yes, you simply can't. I'm glad you won't be institutilising us, but you must think we were imagining things, at least!”

“Yes, or you do believe we're ill but just plan to take care of us at home, and perhaps you think telling us that you think we're ill will make us worse? I have heard you're not supposed to question the mental patient's reality at first, it can make them worse,” Rachel considers, wisely.

“That would make much more sense!” I nod, “if that's it my boy, you needn't bother. You can just tell us that you plan to care for us at home. We have resigned ourselves to such a fate anyway. You won't upset us.”

“Yes exactly,” my wife nods alongside me, both of us clearly eager to make sense of our son's bizarre response. 

Our son, for his part, is smiling very, very oddly. It's a mixture of fondness, and cold, hard, heartless pleasure, taken from another person's pain. A schadenfreude smile if there ever was one. “It's nice to see the two of you still just as much in harmony as you are in my memories,” his one uncovered eye and smile grow distant with pleasant shadows of the past now, “I used to dream of finding a love like yours. The two of you truly seemed to embody that true love was possible, and findable. I don't suppose I ever saw you disagree or argue. You were more like one person than two. So close, so indistinguishable most of the time,” his expression changes from warm remembrance to a twisted anger, “so closely together that there wasn't room for anyone else in that oh-so-special sacred space of yours.” His one eye greets us with cold anger now, “I don't know why the two of you even bothered to have a child. You were clearly more devoted to each other than you could ever be to a child.”

My wife makes a painful choking sound in the back of her throat. With her hands still in mind, I give her palm a supportive squeeze, and become outraged on both of our behalfs, “Ciel! How could you say such a thing. You know good and well how hard we worked to have you!”

My angry and wounded tone do nothing to Ciel's icy expression, “yes, I know how hard you worked to have me, but why is is the question?” 

“Because we wanted you, of course!” Rachel manages to find her voice.

“Yes but why ? Children are awful, messy, screaming, vomiting, pooping, yelling wild things. Why would anyone want one on those creatures on purpose ?” Ciel’s nose wrinkles in disgust again. Before my wife and I can respond, Ciel waves this off, “anyway. That's besides the point. We needn't get off track here. The original question was how I could possibly believe you about demons.” He picks up his tea cup from the side table beside him, tries to take a sip, realises its empty, frowns at its emptiness, and rattles it silently at Sebastian, who gets elegantly up and fulfils the purpose of his butler's uniform by filling Ciel's teacup from the teapot that should most definitely have stopped steaming by now but somehow hasn't, impossibly so.

“The answer to that question,” Ciel takes his refilled tea cup and swallows a smug gulp, “is closer than you think.” He's got this look in his eye as he says this. A look that quickens my pulse and makes all the hair on my hairs stand up. 

“W-what do you mean?” I ask, as an ominous chill seems to fill the very air itself.

“Well it's just so ironic that you said all my forefathers had demons as the key to their success,” Ciel is smirking, “because -”

God, no no no no no! Please don't say what I think you're about to -

“Sebastian,” Ciel tugs at his eye patch, “reveal yourself.”

The sound of bones cracking sends shivers through mine as Sebastian, standing behind the little side table, seems to grow taller and taller by the second. He grins, and suddenly all his very-much-human teeth grow into sabertooth tiger-like massive fangs. Every single tooth grows into a razor sharp point. He gives a long blink and when he opens his eyes, his smooth, kind, calm chestnut brown eyes have changed to blood red with a fire literally burning within them. His gloves slip off, and his nails, which are revealed to be pitch black, grow from a normal length to claw-like talons. His shadow grows until it consumes every speck of light in the room. He snarls and a forked tongue slither out of his mouth and across his fangs hungrily. An ice cold wind blows out every candle and douses the fire. My wife and I are left shivering in its wake as we cling to each other like the terrified storm victims we are. 

“Vincent, Rachel,” Ciel fully peels off his eyepatch, revealing that his right eye is purple - and stamped with a glowing pentagram. A pentagram identical to the black one that's printed on the back of Sebastian's left hand. “Meet my demon, Sebastian Michaelis.”

Sebastian, as a human, no longer exists. He's nothing but a growling shadow that looms over our tiny son. This giant shadow, no longer even almost human-shaped, with its huge void of a mouth, endless rows of shark-like pointed teeth, and pure red, glowing fireballs for eyes, giants behind our tiny son. Ciel is dwarfed by darkness. Consumed by evil. Overshadowed (literally and metaphorically) by doom.

And Ciel - smiles . Proudly. Happily. Darkly.

His once innocent eyes corrupted by the night. Ciel, as my wife and I once knew him - is gone too. Both captured and corrupted by this monster . 

And I? 

I begin screaming with pure, unfiltered rage . 

*** Well, shit. (neutral POV) ***

It's like an explosion. 

In the span of the next 10 or 12 seconds, chaos consumes the room. 

Vincent, still attached to his IV of hydrating fluid, begins screaming with blind rage. He rips out said IV, and rushes towards Sebastian, frothing at the mouth with the ferocity of a starved lion. 

As the shadow that Sebastian transformed into solidifies back into human form, Vincent, rushing towards Sebastian, grabs the nearest weapon - which happens to be the fire poker from the recently extinguished fire. Snarling like a wolf, Vincent squeezes the fire poker in his fist so tight his knuckles burn white.  Whilst he's rushing an actual demon - as if he stands a chance - Rachel jumps up out of her seat and begins yelling, “Vincent! No! Stop! Don't !” 

Ciel's body snaps around in his seat, watching his father's attack with both his eyes snapped wide open, stunned. 

With Vincent screaming with rage, Rachel yelling and the winds Sebastian summoned into existence still settling down into silence, it's like a noise riot. 

Then, as Vincent lets out a battle cry, and, moving with a surprising amount of speed for someone who was recently starved and tormented - he attempts to stab Sebastian through the heart. As if he is a vampire and the fire poker is a stake. With a bored expression on his face, Sebastian easily side steps this, causing Vincent to stab the air instead.

Snarling as he realises he's missed, Vincent throws the poker aside and grabs the nearest chair. Still foaming at the mouth, he swings the chair towards Sebastian - but the swinging motion gets within range of Ciel.

This changes Sebastian from bored - to annoyed.

So, with an effortless hand, Sebastian swats the chair away. Sebastian, then, with a gentle tap, knocks Vincent on his butt, just hard enough to daze him. “Vincent!! What on Earth did you think you’re playing at, trying to kill the damn thing?! It could have easily killed you!” Rachel rages, rushing over to her husband, dragging her IV behind her as she goes. 

Ciel, who has gone from stunned to amused, smiles now, “Sebastian only attacks on my command,” he hops up and comes to stand proudly at Sebastian’s side. “The stupidity of trying to take down a demon is admirable, in its own way, but the question is, why are you trying to attack him anyway?” he calmly remarks. “I do not appreciate you attempting to kill my Papa like that. The fact that it wasn’t, and could never have been effective, is irrelevant. You still attempted to take away the most important person in my life. That's deeply insulting, and the highest form of betrayal.” He looks pissed now. Angry looks cute on him. 

Rachel makes a squeaking sound, her heart shattering behind her eyes, betrayed by ‘her baby’ (Ciel is neither Hers nor a Baby) choice of calling Sebastian both his father and the most important person in his life. 

Vincent, however, has bigger fish to fry.

“Papa?! Most important person ?!” he repeats his son with utter contempt. “He - it! - is neither a person nor your Papa! It's not even a he! It's not even a ‘Sebastian’, you do know that?!” he throws violently at his son, beseeching his son to wake up to this reality.

Ciel, for his response, gives a lazy, one shouldered shrug, “he is what I call him. If I call him Sebastian, then Sebastian he is.” He looks stone faced at his father, but, when he finishes his statement, he cranes his neck and grins up at Sebastian, “right Papa?” He asks, eagerly.

Sebastian swoons under Ciel’s cuteness. “Right you are my Ciel!” he glows, looking so proud of Ciel.

Meanwhile, Vincent looks like he's feeling a perfect balance of rage and desperate misery. He drops to his knees before Ciel. “My precious miracle, you’re confused. You call this beast your father. You say he’s the most important person in your life. You look at him like you love him, but these are all false emotions. Demons like him can mould our minds and manipulate our emotions. He wants you dependent on him. He wants you emotionally attached. The deeper you’re attached to him, the richer your soul will be in taste.”

Ciel doesn’t even blink at this accusation. He doesn’t hesitate, just shrugs, boredly. “Sebastian won’t be eating my soul. We have a long term instalment contract.” 

“Commonly known as a sacrificial lamb contract,” Sebastian adds, with a smile. 

“Long te-” Vincent chokes, “how long has this beast been here?!” 

“It’ll be my four year anniversary in February,” Sebastian cocks his head sideways and smiles eerily sweetly. 

“Four-” it’s Rachel’s turn to gag, “ why has a demon been in our house for the past four years?!”

“Now that is quite the story,” Ciel smirks. 

“It hardly matters,” Vincent is still staring Sebastian down, “you won’t be here for so much as another day. Demons like you bring nothing but none-stop death, destruction and misfortune. Who knows what kind of horrors you’ve brought to his feet already! You’re an evil influence in my son’s life, and I won’t let you hurt him anymore. I’ll kill you, demon. I’ll kill you if it's the last thing I ever do !” 

Sebastian is as non-reactive as his adopted son, “well, that’s a touch dramatic,” he says, dully.

“My son calls you his Papa. Tell me, if you claim to love him, how far would you go to protect him?!” Vincent demands. “Because I’d take on Satan and God themselves, to keep him safe!!!” he declares, very dramatically indeed.

“As would I,” Sebastian says, boredly, “luckily, Ciel is no danger. Not from anyone I haven’t already killed, anyway.”

Ciel chuckles at this, “and who you continue to kill, whenever they arrive.”

“Indeed my lord!” Sebastian chuckles with him.

“But you’re the danger to Ciel!!” Vincent cries.

“No, he is not. He’s the one who keeps me safe, and the only one I can trust,” Ciel says, as he gives Sebastian’s long, amazing tailcoat a tug, and Sebastian picks him up with the familiarity of ten thousand pick-ups. Ciel gets planted on Sebastian’s hip like the demon is a proper little mother. “As clearly I cannot trust you , my own parents. You’re trying to kill the person who’s been doing your job for the past four years, after all.”

Vincent seems unaffected by this. He starts yelling about much of the same; Sebastian is a monster, all demons are, and Sebastian cannot be trusted and about how Vincent will kill him. After a minute of this, Ciel sighs. 

“Alright, I’m bored now,” he says. “I’ve told you. I trust Sebastian, and if you cannot trust my judgement, then I want nothing more to do with you,” he waves them off, “let’s go Sebastian.”

“Sir,” Sebastian spins around and begins to walk them away.

This increases the power of Vincent’s rage. He shouts all the louder, gets all the redder in the face, tosses his limbs about with all the more aggression. 

But Rachel is thinking.

She doesn’t know a thing about demons, beyond what her husband has told her. She has no experience with them the way Vincent has. She didn’t even know demons existed 24 hours ago. Maybe Vincent is right, and no demons can be trusted. Or maybe Ciel is right, and this particular demon is.

It matters little either way though.

If she wants a one-way ticket to never having a relationship with her son again, she’ll pounce on Vincent’s monster-hunting rage.

But she doesn’t want that. And she can believe, perhaps naively, that not all demons are the same. What kind of demon stays with a master for four years, after all? Perhaps Sebastian truly does love their son.

And even if Sebastian is manipulating Ciel, even if he is a dark and evil presence in their son’s life, Ciel doesn’t see him that way, and screaming about how wrong Ciel is won’t break him away from Sebastian, it’ll only push them closer, as it is now, because Ciel will feel like it's him and Sebastian against us. To convince Ciel that Sebastian isn’t a risk to him would be like trying to convince someone the sky isn’t blue or water isn’t wet. Sebastian’s trustworthiness is an absolute fact in Ciel’s mind, and yelling that his known fact is wrong just makes his parents look crazy, in his eyes anyway.

So. The way Rachel sees this situation is as follows:

Option 1: Sebastian really is a loving, kind and caring father to Ciel, who can be trusted, despite being a literal creature from Hell. 

In this case, Rachel can trust him, because he’s just as much of a parent to her son as she is.

Option 2: Everything Sebastian does and pretends to be is all a lie and he does it so he can cause misery and misfortune in Ciel’s life, but Ciel is so gaslighted, so manipulated, so wrapped around Sebastian’s performance, that he cannot see this.

In this case, Rachel can’t trust him - but Ciel still does. So. Rachel needs to love Ciel, and to love Sebastian, as if option 1 is true all the same. Hopefully, with enough time exposed to a supportive and loving parent, enough time spent seeing what real love is, will wake Ciel up to the reality of his situation. If Ciel loves and trusts them, as much as he currently loves and trusts Sebastian, then maybe they can convince Ciel that Sebastian is dangerous. After all, who would you believe to tell you water isn’t wet? A stranger you haven’t seen in four years, or someone who’s proven themselves loving and trustworthy during those four years?

Rachel needs to even those odds, and she knows it. 

But her husband sure doesn’t. He’s still yelling about murdering Sebastian.

And Sebastian and Ciel are still gliding away.

“Hang on!” Rachel yells, lurching forward. “I know your father and I have always agreed, but on this, he’s alone.”

“Stop,” Ciel tells Sebastian, who obediently turns them around. Ciel is peering at his mother suspiciously. “You believe me? That Sebastian is trustworthy?”

“No,” Rachel won’t lie. Lying will make it worse, “but I don’t believe any human stranger to be trustworthy. And yes, I admit that the fact he’s a stereotypically evil creature does not help. However, I’m willing to get to know him, and to see for myself. I believe that a demon can be good, and an angel can be bad. I’m willing to treat Sebastian as what he is,” she offers her hand, “a fellow parent, until I’m either proven right, or proven wrong. I will not make any judgments until then.”

“Very logical, for a human,” Sebastian seems impressed. He turns to Ciel, “what do you think, my lord?”

Ciel considers his mother for a moment, “you could just be trying to cosy up to me so you can talk me into believing how evil Sebastian is later.”

Smart boy. “You’re right,” admits Rachel, “if I find Sebastian is evil, I will try to convince you of that. But I’m willing to give him the time to show me that for himself. But if he isn’t, if what you believe about him is true, then I will join you in appreciating him instead. I believe I cannot be fairer than that.”

In the background, Rachel’s husband is still yelling throughout all this. He’s being ignored.

Ciel ‘hms’ and looks thoughtful, “yes, I suppose that is fair. Being willing to see for yourself rather than jumping to conclusions, I suppose, is what I’d do,” he smiles at Sebastian, “if I didn’t have you to tear into people I didn’t trust, anyway.” He looks back at Rachel, “alright then. I’ll give you a chance, separate to your husband, of course.”

“Of course,” nods Rachel, firmly.

Ciel gives a permissive smile, “well then, go ahead Sebastian.”

Giving a smile of his own, Sebastian shakes Rachel’s still outstretched hand, “I look forward to co-parenting with you.”

“And I you,” Rachel says, steadily.

“Well then! Half a happy ending is better than none,” Ciel grins, “how about hot chocolate?” he locks eyes with Rachel, “mother.”

All of Rachel’s breath leaves her.

That’s the first time Ciel has called her ‘mother’ since her return.

She smiles, “let’s.”

“And him?” Sebastian asks Ciel, indicating Vincent with a nod.

“Let’s just leave Vincent to calm himself down,” Ciel waves off.

And he’s still calling his father by his name. Which just goes to prove Rachel’s theory correct. If she’s good with Sebastian, she gets to be good with her son. 

She breaks into her own grin, “Sebastian, I can teach you my secret recipe for hot chocolates, if you like? It’s been passed down for generations. It’s a family secret, but you’re family now, so you can have it too.”

“You flatter me,” Sebastian glows. 

Ciel glows too, “let’s go then.”

The three of them flow out of the room, closing the door after them.

Leaving the still ranting Vincent behind.

Chapter Text

As Sebastian shuts the living room door behind him, Vincent can still be heard yelling. With no emotion visible on his face, Sebastian calmly gives the ‘service’ rope - a chunky, red, velvet thing that dangles from the ceiling and links to the servants room and chimes the bell for service. Tanaka comes gliding around the hallway corner. “Yes Sebastian?” he bids, giving a slight bow to his superior. He glances at the door, through which Vincent can still be heard. His volume is noticeable, but the words are mumbled through the heavy wooden door, so it just sounds like noise now. Tanaka clearly takes note of this, but does not say anything or react in any way. He’s not quite as calm or as collected as Sebastian, but he’s clearly trying to emulate him. It seems as if everyone in this house is trying to emulate Sebastian - Ciel especially. 

Although, unlike Sebastian, worried curiosity about the situation does show in cracks upon Tanaka’s aged face. It's clear he's finding this situation, although he's trying his best to smooth out those lines and appear as unaffected as Sebastian.

That's what's fascinating about Sebastian. Rachel has yet to see him look affected, by anything. It's like he's above it all. A God among mortals. A content child watching an ant farm.

Actually, with the wisdom of hindsight, it seems painfully obvious that Sebastian isn’t human. No human could be so still, so controlled. Sebastian is seemingly a man without flaws. How could anyone believe he's human?

Perhaps they don't, Rachel suddenly considers. Perhaps the entire staff knows exactly what he is. That would explain why there is such a tiny staff. Back when Rachel and Vincent were head of this manor, they had more than 30 staff members. It's needed for a manor this size. It would be impossible - actually impossible - for one butler, one maid, one gardener, one cook and one Tanaka (who doesn't seem to have much active duty, if any. He mostly just seems to relax around the manor, seemingly mostly in a state of retirement) to manage a mansion of this scale. No chance. Nu uh. Not happening. Nope

But when the butler is a demon? Well, the other four servants may as well not be here. Why are they here, anyway? Appearance sake? Surely a miserly four additional servants aren't enough to provide the appearance of a fully functional household? 

Do none of the guests ever question this? 

Then again. Rachel didn't. Not until now. True, she had plenty of other things on her mind, but still, it should have played on her mind at least a little, she thinks.

Perhaps its supernatural. Perhaps Sebastian himself puts a kind of blanket over the guests minds, making it so their minds don't go to such places. Rachel has no doubt Sebastian has the ability to do so. Vincent said demons were very powerful beings.

That would explain the guests' lack of finding this place strange, but the staff? 

Rachel decides they simply must know the truth. There's simply no other explanation.

“It seems our old friend Vincent is having a bit of a moment,” Sebastian is saying to Tanaka, indicating the muffled sounds of Vincent's rage with a sideways nod. Sebastian uses this sideways nod to transition into an oddly sweet head tilt and smile, which startles the Hell out of Rachel.

Because that's Vincent's smile. The left-side head tilt. Eyes closed politely. A warm, sweet smile. All combined to make him look ever cute and innocent. It's Vincent's smile, down to a T. 

What's Sebastian doing wearing Vincent’s smile? A smile that unique - it can't simply be a consequence that they both have the same smile.

Can it?

“Oh?” Tanaka says, intrigued. “Whatever is Our esteemed guest tied up in knots about?”

Sebastian grins like something is very funny, “he seems to have been suddenly struck with the idea that I’m a demon ,” he gives a light chuckle. 

Tanaka'a calm and professional facadè crack instantly as he  bursts into a bubble of laughter, “never!” he chuckles, “wherever would he get such a mad idea as that? My goodness! You're certainly extraordinary Sebastian, and we all wonder where on Earth you learnt such skills, but a demon ? Really?!” He's laughing all the harder now. He laughs for a minute more, lowering it down into a fond chuckle and smile combo, “dear me, not to mention that such creatures aren't even real!”

Ah. Well. There goes that theory. The staff don't know. They don't even know that demons are real , let alone that Sebastian is one. 

How can they not know? 

“Indeed,” Sebastian smiles like this is indeed a ridiculous idea. “Now. As for our old friend Vincent, I'm certain that he just needs time to…release,” he cocks an eyebrow at the racket Vincent is still kicking up. “I’m sure he'll be fine in a little while. Will you and the other staff keep an eye on him till then?”

Tanaka, still in a bright mood from laughing so much, says , “Certainly, shall I notify the doctor?” Tanaka asks. He's gone back to being reasonable and professional. 

“Notify him that Vincent is in a state, certainly, but please also let the doctor know that we will not be institutilising him. Our young lord will be caring for him at home, even if his current state continues,” Sebastian tells.

“Of course,” Tanaka bids, professionally. Then, his professional facade cracks as he breaks into another smirk, “a demon! I'm terribly sorry, I cannot stop thinking about it. A demon, of all things! I simply cannot believe it!” He chuckles. “If such creatures did exist, Mr Michaelis, you’d be an Angel . You have the heart of one! You're truly angelic, and all of us here admire you, I hope you know that.” 

Sebastian paints a glowing smile upon his face. It doesn’t look genuine. There's a glint of annoyance in his eyes, but he hides it well. “You flatter me. For now, I must attend to lunch. I’ll leave Vincent in your capable hands,” he turns on his heel and begins gliding away, Ciel still on his hip. Rachel scurries after, hurriedly.

So the staff think so highly of Sebastian that they compare him to an Angel. Interesting.

“The staff don’t know what you are, then?” Rachel states the obvious as she scurries after Sebastian and Ciel, who now stop in a right-turning hallway, out of both sight and earshot of Tanaka, where Sebastian puts Ciel down. 

“Nobody knows, but us,” Ciel replies, boredly. 

“Humans cannot handle such information,” Sebastian shrugs, “as Vincent is making plain.” He then turns his head and says something to Ciel, but Rachel has tuned out.

So Nobody knows Sebastian is a demon. Quite the opposite, everybody thinks Sebastian is a literal saint.

That’s either evidence that Ciel is right about him, that Sebastian truly is good and kind, or that his acting chops are incredible. He’s either got everybody he’s ever been in contact with fooled into thinking he's Angelic rather than demonic - which would be highly impressive - or he has no need to fool anybody. Despite hiding his true species, of course. 

Rachel mentally logs this as part of her investigation into Sebastian’s true nature. So far: indifferent results. Could go either way.

She’ll keep silently investigating.

**** Sebastian & Ciel ****

“Now then my lord,” Sebastian smiles, “where would you like to dine today?”

“Hm,” Ciel considers, “Any preferences mother, as it's your first official day home?” He looks to his mother, who's staring off into the distance. “Mother?” He prompts. No response. 

“It seems her mind is elsewhere,” Sebastian tells, “if I had to guess, I'd say it's me and my demonic nature that's on her mind.”

“Hmf, perhaps we shouldn't have told her? Do you suppose she can handle it?” Ciel asks.

“I think she just needs time to adjust,” Sebastian remarks. “Now, about lunch?” He asks again, checking his pocket watch, clearly in a stew about how behind schedule they are, which is typical of Sebastian.

“You and that damn watch,” Ciel huffs in disapproval. Nevermind. For now, he'll focus on lunch. “You know, it's a shame we can't have lunch in the sunroom. That was always her favourite room, but it's too cold in the winter there.”

“I can fix that, if my master wishes,” Sebastian offers. 

Ciel cocks an eyebrow up at him, “what are you going to do, manifest a fireplace into existence?” He asks, like this is a ridiculous idea.

“Why not allow me to surprise you, hm?” Sebastian smiles. He turns and begins to glide away, “give your mother a tug, then come and join me in the sunroom in a moment.”

Shrugging, Ciel turns to his mother and gives her a tug, “Mother?”

Rachel comes out of her thoughts with a jolt and an alarmed, “oh!” She blinks in realisation, “I do apologise,” she smiles politely, then breaks into a warmer smile, “how wonderful it is to hear you call me Mother again. I've waited four years to hear that.” She's so full of genuine emotion; so touched by this one tiny word.

And Ciel is just bored.

“Yes well,” Ciel shrugs, dully. “It's just a word.”

“Words have power, my little man,” Rachel smiles. She peers up, “where's Sebastian got to?” She asks, as if she's only just noticed Sebastian isn't here.

“This way,” Ciel gives her a tug and begins leading her down the hallway. “He's making lunch for us.”

“The doctor said I shouldn't have solids yet,” Rachel reminds her son, as she drags her wheeled IV behind her. 

“I'm certain Sebastian will cater to that. He's not a man who forgets such details,” Ciel shrugs again. 

Rachel nods this information down and lets her thoughts settle for a moment of quiet. 

Rachel wants to ask Ciel more about Sebastian, more about demons, but she's learnt from her husband's mistakes. She knows that Ciel is very protective of Sebastian. She has to tread very carefully. 

“Soooo…um, how old is Sebastian? Are demons like him immortal, or just long lived?” She eases in with this basic question as they walk. She pauses, “actually, demons could have human lifespans, for all I know. It's stereotypical to assume that a supernatural creature has a different lifespan, I suppose.”

“I've never asked Sebastian how old he is,” Ciel says, shortly, like this is a boring topic not worth thinking about. 

Rachel frowns, “aren't you curious? I'd want to know such things, if I met a supernatural creature.”

“I don't think of Sebastian that way,” Ciel reports, dully. “He's not a supernatural creature in my mind. He's just Sebastian to me.”

“So…you don't know anything about him? Or his species?” Rachel asks, surprised. 

“No. Nor do I care,” Ciel says, flatly. 

Well. That's the end of that! Either Ciel is lying and just doesn't want to tell Rachel about Sebastian and about demons in general - or he really doesn't know. 

Either way. Rachel knows in her bones that she's not getting anything out of Ciel.

Perhaps she can ask Sebastian directly, if she really wants to know, but fun facts about demons and how they function aren't what she really wants to know about - she was only asking that in hopes of building up to the bigger questions, like has he ever questioned Sebastian's intentions? Has he ever been fearful of Sebastian? Has he had much seemingly random ‘bad luck’ that could actually be traced back to Sebasian’s dark influence, like Vincent believes? 

And what led Ciel to come to trust a demon? Surely he must have been cautious at first, too. They can't have immediately developed this level of trust, after all. How did this happen? How and why did does her son even have a demon?  

Rachel once again gets lost in her thoughts. Ciel sees this and guides her silently along as he wonders exactly what Sebastian is up to…

***** Rachel *****

Rachel was paying so little attention that she didn’t even notice that they’re flowing towards the back of the house. She wakes up from her thoughts at the sight of the door to the sun room, which happens to be Rachel’s favourite room in the house. It’s a truly beautiful room; it’s a room where the walls and ceiling are made entirely of glass and is packed with plants and outdoor furniture such as sun loungers, a sofa-swing seat and garden chairs. Rachel has wonderful memories of sitting in here as the sun streamed in, warming her face. This room was built to be warm, bright, and to bring the outside in. Rachel cannot place any memories of being in here during a snowy day in the middle of December like this though. There’s no fireplace, so it was always too cold to bear in here. There’s a limited number of wall-placed candle lights too, so it became very dark very quickly. It looks dim now, even at only 2pm on December 15th. As they all push into the room, Rachel shivers violently with the cold. A room that, in summer, is bright and beautiful, is now a cold, empty husk. It's sad, to see it this way, and Rachel is just wondering why Ciel would bring them to this void of a room when -

“Sebastian?” Ciel frowns, searching the darkness for him.

From the shadows, a single click of the fingers is heard and suddenly -

Oh. It's indescribable.

The sun room fills with the warm orange glow of a thousand lazy summer afternoons. The air is so beautifully warm that it toasts Rachel's cheeks rolls in out of nowhere. The entire room is bathed in golden light so loving, so happy, that the sense of being truly at home sinks into Rachel's very bones. This amazing glow fills the room with the most content and perfect temperature; not too hot, not too cold. The golden light that's coming from nowhere shimmers off the glass room, and like a miracle, suddenly, this dark, cold, void of a place comes alive. The plants, all of which had wilted into winter, now spring to life, stretching their leaves up to a non-present sun, glowing with green-ness. Flower buds open months early, releasing sweet smells into the air. 

And oh, the reflection.

The sun room has two stone walls, the entrance, and the sidewall, both of which have become giant projection screens. The impossible light source that has filled the room now reflects the outside world, bringing the December snowfall in. The falling snow dances in reflected shadows across the stone walls, along with seeming to tingle across the stone floor. It's like ten thousand stars are raining down all around her, and Rachel can do nothing but stand, awestruck, in their presence. 

“Now this really is something,” Ciel mumbles beside Rachel, drawing her attention. In his one uncovered eye, the majesty of what he's witnessing is reflected. It's like a window into another world. He mumbles this, it seems, to himself, before smiling up at Rachel. He extends to her his small hand, “Surprise,” he says. “If I remembered correctly, that this was your favourite room?”

Rachel can only nod, mute from the surprise of it all. Ciel smirks at this and leads her, by the hand, towards the centre of the room.

In the dead centre of the room, looking so magical, so elegant, and so beautiful that it could be a piece of artwork that a museum has been built around; is a simple white table and chair set. 

How can a simple chair and table set look that good? Is how they dazzle with cleanliness, an impossibly high level of gleaming white? Is it the intricate details of loops and swirls built into the frill of the table and the backs of the chairs? Is it the lighting that seems to create a spotlight upon the table, making the spot look all the more enticing? Is it all of the above?

Rachel has spent many hours in this room, but, even with the delient work of her 30+ member staff back in the day, this room never looked this good. It's supernaturally clean. Supernaturally beautiful. Supernaturally welcoming.

Is this all Sebastian's doing? It must be, Ciel did call out to him, after all. Why would a demon waste its demonic magic on making a sunroom look this good? Just for her benefit? Surely not. 

Rachel is so distracted by all this, her brain doesn't even register that this is the first time her son has held her hand until he lets her go, and then her hand feels ice cold with loneliness. It's then she realises, with an icicle to her heart, that she should have been treasuring that first hand-hold more. Who knows when Ciel will next allow her to touch him? And she wasted that precious moment being distracted by the environment. 

Not that anybody could blame her for becoming distracted, she doesn't suppose. This is a supernatural natural level of beauty, and it's Rachel’s first time witnessing such a thing. She thinks she might be able to forgive herself some awe. 

“This is wonderful, Ciel,” Rachel is breathless with the wonder of it all. 

“I'm glad to hear that,” Ciel is looking pleased with himself.

“I suppose this is Sebastian's doing? Is this magic ?” 

“Demonic magic, but yes.”

“Woah,” Rachel breathes. 

“My lady?” Sebastian's voice comes, and Rachel is startled to see that Sebastian himself has literally appeared from nowhere, and is now pulling her chair out for her.

“Oh! Thank you,” Rachel bids, taking a seat. “and Sebastian! This is spectacular. Thank you for creating such a magical experience for my son and I. The fact that you chose to use some of your demonic power just to make our lunch better? That's amazing. I want you to know how much of an amazing experience you've created for us,” she says, as Sebastian tucks her chair in - with her in it - for her.

“There is no need to thank me,” Sebastian nods humbly. “I am but a servant, I live to please,” he says, as he lays a napkin out across Rachel’s lap. 

“Hmf,” Ciel wiggles his nose like an angry bunny as Sebastian rounds the table to pull out Ciel's chair. “Catering to my mother is a nice gesture Sebastian, but remember our agreement. You are mine , not theirs.” There's a sharp warning in his voice.

Mine and not theirs? Whatever does that mean? Rachel wonders. 

“Of course, master,” Sebastian smiles easily. As Ciel sits, he pushes the chair, Ciel and all, gently in for him. “For today's lunch I have prepared..” Sebastian reaches behind him and draws from a silver dining cart that definitely wasn't there before as he describes a Michelin star worthy lunch. He carefully sets their small, round table as he talks. First, an elegant crisp white linen tablecloth, embroidered with lace, so clean and so well pressed that it looks unobtainable by human standards. Then, a elaborate and meticulously arranged formal place setting of; the centrepiece the place setting would was a refined serving platter, flanked by multiple sets of cutlery, arranged in the order of use, starting from the outside and working inwards, and finally, a napkin, folded in the shape of a swan, is placed to the left of the forks. As Sebastian lays all this out, he's describing the meal in such mouth watering detail that Rachel is worried she might start literally drooling. Only the finest gourmet experienced, sourced from the finest locations, prepared in the most French-chef levels of technique. Rachel can practically taste it from the description alone , and it's making her absolutely ravenous . 

Then Sebastian actually produces the steaming plate from under its silver dome upon the dining cart and Rachel has to fight the urge to snatch the plate right out of the demon's gloved hand! It looks and smells exquisite . 

It's the best looking, and the best smelling, meal Rachel has ever seen, and she employed more than five highly trained and experienced world-class chefs in her kitchen back in the day.

Sebastian's meal tops them all though. 

Rachel can only imagine how good it tastes. 

Ciel though - doesn't react.

The plate is put in front of him, and, despite the masterpiece of art that lays before him, he regards it dully. He doesn't thank Sebastian, either for the meal or his service. He just picks up the correct silverware and begins eating at the slow, methodical pace of a 80 year old man, who's in no rush to do anything these days and simply wants to enjoy every second - the fact that his meal will go stone cold before he's even halfway finished at the pace he's going seemingly not bothering him. There's not a flicker of expression upon Ciel’s face as he eats.

And yet the smell alone is good enough to make Rachel want to weep . She knows that it must taste like an actual miracle.

And yet, Ciel is unmoved, and seemingly unimpressed. 

From his dining tray, Sebastian produces an incredible looking smoothie. It's like something out of a magazine; it's an amazing half pink and half green colour, topped with a swirling mountain of pure white whipped cream. “Mrs Phantomhive. No solids, per the doctor's orders,” he smiles and bids to her, placing the smoothie in front of her. 

After seeing Ciel's amazing lunch, Rachel is disappointed to be left with nothing but a smoothie, but she supposes it is doctor's orders. Politely, she smiles back at Sebastian and takes a sip, just to be polite, not really in any mood for being saddled with a lame - yet visually beautiful - smoothie . Not when staring down the gourmet meal Ciel has.

The second the liquid of the smoothie touches her tongue though, it's like an explosion! Flavour like fireworks fills her whole mouth. It smells and tastes so wonderful it makes Rachel’s eyes water. 

“This…” Rachel can barely speak, she's so amazed, “this is incredible !! It's the most wonderful thing I've ever tasted.” 

“I'm pleased to hear that,” Sebastian smiles, humbly. 

Rachel slurps at her smoothie, feeling like a cat who got the cream. If her smoothie tastes this good, she can't imagine how good Ciel's food tastes! 

Ciel himself, meanwhile, sniffs in disapproval and cocks a miserable eyebrow at Sebastian.

“Problem my lord?” Sebastian asks.

Ciel pokes at a green spot on his plate, “what's this rubbish?” He demands of Sebastian.

“Well I'm always endeavouring to add more greenery to your diet, my lord,” Sebastian says, “so I wanted to try you with something new -” as he speaks, Ciel waves him closer. Sebastian leans in, and Ciel scoops all the greenness off his plate, pulls Sebastian's collar off his neck, and drops the greenness down Sebastian’s neck, ensuring it falls against his skin, leaving Sebastian to shudder.

“That's what I think of your little food experiment,” Ciel says, boredly. 

“Thank you for your feedback my lord,” Sebastian smiles brightly, with no hint of visible annoyance. 

Meanwhile, Rachel is outraged! This horrible attitude from her son sends her into parental mode. 

“Now Ciel! Is that any way to act? I raised you with better manners than that! You should apologise this minute ,” Rachel insists, in her Mom Voice.

Ciel snaps a vicious expression in her direction, “oh? You disapprove of my actions, do you?” He asks, eyebrow cocked, anger filling his one uncovered eye.

“Yes I do! Sebastian has created this beautiful display for us, and you haven't even acknowledged that, let alone thanked him, and now you're practically throwing food like a toddler? You know better than that. You should speak more kindly, especially if Sebastian is even half the parent to you that you claim he is. We should always show respect to our parents.”

Ciel just looks at her for a moment, as if assessing if she's serious, and then dissolves dark, satanic, manic laughter . Laughter so cold, so bone chilling that it makes Rachel physically shudder .

Ciel's laughter finishes into an evil smirk, “you have been home for five minutes ,” he strains, “and you think you have the right to discipline me?” He's sneering at her now. “You think you have the right to tell me anything about how I act, what I do, or about how Sebastian and I communicate? I will do whatever I please, whenever I please, to whomever I please! This is my manor, and I am the lord of it, and you will respect me as such, first and foremost. Sebastian knows that he's my servant first , and my father second, and my demon last of all. You haven't even surpassed ‘guest’ status yet. You have a long way to go before you get to be parental. Sebastian has earned that right, and he still manages to respect me as both an adult and his master while he's at it. Observe.” He turns his attention to Sebastian, “Papa, any remarks on my behaviour?”

“None at all, master,” Sebastian smiles kindly. “You are an adult, you choose your behaviour, and I have no judgement on it.” He gives Ciel a look that seems to communicate a thousand unspoken words, “I trust and respect you enough to know that you can thoroughly consider your behaviour, and its consequences, without interference from me. You have no need of guidance from me.”

Ciel is looking at Sebastian as if he’s communicating silently too, “indeed I do not,” he’s smiling, they’re both smiling - but very oddly. It’s like every word they’re speaking comes with a double meaning, or that they’re speaking in code, but Rachel, despite being right in the room with them, has no idea what they’re actually talking about. It’s as if they have their own language, spoken in hidden words, silent looks and - most interestingly - taps. Ciel taps his teacup in a purposeful rhythm that is obviously code - it sounds a bit like Morse Code, but with key notes changed so that not even though who know Morse Code couldn’t understand it -  and Sebastian laughs as if he’s just heard the world’s most hilarious joke. Ciel chuckles along.

All the while, Rachel just sits there, baffled.

“How is it the two of you are so close?” She wonders out loud, before she can stop herself. Ciel and Sebastian turn to her, they're attention finally ripped away from one another.

Whoops. Rachel did not intend to say that out loud! 

“Whatever do you mean?” Ciel asks. He knows what she means, and Rachel can tell that much, but he's assessing how much she's figured out for herself, before he gives away any information.

When did her baby boy learn to be so clever in the wars fought in linguistics?

“Well…” Rachel's eyes dart between Sebastian and Ciel. She's really found herself in a pickle here. She really didn't mean to say anything at all, let alone get into this conversation, and so early into her reunion with her son. “It matters not,” she tries. 

Ciel leans in across the table, smiling darkly again, “we appreciate honesty in this house, Mother.” He's challenging her, and Rachel knows it.

So, she sits up straight, “if you must know, it's hardly gone unnoticed that you two clearly have your own world, your own language. If I didn't know better, I'd say Sebastian really was your father. You laugh alike, you speak alike…it's almost unnerving. How on Earth did that happen ?” 

“Do you really want to know?” Ciel asks, leant forward, his chin resting on his fist, mischief shining in his one eye.

Rachel feels like she's getting herself into some trouble here, like she's in for hearing some things she really doesn't want to hear, but she swallows her fear, sits up straight, and decreeds, “Yes,” very bravely indeed.

Ciel is smiling evilly, “Now then,” he leans back in his chair, tenting his fingers like a criminal mastermind, “where to begin….”

**** How it began ****** 

When exactly was it that they transformed from nothing more than a demon servant and his detached master to father and son? 

It's hard to say. Was it the first time Sebastian comforted Ciel after a nightmare? Or was it when Sebastian fixed Ciel's broken family heirloom ring - that cousin Elizabeth selfishly broke - something Sebastian knew was crushingly important to Ciel - without even being asked? Perhaps it was how Sebastian nursed Ciel when he was sick, cheered him on when he was well, gave him confidence when he was insecure, or gave him strength when he was weak? 

Things his parents never did. Not really. He used to crawl into their bed during thunderstorms - when they were home and available that is - but nothing like Sebastian. Sebastian was there for every blip. Every need. Every quiver of Ciel's lip. Before him, whenever Ciel needed someone, when he was sick, when he was insecure, when he was sad or mad or even glad, nobody was consistently there. It was a different staff member for every need. Even reliant Tanaka could only be around sometimes. He was the most consistent out of the servants - and more consistent then Ciel's parents, that's for sure - but back in those days, he was head butler, and had fifty thousand other duties to attend to, so he couldn't always be there.

Sebastian though. Sebastian was always there. No matter what else he was doing. No matter how busy he was. No matter how urgent the matter. Sebastian would always drop everything for Ciel.

Ciel had also realised quickly that Sebastian was no ordinary servant - outside of just being a demon, of course. In his early years, as he often alluded to, he was mostly raised by Tanaka. So much so that young Ciel used to call Tanaka grandpa. Tanaka was good, kind, and caring. He gave Ciel baths, fed him, dressed him, played with him, but even he did so…minimally. Such a thing is hard to describe to anyone who hasn't experienced it for themselves, but Tanaka, and all the staff like him Ciel had experienced before, performed such tasks with professional detachment. There was no warmth or true involvement . Like when young Ciel was excited about something and tried to share that with someone. Like he'd be jumping for joy about a new toy and a staff member, even good old Tanaka would professionally reflect, "how lovely." With no real enthusiasm, making Ciel's spark die out like water of a flame. It was soul crushing every time. 

How many had times Ciel had been splashing about in the bath, piloting a toy boat in the water, when he'd ask whichever staff member was handling his bath today to pilot the toy shark. “You be the shark! Come and get my boat!” Young Ciel would beam.

“Let's just focus on getting you clean, hm?” The staff member would say, putting the toy aside. 

It hurt every time.

His parents and Tanaka - when they had the time - we're slightly better. They'd take the toy shark - or whatever Ciel was playing with - and make appropriate noises, “nom nom nom, here comes the shark!” But after about five minutes, they'd say, “that's quite enough of that.”

Once again, dousing Ciel's enthusiastic flame. Everyone always did.

But not Sebastian.

Ciel remembers it perfectly. It was the first time Ciel had felt a spark of glee around Sebastian. It wasn't the same wholesome, pure childlike wonder he used to hold, but it was the closest he'd come to happiness since his parents had ‘died’. 

It was over a very simple thing. Ciel had just beaten one of their guests at his favourite board game. He had chuckled, cocky, "you should be more careful! Or else I'm likely to snatch victory up from under your nose again and again." 

The guest had no real response, just rolled their eyes, clearly disinterested. But Sebastian, who was refreshing their tea cups nearby as usual, had laughed smugly along. "An amazing show of strategy indeed my lord!" He said, with an excitement level that matched Ciel's own, "I dare say I would have never seen such a clever move coming." He said this with such genuineness, like he really meant for Ciel to feel good, and to feel supported in his glee. 

Ciel had felt it for the first time then; that spark of validation, and being accepted for exactly who he was. So, perhaps it was at that moment when things began to change between them. When Ciel began to  understand that Sebastian cared about him more than just in a professional 'this is my job" way. 

Or maybe it was in one of the endless number of times that Ciel had purposefully acted as bratty as possible, trying to test Sebastian's limits. As loving as his parents had been, Ciel often wore on his parents' nerves. What child doesn't, after all? They tried to be kind about it, but even at a tender age, Ciel could hear irritation in their voices when Ciel was being too loud or running around too much. The times his parents snapped at him were rare, so rare that they are barely worth remembering, but Ciel has never forgotten any of them all the same. In those moments, he was utterly full of life and bouncing off the walls. To have his parents tell him to settle and to contain himself taught Ciel early that such large emotions were to be kept to oneself. They were simply not acceptable.

Ciel purposefully acted worse than he'd ever behaved before with Sebastian, actively trying to rile him up. Forget childhood wonder, excitement, or bouncing off walls. For Sebastian, Ciel was cruel, vindictive, and cocky from day one. He'd throw food and even scalding hot tea in the demon's face. He'd yell and slap Sebastian as hard as he could. He'd throw away anything that wasn't perfect; clothes, food, even the flowers in his garden. He'd destroy things he knew good and well Sebastian has spent hours slaving over. He did so with venom on his lips and anger in his heart. He wanted Sebastian to become furious. He wanted to prove a theory. A theory that he, after his terrible ordeal, was simply unfixable, and, above all, unlovable. Ciel believed this about himself, but, of course, he'd never admit it. To the world, he portrayed himself as a man of big ego, but on the inside, he felt as if he could just push Sebastian hard enough, the demon would abandon him, which is what Ciel deserved, clearly, because he's obviously done something to cause his parents deaths.

These were all childish, wounded thoughts. But these are the thoughts that caused his actions. 

In truth, Ciel can still feel that way - but only sometimes these days. And Ciel does still act as bratty as possible at times, but Sebastian knows him too well as this point. The demon knows Ciel's behaviour is just a cover for whatever anxiety, insecurity, stress, or trauma he's currently dealing with.

Like even just now, with Ciel slopping the green slime down Sebastian's shirt. He did it because he's feeling unsettled about his parents return, and what this could change, and Ciel has never done well with change. He's anxious about many things; his parents accepting him. Him accepting them. What will they tell the public, the family? 

And will having his biological parents back somehow taint what Ciel has built with Sebastian?

He knows, logically, that they've already discussed this. He and Sebastian have already agreed that Ciel can have three parents, no trouble, but something deeper than logic can reach worries that, if Ciel grows close to his parents, that Sebastian will take a step back. That Sebastian will want Ciel to ‘focus’ on his relationship with his biological parents. That sounds like a thing Sebastian would do because that's what's ‘best’ for Ciel. So, Ciel is once again testing Sebastian's limits. He's testing to see if Sebastian will still be his consistent self if Ciel pushes him now, with his biological parents home.

Of course, Sebastian has passed this first test with his usual flying colours. Ciel was testing, and Sebastian knew he was being tested. That's what their conversation was really about just now. Sebastian knows that if he reacted parentally to Ciel's bad behaviour  - i.e, by trying to correct it - this would make Ciel feel more insecure, because Sebastian has never tried to correct his behaviour before. This was also part of the test. Now they've officially made verbal their status as father and son, will Sebastian's response to Ciel's bratty behaviour change? This was Ciel's secondary question. Ciel doesn't do well with change, and if Sebastian changed his behaviour, then this would deeply upset Ciel's sense of rhythm. So, by acting parental in this vein - behaviour correction/discipline - wouldn't have helped Ciel’s behaviour. It would have caused further insecurity, which would have led to worse behaviour. Sebastian knows this, and Ciel knows this. 

They may have had this unspoken father-and-son bond for the last year or so, but them acknowledging it is new, so Ciel still needs time to adjust. Perhaps, in time, Sebastian will be able to cross that parental barrier of speaking to Ciel about his behaviour, and how to better handle his anxieties. Ciel can see that happening. Perhaps, someday, with Sebastian's help, Ciel could develop healthier reactions to his emotions. Ciel can see that happening, someday.

Today, however, is not that day.

Nevertheless, Sebastian has never flinched. Not even in the face of a million tantrums.  

He never raised his voice or showed an inch of irritation. He just kept proving wonderful care to Ciel, with a smile. He never lost patience. He never wavered. He was miraculously perfect, effortlessly elegant. If Ciel smashed a plate, Sebastian would simply clean it up. If Ciel yelled at him, Sebastian would simply stand there and take it without complaint. No matter how hard Ciel fought to drive the demon away, he simply refused to leave.

Instead of being pushed away, Sebastian only ever pulled Ciel closer, eld Ciel tighter, smiled all the brighter, laughed all the more. Sebastian never once lost his sunny (and slightly sarcastic) mood. No matter how hard Ciel fought to smash that mask, the mask he was sure Sebastian was wearing, it never once even cracked . 

Ciel still remembers the exact moment that he thought, for the very first time; maybe Sebastian's care for me truly is unconditional. It was during their first three months together. The weekend of their three month anniversary of meeting, actually. After Ciel had purposefully been having the world's worst tantrum for about three days straight. He spat all his meals back directly into Sebastian's face. He threw every plate. He broke everything he could break; chunks off the bannister, chips off the wallpaper, even knocking over full cabinets full of expensive, and often irreplaceable, objects, causing them all to shatter. He yelled every word and swore every curse. He threw everything he could lift at Sebastian's head. Overall, he was a defiant, screaming, rebellious little shithead, and he knew it. He fought as hard he could, struck out as powerfully as he could, hit as hard as he could manage, yelled as loud as he could, but Sebastian still once never cracked. Not even under the three days of constant attack. 

This only frustrated 10-year-old Ciel all the more. So, on the night that was to end that third day, Ciel was yelling his lungs out, half drowning poor Sebastian by splashing him as Sebastian attempted to bathe him. “WHY AREN'T YOU ANGRY?! HOW MUCH MORE CAN I DO TO YOU?!” Ciel had yelled, angered by Sebastian's calm and steady non-reaction.

“You can do anything you please,” Sebastian replied, very calmly. “Nothing you could ever do, or say, or refuse to do or say, will stop me from caring for you. You are my master, and I am devoted to you, no matter what .”

He said it so genuinely. With such calm certainty. Ciel’s tantrum was halted by the steadiness of these words. The assurity in them. He knew, in that second, that there truly was nothing he could do to make Sebastian stop caring for him. He was here, a d not going anywhere.

Maybe that was the moment that their bond changed from master and servant to father and son.

No. Perhaps it was the time that, despite being fully put to bed in the usual efficient manner, Ciel couldn't settle. So he climbed out of bed and crept down the hallway, trying to tire himself out, when he noticed the lamp on in his father's study. Curiosity overcame him, so he went forth and peeked in through the agar door. There was Sebastian, behind the desk, doing Phantomhive company paperwork, and suddenly Ciel was transported back to another time…

9 year old Ciel has peeked his head around this same study door, "Papa?"

Vincent Phantomhive quickly looked up from the company paperwork he was busily scribbled away at. He gave his son a brief smile, "Hello my miracle. Didn't I just put you to bed?'

"I can't sleep, will you come and read me a story?'

Vincent threw his son a soft look, "I'm sorry my miracle, this work is really urgent. Why don't you go ask one of the servants?"

Because I don't want one of the servants, I want my papa, thought young Ciel. But he didn't say this. He just nodded and slinked away, feeling regretted . Again .

"Master?" Sebastian had called, bringing Ciel back to the present moment. 

Cisl shook off the memory, "Hello," he greeted, through the crack in the door.

"Can you not sleep?" Sebastian had asked, kindly. Ciel had shaken his head. "Oh dear," Sebastian rose elegantly from behind the desk, "come, I'll read you something, if you like?"

Ciel felt his pulse quicken in hope, "Isn't that paperwork urgent then?"

"Actually yes. It's due before dawn, but it matters little, when my master needs me," Sebastian had said, gliding over to the door and opening it wide. He bends and offers Ciel his arms. "After all, nothing could be more important to me than you my lord. You are all that I am, and all that I do, always."

Ciel had then melted into those strong, safe, inviting arms and had been carried back to bed, where Sebastian had hummed while tucking him tightly in, and then read to Ciel from the book of his choosing. 

“'... 'Now surely you are joking!' Watson cried, laughing heartily. 'Not in the least', Holmes replies, sternly, as he took another drag from his cigarette. 'Well, I have no doubt that I'm very stupid. For example, how do you possibly deduce that..' " Sebastian read, doing different voices for both Holmes and Watson. He made Holmes sound stern and self-assured, but still with that hint of good nature and childlike glee for his work that encapsulated Holmes as a character. Watson’s voice, as read by Sebastian, was more warm, more full of love and life and curiosity. He sounded delighted to simply exist in Holmes’ presence, but still with a clear and refined dialect that reflected his own intelligence and bravery. Watson’s perfect  voice. 

Doing voices, especially ones so accurate, was something nobody in Ciel’s life had ever done for him before.

Perhaps it was at that moment. When that old childhood wound of feeling as if he took last place to his parents hundreds of other obligations was healed; that Ciel truly first looked at Sebastian and thought of him as his parent and not just his butler.

The most logical answer to this question though, was, of course, was that it was all these small moments combined. 

Throughout these last four years, and even continuing today, 90% of Ciel's days are filled with darkness and death. Drug dens, murders, gruesome mysteries, and the criminal underbelly of London’s twisted underworld all pollute his world until it seems to be filled with nothing but darkness. Sebastian is at Ciel's side through the darkness, offering protection, assistance and wisdom, naturally, but it's after the trauma of the day is over that they truly come together as more than just master and demon. It's after the blood is washed off and the bodies buried that Ciel crawls into Sebastian's arms to feel safe, whole, and like a child again.

Even all of that doesn't cover everything. Ciel hasn't even mentioned all the things Sebastian has taught Ciel over the years. All the things a father is supposed to teach his son. Instead, Ciel was left only with Sebastian to teach him things like;

How to ride his first horse; “firm grip on the reins,” Sebastian said, as he lifted Ciel onto the beast. “I've heard that most humans find the height nerve-wracking at first. So that is normal.”

“I'm not nervous!” Ciel had snapped, but, with a nervous look down off the side of the horse, he does feel like he's about a 100 feet high right now. Why do horses have to be so damn huge?!

Sebastian, of course, picked up on his master's nerves, and chuckled warmly at them. “Do not worry, I am here to catch you if you fall.”

This was so early in their relationship that Ciel hardly trusted that statement, but Sebastian proved it to be true, repeatedly, when Ciel fell off that very horse - repeatedly. Sebastian smirked every time, and Ciel scowled at him every time, but Sebastian still caught him every time.

So, despite Ciel's protests against ever feeling trust ever again - he started to feel exactly that. He started to feel safe again, because no matter how many times he fell, Sebastian was there to catch him. Both literally and metaphorically. 

Sebastian taught Ciel how to play his first instrument; the violin. Ciel was decently good these days, thanks to that. He found it dull at times, and an excellent way to dull his boredom at others. 

Sebastian taught Ciel to speak his first foreign language; French. Which Ciel is now fluent in. 

Sebastian taught Ciel how to fence. How to fire a gun. How to negotiate. How to play chess. 

Not to mention, Sebastian was the one who taught Ciel the facts of life. 

Ciel remembers that day clearly too. After about six months of their partnership as master and demon, Sebastian and Ciel were in the hub of London, out on business. When the then ten year old Ciel’s attention was captured by a woman across the cobbled street. A visibly pregnant woman.

“Hey Sebastian,” Ciel spoke up. “How do women become pregnant? I know babies grow from within their mothers, but how do they get there? And how do they get out?” Ciel asked this, not because he truly wanted to know at that moment (although he did want to know, at some point) but because this was another test of Sebastian's resilience. Ciel had asked this question to both his parents and staff hundreds of times, and, the result was always the same; they'd become flustered, embarrassed and start spluttering, refusing to answer. After six months of a non-stop perfectly controlled Sebastian, Ciel wanted to ruffle his feathers. He wanted to see Sebastian all riled up and put on his toes, like every other person in his life had been when faced with this question. 

Sebastian, predictably, remained perfectly calm, as he looked down from his large height to Ciel's tiny one. “Is this a genuine question or an attempt to annoy me?” He asked, able to see Ciel's little game all too clearly. 

Ciel, taken back by Sebastian's ability to read him, and so easily, but not wanting to show weakness, cocked an eyebrow, “cannot it not be both, demon?”

Sebastian had smirked at this, “excellent point. Now, would you like me to actually explain such things to you? Or would you prefer I contact your aunt and uncle?” 

Ciel frowned. He really had not been expecting this. “My aunt and uncle get all flustered and embarrassed and won't tell me. I've asked them.” He peers up at Sebastian, trying to assess his seriousness, “will you really tell me?”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, “humans are such strange creatures. They're obsessed with the process that it takes to create a baby, yet they refuse to speak about it, claiming its taboo and shouldn't be talked about in polite society, as if it's a dirty subject, which it is not. It's perfectly natural and should be discussed openly. It is how you creatures continue your species, after all. There's nothing taboo about it. It's simple science, and knowing about it can only improve one's understanding of the world. So yes, if you wish for me to explain it to you, I shall.”

Ciel, won over by Sebastian's genuineness, - and taken over by his actual desire to know how that specific thing worked - agreed, “very well then,” he tried to sound disinterested, like this is no big deal, even though he's genuinely intrigued. 

Sebastian showed not a speck of embarrassment nor disgust as he explained the facts of life to Ciel. He summoned into existence scientific diagrams and explained everything to Ciel with the medically accurate terms. He didn't treat these subjects as taboo, dirty, or shameful. He spoke to Ciel like an adult, who could easily comprehend such subjects, and that I should understand it, not shy away from it.

First, it was explaining what sex was. Then the scientific explanation of how a sperm and an egg grow into a baby. Then how pregnancy and birth works. He explained all this the way a father should explain it to his son, by allowing Ciel to ask any questions he had, and to let Ciel know that all such questions were normal. He helped Ciel avoid shame and understand not only pregnancy and sex, but his own body too.

“An important thing to remember is that women cannot become pregnant, and men cannot provide sperm in order to create a pregnancy, until puberty,” Sebastian finished his lecture. 

“What even is puberty anyway?” Ciel asked. “My parents said the word but never explained what it was.” 

“Excellent question!” Sebastian glowed. He never treated Ciel like he was stupid or silly for asking such questions. Nor did he react like these questions shouldn't be asked, the way his parents (and all the other adults in his life) once did. “Allow me to get another diagram!” 

So it was Sebastian who taught Ciel what puberty was, for both men and women. “It's important for you to understand what happens in women's bodies as equally as you do your own. After all, some day, you may want a wife, or have a daughter, or both! But even if you don't, being empathic to women's plights will make you a better man, in the long run. It may even improve your business! The women's market is growing. How can you sell to women if you don't understand them after all?” Sebastian hums merrily. In time, this turned out to be true, as Ciel did expand to the women's market, and having such knowledge really did help! For example, knowing about the menstrual cramps women experience caused Ciel to design a thick, soft, cuddly bear that could hold a bed warmer inside it. So they could cuddle with something warm against their cramping uterus. It was a massive hit of a product, and tripled Ciel’s bank account, and that was all thanks to Sebastian. 

“You're twelve now,” Sebastian said on Ciel's 12th birthday, “according to my research, this is the average age when puberty starts for boys. So, I'd like you to know, you can speak to me any time, about any questions you have. You should never feel embarrassed to speak to me about anything. Would you like a reminder on what bodily changes you can expect?” 

“Actually, yes I would,” Ciel had said. 

So it was Sebastian who made Ciel feel safe enough to ask those normal, natural, and perfectly OK questions about things like; maturation, sexual urges, and bodily changes. 

And as time ticked on and puberty failed to arrive, it was Sebastian who Ciel turned to.

“I'm almost 14,” current-day-Ciel had said to Sebastian just last week. “And there's been no sign of my puberty. I haven't changed a bit. I haven't even grown much!” He huffed, in annoyance 

“I know my little lord,” Sebastian had cooed.

“Do you suppose that's abnormal?” Ciel had pondered.

“According to the literature, no sign of puberty by the age of 14 is considered a ‘delayed puberty’,” Sebastian told, “it may be medical. Ironically, your asthma could make it harder work for your body to grow, or it could be a gland or thyroid issue. Or, it could simply be that you're a late bloomer, which often runs in families. It is unfortunate we do not know when your parents began their development, but such is life. I suspect that you're just a late bloomer, and I suspect your parents were too, but I am keeping an eye on it. If you haven't shown any signs of puberty in another few months, I think we'll double check with a doctor, but for now, it's nothing to worry about. You'll blossom into your own little flower in your own time!” He chuckled at the end. 

“Oi,” Ciel had scowled, but, as usual, was secretly grateful. He allowed himself a pause for thought. “Children, even pre-puberty, normally develop crushes, don't they? I haven't yet.” He had let this hang in the air for a moment before adding, “I don't suspect I ever will. I don't think I ever want to be with anyone. The idea alone turns my stomach!  I care not for either friends nor romance. I think I shall be perfectly content to be alone in this manor, always.” A beat of quiet. “With you, of course. I couldn't do without my butler to dote on me!” He chuckles at this, “is that not funny. The only person I want in my life is my demon butler! Do you suppose that's abnormal?” he asks, still chuckling.

Sebastian had smirked at this, “being that you humans are supposed to be social, group-living creatures, perhaps it is, but then again, perhaps the research only focuses on the social among you because those are the ones willing to participate in studies!” Sebastian had chuckled. “You don't see scientists knocking on the door of the local hermit, after all. So, perhaps it's perfectly normal for some humans to be solitary. But, even if it isn't ‘normal’, who cares?” He shrugs. “I'm a demon. There isn't anything even slightly normal about me in your world. So much so that I have to hide my true identity from you humans. Sometimes I ponder what I'd be like, if I had been born human, and I think that I'd be very much the same. Dedicated to my work. I've lived many years, yet I have no friends nor romances, and the only person I've ever wanted in my life either,” Sebastian shrugs. Ciel gives a falsely insulted ‘what about me?’ gesture, and Sebastian laughs, “yes yes, expect my tiny human master,” he grins, giving Ciel a soft ‘boop’ on his cute little button nose. Ciel squints at him in false annoyance. “Do you suppose that’s abnormal?” Sebastian ends with. 

Ciel had broken into a grin then, utterly content, “Yes. That is abnormal, and I am abnormal, and we shall simply be abnormal together, always. Normal is dull anyway.”

“I wholeheartedly agree my lord,” Sebastian had grinned, before the two had chuckled together….

“..I suppose the key take away from all that,” present-moment Ciel says, eyeing his mother steadily, “is that Sebastian offered consistent consistency, respect, autonomy, power and control over my own life. Before, my whole life was controlled. I was pushed around from staff member to staff member, dragged from event to event, with no say so in any of it. I was just left alone and told to keep quiet and out of the way a lot. I wasn’t really allowed to be myself. I was always told I had to be the perfect British gentlemen, quiet, well mannered, sociable, respectable,” he rolls his eyes in annoyance, before locking his mothers eye, smirking darkly, “turns out, who I am is somehow who hates people, can be very bad mannered, and I’m well able to yell this manor down, when I want to!” he laughs, “and respectable? Hardly.” He looks at Sebastian, and smiles now, “how are the two of us so close? Easy.” He looks back to his mother, “he accepted me. Every single messy, broken piece of me. He’s loved and accepted me, even when I was completely unacceptable, and completely unlovable.” He glares at his mother now, “unlike you, father, and everyone else I previously had in my life.”

Rachel is just left there, shaking. “You…” she doesn’t even know where to start with everything she’s just been told, “you were such a happy child though.” 

“I was a child who didn’t know better,” shrugs Ciel, “who didn’t know there was another way to live, another way to be loved. I was happy with the scraps of affection I was given, because I thought I was being given the world. It wasn’t until I experienced what true support should be that I realised how much I was lacking.” 

“So this….demon, this…creature from Hell, has been a better parent than we were?” 

“Yes,” Ciel says, dully. Like this whole subject is a bore to him. Like it’s such a normal and mundane thing to speak about. He smirks at his mother’s hurt expression, “does that answer your question, mother?” he cocks his head, and smiles, just like his father -

No. Just like Sebastian. Vincent’s head tilt and smile combo is softer, kinder, cheekier. Full of innocent mischief. Sebastian’s version is mocking. It’s smirking and sneering. It says ‘I know better than you’, and ‘I’m always one step ahead of you.’

And Ciel’s version says the same thing, plus ‘how do you like me now, loser?’

***** Sebastian *****

I know what my master is doing. Of course I do. I know him like the back of my hand at this point. 

He’s telling his mother all this - in this way, by straining how much better at everything parental I was then her (and by extension, Vincent) to test her. 

This is no different than him throwing food at me or breaking my best plates or hitting me. He’s testing her limits.

If he acts badly enough, if he hurts her enough - will she leave? Will she give up? 

The only reason he’s doing it verbally and not physically - the way he physically pushes my limits - is because he knows this is the most effective method. He saw his mother’s reaction to his bad behaviour towards me. Throwing or spitting or hitting at her would only get him scolded, because she still views him as a child. She’d see that as a normal childhood behaviour. It wouldn’t have any effect on her personally. 

So he’s throwing hurtful words instead; making her feel compared, making her feel less then, making her feel like a failure as a parent. This is her first test. If Ciel acts as unloveable, as untouchable, as cold as possible, will she still want him? Will she prove that she loves him unconditionally, as a parent should?

Rachel sniffs. She’s shaking and on the verge of tears. “Well,” she stands slowly up, “if that’s how you feel, perhaps you should be eating lunch with your better parent, instead.” She says, before spinning on her heel, tugging her wheeled IV, and leaving the room, with a slam of the door.

Test failed. 

Ciel watches her go; the reflection of her leaving crosses his one visible eye, looking like a traveller going across a horizon. He watches the door click shut. The click echos, and Ciel, without a single emotion, says, “she gave up.” 

I say nothing, but I take a step closer to him, reminding him of my presence. 

Pain consumes Ciel’s eye for a moment, then he shakes his head, physically seeming to clear it. “Oh well,” he shrugs, “I figured she would. It seems my parents cannot handle the real me,” he looks up at me, “and I haven’t even begun to tell them about all the horrific things I’ve done as the Queen’s Guard Dog. Rachel cannot even handle being compared. I dare say she wouldn’t be able to handle the fact that I have more than, what, three hundred deaths on my hands? I have no idea.”

“It’s closer to a thousand people now, my lord,” I tell him, “each one has left a massive stain on your soul, after all. I can see them all quite clearly. You are clearly a force to be reckoned with.”

This seems to perk my Ciel up a bit, “that I am. Phantomhive guests who misbehave tell no tales, after all.”

“Not with you in charge, my master,” I bow at him, and he chuckles, my compliment lifting his spirits - but this quickly fades. His one eye downcasts to the stone floor before he whispers, “she gave up.” Whereas before he said this without a single emotion, now, the crack in his heart is almost audible. 

“I know, my Ciel,” I bend down to his height, and open my arms. Silently, Ciel climbs into them. I lift him up into his favourite position; sitting on my hip, against my chest. I hold him close, and let him bury himself into me. “She’s not abandoning you though. She’ll be back. They both will. They’ve spent four years desperate to see you, this little blip of me being a demon and you being fierce with them won’t stop them. They still want to be your parents.”

Ciel, his face buried in my shoulder, mumbles, “you think so?”

“Oh I know so,” I say, with complete confidence, to make sure I fill him with assurance. “One of humanity's most admirable - and annoying - traits is that they try, try, try again, often with no results. It’s the definition of insanity, it really is, but then again, humans are the definition of insanity.” 

This manages to make my Ciel chuckle, “you’re probably right.”

“Am I not always right?” I gently tease, swaying him to and fro in my arms. “Don’t you worry. Your parents will pull themselves together, they don’t mean to reject you - they’re just…being human,” I tell him, “And until they pull themselves together, I’m here. I’ll always be right here.” 

“Yeaaaaah,” Ciel finally breathes, relaxing fully and properly into me like a melted ice cream, “you are.” 

He finally sounds happy again, or, as happy as he can be, in these circumstances. 

Which is all I ever ask - that my Ciel be as healthy and happy as he can be, always.

Chapter Text

Sunday December 15th, 1889. 3pm.

Vincent is not usually a man of heretics. Even trapped in that damn cell for four years, he never dissolved into any fit of panic or despair, but, when Sebastian was revealed to be a demon - well, it was as if he totally lost control over himself. He may as well have been a spectator at a play. He could see and hear himself going wild, and yet, was unable to stop himself. Even as he's left alone in the living room, he continues to rage, until, finally, he exhausts himself an entire hour after he's left there.  He ends up sinking to the floor, all his energy spent. This silence was obviously a cue for the Phantomhive servants, because Tanaka clicks respectfully into the room, followed by the doctor who's been sleeping in one of the many spare rooms this manor has to offer. 

“Are you amenable to me reattaching your IV, Mr Phantomhive?” Asks the doctor. Ciel must have passed on the word of Vincent's little IV-pulling stunt. Brilliant. 

As if Vincent needed to be humalited further. 

Vincent, weak from all that yelling, just nods mutely. With Tanaka’s aid, the doctor re-inserts Vincent's IV. Tanaka offers Vincent a soothing throat sweet, saying, “your throat must be raw from all that yelling, my lord.”

Vincent just pops the sweet in without argument. It does help, but he's in no mood to admit this.

“Now then Mr Phantomhive, I understand you had quite the fit,” the doctor says gently, “would you like a sleeping aid, and then perhaps we can lie you down for a while, hm?” 

Both Tanaka and the doctor are looking at and speaking to Vincent as if he's an easily upset toddler; all gentle voices and kind expressions. Here's Tanaka offering to fetch him an orange juice and the doctor offering him a little nap, as if Vincent is three years old.

Vincent finds his teeth beginning to grit. He cannot allow this to go on for a moment longer.

So, he stands slowly up, “gentleman, thank you for your aid. I was indeed having a spell there, no doubt the result of all my built up stress,” he gives his best I'm-a-total-sane-adult smile.  “I'll be just fine on my own now.”

Tanaka and the doctor exchange worried glances. 

“Really, I’m fine,” Vincent smiles and dusts himself off, “I think I shall go for a stroll around the mansion and re-familiarise myself with it. That may help me settle.”

Hearing that Vincent wants to become more settled visibly soothes the doctor, “well, that does sound like it would be healthy for you.”

“Yes, very!” Vincent nods passionately. He’s had an idea - he’ll no longer sit here and pitch a fit like an oversized toddler. That will not save his son from the demon that has overtaken Ciel’s life. He has to do something to protect his baby, starting now.

And he knows exactly where to start.

Making sure nobody's watching, Vincent slips into his old office, which was also his father's office, and his father's before him. It looks exactly the same. Except the desk seems quite a lot higher then Vincent remembers, which is odd, but this is but a small blip in the back of Vinent's mind as he clicks the door shut behind him.

This room is still obviously a hubbub of activity.  There's stacks of letters neatly organised in ‘ingoing’ and ‘outgoing’ trays. There's paperwork neatly slotted into folders and files. On the desk there's fresh ink and an ironed newspaper. There's a system of paperwork laid methodically out across the desk, with coloured stickers marking each section. There's letters, newly written, the ink stick drying, are written from the Funtom Corporation, mostly to other businesses. Signed from him .

Sebastian.

‘Dear Sir/Madam,

I am reaching out on behalf of the Funtom Corporation, it was a pleasure to do business with you…ect ect………

Signed,

Sebastian Michaelis.

Head of Household at Phantomhive Manor.’ 

Vincent sneers angrily at all these letters. Sebastian Michaelis, Head of Household, indeed! Bah! Why did this demon give himself a last name, anyway?! Last names are family names, and demons don't have families, let alone deserve family names, and on top of that, this is a made up family name. Just another fake name he's added on after his already fake name of Sebastian, and for what? 

Huffing in annoyance, Vincent allows himself to throw the papers from the desk all over the floor. Which is a very penchant of him, he knows, but it makes him feel better, and that's what counts. 

After that's done, Vincent scans the bookshelves that sit against the wall, running his hands along the books, feeling for the right one.

Like all great historic mansions, this manor has several hidden rooms, all connected by secret passways, and somewhere right here is the false book that opens the hidden door to the secret room that Vincent's father called The Salt Circle.

The Phantomhive family has always been cunning little weasels, able to out fox even the best criminal minds and able to wiggle themselves out of the tightest of pickles for decades. It stands to reason that when they employed demons, they knew their stuff. The Salt Circle is as old as the manor, and is a secret room packed with only the most reliable information on all things supernatural.

Including, of course, demons. 

All of Vincent's forefathers gave their souls willingly, and were all adults in their right mind when they did so. They had no need to try and seek a reason to rid themselves of their demons. 

But, Vincent knows that the information is in there. His father told him so, near his death. 

“It'll be my time to go soon my boy,” he said, “my contract is almost up. I leave you with this final message; if you ever find yourself forcefully bound to a demon - which, believe me, does happen on occasion - all the information you'll ever need to escape its grasp is in The Salt Circle.”

That's what Vincent is here in the office looking for. He's going to pull the false book, enter The Salt Circle, and find that information. He's going to free his son from that creature's claws, and it's all going to be thanks to his forefathers foresight.

If Vincent ever reaches Heaven, he must remember to thank them. 

Ah ha! Here's the secret spot on the bookshelf. Vincent knows it well. He watched his father and grandfather pull this big, thick, red, leather-bound book titled ‘rivers of England’, thousands of times, only for the bookshelf to swing open, revealing the hidden room.

Feeling enormously proud of his forefathers and their foresight, Vincent smugly tugs the red book, awaiting that signature click on moving cogwheels and -

The red book comes away in his hand. He blinks at it dumbly as it sits in his palm.

It's -  It’s just a book!!! 

“What?” Vincent throws the book to the floor. “No no no, that is impossible!” beginning to panic, he yanks off every book on the entire bookshelf, but gets nothing. Has he got the wrong bookshelf perhaps? No. His memory wouldn't fail him on this. It was always the bookshelf behind the desk, against the wall. If it's not here then -

Then it's not anywhere.

Desperation coursing through his veins, Vincent tugs at the newly empty bookshelf. It sticks fast. It's screwed into the wall on both sides. What?! That's not right either! This bookshelf was ever screwed down, none of them were! Vincent remembers wobbling them as a child.

With rage and his bare hands combined, Vincent tears the book shelf completely off the wall, ripping the nails out. It falls like an ancient giant, with a loud creak and the groan of the fallboards, all combining into the massive CRASH as it facepalms into the floor. It’s a crash so violent that the floorboards themselves rattle as a huge dust cloud gets thrown up. 

As the dust settles, Vincent is left there, chest heaving, as he stares at a very much normal, blank, brick wall. He kicks and hits at it, but there's no hollow echo either.

The secret room is gone. How can it possibly be gone?!

This is impossible!!!! 

Wheezing and vibrating with rage, Vincent takes off running up stairs. Phantomhive manor is made up of three floors. Working upwards, it goes;

Underground: Wine cellar 

Sub level (just barely above ground): Servants quarters, kitchen; laundry, and all things that the servants cater to.

1st floor: Welcome foyer, dining room, ect.

2nd floor: Bedrooms, bathrooms, ect

Attic floor: more bedrooms, art room, ect.

Ciel never spent much time on the attic level. Mostly because the stairs triggered his asthma. He used to have to be carried up to the first and second floor, and, since there was nothing on the attack floor Ciel would need, there wasn’t much need to bother with carrying him up that extra flight of stairs. Vincent isn’t sure why he’s thinking about this as he rushes up the stairs.

Perhaps he regrets not sharing this top floor more with his son - but it's more the deeper instinct he has about his old home and its connection to his son.

Bursting onto the attic floor, Vincent is practically frothing at the mouth as he whips his head around, scanning the area.

He’s up here for two reasons:

1} His parents' old bedroom is up here, and there’s a second secret room in there, which connects back to The Salt Circle through a passageway hidden in the halls.  Vincent is still hoping to reach The Salt Circle.

2} He’s following that deeper instinct 

And that deeper instinct is proven correct.

At the attic level, there’s supposed to be;

Rachel’s old art room. When she suffered her first miscarriage, she began painting to cope with the grief. She soon filled an entire room with her painting, and by filled, Vincent doesn’t just mean the walls - he means floor-to-ceiling filled. And, seeing as the attic level of the house takes up an entire floor, just like the rest of the house, Vincent took three of the small storage rooms up there and knocked their walls down, creating one giant room. Vincent then widened the windows, creating more light, turning it into a huge art room, where Rachel could paint to her heart's content. As she suffered her next three miscarriages, Rachel tripled her painting output, and was soon filling the room with all her beautiful art. When their miracle baby Ciel was born, Rachel painted to celebrate instead of grieve, which was wonderful to see from Vincent’s perspective. She used to snuggle baby Ciel into a baby sling across her chest, next to her heart, and paint with him strapped to her.  The dark, grief filled paintings were now a thing of the past, replaced by bright, sunny, happy paintings, full of hope and new life. As Ciel graduated to crawling, Rachel devoted all her time to chasing after him, and her paintings stopped, but Vincent still kept the art studio just the way it was, in case she ever wanted to go back to it. However, when Ciel reached two, Rachel got back to her volunteer work as well as being busy supporting Vincent in his work as the Queen’s Guard Dog, and had no time for painting or chasing after Ciel - that was left to the servants.

Not that such a thing is relevant. 

Up here, there’s also supposed to be his parent’s bedroom, which was a large, luxurious place with an attached ensuite with a huge corner bathtub that a young Vincent used to play in. There was also an entire room that Vincent’s father, Cedric, devoted to his model train collection. He had an entire miniature city set out on a huge, custom made table, with all the walls covered in shelves, proudly displaying his collection of all his different trains, all carefully hand painted. Cedric’s art supplies, used to paint the trains and the landscape, were kept in a transparent chest of drawers. The train room, too, was once a set of smaller storage rooms that was converted into the train room long before Vincent was even born. He used to love watching the model trains run, sitting on his father’s lap, making the train noises as his father laughed along. When Vincent had been well-behaved, his father used to let him wear the conductor's hat, taken down from its golden peg of honour on the wall.

None of that is here now. 

Every room is neatly organised storage. Cleaning supplies, boxes, folders, cabinets of knick-knacks.

And that’s it. 

The art room Vincent had built, his parents' huge luxury room, their beautiful bathroom, the train room, it’s all gone. All the rooms are now tiny, separate storage rooms. Some of the rooms up here had been storage originally, but even the rooms that are still storage - that are supposed to be there - aren’t even accurate. Nothing that is stored here now was stored here then, and none of it is stored how it was then either. Back in those days, one of their main storage spots was this beautiful, hand-carved wooden wardrobe. Uniquely designed, an antique. Vincent always thought it was too beautiful to simply store, and Rachel thought it was too valuable to risk damaging it by having it around the manor. It was one of the very, very few things on which they disagreed. Anyway. They had all their most rare ornaments in that thing, along with many collectables. Both the antique wardrobe and the collectables are gone. Now, there’s just boxes filled with copies of company paperwork! Most importantly; 

Vincent stops outside The Door, taking a deep breath.

Vincent would know this door if he closed his eyes and felt it. He knows it’s every ridge.

Behind this room is what he nicknamed ‘The Memory Room’. When his parents passed, an adult Vincent had packed up their most beloved things; their favourite clothes, their treasured jewellery, pictures of them, pictures from Vincent’s childhood; all those wonderful, irreplaceable things, were in this room. His parent’s pictures decorated the wall, their clothes were hung in a wardrobe, and their jewellery displayed on a rack. It was if, in that one small room, they still might return at any minute, and Vincent liked it that way. 

Ciel never saw this room either. 

Yet, some tiny part of Vincent is still hoping The Memory Room is intact as he bravely opens the door.

The only thing in here is a broom set.

Vincent’s anger and monster-hunting motivation evaporates entirely as he glides sadly into the room, stroking his hand against the wall. His chest hiccups, warning him about an oncoming sob, as he sinks against the end wall, bring his knees to his chest, curling up like a child. His head sinks onto his knees, and he allows tears to drip. He just sits there in this dark, dingy little room, with all his family history removed from it and feels - empty.

All his rage against the demon Sebastian is gone, and he just feels as if he’s lost his parents - again.  

“Vincent?” comes a soft, familiar voice. Vincent looks up to see Tanaka, who’s smiling at him gently, “hello old friend,” the butler says, from the doorway. “May I come and join you?”

Vincent nods mutely, so Tanaka comes inside and gently eases himself down against the wall to sit beside Vincent. Tanaka rests a supportive hand upon Vincent’s back, “I see you found your old Memory Room, hm?” 

This is what makes Tanaka like a member of the family; he’s in the loop. He knows every family secret. Well, almost every family secret.

“Yes,” Vincent sighs, “what happened up here, Tanaka? Why did Ciel have this floor changed so much? Why are my parents' things gone?”

“I’m sorry that your parents' things are gone my old friend. I miss them, and their things, too,” Tanaka says, “but it wasn’t Ciel who changed this floor. It was all destroyed in the fire.”

“The fire reached this high?” Vincent’s head snaps up in shock, “I didn’t think it was that bad!”

“Oh, my dear friend,” Tanaka’s elderly face crinkles in sympathy, “the entire manor was destroyed in the fire.”

“WHAT?!” Vincent yelps.

“It was left as nothing but rubble, including the wine cellar. Ciel had to have it rebuilt from memory, every brick, and, since, naturally, he had no memory of the art room, or this top attic floor at all, so it’s all just storage,” Tanaka tells. 

Vincent wilts into himself at this news, “that explains things. Do you want to hear something kind of sad Tanaka? I noticed that the desk in my old office was much higher than it used to be. It just struck me - that’s because Ciel was smaller the last time he saw it, so he remembers it being huge to him,” his eyes become watery at this realisation. 

“If you pay attention, that’s a running theme throughout the manor. All the paintings and statues are taller than they used to be, isn’t that sweet?” Tanaka smiles nostalgically, “but other than that, the first and second floor are almost perfect replicas of the original, don’t you think? It’s amazing how many details Ciel retained, for such a young boy, I think. I know it must be upsetting that not everything is the way you remember it Vincent, but I think it's amazing that the manor is so well reconstructed in the first place.” 

“Yeah, you do have a point there,” Vincent sighs deeply, “still, I wish my parent’s things were here. I had so many irreplaceable photographs and paintings, Tanaka.”

“I know my friend, I know,” Tanaka comforts, “but the memories are what’s truly irreplaceable. Having physical memories are always wonderful, but we do not truly need them.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Vincent nods, finding his way slowly to his feet. He’s feeling a bit better now; things are in a bit more perspective, and his mind is clearer, “so you said Ciel rebuilt this place from memory. You didn’t help him then? You didn’t tell him about these rooms?”

“I’d have been glad to,” Tanaka says, getting to his own feet beside Vincent, “but I wasn’t there when the manor was rebuilt.”

“What?” Vincent frowns, “why?” 

“Well that’s a bit of a long story Vince,” Tanaka tells, as he walks Vincent out of the room.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Vincent says, “tell me it.”

“Well, alright,” Tanaka says, looking a little glad to be asked about it, to be honest, “here I go then.”

“On that day, I was in the sub-level, getting ready for the party with the other servants, when we heard a faint crash and just assumed something had fallen over. Then we smelt smoke and felt heat through the walls. We knew instantly that there was a fire on the first floor,” Tanaka begins. “So myself and the servants ran upstairs with buckets of water in hand, expecting a small house fire, only to find a raging torrent of fire! It was like….Hell,” Tanaka swallows, “the fire was already so big, and spreading so fast…it was… like a nightmare,” Tanaka gives a little tremble, “the servants and I tried to fight the fire, throwing the water and fire blankets, but nothing helped. I also sent a group of servants to search for you, Rachel and Ciel, but the fire was already so bad that the staff and I couldn’t move around much without running into a wall of flames. All us servants went in separate directions, searching, and that’s when I managed to fight my way into the foyer, where I saw poor Ciel come charging down the stairs, screaming for you and Rachel. The fire was creeping towards the front door, and I saw that it wouldn’t be long before his only exit was blocked  off, so I yelled at him over the roar of the flames to get out. He yelled, asking what about me, I told him I’d be fine, just go, before -” he swallows hard again, “the fire swelled in front of me, blocking my view, and I heard Ciel scream like he was being burnt, and I yelled for him, tried to fight my way through the flames to him, but got nowhere. I was panic stricken, because, from what I saw, it looked as if young Ciel, who I -” he struggles, “who I thought of like my own grandson, had been swallowed up by the flames. Desperate, I tried to go back on myself to get into the foyer another way, to hopefully save Ciel. I had some small hope that he was still alive - but another trail of fire had started up behind me. I seemed surrounded. All the doors I could go through were red hot to the touch when I tried to open them, but I managed to kick one open and go through the living room to get back into the foyer. Battling my way through the burning living room took me a good ten minutes though. The fire was almost unbearable by now. When I burst into the foyer, only the tiniest patch of it was left standing, between the dining room and the front door, everywhere else was consumed by fire,” he wipes sweat off his brow. “I saw into the dining room, where you and Rachel -” he catches himself, and corrects, “I mean, the false bodies dressed as you and Rachel, burning in there. I was still screaming for Ciel, but the ceiling was creaking, and I either had to get out, or be crushed, so I leapt out the door just before the foyer collapsed. Outside, I was still screaming for Ciel, but I couldn’t find him. By now, the rest of the servants faced little choice but to evacuate as well. Thankfully, all the servants survived with only some minor injuries, so I sent them all off in different directions, searching for Ciel. I knew you were dead -” he catches himself again, “I highly believed you were dead, but I still had hope that Ciel had managed to escape, but I was terrified that he hadn’t. I searched the entire grounds, and tried to get back into the manor several times, but by now, the fire had almost collapsed the entire first and sub floor. I kept searching until the entire manor collapsed. That’s when a fire wagon finally arrived, but it was too late by then. All our neighbouring farmers, the fire fighters, and the staff and I all searched but…there was no trace of Ciel, that, combined with what I saw and heard in the foyer…we came to the sad conclusion that Ciel was dead.” He dabs at his eyes with his handkerchief, which have begun to leak slightly. 

“A few days later, we had empty coffins for all three of you buried in the family graveyard. The manor was nothing but ash, as I said, even the underground wine cellar had collapsed into dust. My nephew took me into his home in London. I was naturally in a state of deep deversation, and, despite the hours-long carriage ride, I came to tend to your graves daily. Seeing the black pool of ash that was once our home broke my heart every time. I visited you daily until late January. I couldn't help but think of young Ciel, who did not get to celebrate his 10th Christmas. It made me weep. In fact, I went into such a fit at the end of January that I took ill, and was put on bed rest. You must remember I was 74 years old at the time! Most don't get to live to that age, and my nephew was worried this was the end of the line for me. I was up and down with my health for the next three months, and I was never in good enough health to travel, so I did not return to the manor at all, as sad as that made me. I was just getting back on my feet in early May when I received a knock at the door and there was Sebastian, bringing me the news that Ciel was alive and inviting me back to the manor. This cured me of my ills instantly! I was so overjoyed to hear a tiny slice of the family I loved so much was alive. Sebastian took me back to the manor with him that same day. I was stunned to see it rebuilt, and rebuilt so well too! That was so amazing, considering it had only been four months since I last saw it in its ash state. Ciel told me that he had returned home on February 1st, and I was there during the last week of January, so I guess we just missed each other. He told me he’d hired only the best to rebuild the manor, and had been living in the summer house whilst it was being rebuilt. So, I moved back into the manor, and here we are today. That's the whole story Vincent.”

Vincent nods slowly, several times, “I’m sorry that happened to you old man. I’m glad you got Ciel back.”

“And now I have you and Rachel back too. I am complete now,” Tanaka smiles, offering an open arm. Vincent gives him a quick side-hug. 

“Back at you gramps,” Vincent can’t help but smile, touched by the warmth of the old man’s love. 

“Come on then my friend, let’s get you downstairs,” Tanaka encourages, “I must disturb this sweet moment by informing you that the young master is insistent that you clean up the mess you made in the office - which is what I originally came up here to tell you.”

Vincent, feeling like a child scolded, the wind taken out of his sails, “Oh, brilliant,” he sulks. 

As the two head downstairs, side by side, Vincent's mind is itching with one tiny detail.

“Tanaka,” he voices, “you said you couldn't find Ciel, the night of the fire in December, and you didn't see him again till May?”

“That's right.”

“And Ciel told you he came home on February 1st?” 

“Yes.”

“Then….where was he? Why couldn't you find him after the fire? Where was he between December 10th and February 1st?” 

“That, I cannot tell you old friend. Nor can I tell you why, if he'd been home since February 1st, why he only invited me home in May. He said he'd been staying at the summer house, yet nobody knew he was alive until May. He only announced himself to both the family and the world after inviting me home, why? I have asked all this, but Ciel has told me that such things were his business, and his business alone. He then ordered me to not ask about this again, so I never have.”

Vincent swallows this information down. “Do….do you know when Sebastian got here?”

“When Ciel told me he'd been home since February 1st, he also said ‘and Sebastian has been with me the whole time, quote,’” Tanaka says, “I did also ask how the two met, but I received no answer on this either, but it seems like Sebastian has been here since February 1st of 1886. That's all I know.”

‘It'll be my four year anniversary in February’ , Sebastian had said, Vincent now remembers, which matches with what Ciel told Tanaka. If that's true then -

Where was Ciel between December 10th and February 1st? 

All of Vincent’s blood lust for the demon is still missing in action when he and Tanaka reach the office. “Now then,” Tanaka smiles, as he opens the door, revealing the mess of the office, “the master’s instructions were simple; clean this room until it’s tidier than when you arrived. He expects all the books that you knocked off to be in the correct order, and..”

As Tanaka goes on, Vincent hears nothing but droning. His mind is still on that mystery time gap. What happened to his son, where was he? How did he manage to summon a demon without knowing they exist? 

“...and the master himself is going to check your progress in half an hour, so get to it!” Tanaka says. 

Vincent jolts, waking up. “Did you say Ciel will be coming to check in?”

“Yes, so I suggest you make yourself busy,” Tanaka consults his small pocket watch, “you'd have more time if we hadn’t spent such a long time chatting, but that can't be helped now.”

“ Alone ?” Vincent asks hopefully. 

“What?” Tanaka frowns, confused. 

“Ciel! Will he come and check on my progress alone !” Vincent cries in annoyance, as if this is perfectly obvious.

Tanaka attempts not to look judgemental. He's not doing a very good job at it. “I'm sure I have no idea Vincent. I can ask him if he's willing to speak to you alone?”

“Oh Thank you Tanaka! You're the best!” Vincent shines. 

“Don't get your hopes up though. The master is still very upset with you. I wish you luck though. Get to cleaning in the meantime!” Tanaka says, before shutting the office door and leaving Tanaka to it.

Vincent cleans and hopes, then cleans and hopes some more, until the door clicks, making his heart jump.

And there's Ciel, eyebrow cocked. Alone.

“So I hear our demon slayer slash office wrecker wants to speak to me?” Ciel asks, looking the perfect balance of annoyed and intrigued.

Vincent's eyes shoot to the empty space behind Ciel. Cautiously, he inches forward until he's beside his son and peers around the doorway, into the empty hallway behind him. Vincent checks both directions as if he's crossing a busy carriage way. The hallway is stubbornly, thankfully, empty. 

“Where is it?” Vincent asks, suspiciously. 

“ He ,” Ciel insists, “is attending to his other duties, just as I instructed him to. But if you wish to see him?”

“You know damn well I don't,” Vincent snarls, before quickly calming himself down and painting on a smile, “I'm sorry I destroyed your office.”

“And….for trying…to kill…?” Ciel prompts, heavily hinting, eyebrow cocked. 

Vincent grits his teeth, but, he knows, if he wants answers, he'll have to swallow his pride. So, he waves Ciel properly into the office, closes the door behind them, and smiles professionally, “I was trying to protect you, but I'm sorry that I jumped to conclusions, but I'm not sorry that I'd do anything to protect you. You're my son, and I love you. If I believed you were in danger from a bee, I'd have swatted that too. I won't apologise for that aspect.”

“I suppose I can understand that aspect. Still, you're right, you shouldn't have jumped to conclusions,” Ciel takes a seat on the desk. He's so little he has to hoist himself slowly up. It's rather adorable to witness, actually. It's like watching a fat pampered housecat in action. “But I'm willing to put that aside for now, as I'm intrigued. What did you want to speak to me alone about?” 

“Well,” Vincent can't quite look his son in the eye, so he gathers more of the tossed books and slots them back into the bookshelf. “I was speaking to Tanaka, he was telling me about the manor. I noticed that some things were different,” Vincent warms up. He can't dive straight in with ‘what happened to you after the fire’ after all. He knows it's likely a sensitive subject.

“Different? Different how?” Ciel asks.

“Well, take the desk for example,” Vincent says, giving the desk a knock, “it's taller than it should be, and all the art on the walls is higher.”

“Is it?” Ciel's eye widens slightly, and then he laughs, “oh that's rather funny actually!” 

“Is it, isn't it?” Vincent chuckles along, enjoying this moment with his son whilst it lasts. He allows the moment to naturally end, and then pipes up, “there is a downside though. The attic rooms are completely gone.”

“Attic rooms?” Ciel's nose crinkles cutely in confusion. “There's nothing but storage in the attic.”

“Actually, your grandparents' bedroom was up there. They liked the view from the very top floor.”

“ Really ?” Ciel looks genuinely fascinated. 

“Yep!” Vincent keeps his tone and expression light hearted. “I had photographs and painted portraits of your grandparents, along with many of their things, in a special storage room too! It's gone now too, but it doesn't matter.”

Ciel's smile vanishes, “your parents' things are gone?” He looks heartbroken on Vincent’s behalf. 

“Yes, but it's no big deal,” Vincent smiles falsely. “But all this is a side note to what I actually wanted to speak to you about, but I know this is probably going to be a painful subject for you so I-” Vincent notices that his son is staring sadly off, not listening. “Ciel?”

Ciel's attention wakes back up. He locks eyes with Vincent, “I know what it's like to lose all my parents' things, Vincent. It is a big deal.” 

This is like having an icy bucket of water thrown on Vincent. Reality chills him to the bone.

“I….I suppose you do ,” Vincent whispers. “Your mother and I kept the hope that you were alive and well these past four years. I keep forgetting you believed we were dead.”

“You have graves in the family graveyard in the back garden, did you know that?” Ciel is staring at his feet as he absentmindedly swings them. 

“I know. I know we do,” Vincent sinks with misery, “I'm sorry that you had to grieve us, and for so long.”

“It wasn't your doing,” Ciel says quietly, still staring at his swinging feet, “and yet I still feel as if you abandoned me. I know that's irrational.”

“No, no my boy,” Vincent shakes his head and can't help but draw closer to Ciel, “I remember when my parents passed. My father first, and then my mother two years later. I was already in my 20s when they died, and I still felt abandoned, and angry at them for leaving me. I can't imagine what it was like for you.”

“I'm angry at you for coming back too,” Ciel glares at him now, “I was just starting to feel better. I was just getting over my grief, and then you come and disrupt all that. Just when I had finally accepted you were gone, you're back! It's confounding, and the change is making me dizzy.”

Vincent tries to imagine what it would be like if, four years after he'd buried his parents, they came waltzing back through the door. He can't imagine how he'd cope. He can't imagine being able to cope. 

“You've handled it so well my boy,” Vincent says softly. 

“Not me,” Ciel shakes his head. “I fell completely apart, and I'd have stayed that way, if it wasn't for Sebastian.” He's looking at Vincent in a new way now, “what's why I was so insulted when you tried to hurt him. Yes he's a demon, and I understand that in your mind that means danger, due to your experience. I understand all that perfectly. However. You didn't even give me the chance to tell you who Sebastian is, rather then what he is. Sebastian is the man who gave me back my strength. When I lost you, when I lost my home, and when I lost myself, he was the one who picked me back up. And when your sudden return was making me unravel, and,  trust me, it truly was, he was the one who held me together. I wouldn't have survived losing you, and I wouldn't have survived your return without his support. That is the person you tried to kill, Vincent. He's been the only difference between sanity and insanity for me. Do you understand now? He took a broken shell of a child who could do nothing but curl up in a ball and cry and turned me into an Earl capable of running both this household and your business at the tender age of 10 years old. I didn't know how to run a business, Sebastian taught me. I couldn't speak French or play the violin or negotiate when you and Rachel ‘died.’ I couldn't ride a horse or fire a gun. I finished my schooling, did you know that? I completed my exams.”

Vincent swallows. “Your…end of school exams? But you're not due to do those until you're 18.”

“I know. But a requirement of being named Earl by the Queen is to have completed your schooling. Not just for me, that is just the requirement, as I'm sure you are aware. Well. I wanted to have my title, so Sebastian tutored me, and I finished my exams and got my title back, all before my 11th birthday. Before he tutored me, he brought in a river of the best tutors money could buy, but the material wouldn't stick, I couldn't pass the practice exams. For half a year I tried and failed, until Sebastian grew exasperated and took over the job himself. With him teaching me, I went from completing bombing the practice exams to a perfect score within a month.”

“You - what?!” Vincent gags.

“Hm-huh,” Ciel nods, proudly. “I don't know what it is, but something about Sebastian just makes it so easy to learn. So it was thanks to him that I passed my exams seven years early.”

“You passed - Ciel, that's… incredible ,” Vincent is breathless with wonder. “Can you really speak French?”

Ciel then recites a famous French poem, in French fluent enough to pass for being a local, and Vincent's jaw drops. 

“Sebastian sounds perfect,” Vincent can't decide how he feels when he says this. “Utterly flawless.”

“Well, hardly,” Ciel argues, “it's not as if he never does anything that annoys me. He deliberately goes against my wishes at times.”

This peaks Vincent’s interest. Could his regional supposes about Sebastian being bad for Ciel been right after all? “Like what?” he asks, rather eagerly. 

“Like the idiot servants, for example,” Cilo's forehead creases in annoyance. “I didn't want to hire those game regrets! But Sebastian insisted,” he's getting more annoyed with every word he says, “none of them are real servants you know. They're all assassin's, hidden in plain sight. Baldroy's some ‘lucky’ soldier, or something. Apparently he's been the last one standing on about ten battlefields, or some such,” he waves this off like he doesn't care at all about the details. “Mey-Rin was a gutter rat orphan who was forced to use her natural sniping ability to survive, or some other sob story,” Ciel rolls his eye, “and stupid Finnian was an orphan given to a secret government testing facility to be experimented on, boo-hoo. So now he has super strength and super resilience. Big deal,” Ciel huffs in annoyance. “So Sebastian brings me these regrets, one by one, like a pet cat bringing its master dead birds, or something. Disgusting, really. I didn't ask Sebastian to go out and find us other staff, by the way. I was perfectly content with it just being the two of us in the manor forever. So, one by one, Sebastian convinced me that we needed a fake maid, a fake chef, a fake gardener, all for appearance sake, or other such nonsense. I can't even remember, it was that irrelevant.” He huffs and folds his arms angrily, “Sebastian insisted that we could use them as guards, I said, what do we need guards for when I have a demon? Sebastian argued that they can protect the manor when we're out or help guard it when he's busy attending to me. I argued that neither of those things were necessary, seeing as, again, he was a demon. He didn't need help. But Sebastian kept on about having the appearance of a functional household, blah blah blah, and then tried the sympathy card.” Ciel begins mocking; “they don't have anywhere to go,’ Sebastian said. As if that matters!” Ciel scoffs. “It took Sebastian days per servant to convince me that they should all stay here, and then, on top of that nonsense, he insists on teaching the stupid things his to do utterly useless things fir assassin's like read and write ,” Ciel spits. “I was so beyond furious! As if Sebastian couldn't spend his time better catering to me. And now he gives the pathetic things weekly lessons in their abc’s and 123s as if they're five years old.” Ciel huffs a long groan, “I've tried to fire them all several times, but Sebastian always argues me down. He sees value in them. Who knows what value, but he sees it.”

Vincent stands there, silently processing. 

“Not to mention how pathetic he was just two weeks ago,” Ciel goes on, looking severely pissed now, “we were issues to rescue some gutter rat children and when we found them, Sebastian didn’t want to kill their kidnappers in front of them because it would,” he mocks Sebastian’s posh accent again, “‘traumatise the children’,” he mocks, putting air quotes around it. “I told him, nobody cared when I was being traumatised, so I damn sure don’t care if they will be and my servant of a demon tried to argue with me, saying it would take him less then five seconds to take the rats outside. I told him, I want those criminals dead now, not in five seconds or less. In the end, I had to contract-order him to do it, and I don’t like doing that unless it's an emergency. It increases the amount I owe him, you know. Anyway. You should have seen him! He pouted all the way home, and he delayed us leaving by insisting on waiting with the urchins until the police came! He said he was worried about their ‘safety’, or some other nonsense. That damn bleeding heart of his causes me no end of bloody headaches, let me tell you.” He huffs and angrily re-arranges his seating position. “And I’ll bet you that, because it’s snowing, he’s hiding at least twenty frost-bitten stray cats in his bedroom. The man’s obsessed! I’ll bet he’s nursing some sick kitten back to health as we speak, the wretched thing! In fact ,” with angry gusto, he swings himself off the desk, practically launching himself. He lands with an angry stomp on the floor and marches off, ordering Vincent to follow. Silently stunned - and stunned into silence - Vincent follows. Ciel marches down the hall, into the foyer. There, just under the grand staircase, is a room labelled ‘Head of Staff.’ Ciel throws open the door without warning, and there, inside a plain, personality-less bedroom, is Sebastian, who looks startled to see them. Surrounding him, wrapped up in blankets and snuggled into plush cushions, are dozens of cats in every shape, size, colour, breed and age. From the tiniest newborn kitten, their eyes barely open as they suckle milk from their mother, to the most ancient looking cat Vicent has ever seen! Wrinkled and drooping all over, covered in grey hair, squinting angrily like a grumpy old man wanting those darn kids to get off his lawn. Cats with only one ear. Cats with scars. Fluffy cats. Naked cats. Cats galore! Sebastian, with his legs crossed like a child, has a one-eyed black kitten with one giant blue eye in his lap. He’s feeding it medicine through a syringe. 

The demon looks up at Ciel - and grins sheepishly.

“Um,” he says, “this isn’t what it looks like?”

Ciel sighs, “the same thing, every damn snow day, really Sebastian?”

“Oh come on now my lord! They’d die out there. It’s just until I can find them forever homes,” he holds up the tiny black kitten, the one with only one huge blue eye left, “look, this one even looks like you!”

The kitten meows angrily and looks annoyed. It really does look like Ciel!

Ciel rolls his eyes, “you’re fired,” he states, flatly. 

“Yes sir,” Sebastian bids, before Ciel closes the door on him.

“You see what I mean ?” Ciel beseeches his father to agree with him, “he’s the world's biggest annoyance.”

Vincent stands there, too stunned to speak for a moment.

Finally, he swallows deeply, and, when he does speak, his voice is but a croak, “so…you’re telling me, the demon is the one who insists on rescuing sick kittens, protecting children from trauma and taking in staff he doesn’t need, just to give them homes and an education, and my son is the one who fights against all this?”

“Yes,” Ciel is looking at Vincent like he’s crazy, “what’s unusual about that?” 

He’s serious, Vincent realises. He meets his son’s one uncovered eye, and sees nothing but coldness. Dead, empty, harsh coldness. 

He really doesn’t care that those cats would die out there in the snow. He really doesn’t care that those children were traumatised from the sight of a demon slaying people in front of them. He doesn’t care enough to wait with said children until the police come. He didn’t want to give those three misfits servants a home, even though it sounds like it was either here, or being horribly abused elsewhere. He really doesn’t want Sebastian ‘wasting his time’ giving those servants an education. He mocks Sebastian for nursing sick kittens. And he’s serious. He says he was happy for it to be just him and Sebastian here and the manor - meaning he’d rather that the demon devote all his time to his master, and his master alone. Doing anything for anyone - or any thing - else is considered a disobedient annoyance to Ciel.

Maybe - Vincent doesn’t even dare to think - that maybe…

Maybe his son is more cold hearted, more psychopathic, then the actual demon living in his manor? 

Just then, the ‘Head of Staff’ door opens and Sebastian steps out. Despite the number of cats he has in his bedroom, there’s not a single cat hair on him. He must have cleaned himself up so he doesn’t trigger Ciel’s cat allergy.

“Hello you two,” Sebastian greets. “Vincent, I hear from our dear old friend Tanaka that your parents' things are missing. I can recreate them for you, if you wish.” 

Vincent gags like a surprised goldfish, “you - can?”

“If my master permits it,” Sebastian smiles kindly, “I know how happy it made Ciel when I recreated his parents' things.” 

Wait a minute.

“Sebastian,” Ciel scowls, “since when did I grant you permission to use your abilities for my parents' benefit?” 

Vincent hears this, barely, but his mind is elsewhere. He’s staring at Sebastian. “You recr-” Vincent feels like his brain is lagging. He looks down at his clothes. His clothes. That he got dressed in this morning. He had so much else on his mind that he didn’t even notice that what he’s wearing is an exact copy of his favourite leisurely Sunday outfit. Loose and gentle on his bandages, but his clothes all the same; looking exactly the same way they did four long years ago. As if not a single day has passed.

But if the entire house burned then -

“You recreated our clothes, our jewellery, our photographs, our portraits?” Vincent gulps. 

“Of course,” Sebastian says, “I recreated the whole manor. Every brick.”

“I - when Tanaka said that Ciel had the manor rebuilt, I assumed it had been human contractors.”

“No,” Sebastian smiles, “just me.”

The Salt Room.

Some tiney, tiny part of Vincent registers Sebastian’s kindness in - unprompted - offering the use of his abilities to recreate his parents things - that is such a wonderful, selfless thing to offer, especially when Ciel clearly doesn’t approve of it.

But.

Rage fills Vincent’s body so powerfully he begins vibrating with it. “You - damn - wicked - horrible - MONSTER!!!” He rages, “you didn’t recreate the secret rooms on purpose, JUST to ensure I couldn’t separate you from Ciel.”

Vincent has never seen two people look so baffled.

“Secret rooms?” Ciel and Sebastian frown in bemusement in complete unison. 

“YES! Don’t pretend you don’t know ,” Vincent snarls. “There were secret rooms and passageways. One of which had all the information I’d need to get rid of you, so you didn’t rebuild it on purpose !” 

Sebastian, for the first time, looks genuinely tired. “So, your new theory,” he begins, slowly, “is that I’m omniscient - which I’d have to be, in order to recreate secret rooms I didn’t know about, and how could I know without being omniscient, because I could only recreate what Ciel remembered, so, using my omniscience, I knew about your precious secret rooms, and, four years ahead of your return, I purposely didn’t recreate them just to prevent you from, four years later, getting to the information you’d need to get rid of me? Which would mean that, four years ago, I knew that you and Rachel were not only alive, but that you’d return, and I decided not to tell Ciel this?! I just allowed him to live under the belief you two were dead and buried for all those years, why? Just to be the evil son of a bitch demon I am?” 

“YES!” Vincent cries.

Sebastian heaves the deepest, heaviest sigh Vincent has ever heard. “Well, in all this time working for your son, I’ve never said this before, but -” he swings off his tailcoat, rolls up the sleeves on his shirt and loosens his previously perfect tie, “I’m going on a break. A long one.” Leaving his tailcoat simply thrown on the floor, Sebastian walks away, shaking his head and muttering to himself in dismay, “thinks I would do that..just because…utter bastard…even offered to recreate his things…and he calls me the God damn monster…” 

And Ciel?

He peers up at his father, with the ugliest, most horrific scowl ever worn on such a young teen. 

“And to think,” he says slowly, “I thought you and I were finally getting somewhere Vincent. I thought we were actually connecting again, that I could actually give you a chance again. But no. The only monster in this house, Vincent? Is you .” 

And with that, Ciel spins on his heel and struts coldly away.

All whilst Vincent grinds his teeth.

He’s going to kill that monster if it’s the last thing he does. 

Chapter Text

*** Sebastian ***

I didn't sign up for this bullshit.

1. Did not. Sign up for this bullshit.

For the first time in many centuries, I feel exhausted. I collapse into the quietest corner of the manor I can find, sighing as I close my eyes. As I rub at my pounding head - it's truly an anti-miracle that Vincent has managed to give a supernatural being a headache, as that is supposed to be impossible - I wonder what I’m supposed to do with all this wound up stress. In my younger days, when I was a wilder demon, I’d deal with stress by going out and tearing apart random sinners. There was nothing better than ripping a sinner limb from limb and hearing them scream in agony. Ah. The good old days. When killing a few random sinners wasn't enough for me back in those days, I'd also enjoy destroying things. Burning down the odd village, taking out a whole sinner ring of criminals, or, if I was really stressed, I’d go off and destroy a planet or two. A common misconception humans have about us demons is that we seek out innocent people and turn them towards darkness. Lead sheep away from the folk, and all that. However, we demons actually only ever go after people who are already sinners, and severe sinners at that. All humans sin, to some extent. Humans who attract demons are the worst humanity has to offer; cold-blooded murderers, rapists, those who hurt children, people like that. Evil in human form. Humans who do far worse crimes against other humans than a demon could or would ever do. So when I say I’d go out and destroy villages or a planet, I mean either one that;

1. Exclusively filled with sinners (rare, but one might be surprised how often that has happened throughout history)
2. Or is empty entirely

So we demons don't hurt the innocent, which includes animals, because animals can't sin. So we demons don’t go tearing into animals like some mangey ‘vegetation’ (as in non-human-eating) werewolf either. Babies, children, the average sinner (98% of humanity), and animals are all safe from being hurt by a demon, because we demons have principles .

 Not that Vincent would ever believe that.

Speaking of children. I say we demons don't hurt children - and we don't - and it's also extremely rare for a demon to have a child master, because we demons tend to work for severe sinners - which are almost exclusively adults - only. 

Not that there hasn't been severely sinning children in the past. Children who kill, children who harm. I once knew a demon who worked for an 8 year old master who had already (pre-demon-summoning) tortured their four year old sibling to death and mutilated their body afterwards. Yep. It's rare, but it happens.

Child master's like mine almost never happen. Children who are innocent.

Ciel was innocent when I met him. He was a normal, innocent, clean-souled ten year old child.

Expect one difference;

He had a blood lust and a thirst for revenge so powerful, a desire for the gruesome deaths of all those who hurt him so core-deep, that I had never seen anything like it. So although Ciel didn't have a single sin to his name when I met him, he was so ready, so hungry, so wanting to sin, that it intrigued me. I knew that the only  thing standing between this child and severely sinning bad enough to make even the most seasoned sinner blush was the power to do so. 

And I could be that power. 

So, I broke about a thousand demonic norms by biding myself to an ‘innocent’ (for now) child master that day. I raised many an eyebrow down in Hell.

And then Ciel went on his first killing spree (with me as his weapon, of course) that claimed dozens of sinner souls to feed to Satan, and all of Hell applauded me for my great foresight. Clearly, I had known a serious sinner-to-be when I saw one. Many demons even came to me for advice on how to spot sinners-to-be like that for themselves.

Anyway. When it comes to forms of stress-relief, destroying things and random killing isn’t really my style anymore. It’s both too dull and too animalistic for me these days. It feels too different these days. I’m different these days. 

Like, today, I wouldn't make a contract with an innocent child; even an innocent child who's chomping at the bit to sin the way Ciel was. These days, I don't think that's right. Even if the child was already a serious sinner, like that 8 year old my demon colleague worked for once, I don't think I'd contract with them. Children like that, who did evil things, are almost always deeply abused or neglected or both. Or plain mentally ill. Or all three! They need help, not a demon.

Does that mean I would take back my contract with Ciel back if I could? Yes, but for his benefit. If I was the demon I am today four years ago, I would have taken Ciel to help , human help, and left him be.  

But four-years-ago me was too intrigued, too full of desire to fulfil the darkest wishes I could see inside Ciel's mind. I wanted to commit his revenge for/with him because ripping apart so many evil people sounded fun . I was more interested in having that fun then I was in a random child's well being back in those days. 

Ah, how parenthood changes us. 

Not that I signed up to become a parent either. I signed up to have some fun shredding sinners with who I thought was going to be an easy, quick master. Four years ago, I distinctly remember thinking ‘how much trouble can a child master be?’ 

What a laugh! 

Not that any of that matters anymore. I’m a father now, and I have no desire for random destruction or bloodlust left in me, so I have no idea what to do with all these pent up emotions. I have no other coping mechanisms; I’ve never needed any. I suppose humans express their emotions in all kinds of ways. They express themselves through drink or drugs or smoking. I could do all of the above until the end of time, but none of it would have any effect on me. Not that I want to do any of these things these days anyway, I wouldn’t want to be a bad example for Ciel. 

Sweet Satan. Parenthood really has changed me. Now I’m worrying about what kind of example I set? What has happened to me? I really am a father now! Good grief. 

Groaning as I run my hands across my face, I wonder what else I can do to release all this. Well - I’m teaching Ciel that the healthiest thing to do is communicate, to talk out the problem. But who could I possibly talk to about all this? Who would or could possibly understand what it's like to deal with the Phantom-

“ For generations, the Phantomhive's have been successful, powerful, unstoppable. My father, his father, and his father before him, and they all had a secret to their success; a demon ,” Vincent had said. 

I suddenly burst into a grin. 

Time for a little payback .

Oh my dear Vincent. 

I can be any kind of demon you want me to be.

**** Vincent ****

I'm going demon hunting. 

One problem; I'm not exactly sure where to start. With the Salt Circle gone, where am I supposed to find information on how to kill the damn thing? I may have been around my father’s demon all my life, but the thing was hardly forthcoming with such information after all, and I haven’t a clue where or who else might have it. A church maybe? But I feel I’d be hard pressed to find even a priest who’d believe I have an actual, real life demon in my manor.

Still, I have to start somewhere , so a church it is. Hopefully, I can find someone who’ll believe me. 

So, wrapping up warm to brace against the still-falling snow, I head out the front door. I’m only a few steps away from the manor when an icy wind so strong and so cold it physically moves me. I fight against it as it knocks me sideways whilst I struggle forward. The sky is darkening above me, and I fear this gentle romantic snowfall with its elegant snowflakes will soon turn into a snow storm. Baring my teeth against the cold, I wonder if I can make it to London in time to beat the storm. I can’t possibly expect a horse to make it in a snowstorm, so hopefully it holds off for at least an hour or so. 

I’m getting blown towards the side of the house, near the sub-level, almost-below-ground windows when I hear it. A noise that even carries up and over the wind; demonic, cackling, diabolical laughter. The laughter of a demon - no, of at least four demons. Through the falling snow, I spot the window that the sound is coming from and can’t help but to be drawn closer. It’s as if both the wind itself and something internal pushes me to investigate. Through the window, following the awful sound of demons laughing, comes a bellow of blood-red smoke and the smell of sulphur. Even against the bitter cold of the approaching snowstorm, a sticky, suffocating heat bleeds through the wall, choking my throat and stinging my eyes. With the laughter comes what I recognise as the demonic mother tongue. That horrible language that sounds like a mix of the tortured screaming of all the damned souls in Hell and animalistic noises. It’s a sound so bone-cracking that my inner ear vibrates violently under it. 

̷̧̠͖͖̭̰͉̈̚͜s̵͇̻͍̘̣̲̭̪̤̔̀ͅù̵̡͎͈͉̯̻͎̖̣̝̬̦̑̐̄̚̕͝͝͝ͅń̶̛̔͌̓͑̽̉͗̔̚t̶̴̃̆̎͋̊̿̔͝e̸͛̃̑̌̇̈́̉́a̴̘̻͎͒́̎͂͐̆̑̈́͑́́͜ͅd̵̨͖͕̦̜̝̜̝̮̼͕̃̾͛̕͝e̸͌͊̍̌̉͗̽̽͝m̶̵̛̮͓̪̟͓̙̺͇̯͈̲̙̦͍͂̓͛̀̓̑̇͒͗͆͂̅̾̋̈́̈͂̍̏͆͌͗̾̑̒́̐́̄́̀͘̕͜͠͝͝͝

Something says, and multiple demonic laughter ring out. I've never heard a group of demons talking before, but I’m damn certain that this is what it sounds like! First there’s one demon in my house, now, what? Sebastian has his little demon friends over?! There is no way on Earth that I’m putting up with this! I need to do something! I need to say something! This injustice will not stand! 

Fighting back through the snow, I struggle my way back indoors, where I shake off the snow, throwing off my frost-bitten boots and coat. I’m far too vexed to be cold though as I run through the manor, down the servants stairs and into the servants sub-level. Following the sound of demonic laughter and the feeling of Hell on Earth in the air, I soon burst into one of the many backrooms of the servants area. I don’t knock or pause, I just explode through the door, hoping to take the monsters by surprise. 

But it is me who is far more than surprised - I am horrified. 

Sitting around a poker game are four demons, the air above their heads filled with red smoke that drips with volcanic ash. The four demons smoke cigarettes, chug bottles of Polish vodka (Spirytus Rektyfikowany, 192 proof), and pour over their poker game. The demons all look monstrous, their forms nowhere near humanlike. Each of them is like a different species of monster, each with unique evil features. They all have the stereotypical horns and forked devils tails, but other than that, they couldn't look more different. One of them has a full shark's head, another has scales like a dragon, the third is as woolly as a sheep, and the fourth seems to have goat fur. No matter the demon's appearance though, shadows swirl all around each of the demon's spiky feet. They all have a different number of eyes per demon. One of them has a normal set of eyes (as in two eyes upon their head), but another has eight, like a spider. 

When I explode into the room, all those sets of those eyes, all burning blood red and filled with hunger for my soul, stare at me - and then they all burst into a fit of hysterical laughter. 

“Why hellooooo there Vincent,” one of them speaks in English in what I recognise as Sebastian’s voice. My head whips to the beast who’s sitting on the far left of the poker table. He’s got a head that’s almost dragon-like with a long scaled snoot. He’s got two red eyes and two other red spots that may or may not be eyes? It’s hard for me to tell honestly. He’s got a tuft of Sebastian’s velvet black hair and two horns on either side of its head. It has an animalistic nose and huge fangs. It has giant black wings. One bat-like and leather looking, whilst the other is fluffy, feathered and angel-like. He’s got a human-ish (comparatively) torso with strong muscles and shoulders. His left arm is a pure shadow that seems to phase in and out of existence. He has long black talons for fingers. His right arm is more solid looking and would be normal, if it were not for the detached squid arm that’s wrapped around it. From where its belly button would be to where its knees would be is goat-like, fluffy and furry. The spot where the hips would be seem to phase in and out of this mortal plane as well. Below the ‘knees’ are long leather-lookalike hooker boots. It’s a petrifying beast, and when it spoke, a snake’s forked tongue was revealed, lobbed awfully in its grotesque mouth. “So wonderful to see you! We were just talking about you!” He gives his fellow demons a look and they all laugh again. 

(Image credit to: https://brontidebones.tumblr.com/post/174485915890/sebastians-true-form-it-was-for-a )

I swallow, “ Sebastian ?!” I question, unable to believe that this monster is the same refined butler I met earlier.

“ψ̵̐͑̈́̈̽̇̈́͂͋̔ψ̶̧͚̥̤͓̙͂̽̊̈̽͑ψ̶͑́̾̓͐́̽Ṱ̴̯̹̑͊̑̌̀̚͘̚̕͝͝c̴̛̈́̊̀̀̑̓͐̒̌̒̂͘͝͝ḧ̴̛̦̦̹̜̹̯̬́͊̋̀́̈̾̐̓͐͆́̊̌͘͝͝ǫ̶̡̛̳͈̠̱̥̬̔̐̔̋̎̄͂̀̈̐͛̒̈̀̌̅̈̓̕̕̕͠r̵̎̍̑̇̐͆͛͌̔͐͘t̶̆͒̍̓́̈́͐̏̆̐̌̏͑̾ ̸̛̾̊̽̌̽̆́̓̃͒̐̿̆͘͝ 

is my real name, actually,” it says, “or the closest English translation is ‘Tchort’,” it cocks it's head and smiles my own smile at me; the smile that Sebastian copied from me, “but my current so-called master has given me the slave name Sebastian, yes.”

“So called?” I wobble. 

“As if any human is truly a master of any demon,” Sebastian rolls his murderous eyes. 

“Why are you talking to the human?” one of the other demons asks, sounding disgusted. “Throw it out so we can talk! We can hardly chat freely in front of it. ” 

“Oh don't worry, he can hear every word, do you know why?” Sebastian smirks, “because nobody will ever ,” he throws his eyes smugly at me, “ believe him .” With that, he flicks his left hand and suddenly I’m thrown high against the wall, near the ceiling. I struggle with all my might, but an invisible force sticks me there tight. I try to scream, but I can’t make a peep either. Sebastian - or Tchort or whatever the fuck this monsters name is - looking back to his - its - demonic companions, “now then, I’m sure you recognise this pathetic specimen of a human being.”

“Indeed! Hello Vincent” the demon sitting opposite Sebastian waggles its talons at me. It looks at Sebastian, “you sure we can talk in front of that thing Tchort?” Sug indicates me. 

“He could recite everything we say here word for word and my current master will never believe him,” Sebastian assures with a shrug, “in fact, I drew him here on purpose, because watching him while he desperately tries to tell his son what's happened here is going to be delicious .” He snarls a smug grin at me.  “I want him to hear this.” 

“Ahhh,” nods the sitting-opposite-to-Sebastian nods as understanding dawns across its hideous face. “You should have said! You know we're always down for another form of sweet sweet torture.” It then looks at me, “shall we tell it our real names too? You told it yours.” 

“If you like,” Sebastian shrugs, “you can also just make up names for yourselves. He won't be attempting to summon any of you, after all.”

“Alright,” says the same demon. “When I was your fathers demon, he called me Scarlet. So you may call me that again.”

Scar - THAT'S SCARLET?! When she worked for my father, she was a beautiful redhead, ever at my fathers side. She was stunning, but now, she's - it's - a dragon-skinned monster . 

“I doubt you'll remember me,” says the demon who's as woolly as sheep speaks, “but I was your grandfather's demon. He called me Nicola, so you may as well.”

“And, best for last, I was your great grandfather's demon,” says the shark headed demon. “Dayton he called me. I say you got the worst deal ‘Sebastian’.” He gives a mocking grin.

“Yes yes, very funny,” Sebastian rolls his eyes. 

“Well then,” Dayton says, “let's continue then, shall we!” he raises his glass, “to the Phantomhive's, and their delicious souls!” It grins, and they all clink in cheers, laughing all the way.

So, stuck to the wall like a housefly in honey, I'm forced to stay there, trapped and silently screaming, as the demons go back to their poker game. 

“So Tchort, before you were so rudely interrupted,” my apparent grandfather's demon, Nicola, says, throwing me quick, sharp, accusatory eyes. “You were telling us the key to your feeding success.” 

“Ah yes,” Sebastian says, as he takes a slug of his drink, “so, get this, I managed to tap into genuine trust.” 

“Ppft!” Scoofs shark-head, Dayton, “yeah right!” 

“No really,” Sebastian leans smugly back in his chair. “I have my so-called master wrapped around my little finger. Get this, he actually cares about me!” He laughs heartily. 

“Hmf, sure!” scoffs Scarlet, “no human has never actually cared about a demon! We’re nothing but their walking power trip - until it's too late, of course,” she - maybe? - winks at the demon beside him - her - it?

“Well, my master doesn’t only care about me, but he actually believes I have human emotions!” Sebastian scoffs, downing another shot of whiskey. “And here's the best part; he actually believes that I care about him.” 

“There is literally no way you’ve tapped into that level of food sauce,” marvels Dayton, aka Jaws.

“And yet I have,” Sebastian brags, rocking back in his chair and smirking. He looks over to me, “you see Vincent, we demons don’t just eat souls - that’s a lie we tell humans - we also feed on the dependency our masters have on us. We feed on their reliance , on their trust. Those kinds of pure emotions don't exist in Hell. We've got plenty of angry, hatred, envy, all those emotions that fuel evil, but not joy, love, trust, care. These are all meals to a demon. Now, all master's trust their demon as a Knight would trust his sword. They trust us to protect them, they see us as weapons, but if you ask any Knight, they don't have genuine trust even in their favourite sword. Swords can break, after all. But, that limited trust is a great food source.”

“Trust is both delicious and nutritious!” Scarlet licks her lips. She throws eyes at Sebastian, “but true trust is impossible for a demon to tap into, since we don't feel it ourselves.”

“No demon had ever been good enough of an actor then,” Sebastian shrugs, like this is obvious. “I’ve been acting out empathy and human emotions so well that my ‘master’ now considers me to be a father figure! He not only genuinely trusts me, he loves me!” Sebastian beams. 

“You’re lying,” says woolly-as-a-sheep Nicola. “Genuine trust and genuine love? Those are the unicorns of eating! They don't exist.”

“Well,” Sebastian says, slowly and smug, “then I shall simply have to prove it.” With that, he waves a hand and I drop to the floor with a heavy ‘thunk’. I’m forced to my feet, and I still can’t speak. “Hey Vincent,” he grins with his massive fangs at me, “I don’t give a shit about your son, I’m using him, I’m feeding off his attachment to me like the delicious meal it is, and I can’t believe he’d be fool enough to believe I’d go without eating for four years. As if I only eat souls!” he laughs, “now go on, run along, and tell your son the truth about the big bad wolf in his midst!” With that, I’m forced out of the room, once again getting slammed by an invisible wall of psychic energy. I land like a bag of rocks on the floor as the door slams shut behind me, and the demons all roar with laughter.

I'm left there, thrown out like yesterday's rubbish, consumed with overwhelming emotions. My knees wobbling, I ease myself onto my feet, my whole body throbbing. I feel like I’m in between a rock and a hard place or, more accurately, caught between choosing two evils. I have two options here;

Option 1) I go running to my son and attempt to tell him everything I heard. Ciel will not believe me (I know this already) and Sebastian will get to watch me suffer under this, thus giving the monster exactly what he wants.

Option 2) Don’t do that, simply give up, and resume my mission to go out and find help to kill this beast. But this means I never warn Ciel with the truth.

But I have warned Ciel, my brain remains me. I've warned him and he hasn’t believed me. Yet, even knowing this, all my protective instincts still want to warn him. There’s this tiny speck of hope within me that he’ll believe me this time, and, even if he doesn’t, I want to warn him anyway. Even if it gets me laughed at. Even if it gives Sebastian exactly what he wants, even though I know it's falling right into Sebastian’s trap - 

I have to do it anyway. God fucking damn it, but I have to do it anyway. 

Dragging my feet miserably, I head upstairs from the servants' level of the manor and have just come into the foyer when Ciel, coincidentally, is coming out of one of the rooms that lead into the foyer, holding a book and looking calm. Ciel always did love reading, so he was probably curled up with that very book this whole time.

“Ciel,” I breathe.

Ciel pauses as he notices me coming in. His eye scans me, seeing that there’s frost still on my clothes from outside, and I'm looking rather haggard. “What happened to you, dare I ask?” Ciel asks, dully.

With complete apathy, I report, “are you aware Sebastian has our forefathers demons downstairs? They’re having a bitching session about us like old  gossiping women.”

“So?” Ciel cocks an eyebrow, with barely any interest registering on his face.

This sparks a rage in me. Doesn’t he care that our home is now packed with demons?! I open my mouth, my rage boiling, just about to froth over when -

This is what Sebastian’s wants, my brain reminds me. 

So, I take a calming breath, and return to apathy. What’s the point? I may as well get it over with. “He drew me to his little meeting so he could tell me how he really sees you, right in front of my face, knowing that I’d want to tell you but that you wouldn’t believe me. He planned it so he could watch me fail to convince you, even with using Sebastian's own words against him. He and the other demons laughed it up about how that’s a brand new form of torture.”

Ciel doesn’t look remotely emotionally moved, not even an inch. “Let me guess. He said to his little demon friends that everything you believed about him was true and that all he cares about is damning me to Hell or something?” 

“Sorta,” I sigh, “he said that demons are incapable of feelings like love, empathy and trust, so they feed off it, and by that I mean it's a literal food source to them. So Sebastian has been faking having genuine emotions for you in order to tap into those feelings. Most demons have to survive off the limited amount of false trust their masters put into them as if they were weapons, so Sebastian was bragging that he made you believe he feels human emotions so convincingly that you now care for him, which has never happened before in all of demon history, or something,” I give another apathetic sigh, knowing, even as I say them, that these words will have no effort, and yet I must say them anyway.; what choice do I have? “So, yeah, he said everything he pretends to feel for you and about you is fake, all in order to create the richest food source a demon has ever tasted.” I finish with an exasperated sigh, “and now, let me guess, you don’t believe a word I just said?” I peek up at him, nervously meeting his eye.

Ciel has an unreadable expression, “No.” He says, “I believe that Sebastian said every word of that, and possibly worse. I believe he lured you there to hear it on purpose, and I believe he intended for all this, and I believe that his plan is working perfectly.”

“But?” I don’t even bother to get my hopes up that this even might go somewhere.

“But I know that Sebastian is - if you’ll excuse my language as an English gentlemen - fucking with you, Vincent,” Ciel bursts into a snigger, “you ruffled his feathers so he called a couple of his demon friends to put on a little play for you, with you in the starring role!” he laughs. “Sebastian’s having a little revenge, that’s all,” he shrugs, “and I must say, I approve of it highly! That demon is entitled to have a little fun, in fact, I think I shall go and join them!” putting his book down on a random decorative side table in our grand foyer, he says, “lead the way.”

At first, I refuse because I don’t want him to see those horrific monsters - but then I reconsider; if Ciel sees Sebastian for what he is; for what he truly i s; then maybe he’ll believe me.

So, I take him, and, once again, I burst into that same room, exploding the door open, hoping to catch the demons by surprise.

Of course that doesn't bloody happen though, because, of course, Sebastian is about ten miles ahead of me. 

The room that was once filled with red smoke and ash is now clean as a whistle. Sebastian is back in his normal, human yet ethereally gorgeous form; his butler's uniform neat as a pin without a hair out of place. Smelling like home baking and warm tea rather than ash and sulphur; the room looks homely, warm and welcoming. Rather than alcohol and poker, the demons sit around a cosy tea and cakes party. All the demons, who, moments before, looked like actual monsters, are now in their human forms. 

Scarlet, sitting opposite to Sebastian, my father’s demon, now looks exactly how I remember her; paper white skin with flame red hair that slings over her slender left shoulder. She's breathlessly beautiful, wearing a pitch black dress that has a slit in the skirt for one of her endlessly long legs to shown off through. Not to mention that the near corset-tight top is putting her voluminous breasts on full display. She always looked scandalous in my opinion. A woman should have more respect for herself and keep herself appropriately covered, in my humble opinion.

Anyway; the demon sitting beside her, the demon who was once literally shark-headed, Dayton, demon to my great grandpa, is now a strong-jawed, dark-haired handsome fellow with a firm, fit body and dashing good looks. He looks like a very successful businessman, wearing only the world’s finest suit. 

Finally, the demon sitting beside Sebastian; the one who was as woolly as sheep, Nicola, is now a graceful, wise in mind yet young at heart looking woman. She has laughter on her lips and a joy for life in her eyes. She’s blonde, short and warmly curved. She even wears her hair in pigtails with big, round, red glasses. She was my grandfather's demon. He was only alive, and therefore Nicola was therefore only around, until I was about five years old; but I do have the fuzziest, grainest memory of those iconic red glasses and the smell of a warm summer's day permanently on her, which she still admits now. 

They’re all unearthly levels of beautiful, graceful and refined, and each seem to reflect their masters needs;

Dayton, with his sharp jaw, black hair and blazing blue eyes, is reminiscent of my great grandfather's older brother, who tragically died of illness when he was 20. He started the Funtom Company; but it had only made about five sales when he died. Spurred on by his brother's death, my great grandpa took the reins at only 18. Dayton, as his demon, would have looked just enough like his older brother to make him feel secure. Dayton, with his strong body and protective glare, both of his great grandpa’s brother lacked, would have made my recently-crushed-by-grief grandfather feel protected, comforted, and like he could feel safe at night. From what I know of him, great grandpa was a man of weak constitution and timid nature. A protector who reminded him of his ideal - his brother - would have been the perfect fit for him. 

Nicola is reminiscent of my grandfather's childhood sweetheart; hence the pigtails and big glasses. They got pretend married under a big peach tree one lazy summer afternoon when they were about seven, and they had known each other since birth, they’re families being next door neighbours.  ‘Nicola’ was even the real friend's middle name. She was perky, bright, always found something to enjoy about life, even on the worst days. My grandfather was quite a dour and naturally pessimistic man, so the real childhood friend was like the sunshine to his rain. The real girl eventually grew up and moved across the globe to marry her arranged fiance. Heartbroken, my grandfather had married my grandmother and soon after summoned the demon. So, Nicola took a form that would subconsciously remind my grandpa of that lost childhood love. 

Scarlet, the beautiful and fiery redhead, is, surprisingly, reminiscent of my fathers equally scandalously dressed long time business rival. They had this whole frenemies thing going on; rivals who deeply respected each other's intelligence and hustle. My forefathers were always loyal to their wives (thank god, the Phantomhives have enough sins to their name to keep anybody busy as it is), but the real woman Scarlet is based on and my father liked to exchange playful flirting. They had this little game where they’d take turns of one being the Flirter and the other one being the Rejector (they’d always reject each other, of course). So, as a child, I’d watch the real ‘Scarlet’ (that was not the real woman’s actual name), slide up to my father at some public event or another and flirt with him like, “dear Vincent! How handsome you look today,” and then my father would smirk and say, “indeed! If only your business’ profits could be as handsome as I, or, better yet, if only your customers weren’t as disinterested in you as I am.” At the next public event, they’d switch, with my father flirting and the woman giving a biting, business-related response that revealed her equal uninterest in him. I remember worrying about this as a child, and asking my mother if everything was okay between them. After all, how odd it was for a child-me, to see his father both flirt and get flirted with by another woman. My mother, bless her heart, had laughed, “it’s just a little game your daddy has with his old friend there Vincey. I find it rather funny, and it doesn’t mean anything is wrong, I promise.” Anyway. That’s who Scarlet resembles. 

And, then, of course, there’s Sebastian.

As we enter, he tilts his head, closes his eyes and smiles my own smile at me. My own silky, midnight black ribbons of hair frame his face. My own jar reflects back at me like a mirror and that’s when it finally, fully hits me.

Sebastian looks like me. 

My son’s demon looks like me. 

He looks like me because I was the one my son idolised and trusted. 

I swallow this horror painfully down, meanwhile, Ciel is blissfully unaware. As the door swings open, he smiles broadly at the demons having tea and cupcakes.

“Hello everyone,” he greets, “I am Ciel Phantomhive, Lord, Earl and head of Phantomhive Household.”

“Hello indeed my little lord, care to join us?” Sebastian offers with a smile.

“Certainly,” Ciel’s one eye scans Scarlet as he walks across the room, “and whom, may I ask, is the prostitute?” 

“Excuse me?” Scarlet snarls, looking annoyed.

Sebastian just chuckles though, “come now Scarlet, my master can say whatever he wishes.” Ciel looks pleased with himself as, rather than taking up a chair, he simply takes a seat in Sebastian’s lap.

Sebastian may look ‘normal’ right now, but all I can see is my son climbing into the lap of a full fledged monster. With his right arm, which moments ago had a squid's tentacle attached to it, he reaches and picks up a tea cup, passing it to Ciel. Sebastian tisks as he notices Ciel's eyepatch is a little loose. With his long fingers, he gently tightens the knot. Sebastian's hands are normal and neatly gloved now, but all I can see is those hawk-like talons, long and sharp, more claws then nails really, that tipped Sebastian's pitch black monstrous paws mere minutes ago. As I watch the demon adjust the bow on my son's eyepatch, all I can see is those talons getting dangerously close to my precious boy's head. As Ciel leans back against Sebastian's torso, looking so secure and at ease, all I can see is that same pitch black torso that seemed to fade in and out of this reality. “Master, meet my brother and sister demons. Firstly, this is Scarlet, your grandfather's demon.”

“Hello urchin,” a still very annoyed Scarlet snarls.

“Call my master a foul name again and watch what happens,” Sebastian throws her a warning glare and Scarlet physically recoils in fear. 

A demon fearing another demon? Vincent didn't think that was possible. Just what kind of demon is Sebastian anyway? 

“Anyway. Please meet great-grandfather's demon, Nicola,” Sebastian introduces.

“Hello, Sebastian's mini master,” the pig-tailed blonde waves, “charmed I’m sure.”

“And finally Dayton, your great-great-grandfathers, the man, and therefore his demon, who started your legacy,” Sebastian gestures. 

“How intriguing it is to meet you all,” Ciel says. The teacup Sebastian handed him has magically filled with tea and Ciel sips at the steaming liquid pleasantly. “And Dayton! How young you look for someone who must be at least 200 years old.” He adds, with a smirk.

Sebastian chuckles but the other demons exchange baffled glances. “The creature does know we're immortal, right?” Dayton asks Sebastian, utterly serious. 

Sebastian flashes Dayton a deadly glance and suddenly Dayton screams, his whole body turning red and smoking, as if he's being burned from the inside out. This goes on for a few seconds before the screaming and burning stops, leaving Dayton gasping. “Consider that a warning to all of you,” Sebastian throws his burning eyes around the table at all his fellow demons, “speak ill of my master and discover that there are ways to make even a demon cry. Clear?”

The other demons swallow and nod, complete fear consuming their eyes. They look as terrified of Sebastian as the servants are. As if Sebastian is a god, and they are mere mortals who tremble at the gods feet. The servants I understand, but why on Earth are fellow demons acting so scared of him?! 

“So, I hear you’ve been messing with my father?” Ciel smirks at Sebastian.

“I assume you don’t object to a little revenge?” Sebastian asks, looking very pleased with himself. 

“Indeed I do not. In fact, I highly approve, and I suggest we do it more often!” Ciel chuckles, swinging his legs happily off Sebastian’s lap. He looks so comfortable, so contented, so at ease, and on the lap of a monster at that.  “So, what was my father like as a child?” he asks Scarlet, as he happily picks up a cupcake.

He doesn’t mind, I realise. He doesn’t mind that there are an additional three demons in our manor. He doesn’t mind what Sebastian said, he believes that it’s all bullshit. Even with all I told him, he still trusts this literal monster more than me.

I need to put a stop to this. Immediately.

****

It's difficult work getting to London as the snow is worsening by the minute, but I make it. I managed to get to London just before the snowstorm hit. Luckily, this is exactly what the ‘summer house’ is for. It's a smaller, yet still very grand, mansion planted in the heart of London that's belonged to the Phantomhive family for centuries. The head of house would stay here for days whilst conducting business in London to avoid the long journey home. So, I let myself into there and stable the poor horse, who's exhausted from how fast I ran it. Leaving the horse to recover, I battle my way through London. The snowstorm isn't as bad here as it looked like it was cooking up to be out in the countryside, but it's still pretty rough. Anyone with any sense has shuttered their windows and is hiding inside. The few people left outside are clearly running for shelter. But not me. I charge between churches, and, despite my struggles in both getting to and staying here in London, every one of them doesn't believe me. Aren't they supposed to be priests ?!

I'm left standing in the worsening snowstorm, wondering what to do, my options for churches almost exhausted, when the corner of my eye catches a shimmer.

Searching towards the shimmer, I see a group of homeless people, huddled in an alleyway, all of them turning blue from the cold. Above them, a man with ginger hair and glasses, carrying a weed whacker, is standing on a roof. He jumps elegantly off the roof and floats down to the ground like a leaf caught in the wind, defying gravity. A man of his size should plummet like a rock, not float like a feather. He lands without bending his knees or making a sound. Leaning his weed whacker against himself, he, in an amazing display, pulls a book out of thin air and begins checking through it. “Keith F. Middleton. Born March 3rd 1869. Died December 15th 1889. Cause of death; exposure. No notes of interest,” says the stranger, before he swipes at one of the ice cold homeless men, who then goes limp.

And I watch, both horrified and fascinated.

Fighting against the swirling snowfall that's biting at every inch of my body, I push my way forward until I enter the alleyway. “What - wa-” my teeth are chattering so hard I can barely speak. “What are you?” 

The man ignores me, and the rest of the homeless group are too close to death to answer me.  

“Carolyn Martin. Born September 24th, 1857. Died December 15th, 1889. Cause of death; exposure. Notes; pregnant with her fourth and only surviving child. What a shame. Not that the kid would have survived out here anywhere,” says the mystery man. He crosses the name off in his book, waves his weed whacker at one of the homeless women, who sputters and promptly dies. 

Slightly horrified and yet mostly still fascinated, I lean in and tap the man gently, “excuse me.”

The man, dressed in a fine suit, (in not nearly enough layers to be warm in this weather) leaps out of his skin, dropping his book and his weed whacker, yelping like a startled cat. He stares at me in absolute horror. “You can see me?! Impossible. Humans can't see us!”

“What are you?” I ask, ignoring his freak out. I have no time for it.

“I…er…” the man adjusts his glasses. “Well, human, I'm what's called a Grim Reaper, or a Shinigami. I collect the souls of the dying and transport them to their earned afterlife.” He eyes me, “what are you ?” 

“I’m Vincent Phantomhive, and I-”

“Ahhh, a Phantomhive, that makes sense,” he nods. I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean. “Well Phantomhive,  I’m Sam,what do you want?”

“You’re a supernatural being, yes?” 

“In a way. I was once human. We Shinigami are humans who committed suicide and are being punished by having to reap souls. So, in human terms, I suppose we’re similar to ghosts. We’re spirits of death.”

I nod. Makes sense. “Do you know much about demons?” 

Sam looks confused, “a fair amount, we Shinigami are educated in the basics about them, why?”

“My fourteen year old son is bound to one.” 

“Bad for him, but why do I care?” Sam picks up his weed whacker and book, going back to checking the pages. 

“You have no need to care. I’m just wondering if you know how to kill a demon.”

“Certainly,” shrugs Sam, not looking up from the book, “a demon can only be killed by something holy. A holy weapon or a holy blessing.”

“What are those?” I ask, pulling my coat in tighter. The snow storm is getting worse. 

“A holy weapon is something like this,” he gestures with his weed whacker, “this is a Reaper's Scythe, and its blades are made of holy metal. This can kill a demon. We Reapers need to be able to defend the souls of humans from scavenger demons who’d eat the souls we’re trying to collect, so we need to be able to kill or at least injure one, in an emergency. Other holy weapons include blades and swords that are wielded or created by warrior angels. Holy water, either blessed by a priest or, for extra power, an angel, will melt a demon into nothing but a puddle, and an Angel can Bless a demon to death. That’s it.”

“Soooo….” I eye the weed whacker, “that thing can kill a demon?”

“Yes.”

“Can I borrow it?”

Sam laughs heartily, “certainly not! It’s Reaper property, custom made especially for my use. It is not for human use.”

“Then….can I hire you to kill the thing?”

“Absolutely not. A Reaper will only attack a demon if a demon is preventing their soul collection. We do not go picking fights.” 

Preventing their soul collection eh?

That can be arranged.

Chapter Text

The storm somehow manages to get worse, but that's alright, as I need to test a theory anyway; the theory that Sebastian will come to save me. That Ciel will order him to do so. 

So, upon arrival into the centre of the shopping hub of London, I boldly strip down into nothing but my underwear. As the snow hurricanes around me, I can see bits of myself turning blue within minutes.

It doesn't take long for the freezing cold to sink into my very bones, and, moments after that, I feel myself hit the pavement as I collapse. 

*** Ciel ***

“Goodbye now, thank you for coming!” Sebastian is saying brightly, as he guides his demon companions out the front door. “Let's catch up more often! OK, bye now.” He shuts the door, sighs with social exhaustion, and slots his long strand of velvet hair behind his ear. “Well that was exciting, hm?” He smiles at me. I'm smirking from the doorway of the dining room, merr feet from the front door. 

“Indeed! How fun was it to learn that my father was such a prolific stripper as a toddler!” I snigger. “Do you suppose old Scarlet has any embarrassing photographs for us?”

“I shall make a mental note to ask!” Sebastian chuckles with me before he suddenly pauses, as if startled, his ears pricking and his head turning to some unheard sound. I know that look. That's the ‘I sense/hear something' look. “What is it?” I ask, my intrigue always slightly peaks when this happens.

Sebastian sighs tiredly, “your silly father seems to be reliving his toddler years. He's stripped in the hub of London.”

I startle, staring out the window at the raging snow storm that's battering my windows and turning the world into a white blur of nothing but frozen chaos. “He's stripped?! In this ?!” 

“Hm,” Sebastian hums, rubbing his forehead as if he's got a migraine coming on, “and is now promptly freezing to death.”

“That man has officially lost his damn mind…” I grumble.

“What would you have me do, master?” Sebastian asks, looking despondent.

I sigh, “ unfortunately , we have to rescue the daft and. Go and get him, Sebastian. Bring him back here to me.”

“Yes sir,” Sebastian says, both looking and sounding moppy, as if he was hoping I'd say we can just let him die. (Trust me, I was thoroughly tempted).

In the blink of an eye, Sebastian vanishes into thin air. As relaxed as a lazy lion, I leave the doorway and go to browse the books in the guest living room, as if Vincent's literally active dying is the last thing on my mind.

Because it is.

It takes less then 20 seconds for Sebastian to reappear, dragging my father, who's blue all over and in nothing but his underwear, across the floor behind him. Vincent is stiff and barely breathing as he's dragged along the carpet like a sledge and dumped on front of the roaring fire in the guest living room. Sebastian taps him and Vincent seems to begin warming from the inside out because colour begins returning to his skin. Despite being unconscious, Vincent seems to have an impossible to place smug look on his face. Satan only knows what that moron has to be smug about. 

Lazily, Sebastian drapes a blanket over Vincent, asks if I require anything, and, when I say no, glides off, mumbling Satanically to himself. 

I don't blame him.

**** Vincent ****

I jolt awake and find that I'm laying in front of a burning fire, and, when I look up, my son's feet are in my face. It takes me an extra second to realise I'm lying between his cosy armchair spot and the fire like I'm a common bareskin rug.

“Ah, so he finally wakes up,” Ciel doesn't look up from the book he's reading as he elegantly turns a page. “Did you have a fun suicide attempt?”

I sit up, recognising that I'm safely inside Phantomhive Manor, wrapped in a blanket at my son’s feet, rather then dead an hours carriage ride away in London, where anybody else who'd stripped in a snowstorm would be - and I grin.

“Yes actually,” I hum, highly pleased with myself. “You sent Sebastian to save me.”

Ciel looks up now, scanning me oddly, “yes.” He says, simply, with a tone that asks, ‘and so what?’ 

“You ordered him to protect me?” I ask, hopefully.

“You and Rachel, but yes,” Ciel says, boredly. “The two of you are forbidden from dying again. That would be far too inconvenient for me. So Sebastian will protect your lives, nothing more, nothing less.”

I nod, pleased. “Good good. I'm happy to hear it!”

Ciel puts his book fully aside now, “what exactly is your plan here, Vincent? Why did you want to know if I've ordered Sebastian to protect you? I thought you wanted him dead.” 

“Oh I very much do. I'm going to free you from him,” I say, gleefully bundling myself up in the blanket, hugging my knees like a content child.

Ciel sighs, “you know Vincent, even if you managed to kill Sebastian, which you won't because you're about as good a demon slayer as you were a father, but in some impossible world where that would happen, you wouldn't like the result. You don't know what happens when you kill a demon.”

“I know good and well what happens when you kill a demon Ciel. All the demon has done whilst under contract is reversed. Same thing happens if the master dies, or if one of them breaks the contract illegally. Well, illegally in Hell terms anyway.”

“You're exactly right,” Ciel nods, looking a little surprised that Vincent knows that but not the least bit impressed. 

“That's what I want ,” I tell. “I want all the foul effects that demon has done to reversed.” 

Ciel sighs again, “you do realise that means all the effects?” 

“Yes.”

“Including the manor ,” Ciel strains. “Sebastian alone rebuilt it. It would crumble to ash if you killed him.”

“I don't care.”

“Sebastian is also the sole reason Funtom Inc is a success. Without you to head it, Sebastian had to take charge whilst I learnt the ropes. Your business would fail. You'd be bankrupt.”

“Then we would go and live with your aunt. Nothing you can say will stop me,” I say, chin held high.

Ciel shakes his head, “if you mean Aunt Red, she’s dead, and if you mean Cousin Elizabeth’s mother, Francis Midford, then her family, including Elizabeth, was attacked about a year after you. I guess someone really wanted to eradicate the Phantomhives.”

I swallow, this actually giving me a seconds pause, “when you say ‘attacked’?”

“I sent Sebastian to protect them when he sensed they were in danger, but without him…” Ciel looks me dead in the eye, “Aunt Francis, Uncle Alexis, Cousins Edward and Elizabeth, they’d all be dead and their manor destroyed. You'd lose all the family you have left Vincent.”

 “Well, I, ur..” I hesitate. “I'd still have you, and your mother. You're all that matters to me.”

“Not to mention, if you care about such things, the idiot servants will go back to lives of torture and slavery, being abused for their gifts, because Sebastian would have never rescued them. The reserving includes everything Sebastian has done under contract, not just the stuff he’s done under my orders you know.”

“Well - it's - that - it all be worth it, to protect you !” I decree.

“Wow,” Ciel cocks his head. “And you call Sebastian a monster. You don't care that your family would die and that three people would be sent back to lives of slavery. OK then.” With a shrug he gets up and leaves the room. 

My plan goes unchanged. 

**** Vincent ****

**** Authors note; this is where it gets dark . Viewer discretion advised. ****

Monday December 16th 1889 dawns and I thank a higher power that the snow storm is still raging, equally violently. Almost every fireplace in the manor is burning and yet the air in the manor is still chilly. The cold from outside is just too violent to be kept at bay by fireplaces alone. 

“Bloody cold,” I hear Ciel complain as I pass by the dining room at breakfast time. My wife has refused to leave bed this morning, so it's only me who gets to spy through the cracked-open door. 

“It is well below freezing today,” Sebastian replies, as he tops up my son's tea. “I've readied extra coal for all the fires.” Both their backs are turned to me. Neither of them invited me to the cosy little breakfast they’re having. 

“Yet I'm still bloody cold,” Ciel huffs. He looks up at Sebastian, “can't you heat this place up a bit?” 

“My lord, that is not humanly possible,” Sebastian says with a smirk. “There's nothing I can do besides keep the fires going. At least not until you humans invent central heating anyway.” 

Ciel looks annoyed, “very cute. Heat this place up demonically then.”

“Oh, I don't know,” Sebastian says. From his side profile, I can see his eyes flashing with taunton laughter, “that doesn't seem like a good use of my demonic powers to me .” 

“Am I not your master, slave?” Ciel taunts back. “ I decide what's a good use of your powers, not you.”

Whilst slightly turned away, tidying the breakfast cart, Sebastian side-eyes my son, “I would simply have to disagree, master .”

They both lock glares, pretending to be angry at each other whilst holding back smirks. They're playing together, I realise. This is how they tease and poke fun at each other, like a real father and son duo would. 

And I need to put a stop to it.

I hide in the hallway, out of sight, until Sebastian comes out of the dining room, pushing the breakfast cart, on his way to wash up the breakfast dishes. I wait until I hear him clicking down the servants stairs - and then pounce into action. I leap for the front door only to see that the snow has reached so high that the front door is completely blocked.  Not letting that stop me, I begin climbing out a higher placed window, that's not just above the snow level. I'm so focused on this task that I startle when someone clears their throat behind me. Turning around, I see my son eyeing me.

“Off for another suicide attempt Vincent?” he asks, boredly. He narrows his eyes, “of course, it's not about dying at all, is it? Quite the opposite. It's about being saved.” He locks my gaze now. “You're hoping that Sebastian saving you will anger a Reaper who's trying to collect your soul, and get Sebastian killed that way.”

My eyes scrunch in both anger and confusion, “how did you-?”

“Sebastian read your mind and told me everything,” Ciel shrugs. “And yes, mind reading is a thing he can do. It's how demons know what you truly want, rather than just what you say. Sebastian says humans almost never say what they really mean, even to their demons.”

I huff, annoyed. “Of course,” I say. “So, are you going to stop me?”

“No,” Ciel replies without emotion. “I have full confidence that Sebastian could fight off an army of Reapers, and you'd better hope he can too.”

I roll my eyes, “why would I hope for that?”

“Because there's one tiny detail that you're not considering,” Ciel smirks, “But please, go ahead. Figure it out for yourself. I’ll be reading in the living room when you figure it out.” With that, he clicks away.

Undeterred, I wiggle my way out of the window. It's so cold out I'm only able to take a few steps before dropping to my knees, my hands already blue and my teeth chattering as I buckle under the weight of the cold. It takes just a minute more for me to fall, face forward, into the snow.

And twenty seconds after that -

“Vincent Phantomhive. Born June 13th, 1855. Died December 16th, 1889. Cause of death; exposure. Notes; unique bloodline. Interesting,” I manage to move one freezing eyeball up to see a Reaper above me. I'm too busy dying to register much detail, but my brain is pretty sure it sees flashes of bright red as the Reaper raises his scythe above me, about to swing and collect my soul.

“Sorry,” right on cue, Sebastian appears, boldly grabbing the scythe and stopping its swing. “This human is under my protection.”

“Get out of my way demon! This soul is mine now!” Barks the red-clad Reaper, before taking a violent swing at Sebastian, who hops out of the way, disappearing into the swirling snow. The Reaper leaps after him and, in seconds, they're both blocked from view. 

In that same second, by an invisible psychic force, I'm sent skidding across the snow and back through the window, which snaps shut behind me as I'm dragged into the living room and once again plonked in front of the fire. I begin internally heating once again.

Ciel is in the exact same spot he was yesterday, with his feet in my face on his arm chair, when I arrive, once again looking like a thrown bear skin rug. “Welcome back,” he greets, boredly.

I snarl as I sit up, still in nothing but my underwear, “it's not over yet! That Reaper is still attacking Sebastian.”

From outside, we can hear Sebastian yell something and then a crash. Ciel cocks a bored eyebrow at the window where the sound is coming from. “Yes I can hear that. Reapers don't like humans who are meant to die being saved. It causes them endless paperwork. So I'm not surprised.” 

“He’ll kill Sebastian, you wait and see.”

This is apparently the last straw for Ciel's patience because he does a lengthy blend of huffing and growling angrily, “hhhuuh!” He groans as he throws the book he had on his lap away. It crashes to the floor surprisingly loudly. “You still don't get it, do you?!” He barks. “Tanaka did tell you that I only came home in February, yes?!” he demands.

“Yes?” I frown, wondering what's that got to do with anything. 

“Have you even bothered to wonder where I was between December 10th and February 1st?” Ciel accuses angrily.

“Well I-” I blink, blindsided. I had wondered that, earlier, but then I had become distracted by my quest for demon blood.

“I was kidnaped , Vincent,” Ciel hisses venomously. “The night of the fire, a sick and perverted group of child smuggles snatched me from the manor.” 

All the moisture evaporates from my body. “ What? ” I'm barely able to whisper.

“They were hired by a man of wealth and power. By name of Doctor Barrywood?” Ciel prompts, “remember him?”   

I dry swallow, “he was a friend of the family. He used to come to our parties, until I -”

“Noticed him looking at me just a little too long and for a little too…. oddly ?” Ciel recalls. “I remember his stares. I didn't understand at the time, I just knew his eyes made me feel dirty. Now I know what that look really meant.” Ciel shudders. “Since your little unannounced return, Sebastian and I looked into it. Doctor Barrywood and your old friend Black Hat were in cahoots. Hat had you two kidnapped, and Barrywood had me kidnapped, with the fire as a cover up so people would presume us dead and not look for us. Barrywood hired somebody to hire somebody so there was no trail back to him. Not even my kidnappers knew who had hired them, so none of them could even potentially snitch. They just knew they were hired to sell me, so they had multiple buyers come in to ‘size me up.’ Disgusting men who leered at me through the bars of my cage. Barrywood allowed this so that my kidnappers could see that I had multiple people interested in me. Again, to throw off suspicion. So, for that excruciating month, I was kept in this filthy cage, wearing rags, forced to go to the bathroom on the floor in the corner of the cage. I was tied up and force fed scraps of food and water to keep me alive. They even pierced my ear to hook a price tag on it, like a cow !” Ciel spits, “I wasn't alone, either. This ring had kidnapped multiple children in multiple cages, who were all treated as badly. I can still tell you exactly how it felt when a potential buyer would crawl into my cage with me,” his eyes are distant now, “big, fat, filthy men with rancid breath, smelling my hair, running their raw hands all over me, licking me even,” Ciel shudders. “On January 30th, the day before he officially ‘brought’ me, Barrywood himself finally came in and said he needed to  ‘sample the merchandise’ before taking me home. He needed to be sure I’d make for a good ‘toy.’” 

I feel tears pricking my eyes, “no, please… ”

“Yes,” Ciel says, gravely. “Suddenly, here was this old friend of yours Vincent, who I’d seen licking his lips at me from across our own ballroom, crawling on top of me in my cage, tearing at my clothes, touching me in ways I didn’t understand…” Ciel is staring at the wall now, his eyes completely glazed over, “after he entered me, I bled for hours.”

I vomit into my own mouth as I hear my own son's words ringing in my ears. One of the first questions Ciel had asked his mother and I upon our return; “ Were you raped ?” he had asked, and so casually, so flippantly. Who talks about such a violent act without a hint of emotion? 

Someone's who's been through it themselves , I realise now.

“After he was done, he told my kidnappers he’d ‘think about it’, and then, the morning of January 31st, called to say I hadn’t ‘performed well enough’, and that he’d ‘changed his mind’.  That same night, after multiple calls from a sick amount of other potential buyers, an ‘anonymous’ client out bid them all. The kidnappers didn’t suspect Barrywood, but I knew it was the ‘good doctor’ the minute the smuggling ring dragged me out of my cage and branded me with my new ‘owners’ family seal,” Ciel lifts his shirt, turns slightly, and, for the first time, I see a brand on his back; like the kind cattle get. It looks similar to the medical staff; a pole with snake-like swirls surrounding it. Doctor Barrywood’s family crest. Barrywood comes from a long line of doctors, so it's no wonder his family motif is so reminiscent of the medal staff symbol.  I’d recognise it anywhere; before we had Ciel, Barrywood was a good friend of ours, but, as soon as we had a child, well, those wandering eyes of his…

It makes me feel physically ill to see my ex friends' brand printed on my son.

“Still bleeding and blistering from the branding, I was thrown back into my cage,” Ciel continues, “I can still hear them laughing in my face as they told me my new ‘daddy’ would be here to pick me up in the morning, so I should ‘treasure’ being here with them, because after where I’m going, being with them is going to seem like paradise.” Ciel is twisting his hands in his lap as he talks now. “But first, they had something important to do, to make them the greatest trafficking ring in the world. So, as the sun set, all the sick kidnappers gathered in robes and wearing masks. They talked in hushed whispers, I was so scared, I didn’t understand what was happening…” he shakes his head in dismay, “then one of them said, loudly, ‘pick a kid,’ and one of the youngest members of the group came over to my cage and grabbed me. I was screaming, terrified. The member who grabbed me got yelled at, ‘not that one, he’s selling for a price that will set us for life in the morning! Grab the other!’ So I got tossed back and the kid I was sharing my cage with - he was new, he’d just arrived a few days before - got dragged out instead. He was dragged, screaming and kicking out of the cage. Using a huge blade, they sliced his forearms and carried him around the room, bleeding, drawing what I now know was a pentagram, with its centre meeting at this horrific stone table that was in the centre of the room. The kid was then pinned down and the ringleader of the kidding group raised this huge knife high above his head, chanting in what I now recognise as Latin, and just…gutted… this door child, like a fish. He screamed until the light went out of his eyes, and, when it did, this swirling portal of darkness just cracked open -” Ciel pauses and smiles down, visibly relaxing all over, “and there was Sebastian. Of course, he was nothing but a shadowy form then,” he chuckles fondly, “with the oddest, knee-high hooker boots! I mean, hooker boots, of all things!” He laughs now. Ciel looks so relaxed all of a sudden, and so content. He’s gone from hollow and traumatised, haunted by his experiences, his body rigid and his eyes distant, to leaning back in his chair, his heels swinging happily and his eyes full of laughter. “All the child kidnapping ring members were begging, ‘oh great demon, I want power!’ ‘No I want money!’ ‘No I want influence!’” he uses a different mocking put-on voice for each member, laughing between each, “the leader was furious, ‘no! We summoned him for the group! Oh unholy demon, we want to dominate the child smuggling world!’” Despite the horror of his words, Ciel is bright with glee. “Sebastian decreed they were all unworthy of his power. It was hilarious .” Ciel is smiling distantly, his eyes dancing with memories, “I remember processing so much in that moment; firstly, that demons were real, and, secondly, that I could use one. So I yelled out ‘DEMON! EXACT REVENGE ON ALL THOSE WHO HAVE DONE THIS TO US!’ and Sebastian, mid-step through the portal to leave, turned around, scanned me, called me ‘intriguing.’ He came over, I can remember every detail; the sound of his steps, the swirl of the darkness around him, and yet I wasn’t scared. He asked me what  his first order would be. I told him ‘kill them all!’ and, with a swipe of his clawed hands, my cage door sliced open like butter, we shook hands, and Sebastian slaughtered everybody in that room, very slowly, per my request. I wanted them all to suffer. For the leader, Sebastian tore his spine out for me, and we watched him bleed out together. It was glorious. By the time everybody was dead, it was dawn. Sebastian and I strolled out of the building together, side by side, our footprints bloody. Pulling up outside happened to be Barrywood himself, his personal carriage printed with my dreaded branding.  I jolted, reflectively hiding behind Sebastian. I didn’t even say anything, Sebastian just knew, and gave that fucker an agonizing, torturous death lasting more then three month s. He w as begging for death the entire time, but just couldn’t die!!” Ciel lets out his longest, coldest laugh yet. “It was great.” Ciel finally looks at me again, meeting my eye, “so you see Vincent, without Sebastian, I’d have never been rescued, and I’d be at  Barrywood’ right now, getting used as his personal sex toy day and night. So if you reversed the contract by killing Sebastian, you’d be sending me to  Barrywood’s. Now do you understand?” He peers happily out the window, where Sebastian can now be seen dodging the swing of the red-clad Reaper's scythe. Ciel watches him proudly. 

I'm not watching though. This time, as I sit at Ciel’s feet, still being supernaturally warmed from the inside as well as from the natural fire beside me; its Black Hat’s voice that rings through my head and buzzes in my ears;

“I promise you Phantomhives,” Black Hat would say from outside my locked cell door. “Your son is suffering even worse than you. If he survived my fire - and that’s a big if - I had my people at the ready to kidnap him too. He’d have been beaten, starved, abused, and, finally, sold as some lucky paedophile’s sex toy.” 

Black Hat knew such stories tormented me and my dear wife, so he’d tell us this as often as he could. 

My wife and I would resist with all our might, “you’re lying!” we’d hiss through our teeth with venom. 

“You can only pray that I am, Phantomhives,” Black Hat would snigger. 

“I -” I gulp, unable to properly begin with all I’ve just realised. 

Just then, from outside, Sebastian screams and yells out Ciel’s name in distress. Ciel and I both jolt to the window. Outside, the Red Reaper has impaled Sebastian through the chest with its scythe. Blood as black and as thick as tar splatters so violently that it hits the window. Within seconds, a river of blood is flowing across the snow, and Sebastian drops, visibly dead. The postbox red Reaper laughs. 

“NO!” Ciel screams, “SEBASTIAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!” 

In a second, before I’ve even had time to comprehend anything; the manor around me disintegrates into ash with a poof ‘poof!’, like exploding glitter. Next, the idiot servants, who are now standing looking bemused in the pile of ash that used to be the manor, scream like something hurts. The cook, Baldroy, swaps his chef's uniform for a soldier's garb, and becomes suddenly covered in war scars that weren’t there before - and disappears into thin air. The maid, Mey-Rin’s, maid uniform rips to shreds and becomes black, assassin-like suit. Chains get clamped on her wrists and she vanishes. Finnian, the young gardener, gets stamped all over with barcodes like he’s a purchased item, changes into a prison-like uniform, except white and medical-looking. All before he dematerializes. Even poor Tanaka folds into himself like a feeble old man before he pops out of existence too.

And finally, as all the breath leaves my body -

My beautiful baby boy, with his healthy rosy cheeks, immaculate Earl dress wear and spark in his eyes - deteriorates in front of me. His clothes shred into filthy, flea-bitten rags. His healthy weight waists away until he's skeletal thin, scarcely able to draw breath he's so thin. He's so thin it looks physically painful to breathe. His lovely blue hair, so meticulously maintained and thoroughly cared for, becomes so knotted, ratty and lice infected that clumps have begun falling out, leaving ugly bald spots in their wake. Massive bags drag under his eyes like he hasn't slept in months . He becomes covered in scars, scabs and bruises. His eyepatch falls away, revealing two big beautiful eyes - no contract mark - but those beautiful eyes stream tears. Blood begins dripping from my baby boy's private area, leaking into his ragged trousers. He begins quivering in pain and whispers “please, no,” with pure fear as he recoils away from unseen hands - all before he blinks out of existence in front of me. 

I gag with horror and desperation as I feel myself being violently thrown. I watch as the world is forcibly changed all around me in a hideous swirl as all my senses leave me. It’s as if I both exist and don’t exist for a moment. 

As my senses slowly return, the first thing I feel is a cold drip of water on my head. The second sense that returns is smell; must, and dusty old building. My hearing returns next.

“Like I’ve said 50 thousand times Mrs Phantomhive, I don’t know where your son is,” the voice I recognise as the voice of our temporary demon - the one Rachel and I summoned to aid in our escape from Black Hat - speaks. “There’s no trace of him anywhere after the fire at your manor.”

I blink to clear my last sense, my vision, and realise that I’m sitting on an army bed in a church basement, in a room packed to the gills with dozens of people who are obviously homeless, all sat on equally low quality army beds. I’m in a homeless shelter. 

I look up and see my darling wife, in a matted nightshirt, sitting on the army bunk beside mine. Our temporary demon, still wearing the same generic servants uniform, with the same generic servant look about him, is sat beside her, looking exasperated. “What do you want me to do?” he asks. “There’s no papertrail to follow, no witnesses to question. We demons aren’t all-knowing you know! I can’t just magically know where he is.”

My wife, for her part, blinks back into her senses too. She sees me and frowns, “Vincent? Where are we? What’s going on? We were just at the manor with Ciel,” She throws a disgusted look at The Demon, “and what are you doing here?”

“Ur, what? Manor? What manor? Ciel? What? You’ve been here with me the whole time, stupid human,” tuts The Demon.

“Vincent!” Rachel gives me a firm poke in my thigh now, leaning across the small space between our beds to do so. “Do you know what’s going on here?!”

Swallowing, I look down to see that my filthy, mattered, blood-stained body hair is still intact, rather than shaved off, as it was before, at Phantomhive manor, and my Earl-level quality clothes have been replaced with a tatty nightshirt, just like my wife’s. I drag my eyes up to my wife and The Demon,  “you might not know where Ciel is,” I say to The Demon, “but I do.”

“Soooo… let me get this straight,” The Demon, who claims his real name is Aessil, rides in the free wagon ride we managed to for, towards Dr Barrywood’s mansion. “Your kid, Ciel, was being tended to by the demon Tchort for the past four years, and now, because you killed him, you’re now back here with me? Oh that’s funny!” he throws his head back and laughs heartily. “And you're sure this Dr Barry-whatever has your kid now?”

“Yes,” my heart is heavy with grief as I answer, “Ciel said Barrywood was the one who… brought him.” 

“Hil-arious!” Aesil chuckles. “By slaying a demon, you lost your home, your fortune and your family!” he laughs again all the harder.

“Quiet you!” I warn. “What are we going to do when we reach Barrywood’s?”

“Confirm he has Ciel, and then I’ll be off,” shrugs Aessil.  

“WHAT! You’re not going to help us get him back ?!”

“I’m under contract to free you, check, and take you to your son, nearly check,” Aessil reminds. “Nothing more. I’m not under contract to perform any rescue missions. We demons don’t do anything for free you know.”

“Sebastian would,” I find myself whispering, almost to myself. 

Soon, all three of us are standing outside of Dr Barrywood’s mansion - which we see is armed to the teeth with gun-wielding guards who are covering every inch of the mansion. Aessil whistles and rocks on the balls of his feet, looking smug, “you are never rescuing this kid of yours, not in this place!” 

“Very helpful, thank you,” I scowl. 

“Vincent,” Rachel speaks for the first time since we left the homeless shelter, “you sent our son here ?” She throws daggers for eyes at me, absolutely vibrating with rage.

“I -” excuses begin but she gives me a death glare, “I’m sorry my darling.” I opt for simply apologising instead.

“Vincent,” Rachel warns with such murderous coldness that it makes me shiver. “Do not speak to me until you get us our son back. Clear ?”

I nod, fearfully, and turn my attention to Aessil, “does ‘confirming Ciel’s here’ include helping us get inside of this fortress? Because they’re not going to let us just stroll in.”

At this, Aessil smiles rather evilly, “blowing through a stronghold? Now that , a demon can get behind.” 

With a wave of Aessil’s hand, all the guards are suddenly starry eyed and we all just stroll up to the door and knock. A servant, looking baffled at all the dizzy-looking guards, opens the door and we demand to see our son. We’re refused. Aessil flashes a pair of yellow snake eyes and says, “you want to let them see Ciel, if he’s here.” Looking hypnotized, the servant lets in and summons Dr Barrywood himself. 

Big, fat, and ugly, Dr Barrywood eventually galumphs down the stairs, flanked by more dizzy-looking guards. He wants to know what the Hell is going on here. We demand to see our son. Dr Barrywood laughs. Aessil flashes his eyes again and Dr Barrywood snaps his fingers and orders someone to ‘bring him in.’ So anxious I can barely breathe, the wait seems like forever before Ciel is ushered into the foyer we’re all standing in. Ciel gets shoved into the room by more hypnotised looking armed guards. 

It’s as if, in that moment, two very different Ciel’s flash before my very eyes. The Ciel I saw just yesterday, the one who’d been under Sebastian’s care for the past four years; he was so radiant and flawless, he looked like he’d freshly stepped out of a painting. His clothes were immaculate, and he was impeccably groomed, from his neatly trimmed nails to his polished shoes. His eyes sparkled with clarity and energy. They were bright, alert eyes. Eyes that were full of life. His skin had a clear, luminous glow, as though lit from within. He stood tall and poised and he moved with an easy grace. He had a booming presence made out of rock-solid confidence, knowing that, with Sebatian at his command, the world was at his command. He had grown, gained weight, and had become a man rather than merely a boy. 

And then there’s this Ciel. The one standing before me now. The one who's been in Barrywood’s clutches for these four years.

The booming presence has been reduced to presence to a fragile whisper, like a flickering candle in a room full of drafts. His face is a map of suffering, with deep-set wrinkles and lines, marking out a mountainous struggle that he’s had to endure.  His clothes are stained with dirt and torn at inappropriate spots, like his groin and chest, as if his clothes are constantly being forcefully ripped off by filthy hands. Rather than standing tall with dignity, grace and confidence, now he drags himself sluggishly forward like every step is a battle. His nails are packed with dirt, jagged, chipped, and two of them are even ripped clean off, exposing the raw nail beds beneath. He’s painfully thin, his clothes hang off him, so loose that they look in danger of falling right off him at any moment. His once-shiny locks were brittle and lifeless, falling in his face in uneven strands, ratty and discoloured. There’s blood on his trousers from repeated violations, and he stands as if it hurts to even breathe. Unlike before, under Sebastian’s care, my little boy hasn’t grown an inch; it’s as if he’s stuck in his 10-year-old body. The worst part is his eyes though. They’re completely dull, hollow, and utterly void of any life, light or hope. They stare blankly out at the world, open and yet seeing nothing; as if he’s gone blind. 

“Ciel?” my Rachel whispers, as if she can scarcely believe it's our baby boy she’s looking at. She kneels down to match his height and gently touches his scared cheek. “Baby? My miracle?” She uses her other hand to tuck Ciel’s hair out of his eyes and behind his ears. “Oh God,” realisation dawns on her eyes, “this version of Ciel doesn’t even know we’re alive,” she says, to herself. “My miracle, it’s mommy.” Ciel just continues to stare blankly, as if we’re not even there. He’s not even responding to the sounds of our voices.

It’s as if he’s dead on his feet.

Neither my wife nor I need a demon to steal our souls at that moment, because both our souls simply drain fully away on their own. 

“Now that, ” Aessil grins, “was fun to watch! But, presence of Ciel Phantomhive confirmed, contract completed.” His visible contract seal fades away. “I’d run if I were you Phantomhives,” he warns as he turns and marches out the door, “the effects of my work are about to die off, along with our time together.” As if cued, the cloudiness in the guards eyes begin to fade and get swapped for rage as they fully realise we’re here. The light in Dr Barrywood’s eyes is dawning with horror. He screams to take Ciel away from us, and my poor wife is dragged off our baby as the guards all spring into action, all as Aessil is already halfway down the street, and laughing hard.

Within seconds, my wife and I are thrown onto the street ourselves. Aessil has vanished entirely, our son is being raped daily by a grown man - and it’s all my fault. 

My darling Rachel is shaking so hard I’m worried she may fall into a seizure. “Vincent,” she breathes, her breath coming out in a misty puff, “until you bring my baby back to me,” from being thrown onto the street, Rachel climbs furiously to her feet, “we’re done. Do you hear me, done .” With that, she begins storming off down the street.

“How am I supposed to do that without any help?!” I yell after her.

“Figure it out Vincent!!!” Rachel yells back, not looking around. “You managed to kill a demon, you can manage this!!!”

Rachel moves as far away from me as the homeless shelter’s cramped room will allow. Every time I look across the room, she’s staring hard at me, but I’m lost as to what to do. Aessil is gone and, try as I might to summon a demon for help, none will come, and I haven’t got the slightest clue how to summon an Angel - or even if they exist. I’ve tried to go to Barrywood’s dozens of times but only got warning shots from his guards for my trouble. Knowing that the ‘good’ doctor has my son, I go to the police, but they laughed me out of the room, declaring all the Phantomhives to be dead. I did all I could to convince them that I was who I said I am and that my son didn’t die in that fire either, but they didn’t believe me. I go to anyone I can think of for help; fellow Nobels (they don’t believe I’m who I say I am either, or my story), child rescue charities, even to the nearest government building, but they shrug me off as well. I even seek out information on anything I can at the library, hoping for…. I don’t even know what at this point, but all I find is public records that make me all the more depressed. I sit there, melting into misery, as I pour over news articles and business records to prove that, without either me or Sebastian to head Funtom Corporation, it went bankrupt shortly after my ‘death.’ I also find records of the deaths of my sister Francis Phantomhive-Midford, her husband Alexis Leon Midford, as well records for the deaths of Ciel’s cousins, Edward and Elizabeth. There’s hundreds of news articles about the raid on their manor and their deaths, almost exactly a year after ‘mine,’ just as Ciel said. I even stare miserable at my own death record, along with Rachel and Ciel’s. I even begged my way into a carriage ride up to the Phantomhive estate to find that the manor is still firmly in ash. 

All of Ciel’s warnings came true; I’m broke, titleless, statusless, homeless, and family-less. But none of that matters, because all that matters is that I’ve sent my beautiful baby boy to a place worse than anything Hell itself could ever offer, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

Despite knowing this, every day, I try to find a way to rescue my beautiful son; I literally beg, borrow and steal to try to get support, but everybody just wrinkles their nose at me, seeing nothing but a stinking, filthy homeless man with nothing to offer them. That’s all my wife and I are now; nothing. Less than nothing. We’re dead, and staying dead. 

And our son is staying in his hands. 

So I’m left here at the homeless shelter, running myself ragged trying to save our son, and, with enough days of this, my health begins to crumble under the strain. It doesn’t help that my matted, dirt infested body hair is ingrained into my open wounds, and begins causing skin infections. Not that I mind, not even as the infections begin to get me sick, because I’m still desperately trying to get Ciel back. But, as the days pass, things only get worse for me. I spend every second running around London in the paper-thin rags that the shelter provided for me, which do nothing against the blistering cold of December. This doesn’t help my already weak body’s chances of fighting infection. Neither does the fact that I’m not getting any nourishment because the shelter has no IV drips to offer. This means that I’m forced to eat solid food, which my long-starved digestive system is not ready to handle, causing extreme stomach cramps and vomiting my food back up. Which, of course, leaves me all the weaker and dehydrated, but I still keep chasing after Ciel’s rescue. I’m so busy I’m almost never at the shelter, which means I barely see my wife, not that she’s speaking to me anyway. However, soon the constant running around, cold, dirt, infections, lack of nourishment, being constantly dirty, and being packed elbow-to-elbow with fellow filthy (and often sick) homeless people at the shelter, all combine into me collapsing in the street after five days of constant battle.

The next thing I’m aware of, I wake up in a hospital bed. “Mr Phant-” a nurse is looking at a chart as she stands over me. She sighs, “okay, delusional. Got it,” she mumbles to herself before showing me a barely professional smile, “hello. You collapsed due to malnutrition, dehydration, overexertion and,” she squints at the chart, “infection. Wow, you’ve been busy, huh? Those open wounds of yours have been bathed in wine and vinegar. We’ve also got a herbal remedy for you to drink as well, which should help. That and some rest are what’s recommended, ok Mr P?”

My mind is a little overwhelmed with the fact that I’ve collapsed and am now in hospital, meaning I’m not out there, fighting for my son, but my mind does make the small note that I have not been given an IV, and my wounds have been treated with wine and vinegar, she said?! “Shouldn’t it be sterile saline, iodine, or hydrogen peroxide?” I ask. “For my wounds?”

The nurse blinks, baffled, “what on earth are those ?” 

Now I remember; It was Sebastian who instructed the doctor that Sebastian hired to care for us at Phantomhive Manor (Dr Ackles) . It was Sebastian who told Dr Ackles to use the saline and IV. Even Dr Ackles (the best money could buy) had never heard of those of such things, but a flash of Sebastian’s demonic eyes had Dr Ackles looking as dizzy as Dr Barrywood’s guards did earlier, now that I think of it. It occurs to me now that things like saline, iodine, hydrogen peroxide and IV drips might be from a time yet unreached, aka, from the future. 

Not even this form of Sebastian’s care cannot be replicated without his aid.

As is rather predictable, the hospital's treatment of herbal remedies and vinegar don’t do much for me, and I’m soon running a fever and am in an incredible amount of pain. My skin looks like it's been set on fire with how horribly infected it is and it's clear that my body is trying to fight, but failing. I remember Sebastian suggesting to Dr Ackles that I might need a thing called ‘antibiotics’, whatever those are, if I didn’t improve soon. I ask for them from the doctors here, who look at me like I’m an alien. Whatever ‘antibiotics’ are clearly haven’t been invented yet either. So, it's an endless blur of days spent slipping in and out of consciousness whilst I writhe about in agony on the hospital bed. This is worse than being with Black Hat. I’ve never known sweating, shaking, vomiting or pain like it. So much so that I’m no longer aware of what day it is or how many days it's even been anymore. It’s misery. Unbridled, pure misery . I get so sick I’m left mentally begging for literal death. I’ve doomed my son, my wife, and myself. I’ve never known pain like this; but I also have never known guilt like this before either. It’s Hell. Literal Hell. Both physical and mental. Eventually though, my fever breaks and I blink back into awareness, and that same no-fucks-given nurse is above me again. 

“Hello again,” she greets, flatly. “Welcome to January.” 

“January?! It’s January ?” 

“Yep,” says the nurse, dully. “I’m also supposed to inform you that,” she squints at a chart again, “that a woman claiming to be named Rachel Phantomhive was admitted two days ago for a bullet wound, apparently she tried to storm a…Doctor Barrywood’s? And was shot by a guard.”

“ What?! ” I manage to sit up, “is she ok?”

“Well,” the nurse's eyes narrow, “she was also suffering from infected wounds, exhaustion, dehydration and malnutrition, much like yourself. That combined with the lead poisoning…” she tries to hint with her eyes, “look, she’s dead, m’kay? She died a couple of days ago.”

All the life drains out of me, “she…she?”

“Died,” the nurse confirms, flatly, “when she was admitted, she said she was your wife and told me to tell you ‘I’ll never forgive you.’ End of message,” with that, she shrugs and leaves. 

And with that, I’ve officially lost both everything - and every one. 

After they let me see Rachel in the morgue, I spent my days staring blankly out the hospital window, miserably watching the snowfall, having lost everything, including my will to live.

I’m in the middle of one of these staring sessions when a voice says, “had enough yet?” 

My eyes popping, I turn to see Aessil sitting at my bedside, looking smug. “What?” I ask.

“Tchort, aka Sebastian, asks ‘have you had enough yet?’” Aessil beams ear to ear. 

I sit bolt upright with hope, “Sebastian’s alive ?!?! But I killed him!” 

Aessil tosses his head back and laughs, “you can’t kill a demon, Vincent! We’re ageless, immortal and endless shapeshifters, older than the Earth and more eternal than the universe. When you harm a demon with a holy weapon, you just damage their Earthy form and send them back to Hell for a max of three short days . Reapers do this just to get demons off their territory and to issue a warning. Getting sent back to Hell is very inconvenient for a demon. They can’t eat souls down there, and all demons care about is souls. So they won’t mess with that particular Reaper again, because they don’t want to be stopped from eating again any time soon. That’s the purpose of slicing a demon with a scythe. No other. All you did was send Sebastian back to Hell.”

I light up, “then he can put everything back to normal?! He can bring me my son and wife back?!”

“He caaaaaaaaan,” Aeesil sniggers, “but you’re gonna have to go down to Hell and beg him. He says you owe him a major suck-up style apology.”

“Done!!!” I eagerly agree, “take me down! Now! !”

Aeesil walks me down to Hell, through flaming hallways where packs of demons laugh their ass off at me as I pass by. It takes nine flaming staircases, but we finally arrive at a huge door, which Aeesil eagerly shoves me through. Inside is an intimidating and terrifying throne room. “Welcome to Satan’s throne room,” Aeesil introduces, “and now, presenting; the son of Satan, the oldest and most powerful demon in all of Hell, master of time, space and reality, no less powerful then Big Red himself, God amongst men, giant among dwarfs, the Prince of Hell and the heir to the Satanic throne, Tchort!”

Sebastian strolls into existence out of nothing in the same demon form I saw him in earlier, only this time, he’s topped with a Satanic crown upon his head. “Why hellooooooo there Vincent,” he waggles his talons at me as he takes a seat on his throne. “Welcome to Hell. I imagine it's better than being in your position on Earth, am I right?” 

“Yes,” I swallow, standing before him a broken man. “I’ve never been more wrong about anything then I was about you. I cannot express how sorry I am, how much I apologise. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry for trying to kill you. I believed I did kill you, and I’m sorry for that. Truly, I am.”

“You’re only sorry now because you’ve lost everything I provided for you,” Sebastian says, boredly. “You don’t want me, you want what I can provide.”

“You’re right, in a way. Seeing what Ciel’s life would have been like without you has shown me how valuable you are. Yes, without you, I’ve lost everything, including my wonderful Rachel, but it doesn’t matter compared to what Ciel is facing. I’ve put him in a place worse than Hell.” 

“Yes, you have,” Sebastian smirks, “but why should I fix your mess? You’re my murderer, after all. Why should I help my killer? I think you should just crawl back to your miserable little life. You’ve made your bed, now you should lie in it.”

“Because….because…” I sigh, and fall to his knees in front of his throne, “because I beg you. Please. Please Sebastian.”

“Sorry,” Sebastian shrugs, “but rescuing your son would mean that I’d have to return to being his butler, and I really don’t fancy returning to that life,” he’s checking his nails as he talks. “Why would I return to being some spoiled brats butler when I can stay here and rule Hell? I’m the most powerful demon in all of Hell, Vincent. Why should I waste that power on one miserable little Victorian child? I mean, a Victorian of all things! I can exist in any era, anywhere in the universe. Why should I give all that up to pour tea in 1889?”

“Because Ciel needs you,” I plead. 

Sebastian leans forward so far that his face becomes inches from mine, “why would a despicable, horrendous, selfish monster, who’s only using Ciel for my own means, care about that? Ciel hasn’t even given me a soul in four years . As you know, that’s all we demons care about, right Vincent? All I am is a monster. Why should I rescue a child I don’t even actually care about? Why would I care about what’s happening to him?”

Now I get it.

Sebastian doesn’t want me to apologise for killing him. No. That’s not what he’s angry about. That’s not what I need to apologise for. ‘Killing’ him is not how I hurt Sebastian.

I take a deep breath, rise to my feet, and meet Sebastian’s blood-red eyes, “because you love Ciel. Because you love our son. And yes, I said our , because he’s just as much your son as he is mine. No. More. You’re more of a father to him then I’ve ever been. For the past four years, you have given up souls, your throne,” I glance at the impressive throne he’s sitting on, “your status, your power, your ability to be anywhere in time…” I sigh deeply, “you gave up being the Prince of Hell to care for my son, and I couldn’t even make time for him as an Earl. You clearly have an unlimited amount of power and influence,” my eyes cast to the audience of demons who have gathered to watch my pleas with glee. Whenever Sebastian flicks his powerful eyes over at them, they stop laughing at me and bow low, clearly cast down in the light of Sebastian’s superiority. This explains why, at the poker game at Phantomhive Manor, the other demons seemed to fear Sebastian; it's because they do. Sebastian is their boss and their Prince. They both bow to him like the Royalty he is, and scamper for him like an employee would a boss. “You have the entirety of the underworld, and the universe, at your fingertips, and yet you’ve spent the past four years buttoning my son’s shirts instead. You love my - your - son more than Hell, more than power, more than influence, even more than souls .” I stand up straight, and admit, “you’ll come, not for me, not for yourself, but for Ciel , because you love Ciel. You love your son. You won’t let him suffer at Dr Barrywood’s hands, because you’re not a monster, you’re a father, and a loving one at that. You’re selfless, kind, giving and supportive. Sebastian, you're such an amazing father, so selfless, so devoted to Ciel, that you'd do anything and give anything to keep Ciel safe. You're the best parent a boy like Ciel could ask for. You love Ciel so much that you’d never -”

Wait a minute.

“Never..?” Sebastian smirks.

I whisper as I realise, “you love Ciel so much, you’d never let this happen to him. If you only needed to be in Hell for a maximum of three days after the Reaper’s scythe, and it's been more than three weeks …You’d never let Ciel be at Barrywood’s for three minutes , let alone three weeks. You wouldn't allow that, not ever ,” I smile now, because I finally, fully get it, “none of this is real , is it? You’re making me experience all this to finally teach me my lesson.” 

And Sebastian smiles right back at me, before swirling a hand majestically in the air, and, around me, the entire world swirls with it.

When the world refocuses, I realise I’m lying on the floor in front of the window at Phantomhive Manor. The same window I saw Sebastian get ‘killed’ through. Above me, Ciel (back in his perfectly healthy and immaculately tended-to state), Sebastian, and the red clad Reaper stand above and chuckle at me.

“Good vision there, Vincent?” Ciel grins. 

I spring into a seated position, beaming ear to ear, “you little…” I’m so breathless with wonder that there are literal stars in my vision. “You and Sebastian planned all that?”

“Of course,” Ciel smirks, looking very smug indeed. 

The red-clad Reaper, who now I’m better able to focus, I can see is wearing this endlessly long red coat and has equally long red hair. His matching scythe is a chainsaw. “How was that for acting Bassy?” he beams, “did I do a good job of ‘killing’ you?”

“Yes Grell, thank you,” Sebastian glows. “Although, I think that me implanting that lengthy hallucination in his brain was me doing more than my fair share of this agreement.” 

“Unarguably darling!” Grell says, flirtatiously, placing a touchy hand upon Sebastian’s shoulder. The demon shudders in disgust. 

“Hey, I helped too,” Aesil’s voice comes, and I twist my head to see Aesil lounging against the doorframe to the room, grinning. “I’d say my acting in that little hallucination was rather excellent.”

“Yes yes, and thank you for assisting Aesil,” Sebastian smiles, “an excellent job. They’ll be a promotion in this for you.”

“Why thank you, Majesty,” Aesil bows low. 

“Vincent!!” Rachel’s voice suddenly calls from somewhere in the house.

Leaping happily to my feet, I rush out into the hallway, hurrying past Aesil, who has to jump out of my way. “Rachel, my love!” I call back to her, from the hallway. 

Rachel follows the sound of my voice, and the two of us meet in the hallway. Rachel leaps into my arms and, despite my still weakened state, I lift her off her feet and spin her around. 

“Oh my darling. I must have fallen asleep because I just had the most horrible nightmare!” Rachel says, as I put her down. “You actually managed to kill Sebastian with the use of this red-clad Reaper, and we lost everything, and Ciel was -” she stops, blinking, as, through the open door to the living room, she sees all our guests. Her eyes flick back to me, “I lost you too and ur..” her eyes scan Aesil and takes in the grinning Sebastian and Ciel pair. 

“They planned all this my love,” I tell her, “to teach us - well, mostly me, a lesson.” 

Rachel’s eyes widen, “I see!” Despite this realisation, my wife’s beautiful face breaks into a smile. Taking my arm, she pulls me back into the main living room, “I never thought I’d see the day where I was thanking someone for giving me such a wicked vision as what I just experienced, but..” she walks us both right up to Sebastian, “thank you, Sebastian. Truly. I owe you my son, and that’s the most important thing a mother can ever owe anybody.”

“Or, indeed, a father,” I agree, warmly. “Sebastian, I can never - could never - thank you enough. You’ve given my son not only the world, but his life, and for that, I -” I breathe, “I don’t have the words.”

“Your faces were quite enough,” Ciel smirks.

My wife and I share a surprised glance, “you saw it too?” Rachel asks Ciel.

“I wouldn’t miss it! I wanted to watch the truth dawn in your eyes,” Ciel chirps. He looks up at Sebastian, “plus, my life is here is so..safe. I often forget what it would have been like without him.”

“Perhaps being reminded that I’m your saviour and your provider will stop you being such a brat?” Sebastian taunts him.

“Hmmmmm,” Ciel says, falsely thoughtful, “doubt it.” 

“Oi!” Sebastian, grinning, picks Ciel up, hangs him upside down, and shakes him playfully, “you take that back this minute young man!”

Ciel squeals so loud he sounds like a delighted pig! He giggles until he’s pink all over and cries out, mid-laughter, “neveeeeeer!”

Rather than being jealous of this obvious father-son playtime, my wife and I laugh along gleefully. “How wonderful a father you truly are Sebastian,” my wife glows.

“Indeed!” I glow right along. “He sets an example for you and I to follow my love.”

Ciel, still upside down in Sebastian’s arms, smiles, “so is it safe to say that you accept him now?” he asks, as Sebastian puts him down. 

“Accept it too weak a word,” I offer Sebastian a handshake, “Sebastian, I offer to meet you anew; it is my honour to meet you, as Ciel’s father. I’m Vincent, the man who was far more lackluster than you at that job. I hope that you can accept me, and teach me your ways.” 

My Rachel smiles at this, “and I’m Rachel. It’s an honour to meet the man who’s been serving as Sebastian’s mother and father combined. I won’t welcome you into my home, rather, I ask that you welcome me into yours . This is clearly your roost now, and I’m a woman who can respect the mother hen, as well as the obvious pecking order!” She allows herself a little giggle and extends a hand to shake as well. “It’s an honour to meet you.” 

Sebastian looks at Ciel, as if for approval, and the small Earl nods his permission. Smiling now, Sebastian shakes us each by the hand. “It is a pleasure indeed to meet you both.” 

“And, Ciel,” I kneel down to his eye level, “this experience has really shown me how much of a parent Sebastian is, which means I’ve missed a lot. You’re not the 10 year old I left behind, huh?”

“No, I am not.” Ciel confirms. 

I nod, “you’re different now, you’ve been raised by a very different, but very extraordinary parent,” I glance warmly up at Sebastian, “for four years now! Of course you’re different, and to think, I was expecting, what? To waltz back in here and play happy families?” I sigh, “I can delude myself into believing I wanted to protect you from Sebastian, but I saw how happy he was making you, I saw how kind he was, and I still…” I pause to find the words, “I think, if I’m really honest with myself, that it wasn’t about Sebastian being a demon at all. I think I was just jealous. I wanted my Ciel back, the Ciel I left behind, and when I saw you, so different, under the care of a parent that was so much better than me at the job…I…you get it.”

“I figured as much,” Ciel says knowledgeably. 

“I wanted what you two have, but I see now that I have to earn it, as Sebastian has,” I tell, “so, from now on, it's on your terms, ok? Yours and Sebastian’s of course.”

Ciel’s eyes flick to Rachel, “and you?”

“Right there with him baby,” Rachel smiles. “Your terms.”

Ciel visibly relaxes in a way that usually only Sebastian can trigger, “I like the sound of that.”

Rachel kneels down at my side, eye level with Ciel too, “me too, our miracle,” she says, glancing up at Sebastian, “and that ‘our’ now includes Sebastian too, of course.” She checks the nearest clock and looks back at Ciel, “it’s almost lunch time. Could we maybe eat together? As a family?”

“Yeah! And we can get to know you. The new you,” I smile, “I wanna hear all about you. What’s your favourite book these days? Do you still like playing cards? Do you have a flower preference? I want to know it all! ” 

Ciel actually looks just the tiniest bit excited, “and…at this lunch, Sebastian will be there too?”

“Of course,” my wife and I synchronise.  

Ciel lights up at this, actually, really lights up! His little face becoming bright with glee,  “that…” he forcibly smooths his expression out into something more neutral, “sounds like a good first step.” He locks our gaze, “mother. Father.” 

At this, all three Phantomhives light up!

“Yes yes, this is all gloriously happy,” the red clad Reaper reminds us all of his presence. He and Aesil have taken to the sofa, both of them looking both intrigued and annoyed. “But Bassy, darling, where’s my reward?”
“And mine!” Aesil agrees.

Sebastian sighs, “yes yes,” miserably, he pulls off his tailcoat, “come along then Grell. Let me show you how much of a -” he shudders all over, “ woman you are,” he pops open a button on his shirt as he says this.

“Hmm, getting freaky with the Prince of Hell, that sounds better than my reward, actually. It’ll earn me serious dragging rights downstairs. Can I join?” Aesil puts in.

“Certainly not! He’s mine! Be content with your silly little promotion, or whatever you’re getting!” Grell argues possessively. 

“Ok ok, let’s not discuss things like this in front of my master, please,” Sebastian instructs. “Grell, broom closet. Aesil, go down to Hell and you’ll find your status seriously marked up. Master, may I leave you here with your parents whilst I…” he sighs, “ pay Grell?” 

“No,” Ciel decrees. “I do not wish to be alone with them yet.” He looks at us as he says this.

He’s testing us.

But I’m not going to fail this time.

“Fine my lad! Perfectly understandable,” I smile, with no hint of any bad blood in my voice. “We’ll leave you to your book till lunch, hm?” 

Ciel smiles again, “glad to hear that you finally understand.” 

“Then let’s boogie!” Grell jumps to their feet excitedly, “I’ve been waiting years for this! I don’t want to wait a minute more!”

Shuddering and sighing in disgust, Sebastian glides over and offers Grell his arm, “come along then,” he puts on his sexiest voice, “my lady .” 

Squealing in delight, Grell gets walked off towards the door. Sebastian pauses and looks back at Ciel.

“Go on now then,” Ciel says to us, “no being in here without Sebastian.”

“You got it baby,” Rachel coos, grabbing my hand and pulling me out of the room. Sebastian looks pleased about this, but looks disgusted again when Grell makes kissy faces at him. Laughing at Sebastian’s misery, Aesil clicks his fingers and vanishes into a burning pentagram. Ciel, grinning too, goes back to his armchair, and Sebastian closes the living room door, shutting my wife and I away for our son.

And yet, we’re both smiling ear to ear. Because we know this is only temporary; today, we’ve taken a major step.

And we’ll see our son at lunch. 

As Sebastian walks Grell to the nearest broom closet, my wife kisses me softly upon the lips. 

“Darling, I feel as though it's an entirely new day,” Rachel coos. 

“As do I my darling,” I radiate.

Rachel then looks at me with surprisingly hungry eyes, “you know, you walking around in nothing but your underwear like that, and seeing that Grell character and Sebastian, and, well, I haven’t touched you in four years, after all.” 

Bursting into a grin so large it makes my cheeks hurt, I take my wife by the hand, “well then,” I bow at her, “allow me to remedy that fact, my lady.”

Rachel giggles, before I pull her happily up the stairs.

And just like that; it feels as if all is as it should be. 

As it always should have been.