I've officially resurrected this account with a new story that I wrote a long time ago for a friend.

Some additional announcements: 1. I have edited St. Sebastian's Home for Boys to fix some tense/wording/grammatical errors that have been annoying me. 2. I have an Archive of Our Own account under the name Caladrius where St. Sebastian's Home for Boys has been uploaded and where I might also upload other Kuro stories along with my Supernatural fanfiction. 3. To announce that an 11th chapter of St. Sebastian's Home for Boys is in the works. I'm sorry for the exceptionally long hiatus.

Long story short, I had a baby. :)

THIS story is a sweet one. It's tender. I wrote it with love and when I stumbled over it and reread it the other night, I still feel the love...

The Red-Tinged Path

Ciel Phantomhive is losing consciousness. This is a blessing on the one hand; he is in excruciating pain. His arms have been wrenched behind his back so firmly that the sinews scream. Even though he did not struggle when they were applied, the wires now cutting into his wrists are sticky with fresh blood and flaky from old blood. Hours old. Many hours old, perhaps.

Ciel can only see out of one blue eye (the other is blinded by a contract with a demon) and even that eye is half shut against the bruise forming on his brow, the end result of a snide comment from his now-puffy lips and consequential retribution from a bully. A self-assured bully. A bully who believed he had in his possession a mere child with no power, easily subdued.

Ciel always waits until the last moment to call Sebastian.

This was a situation that could have ended hours ago when his quarry had, in a state of mistaken superiority, revealed the location of the kidnapper's smuggling hub, a dock brazenly located in the heart of London Harbour. That was really all the information Ciel needed to conclude this particular odious task, but he had let the hours drag out until the ring leader had gathered his henchmen in to gloat over their unexpected prize. A nobleman. A young man. He had been deemed "a little rough around the edges." Previously spoiled goods and certainly no virgin, but there were those who would still pay for a chance to break a spirit and a body so thoroughly arrogant.

This situation even mirrored the worst one from long ago, the month he had been kidnapped when he was 10, orphaned, tortured, humiliated, and disgraced. When his mind had snapped. When every fiber of his being had been tested to its breaking point. A cold and calculating Ciel now replaces the shuddering, pathetic mess he had been that day. He watches the men speak, sees them laugh, and he can feel himself slipping away into darkness. Again. Because it has happened many times before. Unlike that first summons when he flailed into the darkness reaching for a thread to hold onto, he now willingly lets himself reach the brink of total destruction before he calls…

"Sebastian…come. Now."

Just as on that day, his heart, no his soul, jumps a little. An almost painful pulling sensation in his right eye and heat signal that his call has been heard and will be heeded.

The men are not releasing his hands, but they are removing the elegant blue tie at his neck that Sebastian had selected for him this morning. Yesterday morning. Whenever. They are opening his collar for some reason, perhaps to stare at his pale neck. A clumsy, thick hand removes the eye patch from his face to get a better look. That was very stupid of them. Ciel's eyes are both open as the room goes dark. He can feel him, his butler's inky presence. It is not unconsciousness that takes him, not yet. He has the satisfaction of hearing the moment of confused silence shattered by a wet, garbled shriek, the sound of bodies thumping against the floor…

Ciel hurts all over. Hurts so badly. It is a good pain; it reminds him that he is alive and these men are about to die. He will hurt for days, and his soul will still be damned, but he will be at peace for a short time. The price will have been paid, again: his pound of flesh.

Yes. Bring them death, Sebastian. Bring them to their knees. Topple them from their secure seat. Rain down hell upon them. Smear them from the face of the earth. He can smell blood; it is in the air all around him, and it is quiet. Ciel's head hurts. It is hard to think, but he cannot go unconscious until he hears his voice – calm, smooth, warm…soothing. Constant.

"Ah, master. You have punished yourself splendidly again…"

Ciel smiles. It is a terrible smile for a 16-year-old, his face bruised and his body twisted. It is a terrible accusation.

It is a terrible truth.

"S…Sebastian. You are…late…"

And now the feel of a familiar wool coat against his cheek. Let the darkness come at last.

Ciel dreams of a warm summer morning. His mother holds a straw hat in her hand, trimmed with a pink ribbon. She is laughing at something his father has just said across their tea in the gazebo. His father is very witty and very handsome. He is a shrewd businessman and a clever noble. Everyone who meets him finds him charming and an excellent conversationalist. His mother adores her boys. She still smiles at Vincent like a debutante when he pauses to lift his cup to his lips. A blue glow emanates from his hand. From his finger. A blue glow from a ring…Ciel pauses in his game with his black borzoi, Sebastian, to grin at his father. Vincent catches his eye and looks over at him with pride. Ciel loves them so much. So much! Such perfect parents. Such perfect parents who could so adroitly conceal murder. Espionage. Filth of the underground. Still glow with such pristine light.

"Papa!"

Ciel runs towards the gazebo. He wants to sit in his father's lap and taste Tanaka's tea. He wants to be able to gaze across at his mother, a man she can be proud of. He wants to be just like his father when he grows up. He wants to be just like him…

Ciel opens his eyes and the feeling and the dream melt away like vanilla ice cream on the summer cobblestones. The sweetness slips inside the cracks between the stones and mortar to be washed away with the dirty London rain.

He is in his bed and it is warm with his fever. His arms are by his side, not across his chest in a sling. Perhaps his shoulder was merely dislocated, not broken. That was fine too. He aches all over, but a concentrated area of relief is on his forehead. Something cool. A compress? No. It slides away as he sighs at the pleasure of it.

A hand.

"Master, have you awakened?"

Sebastian.

He opens his mouth to speak and must lick his lips. His jaw hurts, badly.

"Is it done?"

Sebastian bows, his hand across his chest. "The slave trade ring was rooted out and its ringleaders have been arrested. Links to the London hub have been found in Nepal, New York City, and Bangladesh. It is understood that many of its victims may never be found again, but those who could be salvaged have been returned to their families. The queen has sent a missive, my lord. Would you care to have me read it to you now?"

"No, Sebastian. And your report was too long. I require only the particulars."

"Your pardon, my lord."

What did Ciel Phantomhive care about kidnappers or their victims? What did Ciel Phantomhive care about the queen? Once upon a time, when he was new to his title, he had felt a pride in his duty as the Earl of Phantomhive. He had jumped at her commands, had convinced himself that he was going to become as perfect a noble as his father, become the legacy worthy of his father. But time had worn away at this infantile and childlike notion. He could never be his father. Perhaps had his father lived…but he hadn't. Now it was Ciel and his hatred and his emptiness. Every time he felt the cold brush of death at his neck, the pain in his limbs, the shocking spear of complete humiliation, he remembers why he is still alive, the purpose of his life. That pain is good. That pain brings him closer to vengeance. This past year with Sebastian's assistance, his ties to the queen, and his own mechanizations, Ciel has been a young man driven. Driven to avenge himself, his family, his honor. That is what is left of childish dreams: to achieve only that one, satisfying success and then…

The end.

And now, the part of the cycle when he must heal.

Sebastian leans down. He slides a hand across Ciel's back and lifts him slightly so that he can drink water from a glass. He begins to drink it eagerly, the fever, like hellfire, having parched him while unconscious. But there is something in the water that makes it taste bitter and he spits it out.

"What is this?"

"An analgesic, my lord. For…" he pauses.

Ciel knows what an analgesic is. "Take it away and simply give me water. How many times must I say it? Did I ask for a painkiller? What is the matter, Sebastian? Do you not enjoy seeing me suffering through the pain?"

Ciel feels himself lower to the bed. Sebastian takes the glass away. "You did not ask for a painkiller, however, it was recommended for your fever."

"Tch." Ciel is unimpressed. "Do not concern yourself with this fever; you will get your prize. I won't die of it."

Sebastian is silent as he fills a new glass with water. This time Ciel drinks. He drinks and drinks with long gulps. He has another glass full before he signals that he is done. The sheets are fresh. Still crisp. That meant he had only been asleep for a few hours this time. Sebastian removes his covers and Ciel looks down at his body. He is bandaged in several places, is somewhat shocked by it, in fact. This time around the pain had felt significantly less than past adventures though his body bore new purple bruises, new cuts, to add to the pale scars of the last three years. Sebastian removes a bandage on his leg and he sees the black thread holding his angry flesh together. Ah yes. He had been stabbed there because his mouth had been derisive and goading. A flash of bright, white hot pain that did not last nearly long enough.

"Master, you waited too long."

Ciel is surprised at this.

"I waited precisely as long as I wished to wait." His response is icy but his voice hitches as Sebastian cleans the wound, applies a white paste, and replaces the bloody bandage with a clean one.

"That is the problem."

Ciel opens his mouth to reprimand his servant, but the demon cleverly chooses that time to hastily remove a bandage at his shoulder causing the young man to seethe.

"You are becoming increasingly more reckless with your body, master. I wish for you to be more considerate of your general well-being." Sebastian's voice is neutral, as if reading him the paper, but the content of his dialog makes Ciel's heart thump simply because it is so…out of character.

"A butler giving his master orders? What is the matter, Sebastian? Do you not appreciate my challenge of your abilities to keep me from death?" He knows his voice is acidic. It is always acidic, but it is also a mask for his bewilderment.

"You enjoy a pain that bears no fruit."

Ciel winces, but not from the sponge at his shoulder gliding gingerly along frayed nerves.

"You make me sound like a masochist."

Sebastian says nothing.

"What do you know, demon?" he turns his face, struggling for the upper hand and coming away empty. His one good eye slides over to observe his butler when the sponge stills.

"I know you, master. Eighty-six times you have called to me through our contract. Eighty-six times you have reached me. Twenty-nine times you have called to me with your heart slowing. Forty-two times you have called me with your heart racing. When you call to me, do you believe it was merely your voice I could hear?"

Ciel says nothing but he begins to see where Sebastian is going with this, to a place he had not expected. He had kept this intimate bond with his demonic servant all of this time without comprehending just how intimate it was. Was it possible that Sebastian could see his thoughts through that link? At the moment he called, was Ciel's soul laid bare? But more bafflingly, why would Sebastian care?

"It…is unbelievably inappropriate for you to be able to see so far into my thoughts when I call you and I, the master, have no privilege in the reverse."

"Perhaps you simply have not looked."

The cotton gauze is pressed to his shoulder. Sebastian's hair has fallen forward from behind his ear. He looks down at Ciel, his gaze inscrutable. Ciel stares back.

It could not…simply be that easy…

"What do I care of your thoughts?" He says finally. "Your duty is to be my power, to do as I order you to do, and to preserve my life until I am finished. One day you will be privileged enough to consume my soul forever. What does it benefit the log to understand the motives behind the axe?"

Sebastian tilts his head. "You refer to yourself as a log? In the case of this metaphor, why not a tree?"

Ciel sputters at the complete insufferable nature of this demon. "What does it matter, a log or a

tree?"

"Precisely because a log has already been cut down, and a tree still lives."

Ciel smiles cynically at this. "Well then, my metaphor was perfect, since I cannot claim I have actually felt alive since I was ten."

"…Master...This is not the only way."

Ciel experiences a twinge in his chest. The sensation shoots to his toes. He can't speak. He feels as if he is being railroaded into territory he does not want to think about. Sebastian has never done this before. The game of words, the resistance, the smugness…that was all comfortable territory. He cannot see the track being laid out before him and it fills him with confusion and rage.

"Master, which do you wish to be? Alive or dead?" His hand touches Ciel's forehead. It is cool, pleasant. It is gentle. It is a contrast from the pain in his body, but he welcomes it.

His face, however, takes on an expression of cold fury.

"Get out, Sebastian. You talk too much. When you return, I order you to say nothing."

Because he wants him to return with cool water and cool hands. He wants to see his body healed by those hands.

No expression betrays Sebastian's thoughts. He bows, says, "yes, my lord," and leaves the room. The door latches behind him. Instead of relaxing in the silence, Ciel's body tenses. He develops a headache. His knuckles are white. He had gained the upper hand, but was angry to admit that he was now truly miserable.

Damn you, Sebastian.

Every minute that goes by Ciel believes that Sebastian will return with something. Water. Food. Changing his bandages. Something. But he does not return and time marches on. There is no clock in Ciel's room because the maddening tick of it increased his anxiety at night, and he had Sebastian remove it years ago. It is mid-summer, and so not even the presence of light outside his window offers any real understanding of the hours that pass. He is trapped in a cocoon of unwanted pain when this was the part of the cycle he was normally cared for and pampered by his butler.

Why? Why did Sebastian have to ruin this? Why? It had to have benefitted him in some way; as a demon, everything he does is naturally for himself. The easy answer, of course, was simply Sebastian's personality. He enjoyed having his contrary moments, watching Ciel scowl, hearing a commanding tone issue from his master's lips, usually to tell him to shut it. But everything about this last exchange felt…different.

And he wanted to know, but he did not want to ask and he did not want to talk about it. And he did not want Sebastian to know that he wanted to know. And he wanted Sebastian here, now, to place his hand on his forehead again…

"Master, which do you wish to be? Alive or dead?"

I want to live. I do not know how to do that. I do not remember how it feels to enjoy life. I want to enjoy it, but I know it will not last forever, and so I hasten to end it, to rip the bandage free. How do I enjoy life while my parents' murderers, my defilers, exist in this world? I must punish them quickly, but as soon I do this, it will be over. All of it. I cannot decide. I'm still helpless…

Ciel swallows. He opens his eyes.

"Sebastian, come."

The familiar sensation, the pulling, the tug on the silver cord that connects him to his demon. In a moment of unparalleled curiosity, he looks down the path. He glances with inexperienced clumsiness through the connection to a place he has never bothered to look. It is a red-tinged channel that cuts through an ocean of existence and memories like Moses' path through the Red Sea. If he had been a child anymore, the darkness of it would have terrified him…but this sensation is merely Sebastian's presence magnified by a thousand, and while Ciel still had nightmares of that night six years ago, he will never fear his black butler.

It is not words that echo down this connection, but feelings. Sensations. They, too, are red-tinged, but much stronger than Ciel would have guessed: Sebastian is surprised but pleased he has been called. Pleasure is an expression that Sebastian has shown a maddening propensity for, but surprise? This is an adjective Ciel had never once considered applying to the demon. At least, the butler's face rarely showed it. But perhaps he hid surprise more often than Ciel thought. That concept alone was intriguing.

The latch of the door is pulled and the demon enters. His small smile is characteristic; there is nothing in his expression to hint that the curtain between them has just been pulled aside. Perhaps he does not know what Ciel has seen? Ciel glares at Sebastian just as characteristically as he comes forward into the room to stand quietly by his master's side. He looks down patiently at the young man, his black hair unkempt, his uniform pristine. He says nothing, of course, because he has been ordered to be silent.

So dutiful. Yes, but there had been real pleasure at being called. What did this bastard hope for anyway? That it would be one errant, exceptionally un-butlerlike remark and his master would be remade? What did he expect Ciel to believe? That he wanted his master to live a full life before he took it? That must be it. This greedy demon was not content merely have his soul; he wanted it to be rich with experiences and life before he consumed it. He was seasoning his dish. That was the reason for it all. It had to be.

He stares at Sebastian, suddenly embarrassed. He has no idea what he wanted when he called him before, and the expectant silent red eyes are now simply annoying because of it. An idea comes to him that will remove the burden simply and allow him to keep the upper hand.

"If you know me as well as you claim, then prove it."

Sebastian stares into the blue eye. Slowly he lifts his hand and, as he leans down, places it on

Ciel's forehead.

So cool against his feverish forehead. Ah, yes. This. This is what he had wanted. Damn him. If he gave in to Sebastian's request, if he treated his body with better care in the future, then afterwards this cool hand would not be his. If he experienced life without the masochism, then the joy of this part of the cycle would be lost to him because he kept every living thing at arm's length or further. His butler had stopped bathing him when he was thirteen-and-a-half because he had ordered it as unnecessary. He had commanded Sebastian to stop calling him Young master and refer to him simply as "master" when he was fourteen. If Sebastian did not care for his body after his self-inflicted pain then he would have no more touches, no other gestures of tenderness. From anyone. Ciel's pride had blinded him to his own needs. He was alive, but he was carved out and hollow. There was nothing and no one to fill the endless ache.

Except Sebastian. There had always been Sebastian.

"This is not the only way…"

I am Earl Ciel Phantomhive. I do not need anyone.

But that was a lie, wasn't it? Without Sebastian he would not be alive…

Was he supposed to relinquish his pride to a demon who was already in possession of his soul, if not literally, certainly figuratively? And then it finally clicks...

"I know you, master."

Ciel chuckles. It hurts. He begins to laugh. His chest tightens and he shudders as the sound of irony breaks the silence. Sebastian already knew he was a sham. Because of their inner connection, the demon has known his loneliness since the beginning. He has seen that image of his mother and father in his mind, the goal he is after, and it is no more substantial than an illusion. He has watched him gather all of his strength and hurl himself at something that has no real climax and seen him break his body against it time after time. How laughable he must seem to a demon! How petty he must look! The façade of strength, the picture of the indomitable youth. Hilarious! Ciel hates himself and the lie he has been living to his very core.

Sebastian, still unspeaking, watches impassively as Ciel laughs himself into a coughing fit, and from a coughing fit into a choking fit. He lifts Ciel and leans him forward, rubbing his back. When Ciel can manage a breath Sebastian produces a glass of water. Ciel finds further irony in the fact that he has not laughed like this in six years. He has also not cried in six years…and now tears of laughter are streaking his face.

He feels so weak. He wants to tell Sebastian to go away, but he does not. Sebastian has been communicating with Ciel for six years with his eyes, and now their intense gaze is upon him, waiting for an order. Waiting.

"You implied there was another way." Ciel's voice sounds hoarse, inhuman. He does not care anymore because he is back to ground zero. He is back at the start and he has come no closer to…anything.

Sebastian nods.

"What? What is it?"

The black butler does not smile or look smug. He hesitates a moment, but Ciel only looks at him expectantly. He leans Ciel back in the bed and stands. White gloves are removed and, as Ciel watches, allowing the curiosity to numb his self-loathing, he removes his tie as well. Lastly, his butler bends over and unties his shoes, placing them at the foot of Ciel's bedside stand. He walks around the foot of the bed to the other side, lifts the covers, and to Ciel's extreme surprise, slides into the bed.

Ciel blinks. Suddenly he is face to face with Sebastian. It is true he had grown in six years, but Sebastian had been tall to begin with, probably an aesthetic of his to be able to look over the heads of mortals. However, at this moment, they are truly eye to eye.

"You…" He begins, not sure whether what he is going to say is full of wonder, outrage, or simply complete exasperation. His voice is stopped in his chest, however, as Sebastian's arms reach around him carefully, mindful of his wounds, and pull his master into his arms.

Ciel instinctively stiffens. He is not a doll or a toy. This...this is unusual and not in the least bit funny if it is meant to be a joke. But the longer he says nothing, a defiant and indignant phrase boiling in his brain but unable to find phrasing on his lips, the less he is inclined to find words to give it.

When, truly, was the last time he had been hugged? Lizzy had liked to jump into his arms, but that had been a clingy kind of touch, and Lizzy had retreated from his coldness so far into the background, awaiting the return of a Ciel that would never come home, that he had forgotten the feeling of even that. Then, when?

Ah yes. It had been the night before his birthday, when he had crawled into his mother and father's bed. They had hugged him then. And even after telling him to return to his room, Ciel was clever enough to know how to draw out one kiss to the next, one happy story to the next, so that his parents gave up their entreaties and let him fall asleep in their arms there...safe, warm, loved.

Ciel gasps. This is not that love, and those moments cannot be returned with a single embrace. If anything, what Sebastian is doing is insulting to the memory of their love. He is a demon. What does he know about love? To use the memories of those tender moments to entice him to take better care of himself and lessen Sebastian's own burden is outrageous.

"What do you think you are doing? This gesture is meaningless, demon. Get out of my bed."

But Sebastian does not move and he does not say a word. Of course. He had been ordered not to. Ciel pushes at Sebastian's chest, his heart crying out at the treachery of his hands pushing away that body that can comfort him, but not strong enough anymore to overcome the pride that had been honed to a razor edge. Instead of obeying the physical order as well, the butler tilts Ciel's angry face toward him and leans over. The Earl of Phantomhive freezes as Sebastian's lips make contact with the eyelid over his cursed eye. The spark, the tugging that follows every mental directive, is suddenly extremely intense. The invitation is there once again to look down the red-tinged path, to explore what this connection truly meant from the phlegmatic demon's perspective. Their bodies and souls are so close now, that Ciel's one tentative glance pulls him down the path with great force, immersing him in the tainted soul of this nearly immortal creature.

There are no words in the core of the demon, only feelings, and the feelings at this moment are overwhelmingly intense. It was said that demons were born of human passion, but Sebastian was so cool, both physically and in manner and expression, that Ciel had dismissed this theory long ago. Staring into the depth of him now, however, was like wanting to weep and scream and shatter into a million pieces wrapped up by intense heat. Heat...hotter than hell. Hot and painful and...lonely.

Ciel pulls away. His face is flushed. Interpreting these visions and sensations that are not of a mortal is both confusing to the teenager and frightening. Frightening because he does not understand how so much could have been condensed and hidden from him for this long. It is mystifying. What did it mean? What could it mean other than that Sebastian has been loving him for years? A demon.

Perhaps, somehow, this gesture was an act of love after all?

Had Sebastian's mouth spoke words of love, Ciel would never have believed them, would have mocked him. And, of course, Ciel had never once voiced to Sebastian how much he wanted those cool hands on his hot forehead. How he craved the touches that healed him after he had brought himself in one way or another to the brink of death. He had never told Sebastian that, especially when he was younger, he had considered so many times ordering his demonic butler into his bed at night to save him from his nightmares the way he had saved him the night their contract had been made.

Ahh...but Sebastian had seen all of these things. He had seen them all anytime he had been mentally called, and Ciel, who never looked, knew nothing. And neither of them, for the sake of their own pride, would have told the other...anything.

Ciel feels a burning embarrassment. Until this very moment, he had not realized the extent of his own loneliness, but ordering Sebastian away when the demon clearly knew everything while he was drowning in the revelation of the demon's feelings, seemed both pointless and laughable. Thank God he had ordered Sebastian not to speak. Ciel did not want to know how or when or why or at what point the demon's feelings had developed into this...something. He did not care. He understands now, however, why Sebastian had requested him to stop tormenting himself.

Ciel purposefully scowls, because he does not know how to do this and he is not a flushing maid, but he reaches his arms up and around Sebastian's neck with the same decisiveness that he would use to sign his own name. The Earl of Phantomhive hangs on for dear life and presses his head against Sebastian's chest. Finally, there is a strange kind of peace; the tense muscles in his body relax and his headache, magically, disappears.

"Sebastian, I order you to never speak of this. Never talk about this. You will never say anything that is...unnecessary. Do you understand?"

Ciel feels Sebastian's head nod, but it is not enough. "You may express your understanding verbally."

Sebastian's voice, just at his ear, sends a warm spike down his body into his toes once more. "Yes, my lord."

Ciel spends the night this way, wrapped up in Sebastian's arms. When the nightmares come, as they often have come to him for six years, Sebastian is there. He says nothing unnecessary as ordered, but brushes Ciel's cheeks with his thumbs. Ciel is taller than he was, but his body fits neatly against his butler's frame. He sleepily allows the kisses to his forehead without protest. At one point Ciel is vaguely aware of his dressings being changed. The absence of Sebastian in his bed feels so strange that he murmurs to his butler to hurry with his ministrations. When the demon returns to his bed, Ciel attaches himself without shame. All pretexts are gone. There was no longer a barrier, and if Sebastian would hold him and touch him like this at night, then there was no longer a need to torture his body during the day.

In the morning, Ciel wakes to Sebastian's usual morning routine. Nothing about this has changed, yet everything has changed. Ciel, wondering vaguely whether he had dreamed it all, ventures to tug on their connection, to look down the path again. Sebastian does not glance up from his pouring of the tea to acknowledge the intrusion, but all of the sudden this routine act is seen through a new lens: The tea will be delicious for his master. It was blended to help him heal faster. It will warm him.

Ciel sighs. He sips the perfect tea and inwardly he rejoices at Sebastian's skill, though he merely states, blandly, "it's passable." Sebastian's response is a small bow and a knowing smile. Yes, in many ways, nothing has changed, but everything was changed: Though his soul was still damned, his heart, at least, had been rescued.