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Every Winter
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It was a crisp winter's morning. Morning frost traced delicate spidery webs of ice across the window panes and the frozen manor grounds were slowly melting in the sun. Sebastian sat at the dining room table, the Manor's entire collection of silverware spread out in front of him on a white cloth. He took his time polishing the metal. It wasn't like he couldn't have completed this menial task in a blink of an eye, however he took a certain kind of pleasure polishing each knife and fork with a sort of dedication that only a butler could possess. Sebastian was actually quite lazy by nature, but his master had trained him well. He let out a wry smile at the thought, pushing the cloth over the sharp tines of a silver fork. Through the little orders that had compiled over the years, the demon had perfected the art of mastering precision and efficiency. It had taken a lot of frustration on both parties, but now they seemed to coexist in an acknowledged existence of pure symbiosis and trust.
As he picked up another knife, Sebastian paused in his movement, demonic senses tingling with unrest. It was unusually quiet, especially from the Young Master's study. He frowned and set the silverware down with precision, his ears tuned in acutely. Sebastian's brow furrowed further as he registered feelings of emotional distress, fear and… weakness.
Any beast hunts with the scent of weakness in it's nostrils, did you know that my dear?
Pushing the chair back abruptly, the demon silently made his way up the wide steps, and down the corridor till he stood in front of a large, magnificent oak door. There was barely any movement, but the agitation that he felt downstairs in the dining room was radiating out of the room in strong waves. The vibration of distress was a call from the wild and Sebastian couldn't help but respond… and what was that… a scent that tickled his senses… could it be… blood? The acceleration of his Master's heartbeat was wild and erratic- something completely different from his usual composed stature.
Sebastian traced the door lightly with a gloved finger. Placing his fingertips lightly against the wood, he breathed in deeply before finally… finally responding to his Master's pitiful bleats of his given name, spoken in the crack of a whisper, needing him in a most desperate fashion that was quite unlike his Master's character.
"Young Master…" The door swung open and darkened wine eyes surveyed the room.
The large Queen Anne style chair that sat in front of the imposing dark cherry wood desk was vacant. Papers were uncharacteristically scattered, but it was not the disarray that caught Sebastian's eye, but the blood that was splattered across the white sheets in large drops of fresh red. His eyes finally landed on the figure that was kneeling on the ground, quaking in the corner beside the bookcase containing valuable files.
He hurried over.
"Se-Sebastian…" Ciel spoke in a wavering tone. He slowly turned to look at his butler, hands shaking and stained with blood from his efforts in trying to stem the flow.
The demon showed no surprise as he surveyed the bloody mess that covered half of the young boy's face. The blood was the reddest near his nose and it dripped over his nose and over his lip, some trickling into his mouth and the rest dripping off his chin onto the front of his shirt, now stained a shocking, dark crimson. The jacket suit would be ruined beyond repair… but there was nothing this demon couldn't do. He wondered if there was any hydrogen peroxide left from last winter.
When the same thing had happened… and the year before that.
The winters in England were cold. The Young Master hated leaving the manor unless there was absolute need for it. As a result the constantly stoked fires dried the air out greatly and the little Phantomhive often broke out in nosebleeds. It didn't help that he was such a frail creature to begin with.
When it happened for the first time, soon after they had settled into the newly refurbished manor, Sebastian was surprised to find his little lord sat up in bed late at night, quaking with fear as he watched blood dribble on to the sheets. The horror and agitation was silent, the only giveaway were his eyes, wide and terrified as if he were shocked to see the sight of his own blood, shown so vividly in front of him. It had taken a bath, a new change of linens and several cups of hot honeyed milk to calm the ten year old. Sebastian sat by the bed and told stories as the boy clutched a handkerchief to his nose and a cup of milk in the other.
But that was then and this was now. Sebastian was sure that it would take more than stories and milk to calm the Young Master at this age. His Lord's aversion to blood was not an uncommon fear amongst human beings he had known. He suspected that the young Phantomhive's fear became most prominent after his agony filled month of confined defilement. Though he didn't sympathise with his human, he could understand why he might be scared.
Ciel began breathing roughly as he felt more warm blood slip over his lips. He wiped the mess away with his right hand roughly, smearing the thin fluid everywhere and onto the back of the hand. He started snuffling to try and stop the flow that way, but as the blood began to run down the back of his throat, the metallic, salty flavour had him coughing hard.
"Se-Sebastian- help-" He choked out, both hands on the floor as he coughed violently, flecks of blood dotting the carpet.
Sebastian snapped to attention at the order. Briskly taking out a handkerchief, he knelt down on the floor and gathered the boy into his arms, ignoring the fact that blood was now seeping into the sleeves of his jacket.
"Use this." He ordered. "Lean forward, do not blow your nose."
If the Young Master was bothered by his imperious tone he did not show it. He obeyed, clutching the white cloth to his face. Ciel closed his eyes as he wheezed once more, trying to expel the blood from his esophagus.
For what seemed like eternity, the odd pair sat on the floor. The demon clutching his charge in his arms as the Young Earl bent forward with his eyes closed, holding the handkerchief to his nose and feeling the sticky, wet blood dry on his cheeks. Every so often, Sebastian stroked the boy's back in an attempt to seem soothing. It was something he had seen humans do when others had fallen ill.
When Ciel finally felt like the blood flow had stopped and his frenzied heartbeat slow, he gingerly removed the handkerchief from his face. Immediately, hands covered his eyes and the cloth was taken from him.
"Close your eyes, my Lord. Do not open them until I say, do you understand?"
The boy barely nodded. There was a flurry of movement and then suddenly cold, wet cloth started to touch his cheeks gently, wiping away the dried blood that had congealed there. The rusty smell almost had Ciel gagging again and so he tried to breathe with his mouth parted open slightly. The coolness of the wet handkerchief was so soothing against his heated cheeks, and he couldn't help but lean into the gentle touch. There was no one in the world that had seen him at his most vulnerable but Sebastian himself and it would stay that way. He couldn't bear the thought of anyone shedding pity over him. Pity was not what he wanted or seeked and Sebastian knew that… The Earl portrayed himself as invincible, heartless and a ruthless player in the dangerous field that he used as his chessboard- however, away from prying eyes, they both knew the truth. No matter how securely the Earl fixed his mask as the Queen's Watchdog, the games they played in the London's underground world, was nothing compared to the game that transcended all human comprehension.
The game devised between a human and the Devil…
Ciel briefly wondered if he was losing that game by accepting the arms that were currently rocking him in an effort to comfort him.
"You may now open your eyes, my Lord." A towel was draped around his frame and Ciel slowly opened his eyes. "Do not look down."
Sebastian gathered his Master in his arms, leaving the bloodied mess on the floor to deal with later.
The walk to Ciel's room was a silent one. Ciel clutched the towel to his chest slowly feeling his sanity return to him little by little. They made a turn and entered the bathroom.
Flicking a satin cloth over the mirror expertly, Sebastian made quick work of the boy's clothes without removing the towel and quickly discarded the bloody material out of sight.
A bath was drawn.
A body lowered gently into bubbling, fragrant water.
Wetness slipped out from underneath Ciel's eyelids, but he wasn't crying.
Still, Sebastian had the grace to turn away as his Master raised a hand cover his face.
Ciel reclined against the pillows of his bed, the covers drawn up to his middle as he watched his butler walk into the room with a covered tray in one hand. Judging by the light outside it seemed to be about mid-afternoon. The stress of the morning's fiasco had tired him out greatly.
"It is a shame, to have been afflicted on such a day like today." Sebastian smiled as he drew closer to the large four poster bed.
"How do you mean?" Ciel bristled at the mention of the word 'afflicted', ears burning.
"What I mean to say is, Happy Birthday, my Lord." He uncovered the tray to display a rather decadent slice of chocolate cake, decorated with red berries and chocolate shavings.
"Devil's food cake?" Ciel commented, eyeing the slice with a wry smirk. "How apt. I had forgotten today was…" He trailed off.
"Won't you try it, Young Master?" Sebastian grinned, pleased that the boy enjoyed the irony somewhat.
Ciel reached for the proffered plate and fork, but he didn't start yet.
"It's funny because I'm here celebrating…" The boy let out a laugh and rubbed his face. "It doesn't matter actually." He started eating- unable to stop the smile of satisfaction that flooded through his system at the rich taste. The endorphins quickly chasing away the stress of the day.
"Another slice?"
"Maybe later…" Ciel lay back down, licking the last of the chocolate from his lips.
"Later? How unlike you not to gorge yourself on sweets when you have the chance." Sebastian smirked as he collected the plate.
Ciel shot up, glaring at the demon.
"I do not 'gorge' myself-"
"Perhaps you are maturing then." The demon gave the boy a small, rare, sincere smile. The words were his gift to the boy, knowing that the Phantomhive strived for nothing less than adult perfection in the eyes of others. He watched as the boy sagged back down onto the pillows, a light blush covering his cheeks.
Sebastian turned to leave the room, his mind occupied with the rest of the chores to compensate for all that was missed in the morning. He would have to find a way to remove the bloodstains from the carpet upstairs.
"Sebastian," A small voice called him back.
"Yes, my Lord?"
"Perhaps… you might stay." Ciel averted his eyes. "Like the old times."
"Maybe not as mature as I thought." Sebastian teased, but returned anyway to sit on the chair by the bed. He set the tray to one side.
"Shut up." The boy blushed.
"Very well, what story would you have me tell today?"
fin.