It's dark in the greenhouse. Clouds brush past the moonlight, which by the time it reaches inside is broken like glass by the leaves and petals. Though the autumn nights are chilly, signaling the onset of winter, the greenhouse is always warm, and right now it's a comfort to Snake, as he sits alone in a corner beneath a bundle of bougainvilleas.
Well, not completely alone.
Snake holds up a hand as Emily coils around it, twining herself about his fingers. On his shoulders rests Wordsworth, as protective as ever. Oscar slithers on his leg, while Wilde watches somewhere from the shadows. Bronte is making her way up his chest to flick her tongue at Wordsworth, who dips his head downwards to greet her, and Goethe peeks out slightly from his breast pocket. Dan has curled himself around Snake's arm like an armband, while Keats has settled for Snake's head, the tip of his tail dangling by his master's ear.
The greenhouse has had many nights like this, where Snake and his companions came to take refuge from the cold and indulge in the thick, sweltering heat. It is normally a time to relax, and for the snakes, to play.
But tonight, they are restless. Snake is restless.
His family is dead, he knows.
And his beloved master, Ciel Phantomhive, may be the killer.
He's suspected for some time. In the years he's served, not once was the subject of his family, the members of Noah's Ark Circus, brought up again, not since that day he was invited into servitude. For many months he held out the hope, the fantasy, that his master was hard at work on the case, that his family really had just disappeared, and that one day, one…wonderful day, he'd see them again.
But there were always other cases. And when they weren't, his master never seemed particularly bothered to go on a search. Of course, he was only a footman, a former circus performer, and orphan from the streets to boot, what did he know of the ways of the nobles? Perhaps, in the few times he's seen his master, he only caught him when he was relaxing, taking a break from all of these cases, and of course, his search.
But he wasn't searching, his snakes had told him. He never seemed to put any effort into looking for them, and on the few rare occasions his family had been mentioned, though Snake had never been there in person, his master had always seemed resigned, as if the matter had been put to rest a long time ago, and there was no longer any point in bringing it up.
When his snakes told him that, Snake knew they were dead. But a part of him…a naïve, foolish part, that was still that little orphan boy a long time ago…still believed. Still hoped, that maybe, they were wrong. Maybe, somewhere, his family really was out there, on the run, just waiting for the chance to finally find happiness.
Like he had.
But tonight, Snake wanted to confirm. It had to be tonight. Because tonight, something had changed with Master Phantomhive. Snake could tell there was something…off, about the pair. Like something had been resolved. And though he could not explain why, Snake had a feeling that after tonight, he would not see either again for a very long time. Perhaps never.
It's time, Emily murmurs. We must know. We need to know.
We must speak with him, Wordsworth says vehemently. We must confront him, before it's too late.
Before it's too late, Oscar and Wilde echo.
Silently Snake rises, and all of his companions crawl up and around him, securing themselves on his arms, his legs, his waist, his shoulders, his pockets. He opens the door to the greenhouse and, bracing himself, steps outside. All of his snakes tighten themselves around him, clinging closer to his warmth, and he walks quickly to spend the least amount of time outside. He doesn't realize he's gasping for breath until he makes it into the manor through the servant's door into the kitchen. His chest is unusually tight. Perhaps it's the cold…or perhaps it's fear.
Because a part of him still doesn't want to know. It still wants to look away, and do nothing but believe in his beloved Master Phantomhive.
Snake rests against the door for a few minutes, swallowing away the pain in his chest. Then, fangs gritted, he pushes himself up and leaves the dark, eerie kitchen.
His master's room is dark when he arrives. The door is unlocked, and he silently opens it. He lets his snakes go first, to check the place and make sure nobody is around. He wants this conversation to be between just his master and himself.
Keats and Bronte slither back, reporting the all-clear. Only then does Snake himself go in, closing the door just as quietly.
His master appears to be asleep. For a moment, Snake is unsure what to do. Should he wake him? He doesn't wish to—it'd be extremely inappropriate, for one. This is also the first time he's ever seen his master asleep, Snake realizes. Usually Snake is busy doing other chores or has already retired himself by this time. Master Phantomhive is resting with his back turned towards him, and he looks oddly smaller, more like the child the rest of the world believes him to be.
"Well? Are you going to stand there all night?"
Snake's companions hiss in alarm as Master Phantomhive suddenly sits up, shifting in the bed so that he faces him. Though he's silhouetted in the darkness, a part of his master's face gleams, as if illuminated by something. Probably the moonlight, Snake reasons, though he feels unsure.
Snake automatically assumes a more dignified pose, a reaction that has since become natural whenever he's in the presence of the young lord. He gives a slight bow. "Apologies, young master, says Dan," Snake replies quietly. "We did not intend to wake you."
"I think we both know that tonight is not the night for lies," his master responds softly, and Snake flinches. The heaviness in his chest is growing. Was it his imagination, or was there a note of regret in his master's tone?
Snake straightens. He's never been good at small talk. Best to get to the point, as always.
"My family, the circus folk, is dead, says Wordsworth," Snake says, more smoothly than he thought.
His master is silent for a moment. "Yes," he replies, honesty in his tone.
Snake's throat closes for a moment. This next one is going to be much harder.
"They were killed, says Wordsworth," he manages.
"Yes." His master's voice is unwavering.
Snake can hear himself panting, his heart pounding as a rush of blood suddenly fills his head. Suddenly he doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want to know. He doesn't know what he'll do if…
But Emily coils herself next to his ear, and flicks his cheek with her tongue. Snake's slitted eyes slide to her, then back to his master. He takes a deep, shaky breath, and asks, "Did you kill them?"
He doesn't realize he's spoken for himself.
That gleam, on his master's face…Snake now realizes it's coming from his master's eye. It's a light, lavender color, strangely hypnotic. Otherworldly. When Snake asked his dreadful question, the glow seemed to get brighter, if only for an instant.
"Yes," his beloved master answers.
His heart freezes at first. The part of him that already knew merely lowers his head somberly, while the rest of him merely stands there in shock. This is the reaction he expected, and he's mildly surprised he managed to hold himself.
Then he shatters. Now no longer able to deny it, the truth rips away the last of his ignorance, and he's left shuddering on his knees that he doesn't remember falling to. Hot tears are already streaming from his golden eyes, and quiet, wracking sobs are muffled behind his gloved hand. His other arm wraps around himself, clutching, trying desperately to hold himself together.
Damn you, a voice curses. Damn you, Smile. You laugh at me from behind your glamor, mock me with your orders, tease me with your lies. Lies, lies, lies, how could you lie to me, Smile, how could you…
Liesssssssss, Wordsworth hisses. Snake looks up, and sees that half his companions have already made their way to Ciel's bed, slithering slowly closer. They are out for blood, he knows. But they wouldn't have gone unless…
Snake drops his hand from his mouth. "I should kill you, says Keats," he whispers hollowly. "I should strike you until you bleed, says Dan."
Nine pairs of golden eyes glint icily in the darkness. Eight are emotionless, just waiting for the order. The ninth has too much emotion, but they regard their master stonily.
He wants to do it. He wants to kill him so badly. But…
Memories, from the time his master told him those four simple words, "Come to my manor", to the time of the egg hunt, to the time when the ship was sinking and his master told him to save his snakes, to the time when he was to show himself for the first time before everyone else…
I look different from everyone else, and since I'm with you, people will laugh at you. Says Dan.
His master…
Everyone looks different. It's nothing to be ashamed of. It's not anyone's business who I associate myself with, anyways.
I want to save you, too, Snake.
Those words, they had seemed so genuine. His determination and strength, so firm. His master…
A few more tears trickled down his scaly skin. His beloved master…
The young lord says nothing. He doesn't even move. Why doesn't he call for his butler? Snake wonders. He knows the other killer is capable of saving his master even now, with Snake's companions draped all about him like sashes. But still his master is silent, like the shadow he seems, but for that ominous lavender glow.
Then, to his surprise, the glow disappears.
His master moves, and slides off the bed to stand. Snake's companions hiss warningly, but his master ignores them. Snake flicks his hand, and at the gesture his companions grudgingly withdraw themselves from him. Somehow, he knows his master will not hurt him.
He does not expect his master to touch him, and at first he flinches. Master Phantomhive lays a hand on his head, then moves it down to his chin and lifts it, so that Snake is looking at his shadowed face. In the dim light, and with his enhanced eyesight, Snake can just make out the curve of a smile.
"I've done you a great misgiving," his master says sincerely, and now Snake is sure of the regret in his tone. "You're right, you should kill me. I consider it no greater sin than to steal away someone's family."
These words…they're so unlike his master, Snake wonders if they're merely the prelude to his death. Any moment know, the butler will appear, and strike off his head before he can even blink…
"But I'm not meant to die here, tonight, by your hand, I'm afraid," his master continues. Snake furrows his eyebrows. What does he mean by that?
That thought is lost when, to Snake's utter surprise, his master leans down and kisses his forehead.
"I sincerely hope, Snake, that one day you are able to forgive me," his master murmurs.
Snake is stunned. He remains stock still, absorbing Lord Phantomhive's words. He can't forgive him. How could he? This boy had taken away what had been most precious to him, and let him live under the delusion that they were still out there somewhere, perhaps searching for him…
Except…when Snake thinks of moving a hand against his master, it stays firm. It is not merely out of fear for retaliation. He simply cannot strike one he'd resolved to protect. Because he had promised to protect him, hadn't he? When he'd been accepted into this family.
Snake's slitted pupils widen slightly. His new family. He'd never called them that before, but it was true all along, wasn't it? The Phantomhive household. He was a part of it now. Part of this new family, which Ciel Phantomhive had given him.
And he was happy.
Snake bows as his master straightens, then gets to his feet.
"We apologize again for disturbing you, young master, says Emily," Snake says hoarsely. "We bid you good night, says Wordsworth."
The lavender glow is back. "Good night, Snake," his master replies, his voice cool and regal.
Snake bows once more, and gathers his companions to himself again. He exits the room and closes the door as quietly as when he entered, just catching a glimpse of his master sitting in his bed, staring out the window.
He is almost surprised to see the butler standing right next to him, perfectly at attention as always, that mysterious smile ever-present on his lips. Raising the candle he is holding before him, he gives a short bow in greeting as Snake turns to him, his companions regarding him warily.
"Black," Snake greets, giving a bow as well. He starts to go past the butler, when Sebastian speaks.
"If it's any consolation," the smooth voice purrs, like black oil on water, "they all died marvelously well, out of love for each other. They genuinely cared for one another to the end. Though I regret to say not one of them gave any mention of you."
Snake's companions hiss angrily, rearing up at this insolent man, who turns to face them fully, his face still smiling but his body adopting a guarded stance. But Snake stops them. A part of him knows he should be offended, but for some strange, insane reason, fitting for this strange, insane night, he feels only gratitude. He knows it will not be any use to get angry now, as it will be pointless tomorrow.
Why did he just think that?
"I appreciate your words of consolation, says Oscar," Snake replied. "I bid you good-night, says Keats."
Red eyes dance with mirth in the darkened hallway. "Good-night, Snake," Sebastian says politely.
As Snake continues down the hallway, his companions retreating back to their usual holds, Sebastian quietly enters Ciel's room.
Ciel is still sitting upright, gazing at the window. He doesn't turn around even as Sebastian sets the candle on his bedside.
"That was a dangerous game you just played, my lord," he says.
"It wasn't a game," his master replies, still looking at the window. The moon is full tonight, and if it weren't for the curtains his master would surely be illuminated as by day.
"I am curious," Sebastian continued. "Why did you not tell him the entire truth about the circus? That they were secretly killers, kidnapping children for the sake of a deranged old man?"
Ciel does not respond. Not right away. His lashes, soft as velvet, flutter briefly against his cheeks. "I don't know," he murmurs at last. "Perhaps…I did not wish to cause him further pain."
The demon raises an elegant eyebrow. "That is most unlike you, my lord."
He suddenly and swiftly drops to one knee.
"Lies have become truth this night," Sebastian says softly. "Tomorrow, our contract will be fulfilled. Rest assured, I shall remain your ever-faithful butler until that moment."
"I am always assured when you're around, Sebastian," Ciel responds just as quietly. He turns his head to face him, the seal in his eye piercing in the dark. "You've always done as I asked. You've always taken care of me, protected me, and aided me in everything I've done. You've upheld your end of the bargain better than I could have ever hoped. I am grateful, Sebastian."
"Oh? The young master is grateful?" Sebastian stands again, and draws himself closer. He bends until his face is inches from Ciel's, and he draws one gloved thumb along his cheek below the marked eye. "Somehow that doesn't suit you, my lord."
The hand is smacked away; Ciel turns around and lies back in bed at last, drawing the covers up. "Learn to accept gratitude when it's given," he grumbles.
Sebastian merely smiles. He picks up the candle, blows it out, and turns back to the door. "Good night, young master."
"Sebastian."
Sebastian halts, one hand on the door handle. He knows what Ciel wishes to say, but he waits until he hears it anyways.
"Stay with me…until I fall asleep."
The demon's smile grows wider, and a hint of fangs briefly show before the mouth closes and Sebastian turns back.
"Yes, my lord."
RN: I intentionally didn't provide an explanation for what this last day is, because it's not the focus of the story. In a way, it's not canon, or maybe it's just not canon yet. I just expanded upon the "day when lies become truth" concept, and imagined it would be the day everything ends.
~Any similarities to other fanficts are purely unintentional.
~I've been meaning to put this little plot bunny up for a while, it's honestly one of my favorites out of all the things I've written.